CHAPTER 8: WALLIE'S GRIEF
The state of the Black's townhouse residence was becoming an embarrassment. The grime, the dank smells, the layers of dust beginning to cling to the very air had an oppressive bleakness to it. There was nothing that seemed respectable about this residence anymore. Arcturus suppressed the urge to cringe visibly as he considered what his wife would have thought of this place now. It had been an elegant reception home for the Blacks in her day, and she had often proudly entertained his business associates and political compatriots while he angled, and parried, wheeling and dealing over new businesses, laws, cases, and political favors. It had been such a source of pride for her.
Two years ago, perhaps, he would have been pained with the memories of Melania's soft laughter as she glided around the house, her fingers trailing the silken wallpapers, checking for dust in the crevices and filling up the space with life. There was once a time when both of them had agreed that Castle Black was a bit too big, drafty, and unnecessarily grandiose the couple getting on in years. Before she died, Arcturus and Melania had often discussed moving into the townhouse or the cottage on Black Island and leave the castle for Sirius to use as a primary residence. His playboy ways had stayed their hand, though. But this townhouse had once been very dear to them both.
Now it was just a complete disgrace. An accurate summation and factual representation of how far the House of Blacks had fallen from grace in the eyes of the society and the eyes of Mother Magic herself. It was a disturbing thought, Arcturus quietly mused, as he guided his niece and daughter by marriage to the sitting area of the Lord's study. He found himself continuously frowning in distaste at the state of dark dankness and disarray of the house.
The lord's study of this residence was locked to any and all except him. Even the elves weren't allowed access without the express permission and the dust had unfortunately collected in clumps as a result. He hadn't stepped foot in this property for more than seven years now. Where once the house meant success and power and influence, now its walls reeked of dissipation, loss, ruination, and darkness. Blacks were a grey house. They had been thus for centuries. Then why was it that this house projected such a dark aura?
The palpable aura of cloying darkness disturbed him deeply and his wandering thoughts reminded him that there would be a Horcrux buried in the obscurity of a thousand semi-precious detritus scattered all over the house. If the house had fallen into such misery and state of disrepair, he knew, he was responsible for the decline just as much as the elves who were supposed to clean and maintain the property. His seven-years old pique over what now seemed utterly trite disagreements had, at last, come home to roost.
He had been so unhappy at Cygnus and Druella's demand to disinherit Andromeda that he had stormed off and then preferred to stay away especially after seeing the choice of spouses for the remaining two girls. It had clearly been a mistake to allow his family to make their own choices, the bloody imbeciles. Frustrating as it was to deal constantly with their petty dramas, ignoring them had been a mistake that had cost them all their family. There were hardly respectable Blacks any left. Well, thank Merlin for Aiden, he thought sourly as he studied the grief-stricken woman sitting woodenly before him.
Shaking his head, as if to clear his thoughts, he frowned and then called out for Kreacher. The state of the elf when he appeared had alarm bells ringing inside his mind. Kreacher was firmly ordered to clean up this room this very instant. When that was done in the snap of a finger, he ordered the elf to return with a warm pot of peppermint and chamomile tea in clean silver service and wait for his next order. When the elf popped away, he snapped Wallie out of her morbid mood and set her to reading Sirius's letter and settled down to watch from the lord's chair behind the massive, obsidian, marble desk.
His alarm increased when Wallie began to silently weep as she read. When Kreacher popped back with a splendid tea service, he silently erected a non-interference ward between them and Wallie and turned his attention to the unhealthy elf. "Thank you for the splendid and prompt service." The elf looked shocked and began to tear up. He pressed on, pretending not to notice the state of the elf, "Kreacher, do you know the true significance of this residence to the House Black?"
Wallie's head snapped up as she realized where the conversation was heading. "No, lord Black. Kreacher doesn't understand. Kreacher only knows that this is Mistress's home." Arcturus narrowed his eyes in clearly annoyed displeasure.
"Kreacher, this isn't Walburga's home. This is meant to be the place where I should conduct all of my Wizengamot business, meet friends, allies, peers, other supplicants, business associates, and even random strangers. This residence is a guest house for the Blacks, to depict my strength and power. A statement of my status as the Grey Lord if you will." Arcturus gave her a gimlet glare when Wallie whimpered loudly and turned his increasingly angry attention back to the foolish Kreacher.
He continued to rant, as he set to ignore Wallie and Kreacher's distraught selves and angrily addressed the elf, "I stayed away from here for the past seven years because Wallie here and her husband, Cygnus, Druella and their brood, and even Regulus were disappointing me. Only Sirius and Andromeda remained true to the Black Family Legacy. Will I have to expect to be disappointed in my elves too?"
The elf slumped down to the floor and wailed in misery. Arcturus gave the elf and the woman two minutes to compose themselves and then snapped at them, scolding them for such a poor show of Black dignity. He then firmly ordered Kreacher to set the townhouse to order within 2 hours and then come to him for the next orders. He then turned his full ire on the grieving woman in front of him. "Wallie, your obstinacy and misplaced ideals have killed one son and driven the other away so far from you that he died without having a chance to reconcile with you. Your first son died before he could reconcile long enough to share his new family with his mother. Every single member of this family who upheld your mistaken belief in that upstart half-blood bastard is now murdered or rotting in Azkaban. Have you had enough or do you want to annihilate the Blacks completely before you're done?"
Walburga paled, "Half blood?"
Arcturus was now practically fuming with barely suppressed rage. "Is that all you heard? Woman, your sloth headed idiocy ends now. Listen to me and listen very carefully and well, Wallie. I'm not wont to repeat myself. You drove my son Orion to despair, Sirius to rebellion, and Regulus to his death. Use that good brain I know you possess, child. Voldemort was a half-blood. Albus Dumbledore is a half-blood. The one-year-old baby who ended Voldemort is a half-blood. Merlin was a muggle-born. Salazar Slytherin himself was a half-blood. Think!"
Arcturus free a big breath to calm his temper and continued, "New blood brings fresh powers to our bloodlines. Andy, whom you blasted out of the tapestry, and that too without my permission, I must add, has had the incredible honor of birthing the first metamorphic Black progeny in centuries, while Narcissa has had a washed-out, weak chinned imitation of an even worse upstart, Malfoy. Bellatrix has become not just insane but barren as well. The Potters and Longbottoms have always married half-blood witches to keep their powers afloat. Even the Weasleys slyly do that and look at how they breed like doxies." His lips curled in disgust as he considered her shrewdly.
Wallie was watching him with wide-eyed attention and he could see the near-insane elf listening in the corner too. He ignored it for the moment. "The department of mysteries is full of powerful half-blood and muggle-born witches and wizards. Nicolas Flamel IS a muggle-born. I've let you all live with your foolish delusions far too long and you've now left me with one worthy heir. One last child to pin the hopes of our house on, and that was absolutely no thanks to any sort of effort on your part."
He frowned fiercely at her, his glare hot enough to melt a mountain. "I shudder to think what would have happened if Sirius and his wife had sought you out rather than do as they did, and gone into hiding under my protection. You have gone so far in your obstinate obsessions that you would have killed your own flesh and blood for that bastard half-blood upstart and his cohorts. With the ilks of Malfoys, Weasleys, and Crouches circling for his blood, we will be finished if we don't unite right now. Aiden is your grandson. Your flesh and blood. He needs your love and support. Not your mad delusions but your actual thinking mind and a grandmother's heart."
He stood abruptly and drew himself to his full height, and looking at her square in the eye, he commanded, magic lacing his words, "Like The Black of Blacks, I, Arcturus Orion Black, Command your Service to the Family, by blood, right, and magicks. Heed my call, Walburga of the Blacks, and deny not the call of your true blood." Arcturus's wand now glowed green with silver tendrils as it nearly jabbed the unfortunate woman. "I shall give you 24 hours to think things through and not a moment more. I'll be expecting your decision tomorrow morning at the true home of Blacks. You ought to be old enough to know where it is. No matter what your decision, however, be warned that you will never again drive away another child into the darkness with your beliefs. That ends now as your Lord commands."
Arcturus took a deep breath and rallied his thoughts. His poise never wavered, even as he began to feel the entanglements of anger. "Remember, Walburga, daughter of House Black, that we stand for Justice and Law and the Grey Magics. Nothing more, and nothing less. Your foolish caper of ignorance ends here and this very moment, be warned. I, as the head of House Black, call upon our magics to judge your thoughts henceforth. Thus I will, and so mote it be." Power swirled and thickened around them, raising his hair and his ire before abruptly easing back. He exhaled sharply, feeling every moment of his age, and utterly spent.
He then turned and addressed the dirty elf "And Kreacher, next time you ignore your orders to play peeping Tom, I'll have your guts for garters. You've had the chance to disgrace the Most Ancient and Noble House of Blacks for the very last time. Finish the cleaning and redecorating and come find me for your next instructions. While you're cleaning this hovel, collect every single dark object and book and deposit them in the Gringotts Vault reserved for the Head of the Family. You will leave nothing behind, absolutely nothing, no matter what any previous orders, from any other Blacks. I command you thus as the Head of House Black and obey, you shall."
Kreacher cowered and scraped and bowed, whimpering and moaning, hardly able to look him in the eye. "This residence needs to look fit for a child or two and a cheerful and energetic place for conducting business. I shall take your leave, Wallie. I'll be expecting you tomorrow morning." With that he tipped his head and apparated with a soft pop, heading home to his great-grandson and a new lease of life.
Walburga Black was a broken woman. Uncle Arcturus's words echoed, unforgiving, and accusatory in her mind, an endless loop of guilt and loss. She could find no quarter to deny the truth anymore. She sat in the family room, the tea forgotten in her lap, and cold as her innards now, as her mind tossed about, considering all possibilities. She ruthlessly shoved away from the memories of her sons, their younger faces once shining with love, morphing into blankness and derision as time passed. Why had she never noticed or worried about that? When had some stupid ideas become more important than her precious sons?
Hours passed before she stirred. Thinking back to the chamber in Gringotts, she saw both her precious, gentle Reggie and the exasperating Siri in the wee babyface. She had lost much, it was undeniably true. Thrown away rather carelessly, if she needed to acknowledge the truth. She had lived a life she couldn't bring herself to be proud of. swayed by the honeyed words of an upstart and the need to impress unworthy lesser names of the wizarding community of England, she had punished her family for her own failings.
But Life had granted her a chance to redeem herself in her grandson. For the sake of that child, for the sake of the continuance of the House Black, old Walburga had to die and a smarter witch had to emerge. Sun was setting on the horizon when Walburga finished sorting through her thoughts and fleshing out ideas and plans to raise her only grandson. She now knew exactly what she would say to Uncle Arcturus tomorrow morning.
Sitting up straighter, she set the forgotten cup of tea aside and called out to Kreacher.
Walburga Black's grief would be her saving grace and a significant turning point for the House Black.