Chapter 1
The grand hall of the Wizengamot was alive with quiet murmurs as witches and wizards of prominence gathered for the day’s deliberations. Sunlight filtered through the towering stained-glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the polished marble floor. The room carried the weight of centuries, its walls etched with the history of wizarding Britain. Yet today, it was not the ancient tapestries or gilded crests that drew attention. All eyes were on a young man sitting confidently at the Peverell seat, a name that had not graced the chamber in over a century.
Harrison Peverell was an enigma. No older than twenty, he exuded an aura of authority that far exceeded his years. His sharp green eyes, flecked with gold, seemed to pierce through the crowd, making even the most seasoned members of the Wizengamot shift uneasily in their seats. His black hair fell in soft waves, neatly framing a face that spoke of both youth and wisdom. Dressed in deep emerald robes lined with silver trim, the Peverell sigil—a triangular crest with a wand, stone, and cloak—embroidered over his heart, Harrison was a figure who commanded attention and respect.
In the upper rows sat Orion Black, his cousin Walburga beside him, and their father, Arcturus, to Orion’s other side. The Blacks, one of the most prominent pure-blood families, were well-accustomed to the politics of the Wizengamot, but today they were unusually silent. Orion’s gray eyes flicked toward Harrison, his expression unreadable, though a flicker of something softer—admiration?—lurked beneath his carefully composed demeanor. Beside him, Walburga whispered something to Arcturus, her eyes narrowing as she studied the newcomer.
"Who is he, really?" she murmured, her tone sharp with suspicion. "A Peverell appearing out of thin air? It reeks of manipulation."
Arcturus, ever the composed patriarch, waved a dismissive hand. "Patience, Walburga. Let the boy speak. If he is an imposter, he will reveal himself soon enough."
Orion, however, remained silent, his gaze fixed on Harrison. He knew better than most how bloodlines could surprise. The Peverell name had long been whispered in pure-blood circles as one of the oldest and most powerful, though it had faded into legend. But there was something about Harrison—his poise, his intellect, the way he held the room—that left Orion unable to look away.
Across the hall, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange sat with their father, their dark eyes glinting with curiosity. Like the Blacks, the Lestranges were proud of their heritage and wary of newcomers, especially one who had suddenly claimed a seat of such prominence. Rodolphus leaned closer to Rabastan, his voice low.
"Do you think he’s a fraud?"
Rabastan shrugged, his lips curling into a smirk. "If he is, he’s doing a damn good job of pretending otherwise."
The sound of the gavel echoed through the hall, silencing the murmurs as the Chief Warlock, Albus Dumbledore, rose from his seat. His long silver beard shimmered in the sunlight, and his piercing blue eyes scanned the room before settling on Harrison.
"Today, we welcome the return of the Peverell seat to the Wizengamot," Dumbledore began, his voice calm but commanding. "Harrison Peverell, as the last known heir, has proven his lineage through ancient magics and has claimed his rightful place among us. He now has the floor."
Harrison stood, the room falling into an expectant silence. He placed his hands on the desk before him, his fingers brushing the Peverell crest carved into the wood. When he spoke, his voice was steady and clear, carrying across the hall with ease.
"Honored members of the Wizengamot," he began, his eyes sweeping the room, lingering for a moment on the Blacks and the Lestranges. "It is both a privilege and a responsibility to stand before you today. The Peverell name may have faded from our world, but the legacy of justice, fairness, and strength remains. I intend to honor that legacy."
He spoke of reforms, of preserving wizarding traditions while adapting to modern challenges. His words were measured, thoughtful, and laced with an understanding of wizarding law that surprised even the most seasoned members. By the time he finished, the hall was silent, not out of disinterest but awe.
As Harrison took his seat, Orion felt his chest tighten. The young man’s conviction was intoxicating, his intellect undeniable. Yet, what struck Orion most was the passion behind his words. This was no fraud. This was a man who believed deeply in what he said—a man who could change the wizarding world.
Walburga leaned closer to Orion, her voice a hiss. "You’re staring."
Orion blinked, tearing his gaze away. "Nonsense," he muttered, though the heat rising to his cheeks betrayed him.
Walburga smirked but said nothing more, her eyes returning to Harrison.
As the session continued, Harrison remained composed, answering questions and deflecting challenges with ease. Yet, he was not unaware of the attention he was drawing. He could feel the weight of Orion’s gaze, the scrutiny of Rodolphus and Rabastan, the whispers that followed his every word.
When the session finally adjourned, the members of the Wizengamot began to file out, their voices rising once more as they discussed the day’s events. Harrison lingered for a moment, collecting his papers.
Orion stood, his movements deliberate as he made his way down to the floor. Walburga raised an eyebrow but didn’t stop him, instead watching with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.
As Orion approached, Harrison looked up, his expression unreadable. For a moment, neither man spoke, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words.
"You spoke well," Orion said finally, his voice low but firm.
Harrison inclined his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Thank you, Lord Black. Your family’s legacy in this hall is well-known. I hope I can live up to such standards."
Orion’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "I suspect you’ll do more than live up to them."
Their eyes met, a spark passing between them that neither could fully explain. It was a connection, fleeting but undeniable, leaving Orion with a strange sense of longing as he returned to his family.
From their place near the exit, Rodolphus and Rabastan watched the exchange closely.
"Interesting," Rodolphus murmured.
Rabastan nodded, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Very."
As Harrison left the chamber, his head held high, the whispers followed him. But he paid them no mind. He had taken the first step in reclaiming the Peverell name, and he knew the road ahead would not be easy.
What he didn’t know was that, in the shadows of the Wizengamot, alliances and affections were already beginning to form. And Orion Black, for all his composure, had already fallen further than he cared to admit.