Harry Potter and Lord of House Black

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12, Grimmauld Place, London,

In a strange, sealed room deep in the underground floor of the house, with dim lighting and cold temperature, a low humming of Hedwig's theme filled the air.

Hmmm-huh, hmmm-huh-huh, hmmm… hmmm-huh-huh, hmmm-hmmm-hmm

The one humming the tune was a young figure, wearing a white lab coat and holding a scalpel in his gloved hands as he stood atop a stool beside an operating table.

Despite the dim lighting, the boy's gleaming emerald snake eyes took in every detail. His gloved hands moved with practiced ease, slicing through the skin and muscle of the man on the table as he pulled out each organ one by one, placing them carefully into separate glass jars without so much as a blink. Calm, steady, and cold-faced throughout the whole grisly process, he showed no sign of disgust despite the blood and gore.

Such cold, clinical acts of cutting into people and pulling out their organs didn't quite fit the image of a child. It was an odd sight… downright scary, even. But the kid clearly didn't bat an eye. He'd done it more times than he could count. By now, chopping folks up seemed like just another Tuesday for him, and honestly, he did it with a strange kind of grace, humming soft tunes like he wasn't slicing people open with a cold, dull scalpel, but doodling on a bit of paper with his colorful, warm crayons.

Naturally, this child was none other than Rigel Black.

After extracting all the useful organs from the corpse, Rigel waved his hand, and the glass jars floated up from the operation table. Keeping them aloft, he climbed down from the stool and headed to the corner of the room, where a proper platform held several cauldrons bubbling with potions.

He set the jars down on the platform, then climbed onto the stools in front of each cauldron one by one and began pouring the different organs into the different bubbling brews. As the potion's color shifted and the bubbling settled, the mixtures were completed.

But Rigel wasn't satisfied, "A failure… again…?" he questioned, noting that the colour of none of the potions had changed into what he'd hoped to see upon completion.

He sighed softly, snuffing out the flames beneath the cauldron, and muttered to himself, "No matter how many times I try, the results' the same… It appears that not a single organ in a wizard's body, not even the brain, holds enough traces of magical energy to give a definite conclusion as to where the magical energy is stored in the body."

"Carrying on with this test seems pointless now… It's bloody unlikely there's any such thing as a magical core inside us," he murmured, resigned.

Rigel had been running experiments to figure out where a wizard's magical core, or something along the lines of the core, might be… but every test led to the same conclusion. Forget finding its location, in the first place, there probably isn't a magical core in a wizard's body at all.

That probably means magic's either an energy spread all over the world, which wizards tap into thanks to the magical gene in their bodies that lets 'em interact with it, or it's stored in every single cell rather than a specific organ or core. If it's the second case, Rigel figured that Magical energy might be like blood… You know it's there, flowing through your veins and arteries, but it's not possible to consciously feel it most of the time…

"Or maybe… It's a bit of both," he mused. "That'd make the most sense. It'd explain why wards and other protective charms keep functioning even when a wizard's not constantly feeding them magical energy from their body. It's quite likely that they draw magical energy from the environment to maintain themselves… And it'd also explain the existence of an Obscurus, which is the result of repressed magical energy in a wizard…"

The more he thought about it, the more he felt that it ought to be the case…

"But… the importance of the soul can't be ruled out either."

If he were still in his old life, Rigel would've scoffed at the mere notion of a soul—something like that doesn't make much sense from an evolutionary or biological point of view. But ever since he'd died and been reborn as a Wizard, keeping his memories and consciousness intact, he had to accept that, yes… something as absurdly metaphysical, highly illogical, and incredibly cryptic as a soul really does exist.

And in this world of magic and wizardry, a person's soul is bloody important. Especially for a wizard or witch, their souls seem to hold far more significance in their existence.

Death itself can be cheated if someone finds a way to keep their soul anchored here. So, it's clear—the soul matters more than most might realise.

And likewise, there is no doubt that the soul also plays a very important role in a wizard's or witch's magic.

It is the true source of their power, the essence that channels magical energy.

Since magical energy isn't physical, channeling it through the body alone is nearly impossible. It's quite likely that it's channel through the soul which acts as an anchor, connecting the wizard's consciousness to the magical energy within and around them, allowing them to shape it with intent, will, imagination, and emotion.

Without a strong and balanced soul, magic becomes unstable, weak, or even dangerous. This also explains why dark magics that target the soul cause lasting harm beyond the physical, striking at the very anchor of a wizard's power.

The soul shapes how magic manifests uniquely in each person, linking their personality, desires, and history to their spells. It's not just a spiritual idea, it's the heart of a wizard's magic, the true source behind every spell.

"Well, I don't really need to worry about the soul… It's strong as anything; after all, it's the soul of a full-fledged adult living within a child's body. But putting that aside… how do I build magical power that outstrips even the likes of Grindelwald, Voldemort, and Dumbledore within a decade?"

That question had been dogging him for quite a while, and it's the very one he's been trying to find an answer to.

After all, Grindelwald, Voldemort, and Dumbledore are old hands compared to him, with decades of experience and practice under their wands. That kind of time makes a world of difference.

Rigel was confident he could try to gain as much knowledge of the magical arts within a decade, but the real challenge was the practice, research, and, of course, most importantly, honing of his skills. That was a problem he'd have to crack somehow.

If he wanted to catch up with them, and even surpass them, in that time, he'd need to find a way to boost his magic.

If there were such a thing as a magical core, he could try strengthening it to hold limitless magical energy. But since there wasn't, he'd have to find another way… something… anything.

"How's anyone supposed to go about boosting their magic that much in the first place…" The question crossed his mind, but he didn't have much time to ponder it because just then, Kreacher popped into the room with a crack.

The house elf glanced at the corpses lined up at one corner, covered with potions to keep the stink and rot at bay, before turning his attention back to his master and bowing to him. "Master Rigel… Kreacher's found the wizard you ordered him to…"

Rigel paused. "Oh?" He gave the old house-elf a nod of approval. "Good job." Kreacher bowed in return.

"Since you've found Drek William, I reckon this matter shouldn't be put off any longer," Rigel murmured as he climbed down from the stool. He peeled off his bloodied gloves and tossed them in the bin, slipped off his white lab coat, placing it carefully on the potion platform, then made his way over to Kreacher, and said, "Let's get moving."

"Kreacher obeys," the elf nodded, and with a crack, the two vanished from the room.

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Somewhere in London.

With a crack, Rigel and Kreacher appeared in a dark alley as the young Black stepped out, looking around to get his bearings. "This area is…"

He didn't have to think long before his eyes settled on a building. "This is a… strip club?" He turned to Kreacher, confusion clear on his face. "What're we doing at a place like this?"

Kreacher nodded toward the very same strip club. "The man's inside that building… he's been hiding among the filthy Muggles."

"Hm… I see," Rigel murmured, eyeing the entrance. 'He's probably worried Aunt might've reported him to the Auror department for attempted assault and attempted use of the most unforgivable curse, which would mean that the Aurors would be thick on his tail to put him to trial and send him to Azkaban… In that case, hiding among the Muggles is the safest bet for the time being to let the time pass and the matter cool down,' Rigel thought as he began walking towards the entrance of the Strip Club.

But before he could step through the door, two tall, hefty bouncers blocked his way. One looked down at him and sneered, "This place ain't for kids. Come back when you've stopped sucking your mum's teat."

The others nearby chuckled.

'Ah, darn it, old habits die hard,' Rigel thought, suddenly all too aware he was still just a kid.

"Off you go, lad… get lost," said the second bouncer, waving his hand like he was shooing a stray.

"Sigh…" Rigel sighed, and instead of turning around, he flicked his fingers. Instantly, the streetlight beside the strip club began to glow brighter and brighter, way beyond what it was meant to handle, blinding anyone nearby and forcing them to shield their eyes.

"Oi… what the hell's going on with this streetlight?" someone muttered.

The glow kept rising and rising until, Crack! It shattered as glass fragments fell on the street, forcing people to distance themselves from it.

"Aaah, the hell, I got a cut." There was a bit of panic, though not much, since it was only one streetlight. Still, the oddness made a few folks, including the bouncers, wonder aloud, "What in the world was that?"

"Don't know, mate… probably some kind of malfunction. These things do happen with street lights now and then," came a mature voice, eyes fixed thoughtfully on the broken streetlight.

The bouncers turned to see a handsome middle-aged bloke with blonde hair, a blonde beard, and sharp blue eyes standing right where the boy they mocked had been moments before.

"Where'd that lad go?" one of the bouncers asked, surprised.

"What lad?" the man replied, looking puzzled.

"The one who tried to get in and was stopped by us," said the bouncer.

"Don't see no lad here… probably scarpered in a fright," the man shrugged, clearly not fussed. Then he added, "Now, would you two move along and let me in? After all, I'm not a lad."

The two bouncers exchanged glances before stepping aside, clearing a path for the man to enter the strip club.

…

The air inside the strip club was thick with the stench of cheap perfume, stale beer, and cigarette smoke. Dim, pulsing lights cast a reddish glow across the room, their flickering beams slicing through the haze. A low, thumping bassline vibrated through the floor, matching the sway of scantily clad, or fully naked, dancers perched on elevated platforms, moving seductively and flashing their bodies provocatively.

Their naked silhouettes twisted and spun around polished poles, drawing leering eyes from the mostly male crowd scattered across the tables. Neon signs buzzed faintly, advertising drink specials and private rooms, while waitresses in tight reverse bunny outfits weaved through the throng while swaying their butts and balancing trays of overpriced cocktails.

As soon as the blonde, bearded middle-aged man stepped further inside, he drew plenty of attention.

His expensive clothes and handsome features practically screamed wealth. Quite a few women working at the facility approached, trying to coax him while putting their arms on his chest. "Hey, handsome… and what is your name?"

But the man just smiled and brushed past, not giving them a second thought, leaving them confused and surprised, staring after his back with furrowed brows.

Naturally, this was Rigel who had morphed into that of this handsome, bearded, middle-aged man and was searching for the man he had stepped inside to find.

Sweeping his eyes across the room, he soon spotted an odd figure.

"Is that him?" Rigel wondered as his gaze flicked toward the bar, a long counter lined with bottles gleaming under the neon lights. Stools were filled with a mix of blokes, some hunched over their drinks, others craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the dancers.

At the far end, almost swallowed by shadows, sat a figure wearing a strange robe that seemed a bit out of place and quirky. The man's fingers gripped a glass of amber liquid, his posture tense, like he was bracing for trouble at any moment.

But Rigel wasn't certain if that man was indeed Rigel because of the hood on his cloak…

'I have to get closer…' With that in mind, Rigel weaved through the crowd, careful not to draw attention or alert the man. A dancer brushed past, her sequined outfit catching the light as she flashed a practiced, teasing smile. Rigel responded with a flirty smile but kept his focus locked on the figure, his hand clenched tight around the wand hidden in the inner pocket of his coat…

The bar area was noisier, glasses clinking and slurred laughter blending with the music. Rigel slid onto a stool a few seats from the figure, signalling the bartender for a drink to keep up appearances.

The bartender, a wiry bloke with a shaved head, a few tats, piercings, and a bored look, slid a beer over without a word.

Rigel leaned casually on the counter, sneaking a glance at the odd-looking bloke. His face was half-hidden beneath the hood of his robe, making it tricky to tell if this was really Drek William or not. His gut told him it was, but he couldn't be completely sure, so he had to lean in a bit closer to make sure.

Catching Rigel's gaze, the man lifted his head with a frown and stared at him.

Not recognising the blonde, middle-aged, bearded bloke and spotting his Muggle clothes, the figure glared and snapped, "What're you staring at?" His other hand slipped inside his cloak, and Rigel could tell he was clutching his wand, ready to fire off a spell if anything seemed off.

At the same time, Rigel knew without a doubt this was the man he'd been searching for. 'It's him, alright.' The man was definitely Drek William.

It was just that the wizard was a bit too on edge, which made it tricky for Rigel to do anything immediately. 'Guess I'll have to get him to drop his guard…'

Keeping that in mind, Rigel decided to play the part of a Muggle. With a light chuckle, he said, "Just thought your clothes looked a bit odd, mate… Was wondering if you worked at the theatre or summat."

"None of your bloody business," Drek growled, adding a warning, "Keep your eyes to yourself and away from me, or you'll end up losing them in ways you can't even begin to imagine."

There was a bit of a silence before Rigel suddenly burst into a chuckle, "Ahh… you sure know how to deliver your lines." He brushed off Drek's threat as nothing more than theatre dialogue. "I'm impressed." Then, turning to the bartender, he said, "Give him a drink on me… never seen a theatre bloke deliver such a solid delivery at a strip club."

The bartender found the blonde, bearded bloke a bit odd. To him, the other guy wasn't just delivering a line—he was clearly issuing a threat. But since the man himself didn't seem fussed, who was he to say anything? He just shrugged and slid a glass of whisky over to Drek.

Dreak stared at it for a moment, then glanced at the Muggle with a puzzled look.

"Cheers to your performance," Rigel said, raising his glass.

Drek responded with a suspicious nod, grabbed his glass, and chugged it down slowly while giving a suspicious glare to the bearded middle-aged man. "Haa…!"

From the side, Rigel watched as after emptying the glass, Drek put it down on the counter, and said to the bartender, "Oi… more…" and while pointing to Rigel said, "He's paying…"

The bartender glanced at Rigel, who shrugged, "Well, I suppose…"

The bartender gave a light nod and casually topped up Drek's whisky glass.

As Drek began drinking from that, Rigel asked, shaking the whisky in his glass, "Having a rough day, are we?"

But Drek gave no response and simply put down the glass, "Ahhh…" and once again said to the bartender, "More…"

The bartender glanced at Rigel once more, who gave a slight nod and dropped a roll of pounds on the counter. "Hm."

Seeing the cash, the bartender let out a relieved sigh, no longer worried about the weird bearded man skipping out on the bill. He tucked the roll of pounds into the drawer behind the counter, then, without asking again, poured another drink as the scene repeated with Drek drinking more and more.

Between sips, Rigel tried to start a chat, but Drek snapped coldly, "Shut up, you bloody baffoon of a Muggle!" before turning back to the bartender and barking, "More!"

Seeing him drink nonstop and assuming he was loaded, a dancer sidled up to Drek, leaning in to offer a private dance. But he just waved her off sharply, nearly spilling his drink. "Get lost, you filthy muggle…"

The woman didn't quite catch what the bloke said, but she could tell he was cursing her. Muttering "Arsehole…" under her breath, she slipped over to Rigel's side at the bartender's signal.

Finding herself sitting on his lap, she smiled flirtatiously as she gently rested a hand on his shoulder and asked, gazing into his eyes, "What about you, handsome… are you as cold as your mate over there?"

"Well, that's a question…" Rigel replied with a chuckle, one of his hands caressing her bare back as he stole sneaky glances at the drinking Drek.

"Ahh… I can feel something under me… you're a big boy, aren't you?" she teased, sensing the hardness beneath his trousers with her buttocks.

"Hmm… I'm not one to brag," Rigel replied with an amused smile, but did wink playfully.

"Is that so?" she smiled back, biting her lower lip as she began to gently rock her hips, and asked, "Do you like this…?"

"I wouldn't say that I don't…" replied Rigel, feeling her buttocks rubbing on him.

Leaning closer, she whispered in his ears, asking, "Well then, shall we take this to a private room…"

Rigel didn't answer right away. Instead, he picked up his whisky glass, took a sip, and glanced over at Drek.

By now, the man had almost loosened up, both hands wrapped around his glass as he kept drinking more and more.

'It's almost time…' Rigel thought, knowing this was the moment to make his move. He looked back at the woman, who was still rocking her hips on his lap and had began to nibble his ears with her tongue and teeth to turn him on, and gave her a playful spank, "Isn't this a tight arse we got here…"

The woman let out a cute yelp as she released his earlobe from her mouth, and shooting him a naughty look, she asked, "Are we doing it, handsome?"

"You bet we are," Rigel smiled, putting down the glass of whisky on the counter.

The two then got up, and she said, holding onto his hand, "Come with me… I know a spot where no one'll bother us."

With bleary eyes, Drek watched them, only to see the woman take hold of Rigel's hand and lead him away. As their eyes met, Rigel called back, "I'll be there… mate."

Drek waved a drunken hand. "Off you go…" Uninterested, he turned back to his glass of whisky and, upon seeing the glass empty, barked at the bartender, "More!" who promptly obliged.

Seeing Drek in this state, Rigel paused. "Just a sec…" he whispered into the woman's ear while slipping his hand inside his jacket. "Let me hand over another roll of pounds so my mate can drink as much as he likes."

She nodded. "Oh… I don't mind waiting a bit…"

"Aren't you a good girl?" Rigel praised the woman while squeezing her ass and earning a naughty smile from her before turning around and moving back to Drek. Approaching the drinking man, he leaned in closer and whispered in a low voice, "Drek William."

Even though he was well and truly pissed, the moment his name was called, Drek's head snapped up. "You…" His hand shot into his cloak pocket to draw his wand and fire off a spell.

But it was too late. Rigel, already with his wand drawn and aimed straight at the back of drunken Drek's head, smirked and cast the spell, "Imperio!"

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That's it for this chapter. Hope you enjoyed reading this one!

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