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Harry Potter, Black Office – Ministry of Magic.

The fireplace roared fiercely, allowing Harry, Sirius, and Desmella to emerge from the flames.

Harry did so with an elegance that had taken him years to master, and watched with wicked pleasure as both Sirius and Desmella fell onto the floor of the Black office with seemingly no control, unable to remain on their feet.

“Fuck! My back!” Sirius said with annoyance in his voice, while Desmella brushed the ashes from her blue robes, her expression a mixture of indignation and interest as she stared at the fireplace with curious eyes.

“It’s an...interesting method of transportation,” Auror Casterly said with forced politeness, making Harry snort with amusement before replying.

“You don’t have to lie. The Floo Network is very useful, extremely difficult to track if you don’t know exactly what you’re looking for, and communication is instantaneous. Quite safe for children,” he said, laughing softly at the expressions of disbelief and extreme caution on Sirius and Desmella’s faces.

Harry simply shook his head and walked toward the office desk, finally taking the time to observe his surroundings.

Lord Black’s office, one that had once belonged to his beloved godfather.

The place occupied a monumental chamber, undoubtedly expanded through magic, spacious without ever feeling empty, designed to remind anyone who crossed its doors that they stood before one of the men of the Magical Council of Westeros.

Harry couldn’t help but snort with some disbelief. It was so…incredible and alien to think that this place had once belonged to his godfather when, in his opinion, it was the sort of place he associated more with people like Lucius Malfoy or Augusta Longbottom.

Dark stone, wood made of…walnut? and details of a material resembling bronze gave the place an almost imperial severity, filled with sophistication and power, softened only by the fire of the enormous fireplace and the warm light of dozens of candles. Above the latter rested a large map of Westeros, while bookshelves several meters tall covered the walls with what appeared to be a great number of scrolls, some old books, and leather notebooks.

“Those scrolls must be the Council decrees from after the Fall of Valyria. Oh, by Sirius! They must contain a treasure trove of information!” the blonde witch said, staring hungrily toward the bookshelf in question.

Harry looked at Desmella curiously before asking.

“I suppose the historical records after the Battle of Valyria are…murky, to say the least, or am I wrong?” Harry asked curiously, making both Desmella and Sirius nod.

“Aye. At the Academy, we are taught about the glorious battle. We honor the noble wizards and witches who gave their lives during the Siege of the enemy Capital, but the political aspects following the fall of Valyria are…unclear, and that’s being generous,” Lord Sirius said with a heavy sigh, making Harry stare at him in disbelief.

“What the hell are you talking about? I can understand certain information being unknown to the general population, but you’re a member of the Council. How the fuck is information being hidden from you?” Harry asked with genuine disbelief in his voice, making Desmella let out a small giggle and Lord Sirius release a sigh of obvious annoyance.

“It’s…more complicated than that. When Valyria fell, Chief Warlock Black classified every report concerning Operation Doom as a Level Zero secret, meaning that only the Chief Warlock and his successors can access such information. In fact, the fact that you have access to this is…highly illegal, although knowing the reputation Lord Black had, I’m not surprised in the slightest,” Sirius said heavily.

“You speak as if Sirius had been the only Lord Black before me,” Harry said with an amused laugh, at least until he noticed that neither Sirius nor Desmella was laughing at all.

And Harry began to have a…strange feeling.

“Sirius Black got married, right? He had a wife and heirs, didn’t he?” Harry asked, dreading the inevitable answer from the Dornish Lord.

Sirius looked at Desmella, who did the same with Lord Martell, both having an entire conversation within seconds before returning their gazes toward Harry.

“Lord Sirius Black…has been the first and only Lord Black the Council has ever had, at least until your arrival, my Lord,” Sirius said calmly, making Harry stare at him in disbelief, completely shocked and dumbfounded.

“But…but what the fuck are you talking about? Rickon Stark said Sirius had more than two hundred children!” Harry said, still unable to believe the dark-haired man’s words.

Sirius nodded softly at those words, preparing himself to answer.

“Aye. Many wizards and witches today carry Black blood. However, none have been able to claim the ring, much less the Black vaults or Marauder’s Den. It’s one of the reasons the Council is so…cautious around you. No one had been able to claim the ring in almost two hundred years, until you,” Lord Martell said calmly, making Harry slowly nod.

The young Lord Potter rubbed his face wearily. This entire situation was extremely strange. The more he heard about Lord Sirius Black, whom these wizards and witches idolized as if he were some kind of Merlin, the less young Potter seemed to know about his godfather’s actions.

He needed more information, and there was only one way to obtain it.

“The Chief Warlock mentioned something about making a claim at a bank. I imagine that’s where I need to go to put all the paperwork in order regarding the reactivation of the Black assets,” Harry mentioned, making his two companions softly nod.

“Aye. Irondeep Bank, run by the Dwarven clans that survived the Long Night. Its Main Headquarters are located in Wintercrown, in the frozen mountains of the North. They have been responsible for safeguarding the wealth of magical families for thousands of years,” Sirius said naturally, making Harry snort before replying.

“Apparently, some things never change,” he said with a sigh before yawning heavily, exhausted from the…eventful night.

Shaking his head, Harry looked at his guests in silence for a few seconds before replying.

“It’s quite late, and it’s more than obvious that our conversation isn’t over,” Harry said with a sigh, making both Desmella and Sirius nod softly.

The new Lord Black looked toward Desmella, who watched him expectantly.

“I request your escort tomorrow to this…Wintercrown, so I can complete the necessary paperwork,” Harry said calmly, making the blonde woman nod.

“No problem, my Lord, but there is no need to travel all the way to northern capital. We can visit Gilded Ascent. The city has a branch of Irondeep Bank,” Desmella said calmly.

Harry raised both eyebrows at those words before sighing heavily and replying.

“I’m…not familiar with that place. I suppose it’s some kind of magical settlement.”

And therefore absent from the Muggle history books he had studied in the Red Keep, Lord Potter thought with annoyance at the mere idea of the hours he would have to spend reading about thousands of years of history spanning an entire continent.

At least Binns wasn’t here this time to make his life miserable, Harry thought with amusement.

“Perfect. I’m quite tired. We’ll meet tomorrow at the same place where you found me today. I’ll send you a Patronus when I’m ready,” the Lord ordered, making the blonde nod obediently, understanding that it was an elegant way of dismissing her.

“I’ll await your message, my Lord. There are some matters I wish to discuss with you, but they can wait,” the blonde said, bowing her head and leaving the room, leaving Lord Potter and Lord Martell alone, staring at each other in silence for several seconds.

“So…your name is Sirius. Are you a descendant of the first Lord Black?” Harry asked directly, making Lord Martell grimace uncomfortably.

“If I take the words of my grandmother’s grandmother as absolute truth…then yes. However, the name Sirius has remained in our family as a tribute to the man who avenged our ancestors. The atrocities the Valyrians committed against the old Rhoynar have not been forgotten. The destruction of those incestuous pigs brought great joy to Dorne, both on the Muggle and magical sides,” he replied calmly.

Harry responded immediately.

“And yet, you’re married to a Valyrian woman…and from what I can see, you’re going to help me ensure that Valyrian wizards and witches aren’t treated like shit. There are a lot of contradictions in your words,” Harry challenged, raising an eyebrow, making Lord Martell laugh softly.

“Aye, I’m aware of the irony and contradiction in my words. However, the Rhoynar vendetta was against the Freehold, which has been extinct for two hundred years. These Valyrians were born, raised, and taught according to the teachings of the First Men. They may have silver hair and purple eyes, but they are citizens of Westeros, wizards and witches blessed with the Gift of magic by the Old Gods and their sacred Trees. I do not agree with the way they are treated,” Lord Sirius said passionately. It was obvious this was a sensitive subject the man felt strongly about.

And Harry could respect him for that.

“Tomorrow we’ll talk in depth. I’ll send you a Patronus as soon as I finish my business with the Dwarves,” Harry said firmly, bringing the day’s activities to an end for the moment.

Lord Sirius nodded elegantly, leaving the office and Harry alone, making Lord Potter sigh heavily before pointing his hand toward the door and using the Black ring to seal the office once again.

The last thing he needed was some curious fool investigating the place during the night. He would take the time to investigate it himself, but for now…he was far too tired to think.

After making sure the enchantments were in place, Harry nodded to himself and disappeared on the spot, reappearing in the room Lord Hobert had assigned him in the Hightower.

With a dismissive gesture, Lord Potter locked the bedroom door to avoid being disturbed and lay down beside Alicent, who unconsciously cuddled closer to him, still naked from their activities a few hours earlier and completely unaware of everything that had happened in a single night.

Immediately afterward, Harry closed his eyes, exhausted by everything that had happened, and slept in the arms of his redhead. Something told him the visit to Gilded Ascent would be more interesting than he expected.

Only time would tell.

Rickon Stark, Winterfell – the North.

“That was a fucking insult!! Who the fuck does that asshole think he is to speak to me like that?!” his brother Bennard spat, utterly furious and indignant over the humiliation he had suffered a couple of hours earlier.

Rickon didn’t even bother looking at his brother. He simply replied coldly.

“That asshole is the new Lord Black, the first in almost two hundred years. It was stupid to antagonize him the way you did,” the young Stark heir said coldly, making his brother snort with fury and helplessness.

“How the fuck was I supposed to know he had claimed the Valyrian bitch for himself? I—” Bennard tried to reply, but Rickon remained firm.

“Silence, Bennard. You’ve made a bad impression on one of the few families we need to be cautious around. Grandfather won’t forget this, and Father won’t be able to protect you. Prepare your ass for a season in the Frostfangs,” Rickon said with restrained fury, making his brother fall silent just as the two of them arrived at the Lord of Winterfell’s study.

As usual, two battle wizards guarded the entrance, wearing gray leather robes with white cloaks and hoods, both bowing their heads toward Rickon in greeting, a gesture the young Stark returned.

“Get the fuck in here already,” spat the furious voice of Lord Rickon Stark, Chief Warlock of the Council and patriarch of House Stark.

“Good luck, my Lord,” Willem said, making Rickon snort. He didn’t believe luck was going to calm the Old Wolf’s fury, if he was being honest.

Rickon and Bennard entered, seeing their father Benjen staring toward the fireplace with a frown while their grandfather continued writing letters. The tension was so thick Rickon could practically cut it with a dagger.

“Lord Stark,” both brothers said, bowing respectfully toward the old man, who didn’t even bother to acknowledge them.

That was how furious he was.

The silence lasted for several minutes. No one was really willing to speak, at least until their father did.

“You shouldn’t have intervened. He insulted my son. Retribution was necessary,” his father said in a calm, cold voice.

Oh, Rickon knew he was extremely furious, but the Starks had always been known for keeping their heads steady even in complicated situations.

Just like the one they were currently facing.

The Old Wolf snorted with thinly veiled mockery before raising his gaze toward his son.

“By the Old Gods, Benjen, Harald Black would have chewed you like a piece of old meat before spitting you at his feet. He’s a Black, and if my intuition is correct, far more powerful than Sirius Black ever was,” the Old Wolf said, surprising young Rickon in the process.

His grandfather wasn’t someone who gave empty compliments. If he was saying this…it meant he truly believed what he was saying.

His father snorted, surely irritated by the truth in the Old Wolf’s words, before turning away from the fireplace and looking toward the Lord of Winterfell.

“What do we do now? The new Lord Black is fucking one of the King’s daughters, and before long he’ll be doing the same with the second, not to mention the fact that he claimed a Targaryen offspring as a ward of House Black, and you know damn well what that means,” his father said, clearly agitated by what had happened at the Ministry.

The Old Wolf slowly stood, an elegant letter in his hand.

“Simple. We’ll show him just how dangerous Valyrians with magic can be,” his grandfather said with complete casualness before handing a letter to young Rickon.

“Take this letter. It is an official Council assignment for Lord Black. He is a member of the Council, with all the privileges and obligations that entails. Our Hunters report that a rogue Dragon Lord, a Baelarix to be specific, has taken possession of the islands of the Stepstones, he is hiding like the rat he is. The Essosi savages pay him homage while he remains hidden in his sewer.”

Rickon took the letter and nodded solemnly, while his father Benjen snorted and replied.

“A Baelarix. I thought we got rid of those pieces of shit during the Century of Blood” the Heir of Winterfell spat.

“It shall be done, Lord Stark,” Rickon said solemnly, making his grandfather nod in satisfaction.

“Perfect. That letter you carry is your official assignment as Lord Black’s Support Wizard on the mission. You are a capable Battle Wizard, so getting rid of a simple dragon rider should be child’s play,” Lord Rickon said calmly, making Rickon nod with determination.

“Yes, Grandfather. I won’t disappoint you,” the young Stark said, making the Old Wolf nod softly before replying.

“Your father will head to the Wild Lands. Apparently, there has been an outbreak of Snarks that needs to be contained. Meanwhile, your useless brother will be sent to the Frost fangs outpost until further notice. Perhaps a few months as a Border Watchman will knock some of the stupidity out of him,” the old man spat without the slightest consideration.

Rickon looked toward his brother, red with embarrassment and fury, but lacking the courage to challenge the Old Wolf.

The only sensible decision he had made in a long time, in Rickon’s opinion.

“What about the King? Technically…he’s now allowed to know about the Wizarding World. It’s very likely that Baelon Targaryen will become the first Valyrian Lord of the Council if he continues under Lord Black’s tutelage,” Rickon said to his grandfather, who looked at him with approval on his face.

“That’s an excellent question. Act as you deem appropriate. If the King wants to play in the Council’s playground, he’ll have to deal with the consequences. Lord Black’s protection is extensive, but not infallible. Now leave. I have a letter to write to Marius Gardener.”

At that dismissal, father and sons bowed their heads toward the Old Wolf and left the room, all of them in complete silence, lost in their thoughts.

The game had changed. The Council’s delicate balance of power had gone to shit with the Blacks returning to the board.

There were moves to make.

Desmella Casterly, Black Office – The Next Day.

The Auror’s footsteps echoed through the empty corridor of the Council offices.

Desmella…was still thinking far too much about everything that had happened the previous day and what it would mean for her future.

That was precisely why she had preferred to come alone, giving Marlon the day off to do whatever he wished. Desmella needed to give Lord Black her full attention this morning.

Within seconds, the Casterly witch reached the Black office, swallowing as she stared at the imposing image of the crowned Raven before gently knocking on the door.

Knock knock.

The place was so deserted that the sound echoed throughout the lonely corridor, just as Lord Black’s voice came from within.

“Come in, Desmella,” Lord Potter said as the door gently opened, revealing the masculine figure of Lord Black, now more rested and freshly bathed.

And although Desmella could have admired the pleasant sight of the Lord for hours, the witch’s attention immediately shifted toward the handsome Lord’s companion.

She was a beautiful young woman, with snow-white skin and noble features. Her eyes reflected a submissive and dutiful nature, as well as complete devotion toward Lord Black.

Her red hair was braided elegantly and beautifully, while her lovely, feminine figure was concealed beneath a dazzling green dress with black embellishments.

“Desmella, this is Alicent Hightower. Alicent, this is Desmella Casterly, our guide for the visit,” Lord Black said calmly as he closed the door and sealed it with magic, allowing both women to stare at each other with frowns, each clearly recognizing what the other represented.

A rival for Lord Black’s attention.

“Everything ready, Desmella?” the handsome Lord asked, making the young blonde nod firmly, her staff steady in her hands.

“Yes, my Lord. We’ll arrive at Golden Alley, Gilded Ascent’s commercial district. From there, it’s a short walk to the city’s bank branch,” the blonde said, making Lord Black nod softly.

“Then…it’s time to go,” he said with a smile, while Desmella watched with a frown as the insipid redhead elegantly took the Lord’s arm, becoming the perfect ornament on the handsome wizard’s arm.

Desmella inhaled deeply before striking the ground with her staff, causing the characteristic whirlwind of leaves to envelop all three of them, leaving the Black office behind and giving way to the imposing sight of the Golden City.

Gilded Ascent, built upon a small mountain, with the Sky Tower dominating its center, was a demonstration of arcane mastery and economic power.

Just as the Hightowers wanted it, Desmella thought with a snort as she watched Lord Black look around with interest, unlike the insipid bitch warming his bed, who was utterly dazzled by what she saw.

Desmella couldn’t help but snort. The little redheaded slut was cute, but she couldn’t imagine why someone like Lord Black, who could have any witch on her knees and pleasing him with a snap of his fingers, would prefer a Muggle warming his bed.

Alas, that wasn’t important right now. She needed to make a good impression. She would be the perfect guide for Lord Black, and she would eventually find the ideal moment to offer herself to the handsome black-haired wizard.

But now…it was time for the tour to begin.

“Welcome, my Lord, to Gilded Ascent, the second-largest magical city on the continent, and the Seat of Power of Lady Larra Hightower.”