Parseltongue

Brief mention of child neglect and abuse

Chapter 9

talk of death (avoiding and embracing)

When they got off the train, the station was packed with parents coming to pick up their children and it was even more chaotic on the muggle side of things. There were badly disguised Aurors, and a hand clamped over Harry's bicep near immediately.

He lurched forward, yanking his arm out of the admittedly tight grip and his wand was out and stabbing into ribs before he could stop it. The reasonable part of his brain told him that he shouldn't draw it out while in the Muggle section of King's Cross but his instincts came into play much faster. His magic was alert and ready and his brain finally processed the person who had grabbed him.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was dangerously still with his wand digging into his skin but there was an approving look in his eye. "Your alert and ready, good. Come on. Tonks is waiting for us near Mad-Eye."

He didn't try to touch Harry again, but he stayed very close. Ron and Hermione were directly next to Harry, almost marching like they were official escorts though all the adults would just laugh and say that they were silly if they thought that they could protect Harry if somebody tried to hurt him.

And if anybody did, obviously they had never been faced with Ron's mad genius and Hermione's ruthless spell work. Rita Skeeter could attest to it – she had been kept in a jar for months by good little Gryffindor students and Harry nearly laughed at the memory. It was absurd for anybody to base morals and ethics off of a house that they were sorted into at 11 years of age.

Tonks packed their luggage into the trunk of a Ministry car, something that had been lent to them as they were picking up the Boy-Who-Lived and Harry packed into the backseat with Hermione and Ron. The silence was stifling as none of them could really talk about things as they had ears listening to them and Mad-Eye would surely notice if any one of them put a privacy charm.

When they stopped in front of Grimmauld, Harry clambered out and took his trunks before anybody else could grab them. He went into the house hurriedly, smiling briefly at Mrs. Weasley who was bustling around in the kitchen and threw himself into the bedroom that he had been sharing with Ron since he first came here when the Dementors attacked him and Dudley.

"Slow down mate," Ron panted as he lugged his trunk behind him, and shut the door with a resounding slam. "Someone would think you had the grim on your heels with how fast you got in here."

"Yeah... the grim on my heels." Harry pursed his lips and winced, rubbing his ears. Ron frowned at him.

"What's wrong?"

"The screaming? You know the screaming that I kept talking about during the summer?" Ron nodded, realization dawning on his face. Harry winced again. "Yeah, it's starting up again... and louder too, now that I'm much more in tune with it."

"Ah." Ron nodded slowly, looking rather helpless. Harry just waved if off.

He pulled his book out again, a crinkled piece of parchment acting as his bookmark so that he could continue where he left off. The old, faded words had been refreshed with a ink refreshment courtesy of Hermione, who had woken up during the last hour of the train ride. She had been intrigued by the book and made him promise to let her read the book after he was done – Harry had done one better and read aloud to her while she took multiple notes of everything. Ron had been amused by the entire thing as he read his own book about Muggles – an up-to-date book that included Muggles worldwide.

Harry took his self-inking quill and began jotting down notes on his piece of parchment, sighing at the guilt-anger-hurt that stirred in his stomach.

"Anyways, I have things that I need to correct. As Heir to multiple families but I'll start with Heir Black first." The official titles seemed to startle Ron, but he nodded again, only this time much more firmly. Harry rubbed the invisible rings on his fingers, feeling the carvings and indents on each ring – they tingled with old magic and Harry relaxed at the soothing feel of it, though to feel it so readily made the guilt within him worsen.

He looked at the top of the page, right in the center, and stared at the title of the chapter name.

Duties of the Lord and Heir.

He has things that he needs to affirm for the standing of the House of Potter-Peverell, Black, and Gryffindor. He'd been neglecting them, even if he didn't know what went into them he should've still looked, and yet he hadn't – and that was the worst thing that he couldn't done. It was the house of his father, the one that accepted his mother as its Lady, and he had been letting it fall into a state of disrepair. It was unacceptable.

Harry felt very angry at himself for being so ignorant of everything that had been going on with his finances, with the happenings of his own house, and he vowed to himself that he would fix it – that he would better the house so that it was not as listless as it had been.

The portfolios from Gringotts, now that he could actually somewhat understand what was written and what it meant, showed him that the Houses had been going into such a broken state that they could've been dissolved since Harry had done nothing, absolutely nothing, to fix them. It was shameful and horrifying to think that he could lost his ancestors history due to his own negligence.

It would not happen while he was alive and breathing. Especially not when he was going to have the next Potter Heir, whether it would be a little girl or little boy – they would be the next scion of the House of Potter.

"I understand," Ron murmured, breaking Harry's thoughts. Blue eyes were earnest and understanding, even though Harry hadn't voiced any of his thought. "It's important to you, especially as you didn't know anything about your family before this. I support you, mate. In everything. You deserve it after everything you've done to help me and everything I've had to put you through."

Ron nudged his shoulder gently, and Harry knocked him back. "I've forgiven you for all of them – we're all idiots from time to time. Remember Malfoy setting us up during the midnight duel? Hermione was the only one to see right through that."

Hermione entered on them both laughing and shook her head in an amused exasperation. "What are you two laughing about now? I took a nice long nap on the train, and I was going to hit the rest of the books. Oh, and Harry, now that we're here, I think you can do those rituals that you needed to accomplish since we couldn't at Hogwarts."

Harry nodded his head. "Yup – my rites as a Necromancer. I'll need to do those an a new moon again, since it's the darkest day on Earth. At midnight at well since there's a saying about that, and it strikes true for Necromancers: when the crow calls at midnight, the dark moon swells with blood and Death comes. I wonder where it came from," he mused to himself silently.

Hermione just shrugged through she looked incredibly intrigued as well. "I don't know... but that is very interesting. The new moon of the month is 3 days from now we'll get ready for that I suppose. What else do we need to do while we're here?"

"I need to talk with Kreacher, find out where the screaming is coming from, talk with Sirius – Remus is probably going to be here now that I think about it – and make sure that we're ready for our meeting with Riddle. Have we secured a date for that?"

Hermione looked absolutely gleeful when he mentioned that and pulled out a roll of parchment from her pockets – it shouldn't have fit in there so he would say that they were magically expanded on the inside.

"Yes actually. December 23rd is the most packed day in the Muggle World for shopping since that is when most shoppers do it last minutes, which is a surprising amount of people." She looked a bit disturbed by that, like she wanted nothing more than to scold them on proper shopping etiquette but desisted. "Anyways, it'll be the best day, statistically, for us to meet Riddle. So that means that we have 7 days for that."

"Okay... that's nice," Ron looked a bit confused about that, probably not understanding how big the crowds would be.

Harry huffed. "It's essentially going to be Diagon Alley on its busiest day with like 5 times the amount of people Ron. Muggles overpopulate wizards by a long shot and Christmas shopping is going to be absolutely chaotic with it being just 2 days from Christmas day... that's just how things are with Muggles."

Ron looked astonished and a little worried. "Are you sure Riddle is going to meet us in the Muggle world though?"

"He will," Hermione looked absolutely certain about it. "If he doesn't then he's compromising his own safety and he wouldn't ever do that – especially if we offer to back out of the war and go neutral. With Harry no longer fighting him and Riddle no longer expending the resources to strike him down, it's essentially handing him the war. If Riddle doesn't take that, then he's an idiot and this war will probably be easier to win than we think... especially with the amount of insight and research we're doing into his years as he became Voldemort."

Ron nodded. "Okay. He is generally intelligent so he's going to have to be okay with going out into the muggle world otherwise he's running the risk of his secrets getting out and he doesn't want to do that."

The silence that befalls is contemplative and Harry begins listing things off in his mind. In 3 days he had to be ready to speak with Death – wasn't that a strange thought? – and he knew everything that he needed by heart.

Sweet oil; sage; thyme; 7 square candles; slate tablets; rosemary... Harry ticked each one off then hummed.

"Do you think I could trick them into letting me go to Knockturn? I'm not sure if we have sweet oil in our possession... and going through Grimmauld would be kind of strange."

Ron furrowed his brow. "We wouldn't be able to go but it's not strange for elves to pick up orders for their master. Want to ask, Kreacher? You are the Heir now."

Hermione didn't look pleased but said nothing as she narrowed her eyes at them. "It's worth a try," she offered instead.

"Kreacher!" Harry called, trying to not show his anger when the elf popped up with a dirty loin cloth and wringing his wrinkled, knobby hands together. "Dirty Half-Blood calls Kreacher?"

"No, Heir Black calls Kreacher," Harry ground out, revealing the diamond and silver ring on his finger, icy blue magic sparking off it. Kreacher went silent and Harry bit back a grin at the shock. "I require sweet oil, 7 square candles and slate tablets, and white chalk. If you cannot find a fine quality oil then you will come to me and I will give you money to buy it."

Kreacher looked suspicious. "Half-Blood Heir be doing a ritual? Kreacher is thinking that yous think yourself too good to do proper magic."

Harry breathed in deeply, trying to calm himself. "Yes, I am. On the new moon, which is in 3 days, I have to speak with Death, and I require these things for it to be done properly."

"Half-Blood is a proper Heir to the House of Black. Kreacher will be getting these things and bringing them back, yes he will."

Before Kreacher could leave, Harry interjected a quick: "And clean yourself and make yourself presentable, please Kreacher. You represent the House of Black and I will not have you going around looking like a homeless elf."

The affronted look on Kreacher's face almost made Harry laugh and the elf popped away quickly. Harry flopped back and sighed.

"Why do we make these things happen at the first possible moment?"

"Because if we didn't, we'd likely procrastinate and more things can happen in that time if we stretch it out," Hermione answered without missing a beat.

"3 days until the new moon, 7 days until we meet Riddle. We can't use Hedwig to send the letter because she's far too noticeable – what about Pig?"

Ron stood up immediately. "I'll go get him. We just have to draft the letter and then send it off. Be as vague as possible."

Harry and Hermione nodded and the red head left, going to get his small hyper-active owl. Harry reached into his bag and took out the Diadem, which was faded of nearly all of its magic. He traced it gently, tugging on the few strands of dim red magic, and winced at the screech that echoed in his ears, getting louder with each passing second.

Stupid artifact.

He blocked out the screaming with a trained skill and rubbed his forehead. He was going to have to find out what was causing such a painful sound and dispose of it because, really, it was going to make his ears bleed at this rate – that was a thought Harry did not especially relish because that would bring up unnecessary questions and ow.

Sighing, he began reading again though none of the words were sticking to him this time. It slipped over his like water over a duck, and he whined low in his throat.

Harry closed his eyes and rubbed them.

Ron returned then, looking mightily annoyed, and told them that Mrs. Weasley had called them down for dinner. They ambled down the stairs quickly and were pulled into rapid discussion about everything.

Harry in particular was being chatted about Hogwarts and what he was going to do when school came out. Mrs. Weasley looked as pleased as Ron had when he helped himself to a large helping of food, stuffing himself to the brim so that his stomach pooched out so much he looked genuinely pregnant.

He caught up with Bill who was staying for Christmas and looking absolutely in love with Fleur, who was also glowing from her recent engagement. She had been working in Gringotts also, not only to stay close to Bill, but to also practice her English.

It was getting much easier to understand her now that she didn't immediately start half the sentence in French before working her way back to English, so Harry made sure to mention that she was getting much better with her conjugation and learning how to write in English, not just speak it despite her struggles with it.

Remus hadn't been there, much to Harry's disappointment and simultaneous relief, but Mrs. Weasley had assured him that he would be there in time for Christmas. At that, Hermione gave him a look that meant that they would be talking about Remus and Sirius very soon – especially since he had yet to tell them about his current situation, fearing how they would react and if he would lose them.

By the time dinner ended, Harry was tired, feeling pleasantly full of good food and happy conversation despite how annoyed he had been in the beginning.

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The ritual room in Grimmauld Place was perfect.

Magic swarmed throughout the room, some magic so dark that Harry could taste the alluring feel of it as he went through the room with a few cleaning charms. The center of the room had faded marks on it with scorches from a flame visible on the black marks on the walls. It was had been used many times and it was very noticeable.

Half-pillars were jutted out of the walls, hanging places for candles and the elements. It looked more like the weights they used in ancient times to weight out coins and measurements, though he said not a word about it. He put the candles on the four cardinal places, laid out another three in front of the spot where he would be sitting and took up the 7 plates Kreacher had gotten him.

They went under the candles, to catch the melting animal fat, which would be imbued with magic from the ritual. If saved properly, they could be used for more things and Hermione had been absolutely awestruck by that before demanding that he save them.

Kreacher had gotten his task done quickly – after cleaning himself and putting on a proper house-elf uniform with the crest of the Black Family stitched on it – and the quality of the products was nothing to sneer at. The House of Black only buys the best, Harry mused.

He was dressed in a thin cotton robe that swished with every movement with loose pants that hung loosely from his hips. It had taken a while to get the room ready without alerting anybody to anything suspicious. He spent every drop of free time that he had reading about the ritual and memorizing every step that was required.

It was nearing midnight, he could feel it without calling up a Tempus, and Harry sat down in the circle he had drawn for himself. His stomach cramped with hunger as he had consumed nothing but unleavened bread and sweet water. Anything else would've rendered him "unclean" or something like that, which Harry didn't understand but neither did he understand only washing himself with pomegranate-infused water before entering the ritual room.

He took in a small breath and released his magic carefully, twisting in such a way that small flames ignited on the candles. The sage began burning, as did the thyme, purely from magically energy eating away at it, and the bowl of sweet oil – or at least what was left of it – was put in front of Harry.

Breathing gently the rest of his magic flowed out of him, spreading throughout the room and catching on the flames. His legs were folded in an uncomfortable position, his ankles pressed into the hard wooden floor, as the flames were stoked higher with the rushing magic that was swarming inside of the room.

When the room darkened Harry knew that midnight had stuck, and he felt the temperature drop dangerously. Ice formed on the floor, it was that cold, and the flame flickered as it was only being help up by magic. Shadows raced together, his heart beating rapidly and his fingertips growing cold, and he watched, completely transfixed, as they formed into a sloid form.

Death smiled at him when they were completely formed, donning the same look that they wore when Harry first saw them. And despite the smile, Harry felt more nervous now that he was fully conscious and aware of who he was speaking to, and the resulting silence hung heavy in the air.

Harry licked his cracked lips nervously and opened his mouth.

"Death?"

He detested how childish his voice sounded.

"Childe!" Death crooned, their gravely echoing voice soothing something inside of him. He wondered if his magic was so in tune with Death that it relaxed immediately under their attentions. He batted the thought away and paid more attention as Death continued speaking. "You have been doing well all things considering. I am quite proud of you."

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that – how do you even speak to a deity? – so he went with a simple, "Thank you."

Death looked more amused than anything. "Now, I told you to learn to speak with me and you have, so I commend you for that. You have learned the difference between your base magic and necromancer magic, so again very good." They gave him a considering look, amusement no longer there. "However, what you have not done is practiced my customs and rites, which I am quite unhappy with."

Harry ducked his head, clenching his hands into fists. "I couldn't do it at Hogwarts because of the wards-"

"What wards? You could've easily distinguished the wards that are above the school - none of them would've been dangerous to you." Death sounded disapproving and Harry barely managed to hold back a flinch. "You did not look at all the