Scourge of the Heathen- Chapter 17

The low babbling of running water just reached him as he appeared on the bank of the Thames with London still visible in the distance.

AN: Casting-

Rowena- Anna Belik

The low babbling of running water just reached him as he appeared on the bank of the Thames with London still visible in the distance. Just as they planned, Salazar was waiting for him.

“So, how did it go?” He sat with his back against a tree, idly tossing a smooth stone between his hands.

“I think it’s safe to say I haven’t made myself any new friends amongst the Wizard’s Council, and I’ve certainly made at least one enemy. I’d wager they’re shouting at each other about me as we speak.” His brashness toward the Abbott, and the Council as a whole, might prove unwise with time. Or it could provide opportunities you haven’t even considered yet.

It was the first time in quite a while that he heard that voice within his mind. He found it oddly comforting.

Salazar snickered, “Were they even less than you expected then?”

“Some of them, certainly.” The Abbott infuriated him, as did the man who wished to see them all hide away from the rest of the world, “But there were others who might have more sense than they’re willing to say in public.” There were a few who didn’t agree with the Abbott and his rhetoric and who looked genuinely concerned when they heard Harry’s accusations against the church. Not that he was looking for them, but there was no harm in recognizing where he might find potential allies.

“I wish I could have seen it. I can only imagine Eadgar’s face.” He chortled to himself at the thought, “The pompous bastard deserves to be knocked down off the pedestal he likes to put himself on.”

“It never crossed your mind to warn me that one of the sitting members of the Wizard’s Council is also a member of the Church?” Harry raised one eyebrow imperiously. He wasn’t truly upset, but a bit of forewarning would’ve been appreciated. Though there was something to be said for his raw reaction. I have no doubt it’ll leave a lasting impression.

His ire didn’t faze Salazar in the slightest, “Oh yes, it certainly crossed my mind… more than once, as did the notion of you meeting him without knowing. You can guess for yourself which of the two I found more entertaining.”

Harry shook his head, but couldn’t’ hide his smile, “Unfortunately for you, you weren’t there to see it. Your imagination alone will have to suffice… and not for the first time.”

Laughing, Salazar pushed himself to his feet, “Much as I wish you weren’t, you’re correct… at least in recent weeks. The same can’t be said for you with the lovely Rowena around.” He clapped him on the shoulder, and offered a wolfish smile, “You know I can’t help but think you’re starting to like me.”

“Did somebody hit you in the head while you were waiting for me?” Harry replied.

“Oh no, at least not that I can remember.” He felt around his head for any bumps or bruises, and found nothing. Pointing at Harry, it felt like an accusation as he said, “You can deny it all you like, but I can tell.”

Harry hated to admit it, but the man was right. Salazar had a certain charm about him. It was easy to wonder, looking back on the founders, why Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw included him in their endeavor, given the stark contrast in beliefs that led to their falling out. But seeing him now, it made sense. If he held those beliefs that eventually caused their split even now, he hid them well.

Having no intention of admitting that to anyone but himself, and maybe Rowena, Harry snorted, “Believe what you like.”

“Always, my friend.” He grinned, “Now, shall we return to the Highlands and make good on our arrangement?”

Hearing no argument from Harry, he fashioned a portkey, and they found themselves standing beside the Black Lake. The sky above them was pale grey as a light drizzle misted around them. They walked together up to the holdfast as smoke billowed from the chimney.

When they opened the door, they found a fire burning and a stew bubbling in a pot as a spoon was charmed to stir, but Rowena was nowhere to be seen. He expected that she was distracting herself by teaching the children instead of fixating on her worries about his wellbeing.

“So… where is it then?” Salazar could no longer hide his impatience at getting his wand back, “Hey!”

His indignant cry died as Harry refused to let go of his leg. Placing his wand against his thigh, his trousers leg along with the skin and muscle opened as though cut with the sharpest scalpels but there was no pain. Hidden there was a finely crafted wand.

It levitated from its hiding spot as the wound knitted itself back together. Salazar looked between Harry and his wand with an inscrutable look before he finally grinned, “Ingenious. There are many places I thought to look, but on my person never crossed my mind in the slightest. How did you keep me from feeling it? From sensing it?”

“Magic. Charms to be more specific.” Harry replied cryptically as he offered him the wand.

Taking it, he spun it between his fingers with an old familiarity. Salazar tucked it up his sleeve, and seemed just that little bit more at ease with it there, “I often count my blessings that I had the good sense to surrender to you that night.”

They were interrupted then as the door opened and Rowena hurried in. Her attention was fixated solely on him, “You’re back.” She pulled him into a hug before holding him at arm’s length, “And it looks as though you’re no worse for the trip.”

“No, everything went according to plan.” He knew all too well that even the best laid plans could go sideways.

“And?”

“I didn’t make any new friends, but I got the measure of them.”

“No worse than I expected. To think they could command us from afar and we’d simply bow down obediently.” Rowena wasn’t the sort to bow down to anybody anymore than him. Certainly not self-important, self-appointed, would-be, nobility. “You said you didn’t make any new friends, so I take it we have at least a few new enemies.”

“At least one, Abbott Eadgar.”

That had her eyebrows climbing toward her hairline, “An Abbott, on a Wizard’s Council? Was he like those at the monastery?”

For all his fury toward the man, there was one thing in retrospect that he had to accept, “When I told him of the confinement, of the indoctrination… he seemed genuinely affronted, as though he knew nothing of it and refused to believe I could be telling the truth.”

“Is it not possible that there are magicals from influential families that grew up in the church and were given the proverbial carrot rather than the stick?” Salazar interjected.

They both looked to him, considering his words, before Rowena spoke up slowly, “It’s possible, probable even. A magical born into the right family wouldn’t be subjected to the same treatment as a slave or commoner, and they get loyal, powerful supporters in return.”

“And as long as they keep their more unsavory practices hidden, people like the Abbot have no reason to question their devotion or the church’s practices.” Harry finished. It was a truly disconcerting realization.

A heavy silence hung in the air before it was broken by Rowena regarding Salazar, “You upheld your end of the bargain… I take it you’ll be on your way?”

Harry expected a quick, witty agreement but instead, he hesitated, “About that… I’ve been giving things a great deal of thought. If it’s agreeable to the two of you, I’d like to remain here and help you protect and teach the children in your care… and hopefully in time, I’ll aid you in your aims toward the future of all magicals.”

Sharing a look with Rowena, he replied, “It’s no small thing you’re asking.”

“I’m aware.” There was no hint of humor in him now, maybe for the first time since meeting him, “And I don’t ask it lightly. Should you agree, you have my word that I’ll teach them everything I know and protect them with my life if necessary.”

“You’ve proven good to your word,” Rowena acknowledged, “but it’s difficult to forget that our first meeting came because you took a contract to capture us. How are we to trust that your loyalty can’t be bought for the right price?”

“It’s a risk you’d be taking. One that I’ll ensure you don’t regret.” He offered a charming smile, “And considering your seemingly prodigious aptitude for making both enemies and friends alike, can you really say another skilled wand wouldn’t be of use?”

Harry respected his candidness, but it wasn’t a decision to be made in haste. Rowena reached a similar conclusion, telling him, “You can stay the night, at least. We’ll have an answer for you by tomorrow.”

“Excellent, I’ll leave you then. I imagine there’s much you need to discuss.” It was quite an understatement even if he didn’t know it. The door opened and closed behind him, leaving them alone.

The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. Fidgeting with her fingers, Rowena struggled with how to begin, “So… should we…” She took a calming breath to steady herself, “I know you said that you were going to explain, but that doesn’t mean it has to be right this minute. Your day has been trying enough dealing with the council. I see no reason…”

He silenced her with a kiss to the cheek, “No, I’ve waited long enough to explain. Though probably best if we make ourselves comfortable first. There’s a great deal to tell, and some of it will be rather difficult to believe.”

That seemed to excite her if anything as she took his hand and pulled him toward her room. Kicking off her shoes, she crawled on before sitting down at the head of the bed, she patted the space beside her, “I can think of few places more comfortable than my own bed.”

As he took the offered seat, she rested her head on his shoulder and waited patiently for him to explain. But where to even start?

A thousand times or more he had this very conversation in his head, but that didn’t make it any easier. You start from the beginning.

Eyes cast toward the ceiling, he took a long breath before the words started slipping from his lips, “My name is Harry Potter,” he never mentioned his last name to her, “and I was born in the year 1980.”

Of all the things he might’ve said in that moment, he doubted she expected such an outlandish revelation. She pulled away from him as she breathed out a laugh, a nervous thing that betrayed her shock, “What?”

He met her midnight blue eyes. He wanted her to see the truth of it in his eyes, “I was born in the year 1980, nearly a millennia from now, to James and Lily Potter.”

“I…” She searched stared into the depths of his own eyes, trying to find any hint of humor or guile, but there was none there. Maybe for the first time since meeting her, she was entirely at a loss for words. Her brilliant mind tried to rationalize such an outrageous claim, but understandably, she failed. Gobsmacked, she could only ask, “How is that possible?”

Harry’s laughter held no mirth as he replied, “Truthfully, I don’t know how it’s possible. But I can tell you how it happened.”

She put her head back on his shoulder, “Alright, tell me everything.”

“A prophecy connected me to the most dangerous Dark Lord of the age, Tom Riddle, who called himself Lord Voldemort. It proclaimed that a baby born at the end of July would grow to be his equal.” It was where his story truly started, “He murdered my parents and tried to do the same to me. My mother’s sacrifice saved me, and his spell rebounded, destroying his body.” He pointed to the scar on his forehead, “He left me this as a souvenir.”

She reached up and traced the lighting bolt with her thumb, “I always looked too perfectly etched to be a simple scar.”

“My only living family was my mum’s sister, Aunt Petunia. She was married to a whale of a man called Vernon Dursley. They didn’t care for me or magic. They used me as a servant, cooking and cleaning for them, but they kept a roof over my head, no matter how begrudgingly.”

He didn’t want to bore her with his neglectful childhood, and sped it along as quickly as possible, “I realized there was something odd about me when my broken arm healed overnight, as though it never happened at all. And then again when my cousin and his friends were chasing me, and I ended up on the roof of the schoolhouse.”

“Then just before my eleventh birthday a letter came addressed to me… inviting me to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“Hogwarts?” She scrunched up her nose in distaste, “What an odd name.”

Considering the prevailing theory around the school’s founding suggested that it was Rowena Ravenclaw that gave it the name Hogwarts, Harry couldn’t help but snort out a laugh, “You’re not the only one who ever thought that, I’m sure. Hogwarts was considered the premier magical school in Britian, tucked away in the Highlands.”

“Was it not far from here then?”

“No, not far at all.” He knew the next piece of information would truly shock her, “It was founded in the late 10th century by four of the greatest witches and wizards of the age: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Salazar Slytherin” That name surprised her enough, but the next gained her full attention, “… and Rowena Ravenclaw.”

“Me?” She pushed away from him, “I was one of the founders of your school?” Her disbelief disappeared as her mind raced, he could see her connecting threads, “That’s why you arrived here. However you came to be in this time, you went in search of something familiar… the school. Only to find it missing and me here in its stead.”

“A change that I find myself more grateful for each day.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it.

Thankfully, despite the revelations, she returned the gesture with a soft smile, “That is why you recognized Salazar. But why did you distrust him?”

“Salazar Slytherin fell out with the other founders. He thought only magicals with pure blood should be taught at Hogwarts.” Harry ran a hand through his hair, “It doesn’t help my opinion of him that Tom Riddle was his direct descendant and held the same views on purebloods.”

“Purebloods?” She scoffed, “Nonsense. Magic is magic and should be nurtured no matter your origins.”

“Salazar didn’t agree.” Harry shook his head, “Though meeting him now, I can only wonder when and how that hatred found its life.”

“And whether it’ll ever stir within him now.” At his questioning look, she elaborated, “Assuming everything you’ve said is true, can you honestly say that you haven’t changed things?” He knew she was right. King Aengus wouldn’t sit the throne of Scotland if not for me. At the shake of his head, she finished, “There’s no knowing how far reaching those changes will become when all is said and done.”

With that wisdom hanging in the air, she nestled herself back against his side, “Now, you were discussing Hogwarts.”

“Yes…” He told her of his time spent at the castle, from his sorting into Gryffindor to his encounter with Tom and their struggle over the Philosopher’s Stone in first year. Then came his second year, the heir of Slytherin and the Chamber. Third year, he told her of the Dementors and Sirius. Fourth the Triwizard Tournament and Tom’s return. Fifth the trial, Umbridge, and the Department of Mysteries. Sixth the horcruxes, the cave, and finally Dumbledore’s death.

“Dumbledore was the only person that Tom ever feared. He hated me as much or more, but he never feared me. And once Dumbledore died, Tom no longer hid.” He still remembered sitting in the living room at Number Four, waiting for the days to tick down until the horcrux hunt would begin. The television droned on in the background when the screen suddenly changed with breaking news.

“He attacked the seat of British Government. More than a dozen of the most influential members of Parliament died in fiendfyre, including the Prime Minister.” They were titles that meant nothing to Rowena, but she understood they were clearly important, “He overthrew the Ministry for Magic that same day.”

He recalled it all as though it just happened, “That night, I was pulled from my bed and taken to the Burrow. There was meant to be a wedding there between Bill and Fleur just a few weeks later, but those plans were dashed. No one from France was willing to risk traveling to England with Tom on the rise.”

Hanging from every word, Rowena asked, “And no one stood against him?”

“The International Confederation of Wizards sent a contingent of their finest Hit-Wizards to assault and capture Tom so he could stand trial.” He shook his head ruefully, “He strung all seven of them up in the halls of the Ministry for everyone to see.”

“He nearly killed Queen Elizabeth on two separate occasions, once at Buckingham Palace and then again at Windsor. She was forced to flee the country. Next came the destruction of Westminster Abbey and then the burning of Canterbury Church. All the while his followers hunted me and anyone else who opposed him day and night.” He sometimes wondered if it weren’t for the Anglican split if that wouldn’t have been enough to rouse Rome. As hopeless as those days felt, they were nothing compared to what came next.

“We tried to fight where we could, help the muggles when we knew of an attack in advance, but we just didn’t have the numbers. He brought giants, werewolves, dementors, and even vampires to his side. And all the while, the press tried to hide the true nature of the attacks. They called them terror attacks, but no mention was ever made of magic.” He was sure there were some who knew, but whether they were forced or bribed into keeping the information hidden, he couldn’t say.

“And is that how you ended up in this time? Did you flee the world he was making?” There wasn’t any judgement in the question.

“No… no, I was willing to fight until I died. I expected to at some point.” He came close to it more than once.

“So, what happened?”

“Tom wasn’t satisfied with Britian alone. He desired the elevation of purebloods and the subjugation of all others… with him as their leader for all eternity.” In the days where he saw glimpses into Tom’s psyche, he saw the extent of his ambitions, “His first step toward that goal came in the spring of 1999 with attacks in Paris. He started with their government officials, just as he did in England. Then it happened in Germany, Italy, Greece even Russia.” He recruited every talented witch and wizard who believed in his cause and put them to the terrible work.

“And then came the attack on Notre Dame Cathedral. He leveled the building during mass on Easter Sunday. I imagine he meant for it to be symbolic.” To his knowledge, Tom held no hatred toward the church. It was just another way to instill fear and magicals throughout the world paid the price for it.

“The next day, there was a message from the Vatican in Rome, from the Pope himself with Queen Elizabeth and half dozen other world leaders with him.” It was seen everywhere, even in countries where Christianity held no sway. And most disconcertingly, on magical radios, “He announced to the world the existence of magicals, of witches and wizards, “seeds of the devil” he called us. He explained how the growing loss of life could be laid solely at our feet and that no country, or its sovereignty, would be safe until we were eradicated. It was God’s will.”

He bit out every word with barely contained anger, “Then he announced ‘God’s will’ would be enacted through the Inquisition.”

“The Inquisition?”

“It’s first iteration came in France in the 12th century, it’s most famous came in Spain starting in the 15th. Their purpose was to root out heretics and apostates.” He had to thank Hermione for those bits of knowledge, “I don’t know if their ranks were filled with indoctrinated magicals then, but the new iteration… it was every one of them that I ever met.”

“The Church experienced more than one schism over the years, but presented with a common enemy, whether they were Catholic, Protestant, Orthodox, or anything in between, they supported the Inquisition. Suddenly, there were billions of eyes watching for even a hint of magic.”

“Billions?” More than anything else, that small piece of information disturbed her, “Billions of Christians?” The idea of a billion people was foreign enough.

“Spread across the world, to places across the oceans. Everywhere they went, they spread the word of their Bible and made new converts. And this wasn’t the first time that they hunted witches and wizards.” Though, the Inquisition’s purge looked like a mountain compared to the mole hill that was the witch hunts.

“They came for you?” Rowena asked.

“For the first few days, there was silence… an eerie calm as everyone waited for the storm to begin. Tom’s attacks halted as he waited to see what his new enemy would do.”

Harry remembered seeing into his mind that night, as he tortured some helpless priest for information.

“How many are they?” His thin, whispery voice held such terrible malice.

“I swear I don’t know!” The priest twitched inadvertently, hands clutching to the crucifix around his neck as though it would offer him salvation.

His wand slashed through the air, and a deep gouge appeared on the priest’s cheek, “When will they strike?”

The man whimpered, but his only reply came in the form of a stilted prayer, “Heavenly Father… I call upon You, God raised above all. My plea is urgent… I beg for your boundless mercy and gift of eternal life. Bathed in Your radiant love, I yearn for the joy of Heaven’s embrace… I beseech you, Oh Lord, I surrender to Your grace. Amen.”

Tom’s laughter made the man flinch, “Your God won’t save you, priest. Your only hope of mercy is from Lord Voldemort. If you’re going to pray and beg, let it be to me.”

To the priest’s credit, he just kept reciting his prayer even as new wounds were made in his flesh. When the priest could endure no more and he finally expired, Tom took up his seat, thronelike made of dark wood.

In that moment, he had no fear of the Inquisition. He believed himself to be the most powerful magician alive. Not even Death could stop him.

“The calm only happened because they were preparing.” Harry continued, “At every church across Europe, they handed out enchanted crucifix meant to ward off the evils of witches and wizards. Regardless of religion, they were compulsory for ranking muggle officials and high priority targets.” They protected the muggles from the mind arts, unless the practitioner was truly exceptional. And even if that protection was overcome, the Inquisition was alerted to the attempt.

“It started at the Ministry. One of our spy’s was there that day.” Tonks was the only person that could enter the Ministry at that point without suspicion thanks to her unique abilities, “And she managed to make it out. Whether they were Tom’s agents or the lickspittle’s who kept their heads in the sand and just went about their business it didn’t matter. Nearly every man and woman from the Department of Mysteries in the depths of the building to the Minister’s Offices died.”

“From there things only got worse. Their attacks were coordinated, direct, and devastating. Their wards ensured there was no escape as they slaughtered thousands from Diagon Alley, to Hogsmeade, Godric’s Hollow and every other magical community across England, not over weeks or months like Tom, but in days. They had us broken and fractured, on the back foot from the beginning.”

None of the names meant anything to her, but that didn’t matter, “And people didn’t just run?”

“People tried, but they couldn’t. They raised the Curtain.” At least that’s what it came to be called colloquially, “It stopped all apparition and portkeys off the island. There were rumors that a few people managed to escape via broom, but even that became impossible eventually.”

Rowena, even centuries removed, could see the picture clearly, “They always knew, you realize that?” He did. Not in the initial fervor of their retribution, but with time to reflect it became obvious. The Church knew everything about the magical community and only waited for an excuse to decimate them.

“Yes, I know. The only saving grace for Tom’s enemies was that we were already in hiding, under the Fidelius Charm, but even that came tumbling down.” He still remembered the sound of it shattering around them and then the pops of apparition, “They created Taboos, not for a specific name, but for the Latin spells used throughout the magical world.” Silent casting became tantamount then, but the damage was already done.

“Among others, they put one on each of the Unforgivables: the Killing Curse, the Torture Curse, and the Imperius Curse.” It made sense, they were some of the few that simply couldn’t be cast without the incantation, “That’s how they found Tom, he never could resist a bit of murder and torture.”

“He poked a sleeping dragon that he didn’t even know was there, and it bit back.” Rowena inadvertently recited something close to Hogwarts’s adage.

He chuckled at that, “I suppose that’s true. It would’ve been deserved if he didn’t drag every magical along with him into ruin. We heard stories of the battle that ensued from people who were there,” Malfoy spoke of it in awe when they finally crossed paths again, “He slaughtered dozens of the zealots, but they threw themselves at him with no regard for their own lives, and in the end, he was subdued.”

“They paraded him like a trophy through the streets, chained and wandless, unable to speak or move.” He remembered the optimism when they saw it, “I had friends who thought that would be the end of it.”

“They ignored the evidence before their eyes in the hope of peace…” Rowena sounded as though she pitied them. Looking back, he did too. He couldn’t blame them for their naïve optimism… most were just tired.

“They never stopped hunting us.” He forced his voice to steady, “And we couldn’t afford distinctions between pureblood, halfblood, and muggleborn any longer. Hogwarts stood as the last haven in England. Its wards were far too old and strong to be broken by something as simple as a Taboo. It served as refuge to all, regardless of which side they fought on during the Blood War.” It was there, in the castle again, that he was given the Resurrection Stone. And it was also in those months that he trained when sleep couldn’t find him… and he ended up dueling Draco and winning.

“But even that didn’t last?”

“No, even Hogwarts couldn’t withstand the tide. They kept a watch on the castle, as though they were preparing for a siege, but they left us alone for a time. Then one night they came up along the road from the ruin of Hogsmeade.” He often wondered if they needed to call for reinforcements, or if they wanted to make them anxious, “They bombarded the castle’s wards. It withstood thousands of spells, but even something that ancient has its limit. They lasted until dawn before they finally broke.”

“How did you escape?”

“Tunnels from the school that they didn’t know about. We held them off for as long as we could while children and families made their way out.”

“Harry, they’re here!” Hermione tugged on his arm as he helped one more girl, no more than six, up into the portrait hole in the Room of Requirement. People panicked at the door as they tried to push inside.

They could hear the screams from the other side as the doors sealed before the last could make it through. It would buy them time, but far too little. Heading to the front, he found McGonagall there, and Snape as well. Hermione and Ron joined him. He felt a hand in his and he found Ginny looking at him with Luna at her side. Neville and Draco were there too amongst so many brave souls. There were other faces there that he never expected to fight alongside, Lucius Malfoy and Augustus Rookwood amongst them.

“We hold as long as we can.” Harry said as the wall rumbled. People who once sought to kill him agreed without hesitation.

The wall exploded inward. Screams carried over the sheer boom as some failed to shield and then came the spells. They held for what felt like hours at that choke point as the wall continued to crumble. Little by little it grew and more of the Inquisition filled the corridor on the other side. Dead bodies lay on both sides of the rubble.

Little by little they were pushed back into the Room, toward the portrait. It was McGonagall that urged her old students away, “Go, go now! You’ve done all you can, we’ll take it from here.” They knew they were going to die, Flitwick, Snape, McGonagall and all the others, but something in them still wanted to protect their students

If it weren’t for Ginny and Luna pulling him toward the portrait, he would’ve stood with them to the death. The last thing he saw as the portrait closed behind him was Snape putting himself between McGonagall and a ray of white light. It left a gaping wound in his chest.

As they sprinted down the tunnel, they collapsed it behind them.

“It became a game of cat and mouse from then on. We’d have months of reprieve only to be found again. We lost people little by little until there were only a handful of us left together.” For all he knew, some of the others survived but he never did find them, “That nightmare you heard, it was a memory. The memory of my last attempt to escape.” He felt tears threaten to spill, “I only had Luna after that.”

“And you lost her too?” he could feel wetness against his shoulder as she wept.

“No, I didn’t.” It was the last happy memory he had, “She escaped.” He couldn’t say if she found her way to safety, or how long she lived, but she escaped. Though not before helping him one last time.

“Really?!” Rowena sounded truly excited at that, “How?”

“By leaving me behind.” Thanks to his connection to Tom, they hounded him more than any other, and with him, escape proved impossible.

“You’ve retrieved the wand?” She sat, in the dark, on a small island overlooking the sea. Her eyes gleamed with the light of the stars above.

“They know they’ve won. They barely leave a guard around the castle any longer.” Getting into Dumbledore’s tomb proved simple with the Cloak to shroud him. He was only thankful that they left it unbroken.

“So, you only need the stone.” She stood and reached into his pocket. There, sitting against his hip was the snitch he caught in his first quidditch game, “I believe it’s right here.”

I open at the close. In the rare quiet moments, he wondered at the meaning and what might be hidden inside. He should’ve suspected he wasn’t the only one who gave it some thought, “Hermione and I discussed it, you know. I think you need to press your lips to it and say you’re about to die.” She didn’t elaborate, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know why they reached that conclusion.

Trusting two of the brightest witches he knew, he did as she suggested. A small click echoed as a compartment opened revealing a black stone. As he took it in his hand, he felt a shiver run through his body. It was power, right on his fingertips.

Luna just watched him with her big eyes before announcing, “I want to stay with you.” It was a conversation they had a dozen times or more, but now it felt more real than ever.

“And I want you safe and free… and I truly believe I can give that to you now.”

“You deserve that just as much as me, Harry Potter.”

Harry pulled her into his arms, resting his forehead against the top of hers, “So long as I’m a horcrux, they’ll know if I pass the Curtain.” He knew. Even before Snape told him the truth of things at Hogwarts, he suspected. And nothing, not even the Cloak, could obscure it. He didn’t know if it’d always been like that, or if alterations had been made after they captured Tom, but he could do nothing to change it. Of all magicals in Britian, he truly had no hope of escape.

So, he found himself pleading, “Please, for me, Luna.”

She didn’t answer him for a long time, before finally she relented, “For you, alright.”

They went down to the shore where a single boat waited. The motor was rusted, but it ran perfectly fine. A broom sat in it as well, “Once you’re past the Curtain get on that broom and fly, as far as you can as fast as you can. With luck, they’ll be far too distracted with me to pay you any mind.”

Together, they pushed the boat into the tide. As she climbed in, he started the motor. As she sat there, the look in her eye broke his heart, “Goodbye, Harry.”

“Be safe, Luna.” As he watched her disappear into the darkness, he popped away more than a hundred miles to the north.

Pointing the Elder Wand out toward the sea, the spell that shot from the tip shined with such utter brilliance that it lit up the night. As it smacked against the Curtain, an almighty thrum echoed in the dark. A small crack formed from his spell, but he didn’t have the chance to do it again as he was met with spellfire.

A dozen zealots came to meet him, and a dozen of them fell to his wand. Only then did he turn and fire at the Curtain again. More came and more fell as he bought Luna all the time he could. After a third time, fifty bodies littered the coast and he was ready to turn his wand to the Curtain one last time when he saw a blue light approaching him from the sea.

Luna’s hare stopped before him, and spoke in her voice, “I made it… I’m safe.” Happy tears spilled at the corner of his eye as he sat amongst his slaughter.

“You made her go…”

“I did. It was for the best.” It was what he needed to tell himself for his own sanity.

She squeezed his thigh, a silent offer of sympathy for all he lost. For his sake, she didn’t dwell on it, “You mentioned an Elder Wand, Resurrection Stone, and Cloak?”

“The Deathly Hallows, artifacts of exceptional magical potency crafted by Death itself. Should someone come to hold all three of them, they’re said to become Master of Death.”

It spoke volumes about his story that she didn’t even blink an eye, “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“The Peverells won’t have their encounter with Death for a couple more centuries if I remember correctly.”

“Right… that’s a story for another time, I think.” Even her keen mind could handle so much in one day, “It seems that should be the end of the story, and yet here you are.”

“Solitude, especially in what feels like captivity, can drive a man to desperation. At first it drove me to prayer, to the old gods of the world. After facing the hatred of the Inquisition, it felt… appropriate. And whether it was my own maddening mind or something else, eventually someone started talking back.”

“That doesn’t sound mad to me.” She assured him.

“Over time, I came to wonder what would happen if the Master of Death stepped through the Veil of Death. And the voice only encouraged me.” He thought back to that day just months ago that felt like it was from an entirely different life, “I made my way beneath the Ministry to the Veil… and I stepped through.”

“You expected to die?”

“I did.” She pressed herself closer to his side, reminding herself that it hadn’t happened, “Instead, I found myself in Rockingham Forest, displaced in time and greeted by Death.”

Rowena took a sharp breath at that, “The actual embodiment of Death?”

“Yes, at least that’s what she said. And from the way her presence felt I doubt she lied.” He didn’t know if she was one of many, “She told me little, save that even she didn’t know exactly who allowed me to survive stepping through one of her Doors. She parted by taking my Cloak so she could keep an eye on me.”

“Who could possibly alter something of Death’s?” It was a question spoken into the quiet between them. Neither knew the answer nor expected one.

So, their shock as a third voice spoke up beside the bed was perfectly understandable. It was oddly familiar to Harry, as he’d heard echoing in his own mind for some time, “There are very few who could manage it, a handful or fewer, but I’m one of them.”

Standing there was a woman of exceptional height and beauty. Her braided, golden hair hung over her shoulder down to her waist. She had sharp cheekbones and full pink lips. Her bright blue eyes shone with knowledge that belied her apparent youth. A cloak of falcon feathers hung upon her shoulders but little to hide the hourglass figure beneath, hugged by a silver gown and sinched at the waist by a belt.

“Lady Frejya…” Rowena spoke in awe.

“Yes, Rowena,” She smiled at them both, “I thought it was time that we three have a proper conversation.”

AN: I know this took a while to come out. This felt like a really important chapter, so I took longer than I expected to get it done. Good or bad, any feedback is appreciated. As always, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed.

Oh, and so as not to spoil the ending, I thought I'd add this here.

Freyja- Ekaterina Shiryaeva