บท 26: Chapter 26: A Study in Black.

(Note: I do not own Harry Potter; if i did, i would probably be way happier and have the urge to comment about my opinion on troublesome subjects publicly, effectively becoming a scapegoat for the vultures; whose only wish is to further themselves and gain appreciation by putting down others.

Moral of the story: Adopt a dog, and eat some cheese, mortal. Neither of those will ever betray you.

This chapter is dedicated to my faithful mad priests, who were steadfast in their threats if i did not comply and send this chapter, even if i wanted to make it even longer. Enjoy! )

Another year ended in Hogwarts, one full of dangers, chaos and peculiarities; which makes it the standard British magical school formulae.

Many hated this year, finding naught but pain and pressure and a remainder that this world, magical as it may be, is no safe heaven. The petrified woke up, traumatized and lacking in knowledge. The muggleborns and half-bloods finished the year with relief, but marked for life by the sanglant bigotry they experienced. The pure bloods were oblivious, as they often were. and Harry Potter managed to spend a year without confronting Voldemort in any way or form.

But if you were to ask him, which in itself would be a grave mistake, Gilderoy Lockhart would swear that no one loathed this year more than him!

He came to Hogwarts at the behest of Dumbledore, though the fraudulent wizard was the only applicant, lured by promises of glory and honor of teaching the boy-who-lived. Such a service would push the naturally wavy-haired wizard's fame into the stratosphere, perks of becoming the mentor a national hero.

The year should have been his! Gilderoy Lockhart's! it was supposed to be the glorious Reconquista of his childhood school where he previously failed to showcase his greatness.

But all he got was humiliation!

First, the school was assaulted by Slytherin's monster. An actual Basilisk of all things! And there was no one to save hi…to save the students, since he was busy preparing himself to teach the younglings of course. It was fortunately dealt with by his colleagues, who benefited greatly from his advice and experience in battling the dark.

After that, when he thought he was safe to claim the glory that was rightfully his, helping out the little Ravenclaw who figured out the beast and the location of the chamber was yet another proof of his pure heart and dedication to the cause of justice. And how did the little bugger thank him?

With insults, threats and foul pranks!

Gilderoy had no proof, but he knew it was that damned Magnus's fault. The boy must have conspired with others to stain his image, both literally and metaphorically. He tried to parlay with his head of house, tried to bring it up to the deputy headmistress herself! But the boy had damn dancing in the palms of his hands, they clearly did not understand the gravity of the situation.

When the artificially rainbow coloured, bushy-haired wizard managed to bring the boy before the headmaster for judgment, he faced yet another disappointment.

He ignored the snickering students, silently cursing Madam Pomfrey for not healing him properly.

+----Flashback----+

"Can't you remove the charms on your hair by yourself, Professor?" the elderly witch asked him, stern face wavering s she barely managed to hold back a smile at his unwilling imitation of bozo the clown "This doesn't warrant a visit to the infirmary."

"Surely you ca.." He tried to reason with her, but his dazzling smile did no good now that it was tainted by multi-colored dot marks.

"There is no spell to heal bruised egos, Lockhart." She cut him, her voice icy in a way troublemakers dreaded with passion "Now get out of my infirmary before I make you."

Needless to say, Gilderoy was quick to make himself scarce. What was the matter with Hogwarts and terrifying stern ladies?

+----Flashback Ends----+

He repressed a shiver at the thought, but failed miserably which earned a strange look from the sixth year Hufflepuff girls in front of him. He somehow had the feeling that it would come back to bite him in the ass.

Of course, it would! How could it not? With how the rest of the year had been going, becoming a potential sexual predator was exactly the boost his image needed!

It was unfair…as if he could desire anything but himself? Why settle for those ugly witches when he had such a lovely, smooth hand?

A smile wormed it's into his face, the prospect of some quality time with himself made him positively giddy, which further cemented his new status among the students who had yet to run off. He rushed toward his living quarters, eager to have some happy time while admiring his wonderful portraits.

'I might even read some fan mail, this time.' He thought, finding the need for some more spice. He deserved to spoil himself, with how though the year had been.

Settling down into his Gilderoy coloured couch, he started by opening the big package he just received, it smelled strange, but who was he to judge his beloved fans?

"To Gilderoy Lockhart" He started reading, purring as he whispered his name, reading fan mail was truly a wonderful idea. He could already feel himself heating up, his trusty righty going to work.

"The wolf has been slighted." He read curiously, the letter was awfully short. And what nonsense was that? A wolf…

His hand froze, mind numbing as he thought back of yet another insult of the amber eyed demon and that slimy vampire of a potion teacher.

"No…" he said, shaking his head firmly. "No..no..no..no..."

It couldn't be it, it was just a coincidence! It had to be! The boy would pay for getting in his head, no play mind games with Gilderoy Lockhart!

"It smells like copper…" He spoke absentmindedly, his gaze falling on the rather wet package on his laps while he contemplated ways to ambush Magnus with a memory charm.

As he opened the box, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five times winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award, screamed like a fatherless young maiden about to be thoroughly fucked with a less than ideal partner, before fainting.

Much later on, waking up would have been even worse, had never contemplated the idea of a lonely shower of golds.

+E-S+

A mere day after the second year ended, Magnus, who was currently residing in the Leaky Cauldron for reasons of practicality, was finally ready for a much needed trip to Gringotts.

Tom, the bartender, had no qualms about hosting a twelve years old as long as he pay the due fees. The older wizard showed himself very understanding of Magnus's situation and did not pry; which was more than most people bothered doing.

'It says something about wizarding Britain that a bartender has more sense than most politicians.' Magnus thought, both amused and annoyed by the reflection.

He checked his belonging one more time, taking a quick look at the enchanted mirror. His mokeskin pouch was nice and ready, his enchanted suitcase containing the documents, cash money and checks and a well formed plan was fomented in his mind.

He wore formal clothes, today; a three pieces suit he acquired recently and quite literally fell in love with; all in black with matching dress boots and everything enchanted with many a useful effects.

"Looking good, ser." Whistled the mirror "Who's the lucky lady?"

"Thank you." He smiled back, objects also deserved proper manners "No one, sadly." The 'yet' was left unspoken.

Yes, enchanted mirrors could speak. A quirk of the wizarding world, rather useful to have an objective look at one's appearance. The enchanted mirrors had different personalities, and were well known to be scathing in their insults against the unlucky users. Magnus saw it a rather fascinating bit of magic, enchanting never failed to amaze the sensible wizards, after all.

The intricacies of imbuing semi-sapience to an inanimate object were not lost on him, and he resolved to learn more about this aspect of magic; as he often did when he saw something even remotely interesting about the arcane.

Magnus was quick to leave the room, locking behind him as he walked through the pub that would be his home in the near future. He walked through the wooden construction, it smelled like old things and hard liquors; an odd and rather unpleasant scent. The sound of heated debates and jolly partying resounded, showing that Tom was probably having a good day of work.

Truly enough, Magnus found the latter struggling with orders of food, drink and repairing the occasional mess ups of drunk wizards.

"Bye Tom." He waved him as he left the leaky cauldron by the magic exit in the back, he could faintly hear the wizard calling back before cursing as another customer broke his chair in a liquor induced inelegant display of his non-existent dancing skills.

'One more reason not to drink alcohol.' Magnus noted, living in a pub when one hated the beverage was not a good idea, but the boy had little choice if he wanted to continue practicing magic.

He set aside his misgiving with drunkards, finding more pleasure in observing his surrounding as he made his way to Gringotts.

Diagon Alley was the perfect representation of the functional strangeness of the wizarding world; the elegant mix of a practical and working community with the innate marvel of the magic. A compromise between wonder and pragmatism.

Magnus loved it.

The ambient magic in the atmosphere, the hundreds of wizards going about, constantly casting spells, brewing potions or showcasing enchantments. Coupled with the fresh breeze, and the rare clear blue sky, it made him feel so alive, so free…

What was there not to love?

He made his through the cobblestoned alley with a smile on his face, quickly reaching the imposing white building at the center of it all.

'Gringotts.' He thought, eying the fierce goblins guard at the doors who stood vigil with their mighty halberds and imposing armors.

He paid no mind to the fancy poems, entering the wizarding bank with decisive but non-threatening steps; his head high and his face impassive, but carefully not to show too much arrogance.

Goblins had a complicated and rich culture, with fierce traditions and warlike values coupled with an understandably inhuman perception of the world and their peers.

Not worse, but different.

To them, an object belongs to his maker, a purchase being naught more than a lifelong loan that should be honored properly. A smile held no warmth, but a bloody threat to those who received it. And the sin of greed was a perfectly respectable quality, as long you respect the laws and oaths that were made.

Magnus waited for his turn. Shooting a look at the wizards requesting the bank's services, the powerful enchantments and wards bound to what essentially amounts to the embassy of the Goblin nation within British territory.

"Greetings, Mr. teller." He said, catching the attention of the goblin who shot him an unamused glare while putting down his quill. Magnus liked to think that he was much more interesting than some paperwork, but then again, goblin culture varies greatly from wizarding standard.

'It might also be an intimidation tactic.' The boy thought, saving this particular trick within his mind palace for later reviewing…the joys of being a skilled Occlumens!

"Business?" the goblin asked curtly, positively radiating annoyance.

"I'd like to inquire about the full range of services Gringotts offer." Said Magnus, not so secretly enjoying the slightly raised brows and opened jaw.

For a goblin, who are innately inexpressive by human standards, this was one hell of a reaction. Though the teller couldn't be blamed, wizards rarely inquired about such things, content in the basic services of the bank as they are. And those who were interested were mostly old politicians and the more business savvy sort, nothing like the youngling he had before him.

Nonetheless, the boy seemed to have a sliver of sense within his limited human brain, the goblin had to give him that. He passed him the bank's handbook, a rather thick tome titled Gringotts; rules and services. The name and look of the book was usually enough to scare off the less mentally inclined magical sheep who call themselves wizards.

He took the book and made himself comfortable in one of the banks sitting areas, leaving the teller to his paperwork. He did not wait before immersing himself in the tome, carefully studying each and every relevant information while keeping an eye out for the trickery and cunning of the goblins that could very well lead him to an impromptu meeting with Barry the Dragon.

He ended up losing yet another level of respect for wizardkind, something which might very well fall in the negatives with how adamant they are about disappointing him.

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he leaned back on his seat. Reviewing what he just read and comparing it with what he saw in the wizarding world, it was important to keep an objective and complete image of the situation after all.

'Gringotts store and guard the Gold, treasures and books of a family as well as any object they wish to safeguard in a vault. The degree of security of the later is proportional to the fee the goblins take, with the lower floor having both outrageous prices and ironclad security.' Magnus thought, internally shivering as he thought of the sphinxes, dragons, gryphons and animunculi the goblins used to protect the interests of their customers. 'The money does not produce any benefits, as the bank does not trade or invest using their customers wealth, nor do they manage the wizards businesses for that matter.'

Beside acting as outrageously expensive magical safety vault with dubious animal ethics, Gringotts was the premier loaning institution in wizarding Britain, and oh how they loved it.

Judging by the insane amount of interest per loan, the back shattering penalties that range from full destitution and confiscation of one's possessions to forced labor in the banks lower floor as miners or worse…dragon feeders.

Dubious animal ethics indeed!

'Who would be stupid enough to ask for a loan with this kind of rates?' though Magnus with a frown, before his features eased in understanding '…right, wizards.'

The expenses for keeping a vault varied greatly with the formula you're choosing, it was an amusing caricature of equity as far as Magnus was concerned. Modest wizarding household could open a vault to store their meagre savings in the upper floors for an acceptable price though their storage capacity is rather limited, something rendered moot by expansion charms but most wizards didn't seem to have gotten the memo. Meanwhile, the wealthier families had to pay the goblins handsomely for the 'larger' vaults and an occasion to flaunt their superiority over the lesser houses.

Once a family's vault is left heirless and unclaimed for more than century, usually, the goblin nation will claim it's content as their property. The heirless part usually isn't a problem, since most pureblood families are closely related and the chances of a bloodline disappearing completely are as good as non-existent.

It's the claim that pauses problem, the inbreeding and marriages between the same houses made the lines of succession a complete mess with dozens of potential claimers for a single vault. Not to mention the lordships associated with some of them, with places in the Wizengamot and increased social value attracting even more leeches eager to claim a distant lordship or failing that, to stop anyone else from gaining it.

This is why there is currently no Lord Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw; the claims are so numerous and weak even Ron Weasley may have a claim to most of them, feeble as it may be.

Gringotts had to make do with the muggleborn and lesser houses gold. Magnus was rather unsettled as he realized that these vicious little creatures were the greatest winners of the last war, where so many muggleborn families died completely.

The whole bank was one massive middle finger to the supposed winners of the goblin rebellions. A large scale, nation-wide extortion of gigantic proportion and they didn't even have the decency to try and be subtle about it.

And you know what? The wizards are completely fine with it.

Opening a vault would be a massive pain for Magnus, and cause a significant void in his pockets for the sake of practicality and independence from the muggle world.

But the bank proposed one type of service that could potentially flip the table and offer him many an opportunity in this world, something particularly important for someone in his circumstances.

Coming back to face the same teller, he put all thirteen galleon in the counter immediately grabbing the gold-hungry banker's attention, only to actively shock him with his next words.

"I hereby request a blood inheritance ritual."

+E-S+

- Magnus POV:

I was escorted by my grumpy little friends into another room of the same exquisite quality goblins seemed to favor, I guess that creatures with a greed that surpassed even Man's were bound to enjoy public display of wealth.

Though it wasn't the marbles, golds and ornament that grabbed my attention, for no fine craftsmanship could equal the wonders of magic. It was the change in the warding array that caught my interest, that and the great variation in magical density.

The room was filled to the brim with ambient magic, it dwarfed the already mana saturated air of Diagon alley by manifold though it still paled before the grandeur of Hogwarts. I made an educated guess, and understood that the ritual would be powered through overwhelming magicks instead of a somatic component, it became much more evident as I saw the room's other occupant.

An equally displeased goblin that looked more constipated than Edward Cullen when he meets social awkward girls, nothing original here.

Though this one was clad in more traditional mien, wearing robes of black leathers with many an ornament and trinkets hanging around him. All of them were enchanted and made of magically favorable component, perhaps they were used as foci of sorts? The amulets would be extremely useful for channeling defensive magic or healing spells.

Beside him was silver bowl with many a rune engraved on its surface. The script used sadly eluded my current understanding, but I knew enough ancient runes to see that it linked the bowl to a wider array, one that encompassed the whole room and went even deeper through the banks own runic networks.

Below it was yet another fine piece of runework, though it was much more esoteric in nature. A multilayered circle of unknown purpose, much like the ones I used in alchemy yet entirely different.

It was obviously the ritual circle, and it told me jackshit about its workings.

'I really need to work on ancient runes.' I decided as I approached the friendly fella that totally didn't look like he'd enjoy stabbing me, repeatedly.

The goblin took out a silver ritual dagger of goblin craftsmanship, a fierce looking single edge of pointy destruction engraved with so many runes miss Babbling would get a mental orgasm from merely looking at it.

'Eager to prove my point, are we?' I chuckled inwardly, not giving any reaction at the threatening looks the goblin were shooting me. 'Is he hoping to scare me off? How cute.'

"Three drops of blood." The goblinkin growled before passing me the dagger, I pierced the tip of my index and let exactly three drops of blood fall into the bowl before removing my finger.

Before the ritualist could snatch the freshly bloodied

dagger, I wandlessly cast my best cleaning charm on it, much to his dismay.

"My blood is to be used for nothing but this particular ritual, goblin." I warned him with a smile, earning naught but a huff from the older creature.

The vicious little bugger just tried to take away my freely given blood. It was the equivalent of snatching a signed check before I wrote the sum on it, a low blow that would doubtlessly leave me sundered.

Blood, as far as magic was concerned, was the greatest of all binders. It was the very essence of a being, the honest to magic manifestation of your soul in a physical form, ripe for abuse on the part of unscrupulous blood mages who could, and by all mean would, enslave you, steal all your possessions or marry you off to some wizarding Karen with naught but a drop of your freely offered blood.

It makes Umbitch's stunt with her thrice damned blood quills take a whole other dimension, she could have performed line theft on every single student who used it if left to her devises…though she would be killed faster than she could say 'Pureblood' if she ever tried something like that.

I took my mind away from the thoughts of pink amphibians before my newly awakened fasciation for fire ends up banning me from Gringotts. It was much better to observe the incantation of the goblin shaman, or rather, the way magic reacted to it since I knew nothing of gobbledygook beside it's frankly ridiculous name.

The incantation seemed to be a sort of activation spell for the runic array on the bowl, as they activated making the three drops of blood separate into distinct spiraling orbs that soon started boiling. The ritual circle was than activated, shining in crimson as my blood's magic was absorbed within it and sent through the greater rune scheme to be analyzed and converted into concrete data pertaining my lineage and possible heirships.

It would be a long and arduous process requiring a lot of concentration on the part of a highly skilled wizard of outstanding power, if it wasn't a ritual that is.

Now it was only a matter of activating the runes and letting the ritual siphon the ambient mana to do your bidding, nothing more, nothing less.

I shot the proud looking shaman an unimpressed look, the greedy little mosquito had the guts to try and look powerful when he was nothing but a glorified power-button for the runic array installed by far more skilled goblins who, unlike him, didn't have to accommodate random little wizards looking for easy money and social status.

Soon enough, a paper containing the results of my test was brought by another employee of the bank. The shaman snatched it, before paling considerably as he read it's content.

'It's good for me, I think' I barely stopped myself from throwing a depulso at the drama queen and reading my result directly when he raised his hooked nose from the paper and quickly ushered me into yet another room.

I noted that he was way more polite than before, the amount of sneering and grimaces reduced to a decent level that might be attributed to a rare case of chronic diarrhea. For a goblin, it was pretty polite.

He led me to an even more luxurious office where another goblin was waiting for us, it was pretty comfy and seemed much more prepared for human visit, just like my new host for that matter.

The goblin wore a polite smile, wearing a set of elegant formal clothes that wouldn't look out of place in the wardrobe of a lawyer. He did not snarl, growl or sneer as I faced him unlike the other goblins I had the pleasure of meeting, but instead nodded in acknowledgment.

The shaman respectfully handed him my results, which I've yet to see for myself, before going back to stand vigil at the door. A simple grunt from his obvious superior was all it took for him to leave with a final bow, while the former studied the papers for a moment.

"Your visit may be surprise, young wizard, but it's a welcome one." He quipped, the goblin actually quipped without threatening to scalp me in the name of the goblin nation. Color me surprised. "I am Manager Grimclaw, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Well met, Manager Grimclaw, the pleasure's all mine." I nodded, maintain eye contact with the amused responsible. "Though I have but a faint idea of what actually brought me here."

"Oh, you have yet to see the results of the ritual." The goblin chuckled good naturally as he offered me the papers, he was certainly the most human goblin I've seen so far.

I read them hungrily, eager to see just what kind of heirship brought me here. There was no house Arran, and even then it would matter very little since it is naught but a made up name the people in the orphanage came up with when I was found. But it didn't mean that I couldn't be the scion of some noble house, or the son of a couple of wizards thoughtful enough to leave me some coins before dying or abandoning me. The possibilities were endless, and since I am a reincarnator who wasn't sent home after conducting the ritual, I was well within my right to hope.

Needless to say, I wasn't disappointed.

….

Magnus Sirius Black.

Heir Apparent Black: By Blood (Father.)

Black Family Vault: 325376 galleons, 3 sickles, 15 knuts + items.

Black Investments Vault: 173842 galleons, 5 sickles, 2 knuts.

…

"Hahaha" Grimclaw laughed seeing my flabbergasted expression, but I couldn't bring myself to care. This..this was way too much information at once.

Luckily, old habits were deeply ingrained within me and I didn't wait too long before giving in to the tried and true method of ice cold pragmatism.

'I am Heir Apparent to Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, through my supposed father, the Lord Apparent, who is currently residing in the high security section of Azkaban for a crime he did not commit…' I thought, biting my nail as I came to term with the situation.

"Welcome to Gringotts, Heir Black." The gruff voice of my vault manager resounded once more. "If you are done accepting your new condition as a wealthy scion, you could perhaps take a look at your finances."

Grimclaw didn't wait for my approval before putting a most impressive stack of papers on his desk, each one filled with long and numerous information on the transactions involving house Black; be it the Gringotts fee for the maintenance of their wealth or the revenue generated by former investments.

"We have much work to do, don't we?" The manager chuckled at my bewildered face while I looked over the more than generous donations my…family…made to the Dark Lord.

"That we do." I sighed, we would be in here for a while…

Being a Black proved to be rather tiresome, to say the least.

It involved dealing with countless businesses that currently operated without paying the due profits to their supposedly extinct partners, having largely stopped honoring their deals with the death of Lord Arcturus, my supposed grandfather.

He used to keep the black family finances in a good state, pushing through the many donations made to the dark lord, the outrageous dowries of two of our less than glorious daughters…bloody Walburga and her equally inbred fool of a husband sold them to some of their lord Voldemort's supporters for two knuts and a couple head pat! All that because they couldn't provide much 'servants', unlike some of the larger families.

But now that he's dead, only a few of our most dedicated partners bother fulfilling their end of the bargains.

But Magnus, what of the goblins? Shouldn't they protect the interests of your family? One may ask, after reading an unhealthy amount of fanfictions where Weasleys are potion masters and Dumbledore a dark lord with actual skills.

Well, those vicious little gold-diggers are bound to protect ad guard the wealth within your vault. Nothing more, nothing less. Any business transaction will only receive administrative attention from Gringotts, with no real enforcement to back it up. They will send a notice to the business in question, take a monthly fee from my vault for their trouble, while doing jack shit to have the house properly remunerated.

Lovely, isn't it?

It appears that the Black made their gold through numerous investments within the magical world, acquiring significant shares from promising businesses right out the bat to ensure a stable income. They also favored offering financial relief to businesses in difficulty, being outrageous shares for even more outrageous prices without much hesitation, as long as the 'rescued' party was likely to fall back on their feet.

Some of these businesses happened to have faced hard times because of House Black, through vicious assaults on the formers…financial, or otherwise.

Many an owner were mysteriously attacked and rendered unable to earn their bread, before being 'generously helped' by my dear House, according to nostalgic Grimclaw.

And like all self-respecting old money households, we owned a terrific amount of land and had no qualm about using and abusing it.

Farms, animal reserves and breeding areas, butcher houses, greenhouses and even a couple Dragon reserves in Romania and Norway, we had it all.

If House Black was synonymous of wealth and prosperity, it was for a very good reason.

At its prime, with each and every functional business paying what they owe us, while adding the income from the land, housing and facilities we own or rent, House Black boasts a monthly income of about thirteen thousand galleons; the goblins will extort roughly three thousands of those through vault fees, administrative support and a plethora of bureaucratic stupidity to keep the Ministry of Magic from showing its own, equally greedy little snout.

That leaves us with a monthly benefice of more than nine thousand galleons, and that's with the loss of many previous investments and the complete financial inaction of my house for years.

That's a lot.

A single galleons is actually worth around twenty pounds, that makes our earnings of about a hundred and eighty thousands muggle pounds…monthly.

Then again, it is but an estimation of our ideal income. The truth is much, much less glorious, as it often is.

"…So you're saying that a mere three years after Arcturus Black's passing, less than five years since he became unable to manage the assets of our house. Seventy percent of our active investments have been rendered void, the owners forsaking the contract?" I leaned back on my seats, still studying some of the debts House Goyle owe us. 'The money is always welcome, but I would rather die than welcome three of their brides.'

"Yes, only the most serious partners have remained dutiful. Others continued paying out of respect for the deceased Lord Arcturus, but most of the smaller businesses and renters have stopped all forms of payments." Grimclaw confirmed, his quill moving furiously as he noted each and every statement, analysis and declaration I reviewed, as well as any instruction I had the authority of passing as direct Heir Apparent whose acting Lord is inaccessible.

"How bad?" I sighed.

"You are currently barely avoiding a deficit, earning less than four thousand galleons."

"Most of which are paid to Gringotts in administrative services and vault management fees." I noted, earning myself a goblin smile as confirmation. "We'll have to notify each and every relevant party that House Black is now under proper management, while asking for as much reparation as possible without ruining them, the threat of legal pursuit should be enough."

"That would be wise." He nodded appreciatively before adding with a smile. "I'll prepare a list of every…dishonest, partner of house Black."

The humor behind so many people actually taking advantage of House Black of all things was not lost on either of us. I couldn't truly blame them, however. In their mind, all payments to the house would have been in vain for a long time, until the coming of age of a certain blonde ferret, at least.

Then again, the dishonesty of our so called partners was more than a little troublesome. They were numerous, complex cases that would require much time and energy to be dealt with. Energy I could spend honing my skills and learning new spells, in pursuit of greater magic.

Wasting away my time doing paperwork and yet more politicking was simply unacceptable, especially with the titan sized can of worms I could barely keep out of my mind through generous use of Occlumency.

While living relative was something I could expect, a…father…was something else entirely. And that's within him being a meaningful part of the so called story, playing the role of the tragic grief-ridden scapegoat with perfection. The very thought of what could have been my family, rotting away in a hell hole like Azkaban was revolting.

But then again, would he truly be family? The chance of meeting yet another irresponsible, selfish mongrel was depressing, but very likely.

'No, there's a time for everything.' I chided myself, this was a matter I would resolve later. For now, my attentions was needed elsewhere.

"I would like to hire Gringotts to represent the interest of House Black in our coming enforcement of the contracts our partners wrongfully discarded." I spoke, earning myself the full attention of Grimclaw, who put down his quill.

"And do tell, Heir Black, what would we gain from doing your Lord's duty?" He asked, a hungry gleam in his eyes and quickly understood what I was doing.

"Thirty percent of any monetary reparation we receive from this particular case is a honest price." I answered.

"Sixty percent, Gringotts would be doing everything while your house reaps the benefits. How is it fair?"

"Forty, We both know it's only a matter of notifying the businesses of the situation and negotiating compensations, it's nothing to you."

"Fifty, we would only be paid for negotiating compensations, the gruesome paper work would be free of charges." He was determined on bleeding me dry, wasn't he?

"Thirty, and another five percent are to be transferred to your own personal vault."

Needless to say, Grimclaw agreed faster than you could say gobbledygook.

+E-S+

For the first time in a wonderfully long period, I, Magnus Arran, or should I say Black? Feels utterly and completely lost.

It became much more apparent that I had in fact not a single clue about what I was doing once I found myself robbed of the solace of cold, dry financial management. I could deal with money problem, I could also deal with political reasonability and the weight carried by the most ancient and noble name of Black.

What I couldn't deal with, in spite of my…condition, was actually having a father of all things.

Sure, he was in prison, for now at least. But he was there, somewhere, and that was enough to change every single one of my plans for the year. I can't allow one of my kin to live like a stray, consequences be damned. Waiting for the start of the school year to catch Pettigrew would be the height of madness, after all, my genitor could lose his freedom, and life, any day.

Helping him is no hard task for me. Reinstating him as free and officially innocent wizard, while much trickier, is also within my power.

But what would happen then? Did he even know I existed? I know for a fact that Sirius Black had no living children in the Harry Potter books, which proved to be at least majorly faithful to the world I live in, even if they are massively dumbed down by unreliable narratives and lackluster logic in some areas.

Was I but the result of a change in the world brought down by my own intrusion, retroactively creating a new vessel to accept my soul to achieve a balance within the world? Or should I expect more surprises, beyond what my own actions have caused; directly or indirectly.

The second option was as unlikely as they come, by this time, I would have noticed all meaningful changes in the timeline. Which leaves me with the first one.

Relieving me of the moral implications that come with taking over someone's body, albeit unwillingly, had of course no part in my current theory.

Not one bit

And how would he react to my presence? What kind of father would Sirius Orion Black be?

I knew I was supposed to expect the worse at all times, but having a father. Having a family, even one so fractured…it would be nice.

I steeled my resolve, getting up from my bed in the Leaky Cauldron, where I returned once my affair with the goblins was over. I couldn't let my emotions influence, especially not now.

I gathered my belongings, magically storing them inside my sweet, sweet enchanted trunk before leaving my temporary abode for what might just be the last time. I didn't forget to return the key to a perplexed bartender, Tom was always a very considerate host.

" Are you sure you'll be alright, kid?" Asked the keeper of the Leaky Cauldron, brows creased in thought. "You could still have the room for a week, with the amount you've paid."

Young wizards were much more free than their muggle counterparts, but they were no less brash and impulsive. He was, by all means, more than justified in his hesitation.

"Yes." I answered "It's time for me to go home."

+E-S+

"Could I please have another, Papa?" I chuckled, enjoying the way my father squirmed before the 'innocent' gaze of my baby sister.

She already stole, or conquered, as the rambunctious little chick would claim, three more pastries than she was due. Papa might be able to make grown men sweat in his work in the ICW, or face dangerous wizards in his early days as a French Auror, but the man was utterly hopeless when he choose to stand between Gabrielle and her sweets.

I sipped at my coffee, to hide my smile, much like maman did once he shot us a pleading look. The fact that we devoured four times his own share of cake seemed to escape him, pressured by that adorable little scamp as he was.

"Of course, ma Cherie."

My smile widened, there was truly nothing better than coming back home after such a long year. My mother seemed to share my opinion, as she hummed a sweet tune while her allure was as unrestrained as my own.

Anywhere else, such freedom would stop the world around us. It would give us naught but spite, disgrace or large amounts of drool from those who met us, depending on their gender.

'The lot of a Veela…' I held back a sigh, though the thought pained me no more.

The judgment of others once burned me more than iron ever could, the desire to prove my mother wrong, to show her that they could indeed care about more than superficial looks and magical allures, it had once ruled my existence.

I was wrong, of course. Not that I would ever admit such a thing in public, Fleur Delacour seldom recognized her defeat, didn't she?

No, Fleur Delacour dazzled the world with her brilliance. She dismissed the pigs and banshees that were her classmates without so much as a glance. She advanced, chin high and eyes higher.

That was the only Fleur I could be, when I was outside the walls of the Delacour Estate, safe in the warmth of the enchantments my father placed within the domain for the sake of us, warm souled angels, as he loved serenading.

Amusingly enough, one of his angels just happened to swindle another pastry out of him.

+Chapter Ends....+

Hey guys! It's Uncle Sheogorath!

Surprise, surprise, i'm not dead! Nor is my story for that matter. Next chapters will be long, filled with story and plot, character building and dialogues; effectively going over the next year in one or two chapters maximum.

Lockhart seems to be in a bad position, someone (Who is totally not our amber eyed protagonist) seems to have alerted some less than savoury people...I wonder how the legendary adventurer will deal with it!

Magnus Sirius Black...do i need to comment?

This one was as obvious as they come. Flitwick saw it coming, McGonagall saw it coming and even Severus Snape saw it coming when our good, ol'Magnus tried some long hairs.

Don't know about ya, but i'd love to see how the Heir apparent to the Most Ancient and Crazy House of Black will deal with his new position, and all the sweet drama that comes with it.

Finnaly, i gave you some flowery sweets in the end. Because why not? I may not be able to give you the Holy Fluff yet, but i can preach it from afar.

Peace and Cheese!