Disclaimer: I'm too young to be Rowling so there is sadly no way Harry Potter is mine…

Parts of JK Rowling's HP7, end scene between Harry and Voldemort; and HP4, graveyard scene.

Inspiredby Mono Inc.'s "Potter's Field" ; excerpts from Fall Out Boy's song "Centuries"

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BEYOND AND IN THE FOREST

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Some legends are told

Some turn to dust or to gold

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White mist spread throughout the hospital wing. The curtains moved in nonexistent wind. The beds, just seconds before partly occupied, were suddenly empty.

Harry's eyes travelled through the room. It felt cold and yet, it also felt like home.

With its white, gleaming walls, the white floor and the white bedding, Harry was sure that he had managed to step behind the veil again.

It was a weird experience, since just moments ago, he had been awake and in the living world, watching Dumbledore leave to clean up the mess Fudge had made.

And Fudge had made a mess.

Even knowing that Harry couldn't have stopped the dementor from taking Barty Crouch Jr.'s soul, there was still something inside of Harry that screamed at the thought of a dementor taking the man's soul. Crouch had been lost, but he hadn't been lost enough to be declared unredeemable. He shouldn't have been given the Kiss.

For a moment, Harry stayed in bed and looked at the oddly clean and lifeless hospital wing around him. There was a veil hanging at the other side of his bed, making it impossible to see the entrance of the hospital wing. The veil, just like anything else, was white, but unlike everything else, it looked to be made of mist and shadows. Then, the echo of caws and growls and hisses drew Harry's gaze towards the window.

Harry stood up. His foot touched the floor and suddenly shadows spread from the connection between his foot and the floor. They crept along the floor, a pattern of black intercepted by white, like ice on a window. Grey mist rose from the pattern, like ice turning to mist when the sun heated and melted it.

The fog spread from the pattern and clung to the corners of the room, deepening the shadows and enhancing the eeriness of the place.

Harry was sure that once upon a time, he would have felt afraid.

Like it was, he put his second foot on the floor and watched the shadows spread from this connection as well.

He stood up and the bed behind him vanished, swallowed by the shadows. With sure steps, Harry strode towards the window. Outside, there was a twisting mass of shadows convulsing and spreading, extending and contracting.

Loud growls, hisses and caws could be heard coming out of the formless shadows.

"I hear you," Harry said, his mouth moving on its own. "I hear you. I listen. You're mine."

The windows banged open. Black shadows convulsed and then oozed into the room.

The misty veil behind Harry fluttered and whispering voices filled the air around him, reminding him of another veil, hidden in the depths of the Department of Mysteries. Then, above the noise of the veil and outside, an even louder caw could be heard.

The next moment, a shadowy, fluid figure swooped through the window, detangling from the oozing shadows, its fog-like wings spreading when it slowed its descent.

Harry raised his right arm, just like he usually had done… no, did for Hedwig. The ghost or spectre, made of the deepest shadows and darkness, closed its claws around Harry's arm.

The moment the claws touched Harry's arm, his skin felt like it burned up from the contact, spreading pain from a non-existent burn.

Harry gasped.

His breathing stopped, his heart sped up and something seemed to spread deep inside him, settling in to stay. There was the feeling of something stuck in the back of his throat, a pounding in his head and a shiver down his spine.

Harry trembled and what felt like for the first time of his life, his mind cleared.

Suddenly, everything seemed to be that much sharper, that much more real, as if something that had always been part of Harry finally settled into place.

Harry opened his mouth and power burned his throat when he spoke what felt like the first words in his entire life.

"Hello, my grim," he whispered, and raised his hand to stroke through shadowy feathers. Gold sparks filled the air, whenever Harry's fingers carded through the crow's gleaming feathers. The crow preened, and fluttered its wings. Harry's eyes burned. Even without a mirror, Harry knew that they were currently glowing.

Around his shoulders, the Invisibility Cloak settled, on his left hand, stroking the bird, the Resurrection Stone made itself at home on his finger and in the sleeve of his right hand, the Elder Wand suddenly added to the weight of his arm.

The power of Potter's Field settled on his shoulders like a second cloak, feeling heavy like a burden and light like a feather at the same time. Tendrils of something foreign seemed to connect with his mind, spreading throughout it and opening pathways that had always been there but never accessible by Harry.

It felt like fog, lifting from his mind and giving way to things Harry had always known, giving way to paths, Harry knew he could take, and to paths Harry hadn't been able to see before.

In his mind, there was the future, spread out in front of him, just as clear as the world when he looked at it through his glasses.

The crow shifted on his arm, turning into a raven, its eyes still red and full of intelligence. There was fire in its eyes, telling Harry that he had the power to do everything he wanted. Telling him, that he was free. "My grim."

"I see you're going to be contrary, young Supplanter," a voice spoke up from behind him.

Harry turned and looked into a pair of green glowing eyes, nearly hidden beneath long, unruly black hair. He wasn't surprised at the voice suddenly speaking up. Something deep inside him and recently awakened had all but waited for the greeting.

"Old Defender," Harry returned the greeting, his voice echoing in the empty, white room full of ancient shadows. It wasn't a name, but at the same time, it was just as much a name as 'Supplanter' was. The word had risen from the depth of Harry's brain, pulled out of the part that had just woken for the first time.

The Old Defender's lips twitched in grim amusement. Next to him, a dog-like being coalesced out of the oozing shadows and darkness. It was a mirror to the grim sitting on Harry's arm, yet different for the shape it took – canine instead of avian.

"It seems you're already awaking," the Old Defender said, his voice echoing just as much as Harry's did. There was power in his voice and Harry could taste it in the air. "Your path will be a steep one, my successor."

Harry crooked his head, his eyes narrowing at the Old Defender in front of him.

"You're old, my predecessor," he countered, his eyes fixating on the dog-like being next to the stranger. The other man was carding his hand through the dog's fur, sparking golden lights whenever his fingers left the fur to start petting again. "And Potter's Field has been absent too long from the living world. They have forgotten us. I will remind them."

Because Potter's Field was essential to the world – even if the living world seemed to have forgotten that fact.

The Old Defender snorted, hilarity on his face.

"I am old," he agreed, scrutinizing Harry just as Harry was watching him. "And you're right, they have forgotten us, but they have done well without us."

"I disagree," Harry countered. "We should have stepped in more. We should have never let them push us into a corner. We have a treaty – and if they don't keep to it, then Potter's Field will make them."

Harrywould make them – or he would ensure that there were consequences.

The Old Defender's lips twitched. "Ah, yes," he said. "You have fire, my descendant."

"I do," Harry agreed, not offended, that the other one had not even thought to offer his name. It wasn't done. Harry, for all that he loved the name his parents had given him, wasn't 'Harry James Potter' any longer – at least not as long as he was beyond the veil and in the presence of his predecessor. Here, they were the Supplanter and the Defender. Here, the custom of Potter's Field dictated the absence of any name but the one given them to rule. Harry crooked his head at the Old Defender. "I'm surprised you stepped beyond the veil to reach me here, in the realm between sleeping and waking, Old Defender."

Because for all that it was part of Potter's Field, the realm Harry currently resided in was more part of the living world than the dead. Here, those that fell asleep crossed by to reach their dreams. It was Potter's Field's to rule, but not fully part of the realm of the dead.

"I'm dead," the Old Defender said amused. "But you are my successor and still… for a lack of a better word… alive. I thought it a fitting compromise, to meet here, in a realm so close to death and yet alive."

Then his glowing green eyes met Harry's. "You're young, still, young Supplanter. There are things that you will instinctively know, soon, but there are also things that you need help with – and I am the best way to give you the information your instincts won't tell you but that you will need to know for your position."

Harry hummed thoughtfully. "You know," he finally said. "That's a first. Up until now, I've always had to fight for every bit of information I managed to obtain."

The Old Defender narrowed his eyes at that.

"You're the Potterer," he said. "Soon, you will be Henricus, the ruler beyond the veil. You need to know what I know to be an effective ruler; therefore, you need to learn what I have to offer. Keeping knowledge from you is counterproductive."

The Old Defender shook his head. "Your headmaster has a lot to answer for."

"Not only him," Harry countered. There was a coldness spreading through his chest, like a cold fire, burning him from inside out. Harry was more than aware that only months earlier – months earlier and years in the future – he would have objected to Old Defender Henricus' assessment of Dumbledore's character, but now, something inside him was recoiling from just the thought of defending the man.

Old Defender Henricus hummed thoughtfully. "The Ministry and the younger Riddle," he concluded, his hand patting the dog's head. Harry reached up and stroked the raven's feathers.

"Hmm," there was something of an agreement in Harry's voice when he didn't object to the Old Defenders assessment. "They will all get their due."

"Potter's Field rules the dead," the Old Defender reminded Harry. "We won't break the treaty to gain influence with the living."

"I don't need to break the treaty," Harry said and flashed the Old Defender a grin that was more teeth than mirth. "From my perspective, they have already broken it. I just have to wait and watch them realize it."

"We've always shown lenience when it came to certain parts of our treaty," the Old Defender reminded Harry calmly.

Harry inclined his head. "Yes," he agreed, "but that was before they dared to draw me into their war. It's not really my fault that they've collectively decided to look at a Potter to end their squabble. For one, I'm a martyr, to be sacrificed for the Greater Good, to another, I'm a convenient scapegoat to be blamed and hailed as the hero whenever its necessary, and for the last, I'm their nemesis. No, they all want me in this war. And you're not about to blame me for taking Potter's Field with me into the fight, are you? I'm its Lord after all. Where I go, Potter's Field will follow."

This time, Old Defender Henricus roared with laughter.

"Young Supplanter," he finally said, after he could speak again. He was still chucking, and the mirth was twinkling in his eyes. "You're going to turn the wizarding world inside out, aren't you?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. His hand stroking the raven's feathers. Gold sparks fell into the shadows all around him, falling from where his fingers touched the raven's feathers.

"You call me a supplanter, Old Defender," he said. "And yet, you expect me to step back when I've been wronged?"

Old Defender Henricus snorted.

"No," he agreed. "I don't. I'm looking forward to your rule, my descendant. It will be amusing to watch!"

Harry hmm'd.

"There are certainly some rules they won't like the moment the living become aware of them," he said, his green eyes glowing with red light burning in the depth of his pupils. "I will be certain to make use of them, soon."

"Most of those rules only apply after a breach of the treaty," Old Defender Henricus cautioned Harry.

Harry just shrugged unbothered. "The only thing I need is an admittance from Fudge that he wanted Crouch Jr. dead." His eyes gleamed viciously. "And even if I don't get it, the fact that they're going to draw me into their squabbles by slandering me and attacking me – directly and indirectly – will give me enough leeway to get involved – especially since I see no reason to be lenient with the more flexible rules anymore."

For a moment, the Old Defender just looked at Harry, then his eyes widened and he started to laugh again.

"Oh, my descendant," Henricus managed to choke out between bouts of amusement. "I'm really looking forward to your ascension. The living will hate you! But the dead? Oh, I'm sure we all will look forward to your rule!"

He shook his head and then, with another chuckle, motioned for the dog-like grim next to him.

"Call his name, my successor," he prompted Harry, his eyes gleaming in amusement. "He's been mine, now he will be yours. Yours to call, yours to order, yours to command."

The grim growled, baring its teeth.

Harry crooked his head. "You're giving me a protector?" he asked thoughtfully.

"You already got a protector from me," Old Defender Henricus corrected Harry his amusement fading for grimness for a second. "He might have neglected his duty, but nevertheless, he's been yours since the Hunter's Moon of your first year of life weaned."

Harry's face shuttered when he connected the dots.

"He hasn't shown himself quite loyal in the past, has he?" he said, emotionlessly. "He seemed to be far more interested in following an old fool's demands than protecting me."

"I didn't give you the man," Old Henricus corrected Harry gently. "I gave you the grim. I had no way of knowing that the man would as easily led as he seems to be." He sighed and shook his head. "No, your protector failed and there's nothing to be done about it now. You're too grown, too bound to your duty to still be protected. You don't need a protector any longer. What you need, is someone dutybound to you. Someone who will stand by your side. So, I give you my left hand to be your right hand – the one who stood true by my side since the day I took up my reign."

He gestured at the grim next to him. The dog snarled, its tail a straight line and its whole body leaning forward, about to pounce.

Harry reached for his raven, stroking the feathers, his eyes fixating on the grim. Gold light sparked beneath his fingertips.

And the Old Defender's grim pounced.

His body collided with Harry, dissolving into golden sparkles and Harry opened his eyes.

The room around him was pitch-black, the moon barely lighting up a small patch by the window. Harry gasped. His lungs felt like they were on fire and white lightning bolts were flashing in front of his eyes.

He felt like his mind had been blown wide, like he could perceive more than he had ever before. Suddenly, the room seemed to be white, empty and lifeless and colourful and full of life at the same time.

In front of Harry, he could see the future unfold, behind him, he could see the past, influencing the future, telling him that if he wanted to, he could just take one step back and change what had happened.

Harry's hands shook. Thousands of scenarios ran through his head.

There were vague images of things that happened in his future, things that happened in his past and of things that could be his future if he just reached out and made it his own.

Harry's eyes settled on his hunter who was sitting next to his bed on a chair.

"Marshal," Harry addressed the man.

Graves looked up, his eyes gleaming red. "I'm listening, my Lord."

Harry crooked his head and then reached out towards his marshal. The man reached back and their hands connected. Sparks flew, bathing their faces in golden light.

"I need you to take care something for me, my Marshal," Harry told the other man.

"I'm listening," Graves repeated.

"I want some trinkets."

Grave froze. His eyes narrowed. "Trinkets like cups?"

"You said it yourself, you're my dark wizard hunter, my marshal," Harry replied. "If I need someone to intimidate some beings, it's you, I should send; and if I need someone to retrieve me some things, it's also you I should send, isn't it?"

"Do you need someone to intimidate someone?" Graves asked amused.

"I might," Harry agreed, his eyes locking with Graves before he reached out with his other hand, touching Graves' cheek, leaning even closer until his forehead touched the other man's forehead. Graves shuddered and then stilled under Harry's touch. The impeccable appearance of the man melted under Harry's fingers, revealing Graves destroyed appearance beneath the mask of an impeccable appearance. Red light started to spread out from Harry's touch and Graves' body seemed to dissolve into shadows on the edges.

A wispy connection, Harry had been barely aware off, suddenly flared to life between them.

"You're mine," Harry whispered, letting go of the other man's hand to stroke Graves' raven black hair, which was a soft as feathers. "You are a part of me."

It was a truth that Harry hadn't known until a moment ago. Now, though, it felt as if Graves was an extension of Harry's mind. He could feel the breath of the man on his cheek and he could feel his own breath on Graves' cheek as well. He could see Graves and he could see himself through Graves' eyes.

And beyond that, he could feel the will to burn the wizarding world to ashes for justice – a fire buried inside a soul that wasn't Harry's but that belonged to him nevertheless.

"Potter," Graves whispered. "Please."

The fire surged and Harry knew if he agreed to the silent question, his godfather might end up suffering. There was a need for justice there that Harry couldn't bring himself to feel – a fury that Harry had never been able to express, burning in a soul that was sworn to Harry and a part of him like nothing else had ever been before.

For a moment, Harry hesitated.

"He's my godfather," he finally whispered.

"You asked him to stay, and yet, he left," Graves countered, as if that fact would circumvent Sirius Black's status as his godfather.

Harry still hesitated. His heart was still hurting from the loss of something that could have been special and family in a way his aunt and uncle never were, but it had been two years since he lost that potential and he had watched Sirius walking out for a second time today, after he explicitly had asked him to stay. Harry wasn't sure if he could chase someone who clearly wasn't all that bound to Harry.

"He's still my godfather," Harry pointed out.

"You are my life," Graves countered, meaning it in the literal sense of the word. Without Harry, Graves would be dead, without Harry, Graves would be lost. "I belong to you and he left you while you wanted him to stay." Somehow, it was easier to accept that someone was looking out for him when that someone was a part of Harry himself.

"You said it yourself," Harry replied. "He left."

"And if he returned?"

Harry's eyes gleamed in supernatural light at that question while his grip on Graves face tightened. "Then he'll have returned," he answered.

Graves hmm'ed. "May I talk to him?"

And Harry knew that he should refuse. Sirius was Harry's godfather, his responsibility. But… Graves, Cedric and Tom were Harry's. They were a part of him. They belonged to him, loyal until he'd release them from their vows and most likely longer.

"I'm your marshal, your hunter when you need it," Graves urged. "You want me to hunt, I can see it in your eyes. Command me where you want me to start and I will do so the moment I had a word with the man who should have protected you instead of leaving you for a hunt of his own when you were a babe in arms."

"You're a part of me," Harry agreed while wondering how soon he could manage to connect with the rest of his court. He needed that close connection with them that he was now feeling with Graves. "You belong to my Court, your decisions are mine, your deeds are mine. If you want to confront him, then, through you, I will confront him."

"Then you will confront him through us," Graves agreed.

Harry hummed, stroking Graves hair that was more black feathers than hair. "You can have your word," Harry decided. "And I think, we can combine two issues into one."

"Two?"

"Grave robbing," Harry answered and both of them shuddered.

"Ah," Graves said. "Very well, grave robbing it is."

"Good," with that, Harry pulled back a bit, kissed Graves' forehead and then let go. For a moment, Graves continued to glow red, his body shadowy and not quite solid, then the red glow left and he solidified into is impeccable self again.

The moment, he was solid, the connection between them lessened a bit. The next moment, there was a pressure, a tucking in Harry's chest, urging him to stand up and leave.

"Ah," he heard Percival Graves say. The man's voice was rough and his eyes were still glowing red. "He's on his way, isn't he?" He sounded amused instead of concerned.

Harry forced himself to look at his dark wizard hunter. "Who?" he inquired, for a second not following his marshal's thought process.

"Your steward, the former marshal of Henricus, the one who will fight your battles for you if you ask him," Graves sounded satisfied. "You will need him – and I, as your marshal, will hunt with him."

Harry squinted at Graves, suspicious of the note in his voice, then he snorted amused, forcefully ignoring the urge to stand up and leave the room.

"You know who it is, don't you?" he asked. And while Harry didn't know the same, something deep inside him knew more than he had before. There was something inside him that told him, he'd need his steward soon. The cogs in his head were turning, ideas were developing and some of them disregarded. His eyes fixed on Graves. "Who is he?"

"He's been my best friend ever since he helped me to piece myself back together after I died," Graves agreed. "I expected him to be called as your steward by Henricus."

Harry crooked his head thoughtfully at that, his eyes flicking towards the door and back to Graves, the urge to leave burning in his gut. "Why?"

"Knowledge," Graves answered. "Most of your Court will return beyond the veil with you the moment you leave the living world – no matter when you decide to leave, be it in a decade or in a millennia – but I as your marshal will keep returning here whenever a new threat rises."

"You assess them and their doings and watch the treaty," Harry concluded. "And when my time is over and my successor will take over my duty, it will be your duty as their steward to help them on their way."

Then, Harry crooked his head. "My steward… he was reborn when Voldemort started to rise, wasn't he?"

"That rebirth is gone," Graves answered and balled his hands into fists. "Unburied after drowning, his former body a living nightmare now, and without any way of returning to the living by the rules of Potter's Field."

Harry grimaced, the urge to leave surging up and deepening with Graves' answer. "We're going to bury his former body."

"It doesn't matter," Graves replied calmly. "Since he's been the marshal of Henricus, he won't return as his last reincarnation, anyway. He will be returning in his first – as the one he was a thousand years ago when he was alive for the first time."

That didn't make it much better, in Harry's opinion, but he understood Graves' reasoning.

"We're still finding his body and bury it," Harry replied, his eyes flickering towards the door again. "If he's back in the living world anyway, then I guess he can decide the way his former body should be laid to rest."

Because it didn't matter the way a person was laid to rest, as long as they were. Cremation, burial in the ground or at sea, it didn't matter. Religion didn't matter, the only thing that did was that the dead were laid to rest and not just being thrown in a shallow grave and forgotten. Those, that lay unburied by ritual were the ones that Harry wanted buried.

Graves looked amused. "He'll care less about himself than the others that might have had a similar fate."

"Well, I care about it," Harry said. "So, he will have to get used to caring as well."

Graves lips twitched. "I will tell him that when he's finally here," he agreed and then watched when Harry finally succumbed to the urge and stood up, his eyes fixed on the door. "Do you wish me to come with you, Potter?"

For a moment, Harry stared at Graves, unable to phase through Graves' words, the urge begging him onwards, then, he finally shook his head. "I should go alone," he finally said and reached for his neck. Without a second thought on if he was wearing it or not, he flicked up the hood of his invisibility cloak. He vanished from sight.

Graves hummed and then nodded towards the door. "Go, Potter, he will be waiting – and I assure you, he will be someone who knows how to fight just as well as I do."

Harry's mouth twitched in amusement.

"Mystery-monger," he said amused and shook his head. With that, he turned away from the still sitting Graves and the sleeping Cedric and left the room to ambled down the corridors of Hogwarts and out on the grounds, towards the Forbidden Forest.

For a moment, Harry hesitated at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, looking at the darkness beneath the trees.

"A bit like when I went to sacrifice myself," Harry mumbled to himself. "Though this time around, there's no snitch and no ghosts surrounding me."

Not yet, at least, for the later one. Harry was more than aware that he could easily surround himself with ghosts now.

Stepping beneath the trees felt like stepping into the past. The forest was dark and had something hounded to it. Fog started to rise from the ground with every step deeper Harry took into the darkness of the forest.

The urge inside his chest strengthened, pulling him deeper and deeper onto a path Harry had walked before. It was the same path he had walked when he went to sacrifice himself the last time he had set food into the Forbidden Forest.

High above him, circling over the crowns of the trees, Harry could hear a murder of crows and ravens cawing, their call announcing Harry's return to the living word and their new status as the grim.

Soon, within a generation or two, wizards would forget that the grim had ever been a black dog and would only remember Harry's crow instead.

For a moment, Harry wondered what would change now that he was here, back alive when he should have been dead – and in the future.

"What's definitely not happening is me going back to the Dursleys," Harry said to himself. "Well, at least not with the possible exception of a single day."

Harry, after all, had better things to do than wallowing at the Dursleys.

"I'm going to need a place to stay," Harry muttered while stepping around a large tree trunk that could have swallowed Hagrid whole with having space over. Then he shrugged. "Oh, well, if everything's falling apart, I'm going back to Hogwarts. The castle is big enough that nobody would look for me here – especially not in the Room of Requirement."

With that thought, Harry stepped out of the trees and into the clearing he had died in in the future. His gaze swept over the clearing, taking in the broken and overturned stones that were scattered all over the grass. Harry's eyes sharpened – a green glow starting to light them up from deep inside – and he fixated on the lines that veined the broken stones. Sometimes, the lines still formed letters, sometimes, they were unreadable thanks to the elements that had worked on the stones for centuries.

The last time Harry had been in the clearing, Death Eaters had been carelessly sitting or standing on the stones scattered on the grass. This time around, the clearing was empty except of an old, crooked, greyish tree standing slightly right towards the middle of the clearing. The tree, unlike the rest of the trees of the forest, was a small and crippled thing, void of leaves. Its crooked, adnate branches extended towards the sky like broken limbs.

Partly covered by its roots was another, withered tombstone. The writing on it was barely readable, more lines and squiggles than letters.

And on the broken, askew, and withered tombstone, partly buried by the old tree, a raven was sitting. Harry stepped towards the raven, circling the broken stones and running his hand along the broken lines on them. With his touch, the lines solidified, the broken stones rebuilding into the gravestones they once were, their cracks healing, their fallen parts returning to their old places. Harry's eerily green glowing eyes– more than ever before looking like the killing curse – stayed glued to the raven.

When Harry's hand touched the branches of the old, withered tree, the tree shuddered beneath his hands before it suddenly sprouted new life. Green leaves unfurled within seconds and when Harry passed it, red flowers, looking like blood, bloomed all over its crooked branches.

Then, Harry finally reached the raven, perched on a broken gravestone, worse of than even the worst Harry had passed before. The gravestone had been cracked into two, split down right in the middle and was half buried in the earth while several parts of it was strewn on the ground all around it.

The raven's red glowing eyes locked with Harry's green glowing ones.

"Henricus Iacobus," the raven cawed, its red eyes swirling with magic.

Harry stepped closer and knelt down in front of the raven. Something inside him tugged him closer. He bowed down, closer, and closer to the raven.

"You're mine," he whispered. "You belong to me."

He reached for the raven. "You're my steward," he crooned. "You've been mine since I ended up the Old Defender's successor when I died here for the first time." His hand touched the raven's black feathers and golden sparks lit the air.

The raven inclined its head, its feathers warm under Harry's fingers.

"Henricus Iacobus," the raven cawed again. "Supplanter."

Harry stroked the raven's feathers, feeling them change into glaucous scales beneath his fingers. Under his fingers, a red glowing raven turned serpent twisted before it started to wind itself around Harry's wrist and up his arm.

Harry lifted his other hand and petted the serpent's head. It was a fully grown greyish adder, its dark zig-zag pattern gleaming slightly reddish and supernatural in the darkness. Its red eyes glowing as eerily as they had done in its raven-form.

"Supplanter," the snake hissed and curled around Harry's shoulder and neck, lifting its head to whisper into Harry's ear. "Call me, Supplanter, and I will follow. Call me and I will promise to be your loyal servant until a time you won't find use for me anymore or I request to return to my rest."

The snake twisted around and its red glowing eyes met Harry's green glowing ones.

"Call me, Supplanter, and I will answer."

As if its words had aroused old magic, a glow started to spread over the tombstone in front of Harry. Harry's gaze flickered to the tombstone the serpent had sat on as a raven. The withered squiggles and lines on the stone that had once been letters – runes – reconnected in glowing lines, the stone itself healing as if it had never been broken. The runes which should have been unreadable for Harry – not only because of their withered state but also because of Harry's lack of knowledge of runes – sparked something inside of Harry's brain and suddenly a name flitted through Harry's head and his eyes widened.

He looked at the serpent. Green eyes meeting red glowing ones with certainty and disbelief.

The serpent crooked its head and flicked its tongue.

Something settled in Harry, giving him a sudden feeling of connection and safety.

"I call you, my Steward," Harry hissed, a cawing sound echoing in his voice, ensuring that his parseltongue sounded more foreign than ever. "I call you, Salazar Slytherin."

And with that, the serpent on Harry's shoulders dissolved into a tornado of fog and shadows before settling back into a man who had been dead for a thousand years, and yet, also dead for less than sixteen.

… … …

But you will remember me

Remember me for centuries

… … …

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Well, I guess I was surprisingly fast this time around. O.o But then, I had a calmer time in RL, so I guess you can put it down to that.

Hope you liked it.

'Till next time.

Ebenbild