Summary: Summary: War fuels desperation, protection ignites distraction, and in the ashes of misfortune hide new opportunity.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. This story is a fan fiction written purely for enjoyment purposes and is not meant to infringe upon any copyright, and is not used to make money in any way.
oooOoooOoooOooo
Riddle Me This
By Renatus
02 The Noblesse Emblem
oooOoooOoooOooo
August 1, 1981 – Apartment 8 at Barrow Block, Diagon Alley, London
Riddle – the raven – had shown up in the early hours of the morning, gliding through a window that Harry had thrown open to help air out the dusty room. Harry had watched the bird warily as it settled itself on the back of his chair with a reproachful look in its eye. He wasn't sure he liked having it so near to him, but let the bird remain there anyways. Sirius watched the interaction in silence and suspicion.
By the time the sky began to grey Sirius fully believed what Harry told him about his origins and the little he revealed about the future. It had taken longer than Harry suspected that it would, but he didn't begrudge Sirius his cautiousness. Harry would have been the same.
Harry had been forced to delve into some of the few secrets that he knew about Sirius and the Marauders, which at least made Sirius pause long enough to listen to him. What really made Sirius begin to believe him however, was Harry's retelling of the day that Sirius' mother had finally threatened to throw her own son out of the house and how Sirius took her up on her offer, leaving Grimmauld Place and not returning. Sirius had told him about it, saying that he had told no one else, and that he couldn't imagine his mother repeating the tale through her pride. Harry knew that there were other explanations to how he knew the things he did, and that there was still plenty of doubt, but at least he had begun a relationship with the man and Sirius seemed inclined to want to believe him.
Harry told Sirius what had happened in his own timeline with Wormtail, and briefly mentioned the thirteen years that the other man had spent in Azkaban, which didn't make Sirius feel any better about the rat's treachery. Harry's succinct comments about Wormtail's later, painful death seemed to.
In the end, he figured that Teddy's presence probably helped the most. The nine-year-old looked so much like Remus that Harry caught Sirius staring at the boy on more than one occasion; not that Sirius didn't stare at him either. Harry knew that he looked a lot like his father, though much of his facial features were hidden behind the short growth of hair on his chin and face.
When Teddy began yawning, Harry ushered the boy to bed. He cleared one of the bedrooms down the hall of dust and cobwebs, and transfigured pajamas for the boy. Sirius carried the infant Harry with him and the two boys curled up on the large double bed with Teddy's arms wrapped around the infant protectively. Both were asleep in moments, with the two adults watching over them.
Riddle followed to perch on the headboard of the bed. He felt no real threat from the bird, despite his continued caution. Riddle was bound to him with strong, knotted magics. Despite Harry's own natural indifference to the bond he was quite relieved that Riddle was tied to him so tightly and Harry could read nothing inherently powerful within the bird. He did not know how much Riddle remembered, if he remembered anything at all, but the raven clearly did not hold Voldemort's once vastly impressive well of magic. The raven Riddle would not return to this timeline's Voldemort. The bond of the bird to him would prevent even the attempt if not the thought entirely. The Ligo per Manùs spell was such a tightly woven compulsion as to border a sort of slavery.
Harry knew that he and Sirius still had much to discuss. Sirius seemed to trust him and believe his story, but Harry knew that it would take time for Sirius to truly trust him. And to gain that time Harry would have to develop an identity for himself. As of now, neither he nor Teddy legally existed.
Harry had a few ideas already forming in his head. Over the years he had developed a small collection of aliases that had served him quite well until he did something foolish that gave away his identity as the Boy-Who-Lived. He was sure that any of them would work well enough and he wouldn't have to create a new identity from scratch. The hardest part would be to integrate the alias into this timeline in a believable manner. Harry's identity would have to be solid, which would require some work on his part to form the necessary contacts, documentation and history that would serve him as a base.
"Who is he?" Sirius asked softly.
"Teddy?" Harry asked.
"He called you papa," Sirius said, glancing at him before returning his gaze to the children.
"He was four the first time he said it," Harry said with a small smile, remembering the day clearly. "But he isn't my blood son."
Sirius looked at him questioningly. Harry smiled.
"He's my godson."
"Who are his parents?"
"Were," Harry said, looking at the tawny-haired boy. "Remus was his father. He died only a few months after Teddy was born."
"Remus?"
Harry looked over at his godfather, taking in the stunned look on the man's face with amusement. Sirius looked somewhat gobsmacked, an expression Harry wasn't used to seeing on him.
"Yea, Remus Lupin," Harry said, "His name is Thaddeus Ranulf Lupin, though we've pretty much only ever called him Teddy."
"Moony had a little cub," Sirius said with a small smirk, "How sweet."
Harry raised an eyebrow, amused. "As I recall he was quite stunned himself."
"Who was his mother, then?"
Harry opened his mouth to answer before closing it again and shaking his head. "I would rather not say, yet. It wasn't until I was out of Hogwarts that they started even dating. I would rather the two of them figure it out on their own without any hints or prompts from you or me. Besides, I'm pretty sure they haven't met yet, and likely won't for a decade or two."
Sirius seemed like he wanted to protest, but didn't voice it. Instead he focused on another issue, "Were you married?"
Harry nearly choked. "No!"
"No? Really? How old are you and you didn't get married?" Sirius said with amusement.
"I'm twenty-seven," Harry said a bit defensively. "And I never had the time. We were in the middle of a war."
Sirius sobered immediately, eyeing him with a look that Harry couldn't identify. Harry sighed. He had grown accustomed to his lifestyle within the Order, they all had, and it was distinctly strange to be talking to someone who was not a part of that life. Harry could see Sirius's grudging acceptance of the conflict, but the idea of a full-fledged war was a whole new level. The skirmishes between Voldemort and the Order had not escalated to a war until after Harry's graduation from Hogwarts. The first 'war', in which James and Lily died at the end, was more of a series of schoolyard tussles and restrained duels in comparison. Voldemort's first rise was marked by his use of fear from the shadows. His second rise was far more bold and sadistic.
"Perhaps we should return to the living room," Harry said looking back to the two boys curled up on the bed. "I'm sure we've much to discuss, and I'll need your help to make my new identity a reality with the Ministry."
The two returned to the living room, leaving Riddle perched on the bed. Harry didn't bother to remove the sheets on the furniture, and lowered himself into a chair near the fireplace, stretching his legs in front of him. Sirius watched him, no doubt noticing the way he favored his right leg. Harry didn't have his usual cane with him, he didn't use it while dueling. The metal brace encasing the length of his leg supported his weight well enough, if still painfully, that he could move without a cane. It and his wand where two of the few items he had not been able to bring with him, if for the simple reason that he wasn't holding either of them when the magic activated.
"So," Sirius said, "What's this about your identity?"
oooOoooOoooOooo
Harry and Sirius spoke for a few hours, debating on plans for Harry's integration into the timeline. Sirius had a better working knowledge of the Ministry's internal practices, which proved invaluable. Harry could forge documentation for his identity well enough, he had done so before, but he had never had to place believable copies within the British Ministry before. In his original timeline the Ministry had fallen shortly after Harry's return to Britain, so there was no one to double check Harry's claims with.
Harry settled on his oldest alias in the end, though it wasn't a hard decision to make. His first alias was the only one that was grounded in any sort of reality. Of course that reality was twenty years in the future, but Harry was sure he wouldn't have too much trouble with it. The challenge would come up if his old master ever caught wind of him and came calling, wondering why some bloke in Britain had claimed to be his relation.
Harry had spent three years living in central Siberia, one of Russia's three Magical nations, while he studied for his Martial Magics Mastery under a man he had only known as Tchernov. Harry had been told that the Master-Adept was one of the best martial Warlocks in existence, and Harry spent six months just trying to find the man. Tchernov was notoriously difficult to locate, and carted around under more aliases than Harry ever thought sane. But Tchernov had reason to hide his family origins, which Harry learned long into his apprenticeship under the man.
Once Tchernov allowed Harry to become his Apprentice, Harry hadn't left Siberia until he received his own mastery title. Harry left the cold land with the notoriously difficult to achieve Siberian Martial Magics Mastership when he was only twenty-one, the youngest person to be granted the title of Warlock in over five centuries. Harry had only seen his master periodically since, distracted as he was by the war. Tchernov had agreed to teach him, but not help him fight. Harry hadn't begrudged the old man his decision, simply being grateful for the tutelage.
During his time in Siberia, however, Tchernov insisted that he live under an alias, and had put the citizenship documents in through the Siberian Magical government, making Harry officially someone else. Harry had used the alias through nearly the entirety of the war; until a young Order member let slip that Harry occasionally degenerated into Russian when angered, which made his alias rather obvious.
Now Harry was going to reclaim that alias as his once again.
Luckily for him, he had made it a habit to carry most of his more valuable belongings with him, each tucked into the half a dozen magically enhanced pockets hidden in his robes. Interestingly, after nearly a decade of war Harry's sense of value in items had been tainted a bit. Most of the objects in his pockets were medical supplies, a host of potions and a miscellany of artifacts and contraptions that aided him in his various missions. Harry did, however, still carry his citizenship documents and Mastership papers, if simply because he had never bothered to take them out.
Harry searched through his pockets and spread out all the documents he had on him on the desk in the den. Harry figured that with a few hours of cleaning, the dust and sheets removed and the candles replaced, the room would have a comforting sort of atmosphere to it. As it was now, it simply felt old and cold and unused. Though Harry particularly liked the selection of portraits along one of the walls of various old Potter family members. They watched him silently, with only the occasional grunt or muffled yawn, clearly not very interested in the strange man now inhabiting their home.
He had his documents spread across the large desk in front of him. His Siberian Mastership papers were the focus of his attention as he carefully altered the dates listed throughout the document. It would be suspicious if he used the papers when they held a date two decades in the future.
Sirius followed him a moment later into the den. Harry glanced up at him before returning his attention to the parchment laid out in front of him. Sirius rounded the desk to look over his shoulder. Riddle shifted on the back of his chair, and Sirius eyed the bird warily.
"You sure he's not evil or something?" Sirius asked.
"Evil?" Harry said, "No. An arrogant condescending creature? Most definitely."
Sirius chuckled, though stayed a good arms span away from the raven.
"Siberia?" Sirius asked. Harry paused in his perusal of the document and looked up at the man.
"Tchernov favored the isolation that Russia-Siberia offered him. That is where I trained."
"Tchernov? Never heard of him."
"I would be surprised if you had heard his name, at this time."
"He was your master?"
"For three years," Harry said.
"Who is he?"
"Tchernov is a Warlock," Harry said. There would be time enough later to reveal exactly who Tchernov really was.
"A true Warlock?" Sirius asked, "Titled and everything?"
"And everything."
"Wait, are you titled and everything?"
Harry smirked, and pointed to the Noblesse Emblem emblazoned on the bottom of all his documents. It marked the documents as Noble; the person therein Titled and a part of the greater Court, if not the Peerage. It was an old system, Harry knew, the Court. It had for the most gone out of favor amongst the Muggles a hundred year ago, but the Wizarding world was often stuck in the middle ages and that meant that the Peerage was still around, though not as powerful as it once was. Ranks, titles and honors were still in effect and passed down complete with a limited amount of power, duty and responsibility if not the land-based fiefdoms. Harry had always thought it amusing that the Muggles had a Queen without an active court while the Wizards had a court without a Queen, or royalty at all, for that matter.
Harry's title of Warlock was much like the Muggle title of Knight. It wasn't hereditary and it wasn't given lightly, bestowed only on those worthy of it for various reasons. But a Warlock title was also much like the Muggle doctorate. It had to be earned, and it denoted a certain level of magical knowledge, though not any specific field of knowledge. It could only be given by another Warlock, and Warlocks were a rare breed worldwide. His Warlock title made him a part of the Wizarding court inasmuch as a medieval Knight was one. He was welcome amongst them, addressed as Sir and lauded, but he was really more of a servant with specialized skills, albeit skills that were highly dangerous and made him quite powerful.
"I was given the title Warlock when I was twenty-one," Harry said.
Sirius whistled in appreciation, and Harry shook his head in bemusement, looking back over the spread of parchments on the desk. His own papers were interspersed with the forged documents for Teddy, who was named as Harry's adopted Godson, which was the truth anyways. The only difference he made for Teddy's papers was the boy's birth year and last name; changing it from Lupin to Ludolf.
"So, say that full name for me," Sirius said, staring at Harry's Russian-based name on the paper. Harry snorted in amusement but complied, pulling out the Russian accent that he had acquired during his time in Siberia.
"Hardrik Lyovsky Tchernov," Harry said, feeling the name roll through his mouth thickly.
Sirius stared at him a moment, blinking more than was normal. "Right."
Harry sighed. "Hardy will suit."
"Hardy?"
"A common nickname I was called by," Harry said. "I'm used to it, and it will suit me fine."
Hardy. He had been called such more for his penchant for survival than because it was a short form of his Russian name, Hardrik. Harry's friends had begun calling him Hardy before they even left Hogwarts. It made it easier for him to transition into the Russian name his teacher gave to him. It was very similar.
"So you're this guy from now on, then?" Sirius asked. Harry nodded.
"Yes, so you'll have to start calling me by this name," Harry said, tapping the parchment in front of him, "And myself as well. I'll need to get used to it again. It'll generally be better that I just drop my name as Harry Potter completely and become Hardrik Tchernov."
"I like Hardy better. Or Harry. What's wrong with Harry?"
Harry looked at his godfather blankly for a moment before blinking slowly, once. "Fine. Hardy Tchernov, then. And his name is Harry," Harry said, pointing down the hall to the room where the two boys slept. "Would you prefer to change his name?"
"It'd be a might bit strange to have two Harry Potters running around," Sirius agreed, then made a face. "It's already strange."
Harry simply looked back at his godfather. The man had given him an idea that Harry hadn't thought of himself. He didn't mind going by a pseudonym as he was well used to it, however, giving the infant Harry Potter another name to grow up under could protect the boy. Besides wand-happy Death Eaters looking for revenge, Harry was equally worried about the general population. The legend of the Boy-Who-Lived would grow to epic proportions by the time it would be ready for the boy's first year at Hogwarts. Harry distinctly remembered the first time he stepped foot into the Leaky Cauldron and the mob that had descended upon him.
"It'll keep him safe," Harry said slowly, "To call him something other than Harry Potter." He raised a hand to forestall whatever Sirius was about to say. "I would not keep from him who he is, nor raise him away from the Wizarding world, but being Harry Potter, survivor of Voldemort will be dangerous." Far more than I am willing to say, Harry thought.
Harry couldn't read Sirius's face well. The man's expression kept changing subtly, but there was a determination in the man's eyes that was easy to read.
"James," Sirius said, an odd choked sound to his voice. "Call him James."
"James Potter?"
Sirius caught the note of disbelief in his voice and threw up his hands, spinning and pacing halfway across the den before turning back to him. "What do you suggest? It's his name! He's James's son! James…"
Sirius's legs buckled beneath him and he hit the floor hard. Harry watched his godfather fold himself over his knees, fist buried into the rug and head bent low to his chest. He saw the barely restrained sobs more than he heard them. His godfather's body shook with them.
Harry had lost much in his life, and had seen others lose as much. He had been in Sirius's place more times than he cared to count but it was somewhat rare for him to be in the sole position of witness.
He crossed the room silently, and rested one hand on the man's shoulder, squeezing hard, pressing part of his weight onto the bent form of his godfather. He knew that no words could console, no sounds would take away the pain of the loss. But his weight, pressing onto Sirius's shoulder, was a stark reminder to the man that he was not alone.
Harry knew, having been in Sirius's place before, it was comfort enough.
Sirius pulled himself together after some time. Harry kept his silence, returning his attention to the papers strewn across the desk while his godfather disappeared down the hallway. Harry had Teddy's documents completed – Theodore Peers Ludolf – by the time Sirius returned to the den.
He didn't look like he had recently broken down, but the man was somewhat more subdued, looking tired. Harry saw something of what he remembered his godfather to be, after Azkaban, but it was a sliver of the damage that the prison had done.
"Give him the Black name," Sirius said, leaning over the desk.
Harry blinked up at him, surprised at the suggestion. "You want to name him a Black?"
"It'll hide that he's a Potter, right? It'll keep him safer. I'll name him as my heir. That'll give him the Black name."
"And stick it to your mother, I'm sure," Harry said, amused despite the topic.
Sirius gave him a wolfish grin. "More the reason to do it, then, I say."
Harry snorted. "It might work. Most are foolish enough to get distracted by the Black name."
"One of the best places to hide is in plain sight."
"Alright," Harry nodded. "Harry James Potter Black. We'll call him James Black. It'll hide him well enough. Wizards are remarkably dense when it comes to the obvious."
"And you can keep your name, Harry," Sirius said.
Harry stared at his godfather, more thankful to the man than he expected. He had always wanted to be 'just Harry,' and while that wish had faded as the war continued, getting the chance to leave some of his unwanted reputation behind was a wonderful freedom. He had tasted that freedom before, having spent time under aliases on more than one occasion. As Hardrik Tchernov, he'd be taking up that chance once again. He could make what reputation he wanted. He could be just Harry.
oooOoooOoooOooo
Just before dawn Sirius noticed how Harry was favoring his ribs. The pains of his battle prior to the time travel had built steadily through the night and morning, demanding attention.
"You're injured," Sirius said suddenly. Harry blinked and looked up at him, not expecting the statement.
"Not badly," Harry said, truthfully. He had stopped any serious damage while still in Godric's Hollow, leaving the rest of his wounds to deal with after he ensured Sirius and the infant Harry were safe.
"You're bleeding," Sirius said, crossing the room to him.
Harry was a bit stunned at the man's sudden concern. Still shocked at his godfather's presence, Harry let him pull him to his feet and discard his robes. Finally acting for himself, Harry pushed Sirius's hands away and stripped his jumper and t-shirt on his own. He heard Sirius gasp before he even set his shirts down.
"What happened?" Sirius asked, poking at his side. Harry sucked in a breath at his touch, pain rippling across his ribs and chest. Looking down at the wound, he finally got a good look at it. A deep gash ran across his ribs from his sternum to a point beneath his right arm. It looked partially healed, likely the result of his half-arsed healing spells, but the wound was seeping blood, trailing down his torso like thick honey.
"The Lestrange brothers," Harry said thoughtfully, inspecting the half-healed wound carefully. "Rabastan, I think, did this one."
"Both of them?"
Harry nodded, poking at the wound much in same way that Sirius had done.
"What are those?" Sirius asked, pointing to the line of runes etched into his skin. Harry ran a hand over a couple. They started at his collar and lined down his chest to taper off just below his navel. Circling his collar over his shoulders there was also two parallel lines down the outside of his spine, the outside of his legs and down the length of his arms. The runes were etched as if they had been cut into his skin by a blade, raised like pale scars that barely stood out from his white skin.
"Runes," Harry said simply.
"I've never seen anything like that."
"They aren't common," Harry said. "They are a form of ritual mark, of a sorts."
Sirius looked at him blankly, leaving him to wonder what the other man was thinking.
"What sort of ritual?"
"Nothing dark or sinister, I assure you," Harry said with a vague sense of amusement. "The only blood used in their creation was my own."
"What do they do?"
Harry inspected the other surface wounds scattered across his torso and arms. He could also feel, now that he paid more attention, that there where more on his back and likely a puncture wound in his right thigh if the sharp, throbbing was any indication.
"They heal," Harry said, glancing up at the man with a small smile. Harry pulled a small silver blade from the sheath hidden along the small of his back in his jeans. The blade had no handle, and was sharp only towards its point. It was specifically designed for these sorts of runes, and more specifically for his body.
Sirius took a step away from him, but Harry ignored his caution, turning the narrow blade towards the runes on his chest. Harry cut into the rune marks, tracing one that rested in the center of his sternum, he then moved the blade down to his stomach and repeated it, cutting open the rune just over his navel. He repeated this twice more to runes on each of his forearms. As he completed the fourth rune they began to glow a faint silvery green. As Harry watched the soft glow began to spread across the line of runes, casting a light over his body. The runes burned brighter nearer to his wounds, and the light seemed to spread to cover the entirety of the gash running around his torso.
Nodding in satisfaction Harry sheathed his knife and looked back up at Sirius. Sirius was staring in fascination at the runes, his face lit by the glow of them. He reached out slowly, staring at Harry's arm, before running his fingertips lightly down the inside of his forearm. A whisper of a song echoed in his ears, soothing and sleepy. Harry watched the touch, suddenly realizing why his arm drew the other man's attention. Emblazoned on the flesh of his inner arm was the golden mark of a Phoenix, curled around itself as if nesting, its color lit by the runes in a silvery light.
"The Order's mark," Sirius whispered, his hand falling away. Harry mentally kicked himself. He had fully forgotten about the mark on his arm. The Phoenix's Mark would have served him well in helping Sirius to trust him, and he hadn't even thought about it. Then again, his other Mark was far less reassuring and if seen would only cause a great amount of mistrust, explanation or not. Harry wasn't ready to let Sirius see Voldemort's mark on him. Not yet.
"With the magic activated for healing, I'll need to sleep soon," Harry said, pulling his robes back over his shoulders and leaving his bloody shirts on the floor. The robes would hide the skull and snake on his back until he could rig up a concealing charm. "The worst of the injuries will be healed by the time I wake up."
"Handy that," Sirius said a bit distractedly, still eyeing the line of runes down Harry's chest that could be seen through the robes.
"Saved my life an awful lot," Harry said. "Especially when Healers were scarce."
Sirius watched him as Harry returned to his seat, using his arms to lower his body into the chair. His leg throbbed in complaint from the overuse. His healing runes would help take the worst of the pain away, but he'd be sore for days still. It always pained him more after a battle on foot. Harry had on occasion taken his battles to the air by various means because of it. It saved him the throbbing pain of his leg afterwards, and had the added benefit of throwing most of his opponents off. Few Wizards had the instincts to guard themselves from attacks that came from below, even while in the air.
"I should go talk to Dumbledore," Sirius said.
Harry nodded but didn't say anything.
"Nobody knew Peter was the secret keeper," Sirius said quietly.
"You may be arrested," Harry said. "Go straight to Dumbledore, he'll listen to you. Tell him about me if you like."
Sirius looked at him for a while, and Harry remained quiet, letting the man decide his own course of action. Sirius was an Auror, a good one, and for all his impulsiveness Harry figured the man was calmed down enough not to do anything too rash right away.
"Dumbledore, then," Sirius said with a nod. "I'll go the Order Headquarters, if he isn't there he'll at least be alerted to my arrival there."
Harry nodded, recalling how the Phoenix Mark system didn't include a communication charm until the second rise. It had been proved to be an invaluable addition. Harry would have to talk to Dumbledore about adding the charm sooner.
Harry watched as Sirius disappeared down the hall to the bedroom. A moment later he returned and looked at him for a moment, something in his face making Harry take notice of him.
"I'll Trust my Godson to your care, then," Sirius said and left the flat through the apparation point in the corner of the living room before Harry could bring himself to react. The runes' healing magics were making him sluggish already. Harry felt the widening of his own eyes, recognizing the subtle shift of magic that was Sirius's Trust. It was the feel of one magical guardian including another in his responsibility and trust over a child. He had felt the same shift when he took shared guardianship over Hermione's only daughter, after her husband's death. He had also felt it when Remus had died and left him as the only guardian to Teddy.
Sirius had trusted him enough to name him as a shared magical guardian over Harry Potter.
Harry blinked, beginning to feel the signs of his own fatigue. His magic had been activated to help his body heal and he needed to sleep to complete the healing. His body and magic was now calling for him to do so. Harry stretched out on the couch, trusting the wards of the flat and knowing that Teddy would wake him if either of the boys needed him. He drifted to sleep with his magic glowing through the runes across his skin, slowly healing the wounds he had collected in his latest spat with a Dark Lord and his followers.
oooOoooOoooOooo
August 2, 1981 – Apartment 8 at Barrow Block, Diagon Alley, London
Harry woke to muffled sounds of glassware and childish giggling. Looking to the clock on the mantle he found that the dawn had passed and it was now nearly eight in the morning. Knowing that the mere few hours since dawn wouldn't have been enough for his runes to heal the extent of his injuries, he must have slept through the entire day and following night. Harry groaned as he stood, stretching his muscles carefully after the healing. Feeling stiff but not overly sore past the usual dull pain in his leg, he made his way into the kitchen to see what all the racket was about.
Harry stopped in the doorway to stare at the scene in front of him. The fifteen-month-old Harry – James – sat in the middle of the floor wearing nothing but a cloth nappie that looked suspiciously like it had once been a pillowcase. A large bowl of sticky porridge sat between his legs and the child was using the soup spoon clutched in one hand to alternately feed himself and send the food flying about the kitchen. Every time the porridge hit with a flat wet splat he would curl in on himself with deep, uncontrollable giggles. Harry was positive that there was more porridge splattered across the cupboards and walls than had made it inside the boy's stomach. Teddy was seated at the table and ducking the ammunition while laughing along with the infant, with a mostly empty bowl in front of him. Harry figured Teddy had either eaten his own breakfast or helped the infant redecorate the kitchen. From the amount of oatmeal about Harry suspected the latter.
"Good morning," Harry said wryly, keeping a wary eye on the giggling, porridge-flinging infant.
"Morning papa!" Teddy greeted, looking a bit sheepish.
"Any trouble while I was sleeping?"
Teddy shook his head. "No. I saw that your runes were glowing so I let you sleep. I found oatmeal in a stay-fresh box and some of that weird muggle milk."
"The heat treated stuff?" Harry asked, familiar with Teddy's opinions on the boxed, Muggle milk.
"Yea," Teddy said, pointing to one of the cupboards. "There isn't anything else, really."
"You've eaten oatmeal for the past two days?" Harry asked.
"Didn't get up till noon yesterday. Porridge for lunch, for second lunch, for dinner and for breakfast today. Though he actually ate it yesterday," Teddy said as the infant flung another glop of sticky porridge at the wall.
Harry watched the infant for a bit, amused at the child's gleeful antics. He wasn't entirely surprised that Teddy didn't wake him earlier. Teddy had helped with the care of the few younger children at the Order Headquarters. While only nine himself, Teddy did know how to keep an eye on those younger than him and the women of the Order had taught the boy basic baby care. Harry still would never leave Teddy to babysit an infant alone but Teddy was perfectly capable of keeping an eye on another child for a while, especially with an adult there if needed. Harry's magic may have demanded that he sleep, but it didn't mean he wasn't capable of being woken. Teddy knew how to do so if he had needed to.
"You didn't happen to find any tea, did you?" Harry asked. Teddy nodded, pointing his spoon at one of the cupboards. Harry found the tea and after a moment of searching located a mug. He waved his hand absently, cleaning porridge from the various surfaces of the kitchen with a mumbled "Scourgify," while he made tea. He would have to go to a market for food and supplies soon.
Harry dodged a wildly flung glop of porridge, banishing it with a wave of his hand before it struck anything. The infant stared at the unexpected disappearance before flinging his arms up with a delighted cry. Harry raised an amused eyebrow at the child as he sat at the table with his tea.
"He's happy," Harry commented wryly, keeping an eye on the boy.
"I'm running out of games," Teddy said. "There aren't any kid's things around here."
"Charlus Potter never had children," Harry said.
"Well, he likes Riddle."
Harry raised a questioning eyebrow at his Godson, suddenly noticing that the bird wasn't in the kitchen with the boys.
"Especially his tail feathers," Teddy said with a smirk.
Harry laughed, imagining the scene.
"Are we staying here?" Teddy asked, not quite looking at him.
"Would you like to?"
Teddy shrugged, "I don't care I guess."
"We're pretty stuck in this timeline," Harry said, watching the boy's reactions, "So we'll have to integrate ourselves into the world. This flat could work, but it may be a bit strange to have us living in an old Potter property. But then, perhaps not."
Teddy was silent for a while, poking at his oatmeal in thought while Harry nursed his tea and continued to banish the oatmeal the infant on the floor kept flinging about.
"Will we be under Fidelius again?" Teddy asked.
Harry looked up at the boy, hearing the resignation in his voice. Teddy's life had been lived behind the wards of the Order, allowing only very limited access outside of the Headquarters. Not for the first time, Harry cursed Voldemort for the lifestyle so many of them were forced to adapt to. It was hardest for their children.
"No," Harry said, "I don't think we'll put the flat under the Fidelius charm." Teddy looked up at him hopefully, cementing Harry's decision not to hide them. "But we'll have to be careful, and not speak about the possible future or our time-travel."
Teddy nodded, looking ready to agree to just about anything in order not to have to live in secrecy. Harry held in a sigh. He hoped that Teddy would be able to adjust to a life outside of the Order. He was young and adaptable, but it would be difficult for the boy.
"What about our names?" Teddy asked. "Won't people think it odd?"
Harry nodded, appreciating the boy's quick acceptance of their situation and his smart thinking.
"We'll use an alias," Harry said.
"A different identity, right?"
"Yes, a different name, history and everything."
"And act like someone else," Teddy said, nodding.
"Yes, but I don't think we'll have to do too much of that. No one knows us already, so all we need are names and a history that we can tell people. We don't have to act much different at all."
Teddy nodded a bit excitedly, his hair shifting color slightly. No doubt he had cottoned on to the various aliases that Harry and many of the Order members used on occasion. Most of their aliases also came with glamours, or on the rare occasions Polyjuice, to change facial features. Harry had mastered a handful of glamour charms over the years because of his own alter egos. Of course his aliases wouldn't have the same effectiveness now, as his networks and social connections through his aliases were what made them so useful. He would have to consider re-establishing some of those connections. With a likely ten year wait before Voldemort showed up again, Harry would have plenty of time to set up a few strong networks.
"So we won't have to do it all over again, right?"
"Exactly," Harry said. "But it might be difficult."
Teddy smiled and sat up straight in his chair, throwing his shoulders back proudly. "We can do it."
"Yes, I think we might be able to," Harry said with a chuckle. "Where is Sirius, anyways? Is he sleeping?"
Teddy shook his head, "He's not here. I haven't seen him."
"Are you sure?" Harry asked. Teddy nodded.
Harry didn't say anything, feeling his mind race at Sirius's prolonged absence. He feared that the man never made it to Dumbledore, or worse, went after Wormtail alone. Harry feared that his history was struggling to repeat itself.
oooOoooOoooOooo
Harry wasn't sure how long he wanted to wait for Sirius to return. The man's continued absence caused a rising foreboding in his gut. Harry passed the morning with the boys, enjoying the hours he was able to spend with his godson and helping Teddy memorize the aliases they would use, the names they would now take as their own. Between the two of them they managed to get the infant Harry – "No papa, it's James now remember." – bathed, dressed and clear of the porridge shower the child had caused. Harry spent some time conjuring a miscellany of child's toys. The conjured items wouldn't last more then a few days as Harry had never bothered to master Conjuring, but they would do well enough until they were replaced with more permanent things.
By evening Harry was done waiting. Rather than find an owl to carry a letter or try to fire-call Albus when he didn't know where the old man was, Harry simply sent off a patronus messenger with a half-cryptic message about who he was and if the man had seen Sirius. Twenty minutes later a ghostly Phoenix returned, which surprised him. Harry had learned that he could send his messengers over a great deal of distance, far more than anyone else he knew who used the spell. He didn't know what Albus's limit was, the man had died before he had to really test it, but he still hadn't expected to get a patronus messenger as a response. Albus was likely closer to London than Hogwarts, though Harry couldn't be sure. The patronus glided through the window of the living room, drawing the attention of the two boys and causing Riddle to caw in irritation. The phoenix landed on his knee, inclined its head, and Harry heard Dumbledore's voice echo out of it.
"He was here. I know where you are. I'm bringing a friend."
The phoenix dissipated and Harry blinked at the spot it had been. He didn't like the sound of Dumbledore's voice. It had started slightly ominous, subtly so, yet distinct to Harry's ear, and ended on a slightly jovial note when mentioning his friend. Something had happened.
"Was that Albus Dumbledore?" Teddy asked. Harry nodded and got to his feet, using a conjured cane to help balance himself against his bad leg. A knock sounded on the door and Harry resisted the urge to hex the man. Albus had not graced him with much of a warning. He had been a lot closer than Hogwarts, though Harry was betting that his own patronus had made the full journey. Albus had simply sent his along when he got to the Alley and the apartment. Harry pulled Lily's wand from a pocket and made his way to the door. If Dumbledore was bringing a friend then he was pretty sure that he would be able to judge the man's intentions by his friend's identity.
"Mr. Tchernov?" Dumbledore's voice came from the other side of the door. Harry crossed the living room, knowing that it was Dumbledore. No one but Sirius knew that name in this time.
Harry opened the door with the wand still in his hand. Dumbledore stood in the hallway, looking so much younger than he expected him to be. He hadn't realized how much the man had visibly aged during the second war.
On his shoulder sat Fawkes.
Harry stared at the two for a minute, quite surprised to see the phoenix. He had expected McGonagoll or Moody or in some bat of looniness from Albus, Snape.
"Harry Tchernov?" Albus asked.
"Professor," Harry greeted, slipping the wand back within the confines of his robes, "Please come in."
"Thank you," Dumbledore said as Harry stood aside for him to walk into the flat. Harry closed the door behind them and watched as Albus took in the flat. Half of the furniture was still covered and dust was layered in the corners where he hadn't bothered to throw cleaning spells yet. It was quite clear that the flat was only very recently inhabited after a long absence. The infant Harry was seated in the middle of the rug before the unlit fireplace, a host of large puzzle pieces spread around and under him. Teddy sat nearby, actually putting the puzzle slowly together and trying to keep the infant from chewing on the pieces.
"My name is Hardrik Lyovsky Tchernov," Harry said, offering his left hand to the man.
Dumbledore smiled and clasped his arm in a Wizard's hold, rather than a Muggle handshake. Harry was sure that the other man could feel the wand he had strapped to his left forearm, just as he could feel Albus's wand beneath his palm.
"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," the elder said, listing off his many names in a gentle role of sound. Harry nodded, letting go of the grip he had on the other's arm and gestured towards the boys on the floor.
"My Godson, Teddy Ludolf," Harry introduced, "Teddy, this is Professor Albus Dumbledore and his phoenix, Fawkes."
"Hello," Teddy said, watching the stranger cross the living room. The older Wizard had died before Teddy was old enough to remember him, though he no doubt knew the man's name and reputation. Harry had spoken of him often enough. Everyone in the Order spoke of Albus.
"The bottomless pit, there, is Harry Potter," Harry said, eyeing the infant as the boy tried to fit one of the large puzzle pieces in his mouth.
"Indeed," Albus said with a chuckle. He kneeled in front of the infant, pulling the puzzle piece out of the boy's mouth gently. Harry watched as the man seemed to inspect the child, finishing his perusal by running his hands through the boy's hair, revealing the unblemished skin of his forehead. Infant-Harry watched Dumbledore throughout, going a bit cross-eyed as the front of his head was touched. The infant suddenly reached out, tangled his small hands in the long beard and flung his arms out wide, pulling the neatly groomed beard into a wild mess. Dumbledore gave a surprised sound and tried to save his beard from the giggling child. Teddy laughed at the sight and Harry thought that it wasn't every day that one saw Albus Dumbledore in such an undignified situation.
"Ah, I will need that back, dear boy," Albus said to the infant as he tried to disentangle the boy's hands. "It is good to see you laughing, little Harry." Albus finally gave up on reclaiming his beard and simply picked the boy up and took a spot on the couch.
"We're going to call him Jamie," Teddy piped up.
"Jamie?" Albus looked questioningly over at Harry, his eyes far more intense than the sound of his voice.
Harry crossed the room, his cane thumping lightly on the floor and sat in one of the wingback chairs. Fawkes flew over to him and sat on the arm of the chair, crooning at him. Harry pet the bird absently.
"I will not hide from him who he is," Harry said, meeting Albus's eyes. "But calling him by the Potter name is just asking for unwanted and unsafe attention. Sirius named him heir to the Black name. We'll call the boy James Black."
Albus nodded, turning his attention back to the boy in his lap. He was still trying to free his beard from the boy's hands. Harry could only vaguely guess what the man was thinking. He was bolstered by Fawkes's presence. Albus trusted him enough that he didn't feel like he needed another wand for back up, or an active Ministry Auror for an arrest, but Harry was still a bit wary of how much social power Albus Dumbledore commanded. Dumbledore could still want to send the infant to the Dursley's for the blood protections – despite Harry's own arguments against their effectiveness – and Harry did not want the infant placed with the Dursley's. He did not want his own history to be repeated in this future.
"How much did Sirius tell you?" Harry asked.
"Your name, Hardrik Tchernov. That you were at Charlus Potter's flat and that he left Harry with you in Trust." Albus said, eying him over his half moon glasses. "That you are, in fact, from the future."
"And did you believe him?" Harry asked.
"Sirius believed you," Albus offered. Harry inclined his head slightly, grateful for the offer of forwardness. Albus didn't always give that and Harry knew that habit intimately.
"Ah," Harry said, "But you are still skeptical."
Albus nodded, but his eyes were twinkling at him. "It is not everyday that one meets another from a future so distant. Traveling hours into the past is easy with the aide of a Time Turner, and days, while rare, are possible with some unusual magics. But to have one travel years into the past is most curious."
Harry remained silent for a moment, suddenly realizing that Albus had no idea just how far Harry had actually traveled – nearly three decades. Harry was twenty-seven now, yet had arrived in a time where his past-self was just over one year old. Harry wondered why Sirius hadn't mentioned that bit of information. It was very clear that Albus Dumbledore did not know that Harry Tchernov had been born as Harry Potter. He couldn't have been. To Albus, Harry was simply a Russian man who traveled backwards in time a few years – highly unusual but not particularly startling. It would make Albus curious for a while, but would unlikely make Harry stand out terribly. More of a question, he was sure, was why a Russian Wizard was in Britain in the first place and what he wanted with the Boy-Who-Lived.
"I trust that you mean no harm," Albus said. Harry cocked his head questioningly, inviting a further explanation. He wouldn't have trusted himself so quickly, were he in Dumbledore's place. Albus pointed at the phoenix perched on the arm on the chair, preening and nearly purring under Harry's hand. "Fawkes has taken quite a liking to you."
Harry chuckled, giving the bird an extra scratch behind his head. "He would, really," Harry said and pulled his robe sleeve up on his right arm. His runes were barely visible in a line running down the length of the back of his forearm and disappearing under his bunched sleeve, dormant and no longer glowing. They continued up his arm and over his shoulder to connect to the ring around his collar. But while the rune lines were likely intriguing for the Headmaster, Harry knew that the iridescent, golden phoenix on his inner forearm was what really caught his attention. The mark shimmered in the light and seemed to move on his skin, uncurling its wings and neck as if it had just woken from a nap.
"The Order's mark," Albus said softly, staring at it. Harry was somewhat amused by the similar reactions that Sirius and Albus had at the sight of the Phoenix tattooed on his arm.
"Most interesting," Albus said, watching the phoenix on Harry's arm move around. "Who marked you?"
"You did," Harry said, watching Albus's reaction. "Some time from now." Understatement. Harry had been twenty-three when he was finally marked with the flaming Phoenix.
"May I?" Albus asked, gesturing to the mark. Harry nodded and offered his arm to the man. Albus shifted the infant on his lap and reached out to touch the phoenix gently with two fingers. Harry felt the mark heat and tingle at the touch, a tickling sensation that rippled beneath his skin. Phoenix song filtered around them, heard but not tangible, a sure sign of the mark's validity. A whisper of a voice echoed in his ear, the remnants of the communication charms that had been added during Voldemort's second rise. They were useless now, without the rest of the marks having been altered to accommodate the change. This Albus would unlikely be aware of them.
Albus lifted his fingers and sat back into the depths of the couch with a small smile and Harry let his sleeve fall, echoing the other man's movements and settling back into the chair.
"Gryffindor's sword?" Albus asked, glancing at the mark hidden by his sleeve. Harry nodded. The sword was uniquely crafted, and recognizable to those who knew of it. Many of the Order's marks were signed by the one who marked them; the Head usually. It was often a personal touch. Harry knew that Albus's phoenix mark carried a glowing wand casting a beam of light much like a Muggle flashlight. He didn't know the full meaning behind the symbol. Albus didn't have the time to tell all of it to him during the few times that the subject arose. For Harry, Albus had given him a valuable reminder marked into his skin with iridescent phoenix-based magic.
"A reminder," Harry said.
"Oh? Of what?"
Harry smiled at the memory, both of the time that Albus gave him the mark on his arm, as well as the old memories of his time at Hogwarts. His early years in the Wizarding world were rife with trouble, but he found a great amount of good in them as well, now able to look back and laugh and reminisce without the anger and frustration and grief that he had felt when he was younger.
"That it is my choices who makes me who I am."
Harry paused, thinking back and remembering the conversation and the events of his second year at Hogwarts. He could still recall the lost feeling he had, wondering if he had been placed wrong, if he was destined for the darkness that had permeated the Slytherin house since before Voldemort's time as a student. He had wondered and feared – not for the first or last time – if he was following a similar path as Tom Riddle had done to become Voldemort.
"But why the sword?" Albus asked softly. Harry looked back to him, a small smile on his face.
"I pulled Gryffindor's sword out of the Sorting Hat," he said.
Albus looked like he wanted to ask about that a bit more. It isn't every day that someone gets the opportunity to get near the Sorting Hat let alone pull out a Founder's artifact hidden away in it, especially a foreign wizard (which Albus believed Harry to be). Harry was pretty sure that the hiding place of that sword wasn't well known. But he was extremely reluctant to talk about the Basilisk hidden away in the Chamber of Secrets. He didn't feel like it was time to inform the Headmaster about that little detail, or anything regarding the future. He felt as if he should be careful with what he divulged about the events the future could face, especially considering he was more interested in making sure most of them never happened.
"The circumstances to which I pulled the sword out of the hat is a whole other story," Harry said, "And I do not think it is the time to tell that tale. Suffice it to say that the events that led me to pull Godric's Sword out of the hat serve as a reminder to me that I am Gryffindor, no matter what else I may also be, I belonged in the House of the Lions. The sword on my arm is a reminder that it is my choices that make me."
"As your name suggests."
Harry smiled. "Yes, exactly."
"And Tchernov, does that not mean dark?"
"Black, actually," Harry said. "You are familiar with Russian names?"
"Lion Black," Albus said with a quirk of his lips, not bothering to answer the question. He didn't really need to, it was clear that Albus had some familiarity with the etymology of Russian names, something that Harry hadn't known. He wondered if he began speaking Russian whether or not Albus would be able to continue their conversation. He knew the elder man was fluent in other languages; French, Latin, Mermish and at least some Bulgarian for sure, but there had been little use of any during the war against Voldemort. Now Harry was just curious. Just how much did Albus know about Wizarding Russia?
"Most interesting," Albus said, "I must admit that I am terribly curious."
"Yes, I'm sure you are, Albus," he said a bit wryly, "And I will tell you that story one of these days, and likely sooner than later, so you'll have to just be patient for it."
Albus laughed. "Very well, very well. I will await the day."
Harry restrained himself from rolling his eyes. He had learned that Albus always liked a good story, and he had become fond of being able to have something to tell the man that he didn't already know. Now that he had a whole lifetime worth of stories that Albus had never heard before, he was caught between his stubborn reluctance to reveal the future and a growing anticipation to tell Albus a bit about his past. His life was full of wonderful, unbelievable stories after all, and he knew that Albus would appreciate the telling of each of them. Harry also knew, however, that Albus loved a good puzzle and despite his chafing dislike at being that puzzle he would enjoy having been the one to give Albus such a mystery to ponder on. And Harry Tchernov was a mystery. Harry took a great amount of pleasure in knowing something that Albus didn't.
"And you bear Bozidar's Runes," Albus said motioning towards his arm.
Harry nodded. His rune lines were the visible result of a rather complicated bit of magic that was more ritual than spell. He knew that Albus would recognize them. The man bore the rune lines himself. It had been Albus – in a way – who had given him the old tome that described the ritual magic. Albus had hidden the book away years before Harry went and found it, unable to destroy it, but unwilling to leave it out and about. Harry wondered what this Albus would think if he knew how old Harry had been when he had performed that particular ritual. He doubted the other man would be pleased.
Harry smirked faintly, "Have you hidden the book yet?"
Albus looked momentarily surprised before settling into a contented twinkling. "No. I suppose you know where I planned to hide it, then?"
Harry's smirk grew. "I must admit that I would never have thought to look for an ancient, blood-based obscure magic tomb in the middle of the Muggle studies section of the Hogwart's library. Putting it under a glamour that made it look like a Muggle children's nursery rhyme book was quite ingenious, really."
Albus laughed, causing Harry to smile. He had missed the Headmaster. After the man's death Harry had taken his place as Head of the Order but he knew that no one could ever replace the jovial, powerful old wizard, offering lemon drops and tea to all his guests.
"Indeed, indeed," Albus said. The old man looked down at the child in his lap and wiggled his fingers in front of his face. Little colorful bubbles appeared, floating around his fingers. James watched them with wide eyes, barely moving as they circled his head and floated before his nose. The child poked a finger at a blue one, causing it to pop with a tinkling sound and rain glowing droplets of colorful sparks. The infant cried out happily and proceeded to target the rest of the little bubbles, making Albus wave them around to try to save them.
oooOoooOoooOooo
Albus didn't ask about the future, but he did offer an ear if Harry ever needed one. He only called Harry by his alias, which he appreciated as he needed to get used to hearing it again. But he was quite sure that Albus did not know that it was an alias. Sirius had not told the old man that bit of information, and Harry saw no need to inform him otherwise.
Harry was somewhat skeptical about the level of trust Albus really had in him. His early experiences with the man had him bordering on manipulative, but Albus treated him as the adult Wizard that Harry was, and he saw no deception in the man's words. He didn't blame the man for any lack of trust he had in him at this time. They had only just met after all, despite Harry's history with him. He knew very well that time was essential to build trust. He only hoped that Albus would not try to take James from him, though Albus gave no indication that he was considering such a thing. The elder didn't even mention a thought or plan involving the Dursley's, blood wards or any unusual way to protect the infant. He seemed to believe that the boy was perfectly safe where he was.
Albus did, however, cast a complicated, though low-powered, bit of magic that revealed the Trust that Harry bore for the two children. It was proof that Harry was their magical guardian. In the Wizarding world, there was no reason at all to take them from him. The twinkle in the man's eye increased quite a bit after that.
Albus told him that Sirius had, indeed, come to him and explained what had happened and who was the Potters' secret keeper. Sirius had left after their meeting but spotted Wormtail slinking around Hogsmeade. Sirius of course went after him and Wormtail played the same disappearing act he had in the first time.
Harry felt his anger and frustration grow as Albus told him that Sirius was taken to the Ministry and was being blamed for the betrayal of the Potters, injuring five, killing Wormtail and one young Witch in Hogsmeade and being a Death Eater. Sirius had been accosted only seconds after Wormtail's disappearing act, laughing madly amidst the scene and all the way down to the Ministry holding cells between eight top Aurors.
"They said Sirius kept repeating, 'he was right, I can't believe he was right,' as they took him to the Ministry," Albus said. "The Aurors just assumed he was either mad or talking about Peter, or both."
"That idiot," Harry grumbled. "He left his godson in Trust to me, and didn't even fully believe me."
"Sirius was always a good judge of character." Albus said, "And rarely did anything halfway. He would typically either love or hate a person after a remarkably short time of knowing them."
"And stubborn enough to not change that opinion until forced to by some extenuating circumstance." Harry let out a long breath, feeling both frustrated and fond at the same time.
Albus explained how there was nothing he could do. He had spent all morning at the Ministry. The Minister had such a publicity stunt tied around Voldemort's disappearance, the Potters, Wormtail's death and Sirius's supposed betrayal that anything short of sending the man directly to Azkaban would have the entire wizarding public in an outcry. The Minister wouldn't let Dumbledore near Sirius and was refusing to hear anything about the possibility that all blame couldn't be placed directly onto the shoulders of one Sirius Orion Black. Without a confession from a live Peter Pettigrew, there was nothing that they could do.
Sirius was scheduled for transfer to Azkaban at dusk.
Harry sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. Sirius was still being put in Azkaban an innocent man. Wormtail was still free, unknown, a rat likely. In the first timeline Wormtail hadn't shown up at the Weasley's until two years after, when young Percival Weasley turned seven and carried a scraggly rat into the Burrow from the back garden. Harry did not know where Wormtail was until that time, and he feared that he wouldn't have a chance to trace the rat until he showed up at the Weasley's.
Harry opened his eyes and looked at the infant form of himself. The boy was smiling, trying to grab Albus's glasses from his nose. He wondered what his own first few days with the Dursley's had been like. Barely tolerated, shushed and hushed and touched only out of necessity. No, he told himself, the child sitting on Albus's knees was not the same, and he would make sure of that in the years to come. Harry was holding out a lot of hope that the future would not be the same as his past.
oooOoooOoooOooo
Author's Note: Harry's Bozidar's runes are inspired from a couple concepts. One, and the earliest, is probably the Patryn runes from the Death Gate Cycle books by Margaret Weis and Tracey Hickman. Patryn runes and magic are very different from the Bozidar's runes, but I've always been fond of them. The second inspiration is undoubtably from Miranda Fairgold's fan-based stories and her concept of blood magic. You can find her in my fave's list here. Again, there are major differences, but the inspirational source is still there and I recognize that. Kudos.
Noblesse – (French) meaning 1) aristocratic social position or rank and 2) the members of an aristocracy, especially the French aristocracy. Used in the above chapter was a combination of the two, denoting a symbol that marked a noble rank (such as a seal, emblem, crest, herald, etc). The noblesse emblem.