Returning Home.

We, Blacks, have always been the elite of the magical community of England. Our last name was feared and respected, it was synonymous with power and greatness.

Until a few decades ago, where our family fell prey to a curse called madness and obsession. As a poison the disease contaminated us, breaking the mind and magic of some of our members. One after the other, we fell, weakening and corrupting us until all that remained of us were madmen and rabid dogs.

It was then that he appeared. A Dark Lord who promised to return our ancient glory to us if we followed him, sick and lost, we took his mark without thinking and made the terrible mistake of allowing our children to follow in our footsteps without knowing that we were condemning our Ancient and Noble House to destruction.

Three generations of Black's was what it took for our House to fall into dishonor and misery.

Two completely rotten, Grandparents and parents.

The third, that of my grandchildren, had black seeds that died in one form or another before reaching thirty years, however, during this generation our family had "traitors" who are now our only hope to get up again.

Therefore, here and now.

On my deathbed, I Arcturus Black III, proclaimed the end of an era. I take with me the sick blood of our family so I can let you, my children, be the creators of a new era. One where our family returns to its glory and I know that you can take them to that bright future, Jason.

I name you my heir.

I entrusted our future to you, Antares Jason Stark, because I know you will be a magnificent Lord Black.

Arcturus Black reread the last clause of his will and signed with a bitter smile. He knew he did not have much time left, he was dying. He could feel it. His body weakened with each instant that passed, his strength deserted him and his magic vanished into the air.

It had taken him a long time to make this decision because it was hard to admit that he had missed and that all the misfortunes of his family fell on him. After all, he had been Lord Black for the past six decades, he could have ordered his son and his daughter-in-law to stay away from that monster, he could have prevented his grandchildren from taking the mark, he could have prevented his blood from reneging what was his and he decided that exile was better than being trapped in the spiral of madness and death that surrounded them

But he did nothing.

And now, at the edge of death, he is able to see his mistakes. That is why he will take with him all those who died to follow this barbarian with delusions of grandeur and allow young people to rise up and create a new chapter in history.

Jason Stark: A Black in everything but name.

His grandson, one of his grandchildren by his sisters is a true Black: powerful, ambitious, clever and determined, but unfortunately had that condemned temper that led his family to commit atrocities without remorse.

The boy had always be destined to lead them.

The situation was not the desired one, but it would have to be. With Sirius in Azkaban, another of his many faults, the only one who could return the past glory to his Ancient and Noble House, was Jason

OoOoOoO

Three months after signing and validating that document, the Patriarch of the Blacks died.

His death was local news. Many idiots celebrated, for it seemed to be the end of that damned and obscure dynasty they had both feared and envied. The Blacks no longer had heirs, the murderer Sirius Black was in jail and the other, Regulus, a Death Eater had died many years ago.

Oh, but while they feasted, the remaining members of this powerful House felt their magic grow and their blood roar within their veins. With the death of Arcturus a chapter in history was finished and another began. And both their blood, and the magic that was in it, required them to return to their roots and to the motto of the house: Toujours Pour.

"Always pure"

The motto did not refer to the purity of blood as many had erroneously believed in the past. No, it was about loyalty to the family. To put your family before everything else and not to stand before anyone.

Always pure.

Always worthy of carrying the name Black and all that this entails

OoOoOoO

Malfoy Mansion, England, 1993.

Narcissa Malfoy, neé Black, felt the discharge of power in her veins the moment her uncle died. It was so strong that it made her gasp and close her eyes. The cup of tea in her hands fell to the floor, shattering as it crashed to the floor.

He momentarily lost her control over his metamorphmagus skills and his hair returned to the jet-black tone that was naturally, her power was partial and could only change the tone of his hair, contrary to her niece that was a full one and could change her entire appearance. She opened her eyes and they shone in a silver tone, cold and calculating, the eyes of the Black had always seemed to contain a storm and Narcissa´s were no exception. On her lips a predatory smile formed as she understood what had happened and what it meant.

Her husband, Lucius, who was sitting in front of her, gasped at the fierce appearance of his delicate and refined companion. A shudder ran through him from head to toe when he noticed how similar his wife looked to Bellatrix Lestrange, a resemblance that thanks to the small changes in the appearance of his beloved he had never really come to appreciate.

"Narcissa ..." his name left his lips in a muffled whisper and he certainly regretted having spoken when that fierce look focused on him and reminded him how terrible they had been (and were) the members of the Ancient and Noble House of Black.

The beautiful woman looked at her husband a few seconds before regaining control. Her hair returned to the blonde-platinum that always was, however, her expression did not change. She rose with graceful movements, ignoring the cup on the floor or her pale and scared man a few steps away from her and left the dining room, making her way to the room of her son Draco, her little dragon

"Mother?" her little boy looked at her confused and frightened, for he too had felt that explosion of power in his veins.

Upon hearing his voice, her eyes softened and with a sweet smile she entered the room and sat on the bed, taking her son in her arms and arranged him to be curled up against her.

"My love, we have to talk," she muttered, stroking the golden hair of her son with the tips of his fingers.

"About what, mother?" Asked curious the twelve year old, overcoming his fear to it be replaced by interest and curiosity.

"Of the Ancient and Noble House of Black ..."

OoOoOoO

Home of the Tonks.

Mother and daughter felt the explosion of magic in their veins, but they had different reactions. For while Andromeda immediately knew what had happened and what it meant, Nymphadora had no idea what had happened and losing control of her abilities scared her greatly.

It was there, seeing her daughter frightened, when she should be celebrating was when Andromeda realized that she had failed her little fairy by not telling her about her family, about her inheritance and legacy.

"Oh, my love, do not be afraid, everything is fine," she murmured as she approached her daughter and wrapped her in a hug. Her daughter was still young, she could still remedy the damage she had caused with her resentment to his family.

"Shh, my life, everything would be fine" she continued singing while comforting his daughter, who was sobbing in her arms.

Once Nymphadora calmed down enough, she sat her down in one of the armchairs and settled down beside her. She took her hands in hers and looked directly into her eyes, gray vs. gray. Both pairs of eyes glowing from the power in their veins.

"Let me tell you a story, my love. A story about the Ancient and Noble House of Black..."

OoOoOoO

Azkaban

In the prison there were two Blacks, one carried the name, while the other did not, but both felt the discharge of power running through their veins. The ecstasy that pure magic gave them after so long trapped in that damn place with those beasts feeding on their happiness made them go off to laugh in synchrony.

Bellatrix thundered with laughter that overflow with madness. A sound so horrible that it shook all those who heard it, because it spoke of desolation and death.

Instead, Sirius laughed hysterically. He combine laughter and crying at the knowledge that after all he struggle to separate himself from his family, to get away from the Blacks and their putrescence, the magic in his blood will sing in the same way he did with everyone else.

That once a Black, always a Black

OoOoOoO

4 Privet Drive.

One could say that Harry Potter was not a member of the Black family, but you could not be more wrong. After all, James Potter was the son of Dorea Potter, neé Black. And James, like Jason, was a Black in everything but name.

So Harry, like Draco and Nymphadora, felt the magic explode in his veins. And as a result he was quite scared by the strange feeling and having no one who could explain what was happening it became much worse than it should have been.

And instead of joy he only felt fear and sadness before a void that he did not know how to fill.

However, the Black family's magic recognized him as his own and gave him the warmth that he lacked, silently promising that he would not be alone for long, since the most important thing for the Blacks is the family and Harry was family.

The green-eyed little boy fell asleep in bed, tired from crying to dryness, having no idea that he would soon be free of Muggles and their abuse, that someone would come to offer him the home he had been waiting so much.

OoOoOoO

Stark Mansion, Bulgaria.

Jason was signing some documents, doing the paperwork that came with being Lord Stark when it happened. Something that had not happened in years. A shock of power running through his veins and forcing him to surrender, to lower his head and kneel before the magnificence of the ancient and powerful magic that ran in the blood of the Blacks.

He gasped, his eyes turning amber for a second as it took him to regain his control over his inner wolf and he could barely contain the growl that struggled out of his lips when he exhibited his teeth. His hands tightened so hard on the edge of the desk that he left the imprint of his fingers on it.

His magic and blood shouted in synchrony that it was time to go home. To England.

Jason smiled bitterly, the least he wanted was to return. Not when he knew he did not have anything there, his mate would probably be in the company of the werewolf who answered to the name of Remus raising the James and Lily´s cub. There was no place for him.

He had known that from the moment they separated paths after Regulus' death. The thought of returning broke his heart, for his pack was no longer his. Those who remained would not want to see him in painting, let alone interact with him and the rest ... the rest had fallen, victims of the war.

However, he had no choice.

Blood calls blood.

Magic to magic.

And Jason is a Black. He cannot ignore the call.

He will return to Grimmauld Place and face with his head held high, like the Alpha he is, whatever awaits him because Toujours Pour was, had and remained until the moment of his death, the motto that ruled his life