Not the Martyr You Wanted - BattleAngel - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1: Prologue

Chapter Text

“James, are you sure it’s enough?” Lily fretted, glancing worriedly over at Harry asleep in his crib.

“What more can we possibly do?” James asked, running his fingers through his hair. “We’ve got a dozen wards around the house, hell, we’re under Fidelius, there’s not many more layers we can add.”

“But-” Lily’s eyes suddenly brightened. “But what about Harry? Where will he go if- if we-”

“Love, we’ve already sealed the wills, Dumbledore should know he goes to Sirius.”

“But I don’t know if I trust Dumbledore!”

James rolled his eyes. “Not this again. Let’s go to bed, hun. We can talk in the morning.”

Lily twisted her hair anxiously. “I think I’ll stay up and look through the library. Just to make sure there’s nothing to help make sure Harry’s safe.”

“Alright then. Goodnight, love.”

“Yes, goodnight.”

“Step aside, girl.”

“No! No, not Harry please, take me instead-”

“STEP ASIDE-”

“Not Harry, PLEASE-”

“AVADA KEDAVRA-”

“We’ll put him with his aunt and uncle. He’ll be safe there.”

“BOY, YOU’VE BURNT THE BREAKFAST AGAIN! INTO THE CUPBOARD WITH YOU!” The child was tossed in the boot cupboard by his arm, and curled in the corner whimpering, killing-curse eyes threatening to spill over with tears.

Freaks don’t cry. Freaks take what they deserve.

The door was thrown open, banging into the wall opposite hard enough to dent. The stink of alcohol wafted in.

“I’ll teach you to burn the breakfast, freak, I’ll teach you to burn anything in my house-”

Harry was dragged out, not resisting because freaks don’t fight, freaks take their punishment and smile-

The right side of his head was taken up in one meaty hand, and the other twisted the knobs on the stove, stovetop burners flaring high.

The child whimpered, and the sound seemed to enrage the man holding him, who blinked in drunken stupor and roared, then pressed the left side of the child’s face to the stovetop burner. The child screamed, thrashing in his uncle’s hold, but the hiss and scent of burning flesh didn’t stop, didn’t let up.

Suddenly, the air charged with energy, and there was a crack of thunder.

A flash of lightning and a crack of thunder, and the screaming in Sirius Black’s cell is joined by another younger sob. Sirius is shocked out of his misery and looks over with wide eyes at the four year old curled into a ball on the other side of the small space.

He’s been here for four years but he doesn’t remember this being here.

He skitters over, head co*cked at a crazy angle, limp hair falling in his bloodshot eyes, and pokes the new addition cautiously.

The thing immediately stiffens, then begins to whimper, and looks up at Sirius with killing-curse eyes.

Sirius blinks, not quite certain what to make of this.

The child blinks. (that’s what it is, a child)

Sirius smiles a little, an upturn of the lips that feels unfamiliar but seems to lessen the child’s shaking. He reaches out a cautious hand and the child flinches violently, but stays still.

He is running his fingers through the child’s hair, limp and greasy like his own. The child relaxes a little, falling into Sirius’ touch.

“Well,” Sirius says, voice rusty from disuse, “I guess you’re mine now.”

The child looks up and smiles a little. Not a whole smile.

But that’s normal for Azkaban.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

The child doesn’t remember who he is, where he came from. This is a bit of a problem, but it’s too much of one. Everyone loses bits of themselves here, it’s not much of a stretch to become something completely new.

“Hey, kid, look at me.” The child flicks his eyes up to stare Sirius in the face. “My name’s Sirius Orion Black, also going by Padfoot,” he grins.

The child blinks.

Bellatrix in the cell next to theirs rolls her eyes.

“The kitten doesn’t know who Padfoot is, cousin. The kitten needs an explanation,” she said. The child turned to her, eyes wide. Bellatrix co*cked her head and laughed, throwing her head back in a good cackle. The child doesn’t scramble back, but moves closer as Bellatrix shakes with mirth. She suddenly stops, pulls herself up and looks the child in the eyes.

“The kitten isn’t frightened by me, see, cousin? Come here, little one,” she croons, and the child toddles forward, placing a thin, not-as-chubby-as-it-ought-to-be hand on the bars separating them.

Bellatrix grins. “My name is Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black, sweet thing. You will call me Aunt Bella, and I will teach you everything you need to know to serve your Lord.”

The child meets her eyes in a questioning gaze.

“The Dark Lord,” Bellatrix says, by way of explanation. “He is all us in the North Tower’s Lord, and my dear cousin has recently acquiesced that he can’t be much worse than Goat whor*, who he previously served, but was left in this cage by.”

Sirius snorted. “She means Dumbledore,” he said. “But he knows I’m innocent and I’m still here, so I’ve decided Goat whor* might be a better title.”

Augustus Rookwood, in the cell on the other side, broke into the conversation with a rough voice.

“Over here, child,” he grunted. The child turned, and toddled to Rookwood the same as he had Bellatrix. “My name is Augustus Rookwood. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He held out his hand for the child to shake, and the child looked back at Sirius questioningly, as if asking for permission. Sirius’ heart warmed a little at the sight, and he nodded encouragingly. The child took Rookwood’s hand cautiously, and Rookwood shook it with a smile.

The other Death Eaters conscious around them shouted greetings, and one by one introduced themselves. Antonin Dolohov, Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange, Travers, Mulciber, Barty Crouch Jr., and others whose faces they could not see.

The child shook as voices around him rose and pressed himself in Sirius’ arms. Sirius was thoroughly surprised by this.

“All right, settle down, SETTLE DOWN, for Merlin’s sake, you’re scaring the kid!”

The Death Eaters quieted.

“You’ll need a name,” Sirius mused. “We can’t keep calling you ‘kid.’”

“Kitten!” Bellatrix screeched. Sirius glared at her.

“No, I’m pretty sure they’re a boy. Are you?” he asked. The child co*cked his head. “Mind if I check?’ Sirius asked. The child blinked, and Sirius checked quickly.

“Alright,” he said. “He’s a boy. What’re we gonna call you?” he mused. “Black, obviously, for the last name. I wanna choose the middle too, cause you’re sharing my cage and I’ve decided you’ll be my pup. Any suggestions?”

Murmurs and muses from the cells around them.

“Regulus,” Bellatrix said. Sirius started. “Something Regulus Black. He was your brother, so it’s a familial tie, and Regulus died in the service of the Dark Lord, the highest honor one can have.”

Those around them murmured assent, and Sirius nodded.

“Yes. Yeah, let’s do that,” he said with a sad little smile, and pulled the child closer.

“I had a little brother named Finnegan,” Rookwood offered. “He was too young to receive the Mark but he supported the Dark Lord. He was killed in a Light raid, but he had green eyes too,” he nodded to the child. “Not quite killing-curse, more grassy, but green eyes nothinless. You could shorten it to Finn, which means ‘end’.”

Sirius grinned a crazy grin. “I rather like the sound of that. What do you say, kid? Finnegan Regulus Black?”

The child nodded, (Finn nodded.)

The crackle of magic sizzled in the air, and the North Tower residents looked around in awe as they felt the sheer presence of magic after four years.

“Magic is recognizing him,” Rookwood whispered in awe. “She’s taken the name and made it his own. Whoever he was is gone now.”

Before their eyes, the burns faded away, but an unnoticed lightning bolt scar didn’t shift, didn’t change. He would need it soon.

Finnegan Regulus Black’s eyes glowed killing curse green.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Finnegan Regulus Black had a very well-rounded education. At the age of four, he began his training to ‘serve our Lord as soon as he comes for us’. He learned the Mind Arts and masks from Augustus Rookwood, whose secrets had secrets and was very good at protecting them.

He learned History of Magic and Dark Magic Theory from Barty Crouch Jr., a Ravenclaw with a ridiculous passion for knowledge.

Sirius promised that as soon as he was further along with his Occlumency he would begin teaching him the Animagus transformation, as not much other magic worked in Azkaban, but when he woke up to Finn swirling globes of colored light in the air, eyes wide with childlike wonder, he began to instruct him in the little household charms he could do wandlessly.

Eventually it became Sirius telling him the outcome and the incantation, and Finn performing the spell.

His power levels were unheard of.

Bellatrix clapped and cooed at his every spell, singing praise and telling Finn what a good servant he would be to their Lord, maybe even his right-hand man.

Finn grinned his toothy seven year old smile at this. He’d never had someone tell him he was good, never had someone say they loved him, but his Padfoot told him every night before the Dementors started their rounds that “You’re my pup now, Finn, and I’ll always love you, for ever and ever,” and he cuddled close to his Padfoot, (who was sometimes a dog) and returned the sentiment.

When Finn was seven and a half (Aunt Bella always kept track of the halves for him) and he successfully pushed past Augustus Rookwood’s mental shields, Augustus proclaimed him ready to receive Sirius’ animagus instruction.

After the first round of meditation Finn opened his eyes and excitedly gasped out to Sirius that he had “Three forms, Padfoot, can you believe it?! I can’t tell what they are yet but I’m ever so excited to find out!” and Sirius grinned and laughed, and Bella joined in, and their cackles shook the tower.

The Dementors would pass by and Padfoot would huddle in the corner, Finn pressed against the wall behind him, the dog acting as a barrier between the hooded spectres and his pup, and Finn would stroke his fur, green eyes glimmering as he whispered to the dog that soon he would have another form, and he wouldn’t have to hide anymore, that soon Sirius would muster up the strength to teach him the Patronus charm and then they would all be safe, Aunt Bella and Uncle Rook too, and he would protect them all until their Lord came.

Sirius told Finn of how he had been slowly losing trust in the Goat whor* (Finn giggled at the name) and so had his friend Lily, but Lily stayed with Prongs and Prongslet to keep them safe, because they had all been (Sirius had to stop and collect himself here) too much of idiots to realize that they were all on the wrong side, and then Goat whor* said Prongslet was part of a prophecy and that they had to run and hide and made Wormtail the Secret Keeper but Padfoot cried because they were so stupid, pup, you can’t imagine what idiots we were and Wormtail gave away their secret and they died- they were casualties, pup, much as it hurts me to admit, and the Dark Lord was only eliminating a threat but to have a friend turn on you, oh pup it hurts so much-

And that night Finn comforted Sirius.

The day after, he made his first animagus form, and Sirius gaped at the thestral standing before him, because surely not, surely a reflection of his pup’s deepest personality and soul couldn’t be an omen of deathand every resident around could see him and thoroughly congratulated him on his achievement, Bellatrix laughing like a loon.

The adults whispered as Finn (back in human form) slept that night-

“The animagus transformation at seven, a magical creature no less- Merlin, he’ll be powerful.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about, Rookwood, I’m worried that the reflection of his soul is a f*cking thestral-”

“Personally, I think it’s wonderful.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Of course you do, Bella, you’re pleased it’s got to do with death cause you’re a maniac.”

Bellatrix snorted. “Too right.”

“Black, just focus on unlocking the others. The fact that he’s young is working with us, he’s not set in magic yet. Hell, he may not even be able to use a wand, now that we’ve literally educated him up to standard fifth-year spells wandlessly.”

Sirius grinned. “I don’t see much of a problem with that. He’ll be ridiculously capable in wandless magic and it’ll be fantastic, wish someone taught me all this before I’d already set in a wand. Speaking of which, do either of you know any languages?”

Rookwood scoffed. “I am fluent in French and Latin.”

“Just a little Latin, we Blacks had to learn. I’d much rather start teaching him some nastier Dark curses. Siri, he’s old enough now, isn’t he?”

Sirius sighed. “I suppose. No Unforgivables yet, though.”

Bellatrix grinned. “The Unforgivables will be his birthday presents, of course. Cruciatus his ninth, Imperius his tenth, and Killing his eleventh,” she giggled. “That way he’ll be all ready for Hogwarts!”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Talk to Barty about making sure he doesn’t get sucked into Dark Magic Addiction. You can teach him slow and steady.”

Rookwood grinned sharply. “I, of course, will teach him the languages I know and continue with mental discipline. By his eleventh he will be fluent, possess impeccable masks, and have impenetrable Occlumency defenses. We could ask around, I suppose, see if anyone can instruct him in Blood Magic and Warding. I’m not proficient enough to teach him safely.”

“Yes, of course,” Sirius mused. “If he’s got his first Animagi transformation down now, while he’s seven, we’ll set a goal to have his second form on his eighth and third a few months before his ninth, as to not coincide with Bella’s first present.”

Bellatrix grinned madly. “You do realize the things we teach him if he uses outside would land him right back here?”

“We’ll warn him, of course. Maybe Barty can instruct him in Magical Law?”

Barty Crouch Jr. looked up from his dirt marks and blinked owlishly at the three people staring at him in expectation.

“Oh,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Yes, I suppose we could drop History in favour of Law, and since Bella will teach Dark Magic there’s not much need for theory. I’m not too bad at Runes. I know you didn’t mention that, but maybe it can translate to Warding…?” he trailed off.

Sirius smiled. “Runes sound great, Barty. Thanks for helping.”

Barty smiled a little crazily and went back to tracing in the dirt.

A throat cleared in the darkness, and Sirius looked up to see Antonin Dolohov staring at him.

“I can teach the child Blood Magic,” he coughed. “Not much, but enough to get by.”

“Fantastic,” Sirius grinned, then rubbed his hands together. “Ooh, just imagine Finn showing up to Hogwarts, marching right up to old Goat whor*, and calling him that. Can you see it?!” he cackled. “The professors won’t know what hit them!”

Bellatrix joined in, throwing her head back and laughing maniacally. Rookwood’s eyes gleamed in the darkness.

“The Light will lose all hope when they see our prodigy child.”

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Finnegan Regulus Black’s second Animagus form was a Dementor.

On his transformation Sirius screamed and scrambled back as the Dementor’s (Finn’s?!) faceless hood turned to him. Even the effect was replicated, Sirius could feel himself draining, was remembering so much-

Finn was back in a flash, and he crouched over Sirius, trying to figure out what was wrong. Finn wasn’t very affected by the dementors, seeing as he’d basically grown up with them. He apologized profusely, but couldn’t do much more than that as Sirius was locked back into his memories.

Bellatrix was cackling, eyes crazed with madness. Finn was instructed not to approach her when she got like this.

Rookwood sat silently. This wasn’t exactly what he’d asked for but it’d do.

He was coming along in his Dark and Blood magic. Runes was tricky without being able to exactly see his teacher but not impossible. Nothing was impossible, he could do it all.

He had successfully mastered French, and Rookwood would move to Latin tomorrow. They couldn’t let up, couldn’t slow down, the residents of the North Tower only had four more years til their boy left for the real world, and they had to prepare him, had to get him ready as quickly as they could and there was so much left to learn-

It was time for his third form, Padfoot insisted he was ready, so Finn closed his eyes and cycled through his other two forms to prepare himself. Thestral, dementor, thestral, dementor, bone popping and cracking as he wheeled, wings unfurling then swiftly falling to become a cloak barely wafting over the ground, and he added his human self in the mix. Thestral, dementor, Finn, thestral, dementor, Finn, thestraldementorFinn thestraldementorFinn deathdeathboy deathdeathdeathNOW-

A black dog stood before the onlookers, similar to Sirius’ Padfoot, but very different.

Padfoot was a mockery of the Grim. Finn was the Grim.

He stood a good two feet above the stone floor, padding about the cell in midair. His eyes glowed with green fire and his maw dripped with blood. He stopped pacing and looked Sirius in the eye, who whimpered and shrank back. The Grim co*cked his head in a doglike manner, and its tongue lolled playfully, but the fire in its eyes kept anyone from believing it was a mere dog.

He shifted back, and looked at Sirius with sad, pleading eyes.

“I’m sorry, Siri,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I can’t be who you want me to be.”

But Sirius shook himself and swiftly gathered Finn into a crushing embrace.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” he said. “You be you, Finn, and that’ll be plenty for me.”

Finn’s eyes closed in bliss and he hugged his Padfoot tighter, but Sirius’s fear-stricken eyes lifted to make eye contact with Bellatrix, who was frozen in her cage where she had been watching eagerly.

Bella met his gaze, and they matched each other.

That was one of the only times anyone saw Bellatrix Lestrange afraid.

Finn’s ninth birthday came, the anniversary of the day he appeared in Sirius’ cell burned and sobbing (sometime in late July, they thought? Months were difficult in Azkaban.)

Finn wriggled excitedly as he looked up at his Aunt Bella with adoring eyes. She was going to show him real power today, something real witches and wizards could do.

He had gone in his Dementor form and brought back a different prisoner from a different wing, a convicted raper of Muggles.

Aunt Bella said anyone who consorted with Muggles was filthy, and Finn would be doing the world a favour.

“Now, kitten, you want to cause pain, you want to make them feel what they’ve done, but you have to really want it. That’s why we have this thing here,” she said, gesturing to the prisoner huddled in the back of the cell, as far as they could get from the terrifying conversation. “This person took Muggles, filthy creatures worth nothing more than animals and he had intercourse with them. He touched, he allowed wix blood to mingle with mud and here he sits.”

Finn wasn’t particularly impressed.

“Let’s try something different,” Bellatrix saud. Finn’s green eyes snapped back to her from where they had drifted to stare at the swine. “This creature, this filth, was a follower of our Lord.”

Finn’s eyes widened.

“But he betrayed our Lord, he took what was our Lord’s and he gave it to Muggles, he rejected our Lord’s gifts and went to crawl in mud, commiserated with the filth that worms the earth-”

Finn shook with anger as Bellatrix continued, listing the man’s crimes against their Lord, he dared to defy him, he dared say his name-

“Crucio.”

The man screamed, an awful howl that was music to Finn’s ears as he writhed in the dust, the creature that dared-

The screaming stopped and changed to pitiful whimpers.

Finn looked at his Aunt Bella, whose eyes were wide with delight.

“Yes.” she hissed. “Yes, yes, kitten, you did it! Try again,” she encouraged. “See how long you can hold it.”

He looked at the filth that quivered, and he grinned a malicious smile.

“For your crimes against our Lord,” he breathed, “I sentence you to pain. Crucio!”

His and Bella’s laughter twined and echoed with the man’s screams.

Sirius determinedly ignored them, hunched as Padfoot in another corner.

(He was afraid that if he hadn’t been a dog he would have laughed with them.)

“Now, of course, kitten, now that you can cast Crucatius with little effort, you must learn the second part of the curse.”

Finn looked up questioningly. “There’s more, Aunt Bella?” he asked.

“Yes, kitten. You must learn to withstand the Crucatius yourself.”

He sucked in a breath, and stared with wide eyes. “M-me?” he stuttered.

Bellatrix smiled a crazy smile. “Of course. Our Lord is occasionally….” she trailed off, then wrinkled her nose. “Displeased. And as a punishment he uses the Crucatius.”

Finn smiled. “It would be an honor to receive pain from our Lord.”

Bellatrix grinned and laughed a breathy laugh. “Now you see,” she whispered throatily. “Now you know what it is to love him as I do. But-” she spoke, drawing up. “Sometimes the Dark Lord forgets that we are only mortals, no matter how well we perform, and the pain becomes too much for us to bear.” she smiles, eyes flashing. “So we must learn to turn pain into power.”

“Turn pain to power?” Finn asked.

“Yes, kitten. We take the fire of our nerves, the twitching of our limbs, and we channel it to sheer energy, which we use to further serve Him. Do you understand?”

“I think?”

“This is why we laugh in the face and throes of pain, because pain makes us stronger. Do you understand, kitten?”

“Yes,” Finn breathed.

“Do it, kitten.”

Finn laid a finger on his own chest and his eyes glowed eerily.

“Crucio.”

His scream broke the spell, and he slumped to the floor, eyes wide and bubbling with tears. “Aunt Bella, it hurts,” he gasped out.

Bellatrix smiled encouragingly. “Yes, kitten, it does. Do you need some help?”

“Please. I- how can I make it not hurt?”

“That’s the secret, kitten. You accept that it hurts. And you laugh.”

“I… laugh?”

“Yes,” her eyes glittered. “You feel the fire crackling in your body and your nerves spasming and you laugh. And in doing so master the pain. And when you are its master-“ her breath hitched. “You can make it anything you like. You turn it to power and it makes you stronger.” Her eyes glowed with a mad, manic light.

Finn steeled himself.

“Okay. I’m ready. Crucio.”

His scream pierced the dank air but he held the spell, limbs spasming as he screeched and cried.

“Laugh, kitten, laugh!”

Finn screamed anew, but at the apex of his shriek it shifted and he laughed, screeching peals of mad laughter as the pain rocked his body and tore through him. His eyes opened and they glowed, lighting the dark cell and throwing sharp shadows. Every hollow curve of his face was highlighted in stark relief as he laughed crazily, head thrown back and mouth open wide. There seemed a green glow from inside him, the cavern of his mouth spilling verdant light as the torture curse ravaged his nerves.

The spell cut off and Finn fell to the floor like a marionette with cut strings, light receding back in him and limbs twitching as he lay in a gelatinous sprawl.

(a streak of his black hair had gone silver. It wasn’t like magic could leave those who laughed at pain without some trophy to mark them as the madmen they were)

His giggles trailed off and his head lolled to the side as he looked Bellatrix in the eyes.

“It makes me stronger,” he whispered, voice rough.

Bellatrix smiled like a shark.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Tomorrow was Finn’s eleventh ‘birthday’, and the spectacle was already prepared. A hooded and gagged prisoner whimpered in the corner of Finn and Sirius’ shared cell.

Finn himself had grown from a slight child to a tall, lithe eleven year old. His daily physical routine left him with a graceful body sporting elegant muscle curves. His raven-black hair (with that one annoying silver streak) hung to his shoulders (the prisoners got scissor privileges every New Year’s Day) and his killing curse eyes were bright with anticipation.

He had just learned a few nasty Dark hexes and the exhilarating bliss that followed such still lingered over his movements. His morning wake-up Crucatius was more effective than any cold water splash to the face and the sheer pain it brought him had him buzzing with energy that he had to let out some way if he wanted to keep from obliterating the walls around him in a power surge, so a little torture of lower-level inmates was a great way to relieve stress.

Hence his slightly loopy attitude and half-lidded eyes. He had his French and Latin overview with Uncle Rook in a couple minutes but he wanted to take a moment and enjoy the bliss of Dark Magic that threatened to turn him to a happy little puddle of muscle-relaxant joy. He grinned at Sirius’ sleeping form, but frowned when he remembered how much his Dogfather had been sleeping lately.

Maybe it was just something you did when you got old? Sirius wasn’t old, really, not at all. But his lined face and hair beginning to grey already, Finn worried.

Maybe it was just Azkaban.

That was the explanation for anything out of the ordinary, really, and for good reason.

“Aunt Bella’s cackling again, Uncle Rook, but she’s laughing at nothing,”

“That’s alright, Finnegan. It’s just Azkaban. Now, let’s return to conjugations. The Present Stem, amō,”

And so on.

But it wasn’t time to think about that. This was his minute to relax before his lessons began anew and he wasn’t about to waste it on memories.

Finn’s eleventh birthday dawned dreary and rainy, which, given the fact that they were more or less in Britain, was as much as expected. But inside the North Tower the air buzzed with anticipation. It wasn’t every day one’s pet child learned the Killing Curse, you know. Finn was practically vibrating with excitement, and Sirius smiled at his Dogson affectionately.

He was much more amicable to the idea of Finn learning things to protect himself and f*ck with the standards than Finn learning the Unforgivables to bring havoc to the Wizarding community and glory to the Dark Lord. Sirius was of the opinion that he’d think about an eleven year old learning the darkest Dark Magic in any way that let him sleep at night, thank you very much.

The time came, and after Bella’s short lesson on the intent behind the curse, Finn was ready, and the onlookers craned their necks in anticipation of the show.

Finn stood before the unlucky inmate selected for the demonstration, shaking out his hands. He turned his head to grin at his Aunt Bella before placing a hand on his chest and whispering “crucio.”

He laughed for a breathless moment then cut the torture curse off, pain energizing him, charging his magic to perform. (Finn has realized that the deeper he went into Dark Arts the more power the spells required, and with Azkaban already sucking up ambient magic, to do bigger spells required a bit of a… jump start.)

The eleven year old lifted killing-curse eyes to stare pitilessly at the quivering figure before him. He lifted a pale hand, and the peanut gallery tensed collectively. Finn closed his eyes for a moment, then they burst open, gleaming eerily.

“Avada kedavra.”

A flash of sickly green light, and the figure fell to the dust like a puppet with severed strings.

Silence.

Then a giggle broke the spell, and onlookers turned to Finn, who was trying to muffle his laughter. But he stopped trying and simply laughed, a terrifying screech of pure manic cackling burst from his mouth and didn’t stop.

He finally trailed off to look at his Aunt Bella with wide, doe-like eyes, pupils blown wide.

“Thank you,” he said breathlessly. “That was lovely.”

He was ready for anything.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Hogwarts was a stately silhouette on the landscape, looking for all it was immovable, an unshakable ground of reason.

That was about to change.

“Albus! Albus!”

Headmaster Dumbledore looked up from his paperwork with a wary eye. It wasn’t often he heard Minerva sounding so panicked. The door burst open and Professor McGonagall stumbled in, holding a first-year’s acceptance letter in a shaking hand.

“Yes, Minerva?” he questioned, looking at her over his half-moon spectacles.

She wordlessly held out the letter so he could see the address.

The headmaster blanched.

Finnegan Regulus Black

Cell 12, North Tower

Azkaban

“I see,” he said, and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Do you require assistance dealing with this, Minerva, or shall I leave it to you and the Aurors?”

McGonagall paled. “You're not the slightest concerned that a first year will be coming in from Azkaban? Shouldn’t there be some sort of… “ she trailed off. “regulation in place for this?”

“I do believe it is a rather uncommon circ*mstance,” Albus said, eyes twinkling. “Of course, the boy will need to stay with someone during the interim until the school year starts,” he mused. “Perhaps the Weasleys would be amicable to such a placement?”

McGonagall didn’t respond.

“If you need anything from me in regards to handling him, I assume you will come to me,” Dumbledore stated. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to make plans regarding young Harry Potter, who will be joining us this year.”

The deputy headmistress looked up sharply. “Potter?” she asked.

“Indeed. In fact, I ought to be going now. I plan on hand delivering his letter, you see,” Albus explained.

Minerva nodded jerkinly. “Of course,” she murmured. “I’ll be going, then. I need to speak to Amelia Bones regarding young Mr. Black.”

“You do that.”

Another Black and Potter together. Merlin, I do hope they aren’t too similar to the last generation’s bearers of those names. And at the same time as the Weasley twins? Maybe I ought to start planning retirement.

The Weasleys would indeed take Black in until September first. “Oh, Merlin, Azkaban, you say? The poor dear, of course, we’d be happy to let him stay and we’ll bring him to Diagon too, yes. You wouldn’t happen to have any funds on hand for him, though, would you? We’re rather tight right now. He has a vault, you say? Wonderful, we’ll let him go to Gringotts first. No, we don’t need any payment, of course not, just with Ron’s things too I wasn’t quite sure. Yes, of course, we’ll be ready when he gets here. I assume you’ll be accompanying him? Lovely, Minerva, we should have tea more often.”

Professor McGonagall, along with two Aurors, sat in a skiff over pounding waves motoring toward the huge stone prison looming out of the darkness. Rain lashed the boat and thunder boomed ominously, providing the perfect setting one might imagine when approaching the monstrous building squatting on the island bashed by waves.

Minerva felt an increasing sense of apprehension as she and the Aurors assigned to assist her tromped up the muddy path to the gates. The wards passing over her rain-slicked skin felt oozy and slimy, as if allowing her passage past the property line in the most begrudging way possible, yet determined to make the experience as miserable and yucky-feeling as they could.

Merlin, Minerva would be glad to get back to Hogwarts.

“They’re here! Here to get Finn! Say your goodbyes quickly now, he won’t be back!”

Finn turned from the shouter by the window to look at his Dogfather with wide eyes. “Padfoot, it’s time!” he gasped excitedly, and bounced over to hug Sirius tightly. “Oh, I’ll miss you, but I’ll send letters and I’ll visit for Yule, of course!”

Sirius grinned at his Dogson and carded a hand through Finn’s raven-black hair. “Of course, pup,” he chuckled. “It’ll be odd without you around, but we’ll see you for Yule. Get into plenty of mischief, now, but not too much, and remember, for Merlin’s sake, you had better be Gryffindor! I have chocolate rations riding on it!” He smiled down at Finn, then gave him a little push away. “Go say goodbye to your Aunt and Uncle, now.”

Finn grinned, and gave Sirius one last affectionate squeeze before bounding over to the bars separating him from Bellatrix. He stuck his hands through the gaps and they embraced as best they could.

“Remember all I’ve taught you now, kitten,” Bellatrix murmured into his hair. “Eternally faithful, yes?”

Finn looked up at her and grinned a toothy smile. “Of course,” he whispered breathlessly. “I’ll find him, you know, and he’ll set you all free,” he said.

Bellatrix grinned. “You focus on your first year, kitten. Trust his plans, and make sure the scum around you don’t realize your true strength.”

“Of course, Aunt Bella.” They embraced one last time, and Bellatrix sent him on with a fond ruffle of his hair.

Finn walked over to Rookwood, who met him with the inquiry of “Allez-vous oublier l'un de vos enseignements?” (French- Are you going to forget any of your teachings?)

Finn grinned and responded “Sane ego sum. Quid tu mihi, stultus?” (Latin- Of course I'm not. What do you take me for, a fool?)

Rookwood smiled a sharp-toothed smile and proceeded to give a mini-recap of his Occlumens defense tips. “And do not meet Dumbledore’s eyes,” he added sternly, ”but if you must, present a careful false memory wall. You don’t want him knowing your true defenses,” he instructed.

Finn rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know, Uncle Rook,” he said exasperatedly, but smiled. “I’ll miss these little talks of ours.”

Rookwood barked a laugh. “Nice try, child. I know you detest these lessons.”

“Caught,” Finn grinned. They shook hands, and Finn walked back to the centre of his cell shared with Sirius, not wanting his fetchers to know the extent of his relationship with the Death Eaters around him. He needed them to see a small, scared, but polite child. He held no great love for psychological analyzations, he got enough of that from Rookwood, thank you very much.

He had extracted multiple promises from everyone around him that they wouldn’t say a word when the Aurors arrived to retrieve him. He wasn’t eager to incite any conflicts or give them any reasons to be suspicious of him.

He was only Finnegan Regulus Black, mild-mannered, slightly traumatized but otherwise normal Hogwarts first-year.

No reason to keep a close eye on him.

Minerva McGonagall peered into the darkness of Cell 12 warily, and jumped when the child emerged from the dank shadows.

“My name is Finnegan Regulus Black,” the child said clearly, carefully avoiding meeting Minerva’s eyes. “Have you come to get me out of here?”

Minerva blinked. She wasn’t expecting it to be this easy.

“Y-yes,” she stammered. Finn noted she was clearly startled by his put-togetherness. She turned to an Auror and helplessly gestured to the cell door. “If you would?” she asked. The man hastened forward to unlock the door, and it yawned open as Finn stepped over the threshold and softly closed the door behind himself. A final sort of clang echoed as the lock snapped back in place.

“After you,” he murmured, and gestured with a sweeping hand for Minerva to lead the way. She stiffened, and immediately began to walk back down the hall whence she came when a shout of “Hey, pup, if you see Snivellus, kick him in the balls for me, will ya?” stopped her in her tracks. She turned to see Finnegan roll his eyes and give a decidedly vulgar gesture to the man leaning lazily on the bars of Cell 12. Her breath caught in her throat.

Sirius Black. He betrayed the Potters, he killed thirteen muggles, he was a face out of time- Sirius Black, Merlin-

“Now, Padfoot, you promised,” her charge drawled lazily.

Sirius Black grinned a bit madly. “So I did. Give ‘em hell, pup.”

The child grinned, then seemed to remember Minerva’s presence and immediately hunched his shoulders. “L-leave me alone, Black,” he stammered, but his green eyes flashed with amusem*nt.

Killing curse eyes, Merlin, what had she gotten herself into.

“Come along, young Mr. Black,” Minerva said sharply, thoroughly unnerved. The last thing the party heard on their way out was Sirius Black’s mad laughter.

Finnegan Regulus Black was sad to leave his people behind but oh, the sky, and the rain on his face, Merlin, this was the outside world and he would never be able to get enough of it.

The Aurors accompanied them to the Burrow, but having deemed Finn no threat, excused themselves as soon as the party had appeared with a crack on the Weasley doorstep.

Minerva raised a hand to knock but before she could the door was thrown open by a zealous Molly Weasley and they were ushered inside the (slightly leaning?) home and into puffy, overstuffed chairs in the sitting room. Finn was decidedly amused by the plump red-haired tornado bustling around the house, fetching tea and biscuits at a rate previously unknown to man.

With arrangements in place she perched primly on the seat opposite Finn’s and gave the boy a warm smile. “My name is Molly Weasley, dear,” she introduced herself. “And please call me Molly, none of that Ms. Weasley business,” she smiled warmly.

Her mothering struck Finn oddly, and he could almost see the plump redhead as a milder, sweeter version of his Aunt Bella.

An interesting comparison, given Molly Weasley had undoubtedly never tortured anyone.

Actually, having done so would probably make her a very interesting person he would like to have an involved chat about different Dark torture curses with. But he’d better not make the assumption, seeing as that sort of talk was never a good conversation starter with Light wix.

He internally snickered.

“Finnegan Regulus Black, pleasure to meet you,” he said amicably, holding a hand out for her to shake, which she did with a relieved smile. Had she thought he would be some sort of savage?

McGonagall cleared her throat. “Mr. Black, you will be staying with the Weasley family until the train departs for Hogwarts on September first. They will bring you with them to Diagon Alley with them to purchase school supplies as well.”

Finn turned his luminous eyes to McGonagall. “I assume I will also be visiting Gringotts to work out the financial details of my incarceration?” he asked, eyes glimmering with amusem*nt at the formal tone she took with him and replicating it as if to mock her. She stiffened.

“Yes,” she said sharply. “I will be back in two day’s time to see how you are acclimating to the environment, Mr. Black. Enjoy your next month here. Molly, may I use your Floo?’ she asked. Molly agreed hurriedly, and Minerva was gone in a roar of green flames.

Molly didn’t waste a moment ushering Finn upstairs, the walk accompanied by heartfelt assurances that “Oh, don’t be bothered by Minerva’s attitude, dear, she’s just professional. But you’ll get none of that here assuredly, what with all the children running about. Ginevra’s my youngest, but call her Ginny or she’ll be an angry little bugger, she’s got sharp kicks and she’ll be at Hogwarts next year, darling. Ron’s in your year, Fred and George, (twins, you know) will be in third, and Percy’s in sixth. Charlie and Bill are grown up and out of the country, here, darling, you’ll have Charlie’s old room all to yourself the remainder of the summer.”

She pushed open the door to a room that, while not exactly spacious was warm and cosy, and the large window seat gave the appearance of a light, airy space.

“We fixed it all up yesterday when Minerva told me you were coming, and the dresser has some old things that should fit you, I can alter things to an extent and we launder often. Here’s some toiletries, they’re new of course, and the bathroom’s down the hall on the right.

“Dinner will be around six and we’ll probably be out on the lawn. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything or would like to sit and have a cuppa, and I’m sure the others are bouncing around here somewhere,” she flapped a hand absently. “You can make yourself right at home, dear, and if you have any questions don’t be afraid to ask. Feel free to wander the property, but do stay in sight of the house, dear, it’s very easy to get lost.

“The boys are out de-gnoming the garden, if you’d like to join them, or you can ghost around the house, whatever you feel comfortable with,” she offered with an easy smile. “There are bookshelves in the living room that would probably love to have some attention, if you’re bored out of your wits. I’ll be just downstairs if you need anything. We’re ever so glad you’re here,” she said, and swept him into a hug. He stiffened momentarily before forcing himself to relax in her embrace. She left with a friendly smile and wave, leaving him to stand in the middle of the room.

The door clicked closed, and he allowed himself to crumble.

Okay, that was a lot. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen someone talk so much, he thought to himself, firmly keeping panic locked behind his strongest shield. Thank Merlin for compartmentalizing.

I think I’ll take a few minutes to myself, then join the… de-gnoming? Yes, best get a hold of myself first. Alright, Black, pull yourself together.

He closed his eyes and made a herculean effort to organize his mental state. Sinking into his mindscape, which he had modelled off of Azkaban, he made the different emotions swirling inside him into faceless prisoners.

Panic was escorted to a deep cell and the door locked thrice over. Wonder and amusem*nt he left lingering in the antechamber, but fear and homesickness he hustled to the replication of Bella’s cell and chained up- he would return and examine them later. Then he went into the replication of his very own Cell 12 and dragged shyness and thankfulness out of their hiding spots and brought them back to the antechamber.

There he reclaimed wonder and amusem*nt and chained them with shyness and thankfulness. He thought of the antechamber as the ‘open’ place in his head- the place for things others would see when they looked at him.

The picture he would paint for the Weasleys would be perfect.

Finn crept down the creaky stairs cautiously. He knew he was told he could go wherever he liked, and Molly didn’t seem the type of person capable of entrapped subterfuge, but he knew better than to make assumptions.

He froze when the stair creaked, but there was no movement below him. Finally, after the third creeeak, he gave up on sneaking and walked normally down the stairs.

The Weasleys really were quite nice, and Finn’s fears seemed to be unfounded. But over the course of de-gnoming the garden (an intriguing practice that involved a lot of gnome-launching, their tinny little screams fading into the distance were a welcome sound) and dinner, Finn had discovered the rift between Percy and the twins, and Ginny and her mother.

It really was quite fascinating, the way a normal family could squabble about the stupidest things and then go back to what they were doing but leave the tension floating in the air. When Aunt Bella and Sirius were mad at each other they would shriek and scream til their voices were hoarse, maybe order Finn to crucio the other, but once they’d exhausted themselves and each other they would settle back into the comfort of routine and their anger was absolved.

The Weasleys, if they let their growing differences simmer, would not survive another summer together in a couple year’s time.

Perhaps that’s why Bill and Charlie left, Finn mused as he lay in his borrowed bed wearing borrowed pajamas (A bed! Pajamas! He could get used to this.).

He traced the scar on his forehead, the one he always kept slathered in glamours because it was awfully distinctive and he didn’t want people recognizing it as his. It was like a dirty little secret only known by his Dogfather, Aunt Bella, and Uncle Rook. Rookwood had mentioned he ought to hide it, pointing out that it was an identifying marking that could easily be used to separate him from the population.

But he’d still like a couple piercings and maybe a tattoo.

In the spirit of rebellion, of course.

He placed his usual silencing charms around the bed- the cost of his Dark Magic had always manifested as terrible nightmares, but of course he was used to it by now.

His eyes drifted closed, and his last thought was of the cold bedside. He’d have to relearn how to sleep without Padfoot snuggled up next to him.

He dreamt of a woman’s scream, a high, cold laugh, and the killing-curse light.

Good dreams.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

Finn blinked groggily, and the darkness of the room was familiar. He yawned heavily, and placed a hand on his chest and whispered “crucio.” He broke the spell a moment after it began, and jolted up out of bed with slightly glowing eyes, surprised at the power behind it. The fire in his nerves felt much more intense than it usually did, but he supposed that was just the presence of ambient magic that hadn’t been prevalent in Azkaban.

Down the hall he heard the faint shrieking of an alarm, and hoped he hadn’t woken anyone up. He tried and failed miserably to make the bed (It’s his first time even sleeping in one, much less making one, cut him some slack) but after a minute of effort he was worried that the alarm in the distance hadn’t shut off. Perhaps that was usual?

Who knew.

People that weren’t raised in Azkaban would, I suppose, he commented drily to himself.

But a moment later there was a loud groan, and the shrieking stopped. Finn relaxed for a moment, but when a screech of “Molly! Wake up!” sounded, he groaned softly and buried his head in his hands.

He moaned internally, Merlin’s sake, if Death Eaters can wake up without disturbing others, surely you righteous Light wix can?!

But the thumping of feet down the hall and shouts varying from “What’s all the commotion?” to “Do you know what bloody time it is? I’ll tell you, it is five in the morning, what do you want?” were drowned out by Molly Weasley’s screech. He poked his head out his door cautiously to see Arthur Weasley thumping down the hall toward the stairs and Molly rushing to his room. He wheeled back to barely avoid being smacked in the nose by the door, green eyes wide.

“Oh, dear, it’s the Dark Magic wards, you see, and- this is the first time they’ve triggered, so we didn’t quite know what the alarm was but oh, dear Merlin, there’s Dark Magic-” Molly trailed off when she realized the eleven year old before her had half a look of understanding and half horror.

“Oh,” he whispered, then giggled a little. Molly drew back, surprised. “I’m terribly sorry,” Finn explained. “That was me triggering the wards, I suppose. I’m terribly sorry to wake you up, if I’d known there were wards I’d have set up a barrier,” he said, eyes dancing with mirth.

Molly stared.

“You… used Dark Magic?” she whispered.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Finn said. “Just a little wake-up for myself,” he said, wiggling his fingers in a kind of hocus-pocus way at Molly. “I’ll set up a barrier now, I didn’t mean to disturb you.” He lifted a hand and conjured a small silver knife while Molly gaped at him, made a swift incision on the tip of his left pointer finger and began to draw blood runes on the door.

Molly paled.

“That’s- that’s Blood Magic,” she gasped out, gulping like a fish.

“It is indeed,” Finn said, sounding amused. “Don’t worry about the residue, I can remove and reapply them instantaneously once I’ve constructed them,” he added as an afterthought.

What little color the Weasley matron had to her face left.

“Dear Merlin,” she squeaked. “Well,” she said, trying to rally herself. “I suppose I’d best go tell Arthur it’s a false alarm, then,” she said. “Is there… anything else I ought to know?”

Finn hummed thoughtfully as he began the second runic array. “I’ve got a couple animagus forms,” he mentioned offhandedly. “Are there any other wards I should know to cancel on myself?”

Molly, if it was even possible, had a stark-white face. “No, that’s it,” she squeaked, and toddled out.

Finn giggled a little to himself as he painted the last sealant on the door, then Vanished the little knife and stuck the tip of his finger in his mouth, savouring the iron tang of the blood.

f*ck with the standards, they said, he thought amusedly. And a check mark for Tuesday.

He came down to the Weasley breakfast in borrowed day clothes. He flitted down the stairs and settled in the chair left out for him, daintily pouring himself a cup of tea and snatching a piece of toast off the platter going ‘round the table.

“Morning, Finnikins!” the twins choroused together, looking up from their breakfast to smile brightly at the green-eyed boy who seemed oddly perky.

“Morning Fred, George,” he chirped, and began to nibble his toast.

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong,” one twin grinned. “I’m George!”

“No, you’re definitely Fred,” Finn said. “Your magical signature is a bit Darker than George’s, you have a slightly bent right ear, and your left eye twitches when you lie,” he said.

The table went silent, Weasleys staring in surprise at the slight raven-haired child who sipped his tea, unknowing of the feat he had just performed.

“Come again?” Fred squeaked.

“You’re very different from your brother,” Finn said, looking up in surprise. “You didn’t know?”

Fred blinked.

Finn sipped his tea.

George was the one to break the spell, slapping Fred on the back good-naturedly. “Dearest Fred, I do believe we have been caught in the act!” he declared. “We crown thee, Finnikins, He Whom Haileth From Azkaban, an Honorary Weasley!”

George burst into applause, and such jolted Fred out of his stupor so he joined in, and soon the kitchen was a cacophony of clapping and laughter as the tension in the air dissolved.

What followed was a nice informal breakfast, the Weasley children obviously more comfortable with Finn than they had been, even as he scowled at the silverware and proclaimed he’d never seen such ridiculous implements, and proceeded to eat a bowl of porridge with his fingers dramatically, raising laughter, catcalls, and cheers when he finally managed to successfully get some actually in his mouth.

Even Molly seemed amused, and smiled at him, if a bit shakily.

Finn grinned, if for a different reason than the others did.

I have the Weasley household in the palm of my hand.

After breakfast he decided he’d take a little flight as a thestral, perhaps search for some adequate hunting grounds. The downside to having three forms is that each of them needs often usage and some of his human diet has to be supplemented for that of his alternate forms. Finn the Thestral, Finn the Dementor, Finn the Grim, and Finn the Human all needed to come out at least once every couple days if he wanted to keep his transformations smooth and effortless.

He wondered absently how Finn the Dementor and Finn the Grim would take to feeding on animal souls and lives rather than useless human prisoners’. Of course, he could conjure or transfigure human bodies for the Grim to feast on, if he must, but such constructs didn’t come with souls, so he’d have to hunt for his Dementor.

He shifted to Thestral form with nary a thought, and clip-clopped merrily out to the porch. Ron looked up from the bugs he’d been messing with, obviously confused as to where the horse sounds were coming from. Finn internally snickered, and intentionally brushed a wing below Ron’s nose. Ron jumped up, clearly terrified, and hastened back inside muttering about spending too much time in the sun.

Finn’s Thestral nickered, and he galloped up off the porch and launched himself into the sky without a wayward glance. He didn’t notice Fred Weasley looking up at the thestral disappearing into the clouds with a dropped jaw.

It was just after lunch when Finn’s thestral landed back on the front lawn, belly full of nice fresh rabbit and a couple hunting grounds mapped and marked for him to return to later. He’d looked around a bit as Finn the Dementor, not wanting to shift to that in the Weasley’s house, seeing as it replicated the real effects and they’d know something was up.

He clopped along a ways before shifting back to feel his bare feet padding over the grass. (Grass, dear Merlin it was fantastic) He looked up as he reached the porch and met the eyes of one very pale Fred Weasley.

He stopped.

Fred cleared his throat, and held out the covered plate of sandwiches that had been nestled in his lap. “Mum left you some lunch,” he said awkwardly. “That’s- uhm, that’s a pretty cool trick with the flying death horse,” he said, trying desperately to sound nonchalant.

Finn grinned, gently taking the plate from Fred’s hands and settling to sit opposite him, leaning back against the whitewashed porch railing. He unwrapped the plate and his eyes lit up at the food. “Thanks,” he said, and took a bite, his eyes drifting closed with pleasure. He swallowed, then looked back up at Fred.

“It’s an animagus form,” he offered. “An advanced form of self-transfiguration.”

Fred whistled. “And your form is magical? Pretty impressive,” he said with an envious grin. “George and I got it in our heads to learn it last year, but there weren’t any books detailing the exact process in the Hogwarts library, so we couldn’t really…” he trailed off.

Finn took another bite of sandwich.

“I mean, if you’re hinting at what I think you are, yes, I’d be happy to instruct you two, and anyone else who wanted to learn, but I don’t know how far we’d be able to get before we go back to Hogwarts,” he offered.

Fred’s face lit up, and he crowed with joy before standing to do a little victory dance. “Yes, yes, Merlin yes!” he squawked. “Oh, just imagine the trouble we’ll be able to stir up!” he laughed gleefully. Finn grinned, Fred’s joyous laughter sparking the image of his Padfoot reacting similarly.

“f*ck with the standards, am I right?” he said deviously.

Fred’s plotting smirk matched Finn’s own. “So many standards,” he whispered hungrily.

You know what I think? I think Fred here ought to learn a little more than just the Animagus transformation in the way of illegal magic. I think Fred here could do to utilize that Grey core of his.

Finn didn’t realize his sharklike grin was a perfect copy of his dear Aunt Bella’s.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Finn woke himself up with his usual whispered “crucio ”, and this time the jolt of power he put behind it was similar to a muggle defibrillator. If he’d been a lesser man (a lesser eleven year old, he reminded himself with a smirk) he would have screamed and cried and whimpered and did all the pathetic things idiots do when faced with a little pain.

But he is a Black, or raised as one anyway, so he only lets out a breathless little laugh and swings his feet off the bed to pad downstairs.

He usually woke early in Azkaban so he would have time to watch the sunrise, (just a little bit of color for this grey ass day, his Dogfather would whisper as he pulled Finn close and carded a hand through his hair.) and he wasn’t about to forgo the habit now that he could have all the color he liked.

Now that his barriers were in place to stop the house wards from throwing everyone into disarray at his little wake-up, the halls were silent but for various soft sleep sounds escaping closed doors.

Finn had wised up from the day before’s trip down the stairs, and cast a wordless (and wandless, of course) cushioning charm on his bare feet before creeping downstairs.

He poured himself a mug of water and used a handy little boiling hex to get it raring hot, and dropped in a tea bag as he made his way out to the lawn.

He giggled a little and shivered as his bare feet came in contact with the dewy grass. There was a big flat rock out there, atop a little mossy knoll, that faced an opening in the treeline which was exactly East. He set his mug of soon-to-be tea on a level spot and sat down, facing the lightening sky that the sun would soon paint.

He crossed his legs and closed his eyes, drawing deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth. The chill of the air hung heavily around him and the world was still in a way Azkaban had never been.

The world was so still.

Finn sat and watched as the sunrise colored the earth, driving away the grey quietness and sending birds up singing.

He wondered if the Weasleys would be frightened if he popped a couple birds. He had to exact his madness on something, lest he blast an unsuspecting crying child to a pulp in a fit of boredom.

He wondered why he cared if they were frightened by him.

You’re going soft, you’re going soft- his Aunt Bella would have crooned. Kitten, sweet darling you are too quick to love. Stamp it all down, the only attachment and loyalty you should ever feel is to your Lord.

Why did he feel this incessant urge to make the Weasley family like him?

His Padfoot and his Aunt and Uncle’s love should have been enough for him.

Well, maybe Uncle Rook didn’t really feel love.

But his Dogfather and his Aunt Bella did! Why did he want more?

Such a greedy little child you are, she would coo mockingly. You want what you can’t have, kitten. For who could ever love a monster like you but another of the same kind?

These blood traitors are nothing , kitten. You are a Black, you serve your Lord and you serve yourself.

Everything was so much easier in Azkaban.

He came back inside after a successful brooding session and immediently ducked on instinct as a large, flashing circular thing (frisbee?) went whizzing over his head.

The thing was chased by a laughing set of twins, and an enraged Molly Weasley was screeching for them to get those Merlin-damned Fanged Frisbees out of the house or so help me there will be not a moment’s peace for you! Which Finn found amusing, and said as much to Ginny.

The rest of the day passed remarkably quickly- the twins hadn’t approached Finn about following up on his promise to begin teaching them the Animagus transformation, but he anticipated them soon.

Finn started on a book, and old copy of Hogwarts: A History but didn’t get very far. He pressed on anyways, thinking it’d be good to gather intelligence on a place he would have to be able to accurately navigate and he didn’t want anyone to know about his… interesting circ*mstances.

Also, he needed to brush up on his reading. He knew his letters, of course, and could recognize words, but other than the year Sirius had taken to teach him by scratching letters on the dusty floor he hadn’t seen any written words in ages.

He had no doubt his writing and spelling would have absolutely gone to sh*t while he was busy learning Dark Magic, Wizarding Law, Runes, Blood Magic, French, Latin, the Animagus Transformation, Potions Theory, and other miscellaneous magics.

So he could use a little practice.

Finn was hunched over a desk in the sitting room with a conjured quill and ink. He was focused on copying out the Latin translations of a passage in Hogwarts: A History , seeing as he was much more comfortable with Latin written word integrations than English, and he needed to keep his Latin sharp when the twins approached him.

“Ah, Finnikins, there you are, we were just wondering-”

“If perhaps you would mind-”

“Following up on those lessons you promised?’

Fred flashed him a hopeful grin.

Finn grinned.

Before Finn knew it, the Weasley brood was being corralled into the Floo to visit Diagon Alley and retrieve school supplies. Finn had the first-year supply list in the pocket of his borrowed (and slightly transfigured) robes, along with a few other additions.

They Flooed through to the Leaky Cauldron with nary a thought, and went unnoticed by the pub’s patrons. The barkeep (Tom?) greeted Finn kindly and promptly showed them all to the wall where Mr. Weasley tapped his wand in the correct places and they walked through.

Finn didn’t bother to tamp down his wonder and awe at the bustling shops. He spotted Gringotts in the distance and cheerfully announced to Molly that he’d meet them back at the Burrow, and disappeared into the crowd before they could protest.

He nodded slightly to the goblins guarding Gringotts. (Inroads with the creatures that control your finances is always a good thing.) They had seemed surprised at that, but opened the white marble doors anyway.

Once Finn had waited through the que and it was his turn at the desk, he nodded again.

“May your gold ever grow, Master Teller. My name is Finnegan Black, and I would like to do an inheritance test and see the Black family account manager.”

The goblin blinked in surprise, but nodded stiffly.

“May your gold ever grow, Mr. Black. I will need to confirm your identity before notifying the Black family account manager. If you are who you say you are, they will perform your inheritance test and you will be free to converse with them.” He held out a small silver knife and a parchment. “If you would?”

Finn took the little blade and made a small incision on his fingertip and let a drop of blood fall to the parchment. Scrolling letters appeared to form the words Finnegan Regulus Black.

The goblin nodded. “Follow me,” he intoned, and hopped down to lead Finn down a corridor behind the desk. Finn glided across the floor behind him- no point pretending to bumble around.

They came to a large doorway that the Master Teller opened for him, and he strode through, acknowledging the teller with an incline of his head. He turned back to the desk to see who he assumed to be the Black family account manager.

After dispensing with the pleasantries, Finn dripped blood onto the parchment that would act as the inheritance test. The results were shocking.

Name: (Original) Hadrian James Potter

(Adopted) Finnegan Regulus Black

Date of Birth: July 31st, 1980

Parents: (Original) James Fleamont Potter (deceased), Lily Marie Potter nee Evans (deceased)

Godparents: Sirius Orion Black (incarcerated), Alice Longbottom (unfit)

Titles:

Heir Black

Heir Potter

Heir Peverell

Heir Slytherin (by conquest)

Heir Gaunt (by conquest)

(see vaults and properties attached to said titles in appendices)

Inherited Abilities:

Parseltongue

Dark Magic Affinity

Metamorphagus (60% effective, 0/60% unlocked)

Possessing 101.56% Of a Soul

“Potter?” Finn squeaked, speechless. “I’m HARRY POTTER?!” he shrieked.

The goblin blinked in shock.

“It would appear so,” he said. “Everything in this room is confidential,” he added hurriedly.

“Ohhh no,” Finn moaned, “Oh this is bad. This is very very bad. And what’s this about my SOUL?!”

The goblin winced as Finn’s shriek reached Walburga Black levels- (must run in the family, he thought unhappily.)

“You appear to have an extra 1/64th of a soul residing in your magical core,” he explained. “This is most likely the result of the night He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attacked and attempted to kill you.”

Finn sank back in his seat. “You’re saying,” he said slowly, “that I have a bit of my Lord’s soul in me?”

The goblin started violently at the title ‘my Lord’, but supposed he shouldn’t be surprised at another Dark Black, no matter if they had initially hailed from a ridiculously Light family such as the Potters.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

Finn’s eyes began to glow.

“Master Goblin,” he said, “Would any of my vaults happen to contain books detailing the process of resurrecting and forming a new body from a living Horcrux?”

The goblin gulped.

Finnegan Regulus Black skipped out of Gringotts with a brand-new Gringotts money bag, connected to the Black vault, which he would use for his school shopping, and some… questionably legal reading material, as well as a couple nice pieces of jewelry he planned on using as bases for some magical protections and modifications.

His first stop was Madam Malkin’s, where he met a pointy little blonde boy who was also being fitted.

“Hello,” said the boy, “Hogwarts, too?”

“Yes,” Finn said, moving an arm so the assistant could reach the seam she was pinning.

“My father’s next door buying my book’s and Mother’s up the street looking at potions ingredients,” the boy drawled. “Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully Father into getting me one and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.”

Pureblood, Finn assumed, or at the very least prominent halfblood. He doesn’t sound too uninteresting.

“Have you got your own broom?” the boy went on.

“No, I figured I’d save my funds for things I can make use of at school. I mean, if you don’t play Quidditch there’s not really much use for one on the grounds then, is there?” Finn said easily. (Padfoot told him all about Quidditch)

The boy brightened at the mention of the sport.

“I say, do you play at all?”

Finn shrugged. “I’ve never really been much for aerial maneuvers. Do you?”

“Oh, yes, about as much as one can at age eleven,” he says excitedly. “My name’s Draco Malfoy,” he said, sticking his hand out for Finn to shake.

A Malfoy?! Merlin’s tit*, I need to make a good impression.

“Finnegan Black, but I go by Finn,” he says, and takes Draco’s hand.

“I say, would you like to join Mother and I for ice-cream later?”

A little further, a little further...

“As much as it pains me to decline, I’m here with some family friends and still have the rest of my shopping to do,” Finn says apologetically. “But I’ll see you on the train?”

Draco brightens, and nods happily. “Yes, of course,” he says. “I’ll be sitting with a couple friends, if you would like to join us?”

f*ck yes! Inroads to prominent heirs of the Dark faction ready and awaiting.

Finn smiles. “That sounds wonderful, Draco.”

The shop-bell chimes as the door opens, and a woman Finn presumes to be Draco’s mother (Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, holy s h i t, what a f*cking queen) walks in, the epitome of Purebred grace. (Unmarked, but a loyal supporter, married to the most powerful puppeteer in the Ministry)

Draco, darling, we need to continue our shopping,” she says, batting away the assistant who tried to greet her. “Who’s your friend here?” she asked with a raised brow. She must have seen them chatting from the window.

“Finnegan Black, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Finn says, with a respectful nod. He notes with pleasure that Narcissa’s mask doesn’t falter at his surname, but he can tell she’s surprised.

“Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, and the pleasure is all mine. I must say, I am rather curious as to your heritage, Mr. Black,” she says. Finn smiles calmly.

“I am the son of Sirius Black, raised out of the country and away from the public eye due to his rather… unfortunate circ*mstances. I returned just a week ago to Britain, and have claimed my title as Lord Black as of this morning,” he says. (he inwardly smirks. All those facts are technically true.)

Narcissa blinks, but smiles. “Then allow me to be the first to officially welcome you back, Lord Black,” she says.

“Just Finnegan is fine,” he says with an easy smile. The assistant is finished with his measurements and the like, and hands Finn an order form. He checks off the selection he wants (three casual sets, a Hogwarts uniform set, one formal set) and marks down his name and the Weasley address. He quietly instructs the assistant to owl him the clothes, and hands over a Gringotts cheque made out with the correct amount.

He steps off the measuring block, and turns back to the mother and son conversing quietly. “I must finish my shopping. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Lady Malfoy. I do hope we cross paths again,” he smiles. “See you on the train, Draco,” he quipps, and with a friendly wave is out of the shop.

Next stop is Flourish and Blotts, where he only picks up the Hogwarts first-year textbook set. He’ll pick up a few more extracurricular readings down Knockturn, as well as his potions things and two wands and holsters for both.

He stops and dithers about, buying his telescope. (What an idiotic subject. Astronomy, who comes up with this sh*t?)

He supposed he couldn’t wait any longer on his wands and might as well proceed to Knockturn.

Finn wandlessly disillusions himself and surreptitiously ducks down the dark (Literally, Dark) alley.

He exits the wand shop the proud owner of two Trace-less wands and two holsters. His primary wand is an eleven inch fir wand with a dual core of a thunderbird feather and a thread from a Dementor’s cloak. His secondary wand is a twelve-inch blackthorn/dogwood with a core of a thestral’s tail hair.

He goes about the rest of his shopping, quietly reveling in the feeling of the power resting in the two holsters strapped to his forearms. He knew he was powerful, he knew he could cast much without their assistance, but with one wand in each hand he feels like he’s coming home.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

It was with little to-do that Finn once again slipped away from the Weasleys on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. He shrank his trunk down to the size of a matchbox and kept it with him, not trusting that the meddling Headmaster wouldn’t search through his things as a ‘safety precaution’.

He prowled through the compartments, looking for the promised Malfoy child. Yes, he was a rather pitiful little thing, wasn’t he, but the power behind his name is indisputable.

He finally spotted the pointy little child, holding court with the other soon-to-be Slytherins, no doubt. Finn walked up, placed his hand on the doorknob and-

He couldn’t do it.

He looked through the window to see the little eleven year old’s prissy faces, their petty masks. They were children of privilege, growing up in gilded manors, given anything they wished. They couldn’t defend themselves a mite, the only thing they had to offer to his Lord was their names and seats on the Wizengamot, and would be useless comrades on the field of battle.

And who was Finn if not a warrior?

He needed allies. These baby snakes were useless, they were pitiful children trying their very best to play their parent’s game but the little arrangements, their little Year Ruler would mean nothing in the real world past Hogwarts’ walls.

And who was Finn if not someone who had seen the grunge, had grown up the farthest place from gilded fortunes?

The only thing he had in common with those peaco*cks was a loyalty.

And what would these children know of the pain, the depths of the service I am called to?

They would be useless. Backstabbing little game players who couldn’t see past their own noses. They’d throw him to wolves in a moment to suit their own desires, their own childlike goals. They didn’t know what it was to give your Lord everything, to serve him with your very soul.

They only know of the games they play within these walls.

And Finn needed allies he would be able to trust with his life.

He let go of the handle, and walked back to find a different compartment.

Finn poked his head past the door cautiously. The compartment was empty, and he let out a small sigh of relief before plunking down into a seat. He pulled out his blackthorn/dogwood wand and began practicing simple Light charms, to get the feel of channeling magic through a bit of wood rather than his own pathways.

He was absorbed in such when the compartment door swung open and a frizzy brown head of hair poked in. A cautious voice floated in.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but have you seen a toad? Neville’s lost his,” the voice said apologetically, and Finn looked up to meet two pairs of soft brown eyes, the girl cautious and the boy looking embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, I can’t say that I have,” Finn said easily. “Have you tried a Summoning charm?”

The girl’s face brightened. “Oh!” she exclaimed, then held her wand up. “Accio Trevor!” she incanted, and a toad zoomed out from under Finn’s seat. Finn jumped, startled.

“I guess I have seen a toad,” he said. She performed that easily, and doesn’t appear to have any prior connections. Perhaps…?

“I’m Hermione, Hermione Granger, and this is Neville Longbottom,” the girl (Granger) said, gesturing to the boy, who waved bashfully.

“Finnegan Black, but I go by Finn,” Finn said. “Would you like to sit? The train ought to be moving in a couple minutes.”

“If you don’t mind,” Granger said, plopping down, dragging Neville with her. “This is ever so exciting, don’t you think? A real magic school! I’m Muggleborn, you know, so it’s a bit of a culture shock for me.”

Muggleborn? Aunt Bella always did harp, but she is rather powerful. Perhaps the times have changed?

“A bit of the same for me,” Finn said. “I’m a half-blood, but I was raised out of the country so Magical Britain is a bit new to me.”

This sparked a whole new round of questions from Hermione, and Neville shyly added bits to the conversation.

I think I like these two.

“...so what house do you think you’ll be? I think I feel a bit Ravenclaw, rather book-smart, but Gryffindor sounds so nice, don’t you think?”

“Actually,” Finn interjected. “I find Gryffindors to be brash and reckless. I think you’d get in far more trouble in a house that encouraged rule breaking, and I prefer to stay out of trouble.”

Hermione and Neville blinked.

“So, you don’t want to be in Gryffindor?” Neville said haltingly.

“I’d prefer Hufflepuff, personally. The traits the House value sound like they make a great support network. Being surrounded by loyal, hardworking people? That sounds more my speed,” Finn smiled. That ought to shock their systems.

Neville gaped.

Hermione tapped her chin. “That actually sounds reasonable,” she said. “Maybe I’d rather be Ravenclaw. I’m not much for rule-breaking. Do you think they take your opinion into account?” she asked, wringing her hands worriedly.

Finn smiled disarmingly. “I’m sure,” he said smoothly.

They spent the rest of the train ride in relative peace.

Finn wasn’t quite sure how he felt about the gigantic man yelling about first years, but he’d much rather get a look at the thestrals. He wasn’t quite certain he was allowed, per se, but Sirius had instructed him to make mischief, so…

So there Finn was, petting and crooning at the thestrals when a rough hand landed on his shoulder.

Big mistake.

Finn instantly whipped around and shot a wandless, silent stunner at the figure, who flew back ten feet before crashing into the side of a carriage.

The chatter around them stopped, and every head swivelled to gape at the (first year?!) who was crouched in an expert duelling position, with green eyes dilated and fixed on the figure who appeared to have their head through a carriage door?!

Um, what.

The kid blinked, and straightened up with a cough. “Accidental magic, sorry,” he offered. “Er, could someone reenervate him?”

A Ravenclaw hustled forward and did so. The huge man sat up, rubbing his head with a groan.

“Sorry about that,” the kid said with an easy smile. “Hagrid, was it?” The man nodded, slightly befuddled. “Right then. First years on the boats?”

The whispers followed him all the way up to Hogwarts.

Finn tried to control his awed gaping at the Great Hall and massively failed. He stared with wide eyes at the midnight ceiling, which Hermione whispered was charmed to reflect the sky. Lanterns floated in the darkness, casting balls of light that further illuminated the Hall’s lavish trappings.

A throat cleared at the front, drawing their attention back to the woman at the front, who had ushered them in initially.

Then a hat on a stool opened its raggedy brim and began to sing.

~(I’m not typing the whole f*cking sorting hat song y’all all read it don’t need to read it again)~

The hat bowed when it finished, and the hall shook with applause.

Then the first name was called.

Finn didn’t pay much attention til his own name echoed.

“Black, Finnegan!”

He stands smoothly and walks to the front, leaving Neville and Hermione with a soothing sort of ‘don’t worry you’ll do fine’ smile.

The hat is placed on his head, and it slips over his eyes (every single time).

“Hm, what have we here- oh, if you’d take down those Occlumency shields for me, yes, thank you.”

“Sorry about those,”

“No harm done, they’re very useful. And oh, my goodness, so are you, dear sweet child. With all the Dark magic floating around in here I ought to send you straight to Slytherin, but the school would burn within a week, I see.

“I don’t much like politics.”

“I can tell. No, you much prefer a straightforward approach to things, don’t you, but- ah, already collecting.”

“Collecting?”

“People, dear, to add to your ranks.”

“Not my ranks.”

“And that is the only thing that differs you from a very similar soul who once sat here. But you’ve pledged undying loyalty to him, which is very different.”

“Of course.”

“Naturally. Yes, Ravenclaw’s a bit too bookish for you, I’d say. But do work on your reading, dear, you’ll get the hang of it eventually.”

Finn stiffened.

“Oh, that’s a bit of a sore point. Terribly sorry,” the hat said, not sounding sorry at all.

“Hufflepuff, please.”

“Oh, that’s new. Never had someone ask Hufflepuff.”

“I’m planning on doing a lot of new things. Hufflepuff, please.”

“If the curses you’ve cast are any indication, yes you are planning on a lot of new things. First kill at nine, with a body-rot curse.”

“I know what I’ve done and what I’m preparing for. They’re staring, it’s been too long. Hufflepuff, now!”

“Get used to stares, child. But yes, you’re right. Better be HUFFLEPUFF!”

The hall was in shocked silence. A Black? In Hufflepuff?!

Dumbledore sat at the Head Table, putting in a brave face, but internally his insides coiled with worry. Harry Potter was not at the Dursleys, Petunia had refused to even speak of the boy, and when he had skimmed her Muggle mind the memories of the child that were supposed to be there were not present.

Albus Dumbledore didn’t have time to worry about the little Azkaban Black. The boy was in Hufflepuff, so he obviously meant no harm. Dumbledore needed to find Harry Potter.

The feast passed, and Finn didn’t make any attempt to speak to his yearmates in any kind of fashion other than cordiality. Neville had been sorted to Hufflepuff as well, and Hermione to Ravenclaw.

The Hufflepuff common room was large and cozy, with frumpy leather sofas and chairs scattered in small groups surrounding chestnut coffee tables. The lighting was warm and came from various lamps and light fixtures. The walls were covered in alcoves filled with plants that spilled from the openings.

The first year’s dorms were simply one big room for the boys and one for the girls, no private rooms at all. It was quite late by the time they all got in so they chose beds and the others began changing into sleepwear.

Finn cast his usual extensive wards before returning his trunk to its original size and putting it at the foot of the bed, making sure the wards extended to cover it as well. He would have to wait to do the blood wards until the others were asleep- he didn’t want rumors flying too fast, though he expected Goat whor* to be rather busy chasing one Harry Potter.

Finn snickered at the thought. I’m right here, Goat whor*, catch me if you caaaan…

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

The first day saw them all eating breakfast, and Finn skidding into the Great Hall at the last moment to grab a piece of toast then joining Neville and the other Hufflepuff first-years on their way to their first lesson, Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws.

Finn chatted and introduced himself to every Hufflepuff first year, and had interesting conversations with each. Zacharius Smith was a complete and utter ponce who seemed to be trying to claim himself a descendant of Helga Hufflepuff herself, and that therefore all his yearmates should bow to his whims, or something equally as stupid. Finn’s first thought was how on earth did this miserable person get into the House of nice people then he realized with a start and a little giggle that he was in Hufflepuff, and he certainly didn’t follow the average description.

Justin Finch-Fletchey was tolerable, and from what Finn could tell was from a prominent Muggle family, rather like a non-magical equivalent of the Malfoys. He was Muggleborn, but not a complete idiot and nice to talk to.

Ernie Macmillian, tolerable.

Susan Bones, aunt highly placed in the Ministry, tolerable.

Hannah Abbott, tolerable.

All in all not too bad, but he expected he’d have to deal with the baby snakes soon enough, seeing as he was a Black in Hufflepuff. They’d take it as a personal slight that he hadn’t joined their crew, and no doubt he’d catch grief for it. But he didn’t regret the decision he’d made on the train. He needed people he could trust, and petty child politicians wouldn’t be those people.

He smiled politely at the cat sitting on McGonagall’s desk. No respectable Animagus wouldn’t be able to recognize another.

He took a seat close to the door, where he had a good view of the other desks.

He walked out afterward, Hufflepuff ten points richer after he’d completed the matchstick-to-needle transfiguration on his third try (the wand was a bit of an adjustment.)

Hermione, of course, got it on her fifth, and Finn was suitably pleased in the manner that he would indeed like to strike up a friendship with her. Neville had had terrible trouble, unfortunately, but the simple fact that most of the other first years hadn’t been able to either, Finn wasn’t worried. He was confident that with a little work and ego-stroking Neville could be a confident and dependable ally.

The next class, Charms, went smoothly and similarly to Transfiguration. Finn was the first to ‘get’ the Levitation Charm, but of course when Hermione took pity on Zacharias Smith and tried to show him what he was doing wrong he snapped and sneered that he didn’t need help from any Muggleborn. Professor Flitwick chastises him, of course, but Finn can tell Hermione’s hurt by the comment.

On their way out of the classroom, Finn catches the tail end of a comment about “She’s just a stuck-up knowitall, no wonder she doesn’t have any friends,” and whips around to see Smith and his groupies snickering to each other, Smith looking angry. Hermione bumps into him rushing past, eyes suspiciously red.

“I think she heard you,” Finn said coldly.

Smith flinched at his tone, then sneered. “What are you going to do about it, bastard? A dad in Azkaban for being You-Know-Who’s right hand man? Why, it wouldn’t surprise me if you were Dark, just like your filthy traitor father,” he sneered.

Finn froze. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” he said, voice utterly devoid of emotion. Smith’s cronies seem to notice, but Smith himself remained unaware of the trap he had just stepped into.

“I said your dad is a filthy traitor Death Eater, and he deserves to rot in Azkaban. And even if you did make Hufflepuff out of anything other than a mistake, you ought to be rotting there with him,” Smith grinned triumphantly.

Finn's eyes began to glow, and he stepped forward and, with a flick of a wrist, had his fir wand in hand and the tip pressed to the hollow of Smith’s throat.

Smith froze, eyes wide.

“Take a moment and consider what you’ve just said very carefully, Smith” he hissed, “Because I can assure you that what got me into Hufflepuff was no fluke, but my enormous stock in loyalty. And in the past minute you’ve made an acquaintance of mine cry and managed to spout enough derogatory filth about my father that I could easily take as materiel for a blood feud. Do you know what happened to the last family the Blacks declared a blood feud with?” he smiled sweetly. Smith shook his head, eyes still fixed on the wand point resting comfortably at his adam’s apple. “They were subsequently wiped out. So I’d appreciate it if you’d refrain from attacking my father in the future. Is that clear, Smith?” he spat. Smith swallowed. “And on the topic of Granger, let it be known that she is under my protection, and any attacks on her character or blood status will be taken as slights against myself. Is that perfectly clear, Smith?” The boy nodded frantically. “Good. Remember this. Because, after all,” he leaned in to croon in Smith’s ear.

“I am a Death Eater’s son, and have plenty of curses in my repertoire to prove it. I don’t play by these namby-pamby kindnesses the rest of our house seems to have fallen into, but, then again, neither have you, so I’ll make this perfectly clear. If this incident is repeated, I will not respond in kind, Smith. I will be ten. Times. Worse. So watch your steps carefully.”

He drew back, smiling sweetly. “After all, we do share a room,” he emphasized. Smith’s eyes widened in horror. “We ought to get along, don’t you think?”

Smith staggered back, eyes blown wide.

Finn spun on his heel and walked briskly in the direction Hermione had gone, Neville tagging after him.

“And what do you two students think you are doing wandering around the corridors?”

The duo turned to see a long-haired greasy-looking professor leering over them. Neville jumped back in fright, and Finn tensed and placed his finger on the flick-release switch for his blackthorn/dogwood wand, ready to eject it into his hand at a moment’s notice.

“We’re looking for a friend of ours, sir. She was upset and rushed off after class, and we wanted to make certain she was alright,” Finn said warily.

“Ten points from Hufflepuff,” the professor barked. Neville squeaked in protest, but Finn narrowed his eyes. “What are your names? Tell me now so I can be on the lookout for you troublemakers,” he sneered.

Finn straightened, and moved in front of Neville ever the slightest, angling himself to protect the boy in a way that would only be noticed if someone was extremely well-versed in body language. Neville was shrinking backward, obviously terrified. “Finnegan Black, sir, and this is Neville Longbottom. We’ll be on our way-”

“Black?” the professor snarled, eyes lighting murderously. “Related to Sirius Black, perchance?”

“My father,” Finn said coldly. “We’ll be going now, Professor. Good day,” he turned and gripped Neville’s shoulder firmly and began to drag him away, keeping his blackthorn/dogwood wand hand free. He maintained a wandless, undetectable shield behind them in case the professor tried anything. Neville stumbled to catch up, but as soon as they turned a corner he dropped his hand and whispered “run,” in Neville’s ear. They immediately broke into a sprint, footsteps echoing down the corridor, Finn throwing sharp glances behind them to make certain the creepy professor wasn’t following.

Although it would have been nice to experiment with real duelling.

The Halloween Feast was supposed to be tonight, but Finn really wasn’t in the mood for celebration, so he wandered off, leaving Neville with an absentminded apology and a wave, and he went to search for a place to be alone.

For such a huge castle, there were surprisingly few pockets of silence. There was always a giggling student, a gossipy portrait, a classroom, an office, somebody, somewhere. Finn wandered deeper into the Slytherin dungeons than he thought anyone must have gone before, or at least cleaned because even Azkaban hadn’t been this dusty, and he’d learned Ancient Runes drawing in the stuff.

He thought back to his lessons with Aunt Bella. It was a totally different thing, learning to cast and learning to duel. His on-point reflexes were okay, from the morning crucios that kept him perpetually taunt as a wire, but the movement and full-body awareness key to duelling couldn’t exactly be practiced in a prison cell where the only person who can cast magic is yourself.

He’d learned a bit of hand-to-hand from Padfoot, how to throw a punch and whatnot, but since he could cast extensive curses wandlessly he hadn’t focused as much on the physical aspect of a fight as much as he probably ought to have.

Hence him searching the dungeons for an adequate practicing space. His training had focused mainly on combat curses, and so preparing and enchanting enemies to spar with would be a bit beyond his level of current education. Still, a space of his own would be ridiculously helpful as he worked out runic arrays to create sparring dummies with casting levels just above his own. He didn’t trust the pansies sharing his dorm on a whim, not yet anyway, and certainly not with complicated notes, so he’d also need a place to keep his research.

He also needs to refine his reading.

Finn has learned everything he knows on anything from people, from watching demonstrations and a voice guiding and correcting. But to create the space he imagines he’ll need plenty more passive knowledge when it comes to creating rather than destroying.

So he’s still looking around.

He finally finds an unused classroom, quite literally stumbling upon it. He had stubbed his toe on a wayward stone and swore vividly, and at the specific phrase “Bloody buggering f*ck,” a door ground open. He blinked in surprise, and stuck his head in the door, looking around the empty room warily.

Then he hears a scream.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

“Bloody buggering f*ck ,” Finn hisses, and turns to run in the direction of the screams. They’re getting louder the closer he gets to the surface. “What the hell kind of school is this?” he grouses while careening around the corner, nearly smashing his face into the wall opposite as he twists to clear his head, heel squeaking.

He pulls up short to see a troll amble into a bathroom.

TROLL?

“Bloody buggering f*ck! ” he screeches, but a scream from inside the bathroom drowns out his expletives. He races in to see Hermione (My Hermione, MINE) cowered against the wall, troll looming over her with an outstretched club.

“ BOMBARDA!” he screamed, and the spell impacted on the troll’s shoulder with an explosion, blowing the outstretched arm off in a spray of gory troll-bits. Hermione’s scream rose and octave and the troll roared , lumbering around to stare at Finn with rage-filled eyes. “ Torqueo! ” he yelled, and the beast let out a sort of high-pitched screech and contorted in agony. Finn’s eyes blazed, and he jerked his hand to cut off the curse, leaving the troll whimpering.

Finn skirted around the mess and raised his hands to Hermione in what he hoped was a non-threatening manner. She raised bloodshot eyes to look and stared at him shakily, lower lip trembling.

Finn smiled softly.

“You okay?” he asked. Hermione nodded shakily, and blinked several times. “I’m just going to finish up here. You stay right here, alright, kitten?”

She nodded again.

Finn patted her on the shoulder, and turned back to the troll cowering and whimpering in the corner, fat messy tears running down its misshapen face.

“You’ve threatened a dear friend of mine, good sir, and so I perform this action, while not in malice, yet entirely enjoying it as I do so. COLLUM FRANGERETUR .”

The beam of red light produced by the spell shot at the troll, and its eyes widened in momentary terror before a sickening crack sounded, and its head snapped to the side, neck cleanly broken. It was dead instantly.

Hermione let out a little whimper, and that was the moment the Hogwarts Professors chose to burst in the door, wands raised and eyes wild. Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and Snape stopped dead, and stared at the little green-eyed Hufflepuff first-year who had his wand held aloft, a first-year Raven huddled in the back, and a thoroughly mutilated troll corpse.

The silence that followed was splintered by the Hufflepuff boy’s exclamation of “Just in time!”

The professors blinked at the child, who glared at them with alarmingly cold eyes. “What kind of school is this where you’ve got trolls running amuck?” he exclaimed. “This is ridiculous! I mean, we all know the headmaster is a doddering fool but this is a bit much! If I hadn’t been wandering about, Miss Granger would probably be an unrecognizable corpse by now, and you lot would have shown up just in time to witness it!” He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”

The professors were shocked into silence. Never had any student spoken to them in such a blatantly disrespectful manner.

Snape, of course, was first to break the reverie with a classic Snape Sneer™. “Black,” he snarled. “How dare you speak with such disrespect? We are your professors and you will treat us as such, lest suffer-”

“Severus,” Flitwick interrupted. “Please, for goodness sake, wait a moment and let’s figure out what exactly we have just stumbled upon.”

“Yes, lets,” McGonagall said. “Miss Granger, if you would?”

But the Hufflepuff stepped forward with a determined grimace. “With all due respect, Professors, Miss Granger is in no way ready to explain this without a couple Calming Draughts. I can attest that I was exploring the dungeons in an attempt to better mentally map the school, as there was no rule specifically stating that we had to attend the Feast, when I heard screams, and ran up to come upon the scene of Miss Granger cornered by the troll, who I, in a panic, blasted the club arm off of and then performed the Clean Break on its neck, instantly killing it.”

He made no mention of the modified Crucatius Curse he inflicted before the ‘instant killing’.

Professor Snape exclaimed in shock, “You expect us to believe that an insubordinate brattish first-year such as yourself performed the Blasting Curse and the Clean Break Hex in rapid succession strong enough to impact a troll’s magical-resistant skin?!”

With a slightly illegal torture curse taught to me by Bellatrix Lestrange in between, but I digress, Finn thought wryly. “Yes, Professor Snape. I would be willing to submit to a Legilimacy scan to verify my claim if it would prevent disciplinary action being taken against myself,” he said, “or Miss Granger,” he adds as an afterthought.

Throughout these proceedings, McGonagall was looking decidedly pale, and wondering with intense speculation where on earth the boy could have learned such hexes if he had not, as the others believed, been raised in a wizarding household but in Azkaban…

Professor Snape gaped for a moment. Then reasserted himself. “You would submit to a Legilimacy scan? What’s your scheme, Black?” he snarled.

Finn turned on his angelic smile, the one that worked on his Aunt Bella. “No scheme, Professor. I’m a Hufflepuff, remember? We don’t do schemes.”

Snape narrowed his eyes.

“As Mr. Black’s Head of House, I can take him to the Headmaster’s office where we will discuss what has just happened. In the meantime, Minerva, would you escort Miss Granger to the infirmary? Filius, Severus, would you mind… cleaning this up?”

This triggered the Snape Sneer™ full force, but the professors parted, McGonagall to the infirmary with the shaking, wide-eyed Ravenclaw, Sprout with a ridiculously cheerful looking Hufflepuff, and the Potions and Charms teachers left behind to deal with the carnage the Black firstie has left behind.

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

Finn led the other Hufflepuff first years confidently through the dungeons to the Potions classroom, which they shared with the Slytherins. He was hoping that this go-round with Snapey would be less… explosive as their first class had been, but he wasn’t holding his breath.

“You are here to learn the subtle and exact art of potion-making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word—like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Snape looked around with a predatory gaze, but he already had a target.

“Black!” he barked. Finn didn’t flinch. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

(Oh, you foolish man, you may be our Lord’s best and brightest Potions Master but I’m not that stupid)

“A powerful sleeping potion known as the Draught of Living Death, sir,” he said with a cheery smile.

Snape growled, and Finn met his murderous gaze fearlessly. (Your eyes have nothing on Augustus Rookwood’s, Severus)

“And where would I find a bezoar, Black?” he snarled, with a victorious gleam in his eye, as if he thought to stump Finn with these ridiculous questions.

“The stomach of a goat, or, in a pinch, any standard medical kit,” Finn had said brightly. Snape’s eyes darkened. (Oh, Severus, do you think Mulciber would have let me get away with not knowing this?)

Snape growled, really, and slammed his hands on the green-eyed boy’s desk with a thundering smack. Everyone in the room jumped, even the Slytherins, who looked quite confused by the proceedings.

Everyone but Finn, who had his finger on the catch-release for his wand and was pulled taunt as a bowstring.

“What is the difference, Black, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Finn slowly raised his half-lidded eyes to meet Snape’s gaze full on, and his eyes blazed.

(Killing curse eyes.)

‘Nothing, professor. They are the same plant, also known as aconite,’ he said.

Into Snape’s mind.

Snape reeled back, bumping into the desk in front of Finn’s. “Y-you- I-”

Finn stood, and his green eyes bored into Snape’s.

‘Yes, me,” he intoned. ‘Is there a problem, professor?’

Snape shook himself like a dog, then dropped his eyes. “No, no problem,” he whispered, and returned to assigning textbook chapters for the rest of the class to read.

After that incident, Snape kept picking on him, of course, but he didn’t meet Finn’s eyes anymore.

Finn felt a sick sort of satisfaction in the knowledge that he was already climbing ranks in what remains of his Lord’s circles.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

Their first year goes by slowly. The only notable occurrence is another showdown between Zacharias Smith and Finn, which ends with Finn putting Smith in the hospital wing, but using completely legal spells and only up to second-year stuff, he made certain.

The staff was beginning to take notice of the boy, gushing about his performance in class and his cheerful demeanor, though noted that his written work was extremely messy and that he was loyal to a fault to his friends Neville and Hermione, and extremely protective of them.

Professor Snape declined to comment on the Black boy.

“Are you crazy, Finn?” Neville yelped. “What do you mean you wanna go check out the third floor corridor? What about the very painful death?!”

Finn scoffed. “I’m pretty sure Goat whor*’s just trying to deter students.”

Hermione grimaces. “Yeah, cause if they die he’s responsible,” she says.

Finn rolls his eyes. “We should still go look at least. For posterity’s sake.”

“You and your bloody curiosity,” Neville snorted.

Finn flashed a grin. “Hey, if it wasn’t for my curiosity, Hermione here wouldn’t be with us, would you now?” he cooes, and Hermione looks away awkwardly.

“Yes, thanks for reminding me of that,” she says sarcastically, but with a slight wobble in her voice.

“Aw, ‘Mione, you know I don’t mean it,” Finn said with an easy grin. “Why, I don’t know why it bothers you so. You both know I’ll always be able to protect you,” he smiled.

Neville and Hermione shivered a little on the inside. Finn was a great friend, but sometimes he said things that seemed…

“From exams?” Hermione sniffed. “Not likely, if you don’t buckle down and study.”

“D-aw, ‘Mione, I didn’t think you cared!” Finn drawled.

Neville turned a pleading gaze on her. “It’s not even Christmas, Hermione, exams aren’t til June! You can’t possibly-”

“That’s the ‘Claw in her, Nev,” Finn smirked. “Academia and whatnot. You, my dear, have been sorted correctly.”

Hermione blushed, then reasserted herself. “Yes, well, even if you don’t start for exams, we’ve still got a Potions essay due tomorrow, and the two of you have barely begun,” she said haughtily.

Finn sighed heavily, and turned back to his splotchy parchment. “How do you spell ‘newt’?” he asked. Hermione groaned.

“I told you already! N-e-w-t. It’s really not that hard, Finnegan.”

“Well, if one grows up reading on a daily basis, sure,” Finn says, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head. “My home life didn’t really encourage books,” he snorts.

Hermione sighed. “Well, I suppose some people don’t have the advantages that I had. What’s next?”

“Black, this essay is malformed, misspelled, and so covered in ink blots that any correct information is completely destroyed, although what with your intellect I doubt any of it was correct anyway. No credit,” Snape snarled, and tossed Finn’s Potions essay on the desk.

Finn smiled slightly, but Neville trembled beside him. Snape moved on, but Neville leaned over to whisper in Finn’s ear, “He shouldn’t say that. I know you’re smart, Finn, you just have awful handwriting. Don’t let him get to you.”

Finn rolled his eyes and patted Neville’s shoulder affectionately. “Don’t you worry, Nev. Snape doesn’t scare me any more than P-p-professor Qu-quirrel,” he grinned. They snickered quietly.

Snape growls and paces in Dumbledore’s office. “I don’t understand how he can be so incompetent!” he snarls, dragging a hand through his hair.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle behind his half-moon glasses. He internally snickers. This is the most fun he’s had in years.

“Well, my boy, perhaps he didn’t have a good upbringing,” he says mildly. “You of all people should-”

“Don’t throw that at me,” Severus snarls. “He is a near exact copy of his no-good murderous father, despite the ridiculous notion that he was raised out of the country. His father is in Azkaban, so his disgusting behavior must be purely genetic.”

Dumbledore smiles graciously, and folds his hands on top of his desk. “On the contrary, Severus, I thought you knew,” he said blandly.

Snape eyed him dispassionately. “Knew what?” he said suspiciously.

“Why, the boy’s father did raise him. If he was his father at all,” Dumbledore smiles.

Snape is silent for a moment.

“Black is in Azkaban,” he says slowly.

The infernal old fool nods encouragingly.

“So how could he-” Snape pales. “No. You- you IDIOT!” he shrieks. “You would let a creature reared beside Dementors and Death Eaters into a SCHOOL!? Have you finally lost your mind?!”

Dumbledore smiled indulgently. “Of course not, my dear boy. He’s in Hufflepuff, what harm could he do?”

Snape’s eyes blazed. “What harm could he do? What harm could he do?! How do you think he ended up in Hufflepuff? Ask the Hat, if he used some kind of obscure Dark curse to influence it to dissipate your suspicions surely that would be cause for investigation!”

Dumbledore sighed. “Very well. Hat?”

The Sorting Hat clears its throat, and shifts uncomfortably on its stool.

“Well, you see…” it begins. Snape quirks an eyebrow. “I can’t really- ahm-” it clears its throat again. “Mr. Black is definitely loyal,” it says. Snape coughs pointedly. “Very, very, loyal. And to send him to Slytherin would have the school reduced to rubble. He’s not much for politics,” the hat offers. “Also, he can’t read.”

Snape is gaping.

“Can’t read very well, at least. He knows his letters and all, but basically has to sound out every word. Except in French and Latin. He reads very well in those two,” the hat says.

Snape blinks, dawning horror on his face. “I- I’ve been- teasing and ridiculing someone who can’t READ!? Albus, for the love of Merlin, why didn’t you say anything?!”

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

Finn laid in his bed with his hands behind his head and contemplated how he was going to get out to Azkaban for Yule. He’d promised Siri he’d visit, but the fact remained that getting in wouldn’t exactly be a walk in the park. And yet there was so much he wanted to learn…

I need to get Uncle Rook to show me how to set up Wizard Space. The search for a room of my own has gone on far too long, and I don’t trust Smith not to test my wards. The sort of protections I have would be… difficult to explain. After all, he thought with amusem*nt, I am only eleven.

He giggled a little, but finally placed aside his planning for Yule. He still had a week to come up with a plan anyway, and he was ready to get an early start on the nightmares tonight. All this happy-go-lucky Hufflepuff joy suffusing the dormitories was giving him a headache.

He was wandering the halls of Hogwarts, prowling around to avoid Filch and that damned cat of his. The torchlight flickered upon the walls, casting grotesque shadows along the stone. There were no portraits present, but he felt the eyes in the walls.

A door creaked, and he whipped around to see an opening he had just passed but somehow hadn’t noticed. He crept to it, and the wooden door with (iron?) fastenings loomed, but stood ajar.

He poked his head in, and his eyes widened when he spotted an ethereal presence in the room, a glow that came from a tall mirror with a gold frame. The inscription carved on the top-

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

He woke with a start, sitting up and gasping. There was something about that mirror…

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

Finn stumbled into DADA blearily, falling into a desk next to Neville with a world-weary sigh. Neville narrowed his eyes at Finn.

“What’s got you in a tizzy? You’ve been acting awfully strange lately,” Neville said suspiciously.

Finn blinked and rubbed his eyes. “Nothing scandalous, Nev. Just weird dreams.”

“More than usual?” Neville asked. He knew of Finn’s nightmares. Not the cause of them, of course, but of them.

“Not more, per say, but the same one over and over. I like a little spice for my nightmares, yknow?” Finn does jazz hands. “The monotony of ‘ooh, creeping sense of terror then wake up and can’t go back to sleep’ is getting old. I’m simply dying to watch a little blood, maybe get cornered by a monster like a regular kid with night terrors, but nooo…” he pouted.

Neville giggled a little. (He’s only eleven, and it’s early in the game, he’s still allowed to laugh.)

Finn smirked, and they turned back to the board, where Professor Quirrel was pointing at a diagram and trying his best to get through a paragraph without stuttering the life out of it.

His ridiculous purple turban caught the light, and the disgustingly pungent garlic scent wafted over as Quirrell swung his head to point at another drawing, some obscure Dark creature they were supposed to be learning how to defeat.

He walked down the same corridor, swiftly this time, not bothering to creep about because he’s done the same a million times before. The door creaks open and he turns sharply to stride in the room. But he can’t see any more than the frame and the inscription-

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

Finn gasps awake and immediately rolls over to the parchment and quill he has set out by the bed to copy out the words.

This thing is taunting me and I am going to figure it out.

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

Finn couldn’t believe he hadn’t realized it earlier. Like, being in so much color daily was rotting his brain or something, because there was no way he’d been this stupid back when he’d been learning stuff daily back in Azkaban, training for the outside world.

I show not your face but your heart’s desire.

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

It was f*cking backwards . Like, did his brain digress?!

Although it was nice to have solved the mystery. And it kinda made more sense regarding the whole ‘aura of doom’ surrounding the mirror. Finn imagined the kind of mind magic that something would play to show one’s ‘heart’s desire’ had to be pretty deep, soul-searching stuff.

I wonder what it would show for me.

But that was a dangerous thought trail. That kind of thinking was probably the trap. Most likely, you looked at the thing and it sucked your soul or something like that.

Wouldn’t be surprised, honestly.

Dumbledore let out a groan very unbecoming of the Defeater of Grindelwald and buried his head in his hands. Harry. f*cking. Potter.

Where to even start?

He’d been searching for the Potter boy nonstop, not focusing nearly enough on the other incoming first years, but really, cut him some slack. The boy was the child of the Prophecy, and last time Dumbledore had seen him he’d been in a basket on a potential abuser’s doorstep. Of course he wanted to make certain the boy was alright, make certain his plans were coming into fruition. Was that so wrong?

But of course, Severus and Minerva were all up on him about this student, that student, that Black boy, blah blah blah. Honestly, if Severus couldn’t get control of himself over getting revenge on his former bully’s son then Albus might confine him to the dungeons out of spite. The boy was in Hufflepuff, for Merlin’s sake. The only Black in Hufflepuff had been Nymphadora Tonks, and she’d turned out to be a fine, upstanding member of the Auror force.

Granted, his place in Azkaban was a worry. He couldn’t imagine what dark forces might have purviewed the boy’s mind, growing up in such a place. Yet, again, Hufflepuff was the House of the kind and loyal. A Dark boy wouldn’t be there, not at all. He must have overcome his unfortunate circ*mstances and Black blood.

Black… blood…

Dumbledore sat up with a grin. He could use a blood ritual to track down the Potter child! All he needed was a sample from the child, which he was sure he had stored away somewhere. Sure, he’d have to dig through a couple vaults to find it, but he had time.

Wait, no I don’t. Dear Tom’s still possessing Quirrel, and we need to wrap that bit of this plot up by the end of the year. Okay, so, move fast.

Move fast.

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

Finn grinned as he stepped off the scarlet Hogwarts Express, breathing deep and filling his lungs with the chill of wintery air. He touched his pocket to make sure his shrunk trunk was still there and swept off to the Floo, calling out for the Leaky Cauldron and disappearing from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters in a whirl of Floo powder.

He popped into the Leaky’s main dining area, and checked into a room for the holidays. Old Tom charged a ridiculous sum for it, but nonetheless.

The Azkaban silhouette loomed, and as Finn the thestral flew through the stormy sky it grew closer and closer. Finally he touched down on the rain-slicked dock, and shifted to Finn the Grim, bloody maw and all, who just happens to be helpfully immateriel. Finn’s Grim trots happily through the halls, startling newer inmates out of their wits.

(The others provide explanations. They say that there’s a Grim haunting Azkaban, that it appeared two years ago and now it has apparently returned.

They whisper tales of a dementor taking prisoners away, opening their cells and leading poor unfortunate souls up to the North Tower, after which they are either never the same or never seen again.

Of a thestral clip-clopping down drafty halls and looking on with odd amusem*nt at the inmates cowering in the wake of its shadow, even if they cannot see its dead, blank eyes set in skeletal frames.

Horror tales of festering, rotting corpses found too late to even be identified, and cellmates cannot bury their own dead.

Those who have seen it all tell tales with fearful glances and whisper in low tones that the phenomena had stopped, and for a moment they had though they were safe, as safe as Azkaban could be, but the sight of the Grim prancing down the hall, verdant flames dancing in its eyes and bloody tongue lolled in a mockery of a friendly doggy grin leaves the deepest, darkest of hearts trembling.)

After all, Finn did say he’d visit for Yule.

Chapter 18

Chapter Text

“I’m baaaack!” Finn sang as he shifted back and called down the hall as he rounded the corner to Cell 12. “Didja miss me, Siri?” he grinned.

Sirius perked up from where he was leaning against the wall with his head thrown back and grins a crazy grin. “Finn! I was wondering when you’d show up. You haven’t sent any letters, pup, we thought you were dead!”

“You thought he was dead,” Bellatrix quipped. “I have every faith in my teachings. Kitten, how’s a wand?”

Finn tosses her a wayward grin, and spins his fir wand across his knuckles. “Like a dream. What have you stiffs been up to?”

“Oh, it’s so boring around here without you, kitten,” Bella whined. “Cousin Siri just been moaning and lumping around as a lonely old dog, no partner for conversation at all,” she pouted.

Finn chucked, and sat down with his back to the wall in Cell 12. “Yet I doubt you’re much better, Aunt Bella. And I realized that out in the open my reading and writing isn’t exactly up to par, so I didn’t want to risk writing.”

“Ah. Sorry about that, pup,” Sirius said. “But anyway,” he bounced, “What House did you make? I’ve got rations on Gryffindor, Bella says Slytherin, and Rooky insists on Ravenclaw.”

“Suppose you all lose then,” Finn said with a wry grin. “Allow me to introduce myself as Finnegan Regulus Black, Hufflepuff!”

Groans of exasperation and shock sounded, and Sirius whined about how nothing was fair, he never got anything fun, and that was when Finn grinned brightly and pulled a couple bottles of firewhiskey out of his expandable bag and started passing them around, which over the night produced a decidedly more relaxed atmosphere.

Chapter 19

Chapter Text

Finn the Grim crept out the next morning, not wanting to wake the drunken sleepers. He’d wheedled the address of the Black townhouse out of Sirius and was planning on spending the remaining holiday there getting to know the inhabitants. Sure, Padfoot had bitched about his mother and their supposedly murderous house-elf, but Finn was going to do his best, turn up the full Bright’nCheery’nHufflepuff Charm.

He was assured by Sirius that the Floo would accept anyone with Black blood, and that since Finn had also brought along an official Blood Adoption potion to the Yule firewhiskey party, and had explained it to a drunken Sirius, who blubbered and immediately sliced his finger open to dribble an extensive amount of blood into the half-full vial. Finn had knocked it back with nary a grimace, and bore Sirius and Bella’s ministrations and cooing on how he was ‘officially part of the family’. Of course Magic had done so long ago, even declared him Black Heir, as his Gringotts record proved, he would now have access to the blood-locked properties and vaults.

His features had been altered as well, giving him aristocratic features, with defined cheekbones and a slender facial structure. His hair color deepened, if that was possible, and in torchlight seemed dark enough to suck up the light that would have reflected off the glossy, shoulder-length strands. His complexion had paled a little, his eyelashes lengthened and lips darkened imperceptibly.

He was interested to see if there would be any side effects from doing a Blood Adoption using blood that had absorbed a considerate amount of alcohol. He hadn’t noticed any physical side effects, but time would tell.

The moment Finn’s boots touched the dusty floorboards of the Grimmauld Place drawing room, a horrible screeching cacophony rose through the house.

“Filthy halfbloods! Who dare disturb the Ancient and Noble House of Black with naught but-”

“Ahm, excuse me- Former Madame Black?” Finn said timidly.

The rant stopped, and a cautious voice ventured, “That’s me, yes.”

Finn grinned victoriously. “My name is Finnegan Regulus Black, adopted into the Black family by Magic and Blood, as well as distantly tied by my Great-Aunt Dorea Potter nee Black. I am the current Black Heir, as Godson of the Lord Apparent, who has yet to claim his title due to an untimely incarceration. I was hoping to form ties with the keepers of the Black townhouse, namely yourself and the house elf Kreacher.”

What followed was a lengthy discussion, involving too many pureblood nuances for Finn’s taste but he played along, knowing that the integrity of this safe house would be crucial in the future. He would not be approaching his Lord empty-handed.

Finn spoke to the house-elf Kreacher, who, following Walburga’s introduction of him as ‘a proper Black heir’ and the addition of his middle name, (which seemed to make the house-elf much more amicable to him) agreed happily to begin the cleanup of Grimmauld and its restoration to former glory, popping away to assumedly hunt down some cleaning supplies.

While perusing the library he made contact with an empty portrait frame labelled ‘Phineas Nigellus Black’, who he remembered seeing the counterpart portrait of in the Headmaster’s office while explaining the ‘Troll Fiasco’.

He didn’t get a chance to speak with the man behind the portrait, but even a former Hogwarts Headmaster was still bound by Black family law to answer to the Heir. He’d just found a spy in Goat whor*’s own home court.

A heavily warded safe house, an innermost informant, and the soul shard tucked away behind a lightning-bolt scar.

No sir, he would not approach his Lord empty-handed.

Chapter 20

Chapter Text

“Finn?” Hermione’s voice echoed from around a bookshelf. She came into view clutching some books to her chest, twirling a strand of hair nervously between her fingers. “I know we’re leaving for Christmas break tomorrow, but I wanted to ask you something,” she said nervously, looking at Finn, who was seated at a table with an in-progress essay in front of him. “If you don’t mind.”

“‘Course, ‘Mione, long as it’s not so loud that Pince kicks me out. What’s up?” Finn said easily, placing his quill to the side. Hermione offered him a grateful smile, and slid into the seat opposite his.

“I know this may be a touchy subject, and it’s really not my place to ask,” Hermione said quietly, “But I want to make sure you’re not in any… trouble.”

Finn leant back in his chair and crooked an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Why do your hands shake?” she asked.

Finn blinked.

She noticed the twitch and rushed to explain. “I noticed that part of why your writing is so bad is that in the middle of writing your hand will…” she trailed off, “spike, for lack of a better term, and send whatever line you’re making skyrocketing across the paper. And sometimes you’ll reach out to grab something and your hands will tremble. When someone touches you without warning you’ll jump a mile, and you always seem to be sitting on the edge of your seat, metaphorically, and when you relax it’s the kind of movement calculated to make it look like you’re relaxed, but I can tell that you’re really ready to leap up at a moment’s notice no matter the position, and I just-” she broke of with a little choking sound. “And it just makes me worried, Finn, are you okay?!” she finished, staring at him with pleading, frantic countenance.

Finn closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

“Bollucks,” he spat, then smiled exasperatedly. (This lie had to be good.) “Knew you were too smart, ‘Mione,” he sighed. “Well, I suppose I’ve got to explain now, but you’ve got to promise not to tell anyone else, not even Neville. Can you do that, Hermione?”

She chewed her lip nervously, then nodded.

Finn propped his head up on one hand and leaned forward to whisper in Hermione’s ear.

“What do you know of the Unforgivables?”

Chapter 21

Chapter Text

“The… Unforgivables?” Hermione whispered. Her expression became frantic. “Three spells banned by the Ministry because they are horrific. But I don’t know what they do, exactly.”

Finn smiled, low and languidly. “The first is the Imperious Curse. It allows the caster perfect control over the victim. The second is the Killing Curse. Instantaneous death,” his eyes turned flinty. “The Killing Curse took my mother from me.”

Hermione’s hand drifted to cover her gaping mouth.

“The last is the Cruciatus Curse. The Crucatius stimulates every nerve ending in the body to cause unimaginable pain. Veins flowing with liquid fire, bones blazing like hot coals, every inch of skin singing in torment,” Finn breathed, barely holding back a note of worship when describing the curse. “If someone is unprepared and held under the curse for too long, their mind locks down completely to protect their subconscious from the sheer agony the body is experiencing. They are essentially irreparably brain-dead. But to a prepared mind, the spell allows the victim’s magical core to absorb the backwash of the pain and essentially jump-start their magic and mind,” Finn’s face formed a twisted smile, an odd light in his (killing curse) eyes.

(Hermione shivered.)

“I have been on the business end of a Crucio more times than I can count, ‘Mione.The fact of my life is that constant, continued exposure to a torture curse has ravaged my nerve endings and cause me to remain in a perpetual state of awareness.” His lips quirked up at her horrified expression. “I told you I didn’t have a good home life.”

Finn stood and gathered his things, leaving Hermione sitting at the library table. He nodded to Madame Pince on his way out, and continued down the hall whistling a slow, haunting tune.

(A funeral march.)

As soon as he turned the corner and was out of sight, he shifted to Grim, and trotted right through the walls to get to the outside night sky. There, he shifted to thestral, and soared away over the Forbidden Forest.

(He’ll be back before they know he’s gone.)

Chapter 22

Chapter Text

Staying at Grimmauld Place over the holidays was an interesting experience, much nicer than the Leaky Cauldron room he’d anticipated when he returned from Hogwarts. He had tolerable discussions with Walburga, sifting through her occasional manic episodes to learn a little about general Pureblood culture. Like he’d said to the Sorting Hat, he had no political inclination, but if he wanted to be able to worm his way into the hearts of the other Pureblood Death Eaters. They appreciated tradition, he had been told.

He had discovered that the alcoholic blood adoption had the interesting side effect of disappearing his pupils when he used an overly exertive amount of magic, and casting a slight green glow to his eyes constantly. He learned about the magic after attempting to create Wizard Space with instruction from a library portrait and absolutely failing. It seemed that as powerful as he was for his age, his sheer magical strength was not enough to compensate for his knowledge deficiencies.

He would fix this in time. After all, Hogwarts was to hone his skills, was it not?

The Black Family Library was immeasurably superior to the Hogwarts one, and contained many more nasty Dark books. He’d stepped past the ostentatious double doors and nearly fell to his knees at the magic humming in the air. Growing up in Azkaban had left him with a little magic sensitivity, and while it was very little, the oppressive, overwhelmingly Dark aura of the Black Library rivalled none he had sensed before. He’d, of course, not had much luck actually reading the books, due to the fact that most were written in archaic language on onion-thin paper, but the portraits hanging there had been steeping in Dark knowledge for centuries, and were quite knowledgeable on just about any subject Finn could have wished to pursue.

He’d brushed up his skills in the Duelling Chamber against animated mannequins provided by the room’s innate enchantments, and on the scale set from 1:Mudblood (this was the Black household, after all.) to 100:Merlin, he could dominate a duel up to level 11:Novice. He considered this to be fantastic, and trained there daily as well as continuing his physical regimen.

He trained in his Animagus forms, strengthening the flight of his thestral, the reach of his Dementor, the combat capabilities of his Grim.

He would return to Hogwarts so much better than he left.

And then he would speak to Hermione about what he’d told her.

Chapter 23

Chapter Text

Finn’s first class when he got back on Monday was DADA, with P-P-Professor Q-Quirrel. His scar twinged as he looked to the teacher (If he could even be called that) and for the first time he wondered what that was all about. As Quirrel attempted to demonstrate the Leg-Locker Jinx (on himself, no less, causing him to topple over face-first amid the class’ muffled snickers) Finn stared hard at various parts of Quirrell's figure, trying to distinguish the prickling in his forehead to a specific area. Narrowing his eyes at the back of the hapless teacher’s head, that godawful turban produced the strongest reaction.

Maybe he’d ask Hermione about it.

Oh, wait. He’s in the doghouse with Mione because he dropped the whole ‘Cruciatus’ bombshell on her and then walked away whistling. I suppose I ought to be a responsible ally and clear that up a little. I’ll catch her at lunch, then.

And he went back to glaring malevolently at Quirrel’s turban. Really, what possessed the man to don the nasty thing?

“Mione, wait up!” Finn called as he ran down the corridor towards a group of Ravenclaws, a bushy brown head of hair prominent among them. Hermione turned to see Finn coming up and stopped in her tracks, startling the students walking with her, but she closed her eyes and breathed deeply to keep back the tears threatening to spring up at Finn’s outstretched hand. (His hand trembled, indecipherable if you didn’t look closely, but the tremor was there, and Hermione noticed and her eleven-year-old’s heart cracked a little.)

“Excuse me, if I could borrow Miss Granger for a moment?” Finn said to her Ravenclaw companions, eyes sparkling with amusem*nt. They nodded, blushed, and hurried away, leaving Hermione standing in the corridor without a glance backwards. (Everyone knew of the raven-haired, green-eyed Hufflepuff who had a distinct method of getting his way.)

“Finn, about-”

“Wait, Mione, let me talk first,” Finn interrupted, smiling. “I’m sorry about dropping that bombshell on you before we left for Yule. It was inconsiderate of me to bring my past up in such a callous manner and I realize it might have bothered you.”

“No, no, no Finn, you have nothing to apologize for. I- I…” she shifted. “I shouldn’t have pried into your past like that. I didn’t mean to dredge up old memories. I’ve got a bit of a complex and I-” she stopped, then laughed without humor. “I’ve got a bit of a ‘must know all’ type thing, but I shouldn’t have intruded on your privacy like that. And I’m sorry,” she finished. She looked up at Finn’s face to see his brow furrowed and endlesslygreen eyes softening.

“Mione, you don’t need to worry,” he said softly, and caught her hands in his. “I trusted you enough to answer your questions. Believe me,” he said with a dry little laugh, “If I didn’t want you to know you wouldn’t. But I trust you. So I’m going to tell you everything.”

Her eyes widened.

“Come on, let’s go find somewhere quiet. I’ve got a lot to explain.”

Chapter 24

Chapter Text

Finn was seated on the floor in his little dungeon room as Hermione sat in front of him, looking for all she was that she couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say but was trying to be respectful.

“First off,” Finn said, “I’ll need a Wizard’s Oath from you that you won’t communicate in any way what I tell you now to someone who doesn’t already know the whole story.”

Hermione nodded solemnly, and Finn began.

He told her of his true identity as Harry Potter, first off, and endured her gasp and fluttered hands. He spoke of his mother’s protective magic assumedly taking him from his abusive Muggle relatives straight to the next in line to care for him, his godfather Sirius Black. Believed to have betrayed the Potters to the Dark Lord (he carefully avoided saying My Lord) but framed by Peter Pettigrew and tossed into Azkaban. When Finn was magically transported to him, no one even knew he was there, other than the inmates.

He shocked Hermione into silence by explaining how he was raised alongside Death Eaters, his Aunt Bellatrix and Uncle Rookwood, notorious Death Eaters of the highest caliber. (She’d had a similar reaction to Sirius Black, alleged first lieutenant in the Dark Army and Dark Lord Voldemort’s right hand man until he’d explained that Sirius was firmly Light until he’d been left in Azkaban by Dumbledore, who knew he was innocent.)

(He didn’t mention his own loyalty to his Lord, but Hermione wasn’t stupid, she saw that fanatical look in his eyes.)

Finn expounded on the origin of his Cruciatus problem, and didn’t bother being shy when he told her matter-of-factly that he was addicted to the pain, that the fire crackling in his veins made him feel more alive than he had ever, growing up in a twelve-by-twelve cell.

He spoke of the way his Auntie Bella taught him Dark curses, taught him to kill, taught him to take pain and turn it to power.

(He didn’t say what he had been training for, what cause he would kill for, but Hermione knew.)

He told her of their views on Muggles and blood purity in general, but then leaned in close as if conveying a secret, even though his whole tale was highly confidential. He whispered nervously that he wasn’t quite sure he agreed with that, that he rather thought Grindlewald had the right idea, that blood mattered, but ability mattered more.

He shook violently at this admittance, raven hair whipping around his jawline at his little rebellion, but Hermione placed a gentle hand on his arm and he stilled, then took a deep breath to continue.

A revolutionary idea to the Death Eaters, he said, but he admitted to Hermione that my mother was muggleborn, you know, and so are you, and you both have plenty of power, nothing like the snivelling rats described as Mudbloods. I’ve known smart muggleborns and stupid purebloods. I don’t have many opinions different from the Dark Lord’s, but I think he may be… wrong about that.

(Hermione didn’t know why that quickened her heart, excited her breathing that maybe… maybe she could be accepted in this?)

He smiled, a little nervously, and told Hermione that he had two little phrases he felt were the core of his being.

Blood matters, ability matters more.

And Pain is Power.

At these words, something clicked in Hermione’s head. She thought back to every time she had been ostracized by her Muggle peers for being smart, magical school too. How she’d take their put-downs onto her heart and add burden upon burden to her self-esteem, each comment dragging down her will to keep going. How her parents would send her to her room with a swat, vicious comment, and no dinner if she even dared question their decisions, question their plans for her future, which would be perfect if we have anything to say about it, darling, don’t worry, we’ll fix the mess that’s you and your incompetence.

Maybe she’d make her own plans for once.

So Hermione Granger clasped Finn’s shaking hands and looked searchingly into his (killing-curse) eyes, and saw nothing but raw honesty in their depths.

Finn wouldn’t lie to me, would he?

So she spoke.

“Teach me.”

And Finn smiled a slow, languid smile, and his green eyes glimmered.

“But of course, kitten. When shall we begin?”

Chapter 25

Chapter Text

Dumbledore stared out his office window miserably. He’d performed the blood ritual to find Harry Potter, but there were no results at all. That meant either he’d been blood adopted or he was dead.

Honestly, dead would be preferable.

Having some child running around unknowingly carrying a bit of Tom in them could be disastrous to his final plans, but if the boy was dead he could move forward with plans to cultivate the Longbottom boy, feel out if perhaps he too would possess the power the Dark Lord knows not.

Albus sat up and began to flip through the Longbottom boy’s records. Average in school, not many friends in Gryffindor, but he was a Hufflepuff anyway, so that wasn’t too bad. At least he wasn’t close to any Slytherins. Eugh.

Extremely close to the Azkaban Black, though, which was unfortunate. Still, that was manageable. The boys’ friendship wouldn’t be difficult to split. Neville didn’t know who Finnegan Black had grown up in a cell beside, but he knew the name of the woman who tortured his parents into insanity.

Yes, Bellatrix Lestrange could tear the two apart.

Or, if Black was affected by Lestrange negatively, the trauma would make the two closer together and closer to the Light in the process. If the Black boy had any hope of being saved, surely Neville could do so.

He’d still keep an eye out for Harry, but in the meantime…

He began to pen a letter to Neville, asking him to come to the Headmaster’s office at his nearest convenience.

Chapter 26

Chapter Text

“Headmaster? You wanted to see me?” the quiet voice ventured from the door, Neville Longbottom’s mussed blond head peeking in, brown doe eyes wide.

“Ah yes, come in, my boy,” the Headmaster’s eyes twinkled merrily, and he indicated the chair in front of his desk with a sweeping gesture. “Please, sit. Tea?”

Neville nodded shyly, and fixed himself a cup as they made pleasant small talk about Neville’s classes. Dumbledore noted with satisfaction that the boy took some of the cream in his drink, which was laced with trace amounts of Calming Draught. This will be easier if the boy is relaxed, open.

Now, to get down to the real matter at hand.

“Now, Mr. Longbottom, it’s been brought to my attention that you are close friends with a Mr. Finnegan Black.”

“Yes sir,” Neville said, his eyes suddenly guarded. “He’s in my same House, you know, and he’s not bad company,” he chuckled awkwardly. The eleven year old’s gaze flicked up to meet Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes, then nervously zipped back to focus on his tea.

Someone has warned him of my Legilimacy, Dumbledore thought, a little knot of concern beginning to shape in his stomach. And the Black child’s mention makes him wary of my skimming his thoughts.

Interesting.

“Yes, Mr. Black is certainly an interesting character,” Dumbledore agreed amicably. The conversation continued lightheartedly, with Dumbledore carefully planting little seeds here and there in the boy’s image of Finnegan, backing his suggestions with little, miniscule compulsions, cast wand and wordlessly. Mistrustful, secretive, conniving, cynical, violent, sneaky, slimy, paranoid, from a Dark family, you know, a family of torturers, killers. There are Death Eaters in his blood, Neville, how does that make you feel?

By the time Dumbledore had mentioned offhandedly that Finnegan was something of a nephew to Bellatrix Lestrange, Neville’s hands were shaking and the teacups rattled in their saucers.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Neville said, with cold, hard brown eyes, the previously shy depths muddied by the many compulsions layered almost noticeably over him. “This has been a most informative conversation.”

The boy stalked out when Dumbledore dismissed him, no doubt going to seek out Finnegan.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair.

“Let the games begin,” he chuckled to himself, the noise echoing in his empty office.

In the background, a one Phineas Nigellus Black hurried through to his other portrait, the one carried by the Black Lord, by whom he had been bound to share the Headmaster’s secrets.

Chapter 27

Chapter Text

“You,” the growl came from behind Finn, who looked up to meet the enraged eyes of one Neville Longbottom.

“Me,” Finn said, with a note of confusion. “Is something wrong, Neville?”

“You’re related to that Death Eater bitch,” Neville hissed. “You share blood with her.”

Finn blinked. “Bellatrix, you mean?” he asked neutrally.

Neville’s lip curled up into a snarl. “You dare say her name in my presence?!”

Finn’s eyes narrowed, then widened in horror. He grabbed Neville’s cheeks and yanked the boy’s face in front of his, staring deep into his eyes. Neville thrashed and screeched bloody murder, but Finn didn’t let go.

“Legilimens,” he whispered, and dove into Neville’s mind to see a web of glistering, gold slime stretching over his thoughts. He pushed the strands aside but was snuck up on by a slimy tendril and grabbed by the metaphysical ankle.

Finn yelped as the slime began creeping up his leg, filling his head with a whirlwind of traitor, liar, sneaky, Death Eater blood, DEATH EATER and he screamed with the sudden flood of negative thoughts toward… himself?

The target of this mental trap laid in his friend’s head was Finnegan Black.

And so the battle began.

Finn gasped for air like he was drowning and had just broken the surface as he leaped out of Neville’s newly-cleared mind. He pressed a hand to his chest and coughed madly, tears streaming from his eyes and head spinning.

He could hear Neville retching onto the floor beside him, but the roaring in his ears made it sound a mile away. He moaned and flopped to the floor, fumbling for his wand to Vanish Neville’s sick-up.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Neville groaned. He blinked and his eyes dilated back into focus. “Finn? Where am I? I was visiting the Headmaster…”

Finn’s head shot up, and his eyes narrowed.

“You were visiting the… Headmaster, you say?” he said in a deceptively light tone. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, he just wanted to have a chat, I think,” Neville’s eyes widened and he scrambled back as Finn stood in one fluid movement. “F-Finn? Your- your eyes-”

“I’m aware,” Finn said in a cold monotone. Neville flinched violently. “The pupil disappears when I’m angry. And Neville,” his head turned slowly to state at the boy cowering by the wall, “I’m very angry.”

“I-I don’t-”

“Not at you, Nev. The Headmaster had apparently placed several layers of compulsions on your mind, directed to make you think I was to be held responsible for my first cousin once-removed’s actions against your parents. Enchanted to think so, you attacked me.”

Neville’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh Merlin, I- Finn, I didn’t-”

“I know you didn’t, “Finn said tonelessly. “I just exerted a fair amount of energy ripping the compulsions out of you.” He grinned crookedly. “No hard feelings. But now, I’ve got to rip Goat whor* a new one. See ya, Nev,” he said, and disappeared down the corridor in a swirl of robes, leaving Neville with his back to the stone wall breathing heavily and one thought in his head.

What the hell was that?

Chapter 28

Chapter Text

Finn stalked down the corridor with a murderous mein. His first-year robes snapped at his booted heels and the air around him crackled with power. His (killing curse) eyes maintained their pupil-less state and verdant glow. Raven hair whipped around his face.

“Hey, Black!” came a call from behind. Finn didn’t turn around, but slapping footsteps began to follow him.

“Hey, Halfblood, I’m talking to you!” Draco Malfoy snarled with a vindictive expression. Finn stopped short, and slowly turned to look the blond in the eye. Draco flinched at his glare, but pressed on.

“What, too good for Slytherin, now, huh?” he taunted. “I shouldn’t have even deigned to speak to you at that peasant’s robe shop, since it turns out you’re just a good-for-nothing Puff, not to mention your bint of a Muggle mother anyway.”

He saw Finn stiffen.

“Oh, does that upset you, Black?” he snarled. “When I mention your father’s betrayal to his family line, knocking up some bitch like a common whor* and actually acknowledging the bastard spawn she popped out?” he sneered. “Slytherin doesn’t want your dirty blood anyway. After all, we’re the House of the ambitious.” He laughed cruelly. “All a creature like you could ever hope for is cleaning up my family’s scraps.”

Finn’s eyes glowed a little brighter, and Malfoy suddenly noticed the magic crackling around him and gulped.

Finn struck.

His magic lashed out in a whip of power, knocking the other first year against a wall and holding him up by the collar of his robes. He walked over leisurely, enjoying Malfoy’s whimpers as his feet were slowly lifted off the ground, toes scrabbling for purchase to alleviate the pressure on his neck.

Finn leaned in close, black hair brushing against Draco’s cheek as his breath ghosted over the Malfoy’s ear.

“What did you say about my father?”

Malfoy opened his mouth to croak something out, but Finn’s hand whipped out to encircle his neck, ice-cold fingers replacing magic. The pale, long fingers squeezed, and Malfoy’s reply turned to a choked wheeze as his windpipe constricted.

Like being caught in the coils of a particularly vindictive snake.

“I could kill you here and now, Draco,” Finn whispered breathily, “A little more pressure and you would never draw another breath.”

Draco tried to pull the hand from his neck but cried out as magic forced his hands back against the wall.

“You think you can stand against me, little Pureblood?” Finn chuckled darkly. “I serve a far greater master than you could ever hope-” the hand tightened, and spots began to encroach the Malfoy’s vision- “to gain the favour of. Your father lied-” tighter “and cheated” tighter “and bribed his freedom. In what fantasy of his could he ever imagine getting away with it? What master would accept a traitor and coward back into the fold?”

Draco’s eyes fluttered, and his face made the last transition to purple from lack of oxygen.

And in that moment, his eyes opened just enough to see Finn’s glamours come down, to see the lightning-struck scar adorning his killer’s brow-

“No-” he rasped out desperately.

Finn- Harry eyed him dispassionately, and suddenly let go. Draco crumpled to the floor, choking and wheezing, rings of black bruises encircling his throat and wrists.

Draco raised his eyes to see Harry Potter, the Wizarding World’s Savior, the Defeater of the Dark Lord, their Martyr, looming above him. He raised a shaking hand to trace his ravaged neck.

This wasn’t what they’d asked for.

Finn scoffed at his trembling figure. “Pathetic,” he spat, and turned to leave, but Draco just had to pound the final nail into his coffin.

“M-My father will hear about this,” he croaked.

Finn swiveled his head, and for the first time, something akin to pity shone in his eyes.

“No, he won’t,” he said coldly. “Obliviate.”

Chapter 29

Chapter Text

Finn stood by the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster’s tower, hand raised to activate the password mechanism.

His hand hovered.

Then he heaved a sigh and slid to the floor with his back to the wall, burying his face in his hands.

“My Lord, I don’t know if I can do this,” Finn whispered to himself. “I-I know your followers have trained me for these moments but I-” he broke off in a choked sob. “It’s already past Yule, my Lord, and I have made no progress in the task set before me. You are- you are still out there, somewhere, weak and alone, and it is our duty to stand beside you, it is my purpose, to stand beside you, but…” he trailed off. “But I am here. Facing the Light Lord,” he gulped. “We are scattered to the wind, each facing trials alone, but it is not meant to be this way!” he sprung to his feet, pacing the length of the hall.

“Why have you abandoned us?! Your most loyal languish in Azkaban, traitors and deniers have free reign in their mansions, you are lost to us, less than a wraith, less than the meanest ghost, and I-” he stopped, then fell back against the wall, and whispered, “I am all alone behind enemy lines.” He hugged his knees to his chest, and his green eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

“Why have you forsaken us?” he whispered brokenly. “They tell me you were invincible, stronger than a hundred wix, beyond human, but the only reminder we have left is the little shard of your soul inside the symbol of the Light,” he sneered.

He traced the invisible scar on his forehead, a thoughtful expression taking over his features.

“The Horcrux in me calls to you,” he said. “It cries out, in Defense, yearning to rejoin that from whence it came.” He scowled. “But of course it would be attracted to Quirrel, the weakling,” he snarled. “What about him calls to you? Why would such a weak-willed-”

He stopped.

Blinked.

Then he took a sharp gasp, and his hand flew to his forehead.

“Merlin,” he breathed, aghast. “You- Quirrel took a sabbatical as the Muggle Studies teacher and came back as the DADA teacher. He travelled to Albania.”

Finn gaped for a minute, then turned and ran off, leaving the Headmaster’s office undisturbed.

Chapter 30

Chapter Text

Finn careened around the corner to Quirrel’s office, but skidded to a stop and took a moment to straighten his robes and frantically try to calm his hair, eventually giving up and knocking, vibrating with excitement.

The door opened a little and Quirrel peeked out, that terrible purple turban making Finn’s hidden scar twinge.

He savoured the pain.

“Professor? Can I come in?” he asked, grinning brightly.

Quirrel blinked in confusion, then nodded and stepped aside, opening the door a little more so that Finn could scamper in. Quirrel’s office was impersonal, the only adornments being stacks of essays on the desk that needed marking.

Quirrel sat in the leather chair behind the desk and waited as Finn collected himself.

“Professor, would you mind swearing a confidentiality oath?” Finn asked.

(Quirrel is very confused and slightly horrified. He is not a Head of House, so there can be nothing a child would want from him other than academic pursuits. Right? Dear Merlin, he hopes this child has not come to ask about anything… inappropriate. He dares say his Master would not be pleased to be witness to him giving an eleven year old some version of The Talk.)

Quirrel, despite his extremely befuddled expression, raised his wand and swore.

Finnegan Black grinned crazily, then, in a display that shocked Quirrel to his bones, slid out of the chair and fluidly knelt on one knee.

“My Lord,” he whispered breathily. “You have returned to us.”

And time stopped.

The world froze as the consciousness lurking behind the stuttering DADA teacher surged forward, turning the Professor’s eyes a deep wine-red and shoving Quirrel tumbling back through his mindscape.

“And who,” not-Quirrel said, in a deep, smooth baritone, “do you think I am?”

The boy’s hooded eyes glittered (killing curse?) green. “The Dark Lord Voldemort, back from Beyond the Veil,” he whispered. “At least, I dearly hope so,” he said, with a hint of amusem*nt, “or this is about to become extremely awkward.”

The Dark Lord laughed, low and menacingly. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand for knowing things you shouldn’t,” he said.

Finn smiled, and brushed his hair aside to reveal a very distinctive lightning-bolt scar.

The Dark Lord sucked in a sharp breath and raised his wand to immediately screech “AVADA KEDAVRA!”

And for the second round in minutes, time stopped.

And the world went black.

Chapter 31

Chapter Text

“Well!” came Finn’s exclamation. “If I’d known you were going to react so badly I would have taken the care to be a little more tactful about it!”

“You dare dodge Lord Voldemort?! Insignificant worm, avada kedavra!”

Finn dodged again, jumping out of the way of the bright light with a yelp.

“Hey, wait!” he squawked in indignation. “That’s a killing curse! I thought we- yipe!” he wheeled out of the way of another green flash. “Would you give me a minute to explain?!”

“Do I look like a fool to you?!” Quirrelmort roared. “You are the boy-who-lived!” he screeched, punctuating each syllable with a wand jab, wordless curses tumbling through the charged air.

Finn leapt and jerked his body aside to avoid the hexes heading straight for him. “But I’m not, not really!” he called desperately. “Could you please-“

“AVADA KEDAVRA-“

“Oh, for f*ck’s sake- fine! Maybe a bit of a show will get your attention! Caelum fragmente!”

The two traded curses, Finn barely holding his own using mostly bone-breaking curses and body-binds, as Quirrelmort tossed AKs like candy. Finn was beaten back-

He’s backing me into a corner, I can’t dodge killing curses if I’m trapped oh MERLIN-

Finn screamed as a green light sizzled by his arm, just catching his free-hanging sleeve and gouging a singed slice free. He turned horror-stricken eyes to Quirrelmort’s form.

“You nearly killed me!” he said incredulously.

“Won’t be nearly in a second-“ Quirrelmort muttered, carefully aiming as the boy’s eyes filled with tears.

“My Lord?” Finn whimpered. “Please-“

“Avada-“

“Fine then.”

“Keda-OW!”

Finn dropped to the floor and rolled between Quirrelmort’s legs, kicking him in the balls and sprinting for the door as the professor-cum-Dark Lord yowled with pain. He slid out the door and cast a breathless disillusionment charm and ran down the hall.

I have to get to Dumbledore.

Chapter 32

Chapter Text

Wait, no I don’t! Finn thought, skidding to a halt. What the hell am I thinking? There’s something in the water at this bloody school, I swear. I’ve come down with something, maybe. All these hairpin decisions aren’t exactly-

Wait.

Finn groaned in exasperation, and thought back to Azkaban, back when his world had been cold and grey but simple, when the only choice he had to make was whether to train for a couple more minutes or take a break.

Knew I should have taken Travers up on those life-planning sessions. Then he thought with bemusem*nt, Although taking life management from a convicted prisoner probably isn’t exactly textbook.

He grinned sharply. Then again, is there anything about me that’s textbook?

Finn sighed, and played with his singed sleeve absently. I need a plan. A real plan. No more messy mistakes. Because this….

This was messy.

Maybe I ought to spend some time gathering support. I haven’t really bothered to connect with any of my housemates and it’s already Yule. Nev and Mione are great but I’ll need more than just them.

Merlin, I’m going to have to talk to people, aren’t I?

Bloody politics.

And Finn slumped with a sigh, then turned to walk dejectedly back to the Hufflepuff dormitories.

Chapter 33

Chapter Text

“Hey, Mione!” Finn called, waving to the bushy-haired brunette who sat at the Ravenclaw table for dinner. She turned in surprise, but when she saw him sitting at the Hufflepuff table she waved exuberantly, then got up to trot over to where he and Neville were sitting, plopping down in between them and excitedly striking up a conversation.

Finn smiled fondly and joined in, him and Neville bemoaning Hermione’s tirade on upcoming exams, and Finn gloried in these moments of normal that he’d begun to sink into, the moments that reminded him of the times in Azkaban when it was just him, Padfoot, and Bella, talking and chatting away about the most menial of things. It reminded him of his easy camaraderie with the other prisoners, back before life got bloody complicated and he’d had to ping-pong between his Lord and Goat whor* in ways no eleven-year-old should. The simple back-and-fourth with his two friends reminded him of what he would probably be leaving behind once his Lord rose to full power once more. (Did he even want that? Could he even- No. Stop doubting.)

They moved from dinner down to the library to study a little before heading up (or down, in the Hufflepuff’s dungeons’ case) to bed. They chattered and bickered, Finn’s smiles becoming more and more wooden as curfew neared. (Could he give this up? Of course he could, of course-)

But as Finn laid in bed that night, Neville’s soft snores were a too-soft background for the traitorous thoughts floating lazily in his mindscape, twisting ropes of what if, what if, what if?

What if he found something in the funny little world outside Azkaban’s walls that made him want to stay?

Chapter 34

Chapter Text

~THIS IS NOT A CHAPTER~

Sorry to spring this on y’all so suddenly, but this fic will be on week-long hiatus starting today. I’m doing family stuff and literally will not be able to use a computer, so for the next seven days there will be no updates. After that, I’ll resume as normal.

Some o’ y’all expressed concerns about the direction this fic is taking, and let me tell you I have no f*cking idea what I’m doing with this. I’m really only continuing this at all to prove to myself that I’m not actually a spineless coward and can finish sh*t when I want to, and because of all the warm fuzzy feelings I get reading comments.

If y’all have any suggestions for plot sh*t or whatever leave them in the comments please, but do know that this fic will eventually be harry/luna (by request of a close friend), and Finn will be staying with the Weasleys over the summer.

Thanks for stickin with this. See y’all in a week!

Chapter 35

Chapter Text

“Alright. Today, we’re going to work on the Shield Charm, Mione. The incantation is protego, and the wand movement is a looping sort of circle in the general direction you want the shield to form.”

Hermione sat in front of him, expression attentive.

“The intent behind this charm is shield, and the more power you push into it the more it will be able to withstand. It’s a balance, though,” he said, waving his wand lazily. “Too much power in your shield and you won’t have the buzz you need to shoot off your counterattack.”

She nodded, and raised her wand. “I’m ready,” she said.

“Good,” Finn said. “I’m going to cast at you in rapid succession, just colour marks, and you’re going to try to block them with protego,” he grinned crookedly. “No dodging.”

“Of course not,” was Hermione’s prim response.

They grinned, and shifted stances.

“Color viridis resarcio!”

Hermione yelped at the lime green bolt racing towards her, shouting “Protego!”

A flimsy circle sparked up, but the marking spell shattered it and impacted right on Hermione’s blouse, giving her a large green paint patch on her front. She blinked, then glared at Finn. “You’d better fix this,” she threatened.

Finn grinned. “Get your shields up to par, miss, then we’ll see,” he teased. She growled, and raised her wand again.

Chapter 36

Chapter Text

Finn walked next to Neville, one hand casually wrapped around the strap of his messenger bag and the other arm thrown around Neville’s shoulders, their heads bent together as they snickered at something.

The end of the term was coming up, but Finn wanted to take a crack at the third-floor corridor before school was out and he returned to wherever he would go for the summer, most likely the Weasleys’ if old Dumbles had anything to say about it.

I wouldn’t mind the Weasleys. Gred and Forge make good company, not to mention would be fine Animagi protégés. My time there last summer was… nice. Perhaps I wouldn’t stay all summer, but I wouldn’t mind a couple of weeks at the Burrow.

Finn was trying to convince Neville that the two of them and Hermione could totally take the corridor, while Neville argued the valid point that he’d rather not risk a, quote, ‘painful death’.

But Finn was nothing if not stubborn.

So when Neville finally caved, the young Black performed a short victory dance and immediately began to make a plan of attack.

At lunch the two boys accosted Hermione and excitedly (Finn with decidedly more enthusiasm than Neville) began to explain their carefully constructed plan.

Hermione’s first words were something along the lines of “You idiotic children! The third floor corridor? The ‘painful death’ corridor?! Imbecilic boys!”

But her next move was to snatch Finn’s notes on his ‘battle ideas’ and immediately begin to scribble over their hastily-done, dramatic-entrances-ridden ideas and replace them with logical, workable ones, so they took this as her way of saying she’s in.

Neville joined in on Finn’s victory dance this go-round, and Hermione rolled her eyes fondly before going back to brainstorming ways for her to leave Ravenclaw Tower undetected.

Chapter 37

Chapter Text

~NOT A CHAPTER~

Right, so, I’ve missed like two updates, sorry. Real life’s an absolute bitch, sh*t’s been going down, my dog’s dead.

I’m not really in a very good headspace right now and I know I like just took a hiatus but I get the feeling y’all would rather wait for not-super-terrible chapters than the angsty keyboard smashes I’ve churned out trying to get something down for the past couple days.

So I figured I’d go ahead and post this just to let y’all know rather than up and drop off the grid. I’ll miss probably all next week’s updates, cause like I said, dead pets and happy-go-lucky eleven year olds don’t really mix well.

Y’all stay safe.