Sanctuary?
Warnings for: inaccuracy of the family tree of the House of Black, morally grey action, past kidnapping of children, past slavery
Grimmauld Place no. 12, 23rd April 1999
“What?” I hiss to myself as my nightly perusal of the self-updating, variously interconnected, neverending-seeming master journal of holdings of the House of Black comes to the medieval era. The section that I am reading lists the practises of Andromeda Potter, nee Black, who kidnapped Muggleborn children from their families and made them her brainwashed slaves.
Apparently, this was her answer to the hunting and burning of the magical folks – or the people accused to be witches and wizards. The Statute of Secrecy was in the process of creation, but she felt that it took too long, as more and more helpless magical blood was spilt, regardless of its purity. Harold Potter the Second, her betrothed, agreed with her, and aided her as she invented and perfected a slew of cloaking charms that she then used to sneak to Hogwarts, to link the Book of Students with one that she had prepared for herself. And then they went hunting, themselves, on Muggle families that produced Muggleborn witches and wizards.
The two of them took the children who hadn’t been introduced to Hogwarts yet, or had rejected their placement at Hogwarts for any reason, and Obliviated certain elements of their memories, replacing those with the horrors of the skewed trials and death sentences that the magical suffered, ingendering gratitude and loyalty to their “rescuers.”
Throughout her life, Andromeda Potter nee Black and her husband had “rescued” five hundred and seventy-three Muggleborn children. Who were cooped up in Andromeda’s personal property deep in the mountains of Wales for training as loyal servants of the House of Black. To be distributed as she wished later on to members of the House of Black that she trusted.
And the practises went on until Phineas Nigellus the Third, son and heir of the Headmaster of Hogwarts Phineas Nigellus the Second, halted them hundreds of years later, citing that such crass practises were no longer needed and the Muggleborn should be left in peace.
But the descendents of the kidnapees remain until now, all gathered in the original property of Andromeda Black-Potter, as the House of Black became smaller and smaller and more “untrustworthy” in Andromeda’s ruling throughout the decades in the nineteen-hundreds. Their bloodlines and loyalties have been irrevocably tied to the House of Black, with how they have been bred, enspelt and moulded from generation to generation.
The only comfort that I can take is that, at least from these limited accounts, they have never been given to the mad or overly cruel parts of the House of Black, such as Bellatrix and one of her aunts who wanted the Wizengamot to sanction Muggle hunting, and the other Potters apparently were left oblivious to these practises, thus not taking part in what Harold Potter the Second was doing.
A cold, cold comfort, that.
Now, what should I do with them? Bred so long in captivity like that, like cattle, they must be agorophobic and unable to function other than being menial servants, not to mention actively encouraged to not defend themselves.
Damn. I need to find Andromeda’s personal journals. Bye-bye sleep. I miss you so.
Black Sanctuary, 1st May 1999
“I’m… umm… whoa!”
The wards in Andromeda’s secluded slave-breeding place apparently only truly let in her and her bloodline, which is mingled with a Potter’s, and I am an example of such mingling, although I’m not from the direct bloodline. And, because of that, I can see the entirety of the place, unlike even what the “usual” Lord Black would see without this key “ingredient.”
Lord Black would only see the house – a three-story weathered stone building with stone shingles as roof – and hectares of grounds, which include a large patch of forest and a small, deep lake. At least, it’s what Andromeda listed in the master journal of holdings. And my Portkey has indeed just deposited me on the porch of the aforementioned house. But now, as I look round, I can also see the numerous small cabins mostly hidden behind the treeline.
The quarters of the servants, as Andromeda noted in one of her personal journals, which was protected by a ward that scanned my intentions before it would open to me.
She truly cared for them, then, in her own twisted way.
I sigh. With such evidence, I can’t go into this gung-ho, like I accused Hermione of doing to the house-elves. These poor people would have been truly loyal to Andromeda and her bloodline. I need to approach them very, very carefully.
A magical scan for human presences shows that the forest nearer to the house – the main house – is populated by such cabins, clustered tightly yet still invisible to the naked eye but for the frontmost ones. Contrarily, the main house is wholely unoccupied, even by house-elves as per my second, more in-depth scan for living beings.
I frown. A Black property without a house-elf in it is odd, despite the multitude of human servants available here.
Before I can call out to the cabins, though, a smallish figure emerges from the trees and approaches me.
A girl who looks a few years younger than I am, it turns out.
And she immediately prostrates herself a few feet before she reaches me, shaking from head to toe, murmuring, “My lord,” in a wavering voice.
I scowl. Damn you, Andromeda and Harold.
“Rise.” I fight not to snap at her. It’s not her fault at all that she’s terrified and does what she does.
I inquire about the house-elves when she has complied with the order, although she refuses to look at me. Her puzzled reply that the house-elves are not needed since she can take care of the property herself makes me frown.
“So all the cabins over there among the trees are all yours?” I point out wryly.
She falls kissing the grass again, in response, and shaking harder than before.
Huh. So she came out by herself in an attempt to save her fellows from the possibly unfriendly eye of the current Lord Black, not knowing that I was exempt from the wards that hide them. And neither she nor her fellows apparently felt the brush of the magical scans that I broadcast earlier, unlike when they were done on me when on the run and in Auror-training practises, or the poor folks would have known that this subterfuge wouldn’t have worked.
“You would’ve done well as a Gryffindor,” I remark with a sigh while approaching the prostrate form of the girl and helping her to her feet. “Now, please lead me to your friends? I’m here to help you, not to harm you, or I wouldn’t have been able to see you at all, would I? I don’t have much time today, but I’m free tomorrow and I’ll come back to help you more, then.”
And here I thought I’d spend all day tomorrow spoiling Teddy silly….