1 – New Time
5 March 1972
Diagon Alley
Melanthe sighed as she walked out of Gringotts. Apparently, her documentation had not only made the trip back, but had changed to suit a new background: that of an international immigrant. She was still Melanthe Hadrea Peverell, but her parents were different, and she was apparently around 25 in her current form – or her base form, at least – putting her birth date in 1946. She had had three Masteries by the time she hit 26 in 2005: Runes, Defence, and Dark Arts. Her Potions and Alchemy masteries were gained later, and she had continuously kept gaining masteries after that, just for the sheer challenge. Up until Daphne died, anyway.
She had the lordship ring on her finger, a Gringotts wallet, and apparently the Hallows had been duplicated by Death, so there were two sets of Deathly Hallows around – although only Melanthe’s set had the full power. Melanthe shook her head as she activated the portkey to Peverell Manor, scowling at the sensation. She’d improved the Portkey travel method herself in the 2050s, for Circe’s sake! She could just as easily do it in the 1970s.
Peverell Manor
Melanthe had gotten a tour of the Manor from a very excited house-elf named Indris, and had finally gotten the chance to settle into the massive house. She sat down on a sofa, deciding to explore the Manor herself later. For now, she wanted to look over her inheritance test.
Name: Melanthe Hadrea Peverell
Born: 31 October 1946, 3:33 AM, Peverell Cottage, Greece
Age: 25 years, 4 months
Blood Status: Half-blood
Parents:
Hadrea Melissa Peverell née Papadopoulos (mother, deceased)
Vasilis Nikos Peverell (father, deceased)
Titles:
Lady of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Le Fay (magical bequest)
Lady of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Peverell (paternal)
The Daughter of Death (magical bequest)
Vaults:
Le Fay Family Vaults – 3,580,334,550 Galleons, 2,873 artefacts, 2,284 books
Peverell Family Vaults – 5,189,788,500 Galleons, 1,875 artefacts, 2,585 books
Magical Abilities:
Core magic – Dark Neutral
Ice elemental (maternal)
Metamorphmagus (paternal)
Necromancy (paternal)
Parseltongue (paternal)
Shadow elemental (paternal)
Water elemental (maternal)
Properties:
Peverell Cottage, Greece
Peverell Keep, Highlands, Scotland
Peverell Manor, Cumbria, England
Shadow Ossuary, Londonderry, Northern Ireland
Shadowhaven, Hidden Hebrides, Scotland
(other international properties, request audit)
Magical bonds:
Familiar bond – Mnemosyne (great horned owl)
Well, it wasn’t so bad. Was it a challenge? Yes. Was it absolute, indescribable hell? No. Now, all Melanthe had to figure out was what she would do with her life in the 70s. Couldn’t be that hard, could it?
10 March 1972
Ministry of Magic, UK
“Does anyone wish to claim their seats?” Dumbledore called. He loathed this tradition, since it took up precious time in the meetings, and nobody had claimed their seats in all the time he had been Chief Warlock, unless they were heirs of already prominent families. So, he was startled to receive a reply.
“Yes, Chief Warlock.” A tall, thin young woman stood up from where she had been sitting in the public stands, smoothing down the shimmering silver fabric of her cloak.
“Please state your name and the seat you wish to claim.” Dumbledore was curious now, studying her as she stepped forward. Her hair was an ashy blonde colour, but it was liberally streaked through with pure white, and she was pale. But her eyes nearly made him jump in fright. They were such a pale blue that they were almost white, and the streaks of Killing Curse green that shot through them were rendered much starker.
Melanthe had noticed Dumbledore’s microscopic paling, and hid a smirk. “I am Melanthe Peverell, and I wish to claim the Peverell and Le Fay seats.”
“What proof do you have of your claim?” Lord Doge called down.
In response, Melanthe enlarged a copy of the shorter Proof of Identity test, which revealed only her and her parents’ names (with their middle names initialised), her date of birth, and any lordships she was entitled to and why. She could hear a hastily stifled snicker from the Dark Faction, and hid another smile. “Shall this suffice, Lord Doge? After all, it is a Gringotts Proof of Identity test.”
“You need at least your OWLs to sit on the Wizengamot, girlie.” Lord Summerisle called from his seat, leering at Melanthe.
Melanthe stifled a snort, enlarging copies of her ICW OWL and NEWT results, as well as her Mastery certificates. “I have three Masteries, and I fully intend to gain more. And, as Britain claims it is a member of the ICW, this body is obligated by its membership to accept my ICW certifications, whether they like it or not.” Her smile was chilling. “Also, call me girlie again, Lord Summerisle, and you may find out just why Peverell women are the embodiment of the Muggle turn of phrase Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
Orion watched Melanthe walk up to the Peverell seat, and sit down without a care in the world. He stifled a sharp inhale when the throne-like seat brightened in colour, chrysanthemums, red cherry blossoms and asphodel lilies seeming to bloom from the wood itself, before the family crest turned bright against the dark wood, turning into the mark that had become commonly known as Grindelwald’s Sign. Oh, Orion didn’t want to be Grindelwald once Lady Peverell discovered his abuse of her family crest.
“Lady Peverell, is that Grindelwald’s Sign on your seat?” Lord Ambrose Longbottom asked, ever so brave.
Melanthe wasn’t fazed. “Considering that the House of Peverell dates to the 5th century AD, the current Peverell Crest has been in use since the early 10th century, and Grindelwald wasn’t born until the late 1870s or early 1880s,” she studied a cherry blossom on the chair, “it can be argued that Grindelwald’s appropriation of my family crest in his campaign of terror is line theft.”
“Brave words coming from someone born after the war,” Summerisle muttered.
Melanthe didn’t even dignify Summerisle’s statement with a response, setting her quill up to take notes.
Orion observed the young Lady Peverell with concealed curiosity, taking note of her mannerisms and behaviour, among other things. While she seemed young, the look in her eyes when she congratulated Lord Lestrange on his eldest son’s marriage was one of concealed pain. She seemed to stifle a snicker at Lord Dolohov’s gallows humour, and scowled murderously at Doge when he brought up another restriction against the Dark. This was the first display of annoyance Orion observed from her that she actually reacted to, because she sent up a wandless Lumos.
“Lady Peverell, do you have something you wish to add?” Dumbledore looked at her in curiosity.
“I do, Chief Warlock,” Melanthe declared as she stood up, “and I do not care how many people I offend by telling the truth.” She kept her expression neutral. “In the Muggle World, there is something called The Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which was put into practice a mere 23 years ago by the Muggles’ United Nations – much like our International Confederation of Wix – following the atrocities committed during what they call the Second World War – their counterpart to our Grindelwald War. The Universal Declaration of Human Rights consists of 30 articles, and they are as follows, in this exact order:
“Right to Equality, Freedom from Discrimination, Right to Security of Person, Freedom from Slavery, Freedom from Inhumane Treatment, Right to Legal Recognition, Right to Equality Before the Law, Right to Remedy by Competent Tribunal, Freedom from Arbitrary Legal Prosecution, Right to Fair Public Hearing, Right to be Considered Innocent Until Proven Guilty, Freedom from Interference, Right to Free Movement, Right to Asylum from Prosecution, Right to a Nationality, Right to Marriage, Right to Own Property, Freedom of Belief, Freedom of Speech, Right to Peaceful Assembly and Association, Right to Participate in Government, Right to Social Security, Right to Desirable Employment, Right to Rest, Right to Adequate Living Standard, Right to Education, Right to Participate and Enjoy the Culture of One’s Community Article, Right to Realisation of the Above Declaration, Duties to Community, and Freedom from Interference in Above Rights.
“While I will confess that Grindelwald’s actions were horrific – and that it will take a lot of time before the Peverell Crest is no longer synonymous with his campaign of terror – it does not give anyone in this legislative body the right to discriminate against someone because of the alignment of their magical core, any potential creature status, any crimes they may have committed, their gender, their socioeconomic status, or whether they follow the Old Ways or not.” Melanthe glared specifically at Doge, Diggle and Summerisle as she said that. “So, if the Muggles can come up with an almost exact replica of a system that had been in place in the Magical world for centuries, if not millennia, after a horrific war… I am just going to say that Britain will become the laughingstock of the international community if they attempt to introduce bans on the Old Ways, or further creature restrictions. Or, well, more of a laughingstock than it already is due to its attitude towards Parselmouths and creatures, if my neighbours in Greece were any indicator.”
Orion and Corvus traded looks. A Pureblood that knew Muggle laws and history, and followed the Old Ways? Melanthe Peverell was a bundle of contradictions.
“Are you seriously suggesting that we emulate the Muggles, Lady Peverell?” Summerisle sneered.
“I am not saying that we should copy the Muggles, I am saying that we should keep up with their rate of advancement, Lord Summerisle.” Melanthe gave him a disparaging look. “For those purebloods that have never so much as set a foot in the Muggle world, I pity you on your naivete if you think they still act and dress the way they did in the 1600s and 1700s.” She shook her head with a sardonic smile. “They advance faster than we do, because they do not have magic to make things easier. Necessity is the mother of all invention. And, while we are on this topic, please stop assuming any and all Muggleborns are not willing to learn the Old Ways if given a chance. Many are not given an opportunity, because no one tells them there is a magical religion, and the literature is so jealously guarded that they have no opportunity to learn on their own. No one explains the traditions, the culture, the religion, anything at all, and so they assume it is the same, if more archaic.”
“Are you placing the blame for the Mudbloods’ lack of respect for our traditions on the Purebloods, when you are one yourself?” Isaac Burke spat with a sneer.
“Correction, Lord Burke, I am a half-blood. My mother was what you would call a mudblood, despite being from a squib branch of the Alad Family, and the first magical in that branch in three centuries.” Melanthe’s voice took on a chill, contrasting with her smile. “So, maybe you should take a long, hard look at any squibs on your family trees, and trace their lines, because magic does not come from nowhere. And, to correct your statement, I am blaming the Purebloods’ hoarding of vital information on the Old Ways for the Muggleborns’ ignorance of magical traditions. There is a difference.”
Orion disappeared behind a silencing ward, chuckling to himself. By Morgana, the Wizengamot was never quite this fun since he took over after his marriage. He realised with a jolt that his constant headache was gone, along with the haze that seemed to cloud his mind since the wedding. He had his suspicions, but focused on the meeting, since Dumbledore had turned his shameless curiosity to Melanthe.
“Lady Peverell, if I may ask, what is your core alignment and stance on the Old Ways?”
“Dark Neutral, Chief Warlock.” Melanthe’s smile was almost sardonic. “I am a devotee of the Old Ways myself, since that is how I was raised.”
“May I ask if the Peverells are truly necromancers?”
Melanthe audibly snorted this time. “That is the same as asking if I am related to Lord Potter through Deimos Peverell, the father of Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus Peverell. To the best of my knowledge, there has not been a single Peverell born to the main branch – coming from Antioch – or its many offshoots that has not been a necromancer by birth.”
Charlus Potter guffawed at that, making Orion look at his uncle-in-law in mild exasperation, and eyed Melanthe with respect. “Lady Peverell, if I may ask, how far back does the Peverell Family Tree go?”
“Far enough that the Manor has a room entirely devoted to the family tree, which takes up the entire floor, with liberal usage of expansion wards, Lord Potter.” Melanthe smiled, this one much warmer. She had liked Charlus’ portrait, but it was nothing like meeting him in the flesh.
The meeting wrapped up after a while, and Melanthe’s parchment was largely filled with the inconsequential squabbles before bills were passed or discarded. Orion saw Charlus approach Melanthe, and decided to visit his father. Walburga would be in France for another nine days, so he had to use the time while he still could.
Black Castle
Arcturus looked up, surprised to hear knocking at his study door, and called for them to enter. To his surprise, it was his son. “Orion, what brings you here?” He was more surprised by Orion cutting to the point, where he usually would say his greetings first.
“Father, have you also been feeling like there is a haze clouding your mind since I married Walburga?” There was a small scowl on Orion’s handsome features.
The words seemed to lift the haze from Arcturus’ mind, and he looked at Orion. “I did not realise it until it lifted when you mentioned it. How did you notice?”
“Lady Peverell – she is new to the Wizengamot, from Greece if her accent is any indicator – had started talking about a universal declaration of human rights issued by the muggles’ equivalent of the ICW, which was put into place 23 years ago. And I realised that the haze was gone, because I would never have noticed her carefully crafted insult directed at the Wizengamot and British magical society otherwise.”
Arcturus frowned, pulling out the marriage contract between Orion and Walburga, and promptly swore. “I’ll kill Pollux yet, mark my words.”
“Father?” Orion was concerned now.
“Pollux concealed clauses that could have turned this into an absolute contract to gain control of the Black Estate, but with one gaping loophole: there is absolutely nothing stopping me from disowning either of them and thus ending the contract.” Arcturus took a few calming breaths. “I shall summon Walburga from the estate in France, and the boys on the premise of a family emergency. Wait here.”
Thirty gruelling minutes later, Arcturus was returning with Sirius and Regulus in tow, the brothers ignoring each other. Sirius was still a first-year, and Regulus would go to Hogwarts in September, but the rift had started to form. “I cannot reach Walburga or Pollux, so I am calling for a full family meeting.”
Orion frowned, heading to the massive Black Family Tapestry in Arcturus’ study and scanning it.
“Orion?” Arcturus looked at his son in concern.
Orion was muttering to himself, studying an ignored cadet branch. “Turais Black, married to Ignatia Pryce… Three children, Eridanus, Antares, and Shaula Black… Shaula Black, married to Alastor Peverell… Four children, Nemesis, Khione, Aeolus, and Pygmalion Peverell… Pygmalion married Hebe Blythe… Two children, Kore and Hyperion Peverell… Hyperion married Minerva Paola… Two children, Galatea and Vasilis Peverell… Vasilis married Hadrea Papadopoulos… Only one child, Melanthe Peverell.” He sighed, and then started counting, before giving up and turning to face Arcturus. “The Peverells live ridiculously long lives, but what I was trying to determine is correct. Melanthe is technically a Black, but she is something like sixth or seventh cousins to Great-Grandfather Phineas.”
“Why would you even want to know?” Arcturus was amused.
“I am at least 90% sure Melanthe is a Metamorphmagus. There is no other explanation for why the very tips of her hair – visible despite the braids and the bun she had her hair in – kept changing colour in accordance with her emotions.” Orion shook his head, hugging his sons to him, visibly to their surprise. But what surprised not only Sirius and Regulus, but Arcturus as well, was when Orion knelt down in front of his sons. “I am incredibly sorry. There were so many times I could have stopped Walburga, where I could have fought the contract’s insidious magic to protect you, and didn’t. I hope you are willing to forgive me, if not now, then maybe someday.” He looked at Sirius with a small smile. “I don’t care that you are a Gryffindor, Sirius Orion Black. You are still my son, and that matters more than anything in the world.”
Arcturus hid a smile, going to summon the extended family, married individuals included – and, after some consideration, Melanthe Peverell as well – for the family meeting. Pollux would be made an example of; Arcturus’ mind would not rest otherwise.
An hour later saw a vaguely amused Dorea and Euphemia accompanied by a baffled James entering the meeting hall, with an animatedly – if restrainedly – talking Melanthe, Charlus and Fleamont in tow. Melanthe had clearly redone her hair, which was now hanging in a braid over her shoulder, although she was still wearing the same cloak. Arcturus had subtly positioned the seating so that Melanthe and Orion were sitting next to each other, curious to see what would happen. Melanthe did politely greet the occupants, but otherwise ignored them in favour of continuing her semi-heated debate with the Potters. Andromeda had quietly entered the room with Ted in tow, in no mood to see her extended family, while carrying her sleeping baby girl.
Arcturus scanned the room, taking in all the faces, and frowning. Sure enough, ten minutes after the meeting was supposed to start, Pollux and Walburga deigned to make their appearance. The Black Patriarch merely pursed his lips and gestured to the seats as the heavy oak doors swung shut and locked behind the two. “I am aware that it is unusual to see the entirety of the extended Black family – or the individuals present in Britain, in any case – at a family meeting, or to call one mere days before the Ostara break is set to start. But it is no issue to discuss the entire agenda for today, good and bad. I ask that you hold your tongues, or else.
“To start us off on a positive note, congratulations to Bellatrix and Rodolphus on their nuptials this past month. Congratulations to Andromeda and Edward on the birth of their daughter, Nymphadora. And, welcome to Britain, Lady Melanthe Peverell, a cousin through Turais Black’s line. “
At hearing her name, Dora’s hair turned bright pink, to everyone’s surprise and Cygnus and Druella’s shock. But everyone did a double take when Melanthe’s hair turned scarlet as she waved in acknowledgement. Arcturus just looked smug, before his face turned grave. “However, that is the only good news I have to share in this meeting, and what is going to happen next will not be appropriate for very young children.” His gaze was steely as he looked around. “Pollux Castor and Walburga Irma Black, to the front of the room, please.”
The moronic duo didn’t seem to realise how much danger they were in, heading to the front. They didn’t realise it until Andromeda cast a ward around Dora to block the sight and sounds from reaching her infant child, just as Arcturus started speaking. “I have realised of late that we have made a terrible interpretation of the family motto, Toujours Pur. It had never originally been about purity of blood, but purity of magic, of ideals, and of intentions.”
Pollux seemed to catch on to what was happening, but he couldn’t flee as they were stuck to the spot, and Arcturus continued. “And today is the day that you learn exactly what happens when you betray your family, using the most nefarious form of marriage contract to do so.”
Walburga caught on then, and her eyes widened in sheer terror, even as Arcturus kept speaking. “Doing this is something no Lord Black would wish to do, and pains me more than words can describe, but it is necessary. Pollux Castor Black, Walburga Irma Black, Aufero te e domo Black. Numquam sis pars huius familiae iterum, aut inter venerabiles sodales stare. Iam non es pars nostri, sanguis, magica. Non iam grata es in Familia Black. Magica tua et vita tua pretium sunt proditionis familiae tue Dominum et Patriarchae, pro neglect filiorum tuorum, et pro despectione.”
Arcturus had hardly finished the last word when Walburga let out a piercing wail and fell to the ground, clutching her chest. Pollux followed soon after, and Melanthe flinched.
“Melanthe, you alright?” Charlus leant over in concern.
“I’m alright, Charlus. It’s just, their bodies are shutting down from the sheer shock of having their magic ripped away.” Melanthe’s hair turned a pale green. “It looks awful from a necromancer’s perspective, because I can actively see them dying.”
“How many minutes?” Alphard asked from somewhere down the table.
“Two.” Melanthe watched the two die, and then as their bodies were popped away by house-elves. “No gratitude from the wicked.”
Ted stifled a laugh as he and Andromeda moved to the main table. “Aesop?”
“My mother was squib-born. Your point?” Melanthe gave Ted a raised eyebrow.
“Please elaborate on the difference between the two.” Corvus asked from his seat.
“If you ask me, Lord Lestrange, I am going to tell you that there is no difference whatsoever.” Melanthe rolled her eyes at several older individuals’ shocked gasps. “Yes, I’m aware, I’m a heathen. But I must point out that my mother was the first magical in her specific branch of the Alad Family in three centuries, and they were often called muggles. She went to Dumstrang under the Alads’ sponsorship. So, it is almost a dead guarantee that the so-called Muggleborns are all descended from squibs that were cast out. Magic does not appear from nowhere, and I want to point out the sheer irony of squibs being declared inherently non-magical when they can see Dementors and virtually all magical locations. And, extensive studies have proven that you need to have magic to see dementors.”
“This is utterly embarrassing,” Narcissa muttered from her seat, “but can you explain this concept to me as if I was ten?”
“I’ll do my best,” Melanthe said with a small sigh. “Think of magic and any physical traits – such as hair and eye colour, height, skin tone, or similar things – as potential. My mother had blonde hair and brown eyes, while my father had black hair and green eyes. My hair is blonde and my eyes are blue. My maternal grandmother also had blue eyes, meaning my mother had the potential to have blue eyes. It did not activate. With us, we all have active potential for magic, enabling us to use it. Squibs, however, have the potential, but it is inactive, rendering it inaccessible to them. Muggles do not have the potential at all, and will never have it. And the so-called muggleborns are – by default – the offspring of two squibs.”
Arcturus pinched the bridge of his nose, but he seemed impressed. “Lady Peverell, have you ever considered teaching?”
“Call me Melanthe or Mel. Lady Peverell makes me feel as if I’m 400 years old.” Melanthe laughed a little. “In all honesty, I have not.”
This caused Sirius to pipe up. “Professor Thorne is returning to active duty in July, and the DADA position will be open again.” He pouted. “The upper years keep complaining that it is hard to learn properly when the professors keep changing every year. The position is seemingly cursed.”
“How long has this been going on?” Mel frowned. She had wondered that in her old life.
“Since 1958 or so,” Druella said with a sigh.
“Honestly, Mel, you have a double mastery in both Defence and actual Dark Arts, as well as Runes. Why don’t you apply?” Charlus suggested.
“If it is actually cursed,” Mel spoke firmly, “I’ll do my best to break it. Although I have no idea why the esteemed headmaster, from what Charlus has said, doesn’t hire a Cursebreaker. Unless it has fallen to the wayside due to him also being the British Representative to the ICW and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, in which case he needs to be forced to decide which position he values most.”
“Why?” Fleamont frowned. “He seems to be doing well so far. He’s a great man.”
“Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men,” Melanthe quoted from memory, looking Fleamont in the eye. “As good of an Occlumens as Dumbledore is, I’m a better Legilimens. He is too caught up in the bigger picture, in the majority, to even think about the smaller picture, about those in the minority.”
“If he is, it’s for the Greater Good.”
Something in Fleamont’s tone immediately made Melanthe’s hackles raise, and the red of her hair bled into a pale purple as her wand sprang into her hand.
“Melanthe?” Charlus looked up at her with a frown, just as James sprang up from his seat beside Fleamont to go hide behind his father’s seat. “What’s it, James?”
“Uncle Mont’s eyes are unnerving, Dad.” James’ voice was thin, so not Gryffindor that Melanthe fondly remembered James’ namesake, her nephew from another time.
Charlus looked up just in time to see the dark haze over Fleamont’s eyes, and paled. “Mel?”
“I have no idea why anyone would use the Homo Creationis Meae ritual, especially not in this day and age, but that haze is the first sign.” The stunner left Melanthe’s wand before Charlus even noticed her moving, and Fleamont slumped over.
“Fleamont falling under the visible influence of the HCM ritual when I start talking negatively about Dumbledore. What are the chances? It sure isn’t a coincidence.” Melanthe looked afraid.
“What does that ritual do?” Narcissa had never heard of it.
“Homo Creationis Meae is a personality altering ritual, way up there with the Eros’ Blade spell and the Panta Tifla Pistos – or Always Blindly Faithful – potion in terms of how awful they are.” Melanthe shuddered. “PTF is a potion that induces unfailing blind loyalty to the brewer, Eros Blade is essentially what happens when you combine Amortentia and the Imperius in a single spell, and it’s particularly nefarious because it has been used to achieve line theft before it was banned. HCM – while reversible – is an utterly sickening ritual. It doesn’t just alter a person’s personality, it actively suppresses their mind. They’re forced into a backseat in their own bodies, fully aware of what’s going on, but unable to speak up or act against the ritual that’s essentially puppeteering their body.
“The truly disgusting part is that HCM and PTF aren’t banned, or even restricted in Britain, while the Therapeftiko Aima potion and Hermo Myalo spell are banned, because one is blood magic and the other is too close to the Imperius for comfort.” Melanthe’s hair had gone from pale purple to acidic green, and finally to a fiery red. “Therapeftiko Aima (or Healing Blood) is one of only three potions capable of curing Bloodbane in existence, and the only one that is easy to brew with British ingredients. It’s also capable of reversing Cruciatus damage, for Circe’s sake! Hermo Myalo (or Placid Mind) is a far less traumatising alternative to the full-body bind, especially for young children or elderly patients that resist assistance from mediwix due to fear or disorientation.”
“You certainly feel strongly about this,” Andromeda spoke up for the first time.
“I’m Greek, Mrs Tonks, and I have Bloodbane. Of course, I feel strongly about the banning of the only Bloodbane cure that I don’t have an allergy to.” Melanthe huffed. “My allergy isn’t to the potions themselves, but rather to the stabilising agent used in the other two potions, which is ironically also the stabilising agent in Polyjuice Potion, Veritaserum, the standard recipe for Skele-Gro, Amortentia, and the Animagus Potion. So, if I wish to become an animagus, I’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way, which will require even more research into runic rituals than I did for my entire mastery.”
Arcturus stifled a laugh, taking in Orion’s carefully concealed awestruck expression. He had a feeling that Melanthe Peverell would be a good addition to the House of Black.