A New Purpose
Black Island, 26th December 2003
Crying myself to sleep was something that I hadn’t done since I was seven and brought home excellent marks at school only to be punished severely by the Dursleys. It’s freeing, though, admitedly. Now I think I’m ready to face the world again.
An Aguamenti into one of the small wooden bowls from the chest of eating paraphernalia provides me a clean bowl and equally clean water to drink. A set of cleaning and grooming charms freshen me up for the day, from cleaning my body and clothes to straightening my rumpled pyjamas – no touching my hair, as it’s just as unruly as ever in this form. I even managed to wheedle the body-waste-removal spells from Justin when I tagged along as he took care of the newly rescued Teal’c, and use them gladly now because I know that there’s no loo here.
Now, time to make something for my people, humans and elves alike, both as apology for my absence and continuation of my annual gift-giving tradition.
Black Sanctuary, 26th December 2003
“Where were you, Harry? We searched everywhere! Why did you–.”
“Somewhere, Mione.”
“Did you have yourself checked after that Floo ride, Potter? And I mean by medical professional, not yourself.”
“Nope. No need, Justin. Look. I’m fine.”
“But you weren’t….”
“I’m really fine, Luna. Look, I’ve got you a mini snorkak. Wittled it myself. Sorry it’s a little lopsided.”
“Harry!”
“What, Mione?”
“Honestly, can’t you just focus on something?”
I freeze, and slowly turn towards her, buying myself more time. I’m confused. Yesterday, she and Zabini dragged me to spend some time with everyone, and now I’m spending my time with everyone. What does she want, now?
I ask her just that.
And she gets angrier.
“Honestly, Mione,” I huff, then sighs, even more confused and tired. “I don’t know what you want.”
I finish giving my carvings to the seven that were with me at Black Lodge and Kairo with Teal’c, even Zabini, then skedaddle to the hidden homes of the Residents here at Black Sanctuary, to borrow an owl to send more carvings to Bill and his family.
It’s gift-giving time for the Residents, afterwards, and then I spend some wild time playing a chaotic game of ball with some of them in the woodland clearing that they use for gatherings. It’s a little bit like football, really, but without goalies, and the person managing to dribble the ball the longest with their feet is supposed to be the winner.
We end up not watching who might be the winner, though.
But it’s fun!
I prepare to go back to my flat on Baker Street no. 221B pretty energised and uplifted.
Well, part of it… maybe… is because I don’t visit the main house in the Sanctuary – where the eight of us Hogwarts 1991 yearmates plus one were firstly gathered – before leaving.
I just… can’t. Not now.
I’m running away, perhaps. But, well, I don’t care.
Baker Street no. 221B, 26th December 2003
Hello, Professor Slughorn,
I hope you like the carving. I wittled it myself, from some wood I found on my back yard. I hope you are enjoying your holiday too.
My apologies in advance, Professor. I admit I’m writing you now also to propose another way to continue my apprenticeship to you without harming other things and people in my life. I highly appreciate you teaching me despite my once again unfavourable reputation in the eyes of the Ministry and the public. But yesterday my friends reminded me that I’ve got them and my other responsibilities too. I need to take care of them just as much as I need to master potions.
I hope you understand, Professor. I look forward to discussing this with you after the holidays. But please tell me before you drop by. I don’t stay much in the flat anymore.
Warmest regards,
Harry Potter
I look over the letter once more, then slip it into an envelope with a slow exhale. “Kreacher,” I address the house-elf standing patiently beside my chair, “could you pop this to Slughorn’s desk? Thanks.”
I look round my bedroom at the flat when I’m alone once more. I admit, I don’t know what to do, now. This little slice in London should have been like a home to me, since I’ve been spending so much time here, studying and practising for my potions mastery, but… well….
I don’t even remember what are the names of the old couple who own this quaint building.
I guess, it’s time to change venues again. Who knows, I might really find a home.
Black Island, 26th December 2003
It’s ironic that, among all the properties available to me not only through birthright but also conquest and bequests, and with the near-unlimited fund that I seem to possess, I return to the airy, simplistic, quaint hut in Black Island.
I hope it’s not because the damned ring gave me a subconscious nudge.
I’m here again, in any case, and it’s morning over the island.
Now, what should I do? I don’t want to lie about all day watching the sea; I’m not that kind of person, by nature and nurture; but everything seems to have gone flat again after my earlier bustle, packing and cleaning up my flat and returning the keys to the old couple downstairs.
The breeze feels quite nice, though, in such a hot, humid morning….
I’m only aware that I’ve been rubbing the stone embedded on the ring when I stop and, yawning, fall asleep between one exhale and the next.
O-O-O-O
Seeing the side of a naked, black-skinned thigh after rolling round on a bed while trying to wake up feels very, very, very familiar. The only differences are the humid heat and the hard, uneven surface I’ve been sleeping on.
“Teal’c?” I slur out with effort. My body feels really heavy and lethargic, just like before, after Zabini and I healed Teal’c. But… Teal’c isn’t here, is he…?
But if it’s not Tealc….
Danger.
I sit up quickly, viciously fighting against sleepiness and heavy listlessness and severe dizziness, and strike out blindly to where I saw the patch of skin with a fist. “Who are you!”
My fist meets thin air.
But I do not fall, though I have overextended myself.
A large, male body with hard, bulging muscles, garbed only in a loincloth, catches me mid-lunge, and holds me close.
“Peace, child,” he murmurs, in a voice even deeper than Tealc’s… but sort of similar.
Then again, when I look up and manage to focus my eyes a little sans my specs, I can see the outline of a face similar to Teal’c’s, just… rougher.
“Who are you?” I demand in a lower voice, while struggling to free myself despite my pounding and spinning head and heavy, trembling muscles.
And, “Black,” he proclaims quietly. The rumbling voice reverberates on his chest, travelling to my own as I am still pressed flush against him.
“Black… which Black?” I huff. “There are many Blacks.”
“And none living who bears the name, now,” he remarks sadly.
I stiffen. “You’re a Horcrux, aren’t you? Are you stored in the ring?”
“Yes and no,” he returns, ponderously, while seating himself on the side of the bed and holding my wriggling self on his lap. “I am… a state between what you know of ‘Horcrux’ and ‘wizarding portrait’. I am an imprint that can interact with the world at large in a physical level, as long as there is enough ambient magic around, and the current Lord or Lady Black possesses an adequate level of magic stored in him to… ‘start me up’. I do so only when the Lord or Lady needs me thus, however, and if I wish to indulge him or her.”
“And I didn’t ask you to come out,” I snipe back.
And to that, he… bops my nose…!
“Be polite to your ancestor, child,” he admonishes gently, while I stare disbelievingly at him.
“I’m not a child, you know,” I tell him in my level-most tone.
“Yes, you are still, inside,” he cuts in before I can continue. “It is not shameful, child. Besides, you do not need to ‘put on airs’ before me.”
I snort. The colloquialism sounds strange when he uses it, even stranger than the more technical colloquialism from his previous words. But he might bop my nose again if I put that observation into a comment.
“Let me go,” I sigh, in the end, not finding any argument to offer and not willing to indulge in any more quips.
And, surprisingly, he does. He loosens up his arms and deposits me himself on the divan beside him, with an arm still slung over my shoulders.
“Must you be attached to me all the time?” I complain, knowing very well that I am sulking but not caring one bit about it at present, since, as he pointed out, we’re alone, after all.
And he seems to… indulge me, as he said, for he confesses with a shameless smirk quite audible in his voice, “No, but I do enjoy positive physical interaction, which I seldom experienced in my life and even after. Most of my descendents were sadly rather… stuffy.”
I burst out into snickers. I can’t help it! His words bring to the fore of my mind the image of this black-skinned, rugged, tough, gigantic hunk of a nearly naked man hugging a Lucius Malfoy lookalike to his side like he does me.
I shake my head, ignoring the heavy and spinning sensations that stubbornly linger inside my skull, and sputter again when the image persists to perch before my mind’s eye. “Your fault,” I accuse him breathlessly in-between bouts of snickers. To emphasise the point, I dig my elbow into his side.
And he laughs, with genuine mirth apparent in each booming sound… and I cannot help but like him a little; Horcrux or not, life-force thief or not.
He doesn’t behave like Tom Riddle in our encounter near the end of my second year at Hogwarts, anyway.
And he’s just made me laugh.
I don’t know when last I snickered so….
“Thank you,” I whisper at last.
He pats the top of my head gently and smiles. “It is why I materialised, child. Now, tell me, what are you going to do with this island of mine? You haven’t thought of anything about it yet, and I nearly considered myself offended with such oversight.”