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Of loss and hope
George sat quietly in the basement room with its wide, high up windows that he and his twin had claimed for their brewing at Black Manor. This was Fred's favourite room, not George's –the formerly-younger twin preferred the small, hidden library of the first floor with its staggering collection of hexes and nuisance spells– but he wanted to be with Fred more than he wanted to curl up in a corner and come up with new and hilarious ways to inconvenience people. So George had asked one of the elves to bring him down a chair and a book, and was sitting said chair off to one side of where his twin was brewing, his mind half on his notes and half on ensuring the Mist clones back at Hogwarts did not attract suspicion by acting out of character. Being twins meant he and Fred could exert a degree of control over each-other's creations, which was a good thing as at the moment Fred was in no state to ensure 'Frank' was behaving appropriately. Frank and Jerry Prewett had no reason to know about Arthur Weasley's death, much less mourn him deeply, and had assignments that needed completing to a certain standard.
The currently mousy-haired Weasley was deliberately not thinking about anything even slightly connected to his father. The big, bleeding hole in his heart was every bit as bad as the one that had opened up when Fred was petrified and he knew from experience that poking at the injury would only make the pain worse. He had to keep a level head, for Fred, for Ginny and for Dorea, which meant not wallowing or raging against a situation he could not change.
Dad was dead: no amount of wailing and screaming was going to change that. When the pain was no longer quite so immediate George would probably have to sit down and cry about everything he'd ever done with Dad and how much he missed said parent, but in the meantime his family needed him to support them.
He knew Bill was supposedly coming over at some point today, as Dorea had told them about the letter Errol had brought, but lunch had come and gone without hide or hair of the Curse-Breaker. That wasn't like Bill at all, who was punctual to a fault, but George guessed that having to manage Mum and Ron was proving challenging for his eldest sibling. Ron was a sullen, stubborn twit, more so than Ginny had ever been, and quite remarkably self-centred. Really, his baby brother could give Percy a run for his money in the pig-headed stupidity stakes.
The door across the room from him creaked, and as though summoned by George's musing Bill quietly let himself into the basement, closing the gently creaking door behind him. Fred ignored their eldest brother, utterly absorbed in his potion. Well, apparently so; George doubted his twin was as oblivious as he looked. Fred just didn't want to deal with things at the moment, which was why he was trying to reformulate a standard Sleeping Draught so it worked much more quickly and had a two-minute time limit. Narcolepsy Nougat sounded like a fun idea after all.
Bill proved once again that he was smarter than Percy could ever hope to be and walked quietly around Fred in a wide arc, coming to a halt by George's chair and leaning casually against the high, winged back so he could see what the currently-mousy-haired twin was reading.
"Should I ask why you are reading about a variant of the Babbling Curse that causes people to say what they really think?" Bill asked quietly, lips twitching slightly.
George felt his own lips twitch into a brief semblance of a smirk. The genius of this particular curse lay in its subtlety: it did no direct harm, allowing its victim to do all the work themselves as the person afflicted would say nothing they did not truly think. Of course, what passed across a person's mind was not always indicative of what their deep-seated opinions were, but George was of the opinion that a little more honesty would only benefit the people he was intending to use said curse upon. Well, once he could modify it into an Enchantment, find a way to either time-delay it or attach it to a Contamination Charm that was. Prank spells were all very well, but traps were better.
That Voldy-socks was cripplingly insecure and would torture his few remaining followers into drooling incompetence if they aired their private opinions in his hearing was just a bonus, really.
"Dorea asked me to look into ways to sabotage Old Mouldy's efforts," he said instead.
Bill looked thoughtful, but did not comment on how George had all but admitted that the Blacks knew the Dark Dork was back in business. Likely Dorea had already said something.
"Did Dorea tell you her thoughts on Dad's death?" Bill asked eventually, voice very quiet indeed.
"No; I didn't ask and she's too polite to just come out with it unless it was genuinely urgent," George said shortly. He had a pretty good idea of what she would have said anyway –he could almost hear her reasoning it out– and he didn't need to hear it in person to know she was right. Dumbledore's ineffectual actions and wilful blindness to reality had been what had killed Dad, just as much as whatever had actually done the deed.
"Ah." There was a pause, the silence broken only by the gentle simmering of Fred's potion and the other small sounds associated with brewing.
"Mum won't believe it," Bill said eventually.
George snorted; Mum really wouldn't. She would fly into a rage at them for suggesting it, insisting that Dumbledore was 'a great man!' and that they had to be mistaken. She would cling to that denial for as long as she could and George doubted Bill had either the time or the inclination to strip her of it. Never mind that Mum believing them might actually be worse, as then she'd make it her mission to hound Dumbledore and that could only end with the so-called 'great man' finding a way to discredit and neutralise her so his little remaining political capital would not be further eroded.
"When's the funeral?" George asked instead.
"Right after Christmas; Charlie's giving one of the eulogies and I'm going to ask Moody to give the other one." Good; if George had to deal with Dumbledore speaking at Dad's funeral he would Hex the Old Goat. So would Ginny, come to that, possibly with something augmented with Soulfire.
"Can you send Dumbledore some kind of anti-invitation?" George muttered, turning the page of his book. "Something like, 'you are cordially invited to not show your face'? I know Ginny wants to curse him something fierce and she's only gotten more destructive recently."
Bill sighed. "Mum would make a fuss."
There was another pause. This one lasted over a minute.
"If I go home I'll end up snapping some time with how Mum is cooing over how kind and sympathetic Dumbledore is being and just make things worse," George admitted eventually. "Same with Ginny, though I don't know what's going to happen with her and Ron now Dad's dead. Mum won't get a job, not unless you push her into it, but Fred and I have actual income now so we'll manage just fine. Great-Uncle Iggy wants us as his heirs too, and now Dad's dead I don't see why we should put it off any longer."
"I'm moving back to Britain: the goblins can be flexible when they want to be," Bill said quietly. "I'll be working in Gringotts and supporting Ron and Ginny until they're old enough to go their own way, but I won't be living in the Burrow. That's Mum's house." That Mum would try and take over Bill's household budget if he moved back in was a given; Mum was controlling like that. She'd run all their lives if given even a single inch.
"Will Mum get an allowance?" George asked curiously. "Dorea's got a widowed aunt she supports like that; she's Narcissa Malfoy's mother and totally nasty in an understated way, but Dorea provides her with enough money every quarter for food and a little extra, plus the house-elf. Mum wouldn't want an elf though." The Prewett family was not poor, but Mum hadn't been from the Main Family and loved cooking so she wouldn't relinquish control over her kitchen willingly.
Bill made a non-committal sound in his throat so George dropped the subject; his big brother clearly felt it wasn't his business.
Seeing Fred, George and Ginny at the dinner table with Dorea Black –the Lady Potter– and several of her relatives and associates was eye-opening for Bill, in ways that were actually more than a little painful. All three of his younger siblings lacked the quiet, simmering tension that had been a constant undercurrent he had noted in his visits to the Burrow since Ginny's first year at Hogwarts. There had been a distance between Ginny, George and Mum, which had spread to encompass Fred by the Curse-Breaker's next visit. However here they were with their unashamedly bloodthirsty cousin, perfectly at ease despite their grief and being allowed to simply be themselves without chivvying or chiding.
Bill could see why his siblings were so very willing to leave home even earlier than he himself had done; it saddened him though. Mum was appallingly controlling, always had been, but he had at least waited until finishing Hogwarts to escape. Fred and George were not only leaving the house but taking up Great-Uncle Iggy's name, so they would no longer be Weasleys at all. Ginny, who wasn't even fifteen yet, was also dead set on leaving, which would surely distress Mum the most as she doted on her daughter. Ginny was also underage, which meant there were a limited number of ways she could get out from under her mother's thumb, the majority of them distressingly final.
If he didn't agree to take Ginny in, as he could do now he was head of their little branch of the Weasley Family, then his baby sister would likely pledge herself to the new Lady Potter and fully embrace her Black heritage; something Bill did not approve of as a lifetime of service was far more onerous to his mind than a few more years of putting up with Mum. Why was Ginny so dead-set on attaching herself to Dorea, even willing to place herself in a permanently subordinate role? It did not make any kind of sense!
Bill felt his sister should at least wait until after her OWLs to make that kind of lifelong decision, preferably until after her NEWTs as well! He didn't want to emulate his mother and forbid her to swear allegiance to Dorea –Ginny would likely do so regardless out of sheer contrariness if he attempted to run her life like that and sling a few hexes his way for good measure– but as her older brother and head of their little family, Bill wanted his sister to make fully informed decisions. Swearing fealty carried a great many subtle implications that he didn't think Ginny even realised were there, let alone understood.
This generation of Blacks were actually very good people for all they refused to have anything to do with Dumbledore and the 'Light' voting block in the Wizengamot, not Death Eaters or Pureblood Supremacists like the previous generation had been, but they were still very, very Traditional and Bill wasn't sure his little sister knew what that entailed. He had only properly learned the depth and breadth of Wizarding Tradition in his final years at Hogwarts and his first few years as an Apprentice Curse-Breaker, and had been rather astounded by how much subtext and how many opportunities he had missed previously. Clearly he would have to sit Ginny down somewhere private where they could discuss her options and future decisions at length, if only to make sure this wasn't some poorly-thought-out fit of rebelliousness was she would later regret…
Christmas and New Year in Black Manor were quiet, the festivities subdued in deference to the recent death of Arthur Weasley. His Lady had opened her home to all of the branch Weasley family the late Arthur had headed and to Great-Aunt Cedrella and her husband as well on Christmas Day, so as to spare them the strain of hosting dinner when they really didn't have the inclination for it. Strangely enough even Molly had agreed, but Rence suspected that was more to do with Bill informing her that Fred, George, Ginny and even Charlie had already accepted her invitation. The newly-widowed Mrs Weasley had been subdued and teary throughout Christmas dinner and had excused herself afterwards a little more swiftly than was strictly polite, but Rhea had let it slide. Molly Weasley was, after all, grieving. Even Percy had shown up, which had made things more than a little tense but careful seating arrangements and judicious steering of the conversation away from controversial topics had kept everything friendly enough. Percy too had left not long after dinner, but he at at least had stayed long enough for his departure not to be considered rude.
Ron stayed longer, probably because he was angling for another excellent meal and didn't want to be stuck at home alone with his mother at Christmas, and managed to be civil with her various cousins until Bill finally decided it was time to leave. The eldest Weasley took Ginny back to the Burrow as well, on the condition that she would be coming back to Black Manor on Tuesday the second of January for the Gender Unveiling Ceremony. Dee, Tracy, Luna, Zee and all Rhea's other close friends bar Hermione would be converging on the Manor for that as well, and even Hermione would be watching it through a Mirror from Hogwarts. It was a very important event, her future child's first introduction to Society, and being invited was an honour that could not be politely declined for anything less than severe illness.
George and Fred had remained at Black Manor, since their being of age meant neither their mother nor their oldest brother had any right to order them to return to the family home. That their mother had not even tried suggested she was still too deeply mired in grief to be her usual controlling self. The twins had attended their father's funeral on the 27th of December, but that was all.
That Molly Weasley had apparently attempted to persuade Bill not to let Ginny attend the Gender Unveiling was just more evidence of her utter social incompetence; Rence was rather low on the social hierarchy in terms of birth, but even he knew that being invited to a Gender Unveiling –any Gender Unveiling– was a great honour and a sign of favour. Most families only allowed close relatives to attend, so Ginny was being doubly honoured by the invitation to the Gender Unveiling Ceremony of the next Black Heir. That her mother had even considered not allowing her to attend was so incredibly rude it was inexcusable. The kind of inexcusably rude that was usually limited to ignorant Muggleborns who didn't know better. No wonder the Weasleys were considered intolerably ill-mannered if that was the kind of social upbringing they had to work with.
Ginny, of course, would likely have attended regardless of not having permission. She did sent a brief missive to complain about how her mother had clucked disapprovingly over the lovely dress robes Rhea had commissioned for Ginny for the Yule Ball and that Ginny intended to wear for the Gender Unveiling, as they were inappropriate considering her father had just died. The fourteen-year-old had written to Rhea that she considered this deeply hypocritical, as her mother had certainly not worn mourning garb of any kind after the death of her own brother Billious Prewett about eight years previously and Wizarding Tradition generally only specified that specific mourning garb be worn at funerals by the family and by widows for ten months; as the Wizarding World had separated from the Muggle one at the very end of the seventeenth century it had never really got involved with the 'mourning cult' that had sprung up around Queen Victoria in the nineteenth century, nor with the largely commercially driven rules that had sprung up in the late eighteenth century concerning mourning, half-mourning and all that rot.
The Ancient and Noble Families wore White mourning at the funerals of their Lords and Ladies and refrained from hosting events for a symbolic period after a death, but that was all for most. Widows would wear black if they did not intend to ever remarry, but young widows were allowed to wear subdued colours along with black and siblings and children of the deceased were not actually required to wear anything different at all after the funeral. Wizards were not overly concerned by death: they were aware of the actual existence of the soul, knew it went somewhere after a person died but beyond that did not really think about it much. Death was therefore something that was neither welcomed nor feared: it just was. Losing somebody to death hurt, but wailing and bemoaning it wouldn't change anything and no amount of magic would bring a dead person back.
Ginny, George and Fred would all be compromising slightly by wearing a bit of black with their dress robes for the Gender Unveiling, but that was out of their own respect for their father. In Ginny's case this involved wearing a black veil and sheer black over-robe, while her brothers would be wearing black cloaks. All very appropriate and not at all overdone.
Gender Unveiling Ceremonies, while terribly important in Magical Culture and a time-honoured way of showing favour to a person's allies, were not actually formal occasions. Semi-formal yes, in that a person had to be dressed in their best robes and prepared to make polite small-talk, but the event itself took all of twenty seconds, was preceded by a buffet lunch and followed by lots of informal mingling and gossip.
This particular Gender Unveiling was followed by a lot of excited chatter as the spell cast by Andromeda Tonks née Black revealed that his precious baby girl was expecting a son… and a daughter. Sirius wasn't sure whether to be delighted or terrified: Dorea was fifteen for Merlin's sake, nowhere near maturity! Twins would put a great deal of strain on her still developing body!
On the other hand, that House Black would have a male Heir within the year was actually very good, both for the Family generally and his daughter personally: the Black Family Magics were not really compatible with the female body and might have proved damaging to her development and eventual Magical Maturity had she still been Heir Black upon turning seventeen. At least this way that was one less risk to worry about.
Family Magic was a tricky subject, and one of the sources of all that ingrained Pureblood prejudice against Muggleborns. It was incredibly varied yet at the same time oddly constant, making it hard to explain to anyone who hadn't grown up with their own family history being told as bedtime stories. Sirius had made a point of telling Potter stories to his baby daughter after getting out of jail, as Great-Aunt Cassie had been telling Dorea the Black stories from the cradle.
Family Magic was not limited to the Main Line of a family, though generally it was only the Main Line who got more than just the stories: access to Family Grimoires was the prerogative of the Heir and only of the Heir, though said Heir's siblings might get a basic grounding just in case of accident.
This was partly to keep the power of the Family consolidated, but mainly because the main bulk of the Family Magic was concentrated in the Family Head and their Heir. Other relatives could not learn as much or achieve as much as the Lord and Heir, and there were fewer innate safety nets in place should they try. This was especially true in those families whose magic was of a more dangerous bent, like the Black Family Magic. True to their name, the Black Magics were dark and dangerous. So dangerous, in fact, that it was highly inadvisable for women to practice them if they were attempting to conceive, pregnant or breastfeeding due to the high likelihood of damaging the child. Men, being less involved in the entire childbearing process, were simply advised not to practice for a full two months before trying to conceive a child and to remain abstinent from the Family Magic until pregnancy was confirmed.
These restrictions meant that women had far less available time to devote to learning the Family Magic, even if they were Heir, and the Black Magics themselves were strongly masculine in nature to the point that instating a female Heir was actually inadvisable if the witch in question was ever to have children. The only reason Sirius had been sure that his daughter would be able to cope with being Black Heir until she had a son of her own was that she had –in strictly Magical terms– been Lady Potter from the very moment her mother died. The Potter Family Magic was gender neutral, much gentler and yet somehow more inert than the Black Family Magic, so within his daughter's developing core the Potter Lord or Lady's Magic had overlain the Black Heir's Magic, dampening it down and muffling its manifestation to a scant minimum.
It was an uncomfortable duality, but Sirius had always been certain that his daughter would come to no harm so long as she was never forced to be Lord Black as well as Lady Potter, magically speaking. The Family Magics were too incompatible to allow her to be both, as witches lacked the core magical flexibility that wizards had to counterbalance the fact that, in physical terms, witches' bodies allowed for far more change before suffering damage. Wizards could be Heirs to multiple families, but witches had to carry and give birth to children and two or more different Inheritances constantly vying for supremacy within a witch's Core would prevent the witch in question from being able to carry a child to term. Magical stability was a necessity for successful pregnancy and Dorea's situation, while slightly precarious, was stable.
Dorea's son would be born the Heir Black, as that Family Magic lay uneasy within her and would pass on at the first possible opportunity. As she was expecting twins, her daughter could not be Heiress Potter because no more than one Family Magic at a time could reside within the womb. His daughter could make his granddaughter-to-be Heiress Potter later if she wanted to, but the baby girl would not be born such. It was a fine distinction: Dorea had been born the Heiress Potter, due to James' adoption ritual, but also Heiress Black, which was not the same as being an Heir Black. An Heiress could give birth to an Heir, but did not carry within themselves the Family Magic: they simply provided a genealogical pathway for it to travel along.
Grandpa Arcturus had made Dorea an Heir Black after Sirius had been imprisoned, at which point the toddler had already been Lady Potter in the eyes of Magic. As being Heir was subordinate to being a Lord or Lady, the magic had only changed her in the slightest and most subtle of ways; Dorea was very much a Potter for all she identified as a Black, her affinity for Black Family Magic notwithstanding. Her openly welcoming nature and fierce attachment to her friends was a very Potter trait and something of James that Sirius adored about his baby girl.
Dorea had changed further after Grandpa Arcturus died, as she was no longer just an Heir: she was the Heir. Of course, even being the Heir was of lesser import, Magically speaking, than being Lady Potter, so the changes had not been as radical or as damaging as they might have been. His daughter's rather perilous temper and increasingly acquisitive nature was all that had surfaced, which was a great relief considering how unstable most of the previous Blacks had been, Sirius himself included.
That after the birth of her son Dorea would once more merely be an Heiress Black was a relief: the less strain on her magic, the better.
