Harry Potter does not belong to me. I'm just borrowing the characters for my own, and hopefully some readers, enjoyment. The story picks up after the events of book 5, at the beginning of book 6. If you have any questions feel free to leave a review. As should become clear soon enough: I don't have a beta. All mistakes are entirely my own.

Chapter 1

Harry Potter was lying on is bed in Privet Drive, unseeing eyes staring at the ceiling. He did not know how long he had been lying here. He did not even know how long he had been at Privet Drive. Days and nights came and went in a never ending circle. Ron and Hermione wrote him letters, how sorry they were not to be able to be there for him, that Dumbledore would for sure come to get him soon… But after the first week had passed, Harry was not even sure if he wanted the Order to come and bring him to their headquarters.

It was so much easier to just drown in his sorrows, anger and self-loathing than to be confronted with people who had hope in him. People who wanted him to fight. He was only 15, he did not want to have this burden on his shoulders. Nobody ever trained him, helped him prepare for his inevitable future. Nobody except Sirius, and Sirius was dead. He needed time, somewhere far away, to learn and prepare.

Knock, knock.

His nerves were rattled and his concentration on an all time low, he expected danger to hide behind every corner.

Knock, knock.

His damned scar was like a big fucking target floating over his head…

Knock, knock.

The sound pulled him out of his musings and he slowly got up and made his way over to the window. Thankfully there were no bars anymore. As soon as he opened it a big brown owl swooped inside and dropped a small parcel in his lap. Who would send him a parcel? His birthday was still some two weeks away. He tried to rip it open, but the paper would not budge. Scowling he rummaged though the chaos on his desk in search for a scissor, but it could not cut through the paper. There was obviously something wrong with this thing. When he turned the parcel over, he found instruction in delicate writing.

A drop of your blood will open it, pup.

Pup. Only one person ever used this endearing. Could it be? But Sirius… Sirius was dead. He saw him disappear into the veil with his own eyes. What kind of sick joke was this?

He threw the parcel in a corner of his room and went back to his bed. Yeah right. Like he would be so stupid as to just give his blood freely to a mysterious subject. Who knew, maybe it was from Voldemort or is Death Eaters… but they could not find him here, could they? That was what this whole blood ward business was about, was it not?

Over the next few ours he tried to fall back into the beautiful nothingness that had provided him with so much comfort over the last weeks, but his eyes allows flew back to the parcel, lying innocently on the floor.

When the first rays of sunshine announced the new day, Harry picked the parcel up again. He had not slept at all and felt tired and restless, but knew he would not be able to find peace until he opened the parcel. If indeed Sirius sent it to him? What could this mean? That Sirius was still alive? Maybe, maybe one did not die when they stepped through the veil, maybe only disappeared for some time? But then Sirius would be here personally, not just send some letter.

The anyway unavoidable decision made, Harry pricked his finger with a sharp knife and let a drop of blood fall on the parcel. It vibrated slightly, but nothing dangerous seemed to happen. Harry eyed the small thing distrustfully and hesitantly started to unravel it. He eyed the content curiously and slightly bemused.

Inside was a pair of black socks, a small glass vial with some red liquid that reminded Harry instantly of blood, a golden key and a letter with his name on it. He recognised Sirius writing immediately. Harry's heart started to race in his chest as he picked up the letter. Opposing emotions fought inside him. He wanted to rip the letter open immediately, devour its content, soak up the last words Sirius would ever direct at him… but if he opened this letter, if he read its content, if he admitted that these were the last of his godfather's words then Sirius would be really dead, no secret left to unravel, all words told.

He sat down on his bed and took a few deep breaths. The house was silent so soon in the morning. The Dursleys would be asleep for at least another two hours.

Under no circumstances would he allow to be disturbed during this last time he could spend with his godfather. This last moment where it nearly felt as if Sirius could be back, still communicating with him form wherever he was now.

Stiff fingers opened the envelope carefully, nearly ceremonial and took the thick parchment out.

My dear Harry, sweet Pup,

Tears followed instantly and Harry felt is heart ache. It was truly a letter from Sirius. His Sirius. The elegant handwriting, his nickname… his vision blurred and Harry had to wipe his tears away before he could continue reading.

If you read this letter, than I died before I could tell you the content of this letter in person.

First and most important: I love you. Have since the first moment I saw you lying sleepily in your mothers' embrace, and will till I die and beyond.

Harry felt his heart sink and break at the same moment. Sirius was dead. Truly. Forever. Gone. Irrevocably. And he held the last words his godfather would ever address at him in his hands. Harry was not sure if he could continue reading. His eyes roamed over these lines again and again, trying to accept the finality of the words. Of the reality he had tried to hide away from since the disaster at the Ministry. But also the beauty of these words. He was loved.

Secondly: Don't grieve too long and under no circumstances blame yourself. I don't know how I will die, but it will never be in any way your mistake. (In case you fired the killing curse knowingly and willingly at me, we'll talk again. I'm joking pup, I hope you know, it's so hard to tell in letters…)

A brief smile flashed over Harry's lips, salty tears found their way into his mouth. Sirius. Brushing the tears aside with his sleeve, he continued to read.

What I am telling you now is for your eyes and your eyes alone. Do under no circumstances share this information with anyone. Not even Ron and Hermione. I beg you. In dire times this could be your only way out and you never know what circumstances your friends could find themselves in. Knowledge can be ripped from ones brain without consent.

I know you never wanted this life. To be The-Boy-Who-Lived. To be watched by the whole world. Targeted because your face and name is too well known.

While I know you probably will not be able to turn your back on this war that cost you so much in your life already, I want to give you an option you never had before, and after this, never will again. I can offer anonymity. A new face. A new name.

Harrys held is breath. What the hell was Sirius talking about?

You don't have to decide this immediately, this door will be open for you at least until you reach your magical maturity somewhere between the ages of 18 and 22.

Being Harry Potter gives you a lot of support, a strong position in this war, but makes you a target as well. A target for people far older, more experienced and better trained.

Being a nobody would mean you have no support to begin with, but also no expectations and no enemies. You could train. Learn as much as possible before you get involved. You would not be specifically targeted.

Haha don't look like I'm sprouting nonsense pup, just keep on reading. You will know what I'm talking about soon enough.With this letter you should have received two small glass vials with blood, my blood and that of a friend.

Harry watched the small glass with new intensity. Human blood.

These vials contain enough blood for an adoption ritual, which would make you my son in blood and magic. You would have a new name and look different. The ritual is told to be extremely painful, takes whole 24 hours and cannot, never ever be reversed.

I know this decision will not come easy, as you will no longer have any physical resemblance to your birth parents. But I just wanted to give you as much protection as possibly, and I know Lily and James would agree with me on this. We all love you no matter your face. It's your personality, your soul that defines who you are, not the blood in you veins.

Was his godfather for real? Blood adoption? New identity? New face? Could he do this? Never again looking at his mothers' eyes in the mirror? Did he even want to consider this? With shaking hands Harry read on.

For any blood adoption ritual you need blood from a female and a male, as the combination of their blood and magic will give a new body. If one would only use blood from one person, the ritual could end up terribly wrong. You either could look like the exact copy of the person donating the blood or only a part of your body responds… So please do not experiment with this, it would be terrible on the eye (and probably also a bit strange to get used to) if you for example ended up with two different legs, in looks, length or whatever. Theoretically you could perform the ritual with the blood of one of your birth parents as well, but…

As for the blood of the female you need, I have an old girl friend, we knew each around the time you would have been conceived and she owed me a life debt.

I knew her well enough back in the day but had not seen her again until I went looking for her with this request. She is unmarried and childless, travelled the world since the last war.

She does not know, who I need her blood for. I only told her that my son had been living with his mother for the last years, but as she was now dying and I am a fugitive I would like her to adopt you through blood, so that my son would not end up as a ward of the ministry or the Malfoys as my closest blood relatives.

As she had no choice but to agree anyway due to the life debt I did not elaborate any further. I told her we would contact her together if we ever went through with it, I could not tell her this plan would only come into effect if I died. So if you use this ritual contact her afterwards. Do not disclose you real identity! I never knew her political leanings too well. She comes from and old pureblood family, and while she does not sprout their values too open I doubt she holds much love for muggles. But she never took part it the first war.

She left England during that time. The only reason I think it is save for you to do this, is because of the life debt. She cannot disclose any information about you or the circumstances under which you came to be her "son" without your permission. She cannot put you in danger knowingly. She has no access to the Black heritage (but you will). She cannot make decision for you against your will (school enrolment, marriage contracts and things of the like, urrrgh..)

By now Harry was reading the letter without really processing its in content. What Sirus wrote there would have consequences of unimaginable magnitude. Let alone to have thought of and organised the whole thing… His godfather really must have gone mad of boredom to come up with a plan so utterly unbelievable and brilliant.

So if you ever decide to meet this woman you tell her that as your real mother and I both died you decided to go through with the ritual I explained to you. She will understand that now, where the Voldemort is back and your only other option would have been the Mafloys, that you made this decision out of necessity. I do not think she will question you because of it. Just tell her something like you did not want them to give Voldemort access to the Black fortune and you did not want to be forced in his service, which could likely happen if you were their charge.

Her name is Adriana Hortensa Aaric. She is the daughter of Hortensa Lavina Lestrange and Aurelian Castiel Aaric. Though she is a cousin to the Lestrange brothers she is nothing like them. Just as I am nothing like Bellatrix, Narcissa or the rest of my family. The Aaric family remained neutral in the war and Adriana went with this family custom.

So pup, I think I explained the most important part of it. If you want to go through with it just take a hold of the socks and say "Snuffles" three times in a row. You will be brought to a Black family manor in Moscow. I renewed the wards and keyed you in them. At the moment you are the only one who can enter. They are old but powerful Black family blood wards. As soon as you are my heir you can change them as you see fit. Books on this in the library. Yes reading, I am sorry I can't spare you that. I try to put as much information into this letter as possible. And still there is so much I feel the need to tell you.

Please wear the socks every day. I have spelled them with a cleaning charm and they will show no signs of wear. The portkey can be used as often as you need it, for about two years. Than you will need to refresh the spells. Again: books on this topic in the Black library.

I love you, and whatever you will decide to do, I am proud of you.

Please be save, remember to prank people and laugh yoru ass off from time to time, do what you want and never let anybody make your decisions for you. Not even Albus Dumbledore. While he is a great man, nobody is without fault.

Love, Sirius

PS: I chose the name Aries Sirius Black for you. There are forged documents, birth certificate and everything under this name. What a little money and magic can do, it feels good to get on up on those stuck up purebloods with their own methods once in a while. You will find it in Moscow, with everything else you will need for the ritual.

PPS: The key is for the Black family fault. I left my will at Gringotts, which declares Harry James Potter my heir – in case I don't have my own children. (I wrote this will right after I was made you godfather and never felt the need to change it.) If you go there as Aries Black they will probably check your parentage, but together with the key this should be enough.

So pup. No matter what you decide to do with your life I love you and am proud of you.

Harry let himself fall back on his bad, the letter still tightly gripped in his hands. He had so much to think about but not before he slept for several hours. His tired brain could not even begin to process all the information and consequences this letter could bring.

For the next week, Harry spent all his time thinking. He thought while he was eating, while he was working in Petunias garden, his brain even seemed to continue thinking while he slept, as he never felt rested in the morning.

The more time passed, the more he wanted to go through with it.

Being Harry Potter not only meant that he was in constant danger, but that everybody around him, especially his friends, was as well. Cedric Diggory died only because he was with him. Sirius died because he came for him. Ron had been attacked by fucking brains at the Ministry. Everybody who knew him was in constant danger. And this blasted, thrice damned prophecy stated that in the end, it would be either him or Voldemort. Nobody could take this burden of him. Not even Dumbledore.

The thought made him scoff. Dumbledore. He really did not know what to make of his former mentor. The more he thought about him, the less he knew. Why had the headmaster not told him about the prophecy sooner? Or at least about the possibility that Voldemort would try to lure him to the Ministry? So many things could have gone different.

Why had Dumbledore never taught him how to fight? Or at least organised duelling lessons? Hell, the man knew what was waiting for him in the future. And love? Love just could not be his weapon. What should he do, give Voldemort a hug and hope he would dissolve?

And when thinking about Dumbledore even more things came back to the surface, things he had squeezed in the back of his mind for years. Why had Dumbledore never checked up on him if he was the important saviour of the Wizarding World? Why had he never offered to talk to the Dursleys? (Not that it would have changed anything, mind you, but still, the gesture would have meant so much to Harry.) Why didn't he fight for a trial for Sirius? Did he really dismiss his own people so easily?

Harry knew most of his thoughts on the headmaster were still spurred by his anger about Sirius death and the whole prophecy thing but that did not make them any less true.

In the end, it would come down to him and him alone. Dumbledore had not been able to help him in the past anyway. The philosophers stone, the basilisk, the dementors, Voldemort in the graveyard… Harry had always had to help himself out of these situations. Situation he only got into because he was Harry James Potter. At the end of the week, Harry knew he would go through with the ritual.

His friends would be save. Yes, Ron would be lonely in the beginning, but there were still Neville, Seamus and Dean. And better lonely for a while than dead. Harry would be saver as well, have more time to prepare, could explore things unnoticed… and even if he could not return to this old body, he would still have his memories and his scar. He could go back if he wanted to, just with a different face.

And maybe, maybe the Ministry would learn its lesson as well. Now they knew that Voldemort was back and were counting on him, a mere child, to get them out of this mess. The same people that had made his life a living hell only some weeks ago.

Maybe if they thought he was gone and there was nobody left to hide behind they would finally start to prepare and fight themselves, recognise their own responsibilities?

At the end of his third week of holidays Harry went downstairs, a small backpack with his most important belongings in tow. Predictably, he found all three Dursleys gathered around the TV, eyes glued on the small screen. An unpleasant aroma of sweat, smelly feet and suncream dominated the room.

"I'm going out for a walk."

Nobody acknowledged him.

"I don't know how long it will take."

His uncle gave a short grunt, all eyes still focused on the TV. He should not feel disappointed. Hell, he did not even like the Dursleys. Not one bit. The possibility that he would never see them again was high and for some reason this moment was important to him. This was not only a goodbye to the Dursleys, this was a goodbye to his whole life as he knew it. Well, things could only get better. At least that was what he hoped when he closed the front door one last time, walked down the street to the park where he was out of sight of any possible Order members or Mrs. Figg and activated his portkey.

()

Harry found himself standing in the large entry hall of what had to have been an impressive mansion once.

Even now, where everything was covered with a film of dusk, it emanated something regal and elegant. This was what the home of an "most honourable and ancient" family should look like, Harry thought while wandering through the rooms. He inspected the manor in search of the library.

There was a sitting room with beautiful blue furniture, a dining area, a big kitchen, something that could be a family room and finally the library. As promised a book with instructions was waiting for him sitting on a side table – long with a ritualistic dagger, a crystal bowl and a paint brush.

The ritual sounded terribly painful. The more painful the older one was. Great. At least it was not too difficult. Well, apart form the runes he had to cut in his own body without messing them up.

Next to the book was a magical camera. Harry picked it up smiling fondly. Sirius knew him well. He took a few pictures of his face and body, clothed and naked - although he would never admit the latter to anyone. He wanted to be able to compare his new and old body, and he wanted to have something that could make him remember. Remember that no matter what he looked like, he would always be the boy in these pictures. Born to Lily and James Potter, destined to kill a Dark Lord. This transformation was just a necessary evil, something that could help him along a great deal. Beside the book atop of another, closed one, was a handwritten note from Sirius.

Keep some of your hair and blood from before the transformation. Could come in handy ;) If you are still underage when you perform the ritual you should probably know that the wards don't allow the Ministry to pick up on magic performed on the property. But please be safe.

Curious Harry opened the second book. It contained various rituals that needed blood, hair, bones or other bodily fluids and parts.

Harry grimaced but read on never the less. If Sirius left the book here for him, then there was probably something in there he wanted Harry to see. His eyes easily found the only name he was familiar with. Polyjuice Potion.

If he kept some of his hair… he could change back to his Harry Potter persona from time to time… if he kept enough he might even be able to live in his old body if Voldemort ever ceased to be a threat. Crouch was able to live as Moody for a year. On the other hand, long-term use of any potion was probably not advisable.

The name of another ritual was underlined. Creation of a temporary golem. Hastily Harry a flipped to the right page. If a golem was what he thought it was, than maybe he could hide his disappearance for some time. Send a golem to Hogwarts the same time he was there, with nobody the wiser! It would really be tremendously suspicious if Harry Potter disappeared at the same time as Aries Black surfaced.

Harry's enthusiasm was soon dampened. The golem could hold memories of the person and interact with the people it knew in a similar fashion but it could not hold any magical power of its own. But if he made one, he could at least conceal his disappearance until Hogwarts started. At the Dursleys he was not allowed to perform magic anyway and they interacted with him so little, they wouldn't notice if he behaved a little strange. The golem would exist for exactly 30 days and then disintegrate to dusk. Smiling, Harry hoped the Dursleys would be near his golem when this came to pass. The look on their faces would for sure be priceless.

Although maybe they would be a bit too happy after the initial shock… He read the instruction and groaned in frustration.

The first step in preparation for the ritual was to write loads of complicated runes on the floor. Why hadn't anybody informed them that understanding those signs had more use than being able to translate ancient historical tomes? Now it made much more sense that most children from old wizarding families attended that class.

Harry thumbed through the book - nearly every ritual made use of runes. Suddenly he felt very stupid. He had been living in the wizarding world for five years and obviously was unaware of a whole branch of magic, and very usefool magic by the looks of it.

Was there more he should know but didn't? Harry viewed the large library with new interest.

After searching the room for a while he found pieces of white chalk on a shelf. Next to various candles, bowls, glass vials and other objects, some which he couldn't identify. He took a large bowl and a knife before he went outside to get the other ingredients. A door with ornate glass windows led out to a large, wild garden. A high hedge guarded the land from view. Harry decided to take a closer look after the ritual. If he wanted to return his golem to the Durselys before they realized he was missing he had to hurry.

Satisfied he returned inside and dropped a handful of soil and a piece of wood into the bowl and made his way to the kitchen for a glass of water.

He studied the runes and retraced them with the chalk onto the floor. His circle was far from symmetrical, but that was – at least for this ritual – not important. Under the first line of runes he drew a second. Those runes recreated his clothes, glasses and everything else he wore on his body.

With the lighter he nicked from Dudley at the beginning of the holidays, Harry lighted the candles and continued on to burn the wood. When only ash was left he poured the water into the bowl and watched in fascination as the runes started to glow in faintly. He added some of his hair and blood while chanting the spells written in the book. Though he didn't understand the words he could basically feel and taste their power.

Never before had he experienced anything like this. While he read the never-ending spell the contents of the bowl rose in the air and slowly took shape, when the last word was spoken and Harry looked up from his book he was faced with his own emerald eyes. Quickly he stretched out his hands, pressed them against his doppelgängers temples and concentrated on his memories. His early life with the Dursleys, Hogwars, his friends and their adventures… he stopped abruptly the night he knew Sirius letter would arrive. The golem did not need to know this.

After some time he felt a soft prickling in his fingertips and when it stopped he knew he was finished. Exhausted Harry dropped to the floor. The ritual had taken a lot out of him. Fascinated he watched his counterpart. He should probably test his creation and give him some instructions before he left it in Surrey.

"What is your name?"

"Harry James Potter."

"Where do you live?"

"At number four, Privet Drive with my aunt, uncle and cousin. They don't like me."

Harry felt goose bumps rise on his skin, this was just to creepy, even for him.

"I am you maker and I command you to behave the way your memories show you. You are not to disclose you status as golem to anybody. You are not to mention me, this place or this conversation to anybody. You are not to be seen by anybody when you disintegrate in 30 days from now."

Having retold the standard command written down in the book Harry gave the golem some money – just in case – grabbed his arm and activated the portkey once more. They returned to the park and, in the guise of the darkness, snuck back to the Dursleys. Harry opened the front door, ushered the golem inside and left immediately. There was another ritual waiting for him.

Before he turned in for the night, Harry cut off most of his hair and filled to vials with his own blood. Sirius was right. The ritual he just performed already proved to be immensely helpful. He could only imagine what else he could find in the vast library. A bit lightheaded but nevertheless satisfied Harry slept on the dusty couch for the night and returned to the library first thing in the morning.

After studying and drawing the runes several times, Harry gathered all the courage he could muster and started the ritual. He cut his hand and let the blood flow into a small crystal bowl. Than he took the brush and started to transfer the ritualistic circle shown in the book and all its runes to the old wooden floor. It was big enough for him to lie inside. He checked every rune at least five times. He did not even dare to imagine what could happen to him if even one thing went wrong.

At last, he left the book just outside the circle and took a place inside himself. The athame in hand he started to cut the first rune right above his heart … and cried out in pain.

What fucking sadist had invented this ritual? And who would do this to a small child?

He had to keep going. After finishing the first rune he suddenly felt an intense increase of preassure in the room, simultaneously his wound went numb and stopped bleeding.

The other four runes, one on each inner side of his wrists, one on each foot right before his toes, were much easier. The magic increased with every rune and the pain felt distant, like there was a wall of cotton between the pain and his brain.

When the last rune was drawn he put the knife back next to the book and took the blood vials. He had to smear blood of both vials on each of his runes. Fascinated he watched as the blood did not stay on the runes but seemed to be absorbed into his body like it had never been there. At last he drank the remnants. Immediately all the pain returned. His whole body was on fire.

Remembering that nothing could be inside the circle with him, he flung the glass vials out of the circle. When they shattered on the ground he was already too far gone in his pain to even hear the sound.

The next twenty-four hours were pure agony. Harry dropped in and out of consciousness, every bone in his body seemed to break, move, rearrange, his skin itched so much he wanted to rip it off his body more than once. But he could not move on his own account. Convulsion shook his body, made his back arch from the floor; his magic ran wild, destroying his body at same time as it started repairing it. And in the middle of all this wonderful magic and unbearable pain, a new body was formed, a new face given, magic enriched and changed through two new sources.

By now you should have a pretty good idea what direction this story is going to take. The review box loves to be used. Flame away, dear readers.