The First Noel

He remembered the Christmases of his early years fondly. His mother, along with the elves, would prepare a banquet for the entire family, and the dining room within Grimmauld Place would be full.

But that had changed when Arcturus had been seven, the same year his mother had passed away. With her gone, everything had changed.

His father had closed the doors of his home to all, and he had not seen his Uncle Alphard, nor any other relatives since.

His father's reaction to his mother's death was what he found odd most of all.

Even as a young boy, Arcturus knew the way Orion Black treated his wife was not with kindness. She was little more than a maid. There was never any affection between his parents, and his father had not shed a single tear.

Arcturus had, and though her face had faded from memory over the years, he remembered her smile.

Dorea shared the very same one, as did Cassie, but he had not seen her in almost five years, along with his brother Perseus.

Both had chosen Christmas day to take their leave of the family, leaving behind only a brief note and the heir's ring.

Once more, there had been little reaction from Orion Black who had disposed of the parchment in the fire and thrown the ring at Arcturus.

"It looks like you're my heir now," he'd grunted.

There had been no mention of the wayward Black children since, but every year around this time was the same. The yuletide blues would set in, and the holidays were even more miserable.

His father no longer made any effort to acknowledge the festivities, choosing to ignore Christmas altogether, something that was only made worse by his failing health.

It had been subtle things that Arcturus had noticed at first.

Orion would have episodes where he forgot what he was doing and wander aimlessly around the house. Things only progressed from there, and now, it was a common occurrence that he could be found somewhere within Grimmauld Place having conversations with his dead wife who he believed was still alive.

When he did snap out of it, he would shake his head in confusion before locking himself in his study.

It was sad to see, and though Arcturus did not share a close relationship with the man, he felt for him.

It was as though he was now merely waiting to die.

The boy shook his head at the thought.

His father had never been the most rational of men, but with whatever was ailing growing steadily worse, his choices, and decision only became more detrimental to the future of the family.

He had tried to help the man, had even sent for healers to see if anything could be done, but they were not willing to work with him, not when he became immediately angry and violent at the sight of them.

If truth be told, Arcturus was at a loss as to what else he could do.

How could he help a man that did not want it?

He couldn't, and the best he could do was shelter Dorea from the man's ire when he would confuse her for the woman he may have once loved, but certainly hadn't towards the end of her life.

"Should we get this over with?" Dorea broke in tiredly.

Arcturus nodded, looping his arm through hers as he led her towards the dining room where they found an uncharacteristically cheery Orion Black waiting for them, well, cheery by his standards.

The table was full of dishes that had been carefully prepared, the room decorated with festive trimmings for the first time since he had been a small boy.

"What is this?" Arcturus questioned suspiciously.

"Christmas," Orion answered with a smile that did nothing to assuage his heirs' concern.

"We have not celebrated in years," Arcturus reminded him.

"This year is different," Orion said dismissively. "This year we have something to celebrate."

Arcturus did not like the sound of that.

His father's mind was not what it had once been, and he feared that someone had found a way to take advantage of him.

"What are we celebrating?" he asked cautiously as he took a seat at the table.

"We will get to that," Orion assured him, "but first we eat."

Arcturus frowned at the man whose smile faded.

"EAT!" he roared, slamming his fist on the top of the table, his eyes bulging, as Dorea flinched from the sudden change of demeanour.

Arcturus did not. He no longer feared the retribution of his father.

Orion Black was a sickly man now, quicker to temper but much slower with his wand.

With a questioning look towards the man, Arcturus helped himself to some turkey, causing the man to replace the deranged look with a smile.

Dorea followed suit, though she was on edge.

She never did become used to their father's bouts of anger. For the most part, Arcturus had managed to shield her from them when they grew up, even if that meant he'd had to take the brunt of it.

Those days were over now, but he would never forget what he had endured because of the man that had sired him.

"And how is my beautiful daughter?" Orion asked, as though such a question was common.

As far as Arcturus could remember, their father had not spoken to Dorea since before she started Hogwarts.

"I'm fine, father," she replied, her eyes firmly on her plate.

"Good," Orion replied. "I suppose we should start looking at possible candidates for marriage soon."

"She is fifteen," Arcturus growled. "She wishes to be a healer and will not marry until she has achieved that."

"Is that so, boy?" Orion returned dangerously.

"It is."

The man stared at him appraisingly for a moment, before he smiled once more.

"Of course, you're right," he declared proudly. "You will be a fine Lord."

Arcturus's nostrils flared, but he remained silent.

He would be a damned sight better than the sorry excuse for a man who led the family now.

"So, what are we celebrating?" he pressed.

Orion tutted.

"You always were the impatient one," he huffed as he withdrew a small roll of parchment from within his robes and handed it to Arcturus.

The boy frowned at the familiar, cursive writing, and he unfurled the missive.

Dear Father,

I suppose you did not expect to hear from me again, but as you often are, you were wrong.

Cassie and I are well and have found ourselves in a very favourable position within a group of powerful wizards that seek changes in our world.

I am reaching out to you as a matter of courtesy, and to request that you meet with a man that will ensure the continuation of our family as it stands as the most influential in wizarding Britain.

Change is coming, father, and I implore you to accept it. Resistance is futile, and only suffering awaits those that do not comply.

For once, prove yourself a Lord that does what is right for his family.

My thoughts, as always, are with Arcturus and Dorea, and I eagerly await your reply with their futures in mind.

Your son,

Perseus Black III

Arcturus shook his head as he finished reading the letter.

This did not bode well.

Orion remained smiling as he waited for his heir to speak, and Arcturus could only see bleak times ahead.

He knew who Perseus was referring to. The whispers of what Grindelwald was up to on the continent had been trickling through as far as wizarding Britain for years, and it seemed he was readying himself to finally make his move.

Such a revelation did not sit well with the boy.

He had learned of what had happened in America some ten years prior, how Grindelwald had escaped the clutches of MACUSA and had fled to Europe to continue his work.

If truth be told, he had given little thought to the man, but with this letter, it was not something that could be ignored.

"What do you intend to do about it?" he asked.

"Well, I will meet with him, of course," Orion declared. "Cassiopeia and Perseus will not have pledged themselves without due consideration, and if there is any truth in what your brother has said, then I would see us on the winning side."

Arcturus released a deep breath, the answer having been expected but no less welcome.

"You would side with Grindelwald? A man that wishes to break the statute of secrecy, a man that wishes to enslave the muggles. Why? What good would that do?"

"It would mean that we no longer have to hide!" Orion snapped.

"No, it would mean war," Arcturus countered. "We do not hide from fear, but for preservation."

"And what would you know about it, boy?" Orion asked. "Have you turned into a lover of mudbloods?"

"No," Arcturus answered, "I simply do not wish to risk my life for a cause that would be our downfall," he added as he stood. "You do as you will, father, but I will not be a traitor to our country. How many other Lords do you believe will accept this?"

"Many will if I do," Orion said smugly.

"Then you will make a martyr of us, and when this group fails, Britain will not forget that the Blacks supported them."

With that, he took Dorea by the hand and left the kitchen, ignoring the raving of his father and the bowl of carrots that smashed into the wall as they exited.

"What will we do, Arcturus?" Dorea asked worriedly.

The boy shook his head.

"I don't know," he answered honestly, "but I will keep you safe. No matter what."

The girl offered him a grateful smile, and Arcturus only wished he could return it.

Things were looking bleak indeed, and if his father acted as he suspected, they would only become worse in the months and years to come.

(Break)

Christmas for Minerva meant spending much of her day in church with her mother and father, the latter carrying out services for the locals in the village. He was a highly respected man, was all smiles when he was with his 'flock' as he named them, but at home, he was not the same.

Were it not for his faith, Minerva believed that he would have left her and her mother years ago, the moment he had discovered that both were witches.

So in love with the man was her mother, that she had hidden the truth from him, and had stopped practicing magic altogether, her wand having been kept in a box under their marital bed.

Such a secret did not last and was revealed when Minerva had been a toddler, her bouts of accidental magic unable to be concealed by her mother who had finally confessed what she was when it was no longer possible to hide it.

Robert McGonagall had been shocked to say the least, and as an honest, religious man, struggled with his conscience and the knowledge he carried.

Minerva had no doubt that he still loved her and her mother, but the complications only made life difficult for her father.

"Sit up straight," her mother whispered, the smile of adoration she wore as she looked upon her husband not wavering.

Isobel Ross had come from a family of gifted witches and wizards and had left them all behind when she had eloped with Minerva's muggle father.

Minerva had never met them and knew that she would likely never be welcomed by her mother's family.

They were not so unpleasant that they harboured any ill-will or malicious intent towards muggles, but they were purebloods through and through and had taken what her mother had done as the ultimate betrayal.

Still, she was not one to complain.

She had grown in a home with both parents, had never wanted for anything, and had been allowed to attend Hogwarts. There were others that were much less fortunate than her.

Her thoughts drifted to Harry, to what he had endured, and what he had done for her.

No one had ever shown her such kindness, her popularity mostly coming from her performance on the Quidditch pitch and her friendship with Augusta.

The other purebloods knew who she was, who her mother was, and what she had done, though they had learned long ago to not mention it around her.

She had inherited her mother's rather fiery temper after all and had the talent to ensure those that would ridicule her only did so once.

Minerva too had endured what Harry was now with Abraxus Malfoy and his ilk, and it wasn't until her fourth year when she had cursed Stebbins that they had left her alone, though she believed Charlus Potter may have intervened on her behalf also.

The boy would never admit such, but she had not been bothered by any since he had held the first fateful meeting with Arcturus Black who also treated her with more respect than he had prior.

She wondered how Harry's Christmas was going with his family, thoughts of him warming her.

For all he had endured, he was a sweet boy who always made time for her, and never complained when she was stumped by a problem and offloaded it on to him.

In the months she had known him, she would consider him to be one of her best friends, his hardworking attitude, his patience, and kindness endearing him to her quickly.

His latest gesture, however, made her ponder if there was something else between them.

She shook her head.

No, his gift was Harry merely being himself. There was no hidden agenda, no ulterior motive for what he had done other than him appreciating their friendship as much as she had.

Wasn't it?

She sighed gently, not knowing what to think, nor wanting to think too much on it.

"Come along, Minerva," her mother urged, pulling the girl from her thoughts.

She looked up to see that the service had come to an end, and the last of those wishing to have an audience with her father were queuing up patiently down the length of the isle to do so.

The service may be over, but they would not leave for another hour yet, not whilst there were those that wanted their moment with the Minister on this sacred day.

Even then, Minerva was not looking forward to the rest of the day.

Her parents would sport their fake smiles as they pretended that all was well, and Minerva would have to play her part also.

Truthfully, and though she felt guilty for feeling this way; she wanted nothing more than to be back at Hogwarts and was counting down the days until her return to school.

(Break)

The experience of staying with the Potters was a surreal one, and as Harry woke on Christmas morning, he was certain it was something he would never get used to. Not that he would have to, of course. After today, he would be visiting with Nicholas and Perenelle and then would spend the remainder of the holidays back at the castle.

As accommodating and welcoming as the Potters had been, he wanted Charlus to have some time alone with his parents also.

The boy had insisted he come back once he had visited his aunt and uncle, but Harry had politely declined.

As much as he wished to remain here a little longer, doing so would only serve to remind him that this was what he may have once had, and he did not need to be teased any more than he already had throughout his life.

No, he'd best leave after Christmas day with the wonderful memories he had here with his knowing family, back to the reality he knew all too well.

"Are you awake, Harry?" Charlus whispered as he opened the door to the bedroom he had been staying in.

"Yeah," Harry replied sleepily.

It was five am and the two of them had not gone to bed until two. They had been up discussing some of the finer points of transfiguration with William and had only ceased when Angelica had come to break up their little gathering.

"Well, come on, mum and dad will be up soon."

Harry yawned as he stood and followed the other boy from the room.

"I don't think they'll be up yet," he chuckled. "We only went to bed three hours ago."

Charlus grinned.

They're always up early on Christmas. Mum loves it, and she won't let dad stay in bed."

True to his word, William and Angelica met them on the landing as they reached the staircase.

"Merry Christmas boys," the woman greeted them warmly.

William merely nodded, yawning loudly before he led the way down the staircase and into the main living room where Angelica had evidently been busy the previous evening.

The room had already been festively decorated, but she had added countless magical touches.

Drifting around the large Christmas tree was a gathering of fairies, each flutter of their wings leaving a trail of glitter in their wake.

Marching around the floor were some garden gnomes that the woman had somehow convinced to don the outfits of traditional elves, their green uniforms and matching hats not suiting their rather unsightly faces.

The most unmissable addition, however, were the piles and piles of presents.

"Ever had a Christmas like this, Harry?" Charlus asked with a grin.

He hadn't.

Christmas had always been a bitter holiday for him when he had been a child, that was until he attended Hogwarts. Even then, he had never witnessed anything like what was before him now.

He shook his head dumbly and Charlus clapped him on the shoulder.

"Well, they won't open themselves mate," he said with a grin. "What? You didn't think we'd let you sit there and watch me open my presents."

"But…"

"Best not ask questions Harry," William urged. "Angelica won't touch hers until you two have finished, and between you and me, she's not a patient woman," he added with a whisper.

"Come on," Charlus sighed, all but dragging him to one of the two matching piles. "Now dig in before I turn you socks into scorpions. I know how to do that," he warned.

Harry was speechless but snorted amusedly as Charlus broke through the disbelief he felt.

"Thank you," he said sincerely to the Potter parents, who offered him an encouraging smile.

It was in a haze that he worked his way through the mountains of gifts he had received and when he unwrapped the last one, he looked upon them in awe.

There were clothes, books, sweets, and many other things that he wasn't even certain of, but it was not the sheer amount of presents nor what they were that warmed him so.

It was that they had been given to him by his family, even if they didn't know what they were to him.

"My turn!" Angelica declared excitedly when Charlus and Harry had finished.

They watched as she tore through the presents as though she herself was still an excited child, gasping and sometimes squealing gleefully when she came across something she had really wanted.

"Is this normal?" Harry asked.

William nodded amusedly.

"She's been the same for the last twenty years since we met," he chuckled.

"She's mental when it comes to Christmas," Charlus added, holding up a shirt he had unwrapped only moments prior and nodding approvingly.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Harry announced as he reached into his pocket and removed the gifts he had purchased for the Potters, each of them wrapped in matching red and gold paper. He handed one to each William and Charlus, that latter handing him one in return.

"Great minds," Charlus declared as he and Harry unwrapped a matching set of books on transfiguration they had gotten each other.

It was a set they both used during the transfiguration club that belonged to Dumbledore.

"Well, I'm not disappointed," Harry returned.

Charlus nodded his agreement.

"Where did you come across this?" William asked, thumbing through a tome Harry had retrieved from the Chamber of Secrets.

There had been two matching copies of it, both handwritten, and Harry suspected they had been penned by Salazar Slytherin himself, though they had not been signed.

The writing did match the note he had found when he'd discovered the library.

"I came across a collection and it was in there," he explained truthfully.

William nodded appreciatively.

"This must be hundreds of years old," he mused aloud. "Some of these spells look really complicated. I've never even heard of them."

They were.

Harry had attempted a few with varying amounts of success, but he would continue with his efforts. They would be exceptionally useful when mastered.

"Thank you, Harry, this quite the gift."

"And for mine," Angelica chimed in with a smile, holding up the enchanted flowers he had given her.

They would never wilt and glowed brightly in the dark.

William yawned loudly once more.

"Well, I'll allow you to enjoy your presents whilst I get another few hours sleep. I'm not as young as you two," he pointed out, gesturing between Harry and Charlus. "I'll see you at lunch."

With that, he took his leave, and Harry and Charlus helped Angelica clean up the discarded wrapping paper.

"Go on, enjoy the morning whilst I make lunch," she urged when they were done. "You've got more than enough there to keep yourselves entertained."

Charlus nodded enthusiastically as he levitated his pile of presents and headed towards the stairs.

Harry followed suit and shook his head.

"We're going to spend the morning working on transfiguration, aren't we?" he asked with a smirk.

"Can you think of anything else you'd rather do?" Charlus returned.

Harry couldn't.

Over the past months, he had fallen in love with the art, just as much as he had with defence.

"No," he answered honestly.

With their presents deposited in their rooms, they spent the remainder of the morning doing just that, revisiting some of the things they had been working on before the holidays, and even attempting some new things they had yet come across in the book set they now both owned.

It wasn't until William came to fetch them in the early afternoon that they packed their things away and headed to the dining room where they were greeted with a knowing look by Angelica.

"Transfiguration?"

William nodded proudly as the woman shook her head in faux despair.

Harry had learnt that she much preferred charms and was rather good with them.

"Well, lunch is ready," she announced.

Harry could only marvel at the platters on display. Only at Hogwarts, and perhaps the Weasley's had he seen so much food, though both had cooked for more than four people.

"Whatever is left, we take to the church," William explained. "There are always hungry people to feed."

Harry nodded his understanding as he took his seat.

Again, his family were proving just how kind they were and why they were so well thought of in the magical community.

"Help yourself to whatever you'd like, Harry."

"Don't say that," Charlus snorted. "You wouldn't believe how much he can put away."

Harry kicked him under the table and glared at the other boy who raised an eyebrow challengingly.

"You're one to talk," he replied. "I've seen you eat twelve sausages."

"Only after Quidditch practice," Charlus defended.

Harry hummed as he helped himself to some potatoes, turkey, and vegetables before covering it in lashings of gravy.

All the while, the Potter parents watched the back and forth between them, laughing at their antics.

"You eat eight eggs for breakfast every morning," Charlus muttered, grinning at Harry who shrugged.

"Alright," Angelica huffed, knowing it would continue if she didn't intervene. "You're both greedy sods."

"I am not!" both Harry and Charlus retorted, breaking into peals of laughter.

"There's nothing wrong with a healthy appetite," William broke in. "Just you wait until you're married and have a wife that tells you off for it."

"I do not tell you off, William," Angelica replied, taking a delicate bite of her food. "I am only looking out for your health. Eating bacon every day is not good for you."

"Yes, dear," William grumbled, winking at Harry and Charlus.

"And I know that you try to sneak it," the woman continued. "Remember, Miranda is my elf and keeps me informed of all I need to know."

"Is that why you give me less bacon now?"

Angelica nodded unashamedly.

"Damn," William muttered. "I thought I had a good thing going there, and you two can stop laughing. You'll be married one day, and I hope your wives are as cruel as my own," he added to the teens.

"Stop being so dramatic, Will," Angelica sighed amusedly.

"I was just giving the boys an idea of what they have to look forward to."

"Why ruin the adventure?" she replied with a grin of her own.

William laughed heartily.

"Like I said, cruel, but in this case, I find myself enjoying it. Now, eat up, we don't have long before we have to be at the church," he reminded them.

With the afternoon slowly but surely coming to an end, they each ate their fill before packing what was left of the food into containers that Angelica placed in a large bag.

"We have an hour or so before the service begins," she explained. "Shall we get there early to give some of this out? "

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," William agreed, eliciting nods of agreement from Harry and Charlus. "We can show Harry around the village too if there's time. Are you ready for another apparation?"

Harry grimaced at the thought.

He still believed that he could do it without assistance, but thought it best to not attempt it now, especially if something went wrong.

Sirius had warned him of the dangers of it, and he did not feel like spending his evening in St Mungo's, having a limb reattached.

"Just let me know when you're prepared," William urged.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he nodded, nervous about seeing the place where his parents had met their end at the hands of the Dark Lord.

As he had prior, he felt himself overwhelmed by the sensation of being forced through a space that was much too small for him, but once he managed to open his eyes, it was to a modest collection of dwellings a short distance away, lit up by Christmas lights.

"It's a beautiful place," William commented, and the four of them slowly made their way towards the snowy village.

"Godric's Hollow is very important to our family," Charlus informed him. "This is where we came from, well, that is as far back as we can trace our history at least."

"Why?" Harry asked curiously.

Charlus looked towards his father questioningly.

"The village is famous because of who was born here."

"Godric Gryffindor," Charlus clarified.

William nodded.

"For that alone, there were many witches and wizards that wanted to live here, and because of that, we have one of few places where muggles and magical folk live harmoniously together. As wholesome as it is, it does often present problems. Muggles see things they shouldn't, and the Ministry is here regularly with teams of obliviators."

Harry nodded his understanding.

"But as to why this is such an important place to us, we are charged with its protection," William continued. "That duty once belonged to the Peverell family, but since they are no longer here, the responsibility fell to the Potters as the family that inherited their wealth. Have you heard of the Peverells, Harry?"

He shook his head.

"Should I have?"

"No, but they are very famous in certain circles," William replied coyly. "They were once a prominent family in the wizarding community, quite mysterious to most, but they lived here and kept the peace. Some centuries ago, Iolanthe Peverell married Hardwin Potter, and the rest is history. With the Peverells gone, it fell to us to keep Godric's Hollow safe. It is a tradition we take very seriously."

"Dad comes here all the time to check on the villagers, fix anything that needs it, that sort of thing," Charlus explained.

Harry smiled at the thought, though it irked him so.

Why had no one told him of this? Was it a family secret no one knew about?

"And if you want to know more about the Peverells and why they're famous, read The Tale of the Three Brothers," Charlus urged. "It's quite fascinating."

William shot his son a warning look and Charlus shook his head reassuringly, relaxing the man.

"Anyway, we're here now," he announced, and Harry found his curiosity piqued once more.

Why would William have such a reaction to what Charlus had deemed a story?

He shook his head of the thought for the time being and helped unpack the food whilst William greeted a muggle reverend before returning with the man a moment later.

"As always, your generosity is appreciated, William," the man declared. "Ah, and who is this?" he asked looking at Harry.

"This is Charlus's friend, Harry," William introduced. "He's with us for the holidays."

"It's good to meet you, young man," the reverend offered. "My name is Paul Mackay. I oversee the running of the church."

Harry shook the offered hand.

"Anything you need, William, you know where to find me, and thank you for what you're doing."

"Not a problem, Paul," William replied with a smile, "Ah, Bathilda, it's nice to see you."

The old woman that had approached gave him a toothless grin.

"It is always a good day when a Potter graces the village with their presence," she offered. "Another one of you?" she asked with a frown, spotting Harry.

"No, no," William chuckled. "Harry goes to school with Charlus."

"So, you would be familiar with my work," Bathilda said proudly, turning her attention to Harry. "I wrote A History of Magic."

"Bathilda Bagshot?" Harry asked, surprised to be meeting the woman.

"The very same," she replied with a wink.

"How are things?" William asked.

Bathilda shook her head.

"Daily visits from journalists, all looking for a scoop on Gellert," she huffed. "I've told them enough times that I washed my hands of the boy after the incident with young Ariana, but no, they will persist."

"Would you like me to have a word?"

"No, they're no match for me," she assured him. "He may be my nephew by blood, but I am disgusted by what he has done."

"I know," William comforted. "We do not get to choose family."

"My niece should have never married that Grindelwald boy," Bathilda sighed. "I knew he wasn't any good, but Gellert is much worse. I thought that introducing him to Albus would straighten him out, but it only ended in disaster."

Harry had frozen as the woman spoke, the overwhelming number of revelations in only a few sentences leaving him dumbstruck.

Dumbledore and Grindelwald had been friends?

No, that couldn't be right, could it?

William did not seem surprised, but Charlus wore an equal look of shock.

If what Bagshot had said was true, then no wonder Dumbledore had been reluctant to fight Grindelwald.

Was this why it had taken him so long to confront the Dark Lord?

If so, Harry could not help but feel his respect for the man waning more than it already had since the night Sirius had died.

If Bathilda was speaking the truth, then Dumbledore had a lot of blood on his hands.

"Are you alright, Harry?" William asked, breaking into his thoughts.

"I'm fine," he replied noticing that Bathilda was no longer there.

He wasn't.

This was a lot to take in, almost as much as what had happened at the Ministry.

How could Dumbledore be so revered amongst the wizarding population when he had taken so long to act against Grindelwald.

It made no sense to the teen, and he did not wish to dwell on it. His perception of Dumbledore had already been soured in recent months, and the thought of the man only left him feeling more bitter towards a figure he once looked up to.

(Break)

They hadn't arrived home at an indecent hour, but herself, Charlus, and Harry had been up since four am, so the teens had gone to bed at around nine, exhausted from the revelry of the day.

Angelica had finished cleaning, had bathed, and headed to her own room where William was reading through the book that Harry had given him.

"It's been a wonderful day," she declared as she brushed her hair, seated at the vanity mirror.

"It has," William agreed. "I'm pleased Harry was here to share it."

Angelica nodded, frowning at the thoughts that had crossed her mind these past few days.

"Do you think he's ever celebrated Christmas before?" she asked.

William released a deep sigh.

"Not the way we do," he answered. "I don't suspect his childhood has been a happy one. If he wasn't here with us, he would have been spending the day alone in the castle."

"I know," Angelica replied, still frowning. "Orphaned at such a young age."

"And his parents murdered in front of him," William pointed out.

His parents.

Harry had given no indication to who they were, and though she had probed at the topic gently, he had not relented.

"Is there any way that he is related to you?" she questioned.

William placed his book on his lap at the enquiry, prompting his wife to continue.

"I know him looking like you and Charlus could be a coincidence, but it is other things I have noticed," she sighed. "His mannerisms are like yours, the way he speaks. It's all just so Potter."

William chuckled as he shook his head.

"Only a fool would not be able to see the resemblance between us, but no, it is not possible. I was an only child, and my family has been the same way for several generations now. I can think of no way he is related to us. Believe me, I have been pondering it also."

"No, I know all that, but he's just so like you both," Angelica murmured. "I just thought…"

"That he could be mine from an illicit affair?" William asked with a grin.

Angelica tutted.

"If I did not know you to be a loyal and faithful man, then I would question it," she admitted. "No, Will, I do not think that, but I can't help but feel there is more to him."

"Nothing bad, I hope?"

"No," Angelica said firmly. "He's not a bad boy. He's very sweet, very caring, and I trust our son's judgement. There's just so many familiar things I see in him that I can't ignore."

William offered his wife a smile.

"You've enjoyed having him here."

"I have," she agreed.

"Then just take it for what it is," William urged. "Harry and Charlus are growing close. Perhaps one day he will trust us enough to confide in us the details of his life. Until then, think nothing of it. I'm sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation as to whom Harry Evans is."

Angelica nodded, though she could not shake the feeling that had been plaguing her.

Was she being silly? Or was there something in the thoughts she was having?

"Come on, it's been a long day. The boys will be up early for Harry to leave to visit his uncle," William reminded her.

"Who is his uncle?" she asked curiously.

William shrugged.

"I have no idea. He mentioned someone named Nicholas, but that's all I know."

Angelica frowned once more.

She didn't know anyone named Nicholas, so it was likely that the man came from Harry's muggle side of his family.

With the thoughts that had been bothering her running through her mind, she settled into bed and eventually, an uneasy sleep, with one question she kept pondering.

Who was Harry Evans?

(Break)

Nicholas grinned triumphantly, twirling his golf club like a baton as he walked through the library and replaced his tool of revenge. He had found a bag of excrement that had been thrown into his garden the previous morning, and he had spent the first part of this one pursuing his vengeance.

"Was that Mr Ames I heard screaming?" Perenelle sighed as he met her in the kitchen.

"It may have been," Nicholas replied casually.

"And what did you do to him this time?"

Nicholas shrugged, though his grin gave it all away before he could even speak.

"Nicholas?"

"I found more shit on the grass!"

Perenelle huffed.

"And let me guess, the repercussions of such an insignificant thing were way over the top?"

"No," Nicholas denied stubbornly. "He got exactly what he deserved."

"And that is?"

"Ames no longer has his sleigh and reindeer on his roof."

"You spent all morning knocking down his Christmas decorations?"

Nicholas nodded satisfactorily.

"It was time well spent."

Perenelle shook her head in frustration but did not comment further.

Her words would fall on deaf ears.

"Well, I hope you've gotten your revenge out of your system because Harry will be here soon."

"I know," Nicholas replied.

He hadn't seen the boy for months and was looking forward to his visit.

Nicholas was pleased that the boy had decided to visit the Potters yesterday. Christmas for him and Perenelle had lost all novelty several centuries ago. Even though it came but once a year, when you had celebrated something more than six hundred times, it became a rather meaningless affair.

It would have been a rather boring day here for one so young.

"I think he is just arriving now."

As expected, the boy entered the room only a moment later, and the aged alchemist had to look twice before he recognised him.

Harry had grown considerably, his features having matured, changed somewhat, and he now filled out his clothes in a healthy way. Although Nicholas was distracted by this, it was the troubled look Harry wore that he commented on.

"Did you not have a good time with your relatives?" he asked when Perenelle had finished fawning over the boy.

"I did," Harry insisted, "I just learnt things that I don't think I was ready to hear."

"That sounds rather ominous," Nicholas replied, gesturing for him to elaborate.

Harry seemed reluctant to do so, but he deflated after a moment.

"Did you know that Dumbledore was friends with Grindelwald?"

"Ah," Nicholas muttered. "I did. I even met the boy once, and he was rather brilliant. I would never have guessed he would become what he has. Their friendship troubles you?"

Harry nodded.

"I thought they were enemies, and I learnt they were friends. What am I supposed to think?"

As suspected, the boy did not have all the details. If he had been made privy to them, he would not question Albus's relationship with Gellert.

"What do you know of their relationship?" Nicholas asked.

Harry shrugged.

"Not much," he admitted.

"Then I suspect that you are making assumptions without knowing all the facts," Nicholas predicted. "They were friends once, but I can assure you that is not the case any longer."

"Because of Ariana?"

"So, you do know more than I thought," Nicholas muttered.

"Who was she?"

Nicholas frowned.

"You don't know who she was?"

The boy shook his head.

No, he had only heard titbits of information and seemed to have painted a rather bleak and questionable image from it.

"I will not break Albie's confidence, but Ariana was his sister," he explained. "She was a troubled girl, very unwell magically. She died young. I will say nothing else on the matter, but would advise to not jump to conclusions Harry, not without all the facts."

"I'm not," Harry assured him. "It's not Dumbledore's past that is bothering me, but something that I shouldn't really discuss with you. I'm just trying to figure out why he would let certain things happen if they were enemies."

Nicholas nodded his understanding.

"Whatever it is, I know Albus well enough to know that he is not a cruel man, Harry. If I had any inkling he was, he would never have been my apprentice," he said sincerely. "Try not to judge him for what you think you may know. He is by no means perfect, but one of the best people I have met, and always does his best for those he cares for, okay?"

Harry nodded uncertainly but did not push for any more information.

He would have been sorely disappointed if he did.

"How about some lunch?" Perenelle offered.

"Gifts first," Nicholas insisted excitedly.

Perenelle rolled her eyes by gestured for him to proceed.

Nicholas had been working for weeks on the gift for Harry, and he was not a very patient man when he was this excited about something.

"What is it?" Harry asked as he opened the wooden box Nicholas handed to him, only to find it was empty.

"Ah, now this is something rather genius if I say so myself," Nicholas said rather smugly. "It is very much like a miniature vanishing cabinet. I will have the other and we can send things to one another whilst you are at Hogwarts."

"That is brilliant," Harry exclaimed, examining the workmanship.

"It is, but it is so much more than that," Nicholas replied, practically trembling with excitement as he gave Harry a rather thick roll of parchment. "I have also keyed it to my library. So, all you have to do is read aloud any book written on that list whilst the lid is open, close it, and it will appear in the box."

"I've never heard of anything like it," Harry whispered reverently.

"Of course, you haven't. I invented it myself," Nicholas huffed.

"Thank you," Harry said, and Nicholas could almost see his mind conjuring up the possibilities. "It makes my present seem bloody awful now."

"This isn't a competition, Harry," Nicholas chided lightly, another grin tugging at his lips as the boy removed and enlarged and enormous bag of golf balls. "No, I think you have me beat."

Perenelle rolled her eyes.

"Why do I get the feeling that I will be apologising more than ever?" she sighed.

"Well, you won't have to ask for them back," Harry snorted. "They will return to the bag an hour after they have been struck."

"That is rather clever. Did you do the spell work yourself?"

Harry nodded, and Nicholas smiled proudly.

"That is quite a complex series of charms."

"It is," Harry agreed, "but I'm certain I got them right."

"And what did you bring for me?" Perenelle asked, her eyes alight in anticipation.

Harry handed her a green box with a golden bow tied around it.

"It's a portable garden," he explained.

He had taken inspiration from the Weasley twins portable swamp they had used to terrorise Umbridge but had made a few adjustments to the creation.

It was simple to use, easy to pack away, and Perenelle could add whatever she wished to it.

"A portable garden?" she asked, intrigued by the item.

"I would wait until you are outside to open it," Harry advised, "but it is just that; a garden that you can take with you wherever you go."

"That is wonderful," the woman declared happily. "We can take it when we go on holiday."

Nicholas nodded enthusiastically.

"Lunch?" he asked.

"Yes," Perenelle insisted. "You may have grown, but that doesn't mean you don't need feeding," she added to Harry. "Take a seat."

Harry complied with a chuckle, and immediately tucked into the roast pork that was put on his plate.

Nicholas took the opportunity to observe the boy closer, a light frown marring his features as he did so.

The Harry he had first met had been a rather meek and grief-stricken boy. He was gone now, and n his place sat a boy on the cusp of entering his formative years of manhood; strongly built, much more confident, and looking much healthier.

When he looked closely enough, there was a hint of both him and his wife in his features, the small-lobed ears of his line, and the higher cheekbones of the latter.

An unexpected result of the ritual they'd carried out, he suspected.

"Tell me, Harry," Nicholas spoke. "Have you noticed any other changes within yourself from the ritual?"

Harry nodded.

"There's what I mentioned before with me being more academically inclined, and more willing to confront people, but there's a couple of other things," he informed them. "The first is that spells that I have never performed feel really familiar. I can watch someone do it, and then just copy them."

Nicholas hummed thoughtfully.

"Perhaps you have inherited some of the magical memory of the horcrux," he mused aloud. "We already know that this Riddle was a gifted wizard. I suspect that because he would have known these spells, they feel familiar and are easily replicated by yourself. Would you mind if we test that theory?"

Harry shrugged and Nicholas drew his wand, pondering a spell that Harry would not know but any Dark Lord worth his salt would.

With a nod, he twirled his wand, the spell escaping the tip a green fireball that he froze in mid-air.

"Try it," he urged, curious to see what the teen would produce.

Harry drew his own wand and stared at the creation before replicating it and following suit by freezing it next to his own.

They were identical, and with a wave of his wand, he vanished his own before inspecting Harry's.

"Do you know what this spell does?" he asked.

Harry shook his head.

"I just copied the way it felt, and it feels like I've already cast it before."

"That is very interesting," Nicholas mused aloud. "This spell is rather unpleasant. It will melt the skin, muscle, and bone the same way a flame does to candle wax. You're sure you didn't know it?"

Harry shook his head worriedly, and Nicholas offered him a reassuring smile.

"That is quite the gift you have been given, Harry," he chuckled. "You may not know these spells, but the soul piece you absorbed is familiar with them. It means that you will learn the magic he knew with little difficulty."

"That could be useful," Harry acknowledged thoughtfully.

"It will be," Nicholas affirmed, "but you mentioned there was something else?"

Harry nodded.

"Two students tried to attack me," he revealed, causing Perenelle to narrow her eyes in displeasure, "they didn't manage to because I knew it was going to happen before they acted It was as though my magic was telling me they were waiting for me."

"You mean you felt their spells coming your way?"

"No, I knew they were waiting to attack me before then. It was like something was warning me that they were there."

"That is very odd," Nicholas mumbled, "and not something I have heard of, unless you were actively feeling for any threatening magic, but if they were simply lying-in wait, you would have felt nothing. Even Albus is not that gifted when it comes to magical detection."

"So, it's not something that can be learned?" Harry asked. "I thought it was something Tom had taught himself, and it was passed onto me, like with parseltongue."

Nicholas scratched his chin, stopping suddenly as he remembered something from many centuries ago, when he was deciding upon a way to seek immortality.

"That could be it," he mumbled.

"What could be?" Harry asked.

"A horcrux, as you know, is a piece of someone's soul that has been housed within an item. In essence, it uses the item as a shield, but it is still a conscious part of the person it belongs to. Are you following me?"

"Sort of," Harry replied.

"Well, when I was investigating the best way to achieve immortality, I managed to acquire a horcrux to study and discovered a rather interesting thing," Nicholas continued. "When there was something that could harm it nearby, it would try to defend itself. It was a surprising revelation that it was capable of such, but I remember it vividly."

"Defend itself?"

Nicholas nodded.

"As a conscious part of someone, it makes sense that it would do so, but it is limited. It has no wand, but can effect the mind quite spectacularly," he explained. "If I was not so strong-willed, I may have succumbed to it. What I am getting at, is that what you have described seems to have triggered a similar reaction within you. The magical memory of the horcrux remembers when it was vulnerable, and that very same magic is warning you when it senses something dangerous and prompting you to defend yourself."

"Is that a possibility?" Perenelle asked.

"It was not something I accounted for whilst concocting the ritual," Nicholas admitted, "but Harry here is proof that it is. That too could prove to be very useful."

Harry nodded his agreement.

"It was," he replied. "I would never have known they were there."

"Then I would take it as another positive effect of what we did," Nicholas urged. "The only other question I have, is why did they wish to attack you?"

Again, Perenelle looked displeased by this but said nothing and waited for Harry to answer.

"They were doing it for someone else who doesn't like me because I'm not a pureblood."

"Is that so?" Nicholas asked irritably.

"It is, but I'm used to it," Harry snorted. "It seems that the Malfoys will always hate me for no reason."

"The Malfoys?" Perenelle questioned, looking towards her husband.

"Bunch of pompous gits," Nicholas grumbled. "Would you like me to handle it?"

Harry chuckled and shook his head.

"No, I've dealt with them since I was eleven," he explained tiredly. "Abraxus is no worse than his idiot grandson I met on my first train ride to Hogwarts."

Nicholas eyed the teen uncertainly but nodded his understanding.

He would not interfere in his affairs.

"Okay," he conceded, unhappy but not wanting to become overbearing to the boy.

"Anyway, that is enough of that," Perenelle broke in. "If we can't handle that, then how about some dessert?"

Harry brightened immediately, and Nicholas felt himself relax as the boy smiled.

Dessert would cheer anyone up, even if they had lived for over half a millennium.