The knock on his door momentarily drew Arcturus' attention away from the piece of parchment he was writing on. For how hidden their world was, being the head of a Noble Family still seemed to warrant a large amount of paperwork. The Ancient and Noble House of Black had investments all over the world in both the muggle and magical markets.

Not so many years ago, before the hunts and the mobs, the two societies had lived in an uneasy peace. Even so, as the years passed on and the Wizarding society withdrew from the world stage, they kept their money circulating in both markets through the Goblin Nation via the various Gringotts branches dotted across the globe. There were none so crafty and savvy with gold as Goblins.

"Enter," Arcturus called, continuing to scratch his response to Castor Greengrass. There was a business opportunity that had come to his attention that very morning concerning supplies. Greengrass could supply the ingredients, while the House of Black could supply the labour and storage - for a generous share of the profits, of course. The sooner the missive was sent, the quicker he could increase the standing of the Black and Potter families.

The door clicked open, and after a quick glance, he spotted Remus Lupin in the doorway. His suit appeared a little worn and of lower quality, though with the prejudice against his kind, it wasn't unexpected. Werewolves were unfortunately some of the less looked after citizens of their world. It didn't escape him that the prejudice was mostly a Ministry stance, rather than a worldview.

Other countries, such as Russia and the United States, actively treated their afflicted as equal citizens. Of course, the bigotry still persisted, as it always would. Unfortunately, the human race was still as moronic as ever.

"Sit, please," Arcturus said, feeling the corners of his mouth lift slightly. Once the man was seated, there were a few quiet moments as he finished his sentence before he sprinkled a little sand on the page to dry out the ink. Looking up once the page was set aside neatly, he reclined in his chair, one silver brow raised as he took the man in before him properly.

"Do you understand the duties that will be asked of you as a Steward?" he asked after a moment.

"I admit, I find myself in a bit of a quandary, my lord. It was never in any of the texts at Hogwarts, and with the war…"

"Understandable, given everything that's happened."

Arcturus nodded to himself as he leant forward in his chair and crossed his arms before him on the desk. His gaze on Remus was intent.

"You will be acting as my right-hand. As such, you will be responsible for managing my estates and household, and in the event that Sirius or I are away, you shall be in charge of anyone and anything in my employ. If I ask it of you, you shall also represent the interests of House Black in any financial or business ventures alongside myself or Sirius. As of this afternoon, you will also have permission to withdraw items and currency from the Black Vaults as needed."

Remus sat there for a moment, his mouth attempting to work, but no sound came out.

"Do any of these responsibilities fall outside of your teachings at Hogwarts?" he asked after a moment. Remus shook his head slowly.

"Excellent. Now, in addition to these responsibilities, you will also be required to instruct my Ward, Harry James Potter, Heir of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, until such as time as he is expected to attend Hogwarts. You are to instruct him in reading, writing, our society, and etiquette. More lessons will be added as required or deemed necessary. You may also hire any experts you may feel are needed to assist you in this."

"When would you want these lessons to begin?" Remus asked, his brow furrowed in thought.

"Not for another month or so. I want to give you time to settle in and develop a lesson structure for me to look over."

"Very well, that seems reasonable," Remus smiled. From what Sirius had told him over the years, Remus had always aspired to be a teacher – it seemed only right that he be given this opportunity.

"Now, your salary," Arcturus began, leaning forward and retrieving a Gringott's Writ from a draw.

Writs were essentially pieces of parchment that Witch or Wizard could take to a bank. As long as the signatures were approved, they would be given the amount of Galleons, Sickles and Knuts described. Apparently, it was an idea the Goblins had gotten from the Muggles.

"How does a monthly salary of five-hundred galleons a month sound? This doesn't include the extra stipend for clothes… and your Wolfsbane, of course."

"My Lord… That is too much, surely," Remus began, sitting up in alarm.

"Nonsense, Remus. You're the Steward of House Black – we shall pay you accordingly!"

"But, most families can get by on that much for six months!"

"Most families aren't serving House Black, Remus," he reminded him gently, waving a hand dismissively at his concerns. He carried on as he wrote the amount and signed the parchment.

"Besides, I'm asking more of you than most Stewards are ever asked for. You will be managing the estates, providing financial and business advice, and also tutoring a child. This is the least I can offer," Arcturus responded, already writing down the amount and signing the parchment.

Remus slumped in his chair, running a tired hand down his face before nodding slowly. "If it pleases you, my lord."

"Excellent!" he replied, rolling the parchment up before melting a bit of wax and affixing it with his seal. "Now, your quarters. Traditionally, a Steward would be housed separately from the family, but I think placing you near Harry would be for the best – the room opposite, do you think?"

The family wing of the house was a long corridor just around the corner from the study he was in currently. It had the capacity to house six family members in large, spacious rooms. Arcturus himself held the Master bedroom – situated at the far end. Sirius held the next largest – to the right of his room, as was befitting the heir. Next to Sirius' was Harry's, and opposite his would be Lupin's. In the history of his house, there had never been a Steward housed with the family.

"Thank you, Lord Black. Truly."

"Nonsense, Lupin; the lad considers you an uncle. As far as this family is concerned, you're his family. Perhaps one day, you'll be his Steward, hm?" Arcturus smirked.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Remus chuckled, "I'd be an old dog by then, I'm sure."

"Well, don't count it out just yet, lad. Now, lets get the oath out of the way and we can continue discussing a few things."

He grunted as he stood, his muscles tense after poring over the papers. He had been at it for a number of hours and had enjoyed the sun rising on his back. While it was still early in the morning, he found that as he got older, he required less sleep. Perhaps it was his age, or simply the ghosts of his past not letting him get a full night anymore. Either way, it gave him more time to focus on the family, and the legacy he would leave Sirius and Harry – there was always work to be done.

"I, Arcturus Black ask you to pledge your loyalty to House Black, to serve as our Steward, and to come to our aid whenever called upon."

Remus stood also, before getting down on bent knee, his head bowed.

"I, Remus Lupin, do so swear to serve the House of Black faithfully and to offer my wand in times of conflict."

"Stand," Arcturus instructed, watching as Remus stood. "Welcome to the family, Remus."

He offered his hand and grinned as Remus clasped it firmly. He gestured to the seat opposite his own once more.

"Now, onto the secrets of my house. Would you like a drink at all? I feel we may remain here for some time."

Remus inclined his head slightly. "I wouldn't mind some tea, Lord Black."

"Please, as long as we have no guests, it's Arcturus. Woopy!" he called, smiling softly at the Elf who appeared beside him. Woopy wore the pristine black uniform, the sigil of the family proudly displayed on the front and back of the tunic.

"Master Arctury calls for Woopy, sir? How may Woopy serve?"

"Some tea for Remus and me, please. Thank you, Woopy."

"Woopy glad to serve, Master Arctury, sir."

With that, the Elf bowed and with a snap of his fingers and a little pop of air, the creature was gone. Moments later, he returned with a tray of two fine-china cups, some cream, sugar, and a pot of tea.

"That will be all, Woopy," Arcturus said, moving to serve the tea himself. Woopy bowed and was gone again in an instant. "How do you like yours?"

"Cream and two sugars, please," Remus smiled, muttering a quick thanks once the tea was handed to him. Arcturus himself preferred it black with a single teaspoon of sugar.

"Now," Arcturus began after a sip. "We have a number of things to cover. Where would you like to begin? The estate, our businesses, our politics, or the tyke? I understand all of this has been rather sudden."

"I suppose the estate would be the best place to start as that will be my primary focus, correct?"

"Right you are. Very well. House Black owns a number of estates across many countries. Some are rented, while others are left empty for family use. For example, while we're in the ancestral home at the moment, Sirius grew up in London at twelve Grimmauld Place. It will be your duty to routinely check on these properties to make sure nothing untoward is going on. If you find anything that requires fixing, make a note of it and simply let me know."

Remus nodded, setting his own cup in his lap as he crossed his legs. "That seems fairly straightforward."

"Indeed. It will be one of the easier tasks you'll have. We'll schedule regular visits once a year, I believe. This will include our foreign properties as well. Portkeys will be provided for you, of course. Any questions so far?"

Remus shook his head, a gentle smile on his face.

"Very well. As for your duties here, you shall essentially make sure there is food in the house and that the House Elves are happy and provided for. When we have guests, you will assign rooms and will be the first point of contact for them. We also need to go over any specifics for your shelter during transformations. We could have it underground and hidden, or simply disillusioned. Which would you prefer?"

"I would rather it be underground, if that's at all possible. Sound-proofed as well – I wouldn't want to give Harry any nightmares."

"All easily done. Now, in this house there are six Elves. Get to know them and understand them. Milpy is our Head Elf, Woopy is our cook, Lispy is Harry's Nanny, and Goldey is our gardener. Kreacher and Deeny fill in where needed and have no specific role. Milpy is excellent at managing them all, so most of your contact will be with her, though feel free to call any as needed."

Remus nodded as Arcturus handed him a piece of parchment with the information on that he'd taken the time to note down earlier.

"Now, our businesses. We have investments throughout the muggle and magical world. For the most part they go through me or Sirius. We also have a number of philanthropic ventures as well, such as donating money towards Hogwarts, Ilvermorny, Durmstrang, Beauxbatons and Castelobruxo, to name a few. We deal in wand materials, potions and alchemy ingredients, property, and metals.

"If I require it of you, you'll join me at meetings, or represent the family with Gringotts. If you face any issues, or don't understand a particular subject, simply inform me and we'll work through it together. In time, I expect you'll also be able to ask Sirius as I teach him. Though I think it rare you'll need to worry about this part of your duties," Arcturus smiled. "Any questions?"

"How much of your capital is invested in our world in comparison to the muggle world?" Remus asked, stroking his chin with a finger thoughtfully.

"Interesting you should ask. It's mostly in the magical world, though about 37% of our income is generated in the muggle markets."

Arcturus nodded to himself as he reclined in his chair, the leather creaking. He placed his hands on the arm of the chair and crossed his legs.

"We also own a number of shops in Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, Cardiff's Bazaar, a few properties in Hogsmeade, Godric's Hollow and other communities in the country. These are fairly self-sufficient, however," he shrugged.

"Very well. I was just curious."

"Now, the last two items we should discuss for now are based on the same thing- Harry. You may have heard when you met Sirius yesterday, but House Black has sworn fealty to House Potter in perpetuity. Our wands and politics are now his. Our stance is that we shall be his most loyal supporters. We shall be the first to offer our wands in conflict, and the first to back him in the Wizengamot."

Remus sat there for a time, simply staring with a look of absolute shock on his face. "You swore fealty?"

Arcturus nodded solemnly, "We did. There were a number of reasons for it, but it made sense, to be succinct. After all, we are raising the lad. Any of his own vassals would use the opportunity to advance themselves. After the war…" Arcturus trailed off, sighing heavily.

"I was ill for a number of years, Remus. In my illness, my family tore itself apart and swore allegiance to the Dark Lord. If I had been healthier- younger, perhaps- it may not have happened. As it was, Orion courted Walburga without my permission or consent. Before I knew what had happened, they were wed and Walburga was pregnant with Sirius," he paused before confessing, "I am trying to correct my mistakes, Remus."

Silence engulfed the room. The chirping of birds in the distance seemed to reverberate in the room.

Remus seemed to be allowing himself a moment to gather his thoughts. If it had been the Steward his father had employed, Arcturus may have suspected he'd use his words against him later on. As it was, from what Sirius had told him over the years, and from what he'd seen of the man last night, Arcturus had no such suspicions about Lupin.

"Harry is the key to everything I hope for this family. He's a kind, gentle boy – but he has such power, Remus. This is why he needs to begin his lessons soon. Not so long ago, Harry summoned his toys to his hand - wandlessly and silently. I've never heard or seen such a thing in one so young."

"You're sure it wasn't Sirius playing a prank?" Remus asked, leaning forwards in his chair now, his cup placed back on the silver tray between them.

"He was busy levitating something else," Arcturus replied, shaking his head slowly. "It was pure, directed intent."

"But how-" Remus muttered, his brows furrowing.

"We shall take a trip in a few years, when he's older. We'll be going home for the first time in years. You may choose to join us, or you can remain here – the decision will be yours. But we shall take him before the Council and see what they think of him."

"Home? You don't mean the myths are true, surely!"

"All myths have a grain of truth in them. During this time, we shall take him to the Potter seat in Wales for him to claim his birthright."

Remus slumped back in his chair, his fingers rubbing at his temples in slow circles as he blew out a sigh. "Why? Why and how are you taking him there?" he asked after a moment.

"Why? We need to understand what he's capable of and teach him accordingly. As for the how? Well, there are some secrets that not even you may know. Nevertheless, we have the means and the ability to travel there."

"Is there anything else I thought to be myth or legend that I should know about?" Remus asked after a moment.

"Not off the top of my head," Arcturus chuckled. "Families as old as the Blacks have many secrets, Remus. Just know that there are a great many things about our world you've yet to learn. However, we've gotten away from the topic at hand. Once we know how we can provide for him, he needs to learn control – I'll not have any accidental magic in this house if we can help it."

"That makes the most sense, I suppose. I'll teach him some simple breathing exercises to begin with, starting tomorrow."

"Excellent! I'm in the process of arranging a playdate for Harry with Neville and Augusta Longbottom. I should be expecting a reply in a day or two. I want you to supervise this, as I'll need Sirius. I want to propose a business deal with Castor Greengrass and begin making headway into a possible alliance sometime in the future. I hear he has a daughter of Harry's age."

"You mean for a betrothal?" Remus gasped. Arcturus chuckled.

"No, nothing like that. Harry needs friends. Not three grown men. I wouldn't want him to go to Hogwarts when he's eleven and not know anyone. When he comes of age, he'll have the full weight of every alliance I can make behind him – he needs allies, and more importantly, friends to keep him grounded."

Remus nodded at that. "Very well. Is there anything that needs my attention today?"

"Not today, no. However, go to Twilfitt and Tatting's and tell them I sent you. Get yourself plenty of clothes and tell them to forward me the bill. We need to get you dressed for your position – you're a member of House Black now, son," Arcturus chuckled, watching as Remus nodded and excused himself from the room.

Just as Remus placed his hand on the handle of the door, the man paused and turned to look at Arcturus, a small smile on his lips.

"Lord Black – Arcturus… Thank you for the chance to watch Harry grow and be a part of his life. It means more to me than you could ever imagine."

"The honour is mine, Remus. Welcome to the family," he nodded, allowing his lips to lift just enough as he nodded. Remus bowed momentarily before he stepped out of the room.


"Kreacher, please inform Sirius and Remus that I'll be out for a few hours. I'll be back in plenty of time for dinner," Arcturus called as he shrugged on his fur-lined cloak and attached the clasps to the leather armour he had donned.

He wasn't planning to need the armour, but since the dissolution of their previous alliances, as well as their newfound allies, he thought it prudent to be prepared – it had actually been one of Sirius' more reasonable ideas.

The armour, while plain and unassuming, was actually covered in protective enchantments. If he was caught unaware, the armour would give him a moment or two to either retaliate, get cover to escape – all things that were unlikely if he weren't wearing it.

There were other items of protection he was wearing as well, such as the steel gorget embellished with his house sigil in fine detail, dragonhide knee-high boots, light mithril chainmail under the armour, and a pair of steel-plated leather arm-guards – the one on his right arm also containing his Blackthorn wand. Of course, he wasn't only armed with his wand – he also had a pair of silver daggers, one on his belt next to a finely forged Goblin dagger, and another silver blade in his left boot.

Far too many wizards and witches throughout history, even in today's uncertain times, had been killed or fallen prey to their enemies by being un-prepared. It was now an unspoken rule for the House of Black to wear armour and be sufficiently armed when venturing into public. Even Remus and Harry would have to adopt this approach.

"Yes, Master Arcturus," Kreacher replied, bowing so low that his large hooked nose was practically skimming the floor.

With his preparations sufficiently complete, Arcturus nodded to himself and blew out a breath. He could feel his hair tickling the tops of his shoulders where the few loose strands had managed to slip between his armour and clothes. His hair was in its usual efficient style, the sides and top pulled back and tied into a knot at the back of his head, while the rest of it fell neatly. It was a common enough style throughout the wizarding world, particularly in the older families, as it was a reminder of their origins. Just because he was admittedly dressed for war didn't mean that he couldn't be presentable.

With a handful of Floo powder, he stepped into the fireplace and called, "The Leaky Cauldron!"

In seconds, he was walking out of the fireplace and into the dingy and dark room that was the Leaky Cauldon's main space. Tables and chairs were full of patrons – some in their regular robes, be they leather, cloth or something else entirely. Was that steel plate armour he could see in the back? Interesting. It also seemed a number of Aurors were in attendance, chatting and eating in small groups – no doubt eating their lunch, or trying to squeeze in some mead or butterbeer on a short break.

As he finished sweeping his eyes across the room and dusted off a slight amount of ash from his clothing, it seemed someone had noticed his presence.

"M'lord Black! An honour to meet you, M'lord!" a pimple covered man called as he shot to his feet. He had to forcibly keep his face neutral as the overwhelming smell of body odour, rotting teeth, and alcohol wafted up his nose. It was terribly hard. He wanted to do nothing but grimace at the scent. As soon as his name was called, however, the entire room stood and bowed to a chorus of "M'lord!". He fought the urge to sigh.

"Good day. Please, enjoy your food and drink – I'm just passing through. Tom!" he called to the well-known barkeep.

"M'lord?" the toothless, ancient man asked, nervously passing a cloth from one hand to the other from his position behind the bar.

"A drink for every patron in here – my way of apologising for disturbing their day. Send me the invoice this evening!"

A chorus of cheers, clapping and stomping followed him out the back of the building as he approached Diagon Alley, the largest of all the wizarding shopping districts in the United Kingdom. Most cities had a shopping district of some kind, though if you were to compare them to Diagon Alley, it would be like comparing the muggle Champs-Élysées in Paris to a regular muggle High Street, or whatever it was they called them. However, he had no intention of going into Diagon-proper.

One of his many, many informants throughout the wizarding world had just this morning informed him of a plot he was most unhappy to hear of. He could have apparated from his study; however, he didn't want to startle the young boy before he went for his playdate with the Longbottom boy. He was pleased with how quickly Augusta had gotten back to him in regards to that – the letter had arrived the day after his conversation with Remus and had been the first official missive the young man had passed to him in his duties as Steward. The no-nonsense woman had given today, her approval for a number of hours in the afternoon. Hopefully, tonight at dinner, Harry would share news of his first friend.

With a flick of his wrist, his Blackthorn and Thunderbird Tail Feather wand slapped into his awaiting palm. He smiled at the weapon in his hand slightly, for that was exactly what the item in his hand was – a weapon. He had been surprised on his eleventh birthday when his father had taken him to Ollivanders. When told the make-up of the wand that had chosen him, he'd spent the next fortnight researching all he could on the properties of it. The Blackthorn wood was most associated with warrior-wizards, or Battlemages, as they were most often referred to in the many, many texts society had published over the years. While he had never fought in the Blood War, as he'd been confined to a bed for years, he had fought in the Global Wizarding War on a number of battlefields as a young man. He had seen it as his duty to protect their way of life, and had fought here in Britain, France, Romania, and even in Germany alongside Albus Dumbledore. He had even witnessed the clash between Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald in 1945.

What a sight that had been – two of the greatest sorcerers clashing in an all-out duel to decide the fate of their world. The screams of cries of that particular battlefield had remained with him for years. The ground had been soaked with blood and entrails. Curses had outright blasted the earth into a disgusting, pock-marked mess while spells flew every which way. Bodies had lain there, either still and un-moving, or in pieces all around. There had been so many that had taken part in that battle – everyone knew it was the battle to decide the fate of the war, and not a single person had held back.

Bombardas, Diffindos, Reductos, and countless other curses had thrown the world into chaos around him. He had just blasted a blonde witch's head from her shoulders – he could even recall her garish pink trench coat – when the cheering had begun. The battlefield had come to complete halt, everyone turning to watch Dumbledore and Grindelwald battle. The spells he'd born witness to still amazed him to this day, though he had no intention of attempting to repeat any – they were far too much for even his own impressive power.

Then, just as soon as it had begun, it was over. In the years that followed, the Acolytes-Grindelwald's followers- had been hunted down wherever they were found. Many were rumoured to have been The Dark Lord's initial followers once he had begun his own rise to power.

With a quick, encompassing swish of his wand, Arcturus cast a quick and temporary Silencio before putting his wand away. A booming Crack later, he found himself stood in Godric's Hollow in the village centre.

Godric's Hollow was one of the smaller wizarding communities in the west country of England, named for one of the founders of Hogwarts- Godric Gryffindor. Even hundreds of years later, the village remained just that – a village. It was quaint and unassuming, never growing any more than a mile or two in diameter. Throughout history, some of the most noteworthy men and women had been born and raised here- Albus Dumbledore, Godric Gryffindor, and most recently, Harry James Potter. Ignotus Peverell was buried here – one of the Brothers Three.

It was for that very reason that he was here.

The village looked breath-taking in the middle of June, the warm summer sun and a comfortable, gentle breeze gently nudging his cloak. The flowers were in full bloom and the cobblestone paths appeared new. All about, there were couples moving this way and that, either hand-in-hand or comfortably at one-another's side.

There were also children of all ages. He hadn't heard so many children laughing and playing in such a long time. Nobody would think a war had been ended here only months before. He smiled as he saw a group of boys no older than fourteen charging down a street towards him after a little golden snitch that bobbed and weaved in the air.

Paying them no mind as he stepped from their path, he looked around for a moment. He hadn't been to the Hollow in many years and for a moment was confused. It took only a few seconds, but once he had righted himself, he was off.

Men and women looked at him curiously – the entire village was a magical community, many of which were from old families, though none resided here from the Noble families off the top of his head. It was all Peverell land – a long dead family, whom the Goblins refused to announce the successors to. There was a long-standing argument between the Goblin Nation and the Ministry of Magic to declare the Peverell successor so that the land and families could be divided up within the Wizengamot. According the Goblins, a successor family had been declared and a contract prevented them from announcing it, though they had announced that the family was active within the Wizengamot. Whoever it was, the family seemed determined to keep it to themselves for the time being. In either case, the Ministry contested it at least once a decade, but it meant little to himself. The Blacks didn't own it, and no Black had ever married into the Peverell family to his knowledge, which was extensive.

Despite the stares and curious whispers of a wizard in full armour, he remained unbothered by the locals as he made his way through the village. All around, houses had ivy climbing the cottages, small businesses had their wares proudly on display, and potted plants sat in windows offering as much colour as they could.

He heard the sound before he saw what he was looking for. Coming out of a small street, he stopped and stared at a mixture of Dwarves and humans in practical clothing, all hefting tools of some sort as they bustled back and forth in front of the blasted remains of a cottage.

He approached the group with his magic rolling off of him in waves. Furious didn't even begin to cover how he felt.

The wizards must have sensed him, as each one stopped what they were doing and turned in his direction. Some panicked and reached for their wands, holding them in trembling fingers, while the Dwarves looked on in confused silence, their own tools held casually in their hands.

"Bloody 'ell Mick, that's wizard armour!" one of the men called, nervously casting a glance at the man – Mick – next to him.

"Shut up!" Mick snapped, a clipboard tucked under one arm and a wand that was nervously shaking in the other. "State your business, stranger!" he called out to Arcturus as his voice cracked.

"Which one of you is in charge here?" Arcturus snapped, his magic begging him to release it.

"I am, but what's it to you?" a large, rotund man announced, pushing to the front as a Dwarf followed him in his wake.

"It is my business because I asked. Now, just what do you think you're doing to that cottage?" he growled dangerously, barely restraining the magic that threatened to slip out from his fingers.

"Ministry business," was the gruff, uninterested response.

"Do you know who I am?"

"No, nor do I care. Leave before I call the Aurors, you up-jumped shit."

As the man turned to walk away, Arcturus stepped into his face, his wand out and held to the man's quivering jowls. The amount the point sank into the loose, dangly, and sweaty flesh almost caused him to gag. The man was almost wider than he was tall.

"Boss, that's Lord Black you just insulted!" a new voice called – it seemed someone had recognised his sigil. The mound of flesh in front of him paled considerably.

"Ah, erm, well, m'lord, I– " he attempted, visibly sweating.

"You shall halt all work on this building now," he called out, loud enough for all around him to hear.

Immediately, tools were dropped, and wands were put away. Drawing a wand on a member of a Noble family had a heavy punishment for any found guilty. Punishments ranged from hefty fines to Azkaban, if the noble was particularly vicious. Nobody wanted to go to Azkaban.

Choruses of "Yes M'lord!" rang out across the street. The Dwarves were the first to lay down their tools, seemingly already aware of just who he was. It was no surprise that they hadn't said anything – any opportunity to stick it to Ministry employees was practically part of the species culture at this point.

"Show me what you've done. Now," Arcturus demanded, shoving the disgusting man away from him, and pointing to the head Dwarf.

"Yes, Lord Black. If you'll follow me," the Dwarf answered, bowing at the waist. All around, the Dwarves received scowls and angered stares. Choosing a creature over a fellow witch or wizard was considered an insult. Good. It was intended to be one.

The Dwarf, who didn't provide a name, gestured for him to follow. They stood outside of a blasted cottage, where half the roof was missing and whatever remained was charred black. The stench of black magic permeated the air so much that he could taste it on his tongue.

The door was blasted off of its hinges, laying in three separate pieces along the hallway. From his position directly through the doorway, he could see into the lounge, where it appeared a small battle had taken place. The coffee table was on its side with a dozen scorch marks and chunks of varnished oak missing. Small groupings of dark, dried blood stained an otherwise pale green carpet just behind it, though more appeared on the sofa just beyond the makeshift cover.

He knew then that this was where James Charlus Potter died.

He ignored the Dwarf and stepped into the room, allowing his imagination to run wild with the possibilities of the boy's final moments. Turning his head over his shoulder, he could see a number of similar scorch marks and various amounts of damage to the doorway. At least James had put up a fight.

He stepped toward the small table, barely large enough for someone to hide behind and touched it gently.

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off "

Arcturus gasped and stumbled away from the table. An echo had remained. He couldn't witness the final moments, of course, but he could hear them. The shock of it settled over him for a moment.

It wasn't common knowledge, though it had happened a number of times throughout history – Magicals, for it didn't matter their species or gender, could sometimes leave a trace of a thought or feeling at the sight of their death. It took extreme emotions and a lot of power to do so, and was often done accidentally – just as James Potter, Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, had done.

Finally recovering from the onslaught of emotions that took over him, he stepped towards the table once again before taking a knee and placing his hand firmly on the wood this time. He closed his eyes, focusing his magic on the wood and released it.

In his mind's eye, he was in the room, standing over James as he took cover. On the far side of the room was the dark hooded cloak and glowing red eyes of Voldemort. The creature, for that was what he had become, hissed spell after spell at Potter, almost playing with him.

James lay on the floor between the table legs, his wand firmly clenched in his grasp. His wild hair was matted with blood from half a dozen cuts, and his glasses were skewed. He was also clutching his side.

"For Harry…" James whispered to himself, "For Harry."

James jumped, his wand flicking this way and that as he sent curse after curse in a steady stream of attacks at his opponent, eventually getting a grunt of pain from the Dark Lord himself. It appeared things may have been turning in his favour, until Arcturus spotted something from the corner of his eye.

From the shadows of the bay window, he watched a common garden rat transform into a stunted, pox-ridden wizard. Peter Pettigrew! It seemed James had also spotted the transformation, though was far more stunned than Arcturus.

"Wormt" James began, the words frozen on his lips as the burst of green light from Peter's wand struck him in the chest. The impact threw him back against the far wall, only to fall in a heap on the sofa, his eyes empty and unfocused.

Arcturus was back to himself with a jolt. While he had never doubted Sirius, it was good to know that it had indeed been Pettigrew.

With a deep, shaky breath, Arcturus stood and blinked away the wetness in his eyes. James had been a fine lad and would have been a good father. It was a shame that he had fallen to betrayal – the world was lesser for it. With a final nod to the room, Arcturus turned on his heel and made his way to the stairs.

"My Lord, the upper floor isn't secure!" the Dwarf called after him. He ignored him.

The upstairs was in even more a state than the lounge. It appeared as if a tornado had gone through the place indiscriminately. He stepped over mounds of rubble, edged around holes in the floor that allowed him glimpses of the floor below him, and ducked under the large, heavy wooden beams.

The room at the end of the corridor was in the worst state, though the décor hinted at it once being a nursery. He knew most, if not all, of Harry's belongings had been removed from the room and now resided in his room at Blackwall, but to see the remains of the room was something else entirely.

How long had the child been here on his own before he had been retrieved? How long had he sat in his crib, and wept for the mother who lay still, unmoving, and lifeless at his feet? He shuddered involuntarily.

He ducked under a half-fallen doorway and gazed in horror at the room. It appeared as if a gentle breeze would collapse it all in moments. The taste of the black magic was the most potent here – it overwhelmed his tongue, mind, and soul. There was also a sense of… pain, anguish… loss? It felt far too different for it to have been Harry's fledgling emotions, and neither was it dark enough to be Voldemort or maternal enough to be Lily's. Strange.

The room was free of any blood as far as he could tell, for which he was thankful. He thought for a moment about attempting the same feat of magic as he had in the lounge but thought better of it. While he was interested in what happened to the Dark Lord, he wouldn't be able to handle seeing a wand levelled at the boy and the killing curse hitting him.

He knelt among the wreckage for a moment, dusting aside small chunks of wood and brick as his knee sank into the same pale green carpet that he'd seen downstairs. He let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, feeling the enormity of being in this place. The deaths of the Potters would haunt this village for a long time.

After a few quiet moments of contemplation, he sent a quick prayer to Tora and Emis, the Goddess of Life and the God of Death, for the souls of James and Lily Potter before standing up and leaving.

Once he was back down the stairs, and before the assembled workers he'd been looking for, he levelled a steely gaze at each and every last one of them.

"You will explain what you were doing here, and you will explain it now," he growled dangerously.

"M'lord, we were o-ordered to convert the c-cottage into a memorial by Minister B-Bagnold. The land's been claimed by the M-Ministry," a nervous, middle-aged wizard called as he twisted his cap between his hands nervously.

"Consider your orders rescinded. This dwelling belongs to House Potter, and the House of Black will defend our Lord's lands with force if need be. Now, leave."

"Yes, M'lord," was echoed here and there among the small crowd. The Dwarves merely nodded and shrugged before moving to pack up their tools and supplies.

He stood there, watching until the last of the workers departed one way or another, before stepping into the middle of the street and Disapparating away with a crack that shook the nearby windows.

When he arrived at the entrance to the Ministry on Diagon Alley, the shocked looks on those around him barely registered. It was no surprise that the two red-robed Aurors levelled their wands at him.

"Announce yourself!" one of them commanded, the tip of his wand held steadily at the centre of his chest. All around him, people scrambled out of the way. Perhaps wearing his armour wasn't such a brilliant idea after all.

"Lord Arcturus Black. I require an audience with Minister Millicent Bagnold immediately," Arcturus replied, holding his hands out to his side to allay their – justified – fears.

"Do you have any proof that you are Lord Arcturus Black?" the second Auror demanded, a step further away from her partner so she could cover both with her wand.

"Do you think anyone would have the audacity to wear my House sigil that wasn't a Black?" He asked, tapping the silver serpent that adorned the gorget about his neck. The first Auror nodded quickly, bowing politely, speaking before their partner could say something even more stupid.

"Very well, Lord Black. If you'll make your way inside, someone will be available to see to your needs," the first of the Aurors said, bowing as they both holstered their wands.

A voice in the crowd behind him called out, "Why does he get to skip the queue? We've been waiting for hours!"

"Shut up, you idiot! That's Lord Arcturus Black!" another voice hissed. "Not even You-Know-Who dared to approach him!"

That wasn't entirely accurate.

Representatives of the Dark Lord had approached him many times over the years – some when he was ill, others when he was healthy. In the early years of the Dark Lord's rise, there had been a number that had outright begged him to put his family behind their Lord, but he refused each and every one. The House of Black would not betray the ideals it was built upon for some up-jumped shit – not while he was the head of the family.

Unfortunately, it was during one of his long, protracted illnesses when he had heard of the news of his family's betrayal. Individual members of his family pledging support to this Lord of theirs, taking his brand on their arms proudly. If only he had been younger and healthier…

Ignoring the voices around him, he stepped forward through the entrance into the Ministry and briefly cast his eyes about the dark tiled floor and ceiling with its many arches and marble pillars. Across every surface, there was a gold trim. The trim was garish to the eye, but meant to impress the visitor with the greatness and the wealth of the Ministry of Magic. No wonder he got letters once a year asking for a loan from them.

As he walked along the long entrance corridor, he saw the occasional burst of green flames from the huge Floos that lined the entire corridor. After each burst, a wizard or witch would emerge, striding off to whatever task they needed to complete. Snapping his eyes to the front once again, he caught sight of the monstrosity which took up the centre of the atrium.

There, in marble and gold, was the infamous Fountain of Magical Brethren. Gold statues depicted a wizard with his wand pointed in the air, a witch, a Centaur, a Goblin and a House Elf. It never failed to escape his notice that the wizard and witch were elevated above the other races, as if they were better. He'd met plenty of Centaurs, Goblins, Dwarves, and House Elves that were far more pleasant and better educated than scores of witches and wizards.

As he walked past it, he purposefully tore his eyes from it and walked to the desk at the front.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic, how can I help you today?" a young witch asked, her voice pleasant but bored. As his eyes darted about her face, he would have to guess she had recently graduated from Hogwarts.

"Lord Arcturus Black here to speak to Minister Bagnold. Immediately," he replied, ignoring the fact all work around him suddenly stopped.

Apparently, it seemed he had a bit of a reputation.

"C-certainly, Lord Black. If you could just take a seat for a moment while I let the Minister know?" she asked hopefully, wincing when he rose an eyebrow at her. He made her sweat for a moment before nodding sharply and took a seat nearby.

It was five minutes later, in which he'd spent a fair chunk of that time simply watching the people around him, when he heard his name called.

"Lord Black? The Minister will see you now. I just have to ask for your wand – for security, of course."

He turned his head to see a young man in a sharply tailored suit looking at him with his hand outstretched, waiting for his wand. His face appeared as if it had been pinched at birth, with a large forehead and hair so slicked, Arcturus was shocked it wasn't sliding off of his head.

"Your name, lad?" Arcturus asked as he stood up. He noticed he was taller than the boy by half a head.

"Augustus Ironbark, of House Ironbark, My Lord. Personal Secretary to Minister Bagnold," Augustus replied, smiling at his own self-importance.

"Ironbark… Sworn to House Crouch if I'm not mistaken?" Arcturus asked, his hands clasped together before him casually.

"Yes, Lord Black."

"Excellent. Now, if I hear another word from you, I expect your head would look fantastic on a pike in front of Blackwall Manor. Do not presume to demand my wand from me, boy. Remove yourself from my presence immediately and tell your Lord that his slight against my house hasn't been forgotten."

The boy stood there for a moment, paling as Arcturus' words sunk in. Each word cut deeper and deeper in its delivery. Indeed, there would be a reckoning for House Crouch, and if this up-jumped quill-pusher thought he could demand his wand? Well, he'd see about that.

He pushed past the child and marched to the elevator that would take him directly to the Minister. Once inside the golden cage, he grunted out his destination and arrived moments later.

The corridor was short, but lavishly furnished in portraits of previous ministers, all of them watching him carefully as he marched past them.

With a flick of his hand, the large double oak-doors to Bagnold's office flew open, banging on the interior walls and bouncing back slightly. The woman in question jumped in shock, her eyes wide and a quill flying out of her hand. She knocked over no less than three bottles of ink.

"You dare confiscate land not rightfully yours?" he roared. The Minister wasn't the only one whose office was up here. The more witnesses the better.

"Arcturus, what is the blo–" she began, attempting to scowl as she sat down in her chair once more. Her beady black eyes narrowing.

"Silence!" he roared, slamming his hands down on her desk as he leaned into her. "You thought to appropriate land that belonged to the Potters. Why?"

"I– " she began, visibly taken aback. "That– "

"Answer me!"

There was a moment of silence before he could hear the shuffling of feet as people peered out of their office doors to see what the commotion was.

"Potter Cottage was to be renovated into a tourist site to celebrate the death of You-Know-Who."

"Are you sure you're a woman, Millicent? You've got some balls to presume to have that kind of authority. Don't even get me started on the fact you're forgetting it's the site where the heir to House Potter's parents were murdered!"

"How dare– "

"How dare I? Do not forget just who and what you answer to, Minister. You are in that seat because you are allowed to be. And do not forget just who and what I am," he hissed in return.

Millicent paled considerably.

"I was voted– "

"And how long will those votes remain once your public discovers that you attempted to merchandise my Liege Lord's tragedy? Do you suppose they'd side with you, or the vanquisher of Voldemort?"

"Do not speak his name!" Bagnold snapped, her eyes darting about the room – looking for some Death Eater to appear out of thin air, no doubt.

"If you ever attempt to claim what isn't yours again, the power I'll bring to bear on you will make Voldemort look like a friendly first-year duel. That goes for anyone listening," he announced, turning to look venomously down the corridor from which he had come. "Lord Potter may not be able to protect his lands at this moment, but let me promise you – House Black can."

"Are you threatening me, Arcturus?" Millicent hissed.

"No, Minister. I'm simply delivering a warning to you. Believe me, you'll know if I threaten you. I'll raze this entire magic-forsaken country before I let anything happen to Harry or his lands."

"You wouldn't dare," Millicent gasped.

"Would you like to ask your superiors if I'd be out of line, Millicent? I promise you; you wouldn't like the answer they give you. Now, you will order your people to leave anything signed to the Potters alone. You will also forget about attempting to merchandise anything to do with Harry and Voldemort. Am I understood?"

There was a tense silence as the two scowled at one another.

"Very well, Lord Black. It shall be done immediately. Now, if you'd kindly piss off," Bagnold muttered. No doubt she had a lot of posturing and such to get on with in front of her staff in the foreseeable future.

"I'll be watching your career from here on, Millicent. You can be sure of that," Arcturus growled before sweeping out of the office.