A Crown of Black Upon His Head
Disclaimer/Plot/Author's Note: SEE FIRST CHAPTER
Recommended Reads: Silver King and Trickshot by JustBored21, A Second Chance by Breanie, Ascension by PerseusPeverell092, The Crimson Sorcerer by TwistedFilms, My Child by DebsTheSlytherinSnapefan, The Rise of the Last Potter by HPfanfictioner66, Hadrian Potter- The Snake like Lion and Hadrian Potter- Black and the Gauntlet of Gryffindor by Lord of mystics, Worthy of Magic by Raul Fictitious, Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin by The Sinister Man, A Chance Encounter and The Slytherin Reformation by spectre4hire and Harry Black Book 1: The Hero's Return, Harry Black Book 2: The Rising Darkness, Harry Black Book 3: The SPIRE, Harry Black Book 4: The Coming Dawn and Harry Black: Book 1 (Definitive Edition)by AuthorK
Key Pairing: Harry/Daphne; Neville/Hermione
Other Pairings: Sirius/Amelia; Others TBD
Normal Speech
'Thoughts'
/Parseltongue/
Review Answers:
Shadow Ranger: I appreciate the compliment and, while Harry's not the type to use his wand unless the situation calls for it, I hope you understand he is capable of far more than he's letting on, as you'll see from here on in;
A10riddick: Oh I think he's not quite done racking up points just yet…what might you give the points in this chapter, I wonder?
WhiteElfElder: Unfortunately for the Banshee, she's about to tickle the sleeping dragon…well, when I say she is…
Nagiten: Ron is a boy, and what do you call a boy? A son of such-and-such; so, when Harry said sons of Gryffindor, he was referring to the fact that he not only had a lesson to teach Ron, but, sadly, a lesson with the git;
"Done."
'In more ways than one,' he added in thought, not even needing to turn to know that the redhead was glaring at him, as though he was trying to impersonate a Basilisk.
Shame Harry had decided that once was enough for him to have to deal with Weasley.
Any Weasley!
Chapter 5: Black Kings and Princes
After the mysteriously-interesting Transfiguration lesson, during which many of the Slytherins were surprised to see Harry finish first and earn the highest grade in the class for his work, the rest of the week seemed to be painstakingly-dull.
Or so Harry thought.
Black
First, in Charms, Professor Flitwick flat out embarrassed Harry's idea of what the world-renowned Duel Champion, Charms Master and the mentor and friend of his late Mother was like when, as soon as he reached Harry's name on the register, the goblin-blooded mentor actually gave a girlish squeal as he toppled off of the stack of books he used to address his students.
Oh, make no mistake, the Head of Ravenclaw then redeemed himself when he showed a sense of respect and even pride when he noticed how Harry, in the teacher's words, had inherited your dear Mother's skill for my class, Heir Potter-Black and how I look forwards to seeing more evidence as we proceed down the path to knowledge and greatness together.
But, as the old saying went, everyone only ever got one chance to make a first impression and, quite frankly, Harry left his feeling unimpressed.
Especially when, after doing a bit of private research, he also learned that duelling, as well as any hopes of exploring goblin magic from a master, much less apprenticing under said man, was not something Hogwarts' studies encouraged anymore.
Black
Next, in History of Magic, Harry saw that they were being taught by a ghost and, to the shock of many Slytherins, as well as the Hufflepuffs whom they learned alongside, he packed up his stuff and walked out of the class.
Not that Binns seemed to notice this, mind you, which left many snakes speechless and Harry free to use History of Magic to pursue other interests.
Black
Following that was the humiliation of Defence Against the Dark Arts.
First, there was the fact that, for some completely random reason, Harry was once again forced to endure sneers and whispers from Weasley, as well as the few Gryffindors who seemed to follow the redhead's delusions of how, since the Boy-Who-Lived wasn't a Gryffindor, but a Slytherin, he was a hero no longer; instead, he was now the villain of this little story.
Then, there was the Professor himself.
From the very first glance at Professor Quirrell during the Sorting Feast, Harry had sensed something off with the foul-smelling, purple-turbaned man, and it wasn't just the dismal stammer that seemed almost too perfect, leaving most of what he said unintelligible.
No, for Harry, there was something else off with Quirrell, but he just couldn't put his finger on what it was.
Add to that how, when the man looked at him in the lessons themselves, he almost seemed to become beyond-terrified of Harry, even when he thought the boy couldn't see him looking at Harry himself. Whenever Harry tried to get an answer, a response or even an explanation out of the garlic-scented individual, Quirrell's stammers only grew worse, to the point that Harry actually raised his hand and told his Professor straight.
"Do you know what, Professor? Forget I even asked; if I want answers, I'll do like any real student of the craft and seek them out myself."
That was, quite possibly, the last time that Harry asked Quirrell anything about anything anymore.
As for studying in lesson, Harry did his best to ignore Weasley's glares, as well as the fearful quivers of the Longbottom Heir, and instead kept himself to himself as best as he could.
All the while unable to shake the dreaded feelings surrounding Quirrell himself.
Black
If there was one saving grace, it was Herbology.
As Harry explained when Blaise Zabini gathered enough courage to ask why Harry seemed much calmer out in the greenhouses than in the school, the art of Herbology might as well be the root – no puns intended – and basic foundations for Potions studies, as, without many of the herbs, plants and other flora and fauna they researched in Herbology, many Potions wouldn't even exist.
Add in how, to Harry's relief, Herbology was taken with the Ravenclaws, which meant he was free of glares, whispers and suspicions, though some of the Eagles – like one whom Harry guessed was one of a set of twins, as he remembered seeing an identical-looking sibling to the Eagle in the Gryffindor-shared classes – also seemed to be examining him, as though they were actually looking for the dirt – and he didn't mean Herbology's kind of dirt, either.
With the sense of purpose, as well as keen interest that many, even Professor Sprout herself, seemed to notice Harry took in the session and, despite the fact he wasn't really the muck-diving sort, Harry actually found himself enjoying Herbology.
Black
Astronomy was the next problem for Harry, though that was only because of the fact that it was held at midnight on Wednesdays, which meant Harry was thrown off his sleeping schedule and the ability to keep his body primed for maximum efficiency in his studies.
On top of that, to his chagrin, it was the only class where all four first-year classes from each one of the four Houses came together for the class.
This, once again, meant that Harry had to endure the likes of Weasley, Brown, Longbottom and, worse, both of what he was able to confirm were twins, the Ravenclaw one of which seemed all-too-eager to share the gossip with her sibling and the Brown girl from Gryffindor.
Judging by the giggles and shooting glares, Harry guessed that Brown and Ravenclaw-Patil were talking about his looks or the way he carried himself in lessons, while Gryffindor-Patil seemed to be as suspicious as the rest of them as to Harry's ways, methods and his mannerisms as a proud member of the Snake Pit.
It didn't even take all that long to perform the tasks required for Astronomy class and, even when Harry asked Professor Sinistra's permission to go back to Slytherin, so he could get a goodnight's sleep, her response was to make him sit there, look up at the stars and do nothing.
And when she caught him napping – mostly thanks to Granger indicating that Harry was, in her words, being lazy – she gave him a detention.
Suffice to say, Harry would come to hate Astronomy lessons, while he also made a note to never give the overcompensating Muggle-born student in Gryffindor the time of day unless it became absolutely necessary.
He didn't admit it aloud, of course, but hearing her tattle-tale on him, as well as sound so offended, as though his very business was meant to be anywhere close to hers, actually told Harry why Slytherins had a problem with Muggle-borns.
Of course, being him, there was always going to be one exemption to that problem.
The woman who'd died for his sake, and whose name, memory and legacy Harry would never disgrace, nor allow to be disrespected in any way.
Black
On Friday, as Harry sat with the rest of the Slytherins, enjoying the usual breakfast meal, as well as discussing and contemplating their soon-to-be inaugural Potions lesson with their Head of House, Harry had just finished his own breakfast – today a fruit salad drizzled in fresh yoghurt – when a loud crash filled the room, mostly from the Slytherin Table.
While every head turned to the green-clad students' table, Harry's eyes narrowed when he saw the cause for the crash was a seriously-mottled, broken-winged owl who looked like it had gotten involved in a fight with an aeroplane's wing-engines, and lost. However, what really caught his attention was the sight of the angry-red envelope that was clutched in the owl's trembling talons.
"Is that a…a…a Howler?" asked Theo Nott, looking up and down the Slytherin Table as he asked, "But…but who'd be so deranged…I mean, it…it's not as though you've hurt anyone, right, Potter?"
"I highly doubt any of our brothers and sisters have such a disgusting-looking creature to act as the envoy of Hermes, Heir Nott," drawled Harry, sniffing once before he smirked thinly. "No, I suspect this is but the first of what may yet be many correspondences from the parents and/or associates of our peers in other Houses. Now, let me see here; whoever is responsible for this, they're obviously not someone of wealth or common sense, judging by the state of this poor creature, so that excuses…mmm…about eighty-five percent of the students here."
"It's the Weasleys' owl, Heir Potter-Black," explained Flint, earning a raised eyebrow from Harry, before Flint went on, "I recognise it from many of the times when those demon Twins over there used to receive Howlers. If this was sent by whom I suspect it was, you might want to consider putting up a Silencing Ward immediately."
"No," said Harry, picking the owl up by one of its broken wings, before he smirked thinly as he added, "I have a better idea."
To the surprise of the Slytherins, Harry rose from his seat, still holding the owl by one wing, before he turned and walked over to the Gryffindor Table; to his amusement, as soon as he reached them, a few elder Gryffindors – who, like Flint, undoubtedly recognised the owl and the letter for what and who they were from – edged away from the Slytherin boy.
Harry, meanwhile, looked to the now-curious, if not rageful Ronald Weasley, before he flicked his eyes to a worried-looking Fred and George Weasley, as well as a smug, but also-proud-as-a-peacock-looking Percy Weasley as he dropped the owl onto the table. "I believe this belongs to you and your family, Scions Weasley; since you were so kind as to issue a challenge of some sort, requiring the sending and receiving of this disgustingly-offensive communication, I find it only fair that I return your property in kindness."
"Potter!" exclaimed Percy, even as Harry plucked the Howler from the owl's talons; as soon as he did so, it began smoking dangerously, while Harry seemed content to ignore Percy's apparent rant, though the pompous moron continued regardless, "What do you think you're doing, disrupting the feast like this? I warn you: I am a School Prefect and therefore, I…"
"Have no business getting yourself involved with the extra-scholastic communication that was, undoubtedly, created and issued by your densely-minded sibling sitting opposite me, Scion Prefect Weasley," said Harry in a matter-of-fact voice, before he let the Howler fall from his hand.
Before it hit the table, every Gryffindor who'd had the misfortune of recognising the red envelope for what it was ducked under the table, leaving only those unfamiliar with it – such as Granger, the Weasley idiot, his Prefect douche of a brother and a few Muggle-born students – as well as Harry to watch as the letter shifted into a mouth-like shape, before what had to be the world's loudest voice roared from the makeshift lips.
"HARRY JAMES POTTER!"
"Ah, the Weasley matriarch," said Harry, gesturing to the Twins, both of whom were now looking at their siblings, as though they wanted to know whether or not the two were suicidal, issuing a challenge to the clearly-unfazed Slytherin first-year.
The Howler's writer, meanwhile, continued screaming at the hall, as well as Harry himself.
"HOW DARE YOU ALLOW THE HAT TO SORT YOU INTO THAT DARK-SPAWNED HOUSE OF DEATH EATERS AND MURDERERS! YOUR PARENTS WOULD BE DISGUSTED IF THEY SAW YOU BREAKING BREAD WITH THEIR MURDERERS' CHILDREN! AND THEN, TO GO SO FAR AS TO ASSAULT MY SON, JUST FOR OFFERING YOU FRIENDSHIP! CLEARLY, YOU HAVE NOT BEEN RAISED PROPERLY: I INSIST YOU OFFER RETRIBUTION IMMEDIATELY, OR YOU WILL KNOW REAL FURY, YOU UNGRATEFUL SPAWN!"
"So…is she finished?" asked Harry casually, even as the Howler did indeed rip itself up into shreds, leaving Harry to look right into Ron's eyes as he added, "So, let's see if I understand what's happening here correctly, shall we, Scion Weasley?"
To the outrage of the youngest redheaded male, Harry didn't even seem a little intimidated by what every Weasley, and everyone who knew them, knew to be a fate worse than death being delivered to him. Instead, he brushed a stray lock of his hair from his eyes as he folded his arms, before he spoke to Ron with that same cold, uncaring tone as a few days before.
Worse-still, the rest of the Gryffindors, especially Fred and George, noticed that everyone else in the Great Hall was deadly-quiet, allowing Harry's words to reach each and every one of them as he spoke to the moron opposite him.
"First, your Mother, who is not even a speck on my radar, much less the one who should be communicating with someone like me, regarding Family Affairs, questions my Sorting. Then, she goes further and insists on claiming knowledge of the dearly-departed when, for the past decade, as of this year's Samhain, my late Lady Mother and Lord Father have been laid to rest, which, unless one has been practicing Necromancy, means nobody knows what they may or may not think, regarding the future and path choices of their only son and heir."
"Potter, sit…" Percy began, but, to his horror, he found none other than Professor McGonagall pointing her wand and firing a non-verbal Silencing Charm at the Prefect, while Harry continued as though he hadn't even noticed.
"On top of that, on what is undoubtedly a one-sided, misinterpreted form of childish crocodile tears on your part, she claims I assaulted you when, in case you have been recently Obliviated or suffer from short term memory loss, you will recall I merely silenced you, as Professor McGonagall just did to your elder brother, because you were being annoying and speaking of things you had no business claiming knowledge of yourself."
"Y-Y-Y-You…you t-t-t-t-tried to…to drown me, you…you Dark Wizard!" snarled Ron, earning a scoff from Harry.
"Weasley, trust me, if I wanted to drown you, I would use a much-stronger spell than Aguamenti, which was simply used, including the Drying Charm that followed, to clean up your appearance so you did not humiliate your peers in a lesson with your Head of House…not that it seems to have stuck, judging by the state of your robes now."
"See? You admit it!"
"Yes, I admit to cleaning you up, not assaulting you, Weasley," drawled Harry, shaking his head slowly as he asked, "Clearly, you are in need of a different sort of cleaning on your ears, as well as your clothing…but I digress. The next thing you do involves your Mother, who is simply the spouse of your Lord-Father, issuing an ultimatum to the Heir of the Most Ancient and Noble Houses of Potter and Black, regarding any future infractions and the possibility of harm, if not magical law taking effect, if I do not offer retribution…and, tell me, Scion Weasley: exactly what form would this act of retribution take, hmm?"
"Well, you could always buy me a Nimbus."
"Ah, money, of course," said Harry, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his robe before he sniffed as he folded his arms again. "Why am I not surprised? Undoubtedly, your continued claims as to being my best mate also involve the wealth of my family's fortunes…and, let me see: last time I checked, doesn't your family have a seventh child? A daughter?"
"Oh, you want to meet her? She'd make a good wife for you, you know?"
"Sadly, as they say, Scion Weasley, my dance card is filled," drawled Harry, brushing another lock of hair from his eyes as he added, "And the one who will fill it does not wear red, nor have a Gryffindor Crest or an obsession with me, my wealth, my disgustingly-acquired fame or my future, not that I am saying much more than that."
"Then…what…what are you saying, Potter?" asked Fred Weasley, earning a scoff from Harry.
"And here I thought the twin-speak thing I'd heard about you two was truth, but, clearly, like your one-sided obsession with practical jokes and the legacy of greater wizards than you children, it was just hearsay and to annoy others…a pity…"
While both Twins looked dumbfounded by Harry's choice of words, Harry looked back to Ron as he added, "As for any payments that you might be deluded into thinking I owe you, Scion Weasley: clearly, you wish to make this a family affair…"
"Now, Harry…"
"And now you get involved, Chief Warlock: curious," drawled Harry, flicking his eyes towards Dumbledore, who actually backed down into his golden throne as he added, "Personally, I would have thought the message sent to your Potions Master made you take notice…oh, and, by the way: do not think we are friends. You will address me as Heir Potter-Black, or not at all, Chief Warlock…unless you would like the House of Potter and the House of Black to consider you in the same boat with the ones who, clearly, wish to make something of their threat to my family, meaning the Disgraced Houses of Prewitt and Weasley?"
"How dare you!"
"Who lifted his spell?" asked Harry casually, looking now to Percy with a dismissive air about him as he added, "No matter; seeing as you are the eldest scion present, Prefect, you can be my messenger…and, trust me, this time, I will know if my words are misinterpreted or sent to the wrong ears. So, you will kindly inform your Lord-Father, Arthur Stephan Weasley, that his spouse has offended and threatened the Heir to the Houses of Potter and Black and, as the Heir, I am perfectly willing to deal with this matter, personally. If he refuses to acknowledge my proverbial olive branch, you will then caution him to reconsider as refusing my generosity will involve the unnecessary, but clearly-wanted appearance of the Head of my Family coming either to this school to deal with the instigators of these mundane affairs or, if it becomes absolutely necessary, a visit to your Lord-Father at his home, if not his place of work."
"What Head? You're an orphan, Potter!" snarled Percy, earning a raised eyebrow from Harry.
"I am completely aware of my orphaned status, Prefect, as I have made clear to your sibling many times this past week," argued the Potter-Black Heir, before he leaned down to Percy as he added, "However, my House, and I speak of the House of Black, does have its Head…and no, I do not mean that blood and oath-traitor who rots in Azkaban where he belongs…"
Here, Harry turned his back on Percy, so that his eyes were fixed on the High Table before he growled warningly as he looked Albus Dumbledore in the eyes.
"I speak of Lord, and Patriarch, of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, Arcturus Septimus Black, once known to his allies and his enemies as the Black King of Avalon!"
"LIAR!"
You could have heard a gnat fart in the silence that followed Percy's roar of outrage as Harry named the Head of his Family for who he was.
Over on the Slytherin Table, Draco was but the first to look like Percy Weasley had just declared himself to be the next Voldemort, while, up on the High Table, Dumbledore, Flitwick, Snape and McGonagall, as well as a white-faced Quirrell, were all looking at Harry as they saw him tense up with the Prefect's roar.
"I…beg…your…pardon, Weasley?" asked Harry, emphasising each word with clenched teeth, much like his Head of House – meaning Snape – and several deep breaths as he asked in an ice-cold tone of voice, "Did you…just call me…a liar?"
"The Black King is a fairy tale," argued Percy, his voice filled with confidence and brash arrogance as he explained, "The Ministry has proof that the so-called infamous war-criminal is, in fact, on rival with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named for his crimes against the nation. Furthermore, it is official fact that the so-called Patriarch, Arcturus Black, died nearly five years ago from depression and Muggle drug overdose, as insane as his distant relative, Bellatrix Lestrange, and the monsters he helped sire."
"Is that so?"
"Yes," snapped Percy, now rising from his seat before he jabbed a finger in Harry's back as he snarled, "Now stop with this rubbish about you being important, Potter: as my Mother said, you're just an ungrateful future Death Eater who thinks he can frighten his betters. As for payment, I think my brother is fair with his wish, but I bet my Mother would also appreciate a fully-binding contract with you and your family, betrothing you to my sister, will mean we let this whole thing go! Go on, Potter: say it!"
"As you wish," said Harry, lifting his head before, to the curiosity and surprise of the students, he reached under his collar and pulled out a long, silver pendant, upon which there was a coat of arms, the sight of which suddenly had Draco paling in horror.
"WEASLEY, LET IT GO!" Roared Draco, his voice echoing through the hall as he demanded, "TELL HEIR POTTER-BLACK YOU WERE MISTAKEN, PLEASE! IF HE ACTIVATES THAT CREST…"
"Be quiet, Death Eater!" sneered Ron, earning a terrified look from Draco, while the redhead insisted, "What's so scary about some necklace? Potter is going to do the right thing and pay me to forgive him; something that you…"
"Toujours Pur."
"Always Pure?" asked Percy, though not before a clap of magical thunder filled the hall, accompanied by what could only be described as a cry, similar to that of a raven, as Harry clasped his pendant in his hand. "What do you think you're doing now, Potter? If you think your little emo act will frighten me, you…"
Suddenly, the doors to the Great Hall flew open, causing every head to turn towards said doors; as soon as they did so, every student, as well as the staff, all held their breaths, while more than a few of them paled in horror when they saw who was standing in the doorway.
There, looking beyond-enraged at what had clearly taken place to bring him to the castle, was a tall, pale-skinned gentleman whom was dressed in official-looking robes, complete with a walking cane that had a raven's head at the top. On one hand, the man wore a proud, expensive-looking silver ring, with an emerald as green as Harry's eyes in the top, the emerald filled with a prism-like image of the raven-headed crest that also adorned Harry's pendant.
As the stranger walked into the hall, his footsteps, as well as his cane's strikes on the ground, filled the hall like a death knell, while the man's eyes, which had to be the most-piercing shade of steely, if not mercurial-and-arctic grey ever, never left the spot where Percy was standing, looking at the stranger in horror and disbelief.
Harry, meanwhile, finally broke character for the first time all week as he drew out a shaky, if not sad-sounding breath as he bowed his head before he whispered, "Remember, Weasley! Your arrogance, and your family's stupidity, made me do this…"
"D-D-D-D-Do….do…what?" asked Percy, trying and failing to look away from the man as he stopped next to the two boys, his silvery-white hair shining like the ghosts of Hogwarts in the light of the Great Hall, as Percy stammered, "I-I-I-I-I d-d-d-d-don't know w-w-w-what…"
"Be silent, boy."
The stranger did not raise his voice, much like Harry himself was known not to do, and yet, everyone trembled with a chill that rivalled the September cold outside, if not made it look more like a summer heatwave, while Percy's jaws actually snapped shut as the stranger turned his gaze on Harry, who actually gulped and trembled as the stranger addressed him.
"I trust there is a good reason for activating the Emergency Summons built into your Heir's Pendant, Harrison. You know the penalty for wasting my time on mundane affairs, especially when, last we spoke, you assured me you could handle such trivial matters yourself."
"I…I know…Grandfather," said Harry, his voice wavering with dread and fear as he nodded towards the now-trembling Percy as he added, "And I…I confess myself…disappointed for…for needing to…to use this so…so soon in my education, but…but Scion Weasley and his…his Lord-Father's spouse, as well as the fool who is the youngest of the Scions, they…they would not allow me to act as you taught me, sir. Scion Prefect Weasley here even proclaimed you a rumour, a dead man and a war-criminal…and if that is but a mundane affair to you, then…then know I am perfectly willing to take your punishments when I return to the Castle, Grandfather-sir…I offer no excuses and ask no mercy."
Dead silence filled the Great Hall, before the man, whom everyone – even the dense-minded Weasley brothers – now knew for an absolute, undeniable fact to be the genuine article, Arcturus Septimus Black, looked to Percy as he sneered.
"Look at me, boy."
Percy's head snapped up, earning a scowl from Arcturus as he asked, "On what plane of existence do you deem me a war-criminal?"
"The…the…the Minister…"
"You mean that corrupt, Death-Eater-worshipping toad-lover whom is only in power because House Potter and House Black chose to remove all voting rights in the Wizengamot, owing to the current Heir being unavailable for command, and the proxy, who should not have even sat in my heir's seat, deemed a corrupt, insignificant insect who did not seek the proper channels for the right to claim such seats?"
Arcturus' eyes flashed to Dumbledore, who visibly, violently, flinched as he met the gaze of the old man before him.
There was absolutely no doubt in Dumbledore's mind that this was the real, still-alive, Arcturus Septimus Black, and he was pissed!
Albus remembered what happened the last time…hell, he could still smell the flesh burning.
Looking back to Percy, Arcturus sneered again, "Sit down, boy. And, next time you decide to take the word of fools and madmen as gospel, kindly remember that, while they believe they make the rules, there are, as is always the case in nature, much bigger fish in the sea."
With a trembling step, Percy fell back into his seat, before Arcturus looked from the Prefect to Harry as he asked, "Now, Harrison: what is this slight that has been performed on our Family?"
Harry met his Grandfather's eyes directly, earning a very faint flicker of a smile from Arcturus before, after only a moment, the white-haired man nodded, "I see…very well, Harrison: as this is a matter that requires absolute proof and a challenge made by a fool who believes herself important, I will let it slide this one time. In the meantime, I have a simple enough task for you, my Heir: do it and all is forgiven."
"Yes Grandfather?"
To the alarm of the youngest redhead, who was suddenly squirming in his seat as he felt dampness in his trousers, Arcturus glared at Ronald as he growled in a very icy voice.
"Summon the rodent I sense cowering in the pocket of his equally-rodent-minded Master…it seems we have an Animagus in our midst."
"What do you…hey!" cried Ronald, even as Harry flicked his wand at the redhead, summoning a fat, dopey-looking rat from the redhead's pocket.
As he did so, Arcturus snapped his fingers, causing the rat to transform right in front of them, earning cries of alarm and disbelief from the rest of the hall as the rat was replaced by a very-terrified-looking man, who barely had a moment to look up before his world became a sea of red flashes.
As the rat hit the floor, Arcturus nodded once before he spoke again, "Heiress Bones."
"Y-Y-Y-Yes, sir?" asked Susan Bones, watching as Harry flicked his wand, tying up the man in ropes, before Arcturus addressed her again.
"You might want to use your own Heir's Summons to get your Aunt, Director Bones, here…and when you do, kindly inform her that we not only have a not-dead man in our midst…but also a possessed associate of the Dark Lord Voldemort!"
That was the moment that Quirrell started screaming, as did everyone else, when they saw black fire consume the Defence Professor.
Black fire that seemed to have come straight from the wand of Arcturus Black himself, the sight of which made Dumbledore, Snape and even the screaming Quirrell himself experience terror that surpassed all others that day.
In the silence that followed, as Quirrell's flame-enveloped body hit the floor, Harry's voice, once again cold and dark, broke through the dead quiet.
"I knew there was something I didn't like about him…I never believed it would be him, though."
Chapter 5 and…ohhh…shit!
What has that senile, corrupt, overcompensating old fool and his red-woolly sheep unleashed on Hogwarts?
Also, will Harry have to pay any prices for not acting on his suspicions earlier, much less engaging in mundane affairs that required the arrival of the Higher Power, one whom, from the looks of it, even he fears and respects?
Keep Reading to Find Out
Next Chapter: A terrible truth comes to light, as does an injustice nearly ten years old; also, Harry faces his Grandfather's judgment for his mistake in ignoring the signs, while we learn what he meant when he said his dance card is full, as Harry becomes less-blind and naïve and more the Black Prince he is…
Please Read and Review
AN: Portrayal
Arcturus Black: Charles Dance (Just in case you missed it earlier)
AN2: Arcturus
Also, just in case anyone has a beef with how Arcturus has handled the situation, consider that this is a war-wizard who is as feared as Voldemort and yet, to some, as respected as Dumbledore, not to mention the backstory of him from the first chapter. When he deals with a problem, he doesn't water down his magic, just to please others, which is also why he has zero tolerance/respect for Fudge and his ilk.
Oh boy, does anyone else suddenly smell frogs' legs burning?
AN3: Harry
Also, before anyone thinks that Harry's done a Draco and expected Arcturus to bail him out, let me explain something.
Harry only did what he did because Weasley took the insult to his Grandfather's name and legacy too far; he was perfectly-willing and is perfectly-capable of handling it himself, but when you poke…sorry, tickle the sleeping dragon, you don't get away scot-free.
Add in how Percy basically dared Harry to 'say it' even though he was referring to something else, well…
You don't expect this Harry to take that lying down, do you?
So, while it looks like Harry's gone running to Grandfather, it's anything but and, as you'll see, Harry's not one to accept that he had to do it, without accepting or facing the consequences bound to follow.
After all, this Harry was raised by a true follower and mentor to The Old Ways, hence his attitude, diction and mannerisms: he's not some new age pure-blood heir who needs Daddy – well Granddaddy – or his chequebook to deal with his problems.
And if he's forced into it…backed into a corner, you might say, then…RUN!
