Feathers and Scales

With Poland proving to have been the disaster it had, Gellert had shut himself away whilst he pondered his next move. He had taken control of the country as intended, but it had cost him dearly in men.

If he hadn't arrived to put an end to the chaos, he dreaded to think what may have happened.

It wasn't so much that he cared for those that had fallen, but had he not been successful, his reputation could have been left in ruins.

That would not do.

He needed those that had chosen to side with him to see him as a strong leader, as untouchable when confronted by those that would oppose them.

That had not happened in Warsaw.

Gellert released a deep breath.

His planning needed to have much more thought put into it. Safeguards would need to be implemented, and a plan to deal with the damned Serpent if he meddled as he had been.

It would take time to put these things into place, but he would.

He could not afford another debacle such as the one already endured.

"Who is it?" he called irritably as a knock on the door of his study sounded.

He received no reply, but Cassiopeia entered and took a seat in the chair on the other side of the desk.

"How bad is it?" Gellert asked.

"Bad enough," Cassie answered. "We lost 312 during the fighting and another 24 after due to their injuries."

Gellert's jaw tightened.

"And how is your brother?"

"Sulking," Cassie answered with a shrug. "Physically, he's fine, but he has some nasty scarring. It serves him right for being a prat."

Gellert nodded his agreement.

Although Perseus was not entirely to blame, what happened in Warsaw had been done under his leadership.

"It is a firm lesson for him, and one he shouldn't forget."

"He won't," Cassie assured him. "As stupid as he was, he's not a fool. It won't happen again."

"I don't expect it will," Gellert sighed. "What of The Serpent?"

"There has been no sign of him. It seems that he has gone to ground again."

"Until next time," Gellert muttered. "He'll be back, and we need to be ready to strike when he does. I would prefer that he is found beforehand, but our efforts have been in vain."

"I will keep trying."

Gellert nodded appreciatively.

"You do that," he urged. "If there's anyone that can find him, it's you, but you must not engage him, Cass. The man is as dangerous as they come."

Cassiopeia snorted.

"I didn't quite believe it until I saw the duel between you. It's strange. Britain does not have a huge magical population compared to other countries, so how has someone as talented as him not been noticed?"

Gellert frowned in thought.

"Perhaps he has," he mused aloud. "Would you be able to access educational records or anything that may point us in the right direction?"

Cassie shook her head.

"The Ministry will have gone into lockdown and all records sealed until after the war," she explained.

Gellert hummed unhappily.

"There must be another way," he mumbled. "Your other brother…"

"Arcturus."

"Surely he must know the noteworthy wizards in Britain."

Cassiopeia shrugged.

"He is not the most sociable of people," she explained, "but he is observant. He would take note of any that could be a potential threat."

"Then I'd like for you to speak to him again," Gellert decided. "It may come to nothing, but I am running out of ideas short of killing every man in Britain to be rid of The Serpent."

"I will leave immediately," Cassiopeia declared as she stood. "At the very least, I can see how he is doing."

Gellert nodded approvingly.

"Do try to bring him to our side," he encouraged. "It would be a shame for him to become an enemy in the future."

Cassiopeia nodded and left the study.

Gellert leaned back in his chair, shaking his head at the news of the number of men he'd lost.

"Damn!" he huffed irritably.

His campaign had gotten off to a shaky start at best, and he could ill-afford a repeat of what happened in Warsaw.

To that end, The Serpent needed to be dealt with more than ever, but first, the man needed to be found.

All of the efforts put forth to do so thus far had failed, and if Gellert were honest, he couldn't envision the man allowing himself to be trapped again.

No, he would need to find a way to outmanoeuvre him.

But how?

(Break)

Poland Falls!

By Kenneth Drummond

Dark days have indeed arrived on the continent. Only a few days past, the followers of Grindelwald descended upon Warsaw like a plague, tearing control of the country from the government.

It may please the readers to know, that this did not happen unopposed, and our pleas for the service of our strong, fighting men did not allow it to happen unchallenged.

Those sent by the ICW fought bravely, but were ultimately overwhelmed by the numbers they faced, but casualties on our side were minimal.

The enclosed images may be distressing for some, and we will report further updates in due course.

The images taken were a grim sight, and Arcturus shook his head as he absorbed them. Many of the buildings had been reduced to rubble, and the blood that stained the pavement could not be ignored.

An odd symbol had been etched into some of the smears, a triangle with a circle in the middle and vertical line running through it.

Arcturus didn't know what it was, and he didn't care.

Perhaps it was a rune that meant death somewhere.

What he did know was that a violent confrontation had taken place in Poland, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

"Bloody hell," Arcturus muttered to himself.

It all felt so real now.

The war had been little more than a talking point for the past few years, something that was mentioned in conversation as something topical to discuss.

This article proved it was much more than that.

The fighting had begun on the continent, and it would only spread the more Grindelwald tried to take for himself.

Arcturus shook his head.

Poland was not a million miles away from Britain. Even by broom, it would take only a day or so to reach it.

He looked cautiously out of the kitchen window as though he expected to see a flock of wizards on brooms bearing down on London and chastised himself for his maudlin thoughts.

An attack on Britain was a long way off.

Grindelwald had many other lands to conquer before he could hope to land on the shores here.

Or he could just have one of his siblings or father use the floo and lead his men into the country.

Arcturus drew his wand, groaning as he came upon his older sister in the adjoining room.

"What do you want, Cass? Have you decided following him is a waste of time?"

Cassiopeia tutted.

"Don't be silly, Archie," she sighed patronisingly. "Gellert's plans are unfolding."

Arcturus hummed as he entered the kitchen, making a note to himself to lockdown the floo.

"And do his plans involve getting all his men killed?" he asked pointing the morning issue of The Daily Prophet.

Cassiopeia snatched the offending article off the table and scowled as she read it.

Arcturus grinned satisfactorily, pleased that it was irking his sister.

"What a load of rubbish," she seethed.

"So, it's not true that he lost hundreds of men?" Arcturus questioned. "All of the British sent came back."

"I wonder if you would find it so amusing if you learned that Perseus almost died there."

"I would," Arcturus returned evenly. "The bastard would have gotten what he deserved."

"He is your brother!" Cassiopeia hissed.

Arcturus shook his head.

"Perseus is worth less than a pile of dragon shit to me," Arcturus spat. "If he stupid enough to take part in a fight without realising that he might die, then that's his fault. The people opposing Grindelwald aren't messing around. Perseus probably thinks this is all a game. Even Lord Potter has signed up to fight against him."

"Potter?" Cassiopeia asked, a hint of concern in her tone.

Arcturus nodded.

"Even father knew not to push him too far. He always said the Potters were not to be taken lightly."

"He did," Cassiopeia said thoughtfully. "He even said to Geller that he should be wary of him."

"It's not just Potter," Arcturus replied. "From what I've heard, lots of purebloods are signing up. None of the families want to look like they're not doing their part. Potter has one son, so he signed up himself. I expect more will do so."

Cassiopeia narrowed her eyes at Arcturus, but the days he was afraid of her were long passed.

"You should be supporting your family."

"And you should be supporting your country," Arcturus bit back. "Now, I'd like you to leave. I won't tolerate you being here."

"I will leave when I have done what I have come for."

"Are you going to try to kill me, Cass?"

Cassiopeia huffed.

"Of course not, you stupid boy. I have come to find someone, and I would like you to help me."

"You're not still looking for this Serpent, are you?"

"I am."

Arcturus snorted.

"So, your master isn't as great as he likes to think he is."

"It has nothing to do with Gellert. The Serpent just lives up to his name."

Arcturus shook his head in frustration.

Cassie was blind to Grindelwald's flaws, and he could not help but think it would be to her own detriment.

"You didn't find him last time. What makes you think you'll find him now?"

"Because you're going to help me."

Arcturus unleashed a bark of laughter.

"I will do no such thing," he denied. "Even if I knew who he was, I wouldn't tell you. I'm actually rooting for the crazy bastard. Anyone who is pissing off Grindelwald is alright by me."

"And what about Dorea?"

Any humour Arcturus felt vanished at the mention of his younger sister.

"What about her?"

"Well, Gellert is considering just killing every wizard in Britain to find him. What would happen to her if you were killed. She wouldn't have anyone else to turn to."

Very much like the man that had become the bane of Grindelwald's existence, Arcturus struck, his temper flaring as he snatched his sister by the throat and pushed her against the wall.

"You do not come into this house and threaten her," he spat. "If your master or any of his lot come anywhere near her, I'll personally gut the shits myself."

Seeing that Cassiopeia was starting to turn blue, Arcturus released her, and she slid to the floor gasping for breath.

After a moment, she cackled, a glimpse of the insanity that plagued her showing itself.

"You always were quick to violence. A Black through and through," she declared proudly. "It's fine, Arcturus. You don't need to help me, but you delaying it will change nothing. Gellert will win and he will not be so forgiving of those that stood in his way."

"Then you can show him where I am," Arcturus growled.

Cassiopeia grinned.

"Be careful what you wish for, Archie," she said sweetly before passing him.

Less than a minute later, he heard the front door slam and he returned to the table where the article had been left.

Arcturus wished he did know who The Serpent was. He would personally shake the man's hand for whatever it was he was doing to annoy Grindelwald.

It was just a shame he hadn't managed to kill him yet.

(Break)

The media could put any spin on what had happened they liked, but Harry knew the truth.

There was no success in Poland for those opposing Grindelwald. The Dark Lord may have lost more men, but the day had been his. More followers would flock to him, and Warsaw would become a distant memory when they swept across the continent.

Harry released a deep sigh.

There was little more than he was already doing that could be done to prevent it. For now, he was caught up in a waiting game where the damage done by his foe could only be mitigated.

Until the ICW forces were ready to be deployed en masse, the best he could do was disrupt and cause chaos, something that only made him more a target than he already was.

Not that anything would change that.

Still, he found it somewhat amusing to see the symbol of the Deathly Hallows etched into the blood of Grindelwald's fallen men, especially as he had more of them than the man so brazenly displaying it.

He snorted to himself.

If Grindelwald wished to adopt the symbol as his own, he was welcome to. It didn't change the fact that Harry had two of the three of them.

Even if he still hadn't been able to work the stone.

If truth be told, he had put little effort into doing so. The ring he had liberated from Morfin Gaunt hung around his neck on a chain, and Harry only paid attention to it when it reminded him it was there with a sudden burst of the same cold magic imbued into his cloak.

The stone, although priceless, meant little when he couldn't use it. His wand, on the other hand, was a different matter entirely.

Although he had been pre-occupied with so many other things that required his attention, he had been keeping track of the date in the back of his mind, and the evening of the summer solstice had finally arrived.

According to Gregorovitch, now would be the best time to feed his wand the blood it craved.

Not knowing what to expect, Harry decided that he would do this outside of his humbly sized house, so he headed into the back garden.

Here, he would have the privacy he desired.

Walking to the end, he sat beneath the elder tree at the rear of the property, the half-moon illuminating this part best.

"Here goes nothing," he muttered, drawing his wand and a silver knife he used to use during his potions lessons at Hogwarts.

In one, swift movement, he cut across his palm with the blade and gripped his wand in the same hand when the blood began to flow.

For a moment, it trickled between the fingers of his clenched fist, staining the grass below.

When it seemed that nothing else would happen, the wand suddenly grew hot to the touch, and Harry's ears were filled with the sound of phoenix song before a streak of golden flames escaped the tip, followed by another, this one an emerald green.

They danced across the darkness for a few minutes, the sound of the phoenix song joined by an indiscernible hissing, and without warning, the two flames collided, creating a shower of sparks.

It was almost as though the two fires were locked in combat, but when they separated, neither was as they had been when they'd emerged.

The green flame was now streaked with gold, and the gold streaked with green.

Harry was hypnotised, and his mouth fell agape when they shifted, the former into the shape of a basilisk, and the latter a phoenix.

He stood and watched as the creatures stared at him, the two of them coming together a final time before ploughing into his chest, sending him sprawling and leaving him breathless on the ground.

When he managed to catch his breath, it was laboured, but the ritual wasn't over.

A gout of green and gold flames erupted from his wand, an encore of sorts before they vanished leaving Harry wondering if what he had witnessed had really happened.

One look at his wand was all he needed to confirm it.

Where the wood had been a rather plain brown, it was now lighter and decorated with green and gold feathers and scales from the tip to the shaft.

Harry could only shake his head in disbelief.

To understand what had happened, another trip to Bulgaria was needed.

(Break)

William had not slept well since he had returned from Poland. The short bouts of rest he did manage to get were plagued by the memories of what he'd seen, and he'd wake with the smell of blood and burnt flesh filling his nose, and the sounds of men screaming.

Some had even called for their mothers in the final throes of life.

The Potter lord would not pretend that he hadn't lived anything less than a privileged life, one of peace and without much adversity.

He had lost his father during the last war, but William had not been needed to fight.

He had been at Hogwarts and the war had ended before he had graduated.

What he had experienced in Poland had been sobering, and not something he would ever forget.

For much of the event, William had been terrified, and were it not for whatever Harry had done, William doubted that he and his companions would have returned home.

He shook his head and drained his glass of Firewhiskey.

How was it that one so young was so collected in situations that men who had lived many more years crumbled in?

Harry had faced Grindelwald down, had stood alone before him and hundreds of his followers, as composed as though he was sharing a pleasant conversation with a passing acquaintance.

William found it difficult to associate the man Harry had become, The Serpent according to what he had learned, and the boy that had spent Christmas with the family

He had been so lost back then, awed by the simple gesture of a pile of presents he had been gifted, and so charitable to the people he hadn't known in the village.

William snorted.

Harry had become a man in the intervening years, and though he didn't understand what motivated him to be doing what he was, William couldn't forget the boy he had been.

What did trouble the man, however, was the revelation that Harry was a parselmouth.

There was only one family known for the ability in Britain, and it was just not possible that Harry had been born to them.

William's eyes glanced over the family tree that stemmed from the Peverells, the many gaps making his task all the more difficult.

Each line that joined Cadmus and Ignotus to the Potters and Gaunts respectively were incomplete, gaps where the Peverells had faded into obscurity throughout the passing centuries.

The last of the brothers, Ignotus, sired no children, his line beginning and ending with him.

No, there was no obscurity with him.

"Cadmus," he muttered.

Harry had to be related to him, but through the Slytherin line, just as the Gaunts were, but how?

From when Cadmus Peverell III had married into the Slytherin family, the line was complete, all the way to Morfin and Merope Gaunt, none of whom had been a parent to Harry.

He looked nothing like any Gaunt, shared none of the insanity they were known for.

No, as Angelica had pointed out, and others had commented on, Harry looked like a Potter.

William shook his head.

Such a thing was impossible.

Unless Harry was his own son, he couldn't be, and William certainly had not strayed during his years of marriage.

"Can't sleep?" Angelica's voice broke into his thoughts.

"No," William sighed.

His wife offered him a sympathetic smile as she sat in the chair next to him.

He had never seen her so relieved the night he had returned from Poland. In the few days since, she had barely left his side.

"What's bothering you, Will? You've been so quiet."

William deflated.

"Is Charlus awake?"

Angelica shook her head.

"No, he's sleeping. Merlin knows he needs it. Why?"

"It's Harry."

"Harry?" Angelica asked with a frown.

"He was in Poland."

Angelica gasped, her eyes widening.

"He signed up?"

William shook his head.

"He was there as a Hit-Wizard. If it wasn't for him, we wouldn't have made it out of there, but that's beside the point. We both knew what he had gotten himself involved in. No, this is about him."

Angelica's gaze shifted between her husband and the parchment on the desk that depicted the Peverell family and what became of them.

"You think he is a Peverell."

William nodded.

"I don't know how, but I am convinced of it," he mumbled thoughtfully. "You're my wife, and what I tell you can go no further. Harry's life would be in danger if the wrong people were to hear of it."

"Will, you're worrying me. What is it?"

"Harry is a Parselmouth."

Angelica choked as she glanced towards the parchment once more, her eyes locking on the Slytherin line.

"He's a Slytherin."

William nodded.

"I know, it doesn't make any sense, but it is the only explanation."

"But he is related to the Flamels," Angelica pointed out. "Surely Nicholas would know who his parents were."

William chuckled.

"I can't just write to them and demand to know. As much as I want to, it is not our place. I will not break Harry's trust."

Angelica offered him an understanding smile.

"He's family, Will," she pointed out. "Regardless of how distant the connection is, he's of your blood. He's not like the Gaunts, and we know him. He's a good boy, Will."

"He is," William agreed, "he is just proving to be quite the enigma. You were so convinced that he was a Potter when you first met him."

"I was, and I still see a lot of you and Charlus there when I look at him," Angelica sighed. "It is as I said before, if I didn't know you so well, perhaps I would have believed he was your son."

"He's not."

"Of course he isn't," Angelica snorted, "but there's no denying the similarities. Wherever he came from, he seems to have gotten the best of what both his parents had to offer."

William nodded his agreement.

"He saved us," William said simply. "Grindelwald arrived and if it wasn't for Harry, we would have been killed."

"He fought him?"

"No, but he would have without hesitation. I do not know if Harry has a death wish, or if he could defeat him, but he was willing to try to save us. That says all I need to know about him. He's a good boy, and one that I will gladly welcome into our home. It doesn't matter who his parents are, but maybe there was a part of me that was hoping I could find a close connection here."

"The lines are incomplete," Angelica pointed out hopefully. "Maybe there was a wayward Potter you don't know about."

"No," William denied. "If anywhere, he came from here," he explained, pointing to the line of Cadmus Peverell. "The Parseltongue can't be ignored."

Angelica nodded and frowned thoughtfully.

"Did you speak with him after what happened in Poland?"

"Briefly," William muttered. "It was not a pleasant conversation, and I may have spoken out of turn."

Angelica rubbed his forearm comfortingly.

"What did you say?"

William shook his head disappointedly.

"He was quite angry that I was there and said that I should be home with you and Charlus. I told him that he would understand why I was doing what I was when he had a family of his own."

William was not proud of his rebuttal. Harry hadn't deserved that.

"Oh, Will," Angelica sighed. "What you said was in the heat of the moment. I'm sure if you apologise, Harry will understand."

William shrugged.

"Would you blame him if he didn't?" he asked.

"If it was anyone else, no," Angelica replied, "but Harry thinks a lot of you. He always writes to us to let us know that he is okay. Give him time and he'll come around. Now, don't you think it is time we went to bed?"

William nodded as he stood and followed his wife from the room.

He felt terrible for what he had said, more so than what he had experienced whilst in Poland.

Perhaps he would write to Harry in the hope that he would receive a response?

He didn't know when he would see him again, and he didn't want this to hang over either of them.

The young man was family, after all, even if William was no closer to knowing how they were related.

(Break)

"It certainly has gone through quite the transformation," Gregorovitch commented as Harry handed him his wand. "Quite the transformation indeed."

Harry watched as he inspected the lighter wood, the scales, and the feathers before he placed it to his ear, listening for something that Harry couldn't hope to fathom.

"I've never seen anything like it," he murmured. "Not even in the books that mention it."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Well, when a wand calls for the blood of its chosen, it does so to strengthen the bond between them. From there, the wielder may gain a few benefits, usually some trait of the creature the core was taken from. So, if you had a unicorn core, you may become better at healing spells. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded.

"With what has happened to yours, it seems that your wand has taken on a second core during the ritual, that of the venom of a basilisk, an incredibly old basilisk too. Did you add this with your blood?"

"No," Harry denied. "I was bitten by a basilisk some years ago and healed by the tears of the phoenix whose feather is in my wand."

Gregorovitch frowned thoughtfully.

"My, my, that is an exceedingly strange set of circumstances," he mused aloud. "Of course, anything I say is mere speculation, but I know my craft well enough to make an educated inference of what happened."

"What do you think it is?"

The wandmaker fell silent for several moments as he stared at the wand.

"I had thought that it only wished to strengthen its bond with you, but having seen what has happened, I suspect it was more," he spoke finally. "Your wand did indeed want your blood, young man, but I believe it wanted the venom."

"Now I don't understand," Harry sighed.

Gregorovitch chuckled.

"You said you were bitten some years ago by a basilisk and healed by the same phoenix that gave its feather. Basilisk venom would change your blood irreparably, and even your magic. Your wand may have been quite resistant of that part of you for some time."

"Resistant?"

Gregorovitch nodded.

"The phoenix is a creature of fire, of rebirth, born from the flames," he explained. "Basilisks are the bringer of death who thrive in cold and darkness. They are opposites. The phoenix did not wish to accept that part of you and so it worked harder to so that you would not recognise it."

"It was jealous?"

"Perhaps," Gregorovitch replied. "Whatever the motivation, the wand realised that the strongest bond it could share with you was by accepting that part of you."

"And to do that, it needed the venom in my blood."

"The blood too, and this is the result," Gregorovitch added, nodding towards the wand. "It is a magical work of art. Two creatures who should never co-exist, both a part of you, and now a part of your wand. It is extraordinary."

Harry was taken aback by what he had learned.

"What does it mean?" he asked.

Gregorovitch shrugged.

"I couldn't begin to speculate, but I think we can expect great things from you, young man. Great things indeed."

Harry was reminded of a conversation he'd shared with Ollivander the day he'd received his wand. The man had said something similar, and though Harry wouldn't necessarily describe much of what he'd done as great, he'd certainly lived an odd life.

"I would suggest you see what comes of it for yourself," Gregorovitch urged. "I expect you will have a very unique journey."

Harry nodded as he accepted his wand, a rush of icy and fiery magic running through him in tandem.

That would take some getting used to.

"What about the Elder Wand, does that have something to do with this?"

Gregorovitch shook his head.

"Not at first, but don't think that your wand is not aware of the mark it gave you. It won't like that much. Maybe that is what triggered its' desire to absorb the venom along with the blood? Again, this is merely speculation."

"But you think you're right."

"When it comes to wandlore, young man, there is little that I would doubt myself with."

With a final nod, the man headed into his workshop and Harry took that as his cue to leave.

He had no wish to remain in Bulgaria any longer than necessary, not with the country crawling with Grindelwald's men.

As such, he returned home to Godric's Hollow where a pile of correspondence was waiting for him on the table in the lounge.

With a sigh, he removed the very first one to find that it was a bank statement.

He nodded appreciatively as he took in the sum of his growing wealth before tackling the rest of his missives. The next three were from some of his business partners, each providing him with a quarterly breakdown of their expenditure and profit margins.

The businesses were doing well, growing with each report he received.

Putting those aside with the bank statement to file, he picked up the final sealed envelope, this one sporting the Potter crest.

He opened it, the handwriting familiar, but not as much so as that of Charlus who wrote to him regularly.

Dear Harry,

I hope this finds you well.

I wanted to write to you to apologise for what I said to you after we returned from Poland.

Insinuating that you did not understand my motivation for doing what I am was unfair, and my words unwarranted.

You did not deserve them, and I hope that you can forgive me for speaking out of turn.

Thank you for what you did. I have no doubt that without your assistance we would unlikely have made it home.

I will always be grateful, as will Angelica, and Charlus, though I have not discussed what happened with him yet.

I hope that you will find time to pay us a visit soon.

We would love to have you for dinner.

Yours sincerely,

William Potter

Lord of the Potter Family

Harry sighed as he put the parchment down.

What William had said had been playing on his mind, the sting of the words yet to abate.

The man wasn't to know what the words had done to him, but it did not stop them from hurting as they did.

Still, Harry did not wish to be at odds with the Potters who had been nothing but welcoming and gracious since he had met them what felt to be so many years ago now.

With a shake of his head, he summoned a quill, some ink, and parchment and penned a reply.

William hadn't said what he had out of cruelty, and Harry would not hold it against him.

The Potter lord did not know it, but they were family, and that meant more to Harry than the man, his wife, and son would likely ever know.

(Break)

Dear Miss McGonagall,

In response to your letter, I would be much obliged if you would join me in room 3 of The Three Broomsticks on 26th June at 7pm.

I always have been fond of cats.

Cassandra Trelawney

Minerva folded the slip of parchment she had received and pocketed it.

She had written to the famous seer in the hopes that the woman would be able to shed some light on the predicament that Harry faced. The prophecy that hung over him was beyond any magic that Minerva or anyone she knew would understand, so in a moment of worry, she had reached out to the only person she could think of who would.

In truth, Minerva hadn't expected a reply, and it wasn't as though she had even mentioned what she wished to discuss.

She had only requested a meeting.

Either Cassandra Trelawney had nothing better to do than accept such inane requests or she already knew more than she was letting on.

I always have been fond of cats.

Did she know that Minerva was an animagus, or had she consulted the list recently?

If someone was looking to gain knowledge on another, consulting the register was one of the least likely places to start. With so few animagus registered, it was often years that the document at the Ministry was left to gather dust.

Not that such a thing mattered, not when Minerva had something of much greater importance to discuss, and she hoped that the woman's reputation wouldn't be unfounded.

She found Divination to be a an imprecise and rather woolly subject.

"Come in, dear," a voice called as she knocked on the door to the appointed room.

"Ms Trelawney?"

"Ah, you must be Minerva," Cassandra greeted her warmly, her larger-than-normal eyes staring at her speculatively. "Yes, of course you are. Please, do take a seat. I took the liberty of ordering you a Firewhiskey."

"You know what I like to drink?"

Cassandra shook her head amusedly.

"Don't be silly, dear. I asked the barmaid," she chuckled. "I assumed that since you worked at Hogwarts that you came here."

Minerva felt silly but Cassandra continued to smile.

"You are not familiar with the magic I am gifted in, are you?"

Minerva shook her head.

"Very few are," Cassandra said comfortingly, "and those that have an ego dismiss it as nonsense because they do not possess the talent for it. You see, to even begin to understand it, you must be able to feel it, but you did not ask to see me to help you. No, you are here on behalf of another, to ask me something that to most would seem impossible. Come, Minerva McGonagall before I indulge your request, I would have you indulge me for a moment."

"How?" Minerva asked cautiously.

"Do you have something of his, perhaps something he has given you?"

Minerva nodded as she removed the shawl Harry had given her for her last birthday and handed it to the woman who nodded contentedly, closing her eyes as she did so.

"Yes, I can feel him."

Cassandra remained in her odd state for a moment before a frown marred her features.

"Tied to words yet to be spoken, by my own blood that does not flow," she murmured. "He has come far, but it is not distance he has travelled. A strange series of circumstances indeed."

Minerva held her breath, partly in shock, but more because she did not wish to miss anything that was said.

"He carries the soul of his enemy, but it no longer burdens him as it once did. It is part of him, as much as his own," Cassandra continued. "His fate is uncertain, but the cold breath of the reaper is felt on his neck. Many times the hand has grasped for him, but he remains out of reach. Death is not his enemy, but his friend. The reaper blesses him, but such a blessing is unclear. He may favour the souls of his champions, or he may wish to claim them for himself. He whom gave you the shawl feels the chill, but it is familiar to him, a part of him now like the soul he has taken possession of."

Cassandra opened her eyes and Minerva released the breath she had been holding.

"I do not suppose that was what you wanted to hear," the woman said sympathetically.

Minerva shook her head.

"I'm sorry that I couldn't see more, but I can only tell you what is shown to me. His fate is undecided, but you should hold onto hope. What he has endured thus far has prepared him for what he is to face. Now, tell me, Minerva McGonagall, what is it you wished to ask?"

"I was wondering if a prophecy that hasn't been made yet would be relevant if someone knew of it already?"

"You are of course referring to his journey," Cassandra replied. "An unheard-of voyage made, yet he brings with him much baggage."

Minerva nodded.

"I will be frank with you, young lady. Divination as you know it involves one that would call themselves a seer call upon magic to give them a glimpse into the future using tea leaves, a crystal ball, and many other things. A true seer needs none of those things. We are chosen by magic itself to see what is to come. Sometimes it is a vision, others we speak words that we do not remember. Prophecies are very real things, whether they come to pass or not is down to fate. Many prophecies are spoken, and many remain merely words. In the case of your friend, I do not think this will be so. He was sent on this journey for a purpose, and the only thing I am certain of is that only death will satisfy fate."

"Neither can live whilst the other survives," Minerva said sadly.

Cassandra nodded as she removed a deck of cards.

"Pick one, and perhaps some light can be shed."

Minerva hesitated for a moment but decided that she couldn't feel much worse than she already did about what the future held. Tentatively, she drew a card and placed it on the table.

"The Serpent," Cassandra said thoughtfully, placing her hand on the image of the snake. "Knowledge, strength, and resilience. Choose another."

Minerva did so and placed it on the table.

"The Earth," Cassandra murmured. "Transformation, and changes, some come to pass and some yet to come. Another."

Again, Minerva drew a card and placed it on the table.

"The Sun, now that is interesting," Cassandra mused aloud. "He burns brightly, a creature of fire that will not be snuffed so easily. Again, Minerva McGonagall."

Another card was added.

"The Moon," Cassandra muttered confusedly. "A creature of fire, but he burns equally bright in the darkness. He is of both the light and dark, the warmth and coldness. He finds his balance with both. Another if you would."

A fifth card was added.

"The fox. The enemy of the serpent," Cassandra explained. "Two foes as cunning as the other, but who is to emerge victorious when they meet?" she asked. "One more should suffice."

Minerva drew a final card and frowned when it was revealed to be the same as the first.

"A second serpent," Cassandra declared almost satisfactorily. "Perhaps the serpent's greatest foe is another serpent? That remains to be seen, but what is clear is that the first serpent has two enemies which must be vanquished, the fox, and another he shares much with. That, I'm afraid, is all I can tell you, Minerva McGonagall. Neither fate nor magic will show me any more."

Minerva nodded her understanding, and though she did not get the reassurance she had hoped for, what she had learned was better than nothing.

Harry had experienced and endured much already, and she refused to believe he would have done so only for his life to be cut short.

No, there was hope yet, and she would hold firmly on to it.

"Thank you, Ms Trelawney," she offered sincerely as she stood.

The woman smiled.

"Such a gift is both a blessing and a curse for those of us that have been chosen," she sighed. "I do wish you both the very best."

Minerva believed she meant it, and with what she had learned, she took her leave of the pub and headed back to Hogwarts.

"The second serpent," she muttered, her eyes on the castle in the distance.

She knew who that was, and though she had already been keeping a close eye on the Riddle boy, she would be watching him even more closely now.