YuriPrince: James's attitude is mostly due to him conflating Dark, dark, and evil. The first refers to a sociopolitical philosophy; blood purity, isolation from the Muggle world, and support of plutocracy are hallmarks of Dark-minded individuals. The second term is for someone who uses dark magic, which is aggressive and destructive in nature and fueled by one's negative emotions, like anger and hatred. The third term I shouldn't need to explain. Admittedly, many of the Dark Houses used to use dark magic extensively back in the olden days, and you can do some pretty evil things with dark magic – the various black magics being the best examples – but a wise man knows those three terms are distinct. James… isn't exactly a wise man.
So… Yeah, this chapter kind of got away from me, and what was meant to be 3,000 words max became over 7,500.
Disclaimer: Did Snape honestly go by himself into the tunnel under the Whomping Willow when he was a student at the direction of Sirius, someone he absolutely loathed and had less than zero reason to trust? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.
Chapter 9
Truth Stranger than Fiction
Rita's heels clacked loudly as she walked down the tiled corridor leading to the Hall of Records. With a flip of her blonde ringlets, she pointedly ignored the hostile eyes of the Ministry workers she passed; though the employees of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement despised her for the number of articles she had penned that depicted them as the idiotic buffoons they were, they and she both knew there was nothing they could do in retaliation. Publishing her views outright would see them descend upon her and slam her with trumped-up libel charges, but so long as she couched her accusations in rumor and speculation, she was safe from any reprisals.
Oh, how that burned them!
She smiled faintly as she neared her goal. The Hall of Records was the center of the Ministry's information hub. Every form, every slip of parchmentwork, every single piece of documentation necessary for running the country was stored in that six-story library. Admittedly, there were several sections that were restricted, access only allowed by the Keepers who ran the office, but the lowest level was open to the public for any witch who wanted trivial or dated information.
Not what I need, of course, but it's so much easier to break into a house through an open door than a locked window. Shooting a mocking grin to the investigators who had just exited the room and receiving sharp glares in return, she pushed open the tall double doors. A quick glance at the clock above the Keepers' desk in the middle of the room assured her that she had arrived at the perfect time, only ten minutes until the Hall officially closed.
She crossed the room and hid herself in one of the census aisles, her hands paging through the numerous sheets of parchment while her eyes watched the hands of the clock rather than text. The chime signaling five-thirty echoed loudly through the practically abandoned library, and as if summoned by the sound, a portly wizard in an ink-stained orange robe hustled over to her. Her gaze slid back to the boring columns of numbers in front of her, though they were both aware it was only an act. Higginbotham was a most valuable resource of hers.
"Madam?" the man said, gesturing towards the door. "The Hall has closed for today. I have to ask you to leave."
"Consider the question asked."
He turned to look around before scooting deeper into the stacks, and his voice lowered as he hissed, "Skeeter, I don't know what you're up to this time, but I can't help you. That stunt you pulled with the Parkinsons nearly cost me my job."
She avoided rolling her eyes at his complaint, but it was a near thing. Poor baby, almost losing a job that pays five sickles an hour to stand around all day and point people to the right shelves. Yes, that would be such a tragedy, far more important than revealing that Eugene Parkinson gave Madeline Jones a house to keep her quiet about their affair. "Yet you're still here, so I can only guess you escaped without too much punishment."
"That's not the point—"
"Ah," she interrupted, pointing at him with one bright green fingernail. "That actually is my point. Your bosses got mad, sure, and they blustered a little, but we both know there was nothing connecting you to anything. They're just trying to rattle your cage."
"And it's working," he shot back. "If you want to keep getting my help in the future, you need to back off now."
She nodded absently. It was a bluff; he knew it, she knew it, and he knew she knew it. Why he thought it would work, she had no idea. "Very well, if you insist." He sighed in relief. "I suppose I'll have to write my next article on something else, then. Maybe how a certain Keeper has a habit of inviting pretty young witches behind the stacks for some hands-on study sessions." The wizard paled dramatically, and sensing weakness, she went in for the kill. "I'm sure I could get a few good interviews with those girls, maybe even Nadia Patterson?"
"Shh!" he demanded, furtive eyes swinging over the empty room behind him. She, on the other hand, innocently buffed her nails on her robe. Having his little tryst with the middle daughter of his boss's boss splashed across the Daily Prophet was his greatest fear; the discovery of that lovely piece of blackmail was what earned her his cooperation in the first place. "Damn it, Skeeter, are you trying to get me fired?"
"Of course not, Mark, of course not." She shot him a crocodile's smile. "Just reminding us both of what's at stake. Let's avoid doing anything drastic, shall we?"
Higginbotham's shoulders slumped as he relented. "Fine. What do you want?"
"Nothing more than usual. You close up like nothing's happened, give me the key to the House records, and I'll let myself out when I'm done."
"Just don't leave a mess like last time," he pleaded, pulling a heavy bronze key out of his pocket and passing it to her. When his hand retreated, it had two golden galleons clasped inside. She was not in a habit of bribing her informants – blackmail was so much easier on her coin purse – but though she would never tell anyone, she needed to keep Higginbotham happy, or at least content. She could ruin him, and she would if he ever double-crossed her, but getting him fired from the Hall would still ruin her best source of scandal and intrigue.
The despondent wizard walked away, and she watched idly in her beetle form as he and the other two Keepers on duty trimmed the lamps and spelled the day's perused records to return to their shelves. Once the door had slammed shut, she extended her gossamer wings and took to the air. Ground floor's pointless records, first is current laws and procedures, second's House and personal records. She buzzed over the railing of her selected level, her flight allowing her to bypass completely the alarms and wards on the staircase. Her tiny body swelled as she shifted back into a witch, and she paused a moment to stretch and relieve the ache between her shoulder blades that always developed when she had to transform. She was sure another Animagus somewhere could tell her how to avoid that, but there were only eight on record in Britain, and none of them had any reason to help her. Several, including Minerva McGonagall and Sirius Black, the most recently registered member, did or soon would have grievances against her.
Oh, well. Such was the life of an investigative reporter.
Along the wall were a number of thick wooden doors, each bearing the names of a few families and arranged in no particular order, and she walked down the hallway to find the one marked 'Bones, Caldwell, Black'. The borrowed key turned easily in the lock, and the door faintly glowed blue around the edges before swinging inwards on its own to reveal rows and rows of cabinets. She strolled inside and made her way to the back of the room, where the most recent years worth of records would be kept. Her eyes finally landed on a drawer labeled with the Black name and bearing a beginning date of 1865 but no end date.
"About time," she muttered to herself. She gave the cabinet's handle a strong tug and bared her teeth in a sharp grin when the front folder was the one she had been searching for. "J. Black, born 1980. Let's see what secrets you're hiding and what's got the old farts in such a tizzy."
She gently tugged the folder out of the stuffed drawer and flipped through the surprisingly few sheets of parchment inside. Recognition of House membership, designation as heir, entitlement as a dragon-slayer, parentage, transcript of Wizen… Her litany trailed off as her mind caught up with her eyes, and she turned back to the previous page. "Parents… Merlin and Morgana. How did they hide this from everyone?"
Her Quick-Quotes Quill and a roll of parchment flew out of her handbag as she decided how best to frame her next article. She knew that reporting on the Blacks' little darling was going to be risky, but this? This was sticking her hand down the lion's throat and poking it in the eye.
Her smile grew wider as she considered the firestorm she was about to set off. Pricking powerful people was always dangerous, but as they all eventually discovered, that danger was what she lived for.
The Blacks' Shameful Secret Exposed!
Just over a year and a half ago, the House of Black pulled itself back from the brink of extinction, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Their current Head, Lord Sirius Black, who at the time was thought to be a cold-blooded mass murderer, presented himself to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement with the real killer of Lord Charlus Potter and Marked Death Eater, Peter Pettigrew. At the time, there was rampant speculation as to how that Ancient House would recover from the straights it found itself in after nearly a decade of being outside the public eye, but most doubts had been assuaged by his sixth month of lordship. As a young wizard still, it was expected that he would soon choose a wife and sire an heir for his much-reduced House.
House Black had yet another surprise to reveal, however. They already had an heiress, the then-fourteen-year-old Jennifer Black. Lord Black was quick to recognize her as his legitimate successor, and she soon proved herself a capable young witch when she was selected as Hogwart's Junior champion during the Triwizard Tournament. Not only did she single-handedly slay an Antipodean Opaleye dragon in the very first challenge presented to her, her scores consistently stayed close to the lead, and she ended the Tournament as the winner in the junior bracket.
One thing was always troubling about Miss Black, however; where had she been all this time? Why did she appear only then? Who was she really? Lord Black refused to elaborate on the few occasions he was asked about her history, and many suspected that she was his own child, born from a youthful dalliance and then hidden away when he was sent to Azkaban. Ironically, this explanation is not far from the truth, but in a way no one could have expected.
Though it took more than a little digging, this reporter has discovered the facts about Jennifer Black's parentage. Her father, in an unexpected twist, is none other than Lord James Potter. Yes, dear readers, you read that correctly; the heiress of House Black is the half-sister of the Boy-Who-Lived, Danny Potter. This shock I felt was only compounded when I noticed who her mother was, a name I and many others hoped never to see again.
Bellatrix Lestrange.
What impossible string of circumstances could have lead to such an incomprehensible coupling? Was James Potter as unaware of his daughter's existence as the rest of the us, or did he have a hand in hiding her from the world out of shame? What message is the Black family sending by choosing the only child of You-Know-Who's right hand witch as the future leader of their House?
We at the Daily Prophet don't have those answers, but when we find out, dear readers, so will you.
Jen pursed her lips as Sirius's voice trailed off. "When we were discussing how to reveal my adoptive parentage, I do not believe this was named as one of the options."
"No, it wasn't. Damn that Rita Skeeter!" he roared, balling the newspaper up and throwing it against the far wall.
Across the kitchen table from her, Jen watched Cissy silently butter a scone. Someone unfamiliar with the older witch might think that she was unaffected by their carefully drawn plan swirling down the drain, but the teenager could see how her aunt's hands were shaking the slightest amount and how Cissy's teeth were grinding through her sonar. Setting the food down for a moment, the woman hissed out a shallow breath. "Damn her, indeed. I think I might need to have a short chat with her, remind her just why the Prophet has always been careful to ignore the Ancient Houses in its quest for petty sensationalism. Perhaps I'll take Ted with me, make a day of it."
"Any chance I can tag along?" Jen asked, lifting her knife and waving it in a seemingly idle fashion directly in front of her throat. "I have a few… sharp words I'd like to share with Skeeter myself."
"You most definitely aren't going," Sirius answered. He eyed the knife until she returned it to the table. "Trust me, as satisfying as setting up someone you hate to be killed is at the time, that's not a road you want to go down. It never works out the way you imagine."
"This advice is the result of whatever the issue is between you and Snape, I presume?"
He sighed and lowered his gaze to the table. "Without a doubt the thing I regret most in my life. That I nearly got Moony executed in the process just makes the whole situation even worse. You know that Snape and I hated each other practically from the start, right?" She nodded; he had mentioned that briefly when she told him the previous year about the very rocky first lesson she had had with the professor, though he did not go into any great detail. "Merlin, I don't even remember what set it all off anymore, it's been so long. Some tiny, insignificant thing, I'm sure.
"Anyway, I noticed him spying on us one day in sixth year and asked James to tell me how he had 'discovered' the tunnel under the Whomping Willow that led to the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade. James caught on quick enough, and we made it sound like we were going through it again that night. Snape figured this was a great way to get us suspended or expelled, exactly as I planned, and it was only later that night that James remembered his sense of decency and kept Snape from getting mauled." He shook his head. "That's the thing about our family's temper; we have a bad habit of jumping straight from schoolboy grudge to attempted murder without thinking about the possibilities in between or considering the possible outcomes."
"Of course, most of us also are more subtle about our revenge than he was. It's the Gryffindor in him," Cissy added casually.
"In case you missed it, I'm trying to explain why she shouldn't commit a felony, not teach her how to do it more successfully."
Jen rolled her eyes. Oh, Sirius. Elsie was a much better teacher about how to hide evidence of murder than Cissy is. I expect I could teach you two a few things about it. Not giving any hint of her dark thoughts, she instead asked, "Fine, then what are we going to do about this?"
"We launch a counterattack." The table's other occupants looked at Cissy, who continued, "Right now, everyone is reeling from this revelation. The faster we put our own story out there, the more off-balance our audience will be, and the more easily they'll accept what we say as fact. Sirius, would you send an owl to the Prophet office requesting an interview for this evening? I'll Floo-call Andi, Ted, and Dora and get them over here. We don't have a lot of time to plan this out."
"And me?" she asked.
Her aunt locked eyes with her. "You figure out what parts of your past you want to become public knowledge. You've never told us the whole story, and honestly I don't think I really want to know, but the closer we can tie our cover to the truth, the less likely you'll be to trip up and contradict yourself later." The older witch sighed. "I know it's not an ideal plan, but thanks to Skeeter, we're going to need to be quick on our feet for this one."
"—And that is why the Arrows are sure to win the League next year!"
Danny rolled his eyes as his dad discussed Quidditch with Neville. He had heard the same argument, or at least one similar enough, practically his entire life; his mother was a stalwart Wimbourne Wasp supporter, the bitter rivals of his father's favorite team. That had always confused him, considering she never seemed to care how they played, but he suspected it was more to do with getting on his dad's nerves than anything else.
Personally, he took a guilty pleasure in rooting for the all-female Holyhead Harpies. What red-blooded boy wouldn't?
His mum shared a glance and a smile with him across the table as she paid the Daily Prophet owl. A quick snap had the newspaper unrolled, and she sipped from her tea before looking at the front page. He was about to return to his own breakfast when he noticed her face growing progressively paler. "Mum? What's wrong?"
She did not hear him, too wrapped up in an article. Her hands shook the more she read, and then something finally tipped her over the edge. She dropped the paper, her hands flying to her mouth and tears pouring down her cheeks, and without a word of explanation she jumped to her feet and ran out of the room.
"Lily?" his father called after her before glancing to him. "What was that all about?"
"I… I don't know. She was reading something in the Prophet and just… freaked out."
His dad frowned at that and walked over to look at the news himself. He did not have to search for long, giving Danny a chance to see his other parent become shocked at whatever was printed there. "That… That's impossible. It can't be. She isn't… Lils!" The man sprinted away in pursuit of his wife.
Neville looked over curiously, and Dame Augusta was also giving the paper a wary gaze. The boy whispered, "That must be some article."
This can't be good. It is something to do with Voldemort? Danny shivered; he was quite thankful he could not remember the night his grandfather had died and Voldemort was defeated. Just the idea that that monster was walking around again, destroying and murdering, filled him with dread, and that was without taking into account him being the number one target.
His heart racing, he slowly walked around the other end of the table and picked up the paper. Okay, good. If it was something to do with the war, it'd be front page news. But if that isn't it, what could have gotten to Mum and Dad like that? He glanced over the articles and frowned; they had already talked about the speech Fudge had made the previous day, and that was the most important article printed. The next big one, located just below the fold, was something about the Blacks.
"I don't know. Nothing seems that important…" He trailed off as his eyes found something strange in the Black article: his father's name. His great-grandmother was a Black, he knew, but their family hadn't had anything to do with that House since. Why was his father mentioned, then?
He almost put the paper down when he realized it was all about Jennifer Black. That girl was not one of his favorite people; in fact, if asked he would rank her at the same level as Malfoy in terms of students he absolutely despised. She had the same condescending arrogance that the blond ponce did, and while she may not have challenged him to a midnight duel and sent Filch after him like Malfoy had, she had instead kept him from getting a fire-proof cloak when he was forced to fight a dragon in the Triwizard Tournament. If he weren't as good a flyer as he was, he would have died.
That was not the only time she had humiliated him over the previous year. Catching him with a tornado and flinging him into a wall, leaving Ron tied to a post like he wasn't worth helping, cursing him and Neville in the back rather than attack them honorably, and then, during the final Task, banishing him into a wall and breaking his arm, only then to attack him right after Diggory had called for a cease-fire. She was a sneaking coward who reveled in the other students' admiration and acted like she was the queen of the world. They were as different as night and day.
Still, he was curious about his father's mention, and so he kept reading. A minute later, he dearly wished he had not. My… my sister?! Dad had an affair? And with… with a Dark witch, a Death Eater?! No wonder his mum had left; to find out about this through the Daily Prophet…
"Danny? What does it say?"
"Merlin, Nev, it's…" He trailed off as he looked at his godbrother, the boy who had effectively lost both his parents at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. "Uh…"
Albus let the newspaper fall, rubbing his eyes as if that could change the words on the page. "How? How did they do something like this? Did they mislead Skeeter, use her to spread a false rumor about Jenny's parentage? No, that wouldn't make any sense. If they wanted to tap her poison pen, they would have made sure that it wasn't aimed at them as well."
He sighed. Assuming the Blacks had not manipulated Skeeter into portraying the girl as Bellatrix's bastard daughter, that meant the reporter had discovered that false fact on her own. The Ministry's records, perhaps? He knew that the children Introduced to the Wizengamot had to have their identities verified, but as he had not been part of that body prior to being elected to the seat of Chief Warlock, he was completely in the dark about how the process actually worked. Could Sirius have bribed whatever Ministry worker was working that day to push forward this fantasy as truth?
If so, Albus despaired of how he could save the young man. Between a dozen years in Azkaban and Jenny's own inherent evil, he might have already fallen deeply into Darkness. It certainly explained why Sirius had initially been so reluctant to rejoin the Order when he came to call.
Everyone she has contact with, she corrupts, he thought, sinking back into his chair. They all need to be watched, especially Miss Bones and Miss Davis. The latter was already well on her way to becoming a Dark witch between her family and her hatred of even her own housemates, and the former… He shook his head. That truly was a masterstroke on Jenny's part. Get close to Amelia's niece, and then she has access to the head of the DMLE. Depending on the leverage she can bring to bear, she could quite possibly manipulate Amelia into covering up any crimes she commits. Already she is setting herself up to be a worse Dark Lady than Tom is a Dark Lord.
Pushing himself to his feet, he began pacing the length of his office. But what can I do to stop her before she casts her shadow over the entire world? I told James that working here would let him forge a connection to her, but that was at best wishful thinking on my part. If she has gone so far to integrate herself into the Black family as to publicly call Bellatrix her mother, I doubt she will leave its dark embrace to return to her father's House.
Then again… Albus paused mid-stride as he considered the interactions between Jenny and the rest of the Blacks he had witnessed. Despite how they might have twisted it over the generations, that House always valued love of family above all else. Rather than replace James with someone else, as well, she claimed him as her father on whatever form Skeeter found. Has she bought into the same blood purist propaganda Tom did and convinced herself that James, a Pureblood, is an acceptable parent? If so, he might actually have a chance to change her mind somewhat. She is, after all, a teenage girl; they are the very definition of inconstant.
Perhaps he could succeed. Heading her off before she becomes a true threat would be far better than trying to justify a war against an underage witch. Yes, I will keep an eye on the situation, but for now I have no recourse but to trust that James's love for her and the importance she places on family can disarm her.
"How interesting," Voldemort murmured as he folded the Daily Prophet. To think, of all the people he could have kidnapped for his resurrection, the blind girl who had found her way into his clutches would be his chief enforcer's daughter. When he required the Death Eaters to pledge all they had and were to his cause, he was not exactly expecting something like this.
At least he no longer had any fear that his reconstructed body would 'inherit' any problems if theirs was the bloodline he had used.
He looked out the window and over the crashing waves as he pondered what this could mean for the rest of his campaign. As appropriate as Riddle Manor was for meetings with his servants in terms of impressing upon them his power, it was too closely tied to his past identity for him to actually live in it. Dumbledore, wretched old bastard that he was, would surely send someone to investigate the house sooner or later.
No, better by far to reside elsewhere. He had chosen a town at random, then selected a house in that town, before breaking in one night shortly after his return and murdering the young couple and their infant son inside. A few wards to prevent the Muggles from noticing that the house had seemingly disappeared overnight, several more to keep himself safe from anyone trying to find him magically, and he could rest in relative comfort.
This girl just can't help but make my decision on what to do with her difficult, can she? I planned to kill whomever's blood I utilized in the ritual, but then she displayed an astonishing knowledge of necromancy for her age. That made her valuable enough to keep, even for me to offer her a place among my servants, yet she not only spurned my proposition but also destroyed my Horcrux. Just yesterday, I was sure I would kill her the next time I saw her, but now? Being Bellatrix's child? Why can you not be simple, Black?!
He chuckled mirthlessly. The witch had clearly inherited all the Blacks' traits, both good and bad. She was powerful, intelligent, and dark, yet at the same time utterly infuriating and unpredictable. Killing her would be simple, but how would it affect his long-term goals? Necromancers did not exactly grow on trees, after all, and though Bellatrix never showed the same devotion to her House that Arcturus had, he had no way of knowing how she would react should she discover that he had murdered her only child. It was entirely possible that she would stab him in the back at the worst possible moment.
Considering the time and effort he had put into training her in the Dark Arts, that was a fight he would much rather forego.
"What to do, what to do?" His hand swept over the skin on his scalp, and he could not withhold a grimace. While he enjoyed the benefits that came with his greatly modified body – increased resistant to others' magic, heightened reflexes, greater physical stamina – if there was one thing he had missed about his human form over the years, it was having hair. It would give him something to fiddle with while thinking and at the same time keep him comfortable.
The Death Eaters thought he constantly wore his hood up throughout the winter months because it made him look more intimidating, not realizing it was simply because his head was cold.
A pop caused him to look to his side and fix his ruby gaze on the house-elf carefully setting plates on the table. She turned and said, "Your breakfast is ready, Master Dark Lordliness, sir."
"Thank you, Melody, that will be all for now," he replied, carefully keeping his disdain hidden. The elf gave a small smile before vanishing again.
He shook his head as he considered how strange it was that he, the Dark Lord, would have a better relationship with his own elf than any three of his Death Eaters put together. Oh, it was a travesty that such awe-inspiring magics were wasted on a race of mere servants when that power should rightfully be in the hands of their masters, but as Lucius had so ably proven, angry elves had a habit of causing abusive wizards untold amounts of irritation, discomfort, and even pain. There was too much he had to do to prepare for the return of war for him to worry about housework, but even he needed to eat and sleep. An elf made the domestic issues much simpler, allowing him to avoid wasting time on purchasing and preparing food or cleaning the house he had taken, and one he could trust not to inconvenience him because she was offended was well worth the gold he had payed for her.
From his exploration of Hogwarts decades ago, he knew that house-elves enjoyed serving kind masters. While being 'nice' to the creature was beyond him, basic politeness was well within his powers.
His fork speared a bit of sausage as he directed his thoughts once again to his most pressing concern. Black was too great a prize to give up and would be too dangerous a foe to let live should her understanding of dark magic increase. He nodded, his course decided. He was not one for second chances – Dumbledore was more than welcome to maintain a monopoly on that – but he could make an exception this single time. His greatest grudge was her killing Nagini, but it was not as if she could possibly know what the serpent truly was, and he still had four other anchors to the living world, even with his old journal destroyed at Potter's hand.
Yes, Jennifer Black would have one last opportunity to make the right choice and avoid a messy, agonizing death.
Lawrence Jones tapped his foot irritably as he was yet again stuck waiting for his cameraman to show up. This was the sixth time in a month the boy had been late, and if that pattern continued, he would have no choice but to fire the eighteen-year-old and find someone else.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Jones," the boy huffed as he Flooed into the Daily Prophet's office. "There was—"
"I don't care," he snapped back, shutting the younger wizard up. "We were supposed to be there five minutes ago, and the Blacks are not people you make wait. Especially not when it's a story this big." And even more when it gives me a chance to knock Rita's legs out from under her. He stomped past the cringing boy and flung some powder into the fireplace. "Black Townhouse."
Stepping smoothly out of the flames on the other end, he barely silenced a groan at the sight of five impatient Dark wizards and witches arranged before him. He bowed to the man sitting alone on the couch in the middle of the elegant room, his assistant copying the behavior upon entering. "My humblest apologies for our lateness, Lord Black. We were delayed by circumstances beyond our control."
"'Circumstances beyond your control'. Yes, I well understand that situation," the Head of the House replied, giving Lawrence a narrowed gaze. "It is, after all, why we are meeting this evening in the first place."
"Indeed, milord. Is Miss Black going to be joining us?" he asked, glancing over the gathered nobles.
"Later, but not just yet," one witch, a younger woman with spiked purple hair, answered. She petted the black cat resting in her arms for a moment before explaining, "My cousin was quite upset at the article this morning. She told us she would need a few extra minutes before she considered speaking with anyone from the Prophet."
He was hard-pressed not to smile at that statement. Oh, Rita, you have no idea what enemies you made today. "If she ultimately decides not to come down, would you please give her our regards? It was not the intention of anyone in the office to distress her so."
"We will. Now, I expect you have a number of questions?" Lord Black asked.
"Yes, sir." He sat in the chair left out for him, pulling a scroll of parchment and a DictaQuill from his pocket. He sighed with relief when the other wizard gave it a brief nod. Rita may prefer her Quick-Quotes Quill, but that was one reason why she got no respect from real journalists. "I think the first question that everyone wants the answer to is the simplest one. Is it true that Miss Black is the daughter of James Potter and Bellatrix Lestrange?"
"She is," a second witch answered. Lawrence startled as he belatedly recognized her as Narcissa Malfoy, the wife of Lord Lucius Malfoy. "The only child of my elder sister."
He gulped; honestly, he had hoped that accusation was Rita finally overstepping her bounds and outright lying. "I see. May I ask how exactly such a… such an unexpected union came to pass?"
"You can ask, but I'm afraid we can't answer," replied Lord Black. At his surprised blink, the wizard explained, "We don't actually know, ourselves. The first anyone else in the family learned about her was in 1986."
Malfoy continued, "While I deplore the crimes my sister committed, she is still family, and I make an effort to visit her in Azkaban once or twice a year. During one of my trips, she was more lucid than normal and asked me how someone named 'Jennifer' was doing. I was understandably confused and pressed for more details, and to my shock, she told me that that was the name of her daughter. She never mentioned that she had any children, nor had I noticed that she was ever pregnant. Bellatrix was insistent that I check on her little girl, however, so after returning and explaining the situation to our current Head of House, my great-uncle Arcturus, I followed her directions to locate Jen."
"Where was she?"
"Bellatrix had worried that her daughter could be used against her, so she hid Jen with a Muggle family living just outside Birmingham; even if someone had discovered that Jen had been born, no one would think to look outside the magical world for her. I arrived at their doorstep and asked after her, at which point they practically threw her into my arms. When my sister placed Jen under their care, she had not explained that she was a witch, and so the couple was completely unprepared for her accidental magic. It did not help that Jen's powers were particularly active, sometimes manifesting twice or more a month, and she was terrified of both it and her adoptive parents' reactions to her."
Lawrence gaped for a moment. "She was scared of her own magic?" His parents had celebrated every time he caused a toy to float or summoned a biscuit. For a young witch to fear her innate abilities was… just wrong. He could not even begin to imagine living like that.
"In her defense, she displayed a predilection for conjuring fire and lightning when she became emotional, so that reaction was understandable," Malfoy interjected, "but yes, the entire household was frightened. I promised that I could calm her down and keep her safe, and the Muggles were quite relieved to see her go. They more or less told me to take her away and never return, so I Obliviated them and brought her back to our world."
"She was raised here in London, then?"
The Blacks shared a glance. "Not exactly. I spent quite a bit of time with her as she grew up, and Great-uncle Arcturus paid close attention to the letters he received, but she did not live with either of us. He hired an immigrant witch, Elizabeth Durant, to take care of her. Mostly it was so we could keep her identity a secret in case anyone with a grudge against Bellatrix thought to come after her."
"Mostly?" he repeated, interest piqued.
"Off the record?" He lifted the quill from the parchment. "When my sister was growing up, she displayed a number of disturbing behaviors. Mistreating our cat, laughing when I and Andromeda hurt ourselves, seemingly little things that only during the War did we realize were warning signs of her future sadism and cruelty. By having Jen raised by someone unfamiliar with Bellatrix, we had an impartial observer who would let us know if she developed any of her mother's… quirks. Thankfully, growing up she was an intelligent but otherwise normal little girl."
A tension he did not even know he had loosened at Malfoy's words. Bellatrix Lestrange's evil was infamous, and he was more than a little relieved to hear that the Blacks had been careful that they would not release another monster into the world. He considered asking if he could include this explanation before assuming they would rather the world not know that their heiress had been held at arm's length throughout her childhood. He could, however, make sure he implied she was perfectly safe to be around.
Returning the DictaQuill to its place, he prompted, "Okay then, why did we only learn about her existence this past year? I'm guessing there was a reason she did not attend Hogwarts for the first three years of her education."
"She was supposed to," the third witch answered. The other sister Malfoy mentioned, Andromeda?, he wondered. "Unfortunately, Arcturus passed away in April of 1991, just before Jen was old enough to go to school. Narcissa contacted me at that point, and after explaining the circumstances, we agreed that without a Head of House to protect her should her identity be discovered, it was just too dangerous. We instead split our time teaching her what she would have learned had she been able to go. Our original plan was that she would make her debut to the Wizengamot after taking her OWLs, at which point she could take her seat as a non-voting member on her own without an adult vouching for her, but then Sirius escaped and proved his innocence. When the Ministry declared him Head of House and he was fully recovered from his time in Azkaban, we introduced them."
"And I could not have been more shocked," Lord Black cut in with a smile. "After getting to know her a little, though, I don't think I could imagine being without her." He smirked conspiratorially at Lawrence. "She would hate for me to say it in public, but I couldn't love her more if she were my own flesh and blood."
The reporter grimaced a little; after that heartfelt confession, he felt bad about asking his next question. "Speaking of fathers… James Potter. Did he know about his daughter, and if not, why did you keep it a secret from him?"
"No, or at least we don't think he did. We certainly didn't tell him," Malfoy said hesitantly. "As for why… Initially, it was to keep her safe."
"You thought he would hurt her? His own child?" he demanded in disbelief.
She shrugged her shoulders. "Honestly, we weren't sure. The Potters were very close friends with the Longbottoms, and during my sister's trial, he was one of the main people pushing for the Dementor's Kiss. I quite clearly remember him saying that the Lestranges' 'whole vile line' should be 'stamped out'. Jen is not a true Lestrange, and in hindsight I doubt he would have included her in that blanket statement had he known she was alive, but neither Arcturus nor I felt comfortable risking an innocent girl's life on a maybe. When Arcturus passed…" Malfoy laughed sadly. "I admit, I was selfish. I didn't want to give him the opportunity to take my niece away from me. He and my husband have never gotten along, and I was afraid he would be awarded full custody and then forbid me from ever seeing her again."
Okay, not the right thing for her to do, necessarily, but I can't exactly blame her for doing it the way she did. If I had to take care of my nephew from the time he was little and then risked losing him entirely, I might do the same thing.
The purple-haired witch with the cat muttered something to the only wizard Lawrence had yet to be introduced to, probably her father given their similar facial features, and left the room. A few seconds later, she returned with a teenage girl just a couple of steps behind her. "I apologize for my lateness," the newcomer said, taking a seat on the couch at Lord Black's right side. "I needed some time to compose myself."
"Miss Black, I presume," he said, giving her a small smile.
"You presume correctly."
"I've already talked to the rest of your family about the highlights of your life, but there are a few things I need to ask you about directly," he explained gently, planning a few easy questions to lob at her. The last thing he wanted to do was upset her the way Rita had that morning. "First, a belated congratulations on winning the Triwizard Tournament. Now that you've had a couple of months to get used to it, how do you think that victory will affect you at school, especially being known as a dragon slayer?"
"I expect that will not be the first thing the other students think of when they next see me." She smiled slightly as he prepared to apologize again and continued, "In all honesty, though, I doubt it will make much of a change. Just don't call me the next time a dragon's spotted where it's not supposed to be."
He laughed lightly at her joke; it might be a bit weak, but anything to put her more at ease was a good thing. "In that same vein, after everything was done some people mentioned that you had been seen a few times in the company of Viktor Krum. Anything you want to share about that?"
That caught her off-guard, and she took a moment before answering. "Viktor and I got to know each other following the wandless duel, when we put each other in the infirmary. He is an honorable wizard and a respected opponent, and I am quite happy to count him as a friend."
"And rumors that you two might be more than just friends?" he pressed.
"As I said, he is a gentleman, and he knew that I was only fourteen. He would never pursue romance with me under those circumstances."
"Did you want him to?"
She smiled sweetly. "No comment."
"Fair enough," he replied, grinning a tiny bit at the non-answer. So she had a crush on him, hmm? Just like teenage girls everywhere. "During the Tournament, you faced off a few times with your half-brother, Danny Potter, and you did not seem to hold anything back. I'm guessing you two don't exactly get along at Hogwarts?"
"I don't know him on a personal basis; we travel in very different social circles," she explained. "As for our confrontations in the Tournament, I did not hold back against any of the other competitors. That our matches all ended massively in my favor has more to do with our respective skills at dueling than anything else."
He nodded and prepared his final question. "Last question. Your half-brother and father have finally learned of your existence. Is there anything you'd like them to know now?"
"Just one thing." She squared her shoulders and gave him an intense look that made him want to squirm in his seat. "I am well aware that both of them, along with Lady Lily Potter, have built a life that does not include me. I do not begrudge them this; there was no reason for them to leave space for someone they had never heard of. All I ask is that they not go out of their way to try to bring me into the fold now. I would not want to disrupt their lives any more than this morning's news already has." She smiled, spreading her arms to indicate the rest of her family. "Besides, I am a Black, this is my family, and honestly, I am perfectly happy with the way things are."
Voldemort, no! You are not allowed to portray yourself as a sympathetic character. Someone please get this man some Rogaine so he'll shut up!
In all honesty, though, I do like getting peeks into villains' heads. Maybe it's just me, but seeing how they think makes them more human, and all the scarier for it.
Silently Watches out.
