Noir Evans

Chapter 1: Noir Evans

Hi guys! I went over this chapter again and made it less like me wanting to fall asleep in the first paragraph. I don't know why I'm even writing this. I'll just go now... Enjoy! (15-5-22)

He didn't know how he ended up like this. Despite the extraordinary circumstances, and the constant expectations of peers and the entire magical community alike, he still managed to end up here, of all places.

You see, everybody had expectations of him. Dumbledore wanted him to a be a soldier. His 'friends' wanted him to be brave and Gryffindor-ish; in other words, the Light's perfect golden boy.

Yet, for some reason, his head was filled with everything dark.

The chamber was a mysterious place, full of everything from cleaning spells to the darkest secrets of the most noble families. It was the definition of Magic. The magic in the place fooled even Dumbledore, the so-called greatest wizard alive; a tad overboard, if you asked him.

Initially, it had been a spur-of-the-moment curiosity in Fourth Year. He had been on the way back from the hospital after yet another Quidditch injury (Ravenclaws could be brutal too), when he felt a pull towards the bathroom. He was sure that it wasn't his need to pee, so of course, he made his way in, all Gryffindor-ish.

Ironically, it was possibly the action that led him to become so Slytherin.

Three years later, and he found himself yet again, making his way to the same chamber.

There was a reason that they called it the Chamber of Secrets. The Basilisk was only one of the thousands of secrets sealed there. As he later learned, generations upon generations of Slytherin heirs had ventured these chambers, the most recent, of course, being Tom Riddle.

The arrogant child that Tom Riddle was, he managed to expose the Chamber as truth and not legend. Honestly, why couldn't he just keep it to himself. The Basilisk could live on its own for a couple more centuries.

Moving away from the topic of the current Dark Lord, however, he needed to explain what led him here. At first glance, the library of Slytherin seemed impossible to navigate, yet after a while, he seemed to find a rhythm, and found himself sneaking away whenever he could.

Later on, he developed a liking to the art, and found himself flipping through catalogues of Ancient Dark Arts books. He then realised that he had no idea of his own wealth. That led him to Gringotts.

~~~

"Good evening, may your enemy's heads roll at your feet."

Harry quoted a book on etiquette he had read during his Fourth Year. He wasn't exactly sure if it was still relevant, but better safe than sorry.

Bad ettiquete likely contributed to hostility, leading to more work on Goblin Wars for the future generations to complete unnecessary essays on.

The Goblin's head shot up from his work, his eyes looking for the source of the greeting. It didn't sound like a Goblin. "And may your vaults be ever-flowing."

"I would request a meeting with my Vault Manager, Griphook, if you would be willing," he bowed, making sure to be on the good side of the Goblins, those who weren't - well - they liked the idea of bloodshed.

The look on the Goblin's face said a lot. It was almost completely unheard of for a Wizard to speak to a Goblin in such a manner. They were looked down upon in the Wizarding World, both metaphorically and physically. They were unusually short.

"Name?" he asked the rather young-looking boy.

"The name is Harry James Potter," he nodded respectfully.