Chapter Text
The triad was forgotten... by accident or by design, no wizard could remember. The Ministry for Magic took the third role as the natural party under the treaty of self-reliance, Emperor Constantine. Corruption soon spread throughout is establishment and their neutrality was lost. The third lord/ lady was often disregarded as they were not of human flesh. Only those whose cores linked to the deeper magics recognised their worth and listened to their teachings. The last triad of humans were spoken thus: Meriddian for the Light, Morgan Le Fey for the dark. The third, almost forgotten Nymue/Nimue or Niviane/Viviane, Lady of the lake stood between the two rivals.
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It was late as Harry silently walked, Whisper in snake form wrapped around his neck, observing the house he was once again trapped in, much like living at his old Uncle and Aunts house, allowed no freedoms. The outside from what he had gleaned by looking out of the windows which were black painted, shabby and scratched. The discoloured silver doorknocker was in the form of a twisted serpent, which he liked. There was no keyhole or letterbox.
Harry stepped into the almost total darkness of the hall. He could smell damp, dust and a sweetish, rotting smell; the place had a derelict feeling about it. He looked over his shoulder, the shadows in the hall became complete. Harry had an odd feeling of safety. It was as though he had just entered the crypt of a dead person, soft and blanketing. It was like being back in his old cupboard under the stairs.
He wrapped the magic of the house around himself like a blanket, feeling it settle comfortably around him, the Heir Primus to the house of Black was in residence. Harry wondered briefly how the Potter family magic would feel when he stepped in to a Potter residence. Shaking off those immaterial thoughts as he needed to focus on his main task.
He snapped his fingers and an enchantment flared with an only soft hissing noise. Old-fashioned gas lamps sputtered into life all along the walls, casting a flickering insubstantial light over the peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpet of the long, gloomy hallway, where a cobwebby chandelier glimmered overhead and age blackened portraits hung crooked on the walls. Harry heard something scuttling behind the skirting board. Both the chandelier and the candelabra on a rickety table nearby were moulded into the shapes of serpents.
He quietly opened a door and slipped in to drawing room which held the house’s expanding library shelves linked somehow to the main Black library. Unfortunately, Harry knew not where it was, but the shelves were better than nothing. He snapped his fingers again lighting the room. The drawing room, a long, high-ceilinged room on the first floor with olive, once green walls covered in dirty tapestries. The carpet exhaled little clouds of dust every time someone put their foot on it and the long, moss green velvet curtains were buzzing as though swarming with invisible bees causing Whisper to hiss back at the sound. He absentmindedly patted his familiars head as he walked to the shelves. He ignored the buzzing and picked a book off a shelf and read the title, praecepta et super huiuscemodi domus nigrum (the rules and etiquette of the house of Black).