CHAPTER 115: THE DEATHLY HALLOWS, PT 2



Within moments, mists started gathering like before. Harry heard a sharp intake of breath from the former Headmaster as they swirled into the figure of a handsome man with dark hair and darker eyes. The man didn't look anything like Professor Quirrell had, but nevertheless, there was something familiar about him.

The specter looked around, at himself and the room, glancing dismissively at Dumbledore before settling his eyes on Harry.

Harry swallowed. "Hello Professor."

The man stared silently for a long time before speaking.

"I see the dynamic of our respective situations has been altered somewhat. How much time has passed?"

"Three weeks," Harry answered.

"Hmmm. And have you managed to destroy civilization yet?" There was no anger in the question, merely resignation.

"No," he replied. "Actually, we're doing quite well. The Muggle and magical governments have merged, the violence has stopped, people in the space program are looking at phoenixes with considerable interest, and several collaborative research projects have already been proposed – but only in approved fields, like medical and nuclear science, and with all possible precautions."

The specter rolled his eyes. "Precautions. What do you know of caution?"

"Not enough," Harry admitted. "But there are other people who do, and they refined my initial ideas quite a bit. I never planned to work alone, Professor."

"Like Dumbledore?" He hissed . "You follow him now?"

"It would be closer to say that he follows me," Harry answered with a shrug and a glance at Professor Dumbledore to see how he took this answer. The former Headmaster did not respond; he stood silently in the corner, staring at the specter with a look of what could only be hatred on his face, an expression that seemed almost alien on him. "Or simply that I take his advice into account along with many other people's."

"You may wish to choose your advisors more carefully." Tom Riddle turned his head to the former Headmaster and shot him a look of pure venom. "Tell me, Albus. It was you, wasn't it, who told lesser wizards of the Death-ritual? I can even understand the boy's idiocy, but for all your faults I would never have believed it of you."

"You are hardly one to reproach me, Tom," Dumbledore spoke, his voice hard.

"Oh, I do not blame you – you were saving your own life, after all. I might have done the same, in your place. But then, I never pretended to be noble."

Harry thought he saw a slight crack in Dumbledore's demeanor as Riddle smirked. Riddle's eyes turned back to Harry. "But congratulations. You won, for however brief your victory may last."

"If you are trying to steer me to your point of view," Harry said coolly, "it won't work. I will never agree that being cautious requires the kinds of sacrifices you tend to make."

"That is only because you have not the slightest sense of what it means to be cautious. Had you possessed even a shred of self-preservation, you would have not have dared to summon the soul of a known enemy so quickly, particularly one who has partaken in soul magics far beyond your understanding."

Harry swallowed. "The stone only summons a ghost-like specter, I knew it wouldn't give you any power but speech.""You knew?" The specter raised an eyebrow. "Did you determine that beyond all reasonable doubt? Did you take preparations for the eventuality that you were wrong?" He stared in Harry's eyes, unblinkingly. Harry tried to school his expression, not looking away even as he felt a hot ball of embarrassment start in his stomach.

Riddle smirked. "You did not, nor did you send another, more replaceable person in your stead. You might have summoned a spirit, given me power and allowed me to possess you – or the old man for that matter. If I had retained my magic, and the stone works as I surmise, this is exactly what would have happened." He grimaced. "You are fortunate, however. It seems that while the Dementor did not manage to destroy my soul, it has taken my magic and thus rendered me incapable of independent action."

"Cadmus Peverell said it was safe," Harry defended himself, ignoring the voice of self criticism that was whispering in his ear that he hadn't asked what the likely consequence would be if the soul in question had active horcruxes, an omission that seemed rather dangerous in hindsight. Would Peverell even know that? The situation between him and Riddle seemed reasonably unique, especially since it involved destroying a Dementor. In fact... Harry had been foolish enough to bring a horcrux in Riddle's presence. Tom Riddle hadn't said it, but that might be because he didn't know whether Dumbledore knew what he had done to Harry.

Note to self: think before acting. Thank you for that lesson, Professor Quirrell.



Riddle inclined his head. "If you managed to persuade the stone's creator to speak with you, I suppose it is possible that your questioning was adequate. Did Cadmus Peverell have other things to say?"

"Yes," Harry said curtly. "He did." He wasn't quite sure whether he should give a known enemy more information than that. "But why don't you know that already? You had the stone before me. Didn't you want to take the risk?"

"Some risks must be taken in the pursuit of greater power," the specter shrugged. "However, he was not very forthcoming towards me or those I asked to try. I could not begin to unravel the enchantments and runes on the stone without harming them, so it is entirely possible that information about the person summoning Peverell is passed onto him. That, or he is just very careful. Others did speak to me, but I could only summon those I had personally known, which rather limited its usability."

"I see." Or it is because I'm part of the family and have the cloak to prove it. Or in fact... maybe Cadmus trusted me because I was asking for completely different things than what you would have tried. That, or you're lying and trying to lure me into a false sense of security by pretending that I know things that you don't.



It didn't really matter. He studied his old mentor, taking in the somehow-not-quite-unfamiliar face.

Riddle broke the silence first. "You summoned me here. Why? After as little as three weeks, I assume that you are not yet ready to resurrect me. You wish to boast of your victory, perhaps? To tell me that you were right and I was wrong?"

Harry looked up, meeting his eyes. "Mostly, to see whether you were there. I never thought of you as my enemy, Professor."

Riddle gave him a long look.

"I suppose such words have less meaning between the likes of us. What do you want, Potter?"

"Answers."

"Naturally." The handsome face twisted into a small smirk. "And why should I give them?"

"Ultimately, I believe that we want the same thing." The man inclined his head to show he was listening. "Immortality, safety, and for people to stop acting so bloody stupid all the time. I fully intend to resurrect everyone who's died before, as you predicted when you wrote that letter, and I'm also planning to bring you back. I will need some reassurances that you aren't going to kill a bunch of people again, though."

"I wrote that letter before I witnessed your final stupidity," Riddle pointed out, voice bitter. "You held the world in your hands, and you elected to pass it over to fools."

"Actually, the final treaty has turned out perfectly fine," Harry said icily. "And as for giving the world away, I like to think that I still have some control. Not formally, perhaps, but the part of your plan where I draw a lot of positive attention actually worked out pretty well, even if it's more from the side of the Muggles. The magical side don't hate me anymore, though, and since I'm the public face of our world to Muggles, I could still potentially end up ruling the world. Not that I'm planning to actually do that."

"You had better be prepared for it," Riddle spoke calmly, "and soon. You have brought the world into a very volatile position. Now things look well, now people want peace, but give it a year or two and you will see how it all falls apart when the politicians are allowed to run with the situation." There was not a hint of doubt in the specter's words. "Will you be there, when the next threat to the planet comes? For unless you hurry up with your resurrections, I will not be there to protect it any longer."

Harry swallowed. "What have you been doing so far to save the earth?"

"Would you like a list?"

"Yes, actually, that would be rather useful."

"And what will you do with it?"

"Learn from what you did and continue the protection," Harry said patiently. "I like the world. I would really prefer not to see it destroyed. And that's in your interest too, because eventually you'll want to be brought back to it. Was that not why you gave me the stone? Because some hope for a real existence is better than none?"

The specter made a vaguely agreeing movement with his head. "And what kinds of measures would you be willing to consider taking?"

Harry hesitated.

"Not such extreme ones as you seem to favor," he said eventually. "I don't like killing people or other questionable techniques like memory-charms. Also, I like Muggle science, and I'm not willing to hold it back, although the proper study of magic will probably have to wait for a generation until there are enough sensible scientists in both worlds to do careful research."

"Yet with such an attitude," the man spoke softly, "you will see everything destroyed."

"Perhaps," Harry shrugged. Riddle had died believing Harry to be a hopeless case, he realized. And as Cadmus had said, he would be unable to change his mind, no matter what Harry said. Nevertheless, he'd had the stone for months before passing it on to Harry. He must have prepared, considered what he would do in all conceivable situations. And that meant that it had to be possible to bargain with him. "But you really can't stop me, as these are some of my core values. You're better off hoping that it works out, and giving me more information to work from will only improve your chances. So, are you willing to help, or not?"

The specter gave him a considering look, and Harry wondered whether he had asked a "non-obvious question" that would leave the disembodied soul incapable of choice.

"I will," the man said, eventually. "Indeed, I shall offer you more than what you ask for. If you wish it, I will serve you with advice on your endeavors. I may well be able to catch some of your idiocies before they go too far." He grimaced. "I cannot say it will be pleasant, as I care very little for this state, having neither body nor magic and what is infinitely worse, an impaired mind, but I suspect my help may be invaluable."

In the corner, Dumbledore made a choked sound, which caused a brief expression of amusement on Riddle's face.

Harry frowned. He was undoubtedly getting manipulated, but he and Riddle were on the same side, unless he was completely mistaken about what the man wanted. The specter would have a major cognitive deficit in not being able to ever update his beliefs, but if Harry took that into account, it could be overcome. Harry was also still not a hundred percent convinced that the specter was actually a real soul rather than the product of his imagination, but in the latter case, it would come out soon enough.

"Thank you." He glanced at Dumbledore again, who looked white in the face but didn't seem to want to reprimand Harry in front of Riddle. There were many more questions to ask, but they could wait; his old mentor was likely to be more honest when Dumbledore wasn't listening in (although it might be a good idea to ask the old wizard for protections he really should have before being alone with the "ghost" of Voldemort).

"In order to test that you're real, could you tell me –" he thought for a moment, "did you teach Bellatrix any of Slytherin's lore? And if so, could you persuade her to teach me?"

"Just to test whether I'm real?" His mouth curled into an amused smile. "I taught her some things, but nothing that your good friend and loyal follower Albus wouldn't also know. The ritual to summon Fiendfyre for example, although I would strongly urge you not to attempt this until you have practiced your force of will in trials less likely to kill you if you fail. Should you wish to learn from her regardless, she will obey you as she would me if you tell her that the basilisk lies forgotten by Salazar's feet."

"Thank you." This could be tested easily, and was valuable for far more reasons. Aside from power over Bellatrix Black (something which he'd better not abuse too badly), Riddle had just – probably on purpose – given Dumbledore a reason not to withhold magical knowledge from Harry.

He quickly rifled through his mind, but there were no other urgent questions; most could be postponed until later, when Dumbledore wasn't around, and when he'd had the time to sort through a list of priorities. Which left the question he'd summoned Riddle for in the first place. Mostly it had been answered by Riddle actually being summonable, but there were some details open.

"I have many questions left," he said. "But for now... I wanted to ask you about your death. Do you remember it? And maybe what came after?"

Riddle stiffened, and his expression darkened. "I do." The tone could have cut steel.

"Could you... tell me about it?"

"It was unpleasant," Tom Riddle said icily. "I believe you have some moderately similar experience, although I assure you that the sensation of being sucked into the darkness, having your magic ripped apart and your world melting down into pure fear, anger and regret, and then persisting in that state with the ability to sense but not think for seconds or minutes or hours until your consciousness is finally snuffed out is likely to be several factors beyond what you sensed for merely being in the presence of a Dementor."

Harry swallowed. "I see. We destroyed the Dementor roughly a minute afterwards. You didn't sense that?"

"That might have been the ending of consciousness," Riddle replied. "As I recall, quite a few people have been taken by Dementors not too long before me; I would suggest that you ask some of them whether their torments lasted longer."

Harry took a deep breath, a choking feeling of horror starting to rise. "Okay. I guess I will. Thank you, and, um, I'll see you later." He turned the stone over in his hand, and Riddle disappeared.

"Harry!" The old wizard said urgently when they were alone again. "What are you doing? How can you make such promises?"

Harry stared at the stone, not really caring much about the old man's qualms at the moment. "Do you know any other Dementor-victims?"

The old wizard blinked. "Yes, I do, and I understand why it's important, but Harry. You just promised Lord Voldemort to seek his advice on all your future endeavors!"

Harry sighed. "He may be right, you know. I'm in over my head, and I might not see it coming if things are about to go wrong. Even just killing him might have put the world in danger. His input is bound to be valuable."

"He is manipulating you! You are not in over your head." He grabbed Harry's shoulders, gently but firmly. "The world was never yours to control, and thus it is no problem that you lack the power to do so. Do not make that mistake, Harry. You are not like him, and the more you allow him to guide you, the more you will start believing that you are."

Harry looked up into the deeply worried eyes, and felt a twinge of guilt. Perhaps he had allowed himself to get carried away by the former Defense Professor. But right now, his feelings were in turmoil for an entirely different reason, and he wasn't about to get distracted.

"I understand what you're saying, Professor," he said slowly. "If the only thing he can do is manipulate me, then that's exactly what he's going to do, so I should be wary, I get that. I promise you that I won't just call him again, I'll at least check with you or someone else first. Is that okay?" The old man didn't look convinced, so he added: "He can be useful, extremely so. For example, if what Riddle said was true, then I can get Bellatrix to listen to me now. Weren't you worried about her torturing your friend Moody?"

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "I suppose that you are right that some good may come of it, although I am not convinced that it outweighs the risks."

"Right. So, we'll talk about this, but right now I have something bigger on my mind. Do you, or do you not, personally know anyone else who has been subjected to the Dementor's Kiss?"

"Some," Dumbledore said cautiously. "But Harry, are you sure you wish to know this? If what you surmise is the truth, only grief can come from its confirmation."

"What is true is already so; owning up to it cannot make it worse."

Helena humphed at that. Harry jumped. He'd almost forgotten she was still there. "Yet what is in the past is in the past. Knowing about it cannot make it better."

Harry considered arguing with the ghost, but thought better of it. "We still need to test it. Riddle was a very bad sample, seeing as the Horcruxes might have kept his soul from being destroyed."

The former Headmaster sighed and took the stone from his hands. He stared at it for some moments.

"Do you believe now, then? That the stone functions as is claimed, and the appearance of souls is not some trick conjured from your mind?"

"I cannot yet be sure either way. But..." He shrugged helplessly. "I feel like it's genuine. I know that I'm probably affected by my own biases, not least the standard bias of taking things at face value, but I'm still inclined to believe it. And that might not even be so bad, as long as I keep reminding myself that there is a real chance that it isn't all true."

"And as you grow towards belief in what we see before us, I find myself having trouble to accept it," the man said gently. "Although I confess I have no justification, beside an old man's inability to change his mind and the wish that what he sees is a deception."

He took a deep breath. "But very well. Let us see this investigation to the end." He turned the stone three times in his hand. "Arya McFusty."

The thing that appeared before them didn't have a human shape. It didn't look like much of anything, just a large blob of mist.

"Hello?" Harry tried.

There was no response.

"Madam McFusty?" Professor Dumbledore tried.

There was no response.

Dumbledore turned the stone over in his hand, his face pale. "I suppose that answers some questions."

Dumbledore's next attempt was one of Voldemort's former followers who had been imprisoned during the last war, and then given to the Dementors when he tried to attack his guards. The misty shape looked more like a human now, but barely. It made some incoherent sounds which might have been English, but they couldn't speak to it.

Arya McFusty had died during Grindelwald's war, roughly fifty years ago. There was nothing left of her consciousness. There was something, but not much, left of Alfred Carrow's consciousness after twelve years. Apparently, the Dementors took their time to consume a soul completely. Dumbledore didn't personally know anyone who'd been Kissed closer to the Dementor's destruction, and they couldn't summon any of the victims of Dark Monday simply by name, but Harry couldn't shake the fear that the souls might have been aware during all that time, while the Dementor steadily consumed them until nothing remained. There would have to be more tests, but somehow Harry didn't feel that knowing the truth would necessarily be a good thing anymore. He was feeling rather sick at the moment.

If Dementors are death, how can they be so much worse than the real thing? How can they destroy a soul when death only stores it?

The answer came easily. They represent what death used to be, before the Atlanteans designed the soul as a backup-mechanism. Perhaps they even created Dementors as a new form of death which would be able to kill immortals who crossed some line. But if that is the case, they wouldn't have needed to make their victims suffer for a long time on top of that, would they? It doesn't fit the "death" picture to do so.. Or were they really that cruel?



A House Elf placed a glass of chocolate milk and a plate of cookies in front of him.

"Rest some, Harry," the Chief Warlock spoke gently. "I know this is a lot to take in, but it doesn't do to rush to conclusions, or to torture yourself over things which cannot be changed." Despite the words, the tone of the voice echoed the old man's grief and horror as much as Harry felt them.

Harry took a sip, but shook his head. "I want to finish talking with Cadmus. Are you up to it, Helena?"

The ghost, who was also looking subdued, nodded. "I will help."

This time it was Dumbledore who summoned the specter of Cadmus Peverell. Harry didn't mind. A small part of him observed from the back of his mind that if Cadmus suddenly behaved very differently, it was a data point for the stone being a ruse, but he didn't believe in that anymore. When presented with information that he really wanted to believe, Harry had still found it in his heart to be skeptic, but with the opposite, his doubts had all but faded.

"It appears," he told the specter with a lump in his throat, "that Demented souls indeed persist."

He couldn't go on after that, but Professor Dumbledore stepped in with his own account of what had transpired.

Finally, Cadmus nodded, looking sorrowed. "That is grave news indeed. But if they suffered, at least they do not do so any longer, little comfort though that is."

"Hardly," Harry said, staring ahead. "The only good thing I can see about this nightmare is that souls aren't destroyed or obviously affected immediately. There was a huge Dementor-raid just a few weeks back with some ten thousand people getting Kissed, but we destroyed the Dementors very quickly afterwards. Those people, at least, did not suffer for long, and should be just as resurrectable as everyone else."

"Hmmm," Cadmus nodded, looking thoughtful. "Did you happen to keep the bodies around?"

Harry looked up at the tone. That did not sound like it was a random question.

"Most were killed, but some got away. Why?"

"Because the Dementor's Kiss takes the soul and the magic, but not the body's life force," Peverell explained. "That much is certain, for otherwise the bodies could not continue to function, but would rather start decomposing. If the souls are now liberated – and can be retrieved by the stone – I do believe it should be possible to reunite body and soul."

Dumbledore blanched, his eyes widening. "By my hands..." He whispered. "For my folly. Oh Merlin, what have I done?"

Harry felt a stab of pain, too, on top of the horror he'd already been nurturing, and none of the hope that the words should have brought. He hadn't spent much time thinking about Dumbledore's – and various other people's – act of killing the Dementor-victims in a misguided attempt to save the Statute of Secrecy or help them in some way; between watching thousands of people get killed in the span of one six-times repeated hour, Hogwarts getting destroyed, seeing his friends, Professor McGonagall and his mother die in front of his eyes, taking command in a battle and being responsible for ending a war, he'd pushed everything that wasn't of immediate importance to the back of his mind. The murder of some ten thousand comatose people who might have been salvageable had been overshadowed by all the other violence, loss and grief. However, it came back with a vengeance now.

Ten thousand people who could have been saved had died because of ignorance.

"Get yourself to the Ministry," Harry snarled at the old man who was now shaking all over his body. "And send word that any further Dementor-victims should not be euthanized, nor lethally experimented on for that matter."

The grieving wizard didn't reply, but simply disappeared in a burst of flame.

"How?" He demanded from Cadmus.

The vision regarded him for a long time. "I suspect there is some context I am not aware of."

"Even if only one in a hundred are still alive, it's better to save those than to pretend we never could have done it to stop people from feeling guilty or being accused of murder," Harry said coolly.

"Ah." The specter raised his eyebrows. "And what of the consequences? Have you considered the possibility of suicide?"

Harry blinked. He hadn't. But then, the Aurors who'd gone out to kill the Dementor-victims had been well-intentioned, just like Dumbledore had been. The Muggle doctors who had declared their patients beyond help had been well-intentioned. This evil had not been done out of malice, and any line of action would come at a price.

"We can deal with that. I'll talk with sensible people – people who don't have an emotional investment like Professor Dumbledore has – to figure out the best way to break the news."

"You do seem sincere." Cadmus continued staring at him. Finally, he added: "I will trust you."

"Thank you. So, you'll tell me how it works?"

Dumbledore reappeared with a flash of fire. "I have passed the message."

"Welcome back," Cadmus said politely. He held out a hand, pointing at the old man's wand. "You do realize you have dear Antioch's old wand, don't you? Does it recognize you as its owner?"

"It does," Professor Dumbledore replied, slightly confused.

"Well, you might have mentioned it before. Anyway, young Peverell, the method in question should be simple in theory, although I must warn you that this is merely a thought experiment which I have debated with Ignotus when we were younger. I have never had the opportunity to apply it in practice and there may well be complications. The idea is to use the stone to summon the soul, place it on the body, and dress the body in the cloak. Dismiss the soul, which cannot leave because of the cloak, and use a charm to bind it into the body."

Straightforward. "Professor, do you happen to know any good charms to bind the soul back into the body?"

The former Headmaster frowned. "Not directly, but I may be able to construct one. Soul magic is generally considered a dark art, but I may know some people who would have books I could use as reference material."

The specter nodded. "For obvious reasons I never developed such a spell myself, but I imagine it should be possible. Especially since you have Antioch's wand: it will allow its owner to cast customized spells which are infeasible with normal wands. That should give you enough leeway to use even a naive design, or build additional protections into your spell."

Harry breathed deeply. In between all the worries today had brought, there was one shining point of light.

"And thus death is defeated when the hallows are united," Professor Dumbledore spoke quietly.

"Yes," Cadmus nodded. "Or at least, Dementation is. However, I must warn that we never got far enough to bother looking into ways to restore someone's magic. Even if you manage recovering these people, they will be Muggles afterwards."

"They were Muggles anyway," Harry shrugged. "But if it's so easy for Dementor-victims, why would it be impossible to bring back people with perfectly preserved corpses? Can't we use the same technique?"

"I never said it couldn't be done," Cadmus pointed out. "Merely that it wouldn't be easy. Which it won't be. I would not have embarked on this mission if I believed the goal to be fully impossible, however. Tell me, how were those corpses preserved?"

"An anti-decomposition charm. Most of the bodies were under the charm before they died, but they did mostly die rather violently. It was non-magical damage, though, and I think in most cases the brains are intact."

"Hmmm. Does the spell in question preserve life force?"

"No," Dumbledore answered sadly. "I believe it preserves the potential force and growth status, but it doesn't stop the deactivation upon death."

"Then unless you happen to have a philosopher's stone lying around..."

Harry coughed. "Let's assume, for the sake of conversation, that we do."

"Ah? That changes quite a lot. And you have access to a phoenix, I see, not to mention Antioch's wand." He looked thoughtful, then sighed.

"I cannot design the setup you would need, even though I have the feeling that something could be done. You have the stone and the cloak to place the soul back into the body, and I suspect that even a single drop of Elixir could reactivate the life when you have a phoenix. The problem is in the combination. The soul will not lightly attach itself to a non-living body, nor does the Elixir have anything to latch onto when the soul is not attached. You will certainly need some dedicated spells... but if you make a mistake in the spell design, you risk damaging either the body or the soul beyond repair."

He stopped, massaging his head and looking stressed. "I'm sorry. If I were still alive, I would have come up with a dozen potential solutions, but neither I nor my brothers ever had access to Elixir of Life, so we never considered questions like this in great depth. Ignotus finally found a way to give some of your own life force to another, but that's a lossy process which only works if both parties are alive, and willing. Not to mention, it was decades after my death, and very close to his own; we certainly did not develop any magic specifically dedicated to this task. There are some spells which might be useful, but I could not pass those to you due to the Interdict of –"

"– Merlin," Harry finished, gritting his teeth. He was really starting to hate the mythical mage.

"Yes," Cadmus nodded. "I can offer you my input, though. Advice on how the body and soul work, knowledge of magic that may have been forgotten, even if I cannot teach you spells. I believe that, if you set your mind to it, you may be able to create the magic to restore those lives within a couple of years. You certainly have the right kind of personality to develop the requisite spells."

Years. He didn't have years to study just one subject, he had to finish his education too, not to mention all the political maneuvers he might need to try. And would he even be able to stop the grieving parents from wanting to bury their children? Would they believe him if he said there was still hope?

Developing this magic would be useful even without the immediate need, of course. Future people could profit, when dying of illness or injury; they merely needed to be frozen or put under an anti-decomposition charm on the moment of their death, and then their bodies could be fixed afterwards. But if the method fundamentally relied on Life Elixir, its use would necessarily have to be extremely limited. Unless they could find a way to stop the "deactivation" of life force on death, whatever that meant?

"I'll take it," he whispered. "Thank you."

Cadmus smiled a strange smile. "You really are genuine in your motivations are you? I believe you. Heavens protect us if I'm wrong, but I trust you."

The specter drew himself up to his full height. "I think you should speak to my brother, Ignotus. If you manage to gain his trust, he will be able to help you far better than I can, both in the form of advice and of spells."

Harry blinked. "Wouldn't the Interdict of Merlin stop that?"

"No," Cadmus smiled. "Because I don't think he's dead."

...

...

"I see I have you both speechless," Cadmus grinned. "Ignotus was old and grieving the last time we spoke. He had lost his eldest daughter, but still had two children remaining to pass our life work onto. Although he believed that we had prioritized incorrectly, he did not go so far as to resent the work we had achieved. He had developed a second cloak, and told me that he would pass it on to his son, while passing my stone to his daughter. The first cloak, he intended to use for himself, to be able to offer advice and spells to continue our research when the other problems in the world are fixed. He urged me not to speak of this carelessly, however, as to be discovered by someone with the wrong incentives would likely mean his death."

"And... he's still alive? After more than a thousand years?"

"I think he must be. He intended to use a spell of enchanted sleep that will slow aging, but can only be broken by an outsider. His soul cannot leave until someone either removes the cloak or wakes him so he can do it himself. His body will likely have stopped functioning, however – you will need to bring Elixir of Life to restore him, unless you're prepared to sacrifice some of your own life force."

"Elixir should not be a problem for this," Dumbledore muttered, a spark of life in his eyes quite unlike his usual twinkle.

"How do I find him?" Harry's heart was beating rapidly. It might be mercenary, but his mind had instantly jumped to the implications. If Ignotus Peverell proved cooperative, he wouldn't just be able to develop some form of magic to resurrect the Hogwarts children; there was so much more potential. The Peverells had lived centuries before Hogwarts, and had been extremely powerful. Likely, Ignotus Peverell could teach him more than even Slytherin's monster could have.

"He said that he would make a grave, alongside mine and Antioch's. That grave is empty. Speak your vow against death there, and when the grave lights up, draw a circle with your wand around the motto. Then, you shall learn. That is all I know."

"Thank you."

"Good luck, young brother."