If someone took a look at Harry James Potter, he would see just an average boy, living with his aunt and uncle in the suburbs. Harry however knew that he was anything but.
First of all, he remembered the day his parents died clearly, despite being a newborn at the time. Knowing this, he was aware that his aunt was a liar and a horrible person, but he bottled that up and mimed the normal boy the Dursleys wished for. Obedient, quiet and meek, at least on the surface.
Underneath Harry was aware of even more things, he shouldn't have been. There were memories of another life, a boy like him, growing up. Following those along it soon became like a fairy-tail, with magic and mystical creatures and wonderment. All to quickly however, it turned into something so horrible, Harry could seldom fathom it. That was before he recognized the man and his foreign memories from his own of that terrible night.
Confronted with this horrid truth, Harry had made the hard choice to weather the Dursley's mistreatment. There was something far more important than personal comfort at stake, he had a nemesis to vanquish. Still, he was just a child, so sometimes the abuse got to him. In a cruel twist of fate, the memories of the man responsible for his torment, became his solace in them. He just had to hold out till he could attend Hogwarts.
While he had to wait however, he would siphon every advantage out of Tom's memories, both for now and for later. Occlumency especially had been a godsend. Although learning it took more determination than any small child should have had, even its basest form had probably already saved him from countless beatings. He also learned everything Tom knew about magic and magical society eagerly, as little as it helped him for now.
The remnants of his nemesis' soul had also identified another wizard, he had seen with his own eyes: Albus Dumbledore. Tom painted him as a do-gooder with to much curiosity for his own good. For little Harry however, anyone that thought of Aunt Petunia as parenting material was either evil or stupid, possibly both. Also, the blood and tracking wards Harry could feel tugging at his magical core, certainly didn't help the headmaster's case any.
His only other solace was the ring on his finger, showing three ravens in flight. He had no idea were it had come from, it had just always been there. Naturally, if his aunt ever found out about it, Dudley would probably wear it on his fat fingers before Harry could blink.
Not that he was really worried about it, his horrible relatives didn't seem able to perceive it, and he certainly wouldn't enlighten them about it. When the day was especially horrible, the ring was his lifeline. Harry wasn't even sure, how many nights the soft hum of its magic had lulled him to sleep.
The day that would become the best of his young life, started like any other: he woke before dawn to prepare breakfast for the gluttons living in this house. As it was a Friday, he would have half an hour or so of peace and quite, before his harpy of an aunt would begin her reign of terror. Just as he was cracking some eggs into the pan, he heard something tapping on the kitchen window.
Torn between being yelled at for burning the eggs and being yelled at for causing a ruckus, Harry decided to investigate the noise. As he reached the window, he stared at the raven on the other side of the glass. The raven stared back, his head cocked to the side. Before Harry could shoo away the bird, it was joined by another.
The eyes of both ravens transfixed Harry to no end, there was an undeniable intelligence behind them. He didn't even notice another raven landing on the windowsill, until it too tapped on the glass. The loud noise brought Harry out of his musing, so he carefully opened the window and tried to scare them away.
The ravens were not impressed. They just looked at him amused, waving his arms around like he had lost his mind. One of them even started cleaning its fathers with its beak, not a care in the world. So Harry got a bit more agitated, trying desperately to persuade them to fly off. All he got for his trouble was the middle raven pecking his hand, drawing blood.
Only the slightly burned smelling eggs, could save the pesky raven from its well deserved retribution. So, sucking on the wound on his hand, Harry returned to the cooking, not without shooting daggered glares at the three birds. No, there were only two left now. Good!
Harry desperately tried to save the eggs, although it probably didn't matter. The two walking garbage disposals would shovel anything in their gullets and his aunt would find a reason to yell at him regardless. He couldn't wait to turn eleven and get the hell away from this place.
Or maybe a disease, this pest ridden bird had inflicted him with, would speed up his demise. What a shame that would be. Oh, his relatives would be devastated. Having had enough of his self pity, Harry set the table for his tormentors, not keen on any more yelling than unavoidable, somewhat forgetting about the incident.
He should have known it was a good day, because he managed to get to school with only a mild dressing down and a couple of slaps. He once again had to congratulate himself for his decision to not let it show in school, how smart he actually was. Not only would that enrage his uncle, but the other kids really didn't need more excuses to hate him. Even still it was no real surprise, that Harry spent recess running away from his sizable group of bullies, again.
His involuntary cardio exercise was disrupted, when he ran into the thick brushes covering the corner of the school grounds. Many times they had given him shelter from the other kids, but today they hid a creature from him, that grabbed him with surprising strength. Harry saw the large eyes of a house-elf, before the both of them disappeared with a crack.
In the split second before Harry tumbled back into reality, a singular thought crossed his mind: house-elves were for the pureblood elite, so he was probably fucked. The murderous glare the elf aimed at him, seemed to confirm this: "Follow me … boy"
The creature began to shuffle along a gloomy corridor, decorated with black wallpaper and haunting portraits, that seemed to follow every one of Harry's moves. It looked like something out of a bad horror movie, if the posters at the cinema were anything to go by. But seeing as he had nothing much to loose, Harry followed the elf to what he assumed to be his certain demise.
Imagine his disappointment, when the creature simply lead him to another creepy portrait of an elderly women, that seemed to regard him with particular disdain, even before she started talking: "Kreacher, why did you drag this snot nosed brat into my very home?!"
"I was unfortunately forced to bring young Lord Black to the manor, mistress"
"EXCUSE ME?!"
Harry had to agree, even if he would have been lighter on the volume.
For a moment the three of them stood there in awkward silence, before the woman let out a long sigh: "So, child, which whore did my son manage to impregnate to spawn your miserable existence?"
Taken aback by absolutely everything about that question, Harry just stared at her with an open mouth.
"I see he has passed his lack of intelligence onto you, unfortunately. But at least he had the decency to finally die and rid this glorious house of his shameful lordship. So quickly now, brat, what is your name?"
"Ehm, it's Harry Potter, mam"
"Harry Potter?! HARRY BLOODY POTTER! Sirius you traitorous piece of scum, be glad that you are dead, for I would love to watch the life leave your eyes as I strangle you slowly, after peeling all of your skin off with a butter knife! I should have ended you the moment you were born for this insult alone!"
Harry felt so disassociated with the whole scene, that the only thought he could manage, was that he apparently had found a family, more dysfunctional than his own.
In his confusion he even turned to the house elf, but he seemed as adrift as Harry.
Over everything the portrait was still ranting on: "Oh, I really thought the bottom of your disrespect was running away from your duties and leaving our glorious name in the mud, but to just surrender our lordship to another house entirely?!"
Harry flinched when her eyes snapped to him once more: "Quick brat, what is your position in the Potter family?"
"Uh, I have no idea?"
"Kreacher take this imbecile's blood to Gringotts and find out"
"Wait, what? OW!", clutching his bleeding arm Harry turned to curse the knife-wielding creature out, but it had already disappeared. So instead he turned to glare at the portrait, which glared back in equal measure.
Since neither one of them had made a good first impression on the other, they were quite content in their starring contest for the time it took for the creature to show up again. He did so with a giant grin and sparkling eyes: "Mistress, I think you will be very pleased"
When presented with a piece of parchment by the dutiful elf, the woman in the painting just started to cackle loudly. It took her a long time to regain her composure, while Harry and the elf just stood there in the hallway, not quite sure, what to do with themselves.
Finally she wiped a tear from her eye, still lightly chuckling: "Oh, this is glorious. That abomination Sirius thought he was playing one of his childish pranks on us all, when he named you his heir. Serves the idiot right to bring our reputable house to heights not seen in centuries, instead"
"Uhm, not to be rude or anything, but what is going on?"
The portraits gaze snapped to him like a whip and any merriment seemed long gone: "Ah, you are still here"
Where could he have possibly gone to in the last ten seconds? Suddenly this all felt stupid and pointless, so Harry made the executive decision to just walk away.
Had he taken a look over his shoulder, he could have seen a look of absolute disbelief cross the portraits features. But he didn't, so he just heard her yelling: "Don't you walk away from me, brat. You wouldn't dare defy me!"
"Watch me, old crone", Harry mumbled, walking along on of the creepy corridors of the house. He passed gobelins and cabinets, that seemingly hadn't been dusted in the better part of a century. Maybe the resident house elf should spend more time cleaning, rather than assaulting children with knifes!
Much to Harry's chagrin, the dark and gloomy corridors of this creepy house lacked any distinguishing features beyond that though, so he got very lost, very quickly. On the other hand, now that he had a bit of time to think, some of the information gained from the hallway conversation slowly began to click.
Of course Tom had known who the Blacks were, hell, he even knew Sirius Black. That same Sirius Black that had been the Lord of the most ancient and noble house and best mate of Harry's very own father. Harry even vaguely remembered him as some goofy bloke from the far and few memories of before Voldy the Moldy's attack.
Now, that the same man had named him the heir to the Black fortune was a bit ... unexpected. Still, was it more unexpected than surviving the killing curse and ending up with a soul-piece of a mass murderer sharing his mind? Maybe things like this were just par for the course for Harry James Potter-Black, or was it Black-Potter? Were there rules for such things?
Those were Harry's thoughts, when a unhappy house-elf popped into existence right in front of him, holding a royally pissed off portrait: "Now you listen here, you little snot-nosed brat! Not only will I not tolerate your disrespect in my house..."
"I thought I was Lord Black now. Doesn't that mean, that it's more my house now?", Harry interrupted, not only to annoy her more, but also to make a point. Okay, it was mostly to annoy her.
The woman looked like her rage would cause her to have an aneurysm any second now. Could that happen to magical portraits?
With burning loathing still in her eyes, the woman seamed to change tactics on the fly: "Now I know this situation is less than ideal, but surely we can come to an agreement, that would be mutually beneficial?"
She did know that she was talking to a seven year old child technically, right?
"Very well, but first and foremost, what is even going on?"
"Ah yes, what compelled you to bring this here Harry Potter to Black Manor, Kreacher?"
The elf fiddled with the frame of the painting nervously: "Great Mistress, after the deserved demise of that traitor finally occurred, the House followed the outlined succession to .. the young … master. Since he was not deemed save, where he was, I was forced to bring him here"
"Show me the ring, boy!"
Over all this craziness Harry had forgotten about his ring altogether, only to find it changed on his finger. There were precious stones worked into the motive of the ravens and it seemed more pompous and positively ancient.
When the woman in the portrait caught a glimpse of it, she couldn't hold in a resigned sigh: "Oh well, what's done is done. Seeing as the house magic has already decided on you as the new Lord, it would seem appropriate to introduce myself: I am Lady Walburga Black. Your grandmother was a cousin of mine, if I am not mistaken. Also I regret to have been the mother of one Sirius Black, who named you heir to the house"
"Charmed, Harry James Potter..."
"Black-Potter!"
"As you will. So, will I be moving into here then?"
"If it can't be avoided. Where do you dwell now, child?"
"With my muggle relatives ..."
"A resounding yes then"
"Alright, what about the blood words tracking me?"
"The what now?"
"The blood wards, that are tracking my whereabouts and such"
"Why are there blood wards tracking ... never mind. I am sure our own wards are very much capable of dealing with those. If there are even any on you indeed"
For the first time since being more or less kidnapped, a bright smile bloomed on Harry's lips. Oh how he wished to see the meddling old fool's face right about now. He was brought out of his musing by an impatient clicking of a tongue: "Haste now, child. We have much business to attend to"
AN: Thanks to whoever reads this. I've got some idea where this fanfic is going, up until around 5ish year. Still, many details are still somewhat in flux, but I decided to publish what I have anyway. Since I am not known to be the fastest writer, I don't want to make any promises I can't keep.
Regardless I hope somebody enjoys my little story,
Wilcen
