The thought had him tense with anxiety. He remembered the meetings his Dad had taken him to and the screams of those who had failed in the Dark Lord's service as they received their punishment.
Well.
If he cocked up and the Dark Lord punished him, that was fair enough. Hadn't Lucius warned them all that interfering ahead of the Dark Lord himself contacting them could lead to this? Travers had simply wanted to show his Lord that he still followed him but he would acknowledge his mistake and take his lumps.
A pop signalled the entry of a house elf with his supper – a bland affair of watery broth and some stale bread bun that had seen better days. The elf placed it on the floor and popped out again.
Travers sighed and fetched it. He took off the warming lid and sniffed suspiciously at the broth. He opened up the paper napkin to unwrap the plastic spoon and froze; there was writing on the napkin.
He carefully looked around his cell. There was nothing in the tiny room that suggested he was under a surveillance charm. The cot was standard issue; the magic bedpan stuffed under it just the same. The door was solid and locked with only a viewing hole that was accessible from the other side. He'd been stripped of his robes and given a grey set of trousers and top to wear in a scratchy material.
He carefully unravelled the napkin and made to place it on his lap as though it had no value. He glanced down as he spooned up his broth and read the words.
"Your attempt at pleasing the Dark Lord was pitiful but your silence and faithfulness are recognised. Remain strong and take heart for you will soon return to his side."
Dennis managed to control his expression but deep inside, he was smiling with what he believed was justified satisfaction. The Dark Lord wasn't angry with him; he'd been noticed for his faithfulness. He scooped up some more of the tasteless soup and hid his grin.
He would do as the note said; he would remain strong even if it meant going to Azkaban like his father. In time, he would be rewarded and he would have more power than Lucius Malfoy could shake his cane at.
The broth was soon gone. When the house elf came back for the tray, the napkin was shredded like confetti into the bowl, and Dennis was asleep and dreaming of serving at the Dark Lord's side.
o-O-o
Harry sat on the wooden picnic table and gazed out into the back garden of Griffin House. It was a cool day for the end of August – rainy more than sunny, overcast and grim. It suited his mood. Hedwig swooped down and he automatically held out his arm to her. She landed in a rush of wind from the backwash of her wings. Harry leaned forward and let her nuzzle him, welcoming the comfort. He couldn't wait to fly with her as a raven; couldn't wait for the freedom of his own wings…
Hedwig gave a bark.
"Sorry, Hedwig," Harry said softly and reached into his pocket where he kept a few owl treats. "I guess I'm a little distracted. Sirius showed me his grandfather's memories today."
Sirius had confessed that he'd delayed showing Harry the memories – once because of Simeon's visit and again because he'd wanted them to enjoy their last weekend before Harry went back to Hogwarts together especially after the World Cup shenanigans. Harry understood. Having seen the memories, he knew how painful they were for Sirius and what the implications for himself were given the last memory with Ollivander.
Frankly, the wand maker freaked Harry out. But the knowledge that the old wizard had of his craft had been impressive. The story of the family magic and the Hallows had entranced Harry. The story of the family magic connected with something inside of him; something that told him it was the truth.
He remembered the warmth he'd felt in calling the Longbottom bear. Sirius had cautioned him that they didn't know if the magic had responded because of Neville's fealty but Harry didn't think so. He had simply and instinctively reached for and found the bear there waiting for him along with the surety that the steadfastness and ferocity of the beast had been his to call upon. The problem was that he had no idea how to deliberately call upon all family magic and he had a feeling that it couldn't be done without the circumstances being rather dire.
He sighed. "What do you think, Hedwig? Do you think I could call all the family magic to defeat him?"
And what of the consequences? Merlin had called the magic and disappeared afterwards. Was that the price for using it? Giving his own life? But didn't it make sense that it would incur such a cost? If he called all family magic and used it to wipe Voldemort from the face of the wizarding world, wouldn't he consider his magic and his life to be fair payment?
He shivered.
Hedwig barked and nuzzled him again.
Perhaps he didn't need to go so far…perhaps he only needed to call upon his own family magic to assist him as presumably the Peverells had done in the defeat of the Dark Wizard Severn. His ancestors must have brilliant men to have invented the Hallows. Would they be disappointed in him? Maybe they might have been before the Summer, Harry thought honestly, in the same way he believed his parents would probably have been disappointed with him – for not trying his best and being lazy. Maybe he would invent something as brilliant as the invisibility cloak for his descendants.
Maybe.
Of course he had no idea what he could invent that would help him defeat Voldemort and as for the Hallows themselves…
He stroked Hedwig's feathers. "I don't know what to do, Hedwig. The Headmaster is still keeping secrets."
It hurt.
He had thought Dumbledore sincere in his apology at the beginning of the Summer. He had thought Dumbledore had been sincere in his offer to help Harry…
The Headmaster clearly had some knowledge of the power of the Hallows since he'd recognised the Resurrection Stone, had presumably looked over the cloak whilst it had been in his possession, and he held the Elder wand. Hadn't it ever occurred to the Headmaster that they were 'the power he knows not' alluded to in the prophecy? It seemed incomprehensible to Harry that Dumbledore wouldn't consider that the Hallows could be a possibility. And so, if he had an inkling they could be the power, why hadn't Dumbledore said anything? To Sirius if not to Harry?
He took a deep breath and tried to think of all the lessons Sirius had given him regarding motivations.
What was Dumbledore's motivation in keeping the secret?
The first answer was easy: Dumbledore wanted to keep the wand out of Voldemort's hands. Harry could understand that, and he even agreed with it.
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