Chapter 2: What The Hell?
The next thing Lord Hadrian Potter knew was that he felt as if he had sat in a Derby Racer Roller Coaster, which was the stupidest things to do because it was one of the most dangerous park rides ever.
How did he know?
Well, of course, he knows.
He had a personal experience on that roller coaster.
After the Second Wizarding War, he had done a lot of tomfoolery like that - things that looked brave but were idiotic in hindsight.
If and when he had another meet-up with Death, he'll remember to exchange some words with it about its travel options.
Suddenly, Harry felt like giving a huge wail that infants did when they left the wombs of their mothers and opened their eyes to the wide world out there.
However, he suppressed his urge. He didn't know where he was and couldn't move or see much, except feeling that his body had a lot of slimy liquid covering it.
Suddenly, he heard a voice, "Ah! The child didn't scream. Aren't his vocals working?"
As a consequence, Ladies and Gentlemen, it was at this point, that the previous Lord Potter realised that when Death meant a 'fresh, new start', it was a brand new start, alright!
The Head of House Potter and Black screamed.
The baby screamed and screamed for so long that even the new mother felt irritated instead of blessed.
Harry was distressed.
He was angry.
He wanted to throttle Death.
But since he couldn't voice his thoughts or do any of those things, he decided to vent his frustrations in a long wail.
In a minute or two, he felt his throat going hoarse and therefore, abruptly shut his pink little mouth.
Afterwards, he felt his body being cleaned by the nurses or their equivalent and was handed over to a woman.
Being a newborn, he couldn't see much or that clearly but he recognised that wild mane of black hair.
It was a dominant trait of the women of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.
He dearly hoped that he wasn't born in times of strife because that blasted house always sided with The Dark in any conflict.
All his turbulent emotions made his magic churn violently inside him and since the babe didn't have any control over it, the magic burst out of him like a hurricane and almost shattered all the glass panes in a bad rendition of a symphony.
Then, a male voice — his father, from the dulcet tones — laughed and said, "Accidental magic within a few moments of being born."
Harry couldn't see his surroundings clearly, but he definitely heard the pride in that voice. It was also tinged with an undercurrent of greed.
Motherfucker!
What the hell?
How was he supposed to live an idyllic life with such an unconscious and astonishing display of magic?
These people certainly wouldn't allow him to fade into obscurity. The only hope he now had was that he wasn't the first-born or else he would be named the next heir to The House of Black.
If that happened, Harry could see the mediocre lifestyle that he had come to enjoy in his old age in the last life, flying away at the speed of a Thunderbolt - the latest edition of the yesteryear's Firebolt.
As an afterthought, he also realised another way to live an ordinary life- even if he was the first-born child but if he didn't have a dong-dong down there, that meant he was born a girl.
Then, he could live as a girl, marry out in a decade and a half, give birth to an heir and a spare and spend the rest of his life in peace and quiet.
Hell!
It was a nice thought but if he really had to live as a girl, he didn't think he'll be able to adapt well.
Therefore, our hero moved his tiny legs a bit - in order to feel and guess his gender and lo and behold!
He felt a teeny-tiny, squishy, limp appendage between his legs.
Harry didn't know whether to laugh or cry at it but his dilemma didn't remain for long because, his father lifted him from the woman's embrace and regally spoke, "Little Hadrian Phineas Black, Welcome to the new world. The Heir to The House of Black."
Yep! It was his cursed luck to be saddled with that damn position again.
The newly minted Heir to The House of Black cried himself to sleep.
A few months later, on All Hallows Eve, Harry - still known to everyone with the same first and the last name but a different middle name, somehow collided himself with a bedpost and again regained the lightning bolt scar on his forehead.
He shouldn't have been surprised by that since he never ever had a single good Halloween but he had certainly hoped that the bad luck of that day wouldn't follow him in this second life but to no avail.
Harry wondered if the scar was Death's idea of a joke.
Even if it was, at least, it was a more humane and less painful way of acquiring the memento of his parent's murder and being on the road to be dubbed as 'scar head'.
Huh!
More importantly, he wouldn't be a convenient vessel for someone's depleted to its barebones soul.
The next morning, when his mother - the venerable Mrs Ursula Black (née Flint) had seen the scar, she had screeched like a banshee, waking the rest of the inhabitants of 12 Grimmauld Place.
She had been furious at the imperfection marring his forehead until his father Nigelus Black had pointed out, "It's not a lightning bolt. It's the rune Sowilo."
Harry had almost snorted at that.
He had realised in his last life that the magical's were either on a strong trip of some hallucinogens or plain stupid.
They believed in the stupidest of things and made up their own reasons to feel better at heart about unexplainable things.
He fell and hurt his head.
He fell on All Hallows Eve.
The lines between this world and the afterlife are always weaker around this time of the year.
Ergo, he was marked by the symbol of guidance and success.
Yeah!
Thinking back to it, he had received a lot of guidance from his mentor - A.P.W.B.D.
However, that old coot had simply raised him into a fatty pig ready for slaughter at the right time - as Severus in his infinite wisdom had pointed out.
More's the pity, the butcher died before the pig.
Success - the less said about it, the better. Within the span of a few short months, those zealous reporters had clamoured for his head on the basis that only a Dark Lord could defeat another one.
That had put a nice and permanent wrench in any sort of success he had ever dreamed of.
Anyways, after that Hallows Eve fiasco, a personal elf had been assigned to him which was more of a hindrance than a help.
The blasted thing followed him everywhere and would read him books about Merlin and Morgana every single day.
It was certainly another whole experience of being born and brought up in a Dark family.
Thankfully, he was well shot off being locked or kept in a cupboard under the stairs.
Time passed and half a decade later his mother gave birth to twins - a boy and a girl who were named Cygnus Arcturus Black and Elladora Lysandra Black respectively.
The first time Harry saw his younger siblings, he felt such a fierce rush of protectiveness and love towards them that it left him breathless.
Up until that point, even though he had been going through the motions, Harry didn't have much-vested interest in The House of Black.
However, with each day he spent with those two infants, he felt his dead heart coming back alive slowly but surely.
Maybe, he could keep this newer generation of Blacks from hating each other as the remaining Blacks had done in his own time and maybe, he could get a chance at a true family.
Meanwhile, when Death saw its master come to such a decision, it heaved a sigh of relief.
At least, for the next few decades, Death had been successful in keeping that menace away from The Land of The Dead.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
Shiksha_Jerath
Shiksha_Jerath Heya Folks
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