CHAPTER 6
Chevenoir - Dartmoor, Devon - 11:06AM
"Well… it's… rather quaint!" Sirius barked out a laugh at Harry's statement, causing his godson to start laughing as well. They were standing in front of Chevenoir, the Black Family ancestral home situated just beyond Beardown Man and the Devil's Tor in the town of Dartmoor in Devon. It was their second stop of the day as part of Sirius' errand run, checking in on the Black-owned properties in wizarding Britain. Their pitstop at Grimmauld Place had been rather uneventful, even in spite of Walburga Black's portrait screaming her usual invectives. Sirius had briefly interacted with the house elf Kreacher, before he and Harry quickly exited the grand (if not overly gothic) abode. The rot of too many traumatic childhood memories still festered greatly.
"Rather charming, no?" Harry laughed at Sirius' statement, not disagreeing. The so-called 'magnificent' Black ancestral manor looked anything but; a small one-story red brick home, topped with a small brick chimney that spouted a delicate trail of smoke in the air. There was a small paddock on the right side of the house, filled with a few goats and two Dartmoor ponies that casually grazed. The left side housed a small garden filled with well-groomed bushes of bluebells, yarrow, wooly thistle, honeysuckle, chamomile, and wild daffodils. Behind the house - and seemingly out of place - was a massive oak tree, its branches and leaves hugging the home almost protectively.
"Soooo… I'm to assume there's a boatload of wizarding space charms at play?" Harry asked. Sirius just chortled.
"...Something to that effect, but not quite." He began confidently walking towards the house as Harry strode alongside him. "You see, my ancestors of olde settled in this area centuries ago, creating Castle Black in the Six Century, in the aftermath of the Ancient Families' victory over the Druids. Castle Black stood proudly for eight centuries. But alas, in 1471, Lord Sagittarius Black picked the wrong side in the conflict between the Muggle Houses of York and Lancaster and paid for it with his lands and his head. Castle Black was leveled to its foundations by York-aligned wizards on the order of King Richard III." Harry's eyebrows raised in surprise, shocked to discover that House Black had been directly involved in the infamous muggle War of the Roses.
"But the House of Black survived through Sagittarius's son and heir, Perseus Black. Percy the Black avenged his father while serving as a battle-mage to Henry Tudor, who rewarded his wizarding ally greatly upon his coronation as King Henry VII." They reached the front door of the home, and instead of going through, Sirius immediately made a sharp left to go around the paddock, pausing to affectionately scratch behind the ear of a pony named Cherie as Harry smiled at the interaction.
"Construction of a new seat for House Black began in 1486, a year to the day after Richard's death at Bosworth Field. But instead of a castle, Perseus chose a different course. The new Lord Black fancied himself not just a capable warrior, but an artist and scholar as well. On the ruined foundations of Castle Black, he raised a brand new massive three-story mansion in a new architectural style of his own design, known then as the Perseiad style. Well… it was known as the Perseiad style, until the Statute of Secrecy was implemented and it was changed to the Tudor style, in honor of the muggle king Henry Tudor who greatly admired and mimicked the style for many of his properties."
"A three-story mansion?" asked Harry dubiously, leveling a pointed glance at the plain one-story cottage that looked nothing like what his godfather had described.
Sirius adopted a wounded expression. "Ah, so full of doubt young padawan." He led them behind them around and behind the paddock to the immense oak tree that stood about twenty feet away from the back of the home. The leaves rustled, gently swaying in some unseen breeze. Sirius moved to stand directly in front of the tree as Harry mimicked his movement.
"Now, upon completion of the Black Manor, its creation and subsequent location needed to be officially registered with the Wizengamot. As with all Lord Blacks before and after him, Perseus wasn't too fond of the security risk of having his home known to anyone, especially not would-be enemies of lords that comprised the Wizengamot." Sirius reached into his travel robe and pulled out a sleek knife made entirely out of black obsidian. Harry stared entranced, the knife seemingly absorbing the light of the day in its fathomless blackness. "So, Perseus constructed a secondary abode teeming with wizardspace charms in the same location, serving as the perfect cover for the assessor and court scribe when they came to evaluate the property. Perseus named the fake manor Chevenoir, an intentional misspelling of 'Black Oak' in French."
With that, Harry watched with wide eyes as Sirius sliced his right palm with the blade before resheathing it in his robe. With self assured steps Lord Black walked directly to the tree and pulled the trunk apart with his bloody hands! The gap lengthened and widened with such ease, almost as if he were parting gossamer curtains. Gesturing to a gobsmacked Harry to proceed, the young wizard stepped into the opening and took a few steps, before emerging on the opposite side of the tree that parted to allow him to exit. HIs eyes widened at the sight before him.
A sprawling three-story mansion stood proudly, its many rich oriel windows gleaming in the noon light of the day. Multiple oak timbers served as the visual and structural frame, magically darkened to the color of ebony, serving as a striking contrast to the patterned white brickwork. The roof bore many gables, interspersed with impressive chimneys that charmingly spouted curls of white smoke in the air. The massive double door entrance bore an animated and colorfully detailed carving of the Black Family shield crest. The bottom-most section depicted three left-side facing ravens, whose feathers occasionally ruffled as they stared unblinkingly. The middle section was a solid black line, occasionally rippling as though it were water. The top section bore a right arm whose hand proudly clutched a black wand amidst a red backdrop of twinkling stars. A skull bearing a deep green laurel wreath sat proudly atop the crest, its fathomless eyes staring almost menacingly. A golden banner bearing the family motto Toujours Pur cradled the bottom of the shield, gently fluttering.
An impressive white bricked driveway led from the front door to the black oak tree entrance, marked by well-manicured hedges on either side. Seven mighty oak trees were strategically placed about a hundred yards away from the home proper, creating a natural protective barrier. Their trunks bore carved symbols that suspiciously looked like Beardown Man and the Devil's Tor, and Harry swore he could feel a very faint thrum of magic emanating from the symbols. Fields of manicured dittander, yarrow, chamomile, ground-elder, and creeping buttercups provided a beautifully and lightly fragrant backdrop.
Just behind the manor Harry could see the signature goal hoops of a Quidditch field, along with a small set of oak bleachers for would-be spectators. A small shed near the stands housed all the necessary quidditch equipment. Near the westernmost oak tree was a large greenhouse, with some of the plants being carefully attended to by one of the elves.
He felt Sirius come to stand beside him, beaming widely. "This Harry," he said with a flourish of his fully healed hands "this is Chênenoir, the "Black Oak" and official homestead of the Black Family. Pretty impressive isn't it?"
"It bloody well is!" Sirius barked out a laugh at Harry's enthusiastic response.
"I'm glad you like it!" He wrapped his right arm firmly around Harry's shoulder. "Normally I would just apparate you into the manor, but as my godson and the closest one I have to an heir, I figured it would be best for you to come through the… visitor's entrance, to see how it all works. Now that we're here, I can add you into the ward scheme and give you some additional privileges to move around the house freely. Well, almost freely. There are some rooms that are off-limits to anyone other than Lord Black, and based on what those rooms hold, I think it's for the best. Besides, I'd rather not have your mum chop me to bits because you got into a room you're not meant to be in." He awkwardly scratched at his neck as Harry snickered.
Suddenly, the double doors opened to reveal a house elf who waved quite merrily at them, smiling when they waved back. The elf wore a smart uniform, a black linen toga trimmed with shimmering silver thread, tied in the middle by a matching silver rope.
"Welcome home Master! And welcome to you young master!" Her voice was shrill but warm, matching the maternal warmth of her heavily crinkled deep brown eyes.
"Hi Ophelia!" Sirius happily shouted. "Just kipping by with my godson here for my monthly check-in! Is lunch ready? We're a bit famished!"
"Lunch is ready master, with all your favorites: caprese salad, brisket pot pie, and double-strawberry and cream tart! Come in!" As she waved them inside, Sirius turned and leveled a mischievous grin at Harry.
"Last one to the dining hall is a rotten ashwinder egg!" And with that, Sirius transformed into his shaggy Grim form and excitedly bounded off as Harry laughingly screamed "CHEATER!", before taking off after him.
Needless to say, Harry was the rotten ashwinder egg.
Office of Obediah Prewett Esq. - London - 1:12PM
Narcissa Black Malfoy paused in her ministrations to take a long and deep sip of her Glenlivet Gordon scotch, her third of the day. Normally she wouldn't drink cheap muggle swill, but it had been a particularly long and rather tiring day, and she didn't have the strength to complain. Her foolish little elf Mowgli had failed in his mission, an unprecedented first! The Grindylow horde should have devoured the little Potter brat whole. But somehow, the brat and his little mudblood friend had survived. Narcissa had punished the worthless creature quite well, ensuring that he would not fail on his next attempt. His utility, as always, was dependent on her mood, and the little creature couldn't afford to have her mood go further than sour.
Seated across her was Obediah Prewett, who also cradled a tumbler of scotch as he attentively listened to her rantings, wearing a small smile and an almost unblinking stare. There was a time before - mainly during their Hogwarts years - when he would have found himself completely enraptured by the blonde, a prized daughter of the House Black. Her incredible beauty aside, she was delightfully cruel, incredibly intelligent, and highly skilled at manipulating her lessers to get what she wanted. Obediah took a hefty sip of his scotch to wash down the bitterness he felt at recalling memories of being one of the lessers who had fallen for her tricks.
They'd had a bit of a fling, and Obediah had foolishly believed that Narcissa was interested in him, actually loved him enough to have a future with him. What an absolute fool he'd been. He could still recall the shame and embarrassment he'd felt in his fifth year, when a then sixth year Narcissa had cruelly informed that while their fling had been fun, she couldn't be seen in public with an impoverished lowly Hufflepuff who would do nothing for her social standing and even less for her future. She'd also flippantly informed him that she was betrothed to Claudius Malfoy and had as such, 'had to cut ties with childish things'. By some miracle Obediah had maintained face during her spiel and her dramatic exit, only succumbing to tears when she'd been well out of range to mock him.
But in a way, he had her to thank. Obediah had always been ambitious, always been willing to work hard to achieve his goals. But after her rejection, her cruelty, he realized that playing fair would get him nowhere in life, especially not to the places he deserved to be in. He was the living and capable descendant of the Noble Prewett House, but because he was just the nephew of the house's foolish, selfish, uninspired, and utterly lazy lord, Obediah and his entire family had had to survive off mere meager scraps. So Obediah had ruthlessly forged his own path where that pesky little thing called integrity had no standing or influence. And he'd been successful, rising to the top of his professional field and the Dark Lord's Inner Circle in kind. He could still recall Narcissa's shocked expression when she'd discovered his secret. Naturally, she'd been absolutely…delighted.
"So, that's been it essentially. Some holiday huh?" Narcissa snorted and took another elegant sip of her scotch, smiling coquettishly in thanks when Obediah refilled her drink.
"Well I am sorry to hear of your troubles Narcissa. It is most unfortunate that you have not been able to rid yourself of your little…Potter problem. As you already know I care nothing for the brat and his father even less so, so I imagine you'd be doing both of us a tremendous favor by ridding us of his filth. Standards to be maintained and all that, yes?" He lifted his glass in a toast, smiling coldly when she mimicked his movement.
"Indeed Obediah, I am so glad to see we're on the same page." She threw him a flirtatious wink as her stolen allure teasingly danced against his mental shields. He allowed his expression to show some slack, fooling her into believing that he'd fallen under her thrall. Foolish woman.
"Of course Narcissa, always. So…besides lending a friendly ear, what else can I do to help you today?" The too-beautiful woman slowly set her drink aside, allowing her sharp pointed nails to lightly graze his arm as she stood proudly. With a truly seductive smirk, Narcissa unsheathed her wand and ran it over her robes, causing them to alluringly fall away. Obediah's brow quirked. She repeated the action on her form-fitted designer dress, causing it to fall off as well. Obediah set his scotch aside. Sitting in nothing more than flimsy lace lingerie and impossibly high black lacquered heels, the witch repeated the same action over the seductive underthings, tittering when they fell away. Eyeing the delectable gift that had so eagerly unwrapped itself for him, Obediah allowed a lascivious smirk to light his face.
"As I said my dear, what else can I do to help you today?" asked Obediah. Slowly licking glossy red lips, Narcissa huskily replied:
"Well my dear…let's just say Miss Direction wants to be wrapped in the tender web of Mr. Arachne." Obediah chuckled, before leveling a significant stare at his recently delivered velvet chaise.
"Well…I have been meaning to christen some new furniture…" Narcissa just giggled before outright laughing when Obediah swept her in his arms before they both landed on the chaise.
From his position on the office ceiling, fully cloaked in the obscuring magic of the all-hiding eye of the Umgubular Slashkilter he'd sequestered in the astralsphere, Dobby watched the coupling with a keen expression of disgust and a touch of anger at the infidelity. 'At least she's…properly occupied for now.' Dobby gagged as the moaning began in earnest.
Mangareva, French Polynesia - 2:51PM
Tom raised his eyes at the excited splashing, a warm smile lighting his face at seeing her frolic with the bottlenose dolphins. He and Libra were currently on their fifth stop of their whirlwind honeymoon vacation, and it had been nothing but paradise. They were currently in a remote magical enclave of Mangareva, the larger of the Gambier Islands in French Polynesia. Libra had insisted on Mangareva to see the still remaining relic of Te Matau-a-Māui, the fishing hook of the great god Māui. According to magical Polynesian legend, when Māui lifted Mangareva from the ocean floor, he created a glowing lagoon barrier (hāpua ahi) to protect the island from foul trespasser spirits that wished to corrupt his creation. The fishing hook also served as a beacon that drew in the protective water spirits of the deity Tangaroa-whakamau-tai, manifesting them as whales that swam around the Mangareva, serving as guardians for the people and animals alike.
Witnessing Libra's excitement and joy at seeing Te Matau a Māui had made the trip all the worthwhile for Tom. That, and getting to visit with the magical priests of Cathedral Saint Michel in Rikitea, who specialized in obscure restorative potions that utilized the unique magical corals native to Mangareva. Because of the ecological necessity of the coral, the priests were also well-versed in coral conservation and cultivation. Due to his senior-level Unspeakable status, Tom had been granted one hour of private library time to peruse their collection of rare texts, even being allowed to borrow one text. He was due to spend an additional hour of one-on-one time with the senior priest scribe the following day (and return his borrowed book).
"Mon amour! The water is delightful, you have to come in now! You can finish your reading later!" Libra pouted and sighed dramatically, hoping to finally coax her ever-studious husband into swimming. He'd spent the last two hours reading a tour guide magazine for the muggle-side of Mangareva, which they'd planned to visit the following day.
"I'm almost done love, just a few more minutes!" Tom gently laughed when Libra pouted some more, before recasting her Bubble-Head Charm to continue her diving. With deliberate precision, Tom slowly turned to the following page as he continued his reading. In addition to his fortified trifurcated thoughtstream, Tom had opened a fourth additional stream equipped with a highly protective psychic shell that actively blocked the semi-sentient malevolence teeming of the text and its words. His capacity for empathy had also been dulled to fifteen percent, enough to emotively respond, but not enough to be hijacked by the malignant magic he was handling.
Unseen to the naked eye, the basilisk symbol pulsed rhythmically as it sprouted deep gold tendrils that encircled both his hands and arms, creating a protective barrier that prevented any of his skin from coming in contact with the corrosive text. The cuff's protectiveness also extended to his mind, an ever-present psychic shield that conferred additional defense. Quickly checking the transfigured magazine book cover he sighed; the animated trees were wilting, the sun had dimmed into a colorless clump, the blue sky had devolved to mottled sickly gray, and all the fish and birds were dying one by one.
Checking to see that Libra was still underwater, Tom hissed a password at his open knapsack. Slowly, a book-sized orichalcum reinforced briefcase levitated out, opening at another hissed password. Gingerly, Tom placed the book inside, hissing a password to close it and levitate back into a hidden equally password-protected pocket of his knapsack. He quickly went through the necessary decompression exercises to assess and soothe his mind, as all of the relevant information he'd gleaned was firmly tucked away in an impenetrable psychic lockbox. Taking a few more breaths, he dialed up his capacity for empathy to its usual eighty-two percent, before running to join his wife in the water.
After all, he couldn't waste more of his honeymoon reading through Magick Moste Evile.
Heir's Suite, Chênenoir - 3:03PM
Harry sighed as he sunk deeply into the plush comforter, savoring its incredible softness as he languidly closed his eyes in complete relaxation. After their delicious and hearty lunch, Sirius had immediately added Harry to the wards, before taking the boy on a house tour in the forty-room abode. Chênenoir boasted a Versailles-sized ballroom, a massive library, a private art gallery (that featured multiple paintings of Black ancestors), two solariums, a Salle for fencing, a training room for hand-to-hand combat and weaponry, a private spa (with a massive swimming pool), two state-of-the-art potions labs, a Quidditch locker room (equipped with priceless vintage and modern state-of-the-art brooms), and even an outdoor stable housing two Granian winged-horses. Harry had been beyond impressed, asking Sirius why he didn't consider staying at Chênenoir full-time.
With some degree of embarrassment, his godfather had awkwardly explained that the manor was better served for a married Lord with a large family, and he planned on being a bachelor for the foreseeable future. "Not the time to settle yet Harry!" he'd said, as his godson had just rolled his eyes in response. In all honesty, he was sure the older wizard never stayed in Chênenoir because it reminded him too much of the responsibilities of being Lord Black, and that he'd spend more of his time alone than he wanted. His godfather was too much of a social butterfly to ever thrive in any modicum of isolation.
With another sigh, Harry made to summon Ophelia to ask for a spot of iced tea when the door to his suite banged open to reveal a very grim-faced Sirius.
"What is it?" asked Harry worriedly. "What's the matter?"
"There's been a rubber duck sighting." Harry snorted in amusement, thinking his godfather was telling one of his bad jokes. His eyes widened in surprise when Sirius' expression remained unchanged.
"...A rubber duck?" Harry asked incredulously.
"Yes, a rubber duck. A green one to be exact, three of them spotted in Hamleys toy store in London." He rubbed at his neck before continuing: "Leftovers from the war by a Death Eater called the Toymaker, also known as Lord Erasmus Wilkes." Harry stiffened. "He had a particularly nasty habit of ensorcelling muggle toys with Parseltongue of all things. He'd leave them in muggle toy stores - among other places - and allow them to wreak all sorts of havoc, even killing innocents." Harry allowed his eyes to widen in shock, already knowing of the depth of the Toymaker's terror acts. "Ever since the war, we've had plainclothes Hit Wizards patrol muggle toy stores on a weekly basis just to be on the safe side. And it looks like we've had three hits today, so I and a few other Aurors have been called in to address the situation."
"Wow Sirius, that's…that's insane. But glad you're checking it out. Will I just be waiting for you here?" Sirius shook his head no.
"Sorry mate, but I can't leave you here without adult supervision. While Chenenoir is practically inaccessible and indestructible, Lily wouldn't be too pleased with me leaving you here by yourself. And taking you with me is completely out of the question. In any context." Harry pouted furiously while Sirius smiled in sympathy.
"Luckily for the both of us, she agreed with my alternate plan." Sirius wiggled his eyebrows cheekily, causing his godson to groan as he threw himself back.
"Blimey Sirius, who's going to be babysitting me now?"
AN 1: I love Harry and Sirius' relationship here; a healthy paternal relationship not rooted in guilt and trauma-bonding. This is the kind of relationship I imagine Harry & Sirius would have always had in canon, if Sirius had never been wrongly incarcerated in Azkaban and been there to take care of Harry. If you've noticed, Harry is a lot less formal and in 'Slytherin mode' when he's with Sirius, speaks to the relaxed nature of their relationship.
AN 2: Hiding in plain sight is a strategy I'd imagine a family like the Blacks taking, since that was one of the reasons (in addition to the ley lines) that a traditional pureblood family would take residence in Muggle London. I liked the concept of Chenenoir being changed to Chevenoir in PoS, and retconning that to my needs. Per official Ministry records, Chevenoir is the official homestead of House Black.
AN 3: Of course Narcissa is having an affair with Obediah, having an affair at all really. We'll see that explored more in future chapters.
Next Up: Weasley Time!