A Crown of Black Upon His Head: A Harry Potter Fanfiction

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its associated characters: all rights belong to JK Rowling. I do not own any crossover references used in the story: all rights belong to their original creators. I do own any OC spells explained at the end of a chapter.

Plot: While one Black chose vengeance, another Black sought the means to defy Destiny. Now, Harrison James Potter-Black comes to Hogwarts, out for justice, with an army behind him: an army named Arcturus Septimus Black!

Author's Note: So, I know this particular theme is quite popular in fanfiction, but I myself have never tried it, and, at the same time, being a fan of a better Harry than canon and those kinds of storylines, my mind went: what the heck? Let's have some fun.

Recommended Reads: Silver King and Trickshot by JustBored21, A Second Chance by Breanie, Ascension by PerseusPeverell092, The Crimson Sorcerer by TwistedFilms, My Child by DebsTheSlytherinSnapefan, The Rise of the Last Potter by HPfanfictioner66, Hadrian Potter- The Snake like Lion and Hadrian Potter- Black and the Gauntlet of Gryffindor by Lord of mystics, Worthy of Magic by Raul Fictitious, Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin by The Sinister Man, A Chance Encounter and The Slytherin Reformation by spectre4hire and Harry Black Book 1: The Hero's Return, Harry Black Book 2: The Rising Darkness, Harry Black Book 3: The SPIRE, Harry Black Book 4: The Coming Dawn and Harry Black: Book 1 (Definitive Edition)by AuthorK

Key Pairing: Harry/Daphne; Neville/Hermione

Other Pairings: Sirius/Amelia; Others TBD

Normal Speech



Chapter 1: The Black King

Arcturus Septimus Black.

In the Magical World, anyone who heard the name would probably react in the same way that they would have reacted, had someone dared to speak the name of the Dark Lord Voldemort.

With profound shudders, a feeling of intense discomfort and a desire to suddenly be anywhere other than here, for that name was one you did not want to hear going up against you; nor was it a name that you wanted to hear being responsible for something bad happening to you.

In all honesty, Death itself would probably be preferable to going up against the Black King – as he had once been dubbed – and the man who was both feared and respected by both Grindelwald and Voldemort themselves. So much so that, for a time, Grindelwald himself had actually left the man to his life, his own devices and tried everything not to put himself in Arcturus' crosshairs.

But all that had changed when one of Grindelwald's followers had decided to murder one of Arcturus' children, and his grandchild, while they slept in their beds. As a result, Arcturus Black came from out of the shadows, took up arms against the Death Squads and became both the feared and renowned war-torn monster he was later known to be.

When Albus Dumbledore vanquished Grindelwald, Arcturus seemed to fade into the background, but his reputation, now furthered by rumours of something called the Saharan Night of Blood and Sand, endured.

So, when the Dark Lord Voldemort rose to power, Arcturus again intended to take a backseat, watching his descendants compete not only against one another, but in clashes that resulted in so much loss, bloodshed and even the downfall of more than a few bloodlines.

However, when the Dark Lord's forces, led by one of Arcturus' many descendants, intentionally brought about the eradication of the McKinnon Family – the same family that had married into the Blacks when their matriarch had married Arcturus himself several decades earlier – the Black King's wrath returned en masse, leading to a clash of epic proportions that left more than a few casualties on both sides.

Not to mention a very rare event when one of those forces defected from Voldemort, only to swear eternal, unbinding, Unbreakable-Vow-reinforced loyalty to the Black King until the end of their days.

With his family avenged, and his business done, Arcturus stepped off the board one more time, seemingly returning to the shadows from whence he'd come, never to emerge from them to face the world again.

In fact, some people even claimed he had died, not long after the war with Lord Voldemort ended, and, all around the world, many people breathed a sigh of relief and even dared to imagine they would never be forced to hear the name, confront the man or face the demon inside him ever again.

Then, nearly ten years after the fall of Lord Voldemort, the world learned one dark truth the hard way.

That truth?

They were wrong to breathe a sigh of relief…


"Harry Potter?"

As soon as Professor Minerva McGonagall spoke the one name that, quite frankly, pretty much everyone in Magical Britain had been waiting to hear being spoken by the Deputy, a collective gasp of disbelief rose up around the hall when they all got a good, long look at the return of the magical world's prodigal son.

What made them all gasp, however, was the fact that this particular soul was a tall, lean, well-dressed youth, whom wore his robes in such a dignified manner that they might as well have been the folds of a second skin wrapping around him. On top of that, instead of a mess of wild, unruly black hair resting on his head, the youth had a head of well-brushed, well-kept raven-black hair that also had a few streaks of silver running along his fringe, almost like the hairstyle of a certain lady who was Mother to one of the newly-sorted first-years.

Indeed, this same first-year couldn't help, but compare the two appearances when he too saw Harry Potter striding forwards, his head held high and his expression neutral, but proud.

Then, there were his eyes: yes, as so many people knew, they were emerald-green in colour – eerily similar to the colour of his Mother's eyes, if not the colour of the Killing Curse – but, when those who saw those eyes watched the boy approach the Sorting Hat, a collective shudder passed through each and every one of them as, just by looking into those eyes, they felt as though they were looking into the eyes of a deadly serpent.

A viper…no.

A Basilisk…no.

A Runespoor…maybe.

If there was a deadlier serpent, then that was it; not even the glasses he wore seemed to lessen the effect those eyes had on the rest of the Hall.

As if that wasn't enough, the boy's pale, pointed features, as well as his cool, apathetic stare and expression, made so many think and feel that he wasn't even eleven years old, but more like someone who'd been through the wars and come out on the other side, able to hide and conceal his demons perfectly.

Reaching the hat, Harry Potter turned, letting the hem of his robe billow open as he spun around and sat down on the stool with an almost-practiced perfection, curling one knee over the other while he rested both hands – which everyone noticed had ten pale, slender fingers and thumbs resting in his lap – on his knees as he waited for the Sorting result.

However, as Minerva went to lower the Sorting Hat, another collective gasp filled the hall when, in a manner that even surpassed, if not beat the sorting of the previously-mentioned first-year for speed of the result, the hat opened its rim and made its decision.


For the first time in a long time, Hogwarts held its breath as they watched Harry Potter rise from the stool, wrap his robe around his lean frame and, without so much as a glimmer of a reaction to his sorting result, the boy walked casually towards the Slytherin Table.

Dead silence following him all the way, right up to the moment where, left with no other choice, Minerva called out the next name on her list.

Though, even as she read out the last names on the list, her eyes, like pretty much everyone else's there, never left the Slytherin Table.

More-specifically, they never left the spot where Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and Saviour of Magical Britain, sat patiently, arms folded and eyes staring straight ahead as he observed the end of the Sorting Ceremony.

More-specifically-still, their eyes never left his…

His, which never seemed to leave the centre of the High Table where a stunned, speechless, but also solemn-looking Albus Dumbledore looked back to the boy, hoping to offer some sort of gesture of good luck to Harry.


And yet, when he looked into those eyes, Albus Dumbledore could only shudder in dread.

Those eyes.

The posture.

The silent motions.

The atmosphere of dread and fear.

Only once in his life, or rather twice, and both times during an age of conflict, had the atmosphere felt this tense, but…but that was impossible!

He…he was…he was dead…

So, how could Harry James Potter even begin to mirror the atmosphere made famous, and feared, by the warrior-demon known as the Black King?

So, talk about a chilling beginning, no?

Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts and…wow…talk about making an impact right from the start, but, personally, I agree with Albus.

How could the Boy-Who-Lived be able to leave an imprint of the legendary-feared Black King in his wake?

I mean, hasn't he been living with three idiots with less brains than balls for the past ten years?

Keep Reading to Find Out

Next Chapter: Dumbledore needs answers…and he's not the only one: nor is he the only one who sees the similarities and, for the first time in ten years, the other one to notice is terrified!

Please Read and Review

AN: Portrayal

Albus Dumbledore: Jude Law