Coming Home

The night after his trip to Diagon Alley, Damian was left alone in the orphanage once more. He unpacked the school supplies Filius Flitwick had helped him purchase. A wand, robes, books—all reminders that his life was about to change. But for now, he had to wait. Tomorrow, he'd make his way to 12 Grimmauld Place, the ancestral home of the Blacks.

Morning came quickly. He stood by the window, looking out at the rising sun before making his decision. It was time to move. He summoned Kreacher, the Black family's house-elf, with a simple call.

With a loud crack, Kreacher appeared, his large eyes narrowing suspiciously as he took Damian in. "Who dares summon Kreacher?" he muttered, glancing around until his eyes landed on him. "A son of Black? Kreacher thought the house of Black had fallen. Who are you?"

Damian stepped forward, straightening his posture. "I am Damian Arcturus Black, the rightful heir of the Black family. You will take me to Grimmauld Place."

Kreacher's eyes widened in shock, his mouth hanging open. "Blood traitor master's heir? Kreacher thought there were no more Blacks… No heir... Master Sirius is—" He stopped, still in disbelief.

"Yes, I am his son. But I will explain later," Damian said firmly. "For now, you are to obey me. Take me to the Black family mansion—12 Grimmauld Place—and do not mention my return to anyone. Understood?"

Kreacher bowed low, though his expression remained one of utter surprise. "Yes, Master. Kreacher obeys."

With another crack, they Disapparated, landing in front of the dark and decrepit building. Grimmauld Place stood as he imagined—worn down, but still regal beneath the layers of dust and decay. It was time to make this his base and bring his home back to its glory.

"Kreacher, take me to where the ancestral wards are placed. I need to bring them back under my control."

Without a word, Kreacher led him through the dark corridors, down to the basement, past several rusted doors until they reached a hidden vault-like room. He pointed to the door, a heavy thing made of iron and stone. Damian felt the magic surrounding it; it should be no less than the vault at Gringotts.

"You must be the heir to open it, Master," Kreacher said, stepping back as Damian approached the door.

He held up his hand, pressing the Black family ring against the stone. The moment it touched the surface, a soft glow spread through the carvings in the door. With a low groan, the door swung open.

Inside, the room was lined with ancient runes and symbols. Power radiated from the walls, almost humming. He stood before it, wondering how to reactivate the wards that had once protected this house. Then, as if guided by some instinct, he cut his hands on the jagged rocks at the side, spilling his blood forward, and uttered the words that came to him.

"I, Damian Arcturus Black, son of Black, hereby claim my birthright and take command of the ancestral wards of this house—by blood, by magic, and by the will of my forebears, let no harm cross these walls."

The room pulsed with energy, and he felt it—like a rush of wind, the wards surrounding the house snapped into place. They were his now. He could sense everything within them: Kreacher, the lingering dark magic of cursed objects scattered throughout the mansion. The Black family's magic was tied to him now.

He turned to Kreacher, who was staring at him with wide eyes. "Why is this house in such disrepair, Kreacher? The House of Black should not look like this."

Kreacher's ears drooped. "Mistress Walburga was heartbroken about her family as her favourite son, Master Regulus, died, and her blood traitor son went to prison. So she did not care for the house and left it to rot, full of filth and dust."

"Enough," Damian said, shaking his head. "Gather all the dark objects in this house and lock them in the basement rooms. Clean everything. Every corner, every room, every bit of soot—clear it all out. It's time to restore this house to its former glory."

Kreacher bowed low again. "As Master commands."

Damian made his way back upstairs, determined to bring this house back to life. As he reached the front hall, a piercing shriek cut through the air.

"Mudbloods! Blood traitors! Filth in the house of Black!"

He stopped in front of the infamous portrait of Walburga Black, her face contorted in fury as she spewed her usual venom at anyone who dared to enter her domain.

"Oh, wonderful," he muttered under his breath. "This will be fun."

Walburga's eyes narrowed at him, taking in his features. "Who are you, and what filth has sullied the name of Black now? How dare you—"

"Shut up," he interrupted, rubbing his temples. He lifted his hand, flashing the heir's ring on his finger. "Look before you speak."

Her mouth snapped shut, her eyes widening as she saw the ring. For a moment, she was speechless. "You... You bear the Black ring?"

"Yes. Sirius had a child. I'm Damian Arcturus Black, and I'm here to restore this house."

Walburga blinked, clearly stunned. "Sirius had a son?"

"Apparently," he said dryly. "I'll explain more later. For now, I'm leaving to take care of some business. Try not to scream the house down while I'm gone."

She sputtered for a moment but said nothing more. He turned on his heel, making his way to the door. Kreacher appeared silently by his side, watching him.

"Make sure the house is ready when I return," he ordered. "We have work to do."