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: First, I should like to offer my sincerest apologies for the delay. My muse went on an unanticipated holiday, then, shortly upon her return, I had computer difficulties and lost the chapter I had ready to post. Fortunately, however, I was eventually able to retrieve it. Again, I am very sorry!
Secondly, I wish to thank all the wonderful reviewers for your encouragement and for taking the time to interact with the story. I'm very sorry that I haven't been able to respond to you all. I hope to do better, but cannot make any promises at this time.
The next update is scheduled for Friday, June 3.
Now for the next installment...
Chapter 27
As the school year continued, Sirius began Harry and Draco's special training sessions, meeting six nights a week. Four of those nights were devoted to duelling, with a particular emphasis on defending against the fighting style preferred by Riddle and the Death Eaters. To Sirius's knowledge, virtually all the surviving Death Eaters were in Azkaban, the remainder having been massacred in the Battle of Little Hangleton. Nonetheless, there were a few whose whereabouts remained unconfirmed despite the family's best efforts, and there was always the possibility that Riddle might succeed in liberating his other followers from prison. The thought of his sons being forced to defend themselves from Bellatrix, or the surviving Lestrange brothers, was something that weighed heavily on Sirius's mind.
Monday nights were dedicated to Occlumency. Cassiopeia, a superb Occlumens who had taught the art to Walburga, Alphard, Cygnus and Bellatrix, came up to Hogwarts for the lessons, since neither Sirius nor Remus felt quite up to teaching the subject themselves, though both had a solid grasp of the fundamentals. All in all, Harry and Draco thought the lessons rather boring, something like the long, drawn-out banquets where one had to pretend to pay careful attention to adults who were waxing eloquent about events that had happened long before one was born, in places one had never been, to people one had never known. The boys had sat through many such banquets in their short lifetimes, so Occlumency came naturally to them both, though Draco had a somewhat easier time of it.
Saturday nights were by far the most fun for the boys, for it was on those nights that Sirius began their Animagus training. The process was long and complex, involving difficult spells and a great deal of mental discipline, but the boys knew that the reward waiting for them at the end of their course of study was well worth the effort, and they managed to persevere with diligence and fortitude.
The family had as yet devised no solution to the problem of the Hufflepuff cup, which was still secured safely in Gringotts. Harry jokingly suggested that they ought to break in and steal it, but even Sirius, who of all the family members was by far the most likely to be up for such a quest, had dismissed the idea as utter nonsense. Everyone knew that the goblins' defences were invincible. There was no hurry for the time being, but Sirius found it frustrating that they had yet to think of any way into the Lestrange vault. The easiest way, of course, would have been to secure the assistance of a Lestrange family member, but Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan were all in Azkaban, and Roland, the youngest Lestrange brother, had been killed in April of 1981. Sirius thought it a pity. Roland had been in his year in school, a decent fellow who had wound up Sorted into Ravenclaw. He had tried to remain neutral in the war, but it had ended up destroying him anyway.
The revelation that Harry carried a piece of Riddle's soul within himself necessitated something of a change in their plans. Whilst Harry and Sirius both recognised the advantages of having a direct connexion with the Dark Lord's mind, neither one felt comfortable any longer with Harry spending much time 'in the Horcrux', so to speak. Cassiopeia, for her part, thought that they ought to make as much use of it as possible before destroying it, but Sirius was adamant. Harry, much to the family's surprise, had agreed with Sirius.
'I want it out of me,' Harry whispered upon hearing his great-aunt's suggestion.
'We shall get it out of you,' Cassiopeia replied. 'But think of what we have yet to learn from it! You have within you the store of all the Dark Lord's power and experience.'
'We've already determined that we shan't defeat Riddle on his own home front,' Sirius objected. 'Harry ought to focus his efforts on developing his white magic.'
In the end, Abraxas had suggested a compromise, to which all sides had reluctantly agreed. Harry and Sirius spent a weekend going through Riddle's memories, extracting them and storing them in phials for transfer to Windermere Court. Cassiopeia and Abraxas would view them later in a Pensieve, then catalogue them for future reference. After that weekend, Harry had felt utterly drained, and Sirius had allowed him his first sip of firewhisky, after which they sat up late and Sirius told Harry stories about James and Lily.
For a half-hour every morning and every evening, within the privacy of his own bed-curtains, Harry sat and contemplated the Philosopher's Stone. The process was more difficult and more painful than it had been at the end of his first year, but Harry was determined to master the Stone's secrets. Just as before, it seemed to Harry as though the Stone itself was teaching him, and though it might at times favour the stick over the carrot, Harry nonetheless began to appreciate the effectiveness of its methods. Things seemed clearer with each passing day, whilst Riddle and his Horcrux seemed farther away. Just as before, the Stone became an all-pervasive part of Harry's life. This time, however, Sirius insisted that they spend time each day discussing what Harry was learning, which did a great deal to keep the boy grounded.
Finally, because ultimately Sirius was always Sirius, Harry and Draco were required to spend at least one hour of each day engaged in a non-productive activity that had nothing to do with Voldemort, Horcruxes, studies or training. Furthermore, Sundays were declared an altogether work-free zone. One weekend early in Michaelmas term, Sirius caught the boys researching defensive hexes in the library on Sunday night, and promptly removed twenty points each from Gryffindor and gave them both a week of detentions. Of course, for their detentions the boys were required to sit up late in Sirius's quarters, drinking butterbeer and playing endless hands of Exploding Snap, but the boys had learnt that when it came to making them relax from time to time, Sirius meant business.
For his free hour on most days, Harry played chess with Draco and Dean, or perhaps worked on pranks with them, the Weasleys and Lee Jordan. As term went on, the sextet let up a bit on Bilius and Finnigan, but they made a point to drop a few hints about Dean's pernicious plot to take over the school at least once a fortnight.
'We don't want them to get all complacent,' Fred said with a wicked gleam in his eye.
Whenever they played pranks around the school, all six boys now routinely left the Marauder's Mark, though Dean had modified it a bit from Harry's original draft, making it gold with red accents, rather than straight red, and changing the eyebrows so that the smiley face looked merely sardonic, rather than outright evil. Fred and George thought that Dean was losing his nerve, but, after his unpleasant experience in the Pool of Possibilities, Harry concurred with Dean's approach. After all, they wanted the Marauder's Mark to inspire laughter and good cheer throughout the school, not terror, and fortunately, the Mark was received in just such a spirit by just about everyone save Bilius and Finnigan, who continued to believe it to be the sign of the Dark Lord Mini-Mort.
Once or twice a week, Harry made it a point to spend time with Daphne, who was rapidly becoming a good friend. She and Harry had a very different relationship from that which Harry shared with Draco or his other friends. It was quieter, more reflective. They talked a good bit, and cooked, and though Harry was unable to share most of his worries with her, he found their time together to be a very pleasant respite from saving the world.
That said, they still had the occasional disagreement.
'You want to let the cream simmer, but not boil,' Harry explained testily one night, as Daphne waited for the saucepan to heat up.
'Isn't there a charm to make this go faster?' she asked impatiently.
'Yes,' Harry replied with a smirk. 'If you don't care how the food tastes.'
Daphne groaned. 'What's the point of being a witch if I can't use magic to speed up the cooking process?'
'You want fast?' Harry scoffed. He flicked his wand, and everything in the kitchen sped up. Five minutes later, stuffed leg of lamb lay steaming on the table, accompanied by freshly-baked potatoes dauphinoise and a cucumber and yoghurt salad.
Daphne took a deep breath. 'It smells divine.'
'But it will taste like sh...dirt,' Harry replied. He had been making a real effort not to curse in front of Daphne, which took far more concentration than one might have thought.
'Let's see,' Daphne said primly, and sat down at the table, draping the serviette in her lap.
Harry rolled his eyes, but walked over to the place across from her. He had just begun carving the lamb when the door opened and two other students appeared. It was Draco and Astoria.
'Daphne?' Astoria exclaimed in surprise. 'What are you doing here?'
'I might ask you the same question,' Daphne retorted, an eyebrow raised.
Draco sniffed the air.
'It smells pretty good, Aries,' he said approvingly.
'Olfactory-enhancement charm,' Harry replied with a sigh.
Draco scrunched up his nose. 'But why would you use one of those? Did you burn the lamb?'
Harry shrugged. 'Miss Greengrass here was impatient for dinner.'
Draco's eyes went wide in shock, then he smirked.
'Granny would have your hide if she knew what you did. She hates flash cooking charms with a passion.'
'As do all right-thinking wizards,' Harry replied, giving Daphne a pointed glare. 'I only did it in order to teach a lesson. Would you care to join us?'
Draco nodded and sat down. Astoria joined him.
'What are they on about?' she whispered to her sister.
'I'm not quite sure,' Daphne answered. 'But we'll find out soon enough.'
Harry served them all generous portions of lamb, potatoes and salad. Astoria was the first to taste it. Her expression melted in delight.
'Ooh,' she squealed. 'This is the most delicious food I've ever eaten.'
Draco raised a curious eyebrow at Harry. 'Flavorous Charm?'
'Naturally,' Harry replied. 'It'd hardly be palatable otherwise.'
Daphne gave the potatoes a try, and smiled.
'Not bad at all, Mr Black,' she said wryly. 'I think I'd very much like to learn this sort of cooking.'
Harry groaned and began banging his forehead against the table.
'I give up,' he muttered. 'This is the end. The absolute, forward-flipping end.' He stopped banging his head, took a deep breath and looked towards his brother. 'Draco, perhaps you could be so kind as to tell the Misses Greengrass what exactly is wrong with this enchanted food.'
Draco took a couple of cautious bites of lamb and chewed each one carefully before he replied.
'The lamb is tough,' he said. 'Over-cooked, and with very little of its natural juiciness. You've compensated a bit with a Tenderising Charm, but the end result is something like shoe leather that's been boiled for a day. The Flavorous Charm gives it the illusion of tasting all right, but it still has a dodgy aftertaste.' He took a bite of the potatoes and nearly gagged. 'They're all grainy,' he said. 'And far too mushy. The cream curdled a bit, and there's too much salt. The cheese is denatured.' He went for the cucumber salad. 'This one's not so bad,' he said reflectively. 'Though rushing the seasonings never helps anything.'
'I still say it's better than anything we eat at home,' Astoria said in a petulant tone.
'I'll bet your house elf flash-cooks everything,' Harry growled.
'Not necessarily, Aries,' Draco observed. 'Their mum apparently has issues with flavour. Something about fitting into dress robes.'
Harry chuckled. 'Then you should know, ladies, that the charms on that food make it half as filling as properly-cooked food.'
'Which means you'll eat twice as much of it,' Draco added.
Both girls dropped their forks instantly. Harry waved his wand and Vanished the enchanted food.
'Perhaps now you'll have the patience to learn how to cook things properly,' Harry observed, and both Greengrass girls nodded meekly.
On a brisk afternoon in late October, just a couple of days before Halloween, Mrs Robinson had just left Miller & Son's with her weekly supply of cat food. Relieved to be rid of the old woman at last – she had been most displeased with the cost of her purchase and, as always, was determined to make her feelings clear as crystal – Jack Miller began closing up the shop. He had just finished restacking the tins of cat food in something approaching decent order when the bell rang. Jack turned around to see a most extraordinary pair of customers standing in the doorway. One was very tall and thin, with tremendously-long white hair and a splendid beard. He was dressed as though on safari, complete with khaki uniform and pith helmet, though for some reason he had dyed the whole outfit periwinkle. He wore shorts, though the weather was bitingly cold, and beneath one armpit he carried a riding crop. Bizarre fashion sense aside, he seemed like a friendly enough chap, with a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his lips.
His companion, however, was quite another story. He was much younger, and, to all appearances, far less amiable. He wore a vicious scowl, along with a heavily-patched black overcoat that looked as though it had been new sometime in the late sixties. Judging by the greasiness of the man's hair, Jack figured that the man had probably last taken a bath around the same time. He had an enormous nose that made him look somewhat like an overgrown vulture, and glared at Jack as though the latter were a soaked dog that had suddenly decided to dry himself off in the drawing room.
'Good afternoon,' Jack said, pointedly addressing the friendlier of the two customers. 'Is there anything I can do for you? We're about to close.'
'Excellent,' replied the old man. 'I'm afraid that we haven't any business in your shop, but I was hoping you might be able to direct us to the Gaunt residence.'
Jack went white. For the life of him, he couldn't understand where all this sudden interest in the Gaunt hovel came from. First the Wicked Witch and His Lordship, now this lot. 'That old shack?' he said with a false smile. 'What do you want there?'
'Our business is our own, naturally,' the man replied. 'But we shall be most delighted to...er...compensate anyone who would be so kind as to show us the way there.'
Jack was shaking his head before he even realised what he was doing.
'There's no way in hell I'm going back there,' he said firmly. 'Not after what happened last time. I don't care how much compensation you offer.'
The greasy customer snarled. 'We haven't the time for this, Albus. Why don't we just dispense with the pleasantries?'
'Albus' frowned. 'I'd rather avoid that, Severus.' He pulled out a pocketwatch and sighed. 'However, we do have something of a schedule to keep. You may proceed.'
'Severus' looked at his aged companion quizzically. 'Do you not intend to do it yourself?'
'Technically speaking, what you are suggesting is illegal,' 'Albus' replied. 'As Chief Warlock, it would be inappropriate for me to participate.' He wandered over to examine a shelf of sweets. 'Ah, sherbet lemons,' he said. 'I am so very fond of them.'
The greasy-haired man rolled his dark eyes, then whipped out a stick from the sleeve of his coat and pointed it at Jack's forehead.
'Legilimens,' he hissed.
When Jack left the shop in a daze half-an-hour later, he remembered nothing of particular interest concerning the Gaunt shack or any out-of-town visitors. Furthermore, he failed to notice a missing packet of sherbet lemons, or the ridiculously-large banknote that had been left in its place.
That same night, back at Hogwarts, Harry and Draco were duelling Sirius two-on-one in an empty classroom. The boys knew each other very well, and usually fought together seamlessly. A single glance or gesture was enough for them to communicate their intentions to each other. That night, however, something seemed to be off. Draco went to the left, expecting Harry to cover him, but the other boy was too slow, and Sirius quickly Disarmed them both.
'Incarcerous,' he said, and soon the boys were tied up and hanging from the ceiling.
Sirius strolled towards them casually, confusion on his face.
'What happened, you two?' he asked them. 'I haven't beat you this easily since you started school.'
Draco looked pointedly at his brother. 'I was wondering the exact same thing.'
'I'm sorry,' Harry mumbled. 'I got distracted.'
Sirius frowned. 'That's been happening a lot lately.'
'It's the Stone, isn't it?' Draco asked.
Harry nodded. 'I think so. It's strange. Lately I've been feeling detached from myself, like I don't even know who I am anymore.'
'Can you put us down, Dad?' Draco asked. 'My arms are starting to go numb.'
Sirius flicked his wand and set the boys free. He then Conjured three armchairs and they sat down.
'I don't like it,' Draco said, rubbing his wrists. 'It's just like what happened before.'
Sirius furrowed his brow. 'Have you had any luck figuring out how to remove the Horcrux?' he asked.
Harry shook his head. 'Not yet,' he said. 'But I feel like I'm on the right track. The longer I use the Stone, the farther away the Horcrux feels. Lately I've only been able to notice it when I'm asleep, and even then it's loads fainter than it was a few months ago.' He paused, chewing his lower lip. 'I don't want to stop.'
'I still think you ought to,' Draco said adamantly. 'You've not been sleeping well, and you're distracted all the time. It can't be good for you.'
Sirius gazed back and forth between his sons, a pensive look in his grey eyes.
'The Philosopher's Stone brings healing to the infirm and wisdom to the foolish,' he recited slowly. 'But just as malformed pottery must be shattered before it can be refashioned, so the one who seeks healing of his soul must allow himself to be broken before he can be cured. The lover of wisdom consigns himself to folly in order to acquire true knowledge, and in self-abnegation finds his prize.'
Harry nodded reflectively, but Draco looked confused.
'What was that, Dad?' he asked.
Sirius sighed deeply. 'It's a quote from one of the books I read on the Philosopher's Stone when I was just a couple of years older than you lot,' he said. 'The summer I ran away from home, I was short on gold. My parents had disowned me, and Uncle Alphard hadn't made me his heir yet. I thought I might make a Philosopher's Stone for the gold.'
Harry gave his dad an amused smile. 'No one who's ever looked at it that way has succeeded in creating the Stone.'
'I know.' Sirius chuckled. 'But I was sixteen, and hardly knew any better. I spent most of the autumn reading everything I could find about the Stone. I came across that quote, and it frightened me. I realised that I wasn't ready to let go of myself, and I decided I'd just have to get a job. Of course, Uncle Alphard died that spring and left me everything, so I was spared such a horrible fate.' He paused. 'Harry, I know that if you choose to continue with the Stone it will ultimately help you, but it'll be a hell of a trip, and it will change who you are.' He grinned. 'Theoretically it's for the better, but I like you just the way you are.'
'So do I,' whispered Draco.
Harry smiled sadly. 'Thanks for the vote of confidence.' He turned his head and stared out the window at the stars. There were so many of them. Infinite lights in the night sky, endless possibilities... He reached out and clasped Draco's hand, then turned to look into his dad's eyes.
'I still want to go through with it.'
