The Guardian and The Sword

Part One

June 29, 1998

“Harry, we have to do this,” Hermione pleaded for the fifth time as Harry grunted from his spot on the couch, his attention turned inward and not on his best friend. 

It was worse than when Riddle had been alive, the whispers and visions he overheard or saw making no sense. Yet since the war had ended, new ones had taken their place, showing him a life and letting him know it was his life he was seeing. Some, though, were just bewildering and unnerving in their familiarity. 

“You’re not listening, Harry.” A sharp bite in Hermione’s tone snapped Harry’s eyes to her, magic rippling across his skin to keep him from lashing out.

The coil of anger burning and twisting in his gut faded to regret at the flash of fear in her eyes. “Sorry, 'Mione."

“This isn’t like you, Harry.” She whispered, hesitating before setting a clammy hand on his arm, the sensation making his skin itch.

Harry bit his tongue to keep from replying because he wanted to argue. None of them understood what had been stolen from him, what everyone was still trying to steal from him.

The letter glaring at him from the corner where he’d tossed it in a rage, the idea that some ministry official was attempting to take his home as reparations from the war as he wasn’t officially of Black blood and therefore ineligible to inherit, claiming the Malfoy’s were. As such, all their assets had to be claimed. It didn’t matter that Sirius had been innocent or that Kretcher, bound by family magics, viewed him as master; the ministry was determined to own everything, stamping out the concept of purebloods. There were even whispers of rumours they were attempting to overthrow the Wizengamot, bringing in a new world order and government. One type of tyrant for another, and it was sickening.

“ Listen… ” the word hissed, echoing around in his head, “ hold the anger, Hadrian. ”

Harry dropped his head to the back of the couch and drew a deep breath, opening his eyes to gaze listlessly at his friend. “I’m listening, Hermione. Why do we need to go to the bank?”

“Because I’ve been reading,” she flashed a smile as he snorted and sighed, continuing before he could respond. "The Dverger—" she swallowed, “Their magic is wildly different from ours. It’s why they were chosen decades ago to serve Wizarding society as trustees and guardians of magical inheritances. By rights, they could demand restitution from us because we committed a dishonour to them as a magical race, stealing from the bank.”

The prod in his mind was sharp and insistent, making him push back. The resulting huff sounded like a toddler not getting their way, making him want to smile. “What about their duty to us?” Harry couldn’t help but ask, curiously tilting his head to blink at Hermione, who looked back, confusion furrowing her brow.

The silence stretched between them as Hermione scrambled for a reply, the thoughts flickering across her face plain enough for Harry to realize she didn’t have an answer—not for his question or for how or why he knew to ask it, and it was leaving her unbalanced.

It was astonishing that Hermione didn’t understand the significance of what she said or implied. There was a seriousness in the dishonour the Dverger had committed against him. The knowledge imparted was rich in detail, and the simmering anger in that little voice prodded him to sit up. "When’s the appointment?”

“At one.” Hermione whispered, “Does that mean you’ll come? Molly’s worried our actions will come back on Bill and Fleur, and it’s not fair they’re blamed for our wrongs.”

Snorting, Harry glanced at the clock and rose to his feet, rubbing a hand over the stubble he’d allowed to grow. “I’m going to go shower. If you want me to memorize a speech, you're telling it to me outside the bathroom door.”

Pulling out a paper, Hermione nodded, eyes bright and semi-feverish, “I can do that.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry turned and left the room, knowing Hermione was trotting after him. Her belief that he was going to blindly follow anyone’s lead was somewhat heartbreaking, as he planned to strike back at the very foundation of the world that had turned its backs on children left to fight a war none of them asked for.

***

Walking into the bank weeks after the official end of the “war” and having every being, witch, wizard, and other turn to stare at him ate at him. It burned, and he resented them, hating the hero worship in their eyes and the anger he knew to be his own and not a product of Riddle. These magical people had left the world's fate to an uneducated seventeen-year-old teen, now a man. It rankled that no single person had stepped up and said no. Enough was enough. It wasn’t right or fair that he was responsible for saving them, not when they couldn’t even be bothered to save themselves first. Trusting in a dotting old man whose belief in the 'greater good' outweighed their own common sense. 

“The Greater Good” had been Grindelwald. It was insulting that society had ignored Albus Dumbledore's repeated use of the same mantra.

What greater good had been served to be abused by his relatives? What greater good had been served to comment suicide at seventeen in the mistaken belief that they deserved to be saved? What greater good had been served in letting children grow up to fight in a war that was not their own?

He should have let the world burn.

Magic rippled across his skin, and only the hands fluttering at his side reined in his rage, making him draw a deep breath.

Movement off to the sides drew his attention as a contingency of Dverger parted, revealing the chieftain of the Horde, Ragnok. If he had a last name, Harry hadn’t heard it and, at this point, didn’t practically care. 

They should have done more. They had the knowledge and ability to circumvent wizarding magic, yet, like everyone else, they had turned their backs on their own covenant. 

The glittering eyes of the guard watched him avidly as if trying to determine his guilt.

The uneasy stare-off increased as the silence became deafening, and more than one person jumped when the lead guard spoke. 

“Have you come to make reparations to the bank, Mister Potter?”

Harry lifted a single brow and sent a brief thought of apology to Hermione, knowing he was throwing out the careful script she’d made him memorize. Opening his mouth, he lifted his chin and spoke clearly, a clear challenge in his voice, “No, I’m here to demand an apology from the horde and claim my due.”

“What are you doing?” Hermione demanded, horror and disbelief in her tone reflected in every person standing there. 

Harry shrugged, keeping his eyes on Ragnok, silently daring him to deny his demand. As the awkwardness grew, he saw the amusement flash through the chieftain’s eyes, and the other man dipped his head in acknowledgment. "Would you like to finish this conversation in private, my lord?”

Harry smirked, arching a single eyebrow at the address, “Certainly, Chieftain, if you think that best.”

Ragnok gestured for Harry to move forward, which he did promptly. He evaded Hermione’s hands and whispered words of caution that turned to shouts of shock as the guards blocked her from following. 

He paused, catching sight of a single Dverger who was carefully avoiding his gaze. He stopped, making Ragnok look at him in confusion.

“Your pardon, Chieftain, but I think it might benefit you if Griphook attends with us.”

The look of confusion morphed into bafflement, but Ragnok clicked his fingers. One of the guards moved to fetch the lone Dverger, whose look of fear made Harry’s jaw tighten. His suspicion proved correct as Griphook swallowed, his face paling as he was directed to follow.

Harry followed the Dverger out of the lobby and down the hall, the stone door sliding shut behind them; the only sound in the hall was the steady chink of their footfalls as they led him deeper into the maze that Gringotts was. 

They approached a set of doors, the image carved into them breath-taking and beautiful. The tower was built into a mountain of burnished red stone, reflected in a sun unseen. Though it shone in the river valley, snaking around and through the mountain, fields of green and yellow blew in a breeze, rustling the leaves on a small forest that split open as the doors swung inward.

The sight that greeted Harry made him stop. The same view of the doors was visible from the circular band of windows behind a large stone desk, and the sweet scent of clean air flew through an open balcony.

“It’s An Dídean it means the refuge in your tounge and it is our homeworld.” Ragnok’s voice was gravelly as he led the way towards the desk, waving a hand towards the chairs, allowing Harry to pick his own. 

“It’s beautiful,” Harry answered honestly, questions not his own bubbling in his head, which he ignored in favour of tearing his eyes from the sight to meet Ragnok’s blue eyes. “A pocket of Avalon?”

Ragnok grimaced and shook his head, “not exactly, but the idea was built on it. It’s a dimensional pocket granted by the goddess. We’re host to species and creatures that are dying out in your world, the pollution and encroachment killing them.”

Harry couldn’t help but flick his eyes back to the sight, stomach swooping as a flock of Pegasuses took flight. “Do you think we should be able to go home?”

A deep furrow wrinkled Ragnok’s brow, his eyes roving over Harry’s face in concentration. “I’m afraid I don’t understand the question, my lord.”

“No, I don’t suppose you do.” Harry agreed and sighed, running a hand down his face as the voices in his head fell silent. “Do you know who I am?” A sardonic lift of Ragnok’s brow made Harry chuckle and shrug. "You didn’t seem too keen on assisting when it mattered. I was somewhat afraid you forgot our accord, Ragnok.”

At that, every Dverger in the room froze, Ragnok swallowing hard. "It wasn’t a matter of choice; the treaties imposed on us prevented it from happening, Your Grace.” He shrugged helplessly. “I figured you’d demand your rights like you did, but you never seemed to remember. I felt that to protect my people, it was better to beg forgiveness of you than start something I had no say or control over.”

Sighing, Harry made a face, glancing at Ragnok, and admitted, “I haven’t remembered until recently, but it’s all twisted and jumbled.”

“Understandable, it’s many decades to parse through, Your Grace,” Ragnok said softly, glancing at the lowly clerk staring resolutely at the floor. “May I ask how he will bring me much profit?”

“He broke the accord in greed,” Harry replied carelessly, watching Ragnok's face fill with a flash of rage before the Dverger could wrestle it under control.

His lips were stiff when he spoke, “If you could explain, your grace.”

Harry lifted a brow. "It’s Hadrian, Ragnok. It might be a new body and decades, but we’ve known each other for a long time.” Harry paused at the surprise and offered a smile. " Your seanathair (grandfather) would be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

A murmur broke out amongst the guards, Ragnok’s eyes fluttering shut as he gripped the back of a chair. "Please,” his voice cracked, and Ragnok cleared his throat. “Please explain, Hadrian.”

“Riddle had created Horocruxes.” Harry started and paused as they hissed as one, continuing more slowly, feeling a tingle on his palm that spread to his fingers. “I knew one was in the bank, but at the time, was unaware of our accord and, in the need for secrecy, stole it. Griphook assisted with that endeavour but chose to abandon us in the mines instead of honouring it, taking my sword.”

Lighting arced off his fingers, the echoing clap of thunder shook the bank as his sword slapped into his hand, and Harry lifted his chin as Ragnok’s jaw clenched as he turned to face Griphook, “is anything the Duke of Warwick said a lie?”

The Dverger’s eyes widened in horror, darting between Harry’s and his chieftain’s before slowly shaking his head, “No, my liege. I have no defence for my actions either.”

“Did you know what they stole?” Ragnok demanded, raising an eyebrow as Griphook hesitated.

Lifting his head, Griphook admitted, “I did, my liege; as soon as the doors opened, I sensed what was within.”

 “You know our laws are absolute. Why did you betray the covenant?” Ragnok demanded in a cold tone.

A sneer spread across Griphook’s face. "Because the kid tried to bargain, but I overheard him talking of reneging on the deal. We deal in absolutes, as you say. The bargain had holes I exploited.”

Frowning, Ragnok glanced at Harry, who shrugged and admitted, “The only thing he could have overhead that I can think of was just before we went to cement our deal. I agreed to the sword, but in my desperation, we didn’t settle on a time to complete it. I needed the sword to destroy the Horcruxes; Griphook wanted the sword immediately.”

“Did you intend to follow through?” Ragnok asked curiously.

“I did, but I also knew the sword was bound to the school; if the magic embedded didn’t accept the deal, there would have been nothing I could have done,” Harry replied evenly, fingers tingling around the sword's hilt.

Grunting, Ragnok tapped a talon claw on the chair and glared at Griphook, “What did you intend to do with the Sword, Griphook?”

The Dverger’s eyes widened at the question, his mouth dropping open as he toppled forward, the life extinguished from his body.

Ragnok dropped his head, breathing harshly as the body stilled. "In light of the words from the Duke of Warwick, you have been found guilty and sentenced by magic for breaking the accord based on nothing but your own greed. Strike his name from the walls, and all goods and profits of the nameless one shall be added to the Duke’s coffers.”

Horrified, Harry opened his mouth, but closed it without speaking as the honour guard jumped into action. Four removed the cooling body while another activated a rune on the wall, the building shuddering in acknowledgment of the order. “It’s done, my liege. I’ll complete the transfer while you talk.”

Ragnok nodded, waving a hand, and glanced at Harry with a deep frown. "Please have my wife escorted here; I need her guidance.”

The Dverger bowed sharply and left the room, the two remaining Dverger falling into step behind him, leaving them alone.

Ragnok drew a breath and gestured to the chair, waiting until Harry sat. The sword disappeared in a flash of magic. "Will you formally accept the title?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Harry sighed, “I don’t know if I should. There are enough myths and legends about the boy-who-lived and the man-who-conquered. I don’t know if I have the fortitude to add a Dukedom with its own legends. After the battle, I worked very hard to ensure one of those myths stayed hidden. My requirement for a vow of secrecy damaged my relationship with my two best friends, who wanted to use the fame to enact changes.”

Ragnok leaned forward, activating a rune. A moment later, a fully filled tea service appeared on the small table. “You could enact changes that would stick with the title.”

Shrugging, Harry accepted the cup and frowned slightly, “Maybe, but it would also create a different sort of headache; I don’t know if the wizarding world deserves the things I could push forward.”

“Do you have the right to determine what they deserve, Your Grace?” A soft, melodic voice asked from a side door, and a woman appeared. The dress that flowed around her body fluttered in a breeze that wasn’t seen or felt. The magic encasing her did not affect her knee-length black hair, though her gold eyes sparkled with power.

Harry frowned at the question, “Isn’t it my right as guardian to say if they deserve it? Right now, the anger and betrayal are too sharp to allow forgiveness. If adults in this country had stepped up, I wouldn’t have been made to suffer my entire life. My parents died based on an old man’s belief in a prophecy that would have meant nothing if he’d done his job instead of searching for internal glory.”

The gold eyes widened as the woman fully entered the room, “you blame Dumbledore?”

“I do. Dumbledore moved everyone around like pawns on a giant chessboard with no regard for individual feelings or abilities, all to control the outcome. I believe he expected to die and had plans to ensure he could swoop in at the end to fix everything and probably set me up as the next Dark Lord if I survived. That I did has thrown a wrench into everyone’s plans.”

The woman tilted her head, eyes glowing before her shoulders dropped, “I see.”

Ragnok lifted his head, “you do, my love?”

“I see the path intended but not the one we are on. This one was not foreseen.” The woman replied, voice uneven, “I’m not sure what it means.”

The chieftain of the horde frowned and held out a hand, “Maybe if you meditate?”

“Maybe.” She accepted Ragnok's hand and allowed herself to be pulled forward, looking Harry in the eyes, “My name is Beannacht; it means Blessing in the old tongue. I’m the Shaman of our tribe, Your Grace.”

Harry rose and bowed, “My lady, I’m honoured to meet you, but please call me Hadrian or Harry.”

Beannacht dipped her head, tilting it to the side, curiosity spreading across her face, “It's interesting you have access to Medea, but that's not what troubles you, is it?” The Shaman asked, then shook her head, answering her question, “No, you’re worried about the unbreakable vow, right?”

Harry rubbed a hand over his face, trying not to show his unease. “Should I be worried about Medea?” 

“No, Hadrian, Medea as you know is the sentient embodiment of the Black family magic.” Beannacht smiled gently as Harry relaxed.

“I-” Harry sighed, and averted his gaze,  “I haven’t told anyone about hearing her, but I’m not scared of her. I can’t be when she’s been helping me mourn those lost in the war.” Tapping the arm of the chair, Harry shifted, and cleared his throat, “As for the unbreakable vow, you’d be right. I know what I can accomplish with Warwick. I can learn that even if I don’t understand how it all works. But because the title ties into the Peverell line, it could come out what my other destiny is, and wizarding society is not ready for that either.”

“They might speculate, considering your power will be apparent in your seats and votes, but the Vow would remain unchanged without formally saying anything. Most people believe the tales to be bedtime stories or moral lessons.”

The three fell silent, Ragnok observing his wife before addressing Harry. “It’s important to drop Potter. Yes, it might be the name you’ve lived with for years, but its power is dulled by the mythos you’ve stated. Using the title will be a different sort of effectiveness. They aren’t and won’t want to offend a Duke.”

“It will end without crimson; nothing can be done though repentance is key if the death of a legacy ends not with blood but the weeping of souls. The only choice now that offers a beacon of hope is my favourite, a man given too many duties mortals should bear; when the stone disappears, the dragon will come, trust it and weep… Prophecy started this, prophecy ends it. Go forth with the dragon, my gift to you, travel past and carry on the duty as you were meant to.” 

Beannacht's voice echoed, the power swirling in the air, making Harry shiver as dread and anticipation in equal measure slid down his spine. He hated prophecy with a passion, and the kind, almost sympathetic expression that filled the Shaman’s face made him swallow harshly and close his eyes, the duel sensation of Medea’s warmth that enveloped him making him want to weep. The warmth turned into an internal prompting that made him open his eyes, “I need to go.”

The Shaman opened her mouth and half rose from her chair, “you do, Ragnok, the paperwork for all titles?” 

As Ragnok busied himself at the desk, she turned back to Harry. “My advice, Hadrian, for what it’s worth, is to go with a three-strike score; this might count as one.”

Ragnok looked between them before rising to his feet and setting the paperwork before him: “Sign them, and copies will appear; you’ll need them at the Wizengamot. Then I’ll escort you to the front, Your Grace. We can make an appointment to meet next week to go over the details.”

Accepting the quill, Harry’s hand tightened into a fist, “They might already be up to two strikes; this is a blood quill.”

Ragnok tensed and nodded, “It is; how do you know of it?”

Harry lifted his hand so the scars from the fifth year were visible, “Dolores Umbridge used it for detentions, and no one did anything but tell me to keep my head down.”

Rage flashed across the Shaman’s face, Ragnok’s jaw dropping in shock. “That will be investigated; you have my word as chieftain; we have treaties with the ministry that prohibit the usage by employees outside their grounds.”

Giving the Dverger a wary glance, Harry signed with his legal name, Hadrian Peverell, unsurprised when the papers flashed with magic, and the warmth circled his finger as three rings appeared before melding into one. The onyx stone reflected the light, causing rainbows of colour to glisten on the surface; the lake in the center had the sword tip touching the surface, the hilt spearing the center of the rainbow overhead with a snake wrapped around the blade. Around the outside, the words, “those who love us, never really leave us….”

Glancing up at the Shaman, Harry licked his lips, “Merlin was one, was he not?”

Beannacht hesitated before nodding, “he was, but he too kept it hidden, hiding it behind the mythos of his name and his naming of Arthur.”

“Does my desire for what could be considered revenge supersede my duty in naming someone?” Harry asked softly, glancing at the Warwick paperwork before meeting the Shaman’s gold eyes.

“No, Hadrian. Your duty is to the realm of Avalon. As you said, they need to prove they’re worthy, and so far, they haven’t. They’ve allowed themselves to be led like sheep, not even attempting to fix what’s broken, damaging it irreparably. The only thing you can do is stick to your convictions until magic tells you otherwise.”

Feeling like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, Harry relaxed, “All right, I can trust in magic; it seems like the only thing I can trust.”

Ragnok made a face. "It should go without saying, but the Horde will stand with you, Hadrian; it is duty as much as an honour to do so.” 

“Am I forgiven for breaking into your bank?” Harry asked, grimacing at the mental tug and rose to his feet.

The chieftain copied him and laughed, “You’re forgiven, but I must ask you not to do it again.”

Smiling, Harry nodded and pulled out the parchment he’d received earlier. “Ragnok, if you could settle this matter of Grimwauld today, that would be appropriate. The ministry is trying to claim it as reparations in the Malfoy’s name.”

Ragnok took the papers, gesturing to the fireplace. "It’ll be faster than the walk, and then I’ll see your request completed.”

The flames flared to life, and Harry stepped through, only stumbling a bit when he landed. A guard at the door blinked at him in shock that cleared as Ragnok followed, offering him a deep bow. “The horde is with you, your grace. I’ll send an owl for available times.”

“Thank you, Chieftain. May your coffers overflow with the gold of your enemies.”

Harry replied, bowed just as deep, and then turned from the room, unsurprised to find Hermione pacing in the lobby.

Ignoring his friend, he strolled from the bank, hiding his eye-roll as she hurried to catch up. She grabbed his arm, saying, “Harry, slow down; what happened?”

Glancing down at his friend, he searched her face, tilting his head sideways. "Did you volunteer?”

The slight widening of her eyes made his jaw clench, and he turned on his heel, bringing her with him as he sat down at the apparition point, silently earning more than one wide-eyed look.

Shaking off her hand, Harry strolled from the room and across the atrium, passing the security without stopping. The wizard inspecting wands, backed up hands held up, not protesting.

Ignoring everyone, Harry slapped the button for the lift, listening to the tug in his mind, and stepped inside, Hermione rushing to catch up. “What is going on, Harry?”

Opening eyes he hadn’t consciously realized he’d closed, he looked at Hermione, who was biting her lip. Meeting her eyes, he kept his voice even, “You tell me, why did you purposely try and hide the change of dates for the Malfoys?”

Hermione winced and admitted, “We wanted to protect you. You shouldn’t have to deal with the cleanup. You’ve done enough.”

“The only thing I asked for was to be present for Draco and Narcissa’s trials and speak on their behalf. Everyone said that was fine, but instead of being honest, you booked an appointment designed to distract me.” Harry exclaimed, clenching a fist to keep from getting angry. 

Hermione folded her arms and averted her gaze. "We voted together and determined it was better, so you don’t follow through in this misguided and mistaken belief that you own either of them anything.”

A harsh, disbelieving laugh escaped Harry, who shook his head, leaning against the lift wall. "Wow, for the smartest witch of our age, you have some serious issues if you believe that tripe. I owe both Draco and Narcissa a life debt and a duty to the family name. That you and everyone else thought they had the right to circumvent that is disgusting.”

The lift stopped, and the door dinged before Hermione could respond. Harry swept out without a glance back. 

Strolling down the corridor, he felt Medea coiling in his head and magic snapping off his aura, flickering along the walls as people moved out of his way.

The doors to the chamber were closed and sealed, and he bit back a curse, realizing they’d already started and had sealed the room.

“It’s too late, Harry. They’re being judged and sentenced. Let it go,” Hermione said behind him, pity and what sounded like smugness he didn't quite recognize tingeing her tone.

Dropping his head, Harry touched the doors with a palm and centred on Medea, who seemed to coo happily in his head. “ Avalon knows and doesn’t disagree. They don’t deserve it. They won’t figure out who you are, which won’t negate the vow .”

Turning his head from Hermione’s intense stare, Harry bit his lip and felt blood well. Wiping his thumb across the wound, he touched the seal. The magic rippled across the door, cracks appearing in the shields as they failed, and the doors swung open.

It was like looking at a nightmare. The room was identical to the one Harry used in his fifth year. The difference with this trial was that the room was packed, and everyone, including the panel of judges, was staring at the door in wide-eyed shock.

Harry was grateful he’d listened to Kretcher and dressed in the clothing the old house elf had left for him. He knew he looked the part of a noble, the tailored pants and slate gray silk shirt half hidden by the deep forest green brocade robes and cloak flaring just as dramatically as Snape’s ever had as he strolled down the aisle, the crowd stunned at his entrance.

Reaching the center of the platform where Draco was chained to the chair, Harry gently touched his shoulder, making the other men tense before relaxing completely. The chains disengaged and dropped to the floor with a clink that sounded unnaturally loud.

“What do you think you’re doing, Mr.Potter? That criminal is on trial!”

Harry turned and raised his brow, the witch in question flinching back as he narrowed his gaze. Satisfied that the woman would stay quiet, he turned back to Kingsley, “Criminal, huh? Have you already gone through the evidence to be convinced of guilt?”

Kingsley winced as another shout erupted from the crowd, “Who cares? He’s a bleeding death eater!”

Without turning, Harry waved his hand, the echoing bangs silencing the crowd, and the panel of judges stared at him in shock. 

“How are you….” Kingsley began but trailed off. He closed his eyes, jaw tightening, “You should have left well enough alone, Mr.Potter. It would have been better for everyone.”

Harry lifted his chin. "No, I want a government I can be proud of instead of the mocked-up travesty that pretends to be light and pure. You have trials set for 392 people, and there is no way you’ve gathered actual imperial evidence in the thirty odd days we’ve had. That's not including people who should be on trial but aren’t.”

“What are you talking about? No one cares about the truth, Harry-“

“No,” Harry raised his hand, interrupting Kingsley, “in this room, don’t resort to informality, Minster; there isn’t a single unbiased person in this country that can render a right and just sentence.”

The Minister of Magic’s shoulders dropped, and a resigned sigh left his lips. “I’m not sure what you expect me to do, Mr.Potter. The people want justice no matter the guilt.”

Lifting his head, Harry met his gaze, “I charge you, the Minster of Magic, to call in the ICW for these trials. No one in this room can be biased, including me; build your cases against each individual, and let’s not have another Sirius Black, the former Earl of Islington, on our hands.”

The blood drained from Kingsley’s face as the seal of a box lit up, appearing like a small supernova. Shaking his head at the display, Harry waved a hand, magic rippling along the wall as if the room laughed, but the “sun” disappeared. “Our society was built on the remains of Avalon; my mother sacrificed herself for my life, which I, in turn, used for our society's benefit. As a person whom a life debt is owed by everyone in this country, it’s time to use that; as the Duke of Warwick, Earl of Islington and Exmoor, I declare a vote of no confidence, and I invoke a formal parley.”

***

April 4, 2009

In the overcrowded chamber, a  person stood up near the middle, body trembling, though held head their high. Harry didn’t know their name but knew it was one of the muggle-borns who worked for Hermione.

More curious and amused than annoyed, Harry gestured to the person who moved from the audience and down towards the center of the floor. The runes on the floor, not reacting to her magic, or her name when she spoke softly, “Kyla Dawlish, Your Grace.”

“What can the Wizangamot due for you today?” Harry asked trying to keep the tiredness from his tone, trying to place the woman in front of him.

The woman before him glanced nervously around the chamber before pulling a crumpled parchment from her robes, and smoothed it out, clearing her voice before she started to read. 

“Your Grace, and Distingished members of the Wizanagmots,

We, the People, hereby demand the right to Petition and Form a Democratic voice, allowing all voices to be heard inside this chamber. We need to move from the last century into a new and more modern age, and give all peoples the right to vote on matters. It is not a just and fair system when the vote of a single man can override the entire process, and send innocent men to jail - a claim he challenged our original government to when he Usurped power and corrupted out Society and way of life-”

Harry held up a hand activating the silencing rune, and sighed wordlessly summoning the parchment from her hand, skimming it before glancing at the elected box with a frown, disappointment filling him at the smug expression on his former best-friends face.

Letting Hermione have her moment, Harry glanced at the woman standing in the circle and spoke gently, “Mrs.Dawlish, I’m going to ask you to explain this-” He waved the parchment in his hand, “In your own words, can you explain exactly what this is?”

The blond haired woman straighten her back, and opened her mouth, then closed it shaking her head. 

“You judge people and send innocents to jail.” Kyla snapped, tears filling her eyes, “You ruined my life, sent my husband to jail for no reasons and left me to raise three small children with minimal assistance.”

“Ma’am, I very rarely have to invoke a judgement in this room.” Harry stated tiredly, and waved a hand when she opened her mouth to argue and spoke over her, “Mrs.Dawlish, I am the Duke of Warwick, it has been my duty since the magic of the Chamber chose me to stand as Head of the Wizanagmot after I declared a Vote of No Confidence in the previous establishment, the magic of this chamber and building while Sentient, has no voice, they speak through me, unless they chose to act overtly and I won’t interfere.”

“If you hadn’t interfered to begin with my John wouldn’t be in jail!” Kyla snarled rage twisting her features.

“If I hadn’t interfered 392 people would have died, because and I quote, ‘No one cares about the truth, The people want justice no matter the guilt.” Harry snapped, magic heaving inside him, the chamber trembling with him, “That was what was wrong with our previous government, they pandered to the masses and would have let this country bleed to keep them happy.”

Jerking his head he glared at Hermione, and set the parchment on fire, the smugness dropping from her face as she jumped to her feet.

“You can’t do this!” Hermione’s yell broke the silence from the box she stood in. She glared at Harry, who leaned back in his chair, amusement lifting the corners of his lips, and replied carelessly.

“Considering I’m the only one left with the balls in the court to call you on your bullshit Mrs.Granger-Weasley, I will.” 

A low growl of outrage left Hermione’s throat. Harry shook his head, “your agenda in trying to dissolve this body is a waste of time; the Wizengamot will not entertain another petition that would see our end.” Hermione opened her mouth, but Harry slapped the table in front of him, the rumbling echo of the room reminding everyone he was the highest-ranked person and had the power to veto the request. “Our world is already failing, as evidenced by the weird magical catastrophes, like the failure of magic at the Quidditch match in January that killed 893 people, or the tragic accident on the M5 that included the Knight Bus that brought attention from the ICW. No, the only thing holding our society together before wild magic rips it apart is this governing body, unless you suggest that the reports in your newspaper are false?”

Hermione’s face twisted comically at that, and she leaned forward, hissing angrily, “You know damn well I pride myself on the truth printed in my papers-“

“Then, Mrs.Granger-Weasley, explain to those who remain ignorant why I’m clinging, as you said, to the power of dead obsolete theologically that our foundation is built on?” Harry waited patiently, toying with a quill, before continuing, "You're an intelligent witch, Mrs.Granger-Weasley, and one of my former best friends; in honour of that friendship, I'm issuing a warning. I don't understand this fixation you have on our way of life other than it counters your muggle upbringing, but the next time you put forth this petition, it will have you remanded into custody for incitement and treason."

Hermione sat with a glare, folding her arms, and leaned towards her red-headed companion, who glared just as hatefully. Percy, her husband, whispered something in Hermione’s ear. The woman’s jaw tightened at whatever the other man said, and she jerked her head in a nod but said nothing else.

Harry didn’t understand how Hermione had gone from mourning Ron after his accidental death during Auror training to marrying Percy. Still, it had been the clincher in his suspicions she’d been potioned, but in a way that wasn’t found by the chamber. 

Waiting for a beat, Harry sighed and gestured, to Kyla still standing in the middle of the floor, “Do you have any legitimate business here today?”

“I demand you let my husband go!” The blond trembled as she spoke, tears filling her eyes, “I need the money he brought in to raise our babies.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, “you’re married to former Aurour John Dawlish, serving 15 years for murder, correct?”

The woman flinched, “he’s not a murderer, Your Grace. He acted in self-defence.”

“How is killing a magically castrated man already behind bars self-defence, Mrs.Dawlish?” Harry asked with genuine curiosity.

“If you had done your job, that criminal would have been kissed years ago. My John was just getting back his due.” The woman snapped, eyes flashing with anger and not a hint of magic.

Turning his head, Harry asked the woman, “Where did you go to school?”

The woman blinked in confusion at the question, “Hogwarts, I was in Hufflepuff, if you must know, Your Grace.”

“I don’t care about your house. The former houses mean nothing but a name and a friendly game of Quidditch, as was voted in 2000 when every Tom, Dick and Larry tried to claim every Slytherin was evil. We as a society have forgotten more about magic than we will ever learn, but judging a person based on a house is obscene and obsolete considering the way the school is run now.” Harry replied dryly, tapping the desk, “as for being kissed, after the unnecessary deaths of the Longbottom family, the ICW ruled in 2002 that the use of Dementors was a crime against humanity and together in 2003 with their assistance every last Dementor was pushed beyond the veil in ritual.”

“You had no right to change our way of life!” It burst out of Kyla Dawlish hatefully, her wand snapping to her hand, lips curling before she froze, eyes widening in shocked surprise as the floor lit up like a bonfire.

“Considering you’re a muggle-born witch who resides primarily in the muggle world even before your husband's incarceration, I find that ironic,” Harry replied dryly. “Our way of life, as you call it, wasn’t changed until 1929 when Heir Garth Junior Weasley was tried before this court and magically executed for treason and labelled a blood traitor to us and the crown of England. They were directly responsible for the death of 19 muggle-born witches and wizards and 11 half-bloods. They broke the statute of secrecy that resulted in the death of 329 Muggles when the information they passed along was faulty.” Harry allowed the silencing charm to filter in the murmuring from the crowd and flicked an eye toward an infuriated Percy Weasley, who was red with shame and embarrassment. “The general population was so horrified by the judgement of Our Lady that they petitioned for the right to judge their peers themselves in a bid to save their future actions. They failed, resulting in the likes of Albus Dumbledore, who spearheaded a campaign preaching forgiveness and redemption that resulted in Gellert Grindelwald and Tom Riddle, who set themselves up to be the next Dark Lord.”

Tiredly, Harry squeezed his nose, waving off the Aurors that lined the room. “Your husband pleaded guilty and was tried by magic at his request and has been in prison for four years.”

The woman glared but didn’t respond, nostrils flaring when her wand flew from her hand. Catching it lazily, Harry handed it to the woman behind him and folded his arms, “What is your rating on Myrddin Scale, Mrs.Dawlish?”

The woman blinked at him in confusion, and Harry sighed heavily, shaking his head. He was disappointed at the education society was taught.

“Myrddin, for those unaware, is one of the names Merlin was known for; he created the Scale to determine the rate of your magical power. Interestingly, uneducated children score between 500 and 700, while the average witches or wizards range from 400 to 600. Anything over 1500 has the rank of Archmagus.” Harry paused and raised an eyebrow, “this chamber has a built-in dampening field, meaning any potential power you have is halved - unless you’re tied to the wards. The platform, Mrs.Dawlish, that you’re currently standing on leaves less than a quarter of your personal power, all of which needs to be focused through your wand. The only reason your wand went to your hand is the arm sheath. That is not tied to your magical signature, and I have questions because the person is known to be in the Janos Thickley Ward at St.Mungo’s. It is actually an illegal grade only available to Aurors, of which you are not.”

Harry leaned forward, steepling his hands as he looked down at the woman, “Did you understand the possible charges against you for publicly attacking me inside the Wizengamot? Were you even told what they could be?”

“I didn’t care; if I’d been successful, you’d be dead, Harry Potter. You’re just as evil and corrupt as He Who Must Not Be Named ever was.” The woman snarled viciously.

“Harry Potter was used by Dumbledore to create a mythos designed to control me. It’s Hadrian Pervell; I was never legally given the name Harry Potter in the wizarding world to protect my titles, which, as you know, is the Duke of Warwick; outside the Royal Family, I am the highest-ranked person in our society.” Harry laughed when she glared and sputtered; he couldn’t help it, and by the incessant rage that lit Hermione’s eyes, he knew she hadn’t expected his reaction. It was delicious. Whatever her plan had been had evidently failed as her lips clamped close.

It had been heartbreaking the slow breakdown of their friendship; he still suspected potions or spells, but it didn’t matter now. The muggle-born witch was so entrenched in them, combined with the disillusionment by the wizarding world after the war, his change in social status and her parents justified anger and disownment. She hadn’t been able to accept his elevated rank or steadfast commitment to change, reworking the society they lived into what it had been founded on. It hadn’t helped the relationship either when he steadfastly eroded and destroyed Dumbledore’s legacy, having him tried posthumously for Crimes against Humanity - with Rita Skeeter’s help, the evidence had been overwhelming.

The ICW had spent five years helping them clean up, research, and implement the necessary changes before adopting them in their bodies. Once the evidence had been presented, they no longer relied on a panel of judges or peers to determine guilt. It was up to the magic that governed them to render judgment.

It had horrified everyone when it had first been revealed, but it was not surprising to Harry when the pureblood and then the half-bloods raised in the wizarding world quickly adapted, embracing the new normal. Unsurprising, it had been the muggle-borns who’d had issues, arguing about its unfairness, like it wasn’t the same magic that had been gifted to them. Being unable to influence others with emotional manipulation was apparently too much for them to accept. The Lady judged based on physical evidence and the judgement of the soul. It was mainly why Lucius Malfoy had been imprisoned. Yes, he had done horrific and terrifying things during the war, but during his trial, it had come out that he’d been branded against his will and behavioural modified and controlled for the rest of his life. 

A gong sounded throughout the room, making Harry sigh in relief, “and on that note, take Kyla Dawlish into custody, have her questioned and medically evaluated, and when we reconvene a week after Ostera, she will be tried before Magic.”

Unsealing the room, Harry watched the chamber clear, grateful he had the next three weeks off. It was somewhat amusing watching as the woman was read her rights, her eyes darting fervently around the room as if suddenly understanding and realizing the instigator had left her to her fate.

Three cloaked figures walked into the room, the crowd parting in partial fear. Harry gazed at them, his skin tingling with familiarity, and his breath caught.

Harry cleared his throat when the three had arraigned themselves before him, “The session has been closed, Croaker.”

“We know, Your Grace, but felt this couldn’t wait.” He gestured to the man beside him, “Malachi joined us a few years ago and has been emersed in deep research pertaining to the magic of Avalon that governs us.”

Harry frowned, leaning back in his chair, loosening the tie, and then waved a hand to engage the privacy ward around them to prevent stragglers from listening. “You’re talking about the Avalon Protocols? I know them intimately; it’s how I knew to invoke Parlay eleven years ago.”

Croaker grunted, “So Malachi said. He also alluded to but did not say you knew more than you should. I would like to know why you’ve never said anything.”

Tossing the tie on the bench in front of him, Harry glanced around the room, waving a hand, seeing it empty. The doors closed gently at his request. “What’s your code name, Luna?”

The three tensed and exchanged wary looks before the third responded, “Pythia, Your Grace.”

“So named after an Oracle, are you gifted?” Harry asked after a moment, toying with the quill before him.

“I’ve always been gifted, Your Grace,” Luna replied, her voice not hinting at a dreamy quality.

Smiling, Harry waved her off. "When have I ever enforced formality when we’re alone, Luna?”

His answer was a slight shrug, and Harry shook his head silently, silently chiding his long-time friend, “What do you want to know, Blaise?”

Malachi let out a bark of laughter at the sputter that erupted from Croaker and held out his hand, “I told you he knew.”

Grumbling, a gallon was slapped into Malachi’s hand, and Croaker deactivated his hood, “It’s a state secret, so how the fuck did you know who I was?”

Harry lifted his eyebrow, “The same way I know it was your biological father who held the position as Head Unspeakable, and he worked with your mother so he could legally disappear.”

The sputtering continued, but Harry ignored it, focusing on the last person: "You didn’t say goodbye, Draco.”

The hood deactivated, revealing the pale face and white-blond hair that haunted his dreams, “I’m sorry.”

Clenching his jaw, Harry averted his gaze, feeling the sting of unshed tears. It had been five years since he’d seen Draco; two months after Dawlish had killed Lucius in prison, Draco had disappeared from his bed, leaving a note saying he wouldn’t be back. It had hurt and felt unbearably cruel, but Harry hadn’t argued or tried to fight; it had been their agreement when they began. If, for any reason, either one of them could end their relationship, no questions were asked, but it still broke Harry’s heart. Reaching up, he touched the ring hidden under his robes and cleared his throat, “What can I do for the Department of Mysteries, Ladies and Gentleman?”

Blaise exchanged a look with the other two and sighed, “It has to do with the reports of magic failing.”

“It will fail,” Harry responded, then shrugged as they all gaped at him, “in as little as five years, probably less. There was too much damage, magical leeching that turned to pollution left over from the wars, and people were too petty to fix anything.”

Stunned, the three could only stare at him, and Blaise licked his lips. "You’re letting it happen?”

Harry blinked, “I guess I am. What if it?”

Luna stepped forward, “Harry, could you have done something?”

“No.” The finality of his tone made them all pause, and he continued coldly. “I gave them a chance, but not one of these idiots deserves the redemption they’ll find in the Lady’s embrace, some sooner rather than later.” 

“What have you done?” Luna asked, her voice breaking as tears sprang to her eyes.

Harry snapped, hand clenching, “I gave them my life, not once, but twice. My best friends turned on me when I tried to make this world better, but they couldn’t get past me, destroying Dumbledore’s legacy and refusing to marry a woman of their choice. Even now, they’re meeting and plotting, trying to come up with a new plan to dispose of me, all because I refuse to toe the line to what they want. If they used even a single ounce of the brains Granger has, they’d know I’m in the right. The magic embedded in this building would strike me down if I went against her.”

“You know who it is, don’t you?” Draco asked hoarsely, eyes wide.

“Of course, I’ve always known,” Harry replied tiredly. This had not been what he wanted to do after the sessions had closed. Kretcher was waiting at home, a nice intimate supper for one and a glass of bourbon Harry didn’t expect to get now.

“Is it really her?” Luna whispered, voice thick with emotion.

“Don’t name her.” Harry warned, “If she wished it to be known, she’d say it herself.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Luna dipped her head immediately, a tear trickling down her cheek.

“The stone’s gone.” Blaise blurted in an uncharacteristic burst of agitation, then snapped his mouth shut and flushed.

“You’re talking about the Stone from the Fable of the Sword and the Stone?” Harry asked in amusement and shook his head, hiding his trembling hands out of view. 

Draco stepped forward, lifting his chin and meeting Harry’s eyes, silver to green. “I know you know how important that stone is, but without the Stone, we have no way of ensuring loyalty to Avalon in the future, as we Pledge to protect Avalon through it, Harry. Plus without it we have no way for a King to be chosen.”

Frowning, Harry glanced between them, “You think a King will do better?”

“A King or Queen would garner more support than a Viceroy because no matter the title, that’s what you are,” Luna replied serenely and shrugged when the two men who came with her gaped at her. "It’s what the Duke of Warwick set into motion when invoking Parley.”

“I did what I had to do,” Harry responded stiffly. “They had a chance, and they failed.”

When they stared at him, Harry cleared his throat, “I’m sorry, but I can’t help, so if there is nothing else?”

The silence stretched between them, and Harry nodded, rose to his feet, and swept from the room. The privacy warding ended when he entered his private rooms and disappeared in a flash of soundless magic.

***

The brush of magic woke Harry from his sleep seconds before a warm naked body slid into his embrace, vanishing the pants he’d worn to bed. 

The scent of vanilla and citrus overwhelmed him, making Harry close his eyes as the hard cock ground against his thigh, dry lips pressing against his chest, nipping along his clavicle.

“You didn’t remove me from the wards.” Draco’s voice was a whisper in the pre-dawn light that peaked above the curtains.

Harry hummed in a wordless agreement. It wasn’t like he could deny it, not that he had ever expected Draco to ever crawl back into his bed no matter what he’d dreamed.

The warm, lithe body of his former lover crawled over him, pressing his ass against Harry’s hard cock, breath hitching in his chest. “I missed you.” Draco whispered again, rotating his hips, smearing the lubrication over them both, “I hated myself for leaving….”

Harry squeezed his eyes closed against the rush of tears but did nothing to remove Draco from on top of him, admitting in a broken voice, “I didn’t want you to go.”

“I had to love. The rumors were destroying everything you were attempting to do.” 

A hard roll made them gasp, Draco’s whimper catching in his throat before a warm hand slid along Harry’s jaw, cupping his face. “Oh, love, look at me.”

Shaking his head, Harry bit his lip as a tear rolled down his cheeks, “you’ll disappear. You always do.”

“The end of the world is coming, Harry.” Draco whispered, pressing his lips to Harry’s, fingers trailing along his jaw, toying with the chain that pooled on the pillow underneath them, “I’m done running and pretending you aren’t everything I’ve always wanted.”

“You broke my heart, Draco.” It was a whispered confession, voice hitching as Draco shifted, teasing them both when Harry’s hardness nudged against his opening. 

A hot and wet tear fell onto Harry’s lips. Against his will, his eyes fluttered open. The flushed face of Draco met his gaze. The man leaning over him had not really changed in the ensuing years; the only difference was the length of his hair that fell down his back, a trait of the Malfoy lordship, even if Draco had never claimed the title.

Harry’s hair was trimmed so it fell to his shoulders, its weight making it appear artful instead of the precocious disarray.

“Has it been too long?” Draco asked softly, nuzzling his nose along Harry’s jaw.

“For what?” Harry asked, hands coming up of their own accord, gripping Draco’s thighs. “To remember how to fuck you?”

A snort of laughter made Draco drawback, “No, you pervert, I know you remember how to fuck me; you do it every night you sleep.”

Harry averted his eyes, unwilling to discuss his dreams, though he knew they’d have to. “Is that why you’re here, tired of waking alone?”

“I am tired of waking alone, which you know, but still not what I’m talking about. Has it been too long for you to forgive me?” The hesitation and fear made Harry drop any pretense he didn’t want this. Tightening his hold he flipped them until Draco’s back landed against the pillows with a shock sound that went straight to Harry’s cock.

Spreading his legs, Harry straightened his back, leaning over his lover with dark, serious eyes, “I forgave you the second I saw you, Draco.”

“Fuck, you look hot like that,” Draco breathed, arching off the mattress, hissing as Harry slid his hand down his stomach, passing the hard red-tipped cock that was jutting, begging for attention.

Sliding his hand down between Draco’s thighs, Harry pressed on his taint before slipping a finger into the already prepared hole, shuddering at the warmth that enveloped him. 

“Your scales are making an appearance, love,” Draco whispered, voice a heated whine drowning out the rest of his teasing. “Please.”

A groan mingled with a growl vibrated Harry’s chest, echoed by the bed shaking, “Your skin is glowing; don’t poke at my scales.”

Huffing out a laugh, Draco treaded his fingers into Harry’s hair and pulled him down, “fuck me, Harry.”

The words had barely left Draco’s mouth when Harry leaned even further, claiming his lips, and shifted his hips, pressing his cock against Draco’s opening, sliding inside in one smooth glide. 

Draco arched off the bed, breaking the kiss, hissing, “ Yes, oh, how the fuck did I forget how it feels .”

Harry groaned, dragging his mouth over Draco’s jaw, flicking his tongue along the soft spot that pulsed in time with his rapid heartbeat. “I love it when you slip into parseltongue, my love. You don’t even realize you’ve done it, do you?”

Body undulating underneath Harry, Draco shook his head, sucking desperate little puffs of air escaping his lungs, even as his legs wrapped around Harry’s back, heels digging into his ass.

It should have been embarrassing, but Harry knew he wasn’t going to last any length of time. It had been five years of torturous dreams and fantasy, and now that it was real, Harry wasn’t in a position to ask questions or even fear the future when he woke up, and Draco was gone again. 

With full body thrusts, Draco was a whining mass of responsive movement under him, his breath catching just before he tensed, coming untouched with a shocked moan of surprise. 

Caught unprepared, Harry’s hips stuttered as he came, orgasm rushing through him, sweeping his body in tingles as his head dropped to Draco’s shoulder, exhausted. 

Sometime later, he came to with fingers combing his hair, a nose nuzzling his cheek, and the sweet breathless laugh of his lover echoing in his ear. “That was fabulous, love, but you’re heavy.”

Flushing red, Harry lifted his head and pulled from Draco’s body with a mumbled apology.

“Don’t apologize. That was exactly what I was looking for, Harry.” Draco replied as he turned on his side, shivering as the cleaning charm swept his skin.

Laying his head on the pillow, Harry’s eyes roved over the flushed face beside him, and he reached up a hand, brushing the pale hair from his eyes, “I wanted to marry you.”

A sad smile appeared on Draco’s lips, “I know, it’s why I left. If you’d asked, I wouldn’t have been able to say no.”

“I should have chased you.” Harry returned sadly.

“We both know you couldn’t and why you didn’t.” The calm reply should have infuriated Harry, but it left him sad.

“Six months ago, even though it hadn’t been used in two decades, I regretted not visiting the Book of Souls.” It was a quiet confession, its weight heavy in the swift intake of air that left Draco.

“It disappeared six months ago.” 

A sad huff left Harry as he shifted on the bed, brushing his thumb across Draco’s nose, “I know. It’s why I regret not going.”

Draco pulled back, eyes wide, “How do you know this stuff? They’re state secrets, Harry. Not even the minister knows, and only a select few in the Unspeakables do.”

Sighing, Harry rolled to his back and scrubbed his face, “I just do; some of it is an innate feeling of thought; other times, it’s a visceral sensation or emotion, like when Fawkes disappeared. You know he lived with me for a time after the war, but each burning took longer, and the rebirths rougher.” Harry sighed sadly, missing the phoenix, “I knew it wasn’t disapproval, it was that magic couldn't sustain him. It’s the same way you three knew to come to me and ask for help.” Harry left the bed and strolled into the bathroom, unsurprised when Draco followed, uncaring that he was relieving himself.

Washing his hands and rinsing his mouth, Harry grabbed his toothbrush, wordlessly summoned a new one for Draco, and set it on the sink as Draco used the bathroom.

It wasn’t until Draco had joined him in the shower that he finally spoke, “You can’t or won’t help search for the stone?”

“Both?” Harry questioned, ducking under the stream to rinse his hair, “I’m morally and ethically bound to Avalon’s will, Draco, just as you. We no longer have favour with the lady, and our way of life has been determined and set; it’s only a matter of time before the wards fail and muggles find out we’re here.”

Grief filled Draco’s face, lip trembling, “was there anything we could have done?”

Hesitating, Harry turned his head, grabbing the body wash and the cloth, soaking it liberally before turning to his lover and carefully caressing Draco’s skin, washing him reverently. “It’s seven years too late to make a difference now, Dragon.”

A tear slid down Draco’s cheek, washed away by the water as he stepped under the spray, “the last Heir died?”

Harry hummed in reply, unable to confirm verbally. “It’s why I’m Viceroy. Once the Protocols were engaged, society had the chance to prove they deserved the right, and they failed when they let him and his line die.”

Breath hitching, Draco grabbed his hand, stopping his movement, “you’re the Guardian?”

“I was.” He confirmed, unable to deny an outright question, “The sword stopped responding when he died. I knew then it was only a matter of time.”

“Have you noticed a difference in your magic?” Draco asked curiously. The question should have been rhetorical, but Harry knew it wasn’t and shook his head.

“No, I won’t either. My duty is eternal, Draco. I’ll be the last one standing and the only one left once it’s gone.”

Draco frowned, nose wrinkling in distaste, “that sounds like a punishment.”

Shrugging helplessly, Harry grabbed the shampoo and set about washing Draco’s hair. The silence between them was calm.

Shutting off the shower, he dried them wordlessly and led them into the closet, ignoring the choked sound from Draco when it revealed his side still filled with clothing, the preservation charms engaged and glowing faintly. “It’s stupid, but it’s the only thing I had left,” Harry admitted, pulling on causal clothing, ignoring wizarding robes, grabbing jeans and a muggle t-shirt. Sitting on the small backless couch, he pulled on socks and grabbed hiking boots, unsurprised when Draco copied him without a word, “Are you celebrating Ostara next weekend?”

Glancing at Draco, Harry shook his head, “It will sound conceited, but I no longer have it in me to prove my devotion to others when I’m already assured of my place. The lady won’t punish me, it’s not-“ he cut himself off with a frown, taking a minute to center himself as he rubbed his face, the short beard tickling his hand. “I know I’ll be embraced by the lady when she calls me home, Draco.”

Draco lowered his booted foot and looked at him, expression serious and wistful, “Five years ago, I started experiencing night terrors.”

“I remember,” Harry replied with a furrow on his brow and raised his eyebrow when Draco looked at him skeptically. “You may have made no noise, love, but I could feel the terror and fear. I held you through them and still felt them when you left. It’s why I started pulling you into my dreams.”

“Yes, well, thanks for that, I guess. At least you didn’t edge me for five years.” Came the dry response that made Harry laugh. Draco cleared his throat, “the nightmares stopped.”

“After the Book was called home, I assume.”

“Yeah,” Draco agreed, rising to his feet. He held out his hand, asking, “Can I show you something?”

“Anything,” Harry replied, accepting the hand, and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. 

The warmth of Draco’s magic was the only warning he had before the tug in his navel pulled him into the side-along apparition, and they landed inside Draco’s study, which turned his face away with a flush. “Don’t say anything.”

Harry bit his lip, hiding his smile at the knowledge that Draco hadn’t removed him from the wards either. Then, he glanced around the room, mouth dropping open at the disarray he saw. 

It was enough to make him glance at Draco, concern eating away at his stomach, as his lover searched through a pile of precariously stacked papers. 

Unwilling to disturb Draco’s concentration, Harry looked around, taking in the room that had become a living, moving map of papers adhered to the wall, the portraits lying in a pile in the corner.

Moving around the room, Harry felt his stomach sink at what he saw, his neck hair rising as he saw his entire life before and during the war mapped out in detail, mixed in with Riddle and Grindelwald’s reign of terror. 

Swallowing, he felt Draco move into his space, a hand brushing his neck as he let himself be pushed into a chair. 

Draco knelt in front of him, “It comes to me in dreams, what you endured, learnt, lost, and then sacrificed for everyone. I don’t know who you are. I would never ask you either.”

Tears sprang to Harry’s eyes, and he met Draco’s silver ones, “I want to tell you, but I don’t want to break my own heart either.”

“I don’t need to know to love you anyway, Harry. I loved you before you saved me, and I fell deeper after. I didn’t leave because I wanted to. I left because you deserved better than the rumours and attacks our public friendship caused.” The reassurance did nothing to prevent the tears, making Harry wipe them away with a sniff.

Draco sighed and added with a frown, “I feel like I should point out that when we stopped seeing each other, the physical attacks dropped to almost nothing.”

Harry flushed and averted his gaze, eyes landing on a list of missing witches and wizards.

Confused, Draco followed his reaction, eyes widening at the list, jerking his head back to Harry’s, “Love?”

Shrugging, Harry attempted to tug free of his hold, but Draco boxed him in, slipping onto his lap. "Whatever you fear, I’d never betray your secrets, and there is nothing you could say that would ever make me fear you.”

Slumping against the back of the couch, Harry closed his eyes, swallowing the bile that threatened, “You trust too much, Draco. I’m not a good man. I let this happen. Our world is dying because I couldn’t forgive them.”

“Did they deserve to be forgiven?” Came the expected counter, warm hands cupping his face, thumbs catching and wiping the tears he hadn’t even realized had fallen from his eyes.

“I don’t know anymore,” Harry admitted in a whisper. “Sometimes I feel like Riddle and Dumbledore existed to make me crazy. It feels like a test I failed.”

“A test for you or society?”

Harry shrugged, keeping his eyes closed. “I think I stopped caring when the sword stopped responding.”

Harry rolled his head, opened his eyes to stare at the list of “missing” wixen, and nodded towards it. “Are you searching for them?”

“No. They’re dead. I just haven’t figured out how.” Draco turned his head, looking at the list, and shrugged, “When I first started, they were an anomaly because they didn’t fit. If that’s the right word? Not that I knew exactly what I was searching for, considering they disappeared without a trace. I assumed they were ritual sacrifices, but there isn’t a trace or a signature, and their blood doesn’t appear in any lay line worldwide.”

Looking at Draco, Harry could see the lines of exhaustion that couldn’t be explained away by a night of good sex. “You’re tired.”

Shrugging, Draco wordlessly activated a runic display that superimposed over his life and summoned the folder, shifting until he sat beside Harry, legs still in his lap.

It was unnerving to see that the display focused on the United Kingdom, the lines that appeared connecting to points in his life Harry had done his best to forget. The black smudges did nothing to help that feeling, making Harry swallow as Draco cleared his throat and spoke before Draco could, pulling his wand.

“May I?”

At Draco’s confused nod, Harry put the wand to his temple, concentrated on the little box he’d labelled Albus Dumbledore in his head, and then slid into the Runic work Draco had designed and created, adding the information. 

The image rippled, glowing briefly before settling the lines and smudges growing to encompass all three previous individuals and began speaking softly. “I visited Gellert Grindelwald after the war; I needed to know if what Rita wrote in her book was true and felt the only one left who would admit the truth was him. He offered me his memories, proving it wasn’t just him who started the reign of terror. Albus had been obsessed with the tale of the Deathly Hallows and spent his entire life trying to reunite them.” Harry licked his lips and glanced at Draco, who was staring at him with a wide-eyed fascination. “Both men committed more atrocities than imaginable, Albus obsessed with the Resurrection Stone erroneously believing he’d bring his parents back to life and hand back the responsibility of his siblings, and Grindelwald wanted the Wand thereby being undefeated.” Reaching out with the finger, Harry focused on Godric’s Hollow and made it bigger. Then, with another nudge, the smudges were in different shades, the darker parts on the bottom. “In 1900, Ariana was killed in what was claimed to be an accident, Gellert’s memories neither confirm nor deny that, and I suspect memory charms that eroded over the years. It was the first overt act of aggression on Dumbledore’s part, and even today, if you visit the home, the area is still lousy, with his magical signature saturated into the very foundation.” 

Spinning the map, he focused on Hogwarts and did the same, making it bigger and shading the smudges, the visual differences making him nauseous. “Dumbledore heard a prophecy in 1899 given by Mudiwa Onai, the one that became my own. Even though Dumbledore had not taken or believed in Divination during his school years, he obsessed over that one, though the reason why remains unknown.” Harry glanced at Draco, who was gazing at the map intently, eyes darting around as if connecting puzzle pieces only he understood.

Hesitating for another moment, Harry continued talking: “Tom Riddle, as you know, opened the Chamber in 1943, resulting in the death of a Muggle-born witch, which is the first dark stain we see. However, under that, there, do you see the flickers?” Harry asked, pointing to a fine line flickering weakly.

“Yeah, what is it?” Draco asked in confusion.

“The Wards. Dumbledore would have been the Deputy Headmaster and had access to them; it’s even possible he’d already claimed them as Headmaster Dippet had health issues that ‘forced’ an early retirement.”

“Can’t you ask his portrait?” Draco asked with a furrow of his brow.

Harry’s jaw tightened, “Dumbledore’s corruption of the wards and the spell work he left behind made it so if you asked questions about Dumbledore wiped the portrait’s matrix. Even waking the Sentience conscious did nothing. Sulis has been cut off from her home for too long. It left her damaged, and it’s taking all that remains to keep the wards working to prevent an infection from stains left behind.”

The blood drained from Draco’s face as he sat up, shifting the map with a few deft hand movements, focusing on one area before spinning the map only to focus on that one.

It was fascinating and a privilege to watch Draco work. His face was intense, and his eyes glowed faintly in the weak spring sunshine that came through the windows. 

Finally, he stopped, mouth moving soundlessly before he swallowed harshly and turned to stare at Harry, his face filled with horror, “I'm about to ask a horrifying question, but I don’t want you to think it’s something I’ve dabbled in ever. I think the idea, never mind the practice, is abhorrent and absolute evil, alright?”

Releasing a shocked, breathless laugh of surprise, Harry raised an eyebrow, “Is this like your hypothetical on unicorn sacrifices becoming thestrals?”

Draco flushed and shook his head. "We agreed never to speak of that sad drunken ramble.”

Harry pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand, hating that he joked about it, but also resolved to never tell him the truth; it had broken his own heart when he learnt thestrals were the soul of a murdered child. “Sorry love, what’s your question?”

“Did Riddle make a Horcrux?” It came out small, like a child begging to be lied to, making Harry close his eyes.

Given Draco's wounded cry, it was answer enough, but Harry added, through stiff lips, "He made seven, six intentional….”

As the silence grew unbearable, Harry felt a hand touch his brow where the scar used to be and swallowed, opening his eyes to find Draco’s filled with unshed tears. “What’s-what was the prophecy, Harry?”

“ The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies... .”

“Oh, blessed lady,” Draco said in a voice thick with unshed tears. "He made you a Horcrux?”

Cupping Draco’s cheek, Harry brushed away a tear that escaped and smiled softly,  “He never knew Draco. If he had, he would have done everything in his power to not get me killed. If he'd known, I would have been rescued and treated as his son.”

Draco made a face at the thought, unsure how to react. Yet Harry knew he couldn’t argue; Draco knew how he’d grown up and what he had endured during his school years. 

Draco wiped at his eyes, removing the tears, expression still heartbroken, “Was the guardianship the power he knew not?”

Harry hesitated and shook his head, “I-“ he sighed running a hand through his hair, “that thing Dumbledore spent his life searching for?” Slowly, he pulled out the cloak from his dimensional store, adding the stone, and then finally slid his wand out and set them on the coffee table in front of him, “Dumbledore only ever managed to acquire two at any given time. He had both the wand and the cloak for a period, and then the wand and the stone.” He flashed a grin at the flabbergasted expression on Draco’s face and added cheekily, “For a short time, you had the wand, even if you never touched it. But then I disarmed you at the manor, winning its alliance and loyalty as it recognized the blood and magic in my line.”

Draco’s face was slack with shock, yet he couldn’t resist reaching out to thumb the cloak, eyes darting to the wand curiously. 

Feeling an internal prod, Harry jerked in surprise, having not felt Medea in years. She nudged him again, followed by a flood of warmth that made him swallow, but he picked up the wand and held it out.

Brow furrowed, Draco accepted it, eyes widening when sparks flew out the end, and he met Harry’s eyes, “I really don’t want the responsibilities of this wand.”

A weak laugh made Harry collapse against the couch, “it’s entitled, love. No one but family can touch it.”

Draco frowned, “It’s a good thing most of the Blacks are dead then because I wouldn’t trust half of them with this.”

Chuckling, Harry shook his head, “No, it’s entitled to the Peverell line, love.”

Draco dropped the wand, flushing as he did, but couldn’t only stare at Harry, “but that means…” he trailed off, clearly unable to verbalize what it meant, but Harry couldn’t keep it inside and wandlessly summoned the wand back to his hand before it disappeared into the sheath on his arm. 

Pulling Draco into his lap, he brushed a soft, reverent kiss on his lips, whispering against them, “It means we’re blessed by Magic love, even without the Book of Souls. She gave us a way to prove it to ourselves.”

Lips pressed against his desperately, almost harshly, the tongue that invaded his mouth begging for forgiveness even as it gentled, and the salty taste of tears mixed in with the saliva. 

Even as he felt Draco’s hardness press against his stomach, his soulmate pulled back, dropping his forehead to Harry’s, whispering sadly, “I wasted so much time being scared.”

“I can’t say I wasn’t scared either. I could have chased and made you talk, but I forgive you anyway. I’d forgive you anything and everything.” Harry replied softly, reaching into his shirt and pulling the chain free and over his head.

Ignoring the shock on Draco’s face, Harry unthreaded the ring and offered it: “I picked it from the vaults in 2002 and then spent the last six years wearing it around my neck, being too cowardly to ask. So will you, Draco Abraxas Malfoy, do me the honour of marrying me?”

“Yes, you bastard,” Draco replied, slapping Harry’s chest with one hand and wiping his face with another.

Laughing joyfully, Harry grabbed the hand off his chest and slid the ring onto Draco’s finger, tears springing to his eyes as the Consort ring sized and glowed immediately, “I should warn you that there is a connection to the artifacts. If you have ancestors that talk or direct through your family ring, they might become louder to you. If you cast a disillusionment charm, you’ll be invisible to any sort of detection, and because of the extra charm work, not only will it protect you from everything short of the three Unforgivables, no one can remove the disillusionment.” He flushed at the questioning eyebrow Draco directed his way and shrugged, “I placed the charms myself.”

A soft, somewhat condescending expression appeared on Draco’s face. He lifted an eyebrow and glanced at the wall with the list of missing people. “I assume that was your way of protecting me, too?”

Flushing furiously, Harry huffed, “They weren’t all to your benefit, and it wasn’t like I tortured them. Even if they deserved it, I made it painless.”

Laughing with a hint of mock chiding, Draco shook his head and kissed his lips, “My hero.”

Harry deepened the kiss, lazily stroking the tongues together, and whined when Draco broke it with a frown. "Is there a reason you only refer to yourself as the Guardian and not…” he trailed off and shrugged.

Harry made a face, “I forced an unbreakable vow on Hermione and Ron regarding our run during the war. I can speak of the Horcruxes in a limited scope without releasing them from their vow. In addition, when I realized what I was, I made them make a new one, where I could never be referenced by the title or even discuss it without my approval. I can almost guarantee they know why those people are missing, but they can never accuse me based on the vow.”

A sly grin creased Draco’s face, and he shook his head. "That’s positively Slytherin. You realize that, right?”

Harry rolled his eyes, “I know, which leads me to a confession neither Hermione nor Ron know.” He pressed his thumb against the ring and whispered in parseltongue; the map rippled and changed, revealing a family tree, “the guardianship is separate from that other title but is connected through blood. Cadmus Peverell married Opal Slytherin in 623. What was lost and unknown until I claimed the title was that she became the direct magical descendant of Salazar when her older brother was killed in 839. After her death, it passed on to her oldest son, from whom I am of descent. That line fell into squibs in 1100, and it took twelve generations of firstborn males to have magic reemerge in my mother, who then passed it onto me as the thirteenth-generation male child.”

The noise Draco made, a mixture of shock, confusion, and probably frustration at the vagueness, made Harry laugh and point to the tree. "Who’s Salazar’s father, love?”

“Blessed Hecate…” Draco choked, blinking, then ordered, “Is that… Harry, tell me that’s not real.”

“Sorry, love, no can do. Merlin and Nimue are Salazar's biological parents; they had a deep affection and soul bond but were bound by duty and oaths to Hecate. They never married.” Harry grinned fondly at Draco’s expression and lifted an eyebrow, “We can trace Merlin’s path if you want; I imagine it would be just as jarring, if not more so.”

Draco’s eyes flicked to the web, and he vehemently shook his head, “I think not, though I wouldn’t be surprised to see Thanatos in there.”

Harry smirked at him and laughed outright when Draco huffed at him and clamoured off his lap, threateningly pointing a finger at him. “Don’t say anything, Potter.”

Laughing again, Harry grabbed his hand and pressed a soft kiss to his palm. "It’s Peverell, as you well know, Dragon.”

Draco’s face softened, and he cupped Harry’s face, “I know, but at least you’ll know when I’m annoyed with you.” His face grew serious as he looked at the family tree, “Where did the parselmagic come from? As far as I know, it’s not through Merlin.”

“No, it was a gift passed on through Nimue; it’s why it was latent in your line until you achieved your Animgas form.” Harry frowned and admitted, “I’m still somewhat bitter for not knowing in the fourth year that I could have talked to the dragon….” He trailed off, his eyes widened, and he looked sharply at Draco. “Your name means dragon.”

Draco frowned, even as a blush crept up his cheeks, “ah, yeah, I thought that’s why you called me that as an endearment.”

Harry opened his mouth, closing it with a slight shake of his head. “Your star constellation and animagus form—an Antipodean Opaleye - is a dragon as well.” Harry glanced around the room. "You didn’t come to me to find the stone.”

Draco flushed but shook his head, “No, but Blaise wouldn’t listen, and I didn’t know how to explain it. How did you figure it out?”

"It will end without crimson; nothing can be done though repentance is key if the death of a legacy ends not with blood but the weeping of souls. The only choice now that offers a beacon of hope is my favourite, a man given too many duties mortals should bear; when the stone disappears, the dragon will come, trust it and weep… Prophecy started this, prophecy ends it. Go forth with the dragon, my gift to you, travel past and carry on the duty as you were meant to."

Draco’s hand came up and wiped a tear away, his breath ghosting over Harry's face as he whispered, “You think I’m the dragon?”

The only sound in the room was the gentle hum of his magic in the wards. They wrapped around Harry with the touch of a lover, as trusting and familiar as the first time they slept together. 

Looking at it in reflection, it felt like it should have broken his heart. They’d been the same even before they started sleeping together—all the time they’d lost because neither of them had been brave.

Inhaling a shaking breath, Harry dropped his head to the back of the couch, “what else can you be? The stone is gone, and you came, I trust, I weep….” Harry shrugged helplessly and cracked open his eyes to stare at his lover through slits, “I just, I’m so tired, Draco. So unbelievably tired, fighting to keep this world alive, even as it fails….”

Draco frowned, “Prophecy doesn’t work like that, though. It’s not supposed to be translated by a mundane.”

Patting Draco’s hip, Harry urged Draco off his lap and sat up, rubbing his face with his hands, then looked at the blond, “On any other day, I would agree, the prophecy about me a prime example, if Dumbledore hadn’t been so set on ensuring his own enduring legacy, Riddle wouldn’t have activated a self-fulfilling prophecy. It was his own actions upon listening to half a prophecy that put everything into motion.“

Running a hand through his hair, Draco looked around the room and sighed, “But it implies I know something, and I don’t, Harry.”

Harry raised a brow, “love, you’re panicking, which is something that won’t help. The only thing we can do is trust in the lady and listen when she speaks. I’ve had a decade with this prophecy in my head; some of it was easily translated or figured out, some, like the ending, still impossible.”

Draco frowned, “explain the first bit then, what does it mean?”

Groaning, Harry buried his head in his hands. “The first sentence says how it will end without blood, warning that in redemption, they can hope to avert that.” He sighed and lifted his head. “The second line is a warning that the course is set; if the legacy dies without bloodshed, then the only hope of salvation is through me, the man of many titles.”

A look of intense concentration crossed Draco’s face as the blood slowly drained, leaving him pale, “Neville, he-his family was kissed when the dementors revolted.”

Harry’s jaw ticked, eyes turning hard, “not exactly. Yes, the family was kissed, Neville, Hannah and their two children, but it wasn’t a revolt. It was a carefully planned attack created by Kingsley and Robards when I refused to capitulate. They were sent after me, but given who and what I am,” Harry let out a sad sigh, “as soon as they got within sensing distance of me, they detoured and, in their frustration, took it out on Neville, who was overwhelmed. I felt their deaths as if I was standing with them; it was the driving force I used when I used the ritual to banish them through the veil.”

Silver eyes gazed at him in shock, pink tongue licking his lips, “how can you lie in the Chamber?”

A humourless laugh escaped Harry, and he shook his head, “Because I live in service of the lady, I do everything to protect her, and she, in turn, protects me. It would have done society no good to learn the truth, so I couldn’t publicly punish Kingsley or Robards. Leonidas Marcus, the head of the international DOM, agreed and together, we used their blood to power the ritual.”

“Does Leo know the truth of who you are?” Draco asked curiously, no condemnation in his tone for what he did.

“Kind of. His magic recognizes the magic in me, having met a previous incarnation of me. Still, I've never asked if he has the memories.” The admittance was soft and sorrowful, “Not that I- What memories I have are horrific. I wouldn’t want to accidentally trigger something if he wasn’t aware.”

A warm hand enveloped Harry’s and offered a weak smile, “Anyway, that was the second bit, the Longbottom’s death. Augustus couldn’t cope with having her grandson meet the same fate as her son and died of a broken heart within days of his death.” He swallowed, “within a year, the magical line went extinct. Sometimes, I don’t even know why I’m still holding on to a dying idea of the Sacred 28; there are 7 legitimate families left, one that can be claimed, and me.” He lifted an eyebrow as Draco flushed, averted his gaze, and spoke stiffly.

“We’re not discussing the Malfoy title; I refuse to claim it.” He frowned suddenly and turned back to Harry. "Do you know why there are so few left? It wasn’t all from the war; half of them were neutral.”

A complicated expression crossed Harry’s face, “I suspect they’re being killed off, but have no proof, even with visits to the other side. I believe someone is masking what they’re doing, and it pisses me off. It’s something that should be impossible.”

“Is it Granger?” Draco demanded, turning Harry’s head when he flinched.

It took a minute for him to find his voice, “I- not by herself. For all of her faults, Hermione doesn’t resort to violence on that level. She would have the brains, and while I believe that her marriage to Percy bound her to their magic that they’ve kept by the skin of their teeth. They’ve done nothing actionable that would allow me to call them before judgment.”

“Not even Ginny?” Draco asked, eyeing the sheet for the missing Wixan.

“Unfortunately, no, Ginny was corrupted by the diary in her first year, meaning she never had the power to touch their magic; believe me, I tried when she targeted you. When it became apparent that she was acting solely on her own, it made me dispose of her.”

“What had she planned?” Draco asked curiously, having no clue Ginny had been after him.

Harry met his gaze with hard green eyes, “Honestly, it didn’t matter; I just knew she was targeting you, either to kill or attempt to get back at me; I didn’t ask for clarification.”

Draco flushed at the possessiveness, goosebumps erupting over his skin. The reaction made Harry smirk and lean forward, kissing him hard, nipping at his lip when he pulled back, “You make it very difficult to stay on topic. Back to the prophecy again. The next part is clearly about the stone being taken and you arriving for help. Consciously or subconsciously, we trust each other, and we wept together. Now it’s just waiting for the last bit,” Harry sighed, cupping Draco’s cheek, thumbing his lip, “something will happen that gives you an idea, and we’ll follow it to the end.”

Draco gazed at him with soft eyes and then leaned forward to kiss him again, crawling into his lap with a sigh of contentment when Harry gripped his ass.

***

April 12, 2009

Harry's eyes snapped open, gasping in pain that seared through his skin like someone was trying to boil the blood in his body.

His body jerked, flailing on the bed, dislodging Draco, who opened blurry eyes before sitting up in a rush as Harry arched his back and screamed. 

It felt like it went on forever, but as suddenly as it started, it ended, not even leaving an echo of pain though he lay gasping against the sheets, exhausted and terrified.

“Love, what happened?” Draco whispered, smoothing the hair from his face.

Slowly Harry shook his head and paused, sitting up with another gasp and scrambled from the bed, “Get dressed.”

“Harry?” Draco asked but followed the order, crawling from the bed and summoning clothing from the closet.

Harry closed his eyes as he pulled on a T-shirt and rubbed at his sternum when he settled it over his stomach. “It was Avalon, something’s happened, something big and horrible, I don’t know what, but I’ve never felt like that.”

Draco nodded, looking worried, as he finished dressing. Drawing deep breaths, Harry wordlessly summoned dueling blades that shimmered and disappeared in a flash of magic. 

Moving across the room, Harry froze in the middle as a badger patronus burst into the room, speaking before it stopped: "It’s begun. Warding schemes for Wizarding establishments have failed. We’re in the Wizengamot chamber.”

Head dropping to his chest, Harry drew in a deep breath, only relaxing when he felt warmth envelop his back and arms wrap around him. Huffing a laugh, he lifted his head, resting it against Draco’s. "He’s almost more dramatic than you,” he said.

A strangled noise of outrage hissed between Draco’s teeth, even as his arms tightened, “I’ll have you know, Blaise has nothing on Theo. Last week, Theo was in a strope because his favourite club had stopped importing some fancy drink mix he loved.”

A helpless chuckle escaped Harry, and he turned in Draco’s arms, raising a single eyebrow. "Wasn’t it you who threw a fit when you couldn’t get a specific brand of tea anymore?”

Draco opened his mouth and then snapped it closed with a huff, “Let’s not talk about that sorrowful period of my life. I’m still in mourning. I miss that tea; it was the best one out there.”

Laughing, Harry shook his head, “for swamp water, it had a nice smell.”

A sharp, pointed finger jabbed him in the stomach, making Harry laugh again and pulling Draco close. "Hold on, love.”

“Hold-“

The word was cut off with a hook under their naval, followed by the sensation of being pulled through a straw. They landed silently, without fanfare, in the middle of the chamber, earning a wide-eyed and somewhat horrified look from Draco, who tightened his fingers but looked around, blinking as he realized they were alone.

“Draco!” Blaise’s voice was muffled, and they turned to face the doors. A group of court officials stood blocked by a shimmering dome. 

Eyes blurring, Draco blinked rapidly, feeling Harry tense. He slouched against him as if a string holding him upright had been cut. 

Ignoring Blaise, Draco immediately shifted, taking Harry’s weight, who had turned so white that he looked paler than Draco. “Is it…”

He trailed off as Harry’s eyes filled with tears. He shook his head, eyes darting from something off to the side to Draco’s face before leaving again, “no, it’s…” he jerked his chin, making Draco turn, a shiver of apprehension run down his spine, as he took in the view of ghostly figures that lined the room. It should have felt like a relief that he didn’t recognize any of the Spectors, unwilling to admit he half expected to see people he knew, but it didn’t. Instead, the steadily increasing unease ramped up as a thought wiggled out of reach.

The ghostly spectators shifted, the action disorienting the room before they moved in concert. The gravelly whispers grew in strength until they overlapped and echoed across the cavernous stone ceiling. Even attempting to cover his ears did nothing to block the sound, and it took a beat to distinguish the words, horror and understanding sliding down his back and entering his soul.

Grabbing Harry's hand, he turned to face his lover, soulmate and best friend, somehow keeping his voice even and steady. “Do you trust me?”

Harry blinked and shook his head in confusion, clearly not understanding how he could hear Draco’s question over the catastrophe of noise. 

Draco didn’t wait for it to pass. He grabbed his other hand and said, “Harry, do you trust me?”

“With my life.” He responded, voice firm.

Draco offered a slow, sad smile, “Call the sword.” He squeezed as Harry opened his mouth to object, shook his head, and repeated his order, “Call it love.”

Noise twitching, Harry’s eyes slid over his face before releasing a hand and holding it out to his side, a little furrow creasing his brow.

A crack of thunder stilled the voices of the dead, and the heavy slap of metal on flesh heralded the arrival of the sword. The widening and surprise that flashed through Harry’s eyes caused a sudden rush of emotion for what he was about to suggest.

“Stab it through the floor.”

Horrified, Harry jerked back, yet Draco held him firm and nodded, “Trust me. Stab the floor.”

The air around them seemed too still, time itself frozen as it waited, yet with the voices of the ghost chanting in unison, Harry moved, quick and deadly, his animagus form superimposed over his human self, and slammed the sword to the hilt into the circle they stood in. 

Runes little up around them, spreading across the floor and up the wall to join together on the ceiling. 

Between one breath and another, they were buffeted by thunder without sound and pushed together. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry as the symbols lifted off the wall and spun in an even faster circle around the two of them, coming closer and closer.

The light of the magic blinded Draco, so the only thing he could concentrate on was the steady, solid weight of Harry’s hold and the deafening roar of words, the prophecy repeating on an endless loop as Harry’s back bowed and he screamed.

"It will end without crimson; nothing can be done though repentance is key if the death of a legacy ends not with blood but the weeping of souls. The only choice now that offers a beacon of hope is my favourite, a man given too many duties mortals should bear; when the stone disappears, the dragon will come, trust it and weep… Prophecy started this, prophecy ends it. Go forth with the dragon, my gift to you, travel past and carry on the duty as you were meant to."

***

Interlude 

Darkness. 

Harry woke to darkness, his hands scrambling beside him as he searched for Draco, when a cool voice, harsh and beautiful, neither masculine nor feminine, grated in the air, making him freeze.

“He’s always been stubborn.”

A different voice replied, this one masculine, the deep baritone giving the illusion it was sub-tonal: "You coddle him; he shouldn’t have been given a choice.”

A soft tinkling laugh like crystal fluttering in a breeze responded, “I would never presume to take free will from my children.”

“You allowed him to destroy time.” The second voice argued, indignation filling his tone.

“Oh hush, Chronos, I allowed nothing; that world was already doomed; too many forces were set against our chosen brother. Isn’t that right, sister?”

A voice hummed, “I think our brother is awake.”

“It appears you're correct, Ananke; let’s get some light so he can see.”

Harry’s eyes snapped shut as light flooded the area, blinding him, and he slapped his hand over his face to block it as tears filled his vision. “Where’s Draco?”

A booming laugh was mixed with a feminine chuckle, and he felt a hand touch his brow. "It’s nice to see you’ve not changed much, Hadrian. Your dragon is fine, but he can’t come here yet. It’s not meant for mere mortals. When you decide together that you wish to be done, he’ll be here waiting.”

Hesitantly, in case the light hurt again, Harry peaked between his fingers and regretted it. He saw the otherworldly being kneeling beside him, her raven-haired tresses falling in a waterfall down her back, and clear, unblemished black eyes that reflected a field of stars. The sight made his breath catch, and tears appeared in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“You have no need to be sorry, my beloved; you did what prophecy demanded, and it gave you another chance.” Another being knelt beside him - body morphing between feminine and masculine rapidly, making it difficult to watch - and offered a smile, “I am Ananke, known as destiny and fate.” They nodded to the first, “Hecate, Lady Magic,” and then flicked her fingers behind her, “Chronos, Lord of Time.” They smiled, “And you are a reincarnation of our brother, Thanatos, something you picked yourself to keep serving after the fall of Olympus.”

Hadrian sat up gingerly, rubbing his forehead. “I remember vaguely, but it’s so far removed….” He trailed off and shrugged helplessly, “What did I do?”

Hecate gripped his hands, squeezing them softly, “what was demanded and foreseen as Riddle’s body hit the ground. The way the Horcruxes were destroyed was the beginning of the end, and if Dumbledore hadn’t been such a narcissistic old fool, he would have sought help from those who live in magic.”

“Like the Dverger?” Harry stated, voice resigned, and blew out a breath, “Can I fix it?”

Chronos snorted, “Not that world; the ritual circle was the entrance to Avalon; using Excalibur to destroy it broke that realm.”

Harry’s eyes fluttered shut, “so my grief and bitterness destroyed them?”

“No,” Ananke assured him, “your motivations, while bound in that grief, had merit and truth. The people of that world turned out to have been too heavily influenced to be worthy of Avalon. We are just sorry it took so long.”

“So what now?” Harry asked, opening his eyes. "It didn’t; the prophecy hasn’t been completed yet.”

“It hasn’t.” Hecate answered calmly, “Do you want it to be?”

Shrugging, Harry sighed, “To be honest, the only thing I care about is Draco. If he’s alive and happy, then I can accept whatever you wish.”

“You can’t be serious!” Chronos shouted, shaking his head in disbelief. "You can’t be that self-sacrificing. What happened to selfishness?”

“I can’t afford to be selfish when responsible for those of the souls collected and delivered to her for justice.” Harry responded evenly, “I might love Draco with everything I am, but our Lady’s wants, wishes, and requests come first and always have.”

Thanatos grunted and waved a hand, “Fine, tell him. He’s clearly not letting his mortal life ruin his mental faculties.”

Ananke snorted, “That would never have happened; he’s our favourite for a reason, brother.”

The only acknowledgment was a grunt and folding of massive arms, and Hecate sighed, “We three have determined that Albus had suspicions but only figured out the connection between you and Riddle at the end of your fifth year and put into place plans none of us could circumvent as our directive prevents it without Avalon’s protocols engaged.”

“But you’re gods. You should be able to do what you want.” Harry protested, even as a sharp stab of warning thumped his heart, and he lowered his head, “Sorry.”

The androgynous god of destiny laughed, “No need. This is a conversation we’ve had before, but it is of your own doing. When you helped Arthur create Avalon, you put restrictions on our interference in the mortal world.” They patted his cheek and grinned at his chagrined expression. “We understood and forgive you, even if, as Merlin, you were a little shit.”

Harry flushed and lowered his eyes, “But fifth year, that was years ago.”

Hecate dipped her head in acknowledgment, “Thirteen years, to be exact, but it’s the best period for changes to be implemented. Dumbledore is out of the school, off cultivating favors. It’s not until July of that year that he starts researching what the other horcruxes could be.”

“But going back, I’ll still be a Horcrux, Riddle’s still going to have to kill-“

“No, he won’t because we already decided that leaving that in you was too dangerous; too many things can go wrong,” Hecate stated firmly.

Frowning, Harry rubbed a hand down his face, “So go back and give the sword to Neville?”

Thanatos laughed as Ananke frowned, “You know it doesn’t work that way; Neville would never just accept the sword, especially at that age.”

Hecate smiled and cupped his face. "You know what you need to do. A genuine choice is not just a feat of bravery and might; it’s an acceptance of who you are. You have to help Neville realize his potential, and you do that by summoning the stone.”

Harry groaned and flopped down, “But I hate that myth; Arthur never pulled the bloody sword from the stone.”

“He didn’t, but just imagine all the idiots attempting to do it. I think you’ll be vastly amused this time around…. The bonus is the purification field around the stone; it will cleanse the students, and you’ll save your best friends.”

Harry sighed as his eyes slipped shut, “I don’t know how to forgive her…”

“You know that forces worked against you and Hermione, who was potioned and placed under compulsions; the only reason you broke free was because you died. That protection will stay with you this time, a gift shared with your dragon.” The soft reassurance was followed and felt by a pair of lips pressing against his scar, and then he knew nothing more.

***

Part two 

***

April 5, 1995

Harry woke to a pounding headache that echoed in his hand, nausea rolling in his stomach, and the scent of blood in the air. It was disorienting and unnerving to have no memory of anything, not what he had done that day, or why he was on the icy stone floor. Hell, he wasn’t even sure of his name. Which felt more critical, a nudging in his head that couldn’t overcome the massive headache that finally forced him to roll over, expelling the contents of his stomach with an almost relieved breath.

Shifting from the sick left on the floor, Harry rolled back over, flopping onto his back and stared at the grey stone ceiling, knowing there was something important he had to remember and drawing a blank. 

So caught up in chasing a thought, or any thought that might give him answers, Harry missed the sound of footsteps hurrying to him. 

He flinched when hands touched him, jerking back, forgetting he was already lying on the floor, his muffled moan rippling down the hall as his head hit the floor violently, hard enough to taste blood in his mouth, and tears filled his eyes. 

It took another second to realize he’d bitten his tongue and not actually cracked his skull, but that didn’t explain the panic in the voice that was alternating between his name that wasn’t quite right, muttered reassurance that everything would be fine, it had worked - whatever that meant, and casting some highly advanced healing spells. Yet for the life of him, Harry couldn’t say how he knew what they were or why he knew they were advanced, instead of questioning any of that, his eyes slid shut and he relaxed against the arms that lifted him, the scent of vanilla and citrus wrapping around him as he tumbled head first into the beaconing darkness.

When he woke again, it was to the familiar rush of magic rippling across his skin, and he blinked at the blond halo leaning over him, running his wand down his body.

“What happened?” It felt like his tongue was swollen, and the words in his mouth were awkward as he spoke.

Silver eyes flicked to him before returning to the diagnostic spell: “I found you in the hall. It looks like you just had detention with Umbridge.”

Harry blinked and shook his head, “Can’t remember… can’t see.”

The blond hovering over him froze, his eyes snapping back to him. Then he reached over and grabbed a pair of glasses he slid onto Harry’s face. "What don’t you remember?”

Wincing, Harry raised a trembling hand to his forehead, the bracelet on his wrist catching his attention, “what’s this? Did you-“

“Hadrian.” The voice was sharp, and he jerked his gaze to stare wide-eyed at clear silver eyes. " What don’t you remember?”

Harry opened his mouth, licking his lips as no words emerged, “what-what’s my name?”

A horrified and fearful expression filled those silver eyes, filling Harry with a dread he thought would haunt him for the rest of his life. The wizard leaned over him, cupping his jaw, and said, “Your name is Hadrian James Cadmus Peverell, Duke of Warwick, Earl of Islington and Exmoor, Guardian of Avalon.”

Eyes fluttering closed, a heavy weight settled on Harry’s shoulders. He felt another nudge, then a familiar push against his mind, and he opened to it. The whispered apology was soft and loving before memories exploded in his mind. Years unfolded in seconds, leaving him heaving and dizzy before he sat up in a rush, the pounding in his head not abiding: “Draco.”

“Hey, love, it’s alright,” Draco reassured carefully, prodding him to lay back down.

“It- oh Merlin we’ve time traveled.” Harry breathed, eyes snapping open, eyes scanning a fifteen-year-old Draco in a sort of horrified fascination.

Snorting, Draco nodded, resumed his wand movement, running up Harry’s body.

Unable to help it, Harry flinched away, feeling exposed, embarrassment, and shame, which made him flush and avert his gaze. 

“None of that, love. I need to do a diagnostic….” Draco trailed off as he read the results. “Oh, sweetheart. Why?”

Feeling tears fill his eyes, Harry shrugged, “No one seemed to care or notice and after Sirius….” 

Jolting half upright, and huffing as he was pushed back down, “Sirius is still alive…”

Draco paused as he shuffled through a bag of potions. "It’s April 5, so I would assume so. From the week I’ve been back, I haven’t had any differentiations in memories unless I’ve purposefully done something.”

“A week?” Harry asked, voice trembling. “Have I- did I do anything offensive?”

“No, I scanned you once on the sly to get a read on you, and started brewing potions immediately.” He frowned, glancing at the bandaged hand, “It’s been challenging not cursing that toad.”

Harry exhaled,  “I’m sorry I never told you. I just, after everything...” He shrugged, “The Dverger helped set up a ritual chamber for me and helped heal most of the damage, and then well…”

Draco smiled sadly, “You don’t need to justify yourself. I suspected ritual magic in the future, but I never felt comfortable asking, and we both had other things to deal with.” 

Feeling conflicted, Harry turned his head, struggling to control his emotions, and heaved a sigh, “Do you have a headache potion?”

Wordlessly, Draco handed a vial over and watched him take it before offering two more: "One’s a pepper up, the other a mild cleansing." He hesitated before adding, “Did you know you’ve been dosed regularly with loyalty and mild attraction potions?”

Harry froze, blinking at him in shock, before grabbing the second vial and tossing it back with a grimace, then quickly downed the pepper-up. “No, but it doesn’t surprise me, given what happens in the future.” He touched his scar briefly, eyes snapping to Draco, then to the dimensional bracelet, “it came back?”

Draco hummed, shifting his collar, “so did the chains, and they worked. The glamour has made it very easy to move through the school.”

Harry looked around with a frown, pushing to a sitting position with a grunt, “where are we?”

A smug expression flitted across Draco’s face, “The Chamber of Secrets.”

Harry’s mouth fell open in shock, making Draco laugh with a pleased little smirk. “It’s a good look on you. It’s not often I get one over on you.”

Huffing, Harry looked around in fascination, “I sincerely regret not exploring it when I was in school. What have you found?”

“A bunch of rooms that look like they were designed as safe rooms, an exit to the forest, more entrances into the castle, and Salazar’s personal study, but I couldn’t pass the ward on my own.” He paused, “So I cheated and picked you up and carried you in; we’re in a bedroom off the study.”

“Fireplace?” Harry asked curiously.

“There is, but I assume you’ll have to activate it, along with Salazar’s portrait as it didn’t react to me at all.” Draco frowned, “I really want to read the books on the shelf, so you’ll have to allow that too.”

Harry rolled his eyes, and asked again, “what day is it?”

“April 5, which is a Friday, but we’re going into Saturday, I found you shortly after 9. Why?”

Drawing a deep breath, Harry allowed the wand to slide into his hand, understanding morphing Draco’s face as he inhaled sharply. “They came back with you.”

It wasn’t a question, but Harry nodded anyway. "Yeah, I’m also Horocrux free." He stored the wand and then held out his hand, the ring shimmering into place on his finger, the matching Consort ring appearing on Draco’s hand. ”The ring is clean, too.”

“Which means the Avalon protocols will activate in 48 hours. We need to go to the bank.” Draco finished and rolled off the bed. "There’s a bathing room through that door,” he pointed to the open door to the right of the bed. ”I’ll grab you some clothes, though they’ll have to be mine.”

Harry waved him off, shifting to the edge of the bed, burying his head in his hands tensing as he encountered his glasses.

Warmth enveloped his back, and he tipped his head back to rest on Draco’s shoulder with a heavy sigh that sounded like a strangled sob. “I’m sorry.”

The shaking of Draco’s head against his neck preceded the whispered words against his skin. "I'm pretty sure this isn’t your fault.”

“But-“ the protest was cut off when Draco slid a hand over his mouth and shook his head again. “It’s done, love. We can’t do anything but change the future for the better.”

Harry sighed, shoving his glasses on his head as he knuckled his eyes, “I’m so unbelievably tired, Draco.” He huffed suddenly, “And this stupid body I have isn’t doing much for me.”

“I think you look adorable,” Draco offered with a grin, pressing a kiss to the side of Harry’s neck. "However briefly it lasts, I’ll enjoy being taller than you once again.”

The comment drew a startled laugh from Harry, who turned to glare playfully at the blond. “You do that, prat. I’m getting a healing ritual and cleansing if we have time.”

A soft, mournful sigh hit his neck, and he smiled into the kiss he pressed against Draco’s temple. “Are you joining me in the shower?”

A blush stole across Draco’s face, and he lifted his head to meet Harry’s eyes, “um… so, I don't think that’s a good idea.”

Frowning, Harry twisted, “Why?”

“My father has a chastity charm on me that I won’t break until I’m sixteen.” He swallowed and averted his gaze, “That’s not to say I wouldn’t love to, but it’d be best…”

“Not giving your father a heads up.” Harry supplied with a sigh, “What about the consort ring? Do we know if that negates anything?”

Draco frowned and glanced at the ring. " I-I don’t know. We can ask Ragnok, I guess.” He rubbed the ring, his frown shifting to excited and visibly brightening. “I have the consort ring on.”

Perplexed, Harry glanced between it, and Draco’s face, “yeah?”

Draco’s face softened, and he cupped Harry’s face, “I didn't even think of it. Harry, if I’m still wearing it, magic still views us as married, even without a contract, love.”

Harry’s eyes widened, “we’re married?”

Shrugging helplessly Draco nodded, worry filling his eyes, “I mean, yeah, through magic's eyes, unless you-“ 

A firm kiss cut Draco off, and when Harry lifted his head, they were both panting, faces flushed. “We have too many enemies to watch our backs on that, so we’ll sign a contract at the bank and have it sealed with Dverger magic.”

Draco nodded breathlessly, licking his lips, “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Laughing softly, Harry brushed their lips together, “No, it doesn’t, but I need to protect you. I failed you miserably the first time, I’m not failing you again.”

They stared at each other before Draco nodded, “I’ve never thought you failed me, and you certainly haven’t now. I want to be here with you, Harry. Even with the memories of what we experienced, to have this do over? I wouldn’t change it for the world. Alright?”

Startled, Harry nodded, “I should shower.”

A smirk appeared on Draco’s face as he agreed, “You should, and I’ll make a list of things we need to accomplish today and in the weeks to come. I assume right this second you don’t know what to do regarding the sword, right?”

Harry knew his face burnt red, but he pulled out of Draco’s embrace and pushed off the bed. “Yes, I do, but it’s ridiculous, and I’m annoyed, so make your lists and include ritual healing and clothing. I’m not staying in my cousin’s cast-offs, not if I can help it.”

Amusement lit Draco’s face before he nodded, “Get a shower. I’ll set some clothes on the counter for you, love.” 

Harry hesitated briefly, “Be sure to include all the Horcrux on that list. I’m going to ask the Dverger to gather the rest, and we need to make a plan to get my godfather out of that house.”

Draco frowned, “how will you do that without tipping your hand?”

“Well, if memory serves me correctly, Dumbledore is currently wanted by the ministry, and they’re controlling the communications at the school. They won’t know who I am, but they’ll know and understand the significance of the titles and try to suppress the information. If they don’t send an invite, they don’t have to acknowledge me, right?”

“But you can control that.” Draco protested.

“Yes, but I have to first visit the room. We obviously can’t do that, so we must get around it. I plan to summon the stone from the DOM and invoke the protocols here. I suspect it’ll take a bit before Croaker gets his way and forces Fudge to let him investigate. In the meantime, we can build alliances in the school and let the Dverger search out and destroy the horcruxes.” Harry explained, brow furrowing as he thought it over, “I announce terms for pulling the sword. The only ones that will be able to perform magic inside the nullification field will be those sworn to Avalon first, which gives us a layer of protection because I guarantee Riddle will come, even if it’s just a rumour he’ll be intrigued. If you send a letter to your dad….”

Draco sighed and nodded, “Yeah, I get it. What are we going to do about our friends?”

A glint of determination burned in Harry’s eyes: "We’re going to unite them in a common cause. The nullification ward around the stone is going to cause havoc and chaos. It will cleanse every single person in the school. Most people are going to have rapid personality changes, dormant or suppressed traits are going to surface, and I imagine some will become violently ill. It’s a defensive bred into the protocols when the calling is activated.”

“But.” Draco frowned, rubbing his face with both hands, “why can’t you just give it to Longbottom? You know he’s-“

Harry shook his head, “it doesn’t work that way, love. He might be Heir by blood and magic, but he doesn’t believe himself worthy. It’s not until his seventh year that Neville truly becomes who he’s meant to be.”

At the turmoil on Draco’s face, Harry crossed the room, reaching out to cup his consort’s face with both hands. “It’s convoluted, I get it, but it’s how it’s done.”

Draco sighed, leaning into Harry, “It’s going to be a bloody long week.”

Harry laughed, kissing the top of his head. "It should be amusing, though, especially when those amongst us can’t pull the sword.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably as Draco stared at him. A wide smile spread across his face, and he started to chuckle, mirth bringing tears to his eyes. "You-you, oh Harry, the one legend you despised, the sword in the stone…. Oh, love, that’s priceless, you….” Draco trailed off, overcome with laughter, tears sliding down his cheeks.

Harry huffed but couldn’t argue or defend himself. He hated the legend and sighed in defeat, “Hey, love?”

Draco hiccuped as he attempted to catch his breath, biting his lower lip.

“You want to know the truly ironic part of that?” Harry began as he leaned over Draco, brushing a kiss over his lips before pulling back, “I started that rumour, and the fates have paid me back for it by making it come to pass.”

Draco stared at him with a sort of horrified fascination before bursting into delighted, breathless laughter as Harry left the room.

***

Stepping from the magical fire, the two appeared in a room that screamed age just by the pitted stone, darkened with age. Magic had kept the chamber clean of dust, but it was evident in the decoration and carving that it was old. 

A wood and stone door opened. Ragnok’s expression as he stared at the two of them was a combination of horror and sorrow, though he bowed correctly after a pause. “Your Grace, my wife informed me you’d arrive today.”

Sighing, Harry bowed in return, “Did your wife share anything else?”

A fleeting grin flashed across Ragnok’s face, and he shrugged smoothly, “My wife shares many things, Your Grace.”

Laughing, Harry conceded with a nod, “I feel at a disadvantage even with my memories; it’s disconcerting, Chieftain.”

The Dverger grunted and gestured behind, “Let’s retreat to my office. We’ll be private, and my wife awaits. She implied your time would be short, and you have many matters to address.” He paused and frowned, “though for our sake, I hope she exaggerated some of the things she saw.” 

Glancing at his Consort, Harry squeezed Draco’s hand, “Is that something Beannacht does, Chieftain?”

Ragnok muttered something in his native language, his expression making Harry glad he didn’t understand. Still, it made him wonder about his purpose if he couldn’t understand the language.

Draco glanced his way, brushing their arms together, “What put that expression on your face?”

“Languages.” Harry responded with a frown, “If my purpose is Death, then shouldn’t I understand the language spoken.”

Draco huffed, “Your purpose isn’t death, Harry. It’s balance. You guard the gate and the realm; it’s not your fault inept minions challenge you.”

Startled, Harry laughed and shook his head, “minions?“

A blush stole across his consort's face, “It was an adorable movie, and I’m very disappointed it doesn’t exist at this point.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry tugged Draco closer, “As long as we remember, it wasn’t my idea to time travel.”

At the sharp look he received, Harry shrugged, “There’s no point hiding it from the Dverger, love. Not only do they recognize the soul of the individual if they’ve met before, but they’ll know the taste and touch lingering in our magic. Time is infinite, Dragon.”

“You don’t just give information for free, though.” Draco hissed, exasperated but not angry at all. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, muttering, "Mother would be so disappointed and distraught to know her lessons didn’t stick.”

“That's not fair, Dragon. I haven’t met her in this timeline, so you can’t use your mother against me.” Harry protested with a laugh.

“His Grace is correct, Consort Warwick.” Ragnok interrupted their playful banter outside a single door that Harry suspected was the private entrance to his office. This led credence to the idea that the floo room they’d come from was old, though it left a question: Which had come first? Hogwarts or Gringotts.

“The magic of Kronos is evident in your core, though most magical beings wouldn’t recognize it.” Ragnok offered with a wry grin, pushing open the door and calling out. “Your guests have arrived.”

Beannacht, the Shaman of the Dverger, smiled as she approached, her hand resting on her extended stomach. "It’s good to see you again, Your Grace.”

Harry blinked, his stomach dropping to the soles of his feet, and horror spread across his face. "You remember that other timeline?”

A sorrowful expression crossed Beannacht’s face, and she shrugged, “It’s the bane of any gifted Seer, Your Grace, but I don’t blame you for your actions.” She glanced at Draco, who had shifted closer, offering a compassionate smile. "It was more of a traumatic experience for the two of you, having lived it. That duty and responsibility is a heavy burden, especially for two so young.”

Unable to help it, Harry shivered, “the alternative offered nothing but suffering, my lady.”

Grief flashed through the Shaman’s eyes, and she gestured to the two chairs in front of the crackling fire, “Come, let us get started. We have a lot to accomplish in very little time.”

***

Draco slipped an arm around his waist as he helped maneuver them through the halls, keeping his voice soft but chiding. “You should sleep more.”

Shaking his head, Harry pressed a kiss to the side of Draco’s head, “I’ll sleep after, love. The stone must be in place tonight when the magic is strongest.”

Huffing, Draco paused at the stairs, “You’re sure Hogwarts will let us out?”

“Positive.“ Harry assured, squeezing Draco’s waist as he straightened, turning in his husband’s arms, “Hogwarts….” He trailed off with a little laugh, “Honestly, I don’t even know how to explain it, but I can hear her, Draco.” 

Draco raised an eyebrow, neither skeptical nor disbelieving but prompting, and it made Harry flush: “I don’t know how I didn’t hear her before. She’s kind of like that fussy witch who is both irritated and concerned because you won’t eat your vegetables. She’s been muttering incessantly since we returned, but she’s also unbelievably excited. She understands exactly what I’m doing.”

Draco sighed, dropping his head to the curve of Harry’s neck, breath ghosting along Harry’s skin. 

The ritual cleansing Harry had undergone removed the lingering traces of dark magic. Still, they’d put off the healing aspects until he’d completed a nutritional supplement regime because no amount of magic would be able to hide forced magical healing. However, the Shaman had fixed his eyesight, negating the need for his glasses.

It had been disappointing and annoying, but Harry understood, and he’d felt the amusement rolling off his husband, who denied his happiness that he’d continue being the taller of the two. Harry wasn’t fooled, but he let his husband have it, keeping quiet on his enjoyment of being sheltered by the other man. Maybe it was something they both needed; the memories of their future were a horrifying possibility, and this provided new memories from their school years.

Rubbing his head against Draco's, Harry pressed his lips to the skin on Draco’s jaw and stepped back. “Let’s get this done so we can get some sleep. Dobby should have our rooms ready.”

Draco paused and looked at him, “are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Trailing his eyes up his husband’s body, Harry lifted an eyebrow, “I think it’s a fantastic idea,” he waved a hand, then grabbed Draco’s with his other, “plus everyone’s going to be more concerned with the stupid sword than to worry about me.”

A huff of laughter escaped Draco, “Stop calling Excalibur a stupid sword.”

Shooting his husband a look to show he disagreed, Harry led them to the main doors that stood cracked open. Together, they slipped into the courtyard, the moonlight beaming down on them.

It wasn’t a full moon—that had happened a few nights before—but it was still large and bright.

Harry stood there for a long moment, soaking it in. He felt a slight vibration in his magic, like a hint of anticipation.

Pressing a reverently chaste kiss to Draco’s lips, Harry walked down the stairs, pulling the elder wand from his dimensional store and enlarging it with a flick of his wrist.

Shimmering robes, stitched with what looked like raindrops, settled on his shoulders. The weight of it was nothing, as they seemed to rustle and ripple against an invisible breeze. 

Taking a deep breath, Harry tapped the staff on the ground. A rumbling echo built, and the staff extended and stretched as he rapped it again.

Magic exploded in front of him, racing across the courtyard, rippling across the stone and grass; when the magic settled, the courtyard was pristine, the stone used as a pathway, neat and even, the dirt replaced with lush layers of grass. Flowers in full bloom burst out of the boxes lining the courtyard, and the old decrepit tree that had stood in the middle was in full bloom, white bark sparkling, intensifying the riot of colour from the leaves and multiple flowers now adorning it. It left Harry breathless as his eyes tracked around the courtyard, glancing at Draco’s, who released a startled gasp, and he turned fully to look at his husband, instantly concerned, “What’s wrong?”

Shaking his head, Draco licked his lips, “It’s- it’s Silvanus Donum(gift), also known as the Arbor Multa(tree of Plenty).“

Swallowing at the look of awe on Draco’s face, Harry shifted to move, but his husband shook his head. "It’s—it’ll wait. Finish what you started, Harry.”

Frowning intently at his husband, Harry sighed, turning his attention back to the courtyard. He closed his eyes and opened himself to his magic. 

No words were needed. The ritual summoning was older than time; it was an innate part of himself, instinctual and righteous.

When he opened his eyes again, he was swaying, and Draco was healing the cut on his hand. His worry conflicted with the pride on his face.

“It work?” Harry felt his tongue rebel against moving, eyes fluttering shut. 

“It worked, love, now rest. We can’t do anything else till tomorrow.”

“But tree….” Harry mumbled, trailing off as he fought to open his eyes, only calming when Draco kissed his forehead. 

“Dobby.” 

The pop of the elf’s appearance sounded loud, and Harry turned his head to Draco’s neck, breathing in the scent of his husband with a wistful sigh.

“Take us to the rooms, Dobby,” Draco ordered, shifting to lift Harry into his arms.

The world twirled around them before they appeared in a suite of rooms with dark oak furniture and a slate grey bedspread.

The bed dipped under his weight, making Harry open his eyes to blink sleepily at Draco. “Thank you-“

Draco slid a hand over his mouth, crawling into the bed beside him. “Sleep, love, I’ll wake you when it’s time for breakfast.”

“Tell, tree,” Harry whispered with a yawn, curling into Draco’s chest with a contented sound.

Draco sighed, combing his fingers through Harry’s hair, and started to speak. His voice faded as darkness took over, and Harry fell asleep.

***

“Harry!”

“Mate!” 

The overlapping voices of his friends made Harry sigh as he slid onto the bench at the Gryffindor table, still exhausted.

Hermione leaned forward, face pinched with worry, “Where have you been, and where are your glasses?”

“Yeah, it’s-it’s been days, Harry.” Ron added, dropping his voice as Hermione elbowed him, “Come on, ‘Mione, you know it’s true. It’s Monday, and we haven’t seen him since Friday.”

“I’ve been busy,” Harry muttered tiredly, ignoring the comment about his glasses, interrupting the argument before it could get full swing, shifting his plate as he filled it with food. 

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks before glancing at Harry, “What could have made you so busy that you disappeared for the weekend? Did you lose your glasses?”

Ron leaned forward, dropping his voice, wiggling his eyebrows, “You met up with someone?”

Harry felt his fifteen-and-almost-sixteen-year-old body flush and internally cursed it but met Ron’s eyes dead on. "And if I was?”

Ron’s ribbing cut off abruptly as his face flamed red, and he sputtered, “You have to be careful with that sort of thing, Harry; witches could try and entrap you into marriage.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry picked up his fork, muttering slyly but with a hint of a challenge, “It definitely wasn’t a witch.”

Ron’s mouth dropped open in surprise, but he snapped shut a second later and carefully said, "Well… wizards could attempt the same thing.”

Surprised, Harry lifted his head, “it doesn’t bother you?”

Ron stared at him for a long moment, a flash of hurt in his eyes that he quickly tried to hide, “no, both Bill and Charlie are interested in the same sex.” He frowned and clarified, “Well, actually, Bill likes both, but the point stands, I’d be somewhat hypocritical being opposed if my best friend preferred wizards if I accepted my brothers.” He shrugged uncomfortably, “I’m just-“ he sighed and shook his head, “I guess it’s not as accepted in the muggle world, right?”

Blinking at his best friend in shocked surprise, Harry nodded. He’d honestly never expected this level of maturity or acceptance; it was something they’d never talked about in that alternate future.

Licking his lips, he avoided looking at the Slytherin table, knowing Draco was watching him. He offered a weak smile to his best friend, allowing his shoulders to relax and letting out a laugh: "Thanks. I just—I really like them, and I thought you would get mad, so it felt safer to keep it to myself.”

Ron’s face softened, reminding Harry of the boy he’d met on the train, which sent a spike of grief for the man he’d grown into, no matter how it had ended, and he had to drop his gaze as his eyes burned.

“Harry,” Hermione spoke gently, drawing his gaze. "Are you sure? I thought you liked...” she trailed off with a frown and then shook her head. "No, you know what? Good for you. Will you tell us about him?”

Harry opened his mouth and closed it, feeling a little lost and confused. He didn’t know if it was the influence of the nullification field already or something they honestly thought, but the support they offered rendered him mute. Yet, Hermione had asked a question and knew it was one he couldn’t answer yet, so he shook his head, feeling his cheeks flush again, “I want to tell you about him, he’s-he’s everything, but it’s… complicated.” He finished with a frown, “Just know, we’re going into this with eyes wide open, and both of us are over the age of consent; there are just other factors at play that don’t make it safe to talk about it openly.”

Ron frowned, glancing around the great hall, “I’m not going to like them, am I?”

In the other timeline, Ron had died before rumours of his and Draco’s relationship hit the news, but there had already been opposition between them because of his public support of the Malfoys after the war and his actions regarding the attempted ministry takeover.

Harry straightened his back and met his friend’s eyes, “I hope you can show the same level of acceptance when you find out who he is, cause I’ll be frank, I’m never going to play a game for appearance sake, nor am I giving them up to keep anyone happy. Alright?”

“Right.” Ron swallowed and nodded, eyes wide, as they darted down the table before jerking back to Harry’s with a flush climbing his cheeks. “You-you must like them a lot. Can I ask that you at least let Ginny down gently?”

Jaw ticking, Harry took a moment to calm himself at the reminder she was still alive and tried not to think of what she had planned to do in that future, even after repeated warnings from her to oldest brothers Bill and Charlie, the only Weasley’s Harry had talked to for the last four years. “We’ll see. It’ll depend on her actions going forward, Ron.”

Ron winced, showing without words that he understood Harry's warning. It was no secret and well-known throughout the school: Ginny could be vicious and vindictive when she thought herself wronged. 

Hermione frowned at him intently, food forgotten as she leaned forward. "There—there’s something different about you, Harry.”

Glancing at Hermione, he was suddenly reminded of their last confrontation in the Wizengamot Chamber. Her intense and somewhat suspicious expression caused a knee-gut reaction that he forced himself not to react to. His silence did seem to help, though, as she hummed thoughtfully before turning her attention back to her breakfast and pulling out her planner. 

Ron shrugged helplessly, “I can’t say she’s wrong exactly….” He chewed his lip, leaning forward as he whispered, “There is something different—“ his face flamed red, “and I don’t mean that.”

Harry smiled weakly but didn’t comment. Attention turned inward as he tried to remember when they’d both changed because this breakfast conversation felt pre-horcrux normal. It was fucking with his mind trying to remember if it had been the sixth year or even when they were on the run that things had changed.

A nudge to his side snapped him from his thoughts, and he jerked his head to stare at Neville, who was climbing into the seat beside him and looking at him in concern. “Sorry. Are you alright, Harry?”

Dumbly, Harry nodded, swallowing hard, and excused himself from the table, waving half heartedly as Hermione called Transfiguration. 

It was probably a good thing he had the reminder; Harry wouldn’t have been able to say what class he had. Lost in guilt and his memories, it was no wonder Neville had asked if he was alright. Harry needed to get away from Neville, or he would end up looking at Neville like a ghost, a reaction he hadn’t had with Ron. Though truthfully, this entire journey began and ended with Neville. Maybe if Harry hadn’t been so bitter, he wouldn’t be experiencing this again.

He couldn't have said how he managed to be the last to class and shrugged when Hermione questioned him, but he managed to dig through his bag for his homework and hand in something, unsure if it was right or even remembering the assignment. He did take diligent notes, if only to avoid Hermione and Ron’s confused and questioning expressions, feeling like he was in a trap and just waiting for it to spring shut.

By the time lunch rolled around, Harry was fighting a headache - a weird bodily sensation of previous normalcy due to Riddle’s constant intrusion on his mind but was, in truth, his exhaustion from the weekend fully catching up, in addition to weird déjà vu and remembered details from this time, and the future.

Thankfully, due to the headache, Hermione had stopped looking at him suspiciously and more with a pitying expression he wasn’t sure he liked. 

Escaping into the bathroom on the third floor, he waved Ron and Hermione on, needing a few minutes to breathe. Which he did, the second the door clicked shut behind him, his back against it, eyes closed as he took a few calming breaths.

The scent of citric and vanilla snapped his eyes open to meet Draco's concerned gaze.

Harry reached out desperately, feeling his emotions rise, and felt himself pulled forward as he stepped into Draco’s embrace, half-gasping, half-gurgling as he fought tears. “I shouldn’t have- you were right, I should have taken a day to settle memories.”

Firm lips pressed against his hairline as Draco ran a calming hand down his back and back up through his hair, “Shh, just breathe for a minute, love.”

Nodding tightly, Harry buried his head against Draco’s chest, thankful he didn’t have his glasses; he didn’t miss them digging into his face when Harry sought comfort, breathing in his husband’s scent, shuddering slightly as he struggled to calm down.

After a time, Harry drew back, wiping his cheeks with a little flush of embarrassment, “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to hide with me, Harry. Out of everyone, I get it.” He waved one hand, tightening his hold on Harry’s hip with the other, “I might have been somewhat flippant Friday night, but until you experience it, you can’t explain it.”

Inhaling, shakingly, Harry blew out a breath, “I think- I need sleep, I just-“ he sighed, running a hand through his hair, “do you have any headache potions? I’m going to get Dobby to run interference, pretend I’m sleeping in my bed, I imagine the courtyard has already drawn attention, and Madame Pomphrey is already swamped.” 

Draco’s shoulders hunched as he held out a vial instantly, then shrugged half-heartedly, “I was hopeful because it’d look suspicious if I was seen carrying you through the school.”

“I love you.” Harry breathed, grabbing the vial, breaking the seal and knocking it back, wincing at the spice - proving it was one of Draco’s recipes from the future. No potion back then tasted good. His eyes widened, though, as he felt it move through his body in the next second. He raised a brow towards his husband, who shrugged unrepentantly and defended himself.

“You need sleep. A little bit of Dreamless Sleep will only help.” Draco reached out, taking the vial back and setting it on the sink, “I’d never let you become dependent on it. I know you used it as a crutch after.”

Harry closed his eyes, knowing it was true; after the war, he had been using it to get any sort of sleep. “I trust you, Draco.”

“Good, go and get some sleep; I’ll call Dobby so he has a heads up,” Draco replied with a pleased little smile, brushing a kiss across Harry’s jaw as he ducked into a stall.

Not a second too soon, as the door opened and Ron poked his head in, “You alright?”

“No.” Harry replied honestly, washing his hands quickly, “My head’s killing me, so I’m going back to bed.”

Worried, Ron entered the bathroom, “want me to walk you to the Hospital first, maybe get something for it?”

“I just took some; I had some in my bag.” Harry replied, drying his hands, “but if it’s still bothering me when I wake up, I’ll go then.”

“Alright, mate. I’ll let Hagrid know.” Ron offered, ignoring that they were supposed to have double Potions after that class. Harry didn’t care at that point, feeling the potion starting to work, and realized it hadn’t been a simple headache potion mixed with a bit of Dreamless Sleep. There was something else in it, and it was fast taking effect. 

Stifling a yawn, Harry pocketed the vial, tossed the paper towel in the garbage, and stifled another yawn as he followed Ron from the bathroom, the two of them separated at the stairs. 

Knowing he wouldn’t reach his and Draco’s room, he slipped into an empty classroom and summoned Dobby, who eyed him in exasperation before popping him into his bedroom. 

Wordlessly the elf snapped his fingers, swapping his clothing for pyjamas and urged him into the bed, dimming the lights with a wave of his hand. Harry drifted off, feeling his mind settle as he processed and organized his thoughts between now, then and the future, structuring his Occlumency shields wondering if Draco had done the same thing.

***

Draco lowered the book to his lap as Harry rolled over, pressing his face against his side, breathing in a sharp breath before relaxing against the pillow, snaking an arm over Draco’s chest.

Draco thumbed the fading lightning bolt scar, brushing the bangs off Harry's head, lowering his voice, “How are you feeling, love?”

A nose nuzzled against the bare skin of his side, followed by an open-mouth kiss, was Harry’s response as the other man snuggled closer, rolling his head to look at Draco, “better.” He rubbed at his eyes, blinking the sleep from his eyes, “how long?”

“It’s Tuesday night,” Draco admitted, moving the book to the bedside table, threading a hand through Harry’s hair as his eyes fluttered shut.

Harry swallowed and licked his lips, “How bad?”

Draco made a soft noise, “it could be worse, but Umbridge has locked the school down. All mail's being rerouted to her, even newspapers.” He held up the morning's paper, but Harry shook his head. Draco continued gently, “The ministry couldn’t suppress the knowledge that the Avalon Protocols have been invoked, but they’re not naming anyone, though there is rampant speculation.”

Harry hummed in acknowledgment, toying with the edge of Draco’s pyjama seam.

“Half the school has been affected, which include a good portion of Gryffindor and Slytherin, half a dozen Hufflepuffs, and about a dozen Ravenclaws….” He trailed off and hesitated, before plunging forward, “Luna approached me privately and pledged her support.”

“She’s a direct descendant of Nimue, I’m not surprised.” Harry whispered, “Ron? Hermione?”

“In the hospital, along with Pansy and Blaise. All four reacted differently once in contact with the nullification field; Ron just sat down and started crying. Hermione has a sort of nervous breakdown, Pansy is really nauseous and sick, and Blaise was hit with a mind-blowing migraine. Neville was with them, and appeared shocked, then terrified before disappearing into the greenhouses.” Draco said, shifting until he lay on his side, curling an arm over Harry’s waist, and pressed his lips against his forehead.

Drawing in a shaking breath, Harry forced his eyes open, “who else?”

“Snape, he-“ Draco whispered and cut himself off with a sniffle, “he collapsed instantly, a mist rising from his body before dissipating, he hasn’t woken up.”

Jerking back, Harry looked at him wide-eyed, “what?”

Draco shrugged, biting his lip before admitting, “I snuck in and scanned him earlier; he doesn’t have the dark mark anymore, Harry.”

Surprised, Harry lay there staring at Draco before sighing, “Who else?”

“The twins-“ he started with a frown, “I don’t know how to explain it, but they’re unbelievably angry. Not even George, at the war's end, topped this rage. They haven’t stopped glaring at anyone, and I can’t even begin to guess why, but it’s similar to how Theo is acting, so I suspect it has to do with a compulsion for their sorting. A few professors have been struggling but haven’t acted outwardly any differently, though I suspect Professor McGonagall is inwardly raging.”

“What about Ginny?” Harry asked curiously, brow furrowed in concentration.

A hard look crossed Draco’s face, “no changes that I can detect, though she’s been careful to avoid the Twins.”

Harry nodded sadly, “do you know how to scan auras?”

Draco pushed himself to a sitting position, “Yes, Luna taught me, but it’d be too noticeable, and I felt someone would catch me doing it.”

Sighing, Harry flipped to his back, scratching his stomach before stretching and sitting, “All right, could you get Dobby to bring some food while I shower? I feel gross.”

“Of course. After you can review your mail, Ragnok sent a letter via Dobby.” Draco agreed, picked up his book again, and waved a hand to the small table in front of the window, several letters sitting on top.

Harry glanced at them, stomach sinking at the familiar scrawl across the topmost letter and crawled off the bed, “do you think Sirius will be upset with me?”

Draco tensed in the bed before breathing, “You know the Shaman explained Sirius was too emotionally damaged by his time in Azkaban for Medea.”

“But-“ Harry started and cut himself off, dropping his head into his hands, “it feels like I stole from him.”

Setting the book down again, Draco crawled across the bed, wrapping Harry in a hug from behind, “You know that’s not what happened; he was never going to legally be able to claim the title as he was disowned and, as a result, views himself as unworthy so would never have tried. I imagine since you're claiming it’s done wonders for him, and as a bonus, you may have pushed Aunt Bella around the twist. Being reclaimed into the family magic….” He trailed off, brushing his lips over Harry’s jaw, pressing a kiss down his neck, “Honestly, Sirius probably feels the best he’s felt in years, and if you read his letter, it’ll back up what I’m saying. We know through the Black magic we feel the love and acceptance you have for us, it’s startling and heartbreaking, and nothing like the Malfoy magic.”

Harry tipped his head back against Draco’s shoulder, “I wonder if that’s Riddle’s corruption in the magic. Both Abraxes and your father served, right?”

Draco shrugged helplessly, snuggling closer, “I don’t know, but it’s honestly part of why I never claimed the title after the war. It was bad enough with the taint in me, but being surrounded in it with the family magic was disturbing.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Harry raised his eyebrow, “Can we expect your mother to appear or contact us?”

Pain and longing flared inside Draco, and he buried his head against Harry’s neck, whispering sadly, “Depends on how much my father’s paying attention; if she can, she’ll get away, but I’m not hopeful. He kept her on a pretty short leash my original fifth year.”

Turning his head, Harry pressed a kiss to his temple, “We’ll save her that and future grief this time around, Dragon.”

Draco mumbled against his neck, jerking back as Harry sat up, “what?”

“I-“ Harry stopped glancing at his husband, “house elf magic? Is it bound to the senior magic, or can it be circumvented?”

Frowning, Draco opened his mouth, then closed it, shaking his head with an amused smirk, “I really don’t understand how your mind works sometimes.”

Harry flushed and shrugged, unsure how to respond, calling out to Dobby.

The little house elf appeared, dressed in toddler-sized wizarding robes, eerily similar to the style Harry wore in the future. The visual made it challenging to swallow around the threat of tears.

“Master Harry be summoning Dobby?”

“Yeah, I-“ Harry inhaled sharply and released it slowly, “if I sent you to rescue someone connected to the Black family magic, would you be able to circumvent the protections around the property?”

“Harry?” Draco whispered, hand clenching reflexively in the blankets underneath him.

Harry ignored him as Dobby fingered his ear and frowned, “Dobby is unsure, Master Harry. Peverell magics is powerful, but Medea very happy and Dobby was happy as Black house elf.” Dobby blinked as he looked at them, “who is Dobby supposed to be rescuing?”

Harry looked at Draco, who seemed equally surprised, “you were originally a Black House elf?”

Dobby nodded, “Yes, Master Harry, Dobby was given to Misses Cissy when she turned sixteen, and I went with her in her marriage.”

Harry relaxed and smiled, “Well, that should make it easier. I need you to rescue Narcissa from Lucius’s control. Can you do that?”

Dobby stilled, looking between them as an unholy light lit within his eyes, “Dobby has permission to save Misses Cissy?”

Exchanging another look with Draco, Harry nodded, “We’d like it if you could do it quietly and quickly without anyone knowing, but yes, you have permission to save her.”

A little furrow appeared on the house elf’s forehead, the fire dimming slightly before nodding once to show he understood his instructions, “Where is Dobby bringing Misses Cissy?”

Hesitating, Harry scrambled for a safe location, shoulders saggy briefly before he bolted upright and stared at the wall in shock when a door appeared on the opposite side of the seating room seen through the open bedroom door. “Here. Bring Narcissa here, Dobby.”

The house elf blinked once, then twice before disappearing soundlessly, earning a muffled squawk from Draco, who gaped after the elf in surprise before turning a glare on his husband, “Go get your shower before they come back.”

Even though he’d slept for over twenty-four hours, Harry nodded tiredly and pushed off the bed, ambling to the bathroom with a resigned sigh. It was going to be a long night.

***

It wasn’t surprising that Harry found his wardrobe full of new clothing. Knowing his husband as he did, he suspected Draco had sent Dobby shopping while Harry was sleeping, so after his shower, he dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a blue cashmere sweater that probably cost more than his entire previous wardrobe. 

Walking into the sitting room, he was startled to find Draco sitting on the couch, holding his mother, who appeared somewhat worse for wear. He felt a spike of anger at her appearance. She was emaciated and gaunt, hair hanging limply, dull and clumping, what little clothing she had was more holes, dirt and blood than fabric, and the broken expression and silent tears spoke to trauma Harry could never have expected her to suffer.

The lady he’d met in the future in no way resembled the poor woman now, and he had to swallow the urge to find Lucius Malfoy and subject him to the same treatment.

Glancing at the heartbroken expression on his husband’s face, Harry knew Draco had never known of Narcissa's treatment in that alternate future, and he hated himself for it. Everything he had done the first time had been to keep his mother safe, not realizing the worst had already happened. 

“Dobby,” Harry spoke softly, shifting awkwardly before moving forward and sitting on the coffee table before the couch.

Dobby appeared holding a bowl filled with slightly steaming water, a stack of towels hovering behind him, “Dobby is drawing misses Cissy a bath, Master Harry. Master Dragon is already healing her physical hurts, and gives her potions, but she still sore and needs help.”

Nodding, Harry took the stack of towels, dipping one into the water and picked up Narcissa's hand. “Is Winky still looking for a bond?”

Dobby hesitated and nodded, “Yes, master Harry.”

“Bring her here, please,” Harry whispered, washing Narcissa's hand, who blinked at him in shocked confusion.

Offering her a gentle smile, he chanced a look at Draco, regarding him with a steely-eyed expression that spoke of pain, betrayal, self-loathing and understanding.

“I don’t know if your son has explained anything that’s going on.” Harry began, moving to her other hand, when he was satisfied with the first, “I also don’t know how much you know of what is going on in the Wizarding world, but the short story is, I claimed my titles on Saturday and married Draco. As the head of the Black family, I’m offering you, as I’ve already provided for your son, safety and protection with the promise no one will hurt you again.”

Tears filled Narcissa's eyes, and she shook her head hesitantly against her son’s chest, “I- I don’t understand.”

Smiling sadly, Harry dried her hands, “I know, and being in the castle will be somewhat weird, but right now, Hogwarts is the safest place for you.”

“It’s not- there’s- nowhere is safe. He’s already corrupting the ministry.” Narcissa protested fearfully, “You need to send me back.”

“I can’t do that and not break Draco’s heart. I will do everything I can to protect the family we have.” Harry whispered, holding eye contact, “I understand you think the ministry is corrupt, and you’d be right, but they have no hope of stopping what I’ve already put in motion.”

Glancing at her son helplessly, Narcissa met Harry’s eyes, “I don’t- what have you done?”

Taking a deep breath, Harry straightened his back, “In claiming my titles, I’ve sent the ministry scrambling, trying to find a way to circumvent or influence the changes, but they have no hope of fighting Avalon’s protocols.” Narcissa's eyes widened, and Harry continued, “Within a month, we will have a king once again.” 

“What? Who-who are you?” Narcissa whispered breathlessly.

“My name is Hadrian James Cadmus Peverell, Duke of Warwick, Earl of Islington and Exmoor, Guardian of Avalon, and magical Heir to Salazar Slytherin. Tom Riddle and his followers have already lost. They just don’t know it.”

The tears that had gathered in Narcissa's eyes fell, silently and softly soaking her son’s shirt as she buried her face in it, relief bowing her shoulders as she sobbed.

Two hours later, after settling Narcissa in her rooms, with Winky watching her, Harry stared at Kretcher, who glared at him suspiciously, though a hint of wonder and awe glinted in his eyes. 

“What can Kretcher be doing for Master Harry?”

Harry tilted his head curiously, “You can already feel it in your magic?”

The house elf nodded, “Kretcher be feeling weird the last week, but knew Saturday.” He paused, “Kretcher is being happy in your magic, Master Harry. Kretcher not feel that in a long time.”

“It’s a lot of weight and responsibility that I hold. Generations from multiple families look to me to honour our names, together and singularly.” Harry stated, nodding in satisfaction when the elf twitched in shame. “I see you understand, I won’t tolerate your past behaviour in the future, Kretcher. Your master is a half-blood, as my mother was muggle-born, and I’m not ashamed of that; it is through her bloodline that my magical responsibility and title came to me. Do you understand?”

Kretcher lowered his eyes and nodded, “Warwick, yes, Kretcher understands. What can Kretcher do to make amends for past behaviour?”

“I have several questions, but first, I must insist on secrecy. Unless I've given you permission, you may tell no one the things we discuss. You also need to be aware that you’re not allowed to take any orders from Bellatrix Lestrange; she has been disowned from the family.” Harry said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“Yes, Master Harry, Kretcher understand and keep secrets.” the house elf replied, voice firm.

“First, I want to know if Albus Dumbledore has been to Head Quarters?” Harry asked curiously.

Kretcher shook his head, “no, they is leaving Master Sirius behind, and he-“ he frowned, eyes large and ears twitching in guilt, “Kretcher should have done more, no matter what he still Son of Black, but Master Sirius not well.”

“How many watchers does Sirius have?” Harry asked, sidestepping Kretcher’s guilt, knowing there was nothing he could say to absolve the house elf; the corruption from the Horcrux had been exacerbated by the curse in the Black home.

“Not many; Wolfman comes dripping with shame and want but just makes Master Sirius feel more miserable.” Kretcher replied, twisting his hands, “Kretcher hears peoples occasionally, but they never stay long; he be thinking they’re just confirming Master Sirius staying put.”

“Okay, I have three jobs for you, alright?” Harry said, steepling his fingers as he gazed at the house elf.

“Kretcher is ready to serve, Master Harry.”

“I can’t tell you how I know, but I promise to help you fulfill your last order from Reggie.” The elf gasped, weaving in his feet, but Harry continued calmly, “I’m working with the Dverger, who will cleanse the locket, so I need you to take Master Regulus’s locket to Ragnok, the Chieftain of the Horde; he is expecting you. Understand?” Harry watched the elf cautiously, the eyes widening with alarm, the little body shaking with something like fear that slowly dissolved the more Harry explained. 

When the elf nodded, Harry relaxed and sat up, “I don’t trust the Order or Dumbledore to not retaliate against Sirius, so I need you to bring him here, where he’ll be safe. Hogwarts will help me hide his presence.”

Kretcher frowned, indecision creasing the lines on his face.

“Is there something wrong with your orders?” Harry asked curiously.

The elf shook his head, chewing his lip for a long moment, “No, master Harry. Is good. Protect Master Sirius is right thing to do. Kretcher failed that duty. He won’t fail again. It’s just-“ his frown increased. “Master Sirius has tracking magic on him. Kretcher isn’t sure he’ll be able to convince Master Sirius to remove it.“

Deflating against the couch, Harry ran a hand down his face, not sure what to do. He knew Sirius wouldn't listen to any sort of internal prodding from Medea, so that was out. He didn’t want to risk Floos because anyone could be watching, and sending a letter carried the same associated risks.

Sighing, he glanced towards the bedroom door and saw Draco casually leaning on the doorjamb. “Any ideas?”

Draco nodded and pushed off the door, sinking onto the couch beside Harry and handing over a small object.

Harry's breath caught at the flash of reflection, fingers tightening over the mirror. “I forgot I had this.”

Draco hummed, “I figured. I also placed the knife on your bedside table; you’ll need to adjust to going armed.” He paused and tilted his head, “It’s a weird body dissociation. The memory muscle is there, but our bodies aren’t used to it.”

“Okay.” Harry agreed softly, knowing his husband was right. In that other future, he’d learnt fast to never go unarmed and was thankful they’d had the time to search the vaults to claim secondary wands or, in Harry’s case, a third one on Sunday. “What does Sirius have to remove, Kretcher?”

“He be wearing bracelets. Kretcher is unsure who gave them, but they needs to go.” The elf replied instantly, relief easing his tension at their ready acceptance of his advice. “What is last job, Master Harry wants Kretcher to do?”

“You’ll need to work with Dobby, but Hogwarts is slowly working through the castle and sequestering dark arts objects. They need to be transported to the bank for proper disposal - the Dverger already knows my wishes and has set aside a room.” Harry explained, thumbing the mirror.

“Very good, Master Harry. Kretcher delivers the locket first, so you have time to speak with Master Sirius.” The elf said, bowing deeply when Harry dismissed him and collapsed against the couch before turning to bury his head in his husband’s neck, inhaling deeply and sighing when he felt Draco press a kiss to the top of his head.

Soaking in the comfort his husband offered, Harry nuzzled against Draco’s chest before lifting his head, “How’s your mom?”

A brief look of rage flashed across Draco’s face before it fell in resignation, “hurt and terrified. It’s-“ he sighed, dropping his head to the back of the couch, “It’s infuriating this happened to her. I know technically my father's actions aren’t his own, and he came to deeply regret his participation, but even still….” He trailed off and lifted his head, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “The heartbreaking thing about this is they genuinely had a love match. My grandfather only approved the marriage with my father’s agreement. He accepted the dark mark upon successfully creating an heir. It’s why I was conceived in ritual; it was a guarantee that my parents would get what they needed the first time around.”

Harry flushed with rage, “at least your father got some revenge.”

Snorting, Draco pulled him back down, running a hand through his hair, “Yeah, I guess. He was punished severely for Abraxas’s death, but I don’t know if my father regrets his actions.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence before Draco moved his hand, indicating Harry should sit up. "Contact your godfather, love. There is no telling how long Kretcher will be.”

Heaving a sigh, Harry stretched and kissed Draco’s jaw before picking up the mirror, letting Draco shift to the other end of the couch so he wasn’t accidentally seen in the mirror.

Taking a calming breath at the thought of seeing his godfather, Harry gazed at the mirror before activating it with a little roll of nausea and said Sirius’s name.

***

Harry had thought it would be more dramatic when Kretcher popped Sirius into Hogwarts. Still, it ended up being somewhat anti-climactic because Sirius hadn’t been able to get a word out as he stared wide-eyed at Draco sitting on the couch beside Harry before his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he passed out somewhat gracefully. 

He watched his husband slide off the couch and immediately start diagnostic readings before he sighed, flicking his wand to lift him and move him through the lounge into the bedroom Hogwarts had provided. 

Harry followed slowly; half-fearfully, Draco would give him horrible news.

“It’s the nullification field. It’s rapidly expanded to encompass most of Hogwarts.” 

Harry blinked, darting a look between his husband and godfather, fingers tightening into fists, “are they recent compulsions?”

“And memory modifications.” Draco murmured, squeezing Harry’s arm as he slipped from the room, “I need to check my mother.”

Harry nodded absently and moved to sit in a chair that appeared by the bed, flicking the windows open with a careless wave of his hand so the scent from the courtyard could drift into the room.

Harry glanced at Kretcher, who was standing awkwardly by the door, twisting his dirty robes in his hands. "Is the nullification field affecting you, too?”

Kretcher blinked and nodded, tears filling his eyes, “I was so mean to my little master, Sirius. Kretcher is a bad elf.”

Harry beaconed the elf over, shaking his head, “No, Kretcher, you weren’t. You were used and mistreated by a woman who didn’t own you. She was a jealous, foul woman who envied Sirius's position as Heir. Artecus gave you to Sirius to protect him, and you did what you could until she twisted your oaths to suit her purposes.”

The elf looked at him and shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, so Harry continued, “Would you like to take care of Sirius, Kretcher, maybe heal the memories you have?”

There was a moment of silence before the elf nodded, the tears that had threatened to spill down his cheeks, “Please, Master Harry. Kretcher do better, Kretcher do right by Master Sirius.”

Nodding, Harry rose to his feet, “get me when he wakes. I imagine he’ll want to talk.”

The elf nodded and clamored on the chair, eyes fixed on Sirius. 

Patting the elf’s shoulder, Harry slipped from the room and moved into his and Draco’s bedroom, making for the balcony. The internal prod loud and insistence. 

Stepping onto the balcony, Harry leaned on the railed, peering into the courtyard, the rippling waves of magic visible. Warm arms wrapped around his waist, Draco’s weight settling on his back as he looked over his shoulder, “sword?”

Shaking his head silently, Harry watched the magic gathering, spiraling rapidly into a little ball of sparkling light, reflecting rainbows of the whitewashed walls.

A gut-churning flash exploded in the courtyard, the ground rumbling under their feet as the stone appeared, landing with a clap of thunder. 

The silence grew, until Draco snorted and buried his head into Harry’s shoulder, “Croaker is going to go mad.”

Harry smiled, knowing what he knew of the Croaker in this time, and turned in Draco’s arms, “I knew there was no going back before, but it suddenly feels more real.”

Face softening, Draco caressed Harry’s cheek, “I know, love, but this is how we make a difference. The people directly responsible for the future we left won’t get the chance to destroy us. For all that I’ve learned in the few short weeks I’ve been consciously back, this future we’ve created is one I can live with, and I’m willing to do what is necessary to make it happen.”

Harry clamped a hand on Draco’s waist, stretching on his toes to reach his lips, as he directed them back into the bedroom, no more words necessary between them.

***

The next three days were the most relaxing Harry had ever had at Hogwarts. 

No one paid any attention to him; his love/hate relationship with most of his peers was forgotten in the excitement throughout the school. 

Classes had obviously been derailed; half the teachers unaffected by the nullification field had been tasked with removing the stone to no avail. The rest had been seen moving through the school looking lost, and sad, including Professor Trewlonly though none as adversely as Severus Snape, and knowing what he knew of the man, Harry was pissed on his behalf. Finding out memory charms had been applied to the man, was one crime to many against a man who had done his best to live and fulfill the vow made to Harry’s mother.

For appearance's sake, he visited Ron and Hermione in the hospital and checked in with the Twins, who were still angry, but not at him, though they wouldn’t say at what or whom. He peeked in on Neville, who avoided his gaze like he had the plague, and it was easy to see his friend was terrified while trying not to act like he couldn’t hear the whispering from the stone. His future knowledge came in handy in avoiding Ginny; his disillusionment charms, enhanced by his connection to the Hallows, made him invisible to anyone or anything, including the map. He’d given that to the twins, not needing it, but requested they hold off on pranking and would let them know when it was time to start.

He followed Umbridge curious, deflecting her attention from any student who caught her ire, often casting a confundous charms or requesting Hogwarts help derailing her temper tantrums just for the laughs. Watching Umbridge walk into a wall that wasn’t there a second before was amusing.

Thursday night, the sword appeared, just as Harry knew it would. The morning breakfast was a silent affair, though Harry caught whispering of students, who carefully avoided Umbridge’s hateful glare. 

Being nosy as he was, Harry tucked himself in an alcove above the courtyard and watched the students line up, waiting for the chance to pull the sword, so he was in a prime spot when Umbridge pushed her way to the front of the line and started berating the students for not calling for her immediately. 

The speech she offered was vulgar, disgusting and downright insulting, so it was a wonder how she thought she was worthy of pulling the sword. Harry enjoyed watching her struggle, the evident surprise quickly turning to a rage-filled annoyance that she was being denied something she wanted.

Watching her tumble to the ground, striking her head on the stone pathway, and cracking her elbow, the satisfying crunch and glee he felt was something he probably should keep to himself. However, Harry could admit privately he was going to see her dead if that was the last thing he did.

Sadly, it didn’t knock her out, and she struggled to her feet, conjuring a chair as she was too stubborn to go to the hospital wing and then ordered students to pull the sword for her.

Feeling a questioning nudge from the stone, he sent a flash of amusement and he wasn’t surprised to feel the responding gurgle of excitement and hint of agreement mingled with a sense of humour.

Harry pushed off the wall, hugging the walls to avoid walking into the clusters of students and avoid Ginny, who was looking increasingly annoyed and downright paranoid. He made a mental note to request one of the house elves follow her to find out what she was up to.

It was disturbing to realize whatever he’d been drugged with before had hidden or masked what he felt when he was around her the first time and was determined to figure out if it was just Riddle’s influence or something much more sinister he could sense. The feeling that the influence Ginny had inflicted on her was a too simple answer this time around.

Arriving back in his private rooms provided by Hogwarts, he got a ping from the castle letting him know those in the hospital had woken up, and he wavered for a second before opening his door, wanting to check on Sirius first before dealing with Ron and Hermione. 

Peeking into Sirius’s room, he found his godfather hesitantly patting the weeping ancient house elf’s back as Kretcher bawled into his blanket-covered chest.

Grinning at the sight, Harry leaned against the door, “That’s something I never thought I’d see.”

Sirius flushed and huffed a laugh, dropping his head against the pillow but not removing his hand from Kretcher’s back, “it’s not something I ever expected either.” 

Pushing off the frame, Harry strolled into the room and dropped into the chair, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hands, elbows on his knees as he regarded Sirius. “How bad are the lost memories?”

The animagus grimaced bitterly, “horrid. Painful, heartbreaking.” He paused and licked his lips before turning to look at Harry, “some of it, I need to process.”

“Take your time, Sirius, you owe me nothing. I know you, and practically everyone I know has been manipulated in some way, either in a bid to control me, or force prophecy.”

Nodding with a shaking breath, Sirius ran his eyes up and down Harry, breathing hitching audibly, “You-“

“Took my titles?” Harry asked dryly, “I did.” He held out a hand, carefully of the elf who still clung to Sirius. “It’s time to come home, Medea wants her children back, Sirius.”

“Medea?” Sirius whispered hoarsely, tears filling his eyes, “But she’s been sleeping for years.”

Dipping his head, Harry wiggled his fingers, “she suffered too much due to the inbreeding and the turning from family values. Medea judged all the members left and declared Bellatrix non-redeemable, and she was removed from the family magics. Her dowry vault was returned to the Black's control, and a weirgild was taken from the Lestrange vaults as the lesser vassal and paid to the Longbottoms. Narcissa Malfoy has claimed sanctuary within my home with her son, and judgment is being held in reserve for Lucius depending on his culpability, considering his actions are literally not his own.”

Sirius’s mouth worked, but no words emerged, and he shook his head helplessly, “Your parents didn’t want this for you.”

Smiling sadly, Harry shrugged, “Maybe not, but these are the consequences of the choices they made.”

His godfather's eyes widened at his statement, flashing with anger before he sighed, “You’re right. I tried to tell James that moving to Godric’s hollow was stupid, Potter’s Keep was impenetrable, and there was no need to leave it.”

“They put their faith in the wrong man, Sirius.” Harry offered gently, “And I’m not talking, Peter, either.”

Sirius’s eyes fluttered shut, and he nodded, “I know. I- Dumbledore- Harry, he cast the fucking Fidelius charm; he knew I wasn’t the secret keeper.”

Magic shifted over his skin, and Harry felt the echoing rumble from the castle; a second later, he felt his husband’s aura enter the room. “What happened?” Draco demanded, glancing between the two, hands raising to his hips when neither answered, “Hadrian, Hogwarts just responded to your overt surge of rage, so something obviously-“

“Dumbledore knew Sirius was innocent.” Harry cut him off, lurching from the chair and moving to the window before turning to face his husband, “he cast the fidelius that hid them.”

His expression twisting to one of compassion, Draco moved across the room, drawing Harry into his arms. “Oh, love.”

Harry allowed it, feeling Sirius's wide-eyed stare, and soaked up the comfort Draco offered. Feeling a kiss press against his head, he chuckled weakly and pulled away, speaking in parasaltongue, “You’d think I’d be used to his level of lies and corruption by now.”

Huffing, Draco shook his head, “I don’t think we ever will.”

A throat clearing called their attention back to Sirius, who was sitting up a little more. Kretcher was no longer in his lap and fussing over a tray of food he was placing in the man’s lap. 

Neither man blushed at the inquisitive look but took each other’s hands with a challenging expression, making Sirius chuckle, “I’m actually more interested in the name and the parseltongue; last I knew, Mini Malfoy there couldn’t speak it.”

Perplexed, Harry glanced at his husband, who actually blushed, muttering softly, “I called you Hadrian.”

“Ohh.” Harry breathed and heaved a sigh, then allowed the glamour to drop on his rings, admitting with a careless shrug. “It's my legal name, Sirius." Harry offered gently and then glanced at Draco, who squeezed his hand, "As for the parseltongue, I married Draco.”

“His Grace shouldn’t be shocking his godfather-like that.” Kretcher scolded, his quick actions saving and shielding Sirius from burning himself with the tea as he dropped the pot, spilling the tea all over the bed. “You-you’re- what?”

Harry frowned, “I thought- didn’t you know what my titles were?”

Sirius shook his head dumbly, “Besides the Earldoms, no, you're a bloody Duke? Of what?"

Confused, Harry shook his head, “I’m the Duke of Warwick and Guardian of Avalon through my mother’s line, Sirius.”

Stunned, Sirius leaned back against the pillow weakly, “You’re the Guardian?”

Nodding, Harry tightened Draco’s hand when his husband tried pulling it free. 

A semi-hysterical laugh broke free from Sirius, and he closed his eyes, “thank bloody, Merlin.”

Draco bit his lip, nudging Harry’s side as a snicker broke free. Then, cast his husband a betrayed look, as Draco couldn’t contain his laughter; Harry rolled his eyes as Sirius cracked open his eyes. “Something funny?”

Sighing, Harry shook his head, “Not even remotely.”

“Oh, come on, love, it’s hilarious.” Draco protested and then turned to Sirius with a look of glee, “So Harry did an inheritance test at Gringotts. It turns out Lily Potter was more than she seemed. She descended directly from Cadmus and Opal’s oldest child’s line, which went to squibs sometime in the 1100s. What wasn’t known or forgotten is that Opal is the second oldest fourth-generational granddaughter of Salazar Slytherin, and he inherited his magical line, which was thought dormant as well.”

Sirius blinked, looking overwhelmed at the information, but he shrugged, “That’s cool and all, but I don’t see what’s hilarious about that.”

Draco grinned wide, eyes shining, “Now, technically, Salazar Slytherin didn’t inherit the magical legacy because that is technically divinely granted, but he was the only child of Myrddin Emrys, also known as Merlin.”

Eyes darting between them, Sirius’s mouth opened and closed as it slowly grew into a smirk that turned into laughter, and if it was a little desperate neither Draco nor Harry said anything, though Harry did move across the room to give his godfather a hug when the other man beaconed him over.

***

After having the emotional conversation with Sirius, Harry ended up outside the hospital doors, delaying it till after supper. He wasn’t overly excited to see his friends; the half-day spent in their company after coming back was not enough to distill the district and pain that had built up in the future. 

Taking a breath, he pushed open the doors and slipped in, looking around the semi-crowded room. He’d honestly not seen it so full before, and that included the last Battle at Hogwarts.

It was a mixed bag of students crowding around the beds of friends and empty seats beside people who looked on at the others with confusion like they didn’t understand why their bedsides were empty.

He found Ron and Hermione sitting side by side on a bed near the back of the room, trying to appear suspicious and failing as they covertly watched the three Slytherins, Pansy, Blaise and Draco, sitting across from them.

As planned, Harry walked across the room, nodding at Draco, who dipped his head back, hiding his flash of amusement when his two friends stared at him in slack-jawed confusion; he then leaned forward, whispering to them urgently.

Harry ignored it, and stopped at the end of the bed, unsure if it was Ron‘s or Hermione’s. “Hey guys.”

“Hi.” Whispered Hermione, eyes skimming the dark-skinned Slytherin before focusing on Harry. “You look better.”

It wasn’t really a question, but Harry treated it as one, “Yeah, feel better too. Lighter. Do they have any idea what happened yet?”

A suspicious glint entered Ron’s eyes, the familiar scoff he let out, seemingly forced before he flushed in shame and embarrassment. 

Hermione leaned against him, patting his hand, “I overheard Madame Pomphrey talking to Professor Babbling. The runes in the courtyard are old, like really old.” She paused and flushed before powering on, “We think ancient Runes means in the last thousand years, but these, they’re much older, pre-biblical. Ancients didn’t have written words, the oldest being Sanskrit, but spell forms have been around for centuries before that.”

Harry smiled kindly, knowing that even with the nullification field, it wouldn’t be able to change everyone’s inner voice, and Hermione, bless her, was an old soul, filled to the brim with a thirst for knowledge. “What did she say about them?”

Cheeks still tinged pink, Hermione ducked her head, “it’s the most powerful nullification warding scheme she’s ever seen, and she’s been called in to correct and renew Runes at Stonehenge.”

Adopting a confused expression, he felt the flash of amusement from his husband, but kept his attention focused on Ron and Hermione, “doesn’t nullification mean canceling?”

Nodding unhappily Ron grunted, “yeah, it corrects compulsions or potions a person is under, but the way this one was explained was it targets everyone, and not just a specific person like a normal ward. That’s what makes it so powerful.” 

Surprised but pleased, he watched Ron’s expression brighten and then fall, eyes filling with tears as he buried his head in his hands, “why would someone change us?”

Titling his head, considering the question, Harry cleared his throat nervously, “Do you mean the field thing?”

Miserably, Ron shook his head and lifted his head, “No, I’m glad that happened, but it’s so hard fighting what my mind wants me to do. I want to be mad that you weren’t here when we woke. It’s demanding to know why you were nice to Malfoy, why they’re so close to us, or why you don’t seem affected.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably before moving to sit in a chair across from them, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I kind of just got better myself.”

“Yeah, Ginny said she hadn’t seen you.” Ron replied, looking at him, and then sighed, “You truly don’t like her, do you?”

Harry wasn’t sure what his face had done to prompt the question, but he shook his head, “I really don’t.” He chewed his lip, hesitating before offering softly, “Her possession of Riddle’s diary in her first year has tainted her magic and core; it’s very uncomfortable to be in her presence because of that.”

Both Ron and Hermione flushed and then paled, understanding filling their faces, though it was Hermione who whispered, “That sounds kind of awful and horrifying, Harry. What do we do?”

Shrugging, Harry leaned back in the chair, “What can we do? It’s not like Umbridge is allowing owls to leave the school.”

A mulish look crossed  Hermione’s face before she deflated, “What about a Patronus? I read that you can give them messages to pass on to people.”

“But who would we trust? We can’t guarantee that any adult hasn’t been conditioned to ignore us. Look at what's already happened in the school, never mind outside it.”

They deflated against one another with heavy sighs.

During the lull in their conversation they could hear the whispers from the three Slytherin’s who all wore matching expressions of interest, making Ron frown and straighten up, “Oi, blimey. Are you serious, Malfoy?”

Draco turned towards them with a lifted eyebrow but no hint of disdain, “about what? The sword or the guardian?”

“Either? Both.” Ron answered immediately, ignoring Hermione’s nudge, urging for an explanation.

Eyes flicked to Harry, before Draco answered, “the stone of legend appeared in the courtyard Tuesday night, the sword yesterday.” Draco shrugged, “no one knows who the guardian is, or why it appeared here, but no one’s been able to pull the sword.”

A look of wonder crossed Ron’s face, and they stayed there, “Wow, that’s-that's-.” He shook his head, “what could have triggered the calling?”

“What are you talking about?” Hermione demanded with confusion and no little ire at information being hidden from her, “Are you suggesting that the sword and the stone are real?”

Ron nodded earnestly and set about explaining how Arthur was actually king and chosen by Merlin. Then followed that up by all he knew of the myths and legends surrounding Excalibur and the stone. Which, to Harry's shame and embarrassment and Draco's amusement, included the legend of the Sword and the Stone.

Harry tried not to smile at Ron’s enthusiasm but knew he failed when his friend blushed red when he realized how the others were staring at him, and he shrugged uncomfortably, muttering softly, “I liked fairytales as a kid.”

“Did you have a favourite?” Harry asked curiously, surprised at the information his friend offered.

Ron shook his head and offered a weak smile, “not really, you wouldn’t know it now, but I loved reading. When I was growing up, I would sit with Percy in the library and listen to him read until I learnt to do it myself.”

“I was always partial to the Beedle and the Bard.” Blaise offered softly, a faint blush climbing his cheeks.

Pansy laughed carefree and innocently, shrugging a shoulder, “The Frog Princess. I was convinced if I could find a frog, I’d get a prince.”

“Those are all muggle tales.” Hermione cut in, voice filled with confusion.

Draco grimaced, “They’re really not; muggle-borns and half-bloods introduced them as fiction to your world and changed enough to avoid breaking the Statue of Secrecy.”

Frowning furiously, Hermione glared at the floor, only looking up when Draco cleared his throat, “I could ask my mother to send a copy and let you borrow it.”

"I can always borrow it from the library..." She trailed off when Draco shook his head.

"They're not available here, nor are books on wizarding culture and customs, as they were deemed nonessential in 1983, five years or so after Wizarding Classes were discontinued."

"That's wrong." Hermione protested, flush climbing her cheeks.

Shrugging unconcerned, Draco regarded her seriously, "It is, both to you and to Purebloods raised in it. The difference is you never thought of questioning if there were differences between our worlds. Which is why I offered you access to the books."

“Really?” Hermione asked, surprised, “But-but you don’t like me.”

Harry offered a little nod when Draco glanced at him.

“It’s not that I don’t like you specifically. It’s what you represent to the wizarding world.” Draco held up a hand when Hermione opened her mouth to protest, and she closed it into a thin line, “It’s through no fault of your own, but no muggle-born is taught wizarding traditions or beliefs. You have no foundation blocks for how and why magic works; it just does, and this is how you do it.”

“It’s- it should be spiritual.” Ron whispered, “It was how I grew up; my favourite was always Ostara, I remember my grandparents taking us when we were young, with dad often accompanying us, but it changed when they died. Dad became too busy with work and mom…” 

He trailed off and swallowed, “Mom’s…. A non-believer and often got mad at us when we talked about it.”

Straightening beside Ron, Hermione’s face filled with determination, “I’ll admit I didn’t think to ask, but I want to learn so we can celebrate the next one.”

The frown on Ron’s face intensified before clearing, “I think it’s Beltane, but we can look together?”

“I’d like that.” Hermione said, eyes shining as she turned to look at Draco, “I’d also really appreciate borrowing the book you offered.”

Draco nodded, “I’ll write to my mother before bed.”

“Can you send out letters?” Ron asked suddenly.

Draco opened his mouth and then closed it with a flush, “no, I forgot about that.”

“What about the Room of Requirement?” Harry asked curiously. “It normally gives us what we want; maybe it can give us a safe place to send messages.”

Hermione nodded slowly, “it’s worth a shot, but who would we send it to?”

“Someone in the Department of Mysteries.” Came the soft, lilting voice of Luna as she appeared from around the end of the screen. “There are protocols that need to be followed with a calling.”

“Protocols?” Hermione repeated doubtfully.

Nodding serenely, Luna offered a curtsy in Harry’s general direction but could be contrived to be targeted at them all, “Of course, the Avalon Protocols. Once the calling’s complete, we’ll have a King.”

Harry dropped his eyes to the floor and swallowed silently, praying Luna wouldn’t say more. There was no need to spook any of them before it was time.

Luna met his gaze, eyes lit with amusement as she tilted her head, “I’m going to go find Fred and George; they’re going to get caught; excuse me.” She dipped another curtsy, this one directly at Harry, then turned and hurried away, leaving four of the six shaking their heads in confusion. 

Hermione finally turned to look at Harry, “Do I need to write the letter for you? I don’t think Madame Pomphrey will release us from the hospital until tomorrow. She has us on a very ridge potions regime.” 

Harry refrained from rolling his eyes and shook his head, “I can write a letter. I’ll just mention the number of affected people and the giant rock in the courtyard with a sword sticking out of it. Should spark some curiosity.”

Hermione opened her mouth, expression horrified, but Madame Pomfrey marched around the partition with a martial gleam in her eyes and a tray of potions hovering behind her.

Wordlessly, she handed Ron and Hermione the potions and glanced at Harry. “I’m sorry to say that visiting hours are over, Mr.Potter and Mr.Malfoy; you’ll have to come back tomorrow to visit your friends.”

“Of course. Good night, guys,” Harry replied, rising to his feet, pausing and glancing around the hospital room briefly at the whisper of magic brushing along his back.

Hiding his suspicions, Harry followed Draco from the hospital, waiting until they were far enough away from the wing to catch up with his husband.

Draco glanced at him sharply when he reached out and grabbed his hand but flashed a wicked grin, dragging Harry into an empty classroom and pushing him against the wall. 

Releasing a breathless laugh, Harry grinned, relaxing even as he wrapped his arms around Draco’s neck, drawing him closer. “Are you trying to get us caught?”

Eyes lit with amusement, Draco raised an eyebrow, “It’s not a broom closet, but I figured with everyone else preoccupied, we could cross this off a list of things a student needs to experience once, Your Grace.”

Humming in agreement, Harry pressed a kiss to his jaw, racking his teeth along the sensitive skin, “does that include getting caught by a professor?”

Drawing back with a little frown, Draco huffed, “I hope there is no one around. No matter what else is going on in the school, rumours of us together would spread like fiend fire.”

A throat cleared from the other side of the half-open door, making Draco tense, eyes widening.

Harry shrugged helplessly, “so, um, Professor Snape followed us from the hospital wing.”

Groaning, Draco dropped his head to Harry’s shoulder and hissed, “You couldn’t have warned me earlier?”

“I didn’t get a chance to love.” Harry defended himself, sighing heavily when Draco stepped back and pulled the door open.

There was no one visible, but Harry felt the shift in magic, the door swinging shut and Severus Snape appeared with a frown. “How did you know I was following you?”

Exchanging a glance with Draco, who shrugged, Harry straightened and pushed off the wall, “The wards informed me.”

The frown increased, eyes calculating as they darted between the two before he nodded, “Have you been in contact, Black?”

Feeling like it was his turn to frown, Harry did, “Why?”

The frown changed to a scowl before vanishing completely, the expression of sorrow and grief that appeared foreign and unsettling. “I-I can’t answer that yet, but I will. I just need to talk to Sirius first, please.”

Feeling vastly more confused by the second, Harry felt Draco squeeze his hand and sighed, “Disillusion yourself and follow us.”

Severus did without protest, letting Harry open the door and check to make sure the coast was clear before they moved through the castle and headed to their suite.

To Harry’s surprise, once in their rooms, Snape looked around fascinated but didn’t say anything or demand answers. 

Instead, he glanced at Harry, tilting his head, “You claimed your titles, including the Dukedom?”

Feeling the confusion that Severus had known about the dukedom when Sirius hadn’t, unsettled Harry and he removed his robes, tossing them over the back of the couch as Draco moved through the suite and into the bedroom that held his mother. “Saturday morning.”

Severus averted his gaze, “Dumbledore will be displeased.”

Snorting Harry shrugged, “sucks to be him, he can’t change it, the prophecy’s dead, it went dormant the second I invoked the calling.”

A humourless laugh was Severus’s response. His shoulders dropped in exhaustion, “so Lily was right.”

It wasn’t a question, but it didn’t make sense either, “in what way?”

The potion master sighed, gesturing to a chair. Harry nodded, calling for Dobby. “Tea and sandwiches for all of us, please.”

Dobby glanced nervously at the potion master before nodding and popping away.

Severus waited for the tea to arrive, silently fixing a cup and taking a sip before answering, “I grew up in the same town as your mother, and for the longest time, she was my only friend. Her parents were amazing and kind people. I suspect they knew my home life wasn’t the greatest, and I know now that if I’d said anything, they would have done anything to get me out of that situation.”

“But you didn’t,” Harry said simply.

Severus shook his head, “I didn’t. Your grandparents died in November 1979 and left everything to Petunia except for the family bible.”

Harry frowned, baffled at the direction the conversation was going, “bible?”

Nodding, Severus took another sip of tea, “Yes, and Petunia was smug about it, too. Thought Lily had been given something worthless because she couldn’t read it.”

“Okay, but what does that have to do with my titles?” Harry asked in confusion.

Severus sighed, “A lot, but she-“ he cut himself off with a frown, “she was hurt by her parent's death, and what felt like a subsequent write-off, she’d just learnt she was pregnant with you, and to top it off there had been a ramp up in the war meaning James and Sirius were never home.”

Harry leaned forward, snagging a biscuit, “You’re talking like you lived with them.”

“I was.” Severus admitted and shrugged, “or at least I did. We’d heard rumours that the dark lord was looking for Potion Masters, and it was safer to hide, but then something happened.”

Harry felt his lips curl into a sneer, “the prophecy.”

Hanging his head in shame, Severus nodded, “I overheard it, and the next second, I knew I was giving half a prophecy at his knee.”

“What?” Harry said in confusion.

“I-I don’t know how to explain it; it’s like it’s still jumbled in my head, I don’t know why I was there, but I remember hearing the whole thing, and then I’m offering half and my services.”

Sitting back with a frown, Harry tilted his head, then glanced over Severus' shoulder to stare at his husband, who was watching him with worried eyes.

“What about the bible and titles?”

The potions master took a deep breath, “I wasn’t called on often, and Lily was lonely. She wasn’t able to work on potions, so we spent our time working on the bible. From what we figured out, the Peverell line from which you descended had a title in both the muggle and wizarding world; the bible was a muggle decoy, as every family had one. In the bible, it had the family tree, in which every child, marriage and death was magically recorded.” Severus sighed, setting his teacup down when his hands started to shake and clasped them together, “unfortunately due to the war and the severe morning sickness she suffered from, she was never able to go to Gringotts to get an inheritance test done to confirm her suspicions.”

“Do you know why she didn’t go after I was born?” Harry asked curiously.

Severus shook his head, “not exactly, but I think it was fear that it would set a target on your back. The Warwick seats hold a lot of power in the Wizengamot….” 

Harry swallowed, jerking his head away; if the prophecy hadn’t set a target anyway, that definitely would have. “Do-do you know what happened to the bible?”

“It’s in my vault at Gringotts.” Severus admitted, “Before she went into hiding, she gave it to me to see if I could keep researching the lines. She felt there was more than just the Warwick title but couldn’t figure it out.” The older man dropped his gaze, “and after she died, I couldn’t handle it and put it away.” He lifted his eyes, “did you- was there anything else besides the title?”

“So that’s what you two would whisper about….” Sirius's soft voice spoke from behind them, and dry humour filled his tone when he continued, “He’s the Guardian, Severus.”

Severus's eyes widened, filling with tears, as he stared at Harry. Then, he slowly turned his head to gaze at Sirius. “Do you remember?”

Sirius leaned against the door frame, lifting a brow, “Most of it, but some of it feels spotty. You?”

Harry blinked as he looked between the two of them, feeling like he was missing a piece of critical information and, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out what it was.

Severus nodded slowly, a single tear trailing down his cheek, “Siri, I’ve-I’ve become a monster.”

Sirius pushed off the frame, moving to kneel in front of Severus, “Not your fault, love.”

“But-but… you don’t even know what I’ve done.” Severus protested hoarsely, “I don’t even know how or why I’ve done what I’ve done.”

A heartbroken expression crossed Sirius’s, and he raised a trembling hand to caress and wipe the tear that slid down Severus’s face, “Oh, love…”

Stifling a breathless noise, Harry met Draco’s tear-filled eyes, who was watching the scene, and offered a helpless shrug, then nodded to the bedroom.

Grateful for the opportunity to escape, Harry took it with both hands and soundlessly slid off the couch, hurrying to the room, shutting the door behind his husband, whirling with wide-eyed desperation, “Is everything we thought we knew wrong about the future?”

Draco wiped his eyes and shook his head, “No, probably not, but keep in mind you hadn’t activated the calling.” He paused and swallowed harshly, throat bobbing, “and both men would have already passed away.”

Harry collapsed against the door, tears filling his eyes, “I don’t understand how one person could have caused this much grief and all because of a stupid prophecy.”

“I’m starting to suspect that it wasn’t about the Dark Lord, and Dumbledore knew it.” Draco offered gently, “Looking back, it's obvious now he feared you. Is it possible he needed to manufacture an enemy to divert your attention because he could never figure out ‘the power he knows not'?"

Heaving a sigh, Harry didn't have the energy to argue suddenly mind, numbingly exhausted, “I need to sneak into the ward room soon and fully integrate with the wards.”

“Can you do it and remain hidden?” Draco asked with a frown, “It wouldn’t do any good to alert anyone, an Heir is here.”

“Hogwarts will help; if she had a voice, everyone would know how furious she is,” Harry replied dryly, feeling Draco tilted his head and envisioned the skeptical expression even if he didn’t voice it. 

Instead, the only thing Draco did was urge him to his feet and wordlessly got him to change, shifting them into bed to cuddle before blissfully passing out. The long list of things they needed to accomplish was pushed off until tomorrow.

***

Harry would have liked to wake up with the news Neville had claimed the sword overnight or to his husband’s attention, but alas, the universe or fate had other ideas.

Neville was firmly hiding in the greenhouses, even using the house elves to bring him food, and his husband was already dressed when Harry cracked open his eyes.

“Severus and Sirius left a note offering their apologies but they both requested time before they sat down and talked with you.” Draco offered gently, as he pulled out a set of clothing for him.

Harry sighed sadly but also knowingly running a hand through his hair and crawled from the bed, “I figured it would happen, it would be fifteen or more years worth of memories and betrayal to work through.”

Walking into the bathroom, he wasn’t surprised when Draco followed, lining up the bottles of hair products in the order he was supposed to use them, and just rolled his eyes, “Any word on our friends?” 

“Dobby reported they’d been released from the hospital this morning. They’re all subdued and are currently at breakfast.” Draco reported turning on the shower head as Harry brushed his teeth, “It was also reported that the twins took Greg and Vincent under their wing, and I honestly have to say I’m both terrified and impressed, as well as feeling guilty.”

“Oh?” Harry spat into the sink and rinsed his mouth, “why?”

Draco frowned and leaned against the edge of the sink, “I’ve been friends with them for years, and they were brilliant as kids. Maybe not smart in a book sense, but they were great at pranks and loved making jokes, yet I never seemed to notice how much they changed our first year here.”

Harry turned his head to gaze at Draco as he put his toothbrush back, “I assume that would be the conditioning we were all put through, it makes me wonder if next year we should ensure and push for a resorting.”

Draco snorted, and pushed him toward the shower, “you’d end up in Slytherin this time around.”

“Eh, technically, the heirs aren’t sorted into houses, but I get where you’re going with that.” He slid off his pyjamas and stepped into the shower, “you just want to be able to tell everyone you were right when you spread the rumour in the second year.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, husband.” Draco replied snootily, “Make sure you wear the robes I picked out; it’s the weekend.”

Laughing to himself, Harry wet his hair and set to work on the bottles, wondering if he dared grab a bottle out of order, and then decided against it, knowing Draco, his husband, would know and pick and complain for hours.

Once dressed, the two of them headed towards the great hall from breakfast, ignoring the odd looks they received from the stragglers. They entered together before parting ways. 

Draco moved to the Slytherin table while Harry made his way to the Gryffindor table, pausing at the twins and sitting across from them, “you guys up for some mayhem?”

Fred perked up in interest, “Is this a targeted mayhem or a free-for-all?”

Grinning, Harry glanced between them, “Targeted with permission for minor non-injured bystanders. We wouldn’t want a reputation for hurting others, would we?”

George leaned on the table, a serious expression on his face, “are we allowed to bring in outsiders?”

“If you mean a couple of overlooked snakes, go ahead,” Harry replied and looked across the hall towards Luna who was already looking back, “grab Luna Lovegood as well, she has a connection to Hogwarts that will prove helpful.” 

“Are we leaving a calling tag?” Fred asked suddenly, staring straight at Harry.

Harry tilted his head, and then raised an eyebrow as he waved his hand, wordlessly encasing the three of them in a silencing spell, earning wide-eyed looks of shock, as they spoke in unison. “You’re the Guardian?” 

Harry inclined his head, “that stays between us for now, alright?” At their nod, he continued, and handed over a black bag they quickly stuffed out of sight, “I left a few presents in there, plus my calling card. Also, the map has been improved; if you tap it and say a name, it will find that person for you instead of spending precious time searching for it.”

“Wow….” Fred whispered, “That’s brilliant. Did you officially claim your titles?”

Harry bit his lip, before sighing, laying his hands on the table, hidden by the breakfast trays, but visible to the twins, “I did, I have a way out of the castle no one knows of.”

Fred leaned forward, looking at the signet ring, “I have to admit, I don’t recognize the motto.”

“You probably wouldn’t; the title has been in stasis in the magical world since 1323. As for the motto, according to my family Grimore, it changes with each head; it roughly translates to “death is the only truth of life.”

George whistled lowly, “Kind of morbid, isn’t it?”

Shrugging, Harry glanced around the hall, feeling eyes scanning the room, and found Umbridge searching the Gryffindor table and rising to her feet. “Anyway, your target is Umbridge, and you have free rein to drive her crazy. You game?”

The sly grins he received were only made better by the clearing of a throat, and he turned a bored expression on Umbridge, who was glaring at him hatefully, “Where have you been this week, Mr.Potter?”

Waving a hand, he dismissed the silencing charm as she took a step forward and shrugged, “Either in the library or the Gryffindor Tower, Professor.”

Delores Umbridge narrowed her eyes searching his face as if debating with her need to be in control and insist on being called 'Headmistress', before letting it go as she beaconed, “Come with me, Mr.Potter.”

Harry made no move to stand and gestured to the dishes of breakfast, “I’d actually like to eat breakfast before you give me detention for something I haven’t done, if that’s alright, ma’am? I’d hate to pass out from blood loss like I did at the end of our last detention.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr.Potter, and this won’t take more than a moment of your time. I’m just eliminating potential candidates, and unfortunately, you do come from a previously known pureblood family, so needs must, I suppose.” Umbridge stood there silently, fuming as Harry frowned at her.

“Well, if that’s the case, then I require witnesses to whatever this is, I refuse to go anywhere with you alone.” Harry stated firmly then added condescendingly, “It’s highly improper, as I’m sure you’re aware, for a student to be alone with a teacher.”

Fred was biting his lips so hard, it had turned white, and George was coughing into his fist to keep from laughing, making Harry shake his head at them before rising to his feet, “Ron, Hermione, you got a minute, Professor Umbridge wishes me to do something and I want witnesses.”

Confused and concerned, they immediately rose as Umbridge scowled and stocked off, “I’ll gather my own witnesses; meet me in the Entrance.”

Ron reached him first, “What’s going on?”

Harry grabbed a muffin and took a bite, “I’m assuming she’s getting all purebloods and half-bloods to attempt to pull the sword.”

Hermione looked horrified, “why would she do that?”

“At a guess? She wants to look good if she can present the future King when the ministry shows up, or Umbridge wants to arrange an accident if she doesn’t like who’s chosen.” Harry replied dryly, shoving his amusement behind the mask he’d learnt in the future as Draco was followed by members of the Inquisitor's squad towards the doors of the Great Hall, Umbridge bringing up the rear.

Harry patted Hermione’s shoulder, “Don’t worry so much, Hermione, she can’t kill me.” 

“Harry!” Hermione whisper-yelled, “You can’t- Are you serious? She’s used a blood quill on you all year.”

Stepping over the bench, Harry finished his muffin and started walking towards the door, “I’m going to ask you something that might be very hard for you to accept, but you need to trust me when I say the only power she has here now, is what I’ve allowed her to keep.”

Hermione sputtered behind him, but Ron reached out and grabbed his arm, halting him, expression bright and intense, “Are you-?”

“OH, fuck no.” Harry recoiled, horrified, “I’m not the bloody King. What an absolutely horrendous idea, I thought you were my friend, mate?”

The look in Ron’s eyes shifted, confusion swirling in their depths before he jerked like he was stung and dropped his voice though his eyes flashed with conflict and a forced amusement, “You would make a rubbish king.”

Grinning suddenly, Harry ignored Hermione's sputtering and lecturing tone as he led the way from the hall, not even the impatience tapping of Umbridge ruining his mood.

“This way, Mr.Potter. All you need to do is touch and attempt to pull the sword - though it’ll be a waste of time, of course.” Umbridge muttered the last bit as she swept down the stairs, halting outside the circle of runes. The members of the Inquisitor's Squad arrayed on either side of her, adopting expressions of annoyance and boredom. However, Draco looked at him with a hint of calculation, and Harry wasn't sure what to do with it.

Sighing heavily, Harry moved towards the sword in the stone, feeling a flash of amusement emanating from it, and fought to keep his snicker to himself as he wordlessly asked the sword to move like he would actually pull it.

Feeling agreement, he reached out, clasping his hand around the hilt, and felt the world freeze. His heart seized in defeat as Nimue stepped from the in-between blond hair fluttering behind her like it was still in the lake and regarded him with a severe expression in clear gold eyes.

“My Lady.”

“Hadrian, Cadmus, Merlin, Ramses, Thanatos. You’ve had many names and lives, making me wonder if I’ve been wrong all this time.” Nimue responded, voice echoing softly, “Arthur had been my choice, maybe not my first, I’ll admit, but his line, while rich in progeny, had a severe lack of true magicals that flourished.”

“The same could be said of my line,” Harry replied evenly, lifting his chin when she continued to stare at him.

“That is true." Nimue tapped her chin in thought and turned to look at Neville, who was standing on the walkway, frozen with eyes wide. "The current candidate has the potential; he's gifted strongly in Green Magic, but I’m not sure he’s ready, and he might never be. He’s lived a sheltered life, worse than Arthur, and look how idealistic he turned out to be.” Nimue responded, a hint of bitterness filling her tone.

“This isn’t my destiny, My Lady.” Harry stated, swallowing the horror and bile that threatened, “I already carry heavy burdens, and giving the world an immortal king doesn’t seem fair.”

“We can work around that minor detail.” Nimue waved that concern away, and snapped her fingers, Draco appearing beside him in the frozen void, “Draconis Armand Peverell.”

Jerking, Draco glanced at Harry, then dropped to a knee in front of the glowing divine figure, “My Lady.”

“How would you like to be the consort of the next King?” Nimue questioned, earning a sputter from Harry.

“Nimue, no. I don’t want to be the bloody King.” Harry pleaded desperately, glancing at Draco, who wasn't looking as horrified as Harry felt he should. “This isn’t fair to Draco; it’s enough of a burden being my soulmate, but being the King’s Consort is too much to ask.”

“Oh, hush, Hadrian. You weren’t nearly as objective when you lived as Merlin.” Nimue snapped, still gazing at Draco. “I can wake your Veela genes if that is something….” She trailed off, her eyes turning white, “You’d have beautiful children and many grandchildren. I can foresee a more promising future under your combined rule than the diminished bloodline from Arthur’s.” 

Draco snorted as he rose to his feet, drawing their attention, and he raised an elegant shoulder, “I told you to stop calling Excalibur a bloody sword; this is just divine retribution, love.” He grinned suddenly, “And I’d love to be the consort of the King. Do you know how much it would drive my father mad to know I reached that high without his influence? It’s like a dream come true.”

Harry made a strangled noise, and Nimue huffed, rolling her eyes, that returned to the gold from earlier, though she was gazing at him in amusement, “Aside from your soulmate's observations, you know I’m right, Hadrian, none of this are new thoughts or feelings.” Strolling around the stone in an ambling circle, Nimue snapped her finger at the stone, reflecting the image as she spoke, “Just look at how much you accomplished as Viceroy; you brought the wizarding world into this century, destroyed Albus Dumbledore’s facade and earned the loyalty of the Purebloods left. You already know what needs to be done and how to do it, Hadrian.”

“But…” Harry objected, feeling ridiculous, annoyed and pissed off.

“What if I said the idea of Arthur and Camelot was a test run? Or even the idea that a King wasn't born into a specific line? What if it was always supposed to be the sword's duty?” Nimue asked, a gong reverberating through the school, rolling as it echoed over the grounds, familiar in its unfamiliarity, making Harry shake his head in denial. “What if I said that's how a king had to be chosen from now on? It won’t be your responsibility to birth and raise the next King, but your subjects under your rule, and when I sense one is ready, you can step down and retire?”

“Nimue,” Harry whispered tiredly, rubbing furiously at his eyes, clenching Draco’s hand when his husband rose to his feet and grasped it. 

Nimue moved through the stone, and the sword like a ghost until she stood in front of him, raising a hand to touch his cheek, “It was always meant to be you, love. I chose Arthur because I thought he had the strength of character to withstand the infighting and bickering, but he was too forgiving. Something we both know you’re not. You have the strength of your convictions and the love of your friends and family. Ron won’t turn on you, Hermione will be safe, and Neville will serve faithfully, thanking you for saving him from this fate.”

“It doesn’t seem fair.” The protest was soft, and Harry could admit it was definitely a whine this time, “it doesn’t even match that prophecy or my talk with the others.”

A soft tinkling laugh left Nimue, and she shook her head in admonishment. “You’re talking about the instructions for claiming the sword? A genuine choice is not just a feat of bravery and might; it’s an acceptance of who you are. Hadrian, I’m almost disappointed, I thought you would have figured out we were warning you .”

Harry stared blankly at her, huffing a disbelieving laugh, “You’re Hecate.”

The blond hair turned black, gold eyes filling with black, so the familiar starscape encompassed her eyes. Draco made an inarticulate noise in the back of his throat as he hit his knees, mouth gaping.

Hecate smiled - both horrifying and beautiful, reaching out a hand and placing it on his head as she regarded Harry.

“Of course I am Hadrian. Did you really think I’d leave you alone in this world you claimed as home?” Hecate asked gently, “You were always my favourite.”

“I still hate riddles,” Harry responded bitterly and glanced around the courtyard, noticing many more people, including Dverger, house elves, and centaurs, than previously. He closed his eyes and said, “How long have you kept us here?”

“A little while, we needed enough time for people to arrive.” She paused and glanced around, amusement flickering across her austere face, “You’ll also be pleased to know Suli locked down Hogwarts. You and your consort are the only ones who can do magic here.”

“You aren’t giving me a choice, are you?” Harry asked, trying to loosen his grip on Draco’s hand, not wanting to crush it.

“Eh, technically, there is always a choice; let's just say we are at a crossroads; if I release you from the time spell, you’d have a confrontation with the Ministry; Neville would pull the sword and execute a woman whose line was cursed by Morgana for a perceived slight. He would rule fairly but not overly ambitiously, the changes needed won’t be put into place, and he’d die again before his time, leaving his wife and son to be used by the realm.” Hecate explained, waving a hand so Harry could see it play out under his feet, stepping back and caressing the sword, “Or you can take up the mantle, become who I always knew you could be, and hide the truth of your origin behind the mask of a King.”

Helplessly, Harry looked at Draco, who was already looking back at him, expression fond and amused, and huffed, “Seriously? Why?”

Draco shrugged a slim shoulder and grinned slyly, “Love, I hate to point it out, but you’ve been a God, Pharaoh, Prophet, and a Viceroy; what’s being King compared to all of that? We both know you’ll do a phenomenal job at it; we have decades of dirt and secrets on the current Wizengamot; you literally have them by the short and curlies.”

Bowing his head in defeat, Harry sighed heavily, “Can Nagini regain her humanity?”

It took Hecate a few minutes to respond before she walked away from them, moving through the frozen crowd, stopping a few feet away from the group of Death Eaters standing in a circle, ‘protecting’ Riddle, the snake at his feet, and tilted her head to look at the snake before snapping her fingers once again, the snake seeming to jolt but slithered towards Hecate, following her as the Lady moved to stand beside Harry, the three of them watching as the snake followed, slithering and shifting as she came to a stop before them, a look of wonder and awe on her face, as her eyes dropped to her hands, “Is this real?”

“That depends,” Hecate began, “what is your loyalty to the man named Tom Riddle?”

The woman shook her head in confusion, “I-I’m afraid I don’t know who that is. I’m not even sure who any of you are, to be honest.”

“Look at me,” The Lady of Magic commanded the thread of steel, unyielding and compelling. Nagini didn’t offer a token protest, lifting dark eyes to meet Hecate's, her own filling with tears, head jerking as if wanting to silently protest whatever passed between them. 

Suddenly Nagini dropped to her knees, burying her head in her hands as sobs shook her shoulders, “I never…. I spent decades looking for a cure, believing myself stronger than such a dark curse.”

“The curse and subsequent betrayal are not your fault, Nagini.” Hecate stated, offering her hand, “So I offer you a choice; you may finally rest in peace with me, or you devote yourself to serving your King with full control over your ability.”

Nagini glanced between them, licking her lips, “No offense meant to the king, but I think I would like to rest, my lady.”

Privately, Harry was thankful; he understood on a subconscious level Nagini wasn’t entirely responsible for her actions, but he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to trust her. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings for something she had no control over.

Nimue glanced at him as if reading his thoughts, but wiggled her fingers at Nagini, “Then come child, take my hand.”

Nagini rose to her feet and grasped the hand, expression morphing into one of awe and devotion, a black mist rising from her body that tried to shriek before Hecate waved a hand banishing it, keeping the woman at her side. 

Glancing at Harry, she raised an eyebrow, “Are you ready?”

“No.” Harry replied sullenly and glanced around the stuffed courtyard, not understanding how so many people fit, “What do I do about Dumbledore or Riddle?”

The tinkling laugh emerged from Hecate again, and she shook her head, “Whatever you want, you are the King, Hadrian. Judge them here and now with Excalibur. Your word is law, be done with it.”

Heaving a sigh, Harry glanced around once more at the crowd gathered, “You promise you’ll let me know when another is ready?” An elegant brow arched as Hecate folded her arms, making Harry flush in shame, “Right, sorry, I just- I really didn’t expect this, nor do I want it.”

Smiling reverently, Hecate clasped Nagini’s hand. It ushered her into the rift that opened and closed, the rumble of thunder loud as Draco leaned against Harry, briefly pressing a kiss to his cheek before stepping back. 

Harry took a deep breath, grasped the handle, and freed the sword from the stone. Lightning crackled up the blade, and thunder rumbled and echoed overhead as he held it aloft, time snapping back together as it realigned. Hecate stepped up beside him, the other Gods appearing and arraying around him and Draco, “Doubt us at your peril, but our will is absolute. We are unanimous in our choice and broker no dissension. Bow to your King, Hadrian Cadmus James Peverell, and his husband and soulmate Consort Draconis Perverell.”

Maybe it was punishment for all the myths he spread about Excalibur and Arthur, perhaps it was fate, or maybe, just maybe, he had been prophesing his own claiming when he said a king pulled the sword from the stone, none of it really mattered. He was stuck, and while he wasn’t happy with the twist thrown his way, Harry watched as first his husband and then the student body dropped to one knee, slowly followed by the rest, though a few didn't look happy. 

Albus Dumbledore looked at him in a sort of horrified terror, while Tom Riddle appeared confused, with the first flash of fear building in his eyes as Riddle gazed at his followers, who had dropped to their knees, prostrating before him. Delores Umbridge had fainted, her body forgotten as some ingenious individual had hidden her in the bushes. The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, was blubbering like an idiot, mumbling apologies that were quickly silenced. 

Harry sighed, not knowing what to do with the dissenters, and at that particular moment, didn’t really care. Gazing around the courtyard, he saw his friends and most students staring at him in awe; Ron and Hermione had tears in their eyes, while Neville regarded him with heartfelt thanks and an undying devotion that proved Hecate had been right. 

Sirius stood near the back, Severus at his side, and both men were staring at him with pride and maybe a little sorrow. The same expression he knew Draco wore, even as he offered his hand to his husband, dipping his head towards their godfathers, understanding without words the sorrow.

They'd traveled through time expecting Harry to be the Guardian. Instead, he was taking up the mantle of King, although he was loath to admit it. Harry was looking forward to it because things were finally going to change. 

The End