Two chapter update today, so make sure you check out chapter 8 as well. Lots of updates in the Post Note on Chapter 8 so please take a moment to read that.


Chapter 7 Realisations

November 18th-19th, 1994

Harry floated through the next two days, mind running. He found himself coming to the uncomfortable realization that he had become used to the thought of meeting up with Malfoy. Harry had been miserable after Halloween, constantly alone and aware of it. The attacks from every side didn't allow him to forget. But somewhere along the way, Malfoy had become an escape, without him even realizing it. Three days a week, he had somewhere to go, someone to keep him company, and he'd attached himself to it with such a grip that to have that suddenly yanked away, to be so very aware that he and Malfoy would no longer be meeting, felt like being dumped into the Black Lake. The attacks, the desertion, they all suddenly felt very vivid where before they had sunk into the bland background.

Harry hated it.

To have someone to lean on- even if he hadn't realized he was leaning on Malfoy- had helped. Especially with the thought of the First Task looming. Harry tried to distract himself by throwing himself into practicing the Bird-Conjuring Charm. It was simple, but Harry thought that he might be able to change the size of the birds by summoning something besides normal songbirds. He'd looked over the theory, and you had to visualize the birds you wanted to summon. Most did something small and simple, but in theory, any bird could be conjured. Of course, it was all theory, which Harry was horrible at.

Saturday, when he had finally managed a single casting of the Bird-Conjuring Charm using ravens (not quite as large as the eagles he wanted, but bigger than anything else he'd managed) he finally took a break and his thoughts turned to the other big issue; Sirius Black, his father.

Father. The word held so much. Hope and love, disappointment and loss, confusion and betrayal. Harry hadn't been able to unpack it all, not with everything going on. But… Sirius hadn't sent him a letter yet, keeping his promise from the Shack and giving Harry space. Honestly, he wasn't sure whether he was thankful or disappointed. He knew Sirius deserved an answer, one way or the other, but he didn't know what to say. What to do. If this had been last month, or last year, he would've gone straight to Ron and Hermione to figure it out. But they had turned on him, and he was angry at them for it, and he had no one else. (Malfoy flashed through his mind before he stomped the image out.)

It had been weeks, and Harry had no doubt that Sirius was probably biting at the bit to get moving, to have an answer. He was also self aware enough to know that he had been pushing this off, ignoring it in some vain hope that the answer would come to him.

Strangely enough, the answer did come to him. Or perhaps it had always been there and he had been so far into denial it had been hidden under a sand dune.

Entering the Library after lunch to return the two books from the genealogy section, he weaved through the stack and into the back. It hadn't occurred to him before, but there was another book here that may have interesting information.

It was the work of a minute to find what he was looking for. The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. The tome was thicker than the Potter one, and just as old, but the crest on this one was a simple shield, the top done in red, scattered with golden stars and a hand holding a wand, while the bottom had three ravens on a field of white. The words, Toujour Pur, were written in black.

The pages seemed to release a breath as they were turned, and Harry soon found himself lost in the dark script.


The truth of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black is known only to those of the family, as only their Grimoire, a tradition held within Most Ancient Houses and a few Ancient ones, tells the entire history. There are, however, a few facts known to the public.

While the Blacks have never released an official history to be recorded and given to the community, other first hand accounts tell us that they came from France to Britain in Lady Magick's year, Eight-Hundred-Forty-Five, shortly after Ragnar and his Vikings sacked Paris. Rumors claim that they were running from prosecution, though for what is unknown. Anything that comes before this time has been lost to British knowledge, though their Most Ancient family line has been recorded since then.

When Lord Altair Noir come to this soil, he had his wife, his two teenage sons, and what few possessions they had managed to bring. By the time Lord Altair had passed and his title went to his eldest son, Canopus, the House name had been turned to Black, they had created a Holding in western Britain, and they were quickly gaining power and notoriety. When Lady Magick's year, Nine-Hundred-Ninety-Seven began, they joined the twenty-seven other powerful Houses and formed the Wise Men's Council.

The House crest, already formed when they came to Britain, suggests power and mystery with the ravens and wand, while the stars they are all so fond of suggest their belief that only the heavens stand above them. Their colors, black, white, red and gold, further symbolize power, mystery, purity, intellect and sophistication. The Watchwords of the House of Black, Toujour Pur, tends to be considered a reference to their belief that pureblood and good breeding are important.

All of these things represent the Blacks well, as this family is not only older than most, but it is also shrouded in mystery and questions, overshadowed only by their power and prestige. While the truth of before their migration may be lost, their name and importance is well known to all.


It was a lot less exact information than the Potter book, but it did at least tell him a little bit more about why everyone freaked at the name Black. You know, besides the whole escaped convict thing.

Flipping through to the most recent branches of the tree, however, revealed a stranger piece of evidence. At the bottom, a few inches under where Narcissa Black was marked as marrying Lucius Malfoy and having one son, was a small note.

Updates to this tome are done at the Head of House's request. As of Lady Magick's year, 1991, Arcturus Black has passed and the Lordship is turned to Sirius Black, who is incarcerated in Azkaban for crimes of murder and treason. Without a Lordship claimed, or an Heir yet chosen by Magick or Blood, further updates are restricted.

Which would explain why Harry himself wasn't on this. Though, the fact that he was blood adopted (which was extremely illegal) meant that Sirius probably couldn't ask them to put him on. Unless, of course, there was another way to explain Harry being Heir. Which was a very good question. How was Sirius planning on explaining to the world that a Potter was his Heir?

Harry paused as the realization that Sirius wouldn't care what he had to do, he'd already decided Harry was his Heir. He'd chosen Harry. Not the same way that Britain had chosen him, because of some ridiculous accident when he was a child. Sirius had loved him since he was born, and he'd decided that he wanted to be Harry's father just as much as James. Wanted to pass on the Black name and title because Harry was precious to him, even when he'd been only a child.

Sirius had offered to let Harry live with him five minutes after they'd met. Had bought him a firebolt when he saw Harry needed a broom despite being on the run and having a kiss-on-sight status. Sirius had cared enough to sneak into the Shrieking Shack when Harry had asked, regardless of the risk.

Harry knew James and Lily Potter loved him, they had died for it, after all. And he liked to think that they would be happy there was someone else that loved Harry and was willing to take care of him. Maybe it was a betrayal, to choose Sirius when James and Lily were his true parents, and had died for him. But…

Sirius loved him.

Which meant there was really only one possible way this could go.


Sunday, November 20th, 1994

With his letter sent the night before, Harry met George and Fred in an unused classroom on the third floor Sunday morning. He entered the room, only to have his wand immediately summoned from his hand.

"Tsk tsk, Harrikens."

"Gotta be more careful."

"Should also note that this spell-"

"Is extremely handy if used right." Smiling, Harry took his wand back when offered.

"Well, I suppose it's a good thing I have such great teachers." Both Weasleys laughed and got right to showing him the spell. It took a few tries, but Harry managed it before too long, and George and Fred went on to teach him several other useful tricks and spells. He told them about the Task, and they promptly taught him Fire-Repelling Charms to apply to his robes when he entered the ring.

"Wish we'd had more warning-"

"Could've tried to create a fire proof Runic Ward."

"Aye, been far more solid."

"Runic Ward?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," the one he was almost sure was George said. "I guess you never took Ancient Runes, so you wouldn't know."

"Damn useful they are. Also damn hard."

"They're what let wizards create more permanent spells and protections. The Wards around Hogwarts and the Ministry are written using Runes."

"Would probably take us two weeks to create a Fire-Proof Ward though. Could've stitched it onto your robes." Harry nodded, and went back to practicing the charms. It was an interesting concept, if nothing else.

When they took a break and snuck down to the kitchens for lunch (Harry was rather surprised at the location, but decided he'd seen weirder things than tickling a pear) he was startled when the twins spoke up again.

"You know, Harry-"

"No one would blame you if you decided to branch out."

He lifted a brow, wondering why they were both focusing so hard on him. "What do you mean?"

"Well, we know Ronikens is being a twat," George said.

"Tried talking to him. Didn't seem to do anything."

"And Hermione is still mad at you for breaking the rules."

"Wonder how long it'll take for her to get over it?"

"And we just want you to know that no one would blame you if you decided to get other friends."

"Wait," Harry put down his pumpkin juice, giving them his full attention. "Are you saying you want me to stop being friends with Ron?"

They shared a look, seemed to come to some conclusion because the one he was almost sure was Fred relaxed further into his seat and George took over completely.

"Well, no. We love having you around, but… Friends change, Harry. It's a natural part of life. Fred and I used to be really close with Oliver Wood, during our second year, but then all three of us grew up and we drifted apart. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Yeah," Fred added, "Especially considering Ron's the one that abandoned you when you clearly need him. Fred and I never would've stayed friends with Lee if he'd done that."

So apparently they were both Fred. Yeah, Harry didn't buy that, but what they were saying was a little more important than finding out which was which. "I…" He wasn't sure what he was. Besides hurt, betrayed, and overall angry with his situation. Harry had turned to Draco Malfoy of all people for company, which was all kinds of messed up. Proven by Malfoy trying to get him to use parseltongue, a Dark Skill. It was a suggestion to keep you alive. Maybe. And you enjoyed your time together. No, not really. Malfoy was sarcastic and caustic, and an arrogant prat. Who just happened to give up two evenings a week and an entire day of the weekend to help Harry learn about wizarding culture.

He wondered what the twins would think of Harry learning the old traditions. Ron would no doubt lose it over the pureblood bigotry, which Harry recognized was still a problem. Hermione would go on a tear about the outdated, injustice of it. But Harry knew from his lessons that, while it was old, it was also a rich culture that he'd never even known he was a part of. The Sabbats sounded amazing, even if they were illegal, and he saw nothing wrong with the greetings and some of the manners that were expected of purebloods.

"I'll figure it out," he finally said, because he didn't know what he'd do, only that the First Task and surviving a dragon was more important than working out his friendship drama.

Both of them smiled as they stood.

"Alright, Harry. Whether you make up with Ron or not is up to you."

"We hope our brother stops being a git."

"Come to us if you need anything."

They disappeared, and Harry was left alone again. It was strange, how a single day in good company could lift his entire mood. He liked George and Fred, enjoyed how they didn't blame him for his failing friendship with Ron. Harry felt like he could take the dragon on right now and win. Which was a ridiculous but true sentiment. He'd figured out Sirius, he had a plan for the Task. And while he was angry with Malfoy, Harry couldn't help but wonder what he was up to.


November 18th-19th, 1994

Draco was pissed and distracted after his argument with Potter, something which did not go unnoticed by his housemates. Luckily, after hexing Millicent's mouth shut for asking very loudly what was wrong in the middle of the Common Room, he was left relatively alone.

At some point, Zabini had stopped trying to challenge him and had turned to joining him when he was with Pansy. The jabs and taunts didn't stop, but they were less acidic and more amiable. Draco didn't particularly take offense to them, considering caustic sarcasm was 97% of what came out of any given Slytherin's mouth.

What he did take offense to was Harry Potter, sheerly because the wanker had the audacity to take up most of his thoughts.

By all rights Draco should be forgetting about him, or possibly planning some nasty "accident" in potions. Potter was judgmental, narrow minded, a hypocritical bigot against Slytherins, and he was an awful blood traitor that clearly didn't know the first thing about being an Heir or a wizard.

Which is why he came to you, a calm voice pointed out. And look what happened, he snarled back. Obviously, trying to teach Potter anything was a mistake. Though he supposed knowing that Potter was ignorant of his heritage, and that Dumbledore had evidently orchestrated it, was worth it. Never mind the time wasted. Oh, as if you didn't enjoy it, you prat. Draco decided to name that voice Pansy and ignore it, as he often did his conscience.

He had not enjoyed it. Potter always asked far too many questions, and interrupted Draco every time the ignorant prat didn't know something, and then Draco would have to go on a new tangent because it was unacceptable that a wizard could be that stupid. And Draco would constantly be reminded of the twat whenever he had a discussion on politics or magics with a housemate, mainly due to the fact that Draco had to make a mental note to bring it up to Potter in the ineffective hope that Potter would one day learn how to function in their world.

He had not enjoyed their lessons, or the time spent together. He hadn't.


Tuesday, November 22th, 1994

Which is exactly what Draco told himself as he went out for a smoke on Sunday, after breakfast. His smoking spot was empty, as it was supposed to be. It was a blessing when he lit his cigarette and took a deep breath. Mugwort and sage blended perfect and relaxed him. He did the exact same thing Tuesday, as well. His empty spot. His escape.

He was on his second smoke when his peace was invaded. Someone cleared their throat, and he looked up. A strange sense of disappointment filled him when he saw Pansy Parkinson standing there. For once, she wasn't wearing her "stupid gossip girl" mask. Instead her eyebrows were raised in disbelief and her thin mouth was set in disapproval. Despite this, her voice was level when she finally spoke after casting a silencing ward.

"You've been disappearing an awful lot lately, Draco." When he didn't respond beyond his own "get on with it" look, she added, "You're friends are starting to miss you, you know."

Unable and unwilling to keep playing the Slytherin alliance game when it was just the two of them, and so very annoyed with the entire world, Draco snorted. "You're my only friend, Pansy. Let's not lie about that." It was a little sad, but true. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were both the Heirs of their respective Ancient Houses, both of which were vassals of the Malfoys. They were loyal purely because they had to be, and Millicent Bulstrode, engaged to Crabbe since infancy and friends with both boys, joined Malfoy only for his name and standing. Being a Malfoy gave him the first step up in the Slytherin hierarchy, but his magic ability and, after second year, his cunning were really what had solidified it. Draco knew that if Theodore Nott ever decided to truly go for it, he'd probably manage to beat Draco, which is why he never bothered Nott and Nott never changed his neutral stance. Daphne Greengrass and Tracy Davies, the other two Slytherin girls, had several allies and friends in various years but hadn't ever bothered to try anything, so Draco left them alone. Of course, there was also Blaise Zabini but he was… well, Zabini.

Pansy, the only one he'd ever count as a real friend, softened and sat down across from him. He never saw her like this when others were around, face lax, eyes wide and understanding. Never pity, because no Slytherin would ever accept pity, but there to listen should he need it. "You've been distracted and upset since Thursday. And before that you would keep vanishing after dinner. I know perfectly well you're training schedule and it doesn't fit." A question without actually asking. An open invitation to speak about what was bothering him without pushing him away. Sometimes, he really loved Pansy.

He took another drag, considering how (and what) to tell her. She was his friend, he reminded himself. If he couldn't trust her, he had nothing. "Shortly after the choosing of the Champions, Harry Potter ran into me and we began talking." Pansy made a mien, and he added, "Without cursing each other, yes I know it's surprising. Can I go on?" She cracked a smirk and made an elegant "you may continue" gesture. Draco rolled his eyes but assented.

"Anyway, the peace didn't last long because he's a twat-"

"Naturally."

"And I left after insulting him. I thought that'd be the end of it, but, he came back a few days later to talk."

"Oooh," Pansy lent forward, clearly enjoying this. "About?"

"He… confessed to me-"

"Oh Morgana, he finally told you he was in love with you?!"

"What? No!" Pansy's expression of delight fell, and Draco chose not to deliberate on why she looked so excited by the prospect. Or why that was the first thing to pop in her mind. Her disappointment didn't last long, though.

"Did he finally come out as gay?"

"No! Where do you come up with this stuff?"

She shrugged, but her smirk was sharp. "I pay attention to where people's eyes linger." That was a horrifying prospect that he chose not to consider.

"I'm going to move on now," he said tartly, "Please never put images of Potter confessing to me in my head again." Pansy looked amused, for whatever reason. Probably because she enjoyed making him suffer. "Anyway, I was going to say that he told me he had never known he was an Heir to an Ancient and Noble House until he found a mention of it in a book."

He took a moment to be smug at the sheer astonishment on Pansy's face. She got the reaction under control a few moments later, but it was still satisfying. "But-" Draco could practically see the wheels spinning behind her eyes, readjusting everything else she knew to fit this report.

"It's known he was raised by muggles," she said finally, face blank but attentive, "But he's also Dumbledore's precious Golden Boy." Meaning that she'd come to the same conclusion as he had. Dumbledore should've been teaching him the traditions and had refused.

He hummed an acknowledgement and waited for her to finish analyzing all the sides to this. Eventually she looked at him and asked, "And what happened after he told you this?"

Making sure to take his time to draw out the suspense (his cigarettes really were fabulous for all sorts of things), he said lightly, "Asked me to teach him."

A twitch of her brows, as undoubtedly she was more in control since his last shock. Still, she was surprised and evidently waiting for him to continue.

"I agreed, and we met three times a week."

"Until Thursday." He glared, unhappy she had caught his past tense but not really surprised. It wasn't hard to fit the pieces together.

"Potter found out what the First Task is and came to me for help." Let Pansy make of that what she will. He'd certainly wondered why Potter had come charging to him for help, looking wild and panicked and nearly desperate for help. That was probably why he'd come to Draco, actually. He was desperate and the rest of the school was shunning him. Though, if he had gone to the mudblood and told her it was dragons she would have stopped ignoring him to help. No doubt he would've accepted her back without a second thought, despite the betrayal. Sometimes, he wondered what life must be like as a Gryffindor. Simpler. But also more likely to be surprised when backstabbed.

"When he said he had to get past a dragon," Pansy paled, as any normal person would because it was ridiculous to put a bunch of teenagers against XXXXX Class creatures, "I suggested he use Parseltongue. He took offence."

She nodded, thinking over it all. "Yes, I suppose a row like that," because there was no doubt of a row, not with Draco's bitter voice, "Would upset you." She glanced at him from under her dark lashes. "Dragons? For the First Task?"

"I already informed Krum." He knew how she thought, and decided there was no point in trying to get her to ask directly. It had been the work of Friday afternoon, the only thing he'd done besides go to classes and fume at Potter's existence. Draco had the distinct feeling Krum already knew, but he'd played it off and said thank you. Since, he and his friends had been speaking more with Draco.

She deflated, but nodded and fell silent nonetheless. They enjoyed each other's silent company for a while and Draco was just about to offer her a cig when she broke it.

"So, when are you going to stop moping and apologize to Potter?"

He choked on smoke before sputtering indignantly. "Excuse me?"

She had the nerve to roll her eyes at him before leaning back. "Don't be a prat. The color is all wrong for your complexion. We both know that the only reason you've been in a pissy mood these past few days is because you had a fight with Potter and now you're upset that he hasn't apologized. But you know what? More than likely, he's upset that you haven't apologized."

"That's-"

"A great breakdown of the situation, I know." Pansy stood, grabbing her book bag and looking him in the eye. "Look, Draco. We both know that you've wanted to befriend Potter since you found out you'd be in the same year. Which, in case you've forgotten, was when you were six. And we also both know you've been a twat to him these past years because you were hurt when he rejected your offer of friendship. Which is why we know that these past weeks of meeting up with him and teaching him about the culture you are so proud of was something you really enjoyed. Enjoyed to such a point, I may add, that you haven't even noticed the fact that Blaise and I are on a first name basis."

"Wait, when did that happen?"

"Thank you for proving my point."

He pursed his lips but Pansy could break anyone with her unimpressed, I-have-better-things-to-do, stare. "Why do I have to apologize?"

She rolled her eyes again, but Draco could tell it was fond this time. "Because he's the stubborn Gryffindor and you're the smart Slytherin. Now, I'm meeting Blaise in the library to study. Do bless us with your presence when you have time." Her voice was so sincere and the ego stroking was so blatant that he snorted, but it earned him a smile before she turned and left him to his thoughts. "Oh, and don't forget that he faces a dragon tomorrow!"

Pansy was right, and he knew it. Which just made it worse. He didn't want to apologize, mainly because there was nothing to apologize for. Parseltongue was a great gift, and Potter refused to use it. Not to mention Potter's insistence everything Dark was evil. As a child it was one thing, but Draco would be turning fifteen this summer, meaning he had to grow up. That meant that he couldn't stand to listen to Potter insult everything he stood for. Potter should apologize for being a git.

But Potter was a Gryffindor. A stubborn one that had to fight a dragon tomorrow because some unknown signed him up for a deadly tournament. Probably in the hopes of getting him killed.

Damn Pansy. He hated it when she was right.