"From the Ashes"

by Unfocused Muse

::Chapter 5::

::The First Visit::

He looked up from the Prophet as the door to the kitchen swung open, and waved towards a chair as a tall man that walked in, yawning and stretching, trying to wake himself up. The chair moved out, and he stood, reaching for a mug and the pot of coffee .

"Morning." he said, "how do you take your coffee?"

"Uugh. Black." was the reply, and he scratched his head, trying to clear out the cobwebs left by sleep.

"You slept alright, I hope?"

"Da. Vas much better than hotel. Please to remind me never to drink so much of that Muggle drink again."

He chuckled as he passed Viktor his coffee and set out to make himself another cup- cream and three sugars. He'd made sure the house elves knew that he would be taking care of breakfast, and setting his coffee next to the stove he rolled up his sleeves and pulled down a large skillet. Quick flick of his wand and he had the eggs and bacon floating over from the fridge (something he was very glad he managed to convince Sirius to update), and the bread and butter slid themselves over from their place on the counter.

"How do you take your eggs, Viktor? I've got the makings of omlets too, if you'd prefer."

"Vhatever you vish to make is fine. I am not picky."

"Hm." Harry walked over to the fridge and took a quick look at some of the different things that would make an interesting omlet. "Any food allergies?"

"No."

"Then feel free to sit back and enjoy your coffee -I'm sorry the Coke didn't agree with you."

"No, no, it is fine. I think perhaps it is sugar that does not agree vith me. I have never been out in Muggle London like that. They have most interesting lifestyle."

"It is." he pulled out a tray of sausages, some tomatoes, mushrooms and the left over spinach from supper two days ago. "To most they are seen as being uncultured, and uneducated, but I think they've done pretty well for themselves."

"Never before have I seen such as that 'foot ball', or eaten –vhat did you call it?- 'fast food'. I should spend time learning about them."

"I'll take you out any time you'd like."

Viktor watched as bacon and sausage were added to the now hot skillet and Harry moved onto cutting up some mushrooms and dicing up a tomato. He took a good swig of his still hot coffee and stood, making his way over to the sink to wash. Harry raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing as he reached for the eggs and a mixing bowl.

"Vhere do you keep wisk?" Viktor asked, cracking an egg into the bowl.

"Uh, right here." replied Harry, reaching for the aforementioned utensil in the container to the left of the stove. "You don't have to help me, Viktor. Sit and read the paper."

"Is nothing but garbage anyway."

"You're right, of course. I didn't know you could cook." he said.

"Not all Vizards rely on house elf cooking." was the reply.

"I'm sorry- I didn't mean-"

"No, no. You misunderstand." interrupted Viktor, adding half of the now diced tomatoes to the omelet Harry had started, "My mother, she told my father 'vomen vill respect man who can cook. Our son vill not be afraid to do his share.' And that vas that. She made house elf take days off, and she teach me to cook."

"And you didn't have a choice I take it?"

"Had choice, but I like to eat, and so I learn. Is like mother said- I vill not be afraid to do my share. Vhy did you learn?"

Harry took a deep breath, knowing this conversation was bound to upset him, and through him the House, and flipped the omelet.

"I wasn't given a choice." he said, "I was raised by my mother's Muggle relatives."

"I do not understand."

"My aunt and uncle don't like magic. Hate it, actually. Thought it best to… force it out of me, at least that's what Uncle Vernon said. I was the house elf, not their nephew."

Viktor looked up sharply at Harry, surprise clearly written across his face. Harry just shrugged and removed the omelet from the pan, ready to start the second, when a hand clamped down on his shoulder. The look Viktor gave him wasn't one of sympathy or pity, like he'd grown used to seeing when people realized exactly how he'd grown up, but rather one of approval and strength.

"That you are able to do these tasks for yourself, and refuse to rely on house elf -vhich most in your position vould do-, tells me that you, Harry Black, are better man than most. To you, people is people, and you are not afraid to show them that you are no different than they are. Now, you set table; I vill finish this, and ve can discuss business."

The first thing he noticed when he walked into his office was that it was cold. Colder than it should have been, given the time of year and the various warming charms he'd placed on the room to keep it just the right temperature. The second thing he noticed was that the ornate perch his faithful friend had called home for… more years than he could recall, was gone. That unsettled him, because he remembered, quite clearly, having left early that morning, with the Phoenix preening on the stand just in front of but to the right of his desk. Never before had the stand left his office, as it had been in the office of the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for as long as the institution had been standing. The Phoenix had made the castle its home long ago, and if the legend was to be believed, he was here before the Founders converted the castle to a school. He set the few scrolls and books he'd picked up that morning on the clear space on his desk, only to frown as he noticed a piece of paper with the official Hogwarts stamp on it, along with a bright red ribbon sealed on with gold wax, the Gryffindor crest stamped into it, floating just above the surface of the desk. He picked it up, and read, only to have his frown deepen.

"This isn't right." he said, readjusting his glasses to take a better look at the seal, "This is not Minerva's seal."

He tucked the letter into his pocket, and went up to the second level of his large office, to a hidden door in one of the bookcases. The long, narrow hallway that was hidden behind was filled with cobwebs, a testament to how little the passage was used, and he had to clear it with a flick of his wand before he could duck his head and make his way through.

The passage was spelled against magical light, but he wasn't going to take the time to light a candle- this required immediate attention. His steps were cautions as he made his way up the narrow flight of stairs and he kept his hand on the wall, just slightly in front of him, waiting to meet the door at the end, and when he finally found it, it took him a moment to find the latch. The magic resisted his attempt to open the door, at first, but with a great shove he managed to turn the locks and get the door open.

The room was light, and airy, the windows invisible from the outside, making it seem like an empty turret, but giving a view of nearly the entire grounds. There were only four torches on the wall, one for each of the Founders, and the light they gave off (when lit) would make the tower visible for miles, much like a light house. The walls, that weren't a window, were smooth white marble, as was the floor, with thick veins of gold that seemed to shimmer and move as the light moved through the room. In the very center of the room stood a golden pedestal, depicting a Lion, a Serpent, an Eagle, and a Wolf, under the wings of a phoenix, with a second bird circling the ground, guarding them with its flames. The glass case that rested upon the pedestal held one of the most important pieces of Hogwarts history- the original charter and a large tome that belonged to the Founders, cataloguing the creation of the school. The glass was spelled unbreakable, impervious to all means of weather, protected against light, and there absolutely no visible latches, and therefore no means to access the artifacts, but what he needed was clearly visible.

On the bottom of the charter, that was a bit yellowed with age but still easily legible, were four signatures, along with four seals. It was the first seal was what held his interest.

"High Lord Godric Gryffindor." he read, leaning down to get a better look at the seal pressed into the gold wax over a red ribbon.

The seal was nearly an inch and a half around, depicting a very detailed lion standing on its hind legs, a scroll held by its tail, and front paws resting on the pommel of a sword. Around the edge of the seal were wound vines with thorns, with what appeared to be an amaryllis in the lower right corner, just under the lions' hind feet. He pulled the letter from his pocket and studied the seal it bore next to the original, only to find that they were identical.

With a frown he tucked the letter back into his pocket and looked out over the grounds. He was, to his knowledge, the only person with access to the original seals, and even then all he could do was look at them. Most depictions of the Founders seals were of a newer type, or the House seals each of the Head of Houses' used on their correspondence, and were often wrong. He knew for a fact there were no books in the Hogwarts library that would have a true picture of the seals, so how someone managed to duplicate it, and so perfectly, was a mystery. One that he did not like.

"Perhaps there is something I am-"

A flash of heat interrupted his train of thought, bringing his attention now to the Phoenix perched on the glass case, looking down at the charter with what he could only describe as a nostalgic expression.

"Fawkes." he said, holding the letter out to the bird, "What do you know of this?"

The Phoenix looked at the invitation and trilled, tapping his foot over Gryffindors' signature, before turning to face the door.

"This is no game, my friend. It is very important that I know who wrote this."

Fawkes turned again, and puffed out his chest, shuffling his wings as if to say "I did it!" He took the letter in his beak, and it rolled itself up, tied neatly with the red ribbon, and he took off, somehow flying down the narrow stairwell without catching his wings. The Headmaster followed as quickly as his old legs could take him, despite the fact that he was running blind, and had to blink rapidly as he entered back into his office because of the light difference. The door shut and locked behind him, the bookcase sliding back into place as well, and he looked around for the Phoenix, who was no where in sight.

"Now where did he get off to?" he asked, no one in particular.

"Off to file that scroll, I'd suspect."

The voice caught him off guard and he turned to look up at where the Sorting Hat sat.

"You're not one for idle conversation, Hat."

"I think that, perhaps, for a matter concerning the Gryffindor Quidditch team you should speak with their Captain."

"I highly doubt Harry had anything to do with this."

"Hmm… that boy has done a great many things he should not be capable of. Underestimating him would not be wise."

"What is it you know?"

The Hat had grown silent, unmoving, but with what would have been its eyes looking up towards the Gryffindor Sword. It seemed to the Headmaster, although he blamed it as a trick of the light and his aging eyesight, that the blade glowed with an inner light, almost as if it were laughing.

It was just after lunch, and they had decided to lounge around outside, perhaps even try to explain a few things to Hermione. As it was, the boys had gone and started a make-shift Quidditch match, leaving the girls to their own devices, and Ginny was, for some reason, nervous. She knew how Hermione could get when she thought she knew something, and the task of educating the Muggle-born girl was not something she had been looking forward to.

"But," she thought, pulling her hair up into a messy bun, "Harry did ask that I try."

She didn't even realize she'd reached up to finger her new necklace, and was startled when Hermione nudged her in the arm.

"Huh?"

"You keep playing with it."

"It's just new, I guess."

"It is very pretty. I wonder why it became a Phoenix, of all things."

"Does it really matter?"

Ginny hadn't told anyone about Fawkes' visit, knowing that it would prompt more questions, and raise suspicion, and this was a big enough deal without adding any more problems.

"I suppose not. I'm not making mine until after I've talked to Harry."

"You should write Madam Pince and see if you can check those books out early. We all grew up knowing this stuff, so trying to teach you is, no offence 'Mione, not easy. You tend to learn better when you teach yourself."

Hermione laughed and fingered the small brown envelope she hadn't let out of her sight the last day and a half. She wanted desperately to show Harry that it didn't matter that he'd "married" into the Black family, or that there were no hard feelings for the other morning, but there was so much she didn't understand. She didn't think it was right to accept the gift of a Key, which was apparently a REALLY big deal (especially considering that he wasn't consulting the rest of the family before handing them out), when she was confused about what it meant. She had prided herself in knowing at least a little bit about every topic, but in this she was flying blind, and it didn't sit well with her.

Ginny watched as her friend's brown eyes grew a bit sad, and she hated it. She knew she was feeling as if she was being left behind, that she thought everyone thought she was suddenly stupid, but if there was ever one thing that Hermione Granger wasn't, it was slow. She stood up, hauling Hermione to her feet and started for the house.

"Come on," she said. "We're going to write Madam Pince, and then we're going to call Harry."

"But I thought he wasn't to be disturbed." argued Hermione, nervous about confronting her friend.

"'Mione, he's still Harry. If he got the information he needed from Sirius, chances are it's in the Black library. While we wait for that book you checked out last year, I'm sure he'd let us into the house to start educating you."

"I don't want to impose, or interrupt his planning."

"Hermione Granger, are you a Gryffindor or aren't you?"

"Of course I am!"

"Then muster up your Gryffindor courage, and dive head first -like you always do- into the research and the learning. You brewed Polyjuice in SECOND year, for Merlin's sake, and that's not taught til SEVENTH."

The girls both laughed as they made their way into the house, and didn't see the boy's Quidditch match getting interrupted by a Great Horned Owl flying right up to Fred (or was it George?). They all landed, and the twins relieved the owl of its letter.

"Is it from Harry?" asked Bill, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"Yeah. Not sealed up like the last bit tho'." said Fred, handing it to George.

"Must not be 'official'." laughed Charlie.

"So, open it up already!" added Ron.

The twins put their heads together, reading the quick, simple letter, faces breaking out into identical grins.

"WICKED!" they exclaimed, high-fiving each other. "Sorry mates, we've got to run. Tell Mum we'll try to be home for supper."

"Wait, what's up?" Bill tried to grab the letter.

"Can't tell. But boy will you be surprised." said George.

"This is now our top priority. Put our brooms away, yeah?" finished Fred, and they disapparated.

Charlie and Bill picked up their brooms and, shaking their heads, headed towards the house. Ron stayed back, and held his hand out for second letter no one seemed to see the owl had yet to deliver. It gave a soft hoot and took off, leaving him with the small envelope addressed to himself.

"Hey Ron-

Thought to give you a heads up: Viktor Krum is in London, and staying at Grimmauld Place for the duration of his trip. Ran into him at a raffle at Q.Q.S yesterday -why didn't you tell me there was a raffle!- and we kinda… well, I'm sure it'll be in the Prophet after the gaming commission is done trying to clean up our mess.

Anyway, I gave your brothers a task, unrelated to family business, but it'll be the first thing the new Lord Black puts his name on the map for. Once Viktor and I work out more of the details (hopefully within the next day or two) I plan on having you over to the house to discuss it.

Oh, and keep Viktor being here to yourself- apparently Hermione misunderstood something he said in one of his last letters and he wants to surprise her with a visit so that he might better explain in person. Poor Hermione- her lack of a proper Pureblood education has really done a number on her lately.

And I can't believe I just played the Pureblood card.

Shit.

Harry"

Ron folded the letter up and shoved it in his pocket, chuckling as he collected up his broom and the quaffle, trying to think of how he was going to explain Fred and George's absence, because he knew Bill and Charlie wouldn't have said anything to their mother.

By the time he'd finished what little paperwork he had and made arrangements to travel to Little Whinging, it was early evening, and he was hoping that he would catch the family at home. There had been some concern voiced at an Order meeting that there was something wrong with things at Number Four Privet Drive, and he was hoping to prove the rumors false.

A simple concealment charm kept him from being noticed by the busy-body neighbors, and he rang the bell once up the drive. He made a mental note of the state of the gardens, as any other time he'd visited (although those occasions were few and far between) they had been very well tended, whereas now they seemed a little over grown. The lawn was also longer than he remembered having seen it before.

"Yes, how can I- YOU!" a large -obscenely large- man exclaimed when he answered the door.

"Good evening, Vernon. May I come in?" he replied, ever polite.

"No, absolutely not!"

"Surely you don't wish my visit to be topic of conversation among your neighbors?"

"Let him in, Vernon!" he heard a woman say, and suddenly the door was pulled open and he was ushered inside.

The inside of the house showed much the same beginning of neglect that the outside had, and he wondered why they were letting things go, when in the past everything had been in perfect order.

"Lovely to see you, Petunia. Perhaps your son can fetch Harry, and we might talk over a cup of tea?" he asked, moving to the living room as he was sure there was more room for them all there than in the hallway.

"I- I'm afraid my nephew is not here." she replied, more nervous than she had been at the door.

"Oh? When do you expect him?"

"Well, I-"

"We don't." Vernon interrupted his wife, glaring at the wizard that was making himself at home.

"Out with friends for the evening? Perhaps if you-"

"What are you playing at, you old fool? We haven't seen the boy since he left here last August."

"I beg your pardon? School has been out nearly three weeks- he should have been collected at the station."

"Like I said, we haven't seen him. Some time before Christmas all his things disappeared -and good riddance I say! Now out with you! I'll not have your kind in my house."

"Vernon." Petunia tried, giving the Headmaster a pleading look and ignoring Dudley as he disappeared upstairs.

His blue eyes lost their sparkle, fixing Petunia with a glare, and she wrung her hands together, swallowing nervously.

"Are you telling me that you have no idea where your nephew is?" he asked, and she could have sworn the temperature dropped a few degrees.

"I-I got a letter, from Sirius Black, like Vernon said, just before Christmas, telling me that Harry wouldn't be returning this summer and that we wouldn't need to pick him up."

"Not that we would waste our time waiting for that lazy boy." interjected Vernon.

"Did you not think it odd that I did not contact you myself, regarding this change?"

"After the way he left with your people last summer, I just assumed other arrangements had been made."

"Then I must take my leave. It is of the utmost importance that I find him."

"Would he not be with his Godfather? He is the one who wrote after all."

"I certainly hope not. You see, Sirius Black was murdered, just three and a half weeks ago, by the same people who killed your sister and her husband."

He turned on his heel, robes billowing behind him as he headed for the door, and hung his head as Dudley's voice drifted out behind him.

"Mum, if Potter's not here, who will do the cooking and the cleaning?"

He could only hope that, having been invited to Grimmauld Place prior to Sirius' death, Harry had gone there, and was smart enough to remain there. If it became known that the Boy-Who-Lived was missing, the resulting panic would be just what Voldemort needed to strike.

He looked up from the letter he was writing as the house informed him of a visitor that he'd expected much earlier, and smiled. He dipped his quill back into the inkwell and finished off his letter, glad that he didn't have to be so formal all the time, and folded the paper to fit the oddly sized envelope he had.

"Really should get more everyday stationary." he thought, writing the address and putting it with the small stack of books he had to send out.

The house gave something of a groan, and he felt magic press forward, trying to break through the wards. He'd expected as much, and he knew the house was more than capable of keeping his visitor busy for at least a few minutes, so he made himself busy wrapping the books in brown paper and tying them up with a bit of string.

"Lord Black-sir," Kreacher said, bowing as he popped into the study, "should Kreacher put tea on for your guest?"

"That won't be necessary, Kreacher. The Headmaster won't be staying long."

"And Lord's other guest? When will he return?"

"I'm not sure when Viktor will be back. His solicitor is in Bulgaria, so I don't expect him before supper tomorrow, and that's if everything goes well."

"Very good, sir."

The house elf disappeared with a small pop, and he rolled his eyes at what was now the third attempt to apparate into the house. A quick inquiry told him that the Headmaster was being set right back outside the door, and that he was currently trying unlocking spells on the wards keeping him from opening the door.

"Time to send this off." he said, holding the package up, "Give Hedwig a nudge to the front door, would you please, friend?"

He made his way towards the front door, nodding to Walburgas' portrait as he passed, and side stepping the troll foot umbrella stand at the base of the stairs. He could see the Headmaster through the sidelight next to the door, and took a steadying breath. They really hadn't made plans for him to tell the Headmaster about the changes to the House of Black without back up, but the current situation really didn't allow him to do much else.

He unlocked the door, the magical locks sliding off as he put his hand to the door knob, and opened the door.

"Good evening, Professor." he greeted, standing tall as the older wizard turned to gaze at him in surprise.

"Harry! Thank goodness you're here." Dumbledore exclaimed, trying to walk past him into the house, only to be cut off by the screech of an owl.

Hedwig flew down and landed on Harry's now outstretched arm, back to the Headmaster, and nipped her masters fingers affectionately. Harry chuckled and cast a shrinking charm on the package before tying it to her leg.

"Take that straight to Hermione, at the Burrow, okay girl?" he said, stroking her head, "Then have a good rest. I'll call if I need you."

She took off with a soft hoot and purposely hit the Headmaster upside the head as she went, and he scrambled to catch his spectacles. It was all Harry could do not to laugh and he turned back inside to hide his small smirk.

"It is not safe out in the open," said Dumbledore, "let us get you inside."

"I assure you, Professor, I'm perfectly safe." he replied, making sure the older wizard felt the wards and locks fall back into place as he locked the door.

"Yes, well, I'm glad I put the wards on Grimmauld Place when I did."

Harry stopped and turned around, leveling the Headmaster with a look as he made to take his cloak off and hang it on the stand by the door. With a sigh he instructed the house to refuse the Headmaster, and the mans' cloak slid to the floor.

"How odd." he said, picking it back up and setting it on the hook, only to watch it fall.

"To what do I owe the visit, Professor?" asked Harry, taking the cloak and hanging it up, causing the other man to frown as it stayed put.

"Visit? No, no my boy, I'm here to collect you and bring you to the Dursleys. Why did you not go there when you got off the train? Surely you understand how dangerous it is for you to be so unprotected."

"As I said, I'm perfectly safe, and I will not be returning to the Dursley house. Ever."

"Nonsense, my boy! Sirius should never have offered to have you for the summer- he knew that-"

The temperature in the house dropped several degrees as Harry turned to glare at the Headmaster, and Albus could feel the house magic react. It was then that he realized just how dark the house was, and looking at the dark colors Harry wore, he put two and two together.

"The House of Black is in a State of Mourning." he stated, "Walburga, my dear, you should not have the power to do this."

The portrait of Sirius' mother snorted and turned away from the Headmaster, looking straight at Harry.

"I do not have to tell you that he is not welcome, do I child?" she said, her voice telling both men what she thought.

"No, Mrs. Black, you do not. He won't be staying long."

Dumbledore followed him into the study, and with a flick of his wand, stopped him from pouring himself a glass of Fire Whiskey. Harry narrowed his eyes at his Headmaster, as if daring him to try and curb him, and removed the bubble charm that the old man had put on the decanter to keep the liquid from pouring out. The amber colored liquid poured into his glass, and he replaced the bottle and top when he'd given himself a satisfactory amount, and moved to sit down at his desk.

"I do not know what you've been up to these last few weeks, my boy, but drinking is not the answer. You are not even of legal age to imbibe alcohol."

Harry settled back in his chair, hoping he looked very comfortable and at ease, when inside his stomach was trying to tell him that the whiskey probably wouldn't stay down very long. He knew he had to be direct, and do it quickly, because if he let the older wizard start talking he'd either lose his temper or his nerve, and neither was going to do him any favors. Taking a small sip of his drink, eyebrow raised in challenge, he readied himself to be the rebel everyone already thought he was.

"I think I'm entitled to a drink in my own home."

"Home? Harry, you must return to the Dursley's. It is the only way that we can protect you."

"I think I've proven, time and time again, that I am capable of taking care of myself."

"After what happened at the Department of Mysteries we must be careful. If Voldemort was to learn that you have left the protection of the Dursley's he will not hesitate to strike."

Harry was laughing on the inside, because Dumbledore kept moving, trying to sit in the high backed chair that normally sat in front of his desk. The house, however, was having a bit of fun with the old wizard, and moving the chair ever so slightly as he made to sit. He could see the confusion and frustration in the old man's eyes, and mentally applauded the house for a job well done.

"The House is in a State of Mourning, Headmaster," he said, setting his drink down and reaching for his quill and the small black journal he'd started keeping after Sirius had asked him to undergo the Rites.

"Yes, and I've yet to figure out how that is."

"Because the Lord said so."

"Harry, the House of Black is currently without a Lord. With Sirius' passing the title should fall to the next of kin."

"It fell to his heir, actually."

He jotted down a few thoughts, mostly about how to he would have to remember to look into the legalities about drinking - was it legal for him, because he was now Lord, and therefore considered an adult, to drink in public? Could he go into the Leaky Cauldron or Madam Rosemertas and order a drink? - and paid very little attention to the older wizard. It would irritate the man, and right now that was all he wanted to do.

"Heir? Sirius had no children, Harry."

"No, he had a Godson."

Dumbledore stopped his pacing, interest in the chair gone as he looked up at Harry, who had replaced his quill and journal and picked up his drink. It was then that he actually took a good look at the boy, and realized that he looked more like a man than a boy.

Dark blue jeans and a deep red form fitted t-shirt under a black zip hooded sweatshirt. His sneakers were new, as was the black belt he wore. Dumbledore couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Harry wear anything 'new'. The longer hair made no sense to him -when he'd seen him three weeks ago, his hair was still short- nor did the lack of glasses. However it was the ring on Harry's left hand that was the most startling, because it should not have been there.

Harry sensed the shock in the old wizard and played with the ring while he threw back the rest of his drink, standing to replace his glass on the mini bar. He debated pouring another glass, but figured that it would loosen his tongue a little too much.

"What have you done?" asked Dumbledore, grabbing his hand and looking at the ring up close.

"Whatever I want." he replied, taking his hand back with a narrowing of his eyes.

"Harry, this is very serious. You should not be able to wear this ring. It belongs to the Lord of the House of Black."

"Yes, it does."

The house magic pulsed around him, warm and steady, its support of him obvious to both men, and Dumbledore saw it for what it really was: a warning.

"How is this possible? The Potter line will not recognize you as heir until you've turned seventeen, and I know for a fact that Sirius and your father were not bound to one another."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, debating with himself, and with the house, just how much he should tell the Headmaster. He decided it best to keep things simple and as straight forward as possible.

"I was named Sirius' heir." he said, watching Dobby pop in and out with his dirty glass.

"When did this happen? There would have to have been a naming ceremony, and for a House this old, that is no easy thing. It would have involved magics you have not yet been taught."

"Thankfully the Blacks believed in being well educated in not only their family history, but in that of all schools of magic."

Dumbledore could say nothing as Harry twisted his wrist and made a sweeping motion with his arm, the curtains drawing themselves closed and a small fire starting in the fireplace to take the chill out of the room.

"Just how bonded to the House are you, Harry?"

His smirk was full of mischief and while he wasn't actually laughing, the Headmaster could see it dancing in his emerald green eyes. It was full of challenge, and pride, and he had never expected to see it on Harry. The way the house magic responded to that look was almost frightening. The shadows in the room grew longer, the walls taller and leaning in at the top, as if they were leering over him, ready to pounce. The fire had changed to a deep blue color, darkening the color of the room, and he swore he heard something growl as the magic of the House pressed in around him.

"Completely."

The sound of shattering glass echoed through the room so loudly it covered the gasp that accompanied it. He stared at his hand, watching the blood drip trickle to his wrist and then to the pristine white table cloth, but wasn't truly seeing it. He could hear his mother's shout of concern, but she seemed miles away. He turned to her as she ran around the table towards him, but saw only the green and bronze of her magic as it flared in reaction to her worry. He clutched at his gut, curling around himself as he felt something flare and twist and sing as familiar magic bubbled up in him. All the glasses on the table shattered as he tried to ground himself, and he could hear his mother scream as she ducked and covered her head as the crystal chandeliers started to shake and blow apart. The pieces fell like rain, glittering in the light, and slowly started to gravitate towards him. He heard his mother's sharp intake of breath as she watched the glass pile onto itself, moving as if it were a living thing, but as he opened his mouth to ask her what was going on, another flare of magic hit him, an ear-piercing scream tearing out his throat, and he curled into himself tighter.

He took a step back as the shadows in the room started to shake and the fire blew out, the lights following shortly after. The attack had come so quickly he didn't have time to react, and his magic was struggling to push back, to fight, to show that it was stronger. The Black magic was suffocating, and he was having trouble breathing with the weight of it bearing down on him. It felt as if he were being held under water, at an insane depth, and while he could move it was impossible to surface. He pulled his wand from up his sleeve and cast a quick "Lumos", hoping that he'd be able to break this incredible weight…

…Narrow cerulean eyes and a snarl of pearly white teeth were the last thing he had expected to see.

As the fiery pain slowly ebbed away and his vision cleared, he could feel something staring at him. The lights dancing before his eyes weren't because of the pain, he realized, but rather the way it was being reflected through the thousands of shards of glass that formed what looked like… a dog? The green magic that glowed from where its eyes should have been was very familiar, and his own eyes widened.

The glass beast bowed its head as he sat up, and as a hand reached out for it -despite the protests from his mother- extended its muzzle. He had expected the glass to cut his hand to shreds, but instead it was warm, and soft, cushioned by the magic that had created it. He made to stand, only for his gut to twist painfully. The beast stood, shaking its head, the glass tinkling like small bells as it moved, looking at him as though deep in thought.

"Züchter," it said, tail wagging.

If he hadn't been caught by another bout of pain, he probably would have noticed that his hand had stopped bleeding, completely healed over, save for a thin raised scar.

The magic pushed at him, causing his "lumos" to dim, and he knew better than to look away from the beast before him. Something in the House changed as the growl turned to what could have been a chuckle, and he dared a glance up at the young man leaning back against the mini-bar, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"You always did underestimate us, Albus." said a very familiar voice, and his eyes went wide, "and then turned a blind eye to the havoc we caused."

"This is not possible." the old Headmaster breathed, watching as the beast sat next to Harry, who reached down to scratch its ears.

"Anything is possible, for a Marauder."

"This is not a game!"

"You're right, it's not a game. Its war, Albus, and you've gathered your army, polished them up a bit, and put them behind a boy. A boy who has done more in his life than most men, and is more than entitled to live the life he wants. Well now he has the position and the power to make changes, to himself, his House, and perhaps even the world."

"And how do you expect him to do this? How can a boy, who has had no proper wizarding upbringing, know what is best for one of the oldest of Houses? He needs guidance, and I am-"

"Why is it that he was raised by his abusive muggle relatives, when surely there was a wizarding family that would have taken him in?" the beast stood, eyes narrow and teeth bared, stalking around the older wizard, "Why did you allow him find the Mirror of Erised, if not to remind him of why he was alone? Why did you not fight to prove me innocent, when the kids had all the proof packaged up for you -only a bright red bow could have made it easier! Why was it not investigated fully when he was entered in the Triwizard! Why did you distance yourself from him -when he tried to come to you for help!- last year? Was it what was best for Harry, or was it the best way you could think of to mold him into what you wanted?

"You're not the one calling the shots anymore, Albus, and when Harry returns to Hogwarts, I expect him to be treated as his station demands, or my next visit will be … less than pleasant.

"Now get out of my house."

His "lumos" went out, and before his eyes had a chance to adjust to the darkness, the lights flickered back on and the fire roared to life. The beast was gone, and Harry ran a hand through his hair, an eyebrow raised at the Headmaster. He felt his knees go weak, and made to sit back down, but as soon as he would have collapsed into the chair, he felt the all too familiar tug behind his navel that accompanied a PortKey. With a loud pop Grimmauld Place disappeared, and he was spinning away to an unknown destination.

To Be Continued…

Authors Notes:

Belated holiday wishes and happy New Years to all! So far it's off to a good start for me- it's a week into the year and I've updated? Yeah, I'm not arguing with the inspirational streak that hit me.

I apologize if the last few scenes were jumpy. They were meant to come across as if they were happening simultaneously and I'm not sure if I conveyed that well enough.

From here on out the chapters will start varying in length. I don't have so much individual pieces to cover now that I'm going to start moving forward with the main plot. The stage for it has been set and now I start having a bit of fun with it.

The German in this chapter (the one word) "Züchter" means " 1. breeder; 2. keeper; 3. cultivator", at least according to Google. Please feel free to correct me if I'm wrong and there's a better word/phrase to say it. I'm sure you can guess what it's in reference to, but if not I promise it'll be explained later on in the story.

As always, comments, questions and criticism are welcome, and I very much enjoy hearing what people think is going to happen next.

~Muse