CHAPTER – 21 THE GENESIS
"We need to have a conversation," Sirius' voice cut through the dimly lit room, pulling Harry's attention away from the expensive firewhiskey swirling in his glass. The familiar, almost ethereal features of his godfather were marred by the weight of undeniable tension. Sirius Black, known for the ideal symmetry of his face, now bore a visage that was stretched taut with apprehension. His typically stormy grey eyes had transformed into an enigmatic obsidian, and his cheeks were gaunt, etched with the wear and tear of ceaseless worry. In that moment, Harry couldn't help but wish he could absolve the man of his burdens, knowing all too well that he, in part, was responsible for the source of Sirius's anguish.
"What's on your mind?" Sirius inquired, the concern evident in his tone. "Is there something troubling you?"
Harry hesitated, torn between a multitude of thoughts. He glanced over at Andromeda, who was engrossed in the contents of some files on the opposite end of the room. "Have you been indulging in alcohol a bit too much lately?" Harry cautiously broached the subject. "Your eyes...they seem..."
Andromeda interjected with a hint of exasperation, "I wish it were just excessive drinking." Her comment elicited a scowl from Sirius, indicating that the situation was more complicated. Responding to Harry's inquisitive look, she elaborated, "He's been delving into the Family Library, of all things. It's quite perplexing, really, considering he spent a substantial portion of his life avoiding anything to do with the family. Yet, he's now dedicating an inordinate amount of time to those dusty tomes."
" "Andi—"
"It's true."
"Sirius—" Harry started, "What's the matter here?"
Sirius let out a weary sigh. "Harry, I am the Lord Black. It is imperative that I understand the very magic that courses through my bloodline."
Andromeda interjected, her voice laced with a sense of urgency. She rose from her seat and directed a stern gaze toward Harry. "Those tomes are ancient, and they exude a magic that is darker and more potent than anything we currently employ. My grandfather, even, would only touch them with ritually purified scalpels, and he wore silk gloves on top of that. Your godfather, on the other hand, spent a whole hour with those books simply because he felt restless."
"Sirius—" Harry's voice held a note of concern, "Why are you subjecting yourself to this?"
"I'm fulfilling my duty as the Lord Black," Sirius replied gruffly, his expression defiant. "Andi's simply being overly cautious. Harry, you're not in a position to lecture me about safety concerns when you're dabbling in the same risky business."
Harry countered, "I've been to that library with Fleur before, and nothing untoward happened."
Sirius shot back, "Misfortune strikes without warning, Harry. What if something had happened to you?"
Technically, something did happen. Harry had been struck by a dark curse during his visit, but he saw no point in mentioning that detail to Sirius.
"I defeated them all and got out unscathed," Harry defended himself.
"Bollocks, you were injured," Sirius retorted.
"Well, for some interpretations of 'unscathed'…" Harry mumbled under his breath. "But let's not change the subject. Sirius, what's really bothering you?"
Harry raised an eyebrow, wondering if he should let Sirius off the hook for his attempt to divert the conversation away from the Library. But for now, he needed to address a different matter. He couldn't help but wish that Fleur had been present during this discussion; that way, if things took a wrong turn, he could at least blame her for planting the idea in his head in the first place.
"I had a conversation with Fleur, and..." Harry hesitated, casting a quick glance at Andromeda, "I believe it's time I come clean about a few things."
Sirius's eyes brightened at Harry's words, eager for the revelation. "Well, well, it's about time you grew a backbone. So, spill the beans, how did it go?"
Harry attempted to caution, "Hold on, Sirius, I don't think—"
"Did you sleep with her?" Sirius blurted out bluntly.
"Sirius!" Andromeda chided him, but couldn't help breaking into laughter.
Sirius nonchalantly shrugged. "It's just a question. A very reasonable one at that. He's been hanging out with that Veela, taking her to ice-cream parlors, and she even took him home. Now he's all red-faced and wants to talk about it."
Harry implored, "Can we please stop discussing my personal life?"
"So, did you?" Sirius persisted with a mischievous grin.
"I don't think he did," Andromeda chimed in, her lips pursed in thought. "He'd be in a much better mood if he had."
Harry chuckled at the absurdity of the situation. Fleur's proposition had indeed caught him off guard, leaving him torn between blushing at the brazen offer and trying to discern if she was being serious. Personally, Harry was convinced she was simply teasing him; there was no logical reason why Fleur Delacour, the Veela enchantress, would be interested in a skinny young man with a penchant for danger.
"Welcome to the family," Sirius grinned. "We're Blacks. We make weird seem normal."
Andromeda, however, interjected with a stern expression that, paradoxically, made her look incredibly cute. "Sirius, you really need to stop being so cheeky."
"Sorry, sorry!" Sirius responded promptly under the weight of Harry's reproach. "Now, Harry, what is it that you wanted to discuss?"
Shoving thoughts of Fleur Delacour to the side, Harry concentrated on the topic he had actually come to address. "It's... um, it's about what happened with that wraith."
The cheerful atmosphere promptly dissipated. "What about it?" Sirius inquired, a hint of concern edging into his voice.
Andromeda, now sitting up straight, added, "Is this related to your Peverell bloodline? I must admit I know very little about it," she quickly added, though unconvincingly.
Harry responded, "It's about my magic and the consequences of what occurred."
"Andi, I was aware of that," she affirmed, her posture conveying her seriousness.
In an instant, Harry felt as though the shadows in the room deepened, a subtle shift that could have been mere instinct or perhaps a play of the light. He knew that the Lar took the security and well-being of the House and its occupants seriously.
"I think," Harry hesitated, "Kreacher should also be present for this."
At that, Sirius sat up straight, his gaze locking onto Harry's as he tried to discern the urgency behind the conversation. "Kreacher! Your presence is required."
The elf, seemingly having materialized beside Sirius's sofa as if he had been there all along, responded, "Nasty blood-traitor Master called for Kreacher? And Kreacher observes that the demon has chosen to reveal the truth."
"What did you say?" Sirius, alarmed and infuriated by the elf's choice of words, gripped his wand. "You are prohibited from addressing my heir with such derogatory—"
"No, it's all right," Harry interjected, attempting to ease the tension before it escalated further. His godfather pushed himself off the couch and approached him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Harry, what's troubling you?"
"When the doxies and the wraith attacked me," Harry began, swallowing hard, "I was—"
Sirius exhaled, cutting him off. "I investigated, Harry. There was no wraith."
Harry met his godfather's gaze with a resolute expression. "There was, but you couldn't find it because I destroyed it."
"Wraiths can't be destroyed," Sirius began to argue, but Harry silenced him with a look that demanded his silence. Exasperated, Sirius turned to Kreacher. "Tell him he's mistaken."
Kreacher, however, remained conspicuously silent.
"Kreacher?" Sirius exclaimed, taken aback. "Are you suggesting that you were aware of this?"
The house-elf bowed low. "I was, Master."
"And you did nothing to protect him?!" Sirius's outrage was palpable.
"No," Kreacher replied firmly, and even Harry couldn't help but flinch at the unwavering conviction in the elf's tone.
"Harry is my godson, and a son of the Black family by My Command," Sirius began fervently. "I fail to see how any wraith could be more significant than—"
"It was Walburga Black! Your mother!" Harry blurted out, no longer willing to keep this secret. "Your mother cursed this house through her suicide, and her spirit lingered to purge all Muggle-borns and half-breeds who entered."
"My... mother?" Sirius stared in astonishment.
"Still haunting us from beyond the grave," Andromeda mused. "So, it's a curse, you say?"
Harry nodded. "And for it to activate, it needs a trigger."
Andromeda looked at Harry with understanding. "She attacked you when you were alone, didn't she?"
"Half-blood brat is not blood. Mistress Walburga is," Kreacher stated firmly, adhering to his programmed beliefs.
Sirius clenched his fists, seemingly restraining the urge to physically confront the elf. Harry understood that Sirius wouldn't act on such impulses, as Kreacher's actions and beliefs were largely controlled by the commands of his masters, regardless of his own personal sentiments.
Andromeda, however, sought to probe further. "Kreacher, do you still harbor any desire to harm Harry?"
Kreacher turned to Sirius, seeking permission, and Sirius urged him to answer her.
The elf appeared to engage in an internal struggle, blinking his eyes rapidly. "The Potter brat is a Demon, Master. It would be safest for the House to rid itself of his poisonous presence. And yet," he hesitated, "Harry Potter is also the Heir because the worthless Master willed it so. Perhaps Master could relocate Harry Potter's belongings to another Black property? Maybe the chateau in Shropshire. The Black Mausoleum is nearby."
Harry couldn't help but feel that this statement encapsulated Kreacher's opinion of him. Not only did he view Harry as a danger to the House, but he also seemed to believe that Harry would be content living next to a graveyard, much like a demon.
Sirius was taken aback by the elf's words, choking on his own spit.
"That's actually what I wanted to discuss with you," Harry concluded, his voice trailing off.
"Harry," Sirius fixed him with an intense glare, "you need to banish that notion from your head right now, or I swear I'll hex you every way from Sunday. You are my godson, my heir. It doesn't matter if you don't share Black blood or if there's something unique about your magic. Family sticks together."
"But I'm not—"
"You are," Sirius responded softly but firmly. "To me."
"Sirius," Harry insisted, "you don't understand. It's not just my magic that's behaving strangely. When I confronted that wraith, I transformed into something else. I became a demon. I... I consumed your mother!"
For a few uncomfortable moments, his godfather stared at him in silence. "I see. That explains a few things."
Harry gazed at Sirius with a baffled expression. "Err... what?"
Sirius let out a sigh and shook his head. "I suppose, given the circumstances, I should come clean as well."
"Let me guess," Harry responded with a touch of sarcasm and growing annoyance, "it has something to do with the House of Peverell?"
His godfather nodded briefly. "I apologize, Harry. If I had known that such a situation was possible, I would have addressed our issues long ago. At least now, I understand why you were deemed worthy of the Peverell bloodline."
"Demon!" Kreacher growled.
"Oh, quiet down," Sirius retorted. "Aren't I descended from the Black practitioners, who were said to be the descendants of Tezcatlipoca?"
Kreacher seemed taken aback by this revelation.
"Harry, on the other hand," Sirius continued, "is a descendant of an equally ancient, if not even older, lineage of necromancers—practitioners of Magia de muerte, as Grand Aunt Cassie used to say."
"Death magic," Andromeda translated, her gaze now fixed on Harry with growing curiosity.
"What's that?" Harry inquired, bewildered.
"You see, Harry, the magic we employ today is refined. It comes with proper incantations, structured systems, and clear rules to follow. We've harnessed a primal force of the universe and adapted it for our convenience. Our ancestors, in contrast, would have needed a ten-line aria, chanted with a specific mindset, just to summon a single bolt of lightning from the heavens. These days, all it takes is the correct wand movement and a one-word incantation."
Harry sensed there was more to this explanation. "But..."
Sirius's expression turned serious. "The magic of our forebears was wild, untamed, an intrinsic part of Nature itself. Unlike today, where wizards and witches can choose from a variety of magical paths and disciplines, they were limited to a single path. There were druids who were in tune with nature, necromancers who delved into the realm of the dead, runesmiths and oracles, and battle-mages who could summon the powers of the winds and forces of nature to wreak havoc on their enemies. The magic of those times was rough, unrefined, restricted, and... uncontrollable."
"You mean it was dangerous," Harry ventured.
"I mean uncontrollable," Sirius countered. "Any magic can be dangerous, Harry. I could kill you with an Unforgivable Curse just as easily as with a simple Cutting Curse to the throat. But in those times, when magic was called upon, it didn't come through a wand; it manifested as a force of nature. Modern wizards might use Incendio Maxima to turn a battlefield to ashes, while ancient wizards would use... volcanoes."
Harry blinked, struggling to grasp the concept. "Vol—"
"Yes."
"Real volcanoes?"
"Yes."
"Like erupting, lava-spewing, actual vol—"
"Yes."
He sighed and rubbed his temples, foreseeing a forthcoming headache. "Continue."
"Most hermetic magic and occult systems were born out of a necessity for structure, Harry, to bring order, form, and purpose. But the Peverells were different. Their Death Magic stemmed from an innate desire to strip away all those extraneous elements, returning the universe to its pure, primordial chaos—the natural state of the universe."
Harry began to feel a sense of unease settling in.
"Magia de muerte," Andromeda added, "ultimately leads to the cessation of planetary motion, the death of the sun and stars, and the return of the universe to infinite darkness." She glanced at Sirius for confirmation.
Her godfather nodded in agreement.
Harry's thoughts raced. In light of this newfound knowledge, many of his past actions began to take on a strange coherence. Destroying the Dark Lord as a baby, reducing Quirrell to ashes, defeating basilisks, vanquishing Dementors, the graveyard incident, and finally the wraith encounter...
"Are you telling me," he asked in a trembling voice, "that my only ability is to destroy?"
The irony was not lost on him. He had been hailed as the Boy-Who-Lived, celebrated as the one who had defeated the Dark Lord as an infant. Now, it seemed that he had achieved this by being capable only of destruction. But that couldn't be entirely true, could it? He had performed numerous spells over the years that had nothing to do with destruction, hadn't he?
But the spells you're most proficient with are the most destructive ones, a dark part of his mind whispered.
His Patronus Charm could obliterate Dementors.
A mere touch had incinerated a possessed man.
His freezing spell had wholly disassembled—
"Not precisely destruction," Sirius clarified. "It's more like an unraveling. It breaks bonds, nullifies enchantments, and compels order to crumble into chaos. At least, that's what we gather from the ancient accounts. The Peverell name is notorious, Harry, far more so than even Grindelwald at the peak of his power. In fact, Grindelwald believed that finding the revered Hallows would make him worthy of... never mind."
What exactly is this Peverell magic?" Harry inquired.
Sirius offered a cryptic smile. "I can't precisely explain it, Harry. But maybe you can."
Harry blinked in confusion. "Sirius, this isn't the time for jokes—"
"I'm not joking, Harry. I can't divulge any information about Peverell Family Magic because I'm not a Peverell. However, you are. It's a common aspect of all Family Magics, really. I can only know about what's within my own bloodline."
"Fine," Harry grumbled, his patience wearing thin. "Then tell me what you can."
Sirius's smile grew broader as he reminisced about a similar conversation he had with Arcturus in that very Manor. "Don't be so impatient, Harry. This might take a moment. You see, what you refer to as magic is essentially the manifestation of miracles or magical effects, governed by the rules of the specific thaumaturgical system you use to achieve the desired result."
"Thaumaturgy?" Harry questioned.
"That's correct," Sirius confirmed. "It's a term for the particular system of magic you employ. Europe and MACUSA, for instance, adhere to the Roman Thaumaturgical System. It relies on foci containing the cores of potent magical creatures, which help witches and wizards channel the magic within themselves, enabling them to perform spells. We commonly call this witchcraft and wizardry. However, if you were to visit Ouagadougou, you'd encounter a spirit-based thaumaturgical system that produces houngans, mambos, and bokkor. The Navajo people have medicine men and yenaldooshi, and so on. The key point is that each thaumaturgical system has its own set of rules, and the magic of that system abides by those rules."
" But not Family Magic?" Harry inquired.
Sirius beamed with pride. "That's right, not Family Magic. You see, Harry, what we refer to as Family Magic is something that defies all expectations, flouts the laws of nature, and essentially rewrites reality to suit its own desires. It's a form of magic that can accomplish... well, just about anything you desire."
"Anything?" Harry echoed, wide-eyed.
"Anything you desire," Sirius repeated, laughing at his astonished expression. "I had the same incredulous look when my grandfather explained it to me."
Harry pressed for more information. "So how does one obtain it?"
"In all honesty, nobody knows," Sirius admitted. "All we have are theories. Some believe its origin is in the wellspring of Creation, the source of all events, phenomena, and possibilities. It's where souls originate and return after death. Others, who prefer a more rational explanation, refer to it as Axioms, Truths, Principles, or any related terms, describing them as the governing or fundamental aspects of the universe. The ancients called them Gods and Goddesses, often using their imagination and willpower to manifest them in the form of anthropomorphic deities—sentient beings who rule the universe as a kind of divine pantheon, incidentally providing the inspiration for many of the religious beliefs among Muggles."
The sheer volume of information left Harry feeling overwhelmed. "That still doesn't tell me how to obtain it."
"Truth be told, Harry, I don't know. My grandfather used to say that to attain Family Magic, one must walk a path that doesn't exist in order to open a door that isn't really there."
"You're just messing with me at this point," Harry exclaimed.
Sirius let out a chuckle. "I wish I were, but I'm not. Magic represents the pinnacle of human ingenuity, Harry. However, Family Magic? That's the domain of a deity."
"Deity," Harry repeated, testing the word on his tongue. "An actual deity."
Sirius maintained a serene smile.
"That doesn't even make any sense!" Harry protested, growing increasingly frustrated with the lack of clear answers. "You said that Family Magic defies the laws of reality. So how can one attain the power to bypass reality while using magic governed by those same laws?"
"You've hit the nail on the head, Harry," Sirius replied. "That's precisely why obtaining Family Magic is deemed impossible. Modern wizards have relinquished the hope of acquiring new Family Magics, instead taking pride in being born into families already blessed with it. Like the Blacks, or the Selwyns, the Greengrasses, the Rosiers, the Crouches, and, of course, the Peverells."
"Does that mean—?"
"That I can use my Family Magic?" Sirius completed Harry's thought. "Yes and no. As the current Lord, I possess a certain degree of control over it. The Black Lar, for example, is a manifestation of this control. But can I truly master it? No, I cannot. I am not a Vessel."
Harry froze at the term. "Vessel. Bodrag used the same term."
"Bod— the Overlord, I see," Sirius responded. "Yes, it's not surprising. You see, Harry, not everyone has the potential to access Family Magic. There are three main factors that determine it—your blood, your affinity, and your mental constitution. Blood, being born into a Noble family; affinity, your aptitude in the branches of magic influenced by your Family Magic; and finally, your mental constitution—your ability to possess a saintly mindset while not employing the Black Arts. Occasionally, across generations, a person emerges who possesses all three factors in the right balance. It is through these individuals that Family Magic is expressed, often to a remarkable extent. They are known as Vessels. My great-grandfather, Sirius Arcturus Black, after whom I was named, was believed to be a Vessel. He was referred to as the Chosen of Tezcatlipoca, my earliest ancestor who was revered as a deity by the Aztecs."
"Kreacher's True Master," the elf interjected with reverence.
"Andrei," Andromeda murmured, "thought Bellatrix might be a Vessel, but she was married off to the Lestranges before he could take any action."
"Yes, Uncle Cygnus. Quite a lunatic, that one."
Andromeda rolled her eyes. "Tell me about it."
"Bellatrix?" Harry repeated. "Bellatrix Lestrange?"
A shadow flickered across Sirius's face. "Bellatrix Lestrange is a deranged mass-murderer. But the Bellatrix I knew was anything but that. My grandfather believed that taking the Dark Mark had some adverse effect on her, making her lose her sanity. She could have been the brightest star in the Black constellation, but Uncle Cygnus sold her off like property."
"Why?" Harry pressed.
"Why else?" Sirius snarled, seemingly addressing no one in particular. "For money, of course, and to please that damned Dark Lord."
Harry sensed that there was more to Sirius's anger than met the eye. It seemed personal, but he knew better than to pry further.
"What about the Peverells?" Harry inquired.
Sirius responded, "The Peverells were necromancers, deeply obsessed with the power of Death. You may have heard of Morrigan, a necromancer of such perfection that her name became synonymous with a goddess of death. It was said that merely seeing her would bring about one's demise."
Harry swallowed hard. What kind of bizarre, twisted bloodline had he descended from?
"And what about the Family Magic?" Harry pressed.
Sirius appeared conflicted as he continued, "This is where things get hazy. The legendary Peverell brothers are believed to be the ones who elevated Death to the status of Family Magic. However, no one seems to know what happened to them. A family as ancient and feared as the Peverells vanished from the male line within a few decades, and there is virtually no record of their existence."
Harry maintained a neutral expression. "...Okay."
"But that's all history, Harry," Sirius continued. "Contemporary witches and wizards have abandoned any attempts to attain new Family Magics. We take pride in our Noble lineage, our bloodline purity, our wealth, and our magical aptitude. Furthermore, the concept that you are a Vessel for a bloodline that has been extinct for over a millennium will evoke various reactions. Frankly, I plan to use that to your advantage in your trial."
"You believe," Harry began cautiously, "that what happened at the cemetery was my Peverell magic?"
Sirius responded firmly, "I strongly believe it was. Can you think of any other explanation?"
Harry wisely chose to remain silent.
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