Chapter 30: Mental Arse-Licking

(Note: This one is for all the doggies in the world, and also Tobi, who's the good boy?)

"Another one, please." A curly haired wizard called out in the Hag's Bed; a shady, rotten-to-the-core pub filled with the similarly miserable dwellers of Knockout Alley.

He was answered by a grunt, as the barman/server/bouncer who may or may not be a vampire snatched his knuts before serving him the piss tasting liquor he asked for.

Lockhart had never felt so miserable.

Not when he discovered that he was nothing exceptional on his first Hogwarts days. Not when his father abandoned them, preferring his celebrity to the burden of a family he did not love. Not when his beloved mother, his first and greatest fan, left him to face this uncaring, cruel world on his own.

Not when his teachers faced him, young and hopeful as he was, before telling him to lower his expectations and pursue more realistic goals.

'Your performances are subpar, Gilderoy.' Spoke the apologetic, squeaky voice.

'You are too lacking in focus, and determination to become a curse-breaker.' Said the arithmancy teacher.

'Your abysmal results are but the results of your mediocre work ethic.' the stern words of the deputy headmistress.

Even now, as he drowned his sorrows with disgusting gin, he could hear them shattering his dreams, killing his ambition in the fertile womb of his juvenile wishes.

Couldn't they see that Gilderoy was made for greatness? Couldn't they help him soar in the skies, instead of breaking his wings?

He remembered the words of his head of house, his magical guardian for the duration of his studies, by ancient mandate of the founders themselves. He remembered the aspiration all scions of Rowena shared; to shed the burden of mediocre ignorance and become the proud eagle all high.

'How could it get so...so wrong…?' He lamented, mind slowed and thoughts blurred. Perhaps another glass would make it clearer?

How did the hopeful if vain boy turned into a pathetic drunk?

When he started enjoying his work as an obliviator a bit too much, maybe?

No, Enjoying one's work is a healthy and virtuous thing.

When he started having his way with the pretty muggle ladies, after a bit of mind magic to reduce their inhibitions?

No, they wouldn't have minded anyway. They should be honored to be touched by a wizard, especially one as handsome and gifted as him. All he did was accelerate the process.

When he first started obliviating wizards to steal their property?

Nah, They weren't using it anyway.

When he began stealing the feats and exploits of others?

Of course not! He could have done it on his own, he was a great wizards after all, just look at his talent in the mind arts. Those wizards weren't even that good, since he managed to overcome them, and they weren't using these tales to their full potential.

These accomplishments were his by right of conquest!

Then what's the cause of his current plight?

'That fucking brat…' The son of the red-head could barely hold back from flipping the table, or throwing his drink. Doing so would earn him the wrath of his host, and he did not fancy serving as a blood bag for one of those damned licks.

It was all that brat's fault! Ever since he came to Hogwarts, and met that...that abomination of a child, everything went south for him.

All those pranks, rumors, questions. All those doubts on his competence, gradually becoming a certainty as even his staunchest supporters begun forsaking him.

His fan-mail becoming scarcer, as he was instead questioned on his skills, on the veracity of tales.

How was he supposed to know that a man couldn't overpower to werewolves with his bare hands? And who were these people to dare point it out?!

His fall from grace finally reached the media, those damned vultures were always waiting for the occasion to bring him down.

Now, with all the testimonies being sent by students, parents and experts who studied his books, the press had a field day organizing his character assassination!

'I didn't even make the front page!' He screamed internally, biting his cheeks not to voice his thoughts. The last two bars he visited saw him thrown out for one such fit, and he didn't want to seek another pub if he could help it.

Someone as magnificent as him, Gilderoy Lockhart deserved the front page! <i>Who cares about the new heir of house Black anyway?</i>

"Another one!' He shouted out, before regretting his tone when the possible blood sucker glared at him.

If Gilderoy noticed that his drink was overpriced this time, he didn't bring it up.

A few drink laters, the blond haired pounce who at least, wouldn't tell his father about it, was thrown out of the pub by an angry barman. The fraudulent wizard unfortunately heard a hag laugh at someone's joke, and his drunken mind mistook the crisp sound for a werewolf's growl, he proceeded to soil himself once more under the shocked eyes of the clients.

At least, his current state revulsed the blood sucker enough to spare him a grim fate, not that he'd remember an of those things the next day.

"No way in hell I'd suck him!" shouted an angry vamp in the dead of the night amidst laughter.

+E-S+

At Grimmauld, the morning had downed as cold and dark as always, yet held a crispness that inspired the hearts of the dwellers. Magnus was yet to be used to his House, both as residence or noble station. He fancied neither the gloom and grim of his once ruined home, nor the bindings of duty he was beholden to as de facto Lord.

Kreacher and the rest of his elven retainers solved his first grievance, making the household once more functional. However, there was no saving him for the second without appointing a regent; a very difficult and unwise decision for obvious reasons.

Which is why the young man, who grew splendidly in both body and magic, was now spending the morning of his thirteenth birthday in his solar.

Face solemn and stony, the resemblance with his mentor's more than obvious. Magnus was nearly drowning in paperwork, filling and reviewing more and more papers from the stacks in his desk. He was set on completing as much work as possible, as he had already plans for his afternoon which didn't involve any more bureaucratic torture.

'Tempus' He cast without a word, not removing his wand from it's holster but still making use of their connection. Temporal magics were incredibly troublesome, he noted a while ago, wandless casting was thus not an option. 'It's almost lunchtime.'

He got up from his seat, performing a plethora of hygiene and grooming charms. An actual bath would be more than welcome, but Magnus's time was too limited to allow such self-indulgence.

"Kreacher." He called, voice so calm and steady it would unnerve many. An almost silent crack later, one of the world's most elegant elves appeared before him.

"Master." The almost worshiping voice of the now healthy, if intimidating creature (by elvish standard.) called as Kreacher bowed without spilling the content of the plate he carried. "Your Nectar is ready."

"Thank you." Magnus answered, not minding the quotidian grateful look his loyal servant showed him. He drank the transparent looking liquid in one go, before picking up the small chocolate cake he adored so much.

Hyper-nutritive alchemical concoction, or Nectar as he called it, was as one of his latest and most useful achievements in the field of alchemy. One glass of this mixture held nearly as much nutriment as a standard nutritive potion, yet it's production cost less than a Butterbeer. A simple matter anyone adept in alchemy could achieve, yet none bothered as the need for such thing was already covered by potion-makers.

Wizards at large weren't big on practicality or cost-efficiency; if a solution to a problem existed, there was no need to look for another approach, no matter how many improvements could be made.

This mindset is what sets apart innovators like Severus Snape or the late Selene Lovegood from their lessers in their respective fields of Potion making and Spell crafting; though Snape did dabble in curse making.

The drawback was that it's taste could qualified as nothing but revolting, and any attempt at changing it would considerably reduce the efficiency. Which is why he made a habit of eating one of his chocolate cakes with each dosage, lest he continue his day with the taste of weary socks in his mouth.

Fixing it would be a waste of time, and he was lacking in that precious resource.

"Were the ingredients I ordered delivered?" The heir asked his elf between bites, savoring the chocolate delicacy with near religious fervor.

"Yes, I took the liberty of putting them in the reserve, master." Said the elf, big eyes waiting for his reaction.

"You did well." He nodded, not bothered by the victorious look the creature had. Those ingredients were extremely volatile, and ought to be put in the specially created preservation areas in the house.

Kreacher had been instructed not bother him with anything but the most urgent matters, a delivery albeit consequent did not qualify as a vital matter and were thus beneath his notice.

"I will be receiving guests this afternoon." Magnus interrupted the servant's celebration, putting the now empty dish back on the plate. "You are to warn me upon their arrival, then key them to the wards as frequent guests. They will likely stay for tea, make the necessary preparations."

"Yes, master." Kreacher bowed before apparating away, recognizing the silent dismissal for what it was.

Magnus had invited Minerva and the Tonks, at the behest of the former to discuss a rather pressing matter; the unlawful incarceration of Sirius Black, his missing father.

'At least this one didn't leave to buy cigarettes.' He chuckled, finalizing the in House decree and assets transfers he created as safety measures.

As apparent Heir and acting Lord, Magnus had the authority to pass in-house decrees; establishing rules and having authority over the rest of the house. He could void or accept marriages, set up rules and conditions to inheritances and hierarchies and all manner of decisions a thirteen years old has no business making.

But Magnus could, and so he did.

By passing a set of inconspicuous decisions as in house decrees, which he will later blend amidst other similarly harmless paperwork with Kreacher's future help, he secured his position of power and place as Heir Black.

Through these decrees, he effectively made disowning him, naming another heir but him, leaving any inheritance belonging to the house to another without his consent, marrying him off forcefully or voiding his future marriage without his consent impossible.

When Sirius is freed and ultimately becomes Lord Black, he would have the authority to do all of those things. And Magnus couldn't simply live with this possibility, it was simply his nature.

Sirius might be his father, and might not even know of his existence, he might be a good man and want to work out their inherently messed up relationship. But it was only conjecture, the man had spent years in Azkaban and was known for his unpredictability way before that.

He could name Harry Potter of all people as his heir, or try and marry Magnus to the Weasley girl for example. And that didn't sit well with the amber eyed monster.

With these precautions, the most he could do is unofficially disown like Walburga did. In case such an event happened, Magnus would only have to use his private vaults until Sirius's death, possibly at his hands, while still having all the benefits of a pureblood scion in the eyes of the law.

The animagus could overrule these decrees, but he would need to actually know about them. Kreacher would cover Magnus's tracks wonderfully, as he was only beholden to execute the Lord's direct instructions.

'I'll rescue you, Sirius.' He thought, sealing the decrees away with cooking spells as an extra measure to cover his back 'But don't you ever believe that I'd trust you.'

Magnus looked back at his desk, and he couldn't shake off the feeling that the paper stacks actually multiplied.

+E-S+

"Magnus." A deathly pale Andromeda asked him, her gentle voice shaky while her bear-like husband tried to comfort her "Are...are you sure? Are you absolutely certain that he is..that Sirius is innocent."

"What proof do you have?" Ted's tone was not unkind, but he reclaimed concrete facts.

"Many." Magnus put down his cup, staring gently at his shell-shocked aunt who shot a look at McGonagall for confirmation. "Let's the start by the absence of trial, which in itself is enough ground to see him freed for denial of due process."

"I've checked the ministry's public archives from the war, Sirius was directly sent to Azkaban after sending nearly a full week waiting for his trial." Added Minerva, uneasy at the results of her own research "He was guarded by dementors."

The Tonks sucked breath at that, while Magnus's face darkened a bit. Dementors were well known for making people unstable after short contact with them, the results of a full-week...it explained Sirius crazed confessions.

'I did not know this.' Magnus thought with a frown, his dislike of Bartemius Crouch raising yet another time. Being disliked by Magnus was very unhealthy, and might lead to physical and emotional trauma, irreparable curse-injuries, public humiliations and depression; Lockhart could testify.

If he was sober enough that is.

"He would have been convicted for the murder of Pettigrew and a number of muggles, as well as indirect involvement in the death of the Potters." The boy broke the silence "But I have it on good authority that these allegations are false."

"How so?" Asked Andromeda, earning herself a grim look from McGonagall who was once more confronted by a mistake of her own, a coward of her own house.

"Peter Pettigrew is alive." Magnus said blandly "And currently residing in the Burrow, the residence of the Weaselys."

Needless to say, it was a long and unpleasant conversation Magnus would've much rather avoided. He loved his aunt as much as he could believably love a pleasant relative he met recently. She was family, which also counted for something. And she did appear to care for him, within limits.

But spending long minutes answering their questions, when he could be acting to free Sirius or better yet, get some work on his enchantment studies...it was not something he enjoyed, not one bit.

Sharing his plans was hardly more interesting. The awe and admiration were pleasant in the beginning, but got old very quickly. He would've much rather offer them a list of instructions and leave it at that, but his own condition as a 'child' however brilliant he may be didn't avail him the Dumbledore treatment, and so he had to explain the strategy and meaning behind every step, it's superiority on the alternatives and settle their misguided doubts.

He planned these things for years, they only needed minor modifications to fit his current station. He could tell them about his past life, or pass it as a seer's visions…

Sadly, he was not stupid enough to do such a thing.

Being on the receiving of mental arse licking was troublesome, but not that troublesome.

'At least, I got something out of it.' He smiled, almost laughing out loud at his dear teacher's mission.

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Hey guys! It's Uncle Sheo!

Sorry for the late chapter, i was going to post it sooner but a black cat crossed my path so i had to take the long road. On the long road though, i had to help a grandma carry her groceries, which in itself took a while, you wouldn't believe the traffic.

Then a cute girl stopped me, so I 'danced'. The ensuing clarity unfortunately led to me getting lost in the path of life, it took me a long time to find my way.

i absolutely didn't binge a plethora of fanfics on my free time; chief among those being Naruto and Harry Potter. Along with two horrible victorious/icarly fanfics which I read because of morbid curiosity (Don't judge me, it's like looking at a car crash.).

As an apology, there is another chap for you guys.

Peace and Cheese.