Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1. The Test 

 Harry Potter had never felt more unsettled walking into Gringotts Bank. The marble floors gleamed under torchlight, and goblins scuttled past in their sharp black uniforms. But Harry’s stomach churned—not with fear of goblins, or even because of the weight of the heavy key in his pocket, but because of the letter clutched in his hand.The letter had been found in Sirius’s vault the day before. Harry had gone down only to fetch some of the Black fortune before returning to the Dursleys for another miserable summer. But the goblin teller had presented him with a sealed envelope, bearing Sirius’s crest.If you’re reading this, pup, then I didn’t make it. Don’t trust Dumbledore with everything. Go to Gringotts, ask for a full inheritance test. You’ll find more than you think.Harry’s fingers had trembled holding the parchment, though he’d tried to hide it. The thought of Sirius still hit like a fist in the chest, grief a constant ache. But Sirius’s warning echoed louder than grief. Don’t trust Dumbledore.And so, here he was.He approached the nearest goblin at the counter. “I’d like an inheritance test,” he said, his voice firmer than he felt.The goblin peered at him with bright, suspicious eyes. “Name?”“Harry James Potter.”There was a pause, then the goblin’s lips curled back to reveal sharp teeth. “Of course. Follow me.”Harry trailed after him, nerves sparking in his stomach. He’d thought perhaps the goblin would scoff, or send him away. Instead, he was being led deeper into the bank, through carved stone corridors lined with silver wards.The goblin opened a heavy iron door and gestured inside. “Sit. The parchment will reveal what is yours by right.”The room was small, lit by a single orb of soft light. On the stone table lay a thick piece of parchment bordered in gold, beside a silver dagger. Harry sat down slowly.“What do I do?”“A drop of blood,” the goblin said.Harry hesitated only a moment before pricking his finger and letting the blood fall onto the parchment.The gold shimmered. His name burned across the top in glowing script. Then lines appeared—titles, vaults, estates. Harry blinked, his mouth going dry as more and more ink sprawled across the parchment.Lord Potter-Black. Heir to the House of Peverell. Owner of Diagon Alley. Owner of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Dominant Alpha Creature of an ancient line. Bound to three submissive mates.Harry’s heart stopped. Owner of Hogwarts? Dominant… Creature? Mates?He rubbed his eyes, but the words did not vanish.The goblin leaned closer, satisfaction glinting in his gaze. “Interesting. It has been some time since one such as you walked among us.”Harry’s voice cracked. “What does it mean?”“You are not fully human,” the goblin said calmly. “Your bloodline carried creature heritage long suppressed. The inheritance awakens at maturity. It marks you as Dominant—Alpha. There are those destined to balance you. Submissives. They will be drawn to you as surely as you are to them.”Harry swallowed, his throat dry. Submissives?The parchment pulsed. More words burned into view: Lucius Malfoy. Severus Snape. Tom Marvolo Riddle.Harry shot to his feet so quickly his chair scraped against stone. “WHAT?”The goblin did not flinch. “It is written. Your mates. The bonds are unbreakable.”Harry staggered back, his pulse hammering in his ears. Lucius Malfoy, his enemy’s father. Severus Snape, his cruel teacher. And Voldemort himself.“This is—this is insane,” Harry muttered. “I can’t—”But the air seemed to hum around him, thick with unseen energy. His magic throbbed, restless, sharp. And deep in his chest, Harry felt something—an instinct—that tugged, faint and insistent, toward the names glowing on the parchment.The goblin was watching him with knowing eyes. “You feel it already.”Harry shook his head fiercely. “No. I won’t— I can’t—”But the pull was there, no matter how he denied it. A thread of longing, control, something deeper than thought or will.The parchment continued to glow, showing vast holdings, properties he had never dreamed of. Vaults upon vaults of galleons. Deeds to shops across Diagon Alley. Entire tracts of wizarding land.And at the bottom, one final note: Magical blocks detected. Interference: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.Harry’s stomach turned to ice.The goblin clicked his claws together. “There it is. Your magic has been bound. Someone has tampered with your power. Someone who feared what you would become.”Harry thought of the letter from Sirius. Don’t trust Dumbledore.Rage, raw and bright, burned in Harry’s chest. His fists clenched. He felt his magic surge outward, snapping against the room’s wards. The goblin actually stepped back, watching with sharp interest as the light in the orb flickered.“Calm yourself,” the goblin said. But his tone held respect. “You are awakening.”Harry pressed his palms against the table, trying to steady himself. His whole body felt alive, every nerve buzzing. His magic had never been this loud, this present, this impossible to ignore.He looked again at the names glowing on the parchment. Lucius Malfoy. Severus Snape. Tom Riddle.He should have felt horror. Instead, to his shame, Harry felt his chest tighten with something else. Not attraction. Not exactly. But a pull, deep and inexorable. A certainty.“They’ll hate this,” Harry whispered. “They’ll hate me.”The goblin’s mouth curled in a strange smile. “Submissives do not choose. They are chosen. And when the Alpha comes into his own… they will kneel.”Harry’s breath caught.The room felt smaller, hotter. The parchment pulsed again, and Harry swore he could feel, faintly, the brush of another’s magic against his own—distant, but real. A whisper of silver silk, a trace of potions smoke, the chill of serpents.The bond was alive.And Harry Potter’s life would never be the same.Harry’s hands trembled as he sank back into the chair. The parchment still glowed, lines of gold script shimmering like fire across its surface. His name seemed to mock him, standing proud above titles he had never wanted and bonds he could not deny.“Explain,” he forced out, staring hard at the goblin.The goblin inclined his head. “The Dominant is the axis of a bond. Powerful, instinctive, sometimes ruthless. Submissives complete the balance, surrendering magic and will to the Alpha. Without them, a Dominant is… unstable.”Harry frowned. “Unstable?”“You are already feeling it,” the goblin said smoothly. “The restlessness. The flare of anger. Dominant instincts must be anchored. If ignored, ruts will come—violent surges of need. Without submissives, they can destroy both Dominant and those around him.”Harry swallowed hard. Ruts. Sirius had never mentioned anything like that, not even in his half-joking letters about “Potter hormones.”“And the submissives?” Harry asked, almost afraid of the answer.“They are not victims,” the goblin said sharply, eyes gleaming. “Heats are not weakness. They are cycles of surrender—intense, consuming, necessary. They crave the Alpha’s presence, his magic, his control. It is balance. It is nature.”Harry’s ears roared. He imagined Lucius Malfoy—proud, aristocratic, always smirking—reduced to submission. He imagined Severus Snape, sneering and bitter, bending to instincts he couldn’t fight. And Voldemort—Lord Voldemort—crushed not by death, but by surrender.It was impossible. And yet his chest throbbed with that strange, tugging certainty.“This can’t be real,” Harry muttered.The goblin tapped the parchment with a claw. “Your magic does not lie.”Harry slumped back, running a shaking hand through his hair. His heart thundered. His skin prickled with energy. He felt as though something inside him was breaking open—something that had been locked away for years.He remembered the bottom line on the parchment. Magical blocks detected. Interference: Albus Dumbledore.“Why would he do that?” Harry asked hoarsely.The goblin’s eyes narrowed. “Because a Dominant of your power is not easily controlled. A creature leader with claim over wealth, over Hogwarts itself? Such power could rival a ministry. Or topple it.”Harry thought of Dumbledore’s kindly smile, his patient lectures, his endless insistence that Harry must “trust” him. His stomach churned.“He used me,” Harry whispered.The goblin inclined his head. “Perhaps. Or perhaps he feared what you would become.”Harry’s magic surged again, hotter this time. The orb light flickered wildly, shadows dancing across stone. The goblin raised his brows but made no move to stop him.“Control it,” the goblin instructed.Harry grit his teeth, forcing himself to breathe. The magic responded slowly, curling back inside, though not without a fight. His whole body buzzed like a struck chord.“You are young,” the goblin said. “Your inheritance has only just awakened. It will take time. But already, you command more than most full-grown wizards.”Harry pressed his palms to his eyes. Dominant Alpha Creature. Submissives. Ruts. Heats. None of it made sense, and yet his body seemed to know it was true.“What happens now?”“You may deny it. But the bond threads have awakened. They will tighten, pulling you toward those who are yours. And when their cycles rise, you will feel it. So will they.”Harry’s mouth went dry. He wasn’t sure what terrified him more: the idea of Dumbledore’s manipulations, or the idea of Lucius, Snape, and Voldemort bound to him by fate.The goblin slid the parchment across the table. “Keep this. It will serve as proof when others try to deny you.”Harry hesitated, then took it. The parchment felt heavy in his hands, as though it carried more than ink and blood.The goblin’s gaze sharpened. “A word of advice, Mr. Potter. Do not waste energy on denial. Submissives need their Dominant, and Dominants need their mates. Fight it too long, and madness may follow.”Harry’s pulse stuttered. Madness.He shoved the thought aside. He would not let this define him. He was Harry Potter, not some primal monster.But as he rose, parchment clutched in hand, the pull in his chest throbbed again. Stronger, now that the truth was laid bare. He swore he could almost see them in his mind—Malfoy’s pale hair, Snape’s dark eyes, Voldemort’s crimson gaze.It should have been hatred. But instead, the thought made his magic surge.Harry left the room unsteady on his feet. The goblin escorted him back through the corridors without a word.When he stepped out into the marble lobby of Gringotts, everything looked the same as it always had—witches hurrying past, goblins counting coins, torches glowing along the walls. But Harry felt different.Something in him had shifted.The weight of his parents’ will, Sirius’s last words, Dumbledore’s lies—it all pressed in on him at once. His whole life had been guided, controlled, nudged along invisible lines. And now, suddenly, those lines were breaking.For the first time, Harry wondered what would happen if he stopped letting himself be led.What if he seized what was his?The parchment pulsed faintly in his hand, the names glowing like fire.Lucius Malfoy. Severus Snape. Tom Riddle.Harry shivered.He wasn’t ready. He couldn’t be. But his magic whispered otherwise.The bonds were alive. And whether he liked it or not, they were tightening.The midday sun struck Harry’s eyes as he stepped out of Gringotts. He blinked against the glare, the parchment still clutched tightly in his hand. Diagon Alley bustled around him—shoppers weaving between stalls, owls swooping overhead, children tugging their parents toward shop windows filled with broomsticks and glittering sweets.It should have felt normal. Familiar. Safe.But it didn’t.Everything seemed sharper—colors brighter, sounds louder, scents stronger. The chatter of witches grated against his ears, the sharp tang of dragon-hide gloves from a nearby stall burned his nose, and the rush of magic in the air pressed against his skin like static.He clenched his teeth. The goblin had been right. His inheritance wasn’t sleeping anymore—it was awake, thrumming inside him like a second heartbeat.The parchment in his hand pulsed again. Harry shoved it inside his jacket, but the pull in his chest didn’t fade. Instead, it sharpened, tugging faintly—south, then east, like invisible threads stretching taut.Harry stopped dead in the street. His breath caught.Lucius. Severus. Voldemort.He didn’t see them, didn’t hear them, but somehow—deep in his bones—he knew the pull belonged to them. The bonds weren’t silent anymore. They whispered, insistent, demanding his attention.A hot rush of magic spilled out before he could stop it. Sparks fizzled around his boots, startling a passing witch. She yelped, stumbling into her companion. People turned, eyes widening at the sight of Harry Potter surrounded by a faint golden glow.“Sorry,” Harry muttered quickly, forcing the energy back inside. His pulse hammered. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck.Control it. Control it.The goblin’s warning echoed in his head. A Dominant without control was dangerous.He ducked down a side alley, pressing his back against the cool brick wall. He buried his face in his hands, drawing in deep breaths. But the magic didn’t settle. It prowled beneath his skin like a caged beast, furious and restless.Ruts will come. Heats will rise.Harry shuddered. He wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t ready for any of it.He thought of Lucius Malfoy’s sneer, Snape’s disdain, Voldemort’s cold fury. Submissives? His submissives? The idea was insane. And yet the threads in his chest pulled tighter, almost painful now that he was resisting.“This is madness,” Harry whispered.And maybe it was. But his body didn’t care. His magic didn’t care. The bonds were real.Harry straightened slowly, forcing himself to breathe until the worst of the pressure ebbed. He needed answers. He needed truth.He needed to know just how deep Dumbledore’s hand had gone into shaping his life.Because if the old man had blocked his inheritance, what else had he tampered with?Harry’s jaw tightened. He remembered every time Dumbledore had withheld information—about the prophecy, about Sirius, about his parents’ will. All cloaked under the guise of protection.But protection had cost him everything—his childhood, his freedom, his choices.Not anymore.Harry pushed off the wall, shoulders set. For once, he wasn’t going to let himself be nudged along like a pawn.He was done being used.The parchment burned faintly against his chest, as though in agreement.He glanced around Diagon Alley. Shops leaned together in a crooked patchwork, streets choked with uneven cobbles and flickering lamps. Wizarding Britain called this its heart, its pride, but Harry saw only decay beneath the glamour. Broken glass panes patched with charms, faded signs, stagnant air.It could be more, his instincts whispered. You could make it more.The thought startled him. But as he studied the crooked street, it didn’t feel wrong. It felt natural. Right.His magic stirred in answer, stretching outward like a claim. For a moment, Harry swore the cobblestones glowed faintly beneath his feet.He blinked and the glow faded. But the idea lingered.He could do more than survive. More than fight.He could build.The threads tugged again, sharp and insistent. Harry pressed a fist to his chest. The pull wasn’t cruel—it was need. His submissives needed him. And whether he was ready or not, he would need them too.Not today. Not tomorrow. But soon.He set his jaw and strode forward, weaving back into the crowd. People glanced at him as he passed, whispers rippling like wind through tall grass. The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One.They didn’t know. Not yet.Harry gripped the parchment through his jacket. Let them whisper. Let them wonder.One day soon, they would learn the truth.Harry Potter wasn’t just the Boy Who Lived anymore.He was Dominant. He was Alpha.And the wizarding world was about to change.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two – Dumbledore’s Lies
Grimmauld Place felt heavier than usual when Harry stepped through the front door. The old townhouse loomed in silence, its dark wood panels watching like stern portraits, though most of the real portraits had long since been burned away. Kreacher appeared briefly at the end of the corridor, muttered something sour about “half-blood masters,” and vanished with a crack before Harry could even acknowledge him.Harry didn’t care. His head was still spinning from Gringotts, the inheritance parchment burning like a brand against his chest.Dominant Creature. Submissives. Ruts. Heats. Bonds.It was too much. Yet somehow, not enough.He needed answers.He climbed the creaking stairs to Sirius’s old study, the room where papers and heirlooms had been left half-sorted after his godfather’s death. Harry had avoided it before—it hurt too much to step into a place still heavy with Sirius’s presence. But now… now it felt necessary.Stacks of parchment covered the desk, some yellowed with age, others crisp and fresh. Harry pulled out the bundle the goblin had handed him, labeled in Sirius’s scrawled handwriting: For Harry. When he’s ready.His throat tightened. Sirius had known. Somehow, even through the chaos of war, he had known Harry would need these papers someday.Harry untied the string and spread them across the desk. Wills. Family trees. Property deeds. And letters—several sealed with the Black family crest.One document immediately caught his eye: Last Will and Testament of James and Lily Potter.His heart lurched. He’d never seen this before. Dumbledore had told him the will was “unrecoverable.” Yet here it was, ink still sharp and clear, magic pulsing faintly through the parchment.Harry’s fingers trembled as he unfolded it.To our beloved son, Harry James Potter, it read. We leave all our worldly possessions, properties, vaults, and guardianship rights to be overseen by Sirius Orion Black, in the event of our deaths.Harry froze. His stomach twisted.Sirius. Not Dumbledore.His parents had wanted Sirius to raise him, not the Dursleys. Not the cupboard under the stairs.Harry’s vision blurred as fury boiled up. Dumbledore had lied. Again. Lied and stolen twelve years of his life.He gripped the desk hard enough for the wood to creak. His magic surged outward, rattling the inkwells, making the oil lamp flare and gutter.Control it. Control it.He forced a deep breath, but the parchment only confirmed what he already suspected. Next came financial records—ledgers showing massive withdrawals from the Potter vaults over the years. Thousands of Galleons moved under the authorization of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, acting as “temporary magical guardian.”Harry’s nails bit into his palm. He’d worn rags while his vault was being plundered. Dudley had eaten cakes while Harry starved.The parchment crinkled under his tightening grip.The next bundle of records listed magical contracts—restrictions woven into his very being. Harry felt his skin crawl as he read the goblin summaries:Magical Binding: Obedience compulsion, keyed to Dumbledore’s authority.Suppression Wards: Creature inheritance delayed, magic dampened.Blockade: Guardian Bond to Sirius Black suppressed until 1994.Each word made his blood run colder. He’d lived half a life under chains he hadn’t even seen.A sound ripped from his throat—half snarl, half growl. The air in the room thickened, pressure building until the lamp shattered, glass scattering across the desk. His magic rose like a storm, and the house groaned in response.The wallpaper peeled back in strips. The floorboards shuddered.“Master Harry,” Kreacher’s voice croaked, trembling as he reappeared at the door. His eyes were wide, more startled than Harry had ever seen. “The house… the house feels your magic. It is obeying.”Harry blinked at him, chest heaving. The storm of energy swirled tighter around him, coiling like smoke. The Black family crest carved into the mantle glowed faintly, as though recognizing him.Obeying.Harry forced the magic down with sheer will. Slowly, the glow faded. The floorboards stilled. But the knowledge remained—Grimmauld Place itself had bent to him. Not Dumbledore. Him.“Kreacher,” Harry rasped. “Bring me every paper. Every book. Everything that’s mine, or Sirius’s, or the Potters’. All of it. Now.”The elf’s ears twitched. For a heartbeat, Harry thought he’d refuse. But then Kreacher bowed so low his nose nearly touched the floor. “Yes, Master.”He vanished with a crack.Harry collapsed into the chair, burying his face in his hands. His magic still pulsed, hot and restless, demanding to be used. The parchment whispered on the desk, the letters of his parents’ will glowing faintly under the influence of his fury.They wanted Sirius. They wanted me safe. And Dumbledore stole it.The betrayal cut deeper than he’d thought possible.And yet… underneath the rage, something else stirred. A steadiness. A resolve.If Dumbledore thought he could control Harry forever, he was wrong.Harry wasn’t a boy anymore. He wasn’t a pawn. He was Dominant. And the world would answer to him, not the other way around.The tug in his chest flared suddenly, sharp and insistent. Harry gasped, clutching at his shirt. Heat raced through him, not painful, but urgent—like a call he couldn’t ignore.Images flickered in his mind—dark eyes behind a curtain of greasy hair, a pale hand clutching a cane, a cold face with slit pupils.Severus. Lucius. Voldemort.His submissives.The bond tugged again, pulling toward them, as if they had felt his rage and were reaching back. Harry staggered, bracing against the desk as the sensation washed over him. It wasn’t full heat, not yet, but it was enough to leave his pulse racing.For a terrifying moment, he imagined Lucius Malfoy on his knees, Severus bowing his head, Voldemort himself yielding. The image sparked something deep and primal inside him, something his human mind wanted to deny, but his Dominant instincts purred in approval.The pull eased gradually, leaving Harry trembling. He dragged a hand down his face, heart pounding.Not yet. He wasn’t ready. But the bond wasn’t going to let him ignore it forever.The door creaked, and Kreacher reappeared, balancing a stack of ledgers and boxes nearly as tall as himself. “Master Harry’s things,” he croaked, setting them carefully on the floor. His gaze flicked nervously to the broken lamp, the still-glowing crest. “The house knows its master now. You command, and it will obey.”Harry stared at him, then at the crest above the mantle. For the first time, the house didn’t feel like a prison. It felt like a stronghold.His stronghold.He exhaled slowly, forcing himself calm. “Good. Then let’s start. We’ve got a lot to uncover.”
The hours bled together as Harry tore through parchment after parchment. Kreacher had been surprisingly efficient—stacks of papers, ledgers, and sealed envelopes filled the study, and Harry forced himself to look at every single one.What he found only tightened the coil of rage inside him.There were minutes from Wizengamot sessions showing Dumbledore “acting as proxy for House Potter.” There were school board records, where Dumbledore had been granted “emergency control” of Hogwarts finances because the rightful heir had been “too young.” There were bank ledgers that revealed not only withdrawals from the Potter vaults but diversions of investments into “light-aligned institutions” under Dumbledore’s influence.The man hadn’t just controlled Harry’s childhood. He’d controlled Harry’s legacy.Harry shoved one ledger aside, breathing hard. He wasn’t sure what angered him more—that Dumbledore had stolen, or that no one had stopped him.Kreacher hovered nearby, silently watching. The elf seemed… different. Less surly, less broken. Harry realized with a jolt that it wasn’t just obedience—Kreacher looked at him with something close to reverence.“Master Harry is strong,” Kreacher whispered. “Master’s magic burns away the chains. The old meddler thought he ruled, but this house knows its rightful lord.”Harry swallowed hard. He wasn’t used to reverence. Pity, suspicion, hero-worship maybe—but not this.And yet, his instincts purred at the words.He set down another set of parchments and rubbed his temples. His magic still pressed against his skin, restless and eager. When he’d lost control earlier, the house had obeyed. And now, even calm, he felt it—the faint pulse of Grimmauld’s wards, ready to shift at a thought.Harry closed his eyes, focusing. Show me the protections.The wards flared to life in his mind, threads of light and shadow weaving around the house. And to his astonishment, they responded, reshaping slightly under his will. He tugged at one ward, and a hallway shimmered faintly, the peeling wallpaper smoothing itself into fresh paneling.Harry opened his eyes, heart pounding. The house had changed.Not just magic. Reality.His instincts purred louder. Dominant. In control.The tug in his chest returned—sharper this time, pulling at his core. Harry stumbled back, gripping the desk. Images flared unbidden: a curtain of black hair over dark eyes narrowing, Lucius’s aristocratic sneer faltering, Voldemort’s red gaze flickering with something other than cruelty.The bond.He was touching them—calling them.Harry gasped as the sensation deepened, echoing outward. For a heartbeat, he wasn’t in Grimmauld Place at all.---Severus Snape froze mid-step in his dungeons. A cauldron bubbled behind him, but he no longer cared. Something had brushed across his magic—something hot and commanding, something that bypassed the years of discipline and shields he’d built.His knees weakened before he could stop them. Instinct screamed submit, and it terrified him.Snape clutched the edge of the workbench, breathing hard. The mark on his arm burned faintly, but this wasn’t the Dark Lord’s call. This was… other. Stronger.And, though he’d never admit it, part of him felt relief.---Lucius Malfoy sat in his study at Malfoy Manor, glass of firewhisky in hand. The world was fraying, the Dark Lord’s grip tightening, and Lucius’s own place in it had grown precarious. But none of that prepared him for the sudden heat that surged through his veins, stealing his breath.His glass shattered on the floor.The sensation bent him forward before he realized what he was doing. The Malfoy heir—a man raised to command—was kneeling. Kneeling, and his body approved.Lucius’s pulse thundered in his ears. His instincts screamed Dominant has found you.And for the first time in years, he felt hope.---Voldemort sat coiled in his throne-like chair, Nagini draped lazily at his feet. His followers whispered around him, but their voices were background noise. His attention was elsewhere—snapped taut by the sudden brush of power across his soul.It was subtle, unformed, but undeniably dominant. It called to something in him that he hadn’t wanted to name, a primal instinct buried under decades of ambition and cruelty.His fingers dug into the armrest as heat licked through him. His magic flared, restless, eager.For a terrifying moment, the Dark Lord nearly bowed.He snarled instead, rising sharply, scattering Death Eaters into frantic bows of their own. But inside, his instincts whispered one thing only:Found you.---Harry collapsed into the chair, gasping. The echoes faded, but not completely. Something had shifted. They had felt him.He dragged a hand down his face, sweat cooling on his skin. Merlin help him—three of the most dangerous men in Britain were tied to him by bonds that wanted obedience.And Harry couldn’t deny that part of him liked it.Kreacher edged closer. “Master Harry called them,” he croaked. His eyes gleamed with something like awe. “The submissives feel the leash tighten. They will come, one way or another.”Harry swallowed hard. He wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.But soon.His gaze fell to the last unopened envelope in Sirius’s bundle. It bore no seal, only Sirius’s scrawl: Read this when you’re ready to stop playing by Dumbledore’s rules.Harry’s hands trembled as he broke it open.The letter inside was short, blunt, unmistakably Sirius:Harry—If you’re reading this, it means you’ve seen the truth. Dumbledore is not your savior. He’s a jailer. The Black family was built on power, on control, and now it’s yours. You can tear him down piece by piece. Don’t be afraid of what you are. Use it. Build something better. I’ll be proud of you, no matter what. —SiriusHarry’s throat closed. For a long time, he couldn’t breathe.Then his instincts settled around the words like armor.Yes. He would build something better. Dumbledore had stolen his childhood, but he wouldn’t steal Harry’s future.Harry pushed back from the desk, staring at the glowing Black crest above the mantle. His voice was low, but the house seemed to tremble in acknowledgment.“It’s my turn now.”
The night stretched long, but Harry did not feel tired. If anything, the longer he sat in the Black library, the sharper his senses became. His magic no longer idled beneath his skin—it prowled.Every flicker of candlelight seemed to bend toward him. Every creak of floorboards responded as if awaiting command. Grimmauld Place was alive, and Harry was its master.He tested it again, tentatively. Show me Hogwarts.The wards did not stretch that far, but something else stirred—an echo, a faint thread that linked him to the ancient castle. He couldn’t see the walls or towers, but he could feel the weight of its age and neglect. Stone groaning under centuries without proper renewal. Corridors where magic pooled unevenly, untended.Harry’s jaw clenched. Hogwarts had been his home. His refuge. Yet Dumbledore had let it rot while playing puppet-master.The parchment Sirius left still lay on the desk. Harry pressed his palm flat against it. “I’ll fix it,” he whispered.The house pulsed in agreement, the walls vibrating faintly.---The next morning, Kreacher found him hunched over sheets of parchment, ink smudging his fingers. Harry had never written plans before—he’d barely managed homework without Hermione breathing down his neck—but this was different. The words flowed with urgency.“Step one,” he muttered aloud, quill scratching furiously. “Stabilize Hogwarts wards. No more loopholes that let basilisk-sized snakes or Death Eaters sneak in. Step two—repair infrastructure. Classrooms, dormitories, even bloody bathrooms—if magic’s fading, kids aren’t safe. Step three—Diagon Alley. It shouldn’t look like it’s falling apart when it’s supposed to be the center of magical Britain.”Kreacher peered over his shoulder, ears twitching. “Master plans like a lord.”Harry almost laughed, but his chest tightened instead. A lord. He’d spent his whole life trying to survive, not lead. But now? The role didn’t feel like a choice. It felt inevitable.He dipped his quill again, scrawling in block letters across the top of the parchment:PROJECT: REBUILDING THE WIZARDING WORLD.---But planning couldn’t distract him from the bond.By afternoon, it pulsed insistently, tugging low in his gut. Each time he tried to ignore it, his magic lashed outward, rattling windows or snapping quills in half.Lucius. Severus. Voldemort.He didn’t understand why it had to be them. He would have given anything for someone kind, someone simple. Instead, fate—or his inheritance—had tied him to three of the most dangerous men alive.Harry shoved back from the desk, pacing the room. His skin itched with restless power, his breath coming faster. It wasn’t just anger. It was… something hotter. Instinct, demanding recognition.“Kreacher,” Harry rasped, halting in the doorway. “The bond—it won’t stop pulling.”The elf bowed low. “Because the submissives stir, Master. They feel your call. Soon they will not resist.”Harry pressed a fist against his chest. The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating.---Far away, the submissives stirred indeed.Severus Snape spent the day snapping at his students more viciously than usual, his temper razor-thin. Every clang of a cauldron felt like sandpaper against his nerves. His skin prickled with heat, his breath quickened without cause. He recognized the signs—heat cycle. But it was too soon, far too soon.And he knew, with cold certainty, who had triggered it.The bond. The Dominant. Potter.Snape slammed his hand against the desk hard enough to split wood. His pride shrieked at the thought. To kneel, to bare his throat to a boy he’d loathed for years—unthinkable.And yet his body betrayed him, trembling faintly in anticipation.---Lucius Malfoy fared no better. At Malfoy Manor, he retreated to his chambers, locking the door even against Narcissa’s worried knocks. His magic flared and curled around him like smoke, restless and needy.He stripped his outer robes, heat prickling across his skin. His instincts wanted him on his knees, head bowed, waiting.Lucius’s fists clenched in his sheets. His pride, his breeding, his entire identity rebelled. But his magic whispered one truth, again and again:Your Dominant calls. Answer.---Voldemort raged. He struck down two Death Eaters before retreating to the solitude of his chambers, snarling at Nagini to leave him. His magic writhed violently, snapping against the walls, desperate for release.But beneath the fury, there was hunger. A heat that coiled in his belly and spread like wildfire.He knew this cycle. He had endured it before. But never had it been triggered by another. Never had it bent him toward submission.The very idea should have been impossible. He was Lord Voldemort. He did not yield.And yet his body betrayed him, trembling on the edge of collapse.When he closed his eyes, all he saw was emerald green.---Back at Grimmauld, Harry collapsed onto the bed, chest heaving. His own magic surged in response to theirs—dominant rut stirring, hot and demanding. He groaned, clutching the sheets.It wasn’t fair. He hadn’t asked for this, hadn’t wanted bonds that pulled at his very bones. But part of him thrilled at the thought of them kneeling. Powerful men, feared men, submitting because of him.Harry bit his lip hard enough to taste blood.He wasn’t ready. Not yet. But soon, whether he wanted it or not, they would come.And when they did, everything would change.---That night, Harry dreamed.He stood in the middle of Diagon Alley—not the crumbling street he knew, but a shining city. Glass windows gleamed, shopfronts vibrant and full, children ran freely without fear. Overhead, banners of the Potter and Black crests fluttered in the breeze.And behind him, kneeling in shadow, three figures bowed their heads.Harry woke with fire in his veins and one certainty burned into his mind:The wizarding world would bend. One way or another.