The candle's flame flickered, casting elongated shadows across the ancient stone walls. Harry could still feel the weight of Lupin's words settling deep into his bones.
He wasn't just a Potter.
He was a Peverell.
The knowledge burned through him, igniting questions that swirled in his mind like a storm. How much of his magic—his abilities—was tied to this bloodline? What else had been hidden from him?
Harry clenched his fists.
He needed answers.
Lupin watched him closely, his amber eyes unreadable.
"You must be careful, Harry," he said after a long silence. "Knowledge is powerful, but it can also be dangerous."
Hadrian exhaled sharply. "Dangerous? Or forbidden?"
Lupin's lips pressed into a thin line. "Sometimes, there is little difference."
Harry turned back to the book in front of him. His fingers traced the faded ink, lingering on the name that had reshaped everything he thought he knew.
House Peverell.
A legacy buried beneath centuries of secrecy.
His mind drifted to the whispers he had begun to hear—the shadows that moved in response to his will. Had this always been inside him? A magic older than Hogwarts, older than even the Founders?
He looked up at Lupin, determination burning in his gaze.
"I want to know everything."
Lupin studied him for a moment before nodding. "Then we start now."
—
Hours passed in that hidden chamber, filled with whispered lessons and revelations. Lupin spoke of the ancient magics tied to bloodlines, of families who had wielded power beyond standard spellwork.
"The Peverells were more than just the Hallows," Lupin explained. "They understood magic at its most fundamental level. Life and death. Light and shadow. They didn't just use magic—they became it."
Harry's breath caught in his throat.
That sounded dangerously close to what he had begun to experience.
The way the shadows responded to him. The way he could feel them shift, waiting.
Lupin continued, unaware of Hadrian's thoughts.
"But over time, the bloodline faded into obscurity. Some say they were hunted. Others claim they simply disappeared. Either way, the knowledge they possessed became… lost."
"Or hidden," Harry muttered.
Lupin's expression darkened. "Yes."
Silence stretched between them. The weight of history pressed against Harry's chest.
"If my blood carries their legacy," Harry said slowly, "then what does that make me?"
Lupin hesitated.
And then, just as he opened his mouth to answer—
The candle sputtered.
A cold wind rushed through the room, snuffing out the light entirely.
Harry tensed. His magic surged, reacting instinctively to the sudden shift in the air. Shadows pooled at his feet, stretching unnaturally as if something unseen had entered the chamber.
Lupin reached for his wand.
Then, a voice echoed through the darkness.
Soft. Ancient. And terrifyingly familiar.
"You are not ready."
Harry's blood ran cold.
He had heard that voice before.
In his dreams. In the moments when the world fell silent, and the shadows whispered his name.
He swallowed hard, his pulse roaring in his ears.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
The darkness shifted.
And in the faint glow of the dying embers, Hadrian saw something move.
A figure. Hooded. Featureless. Standing at the edge of the room.
Watching.
Waiting.
Lupin's grip tightened around his wand. "Harry, step back."
Harry ignored him.
His heart pounded as he met the gaze of the hooded figure.
And then—
A single word resonated through his very soul.
"Peverell."
The shadows surged.
And the world went dark.
—