Haris Sirius Black stood stoically in the grand foyer of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, his foot impatiently tapping against the cold, polished marble floors.
The goblins were once again causing trouble for him, their beady eyes flashing with contempt. Though they claimed to care little about a wizard's magical abilities or alignment, Haris knew that they held a strong disdain for necromancy and those who practiced it. It went against their beliefs and values, something about disrupting the natural order of things. But Haris couldn't care less about their opinions on theoretical magic; he had more pressing matters at hand.
As he watched a goblin scurry off to fetch the branch manager, a twinge of annoyance crept up his left eye making it twitch and he fantasized about gutting the pest. But he quickly pushed those thoughts aside, knowing that he needed to maintain a low profile in England for now as he re-established his identity. He would have to behave - though it was taking all of his self-control not to lash out at these troublesome creatures. So for now, he would refrain from causing a scene by ripping the goblins limb from limb and play by their rules... at least until he had what he came for.
The last seven years had changed him immensely.
Gone was the scrawny, malnourished, golden prophecy child of the Light Side. In Haris' opinion, not that anyone ever asked for it, Harry Potter was dead and Haris Black had been reborn in his place.
Sirius had blood-adopted Harry almost immediately after taking him from Privet Drive which was Harry's first introduction to blood magic as well as the beginning of his death as the boy-who-lived.
Harry's short messy mop of brown hair, once identical to his father's hair, had turned into wild pitch-black curls that cascaded to just below his ears, framing his face that was now hauntingly pale. Sirius often teased and said his blood took all of the melanin out of Haris' skin and turned him into a ghost.
His skin had taken on an almost ethereal translucence, although Sirius couldn't take credit for all of it since Haris' dive into necromancy had stolen all the warm tones from his body. His skin contrasted sharply with his piercing eyes – still green like his mother's eyes but they now shined a brilliant Avada Kedavra green that almost glowed in the dark, rimmed with gold.
Haris had also finally grown. Astounding what happens when a child suddenly receives the proper care and nutrients that they're supposed to receive. He was now tall at 6' and still growing. His body was lithe like that of a dancer, and Sirius had bemoaned that Haris now exuded an inhuman beauty that both mesmerized and terrified any who crossed him.
They both blamed the necromancy for that.
The greatest transformation of all, however, was his magical alignment. Once a neutral-leaning light magic, his core now pulsed with the undeniable darkness of black magic.
It had been terrifying at first until Sirius had guided him in casting his first dark spell. Despite the initial struggle and the destruction of his old wand lighting itself on fire in protest of the use of dark magic, Haris couldn't deny the exhilarating rush that came with wielding such strong magic. The power that coursed through Harry's veins was like nothing he had ever experienced before, sending shivers down his spine and igniting a fire within him.
But it wasn't until Haris received a new wand that he truly embraced his newfound affinity for dark magic. With the help of Sirius, he was soon fitted with a new wand- a beautiful and intricate 10-inch hornbeam and yew spiral design, that had once been pristine white until it soaked in Haris' blood for a week, binding itself to only him and taking on a sinister red hue. The core of the wand was made of braided thestral hair and heartstring, an uncommon combination that gave Haris the first inkling of his talent for necromancy. The wand seemed to almost emanate a foreboding energy now, tied only to Haris and his newfound passion in the necromantic arts, it was a powerful wand to behold. Sirius personally preferred blood magic as he had no talent or patience for necromancy, but he was always eager and willing to help his godson learn more.
With this powerful tool in hand and an extremely willing tutor, he performed spells with a newfound eagerness and flawless precision, reveling in the dark power coursing through his veins.
Haris was jolted out of his reverie by the insistent tugging of the annoying little goblin, who had returned to lead him to the Diagon Alley branch manager. His expression remained carefully composed as he followed the pest into a maze of back hallways, his black knee-high dragon hide boots gliding silently over the smooth marble floors. He was clad in sleek, form-fitting dueling robes, adorned with the formal colors of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. The silver and black fabric gave him an air of intimidation, with only subtle hints of royal purple peeking out in strategic places, reserved only for those who knew where to look. Haris reveled in this commanding appearance, no longer afraid to stand out, he relished in the power it exuded.
Haris followed the diminutive goblin through a series of twisting corridors, going deeper within the bowels of Gringotts bank. Though his face remained an impassive mask, his brilliant green eyes darted around, taking in every detail. The walls here were rough-hewn stone, quite unlike the opulent marble of the main hall. Shadowy alcoves branched off at irregular intervals, leading to parts unknown. Their footsteps echoed eerily in the empty passageway.
At last, Haris followed the goblin through a set of heavy oak doors into an ornately decorated office. Behind an imposing mahogany desk sat the bank's branch manager, an ancient goblin with a shrewd face and calculating eyes.
"Mr. Potter, what a pleasant surprise" the goblin greeted in a gravelly voice. "Or should I say Mr. Black?"
Haris' lip curled in a subtle sneer at the use of his former name. "Black will suffice."
The goblin bared his pointed teeth in what might have been a smile. "Of course. I am Ragnok, manager of this branch of Gringotts. To what do I owe the honor after all these years? What business brings you to my office unannounced?"
"That is precisely why I have come. Harry Potter is dead. I am Haris Sirius Black, heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. I wish to claim my inheritance and establish my new identity. I also have a letter here formally signed with a blood quill from Lord Sirius Black to pass his Lordship onto me, his only heir."
Ragnok's eyes gleamed with interest. "Is that so? Well, we at Gringotts are always happy to...facilitate such transitions, for the right price."
Haris nodded. He had expected as much. The goblins cared little for wizarding politics, and for as much as they hated necromancers, they loved gold above all else.
After intense negotiations, an astronomical sum was transferred from the Potter accounts to the goblins, securing their cooperation. Ragnok slid an ornate dagger across the desk to Haris. "Simply add three drops of blood to this parchment. The magic will take care of the rest."
Haris complied, watching dispassionately as the blood sizzled on the page, twisting into a spidery script that traced his bloodlines carefully and declared him Lord to the most Ancient and Noble House of Black, as well as Lord of the Houses Potter and Peverell. Not that Haris had any plans of announcing those names or titles to anyone.
"Everything appears in order, Lord Black," Ragnok grinned, baring his pointed teeth as he handed over several heavy signet rings bearing the Black, Potter, and Peverell family crests. "It is done. You are now Lord Haris Sirius Black, recognized by magic itself and verified with blood. Gringotts will formally acknowledge your identity as Haris Sirius Black from this day forth and forward all appropriate paperwork to the Ministry of Magic for your registration as a natural citizen within this country. Gringotts looks forward to a...mutually beneficial relationship."
Haris' lips curled into a satisfied smirk, "May your coffers overflow with riches Ragnok, for as long as our relationship remains tolerable."
Ragnok understood the threat in the statement easily. "May your enemies never see you coming, Lord Black."
Ridiculous goblin, Haris thought as he left the bank, I want my enemies to see me, it is no fun if I can't taste their fear first.
Going to the Ministry felt like visiting a muggle circus. Apparently during Haris and Sirius' seven-year absence, Voldemort and Dumbledore had wreaked havoc on the British Wizarding World. Which then led to Haris' strange visit to the once important political structure in downtown London. At first, everything seemed as Sirius had described to Haris. The ridiculous entry through the telephone booth, landing in an obscenely opulent atrium with a ridiculous-looking golden statue showing Wizards above all other creatures, and then approaching a wizard who was checking everyone's wands.
So maybe there was an air of fear and dissatisfaction among the Ministry employees, but what person doesn't hate their job? Seemed perfectly reasonable to Haris.
The man checking the wands was an insignificant figure, both in stature and power, his plain features making him blend into the background like a chameleon. He appeared almost comical though as he inspected each wand with a bored expression, his eyes barely registering the individuals before him.
But something interesting did occur when the trembling witch in front of him handed over her wand to be examined. As she nervously fumbled with it, the man's gaze sharpened and his demeanor shifted into one of authority.
"Ah, ash and unicorn hair, 10 ¾ inches, been in use for fourteen years." His monotone drawl held a hint of intrigue as he read off the wand's specifications.
The woman in front of Haris seemed to shrink even further within herself as she stuttered out a confirmation, "Y-yes, that's correct."
The man's eyes suddenly seemed to narrow on something as he continued to examine the wand. "Registered to Penelope Clearwater. Mudblood." The word dripped from his lips like venom, causing the woman to visibly recoil. Haris rolled his eyes at the man's dramatics, eager to move on with his day. "Who'd you steal this from, Miss Clearwater?" The man's accusatory tone cut through the air like a knife. But Haris was already tuning them out, losing interest in this tiresome display. Whatever was said between the two caused the man to summon several intimidating figures whose auras seemed to drip with dark magic.
Now this, this was interesting.
Haris rocked on his heels as he observed those that approached, clad in black battle robes, and silver faceless masks covering their features. So these were Death Eaters, how delicious.
The two Death Eaters, their hoods pulled low over their faces, roughly grabbed the now sobbing woman and dragged her away from the crowd. Her cries for help were muffled by the thick fabric of their robes. The boring man hastily handed over the woman's wand to the last remaining Death Eater standing next to him at the podium.
As the last Death Eater turned away, his eyes swept over the remaining people in line landing on Haris who stood tall and unflinching at the front of the line. Despite his efforts to suppress it, a powerful aura of dark magic radiated from Haris, causing even the Death Eater to take notice. With practiced nonchalance, Haris approached the podium and held out his wand for inspection. He could sense the Death Eater's curiosity and suspicion, but he pretended not to notice as he followed the others before him in being searched for any sign of disobedience or resistance.
As soon as the man's hand made contact with Haris' wand, a blood-curdling scream erupted from his throat, his hand involuntarily releasing Haris' wand onto the podium with a loud clatter.
Haris, sporting a bloodthirsty grin, drawled in an amused tone. "Looks like my wand doesn't take kindly to others handling it. Gets a bit testy, you see."
The man's hand now resembled that of a Nundu attack victim, blood gushing from deep lacerations all over his palm and fingers, staining the pristine atrium floor.
All eyes were now fixed on Haris, including the
Death Eater whose attention was instantly captured by Haris and seemed not to waver once. Haris knew he was drawing unneeded attention to himself, but he couldn't control his urge to play with these Death Eaters.
"You're going to have to come with me now." The Death Eater said in a smooth, almost seductive tone. Sirius would have called the tone menacing, but Haris' only thought was yummy.
Haris grinned, unafraid of following the man into the depths of the Ministry, as he plucked his red wand off of the podium where it had been abandoned.
Maybe today was going to be a good day after all.