Harry wasn't really sure, what the the best sight to wake up to was, but having a creature with razor sharp teeth and giant ears staring directly at him, probably wasn't all that high up on the list. It took him a moment of silent panic to recognize Kreacher, the every dutiful. Well, once he was finishes slicing up children at least. Yeah, Harry could hold a grudge, even childish ones. He was, after all, a child still, even if nobody really seemed to realize, himself included.
With some discomfort Harry realized, how long he had just been staring at the elderly house elf. That is until he came to the conclusion, that being kept waiting and being ignored would probably only endear the weirdo elf. With a theatrical sigh, Harry pulled back the heavy black blanket and got up for his first morning as a Black-Potter.
Getting dressed by the gnarled and sharp clawed hands of Kreacher would certainly take some getting used to. Still, it was a nice feeling to be the one receiving the pampering for once, having a servant beat being one any day of the week. The robes that the old elf had laid out for Harry, made him look like a giant tosser, in his own humble opinion, but he had the sneaking suspicion, that things like that just came with the territory.
Kreacher was still fiddling with the last of the gowns buttons – why did it need that many?! – when he first addressed Harry: "The great mistress has requested your presence for breakfast. At your leisure, of course"
Even knowing Walburga Black for as long as he did, Harry would bet a fair sum, that those probably weren't even close to the words, she had used. Still, she was the portrait of a dead women, she could surely wait a little while. So Harry didn't rush his morning routine, before he let Kreacher pop them down to the kitchen. It had the desired effect of a very impatient looking painting staring daggers at him: "Not even Lord for a day and already so self important?"
"Ah, and a good morning to you, too. You have probably forgotten being dead for so long, but living humans do require sleep"
"Don't sass me, boy!"
"Wouldn't dream of it ... grandma?"
"Tread carefully, brat. You are useful to me, but not irreplaceable. Consider yourself lucky that Lucius Malfoy is such an insufferable man"
"Blondy? What did he do to earn your ire?"
"Other than having the gall to believe himself and his House comparable in any aspect to our own glorious one, while being little more that the lucky descendant of some thrifty french shepherds you mean? While they were still shoveling dung to make due, we had already been marrying into royalty for centuries. Excuse me if such poor lineage does not impress me"
"Didn't he marry a Black though? Narcissa, was it?"
"I will never understand what she sees in him, such an effeminate man. Or Cygnus, for that matter for agreeing to the match. Also, how exactly did you come to know this? From your request to Kreacher, I concluded that you don't know all that much about pureblood society. But even if you did, the maiden names of Ladies of middling importance are not really part of the curriculum for ages seven and under"
Harry's eyes snapped up from his delicious looking bacon and eggs, clearly telegraphing that Walburga had caught him with his hand in the cookie-jar. Or more the … bookshelf? … no, that didn't work at all.
Contemplating his tactic for a bit under Walburga's calculating gaze, he ultimately came to a decision: "What do you know about Horcruxes?"
That certainly got a reaction: "Not much I am afraid, but certainly more than little seven year old lords should. Do I even want to know?"
No point beating around the bush: "I am one"
"Of course you are. Any other disgusting rituals involving you, that I should be aware of before noon?"
"Not currently, but the day is still young"
"We might joke about this, but I hope you are aware, that soul magic is grave news at the best of times, let alone while dealing with Death cheated, on top of that. He is not known to be forgiving. I assume this Lord Voldemort created it?"
Harry just nodded while shoveling bacon in his mouth, noting with satisfaction that Walburga didn't approve of his manners: "Sure did, also got his memories to boot"
In any other family, this would at least have gotten a gasp, but the Lady of the house just seemed resigned: "Anything useful?"
"Tosser is pretty batshit crazy, shocker that. Knows a thing or twelve about magic though, so that is neat"
Walburga just stared at him for a moment, than nodded and continued to sip her tea. How she got that inside a painting, Harry had no idea. While he tried to not show it outwardly, Harry was a bit shocked by this breakfasts proceedings. He had revealed his knowledge of the Horcruxes partly as a test – mostly because he had fucked up and needed a distraction, but hey, he was seven! – and as horrible as she was, Walburga's reaction had surprised him.
It was somewhat refreshing to have something that had weighed on him quite heavily for all his life, just pragmatically noted and filed away as a future project. Also Lady Black wasn't stupid by any means, so she had probably realized all the implications that came with him carrying Lord Voldemort's memories. Even still, she hadn't pitied Harry in the slightest, she had just moved on, as if it was no big deal. Of course, Harry wouldn't have minded being cuddled and comforted, but more than anything, he just wanted help, and he had seemingly come to the right place. Well, he was taken to the right place, more like it.
Setting down her teacup with a clink after taking another sip, Walburga's gaze once more found Harry: "As is evident by your horrendous vocabulary, a self-proclaimed dark lord doesn't seem to be the best teacher for manners and rulership. Thus, you will spend your days catching up in all the areas, that you are so woefully behind your peers. You will not leave this manor, until I deem you sufficiently prepared for representing House Black in public. Or until you leave for Hogwarts, whichever comes first. Your initiative in this regard has been noted, by the way"
"Thanks, I guess?"
"Oh, you will thank me, for I will prepare you thoroughly for this live ahead of you. Judging by the enemies you already made, you will undoubtedly need it"
"Voldy? Isn't he your enemy, too. Killing your other son and all that"
"I beg your pardon?", the cutlery, that had immediately started rattling in a nearby cabinet, fueled by the burning rage in Walburga's eyes, made her soft voice even scarier.
"Uhm, yeah. Regeulus, he got cold feet and … eh, stole a Horcrux from Voldemort. Snakeface … hunted him down and … tortured him to death?"
The house whole was shaking and groaning at this point: "Boy! Tell me, did he suffer, when you ripped his soul apart?"
Terrified by the burning hatred emanating from the portrait, it took Harry a while to stammer out an answer: "Screamed in agony … all the while"
"A sufficient start then", suddenly Walburga's head snapped around to a petrified elf, "What is it, Kreacher?"
The old servant fell to his knees weeping and banged his head on the floorboards repeatedly with considerable force: "This unworthy one is sorry. He has not been able to fulfill Master Regulus last order to destroy this vile artifact"
"You have had the Horcurx of my son's murderer in your possession for how long, exactly"
Fearing for his servants life, Harry was quick to jump to his defense: "This is actually really fortunate"
"Explain!"
"I was about to, before you interrupted me", Harry hastened to continue on, when one look at Walburga conformed that she was not in the mood for his shenanigans, "First of, we have an Horcrux to experiment on, before we try to remove the one from myself. Furthermore, that was one of the Horcruxes Tommy boy had lost on the way"
"Why create such disgusting things and then not care about there whereabouts? Wastrels the lot of them"
"Uhm, let me assure you, he does care quite a bit. It's just a little hard keeping tabs on things as a Wraith"
"Ah yes, you ripped him straight out of his mortal body. I must say, you do seem to have some potential. Anyhow, I will consult the tomes of the library on the subject matter and, as I recall, you have a whole lot of reading to do yourself, Mylord"
Why was he even surprised, that the Black family had books on dark artifacts and soul magic? Hell, chances were not that bad, that a Black had invented the whole Horcrux shebang on a Tuesday out of boredom.
"As for you, elf. Be glad that the new Lord of the house seems to be more lenient than myself, for I assure you, your punishment would have been the stuff of legends"
"This unworthy one deserves nothing less, mistress"
Her threat lost some of its bite, when it was Kreacher, that had to carry her frame to the library, right after it.
Harry just watched the pair in mild amusement, finishing his delightful breakfast. He was about to pick up and wash his own dishes, before stopping himself. The resident elf would probably through a major tantrum, if he found the Head of the House doing any chores whatsoever. So Harry decided to just leave his cutlery right on the table. He could practically feel the corruption take hold of his innocent soul.
Not even close to knowing how to navigate this eldritch abomination of a mansion, Harry just strolled the corridors for a room that looked appropriate for his purpose and snapped Kreacher into existence.
"Young Master?"
"The first tome of the ones you have assuredly already prepared for me"
"Of course, master. Is there any reason as to why you are using the smoking room for study?"
"Seeing as there has been no tour of this estate of mine, given to me, I took residency in the first room that even vaguely suited my needs"
"This humble servant is terribly sorry and will remedy his continued failings at once", the old servant whimpered, already grabbing Harry's arm.
Harry donned, what he hoped, was a passable expression of being offended: "You will do no such thing! My lack of knowledge is more pressing in other areas, at the moment. There will be time for a proper examination of the House, once I grew weary of reading"
"Of course, master. At once, master"
After the high maintenance elf had retreated in flurry of bows, Harry was left alone in the over-sized room, filled with quite comfortable armchairs, that were all out of – shocker – black leather. 'Introductory foray into the high arts of etiquette and gentelmenary by Sir Isaac Kettlebourough' promised to be truly riveting read. As expected even the introduction was so dry, that the book seemed more useful in the laundry room, than in the hand of a child.
Still, if being bespoke and acting like a prat got Walburga of his back and, more importantly, on his side, then he would become the most posh of Poshers to ever posh. Harry's learning experience wasn't helped by the casual bigotry that was so prevalent in the book, it should have been dripping of the pages. Lucky chap that he was, Harry thought of himself as slightly more rationally thinking than the average seven year old. He didn't want to imagine someone less critical reading this, or worse, believing it, too.
Still he fought every page like a valiant champion wrestling a dragon, only that the book seemed to wrestle his sanity and by his count, it was winning handily. So after hours of 'studying' this 'book', Harry felt that he deserved a break. Since Walburga was still busy researching – how did she do that by the way, she couldn't even turn the pages herself, right? – Harry ate a small lunch alone in the dining room.
Afterwards he had Kreacher guide him through the labyrinth that was this, or now his, mansion. As one might expect, if a house was left in the hands of a mad house-elf and an equally mad portrait, most of the rooms were in a derelict state, to put it mildly. True to his new lording persona, Harry made sure to pepper the servant with comments about the state of affairs all the while. Sadly there seemed to be no more magical portraits in the estate, at least none, that hadn't lost their magic a long time ago.
So with some terror, Harry realized, what his routine would be like: read terribly outdated books on being a prat while being accompanied by a volatile portrait and a masochistic elf. Surely he would be going mad within a fortnight! Joking aside, Harry could see, why Walburga thought it necessary for him to know all this dribble. He was now a prominent part of a world, where a wrong word at the wrong time could mean a duel to the death, and as far as he was concerned, he had enough enemies to last a lifetime, already. So he returned to his studying, this time in the 'reading room', which, by the way, also had comfy armchairs and small tables all around and wasn't really that different to the smoking room, but what did he know?
Of course Walbuga quizzed him mercilessly about what he had read at the dinner table, snarky comments about his dim intelligence included. What really got things rolling though, where her views on blood purity, which really shouldn't have surprised him, but there where only so many comments he could just ignore, before flying of the handle.
"So am I also 'subhuman' too, as you put it so eloquently, grandma?"
"Your an ignorant child, but that doesn't put you on the same level as that filth!"
"Well, last time I checked, my mother was as muggle-born as they come, so I am surprised that you can even bare talking to me!"
Walburga had the gall to snort at his statement: "Most assuredly not. You are no less pureblood than I am, boy"
That really got Harry's rage burning: "So you know my parentage better than myself? Any more crazy theories of yours, I should be aware of?"
"No you stupid brat, I have irrefutable proof of your pedigree. The fact that the ring of the Head of House didn't turn your innards to jello the moment you put it on, is quite conclusive evidence of that"
"What? How is that even possible?"
"I have theories, child, but nothing concrete yet. But rest assured, our house words predate the Norman conquest, it shouldn't surprise anyone, that we take them quite seriously. So, now that I have utterly decimated your reasoning, shall we continue with what you learned today? If a lady of equal standing to your own, offers you her hand for a kiss, what is the polite sequence of events to decline her?"
This time, it was Harry's turn to groan.
This chapter took longer to write/publish, than I would have liked. Still, I hope you enjoyed reading it, all the same.
I am very thankful for any interaction, I have received on this story so far, even if I started writing it mostly for myself. But I don't think there has ever been an author, who didn't like feedback to his story, and I am certainly no different in that regard.
Wilcen