Written for History Of Magic (Write about a member of the Black Family )
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Cygnus II and Violetta Black already had two kids by time their youngest was born. But Cygnus had wanted a son to pass down the family name through. He loved his daughters, but he did not need the family name dying out with his blood. He would never hear the end of it from his father if this one proved to be a girl as well. Cygnus had been overjoyed when the Healer told them that this time they had gotten a boy. The Healer told them this one showed great signs of magical potential. That was all Cygnus needed to hear to know that Marius Black would proudly carry on the Black name.
The baby boy was born three weeks premature. He was frail, sickly, and barely survived. Violetta barely survived the birth. Both were kept in isolated containment for two weeks. Cygnus hadn't been allowed to see his son or wife in that time. It drove him stir crazy to know that they were sitting in the hospital and he couldn't be near them.
When he was allowed to see them, he didn't want to hold his new son. The creature was only a few weeks old, and only a bit healthier than when he last saw. Violetta was still tired, still weak from the complicated birth. She hadn't want to let her son go, and Cygnus didn't want to hold him.
It angered him seeing this infant. He had been so ready for a son. So ready for someone to pass his name to, and all he got was this weak, sickly little beast that nearly killed its birth while it was coming into the world. This child wasn't worthy of the Black name. He wasn't worthy of the legacy which he had been born into.
Violetta said the child would grow and become healthier. It was the way of an infant. Cygnus didn't want to wait. He wanted that strong, strapping young man. Not some sickly little beast.
As the child grew, he still remained stringy and lean. The boy never got any muscle. Nor did he gain much height. He was weak. Cygnus made sure his son knew this. He wanted Marius to grow up strong. He didn't have the option to be gentle like he was to his daughters. They were women, they were allowed to grow weak as far as Cygnus was concerned. It was in their nature.
It was not in the nature of a boy to be weak. It was not acceptable for a member of the Black family to be so spineless. The boy had no interests in the Dark Arts. Even his daughters had shown skill in that field. But not Marius. Never Marius. Cygnus was positive the boy didn't even have a scrap of magic in his bones.
Violetta told him some kids just matured slower. But Marius was already seven, and still no signs of magical talents. Cygnus was applaud by this. He would not have a squib in the family. It was the worst disgrace and he would not bare it.
He pushed his son in hopes of sparking some magic. He never got anything. He scolded, belittled, even beat the boy in attempts to drive the magic from him.
The day his Hogwarts letter should have arrived, it was quite. He waited and waited, praying to some God that it wasn't true. That his only son hadn't been born like this.
September first rolled around and Marius was not on the train. Cygnus had pushed his way through every file in the Ministry for hopes that it wasn't true. He had searched and searched for anything that might have gone wrong on the Ministries part in the involvement of that letter. He had been told time and time again that it hadn't been a glitch. Marius' name was not written down. He had never showed the spark of magic needed for his name to be inscribed into the book of names.
Cygnus' youngest child, his only son, had been born a squib. It killed him to drop his two daughter off for the train and to have to take his son back home with him. Cygnus could barely stand to look at the child.
No sooner than they arrived home, Violetta whipped her tear filled eyes and turned to their son. She patted him on the shoulder, told him she loved him and she left. Cygnus watched as his wife disappeared from the foyer.
The house elf arrived at that moment. The creature held a single suitcase in its nubby little hands. Its wide blue eyes were filled with unshed tears. It knew better than to speak though and disappeared just as quickly.
Marius asked if they were going on a trip. Cygnus resisted the urge to slap the boy right there. It took a moment before the child realized his error. He gulped and looked away from his father.
Cygnus laid it all out right there. He would not have a squib in his home. He would not allow that stain to reside on the family tree. There was enough clothes in the suit case to last him a month. He had enough money to feed himself for the next month. It was all Cygnus was going to give the boy.
Marius pleaded against it. He promised to try harder. The child swore that there was magic in him and he would do everything in his power to make it show. Cygnus was tired of the child's babbling and struck him sharp across the head.
There was silence as young Marius tried to suppress the sobs. Cygnus didn't speak further. He opened the door and made a motion for the child to leave. Marius only stood there. He wanted to plead his case further, but knew he would get nowhere with his father.
Knowing that there was nothing to change his father's mind, Marius only shut his mouth. Grabbing the suitcase – a miracle they had given him this much – the eleven year old moved towards the door. He kept his head down, didn't look up at his father or the house he had grown up in until he crossed the threshold.
The open door sat between son and displeased father. There was a moment when Cygnus's grip on the door loosened. This was his son. His legacy. The baby he had once been so excited for.
But he was also the disappointment. The child that never showed a spark of magic. Who never showed interest in his father's crafts of beliefs. The baby who nearly killed its mother while it crawled into the world.
Bright blue eyes stared through the doorway at his father. They were the same shade of blue between both males. For a moment, Cygnus reconsidered letting the boy go.
But his disgust with the boy got the better of him. Cygnus stared his son in the face as he closed the door. The latch clicking, the man stood there, one hand on the knob, the other flat against the hard wood.
He could no longer see his son, but he could almost feel the hands of the tiny eleven year old pressed against the heavy wooden door.
After a moment, when he heard the footsteps trail off the porch, Cygnus turned from the door.