Morning came too soon after his extremely late night. Hakon grumbled into the pillow but got up when Kreacher came to tell him the rest of the house was meeting for breakfast. It seemed only the adult Weasleys and Lupin had stayed overnight.
Lupin welcomed Hakon with reasonable warmth when Hakon appeared in the kitchen, and offered him eggs.
"Sure, thanks," said Hakon. The Lupin in his world had been an unlikable coward but this one seemed to be somewhat better for living his life sans James Potter.
"Do you… I know this is all rather strange," said Lupin, as Hakon took toast from Molly with a smile, "but if you like I can tell you some stories about your father. You deserve to… know about him."
Hakon studied him for a few seconds. "I'd like that, thank you."
Lupin smiled. "You're very welcome. Let's see, maybe… ah! Well, in fourth year, Sirius decided he wanted to beat James in Transfiguration—James, Potter that is, he always had a knack for it, but Sirius was a better student overall. He came up with this mad scheme to impress McGonagall, the Transfiguration professor, and earn bonus points on the final exam, by turning the entire desk into an extinct ancestor of modern horses."
Hakon's eyebrows rose. That was tricky, extra so because it was an extinct species. Transfiguring into natural forms was easier than unnatural and an extinct animal was definitely in the unnatural category.
Lupin went on with the story of things Sirius had gotten up to and mistakes he'd made trying to learn the transfiguration in advance, and James' certainty that Sirius had a girlfriend he was hiding from the rest of them because why else would Sirius be disappearing all the time and being cagey about it? It wasn't a story Hakon had heard before and he couldn't help wondering if his Sirius had never done this, or if it was yet another difference.
Molly butted in as soon as Lupin was done. "Hakon, dear, we just wanted to thank you for welcoming us. We don't want to intrude so soon after you've gone through so much, and if you need anything, you come right to me, alright? I've raised six boys—there's nothing we haven't seen."
"And we both lost family to the war," Arthur said quietly, reaching for his wife when she sniffed. "We know grief and… I know you don't know us, but we're here for you, if you need help."
"I know you grew up without much guidance but most of what's in that library upstairs isn't at all suited for children," Molly said, tone growing fierce. "Of course, you don't want to throw out anything that belonged to your father, but you seem to know how unsavory his relatives were. My boy Ron is your age, he'll be coming here later today, after Hogwarts, with his friend Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter will be joining them in a few weeks, as you heard last night. I'm sure they'll be happy to help if you're ever uncertain if something is Dark. Ron's a good lad, and Hermione is lovely, you'll get along with them like a house on fire."
"Molly, let's not overwhelm him," said Lupin, apparently having mistaken Hakon's growing indignant fury for maxed out emotional capacity. "Hakon, do you want a tour? I'd be happy to show you around."
"Yes, please." Literally anything to get away from Molly.
Lupin showed him around the house and Hakon pretended he'd never seen it before. It wasn't actually that hard. Most of the rooms looked very little like they had in the renovated Grimmauld Place of his world. The very walls seemed to ooze malice and depression. It was a hateful place.
"I know you're a werewolf," he said in the middle of a silent trip through the fourth floor bedrooms.
Lupin stopped dead and went pale. "I beg your pardon?"
"Kreacher told me," Hakon said patiently. Lupin was obviously a good ally, naturally sympathetic and more independent than the one Hakon had known before, not to mention one of the more intelligent Order members he knew. Best to get this out of the way early. "I didn't want you to have to… hide it, or anything. I assume my father knew?"
"Yes." Lupin still looked braced for rejection. "I—yes, he did, he… was an animagus, actually."
"Oh! Because a werewolf won't attack an animagus in their animal form?"
"Er, yes. He and James and… and Peter all learned the transformation, for me, so the moons wouldn't be… as awful." He swallowed hard. "We took… foolish risks, Hakon, extremely foolish. James and Sirius were bright and popular but… James was spoiled, and your father's parents were monstrous, he never learned a thing about boundaries as a child, so the two of them could be… impulsive. And Peter and I had never had friends before. Too often we went along with their wild schemes." He stopped and laughed softly. "They were the best friends I ever had. Animagi, at fifteen, just to run with me once a month."
"I'm glad you had them," said Hakon, and he even meant it.
Lupin smiled at him, less bitterly this time. "It was the one bright spot in my life, sometimes, knowing that I had them for friends. Your father made many mistakes, Hakon. Some would say he was a bully in school and they would have a point. But he was at heart a noble, selfless, brave, and good man. He'd have loved and protected you with all he had if he knew of you, never doubt that." Lupin hesitated, then reached out and clasped his shoulder. "For what it's worth, so would I. And I will, from here forward, if you allow me."
"You must be a big part of Harry Potter's life, then," said Hakon, watching as Lupin once again paled. "If you were as close to James, I mean, and Harry's James' son…"
"I… not as big a part as I would wish," Lupin said. He half turned away and studied the peeling wallpaper. "I'm a werewolf. The Wizengamot would never have granted me custody; I wasn't even in the will. Then Albus hid Harry in the Muggle world for his own protection and forbade me contact—said I risked leading the remaining Death Eaters, or just the press, right to him. So I didn't. And then by the time he started Hogwarts, I… couldn't bear to face the boy I'd ignored for ten years." Lupin wiped at his eyes. "We met when he was thirteen. I was a professor for a year—Defense Against the Dark Arts, rather good, if I may say so—and we… talked. But I still couldn't be his guardian and from then on so much of my time was spent on Sirius. He needed so much… care, and help, and I couldn't be everything but I could at least make it better. I wasn't there for Harry during the Triwizard Tournament—I assume you follow the papers? Good—and now I don't know how to step in without seeming like I'm trying to replace Sirius."
Hakon just stood and absorbed that while Lupin collected himself. It was a lot more than he'd expected. More honesty, and more self awareness.
"Look at me, confessing my sins to a fifteen-year-old," Lupin said with a self-deprecating laugh. "Apologies. I'm sure none of that was of much interest."
"Thank you for telling me." Hakon shrugged. "I don't know how to have a father figure, I've never had one, but you seem like a good man and I'd like to know my father's friends. And if Harry is anything like you all say he is then he'd forgive you if you talked to him about it." Hakon himself probably would have, at any rate, even if he'd have shamelessly gotten as much mileage out of the guilt as he could, and Jules definitely would've. An alternate universe version of himself would most likely be willing to overlook Lupin's mistakes for the sake of having family.
"I'd be honored, then, to spend some time with you," Lupin said.
"Am I much like him?"
Hakon didn't have to clarify. Lupin paused and looked closely at his face, his shoulders. "In some ways, yes, in others very little. You seem much more reserved—Sirius always wore his heart on his sleeve. But you have his eyes, his nose and cheekbones, and I suppose that confidence is genetic, because you carry yourself very like he did. As though you're sure of your ability to come out on top no matter the circumstance."
"That is… good to know." Apparently Hakon had picked up on some of Sirius' mannerisms. Knowing he carried a bit of his adoptive father with him left a warm feeling in his gut that Hakon didn't want to examine too closely.
"Come on, then, I'll show you the rest of the house," said Lupin.
Hakon was only too glad to move on from that lacerating conversation.
Eventually they made it back down to the kitchen, by which point Lupin had become Remus in Hakon's mind and the Weasleys had gone to pack their things at home before meeting their kids on the platform. Hakon called Kreacher for lunch, which the elf actually made, to Remus' evident shock, and they talked about a fabricated charms assignment Hakon pretended to have been set a few months ago over fettuccine Alfredo. It was a pleasant meal, all things considered, and Hakon retreated upstairs to crack his textbooks feeling pleased with how things were going. His new identity was established, he'd soon have OWL scores and a Hogwarts acceptance letter, Remus Lupin liked him enough to be a reliable advocate in future altercations with the adults, and he had established agency regarding the house without alienating anyone. Operation Ingratiate Himself with the Order was going swimmingly.
Cracking the textbooks was a very literal task considering he had to pretend to have used them before. Hakon had skipped many of the books Hogwarts assigned for his official lists, going instead for older titles or ones he personally had read and found useful, things an out-of-touch squib and her equally out-of-touch homeschooled daughter would plausibly have known or picked up on a whim. Certainly nothing by Lockhart. He cracked a few spines, used charms to batter the covers a bit, and spent an hour making notes at random in the margins of a few early books. Probably no one would ever go through his first through third year texts but he'd have to be seen reviewing for his OWLs and those textbooks had to appear used to at least a casual eye. He took special care with the books for Defense; asking Remus for help would feed the man's desire to be close to Sirius' son, and everyone liked to feel useful.
Kreacher appeared with a crack at about six. “Master is wanting to know when the students is arriving.”
“Oh, thanks, Kreacher,” Hakon said, capping his inkwell and cleaning his quill with a pulse of magic. Kreacher stared wide-eyed at the display of wandless magic, and Hakon hid a grin; it was exactly the kind of power that the elf respected, that had won him over once before.
No point in fixing what wasn’t broken.
He brushed his robes off, neatened his hair, and double checked that the glamours were securely in place before heading downstairs to meet the Weasleys plus one.
Ronald wasn’t a threat. Hakon had never really seen him as one, certainly not alone; without Jules he’d been nothing and there was no reason to think this Ronald, who was still friends with his version of the Boy-Who-Lived, was any different. It helped that Hakon had had no particular emotional attachment to Ronald Weasley. He wasn’t someone it hurt to lose.
Hermione, though. She’d been one of his first friends, and become one of his closest; a trusted Viper, a confidante, a sister to Daphne and their group’s resident genius. Hakon knew it would be uncomfortable to have her look at him as a stranger.
It would hurt.
He was braced for that as he stepped into the kitchen, which seemed to be some kind of central gathering place, and it was exactly as bad as he’d expected: Hermione, caught up in a hug from Molly, spotted him and her eyes went wide. “Who are you?”
“What? Who’s this bloke?” Ronald said, staring from Hakon to his parents. Ginny was there, too, wearing a Gryffindor tie and studying Hakon with narrowed eyes.
“Hakon Black,” Hakon said, stepping forward with a hand outstretched. He offered it to Hermione first and smiled when she shook it on autopilot. “You must be Hermione Granger. It’s a pleasure. I’ve heard good things.”
A blush colored her cheeks. Ronald scowled. “Black, eh? And how come we’ve never seen you, then?”
“Ronald,” Molly hissed.
“Because I was in hiding with my Muggleborn mother from my Death Eater father my whole life,” Hakon said flatly. “She died, and then he died, and I came here and found my house full of people running a covert resistance against Voldemort.”
“He wasn’t a Death Eater,” Hermione began.
“I know that now, but I was just as in the dark as the entire rest of the wizarding world up until yesterday.” Hakon shrugged.
“Sorry, mate,” Ronald muttered. “That’s got to suck.”
“It’s been… weird.”
Hermione visibly steeled herself. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you too. Will you be joining us at Hogwarts in the fall?”
“Yeah, I’m taking my OWLs in a few weeks, Professor Dumbledore offered to set it up last night.” He watched her closely, saw the way her face relaxed and she nodded almost unconsciously at the Headmaster’s name, and winced internally. This Hermione liked Dumbledore. Damn.
“That’s excellent, then, of course he’d be able to help, he’s wonderful—oh, but you’ve never met him, have you? Were you homeschooled? Do you really think you can take your OWLs without having been to Hogwarts? I would love to help you review, I’ve only just finished mine and I’m sure I could draw up a study schedule in a few minutes—”
“Let him breathe,” Ronald said, rolling his eyes. “Ron Weasley, mate.”
Hakon shook hands with him and then turned expectantly to Ginny, who appeared rather surprised at being noticed. “Er, hi. Ginny. Weasley.”
“Yes, the hair sort of gave it away,” Hakon said with a conspiratorial grin that she didn’t return.
“Shall we have dinner?” Molly said.
“Yes, I’m bloody starving,” Ronald said fervently.
Hermione swatted his hand away from a tray of cold cuts on the sideboard. “We’ve got to put our trunks away, at least, Ron! Oh, Hakon, where are you staying? I’ve been sharing with Ginny, and Ron with Harry, but—”
“I’m in the master suite,” Hakon said smoothly.
She blinked. “Oh. Well. And that’s… all right?” Her eyes cut towards Remus and the Weasley parents.
Molly’s lips pursed, but it was Remus who spoke first. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“The house is mine,” said Hakon. “Traditionally the Lord or Lady of the House sleeps in the master. There isn’t one, but I’m the Heir and I’ll come of age in two years, so I’m the closest there is.”
“But you aren’t really holding to all those traditions, are you? Wasn’t your mother muggleborn?”
Remus winced.
“I’m not sure what my mother’s blood status has to do with it,” Hakon said, moderating his tone with difficulty.
“She can’t have known about all this, can she?” said Ronald with a vague wave of his hand.
Molly sighed. “Ron, dear, you know—”
“Yeah, yeah, not saying it’s her fault, just, y’know, Muggleborns mostly don’t know about all that pureblood toss.”
“Language!” Molly said.
“Of course we don’t learn it, why would we? It’s all antiquated and rather backwards, really.” Hermione smiled at him; she was pretty enough, Hakon supposed, but with every word he saw less of his own Hermione, or more accurately, saw her twisted and warped in a funhouse mirror into something horrible and almost unrecognizable. “I’d love to have someone else to talk to about Muggle culture.”
“I’m the last scion of the House of Black. Just because the last few generations of it have been inbred, bigoted wankers doesn’t mean the legacy of the House as a whole should just be tossed out,” Hakon said, mostly polite. “Traditions aren’t inherently antiquated or worthless. And just because it’s different from how you grew up doesn’t make it backwards.”
Hermione recoiled, visibly stung.
“Hey! What are you, some kind of slimy snake? Who talks like that?” Ronald butted in.
Molly protested. Hakon didn’t hear her. Slimy snake was roaring in his ears, reaching down into his chest and ripping out all the years of insult and hate, all the years of standing across from Jules and reaching out a hand and watching his brother try and fail to reach back. They had gone into the Ministry together. They’d been building bridges across the chasm James tore between them and now it was gone and Hakon would never know if Jules might have one day apologized for saying Slytherin like it was a bad thing to be.
He wasn’t a Slytherin, in this universe, not yet. He couldn’t react. It would be weird if he reacted. “Er, what? Snakes aren’t slimy, and I didn’t insult her. It’s not a crime to disagree with someone.”
“It’s alright,” Remus said firmly, stepping forward so he was half between Hakon and Ronald. This was such a great start to his relationship with these Weasleys. “Just something children say.”
“I’m not a child—”
“There’s nothing wrong with being in Slytherin.” Remus frowned at Ronald. “Let’s just calm down, okay? It’s been a very stressful year; I’m sure you two need to decompress a bit, and Hakon’s had a difficult time as well.”
“Off you go.” Molly bustled Ron, Hermione, and Ginny out of the room. Ginny shot a narrow-eyed look back over her shoulder at Hakon. There was so little of his Ginny in this version, this Gryffindor girl with such a different kind of confidence.
Arthur sighed. “Apologies, Remus, Hakon. Ron’s a bit hot-headed sometimes. He’ll calm down.”
“Slytherin is one of the Hogwarts houses, right?” Hakon fiddled with his sleeve, affecting nervousness. “I always sort of thought I’d fit best there. Ambition, resourcefulness, cunning, all that.”
“And like I said, there’s no shame in that. Tea?” Hakon nodded, and Remus started getting the tea things down as he talked, which would probably have given Kreacher a conniption if he wasn’t off varnishing the library floors. “Slytherin and Gryffindor have always had a rivalry, but it’s gotten heated in the last few decades—most of You-Know-Who’s followers are Slytherins, most Slytherins are purebloods, there’s a bit of a perception that Slytherins are all blood purists and budding Death Eaters. It’s not true but there’s some grounds for the stereotype.”
“Hmm.” Hakon accepted the cups while Remus heated water and Arthur summoned sugar and milk. “Would I have trouble, there, since I’m not a pureblood?”
“You might, but you’re also a Black. There are some students who would not care for the, ah, sullying of such an ancient pureblood line.”
Hakon snorted. “Like all those families have only pure blood in them. I mean, really—a muggleborn marries a halfblood, three generations later their descendants are pure enough for all but the most uptight, and then one or two generations after that their kids are marrying into one of those Sacred Twenty-Eight. What? Mother didn’t let me out much, so I read a lot.”
“You’ll give our Hermione a run for her money at this rate,” said Arthur with a kind smile. He really was a good man. Hakon found himself glad that in this universe the Weasleys hadn’t lost their patriarch.
“You’re absolutely right—I’m something of a historian myself, and I’ve found indications that the pureblood rhetoric used to be a very different sort of thing than it is today. Don’t fear going to Slytherin, Hakon. Other people’s prejudices aren’t worth pretending to be something you aren’t.”
Hakon quirked an eyebrow at him, and Remus smirked faintly as he checked if the tea had steeped enough. “Yes, I know something about that myself.”
Molly swept back into the kitchen. “Well! I don’t know what’s gotten into those two, so sorry, Hakon dear, Ron’s usually much nicer, they’ve had the most awful year—that Umbridge woman, Merlin…”
She set about making dinner. Hakon turned to Remus with a question, and drew the story of Umbridge out of him in fits and starts, and then he saw a different side of things when Ronald and Hermione came back down for dinner. Hermione didn’t talk to him much but Ronald said something aggressive about how Harry had led a Defense study group in secret and Harry had outsmarted her and how noble Harry was for standing up to her and—
Hakon nodded and smiled and listened.
Harry Potter lived in the edges of their stories, their griefs and joys and traumas. Hakon built up a picture from what they did and did not say of a Gryffindor with no tolerance for hypocrisy or lies, academically mediocre but a powerful wizard where it counted, a seeker and a protector. Few other people featured in any prominent way, certainly no Slytherins other than Draco Malfoy, who was evidently Harry’s arch-nemesis, and he quickly realized Harry Potter was absolutely not the popular center of attention Jules had been. Harry Potter disliked and shied away from his fame.
It was fascinating. It was saddening. It was galvanizing. Hakon went upstairs after dinner certain of a few things: one, that he was going to befriend Harry Potter no matter what it took; two, that he was going to be in Slytherin again, and damn them all; three, that Remus Lupin minus James Potter was actually a decent man.
Hakon avoided the other residents of the house for the next few days. The exception was dinner, which he pointedly always attended with the rest of them; it was his house and they weren’t going to be allowed to forget that. The wards flexed a few times as someone tried and failed to come up the stairs to the top few floors but Hakon ignored it as unimportant and kept studying. He was going to be able to get his Transfiguration NEWT a year early at this rate.
After five days, he’d successfully transfigured his fingernails into stone and back, first one at a time and then several in a row and then all of them at once with a single incantation. There were some accidents. At one point they all vanished and he had to regrow them with a potion and a lot of swearing. But it was excellent progress, and he carefully changed them all back before reapplying his glamours and going downstairs.
Where he found chaos. “Merlin, does none of you know how to cook?” Hakon said, taking in the cupboards gaping open, two pots dueling at the wands of the Weasley twins, and Hermione, Ronald, and Ginny arguing over the sink.
The pots settled down with a clatter and the twins turned on him. “You must be—”
“—the notorious Hakon Black!”
“The one and only. I assume you’re Forge and Gred,” said Hakon, watching their smiles, lighter and warmer than his twins, they weren’t his twins and never would be, grow.
“Oh, I like this one, Gred.”
“Me, too, Forge.”
“But does he know which of us is which?”
“Well, of course you’re Forge and he’s Gred. As for who’s George and who’s Fred, I’m sure I’ll work it out.”
“Good luck,” snorted Ron. “Even Mum mixes ‘em up sometimes.”
There it was, again, a flicker in the corner of Fred’s eye, because they were the same twins and Hakon could obviously tell them apart, he just had to give it enough time for that to be just an uncanny eye for people instead of the kind of thing only a seer would know.
“Do you know how to cook?” said Hermione, rather threateningly. She had been cold to him ever since he defended wizarding traditions that first night. Hakon hadn’t been able to bring himself to change that; it was too hard, looking at her and seeing the echoes of his Hermione twisted into a horrible nightmare inverse of her.
“Yes, actually. I did most of the cooking my whole life,” Hakon said. Laying the groundwork, because if Petunia was half as bad in this universe as she had been in his, then the quickest way to Harry Potter would be being relatable.
Hermione looked at him funny. “Really?”
“She didn’t like doing magic around the house much. But we don’t have to cook, you realize? Kreacher!”
The elf appeared at his side, sneering around at the mess they’d made of a kitchen the elf doubtless thought of as his domain. “Yes, Master Hakon?”
“Mind whipping something up for dinner? Molly’s not here, apparently, and no one else knows how.”
“Of course, Master Hakon. Kreacher is being just a moment.”
Kreacher flew into motion, almost too fast for the eye to keep track of, moving with the jittery magic-enhanced speed of a house-elf on a mission. Cupboards slammed shut, pots swept into place, several bundles of vegetables began briskly chopping themselves, and Kreacher himself set to tenderizing some kind of meat with single-minded intensity.
Hakon looked up. The others were gaping at him with various degrees of shock plain on their faces, save Hermione, who was plainly furious.
“How’d you get him to do that?” said Ron. “He’s been an awful little bugger!”
“He likes me. I don’t know. Maybe because I don’t kick him and call him names,” Hakon said with as much sarcasm as he could muster.
“It’s slavery. I thought you were raised Muggle!” Hermione burst out. “How could you let him call you that!”
Hakon rubbed at his forehead. “He would literally die if I freed him, is that really what you want?”
“That’s not true!”
Kreacher slammed a pan down on the stove with a bang.
“Ask him.”
Hermione turned on Kreacher. “Would you die, Kreacher, if you were free?”
“Answer her,” Hakon said, before Kreacher could try something like passive aggressively pretending Hermione didn’t exist.
“Yes, it is being true,” Kreacher said grudgingly without turning around.
“But—Dobby! Winky!” Hermione was getting angry, her hair puffing up.
Hakon sighed. “Let me guess, those are two free elves you know?”
“Yes, and—”
“And how are they handling it? Where are they working?”
“Dobby loves being free, I’ll have you know, he works for pay at Hogwarts, and—”
“Hogwarts, right, the place with the most ambient magic of literally anywhere in magical Britain. How about the other one, Winky, you said? You didn’t mention how she’s handling it.”
“She’s brainwashed! They all are—to think they like it—that they need to serve—”
“They’d die without a witch or wizard’s magic stabilizing them,” Hakon said. “That doesn’t mean it’s right how lots of people treat their house-elves, but… cats. You know how cats bring you dead things because they see their owners as giant hairless helpless kittens? And they think you can’t feed yourself so they’ve got to gift you with a dead mouse or whatever? House-elves sort of see us like that, like they’ve got to take care of us.”
"Wizards is helpless," Kreacher said, sounding rather more threatening than helpful.
"It's wrong," Hermione said.
"And if all of that doesn't convince you, then I'll just point out how dangerous it would be to free him when he knows so much about your little resistance cell."
Hermione scowled. "That doesn't mean you should treat him like a slave and let him serve you. Besides," her eyes glinted, "you tell him what to do now, right? How do we know we can trust you? If you wanted you could tell him to carry a message to You-Know-Who himself."
"Take it up with Dumbledore and Moody. They're the ones who vetted me." Hakon sat down slowly, deliberately, keeping eye contact the whole time. "What are you going to do, go on a hunger strike?"
"Oh, Merlin, now you've done it," said one of the twins.
Hermione's lips thinned. "Maybe I will," she said frostily, and stomped out of the room.
Hakon stared after her. His Hermione had not been one to back down from a challenge, but she wouldn't have been that manipulable.
The differences were stronger than he'd thought.
This was Hermione without any friends aside from Harry Potter and Ron Weasley? Merlin.
"She wouldn't eat for the first part of fourth year," Ron said, rolling his eyes and throwing himself into a seat. Ginny followed suit but her face gave little away. "You just had to go and bring that back up, didn't you? Bollocks. She's got a point though. How do we know we can trust you?"
"Go take it up with Dumbledore," Hakon said. "I don't have to prove my anti-Voldemort credentials to you."
"Oooooooh," said the twins in unison.
Kreacher banged another pot.
Hakon was already tired of these people.
"So tell me about Hogwarts," he said. "I've read about it, but I've never even been to Hogsmeade."
"Really didn't get out much, did you, mate?" said Ron.
"Not much, no. Mother was… protective. She took curse damage in the war. She was afraid of the Death Eaters who walked, but she was also scared of how I'd be treated for being the son of, you know. One of the worst Death Eaters." He hunched over and avoided eye contact. Let them draw their own conclusions.
The twins exchanged a glance, and Ron looked at him with something like sympathy, but Ginny just… watched.
George launched into a description of the castle, the classes, and the Houses. Hakon listened and did his best to pretend this was all new information. Like with Kreacher, the more he could get them to talk, the more excuses he had to know things about Hogwarts. And people liked anyone who asked them questions and paid attention to the answers. Two birds, one hex.
All this pretending was wearing on him. Occlumency helped but Hakon was beginning to worry if he kept compartmentalizing this hard he'd forget who he really was. Or worse, wind up with some kind of split personality problem.
He couldn't afford that. Only eight days until Harry got picked up from the Dursleys' and by that point Hakon had to be ready to be his friend. No cracks in the facade. No faltering in his performance.
They finished eating chicken cordon bleu and creme of tomato soup. Hakon stood up and excused himself in the most curt technically polite way he could. Not a single person reacted to the snub and he felt a pang for his true friends. Lost.
"Oi, mate, was gonna ask, is there a reason we can't get to the library?" Ron asked just as he got to the door. "'Mione was trying to go up and she couldn't."
"I adjusted the wards," Hakon said. "If she wants access to the library she will have to ask me herself. Goodnight."
Safe in his room, he sat in the middle of his giant bed and sank into his mind.
There were cracks. Bad ones. Hakon went over everything in meticulous detail, reminding himself of every way in which Hadrian and Hakon Black differed. It was not a profound change; he had no interest in altering his core personality and by dint of creating a strict mother as afraid of her son turning into yet another Black as she was of him being attacked he could explain all the marks the Dursleys had left on him. That didn't mean it was easy to maintain. Hakon knew little of Hogwarts, had never had a close friend, had no reason to dislike or distrust these Order people, wore cool reserve in the place of Hadrian's sly charisma. Hakon would allow himself to get that charisma back, but naturally, as he spent more time around people. Hakon was for now reactive rather than proactive, the type to watch and wait, testing the waters in which he suddenly swam. He didn't have a coherent political belief system yet. He had studied wizarding customs but deployed them with the obvious care of an amateur. He was more straightforward, his motives simpler, his honesty easier to earn.
Eventually Hakon would be like Hadrian, but only with time, only once that was a plausible shift from the false persona he wore now like a cloak. The problem lay in making sure he always knew what was real and what was not.
Mind sorted, thoughts categorized, false emotions layered over true and the borders between them clearly marked, Hakon shook off the meditation and spent a few minutes rolling out joints gone stiff.
Kreacher appeared. “Master is needing the sheets turned down?”
“No,” said Hakon grimly. “Nope, I’m back to the library.”
“Master is needing sleep,” Kreacher said.
Hakon grinned at him. “Yes, he is, but I also need to research a few things. If I’m going to bring the House of Black back to what it once was all by myself, I’ll need to be the best wizard I can be.”
“Master is drinking sleepy tea before bed,” Kreacher said ominously, and pointed at him. “Master is asking Kreacher for sleepy tea. If Master is only sleeping little bits Master is sleeping well.”
“Thank you, Kreacher.”
The elf made a humph sound and disappeared, but a moment later a pair of luxurious leather slippers lined with soft wool appeared next to the bed. Hakon stifled a laugh as he slid his feet into them and set off for the library on the top floor. If Hermione had seen that maybe she would quit thinking house-elves were subservient.
His books and study materials were exactly where Hakon had left them before dinner. He cracked his neck, sat down, and started learning how to transfigure someone’s bones. Kreacher supplied rats to practice on and watched with something halfway between glee and disapproval as Hakon first accidentally erased one’s entire left foreleg bones, then did something that caused the second rat to squeal in pain for several seconds before dying, then went through another two hours of trials before he could reliably make moderate changes to their bone structure without causing the animals harm. All but the second rat could be healed, which he did, and had Kreacher go pop them into the nearby Muggle houses, which the elf did with a cackle.
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