Chapter 1 Welcome to my new Fanfiction. This will update next to Alliance of Families, they will probably alternate. This chapter is a bit short, but further ones will be longer. Thank you Reynair for your great support and editing and RiddikulusRogueRory for the editing as well. A longer A/N is at the end. Hope you enjoy!
In the dim solitude of the old study, Duke Arcturus Black sat ensconced in his high-backed chair, its dark wood as unwavering and stoic as the man it supported. Shadows danced throughout the exquisite office, reflecting on the expensive interior of Manor Black. It was their family residence, a place he rarely departed—a stately house that was home. He cradled a tumbler, the amber liquid glowing in the slight glow of firelight, swirling the contents deep in thought.
Memories clawed at his mind, unbidden and sharp as talons. The wars had torn through his kin like a curse, leaving a rift that magic couldn't mend. He recalled the sting of betrayal when lines were drawn, brother against brother, father against son. His own sister had succumbed to the illusion of a muggle-free world, Grindelwald's vision of enslaving the continent's population.
"Damn fools," he muttered into the room, poison lacing his words.
The Black family, once a steadfast pillar of the wizarding aristocracy, now teetered on the brink of oblivion, a downfall Arcturus couldn't dissociate himself from. The choices he made and recently failed to make haunted the twilight of his days.
Grindelwald reigned over wide parts of the continent for multiple years before the ICW—the International Confederation of Wizards—finally stepped in and stopped the incredibly vile dark wizard's activities. But, hindered by votes and bureaucracy, it was too late. Grindelwald's followers had already instigated the great muggle war, manifesting in the millions of dead wizards and muggles alike that were to come.
The coming conflict had been the most cruel one in the history of magic itself. Friends had become foes, allies stabbed each other in the back, and family mercilessly killed each other. It had taken over a century and gigantic losses of magical beings to end the war in the ultimate battle of Marseilles, the day that would irrevocably change Arcturus Black's life.
Most parts of his family, ensnared by the dark wizard's charisma and twisted ideology, had supported Grindelwald's factions throughout that bloody conflict, even attending some battles. Only Arcturus and his sister Dorea stood on the side of the ICW, defending the continent and their home country from the nationalist movement's cruel machinery. His family had been reduced to mere pawns in the global conflict, losing most of the influence they once held.
The price of the last battle had been too high for the Blacks. Most of the kin had been wiped out, with only Arcturus and his sister surviving the brutal massacre. But it also marked the closure of Grindelwald's reign when their leader was defeated by Albus Dumbledore. The army of the Dark Lord collapsed shortly thereafter, with most losing their lives to the ICW forces led by Charlus Potter and himself.
As the eldest Black, he took the mantle of the family's lord soon after, determined to bring them back to the place they deserved. He needed the most ancient house to succeed once again, to gain their old position of strength and power, a goal he had started to achieve together with Charlus, who had married Dorea soon after the war. His sole purpose was the revival of the House of Black.
"Bloody Voldemort," Arcturus spat, pure hatred in his eyes.
It had all gone so well. The Blacks had influenced the Wizengamot greatly, rebuilding wizarding Britain and their family at an enormous rate. Everything went perfectly until another Dark Lord arrived, but this time much closer. Tom Marvolo Riddle didn't try to take the entire continent. He desired Britain. And he wanted it fast. Not even a few months after the appearance of Voldemort, vast parts of the magical government were unable to act, being crippled by brutal murders and blackmail. Once again, Arcturus and Charlus found themselves thrust into a massive conflict, threatening to destroy their world.
And then the unthinkable happened. Charlus and his sister were dead. Killed by a cowardly attack at Diagon Alley before they could even draw their wands. After his last siblings were taken from him, Arcturus completely broke down and went into a rampage against the Dark Lord, surviving only by sheer luck but sustaining deep wounds. He had lost his mind. He hadn't been able to lead the family after that battle, most of the time sitting in his study, too stunned to speak or act. The trauma of the old man was too immense to overcome, and his inaction tore the Blacks apart yet again.
A deep, gashing rift developed between his own blood, irrevocably splitting the family and killing many of them once again. They were thrust back into Grindelwald's time. Instead of standing together as one united force, they scurried away to join their favoured side of the conflict.
It had all looked in vain as Voldemort took more and more power from the magical government, manifesting his ruling position on the island. He was nearly within reach of winning the war when the Potter incident happened mere hours ago.
"A bloody babe defeated the Dark Lord," Arcturus chuckled humorously, still in shock at the recent news.
How did his grandnephew, Harry Potter, defeated Tom Riddle? How could a one-year-old triumph over one of the most powerful sorcerers of their time?
He didn't know.
Still, soon after the Dark Lord had breached the formidable wards of James and Lily Potter's Cottage in Godric's Hollow, a massive explosion had crumbled the house into pieces of rubble, with only Harry surviving the attack. The bodies of his son-in-law, Lily, and Tom Riddle, had been found in the remains of the building, massively mutilated by the power of the detonation. But Harry Potter came out of the building unscathed, not even bearing a mark.
It had taken the sacrifice of one of the oldest magical families and the last remnants of his best friend to protect their world and vanquish the Dark Lord. The Potters had destroyed the worst enemy of the island and brought a glimmer of hope.
Arcturus' gaze shifted to the non-magical portrait of Charlus and Dorea hanging above the mantelpiece. The smiles they wore were frozen in time, untouched by the grim reality that snatched them from this world too soon.
"I'm sorry I couldn't save you," he mumbled, deep in sorrow, his guilt over the past years numbing his whole body. He knew he had failed them; when they needed him to stay strong the most, depression had claimed him — an enemy he couldn't outwit. The family's honour lay in tatters at his feet, many dead or destined for Azkaban's icy embrace.
The solemn mantle of silence enshrouded Arcturus as the news of the catastrophe of the Potters trickled through the magical world. It reignited long-dead whispers of hope and utter disbelief. Arcturus, with his soul burdened by decades of loss and grief, found himself grappling with a maelstrom of emotions. Relief that the Dark Lord's reign of terror had ended suddenly clashed violently with sorrow for the price paid in blood. The weight of his family's sacrifices, the Potters', particularly orphaned Harry's, seemed to press down on him with unbearable force. Yet, amidst the turmoil of his heart, a spark of something unfelt for years flickered to life.
Hope.
This fragile hope revolved around the miraculous survivor of the cataclysm: Harry Potter. Arcturus, though aged and worn by battles of his past, felt a stirring desire within him. He craved to meet his grandnephew, to bring back the last Potter into the power of his name. To give the child a good life and help him find his place in their community.
In his mind, he didn't see the beacon of hope for magical Britain society wanted Harry Potter to be. He saw the signs of a reawakening force, two families that had once preserved the country's harmony and peace. The time had come to revitalise the most noble and ancient houses of Potter and Black, finally freeing them from their cursed past that had haunted them since Grindelwald's reign. For every Black who fell to darkness or despair, there was still a chance for redemption.
Arcturus rose from his chair with a purposeful stride, age no barrier to the determination that set his jaw firm and narrowed those steely eyes.
"The family may be lost," he whispered to no one but the ghosts of his ancestors, "but not yet damned."
With a content sigh, Arcturus laid the tattered letter on the heavy wooden desk of his study.
"Finally, one of the wankers talked."
It had taken the old lord the best of two months and countless favours to find Harry Potter after the incident at Godric's Hollow. The babe had simply vanished, not even leaving a trace of its existence when Arcturus had arrived at the blown-up cottage. The house had been meticulously cleared out and repaired, with no sign of the tragedy that had occurred just hours ago left.
Albus Dumbledore was trying to hide The Boy Who Lived from the world, a plan that would have worked wonderfully if Lord Black hadn't been searching for the last Potter. The vast but dormant contacts of the last British Duke had finally delivered the much-needed information: the location of the Dursley's home.
"The stupid shit put my grandnephew with filthy muggles," Arcturus seethed. "Harry Potter is the bloody heir of one of the most ancient houses; how dare he neglect his duty to protect and educate him?"
He knew the Wizengamot wouldn't judge Albus Dumbledore for this decision. Too big was the trust in the vanquisher of Grindelwald and his supporters' influence spread too far.
"Bloody double standards. Anybody else would be thrown into Azkaban on their arse."
Risking the extinction of a whole line was understood as one of the most atrocious things possible after all. How could Dumbledore guarantee that the remaining Death Eaters wouldn't kill the young babe? He was now under the mercy of a few wards cast by the most powerful sorcerer of the current time, but even the cheapest ward stone would easily dwarf the old goat's attempt at security.
But Dumbledore had taken it a step too far this time. The full force of the house Black would shatter the ancient man, punishing him for the crime he had attempted against their closest allies and family.
"I swear on my magic and life that Albus Dumbledore will pay with blood for his slight against our families, so mote it be." A soft glow enveloped Lord Black as magic recognised the oath given, its beautiful golden shine illuminating the gloomy study.
But his revenge had to wait. Arcturus's priority was ensuring Harry's safety, and the heir of the Potters, growing up the muggle way, would not do. He had to be patient; too high was the risk of getting caught up in retribution and losing the chance to aid the Boy Who Lived.
It was time to pick up the legitimate future Lord of House Potter and bring him back into the magical world after his short exile. After that, he would need to go to Gringotts as soon as possible to contest Dumbledore's claim of guardianship and revert the seal of James and Lily Potter's will.
"I should better get bloody going. Harry was in the filthy muggle world way too long already."
With a loud crack — too agitated to care of the finer aspects of apparition right now — Arcturus Black arrived in the dark and silent streets of Little Whinging. The ice-cold weather of the late winter night froze his breath, making the old skinny man shiver violently. Ever since his self-imposed withdrawal from society, the late Black Lord hadn't strolled into the muggle world even once. Even his rare visits to Diagon Alley and Gringotts had been limited to absolutely required meetings with the goblins and a few business partners to discuss the Black fortune and future investments.
The extremely plain sight of the muggle cities has always annoyed Arcturus, and he had never been in the other part much, mostly ordering his house-elf to make the necessary trips to the London shopping areas.
"What the hell?"
"Everything looks even more identical than usual."
Little Whinging had to be one of the most frustrating areas he had ever been in, the dull, colourless block houses lined up in countless rows, each and every one the same tiring shape and style. The only contrast in sight was the lawns and hedges surrounding the houses, each trimmed to mirror the others exactly.
"Who in their right mind wants to live in such an exhausting shithole?"
Shaking his head to break out of his stunned stupor, Arcturus continued his stroll towards his destination: 4 Privet Drive, the home of the Dursleys and, for a few more minutes, Harry Potter.
The night was still, as if in anticipation, as Arcturus approached the house, each step a deliberate assertion of his presence. His hand lifted and rapped sharply on the mahogany door, the sound cutting through the silence like a knife through butter.
Within moments, a cacophony erupted from the other side — shouting man, shrieking woman, crying baby. Arcturus could picture the scene behind the closed door with perfect clarity: a household torn from slumber by his unexpected arrival.
A light flicked on in the upstairs window before Vernon Dursley, portly and flushed in anger, flung open the door. "What's the meaning of this? Do you have any idea what time it is?" Vernon's voice boomed through the night, drops of spit flying towards Arcturus's face.
Arcturus Black only regarded the corpulent man with an icy stare that had silenced many men far more formidable than this worthless muggle. "You have something that doesn't belong to you, you walrus," he stated flatly, allowing the edge of a threat to seep into his voice.
Vernon's expression turned from anger to confusion to abhorrent fear in only the blink of an eye as he took in Arcturus's appearance — the hard grey eyes, military-short jet-black hair, and aura of danger that seemed to cling to him like a second skin. "I-I don't know what you are talking about."
"Harry Potter. Bring him out."
The name seemed to strike a chord in Vernon as his face went purple in rage once again. "You are one of the freaks?" he blared in disgust. "OUT! Now!"
With a swish of his hand, Vernon tumbled back into the door frame right before his swinging fist could hit his uninvited visitor. His head banged against the wood, emitting a sickening crunching noise, as he slid down the door unconscious. "Don't you dare touch me, you filthy muggle."
Arcturus didn't even bother with another word as he strolled past the knocked-out form of Vernon, entering the resident's living room. As he spotted Petunia Dursley, his voice became an uncharacteristically soft, almost warm tone. "Hello, Petunia," he greeted her. "It has been a long time."
Only moments later, Petunia's eyes bugged out in scared recognition as her face went white, and her legs seemed like they would give out under pressure. "L-Lord Black," she squeaked, fear imminent in her eyes. Her family had met the old Lord only once, at the marriage of her freak of a sister and James Potter, but the impression of the Arcturus had stuck in her mind. The sheer amount of power he had in the magical world and even physically speaking had cowed many of the participants, including her. "What a-are you d-doing here?"
Arcturus stood firm before her, his voice not needing volume to convey his demand. "I am here for my family. Harry Potter will come with me."
A/N: Thank you for reading the first chapter.
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