Interlude II: Danse macabre

Harry grimaced slightly as he made his way down the stairs. All his muscles were aching in protest. Suppressing a wince, he opened the door to the smaller informal dining room where Arcturus was already engrossed in his study of the daily news.

'Good morning, Grandfather,' Harry greeted him, bowing politely.

'Ah, Harry, excellent. A very good morning to you as well. How are you today?' Arcturus appeared behind the Prophet, smirking with what Harry considered uncalled-for gloating.

'Well, Grandfather, even though it left me quite sore, I rather enjoyed yesterday evening.'

'I am glad you had a good time. Miss Rose sends her compliments but respectfully declined the invitation for breakfast.'

Harry made a tired grab for the cutlery as a small grin lit up his exhausted features. 'At least I'm not the only one suffering today.'

'I should think not. She might have had an even more...strenuous evening than you,' Arcturus responded, his expression amused. 'I have to thank you for doing so well, Harry. In general, our guests were very pleased with the ball and your dedication to the role of the host.' He paused for a bit, nodding his approval. 'I gather there was quite a bit of public interest as to whether the both of you would break the record for the most dances shared during one evening. I would never have guessed you so enthused, Harry.'

Arcturus' smile was a bit too understanding, and Harry fought hard to keep the blush from his face. Clearing his throat, he uttered a carefully phrased answer that might allow him to retain at least a shred of dignity. 'Well, she is a superb partner for a ball, in the end. I...did not wish to treat her in an unbecoming manner.'

Arcturus chuckled and hid behind his paper again. 'Naturally, Harry. Naturally.'

Harry, glad that his grandfather was not tormenting him any longer, turned his full attention to the nourishment of his suffering body.

Just as he had finished his meal, about eighty owls descended upon them in a great rush of feathers and noise. Most of them dropped their load between the two Blacks, but some, Harry noticed, left their letters practically in Arcturus' lap. Just then, a single letter was delivered directly to him by a handsome grey eagle-owl with blue eyes.

Smiling sadly, Harry opened it after glancing at the sender:

Dear Harry,

We would like to thank you for your thoughtfulness in arranging for our presence at yesterday's grand ball. We very much enjoyed the evening and are pleased that, even after so many years, the occasion still stands as a tasteful gathering for friends and family.

Please extend our salutations to your delightful companion, and rest assured that we would be glad to repay your kindness should you ever find yourself in need of assistance or favour.

Respectfully,
Your loving aunt,

Andromeda

P.S.: Wotcha, Harry! Forgot to tell you yesterday: I'm applying for the Auror corps, wish me luck! -Dora

Chuckling, Harry reflected that it was rather amusing how Andromeda insisted on him calling her aunt, even though they were actually second cousins. And Nymphadora…well, she was just being herself. She'd started ranting about becoming an Auror the moment she had gotten her first wand, as far as family legend told. That ambition had been one of the many points of frictions between the Tonkses and the Blacks. Harry had tried to find a compromise by inviting Andromeda and her daughter, as he knew Arcturus would have refused Ted entry. A ball was as much political business as it was about frivolity, after all. The need for this ungainly behaviour had saddened Harry, who actually did like the whole family, but there was no denying that Ted's views on some matters were not welcome at such an event. Harry dearly hoped that Nymphadora entering the Aurors wouldn't set them apart even further in the future...

Arcturus had obviously been watching him, as he smiled warmly when Harry looked up. 'I, too, am not very happy with the situation, Harry. But even if I were to bring myself to overlook Edward's personal opinions, I simply could not weaken my own position that evening, especially at the moment. All things considered, though I might have held reservations in the beginning, I am quite glad you invited Andromeda and her daughter. It is inequitable enough how we fight our battles over Nymphadora's head, drawing her between the lines. I'd like to believe that she enjoyed a fine evening without the usual bickering, simply savouring the company of her family.'

Harry nodded heavily. 'She still wishes to become an Auror, Grandfather. She wrote about her letter of application.'

Arcturus shook his head but revealed a sly smile nonetheless. 'I cannot exactly approve, but it is her future, in the end. Maybe she doesn't consider the implications and simply assumes it to be a job like any other. We should be understanding in this matter, Harry. It should not be us who point out how flawed her perception is. She will be confronted with the Ministry's view on her subversive relatives all too soon, and then she may form her own opinion. Until then, we should support her decision.'

Arcturus leaned back in his chair and shot Harry a fond but slightly critical look. 'You have good friends, Harry, and your generation of the family does give me hope. But if there is one flaw I can detect in the lot of you, even in you Harry, then it would be how independent you are in your actions.' He delicately placed a white and non-descript looking envelope on the table. 'And some of you are a bit too impatient and naïve.'

Harry smiled sheepishly, but his eyes were riveted on the small mailer.

~BLHD~

Later that day, Harry knelt next to his trunk, his mind submerged in his Nentray.

All my investigations into the proud oriental enchanters of old have given me reason to believe that what we consider to be a fairy tale, a myth to amuse our children, has in fact–at one point at least–existed: Auramancing. While today the best even a superior witch or wizard can hope to accomplish is to remove all magical traces by force, I firmly believe that skills exist or existed that allowed wizards to manipulate or even impersonate the individual characteristics of magic that remain mysterious to all but the most accomplished of sorcerers. Imagine, dear reader: an enchanter capable of perfectly imitating another so completely that even advanced spells or rituals could not tell the finished works apart. Or a wizard capable of bypassing any ward by imitating their masters. I am left excited, pondering what the Ministry or the goblins would do, should such a skill ever be unearthed in modern times. Why...the bloodbath would be glorious!

Harry re-read the paragraph for the fourth time, a small prickle creeping down his spine. He looked from the trunk to the book at his feet and shook his head. No way!

'Not content with the state of its security, Harry?'

A rather palish Aenor had slipped into his room and casually settled herself on his desk, a cup of steaming tea in her hand.

'Oh, finally up?' Harry smiled victoriously. 'We were wondering if you intended to sleep through the whole day.'

'I, well, I guess I didn't get much sleep, so to speak,' she remarked with a curious expression.

'Are you alright?' Harry asked, puzzled at her uncommon admittance of weakness.

His question seemed to put her back in good spirits. 'I'm fine, don't fuss. But having a go at me as soon as I'm out of bed? Not very classy, Harry!' Starting to smirk, she added in a teasing tone, 'And you were so cute yesterday, hanging on to my every word and whim.'

'Well, eh, I did nothing more than was expected, I'm sure.' Turning an embarrassing shade of red again, Harry tried to keep his response casual, avoiding her eyes as he looked back over to the trunk.

'So,' Aenor prodded him, 'what's with the trunk?' After a short pause she hastily added, 'If you don't mind me asking.'

Harry hesitated a moment, but quickly remembered that Aenor knew a lot more than him about magic. He cleared his throat delicately. 'Well, I have been wondering if it's possible to remove something from within, without attacking the wards. But I have to admit the potential answers I've stumbled upon seem a bit far-fetched.'

'Removing without breaking the wards, hmm...' Aenor rested her head against the wall, closing her eyes for a second. Then she looked from the door, to the trunk, to Harry. 'Have you considered magical modes of transportation? If you've failed to ward your trunk against those, apparition and portkeys are obvious flaws, but that would be the obvious explanation, I guess.'

To her amazement, Harry's eyes grew wide, and he hung onto her every word. He slowly opened his mouth and asked in a raspy voice, 'Do you think it is possible to apparate items?'

Aenor seemed to consider this, and the playfulness vanished entirely from her gesture. 'An interesting question I have asked myself as well. The answer would be–to my knowledge–no. Witches and wizards were never able to emulate that particular skill, hence the invention of the portkey. I doubt you've actually spent time studying Apparition, but it has to do with how the magic works; the whole intent of the process circles around willing yourself to move. It's not that easy to completely reverse the process...'

Harry nodded. He had taken note of her phrasing; 'emulate', she had said. He couldn't help recalling how often elves seemed to procure items their masters desired. Cranky did it all the time, and Lobbo had done it, too, back at Hogwarts. He had always assumed them conjured or maybe carried by the elves, but how could one be entirely sure? And wasn't there something about conjuring provisions...?

'I actually took so long to get ready to leave, Harry.' Aenor's voice pierced his thoughts like a cold steel.

'Wh-what? You're leaving?' he blurted out, completely taken aback.

'So? You going to miss me, Harry?' she demanded, her voice smug and teasing.

Harry just gaped at her. He opened his mouth but shut it again shortly thereafter. Then he made another attempt. 'Y-yeah, reckon I will,' he said earnestly.

Aenor's expression softened until a gentle and earnest smile graced her lips. 'Your language is slipping, Harry.'

He just shrugged, still looking at her.

She jumped from the desk and walked through the room, dragging Harry, who still looked dumbfounded, to his feet. 'Well, I have trespassed on your grandfather's hospitality long enough. I'll still see you at Hogwarts, anyway.'

~BLHD~

Harry gave a start, jerked himself free, and practically ran towards the door. Without looking back, he shouted, 'Don't move from the spot, Aenor!'

A few minutes later, he returned, breathing heavily, a small scroll of parchment in his hand. Puffing and blowing, he wordlessly handed it to her, still trying to catch his breath. Aenor was slightly overwhelmed by his uncharacteristic behaviour, but accepted the scroll all the same. As soon as she touched the heavy sheet, the air between her fingers seemed to sizzle. Whatever this was, it was old magic, and powerful. Parts of it, however, felt faintly familiar.

The caption read:

Contract of agreement between the witch known as Aenor Eydís Rose and the wizard Harry James Black.

To her amazement, it established rules for the promised teaching of her fabric-barrier to Harry. He in turn was forced to never divulge what he would come to learn about it to anyone but his direct descendants or Aenor herself. Harry had already signed, her signature all that remained to seal the document.

The letters were written in a deep, foreboding red, while the power of the curse inscribed within was such that the magic somehow distorted the light around the parchment, blurring the script and absorbing the surrounding brightness.

Greed for knowledge and pride vied for supremacy, as she levelled an affectionate look at the young scion of the Blacks. 'You wrote the contract and the spells that are bound to it, Harry?'

'Eh, yes, I did. Though I did not invent them, of course. So? What do you think?'

She reluctantly cut her inspection short and, for once, concealed her emotions from Harry. She delicately licked her lips and asked, 'What happens if you break the agreement? I see no mention of repercussions.'

The boy waved it off impatiently. 'I suffer extreme, ongoing physical and mental pain relative to the breach of confidence. Should I willingly break the spirit of the contract as a whole, I die a most agonising and drawn-out death.'

Aenor could not help but blink twice at his nonchalant explanation.

Harry seemed to misinterpret her closed expression, losing his nerve. 'I...I thought you might like it? It is mostly for your own benefit, after all...?'

Unable to keep a straight face any longer, Aenor guffawed wildly, instantly remembering her own grandfather reprimanding her thousands of times to drop the habit. 'And you call me a piece of work, Harry?' She stopped her laughter for a few moments to reassure the boy who looked like a five-year-old caught in a doorbell prank. 'You used my blood as part of the ink, didn't you? I can feel it...'

He nodded hesitantly. Still laughing, she shook her head exasperatedly and promptly signed the contract with a flourish. The exact moment she took the quill of the parchment, it vanished in a small puff of black smoke, and she could feel the magic taking hold of her. 'What did you use the rest of it for? The blood, I mean.'

'Merlin!' He jumped violently, looking almost frightened. 'Nearly forgot, sorry about that. Sweet Morgana, it was lucky you remembered that.'

With that, he procured a second piece of parchment from within his robes, though his one was tiny and lazily folded by comparison, much like a crib sheet. Despite its mundane appearance, Aenor detected at least two powerful enchantments that seemed to have different purposes on the scrap paper.

Raising an eyebrow, she opened it wordlessly.

Miss Aenor Rose may, with impunity, seek out the Blacks at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

Odd choice of wording, Rose mused.

Once again, the paper crumbled and burst into harmless smoke the moment she had finished reading. To her surprise however, she felt another ripple of magic around her, even though the Fidelius should normally not directly affect the subject in such a dire manner.

Harry didn't seem to take notice and continued to blabber on in what she considered to be genuine happiness. 'Grandfather told me he sent you a portkey to get you here, same as with all the guests. As a thank you for your company and all that,' he fumbled meekly with his robes before continuing, 'I have asked the old man if he would key you into the outer wards. He agreed, provided you presented me your blood willingly for the process without knowing what purpose we had in mind for it... You are still bound to the rules he laid out for you on the eve of your arrival, but you may visit us anytime we are at our casual abode in London. You'll not be able to talk about it, and I would also advise you not to divulge how long your stay with us here in the country was.'

Aenor winced slightly at the mention of the rules, but-most luckily-Harry had apparently not noticed her odd behaviour. 'Wow, your family really did this thoroughly; there aren't many wizards up to that ritual. Are all your properties secured by a Fidelius, Harry? Seems like my own family could have learned a lesson from the Blacks...' She couldn't help but show her relief, finally finding out what he had used her blood for and grinned from ear to ear. 'There are some quirky rumours about visiting the Blacks, Harry. How many people are keyed into your outer wards and Fidelius in London?'

'Outside of the family? We do not offer that "service" at all under normal circumstances, so the number is actually rather limited... Less than five for the moment.'

Trying to calm herself, she smiled whimsically to bridge the nervousness. 'That makes me pretty special, wouldn't you say?'

To her amusement, Harry immediately looked rather uncomfortable. 'W-well, I, eh, thought we were friends...?' Immediately, his eyes shot her a searching look, and she could see the panic building behind the lush green. Just how good of an actor is he usually...? Unbelievable!

Registering her smile growing on its own, she pulled him towards her, smothering him in a tight embrace. As she ruffled his hair again, she couldn't help feeling tricksy and added in a low voice, 'If you show that insecure side of yours to anyone else at Hogwarts, I might just get a little jealous, you know?'

It's somewhat annoying that things have become a bit complicated, but excessive planning's only for cravens who fear fate, right? Isn't that what you always used to tell me, Grandfather?

~BLHD~

Relaxing into the depths of his favourite armchair by the fireplace, Harry was tired enough that he had Cranky do the research in the library. The fire crackled merrily, enthusiastically shooting glowing sparks into the depths of the chimney. Rubbing his eyes, Harry leaned back in his seat, reflecting on the last fortnight. Contrary to what he might have originally believed and to his great surprise, he had actually ended up enjoying himself quite a bit, not despite but rather thanks to Aenor's company. It was hard to admit, even to himself, but he couldn't deny that the last few hours had been kind of dull, even though he had had all the time in the library for himself.

Well, it's not too long until I have to ride the damn train with those obnoxiously clueless people I have to call classmates again.

Sighing in relaxation, he closed his eyes and let the soothing sound of the burning logs wash over him. Considering Aenor's last warning shortly before she'd left, Harry had decided to put in every effort possible into his Occlumency, especially seeing that his grandfather had also advised him to strengthen his mental discipline. But not tonight! He was just a bit too drowsy to be bothered. Cranky would find all the relevant works in all of their libraries, and Harry could start working his way through them at some later time...

The moment his mind was starting to peacefully drift away, the voice of his grandfather brought him back to the present. 'Are you sure you'd not rather retreat for the night, Harry?'

Hastily blinking a few times, Harry tried to his best to appear alert and awake. It couldn't have been a very good effort, though, as Arcturus' voice reached him yet again, drenched in amusement. 'Really, Harry. You might want to practise that a bit more. It may even look natural given enough effort, without the shadows under your eyes and the telling line of saliva.'

'Pardon me?' Harry blurted out, hectically looking for a handkerchief before he saw the expression on his grandfather's face. 'Oh, very funny, Grandfather!'

Arcturus' eyes twinkled kindly, and he sat down in another armchair by the fireside in one fluid motion that belied his age. 'I thought I might keep you company for a bit, Harry. It is painful to witness your forlorn and melancholic expression this evening, with you sitting here in the dark, brooding in front of the fire. 'Tis true, I am probably not the company you so passionately crave at the moment, but still...'

Harry lifted both hands and directed an imploring look towards his grandfather, all the while feeling increasingly hot around his ears and neck. 'Please! I give up. Can I, at least, hope for a ceasefire this evening?'

'As you wish, Harry. Mercy for the eve,' Arcturus conceded generously. Eyeing his grandson for several very long moments, Arcturus' expression grew stern. 'Does she realise that we did not use all of the blood?'

The younger Black avoided the elder one's gaze and guiltily dropped his eyes. 'She did not ask...' After a few moments of telling silence, Harry braced a question that had been on his mind for the whole afternoon. 'Would you have saved her from the curse if I hadn't asked it of you?'

Darkness seemed to swirl around Arcturus' figure even though Harry knew he hadn't consciously used magic. Only the eyes of his grandfather stood out against the lack of light while he contemplated Harry's question. 'I am not sure. When I heard what she did to you after your first lesson, there was little doubt in my mind that she would find her end here tonight; when you invited her on your own, I grew hesitant; and when I eventually saw the both of you on the morrow of my return, I seriously considered letting her go. Humbling, really, but I do not believe she was ever aware of the kind of danger her life was in...'

Arcturus exhaled perceptibly. 'I can tell you with a certainty that my father would never have let her leave on her own terms. He would have made an example of her and in the process reminded you that personal relations are nothing before the family. To this day, I am still not sure whether this doctrine holds true or not...'

After another short break, Arcturus said, 'No matter. It really is all speculation now, seeing as your request rendered the point obsolete. But even so, Harry,' Arcturus looked up from the flames towards Harry, and the fire bathed his usually pearlescent eyes in a bloody red, 'she acknowledged the rules of being our guest, but broke with them all the same.'

Yes, Grandfather. But there has only been a handful of people in over a millennium who've managed to not run afoul of them – not to forget that you let her snoop around the house a bit... Harry did, however, not voice his opinion, mostly because he grumblingly agreed that he was too conflicted about the matter to reason adequately.

'How about we have a little impromptu lesson this evening?' Arcturus interrupted his pondering. 'You might as well make a fresh start with your studies on the Mind Arts tomorrow.'

'I'd like that,' Harry returned with a reminiscent smile. 'But I doubt that I am up to answering questions tonight.'

Arcturus smiled kindly, wrinkling the familiar face that was well advanced in years. 'That's alright, son. Simply ask me some questions, and I will do my best to keep you entertained.'

Hesitating slightly, Harry asked unassertively, 'I have always wondered what the Dark Lord and his ilk were like. I know it to be a heavy topic, but do you think...?'

The dark chuckle of his grandfather's wafted through the room with menacing foreboding. 'It seems tonight is a time for gruesome topics, Harry. But it is of no concern to me; telling tales about those times in a shadowy room lit only by an open fire seems strangely fitting, even.' Arcturus entwined his fingers and gazed into the far corner of the room where their silhouettes danced to the pulse of the flames.

'You can read about the war or Grindelwald's magical prowess in any book. But there are times when books fail, and there are things that are hard to wrap in words, even for me.

'I saw him once, Harry, the Dark Lord. During his trial, he sat there on his chair as if it were a throne; poised...inviolable. Even in shackles, he was the ultimate orator, his voice our ambrosia. I listened to him, wanting to believe so very much how all of his decisions-harsh maybe but still necessary at the time-just added up, convoluted into some kind of unavoidable chain of unfortunate events that led him to be tied up where he was. He spoke, and we all listened. Listened, enthralled, to his dreams of a better world, his promises of splendour, his righteous call for vengeance... It was magic like I have never witnessed ever since, and there was no wand involved, Harry, not a single wand in sight.

'But then the images came back.' Arcturus' voice grew sick with hate. 'The stories we'd heard about the camps, the arbitrary slaughtering, the trials. Merlin, the trials! We were unlucky enough to have several memories about those processes to peruse, and I have never seen anything so distasteful in my entire life, Harry: the accused knew he was innocent, the prosecutor knew him to be innocent, the judge as well as several witnesses, too. Yet still, with mechanical diabolicalness it always came to light just how very guilty the accused really was, everyone really was. You were either guilty or useful, and never either for very long.'

Arcturus turned his head towards Harry and spoke in a hushed voice, 'He was the devil. And real fiends don't force you. Nay, they twist you until the most heinous, the most despicable act of depravity appears to be the just and honourable thing to do, and you dutifully follow suit, proud even of your service. The true demon doesn't throw you into the abyss, my son. No, he gives you a ladder, takes you by the hand and smilingly shows you the way, one step at a time...'