Chapter Two:

A Homecoming

"Yes, that's right, Black." Jimmy repeated firmly to the sceptical goblin.

After a fond farewell and the time taken to pack all his belongings, his potions kit and his favorite books from the library into his magically expanded trunk. He only took only twenty or so books and left the rest for Silly because she said she wanted to share them with her friends. Years ago she had made a small box which she could tuck into her pocket, into which the entire library complete with shelves and potions area somehow fit. Silly had apperated Jimmy straight to the inside of Gringotts bank, hugged his knees, wished him luck and disappeared.

"I claim the right of inheritance test for the Black vaults." He said confidently, even as he continued to glance around in sheer wonder. It was all so… so real. He knew about goblins, was learning their language even, but until today the magical world and all its wonders had been books and stories.

"And you are aware what will happen if the test proves you are not of Black heritage?" The goblin asked, steeping his long, green fingers as he interrupted Jimmy's musing.

Jimmy paused. "You won't give me any money?" He tried.

The goblin smiled nastily. "And also you will be inflicted with an ancient blood curse which can only be removed by the Lord of the family, who is currently imprisoned for murder."

Jimmy nodded slowly. "Sounds about right from what I've heard. Alright then, go ahead." He held out the palm of his left hand, having read up on goblin inheritance testing in advance.

The goblin raised an eyebrow in apparent interest and removed a small sharp knife from a sheath built into his desk next to the inkwell. He snapped his fingers and a scroll of parchment embellished with gold swirls and a complicated family crest which had snakes, rooks and a skull on it. The goblin perfunctorily pricked the palm of Jimmy's hand, drawing a drop of blood and flicking it expertly onto the hovering parchment where it spattered, then faded. Goblin and boy leaned forward to see the results.

Slowly the Black family tree appeared, and kept appearing. Where it had ended before with Regulus a dotted line now grew to one side and connected to a dot labeled "Marlene Jane Mckinnon" then bled straight down between the names and labeled itself "James Regulus Arcturus Black" and began to glow silver.

The Goblin leaned back in his chair, hands now politely in his lap and his bushy eyebrows at his hairline. The goblin's eyes, which had looked disdainfully at Jimmy's muggle clothing before, now scanned the Grieves uniform with apparent fascination. "Thank you, Mr. Black, that will be sufficient. I am assuming the family has been informed about the presence of a hitherto unknown direct descendant of the previous Heir?"

"Actually no, they haven't." Jimmy smiled a little anxiously. "I'm afraid I grew up in the Muggle world. I was hoping Gringotts could help me locate my family and put me in contact."

"Ah." Said the goblin carefully, beginning to shuffle around a stack of what looked to be illuminated scrolls into neater piles on his desk and drawing one of them out to frown at it. "I am afraid, Mr. Black, that most of your family is now deceased. There are a number of distant cousins, but your only close living family is your uncle, Sirius Black. He is currently in Azkaban for thirteen counts of murder and betraying the side of the Light to the Dark Lord. Do you wish me to set up a meeting? You are one of the few entitled to under the old laws, as his pureblooded heir."

A knot of thrashing mixed emotions moved in Jimmy. Relief was there, as it seemed he didn't have to endear himself to former death eaters for social status. But he also felt a deep and secret disappointment that he still would not have a real family, evil or not. And Silly had disappeared for nothing! Coming back to the question at hand, he said,

"Er.. no, thank you, not at this time." He managed, then curiosity got the better of him. "But am I allowed to send him a letter?"

The goblin frowned. "Usually letters to and from Azkaban Prison are strictly forbidden, but as he is the current head of the family and you are the de facto heir I believe there is precedent for an exception if the letters regard your traditional training and obtaining the formal status of Heir to the Lordship. I shall contact a solicitor to make the arrangements."

"Thank you." Jimmy said. "Um, is there anything that's mine before I'm the formal heir? Do I have an account that I can access?"

The goblin allowed a grim sliver of humor to ghost across the corners of his mouth. "Oh yes, Mr. Black. Unless your uncle is released, you get everything but the title of Lord and the Wizengamot seats. Which vault would you like to see first?"

An hour later, Jimmy's mind was overflowing with memories of great piles of jewels, gold and magical treasures and the shocked realization that he, Jimmy Black, eleven-year old library lurker, was wealthier than the Queen of England. In his daze he almost missed the question that Barkfang, the Black family accounts manager, had solicitously asked him.

"And will you be needing access to any of the properties, sir?"

"Oh." Said Jimmy, realizing for the first time that he was currently homeless and completely without supervision. "Yes. Which house has the best library?"

"The Manor in the southern countryside contains the most books." The goblin stated definitively. "Though the collection at your Grandfather's personal library in the house in London is considerably more rare and valuable."

Jimmy felt a stir of forbidden wonder at the idea of knowing what kind of books his grandfather had read. He knew almost nothing about his father's family, or even much about his father. From the little he had heard he felt he should have been relieved not to face the family, but he was not.

"Did my father leave anything in that house?" Slipped out between his lips before he could stop it.

Barkfang looked considering. "Nothing valuable enough to have been listed among banking assets. But he did grow up in that house, I believe. His personal belongings may still be there."

"I'd like access to that one, please." Jimmy found himself saying.

The front door of number 12, Grimmauld place swung forward with a theatrical creak, revealing a dramatic, dilapidated interior which looked like the very definition of a haunted house. Victoriana reigned dustily. Cobwebs dangled on old, black crystal. He wasn't sure whether he imagined the sound of whispers and faint motion in the deepest dark.

Jimmy took a deep breath, steadying himself on the wrought iron railing and wondering if he should call Silly. She'd said that Gringotts wasn't a place for elves and had not elaborated, but if he called her here he felt sure she'd appear. It was dark and creepy and possibly truly haunted in there. Jimmy had read in Silly's books that ghosts and vampires and monsters and ghouls were all real, though he'd never actually seen one. Silly's books had been right about everything else, he reflected. He could try calling Silly, she might still be in range… perhaps she hadn't left for America quite yet...

But if Silly were here, he realized, he'd see this place how she saw it. He'd see her disapproval of anything dark and lose the chance to see what else was there on his own. Like for instance, his father's things.

He squared his shoulders and walked alone into the gloomy dark, telling himself that this was his house now and he had nothing to fear. A sudden piercing shriek shattered these thoughts as the curtains on the wall next to him leaped open of their own accord. His back hit the wall with a thump, interrupting his rapid backing away from what appeared to be a living portrait.

"THIEF!" Screamed an old woman dressed in black lace and mink from where she hung flat on the wall. "MUGGLE FILTH IN THE HOUSE OF MY ANCESTORS! HOW DID ONE SUCH AS YOU PASS THIS THRESHOLD?!"

Jimmy gaped at her in panic while she drew a breath of questionable necessity, and managed, "Um. I had a key!" He waved it a little desperately.

The woman turned the most critical eye he'd ever personally witnessed onto the key in his hand.

"And where did you obtain a key to this house?" She demanded coldly, imbuing the word 'you' with as much ranchor as possible without spitting.

"From Barkfang at Gringotts, um, m'am." He said weakly, and rummaged in his backpack until he found his copy of the scroll with his parentage on it. He held it up for the painting to stare at suspiciously. "Um. I've come to live here. Apparently I'm the heir?"

The terrifying woman stared at the parchment for a full 20 seconds and then screamed at improbable volume, "KREACHER!"

An ancient, filthy house elf in an equally ancient and filthy toga fashioned from a bedsheet materialized with a pop and bowed low to the portrait.

"Yes Mistress?" The elf croaked, his voice lower than Jimmy knew house elves could speak.

"This boy has written documents that very much appear to be from Gringotts Bank, affirming that he is the bastard son of Regulus and the youngest daughter of House Mckinnon, the loudmouthed Gryffindor chit. Look at him and tell me if you feel the Bond." The woman ordered, flapping her hand in Jimmy's direction.

The old elf turned wide, lamp like eyes on Jimmy and stared at him like he had never been stared at before. Jimmy shifted uncomfortably as tears suddenly flooded the elf's eyes.

"Yes, Mistress." The old elf snuffled. "Kreature feels it. He is a Black."

Jimmy attempted a smile. "That's what they tell me. And, um, the name I've always had. But, you see, one of the reasons I've come is that I don't really know much about my family. Could you tell me about them? About my father?" She seemed proud of her family; perhaps getting her to talk about it would endear him to her. Anyway, he was curious.

Kreacher's eyes widened even more. "Young master has grown up ignorant of his exulted heritage? How is this possible?"

"Yes, do tell." Urged the portrait sternly. "I assume you've been raised by that Gryffindor trash my dead son did not see fit to inform me he was seeing?"

Jimmy boggled and decided, for the moment, to ignore the fact that she had just called his mother trash. "Your son? So you're my grandmother?"

His grandmother's portrait sniffed impatiently. "Obviously. Now out with it, boy. Who raised you, and why did you come here alone?"

Jimmy took a deep breath, trying to decide how much to tell her. His eyes met hers, and he realized with a little shock how much her facial structure looked like his own. Uncharacteristically he began to speak the truth, and the whole of it without attempting to present it to his advantage. He told her distantly how the family house elf had saved him from the fiend fire that had killed his mother and all her family, then of the muggle orphanage and endless parade of posh muggle boarding schools.

It was actually a relief to be able to be honest about his life. He'd grown up lying to adults about pretty much everything as long as he could remember, not because he'd wanted to but because it was necessary. It wasn't like adults in the muggle world would accept or even believe that when he wasn't at school he'd been illegally raised by a house elf while squatting in forgotten attics and storage rooms.

Once he'd finished there was a flabbergasted silence, broken by a drawling male voice just behind Jimmy and to the left, making him spin around in mild panic.

"So. The last unincarcerated scion of the house of Black is a bastard orphan raised by muggles and a mad elf, ignorant in most of the ways of our culture. Well. Could be worse. Yesterday I believed our house was doomed to merge with the Malfoys and decay slowly into obscurity like so many other fine lines. An Heir is an Heir, Walberga. Gift horses and all that."

Remarked a pale man with a dark goatee and billowing black robes from the portrait opposite Jimmy's grandmother's, which he appeared to be sharing with a dreary monastery and a number of silent and villainous looking monks. The monks were also watching the goings on with apparent interest. As he looked around, Jimmy realized that every frame in the hall was now filled to near capacity with painted on-lookers, many of whom shared some of his facial features. He felt a slow warmth grow in his stomach.

"I have a family." He murmured in wonder. "I mean, you're portraits, but you're here, in my… my ancestral home. You have eyes like mine. You can tell me about where I come from, my history!" He couldn't keep a smile from his face as he said it. He had always envied those he'd grown up around their long lines and their pride in them, and now he had one of his own that was even better.

His grandmother was regarding him with frank speculation from above.

"Gift horse indeed, Phineas." She said in measured tones. "You, young man, will no longer be sleeping in the attics of muggles. From now on you will consider this to be your home and myself to be your head of household, is that clear?"

It was not the warmest welcome he could imagine, but just the same it sent Jimmy's heart leaping and he felt his smile expand.

"Yes m'am." He said, and then his smile slipped as a thought occurred to him. "With one condition." He added.

Walberga's eyes narrowed at the same time that he swore he saw a hint of approval enter them.

"Your condition?" She inquired cooly.

"I want the elf who raised me to be allowed to stay here if she ever turns up, to be given a private room in which to do whatever she wishes, and I want your word as a Black that this will remain a secret." He managed to meet his grandmother's dark eyes as he spoke.

"Young Master cares like his father…" muttered Kreature from the shadows, apparently unaware he'd spoken.

"You are protecting a rogue elf who practices illegal magics." The man his grandmother had called Phineas observed dryly. "Why?"

"Because she's my oldest friend." Jimmy replied simply. "And because I owe her a lot. She's taken care of me my whole life."

"She's a house elf. That is her purpose." His grandmother said dismissively. "You owe a servant nothing. A servant serves."

He met her eyes again. "I don't think that I agree with you about house elves, Grandmother. But if you'll agree to my one condition I'll agree to live here, by your rules, until I'm an adult." He cleared his throat and added on instinct, "And I'll do my best to be a worthy heir to the House of Black."

There was a speculative murmur amongst the gathered portraits, in which he picked out the words "stubborn", "insubordinate" and "clever".

His grandmother regarded him inscrutably for a moment, then inclined her head. "I suppose I have plenty of time to convince you of the validity of my opinions, then. Kreacher, show your new Master around the house and allow him to choose a bedroom." She commanded. Kreacher again bowed low, his eyes flicking reverently to Jimmy for a fraction of a second.

The house was dilapidated, dusty, grand and fascinating. Jimmy asked questions about everything and was rewarded with long winded stories about curses, vengeance and the intricate histories of tapestries and furniture.

A forbidden feeling of belonging began to sink into Jimmy's bones. All his life he'd been keeping magic a secret, living in constantly changing school dormitories where he'd lived in fear of anyone discovering the truth because he'd have to leave, again. Magic had always been confined to a single, secret room he'd visited clandestinely, one where the knowledge he had access to had been carefully curated for safety by Silly. Never had he imagined such a huge, blatantly dark and unapologetically magical home. He could absolutely never bring muggle friends here, and Silly was sure to pitch a fit about all the obviously dangerous cursed items and forbidden knowledge casually lying around if she ever saw it.

He found that he loved it. For all the strictness and formality here, it felt like freedom. He never had to hide again.

Kreacher began, casually, to light and clean the area around them with magic whenever he stopped to lecture on a particular topic, leaving little patches of cleanliness haphazardly behind them.

As they walked up the stairs toward the bedrooms, Kreacher called over his shoulder, "Young master should mind the stairs here," he took a little jump over one stair, "Here," he carefully stepped to the left of the next stair, "And here." He stepped to the right.

Jimmy nodded seriously, thinking about the cursed teacups that ate your nose which he'd been shown in the kitchen, and followed the old elf's motions exactly.

When they safely reached the top, Jimmy asked, "So, um, what would have happened if I'd stepped in the wrong pla- Oh my god are those real?" Jimmy froze, staring in disgusted fascination at what appeared to be preserved, stuffed house elf heads mounted on the wall.

Kreacher beamed at them. "Oh yes, young master, they are real. It is a mark of honor reserved only for the most beloved elves. Kreature lights a candle to honor their service at the holidays."

Jimmy nodded slowly, feeling his distaste abate at Kreature's apparent enthusiasm for the bizarre tradition. "Well, as long as you're alright with it."

Kreature blinked. "Whyever should Kreature not be?"

Jimmy mouthed uncertainly for a moment and said, "No reason. Er, what's that room over there with all the green?"

The elf obediently walked over to the room and said importantly, "This, Master James, is the room of Master Regulus."

Jimmy walked forward slowly, letting himself study every detail of the space through the open door. Over the entry were inscribed the words "Do not enter without the express permission of Regulus Arcturus Black". Jimmy walked through it almost reverently. There were dusty photographs hanging on the walls, and he looked until he found a face much like his own in a group of young men holding brooms, and then looked at it for a long time. Kreacher came to stand next to him.

"I've never seen his face before." Jimmy said softly.

Kreacher blinked back tears and shuffled his feet. "Kreacher has more pictures of Master Regulus in his cupboard. He would be happy to share them with the young Master."

Jimmy smiled at him. "Yes, thank you. I'd appreciate that. That's the Black crest and motto over there, right? What's that one with a snake?"

"That is the crest of Slytherin House, Master. It is the best of the Hogwarts Houses, where those of Good Breeding, cunning and ambition find their like. Master Regulus was rightly very proud of his place there."

Jimmy smiled again. Silly had told him that Ravenclaw was the best house, but then that's where the Mckinnons had mostly gone to, Marlene being an exception. But that was fine. It was good to be proud of family traditions, even if they were wildly different from those of other families. He turned to the writing desk in one corner of the room and saw several unopened letters and a package lying in it, likely never delivered. Upon further inspection he saw the drawers were full of neatly filed correspondences and completed homework assignments. One of the drawers would not open.

"Take care with that drawer, Master James. It contains a curse as well as letters of a personal kind." Kreacher told him when'd asked. "A box of letters from your mother and a box from the Dark Lord and his followers."

Jimmy felt a shiver crawl up his spine at the casual mention of the man who had murdered both of his parents and the idea that his correspondence lay inside the desk. He was torn between questions- he knew that his father had defected to the light side and lost his life for it, but not how involved the man had been in the conflict. He wondered how much about the events of the war Kreature knew. But he settled upon asking,

"You knew about my parents, then?"

Kreature nodded. "Regulus confided in Kreature." He said it with tenderness. "Mistress would never have approved the match, and Regulus asked Kreature not to speak of it. Kreature wanted Regulus to be happy above all else. He treated Kreature as an equal. Kreature will never forget." He turned his large eyes to Jimmy's. "Though your parents had intended to wait until marriage to have children, they wanted you very much. Regulus knew of you and wanted to be a father to you; it is why he chose to leave the Deatheaters. If Kreature had known Master James had survived, Kreature would have lived at his side."

Jimmy felt a shiver run down his spine at the knowledge that his own father had served the Dark Lord, then felt his eyes prickle at the sheer amount his parents must have loved each other to go through all that to be together. "Thank you, Kreature. Thank you for telling me that." He cleared his throat. "Do you think it's alright if I read the letters that aren't locked?"

"Kreacher is sure Master Regulus would not mind."

Jimmy chose the package first and found a letter tucked inside that was written with spikey, slanting handwriting and dramatic flair.

To The Black Warlock,

Preposterous. If Waffling's theories about the nature of spell casting are correct then the amount of mental/emotional focus required for a spell is directly proportional to the amount of magical output the spell is designed to have. If one could supercharge small spells by changing one's mental state wizards would have been doing it for years. I don't believe for a second that you've managed it and if you have you must teach me how.

Narcissa tells me you are considering giving up your current extracurricular clubs for the pursuit of extra Defense studies. I must advise against such a course. You must not allow yourself to be seen to give up on such passions, as it can affect one's future prospects.

Though of course muggle literature is beneath a wizard's dignity I find myself thinking you might enjoy the play Romeo and Julliette, despite it having a most unsatisfying ending. But perhaps there are things to be learned from such endings, like how to avoid them.

Enclosed is the lower years potions text you requested, notes and all. The information is a bit basic, but you are quite correct in saying that a sound knowledge of the foundations is the only way to accel, and the original text is rubbish at explaining why and not simply that. Let no one say I do not share my forbidden knowledge with the deserving. I also have a personally annotated copy of the advanced potions text should you wish it.

Faithfully,

The Half-Blood Prince

P.S. Condolences on the loss of your uncle. If you happen to see your brother at the goblin will-reading tomorrow do tell him from me that he is an unbearable windbag with the intelligence of a concussed troll, the common sense of an enraged Norwegian Ridgeback and all the appeal of fetid pond slime. And also my best to your father.

Jimmy could not suppress his laughter at the onslaught of insults at his uncle, who had to be the one in prison for murder, anyway. He must be truly awful. This Half-Blood Prince must have been a close friend of his father's, close enough to have known of his true feelings if the veiled reference to Romeo and Julliett meant what Jimmy thought it did.

Frowning, Jimmy noticed faint underlines under some of the letters and spent a few minutes puzzling out what they could mean. He absently grabbed a self inking quill and parchment (Silly had taught him to write with them) without thinking and wrote them down letter by letter, then played with spacing and capitalization until he had written:

Tonight midnight Stoatshead hill alone

P.S. Good luck

Well. That was very interesting. His father had had a code name and clandestine meetings in addition to unconventional uses of spell theory and a forbidden love affair. For a moment Jimmy's heart swam with longing as he wished he could ask his father about his life. It sounded fascinating. Under the letter lay a book entitled Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger. The margins were bursting with spiky black comments, and Jimmy put it aside for thorough reading later that night.

Other letters included one from the aforementioned Narcissa, who appeared to be a female cousin primarily interested in gossip and going on about someone named Lucius, one from her sister Bella who mostly wanted to lecture Regulus about blood purity.

`He looked for letters written by his father, and found none on top of the desk. He walked around the rest of the room, touching knick knacks and posters and wondering what they had meant to their owner. Out of sheer nosiness he looked in the closet and found several Hogwarts uniforms and, to his amusement, a whole dramatic array of fancy velvet and lace robes that looked like they would be at home on a 17th century fop. He walked closer to touch a piece of hand embroidered satin lining, finding he rather liked how it felt. As the fabric moved he saw empty space behind it and frowned. There shouldn't be room for more closet. But then it was a magic house…

He pushed his way through the flamboyant robes and found himself in a cozy nook lit by candles that flared to life as soon as he entered. It contained two armchairs and was lined with bookshelves. A grin split Jimmy's face. His father had a secret book collection! He wanted his own secret book collection, now that he didn't have Silly's library.

He bent immediately to examine the titles. Oh my.

Thee Moste Evile Compendium of Curses by Irascible Gutspleener. One Thousand Terrible Ways to Die and How to Make Them Look Like Accidents by Surreptitius Mongrel. Blood Maledictions: A Practical Guide by Sanguina Amare. Poisons Moste Foule by Libacious Borage.

There was a whole shelf about dark magic curses. Jimmy looked lower, next to the closest armchair where he would have put his favorites if the space had been his.

On this shelf he found The Nightshade Guide to Necromancy by Mortimer E. Risen, Secrets Whispered in the Dark: A Practical Guide to Communing with the Dead By Loquacious Madderman, Shadows and Spirits by Nocturnius Liable, Secrets of the Darkest Art by Owle Bullock, and on and on.

His father had had quite an interest in necromancy.

Jimmy had always known this side of the family practiced dark magic. But he'd never had access to precise information about what exactly was meant by 'dark magic', only that such things were very forbidden. These books were how-to guides for the most illicit things imaginable. No responsible adult would have let him near these books, probably not even the Blacks until he was older.

It was a good thing there weren't any responsible adults to be had, he reflected happily an hour later as he took the stack of the most interesting looking volumes he'd perused with him to the bedroom Kreature had cleaned up.