Summary:

The darkness calls its own.

In the darkness of a cupboard a little boy weeps.

In the darkness of an old house, an old man sits by a fire contemplating family.

In the darkness of an office in Hogwarts, a man covered in glamours smiles a perfect smile.

The darkness calls its own and corrupts all it sees.

A pretty heavy AU I've been working on for a while, featuring a smart and more importantly sane Voldemort and a far deeper magical system I've got like 5k words in just notes on. I will reveal pairings later but it will be straight, at least for Harry. I do want it to be a bit of a surprise.

Notes:

Any corrections are welcome. This is my first piece of writing I'm putting out there in several years and would appreciate any pointers. I am currently in postgrad so I don't have much time to write so updates may be a little sporadic.

Edit: I will be doing small grammar corrections over the next week at least. I plan to post the next chapter next week. It's like 80% done I just want to add a few more scenes.

Edit 2 Electric Boogaloo: Grammar check has been finished. Onto the next chapter. I have like 9 exams to invigilate next week so it's either going to be plenty of time to write on my phone or me running pillar to post dealing with people cheating in computer based exams, I now hate Bing co-pilot. We caught like 6 people using it one exam, it's now an automatic thing I check. Next chapter has one of my favourite tropes in it, I know it's cliché but I like it.

Chapter 1: The Beginning

It always starts with this: a pale length of yew, bleached and gnarled by the twisted and macabre magic spun with it, pointed at the forehead of an infant child sitting uncomprehendingly in his crib. The boy's mother lay cooling by the feet of the tall and powerful man wielding the alabaster tool of destruction. A thought flicked through the man's labyrinthine magically enhanced mind: the threefold nature of the interaction he had just finished held some relevance in higher ritualism, and he didn't want to accidentally trip whatever protection ritual the bright young witch had clearly cast with those runes he spied etched into the flesh of her wrists.

He needed to rid himself of the threat that the infant could pose him in the future, and he could tell the infant would be a threat. Even now, the boy's sickeningly pure and light magic caused his stomach to turn. He would be a formidable light mage given training and time, perhaps equal, at least in magical magnitude, to the old man. It was then that another useful thought flitted through his mind: there was more than one way to deal with a light-aligned child other than death. There were several curses so dark as to even eclipse those of the big three. These true curses, or "Curses," properly capitalised, came in many forms, and it took a witch or wizard of truly dark magic to cast them. One of which, "The Corruption Curse," would suit his needs perfectly.

"In Maidjan" He incanted, pitch-black power crackled along the ashen length of wood in his hand and coalesced into a ball blacker than the space between the stars. The orb rocketed from the end of his wand, and as it impacted the boy, a golden ward around him flared and shattered with a tremendous wave of concussive force. The ward had been woven to protect the boy from mortal harm, but the Curse that had just struck the boy, while lethal to any witch or wizard older than 12, was merely harmful to the young child within their embrace. The ward, having been imbued with his mother's essence, tried to protect the boy, nonetheless. Unfortunately, all it managed to do was create a magical backlash that sent the assailant flying back into the far wall and created a curse scar of the primary rune of the ward etched into the boy's forehead.

Lord Voldemort dusted himself off as he climbed to his feet. That had been too close. If he had used any lethal spells on the child, he would have been dust at the edge of the crib. Who knew a mudblood like the redhead sprawled on the floor could perform high ritualism, and dark high ritualism at that. He took a step towards the boy passed out in the crib. The boy's face was streaked with blood from the fresh curse scar over his right eye. He could feel the boy's aura change as the Corruption Curse worked its dangerous magic. Forcibly converting one's core to utter black was lethal to anyone not already a few shades from it, except for children. Children were malleable. A child born with a light core could feasibly have a dark grey core by maturity, purely because of nurture.

He watched as the boy's light magic turned first a neutral grey and then eventually darkened into a soothing and pure blackness akin to his own. It was a pity that the spell was so difficult to cast. He could imagine how effective a squad of wizards casting this on mudblood children would be for his cause. A steady flow of dark-inclined witches and wizards who didn't already have family loyalties would be amazing for those more suicidal missions. Morgana, he'd take a couple of seventh years to ambush the firsties every year and convert them all. Pity just knowing this curse was a capital offence and there were several layers of wards on Hogwarts to detect its use.

Thinking of Hogwarts brought another thought to his attention: this particular ploy stunk of the old man. He knew that the headmaster hated the fact that his own mudblood mother had limited him in the realms of the higher mysteries. Sure, he was a highly puissant wizard just through the strength of his core and more than able to mimic the effects of some of the weaker high rituals. The man was limited in his ability to channel ambient magic. So, making use of the supposed muggleborn currently lying by his feet would seem weird if one couldn't pick out the shades of the noble houses living within her face; he could spy the Blacks aquiline nose and had seen the cheekbones and eyes many times in his own mirror. The girl was clearly a foundling of the Blacks and Gaunts; he could tell that by her own dark grey core, before he killed her, of course. It was a wonder how she, probably a scion of the two darkest houses of magical Britain, produced a child with such a light affinity to almost act like a patronus.

Back to the old man's plot, this was clearly designed to be a trap for him, one that would have killed him had he acted even a mite more impulsively. Quickly, he devised a plan, one to counter the old fool's amateur attempt at scheming. Really, he should leave the plots and plans to the Slytherins. He began weaving freeform magic, and once the complex spell formula formed in his mind, he pushed his will through it, and a blast of green light filled the room with the stench of death and darkness. He pulled one of his spare cloaks from his expanded storage sack and dropped it on the floor with a spare copy of his wand. He had spent some time making his spare wands look like his real ones; he preferred to use them when in the guise of one of his death eaters to leave clues for people to pick up on. Hilariously, that particular one had led to the assumption that these white-wanded death eaters were some sort of elite group within the organisation. He cast a final few discrete and hidden charms on the boy to monitor him, and then disappearated away with a whisper.

Appearing in his manor house's entrance hall, he cast a bolt of sickly yellow light to hit one of the sconces on the upper level of the double-level entrance hall. The sconce burst into flames and jumped to the next sconce along and so forth until the entire room was lit with flickering flames. He pulled an amulet from around his neck and, with a whispered command in parseltongue, sent a summons to his entire inner circle and the lieutenants of his troops in the outer circle. He strode into the meeting hall of his mansions and sat regally on the throne at the room's head. He didn't have to wait long until the first cracks of apparition broke the silence of the manor house.

His followers strode in, those wearing silver masks bowing their heads and taking predetermined places at a set distance from him. Those wearing white masks each approached to 10 feet away from him and genuflected themselves before backing away behind the ring of silver-masked wizards and witches. He smiled slightly at this; those in the white masks were rarely invited into his presence in such small numbers, usually being delegated to one of his inner circle instead of dealing with him directly. Once all that he had requested had arrived, bar one, he sighed and began.

"Where's our missing compatriot?" He asked a particular platinum-haired and silver mask wearing death eater slightly to his right, beside a much older, similarly blonde man who seemed to chuckle slightly at the younger man's squirming.

"I am not aware, sir. He has been... distant ever since he brought you the news." The silver-haired younger death eater responded carefully.

"I see." He once again pulled out the amulet and hissed a much harsher and more precise command. The others in the room shivered as their marks burned lightly with the magic being charged into the system. A loud crack filled the room, and a man collapsed onto the floor in front of the dark lord, his own silver mask in his hand and his face in a rictus of agony. He could see some of the silver-masked death eaters shuffle uncomfortably; being summoned forcefully to their master's side was painful and never a good thing.

"Glad you could join us, Severus." The Dark Lord intoned dryly at the mess of black robes sprawled on his emerald-green long carpet. He locked eyes with the young man and saw true hatred in them. He quickly reasoned why the man who had so willingly brutalised and massacred Muggles in his name would hate him, and he remembered a short exchange he had with the younger man not two days ago.

"Oh, calm yourself, you gryffindorish fool. I offered the mudblood her life; I offered it to her three times, in fact. She still refused." Voldemort huffed at the impetuous nature of youthful attachments. "You asked for me to spare her, and I promised I would offer her the chance to live. Lord Voldemort never breaks his promises; you know this. Now get up off the floor and stop moping over some witch who hasn't given you the time of day in the last 4 years."

The sprawled young man seemed confused by the dark lord's tirade, and it took him a moment to come to terms with what the aristocratic older man had said. He felt his rage die at the news that the dark lord had kept his promise, but then indignation rose to take its place at his master's follow-up statement. Indignation, however, was a much easier emotion to suppress, and he mustered his occlumency to suppress it and the full body pain he was still experiencing.

Lord Voldemort smiled as the gifted young man struggled to his feet and took his place in the inner circle, placing his silver skull mask on his face. The hatred was gone from his eyes and replaced with the lingering spice of indignation and confusion. A, in his opinion, a much more malleable set of emotions for his followers, at least when directed to him.

"Now that we are all here, I can begin. I encountered something interesting this evening when carrying out a small bit of housekeeping. The old bird laid a trap for me. He taught a young witch a very naughty dark protection ward and convinced her to use it to protect her baby. The idiot expected me to miss that the woman had blood runes etched into her wrists. Either way, I bypassed his little trap with the careful application of a true curse. The ward was keyed for lethal attacks, so I just dealt with the problem non-lethally; we shall have a new dark scion entering Hogwarts in 10 years." Voldemort explained carefully, dancing around saying the name of the spell. Taboos were a neutral ritual after all. "Anyway, this trap gave me the idea to enter a pseudo hiding. We shall activate plans Kappa and Lambda to reintegrate into society. Four major progressive houses have been extinguished, and by tomorrow's end, a fifth shall join them. This is enough to push our own agendas in the Wizengamot. I left suitable evidence that any magical forensics will determine a great magical backlash caused my death at the Potters home; this shall allow me to slip back into society and activate Plan Nu for myself. We are entering the end stages, ladies and gentlemen. Those of you in the outer circle, you are to pass on the effects of Plan Kappa to the rank and file; make sure to convince them to lay low and go into hiding; convince them that my death is real and that contingencies are in place."

Lord Voldemort basked in the feeling of a plan coming together.

A decade later, a small town in rural Surrey had just woken up from the first rays of sun glancing off its collation of roof tiles. In one particular estate of identical houses, a perfectly normal family was in the process of waking up. The father, a portly gentleman with a finely combed bristle brush moustache, shaved his neck, chin, and cheeks in the bathroom mirror with a safety razor. The mother, a tall, long-necked, and sharp-faced woman, brushed her hair in the vanity mirror. The son, an obese lad with a room full of mess, slept soundly in his bed.

The only aberration to their normalcy was sitting in the cupboard beneath the stairs. A boy, far too thin and sickly for one his age, lay curled on the thin mattress that would come with a crib. The makeshift bed was just a thin, padded mat on a sheet of marine plywood, propped up on some boxes full of old paperwork. The sickly bruised child heard movement coming from upstairs, in particular the heavy footsteps of his lumbering uncle. He opened his startling green eyes at the sound of a second pair of footsteps. He could only ever hear her movements when she was on the landing upstairs. This thought was confirmed as he heard the lighter footsteps begin their descent down the stairs over his head. The boy rushed to pull on his oversized shorts; he tightened them to his gaunt frame with a fraying and torn belt. The tee-shirt he pulled on was more like a tent, but he tucked it into his waistband to prevent it from being more like a knee-length dress.

He was just finishing tucking in his top when the sound of a bony hand adorned with rings rapped against the door of the boot cupboard.

"Up, boy. Get up." His aunt's curt tone hissed from the other side of the door. He ducked his head and brought in his shoulders, taking on the defensive posture he had developed to deal with the scum he had to live with. He heard the deadbolt latch on the exterior of the door slide, and he meekly left the cramped space. The main house was an eclectic blend of plastics, tacky patterns, and bleach. The house, to the boy's nose, smelt of an acrid plastic stench that he dealt with on a daily basis for as long as he could remember. He only ever received respite from this stench when he was in the woods between the rows of houses, in nature.

His aunt towered over him, and her skeletal fingers grasped his ear with a strength belied by her frame as she dragged him into the kitchen. The boy's morning routine consisted of cooking the breakfast demanded by his relatives, then being thrust back into the darkness of his cupboard with a burnt slice of dry toast and a cup of water. He would remain in the nocturne embrace of his sanctuary until such time as his oh-so-normal relatives had need of him. This morning was different; however, when he was thrust in front of the stove and ordered to prepare the bacon and eggs, his aunt then proceeded to begin moving a pile of presents into the kitchen. Little Harry Potter stiffened at the sight; presents meant Dudley's birthday, and that meant extra harsh punishments if he screwed up. He diligently applied himself to preparing the bacon and ignored the tremors shaking the spatula in his hand.

Meanwhile, in a castle nestled in the Scottish Highlands, a wizened old man sat across from a pair of very sour-faced men.

"Albus, we have had enough. The Potter heir has been away from our world for a decade now, and your injunction against his reclamation by the wizarding government has failed its last appeal. The minister granted you until the quill wrote his letter to either give up his location and agree to a ministry inspection of his home as is required of any magical child living in a muggle environment or we will be handling his introduction and will be finding his appropriate custodians whilst we assess the suitability of his living arrangements." The blonde-haired man sitting across from the old man enunciated in a clear and precise upper-class accent.

"Gentlemen, please, there is no need for anything so rash; the boy-who-lived is safe with his loving relatives. I have reassured the minister time and time again that he is well cared for, and my capacity as headmaster of Hogwarts gives me power under the 1708 Hogwarts Charter to make certain housing decisions for children who are or will be under my care if I deem it suitable for their welfare." The old headmaster smiled; his blue eyes cautious despite his overall reassuring expression.

"I think you'll find headmaster, that the 1708 Charter was superseded by the 1985 Wizarding Child Protection Act that utilises the preface to that clause of the Charter stating, and I quote, 'In the absence of an appropriate department of the ministry of magic, the headmaster has the right to make welfare decisions...' etc. The WCP Act grants those decisions to the ministry, as such a department was created. But you know this, Headmaster, you were in the session that ratified the act and even argued against it." The second man argued, he was an older man than his blonde compatriot but still had streaks of midnight black hair mixed with the steel grey that was creeping through his carefully combed and controlled hair; his grey eyes were cold and set in a face of steel.

"I'm sure I'm more qualified than a ministry inspector to determine if a student's home life is troubled or not. I have led this school since 1967 and have been a teacher here since 1913. I taught both you and your parents, Lucius. Arcturus, I started teaching in your second year, and I think we can both agree that was a very long time ago." The headmaster tried to get his guests to listen to reason; he had been a teacher for 80 or so years now.

"Albus, we both know the missteps that you have made over the years," Arcturus said, with his deep grey eyes pierced the congenial expression the headmaster was trying to erect. "It is only because of your many years of experience that the Wizarding Child Protection Department isn't bashing down your door and arresting you until you allow access to the book of names. Instead, they sent us both as representatives of the board of governors and the Wizengamot to solve this situation without getting the WCP officers involved. We know that the Quill has written out Harry Potter's letter as of 3 minutes ago. All we need is the letter, and we will be on our way. I'm sure the boys' home life is fine, and a quick inspection will settle the bureaucrats' petty little hearts." Arcturus appealed to the headmaster. The headmaster stared into empty space for a few seconds, an action both guests recognised as someone at the heart of a ward network checking an action point. Arcturus could even see the faint golden lines that flared with the wards being accessed.

"Very well, I understand the need for oversight, which is the point of the board after all." The headmaster raised his hand and snapped his fingers; a door at the back of the office flew open, and an envelope bearing emerald-green lettering flew into his hand. He glanced and saw that the writing was still in the formless and abstract font that the quill initially wrote in, Rowena Ravenclaw's extra line of defence. At least, that's what he thought of it as. "The lettering will appear when it leaves the grounds of the school. It's a charm to stop somebody just snooping on the quill to get the addresses of students." He handed the envelope to the outstretched hand of the grey-eyed man.

"If you wait a minute, Minerva should be back with the letter as well, and you can do the introduction." The headmaster proposed, his smile fixed and his eyes blank. He knew he had lost years of injunctions and appeals, and he had fallen at the last hurdle. At least the boy had spent time with his relatives and learned humility and the muggle way of life. It was a little glimmer of hope in his downward spiral of a life these last ten years.

"Of course, headmaster, I would be honoured to welcome a scion of my family into the wizarding world." Arcturus smiled a half-grin that Albus personally thought belonged better on a fox than a man. The group sat in silence until a knock came at the door to the headmaster's office.

"Come in, Minerva," Albus called. The witch who entered laden with a stack of handwritten letters was in her late middle ages and had the thin lips and stern countenance of a disciplinarian. She wore a forest green and black crushed velvet robe and a similarly edged pointed witches' hat, a bit drab of a garment in Albus' opinion, but to each their own.

"Albus, I have the K to Z letters ready to go." She said, a bit taken aback by the two lords sitting opposite the headmaster.

"Thank you, Minerva; you can give them to me." Albus smiled at her with a much more genuine smile than he had worn at any point in the meeting up to this point. She handed the stack of parchments and left the room quickly, properly greeting both lords with a small curtsey and the customary "Lord Black" and "Lord Malfoy," respectively. Albus sorted through the sheath of parchment until he pulled the one bearing Harry's name on its recipient line.

"Here, would you like me to seal the envelope? It's tradition after all." Albus offered, he felt a slight petty joy at making the Lords wait on tradition.

"Very well, Albus. It's tradition." Arcturus handed the envelope back, and the headmaster folded the parchment with practised hands and sealed it within the envelope using wax and a brass seal he kept on his desk. Arcturus watched carefully for any extraneous enchantments being applied, and it was his gimlet eye that stayed Albus' hand from placing a confundus on the address to delay them more. He suspected that was one of the reasons why the Black Lord had come in person instead of sending another board member. Arcturus was well known for having a particular gift for mage sight. If Albus had really wanted to, he could have cast an enchantment subtle enough to be invisible to the man's blessed eyes, but it was pointless; if he was caught being uncooperative now, the board would use it as an excuse to push another dark class past him.

He had already caved in too much; he couldn't let any more of the black magic into his school.

"Here you go, Arcturus; I hope you have a fruitful visit." Albus smiled. Arcturus took the sealed envelope with that same vulpine smile and moved to stand.

"Well, we had best be off. Albus, a pleasure as always. I look forward to seeing you at the lammas board meeting on August 2nd." Arcturus straightened his coat and tails as he stood up, retrieving his raven-headed cane from beside him. Lucius did the same with his snake-headed cane, and the pair turned to the fireplace, which flared green at their approach, the Lord's prerogative activating the floo network at their command.

The two left the office without much more than the most basic farewells, and Albus was glad they hadn't dawdled on ceremony. He was relying on Arabella's reports being accurate, Harry being a small but polite young lad who, whilst a bit thin, seemed to be playing with the neighbourhood children. She had written of many times she had seen the young lad running around with his cousin and some other boys. The boy had a light core; he remembered James talking about the cleansing ritual his family had used to fix a congenital darkness that his family had cast aside with Henry Potter. Albus took a few minutes to remember the old firebrand of a Lord Potter who had been something of a mentor in politics when he was a young teen struggling with his youthful escapades. It only made Albus feel older to remember that Henry was Harry's great-great-Grandfather. He had only been a boy when Henry's father, Adras, passed away in a duel, but it put things into perspective for a moment and made the century and a bit he had lived weigh heavily on his old body. Arcturus was 90 and looked barely over 55; Albus was 109 but looked in his late 70's; his mediwizard had said he had a good 2-3 decades in him yet, but it still made the ever-moving march of time feel far greater than ever before. Albus had spent many years studying by the side of a man easily into his 7th century of life who looked barely 60. Granted, Nicholas's life was enhanced by the stone, but he was still envious of other wizards whose natural ties to ambient magic allowed them far greater lifespans.

He remembered Adras had been about his age when he passed and could still see his obituary portrait in the prophet; he had looked a little over 50. Of course, this was before the Potter line abandoned the black magics they had been once known for, and whilst the change had been gradual over the generations, Adras had still been a known practitioner of dark magic. He just hoped that the cleansing ritual would still hold true for little Harry.

Arcturus looked down at the letter in his hand as he stepped into his office at the ministry of magic. His eyes widened as the letters shifted from the eldritch script they had previously been written into a loopy cursive he remembered from the address on his own letter over 80 years ago.

"Harry Potter,

The Cupboard Under the Stairs,

4 Privet Drive,

Little Whinging,

Surrey."

"Lucius, call Madam Bones. We need to establish a chain of custody. I believe this letter just became our first piece of evidence for our case to get that wizarding traditions class instituted at the school." Arcturus smiled, his vulpine grin spreading across his face far further than before. Lucius leant over to see the address and seemed more shocked than the older man.

"Very well, I will send a note." Lucius said as he used a piece of ministry notepaper to write a quick missive to the head of the DMLE, which promptly folded itself into a paper aeroplane and flew off at high speed, having been marked as urgent. Arcturus placed the letter on the desk and prepared Lucius and himself two fingers of Ogden's finest fire-whisky each.

It only took a few minutes for Madam Bones to stride into his office after a cursory knock.

"Afternoon, my Lords, you mentioned you have gained evidence in a possible infringement of the WCP Act and wish it verified." She spoke, curt and to the point. They didn't often see eye to eye in the Wizengamot, with Madam Bones sitting for both the DMLE seat and as proxy for her niece, Susan. But Lucius at least thought of her as a pragmatist first and foremost; she had voted in favour of the WCP Act when their lord had orchestrated its writing and enshrinement. In fact, she had more often than not been on their side in the most recent few years as their Lord's plans came to fruition.

"Yes, Madam Bones, It's sitting on my desk. I just want a member of the DMLE to confirm its authenticity before I make any moves or requests." Arcturus stated in a regal tone, motioning to the parchment envelope sitting in the centre of his ornate desk. She strode over after giving a short nod and summoned her wand from its holster on her arm with a flick of her wrist. She examined the envelope without touching it, having a visible reaction when she actually read the address. She then proceeded to cast a flurry of silent detection and authenticity charms at the envelope. After deciding that the envelope was genuine and free of confounding magic, she took the seat opposite Arcturus across his desk.

"This is big, Lord Black. You know as well as I do how the book of names picks the addresses for the students. Harry must consider the cupboard under the stairs to be his room and have slept there for greater than half the nights in the last six moons. I assume you wish to be there for house purposes, given that your most recent house role lists him as a scion and second in line to your lordship. Lord Malfoy, can I ask you to be the representative for the board of governors in this matter? I will be summoning a squad of WCP officers and a similar contingent of investigative aurors, Mad Eye won't like it, as I can see where the shit is going to fly, but he will have to deal with it. Children come first." Madam Bones said this after thinking for a second or two and formulating a plan.

"Of course, Madam." Lucius bowed his head to the serious witch.

"Lord Black, Lord Malfoy, if we can convene in the deployment room in the DMLE in, say, half an hour, we should be ready to depart." Madam Bones stood up, levitating the envelope in a bubble of blue light. She promptly left after receiving nods from the two lords, and the pair shared a smile. It looked like Amelia would be working more on their side of the fight for at least this battle.

Harry knew that something would go wrong; he had been having a nice little chat with the boa constrictor when his orca of a cousin barrelled into him. It had to be that moment that the cold fire he often felt burning inside him had to flare and vanish the glass of the enclosure. Sure, it had been hilarious to see his obese cousin flopping around in the pond in the constrictor's pen after he had fallen in. But the dark bruises his uncle's hand had pushed into his thin flesh as he was dragged out of the zoo and roughly shoved into the back of the car ached all the way back to Privet Drive. This was unusual; Vernon was usually a lot more careful in public, but something seemed different today, perhaps it was the perfect storm of his freakishness and it being Dudley's birthday that had made his uncle lose his cool in public.

When they arrived home, he was dragged into the house by one arm, and he was pretty certain he felt it dislocate with how roughly he was pulled from the car. He could still remember the cruel smile his uncle had worn when he gripped his bony shoulder until he felt a crunch in his collarbone, and it suddenly became a lot more difficult and painful to breathe. His uncle had stopped in his tirade of freak this freak that and picked him up by his mangled shoulder, sending white hot pain through his body, causing him to briefly black out and wake on the floor of the cupboard, one leg up on the makeshift bedframe.

He slowly righted himself in the cupboard, cradling his hurt shoulder and arm gingerly. This was a bad one; he had both injuries separately but never together. He had worked out a method of resetting his arms a year or two ago, he had also looked up a method of slinging his arm to help his collarbone heal. The problem arose because he was willing to bet that if he tried to pull his arm back in, his collarbone would get worse, but he couldn't sling his arm as he knew that the dislocated joint would mean the collarbone might set in the wrong place.

He would have to beg his aunt for help later. He hated asking for help from her of all people, but appealing to her sense of normality that having a crippled nephew would infringe upon had worked before. When he was 6, Dudley sat on his shin, cracking it. His cousin had been a big child even then. Well, the stamping the juvenile walrus had done on it after he had been rolling on the floor in pain hadn't helped.

It was then that he felt something he could only remember on the edge of his dreams, a warm, tingling sensation that seemed to resonate with something deeper than his physical body. Harry didn't have the words to describe it, but it felt like something plucked on a cord that resonated with some eldritch frequency that he was sure that Lovecraft guy he had been trying to read at the library would have waxed lyrically about.

Arcturus looked over the disgusting muggle abode before him. It sat in a long line of other identical houses, lacking any life or character. It was only the delicious dark magic seeping from the house that made him confident he had found where little Harry had been squirrelled away to. It felt like a house in which a truly dark wizard had been living for many years. Given what his lord had said he had done to the boy, he wasn't surprised.

Only those with the adequate gifts would be able to feel it and see the eddies of darkness swirling around the property. He only knew of one other member of the team assembled by Amelia who would be able to tell, and that was Harford Yaxley, Corban Yaxley's younger brother and investigative Auror for the DMLE. Harford was also a marked member of the Death Eaters, having joined with his older brother during the last war, and one of the plants mandated by Plan Lambda.

The pair shared a look before focussing on the house in question as Madam Bones conferred with the head of the WCP squad she had brought along. The WCP lead officer turned and cast a specific detection spell, geared to find all immature sorcerers within a half-mile radius. Arcturus could see the ping that emanated from the house before them and a similar ping in the far distance, nearly at the edge of the spell's range. With the confirmation of a wizarding child on the premises, the WCP officers could now officially enter the property. The four wizards of the WCP moved forward, wands ready. Madam Bones moved up with them, the Aurors creating a perimeter around the property. Lucius and Arcturus looked at one another and stayed five steps behind Amelia.

"Wards up," one of the Aurors said as he finished casting some of the containment and muggle-repelling wards that were standard among magical law enforcement.

"DMLE, open up." Madam Bones knocked on the wooden door with her wand, each light tap sounding like a sledgehammer had bashed against the door. It didn't take long for one of the repulsive muggles to open the door and go both ashen and purple at the same time. Arcturus was actually amused at the seemingly contradictory colour change. The WCP officers pushed their way past the porcine muggle before splitting up to search the house, one staying beside the cupboard beneath the stairs. All three muggles were corralled into the living room of the horribly smelling house by the time Arcturus stepped across the threshold. Arcturus had to cover his nose with a herb pouch to deal with the stench of plastic in the air.

Madam Bones joined Lucius, himself, and the WCP lead officer beside the boot cupboard. Amelia knelt down beside the door and knocked lightly.

"Hello, Is Harry in there?" She asked in a soothing and calm voice. It took a moment before a young boy's voice answered, it was strained and sounded like he was having trouble breathing.

"Yes, I'm in here." Harry said. With that confirmation, Amelia opened the cupboard door to show what, at first glance, he might have confused for a particularly hairy house elf. The boy was thin, skin and bones thin; he had also been obviously crying and was cradling his left arm unnaturally. Though what hit Arcturus most was the stench of blood, magical blood, pure and untainted but nonetheless spilled. The entire cupboard smelled of the rich iron/copper tang of blood. The curse scar over the boy's brow was faded and pale, a sowilo rune imprinted into his flesh indelibly. The final physical thing that stood out was the boy's eyes, arsenic green and shining in the darkness; one might even compare them to a certain curse. Magically, the boy held a darker core than he did; he had only seen one wizard with darker magic than the boy in front of him now, and they shared a port every Sunday whilst discussing Wizengamot business.

"Harry, my name is Amelia Bones. I'm the Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement with the Ministry of Magic. Do you know what magic is, Harry?" The kneeling witch asked the boy.

"N-No, I don't." The boy seemed to curl in as best as he could with a damaged left arm at the word magic.

"Are you hurt, Harry?" She asked, showing real and genuine concern.

"Ye… Yes, my shoulder... It hurts," the boy said, in visible pain.

"I'm going to cast a simple diagnostic charm; it might tingle a bit. Ok Harry?" She asked, pulling her wand out from where she had stowed it. Harry nodded, and Amelia went through the motions of a solid diagnostic charm he knew himself. It was good for quick diagnosis in the field and was a staple of first aid courses across the wizarding world. She finished the spell onto a roll of parchment. Causing the off-white spiral to fill with a neat cursive hand detailing every physical injury the boy had in his short life. Amelia unrolled the parchment and read the results. He could see from here the length of the list and the big red, SEE HEALER IMMEDIATELY, along the bottom. She obviously felt him take a slight step forward and turned to face him. His eyes quickly scanned the list, and he was amazed at the breadth of the injuries the boy had sustained. Thankfully, the test had picked up no injury's characteristic of certain perverse acts, but that was little comfort when a child was in early-stage organ failure.

"Harry, your health is quite bad," Amelia began. He knelt down beside her, using his cane to steady himself.

"I shall accompany you to the hospital. Harry, as your head of house, I am responsible for you from now on, ok? I am Lord Arcturus Black, Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House Black. I am also a relative. My niece Dorea was your grandmother." Arcturus smiled at the young boy, not his vulpine scheming smile he had favoured earlier, but a smaller, gentler expression that he reserved for when he needed children to like him. It had worked on little Sirius when he was a child and even enabled him to bend his grandnephew Cygnus's eldest daughter into doing a few little things for him. She had been such a useful little spy on her oaf of a father. Harry's eyes were full of pain and hope as he looked through his billywig nest of hair at the older man with the grey eyes.

"Really, I have other family?" He asked, hope layered throughout his pained speech.

"Yes, my child, Your father's family might have fallen from their place in society, but they were as connected as any other pureblood family; your grandmother was a Black, as I mentioned before; your great-grandmother was a Rosier; and your great-great-grandmother was a Yaxley. In fact, Harford." The older man explained to the young boy before turning and calling to one of the aurors. He came over to the little group by the cupboard.

Harford Yaxley was a tall man in his early 30s with light blonde hair held in a low ponytail and hard, rugged features with a strong jawline. His eyes were a dark brown and looked at the child kindly. He wore the standard long overcoat and suit of an auror on duty and slid his wand into its holster at his wrist as he knelt down to join Amelia and Arcturus.

"I was just talking to Harry here about his family in the wizarding world and mentioned that his great-great grandmother was a Yaxley such as yourself." Arcturus brought Harford up to speed.

"Yes, my great-great-aunt Kyralis Potter, nee Yaxley. She married your great-great grandfather, Henry Potter, if I remember correctly. She died before my time, but my father Arsenius remembers her and used to visit them every Yule." Harford Explained.

Harry looked at the pair with wonder.

"Now, Harry," Arcturus pulled a small silver pendant from his waistcoat. "This is a portkey to St. Mungo's, the magical hospital. Grip the chain for me, and I will activate it and take us there." He held out the small silver pendant, and Harry reached out with his good arm and slipped his thin, far too thin, fingers around the chain. Arcturus's cold heart ached at seeing the slender bones poking through far too pale and thin skin. He knew he was using the child, but by Morgana, this was still a magical child who had been abused by scum not even worthy of looking upon him.

Amelia passed him the roll of parchment with his diagnostic test on it, and he whispered the command word for the portkey. A gentle hook grabbed him behind his navel, and he was pulled into the aether.

Harry sat in the bed he had been given in St. Mungo's in a daze; magic was real, he was a wizard, and he had other family. Family that didn't seem to hate him or want to put him in a cupboard. He had eaten more in the last day than he had in the week beforehand, and other than the awful-tasting potions he had to drink with every meal, he felt better than ever. His shoulder was healed, and so was his collarbone. The healers here had waved their sticks at him, and after a sharp jolt of pain, his shoulder ceased hurting and he could move it again.

Harry was still cautious, of course; he had lived with his aunt and uncle for a decade and wasn't just about to start trusting the next relation to come around, even if this one could shoot fire from a stick. He had been given some pamphlets by Grandpa Arcturus, as he was told to call him. He said they were meant for children entering the magical world for the first time and were quite informative. The one that briefed children on the basic customs for magical nobles fascinated him; it was almost like a fantasy kingdom out of a book. The pamphlet was basic in its detail and had a list of books at the bottom for further reading.

After reading all the pamphlets, he was quite tired and decided to take a nap. When he awoke, he found Grandpa Arcturus and Cousin Harford standing beside his bed.

"How are you feeling, child?" Arcturus asked.

"Much better, Is it really true that you're a lord?" Harry blurted out the question that had been nagging him since reading the pamphlet.

"Yes, Harry, I am the Lord Black, one of the 114 Lords of the British Isles. Although the vast majority of those families are long since dead, I assume you read the pamphlets I provided."

"Yes, sir, I was a bit confused as to why there are 114, though." Harry asked.

"It has a basis in arithmancy. 7 and 3 are very powerful magical numbers. With 3 representing stability and completeness, whilst 7 represents power and dominance. When the Ministry of Magic was being founded and being constructed around the framework of the original wizarding council, the original system was for there to be 343 seats, 7 to the power of 3, so 7 times 7 times 7, members of a wizard's moot, 114 heads of house, 114 learned scholars, and 114 laypeople, with there being 1 Chief Warlock presiding over the moot as a mediator and tiebreaker. The ministry changed the flexible definitions allowed for scholars and laypeople to allow them to appoint 114 people in the scholars' place and hold elections for the remaining 114." Arcturus explained, Harry soaked up the information like a sponge.

"But why are more than half the inherited seats empty?" Harry asked. He didn't notice the glimmer in Arcturus eyes.

"Well, the main reasons fall into one of two camps: either the family ceased to be pureblood in any respect and fell from nobility, or they died out without living issue within 3 places removed of the last Lord. The family magic's must have somewhere to go, or they will die out." Arcturus explained.

"But why haven't new houses risen, or can't they do that?" Harry asked.

"Oh, they can; they just often don't meet requirements. This is a bit more technical, but to be elevated to nobility, a family must have a magic-recognised master Potioneer, a recognised master Runesmith, a recognised master Spellman, and a recognised master Ritualist all within 4 generations. And they must have no muggles within their youngest generations grandparents. These can all be the same person, but the last person to be recognised in all four main branches of magic was the Dark Lord, a very powerful wizard from around 30 years ago. Even Chief Warlock Dumbledore is only recognised by magic as a master Spellman and Runesmith." Arcturus explained.

"Are you a master of any of the branches, Grandpa?" Harry asked, his eyes wide with curiosity.

"Yes, child, I am a master Spellman and a master Ritualist. Although it's important to remember, there is a difference between a magically recognised master of a branch of magic and an academic master. An academic master might also be a magic-recognised master, but an academic master is more akin to a muggle doctorate. The major difference is that one is awarded by a board of academic peers and the other is an accolade given by magic itself." Arcturus explained, he contemplated explaining the ins and outs of mastery postnominals but decided against it. The boy would learn of it in his etiquette lessons.

"Wow, that's so cool. I want to be a magic-recognised master when I grow up." Harry smiled giddily at Arcturus.

"I'm sure you will, child. Now I have had a chat with the healers, and they are happy to release you so long as you have a good place to rest. You will be living with me at Ravenholm Castle for the foreseeable future, at least until the WCP makes a decision about your custody. To help them along, I will be taking you to Diagon Alley after we leave to have a small magical test done to help clear up some administrative errors." Arcturus smiled at the young boy.

"Ok," the boy beamed at getting to leave the slightly boring room.

"Get dressed." Arcturus produced a set of black robes from a bag hidden under his coat.

It took Harry and Arcturus nearly half an hour to get him into the robes. He was less skin and bones than before, but it was still difficult to get the robes to hang right and not make it look like he was a well-dressed inferius. This wasn't helped by Harry never having worn a robe nor dress trousers before, thus struggling to both put on the garment and do up the trousers more complex fastenings. He had to wear suspenders under the robe, as despite the trousers being as small-waisted as Twilfitt and Tattings had available without custom tailoring, they still had a penchant to fall to the boy's knees at the slightest provocation.

In the end, Harry marvelled in the mirror at his attire. The robe was black crushed velvet with black silk edging, with a high mandarin collar and a central line of silver buttons holding it closed to his waist. The garment trailed to his ankles, where it was open down the front of his legs. He wore a stiff-collared dress shirt beneath it and a pair of black and pinstriped silver dress trousers with a strong front crease. Arcturus had cast a few hair care charms on his mess of hair, and it had smoothed it out a bit, allowing the mix of curls and waves to lie flat on his head for the first time. He felt good looking at his reflection; these were the first proper clothes he had ever really worn, and something inside of him clicked at seeing the confident young boy wearing wizarding attire in the mirror.