THE PRELUDE TO HOGWARTS
September 3, 1008 years after the Founding of Hogwarts
King's Cross Station, Diagon Alley, London
Two dark-haired teenage boys walked side by side through an almost empty London train station toward the Great Western Railway Hall class locomotive that just arrived at King's Cross Station.
"I do not understand why you had your horse fly us down to London, only so we take a train back to the Scottish town in which we live," criticized the taller and fairer of the pair.
"Because we get to spend the train ride with our friends, cousin," the sun-kissed boy replied as if stating the obvious.
"You act as though we do not consort with our coven over summer holiday, Harry," the first boy drawled, stormy-blue eyes raining contempt on his companion.
"A coven takes thirteen, Tom," Harry nudged as he rolled his ocean-blue eyes. "Until then, we either call them our friends or our gang. Which do you prefer?"
Tom glared.
"Every day, I find it more difficult to believe you were the one raised by wizards," Tom condemned.
"Every day, I find it more difficult to believe you are warm blooded," Harry returned.
Tom hissed in his native serpent tongue.
"I wager whoever invented the silencing spell did it to shut up one of your snake ancestors," Harry baited.
"Oh, Harry, do you truly wish to insult the noble bloodline of Salazar Slytherin just as we return to his Hogwarts legacy house?" Tom asked sweetly.
"Will you knock before entering my room if I start praising your 'sacred' ancestor daily?" Harry countered.
Tom laughed mockingly as the two became the first Hogwarts students to board the Hogwarts Express. Walking half of the train length, they chose two consecutive six-seat compartments.
"I shall sit in front of you," Tom dictated.
"What if I want them to see me first?" Harry questioned.
Tom raised his left hand and flashed the signet ring on his little finger. In addition to being a magnificent accessory, a lustrous obsidian stone set upon a serpent-patterned gold circlet, it marked Tom heir to the senior line of Peverell descendants.
"I wish we never found that ring," Harry grumbled half-heartedly.
"Come, come, that was the happiest day of your life," Tom voiced the truth they both knew. "Besides when I first blessed you with my presence, of course."
Harry just rolled his eyes as he walked into his compartment, then made sure to telekinetically slam the door behind him.
Rude, Tom's voice rang through his mind.
What's rude is entering others' minds without invitation, Harry retorted through the mental channel.
Never have I ever cursed a schoolmate with the Imperius, Tom riposted.
I didn't mean to hurt him! protested a flushing Harry. And it's not like you haven't tried to Imperio me. Emphasis on 'tried.'
Taking window seats facing one another, the wizard cousins stared each other down as if no wall separated them.
Have you changed your opinion on whom among our associates will arrive first? Tom shifted.
Harry thought for a few seconds. Wagers with Tom were difficult to win, between the genius intellect, perfect memory and mind-reading powers. Despite that, Harry had always prided himself on his better understanding of people.
No. I still think it will be Randolph, Harry determined.
Lestrange, early? That will be the day I declare Dumbledore my favorite professor, Tom scoffed.
You should give Professor Albus another chance. You didn't portray your best self when you met him, Harry sighed.
Forgive me for not immediately trusting his tales about a secret magic society, Tom scoffed. And Walburga will arrive first, as always.
Harry shrugged. He agreed that Walburga, the definition of a pureblood witch, followed the "early is on time, on time is late" rule to a fault. However, he did not believe she could exercise full control over the House Black entourage this year. Moreover, he knew Randolph specifically wanted to beat the Blacks to the train this year.
What do you think— Harry tried a new topic.
Hush, little one. I am reading, Tom declared.
I'm only seven months younger! Harry complained. And just how many times can you read 'Secrets of the Darkest Art' till there are no secrets left?
Tom laughed melodiously before closing their mental channel.
Bored, Harry withdrew a winged gold ball from his suit jacket and activated its flight enchantment. Allowing it to zip around his compartment with increasing speed, Harry tracked its flight with superhuman awareness before reaching out and seizing it in his left hand — all without leaving his seat. He repeated this exercise, pushing himself to catch the snitch in less time and with less movement in each successive round.
His game drew the attention of the passersby beginning to file onto the train, all of whom gave some sort of greeting — whether it be a smile and wave, a short exchange, a blown kiss from Olive Hornby, or Algie Longbottom spelling the snitch to smack him in the face.
"You're going down, Long-ass!" Harry yelled at his Quidditch rival and longtime friend, who only laughed as he hurried down the aisle.
"Verbal abuse so early in the morning, Brat Blunder?" called a voice from a dozen yards up the aisle.
"Your existence is an abuse, Loony Lestrange," Harry sneered back. He then jerked his head toward the compartment in front of his to ensure Randolph indeed became the first of Tom's "associates" to greet him.
Sitting back down in his compartment, Harry snickered at the fury he could feel boiling within his cousin.
I can't wait to tell Professor Albus that he's your favorite! Harry pushed into Tom's mind — which replied with a vivid fantasy of Harry writhing and screaming under the Cruciatus Curse.
Keep dreaming, Harry returned before closing the channel. "Omph!" he complained immediately after, as pain worse than a wasp sting erupted in his mouth.
"Heir Slytherin told me to hex you. How could I say no?" Randolph shrugged as he entered Harry's compartment and sat across from the self-healed boy.
Harry glared at his yearmate for as long as he could muster his anger, which sadly left him embracing the other boy in less than a minute.
"Ape," Harry teased Randolph's imitation of his casual attire — a storm-gray suit jacket with a Slytherin crest over matching shorts, a white shirt, a green-and-silver striped tie and pair of socks, and black dress shoes.
"Bastard," Randolph fired back.
The Lestrange heir joined in Harry's game of catch-the-snitch as the two related any tales that occurred in the two weeks since their Diagon shopping trip.
"You did a muggle?" Harry asked in bewilderment. "An actual muggle?"
"It's true what they say. Their kind is more…sensual," Randolph provided suggestively.
"Good to know," Harry drawled as he caught the snitch again. "I've never talked to a muggle girl before."
"You definitely don't want to get caught, with what the rabble claim about your mother," Randolph mused. "As if a mudblood could have dueled Vinda Rosier — and won to boot!"
Harry briefly stared into the distance, contemplating the myth of his mother. She went by the name "Lily Evans" from her emergence in magic society till her death at the wand of the Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald. All official records claimed her to be muggleborn, but Harry found nothing on her life before Hogwarts — not even her parents' names. Additionally, her record-breaking academic performance and legendary heroics during the Grindelwald War were inconsistent with any muggleborn Harry knew of. But most importantly, the heirloom he received on his 11th birthday — the mythologized "Cloak of Death" — proved "Lily Evans" carried some of the purest blood in the world. Blood descended directly from the Peverell Triumvirate: the Masters of Death.
However, Harry was undecided on setting the record straight. He knew that Grindelwald pursued anyone with rumored descent from the Peverells centuries after the family name went extinct. And unfortunately, the dark lord was not the first wizard to do this, and likely would not be the last. Furthermore, in addition to attracting the wrong attention, Harry feared that the finest bone-ancestry assessment might not restore the Evans' purity in the public's eye. Muggleborns and muggle-loving wizardborns around the world had made Lily Evans their icon, and they would not relinquish her legacy so easily.
"Caught your snitch, Evans," Randolph taunted as he waved the winged ball in the face of a now-refocused Harry.
"Which one?" Harry replied dryly, to which Randolph laughed and made a threatening wand gesture toward Harry's personal snitches.
"Flirting already?" groaned Goldwin Avery as he added a blond head to their compartment.
"Learned from watching you, Frenchman," Harry bantered.
Goldwin rolled his eyes at the hypocrisy, given all three's ancestors immigrated to Britain with William the Conqueror. But for centuries, the Averys boasted of their descent from the muggle House of Normandy and close ties to the French-muggle Counts of Évreux.
"Where's Walburga?" Goldwin asked as he plopped down next to Randolph. "I only saw Eleanor with Heir Slytherin."
"Mrs. Lestrange didn't say hello to me?" Harry whined, before quickly dodging a vicious hex from a blushing Randolph.
"Your fantasy missus is with her cousin, remember?" Randolph answered Goldwin. "That imp is probably demanding half of every Diagon store they pass."
"Play nice with the Black heir," Harry reminded. "You know Tom wants him to join our circle."
"Like you have such good relations with House Black, 'Evans'," Randolph rejoined.
Harry's magic flared hotly for a moment, causing both Randolph and Goldwin to flinch.
"Sorry," he apologized. "My point is, these next four years, we have the opportunity to form a relationship of peers with the future Sire Black. Why not take advantage of this?"
"I am sick of the Blacks acting like they are better than my family!" Randolph ranted. "House Lestrange is just as pure and only slightly less rich. And that's because the Blacks send their daughters out to make anchor babies in every wizard family with a lump of gold."
"I know. Trust me, I know," Harry muttered.
"So explain why I should play nice with ickle 'Rion?" Randolph pressed.
"Because Heir Slytherin asked us to," Goldwin whispered urgently. Randolph retained a defiant scowl for 10 seconds before slumping his shoulders.
Not for the first time, Harry felt guilty for encouraging such deference to Tom. However, Tom possessed a perfect memory — particularly regarding slights against his person. Harry knew Tom had never forgotten the way the others treated him during his first months at Hogwarts, back when they thought him the lone "mudblood" corrupting the purity of the school's Slytherin House. It didn't help that those who disliked Harry the most, namely Randolph and Goldwin, vented their frustrations on Tom in the form of jinxes and hexes.
Harry wished he had paid more attention that first September and October, that he hadn't attempted to live out a childhood fantasy. He could only be grateful that Tom forgave him the day they found the Gaunt ring.
Harry, Randolph and Goldwin resumed catch-the-snitch in relative silence, broken when Palomydes Nott, Slytherin's newest male prefect, greeted and conversed with them for a few minutes before joining Tom's compartment.
"Half expected him to start sporting a cane, if I'm honest," Goldwin claimed.
"He's not lame," Harry mumbled.
"He will be after a few more years of hauling that ego around!" Randolph quipped to the tune of full-blown laughter from Goldwin and muffled snickers from Harry.
Naughty, naughty, Tom chided Harry.
You enjoy it when they talk ill of one another, don't pretend otherwise, Harry returned.
Oh, I confess my amusement. The question is, will you? Tom posed.
Before Harry could respond, Tom retreated into his own mind once more.
"What's wrong, mate? You look a little red," Goldwin noted.
"He's thinking of Druella," Randolph mock-whispered.
"Oh? I thought Hornby was your go-to for snogs?" Goldwin piled on.
"Ugh," Harry groaned and flushed, completely regretting revealing his secret crush to the two.
"In seriousness, I do think Dru likes you back," the blue-suited Avery continued. "Maybe you could be the other wizard in her life? The wand she actually polishes?"
"That'd stick it to the Black we all know and hate," Randolph laughed. But Harry's mind was not on their least favorite schoolmate.
"Do you two want Darren to actually murder me?" Harry moaned.
"He'd never kill you," Goldwin assured. "Well, unless by accident."
Harry glared.
"To be honest, we're not sure where the limits of your powers are," Randolph shrugged. "I mean, who at Hogwarts could even beat you in a duel?"
Harry opened his mouth to answer.
"Besides Dumbledore," Goldwin cut off. "And Heir Slytherin?"
Harry and Randolph pretended not to hear the uncertainty in the second suggestion. But in honesty, Harry did not know if he would beat Tom in a true duel. He typically enjoyed the upper hand in their spars, and he performed the best in Defense and Charms for all three years of their schooling. But he could not imagine cursing his cousin into submission.
Especially when he owed Tom his life.
"The Rosiers are here," Harry announced while running his wand over his face to accentuate his glow.
"Maybe try taming your hair?" Goldwin suggested. "I have some Sleekeazy—my hair!"
Harry grinned as his friend bemoaned the consequences of suggesting that particular hair potion. He then tracked his zipping snitch and reached out to seize it with his right hand just as Druella arrived at the compartment door.
"Impressive, Captain Evans," the lavender-eyed blonde complimented.
"Impressive is my middle name," Harry returned with a self-assured grin.
Randolph groaned at Harry's abuse of his middle initial, but Druella smiled.
"If only your 'H' stood for humility, you would be a true knight of our age," Druella bantered.
"But then I'd be in Gryffindor, m'lady, and I wouldn't have the honor of beholding your radiance every day," Harry replied with a bow.
Druella released a melodious giggle.
"Well, I best depart with haste in that case, lest my brilliance blinds your eyes," she said with a warm smile. "Randolph, a pleasure. And do give Goldwin my regards—I cannot seem to spot that gold head of hair."
The bald Goldwin turned as red as a tomato by the time Druella departed.
"Someone likes you," Randolph cooed.
"Shut up," Harry hissed. "Her brother's going to come in any second."
The door whooshed open again, and Harry staved off a curse that would have turned his saliva to poison and choked him with his own tongue.
"Can't you at least greet me before trying to kill me?" Harry huffed.
"I was greeting you," Darren Rosier snapped back before taking the seats next to Harry and laying down so his head rested against the door wall and his legs dangled over Harry's thighs.
"Brat," Harry huffed while giving the younger boy's legs a few half-hearted pushes.
"Learned from you, Cap," Darren claimed to the amusement of Randolph and Goldwin.
"I still want you two on the Quidditch team," Harry addressed his classmates.
"Our fathers think our brains are too valuable to be pulverized by some random bludger," Goldwin said haughtily.
"Not that either of you could relate," Randolph added.
Darren's dark-caramel eyes flashed a half second before he drew his wand, devolving the compartment into a hex war within seconds. But Rosier viciousness teamed with Evans wards made the contest one-sided, even if sixth-year Kenward Mulciber had joined the fray as he seemed ready to when passing their compartment.
You are welcome, Tom credited himself for "helping" Harry by calling Kenward into his compartment.
I could beat Kenny, Goldy and Randy together with my eyes closed, Harry boasted.
I shall hold you to that next sabbath, Tom forewarned.
Harry shrugged, confident he could defeat any Hogwarts student save Tom in seconds. Case in point, he waved his wand and petrified Randolph and Goldwin simultaneously.
"Ugh," Darren groaned. "Don't you know any finishing spells besides Expelliarmus, Stupefy, and Petrificus Totalus?"
Harry pretended to ponder this question.
"Incarcerous?" he offered the incantation to the restraining enchantment.
Darren flung a curse at Harry, who snorted and dissipated the magic midair.
"What potion would you use to free our friends?" Harry quizzed the third year.
Darren defiantly cast spells meant to unpetrify the others, yet found no success.
"Come on Rosy, know your potions…it's the magic of the weak, after all," Harry teased.
"I'll tell your godfather you said that," Darren threatened. "And you would use Mandrake Restorative Draught. Or ask Heir Slytherin to free them with Parseltongue."
Harry nodded and rewarded the 13 year old by ruffling his brown head of hair, ignoring the retaliatory frostbite curse.
"Omph!" Darren complained as Harry's snitch suddenly flew into his solar plexus.
"Think fast," the Quidditch captain reprimanded as he cured his fingers with a single puff. He then trained his wand on the still forms of Randolph and Goldwin.
"Wait," Darren whispered, sitting up and donning a serious demeanor. "My mother asked me about your wand."
Harry's breath caught in his throat.
"She told me to tell you she 'expects great things'," Darren reported.
Harry sat still as a statue for a minute, before he tenderly lifted his wand to his eyes. Dyed with the midnight-purple elderberry, powered by a heartstring of the extinct white dragon, and glued together by that very dragon's blood, the 15-inch elder-wood wand channeled magic more vigorously than any other wand Mr. Ollivander sold, much less created.
"This wand…is possibly the finest and most dangerous to reside in Ollivanders Wand Shop in recent times," Mr. Ollivander had told Harry. "It was sold by my father and his father before, but returned both times to the store. The first owner brought it back after leaving Hogwarts, and she never took another. The second owner…best left unsaid what happened to him."
Harry swallowed.
"You didn't tell her about my time in Austria, right?" he asked.
"No," Darren confirmed with an emphatic shake of his head. "But I think she'll figure it out, if she hasn't already."
The Blacks are approaching the train, Tom suddenly informed.
"The Blacks are here," Harry relayed to Darren before enchanting their compartment and cohabitants back to pristine condition.
Within a minute, Harry, Darren, Goldwin and Randolph looked like four of Hogwarts' finest — even with attires less traditional than their five counterparts in the neighboring compartment. A minute later, Harry flicked his wand to open the door for Hogwarts' preeminent witch.
"Mr. Evans," Walburga greeted, silver prefect badge gleaming from the left collar of her thunder-gray robes.
"Miss Black," Harry returned with a respectful nod. "How was your summer?"
"Eventful, yet refreshing," the sixth year answered. "And yours?"
"There have been developments," Harry responded, knowing she had yet to see Tom's ring.
"I look forward to hearing them," Walburga determined. "There have been developments in my own house as well — foremost among them, my cousin will now join us at Hogwarts. May I introduce Orion Black, heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."
A curly-brown-haired 11 year old stepped inside and nodded his head slightly.
"Cousin, this is Harry Ignotus Evans," Walburga formally introduced. "Godson of Slytherin House Head Horace Slughorn, captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, champion of the European Youth Duelling League, and the last descendant of Ignotus Peverell."
"Hail, Master Black," Harry greeted with a nod of his head.
"Well met, Mr. Evans," the Black heir returned. "Walburga speaks well of you."
"I hope I meet expectations," Harry replied.
"I hope so as well. The Houses of Black and Peverell have a history that predates our arrival to these lands," the Black heir stated.
"My cousin and I work to restore all that was once associated with our ancestors," Harry declared, which won an approving nod from his new acquaintance.
He'll be impressed by your ring, Harry notified Tom, to which the other boy smiled.
"Are you two done re-meeting?" drawled the voice of Harry's least favorite schoolmate. "Oh, my apologies, meeting?"
Tension descended as Alphard Black stalked to the compartment door.
"Black," Harry acknowledged evenly.
"Evans," Black returned with an audible note of contempt.
"Alphard," Walburga warned her younger brother, thunder-colored eyes flashing.
"Just saying hello to my captain," Black self-accommodated as he squeezed his way inside the compartment. "Unless he does not deign to mingle with a lowly keeper such as myself?"
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"We have practices starting this weekend. Unless I should replace you?" Harry posed.
"We started together. 'Twould be a shame if we didn't see it through together," Black claimed.
"Then I'll see you at Friday evening tryouts?" Harry attempted to dismiss this Black. Unfortunately, the boy closed the compartment door while remaining inside.
"How's your boggart?" Black struck, his aristocratic face assuming a haughty mien.
Goldwin's eyes widened at their classmate's audacity while Randolph developed an open scowl. Darren feigned ignorance of the conversation topic, but Harry could sense his younger friend seething on his behalf.
"All is well, thank you," Harry smiled pleasantly at the lesser Black.
"He hasn't deserted you yet?" Black pressed. "He still finds you useful?"
Harry actively occluded emotion, maintaining a nonchalant air. He did, however, steadily increase the amount of power he exuded in his aura.
"I would imagine so," Harry answered Black's question. "But you may ask him if you like."
Ever so slightly, Black flinched at the suggestion. However, this fear bore no effect on how he acted toward Harry.
"Hiding behind your 'cousin' again?" Black sneered. "Is this the feudal contract you and the other sycophants signed? Smooch the ring, and he'll protect your pride in all other cases?"
"You're out of line Bl—" Randolph started before Harry cast a silencing spell on him. As much as he empathized with his friend's anger, they could not afford to disrespect the Black name in the presence of the family heir.
Unfortunately, the lesser Black caught on to this.
"I wondered why you were just sitting there," he proclaimed. "Riddle told you to give Orion every honor, didn't he? Including refraining from hexing his cousin?"
"Second cousin," the Black heir rebuked.
"Do you have first cousins, 'Rion?" the lesser Black retaliated.
"Do you, on your father's side?" Harry snapped back before he thought better of it.
Walburga raised an eyebrow at the reference to her aunt Dorea; her brother, however, smiled sharply.
"Aunt Dorea and Uncle Charlus are enjoying their marriage," he returned before suddenly straddling Harry. "They have decades ahead of them, and they know not to rush into parenthood. So when their baby boy does arrive, he will be surrounded by love. Love from his parents, his cousins…and his brother, yes?"
Harry heard a sharp intake of breath from his left, and he gently clasped Darren's wand hand before the boy did anything. As much as Black needed a firm hexing, the Rosiers could not afford to be associated in any way — much less appear in favor of it.
So ocean-blue eyes bored into thunder gray as Harry showed the lesser Black his deepest fear. The boy may have slithered out of classroom boggart lessons and made up his work privately with Professor Albus, but Harry knew it all the same. Thus, within Black's mind formed a perfect replica of the pedigree tapestry at Grimmauld Place — the record of all born and married to the House of Black — with his branch blasted from the family tree.
"Fuck you, you right bastard," the lesser Black whispered before punching Harry in the face.
Randolph and Goldwin both seemed ready to fire hexes, but Harry held up his hand and flashed a bloody smile.
"Nice punch," he complimented. "But you have a perfectly capable wand. Why not use it?"
Walburga opened her mouth to diffuse the conflict; but the Black heir, pale-blue eyes dancing with amusement, had other ideas.
"Yes, Alphie. Where is your wand?" he goaded his second cousin. "Do not dishonor our noble and ancient house. You are not a filthy squib, yes?"
Vindictive joy flamed within Harry, knowing how deep a wound this cut into the lesser Black. Better yet, Black could see the pleasure Harry took in this, even if the others did not.
"Of course not," the lesser Black said in a slightly subdued tone. "Evans, I will see you at tryouts. You as well, Rosier," he addressed flippantly as he walked to the compartment door.
"Oh, and Evans?" Black added before chucking a small bottle at him. "For your hair."
Harry instinctively caught it, even as his mind warned him against this. Once he registered the Potter product in his hand, it instantly burst into golden flames, leaving nothing but the smell of burnt-Sleakeazy oil seconds later.
"Apologies," Harry directed to the two remaining Blacks as he waved his wand and restored a pleasant air to the compartment.
"What for, Harry?" the Black heir familiarized himself.
"Orion," Harry returned with a nod and a smile. "Please feel welcome at the fourth-year residential unit. I hope we have many conversations this year."
"I shall stop by," Orion accepted the invitation with a nod. "Rosier, Lestrange, Avery — a pleasure," he greeted the other seated boys.
The future Black patriarch and his favored cousin then departed for Tom's compartment, where both would likely sit given the friendliness Orion was already displaying.
"What was that, reverse-alphabetical order?" Goldwin grumbled, snubbed that he was addressed last despite being the eldest of the four boys.
"That went well," Harry declared. "Even with the lesser Black's intrusion."
I agree, Tom affirmed to Harry. Particularly given the…factors at play.
Factors? Harry wondered.
Rosier the female is not your only associate who desires intimate relations, Tom informed.
All the ladies love me, Harry replied smugly.
None more than the moaning mudblood, Tom reminded sharply. But these particular pheromones came not from a witch.
What? Who? Harry sputtered in bewilderment. Wait, you don't mean Orion, do you? Tom? Tom?
I shan't ruin the surprise, Tom teased before closing the channel.
Harry groaned, but kept his disgruntlement to his own mind.
Right at 11 a.m., just as the train prepared to depart for the Scottish Highlands, the compartment door opened once more as a 12-year-old Nordic boy entered. Yet as his verdant eyes flitted around the compartment, confusion set on his fair face.
"Did I miss something?" Conlaed Greengass wondered aloud.