Growing Up Black

Disclaimer - Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling, not to myself. I have written this story for sheer pleasure, not out of any pecuniary interest.

Summary: What if Harry had been taken from the Dursleys to live with a different aunt and uncle? AU.

A/N: Thanks to all readers and reviewers! And now for the next installment...

Chapter 25

Hermione, being the dutiful girl she was, wasted no time in going directly to Professor Quirrell's office that same afternoon and knocking on his heavy oak door.

'Excuse me, sir,' she said nervously once he had let her inside. 'I have something I need to discuss with you.'

'W-what is it, M-m-miss Granger?' he asked kindly.

'It's about Aries Black,' she said. 'I think he's up to something.'

'W-what m-makes you s-say that?'

Hermione chewed her lower lip. 'I overheard him and Malfoy talking the other night. They Apparated into Gryffindor Tower.'

'No one can Ap-p-parate inside Hogwarts, M-miss Granger,' Quirrell corrected her. 'L-least of all t-two f-first-years.'

'I know, sir, but I saw them appear out of nowhere,' Hermione insisted.

'Th-that is strange. Have y-you any idea how they m-managed it?' the Defence master asked.

Hermione nodded. 'Yes, sir. They were talking, and Black commented that he had all sorts of powers because he was the Heir of Slytherin and the next Dark Lord.'

Quirrell's expression, which had been one of that sort of polite boredom with which an elderly relative might listen to a small child's fantastic story, abruptly shifted to one of intense interest.

'What else did he say?' he asked eagerly.

'Nothing, sir,' Hermione said. 'But I think he might be after the thing that's hidden in the third-floor corridor.'

Quirrell smiled indulgently, but his eyes flickered with concern. 'What makes you think that there is anything hidden in the corridor?'

The Muggleborn girl raised an eyebrow. 'It's not that hard to figure out, Professor. I don't know what it is exactly, but I don't want Black to steal it.'

'You're a very bright girl, Miss Granger,' he said. 'Ten points to Gryffindor. I shall investigate this matter thoroughly. If you hear anything else suspicious, please inform me.'

'Of course, sir,' Hermione said, and left the room. She was so pleased at being taken seriously that she completely failed to notice that, for the last part of their conversation, Quirrell had forgotten to stutter.

After Harry and Draco had captured the Stone, neither boy gave it much more thought. The heist had been the main thing for both cousins, and though Harry had thought a good deal about what the Stone could do in the future, he had no pressing need to explore its powers as of yet. Draco handed it over to Harry without complaint, and Harry only stroked it fondly for a few minutes before merrily stuffing it in a sock and hiding it at the bottom of his trunk. Between their lessons and other activities, they almost forgot about the Stone altogether.

One day, on his way up from Potions, Harry accidentally bumped into Hermione Granger, knocking her books out of her arms and scattering them all over the stone floor.

'I'm so sorry, Granger,' Harry said, and Summoned all her books into a neat stack before handing them back to her.

'Thanks,' the Muggleborn girl mumbled.

Harry decided to take advantage of the opportunity to put into practice some of the things Daphne had suggested.

'By the way, Granger,' he said, 'we seem to have got off on the wrong foot. I'm sorry about that. I know it must be difficult for you coming into a new world where you don't understand how everything works. I should have offered to help you out.'

Granger looked at him suspiciously. 'What are you playing at, Black?'

'Nothing,' Harry said innocently. 'I just realised we'd got off to a bad start and thought I'd try to make amends.'

Granger narrowed her eyes. 'Are you trying to set me up for some prank, or is this something even worse?'

'What do you take me for, Granger?' Harry asked in confusion.

'I know what you and Malfoy are planning, and I don't intend to let you get away with it,' the bushy-haired girl replied defiantly. Harry threw up his hands and backed away.

'Fine,' he said. 'Have it your way. I shan't bother you again.'

He headed for the stairwell and left the suspicious girl behind him.

The week after they had stolen the Stone, Harry was making his getaway from a revenge prank he had played on Percy Weasley when he ran directly into Professor Quirrell.

'Excuse me, sir,' he said. 'I'm sorry. I didn't see you.'

'That's q-quite all right, M-mister B-black,' Quirrell said. He pulled Harry aside into an empty classroom. 'I have heard th-that you and your c-cousin have a b-bit of interest in the Ph-philosopher's Stone.'

Harry was surprised, but did not allow it to show on his face.

'I don't know what you mean, Professor,' he said. 'I've read about it, of course, but so far as I know, very few have ever successfully made it. The only existing Stone, I think, belongs to Nicolas Flamel.'

Quirrell narrowed his eyes, and Harry suddenly felt a stabbing pain in his forehead. Then came a sudden hissing noise, but Quirrell's lips did not move. It sounded as though the noise were coming from the back of the professor's head.

'We have heard other things too,' the strange voice hissed in Parseltongue. 'We have heard that you claim to be the Heir of Slytherin. How can that be, when the true Heir is none other than Lord Voldemort?'

Part of Harry wanted very much to answer, but something told him that would be foolish. He kept quiet.

'Can he even understand me?' the voice droned on. 'What sort of Heir is he to Salazar Slytherin if he cannot speak the ancient language of the serpents?'

'If I may ask, sir,' Harry addressed Quirrell, ignoring the strange voice, 'where did you hear that I was interested in the Philosopher's Stone?'

'Miss Granger told me,' Quirrell said. 'She said you were planning to steal it.'

How could she have known? Harry wondered. He thought quickly, and then spoke. 'Granger must have misunderstood, sir,' he said. 'She was in the library when I was talking with my cousin Draco about the forbidden corridor on the third floor. We were wondering whether it might have something to do with the Chamber of Secrets Slytherin supposedly left behind, the one only his true Heir can open. I said that I'd like to sneak inside.' He furrowed his brow. 'But that wouldn't have anything to do with the Philosopher's Stone, would it, sir? So far as I know, I've never even brought that up.' He forcibly brightened his expression. 'Might there be a Philosopher's Stone inside Slytherin's Chamber, sir?'

Quirrell chuckled. 'Wh-what a f-fanciful idea, Mr Black. That w-will be all.'

Harry turned around to leave.

'Wait,' the strange voice hissed, and Harry stopped dead in his tracks before he could realise just what a terrible mistake that was.

'You do speak the language of the serpents, don't you?' the voice continued to hiss. 'Turn around when your betters are speaking to you, boy.'

Harry laughed, but he did turn around to face Quirrell. 'You are hardly my better,' he hissed. 'I am Slytherin's True Heir, descended in faithful descent from two pureblood lines that stretch back to the days of Merlin. Who are you?'

Quirrell turned around slowly and removed his turban, revealing a hideous face on the back of his head. The face's eyes glowed red, and it had no nose, only snake-like slits.

'I am Lord Voldemort,' the voice hissed. 'And I am the True Heir of Slytherin.'

Harry wrinkled his nose. He thought the face was the most disgusting thing he ever saw. He snorted.

'If you are really Slytherin's Heir, then why do you use a pseudonym?' he asked. 'If you were a decent pureblood you wouldn't feel compelled to go by that ridiculous name. "Lord Slytherin" would sound much more impressive.' He smirked. 'As would "Lord Black".' He paused. 'My great-grandfather always suspected you were some witch's bastard. Who was your dad, some filthy Muggle?'

Voldemort roared in rage, and Harry knew he had guessed exactly right.

'You're a half-blood, aren't you?' he taunted. 'What irony! He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, a half-blood!'

'KILL HIM!' Voldemort roared in English, and Quirrell turned around, his wand drawn. Harry raised his own wand, and they began to duel. Harry used all the Dark curses he knew, and some which he thought he didn't, but Quirrell was an accomplished duellist. With Voldemort helping his opponent, even Harry's Parseltongue abilities didn't seem to give him an edge. With mounting terror, Harry realised that there was no way he could win. He was duelling to kill, and even so he could only barely manage to hold off Quirrell's attacks.

In one horrible instant, Quirrell's Cutting Curse got through, and Harry collapsed to the floor, bleeding profusely. Lord Voldemort cackled.

'You were lying about your ability to speak Parseltongue,' he said in a high voice. 'Were you lying about the Stone too? Are you looking for a way to break through Dumbledore's defences? Tell me what you know!'

Harry lay on the stone floor, his heart thumping violently within his chest, and something cold and hard pressing into it from the outside. The Portkey, he thought. He was still wearing it. He let out a low, strangled hiss, and vanished, leaving Quirrell and Voldemort behind.

He suddenly appeared on the floor of the Gryffindor Common Room, covered in blood. Harry could dimly hear the shrieks and cries of his Housemates through a thick haze.

'Great Merlin!' Fred shouted. 'Aries!' The twins ran to Harry's side.

'Who did this?' George demanded.

'Quirrell,' Harry whispered. 'He's been possessed by the Dark Lord.' Then he passed out.

Dean Thomas ran off to get Madam Pomfrey, whilst Lee Jordan went to fetch Professor McGonagall. Fred and George sat by Harry, and not even Percy dared say anything to them about it. In all the hustle and bustle, no one noticed Hermione Granger slip up the stairs to her dormitory, a horrified expression on her face, and copious tears streaming down her cheeks.

Sirius Black stormed through the doors of Hogwarts, his gold-and-scarlet robes billowing behind him. Abraxas Malfoy followed after his son-in-law, along with Cassiopeia Black. After them came Irma, Druella and Narcissa, as well as Melania, who had come all the way from France. The Squibs brought up the rear. Furious rage burned in the eyes of each and every one of them.

Students made way for the angry crowd as it surged up the stairs. Any who dawdled were soon helped on their way by a few Stinging Hexes from Cassiopeia's wand. The family headed directly for the hospital wing, where Draco met them outside the closed doors.

'How is he?' Sirius demanded.

Draco shook his head. 'Not well. It was very Dark magic. Madam Pomfrey says he's lost a lot of blood, and she can't get the wounds to seal properly. She's giving him loads of Blood-Replenishing Potions, but if she can't get the wounds sealed, they won't do him any good. She's kicked everyone out of the infirmary whilst she's working.'

'Who was he duelling?' Abraxas asked. 'I should have thought our Aries would have been more than a match for any student.'

'Did they come after him from behind?' Cassiopeia asked. 'I suspect it was some dishonourable Mudblood. Attacked him whilst his back was turned.'

Draco chewed his lower lip. 'Aries said it was Professor Quirrell.'

'AN EFFING TEACHER?' Sirius roared, causing his grandmothers to blush, though they agreed fully with the sentiment.

Draco nodded. 'Aries said he was being possessed by the Dark Lord.'

'Where is Quirrell now?' Sirius demanded.

'I am afraid, Sirius, that Professor Quirrell seems to have disappeared,' Dumbledore said, coming up the stairs from behind them.

'What sort of damn fool school are you running, Dumbledore?' Marius demanded. 'Hiring Dark-Lord-possessed wizards as teachers? That's just not cricket.'

Dumbledore looked at Marius strangely. 'I don't believe we've met,' he said politely.

'I'm Marius Black,' the other man responded. 'Sirius's great-uncle.'

'I could have sworn that I had taught all the Blacks, Mr Black,' the elderly Headmaster said. 'But I have no memory of you.'

'My brother's a Squib,' Cassiopeia said brusquely. 'And I daresay he'd do far better running this school than you have, Professor. I fully intend to bring this matter up at the next meeting of the Board of Governors. Dark-Lord-possessed Defence masters!' She sniffed. 'What's next? Hell-hounds as guard dogs?'

'I assure you all that I was not aware of Quirrell's condition,' Dumbledore tried to reassure them.

'Then you're as incompetent as my husband always thought,' Irma retorted.

'I do find it odd that you do not routinely check for possession as part of the screening process,' Melania observed. 'I am quite certain they do at Beauxbatons.'

Narcissa sighed. 'I suppose we shall have to send the boys there or Durmstrang. I don't like the idea of them being so far away.'

Melania patted her on the shoulder. 'There, there, dear. You can all move down to the chateau. We've plenty of room.'

'My grandsons are not leaving Hogwarts, dear lady,' Abraxas insisted. 'This old Muggle-loving fool will leave first.'

All this time, Sirius's stare was drilling holes into Dumbledore's forehead.

'I want to see my son,' he said quietly, and all his relatives fell completely silent and joined him in glaring at Dumbledore.

'Alas, Sirius, Madam Pomfrey has made it quite clear that she is to remain undisturbed whilst she is working,' the Headmaster replied.

Before Sirius could respond with the string of profanities that sat on the tip of his tongue, the doors of the infirmary opened and the matron stepped out. All eyes turned to her, and Dumbledore slipped away quietly.

'How is he?' Sirius demanded.

Madam Pomfrey's face was long. 'I've finally managed to stop the bleeding, but this was no ordinary Cutting Curse. He's still unconscious, and I don't know whether the Blood-Replenishing Potions will take effect in time to prevent serious damage.' She paused. 'I don't want him to be disturbed, but if you promise to be very quiet, you can see him in small groups. No more than three at a time.'

Without blinking an eye, Sirius, Abraxas and Cassiopeia passed through the infirmary doors.

That evening, Dumbledore sat up late in his study, pondering the many unusual occurrences of the day. Most serious, of course, was Aries Black's revelation that Quirrell was being possessed by Lord Voldemort. Naturally, the word of a single student was insufficient to convict the Defence master of anything, but the sudden disappearance of Quirrell led Dumbledore to suspect that young Mr Black was telling the truth. How the boy had managed to survive such an encounter as long as he had was utterly beyond the aged Headmaster. He was undoubtedly as gifted a wizard as Dumbledore's intelligence had suggested. The professor sincerely hoped that Aries would yet survive, though Poppy did not give him very good odds. The family had wanted him moved to St Mungo's but the Healers there had agreed with Poppy's assessment that they could do little more to help the boy than she could, and said that to move him at this juncture would be unnecessarily risky.

Another enigma was Sirius Black. Lupin had led Dumbledore to believe that the playboy wizard was an unfit parent, the sort of neglectful father who thinks nothing of abandoning his son for some loose woman on Christmas Eve. But Sirius had not left Aries' side even once since he arrived, and he had adamantly refused to vacate the premises overnight. Poppy reported that the whole family seemed genuinely to care for the boy, but she said one needed only to watch Sirius's bedside vigil to see that Aries was the centre of his father's universe.

Then there was the confusing matter of this new brother to Cassiopeia Black. A Squib, she had said, but Dumbledore knew as well as anyone how routinely Squibs were disowned and disavowed in the Black family. What could he have done in order to secure reacceptance into the family?

These musings were abruptly cut off by a sudden owl outside the Headmaster's window. Dumbledore let the bird into his office and removed the parchment scroll that dangled from its leg. He unrolled it and blanched at its contents.

Dear Chief Warlock Dumbledore, it read.

As per your request, we have been keeping an Auror posted near the Devon residence of Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel. We regret to inform you that the Flamel residence was attacked early this afternoon by an unknown Dark wizard. Our Auror, John Dawlish, was killed shortly after calling for backup, as were both Mr and Mrs Flamel. Their house was thoroughly ransacked. We have no leads, as of yet, on the identity of the assailant. Our office will of course keep you posted on any further developments.

Sincerely yours,

Rufus Scrimgeour
Head of the Auror Office

Dumbledore put down the parchment and sighed. He feared that he knew all too well who was responsible for his friends' deaths. He only wondered why Quirrell, who knew that the Stone was hidden at Hogwarts, would have gone after the Flamels. Unless... Dumbledore rose suddenly from his desk and headed for the third-floor corridor.

Dumbledore cursed himself for not thinking to check on the Stone's safety immediately after Quirrell's disappearance. It should have been his first thought. True, he felt certain that the protections he had placed in the innermost chamber would be sufficient to keep any would-be thieves from stealing the Stone, but one ought never to underestimate Lord Voldemort.

He opened the door to find his worst fears confirmed. Quirrell had indeed gone after the Stone before he left. Speed rather than stealth appeared to have been his primary concern. In the first chamber Dumbledore found bits of hell-hound all over the walls. The Devil's Snare had been scorched away by Fiendfyre, the magical door had simply been blasted off its hinges, McGonagall's chessmen had been reduced to rubble and the troll was slain. Dumbledore passed through the flames into the final room and approached the mirror, willing himself to retrieve the Stone. Nothing happened. The elderly wizard closed his eyes in frustration. The Stone was gone.