Whispers of a Raven by TheBlack'sResurgence

Chapter 26

The fire he was seated in front of offered no warmth. There was no comfort to be had in wait, no assurances offered by the flames. They could do nothing to assuage his warring thoughts and could not soothe his anger. His foe was deadly and had proven that beyond doubt.

How Peverell had accessed Hogwarts, the Dark Lord knew not, but he had. Against all odds, he had not only entered the castle, but had taken it from him and then had the gall to mock him for the coup.

Lord Voldemort was under no illusion that what the elusive man had done had been purposeful, planned down to the finest detail, and the damned raven had been there to mock him too.

Thinking of the creature boiled his blood.

He did not know where this Peverell had come from, why he had targeted his followers and what his goal was, but he would not achieve it.

The Dark Lord would personally see to that.

He would make an example of the man, reiterate to those that were looking with hope towards the coward that it was he who was the superior wizard, that even one such as their new hero could not put an end to him.

There were none that could.

Still, the knowledge that he could not be killed brought little relief to the Dark Lord. There was something about this Peverell that did not sit right with him, something foreboding.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Greyback, Bellatrix and Lucius, the former of the three looking rather pleased with himself. The werewolf was positively salivating.

It could be that the full moon was near, and he was in anticipation of feeding, or he'd had a breakthrough that would please his master.

One could never be certain with Fenrir.

"My Lord," Lucius greeted him first. "I have continued with my efforts to discover all I can about the Peverells, and although it is not much, I believe it is important."

With a frown, the Dark Lord accepted the offered piece of yellowed parchment that had seemingly been torn from an old tome and began reading.

The Peverells

'Flee from those with eyes of white.'

This was written in a diary of one of my forefathers who was not a man of weakened spine nor heart. His feats of magic are celebrated, his accolades of war and battle still within our vault and his weapons still coated in the blood of his enemies.

Little is known of the Peverells, a family of intrigue when they yet roamed these lands and even more so that they no longer do, but what of them?

It is said they have the power to call upon the dead to aide them, that they wield magic that us mortals cannot hope to understand. They are reavers of souls, harvesting them for the master that seeks them.

Death is this master, the shadowy figure that looms over us all. It is said the Peverells were blessed by him, that they serve only him. They convene with him.

'DEATH!' is the call of their companions and it is said that should it be uttered in your direction, that the end is nigh. Your soul will become theirs.