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The Blood of the Ancients Chapter 13 (The Darkness That Learned to Love)
🕑 Added 2025-10-14 21:27:46 +0000 UTCThe Three Broomsticks had just settled back into its comfortable bubble of gossip and warmth when the door chimed again. Harry looked up from his butterbeer to see Susan Bones entering, causing many boys and a few girls to look at her. The light of the place made her hair glitter like wine. Or blood, if Harry was being dramatic—which, given recent events, seemed fair.
Hannah Abbott trailed behind her, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else. Maybe the moon.
"Well, well," Ginny murmured. "Incoming."
Susan navigated through the crowded. Her robes were technically regulation, but somehow managed to suggest things that would have given Madam Pince a coronary.
"Harry," Susan said, arriving at their table like it had been her destination all along. "What a lovely surprise."
"Is it?" Harry asked, noting how her 'surprise' included freshly applied lip gloss and perfume that smelled like vanilla. "A surprise, I mean?"
Susan's smile could have powered several Lumos charms. "Well, perhaps not entirely. Mind if we join you? Everywhere else is absolutely packed."
Harry glanced around the half-empty pub. Even the table directly next to them was free.
"Packed," Hermione repeated with an arched eyebrow.
"Practically overflowing," Ginny agreed cheerfully. "You'd better squeeze in before someone claims this imaginary crowd."
Susan slid into the booth next to Harry without waiting for actual permission, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her. Hannah took the remaining spot next to Hermione, her face approximately the color of a well-cooked lobster.
"So," Susan said, angling her body toward Harry in a way that was definitely deliberate, "recovering from your dragon adventure? That was quite the performance."
"It went well enough," Harry said, trying not to notice how Susan's positioning gave him an inadvertent—or entirely advertent—view down her robes.
"Well enough?" Susan laughed, the sound rich as melted chocolate. "You disappeared into shadows and reappeared with the egg. Half the school's still trying to figure out how you did it."
"Trade secret," Harry said.
"I love secrets." Susan's hand found its way to the table near his, not quite touching but close enough to suggest the possibility. "Sharing them, keeping them, discovering them..."
Ginny made a sound that might have been a cough or poorly disguised laughter.
"Speaking of discoveries," Susan continued, seemingly oblivious to Ginny's reaction, "Hannah's discovered something interesting about you, haven't you, Hannah?"
Hannah, who had been trying to become one with the booth's upholstery, squeaked. "I haven't—I mean—"
"She's been watching your Quidditch practices," Susan said helpfully. "Haven't you noticed? Every Tuesday and Thursday, regular as clockwork."
"Susan!" Hannah's voice pitched high enough to disturb nearby dogs.
"What? It's sweet." Susan's fingers brushed Harry's as she reached for her butterbeer—definitely not an accident. "She thinks your diving technique is 'poetry in motion.' Her words."
Harry caught Hermione and Ginny exchanging looks that suggested they were having an entire conversation without words. Neither seemed particularly bothered by Susan's obvious flirting, which was somehow more unsettling than if they'd been hexing her under the table.
"I just appreciate good flying," Hannah mumbled into her butterbeer.
"Among other things," Susan added with a wink that could have been seen from space. "We were just discussing the benefits of inter-house cooperation. Weren't we, Hannah?"
"Were we?" Hannah looked confused.
"Absolutely. Building bridges, sharing resources, exploring new arrangements..." Susan's emphasis on 'arrangements' came with a meaningful look at Harry, then Hermione and Ginny. "I think it's wonderful how progressive Hogwarts is becoming."
"Progressive," Hermione said, in the same tone she used when encountering a particularly suspicious potion.
"Oh yes. Some of us think traditional boundaries are so limiting." Susan shifted, somehow managing to press closer to Harry despite the laws of physics suggesting she couldn't get any nearer without actually sitting in his lap. "Why stick to conventional patterns when there are so many interesting configurations to explore?"
Ginny's grin had reached Cheshire cat proportions. "Configurations? Do tell."
"Well," Susan said, her hand actually landing on Harry's arm now, warm through his sleeve, "I've always believed in collaborative learning. The more perspectives, the better the education. Don't you think, Harry?"
Harry's brain seemed to be operating on a five-second delay. "Education. Right."
"Susan's very committed to education," Hannah said, apparently without realizing the implications. "She's always talking about hands-on experience."
"Hannah's more theoretical," Susan said, her thumb tracing a small circle on Harry's arm. "But I think she could benefit from practical application. With the right... study group."
The penny finally dropped for Hannah, who turned a shade of red previously unknown to science.
"We should probably—" she started.
"Did you know," Susan interrupted, her voice dropping to something more intimate despite the public setting, "that five is considered a lucky number in arithmancy? Perfect balance. Not too few to be limiting, not too many to be chaotic."
She leaned closer, ostensibly to reach for a napkin, and whispered near Harry's ear: "I'm very good at balance."
Harry's attempt to respond was derailed by Ginny's delighted cackle.
"Subtle," she said. "I like it. Very 'educational.'"
Susan straightened, completely unashamed. "I believe in being direct about one's interests. Life's too short for mixed signals." She stood, pulling a reluctant Hannah with her. "We should go. But Harry? If you ever want to explore those... study opportunities, you know where to find me."
"The library?" Harry managed.
Susan's laugh suggested the library was the last place she had in mind. "Among other locations. I know all sorts of private spots in the castle. Perfect for... concentrated learning."
She moved past him toward the door, pausing to add: "Bring your study partners if you'd like. I'm very collaborative."
Hannah made a sound like a stepped-on mouse and practically ran for the exit. Susan followed at a more leisurely pace, turning at the door to give Harry a look that could have melted castle stone.
The table sat in silence for exactly three seconds after the door closed.
"So," Ginny said brightly, "when's the wedding? Or should I say weddings, plural?"
"She was practically climbing into your lap," Hermione observed with academic interest. "I'm surprised she didn't just hand you her knickers and be done with it."
"Bold of you to assume she's wearing any," Ginny said.
Harry dropped his head onto the table with a thunk that rattled the butterbeers. "Can we pretend that didn't happen?"
"Never," Ginny said cheerfully. "That was better than Christmas. Did you see Hannah's face when she realized what Susan was suggesting?"
"I'm trying to forget," Harry mumbled into the wood.
"Five's a lucky number," Hermione quoted, and Harry could hear her smile. "She actually said that with a straight face."
"Oh, her face was straight. Other parts of her, though..." Ginny made a gesture that Harry was grateful he couldn't see with his head down.
He lifted his head enough to look at them. "You're not upset?"
"Why would we be upset?" Hermione asked. "A beautiful girl threw herself at our boyfriend. If anything, it validates our excellent taste."
"Besides," Ginny added, stirring her butterbeer with exaggerated casualness, "if we're collecting houses, Hufflepuff is one more we need. Very loyal, Hufflepuffs. Excellent work ethic. Great with their hands..."
"I hate you both," Harry said without heat.
"Liar," they replied in unison, which was becoming an alarming habit.
Outside, the November wind had picked up, rattling the windows like it wanted in on the gossip. Harry suspected that by dinner, the entire school would know about Susan's proposition.
The November air bit sharper as they left the Three Broomsticks, carrying the taste of approaching winter and impending interrogation. Harry barely made it three steps before Hermione launched into her analysis.
"She's either remarkably confident or remarkably well-informed," Hermione said, pulling her scarf tighter. "The way she looked at all three of us. I know there are rumors about us, but she was talking as if she already knew we three were an item. She must have prior knowledge."
"Prior knowledge," Ginny snorted, her breath misting in the cold. "She practically offered Harry her knickers as a souvenir. 'I know all sorts of private spots,'" she mimicked in a breathy voice that actually did sound unnervingly like Susan.
"She didn't actually—" Harry started.
"Oh please, that was subtext so obvious it was basically just text." Ginny kicked a stone, sending it skittering across cobblestones with a satisfaction that suggested she was imagining it was something else. "The only way she could have been more obvious is if she'd written her room number on your hand."
They passed Scrivenshaft's, where a self-inking quill in the window kept writing "SALE" over and over, hoping someone would notice it, and decide to walk in and buy something.
"The question," Hermione said in her problem-solving voice, "is whether she knows about our specific arrangement or if she's just generally... ambitious."
"Ambitious," Harry repeated. "That's one word for it."
"What would you call it?" Ginny asked innocently.
"Terrifying?"
"You've literally fought a dragon."
"The dragon just wanted to eat me. Susan wants to—" Harry stopped, his face heating despite the cold.
"Yes?" Ginny prompted, delighted. "What does Susan want to do? Be specific. Use diagrams if necessary."
Hermione made a sound caught between exasperation and amusement. "What I find interesting is Hannah's involvement. She seemed genuinely surprised by Susan's suggestions."
"Probably thought they were just going for butterbeer and light stalking," Ginny said. "Instead she got recruited for Susan's 'collaborative learning' project."
They turned down a quieter side street, their footsteps echoing off stone buildings. A tabby cat watched them from a windowsill with the kind of judgment only cats could properly achieve.
"We could look at this strategically," Hermione said, because of course she did. "Having Hufflepuff allies wouldn't be terrible. They're loyal, hardworking—"
"Great finders," Ginny added with a perfectly straight face.
Harry groaned. "We're not actually considering this."
"Why not?" Ginny asked with an innocent grin. "You're already collecting houses like chocolate frog cards. Add Hufflepuff and you'd have the complete set. Very democratic."
"I'm not trying to build a harem!"
"No, you're accidentally building one, which is much funnier." Ginny linked her arm through his, her warmth a pleasant contrast to the November chill. "Poor Harry Potter, suffering under the terrible burden of too much female attention. How do you manage?"
"Through great personal sacrifice," Harry said dryly.
"So noble. So tortured." Hermione took his other arm, and for a moment Harry forgot about everything except how right this felt—the three of them against the world, or at least against Hogwarts' gossip network. "Though I notice you didn't actually tell Susan no."
Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. She had a point.
"He was in shock," Ginny said generously. "Anyone would be after that level of proposition. Did you see how she positioned herself? I'm pretty sure she was trying to climb into his lap through sheer force of will."
They passed the Hog's Head, where suspicious sounds and even more suspicious smells suggested business as usual. A wizard stumbled out, took one look at them, and stumbled back in. Harry chose not to wonder why.
"You know what this means," Ginny said as they approached the edge of the village.
"What?" Harry asked, already dreading the answer.
"We need to find more creative places for our... study sessions. You know, stake our claim on the best spots before Susan starts leaving gift baskets outside our dormitory with suggestive notes."
"Gift baskets?"
"Oh, definitely. Probably full of chocolate and massage oils and those little cards that say 'Thinking of you' but really mean 'Thinking of you naked.'"
Hermione's laugh was bright in the cold air. "That's surprisingly specific."
"I have a vivid imagination." Ginny paused, then added thoughtfully, "Though if she does send chocolate, we're keeping it. No sense wasting good sweets just because they come with propositions attached."
The path toward the Shrieking Shack appeared through the thinning buildings, winding into the grey-green wilderness beyond Hogsmeade. The standing stones Sirius had mentioned would be just past the next rise, hidden from casual view.
The clearing opened before them like a secret the forest had been keeping. Harry spotted the large black dog immediately, sitting beside an old tree.
The dog—Padfoot—approached cautiously, nose working the air. After a few experimental sniffs, his tail began wagging and he turned, clearly expecting them to follow.
"Well," Ginny said, "following strange dogs into the forest. What could possibly go wrong?"
"It's Sirius," Harry reminded her.
"Oh, I know. Still doesn't make it less weird when you say it out loud."
The path Padfoot led them down was barely visible, more suggestion than trail. After five minutes of dodging low branches and stepping over roots that seemed determined to trip them, they emerged into another, smaller clearing.
Harry stopped dead.
There was a house. An actual house. Small, yes—more cottage than mansion—but solid and real, with warm light glowing through the windows.
"He's not living rough," Harry breathed, relief flooding through him so suddenly he felt lightheaded.
"Where did this come from?" Hermione asked, ever practical. "This can't have just appeared."
"Come in!" Sirius's voice called from inside. "Door's open!"
They entered to find a surprisingly cozy space—one main room with a worn but comfortable sofa, mismatched chairs, and a table that had seen better decades. Two doors led off the main room, presumably bedroom and bathroom. It smelled of woodsmoke and tea and something indefinably safe.
Harry took one look at Sirius—thin but not gaunt, tired but not broken—and couldn't help himself. He crossed the room in three strides and pulled his godfather into a fierce hug.
"Easy there," Sirius laughed, but he was holding on just as tightly. "You'd think we hadn't seen each other in years instead of months."
"Feels like years," Harry admitted, pulling back to study him properly. "You look good. For someone who's supposedly on the run from the entire Ministry."
"Ah well, clean living and regular meals. Who knew?" Sirius's grin was pure mischief. "Though I notice you're looking rather well yourself for someone in a death tournament. Must be all that... exercise."
Harry's face heated as Sirius's gaze shifted meaningfully to Hermione and Ginny, who were standing somewhat awkwardly by the door.
"Miss Granger," Sirius said warmly. "Good to see you again. And you must be Miss Weasley—Ginny, right? Harry's mentioned you in his letters."
"All good things, I hope," Ginny said with a slight smile. "It's nice to finally meet you properly, Mr. Black. Without the Dementors and attempted murder, I mean."
Sirius barked a laugh. "Just Sirius, please. And yes, I prefer these circumstances too." He glanced behind them, as if expecting someone else, then shook his head. "Sit, all of you. Tea? Food? I've got both, surprisingly enough."
"How?" Hermione asked, looking around the cottage with obvious curiosity. "This place—who built it? Has it always been here?"
Sirius busied himself with the kettle, his movements suggesting this was a story that needed tea to tell properly. "Hagrid built it, actually. Years ago, when we were all still at school."
"Hagrid?" Harry accepted the mug Sirius handed him. "Why would Hagrid build a house in the forest?"
"For us. Me, your father, Remus, and... Peter." The name came out like something bitter he needed to spit out. "Back when we were still the Marauders and the world made sense."
He settled into a chair that creaked under his weight. "Even then, Hagrid was Keeper of Keys and Grounds. And he knew about Remus's... condition. After full moons, Remus would be exhausted, sometimes injured, always terrified someone would notice the signs."
"But the Shrieking Shack—" Ginny started.
"Was for the transformations, yes. But afterwards?" Sirius shook his head. "You have to understand, Hogwarts has nearly a thousand students. Nine hundred, give or take, from all houses and years. The odds of someone recognizing werewolf injuries, putting together the monthly pattern... Remus was paranoid about it. Rightfully so."
"So Hagrid built this place," Hermione said, understanding dawning.
"A safe house. Somewhere Remus could recover without facing questions. Close enough to the Shrieking Shack to be convenient, far enough from the castle to be private." Sirius's smile was bittersweet. "It became our retreat, eventually. Our secret base. The Marauders' last hideout."
"Why not just use the Shrieking Shack itself?" Ginny asked.
"Have you seen what a werewolf without Wolfsbane does to furniture?" Sirius's expression darkened. "Remus would tear the place apart every month. Claw marks on the walls, broken furniture, blood sometimes. He couldn't bear staying there afterward, surrounded by evidence of what he'd done. This place... this was clean. Safe. Somewhere the wolf had never been."
"And now you're living here," Harry said softly.
"Hagrid remembered. Found me not long after I contacted you, brought me here. He's been bringing supplies, checking in." Sirius's voice went rough. "Good man, Hagrid. Better friend than I probably deserve."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, sipping tea.
"So," Sirius said eventually, his tone shifting to something more teasing. "Going to explain why you've brought both your lovely companions to our secret meeting? Or should I just draw my own conclusions?"
Harry nearly choked on his tea. "I... we... that is..."
"We are both dating him," Ginny said cheerfully. "Together. All three of us. It's very modern."
Sirius's eyebrows attempted to leave his face entirely. "Both of them? At the same time? Consensually?"
"No, we take turns on alternate Tuesdays," Ginny deadpanned. "Yes, consensually."
Sirius looked between the three of them, then burst out laughing. "James would be so proud. Probably have a heart attack first, but then proud." He wiped his eyes. "And Lily... Merlin, Lily would say you've lost your wits entirely. Then she'd hex you if you weren't treating them both properly."
"We're very well treated," Hermione said right away, then turned bright red when Sirius made a coughing sound.
"I bet you are." Sirius chuckled again, then grew serious. "But that's not why you're really here. Harry, your letter mentioned shadow magic. Show me."
Harry focused on the shadows cast by their teacups, coaxing them to rise and reshape. The shadows became tiny spoons, stirring the tea.
"Well," Sirius said after a moment, "that's certainly more creative than anything I expected. Shadow magic for tea service. Your ancestors would be... confused, probably."
"My ancestors?"
Sirius pulled out a worn book from a bag by his chair. "After your letter, I did some research. Had to be careful—can't exactly walk into a library—but I managed." He opened the book to a marked page. "House Peverell. Ancient pureblood family, supposedly extinct. But if the Goblet called you Heir of Peverell, you must have the bloodline."
"The Goblet called me 'child of Death' too," Harry said quietly. "It said 'Touch the flame, child of Death. Heir of Peverell. Claim your birthright.'"
Sirius nodded slowly. "The Peverells were known for unusual magic. Including..." he hesitated, "Parseltongue."
Harry felt ice in his veins. "You mean I can speak to snakes because—"
Not because of Voldemort, Harry thought with growing horror. Because I'm from some ancient Dark family. What if the Peverells were as bad as the Malfoys? What if this is why I can understand snakes—not a curse from Voldemort, but something rotten in my own blood?
"Because you're a Peverell heir, possibly." Sirius leaned forward. "The Potters must have married into the family at some point. With the main line extinct, the magic would pass to any remaining blood."
Great, Harry thought bitterly. I'm heir to an extinct house that spoke to snakes. No wonder the Sorting Hat wanted me in Slytherin. I probably belong there.
"But how do you explain the shadow magic?" Harry paused, then decided to share more, though shame burned in his chest. "I had this dream—or maybe a memory. I was seeing through the eyes of a boy named Alaric Peverell. He could control shadows naturally, even as a child. His mother warned him about the dangers, said shadows remember everything they touch."
Sirius's eyebrows rose. "A memory dream? That's... unusual. Shadow magic might have been rare even among Peverells. Perhaps only certain members of the family had it, and you happened to inherit that particular gift."
"But why couldn't I use it before? Why did it need the Goblet to awaken it?"
"That's the question, isn't it?" Sirius frowned thoughtfully. "The Goblet of Fire is ancient magic. It recognizes things we've forgotten, bloodlines we thought lost. But as for why it could awaken dormant abilities..." He shrugged. "I honestly don't know."
"Who made the Goblet of Fire anyway?" Harry asked, frustrated. "Something that powerful must have a creator."
Sirius shook his head. "No one knows. It's one of the great mysteries."
"It was created over nine hundred years ago," Hermione added. "But there's no record of who made it. Could have been a single powerful wizard, could have been a group working together. The historical texts just say it 'appeared' for the first Triwizard Tournament."
"Convenient," Ginny muttered. "Mysterious ancient artifact with unknown origins starts calling Harry the heir of a supposedly extinct bloodline. Nothing suspicious about that at all."
"The point is," Sirius said, steering them back, "the Goblet recognized something in you that was already there, just dormant. Why it could awaken it when nothing else could... that's a mystery for another day."
Something that was always there, Harry thought miserably. Dark magic in my blood, waiting. Maybe Ron was right to leave. Maybe everyone should stay away from me.
"What should I do? Dumbledore already suspects something."
Sirius was quiet for a long moment. "Dumbledore wants what's best for the wizarding world. Usually that aligns with what's best for us, but not always. He's a chess player, Harry. A brilliant one, but chess players move pieces. They sacrifice pawns."
"You think I'm a pawn?"
"I think you're whatever piece he needs you to be." Sirius's expression was grim. "Tell him something, but not everything. Give him enough truth to satisfy his curiosity, but keep your secrets. The shadow magic, yes. The Goblet speaking to you, the Peverell name? Maybe hold those back."
"That's what we decided too," Hermione said quietly.
"Smart girl." Sirius stood, pacing to the window, then paused. He'd clearly noticed Harry's troubled expression—the way Harry had hunched in on himself, looking smaller than he had all evening.
Sirius's face softened with understanding. "Harry, you're thinking being a Peverell makes you something dark, aren't you? That this blood makes you wrong somehow?"
Harry couldn't meet his eyes, which was answer enough.
"Blood doesn't make us who we are, Harry. I'm a Black—look at my family tree. Bellatrix, Narcissa, my dear departed mother, Regulus. Blood purity fanatics, most of them. Dark wizards, murderers, the worst kind of people." Sirius's voice was fierce now. "But also me. Also Andromeda who married a muggleborn and raised a wonderful daughter...I think she did."
He moved back to Harry, gripping his shoulder. "The Blacks are one of the Darkest families in Britain. By your logic, I should be trying to find Voldemort right now, torturing muggles for fun. Instead, I'm here with my godson, proud of the man he's becoming."
Harry felt something tight in his chest begin to loosen.
"Your shadow magic, your heritage—they're tools. Nothing more, nothing less. What matters is how you use them. The Peverells gave you power, but you choose what to do with it. And from what I've seen, you're choosing to protect people, to fight in a tournament you never wanted to enter, to stand up for what's right."
He turned back to face them all. "That's not the mark of dark blood, Harry. That's the mark of a good man."
Harry nodded, feeling the weight lift from his shoulders. The sick, twisted feeling in his stomach finally began to fade. He wasn't tainted. He wasn't cursed. He was just Harry, with a complicated heritage like everyone else.
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Just as an aside Hogwarts may have had 900 back in Sirius's time (right before the whole devastation of the little civil war )but by the time Harry is around it's under 450. Each year averages about 14 between the two genders. By seven years and four houses you get 392. It's a big reason why when people do the numbers it looks like the wizarding world is dying. Anyway fun story. Harry doing the whole oh no I might be dark thing over things I can't control for like the fourth time is meh but other than that it's enjoyable.
