Chapter 64 Family Affairs

The pair seated at the table were diametrically opposed, in almost every way imaginable. Starting with their appearances, you could immediately say one was old, the other was young. But something else about them made clear that their differences were certainly more than skin deep, that their views were nearly opposite in some way that prevented them from seeing eye to eye on just about anything. Harry knew this pointless staring match could go on for hours. And he had better thing to do with his time, "Down to business," said Harry.

"Down to business," agreed Dumbledore. He was not surprised at having won their staring match - he had many more years of practical experience staring down Ministers and Prime Ministers.

"The first regards the use of Sirius's home, as the headquarters of your Order of the Phoenix," Harry shrugged, "I don't know." Dumbledore blinked in surprise, "That home is all that I have to remind me of my Godfather and blood family."

"The physical does not replace the memories you have," replied the headmaster.

"It does not," agreed Harry, "But when you have next to no memories, then the physical is all that you have. So your Order can continue to meet wherever the heck it is you meet. Not that you've done any good at all." Harry's sneer could have done Snape proud, "My brothers and sisters, have done more to blunt Voldemort than your precious Order. Stunning spells against killing curses," he snorted.

"They deserve…"

"They deserve a cutting curse to the neck, a blasting curse to the heart, to be stripped of their magic and forced to live as muggles in the deepest, darkest cesspits of the world. The last thing they deserve is a second chance."

Dumbledore shook his head, refusing to concede the point, "You would stoop to their level Harry? Have your friends fall alongside you into the Dark?"

"We were never in the light – at least not fully," he amended, "You don't understand that Light and Dark are the extremes. You want to stay in the Light, but all your underhanded dealings put you in the Dark. So spare me the sanctimony. It doesn't fly with me. At least I can honestly say that I know where I stand: Where light and dark cross paths, where everything is different shades of Grey."

"Tell me something Harry," said Dumbledore, "Do you think Fleur would approve of what you have done? Would Hermione?" It was a dangerous gambit to mention either of the women Harry loved, never mind put both in the same sentence, "You have admitted that you walk in that… grey area. But do you know of its dangers? The risks? Do you know what you ask of your friends, by asking them to follow you?"

Harry hands were clenching the armrests of his chair, and his nails had gouged the wood, as he fought down the rage and anger. It was the smoke rising from beneath his hands that alerted Dumbledore to the success of his gambit. He had provoked a reaction, and he pressed it home, "I have done what I have done for the greater good. To preserve and protect, to heal and to mend whereas you and your "Legion" simply kill. Are they an army that will conquer all who disagree with you?"

The was a sharp crack as the chair seemed to explode out and away from Harry, smashing into the far wall, "They are an army! They will fight and they will kill and they will die to defend, and protect!" His hands slammed down onto the table, wreathed in flames, "That is the only way there will be something left to mend and heal!" he roared as his palm prints burned into the table, fully aware of the irony of his words.

"I fear for you Harry," continued the headmaster, completely unperturbed, "I fear for your soul and…."

"You should fear Voldemort and his Horcruxes!" snapped Harry. He stared at Dumbledore's face for a long moment, "Don't even think about playing dumb. If you don't know then you should bloody well have a clue. You've had at least fifteen years to figure it all out."

True enough as the headmaster could only nod, "I believe he made six in total?" clearly the Headmaster was fishing for information, seeking exactly what Harry knew about such Dark magic.

"Six," confirmed Harry, "The Diary from Ginny's second year, which has been destroyed." The Headmaster nodded, "and given his obsession with Hogwarts and the founders," continued Harry, "Four of those would be objects belonging to the Founders." Harry awarded the headmaster an almost feral grin, "Of which only three remain."

"You destroyed one." It was a statement, not a question, "And given that you do not have ready access to a supply of basilisk venom…I find myself compelled to ask, how? And more specifically when?"

Harry's grin actually widened, "A magician never reveals his secrets." It was a mocking smile that reminded Dumbledore a great deal of a young Tom Marvolo Riddle before he became Voldemort. He had failed that young man, and now it felt as if he was failing again… had already failed. "I presume you have spent the intervening years trying desperately to locate and destroy them?"

"I have," he admitted readily, "and I believe I have located one and am close to determining the location of another, based on my study of Voldemort's life before he became the Dark Lord that many live in fear of." Dumbledore hesitated, "Perhaps… are you aware of his life before his rise to power?"

Harry nodded, "I know that which matters most: He is a half-blood who spouts pureblood supremacy ideology. He is powerful, and most importantly, he needs to be killed. The details of his life are somewhat vague, and by and large irrelevant. Which ones are you close to?"

Dumbledore hesitated, and then realized he had no recourse but to tell Harry if there was going to be any hope of them working together - just working together, not necessarily trusting one another, "The ring of the Gaunt family, most likely located in the ancestral family home. Another I believe is somewhere along the cliffs of Dover, possibly near a small, virtually unnamed village where Voldemort may have spent some of his childhood years. "

"I presume you have your own sources inside the ministry," said Dumbledore to which Harry stayed silent, "But then, the ministry is a far cry from the ideals upon which it was founded." Harry wasn't sure if that was a subtle jab or not as he listened, "I have no idea how he found the artifacts which he turned in to Horcruxes, but I believe I know where he has them hidden."

Harry hesitated. He knew he could not trust the headmaster farther than he could throw him, but they needed to work together for the moment at least, "Hufflepuff's Cup," said Harry, "That is the Horcrux the Legion neutralized."

Dumbledore nodded, accepting what he saw as a possible olive branch, "So Harry, where do we… go from here?"

They stared at each other across the table, and neither of them blinked, but neither attempted to breach the mind of the other. "We," Harry stressed, "go nowhere." He heard the headmaster's sigh and decided to strike preemptively, "I know what you've done, and because of that well," Harry shrugged and changed tack, "Revealing that will damage the wizarding world probably beyond recovery. As much as I hate to say it, those sheep out there need someone to follow, and that somebody is you, oh great white shepherd."

Harry leaned over the table suddenly, "But you come near any of those that chose to follow me, and you and I will have a reckoning because I will do everything in my power to destroy your name, image, reputation, and memory. Are we clear?"

"Harry, you should not make threats that you cannot keep," said the Headmaster with a quiet smile.

"I don't do threats, Mr. Dumbledore," replied Harry, "I make promises." He glared at Dumbledore, "and its Mr. Potter to you. Am I clear?"

Griphook came through the door, carrying a stack of parchment and files, ready to get down to business. Harry and Dumbledore stared at each other for a long moment, and finally, the aged wizard departed. They waited for several minutes and moved to a different room. Another goblin would magically sanitize the room against any "accidentally" left listening and tracking charms.

Harry stared at the mountain of paperwork before him. He had not had to sign this much paperwork when he "adopted" Colin and Luna. "Griphook, what the heck is all this?"

Griphook shrugged, "Paperwork going back quite a number of months that you need to sign off on."

"I don't recall ordering a dozen solid gold bathtubs, or two dozen sterling silver candlestick holders," he remarked drily as he took down the first stack of invoices, "Services rendered by Gringotts…" he began to read through the document and blinked in surprise, "Griphook, these go back almost two years … Why haven't I seen these?"

"There never seemed to be a good time to settle these matters," said Griphook. To Harry's surprise, the Goblin looked almost uncomfortable, "The end of your fourth year, and this past year have been, trying to say the very least, and I have done as much as possible, at your Godfather's insistence to make this all as painless as possible."

There was nothing that Harry could really say or do but take a breath. He let it out slowly and took the offered quill and began to sign his way through the stack of parchments. Harry was sure that he lightened his overall wealth by several million Galleons, but he was not overly concerned as his investments – managed solely by Griphook – would recoup the loss before the end of the year. For the first time, he actually took a look at the investments that Griphook had made and was pleasantly surprised to find that the investments were mostly in Muggle companies. "More money can be made therein a matter of weeks, than can be made from a wizarding investment in years," explained his banker, "It is one of the few ways in which our world is still behind that of the muggles."

The array of investments, stocks, bonds, shares, and other holdings simply left him wide-eyed in surprise. "It's like I own half the muggle world," he remarked quietly.

"In some ways you do, and that is in part due to the amazing foresight of your mother. Being muggle-born, she knew more and made the initial investments herself. Her investment into Microsoft has proven to be incredibly successful, amongst many others."

Harry ran the numbers quickly in his head and came up with a number that he found difficult to believe, "So essentially, I've spent almost fifteen million Galleons in the past two years, and my investment made enough to cover those costs and generate profits of 7 million?" Griphook nodded, pleased at his accomplishment in manipulating the Potter wealth to generate such profits, "Then whatever it is you're getting paid, I'm not paying you enough am I? I want you to take 2% of the profits as a pay rise, retroactive for the past two years, and for providing outstanding service to me, ensure that Gringotts takes 1% of the profits, with my compliments."

"Thank you," said Griphook, "You do myself and Gringotts much honor."

Harry nodded, "Anyway, there are a few other things I want to do since I'm here." As much as Harry hated to admit it, the original seed for the idea had been planted by something Dumbledore had written in his letter urging Harry to attend the formal will reading at Gringotts. He stared at the heavy burnished silver ring for a long few moments. It bore the Black family crest, marking it as the ring to be worn by the Head of House. But he had always eschewed such formal trappings of position and power, but as he studied this ring, he had no choice really. It was the best way to tighten the screws on Voldemort. "A union of houses," muttered Harry, "one of light, one of dark, perfect for those who walk where all is shades of grey." He turned to his banker, "So, how does one do this?"

The process was quick and simple involving a slash across the palm to release his blood over both the Potter and Black rings, and a simple incantation. Needless to say, the new ring would be returned to the Potter vault once this ceremony was completed. After all, Harry had no reason to make himself any more of a target than he already was by wearing something like the ring. That and the added weight would throw off his aim.

Where the Potter family crest showed a Griffin flying over the ramparts of a castle, wing spread, poised to attack, the Black family crest was that of a hand holding a wand upon a background of stars. He had been uncertain what form the new House crest, that of Potter-Black would take as he watched the softening metal, whirl and begin to take shape, when instinctively, he just knew, that he could shape it, with his thoughts.

A million and one different ideas sped through his mind until he finally came upon something: The background was silver with castle ramparts. stars shimmered in the near-distant background. Dominating the entire image was a single Griffin, clutching a wand in one taloned claw, with a matching sword in the other. The blade of Godric Gryffindor.

Thus in a quiet ceremony on a Summer's day in the depths of Gringotts London, the house of Potter-Black was born. As the head of a House brought about by a union of two old families, he felt the weight of history upon his shoulders, and sighed softly, "The last of my blood family is gone."

"But you still have the family you built around you, your friends," replied Griphook softly, "And you have the Legion."

"Yeah," agreed Harry, "I suppose there is that: all 235 brothers and sisters, and my two kids." He sobered, "Sirius once told me about how he was excommunicated from the Black Family, I want to rectify that, a few other things, and do some excommunicating of my own," Being Lord of the Manor, so to speak, was not without a few perks and benefits of its own, and Harry intended to use them all to the most devastating of effects. He actually smiled, wishing there was a way he could watch the expressions on a select few faces when the notices were served.

Almost a week later, Narcissa had been enjoying a quiet cup of tea upon the patio, looking over the expansive gardens when the Firesprite appeared. She recognized the small beast as one of those creatures used as a messenger by the Goblins. What made her do a double-take was the crest which sealed the parchment scroll. There were elements of it that were familiar to her, reminding her of the Black Family Crest, but the griffin and castle ramparts were different.

She took her time, adding a slice of lemon to her Earl Grey, letting it macerate slightly before removing it and placing it on a side dish. Satisfied, she broke the wax seal and began to read. Her cup was delicately hand-crafted bone china of the finest quality. It struck the ground with a crash and shattered into a thousand fragments that spread across the patio. She leaned forward, reading the first few lines repeatedly before going through the rest of the document. She fell back in her chair, scrunching the parchment in one hand, "Potter-Black," it was a whisper, then it rose in volume, in intensity, and in hatred until it was a screech of madness that would have done Bellatrix Lestrange proud, "Lord Harry James Potter-Black!"

The muggles that called the village of Little Haggleton home had looked up at the increasing decrepit manor house on the hill and wondered how in the word such an old, run-down building could still be standing. The simple answer, they joked was magic. If only they knew. It was indeed magic that kept the entire crumbling construction from becoming a crumbling ruin. While Voldemort no longer considered it a suitable base of operations, Bellatrix Lestrange had delighted in calling her own home - with her master's permission of course. The Firesprite found her in the midst of an indulgence of her sadism. Being creatures of demonic origin - from an entirely different plane of existence where blood and violence was a common occurrence - the fact that two muggles were being hung upside down, covered in dozens of small wounds did not repulse the creature in the slightest. It merely delivered the message and vanished in a ball of flame.

Of course, once Bellatrix Lestrange was done "playing" with one of her victims, and read the official notification for the House of Potter-Black, her second "toy" died a remarkably quick and comparatively painless death., cursing the name of Harry James Potter-Black, and praying that the Dark Lord would let her have him as a plaything... for a little while at least.

Notifications of a different nature were sent to one Nymphadora Tonks, and her parents, who simply could not believe that such a day had come within their lifetimes, and the celebration began almost spontaneously and went on well into the night. Needless to say, Harry was the guest of honor and surrounded by friends, they did just that: Celebrating through the night, well into the early hours of the morning, which saw a group of bleary-eyed teenagers, Portkey rather than consider trying to apparate or Floo home.

In fact, everyone grabbed onto Harry's portkey, meaning that everyone spent most of the day sleeping and recovering from their night of semi-wanton debauchery, awakening on the floor of the travel room, where they had simply collapsed in a giant heap. Of course, there were no celebrations on the Death Eater's side of things - but then they had absolutely nothing to celebrate...

"My Lord," the two women knelt before the Dark Lord, and it was Narcissa that spoke first, "We... thank you humbly for your time, my Lord."

Voldemort's smile was more of a grimace of death as he stared down from his throne. The throne was of his own making and one that had made more than one Death Eater choke down their bile. It was the work of a master craftsman - although an insane one - whose materials had been the bones of those who had defied him. Some had been dug up from the graves of those who had fallen to his wand in the first war, others were more recent victims. What had been particularly frustrating for the Dark Lord had been the fact that he had not been able to locate the graves of Colin's family, Luna's father, or even the muggle-born Hermione Granger, and he had particularly enjoyed inflicting her demise upon her. "I always have time for the most faithful of my followers," he favored Bellatrix with a smile that sent a shudder creeping down Narcissa's smile... if it meant what she thought it meant.

"My Lord," she faltered now that she was before him, as she knew full well what awaited her the moment she finished explaining the most recent actions of her Lord's nemesis. "My Lord, certain events have occurred in recent days. The will of Sirius Black....has been read..."

The smile vanished almost instantly, "Yes," he said heatedly, even as the temperature of his throne room fell. Ice crystals began to form on the floor around him. Narcissa exhaled, and saw the steaming cloud of her own breath before her, swirling and dancing, free in a way she would never, ever be. Of course, the pieces fell in place before she could explain, "What," said Voldemort in a silky tone of voice that simply promised pain was to come, "has he done now?"

Narcissa began screaming several minutes later and would only stop for several minutes at a time, long enough to gather her breath to scream some more, until she very nearly lost her voice after almost an hour writhing in agony on the floor at his feet. The screams were actually something of a distraction, as the Dark Lord let his thoughts wander, and he realized that he had once again underestimated Harry Potter. Though he would never admit it, he was impressed that Harry had learned from every mistake: He had truly underestimated the child the night he was reborn and failed to kill him as a result. He had then underestimated the strength of arms that the child could bring to bear in a crisis, costing him the knowledge of the Prophecy - momentarily at least. Now the boy... man. The man had shown a level of cunning and maturity he had not expected to find in any opponent. Lord Voldemort found himself quietly admiring what Harry had done. 'To think that old man Dumbledore used to be the greatest of my enemies. I fear that I have underestimated what this child is truly capable of. If nothing else, it will make the coming days... interesting....' That he could possibly lose the coming war, never crossed his mind.

Indeed, while Harry had deprived him of the Malfoy family fortune, which was no small proportion of his war chest, there was more than enough money available, especially since they no longer had to be overly concerned with recruiting Death Eaters: They could quite literally make them as necessary, he only had to keep the "originals" safe to ensure the survival of all of the effingus. If there was one thing he would like to change, it would be having Lucius Malfoy screaming under the Cruciatus, alongside his wife. He smiled ever so slightly at the thought, 'Their screaming together would make such sweet music.'

The real Lucius Malfoy was currently rotting in Azkaban for having been foolish enough to have been captured in that Department of Mysteries fiasco barely a month ago. His trial was fast approaching, and something would have to be done about that. Something else occurred to him that actually caused a snort of laughter to escape him, and it held true: With her marriage annulled, Narcissa would revert to being a member of the Black family. But Lord Potter-Black - how the term grated on Voldemort's nerves - had then excommunicated both women from the Family. The second snort of laughter had several of the Death Eaters staring at him for the merest fraction of a second before they returned their gazes to the floor: Narcissa and Draco were no longer Malfoys or Blacks. They simply had no name!

Watching her beloved Dark Lord sitting upon his throne, sniggering at something, Bellatrix stared at him for a long few moments and then returned her gaze to the crack in the floor tiles beneath her. How she ached to have vengeance upon Harry Potter, now more than ever before. He had humiliated her beloved on two, three, four... many occasions and had now struck out at her personally. Not that she gave a damn about her husband - The union between the houses of Black and Lestrange had long been a political match without love - and the fact that she was no longer a part of a House of traitors and other such half-bloods suited her quite well. She gazed up at him one more time, the adoration in her eyes mixed with something. She could only pray that he would see it, especially since her status now, without house or name, meant that nothing could stand in her way of being the mother to the pureblood heir of Voldemort's Empire.

Lord Voldermort's thoughts were far, far away from even considering his future progeny - but then considering he planned to rule forever, he really did not have a need to consider children. What he was considering, however, was a demonstration of the strength and power of his Death Eaters. They had kept their activities far too low-key, so much so that they were being marginalized in the wizarding press. No, Lord Voldemort decided, it was time for the Dark Mark to inspire terror and fear once again! And he knew just where to start, "Send Wormtail to me!" he said softly, "And if he is late, he will know of my displeasure."

He turned his gaze to a quivering and shaking Narcissa, "You," he said, "May leave!" She rose shakily to her feet, barely able to stand, and bowed, nearly collapsing as she did so. But she was able to walk from the throne room, head held high, earning her a measure of respect from the witches and wizards that had watched her suffer with expressions of cruel delight.