Chapter 11
Harry spent the next two days alone, flipping through the album of photos he had been given by a tearful Andromeda as he had taken his leave. She had told him to take as much time as he needed, and to come back whenever he felt ready, and Harry - unsure what ‘ready’ was going to feel like - had yet to re-engage with the healing world.
The album contained generations of Blacks, neatly captioned in Andromeda’s block capitals. She had confided that she had started it as soon as Remus and Sirius had confided the truth; it was the culmination of two years of work, neatly packaged in a leather-bound book not dissimilar to the one Hagrid had created for him during his first year at Hogwarts.
Harry felt like he was grieving the Potters. He supposed he was grieving himself, in a way, but also the loyalties he had mentally developed to the two people Hagrid had filled in page after page of that album. Now, he had a family; blood relatives who were alive, and a whole family tree to learn. He was Molly Weasley’s second cousin - possibly. Some of the tenuous connections were a little complex for him.
Hermione’s otter had announced yesterday that she would be with the Weasley’s until after Fred’s funeral, and Harry was welcome there if he wanted, and if not, she would come to him. He had been relieved to find, when he cast his own Patronus to respond, that it remained a stag.
He finally made his way towards the tapestry room of Grimmauld Place as the sun was setting on the second day, filled with trepidation. He hadn’t been on there before, he was sure of it. Why would that have changed?
He edged down the hall, mind racing - and knocked over the troll foot umbrella stand.
Walburga Black’s curtains flew open, and her stern face stared down at him, mouth open to shout -
“You are my grandson,” she said instead. Her expression remained stern and imposing, but Harry saw a trace of surprise cross her face. “I have a grandson.”
“How - did you -”
“Someone has lifted a veil,” she said. “It is undeniable. So… the House of Black lives on, after all. We have a male heir.”
Harry swallowed. “I didn’t know,” he said simply.
“No,” she said, and there was a sneer to her words. “Evidently, or you wouldn’t have marred our House with your blood traitor friends. Toujours Pur!” Harry jumped - her delivery of the House motto was reminiscent of Moody’s Constant vigilance! - and she laughed. “Alas, there is little I can do now,” she said. “The future of the House of Black is yours - both figuratively and literally. I am sure I will soon see this house full of sunshine and daisies.”
Her distaste at the prospect was clear. Harry, who had seen his fill of her features, smiled grimly and yanked her curtains closed. “Starting with the troll foot,” he agreed aloud, and continued his journey into the tapestry room.
It was as old and shabby as he remembered. He ran his fingers over Regulus’s death date, and sighed sadly as he touched the singe-mark that should have been Sirius, wishing something as magical as this could not be so vandalised.
The fibres began to reknit under his fingers, shaking off the soot.
Harry watched, open-mouthed, as the whole tapestry began to come alive, colours re-saturating, people reappearing - some new, and some evidently illegitimate family members taking their places. Ted, then Dora, then Remus and Teddy sprouted from Andromeda’s newly-unburned place on a branch. Finally, he turned his eyes back to Regulus - and saw the moment he appeared, connected by branches and gold weave to Bellatrix.
“The twenty-ninth of July,” he whispered. “My birthday… it was wrong.” Two extra days, he had been seventeen. Two extra days that he could have been doing magic in, unnoticed. Or could he? If he was registered as Harry Potter, would the Trace have been on him until Harry Potter’s birthday? Could it - or was it tied to someone’s age inherently? Did Hermione’s time-turning years affect her Trace?
There were too many questions. He had learned too much, too fast, and he needed to get out of Grimmauld Place. It suddenly felt suffocating, years of family history pressing down upon him - the sole male heir.
Of course Bellatrix’s vault had let him out. Merlin, he was stupid.