Severus pulled out of Hardwin's mind before the boy even had a chance to defend himself and stared at him, filled with desire to understand what he had just seen. The memory of a large python escaping a zoo cage captivated Severus's entire focus, the sounds of hissing echoing in the depths of his mind like a song. "You're a Parselmouth?"
Hardwin blinked. "What's a Parselmouth?"
With all the reading the boy did, Severus was quite surprised he had never seen any mention of the talent, especially when most of the books he chose were borderline Dark Arts—the closest one could get at Hogwarts without a pass into the Restricted Section of the library.
"Someone who has the magical ability to speak to and control serpents." Severus looked at the boy in front of him, curious and a little amused as he continued, "Such as what you did by unleashing that python at the zoo when your cousin shoved you to the side."
Hardwin winced. "Oh… Is that good or bad?"
"It depends," Severus answered thoughtfully. "Most Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs would likely consider the ability very Dark in nature because the Dark Lord possessed it as well." Hardwin's eyes widened—Severus could practically see the questions bouncing around in the boy's head, even without using his rather considerable talent with Legilimency. "However," he continued, "almost any Slytherin and several Ravenclaws will more likely be curious about your ability. Slytherin House would revere you as their superior for that talent alone. When one considers your intelligence and aptitude for magic, you could easily claim your place as the King of Slytherin."
Severus had always thought that title was ludicrously dramatic, but it was a tradition that had been in place for centuries, since the days of the founders themselves. It had almost always been held by a member of the Gaunt family, as descendants of Salazar and Parseltongue speakers—at least, it had until they wasted their wealth and Noble House status roughly two hundred years ago—but more recent years had seen influential families, like the Malfoys, taking the position and the control over Slytherin House that came with it.
Bloody fools, the lot of them, Severus thought. The Gaunts had been exalted and powerful, being the only descendants of not one, but two of the seven Noble and Most Ancient Houses, then they had squandered it all away in their arrogance, and now the family was gone entirely.
Aside from the Dark Lord, anyway, but almost no one knew of his origins, so most believed the Gaunts extinct.
Hardwin looked at his hands, clasped in his lap, deep in thought. "But I don't have a name," he said softly. "Slytherin values lineage and fraternity. I'm just a nobody with no family. Why would they respect me, even if I am a Parselmouth?"
Severus had to bite his tongue to avoid saying anything he shouldn't. It had been three weeks since Hardwin had come to stay with the Black family, and Regulus and Hera had recently informed him of a decision they had agreed upon—a choice to offer Hardwin for his birthday. If Hardwin were to go along with it, he could easily become the most powerful student in the school, politically and magically, as well as claim his well-deserved leadership amongst the Slytherins.
Those three weeks had done a load of good for Hardwin, though. He was filling out and growing with each passing day, looking less and less like the small, malnourished boy he had been a year ago and becoming the powerful wizard he would become known as.
"You underestimate your peers' respect for their founder's gift," Severus replied instead. At the startled look from Hardwin, he continued, "Salazar Slytherin himself was a Parselmouth. As such, all students of his House would respect you for your gift—they will all be envious."
A part of Severus wondered if the Dark Lord knew about Hardwin's abilities and that was why he had taken such an interest in the bright young snake in front of him. Severus knew of Quirrell's lessons with the boy in the Mind Art of Occlumency, so it was entirely possible that the Dark Lord was aware, and that created a new suspicion in Severus's mind about what his plan could be.
Following a different train of thought, however, Severus was actually quite pleased with Hardwin's progress in Occlumency. While he wasn't anywhere near talented enough to keep out a full-strength attack, he was fully capable of throwing off any uses of Legilimency against his surface thoughts and controlling his own emotions with ease. Another year of tutelage and he would be right where Severus needed the boy to be to begin the next stage of his training to reach his full potential.
"What do I do?" Hardwin asked, seemingly to himself.
"If you plan on revealing yourself," Severus said carefully, "I would highly suggest doing it somewhere that only Slytherins will notice. If the rest of the school were to learn of it before the right moment, it could potentially cause many conflicts within the student body."
Hardwin nodded in agreement. "So the Slytherin common room, then?"
"Would be a private enough location," Severus concurred. He briefly wondered where Hardwin had received the ability to speak Parseltongue. He knew for a fact that the Potters had no relation to Salazar Slytherin, having looked up their family tree in his preparations for training Hardwin, and his mother, Lily, was muggleborn, so it couldn't have come from her, either.
Which left only the theory that Hardwin had somehow inherited it on the night the Dark Lord was defeated, but Severus couldn't see how that was possible.
The boy he was so eager to take on as a protégée was unmistakably powerful—a metamorphmagus capable of changing the colour of his hair and eyes with barely a thought, even if he would need more practice for more complex changes; a Parselmouth; an intelligent student with the potential to be the top of his class with further studying; and an extremely talented wizard who had already proven himself capable of casting magic years beyond his classmates.
Severus knew from their lessons the kind of spells that Bellatrix Lestrange had been teaching her favourite cousin— that she acknowledged the relation at all, given how Dorea Black had been cast from the family for her marriage to Charlus Potter, Hardwin's grandfather, was a testament to Hardwin's prowess—and he also knew they weren't spells that anyone else in the school was likely to have heard of, much less know how to cast properly.
If they weren't extremely careful about how they guided Hardwin, they could potentially have a more terrible Dark Lord than Voldemort could have ever become.
But then, that was very likely Bellatrix's plan…
She had been extremely displeased to learn that her cherished Lord had been a blood traitor of the highest degree, having murdered his own father and grandparents, even if they wereonly muggles, and blaming it on his maternal uncle. Bellatrix was by no means a muggle-sympathizer, but she was a Black, and the Blacks cared about family above all else. It was the only reason they had refused to fight Sirius Black, James Potter's lackey, with intent to kill whenever they wound up on the same battlefield. The Dark Lord had been furious with their unwillingness, but did nothing to stop them.
"I think we will stop for today," Severus decided. "Practice your Parseltongue. It would harm you more than help if you wish to keep it a secret should you slip at an inopportune moment."
"Yes, sir."
"I will return on Tuesday for our next lesson. Farewell, Hardwin."
"Goodbye, sir."
Severus swept from the room, deep in thought and already planning to have quite the interesting conversation with the Black family at the next gathering, which he had been invited to at Regulus's request to see how far the training with Hardwin had come.
Life was becoming very enjoyable.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
"OOF!" Hardwin grunted as an excited eleven-year-old girl landed on his stomach after barging into his room. He sleepily opened his eyes to see a fuzzy outline with shiny teeth grinning at him, and fumbled to put on his glasses.
"What time is it?" he mumbled.
"Don't know," Altair beamed. "But it's your birthday, so you have to get up."
Hardwin groaned and rolled over, pulling a pillow over his head. "Go away."
"Not until you get up," she said cheekily.
Hardwin cursed her mentally. He hated how easily he caved in to her every request after only a month in the same home. It had been the best month of his life, though, and he spent every day wondering when it would end because, if there was one thing he had learned in his now-twelve years on this planet, it was that nothing good ever lasted.
He pulled the pillow off his head and raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to stay in here while I change?" he asked dryly. "Or would you prefer to wait out in the hall?"
Altair leapt off his bed with a loud "Eep!" and slammed the door shut behind her.
Hardwin rolled his eyes and climbed out of his covers. He dressed himself in a new pair of robes that Hera—who had finally given him permission to address her informally—had gotten for him his first week with the Blacks because his other clothes were all "pathetic excuses for tattered rags," according to everyone else; not that he disagreed with that observation.
It had surprised him to learn that a family as steeped in pureblood supremacy as the Blacks had no problem going out into the muggle world on occasion for shopping and other indulgences that made them feel better. Hera was particularly fond of their spas.
"Having my feet cleansed and rubbed by muggles is the way the world should work," she had said when Hardwin asked. "It is their rightful place."
It was a bit of an extreme ideology, in Hardwin's opinion, even if he agreed that muggles were awful in almost every way, but he wasn't about to say something about her beliefs and risk the hospitality he had accumulated over the last month. The Blacks actually treated him like a real human being instead of someone who was just… there, and he wasn't going to ruin that.
It was depressing that those early days were still better than life at the Dursleys.
Hardwin slipped down the stairs into the kitchen.
"Happy birthday!" several voices chorused.
Hardwin couldn't help but grin upon seeing all who had gathered for his first birthday celebration since he was abandoned at the Dursleys over a decade ago. Bellatrix and Regulus were beaming at him; Hera smiled softly, her eyes twinkling like icicles; Altair was practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing on her heels; even Lady Malfoy and Ms. Black, who had finally warmed up to Hardwin over time despite still insisting on formalities, were smiling at him. Hardwin was surprised to see Professor Snape there too, giving him a rare smile.
Breakfast together was enjoyable. The family told Hardwin what they had planned for the day, as twelfth birthdays were apparently very important in the magical world.
Hardwin knew that twelve was the age when Noble Houses officially named their heirs—or heiresses, since a new law was passed following the war against the Dark Lord that disbanded patrilineal families in an attempt to pass on ancient names to the next generation. Many Houses only had daughters in Hardwin's generation, such as the Greengrasses and Carrows, so it made sense that they would attempt to keep what few pureblood families were left extant.
Families usually pulled their children out of school on the nearest weekend have the celebrations—for those unfortunate enough not to have a summer birthday, anyway. They all refused to tell Hardwin why it was so important, but he didn't push too hard to find out. He was just happy to have company that didn't look at him like he were something disgusting; inhuman.
After breakfast they congregated in the drawing room for presents.
From Bellatrix, Hardwin received a duelling wand holster with Anti-Summoning and Disillusionment Charms for protection. It was supposed to attach to the wizards' forearm, but considering how his wand was longer than his forearm, it had confused Hardwin until he realized that the holster had a magically enlarged space inside to make up for it. Lady Malfoy got him a book on the politics of the magical world; Ms. Black gave him a copy of Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy, which briefly summarized the most influential magical families, their origins, how wealthy they were, what House status they were ranked as, and more.
Altair and Hera had gotten Hardwin a set of formal robes with the Black crest on them, proving that he was a ward of their family when they attended specific events. Professor Snape got him a book full of tips on potion-making—What a surprise, Hardwin thought in amusement—that would certainly help to keep him ahead of his year, and maybe even surpass Granger in overall scores on their final exams.
"And here is my gift," Regulus said, sliding over a thin but wide box.
Hardwin frowned slightly, confused, before opening it.
Inside the box was a stack of official-looking parchments. He read over them, his eyes growing wider and wetter with each word. When he finished, he looked up at a nervous yet hopeful Regulus. The reactions of the others were far more varied—Bellatrix was smirking, like she couldn't see any reason for him to deny the gift; Lady Malfoy and Ms. Black were impassive, for the most part, but they were watching Hardwin like wolves, ready to devour him if he made a mistake; Hera was looking at him expectantly, as if there were only one correct answer; but Altair looked confused.
"Are you serious?" Hardwin asked quietly.
"No, that's my brother," Regulus deadpanned. Hera smacked the back of his head, and he gave her a sheepish grin before turning back to Hardwin. "Yes, we are absolutely serious."
Hardwin looked back at the parchments. It was unbelievable. Why would they do something like this for him? They had already done so much, why do this?
When he spoke again, his voice was barely louder than a whisper. "You want to adopt me?"
"Yes," Regulus and Hera said firmly, without hesitation.
Altair's eyes grew wide.
"Adopt him?" she repeated excitedly. "Adopt him? He's going to be my brother for real?"
The hope in her voice made Hardwin's insides feel warm. He looked around at all their faces once more, but it was the puppy-dog eyes Altair was giving him that finally settled the matter.
Damn those eyes, Hardwin thought. But damn anyone who thinks they can hurt my baby sister.
Hardwin stepped out of the Floo at the Ministry fluidly, having practiced with the magical travel many times over the past weeks when he visited either Black or Lestrange Manor for his duelling sessions with Bellatrix, depending on how accommodating Ms. Black was feeling on a given day.
Regulus was waiting for him on the other side. It was only a moment before Altair appeared behind him with Hera following her.
Together, the family of four made their way through the atrium. It was a testament to how much the Black family was respected—and feared—that a path was cleared for them the instant they were seen by the crowd. All four dressed in their finest robes, proudly displaying the Black crest, it was fairly obvious what their intentions were, and Hardwin had to focus on his Occlumency to hide his nerves from all the hissing whispers around him.
He hated being the center of attention like this, but he would have to get used to it. The Blacks were prominent enough that this sort of thing would happen from here on out, following him wherever he went.
Regulus flashed his Unspeakable badge at the security desk and they were let on through without pause. They boarded a lift and clattered upward to level two, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
The doors opened into a corridor lined with doors. They were underground, but the windows they passed had sunlight streaming through.
"They're enchanted," Hera explained quietly, seeing Hardwin's confusion. "Whenever the unfortunate folk in Magical Maintenance want a raise they give everyone hurricanes. The last time it happened, it was three weeks of storms."
They stopped outside a door marked ADMINISTRATIVE REGISTRATION DEPARTMENT.
"This is where they keep track of all wizards in Great Britain," Regulus said. "Children are registered at the first sign of magic."
Hardwin wanted to ask about how they kept track of muggleborn wizards, but knew by now that none of the Blacks were patient when that particular subject came around. He thought, though, that it was safe to assume muggleborns were registered the same way Hogwarts kept track of them, however that happened.
The room wasn't very large, but the back wall was filled with filing cabinets. A tired-looking woman sat behind a desk, scrawling away at a seemingly-endless parchment with a blunting quill.
"How can I help you Mr…?" she asked without looking up.
Regulus cleared his throat. "Lord Black, here for an adoption."
The woman startled, gaping at Regulus with more than a little fear in her eyes.
"I a-apologize, m-my lord," she stuttered. "I meant no offence. I—"
Regulus held up a hand to stop her. "Assist us quickly and I will forget anything happened."
"Yes, my lord!"
The woman scrambled to clear some space and grab the forms necessary for what they had come to do. She knocked something over more than once, each time casting a wary look at the Blacks, but continued when none of them did anything.
"All you have to do is fill these out," she said, setting a stack of parchments on the desk.
The next half hour consisted of tedious paperwork: filling out Hardwin's birth date, original parents, new parents, original blood status, new blood status, and wand information. After that, the woman had Regulus and Hera fill out the proper adoption form with a black quill that didn't use ink.
"Blood Quill," Regulus explained as he signed his name with a flourish. "It uses the blood in your hand and can leave quite a nasty mark. They're heavily regulated by official departments."
Hera signed next, then the quill was passed to Hardwin.
"Before you sign," Regulus interrupted before Hardwin could do anything. "Do you wish to change your name? I mean no offense, but Hardwin isn't exactly a Black family name, as I'm sure you've noticed from reading about my family's history."
Hardwin understood immediately. From what he had seen, almost every member of the Black family was named after a star or constellation, or, like in Narcissa's case, after a famous figure from Greco-Roman mythology.
Thinking about it, Hardwin realized that perhaps this would be good for him. It would give him a chance to leave his past behind him and become someone new. The memories would always haunt him, but this was a chance to forget about Hardwin Potter, the boy with no friends or family, and become a Black; a powerful, intelligent wizard with parents who cared about him and a sister who had come to love him in their short time together. It would distance himself from Evan Potter and his ilk even further than their Hogwarts House division and allow Hardwin to become someone better by joining a Noble House that was vastly superior to the Potters.
There was just one problem: "I don't know what name to pick."
Regulus smirked. "I thought as much, so I did some thinking, and I believe I have just the name for you."
Hardwin stared at him.
"Krios Regulus," Lord Black declared. "After the third Titan born of Gaea and Ouranos, a symbol of what could essentially be your third life, from 'Harry' to 'Hardwin' to 'Krios.' He was the Titan of Stars and Constellations." He grinned. "Fitting for the future Lord Black, wouldn't you say?"
"Wait, what?" What the hell was Regulus talking about, 'future Lord Black'?
"Altair—no offence, my dear—is not a politician."
Altair shrugged, earning a reprimanding glare from her mother. "It's true."
"But you," Regulus continued, "understand Narcissa's conversations with my mother over dinner far more than I ever have. I believe that you can keep the greatness of the House of Black by taking my mantle when the time comes for me to retire. You have already proven your talent and power, which satisfied my mother's criticisms when we discussed this. All you need is the title."
Hardwin thought for a moment. Becoming a future Lord was far more than he bargained for with this adoption, but he couldn't deny the appeal of having that much power at his disposal, along with the influence and protection that being Heir Black would bring at Hogwarts. The only reason he hadn't spent most of his first year I the hospital wing was because everyone knew that Professor Snape favoured him, which granted a modicum of safety.
His decision made, Hardwin signed the parchment—Krios Regulus Black.
There was a flash of light from the parchment as magic itself accepted his adoption; accepted him as a member of the House of Black.
Hardwin's body was covered with a silvery glow for several seconds as his genetic being was shaped to what it should be. And when it cleared, Regulus grinned, Hera's eyes widened, and Altair gasped. The woman filing away Hardwin's—Krios's—forms swallowed thickly, clearly nervous.
Regulus waved his wand and conjured a mirror.
"You look just like my grandfather," he commented.
Hardwin—Krios—looked at himself in the mirror and had to take off his glasses, now finding them unnecessary, surprisingly.
He had the aristocratic features of the Blacks with silky black hair and his new mother's icy eyes. His shoulders were broader than they had been, and he felt a little taller than before.
Altair wrapped her arms tightly around his torso, squeezing him. A month ago he would have tensed or flinched at the contact, but he had quickly come to learn how much she loved showing signs of affection—especially hugging—and found that her touch didn't bother him as much as others' would.
"On to the Office of Heirships, then," Regulus smiled.
They made their way out of the office and over to a door marked WIZENGAMOT ADMINISTRATION SERVICES. Entering, Regulus led the way to another door labelled NOBLE HEIRSHIP REGISTRY and gestured his family through before closing the door behind him.
This room was far more organized than the other office. In front of them was a desk, behind which sat a rather large man with a bald head and no neck. He vaguely reminded Hardwin—Krios—of a smaller, hairless Uncle Vernon, except without a purple face.
"Name?" the man asked.
Regulus gave the man a flat look. "Lord Regulus Arcturus of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."
The man started before looking at Regulus fearfully.
"My apologies, my lord," the man stammered. "How can I help you?"
"We are here for my new Heir to claim his place." Regulus gestured to Hardwin—Krios.
"I was unaware you had a son," the man said carefully, looking speculatively at Hardwin—Krios; how long would it take for him to adjust to the name change?
"He's recently adopted."
The man gulped. "Right. Well then, let's get started."
They spent yet another half hour doing paperwork using similar information to his adoption.
"There is only one last form," the wizard said nervously. "To certify your claims."
"Why don't you two go get started on finding somewhere for lunch?" Regulus suggested to his wife and daughter, giving his wife a warning look. Hera didn't look offended in the slightest; instead, she looked accepting of whatever he was hinting at with his eyes alone.
She smiled at Altair. "Come along, Ali, they can catch up."
"Bye, brother!" Altair chirped, hugging Hardwin—Krios, dammit!— before leaving.
Hardwin—Krios—gave his new father a questioning look, but Regulus was impatiently staring down the man behind the desk.
"Just sign your name with the Blood Quill," the man instructed. "Right on this line."
Krios did as asked. Ha! He remembered that time.
The man cast a spell on the parchment and frowned. "What the hell?"
"What's wrong?" Regulus demanded.
"This says your son is also the heir to the Ancient House of Gaunt."
"Obliviate!"
The man's eyes glazed over.
Regulus had moved so quickly that Krios hadn't even seen him draw his wand. Regulus picked up the parchment, on which he cast a spell that Krios had never heard of, before placing it in a folder and placing a Confundus Charm on the man so he put it away without looking at it.
"Come on," Regulus said, handing Krios a ring box. "Put that on while we walk."
Krios opened the box to find an silver ring with a black gemstone embossed with the Black family crest. He slipped it on his right middle finger—the same finger that Regulus had a golden ring on.
There was a second ring, though, that Krios didn't recognize. It was silver and shaped like a serpent with emerald eyes.
"What's going on?" Hardwin asked. Krios! And he'd been doing so well, too; he would get it eventually.
"If anyone asks," Regulus said in a low voice, "that serpent ring was a birthday present from me in celebration of your adoption. You cannot tell anyone that you are heir to the House of Gaunt, do you understand?"
"Why?" Krios asked.
"Because it is the Dark Lord's House."
Krios swallowed thickly. That would be… catastrophic information to have released to the public, but it made him curious—how was he connected to a family like that? Howcould he be the heir to the House of Gaunt when he wasn't of their blood, especially after his adoption? Did the Dark Lord have anything to do with this, or was something else going on, and if so, what?
Those questions would have to wait.
They met Altair and Hera in the atrium and were nearly to the lifts when a woman's voice called from behind, "Lord Black! A pleasure to run into you here!"
The witch who ran up to them had blonde hair set in unnaturally rigid curls with ghastly jewelled spectacles. She clutched a crocodile-skin handbag with scarlet-painted, two-inch nails.
"Miss Skeeter," Regulus greeted tightly. "What a coincidence?"
The woman smiled like a shark. "Have time for a quick interview?" she asked, looking intently at Krios—more specifically, the ring on his finger that stated he was heir to the Black family. "I'm sure the readers would just love to hear about your new heir."
Regulus looked like he very much wanted to say refuse, but Hera interjected before he could say anything, "We would be honoured, Miss Skeeter."
Miss Skeeter's smile broadened, looking like a cat who caught the canary.
"Excellent."
There were many mistakes that she had made in life, and the regret was eating her up inside. It had all started when Lily agreed to go out with James Potter towards the end of their sixth year. He had changed after his parents died, and she finally got to know the mature man he could be—but then he had seemingly relapsed after the war ended and Evan became the Boy-Who-Lived.
James had always enjoyed attention, strutting around Hogwarts like he owned it, and it was one of the biggest reasons Lily had put him off for so long. Having a famous son brought out the worst in him, now that he could likely get away with murder.
It really didn't help that Sirius had never grown up in the first place and encouraged him.
Lily loved James, she really did, but it was difficult to stay around when he continued to make life worse for her with every step, like the days following the night her parents were murdered by Voldemort, for example—she had been so distraught that she hadn't even realized what choosing one son over the other had meant until a month later when it was too late to take back the decision.
She had a feeling that James had chosen Evan solely because he was the older of the two boys, making him the Potter Heir and, therefore, the one that James would need to spend more time with anyway, training him for the duties that came with being Lord Potter, even if they were a family that largely ignored the traditions that most Noble Houses insisted on.
When Lily had come to her senses, she had hexed James well enough to put the talented Auror in St. Mungos for three nights.
Seeing Harry again almost a year ago had broken her heart. He had been so small and thin that a blind man could see Petunia hadn't cared for him as well as she should have—as well as Lily would have cared for Dudley had the situation been reversed—and she had cried herself to sleep that night, wondering why she had let herself forget about her youngest son.
Lily had tried for about two years to maintain visits, but with James and Sirius working full time, her friends all busy with their own lives, and the demon-child that Evan had turned out to be, it had soon become impossible to make time to visit Petunia and Harry.
Somewhere along the line she had forgotten about him, and Lily hated herself for it.
The arrival of an owl delivering that morning's Daily Prophet, the day after Evan's—and Harry's, a traitorous part of her mind added—twelfth birthday drew her attention. When she looked at it, though, her lungs stopped breathing, the headline stabbing her heart like a steel spike.
New Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black?
By Rita Skeeter
This reporter was lucky enough to catch sight of Lord Regulus Black and his family at the Ministry this thirty-first of July, just after noon, leaving the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Spotting the new ring on the Heir's finger, I scrambled for an interview that the Black family was only too gracious to give.
It was surprising for this reporter to learn that the new Heir to the House of Black is none other than the former twin brother of the Boy Who Lived, Hardwin Potter.
Lady Hera Black was only too kind in informing me that they had accepted Hardwin into their home following his first year at Hogwarts so he wouldn't have to return to his muggle relations and could learn more about the magical world. She spoke of how they had come to love him as their own over this last month since the term ended, and eventually came to a decision to formally adopt him!
When asked about her opinion of losing her Heirship, young Altair Black (11) had this to say:
"I'm actually relieved. I'm not very interested in politics or running the family, so it was truly a blessing to welcome Krios" (the new name of Hardwin) "into our home. He has a much better mind for that kind of thing, so this works out for everyone involved."
Naturally, it was nothing short of astonishing to learn that Hardwin Potter had tossed his old life behind him and renamed himself Krios Regulus Black. When asked why, he only said that he "wanted to leave [his] old life behind and become someone new".
We here at the Daily Prophet welcome and congratulate the new heir to the House of Black.
For more on the history of Krios Black, see page five (5).
For more on the current standing of House Black, see page nine (9).
Lily dropped the newspaper onto the table without realizing it. She had known that her youngest son wanted nothing to do with her, but she had hoped for a chance to fix that and become the family they should have been all along.
And now she would never have it.
It was all James's fault for making that decision—all Dumbledore's fault for making the suggestion. Her family had been torn apart because of them, and Lily wasn't sure what to do about it.
She knew that she was at fault, too, and she would own up to that mistake eventually, but for now, she was content to blame her husband and the man they both followed blindly.
Until now, she decided. Whatever words Dumbledore had to share, Lily would be far more critical from here on. She couldn't allow her life to be controlled by a man who could make such massive mistakes.
Lily was still crying when her husband entered the kitchen half an hour later.
Ever since his birthday, Narcissa and Walburga had been much friendlier towards Krios—ever since he had been magically adopted into their family and his blood purified; by their standards, at least—even granting him permission, finally, to address them as something other than their formal titles.
Narcissa, in particular, seemed pleased.
Krios was able to learn from Hera that Narcissa hadn't been allowed to teach her son about Black traditions because he was born a Malfoy and Lord Lucius didn't want any other family's traditions interfering with his own. And so it was that Narcissa had sort of taken Krios under her wing to do what she had never done before with her own child.
Thanks to Narcissa and Walburga, Krios learnt a lot about the current political climate and how he should behave as the heir to a Noble. Both of them were pleased that he actually listened, unlike their own sons—Draco being a Malfoy, and Regulus having more interest in his research and Quidditch since he had expected his older brother to be Lord Black. Until Sirius was disowned following his fifth year at Hogwarts, he had been first in line for the position, but then he had run away from home and moved in with the Potters until he was of age and could live on his own, thanks to money gifted to him from his uncle, Alphard Black, who had been cast from the family for his perceived betrayal.
Krios learnt what families held what views and how much power they held; he learned which ones had heirs and heiresses currently in attendance at Hogwarts and what school Houses they had been sorted into, which gave him an idea of their beliefs and personalities; and, most important to Narcissa and Walburga, he learnt how to properly represent their family.
"Sit up straight," Narcissa barked, and Krios complied. "Better."
"Relax, Cissy," Bellatrix suggested, rolling her eyes. "It's not like we're dining."
That was true enough, Krios thought. They were in the library at Lestrange Manor so Krios could study the theory behind a Lestrange family curse—something he only had permission to look at in the first place because Bellatrix's loyalty was to the House of Black above all others and, with her husband and his brother locked up in Azkaban and the only other Lestranges outside Great Britain, there was no one to stop her from sharing their secrets.
This curse, in particular, was one of the most vile that Krios had ever heard of. Its purpose was to turn the oxygen in the target's lungs into a toxic compound for a drawn-out, painful demise.
It was a good thing this wasn't a publicly known curse.
"It never hurts to practice posture," Narcissa sniffed in her defense.
Bellatrix rolled her eyes again, smirking at Krios. Ever since he had been formally adopted into the Black family, she had started treating him like he was her own son. She came around Grimmauld Place frequently, when she wasn't training for the next duelling competition, and always sought him out wherever he was, regardless of what he was doing, so they could discuss different Dark spells and their varying legalities.
Narcissa had a point, though. Despite Krios's practice during his first, at the recommendation of Professor Quirrell, his posture wasn't nearly close to acceptable, in Narcissa's eyes, which meant he was a disappointment to Walburga. Since then, he had improved tremendously, even going so far as to earn a modicum of genuine respect from the old hag.
Krios was correct in his assumption that he wouldn't like Walburga much, but at least she wasn't disgusted by his presence anymore.
"How are your lessons with Professor Snape coming along?" Narcissa asked Krios.
"He wants to introduce me to Legilimency next time we meet." And hadn't that been a surprise at the end of their last session. Krios hadn't expected to be ready for the offensive Mind Art until he was much older, but Professor Snape claimed his talent for Charms, in addition to his… difficult past, made him more inclined towards this specific branch of magic.
Of the three known Legilimens—Professor Snape, the Dark Lord, and Albus Dumbledore—all three had grown up in environments that required them to be capable of concealing their thoughts, which helped with Occlumency, and an advanced enough Occlumens understood the Mind Arts thoroughly enough to proceed with learning Legilimency.
One who did not understand their own mind, however, could cause more harm than good if they went prodding around in someone else's thoughts without very specific expert training, which was why the talent was so rare to even hear about, much less actually receiving lessons in.
Krios was quite proud to be counted among such a minority.
"Well done," Narcissa praised, giving him a genuine smile. "I myself am only capable of Occlumency, so I'm curious to hear your thoughts on Legilimency."
Bellatrix smirked. "I've offered to tell you, Cissy—"
"And the day I agree to that is the day I decide to lose my sanity," Narcissa interrupted shortly. "Your mind is chaotic enough without adding any possible thoughts from whoever's mind you've invaded."
"You're a Legilimens?" Krios asked Bellatrix, interrupting the sisters before they could go too far.
"Not to the same level as Severus," she answered bitterly, "but the Dark Lord himself instructed me in the basics so I could interrogate his prisoners more effectively for him."
"Right…"
Krios tried not to think about how Bellatrix was Voldemort's right hand, his favoured Death Eater. She had turned her back on that life, which was what led her to professional duelling, just as Regulus had, so it wasn't worth thinking about. She hadn't been caught for her crimes, but that didn't mean that she went unpunished.
Before his death, Arcturus Black, Regulus's grandfather, had been an intimidating man with a reputation for his mercilessness, even towards his own family.
"I have only ever been capable of blunt attacks," Bellatrix continued. "I have to use my wand for it all, and I can't read surface thoughts the way that Severus or Dumbledore can. I definitely can't tell when someone lies in my presence without making eye contact the way the Dark Lord can, either."
Narcissa shuddered.
According to Professor Snape, the Dark Lord was one of the most powerful wizards in history, and he was the most accomplished Legilimens of all time. It was impossible for anyone to lie in his presence without being a highly-talented Occlumens, and even then there was risk of being caught. It was one of the biggest reasons the Dark Lord was feared as much as he was, why people were terrified to even speak his name, and that was before the amount of murders he had committed was brought into play.
The more Krios heard, the more sense it made that Voldemort was considered the most evil Dark Lord to have ever walked the planet.
"Enough of that talk," Narcissa said firmly. "Get back to your studying, Krios. We have much to cover before you return to Hogwarts next week."
Rolling his eyes, Krios turned to the next curse.