Black Family Crest Harry Potter Novels & Stories

“One day, Kyle, your secrets are going to get us both killed.” “But not today.” “No. Not today.” Mordecai tucked the napkin into his coat. “I’ll look into it. But you—lay low. No more heroics. No more fires.” “Understood.” Mordecai vanished, leaving behind the scent of ozone and worry. Hannah’s Room — 11:15 PM Hannah couldn’t sleep. The book lay open on her bed—“European Heraldry & Occult Symbolism.” She’d found the crest. The Dracul crest. And others—Supremo. Reaper. Skyler. The Beast Shifter.

The title etched on the cover caught my eye, sending a chill down my spine: The Lineage of the Blackhollow Coven. Curiosity and unease warred within me as I opened the book. The pages shimmered faintly, a subtle glow that hinted at the magic infused within them. It wasn’t just a history - it was alive, recording the lives of those within the Blackhollow bloodline as they unfolded. My breath hitched as my name appeared in delicate, glowing script, right above Aurora’s. The sight made my heart ache and swell simultaneously.

I rounded a corner, turned left down a tighter row, and— Stopped. There, nestled between two massive grimoires, was a book that didn’t belong. It was smaller, wrapped in black hide, no title. A circular crest gleamed faintly on the cover, a silver wolf’s head bisected by a black sword, the same we saw in the tunnel the other day. I knew that crest, its Blackwood sigil. My lungs tightened. My hand moved before my brain could catch up. I pulled the book free. Dust billowed, I coughed hard.. My heart beat faster.

How Alpha Lawrence had managed to run his pack without any of them and still accomplish the title as the most feared pack was beyond anyone’s knowledge. Alpha Lawrence watched the older woman with careful eyes, judging her every movement, she looked harmless, weak even and as she cradled a decomposing corpse in her arms, he sneered in disgust. As she cradled her sister's head to her chest, whispering quiet incantation, she had tilted her neck a little to the side and the mark was visible. It was an infinity sign that was the trademark of the most dangerous and powerful line of black witches. The Doom Family.

The crowd quieted down. Dobby sniffled. “My grandpa, my father, and my uncles all died in his hands…” Tearfully, he pointed at James. “It’s all because of him that my family was torn apart. All this while, we did not dare to speak up all because he’s the Black Dragon, the commander-in-chief of the Black Dragon army in the Southern Plains. I would like to thank everyone here for allowing me to expose James’ crimes.” Dobby stood up and bowed.

groaned Lycus Lewis in his mind. Albus looked around the room and did not find the scepter containing The Heart of Magic. Albus's heart pounded. He approached Lycus Lewis, who was in a state of death. Albus tore off Lycus Lewis's shirt. He could see that tendrils of black energy were almost filling Lycus Lewis's chest. Once his chest was perfectly black, his heart would explode and shatter. Lycus Lewis was dying.

I asked. “Well son, you are a special wolf of special bloodline. You see…” He began lost in thought as if trying to find the right words. “Honey, you are the great great great grandson of Selene and Heka. Our bloodline is the one that is cursed. This is why you as a wolf are able to mind link other species and can do magic. The reason your fur is midnight black with blue tint like mine.” My mother Alexia finished for him.

The first child of the black family is born with a chosen mark to become the next ruler after 500 years of his birth and to rule the world for the next 500 years. I started reading the names of the ancestors of the Black family and I found those names similar. It made me feel like I had read it somewhere. I tried to recall where I have read it and finally remembered reading the same name and pictures of these people at the prince’s palace in the spirit world. .

There were drawings too, wolves standing over dead bodies, circles of fire etched around figures kneeling, and long, spiraling marks that looked like seals. But it wasn’t the drawings that made my throat tighten. It was the mention of a name I recognized, written again and again like it had been branded into the parchment. Blackwood. The words that followed spoke of bloodlines cursed and preserved, of a cure buried so deep it demanded not just sacrifice, but a life bound to the family’s last descendant. The lines didn’t spell it all out, but they didn’t need to. The implication was clear enough. I snapped the book shut before the others could glimpse too much, but the image was burned into m