Previously on Defiance...

The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

"What is the Order of the-"

"Not here," Bill whispered urgently. "Wait till we're inside!" He pulled the piece of parchment out of Harry's hand and set fire to it with his wand tip. As the message curled into flames and floated to the ground, Harry looked around at the houses again. They were standing outside number eleven; he looked to the left and saw number ten; to the right, however, was number thirteen.

"But where's —?"

"Think about what you've just memorized," said Bill quietly. Harry thought, and no sooner had he reached the part about number twelve, Grimmauld Place, than a battered door emerged out of nowhere between numbers eleven and thirteen, followed swiftly by dirty walls and grimy windows. It was as though an extra house had inflated, pushing those on either side out of its way. Harry gaped at it. The stereo in number eleven thudded on. Apparently the Muggles inside had not even felt anything.

The Fidelius...

Briefly wondering once again how he had actually cast a Fidelius all by himself, Harry walked up the worn stone steps, staring at the newly materialized door. Its black paint was shabby and scratched. The silver doorknocker was in the form of a twisted serpent. There was no keyhole or letterbox. Bill pulled out his wand and tapped the door once. Harry heard many loud, metallic clicks and something that sounded like the clatter of a chain. The door creaked open.

"Get in quick, Harry," Bill whispered. "But don't go far inside and don't touch anything."

Harry stepped in.

Harry stepped over the threshold into the almost total darkness of the hall. He could smell damp, dust, and a sweetish, rotting smell; the place had the feeling of a derelict building. He heard a soft hissing noise and then old-fashioned gas lamps sputtered into life all along the walls, casting a flickering insubstantial light over the peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpet of a long, gloomy hallway, where a cobwebby chandelier glimmered overhead and age-blackened portraits hung crooked on the walls. Harry heard something scuttling behind the baseboard. Both the chandelier and the candelabra on a rickety table nearby were shaped like serpents.

"The family does love snakes." He muttered to himself.

"Come along." Bill whispered, "And don't touch anything."

"Sure." Harry almost drawled. "Hey, what about my things and Hedwig?"

"Already here. The Order brought it from the House. You will be staying here for the rest of the summer."

Never thought there would be a day when I would miss staying in Privet Drive.

Harry glanced all around the place. Everywhere was cobwebs, and serpentine structures. For a moment, he wondered if this was some manor belonging to some of the death eaters, someone whom this Order might had defeated. He heard footsteps and turned back, only to be grasped in a tight hug by Mrs. Weasley.

"Oh, Harry, it's lovely to see you! We thought we had lost you," she whispered, pulling him into another rib-cracking hug before holding him at arm's length and examining him critically. "You're looking peaky; you need feeding up, but you'll have to wait a bit for dinner, I'm afraid."

Mrs. Weasley and her feeding. No wonder Ron is the way he is.

Pause.

Hold on, since when did I get so sarcastic?

"I'm all right, Mrs. Weasley. Just need some rest."

That seemed to do the trick. That and a melancholic face that he pulled off quite effortlessly. While he would not want the Dursleys dead or anything, but the fact that they died did not conjure any sadness inside him. Was he growing heartless?

He pondered for a moment.

Nah.

He could see an entire group of wizards scrambling all around in a room next to the one he was in. He could even see Dumbledore, the silvery hair and beard was a dead giveaway. He thought of going up there and demanding answers, but then...When had the old man given him any direct answer? If anything, he had only hidden things from him.

He paused, smirking mentally. Time to pay back.

Perhaps Mrs. Weasley had misread his intentions and his body language; for she saw, his feet move towards the other room and spoke out, "No, Harry, the meeting is only for members of the Order. Ron and Hermione are upstairs, you can wait with them until the meeting is over and then we will have dinner. And keep your voice down in the hall," she added in an urgent whisper.

Why is everyone telling me to keep quiet when they themselves, are the ones who are actually talking?

Past the moth-eaten curtains and the troll's leg, which was some kind of stand, he climbed up the rickety staircase to the upper floor. Harry's bewilderment deepened with every step he took. What on earth were they doing in a house that looked as though it belonged to the Darkest of wizards?

Harry crossed the dingy landing, turned the bedroom doorknob, which was shaped like a serpent's head, and opened the door. He caught a brief glimpse of a gloomy high-ceilinged, twin-bedded room. There was a loud twittering noise, followed by an even louder shriek, and his vision was completely obscured by a large quantity of very bushy hair — Hermione had thrown herself onto him in a hug that nearly knocked him flat, while Ron's tiny owl, Pigwidgeon, zoomed excitedly round and round their heads.

"HARRY! Ron, he's here, Harry's here! We did not hear you arrive! Oh, how are you? Are you all right? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know our letters were useless — but we couldn't tell you anything, Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn't, oh, we've got so much to tell you, and you've got to tell us — the dementors!"

Of course.

"So," Harry began softly, though his voice carried a cold undercurrent of anger. "You two have been here, together."

The cold tone seemed to have taken her off-guard. Ron, like the oblivious boy he was, began by putting his foot in his mouth. "Of course, mate, we have been here since the beginning of the summer, and-" he began, holding his half-chewed sandwich in one hand.

"And when was I supposed to be brought in?"

Hermione swallowed. "After three weeks."

"Right."

"Come on, mate, we have got loads to tell you about, now that you are here. I bet you are sad about the muggles but it happens and," he paused, deciding that he had expressed enough sentiments, "let's have a game of chess before dinner. This place is boring and it is driving me barmy."

Hermione felt like shoving a brick into Ron's mouth. Harry however, seemed to evaluate his new situation with a curious but emotionless façade. "Right. So where is my room? I want some... privacy."

"Of course, Harry I will talk to Mrs. -"

"Why mate, you can live with me and-"

"Ron!" Hermione stressed. Ron stopped his tirade midway. "Yeah?"

"Harry needs some privacy at the moment." She cast him a 'do-not-question' look, shutting him up. She turned towards her other best friend. "Wait here, I will talk to Mrs. Weasley. Give me a minute."

"But the other rooms on the opposite corridor are empty!" Ron almost bellowed behind her. Harry almost snickered at his obliviousness.

"Where is Hedwig?" He asked, keeping his tone genial.

"In the owlery. Sirius has your trunk." Ron answered with a grin.

"Right."

So these two have been here, spending time with my godfather while I have been left to the jackals.

"So where are these empty rooms, you were talking about?"

Ron gestured towards the opposite corridor.

"Right. I am going to do some private exploration. I will-"

"I will help-" Ron began but Harry cut him off. "I will be fine, alone."

Ron stopped midway, shrugging as he went back to his sandwich.

"Harry?"

Harry turned behind, only to see his godfather standing at the edge of the staircase, beaming at him. Sirius instantly changed into Padfoot and leapt towards him, changing midway as he stood in front of him, grasping him in a bear hug. Harry could not help but feel bittersweet about it. Sweet because he was finally seeing his godfather after over a year. Bitter because his friends had been spending time with his godfather while he was sulking at the Dursleys. He wondered if it was heartless of him that he was happy not to have to go back to the Dursleys anymore.

"It's wonderful to see you, Prongslet."

Prongslet?

"Son of Prongs", Sirius explained at the question on Harry's face. "James was most insistent on naming you Prongslet when you were born, but Lily put her foot on it, and named you after her father."

"My... grandfather?"

"Yes. Your grandfather's name was Harry Jonathan Evans." Sirius explained. A slight sadness filled his face, something Sirius noticed. "Your aunt never told you anything, did she?"

Harry just looked at him expressionlessly.

"I'm sorry, Harry. Had I not made my mistake and run after Pettigrew-" Sirius began, but Harry stopped him. "It's okay, Sirius. Let's just put past where it is."

Sirius nodded.

"What is this place?" Harry asked, willing to change the conversation.

"This," Sirius paused, "is my home. Or rather, was my home."

"You lived here?" Harry asked in surprise.

"I lived here till I was sixteen. Then I escaped and lived with your father at your family manor. Speaking of which, I failed to ask you previously, have you taken up your Lordship?"

He stared at Sirius with a scrutinizing expression, "I did."

"Ah, that's better. I was wondering if the bumbling fool told you about your heritage or not." Sirius returned scathingly. It was obvious that the man did not hold Dumbledore in great regard.

Perhaps I can exploit that.

"So what is this place? Apart from your house, I mean."

"Oh, this is not my house, Harry." Sirius returned. "I and James lived in a two-bedroom apartment overlooking Diagon Alley. It is still there. After James and Lily got married, they moved to live in Potter Manor, but after it was destroyed by the Death eaters, they shifted to the Potter cottage in Godric's Hollow before..." Sirius stopped speaking, as if something constricted his voice. "I am really sorry, I failed you, Harry."

Clearly, Sirius had not taken his parent's deaths very well, Harry observed. Sirius continued. "We were talking about this place. This, Harry, is the Townhouse of the Ancient and Noble House of Black."

"Ancient and Noble House of Black." Harry muttered to himself. "So you are the-"

"Last living member and blood heir of the Black family. I never cared about my family, forget taking up its Lordship. I rebelled against the family ever since I was small. The family magic felt odd to me..."

Okay.

"But if you could take up the Lordship, surely it could help in getting you a proper trial, couldn't it?"

Sirius stared thoughtfully at him. Then, a sadness crept upon his face. "It wouldn't work."

"Why?"

"As I said, I rebelled against the family and the Black family magic ever since I was small. Even when in Hogwarts, I decided to shove a finger towards my family by joining Gryffindor. My family has been Slytherin since the last five centuries. It rubbed my mother the wrong way." He paused. "That said- I did try to take up Lordship, hoping it would give me a chance in trial, but the magic did not accept me. I am the blood heir, and until I pass the lordship officially to someone else, or I die, the family will not have another Lord Black."

"So don't you marry or something?"

"No one is going to marry a fugitive, Harry. Especially one who is notorious as the betrayer of the Potters and Voldemort's right hand man." Sirius gnashed his teeth. "Besides, staying in Azkaban has made that option unavailable, I'm afraid." Sirius flushed in embarrassment.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"So the Black line dies with you?"

Sirius stared at his godson for a moment. "No, Harry. I may be the blood heir, but there are other heirs too. Three actually. One is the Malfoy brat; he is descended from my cousin Narcissa. The other is my niece Nymphadora; she is descended from my elder cousin Andromeda."

Harry nodded.

"The third is you, my godson and descended from Great aunt Dorea, your grandmother."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I have Black blood in me?"

Sirius nodded. "I was intending on this to be a surprise, but given the conditions, I suppose it is better you know it from me. I have made you my heir. If you wish, you can take up the mantle of Lord of Black. You hold the Potter lordship already, Black would not be a problem. Plus, I think the previous Lord Black would have preferred you."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "The previous Lord Black?"

"Harry!"

Harry barely constrained his ability to control his emotions. He held his emotions in check. He was not going to let go and reveal his rage now, not even to his friends. His anger was like a simmering cauldron now—one small mistake and the entire thing would blow up in an explosion. He slowly turned his neck to the right as he gazed at his best friend.

"Yes, Hermione?"

For some reason, Hermione found his cold, hard gaze to be more than mildly intimidating. She swallowed. "Mrs. Weasley has told me that you and Ron are going to stay together."

"That's not required," Sirius spoke out, "I know exactly where you should stay." He raised his voice and yelled, "KREACHER!"

It was unlike any other elf he had ever seen. Except for the filthy rag tied like a loincloth around its middle, it was completely naked. It looked very old. Its skin seemed to be several times too big for it. Though it was bald like all house-elves, there was a quantity of white hair growing out of its large, bat like ears. Its eyes were a bloodshot and watery gray, and its fleshy nose was large and rather snout like. The elf took absolutely no notice of Harry and the rest. Acting as though it could not see them, it shuffled hunchbacked, slowly and doggedly, toward the far end of the room, muttering under its breath all the while in a hoarse, deep voice like a bullfrog. "Smells like a drain and a criminal to boot, nasty old blood traitor Master with all the brats messing up my Mistress's house. Oh my poor Mistress, if she knew, if she knew the scum they've let in her house, what would she say to old Kreacher, oh the shame of it, Mudbloods and werewolves and traitors and thieves, poor old Kreacher, what can he do."

"Kreacher!" Sirius commanded.

"What can Kreacher do for blood traitor Master? Master ran away from home and broke Mistress' heart. Now Master comes back and orders Kreacher around. Master not fit to be the scum on Mistress' shoes..."

"Kreacher! I order you to stop."

Kreacher stopped. He stared at Harry with an uncomfortable expression before croaking. "What does Master want with Kreacher?"

Sirius cleared his throat. "This," he gripped Harry's left shoulder, "is Great Aunt Dorea's grandson. You do remember her, don't you?"

Kreacher looked at Harry with something like longing. "Mistress Dorea was so nice. She was Lord Black's favorite. Mistress Dorea being so nice to poor Kreacher, unlike filthy Master and his-"

"Right!" Sirius interrupted. "He is the next heir of Black, and will rule the family."

Kreacher stared incomprehensibly at Harry, who felt a bit uncomfortable at the way those bulgy eyes were staring at him. "Hello, err, Kreacher."

"Yous be the heir of Mistress Dorea?"

Harry nodded uncomfortably.

"Kreacher lives to serve the Ancient and Noble house of Black." Kreacher croaked, "Come with me, young Master. I will show you a room."

Harry turned back at Hermione and replied. "I guess I have a private place I needed."

"But Harry-"

"I will see you later, Hermione."

If Sirius thought that his godson was being cold, he did not point it out. Harry glanced at Sirius, who shrugged, before deciding to follow the demented elf who trudged slowly across the corridor, up the staircase on to the second floor. There on the left, were three rooms. The first one held the nameplate.

The Lord's Study. Do not enter without express permission of Lord Arcturus Sirius Black.

"The previous Lord Black. My grandfather." Sirius explained, seeing the query in his eyes.

Harry nodded. The next room held no nameplate. The third one, though, held one. It wasn't a nameplate, but a command. The way was pompous, and reminded Harry of the not-so-likeable Weasley brother.

Do not enter without the express permission of Regulus Arcturus Black.

"Regulus Arcturus Black." He muttered the words.

"My brother." Sirius exclaimed sadly. "He was a good one, but ultimately I lost him to Mother when I escaped this Hell to live with the Potters."

"Oh."

They moved over the threshold together, gazing around. Regulus's bedroom was impeccably clean, a contrast to the rest of the house. Clearly, Kreacher held Regulus in great regard. Regulus had striven to emphasize the Slytherin values. The Slytherin colors of emerald and silver were everywhere, draping the bed, the walls, and the windows. The Black family crest was painstakingly painted over the bed, along with its motto.

Toujours Pur.

"Always pure." Harry muttered.

"Yes, my mother thought it was about purity of blood. She held those of lesser blood in great disdain." Sirius replied offhandedly.

"No." Harry spoke up automatically. "The original family of Blackmoor were practitioners of blood magic, something that flowed through the blood of their veins. The rule was to never teach anyone not of their blood about the intricate arts and secrets of their art. Hence, Toujours Pur."

Sirius looked sharply at him. "You are very knowledgeable in family history, Harry. I didn't know that."

Harry shrugged, inwardly wondering how on earth had he known that. Leaving that string of thought, he looked all around. On the walls was a collection of yellow newspaper cuttings, all stuck together to make a ragged collage.

"They're all about Voldemort," he remarked. "Regulus seems to have been a fan for a few years before he joined the Death Eaters..." Sirius grunted but did not comment. A little puff of dust rose from the bedcovers as he sat down to read the clippings. Harry, meanwhile, had noticed another photograph; a Hogwarts Quidditch team was smiling and waving out of the frame. He moved closer and saw the snakes emblazoned on their chests: Slytherins. Regulus was instantly recognizable as the boy sitting in the middle of the front row: He had the same dark hair and slightly haughty look of his brother, though he was smaller, slighter, and rather less handsome than Sirius had been.

"He played Seeker," said Harry.

"Yes. He was surprisingly good at it." Sirius replied nostalgically. "Though he had got nothing on you."

Harry smirked.

"Will young master need anything?" Kreacher croaked.

Harry looked back at the demented elf. "No, thank you Kreacher. Though I would love it if you could bring my trunk and my owl here." Instantly, Kreacher popped out with a large crack, followed by another similar one, along with an irritated hoot from Hedwig who did not like the popping around at all. Harry lifted his trunk, and opened it.

All his clothes were gone.

Almost as if the elf had sensed his confusion, Kreacher answered. "They were being rags, young Master." Sirius stared at Harry and asked the elf. "What do you mean rags?"

"Young master's robes were tattered and torn. Young Master's robes not worthy of being worn by Heir of Ancient and Noble House of Black."

Sirius glanced back at Harry. "Where are your proper clothes?"

"I don't." answered Harry simply.

"What do you mean-" Sirius began, before the reality of the situation hit him. "Those bloody Dursleys-"

"Are dead. I do not need to return back any more."

"That may be, but you need robes of your own. Especially since you have taken up the mantle of Lord Potter."

Harry agreed amiably.

"Does this place have a library?"

"Why Harry, I would have mistaken you for your bushy-haired friend. From their conversations, you do not seem to be the studious type." Sirius teased.

"You learn to grow up when you have an insane dark lord baying for your blood."

Sirius's grin dissipated. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to-"

"It's a fact, Sirius. I accept it that someday or the other, I will have to face the bastard and when I do, I want to have a chance to survive."

Sirius looked at him speculatively. "I think I can help you with that."

Down in the drawing room, the secretive group known as the Order of the Phoenix were having a most serious discussion. In the enormous sprawling drawing room, which appeared much more cleaned than the rest of the building (with the exception of Regulus's room of course), sat a multitude of people. On one side, sat Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks and Bill Weasley. In the centre on the couch, sat Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Mad-eye Moody and two bald-headed, old men. The rest of the people sat on the other side, with Mundungus Fletcher lying like a rag on one end.

A rush of sound was heard as Dumbledore and Snape entered the room. The rest of the order stood up in unison as a mark of respect for the old Headmaster and the leader of the group. Snape stood in the shadows beside the Headmaster, a sneer floating on his lips.

"Let's begin the meeting of the Order." Dumbledore proposed.

"As you all know," Dumbledore began, "there was a rogue Dementor attack on Privet Drive, which killed Harry's aunt and uncle. As I am told, William was the one to find Harry and brought him here to safety. From now, he will be staying here. It is imperative that he is kept out of the happenings of the Order."

"But Headmaster, Harry has-" Lupin began, but Dumbledore interrupted. "I do not negate the fact that Harry has had done many impossible tasks till date. However, he is a child and this war doesn't belong to him yet." His tone left no angle for complain or argument.

"Now that we are finished with the brat, let us get down to business." Snape sneered.

"Right," Dumbledore began, "so anyone who has heard of any developments please share..."

"So this is the notorious Black library?" Harry wondered with awe at some of the tomes in front of him. There in front of him, stood shelves upon shelves of ancient tomes that promised powerful magic.

"This is only the outer part of the library. While I am sure you would enjoy it here, I believe I have a better idea at hand." Sirius pointed out at a dusty pedestal on which a single fat tome was kept. Surprisingly, this particular tome was completely dust free.

"The Black family grimoire." Sirius explained. "My Grandfather spent decades working on assimilating the entire contents of the Family library into this tome. It has the ability to provide information from the library that is desired by the reader, obviously someone of Black blood. Fortunately or unfortunately, this grimoire can only be handled by the Lord or the heir of the family."

Sirius gingerly held the tome in his hand, the magic judging him, and once it found him worthy, the book automatically lifted up as he lifted his arm towards Harry. "Try to hold it. If the family magic judges you worthy, you can read it. Else, you won't even be able to hold it."

Narrowing his eyes, he gingerly held the tome, which lay on Sirius' palm, seemingly weightless. The moment he touched it, an immense pressure of magic pressed down upon him, almost constricting his breath for a second. Magic which was cold, intimidating and Black as its name. The magic held him almost incapacitated for a moment before it gently caressed his skin, as the book lifted up with his palm.

"Congratulations, godson. You are officially in position to be Lord Black." Sirius looked half-amused and half-exhilarated. "The family magic loves power, and you have a ton of it. It was almost a given." He held out his right hand, and extracted a signet ring from the ring finger, holding it out to him. "This is yours, for now. If we get the opportunity, I should like to take you to Gringotts myself and see your ascension as my heir and the Lord of Black. I might as well get a laugh out of it, seeing Lucius Malfoy rage in frustration. On that point, I suppose Dumbledore would be frustrated as well."

Harry looked curiously at his godfather, as he wore the ring on his ring finger. It slid in comfortably and fused with the Potter signet ring.

"Dumbledore has been giving me little hints and ideas about how it would be a great idea to donate the family's resources for the war effort. For the record, since I am your legal guardian, he suggested that I should allow him considerable sway and powers to utilize the Potter wealth in funding the Order." Sirius grit his teeth in annoyance. "The old coot had the balls to even suggest that James and Lily would be happy over it."

Harry's fingers twitched as they circled around his wand. The yew wand shot out angry sparks of purple as he tried his best to reign over his emotions. Sirius looked down at the wand in his hand. "That's different. Hey, hold on, that is not your wand. What happened to yours?"

Harry sighed. "It's a long story."

"I am all ears."

Thirty minutes later...

Sirius Black was confused. He wasn't sure if he should be feeling anger (at Dumbledore's behavior and stupid decisions regarding Harry) or hate (about how Harry had been suffering all this years and kept ignorant of his heritage) or prideful (about Harry's wandless powers and now the family wand) or concerned (about the whole Fidelius and secret-keeper mystery). Finally, he gripped his godson's shoulder and gave him a bear hug.

"Whatever you do, I am always with you. Just remember that. I may be confined to this house for the rest of my life, but I would be damned if I wouldn't help you out of this mess." He paused as he let out a sigh. "You were right, Prongslet. You need to learn. You need to survive. And the Black Magic will help you do that. That reminds me, you will have a Family Grimoire in the Potter Family Vault as well. The next time, you go to Gringotts, make sure to get it with you. Charlus had done the same thing with the Potter family library."

Harry raised his eyebrows at the coincidence. Sirius deciphered his expression and laughed. "My grandfather and yours were very good friends. In fact, both of them fought alongside each other against Grindelwald. Great Aunt Dorea told me many tales about them when I lived with the Potters."

"I would love to hear some." Harry smiled.

"Sure you would, but for now. Get some rest. I will tell Kreacher to open the Lord's study for you. You can study there in peace. In the meantime, I will get that demented elf to buy some robes worthy of your station for you. Is there something you would like to eat?"

Harry's stomach growled loudly.

Sirius smirked.

"I suppose you should get dinner first. Treats later." He turned back as he walked out of the door, leaving Harry alone in Regulus's room.

Harry held his wand up and looked at it with fascination for the first time. The wood was yew. Thirteen and a third inches long. The wand was tapered at the end, spiraling all the way from the hilt. The hilt was carved of ivory and had the miniature engraving of a thestral on one end.

"Thestral." He muttered to himself.

Unknown to the rest of the world and even himself, his eyes glowed a powerful stormy gray.