Toujours Noir - OneMoreChapter_2000 - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1: The Fir Green Letter

Chapter Text

The house was empty and silent.

The sound of waves hitting the rocks could be heard through the open window, and the setting sun was painting the sky mesmerising shades of orange and purple. Yet no one was there to enjoy the sight. The Mistress of the house was away, and two house elves were in the kitchen, unaware of how significant this evening would be.

They were working in silence, neither willing to admit defeat after their newest disagreement. Keid had repeated the same argument, as the time before (and the time before that). Because he was the main house elf for the Villa, he had somehow convinced himself that also meant he should be assisting the Mistress. Enif strongly disagreed, being the Mistress' personal elf, he knew her best, how she liked her tea in the morning, how to organise her journals so she would not lose any of her precious work, and how to sort all the letters that she received. Keid was just going to mess it all up, and then the Mistress would be unhappy. Oh no, Enif was not going to let that happen, he was a good and loyal house elf, and more importantly, he loved his Mistress. Enif chose to ignore the other part of Keid’s argument, which was that he was older and had more experience. Irrelevant, Enif kept telling himself. So, the two elves had argued in the afternoon and were still ignoring each other despite working together in the kitchen.

The silence was so deafening that the screech of the incoming owl made them both jump, not that they would ever admit it. Never! They were proud house elves of a Noble and Most Ancient House and were not scared of a simple bird. The two elves looked at each other for a second and nodded in agreement, they would never mention this reaction to anyone. And just like that, the tension eased.

"You go, I prepare food," suggested Keid while using magic to knead dough and chop some herbs. Enif nodded, pleased with this development. He loved his Mistress, he really did, but cooking was never a favourite part of his duties. He left the kitchen and went to the nearest window to let the owl fly inside.

For a second, Enif hesitated to touch the bird. He was a beautiful owl with light brown and white feathers and a yellow beak, but his eyes unnerved the elf. They were entirely black and a bit too knowing. Afraid that Keid would come and take over his duties, Enif took the letter tied to the bird's leg. It was a letter in a dark green envelope and elegant script addressing it to his Mistress. Though many elves in ancient houses could read, Enif was proud that his Mistress had insisted on extra lessons in reading, writing, and arithmancy and allowed him to read books in his free time. Enif knew his Mistress was kinder than any other, and he would do anything to show her how much he appreciated being in her service.

He went into the study and was about to put the letter on the Mistress' desk when the fireplace flared up, and three people came out of the green flames one after the other. First came the short blond woman who liked her tea with honey instead of sugar. Then, the man with the white beard and the loud laughter. Last was Enif's Mistress, looking poised and elegant as ever, but to Enif's displeasure, she also looked tired. He would prepare her some chamomile tea to help her sleep.

The two guests were speaking quite loudly, not waiting for the other to finish, while the third - Enif's Mistress - sighed but remained quiet. They all sat around the now normal orange fire without noticing the elf. Enif knew he should return to the kitchen, but he also knew that Mistress liked to read her letters once she was home. Never even considering that he would get punished (the Mistress saw punishing house elves as barbaric), Enif walked to his Mistress and handed her the letter.

She nodded in return and added, "Ask Keid to serve us some of the plump galettes."

Heading to the kitchen, Enif heard the man with the long white beard exclaim in a strong accent, "Oh, is this the efamous dessert Lucia was raving about. I heard about it all the way from Praga." Enif remembered Mistress Almaraz, the man's niece, from the spring they had stayed with her family. His Mistress was doing research and had greatly enjoyed Prague. Enif, however, never wanted to go back because the Head house elf had been insufferable.

"Desserts, really Almaraz! And here I thought that we were discussing the complexities of inheritance tests and the goblins'…" began the short blond woman. Enif did not hear the rest of the conversation as he passed on the Mistress' order to Keid and helped him prepare the three plates.

Using magic, the elves sent the dessert over to the study and went back to other tasks. Enif was still unhappy that he had to share his Mistress with Keid and hoped they left Greece soon.

"Now, Anneli, we already agreed on this. If the goblins are being so … eeeh … hush hush about these tests and say only they can make them … well, there must be a especial ingredient. It could be something rare or …" the man, Montego Almaraz, was explaining, his accent getting thicker.

"Or it might require goblin magic or goblin parts, yes." finished Anneli in a rush, contrasting Montego's slow way of speaking. The two were turning red from all the back-and-forth and heated discussions. Such an outright show of emotion was unusual for the Anneli witch, the entire bottle of strong French wine she had consumed might account for that change. The drinksat the restaurant were making it difficult for both guests to pursue their academic discussion. The heat and alcohol had long since impaired their brilliant minds, yet neither was willing to proclaim defeat. Being past their sixtieth birthday did not help the matter either.

Their third member, the Mistress of the House, had remained quiet throughout this discussion. Sipping on her second glass and hearing about half of the conversation. She had had less to drink and was, thus, unaware of how unstructured their disagreement had become. A part of her wished she had joined them and immersed herself completely in her surroundings in order to quiet her mind. Yet she could not escape the nagging thought of what day it was: August 3. Being around friends was better than being alone and thinking about him … and them. Her grandnephew would have been twenty-six today. He probably would have gone on to become a Rune Master, or maybe he would have pursued his passion for painting. Or, for all she cared, he could have lived off their family fortune and moved around their many properties. Regardless, he had many talents and limitless options, and she would have been there to support him. She kept telling herself that she would have fought for his freedom and happiness, and maybe she would have. That was the tragedy, she would never know now. He had died at seventeen, and the rest of their family … no, she was not going there. She needed more wine or maybe some firewhisky.

She distracted herself by eating the delicious plum dessert and tried harder to follow her friends' discussion. They had moved on from the goblins and were now talking about other obstacles to their research. Montego was, rightfully, cautioning that most purebloods would not welcome a book telling them their whole way of thinking was wrong. While Anneli vehemently protested that purebloods needed to be proven wrong every once in a while to keep things interesting, ignoring the fact that all three of them were indeed purebloods themselves.

She decided to interject lest her friends' debate turn into a proper disagreement. They both had tempers. Anneli was very fiery, but she forgave as easily as she got upset. Whereas Montego was usually very easygoing, but he was stubborn as a nogtail. If he believed he had been insulted, it would take them weeks to get back together. Weeks in which their vital research could not progress.

"We have already decided," reminded the host. "We will prepare our work for publishing, but we will also approach some families across the continent ahead of the book. This way, they will spread the word and will hopefully ease the process."

Montego nodded and took another bite of his dessert while Anneli looked at her old friend with pity. She had deliberately said "the continent", excluding Britain, for they all know how close-minded the British magical community could be. After all, that is why they were meeting in Greece rather than in England.

Oblivious to the tension, Montego added, "Yes, yes, I already have arranged a emeeting with Sebastian De la Rue. I believe he will espread our work in his French … ecircle." De la Rues were one of the two most powerful dark families in France dating back to Mediaeval times. One of Montego's granddaughters had married into the family, making this meeting possible in the first place. Having De la Rues openly discuss the research would be as good as sending letters to half of France.

"And Franci has arranged a emeeting with some Romanian families." He blamed with pride, with eyes shining at the last statement, referring to his older son, Francisco or Franci. He was a renowned duelist living in Romania and, thus, had connections to the local magical community.

Being able to reach France, Romania, and his own Spanish community made Montego's connections invaluable. Being an Almaraz opened many doors as they were a member of the European Dark Council. That fact alone was almost as impressive as his mastery of runes, which had pushed their research from a wild idea to a properly supported work.

"I am organising a meeting with the Six families. Three have already confirmed attendance," added Anneli, referring to the three light and three dark families that controlled most of Scandinavian politics. Being the niece of Joonas Jokinen, the Head of one of the light families, meant that Anneli could request such a meeting, but it did not guarantee success. The Six, as they were commonly referred to, were traditionalists and might outright reject their work. Not even Herre Jokinen (the title equivalent to a Lord) had promised Anneli support.

"Right," the host sighed, thinking about her own family and the magical community in Britain. She had considered sending a letter to her cousin, the Head of their House, or perhaps one of her old friends. Then she remembered that most of her friends were dead or had denounced her for her family's actions during the war. "I am working on my connections here in Greece and the Zabini family in Italy. I have some fellow Ritual Masters very interested in our work. Most are from Egypt and Morocco, but some are also from Brazil and Australia." Through her work as a ritualist, she had made many connections outside of Europe, and though they were not often with the most influential families, they were a good start. "Oh, I also received a letter from Rina yesterday," referring to their common friend from Japan, "She is attending a Potion conference in Prague in November, so she might be interested as well."

Montego was nodding, pleased with this outcome. Anneli was still looking at her friend with concern. She knew that this meeting was as much about their work as it was about distracting their host from thinking about her family. Anneli was a Jokinen and would never be so improper as to hug someone outside of her family. Yet, she wished she knew what to say to help. They had known each other for forty years now. They had seen each other through the end of Grindelwald's reign, multiple family crises, and the rise of that crazy British Lordling. Anneli was not going to abandon her friend now, she just needed to distract her tonight. Tomorrow everything would be better. She narrowed her gaze on the letter the house elf had delivered.

"Fir green?" Anneli questioned, pointing at the envelope. "I didn't know we were reaching out to anyone in Russia." She knew it was highly rude to discuss someone's private correspondence. Perhaps if she had limited her wine consumption, she would have found a different way to occupy her friend. Oh well.

The host looked at the envelope she had forgotten about. Dark green envelope indeed, she had never been able to distinguish between all the different shades. So fir green… She tried to remember which family used fir green. Her friend had mentioned Russia, but the truth was she could not think of anyone from there trying to reach her, let alone one with a fir green family colour.

My old friend,

I am sorry for disturbing you on this day of grief and remembrance, but I have something which I urgently need to inform you of. As you might know, I returned to St . Petersburg a few years ago. England no longer felt like home, and I wanted to be closer to my remaining family. My grandnephew, Simeon, works at the Russian equivalent of the Department for Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, and yesterday, he was sent to a muggle orphanage. There he found a child, who, of course, was immediately removed from the wretched place. She is now among our kind and the Ministry is determining where to place her as they assume she is a muggleborn. I am not entirely certain that is the case. Usually, Simeon does not discuss cases at home, but he believed I would want to know that the child is a metamorphmagus. Other than Simeon, you, and me, only the Head of his department has been made aware of this fact. But I would be surprised if it is not common knowledge in a week's time. Having heard rumours about your research on family magics, I thought this information might interest you.

Best wishes,

Natalia Orlova Dolohova

She reread the letter three times and still was not sure what to think. Anneli and Montego had resumed chatting, deciding to move away from any controversies and were discussing their favourite type of galette. Yet they both were keeping an eye on their friend. Montego was afraid the letter might have something to do with her family, whereas Anneli was eager to learn why the Orlovs were contacting her friend. As a tetrachromat she could easily differentiate shades of colour and knew with certainty whom this one belonged to. The Orlovs were a Russian powerhouse and could open - as well as close - many doors for their research. But somehow, Anneli doubted this letter was about their work.

"I received a letter from a … friend," started the host. Could she really call Natalia Dolohova a friend? Orlova, by birth, the dark witch had moved to Britain in the 1920s to marry Lord Dolohov. She had refused to follow the British tradition of staying at home to take care of the children, and was the first witch to become a Healer at St. Mungos. She had encouraged young witches to push boundaries, and by doing so, she had made many friends as well as enemies. Now, her two sons were dead, and her only grandson, Antonin, was in Azkaban. It was not surprising that the now Dowager Dolohova had decided to go back to Russia. This letter, however, was surprising.

"She claims to have heard rumours about our work," hearing this, Montego and Anneli were both intrigued to hear the rest. They had been very careful not to announce any results before they were ready to present their findings. "She claims the Russian ministry has found an orphan with the metamorphmagus ability." Montego choked on his wine, and Anneli's blue eyes resembled those of a startled house elf.

Every magical child was precious in their respective communities because they were rare and were a gift from Lady Magic herself. They were protected above all else, and to think that a magic child was in a muggle orphanage was sickening. Even Anneli, who did not hate everything muggle, was abhorred by this revelation.

To make the situation worse, this child was a metamorphmagus, possessing the ability to change her appearance at will. The ability was so rare nowadays and they had specifically talked about it in their research. Everyone knew that it was a hereditary ability in only four families worldwide: the Blacks in Britain, the Athumanis in Tanzania, the Ulgens in Central Asia, and the Chitimacha tribe in America. With time, the ability had weakened and become rarer. Any of these four families would kill - and historically, they had - to claim a metamorphmagus into their family.

"What are you going to do?" asked Anneli, knowing that there was only one acceptable answer. She hoped her friend was not about to disappoint her and cave under pressure. Despite the white in her friend's otherwise thick black curls, she did not look to be in her seventies. Her straight back and piercing grey eyes rightfully portrayed her as a fierce witch able to tear down people both with her magic and her words.

"There is only one thing to do," answered the host, voice filled with certainty and drive. Anneli smirked at the pronouncement, and though Montego was still thinking about the young child, he was glad to hear this. As a father, he could not imagine how a magical child ended up in such a horrid place! With Muggles of all things!

The host stood from her chair near the fireplace, and her friends did the same, understanding that it was time for them to retire for the night. Montego nodded at the two witches, wished them good night and headed upstairs to the guest room. He was preoccupied thinking about his sons, grandchildren, and great-grandbaby and missing them. He was going to send them letters tomorrow and ask to visit soon. His grandnephew Diego was expecting his third child and would surely appreciate some extra help with the young boys. Yes, yes, that would do. A week or two in Sevilla. And maybe then spend some time with his sister and her family. Yes.

Meanwhile, Anneli was still in the study, wanting to make sure her friend was alright. She, too, was thinking of her family, but her husband was dead, and she was soon going to join her daughter and her children in Paris. For now, she focused on her friend and the letter. Out of the three, Anneli was the one most familiar with genes and biology. She had immediately understood what it meant to find a metamorphmagus. This child had to be related to one of the four families. They knew too well through their research that the Chitimacha tribe in America and the Athumanis in Tanzania did not marry Europeans. It left only the Blacks and the Ulgens. But if the Orlovs were contacting her friend, it must mean they already have a guess as to which family the child is related to.

"You know that the Ulgens might fight you for the child," warned Anneli because even though the child might be a Black by blood this might not be an easy case. The fact she was in a Muggle orphanage would allow others to argue she had been abandoned and therefore needed a new family to protect her. "Depending on how powerful her ability is, even the Athumanis might get involved."

Her friend was writing a letter on her desk but looked up to acknowledge she was listening. She probably already knew this, of course. After all, their host had been the one to start this project and had invited Montego and Anneli for their expertise in runes and genes, respectively.

"If you have the Orlovs backing you, it might go smoother. But you will still need…" Anneli stopped herself, not sure how frank she should be. This was a rough night for her friend, who was grieving her grandnephew.

Her friend signed the letter and placed it in a black envelope. She then stood up and declared.

"I know. I cannot do this alone. I am writing to Arcturus asking for a family meeting. This is a matter for the entire House of Black." Her grey eyes shone with power and certainty.

Despite all of her reservations about her family, she knew this was the Blacks' chance at redemption, and she would be damned if they did not fight for it. Putting her sorrow over Regulus aside, she began planning all the necessary steps they would have to take. For she knew one thing, in order to survive, they would have to change and discard the idea of toujour pur . Deep in her bones, Cassiopeia Black knew that to save the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black , they would now have to put family above all and live by toujours noir.

Chapter 2: Callidora Longbottom nee Black

Chapter Text

The next morning, Cassiopeia woke up feeling better than she had felt in years. Her research had kept her going after her family had exploded spectacularly. Working with brilliant minds like Anneli and Montego had been challenging and rewarding. Together, they had redefined some of wizarkind’s most fundamental ideas, steeped in prejudice and fear. She was incredibly proud of what they had achieved these past eight years, and regardless of people’s reactions, she knew this project had filled a hole in her life. But even as monumental as their work might be for wizardkind, the feeling of accomplishment paled at the mere prospect of getting her family back.

Growing up, the Black family had been huge, an entire clan that stuck together. She had three siblings and eight first cousins (on her father’s side), and though they did not all live in the same house, they spent most days visiting each other. Some had, of course, been closer than others. For instance, Callidora and she had been inseparable, born a few weeks apart, the two had done everything together, especially after getting sorted in Slytherin. Sharing a dorm for seven years had been a dream come true. People might assume that with time, they had naturally drifted apart as one of them got married and started a family, while the other moved abroad to pursue her Mastery. These people would be wrong.

Cassiopeia had loved seeing her cousin happy and had visited as much as possible. She had been there for Calli’s wedding to Harfang Longbottom, the births of their two sons (and two miscarriages), and most of the children’s birthdays. Even when she wanted to avoid her conservative older brother (Pollux), Calli had always reminded her that they were Blacks and family meant everything. So year after year, Cassiopeia had been scolded by her closest friend and attended family gatherings. To make her visits happier, she had spent most of her time in Britain with Calli and the Longbottoms.

The turning point had been the marriage of Orion and Walburga. Just thinking about the marriage made Cassiopeia uncomfortable. She had been against it even then, but no one had listened to her. Her brother Pullox (Wally’s father) and her cousin, the Head of their House, Arcturus (Ori’s father), had cited the tradition within the family of keeping the Black line pure and strong. Toujours pur. Always pure. And what would be purer than two Blacks marrying? Second cousins, disgusting!

With time, Arcturus had given more power to his son, and Ori had become the de facto Head of their House. But no one had realised exactly how much control Wally had over him. A small (deeply mistrusting) part of Cassiopeia thought it was possible Pullox had known and said nothing. But the idea sickened her, and she did not want to believe him capable of betraying their family in such a manner. Regardless of who knew what, once Wally had felt secure in her power, she began burning people off the Black tapestry, disowning them from the family. The Great Purge (as some Blacks called it) had taken place in 1960. Cassiopeia had laughed when she first heard of it, thinking that the actual Head of the House, Arcturus, would yell at Wally and correct this idiocy.

She had stopped laughing upon learning that Calli had been a victim of this childish decision. Apparently, marrying into a powerful light family such as the Longbottoms was disgraceful and worth immediate removal from the family. Even though Calli had become a Lady of a Pureblood House, this action meant all her sisters, cousins, nieces, and nephews could not be publicly seen with her or acknowledge her existence. Some did so in secret, of course, but that was beside the point.

Months had gone by, and Calli had not been invited back into the family. Cassiopeia had promised to sort things out, knowing that even though Calli was angry, she also missed her family. And so, Cassiopeia had visited Arcturus, remembering the calculating but fair cousin she had known growing up. She had truly believed he would side with her. He had not. Arcturus had repeatedly claimed that ‘it was time for the next generation’, and he trusted his son’s judgement. In a fit of rage over this moronic statement, Cassiopeia had said some hurtful (and regretful) things. In the end, she had told them to strike her from the tree as well because she was ashamed to call herself a Black and had left.

And now she was going to return, hoping for a better result.

Last night, she had sent Arcturus a letter organising a meeting. After Ori and Wally’s death, Arcturus was once again in charge of their House, or what was left of it. Cassiopeia had seen him a few times since their unforgettable fight, but they had never moved past it. She would never forgive him for standing back when Wally tore their family apart. And he probably had stopped thinking about her as a part of the family (which, in his defence, was exactly what she had asked for).

That is why this child in Russia was so important. Some might assume that Cassiopeia cared deeply about the child’s metamorphmagus ability, and that was partially true. But there was already a Black with the family magic - her great-grandniece Nymphadora (Dora) Tonks. Ironic really, how Wally had disowned Dora’s mother, Andromeda, for marrying a muggleborn, and yet their child had inherited the precious family magic. If Cassiopeia had anything to say about it, both Dora and Andi were going to be invited back into the family. No, it was not the magical ability that had Cassiopeia feeling twenty years younger. She truly believed this child could heal her family, unite them towards a common goal and give them space to resolve their differences. She realised it might be selfish of her to approach the child because of what it might mean for the Blacks, but if it took being selfish to fix her family, she would take it. She was a Black, after all, and they were not known for being nice or playing fair.

Getting out of bed, Cassiopeia made a list of everything she would have to do that day. Getting an international port key on such short notice might be difficult for most. But she had a friend in the Greek Ministry of Magic who owed her a favour, and she was going to collect it today. To get her family back together, she would probably have to call on all favours owed.

She got dressed, brushed her hair, and braided it in a single braid running down her back. She placed some Sleekeazy to keep her curls in place and looked at her reflection in the mirror. In her youth, Cassiopeia had often been told she was beautiful. She was no fool. She could see that her big grey eyes and porcelain skin created a stunning contrast to her onyx-black hair. She had been taught at a very young age to take care of her curls, and her mother had insisted she never straighten them. Her high cheekbones, straight nose, and long neck somehow had given men the permission to stare and women the need to pester her about marriage. Cassiopeia was a big disappointment to all these wizards and witches, deciding never to marry or have children. Instead of living off her looks, she had earned two Masteries (in Rituals and Magical Theory), had travelled the world, and had written numerous papers and books. In her opinion, she had gotten the better end of the deal.

“Enif,” she called for her house elf, and a second later, he appeared in her room. “We are leaving Greece this afternoon. I need you to tell Keid and prepare my trunk. Pack the books from the shelf behind my desk and those on the library table.”

“Yes, Mistress. Of course, Mistress. Enif be preparing Mistress’ things.” he nodded vigorously, looking excited by the news of their departure.

“I will have my breakfast in my study in fifteen minutes,” added Cassiopeia and with a nod of understanding, Enif disappeared.

She made her way downstairs, catching a glance of the relentless sea mashing against the yellow rocks. The villa was built on the cliffs near the sea away from any people, muggle or magical. It was not a Black property as she had commissioned it with the profits from her first book forty years ago. In the past, Calli, Harfang, and their boys had spent a few summers here enjoying Greece and learning about the local magical community. Now, fellow researchers like Montego and Anneli would sometimes visit if they were collaborating, but it was mostly just her (and the house elves). She missed having a full house.

Going into her study, she saw Anneli sitting on her preferred chair near the fireplace, which was now silent. The Finnish witch was holding a cup of what looked like black coffee and reading a leather-bound book. She had definitely asked for a sober-up potion because she showed no indications of single-handedly drinking an entire bottle. No, she looked perfectly put together. Her hair, her dress, and, most of all, her posture spoke loudly about who she and her family were.

“Good morning,” Cassiopeia greeted and joined her friend next to the fireplace. A cup of green tea appeared on the small table next to her, together with two boiled eggs, toast, and some berries. There was a time and place for fancy food, but this was not it.

“Good morning,” started the blond witch. “You look well rested. I assume you already have a plan in place,” she stated rather than asking as any pureblood would do. They were taught from a young age that there was a fine balance between asking questions, which could be seen as a weakness, and assuming they already knew the answer, which (if done incorrectly) could be seen as presumptuous and, thus, a character flaw. But Anneli was too good to ever make such childish mistakes.

“Yes, I have written to Arcturus and will be travelling to Britain this afternoon. You and Montego are more than welcome to stay, a house elf will remain here and …” she started to suggest, but Anneli waved her proposition away.

“We are more than capable of moving our plans around. I am sure that Almaraz would love to spend some time with his family, especially after yesterday’s revelation. Do not worry about us, Cassiopeia. We shall be fine.” she assured her friend. And it was true, they both came from powerful European families with properties around the world. If Cassiopeia was not mistaken, the Jokenins even owned an island somewhere nearby. “I know this is a Black matter, and I will not presume to know enough about your family … but if I can provide any assistance, you can call on me,” promised Anneli, determination in her gaze.

Cassiopeia nodded in understanding and appreciation. She was slightly surprised by her friend’s wording. By saying, ‘you can call on me,’ Anneli was offering her help as a Jokenin, the niece to the Head of the family. Meaning that if Cassiopeia were to ask for help, the powerful Finnish family would aid her. Such offers were not made lightly and definitely not without the permission of the Head of the House.

“Your offer is heard and much appreciated,” she responded with the appropriate answer. She needed more information, like how much Anneli had told her family to secure such support. “I hope your uncle is well.” she prompted. She was a Black, after all, she could not outright ask about private family affairs.

Anneli smiled, very well knowing what her friend was hinting at. During academic discussions they ignored such pureblood social niceties. But not even forty years of friendship could override Anneli’s loyalty to her family. Not wanting to add to Cassiopeia’s stress, she assured her, “My uncle is very well, thank you. I informed him that a metamorphmagus child was discovered in Russia. I told him that all signs point to her being a Black, and that naturally, the Blacks are going to claim her. This is all the information I had and is everything my uncle is now aware of.”

Cassiopeia took a sip of her tea and thought about her friend’s words. There were indeed signs the child was a Black, she could only belong to four families. Living in Russia, she was definitely related to the Blacks or the Ulgens. Natalia Dolohova certainly thought the child was a Black, and most of them did look enough alike (tall, dark hair, grey eyes) that it was easy to identify them. So, most likely, Anneli’s words were technically true, yet she had simplified the matter.

Looking at her friend’s upturned mouth, Cassiopeia knew the Finnish witch had held back some details to make the Blacks’ case more appealing to her uncle. She was grateful for having such a brilliant friend.

“If all goes to plan, we should be in Russia by tomorrow or the day after. We will know better what the situation entails.” started Cassiopeia, referring to the Ulgens and the strong possibility they were going to fight them for the child. Even if they could prove she was a Black by blood, the fact she was left in a muggle orphanage might be enough to convince the Russian Ministry to side with the Ulgens. “I will keep you informed of any major developments.” And she would, having the Jokinens on their side might just be enough to tip the scales in their favour.

With the offer of aid out of the way, Anneli returned to her book. Cassiopeia finished her breakfast and moved to her desk to finish her letters.

Yesterday, she had sent a quick note to Natalia Dolohova to thank her for her letter and assure her that Cassiopeia would be travelling to St. Petersburg as soon as possible. She had also informed the house elves in the Black’s St. Petersburg townhouse to prepare for visitors.

Now, she had to send a few letters to Britain before her arrival. They might not reach the island before her, yet it was the proper thing to do. First (always first), she wrote a short letter to Calli, letting her know of this latest development. Some might think that by marrying a Longbottom and being abandoned by the Blacks, Calli would somehow be disloyal to her old family. Well … perhaps. Nevertheless, Cassiopeia knew that despite her feelings about some of the Black members, Calli would undoubtedly fight for this newest addition to the Black family.

After the war with Voldemort and the horrific attack of her grandson (Frank), and his wife (Alice), Calli had become a recluse. Hardly ever leaving her home, and even then, never for too long. The cousins rarely saw each other nowadays, but had continued to write and floo call every week. Cassiopeia quickly finished the letter, hoping this news could finally get Calli to leave her house and rejoin society.

Next, Cassiopeia wrote two quick letters to her remaining friends in Britain (outside of her family). She knew there would be no time to meet with them, but over the years, she had learned that visiting Britain without informing them led to headaches and scolding. And so she made sure to stress the shortness of the visit and not hint at anything further. Her friends, after all, came from powerful British families themselves, and putting family above all is just how the world worked. No, the Greengrasses and Fawleys were not to know any Black secrets just yet. Perhaps once they were able to return with the child, Cassiopeia could meet with them and explain the situation. They could be trusted to inform others without straying too far from the truth (unlike certain news publications). Yes, that would do.

Having finished and sent off her correspondence, Cassiopeia took a deep breath and braced herself for returning to the family fold.

Chapter 3: Holkham Hall

Chapter Text

Lord Arcturus Sirius Black, the Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class, sat alone at the head of a table meant for ten. This was nothing new.

He could sometimes feel the ghosts of the empty seats: his parents, brothers, wife, children, and grandchildren. All gone, or at least gone from his life. He imagined he could hear his sister Lycoris being scolded for reading at the table or his brother Regulus raving about the latest quidditch game. He could almost see his daughter Lucretia sitting down and informing them she was pursuing a Mastery in Magizoology. He could hear his son Orion on the chair to his right informing him he was going to be a father.

Arcturus could see and hear all this and much more, or maybe he was going mad in his old age. No matter, it was comforting to feel his wife's presence from time to time. He still expected her to join him despite being gone for a decade. He kept looking at her empty seat right across from his at the other end of the table. But barring some unknown necromantic ritual, Melania was never going to grace him with her company.

However, tonight, his family’s ghosts would not be the only ones in attendance as his cousin Cassiopeia was joining him. He was not sure if he would have preferred to wallow in his memories or hear her out. They had drifted apart and had not been anything but civil in two decades or so. That is why the letter he received this morning had surprised him so much. His cousin had informed him that she would be returning to Britain this afternoon. She had wanted to discuss something of great importance to the Black family. According to her, he should call for a Family Gathering, commanding every living Black’s presence. She had also had the unusual request to acquire a port key to St. Petersburg as soon as possible.

A part of Arcturus had wanted to deny her a meeting, for who was she to determine what was important to their family! She had abandoned them long ago. But he had stopped himself from acting rashly. There were so few Blacks left, perhaps he should humour her. It would give him something to think about, at the very least. And so, he had invited her to dinner, promising to listen but saying nothing about involving the rest of the family.

Now she was five minutes late. Perhaps her information was not that pressing after all.

That was when Arcturus felt the wards around Holkham Hall buzz with energy, informing him that she had arrived. Indeed, a house elf escorted Cassiopeia to the dining room a few minutes later. His cousin had not changed much since the last time they had met, three years ago now. She was wearing a long, dark burgundy dress with white lace sleeves and golden ornamentation. Without his wife and daughter to care about fashion, Arcturus had not kept informed about what was in style, but she looked elegant and poised.

Upon entering, Cassiopeia curtsied to her Head of House and waited for him to wave to a seat. She was to sit on his right, in what used to be Ori’s seat. She sat down and looked at her cousin. She could still see the young man he had once been, yet his thick hair was now white instead of dark brown, and his face was lined with (what she assumed were) some laugh but mostly stress lines. His eyes, nonetheless, remained the same. They were a few shades bluer than hers and had yellow circling his pupil. They had always been mesmerising to her.

Flatters of food appeared in front of them. Cassiopeia could not help but notice one of the mains was a shepherd's pie, which she loved but her cousin hated. She would have to remember to mention her appreciation to the house elves later. They served their food in silence.

“Merry meet, cousin,” he began with the traditional greeting.

“Merry meet,” she responded in turn and wondered if this felt as strange for him as it did her. “Thank you for responding on such short notice, I am sorry if I took you away from anything important.” She wanted to discuss Natalia’s news but knew that there were some niceties she could not skip. Or at least, she could not after not having a private conversation for twenty-seven years. She took a few bites to fill the silence.

At the head of the table, Arcturus was wondering if she was making a subtle jab at him. It was true that over the past twenty years, he had become somewhat of a recluse. He had chosen to stay home more once Melania’s health had begun to decline. Then, his grandson Regulus had died, followed closely by Orion, and his only remaining grandson had been sentenced to life in Azkaban. The Blacks were now associated with the words ‘murderers,’ ‘monsters’, and ‘evil’. And so, the Head of the House had begun to avoid most social functions and preferred to remain at Holkham Hall, where his loved ones’ memory was left untarnished. So yes, he had not done anything noteworthy in a while. The last significant thing had been the funeral of his daughter-in-law Wallburga two years ago. He might not be as active, but he was not going to admit any weaknesses, no self-respecting Black ever would.

“Of course, regardless of our differences, you are still a member of this House. It is my responsibility to look out for you,” he assured her, unaware exactly why she had called this meeting. He knew Cassiopeia had enough funds and connections that she could achieve most things without resorting to contacting him. Yet here she was.

“Thank you for the offer,” she reluctantly replied. “But it is not I who needs your help.”

Arcturus raised an eyebrow and tasted his medium-rare steak, waiting for her to continue. This was not exactly what he was expecting, but then again, when had his spirited cousin ever limited herself by what was expected.

“I received a letter from Dowager Natalia Dolohova yesterday. They found a magical child in a muggle orphanage.” she made sure to use her proper title even though she had been referring to the witch as Natalia in her mind. She stopped there, wanting to examine Arcturus’ reaction. But of course, he had been trained not to show much emotion and always to wait until the end of the story to make his own judgement. “Dowager Dolohova thought I would want to know that the child is a metamorphmagus.”

Arcturus felt like someone had slapped him. More specifically, it felt exactly like the one and only time he had been slapped by his wife when she had learned about Orion’s betrothal contract with Walburga. Flashes of a torn-down building and barbaric muggles made him feel sick to his stomach. He put down his utensils, not sure he could have another bite. A magical child in a muggle orphanage. A metamorphmagus child in a Russian muggle orphanage. And the child might be … No, he needed to know all the facts before jumping to any conclusions. He started from the beginning, just like his father had taught him.

“Why did Dowager Dolohov know about this child, and why did she send you a letter about it?” He was well aware that Slavic last names had a male and a female version, but the Dolohov family had moved to Britain three centuries ago and had Anglicised it to ‘Dolohov’. Yet that was irrelevant to his pressing questions, of which the list was growing longer.

“She returned to her family, the Orlovs, in St. Petersburg sometime after Lord Dolohov’s sentencing to Azkaban. A member of her family works with the Department for Accidental Magic and was sent to investigate. He found the child and told Natalia about it. As to why she sent me the letter …” Cassiopeia was not sure if Arcturus wanted to know why she personally had been informed and not him or what Natalia expected the letter to achieve. She decided to answer the latter because it was a safer topic. Or so she hoped. “As you know, there are only four families worldwide with the metamorphmagus ability, the …”

“Yes, the Athumanis, the Chitimachas, the Ulgens, and the Blacks.” he interrupted her, which was very out of character for the usually implacable Lord Black. “But the child is in Russia, so it could not be a part of the Athumanis or Chitimachas, they do not marry Europeans. This leaves the Ulgens and us.”

“That is correct.” she agreed, not surprised how quickly he was catching up. “Dowager Dolohov was very clear that I should visit the child, which led me to believe she is a Black.”

She. Arcturus now imagined a younger version of his daughter in a muggle orphanage with those savages. He took a sip of his wine, hoping to dispel the picture from his mind. But then he remembered another image, one of the library’s walls. A beautifully painted tree, infused with magic, had decorated Holkham Hall’s library since it was built in 1734. It was a magical and self-updating representation of his House. After Orion and Regulus’s deaths, he had stared at the tree for hours, hoping that his mind was playing tricks on him. He knew every single name on that tree, and he would have noticed an unknown child.

“The child does not appear on the family tree,” he stated, not doubting the possibility she might be a Black. More so, he wanted to understand his cousin’s logic. Knowing her, she had come prepared for a fight and had gone over every possible question. She did not disappoint.

“There are a few possibilities. The most straightforward is that the child was spelled hidden. There are old and powerful rituals that could make her invisible to family trees, genealogies or any self-updating records. Such rituals, however, are rare and require a lot of magic. That, combined with the fact the child was found in a muggle orphanage, makes this explanation unlikely.” She did not like to speculate and preferred to work with certainties. Since they did not know who the child’s parents were, it was impossible to rule out the ritual beyond a shadow of a doubt. Whoever they were, she hoped they were dead, really, she did. Only death would spare them from her fury (and even then, she had met a necromancer on her trek across the Andes, maybe she would visit him). What sort of reckless nitwit does not secure a home for their child.

“There is another possibility,” she added as she took a sip of the red wine. Delicious. “Family trees update automatically because they were made with magic. If so, it is probable that when a tree’s magic is damaged, it does not accurately update each new family member.”

“Damaged?” he questioned. He could guess what Cassiopeia was alluding to and admired her for her restraint. He would have expected her to be hollering at him already, knowing her opinion on the matter.

“Yes, family trees require intricate magic and are very sensitive. So if someone were to, let’s say, burn holes in it, it is safe to assume that the tree would be magically affected.” she had tried, she really had. But derision permeated her statement. The bloody Great Purge! As if she needed another reason to despise it.

Arcturus was well aware of her feelings towards Walburga’s actions and his inaction. He did not want to rehash old fights but rather wanted to understand how there was a Black out there that had been abandoned. It was his responsibility as the Head of the House to take care of each Black. It seemed he had somehow failed even more than he had thought possible.

“Regardless of how you might feel about Walburga’s actions, she was Lady Black in name only. Burning people off the tree was more symbolic than anything.” he could see a fire in his cousin’s eyes and sense she was about to disagree. Probably to scoff, in a lady-like manner, at his choice of the word ‘symbolic’ when the results had been very tangible. He kept speaking, knowing that she was too well-mannered to interrupt him. Not yet, anyway. “This is to say that Walburga’s power only extended to the tapestry at her residence in Grimmauld Place. As she was the publicly acknowledged Lady, her words carried weight, but that does not mean that magic recognised them. The tree in my library here at Holkham Hall remains untouched. Because I, as the actual Head of the House, did not approve any disownment.”

Cassiopeia almost dropped her fork. She blinked three times, questioning her hearing abilities. So, he had not approved Calli’s and the others’ removal of the family. Did that change anything? He had still remained silent while they suffered, which made him complicit. Yet, for a man like Arcturus to allow someone to control his family, there was something she was missing. Why would he have let Wally get away with her Purge if he had not agreed? Unless he could not have stopped her. Which means that perhaps Wally had had something over him (and yes, she would always refer to her as Wally because the witch had hated the nickname). Cassiopeia almost asked him if he had been blackmailed into compliance but then saw a new hardness in her cousin’s eyes. ‘Powerful men do not like to be reminded how faecal their power truly is’ had been one of her mother’s lessons. She was going to let the topic go for now. But after they got the child, Arcturus was going to answer all of her questions.

Seeing that she was not going to question him further, or at least not before they had come to an agreement about the child, he continued. “Therefore, even if the child was related to someone whom Walburga removed from the family tapestry back at Grimmauld Place, I would still be able to see her on mine.”

After shaking her bewilderment away, Cassiopeia went over his logic and found no fault. So, it was unlikely there had been a ritual or that Wally’s purging had damaged the tapestry. She took another bite of the shepherd's pie and tried to organise her thoughts. She knew they were forgetting something.

“Humour me for a second.” she requested. “Have you seen the family tapestry at Grimmauld Place after it was damaged?” to which he simply nodded, and so she kept going. “Did the tapestry add any new descendants for those who were burned?” Her heart was beating faster, considering the possibilities.

Arcturus had no idea what had brought on this change in his cousin, but he was not sure he was going to like it. He tried to think about her question. The last time he had visited the London townhouse had been after Walburga’s death almost two years ago. He clearly remembered looking at the tapestry and cursing fate for having him outlive his son, daughter-in-law, and even grandson. The tapestry there was much newer and showed the family going back only a few generations. But that had been enough. There were nine Blacks in his generation, five in his son’s, and five in his grandson. Of those five, Regulus was dead, Sirius and Bellatrix were imprisoned for life, and Andromeda refused to be associated with any of the Blacks. As a patriarchal House, the Head could only be a male, and since Sirius and Regulus were not going to have any children, there was not going to be a next generation. So he had stared at the grotesque partially burned tapestry and had accepted the fact that he was the last Head of his House, and the name was going to die with him.

But he was not going to think about that right now. He was going to do his duty and protect his family, and when, hopefully soon, his time was up, he would rejoin his wife. Despite his mistakes, he wanted to go knowing he had done his all for the House of Black. Even if that meant answering all of Cassiopeia’s bizarre questions.

“No, once someone was burned, there were no new descendants.” He tried to remember who exactly Walberga had, in her infinite wisdom, removed from the tree. There had been Phineas, his uncle; Callidora and Cedrella, his cousins; Alphrad, her own brother; and, of course, Sirius, the last heir of the family. None of them had actually done anything to deserve her wrath, let alone a disownment. Perhaps it was a good thing she was dead, she could finally do no more harm.

But Cassiopeia was unaware of Arcturus’ contemplation. Instead, she was taking out her fury on the exquisite artichoke salad. And as she took a bite, it hit her. Her research. The work she had been doing with Anneli and Montego could be the answer they were looking for. Now, she was doing calculations in her head and trying not to jump in her seat like an unruly toddler. Holly Morgana! Could it really be?

“You didn’t disown anyone, correct?” she just wanted a yes or a no confirmation.

“Yes, so I am not sure how this child could be a Black.”

“But there are still people who have been removed from the tree?” She ignored his remark.

“Well, the last person to be disowned was our great-aunt Isla when she married a muggle. But this was over a century ago. You cannot be suggesting that this child is a descendant of that union. This is not a critique of the muggle. No, I am just aware that family magics are loyal to the family they belong to, and it is rare for a child to receive the ability of his mother’s House. Even when it does happen, like Andromeda’s daughter Nymphadora being a metamorphmagus, the ability weakens with each generation and disappears in two or three generations.” He stated in a casual tone, as though reading from a book. And Cassiopeia was shocked for the second time that evening. He had recited almost word for word, her own work on family magics.

“Yes, I am well aware of your research, cousin. Despite our … estrangement, I have kept up on your publications.” and he had. She was brilliant. He did not always agree with her social and political views, but he would never deny her genius. Only a fool would.

Cassiopeia regained control of her emotions and promised herself she would never underestimate her cousin or his powerful recall ability. “As impressive as your memory might be, I was not referring to great-aunt Isla. There is another possibility.” This time, it was Arcturus who remained silent. He raised an eyebrow to urge her on. She took a large sip to dull her restlessness. “Well, there is also my brother, Marius.”

Part of Arcturus wanted to ignore his cousin and ask her to leave. Marius. What a preposterous idea! There is no way this child was related to him. It was impossible. Cassiopeia must have lost her mind, they did say that madness and genius went hand and hand. Or maybe she had been affected by the Black madness. No, she had never shown any of the symptoms.

He tried to put all the pieces of the puzzle together. Marius, his little cousin. Despite what most people thought, Cassiopeia’s father, Cygnus Nigellus Black, and her mother, Violetta Black nee Bulstrode, had four children. Pollux, Cassiopeia, Marius, and Dorea. All four children had been bright and cunning, exactly as any Black should be. Everything had been going well until Marius’ eleventh birthday when he had not received a Hogwarts letter. They had not even considered that to be a possibility. Yes, it had been true that they could not remember him specifically doing any accidental magic, but they had four children, and there had always been someone doing magic, and they could not tell who. Faced with this new reality, Cygnus had done what any father should - he had contacted his brother, the Head of the House, Arcturus’ father, and warned him that he did not care about tradition. He was not going to kill his son for having no magic. His brother had assured him that the Blacks were not following that antiquated tradition. Instead, Marius had left home at eleven and had been disowned, never to be seen or heard from again. Possibly until now. Marius would be almost seventy if he was somehow alive. If he had a child in his late twenties or early thirties, and that child had done the same, it would technically be possible for Marius to have a young grandchild.

The calculations were not the problem. The fact that Marius was a squib was. A squib, a child of magical parents born without a magical core. And now his genius of a cousin was trying to tell him that a squid had a magical grandchild with the metamorphic ability. How in Salazar’s name was that even conceivable.

He met her eyes filled with giddy excitement, probably at his obvious confusion. He knew he should just ask her what exactly she meant, but he was not sure he had the energy for it.

“Before you share what I am sure is a riveting explanation, may we move to my study. I would like to nurse my headache with a glass of Ogden’s firewhiskey.”

“Only if you are sharing.” she mused.

Arcturus sighed. Yes, he definitely should have stuck with silence and his wife’s ghost.

Chapter 4: Facts vs Possibilities

Chapter Text

The morning of August 5 was a cumbersome affair at Holkham Hall. Arcturus awoke before dawn as usual, got ready, and headed to his study. His head hurt, and his eyes stung from reading late into the night. He sat down in his study and looked at his notes from the night before, only after requesting a mild pain reliever.

He kept rereading the notes for an hour when the elves informed him Cassiopeia was coming down for breakfast. He joined her in the dining hall with a dry ‘Good morning,’ and they both began eating in silence.

Arcturus was still going over everything he had learned last night. No one could blame him really, Cassiopeia had shaken the foundations of his world. First, she had challenged his understanding of what a squib really meant. Apparently, ‘a magicless child’ was not a good enough answer. She had explained that a squib cannot channel any magic because he or she lacks a magical core. Yet despite this fact, they were still magical beings. This meant they could see areas magically repelling muggles such as Hogwarts; could feel magic being channelled to varying degrees; and some even had animal familiars requiring a magical bond. Hence, she had summarised in simple words, “Squibs have dormant magic running through their blood, but they can never wield it.”

He could follow her reasoning, and despite not knowing all the facts, he could see how a squib was different from a muggle. However, the way she had been biting her lip to contain her excitement, had been concerning. It was a childhood tell which meant she was trying, and failing, to contain her excitement. It definitely meant that this had not been the controversial part of her newest project.

Indeed, Cassiopeia had then started the truly abhorrent part of her explanation. She and her team had apparently proven that Muggleborns were the descendants of squibs. Somewhere around the eighteenth century magical families in Britain had stopped killing their squib children. Rather, they had begun leaving them in the muggle world. Squibs passed along their dormant magic through the generations until one of their descendants was born with a magical core. Surrounded by muggles, these witches and wizards were then labelled as Muggleborn. When, in fact, they were distant relations to magical families. Cassiopeia had joked that perhaps ‘Squibborn’ would be a more accurate term, but Arcturus was too stunned to react.

How could she be making jests when … when they had all been so unbelievably wrong. Mudbloods, as many purebloods referred to these Muggleborns, were one of the most divisive issues between the light and dark factions. The questions of how to legislate and treat Mudbloods had polarised British politics. It was one of the main reasons light wizards labelled them, the dark ones, as ‘evil monsters’.

He had proudly invested a great deal of time, galleons, and effort into preventing Mudbloods from gaining full rights. Not because he believed the old wives’ tale that Mudbloods gained their magic by stealing it from pureblood children. No, he was far too rational for that. He had hated them because of what they represented: a threat to wizarding culture and eventual assimilation into the muggle world. But with the decline of pureblood births and the steady increase in Mudblood numbers and support from some light wizards, Mudblood’s influence had grown. Arcturus had been right, century-old rituals had been abandoned in the name of making the wizarding world more welcoming for Mudbloods. The rage he had felt when Yule had been replaced by Christmas could only compare to the fury upon hearing Walburga had disowned his grandson, the heir of his House. It was a Christian holiday, for Morgana’s sake! Both times, he had been inconsolable for weeks.

And to think that he had been working against the descendants of magical families all this time. He had almost started crying at the possibility that some of the Mudbloods - he should probably start calling them Muggleborns, now - could have been Blacks. Family was everything to him, and despite what others might think, he had always tried to do what was best for his House. This changed things. Not only for him.

So many pureblood lines were dying out. There was no one left of the Gaunts and McKinnons, and hardly anyone from the Blacks, Dolohovs, Prewitts, Shafiqs, Potters, Rosses, Crouchs, Princes, Lastranges, and Mulcibers. Ten lines with a few members left. And to think that all that magical knowledge passed from parents to children would be gone just like that. It was beyond frightening.

But if Cassiopeia was right, they could find descendants of dying bloodlines and revive them. For a second, he imagined passing on the Black family spells to a new generation, and his heart almost gave out. Oh no, he was not going to join his wife just yet. He needed to see this through first.

Arcturus had spent hours examining the family tree going back centuries with one goal in mind. He had checked all family chronicles, scouring for any children that suddenly disappeared around their eleventh birthday. He had found four unknown names. Three were born at a time when the only solution to dealing with a magicless child had been death. But there was one other name, Alexia Black, the little sister of his great-great-grandfather. Born in 1818, she had not been sent to the Muggle world despite being a squib, and neither was she killed. The chronicles made it clear that she was sent to live with a very distant elderly relation. He had tried talking to his parents’ portraits to find out more, but they had refused, claiming it was too late for such conversations and he needed some sleep.

Reluctantly, Arcturus had given in and gone to sleep. Or at least he had tried to sleep, but all the night's revelations were making it difficult to relax. A new member of the family. Possibly related to Marius. Mud… Muggleborns all being related to magical families. No one could claim Cassiopeia’s visits could ever be boring.

Even while having breakfast in silence, he could hear her voice on repeat telling him how she had tested squibs’ blood and found each had a magical ancestor. His imagination was running wild with possibilities. No, he had to put an end to the endless pondering and focus on the facts.

He would talk to his parents’ portraits after breakfast and learn more about Alexia Black. Then, he would prepare for a Family Gathering, the first one in over three decades.

After a lengthy debate last night, he had relented. He had sent a magical summons to every living Black. He did not like how persuasive his cousin could be.

To every Black,

Please come to Holkham Hall at noon tomorrow, August 5, 1987. I shall expect to see you all.

Head of House Black,

Lord Arcturus Sirius Black

Cassiopeia had wanted to highlight the gravity of this meeting, hoping to urge some more reluctant family members to join. Arcturus had put his foot down against it. This was an official summons, which was not a thing done lightly. It was not equivalent to sending a letter, rather, it was an old ritual drawing on blood connections between members of a House. To send the message, he had used blood magic, which was now very illegal in Britain. Oh well, he was a Black, after all, and light wizards had long since labelled him evil. He might as well live up to his reputation.

In the early hours of the day, a Black letter had appeared on the mahogany nightstand. It had somehow bypassed the wards and found its way to the Mistress of the house. She was soundly asleep and unaware of Willy’s dilemma. She was supposed to give all mail to the Master and Mistress in the morning with their tea, yes, she was. And she had done so every day, just as commanded. But today, that letter appeared out of nowhere. Of course, Willy had felt its magic even from the kitchen, house elf magic was sensitive and could pick up details wand wielders missed. Or at least that is what Willy’s elders had said.

She tugged hard on her ears and twisted her hands in indecision. She could go into the room and collect the letter, but Master had said not to go in when they slept unless it was an emergency. He would be mad if she disobeyed. Oh yes, he would. And Willy did not want to see Master angry. He would yell, and Willy really did not like yelling. That left only one option: she was not going to deliver the letter and hoped the Mistress was not too upset. But what if the letter had something dangerous inside? Willy always checks before handing the letters. She should really check it. What if Mistress got hurt because Willy failed in her duty!

Willy was pacing in the kitchen, trying to keep tears of frustration at bay. She was so preoccupied thinking about her orders that she missed the Mistress waking up.

In the master bedroom, Narcissa Malfoy woke up reluctantly. She wished she could go back to her dream, where a six-year-old version of her was playing hide and seek with Sirius and Andromeda at Gwrych Castle. The mediaeval Black Castle had once housed the entire family, and though no one had lived there for six decades now, her cousins and she had loved visiting. There, they had played with real swords and armour and discovered secret passageways. She had vivid memories of playing pretend for hours away from any adult supervision. But alas, she had too much to do today to try to go to sleep.

She turned on her side and looked at her husband, sleeping peacefully. He still sometimes had nightmares from the war, waking up yelling and thrashing. For a while, he had hidden them from her by requesting separate bedrooms. Saddened, she had agreed, thinking that once Dragon was born, he had lost sexual interest in her. But he had still been affectionate with her, so like any self-respecting Black would, she had carefully broken the wards of his separate room, only to see him scream and throw up upon waking. She had seen enough.

That next day, Lucius had, against his very strong objection, seen a mind healer. She had refused to hear a word against it. Growing up in a family such as hers, Narcissa knew how crucial a mind healer could be. Though he had only gone for six months, the nightmares had become less frequent. Yet, even six years later, they were not completely gone.

She sighed, getting up. She was about to go into the bathroom when she noticed the Black letter on her nightstand. She reverently opened it and read the short message.

If she had not feared waking her husband, she would have danced with joy - or at least jumped around a bit before remembering she was Lady. Finally! She had feared that Arcturus had given up, and she was never going to get her family back. Not that there were many of them left, but even those who remained had drifted apart. After the war, she had tried contacting her sister, but Andi had returned her letters unopened. Bella was in Azkaban for life, but even then, she at least got to see her once a year. But she was not going to think about her sister wasting away in that wretched place. No, this was a day of celebration. The Blacks, together once again. She wondered if everyone was going to obey the summons. Father and Grandfather Pullox would definitely attend, as long as father was doing well. Aunt Cass? Perhaps if her endless curiosity got the better of her. It would be wonderful to see her and entertaining to watch her debate with Grandfather. Lucretia? Narcissa had not seen Arcturus’ daughter in over a decade. Being on different sides of the war had definitely soured some family relations. No matter, this summons was a good sign.

Her Dragon would be so excited when she told him. He had grown up hearing stories about the Blacks but had only met her father and grandfather. He would probably demand she bring him along. Hmm, maybe next time. She was not sure what the tone of the Family Gathering would be. Yes, next time, the family got together. Because there was going to be a next time, she was going to make sure of it.

And so Narcissa Malfoy nee Black smiled to herself, knowing that as much as she loved her husband, she would never truly be a Malfoy. And she was more than alright with that.

In a proud estate surrounded by white ash trees on one side and a vibrant flower garden on the other, Callidora Longbottom nee Black was drinking tea on her veranda. She could hear birds’ morning song and smell the rich honey-vanilla scent of her hydrangeas. It was a beautiful summer day, and she was not going to spend it inside. Even though people (mostly her cousin, Cass) believed she had become a hermit, Callidora was, in fact, out of the house as much as the weather permitted. Taking care of her flowers, exploring the nearby forest, and venturing to the sea cliffs, most days, she left right after breakfast and returned for a late lunch. She just did not want her days to include many people, actually most people. She had the knitting circle with her old friends, meetings with Brixham Lovegood to discuss gardening, and occasional dinners with her sister Cedrella. That was more than enough for her.

There were only two people she wished she would see more often. Cassie and Neville, her great-grandson. At least with her cousin, she could exchange letters and floo call as often as she wanted - which was about once a week. But the situation with Neville was a bit more complicated. For the first year of his life, Neville had often stayed with her so his parents could relax or if their work as aurors - and secretly vigilantes for Albus’ Order of the Phoenix - got too dangerous. There had been an unspoken understanding that as a Black by birth, Callidora knew spells that were, well, highly illegal and that she would do anything to protect the child. And she would have. Neville had been with her that night in November when his parents had been attacked and tortured. By Bellatrix, her grandniece, or technically her first cousin once removed, who had broken them beyond repair. Complicated, indeed.

Looking at her blooming hydrangeas, she knew Alice, Neville’s mother, would love them. Callidora must remember to bring her some when she visited on Friday, as she had done every week since Frank and Alice were placed in St. Mungos six years ago.

She looked at the papers on the table next to her, looking for a paper to write down what else she would like to bring: flowers for Alice, some of that French muggle music Frank loved, oh and more brightly wrapped gum. Only then did she notice the Black letter that had appeared hours ago.

Callidora did not have to open it to guess what it said. She smirked. Not that she had ever doubted Cassie, but this must be a new record even for her. After ignoring him for nearly thirty years, she had gone to Arcturus and, within a day, had him following her lead. Oh, how she wished she could have seen his face. Perhaps she should ask Cassie for the pensive memory. Yes, that would be a lovely belated Lammas present.

In a small but well-cared-for house an hour south of London, a fifteen-year-old was trying to move quietly and not wake her parents. She was trying to get to the mail before they woke up just in case there was a letter from Mrs Weasley in there. Three days ago, Charlie, one of her best friends, had been caught using a slightly illegal Greek spell to take care of the garden gnomes. It was not anything bad or anything! Yes, it was a dark spell, but it was explicitly designed with gnomes in mind, or at least so she had been told. It was the safest and most efficient way to deal with them, but for some reason, the British Ministry did not agree with this assessment, hence the spell being illegal.

Under pressure, Charlie, like the big softie he was, had confessed that she had taught him the spell. He had warned her his mum, apparently very angry, was going to inform her parents about it. Which had been the reason for her early morning mission. An angry letter about dark magic was just what she needed after her O.W.L. results. So what if she had received a D, dreadful, in History of Magic and a P, poor, in Astronomy! Failing these subjects did not really matter. They were not required to get into the Auror Program, which was where she was applying after graduation.

Just as she turned the corner to the entry, her shoulder hit the tall coat hanger and all the jackets and purses toppled to the ground together with the hanger. She closed her eyes as the loud crash echoed in the otherwise quiet house. Her parents definitely heard that. Knowing she had minutes, if not seconds, she ran to the letters piled on the welcome matt in front of the door.

A bill, a letter from dad’s colleague, a bill, the Daily Prophet, a subscription magazine, a … what was that? She stopped to look at a Black envelope. It was addressed to her mother, but it somehow felt oddly inviting. She turned it around, contemplating opening it, when she heard the voice.

“Dora, is everything alright, sweetheart?” That was definitely her dad. She turned around to assure him no one had broken in, but before she could say anything, her mother pointed to the Black letter still in her hand.

“Where did you get that?” she asked, more like shouted or perhaps hissed. It was hard to determine, but she was definitely angry. Knowing once her mum got like this, the best course was to just agree and nod, she handed over the letter.

Andromeda Tonks nee Black took the letter from her daughter and read the short message. Family Gathering. And she had been invited, how interesting. Perhaps she should just burn the letter … or she could go yell at her father, grandfather, and uncle. She did not really want to see any of them. Well, except Aunt Cass, of course. That visit to her Villa in Greece four years ago was still one of Andromeda’s most treasured memories.

The smart thing would be to ignore the letter. The Slytherin thing would be to attend and gather information. The Black thing would be to go and make them regret even the thought of disowning her. What to do?

Far away on an island in the frigid North Sea, Azkaban prison was drowning under the onslaught of a summer storm. Down and down, the raindrops kept coming. Up and up, the waves kept crashing against the tower’s walls. Again and again, the dementors came and took and took.

She tried to braid her hair, left strand and then the right, but it kept falling apart. Was it right and then left? No, surely it was left to right, it did not make sense otherwise. She kept trying with no success. Her hair was so long it reached her lower waist despite her curls. Left, right, left, right.

That is when she felt it, the smallest surge of magic. The prison’s wards would not allow more, but even this tiny amount was enough to shake her out of her trance. She put her hair down and looked around. Was it time for Cissy’s visit? Had it been a year already? It did not matter, she would kill to see her sister, literally, she would kill by the dozens. Or to see anyone, really. She would also kill for a shower, a comfortable bed, good food, some sunshine … well the list was quite long. Many reasons to kill, indeed. She started to think about how she might kill them.

Wait, what had she been thinking about before? How to kill? Why to kill? Had it been who to kill? No, she had not gone there yet, though it was an interesting question. No, focus. How to kill, why to kill, and …. Cissy. Killing Cissy? No, not killing her, being willing to kill to see her. Oh yes, of course. But why would Cissy be here, it had not been a year yet, right? But why had she been thinking about Cissy? That was the real question.

She moved to the tiny window with thick metal bars, at least it was better than complete darkness. Tiny. Tiny. Oh, she almost smacked herself, how could she had forgotten. Yes, the small burst of magic. It had felt somewhat familiar, warm but stern, yet inviting. She tried to think about what it could be but soon found herself mesmerised by the raindrops.

It was not until hours later that she remembered about the magic. This time, an image came to mind. An old wizard with blue-grey eyes and pupils surrounded by yellow. She greeted her teeth, trying to remember him. Had he been one of her teachers at Hogwarts? Surely not. She felt frustration, well, she felt many things, including bone-deep tiredness and sadness, but that was beside the point.

She must ask Cissy next time she came to visit or maybe her father, though he came less frequently. Cissy. Her father. Grey eyes. Her eyes. She hit her head against the stone wall, of course, how could she be this stupid. Arcturus, that magic had belonged to Uncle Arcturus. But why would she have felt his magic? She tried, she really did, but she was too tired and fell asleep before she could answer that question.

On the other side of Britain, Cedrella Weasley nee Black read the Black note and cackled loudly.

Chapter 5: A Black Affair

Chapter Text

The large library table went deadly quiet, whether from shock, displeasure, or appreciation, Cassiopeia was not sure. She was too busy trying not to laugh to properly examine the others’ expressions, biting the inside of her cheek so hard she could taste copper in her mouth (quite unpleasant). She was also grinding her teeth, trapping any sound from escaping. But most importantly, she was avoiding Calli’s gaze at all costs, for if their eyes met, all her attempts would have been in vain. This Family Gathering was turning out to be more entertaining than she could have imagined, especially with the arrival of this latest Black.

Before this, the day had been going according to plan. At eleven forty-five, Arcturus and she had met at the greeting parlour, a well-decorated room with a large fireplace connected to the floo system. Her cousin had seemed apprehensive, with tension in his jaw and shoulders and an overly straight back. Cassiopeia understood his hesitation, after all, he had had no way of knowing who would show up. Many family members were angry with him and might refuse the summons. But perhaps Arcturus had, most of all, wondered if he would see Lucretia. As far as Cassiopeia knew, the father and daughter were not exactly on speaking terms.

As expected, Pollux and Cygnus had arrived ten minutes before noon, father and son acting self-assured (as though they owned the place). They had arrived first, no doubt, to get Arcturus to tell them what the Gathering was about. Partially to satisfy their curiosity but also to feel superior to the rest, who were clueless. She could not really blame them, a Gathering had not taken place in so long that everyone was tense. Well, not her, obviously, since she had been the one to push for the meeting. To his credit, Arcturus had been vague and told them to wait until the others arrived.

Only then had they deigned to acknowledge her presence, not that she really minded. Her brother had nodded in her direction and then continued his conversation with the Head of the House. That had honestly been a warmer reaction than she had expected from Pollux (perhaps he had mellowed out with age). The same could definitely not be said about his son, who had glared at her like she had personally offended him by being there. Cygnus’ eyes had kept moving from the conversation to the wall art to the fireplace, almost as if …

But before she could finish her train of thought, Narcissa had arrived a few minutes before noon. Her grandniece had looked immaculate and had resembled her mother so strongly that Cassiopeia had to blink a few times and remind herself this was not Druella’s ghost (except for the eyes, those were entirely Black). The witch had been beautifully dressed in a long dark green dress that cinched at her slim waist, and her blond hair, half-up, half-down, created a cascade of loose blond curls. After stepping away from the fire, she had curtsied to Arcturus and then turned to her father and grandfather. Ever the dutiful daughter, she had no doubt been about to ask after their health. But before she had the chance, the fire had turned green again, signalling another's arrival.

Turning their attention to the fire, Cissa had offered Cassiopeia a smile. The smile had looked genuine, which was strange coming from a Black, yet it had suited her. It made her face warm and inviting, something they were rarely described as.

Before she could do anything but smile back, a figure in a traditional dark blue robe had emerged. Cassiopeia’s smile had widened, a pleasant surprise indeed. Callidora Longbottom nee Black had looked at Arcturus and simply nodded, registering her displeasure with their Head of House. She had entirely skipped over Pollux and his son and had, instead, turned to Cassiopeia and greeted her warmly. She had walked to her cousin’s side of the parlour and stood between the two other witches.

“Let us move to the library. If anyone arrives late, they will be shown the way.” Arcturus had instructed, and they had followed his lead towards the massive Black Library. Cassiopeia had tried not to look at the thousands of books she was walking past (even though she had spent her morning here, there was so much more to explore). Looking away from the shelves, she had observed the other Blacks, their gaits, their clothes, their postures. She had noted the way Cissa always positioned herself between the two wizards and two witches, Cygnus glanced behind his shoulder as though to make sure he was not being attacked, and Calli observed the smallest changes to the decor (to be fair, she had not visited Holkham Hall in over twenty-five years).

Then, they had reached the large rectangular table with four chairs on either side and two at either end (she had wondered if the Blacks would ever again be able to fill a table for ten). As they had agreed beforehand, Arcturus and Cassiopeia had taken the two head seats. Pollux’s eyes had narrowed, Calli had looked amused, and Cissa had observed with interest. Cygnus, in contrast, had looked ready to curse her and had actually reached for his wand. Surely he could not be thinking of attacking a family member during a Gathering? The meeting had been magically protected and ensured everyone’s safety. Cygnus had known this.

The rest had taken their seats, Pollux and Cygnus to the Head’s right and left, Cissa next to her father, and Calli to Cassiopeia’s right (leaving an empty seat between herself and Cissa). They looked like two separate groups, not a family.

“What is this all about?” Cygnus had started impatiently, being rude not to wait for Arcturus to speak first.

The Head had given him a reproachful look and ignored his remark. “Thank you all for coming, we are here to discuss the future of the House of Black. We are and always have been…” he had stopped, his head moving slightly to the right, towards the door, someone must have arrived. Cassiopeia had looked at Calli, and the two had started a silent bet on the new arrival. Cassiopeia had quickly glanced at Cissa, voting for her sister, whereas Calli had discreetly pointed to Arcturus, suggesting his daughter. This was their mode of communication, perfected over seven years of sharing a desk during all classes. They could easily read each other’s smallest gestures, a useful skill when they wanted to speak privately in a room full of observant people.

The door to Cassiopeia’s left had opened, but she did not have to look to know who had joined them. Calli’s mouth had turned down a tiny bit, admitting she had been wrong. Head held high, Andromeda had confidently walked into the library, eyes scanning everything and everyone. Wearing an ankle-length blue skirt and frilled-necked white shirt, she had not tried to hide the muggle fashion influence (Cassiopeia appreciated her candour).

“What is she doing here? She is not one of us! She…” Cygnus had shot to his feet and began yelling into the otherwise silent room. He had pointed to his own daughter and declared, “Dirty Mudblood … lover!” Cassiopeia was certain he had wanted to say something much worse than ‘lover’ but had been glad for his restraint.

“Enough.” Arcturus had declared calmly but decisively. Addressing Andi, he had stated, “You are welcome here. Thank you for joining us; please, take a seat.” Then he had turned to Cygnus and, in a cold tone, had instructed, “You will refrain from any further outbursts and will behave in a manner befitting a Black.”

This was the moment that Cassiopeia had almost burst out laughing, very un-Black-like. Her nephew looked like a fish on dry land, his mouth opening and closing without saying anything. Pollux looked uncomfortable, Cissa was shocked, and Calli was entertained. Andi, on the other hand, seemed uncertain. If only she had known Arcturus could scold Cygnus so spectacularly, Cassiopeia would have returned to Britain much sooner.

Aware of her surroundings, Andi was running through all of Bella’s lessons on not letting your emotions show.Shield your face from showing anything. Your mouth and eyes are most expressive, so concentrate on them. Will them into submission, no movement.She tried to follow her sister's instructions. She was not about to broadcast her confusion to an entire room of cunning, vicious Blacks. But it was bloody difficult! Arcturus had just defended her and reprimanded her father. They could have orchestrated it to make her trust them. But there was also a tiny possibility he really meant it. Either way, she was not going to let her guard down and would stick with her plan for now.

She looked at the empty seats. One between Cissa and Aunt Callidora, and three on the other side between her grandfather and Aunt Cass. Ignoring the soft look in her sister’s eyes, Andi sat next to Aunt Cass opposite Aunt Callidora. She had never been as close to the latter because her father disliked the witch. But that was actually a plus right now. Just knowing she was also disowned made her a safer ally compared to the wizards in the room.

“Now, let us get back to our conversation.” started Lord Black. Andi examined him carefully, trying to determine his mood and motivation. No one could mistake him for a regular elderly man. Despite being in his eighties, he exuded power and control. “I have called you all today to discuss the future of our family. For too long, we have wasted our energy fighting amongst each other. We have forgotten what truly matters: unwavering loyalty to this House!”

Rich, coming from the man who had approved the disowning of six Blacks. Andi wanted to remind him it was difficult to be loyal to a family that had turned its back on her, but decided to wait until the end of his speech.

“This ends now.” Interesting, he was really going with the family unity line. She could see where he was coming from, if things continued as they were, the House would be gone in a few decades. So this was about power and legacy, she could work with that. “Moving forward, the insults and infighting will stop. We are members of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and we will act as such.” Pretty words, Andi had to admit. But she doubted even he could erase decades of animosity.

“Before I move to our future, there is one thing I want to make clear.” He looked at Aunt Callidora and Andi, his blue-grey examining her closely. “You were never disowned from the family. No one was. I have never in my life approved an official disownment from the Black family, and I sincerely hope I will never have to.”

The room was suspended as though under a powerful stupify. She raised an eyebrow in disbelief and irritation. Was he really telling her she had somehow imagined being kicked out of her house, losing all of her possessions, and being ostracised by most of her family and magical Britain!? She was about to demand answers and could see her father barely containing himself from yelling when Arcturus continued.

“I stepped down as the public Head of House a few years after Orion and Walburga’s wedding, and I gave them control over the family. When Walburga burned people from the family tree, these Blacks were publicly disowned and shunned. Yet, neither Walburga nor Orion ever had the power to truly remove someone from the family. Only I, as the Head, can do such a thing. A real disownment is a powerful magic that greatly affects those cast away from the family. Disownment can lead to loss of magic, especially family magic, and even change one’s appearance.” He explained as though reading from a textbook. He claimed that Walburga’s actions had only carried weight because they had all perceived her as the Lady of the House. Although, this actually made things worse in a way. It meant that her disownment - even if unofficial - was due to a woman who was not even the proper Head! But the rest had still gone along with it. Andi resisted the urge to look at her sister across the table.

“I understand that this distinction might make little difference, but I want to make myself very clear.” He paused and looked each Black in the eyes. Perhaps this meeting was a genuine attempt to reconcile. But she was conflicted about how she should feel about it, unsure if she could forgive and move on. “I recognise the role that I have played in letting this family fall apart. I … I apologise for my actions as well as my inaction in allowing Black members to believe themselves disowned. I vow to do everything in my power to restore their places in this great House.” He once again shocked the room, leaving more than one person with their mouth hanging.

What had Bella taught her sisters?Never, under any circ*mstances, does a Black openly admit guilt and take on the responsibility to fix their past mistakes. We only acknowledge unfavourable outcomes and strive to do better in the future. The word ‘apology’ is not within a Black’s vocabulary because apologies make you look incapable and, hence, weak. Weakness is never to be tolerated.

And now, Arcturus, Lord Black, was doing exactly that. Andi looked at the people around the table, all processing his words with varying levels of disbelief and confusion. She felt the same way. On the one hand, she had come here to learn of their plans, deny any request, and use the information to protect her new family. But she was not certain she could reject an apology out of spite. If it had come from her father or perhaps her grandfather, she most definitely would tell them exactly where to shove their wands. But Arcturus had seemed sincere, and she had not made up her mind.

“This means that anyone alive who was born a Black or has a parent who was born a Black is officially part of this family. And they will all be treated as such.” He stressed the last word, looking at the two wizards sitting at his sides. Pollux’s expression did not change except for the narrowing of his lips. Her father, on the other hand, was seething withrage. Every line on his face screamed anger and contempt.

“I am sure many of you will want to discuss these family changes further, and I will answer any questions you might have. But first, Cassiopeia has…” Arcturus trailed off and looked toward the door, apprehension clear on his face.

Andi, though, was too distracted to consider his strange behaviour. All she could think about was how this might affect her family, especially Dora. They had never exactly struggled financially, but things had not always been easy. Yet, money was the furthest thing from her mind. Riches paled in comparison to the Black books she could have access to. Books that could help Dora master her metamorphic ability without blindly experimenting and getting stuck with different features for days. A lot of doors would open for her daughter if she was recognised as a part of the Black family. Or, more accurately, a lot of pureblood doors. At the same time, the Blacks had lost a lot of their power in the last fifteen years and were associated with supporting You-Know-Who. A close relationship might make them all targets for the light side. Ted and she had been very careful to remain neutral during the war, and returning to the Blacks would definitely change that. They would have to discuss this in detail and determine what was best for their family.

She was thinking of everything they would have to consider when the doors behind her opened, and she turned to see the two newcomers. One was easy to identify: shorter, with medium chestnut brown hair and blue hazel eyes. Aunt Lucretia did not resemble most Blacks in appearance or temperament. She looked more like her mother’s side of the family, the MacMillans, a light Noble and Most Ancient House. Andi remembered her as quiet and introverted, something rarely associated with the opinionated and bloodthirsty Blacks.

Andi could not recognise the other woman, but her grandfather’s words gave her a pretty good idea of who she was. He cried out, “No, this has gone too far! She is a blood traitor!” Pollux pointed at the older witch, who was looking at him like he was her next meal. “This is madness! The Weasleys have been branded traitors by all dark families. We cannot stand for this!”

Cygnus was nodding along with his father’s shouts, glaring at what must be Aunt Callidora’s sister, Cedrella Weasley nee Black. Andi could not remember ever meeting the witch with eyes so grey, they looked almost silver.

Before Arcturus had the chance to respond, Cedrella stalked to stand between Andi and Aunt Cass at the table’s edge. She proclaimed confidently, “I received one of Arti’s black invitations just like you, which means either he invited me personally or I am still recognised by our Head as a Black. Either way, I am here because Arti decided I should attend this Gathering. Who are you, Pollux Cygnus Black, to disapprove of Arti’s decisions? Are you the new Head? No? Then shut your mouth and sit back down. For Morgana’s sake, you are acting like an unruly child.”

By some instinct remaining from childhood, Andi sought her sister’s gaze across the room. They were both stifling their laughter, and Cissa’s shoulders were shaking. Aunt Cass was chuckling next to her and not even trying to hide it. Their father looked so red that Andi thought his heart might give out. Pollux was speechless, blinking rapidly after being scolded by someone he considered beneath him. Oh, she definitely liked Cedrella.

“Thank you for those words,Drelli,” Arcturus emphasised her nickname and waved to the table as an invitation for her to sit. She walked behind Aunt Cass and sat between Aunt Callidora and Cissy, completing that side of the table.

Andi, now in control of her laughter, looked over her shoulder to where Aunt Lucretia was still standing. Wearing a long, frilled-necked apricot dress, she looked almost out of place among the room’s blues, greens, and purples.

“I hope our late arrival does not inconvenience you, we were unsure if we were truly welcome at Holkham Hall.” she offered in a way of a Black apology. Andi’s mother had drilled in her that lateness was a sign of disrespect but was also a social tool to be used sparingly and always with purpose. Arcturus did not seem at all offended, instead, his eyes gleamed.

“You are always welcome here.” he declared warmly, and Lucretia took a seat next to Andi, leaving the chair next to Pollux empty. “To reiterate my previous statement, I will not tolerate any more fighting among us. We are turning over a new leaf, no more disownings and petty insults. We will swear loyalty to no one but this family, regardless of our thoughts on the war. We will project a united front and will settle any issues in-house. Do I make myself clear?” They could all feel his magic sizzling across the table. He posed an imposing figure, and for the first time, Andi felt a tiny ember of hope flicker to life. Arcturus was suggesting that the Blacks renounce their support for You-Know-Who, removing them from the camp of blind followers. If he truly meant this, Andi would consider rejoining the family a lot more seriously. The Blacks, still dark and powerful but no longer supporting a madman. She liked the sound of it.

“I love a good speech more than most, but why exactly are we here, Arti?” questioned Cedrella and ignored the Head’s glare at the nickname. Arti and Drelli, how interesting. Andi wondered about the story behind the names.

“Cassiopeia brought something to my attention. It was her belief that we should all be made aware of her news. I agree with her, and so we will listen to what she has to say.” He announced, surprising Andi. She had not considered that Aunt Cass might have been the one behind this Gathering. She considered whether her Aunt could have made Arcturus apologise. Doubtful, he was too proud to admit guilt just to make his cousin happy. The better question was, what could have been important enough for Aunt Cass to return to Britain and consult Lord Black.

To her right, Aunt Cass cleared her voice, looked around the table and began, “I will tell you the whole story, but I ask that you keep the questions until the end.” With that, she began an unbelievable story about a letter from Natalia Dolohov, a muggle orphanage and a metamorphmagus child. Aunt Cass then finished by explaining what the ability meant and the child’s likely relation to the Blacks.

“Why have we not retrieved the child already?” asked Pollux in what Andi would describe as his frustrated yet polite voice. It seemed as though Arcturus’ reprimand was having an effect.

“It is not as simple as going to Russia and claiming her,” exclaimed Aunt Cass, “As I mentioned, the Ulgens are a likely complication.”

“Couldn’t we use an inheritance test at Gringotts and determine whose child she is.” offered Cissa, looking very serious and worried. Andi felt slightly guilty for returning all her sister’s letters unopened. It meant that she had never met her nephew. Regardless, she knew Cissa was an incredible mother because she had the biggest heart out of the three sisters.

“Yes, the Gringotts test will be able to tell us who her parents and godparents are, but not much else. It might not be enough to determine if she is a Black because she might be a distant relation we don’t know about.” Andi saw Aunt Callidora raise an eyebrow at the last statement and turn to Aunt Cass with a silent question. After a short, unspoken conversation of slight gestures, Aunt Cass continued. “But we have bigger issues. Even if we can somehow prove the child is a Black, which again might not be straightforward, the Ulgens can still contest our guardianship.”

“Surely they wouldn’t! The child deserves to be with her family.” defended Cissa, her cheeks turning red.

“They might claim that we abandoned her and are not fit to raise her.” clarified Arcturus, sadness in his voice. No doubt he was thinking about the muggle orphanage. Even after living among muggles for seventeen years, that image made Andi’s skin crawl. No child should ever grow up in one of those sad places. She was going to demand Dora give her a hug when she got home. She might even make it a daily requirement as a part of her grounding, brilliant.

A hysterical laughter was the only reaction to Arcturus’ words. The grading and nauseating laugh could only belong to one person. A foul blood traitor at a Black Family Gathering, the bloody disgrace! Yet, for him, it was a lot more personal. Whether Cedrella had married Septimus Weasley or Salazar Slytherin himself, Pollux would have despised her equally. He gritted his teeth to prevent himself from cursing the witch. A Crucio would be too merciful for her; perhaps he should break all her bones or flail her skin. He was going over all the possible ways he wanted to hurt Cedrella but restrained himself from killing her. He should receive an Order of Merlin for his self-control and not reaching for his wand. Although the Ministry might give him an Order even if he killed her, after all, beast slayers often received awards for getting rid of evil creatures. His fingers tapped angrily on his knee. To curse her or not, that was the real question.

Pollux was no imbecile; of course, he understood that he could not harm her while the Gathering was in session. But he was a patient man. And he did agree that the Blacks needed to strengthen their familial bonds. It was disgusting how much their numbers had dwindled, they were a mere shadow of their former selves. So, he was willing to make some concessions. He could concede that Callidora could be useful; she had political reach to the light side. Perhaps there was a way to get control of the Longbottom’s Winzagomat seat. The current lordling was six years old; surely, through his great-grandmother, they could at least get some influence. No, he had nothing against Callidora.

And despite what others might think, he did not despise his imprudent granddaughter. Andromeda had been his favourite out of the Cygnus’s girls, magically powerful, cunning, and in control. But the brat had married a bloody Mudblood, and he had wanted to curse her for making him regret having to cast her out. Insullent child, an elopement just to escape a marriage to Malfoy’s son. Her behaviour had been most disappointing - Blacks face their problems, they do not run away. If only she had come to him! No matter, something valuable had indeed come out of that abominable union. The girl with the family magic. Cygnus had been enraged, and Pollux had smiled, knowing his favouritism had been vindicated. So, no, he did not mind this turn of events.

“Are we, though?” came the grading snarky voice of Cedrella Weasley. Oh, how he wanted to erase her from existence. Pollux was willing to put up with a lot to restore the greatness of his House. But Cedrella was where he drew the bloody line!

“Are we really saying that Blacks know how to raise children! We saw the results of Walburga’s parenting: Sirius ran away at sixteen and denounced the name. Regulus, a Death Eater at sixteen and dead before his eighteenth birthday. Cygnus let Bellatrix kneel to a madman and torture her own cousin to insanity.” Cedrella was gesticulating passionately, and Pollux started reciting the fundamentals of Utircht’s Law in French. How dare she criticise his children’s parenting when he knew for a fact that Cedrella’s youngest son, Arthur, was not on speaking terms with his parents. The hypocrisy of the woman was astounding. “I mean Arcturus, look at your own children. Your own daughter doesn’t know if you would welcome her. She…”

“Stop.” softly but assuredly demanded the witch on his right. Pleasantly surprised by his usually reserved niece, Pollux turned his attention to the shortest Black. “Do not use my relationship with my father to prove your point. Morgana knows I have my problems with how this family is run, but I will not stand here and listen to you argue that a child should be left with strangers when her family is right here.” Cedrella opened her mouth to argue, but in an uncharacteristic move, Lucretia waved her palm to silence the older witch. “We are witches; our identity is built on family history, spells, and rituals. If she is a Black, she deserves to know where she comes from. The good and the bad. If you are so concerned about her upbringing, be there for her. Advocate for her wellbeing. That is what I plan to do.”

Cedrella swallowed, nodded, and relaxed back in her chair. Pollux wanted to grab Lucretia and spin her around. Splendid, just splendid! Getting Cedrella to shut up was a bloody miracle. Lucretia might be his new favourite Black. It was a real shame she was a grey witch.

“Yes, well, this is actually why you are all here.” started Cassiopeia, using her tutor’s voice. “Internationally, the Blacks are seen as a House full of chaos. Fighting on different sides of the war, light versus dark, disownments. All of this will make the Ulgens’ argument stronger. We need to go to Russia as a unified front and show them that despite our differences, we can work together.” Pollux could clearly see the point of Arcturus’ earlier speech. But he still found his apology distasteful. His cousin must truly believe this child was a Black. Still, nothing is worth the degradation of admitting one’s guilt. It was simply uncouth.

“Cassiopeia and I are travelling tomorrow, but the port key can take three more people,” Arcturus informed them and looked around the table. Pollux tried to determine what each could offer. Lucretia was the only grey Black witch but was not politically inclined, meaning she was only useful as a symbol. Callidora had married into a powerful light House, so she would make a strong argument for family unity. She was observant and quite powerful, or at least she had been in her youth. Andromeda would be a good choice, too; her daughter was the only living Black with the ability and would have to teach the child. As a mother to a young child, Narcissa might be the one to foster this mysterious child, so she might also be useful to take along. The Malfoy name still carried weight. Their endless coffers made most ignore Lucius’ role in the war.

“I think our best choices would be Andi, either Luc or Cissa and …” began Cassiopeia, no doubt wanting her sister-in-all-but-blood, Callidora, to join them. “And Pollux.” He turned to her, suppressing his disbelief. “You are known as one of the most conservative members of our family; if you join us, it will show that we all welcome the child. Plus, your legacy as a spell crafter still carries power in Europe.

He tried to regulate his breathing to mask his emotions. There was the slightest vulnerability in her eyes as though he would disagree with her on principle. For a second, everything else disappeared, and all he saw was his sister, no politics, no sides. Just his opinionated, annoying, know-it-all little sister. The one who helped him train for his first quidditch tryout, who bought him his first spell crafting book, and who had cried with him when Marius was taken away.

Pollux merely nodded in confirmation and shook the memories away. He had nothing better to do tomorrow, and St. Petersburg was wonderful this time of year. Of course, he could be useful to them, he was merely glad Cassiopeia was not too blind to deny it.

“Wonderful, the rest, please think on it and let me know sometime …” Arcturus trailed off for the third time this evening. Now, however, his face was scrunched in confusion. Pollux looked around and realised all living Blacks, not in Azkaban, were already here. He ran through all possible names, coming up with only one name. Bartemius Crouch Sr., Charis’ son. He chuckled at his own joke, knowing very well the man would rather use the Cruciatus on himself than join a Black Gathering. The wizard would much rather send them all to Azkaban than admit they were related. He was busy imagining Crouch going against Cassiopeia or even Cedrella and missed the moment the door opened.

“Holly f*cking sh*t!” exclaimed Andromeda showing her Mudblood husband’s influence. Disgusting, just… but then he saw what his granddaughter was staring at.

A chorus of sharp breaths filled the library as a tall, dark-haired man walked into the room. Pollux found himself standing, his chair on the ground.

“I hope I didn’t miss anything important. I had urgent business to attend to.” The man said cheerfully to the stunned room. Pollux, dazed, found himself striding toward the man. Then, hugging him with all his strength. Real, he was real.

Weak, traitor, disappointment. Those had been the last words he had said to him. A tear slid down Pollux’s face.

“Hello, father,” the newcomer said calmly as though he had not been dead for ten years.

Alphard.

Chapter 6: A Knut For Your Thoughts

Chapter Text

Lucretia strolled down the bustling street, enjoying the sun warming her face and the summer wind playing with her hair. She avoided the droves of wixen hurrying to their next destination and zagged between side allies and the main street. Unlike them, she had plenty of time to spare. Her destination was already in sight, and her meeting was not for another fifteen minutes. That was what happened when one apparated an hour early. But she had no regrets; she had needed to get out of the townhouse and recenter herself.

After arriving in St. Petersburg this morning, the Blacks had held yet another meeting to discuss the latest news and come up with a plan of action. The custody hearing had been set for August 8th, giving them two days to prepare. Her father thought they would benefit from having more time. Aunt Cass had argued the less time passed, the less likely it was the girls’ metamorphmagus ability would become common knowledge. Uncle Pollux had claimed people with a vested interest already knew, and Cissa had asked if they had any further information about the child’s identity. To which the answer was annoyingly, “No”. Then … well, she was not entirely sure who had said what. She had stopped listening at some point. It was not that she did not care - she did, but she despised the plotting and politicking the rest of her family employed as easily as breathing. She had remained silent and endured the townhouse’s influence.

The house was too much like the rest of the Black properties. Dark and eerie. Everything was furnished in dark greens, blues, or browns; she had felt unsettled and unable to relax. The house reminded her of her time back in the Black Forest tracking the child-eating erklings. Both were steeped in dark magic that was almost sentient. She suspected the others could not even notice it, but as a witch with a grey core, she sensed its heaviness. After decades of avoiding the ancestral properties, she was no longer used to such a strong, dark, magical presence. It felt as though someone was sitting on her ribcage and pressing down. She was going to spend as little time as possible inside, thank you very much.

She had apparated right after the family meeting to one of the less busy streets on Vasilievsky Island, at the heart of St Petersburg’s magical community. Walking around, she paid attention to the many colourful storefronts, much more numerous than those in Diagon Alley. She tried to spot changes from the last time she had visited. The apothecary had moved a few shops down; perhaps business was doing well. There was a new bookstore, making it the fourth in the area. There was also a brand-new art studio where people could commission paintings and portraits. She looked inside and, after noticing they sold art supplies as well, considered going in. She was not a painter by any means, but she did use inks and sometimes charcoal to sketch the creatures she encountered and treated. There was that one sketch she had tried to finish a few times since returning from India, but she could just not capture the occamy’s turquoise scales. Russian paints were supposed to be incredible, so perhaps she should get a travelling kit. Deciding there were too many people in the store, she kept walking and promised herself she would come back later.

So she went back to observing the changes to the street. Many were subtle, after all, she had last visited just five years ago. But she had spent a lot of time on Vasilievsky Island during her three years living here. Well, not here exactly. She had her beautiful cottage about three hours from the city, surrounded by a creek and a meadow with wildflowers. She wondered if there would be time to get away from the city and go back. Between family meetings, she could probably find a few hours, but the real question was whether she wanted to return. The cottage held many memories, and not all of them were good.

She was not ashamed to admit that she had moved to Russia with the sole purpose of escaping Britain. But who could really blame her, in the span of two years, her life had disintegrated. Her mother had died, then a few months later, her husband, and, shortly after, her brother and nephew. Everything in England had reminded her of them, and she could not turn around without feeling their loss. She had needed space to set her grief free and, hence, the cottage in Russia. She had had no previous memories of the country, and so it had been the ideal blank slate.

Well, there had been another name on her list. Alphie. But she was trying very hard not to think about him right now. Instead, she was enjoying the sunshine and forgetting all about the prat. Seeing him yesterday had been much more shocking than learning about a possible Black child. Morgana! She had almost had a heart attack. Alphie, alive. She had very mixed feelings towards him at the moment, but last night she had hugged him and kissed his cheeks. Later, she realised he had been alive all this time and had not said anything. He had let her mourn him right as she was saying goodbye to her husband. The smirky bastards had not given them any details about where he had been all these years. He had the audacity to smile and declare, “My my, all these questions. A lad might think he wasn’t welcome back.” Insufferable.

They had always had a special connection, being the black sheep of the family. She had gone around the world studying and healing creatures while Alphie had partied his way around Western Europe. Despite the drugs, drinking, and debauchery, Alphie had opposed their family politically and refused to get in line. He had supported her choices, and she would always be grateful to her young cousin. Yet, she never forgot that Alphie had chosen not to belong to the Blacks, whereas she had tried to fit in, but it had been futile. She had sometimes envied him.

Yesterday, there had been so much happening that she had not had the chance to press him for information. Still, she found it suspicious when the wizard notorious for no strings attached returned from the dead the same day a mysterious child was discovered. Convenient indeed. She shall have her answers whether he liked it or not. Alphard Pollux Black owed her information, and she was going to haunt him. She was not thinking about any of her complicated feelings towards the prat. No. Definitely not. Her mission was to avoid these emotions for as long as possible, which would probably last a few more hours until he joined them in Russia. Not that he had explained how he had a port key ready to go, of course not. Alphie being bloody Alphie. Bahh.

Smiling at the thought, she looked up at the tearoom sign. She was here to meet someone who could give her some answers about the child. She had been slightly surprised when he had agreed to meet. After all, their friendship, if it could be called that, revolved around one thing and one thing only. Iggy. Her heart hurt just thinking about her late husband. Another wizard she was trying actively not to think about. Looking at the time, she was five minutes early. She straightened her neckline out of nerves, conflicted about the meeting.

She hesitated outside. The Blacks were big on the whole ‘the cloak and dagger’ mentality, but espionage was not really her strong suit. She took a deep breath and heard her grandfather’s voice telling her that Black did not run away or hide. She was going to meet with her contact and get as much information as possible out of him. Because that was the thing, she might have hated plotting, but she was the one member of the family with an ace up her sleeve. This wizard would have vital information about the upcoming custody hearing. And if he was going to try to take a Black child away from her family, at the very least, he would be honest about it. She opened the door and walked into the room to meet Taigan Ulgen.

The mix of herbs and spices enveloped her, and she tried not to get distracted by all the decorations. There were different coloured chandeliers adorned with jewels and feathers, reminding her of stars and clouds. The walls were scattered with porcelain dolls and old moving photographs, making it difficult to look away. She personally preferred something simpler but knew Vasilievsky Island had many gaudier establishments. Thank Morgana for small mercies - Taigan had not suggested meeting at one of those.

She looked around, aware it might be difficult to spot him. After all, he was a powerful metamorphmagus who could change his features as easily as breathing. He was also a bit of a tosser because he enjoyed confusing everyone with his gift. If he really wanted to remain unseen, she had no way of finding him. Hopefully, he was not in a bad mood today because the tea room was full. She found three tables with only one patron and focused on them. Two women and one man. She could not rule out any of them but suspected the woman nervously looking at the door was not the one she was looking for. Looking between the remaining two wixen, she decided to go with the blond man. The woman wore far too much make-up to be Taigan.

She walked towards the corner of the room, noticing his features. Dark blond hair, brown eyes, and a Grecian nose. Very different from his usual appearance. Or at least how she had gotten used to seeing him. He looked to be in his forties, even though she knew all too well he was just a few years younger than her. Their eyes met, and she was certain he was the right person. That amused glint in his eyes never lied.

She sat down without a greeting and saw he had already ordered tea for two. Of course, he had gotten her favourite mix of apple, cinnamon, and honeybush, still steaming hot. He took a sip, not taking his eyes off her. As a child, her grandfather, Sirius II, had tried to teach her how to take advantage of silences, but she had spent that time dreaming of being outside. She was not about to beat around the bush, not about something so important as this.

Before saying anything, she cast a wordless silencing spell, ensuring their conversation remained private. Then she started, “We both know why I am here. I know you are a busy man, so let’s get on with it.” Her grandfather was probably rolling in his grave right about now, but she had no intention of trying to trick him into revealing information. Taigan was much better at the whole spying thing anyway. He would know exactly what she was doing. He was either going to tell her or not - her attempts at scheming would not change his resolve.

Taigan picked up his cup and angled his head, smiling at her. Or, more accurately, he smirked at her as though her statement was highly entertaining. It probably was to someone like him. In order to master his metamorphic ability, he had learned how to feel and shift each muscle. She knew he was a master of controlling his facial expressions and doubted he could slip up. She noticed that his left eye began to change colour, creating a mesmerising contrast between the brown and blue. This was one of his old tricks; small, gradual changes made people focus on his appearance rather than his words. She raised an eyebrow, letting him know this tactic was not going to work on her. He changed both eyes entirely to blue and put his cup down, still smiling and remaining silent.

She decided to just ask him. “What is your family’s plan to claim the child?” She really needed to find out the girl’s name, referring to her as ‘the child’ felt wrong on so many levels. Taigan’s smirk did not waver, and his eyes glinted with suppressed giddiness. There had been no doubt in her mind he already knew about the child. With his widespread informant network, he probably found out hours after she had been discovered.

“Surely, I have no idea who you are referring to.” He mused in a strong American accent. “But I am glad to see you, Lucy. It is nice to catch up, and you came at just the right time. I will be quite busy in the next few days.” His accent changed slightly, perhaps to Canadian? She hated the nickname, but before she could say as much, he continued. “Especially with Arban and Kanat’s visit coming up.”

She took her first sip of her tea, thinking. The tea was delicious; it just needed a pinch of sugar. Arban, the Ulgen heir, and Kanat, Taigan’s oldest son and, if the rumours were true, the most ruthless one of the family. Spectacular. These two’s arrival could only mean one thing - the Ulgens were going to pull out all the stops to get their way. Being much more closely related to Russian politics, they already had a strong advantage. The Blacks’ best chance was to use the parentage of the girl to prove their claim.

“And what happens when her blood shows you are not a relation of hers?” she questioned. Although the test would only show her parents and godparents, it should hopefully be enough to show she was a British witch with Black blood. But Taigan did not look as though the test posed a challenge. He bit his lower lip as though to stop a laugh from escaping, and then he drummed his fingers against the porcelain in a slow rhythm.

Lucretia thought about the first time she had met him, studying magical horses in Mongolia. He had tried to buy one of the horses she was studying, even though the horses had a deep sense of community and hated being moved. She had despised him at first, thinking he was an arrogant brat. Then she had learned that the horse’s owner was considering killing the creature for its fur. Furious, she had helped Taigan set the horses free. Iggy had been there for it all. While she began to see Taigan as a friend, her husband had seen something else entirely.

“What was that lovely British saying … do not count your victories before they are hatched?” He responded in an English accent, bringing her out of her memories. She did not correct his wording, aware it was intentional. Overconfidence. Was she taking something for a given? The child was a ward of the Russian Council - fact. There was going to be a custody hearing - another fact. They were going to use a blood test to determine her parentage - fact? She tried to think of an alternative. Her lungs restricted her airflow, realising she had assumed they would follow the British Ministry’s procedure. Perhaps the Council did things drastically differently. But even then, a blood test was the fastest way to get answers. Unless. Unless there was a powerful party involved that did not want the results to come out. Was Taigan implying that the Ulgens were going to fight even the test? She was sure her family could deduce much from this fact, but even to her, it was obvious that to avoid the test, the Ulgens would have to prove the child’s parentage mattered less than her magic. She doubted they could convince a room of traditional wixen that blood does not matter, but for all she knew, the Ulgens had enough political power to pull it off.

She imagined the meeting with the stuffy robes and protocols. The well-worded arguments going back and forth and the deals made behind closed doors. Through it all, she saw a small child sitting in the corner and listening to adults fight over her, each group wanting her for different reasons. A frightened child listening to people fight for her despite not even knowing her name. Lucretia felt protective over the girl and wished she could take her and run away. They would go somewhere the girl could be just a child, happy and safe. Now, her childhood was officially over, and she was a political pawn. The thought revolted the older witch.

“Why? You have - what is it - three metamorphagi in the family? What is one more going to change?” For surely the Ulgens’ determination had to be about more than just power. She was missing something.

Taigan’s smile slipped for a second, and he looked at his cup. “Families are complicated, as you well know. We have reasons to be pursuing this course of action, as do you and all parties involved. No one does anything without a reason.” Well, obviously, she thought, but let him go on. Some of the glint in his eyes returned as he explained, “Without a proper teacher, even the brightest pupils will struggle to reach their potential. Plus, some parts of the world are supposed to be quite unwelcoming of dark witches.”

In other words, the Blacks could not teach the child how to control her metamorphic ability, and Britain would be unsafe for her. He was not entirely wrong on either front, but these did not answer her question. It seemed as though revealing the Ulgens’ motivation was going too far. Despite everything, Taigan was always loyal to his family, and she was not going to push him further. She could question how he knew the child had a dark core, but that was a fair assumption if she was a Black. She could feel him growing unsettled and decided she would have to be a bit more careful in her questions. He owed her nothing and could end their meeting at any point. What more would her father like to know? She probably should have discussed this meeting with him beforehand, but she did not want him to think it was too risky. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Busy going through various questions, she almost missed Taigan’s comment. “I don’t believe this tearoom was open when you lived here. The Island has changed in the last few years, much like the rest of Russia.” She looked into his now ember eyes. Was he telling her that there was a big change she was missing? She wanted to ask him what exactly he meant but somehow felt his willingness to answer was swiftly declining. She was sure one of the Blacks had followed Russian political and social developments and could provide further insight.

She knew she should use this opportunity to get more details on their strategy, but she had a burning question. A question that she had kept asking herself all day. “Is no one going to try to find the home best for her?” sentimental fool, would be any Black’s reaction, but she did not care. She thought about the two children she had lost, one still in the womb and one at birth. If someone tried to put her children through this, she would have killed them. Dark witch or no, she would have found a prolonged and bloody way to make them suffer. Children were precious and a gift from the Mother, not this. All the back and forth as though they were discussing an object to be traded.

Taigan gave her one of the small smiles she had learned to hate after Iggy’s death. It conveyed pity and understanding as though that could lessen her grief and anger.

“We all think we know what is best for her. That is why we are here. We just have different definitions of what she needs.” she had nothing to say to that. The conceitedness of some wizards still astonished her. They only considered the girl as an extension of her ability and not as a living, breathing child with emotional needs and desires. Lucretia had felt the same way about her nephews and had dreamt of strangling Walburga for her parenting choices. Insufferable trollop.

They both drank their tea in silence, no doubt thinking about the upcoming obstacles. She knew that once they left this table, they would once again be on opposite sides of this case. But for now, they could pretend. That is how powerful Iggy’s presence was - even in death, he influenced their lives.

“What do you think he would have done?” There was only one ‘he’ Taigan could be referring to, and it was not surprising his mind had gone there as well. Despite being married for forty years, Lucretia was certain the wizard in front of her would never stop thinking of her late husband. It was their unspoken rule never to say Iggy’s name out loud. She reached out and took his hands in hers, letting him know she felt his pain. It was their shared pain, after all. They were the two people Iggy had loved the most in the universe.

She imagined Ignatius Prewitt going into the custody meeting and smiled. It had taken her years to smile when thinking of him. “He would have yelled at us for making this so complicated. Then, he would have asked the girl where she wanted to go. ‘And that is that!’” she quoted his favourite phrase. Taigan chuckled, but his eyes were still filled with torment.

“I’m no seer, but perhaps if your family is unhappy with their stay here, you should remain.” He squeezed her hand. “I am sure you miss your cottage, and you can get to know some new people. I reckon the creek would be perfect for a young mermaid.”

She laughed, tears in her eyes. ‘Mermaid’, that was what Iggy had called her. Apparently, she had been obsessed with the sea, and her wavy hair and blue eyes just proved his suspicions.

It was a generous offer to let her be a part of the child’s life regardless of the outcome. She could do it. The Blacks would hate it, but she had long since learned to ignore their expectations. She would have to think about it; right now, there were too many what-ifs.

Taigan gently removed his hand from hers and looked at his pocket watch.

“It is almost supper time. I should go.” She took down the privacy spell as he took out some coins and left them on the table. “It was wonderful to see you, Lucy. I hope you have a lovely visit.”

He gracefully stood from his chair, nodded to her, and stepped away. But then, as though he had forgotten something, he turned back and warned her, “We have a saying back home, ‘those most eager to help, are often those most eager to see you fall.’ Just something to think about.” With that cryptic message, Taigan left. She was not sure she knew what he meant; obviously, he was saying someone might betray her. But she was not sure if he meant one of the Blacks or someone in general. Her mind strayed to Alphie.

To distract herself, she reached for her tea, but it was cold. Instead of warming it, she stared at her cup and thought of everything she had learned. A lot, and yet nothing concrete. She was not looking forward to the political fiasco that was about to ensue. Perhaps she would go visit her cottage tomorrow - the flowers should be blooming and might attract some hippogryphs. She was going to need some time away from all this.

Lucretia did not know whether to thank Taigan for meeting her or curse him for leaving her with more questions than before. Now, she had to explain all this to the Blacks. Oh, joy.

Chapter 7: Looking Into The Yellow Eyes

Chapter Text

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Natalia invited them to sit down in the comfortable-looking armchairs. Cassiopeia chose the one closer to the window and discreetly looked about the room (the small parlour). The walls were a light green pattern with birds and evergreens, giving her the sensation she was walking into a forest. The room was neither demanding nor formal but rather welcoming, which was surprising given the Orlovs’ reputation for grandeur. This was, of course, not one of their main properties (they would have needed weeks to arrange a visit to their official manner in the countryside), but it was nonetheless a large estate close to St. Petersburg.

Tea and sweets appeared on the small table between the three armchairs, and Cassiopeia noticed there was a wide mix of British and Russian desserts (to represent Natalia’s life, perhaps). Their host took the middle seat as was customary and made herself some tea with honey and lemon. Natalia Dolohova nee Orlova did not look like her eighty years, she still moved gracefully, reminding all that she had been a great dancer in her youth. Her hands were steady (yet lined), her back was straight, and her eyes were shrewdly observing the newcomers. She followed the Russian tradition of veiling a woman's hair after becoming of marrying age (interestingly, she had not done so living in Britain). Cassiopeia did not know the intricacies of the custom but was aware there were many different styles and variations of the hair covering. Natalia had a wide band starting at her forehead and covering most of her hairline, yet they could still see her neck and white hair masterfully styled in the back. The band looked made out of silk with swirling patterns on it and had pearls that five formed flowers. She would have to look into the symbolism of these colours and materials as each Eastern European pureblood society had its own hair customs (even if they were not as popular with the younger generation).

After all three witches sat down and prepared their teas, Cassiopeia turned to their host, “Thank you for the invitation, it was most accommodating.” Arranging a meeting a few days in advance was not often done, especially among acquaintances (she did not feel comfortable calling Natalia a friend).

“Vell, I cannot say that I did not expect to see you. I am glad you vere able to come on a short notice.” Natalia declared, in a slight Russian accent. Even after living in Britain for decades, she still pronounced some consonants harshly.

“Your letter was most intriguing.” Cassiopeia honestly admitted, hoping they could discuss the child. After exchanging niceties (on their way from the floo room to this parlour), Natalia would hopefully speak more openly because Cassiopeia wanted to get more information about the political situation in Russia as it pertained to the child. No Black was ever trusting enough to take an outsider at their word (and so she had done her own research), but it never hurt to listen to a valuable perspective. Any insight Natalia provided (or details she omitted) could prove instrumental. “I have to admit it did catch us all by surprise.”

Natalia’s lips lifted into a small smile. “You, surprised? I vas not avare that vas possible.” She said sarcastically and took a bite from a chocolate-covered dessert. Then she continued in a most serious voice, “I do not believe anyone could have foreseen this event. Such tragedy.” She sounded sincere, which was not really that surprising, most of wizarding kind would sympathise with a magical child left in a muggle orphanage.

“Could you tell us more about her? Her name or age, perhaps?” requested the third witch in a concerned voice. Cassiopeia was proud of her, she was playing her role of the overly concerned maternal figure quite well. The worry in her eyes would make people, especially wizards, underestimate her and hopefully let details slip. After all, it was easy to see her delicate features and doll-like appearance and forget that Narissa Black possessed a brilliant political mind.

Natalia scrutinised the youngest witch as though searching for something but then relented. “I do not know much. My grandnephew Simo, he vas the one who found her and brought her to the Hoff, our Ministry for Magic. He vas so sad and angry and said the orphanage vas a horrible place for a young vitch. He vas not supposed to tell anyone about her, but he did inform me about it. He could not say much, just that she changed her eye colour when she vas anxious. I know she is younger than eleven because he assured me she had not missed out on any schooling. More than that, I do not know.” She looked at both Blacks as though to make it clear that they could get nothing out of pressing her further.

“We are very grateful. Please, pass along our gratitude to your grandnephew.” acknowledged Cissa with a small but warm smile. Natalia just nodded, probably confused about the Black witch’s openness.

“Yes, his actions are indeed commendable. It is also serendipitous that he told you, and only you, about finding the child. And that you knew to send for us.” Cassiopeia mused, trying not to come on too strong, but she was highly suspicious. Why had Natalia contacted them? What did she gain from helping the Blacks? She had considered skipping this line of questioning, yet Pollux had insisted they needed to know more about Natalia’s motivation. And as Cassiopeia was actively trying to coexist with her brother at the moment, she decided to go ahead and broach the subject.

Natalia’s face did not betray anything, yet her eyes almost made her seem amused. “After my cousin died young, I vas there for much of his children’s lives. His son, Kazimir, often visited Britain growing up. Kazimir is Simo’s father, and as such, the young wizard sees me as his grandmother. We are quite close, and he told me about his difficult day at vork.” Cassiopeia was unsatisfied with the answer, she wanted to know why the wizard had broken the rules to tell his sudo-grandmother of all people. And why had Natalia risked angering the Ulgens by contacting the Blacks? Her face must have conveyed her displeasure because Natalia smiled and continued, “Does it matter vhy he chose to tell me? You know about her existence and are here to fight for her, no? I think, it is far more important to discuss vhat stands in your vay.”

Cassiopeia understood that their host was hiding something and was not going to willingly give up the information. She had to, reluctantly, admit that Pollux had been right, understanding Natalia’s motivation was an important piece of the puzzle (because this was too much of a coincidence for her liking). The stubborn part of her wanted to insist on getting to the bottom of this, her curiosity had been piqued. But she wrestled into submission the part of herself that hoarded knowledge like a dragon, aware there were many more important questions.

She nodded in acquiescence and drank her tea. She found it way too strong but made sure her displeasure did not register. They could greatly benefit from a deeper relationship with Natalia, and so Cassiopeia was not going to let some bad tea get in her way of information. She decided to get back to the crux of the matter, the Ulgens and the Russian pureblood families.

“You are right, of course. We appreciate your grandnephew’s forewarning, could we perhaps meet him to thank him in person?” An inconspicuous question, perhaps to some, it could appear as just good manners, but to those able to pick up on subtleties, it was a big test. Natalia might have been born an Orlova and might be currently living here, but she was the Dowager Lady of another (British) House. Meeting with her could be easily explained because of the witches’ background and running in similar circles. But an audience with the Orlovs (even if not the direct Heir) would have political significance going into the Custody Meeting. If they met, it would indicate some support for the Blacks.

“As I am sure you know, the Orlovs are the most powerful grey family in Russia. In a world vhere the light and dark pull everyone apart, it is not always easy to remain grey,” said Natalia as an explanation. “Some believe that neutrals should stick together.” Cassiopeia did not like the sound of that, not at all. Of course, she had considered the possibility that the Orlovs might side with the Ulgens - a family that had light, grey, and dark witches but was politically neutral. She looked into Natalia’s eyes and tried to figure out where their host stood on this issue. Why would she send her the letter if she supported the Ulgens? “Of course, there are those who believe that being grey does not mean being inactive. Vhen the vorld demands you only have two bad options to choose from, the grey provide a third way.”

Cassiopeia relaxed slightly when hearing the last statement, it seemed as though coming here had not been a mistake after all. And if she had to be honest, she did agree with some of what the grey witch was arguing. Grindelwald and then Voldemort’s actions had made it difficult for some to call themselves dark, especially in Britain, without being forced to justify mass murder. The polarisation between the fanatical dark and light meant that some dark witches and wizards had to reevaluate their stance. Her friend Alarice Greengrass and her whole family, for example, had left the dark faction in the Wizengamot (moving into the grey one) because they had not agreed with the new radical direction of the dark. Using Natalia’s definition, choosing the grey faction would mean avoiding the light and the dark’s extremism, which was a sentiment Cassiopeia agreed with wholeheartedly. Cassiopeia, who had always (proudly) identified herself as a dark witch, questioned her affinity for the first time. This would require some more thinking or a lot of Veela wine (preferably both). But before all that, she needed to concentrate on the conversation in front of her.

“In which group of these grey do the Orlovs fall?” Cassiopeia plainly asked.

“Both. Our Head is… undecided. Our House has been divided for years now, and this case is no different. I am not sure vhat tomorrow will bring.” warned Natalia in a sad voice, as though the state of her family caused her great pain (and perhaps it did). Cassiopeia was glad she had done some research on the Orlovs to understand the reference: after the grandson of the current Head (Isaak) had died eight years ago, the question of succession had arisen. The problem was that even though there was a named Heir, Atanas, he had no other sons or even grandsons, meaning that someone else had to inherit the Lordship after him. Cousins had claimed they should be next in line and perhaps shift the line of succession to exclude Atanas, causing rifts in the family. These rifts had somewhat weakened the Orlovs in recent years, which was both a good and bad thing in the current situation. Had the Orlovs been at foul strength and decided to side with the Ulgens, it would have been disastrous. However, in their weakened state, even if Isaak made the final decision to back with the Ulgens, the Blacks still stood a chance. The real question was who the Orlovs would support tomorrow and if there was a way to sway their vote in the Black’s favour. Was there a way to get to Isaak before the vote? He would probably be difficult to bribe, the wizard was, by all accounts, a grouchy old man who hated almost everyone and everything. But he refused to step down or choose a succession line. Ha, he reminded her of Arcturus a tiny bit (or at least her perception of her cousin before this summer)!

Going back on track, if the greys were undecided, she needed to make sure the light and dark factions were on their side. She had already contacted Anneli Jokinen to see if her family could contact the light leaders, the Konstantinovs. Her friend would have better luck at contacting them than the infamously dark family such as the Blacks. She awaited a response from her friend, but regardless of what Anneli was able to do, the Blacks had a backup plan. Leaving something entirely up to a third party was just not in their nature.

“I am not really familiar with the Russian procedure, what should we expect tomorrow?” innocently asked Cissa, diverting the conversation away from the Orlovs. Natalia was unlikely to let anything slip about her family, but if she was really on their side, she should be willing to tell them about the others involved.

“The meeting is not going to be open to the whole Council, our Wizengamot, and there will be a small committee.” This could be good and bad, calculated Cassiopeia, because there would be fewer variables, but also, each vote would weigh a lot more. “There will be two representatives from each of the three coalitions and, of course, the Orator. Usually, the committee is formed by two random representatives from each faction, but this case is different. Each faction leader will be present there tomorrow, together with another powerful Lord or Lady. A magical child in a muggle orphanage and a metamorphmagus as well.” Cassiopeia tried to suppress her sigh.

“So, they are all aware of her ability, then?” she was, to be honest, not really surprised, after all, news like this travelled fast. Plus, Lucretia had confirmed that the Ulgens had learned of the child’s ability despite none of them working at the Russian Ministry.

“Though Simo did not put her ability in her file, he could not hide the fact when she changed in front of others.” Ah, she had, of course, considered this possibility because stress and fear would do that to a metamorphmagus. Also, what child would not be afraid after discovering she is a witch and being taken away by strangers? Poor little one, she had a difficult road ahead of her (no matter the outcome of the Hearing). Even if the Blacks won the case, she would have to move to another country, learn about an entire new world, and leave everything familiar behind. “There will be those who will try to claim the child because of her ability,” meaning the Ulgens, “but also those who would benefit from denying your request regardless of her ability.” This could refer to some of the Orlovs who wanted to side with the Ulgens. Or she could be referring to the light leaders, the Konstantinovs, or the dark ones, the Garins. She shuddered at the thought of the Garins somehow managing to take the child. Over her dead body.

“There is a new Orator, it is Dominik Garin, he is…” Cassiopeia stopped listening after that. Dominik Garin, born in 1910, was the younger brother of the previous Lord Garin, the foremost researcher of black magic (the darkest of the dark magic like soul magic and Necromancy), and one of the most misogynistic bastards she had ever had the misfortune of meeting. Now, he was the Orator (she still needed to figure out if that was equivalent to the Chief Warlock or the Minister of Magic … or both) and had a say in the girl’s life. Lady Magic was really tasting her patience because, of course, their paths had to cross again. She had hoped to move on to the afterlife before hearing his name again, thinking that after his nephew had become Lord Garin (following the death of Dominik’s brother), there should be no reason for him to be involved in this case. And what was worse, as the Orator had the tiebreaker vote, she wanted to bash her head into a wall. Splendid. Perhaps he could die in his sleep tonight, was that too much to ask for? She sent a prayer to Lady Magic: let him not wake up.

“There is a new Orator - it’s Dominik Garin. He is the uncle to the current Lord Garin. He is very … passionate about what he believes is a declining number of dark wizards in Russia. And well, in the last fifty years, the Garins have embraced some antiquated views about society and women.” The Dowager’s face clearly conveyed her displeasure with this dark family and their beliefs. Narcissa wondered whether British grey families talked about the Blacks and Malfoys in a similarly derisive manner. “They have been pushing for all witches to have more children, and the previous Lord wanted women to start marrying earlier and marry older men. The Garins have employed such practices and argue it is the only way to prevent the deterioration of magical communities.” The elderly witch’s cheeks turned red with anger. As though had the Garins been present, she would take them over her knee and slap some sense into them. This must be especially frustrating to someone like the Dowager, who had championed for witches' equality in Britain by applying popular ideas from home. Back in the 1920s, Russia must have been more advanced in its treatment of women as most of them worked and were not expected to stay at home once they had children. In recent decades, it seemed, there had been a shift away from that. A pity.

The debate surrounding witches’ role in a shrinking pureblood society was very familiar to Narcissa. As one of three sisters, her mother had insisted they all learned about this discourse so they could prepare themselves and never be caught off guard. And her father, despite his flaws, had supported their independence and aspirations. To some extent, of course. Bella had obtained a Mastery in Defense, and Narcissa had continued her studies of Runes. She had gotten far in her study under Master Wallberg, but with the war’s increasing intensity, he had moved to Canada. She had been so infuriated that she had made Lucious sleep in the guest room for a month. He had had the ill-advised idea of offering to find her a new Master, one of the Dark Lord’s followers, not realising how much it had meant to her to be selected by Master Wallberg based on her grades and hard work. Not her family connections or fear.

After her exposure to the Death Eaters, Narcissa was very aware some wholly believed women were little more than pretty wombs. Lucius had tried to hide some of the worst comments from her, for which she had loved him even more. But her husband sometimes forgot she had been instructed alongside with and by Bella. She might not need to challenge all those who insulted her, but she did always note their faces and voices. Some of them were dead, others rotting in Azkaban, and the rest had been politically and economically ruined. And her role in any of it could not be proven. A Black never forgets. And as a woman, she was often overlooked, making it easier to arrange her vengeance.

The Dowager’s words might be disheartening to hear, but they also made Narcissa’s role more crucial. She was going to use everything she had learned from being underestimated by the Death Eaters and present herself as the perfect pureblood wife and mother worried about a young child. During their family meeting, they had decided that they needed a way to counter the Ulgens’ rational approach and what better than the ideal maternal figure. Emotional and driven by maternal instincts but still pliant enough not to be a threat. After all, she was very used to acting and looking like the perfect doll. The one that all those sick twits wanted to mould every woman into. Knowing the Garins viewed women as mothers above all, made her mask even more valuable.

And not all that righteous indignation for the child’s safety and wellbeing was going to be a farce. She did care, and she did want the child to have a happy life. A part of her wished she could raise her at Malfoy Manor. She had always wanted to give Dragon a sibling, but the healer had strongly advised against another pregnancy, claiming she would likely not survive it. Still, she was not foolishly naive to think that the Blacks would ever allow Lucius that much access to a Black child. They knew he was a marked Death Eater, regardless of the Imperius Defence. The Black Lord had been clear: the Blacks would never again serve another. Meaning that an inner circle Death Eater would more definitely not be a close ally. She had been thrilled by the proclamation, there would be at least one area of her life where she could cleanse herself of the Dark Lord. If only it were that easy to do the same with her husband, but alas, his Dark Mark would always serve as a reminder.

She shook herself from the familiarly distressing train of thought and looked around. The room was silent as they all seemed to be stuck in their own contemplations. The Dowager was no doubt still cursing the Garins in her head, and Aunt Cass was doing whatever her genius mind did with new information. To Narcissa, a few things had become evident from their host’s words. First, the Garins might be a problem, and her grandfather would be the best way to diffuse the situation. As a conservative wizard himself, Pollux would understand their stance best and could hopefully nudge them to vote in their favour. As for the Ulgens, they now had confirmation that the Orlovs might back them. The obvious choice here would be sending in Lucretia to work on her contact, but Narcissa personally felt Uncle Alphard might be better suited for the job. Despite how others saw him, she had never met a person he could not charm. Perhaps even Isaak Orlov could not resist the wizard’s winning personality. His charm and false openness were a bit painful to watch - it reminded her too much of Siri. No, she was not going to think about him. Not after what he had said to her the last time they met. He was an absolute ninny.

As her mind shifted to Azkaban, Narcissa briefly looked at Dowager Dolohov and stared into her eyes. They reminded her of her grandson’s. Light brown, yet in the dark, they looked almost yellow - she clearly remembered it. The elder witch looked at Narcissa shrewdly, catching her staring. She raised both eyebrows in question as though impatient with her guest’s youth. But what was Narcissa supposed to say when it was well known that she had never been marked, and so she would have little reason to communicate with Antonin Dolohov. He had not been a close friend of Lucius despite being in the same year in Slytherin. Then, when both were in the inner circle, friendship had not really been on anyone’s mind. So, for all anyone knew, Narcissa and Antonin had never been close. Still, one thing did connect them, one night, to be more specific.

Oh, not like that! She was not dimwitted enough to cheat on one Death Eater with another. No, a deeper and darker secret lay between Antonin and her. She remembered looking into his yellow eyes, knowing that he could have her killed with one sentence. But it had never come. And so Antonin Dolohov, the one the public had named “the Butcher”, had saved her life. She had never officially acknowledged the life debt, but it was there, the magic festered and wanted the score to be settled. Looking at Antonin’s grandmother, Narcissa felt magic’s painful reminder of what she had done. Not just ignoring what she owed but going much further. Did she regret it? No. At the end of the war, Narcissa had signed the piece of paper without any regrets. And her plan had almost worked perfectly. If only Bella had not gone and mocked things up, Narcissa would have had her sister and her husband with her. So what if she had been forced to betray Dolohov? She was a Black, and family was everything. Others mattered little, if not at all.

She looked Dowager Dolohov in the eyes and gave her a small, warm smile. She fought to ignore the powerful magical sting of the unfulfilled life debt and poured herself more tea. Delicious.

Chapter 8: The Secret Keeper

Chapter Text

In their youth, Melania had criticised Arcturus for micromanaging the people around him. Apparently, he liked to be in control of every detail and never thought others would meet his standards. She had warned him time and time again that a great Lord delegated according to his family’s strengths, and anything less would lead to discontent. A younger Arcturus had dismissed her concerns because he had secretly believed himself capable of all. With his eidetic memory, powerful dark core, and nearly unlimited funds, little had truly scared him. To this version of himself, it would be unthinkable that one day, he would step back and let others take over the family. And even more so that he would watch from the sidelines as his family slowly fell apart. He would probably be terrified and convinced his older self had been under the Imperious or possessed. But younger Arcturus did not know anything about grief, loss, and fear, so he did not get a say.

Later in life, he had become intimately acquainted with the pervasive sensation of powerlessness. He had watched his mother and wife waste away to sickness, his little sister to depression, and there had been Orion. His son, the person Arcturus had sacrificed everything for, and even knowing the outcome, he was not sure he would have changed anything. Others would never understand Arcturus’ decisions: Cassiopeia would probably curse him with some highly illegal spells; Pollux would be disgusted and call him a soft-hearted fool. But they did not understand; he had seen a way to save his son, and he had taken it. And now he was to be the last Black Lord; all the knowledge and power would die with him.

Alone in Holkham Hall, he had much time to reflect on his legacy. He had come to understand one fundamental truth: Melania Black was always right. Arcturus was aware of his flaws as a leader and could admit his fallibility. He had gone from overseeing every single aspect of the Black family to a recluse in a matter of a few years. If he had any chance to restore the Black name, he would need to find a balance and follow Malenia’s advice. He wished she could see him now, giving others tasks and allowing them to work independently. Although Melania would have probably still jinxed him, being displeased that it was taking him so long to secure custody of the child. He could almost feel the sting of her magic. What could he say, patience had never been his wife’s strong suit.

“I heard back from my friend, the Jokinens have contacted the Konstantinovs,” reported Cassiopeia, who was in charge of opening a channel of communication with the light Russian faction. “The light faction is making no promises without negotiations, but what exactly they are after is unclear. Anneli writes that they will not stick their necks out for us and vote against the greys and darks. But if they believe the vote has enough traction in our favour, they will help us.”

“For a price,” added Pollux matter of factly.

“For a price.” Cassiopeia confirmed.

“We cannot trust the light faction. They have not put down any clear terms for this favour. I do not like this.” declared Pollux, and no one disagreed. His cousin might be prejudiced against light wizards, but he was correct about this. They had to be very careful about who they could rely on.

“We will proceed with caution. Cassiopeia, you will thank the Jokinens for their help so far, and after we go home, we will find a way to return the favour. According to protocol, today’s Hearing will be a preliminary one. They will present all the facts and discuss all the possibilities, but they will not make any decisions. There will be another final meeting in a day or two where the committee will vote. We should have time between the two meetings to put any plans into action and secure the necessary votes. Today, we will lay down the foundations and see what we have to work with. For the light faction, Cassiopeia, try to secure a direct channel with the Konstantinovs.” Arcturus tried to be clear with his instructions to prevent any misunderstandings and curb his instinct to take over everyone’s tasks.

“If contacting the Konstantinovs directly proves difficult, we could perhaps reach out to the second light family on the Hearing committee. They should be under less political scrutiny and so more willing to speak with us,” suggested Narcissa, avoiding Arcturus’s gaze. It seemed he would need to reassure his grandniece that her input was appreciated. Or perhaps she was so used to hiding behind the mask of the perfect socialite wife that she had internalised this meek behaviour. Regardless, it would have to go. He was going to speak to her later.

“Indeed, as Dowager Dolohov confirmed to Cassiopeia and Narcissa, there will be six voting members. Two from each of the three factions. The Garins, Orlovs, and Kostantinovs are the leaders of their respective factions, so we need to ensure their votes. The rest will follow. Cassiopeia, follow Narcissa’s suggestion. They will pass along our message to the Konstantinovs because the smaller Houses rarely vote independently.” he clarified and hoped that it would not come to bargaining with the light faction. Salazar only knew what they would demand in exchange for helping a dark family. “Let us move on to the grey faction.”

“Dowager Dolohova said the Orlov House is divided on whether to help the Ulgen or not. In general, the grey faction is more independent, meaning that securing the Orlovs’ vote does not guarantee us both grey votes. Also, Isaak’s vote could go either way. The old man is unpredictable and refuses to listen to the rest of his family, which can be a good and a bad thing for us.” summarised Cassiopeia, visibly unimpressed with the grey faction leadership.

“Lord Orlov is our age,” Pollock commented dryly.

“He is ten years older. And it is not his age that makes him an old man, but rather his grouchy behaviour,” explained Cassiopeia, and Arcturus was reminded of the siblings’ endless arguments growing up. He decided to change the topic to avoid another 1931 Ostara explosion.

“Whatever Isaak’s character might be, he still holds one vote that could end up being crucial. Even if the other grey member votes for the Ulgens, we should try to secure Isaak’s support,” he stated, hoping against all odds, they would not have to rely on the pig-headed Isaak Orlov to achieve their goal.

“He either loves you or he hates you,” said Cassiopeia as though trying to figure out a riddle.

“He likes to collect everything unique but discards it once the novelty wears off, and he loses interest,” added Lucretia, and everyone turned to her, surprised. Lucretia had sat at the edge of the table as though unsure she wanted to participate and had remained quiet for their meetings today and yesterday. She flushed under the attention and crossed her arms defensively. “What? I picked up a few things when I lived here.” she justified herself unnecessarily.

“We should send Alphard, then,” announced Narcissa before Arcturus had a chance to respond to his daughter’s comment. A part of him wanted to tell the rest to take a break and speak to Lucretia alone. His Lucretia. She was right here, in front of him. They had not had the chance to talk about much other than logistics and debriefing after her meeting with Taigan Ulgen. He had so much he needed to tell her and wanted to know everything he had missed in her life. But some part of him was happy to have this extra time before they returned home because he feared her rejection. Arcturus Sirius Black was terrified he could lose his daughter again.

Deep in his thoughts, he half listened to the conversation around him.

“You flatter me, little flower.” mused Alphard in his usual melodic tone. “But I am not sure how I can persuade a ‘grouchy old man’ to cooperate.”

“As if you have ever struggled to charm anyone.” scoffed Lucretia. To which Alphard simply offered a dazzling smile.

“If Lord Orlov is such an eccentric man who loves new and interesting things, we shall give him a mystery he cannot refuse. A dead man walking.” offered Narcissa, and Arcturus carefully thought through her advice.

“We could ask Natalia and perhaps some of your contacts, Lucretia, to spread the word of his miraculous return.” Arcturus flushed out the idea and then turned to his nephew. “This will mean the whole world will probably learn that you are indeed alive.”

Alphard’s smile did not falter, but there was a shadow of something lurking behind his storm-grey eyes. “I wouldn’t have returned if I wasn’t ready for the world to know it. If my past can intrigue the grumpy Lord enough to secure us a vote, then I am all for it.”

“Let me guess, you will tease the old man with your secrets, but you will not actually tell him anything substantive.” Dear Salazar, Cassiopeia was pouting! Arcturus had never seen that expression on his cousin, or at least not once she had turned ten. Cassiopeia probably had tried to interrogate the wizard about his whereabouts for the last nine years. Alphard’s laugh probably meant she had failed to get her answers.

Arcturus was so busy preparing for this case that he had not had the chance to speak with Alphard beyond confirming his willingness to help claim the child. Arcturus was not as direct as his cousin because he was certain of the most important thing: his nephew’s loyalty. As a child, Alphard had been spirited and often caused headaches for Pollux and Irma. Some had viewed his carefree lifestyle as a stain on the family name, and Walburga had gleefully removed him from the family tree after helping Sirius financially. But Arcturus saw no fault with a young man having fun in his youth and was proud Alphard had never turned his back on the Black Heir. Who could really blame him for faking his death when he had a choice between bowing to one megalomaniac or blindly following another! Coming for the Gathering and dropping everything to come to Russia had affirmed Arcturus’s belief that Alphard had never denounced his surname. And that was more than enough for now.

“Let him be.” defended Pollux, probably thrilled to have his son back and wanting to do everything possible to keep him close. Quite frankly, Pollux was handling his son’s reappearance much better than Arcturus would have done in his place. And as far as he was aware, the two had not spoken much between the Family Gathering and now. Pollux must be bursting with questions and no doubt his son was purposely delaying answering them. Arcturus could sympathise with his cousin; he felt similarly toward Lucretia, whom he had not seen since Orion and Regulus’s funerals in 1979. Eight years. He had not seen his daughter for eight years and desperately wanted to fix things between them. Yet, through it all, Arcturus had relied on the Black magic, which linked them all and assured him she was alive.

“Fine, fine. But I still think Alphie’s supreme charm might not be enough,” argued Cassiopeia, and she was right.

“There is something that could perhaps help,” Arcturus stated, taking out a plain-looking black diary. This small leather-bound book would appear ordinary to an outsider, and its magic would compel people to lose interest and look away. Only those with Black blood could see a crest on the cover - three ravens mid-flight. The family crest. A murder of crows, a fitting symbol for a deadly and powerful House.

“Is that …” began Cassiopeia with a hint of awe in her voice. Her hands flexed as though she was restraining herself from reaching for the book. Pollux was staring at the diary with a mixture of reverence and trepidation. Lucretia, who liked to tell everyone that she did not care for family politics, looked beyond intrigued. And Narcissa’s eyes sparkled like a child let loose at Zonkos.

“And here I was, thinking my darling sister had destroyed it.” Alphard broke the silence. His usual relaxed smile was still in place, but his eyes betrayed his indifference.

Each Black child grew up hearing legends about this book, and some never saw it in person. Though it looked inconspicuous, this book was more powerful than any spell book. It contained thousands of secrets and scandals spanning across Western Europe. This was the Black Book of Secrets containing centuries of blackmail able to cripple Houses and governments. And as Alphard pointed out, everyone had thought it was destroyed.

“Indeed. Not that I understood why you named Wally the Keeper, but I do believe burning our most precious family heirloom proved me right about her. I believe it was in 1968 when she went on one of her tirades and burned it. She used fiendfyre, did she not?” stated Cassiopeia accusingly.

Each member of the family received a similar-looking diary on their seventeenth birthday. The books got keyed to their blood, so only the owner could ever read or write in them. Every diary was linked to this main Book, allowing the secrets to be gathered in this small black book. The Black Book Secrets had its own Keeper, a person who agreed to protect the family secrets and never go against the House’s principles. The position of Keeper was a great honour because only they could read the collection of secrets and were aware of who added what information. In the history of the Black House, a total of one person had ever refused the position. Once they took the oath, the position lasted for life. Unless the whole family unanimously voted a Keeper out, which had happened only two times since the Blacks moved from France in the eleventh century. The Lord was the one who offered the position once it became vacant, and the two often worked closely. In a way, the Keeper was an advisor for the Lord and, if needed, could serve as a check to the Head’s power.

“For the Keeper’s protection, sometimes it is better to name one public Keeper but have the real one work in secret. This is the case with Walburga. My father had named Belivna Burke the Keeper, and after her death in 1962, I had to name the next one. It was easy for most to assume that Walburga would get the position; she was steadily becoming the public face of the family. No one really questioned it. I was the only one who knew the identity of the Keeper.” Arcturus countered and could feel the barrage of questions coming his way. He put up his hand to let him explain. “It was Dorea Potter.” Arcturus’s heart hurt at the thought of his younger cousin, and he could see the pain on both Cassiopeia and Pollux’s faces. Her death had been a real blow to the Black family.

“But we lost Dorea in 1977…” began Cassiopeia. Arcturus understood what was left unsaid, who had taken over after her.

“Yes, after that, I offered the position to Druella.” he heard Narcissa gasp, no doubt surprised she had never known her mother had been the Keeper. “It is uncommon, yet not unheard of, to have someone married into the family become the Keeper. Druella was often dismissed as a socialite, but she had one of the keenest minds. She was the Keeper until her death three years ago. There has not been a new Keeper since.” he put the book on the table and could feel everyone’s eyes glued to the small diary. What he did not mention was that he had not planned on naming another Keeper.

“I understand why you asked my daughter to be the decoy Keeper, to protect Dorea’s identity. But I am still unclear why you asked her to burn our Book publicly?” asked Pollux, voice filled with accusation. Arcturus understood his frustration; the burning of the Book had been the final act that cemented Walburga’s image as unhinged and uncaring toward the rest of the Blacks. The disownments could have been justified by her political bias, but the Book was one of their most precious family heirlooms. With this one action, she had turned from mad to irredeemable in the eyes of most family members.

“In the 60s, the Dark Lord’s power was growing, especially among the dark families. In the quest to impress him, many offered money, land, and heirlooms. The Black Book was famous and powerful enough that I knew the Dark Lord would go after it. It was only a matter of time before we had to make a choice: give him our Book or deny him, making us his enemy. With these options in mind, I decided it would be best if the Black Book disappeared. Walburga orchestrated the whole scene so that everyone would believe the Book was gone and stop looking for it.” Arcturus recounted all the planning that had gone into securing the Book.

“Are you…” began Pollux.

“You cannot be…” demanded Cassiopeia simultaneously. The two looked at each other, and after what seemed like a heated silent conversation, Pollux continued.

“Are you saying that my daughter worked with you against the Dark Lord?” his disbelief was evident.

“Many of you might not know this, but Orion was in the same year in Hogwarts as the Dark Lord.” he saw their horrified and intrigued faces but was glad they were proper enough to hold their questions. “Despite her many flaws, Walburga was a Black first and everything else second. Walburga and Orion both thought that the Dark Lord was the best solution to the restrictions on magic in Britain. That does not mean they ever wanted to bow to a half-blood.”

The room erupted in questions, and the Blacks’ usual poise disappeared.

“Blasphemy!” spat Pollux, his face red with indignation.

“Walburga didn’t bow to that monster?! What about Reggie? He was only sixteen when they marked him. He didn’t choose to become a Death Eater!” shouted Cassiopeia over her brother.

“You can’t make excuses for that horrid woman!” exclaimed Lucretia more passionately than he had seen from her in decades. Arcturus had forgotten how much his daughter hated Walburga. She might also hate him once he told her everything he had done. He was not sure if he could survive her rejection a second time around.

“Bad Voldy Moldy!” Alphard quipped, while Narcissa was laughing and seemed on the verge of hysteria.

Arcturus let the Black family magic loose in the room, and they all quieted down. It was a trick he had learned from his grandfather, very useful for controlling a room full of unruly Blacks.

“We will not be discussing the Dark Lord today. The Blacks will never again bow to anyone, serve anyone, or even consider entering such an unequal partnership. This is final.” he looked at each person to make sure they were listening. Pollux seemed most unhappy, but Arcturus did not have the time to speak to him individually. “As for Walburga. Yes, she made many foolish decisions, such as removing people from the family tapestry. Or standing back when Bellatrix and Regulus were marked. I am not going to apologise for her actions. But I will tell you that Walburga valued the Black legacy enough that she was willing to deceive the Lord she supported.” He did not add that she had only agreed after he had informed her of the Dark Lord’s parentage. Cassiopeia and Lucretia looked unhappy but pacified for the moment; Alphard and Narcissa seemed deep in thought. Pollux looked confused but resigned.

“We went off topic.” Arcturus pointed to the Black book. “This Book survived, and we have not had a Keeper for three years now. I am not sure if there is information about any of the Russian families, but it is worth checking.”

He looked at his family, still disbelieving they were all in the same room. As the last Lord Black, he was the only one who could appoint a new Keeper, but with their House dying out, he had accepted that Druella would be the last Keeper. But now, there was to be a child with the Black name. Even if she could not inherit the male hereditary title, their name would continue for another generation. This fact alone had been enough to push him to name another Keeper. He had considered all family members, and three names had stood out.

Cassiopeia. Perhaps the obvious choice, for she was an unparalleled intellectual genius. She had connections around the world and was one of the most logical people he knew. She would be a great Keeper, but he wanted someone younger; someone who could make the position their own and really offer a new perspective. Also, as a Keeper, Cassiopeia would be forced to spend a lot more time in Britain, and he did not want to restrict her movement.

Narcissa. Much like her mother, he was sure she would make a remarkable Keeper. Her loyalty to the Malfoys was not a concern of his. Arcturus could tell she was more of a Black than a Malfoy. No, the issue was that the Keeper often had to work from the shadows. They were rarely loud political figures, and he did not want to encourage Narcissa to hide her brilliance. He had plans for her, and they included public appearances and putting her cunning mind to use.

And his last choice had been more of a feeling. Charismatic, sociable, and young, Alphard was theoretically the best candidate. Ever since Alphard had walked into the Family Gathering, Arcturus could not help but notice the false mask his nephew wore all the time. The charm and the jokes were a facade that was only betrayed by his expressive eyes. The only issue was whether Alphard would be willing to take the oath to serve for the good of the family. But the Black magic seemed to nudge Arcturus toward the younger wizard. And he had learned to trust the magic’s pushes.

“Alphard. Do you choose to protect the House of Black from enemies and friends?” Arcturus spoke the ritualistic words. Cassiopeia and Lucretia did not seem surprised by his choice. Pollux looked at his son with evident pride, and Narcissa was trying to look happy for her uncle and hide her disappointment.

Alphard’s face was blank. No smirk, no eyerole, no eyebrow twitch in sight.

“Are you sure?” he questioned. “You don’t know where I have been for the last nine years, what I was doing, or if you can really trust me.”

“True,” admitted Arcturus, and all of these points had occurred to him. “But if you did not want the best for this family, you would not have returned for the Family Gathering. Or you would have jumped at this opportunity without trying to dissuade me. Plus, the Black magic is insistent.”

Cassiopeia bit her lower lip, no doubt beyond curious about the magic’s level of consciousness. Perhaps that would be her next project. Meanwhile, Alphard seemed to be debating how to proceed. Arcturus knew he would never pressure anyone into the Keeper position, and so he waited. He wished he could give his nephew time to decide, but everything was moving so quickly before the Custody Hearing. They needed to check what information was available in the Book, and only the Keeper could access it.

“I accept,” confirmed Alphard, sounding more serious than ever before. Arcturus was glad the wizard seemed to understand the gravity of the situation. Alphard put his hand on the book, palm facing up. Arcturus wordlessly transfigured a pen into a pricking needle and let a few drops of blood fall on the cover. Then he reached for the Black magic and asked.

“New blood for new secrets. Keeper of the blood, do you swear on your honour to protect all Blacks? Do you swear on your magic to hide our secrets? Do you swear on your life to protect the Black line?” He could feel the magic tying Alphard to the book.

“I do so swear.” proclaimed Alphard, looking at his blood dripping onto the Book’s cover. As the wizard accepted the oath, there was a slight glow from the drops of blood on the cover. Then, the blood disappeared into the pages.

Arcturus looked at the others. “You will each make a vow on your magic never to reveal the identity or even the existence of the Keeper. You will in no way communicate this with others, and if this information is somehow compromised, you will inform me immediately.” This was non-negotiable, for Alphard’s safety was now paramount. As the Keeper, he had access to all the Black blackmail material and often Black family members’ secrets.

One after the other, each Black took out their wand and made the vow. Then and only then did Alphard take the book and open it. To everyone else, it would be an empty diary, but judging by his nephew’s expression, that was not the case for him.

“As Alphard is getting acquainted with the Book, there was another issue I wanted to bring up. Cassiopeia will work on the light faction, Alphard will approach Lord Orlov, and Lucretia, and I hope you can continue your correspondence with Taigan Ulgen.” After his daughter’s nod, he continued. “That leaves the Garins. They are not only the leaders of the dark faction, but Dominik Garin is also the current Orator. Lord Marat Garin will dictate both dark votes, and Dominik Garin, as the Orator, will get a vote in case of a tiebreaker. This means that the dark faction is the most crucial one. We should have a way to approach them that does not rely on blackmail. I do not wish to completely alienate them as they could prove a good long-term partner.” Arcturus saw Cassiopeia’s nostrils flare in disgust. His cousin had made her opinion of the Garins clear. However, Arcturus did not care about their views on witches and their role in society. Working with finding strong European dark allies had too many benefits to be concerned with the moral considerations of such an action.

“I might have something.” indicated Narcissa. “I have never met Marat or Dominik, but I did meet Marat’s son and Heir, Fydor, at an event in France. His mother is French, and he was there with friends. Fydor is spoiled and used to getting everything he wants, including women. He was very upset when I was not smitten by his attention. I have no doubt I can speak to him again, though I am unsure how much power he has over his father’s vote.”

“It is my understanding that the Heirs often join their Heads of Houses during meetings. With such an important case, it is likely he will be in the room. Even if he cannot influence his father, the Heirs are allowed and even encouraged to ask questions. He could be quite the useful ally.” elaborated Cassiopeia, no doubt coming up with pointed questions that could help the Blacks’ argument.

“And what would Lucius have to say about this?” asked Pollux, clearly uncomfortable with his married granddaughter flirting with a man for information.

Narcissa calmly reprimanded him, “He will be highly disappointed if I am careless enough to be caught speaking to Fydor in public. But I will be discreet.” No doubt she had done something similar many times before; after all, it was a part of the socialite image. Lucius perhaps was unaware of how many deals his wife had smoothed over just with her dazzling smile and pretty words. How he missed his Melania at this moment; she would have the perfect words to chastise Pollux’s old-fashioned patriarchal views, while assuring Narcissa she did not have to do anything that made her uncomfortable. His wife had been a remarkable witch.

“If you think it could work, do it.” Instructed Arcturus, thinking it was a long shot but still worth pursuing. Before he could say anything else, Alphard’s laugh distracted him.

“Oh, this is good. Wow, I definitely didn’t expect this,” he said while reading the Book. He looked up with a mischievous smile. “The information is organised pretty well, so it’s fairly easy to navigate. I can’t see much on the leading Russian families, except for the Garins. There’s one very juicy secret here - courtesy of Great Aunt Lysandra. But it is rather explosive and not ideal if we want to establish a relationship with the Garins.”

“If the blackmail is that destructive, let us keep it as a last resort,” Arcturus instructed. “Also, Pollux, you used to run in a similar circle with Dominik Garin back in the 1920s, correct?” knowing very well he was right. He had given his cousin a chance to say something, but Pollux had stubbornly remained silent about his connection to the current Orator.

Pollux’s lips and eyes narrowed, indicating his displeasure with the insinuation. “Dominik was a friend of a friend. I doubt he even remembers who I am. I do not believe my involvement would help here. I have a connection in the Russian Ministry that has promised me a list with the names of all six voting members and their Heirs. I should have it within the hour and see if there are any other avenues we can pursue.” He suggested, surprising Arcturus. His cousin usually took a more active role and preferred to be personally involved with - well, with everything. For him to willingly take on a research task, he must really dislike Dominik. Arcturus wondered if he should be concerned about their past. Perhaps he was missing something.

“For now, let us proceed with this plan, but if we need more votes, we will revisit this possibility,” he concluded, and Pollux’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “We have a few hours before the Hearing; let us prepare.” he dismissed his family, and most got up and left.Alphard was the only one who stayed behind, too engrossed in the Book to move. His eyes greedily scanned each line; from time to time, he would read something that caught his attention, and his eyes would slightly widen. Arcturus was proud of his self-control, for he had debated naming a new Keeper. After all, he had too many secrets. Call it karma or Lady Magic’s twisted sense of humour, but he feared one of them had found its way into the Black Book. He was on borrowed time. He had to speak with the family and explain everything before they found out. Otherwise, he risked reversing any progress the Blacks had made as a family in the last few days. Lucretia, Pollux, and Cassiopeia, in particular, could not find out from anyone but him. He shivered at the mere thought. Salazar forbid!

Chapter 9: What Say You?

Chapter Text

Most people believed Pollux was always plotting to take over Arcturus’s position. No doubt, they also presumed he had strongly pushed for his daughter’s marriage to Orion. These same people probably thought his single goal in life was to become Lord Black, no matter the cost to himself or the rest of the family. Such individuals would be utterly and categorically incorrect. But then again, Pollux had long since accepted that most people were good-for-nothing imbeciles. So, of course, their useless, unimaginative minds had struggled to grasp a simple truth. Namely that Pollux Cygnus Black did not, and had never truly desired to be the Head of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black.

Well, never was perhaps an over-exaggeration. There had been a short point in time when he had envied Arcturus’s strong connection to the Black familial magic and had wondered what it might feel like to have access to such a raw and ancient source. But then he remembered that to get the magic, he would have to take on the role of the Head of House and had quickly dismissed the thought. The honest to Salazar truth was deep down, Pollux had always known that had he really desired the Lordship, Arcturus would not have stood a chance. His cousin was undoubtedly bright and charismatic, but he lacked the discipline and unrelenting nature that made a truly great Head of House. Pollux’s determination and greater affinity to the darker arts would have allowed him to challenge his cousin and win. He could have easily swooped during Arcturus’s many moments of weakness and taken the Lordship. And perhaps, had it been any other House, he would have.

Being Lord Black meant he would have to be in charge of the most pigheaded, hot-tempered, often slightly mad wizards and witches in all of Britain. Each Black was like a hurricane that should be weathered and rarely resisted. He would have to try to reason with them, ideally without cursing or dismembering them. He would have to spend some time with them when he valued his solitude more than anything. So no, he had no need for a title that came with manacles and the sneering voice of that trollop Cedrella. Instead, Pollux had taken advantage of all the Black privileges and nearly endless coffers and let his cousin deal with the drama and chaos.

But of course, as luck would have it, one of the strongest Black personalities happened to be his own son. He must have really displeased Lady Magic to make Alphard so … so infuriatingly Alphard. Pollux looked to his left, where his wayward son was walking with a ridiculous smile on his face. Looking at Alphard, one would think they were out strolling in the park and not walking to a vital meeting. Perhaps his son had started snorting that vampire dust again? But no, his hands were not shaking, and his eyes looked normal. Then, this carefree act must be some well-crafted mask because no Black was capable of such happiness and positivity. It was simply unnatural.

But the little twat kept on greening like a loon, making Pollux want to jinx him. Since the Family Gathering at Holkham Hall, the brat had deflected all questions with imbecilic jokes and vague half-answers. Pollux had gotten so frustrated he had considered Imperiousing his son to get some straight answers. Perhaps it was not too late to sneak him some Veritaserum at dinner? Definitely something to consider if the snarky devil continued to evade him.

Regardless, he would need whisky to deal with this … lots of it. His doctor’s recommendations be damned; he needed something to ease his pounding headache. Alphard’s existence had long since caused such a reaction. Between his antics at school, dropping out of his Mastery, and spending a townhouse worth of money in a night, his son’s behaviour had caused Pollux’s premature grey hair. Irma had refused to deal with their middle child, leaving it up to him to clean up after Alphard’s messes. His wife had instead focused on their youngest, praising Cygnus for being a proper pureblood and claiming Alphard would never amount to anything. Ha, if only she could see them now. Alphard named the Black Keeper and Cygnus … well, he was not doing so well. Pollux had felt slightly uneasy leaving him at home alone, knowing how unpredictable and destructive his son could be. It was the nature of his condition.

Despite being deep in thought, Pollux still catalogued all the twists and turns en route to the meeting room. It was located on the seventh floor of the Hoff, the Russian Ministry of Magic, decorated to impress. He was no uncultured pillock to stare at the grand rooms adorned with marble, gold, and moving murals. Still, he did consider inviting the architect to redecorate the grand entrance at his estate; anyone would. Something to look into at a later date. For now, he kept his eyes forward and chin up, prepared for anything. Walking as a group with Arcturus in front, they were attracting looks from quite a few wizards and witches. He was sure they looked striking, all wearing mainly black, a true murder of Blacks. They were only missing the beaks and feathers.

Then they reached the room where the Custody Hearing was to take place. Pollux examined the room’s layout, intrigued by its triangular shape. At the centre, there was a podium surrounded by three large tables, forming a second triangle. He understood the significance of three equal sides for the three factions, but it was simply ugly. He much preferred the Wizangamont’s set-up, which looked like a proper courtroom.

Unimpressed, he followed Arcturus to the visitor seats along the three walls. Each wall had different coloured stances to indicate which factions they belonged to. In their section, the seats were a dark oak. Knowing the Garins held the most voting power, they had decided to sit strategically. Also, Pollux would never have agreed to sit behind the Konstantinovs. He did not care if Cassiopeia was negotiating with the light faction; there were some lines he would never cross. No, despite his personal reservation of the Garins, they were the correct choice. He could already hear Lestrange and Pucey yapping about how he should have tried to form a lasting alliance with the leading dark Russian family. But he had no desire to get any closer to them than it was absolutely necessary.

The Blacks sat central in the dark section, the three wizards in the second row, and the witches in the third. He could feel Cassiopeia’s irritation from here. No doubt she was coming up with creative ways to show her displeasure with the seating arrangement. In Britain, they would sit by age or sometimes their core’s power, but they had made sure to follow the Garin protocol. Despite what others might assume about him, Pollux did not believe witches were lesser. In fact, growing up, he had spent a lot of time with his grandmother and had quickly learned how much power women had over a family. Ursula had taught him the quiet ways to influence others without them ever realising. He had seen her change her husband’s mind countless times and get her way with as little as a raised eyebrow. So, no, Pollux did not believe women should be encouraged to stay at home. It would give them too much power over the family. It was better to let them work and redirect some of their energy elsewhere.

Actively stopping himself from thinking about one certain Garin and his views on the topic, Pollux observed the people trickling in. The stances on all three sides were slowly filling up, and a few wizards approached the central three tables. He tried to match names to faces, thankful for his contact’s information. First came the ancient Lord Konstantinovs, walking slowly with a cane while his grandson strutted to the table. Then followed the short and stout Lord Zahtev. Pollux knew the Zahtevs were a mouthpiece for the Garins, so he dismissed them and focused on the rest.

After they walked in, Lord Isaak Orlov, or as Cassiopeia had named him, the grouchy old man, already looked bored with this meeting. Atanas Orlov resembled his father except for the larger nose and smaller lips. The two did not talk, choosing to sit in silence instead. Atanas looked older than his fifty-seven years; from personal experience, Pollux knew that losing a child could do that to a person. Pollux made eye contact with the Orlov Heir but could not tell what was going through his mind. If Dowager Dolohov was correct, there was a strong divide among the Orlovs, but he was not sure which side Atanas supported.

On the other table, the Konstantinov Lord and Scion were conversing quietly as the other light representative sat down. Lady Ravinova, the only witch on the voting committee, was an odd choice for this meeting. She was known to be a highly logical woman with a knack for economics and numbers, but not really the most obvious choice for a custody hearing. The light Lady joined Konstantinov's conversation, seemingly ignoring the rest of the room. No matter how many times he reminded himself that working with the light faction was necessary to ensure the needed votes, he still felt uneasy. But could anyone really blame him, light wizards hid behind their pretty words of modernisation and changing times. He hated them and everything they stood for, such a slimy, self-righteous bunch!

He looked away, not to show his distaste for the hypocrites, and followed the entrance of the second grey family. The Borisovs. The Borisov Lord looked like a well-dressed bear with his size and facial hair, whereas his niece looked fragile in comparison. His notes were very clear on them: the Lord and Heiress were great supporters of the Ulgens. The two families had strong economic ties and were related through marriage. There would be no swaying them to the Black side.

As the rest were getting settled, Pollux examined the three Ulgens in attendance. It was difficult to imagine they were indeed related as one had red hair and green eyes, while the other was blond with an olive complexion, and the last had black curls and dark skin. But Lucretia had explained that they often chose to look as different as possible to remind everyone of their family magic. Pollux had to admit his niece had surprised him most pleasantly. Her secret connection to the Ulgens had proved quite useful. He knew there had been a reason he had decided to name Lucretia his favourite Black witch. One more reason he should never doubt his instincts.

Seconds before the start of the meeting, the doors opened to admit three men, all wearing dark purple and walking in sync. They each belonged to a different generation. The youngest carried himself with confidence and grace, his high cheekbones undoubtedly endearing him to the opposite sex. The second one had a harsh expression and long brown hair tied at his neck. The last one glided along the floor in a traditional long robe as though he was not touching the floor. His once-perfect face was now lined, but his infamous scare still attracted attention. He now had long white hair and a well-kept short beard. Pollux wanted to say the wizard looked like a washed-out version of his former self, but that would not be exactly true. He still looked frustratingly good, his broad shoulders making him seem strong and capable. But of course, what else could he have expected from the perfect Dominik Garin, the one person in this world who had given Pollux more headaches than even Alphard. Impossible bastard.

The room quieted as though their very presence sucked the sound out. He did not blame them. Dominik often had such an effect on people, taking up too much space and making the air suffocating. Pollux made sure to keep his face expressionless.

“Merry meet,” Dominik began in Russian in a loud and clear voice. Pollux was glad he had chosen to study Russian over Greek in his youth. “This hearing has been convened to discuss case number 57495 and determine the permanent placement of a magical child. This is the preliminary hearing, where we will examine the facts and different options. As is our custom, we will reconvene in a few days to make the final decision.”

Pollux was disappointed to say the role of Orator suited Dominik, and by everyone’s faces, this was a well-established fact. He did not understand why Lady Magic had played favourite with such a toad, but perhaps the Russian had some big punishment coming his way. One could hope the cosmic balance worked swiftly.

“Before I open the floor, let me remind everyone that we are discussing the fate of a Russian witch. A child that knows no other home and speaks no other language, she is under the protection of the Russian Hoff, and each member of this committee must remember that.” Dominik warned rather unsubtly. Perhaps he had lost his touch? Regardless, the Orator was very clearly against any outside influences. The dark faction clearly would love to claim a child that was undoubtedly dark and, by all accounts, powerful. She was a Black, after all; what else could she be.

With those words, Dominik looked around and asked for any opening remarks. Upon seeing three wands raised, he unsurprisingly chose Lord Zahtev. The dark wizard stood up rather ungracefully, having to hold on to the table for support. His protruding belly, combined with his large ears and hooked nose, made him resemble a troll. No, Pollux was not going to imagine that … too late.

“We have procedures in place for cases such as these. We find a child - we find them a suitable adoptive family among our kind.” Lord Zahtev explained in Russian, but his dialect made it difficult for Pollux to follow. “We test their core and place the child with a family that can teach them about their magic. We have done so for hundreds of years; let us not try to reinvent the wheel.” He looked around at the present Lords but did not receive any visible support. In fact, Heiress Borisova had not managed to mask her distaste well, something the grey witch would have to learn soon if she ever wanted to take over her uncle.

Pollux thought the dark faction’s strategy was obvious and quite unsophisticated. Lord Zahtev was the vocal proponent of keeping the child in Russia and trying to place her with a dark family. Meanwhile, the Garins would remain silent and seem more willing to negotiate when they had been the ones to come up with the plan in the first place. In theory, they did not want to seem too eager lest the other factions learn of the Garin’s goal. But Pollux doubted the light or the grey factions were oblivious enough to fall for this tactic. With such poor planning, perhaps the Garins would not make a great ally.

Dominik asked if there were any questions and then chose Lady Ravinova from the light faction. The short witch had her hair and neck covered in the traditional Russian style, but there were a few strands of fiery red hair framing her round face. Her hair and blue eyes reminded Pollux of the Weasleys, and he could not help but immediately dislike her.

“The procedure Lord Zahtev speaks of is only in place when we find a soulless born child, meaning they had no family in our world. We cannot proceed with this without being assured that is indeed the case.” she stated succinctly, showing all why she was chosen to represent the light faction in heated economic discussions. Pollux had forgotten the Russian referred to muggles as soulless because of some old wives’ tale.

“The child was found in an orphanage. It is highly unlikely she had any magical family! What kind of a family leaves a child in such a place.” countered Lord Zahtev, looking at Lord Orlov; no doubt he was trying to get his swing votes. According to Pollux’s calculations, the decision would come down to Isaak Orlov, and no doubt the Garins had realised that too. The trollish Lord sounded whiny, and Pollux did not see why the Garins had picked him as their second.

“I agree that her family has a lot to answer for, but that does not mean she does not have any living relatives. In the case of loss of guardians, we always look for blood relations first. We know that family rituals and traditions are important for young witches and wizards. Why should this be different?” posed Lady Ravinova, making Lord Zahtev turn red. It seemed he did not appreciate when the laws were used against him.

“Even if we find a blood relation, they should not be allowed anywhere near the child after they clearly abandoned her! They endangered her safety and the Statute of Secrecy.” he declared angrily, not realising he had just walked into the Lady’s trap. She was too composed to smile, but her lips did turn slightly upward. Pollux was extremely disappointed with the dark wizard, ashamed to have anything in common with such a buffoon.

“Indeed, they have broken our laws.” Lord Zahtev had the audacity to look confused for a second before understanding her insinuation. “We need to find them and hold them accountable. I believe a blood test should be our first step, regardless of what we decide. Having all the information is crucial.” she concluded and sat down elegantly.

Lord Zahtev clearly wanted to argue with her, but at the last moment, he composed himself and plopped down unhappily. After another round of raised wands, Dominik called on Heiress Borisova. The petite grey witch looked put together and stood confidently despite not being older than thirty.

“Lady Ravinova is correct. We cannot treat this case like a soulless one since we have concrete proof the child is indeed not a soulless-born.” whispers began in the stances, especially in the dark section. “The child has the metamorphic ability, meaning that she has at least one magical parent. As such, we cannot place her with just any available adoptive family.” The girl spoke eloquently, but her gaze drifted to her uncle a few times for approval, betraying her nervousness.

A moment later, Lord Zahtev spoke up without getting up, perhaps thinking he was above showing any respect to the young witch. Pollux wondered if her age or her gender was a worse offence in the troll’s eyes. “How do we know what happened in the Hoff was not just accidental magic? Also, even if she had this ability you speak of, what makes you say she must have a magical parent? Where is your proof?”

Pollux could feel Cassiopeia's angry stare, trying to set the obnoxious wizard on fire. Knowing his sister, she was probably coming up with ten different ways to kill him without leaving a trace. The man would live to regret disputing her papers, and then he would die reciting them word for word. And yes, Pollux had read them all. All her articles, papers, and books. He was no sentimental fool to actually miss her. But the estate had been empty, and he had been rather bored of the monotony of dealing with ignorant fools. So he had decided to read her latest work and had ended up sending her a long letter disputing some of her conclusions. Of course, he had used a different name and handwriting, not wanting her to know his identity. He had not expected that nine years later, they would still be sending bickering letters back and forth. He would never admit it, but he had a box where he kept her letters; maybe he was turning soft in his old age. Bah.

Pollux stopped listening to the argument between the petite Borisova Heiress and the trollish Zahtev Lord. Back and forth, they argued the merits of what was essentially Cassiopeia’s paper. The witch was doing an adequate job of countering the myriad of questions, but if her fidgeting hands were any indication, she was feeling the pressure. The dark wizard was delighted to see her squirm and kept asking her questions that she had no way of answering.

Lord Konstantinov lit his wand, and Dominik allowed him to join the interrogation.

“Lord Zahtev, just because you refuse to keep up with new findings, it does not mean the rest of us have.” Adrik Konstantinov did not get up to speak but still managed to sound proper and appropriately respectful. He reminded Pollux of his friend Corvus Lestrange. Calm but harsh, direct and effective. “This push to consider the child soulless-born merely shows us that somehow you found out the child has a dark core, and you wish to have authority over her. Shall I remind you that regardless of her core, we have to consider all options.” In a low and slowly raspy voice, he added, “Stop pushing your political agenda, or we might have to consider how exactly you established the child’s core when you should have had zero access to her.” This last statement was directed toward the Garins, who had remained silent.

Lord Zahtev looked ready to Crucio the old light Lord, but Dominik interjected to prevent another rant. “The question remains: are we certain she does possess the ability? I believe there is one person who can best answer that. Scion Orlov, please step forward.” From the grey section, a young blond wizard stood up. This must be the reason they knew to visit Russia in the first place, Simeon Orlov. “Scion Orlov, you are the one who found the child and processed her, correct?”

“Yes, sir.” came the clear response.

“To the best of your knowledge, is the girl a metamorphmagus?”

“I saw her change her hair and eyes a few times when she was nervous. The changes lasted a few hours and then naturally reversed back, but the one time she noticed her hair change, she was able to shift it back immediately. So yes, to the best of my knowledge, she does possess the ability.” The Orlov wizard responded, and another wave of whispers spread across the room. For her to have control over changes without any guidance and training meant she would be an extremely powerful metamorphmagus.

Heiress Borisova looked vindicated, and Lord Zahtev looked murderous due to the direction of the conversation. This time, the Konstantinov Scion was given permission to speak. Something about the movements and expressions of the young wizard screamed spoiled and entitled. And that said a lot in a room filled with the richest people in magical Russia.

“If we have confirmed the child has the ability, it means we should follow the procedure Lady Ravinova outlined. We have to do a blood test and determine her closest living family.” he restated the obvious, looking pleased with himself as though expecting an award for his contribution. Being a head taller than most people, even when standing, he was physically and figuratively looking down on the rest.

“So you would let those who abandoned her have a second chance to hurt her?” asked Heir Garin once Dominik let him respond. The dark Heir’s face was impassive, feet apart, shoulders squared.

“We don’t know if they were the ones who abandoned her; it could have been just her parents. The rest could have been unaware.” defended the light Scion weakly.

“Oh, and here I thought all families had family books and tapestries to keep track of any children. But perhaps the light faction does not possess such objects? Perhaps some do not value family as much? A pity.” he said in an amused tone, and Pollux found it difficult not to like the little prat. He knew he should be rooting for the light Scion who was putting forward the Black’s claim. But the wizard was doing such a bad job that Pollux would have preferred he remained quiet.

“Of course, we do!” angrily exclaimed the tall light wizard. “But there are ways around the books. Certainly, someone familiar with blood magic should know this!” This was something that gave Pollux pause. He was still struggling to swallow Cassiopeia’s theory about squibs and mudbloods. But she was adamant this could explain why Arcturus had not known about the child. Marius. He probably should have told them it was impossible Marius was related to this girl. But he would have to explain how he knew that Marius lived in America with his partner, with no children in sight. No, he had decided to let them figure it out for themselves.

He snapped out of his thoughts when Scion Konstantinov shouted, “You only care because she is a powerful dark witch!” The petulant wizard better have a younger brother to inherit the title instead; he was a lost cause. Allowing the dark Heir to rattle him up like a complete novice. Disgraceful!

“Heir Garin, do you have anything else to add?” asked Dominik, sounding as professional as he did at the beginning of the meeting. Of course, he did. Dominik Garin was the textbook definition of pureblood poise and decorum, the embodiment of perfection, the bloody plonker.

“I see Scion Konstantinov is very… passionate about this, but I would like to stress that even if the girl has relatives, we need to make sure they can take proper care of her. It is not only about her core being dark but also teaching her about her dark heritage and Russian culture.” The young men sat down, ignoring the hate-filled look from the other table.

Despite his feelings about Dominik, Pollux was still convinced the Garins were the Blacks' best choice. He refused to bow to the light faction, especially after Scion Konstantinov’s behaviour. If the dark faction wanted to push their agenda to protect her dark heritage, the Blacks might be able to work with them and reach a compromise. He could not help but remember the comment his granddaughter had made this morning. It was definitely something to consider. Hm, perhaps he should listen to her more carefully next time.

Thank Morgana, Arcturus had insisted she get the rune sequence, allowing her to understand Russian temporarily. Being exposed to such complex runes once again made her wish to go back to her Mastery and perhaps she could now that Dragon was older. The invaluable fermented chimaera blood they had used for the runes made her arm itch, but she did not regret it. Without it, she would have been lost. It turns out that reading books in Russian and understanding the spoken language were two very different things. Now, she could closely follow each question and explanation, revealing insightful aspects of Russian society.

Lord Borisov was the next to speak, and Narcissa paid close attention. So far, it was clear the Borisovs supported the Ulgens; the dark faction wanted to keep some control over the girl, but the light had been a pleasant surprise. Well, pleasant was too strong of a word after having to listen to Scion Konstantinov whining for fifteen minutes. Horrified a grown man could act like that, she had vowed to curb her babying of Dragon. Being their only child, Lucius and she might have spoiled him more than was healthy. But she would be damned if her bright and strong son turned into this. It stopped today.

The light Lord began in a deep, gruff voice, “Heir Garin emphasised the child’s Russian culture, but what about her magic? And no, I am not referring to her dark core; she can learn dark spells from a book.” Everyone in the dark sitting section was visibly displeased with this. “This is no ordinary child. She is a metamorphmagus, given a gift by the Mother. A gift which would be wasted if she did not receive the proper training.”

Heir Garin stood up again, looking unafraid to go up against the much older and experienced Lord. But then again, Fydor Garin would not recognise fear if it hit him in the face. “Even if the grey magic is simple enough to be learned from a book, that is not the case for those of us with dark cores. Dark magic is not only about learning a few spells; it is a culture passed on through the generations. It is an integral part of our identity. The metamorphic ability is surely interesting, but it does not define a person.” Narcissa happened to agree with Fydor. Unlike grey magic, which was widely used and taught in schools, dark and light magics were integral parts of family legacies. Even the Ulgens, who had dark, grey, and light members, would not be able to teach the girl properly. On top of the family’s dark spells, rituals, and traditions, she would have to learn how to deal with the stigma surrounding dark cores and practices across Europe.

“The metamorphic ability is much harder to master. It requires decades of training, and there needs to be supervision and guidance from a specialist. The child should go with those who best understand her. Being a metamorphmagus defines one’s identity and is crucial she goes with someone who understands that.” protested the Ulgen puppet from the grey faction.

A wand went up, and Dominik allowed Lady Ravinova to join the discussion. Narcissa hoped the witch continued to apply the same logic and impartialness, pleasantly surprised by the light Lady.

“I believe we are going in circles. Lord Borisov is right; the metamorphic ability makes this case special, and sending the child to just any dark family would not be enough. However, Heir Garin is also correct that young witches’ core is an important part of her identity. I wonder then if we cannot find a way to make both come true. It would mean finding a family that can teach her about her dark core and special ability.” Narcissa bit her lip not to smile. Lady Ravinova had just given them the perfect opening. No doubt such blatant support would cost them greatly later, but for now, Narcissa decided to enjoy the small victory.

“No, they are not prepared to….” began Lord Borisov but was interrupted.

“They? And here I was thinking we were speaking theoretically?” mused Fydor, and the grey Lord almost growled at him. Narcissa was not surprised to see how easily the Garin Heir got under other people’s skin. Rumour had it he was just as good at getting in their beds. She suspected he was like Uncle Alphard, using a cheery facade to hide his true motivations. Narcissa was intrigued by what he could be hiding and decided to do some digging.

“I would also like to know the answer to that,” demanded Dominik, the tone and delivery reminding her eerily of her grandfather. It had been obvious that the two wizards knew each other, and she wondered what the history there was.

“Oh come on, we all know what Vladi is talking about.” cut in Lord Orlov without lifting his wand. “Vladi is saying the Ulgens here,” he pointed to the three men sitting behind the grey faction. “Should be the girl’s guardians. And Lady Ravinova was clearly suggesting that the Blacks would be a better option.” he turned to them and waved, seeming quite bored with all the stumbling around. As Cassiopeia had pointed out earlier, Isaak Orlov liked to shake things up and refused to abide by social niceties and established protocols. “We should let them have a say. It would be far more interesting.”

Narcissa was not sure, but she sensed there was a hidden meaning in the look the grey Lord and the Orator shared. Because as easily as that, Dominik said, “In that case, I welcome the Ulgen and Blacks to step forward.” The two Ulgens got up quickly and walked toward the grey table. Following Arcturus’s instructions, Pollux was the only Black to join him.

Narcissa was not sure how she felt about her conversation with her grandfather earlier. Before seeing any of these people, it had all been theoretical. So, when thinking of the best strategy, she shared her thoughts without holding anything back. But now. Now that it was all undeniably real, she was torn on whether Pollux should listen to her advice or not. It was a huge risk because, following her strategy, they would either unequivocally win this case or be banned from Russia. She could hear Bella’s voice telling her to breathe and never doubt her brilliance. Let’s hope this advice had been from one of her sister’s saner days.

Lucretia watched as her father and uncle walked toward the dark table, where two extra chairs had appeared. She was worried about what they would do as her father did not speak any Russian, and her uncle was not fluent enough to communicate properly in such an official capacity. She had wanted to join them, but apparently, the Garins’ misogynistic views were enough of a reason to make her stay behind. She agreed with Aunt Cass that the Russian dark faction was much worse than even the British one. Lord Zahtev made her skin crawl, and Lucretia prayed she would never have to speak with them one-on-one.

Once all newcomers were seated, Dominik asked, “What say you, Houses Black and Ulgen? Do you wish to claim the child, and if so, why should we let you raise a Russian witch?”

Arban Ulgen was the first to be given the floor. He had changed his features and now bore a strong resemblance to Taigan’s real features. Dark hair, brown eyes, high cheekbones, straight nose. He was also taller and looked more imposing, unmistakably the leader of one of the oldest families from the steppes. “We of the Clan of Ulgen officially declare our intention to claim this child. We are an old and proud family known for our mastery of the metamorphic ability. We are here today, three masters of the ability who are uniquely prepared to train her. She will not receive such training elsewhere where the ability is all but dead.”

He gave the Blacks a cold and disgusted look as though they were somehow responsible for the disappearance of the family gift. Arban was technically correct; the last well-known Black with the ability had been Phineas Nigenius's aunt, Vega. Well, not the last because Dora also possessed the ability, but apparently, that was not enough for these insufferable people. She was glad Andi had not joined them; there would have been smoke coming out of her ears. Right now, Cassiopeia was the one most likely to commit murder, and after Lord Zahtev’s performance, Lucretia did not blame her. This meeting was infuriating, all these people going back and forth on procedures and theoretical definitions as though they were discussing setting the thickness of cauldrons and not the future of a living, breathing child. Whose name she still did not know, disgraceful.

“We of the Ancient and Most Nobel House of Black claim this child through blood and magic.” Lucretia’s eyes widened, and she had to check she was not gaping. Not only was her father speaking in Russian, but he was essentially swearing the child was a Black. Even if he had somehow memorised the words ahead of time, they definitely had no proof the girl was indeed a Black. But perhaps she was missing something. Could her father somehow be certain they knew she was a Black? She saw people looking around, uncomfortable with her father’s words. It was one thing to discuss hypothetical placement for an orphan with uncertain origins and quite another to take a child away from an ancient family.

“On my magic, I do so swear that none of us knew of the child’s existence, but we do believe she will be best suited in our care. She is a Black, she belongs with us. It is her right to learn the Black ways, our history, our traditions. Rituals that call on the Black familial magic. Spells we have been developing since before we crossed the English Channel. Not even a blood adoption would erase her affinity to the Black magic. She is a Black, I dare anyone to dispute it.”

Silence. Lucretia got goosebumps. Some avoided her father’s gaze as though ashamed to admit that was exactly what they were doing. She looked at Alphard, observing his reaction, but her cousin did not look perturbed by her father’s words. Perhaps he had not known of the girl's existence after all, though she did find the timing suspicious.

“They have no way of training her. Her ability will be wasted with the Blacks!” objected Lord Borisov, without following protocol and raising his wand. She did not care he was three heads taller than her; she wanted to smack him on the head for such an idiotic comment.

“I will ask you not to speak about any Black in such a manner. The child will be educated, and she will not want for anything,” translated Uncle Pollux for her father. Lord Borisov looked ready to interject, but the Black wizards kept going. “Earlier, you suggested that stabilising and controlling one’s dark core can be done through books. Though that is completely unacceptable and incorrect for powerful dark cores, I do believe we can apply this practice to her metamorphic ability. Not only do we have the memoirs of Black metamorphmagi, but we also have portraits of some of them.” She did indeed remember getting scolded by all these ancient portraits in Holkham Hall and pitied the girl if she was to be instructed by them.

“Yet, what I am hearing is that no matter who gets the child, she will lose her Russian culture.” Observed Lord Garin, speaking for the first time. Lucretia stopped herself from rolling her eyes. He was being too obvious, even for her direct nature. Seeing that the dark faction was not going to get their way and claim the child, they were trying to get the most out of the winner.

“There can be a middle ground. Our main residence is near Bishkek, but Taigan spends a lot of time here. The child can spend a few months each year in St. Petersburg.” suggested Arban, giving into the dark faction’s demands. She expected her father to jump in and offer something bigger, but he remained silent, observing the discussion.

“And what about the child’s schooling? The Ulgens have not attended Mendaloy in decades, choosing instead to study in China or India.” continued Lord Garin.

“We will not be against her attending the Mendaloy school as long as a full-blood adoption is allowed,” explained Arban. Lucretia was on the edge of her seat; a full-blood adoption was rare. Really, really rare. Unsurprisingly, it was illegal in Britain as it was an advanced type of blood magic. Essentially, it removed one’s parentage and completely replaced it with a new family. If they went through with this ritual, the child would lose all connection to the Black blood and magic. Why was her father just letting this happen?

“The Ulgens are willing to support the child’s Russian identity. Lord Black, do you have anything to add before I close today’s preliminary meeting?” asked Dominik.

Lucretia was staring at Taigan, wondering why the Ulgens were pushing this hard to get the child. A full-blood adoption was so uncommon that it smelled of desperation. She needed to meet with her friend and, this time, press him for answers.

“We, too, have a proposition.” Translated Uncle Pollux. “You will let us claim the child.”

Silence. She looked around at the other confused faces. What was her father playing at?

“Would you like to elaborate, Lord Black.” prompted the Orator.

“Not really; you have no authority over this child. You will let us claim the child, or we will invoke the Ancient Laws that know no nation or boundary. They clearly state that blood trumps all, but if you continue with this charade you will have to face the Mother’s wrath. I doubt she will be very forgiving.” The Ancient Laws were something rarely used nowadays. Well, that was not entirely true. When people made oaths and swore on their magic, that was essentially using the Laws handed down by Lady Magic. In Britain, when someone took their seat at the Wizengamot, they also evoked a clause in the Laws. But people had long since forgotten the Laws’ many other uses since each magical community had its own set of rules. For her father to be invoking the Laws, it meant he was challenging the jurisdiction of the Russian Hoff. This would be interesting.

“Are you threatening us?” bellowed the massive Lord Borisov, but to their credit, the two Black wizards did not even flinch.

“Threaten, no. Warn, perhaps. We listened to two hours of meaningless debates when we all knew that all we had to do was do a blood test, and this would all be resolved. Your political agenda is an affront to the Mother. We are Blacks; we do not sell or barter with the lives of Blacks.”

Chaos ensued around her as each faction began shouting, and some demanded the Blacks be removed from the room. But she did not care about their petty objections and complaints. She felt the most incredible sensation of energy flowing through her, caressing her like a long-lost family member. The Black magic rejoiced. She had not felt it like this since before Walberga’s reign of evil, back when her father’s word was the law, and she had been proud to call herself a Black. She had missed this feeling; she had missed many things. Aunt Cass had been correct; there might yet be some hope for the Blacks left.

Gracefully, Arcturus and Pollux got up from the shouting and headed toward the exit. Unhurriedly, the rest of the Blacks followed. They left the room and then the Hoff, reminding everyone why the Blacks were not to be toyed with. Her father had invoked the wrath of the Mother, and refused to barter with the girl's life. Whatever the outcome, Lucretia was glad they were not stooping so low. The bold declaration had definitely shocked and hopefully, scared enough people that she did not live to regret this moment.

Chapter 10: Cloak and Dagger

Chapter Text

She was going to kill someone. No, really, she was. It would not be the first time, and she would have no regrets afterwards. None.

She was wearing her beautiful rose skirt, the one she had worn to tea with the Minister of Magic, and the beige shirt with frills that she had worn to welcome a French delegation. Her hair was neatly styled, her make-up light but very flattering. She did not need a wizard to tell her she was beautiful - she knew she looked presentable, proper, and even great.

After all, she was meeting Fydor Garin. The Heir to the dark faction and a wizard who, by all accounts, coveted beautiful things. She had put effort into her appearance to look professional and not give him the wrong impression about the nature of this meeting. She had gone through the strategies to avoid unwanted attention that her mother had taught her. She had thought herself prepared. But after seeing where she was, Narcissa had realised that nothing could have prepared her for this.

A Morgana damned sex club. In the middle of the bloody day. That was where the magnanimous Heir Garin’s portkey had deposited her. And not a classy burlesque saloon like the one she had visited in France. Oh no, she could see, hear, and smell everything people were doing. There were whips and ties and swings and knives. There were all types of couples, quite a few threesomes, and some … larger parties. She could barely hear her thoughts over the loud music that blended with the moans and shouts of pain and pleasure. She felt completely out of place and did not know where to look. And that was not the worst part: Fydor was not alone.

She had arrived at his boot to find him kissing a gorgeous redhead while an equally attractive brunette was pleasuring him under the table. She had contemplated leaving or at least waiting for them to finish before sitting down, but she could hear Bella’s voice in her head. If they are trying to make you uncomfortable, make them twice as uncomfortable. Don’t back down.

So in all her wisdom, Narcissa Malfoy nee Black sat down, poured herself whatever was in Fydor’s bottle, and waited. She did not look away from the two wizards and the witch. She even made eye contact with Fydor, making sure her face betrayed nothing. She tried the drink, made sure not to grimace, and kept watching.

After a few minutes, Fydor pushed the witch off of him and told them both to leave. Unhappy to be sent away, both gave Narcissa nasty looks. She responded with a bored expression as if to say, do I really look like someone who will pick up where you left off.

“My my, I didn’t expect you to come,” purred Fydor in lightly accented English. He zipped his pants and moved closer to her. “What do you think of my investment?” He made a sweeping gesture to the club.

For a second, she considered telling him the truth. This place lacked class and catered only to those with exhibitionist preferences. Even then, she had attended much better … private gatherings without all this excess. Much more fun as well. But instead, she responded, “It is lovely. I hope it brings you much profit.”

He laughed, a loud, real laugh that she had been taught never to display in public. Then he looked at her with admiration and poorly disguised lust.

“You’re exquisite.” He chugged a glass of the amber liquid and licked his lips. She was sure most people got on their knees - literally - at this sight. His shirt half-opened (showing off his sculpted chest), his hair sex-ruffled, and his smile lazy and inviting. Still, all that did nothing for her.

She did not look away, she did not move, she showed no emotion. He was doing all of this to get a reaction out of her, so she sighed and did not speak. She was not going to give him the satisfaction of changing the topic and allowing him to think he made her uncomfortable. Well, he did slightly, but that was beside the point.

“I see,” Something in his eyes shifted - he looked less drunk and more like the powerful wizard he truly was. “You Blacks are all a delight. Yesterday's meeting was the most fun I’ve had in a meeting. Ever.” he laughed again, probably remembering Arcturus’s words and their abrupt exit.

“And?” she prompted. Bella’s strategy of aloofness had worked so far, she was not going to deviate now. He smirked and looked her in the eyes.

“It won’t be as simple as that,” She tried not to show her displeasure. “But in Russia, we have a saying, ‘power only respects power.’ Your Head of House played his cards right. If he’d joined the negotiations, the Blacks would have lost. But now…”

Narcissa felt hope blossom in her chest and also a flicker of pride. Actually, it was more than a flicker because it had been her plan to call their bluff. Narcissa had analysed all actors and their stakes in this case, quickly realising the Blacks had to think outside the box to stand a chance. They had all agreed there would be some sort of negotiation, especially with the dark faction. But all day Narcissa had been hearing Bass’s voice telling her that once they entered the negotiations, they would automatically lose some of their advantage and admit weakness. Bella had gotten engaged to his brother when Narcissa had been only ten, so Bass had been like the big brother she never had. He had been the one to teach her about relative advantages and acceptable sacrifices. Rabastan Lestrange was a strategic genius and she had struggled to shake off his advice. And so she had shared her thoughts with her grandfather.

She focused on the conversation, “And your father agrees with this view?” That was the real question. Lord Garin’s vote would determine Lord Zahtev’s, making the Garins crucial. Fydor closed his eyes and rested his back on the cushion.

“My father…” he began, “he is quite unhappy. You see, he really wanted to keep her. I am not sure what he sees in her, really. She is just a normal child, as far as I can see.” Narcissa bit her tongue not to ask him any questions while he was speaking this openly. But her brain screamed at her: Fydor had actually met her!? She let him keep going. “I don’t really know what all the fuss is about. Sure, she has the gift, but she is such a small, shy thing. Not really worth all this drama.”

He opened his eyes and straightened up. He gulped down another glass of alcohol and looked at Narcissa with a sober and serious expression. “But my dear father disagrees. I think… I think if he gets his way, he’ll demand I marry her.” He started drinking straight from the bottle, “She hasn’t even turned eight.”

Do not react. Do not react. She was not sure whether that was Bella’s, her mother’s or her own voice yelling at her. So this is why he had asked to meet with her. The dark Heir wanted her help to get out of a possible marriage. A twenty-three-year-old man engaged to a seven-year-old girl was not unheard of. If Aunt Cass was correct, and she always was, the Garins had a history of marrying much younger witches. Making it easier to control them, she had claimed.

Narcissa chugged the bitter alcohol and wondered how she was going to tell her family about this. She was not sure who would react the worst. Aunt Cass, with her hatred of the Russian dark faction’s views on witches, Arcturus, with his declaration that Blacks would never bow to anyone ever again, or her grandfather, who clearly despised Dominik Garin.

Yes, the way it was going, there was definitely going to be a murder before they left Russia. She sighed again.

“No, I would like it shorter. Yes, that colour, but make sure the sleeves are wide enough. That will do.” ordered Lady Ravinova to the flustered seamstress. It seemed the light witch was very exact about her robes, and her usual seamstress was away on holiday (hence, the need to visit this shop). Though Cassiopeia was still not entirely certain how she had ended up here standing quietly for an hour-long fitting. She had considered leaving, but Anneli had been very clear in her letter. She needed to meet with Lady Ravinova if the Blacks had any chance at securing her vote. Her friend insinuated the light witch might not listen to the Konstantinovs' decision (despite being her faction leaders). And needed personal reassurances if they wanted to count on her support, and so here she was, at a shop in the heart of Vasilievsky Island.

Cassiopeia felt uneasy about the whole thing, not really seeing why Lady Ravinova had spoken up in their favour at the Hearing or why she now needed reassurances. But she owed Anneli a great deal for her help in contacting the Konstantinovs, the least she could do was follow her advice.

The light witch continued to browse the fabrics and almost absent-mindedly spoke, saying, “The Black temper is rather infamous, yet you have not complained or even said a word. I am slightly disappointed.”

Cassiopeia tried not to show her annoyance at this ridiculous statement, she gritted her teeth and even produced a small smile. The Lady wanted to test her temper by wasting her time, as though Cassiopeia was not decades older and far more experienced at keeping her emotions in check.

“I assumed yesterday’s meeting would have been entertaining enough,” she responded, not sure if her grammar was correct. Whoever had come up with Russian grammar was a true sad*st (she had better things to do than learn six cases and a ridiculous list of verbs of motion). But she was sure her message got across, she did not want to discuss ‘the Black temper’ as Lady Ravinova had called it. She had struggled for decades to learn to control that side of her, to slow her anger and to think before speaking. People often assumed it all came naturally to her, but no Black would ever be called even-tempered or good-natured.

“Hm, I suppose,” she mused. “It was … unusual. I will give you that.” she picked up a light blue fabric, scrunched her nose, and put it back down. “Did you know that the Jokinens rarely get involved in politics beyond Scandinavia? We had been working on a trade agreement for months, and they were … unaccommodating. Well, is it not strange that they are now ready to sign the contract? The timing is very interesting indeed, or do you disagree?”

So that was why she was so interested in meeting? Lady Ravinova must have been in charge of the trade deal, and now she wanted to know exactly what had happened to change the Jokinen’s attitude. But the truth was, Cassiopeia did not have much to add (she had decided to deal with her problems one at a time) as right now she was simply focusing on getting the child. Later, she would turn to the Jokinnens and find a way to repay their help. No doubt, they would ask for something priceless, but that was a concern for another day.

“Hm, I suppose,” repeated Cassiopeia. “What I found interesting was that despite everything, you were our most vocal supporter. Even though, logically, the Ulgens make more sense.” Because that was the word that described the light witch best, everything she did was founded on pragmatism and well-thought-out calculations.

Cassiopeia could not see the witch’s face, but she thought she detected a smile when she responded, “Interesting indeed. But not nearly as fascinating as the child you are all fawning over.” She continued to examine fabrics while Cassiopeia narrowed her eyes at the insinuation.

“A Black and a metamorphmagus. She is definitely special,” defended Cassiopeia. Was there something she was missing, or was the Lady just being cryptic?

“Yes, yes.” At this point, they were far away from the counter, the seamstress, and any other clients. Lady Ravinova turned and faced her, a calculating gleam in her eyes. “But that was not what I meant. This child is special, far more special than just being a gifted Black.” Cassiopeia did not look away, afraid if she broke their eye contact, the Russian would stop talking. “You can sense it when you are in her presence. There is something … extra in the air.”

Cassiopeia swallowed and tried not to think about the other people who were described similarly. She still dreamt of her visit to Nurmengard and how, even with his magic bound, she had felt ‘something in the air’. But he was a Dark Lord, and this was a little girl, it could not be the same. Right?

“Yet we are still discussing the fate of a dark witch. What is she to you?” Cassiopeia questioned, still trying to establish the light Lady’s reason for helping them.

Lady Ravinova scrunched her mouth and narrowed her eyes as though contemplating how much to share. Then, after a second, she answered, “It is interesting, is it not? We divide everything into light, grey, and dark, but in the end, it is all just magic. A gift from the Mother.” Cassiopeia did not like the abstract direction of the conversation, and yes, she was very aware of all this (after all, she did have a Мastery in Theory of Magic).

“So you are saying that the girl’s…”

“Adriana,” corrected Lady Ravinova, and Cassiopeia blinked a few times, shocked. Adriana. Finally, she had a name to add to the murky image in her head. Adriana was a beautiful name, not a star but nonetheless, beautiful.

“Adriana’s magic is why you are helping us?” Cassiopeia was being more direct than usual, but the Russian did not seem to be responding to anything else.

“I like balance in all things. Too much of anything is always bad. The Russian dark faction has been making moves to gain more power, and some of the greys might align with them.” she explained. “We are shifting away from balance. If she stays, Adriana will one day obliterate our balance, giving the dark too much influence.”

Cassiopeia imagined the Garins using the little girl, Adriana, to achieve their agenda and wanted to kill them preemptively. Fydor might not seem as bad as his father, but she was well aware of his father’s proclivities and treatment of witches. He had remarried a much younger witch after his first wife (who dared only bear him daughters) mysteriously died. Then, he forced his daughters to marry their uncle and cousin (to keep the line pure and not allow them to claim the family fortune). She did want to think what role he had in mind for the gi… for Adriana.

“In Britain, you also do not have balance. The light, and more specifically, one wizard, has too much control.” She clarified as though talking to a child, frustrated Cassiopeia was not getting it. Oh, she got it alright, Lady Ravinova wanted Adriana far away from Russia and was willing to vote in favour of a dark family to achieve her goal. But the Garins were not going to give up so easily, not if Adriana was so crucial to their plans.

So Cassiopeia organised her thoughts, considered all the possible outcomes, and proposed, “I think there is a way we can help each other.”

Lady Ravinova smiled and turned back to the fabrics, seemingly amused. So Cassiopeia told her her plan, knowing Arcturus would approve, and what was even better was that Pollux would hate that they had to work even closer with the light faction. Poor baby!

The wind softly played with her hair as she tried not to look at the wizard sitting next to her. He had asked, not demanded, that she meet him. And so here she was at the muggle part of St. Petersburg, sitting at the river bank, waiting for him to answer her question. She planned on enjoying the sunshine for as long as possible before she had to head back to the gloomy townhouse and debrief with the others about how their meetings had gone. Hopefully, it was better than hers. However, at this point, that was a low bar indeed.

She could hear children running around and chasing each other, and she wondered for the thousandth time about this mysterious child. She hoped the child got to be outside today and enjoy the summer’s warmth. She had not been around little girls a lot; the closest ones would probably have been Andi and her sisters. But for some reason, she could not imagine the little girl blond like Narcissa. No, in her head, the girl had long dark hair and grey eyes. She stopped herself from making the comparison because, for some reason, she kept seeing a young Bellatrix.

She turned to Taigan, who kept staring at the river below them. A part of her wanted to shake him out of this stupor, but she knew him too well to think that would work. He was trying to decide on something - the problem was that she had no idea what. Perhaps he wanted to tell her what the Ulgens had in store for the final meeting that would take place tomorrow? Or perhaps it was not even related to the custody hearing? But in that case, she had absolutely no idea why he was acting like this.

He took a deep breath and, still looking at the water, began, “What your father did was brave. Perhaps stupid, but brave. The Russians and especially the dark faction will respect that bravery.” Then he was quiet again, still not answering her initial question. But at least he was talking.

And for what it was worth, Lucretia was indeed proud of her father for his actions at the meeting. He had refused to stoop to their level and instead took the risker route, sticking true to his promise of change for the Blacks. She just wished she knew they would get the results they wanted.

“Remember the promise I made you in the tea room?” he was still not looking at her, but she nodded, hoping he could see her in his peripheral vision. It had been a kind offer to be a part of the child’s life regardless of the outcome. Looking back, Lucretia realised that gesture had signalled Taigan’s belief the Ulgens would win the case. “I …” he fumbled, Taigan never fumbled. He was never speechless or doubting himself or any of those normal things everyone else faced. But not him, never him. “I want you to promise me the same.”

She was not exactly shocked at his request, but perhaps the next best thing. Startled? If he was asking this, did it mean the Ulgens believed they were losing? Or was he playing some sort of complex psychological game with her and the Blacks?

“Why?” she prompted again. He had refused to answer when she first asked why exactly the Ulgens were putting all this effort into a child that was not theirs. But maybe now that he had begun sharing, he would explain.

“The girl will need training. You heard what Scion Orlov said. She is extremely powerful. It would be a shame if that gift was wasted.” True and true, but she felt he was still holding something back.

“I would have to talk to my father,” she said proudly, and she had stopped referring to him as Arcturus even in her head. “But he will also want to know your motivation. He won’t trust you otherwise.” She knew that for a fact, growing up, no adult had been allowed near Orion and her without being properly vetted.

His face stiffened as though he was in pain, and she supposed he might be. Lucretia was beginning to think Taigan was not here in an official capacity and was perhaps going against his family’s wishes. She let him think and looked as two young men and a young woman walked nearby. The man in the middle had his arms around the other two, telling them something and laughing. For a second, it reminded her of Taigan, Iggy, and herself. Regardless of what others might have thought about their relationship, the three had made it work for a while. But it had not been easy to share a person that you loved more than life. She looked at the three of them and hoped they never drifted apart. Or, Morgana forbid, one of them gets pressured by his family to marry and start a family.

She turned to her old friend, the one who had lived two lives for decades, perhaps never truly being happy with either. She owed him much for making Iggy happy, and seeing him visibly suffer made her stomach churn. She reached out and took his large hand into both of hers and gave him all the comfort she could.

After another few minutes of silence, he whispered, “I need to teach her because ...” He turned to her and looked her in the eyes as he declared with despair clear on his face. “The truth is that no one in the family born past 1962 has manifested the ability. For the first time in our history, we have an entire generation without the metamorphic gift. We think… we think the girl might be the last metamorphmagus in Europe and Asia.”

Arcturus sipped his tea in peace and quiet and was grateful for the momentary reprieve of the last few days. He was too old for all this chaos, and if he had someone to pass on the Lordship, he would be looking into properties in South France to retire to. Although, he should admit that the last few days had made him feel more alive than he had been in decades. He was not yet sure what this would mean when they returned to Britain. The Blacks had to regain their influence, and that meant returning to the Wizengamot. He had debated assigning a proxy but knew deep down there was no one ready to replace him. As the Black Keeper, Alphard needed to stay out of the political spotlight. Narcissa was not yet ready to come out of the shadows, and Pollux ... Pollux might kill half of them.

Deep in thought, he barely registered when his host came into the room. “Apologies for the delay; it seems my family is in a bit of a frenzy. You vould not happen to know anything about that?” Dowager Dolohov asked, knowing very well what had happened in the Hearing Room. Arcturus took another sip of his delicious tea while the witch walked to a comfortable-looking chair.

The two sat in companionable silence, each no doubt preparing their list of questions. Or, in Arcturus’s case, his one question. The Dowager had avoided telling Cassiopeia why she had helped them, but he was not leaving here without an answer. He needed to understand her motivation so he could find a way to repay her. A Black hated owing debts.

“A lovely estate,” stated Arcturus, deciding not to rush into anything. She looked around, and then her lips shifted in a small smile.

“Thank you. It is a pity, really. had you come vith your cousin the other day, you vould have gotten the grand tour.” A lie. Arcturus knew Cassiopeia and Narcissa had received no tour of the property. She was trying to ask him why he had not joined them or perhaps reprimand him.

“It is a pity, really. Had you sent me the letter instead of Cassiopeia, maybe I would have,” he responded, refusing to play her game. Her eyes lit with amusem*nt, and Arcturus hoped they were finally getting somewhere.

“Truthfully?” she asked, gazing into his eyes as though trying to read his thoughts, but he was not worried about that possibility. His mental shields were far too powerful, and only a Master Legilimens would penetrate them. Even then, Arcturus would have felt the foreign influences.

“Of course,” for that was the only answer he could give. Her smile shifted into something that resembled sadness or was that pity.

“I vas not sure you vould come. You seemed to be locked in that castle of yours and have forgotten the outside vorld.” He tried not to flinch at the accurate comment and instead focused on his gratitude towards the witch. Without her, they would all be none the wiser, and the girl would have gone to the Ulgens or the Garins.

“Well, here I am.” He emphasised, and she twisted her head as though to examine him better.

“Yes, you came all the vay here for a child that you have never met.” There was a new hardness in her voice.

“She is a Black.” was all he had to say to that. He tried one of the puff pastries; the cream was delicious.

“Yet …” He looked back to her and found her face a mask of coldness. “Your grandson, your only living grandson, your Heir, is rotting in Azkaban.” Arcturus licked the powdered sugar on his lips and tried to come up with a response. They both had grandsons in Azkaban, both of them the last Heirs to their respective Houses. Yet, he had not expected her to bring up Sirius or to be angry about it.

Most days, Arcturus refused to think about his grandson; he was tucked away in his mind along with his other great regrets and secrets. Sirius, the Black Heir who despised everything about the family, the one who had called them all evil and bigoted monsters, the one with whom the future of their House had ended. Arcturus only chose to think about him when he felt especially defeatist and wanted to punish himself further for his failure.

“He made his choice,” he replied vaguely, unable to stop the locked-away memories from resurfacing. Arcturus had tried to curb Walburga’s harshness and often invited his grandson for lessons, calling them special Heir training. Those were his most bittersweet memories: Sirius, six or seven years old, laughing with Melania and looking at him with love and adoration. He could not reconcile that little boy and the hateful man he had seen in the Ministry’s holding cells.

“Choice? You believe he really betrayed them then?” She asked, clearly trying to pick a fight with him.

“No, those James and he were closer than brothers. But the rest … I am not sure of. The war was not as black and white as some would like us to think.” He could never admit this out loud, but a tiny part of him had been overjoyed when the news had broken. Sirius Black - a spy for the Dark Lord. It meant his grandson had not abandoned them completely, and there might be a way to repair the rift between them. His hopes had been quickly dashed during his visit. “I meant the choice he made the last time we spoke.” He poured some more tea, wanting to do something to distract himself from the memory. He did not want to be talking about this; there was no point. It only brought back the greyness and despair.

“You visited him?” Her forehead scrunched as though she was truly perplexed.

“Yes, right before his trial. I wanted to reassure him I would get him the best lawyer possible. He was very clear that he did not want my help or any of the Blacks’. He was so sure the Headmaster would get him out any second that he laughed at my offer. I believe the words he used were, ‘I would rather stay in Azkaban forever than have anything to do with you.’ Fitting, perhaps.” He was squeezing his cup hard enough the handle was making an indent on his hand.

“And then, what?” She was blinking rapidly as though processing some big revelation.

“Well, he is still in Azkaban, is he not?” He did not appreciate the direction of this conversation. He had come here to discuss the Hearing, not to open old wounds, especially ones he had no way of truly repairing.

“I see. So you left him there because he hurt your feelings and fragile pride.” Salazar, this woman would be the death of him.

“Of course not. He is my grandson! My pride was not the issue; his crimes, however, were.” He snapped at her perhaps a bit too harshly, but he was running out of patience. He tried to take deep breaths and centre himself and calm the Black magic thrumming beneath his skin.

“And since vhen do the Blacks care about crimes? I thought you considered yourselves above such things!” The witch was now mocking him, swearing he would not raise his wand in her home; he might soon have to resort to shouting like a barbaric muggle.

He looked at his tea, trying to organise his thoughts. This was one truth he had not admitted before, not really a secret, but a shameful reality he wished to ignore. “I tried,” He began quieter than before. “Before his trial, I contacted the dark families to find a way to get him out. I was ready to hire any lawyer, make any bargain, break any law, but I got nowhere. The dark coalition was demolished. Each dark family was trying to keep their names out of the paper or relatives out of prison. And then he was sentenced to life in Azkaban, and it was too late. Everything he had done during the war was out.” The Black name had not been enough; he had not been enough. With Sirius under suspicion and then Bellatrix’s torture spree, their name had been tarnished, and no one had been willing to help him. It had broken something in Arcturus, seeing his mighty House reduced to this, and he had considered, even if briefly, whether there was any point in going forward. He had stared at the Black family tree for hours, contemplating the end of the Black line.

And now he was here, getting scolded like a little child. He did not like this turn of events.

“You speak of these crimes. Did you hear about them during his trial?”

He did not respond but instead took another pastry. He had not gone to the trial, not wanting to see Sirius’s beloved Headmaster rescue his Heir. He had expected to hear how the light wizard made a mockery out of the court’s mistake, but instead, the newspapers all said one thing: a life sentence in Azkaban. He had stopped reading after that; he had stopped going out, answering letters, and caring about the outside world. His grandson had not wanted his help despite all the crimes he must have committed. He still believed the light side would forgive him, much like that other boy. Snape. But the Potions Master was currently teaching in Hogwarts while Sirius was in literal hell. This left one possibility: during the war, his grandson had done something the light side could not forgive him for. As Pollux would say, light wizards were often a bunch of hypocrites.

She sighed loudly, “Blacks! All stubborn and not entirely there in the head. Every. Last. One. Of. You!” She enunciated as though he was a child or hard of hearing. “Sirius was angry and thought he would be out in a day or two. But you abandoned him!”

He put the cup down so as not to be tempted to throw it. He did not respond; rather, he braced himself and slowly got up. How dare she imply the Blacks had been the ones to abandon Sirius when he had done so countless times. This conversation was over.

He took three steps toward the door when she said in a calm voice, “What if I told you there was no trial?” He froze, his heart beating faster. “What if I told you the Heir to your House was thrown in Azkaban like a piece of trash.” Impossible. He would have known. Someone would have said something. He tried to think about a mention of a trial or any conversation about it. Surely, Cassiopeia would have known, Pollux or … It did not matter; what mattered was getting Sirius a trial. This mind was spinning with ideas and plans, coming up with a list of possibilities. Now, after the war had died down, they could demand leniency. A Heir of an Ancient and Most Noble House was sent to Azkaban without a trial! The press would have a field day with that. No matter how bad his crimes were, surely they could get his sentence reduced. Perhaps Arcturus could even live long enough to see his grandson free. For the first time in seven years, a heaviness lifted from his shoulders, and he felt like he could breathe.

He was not certain how he could repay Dowager Dolohov for this gift and was about to say exactly that when she dealt her final blow. “And what if I was willing to bet this estate and everything in it that your grandson never committed any crimes?” He could feel bile in his mouth. This. Changed. Everything.

The next thing he knew, he was back in the Black townhouse with no recollection of how he had gotten there. He could not speak; he could not think. He unleashed the deafening Black magic, begging to be set free. A wave of raw magic flew across the room, destroying everything in its path. He had no doubt the rest of the house and even the city had felt it. But he did not care. The Statute of Secrecy be damned.

No trial. No crimes. No trial. No crimes. That was all he could think about. For minutes or perhaps hours, he stood there panting, seeing only red. He vowed those responsible for this would also soon be seeing red when he skinned them alive. Starting with the biggest bastard of them all, that man. It was all his fault. He had turned Sirius against his family and then left him to rot there. He was the bloody Chief Warlock and could have gotten Sirius a trial with the snap of his fingers. Arcturus swore that Albus Dumbledore would never live a day without regretting his actions. If he got to live at all.

Taking a deep breath, Arcturus made his way to his office. He considered requesting a portkey back to Britain, debated leaving the Custody Hearing to Pollux and Cassiopeia. But then he checked for the next Wizengamont session and saw it was in five weeks, since there were no meetings in August. That gave him plenty of time to finish their business in Russia and prepare everything for the September session. He began drafting ideas and letters.

A while later, he smiled; it was not a pretty sight.

He tried not to fidget around, but the bench was incredibly hard and uncomfortable. He twisted back and forth and decided it was hopeless. So he simply stood up, right as his companion was in the middle of his sentence. Oops.

“Am I boring you, Scion Black?” asked Atanas Orlov, thinking him bad-mannered. The wizard’s Russian accent had taken some getting used to, but it was perfectly understandable.

“Well, no, but this bench is horrible. Please continue, I’m listening.” And he was, despite the burning desire to speed this along. He had come here to meet with the Lord Orlov, not his son. The man was nice enough, but he had no vote in the custody hearing, and so Alphard did not care about him. Not one bit.

It would be too rude to ask him again when his father was joining, right? He decided to wait another five minutes and pretended to listen to the Heir’s comments on international tariffs. Not even Aunt Cass would find this dry lecture interesting. He stretched again. His back was definitely going to be sore tomorrow.

He looked at the children walking around the park with their parents. Sometimes, he wished he was a little kid again, with no responsibilities and no back pain. But then he remembered he would have to deal with his mother and sister again and decided he would rather not repeat any of that.

“... Don’t you agree?” finished Atanas, and just as Alphard was considering how to bullsh*t his way out of this, his saviour arrived.

“Enough of torturing the poor boy, Nasko.” Ah, and here he was, Lord Orlov in the flesh and speaking in Russian. “You may leave us,” he ordered, and his son obeyed without a word. “Russian is fine?”

Alphard wondered what would happen if he said no, like he had told the Lord’s son. Would the old man try to speak English, or was he the type of old-fashioned wizard who chose Latin instead? The truth was, Alphard was fluent in Russian but hadn’t shared that fact with his family. They were asking enough questions as it was; he didn’t want to encourage their curiosity. But out here in this wizarding park, it might be easier to drop one of his many masks.

He nodded.

“Good,” The Lord sat down on the bench and crossed his arms. “Go ahead, convince me why I should vote for the Blacks.”

Alphard just smiled in return and then stretched his arms above his head to try to pop his shoulders. Why in Morgana’s name was he this sore? It must be the hard mattress in the townhouse. He hoped they would leave immediately after the final Hearing tomorrow, meaning he only had one more night to put up with the monstrosity.

“Well, there are two ways this could go,” he responded in Russian. “I can tell you that voting in our favour is the best for the grey faction, and present you with all the boring political calculations. Or I can tell you how it will benefit you personally. Your choice.” He shrugged and began massaging his left shoulder.

Isaak examined him as though just now, realising Alphard had anything valuable to add. He should perhaps be offended, but he was used to being underestimated; he actually relied on it. Much of his work depended on this mask staying in place.

“You think you have something big enough to buy my vote?” Lord Orlov still did not trust the Blacks and was uncertain what to think of Alphard. He had no doubt heard the rumours of his miraculous return to the living.

“Buy, probably not. But I have information you would find more than intriguing.” And that was not a lie. There were many secrets the grey wizard would probably kill for. Especially now that Alphard was made the Blacks’ Keeper of Secrets. He was still finding it hard to believe that had actually happened. Growing up he had always felt somehow separate from the rest of his family, never truly belonging with them. Though, perhaps that was mostly due to his crazy as fruitcake sister and unfeeling as an inferi mother. Had it been this easy to find his place and he never noticed, or perhaps being presumed dead help in that regard? No matter.

Isaak laughed. It wasn’t a pretty sound; it was more like a raspy cough. “Are you going to tell me what the afterlife is like? Do I look that old to you?” Alphard liked the old man; he had a sense of humour, unlike many people in power.

“The afterlife, hm, no, nothing interesting there. In my experience, it’s all darkness.” He vividly remembered that sensation of nothingness. Isaak narrowed his eyes, not certain if he was being made fun of, “Too many drugs, not enough… well air, I suppose. I was dead for a few minutes. Nasty business. But that wasn’t what I meant.”

“Pre tell,” said the Lord. Right now, the wizard was thinking this meeting was not going to amount to anything, but he still thought it was better than being stuck at home. It seemed his granddaughter had convinced the elves not to give him any of his favourite food. Too greasy, they claimed, as though he cared about such things. No, Lord Orlov didn’t mind dying soon, life had gotten too boring anyway. He had really enjoyed the meeting yesterday, it was easily a highlight of his year.

Alphard could read that and much more and knew exactly what he could offer the wizard that he would not be able to resist. That was the benefit of being able to read people’s thoughts. Well, that and he was an excellent lover; he knew exactly how to make his partner scream.

“Simple. Your house is divided because your lovely son,” who had just bored him to death, “Has no male heir. Meaning that you will have to establish a new line of succession. You have been reluctant to do so because of a small voice in your head telling you that something is wrong. How am I doing so far?”

Lord Orlov narrowed his eyes. Yes, yes, most people didn’t like it when Alphard aired their most inner thoughts. Most of the time, he only skimmed their surface thoughts to check for danger, but for the last few days, he had been using his ability to its fullest. No wonder he had woken up with a pounding headache. Even with the amount of training he had done over the decades, he could not maintain this ability for hours on end or at least not read people’s minds thoroughly. If he was just getting vague impressions and feelings, he could go for two days straight. He had measured it.

“I can give you the answer you have been looking for.” The grey wizard now looked suspicious. “If you vote in our favour, I will tell you exactly what happened to your grandson.”

Isaak inhaled sharply, scrutinising him and wondering who the hell Alphard was to know these things. No one knew of his fears, no one. And then he checked his mental shields, and he asked himself, is he… is he reading my mind?

Alphard just gave him a lazy smile.

Chapter 11: Was It All Worth It?

Chapter Text

Why, oh why, were these lights so bloody bright. He squinted to protect his eyes, but his head's pounding kept getting more insistent, as though his skull was going to break under all pressure. He had taken two pain reliever potions to no avail, and the loud voices were definitely not helping. He was well aware the next side effect would be nausea and a sprint to the bathrooms. He used all known breathing techniques to keep the pain at bay, but focusing on the conversations around him was beyond him. Alphard massaged his forehead and shielded his eyes from the lights inside the Hearing Room.

"Long night?" Lulu asked from the row behind him.

"You have no idea," He tried to produce a smile, but his muscles wouldn't cooperate. In a way, it had been a long night; he had been out until four in the morning. But no, he had not partied, as she might be insinuating. Still, letting her believe he was drinking was easier than explaining he had stalked high-profile Hoff officials to dive into their minds. He had gotten some interesting bits but nothing crucial for the custody case.

"Here," She offered him some water, and he gladly took it. He had locked his ability down, down, down, or he might have passed out from the intense pain. The last time he hadn't used any of his legilimency powers had been decades ago. And the sensation was bizarre, to say the least. He felt somehow vulnerable, as though danger could come at any second.

It was a good thing he didn't need his ability to know what his cousin was thinking. Lulu was probably the most even-tempered Black ever. Her patience was one of the things that made her amazing at studying and helping magical creatures. Most thought her unfeeling or cold, but as his father liked to remind Alphard, people were often imbeciles. Lulu just didn't expend energy on those she didn't know or didn't care about, but for those in her inner circle, she would do anything. Once upon a time, he had been one of those lucky few who saw her protective, soft, and loving side. Now, she could not hide her anger at him. Oh, she was pissed at him, and he couldn't really blame her. He had faked his own death, leaving her behind right as she was suffering the most.

Looking back, Alphard was not ashamed to admit he would have changed a few things. For one, he would have loved to had attended his own funeral. He wanted to see who showed up and what everyone's reactions were. No doubt his sister had been struggling to mask her glee, the wretched hag. He also wished he had thought about sending his brother letters from the beyond. Cygie had always been terrified of ghosts as a kid. A definite missed opportunity.

But there were other most 'appropriate' (eye-roll) regrets, and letting Lulu mourn him was at the top of that list. He handed her back the water, managing to produce a smile, and hoped they would have time to talk soon. He had no plans of revealing his past to anyone, but if anyone deserved some sort of an explanation, it would be her. Well, there were three other people on that list as well, but he intended to torture his father a bit longer. And the last two… He swallowed, the pain in his head being replaced by his guilt over his nephews.

No, no. He wasn't going there. Not again, there was nothing he could do for them right now. Regie was dead. And not dead like Alphard had been dead - his godson was unequivocally gone. He shuddered at the image of the inferi-infested water where he had found his nephew. He had refused to believe the announcement of his passing, not without seeing the body. So he had used some slightly, or very, illegal spells to find his godson. Or what had been left of him.

And Siri…

He was saved from thinking about his nephew as Dominik Garin opened the Hearing.

There was one thought running through Cassiopeia’s head, one very persistent and descriptive factoid. Namely, a wizard’s skin would get a third-degree burn at 150 degrees after only 2 seconds. One. Two. Looking at Lord Garin, she wondered how long it would take people to react if she set him on fire. Fiendfyre would be too risky and uncontrollable, plus it would be over too quickly. No, she was going to use fire fueled by the Black magic and let him suffer as long as possible, perhaps she could even heal him, only to begin again?

It could be said she did not take Narcissa’s news well, and she may or may not have thrown a very expensive set of crystal and firewhiskey at the wall. But could anyone really blame her? This blasted gormless sorry excuse for a toerag had the nerve to believe a daughter of the House of Black would ever even consider the possibility of marrying into this horrid family! The absolute audacity and delusion of the moron were astounding.

One might hastily congratulate her for overcoming her murderous desires, perhaps assuming she was restraining herself out of some moral considerations. That person would be categorically wrong, the singular reason Lord Toerag was breathing was his vote. It seemed, despite his worm-filled brain, he had recognised the Black’s superior claim to Adriana and had sent them an offer late last night. If Adriana spent one month a year until she reached adulthood, and the Garin were allowed to assign a godparent-like figure back in Britain, the dark Lord would vote in their favour.

Of course, the Lord had forgotten to mention the fact that in a few years, he would pressure Adriana into marrying one of his sons. Cassiopeia had wanted to tell them they had to burn the offer and send back a cursed object. But knowing very well this would be the deciding vote, Cassiopeia had put her fury aside and sworn she would get her revenge later. And so here she was, so busy staring at the back of his empty head that she missed the introduction and summary of their last meeting. Not wanting to miss anything actually important, she had to look away from the dark faction, or she would never be able to focus. Instead, she looked at the light faction and her unexpected ally Lady Ravinova. If the witch still wanted to see Cassiopeia’s Black temper, she might just get her wish.

“We vote then,” declared the Orator. “All those in favour of following the soulless-born procedure wands up.” To no one’s surprise, Lord Zahtev immediately did so, as the muggleborn lie was the only way the dark faction would have complete control over Adriana. “All those against,” This time, the pro-Ulgen Lord Borisov was first to respond, followed by the light faction. “Lords Garin and Orlov, are you abstaining?” The slimy Lord Toerag just nodded.

“Lord Orlov?” the grouchy old wizard (who she had come to like) pursed his mouth and looked toward the Blacks in the stance. More specifically, he looked at Alphard, not at all trying to mask there was something going on between them. Alphard, to no one’s surprise, had refused to tell them exactly what he had promised the grey Lord, but it seemed this offer was too good to pass on.

“Anyone with a brain knows she is not soulless-born. Let’s move this along!” Cassiopeia tried not to smile at the disgusted look Isaak Orlov gave the dark faction. She could breathe much easier now the muggleborn question was out of the way. Under Russian law, had Adriana been muggle-born, she would have been given to a Russian family with the same magical core, hence Lord Zahtev’s enthusiasm.

“Then, the next step is to do a blood test, which will tell us what family the child belongs to,” The bear-like Lord Borivos tried to ask a question, but the Orator continued, “If there are any objections, comments or questions, they will wait until after the test.” He looked around, a face filled with unrelenting command. Dominik Garin sounded like he was used to being obeyed, and she had to admit his current role suited him well. “The child will join us in the room, and I will hear no pestering, or attempts to communicate with her in any way. Am I clear?” His eyes paused on the Ulgens and the Blacks the longest. Then he waved at the guards stationed at the door (they looked a lot more deadly than the ones in the British Ministry of Magic).

Cassiopeia bit her lower lip to contain her excitement at the news and looked around only to find the other Blacks were not doing much better. At the central table, Arcturus and Pollux were working hard on their masks, Pollux was discreetly twirling one of his rings (from here, it looked like the Black ring). Arcturus was… well, she was not sure what was wrong with her cousin today. He had been silent at breakfast and seemed withdrawn. Lucretia was staring at the side door with trepidation and hopefulness, her hazel blue eyes were not blinking (as though she could not bear to miss even a second of Adriana’s presence). The usually stoic Narcissa was vibrating with energy, but she kept her eyes on the Ulgens. Even Alphard, who looked half-dead, had stopped shielding his eyes and was trying to appear present or at least vaguely awake.

Then the door opened, a large muscled guard walked in, and behind him walked a little girl.

All the Blacks knew about Adriana (besides her name) was that she had not turned eight (thanks to Narcissa’s conversation with Fyodor), was a gifted metamorphmagus (according to Simeon Orlov), and had a powerful magical presence (if Lady Ravinova was to be believed). Before, it had felt like a lot, and they had gone over every piece of information, trying to extract as much out of each nugget as possible. But now, all of that seemed irrelevant, none of that information had really prepared them for meeting the little girl. And not just any girl, in front of them stood a real breathing Black child. Cassiopeia heard a few gasps from the stances, probably noting the pale skin, dark wavy hair, and grey eyes. She could sense people looking at her and then the child and back again as though startled by the clear resemblance. But those were not features Cassiopeia truly cared about, dark hair did not a Black make. She, instead, focused on Adriana’s curious gaze travelling across the room and cataloguing faces. Her walk was slow and measured, her back straight. Assessing, bright, and even relaxed in the presence of so many unknown grown-ups.

She walked to the Orator’s podium and looked up to Dominik Garin with interest (perhaps she was not aware of what this all was about).

“Do you remember what I explained to you before?” asked the wizard in a much softer voice, and Adriana nodded twice. Her hair straightened to match Dominik’s, and he almost smiled at her. The guard handed the Orator a fountain pen (Cassiopeia wished they used fountain pens in Britain as well) and then stepped back. “All you need to do is write your first name on this piece of paper. It will hurt for just a second, and then the pain will be gone, okay?” She nodded again and examined the pen.

Most of the audience was leaning forward as though they could see Adriana’s writing from there, but the Blacks sat firmly in place. Their masks were back in place because none of them doubted what the test would show. Cassiopeia was willing to bet all her research, books, and possessions that the child was a Black, if the test dared suggest anything else, she would demand another. And another after that.

Adriana gave back the pen and paper and examined her red hand where the blood pen had left its mark. Her little forehead furrowed, and Cassiopeia reminded herself the child had not known about magic a few weeks ago, this must all be such a shock for her. As though Adriana could somehow hear her thoughts, she looked up and met her eyes. Cassiopeia’s heart skipped a beat, and she was transported in time back to when the same eyes had looked at her with the same mixture of curiosity and uncertainty, her head turned to one side. He had come alone and uninvited through her floo all the way to Italy and had just stood in front of her. Then the ten year-old had turned his head and given her a small smile, “Hi, Aunt Cass, thought I would keep you some company.” She swallowed hard as she returned to the Hearing room. Cassiopeia was struggling to separate the past and the present, her grandnephew and the little girl. It was impossible, of course it was. Regulus was dead, he was gone. But then her eyes landed on Alphard, another deceased Black. Was it possible?

The rational part of her brain insisted she was wrong, Arcturus had checked the family tree numerous times and would have noticed if Regulus had fathered a child. No, the only explanation was that Adriana was Marius’s granddaughter. As a squib removed from the tree, his descendants would not appear. That was a valid explanation; Regulus was just madness. And yet. Regulus had died in April of 1979, and if this child was seven years old… it was theoretically possible that she had been conceived shortly before his death. Cassiopeia, for the first time in her life, disregarded maths and logic and just examined the girl. It was not her appearance that reminded her of Regulus but rather how she interacted with her surroundings, the incessant need to explore and learn (Morgana knew how Regulus had not been sorted into Ravenclaw), the calmness Blacks famously accused of lacking.

After a few minutes of silence, the Orator spoke, “Thank you for your help, Miss. You can go back to the waiting room, and we will invite you once a decision has been reached.” Adriana’s mouth twisted, and for a second, it looked as though she was going to say something but then decided against it. She nodded and followed the guard.

On her way out, she looked at the dark stance and the Blacks. This time it, was not Cassiopeia, who she made eye contact with, but by Alphard’s reaction, it had been him. Just as Cassiopeia was about to return her focus to the Orator, she felt it. It was as though the very air changed consistency, and the oxygen was replaced with tiny prickling shards that made her skin thrum and her lungs tingle. And then, as the door closed behind Adriana, the sensation was gone, and the air was back to normal. Cassiopeia put a hand on her heart and met Narcissa, Lucretia and Alphard’s confused faces (everyone else seemed oblivious to what had just happened). That was … unexpected? Though she could not say Lady Ravinova had not warned her, she had said Adriana’s magic could charge the air, but this had been something different. This had not been the accidental magic of a frightened child, Adriana had seemed calm, and only the four Blacks had felt her magic. Meaning she must have some control over it. But how? She was supposed to know nothing about the magical world, how could she have learned control so quickly.

Cassiopeia was tempted to go to the waiting room and spend the rest of the Hearing examining Adriana’s magic, but the Orator's voice made her decide to stay.

“The test is clear. The child is a Black,” this was met with silence, and no one seemed surprised, perhaps before but not after seeing Adriana. Lord Borisov raised his wand, and Cassiopeia tried not to roll her eyes (Alphard showed no such restraint).

“Was that the only result from the test?” Cassiopeia was not sure what his strategy was with this question. Dominik quickly glanced at the Ulgens sitting at the central table and responded.

“No, there are two other bloodlines. But they are not relevant to today’s question.” Interesting, Cassiopeia wondered exactly what was on the piece of paper that the Orator was not sharing.

“I insist, the child’s full bloodline will help us establish the most suitable family.” Ah, the pro-Ulgen wizard wanted to use the grey or light families in Adriana’s parentage to argue the Ulgens would be the best suited guardians (since they had members with light, grey, and dark cores).

“The two other bloodlines are,” the Orator swallowed, and Cassiopeia really did not understand his hesitance. “McKinnon and Lestrange.”

“All dark families,” Lord Orlov snapped and then said something about an unfortunate combination, but Cassiopeia was not listening to him. She recalled each of Adriana’s features. Her Black hair, her Black eyes, a copy of Regulus. Yet there were also unknown features: her heart-shaped face, her buttoned nose, and rounded eyes.

She was not even looking at the wizards at the center, she had turned to the witch on her right. McKinnon, one of the original five Most Noble dark families (turned light during the War), now presumed extinct. Lestrange, another of the original Most Noble dark families, also heirless. The rumour was that the Lestrange brothers had been the ones to kill the young McKinnon Lord after days of torturing him. The combination of those two Houses was … unexpected, to say the least. She had never heard of a McKinnon and a Lestrange getting married or a McKinnon and a Black, for that matter. But that was not why she was staring at Narcissa. A child who was both a Black and a Lestrange. Despite being two of the most powerful dark British families, the two had rarely intermarried, three times in history if Cassiopeia was not mistaken. And the most recent union was between Bellatrix and Rodolphus. Based on Narcissa’s blank expression, she had also never suspected the existence of such a child.

Cassiopeia’s over-analytical brain unhelpfully supplied that the only way not to appear on Arcturus’s family tree (unrelated to Marius) was powerful blood magic. Magic that the Lestranges would most definitely know. Morgana, protect them all if this was indeed a product of that unfortunate union!

No. No. Just no. She refused to believe this was real; Dominik Garin was plainly wrong. There was no way the test said Adriana was a Lestrange. Narcissa wanted to walk to his podium and demand to see the results for herself. This was simply impossible. First, Bella would have told her, she refused to believe otherwise. She had been there for her sister’s miscarriage and knew that despite what everyone thought of her, Bella had been devastated. This led her to point two: Dolph could not have children. During the war, after Bella’s miscarriage, he had been hit with a spell that made him sterile. And that had been about ten years ago, which did not match Adriana’s birthdate. Third, she would curse anyone who heard her reasoning and concluded that Bella must have slept with Bass. Not only were the two like siblings, but Bella had also loved her husband far too much for that. Plus, Bass had never been interested in women. So no, there was no way. Bella and Dolph were not Adriana’s parents, and yes, she was sure of it. Even if, they had acquired a child through theft, adoption or a miracle, Narcissa would bet her magic that Bella would have told her. If not during the war, during her yearly visits to Azkaban. So no.

But she could still not shake the thought out of her head. Adriana looked so much like her sister that she was beginning to doubt herself. The hair, the eyes, the way she walked, analysed everything around her, everything. It was painful to watch her, an undamaged copy of Bella. What Bella had been before the Dark Lord, before the killing and the torture, before the madness and the pain. When their eyes met, Narcissa felt tears in her eyes and wanted to run to her and hug the mini Bella.

Her visit to Azkaban was scheduled in four months, and she was already trying to find a way to go earlier. She doubted Bella would give her any answers, most of the time, her sister did not know what year it was and often talked about the war like it was still ongoing. No, it so happened that Bass’s cell was close enough that she could talk to them both, even though she was technically only allowed to see her sister. Oh, yes, if he wanted a reprieve from the Dementors, Rabastan Lestrange was going to be answering some questions.

“They abandoned her and have no way to hone her ability!” A loud roar came from the centre, and she pushed away the thoughts of the Lestranges. “Blood does not determine everything, the Blacks have lost their power in Britain, they are unsuitable guardians. The persecution of dark wizards there will put her in danger! We cannot let that happen.” Lord Borisov was barely restraining himself from jumping across the table and shaking the light faction, which he seemed to be trying to sway to his side. “These **** cannot be allowed…”

“Lord Borisov! Such language will not be allowed in this Hearing Room, calm yourself, or you will be escorted out of the room.” Yelled the Orator, and Cassiopeia was intrigued by the vulgar word he had used and wanted to learn its translation.

“I think we should proceed to vote,” suggested Lord Toerag, and Cassiopeia wondered if it would be too early to kill him right after he delivered on their deal. Maybe she should wait a few days so it was less suspicious? No, that was too long, and she did not particularly care how obvious her murder was. Perhaps right at the end of the meeting, they were leaving with Adriana. Yes, she could make it look like a heart attack so the child was not traumatised, a too-gentle death, but it would have to do.

“All those in favour of giving full custody to the Blacks as her blood, raise your wands.”

At first, no one moved, and Cassiopeia was unsure if Lord Toerag was the only wizard she would be killing today. But then, one by one, wands began to light up.

First, Lord Konstantinov raised his wand, and Cassiopeia was going over the letter she would be writing to Anneli and the rest of the Jokinens. She was not sure how she felt about the open debt that now existed between their families. For now, though, she put that thought aside.

Then Lady Ravinova raised her wand, and Cassiopeia caught the witch's gaze and offered a nod. Their deal had been simple: the Blacks would take Adriana away and teach her to control her magic (which now seemed like a bigger challenge). They had the shared goal of preventing Adriana from becoming a political pawn for the dark Russian faction. But Cassiopeia knew her promises to the light witch and the deal with the Lord Toerag were contradictory. If Adriana stayed here a month each year, she would surely have some effect on the Russian balance. Perhaps if Cassiopeia was a different witch, she would have cared that she was misleading her ally, but she did not. The Blacks were taking Adriana and bringing her home, no matter the price. They would find a way to settle the scores later.

Cassiopeia then looked at Lord Orlov, who seemed hyperfixated with the wand in his hand. Alphard had assured them that the grouchy Lord had been convinced to support them, and she was inclined to believe him. With a sour expression as though doing something against his better judgement, the grey Lord raised his wand, giving them three out of the four needed votes.

With a sigh, Cassiopeia turned her attention to Lord Toerag, waiting for him to deliver on his side of the deal. She was not sure if that also meant the other dark Lord would support them, but in the end, it did not matter. Four or five votes, the result would be the same.

Silence. Cassiopeia was staring so intensely at Lord Toerag that her eye began to twitch. What was he waiting for? Should she go smack him on the head?

Then he shifted slightly, looked at the Ulgens and offered them a satisfied smile. The bloody bastard smirked at them as though there was some secret between them. That manipulative, useless toad! Had he just … she blinked rapidly as though to push away the fog of confusion, but then cold, burning fury enveloped her. He had just cost them the Hearing! No, no, just hell no.

He had warned them, hadn’t he! He had told his father and uncle that if their plan did not work, Aunt Cass would have to be restrained, or they risked an international incident. Well, here they were; Lord … what had Aunt Cass called him? f*ckface? No. Dickface? No, though he liked the sound of that. Lord Dickface had betrayed them, and Alphard was the only thing standing in the way of his aunt's public assassination.

“Stop it!” he whispered-yelled in her ear, hoping she snapped out of her rage-fueled haze. But then again, she was a Black, so perhaps his expectations had been too high. He pushed her down and wandlessly stuck her to the bench, and Narcissa used a silencing spell on her. His niece was surprisingly good under pressure; he would have to remember that. Lucretia, on the other hand, was unaware of her surroundings, gaping in shock.

Did he want to kill Lord Garin? Of course, he did, but this was not the place or the time. There were enough Blacks behind bars, idiocy was not going to help them rebuild their family. Alphard looked around, but everyone was too focused on the Lords in the centre to pay them any attention. Good, maybe they could leave this meeting with their heads held high.

Dominik Garin silenced everyone and continued, “Three for and three against. Anyone wanting to change their vote?” No one raised their wands. “Then I, as the Orator, will act as the deciding vote.”

He refused to look up, avoiding his father’s and uncle’s eyes. No doubt the Ulgens and the dark faction were smiling broadly even without reading their minds, he knew they were celebrating their victory. Lord Dickface was probably planning how soon he could get the Ulgens to sign the marriage contract. He wouldn’t be so smug if they had blackmailed him with the secrets from Black Book. However, Alphard had been against it, thinking it was too risky. Lord Dickface seemed calculating and misogynistic enough to call their bluff and let them release the secret. After all, he had three sons, and the fact the oldest one was not actually a Garin might not matter to him. The truth would, however, hurt Fydor and his mother, who would no doubt lose everything. Worse, Lord Dickface would no doubt use this as evidence for why women should never be trusted and should be locked away. So no, Alphard had thought the blackmail was not worth the potential backlash, and it would also ruin any chance they had of working with Lord Dickface. As it turned out, none of that really mattered in the end. Because Dickface had sided with the Ulgens all along.

“Very well,” began the Orator and Alphard looked down at his hands not being able to bear seeing this trainwreck. He, instead, contemplated exactly what had gone so wrong that they had ended up here. They were in Russia, had proved Adriana was a Black, and were still being rejected by these pompous asses. Perhaps if this had been thirty or even twenty years ago, no one would have dared challenge their family. But so many of them were gone, and their influence had crumbled.

“My vote is in favour.” It took a room four seconds to digest Dominik Garin’s statement, and then the room erupted in shouts. Alphard could finally look up without being afraid he would give away anything with his ever-present smirk. They had indeed secured a Garin vote, just not the Lord’s one.

Lord Garin was standing shouting at his uncle, the Ulgens were shouting at the grey faction, then at the dark one and then turning back to the grey. Dark wizards around them began giving them angry looks, and some were even shouting at them to leave, but Alphard flipped them the finger and turned to the Black witches sitting behind him.

“Ready to go, my fair ladies?” He removed the spell from his aunt, stood up and walked toward the epicentre of the chaos. In his periphery, he saw Lord Garin’s robes set on fire which led to more shouting. He didn’t need to turn back to know Aunt Cass was smiling.

The night before

Pollux was drinking his whiskey when he felt it. A wave of raw power, a familiar power. He wondered what had upset his cousin this much, and for a second, contemplated returning to the townhouse. But in his condition, he was not sure he could apparate without splinching himself.

He ordered another drink instead.

He usually drank only at home, but he needed a place where no one knew him. Somewhere, they would not pester him with questions or demand explanations. Just peace and quiet. Or as quiet as a magical tavern could be. At least no one had tried to speak to him.

As soon as he thought that, someone sat to his left, perhaps he had spoken too soon. He was willing to ignore this newcomer, but then he focused enough to look at him. No. Just no, he could not deal with this right now. He started to get off his chair, stumbling off the uncomfortable wooden thing.

“Don’t leave on my account,” Dominik Garin said in French. Pollux stopped, torn between following this buffoon's suggestion or running away like a coward. Two very unpleasant options.

“You are the one who should leave,” And yes, his French was rusty. He had not used it in over a decade, purposefully avoiding the country. Dominik ordered a drink and ignored Pollux’s comment entirely. He tried to go back to enjoying his peace and relative silence, but he could just not relax with this twat nearby.

“I take it the idea to walk out of the meeting was yours? Your cousin never struck me as the creative type.” No and yes, but Pollux was not going to concede that.

“It was actually my granddaughter’s idea. Because unlike some, we actually view women as something other than broodmares to be locked at home.” Perhaps he was being too blunt, but five glasses of whiskey would do that. Dominik’s jaw tightened; obviously, this was still an uncomfortable topic.

“You know I never agreed with my brother’s ideas.”

“Yes, but you never stopped him, and now your nephew is even more fanatical. Married off his daughters to his cousin and nephew? Your son and grandson, if I am not mistaken?” Dominik turned red with anger.

“Like you have any right to comment. You married off your own daughter to her cousin.” the Russian retorted.

“Ha. As though that had been my idea. I tried to stop her, you know, but she would not listen. Being Lady Black. That was what mattered to her.” He took a large sip, thinking about Walburga. “And even then, my daughter was not locked away as nothing more than a house elf.” Dominik sighed but did not say anything. They had had similar debates before and had spent hours discussing everything from taxes on dragon reserves, to regulations of flying carpets and the hideous Wizengamot robes. Before. When they had been inseparable. A long time ago.

“I did not come here to fight, Grumpy.” Pollux turned around, ready to hex the wizard; how dare he use that idiotic nickname. Dominik put his hands up in supplication. “Pollux. I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

He turned back to his drink, not wanting to see the Russian wizard; it brought back too many memories. Them, in France, working late nights inventing new spells, feeling invincible. As though they could achieve anything if only they dared dream. They. Dominik and him. And the third one. Because it was never just the two of them. There was always the three of them.

“It’s been a while.” continued the annoying wench. Yes, nearly fifty years, but it was not soon enough. “I know you are still upset,” Pollux could not handle it any more and actually took out his wand. Upset? Upset, yes, he was bloody upset. Dominik, perfect Dominik, Orator of the bloody Russian Hoff, was a liar, a thief, and a cheater. Of course, he was upset; he could not imagine a day he would not be.

“Ah, I see. Well, would it help if I agreed to vote in your favour if it came to a tiebreak?” something in Pollux’s expression must have given him hope because the wizard smiled. “I don’t know what deal you are trying to make with my nephew, but he is likely to betray you. Let me help you.” Pollux looked at him with suspicion. Once upon a time, he would have done anything for Dominik, even just to see him smile. But that was before he had come back to their home to find them in bed with that bitch witch. Before he had learned that they were trying to patent their spell without him. Their biggest project!

Did it really matter anymore? They were no longer young men driven by unrealistic expectations of love and devotion. Yet, his heart still hurt remembering how he had run back to Britain heartbroken and devastated beyond repair. How the two of them had destroyed him.

The petty side of him (which was most of him) wanted to tell Dominik to f*ck off, and in his head, he was. But then he remembered what Cassiopeia had said, “Her name is Adriana!” the biggest smile on his sister’s face. Adriana, Italian for darkness. He thought about his granddaughters and how they would come and hide in his office when they had angered their mother. Bella’s smile, Andi’s hug, and Cissa’s laugh. Damn, these witches and their irresistible smiles. Bah.

“Fine, you do this, but you are still not forgiven!” Dominik beamed like a child on Yule. Idiots, all of them. He was probably the biggest idiot of them all if he was letting his old lover back into his life. Toujours Noir indeed.

Chapter 12: A Black Welcome

Chapter Text

He walked from one side of the room to the other and then back again, past the portrait of his great-something Elladora, past the fireplace, past the mantel with the bronze clock, past the other frames and chairs and the liquor table. And back again. He was not pacing, and he had silenced Elladora’s portrait after she had suggested as much. Noisy, good-for-nothing painting, like she even knew what year or decade it was.

He stopped at the liquor table and poured his third glass, or was it fourth. It did not really matter; he liked the taste and the burning sensation, and it was not like he could not just snap his fingers and get a sober-up potion. He added a large ice cube because it tasted better than using magic to cool the liquid, and he returned to his walking.

Any second, his family was going to arrive, and he wanted to be here to hear how it had all gone down. Better-than-everyone Arcturus finally seemed to have pulled his head from his ass and was doing something productive with the Black money and legacy. Better, but too little too late, in his opinion. His uncle’s insistence on welcoming everyone back into the fold was nauseating. Blood traitors like Cedrella had no place in the Black family, and Callidora was not much better, was she? The Longbottoms were basically blood traitors themselves. A small voice in the back of his head mocked him, “melodramatic much, no Cygie?” he placed a hand on his forehead, trying to lessen the agonising pain. But the voice just laughed at him and continued to taunt him. That bloody pestering voice would just not let him have one day of peace! One day was all he was asking for, but the voice continued, “I will let you have your peace once you stop being such a grouch and admit you are happy the family is back together!”

“Am not!” responded Cygnus out loud, though the room was just as empty as before. He stopped and refilled his glass. Alcohol sometimes managed to drown the voice, though it was happening more and more rarely these days. The real problem was that he still had to be careful because if he got absolutely wankered, the voice turned into a full-blown hallucination. He felt bile go up his throat at the memory of the last time this had happened. February 19th.

“Oh, did you miss me? How flattering!” he could almost see the persistent voice smirking. Cygnus greeted his teeth and took three deep breaths, just like Ella had taught him. His wife had been the only person who knew about the parasite in his head, and she had relentlessly tried to help him. Many arguments had been had over the need to see a mind healer, and as usual, she had won. The healer had not been much help; nothing had. Well, except for his Ella. She had been the only one to silence the voice completely, but after her death three years ago, the voice was louder than ever. “Perhaps you should have kept going to the healer instead of consuming copious bottles of priceless alcohol!”

Cygnus could not take it anymore and threw the glass at the wall. Not even looking at the mess, he went and got another. He was getting frustrated, even more so than before. The voice and now they were twenty minutes late. They. Better-than-everyone Arcturus with his grand plans and head-stuck-in-a-book Cassiopeia with her research and theories and papers. The woman had left Britain, showing no backbone during the war, and so she should not be calling herself a Black. “But you were saying something different a few decades ago, weren’t you?” Shut up. Cassiopeia Black had done nothing to help their family; that was the truth. “Ah, so it had nothing to do with the fact that you asked her for help, but she couldn’t give you what you wanted? I seem to remember…” Cygnus did not want to hear about this and did the only thing that sometimes worked against the intruder. He hit his head against the wall hard enough that his vision became blurry for a second, and he dropped his glass.

A few seconds later, he felt better and headed to the liquor table. Just as he poured himself, which number was it? his third glass of the night, he heard voices coming his way. At last, they were here. He probably would have sensed their portkey arrival if it had not been for the alcohol in his system, but at least the voice was silent for now.

The first one to enter was his stuck-up uncle, strutting like he had done anything to deserve his title. Then came in his father, his aunt, and his daughter. His usually quiet cousin walked with a little girl, but he could not spare her glance as the last person stepped in and closed the door. His tormentor in the flesh. He was wearing a ridiculous pink shirt, his hair looked tasselled, and was he whistling to himself? “And so what if I am? I look great doing it, don’t I?”

At the same time, real Alphard - as he had labelled him - commented unhelpfully, “Hi Cygie, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Cygnus growled at his brother just as the voice in his head laughed. Naturally, the pain in the ass would find this funny.

Cygnus did not hear what people around him were saying because he was too busy convincing himself not to slam his head into something harder. He thought the Cruciatus Curse would be less painful than dealing with two Alphards at the same time and wondered if someone might grant him some mercy and fire the spell at him. Knowing that was highly unlikely, he discreetly added some white pounder to his drink and sat down with the others. Hopefully, the asphodel would do its job and bring some much-needed oblivion.

Narcissa still found it hard to believe they were back in Britain with Adriana in tow. The last week seemed like a twisted dream she could not wake from: first, the Family Gathering, then Alphard’s appearance, and everything that happened in Russia. She felt like something monumental had shifted in her life, yet she had little to show for it. Now, she was back to the role of Lady Malfoy, the gracious hostess, respected socialite, and perfect wife. The most exciting thing in her future was coming up with an original Yule party theme and proper seating arrangement. How mundane.

“This is Holkham Hall,” she heard Lucretia explain to Adriana in Russian as they walked toward the red sitting room. “This is where you will be living. It is a very …” Narcissa was struggling to understand what came after that. The chimaera blood had rubbed off hours ago, and she did not want to waste the priceless ingredient.

She could not help herself but look at Adriana - or, as she had now begun to refer to the child in her head - the mini Bella. Most would think the comparison was somehow an insult, but for Narcissa it was simply the most accurate way to describe the girl. When they approached her outside the Hearing Room and introduced themselves, she gave them a wide smile. With two of her baby teeth missing, her curls looking more dishevelled than before, and the lack of any rational fear of meeting a group of strangers, she had just confirmed Narcissa’s earlier observation. Adriana Black was a miniature version of her sister. Her heart hurt every time she looked at the newest Black, but she was determined to get over that slight inconvenience. She was going to be a part of Adriana’s life, meaning she was going to help her learn English, introduce her to Dragon, and find a way not to call her mini Bella to her face.

They entered the red sitting room, and Narcissa was surprised to see her father there. She was, however, not surprised to see him near the liquor station. She had tried, many times, to help him with whatever was paining him, but he adamantly refused to admit he was hurting. They each found a seat, and Cassiopeia and Pollux were still continuing with their argument about the best spell to burn someone’s skin off. Thank Morgana, Adriana could not understand them.

“This is Cygnus, he is Pollux’s son and Alphie’s little brother,” Lucretia explained as Adriana stood in front of the wizard with a sour expression and a large glass of whiskey.

“What is your name?” Narcissa’s father asked in English, and she was glad he was at least addressing the child directly instead of talking as though she was not in the room. Lucretia had to translate the question, and her father did not look impressed. Adriana looked uncertain for a second, as though the question had somehow confused her.

Her father sneered down at the child, “She doesn’t even know her own name! Are we sure she is a Black?”

“Father!” Narcissa reprimanded him from her seat and wondered how her father could look at Adriana and not see his favourite daughter. Actually, it was possible that was the problem.

Adriana looked into Cygnus’s eyes, not at all disturbed by his tone or unfriendly facial expression. “Adriana,” she gave him a small smile and continued in Russian, and Narcissa could only understand a few words, “I don’t … name… before.”

Lucretia kneeled, her forehead furrowed, and asked something that sounded like, “What other name before?”

“Lia,” answered the girl and her father began laughing.

“That is even worse. What wizard names their child ‘Lia’? Adriana at least sounds presentable even though it’s not a star.” Narcissa was about to protest that he had not named her after a star either, but Lucretia spoke first.

“Not all Blacks are named after stars, cousin,” her voice was harsher than Narcissa had ever heard from the witch. Being the one most fluent in Russian, Lucretia had not left mini Bella’s side. She had quickly become very protective of the child. “Lia is a fine name.”

Her father was about to retort with something no doubt cruel based on his red face. If Narcissa had to guess, he was going to question whether Lucretia even counted as a Black. Thankfully, her grandfather stepped in before she could find out if she was right.

“Children, that is enough. Did you read her file?” He held out a beige folder. “Adriana was found with a letter; her name is Adriana Cordelia. It seemed in the … orphanage she went by Lia, but when she was discovered, the Russians decided to use her first name.” Narcissa tried not to react to the second name.

“Cordelia’s the name of a moon, is it not?” smirked Uncle Alphard as though taunting his brother, and her father looked ready to strangle that smile off his face.

“Indeed,” added Aunt Cass. “The real question is what Adri… what the child would prefer to be called. Both names are powerful and full of meaning.” Her grandfather had explained that Adriana had Latin origins and meant dark, and Cordelia, well, for some people in Britain, carried a lot of weight.

Mini Bella looked around anxiously, then shrugged as though her name did not matter.

“Cordelia …” mused Acrturus, as though just now realising there was a conversation happening around him. The Black Lord had been extremely distracted all day, and Narcissa wondered what was on his mind.

“I wonder who picked that name and why,” added Narcissa, repressing her memories of the only other Cordelia she had ever known. “It is definitely not a popular name. Perhaps …” but before she could finish her sentence, a house elf popped in the middle of the room. The creature looked around and shrieked at the number of wizards present; he was no doubt about to punish himself for something and forget why he had come in the first place.

“Dobby, why are you here?” Her voice was unflinching; she had long since learned commands were the best way to deal with the peculiar elf. The elf stopped fidgeting and looked at her with his huge green eyes. She was not sure why Lucious had decided to send him in particular, all Malfoy elves were allowed in Holkham Hall.

“Dobby send to get Lady Malfoy, Mistress. Lord Malfoy say Dobby get Lady Malfoy when she back, Mistress. Dobby wait and wait.” he was wringing his hands and then began to pull on his ears. So, Lucius wanted her home as soon as possible, no wonder. She had not been away from home this long since their marriage, and her husband did not deal well with changes. She had planned on staying for dinner and trying to talk to her father, but she did miss her family. Her other family. She had so much to tell her Dragon … and maybe it was time she stopped using the cute nickname and call him Draco? She had promised herself not to spoil him anymore. But no, the nickname was too adorable; she would keep it for now.

“Return to the manor.” The house elf nodded, grateful to be away from all these people. And with a loud pop, he was gone. Narcissa stood up, and without looking at anyone, she went to the seat the child had taken. After a nod from Lucretia, confirming she would translate, Narcissa told the girl gently, “I promise I will come to see you very soon. But I have to go home now.”

Mini Bella looked confused, and Lucretia relayed, “She is confused about why you do not live here. She says this place is a castle, there must be a place for everyone.” Narcissa smiled and took mini Bella’s tiny hand.

“I live in my own castle, and soon you will be able to visit. I also have a son your age, and the two of you can play together, alright?” she smoothed one of mini Bella’s wild curls with her free hand. She ignored the looks she got from the rest at inviting the girl to Malfoy Manor. Even if they did not trust Lucious, they were going to have to trust her judgement.

Before Lucretia could translate mini Bella’s response, her hair had turned light blond to match Narcissa’s, and the little hugged her. Startled at first by this open affection, she hugged her back after a second. She could hear her father grumbling in the background, but she could not care less. Now that mini Bella was in her life, she was not going to let her go. She did not care if it was healthy to project her sister onto the child, but no one had ever claimed the Blacks were a paragon of health.

The saturated Black magic soothed Alphard’s headache, and he could finally focus enough on his surroundings to do more than nod and go along with everything. Hia uncle seemed preoccupied with something, and if he didn’t span out of it, Alphard was going to have no other choice but to glimpse his thoughts. Perhaps after he took a nap. Aunt Cass was torn between examining their Head of House and glancing at the newest addition to the family.

Alphard was glad to see that Lulu had already taken Lia under her wing, and yes, he had decided to call her that. It seemed to piss Cygie off, which was always a plus, and he didn’t want the child to feel like she had to change her whole identity to fit in with the Blacks. Alphard was firmly in favour of refusing the family’s expectations and all its rules. So, Lia, it would be.

He looked at her; the little witch was sitting on the sectional next to Lulu, but she didn’t take her eyes off Cygie. His brother was too preoccupied with getting a refill and trying to discreetly add some drugs to notice. Lulu certainly picked up on the tension, and wanting to avoid another confrontation, she told Lia, “Once you are ready, we will introduce you to the rest of the family. But do not worry if you cannot remember who is who. Also, learning English will make things easier, but it will all take time. We will help you with everything.”

The little witch gave her a small smile and asked, “Will you teach me magic?” and for the first time, she actually sounded like a little kid, the wonder and anticipation clear in her voice. Alphard couldn’t help but laugh.

“It seems you already know some things?” prompted Aunt Cass, unsurprisingly interested in Lia’s power. Alphard tried not to react and draw anyone’s attention, but inside, he was on the edge of his proverbial seat. Lia’s magic had been … f*ck … he had no words for it. He had felt such power only twice before. Once, when he had been stupid enough to meet Voldemort, the Dark Lord made the air vibrate with malice by corrupting the magic around him. The second encounter had been with the Headmistress of Mahoutokoro, the Japanese wizarding school. The extraordinarily powerful light witch had helped Alphard with one of his projects, but she had had to restrain her magic constantly, or he couldn’t concentrate at all. With Lia, the magic had felt like pure fire consuming the very air, but it hadn’t felt destructive or twisted. More like she controlled every molecule around her and could mould it into whatever she commanded. He wasn’t sure if the others realised what exactly her powers meant, and he didn’t know how to tell them, not without revealing where he got the knowledge.

Lia turned her eyes to the older witch, angled her head and nodded as though that made any sense. Alphard tried not to laugh at his aunt’s annoyed expression. Obviously, she had wanted a detailed explanation about what had happened in the Hearing Room.

“Is that so?” joined Cygie, now examining Lia with distrust, “Wasn’t she supposed to have been raised in a muggle orphanage?” His brother clearly wanted to pick a fight, or perhaps it was the alcohol and drugs in his system that were initiating this aggressive behaviour. Aunt Cass’s brow furrowed, and she didn’t immediately tell Cygie off, meaning she agreed with his pointed question. Lulu looked at both angrily, but it was his father who defused the situation.

“Perhaps Adriana would like to rest before dinner? Lucretia, could you show her her new room?” his father was being jovial and almost nice; it was disconcerting. Lulu nodded and gave Cygie and their aunt a cold look and a confused and perhaps disappointed look at her silent father.

She smiled at Lia and started to tell her about house elves as they walked out hand in hand. The second the door closed behind them, Cygie asked, “Shouldn’t we go to Gringotts and do an inheritance test before we allow her to stay? Do we even know exactly who her parents are?” Cygie was no doubt unwilling to be close to a possible half-blood. Alphard laughed again at the mere thought of telling Lulu that Lia needed to be tested to be allowed to stay. His brother did not seem to like his reaction, so he angrily added, “What! We don’t really know who she is, do we? How is she related to us?” Alphard stopped laughing and stared at the door where Lia had disappeared. He wasn’t sure if it had been his guilt or his instinct telling him exactly who she was related to. But for now, he would remain quiet.

“It is not as simple as that,” replied Aunt Cass, “We cannot go to Gringotts just yet,” she added vaguely, and to no one’s surprise, Cygie didn’t appreciate that.

“So we will just let a random child into our home? This is…”

“She is a Black, that is final,” announced Arcturus, seeming to finally have joined the conversation.

“The Russians did a bloodline test and proved she is a Black,” added Pollux, and Cygie deflated. “We have to wait on Gringotts because we found out she also has Lestrange and McKinnon blood.” Cygie seemed taken aback, blinked rapidly a few times, and then chugged what remained of his firewhisky. A real healthy reaction! But could Alphard really blame him? He had done far worse in his youth. Yes, he could, Cygie was his little brother; it was his responsibility to bully his brother into becoming a half-decent person.

“Do you really think the results of the bloodline test won’t make their way to Britain?” asked Alphard.

“Corvus does not have any direct links to Russia, but yes, he will hear about this sooner rather than later. But we should have a few weeks, perhaps months before that. It should be enough time to come up with a plan.” explained Pollux, who was closest to the Lestrange Lord.

“And if …” Cygie’s voice faltered, probably thinking what they all had considered, “If Lestrange is her father?” meaning if Cygie had just been incredibly rude to his own granddaughter.

“We fought too hard to hand her over to the Lestranges! They cannot have her!” declared Aunt Cass with fire in her voice; no doubt she would burn down Lestrange Manor and everyone in it before they got Lia.

“We will deal with the Lestranges if it comes to that,” spoke up Arcturus, finally deciding to share what had distracted him. “For now, let us focus on the other result. Adriana is the last McKinnon. She cannot claim the Ladiship just yet, but she can claim the Heirship and the votes that come with it.” Alphard wasn’t sure where his uncle was going with this and decided it was worth the pain to begin using his ability again.

“But we have the same issue: in order to claim the Heirship ring at Gringotts, they need to do a full inheritance test,” argued Aunt Cass.

“Not necessarily,” countered his father. “We have this,” he pointed to the results from the Russian test. “With this, we can schedule a meeting with the McKinnon vault manager, and they can test to see if the Heir ring will accept her.” Arcturus liked this plan, and Alphard was straining to see what exactly the Black Lord wanted from the McKinnon Heirship. He tried not to frown at the effort he was exerting to glimpse into Arcturus’s mind. Something about a vote and … the dark faction.

“We will proceed with this plan. I will contact the McKinnon manager, and once she has the Heir ring, Adriana will be able to appoint a proxy until she turns seventeen…” he trailed off, his mind forming plans. Alphard could almost grasp them, but then they turned into fog. His uncle's mental shields were some of the most powerful ones he had encountered.

“We already have a seat, with two votes. Why do we need another one?” questioned Cygie and Alphard was grateful for the question, “Not that we have used the Black seat in twenty years!” he added as a reprimand. Cygie had always been the one interested in politics and, no doubt, was furious their uncle had stopped attending Wizangamot meetings, weakening the dark faction. Alphard knew the basis of the Wizangamot, how the seats were distributed, and who got how many votes. It was all based on the original Wizengamot arrangement: five light, grey, and dark Houses got two votes each, whereas the rest received only one. But he hadn’t followed any developments since he had left Britain and had no idea which family belonged to which faction. Not that shifted all that often but still.

Arcturus, apparently, had plans for the McKinnon votes, which, last Alphard knew, had been aligned with the light faction during the war. Before they had all been slaughtered. Well, maybe not all of them.

“Pollux, you should take over the McKinnon seat,” their Head of House ignored Cygie’s comment, too focused on repressing the desire to take the seats for himself. “During the September session, you will realign them back to the dark faction. I will need those votes.”

“Why?” asked Aunt Cass. Alphard wasn’t sure how truthful his uncle would be, so he decided to snoop deeper. Then, one word jumped out at him, and it felt like a slap across the face: Sirius.

“I am going to have Sirius retried!” Arcturus pronounced, and Alphard’s smile slipped off his face.

“Retried? Did new evidence come to light?” he was almost begging Arcturus to say yes. Anything, even the smallest inconsistency in the case, could lead to a reduced sentence. He had been all the way in Peru when he received the news about Sirius and was ready to return the same day. His mission be damned! But he remembered reading all the reports about his nephew’s arrest and trial. He had been furious, had raged, and then had cried for hours. He hadn’t wanted to believe it. He could have sworn on his soul that Sirius was not a Deatheater and that he would never betray James. But the reports had been too detailed, too revealing. He had felt sick. Not because Sirius could commit such crimes. No, he didn’t really care if Sirius decided to become the next Dark Lord himself and killed half of muggle Britain. He was devastated that there was nothing Alphard could do to help him. He had considered breaking him out of Azkaban, but Sirius was constantly watched by the Dementors, and not even he could fight hundreds of the soulless demons.

“No, no new developments. But it seems …” Arcturus was now looking at each one of them in turn. Aunt Cass looked contemplative, his father looked confused, and Cygie… he was getting his third glass. “None of you knew?”

“Knew what?” questioned his father, clearly just as eager to hear the rest. Alphard tried to read Arcturus’s mind just to end this torture, but all he could see were images of Dowger Dolohova and rage.

“Sirius never received a trial.” Alphard felt bile rise up. “He seems to be innocent.” Alphard ran to the nearest vase and threw up. He heaved the entire content of his stomach and then kept going.

“How is that possible! I remember the Daily Prophet reporting on his trial!” protested aunt Cass while he could not even organise his thoughts. Siri innocent. Innocent in that place. For six f*cking years. His nephew, his favourite Black, locked in the hell hole.

“Since when do you trust the Daily Prophet?” snapped his father, but it was clear he was not actually angry at her brother. “None of us attended the trial?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“One trial was enough for me,” admitted Cygie and looked as though he was reliving Bella’s trial. Alphard thought perhaps he should comfort his brother, but then again, Bella was actually guilty and deserved what she got. Maybe. He wasn’t sure anyone deserved Azkaban; it was inhumane.

“You …” Alphard’s voice was still unsteady. “You are certain?” he finally managed. He was looking straight into Arcturus’s eyes, ready to detect the smallest lie or shred of doubt. But there was nothing as their Lord said.

“Yes, I believe Sirius was framed. Which means Pettigrew was somehow involved, and the easiest way to prove Sirius innocent would be to find…” but Alphard couldn’t hear the rest of it. There was a swooshing sound in his ears that drowned everything else out. The Daily Prophet hadn’t been his only evidence of Sirius’s guilt, had it? He clearly remembered every word from the letter that had broken his heart.

… I know this will be hard to hear, but Alphard, there is undeniable evidence he worked as a spy for the dark side. He gave them information that led to the murder of hundreds, including the McKinnons and the Prewitt twins … He confessed as much during his trial. I have attached it below

The person responsible was going to pay, and not in a petty way where Alphard yelled at them or made side comments. No, they were f*cking dead; they just didn’t know it. He was about to head to the floo system and get everything ready when he saw everyone was looking at him expectantly.

He read his father’s mind to find out what he had missed. Arcturus had asked his father to meet with his friends from the dark faction and assure their loyalty. His father was always coming up with ways to remind them why the Blacks were one of the oldest British families. Ah, and his father had asked Alphard if he wanted to join him, no doubt to use the Black Book just in case anyone was being stubborn. He just nodded, not sure how to formulate sentences at the moment.

“You should contact Amelia Bones,” suggested Cygie. Alphard, and everyone looked at him sharply. His brother was rarely this helpful. “What? The witch is profoundly stubborn, and she takes her position as the Head of the DLME seriously. If you tell her someone was sent to Azkaban without a trial, she will get to the bottom of it. Plus, she is the proxy for the Bones votes and a vocal member of the grey faction. What?” They were all a bit shocked Cygie was this … helpful. It was quite different from his usual grouchy behaviour. Alphard wondered if there was something about Lady Bones that brought out this side in his brother. His brother’s mind was so hard to read, though, perhaps it was the alcohol, but it was all smudged and jagged. All Alphard got was Andi’s name.

“Nothing,” Acrturus reassured him. “You are right. Getting some support from the other factions could be useful. I will write Lady Bones. Cassiopeia, work with Callidora and Lucretia on coming up with potential allies from grey or light members of the Wizengamot. We will wait to approach them after I get Sirius the new trial. For now, no one but Lady Bones should know exactly what we are doing.”

“Not even the dark faction?” asked his father, his brow furrowed. He was thinking it would be much easier to get the dark Lord on their side if he could tell them about the lack of trial. They would all be devastated that a Heir of an Ancient and Most Noble House could be treated so poorly.

“No one. I will not risk this getting back to him!” Him? Ah, he saw that his uncle was afraid of Dumblodre getting wind of this.

“And why exactly is Dumbles an issue?” asked Alphard.

“That man! He is the reason Sirius is in Azkaban. He poisoned Sirius against us, used him, and then did not lift a finger to free one of his precious soldiers!” more like child soldiers, thought Alphard.

“He knew Sirius was innocent?” Asked Aunt Cass, not that she was a big fan of the light wizard but more so to know how much pain she should inflict if they ever crossed paths.

“He is the Chief Warlock; if he wanted to get Sirius a trial, he could have easily done so! I do not know everything yet, but I will get answers if it is the last thing I do. Pollux, focus on the dark families. Cassiopeia, look into the light ones; Alphard, Cygnus, you can help with the preparations."

That sounded like a dismissal, and they started to leave when Aunt Cass asked. “Wait, but what about the consequences of our trip to Russia?”

“What about it? We got Adriana, did we not?” Arcturus raised an eyebrow.

“There are the Jokinens to settle things with, not to mention Lord Orlov, and are we pretending to ignore that Lucretia promised Taigan he could train Adriana?” explained his aunt.

“Our debt with Lord Orlov is settled,” Alphard clarified. He had sent the wizard a note telling him exactly what had happened to his grandson and who was responsible for it.

“Fine, but the rest?” Aunt Cass kept going, her face beginning to flush.

Arcturus’s mask of indifference didn’t betray anything, but his chilled voice told Alphard all about the Lord’s new priority. “We are talking about getting Sirius out of Azkaban. I do not care about anything else. Lucretia and you can deal with this; if you need help, ask Narcissa.” He gave her a challenging look as though to see if she dared argue. Aunt Cass pressed her mouth and said nothing. “Then, we all have our tasks. I will see you all in a few hours for dinner. You have until then to think of useful ideas.”

“Wait!” said Cassiopeia, and Arcturus narrowed his eyes, clearly displeased. “There is something I want to discuss. If we are not doing the heritage test, we should still try to find out who her parents are. I want to know how Adriana ended up with that awful place, and the child deserves answers. I think we should contact Marius.” Arcturus sighed as though he did not have the patience to deal with this. Alphard, however, knew exactly how much this meant to his aunt and that it was not only about Lia knowing her identity. Letting Maruis go was one of her biggest regrets.

So he offered to help, “Leave that to me,” she gave him a grateful smile, and Arcturus just nodded.

It was just one more thing Alphard would add to his neverending to-do list. But skimming through his father’s thoughts, he had a pretty good idea of where he could start his research on Marius. Boston, Massachusetts. From there, it should be fairly easy to find the man and hopefully use his charm to convince his estranged uncle to reunite with the Blacks. Though Marius might not be very receptive. If Alphard had been the one kicked out for being a squib, he probably would have shut the door in all Blacks’ faces. So the task would be difficult but not impossible. He had definitely had more demanding and sometimes even ridiculous missions over the decades. But he never complained. After all, it was literally a part of his job description. Unspeakables: defying the impossible every day.

Chapter 13: Lessons in Black

Chapter Text

Alphard opened the fridge and examined its contents, hoping to find something to make a sandwich with. Raw chicken, leftover pasta, half-eater yoghurt, ah, there was the cheese. No, he just needed some … he found the ham and even some butter. As he closed the fridge, the toaster dinged, and he took out the two slices. Whistling to the radio, he watched as the butter melted into the bread and then added some ham and cheese.

Happy with his creation, he took his plate to the living room and sat in front of the telly. He considered changing the channel, but by the time he found the remote, the dramatic medical show had captured his attention. So he relaxed in the armchair and enjoyed his food in peace.

The episode was almost over when his perimeter spells detected movement, so with a regretful sigh, he turned the telly off. He didn’t move from his seat, instead deciding to wait in the shadows of twilight. He didn’t have to wait long; less than a minute later, he heard the front door open. The person turned a few lights on and walked into the kitchen, not realising there was someone in the apartment. He was disappointed with her; what if it had been someone with bad intentions? She would have to be more careful in the future. She didn’t notice him as she put her purse on the counter, washed her hands, and opened a drawer to get a glass. Alphard observed her from his seat and angled his head, noting her features. She had changed since the last time he had seen her, almost ten years ago, her hair now stopped at her shoulders, and she had definitely lost weight. But then again, it wasn’t like he had remained the same.

She poured water into the glass and turned around just as he said, “Hello, Audrey.” She dropped the glass and spun around, wand in hand. But instead of attacking him, she just gaped at him, completely disbelieving her eyes. “Oh, come on, you can’t think I am a ghost too.” He stood up and offered her a smirk, and she was finally able to process his presence.

“Alphie,” she squealed in delight, put her wand away, and, ignoring the broken glass, ran into the living room to hug him. “What are you doing here? I thought you were somewhere in South America? Is everything okay?” she rushed to ask, and he laughed.

“It’s good to see some things never change. Take a breath. I’m alright.” She still looked confused at his visit. And he didn’t blame her. Audrey had been aware Voldemort had set his sights on Alphard, and he had to choose between joining the madman or becoming one of the light’s soldiers. Instead, Alphard’s supervisor had given him a third option: to leave it all behind and conduct secret research abroad.

“Does Prime know?” she asked quietly, still slightly weary.

“Of course,” he spoke the truth. He had informed his supervisor immediately after returning to Britain. He had no choice, Unspeakable Prime was not a person Alphard wanted to anger. Not even a Black was impulsive enough for that.

She sighed in relief and gave him a warm smile, her green eyes sparkling with joy. Damn, she was still as beautiful as ever. “How long are you staying?” she asked, and a part of him wanted to go back to how things had been before. Flirty and fun.

“Long enough,” he got closer to her and whispered in her ear, “And we have a lot to catch up on.” He reversed their places and pushed her on the armchair, his hands on her waist. She chuckled and reached for him.

“I’ve missed you.” She kissed him, their lips immediately finding their familiar rhythm. He deepened the kiss, and when they stopped to take a breath, she purred, “I’ve missed this.” Her mouth was on his neck, kissing and biting. He reached for her blouse and stopped kissing her to remove it. With that out of the way, he offered her his widest smile; she basically melted in his arms. She didn’t notice when her wand holster fell on the ground or when Alphard wandlessly vanished her wand. And just like that, a trained Unspeakable was disarmed and vulnerable.

He pulled away as though to unbuckle his belt, but instead, he reached for his wand and had her bound to the chair before she could react.

“Exploring a new interest?” she asked, her voice a little hoarse, but her eyes quickly glanced at her empty wand holster on the floor.

“Something like that,” he replied and kneeled in front of her. “I really did want to f*ck you, unfortunately, I have some questions that can’t wait.”

Her forehead scrunched in confusion and hurt. “You could have just asked; there's no need for all these theatrics.” She was trying to sound upbeat, but he could see her body getting ready for a fight. Too bad he had already won.

“I will ask, and you will answer,” he continued, ignoring her comment. He put his hand on her cheek and looked her in the eyes. “No one needs to get hurt, okay darling?” She must have known he was lying because she began to protest.

“Alphard, what are you doing? You can’t! Stop it!” but her protests were useless, he was already penetrating her mental barriers. As a pureblood, Audrey Clearwater had learned Occlumency from a young age, and to become an Unspeakable, she had mastered the ability. Too bad none of that mattered right now, not against someone like him.

He could see her surface-level thoughts, her joy at seeing him, her desire to be with him, and then her fear of him. Then came her short-term memories, but he quickly and not very gently pushed them away. And so he delved deep into her memories. Distantly, he could hear Audrey screaming in pain, but it didn’t even occur to him to go slower and be more considerate of her discomfort. He had come for something very specific, and he was not leaving without some answers.

He needed to know about Sirius.

After what could have been seconds, minutes, or hours, he found the memory he was looking for. Audrey writing the letter to Alphard, the one convincing him Sirius was beyond his help. He could see her carefully choosing her words and biting her lip the whole time, perhaps wondering if she was doing the right thing.

But he still didn’t understand why she had done all of it. So he kept looking. And there it was, a meeting two days before.

“Are you sure?” Audrey asked him, and he put his scarred hand on her shoulder.

“Trus’ me, the lad’s guilty. Tried warning Albus years ago, but he never listened!” she looked up to see his face or what was left of it. One of his eyes was missing, and there were countless scars. Her poor uncle, he had sacrificed so much for this war. “Sirius Black’s a bloody Deatheater, deserves to rot in Azkaban. Just like the rest of his damned family!”

Audrey knew Uncle Moody hated all dark wizards, and a tiny voice reminded her that not all Blacks were monsters. But then again, Alphard had loved both his nephews so much and looked where they ended up. Perhaps he had been too blind to see their faults. But it was one thing to occasionally help against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Names by leaking some documents to the Order of the Phoenix. What her Uncle was asking of her… it went beyond that.

“Dree, know I’m asking for much, but it’s important. Righ’ now the case agains’ Black is flimsy, the Black lawyers will get it dismissed as easy as that,” he snapped his fingers to illustrate. “Who knows who he’ll go after nex’? The Meadows and Prewitts are almos’ gone, one by one they’re killing us!” he pleaded with her. Tears threatened to spill upon hearing Fabian’s name. He had been her friend; he had been a good, brave, and loyal person. He didn't deserve to be slaughtered. Of course, no one did. She thought of the Potters and their little boy. How could Sirius betray his best friend like that?

“And you are certain he betrayed them?” she asked again, needing to be sure.

“Look a’ me, tha’ lad’s guilty. No doubt abou’ it!” he looked at her expectantly, and all she could do was nod. He smiled, it looked unsettling, “I knew you’d do da righ’ thin’!”

She hoped that was true. After all, she would be the one to provide the evidence to put him away for good. Her Uncle was right; the Blacks were too powerful and would stop at nothing to get their Heir out. If Sirius Black was a monster, she would break some rules and find a way to tie him to some of the Deatheater attacks. During his trial, that should be enough to convict him of his real crimes. She hadn’t hesitated because it would be difficult to do. On the contrary, working in the Department of Mysteries, she had the necessary resources to create a dossier. No, the hard part would be then sending that evidence to Alphie. But it might be necessary. Because there was no doubt in her mind that he would run straight back to Britain to help his precious nephew. And he would once again be sucked into the Black drama and madness. Her Uncle’s plan might actually be for the best. She would put a vicious criminal away, and Alphard wouldn’t throw away his life for those ungrateful Black harpies.

Alphard had seen enough. He exited her mind, finding Audrey passed out with blood running down her nose. For a second, he examined her and found that everything about her now repulsed him. She had caved in so easily, and all for what? Trying to keep Alphard away from his family? Her report had been so detailed and methodical that she must have spent days coming up with crimes to pin on Sirius. All in vain because, in the end, his nephew had not even received a trial, so the file had never been used. No, the only damage it had done was to bring Alphard unimaginable pain. So much so that he had relapsed and wasted half a year lost to drugs and … well, he didn’t really remember much of late 1981 and early 1982. All because of that stupid file.

Looking at his old friend, he felt no pity for the state she was in. He considered leaving her like that, knowing that once he left and lifted his spells, their office would detect a disturbance in her apartment. She would be discovered and sent to the Janus long-term Ward at St. Mungos. She might recover some function, but it was doubtful she would ever walk out of there. He had gone too deep and too far and had shattered the protections that Unspeakables had placed on her mind… most likely, she would never recover from this.

He was about to leave when he saw a picture on top of one of her drawers. It was a photo of the Thames and three murky silhouettes in the water. He could feel a smile forming on his face just at the memory of that night. Damn it. He sighed, knowing he couldn’t just leave now. Not after this reminder of their past, or the fact that Audrey had been the one to save his life, showing him there was more to life than partying and drugs. Yes, he had always been a natural legilimens, but drunk out of his mind, he would have wasted his gift. She had been one of the reasons he had gone into recovery and had made something out of himself. His Mastery and his job as an Unspeakable had all been because of her. Well, she and the third person in the picture.

Despite how much he hated her at this very second, he didn’t want her to waste away in a hospital. That was too ironic for his taste. He knew what he had to do; the only problem was that he had a meeting with his father in twenty minutes, and he was definitely going to be late for it. His father was going to be so pissed, and Alphard was not going to hear the end of it. Resigned to the inevitable pestering, Alphard went to the kitchen and grabbed a sharp knife. Then he walked back and started chopping.

Pollux examined the books for the sixth time, knowing very well none of them were worth his attention. But it was still better than just standing outside Gringotts for his wayward son and looking like a fool. He should have known the brat was going to be late, when had Alphard ever made things easy for him!

With a resigned sigh, he left the bookstore located at the entry of Knockturn Alley and slowly made his way to the bank alone. He really did hate it when he let himself be disappointed by others. After the 1934 fiasco with Dominik, he had begun expecting the worst out of people. But sometime between Alphard’s return and working together in Russia, Pollux had foolishly begun to trust his son. Obviously, he had been wrong to do so.

This was supposed to be a simple plan; he had scheduled a meeting with his account manager under the pretence of showing Alphard the family books. As his oldest son, he was going to inherit everything, and there was a lot he had to learn about Pollux’s investments, properties, and valuables. Their real reason for being at Gringotts was to pass along Adriana’s blood test results in order to set up a meeting with the McKinnons’ account manager. It turns out the goblin in charge refused to meet with someone without proof they were related to the family. Since Arcturus wanted to keep this as secret as possible, Pollux had been reduced to an owl, personally delivering the documents. He had been so close to telling Arcturus off but had remembered exactly what he was getting out of this. The McKinnon seat would be his. He tried to suppress his smile at the thought.

It was not even that Pollux desperately wanted to go to Wizengamot meetings; on the contrary, he expected to be absolutely bored there. No, what kept him going was the image on everyone’s faces when he, the dark, villainous Black wizard, became the proxy for the McKinnon seat. The one currently occupied by no other than Albus bloody Dumbledore. The conniving bastard had claimed that as the McKinnons had made him proxy during the war, he could continue to hold their seat even though they were all gone.

Pollux tried to go back to imagining Dumbledore’s face when he claimed one of his seats and returned the McKinnon votes to where they belonged to the dark faction. The McKinnons were one of the original five Ancient and Most Nobel dark Houses, together with Black, Gaunt, Lestrange and Malfoy. For centuries, the five had worked together, and only about eighty years ago had things begun to change. In the 1880s, Lord McKinnon married an American grey witch who raised their children not to value blood purity. Naturally, this caused strife, especially when Cantankerus Nott and his friends started to compile the Sacred 28 List. Pollux remembered the day the McKinnons moved to the grey faction. He was playing in the garden with his cousin Regulus when their grandfather had returned from a meeting and, in his rage, destroyed an entire wing of Gwrych Castle. He could not have been more than ten, but that day was edged into his memory. It had been the first time he had seen the destructive side of the Black magic, and he had been intrigued.

At first, the dark faction had been furious at the McKinnons for their shift in alliances, and many had started calling them blood traitors. But that had soon gone away when the McKinnons continued to support the dark agenda on all issues except Mudblood policies. The McKinnons had began to be considered the darkest grey House, and most - other than the likes of the Notts - had accepted their choice. The McKinnons had quickly established themself as a powerful House, owning a third of magical Ireland, and now backed by influential American relatives. Pollux even attended the then Heir, Ramsey McKinnon’s wedding to Elspeth Avery, as he was a close friend of her father’s. The union between two Ancient and Most Noble Houses had been the talk of every conversation for an entire year. It had cemented the McKinnons’ position in the grey faction, and perhaps if it had not been for the war, things would have remained the same. People often commented on the irony that during the war, the House of Avery had joined the dark faction, whereas the once-dark McKinnons had supported the light. But Pollux did not find that ironic or fascinating, and he did not think Ramsey McKinnon would either. It had been his son, Angus, who had moved their seat to the light faction after his parents’ deaths in 1976. And from what Pollux knew of Ramsey, he would have been horrified to see what had become of his once proud House.

One day, he was going to tell Adriana about the McKinnons, and he was going to make sure he underlined that Ramsey might have had a grey core, but the wizard honoured pureblood traditions as much as any Black or Lestrange. He wanted to make sure she was proud of every part of her heritage, not just the Black side. And regardless of Cassiopeia’s lectures on avoiding traumatising topics, he was not going to skip over how Adriana came to be the last McKinnon.

Despite what the paper said, he was still not sure what had happened to Ramsey and Elspeth. Pollux clearly remembered Bellatrix telling him the Dark Lord wanted the McKinnons to return back to the dark side. And then, months later, Lord and Lady McKinnon had been murdered. Perhaps the Dark Lord had lost his patience and had hoped the young Heir and his sister would be scared into submission.

But something about that did not add up: Angus and Marlene had been the ones more likely to resist him, and in fact, they had joined the Order of the Phoenix. Why kill the more traditional parents? Especially when Elspeth had been very close with her brother and father, both of whom were marked Deatheaters. It did not make sense. Unless. Unless Dumbledore was far more conniving than Pollux had given him credit for. After all, Angus and Marlene had been some of the light’s best soldiers. How had Rabastan described them? Ah, yes, he had said the McKinnon siblings’ knowledge of spells far surpassed the others’; they fought like true purebloods and were a real challenge. Dumbledore might have considered all that and eliminated the conservative parents to turn their children against the dark. It was just a theory, but it was definitely something to consider.

So when Pollux told Adriana the truth, he was going to tell her everything, all his theories and suspicions. Not so he could turn her against the light, but rather so she could prepare herself for the questions and accusations of besmirching the heroic and light McKinnon legacy. He felt responsible for educating her about that part of her family now that he was being made her proxy and vowed to prepare her to take over as soon as she turned fifteen. Which was the earliest someone could claim a seat, and only if they were the last of their House; otherwise, they had to wait another two years.

But until then, Pollux was going to enjoy taking a historically dark House away from that two-faced wretch. And what was worse, the bastard had somehow got his grabby hands on three other proxy seats: the Potter, Ross, and Weasley seats. With the first two being Most Nobel House and having two votes each, Dumblef*ck had six votes at his disposal. He understood that there was no one from the McKinnons and Potters to take their seats, but the Ross and Weasley seats? How could Minerva let that half-blood manipulator take her family’s seat? And he was not going to think about Septimus and that cow Cedrella.

No, instead, he would dream of the light’s faces when they realised that the balance of power in the Wizengamot was shifting. Currently, the light faction had the most votes, then came the grey one, and lastly, with only seventeen votes came the dark faction. But with Arcturus once more using the two Black votes and Pollux bringing back the two McKinnon votes, their faction would have twenty-one votes, the grey twenty, and the light’s twenty-two. Still not equal, but much better.

Pollux already had a list of policies and legislations the McKinnon votes might prove vital to and could not wait to take back some of the power the light faction had amassed after the war. There was one law in particular -

“Black,” Pollux heard a voice as he was about to enter Gringotts. He looked up to see familiar brown eyes, matching wavy hair, and high cheekbones. “I am surprised to see you out this late.” mocked Lord Lestrange, no doubt referring to Pollux’s strong desire to be home after dark.

“You know what they say, Lestrange, only the unprepared can ever truly be surprised. Perhaps you should work on that.” Pollux responded with a straight face. The two wizards stood at the top steps of the bank, and for a second, no one said anything.

Outsiders might view their stances as hostile and the silence as aggressive. But then Corvus’s lips tilted a slight bit, and the tension disappeared. “It is wonderful to see you outside of one of our manors, old friend.” Pollux knew his friends were worried about his less than social habits, and he let them believe he was bored with the general public, preferring instead the company of a select few. The truth was, he was afraid to leave Cygnus alone for too long and so rarely left their estate.

Pollux decided to change the subject and asked, “How was your trip to Italy?” The two wizards moved slightly so as to not abstract the entrance.

“Italy was fine, though it is becoming too touristy and losing some of its class. I suggested vacationing somewhere else next year, but you know how Cece is. She would not hear of it!” Corvus could not help but smile when thinking of his wife, and neither could Pollux. Constanza Lestrange was one of the reasons he still had hope for wizardkind; she was warm and kind but, at the same time, incredibly strong and even vicious when she needed to be. He supposed being mute had often forced her to defend herself and prove her capability.

“Yes, I imagine you will be going to Italy until the day you die,” Corvus sighed at that, knowing Constanza would never stop loving her home country, and he could never deny her anything. He loved her more than anything, well, maybe equally to their sons. But Pollux was trying very hard not to think about the Lestrange brothers right now.

“I suppose. You should come next time, keep me company when Cece abandons me for some new exhibition.” Corvus tried to sound wounded, but he adored Cece’s passion for the arts. After all, it had been how the two had met. And the invitation was also more of a social nicety than an actual suggestion. Corvus would never let her out of his sight for more than an hour, and Pollux did not blame him. Whilst on vacation, Corvus’s first wife and daughter had been slaughtered by vampires after he had returned early to their room to finish some paperwork. The guilt had nearly destroyed him, and Pollux had been afraid for his friend’s life. It had taken him ten years and meeting Constanza for some light to return to his eyes. If he had suffered similar pain, Pollux would probably be just as obsessed with his family’s safety. Or at least those family members Corvus had any way of protecting.

“Perhaps next time,” replied Pollux, as it was the polite thing to do. “I should get inside. You know how the goblins get.” The truth was he still had a few minutes before his meeting, but he wanted to get away from his friend.

Corvus blinked twice at the abrupt change in conversation and nodded. “I will see you the day after at Pucey’s?”

“I will be there,” Pollux confirmed, and for the first time in decades, he felt actual guilt. He had forgotten how much he hated the gut-churning sensation. Not only was he going to their friendly card game with a political agenda - when they had tried to keep official business out of these gatherings. But he was also keeping so many secrets from Corvus. He was not some whimpering Hufflepuff needing to share every little thing in his life with his friends, nothing as plebeian as that. But he knew the reason Corvus and Constanza spent two months in Italy was not the food or the arts. His friend had been sick for a while, and he did not have much time left. Perhaps a few more years if he was lucky. And he knew Corvus well enough to guess that every month, he felt the sorrow of failing his House more and more acutely. He had no living relatives, and with his sons in Azkaban for life, the line would soon end. The thought must be slowly killing Corvus, worsening his condition.

And here Pollux stood with proof in his hand that there was another Lestrange. Perhaps Corvus’s own granddaughter. As close as the two wizards might be, Pollux was under no illusion. He realised that keeping Adriana a secret would destroy their friendship. Even if she ended up being Corvus’s distant niece, he would never forgive Pollux for deceiving him.

A part of him wanted to disregard Arcturus’s order and tell Corvus the truth. He realised that if her father was a Lestrange, they would have a greater claim on her. But Pollux knew she would be well cared for with the Lestranges, and the Blacks would still get to see her. Arcturus and Cassiopeia disagreed. Pollux had been directly forbidden from telling his friend, and he hated it. As Corvus started walking away, he allowed himself a small compromise. “Lestrange, you and your wife should come over when you have some free time. There is someone I want to introduce you to,” Corvus turned around, his brow twitching the tiniest bit, clearly unsure what to say.

“I think reacquainted is perhaps a better word, father.” came Alphard’s amused voice. Corvus’s eyes went comically wide as he looked from Alphard to Pollux and back again, clearly shocked.

“You are late,” was Pollux’s only response. He wanted to get this over with as soon as possible and get away from Corvus. Alphard shrugged and started climbing the stairs.

The two went inside, leaving Corvus outside alone and bewildered. Perhaps Pollux could not say anything about Adriana and getting Sirius a trial but he might let a few hints slide. After all, in his old age, who could blame him if his mind sometimes wondered. Wait. Pollux stopped walking. Was he … was he behaving like a sappy Hufflepuff?

Alphard’s laugh brought him out of his existential crisis, and they walked together to the bank teller.

“Mother, please!” begged Dragon, his little hands clasped in front of him. “I promise to behave!” His big blue eyes were beseeching, and she almost caved at his adorable pout. But then reminded herself her son needed to learn the meaning of the word ‘no’, and she had to stand her ground.

“Love, I told you already, your cousin needs time to adapt to her new home. She doesn’t speak English and doesn’t understand our world yet.” She could see his mouth opening; no doubt, he was going to offer to teach her. So she added, “I promise you will meet her soon.”

“But it has been forever already!” he argued, his forehead scrunching in distress.

“It’s been four days since we returned,” she corrected him, but he did not seem to care for that distinction. “Love, you need to give her time.”

“I just want to meet her,” he said, his voice more gentle now. Almost vulnerable. She swallowed thickly, overcome by the need to comfort him. “I want someone to play with.”

Narcissa knew she could brush off his demand and tell Dragon that Malfoys do not need others to be entertained. She could also placate him by offering to invite Crabbe’s son or Parkinson’s daughter. But she did not want to dismiss his feelings because she knew what lay at the root of the issue. She felt guilty for his loneliness and wished more than anything that she could have given him a sibling. Growing up with two sisters and two close cousins, Narcissa knew how precious those connections were. But no matter how hard they tried, Lady Magic denied them a second child.

She caressed his cheek and promised, “You will love. And she will love you, and you will be able to play.” Narcissa hoped the two got along, or her son might be crushed.

“All the time?” he asked, his eyes full of joy. She smiled at his excitement but did not want to make any unrealistic promises. Dragon happened to have a very good memory and demanded things promised to him. That is how they ended up with an observation deck, an archery field, and a pegasus.

“How about this? I will talk to Lucretia and Arcturus, and maybe once Lia’s English improves, you two can get tutored together?” He squealed with delight, and he hugged her tightly. More accurately, he tried to squish all the air out of her.

His words were muffled, but she heard a distinct “Thank you, thank you,” she kissed the top of his head, glad she had defused the situation. Oh, she knew Lucius was not going to be happy with her decision, and they could probably argue about it. But in the end, she had no doubt he would see reason, like always. And then they would … make up, making her victory all the sweeter.

He let go of her and ran outside. Narcissa’s smile slipped slightly because she was certain Dragon and mini Bella would meet soon, but she was slightly worried about how it would go. After what she had learned about mini Bella’s past, she was not sure how Dragon would react to his cousin. His friends, though all different, were still loud children who liked to run around and have fun. Mini Bella … well, it was possible she was overthinking this and mini Bella just needed time to come out of her shell. But after her healer’s assessment, it seemed mini Bella might need a lot of reassurance that she was safe and no one was going to hurt her. Narcissa was afraid that Dragon might have a difficult time connecting to someone who had had a drastically different life and had gone through so much at such a young age. Mini Bella’s behaviour reminded her slightly of Theodore Nott, who was the quietest child Narcissa had ever met. Perhaps the two might get along wonderfully if they could arrange a playdate. But that would definitely have to be after she met Dragon, or he was going to cause a riot.

Narcissa flooed to Holkham Hall and reminded herself to remain calm and composed. This was not a good time to go back to Russia and burn down that horrid orphanage. She knew that even at her sanest, Bella would have hunted and killed every single person who ever laid a finger on the girl. And though Narcissa was not troubled by the Black Madness, she could not deny she had the urge to hurt some muggles.

She had one of the house elves lead her to Lucretia and mini Bella and tried to stop thinking about the child’s scars. Narcissa found herself on the grand terrace overseeing the lake in the distance. It was incredibly scenic out here with the August sun. She squinted against the sun and saw three figures at one of the tables.

“Merry meet,” she decided to announce her presence and not startle them. Three pairs of eyes, two grey and one blue, looked up.

“Merry meet,” responded Lucretia, while Uncle Alphard disregarded all decorum and waved at her with a “Hi there.” Usually, she would not mind such behaviour among family, but they had agreed to show mini Bella proper greetings. Not that her uncle had ever cared for basic etiquette.

“Merry meet,” mini Bella said softly, with a strong Russian accent so it sounded more like “MeRRy mit.” But it was still progress; mini Bella had refused to speak any English for the first two days. Aunt Cass had been very clear that they should not pressure her but instead try to integrate as much English into her life as possible. Apparently, among her hundreds of projects, the witch had also studied techniques for adolescent language acquisition.

Narcissa reached their table and saw they were all drawing, or at least attempting. Lucretia was colouring some winged creature in one of her notebooks, and Alphard was … experimenting with shades of red?

“What have you got there?” She gestured to mini Bella’s paper. The child looked at her and scrunched her little mouth as though searching for the words. Narcissa knew that it would take her time to speak fluently, but they were already seeing some progress. Perhaps her Aunt was indeed a miracle worker.

“Flower,” mini Bella pointed to her paper, and Lucretia gave her a big smile. “... hall?” the girls said, uncertainly. Narcissa examined her drawing and saw a small house surrounded by flowers. It was definitely not magical, perhaps something mini Bella had seen in Russia. The drawing was actually much better than she had expected from a seven-year-old. She had to admit it was definitely better than anything Dragon had ever drawn for her.

Alphard laughed and pointed to the massive building behind them, “This is a Hall. It’s big and old. That,” he touched the child’s painting, “It’s a house. It’s small.” He used his hands to illustrate ‘big’ and ‘small’.

Mini Bella tried again, “Flowers and houze,” and Narcissa found herself smiling. “Sky, cloud, and … mashina?” she pointed to something in the corner, and looked to Lucretia for translation.

“A car,” the witch explained, and mini Bella repeated the word, committing it to memory. Narcissa tried to remember what a car looked like and then compared it to the drawing, finding it was pretty accurate. It was odd seeing a magical child drawing a muggle invention, but hopefully, she would soon feel more at home here.

“It’s very pretty,” complemented Narcissa, meaning every word and mini Bella rewarded her with a small smile. She tried not to see her sister in the child’s smile but failed spectacularly. Every day, her need to speak to Bella grew, and she really did not like how sometimes she had started to refer to mini Bella as her actual niece. She had already contacted the ministry to demand a closer visit to Azkaban, but they had denied her. So she was now trying to see Dolph. Usually, they only let you visit immediate family, but it was worth the try.

The girl’s unexpected question spanned her out of her spiral of doubt. “How doing your son?” mini Bella asked. Lucretia and she shared a surprised look because this was the first time the child had asked after one of their family members. Usually, she listened or asked for words from the new world around her.

“Draco is well. He really wants to meet you. He wants to teach you how to fly.” she answered. And did he! He had come into her room this morning with four brooms, barely able to hold them all. Explaining that these were his training ones, and he did not know which one his cousin would like the most.

“Fly … in sky?” mini Bella questioned, her eyes getting large. Then Lucretia explained to her what flying and brooms were using mostly English and then repeating some words in Russian. Mini Bella nodded her head and, in the end, said. “Yes, yes. I want fly broom!” They all laughed, and something in Narcissa’s heart loosened at the sound of mini Bella’s laugh. Despite everything she had been through, she was already talking and smiling more, behaving like a typical seven-year-old. Perhaps meeting Dragon would not go poorly, after all.

After teaching Uncle Alphard how to draw flowers, Narcissa was in mini Bella’s room helping her get ready for supper. They had all decided the child should spend some time away from Lucretia to avoid making her codependent. They had tried to come up with activities that did not require much English or talking in general. Hence, why her grandfather had suggested teaching her to play chess, Narcissa would help her learn about fashion and beauty, and Uncle Alphard had surprised everyone by offering to teach her the piano. So far, mini Bella was doing great, and Narcissa wondered when Lucretia would want to add more activities to fill her day.

For now, Narcissa was happy to teach mini Bella how to do her hair, just like her mother had taught her sister and her. Well, with mini Bella’s wild curls, Narcissa was using Bella’s personal tricks, but it was all the same and highly enjoyable. The child’s first clothes had been delivered the day before, and she was now wearing a beautiful pastel blue dress with white bows. She seemed to like the dress, or at least she was not complaining. However, as far as Narcissa knew, mini Bella had not complained about anything.

“Do you prefer it like this?” Narcissa asked, holding half of her hair up, “Or like this,” she gathered all of her hair and waited for an answer.

“One, please.” came mini Bella’s response, and Narcissa started to twist her hair into a simple yet proper hairstyle. She was careful not to pull on her hair too much, remembering hating it as a child. Mini Bella stood still, looking in the mirror, and Narcissa tried to focus on her hair and not the girl’s scar. The healer had said that some of mini Bella’s scars could be removed with an ointment, but some, like the one on her right arm, were too old and deep. Mini Bella caught her watching and said, “Not hurt now,” as though that was supposed to make Narcissa feel better and not like she wanted to kill everyone who ever hurt her.

Narcissa put mini Bella’s hair down and kneeled next to her chair, “And no one will hurt you ever again. I promise,” And she meant it. It was not only that mini Bella looked like her sister. She wanted to believe she would have reacted like this to any Black being hurt.

Mini Bella tilted her head as though trying to translate her words. Then she scrunched her mouth in confusion and asked, “Wizards not hurt?”

Narcissa opened her mouth to reassure her that wizards were nothing like those savages. But images of the war stopped her. After so many funerals, she had begun hating the colour white and everything it symbolised. Could she really lie to the child so blatantly? What if mini Bella grew up believing all wizards were good and then got hurt because of it? “Some wizards hurt others, but they are bad wizards. We won’t let bad wizards hurt you!” she was not sure if mini Bella could even understand her. Looking into her grey eyes, she found uncertainty, so she tried again, “We are Blacks. No one hurts the Blacks,” mini Bella nodded in understanding, and Narcissa wished she was speaking the truth.

After gently detangling some of her unruly curls, Narcissa said, “You are ready,” and smiled at the little girl. “Perfect.” She knew it was almost time for her to go home, but she loved spending time with mini Bella. But mini Bella did not react to her words, and Narcissa tried to determine what the matter was. The child seemed to be considering something carefully, and Aunt Cass had been very clear that they should let her form her own questions and find her words.

“Blacks not hurt?” mini Bella asked softly, and Narcissa was surprised by the question. She knew that she could wait for Lucretia to join them and ask her to translate, but she wanted to find a way to communicate with her niece, the child, on her own.

“Blacks are strong. We don’t let others hurt us,” she tried to explain but could see mini Bella was confused. Narcissa did know some Russian, so she tried translating, “Myi silny,” Mini Bella looked down at her shoes. Narcissa did not think the girl had ever avoided anyone’s gaze before, not like this. “What’s wrong?” She put her hand on the child’s shoulder and tried to get her to look up.

“Blacks … hurt,” Mini Bella whispered after a long silence, and Narcissa felt shivers run down her back. She was not sure if mini Bella was trying to say that their family had hurt someone or that they were being hurt. But somehow, this moment felt important, as though whatever the girls said next could change something. A lot of things.

She decided to find out more about this cryptic statement, “Who,” she asked and then repeated in Russian, “Kto?”

Mini Bella finally looked up, her eyes full of unshed tears. Her lips were shaking with the effort of trying not to cry, but then she opened her mouth, and the first tear fell, “You father,” she claimed, “Man with big hair. Woman with … with big laugh.” Now she was fully crying, her voice beginning to break, “Three black birds. Boy … boy with green eyes.” she began sobbing, as though she was the one in pain, and Narcissa wanted to hug her and hold her tight but she continued, “Boy… with ye.. yellow hair… Man with no… no words,” she cried more and more after each name and her shoulder began to shake.

When she seemed to be finished, mini Bella collapsed into Narcissa’s arms, trembling and sobbing. She wanted to assure the child that all the Blacks were alright and she did not have to worry about them. But her father? Her father most definitely was not alright. And she did not have to be a genius like Aunt Cass to guess that the woman with big hair could be referring to her sister. A part of her yelled at her that there was no way, mini Bella knew all of that, but she also remembered how her magic had felt in the hearing Room. For all Narcissa knew, the child’s dark powers extended beyond her comprehension.

For now, it did not matter if mini Bella was correct or not. All she wanted to do was soothe the crying girl. She stroked her hair and back and told her, “I will help them, alright. You don't have to worry about them.”

Mini Bella took a step back and asked, hope shining in her eyes, “Help all?”

Against her better judgement, Narcissa replied, “Yes, I promise”. And immediately knew she was going to come to regret her decision.

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

Ten Days Earlier - August 4th

They were running away from the school, not really having a specific direction in mind. They didn’t want to go to the quidditch field, there would no doubt be a team training in this beautiful weather. Hagrid’s cabin was to the west, so they had decided to go the other way.

He could see a mop of dishevelled brown hair in front of him and tried to catch up. He could feel the sun on his face, smell the Great Lake, and hear Prong’s laughter. He felt invincible and truly fulfilled …

“Noooo,” He heard a pained moan behind him and turned to check on Moony and Wormtail. But they weren’t there. Unsure, Sirius looked around, confused about what was happening. Were they trying to prank him?

“Ahhh, noooo,” wailed the voice louder. Suddenly, the sun’s warmth went away, and Sirius would swear he could hear water in the distance. And not like the lake, this sounded like waves.

“Please -” Padfoot woke up to the desperate plea. Cold, miserable, and hungry were the nicest words he had to describe how he felt at that moment. He wanted to bloody kill whoever woke him up, how dare they! He had finally felt some semblance of happiness in this hellhole.

He was still in his animagus form, it was the only way he could get any sleep in this place. “Ahhhh!” someone screamed. Well, there was only one person who it could be, Rabastan Lestrange. After all, from his cell, he could only ever hear three people, and he had long ago learned to distinguish between their screams. Bella’s was distinctive, not because she was the only witch, but because she usually laughed just as much as she screamed. And in the rare occasions that Dolohov was affected, the bastard would revert to Russian. The rest of the people on the highest level of the prison were too far for him to hear - most of the time.

“Dolph! No, please! Dolph!” Rabastan continued, and Padfoot covered his ears with his paws, trying to ignore the sounds. He was used to such screams, but that didn’t mean he liked listening to them. Even if it was someone as dark and depraved as Rabastan. A tiny part of him was jealous of the Lestrange brothers’ strong bond. Even though Padfoot could not hear him, he knew Dolph was trying to calm his brother, unless he, too, was screaming. With the dementors, one could never know.

“Baby Bastie needs his brother,” mocked Bella, cackling maniacally. She was the furthest away from him, but even then, Padfoot’s fur stood up. Bella’s madness was sometimes scarier than the dementors. She continued laughing until Rabastan’s screams died down.

Padfoot knew what would happen next and braced himself for it. But nothing could prepare him for that sound, “Heheheh, ehhhhhhhh.” There could be no happiness in Azkaban, not even Bella’s sick enjoyment of others’ pain. It was the Black madness pushed to its limits when Bella tried to laugh in the face of fear itself. A tiny part of him thought she must be brave for enduring all of this and never cower. But mostly, he was convinced she had completely lost it.

Then the voices died down - Bella had probably passed out of the pain. Or maybe she had died. He really wasn’t sure what was better.

Padfoot knew he had to switch back to his human form because the guards would soon come with their daily portion of gruel. They couldn’t see his grimm form, he knew that. At this moment, he couldn’t remember why, something to do with wizards’ law. Not that they could punish him any further. So maybe? No, no. What if they found a way to lock away Padfoot and left him here in his human form? He shuddered at the thought. As a human, he would be doing worse than Bella and would probably have died a long time ago.

Shifting back took everything out of him, and he found himself unable to move from the disgusting, wet, and freezing stone ground. Everything f*cking hurt, and the thought of standing up made him feel nauseous. So he curled in a damned ball like a baby and tried to take deep breaths. Being Padfoot was much easier with the dementors, but it also helped with the cold. The only benefit to being Sirius was his limited human sense of smell. Now, he could almost ignore the wretched stench of the prisoners and their cells they had not left in about six years.

“Welcome back,” said a gruff voice, and Sirius didn’t have to look up to know Dolohov was sitting on the southern wall of his cell in his stupid meditation pose. Back straight, shoulders relaxed, voice annoyingly calm. He was the most bloody, infuriating person Sirius had ever met, and he desperately wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Dolohov was never angry, he was rarely attacked by the dementors, and the prat was even polite to the guards. Sometimes, Sirius wanted to bash Dolohov’s skull in the wall just to get away from his holier-than-thou attitude. If it wasn’t his infuriating morning yoga, it was his f*cking philosophy quotes about the sun and the moon and the starts and other useless sh*t. Sirius had considered bashing his own head in on many occasions.

“Delighted to be back,” mocked Sirius, not even caring that Dolohov had seen him shift. The first few months he had tried to hide from the Death Eater, but that required too much effort. Plus it was difficult to care about much in this place.

In the beginning, he had refused to speak to anyone, but a lot had changed since then. For one, he had lost hope that the damned Order would get him out. He still had nightmares about the day that Snivellus was released after Dumbledore testified for him. And yet - here he bloody was. Rotting with f*cking Death Eaters. For another, he was sure that he would go crazy if he had no human contact. And Death Eater or not, Dolohov was his only f*cking option. There had been Crouchy, too, but the baby had died too quickly. Sirius envied him.

“Today is August 4th, a Tuesday,” Dolohov informed him as though any of that mattered here. But the bloody git had gotten close to some of the guards, and they would give him useless updates, such as the date or quidditch results. Sirius had to admit that sometimes that news was like nuggets of f*cking gold. He had tried asking the guards questions, too, but they all despised him and cursed him every time he opened his mouth. “Any questions today?” his neighbour offered to ask the guards instead of him. Sirius only grunted from his miserable place on the floor.

He had plenty of bloody questions, like why was he here, and how could anyone f*cking believe he would ever hurt his brother? What was happening out there? Where were the rest of the Death Eaters? Where was Harry?

“Black!” yelled a guard, and Sirius realised he had spaced out. Again. The guards placed a bowl of slop and kicked it through the narrow gap on the floor. About a third of the so-called food slipped, but Sirius refused to move. He hated the food and still felt nauseous from the shift. “Pathetic,” sneered the guard and moved on.

Sirius could faintly hear some voices and realised Dolohov must be doing his magic on the guard. But Sirius didn’t care enough right now. At first, he had been so angry and confused about how the guards seemed to forget that Antonin Dolohov had been in Voldishort’s inner circle. Not only that, but he had earned his nickname, The Butcher, after single-handedly slaughtering an entire village of muggles. And now here they were, in matching outfits and cells. Yet no one spat at Dolohov, the guards were always civil with him.

Whatever else he might hate about Dolohov, Sirius would never complain that he was a bad Azkaban neighbour. Case in point, after the guard finished his round, he told Sirius everything the guard had said. “Remember that foul, Lockhart? He won Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award for the second time.” Sirius knew the name sounded familiar, but all he could remember was blond hair and a Ravenclaw tie. Someone younger? “I am surprised you never won it, the notorious Sirius Black.

A tiny part of Sirius knew his neighbour was going against him, and he should just stay silent. But then again, he was in Azkaban surrounded by Death Eaters, why the f*ck cared.

“Merlin forbit! Jamie would have never let it go. He would frame the award and give me grief about it for the rest of our…” he trailed off, thinking about Prongs. Bloody Dolohov and his bloody questions. Sirius didn’t want to think about Prongs.

But the evil prat kept on talking, “Your smile was legendary, even in Slytherin. Pretty sure you could get anyone to go out with you. And even the professors could not resist your charm.” Sirius almost smiled, thinking about all the fun he’d had at Hogwarts. There had indeed been quite a few girls and boys he had been with. And of course, there had been his favourite witch ever. His darling Minnie.

“It didn’t always work, you know. Probably got more detentions in a single semester than most Slytherins got all seven years combined.” This time, he did smile. Thinking about him and Prongs being chased by Filch and hiding under the cloak.

“Black,” Dolohov warned him, and Sirius noticed it was getting even colder. “I bet Pettigrew was with you all the time,” mocked the Death Eater.

Pettigrew. Peter. Wormtail.The rat. That mother f*cking traitor. Sirius should have killed him when he had the chance. He had tried to bring him in for questioning, but he should have just killed him there and been done with it. Despite everything, Sirius had been raised a Black. He had learned dozens of ways to kill someone even before he got his wand. He dreamed of a green light hitting the fitly traitor and killing him once and for all. He didn’t care that they might have still sent him to Azkaban. Nope.

He could tell that Dolohov was trying to talk to him, but Sirius was too busy imagining all the different ways he could kill Wormtail. Would skinning him alive and force-feeding him his fingers be worse than setting him on fire only to revive him and having hippogryph stomp on him? Oh, and of course, there was that lovely spell his great-something aunt Atria had created that turned people’s blood into mud. Too many options…

He was going through all the flesh-eating poisons he knew when he felt it -the slightest pull on his magical core. For a second, he thought he had imagined it, Azkaban’s wards stopped all magic. Right? He must have imagined it, this place would do that to a person. He was still f*cking lucky that he had Padfoot, or he might have ended up a blathering mess like Crouchy or Rabastan. Or even worse, laughing at the dementors like f*cking Bella.

He wanted to dismiss the feeling and go back to daydreaming about murdering the sorry excuse for a wizard, but something kept bothering him. And the worst part was that the rational voice in his head didn’t sound like his or even Prong’s or Moony’s. It was Dolohov’s. Take a deep breath and reach out to your core. Imagine the magic moving through your body, focus on the flow and notice if anything seems off. Communicate with your core.

Bah f*cking nonsense! All that meditation and yoga, day in and day out, had mushed the Death Eater’s brain. That must be because he spoke about magic as if it were sentient, which was bonkers.

Throughout the day, the memory of the magical sensation kept bothering him. It was like a bloody annoying itch he couldn’t scratch. So he gave in and tried to follow Dolohov’s instructions. The wanker must know something about magical cores with all that time he spends meditating. Right? Sirius tried to quiet his mind, but new ways of killing Wormtail kept popping up. He even considered beheading him and decorating his apartment with his new trophy, like the house elves at Grimmauld. That made him think of his horrid childhood and his banshee of a mother. The only good thing to come out of that place was his occlumency lessons, which had saved his life more times than he could count. Without them, the dementors would have destroyed him during his first month here.

He tried using his occlumency to quiet his mind and after hours, he was ready to give up. Then he sensed it. It was like a zing along his spine. A magical signature that was not his. Yet it was not entirely foreign and his magic was not fighting it. Unknown yet somehow familiar.

“Black,” Dolohov tried to get Sirius to talk to him, but he was too busy with his mystery. As a Marauder, Sirius was usually a sucker for mystery, but this was getting annoying. But the Death Eater would just not let go, “Black, I know you can hear me,”

Sirius was about to snap back at him when it hit him. Black. His bloody family. Magic that is not his, and yet somehow is. But something powerful enough to be felt even all the way in Azkaban? Sirius hovered over the box he had shoved all his Lordship lessons in. He had refused to even look at it for over a decade now, it was all prejudice and bullsh*t. Maybe he could just have a peak and see if there was anything that could explain this. He was being ridiculous, the Blacks were not his concern, so why should he investigate this?

He heard Bella start yelling, no doubt she would go on another political tirade. A tiny part of him wondered if she had sensed this magic, too? Though she was a Lestrange now, maybe not. The box in his mind was mocking him, holding onto the answer.

f*ck it.

Sirius started looking through his lessons to find information. When he opened his eyes, it was colder and darker. He pushed off the ground, got the disgusting food, and moved to his sh*tty excuse for a bed.

A Family Gathering.

He hoped they all had to suffer through his mother’s screaming and insults. He doubted most people would even show up. After all, the Black were shattered and fractured, a Family Gathering was only asking for trouble.

As he was shivering under the thin blanket, he thought about the family members he didn't despise with his whole heart. It was a shirt list - there was Andi and Dora. He hoped they had kept safe and wondered what house his niece had been sorted into. Aunt Lucretia had never insisted on social niceties and had been one of the nicest adults he had met. There was also Aunt Cassiopeia, who had been too focused on her research to visit often, but she had been the one to give him the books necessary for the Marauders’ map. For a second, he even saw Cissa’s face, but he must be going crazy.

He found himself crying. Damn, how he hated the effect the blasted dementors had on him. He didn’t miss the Blacks. He did not! If anything, he would rather join the dead ones - they were the ones he truly missed - like his uncle Alphard, Grandma Mel, and his true mother, Dorea Potter nee Black. And, of course, Reggie. Sirius didn’t care that his brother had been a marked Death Eater, he wished his brother was alive.

Reggie had been the only time Sirius had brought up the war with Dolohov. He had needed to know what happened and who better to ask than the Dark’s Butcher. But not even Dolohov had an answer. Reggie had just disappeared. Puff. Just like that.

Sirius could feel the tears rolling down his face but was too stiff and exhausted to move. He hoped all this would be over soon, he was getting tired of waiting. He wanted to join Prongs, Dorea, and Reggie. He was ready, Family Gatherings and mystical magics be damned.

Chapter 15: Ways to Help

Chapter Text

August 14, Holkham Hall

"Hiya, nice to meet you. My name is Dora, but you can call me Tonks." Andi watched as her daughter introduced herself to the girl in front of her. The child blinked quickly, no doubt unaccustomed to Dora's fast way of speaking.

"Merry meet," the girl said softly. "My name is Adriana, nice meet you, Tonks." she continued with a strong Russian accent. But Andi was still impressed by how quickly the girl was learning. She had been in Britain for eight days, and already she was forming full sentences. The first time Andi had met Adriana, the girl had refused to speak anything but Russian. As a psychologist, Andi had been beyond surprised when she met the girl. Then they had received Healer Higgs's results, and Andi had gaped in disbelief. She had never met a child or anyone who could have been subjected to constant physical abuse and reacted like Adriana. Adriana had not been anything like she expected, not a cowering underfed orphan. No, Adriana was looking around, interested in her surroundings and exhibiting no signs of fear or discomfort.

Although, Andi tried very hard not to think about their first encounter, or she might need to punch someone. Because after the Healer had left and Aunt Cass had gone to the garden to set some bushes on fire, Adriana had sat next to a distraught Andi. Despite not understanding everything around her, the little girl had taken Andi's hand in hers and offered her a small smile. The girl had small indents on her cheeks, not quite deep enough to call them dimples. Her eyes were open and friendly, as though she completely trusted Andi and her family despite meeting them two days ago. Everything about that moment had reminded her of Sirius, when he had held her hand and promised she would be alright no matter what she chose. Sirius, who had defended her choices. Sirius, who had smiled and offered to start a club for the rejected Blacks.

"They seem to be getting along," observed Cissa, watching Dora and Adriana walk together in the garden.

"She reminds me of Sirius," confessed Andi just as Dora's hair colour changed to green.

"Really?" questioned her sister, and tilted her head as though to get a better look at the girl.

"She is not afraid of anything. I mean, she has been thrust into a brand new world, and look how well she is adapting. We might have another Gryffindor on our hands," she tried to joke, but Cissa was still examining the girl.

"Perhaps," she mused, "But adapting to one's environment is more of a Slytherin trait. I guess we will have to wait and see," she diplomatically suggested. Andi was almost certain Cissa could not look at Adriana and not see their sister, and she had to admit that her appearance was eerily similar. Her personality, however, was all Sirius.

"How did her first flying lesson go," Andi tried to continue the conversation. There were still so many unspoken things between the sisters, so they chose to talk about Adriana as the safest option.

"She is getting there," Cissa said with a genuine smile, no doubt because her son had finally met Adriana the other day. "She used a training broom but seemed to enjoy it. Even when she fell, she smiled and kept going."

"Draco must be happy," Andi was not sure if her nephew was a safe topic, but decided she wanted to try.

Cissa's smile turned wistful, "He was, indeed. He really wanted to meet her. I would not have been able to hold him off for much longer, and …" but whatever she was going to say was swallowed by the sound of giggles. Andi turned to see Dora's nose was turned into a snout, and she was chasing Adriana and oinking. Then Adriana's hair changed to pink to match Dora's, and the two fell to the grass in a tangle of limbs, laughing.

Andi swallowed thickly and was torn between enjoying the adorable sight and turning to her little sister. How many times had the three Black sisters chased each other and burst into fits of laughter? She had tried to convince herself that she absolutely hated Cissa and her pureblood bigotry, but after spending a few days together, Andi could see cracks in her resolve. She was not sure how to broach the topic of their past, past issues fester if left unresolved.

“Lucretia said Taigan Ulgen will come in September to train Lia. He asked if Andromeda might like lessons as well, perhaps during Yule break?" Cissa suggested, and it took a minute for Andi to place Taigan's name. He was Aunt Lucretia's metamorphic friend and one of the people who had tried to claim Adriana was theirs. Wait.

"Lia? I thought she decided to go by Adriana?" asked Andi, knowing very well how particular young girls could be about their names.

"Decided might be a strong word. Arcturus and Aunt Cass decided for her, saying Adriana sounded proper," Cissa said, the last part imitating Lord Black's unwavering tone. Andi tried not to smile, but seeing this side of her sister made it impossible not to. "She used Lia her whole life, it seems cruel to make her change it. And. Lia stands for Codrelia and I…" Cissa's voice broke at the end, and she bit her lower lip. Andi recognised that as one of their mother's tricks to pay time and recover from something emotional. So she decided to be brave and put her arm around her little sister, knowing she might hate this public display of affection. But instead, she slightly tilted her head to lean on Andi's shoulder.

"Whoever named her must have chosen Cordelia for a reason." she declared passionately, and Andi did not have it in her to argue that they might have picked Cordelia because it was a pretty name.

She knew that Cordelia Rosier, or Cora, and Cissa had been incredibly close in school, the queens of Slytherin. Everyone assumed they had fought for the number one spot and saw a rivalry where there was only love and friendship. Despite not looking alike, Cora had been their cousin through their mother's side. She had been one of the gentlest Slytherins Andi had ever met, always taking care of the younger years when they were homesick or needed help with homework. Cora was one of the few people who still acknowledged Andi after marrying Ted. It was always only a nod, but during a time when some had spat at her feet, it had meant a lot.

"Lia, I like it," said Andi and squeezed her sister's shoulder, hoping it conveyed her emotions. She was sorry her sister had lost her friend, and even more so, she was sorry she had not been there for either one of them. Cissa offered a small smile and then straightened - the moment was over, and her pureblood mask was back in place.

"Lia should head inside, she has a lesson with grandfather, and her hair is a mess," she noted, without the urgency Andi might have expected. She called for her daughter, and the two girls started heading their way.

"What exactly is he teaching her?" she asked, a bit uneasy with the arrangement. She was not naive enough to hope that Andri… Lia would not be exposed to the darker side of the Black legacy. But she did hope they had more time before they started with those particular lessons.

"Chess," replied Cissa, in a tone making it clear she did not appreciate the question. But Andi did not feel bad for asking. In a more neutral voice, her sister added, "He is waiting for her English to improve before he can start to teach her about her seat."

It took Andi a second to remember what seat their grandfather could be teaching Lia about, but then it came to her.

The day before, Lord Black, Aunt Lucretia, Lia, and their grandfather had gone to Gringotts, where the child had accepted the McKinnon Heirship ring. It felt strange to think about a Black as the future Lady of another House, especially since she had known the last McKinnon Heir. Angus had been in her year, a Ravenclaw that excelled at Charms and getting under Andi's skin. They had competed for the best marks every year, and whereas she had spent her weekends studying, he had stayed outside and later gotten high with his friends. It had just not been fair! For years, he had been her rival, and she had wished him dead countless times. In the end, she had gotten her wish, and she regretted her thoughts every day.

Feeling guilty about her childish resentment, she noted, "If she is anything like McKinnon, soon she will be excelling at everything." Cissa narrowed her eyes slightly, and Andi was sure she was not going to like what came next.

"How close were…" but Andi did not let her finish. She understood her sister's insinuation; Lia was a Black and a McKinnon, and they still could not figure out how that was possible.

"No, Merlin, don't even go there! McKinnon and I were never like that! We were rivals, nothing more." She tried not to yell because the girls were within hearing distance.

Cissa raised one eyebrow and countered, "You were always talking about him, McKinnon this and McKinnon that. The jump from hate to love is not that unbelievable." Andi was simply shaking her head.

"I swear, I never even kissed McK … Angus," she corrected herself at the last minute, not wanting to lie during a vow. But that was all Cissa needed.

She smiled coyly and tapped her finger across her lips as though thinking. But Andi knew what was coming before her sister opened her mouth to say, "I believe you, you did not kiss Angus. But I take it something happened with another of the McKinnons. Hm, I wonder who…" she trailed off despite knowing very well there one was only one other option. The McKinnons were a small family, and there was only Angus and Marlene in their generation.

Andi sighed and wondered why she had missed her sister. There was nothing to miss, Cissa was a monster, like a bloodhound. Once she caught the scent of prey, she never let go. So Andi confessed, "It was one kiss my senior year. It meant nothing. Marlene was just experimenting, and I couldn't say no, okay?"

Cissa laughed, her laugh was beautiful despite her being such a vile creature. "Of course not," she said in between fits of laughter, "How could you resist kissing your rival's little sister."

At that moment, Dora and Lia reached them, and Andi prayed her sister was not about to continue with this torture. She was not ashamed of liking men and women, and she had raised Dora that love is love. That did not mean she wanted to talk about her list of past experiences with her fifteen-year-old.

But Cissa seemed to recover quickly and told her, "We will talk more about this later," just then, Lia took her outstretched hand, and they started walking.

Andi looked at her daughter, her hair was a mess of neon green, and actual grass sticking out in some places. "I take it you had fun," she could not miss Dora's clothes, which were stained green, and she was panting heavily, whereas Lia had seemed perfectly put together.

Her Dora smiled and nodded eagerly, and they started walking back as well. "At first, she was quiet. Not exactly shy, more like she didn't know what she was expected to do. But then she relaxed, and it was lots of fun. She is super fast." Andi was amused at her daughter's retelling of events, but she hoped Aunt Lucretia would soon let Lia speak with a psychologist. She had offered herself but had also given them names of colleagues who focused on children.

She had expected her grandfather or her father to object, but instead, it had been Arcturus who insisted that they needed to keep Lia's existence as secret as possible. Andi was not sure what her family was planning, but it was clear something big was coming. She only hoped Lia did not end up a casualty of Lord Black's calculations.

Cygnus really was not sure what had come over him and convinced him this was a strategy worth pursuing. But here he was, in one of Holkham Hall's parlour rooms, waiting on a seven-year-old. He was nursing his second glass of whisky that burned like dragon fire and debating the merit of this decision.

His father was supposed to be here, but at the last minute, he had received an invitation from Lord Rowle. Usually, they avoided Reginald Rowle like dragon pox, but the benevolent Lord Black had ordered his father to get close to all voting dark faction Lords. Hence, Pollux was going to be subjected to the retellings of Reginald's glory days in the 1910s, when light wizards licked his boots, being a pureblood Lord made you an untouchable God, and witches were compliant and well-behaved.

Ew, that man should just die already. Commented Alphard's voice in his head, and for once, Cygnus found himself agreeing. Reginald Rowle was part of a generation that had outlived its usefulness - at over 110, it was time for him to step down. At least when it came to the Wizengamot and the Rowles' vote.

Alphard giggled in his head, obviously amused by father's upcoming torment. That still doesn't explain why you're here instead of him. His brother asked rather unhelpfully.

Before Cygnus had to decide if he was going to answer the parasite in his head or keep ignoring it, the door opened, and his daughter stepped in with the little girl.

Narcissa quickly masked her shock at seeing him and greeted him, "Merry meet, father. It is wonderful to see you. I hope grandfather is alright?" she asked when it was obvious she wanted to know where Pollux was.

"That will be all," he responded, dismissing her without an explanation. He did not owe her one, and frankly, it was insulting they all assumed he would stay away.

Because you are usually so affectionate with children? Mocked Alphard and Cygnus tried not to visibly scowl.

Narcissa tilted her head the tiniest bit, trying to understand the meaning behind his words. But he was not in the business of repeating himself, so he ignored her and sat at the table. To his surprise, Adriana quickly joined him without needing an explanation.

"Lucretia will join you soon. Lia, darling, if you need anything, call for Acrux, alright?" Narcissa's voice softened when he addressed the girl, and it did not escape his notice that she called her 'Lia' instead of 'Adriana'.

Cordelia is a perfectly fine name! Objected Alphard, but as always, he was missing the point. The girl had been named Adriana for a reason, it had been her parents' choice. Not Cordelia Adriana but Adriana Cordelia. He had learned the hard way that mothers could be very particular and demanding with their choice of names. He and Ella had argued for three months over Narcissa's name, but his wife had been clear that she had a unique connection to their daughter, her magical core, and her soul. Thus, a star name would not do.

Brother, just admit you were whipped. For the thousandth time, Cygnus wanted to curse Alphard's obnoxious voice. Instead, his brother continued to cackle while his daughter left the room, and Adriana looked up at him expectantly.

In all fairness, Cygnus had come here under the pretence of continuing his father's chess lessons. So he looked down at the organised board and wondered if he should just start a game. The best way to establish her progress was to see her in action.

He moved his pawn and looked into her grey eyes. The colour was the same as most Blacks', but the shape was slightly off. They were too oval, and her nose was different as well. Of course, he was not blind, Adriana looked like a young Bella, from the shape of her eyebrows to the slight indent in her chin. No doubt, Narcissa would be hard-pressed to see the girl as anything other than an extension of her older sister.

Maybe you should talk to her and make sure she is okay? Suggested Alphard, and Cygnus tried not to roll his eyes at such idiocy. His daughter had been brought up properly and did not require such platitudes.

A few moves into the game, Cygnus was assured that the girl at least knew the basic rules. He relaxed, and they continued to play in silence. After another five minutes, he was about to checkmate her but was intrigued by how well she had played.

"Did you play before?" he wanted to know; she tilted her head, resembling Narcissa earlier. "Before, in Russia?" he clarified, but she remained silent.

You stubborn ass, ask her in Russian! Yelled Alphard. But before Cygnus could react, the girl shook her head. Interesting.

He considered resetting the board so they could play another game, but at the last minute, he hesitated. He had not come here for chess.

Wow, what a surprise, you had an ulterior motive. I am shocked! Cygnus reached for his glass and downed what was left.

"How are you settling in?" he inquired, but Adriana did not seem to register this question. He tried again, "Do you like it here?" Alphard seemed to find his words hilarious, as though Cygnus had never asked such sappy questions.

"Here?" Adriana repeated.

"In Holkham Hall. With Arcturus and Lucretia," he clarified, and was proud he said their Lord's name without any of his usual derision. The girl started tracing the game piece with her hand, perhaps to buy herself some time.

Then she nodded once and said, "Lucretia, nice. Arcturus very busy," A part of Cygnus was happy that their Head of House seemed to be entirely focused on Sirius's trial and had almost forgotten about Adriana. He was not petty enough to wish his nephew to stay in Azkaban, and even though he could not deny it, it felt like a betrayal working to get Sirius out when his daughter was suffering.

But the firecracker is actually guilty! Reminded him Alphard, as though that had ever mattered to Cygnus.

"Meet Andi today," she continued, and Cyngus raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.

Cygnus wordlessly levitated the crystal and poured himself a second glass.

Should you be drinking when you are alone with the girl? Demanded his brother as though his comments made any difference. If anything, they made him drink more, not less.

Meda. Her name still brought forward complicated emotions, mostly anger and disappointment, but also some pain and a tiny sliver of nostalgia. Meda's actions had forever changed their family and brought an end to their happy life. Marrying a disgusting Mudblood was revolting beyond measure, and he could not think about it while feeling nauseous and wanting to kill the vermin for touching his daughter.

Then, Adriana added, "And Dora." He scoffed at the ridiculous name, even though he knew Meda had followed their family tradition and named her after a star. At least there was that, small mercies. He took another sip from his drink.

"What did you think of her?" He could not help his curiosity, and wanting to know the full answer, he switched to Russian.

For a second, she seemed surprised, perhaps by his question or the fact he spoke Russian. No matter, she recovered quickly and responded, "She can change like me and was excited to teach me. She was energetic, funny, and considerate. But …" she bit her lower lip as though trying to figure out her words, "She seemed a bit nervous being here, meeting Narcissa and me. I brought up Draco, and she shrugged off that they had never met. But I think she seemed kind of sad. I still don't understand why. Why did she grow up away from here?" Cygnus gulped down the rest of his drink, considering if he wanted to answer her questions. He could just get up and leave; nothing really prevented him. Lucretia or Narcissa would answer her questions and teach her not to repeat them.

Bella. Meda. Cissa.

So, you do remember their names! You haven't really thought about them in so long, I thought you'd forgotten them. Mocked Alphard.

But Cygnus did not take the bait and let others think whatever they wanted. Alphard was not the first to question his dedication to his daughters. And yes, he might have perhaps been hard on them sometimes …

Colour me surprised that you are willing to admit as much. Please, you married off Cissy for money and Bella for power, and once Andi refused to be useful to you, you disowned her. I would say 'hard' doesn't begin to cover it.

Idiot - was Cygnus's first response. He had done none of those things, or at least it had not been as simple as that. Walburga had been the one to set a marriage contract with the Malfoys, and since it had taken her a decade to have Sirius, and she had no daughters, it had been up to him to fulfil the contract. Initially, he had considered Bella, and she would have stood up to the Malfoy brat and become the richest woman in Britain. But she was also the daughter that resembled him the most, for good or bad. She was passionate, unrelenting, and single-minded, so when she declared she was going to marry Rodolphus, Cygnus had no choice but to agree. Thus, Meda had been in line to marry into the pompous family.

Haha, I am sure she was overjoyed!

Usually, Cygnus tried to avoid thinking about the past when they had been one family. This was all because of that damned dream he had had.

He could not shake off the dream that had forced him to come here. Many people saw Druella Black nee Rosier as the pinnacle of politeness and grace, but Cyngus had the pleasure of witnessing his wife's unrelenting temper on more than one occasion.

Indeed, it has been fun to watch you duck and dodge her spell. Dru had excellent aim! Alphard giggled. Oh, come on, stop moping. The dream couldn't have been that bad!

The dream had, in fact, been dreadful; she was a second away from resurrecting herself only to hex him. If anyone could do it, it would probably be his Ella. But it was not even her anger that shocked him, rather how disappointed she sounded.

Can you blame her? Your family has gone to sh*t.

Stop it, he yelled in his own mind like a complete moron. But to no avai.l

I mean, you disowned Andi, the firecracker is in Azkaban -

Images of Bella in chains made him grit his teeth.

And you started ignoring the little flower because she looked too much like Dru.

Damn him! What atrocious crime had Cygnus committed to deserve the presence of such a parasite?

You haven't seen any of your grandchildren in years, if at all …

Cygnus was ready to offer anything to Lady Magic to be rid of this abomination.

You just don't like it when I remind you how disappointed Dru is with you!

Stop, he yelled into his own mind. Enough.

You, Cygie, are a failure of a husband,

Enough. Just stop.

the worst excuse for a father,

Please

And…

But Alphard did not finish his condemnation. Instead, there was blessed silence. Cygnus was startled when he saw Adriana staring into his eyes and had placed her small hand on top of his.

When had that happened?

He tried to pull away, but she held on, stronger than he had expected of a seven-year-old.

"I help," declared the little witch, and Cygnus was left speechless.

For the first time in years, Cygnus was entirely alone in his head. There were no unwanted comments, no criticism, no infuriating giggles. Nothing. Just him.

Was it really possible it was all thanks to Adriana?

There was a reason he had come here after his dream, a small voice reminded him. This time, it sounded like his own consciousness, and Cygnus had to force himself not to smile. His own voice!

He had never tried to hide the fact that Bella had been his favourite, but this young witch might have just usurped his daughter's spot. How fitting that his new favourite Black would indeed be Bella’s daughter.

A manic laugh escaped Cygnus's lips without him even noticing.

Chapter 16: Bacon and Cheese

Chapter Text

Thump thump was the first thing he heard that morning, followed by, "Get up and fry the bacon. Come on, we haven't got all day." He wanted to turn around and ignore his aunt, but from experience, she would just come back in a few minutes and yell louder. Then, she would threaten not to feed him, as though she was actually aware whether he got any food or not. The only chance to get a good breakfast was to eat the food as it was cooking in the pan. Sure, he got burnt most days, but it was mostly worth it.

But with the bacon, the pain was always too much because the oil would leave horrible blisters, and he couldn't do the rest of his chores later. So, no bacon for him, yet again.

Harry wasn't even sure he liked bacon. But that was the point, wasn't it? He had never had the chance to try it, and from Dudley's loud chewing and pleases for seconds, it must be at least semi-decent.

One day, Harry promised himself. One day, he would try bacon and syrup on his half-cooked pancake, and he would also get an entire cake for his birthday and eat it all by himself. One day.

"Boy," came the threat from the kitchen, and Harry stood up and changed quickly. Sadly, that day was not today.

He went to the bathroom and then joined his aunt in the kitchen. He had been fife when he had realised that cooking breakfast for your family was not a normal child behaviour. But then again, that had been about the time he had realised most things in his life were not normal, like how Dudley got everything he wanted and even some things he might want, and how Dudley got two bedrooms, new clothes, and, well… two parents. But Harry didn't think telling his teachers would do anything other than make his uncle and aunt angry with him. So he had kept quiet.

He fried the bacon, scrambled the eggs, and flipped the pancakes until they were golden. He had managed to sneak three bites of eggs and a third of a pancake and considered this a successful morning.

Aunt Petunia gave him a slice of old bread and half a glass of milk. He wasn't sure when the milk expired but had drunk the whole thing anyway, knowing he couldn't ask for anything else.

Harry was careful to be extra silent around his uncle and dreamed one day he would become invisible. His life would be so much easier if he could just hide from his uncle and his fists. And his belt.

After the Dursleys were done with breakfast, Harry cleared the dishes, washed them all by hand, dried them, and put them back in the cupboards. He really didn't mind that part, though his fingers did always become soggy and wrinkly.

Next, he was given the vacuum with instructions to clean the dining and living room, as well as the corridor. Harry actually sighed with relief that today he didn't have to vacuum upstairs because dragging the huge machine was one of the most painful chores he had. At eight, Harry was the second smallest child in his class - the shortest was Charlie, but he had skipped a year, so it didn't really count. He hoped he would have a growth spurt soon, and maybe then he could move the vacuum without his arms, legs, and back hurting for days later. One day, he would buy a super light vacuum that he could lift with one hand. One day…

As usual, the list of chores didn't end there. Next came Harry's dreaded work in the garden, despite the summer heat and the lack of gloves or any proper tools. A small voice told him to just rip out all the stupid flowers, it wasn't like Aunt Petunia really cared about them anyway. All she cared about was that her front lawn looked better than the Williamses' down the street. If he went through with it, he would most definitely not get any food for a day or two. That he could deal with. He might also be given even more chores, though he wasn't sure what more he could do. The worst part was that they would lock him in his cupboard, and Harry hated the trapped feeling he started to get after a full day inside.

So he decided to just finish his work and ignore the blasting sun as much as he could. He knew that somewhere inside, Dudley was watching TV and could hear some of the louder action scenes. One day, Harry would buy his own TV, and he would watch cartoons every day. He wasn't actually sure what was so great about cartoons, and he thought he might prefer the channel with the animals on it. But Dudley always skipped that one, yelling BORING!

One day…

When Harry went inside, he got a glass of water and another slice of bread. This time with some old hardened cheese on it, but he still thanked his aunt. Sometimes, he thought that she wasn't that bad. And maybe if it had been just him and her, his life wouldn't have been too bad either. She gave him a list of chores, and if he did everything without complaining, he would get food. That sounded like a pretty good deal to him.

No, the real problem was Uncle Vernon. On good days, his uncle mostly ignored him or made mean comments. Harry could easily handle things like daft, lazy, and good-for-nothing, which were just words. Sometimes, Uncle Vernon would say something about Harry's drunkard parents and how he would end up just like them. That was slightly worse, but he had learned a trick to distract himself. Usually, when his uncle went on one of those hateful rants, he would forget Harry had the vocabulary of an eight-year-old and say some interesting words he could later look up in the library. That was how Harry learned about birth control and the unemployment benefits called the Dole. Fascinating stuff.

The worst part was when Uncle Vernon got mad, and he started using his fists - sometimes his feet - and, on occasion, his belt. Harry knew that was also not something parents were supposed to do, but he was still unclear if uncles were allowed to. Seeing his uncle's face turn red was seared into his mind and sometimes haunted his dreams because he knew what would come next and dreaded it. It wasn't even that Harry always did something to deserve the beatings. Sometimes, Uncle Vernon had a bad day at work, and Harry's very presence was enough to set him off. Other times, Harry would be too slow for his uncle's liking, or the meat was overcooked, or he was chewing too loudly. Regardless of the reason, Harry would be sore for days and had to hide his bruises from his teachers. The only silver lining - if it could even be called that- was the sandwiches Aunt Petunia made him after the worst belt whippings. Those were pretty tasty, and Harry promised himself that one day he would have sandwiches every day for no reason. One day, he would!

But today was passing by pretty uneventfully, which he counted as a pretty good day. Then, around three o'clock, something bizarre happened.

Aunt Petunia had opened his cupboard door and informed him, "I'm driving Dudley to the park to play with Piers. You can stay here with your door locked, or you can come with us." For a second, Harry thought he was dreaming; surely this was too good to be true! No Miss Figg? He wanted to ask but was smart enough to appreciate a good deal when he heard it. He wasn't going to question his luck.

"The park, please," he responded, trying not to get too excited.

His aunt sighed, obviously hoping he would choose to stay here and not be her problem. "You will behave! You will not make any trouble! Am. I. Clear?" Harry was nodding his head with every word. "We leave in ten minutes." Then his aunt left, and Harry tried not to jump with excitement.

He was getting to go to the park. The park! Yes, he'd been there before, but only two times. The first time had been for Dudley's fifth birthday party, but his uncle had splurged on helium balloons which had flown away ten minutes into the party. To no one's surprise, Dudley had thrown the biggest tantrum, and by the time he had calmed down, it had started to drizzle, so they had gone home. Overall, Harry had thought the party had been pretty good. There had been no time for Harry Hunting or any bullying, but there had been so much cake and sandwiches left that even he had gotten some.

The second time Harry went to the park, he met his secret friend. Miss Figg couldn't watch him because she was at the vet with one of her cats, and Harry had only been allowed to sit on a bench and wait in silence. At first, it had been a bit boring, but then he heard a voice, only to find the most beautiful snake coming towards him. That day, Harry had made his first friend named Gaze and had learned he could talk to snakes. Best day ever!

Later, he had tried to find other snakes, but the ones he had met had been much smaller and less interested in talking to him. He had looked it up in the library, and it seemed that Gaze had been an adder, whereas the other smaller snakes were green grass snakes.

And now he was going back to the park where he had met Gaze. He knew that the chance Gaze was still there was pretty low, but a part of him still hoped. Perhaps he would find another snake? He was giddy with excitement. The park was such a wondrous place, he was just excited to be going there.

The drive there wasn't too bad, Dudley did yell and hit him a few dozen times, but Harry was too happy to care. Once they got out of the car, Dudley was off trying to find his friends at the playground, and Aunt Petunia went to talk to the other mothers. Harry was alone. He was smiling so hard that his face hurt.

He turned around in a circle, trying to take it all in. The trees, the grass, the wind - it was all great. Knowing Dudley had gone left, he started going right, hoping he could hide from his cousin. He walked between old trees with trunks so thick he could not circle them with his two hands. He considered climbing one of them but wasn't sure how he would come back down. So he kept walking, careful not to get too far and be unable to hear his aunt calling.

He saw a beautiful tree with white bark and decided to sit next to it, there was something special about it. Or maybe he was imagining things. Did it really matter? He was here, he was outside the house, in the summer. This day was just brilliant. First, there was the cheese on his toast, and now there were the trees. He felt … what was that word again? Con - continent? No, content. He felt content.

Harry relaxed his back against the tree and enjoyed the sun on his face. He might have stayed like that for hours, savouring every second, but then he heard a noise. A human noise.

He was up and ready to run before he could tell where the sound had come from. And the direction was super important because he had to head the opposite way. Had it been too greedy of him to wish for one day without his cousin and his gang? Maybe.

Harry took two steps before a voice stopped him in his tracks, "Hey there! I'm not here to hurt you, Harry." That was most certainly not Dudley's voice. This was a man, a fully grown man. Harry was not the best at telling someone’s age, but based on the grey in his hair, he must have been older than Uncle Vernon. He looked much better, though, so who knew?

The man smirked like Harry had said something funny.

Wait. Wait. Had he called Harry by his name? Harry began to panic. How had this stranger known his name? Was this like what they learned in school? Stranger danger? Oh Lord, was he going to be kidnapped, chopped into pieces, and sold on the black market? That was what Maddy, the smartest girl in his class, had said, and her parents were lawyers, so Harry was willing to trust her.

"Hey, hey, none of that, Sunshine!" continued the stranger, and Harry turned around to start running. He had never thought the day would come when he wanted to find his aunt. As soon as possible.

He couldn't have run more than fifty metres before something grabbed him. Harry opened his mouth and screamed.

"Sunshine, stop it! They can't hear you, I already put up a noise-cancelling spell. Calm down!" A what now? Harry was beginning to panic, and the man was still holding onto him. "I'll let go once you stop running! Morgana's tit*, stop it!"

But Harry didn't stop struggling. This was not happening! This was not happening, today was supposed to be a good day. There had been the cheese and then the park.

He tried to wriggle out from the man's arms and almost succeeded when the man yelled, "Harry James Potter, you stop right this instant!"

Harry stopped. It hadn't been the command or the tone - no, he was used to that from Uncle Vernon. It had been the casual use of his full name. He had only learned it this year, by accident, when he had been sent to the nurse's office with a fever. The school nurse had asked, 'Harry James Potter?' to confirm she had the correct file, and he had stared at her mutely for a minute before nodding. James Potter. He really liked how that sounded, it wasn't pretentious or weird. It was just… right.

But his aunt and uncle never called him that. It was always Boy or You ungrateful, good-for-nothing boy. And now, this man had casually used his full name.

Harry turned around to face the man, who straightened his weird-looking clothes.

He huffed, "If you must know, this is a custom-fit jacket that just arrived from Milan," the man explained and tried to smooth down the few strands of hair that had escaped his ponytail. Wait, a ponytail? Harry explicitly remembered Uncle Vernon saying that only puffs had long hair.

The man's eyes narrowed, and he said in a more serious tone, "Your uncle is a moron," then he looked around and pointed to the nearest bench. "Sunshine, can we start over? Sitting down, preferably. My knees aren't what they used to be." He offered Harry a charming smirk, and he got the impression the man smiled a lot.

Harry was too stunned to truly process what was happening, but he did follow the man to the bench. He didn't relax completely, ready to spring away at any moment.

The man sat down, spread his legs out in front of him, and turned his face towards the sun. With his eyes still closed, he started to speak, "You're a hard one to get a hold of, Sunshine. I've got to admit Dumbles did a pretty good job with the blood wards on the house. Keyed against anyone with a dark core, smart." Harry's utter and complete confusion must have somehow been obvious because, after a few seconds of silence, the man turned his grey eyes on Harry. "You didn't know about the wards, I take it?"

"Wards?" was the first thing that came out of his mouth when there were, in fact, a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue. Like, who was this man!

"Ah yes, I forgot to introduce myself, didn't I. Silly me. I, my dear Sunshine, am Alphard Black. But you can call me Alphard, Alphie, or Uncle Alphard. I really don't mind. When Sirius was your age, he used to come up with the silliest nicknames, so I'm sure I'll survive whatever you decide to call me." He chuckled at his own joke, and Harry began to question his sanity. Sirius? And Uncle?

The man - Alphard, blinked a few times and scrunched his forehead. "You haven't heard of Sirius?" Harry shook his head, and the man pursed his lips, "I guess Dumbles decided not to mention him. Once a Black, always an enemy, I suppose. Foolish old goat." Okay, this man was really insane. Harry started to get up, hoping Alphard was too busy mumbling to himself to notice. No such luck. "I'm sorry, Sunshine, I didn't mean to speak badly of your guardian. He just… well, I'm sure you know how Albus can be sometimes." Alphard tried to offer him a smile, but Harry stared at him, confused and a little scared. Also, why did he keep calling him Sunshine?

He decided to just be honest and say, "I think you might have the wrong person, sir. I'm not sure who Albus is." He said it, there.

The grey-eyed man seemed to think for a second and kept going, "You might know him as Headmaster Dumbledore, you know, the wizard with gaudy robes…" One word stuck out to Harry - wizard. Had this weird man just said wizard? "Did he send someone from the Order to check on you? I thought he would do it himself."

Harry honestly considered the possibility that he had decided to climb that tree in the beginning and had fallen and hit his head. What else could explain this?

"Sunshine?" asked the man, "Slow down there, I can't pick up all that so quickly. So you haven't met Albus?"

With an open mouth, all Harry could do was shake his head. Albus? Wizard? Who was this man?

Alphard sighed and started tapping his nose with his finger, and Harry was distracted by the weird gesture. "Let's start from the beginning, we seem to be going in circles here. I'm Alphard Black. You are Harry Potter," Harry nodded, finally hearing something familiar. "I'm Sirius's uncle, but it seems Albus never told you about him?" Harry hurried to shake his head, afraid Alphard would go back to making no sense. "Okay. So you might not know this, but Sirius is your godfather."

Alphard paused, giving Harry a second to process this information. But Harry needed a lot longer than a second. Godfather. Wasn't that supposed to be like a second parent? Like if something happened to your real parents, you get a godfather to take care of you? Right?

Alphard seemed to be examining Harry, but he was a bit too preoccupied to really notice or mind. He didn't want to think what this Milan-dressed man thought of Dudley's hand-me-downs.

"Yes, Sirius is your godfather, but he hasn't been able to take care of you. That's why Dumbles put you here with the mug… your family." Alphard explained, and Harry was having trouble keeping track of all the names.

"Dumbles, is … this Headmaster you keep mentioning?" He wanted to confirm.

"The Headmaster, the Chief Warlock, the Supreme Mugwump, the Leader of the Order of…" Alphard paused and tilted his head, "You really have never heard of him?"

"Nope," Harry confirmed and wondered who this man was with all these titles. There were so many titles, which must mean he had plenty of power. Harry wasn't sure how he fit into all this, but it was clear that this Headmaster had placed him with the Dursleys, and he had questions. Many questions.

"So who checks on you?" asked Alphard, as though Harry was important enough to be checked on. Alphard's face began to change into something colder, his eyes narrowing and his jaw tightening. "Who from the wizarding world have you talked to since you were placed with the mug… with your family."

And straight back to crazy town. "Wizard?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

Alphard opened his mouth, ready to say something, then closed it, scratched his head, and then jumped from the bench. For a second, Harry thought he might be attacking, but then he saw the strange man was just pacing. Obviously agitated.

He was mumbling something to himself, but all Harry could hear was "not the right person for this… sent Lulu…a bloody mess," and then a bit hysterically, "... Father was right, Dumbels has completely lost it!"

Harry considered trying to take advantage of the situation and slip away, but the word 'godfather' kept him seated. If his parents were drunkards who had died in a car crash, did that mean his godfather was the same?

As soon as he thought that, Alphard spun around and zeroed his eyes on Harry, "What was that?"

Ummm, nothing? Harry just shook his head, this guy really was insane. He had literally not said anything.

But Alphard kept going, "What about your parents?" For a second, Harry thought he had misheard because … because he had said nothing about his parents. But you thought about it, a small voice reminded him. No, that wasn't possible. It just wasn't. This man couldn't possibly… right? "Ignore what's possible or not - repeat, what did you say about your parents?" His voice was insistent and somewhat desperate, as though this was the answer that would clear all this up.

So Harry repeated it, "My aunt and uncle said my parents died in a car crash. They had been drinking as usual." He crossed his arms across his chest, hating to talk about this.

"Did they?" slowly asked Alphard in a completely different tone that made Harry swallow and feel uncertain, "Your family told you that James Potter and Lily Potter nee Evans died drunk in a car crash?" Harry nodded, "And to summarise: you have never met Albus so-many-names, Dumbledore, anyone from the Order of the Phoenix or the Ministry?" Another nod. "And you have no idea what a wizard is?"

This time, Harry just looked at Alphard. Of course, he knew what a wizard was, he had read the Hobbit and knew about the legends of Merlin. He just wasn't sure what 'wizard' stood for in this case. Was it… what was it called, a sign, no… a symbol. Yes, was 'wizard' a symbol for something?

Alphard laughed, but this time, Harry didn't get the sense he found any of this funny, "I really am not the right person for this!" He pulled on his hair hard enough, and Harry almost expected his clumps to start falling off. "Okay, okay. You can do this Alphard. You have faced deadly beasts and the darkest curses. Surely you can do this! Get it together!!! For Sirius." Great, he was speaking to himself again. Harry looked around, realising they had been here for a while now and, for the first time, considered his aunt might be looking for him. He needed to go soon.

But before he could do anything, Alphard took a deep breath and said, "Okay, Sunshine, this is what we are going to do. I will give you a really short introduction to some things you were supposed to know. I am sure you will have many, many questions, and I'm not really the person for this, but I'll do my best. Okay?" Harry nodded, and Alphard relaxed but kept pacing slower. "My name is Alphard Black," and Harry couldn't keep himself from thinking - I got that part, it's the rest that I'm struggling with. "My sister had a son, one Sirius Black, who is your godfather. Your dad, James Potter, chose Sirius because they were best friends." Harry stared, afraid he was going to miss even a moment of this, he could feel something warm inside of him. Hearing something about his parents that wasn't insulting felt like sunshine in winter, like what he imagined bacon must taste like.

"They were best friends, like brothers. But technically, they were cousins because, you see, my father - Sirius's grandfather Pollux had a little sister, Dorea. Dorea married Charlus Potter, and they had James. So you see, you and I are related."

And that was a moment when something broke in Harry. A family. This man - Alphard, who most likely was absolutely crazy - was his family. He had a family.

Harry didn't feel the first few tears rolling down his cheeks, but then he needed to take a deep breath, and more kept falling.

A family.

A real family.

That had been at the top of his 'One Day List', above bacon and the cartoons and the vacuum. He wanted to have a family and not be alone forever.

"Oh Sunshine, please don't cry! I know I'm sh*t at this, Cissa would have been so much better at this," He said while kneeling on the ground and wrapping his arms around Harry. That, of course, didn't help because this was the first time he could ever remember that someone had hugged him like this.

Harry tried to keep reminding himself that this was a complete stranger, and he had no proof they were actually related. But he didn't really care. What were the chances he was worse than the Dursleys? Worse than Uncle Vernon? Unlikely.

Alphard pulled back a bit, concern obvious in his grey eyes, "Sunshine, what's wrong? Do you want me to get your … family?"

Harry shook his head frantically. 'Family' was a bit of a stretch, thought Harry and tried not to think about his bottom and back hurting from the beating he got three days ago. A 'family' indeed.

Alphard's face was transformed from empathetic to murderous and barely restrained. He bit his trembling lip and hugged Harry even stronger. "Sunshine … look at me," Harry did. "Have your aunt or uncle … ever hurt you?"

Harry knew he should lie, he always did. He didn't want to be locked in the cupboard again, he didn't want to cry himself to sleep every night. He didn't notice Alphard's sneer or twitching eyes when he whispered, "Yes."

In an even lower voice, Alphard asked the question Harry had dreamed of, "Do you want me to take you away from here?" He didn't even take a second to think. He immediately nodded.

And that was apparently all Alphard needed because one second Harry was sitting on the bench, and the next Alphard was carrying him. Harry never remembered being carried like that, and at eight years old, he thought he must be too old and heavy to be carried. But he said nothing. It was kind of nice.

A reverse piggyback. That hadn't exactly been on Harry's 'One Day List', but that was only because Harry had been careful to only add things that were at least possible. And someone taking care of him like that had seemed anything but.

Yet here he was.

Cheese, the park, and now this. This really was the best day ever.

"Where are we going?" He finally asked and was sure that even if Alphard said 'some dark layer', he would have agreed.

"It's not exactly a layer, but it most definitely is dark. We are going to Holkham Hall, Sunshine. It's where most of the Blacks are gathered right now." Harry sucked in a shocked breath. There were other Blacks? Other family members? "Close your eyes, and hold on tight. This shouldn't take more than a second," ordered Alphard, and Harry complied obediently.

And just like that, they were gone.

Chapter 17: Dreaming With Open Eyes

Chapter Text

July 31, 1987, Two Weeks Ago

Marrakech, Morocco

Alphard knew he was dreaming, or at least the rational part of his brain was well aware of the unfortunate fact. But he was in that in-between state, where he was asleep enough to let his subconscious let loose but also awake enough to appreciate the significance of the scene in front of him.

"You're overthinking this, Schatz," Gus yawned lazily and closed his eyes against the bright sun. They were sitting lying on the grass at a muggle park close to de l'Orangerie and talking about … something. Alphard wasn't really sure if this was a memory - after all, they had spent many days like this - or if his mind had made this all up. He didn't really care. "We can't stay in Paris forever, but that doesn't mean your family gets to -"

Gus kept talking, but Alphard was too busy staring at his gorgeous face to care about their conversation. Light brown hair that curled around his neck, thick brows, and a square jawline. Gus had one of his strong arms tucked under his head, and Alphard could easily get distracted by his biceps and whatever those other muscles were called. With his free hand, this real-life Adonis was playing with the grass, and Alphard was slightly jealous of all the attention the damned grass was getting. Okay, maybe more than slightly.

He wanted Gus's hands on him, he -

This train of thought was interrupted by something being thrown in his face. Was that grass?

"Was that grass?" Alphard asked out loud, outraged.

"You too good for some grass, Black?" mocked Gus, laughing, and Alphard couldn't help but smile widely. Gus's laugh was the best thing in this world, and he would give anything to record it and carry it with him forever. "You weren't listening," Gus sat up and looked at Alphard, "Is everything okay, Schatz?" There was so much worry and tenderness in that gaze that it took Alphard a second to remember that gazing into Gus's eyes wasn't an appropriate answer, and he actually had to say something.

But what should he say?

The dreaming part of his brain was worried about travelling back to Britain and what that might mean for his sobriety. Just the thought of his mother and sister made him want to drink and then take something stronger to forget the whole encounter. But he didn't want Gus to worry about him even more than he already was.

And then there was the rational or awake part of his brain, which was even more distraught. That part wanted to hug Gus tightly and never let go. Because here, in this park in Paris, they could still be together. They weren't Unspeakables given impossible tasks. Alphard wasn't asked to use his Legilimency gift to spy on people and Gus …

Alphard looked down to Gus's bare forearm, clean and unmarked.

"I love you," both parts of Alphard's brain said because that was all that mattered in the end. And the smile Gus gave him was enough to devastate him, it was open and loving, and everything good in this world. "I love you with all my heart, Augustus Rookwood." He repeated and then asked the one question he had never had the bravery or the time to ask, "Marry me?"

And as soon as those words came out of his mouth, Alphard was swept away. He didn't get to see Gus's reaction or hear his answer.

If someone had just woken him up, he was going to kill them. He wasn't exaggerating, Alphard rarely allowed himself to think about Gus like that. Usually, he berated himself for not noticing when his boyfriend had stopped spying on the Death Eaters and had joined them. But what did it say about him that he thought Gus's smile was still the best sight in the world? He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Alphard looked around, trying to remember if this was where he had gone to bed. For some reason, his head felt a bit hazy, and he didn't recognise the room he had found himself in.

'Focus,' snapped a voice, and Alphard immediately looked around, seeing nothing and no one. Then, he heard a noise just outside the door, and with his wand in hand, he went to investigate. The nondescript room opened to a faintly familiar corridor, dark flower wallpaper, carpeted flour, and twisted Black magic. Bile rose up Alphard's throat, and he thought he might be sick.

"Nasty, lazy blood traitor!" screeched a painfully familiar voice, and Alphard looked down into Kreature's hateful eyes. f*ck no. No, just no. He couldn't be back here.

Any second, he expected Walburga to stomp in and start yelling at him, making him regret ever getting sober. How in Morgana's name had he ended up in Grimmauld place? Wait, he was supposed to be 'dead' to the Blacks, right? He had his mission from Unspeakable Prime and was supposed to stay far away from Britain. What the bloody hell was happening?!

Alphard took a few shaky steps away from Kreature, hoping he could get to the fireplace, and flew away from there before encountering anyone. He was going down the stairs when it hit him - it was 1987, and Walburga was dead. And their mother was long since rotting in hell. He took his first full breath since waking up.

No longer afraid someone was going to come after him, Alphard decided to explore a bit. He went through the empty kitchen and the dusty library, only to find Kreature in Orion's study. The evil elf wasn't even cleaning, he was just staring at the wall. Alphard almost left, not wanting to deal with a clearly delusional elf, but then he saw what the bastard was looking at.

He tried to remember all those impulse control exercises Audrey had taught him. She would have been proud that he didn't just use fiendfyre to get rid of the monstrosity. The horrendous Black tapestry stared at him, with all the burned sections and wretched people on it.

Kreature sobbed quietly, and Alphard rolled his eyes. Was the blasted elf really mourning these psychopaths?

But then his eyes landed on Regulus's name, and he felt guilty. Of course, not all Blacks were as crazy as his sister and mother. There was his darling Lulu, feisty Aunt Cass, and Dru had been a saint for putting up with Cygie. Plus, that woman knew how to put Wally in her place. He wasn't surprised to find a death date next to Dru's name, after all, he had gone through a lot of trouble to attend her funeral without anyone noticing him. But then he saw that next to Aunt Cass's name, there was also a date … Lulu also had one. He frantically looked at the others, and there were death dates for Arcturus, his father, Cygie …

"What the …" He stared at the Black tree, trying to find a single name without a death date. Frantically, he searched, focusing on the new generation. Sirius and Andi had been blasted, but what about… Then he saw it. Bellatrix Violetta Black born 1955 died 1998 and Narcissa Freya Black born 1958 died 2000.

He felt himself crumble to the ground, staring at the dates. All he could see was three little girls huddled together with the latest issue of Witch Weekly, even though the middle one had just learned how to read. He could hear Bella reading something out loud and all of them smiling conspiratorially. Andi had snorted with laughter, and Cissa couldn't keep it in any longer, so she had joined in, her voice attracting everyone's attention. Their grandmother - that monster of a woman, Irma - yelled at Cissa for not acting like a proper Lady. The little girl immediately stopped and looked shyly at her feet. Alphard was about to say something, he hated anyone who made his Little Flower pout like that. But he didn't have to because Bella turned to his grandmother, declaring, "Maybe Crabbes don't have the luxury of laughing, but we are Blacks. We decide what is acceptable and what isn't!" She took her sisters’ hands, and the three left Irma gaping. Henceforward, Bella was known as his Firecracker.

Kreature turned around and gave Alphard a look filled with despair and pain, "Masters are gone, all of Masters and Mistresses." All Alphard could do was nod and try to wrap his mind around it. "Wonderful Master Regulus, Master Orion, and poor Mistress Walburga." His godson's name still made him feel sick, but at least he had had time to deal with his loss. "Then Master Arcturus alone in the Hall, Master Cygnus with a bottle, Mistress Lucretia never came back, and then Master Pollux gave up." Alphard heard an inhumane sound of anguish come out of his mouth and was torn between trying to breathe and covering his ears. He didn't want to hear this. None of this.

But the wretched elf kept going, "Then nasty Master Sirius appeared one day with mudbloods, traitors, and filthy creatures. He stayed here, destroying Mistress's home and sulling the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," Alphard was trying to understand what this creature was saying. Sirius was in Azkaban, and even Alphard would have heard if he had somehow escaped. But a small voice mocked him that he had missed the deaths of his entire family, so anything was possible.

Kreature kept talking, "Weird Mistress Cassiopia went next - some experiment gone wrong. Then, Cruel Mistress Lastrange asked Kreature for help, and Kreature had to help. Oh yes, Kreature did. She was still a Black, and Kreature follows the Black commands. Then…” Alphard wasn't sure why the elf was stopping, but it couldn't be good. In a whisper, Kreature continued, "Nasty Master Sirius died. They say… they say Cruel Mistress killed -" the elf's voice broke, and Alphrad was struggling to breathe.

What the actual f*ck? This wasn't possible, it was not!

Kreature seemed to get over his tears and started talking quickly as though he wanted to get it over with, "Kreature had a new Master then, a half-blood! Oh, the misery! What would his poor Mistress think? But Kreature had to, Nasty Master left everything to Half-blood Master. So Kreature went to Hogwarts and fought to defend the last Black. A Black he is, the grandson of Kind Mistress Dorea. So Kreature fought for the Half-blood Black, he did! He did! And then, Cruel Mistress was killed in the battle. Kreature was sad a Black was gone, but Kreature still had the Half-blood Black, and there was still the Pretty Mistress Malfoy. The new Master moved here, and Kreature thought it would all be okay … then, they were gone, too. And Kreature is now alone here."

Alphard stood up, reached for the nearest vase, and threw up. He was half-convinced he was dreaming because surely this could be nothing other than a demented nightmare. The Blacks gone. Dead. All of them.

He looked at the family tree again, hoping that something might have changed. That Kreature would start laughing at this horrible joke. But the elf just wept.

'Look at the death dates again,' ordered the same voice as before, and this time, Alphard was awake enough to notice it was a female voice. He started casting disillusionment spells and anything else he could think of. But he still couldn't figure out where it was coming from, plus Kreature hadn't reacted at all. Not sure what else he could do, he followed the voice's command.

He had never experienced anything like this: an indescribable strong wave of relief washed over him as he finally realised that those dates were all in the future. At the same time, he felt the hairs on his arms rise, sensing that something was very wrong here. Was this a nightmare? Was he really crazy enough to come up with something like this?

Kreature's sobs were heart-wrenching even to someone who hated the elf. So Alphard was confused about how he could have been the one to make this up. He most definitely wouldn't have added a crying crazy house-elf. Right?

'It's not precisely a dream,' told him the voice, and Alphard was beginning to really hate this vague presence. 'Do not take your anger out on me, Alphard, son of Pollux. I brought you here to warn you. This is what will become of your House in less than two decades. Andromeda Tonks will be the only one remaining. Or at least, the only one with any clue who the Blacks really are.' Alphard got goosebumps and kept turning his head left and right like a complete lunatic, trying to see if he could tell where the voice was coming from. He decided to try legilimency and learn what this person wanted with him.

The moment his mind reached for the only other presence (ignoring Kreature's twisted mind completely), he immediately regretted it. He cried in pain as the worst headache of his life tried to fracture his skull.

'Do not try these tricks on me, Alphard, son of Pollux. Your power is nothing compared to mine. You will only hurt yourself.' Alphard was too busy holding his head in his hand to react. 'I was not sure whether contacting you was a good idea, but I made a promise, and I intend to keep it.' Suddenly, the pain was gone, and Alphard thanked the Mother.

The voice started laughing, 'No need to thank me just yet, Alphard, son of Pollux. I have not come here to chit-chat. I have a task for you.' Alphard swallowed nervously, trying to wrap his mind around the whole thing. Was this really the Mother? As in The Mother? Lady Magic, who had given wizards all their power?

'Indeed,' she confirmed, and somehow, it made absolute sense to him that his usually impenetrable shield wouldn't last a second against her. 'First rational thought you’ve had all day. Now listen closely …'

Alphard had awoken back in his apartment in the Old City of Marrakesh, drenched in sweat. With every second, he was forgetting more and more about the dream he had just had. And as he got some water and cast a cooling charm, he remembered seeing Gus and then having a weird nightmare. Something about Britain and his family. Ha, that most certainly must have been a nightmare, he thought. But something at the back of his head forced him to keep going and try to remember. He closed his eyes and went through his well-organised mind, but something felt off. For a second, he considered that someone might have entered his mind, but he laughed it off. There were few people in the world who could breach his defences, and none of them would have left him alive.

The image of a crying Kreature popped into his head, and something about the Black tapestry. But he couldn't remember more. Oh well, it couldn't have been that important.

He tried to go back to sleep. His mind kept going back to the Blacks, and he had the urge to contact Lulu and, Morgana forbid, even his father. Wow, that must have been one hell of a nightmare.

Finally, he fell asleep and dreamt of a muggle neighbourhood with identical houses and absolutely boring lives. His brain must be compensating for the dream of his family with this mind-numbing scene, he told himself.

The next day, he forgot all about his weird dreams and went on with his day. Every once in a while, three words would resurface in his subconscious: 4 Privet Drive. He didn't think much of it.

A few days later, he was out browsing at the bazaar when he turned to the next stall, only to find a black envelope. He blinked a few times and turned around, but no one was paying attention to him. The moment he took the letter, he knew what it must be. A summons for a Family Gathering.

With hurried steps, Alphard walked back home, the letter still unopened in his hand. The whole way there, he kept wondering what this could all be about, and a random annoying voice at the back of his head said something about a child. But Alphard had no idea what that was about, so he squashed it.

A Family Gathering.

A week ago, he would have burnt the letter and gone on with his life. A week ago, Alphard wouldn't even have considered breaking his cover and going back to England. A week ago, the sight of the Black crest would not have made him feel emotional.

But it wasn't a week ago. Alphard would be lying if he said that he didn't want to see some of his family. Maybe even most of them. Plus, he could always fake his death again, right?

With that in mind, Alphard Pollux Black started packing his things. In the back of his mind, there was the image of a small boy with green eyes, the Potter hair, and the Black nose. Soon, that image would resurface, and Alphard would remember those three words that had haunted him: 4 Privet Drive.