Chapter 1 – Alone in Number Twelve
The morning sunlight streamed into the room, dulled by the cream-colored drapes. A small slice of sun—no bigger than a single silver sickle—moved slowly across his face as the sun rose higher in the morning sky. The alarm clock broke the morning calm and he awoke without a start, blinking away sleep as he adjusted to the brightness of the day.
Luke swung his feet out from under his comforter and sat up, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to clear the clouds obscuring the previous night's dream.
Was there something about a... raccoon with an afro? Lord, what in the world am I dreaming about?
Luke glanced at the calendar on his wall and took note of the marks in July: an "H" on the second; a "P" on the thirty-first; a "B" on the sixteenth. His Hogwarts acceptance letter—now two weeks old—was pinned to the wall next to the calendar.
He watched as another "X" appeared on the enchanted calendar, crossing out July 15.
The now-eleven-year-old Luke rose from his bed and stretched to touch his toes before running his hand through his short, wiry black hair. He picked his monogrammed black silk robe up off the foot of his bed and was slipping it on as the door opened. A house elf with a snout-like nose and bloodshot eyes entered the room carrying a tea platter; the pristine white china was inlaid with silver and the symbol of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. "Good morning, Master Luke. Happy Birthday," he said, almost in a snarl. And then, under his breath, "I suppose."
Luke ignored the elf's somber mood, accepting the tea and saucer as it was handed to him. He took a sip before setting the tea down on his desk as he picked up The Daily Prophet and opened to the Sports page.
Oh, for the love of…
"Kreacher, sell our tickets to the Quidditch Euro Cup final. England lost in the quarterfinals last night, so I don't particularly feel like attending." He paused in thought for a moment. "Sell them to Mundungus, and give him a good deal. Having him owe me a favor may prove useful in the future."
"Very well, Master Luke." Kreacher picked up the cup, saucer, and tea platter. "Your birthday gifts are waiting downstairs in the study," he spat over his shoulder as he withdrew from the room.
Luke smiled and walked toward the shower.
Luke made his way downstairs in a button-front shirt and dark slacks. The wooden soles of his leather shoes clicked against the dark, worn wood; the staircase creaked softly under his weight. Number Twelve Grimmauld Place had seen many, many years of use and had developed a worn-in feeling. Still, for those who had not lived a decade within its walls, it was a regal house that was capable of intense intimidation.
Kreacher waited for his master at the landing of the stairs, subtly tapping his foot impatiently in a manner rather out of character for a house elf.
"Is there a problem, Kreacher?"
"No, no, of course not," Kreacher said in a soft grumble, "Kreacher would never presume to expect anything of Master Luke." Kreacher gestured subtly toward the black velvet curtains on the wall, flanked by gold tassels; a gold-leaf portrait frame was visible just below the bottom of the curtains.
Luke sighed, rolled his eyes, turned and rammed his head against the wall – an action he realized almost immediately was his first mistake of the morning.
"WAHHHHHHHHHHH!"
The screech was ear splitting. Luke took a deep breath to compose himself and turned to see that Kreacher was already drawing the curtains open.
Mental note: I'm going to kill that elf someday. Or maybe I'll just give him some old underwear and set him free. Odds are that scares him more...
The portrait of Walburga Black was in perfect condition, as it would remain so long as Kreacher was a part of Number Twelve. Luke had seen many of his tutors attempt to remove the portrait from the wall at Luke's request, which always resulted in a screeching rant from his grandmother about the "downfall of the wizarding world" and the "diminishing population of pureblood families." Each tutor discovered in turn what Luke had known long ago: his grandmother was as proficient at the Permanent Sticking Charm as she was at verbally berating everyone and anyone—
"My darling grandson! A very Happy Birthday to you!"
—Except Luke.
I might as well get this over with.
"Hello, grandmother," he said with no enthusiasm at all.
Luke suspected his father would be stunned by the congeniality that his grandmother seemed to bestow upon him.
Especially considering the way she felt about Mum. But, then again, he isn't here anyways...
Luke was well aware that his grandmother was only kind (if one could use that word with her) because he was essentially the last male in the Black family line; for all intents and purposes, he was the last chance for the family name to not die out.
Walburga's bubbly attitude continued as she began to sing "Happy Birthday to You," despite her complete tonal deafness. Luke raised his hand to stop her from continuing.
And permanently damaging my hearing.
"What can I help you with today, grandmother?"
"Oh, nothing my dear!" Walburga's fake niceness was sickening. "It is your birthday, and I could not ask anything of you. I only wish to tell you Kreacher has purchased my gift for you, and it's sitting in the study with whatever gifts the...others...were able to scrounge together for you this year. I do hope you enjoy it." Her Cheshire cat smile was unsettling.
Luke rolled his eyes. "Yes, grandmother," he said as he walked away. "Thank you, grandmother."
On the table in the study, Luke found his birthday gifts. He picked up the one wrapped in green, black, and silver.
"Kreacher!" he said rather loudly. "Eggs, bacon, toast, and tea."
He could hear his grandmother's portrait pestering Kreacher as the house elf made his way to the kitchen: "Has he opened it yet? Does he like it?" He shook his head and removed the wrapping paper.
His grandmother—ever the cheerleader of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black—had purchased with the help of Kreacher a handmade moleskine journal for Luke. On the cover was a silver serpent with green gems inset for its eyes, coiled below his name in silver threading: Lukida Anseris Black.
Luke held the notebook up to the light as the elf returned with his breakfast. "Are these—"
"Yes, Master Luke, real emeralds. Your grandmother only wishes the best for you – in everything."
"Yes. Of course." Luke set the notebook aside and shook his head. His grandmother had spent nearly his entire life recounting to him the tales of the glory and greatness that follows from being sorted into Slytherin House at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He knew nearly his entire family had been in Slytherin – the only exceptions he knew of were his father and his second cousin Nymphadora, who had been sorted into Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, respectively.
Whatever happens will happen, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let my grandmother make that decision for me.
Luke reached for a small black box with a gold ribbon that almost looked as though it might be holding an engagement ring. Inside he found an enchanted card—probably a Scribbulus creation—and a small vial of potion. The card spoke in a soft voice that he recognized as his uncle's; the potion had a shining gold appearance that Luke recognized immediately as Felix Felicis. He knew his uncle was not his biggest fan, but he also recognized that it was thoughtful for him to come up with such a gift for Luke's eleventh birthday.
A green box contained a beautiful mahogany wizard's chess set. A card accompanied the box that indicated only that the set was a gift from a friend of his father's, sent at the behest of his chess tutor, and that the set had a counterpart somewhere so that Luke could play correspondence chess without having to send moves by owl. This left Luke with mixed feelings, but he decided that he enjoyed his chess lessons and chess tutor enough that any friend of his father's could be forgiven if they were friends with his chess tutor.
Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and Luke watched as the White King's knight moved two spaces forward and one to its left. Well, okay then. "Mirror that move," he stated with authority and his own King's knight did the same. He looked again at the slightly feminine handwriting of the card and wondered what this Mr. F had in store of him.
Luke suspected that the brown-paper-wrapped package was from his aunt, uncle, and cousin – and he was right. Inside he found a small wood frame with a photo of the Tonks family and Luke from the past Christmas. It was nice to see everyone so happy, and it reminded Luke that he was not completely alone in this world. He watched with a smile as Nymphadora's hair ran through the colors of the rainbow.
She may have just become an Auror but that girl needs to grow up a bit if she ever expects a guy to chase after her. It'll be a lucky dog that catches a girl as happy as she is, though.
Luke was happy to find that his final gift was from his godfather, Remus Lupin: a box of very good (and very expensive) chocolate. He doubted it would last him even a week.
He stands in a semi-circular room.
He looks back. A termite-eaten door. Ebony. A deteriorating doorknob. He knows rusted steel rods bar the way beyond.
He looks ahead. Four doors. Red. Blue. Yellow. Green. He can feel others beckoning him from behind each.
Lightning strikes. The room flashes, though it has no windows.
Thunder claps. The room shakes. He can feel the baritone of the rumble in his bones.
Lightning strikes again.
The Grim appears. They lock eyes.
Thunder again.
The Grim growls.
He doesn't know which is vibrating his body.
The Grim pounces.
Luke's eyes snapped open.
He realized he was sweating, but the cool air wafting through the open window felt good against his skin. He sat up and reached to turn off the alarm clock moments before it began to ring needlessly.
The clock read 10:30. Luke glanced out the window and saw the night sky seemed nice and clear. He remembered reading in The Daily Prophet that a storm was coming in from the west.
Lord, I hope not.
The door opened and Kreacher entered with tea to help stay awake on tonight's excursion, but Luke waved him off. "Put it in the study and keep it warm."
"Yes, Master Luke," Kreacher nodded.
Kreacher began down the stairs as Luke popped a piece of his godfather's birthday gift into his mouth.
Need to calm down. It was just a dream.
He made his way to the shower, glancing at the "X" that had crossed July 29 out that morning and the "P" on July 31 that had begun to glow expectantly.
Luke sat in the study wearing one of his better suits: an all black ensemble, broken up only by a silver tiepin with a fox rendered in silver and onyx. His silver signet ring, with the crest of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, clinked against the teacup as he glanced at the enchanted map he had been sent.
Professor Dumbledore suggested we leave close to midnight. By that time the family should have stopped moving for the evening, I suppose. I think he just has a flair for the dramatic.
Kreacher entered the study and placed a platter with buttermilk scones and jam on the table next to the map. "Ten minutes, Kreacher. Make sure you're ready."
The house elf nodded and made his way back to the kitchen. Luke took a bite out of a soft scone covered in strawberry jam and savored the taste. He chuckled as he noticed the scarlet line that had been tracing its way across the map had now crossed a large expanse of water, coming to a sudden end in the middle of a bay. He brushed crumbs from his biscuit off the map and squinted to read the name of the small island: Hut-on-the-Rock.
A loud crack announced their arrival on the small island, though Luke doubted very much anyone could have heard it over the pouring rain and crashing waves.
Well, there's that storm I read about.
His umbrella—which he'd foolishly forgotten in the foyer at Number Twelve—materialized in his hand.
"Thank you, Kreacher," Luke nodded at the house elf. Luke bit his lip as he realized Kreacher would probably freeze in a matter of minutes if they remained outdoors for too long.
Luke reached up knocked loudly on the door. He waited for a full minute with no response before repeating the gesture to the same result. Luke glanced at his watch and noted it was moments to midnight.
"Very well. Kreacher, unlock it please."
Kreacher waved his calloused hand toward the doorknob, and Luke heard the faint click of success of the house elf's Alohomora charm.
Luke nodded at Kreacher in thanks, reached for the knob, and entered the hut.