HP: Monochrome

It was clear that the incident with the doxies had given Sirius some serious paranoia, especially after Harry came to know his godfather had gone ahead and purchased the entire damn neighborhood.

The area, normally a small muggle suburb filled with old ramshackle houses in the Borough of Islington, developed an ill reputation over time for being frequented by antisocial elements of the city. The real estate here was controlled by the muggle mafia with minimum interference from the muggle government, so it had taken considerable amounts of muggle money and generous use of compulsion charms.

Still, in the end, Sirius had done it.

Harry didn't know whether to cry or laugh at how the Ministry could turn a blind eye to such deliberate acts of magic, yet still fine him for the use of a damn hover charm back in the summer of his first year. One he hadn't even cast himself!

The two Blacks appeared out of thin air onto the middle of the empty street, the customary cracking noise of apparition following suite.

"I can't believe you already know how to apparate!" Sirius proudly exclaimed, slinging his arm around Harry's shoulders. "When did you pick that up?"

"I've done it twice before, though more out of necessity than anything," Harry mirthlessly chuckled. "The first time was back when I was eight. The second was recently, with the doxy infestation. After losing my wand, I wanted to escape, so I—" he scrunched his nose, "I guess I sort of acted out of instinct and… did it again. Next thing I know, I'm in the room with the cloak."

Harry didn't expand on the incident any further. He hadn't exactly been open with his godfather about the dreams that followed. Seeing that alien frame of mind first-hand, being that thing… Somehow, it made so much sense while he was dreaming, but a feeling of wrongness washed over him as soon as he woke up.

It was like… like describing a new color. Or a new taste. Or a new aroma. One that didn't exist before.

Or maybe it did, and he could never tell.

Still, it made him feel terrible, hiding secrets from a man who cared so much about him. He'd come close to telling the man, but Kreacher's words gave him pause. The fact that the batty elf had called him a demon hadn't helped matters any. There was always the off-chance that Sirius would be appalled when he found out. He'd already been an incredible burden for his godfather. What if he decided he was better off without him?

Harry shook his head. No, there was nothing worth mentioning to his godfather about that incident. At least not yet. Better that he talked to Kreacher and investigated the matter first. It wasn't lying if he planned on telling Sirius eventually. Right?

"Well, that's in the past," Sirius woodenly smiled, his happy-go-lucky expression a pitiful facsimile of the smile he was sporting earlier. "With any luck, you'll never have to see another doxy in your lifetime."

Way to jinx it.

Nodding, Harry looked around at all the new construction going on. "So what's happening to the neighborhood now?"

He'd seen the active construction work in his first visit to the neighborhood, but after Sirius's purchase, he'd half-expected the work to stall and remain completely unfinished. If the area turned into a muggle-less street, then all the better for their discretion.

Instead, the number of workers had multiplied.

"Oh, I paid the contractors extra to get the job done fast. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly muggles can get stuff like this done. It's almost like… magic," Sirius chuckled. "A muggle realtor was actually reconstructing the entire zone to build condominiums for London's growing population. I decided I liked the idea and took it over."

Harry turned an incredulous stare towards his godfather. "You're selling homes to muggles?"

"Magicals, actually," Sirius clarified. "We wizards don't think too much about renting houses. Most muggleborns and half-bloods usually end up renting rooms at the Leaky Cauldron or in Knockturn Alley, but those are frankly, filled with throat-cut sharks. Diagon Alley is out of the question, it's simply too expensive. Some relocate to muggle neighborhoods, often risking the Statute of Secrecy. I thought a fully magical housing complex might be a hit with the younger population."

That… was an interesting idea. Come to think of it, where did wizards actually live? Rich ponces like Malfoy and his ilk likely had manors here and there, but what about the rest of them? Idly, he wondered whether Hermione would try to rent a flat here once the construction was over. Maybe then, he could actually have friends for once during the summer.

"I've actually given this a fair amount of thought," his godfather admitted. "A single magical family living in a muggle suburb is just asking for trouble. A wizarding settlement like this, on the other hand, is much more secure. You and I will keep a few flats in these apartments hidden and protected underneath a whole bunch of wards. I'd like to see Voldemort and his shit-eaters try to figure out your real location."

"But what about Grimmauld Place?"

Ever since he'd woken up from his coma, the townhouse had undergone massive renovations. He had been incredibly surprised when he went to see the house, only to find a completely different building standing in its spot.

Sirius lightly grimaced. "Unfortunately, I— and later on, you —will have to use it as a place for business. But don't worry. We'll still be living in Grimmauld Place until the rest of the construction work is done, but I'd rather you shift into one of these apartments in due time. Besides," the man impishly smiled, "I doubt your lady friend prefers a dark, dingy mansion over a modern apartment when she comes over, right?"

And then he winked.

Heat crawled up his neck as Harry averted his gaze. Ever since the two of them had left Gringotts, his godfather had been lightly teasing him about his connection to Fleur Delacour.

"When are you meeting her again?"

"Tomorrow," he grumbled back. Personally, he didn't see what the big deal was. He doubted someone like Fleur Delacour would be interested in someone like him. Even if he ignored the difference in their ages, Fleur was practically perfection and grace given form.

He was just… him.

"And before you say it," he quickly continued, cutting off whatever Sirius was about to say, "it's not a date. We're meeting to discuss my accounts."

"At an ice cream parlor."

"It's a neutral zone," Harry stressed. Inviting her to Grimmauld Place would have been best from a security standpoint, but he didn't want to give his godfather any more ammunition in the matter, especially with her being a veela and everything. Frankly, he was counting his lucky stars Sirius hadn't tried to give him The Talk yet.

"Neutral," Sirius parroted, his grin growing even wider. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days? James would have been so proud. A veela…" He wiped off an imaginary tear off of his cheek. "You're such a lucky bastard."

"We are not dating," Harry ground out. Why wouldn't the man shut up about her already?

Honestly, Sirius Black befuddled him. The first time he had met the man, he had been a demented fugitive. His interactions throughout the last year had shown Sirius to be slowly gaining more focus, but there was always this ferality beneath the otherwise calm exterior. What was surprising was that the man's attitude and collective demeanor tended to shift depending on who he was interacting with. A fun-loving, if somewhat dopey uncle in front of Dumbledore, a throat-cut bastard with Ripclaw, and mere moments later, someone with mental and magical fortitude enough to impress the same goblin that wasn't giving him the time of day. The man was insane enough to pick fights with goblins, stubborn enough to challenge his own Family Charter, and brilliant enough to turn shady muggle suburbs into a profitable business. And, if the DMLE Director's words were any indication, he was also dangerous enough with a wand to be mistaken for Voldemort's right-hand man.

"I've heard they're as flexible as they come."

But he was also a pervert of the highest order, a trait that Harry was still getting accustomed to. Still, he owed his godfather a lot. Just for that, he would try not to judge the man for his… perversities.

"Look, I'm not saying you have to jump into bed with her," Sirius held up his hands in surrender. "But you are Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived, Triwizard Champion, a young man immune to her allure—the ladies always did like the mysteries. And now you're her employer, so you've got the boss man vibes too.…" he trailed off.

Harry had no idea how to even respond to any of that.

Suddenly, Sirius's face turned crafty, a sudden sleaziness in his expression that did not belong on the visage of the Lord Black by any measure. "And when that happens, you'll tell me all about it, won't you?"

Harry twitched.

The moment they had stepped into Grimmauld Place's atrium, Sirius clenched his arm tightly, forcing him to pause. "Stand here. And whatever happens, be calm."

"Why?" Harry frowned. "What's going to happen?"

"Lar of Black!" his godfather intoned in a firm voice. "Your Lord needs you."

There was a rushing sound, like a heavy curtain stirred by strong winds. And then, from the dark, seemingly endless shadows beneath the dining table ahead, an alien, gravelly voice spoke. "I am here, Lord Black."

Harry couldn't help it. Drawing a sharp breath, he backed away from the source until his back touched the wall, and before he knew it, his wand had come spinning into his hand. He'd been around a lot of unsettling things in the past— dementors, basilisks, and dragons all came to mind —but that thing's voice spooked the hell out of him like nothing he'd seen before.

"Take it easy," he heard Sirius soothe. "This is the Lar, the guardian deity of House Black. Its job is to protect the House and its Lord at all costs."

Harry could only splutter uselessly. He— he didn't even know how to react!

Sirius gave a sharp glance towards the shadows. "You are making my godson uncomfortable. Take form. Reveal yourself now."

There was no way to truly describe what happened with words, but the darkness almost melted away, reforming into something else. Harry could sense a strange amount of energy changing, twisting, morphing, becoming more, yet somehow less at the same time. Large, floppy ears became visible, then two thin palms slowly dragged the rest of its frail body out from underneath the table. The shadows clinging to its form turned into rags, while its beady eyes stared at Sirius, and Harry, with an alien recognition.

"Kreacher," Harry breathed.

"Not Kreacher," Sirius corrected him. "It's the Lar possessing him."

"I," the Lar rasped through Kreacher's vocal cords, "live to serve the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."

'Don't be afraid, Harry," his godfather asserted, "magical dwellings often have guardians. Some have krups, others have matagots. The Ancient families have elves. And the Noble ones like us, we have our own Family Magic twisting into a spiritual guardian for us, kind of like the Patronus charm only more… alive, I suppose. We call them Lares."

"And Kreacher…"

"Is being possessed by the Black Lar."

Harry scowled. "There's just so much I don't know."

"Heh!" Sirius chuckled. "Honestly, I didn't either. "Remember when I fell down during the adoption and some magic stuff happened and I got this?" he flashed the obsidian ring sitting on his hand, the one with the jaguar engraved on its surface. "This is the Lord's ring, and with it comes all kinds of neat information that's, erm, floating in my head at the moment. I'm still trying to make heads or tails of it all."

Harry became strangely aware of his own ring that was sitting snugly on his ring finger. Because House Peverell's supposed extinction predated Gringotts, the goblins did not have a House Ring for him. That was why he was given the Lord ring for House Potter, an amethyst ring with the insignia of House Potter on the top, and the words "Suis stat viribus" engraved along the sides.

He Stands By His Own Strength— The Potter Family Motto.

Unfortunately for him, Griphook did not allow him access to his family books. Not until he managed to acquire his Lord's seat at the Wizengamot. Maybe once that happened, he'd get to know what happened to the Potter Family Manor. Not even Sirius could tell him about it, and the man had practically lived there for years.

"So this Lar…"

"Guards the House. As Lord, I control it."

He turned towards Kreacher. "This is Harry Potter. By the authority of Lord Black, I recognize him as a son of my House. In my absence, he will become Regent, and should I perish without an heir, his offspring shall carry my name and position."

"Sirius!"

"This is necessary, Harry," said his godfather, "While I was rotting away in Azkaban, Lucius Malfoy, as Black Regent, used up over six hundred thousand galleons over the last decade, drawing it from the Black Family Vault citing fatuous reasons."

Harry froze at the ridiculous sum involved. "That's—"

"Going to be a nightmare for him," Sirius finished. "I asked Ripclaw to get Malfoy to submit an accounting for the gold he withdrew from the Vault. If he cannot do it, he'll have to pay it back from the Malfoy Vaults."

Harry barked out a laugh, only to pause as Kreacher — the Lar— directed his eyes towards him.

"I acknowledge."

Harry felt the urge to vomit from hearing that gravelly tone directed towards him.

"I am the Lar of House Black. I am the loyal servant of Tezcatlipoca, the Family Magic of the Black practitioners. I am the Truth of the one known as Kreacher. I am… Black Manor." The creature didn't move, but it was as if it was standing taller all of a sudden. "In my Lord's presence, I wake and stand guard. In his absence, I sleep and gather dust."

That… that definitely sounded like it was the House talking. What a weird thing to think about.

"The elf who is called Kreacher serves while I lie dormant, as I have since Lord Arcturus's ascension to Lordship, ninety-six years to this date." The Lar pinned Harry with its alien gaze. "Are you willing to accept your duties, son of House Black?"

Harry didn't even know what to say, or if he was even supposed to speak. He was too used to the old Kreacher, who by now would have given him the stink eye or called him a mudblood or something.

"I— um—"

"Say that you are in no obligation to follow any command, unless it contradicts the laws and orders of the Lord Black and the Black Family Charter," It advised.

"You—" Harry bit his tongue, realizing it wouldn't be a good idea to talk smack to a crazy powerful being he could barely stand in the presence of. "It's… strange, listening to you speak. Now you sound like my grade-school teacher."

"Perhaps it is because I am speaking to a child," the Lar slowly spoke. "The comparison is apt."

Sirius smothered his chuckles with a fist.

"Might I suggest you go ahead with the proper customs, Lord Black? Tempus fugit."

His godfather snapped his fingers. "I knew I was forgetting something."

"What's it talking about?" Harry curiously inquired.

"I need to attune the House's wards to myself first, and then have a traditional talk with the previous Lord. In this case, it's my grandfather's portrait, which should be locked in his office?"

"The office is open and ready for your use," the Lar replied in a monotone.

Sirius turned towards Harry. "Would you like to accompany me—"

"Actually," Harry cut in, gathering himself before meeting the Lar's gaze head-on, "I have a couple of questions I'd like to ask." His expression softened when he saw the worry on Sirius's face. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. This time, at least."

"You… sure?"

Harry nodded.

Sirius looked pained for a moment, before reluctantly nodding. "Alright, but be safe. And if you need anything, just yell."

Harry bobbed his head and patiently watched as Sirius disappeared up the stairwell. Taking a deep breath, he turned back to the Lar standing before him. Sure, it acted absolutely obedient to Sirius, but he had enough experience with Kreacher to know that just because someone was courteous, it didn't mean they weren't planning on vivisecting you. It just meant they'd check whether the ropes were tight enough before picking up the scalpel. Kreacher— or the Lar, or whatever it wanted to call itself —may be an ally, for the moment, but it was certainly not his friend.

His experience over the past few weeks was proof enough of that.

"So," he began, his voice deathly calm. "You're the House. Funny, because I've suffered through some crazy shit in this place recently. I've got some questions for you about that."

The Lar eyed him hungrily, its shadow deepening as it ballooned in size and covered most of the chamber in its dark, murky depths. "I thought you might. Demon."