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: Many thanks to all my readers and reviewers. I do apologise for being so dreadfully behind in responding to reviews, and hope to do better as RL lightens up a bit. The next update will be on Tuesday, May 10. Enjoy!


Chapter 24

Harry was shocked to find himself riding a Muggle bicycle – something for which his experience and training had done absolutely nothing to prepare him. He tried frantically to maintain his balance, but bicycles were not the same as broomsticks, and within moments his bicycle had fallen over – himself along with it – and his right knee was badly scraped. Harry cursed under his breath and struggled to his feet.

'Damn Muggle contraption,' he muttered.

'Harry?' an eerily-familiar voice called out. 'Are you all right?'

Harry looked up and turned white. His father – his birth father, James Potter – was running towards him. He looked strong and healthy, and very not-dead.

I'm dreaming, Harry thought, then James grabbed him in his strong arms and held him tight, almost as though he were afraid he might Disapparate.

'I'm all right, really,' Harry insisted, but did not fight the embrace. Instead, confused as he was, he found himself hugging back for all he was worth. All his life, Harry had known James's portrait, talked with him, played games with him, but he had never once had the chance to hug the man whom he knew to be his true father. It felt nice.

'You're a brave lad,' James said proudly, ruffling his hair. Harry noted with chagrin that his hair was as messy as James's. He much preferred having Sirius's hair. 'Let's get you inside.'

James supported Harry with one arm and they made their way into a modest house with two storeys and a pleasant English garden, which was surrounded by a low stone wall. It was nothing like any of the houses Harry was used to – it seemed even smaller than the house on Privet Drive – but it radiated a sense of warmth and comfortable good cheer.

James led Harry inside cautiously. Harry caught a glimpse of his forehead in a mirror on the wall of the foyer. There was no scar, though in every other way he looked as Harry Potter ought to do.

James helped him into a chair in front of the fireplace, then headed off to fetch some antiseptic. When he came back, he knelt beside Harry and began to tend to the scraped knee. Harry had to admit there was something extraordinarily comforting about having his father administer first aid, but it seemed very strange to him. Even with Uncle Marius and Aunt Clytemnestra, scrapes and cuts had always been left for the house elf to heal, or for Aunt Cassie to banish with a flick of her wand.

There was a sudden noise in the kitchen. Someone was messing about with pots and pans. Harry's heart leapt within his chest. He was going to meet his mum.

'Harry's scraped his knee,' James called out. 'I think this calls for some consolation.'

Harry was surprised – and a bit disappointed – to hear Sirius's voice in reply.

'I've got just the thing, James,' he said. 'It will be ready in a moment.'

Sure enough, just as James had finished bandaging Harry up, Sirius came out carrying a tray with three large bowls of mint ice cream. Harry's godfather looked much as he had during their fight that morning, except that perhaps, Harry noted with amusement, this Sirius was getting a bit stout. But the main difference was in the eyes. The real Sirius's eyes had never lost the haunted look of one who has spent a decade with the Dementors, not completely. They might shine with delight for a moment or two, but at the end of the day, that horrible stare would return. Harry had come hardly to notice it, but the difference in this Sirius was unmistakable. His eyes sparkled with irrepressible mirth, and he seemed...just happier somehow. Oddly enough, seeing how happy Sirius could be only made Harry feel terrible as though it made the real Sirius's sufferings seem all that much worse, and Harry's pigheadedness all that more ungrateful.

'Thanks,' he said as Sirius handed him the bowl of ice cream, and tried to pour into that syllable all the appreciation and affection he suddenly felt for his godfather.

'Don't mention it,' Sirius replied automatically. 'A boy has a right to ice cream when he's scraped up like this. Don't you think, James?'

'Absolutely,' James said with a wink at Harry. 'That's why I suggested it.'

They devoured the ice cream with gusto, and then watched a film on a Muggle television set. Harry had never watched a film on television before – the Dursleys had never allowed it, and the Black didn't have a television – and so was perhaps rather more enthralled by the experience than James and Sirius thought normal. After the film, James called out for pizza and they started a chess tournament after it arrived. Harry held his own there, but thought it incredibly odd that the pieces just sat there.

Sirius had just smashed James to bits and Harry was starting in on the second pie when the doorbell rang. James and Sirius's good spirits dissipated in an instant.

'It's the bitch,' Sirius growled, his face taking on the expression of particular loathing he usually reserved for talking about his mother.

'She's three effing hours early,' James grumbled as he rose to his feet.

'You could have her arse for this in court,' Sirius said, and began putting the chess set away. Harry didn't understand what was going on, but he could sense that the party was over.

'Not bloody likely,' James retorted. 'She's got Albus on her side. If I hadn't gone to Aunt Cassie for help, I doubt we'd have got this much.'

Sirius muttered something about selling one's soul to the devil, and James opened the front door. There, looking a bit older than Harry was used to, but still quite beautiful, was Lily Potter.

'Hello, James,' she said coldly, then glared at her husband's best friend. 'Sirius.'

Sirius muttered a number of curses that made even Harry blush.

'You're early, Mrs Lupin,' James said in a low, dangerous voice. 'You don't get him for another three hours, and the clock's stopped whilst we're having to deal with your intrusion.'

Lily sighed. 'I don't have time to deal with your childishness right now, James,' she replied. 'Remus and I are flying to Paris this evening, and I have to get Harry and the girls to Petunia's before seven.'

'Like hell you do!' Harry blurted out before he realised it. There was no way he was ever setting foot in that Muggle woman's house again.

Lily glared at James. 'Is this the kind of influence you have on our son?' she demanded. 'Teaching him to swear at his mother?'

James ignored her. 'I don't see why we can't keep Harry whilst you're away,' he said. 'Sirius would be happy to take him to school.'

'I've told you, James,' Lily replied evenly. 'I don't want his schedule disturbed. You can pick Harry up next Friday just like always. Come along, Harry.'

'You stay right there,' James snapped at Harry, then turned on Lily. 'He's mine until nine o'clock. That's the agreement. You can't just change it without consulting with me first.'

Harry's heart broke within him as he watched his parents fighting over him. He couldn't imagine what could possibly have happened to them. They had always seemed so desperately in love in their wedding portrait. He felt Sirius's arm on his shoulder.

'Come on, Harry,' he said quietly. 'No kid should have to watch his parents fight like this.'

He went with Sirius into the kitchen and sat down at the table. Sirius sat across from him.

'What happened?' Harry whispered. 'Why are they fighting like this? They used...' He broke down in tears. James and Lily – if only in portrait form – had been one of the constants of his world. To see them like this...it was awful. He looked up into his godfather's grey eyes. 'What happened?'

Sirius shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 'You really ought to talk to your dad about that,' he said.

'I'm talking to you, Uncle Padfoot,' Harry insisted. It felt strange to call Sirius that, but he knew that in the dream-world he could hardly call him 'Dad', and this seemed like the best choice.

Clearly, however, it was not.

Sirius turned very pale and frowned.

'Where did you hear that name, Harry?' he demanded.

'Someone mentioned it to me,' Harry replied nervously, wondering why he wasn't supposed to know it. 'All the Marauders had nicknames at Hogwarts, right? It's because of your Animagus form.'

Now Sirius was livid. He jumped out of his seat and stormed into the other room. Harry slipped after him to see what was going on.

'You don't have to do a thing she says, Prongs!' he said to James. 'They told him! They told him everything!'

'WHAT?' James's roar was deafening. 'HOW DARE YOU?'

'But I didn't,' Lily protested.

'You did.' Sirius was adamant. 'He knows about Hogwarts.'

'You must have done it,' Lily said.

James scoffed at her. 'Very funny, Lily. When I was the one for keeping him in the dark in the first place?'

'Sirius must have slipped up,' Lily said primly, and for the first time Harry could see something of Petunia in her.

'Oi,' James snapped. 'Don't you go blaming him.'

'I'll blame whom I please,' Lily retorted.

'Oh, for the love of Merlin!' Harry exclaimed, and the three adults turned to look at him. 'Shut up before I Cruciate the lot of you.'

His parents' reaction was not at all what he had thought it would be. He had mostly made the threat to shock them into silence – even in the Black family, to threaten one's own parents with Unforgivables was considered in very poor taste. But James and Lily, and Sirius too, looked at Harry with a strange sort of sad expression he had never experienced before. It was almost like...pity. But who in their right mind would pity him? He was the Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. He scorned the pity of others.

But the piteous looks kept coming, and Harry began to squirm. It felt uncomfortably like the looks Aunt Cassie had given Uncle Marius from time to time.

'What are you staring at?' he demanded.

But he never got to hear the answer. Instead, a blood-curdling screech ripped through the air. Harry knew that sound. It meant one of Sirius's wards had been violated.

'Oh, God, Prongs,' Sirius said in a quiet voice. 'That one was designed for only one wizard. It's Him.'

'Sweet Jesus,' James gasped, then grabbed Harry roughly by the arms and pushed him towards his mother.

'Go on, Lily,' he said urgently. 'Take Harry and go. Sirius and I will hold him off. Head for Hogwarts.'

Oh no, Harry thought desperately. It's happening all over again.

'No,' Harry protested. 'I'm staying with you. I can fight!'

Lily gave him another pitying look. 'There's nothing you can do, sweetie,' she said softly as she tugged on his arm. 'We need to run.'

Harry wrenched himself free of her grip. Behind him, Sirius and James had their wands out and were getting ready to fight.

'Go on with your mum, Harry,' James ordered. 'I'll see you later this evening.'

But Harry could see the telltale glint in his hazel eyes that said he was lying. James had no intention of surviving this encounter, and, judging by Sirius's grim expression, neither did he.

'Come on, Harry,' Lily urged. 'Come now!'

It was too late. Voldemort barged through the back door, accompanied by Lucius Malfoy and a woman whose striking face Harry knew only from old photographs: Draco's godmother, Aunt Bella. Harry threw himself between them and the people he loved, grabbing Sirius's wand out of his hand as he did so.

'What have we here?' Bellatrix cackled. 'An itty-bitty family reunion?'

'It seems so,' Lucius agreed. 'I was under the impression that Mr and Mrs Potter were...estranged.'

'How fitting,' Voldemort said in his high voice. 'The three traitors who defied me together, will now all perish together.'

'Leave them alone,' Harry said in as menacing a voice as he could muster. 'I won't let you hurt them.'

Bellatrix laughed madly, and Lucius smirked, but Voldemort would have only raised an eyebrow, had he had any eyebrows to raise.

'Out of my way, child,' he said. 'You are no concern of mine.'

'I won't let you hurt them, Riddle,' Harry repeated.

Voldemort snarled at the use of his birth name, and he raised his wand. 'And what will you do to stop me, filthy Squib?'

Harry raised his wand and let out what was supposed to be a strangled hiss, but somehow it didn't sound quite right. Sirius's wand felt wrong too, as though it were just dead wood. Harry couldn't even bring sparks out of it. Suddenly Voldemort's words clicked in his mind, and Harry realised with mounting horror why he had been the recipient of his parents' pity. He wasn't a wizard at all.

Voldemort flicked his wand lazily towards Harry's chest.

'Avada Kedavra,' he rasped, and the green light rushing towards him was the last thing Harry saw before the world turned black.


Back in the Chamber, Sirius was trying all manner of spells on the door of the shrine, without any luck. Mopsy had gone to fetch reinforcements, and Remus was attempting to translate the inscriptions on the walls.

'Come here, Padfoot,' the werewolf called out. 'My runes are a bit rusty.'

Sirius headed over to where his friend was standing. 'I doubt mine are any better.'

'Well, maybe we're at least not rusty in the same places,' Remus replied with a smirk. He ran his finger along one inscription. 'Here Slytherin is saying that this tower is the source of his power, the hiding place of his three greatest treasures.'

Sirius nodded, following along. 'The Puddle of Likelihoods, the Cooking Pot of Perplexity and the Rosebush of Snakes that guards them both.'

'Padfoot, I think that last one says arvek, not urvak,' Remus pointed out, trying not to laugh.

'Sorry,' Sirius mumbled. 'So that's the Duke of Snakes, then.'

'Or perhaps the King of Serpents?' Remus suggested wryly.

'Shut up, Moony.'

Remus laughed. 'How did you ever manage to get an O on your Ancient Runes O.W.L.?' he teased. 'The translations are supposed to be idiomatic.'

'Considering my O.W.L. was the last time I looked at a bloody rune, I'd say I'm doing pretty damn well,' Sirius growled back.

Remus shook his head, laughing. 'So we've got the Puddle of Likelihoods, the Cooking Pot of Perplexity and the Duke of Snakes – or, translated somewhat more poetically: the Pond of Possibilities, the Cauldron of Confusion and the King of Serpents.'

'You know, Moony,' Sirius said dryly, 'if you don't want my help, I can leave you to translate the wall by yourself, Mr I-barely-scraped-a-pass-on-my-Runes-O.W.L.-because-my-oh-so-poetically-idiomatic-translations-were-oh-so-very-wrong.'

'Pure-blooded ponce,' Remus mumbled, resorting to a favourite insult from school days.

'Half-witted half-breed,' Sirius shot back automatically.

And they went back to translating the inscription.


Harry awoke to find himself in an ostentatious bedroom, hung with heavy damask tapestries and crammed with antique gilt furniture. He sat up straight in the large feather bed and stretched, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he did so. He was himself, only at least a decade older. He looked like a younger version of Sirius, tall and well-muscled, with broad shoulders and haughty good looks. He had to smile at the sight. This was the first dream he'd had since he was sucked into the pool where he felt comfortable with how he looked.

He tossed off the thick duvet and leapt to the floor. He was wearing nothing but his pants.

A large, elaborately-carved wardrobe stood in one corner of the room, in which Harry found several sets of fine robes. He put on a lovely blue set that matched his eyes, and set about looking for his wand. He always placed his wand on the bedside table before going to bed, and, to be sure, he found a wand in holster lying exactly where it ought to. But it wasn't his wand. The wood was different, and it was ornately carved in a fashion that had been out of style for centuries. It seemed vaguely familiar to Harry, but he couldn't quite place it. As he wrapped his fingers around the wood, a sudden rush of power ran up his arm. He could sense that this wand was far more powerful than his own; he felt almost as though he could do anything with it. He hadn't felt such a rush since he had learnt how to perform magic in Parseltongue.

He tied the leather holster to his forearm and left the room, only to start when he found two guards dressed in red uniforms standing in the corridor. They jumped to attention as soon as he opened the door, but said nothing. Harry was unused to having guards, but he was well accustomed to having servants, so he only nodded at them in acknowledgement as he continued on his way.

The house was palatial – even Harry, who had grown up in the midst of extraordinary wealth, had never seen its equal. Even more striking were the sheer number of servants bustling about, both humans and house elves. All stopped and bowed or curtsied to Harry as he passed. Harry recognised none of them, which was more than frustrating, as he had no idea where he was going.

Eventually, he saw Draco, and sighed in relief. His brother and best friend was walking towards him, dressed in emerald-green robes. He stopped a few feet from Harry and bowed.

'Good morning, Draco,' Harry said.

'Your Majesty,' Draco replied respectfully. 'I trust you slept well.'

Your Majesty? Harry thought, but nodded anyway.

'Excellent.' Draco leaned closer. 'If it please Your Majesty, the Prime Minister requests an audience in your private study. There are urgent matters to discuss.'

Harry nodded and followed Draco to the study, doing his best to make it look as though he had a clue what was going on.

They went through a large exterior office and passed through a series of elaborately-constructed wards to enter a luxurious private study, in the centre of which stood a large desk. Behind the desk, on a high table shielded with various visible wards, Ravenclaw's diadem sat on a large cushion, along with the Gaunt family ring, Harry's invisibility cloak and the Philosopher's Stone. Harry's eyes went wide.

Once inside the study, Draco dropped all pretence of formality. He collapsed in an armchair, not waiting for Harry to sit down.

'Dad will be here in just a moment,' he said. 'That Mudblood Granger is being a real pain in the arse. I still don't see why you appointed her Minister for Muggle Affairs.'

Harry made no reply. He had no idea why he'd appoint Granger anything either.

Draco continued without interruption. 'I told him we ought just to AK her, but he wants to consult with you first.' He smirked nastily. 'I think he's going soft in his old age.'

Harry blinked in surprise, but kept quiet. He wasn't sure what was going on in the pool, but he wasn't going to mess about until he knew more.

The door opened, and Sirius came in, looking younger and healthier than ever. His eyes looked world-weary, but no longer haunted. He plopped down in a chair next to Draco.

'Morning, Harry,' he said. 'Sleep all right?'

Harry nodded.

'That Granger is one horrid old crone,' Sirius spat. 'She keeps going behind my back to undermine Government policy, and the other day she gave a public speech calling for the full integration of the Wizengamot into Parliament.'

'That's preposterous,' Draco snapped. 'I won't stand for it! I haven't run the Wizengamot for a hundred and fourteen years just to have it abolished.' He turned to Harry. 'I say we AK her and drop the body off the cliffs of Dover.' His eyes gleamed wickedly. 'Or, even better, we could Kiss her.'

'No!' Sirius shouted. 'Anything but that!' He looked at Harry pleadingly. 'You promised that Dumbledore would be the last one. Tell me you won't let Draco Kiss her, no matter how much of a bitch she is.'

Harry's heart melted, seeing his godfather beg. He suppressed a chuckle. Sirius was such a dog.

'Of course we won't Kiss her,' he said quietly, and Sirius looked visibly relieved. Draco sulked.

'So we'll just AK her then?' he offered.

Sirius shook his head. 'I really don't think we need to go that far. The hag's a hundred and forty-seven. How much longer do you really think she'll last? It's not as though Harry's been slipping her any Elixir.'

'You really have got sentimental, haven't you, Dad?' Draco observed. 'You didn't make this much of a fuss when we executed the Weasleys, or even the Longbottoms.' He nodded briefly towards Harry. 'And need I remind you that without the judicious use of the Killing Curse we should never have been blessed with the glorious and eternal reign of our Sovereign Lord, King Aries the Conqueror?'

Sirius sighed. 'I know that.' He paused. 'I'm tired, is all. Ever since Moony...' His voice trailed off.

Draco's expression softened, and he placed a hand on Sirius's shoulder.

'We all feel awful about that, Dad,' he said. 'We loved Uncle Moony. But he led an insurrection against the Crown. Aries couldn't just let that slide.'

Sirius glared at his two sons. 'But was it really necessary to exterminate the entire werewolf population of Britain just to set an example?'

'Bad form, Dad,' Draco snapped. 'Aries apologised for losing his temper. You promised you wouldn't bring it up again.'

Sirius shrugged and looked over at Harry.

'Sorry, Harry,' he mumbled.

'It's all right,' Harry said automatically, but his mouth had gone dry. What kind of a monster had he become here? Is this what would happen if he became a Dark Lord?

'So what should we do about Granger?' Sirius asked reluctantly. 'If you really want me to AK her, I can have one of the Unspeakables do it.'

Harry's dad and brother looked at him expectantly. Harry felt sick. He was being asked to decide the fate of another human being. That was a frightening amount of power. He hesitated, then shook his head.

'No,' he said. 'She's just a barmy old woman. She can't make any real trouble.'

Draco stared at him as though he had gone quite mad, but Sirius smiled gently.

'I'm glad to see you're still in there somewhere, Harry,' he said wistfully, then rose to his feet. 'I have a meeting with the Transylvanian Ambassador after lunch. I'll be sure to let you know how it turns out.'

Draco stood up as well. 'I suppose I ought to draft a response to Granger's ridiculous suggestion.'

'Just say it's a load of bollocks,' Harry suggested, and Draco smirked.

'I may do precisely that,' he said, and he and Sirius left the study.

After they had gone, Harry turned around to look at the diadem on the table behind him. If he was going to figure out what was going on with him, he thought the diadem would be the place to begin. He took out his wand and cast a diagnostic spell to test the wards. The defensive charms and curses that had been placed on the study were truly formidable. He hadn't the foggiest idea of how to go about undoing them, but that didn't seem necessary. So long as he was in the study, he was completely isolated from the outside world. The wards were keyed to specific individuals: only Draco, Sirius and Harry himself could pass through them, and Draco and Sirius were only able to come into the study if Harry was with them. At least he was secure for the time being.

He turned his attention to the wards surrounding the diadem. They were twice as intricate, but similarly keyed to Harry personally. He was the only one who could pass through them, and in order to do so he had to be acting of his own free and un-coerced will. On the other hand, all he needed to do to get the diadem was simply to reach out and take it. He did so.

The diadem tingled in his hands, and Harry felt a rush of excitement at the power he wielded.

This is who you could have been, a voice said in his head. If only Sirius hadn't been so foolhardy.

But then Harry thought of the pathetic gratitude on Sirius's face when he had decided not to kill Granger, and decided that he couldn't stay angry at the only dad he'd ever known. Frankly, whilst Harry didn't mind the idea of being King, the thought that he had ordered the extermination of all the werewolves made him feel more than a bit uncomfortable. And why would Remus lead a revolt against him, anyway?

Hoping that he would soon find out the answers to these and all the other questions that percolated in his mind, Harry lifted the diadem and set it on his own head.