Pride Without Prejudice

(A/N: Hey guys, sorry for the delay, a lot of troublesome stuff happened which led to some bothersome results I won't bore you with. You can read 12 chapters ahead in sheo.bio, and it's free. Enjoy the Chapter!)

Roses are red.

Violets are blue.

McGonagall is proud of you.

The Transfiguration professor didn't quite recite him a poem, but when Magnus took a surprise flight to her study and delivered the good news, she might've just made him a haiku.

The boy came close to countering the killing curse without summoning a swarm of birds like his mentor, butterflies like a certain eccentric headmaster or plain rubble as most aurors and other hit wizards are trained to do.

Yet for all his defensive prowess, there was nothing he could do to stop the onslaught of pinched cheeks and quick succession of ruffling his hair before fixing them up.

"Come on, I told you I'd ace them." He rolled his eyes, but didn't stop her from making his hairstyle presentable again.

Though he knew she was bound to wreck it again.

"You also told me you would never get involved in that damnable bloodsport the ministry condemned us to," She said, one brow raised while she finished tying his low ponytail, "Yet here we are."

"They were going to ask for Fleur's sister."

He took a seat on the red sofa she kept in her study, though there was sadly no cake to partake in this time around.

Only scones and tea, though it would have to do.

"Yes, and I applaud your chivalry, it was very gryffindor." She said, chuckling when he winced, "But the fact remains that you recklessly charged into a dangerous situation, I do not remember raising you like this."

Magnus could remind her that she did not, in fact, raise him.

They only met four years ago, and he knew not by which magic they developed that sweet but very much unprofessional relationship, though he wasn't complaining.

But he knew he'd go to hell if he did, all the while disappointing every soul who believed he wasn't an utterly rotten waste of space.

It would also make her very sad, which was unacceptable.

"I'm sorry you feel that way." He said, using that one sentence favored by all kinds of narcissists and troublesome people, "I will strive to be careful in the future…happy?"

"Very happy." She nodded, before sighing wistfully, "My boy, getting his Newts at fourteen."

"I'm almost fifteen."

It was a negligible fact, but it would do wonders to make Fleur more comfortable and less concerned by potential pedophilia somewhere down the line…

He had it easier, much easier.

In his past life, he died at the tender age of sixteen years old; younger than Fleur by a year. Then he lived almost six years as Magnus Black, bringing his age up to twenty two.

However, his body was affecting him through an immature brain and a constant hormonal cocktail flowing through his veins, his actual mental age would be closer to 18 years old.

In any case, he was younger than Bill Weasley who will likely suffer an unfortunate incident in the near future.

Was it justified? No.

Would it stop him? Absolument not.

"Did you tell your father?" McGonagal asked, bringing him out of the sweet world of righteous retribution. "You know you can't postpone it forever."

He told her about his newts, then again he told her pretty much everything that wasn't under grade III mental restriction within his mind place.

"I could have, but our dear headmaster took it upon himself to inform him." He said.

'Bloody old goat.'

The woman was amused by his misery, then again it wasn't the greatest obstacle one could face.

Sirius was likely to throw an insanely annoying party while inviting people he hardly knew, to do things he didn't know, for a purpose he knew even less.

'Let's just hope he doesn't bring strippers … .what am I thinking, of course he wouldn't, I'm not even legal…'

He almost felt guilty of having such thoughts, then he remembered that his father was Sirius Black.

'Wait, he would! He very much would!'

"Did he also tell him about your mermish situation?" McGonagall said, smiling at her abysmal joke.

Could it even be called a joke?

Regardless, he had enough self-preservation to ignore it all together.

"No, I doubt it." He shook his head, "I don't think he'd mind anyway."

It wasn't like Sirius didn't care about his safety, he wasn't that bad. But the womanizing gryffindor inside the mutt would get rid of all those pesky details in favor of scoring some points with a pretty bird…literally.

"He matured a lot, Magnus." She said, looking away when he held her gaze. "He shouldn't be allowed to stay without supervision for too long, of course, lest he burn his house down, but he did mature enough to care about his only son being put in enchanted sleep deep down the black lake, wandless as he waits for a champion to reach him."

He'd argue his point further, but there was a tiny detail that caught his attention.

"What do you mean 'wandless'?" He said, Magnus didn't like this at all, "There's no way I'm going there without my wand."

It would be like telling him to drop a soapbar in state prison, thanks but no thanks.

"That's the rules…" She said, looking rather conflicted, "I'll tell the headmaster about it, it's too late to find another hostage anyway."

She wasn't doing this because he was her nephew, that would be unsportsmanlike favoritism.

No, she was just being fair to the Beauxbatons champion's hostage.

. . .

Andromeda and Ted Tonks were proud of their daughter, they really were.

Aurors were among the most respected members of wizarding society, the training and dedication required to make it as a trainee were too grueling for the common run-of-the-mill sorcerer.

But it also meant they could rarely see their sweet Nymphadora, who often went weeks or even months in absence while Mad Eyes Moody did Merlin knows what to her sanity.

In times like these, they couldn't help but wish she took up the family business.

Needless to say, each and every distraction was welcomed, which is why the Tonks couple did not think twice about visiting Grimmauld place to see what got their sometimes furred cousin so excited.

"Kreacher, bring the good stuff!" They heard him shout in between cackles.

It was easy to imagine the man sitting on his favorite armchair by the small fireplace, wearing one of those dandy suits his son got him for Christmas, enjoying the warmth of his newly redecorated room.

"The guests have arrived." The elderly elf said, popping in front of them to pick up their coats and welcome them to the ancestral home of house Black.

Kreacher would never be an agreeable fellow, unless your name was Magnus Black and you didn't think portraits deserved human rights.

But he could and did show some common courtesy, by not insulting them in every single way he knew of and likely putting some strange substances in their meals…hopefully.

They made their way through the house, and were still surprised by how enjoyable it all was.

That word and Grimmauld should never be put in the same phrase, or Andromeda would have used that accursed education of hers to make the fool who'd utter it regret his own birth.

Yet here they were, strolling through a house lit by both candles and magical lights within modern muggle chandeliers.

There were no more troll foots laying around, no more possible human skeletons and ritually preserved heads of their old house elves, no more of the dreary and dark Andy's relatives loved so much.

Instead, there were old photos of Sirius in his marauding time, souvenirs from his time at Hogwarts.

New pictures of him and his son, who looked as if he was doing his best to match the older man's enthusiasm, others of the entire clan including the battleax of a woman that all but adopted their favorite nephew back when his name was Arran and meant nothing but an orphan's fate.

Brooms of all kinds, muggle contraptions basic enough to survive the magic heavy house of Black, a wizarding wireless too.

"The scent changed, it used to be like chocolate and orange trees," Ted noted offhandedly, opening the door to the main living room like the gentleman he was, "Now it smells almost like…christmas?"

"Like cinnamon and burnt roses." She said, letting out a chuckle.

It was a strange combination, but still infinitely better than the not-so-delicate perfume of rot and putrefaction Grimmauld had gotten after so many years of the darkest magic running amok within its halls.

They came face to face with the master of the house, and it was the exact picture they'd imagined minus the cigar and full drink.

He did hold a glass, but it was desperately empty.

"You came? Here I thought you'd use Tonksie's absence to have some fun time." He smiled roguishly, and Andromeda could almost see the youthful playboy from Gryffindor.

His stay in Azkaban would forever scare him, but now he was fit and strong as ever. Full of life, though he often swore that the Wizengamot's seats were occupied by masquerading dementors set to suck him dry.

Andromeda was about to show him just how she managed to escape the grasp of their common family, but her sweet Ted started doing some wonderful things to her stiff shoulders.

"Play nice." The gentle bear of a man grunted, but there was no hiding the mirth behind it.

"Oh..okay dear."

Sirius was openly snickering by now.

"Continue and I'll let her loose on you," Ted warned, "I'll even tell her about Manchester."

That calmed the dog really quick.

"What am I? A Cerberus?" She asked, huffing at her husband's antics.

"No, just a really wonderful, beautiful nuclear deterrent," He hugged her from behind, and she melted for all three seconds it took her to realize what he said. "Hey! No slapping, that's conjugal violence!"

Sirius looked like he was trying really hard not to laugh, but ultimately managed to overcome his evil nature through great effort.

Whatever it was that happened in Manchester, the man really didn't want it leaked.

Andromeda gave him a hard look, before sighing "What did you call us for anyway? More trouble with the Wizengamot?"

A flash of guilt passed through the Black Patriarch's face, and if Andy shared Dumbledore's view on privacy she would see the oh so familiar, so very loathed face of one pureblood lady.

Sirius smiled, there was no use thinking about troublesome matters.

"Your favorite nephew did something crazy."

"Again." Ted raised both brows

"Well, he is a Black." Andromeda smiled, which only grew when the dog started an onslaught of bragging over his overly serious yet rarely sirius son.

. . .

Once more the son of Black disappeared from the castle, isolated while schemed and planned and fomented with none the wiser safe for Sir Barnabas and his trolls.

And none cared to question him, that good sir Barnabas, that was the virtue of the barmy.

When the Ravenclaw entered that special room on the third floor, it would shift and change ever so slightly while his thoughts and wants evolved. Sometimes dueling targets would appear, other times various books both read and new were conjured. More times than he cared to admit, pictures of silver haired witches, incorrigible old dogs, stoic scots and not-so-crazy Black aunts and cousins appeared.

It was good for his heart, made him think he wasn't that rotten deep inside.

That kind of feeling was welcome, especially on those days when he experimented with the world's most wretched spells.

'Casting the Killing Curse really feels like eating a corpse…is that why Tom calls his people death eaters?' He wondered, yet another question that would go without an answer.

Today was not a day for dangerous research, fortunately, though he made a point to practice and enlarge his spell repertoire everyday.

No, today he catered to yet another problem trusted upon him by the useless powers above.

Magnus had been put in a position where his safety had been compromised in favor of keeping an innocent young Veela away from the Black Lake's waters and the innate elemental danger it posed to her.

How could they ever think of putting a being of fire and wind, deep underwater at the mercy of merpeople of all things; ancestral enemies to the fiery Veela of old?

They probably didn't even consider it.

*sigh*

Wizards…

Either that or Dumbledore believed the power of love would keep Gabrielle safe from the tridents and spears of the siren's less attractive, more belligerent cousins.

Now he'd be the one dealing with the pointy stuff.

It did not matter much anyways, he had made his choice. All that was left was preparation. Long, grueling preparation that did nothing to further his goal nor did it align with previous plans.

'I have little more than two weeks before I get knocked out and chained underwater.' He repressed a shiver at that, 'At least I get to keep my wand.'

The loss of control was very much not welcomed, and being stunned underwater with a minor water breathing charm cast by Albus Dumbledore himself was nearly impossible to resist.

Then again; when it comes to magic, nothing is set in stone.

A focus of his intent made the room shift another time, turning it into the rather peculiar sight of a harmonious mix between a modern pool and a Victorian reading room.

Add in some sweets, and it would become heaven among certain crowds.

'The main concern is breaking out from Dumbledore's torpor, I'll also need to brush up on my bubble head charm…' He cracked his neck, 'Let's get to work.'