I have no rights to or within the Harry Potter franchise, copyright, characters, or trademark. This is for fun, not profit.

Harry woke up to beautiful, blessed silence.

No snores from Seamus' bed or mumbling from Ron's. No one else was breathing in the room much less trying to sneak in or out of it. There were no feet pounding up or down the stairs outside of his bedroom door. Nothing exploded in any of the rooms underneath his.

It was glorious.

Smiling, Harry snuggled into his green duvet and went back to sleep.

A few hours later, he woke up again. Harry wedged his glasses onto his face then swished his wand at his trunk.

Silence.

Harry swished his wand again.

His trunk was still silent.

'How could they just give up like that?'

Furious, Harry slid out of bed and stormed around, picking out clothes and heading for the bathroom.

A long, hot shower helped soothe Harry's temper. When he exited the bathroom, Kreacher was waiting for him.

Kreacher led Harry down to the kitchen where a breakfast of scrambled eggs, yogurt, steak, croissants, and jam waited for him. Harry had barely sat down when the first owl tapped on one of the small, rectangular windows near the room's ceiling.

Kreacher snapped his fingers. The window snapped open.

Two other owls fluttered into the room in the wake of the first owl. By the time Harry had finished breakfast, he had three letters from his friends, five invitations from people that he knew, and seventeen from people that he had never met. Harry read the letters while nursing a glass of orange juice, rejected the seventeen invitations using Justin Finch-Fletchley's suggested standard response on the high quality paper that Justin had recommended, and accepted three of the invitations from the people he knew. The last two, an invitation to stay with the Larkins for a few days and a party at the Timmonsons', conflicted.

'Is there a nice way to find out if the Larkins are also invited to the Timmonsons' party before I respond to either invitation?' Harry wondered.

Ultimately, he decided to just ask the Timmonsons then answer those two invitations.

'But I'll have to use a public floo,' Harry thought, remembering Sirius – his Sirius, the original Sirius who would never, ever give up on anything – once said that his father had been so paranoid that he had disconnected Grimmauld Place from the floo network.

After Harry's first breakfast of the summer, Kreacher insisted on introducing him to Mrs. Black's portrait. She looked no more pleasant than she had the last time around – her skin was still yellow and her eyes still glittered madly – but she no longer looked tortured. Instead her expression was vaguely pinched as she studied him openly.

'Not being ignored and not hating her house guest has had a very good effect on her,' Harry decided.

"I thought you'd be taller," she said at last. "Your father was much taller at this age."

Harry winced. "Maybe I'll hit a growth spurt."

Mrs. Black snorted. She focused her scary pale blue eyes on Harry again. They bore an unsettling resemblance to Sirius' eyes.

"Why are you hiding in the House of Black, Harry Potter? I should think that you would be much more comfortable hiding in one of the Potter estates."

Harry winced. "I'm – er – hiding from Albus Dumbledore. I figured he'd look for me in my family's places first."

Her gaze became speculative. "The Heir of Slytherin is hiding from Albus Dumbledore? And what makes you think that the Blacks – who are always pure when you are not – will help you?"

Harry squared his shoulders.

"Narcissa Malfoy said that my dad's mum was a Black and that Blacks always help each other. And anyway, my mum may have been a muggleborn but she was witchy enough to show up on Slytherin's own family tree!"

Mrs. Black sniffed, clearly unimpressed with Harry's logic.

"Sirius is my godfather."

"He always had appallingly bad taste. Worse even than your father's."

Harry bristled but said, "It would really upset Albus Dumbledore."

Mrs. Black's portrait brightened. "Really?"

Harry nodded. "And Voldemort would get nervous since he wouldn't know where I am."

Grief, rage, and then thoughtfulness crossed the portrait's face. In the end, Mrs. Black nodded.

"You may stay in the house of my forefathers," she decreed at last. Her look traveled over him from the tips of his scruffy hair to the toes of his scuffed sneakers. "You will take advantage of my generosity and seek to improve yourself, however. We shall start with your unbecoming presentation. Kreacher, this boy is to have proper robes, proper boots, and milk at dinner every night!"

"Yes Mistress."

"Yes ma'am."

"And you will wear your new robes in this house!"

"Yes ma'am."

"And you shall further your magical education every morning from after breakfast until lunch."

"Yes ma'am."

Mrs. Black scowled. She raised her voice calling, "Aunt Elladora Black! Aunt Elladora Potter! Aunt Isla Black! Uncle Arcturus Black!"

Harry startled, straining his eyes to peer at the portraits through the gloom.

'Elladora Potter?'

It had never occurred to him that there might be Potter portraits in the House of Black. It had never occurred to him that Potter portraits even existed.

Harry's heart twisted in his chest.

'I wonder if there's one for my mum and dad.'

Elladora Black was quite old and grumpy looking. She sucked her teeth as she studied Harry with narrow, disapproving eyes.

Elladora Potter was a very young woman with a heart-shaped face, hair so pale that it was only a few shades away from being white and large eyes. Elladora Potter nee Black, who bore a startling resemblance to Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, looked like a delicate porcelain doll. When she spotted Harry, her lips parted on a delighted gasp. She leaned forward eagerly.

Isla Black was middle aged and even more beautiful than Bellatrix Black. Her face was less sharp and far friendlier. Her eyes sparkled with good humor instead of madness but her mouth was a thin line of disapproval.

The older Arcturus Black was an old man with wild gray hair, intelligent eyes, and a crooked grin. Oddly, he looked every bit as disapproving of Harry as Isla and Elladora Black.

They all had the pale blue eyes that Harry knew Sirius, Narcissa, Andromeda, and Bellatrix possessed.

"Harry Potter is a Black by way of Elladora Potter." Sirius' mum said formally. "He's also a Founder's Heir. Harry Potter has come seeking sanctuary from the House of Black."

Harry's head spun. He swayed on his feet.

'…by way of Elladora Potter… She's my dad's mum! My grand mum!'

"What's left of it," muttered Arcturus Black.

Elladora Potter beamed. "You look an awful lot like my Jamie. Are you related to James Potter?"

Harry nodded, his head moving like a bobble-headed doll.

"He – He's my dad." Harry cleared his throat. "He was my dad."

Elladora Potter clapped her hands. "James is my son!"

"Didn't James marry a mudblood?" asked Elladora Black suspiciously.

"Her blood was more magical than yours," Harry snapped, his temper flaring.

It was easier to be patient with crazy old Kreacher than some bigoted, old crone's portrait. Kreacher, at least, was decent enough to personalize his insults. And his mother and father's good names had always been sensitive subjects for Harry.

Arcturus and Isla laughed, their amusement booming out of the portrait frame. Elladora giggled, her hands pressed over her mouth girlishly.

"Harry!" snapped Mrs. Black while Elladora Black's eyes flared with her anger.

Harry subsided, still glaring at Elladora Black.

"I like him!" said Arcturus.

"He inherited my temper!" gloated Elladora Potter.

"Phineas Nigellus must be… distracted from entering the house," interrupted Mrs. Black. "He cannot be allowed to tell Albus Dumbledore where Harry Potter is."

While the other three swapped telling looks, Elladora Black sniffed. "What's in it for us?"

"Elladora!" scolded Harry's grand mum. "He's a Black! Blood looks after its own!"

"He isn't a Black! He's little better than an animal!" She flashed Isla Black a snide look. "That puts him right up your alley."

Crack!

Elladora Potter, her hand outstretched, stood heaving and panting. Her eyes flashed with blue fire and her nostrils flared.

A small, perfect handprint was outlined on old Elladora Black's cheek.

"Never say such things about my grandson again," Elladora Potter said lowly. "Or a slap won't be all you get, little Dora."

Elladora Black nodded, subsiding into a sulky silence.

Harry blinked. 'She wasn't kidding. She really does have a terrible temper!' A sudden, unsettling thought occurred to Harry. 'She said that I have her temper. Do I have a terrible temper?'

"If Harry needs to hide, we'll make sure that no one finds him here, Aunt Dora," Isla promised Harry's grandmother as she and Arcturus subtly leaned away from Elladora Potter.

Elladora Potter nodded, her shoulders still tight and her eyes still hot, as she lowered her hand with an ominous sort of restraint.

"And if Phineas makes a nuisance of himself," Arcturus said happily "he still isn't so big that you can't turn him over your knee, Aunt Dora."

His grand mum's smile was a bit frightening.

'She'd definitely do it,' Harry realized. He shuddered and blurted, "Right. I'm glad that's all settled. If you don't mind, I need to visit the library."

Mrs. Black's expression was thoroughly approving.

'I wonder if she ever looked at Sirius that way.'

Harry's grand mum flittered from frame to frame, following Harry to the library, as she asked probing questions about his school year. Elladora Potter smiled brightly at him, laughed in all of the right places, and looked thoughtful when Harry skimmed over the more incriminating details.

For his part, Harry tried to keep track of which Black relatives scurried out of Elladora Potter way and which held their ground while trying to avoid stepping in the trash and carcasses in the hallways. Apparently, Isla and Arcturus were not alone in fearing his grand mum.

'Where was she the first time I stayed here?' Harry wondered. 'Did she know I was here? Did they somehow keep her away like the portraits are keeping Phineas away? Did someone trap her in her portrait frame?'

"Harry?" asked his grand mum, her eyebrows arched inquisitively.

Harry shook his head. "I never imagined there would be any Potters here."

Elladora Potter laughed. "Every member of the House of Black sits for a portrait at some point before they graduate Hogwarts. If we marry, we'll have other frames and other portraits but there will always be a frame in this house for us. Dorea married a Potter too. She can tell your parents' portraits that you're here."

Harry stopped dead. He flashed hot, his heart pounding alarmingly.

"My parents?" Harry said, his voice squeaking embarrassingly. Harry cleared his throat. "They have portraits?"

She beamed. "Of course!" Her face fell. "But they don't have frames here."

Harry wilted.

"Oh." He forced himself to straighten up. "I'll just have to sneak into one of the Potter estates."

Elladora Potter scowled.

"No boy should have to sneak home. You just wait. Albus Dumbledore is going to regret this – even if I have to lay in wait for his portrait."

Harry grinned.

In the library Harry rescued the Black Family Tree from the doxies, nearly getting bitten for his efforts, then lugged it upstairs to Regulus' room.

"Harry!" called his grand mum from the portrait frame in the hallway as he stuck the tapestry to a wall of Regulus' bedroom. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to work out my relation to Sirius," Harry called back. "And Draco and Mrs. Malfoy."

"Pffft!" Elladora snorted derisively. "Cissy's just a baby. If you must be respectful, call her Narcissa."

Harry giggled. Giggled!

Mortified, Harry swallowed the rest of the sound.

'I do not giggle!' He slanted a look in his grandmother's general direction. 'She's a terrible influence.'

Harry went back out to the hallway where he used magic to peel the nearest portrait frame from the wall. He lugged it into his room and propped it up against the bed.

"So where are you?"

"Trace from your godfather back to Phineas Nigellus. Do you see his father, Sol? Sol was my eldest brother."

Harry blinked, his finger hovering over the golden thread that connected Sol Black and Elladora Potter nee Black.

"It says that you were born in 1825!"

Elladora nodded.

"I was quite old when I finally died. I outlived nearly everyone." She said proudly. She leaned forward, her tones fond and her manner conspiratorial, "It's because I married Harold Potter. We loved each other, of course, but we were kind to each other as well. It's important to marry someone who will care for you, young Harry."

Harry, his face hot, veered between remembering flashing eyes, long, flaming red hair, and ferocious kisses in the common room and stringy pale hair, too wide blue eyes, and a gentle heart that knew exactly what to say when he needed comforting.

'Would Ginny and I really have been happy together?' he wondered. 'Ginny and I were hot together but Luna and I were kinder to each other. And we had more fun.'

"Um, er, right." Harry cleared his throat. "So, um, uh –"

Elladora Potter giggled.

"You're so cute! Just like my Harold." She waved a hand at Harry. "Tell me what you know about the Blacks!"

Grateful for the change in topic, Harry pressed his finger against Phineas Nigellus' name.

"Phineas Nigellus was the most hated Headmaster that Hogwarts ever had." Harry, his mind slowly floating back to those hazy summer weeks spent with his Sirius, traced his finger to a second name. "Sirius said that Araminta Meliflua tried to make muggle-hunting legal." His only summer with Sirius was hazy from the strength of his emotions that summer. He had been so nervous and angry and excited. If he had only known what he knew now, he would have paid more attention, cherished it more, and used that damn mirror… "Sirius' Aunt Elladora. He said that she started the family tradition of beheading house-elves when they got too old to carry tea trays." Harry's finger slid over the soft, worn threads of the tapestry to trace the brittle, burned edges of the blast marks – first Sirius' then Andromeda's blast marks. "He says that everyone good was disowned and blasted off of the tree."

Elladora Potter laughed, loudly and heartily.

"Oh Sirius! As dramatic as ever!" Her arms wrapped around her middle, his grand mum laughed so hard that she cried. "If everyone who ran away from home or got blasted off of the tree or dishonored the Black name was formally disowned, there wouldn't be any Blacks left!"

Harry startled, his eyes widening. "But – But Sirius said –"

"This is Sirius' house. Did you know that?"

Harry nodded.

"If being blasted off of the family tree actually meant that you were disowned, Sirius never would have inherited the Black properties or fortune. And anyway, I heard that you quite like Regulus."

Harry blinked. "Well, yes but his mum probably didn't mind that he was a Death Eater."

"Walburga hated it with the power of a thousand suns. To her thinking, at least Sirius was no one's servant. Regulus was the branded servant of a boy that she had treated quite poorly in school."

"She knew Tom Riddle in school?"

"Mmm… Most of that generation went to school with him." Elladora's eyes glinted slyly. "Look at their ages."

"For wizards and witches, they died quite young."

"And they died quite violently."

"You don't mean –"

"I died of old age. But I found it quite interesting that so many of young Tom Riddle's schoolmates, even those uninterested in his difference of opinion with Albus Dumbledore, died so abruptly. And quite young. If you'll notice, a great many branches ended during the last war. In this family, only Callidora Longbottom nee Black and Walburga survived his first rise and they both lost their children to his war."

'He was running away from being Tom. Did he think that the only way to really become Voldemort was to kill everyone who remembered him as Tom Riddle? Did he hate being Tom Marvolo Riddle that much?'

Harry sat down. "Didn't anyone notice?"

"Of course. That's why Orion poured so much of the family fortune into fortifying this place. The ancestral Longbottom house is probably as well fortified as this place or the main Potter properties."

Harry glanced at her sharply.

'She never went to school with Tom Riddle. And my parents went to ground at Godric's Hollow under the fidelius so there was no point in my parents fortifying all of those other properties. Who were the Potters hiding from?'

Elladora smiled brightly. The look in her eyes was unpleasant. "Riddle must've laughed himself sick."

"Why?" Harry asked unwillingly, far more interested in the hints about the Potter properties than Voldemort. He already knew Tom better than anyone in the world, after all.

"A muggleborn, or even a halfblood, in Slytherin House has a hard life, Harry. Very, very hard. He was probably never truly in danger of dying but…"

She shivered. Her eyes were distant as she recalled something that the real Elladora Potter had experienced.

"When he came back, he tortured and murdered his tormentors and enslaved their children. I imagine the sight of their proud children kneeling at his feet was far worse for Tom's old tormentors than any physical torture ever devised." Her smile was brittle. "Oh, how he must have laughed."

Harry shuddered, feeling ill. 'She's right. Tom probably laughed himself sick.'

"If Andromeda wasn't disinherited when she got blasted off the family tapestry, why isn't her family on the tapestry?" Harry asked loudly, desperate to change the subject.

Elladora startled. "Oh, she was disinherited but not by Walburga. She wasn't Walburga's daughter, was she? Cygnus, her father, formally disinherited her. He was quite put out when Orion refused to disinherit Sirius."

"Oh."

Harry's eyes were caught by the familiar names on the tapestry. He had seen the tapestry before but he had never truly seen it. The Blacks had married into nearly every pureblood family including the Crouches, the Longbottoms, the McKinnons, the Lestranges, the Malfoys, the Weasleys, the Prewetts, the MacMillans and the Potters.

'They destroyed themselves,' Harry thought dizzily. 'Bellatrix and the Lestrange brothers and Barty Crouch Jr. were cousins with both Neville's mum and dad. And they and Narcissa helped to wipe out the McKinnons and the Prewetts and probably killed my Potter cousin.'

Suddenly painfully aware of the pressing shadows in the corners of the room and the ominous quiet in the house, Harry needed to escape the house.

"I… I need to go. Out. Excuse me."

Harry grabbed his wallet and the Philosopher's Stone then fled the House of Black.

He used muggle transport to get to Kent where, when confronted with several possible stops, he was stumped. The trading cards simply said that the Flamels lived in Kent but it never said anything about where in Kent they lived.

Harry got off of the bus at a random stop downtown. He sighed as he used his fingers to comb his hair away from his famous scar.

'Better find the local wizards first.'

It was easy to spot the local wizarding pub. Harry was roaming downtown with a warm Cornish pastry in one hand and a bottle of flavored water in the other when, between the sleek, modern sides of a Boots and a MacDonald's, he spotted The Dragon's Egg pub. It was wooden, ramshackle, filthy, and clearly being held together by magic. If the town's muggle leaders could have seen it, they would have immediately started campaigning to have it torn down as a public health hazard.

Harry went inside.

Inside the pub was dark, smoky, and had a low, stained ceiling. The walls were supported by splintering wooden beams and the plaster between the beams was a dingy shade of yellow. Most alarmingly, they were just as stained as the ceiling. Harry was fairly certain that there was a hag and a vampire whispering together in the booth farthest from the door. The bartender was tall and wiry with dark hair and darker eyes. He had that tired, unwell air that Harry remembered from when Remus taught at Hogwarts. Unlike the Remus in his memories, this one moved stiffly as if his entire body ached. He was also limping.

Harry's heart panged. 'When was the last full moon?'

"Three nights ago," the barman said, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What's it to you?"

Harry startled, both pleased and alarmed over his slip of the tongue.

'Maybe Remus really is unwell. Has the wolfsbane potion been invented yet?'

Harry shrugged. "I'll just have to harvest my potions ingredients next month."

The barman looked entirely unconvinced.

"I was looking for someone."

The barman snorted. "Aren't you a bit young for that?"

Harry shrugged. "They're a bit old for what you're thinking. I'm looking for Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel."

The barman snorted. "Don't know them."

"I found something that I believe belongs to them."

"So send them an owl. If they want whatever it is, they'll contact you."

Harry blinked. "Do you have an owl I can rent?"

The barman's eyes narrowed. "Seven galleons for roundtrip delivery."

"Isn't that a bit steep?"

"Special customer, special price."

Harry winced. 'Vengeance for that full moon comment.'

He dug out a galleon anyway. "May I borrow a pen and quill please?"

"Seven galleons."

Harry sighed.

After all of the galleons had disappeared into the barman's pocket, Harry got a tatty bit of parchment, a self-inking quill with a split nib, and an owl that looked like it was considering how Harry's ear might taste.

Harry hurriedly scribbled a quick note and attached it to the owl's leg.

'Dear Mr. and Mrs. Flamel,

Found your stone. Wish to give it back. I'm in The Dragon's Egg. If now isn't a good time, when would be better? Please send your answer with this owl.

Yours, Harry Potter.'

After letting the owl out through the back window, Harry cut his eyes toward the surly barman.

"How much to use the public floo?"

"Seven galleons."

Harry sighed. "Of course."

Aware that Alastor and Harry could arrive at any time, Albus was impatient to begin and end the final staff meeting of the school year. Unfortunately, his staff was taking their time trickling into the staff room.

Pomona and Minerva sauntered in together, their heads bent together as they discussed something in low tones. The two witches sat together, to apparently continue their discussion. A few minutes later, Filius and Septima entered the staff room together. Since those two got along famously, it was hardly a surprising sight. What was surprising was that they were with Hagrid. While Hagrid was on generally good terms with everyone, he and Septima Vector had very little in common and even less to say to one another.

"Filius," said Minerva as she nodded greetings in the new group's general direction. It was not generally one of Minerva's habits to nod while greeting someone that she knew well. "Septima. Hagrid."

Hagrid beamed. "Hey, Professor McGonagall!"

About halfway through the meeting, Filius nodded in head in response to some point that Sybil made. Since Filius generally had as little use for Divination as Minerva did, it was unlike him to encourage Sybil in her opinions.

'Something is afoot.'

The only point of real interest to Albus was Pomona's report regarding the development of the Mandrake roots. His experimental De-Petrification Potion required the harvesting of fully developed Mandrakes under a moonless night sky. Unfortunately, Pomona taught Mandrakes to the second and third years every other year rather than teaching the exact same thing every year. While it was a laudable effort to keep her lessons interesting and exciting for both herself and her students, it was bad luck that this was a year without Mandrake plants in the curriculum.

'The timing is an odd thing. If she had done Mandrake roots this year or the attack had been next year, we would have been set.' Albus thought as Pomona rhapsodized over how healthy and curious the childish Mandrakes were. 'As it is, the cure will not be available until nearly the end of the first quarter.'

At the end of the meeting, when the staff was preparing to leave, Albus caught Severus' eye. It was not a matter of mental arts but rather long familiarity.

Severus' eye glittered knowingly as he filed out with everyone else.

When Alastor stumped through Professor Dumbledore's office fireplace that night, he was scowling. More importantly, he was alone.

"It's past sundown, Alastor."

Alastor glared at Albus so ferociously that even Albus felt a tiny quiver of concern.

"I don't have him."

Albus stared, at a loss. "But –"

"How was I supposed to know that he was going to disappear into the muggle world?" snapped the younger man as he stomped the length of Albus' office then swung around and stomped back to Albus' desk. "Are you sure that he's really Harry Potter?"

"Quite."

"Then there's something wrong with him. Kids aren't this… this… cunning. Normal children don't disappear into the muggle world when things go wrong."

Albus frowned. He tried to ignore the tiny sliver of his mind that agreed with Alastor. If there was something wrong with Harry Potter then the Wizarding World was doomed.

"He was raised there, Alastor. Hiding there probably feels quite natural to him. You'll have to patch your eye but –"

Alastor was shaking his head. "I'm an auror. And I'm the best. I've tracked a Death Eater flying downwind in a raging blizzard, while blinded and on foot, for hundreds of kilometers and brought him down with a rock at the end of it all. But I can't move through the muggle world. Dark Wizards don't go there so I never really saw the point in learning to operate there."

"Alastor, I must insist –"

"It's no good Albus. I can only think of two aurors who might have what it takes to track the crafty little bugger down and Tonks is still in training. You'll have to approach Shacklebolt yourself. Offer him a place in the Order before you send him after Potter."

Albus frowned. "It hasn't come to that yet."

Alastor snorted. "After what's rumored to have happened here this last school year, anyone with a lick of sense knows where things are going to end up. Best start preparing for the second war now."

"Alastor –"

"Fine. Don't listen to me. But if you want to see Potter again before the next school year, you'll take my advice and recruit Kingsley. He's the only fully trained auror up to the task."

Albus sighed. Plaintively he said, "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

Alastor laughed.