Part 11: Finding Pronglet's Power (The Endgame Prank)
10 th April 1995
Paris was a beautiful city.
Harry's mind whirled with the two days of sight-seeing he'd thrown himself into since their arrival in Paris on the Saturday morning. He and Sirius had disguised themselves and wandered around both the wizarding and muggle tourist attractions without anyone being wise to who they were. Harry had loved the Eiffel Tower with the grand views of Paris, and the Louvre with its hidden wizarding floor where the portraits spoke of everything from the French Revolution to the French Resistance in the last World War. But he'd also just enjoyed sitting outside on the pavement of a little café for lunch with a hot mug of chocolate, crusty baguette and platters of cured meat and cheeses, watching the world go by. It had been a wonderful two days, if exhausting.
They were staying at the Black apartment which was big enough to house not only Sirius and himself but also in a surprise move, Andromeda, Narcissa and Tonks, who'd all decided that Paris was the only place to commission the wedding outfits. The Grangers had arrived earlier that morning to facilitate Hermione getting her bridesmaid's dress and they were expecting Simeon and his family the following day.
It had taken only an hour for Harry to feel swamped by the wedding talk and he'd been relieved when Sirius hustled him out of the door early for their luncheon with the Delacours and the mysterious Vivien Verte. He only felt a smidgeon of guilt about leaving Hermione who had looked as bewildered as he had felt about what material would work best for the dresses.
The Delacours estate was very close to Versailles, (Harry had hoped they might have time in the afternoon to visit the palace but Sirius had been adamant it needed a day on its own to properly appreciate the gardens and the historical building), and only accessible by floo. Sirius walked them over to the French Ministry of Magic to use the public floos there since the apartment didn't have an active floo. Harry didn't mind the walk; the sun was shining and the wind was bracing stinging his cheeks and mussing his hair, and generally reminding him he was alive.
In some ways, he mused, the past couple of days had seemed like a holiday from the reality of their lives; a revisit of the Summer when they'd been at the clinic and the only thing they'd needed to do was focus on healing. It had been a good time-out and Harry felt rested as they entered through the public entrance and into the Ministry which was housed under the Bastille.
They gained a few looks but nothing like the attention they would have drawn in Britain and Harry happily followed Sirius over to the bank of public floos where they paid for their usage to a small goblin.
There was nobody in the reception room when they arrived and Harry took a moment to take in the large rectangular space, empty of everything but a beautiful magical tapestry of a gathering of swans all along the one wall in front of them; the swans swam up and down the length of the woven fabric serenely. Looking back over his shoulder, Harry spotted the crest of the Delacours hewn into the marble mantelpiece and a wide ornate mirror which no doubt was linked to another somewhere in the building for someone to watch for security reasons. There were no windows and no visible door; the only lighting was an elaborate chandelier which had lit up as soon as they had stepped out of the floo.
A pop alerted them to a house elf. "Bonjour, Madame Elaine will be wiz you shortly. I'll be taking your cloaks."
They handed them over and the house elf bowed politely before it popped out again.
"Good security." Sirius commented, admiration colouring his tone. "I like the tapestry, provides the right amount of calming distraction. No windows, no doors. Nice mirror." He grinned at Harry. "Maybe we should get a tapestry for Black Manor."
"I don't think I want to know." Harry joked, seeing the mischievous glint in Sirius's eye. Once a prankster…
A grand double doorway suddenly appeared to their right and it opened up on its own allowing entry to the beautiful woman who was Fleur and Gabrielle's mother. Her golden hair was up in a complex chignon; her loose blue day robes were open to reveal a floaty muggle-style white summery dress decorated in a pattern of tiny blue flowers; gold sandals and jewellery completed the outfit. Harry was glad he and Sirius had opted for stylish outfits and that he wasn't going to feel either under or over-dressed; they'd judged it correctly.
Sirius bowed deeply and Harry followed his example. He almost smiled at Elaine's appreciative once over of his father. Sirius wore a dark red shirt tucked into tailored dark grey trousers with an open light grey duelling robe. His dark hair was neatly combed back into a ponytail tied with a leather strip.
Harry was in a similar outfit – an emerald shirt rather than red, black denim jeans which youth allowed him to get away with wearing, and an open green-so-dark-it-was-almost-black every day robe.
Elaine accepted Sirius kissing the back of her offered hand with a delighted laugh and she smiled widely when Harry did the same. "It is marvellous you 'ave arrived."
Her French accent was barely traceable, Harry noted as Sirius thanked her for her welcome.
Elaine shrugged in a very Gallic manner. "It is our pleasure." She motioned for them to follow her. "Our estate is, of course, very extensive. I 'ope we 'ave time to show you the grounds before you depart, but if not another time per'aps. I realise your purpose today is meeting Madame Verte." She turned and, smiling again, winked at them. "We will 'ave lunch before business though."
Harry followed her, wide-eyed at the gorgeous architecture, the wide main corridor decorated with what Harry assumed to be considered beautiful objects d'art and pictures painted by many famous artists.
The room they were led into was the conservatory; a large oval room which overlooked a pristine green lawn leading down to the rest of the gardens. Apart from the back wall which was part of the main house, the rest of the room had a cream wall up to waist height and then glass that arced into a dome above. Various plants were placed around the room; some trailing up the glass and along the walls. The main space though was taken up with a long table set out for lunch and a number of comfortable dining chairs around it. There was a side door out to the garden and Elaine ushered them through and round a small stone path to a walled garden where Fleur, Gabrielle and two older women sat on ornate metal chairs around a matching table.
Fleur caught her sister before she could throw herself at Harry, whispering something about decorum in her ear that Harry could barely hear.
"Please don't get up." Sirius said, seeing the women start to adjust their positions for the introductions.
The first woman bore a marked resemblance to Elaine despite her papery-thin skin and silver hair; she smiled at him. "Thank you, Lord Black. You are a gentleman."
"My grandmother." Elaine introduced them brightly. "Madame Sabrina Limone. This is Lord Sirius Black and his son, Lord Harry Potter."
"Sirius and Harry, please." Sirius said, kissing the older woman's hand with just as much charm as he'd used on Fleur's mother. "Your mother-in-law's wands are wonderful creations, Madame Limone."
Harry followed Sirius, a touch more shyly, but performing his small 'bonjour' and kiss without tripping over anything.
"You may call me Sabrina." She said with a twitching mouth which gave away her amusement at the proper protocol. "May I introduce our good friend, Vivien Verte."
"Madame," Sirius bowed and kissed the back of her hand, "you have my utmost gratitude for consenting to meet with us."
Vivien was older than Sabrina. There was a fragility in the small woman's frame; an air of bemused eccentricity in her simple bronze smock and matching slippers; her white hair escaping from its haphazardly pinned up do. But her brown eyes were shining brightly with intelligence and her grip was strong.
"You will call me Vivien." She corrected in surprisingly unaccented crisp English.
Sirius nodded graciously. "Thank you."
Vivien extended her hand to Harry who moved forward and kissed the back of her knuckles. When he went to step back, she held onto his hand, her brown eyes searching his green ones intently. Harry swallowed his nerves and his instinctive reaction to look to Sirius. Instead he held up under her regard until she squeezed his fingers lightly and let go.
"You, young Raven, may call me Grandmother." Vivien said with so much satisfaction that it sent a shiver down Harry's spine.
Sirius tensed beside him. "Vivien, if I may…"
"Do not worry," Vivien turned to Sirius with a small smile, "we will speak of this later. We all have our gifts, do we not?"
Elaine coughed and masterfully returned to the task of completing the introductions with a breezy acknowledgement that they were already acquainted with Fleur and Gabrielle. An apology from Fleur's father was provided; he had been unable to reschedule his previous business arrangements.
Pre-lunch drinks of a Summer punch were handed out and talk turned to the tournament and reminisces of the second task. Sirius escorted the two older women back to the conservatory for lunch while Harry escorted Fleur and a giggling Gabrielle. Elaine mock-complained about the lack of her husband to provide her 'with an equally 'andsome wizard.'
Lunch topics were also fairly light; Harry was asked about studying at Hogwarts and he responded with a similar question about Beauxbatons; Sirius was asked about the latest proposal the Swiss had put to the ICW for wand-making ingredients to be monitored for proper quality.
It was only after the sumptuous lemon mousse with lemon syrup and candied oranges dipped in dark chocolate that Elaine drew the conversation around to the purpose of the visit.
"Per'aps, Vivien," she offered, "you would prefer to discuss your business with Sirius and 'arry in the drawing room with coffee?"
Vivien acquiesced and five minutes later, Harry found himself sitting on a small antique sofa next to his father. Vivien was installed in a matching chair beside him. A coffee table next to them was laden with a silver tray with hot coffee and tiny pastries.
Vivien served the drinks, adding plenty hot milk to Harry's which he additionally sweetened to make it palatable. He rarely drank coffee but didn't want to make a fuss asking for something else. Sirius's small smile of approval was enough to make it worth the while.
"I should begin with an apology for our introduction." Vivien settled back in the armoire. "I did not mean to disturb you with my words."
Sirius glanced at Harry and back at Vivien. "You recognised his animagus form?"
Vivien smiled softly. "More accurately the essence of all he is and is to become." She tilted her head. "I am not the first, no?"
"No," admitted Harry, "my friend Luna was the first one to suggest I would be a raven."
"So you are a raven and one protected by a…grim?" Vivien looked at Sirius questioningly.
Sirius nodded reluctantly.
"Appropriate that the one who guards the last of the Peverells is a man who carries the soul of a creature who usually walks with Death and protects the soul of the innocent." Vivien said knowingly.
Harry felt more than a little creeped out and he hastily took a sip of his coffee to hide his reaction. Sirius placed a hand on Harry's shoulder grounding him.
"And you are the last of Lumiere's line." Sirius replied politely.
"Yes, the last of the Lumieres and you are the last of the Peverells." Vivien's gaze caught Harry's. "We both are the last as foreseen."
"Foreseen?" Sirius jumped on the phrase.
Harry swallowed down the fear that had sprung up; he really hoped it wasn't another prophecy.
"It starts as though a joke." Vivien said, her words unhurried as though she wasn't aware of Sirius's determination to have an answer to his question. "An apprentice wand-maker walks into an inn and sits beside a rich young wizard travelling incognito abroad before returning home to marry. But it is not a joke."
Harry was captivated by the picture she had woven and eager to know more, yet he didn't press her, knowing somehow she had to tell the tale her own way. Sirius seemed to sense the same because he remained quiet too.
Vivien sipped her coffee, lowering the delicate china cup back into its equally delicate saucer. "Michel Albert Lumiere. He writes in his journals that they became friends that first night; Michel flush from the sale of his first wand and the wizard, who introduced himself only as Iggy, drinking to forget the war and losses he had left behind in his home country. They determined to travel together and they spent days in each other's company."
"Journals?" asked Sirius softly enough not to disturb the suspenseful atmosphere Vivien had created.
"Journals." Vivien confirmed. "There is not a single document upon which the account was written despite the rumours. Albert, Michel's son, created something to give to the Crown and to divert attention but it was not the whole truth." She took another sip of coffee and set it aside. "Michel writes that it was their last night together. They had found lodging in the medieval port where the boat Iggy would take to return to Britain was docked. It was winter and cold, the weather grey and wet with rain and sleet. They drank red wine and filled their bellies with stew and bread and as they settled in front of the fire…"
"You have never asked me my full name." The dark-haired wizard said, his blue gaze staring into the fire.
"You will always be my dear Iggy." Michel replied, tipping his glass in Iggy's direction.
Iggy's gaze shifted from the fire to Michel and once again Michel wished he could soothe the sadness and turmoil that tumbled in the blue eyes. "You are my dearest friend, Michel. I shall never forget you."
"Nor I you." Michel murmured, his own sadness and disappointment at the imminent loss of Iggy driving deep claws into his belly.
"I need…I need to tell you a story, Michel, one that you must swear to tell your children and they must tell theirs and so on because one day in the far future the last of my line will seek the last of yours to hear this story told to them."
Michel frowned at the tense lines of Iggy's face; how serious he looked. His friend meant every word. "You know this how?"
"A prophecy told to me…by whom shall be revealed within my tale." Iggy said with rueful regret.
Michel nodded. "I am listening, my friend."
Iggy cleared his throat. "At home, these past years, there rose a coven of Dark Wizards named the Seven. The High Priest claimed to be Mordred's heir. They waged war on the Ancient families and those we protect, killing indiscriminately to bolster their wealth and power, to make slaves of the rest of us."
"We heard reports even here in the countryside." Michel murmured, reaching over to pour more wine into his friend's glass. It was not a surprise that Iggy was of an Ancient family; only those with money and status tended to have the means to travel as Iggy had done. He felt honoured again that such a wizard would befriend a lowly wand-maker apprentice.
"The Seven were terrible but the Ancient families are not without power." Iggy continued, fortifying himself with more wine. "There was an army gathered." His face grew pale. "I was one of three brothers. Triplets. Born on the third day of the third month. We set aside our work and went to war." He shuddered, his whole body trembling. "War is nothing but blood and pain; a time of nothing but one terrifying moment after another with barely a second to catch your breath and grieve…" his voice cut off abruptly on a choked sob.
Michel reached over and lay a hand on Iggy's shoulder in silent support.
"After a year, each side was battered and almost by tacit agreement we all retreated for the winter months." Iggy continued again, his deep voice sliding into the silence. He shook his head casting off a memory perhaps. "My brothers and I headed home to the Hollow and our parents' estate. When we arrived though the manor was empty and the house elves were the ones who informed us that while we were at war, a wizarding plague had hit the village and killed many. Our parents were among the dead."
"Mon Dieu!" Michel ached for his friend, for the loss he had suffered. He feared he knew now who Iggy was, he had always listened to the news from afar and there were not many wizards who were one of three brothers.
"It wasn't a natural plague, Healer Daffyd said." Iggy sighed heavily. "We'd heard stories that the Seven had unleashed abnormal Death upon other villages and towns, an illness that stole your breath and stilled your heart with a fever, but we had never thought our home might have been one of those affected. We were…devastated in our grief."
"Who would not be so devastated?" asked Michel softly. "I sorrow with you, my friend."
Iggy reached out and patted Michel's arm. He sighed. "And then life moved on. There were villagers to protect; food and livestock that needed attention before the winter set in; our halls to set to rights."
Michel poured more wine for them both. "But that is not the end of the story."
"No, only the beginning." Iggy said. "Antioch, as the eldest, took up the Headship of the family and named Cadmus, the second oldest of us, as his Heir. Antioch took a wife, Cadmus married his childhood sweetheart Sarah, and I was arranged in marriage to the youngest daughter of another Ancient family to be wed when the war was over and she was of age. And then in the heart of the winter, the abomination of the plague reared its head again."
"We found a cure but not before it took Cadmus's wife." He shifted position, turning away from the fire and back to Michel.
"We buried Sarah and in our renewed grief we turned to our talents and created artefacts to help us win the war." Iggy set his wine-glass down.
Michel's heart stampeded in his chest for he had heard the rumours of three great weapons – especially of the wand – used to defeat the Seven and here Iggy was telling him of them.
"We worked all through the winter. Antioch created his wand from the Elder tree whose branches protected the graves of our loved ones and used our blood as the magical core; all three brothers together. Cadmus anchored his psychic ability to see and talk to the dead into a stone. I weaved a cloak of creature hair soaked in basilisk and dragon scales and I imbued it with every protective spell I knew." Iggy hunched forward, staring into the fire. "We sat there, these wondrous items on the table in front of us and…and we wondered how they would help us win. Antioch had made a good wand, one loyal to our blood, but it was still only a wand. And Cadmus had created something unique but what help could the voices of the dead provide? And my cloak? It would help hide and protect but only one person."
"They were still incredible, no?"
"Incredible but useless. Antioch had the idea to ask the family magic for a blessing." He took another drink. "What do you know of family magic?"
"Very little." Michel said. "Only that it is for the Ancient families."
"After Camelot fell and Arthur was sent to Avalon, Merlin drew together the most powerful and they sacrificed their lives and magic to the protection of the magical world, hiding it away from those without, and removing the evil that tainted within. The pool of that magic somehow was gifted as an inheritance to the children of those who died, and it could be used by the most powerful of a generation to continue in protecting the magical world from enemies within and without."
"Astonishing." Michel said, fascinated.
"Usually it would only be the Head of the family and the Heir, but we three had made the artefacts and Antioch decreed that we three would call upon the family magic together. We went to the cemetery and over the graves of our loved ones, shed blood, called forth our family magic and asked for help." Iggy turned away, his face hidden in shadow. "What I tell you now will make me sound mad but I swear it is the truth."
"I believe you, Iggy." Michel said.
"Our family magic totem is a Thestral and it appeared but rather than the silver form it usually wore, it was black as night, and a wizard held the Thestral's reins in his hand." Iggy shivered recalling the memory. "It was the Emrys stood before us, a man in his prime with his hair braided in the Celtic fashion, robes that showed his physical power, and magic liming his body, gold and silver in the moonlight."
Michel caught sight of his friend's tremulous expression. He reached over and took hold of Iggy's hand.
Iggy sighed. "He told us our need was truth, that the world was once again out of balance, that the evil within was powerful. He looked at us then and it was…it was as though our very souls were being judged. He told us that the magic we had called upon could help but that there would be a price."
Michel nodded.
"We all looked to each other but there was no choice. The Seven had to be defeated; our world protected." Iggy continued. "We made the bargain." His gaze drifted away to the fire and Michel knew that Iggy was looking far into the past. "With a wave of his hand, the three artefacts spun in the air in front of us. He touched the wand first and declared that the wand would be faithful to the Peverell line, would counter any spell cast against its owner, and always cast true for its owner. He touched the stone second and told us that the stone was now a true portal between life and death. He touched the cloak last and told us that the cloak would shield and hide the one within forever; its enchantments made permanent and its invisibility perfect."
Michel kept quiet. Iggy's story was compelling.
"And then he said something we didn't understand until it was too late," Iggy smiled grimly, "he told us that the three artefacts would only have these powers when used together, if used on their own they reverted to what they were; unique but not infallible objects. We thought at the time that he meant for all three to be in use on the same battlefield. He kissed our foreheads," Iggy's free hand crept up to touch the centre of his brow almost absently, "and then he was gone."
"It worked." Michel said, because he could not see how it had not given the known result of the demise of the Seven.
"We rode out the next day," Iggy said as though Michel had not spoken, "weeks went by but we gathered the army once more and we cornered the Seven by a river. The battle begun." He picked up his wine and drank deeply. "Antioch was brave and fearless; he led from the front. He was devastating; fierce and confident. He held three of the Seven in a duel, spells flashing back and forth…" his eyes glistened with tears, "and he did not see the servant of the Seven creep up behind him and stab him with nothing more than an ordinary knife. With his last breath, Antioch sent the wand to Cadmus."
Michel simply held onto Iggy, compassion bubbling for the horror of seeing a brother fall.
"Sweet, loyal Cadmus held the centre, and had called forth the dead, all those who had suffered because of the Seven, to fight among the living." Iggy shook his head. "The shades of the dead were useful, they distracted the enemy but they could not truly touch and could not truly fight…" he raised his eyes to Michel, "not until Cadmus held the wand and the stone together. Suddenly the shades became as flesh; the dead became the living…it was glorious and terrible for they could fight but they were also vulnerable again to sword and spell."
Once again, Michel could do nothing but squeeze the hand of his friend and offer comfort.
"Sarah was among those who had answered Cadmus's call. She fought close to him and…Cadmus only had eyes for her despite the drain on his magic. He wanted to keep her in the world so badly, she who was already dead, he drained his magic away." Iggy swiped at his eyes. "And with his last breath, Cadmus willed the wand and the stone to my hands."
"My friend." Michel said softly.
"I was in charge of the flank. We approached silently from the back to trap the Seven between us and the rest of the army at the front. I was an invisible assassin; I passed through the fighting men as though I didn't exist." Iggy said roughly. "I had lost both my brothers and in my hands I held their gifts, unwanted as they were. In my grief I made my way to the High Priest, and suddenly I knew how to end it – I stood there, unseen and unnoticed in front of him, and I cast with the power of the wand I held a spell to banish him and his coven through the portal of the stone to their death. They went screaming, their souls wrenched without warning from their bodies…"
Michel felt only sorrow that his friend should have had to experience something so awful…
"But then…it was as though Time itself stood still, the battle froze around me and out of the chaos a dark form appeared; a hooded faceless figure, a Raven on his shoulder and a Grim beside him." Iggy started to tremble. "Death demanded the one who had cast the Seven to the afterlife be seen or all on the field would be taken by him, so I removed the cloak and Death looked upon me. 'Little Wizard,' he said, 'you dare to command the power of Death?'"
Michel could not speak.
"I prostrated myself. I told him I knew Death had no master but I begged his mercy and indulgence. I was willing to go with him so long as he did not undo what I had done. He caught my chin in a bony grasp and forced me to look at him; a black and dark and endless abyss…I have never known so much fear as the cold that crept in my veins then."
Iggy shivered violently and Michel stoked up the fire and coaxed him to drink some wine.
"I don't know how much Time passed, perhaps no more than a second, or as much as a day, it felt an eternity before he released me." Iggy said. "'Little Wizard,' he said, 'I will take these Seven as the power of the three Hallows you hold are their death but in return, you owe me a life.' I offered my own again and Death laughed. 'No,' he said, 'no, Little Wizard, the price you pay is to live with the loss of all you have loved, the blood on your hands, the wounds in your soul; to live and marry and have children who will have children, but eventually there will be only one of your blood alive and his life…it is his life that will be mine."
"I don't understand…" murmured Michel, frowning.
"Neither did I at first but then Death told me: 'The last of the Peverells will be my Champion, a Raven against one who tries to escape me. And before the last of your blood becomes a man, he will have to fight as you have fought; face losses as you have done; see his enemy rise again from the spilling of Peverell blood before the Final Battle.'" Iggy recited grimly. "He wanted to use the last of my line to fight his war; to take the life of a child and make it a battle against this nameless wizard wanting immortality." His fingers tightened painfully on Michel's. "How could I agree? The child would be an innocent and I would condemn him to war, to horror and pain…"
"You could not do it." Michel acknowledged quietly.
"The price was too high. I begged Death to reconsider." Iggy's eyes were wet again and he used the back of his hand to swipe at the wetness. "I begged him, reminded him the child would be an innocent, and…and then the Grim howled its own protest. I had forgotten that the Grim protected the souls of the innocent." He shook his head as though in disbelief.
"And Death, he listened to the Grim. 'Very well,' he said, 'I will have my Champion and he will have a Grim to protect him in the world. And while he will know pain, he will also know love, and while he bleeds, he will also draw blood. He will be thrice blessed; marked as an equal to the one he fights; unable to die except at the hand of the one he fights as my Champion."
Iggy was rocking back and forth as though to comfort himself against the memories that haunted him.
"I debated but truly what was the life of one child against all of those which would be lost if the Seven remained alive?" Iggy sighed, guilt written in every line of his face. "I agreed to the debt. It was then Death as he walked away told me 'While your Hallows will be scattered, should the last of your line succeed in uniting them once more, he also cannot use their power to defeat his enemy or he will also condemn another to a life of pain.' I wondered how to ensure my distant child would know and Death told me to travel and find someone I trusted to tell my story to, for the last of their line would tell it to the last of mine." He looked at me then. "And so you are who I have chosen, Michel Albert Lumiere. You who have befriended me these many months and who not cared at all that I am Ignotus Peverell, the Defeater of Seven, last of the Three Brothers, the Master of the Deathly Hallows."
There wasn't a sound in the drawing room as Vivien stopped.
Harry felt his head was whirling with information; his feelings were scattered, one emotion after another storming through him.
Sirius placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, a quiet comfort which grounded and anchored him.
"Fresh coffee," Vivien declared, calling for a house elf. Her brown eyes settled on Harry's pale face as she gave the order. "And perhaps some hot chocolate?"
Harry admittedly felt a touch better when a few minutes later, the hot chocolate warmed him through.
"So, to summarise," Sirius said, jumping into the silence, "Ignotus and his brothers created three artefacts, which the whole pool of family magic turned into a weapon that gave the one who held all three Hallows at the same time the ability to send people to the afterlife. Death got annoyed at a wizard usurping Death's role in the grand scheme of things and as a punishment declared Ignotus's descendant would be his Champion?"
"I don't understand," Harry said, cutting in before Vivien could answer, "why did Death get upset? I mean, how was the way Ignotus killed the Seven any different to him just throwing a couple of Killing Curses at them?"
"He commanded their souls through a wizard-made portal to the afterlife." Vivien replied. "They were not dead and yet he deemed their lives over. Only Death himself is said to hold such power, and so as your father said, Death was usurped."
"It's the difference between the physical and spiritual. Death commands when we die; he decides that. If Ignotus had used a spell or a blade, Death would have determined whether it would have killed them or not; some spells are more lethal than others that's true but even with a Killing Curse the opponent is given the opportunity to block it with a heavy piece of masonry, for instance." Sirius added. "However, Ignotus didn't give Death any chance to intercede when he used the Hallows and removed their souls from their bodies and sent them to the afterlife himself. He made the decision not Death and that was the reason why Death objected." He shook himself. "Well, I think that's the explanation at any rate."
"You're probably right, and it explains why I can't use the Hallows the same way as Ignotus." Harry concluded. "Because it would upset Death."
He would never choose the same as Ignotus either on the punishment if he ever was tempted to use the Hallows that way, Harry determined. It was far too similar to Albus Dumbledore's proclamation of 'the Greater Good.' To sacrifice even the life of one child…there was always another way. Ignotus could have refused and taken down the Seven the hard way. But then, he mused tiredly, could he blame his ancestor for choosing a route that ended the war sooner and saved more people?
"I am afraid so." Vivien said, dragging Harry out of his internal musing.
Sirius and Harry glanced at each other, a touch of despondency in both their gazes. They had pinned much of their hopes on 'the power he knows not' to be the Hallows.
"How did the Hallows get scattered?" asked Sirius abruptly. "At the end of the battle, Ignotus holds all three. Death obviously knew they would be scattered but…"
"Ignotus went onto explain knowing that Michel would want to see the wand although he would never have asked." Vivien explained. "Unfortunately, the wand had secretly been buried under a memorial stone for his brothers. It was vandalised by grave robbers and the wand stolen."
"Explains the old Antioch was 'sleeping' when the wand was stolen story." Sirius huffed.
Vivien smiled and nodded. "The stone, well, Ignotus spoke with the shade of his brothers after the battle, too tempted not to use it to keep them with him – the brothers had never been separated before. Cadmus ordered him to discard it rather than hold onto the dead, so grief-stricken he threw it into the river. He told Michel he was relieved not to be the Master of the Hallows anymore but feared the damage the wand and the stone could do in the wrong hands."
"With good reason." Sirius murmured.
"So the Hallows were scattered." Harry sighed and rubbed his nose. "And they are only truly invincible if they're used together. I've got that right, right?"
Vivien nodded. "You have. The wand is a powerful wand and no doubt when in the hands of a powerful wizard it is formidable but it only casts and counters fully true when its wizard is shielded by the cloak and holds the stone."
"And the stone only truly becomes a portal between life and death when coupled with the others," Sirius finished, "and the cloak is only truly impenetrable with the others. Otherwise they're amazing objects but with weaknesses." He shifted. "Did Michel and Ignotus continued to correspond after Ignotus returned home?" He asked, drawing Vivien's attention.
"No. There was no means of regular communication even owls were rare back then." Vivien said. "Michel learned of Ignotus's death through the various reports from abroad that made their way overseas. Michel's journals have been passed down to enable Michel to keep his promise to Ignotus to tell his story to Death's Champion. Our family has considered it an honoured duty."
"Thank you for telling me and for your family's part in ensuring I would find out the truth one day." Harry said sincerely. "I appreciate knowing my family history."
Vivien smiled at him fondly. "I have arranged for the journals to be transferred from my Gringotts' vault to the Potter vault, Harry."
"But…" Harry began to protest but she held up a hand.
"It is your legacy as much as mine. I am the last and there will be no more Lumieres." Vivien stated firmly. "It would give me great pleasure to know that the last of the Peverells is our Heir."
Harry looked to Sirius who gave him a swift nod.
"It's a wonderful gift." Sirius said.
"Then, I'm honoured." Harry turned back to Vivien. "And as the last Peverell, I promise that each generation of the Houses of Potter and Black will tell Michel's story to the next generation, and honour the great service the Lumieres provided to our family."
Vivien positively beamed and her hand patted his lightly. "Now," she said with a twinkle in her brown eyes, "now will you call me Grandmother, young Raven?"
Harry ducked his head but nodded ruefully. "Yes, Grandmother."
o-O-o
Sirius wasn't surprised to find Harry up and about in the dead of the night. After the day spent visiting with Vivien, Sirius had been expecting it. The apartment was almost overflowing with people and Harry had found refuge on the roof garden, perched almost on the edge of the building, staring up at the night sky. He also wasn't surprised to find the invisibility cloak heaped at Harry's feet and Hedwig at his side.
He didn't mask his footsteps as he walked across the lawn to sit beside his son. He cast a warming charm on both of them – Harry was only in striped pyjamas while Sirius had remembered to throw on a dressing gown; April in Paris was warmer than London but the nights still got chilly and it wasn't that much warmer. He followed the warming charm up with a privacy bubble.
"Alright there, Pronglet?" Sirius asked nudging Harry's shoulder with his own very gently. He had no wish to tip his favourite person in the whole world off the side of the building. Hedwig departed with a flutter of her wings and a look that clearly told Sirius he was to look after her charge.
Harry nudged him back and snuggled slightly closer, instinctively seeking warmth. "How much of it do you think actually happened?" he asked, just as Sirius had given up expecting Harry to answer.
Sirius hummed while he considered his reply. "More than I want, truthfully." He ran a hand through his unfettered locks and let his gaze drift from Harry to the stars. "The records of that time are sparse but Grandfather's research did dig up something about a plague and a war. So, there's evidence for that part of it."
Harry made a soft sound of agreement.
"We know it's possible to call forth the spirits of old – you've been visited by Morgan Le Fey. Her sister, the Lady of the Lake, revealed herself to you in the second task. So the idea that the Peverell brothers together in a time of crisis could call Merlin himself is not really all that out there." Sirius continued.
"I guess not." Harry muttered, digging his toes into the grass.
"So, do I believe the Hallows are the result of some very powerful family magic? Yes. As for the rest, the whole thing with Death…" Sirius sighed heavily. "I want to say it's a whole load of hogwash but more because I really want the Hallows to be the power you need, and from the story Vivien told us, you can't use the Hallows without penalty and I'm not prepared to be purposefully blind and risk you or some other innocent Pronglet yet to be born."
Harry sighed, a rush of breath as though he'd been holding it for a while. "Yeah."
Sirius leaned into his son and dropped a kiss on the top of Harry's head.
"It's weird though." Harry said. "I mean, if Death were really that upset about Ignotus killing those wizards why didn't he just undo it? Why give him a choice?"
Sirius shrugged. "We really have no idea how everything works once you die, Harry. The conversation with your folks suggests that there is an afterlife; that the spirits of those lost to us are with us even if we don't get to see them or talk with them quite as definitively as we could do with the stone. But other than that?" He sighed. "I admit that I didn't think Death was an actual real being."
"Me either." Harry admitted, somewhat chagrined.
"But if we take Ignotus's story as truth…" Sirius pressed his lips together. "Then, we accept that the figure of Death is a manifestation of a being who sees your soul to the afterlife; that the raven and grim have the connection with this being that myths and legends say they do. In which instance…maybe Death isn't constrained by time and space and…and the practicalities of life."
"That would make sense." Harry said. "He has to exist everywhere because somewhere every second a death happens, right?"
"Right." Sirius agreed, pleased with Harry's reasoning. "So, if I'm Death, and because I exist everywhere in every moment and time, I see Tom Riddle's attempt to cheat death…"
"And you're upset because really he's doing the exact same thing that Ignotus did in usurping Death's role, only Riddle's choosing to keep his soul here." Harry said.
Sirius shot him a proud smirk and pointed a finger at him. "Exactly. But maybe there are rules. Maybe Death can't intervene directly…"
"He doesn't stop Merlin and the family magic creating the Hallows." Harry stated thoughtfully.
"And he just doesn't undo Ignotus's actions. He offers Ignotus a choice either to bring back the Seven or let Death have the last of the Peverells as his Champion." Sirius frowned. "If I were Death I would have lied and worded it so Ignotus thought I could intervene directly…"
"Maybe it wasn't a complete lie," Harry leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his knees, "he could have just forced Ignotus into using the Hallows to bring them back himself."
"Maybe." Sirius said. "So, there we are then. Death basically takes advantage of Ignotus's actions to create himself a Champion to deal with Voldemort's shenanigans. And, voila! He gets…" He noticed Harry's twitching lips. "What?"
"Voila?" mocked Harry lightly.
Warmth spread through Sirius like the touch of the sun on a Summer's day; he loved moments just like this, he mused, moments when Harry was confident to tease his old Padfoot because that meant Harry knew Sirius loved him, was secure in Sirius's affections enough to poke fun at him.
"Oy!" Sirius wagged his finger and sniffed imperiously at Harry. "We are in France."
"So we are. I beg your pardon," Harry replied with exaggerated politeness, mischief shining out of his green eyes, "you were saying?"
"What was I saying?" asked Sirius, trying to grasp the thread that he'd been following before Harry had teased him.
"Death taking advantage so he has some way of dealing with Voldie…" Harry made a circular gesture with his hand to indicate 'blah, blah, blah' – or maybe that was just Sirius's interpretation.
"Right, Death takes advantage…" Sirius continued, "and he even tricks Ignotus into loading the dice for him."
Harry took a moment to work it out for himself. "You think he always intended to give his Champion help?"
"Makes sense," Sirius pointed out, "he tells Ignotus that the Champion will effectively suffer as Ignotus has suffered, but Ignotus is deep down one of the good guys, he's not immediately about to agree to his last living descendent, a child, being put into that position by his actions."
"Death figures he'll protest then." Harry nodded slowly as though accepting the proposition.
"And then Death can agree that yes, the child may suffer but he'll get a wonderfully handsome and very intelligent grim to help him…" Sirius exaggeratedly preened a little to make Harry chuckle and lighten the moment, "and gives his Champion an equal playing field."
"Except he insists his Champion can't use the Hallows to defeat Voldemort." Harry sighed.
Sirius grimaced. "Yeah, that part sucks."
"It's not like I wanted to use them." Harry confessed quietly. "I mean, I loved talking with Mum and Dad but…the wand and the stone are really creepy." He frowned. "And I wouldn't ever choose for another kid to go through the same as me."
Sirius's heart ached and he rubbed Harry's shoulder comfortingly.
"I think I'm kind of pissed off with Ignotus." Harry admitted, tugging at a nearby blade.
"I can't say I blame you." Sirius said dryly. "I might be a little pissed off with him myself."
"I mean, I get why he did it, I guess." Harry said, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "He was facing seven Voldemorts and had just lost everyone he loved…and there's this kid who isn't even real to him…"
Sirius hummed.
"But…" Harry sighed heavily again, "it kind of reminds me of the Headmaster and his 'greater good' thing. You know; making decisions for others and ignoring the negative consequences."
Or being blind to them as Albus had been all the years Harry had been with the Dursleys.
"Do you think that this means the 'power' is just the family magic?" asked Harry.
"I don't know," Sirius shifted position so he could look at his son's face better, "maybe we're focusing on the wrong thing entirely. Your parents did suggest that the power might not be magical." He tapped Harry's knee. "Politically we have him and his followers boxed into being the minority in the wizarding world now and that's not going to change any time soon. It's also given you the resources and help you've needed to overcome the tasks. Financially he hasn't got the access he once did to his followers' money. Crouch was prudent but Barty has to be going through the money he embezzled from his father at fair old rate."
"But neither is going to help me if I'm face to face with him alone on the battle-field." Harry said with perfect logic.
"No, but they all help in your preparation and in providing the cavalry which will be on its way to help you if you do end up face to face and alone with him – never doubt that." Sirius answered, holding his son's gaze until he was satisfied Harry believed it. "It's entirely possible that the 'power to defeat the Dark Lord' and the 'power he knows not' are two separate things. The only thing that links them is that they're spoken of in the same prophecy and therefore we assume that they are the same thing. Prophecies are woolly. Yes, you have 'power he knows not' because you have the Hallows and the family magic, but it may well be that you defeat him with a disarming spell like you did with Albus."
Harry bit his lip, smiling. "I don't think I'm going to defeat Voldemort with a disarming spell."
"You don't know." Sirius countered enthusiastically. "No-one knows. Prophecies suck that way."
"Majorly suck." Harry agreed. He nudged Sirius's shoulder with his own. "I think you're right though. I should just focus on training and learning, without relying on the family magic or the Hallows."
"You might also want to consider that it's possible that just being Death's Champion is the 'power he knows not.'" Sirius said thoughtfully. "If you're right and Death is everywhere and every time, then maybe he knows who wins."
Harry considered the idea and shrugged. He darted a swift look at Sirius and tensed minutely. "Have you…did you hear the bit of the story where Death told Ignotus that my blood would be spilled before the Final Battle?"
Sirius closed his eyes briefly because he had hoped he hadn't heard it. "Yeah." He opened his eyes again and met Harry's tentatively worried gaze.
"Blood is the ingredient required from the unwilling enemy." Harry stated.
Sirius nodded.
Harry grimaced. "So it looks like he's successful at getting me then if Death does have some insight into what happens."
"Or we decide to trap him." Sirius countered immediately. "Don't assume that it's a failure or a defeat on our part."
"But if we plan on him getting me doesn't that make me willing?" Harry argued.
"Not necessarily." Sirius replied. "Look, I've been promising that he won't get you through the tournament since the moment you accepted the binding, but truthfully? Tactically and strategically it would make sense for us to accept you being taken at that point. Do I want you to be taken and hurt? No. Do you want to be taken and your blood used to resurrect him? No. But would accepting that if it did happen despite us not wanting such a thing, it would force a final confrontation that we can plan in advance? Yes."
Harry huffed out a breath. "I've been thinking something similar but I didn't know how to tell you." He paused and continued. "And I did think it would make us screw up the ritual."
Pride filled Sirius. Harry had grown so much in the last few months, Sirius considered ruefully.
"It's definitely something for us to discuss with everyone when we get together." Sirius said. He cast a tempus. "You should get some sleep. Simeon, Anna and Jason are arriving at eight."
There was a grumbling murmur of something he couldn't quite hear but Harry scuttled back from the edge of the roof and stood up. Sirius pushed himself off the ground and brushed the grass off his dressing gown. Spotting grass stains on his son's pyjamas, he sent a quick cleansing charm toward an unsuspecting Harry who yelped when it hit and shot him an annoyed look.
Sirius plastered his most innocent expression on his face.
Harry's expression told him he didn't believe Sirius was innocent at all but then Harry relented and slung an arm around him to hug him sideways as they walked over to the door.
"Not that I'm complaining, but what's this for?" asked Sirius.
Harry smiled at him. "If I have to be Death's Champion then…I'm really happy he decided to give me a grim."
Sirius felt his love for his son bubble back up like an overflowing fountain. "Don't forget he gave you a wonderfully intelligent and very handsome grim."
And Harry laughed and all was right with Sirius's world.
o-O-o
Harry shifted restlessly in his sleep, turning over and burying his face into his pillow, his feet twitching outside the duvet he'd shoved off his body. A frown painted his face as his dream led him down and down…
The graveyard was cold, a definite chill brushed over Harry's form and when he looked down he realised he was still dressed only in his pyjamas. He glanced at the familiar headstone in front of him; his parents'.
"They love you very much." The melodic voice behind him had him whirling around.
The man who stood there was as tall as Sirius, but sturdier. He had flowing black hair and blue eyes. His robes were old fashioned though and a strangely familiar wand was being twirled through his fingers.
"Ignotus Peverell." Harry concluded.
"Harry Potter." Ignotus tipped his head. "Well met, descendent."
Harry shivered and rubbed his arms. "Is this real?"
"You tell me," Ignotus said, "Cadmus had the ability to talk to the dead and imbued it in the stone. You're the Master of the Deathly Hallows."
"But I'm not." Harry countered. "All I am is Death's Champion."
His ancestor tilted his head. "You think there is nothing to being Death's Champion?"
Harry's anger ignited. "What did you tell Michel about war? Something to do with it being horror and pain and terrifying and losing everyone you loved! Well, that's been my life! Pain and terror and a madman chasing me and all of it – IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!"
Ignotus had the sense to look chastened. "I had no choice."
"BOLLOCKS!" Harry yelled at him, throwing up his hands. "You had a choice! You just chose to sacrifice my life to save your own!"
"And thousands more!" Ignotus stepped forward, almost fully into Harry's space, almost nose to nose. "Could you take the chance of so many dying? I had seven wizards to defeat! I had lost every one of my brothers! I was alone and…"
"You had no right to sacrifice me." Harry repeated tersely. He pushed his glasses up his nose and turned away from his ancestor. "I understand why you did what you did but it was still wrong."
"I know and I am sorry." The words whispered over Harry's shoulder and into his ear. "But if it were your choice, if you could use the power of the Hallows to send your foe to his death right now, wouldn't you take it?"
Harry stared at the headstone at the precious words of love Sirius had placed there. 'Where there is love there is life.'
There was temptation, he wouldn't deny it. He could call the wand and the stone and his cloak and order the soul Voldemort had fractured into so many pieces through the portal into death. It would be so easy and no-one else would need to be hurt or injured. That reason alone was temptation enough but…
The consequences if he used the Hallows…
Would he condemn another child to live as Death's Champion? To have one of his descendants have to face the loneliness of no parents and a loveless home? To struggle to understand why someone wanted them dead? To face horror after horror? Killing a man and a giant snake before he'd even turned thirteen…staring down his parents' betrayer…to be so hurt and alone…
Until Sirius.
Until the Grim had protected him as he had been destined to do.
No.
He couldn't let anyone live the life he'd led. Maybe using the Hallows was the easy option but Harry had spoken truthfully to Ignotus; it wasn't the right option.
"I won't use the Hallows to kill Voldemort." Harry said firmly. "We'll meet on a field of battle and I'll take my chance." His lips twisted. "Death chose me for a reason as his Champion. Maybe it means something more than nothing."
"And will you risk those you love, the society you fight to protect from your foe?" asked Ignotus, his voice still a thready whisper.
Harry swallowed hard, tears pressing at the back of his eyes as he considered losing Sirius as he thought he had lost him – or Remus – or anyone and he shook his head.
"I'll protect them as much as I can." It was a promise he made to himself, to them. "But I know the people who love me, they'll want to fight for me; want to protect me too. I can't keep them out of it." Even if he really wanted to keep them safe. "Besides," he added, his eyes refocusing on his parents' names, "we're stronger together." He paused, understanding flowing through him suddenly. "That's what broke you, isn't it? You'd always had your brothers and they'd died and you were alone." He turned back around and froze.
A figure stood behind him, dressed head to toe in black, a hood covering his face and nothing but dark where a face should be.
"Champion." The figure said without speaking.
"Death." Harry bowed his head a touch, hoping it was the right move. Again, he wondered if it was really happening. The crisp cold air through his lungs felt real; the breeze on his skin; the hushed silence.
"You are the Master of the Deathly Hallows just as Ignotus once was." Death said. "Only one who does not want to use them may truly have their allegiance."
"Ignotus still used them." Harry murmured.
"You are more right than you know." Death intoned. "The loss of his brothers was a devastating blow. He stood alone bereft of all power but the Hallows."
"I'll be alone at the end." Harry said. "I'm the one fated to defeat Tom Riddle. It's my blood that will be spilled when he rises again."
"But you are never alone, my Raven." Death said. "You have more power than you know."
"I don't understand." Harry sighed frustrated. "The prophecy talked of power but what is the power Voldemort doesn't know? He has so much more knowledge and experience than me and if he has a body…how do I defeat him?"
"Deep down you know what power you hold that he does not." Death said. "Look to your heart, my Raven and know that I have given you all that you need." He pointed a hand towards the headstone and instinctively Harry turned…
'Where there is love there is life.'
The words glimmered gold and silver for a brief second before fading into their carved home once more.
"I don't understand…" Harry turned back around but there was no-one there…the graveyard was empty…
Harry bolted upright in his bed, breathing heavily, his heart pounding.
The guest room of the Black Parisian apartment formed around him as he cast a wandless lumos.Hedwig hooted comfortingly from her perch.
He was safe.
He shivered and reached for the duvet to tuck it back around himself as he settled back against the pillow and extinguished the light.
Had it been real or just a dream, he wondered.
And if it had been real, what did it mean?
Death had told him he had given Harry everything he needed…but how did that add up to the power to defeat Voldemort?
He huffed out a breath. He really wished people would stop talking in riddles and puzzles and just tell him.
Tiredness pulled at him and dragged him back to sleep.