Year 0 Part 1
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It was early September 1968. Narcissa had joined her sisters at Hogwarts at the beginning of the month, and now, two weeks later I was walking behind Arcturus in Le Domaine Noir. Sirius was with us, but whereas I was walking quietly, waiting until we arrived in whichever sitting room of the estate Arcturus was leading us toward, Sirius was struggling to contain himself. The future Lord Black was struggling, as he often did, with controlling himself. He needed to constantly move around, explore, and seek attention: Traits often associated with dogs. Something that had me constantly wondering if there was more crossover between an animagus form and the person than I’d realised.
Of the Black children, Sirius was one I was most interested in befriending, yet it seemed I was failing at that. I’d agreed with him, when I could, about his complaints about his mother, Walburga, though whenever we were at Le Domaine Noir his issues about her were less pronounced. Given the amount of bullshit she loved to spout at Grimmauld Place, and how Arcturus and Melania had little time nor patience for it, that was hardly a surprise. However, due to my more mature mentality, everything I had going on as a Chief, and my tutors to prepare me for the political machinations I’d begin to endure at Hogwarts, I didn’t have as much time to spend with Sirius as I liked, and certainly not doing the things he enjoyed.
While I was better at flying than I’d initially been after the merging, I found I didn’t enjoy it. Nor did I have any interest in Quidditch; at least not to the level Sirius did. And as much as I enjoyed pranking certain members of his family, his general lack of decorum was something that stood out like a sore thumb. The only common enjoyment we shared was lay in our training with a blade, though Sirius’ lack of patience remained an issue even there. Still, as much as I wanted to express my concerns regarding him as a future head of House Black to Arcturus and Melania, I didn’t. The suitability of Sirius as a future Lord Black was a family matter. That said, I did offer a few comments that I hoped hinted at my concerns.
What possibly might not help matters was that he had begun spending time around James Potter, which was understandable. The pair were the same age, future Lords of their Houses and had similar interests. I’d met James and other children due to start Hogwarts in the next year or two, including Anders Abbot, Christine Greengrass, Margaret Longbottom, Penelope Parkinson, Amycus Carrow, and Lovell Selwyn. While only Amycus was another name I knew, the others came from prominent Houses, and all were listed – like the Blacks, MacLeods, and MacDougalls – as part of the Sacred Seventy-Seven. The Potters were also pureblood, though were excluded for political reasons along with other Houses and Clans.
That said, Arcturus considered Charlus Potter, the current head of House Potter and James’ grandfather, a good acquaintance; even if he had the occasional, in Arcturus’ opinion, lapse in judgement. It was through their friendship that, back in August, I’d gone to the Potter Estate and spent time with James Potter. However, it seemed I had less in common with James than Arcturus had with Charlus.
From what I could gather, through snippets from the pair and reports in the various wizarding media, in this universe, the Daily Prophet was a semi-serious newspaper and not some flashy headline-grabbing rag with bullshit stories that paper had been in the other timeline. I’d long understood that Arcturus was, in political terms, a Traditional Seeker, whereas Charlus was a Progressive Scholar. However, I also realised that there were times when, even with their positions generally being different, they found common ground.
While both were young, it was clear already that neither Sirius nor James would be a Traditionalist. For James, as far as I could tell, that was fine, and it should be for Sirius unless he strayed too far from the traditional position taken by House Black. If he did, then it was plausible that Arcturus, or possibly Orion – Sirius’ father – when he became Lord Black, would remove Sirius from his position as Heir-Apparent.
If that happened, then it might not be the worst thing for me regarding my closeness to House Black. While he was several years younger than me, Regulus liked to follow me around. He was much more malleable and, as much as it pained me to consider this a good point, listened to his parents. Or at least Walburga, as it was clear that she wore the trousers in that relationship. Still, regardless of if Sirius was removed from his position or not, I didn’t want Regulus falling into Voldemort’s hands.
Thus, while I disliked playing with someone younger than me – or even, at times, someone my age – I spent almost as much time around Regulus as I did Sirius. Arcturus and others hadn’t commented on that, but I knew they were aware of it. As they would be of my seemingly seeking out Bellatrix if the opportunity arose. Of the pair, she was the one I’d rather not end up under Voldemort’s sway. However, as she was older, female, and only home for the holidays, it was difficult to find time to interact with her. Then there was the concern that Melania might show interest in how I sought out Bellatrix, though that was also true of my Aunts whenever I was around my female cousins. Since marrying cousins wasn’t considered a concern – provided, I assumed, that at least half the grandparents were different – in this world, I had to be cautious of how and when I dealt with them.
Since the beginning of this summer though, I’d spent more time around Iona O’Callaghan and Adele Lambert. They should be starting Hogwarts with me, though I doubted I’d end up in the same houses. Adele was very much a people person, and keen to make others happy, which suggested she’d be a Hufflepuff. Iona could be either Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, and the former was the one house of Hogwarts I had no interest in entering.
There was also the chance that they’d not be accepted to Hogwarts. With the much larger magical population in this universe, Hogwarts had to be picky about which students it would take. As had been proven with Genevieve Montague and Antares Black. The pair had been filtered to a smaller, less prestigious magical school called Wirmorth Academy of Wizardry.
While Genevieve hadn’t, as far as I knew, had any pushback from her family or House about not entering Hogwarts – bar, from what I’d been told, her spending several days in her room crying about it – Antares had become a sore subject for discussion in House Black. He might come from the second son of the second son, but it seemed they still considered that a disgrace. Though not to the point he was removed from the family.
From what I’d learnt, due to the large magical population, only an Heir, Heir-Apparent, or Chief or Lord-Apparent of a Clan or House with a seat in the Wizengamot were guaranteed a place at Hogwarts. That meant that because I was the MacLeod of MacLeod, I didn’t have a guaranteed position at the school, as when Hogwarts had been founded, it was virtually unheard of for a child to become a Chief or Lord. Thankfully, Arcturus had spoken to the Board of Governors and the Headmaster to ensure I received a place. Apparently, even Dumbledore was reluctant to deny a future member of the Wizengamot a position at the premier school in the Isles.
Still, because of the odd situation I was in, I’d received recruitment offers from various magical schools across the world. Well, mainly Europe and North America, yet even there the list of premier schools had been larger than what I’d known of before the merging. I’d politely replied, indicating I wasn’t considering that yet, and had denied any request to meet. Just as I’d done with interview requests from wizarding media. At least those had died down after the first anniversary of the Summer Solstice Massacre, though they did flare up again each year near the anniversary.
“Be seated,” Arcturus said as we entered a smaller sitting room; one I couldn’t recall visiting before. His tone had been firm, though not as if we’d done something wrong. Sirius’ shoulders slumped in relief making me wonder if he’d come here before to be scolded over his behaviour. While his pranks were generally harmless – mainly as he didn’t yet have a wand of his own – they could be annoying if he convinced one of the Black elves to assist him.
I slipped into one of the empty chairs – not the one with the highest back and finest embroidery as that was reserved for Arcturus – and felt the magic of the charms and runes within it react. The fact I’d grown so comfortable with such things, and that I no longer marvelled at such casual displays of magic, was slightly disappointing. Magic was meant to be, pun intended, magical. Yet, after three years of being able to enjoy seats so comfortable that you could sleep in them and never feel sore, or decorations inlaid and embroidered exquisitely with the finest of materials, I no longer reacted to them. They’d become commonplace.
That might be why I was looking forward to Hogwarts. While the chairs and alike probably wouldn’t be as comfortable, the magic of a thousand-year-old castle with untold secrets – even beyond the ones I expected to find – would, I hoped, reignite my marvelling at all things magical. Hogwarts should be something more than it was in the media I’d seen, even that which had existed in the game I remembered playing when a child, as this world was more. Yet, I had just over a year to go before I could confirm that.
Small, jerky movements from my right drew my focus to Sirius. While I could sit comfortably, not fazed by the gaze Arcturus sent us as he sat, the Heir-Apparent of House Black couldn’t. His need to constantly move, to explore, flaring up under his grandfather’s gaze. Though the moment Arcturus raised a single eyebrow and stared at his grandson, Sirius froze. I knew that wasn’t magic, but it was still impressive to see. If not a little amusing, though I kept that internal. Medusa herself would’ve been proud of how still my second cousin was being.
“Before I begin,” Arcturus started, turning his focus to me, “I wish to preface this by saying that this discussion would traditionally be handled by Chief MacLeod at some point over the next year. Or at least that is what your grandfather has told me. Since you are The MacLeod, and this is a lesson better handled by a living person, then with your ancestor’s permission, I will be teaching this to you today alongside my grandson.”
“I understand.” While there was much my ancestors could teach me, the lack of a physical presence meant many topics were beyond them. Which was why, for the last few years, I’d had an almost school-like schedule of tutors covering everything I might need to know in Hogwarts for the first few years, and about the wider magical world.
Arcturus nodded, pleased with my response, and returned his attention to us equally. “Then we shall begin.” His wand slipped into his hand, appearing from his disillusioned wand holster, and flicked toward bookshelves behind him.
I watched, amused as two books – the same thing judging by the colours of their covers – slipped from their positions and gently hovered toward us. Once close enough, Sirius and I took them. Well, Sirius snatched at his, which resulted in a faint twitch of Arcturus’ brow.
My fingers travelled over the soft, red cover, sensing magic within it, as was normal for a book in a magical household. Turning it over, I inhaled sharply as I saw the title.
Becoming an Animagus: A Witch or Wizard’s step-by-step guide to Animagus transformation.
I felt my heart race as my fingers traced the title, a desire to know whatever secrets the book held rushing through me. I’d often wondered what my magical animagus form might be. A 1X-rated creature was only possible for one in every hundred wizards or witches – or at least of those capable of becoming an animagus. Each increase in Class increased the odds by at least a hundred, meaning only one out of every ten million magicals could turn into a 5X animal.
For a long time, I’d considered trying to discover my form before I reached Hogwarts. I knew the process from the other timeline. Yet, I’d always backed away. As if my instincts were telling me that to attempt the transformation now was inherently dangerous. As if I wasn’t strong enough – be it physically or magically – to ensure the transformation was successful, I’d asked Arcturus and my ancestors about the process on occasion, and they had confirmed my suspicion that it wasn’t something to be attempted while a child. Although they’d failed to go into why. Which had left the constant, unscratchable, itch of wondering what my animagus form was.
My fingers reached the edge of the cover and slowly pulled it upward. I stopped, however, as the edges of the pages inside slipped into view. I frowned, feeling that something about this meeting was off. My great-grandfather had mentioned that no attempt to become an animagus should take place before one had reached their 2nd magical maturity, but I knew that, in the other timeline, Sirius, James and Peter Pettigrew had achieved the change in their second year. Still, if the idea was to warn us of the dangers of the transformation, why give us a book that, according to its title, taught one how to bring about the change?
“It’s blank!”
Sirius’ almost shouted statement answered the question I’d formed almost as soon as I’d thought of it. Looking over at him, I saw the book sitting open on his lap, about halfway through, and the pages were indeed empty.
“It is,” Arcturus replied slowly, his tone cool and full of almost unrestrained disappointment. “And it appears that, much like the book, you lack any ability to have the knowledge of today’s lesson inscribed upon you.” I grimaced slightly, feeling for the harsh put-down Arcturus had just given. “However, you are ten, and as only the Heir-Apparent, allowed some leeway in how you conduct yourself. Even in the presence of favoured guests such as your distant cousin.” Arcturus shifted his focus to me, the cold expression cooling as he did so. “Your ancestors didn’t enlighten me as to how they conducted this test, but since there was no family magic involved in the method used by House Black, they were comfortable with me using our method to test you.”
I nodded, accepting his words, which drew an appreciative look from Lord Black. That though, had Sirius fix me with a glare; at least until Arcturus turned back. At that, Sirius looked away, once more annoyed at how I appeared the favoured child of the family when I was anything but.
There’d been moments like this over the years when I’d acted maturely and inadvertently made Sirius look like a child – which he was – or drawn praise from Arcturus. While Sirius’ reaction each time made sense, he was raised in a powerful, Most Ancient and Noble House, so he should be aware of how he was expected to behave. However, if he shifted his dislike of his mother to Arcturus, it would only lead to him being ostracised by his family.
When he acted out around Walburga, I might’ve helped and encouraged it at times. That woman had some deranged notions of who should or shouldn’t be considered a witch or wizard. Positions that I doubted even Voldemort considered useful for the world he wanted to build. Magic was magic, and those with it, regardless of birth – and potentially species – should be welcomed in our world, and in the case of Muggle-borns, warned of the dangers presented to them by their families and supposed friends.
People feared what they didn’t understand, and from my brief foray into the muggle world, it appeared this one was far less open-minded than the one I’d inhabited before the merging. Which, given the vitriol and abuse thrown around without thought or sense, was saying something. Perhaps it was possible to educate the magical and muggle worlds on the strengths of the two working together, however, given that the intelligence of a group seemed to be inversely proportional to the number of people – be they magical or muggle – I wasn’t holding out hope on peace between the two worlds lasting.
However, while acting out around Walburga was fine, doing so with Arcturus was fucking stupid. Not only was Arcturus his grandfather, but he was Lord Black; one of the most powerful men in the Isles. Arcturus had already banished one of his cousins for marrying a muggle, and if Sirius wasn’t careful, he might go the same route. It hadn’t happened in the other timeline, but I understood that expecting everything that happened there to happen here was folly. Merlin, I’d started laying – I hoped – the groundwork for Andromeda to not be outright banished if she ended up eloping with Ted Tonks. I didn’t know how receptive Arcturus was to my suggestions regarding muggle-borns, and how they needed to be educated on the magical world, and be shown how unlike the muggle world it was, but I hoped when the time came, that he’d not outright banish Andi, and instead grant Ted a chance to prove his worth.
“Why are we here then?”
I closed my eyes to avoid rolling them at Sirius’ blurted-out question. Not only had it derailed my train of thought, but it was a further example of his impatience. When I opened my eyes, I saw Arcturus staring at his grandson, with a cold, focused look that, if it could, might well have shattered whatever passed for a brain inside Sirius’ skull.
“You are here, as you are ten and, for the moment, the Heir Apparent to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.” As Arcturus spoke, I swore the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees. The only time I’d heard his voice that cold was when discussing the Former Minister, Nobby Leech.
That man, and I used the term loosely, had resigned in the Spring after contracting a potentially fatal disease that left him unable to fulfil his duties as Minister. While I had no proof on the matter, I suspected that Arcturus had been involved in the former Minister falling ill, though perhaps in the most circumspect of ways.
“Your status, however, can be altered if I feel you are unworthy of it and the responsibilities it brings.” Sirius looked as if he wanted his chair to swallow him whole. That at least meant he understood he was in danger of royally fucking up his life. “It would behove you to observe and imitate Dòmhnall in how to show restraint and display appropriate manners for any given situation.” That had Sirius’ head snap my way, his eyes narrowing so much I thought they might be crushed. “Such as learning how to avoid directly displaying your displeasure with an acquaintance. Nor revealing a weakness others will undoubtedly exploit.”
Sirius turned back to Arcturus, the glare he’d been giving me landing on him. Lord Black was entirely unimpressed by the display, and after holding Sirius’s gaze for a split-second, my cousin looked down. While Sirius was a child, I suspected that the expression on Arcturus’ face would stop many in their tracks, and I couldn’t help but imagine how former Minister Leech would’ve reacted when faced with such casual disinterest.
Sirius lifted his head a moment later, recovering from his mistake to hold Arcturus’ gaze, which seemed to please the older wizard. “Now, unless you have any other need to behave like a muggle, perhaps we might continue?” Sirius stayed silent, which Arcturus took as agreement. “Excellent. Now, I have summoned you here to speak about a branch of magic that while you will not be studying for several years, is one that I, and your ancestors, Dòmhnall, feel that every witch and wizard should learn. Official records of those who had learnt this branch of magic suggest it is an extremely rare ability, though I understand that many choose not to inform the Ministry that they’ve done so. They will, if they discover that you have done so, fine you, though for those from families with the resources ours possess, it is more a nuisance than a deterrent.” He leaned back, his fingers interlacing as his eyes examined us almost clinically. “Perhaps you might have already deduced what we will be discussing today?”
Given the trick book still in my hands, and the way Arcturus had bounced around the topic just now, it was reasonably clear to me what we were here to discuss. I looked at Sirius from the corner of my eye, wanting to see if he understood, and hoping he might be able to partially redeem himself. He looked at me as if wondering if I might answer first.
Instead, I gestured first to the book and then to him. While Arcturus was my mentor, we were in the home of The Most Ancient House of Black, and Sirius was the heir of the heir to the House. It was expected that he would respond to Lord Black first.
“You’re here to teach us how to become animagi.” He spoke with certainty, proud of himself for working out the answer. I smiled, glad to see the confidence applied to something other than his pranking or swordplay. Said pranking was no longer directed at me since, with the ability to cast all First Year spells silently, and most of the Second Year ones verbally, he’d realised that I’d respond to his pranks accordingly.
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“You are partially correct,” Arcturus said as if he’d not seen the interplay between me and Sirius. “However, as I just stated, we are only here to speak about becoming an animagus; not beginning the difficult process that is required to achieve it.” He leaned forward, commanding the room. “Becoming an animagus is something many wizards choose to do, for a multitude of reasons. Some lack the patience or dedication,” his focus fell on Sirius, “or they wish to know more before they are ready,” there his focus shifted to me, “some, however, also chose not to. For reasons as varied as they simply have no interest in learning to turn into a beast, to not feeling it is anyway worthwhile. Those individuals are, frankly, fools.”
The image of former Minister Leech rushed through my thoughts when considering a foolish wizard, though I knew not to chuckle at the idea. My mind then instantly pulled a memory of a news report from two years ago. The then Minister had introduced legislation to make the failure to reveal an animagus form to the Ministry a serious infraction of the law; one that had, at a minimum, a month in Azkaban for each year of failure to register. The proposal was struck down with about eighty per cent of the possible votes going against the measure.
That little incident, beyond potentially accelerating Leech vacating his office, had all but confirmed that the Lords and Chiefs of many Clans and Houses had no interest in the Ministry interfering in what they considered Clan or House business. Which, from their point of view, it was. As well as an attempt by the Ministry to exert more control over Clans and Houses that predated the Ministry.
“Becoming an animagus is a difficult process, yes, but it reveals things about the wizard that most might never realise. The animal you shift into is a reflection of your psyche; one removed from the civility of magical life. For a wizard to fully embrace who they are, and what they are meant to be, they not only need to discover their animal but understand the traits and flaws it reveals about themselves. Failure to do so, means they are less than they should be.”
“Does the animal we’ll one day become depend on culture?” I asked slowly when it was clear Arcturus had finished his short speech. “From what I’ve learnt, animals, be they ravens, snakes, lions, or most others, have differing meanings depending on the culture in question.”
“A wise question. Yes, the animal reveals differing things about a person depending on their cultural and spiritual beliefs. Take, for example, ravens. To those of the Greek Free States, or those that still offer respect to Zeus and that pantheon of deities, ravens are seen as symbols of bad luck. Yet, to those of the Norse League, and worshipers of Odin, ravens are a good omen. Or, to use the legends of your ancestors,” he continued, gesturing at me, “ravens are associated with the Morrigan; the goddess of war and fate, meaning they signify that a great challenge, or even battle, lies in one’s path.”
“Also, certain cultures, such as those based in the Americas, place importance on one’s spirit animal. From what I know of those cultures, spirit animals are more generalised guides to an animagus form. Such as two people having an owl as a spirit animal, but being of differing breeds with differing personalities and behaviours.”
As he spoke I listened intently, understanding the wisdom in his words. Even without the mention of the Morrigan, and their connection to Gaelic/Celtic culture, it was an interesting thing to consider. However, my mind struggled to focus on that, and not once more wondering which magical creature I’d become. While a dragon or another Class 5X was unlikely – and frankly, something I wasn’t sure I wanted to become – I was struggling to contain my curiosity about what I would one day become.
Though at least I was safe thinking about this, at least when discussing events from my other life before the merging, and the selection or traits that had taken place, around others. At least with anything short of a deep, concentrated scan of my innermost thoughts.
I’d tested this concern with Aunt Moire, though only after extracting an iron-clad vow that anything she sensed would never be discussed, or even hinted at, with anyone bar myself and only when we were alone. It was a risk to test if my external knowledge could leak, but I had to be sure before heading to Hogwarts. I didn’t know if Dumbledore regularly scanned the thoughts of his students, or if other students attempted to do so to gain something of worth for their Clans and Houses, and had to know for sure.
Moire had failed to sense anything when I concentrated on my other life when I thought about it, stating my mind seemed entirely at rest with nothing of interest in my thoughts. Now, she could sense my emotions when I thought about those events, but not the linked memories. That had piqued her interest, wondering if I’d somehow discovered a way to defend against Legilimency scans. I’d covered my arse there, saying it was an old, and seemingly forgotten, piece of family magic that I’d discovered during my time reading the family library, and that I wasn’t willing to share it with others of our blood until I could extend it to all my thoughts.
While she’d accepted that answer, I knew it hadn’t ended her interest in what I’d done. However, the vow she took meant I was, I hoped, safe from her ever revealing what had happened to others. Potentially, she could rip the knowledge from my mind, but doing that would break me, and thus wasn’t something we tested. And if I was ever in a situation where someone might be stealing my memories, I suspected I’d be dead soon after, so the loss of information wasn’t a concern. Not that I intended to go down without a fight.
“What are you?”
I blinked, caught out by Sirius blurting out that question. Recovering, I looked at him and watched him once again wither under Arcturus’ piercing gaze.
“All I shall reveal to you, for now, is that I, along with other members of our family, have an animagus form. However, until you master your transformation, you will not learn of my form. Nor will any member of the family reveal theirs. While both of you are skilled at Occlumency, though only Dòmhnall has been officially recognized in that regard, information on the forms of others is a highly personal, and private matter. A truly skilled Legilimens could, even with the defences you have, acquire that knowledge.” Sirius seemed upset about that, but I understood the importance of protecting your thoughts. Aunt Moire had drilled that lesson into me over the last few years. “As Lord Black, I’m aware of the forms of every member of this House, be they born a Black, or married into the family. If you become Heir, then the sitting Lord Black, be that myself or your father, will, at their discretion, reveal the forms of those closest to you.” That seemed to settle Sirius, though I wondered if he caught the hint that he was in danger of being removed as Heir.
Arcturus focused on me. “Dòmhnall, as The MacLeod, you can inquire as to the forms of your family members, even those who have married out, or from a cadet branch. However, I cannot say how much, if anything, a Sept Chief is required to reveal. That is a private matter between the clans involved, and I suggest you speak with your ancestors for clarification on the matter.” I accepted that with a nod, already planning to speak with them once I returned to Dunscaith.
“Can one become a magical animagus?” I asked. While I knew the answer, I was curious as to how Arcturus would phrase his answer.
“They are possible, and for one-X class creatures, not entirely rare. However, I would suspect that many wizards who could shift into a flobberworm would prefer even a muggle beast such as a cat or domesticated dog.” That I could agree with. “However, for creatures in the four-X class, they are rare. There are, theoretically, around five or six within the entirety of the Isles. For a five-X class, then perhaps less than that number across all of Europe.” I accepted the answer, finding it lined up with what I already knew. “While both of you are potentially powerful wizards, that is not in any way a marker to how dangerous or interesting a beast your animagus form will be.”
“Now, unless there are any further questions, I believe we can begin today’s discussion.” I leaned forward, my excitement momentarily getting the better of me. “To be clear, you shall not be beginning the process to bring about your first shift into an animagus today. That step is far beyond your current skill, maturity, and power. Sirius, if I discover that you have attempted the change before your fifteenth birthday, I will have to heavily consider your position as Heir-Apparent.” Sirius gulped loudly before nodding. I wasn’t sure how much care he had about becoming Lord Black – blame Walburga for that – but it seemed he had enough that, at least for now, the threat worked.
“Dòmhnall, I cannot make such a statement to you, and have no recourse to punish you if you attempt the transformation early, I advise you to heed caution. History is littered with tales of those who attempted to become an animagus without the skill, power, or maturity, and spent the rest of their admittedly short lives, as grotesque creatures often found in a travelling circus.” That was my cue to gulp. While I’d read – and seen – such things, the images continued to haunt my thoughts at times, though only when I dwelled on the chance of failure, or someone mentioned it.
“For today, we shall only be discussing the rewards and hazards of beginning the process of becoming an animagus.” His wand flicked out and two new books came floating toward us. I placed the trick book to one side and collected the new one. Fought off a smirk as I read the cover.
What Not To Do: The dangers of improper attempts to become an Animagus and the life it can lead to.
The title was foreboding, with the artwork of some deranged half-man, half-bird hinting at the dangers of failing to become an animagus. However, I’d already read the book from cover to cover, and so was aware of that artwork, and other images inside, though the way they moved in jerky, unnatural ways still toyed with my dreams.
“Please, read.”
Ignoring the trepidation I sensed from Sirius, I turned the page. While it was unlikely there was anything new that Arcturus could add to what was inside the book, it was nice to finally have a proper, if not lesson then discussion on the topic. However, I was already committed to not attempting the process until I was at least thirteen.
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“Dòmhnall! You made it!”
The words reached me even as the green flame of the Floo network faded. Before I’d had any chance to brush soot from my clothes, a familiar mass slammed into me, and tried to swallow me in a hug. I returned my cousin’s hug, chuckling at her exuberance.
“Did you think I’d miss your birthday?” I replied as we pulled back, and I saw the familiar face of Áine MacDougall. The young girl smiled and returned to hugging, going so far that, if not that as a wizard I was more durable than a muggle, then she’d have likely cracked a rib. Then again, with the minor trait I’d taken before the merging to be more resilient and durable than other magicals, I suspected that even if she succeeded, the damage would heal itself without much need for wand-induced magic.
“Áine.”
The gentle, warning tone came from our uncle – and Áine’s Guardian – Marcas. He was standing further back in the foyer, leaving me to fend off the attention of one excited, and possibly sugar-fuelled, younger cousin.
“Uncle,” I said as a greeting as Áine slowly released me from her death grip.
“Nephew.”
Once I was freed of Áine’s attention, I shook his hand, which was all the greeting I required here.
Normally, when visiting the home of another Clan or House, especially one seated in the Wizengamot, there were procedures to be followed and decorum to be met. Thankfully, Marcas disliked that formality, and as Áine refused to engage in it, even though I knew she was being instructed, as I had been, in the ways of our world, I could avoid that every time I came over. That might be why I visited Dunollie Castle more than every other location – including Le Domaine Noir, Diagon Alley, and Horizon Alley – combined.
As with Dunscaith, Dunollie Castle appeared as a small, abandoned ruin on the west coast of Scotland to muggles. Though, it was far from that. The muggle castle was, from the one time I’d seen the wards generating the image of it along with the various charms to dissuade muggles from approaching, a simple, single-tower castle.
The true Dunollie was about twice the size of that ‘castle’, and like many magical locations, made use of the wards to power space enchantment charms and runes. Though the true size of Dunollie was further hidden by the fact it extended, according to what I’d been told, down several hundred metres underground. Now, I’d only gone to the first basement level, as that was where the castle’s training areas were and Áine enjoyed watching me train with my wand, but my ancestors spoke of how the castle was supposed to extend at least five levels down, below sea level. Legend has it the castle, or at least the domain there, had existed for thousands of years, possibly built by wizards before the Roman conquest of most of the Isles.
To a muggle-born, or even one not knowledgeable of the castles used by many older Clans and Houses, the idea of living underground might be off-putting. They’d assume the place was damp, cramped, and squalid. However, from spending hours each day on the various sub-levels of Dunscaith, and having seen the runes and spells used in the construction and maintenance of my home, I knew that wasn’t the case. Still, it would be years, perhaps even a decade, before I was ever to be allowed in anything more than the most public lower levels of Dunollie.
“How’s Raghnall doing?” I asked Marcas as I removed my overcoat. While I’d be inside here, as I was in Dunscaith, the soot from the Floo was a nuisance that I’d rather not have on my regular clothes. Raghnall was Marcas’ youngest son – and the only child of his to survive the Massacre, and he’d started Hogwarts this year along with Narcissa and Lyra Black among many others.
“From his first owl, he’s fine. Sorted into Gryffindor though.” Marcas made a face at that. My uncle had been a Hufflepuff, though he’d developed an issue with the House of the Lions while a student and never entirely let go of it.
“Unfortunate.”
I had no issues with Gryffindor, but provided the sorting was handled the same way here as in the other timeline, and the idea I’d heard of that a house was chosen for one based on a preference, then I was torn between Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Both houses had advantages and disadvantages, for both my time in Hogwarts and potentially my life beyond, but I wasn’t set where I’d like to go. However, if I had to rank them, I’d prefer even Hufflepuff over Gryffindor. While I wouldn’t shy away from a fight and had started a few during my short stay in the muggle Children’s House, I’d prefer to avoid direct confrontation unless I absolutely must, no matter how much I was coming to enjoy my duelling practice.
“Aye, though at least it’s not Slytherin,” Marcas added with a smirk. Since my family had leaned toward that house with Ravenclaw the next most common, I knew it was a gentle tease. “I remember how full of himself Anoghus was. At least until Kara started softening the edges.” The smirk fell away, and his mood darkened for a moment as he became lost once more in the memories of all that we’d lost. It had been three years since the Massacre, yet the pain was still there and would be for a long time.
Since I could compartmentalise my emotions, I had fewer issues dealing with the memories; I was able to disassociate the emotions linked to them. However, Marcas didn’t seem able to, which suggested either he wasn’t skilled at Occlumency – unlikely as he came from an Ancient Clan – or he simply chose to not separate the emotions from the event.
I’d reviewed those memories extensively once I’d learnt to remove the emotional attachment, looking for any hint as to who they were, where they came from, and why they’d attacked. Doing that revealed a few small things of note. The man that had stormed our tent, and probably killed my father, had marks on his exposed forearms. They weren’t the Dark Mark that Voldemort created – which was a fucking relief – but they meant something. I’d allowed Aunt Moire to view the memories in my head, letting her learn of the marks to pass along to whichever members of the DMLE were still investigating the matter. The faces were also passed along, though the DMLE already had one of those, and he and the others I remembered seeing had come from outside the Isles.
While Moire had revealed that, she’d not been willing or able to tell me more. I’d owled Lord Richard Edevane, head of the DMLE, for more information, but he’d not revealed any. The matter was still an open investigation, and while he claimed they were closing in on those that helped bring about the Massacre I felt the case had been pushed to the backburner this year with Nobby Leach leaving his position as Minister. While I’d have liked to probe further, I couldn’t. I might be recognised as Chief MacLeod, but I was still a child and didn’t have the weight of my position that I should. I knew Arcturus was pushing on the matter as there were comments every so often about that in the Daily Prophet and media. All of which meant I was no closer to determining the mastermind behind the attack, or why the Clans had been targeted.
“Come on!” Áine said, dragging me deeper into the foyer and pulling me from my thoughts. Marcas smiled in amusement as I shrugged in resignation at denying my cousin’s attention. I’d barely leaned out to pass my overcoat to one of the MacDougall house elves before I was dragged into the main hall.
The walls were lined with magical portraits of various events in Clan MacDougall’s history. Battles against the English, the Irish, the Vikings and others moved as we passed, and the eyes of figures of note in the family turned to watch us; often with a small, resigned smile suggesting that even if they weren’t enhanced portraits like that of my ancestors, they had enough capacity to understand what had befallen their clan.
The frames of each painting, regardless of what they displayed, were made of mahogany, and inlaid or lined with precious metals and gems. At a guess, those alone were worth a small fortune and suggested the MacDougalls were a richer clan than mine. Though the display of casual wealth was something Arcturus had remarked was common for any Clan or House that sat in the Wizengamot, particularly those of Ancient or older status.
“Dòmhnall’s here!” Áine called out as she finished dragging me, and we arrived in the main sitting room of the castle. Inside, once free of Áine’s control, I saw that most, if not all, of her family on her mother’s side were present.
The older cousins at Hogwarts or another institution, and one of her aunts that worked for, I believed, the Department of Mysteries, were also absent, but the rest were there. Clan O’Conor was a Most Ancient Clan, one close to being over two thousand years old, and thus raised to the status of a Clan of Antiquity.
Due to the Clan’s age, they had at least a dozen branches in Ireland alone, with from what I’d learnt, three or four more in North America, and about double that in sept Clans. Like the other older Irish Clans, when The O’Conor spoke, he represented a considerable portion of the island. Only Clan O’Neill, which I and Áine held a faint link to through my maternal grandmother, was larger and more powerful. However, that should, in theory, change once the O’Conors rose to become a Clan of Antiquity.
“Aye, we can see that.” The childishly cold tone came from Ruarc O’Conor, the third son of Heir O’Conor. His bright red hair, which he kept cut short, had me mistaking him for a Prewett – which made sense as his grandmother had come from that House – but the moment he spoke, and that thick Irish brogue slipped out, his parentage was clear. “Dòmhnall,” he said, stepping closer, a hand outstretched.
I clasped his forearm. “Ruarc.” The boy, who provided he got his letter, would be going to Hogwarts next year with me, had an issue with me, and always became cold whenever I was in his presence. Since I only met him at Áine’s birthdays, I wasn’t sure what his problem was, but I had a few ideas.
“Come on!” Áine resumed dragging me, taking me toward a large table in the centre of the room; one covered in lavishly wrapped gifts of various shapes and sizes. I could already tell one was a broom, which made sense as Áine adored flying. Almost as if she was born in the sky.
“If you were that desperate to open them, you could’ve done so before I arrived,” I said with a smirk, my free hand slipping into the pocket of my trousers. “I wouldn’t have been angry.”
“Uncle Marcas says I can’t open any until everyone is here,” Áine said as I pulled a box from my pocket, the size of it hidden as the pocket was enchanted to store more without leaving an indication of any contents. Her eyes lit up as she saw the box, slightly larger than my hand, and watched as I lifted it toward the table. While the other gifts were all immaculately wrapped, mine wasn’t, nor had they ever been. For any birthday of a cousin, I’d chosen to wrap them personally, feeling the touch would be appreciated. While the boys hadn’t seemingly cared, the girls liked it; as did their mothers.
“And now that Dòmhnall’s is there, you can.” I turned to see Marcas enter with the two parents who had been missing. Críostóir and Annabelle O’Conor were Ruarc’s parents with Críostóir being Heir to Clan O’Conor while Annabelle came from a prominent French House with powerful standing in Le Noble Conseil Magique de France – their equivalent of the Wizengamot – and thus a member of La Noblesse Magique Française: the magical French nobility. They, unlike their muggle counterparts, had never experienced the Cultural Revolution as the Statute of Secrecy came into effect a hundred years before then.
The sound of rustling had me turning back to the table. There I discovered that Áine had wasted no time in picking out her first gift; mine. The paper, which had taken me nearly thirty minutes to wrap by hand and had unicorns dancing on it, was torn off without the slightest amount of care.
When my gift came into sight, she paused, and as she turned to me, a wide smile on her face. Several of her female cousins made pleased sounds as the small box was revealed to all. It was a relatively simple-looking thing, the crests of Clan MacDougall and Clans O’Conor were engraved with silver on the lid. Silver also ran around the rim where the box opened, creating an intricate vine structure which ended at the lock. That was a small turquoise gem held in place by a pair of kelpies.
“Press your finger to the gem for a few moments,” I said gently, figuring she’d want to know how to open the box.
Áine did as I asked without hesitation, only to hiss and jerk her finger back a few seconds later. “OW!” she whined, shaking her finger before slipping it into her mouth. “That hurt!” the words were mumbled slightly due to her finger, but I knew there was no blood.
“I’m sorry, but the lock had to be keyed to you,” I explained, repeating what the designer had told me, “Because of that, the box will only open to your touch, and only when you do so with a clear and calm mind. Any attempt to force it open by others will be sensed by the alert-stone, which you’ve left in the paper and can be used to find the box if lost. So, you’ll know if anyone tries to steal the contents from you or you misplace it.” I stepped closer as she opened the box, the vines pulling back to unlock it, and looked inside. “There are three compartments that you can summon by thinking on them. For now, they’re simply named one, two, and three, but I’m sure your aunts can teach you how to rename them.”
The box was also runed with a space enhancement charm, meaning the only limit as to what could be stored inside was getting it to pass through the opening. I’d seen such boxes and chests in Dunscaith – particularly my parent’s room – and had learnt they were common gifts for young ladies to have. From what I’d seen the last time I’d entered Áine’s room, while she had several such boxes, none were meant for anything more than a child. This one was designed for a lady of standing and importance, and I felt it would be a suitable last gift I could personally give her before heading to Hogwarts. Áine would arrive the year after, but this was her last birthday we’d spend together at her home, and she’d just turned ten, so I wanted to mark the occasion.
“Oh,” Áine said softly as she opened the box. “Oh!” that one was louder, and she reached inside to pull out the locket inside. It was a simple thing, at least in comparison to most magical jewellery and finery, but I knew she’d like it. “That’s…” her words trailed off as she opened the locket.
“… our parents,” I finished. “My elf found it in my parent’s room and, after showing it to me, I knew you’d like it.” The photo inside was preserved by magic and showed my mother and Áine’s father when they were in Hogwarts. The only way to tell their houses was the blue and bronze ties they wore.
Áine was on me in a flash, her arms tight around my neck. “Thank you,” she whispered. As I heard a faint sniffle slip from her lips, I put my arms around her, gently patting her back.
Behind her, I saw her cousins watching. While most seemed amused by the reaction, Ruarc glared. As if somehow, he disliked me getting attention from Áine over him. Since it was my gift she’d opened, that was fucking stupid, but he was a child and I had to remember that logical thinking wasn’t a strong suit of many pre-teens. Even those raised in magical noble households.
“Thank you,” Áine said again once she’d recovered and pulled back. Before I could reply she gave me a light kiss on the cheek, which made me scowl. That had her laughing as she turned back to the table.
While I’d expected her to love the locket, perhaps more so than the box, I disliked getting kisses. Particularly from my cousins. Áine knew I disliked kisses, which was probably why she’d done so, but she couldn’t understand why. Since the merging, and having the memories of an adult – and married with a daughter – male, the annoyance/awkward factor for getting kisses of any kind had increased beyond that of how boys generally disliked them.
The only upside of Áine’s insistence to kiss me because I disliked it was that she’d not passed the trait onto her cousins, or Merlin-help me, the Black girls. While I doubted Narcissa or Andromeda would do that to annoy me, I feared Bellatrix gaining another tool to torment me with. That girl seemed to enjoy finding new, imaginative ways to tease me. She found the pranks she unleashed on me funny, but after spending a week with yellow skin so bright it hurt for anyone to look at, I was glad she was back at Hogwarts, and I was safe from her attention.
“Ours next!” that cry came from Assa O’Conor, another of Áine’s cousins. Along with her twin sister Issa, Assa gestured toward the largest box on the table, and the one with the most outlandish, garish shade of green that I’d ever seen. And hoped to never encounter it again.
As Áine moved back toward the table, the locket clasped in her hand, I moved back, getting some distance from the other children. While I knew all of them in passing, they were here for Áine, not me. For today and only today, I’d act my physical age as much as I could and ensure Áine enjoyed her birthday. Well, so long as she didn’t decide to braid my hair again.
I didn’t mind the braids, as the way Áine and the others did them I looked like a Viking, which was cool. What I disliked was people playing with my hair. Of course, that was why Áine did it, and why she’d told others. Thank Merlin Narcissa was at Hogwarts as she kept suggesting the most outlandish ways to alter my hair. Though I found myself fearing when she returned, and had some spells under her belt to enforce – or at least attempt to – her suggestions.
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