The air was thick with tense silence as Harry and Nym stood in what would've been Harry's office in 12 Grimmauld Place. There was only one thought running through their minds—Gellert Grindelwald, the greatest dark wizard of recent history, was on the ascent, and in only a few years, he would unleash terror upon not only the British Isles, but the entirety of Europe, the effects of which would be felt across the globe.
In comparison to the man and his ambitions, Voldemort seemed like a baby, not even to be thought of. The sheer scale of Grindelwald's coming reign made Harry's blood run cold. Unlike Voldemort, who had ruled through brute force and fear, Grindelwald had something far more terrifying—vision. Charisma. A following that truly believed in his ideals, and by that, he meant truly.
"You know," Harry began with a wry chuckle, breaking the heavy silence. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but things are going to be so bad that I'm not even thinking about Voldemort here. He must be what now? Ten?"
"If that," Nym replied, her voice carrying a hint of fatigue. She rubbed her temples and shrugged, crossing her arms. "This is an alternate reality, right?" she asked.
"That's the most probable answer. Why?" Harry's gaze sharpened, studying her with an intensity that betrayed his growing suspicion.
She did not reply immediately. Instead, she gazed at him, tilting her head slightly, her mind evidently turning something over. Her eyes—now a deep brown, having unconsciously shifted from their previous vibrant purple—held a cold calculation that Harry had seen only a handful of times before. Harry furrowed his brows before releasing a small sigh.
"Tell me you're not thinking it as well," he muttered, already knowing the answer.
"Want me to lie?" Her tone was flat, matter-of-fact in a way that made Harry's stomach twist.
"He's a kid, Nym," Harry said softly, leaning back against the wall. His shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of their predicament physically manifesting upon him. "It wouldn't be right. For all we know, he might not even turn out that way."
"It's Voldemort we're talking about, Harry," Nym replied, her voice hardening. "Didn't you see what he was like in those memories Dumbledore showed you? The bloke was torturing animals before he could properly tie his shoelaces."
"That doesn't mean—"
"Don't give me that," she cut him off, not unkindly but firmly. "I know that look, Harry. You're thinking about how you could've turned out, given your upbringing. But you're not him. You never were."
Harry grimaced, knowing she was right on multiple fronts. Even before his teenage years, the young Tom Riddle had that madness inside him. He was not a killer—not yet—but he was sadistic. Thievery was amateur-level stuff, but mentally torturing kids in that cave was another ball game altogether. If he was being honest with himself, he knew there was no redemption for Tom Riddle. It was as if magic itself had morphed him into what he'd become—magic that had perhaps taken root within him before he was even born—when he was conceived under Amortentia.
"You've got that thousand-yard stare again," Nym observed, her voice softening. She stepped closer, the vibrant purple returning to her eyes. "Knut for your thoughts?"
"You can literally read them," Harry replied dryly, though there was no real bite to his words.
"Yeah, but it's the principle of the thing, innit?" she countered with a ghost of a smile. "What are you thinking?" she probed softly, reaching out to cup his cheek.
Harry leaned into her touch, drawing comfort from the familiarity of it. "Just that things have gotten royally fucked up in no time," he replied, sighing deeply. "One minute I'm giving you a rundown of what I've been working on, and the next we're decades in the past in some alternate reality."
"Yeah, clumsy me strikes again," she chuckled humorlessly. "Should've known better than to touch mysterious magical artifacts."
"It was an accident," Harry said softly, feeling her self-deprecating thoughts through this bond that they now shared. It rippled through him—a mixture of guilt, fear, and beneath it all, a fierce determination. It was another anomaly that would need some comprehensive research. It was not that he minded being linked to Nym on such an intimate level, quite the opposite, but there was this unnerving possibility that both would die if one of them did.
"It won't come to that," Nym said firmly, hearing his thoughts. Her fingers tightened slightly against his cheek. "We'll figure it out. We always do."
"We don't know that, Nym," Harry said softly, gazing at her. His green eyes, normally bright and alert, now carried a weariness that went beyond physical exhaustion. "And you have to agree that it's a massive risk. I mean, my track record speaks for itself. You don't deserve it just because my lovely lady luck decided to fuck with me once again."
"Oh, don't start with the self-pity," Nym rolled her eyes, but her expression remained gentle. "We're in this together, whether you like it or not. Besides," she added with a hint of mischief, "I've survived being your dear friend for years now. If your luck hasn't killed me yet, I reckon I'm immune."
"That's not how luck works," Harry countered, though a small smile tugged at his lips.
"That's exactly how luck works. Ask any gambler," she quipped. Her expression grew more serious as she continued, "Yeah, well, there's not anything we can do about it. What's done is done. What we've got to think about is what we're gonna do now. I'm going to take up the Black family name, but I want to make it clear that I'm doing it against my wishes."
"As you've told me hundreds of times over the years," Harry replied dryly. "I still remember how you nearly hexed Kingsley when he suggested it after the war."
"The man should've known better," Nym sniffed indignantly. "Bloody politicians, always thinking they know best. How he turned out that way is still a bloody mystery."
"Still, Nymphadora Black has quite a ring to it, eh?"
Nym's eyes narrowed dangerously, and Harry hissed when she pinched his nose hard, a move she'd perfected over their years together.
"Fucking hell, woman!" Harry recoiled, rubbing his nose gingerly.
"That's for your cheek, Potter." Her stern expression was belied by the amusement dancing in her eyes.
"Technically, I'm not anymore," Harry replied with a sigh, his hand dropping back to his side. "Too much scrutiny. The Potters have always been a close-knit family, with little to show in terms of branching out. Anyone claiming to be a distant cousin would be investigated thoroughly."
"Yeah, family planning and all that," Nym snorted. "I've seen the family tree. Still can't believe your family's had so much trouble conceiving over the years. Your lot are practically the opposite of the Weasleys."
Harry shrugged. It was true, after all. The Potter line had always been precariously thin, with most generations having only one or two children who survived to adulthood.
"One would think your family doesn't know how to properly use the tools they've had at their disposal," she continued, her voice dropping to a suggestive purr as she stepped closer, smirking at him. "But I know firsthand that's highly inaccurate."
"You've had one sample to test that theory out with," Harry chuckled, feeling some of the tension leave his body. He could always count on Nym to find a way to lighten even the direst of situations.
"One was plenty," she replied with a satisfied smirk. "Quality over quantity, as they say."
Harry shook his head, amused. Leave it to this woman to be playful even when their whole world had turned upside down. It was one of the many things he'd come to love about her—her ability to find light in even the darkest of times.
"Still," she said, her expression softening, shadows creeping back into her gaze. "It's kind of a relief."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "How so?" he asked, genuinely curious.
She gave him a small smile, tinged with a sadness that he felt echo through their bond. "We've only got each other now, and honestly, it's not like we had many people left anyway. You were buried in Unspeakable work, and after Ginny's wedding, you weren't as close to the Weasleys anymore. I've been on my own too, with Mum gone and... well." She didn't need to finish the thought. "At least this way, we don't have as much to lose."
Harry studied her for a long moment. It was a morbid thought, but no less true. The war had taken so much from them both, and the years that followed hadn't been much kinder. The few connections they'd maintained had slowly eroded with time, until it was just the two of them spending their free time with each other.
"Yeah," he murmured. "I guess that's one silver lining." He reached out, tucking a strand of her currently brown hair behind her ear. "Though I'd argue I have plenty to lose."
Something softened in Nym's expression, a vulnerable moment that she rarely allowed herself. "Careful there, Harry. Almost sounds like you fancy me or something."
"Can't imagine why," Harry replied with a small smile. "Must be your sunny disposition."
"Or my incredible talent for landing us in impossible situations," she countered, her voice lighter.
"That too."
Nym stared at Harry for a moment before she sighed, the playful moment between them passing.
"So it's final, huh? You're going to take up that name?" There was concern in her voice, a hint of fear that she couldn't quite disguise.
"You got any better idea?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow, prompting her to frown.
"You could always go muggle," she suggested, though the lack of conviction in her voice betrayed her. She knew as well as he did that it wasn't a realistic option.
"Yeah," Harry scoffed. "And give up a golden opportunity to leverage some power for myself and throw away this advantage? I'm not a child, Nym. I don't have the luxury of being idealistic anymore."
"When were you ever?" she muttered, though there was no real heat behind it. "Still, Harry, that name? It'd put you right in the sights of not only Grindelwald, but possibly Dumbledore too. Are you sure it's worth the risk?"
"I don't think I need to worry about Dumbledore," Harry said honestly, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "The old man is frankly not old in this timeline, and from every account I've read and heard of him, he's a pacifist who wants to do nothing with the Hallows. He's happy being the professor at Hogwarts, away from everything that led to his sister's death."
"Please tell me you still don't believe the drivel Skeeter wrote," she observed, her tone skeptical. "That woman wouldn't know the truth if it danced naked in front of her wearing Winky's tea cozy."
"Skeeter might be a lot of things, but she would never paint Dumbledore in a positive light if she could help it," Harry replied, a wry smile tugging at his lips at Nym's colorful description. "And besides, I'm putting more faith in what Nicholas told me about Dumbledore. His judgment's solid."
"Nicholas Flamel? The bloke who thought allowing Dumbledore to hide the bloody Philosopher's Stone in a school full of children was a good idea?" Nym raised an eyebrow. "Solid enough for us to consider him an ally in all this?" she asked skeptically, earning a chuckle from Harry.
"Fair point," he conceded. "Of course not," he shook his head as he walked forward, looking around. "This new reality that we are in… no one can know about this. That's our secret to take to our graves. Obviously, that means we won't be telling anyone what we know is coming or anything else."
"But when it truly comes down to it, we can count on Dumbledore," Nym nodded, following his train of thought. "If only because he's predictable in his own way."
"Exactly. The man's got his flaws—Merlin knows I've seen them up close—but when it comes to stopping Dark Lords, there's no one better in Britain. He might not be seeking the Hallows, but he won't stand by and watch Grindelwald tear Europe apart, either."
"Let's just hope we don't have to test that theory anytime soon," Nym replied. She stretched, her spine making a series of small pops. Harry's eyes obviously lingered on a certain part of her desirable body with keen interest. "So, what now? We've got a plan, sort of. You'll be a son of... them," she wouldn't say the name, not yet, "and I'll be the reluctant daughter of a distant branch of the Blacks. Thank Merlin those old codgers won't have any right over me, with them having cut off any relation with their squib descendants over the centuries. There are so many that they won't even be able to tell which one I've come from."
"And that's why it'd sell perfectly. Your blood is the only verification needed. For me, well… they are a family that are shrouded in mystery. It wouldn't be a surprise to see one appear out of nowhere."
Nym scoffed. "Oh, come off it, Harry. Obviously, it would be a surprise."
"I didn't mean it that way," Harry rolled his eyes. "The people would indeed be shocked that a member of that infamous family has appeared, but the existence of one won't be surprising. That's the perk of being a mysterious family. You can pull anything out of your arse and no one can say for sure that you're bullshitting."
"Can't deny that," Nym chuckled. "So, getting our new identities, settling in, and probably OWLs as well if we are to attend Hogwarts. We'd need gold, and lots of it if we want to be taken seriously, especially you. The family name will only take you so far."
"Don't you worry about that," Harry smirked.
"All right. What then?"
"We establish ourselves," Harry said firmly. "Build connections and gather resources. That's why Hogwarts is important. We need to be ready for what's coming, and that means having influence."
"Sounds very Slytherin of you," Nym observed with a small smirk. "You're not planning to get sorted there, are you?"
"The Hat did want to put me there," Harry reminded her, chuckling. "Maybe it's time I embraced that side of myself a bit more."
"Just don't go full Pureblood ponce on me," she warned. "I've had enough of that from actual ponces to last several lifetimes."
"I make no promises," Harry replied, a genuine smile finally breaking through. "I might need to start carrying a cane."
"Do, and I'll use it to beat you over the head," she threatened, though her eyes danced with amusement.
"Noted," Harry chuckled. He sobered after a moment. "Now, if you're ready? Let's get going. I'm sure we've stayed in this place longer than either of us would've liked."
"Can't deny that." Nym cast one last glance around the room, her expression unreadable. "Hard to believe we might never see it as it was again."
"Maybe that's for the best," Harry said softly. "Too many ghosts. I only lived here because of Sirius."
Nym nodded, understanding passing between them without words. She reached out, taking his hand in hers. "Alright then. Into the past we go."
"Into the unknown," Harry corrected, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
"Same difference, innit?" Nym replied with a small smile. "Lead the way, Potter. Or whoever you're going to be now."
Harry nodded, drawing a deep breath. With Nym's hand firmly in his, he twisted on the spot. The pair apparated away, ready to face whatever this new reality had in store for them.
-Break-
The London sky had darkened considerably by the time Nym returned to their modest hotel room. Harry looked up from the parchment he'd been scribbling on, relief washing through him at the sight of her—a feeling that echoed across their newfound bond.
"Finally," he said, setting down his quill. "I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost in 1930s bureaucracy."
Nym's hair shifted from a nondescript brown to a shade of midnight black as she kicked off her shoes. "Bureaucracy is timeless, Harry. Just as mind-numbing now as it will be sixty years from now."
She collapsed onto the bed opposite his, tossing a small leather pouch onto the nightstand between them. The contents clinked softly—galleons, if Harry had to guess—along with several official-looking documents.
"But I've sorted it," she continued, satisfaction coloring her voice and flowing through their connection. "You are now officially Harry Peverell, educated in privacy, born and raised in magical Nova Scotia—small wizarding community, barely documented, perfect for our needs. Family records conveniently destroyed in a magical fire thirty years ago. And yes, the fire really did take place."
Harry nodded, pleased. "Nicely done. I have the claim, and no one would question it."
"Best lies have a grain of truth," she shrugged. "Makes them easier to remember. The British Ministry is also notoriously lax about checking international credentials from smaller communities, especially ones from the Americas. They're too busy being snobbish about the people across the pond to dig deeper."
"And you?" he asked, leafing through the documents.
"Nymeria Black," she replied with a hint of resignation in her voice. "Distant cousin from the Carpathian branch of the family—Romanian squibs who've kept to themselves for centuries. The British Blacks will be too proud to admit they don't know every branch of their precious tree, and the Romanian magical embassy has been closed for renovations for the past three months."
Harry nodded, feeling a surge of gratitude that wasn't entirely his own. "Thanks, Nym—or should I say, Nymeria? You've really thought of everything. I've been trying to make sense of all this, but..." He gestured at his scattered notes.
"Any luck?" she asked, propping herself up on her elbows.
"Not much," he admitted. "I've been thinking about the bond, though. It's... evolving."
The air between them seemed to thicken. Through their connection, Harry could feel Nym's curiosity mingled with something warmer, more complex.
"I've noticed," she said quietly. "It's not just emotions now, is it? I can feel your magic even when we're apart. Like a compass pointing north."
Harry nodded, standing up and moving to sit beside her on the bed. The proximity intensified everything—her scent, the pulse of her magic, the warmth radiating from her skin.
"It's more than that," he said, his voice dropping. "I think we need to be honest with each other, Nym. About everything."
She met his gaze, her eyes shifting slowly from brown to a deep, vibrant green that matched his own. "About everything? That's a dangerous game, Potter."
"Peverell now, remember?" he smiled, but it faded quickly. "And yes, everything. This bond... it's amplifying what's already there. Between us."
The tension in the room shifted, becoming almost tangible. Through their connection, Harry could feel her pulse quicken to match his own.
"And what exactly is 'there' between us, Harry?" Nym asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You know what," he replied, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. "We've been dancing around it for months. Even before... this."
Nym's eyes fluttered closed at his touch. "Friends with benefits is what we called it," she murmured. "Convenient. Uncomplicated."
"It was never uncomplicated," Harry said, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "Not for me."
The bond between them pulsed, and Harry felt a wave of Nym's emotions—desire, affection, fear—mirroring his own so perfectly he couldn't tell where his feelings ended and hers began.
"Not for me either," she admitted, opening her eyes to meet his. "But this changes everything, doesn't it? We're literally bound together now, Harry. No escaping each other even if we wanted to."
"Do you want to?" he asked, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Nym sat up, bringing their faces level. "That's the thing, isn't it? I should be terrified. We've been thrown back in time, magically bonded, essentially erased from existence..." She reached out, placing her palm against his chest. "But when I'm with you, I feel... safe. Like maybe this mad situation isn't the worst thing that could have happened."
Harry covered her hand with his own. "We've lost everything, Nym. Our time, our friends, our lives. But we still have each other."
"And now we're stuck with each other," she added with a wry smile. "A Peverell and a Black—imagine that. For better or worse."
"For better," Harry insisted, leaning closer. "Definitely for better."
The bond between them seemed to hum with anticipation, their magic intertwining like invisible threads of light. Harry could feel Nym's desire building alongside his own, a constant loop of growing intensity.
"We should probably talk about this more," Nym whispered, even as her free hand moved to the nape of his neck. "Make sensible plans."
"We will," Harry promised, his gaze dropping to her lips. "Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," she agreed, her fingers threading through his hair.
Their magic surged between them as they finally closed the distance, their lips meeting in a kiss that felt like coming home and setting off on an adventure all at once. The bond flared brilliantly, wrapping them in a cocoon of shared sensation—every touch, every breath, every heartbeat perfectly synchronized.
What had started as gentle exploration quickly deepened into something hungrier, more desperate. Months of tension, years of unspoken feelings, and the raw, primal terror of their situation all poured into that kiss, transforming into something new—something powerful and undeniable.
When they finally broke apart, breathless and trembling, Harry rested his forehead against Nym's. Through their connection, he could feel her thoughts as clearly as if she'd spoken them aloud: Whatever happens next, we face it together.
"Together," he whispered against her lips, before pulling her back into another searing kiss.
The bond between them seemed to sing with a wild, ancient magic as they surrendered to the current that had always pulled them toward each other. Harry's hands traced the curve of her spine, mapping territory both familiar and thrillingly new. Through their connection, each touch rippled with doubled sensation—what he felt, she felt, and back again in an intoxicating loop.
Nym's hair shifted colors with each racing heartbeat—crimson to violet to midnight blue—as her fingers tangled in his unruly dark locks that shifted colors in perfect sync with hers. The air around them seemed to crackle with unspoken magic, small objects on the nightstand beginning to quiver and levitate slightly.
"Harry," she gasped, breaking the kiss. Her pupils were dilated, her breathing ragged. "The magic—it's responding to us."
He nodded, equally breathless. "The bond is strengthening."
A soft golden glow had begun to emanate from where their skin touched, tracing intricate patterns that resembled neither runes nor any written language Harry recognized. Yet somehow, he understood their meaning perfectly—unity, protection, eternity.
"Do you feel that?" Nym whispered, her fingers tracing the luminous patterns on his forearm.
"I feel everything," he answered truthfully. Every point of contact between them hummed with a tone that seemed to vibrate at the very frequency of his soul. Their magic had begun to dance together, intertwining in ways that transcended physical intimacy.
Nym laughed softly, the sound tinkling like crystal. "It's like being drunk on Liquid Luck," she murmured, "but a thousand times more potent."
Her eyes had shifted to match his exactly—that distinctive shade of emerald green that had always been his most recognizable feature. But now, looking into them was like gazing into an enchanted mirror, one that reflected not just his face but the very essence of who he was.
The hotel room around them seemed to recede, the mundane world falling away until there was nothing but this moment, this magic, this connection. Outside, a light rain had begun to fall, droplets tapping against the window in rhythm with their synchronized heartbeats.
"I never believed in fate," Harry said quietly, brushing his thumb across her lower lip, "but this—us—it feels inevitable now."
Nym smiled against his touch. "Perhaps it always was, Harry. Perhaps we just needed the universe to give us a rather dramatic push."
Harry laughed, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest. "A sixty-year push through time? Bit excessive, don't you think?"
"Well, you've always been rather thick," she teased, but the affection flowing through their bond took any sting from the words.
As they leaned toward each other once more, the golden glow intensified, casting dancing shadows across the modest hotel room walls. Whatever time or fate or accident had thrown them into, they were no longer merely survivors of circumstance. In this new world, they were becoming something else entirely—something bound by magic older than history, stronger than time.
Their lips met again, and this time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty—only a hunger born of perfect understanding and the knowledge that in all the chaos of their impossible situation, they had found the one constant that would anchor them through whatever lay ahead.
-Break-
The crisp autumn air carried the scent of fallen leaves and wood smoke as Harry—now Harry Peverell—stood on the cobblestones of Diagon Alley. Though he had walked these streets countless times before, the sight that greeted him now was both familiar and startlingly different.
Store fronts that had been fixtures in his time were replaced by unfamiliar establishments, while others remained unchanged, if only younger versions of themselves.
Flourish and Blotts stood where it always had, though the facade appeared newer, the gold lettering more vibrant. Ollivanders remained exactly as Harry remembered it—dusty, ancient, and seemingly untouched by time. But where Quality Quidditch Supplies had once been, there now stood a shop called "Cleansweep Brooms," advertising the latest model—the Cleansweep Three.
Harry did not miss the sheer number of witches and wizards in Diagon Alley, easily twice the number there had been in his timeline. That said a lot about the impacts of two wars on the wizarding population.
Releasing a soft sigh, he adjusted the high collar of his formal robes, still unaccustomed to the stiff fabric and antiquated style that was apparently the height of fashion in this era. Both he and Nym had spent the last two weeks meticulously crafting their new identities, establishing vaults at Gringotts with a substantial amount of gold in each (courtesy of several well-placed anonymous bets on Quidditch matches in the black market whose outcomes he already knew), and securing a modest but respectable lodging in a quiet corner of wizarding London. It was a temporary place for until the end of the month. A permanent residence would be chosen soon. There was no need to hurry.
Amidst the bustle of shoppers, Harry's gaze fell upon the figure of a young woman exiting Twilfitt and Tattings. Even without the telltale purple hair, he would have recognized her anywhere. Nymeria Black—formerly Nymphadora Tonks—did her best at carrying herself with the aristocratic bearing befitting her assumed name, though Harry could see the slight tension in her shoulders that betrayed her discomfort with the role. Still, anyone else would be hard pressed to tell that she was putting a front. That one was a talented actress.
As they had planned, Harry pretended not to recognize her. Instead, he made his way toward Gringotts, his stride easygoing but resolute. His business at the bank was legitimate—he needed to finalize the paperwork for his vault and retrieve the necessary documents for his enrollment at Hogwarts. But it also provided the perfect opportunity for their "first meeting."
Inside the bank, the familiar sight of goblins scurrying about their business greeted him. Harry approached an available teller, clearing his throat politely.
"I have an appointment with Account Manager Silverclaw," he stated, his voice carrying just the right amount of authority without crossing into arrogance.
The goblin peered at him over half-moon spectacles. "Name?"
"Peverell. Harry Peverell."
The goblin's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, the only indication that the name had any significance. "Very well, Mr. Peverell. Wait here." The goblin disappeared through a door behind the counter.
Harry stood patiently, aware of the curious glances thrown his way by other patrons. He had expected this—the Peverell name, while not frequently spoken of in modern times, carried enormous weight in certain circles. It was a risk, but one he had calculated carefully.
"Mr. Peverell?" A new goblin had appeared, this one older and more distinguished. "I am Silverclaw. Please follow me."
Harry followed the goblin through the labyrinthine corridors of Gringotts, eventually arriving at a well-appointed office. As the door closed behind them, Harry noticed another figure already seated within—Nymeria, her expression carefully neutral.
Silverclaw took his seat behind the desk, regarding them both with shrewd eyes. "Miss Black informs me that the two of you have business to discuss. I shall leave you to it. Ring the bell when you wish to proceed with the vault matters, Mr. Peverell."
With that, the goblin departed, leaving Harry and Nymeria alone.
"Well met, Miss Black," Harry said formally, inclining his head slightly. "I don't believe we've been introduced."
Nymeria's lips quirked in a barely perceptible smile. "Indeed not, Mr. Peverell. Though your name precedes you. News travels fast in certain circles."
Harry took the seat across from her, maintaining the charade. "I've only recently returned to Britain. My family has been... abroad for some time."
"How fortunate for those of us who value interesting company," Nymeria replied, her eyes glinting with hidden amusement and a subtle amount of flirtation. Harry barely prevented himself from rolling his eyes. Her demeanor relaxed, she continued, "I find myself in need of a... business partner. Someone with resources and discretion."
Harry raised an eyebrow, playing along. "And what business might that be, Miss Black?"
"Investment opportunities," she said smoothly. "Particularly in education. I understand you've applied for admission to Hogwarts?"
"Word does travel fast," Harry murmured. "Yes, I have. Though at my age, it's somewhat unconventional."
"Unconventional is merely another word for interesting," Nymeria countered. "As it happens, I too am seeking to continue my education there. Perhaps we might find mutual benefit in collaboration."
Their conversation was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Before either could respond, the door swung open to reveal a tall, imposing wizard with auburn hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His piercing blue eyes, not yet hidden behind half-moon spectacles, swept the room before settling on Harry with unnerving intensity.
"Ah, pardon the interruption," said the man, his voice lighter and more energetic than Harry remembered, but unmistakable nonetheless. "I was informed that a Mr. Peverell was meeting with Account Manager Silverclaw. I hope you don't mind my intrusion."
Harry stood, his heart hammering in his chest despite his outward calm. "Not at all, though I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, sir."
"Albus Dumbledore," the wizard replied, extending a hand. "Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I understand you've applied for admission?"
The man smiled politely, although Harry did not miss the calculating gleam in his eyes.
The game was afoot.
TBC.
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