A Crown Of Black Upon His Head

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its associated characters: all rights belong to JK Rowling. I do not own any crossover references used in the story: all rights belong to their original creators. I do own any OC spells explained at the end of a chapter.

Key Pairing: Haphne (Betrothed)

Normal Speech

'Thoughts'

/Parseltongue/

Chapter 1: The Black King Cometh!

Arcturus Septimus Black.

In the Magical World, anyone who heard the name would probably react in the same way they would had someone dared to speak the name Lord Voldemort; namely with a display of profound shudders, a feeling of intense discomfort and a desire to suddenly be anywhere other than here.

That name was one you did not want to hear against you, nor was it a name you wanted to hear responsible for something bad happening to you.

Death itself would probably be preferable to going up against the man whom many had dubbed the Black King for many long, tense years, aka the man who was both feared and respected by both Grindelwald and Voldemort themselves.

So much so that Grindelwald himself chose to leave the man to his life, devices and tried everything not to put himself in Arcturus' crosshairs.

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But all that changed when one of Grindelwald's followers decided to murder one of Arcturus' children, and the Black King's grandchild, while they slept in their beds. As a result, Arcturus Black came from out of the shadows, took up arms against the Death Squads and became the feared, renowned war monster he was later known as.

When Albus Dumbledore ended the conflict by vanquishing Grindelwald, Arcturus seemed content to fade into the background, but his reputation, furthered by rumours of something called the Saharan Night of Blood and Sand, endured.

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So, when the Dark Lord Voldemort rose to power, Arcturus intended to take a backseat, watching his descendants compete not only against one another, but in clashes that resulted in so much loss, bloodshed and the downfall of more than a few bloodlines.

However, when the Dark Lord's forces, led by one of Arcturus' descendants, brought about the eradication of the McKinnons – the same family that had married into the Blacks when their matriarch married Arcturus himself decades earlier – the Black King's wrath returned en masse, leading to a clash of epic proportions that left more than a few casualties on both sides.

Not to mention a very rare event when one of those forces defected from Voldemort, only to swear eternal, unbinding, Unbreakable-Vow-reinforced loyalty to the Black King until the end of their days.

With his family avenged, and his business done, Arcturus stepped off the board one more time, returning to the shadows from whence he'd come, never to emerge from them to face the world again.

Some people even claimed he'd died not long after the war with Voldemort ended, and, around the world, many people breathed a sigh of relief and even dared to imagine they would never be forced to hear the name, confront the man or face the demon inside him ever again.

Then, nearly ten years after the fall of Lord Voldemort, the world learned one dark truth the hard way.

That truth?

They were wrong to breathe a sigh of relief…

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"Harry Potter?"

As soon as Professor McGonagall spoke the name that everyone in Magical Britain had been waiting to hear, a gasp of disbelief rose up around the hall when they all got a good look at the magical world's prodigal son.

What made them gasp was the fact that this particular soul was a tall, lean, well-dressed youth, who wore his robes in such a dignified manner, they might as well have been the folds of a second skin wrapping around him. On top of that, instead of a mess of wild, unruly black hair on his head, the youth had a head of well-brushed raven-black hair that had a few streaks of silver running along his fringe, like the hairstyle of a certain lady who was Mother to one of the newly-sorted first-years.

Indeed, this same first-year couldn't help, but compare the two when he saw Harry Potter stride forwards, his head high and his expression neutral.

Then, there were his eyes; as many knew, they were emerald-green in colour, similar to the colour of his Mother's eyes, or the colour of the Killing Curse, but, when those who saw those eyes watched the boy approach the Sorting Hat, a collective shudder passed through each and every one of them as, just by looking into those eyes, they felt as though they were looking into the eyes of a deadly serpent.

A viper…no.

A Basilisk…no!

A Runespoor?

Maybe.

If there was a deadlier serpent, that was it.

Not even the glasses he wore seemed to lessen the effect those eyes had on the rest of the Hall.

As if that wasn't enough, the boy's pale, pointed features, his cool, apathetic expression, made so many think he wasn't eleven, but more someone who'd been through the wars and come out on the other side, able to hide and conceal his demons perfectly. Reaching the hat, Harry Potter turned, letting his robe billow open as he spun around and sat on the stool with practiced perfection, curling one knee over the other while he rested both hands on his knees as he waited for the Sorting result.

However, as Minerva went to lower the Sorting Hat, another collective gasp filled the hall when, in a manner that even surpassed, if not beat the sorting of the previously-mentioned first-year for speed of the result, the hat opened its rim and made its decision.

"SLYTHERIN!"

For the first time in a long time, Hogwarts held its breath as they watched Harry Potter rise from the stool, wrap his robe around his lean frame and, without so much as a glimmer of a reaction to his sorting result, the boy walked casually towards the Slytherin Table.

Dead silence following him all the way, right up to the moment where, left with no other choice, Minerva called out the next name on her list.

Though, even as she read out the last names on the list, her eyes, like pretty much everyone else's there, never left the Slytherin Table.

More-specifically, they never left the spot where Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and Saviour of Magical Britain, sat patiently, arms folded and eyes staring straight ahead as he observed the end of the Sorting Ceremony.

More-specifically-still, their eyes never left his…

His, which never seemed to leave the centre of the High Table where a stunned, speechless, but also solemn-looking Albus Dumbledore looked back to the boy, hoping to offer some sort of gesture of good luck to Harry.

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And yet, when he looked into those eyes, Albus Dumbledore could only shudder in dread.

Those eyes; the posture; the silent motions; the atmosphere of dread and fear.

Only once in his life, or rather twice, and both times during an age of conflict, had the atmosphere felt this tense, but…that was impossible!

He…he was…he was dead…

So, how could Harry James Potter even begin to mirror the atmosphere made famous, and feared, by the warrior-demon known as the Black King?

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"NO! I WON'T HAVE IT! I WILL NOT ALLOW THIS TO HAPPEN! I WON'T! IWON'T!"

"Fine then, Severus; there's the door. I'll have your things sent home and, on behalf of your colleagues and students, we're sorry to lose you."

While Pomona Sprout, Filius Flitwick and Minerva McGonagall could only watch with a mixture of inevitability and amusement as Severus Snape spat his dummy out and started throwing a wobbly, Minerva shot him down with her statement, putting as much finality into her words as she could muster – and silently vowing to have a good laugh later when she recalled the image of incredulity that flashed across her learned colleague's face when she shot him down hard and fast.

As for Severus, he looked from Minerva to Albus Dumbledore, his eyes filled with desperation and silent demands for the old man to do what he did best and stick up for his spy.

Albus, however, seemed to be trembling with dread and confusion as he stood over the glowing waters of his Pensieve, his hands gripping the edges, as though they were the only things keeping him on his feet.

As the other Heads looked to their superior, there was no doubt in any of their minds he was viewing that, which was the cause for Snape's wobbly.

The reason that, now the Sorting was over, the Four Heads of the Hogwarts Houses and the Headmaster gathered for an emergency meeting.

Harry James Potter had been sorted into Slytherin House.

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Even as Minerva read out the last names on the list – with Ronald Weasley, unsurprisingly, going to Gryffindor, though not without glaring daggers at a still-calm Harry Potter, who didn't seem fazed by the boy's glare; then, finally, Blaise Zabini had joined Potter in Slytherin, though Harry neither noticed or seemed to acknowledge this at the time – she, like her peers, was all too aware of the horror in Severus' eyes, not to mention his deep breaths and the way he seemed to clench his jaws together even harder than usual.

When the feast ended, Severus was first out of the Great Hall, to the amusement of the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw House student bodies, while the Slytherins looked confused, bewildered, suspicious and…bored.

Of course, only Potter seemed to be the latter and, when he'd seen Severus flee the hall like a bat out of Hades, he'd actually rolled his eyes before following his peers off to the dungeons.

Minerva, Filius and Pomona, meanwhile, were then informed of the emergency meeting arranged by Albus.

Not one Head of House needed to guess the reason for it, although they did have to wonder whose brainchild the meeting was.

The guy who looked like he was going to commit career, and probably personal, suicide by going after the new Slytherin student.

Or the guy who looked like he had just seen all his hopes and dreams for the future come crashing down around his ears.

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"It…it isn't right!" exclaimed Severus, whom Minerva guessed had changed his mind about quitting. "Potter…Potter cannot be one of my Snakes: he's a Potter, for Merlin's sake! They are all the same: arrogant, lazy, pretentious…"

"AHEM-Malfoy-AHEM!" Growled Filius, earning an accusing look from Severus, while Filius sniffed, "Oh, do excuse me, Severus; I forget how dusty Albus' office is, but, seeing as how I have your attention, perhaps you might be able to stop acting like such a petulant child who lost his favourite toy and try to be the fair, just and neutral Professor and grownup you are!"

"Easy for you to say, Filius," argued Severus, sneering in his usual way, "You would have loved to pamper Potter's ego and make him your prize!"

"Why?" asked Filius coolly, his eyes shining in a way that made Minerva and Pomona suddenly wish they hadn't come to the meeting, since the look was one that usually spoke trouble…

Well, from a goblin, it was.

Then again, Filius was a man you did not cross willingly, as he proved when, squaring up to Severus as best as he could, the Charms Master, Duel Champion and renowned Battle Mage smirked as he asked in a mocking tone. "Because he's Lily's son?"

There it was.

The same flinch many would show whenever they heard the name of a certain Dark Lord.

Now, Severus gave the same reaction hearing the name of Lily Alexandrea Potter nee Evans, coming from Filius' mouth with all the confidence and pride that the Head of Ravenclaw House could muster.

And all the while, Albus kept his head in his proverbial fish tank, while Filius continued, "You're right, Severus: I would have loved to have Lily's son under my wing, puns intended. In fact, I've spent many nights since that dark time dreaming of carrying on the strong relationship Lily and I had, maybe even doing with the Son what I never got the chance to with Lily; train him as my successor. Hmm…do you know? I wonder if I have any of Lily's old school journals or copies of Lily's studies that I might pass onto Lily's son?"

"Stop…saying…her…name!"

"Why?" asked Filius, keeping his eyes on Severus, who looked like he either wanted to strangle Filius – before remembering who the man was and why he was so feared and respected – or have a heart attack, thereby proving he had one.

"Do you honestly think…are you so petulantly-naïve and selfishly-hearted that you believe you are the only one allowed to mourn her, miss her and to look back and remember her with fondness? Of course, unlike you, Minerva, Pomona, even Albus, not to mention your predecessor and I would all remember and mourn Lily Potter's memory…"

"Shut up…"

"Whereas you are stuck in the past, you only think of Lily Evans," argued Filius, his sneer now fully-visible as he went for the jugular. "The woman you insulted and cost your friendship with her, thanks to your friends in the Snake Pit!"

"NO!" Roared Severus, his wand jumping into his hand, though not before Filius, Minerva and Pomona's did the same, though they held their wands against Severus, as he snarled like the big baby he was proving he was with each passing second since the Sorting, throwing a wobbly that would have made a certain fat piglet look tame by comparison as he roared impotently.

"I didn't do anything: it was always Potter! I loved her; doted on her; protected her, especially from Potter! I worshipped her! He stole her from me!"

"Dear Magic, do you even hear yourself, Severus?" asked Pomona, her voice heated and edged by disbelief, rage and mocking amusement, "Lily might have been a lot of things, but she was not some prize to be won. She was a person, not an item, like a quill or a book! No, she was as human as all of us, and therefore had the right to love, date and marry whoever she chose, which, in this instance, happened to be James, Merlin rest him!"

"He stole her from…"

"ENOUGH, SEVERUS!"

Suddenly, Minerva had a vision of a certain other wizard from a certain famous fictional series in the Muggle World – a fantasy series that, ironically, she'd discovered because it was one of Lily Evans' favourite books – when she and her colleagues heard Albus roar at Severus, his voice tinged with a blend of fear and rage as he finally looked up from his Pensieve.

At the same time, an air of great and powerful magic buffeted against the Heads of House as they turned to their boss, who was looking at Severus with a cold, unyielding iciness in his blue eyes, the likes of which Minerva hadn't seen since…well…

She honestly couldn't remember ever seeing the look, much less the cold, unwavering strength of his voice as he addressed the other man, "Now, while I do agree this unexpected turn of events, shocking though it has been for each and every one of us to have to bear witness towards, the fact of the matter is that, while it is something I might consider impossible, if not hard to believe, there is still the other fact here. Let me remind you, my old friend that the innocent, if somewhat-surprising young soul whom you speak of is not James, nor is he Lily…"

"Well, not yet, anyway," added Filius, though his eyes never left Severus as Albus continued.

"After all, as I am sure our colleagues will vouch for my claims of such a thing by the end of this first week, I have a very strong suspicion that young Harry might have inherited a lot more than just Lily's eyes, but the point still stands."

"What point? That you'll all favour him?"

"You fool!" hissed Minerva, scoffing in disbelief as she exclaimed, "You know, I'd heard you were known as The Bat, but now, I finally see why! Your blindness…it's laughable, I'd call it pathetic if I didn't respect your reputation as Potions Master and wizard, Severus. I mean, hasn't it crossed your mind why Mr Potter looks so…so unlike his Father, much less why he doesn't even look like Lily? I mean, for Morgana's sake, Severus, did you not see his posture? His way of moving? His eyes?"

"His arrogance you mean?"

"His stance," said Filius, drawing in a slow, shaky breath through clenched teeth, as though he didn't want to admit what he was going to say next, not even to himself. "Are you honestly telling me, you so-called spy, that you cannot look at all the evidence present in young Mr Potter and not see the signs of one whom is practically a double, if not a reincarnation of…of him?"

"His Father!"

"Arcturus Black!" exclaimed Albus, Filius and Minerva in unison, the act earning a shocked look from Pomona, as well as Albus, as the Heads of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw said it in perfect tandem with Dumbledore's exclamation.

And yet, Severus just scoffed, "Nice try: but let me remind you of something…and that is that He is dead, you weak-willed children!"

"And, I'm sorry to have to ask like this, but, if he is dead, Severus, then, indulge me when I ask you this question: James Potter is…what, exactly, my learned colleague?" asked Filius, though he already knew what was coming.

"An arrogant brat who all of you believed walked on water, so you'll spoil the son rotten and make him a double of his Father…"

"And Lucius Malfoy's son is…what?" asked Minerva, sensing where Filius was going, both now and when he'd had his coughing fit.

"My godson: there's a difference."

"Indeed there is, Severus," argued a cool voice from behind them, the sound of which made Albus' blood run cold as, along with his four colleagues, he also looked to the other side of his office, right into the eyes of a portrait of former Headmaster of Hogwarts, Phineas Nigellus Black as the man looked at Severus with a predominantly-proud air as he looked into the Potions Master's almost-black eyes.

"For one thing, Heir Potter is not merely a Potter, but also a Black, and, as is evident by more or less all Blacks, save for my distant relative and a few other rogue wanderers, all Blacks have gone…where?"

"Slytherin," said Filius, before he sneered, "A trait young Master Malfoy proved is applicable to the Black Family sons, as has Mr Potter."

"Actually, Filius, that's Potter-Black," argued Phineas, a note of amusement in his voice, "And, despite what you may have heard, I, as a Son of House Black and the magical reliquary of the essence of a Black, can honestly tell you that you are wrong about two things…"

Here, he looked to Severus, his shrewd gaze looking even more unnerving as he explained, "First…Harrison is not a carbon copy of James, nor is he a glimmer of the overconfident, brash, bullying prankster and strategic troublemaker that James was…if anything, I would even say he is worse!"

"Exactly!"

"No, Severus, not exactly," argued Phineas, before he smiled.

A cold, almost-shark-like smile that chilled even Severus to the bone, as Phineas' voice continued, "For you see, this brings me to the second reason you are so very wrong about what you claim, dear neutral Head of Slytherin House."

"What?" asked Severus, more-hotly than Filius, Minerva and Pomona asked it, while Albus looked to his predecessor's portrait with a hint of dread.

"No…" whispered the old man, earning another cold, knowing smile from Phineas, "Phineas, you…you cannot possibly mean…you don't mean…"

"I can and do, Albus," said Phineas, chuckling menacingly as, again, he looked to Severus, eyeing him like a vulture circling a dying carcass as he leaned forwards in his portrait.

"The second way you are so very wrong, Severus Tobias Snape, is when you say my grandson, Arcturus Septimus Black, is dead!"

All of a sudden, any and all doubts, lingering troubles or arguments that Severus might have come up with regarding the sorting of his once-mortal enemy's spawn died long before they might have reached his lips as he took several shaky steps back, his eyes wider than wide while his hand flew to his forearm, where a Mark that had not burned for nigh-on ten years suddenly did something that should have been impossible.

It became colder than cold, as though frostbite was disintegrating Severus' arm and shattering it into a bazillion pieces, which the magic of the Dark Mark then did seconds later, shattering Severus' mind, heart and soul as he fell to his knees, sobbing profusely for the first time in ten years as he whispered the same thing over and over again.

"No…no…please…anything, but…but this! Please…Albus…Filius…somebody put…put this right…"

"Put what right, Severus?" asked Pomona.

Once again, the sly, sinister chuckle of Phineas Black filled the office, drawing everyone's attention to him as he smiled toothily.

Though the words he spoke made Dumbledore's blood turn to ice as he heard his predecessor's voice echo through the office.

"As is his right, as Future Lord Harrison James Potter-Black's guardian and Patriarch of the Family, my grandson, Arcturus Septimus Black, has just claimed the life of Severus Tobias Snape, for the whims, commands and desires of his Heir, Harrison James Potter-Black, as is his right as owner and custodian of the life-debt once owed to young Harrison's late Father…so, in other words, Severus…watch what you say!"

The ice-cold voice that filled the office made every other portrait freeze, while even Fawkes seemed to prefer to be anywhere but there, judging by how he flashed out of existence, leaving Filius, Pomona, Minerva, Severus and Albus alone with the voice's echo.

An echo that Filius summed up pretty well as the Head of Ravenclaw clicked his tongue before he spoke to his downed colleague, who still continued sobbing, begging for someone to make it all better.

"You know, I never thought I'd see the day where I agree with Argus when he says it, but…oh dear, you are in trouble, Severus…"

The only sound that filled the office was Severus' sobbing as he felt the magic take hold of him.

And, this time, no amount of snivelling, promises of spying or hopes and two-faced, double-edged-bladed deals was going to get him out of it.

The adventure begins – again – and it looks like Snivellus has been put on notice: White may move first in chess, but I'd say the Black King already has the White in Check…what's the next move?

Keep Reading to Find Out

Next Chapter: While Snivellus tries crawling into a hole, the Slytherin Boy-Who-Lived seeks to make people understand who he is and what he is not…

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PORTRAYAL:

Phineas Nigellus Black – Simon Pegg