Key:
"Words."
Thoughts / "emphasis" / Title of Books or spells used
~~Parseltongue~~
¬¬Foreign Language¬¬
"Magical language."
Actions Have Consequences II
2nd April 1994 – Rakepick Home (6 years, 77 days diluted)
While mages didn't celebrate the Christian holiday of Easter, it fell close enough to March's Spring Equinox that schools took a half-term holiday in the same way the mundane ones did. With Harry having a new (and old) family to share his life with, it surprised no one that he left Hogwarts when the break came around.
He was still spinning time back and finishing up learning how to harness the Arcane, but he'd grown so used to the double life that he wasn't sure what he'd do once his ancestor released him from his apprenticeship.
"Knut for your thoughts, kiddo?" Sirius asked across the expanded table. Andi had declared the man's mind healed of the effects of Dumbledore's broken spells and both he and Bellatrix were looking worlds better than they had the first time Harry saw them.
"They're worth more than a Knut," Draco scoffed, getting a wide grin back from the man. Things weren't perfect between the Malfoys, Sirius, and the Tonkses, but everyone was making an effect, and that was the important thing.
"It's not about the Lordship, is it?" the should-have-been Black Lord asked with genuine concern, getting an immediate negative shake of the head from the Lord of Magic.
Harry was a literal self-made young man with all the rituals he'd put himself through, and had done it all to avenge what his mother and Sirius had gone through. The only time he had backed off from anything Master Sal had suggested was in training others, and that was only through a misguided thought that others didn't need to be walking the same road he had. So, when the anniversary of Arcturus Black III's death came and went with Andi still of the opinion that Sirius' magic wasn't stable enough to handle taking up the Black Lordship without risk, Harry had accepted the reality without pause. He would take up the mantle of Lord Black, along with his other titles, the moment he was done with his last end-of-year exam.
"I told you it's fine," Harry promised, turning an intense gaze to Remus Lupin, who shifted beneath the look. The werewolf had escaped Dumbledore's all-seeing eye, although Severus hadn't managed the same. "Remus, what would you do if you could become a mythical Lycan?"
The family froze at the question, although a pained look flashed across Trish's features. While the woman had warned them all about how the leaders of Black Gate believed Flamel was the hidden threat, the woman had ranted long and loud when she realised she couldn't tell Harry everything. The people she'd met with had put both their identity and some other part of their conversation under security spells without the experienced Curse-breaker even realising it. Harry hadn't envied those she worked with while she had been cooling down from that slight-of-hand manipulation. From her reaction to his question, Harry was guessing his newest ritual was part of what she couldn't tell him. Not that it would stop him.
"You wot, mate?" Dora asked for the stunned Hogwarts professor. The girl hadn't been idle on her suspension. Both her mother and Cissa had taken her free time as a reason to teach her the ways of all Black females. While she was in her early stages, the (for now still) trainee Auror was growing in leaps and bounds with her magical knowledge and fighting skill. Alas, for her present job, most of those skills wouldn't result in a living capture of an enemy, but breaking eggs and omelettes and all that.
"You'd have to set up a society like the vampires," Harry mused, thinking aloud. "One Alpha on top of other alphas. And they'd have to either be loyal or neutral to my bloodlines."
"Little Eagle," Cassie sighed, drawing the young man's attention. "You need to slow down and explain yourself."
Harry blinked at her words and then looked at the stupefied Marauder. He nodded and sat back in his chair to play with the stem of his wineglass. While the adults were drinking something stronger but he had matched Draco in having a single, less potent drink. Despite Harry's matured body and the years he'd lived in the Room, he was holding on to his chronological age as much as possible.
"Well, there's a ritual from the Founders' time that allows a complete merging of an Animagus' animal mind with their human one without it locking their personality in place," he explained. "You still recognise that the animal's reactions are its own rather than yours, but it's a full mental merging. I tweaked it a little since the werewolf curse is more akin to a type of forced possession by the wolf spirit than all werewolves having wolf Animagus forms, but the results are the same."
Remus held up a finger to cut the teen off. "If I'm understanding what you just said, you've made a ritual that mimics the effects of the Wolfsbane Potion?"
"Yes," the Lord of Magic confirmed with a smile, only to frown as he considered the point. "It's a one-and-done ritual to boot, no history of rituals needed for the one going through it. So really, I could give it out to the werewolves without oaths. It's technically safe for young children too, but I'd prefer only allowing someone ten or older to go through it. At least until we learn the mental effect it has on someone that young. I calculated that there's a fifty-fifty chance that younger children won't feel any distinction between their own instincts and the wolf's."
"A total fusing of human and wolf thinking?" Trish asked.
"Yeah. It would make those werewolves more like vampires in that they'd have a non-human way of seeing the world. I'd be okay with that -"
"But our society would not be," Lucius finished, getting a raise of Harry's glass in conformation.
"Anyway, there's an Inner Blood ritual that allows an Animagus form's abilities and physical characteristics to be passed to the human form. If the werewolf went through this one, then not only would they be able to channel the strength and power of the wolf, but they wouldn't get sick leading up to the full moon. They'd be able to change any time they wanted, like Animagi, and in the same way an Animagus does rather than any painful transformations. They'd still have to change on the full moon and they'd be infectious during it, but only then. And anyone who infected an unwilling victim couldn't claim to not have control."
"I can see why you'd want the oaths," Andromeda stated while Narcissa added her own thoughts, and the other Black sister stared agape at Harry's words.
"With no ill effects from the moon and in total control of themselves when they changed, they would never stand out to others. Aside from a minor inconvenience once a month, they could live and work as any other productive member of society."
"Only with incredible physical power," Lucius added with a scowl. "Hence the need for the oaths. The outcry would be enormous. From the ritual components, the physical changes, and the oaths. Many would see it as you gaining an entire army of enhanced witches and wizards loyal only to you."
The family would spend the rest of the night discussing how Harry could spread his rituals to the werewolves without the bigoted parts of the Wizarding world turning on him. Were any outsiders to have eavesdropped on the conversation, it would shock them to hear Lucius Malfoy supporting the idea of sharing the rituals. But those who understood how he thought knew his reasons. It would raise the werewolves up from being 'dangerous beasts' to a social level akin to Veela, half-bloods, and half-breeds. Still lower than his beloved pure-bloods, but productive members of their world with the chance for individuals to rise above their station through merit and power.
It might not be the type of thinking that Harry or the others liked, but they could work with it for the betterment of the cursed people.
When everyone had gone home to leave only Harry and the Rakepicks, a knock on his bedroom door interrupted the teen's preparation for sleep. Harry would answer it in only his shorts and find a grinning Trish on the other side.
"You can't help changing the world, can ya, kid?"
He shrugged, focusing on her eyes that sparkled with mischief and her wicked smirk rather than her thread-bare t-shirt. The smirk only grew as she leaned against his doorframe and crossed her arms beneath her large breasts. The action lifted them and even his iron control couldn't stop his gaze from dropping to the prominent nipples.
"I'd say it's about time I taught you some tricks I did Lily once I was sure she was ready," the woman announced, causing him to blink in surprise.
"Now? Isn't it a bit late to teach me magic?"
"Oh, Harold," the woman purred, entering his room before kicking his door closed with her heel while taking hold of his hips to pull them close. He wasn't that dense to not realise what she meant before she finished speaking. "The night is the perfect time for this type of magic."
A firm grip caught his hair at the nap of the neck and Patricia Rakepick pulled the son of her best friend down into a passionate kiss while her other hand danced down his firm chest to find something even firmer to grip.
They both knew he could stop her at any moment. Just as they both knew he wouldn't.
Neither of them would get much sleep that night while Harry reaffirmed Trish's opinion on Parselmouths.
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3rd April 1994 – Hogwarts Staff Meeting, Headmaster's office
"Thank you all for coming," Dumbledore beamed at them like they were students having done extra credit work. "I thought we could have a little discussion. I've managed to find a replacement for Hagrid for the Care of Magical Creatures position. Estefan Arwyn will be arriving later in the week." [1]
"Impressive," Sprout mused aloud. A sentiment that Severus privately agreed with. Arywn was everything Hagrid pretended to be as a COMC professor. In love with all manner of dangerous creatures, foolish in how close he got to even the deadliest of them, yet had a reputation for teaching his students the reality of dealing with such animals.
"I agree, Pomona," Albus smiled. "It was a pleasant surprise when he reached out to me. He told me he had just finished one of his touring lectures in Malta when the urge for a more structured teaching environment struck, and he could think of nowhere else to apply."
The half-goblin and faux Death Eater shared a look.
"Now," the headmaster declared with a clap of his hands and as much fake cheer as he could manage. "How about we go through the years and see how our students are doing, hm?"
"Or we can jump to the ones you want to talk about," Filius sighed, pointing out the hippogriff in the room, and getting an imperious sniff from Minerva.
Albus had been dragging the teachers into meetings almost every other week for months. Any time he had even the smallest of announcement to share as pretence for the meeting so the old man could segue into a student review that he then used to laser focus on Harry and those he taught.
"Harry and those he works with in the Magic Club are safely pushing their understanding of magic," the Charms Master repeated his now standard answer in the asinine meetings. Severus blinked at the bored monotone voice the energetic man was using. From some of the snickering around the table, some of their colleagues were just as amused as he. "They are flying ahead of their year's syllabus due to the very simple fact that it's a smaller 'class' that allows for individual learning. The group's development would be what we'd all see in our classes from almost all our students if this school had more professors to spread the load. I daresay even our most stubbornly slow students would get much better grades were we to just have teacher's assistants to aid in more focused learning -"
"Yes, Filius, thank you -" Albus attempting and failed to cut the smaller man off before he could finish his familiar spiel.
"- Why, Minerva, weren't you such a teacher's assistant? In fact, weren't you the last one Hogwarts had?"
"Thank. You. Filius." Albus snapped.
Despite the man's temper getting more frayed as Harry's influence over the students grew, the teachers were still uneasy when his control slipped. All bar Minerva who had hissed at her fellow Hat-stall's rant. Filius stared them both down and never had his goblin heritage been more at the forefront with the sneer he sent the pair.
"I'm sick and tired of this, Albus. Don't think I've forgotten your little 'chats' with me when that boy's mother was here." That caught Severus' attention and onyx eyes jumped between the staring men. "You do this every time a student breaks ahead of the pack more than you're comfortable with. I wasn't secure enough in my position to push back at you when you did this after Lily became my protégé. But by sacred Magic, I won't let you do it to her son. Keep pushing and I'll write you both up to the Board, the WEA, and even the ICW's Educational Office. My word might not be worth the same as yours, but I'll make your careers as difficult as possible for the rest of my life if you two don't leave that boy alone!"
The happy-go-lucky, playful professor jumped off his seat and stormed out of the room, leaving a petrified group behind. As though called to follow like children after the Pied Piper, the rest of the facility stood, leaving the room to Albus, a furious yet pale Minerva, and a sneering Severus Snape.
"Just go, Severus," the headmaster growled, throwing his half-moon glasses to the table in a huff. The spectacles landed near the clenching and unclenching fingers of the furious cat Animagus. "Just. Go."
Severus was no fool. He went.
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OoOoO
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8th April 1994 (6 years, 126 days diluted)
"Blood Magic," the Founder announced. The pair were standing outside of Hogwarts once more, this time with a watching Dobby who was using his magic to keep a group of live sheep calm. Harry was doing his best to ignore the image of his friend as a 'gentleman farmer.' "I have taught you both Inner and Outer Blood rituals, and a foundation of knowledge in this art outside of rituals. But now is the time for you to understand the power of a true Haematurge and the power a Blood Magic has on the battlefield."
Salazar created a small dagger in his right hand while continuing his lecture. Harry stood at parade rest and took in everything his Master said. "Blood Magic used in battle is the stuff of nightmares, Apprentice. You can use your own shed blood to recharge your mind or magic, although not your own health. Do not mistake me, you can use your own blood to give yourself a physical boost. Perhaps you are even strong enough in the art to close your wounds and heal damage. But these are temporary measures. A Haematurge cannot use their own blood to truly heal themselves. Any such healing using your own blood is temporary and those wounds will reopen. That spell damage will return. Using your own blood is a momentary reprieve, nothing more."
Salazar stared at Harry, and the firm nod of understanding didn't take long to be given. The Founder sighed, his rigid posture dropping a little as though the next topic was a painful one. "Only one type of mage can use their own blood in such a way. They are the secret reason behind the negative views on the idea of Haematurges going to war. Cruenti, Cruenta for the singular, are mages whose blood does not contain magic, but is magic. A Cruenta can bleed for a week and never die. They can use their blood for magic beyond even what I can teach you, and they will be stronger for it."
"That makes no sense, Master. You taught me that everything has a cost."
"They are the exception, Harry," the Snake Lord informed him. "A Cruenta can use their blood to cast magic as easy as an Animagus switches forms. Cruenti have a world-wide Kill Order placed upon them. Regardless of age, regardless of the collateral damage, the ICW will stop at nothing to kill any Cruenta that appears. They will rip asunder their own Statute of Secrecy, if that is required to kill a Cruenta. This is why you must be careful when using Blood Magic during battle. The more powerful your acts, the more suspicions those in the know will have until you can prove you aren't a Cruenta."
"That sounds like someone either is or isn't," Harry mused, getting a nod from his mentor.
"Like being a Seer or Metamorphmagus, yes."
Salazar let his words sink in before continuing the lesson, cutting his thumb with the blade. "You can use your blood as a shield." A flick of the bleeding digit had a powerful shield appearing around them. Harry knew the echo of the Founder would only make the shield as powerful as he could have had the man been alive, and its strength from such a small drop surprised the younger Lord of Magic. "Or you can use it as a weapon."
A deeper slash across Salazar's palm split the skin. The blood bubbled, almost appearing to boil, and then three long serpentine heads formed from the fluid. Like a crimson hydra, the heads shot towards the grazing sheep, spearing their targets and killing two while leaving another drowning as its lungs filled with its own blood. The wound reabsorbed the heads, healing until only the lightest of marks remained.
"Or perhaps you want to use an enemy's blood to heal yourself or your allies?" Salazar queried, holding out the now healed hand. The blood of the dead sheep rose in the air before dropping onto the suffering third, smothering the struggling sheep. Buckets of blood soaked into the animal, and the terrible wound healed as though it had never been. The creature stumbled back to its feet in confusion while the remaining sheep looked on, their eyes glazed as Dobby's magic kept them from reacting to anything they saw. "Or perhaps you want to use an enemy's blood to control them?"
The blood on the now healed sheep's wool seemed to shimmer in the light before sinking into the animal, causing it to shudder. And then the sheep began running around the area like an over-eager puppy despite its wide eyes showing fear at its body being out of its control.
"All of this is possible and more to a Blood Mage during war," Salazar finished, releasing the sheep from his control. The poor creature collapsed to the ground like a puppet freed of its string.
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27th April 1994 (6 years, 280 days diluted)
"And that is why I would prefer you to use my methods if you wish to become an Animagus," Harry told his students. "Not only will it keep your animal forms from locking in your personality, but it will allow you to access your second form if any of your animals are magical. Even something as simple as a Kneazle mix form can affect you without another animal to balance it out."
"How many Animagus forms can someone have?"
It didn't surprise him that the question came from Daphne. The Greengrass sisters were one of the most dedicated of Harry's students, along with Blaise and those with ties to Asia. If any of the group pushed themselves into becoming a Thaumaturge, he would lay money on it being them. He'd even made a bet with the watching Filius.
"As many as you wish to find inside and then accept," Harry answered with a shrug. "No animal truly embodies every part of our soul, not even magical ones. These spirit forms are representations of parts of who we are. It's said that Rowena Ravenclaw believed it was theoretically possible to gain the form of every type of a species if someone could manipulate their own mind, soul, and magic that precisely. Not something I'd suggest, as that much manipulation will ultimately destroy your personality."
While the group thought over his words, the blonde Slytherin gave a dismissive sniff. "Shame. I'm much rather be able to change into anything I wanted."
Harry stared at the girl, who was well on her way in blossoming into a beautiful young woman. The group shared glances. They knew what that look meant. He had some shocking piece of wisdom or a new (or rather old) piece of magic they'd never heard of or only considered a myth. When he spoke, the words were slow to avoid misunderstandings.
"Well... There is something else. It doesn't tap into your spirit animals, nor does it require rituals. But it's a lot harder to achieve. You could never become an Animagus after you master it, and you'll have to learn how to break a few laws of transfiguration to do so. But it will let you become anything you want."
Daphne's grin bordered on feral, as did those of the twins, while the rest looked intrigued, if nothing else.
Looks like that bet will get an answer sooner than expected, he thought.
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1st May/Beltane – Little Hangleton Cemetery
Tom Riddle would have preferred to wait until Midsomer to perform the resurrection ritual. It had been his original plan to do so. But events were moving too fast for him to wait that long. He had a rival Dark Lord to fight, and he was already behind in resources.
The wizard didn't doubt that his beautifully loyal and deadly Bellatrix was dead. His lethal left hand would never have betrayed him. But Tom could not say the same about his other Death Eaters. None of those outside of Azkaban had looked for him, had even attempted to find him. And while Tom would have let the loss of his precious diary slide after gaining its memories, he still would have tortured the Lord Malfoy. Both for using it regardless of his Horcrux forced the man into it, and for not seeking his disembodied spirit out. But now? Now Tom planned on killing the Malfoy family in the most horrific and prolonged manner he could.
Fourteen Dark Marks had vanished from his mental awareness of his servants. Lucius' might have been the first, but he most definitely wasn't the last. Two of them in Horatio Burke and Thadeus Nott were once his Knights of Walpurgis before he switched the group's name! Tom was no fool. While he wouldn't put it past a rising Dark Lord to take out a rival's forces, it took less than a week of what the useless Wormtail dared to call espionage for the true Dark Lord to learn that those fourteen souls still lived.
Traitors. Betrayers.
Dumbledore's actions had not only caused Tom to face a rapidly strengthening Dark Lord rival fated by prophecy itself to have the power to 'vanquish' him, but the boy had stolen fourteen of his slaves!
Such action would not go without reprisal. If Tom could not have the Midsomer and the point at which the darkness began its ascension over the light, or Halloween, to reclaim the holiday from his terrible setback, any of the sacred days was as good as any other for his ritual. Given the time of year, he found it symbolic to be reborn on the very day that had inspired the original name for his warriors.
Tom Riddle withdrew his loyal wand from his robe and effortlessly conjured a standing mirror. His hum of satisfaction was almost a purr at how his magic moved within him. He hadn't felt such dark caresses in years. Even before that tragic attack on the Potters. A frown marred his face as he considered that thought, ignoring the reflection of the whimpering fool who had provided his hand for the ritual. Perhaps so many Horcruxes were not the way to go, he thought. Tom could feel his soul and the scars it now bore from the forced merging of his pieces. The four pieces had chaffed at his use of the Horcrux ritual to put a piece of himself in his beloved Nagini, almost rebelling against the process, and he knew he could not attempt another creation. It mattered not. Not with Ravenclaw's Diadem and his familiar housing his anchors. Not when he knew so many rituals of creating new, powerful bodies once the old ones suffered the traitorous process of age. And having three soul pieces was still a magically powerful number that then allowed him to feel the full pleasures of using magic.
He pushed the thoughts on immortality and the near-sexual delight he felt at using Dark Magic aside to take a proper look at his new body. It reminded him somewhat of before his failed second attempt at gaining the professor of DADA position. His black hair hung to his shoulders, its midnight black locks perfectly straight, but he now possessed a heavily receding widow's peak. The bare forehead gave his face an elongated look, made worse by his sharp cheekbones and sunken cheeks. A flick of his wand created a floating ball of light to show that the flames beneath the cauldron that had birthed this body had not lied. His skin was exceptionally pale. Not quite marble white, but an unnatural tone, nonetheless. His eyes were their original dark brown, but slitted, and the whites had constant whips of crimson magic flowing through them.
Tom took it all in and nodded his approval. It was the body of a dark god. A fitting form to house his majesty.
"Come, Wormtail," he commanded. A lazy series of flicks vanished the ball of light and the mirror while conjuring a silver hand to replace the man's missing limb. "I wish to check Potter's work before departing this wretched place."
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Despite many people's opinions about Tom Riddle, the self-titled Lord Voldemort, especially his own, he was not infallible and made many mistakes. He made many that night.
One of the many things that was common knowledge in the Wizarding World was the heightened state every Ministry put their magical police force on over their sacred days. Whether it be to break down twisted cults doing terrible rituals or idiotic youths breaking the Statute in their usually drunken escapades. Had Riddle not known he couldn't use Harry's blood in the ritual and kidnapped the teen, he would have set up protective wards to hide the magical ripples his rebirthing caused. If only to keep Dumbledore from interrupting. But the man's desire and focus of keeping his rebirth a secret while fuming over the loss of his Death Eaters to the younger Dark Lord had ironically caused him to miss such protections. The man's desire to check the broken down Gaunt shack and assess how Potter had accessed his Horcrux, along with his usual arrogance and dismissal of Muggles, had blinded him to the thought that even a small village like Little Hangleton would have people out at night. Drunk people.
Despite Riddle's desire for secrecy and his mind being clearer than it had in decades, his actions that night caught the attention of the very man he had been looking to hide from. The Ministry's alarms would bring in an investigative Auror unit, only for a greater force to be demanded when the mages in red found half the village aflame from runaway Fiendfyre. The powerful Dark spell demanded the aid of Dumbledore to put out, while also drawing the attention of Minister and DMLE head Madame Bones. When the aged Chief Warlock finally extinguished the living flames, it took him very little time to work out the importance of the location. Of course, the fact the echoes of the ritual lead to a cemetery that housed a gravestone reading 'Riddle' was a tremendous help.
"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear," Fudge mumbled, not for the first time. The man had almost destroyed his lime-green bowler hat with how he kept squeezing the headgear as his gaze jumped from the far scary enormous cauldron and the smoking ruins of the Muggle village. "Do we know what all this was about?"
Amelia Bones sighed. Not for the first time. The man's lack of patience was almost legendary for those who had to deal with him daily. "As I've already told you, Cornelius. A person or group unknown performed some type of ritual. Given we're standing in a cemetery, it appears to be a necromantic one. What they were attempting to achieve and if they were successful, is still unknown. The person or group either celebrated their success or lashed out in a fury at their failure and destroyed the nearby village."
"I believe I can fill in some of the gaps, Amelia," Dumbledore announced as he approached the pair and the surrounding Aurors. The man had vanished not long after they discovered the cemetery, and Amelia scowled at the two he had brought with him.
"What are they doing here?" She demanded. "This is an active crime scene, Dumbledore, not a place to hold a Hogwarts meeting!"
The 'they' being a worried-looking Minerva McGonagall and a scowling Severus Snape.
"I requested them, Amelia. I needed them to confirm my findings, and I'm afraid to say they have."
"You're not an investigator," the monocled woman growled out, glaring at the trio while the others looked on. The last thing she needed was more politics in such a screwed up situation, but that was exactly what Dumbledore had brought her. "If you had any theories, then you were supposed to share them with me or my Aurors so a professional could investigate it. That's how this works!"
"Come now, Amelia," Fudge pleaded. "If Albus has answers, then we should be happy to hear them."
"I'm grateful for you saying so, Cornelius. Alas, my answer is not a pleasant one. Voldemort has returned."
Silence slammed down on those listening like wrathful god, sending their thoughts scattering with various mixtures of shock and horror.
"You-Know-Who... returned... preposterous. What nonsense is this, Dumbledore?"
"It is the truth, Cornelius. This town has a secret meaning for Voldemort, and I suspected he kept something of incredible power here waiting for him to retrieve it. And he has done so. Minerva has confirmed my scans. And then there's this..."
Dumbledore waved at the scowling Snape who stepped forward to pull his sleeve up and reveal the Dark Mark. "The Dark Mark, Voldemort's personal mark and what he used to tie his followers together. It has been growing darker this year. Severus informed me it burned black around the same time as the Ministry detected the ritual's completion."
"I don't know what you and your staff are playing at, Dumbledore," Fudge near-shouted as he stumbled away from the arm and its angry mark. Snape lowered his sleeve, onyx eyes assessing every moment to repeat it back to those who needed to know. "But I won't have it! He can't be back."
"You fool," McGonagall snapped at the Minister's denial. "You yourself told me You-Know-Who was out there, alone and friendless -"
"And this is obviously some insane plan by Sirius Black that failed!" Fudge declared, turning a mix of purple and red as he shouted back at the woman. "I will not have you starting a panic and destabilising everything we've worked for these last twelve years!"
"Voldemort has returned," Dumbledore pressed. The man's magic was growing heavy in the air and his eyes shone an unnatural blue. "If you accept these facts, then we can salvage something before he acts more than he already has."
"I will not have you sending the magical community into a panic over these insane delusions!"
"You've become too enamoured by your office, Cornelius. Too caught up in your believe in the purity of blood -"
"Ah ha! That's what this is!" Fudge snapped, pointing a finger up at the taller wizard. The man's mouth frothed, with those watching unsure if it came from fear or anger. "This is all some elaborate plan to take my position. You've never liked the people I've associated with or the bills you wanted passed that I helped defeat. This isn't about You-Know-Who, it's a political coup!"
Dumbledore leaned back and gave Fudge an icy stare from behind his half-moon glasses. "If you truly believe that, then we have reached a parting of the ways. You must do as you see fit. And I... I shall act as I see fit."
"You've overstepped yourself, Dumbledore," Fudge smirked, as though he had unravelled a deep mystery. "I've given you a lot of free rein. I had a lot of respect for you. I might not have agreed with some of your decisions, but I've kept quiet. There aren't many who'd have let you hire werewolves, or take Hagrid back on, or let you teach students terrible magics that destroy Dementors. But if this is your game, if you're going to work against me and the Ministry, then things will have to be done."
Fudge stormed off before Dumbledore could reply, and the group watched the Minister leave. Each knew things were going to change.
"That was foolish," Amelia sighed. "You couldn't have waited for my investigators to finish? You couldn't have shared your information with my Aurors so they could make your suspicions official? What was the point of that, Dumbledore? If you're right and -"
"I am, Amelia. I have never been more correct in my life."
"Then why, in Merlin's name, did you keep pushing?" She snapped. The stress from not shouting the words caused them to come out in a guttural snarl. "You may be Chief Warlock, but you can't make unilateral decisions and give wild proclamations, and expect everyone to follow your lead!"
While the argument between Dumbledore and Fudge had been a purely political one, the tension between the old man and Amelia held something more. Despite how much the woman detested it, how much she tried to ignore it, she was a Bones and the Bones family were tied to death and necromancy. She'd been on edge from the moment she stepped into the cemetery and knew the ritual had been a success. But she was a stubborn woman who had avoided her Family Magic ever since her father taught her the basics. But her magic remembered, and her magic was driving her to do something, anything, to 'fix' the twisted act performed that night. And Dumbledore's dragon-headed stubbornness had made it a hundred times more difficult to do so.
Dumbledore had never had Amelia's full trust, and that was before she knew of the man's manipulation in locking Sirius Black away without a trial for a crime he didn't commit. She always suspected the old man's friendly grandfather routine hid something darker. So it didn't surprise her when his magic slipped to form a visible aura, and she did her best not to show her fear of having to go against the behemoth that was Albus Dumbledore.
Thankfully, he regained control almost as soon as he lost it, and Apparated away with no more words said. But the repercussions of the two arguments would shatter the delicate balance of the Ministry. While she might have been supportive of House Black's rampage against Fudge and Umbridge, that night had thrown her and House Bones political and social head-first at the feet of the growing Potter-Black force. Amelia's loss of temper from fighting against her Family Magic had destroyed her decade-long reputation of neutrality forever.
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3rd May 1994 (6 years, 329 days diluted)
Harry threw himself into his studies and teaching. They were the only way he could keep hold of his temper as the Daily Prophet ran article after article that dragged Sirius' name through the mud as a psychotic nutter who destroyed a Muggle village after failing in some Dark Ritual.
He had no interest bar some schadenfreude in the additional articles doing the same to Dumbledore's name and questioning the man's legacy as Hogwarts Headmaster. He'd been told about the cemetery meeting and thought the old man a fool for pushing his opinions as forcefully as he had. As for the stories targeting Sirius, the Lord of Magic would remember every word. And he would judge those who refused to change their opinions once the truth was revealed.
"Illusion Magic," Salazar began Harry's latest lesson. "Is perhaps the perfect example of a true Branch of Magic. The Higher Arts of Illusion have but a single goal: the manipulation of the mind and senses. A Thaumaturge Illusionist can create such a false world that their victims will die of wounds they haven't suffered, or experience things that could never be. This Branch of Magic encompasses the Mind Arts, curses, charms, potions, alchemy, enchanting, and more. From elixirs that ensnare the senses, to auras that do the same, to Notice-Me-Not Charms, and the Fidelius itself. Everything and anything that makes someone think, feel, believe, or act in a way that is different to base reality is part of this Branch."
"Bloody hell," Harry declared, visibly struggling to wrap his head around the sheer scale of his next subject of learning.
"A crude but understandable reaction," Salazar commentated. "As such, much of your learning in this Branch will be done in your spare time. I will teach you the proper foundations, but it will be down to you to explore the tomes I provide and see how far into the Branch you wish to go. I suggest at least a theoretical intermediate level of understanding before you stop your self-study. If there is one Branch of magic that could be said to be never-ending in its complexity, it is this one."
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13th May 1994 (7 years, 45 days diluted)
"There's one thing you've never told us," Ginny said at the end of one training session, blind-firing a powerful Stinging Hex that caught George in his hip even before the twin finished saying 'only one?' She and Harry shared a smirk at her brother's vocal complaints. "You said the Lord of Magic who trained you used Time Magic."
"That's right," Harry confirmed. The group hushed, and even George's complaints dropped to barely audible whining as they waited for Ginny's follow-up.
"How long were you training?"
"You mean how long did it take me to get to where I am today?" He clarified, ignoring the smirk Filius wore as he and Luna shared a look. They were the only ones who knew his training hadn't completed.
"You know what she means, Potter!" The ever-curious Astoria snapped. While the group was happy to use his first name, the non-Gryffindors often switched it up when making a point.
"Two thousand, six hundred days," he said without preamble, stunning them all. Even Filius hadn't realised what his extensive use of the Room's time-dilation meant. "Seven years and forty-five days, with training lasting anywhere between eight to fourteen hours a day."
"No wonder you were so different when we met in Diagon!" Ron summed up, his eyes wide.
"I refused to let my mentor or my mother down. Not after what both of them have done for me."
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17th May 1994 (7 years, 77 days diluted)
"You want me to what?" Dora demanded.
She and Harry, along with the amused Trish and Narcissa, were relaxing in the Tonks home despite Dora's parents both being at work. He speared the redhead with a dirty look before speaking slowly for his confused cousin.
"I. Want. You. To. -"
"Don't make me hurt you," she growled, drawing her wand only for Trish to snatch it from the girl's grasp. "Hey!"
"Dora, focus!" The Curse-breaker snapped, causing the exuberant young woman to wilt.
"It's simple," Harry pushed on. "My rituals didn't just let me use the small Metamorphmagus abilities I was born with. They kicked them up to your level of talent, but locked the changes until I finish my last maturity."
"I thought you already had your seventeenth birthday?" Dora frowned, getting a trio of sighs from missing the obvious.
"My last maturity, not my third. I've just finished my fourth."
They forgave the trainee Auror her shock. While everyone went through three magical maturities, only the top per cent of the top per cent had a fourth. Although Harry would admit that his many rituals made it difficult to know if he would have had one of them without them.
"Wait, you're twenty-one?"
"It's complicated," he frowned, ignoring the leering Trish and the eyebrow Cissa raised that near enough shouted the Lady Malfoy was aware of that night. "I've lived twenty-one years. My body is at its full maturity, but I'm thirteen by all other magical measurements. Now, are you going to help me learn how to be a Metamorphmagus or not?"
"Of course I will! Oh, this'll be so much fun!"
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28th May 1994 (7 years, 183 days diluted) – Room of Requirement
The last Saturday before the start of the exams had Harry facing the elders of the Hogwarts elves. "Thank you for coming. Because of some issues with another Lordship, I'll be taking up my titles at Gringotts today. And that includes the Slytherin one."
Harry smiled at the elves as they literally buzzed in place at the idea of having a Lord in charge. Especially one Salazar had given his approval of. His original plan was to get his Lordships after the exams, but moved it to before. He was putting aside his training with Salazar over the exam period, using his normal days for the exams and to help his students, and then the time-spun hours working with Dora on his shifting ability. There would be plenty of spare time for him to go through all the parchment-work and records of his families in his new schedule.
"I may not officially take up my title," he continued, only to blink at the elves' reaction. Despite the owners being hundreds of years old, Harry now faced quivering lips and watery, bulbous eyes. "The Triwizard Tournament is being held here next year. It would be too much upheaval to take over the school while that's going on."
The elves grumbled. Harry was only partly telling the truth. He would have been fine in taking over Hogwarts were he not an enemy of Dumbledore, whose role as part of the tournament meant even sacking the man wouldn't remove him from the building.
"That gives you and the other elves a year to get the castle back to its best," he informed them. The elves' moods swung again as they heard about all the work they were being asked to do. "Every hidden away area, disused classroom, and everything else needs to be cleaned, repaired, and at its best by next year. I won't have my family's legacy left to decay the way it has. And if you finish early, then I'll let you clean my other properties as well."
The elves nodded and popped away to pass on his order. Harry turned to the watching, smiling duo. "Lady Helena."
"Lord Harold," the Grey Ghost curtsied.
"My heir." Salazar nodded his head at the waiting teen. "You are about to claim my title. You are a two-time Peverell compared to that inbred bastard's Gaunt lineage, and I have faith you'll qualify for that one as well."
They were the titles that had shocked both Trish and DaggerClaw, the Potter account manager. It was unlikely that Harry had done something since his birthday that the Peverell Family Magic would deem him unworthy, but it happened just often enough that potential Lords were never confident when taking up their titles.
"But there are two others that you may gain. If you wish. If you dare."
He didn't need to be a genius to work out what Houses his ancestor was talking about. Not when the ghost of their previous owner watched him with her fathomless gaze. He had only one question.
"Why?"
"It is time for the old names to return," Helena Ravenclaw declared. The ghost fell silent, having no more to say. She was making the offer, and that was it.
"Your mother often reminded me of Morgana," Salazar mused with a fond smile. "In the little things, in how she'd react to news, how she pushed past what life was forcing on her. Helena and I agree that Rowena would have taken Lily as her Apprentice, and no force on Earth could have stopped her. While no Black female has ever been worthy of Morgana's title, we want you, her son, to become its Regent. And if you are worthy to continue the line of one sister, you are worthy to continue both."
He stared at the spirits, who stared back. And then he finally sighed. "As if I would refuse."
"Know this, Lord Harold," Helena warned him after giving a grateful nod. "You may have my mother and aunt's knowledge, but you may never use it. You will be the custodian of their names and magic, nothing more. The only time the Family Magic will allow you to use it is in teaching your daughter what is rightfully hers."
He gave a respectful bow to the warning. Harry wasn't after the secrets of either family, and Salazar had educated him on how matriarchal Houses worked, but he appreciated Helena's words.
"You will need to send a message to Patricia," Salazar informed him. Trish was waiting in her Gringotts office for Harry to flash in, so she could then take him to his account manager. "You will need the Gringotts Claiming Room to claim these titles."
The ever aware Dobby popped in. "I will pass on the Good Master's message to the Master's seductress."
Harry snorted at the snarky remark as his friend popped away. The elf had been referring to Trish in similar epithets ever since their one and only night together. Thankfully, the little bastard only did so when Harry was in private, or only with Sal or Trish.
Salazar manipulated the Room's magic, his own unique nature, and the echo of his necromancy to grant Helena a physical, if hazy, form. The young woman then took Harry's hand and asked him a series of questions, each having the same core meaning: Did he swear to uphold the ways of the Ravenclaw and Le Fay lines and treat them as his own until he could pass them on to a deserving daughter?
Although appearing to be an Unbreakable Vow, the small ritual was the passing of the torch of bloodlines. Harry's declarations and Helena's handing over of the bloodlines were their declarations to Magic to make it so, but it would take the ritual in Gringotts before Harry knew if Magic agreed.
A little over ten minutes later saw Harry, Patricia, and DaggerClaw approaching the bank's Lordship ritual room. The massive cube space had all six sides covered in goblin runes that were the secret of the ritual.
"Curse-Breaker Rakepick and I will be in the viewing room," DaggerClaw informed him. "You are to bleed into the bowl and wait. Even when you know the ritual is complete, you are to wait until you are collected."
"Understood," Harry promised. The goblin grunted and then nodded to the guard, who opened the chamber door. Trish gave his shoulder a squeeze of support and he returned it with a crooked smile.
His curiosity was running wild at the chance of seeing so many new runes, only for Harry to walk into the room and find them to be black marks on dark walls. He snorted at the sight. Even with the power of viewing a memory, working out what was a rune and what was just a deformation on the jagged and scared walls would be impossible.
Unlike normal rituals to claim a Lordship, the ritual bowl was not a Pensieve-sized object, but a small empty pond in the centre of the room. An athame rested on two small prongs on the edge of the bowl, making it obvious where Harry was to go. He moved with silent grace, confidant in what he was about to do even with that morning's surprise additions.
Harry took up the dagger and held his empty palm over the bowl, bringing the ever sharp blade to the waiting skin as he spoke. "I, Harold James Potter, do here, this day, take up the mantles that Magic declares are my right. I do so swear to uphold the Houses and all their responsibilities. So I say, so I swear, so mote it be."
The bowl was glowing long before he finished speaking, its magic flowing back up through the blood to energise and heal him as it took the dangerous amount of life fluid needed to fill it. Harry felt his blood runes activating and his magic following his blood. Sal had warned him about this. The ritual would pull every ounce of Family Magic from him, testing it to see if it found him worthy.
Crimson wavy lines spread out from the bowl, lighting runes as they passed. Like the veins of a wild plant, the lines spread up the four walls and then onto the ceiling, merging over the centre of the bowl. Harry's hand had healed and he let it drop as the bowl bubbled and popped like a demented cauldron. A blood bubble broke free and rose to eye height, and within was the Black Lordship ring. The bubble popped, and a disembodied voice spoke.
"Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."
The ring moved to the left. The bowl bubbled and boiled for a moment, only for two avian screeches to fill the room. Two shapes rose from the liquid, but they weren't bubbles. A crimson raven and eagle rose in the air, circling each other until the shapes merged in an explosive collision to reveal two simple rings that shifted over to join the Black one.
"Regent to the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Ravenclaw. Regent to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Le Fay."
Harry sighed at the confirmation of Helena's wish. He vowed to never have her question her decision.
This time, three blood-bubbles rose from the liquid. The centre and largest was a Chinese Jian, a gift from Salazar's extended family upon becoming an adult, while the middled-sized bubble was his flamberge dagger, and the third contained the Slytherin ring. The blades had been the Snake Lord's weapons of choice when not using magic and had become his personal symbols.
"Lord of the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Slytherin,"
Harry nodded. While the Ravenclaw and Le Fay titles might be a weight on his shoulders, a similar weight had lifted at the confirmation of being Lord Slytherin. It represented his hard work and the collective efforts of Salazar and his mother.
He blinked in surprise when the bowl released its next bubbles. The largest bubble contained another sword, this time far more recognisable to someone born in the West. Even Dudley could have declared it a 'Viking' sword. The bubbles popped, and once more the ring moved to his left and the weapon to his right.
"Lord of the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Grymm."
Harry swore. He knew that name, even if most of the country's magical population wouldn't. The Grymms were Camelot's warriors. Arthur's bodyguards, Keepers of the Peace, and personal killers. House Grymm defended the King and acting to fulfil His justice. And when Camelot fell, it collected as many magicals as it could and created the Grymm Coven to watch over them while protecting the way to Avalon. Centuries later and the second Uther Pendragon would send his forces to force the Coven and House Grymm into allowing him into Avalon so he could remake Camelot in his own bigoted image. The Coven refused and Uther II had them killed almost to the child.
But the Grymm Coven and Arthur I's loyal warriors had more to play in the country's history, both magical and mundane. Malodora Grymm had invented charmed mirrors, inspired the Wicked Witch from Snow White, and married Ecgberght, King of Wessex. Their son was Aethelwulf, King of Wessex, whose third son become Alfred the Great, one of the most important monarchs the country had ever had. Their other child was a daughter, whose own grandson Wulfric the Black was one of three surviving Coven members from the massacre. The other were two survivors were daughters of Malodra's niece. Two girls named Rowena Raven's Claw and Morgana Fay. Wulfrid the Black would marry Morgana's secret daughter Leda to become the founders of House Black
In opening himself up to the Ravenclaw and Le Fay titles, Harry had reinforced his ties to the Black blood. Before he could get lost in worrying what the title of Lord Grymm would mean for his future, he felt the warning pulse of Cadwaladr in his magic. Harry blinked and realised he has missed the appearance of the Potter ring.
"Lord to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter."
The Peverell title came with its own special items. This time, the ring came with a bone-white oak staff along with an obsidian ritual dagger. Each floated in their blood containers until reaching the correct height, popping, and then separating.
"Lord to the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Peverell."
Harry breathed a sigh of relief at the ritual being over and wondered how he would get the larger items back to Hogwarts. Only to realise the ritual hadn't finished.
The bloody pond swirled and churned, as though an angry beast was moving within its shallows depth. A black ooze appeared in the red, an eel of corruption that caused Harry to feel mindless rage. He had a split second to realise the fury was coming from his familiar and then his world exploded in pain.
Harry's blood runes blazed with light, revealing how little of his true skin remained. He heard a scream in his mind as Cadwaladr exploded off his body, tearing his shirt off as the magic ripped through them both.
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Patricia was shouting at the watching goblins to do something. Anything. But they were all catatonic with shock. Three words rattled through their minds as DaggerClaw and the guards looked on. It was impossible.
The red serpent lashed about as though having a fit, its tortured hisses filling the room. The ritual's magic had frozen Harry in place, keeping him from seeing to his familiar. And so he never saw the bulges appearing along Cadwaladr's body. Four bulges for four limbs that exploded out of the animal's body in a shower of gore. And the magic continued. The almost thirty foot creature hunched down as its entire spine rippled and twisted.
"Impossible," DaggerClaw declared. Although whether the goblin wished he spoke the truth was the real question.
The room's magic reacted to protect itself as the metamorphosis continued. In another dual shower of gore, wings erupted from the red body that almost tripled in size. The Welsh Red's roar of pain and fury echoed through the bank and brought many to their knees.
And the entire time, the Lordship ritual was reaching its finale. The last blood bubble rose with a single, innocuous looking golden band within. While the ring itself remained clean, the blood was a swirling mass of black corruption. And whether through rage born of the agony of rebirth or some ingrained instinct, the Welsh Red that was once been Harry's snake familiar leaned over him to breathe emerald flames on the ring, cleansing it of the Dark Lord Ekrizdis' taint.
"Lord to the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Danu." The room proclaimed. But then it continued speaking. Only this time, its voice was deeper and with a sense of Otherness. For it was Magic's voice and Magic's words. Words the last Lord Danu had spoken of his family's return. Words the Oracle of Delphi had shared with Salazar Slytherin.
One Ring to unite them all, One ring to guide them. One ring to lead them all, and against the Darkness bind them.
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1 – E-Cookies for those who pick out who Estefan is based on.
Harry's Lordships:
House Black - Lordship Ring
House Ravenclaw - Regent Ring
House Le Fay - Regent Ring
House Slytherin - Lordship Ring, the personal Jian of Salazar, his personal flamberge (wavy blade) dagger.
House Grymm - Lord's "Viking" sword and Lordship Ring.
House Potter - Lordship Ring.
House Peverell – White Oak staff, obsidian ritual dagger, Lordship Ring.
House Danu – Just One Ring.
Last Edited – 18h October 2023
Word Count – 9,635
Previous Word Count – 9,592