Perseus was in what he called the Magic Room.
It was the room where he had learned magic growing up, and where he still continued to practice magic, despite the many bad memories he had associated with the place.
He huffed in frustration before slashing his wand at the target; he spoke in his mind, Diffindo, to no result. He had been practicing for hours now, but couldn't manage to silently cast anything more than a summoning charm.
He glanced back at his aunt, who watched from behind him, standing upright, shoulders back and her chin high, as she'd been taught, just as she'd taught him
He turned back to the target. "Why won't it work?" He asked himself, his raspy voice and sore throat serving to remind him just how important it was for him to learn this particular skill as soon as possible. His voice was faint and hoarse at the best of times; at the worst, he couldn't speak at all—and as a result he was totally defenseless. So far only Daphne had noticed; at first, she had taken to accompanying him most places, no doubt in hopes to protect him should his own voice ever fail him. She was an able wand and he appreciated it, but it only served to make him feel weak. While he'd never asked her to stop, she had done so on her own, her acute perceptiveness no doubt picking up on his discomfort at her constant presence. She mentioned offhandedly that he should consider carrying a knife, and the topic never came up again.
There were times in class when he was forced to grit his teeth and force the words from his mouth, lest his housemates and classmates think him weak, or incapable of completing whatever mundane spell they'd been assigned to learn.
"Perhaps the old fashion way would work best," his aunt said. "You always did learn fastest that way."
Perseus gripped his wand tightly, the click, click, click of her heels loud as drums in his ears.
"Let's try again, shall we? A simple cutting spell shouldn't be giving you such problems."
Perseus sucked in a breath sharply through his nose, his eyes locked on the target. He'd have only a single chance to cast the spell successfully before his aunt cast a spell of her own.
One chance. That was it.
He closed his eyes, settling the tremble of his wand hand. He had been learning Occlumency since a child, and he'd need every bit of his ability right now.
With his eyes still closed, he focused on his breathing, on the steady thump, thump of his heart. The world fell away and his body grew still.
Opening his eyes, he raised his wand, taking aim at the target. He focused his intent; he wanted, as desperately as he wanted anything in the world, to slice the target in half. Taking one final breath, he slashed his wand, roaring the incantation in his mind.
He felt his magic surge, like a wave rising in his chest, and rushing down his arm towards his wand and then… nothing.
Perseus stared blankly, looking back and forth between his wand and the target. He had done everything right, had even felt his own magic moving to do his will. It was supposed to work. Why hadn't it worked?
"I'm sure you'll get it next time. Crucio!"
Every muscle in Perseus' body tightened in preparation for the pain to come. He'd been hit with the spell a hundred times before, and each time the pain was just as great as the last. Searing, all-encompassing agony, like a million needles being driven into the skin; every single nerve in the body being prodded with the hottest flame; it was throbbing, it was sharp, it was burning, it was everything; it was worse than the worst pain he could possibly imagine.
But it never came.
Listening to the quick, shallow breaths, he realized they weren't his own.
Spinning around, he covered the five feet between himself and his aunt in a single bound.
She lay flat on her back, obviously having fallen to the ground. Her chest hardly rose with each breath, and her body shook violently; she was foaming at the mouth, her eyes rolled up into her skull. "Invenire." He cast the spell Madame Pomphrey had taught him to scan patients. The results floated in the air in front of him, and he knew at once what the problem was. Her already depleted magical core had collapsed entirely under the strain of casting such a demanding spell.
Perseus got to his feet, his breaths coming quick. "Lanksy!"
Lanksy appeared with a pop. "How can I he-" His big brown eyes grew wide when they fell upon Perseus' aunt. "Mistress Black!"
"Lanksy," Perseus said, to no reply. The elf was still staring at his aunt, his gaze stuck on her shaking figure. "Lanksy," he snapped, finally getting the elf's attention.
Lanksy looked at him, his ears drooping and his lips curling up into a frown. "I need you to go to the floo and call the Hogwarts Infirmary. Ask for Madame Pomphrey, tell her that Perseus Black is having an emergency, and needs her immediately." he grabbed Lanksy by the shoulders, looking him squarely in the eyes. "I need you Lanksy. Now go."
The elf disappeared with a pop. Perseus turned back to his aunt and summoned a pillow. Returning to his knees, he recalled the very few things he had learned so far about seizures. He propped her head up on the pillow and vanished the spittle and blood that she was now choking on, putting an end to the awful sputtering gargle she had been making.
"Immobulus," he cast, and her body grew still, save for the shallow rise and fall of her chest.
He sat back on his knees, brushing his hair out of his face.
He sat in silence, watching as the rise and fall grew ever more shallow, the breaths now coming few and far between. He knew she wouldn't make it. Even if Madame Pomphrey appeared right then, there would be nothing she could do. Advanced Magical Atrophy was terminal, and his aunt's was clearly very much advanced. No doubt she had been showing symptoms for far longer than he knew, exacerbating them further with the use of a glamour charm to hide them.
Lanksy reappeared with a pop, the matron at his side.
"Oh Merlin," Poppy said, lowering herself to her knees beside his aunt.
Perseus watched her swing her wand, swishing and flicking; he listened to her mutters, trying to keep up with all her healing jargon and spells cast. It was no use; she knew as well as him there was no saving his aunt.
"How did this happen?" Poppy said, still casting on his aunt.
"She tried to cast a spell."
She looked at him now, briefly. "What spell?"
Perseus glanced at his aunt, before glancing back at Poppy. She had figured it out the first time he ever met her, there was no point in hiding it now. His aunt would surely be dead soon anyway. "The Cruciatus."
She looked at him fully now, her wand still. "What?"
"She tried to ca-"
"Yes, I heard that," she snapped, glaring at him. "Why?"
Perseus stared at the target on the other side of the room. How many spells had he hit it with over the years? How many times had it watched him struggle? How many times had it watched him be cursed as a result? How many times had it watched him be destroyed by his aunt in a duel? And now, it had watched her kill herself. "She was teaching me to cast silently."
Poppy looked at him, her dark eyes locked on his. She held his gaze for what felt like an hour, before turning back to his aunt.
He watched for what felt like eternity Poppy did everything she could, before the shallow rise and fall of his Aunt Cassiopeia's chest stopped entirely.
Poppy stood slowly, adjusting the cap she wore on her head. Her hair had begun to spill out during her frantic casting, and was stuck to her shiny forehead.
"I'm sorry, Perseus," she said. She rested her hand on his shoulder for a moment, before reaching for Lanksy's hand. "Return me to the floo please, Lanksy."
Perseus nodded and continued staring at his aunt as they disappeared with a pop. She looked more peaceful now than she ever had when she was alive. Perseus wanted to hate his aunt, but he couldn't. She'd taken him in when she didn't have to, had made sure he was well taken care of and well educated, even if her methods were a bit misguided. His aunt's teaching methods were brutal, and he suffered from the consequences of them still; but there was no denying that they had been effective.
He could learn magic nearly instantly — had an instinctual understanding of it that many didn't gain until beyond their NEWT years. He could probably duel on the international circuits — and win.
And even without all of that, she was his family — the last of it. He and his father were now the only two people alive to carry the name Black.
The thought jarred him, and he turned away from his aunt. A heavy coldness settled in his chest. Looking up, he spotted the target across the room. The old target taunted him; if he'd managed to cast the cutting spell, his aunt would still be here. For just a moment, the icy rage overcame him; he slashed his wand through the air, and the cutting curse rocketed from his wand, cleaving the target in two.
He watched the target split in half, clattering to the floor, the wood echoing off the marble.
Perseus took a deep, settling breath. Even in death, his aunt was still teaching him. "Lanksy," he called. The elf appeared with a pop. His eyes were glassy, and grew mistier as they found the still form of his aunt. "Take care of her, Lanksy. Get her ready."
British Ministry of Magic
Perseus stood in the lift at the Ministry of Magic, glaring at all the people who shot him suspicious looks. With pictures of his father plastered all over the paper, it was no surprise he was receiving such attention. The Black Family genes were strong, none more so than that of a father and son. While his father's features were sunken and his eyes were a different color, it was impossible to miss their likeness.
"Level I, Office of the Minister of Magic," said the pleasant, feminine voice overhead. The door to the lift opened, and Perseus stepped out, adjusting his dress robes. He had lied upon his entry; he told the desk worker he was here to visit the Black Family Barrister regarding his father. It had gained him entrance easily enough, and the freedom to move around as he pleased.
He walked briskly down the corridor, ignoring the tiny parchment planes zipping back and forth around him.
He reached the desk outside the Minister's office, which was worked by a small brunette, who wore a pair of rimless glasses and stylish robes.
She looked at him over the edge of her glasses. "How may I help you, young man?"
"I'm here to see Minister Fudge."
She frowned at him. "Excuse me? I couldn't quite hear you."
Perseus cleared his throat. "I'm here to see Minister Fudge."
She smirked at him, though there was no humor in the gesture. "And just who might you be?"
"Perseus Sirius Black."
The smirk disappeared instantly, replaced by a look of caution. "I'm afraid the Minister is too busy to see you right now, Mr. Black."
Perseus looked at the woman, really looked at her. She had pale blonde hair, a somewhat large nose, and brown eyes almost the color of burgundy. She looked remarkably like a portrait he had seen at home of Lysandra Black née Yaxley.
"Would you happen to be a Yaxley?"
She was standing now and glaring at him. Even standing, she had to look up at him, so much of the effect was lost — not that she would've had any effect either way. One didn't become a receptionist by being good with their wand.
"Now you listen to me, Mr. Bla—"
"You know something, Miss Yaxley?" Perseus asked, cutting her off. "I do believe we're cousins, and my father was just telling me how much he wished to… reconnect with our distant family members."
The woman squeaked and all but ran to the Minister's door, not even bothering to knock. She came back a moment later, smoothing her robes and fixing her glasses in an attempt to look dignified. "The Minister will see you now."
Perseus gave the woman a stiff nod and brushed past her. He opened the door to the Minister's office and slid inside, shutting the door behind him.
Minister Fudge sat behind his desk, his somewhat round form obscured by the large wooden table. It was covered in neatly stacked parchment from end to end, his signature green bowler hat sitting off to the side.
"Ah, young Mr. Black," said Fudge grandly, standing to his feet. He was small in stature, and seemed to have only gained an inch or two upon rising from his chair. "I've been meaning to make your acquaintance one of these days, but the Ministry doesn't run itself."
Perseus nodded, seating himself in one of the large wingback chairs arranged in front of Fudge's desk without invitation.
The Minister's brow rose, but he made no comment at what many in his position would consider a faux pas. "I'm terribly sorry about this business with your father," Fudge said, returning to his chair. "If you're here to request that the Kiss on Sight order be rescinded, I'm afraid it's simply impossible." He shook his head forlornly. "He is too big a threat to the public at large, and he's already proven that Azkaban is no match for him. I'm afraid this is the only recourse I have available to me."
The man was a good speaker, Perseus would give him that much. "While that is unfortunate to hear, I understand your position, Minister. Your responsibility is to the people, and I respect that. In fact, I'm here to lend a hand."
The Minister looked surprised and leaned back in his chair, folding his small, thick hands on his stomach. "Alright." He prompted Perseus to continue with a nod.
Perseus opened his mouth to speak, but fell into a coughing fit instead. He finally managed to stop and catch his breath, swallowing in a futile attempt to soothe his throat.
Fudge was leaning forward in his chair, his hands gripping the edge of the desk. He looked at Perseus with concerned eyes. "Goodness my dear boy, would you like a glass of water?"
Perseus shook his head, already having recovered from the ordeal as much as he could. "Yesterday, my Guardian, Cassiopeia Black," Fudge's eyes widened at the name, "passed away."
Fudge's eyes grew large and his mouth fell agape, but Perseus could see the calculating look still in his blue gaze. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Black, but forgive me, how will this sad news be of benefit to me?"
To me, he says, Perseus thought in amusement. "As you are already aware, my father is Sirius Black," the Minister nodded his head. "As the only remaining living member of my immediate family, if something is not done soon, he will be reinstated as my guardian, regardless of his conviction."
Fudge was frowning harder now; his beady eyes moved back and forth, echoing his thought pattern. He was already thinking of ways to spin the situation any which way he planned, but Perseus would give him a better idea.
"This would give him direct access to the Black Family Gringotts account. Catching him as it is seems to be proving difficult; catching him with a fortune at his disposal will be nearly impossible." Of course, Perseus didn't tell him the man already had access to some funds; Arcturus hadn't left him high and dry — his father already had a small fortune available to him.
Fudge sat back again, considering him. "And what would you have me do?"
Perseus pulled a roll of parchment from his robes and sat it on the desk. Fudge picked it up and unrolled it immediately. Perseus wanted to shake his head. It could've been cursed, for all the man knew. Fudge read over the papers for a moment then looked at Perseus. "Full Emancipation? At the age of thirteen?"
Perseus nodded. "Yes, if these aren't signed within the next 10 hours, I'm afraid my father will have a say in my finances, and I'm sure he'll void the 2,000 galleons I have generously scheduled to be donated to the ministry, in an attempt to aid you all in this time of need. As I'll be boarding the Hogwarts Express shortly, I'll be unable to do anything to stop him." Perseus shrugged. "Plus, he's my father and a member of my family. I suppose I'm somewhat responsible for finding him and putting an end to him either way, and I'd like to help in the only way I can."
Fudge stared at him, grabbed a quill, inked it, and signed his name on the parchment without another glance. "No, no, that just won't do," the man said, rolling the parchment back up and sealing it with the Official Seal of the Minister of Magic. "The ministry will be glad to accept your donation of 2500 galleons on behalf of the Founding House of Black in contribution to the apprehending of your father."
Fudge stood up and walked behind his chair, where a chute was located on the wall. Opening the chute, he said, "Department of Magical Children." He dropped the rolled up emancipation papers inside, and closed the door, which sealed itself up with a purple light and a whooshing sound.
"Now my boy, when is this donation scheduled, and who is it made out to?"
Perseus stood from his chair, reached inside his robes, and dropped a pouch containing 3,000 galleons onto the desk. He had anticipated Fudge might try to up the price, and had come prepared. The difference in funds was inconsequential to him.
Perseus pulled out his diamond studded pocket watch, checking the time. The Express would be leaving soon. "You'll find the donation there, Minister Fudge. If you'll excuse me, if I don't leave right this moment I'll miss the express."
"Wait," Fudge said, peering into the bag of galleons with one eye closed. "I'll have an Auror waiting in the atrium to apparate you."
Perseus nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Minister."
Perseus exited Fudge's office, nodded at the Secretary—who returned the gesture stiffly—and headed for the lift. He had no intention of appearing on the platform with an Auror escort. He would never hear the end of it, and it would only give people the idea that he, or the ministry, was frightened for him with his father on the loose.
His father was no threat to him, as far as Perseus knew. Even if he was, Perseus was sure he could hold his own. The man had been in Azkaban for more than a decade; Perseus practiced magic and dueled everyday—almost an exhausting amount. He found himself collapsing into bed well past midnight most nights, unable to stop himself. It had taken Lanksy's intervention; the elf told him his eyes were beginning to take on dark circles and heavy bags, and that if he did not begin taking care of himself, he would have to inform his aunt.
Needless to say, Perseus made sure he got his rest after that. Arcturus has recommended in his journal that he always follow the advice of the elf, and Perseus hadn't dismissed his advice yet.
Perseus stepped out of the lift into the atrium and headed immediately for the floo. Reaching the floo, he had successfully avoided the man dressed in the crimson robes of the Aurors, who was looking about the atrium—no doubt for him.
Throwing some powder into the flames, he announced his location and stepped inside. As he whirled around in the emerald flames, he couldn't help but think that what he just accomplished should've been far more difficult.
