2,539ccci. blood of the enemy
Harriet sat through Slughorn's reminiscing for another hour, though the pleasant, muddling haze of alcohol faded almost as soon as her heart started to race. The image she'd seen remained burned in her eyes.
She hadn't known much about Regulus Black. She knew he was Sirius' brother, that he once lived at Grimmauld Place, and that whereas Sirius' strict upbringing had turned him into a rebel, Regulus' had pushed him into the Dark Arts and service with the Dark Lord. He'd disappeared years ago—before Harriet's birth—and though a body had never been discovered, there'd been enough evidence, both physical and magical, for the DMLE to declare Regulus dead.
The man in Harriet's memory had been very much alive, and though undeniably older, it had been the person shown in Slughorn's photo.
But the Atlas said "Tom Riddle," she reminded herself, chewing on her bottom lip. Could it really be Regulus? Is it…something worse?
The reception began to wind down, and Harriet at last found the opportunity to politely beg off from the conversation.
"Ah, of course. You'll be needing to go to the reading," Slughorn said with a sage nod. "Don't let my waffling keep you. I was very pleased to meet you, Miss Potter."
"Err—you too, Mr. Slughorn. Thanks—thanks for telling me about my mum."
"Anytime, my dear. Be sure to write!"
Harriet hurried from the room, though she kept her pace limited to a quick walk, not wanting to attract undue attention. She had to search for Professor Dumbledore and Sirius through a series of rooms, only stopping when she found the pair in an antechamber adjoined to the main hall. Sirius wore a peeved expression that suggested he'd been coaxed out there by Dumbledore, most likely to keep him away from the abundant alcohol.
Both wizards turn from what appeared to be an argument as she approached.
"Professor," Harriet said, pitching her voice in an undertone so any curious bystanders wouldn't be able to hear. "Professor, I need to speak with you."
"Of course," the Headmaster replied, his brows knitting with worry. "I take it conversation with Horace didn't go as well as I was hoping."
"No, it's—it's not that." Harriet wiped a hand over her brow, trying to order her thoughts. Where was she supposed to start? "I—when we were talking, he showed me his photograph collection."
Sirius grunted. "He always liked carrying those around, even back in school. If he didn't have 'em on him, he kept the frames in this massive cabinet in his office. He loved lording his good students over the bad."
Harriet didn't react to that comment. She didn't have time for Sirius' bitter schoolyard remembrances. "He had some of my mum, and that's what he wanted to show me. But I also saw one of your brother."
Again, Sirius grunted, joined by a short wave of his hand. "Yeah, Regulus was part of his little brown-nosing club."
Dumbledore sighed. "Sirius—."
Harriet cut across both of them. "I recognized him," she said in a rush. "Not from another photograph or anything like that. I saw him. I know it was him, though he's older and—different. I saw him the—the night Terry died."
Dumbledore's gaze sharpened, whereas Sirius' expression became more muddled. "That's not possible," he said. "Reg's dead. We never got a body back, but the DMLE investigated…."
"Are you certain of this, Harriet?" Dumbledore asked, ignoring Sirius. "Is it possible this person is only similar in appearance to Mr. Black? It is frequent among the old pure-blood families for witches and wizards to share physical features."
"I'm certain, Professor. It was Regulus Black. But—." Harriet paused, and then shook her head. "His eyes were red. And the Atlas said Tom Riddle."
"Yes, I remember." The Headmaster stiffened, and the lines of his face only deepened as he nodded and looked to Sirius. "You will need to return and evacuate Grimmauld—calmly, if you please."
Sirius' eyes widened. "Wh—you think it's actually Regulus? That can't be right. It's been—bloody hell, over sixteen years since he was seen, and he's never touched the vault or set foot in the old house. The DMLE looked for witnesses."
"I think it wise to be cautious," Dumbledore corrected. "Until we can ensure the wards have been adjusted to disallow Mr. Black, it would be best to leave Grimmauld Place."
"What about the Malfoys?"
"They should find shelter for the time being with Narcissa's sister, if she's willing to house them." Dumbledore glanced around the room, at the people collecting their cloaks or making moves toward the palace's entrance hall. He reached his hand into his cloak and withdrew a pocket watch with many dials and faces, studying the time. "You should go ahead, Sirius. Take Miss Black and Miss Granger with you, and ensure they gather what possessions they and Harriet need to spend an evening or two at Hogwarts. Again, there's no need to cause a stir. As you pointed out, it's been almost two decades with nary a word from your younger brother. I do not believe he will reappear now, but it doesn't hurt us to be careful."
Sirius crossed his arms over his chest. "And if people ask questions?"
"Simply inform them I will be performing a check on the wards for security." Dumbledore's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and his voice cooled. "Sirius. This information is not to travel beyond those of us here. Do you understand?"
"Yes," the younger wizard replied, though not without shortness. Not for the first time, Harriet got the impression Dumbledore wasn't the fondest of Sirius, and while Sirius respected the Headmaster, authority rankled him. "Should I take Harriet too?"
"No. She's needed at the reading." Again, Dumbledore glanced at his pocket watch. "And we really must be on our way."
Sirius grumbled, but he did as told and left to collect Elara and Hermione. Meanwhile, Professor Dumbledore gestured for Harriet to follow him, and rather than head toward the school's entrance, they went deeper into Beauxbatons. A few others took the same path, and Harriet wagered they also needed to hear the Flamels' will be read.
They entered a large, unused office that had been opened for the occasion and supplied with far too many seats facing the main desk. Most had already been taken, leaving Harriet and Professor Dumbledore to find their place in the back row away from curious eyes. A wizard Harriet assumed to be the Flamels' barrister sat behind the desk, wearing a pair of thick spectacles as he previewed the documents in his hands.
The reading began, done in French, so Harriet turned her attention elsewhere.
"Professor?" she whispered. "D'you really think that man I saw could be Regulus? He looked just like him, but Sirius has a point. Why would he never come to Grimmauld? Why would he never touch his gold in the Black vault?"
"I think your discovery is worth our caution," Dumbledore softly replied, though he never turned his attention away from the barrister. "Whether or not he is Mr. Black remains to be seen."
"Is he a Horc—?"
Dumbledore sharply interrupted her. "Some things should not be spoken aloud in such places, my dear."
Someone coughed in the crowd.
Harriet flushed, frustrated with the professor—and with herself. She knew better than to go saying that word where anyone might hear it. The reading continued, the barrister handing the documents off to another woman who stood near him. When she started speaking in the more expressive, guttural tones of a Gulf dialect, Harriet realized the entirety of the will hadn't been done in French. It made sense, considering the Flamels had associates all over the world.
Hermione had told her an official reading like this wasn't normally done; usually, the will's executor distributed bequeathed assets after probate and a bunch of other legal nonsense Harriet didn't have the patience to learn about. For whatever reason, the Flamels had wanted their will to be read to all the beneficiaries, and though Harriet couldn't say for certain, she thought it might be so there was no doubt where or who something was left to. No squabbling over a mislaid fortune.
Like vultures, circling—.
Suddenly, Harriet felt incredibly tired.
"The man at the manor wasn't like the others," she quietly continued, keeping her attention forward like Dumbledore did. "They look like…him. They have his face. The one I saw, though…that was Regulus. It was Regulus, except for the eyes. Except for the name. What does that mean, Professor?"
The Headmaster made a small gesture with his hand, indicating she should wait. The reading switched to English a moment later, and a sizable amount of gold was signed over into Hogwarts' possession. From what Harriet gathered, the Flamels had split much of their money among the different wizarding schools. Madame Maxime, seated several rows ahead of Dumbledore and Harriet, looked rather pleased. As the reading unfolded and more possessions were allocated, some people looked less happy than others. Harriet thought they should be happy to receive anything at all. She would give any amount of gold, every last Galleons in her vault, just for one more minute with—.
When the Headmaster spoke again, it was to say, "Did you know, Harriet, we once were fortunate enough to acquire a sample of the former Minister's blood? It was a serendipitous happenstance that was not to be repeated, as the sample was quite small and not worth the danger experienced for its retrieval."
"…sir?"
Dumbledore continued as if he hadn't heard her. "It's rarely discussed at Hogwarts until your seventh year, how gruesome the reality of blood involved in magic can be. It holds the essence of being within it, and when used for malicious aims, can give control over a person's will."
Harriet's brow furrowed. She tried to grasp where he was going with this strange conversation. "So you…you tried to control him? Is that what you're saying?"
"Not necessarily." Dumbledore exhaled, his hand running over his beard. "It was more of a thought than anything. I mention it only because, when we possessed said sample, I made a rather curious discovery. The blood wasn't magical."
Harriet blinked, and she couldn't help but shoot the Headmaster a quick, puzzled glance. "What do you mean, sir?"
"Just as I said. The blood did not belong to a magical person."
How is that possible? That doesn't make sense. "So he…tricked you? It wasn't his blood?"
"No. It was, and it was not, his blood." Dumbledore turned his head, the weight of his gaze resting on Harriet. She found herself frozen, both confused and horrified by the implications of what he'd said. "I mean only to illustrate the imprecise nature of our subject, Harriet. It is not something I can find an answer for inside of a book. There simply is no answer that we couldn't contradict with another. He is, and he is not, Tom Riddle, and I believe Regulus is, and is not, Regulus Black. At least, not now."
With that, Dumbledore closed the conversation, and he urged Harriet to pay attention to the reading again. She couldn't. Her mind raced with questions, and she almost wished she hadn't asked for clarification. It only made her more befuddled and uneasy with the implications.
How is that possible? Gaunt must have switched the sample somehow. He must have tricked them. He's obviously magical, so his blood must be too! Unless…unless it's not his body….
In her mind, Harriet remembered running through the Aerie, heart racing, bright, ubiquitous torchlight streaming through the windows—and Luna, dead-eyed and quiet, the diadem sitting above her brow—.
"I'm afraid Luna won't be going anywhere. Not until I'm finished with her—."
A voice broke through her frightened stupor.
"For Harriet Dorea Potter, our ward—."
Harriet startled and looked around, the French wizard at the front clearing his throat before he kept speaking.
"—we leave our home, Aurum Hearth, in Trefhud, England, complete with assets therein not inherited by other parties. Included in this bequeathment is the ownership of our beloved house-elf, Bigsby, as we are secure in the knowledge she will treat him as nothing short of family, and will not seek to banish him from his home."
Harriet folded her hands together in her lap, digging her nails into her skin.
"We hope it is a place of peaceful refuge for her as it has been for us for many years."
The reading continued, though Harriet didn't hear any of it. The accented voice washed over her as she stared at her hands, at the scars decorating her fingers and knuckles. She held herself so stiffly, her shoulders felt tight and ready to break apart.
"It's a simple piece of Druid's glass. Keep it with you, oui? For luck. Do not leave it behind—."
Professor Dumbledore touched her arm. "Let's go, Harriet."
Her eyes burned as she looked around, seeing that no one else had moved from their chairs, and the barrister still spoke. "It's not over, is it?"
"It's all right," the Headmaster insisted. "We don't have to stay. Let's go."
Harriet stood, and she followed him from their seats. Neither said a word to anyone as they exited the room, and the door closed with a hushed click behind them, taking away the voice systematically breaking apart what remained of the Flamels, one piece at a time.
A/N:
Me: *posts chapter*
Readers: "You spelled Horace wrong."
Me: "Daddy, chill."