January 8th, 1976

A week has passed since the incident in the defense classroom and naturally, the Hogwarts rumor mill had done its best to blow Peverell's actions way out of proportion. Only yesterday, Marlene overheard two third-years arguing, as one of them claimed Peverell had transfigured Professor Munrose's face into a giant pumpkin after challenging her to a duel. 

Her eyes glanced over his raven hair, broad, tall frame, and sparkling green eyes. He sat at the Gryffindor table, joking with his friends as if there was not a single care in the world. She watched as he threw his head back in laughter, flashing white, sparkling teeth. Arghh, what was wrong with her?

"You're doing it again, you know." said Florence, nudging her with an elbow.

Marlene cursed under her breath and quickly lowered her gaze back down at her breakfast. She had to stop staring at him like that, but somehow, she was simply drawn to him like those things the muggles called magnets. She knew she was walking on a dangerous path. The afternoon after the duel already, Lestrange had confronted her and demanded an answer for why she had talked to Peverell in the first place.

Marlene had almost lost her temper when she explained that she could hardly ignore a teacher's instruction and that there was nothing she could do if she was paired up with him. Then she was forced to listen to Lestrange as he scowled about Peverell's pathetic skill with a wand. According to him, he was far less accomplished than the rest of the castle was led to believe. Funnily enough, the Slytherin actually believed the dragon dung that was coming out of his mouth.

Marlene was still shocked by what she had seen that day in class. The technique he had used against her curse was one that even Aurors struggled with. Neither her brothers had yet fully mastered the skill and a fifteen-year-old was performing it in a classroom full of students. Marlene knew that it had been out of instinct. The question was how and why did he have to learn it in the first place? A boy his age should be spending his time flirting with girls and racing on a broom, not mastering advanced dueling techniques.

Well, he certainly did the former. A small voice in her head interrupted her and Marlene grimaced. Indeed, Peverell was a massive flirt and knew exactly the effect he had on most girls in the castle. He did not even shy away from flirting with the upper-year Slytherins. Only yesterday, she had caught him shooting his annoying little wink at Carla Rosier and Narcissa Black. Both girls had actually blushed whilst chatting with him.

Of course, her best friend had only seen it as a sign for her to finally make a move, but Marlene McKinnon would never drop so low as to make the first move on a boy. Besides, she did not even like Peverell, as she kept reminding herself whenever her thoughts shifted over to the raven-haired boy during the day.

Still, she had used the few connections she had in the other houses to make silent inquiries about him. There was something strange about him. He disappeared at odd times, usually arriving late in the mornings, and was nowhere to be found in the evenings. Even the Marauders seemed to have accepted the fact that Peverell preferred to spend some time on his own each day.

In addition, every so often, he did something that did not fit in with his personality, or at least what Marlene thought was his personality, at all. Apparently, he had helped a first-year Slytherin back to their common room, after she got lost in the castle. How did Peverell, someone who had only been here for a week, already discover more of the castle than most people did in their entire time at school?

"How was the meeting with Lestrange yesterday?" Florence interrupted her thoughts.

"Same as always, pretty much." Marlene shrugged: "He just kept on complaining about Peverell."

"Did he try anything again?" Her best friend shot her a worried look.

Marlene shifted uncomfortably on the bench: "Not explicitly, no. But I can slowly sense him growing more impatient..."

"I feel so bad for you Mar." Flo squeezed her hand affectionately: "Is there nothing you can do about it? You can hardly allow him to just shove his tongue down your throat?"

"Thanks for the image." Marlene shuddered: "I asked my father for a copy of the courting agreement. It's probably all stated there. At least my virtue should be safe for as long as we are not officially betrothed."

She shivered at the thought of laying with the older Slytherin. Marlene felt his hungry gaze on her curves anytime they met. He was not even trying to hide it anymore. But then again... She had always known her first time would likely not be with someone she actually loved. Those novel romances were just books in the end, after all. Just fiction, not her reality...

"I swear I will curse his pathetic little bits off he even thinks about laying his filthy hands on you!" Florence growled and looked over her shoulder to where Lestrange was sitting with his friends, shooting, as always, his murderous glare at Peverell.

"It will all be fine, Flo." Marlene shrugged, even though she was not so certain herself: "I can handle myself. I always have."

"If your brothers were still here, he would never dare come so close to you." Florence pouted.

"Yes, but they are both in Auror school and even if they were still here, they would not interfere with the matter. My father has made it more than clear that he wishes to see a union between our houses."

Florence's eyes gained a hopeful expression: "Why not at least try to talk to your father about Peverell. As a Lord, he must know that his House is even older than Lestrange's. We know Peverell is magically powerful, and he also has a seat on the Wizengamot waiting for him once he turns seventeen."

"My father couldn't care less how good Peverell is with his wand..." Marlene shook her head with a chuckle: "He might have a big name, but so far his only connection and possible alliance are with the Potters, a traditionally light family that has withdrawn from politics for some years now. We also don't know anything about Peverell's finances. Do you have any idea what kind of dowry Lord Lestrange offered my father for my hand in marriage? I doubt a fifteen-year-old orphan could afford that much."

"I still think you should give it a try." her best friend shrugged: "If you are forced to marry already then I would much rather see you with someone you have an obvious physical attraction to..."

Marlene could only groan. Why did she keep on reminding her about something she desperately wishes to ignore?

January 10th, 1976

Just as the majority of night over the last week, Harry found himself in the room of requirements, studying the old tome of Herpo the foul. So far, he had come across a variety of incredibly interesting findings, which he vowed to return to later on. Many of them required very advanced Parselmagic, a feat he so far had little experience with. However, now he had stumbled upon a section that caught his eye.

"'Magia Familiae' is the term for any magical skill or ability, which might be passed down in blood. Similar to Herpo, other old families discovered ways and techniques to allow for their magic to only be passed down to a direct blood relative. Just as I have been blessed with the proficiency to speak the Tongue of the Serpent, the trait may resurface in any natural descendant of mine.

The magic in our blood is so unique in its essence, that no further protection on it was needed. Other families, however, have safeguarded their magic out of fear it might be absorbed, following the union between their lineage and another more dominant one.

After years of experimentation, I have created a ritual that will allow us to awaken any non-dominant traces of family magic that might have been added by other lines. Fear not, my heir or heiress, our line is so powerful, that the magic in our blood effortlessly dominates any other 'Magia Familiae' and simply absorbs it. This ritual will allow the Slytherin line to grow, by consuming the magic of other families to strengthen our own. My wish is for this ritual to be performed by any descendant of mine, before they reach their majority, to maximise its potential.

Follow the instructions to secure the future of our blood...

Harry stared in awe at what he had just read. Apparently, other ancient families had similar abilities that they only passed down with their blood. Was that why the Potter had always been good at transfigurations or why the Blacks were known for their curses? Perhaps even the Crouches for their linguistic skills? Absorbing the magic of another line sounded like a fantastic way to get more powerful quickly. He skimmed over the instructions...

He was a bit careful concerning rituals since the first one he had ever witnessed was Voldemort's rebirth. However, in Switzerland, he had learned that there were many other rituals some magical cultures still performed. Unfortunately, most rituals involved blood and had therefore been classified as dark magic by the majority of European magical governments...

The rune work Salazar Slytherin described seemed complicated, but Harry was certain that he would manage. As for the ingredients, he simply needed his own blood and a magical substance from his family's magic totem.

According to the Founder's notes, it made no sense to go further back than a person's grandparents. For Harry that meant he should definitely use something related to the Potters and the Blacks. Yet, at the same time, two far older, far more powerful bloodlines reconnected in him. If he was able to claim the Peverell vault at Gringotts, why should he not give absorbing the Peverell family magic a try?

In addition, he already spoke the Tongue of the Serpents. There was undoubtedly something Slytherin within him. Only a fool would not try to further embrace that and take advantage of it. He had nothing to lose, but the power of four houses to win... But where could he get the necessary materials from?

January 15th, 1976

Dear Harry,

It is good to hear that you enjoyed your first week at Hogwarts. Charlus and I thank you for writing to us and keeping us up to date. Morgana knows why, but James despises writing letters, so after over four years, we don't really expect a reply from him anymore. The only things we used to hear about him were complaints from his godmother. Minerva always makes sure to describe his pranks and the sort of detention he certainly deserves in great detail.

As you can imagine, your appearance has created some chaos in the wizarding world. Charlus and I can hardly leave the house without being asked about our relationship with you and whether one might address us concerning political alliances and marriage proposals. Do not worry, we decided that you still desire a few years of freedom, before we find ourselves a nice-looking girl from a good family for you.

As for your rather strange request, attached you will find both the items you asked for. The feather is one of two, which stemmed from a raven I cared for when my surname was still Black. The Potters used to have a small herd of Griffins in the forest close to our manor and over the years, Charlus has found a few claws. We both hope you are careful with whatever you intend to do with them and wish you the best of luck.

Make sure to give James a hug from us.

Love,

Dorea and Charlus Potter

Harry had no idea how, but Dorea Potter had filled the role of mother quicker than he would have ever thought possible. She had written to him twice already and asked how he was faring at Hogwarts. The fact that she cared so much for him, strengthened his desires to make sure they will all survive the war this time around.

He glimpsed back into the envelope and caught sight of a large black feather and a sharp dark claw that must have belonged to a Griffin at some point. The Crest of the Black family depicted three black ravens. Harry had assumed that a raven, which was personally cared for by a member of the black family for its entire life, should be well suited for his ritual. Now there was only one last ingredient missing.

Salazar Slytherin had described that the ritual could be used to absorb other magical lines. The founder was confident that no bloodline could rival his own magic. But what about a family that was even older than the Slytherins? What about a family, whose legendary deeds are still whispered about, even centuries after they had presumably been extinct? A family, that the magical world unknowingly associated with its death itself.

He absently glanced over to Marlene McKinnon at the Ravenclaw table. They had not spoken ever since their confrontation last week. Harry knew that he had provoked the girl up to a point where she lost control, but he could not find it in himself to be angry with her. She seemed to be under a lot of stress recently, undoubtedly because of the inbred idiot that was courting her.

Nevertheless, Harry caught her shooting him quick glimpses in classes or during mealtimes, usually when she was deep in thought and biting her lower lip. Once or twice, he could have sworn to see something apologetic on her face. Regardless, it then immediately vanished and was replaced by her usual slightly snobbish demeanor.

He would lay low for a while, talk to some other girls and give her some time to get accustomed to the situation. He had more than enough on his plate already and was not interested in unnecessary drama. If his father had won over Lily Evans while still being a pranking idiot, then Harry would manage to win his girl's heart as well. He just hoped that unlike with his parents, it would not take him literal years.

January 18th, 1976

"Let us continue with our fifth year then." To the outside, Albus seemed as calm and composed as ever. Yet, fighting down his eagerness at what he might be about to hear, proved to be rather difficult, even for him as a Master Occlumens: "Let us start alphabetically with Mr. Paul Abbot. Aurora? The floor is yours..."

The astronomy professor shuffled through her small stack of parchments and took out the necessary files. Her voice drifted away as Dumbledore thought about the boy, he actually wanted to learn about during the teacher conference, which was held traditionally two weeks after the beginning of each term.

Two weeks have passed already with the castle's latest addition living amongst them. Two weeks in which Albus had kept a very close eye on Harry Peverell while doing his own research on the boy. To his annoyance, he hardly found out more than the Prophet. His birth certificate was legitimate, so Albus at least held the advantage of knowing the boy's birthday. Still, besides his middle name, there was nothing known about him. He was a complete mystery until December 26th, when he was first spotted in the Ministry of Magic, next to Charlus Potter.

The boy was too young to apparate and no Portkey had been authorized from the continent for him. He must have arrived via muggle means unless he flew all the way on a broom. Even Albus' old friend, Bathilda Bagshot, had been unable to trace down any possible link between him and the famous family that carried his surname. Dumbledore had personally seen her on his way to visit Ignotus Peverell's grave in Godric's Hollow. How could someone like him seemingly appear out of nowhere?

15 minutes later, it was finally time: "Well, now that we finished talking about Ms. Parkinson, as you all know, we will have an addition before debating the impressive track record of pranks courtesy of Mr. Potter."

His comment was met with chuckles while his colleagues prepared their notes on Harry Peverell: "Again I would ask you to start, Aurora, what can you tell me about the boy?"

"He is definitely a smart student; however, he does not show any particular interest in my class." Professor Sinistra shares: "He dutifully prepares his homework, which is always complete, and is able to answer most of my questions in class. Currently, I have Mr. Peverell sitting around Exceeds Expectations."

That came as no surprise to Dumbledore. Only very few students showed an actual affinity for Astronomy: "Very well, let us continue then. Pomona, what can you tell us?"

"It goes in a similar direction in my class. Peverell works very well, no matter who I partner him with. He seems to have encountered most of the plants we currently work on before. To my surprise his essay on Mandrakes and what they could be used for had been full of details even I did not know about... I would go as far as giving him an Outstanding Minus at this point in time."

"That sounds very promising." Dumbledore smiled: "Would you mind passing me a copy of said essay. If his knowledge amazes even an accomplished practitioner of Herbology, like yourself, then it should definitely be worth the read."

"Of course, Albus." Professor Sprout nodded.

"Horace, what can you tell us?" Dumbledore asked curiously. They were slowly approaching the subjects he expected the boy to perform better in.

"Oho!" Horace beamed while shuffling through his notes: "The boy certainly knows his potions. He is undoubtedly one of the brightest students I have ever taught."

"Do you mind elaborating on that?" Dumbledore asked, noticing the way a few of his other colleagues nodded their heads in agreement.

"He has remarkably extensive knowledge of various potions and their ingredients. In addition, he proves to be very innovative and experimental in his brewing, utilizing rather simple shortcuts he has learned during his previous education."

"Did he happen to share where exactly he had learned them?" Albus inquired, barely able to hide the excitement in his voice.

"No, he remains rather secretive about that." Horace shook his large head: "I wish I could pair him with someone equally as knowledgeable. With a bit of help, Peverell could perform on the same level as Lily Evans and Severus Snape. Previously, I had intended to invite him to my small get- together, simply out of curiosity for his name. However, now I just wish to have him there because he is a brilliant young wizard."

"How very interesting..." Dumbledore mused: "Very well, let us continue."

Five minutes later, he had revived an extensive overview of the boy's phenomenal skills in his two electives, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy. Again, the boy seemed to show an incredibly rare talent in either subject.

Now, it was time for the last three classes, which Albus was most curious about: "Minerva, what is your opinion on the boy?"

"He is a prodigy in transfigurations, Albus." Minerva stated with pride, without even feeling the need to look at her notes: "His control and accuracy are exceptional, even though he does his best to hide it."

"What do you mean by that?" Albus asked with a slight frown.

"Albus, the boy applies advanced and very complex transfiguration principles anytime he pranks..." She wrinkled her nose as if the word caused her physical harm: "... a member of his friend group. Afterward, he lets it seem like a mistake or a conjuration that got out of control. But I am certain he does it deliberately."

"So, he is holding back?" Albus inquired, the thought already racing in his brilliant mind.

"I am certain he does," Minerva replies: "Yet, I haven't figured out why exactly. Perhaps he simply wishes to remain with his newfound friends. Heaven forbid, the boy deserves some happiness."

"What do you mean by that, Minerva?"

Filius spoke up instead of her: "I overheard him telling Lily Evans in my very first lesson that both his parents have been murdered when he was only a year old. Apparently, he did not even know that he was a wizard until he was eleven years old."

"How horrible!" Horace's expression was a shock: "The poor boy..."

"That is very unfortunate indeed." Albus says, feeling just as saddened as intrigued by the situation: "I assume your experience goes into a similar direction as Minerva's, Filius?"

The half-goblin chuckles: "The boy is smart, no doubt. He does his best to make it seem like his performance is just on par with Lily Evans', my best student. However, I see the way he casts his charms, the way his mind already works ahead and thinks not only of the further possibilities but undoubtedly of things he already achieved with a certain charm."

"Do you have an example?" Albus asked, his eyes twinkling madly.

"I am certain Harry already knows how to cast a disillusionment charm. In fact, he usually couples it with scent masking charms and a silencing charm for his own footsteps." Filius squeaked.

"I told you, all! A brilliant mind..." Horace beamed: "How I wish he had been sorted into my house."

Minerva shot him a stern look and addressed professor Munrose next: "What about you, Lucretia? How does Peverell perform in your class?"

"Exceptionally well, just as you have described. However, I noticed something different about him from the rest of my students. The boy has clear dueling experiences. Several years, if I am not mistaken. The way he moves during spellfire, his casting, his stance. Those are all things that are incredibly hard to hide after learning them once. We do them almost instinctively..."

"And Peverell was unable to hide them?" Dumbledore inquired, finally approaching what he had been waiting for.

"He does a fantastic job at holding back, but he is not perfect. Every so often, he slips back into old habits... Habits I have encountered during the last war. I think the boy not only has had dueling experience before but has gathered actual fighting experience."

"Nonsense." Horace shook his head dismissively: "He is fifteen years of age, what kind of fighting experience could he have possibly gotten?"

"Next time he is in your class, watch the way he enters the room." Lucretia explains: "His eyes immediately scan the area for any blind spots and he takes in the occupants of the room one by one. I have only ever seen such a level of observation in Aurors and perhaps Unspeakables."

"He could just be a cautious boy." Horace argued: "With what we have learned so far, he probably had a rough childhood. In addition, he moved all the way to a new country. You can't expect him to not be a little bit wary..."

"That's all fair and well, Horace." Lucretia smiled: "But when was the last time you've seen a fifteen-year-old expertly using a wand holster?"

The potion professors had no response to that, so Lucretia continued: "In addition, he had a small slip up in my very first lesson with him. He batted aside an incoming cutting curse in a manner that proved he knew exactly what he was doing and performed such a technique before, multiple times already. It was purely reactionary and instinctual. I have tried to provoke the same response once more, but he failed to step into my trap."

"You are letting your students cast cutting curses in your class, Lucretia?" Horace asked with a frown: "And you cast further curses at him yourself?"

"Ms. McKinnon had an emotional slip-up." Lucretia shook her head: "I was on standby and eager to see how Peverell would react. He did not even flinch when I pulled my wand and fired at him. As I said, he moves instinctively."

"That is very concerning, indeed..." Albus frowned... Where could he have learned those things? What kind of education did he enjoy, to hold such advanced knowledge in so many different branches of magic?

"There is nothing concerning about him, Albus..." Horace shook his head: "He is entirely different from... well, you know..."

Albus knew that Horace was thinking about a young Tom Riddle. His colleagues had been blinded by a young boy's brilliance once and now Britain was paying the price. Albus would certainly not let the same thing happen again.

"Did you not recently tell me about a confrontation between him and your students the same night he was sorted?" Lucretia asked.

"What kind of confrontation?" Albus asked curiously.

"It was nothing..." Horace shrugged: "According to Ms. Black, a few of my upper-year students wanted to get a feel for what kind of person Peverell is. It was just some school politics. Nothing even happened."

Lucretia snorted: "Yeah, but only because he pulled his wand out and threatened to fight all eight of them at once."

"That does not sound like the boy I have gotten to know." Minerva frowned: "Dorea and Charlus speak very highly of him and besides the occasional small prank, I had not a single issue with him yet."

"If we are done discussing Harry's academic performance." Filius squeaked: "Perhaps we can continue with his almost twin then. Mr. Potter."

"Yes, of course..." Albus quickly agreed. It would not do him well to let his colleagues know how interested he was in the boy. Horace, Minerva, and Flitwick had already grown very fond of him. If he wanted to continue receiving their reports, then he needed to act unbiased by what he just heard: "Let us continue with Mr. Potter."

Hogwarts' biggest troublemaker was discussed next, but Albus reviewed the great deal he had just learned about Harry Peverell. The picture slowly started taking shape. Perhaps the essay from Pomona and the memory from Lucretia would complete it even more. In any case, Albus definitely had his reasons to be concerned about Hogwarts' newest resident...

January 20th, 1976

Frozen leaves and small branches crunched under his feet as Harry steps deeper and deeper into the Forbidden Forest. The woods were engulfed in darkness. Even if it had not been the middle of the night, the treetops above him were so thick, that not a single ray of sunlight would have gotten past them.

Harry inhaled deeply, appreciating the feeling of the fresh, oxygen-saturated air of the forest in his nostrils. Coupled with a usually more worrisome scent, just not today... The scent of fresh blood. For two days, Harry had been hunting down in the Chamber of Secrets for something he could use to draw them in. He had remembered his fifth year… his first fifth year. They had an excellent sense of smell and the blood would attract them.

He flicked the Elder Wand once more when the blood stopped trickling from the dead rat, he levitated in front of him. Three of the worm-tailed little creatures were already drained of any blood and yet Harry had not spotted any of the creatures he intended to encounter so far. Well, he had five more rats to go, so he should be good. They can't be living that deep within the forest, can they?

A soft snap behind him had him whirling around, with the Elder Wand raised. There were certainly other, much more dangerous creatures in this forest, and Aragog, their leader, would not welcome Harry in his kingdom. Especially not in a timeline, where Harry was not friends with Hagrid yet.

Luckily for him, the soft snap was not caused by an overgrown spider, but by sharp hooves breaking a fallen branch. His heart jumped at seeing exactly the black, leather-skinned, winged creature he had been looking for. The Thestral seemed very cautious and apprehensive of him, however, the trail of blood on the grounds of the forest must have caught its curiosity. Behind it, Harry saw three further skeleton-like horses.

"I've got some food for you, buddy." Harry flicked his wand and levitated the dead rat over to the first Thestral. It lowered its nostrils down to the unmoving corpse and sniffled: "I know it's not exactly a feast, but..."

With a loud snap, the Thestral swallowed the dead rat in its entirety causing Harry to trail off.

"Well, I guess you guys are not too picky tonight. That's good, actually..." Harry chuckled and provided a rat to each of the other three horses: "I've got you all covered."

Harry slowly approached the one that had seen him first and held out another dead rat in his hand: "Here you go! Another one for you, since you are the bravest." He threw the rat to its feet, hoping to gain the creature's trust by feeding it. The Thestral eagerly swallowed the second rat and turned to Harry expectantly. "It's okay, you can have one more. Just don't bite my arm off please."

Harry placed the rat in his open palm and held it out for the Thestral. With much more consideration than he would have expected, the creature lowered its bony head and carefully caught the rat between its sharp teeth, before leaning its neck backward and swallowing it whole.

"I've got one last rat for you but this one is a reward, okay?" Harry asked and tentatively reached out to touch the leathery skin on the Thestral's neck. Its white, dead eyes bored into his and it made a sound close to a regular horse's neigh. "I guess that means you consent to it?" Harry chuckled and started patting the creature's neck, letting his fingers trail over rough skin and feeling the occasional long, thick, silvery hair...

"I need to get stronger to protect the people I've grown fond of, buddy." Harry whispered to the Thestral: "And for that, I need one of your hairs. Do I have your permission?"

The Thestral's blinked once, hiding its white orbs behind leathery eyelids. Then, it nudged Harry in the chest with its pout: "I guess that means you don't mind, then..." Harry smiled. His finger trailed upwards on the creature's neck to a point where the longer hair vanished under black skin. He grabbed it firmly and yanked.

His new friend barely twitched during the process and did not seem to hold any aggression for Harry: "Thank you, buddy... You have certainly helped me out tonight. This one's for you." He reached into his robes and removed the last dead rat, holding it out in his open palm. Tonight was a resounding success. He now gathered all the materials and ingredients he needed. Soon, Harry would be reconnected with his family's magic. The only question was which form would his family take?