Title: Dominus Black

Author: Starbucksmocha

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and everything affiliated with it belongs to the amazing JK Rowling. The premise of this story comes from Shadowface's abandoned work of fiction, Ophiuchus - which I have permission to use.

Rating: T

Summary: Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived, isn't the son of James and Lily, and Lily wasn't a Muggleborn. Follow what Harry's life would have been like had he been born a Black and raised by Sirius's mother. Major AU alert! Spoilers for all seven HP books.

Author's Note: Hi everyone! I am sorry for the delay - I was hoping my beta-reader would get back to me before I posted. In any case, these chapters have already been looked at, so I decided to go ahead. As for the Seventh Magus, I hope to have the rewritten chapters posted soon. Thank you all so much for your support!

Prologue

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the current Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, was rarely, if ever, caught off-guard. However, the figure currently sitting in his office was a wholly unexpected sight, especially considering the enchantments that forbade entrance to the Headmaster's office to anyone without his express permission.

Still, he was not the most powerful Light wizard in the world for nothing. Albus Dumbledore carefully masked his surprise and instead cordially greeted his "guest" as he made his way over to the desk.

"Mrs Black, it is wonderful to see you again. Would you care for some tea?"

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled unnaturally through the half-moon spectacles perched on his crooked nose. With his long silver hair and his equally long beard, Dumbledore looked the part of a great and wise wizard with an eternally youthful spirit. In stark contrast, the austere-looking woman sitting across from him appeared unnaturally aged, and her crisp robe, which matched her steely grey eyes, did nothing to counter the harsh planes and sharp angles of her face. Wearing an expression of extreme distaste, as though she smelt something rather foul, Walburga Black did not bother to return the polite greeting. "I want to see my grandson, Dumbledore."

Albus Dumbledore's gaze hardened slightly. "Your… grandson? Mrs Black, I am afraid your grief over young Sirius's death is understandably overwhelming you. Let me call St. Mungo's, and-"

Walburga's narrowed eyes and chilling voice stopped even the great Albus Dumbledore in his tracks. "Don't patronise me, you old fool. I am well aware it was you who orchestrated the rift between Sirius and I; I had to find out about the existence of the Black Heir from a letter, of all things! You will do as I say. You cannot hope to win against me, Dumbledore – the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black stands behind me." Her thin lips twisted into a mocking smile as Dumbledore's magic flared up in anger. "The Daily Prophet would most enjoy learning that my grandson has been forcibly taken from his true pure-blood family, to be placed with Muggles – by Albus Dumbledore, no less. I am certain they – and the Ministry of Magic – would want to know that that those Muggles are the sole protection you've provided for the Boy Who Lived."

Dumbledore inwardly seethed with anger. His hands were regrettably tied. How the old hag knew Harry was a Black, he did not know, but Dumbledore could ill afford to go up against her. As one of the oldest pure-blood families, the House of Black had a lot of power and political connections that even he, at the height of his power, could not simply dismiss. To attempt to do so now was likely to be political suicide. Dumbledore had been deplorably losing the war against Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and the wizarding world had only come out from the devastation wrought by said war thanks to the miraculous actions of a baby boy – the only Heir of the Blacks. Walburga Black had successfully cornered him, and he knew it.

After a pause, Dumbledore reluctantly said, "The Dursleys currently reside in Little Whinging, Surrey, in number four, Privet Drive."

Walburga Black gracefully rose from her seat and stared coolly down at a resigned looking Dumbledore. "You had best hope that my grandson is safe and unharmed. Meddle in our affairs again, and it will be the last thing you do." With that parting shot, she left Hogwarts for Little Whinging.

Chapter One

Rita Skeeter snorted inelegantly at the headline: BLACK MATRIARCH TELLS ALL! Not really creative, in Rita's humble opinion, but she supposed the content more than made up for the lacklustre headline. Checking her watch – and sighing when she saw she was early – Rita smoothed out the pages that had been wrinkled when she had crumpled the paper in her fury at being scooped.

The wizarding world was deeply and irrevocably changed two years ago when a baby boy defeated You-Know-Who, bringing about the end of his reign of terror. The date, 31 October 1981, was forever altered, and Halloween has since been celebrated to such heights as never seen before. Still, life has continued on, and the Boy Who Lived has mostly become a hero of a miraculous tale, remaining unseen and only known to be hidden behind one of the world's most impressive set of wards at an undisclosed location.

All of that changed earlier this month when a source from the Ministry of Magic disclosed that the boy hero had been moved "ages ago" to the home of Walburga Black, the Matriarch of the House of Black. Known as staunch supporters of Dark Magic, the Black family has produced some witches and wizards of dubious character, including Bellatrix Lestrange, who is currently in Azkaban Prison serving a life sentence for the torture of the Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom.

Hundreds of witches and wizards have since sent owls and Howlers to the Minister for Magic, Millicent Bagnold, demanding that Harry James Potter be relocated to a safer home, away from the purported supporter of the Dark Lord, and dozens of owls requesting interviews with Mrs Black have garnered no response.

Until now.

It was a rather ordinary day when this humble reporter was personally requested for an interview with Mrs Black, to "clarify some matters regarding myself and my heir." This reporter wasn't sure what to expect, but was put almost immediately at ease by the hospitality of the Black Matriarch. Though unnaturally aged due to a Dark curse that also rendered her infertile shortly after the birth of her second son, Mrs Black is a gentle and kind woman who holds no bitterness over the state of her appearance, nor the loss of her two sons at You-Know-Who's hand. This reporter had free reign over the entire Black Estate, though Mrs Black firmly insisted that the nursery not be included, in order to ensure the safety of the Boy Who Lived.

Having finished viewing the impressive Manor and its grounds, we sat down for tea in the rose garden before beginning the interview.

Cuffe: Mrs Black, how did Harry James Potter come to be in your custody?

Mrs Black: That is actually not his name.

Cuffe (sounding confused): Not his name?

Mrs Black: His name isn't Harry James Potter. It is Harold Ophiuchus Potter-Black.

Cuffe (after a stunned silence): Pardon?

Mrs Black: James Potter, the sole Heir of the Potter family, was infertile, though no one – including James – knew until after he'd married Lily Evans. Lily, being a powerful witch and Heiress of a long-forgotten and magically dormant ancient pure-blood family, had access to many archaic spells and potions. Knowing they were desperate for a child, my eldest son, Sirius, best friend of James, offered to help, and with the aid of Lily's tomes, they found a way. Sirius's seed was implanted in Lily's womb, and James's magic and blood were added to the baby when he was born. I am not certain how it was all done, but Harold is as much a Black as a Potter. With all three of his parents dead after the attack at Godric's Hollow, he came to me, his only surviving grandparent.

Cuffe (sputtering): Did anyone know of this?

Mrs Black: Albus Dumbledore was aware of Harold's parentage and he strove to keep Harold from me. If it hadn't been for a letter left behind for me by Lily, I never would have known. Fortunately, I found out soon after their deaths, and was able to retrieve him from the horrible Muggle family Lily's Squib sister married into.

Cuffe (aghast): The Boy Who Lived was staying with Muggles?

Mrs Black: Yes. Terrible, isn't it? They were starving the poor lad and had put him in a cupboard under the stairs. Apparently, they resent magic in all forms, and took it out on poor Harold.

Cuffe (furious): WHAT?

Mrs Black: That was my reaction exactly.

Cuffe: Is Harry -- Harold alright?

Mrs Black: Oh, he's fine now. I had the finest healers in the world look him over to make certain those horrid people had left no lasting damage.

Cuffe: Well, I'm certainly glad to hear that. These last few weeks must have been terrible for you, having to put up with all sorts of tales about you, when all you've been doing is taking care of your grandchild.

Mrs Black: It certainly hasn't been easy. Harold's health and safety are my main concerns and when I had first brought Harold here, I did not believe the wards were strong enough to protect Harold from all forms of magic that might possibly be used for harm. And I had no guarantees that any officials the Ministry would send would not be corrupt. After all, Bartemius Crouch's own son was a Death Eater! And there are many and varied ways a disgruntled witch or wizard could impersonate the officials to try to harm my grandson. I could have used another property, but I wanted the Ministry to see Harold's everyday surroundings, and to make certain there wouldn't be accusations laid against me claiming I was trying to cover up Dark activities.

Cuffe: Perfectly understandable, Mrs Black. But everything is alright now? The wards are secure?

Mrs Black: Oh yes, quite! The entire estate is surrounded by a ward that detects unauthorised magic use. Any unfamiliar magical signature present and… well, I don't want to reveal too much for security reasons, but consequences will be dire. And I do have permission from the Ministry of Magic to use any means of defence to protect Harold.

Cuffe: So the Ministry officials have visited you?

Mrs Black: Of course! The Minister herself visited months ago, though for security reasons, that information was kept secret. Every square inch of the Manor was examined, including the grounds and the nursery. Of course, Harold wasn't seen, but the agreed-upon healers provided reports for the Ministry in regards to Harold's health and well-being. Minister Bagnold was more than satisfied at the measures I have taken to provide a safe and happy home for Harold.

Cuffe: Now, I have to ask – your family has a history of supporting the Dark-

Mrs Black: So sorry to interrupt you, but I do want to point out that there is a difference between practicing the Dark Arts and supporting Dark Lords. I have never supported You-Know-Who – and in fact, my eldest son actively fought against him! I do practice some Dark Arts – but only those that have already been approved by the Ministry for use.

Cuffe: Bellatrix Lestrange-

Mrs Black: Was a Black, yes, and I've been having words with her father, Cygnus, for years regarding her marriage to Rodolphus Lestrange. I have never approved of it, and Bellatrix has long been stricken off the family tapestry. Harold will be well-guarded and protected, and will only associate with those members of the family who truly belong in it.

Cuffe: Well, that's certainly a relief, I'm sure, to witches and wizards everywhere whose lives have been saved by Harold.

Mrs Black: He truly is a miraculous child. Just yesterday, Harold Transfigured his stuffed lion into a broomstick!

Cuffe (stunned): A broomstick?

Mrs Black (laughing): Yes! He certainly takes after his fathers. Sirius loved Quidditch like nothing else, and so did James!

Cuffe (still stunned): He was able to perform a complex Transfiguration at his age?

Mrs Black: Well, children have been known to perform some amazing magic when they truly want something, though Harold being who he is has much to do with it, I'm sure.

Cuffe had, of course, milked the interview for all it was worth, filling the second and third pages by holding interviews with the healers who had tended the Boy Who Lived, as well as Minister Bagnold. The Minister had ended her interview with a stern warning, stating unequivocally that Harold was more than safe and well-protected and that harsh punishment awaited those who might attempt to harm the baby boy. The healers unanimously vouched for the health and happiness of baby Harold, who, according to them, was an adorable little boy with brilliant green eyes and jet black hair. One of the healers even went so far as to predict that Harold would grow up to be quite a heartbreaker.

Rita let out a frustrated little scream, startling unsuspecting passers-by. This article was the only information available on the boy formerly known as Harry James Potter, and Barnabas Cuffe, the rookie reporter, had somehow managed to snag an interview with the Black Matriarch where she, Rita Skeeter, the special correspondent with the Daily Prophet, had failed. And to add insult to injury, said interview had just resulted in Cuffe's promotion to the editor of the Prophet.

Well, Rita didn't intend to let this slight go unchallenged. As soon as her contact turned up, she'd show them all just why she was the most feared reporter in wizarding Britain.

Rita swore under her breath as her new acid green robe was once again snagged and torn by the shrubbery. She would have changed into her Animagus form and simply flown to Black Manor, but she had Bozo, a new photographer recently hired by the Daily Prophet – and thus rather green behind the ears and easy to manipulate – with her, and so had to do this the hard way. Rita had expected things to be difficult – it wouldn't do for the Boy Who Lived to be easily accessible to all and sundry, after all – but this was becoming rather ridiculous.

Her source at the Ministry of Magic had warned her of dangers, telling her stories of people who had tried to glimpse the Boy Who Lived in his home and either failed miserably, or were found weeks later with no recollection of who they were. However, he had failed to mention that the forest surrounding Black Manor would give the Forbidden Forest a run for its Galleons. Had Rita known, she would have arranged things differently – and not worn her favourite new robe, of course.

Behind her, Bozo continued to huff along, grumbling at having to carry the heavy equipment. The ward which had been put in place for the protection of the Boy Who Lived, and which would trigger an alarm upon sensing foreign magic within its walls, was rumoured to be so sensitive that even the presence of a simple charm would bring about consequences so dire for the one who had cast the spell that it was simply easier to not risk such things.

As Rita cursed yet again, having found herself sprawled on the ground still wet and muddy from the heavy rainfall the previous night, she had to remind herself of the reason for this outing – and that it would all be worth it when she managed to accomplish her goal.

Ever since the defeat of You-Know-Who, the Boy Who Lived was naturally the hottest topic everywhere. After all, it wasn't every day a Dark Lord was defeated, and by a mere babe at that! And to top it all off, the baby had survived the Killing Curse, the darkest of the Unforgivables!

Never in history had a more extraordinary event been recorded. Already, every wizarding child knew his tale, and virtually every respectable witch and wizard had paid homage to the fallen Potters and Sirius Black and celebrated the defeat of You-Know-Who by visiting Godric's Hollow, the site where the miraculous event had occurred. There were even claims that the very room where the little boy had defeated the evil menace had healing powers. Personally, Rita thought it was all hogwash considering it marked the demise of a Dark wizard and thus was probably full of Dark Magic, but it kept her popularity up when she reported such things.

While there was an enormous amount of interest in the boy, it would have eventually died down somewhat had he not been sequestered away from the public eye. The Black Matriarch was a very stern and powerful woman, and she kept a tight rein over all matters relating to her Heir. Even the Minister for Magic was denied access to the boy hero. Thousands upon thousands of requests for photos and interviews were ignored. Owls bearing letters and presents for the child were not allowed onto the Black Estate; instead, they were re-directed to various charity organisations the Black family managed, who then donated it to wizarding orphanages and other worthwhile causes. If the sender was fortunate enough to have somehow obtained either a very rare gift or one the Black Heir liked, the gift was forwarded to Mrs Black, who then sent the sender a thank-you note, signed personally by the Boy Who Lived himself. Said note was the newest ticket to instant stardom; a must-have item for everyone who was – or wanted to be – anyone.

All of this contributed to the hype and mystery surrounding the Boy Who Lived, and thus interest in the boy soared. Cuffe had claimed the editorship of the Daily Prophet following his "landmark" interview with Mrs Black. The healers who had personally seen the baby boy were highly sought after by every witch and wizard who could afford their care. And last Rita had heard, the Prophet had been offering a reward of 500,000 Galleons to whoever first managed to nab a photo of the boy hero. While the money was tempting, it wasn't the only thing that interested Rita. She was after Cuffe's position at the Prophet; or barring that, a permanent front page by-line, or at the very least her very own column, where she could talk about whatever she wanted without having to answer to anyone. And all Rita had to do for it, was traverse the thicket of the forest surrounding Black Manor, and get onto the grounds.

It had definitely sounded easier when she had first thought of it.

Rita despaired as she continued to march on endlessly; her sopping wet and muddy robe was doing nothing to improve her mood. But really, how large could this forest possibly be? She was sure she would see the undoubtedly well-groomed grounds of Black Manor soon.

Gladys Gudgeon finished her last sentence with a flourish. Quickly reading it over, she smiled giddily at her very first article. She sighed happily and sent the parchment to her editor with a flick of her wand before settling down at her new desk. She polished a golden press badge that proclaimed her to be a special correspondent to the Daily Prophet as she absently mused about the reason she had come to be awarded the position. Just how had Rita Skeeter and Bozo ended up in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries with no recollection of who they were?

Gladys shrugged indifferently before going back to admiring her press badge and daydreaming about interviewing celebrities. Gladys let out an excited giggle; there was that new upstart, Gilderoy Lockhart, a gorgeous and charming young man…

So what do you think?