Melania smiled as she stood before him, her long dark hair falling in loose ringlets over her left shoulder and trailing down her front teasingly. She wore that dress that he adored her in – it was black and left her shoulders bare, silver thread was woven into it, creating a gorgeous pattern that wrapped around the bodice before trailing into the folds of the skirt.
He got to his feet slowly, her delicate hand trailing up his arm slowly before coming to a rest on his shoulder while her fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck, wrapping the strands around her fingers while the other came up to graze his jaw slowly.
Breathing in deeply, he kissed the palm of her hand and inhaled her scent – it was jasmine, her favourite. She giggled as his beard tickled her hand, and he couldn't help the cheeky grin as he lunged at her, wrapping his arms about her and peppering her neck with soft kisses.
She arched into him, standing on her toes as she laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. His hands remained on her sides, the pads of his thumbs gently stroking back and forth across the silk of the bodice.
"I've missed you." He breathed, trailing kisses along her bare shoulder. Her skin was smooth and looked like porcelain – with nary a blemish to be found.
"And I you – you're here to stay, yes?" She asked, her voice hopeful and excited all in one. He picked her up, the feel of her thighs in his hands as they found themselves on either side of his hips was a comfort he hadn't realised he'd missed.
"Aye, I'm here to stay – I'll not leave you again." He whispered back, resting his forehead against her own. He felt her ankles lock and laughed as he carried her to the closest room, her squealing laughter echoing off of the dark walls of Blackwall merrily.
"Arcturus!" She cried, slapping his shoulder. "What if Orion comes in?"
"Then he'll see me greeting my wife, whom I have loved and missed dearly." He replied, placing her on the edge of a varnished table – it was carved with a disgusting number of snakes by some ancestor or another and he'd never used it once in his life.
"You're incorrigible!" She sighed, capturing his lips with her own. She was soft, and she tasted of strawberries. Her breath hitched against him as his hands ghosted along the skin on either side of her neck, the pads of his thumbs whispering above the skin on her cheeks.
Her tongue darted across his lips, and before he knew it, the kiss had deepened, the hunger and the longing that had been present for all these years, but pushed aside for the sake of duty, finally rearing its head. Arcturus grinned as he pulled away – her eyes were glazed, her cheeks flushed and her lips plump and swollen as her chest heaved with every breath.
"I missed you, wife."
"And I missed you, dearest husband." She murmured, her hands roaming over the thick gambeson he still wore, battered and torn from the last battles of the war. Grindelwald may have been defeated, but his armies hadn't given up on his dream – it had been a long and bloody affair.
"Do you regret it?" He asked after a moment, his gaze darting to her eyes – those beautiful hazel eyes that he had first fallen in love with the moment he had seen them.
"No regrets." She answered, licking her lips as she pulled him against her. His hands explored her familiar body, his right sliding up beneath her dress as he traced the contours of her thigh. How many times had he dreamed of feeling the softness of her skin again, of losing himself in her embrace and her body? Some nights, it had been all that had kept him going – the promise of beautiful Melania waiting for him. He'd carried a photograph of her with him into every battle, tucked tightly between his tunic and gambeson over his heart.
He had prayed, fervently so, to Koris in the hope that he would be blessed with enough luck to survive each curse, hex, and jinx that had been thrown his way. He had watched as countless friends and allies had been struck down, blown to pieces, or tortured into oblivion – and yet, here he was.
The battles had left him damaged, of course, but he was alive. He was home, in the arms of the woman he loved, and there was no place he'd rather be.
She moaned into his mouth as his hand ghosted over the swell of her breast, her back arching slightly before she pulled away. "We can't." She breathed, her eyes darting to the door. "Orion should be arriving any minute, and I'll not have him see his mother and father indecent on top of a table," She paused, levelling him with The Look. "No matter how many times you've wanted to over the years."
"It may as well get some use." He snorted, giving her thigh one last teasing squeeze before removing his hand. "How has he been?" He asked, quietly. The kiss he placed on the tip of her nose causing her to scrunch it adorably.
"He gets worse with each year he goes off to that school." She sighed, resting her head against his chest. "I don't know what to do."
"It'll be alright – you said he was sorted into Slytherin?" He said, running his hands through her thick hair – was there nothing about this woman that wasn't perfect? How had he gotten to be so lucky?
"He was – he made Prefect this year." She said, looking up at him – her eyelashes fluttered close as his fingertips trailed along her scalp softly. "Dippet is apparently considering him for Head Boy."
"I trust that he earned it, and that he wasn't handed it simply because of his name?" He asked, arching his brow. He smiled when Melania shook her head slowly and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Then perhaps Dippet isn't the fool I thought him to be all these years."
"Oh, he's still a fool – he panders to the families. Rumour has it that Dumbledore will be returning to Hogwarts now that the war is over – it is over, right?"
"Aye, it's over."
"Good." She breathed, squeezing him to her tightly. "Never leave me again – I was lost without you."
"And I you." He whispered, kissing the top of her head. "I took you everywhere with me."
"You did?" She asked, cocking a brow up at him – her lips pursed in amusement. "And how, pray tell, did you manage that?"
He smirked as he reached into the gap between his gambeson and tunic, the small piece of enchanted parchment rustling with every movement he made. Her eyes tracked it carefully – its yellowed colouring, frayed edges and many, many creases. He unfolded it slowly, turning it around in his fingers and holding it before her eyes with a grin.
"Arcturus!" She cried, her hands leaping to her mouth. "You bloody arse!" She snapped, slapping his arm as her cheeks flushed.
"What?" He asked, innocently.
"You know damn well what!" She snapped, slapping him once more as he laughed merrily.
He turned the image over in his fingers and grinned down at it – it was a photo of the two of them that he'd taken the night before he'd left. The two of them had been sprawled on their bed, tangled in the sheets, basking in the afterglow of lovemaking.
He still recalled that night with fondly – how long had they remained in that bed, resting before the need of the other became too much to bear? They had remained awake all night – sometimes the need for comfort had been hard and desperate, the grunts and cries of them both primal. Other times, it had been slow, tender, and drawn out so as to make it seemingly last forever.
In the picture, he was on his back, the sheet pooled around his waist as Melania curled into his side – one of her pale legs draped over his hips, just enough that the round swell of her arse was visible. Her face was tucked into the crook of his neck while her fingers threaded his hair.
To him, it was the perfect moment – a beautiful moment of privacy between the two of them. It had been immortalised for the rest of time with the simple click of a camera – he had taken the photo with him the following morning, making sure it never moved from that space between his tunic and gambeson. It was a reminder of what he was fighting to protect.
"Orion just arrived." He whispered into her hair as the Wards around Blackwall triggered. She made a noise in the back of her throat, as he stepped backwards, giving her space to get to her feet. He chuckled at her pout, but fell silent as she placed one last, lingering kiss against his lips.
"You should greet your son." She replied softly, placing a gentle hand on his cheek. He groaned and kissed the base of her palm one last time before nodding.
The two of them moved to the door, and stepped into the hallway just as the front door opened, revealing his son – he was taller than he remembered, almost of a height with himself, and wore a well-made doublet and jacket in the colours of House Black. His hair was shorter than his own, and neatly combed, and just the first hint of his dark facial hair was visible on his chin and cheeks. He came to a stop as he stepped through the threshold, his surprise clear on his face.
"Orion!" Arcturus grinned, sweeping the boy up in his arms before leaning back and raking his eyes over him. "Look at you – you're almost a man." He smiled, placing his hands on his son's shoulders.
"Father." Orion answered flatly, his face impassive.
"Are you not happy to see him? He's been gone for so long-" Melania began, placing a gentle hand on his back as she began to draw light circles. He glanced at her, taking in her tense jaw and the tightly pressed lips.
"Of course – it's merely a surprise." Orion replied, inclining his head a fraction. As Arcturus looked at him, there was a sense of something about his boy – an anger that seemed to simmer just beneath the surface, and for the life of him, Arcturus couldn't work out why.
Had he not gone off to war to protect his child and wife? Had he not been the kind of father his own had been to him? He had doted upon his family and loved them unconditionally – he instilled the same values in his boy that he'd been taught. Had he failed somewhere? Had his leaving for the war driven a wedge between him and his son?
"Orion – you know I left to protect you, yes?" He asked, his throat constricting uncomfortably.
"I believe you made your reasons for joining the war abundantly clear, father." Orion replied calmly, though Arcturus caught his hands twitching out the corner of his eye. At his side, Melania covered her mouth with her hand. "You valued protecting Muggles over your family."
"I-" Arcturus blinked, stunned. Was that how Orion saw it? He'd left them for Muggles?
"Orion Black!" Melania snapped, "That was out of line – apologise to your father at once!"
"I will not." Orion replied, drawing himself up defiantly.
"Melania, it's fine – I've been gone for a long time, and obviously Orion feels differently than you do. Why don't you go and do whatever it is you were about to do when you walked in." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Orion brushed past him immediately, taking the stairs two at a time as he watched him go. Melania wrapped herself around his arm and pressed his cheek against his shoulder. "You told me he'd gotten worse, but…" He muttered, his eyes staring at the top step absently.
"I don't know where I went wrong." Melania sighed. "I thought we did everything right…"
"You didn't fail at anything; do you hear me?" He said, turning and taking his wife into his arms. "If anyone did, it was me. I'm the one who left."
"You left for noble reasons." She muttered into his chest; her voice muffled by the leather of his gambeson. "You left to protect your family and those who couldn't protect themselves."
"Aye, and in doing so, I abandoned my wife and son – the two most important people in my world." He gently cupped her face, their noses touching lightly. "For the rest of my days, I'll never leave your side again – for as long as you'll have me."
"I'm sure I could learn to live with that burden." She sighed, rolling her eyes playfully. "What will we do about Orion?"
"Leave him to me – I'll speak with him tomorrow, when he's had time to accept my return."
"It's almost a dream – one I never wish to wake from." Melania whispered, brushing her hands against his face. "I'm scared I'll wake any moment and you'll not be here."
"A good dream, I'd hope."
"The very best." She smiled up at him, quickly capturing his lips with her own.
He blinked as he came out of the memory, finding himself once more in his office before the hearth – the small moving photographs of his wife smiling up at him as he brushed his fingers against her beaming smile.
He could remember the day as if it were yesterday, returning from the war and into the loving embrace of his wife. He had expected things to return to how they had been before, but the reality had been the loss of his son – a boy he had raised as best he could, who had turned out so very different.
Melania had fallen ill not two months after his return, her body failing her. He had been gone for half a decade, fighting a war that would decide the fate of the direction of their world, and his reward? A dying wife and a son who had grown to hate him.
He had tried everything to save her, and in the end, it had amounted to nothing. She had died in their bed in the middle of August, nineteen-forty-nine, and he had wept for weeks.
His grief had turned to anger, and in his darkest moments, he cursed the men and women that had forced him away from his beloved. He had cursed those who couldn't defend themselves or were powerless to do so. He had cursed the very Muggles that he had chosen over his family.
In his anger, he had understood Orion's beliefs – they had robbed him of his love, his counterbalance. How many years had they stolen from him? Would she have survived if he'd remained by her side and let the rest of the world hang?
He had fought in a number of important and decisive battles throughout the war – his successes had become those of his superiors, and he had been lauded a War Hero on a number of occasions. He would have traded it all to have remained by her side, to watch Orion grow into the man Arcturus knew he could have become.
Arcturus had failed as a father, he knew that. His son had gone on to spout the belief that Muggles and Muggle-born were inferior to the old families, that they were threatening their very way of life. That his comments had finally gotten him killed in an Honour Duel had been the final nail in the coffin for his capabilities as a father and a role model.
That his son had taken the opportunity to wed his own relation in an effort to keep his own heir pure had disgusted him, and he had simply been glad that Melania hadn't lived to see just how far their boy had fallen.
He had thrown himself into politics following his return, and for a while, it had helped with the pain and the anger. He had supported legislation that now disgusted him – he had cultivated alliances and relationships with those that would see themselves as masters to the Muggle-born and the Muggles. Had that not been what he had gone to war to prevent?
In the end, it had been Sirius that had pulled him from his spiral – the boy that, despite being Orion's, had all the traits of Melania. He was brave, courageous, true to his beliefs – there was the son that he knew Orion could have been.
He could recall the first time he had laid eyes on his grandson – the small babe that barely weighed more than a book, who had wriggled incessantly in his arms and gurgled happily as he pawed for the loose strands of his hair.
It had been a rare moment of peace between himself and Orion – the two of them standing side-by-side as they beamed down at the lad.
The two of them had wept and held one another that day – it had been the last time Arcturus had ever seen his son. And now, he was buried alongside Melania in the Black Sepulchre beneath Blackstone Castle with only a carved name, a set of dates, and an epithet to distinguish his tomb from the hundreds of others that lined the labyrinth.
He sighed, blinking a few times as he forced his eyes to leave Melania – her beaming smile and the loop of her spinning on the spot happily was almost too much. His eyes fell on a recent photograph that he had added to his small collection.
It had been taken over the Summer, just after the wedding – in it were himself, Sirius, Amelia, Remus, and of course, the black-haired, green-eyed boy that had stolen his heart. They beamed up at him, all with nary a care in the world.
Amelia had her arms wrapped around Sirius, whispering something into his ear that made his grandson laugh loudly, while Remus rolled his eyes playfully. He stood behind Harry, his hands on the boy's shoulders – the way he briefly glanced down at the boy, while Harry would look back at him on occasion with that smile of his…
Harry had grown up so quickly, transitioning from the small, excitable tyke that would beg for Sirius to chase him around the house as a Grim, into a strong, solemn boy with the weight of an impossible family legacy on his shoulders.
He had tried to prepare the lad – Harry had learned of politics, commerce, law, and their traditions from him. He'd instilled a desire for knowledge, and a sense of right and wrong that he wished he could have placed in Orion. He would grow to become a fine young man, and Arcturus couldn't have been prouder.
He glanced down to his chest, the dull finish of his leather gambeson with its diamond patterning looking just as worn as it always had. The armour had served him well over the years – more in the war than it ever had outside of it.
His hand went to that familiar gap between his armour and tunic, the familiar feel of the parchment in his fingers as he withdrew it with as much care as he could manage. It had gotten more fragile as the years went by, and no manner of spell could undo the damage of almost fifty years – had it truly been so long?
Arcturus unfolded it slowly, and his face split into a sad smile as his fingers traced the contours of his wife's body. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply just before the door opened behind him. His eyes snapped open and tucked the photograph back where it belonged – just over his heart.
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Sirius and Remus looking at him with small smiles on their faces.
"What news?" He asked, cocking a brow at them as he busied himself with the buckle around his waist.
"He continues to excel, of course." Sirius grinned, lowering himself into one of the small sofas without a care in the world. "He took down Longbottom without a care in the world."
"Good – that's… good." He breathed, pursing his lips as he nodded slowly.
"Just good?" Sirius asked, leaning forward on his elbows. "He's dominating the club, and he's only using the spells the rest of them have been taught."
"It is rather impressive." Remus agreed, folding his legs as he shifted in the chair he'd occupied.
"Any improvement on his mood?" He asked, glancing at his steward.
Remus grimaced and interlocked his fingers over his stomach. "He continues to perform as is expected of him, but he's… distant." He sighed, shaking his head. "This year has been difficult for him, though he expresses his gratitude for his tutor."
Arcturus nodded, his mind briefly recalling the struggle it had been to find a Parselmouth tutor that he felt he could trust. It had cost him a small fortune to acquire the services of the Valencia family – a small but old family that controlled a part of Scotland. Micca Valencia, the only child of the current Lord, Grafton, was a rising academic – able to speak no less than seven languages fluently, and a prodigy with Arithmancy.
He would have been a fool not to hire her.
"I'm glad he's learning from her – I'm only sorry it took so long."
"There were other things that needed your attention." Sirius said, his voice soft. "Lord Valencia also wishes to express his thanks for the hiring of his daughter and hopes that it'll be the start of a profitable partnership." He added, rolling his eyes.
"Aye, I received the letter from Lispy." Arcturus snorted, thinking of the little Elf.
"Has she stopped threatening to go to Hogwarts yet? Remus asked, fighting to stop the smirk that was slowly spreading on his lips. "At last count, I think she was down to mentioning it five times a day."
"It's three now." Sirius grinned, leaning back. "I think Harry's gift to her took the wind out of her sails a little."
"It was rather thoughtful of him." Remus agreed, smiling.
"Tell me about Amelia's investigation." He said, looking at Sirius. His grandson shifted in his seat, before clearing his throat.
"You know I can't-"
"It'll go no further than this room – on that you've my word, lad." Arcturus replied, placing his hand over his chest, and bowing his head slightly. He could see how uncomfortable his heir was, but he needed to know.
Sirius squirmed under his gaze for a moment, his eyes flickering to Remus once, twice, before he finally threw up his hands and huffed. "Fine – bloody hell, you could get a priest to confess." He grumbled before wiping his hands down his face. "She's got nothing so far – the only thing she's been able to prove is that someone is attacking Muggle-born."
"That's it?" Remus blinked. "I thought she'd have more by now."
"There isn't much she can do." Sirius shrugged. "There's no evidence to point to anything in particular. She couldn't even question the students without having to involve half of the Wizengamot."
"But there's a credible threat to the students."
"Aye, but there are also heirs there – don't underestimate the lengths people will go to protect their heirs." Sirius sighed, leaning his head back against the sofa. "It's been driving her to madness."
"Your charm not enough to help?" Arcturus snorted, turning around, and placing his hands on the mantle as he stared at the photographs before him. There had to be something he could do – there was something missing from it all, some piece of the puzzle.
"My charm is all that's keeping her from marching an army of Aurors to the school and tearing it apart brick-by-brick." Sirius replied dryly. "If she had her way, the school would have been closed the day after the first attack."
"Dumbledore is still protesting it?" Arcturus asked, his eyes trained on the image of Harry from the wedding before him.
"Oh aye – claims they're taking every precaution they can."
Arcturus snorted, rolling his eyes as he adjusted the gorget around his neck – wincing as it briefly pinched the skin on the side of his neck. "Dumbledore is a fool then." He muttered, rolling his shoulders once the piece of armour sat a little more comfortably.
Sirius snickered softly into his hand, while Remus just smiled coyly – neither said anything to contradict him. He'd listened to many of their opinions after each of their teaching sessions at the school over the last two months.
They had often expressed their anger at the ineptitude of the current Defence professor, Lockhart – Sirius thought him to be a fool, who spent more time quizzing the students under his tutelage about his books and past exploits than teaching them any useful spells. Remus just pitied the students that had to suffer their OWL and NEWT tests under his instruction.
He had known for a number of years that the quality of students leaving Hogwarts had been slipping – he'd taken on less graduates in the many businesses of House Black in the last half a decade than he ever had – but he'd held out hope that it would be turned around by the time Harry attended.
Arcturus had given Dumbledore the benefit of the doubt through their correspondence – he'd trusted the man he'd once followed to war, who had led them through the toughest battles, who had bled beside him.
When had he become so incompetent?
There was a record low in the number of staff, and Hogwarts wasn't even attended to capacity – there were a thousand students currently at Hogwarts, and Arcturus knew it could house another five hundred easily. What in Merlin's name had Dumbledore done to the school?
That Dumbledore had also allowed Harry to venture so close to danger – through no fault of Harry's – and come face to face with the spectre of Voldemort…
Arcturus had barely kept himself from drawing his wand on the man – though he'd taken great pleasure in breaking his nose over the disaster of Harry's first year. The cloak, something he suspected was a Potter heirloom from the tales Sirius told him, Voldemort, the Troll!
He felt a headache forming just behind his eyes and he rubbed at the space between his eyebrows tiredly.
"What are you dressed up for?" Sirius asked, looking up at him.
"I'm to meet with a number of Lords to discuss the dissolution of the Muggle-born Identity Act of nineteen fifty-three." He sighed, shrugging a shoulder. "Something I never should have put my signature on."
"Which one was that?"
"The one where Muggle-born have The Marker on their wands so that the Ministry always knows where they are." Arcturus replied, shifting uneasily.
"That doesn't sound like something you'd have supported." Remus frowned, sitting forward in his seat.
"I wouldn't support it now – back then… I wasn't myself." He answered, drawing himself up to his full height as his eyes flickered between the two men in his office.
"What's important is what you're doing now – you're trying to do better, to be better." Sirius said, smiling at him.
"I think I preferred you as a bachelor – Amelia's almost made you respectable." Arcturus muttered, though he nodded his head all the same.
It was a constant fear of his – was he doing enough? Had he undone the damage he'd done all those years ago? He knew Harry held him in high esteem, and he tried to live up to it, but Merlin, if he didn't second guess almost everything he did.
Melania would know what to do – she was always good at this sort of thing. He absently patted the spot where he knew the photograph rested and breathed out slowly.
"Gods be good, let's hope that never happens." Remus grinned, winking at Sirius. "He's supposed to be the fun one of the two of us."
"I'm still fun!" Sirius protested, holding his arms out to his side, and looking suitably indignant. "Just ask Harry – I'm the most fun the boy has ever had!"
"He could use some fun." Arcturus sighed. "I forget he's just a boy."
"A boy with a legacy over a thousand years old on his shoulders." Remus agreed quietly, rubbing the palms of his hands on his trousers. "We should arrange something – take him away somewhere."
"Like where?"
"France, perhaps?"
Sirius snorted. "Aye – I can't see that going terribly wrong when someone recognises him."
"America is large enough that he should have some anonymity – you could take him to Salem." Arcturus offered, wandering around his office slowly, brushing his hands over the fine wood of his desk.
"That feels a little morbid." Sirius grimaced.
"Okay – how about Africa?" Remus suggested. "It's warm, the culture there is vastly different to our own, and the number of animals there would leave him giddy."
"It's possible – there's enough there to explore for a week or two, and the community is relaxed." Arcturus nodded slowly, perching against the edge of the table, and crossing his ankles.
"There's also the northern communities in Scandinavia – you know Neville will want to go with him though." Sirius said slowly, stroking his chin slowly. "Would we also take his friends? It might do them all some good."
"If we take the kids, we'd likely need to bring their parents – though I doubt Augusta would wish to come." Remus said softly. "Would Hermione's parents even be able to join her? I know some communities have… enthusiastic Wards against Muggles."
"I hadn't thought of that."
Arcturus tuned the back and forth between the two men out, content to simply watch – it was times like these that he couldn't help but feel proud over just how far both men had come in the last decade.
When Arcturus had met Remus, he had been soft-spoken, and often hesitant around those he considered his betters – it was a side effect of being a known and registered Werewolf, he knew.
He had known the instant he had met the man that he was kind, thoughtful, and intelligent – he was far taller than himself, and instead of commanding the attention of a room with his presence, he behaved almost like a man half his size, content to remain in the background.
How much had he suffered from the scorn of wizards and witches that didn't know any better? It had been a crime, to see such a man reduced to so little. Arcturus had resolved to build him up – to make him family.
And what progress he had made! It was rare that he offered praise, but to see the man that Remus had become – he had flourished in his role. Remus was efficient, quick witted, and used his intelligence effectively – there was nothing that he wouldn't trust him with. That he had also become a very dear friend in the last decade had been unexpected, but not unwelcome.
And Sirius – what a man he had become. He was devoted to Harry, dedicated to improving the family, and an honourable man underneath all of the mischievousness. He had worried, after his trial, that he would retreat into his grief, or that he wouldn't be able to properly care for Harry.
How wrong he had been. Sirius had thrown himself into his new role, striving to make his friends proud, and to raise a boy that they could be proud to call their own. There was nothing that Sirius wouldn't do for the lad, and Arcturus couldn't wait to see him become a true father, to see the next generation of House Black thrive in a way that he had never been able to achieve with his own son.
He smiled as the two men continued to throw ideas to one another, gesticulating wildly with their hands and laughing between themselves. He glanced at the clock on the far side of the room, the pendulum swinging lazily back and forth behind the glass door.
It would be time for him to leave soon – the assembly would be expecting his arrival almost on the hour, and it always paid to arrive a little early. It would give him a chance to take the measure of the men and women he would be entering into a political alliance with – to understand where he could push, and where he would need to give ground.
No doubt there would be a handful of Lords that were going to be in attendance simply to make their lives far more difficult than they needed to be – Lord Beardmore being one such Lord that came to mind. Arcturus felt his face twist into a grimace at the thought of the portly, pimple-faced man.
He could still recall the man in the first Wizengamot session after his return from the war – standing there before the assembly and claiming that those wizards and witches that had gone off to war should be fined for abandoning their country in their time of need.
Beardmore had kept quiet over the years, following that particular embarrassment, and Arcturus had been glad for it. Though, it had been amusing to witness Melania physically trying to stop herself from curing the man out of existence.
There were other Lords supposed to be in attendance – those that he knew he could count on to support repealing the bill – Lords Patil, Locke, Weasley, Calvert, Valencia, Greengrass – all would be there.
He smiled slightly. It would do him good to see Castor again. What had begun as a simple business agreement over a decade ago had flourished into a close friendship – he found the man to have such a keen wit, that sometimes, he was left staggering to keep up. It was little surprise that the young Greengrass heir had inherited that trait.
"What time do you have to leave?" Sirius asked, causing Arcturus to blink for a moment.
"Soon." He shrugged, glancing once more at the clock.
Sirius nodded slowly and rubbed his jaw. Arcturus looked to Remus, who was regarding him with an odd expression – something that he couldn't quite decipher.
"Do you think it'll get the traction you want it to?"
He shrugged. "I'm not sure – I hope so. It'll do the Muggle-born good to enjoy the same freedoms that we do. Do I think there'll be difficulty overturning it? Of course."
"Do we need to prepare anything?" Remus asked, his finger tracing the moustache that sat on his top lip.
"A grave for a few of them if they prove to be too difficult." Arcturus huffed, his shoulders already tense at the thought of having to deal with the likes of Beardmore, Keefei, Perkin, and Howard.
"You seem on-edge." Sirius commented, shifting in his seat. Across the room, the large hand of the clock shifted with a click, and across the far wall, the shadows of a flock of birds flew past. It was approaching two in the afternoon – it wouldn't be long now.
"I'm simply anxious to get started." Arcturus replied evenly – it was true, this meeting alone had been five years of hard work to get to even this point. If there was one constant in the world, it was that the Wizengamot didn't do anything quickly. "I think I'm also feeling my age for the first time in a long time."
Sirius snorted. "You're middle-aged. You're hardly the likes of Dumbledore."
Arcturus chuckled, while Remus simply smirked into his hand. "Aye, that's true – the goat does look his age." He grinned, pausing for a moment. "But you should have seen him in his youth." He added quietly, his eyes falling on the far wall as images flittered past them.
He saw faces that had long since turned to dust beneath the soil, the flashes of spell-fire, dirt and debris arching through the air in lazy arcs. He could hear the shouts and cries of combat – not the regulated duels that most were familiar with, but the kind that a single wrong move, one moment's hesitation could mean life or death. He could smell the scorched ozone as spells flew past his face, the stench of bodily fluids that hung so heavily in the air, that he could taste them.
"He was unstoppable – there wasn't a spell that came his way that he couldn't counter. We were all terrified of coming across Grindelwald on the battlefield, of course – nobody could match him – and when he and Dumbledore crossed wands… It was beautiful." He whispered; his voice had gone breathless, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest in a way that he hadn't experienced in years.
"You were there, at the end?" Remus asked, leaning forward, practically on the edge of his seat.
"I was, aye – I can still remember the witch I killed just as it started. She had blonde hair, she was tall and slim, and her pink trench-coat was stained in mud. Everything stopped when those two fought – it lasted hours."
"You've never talked about it – not to us, at least." Sirius murmured into the quiet of the room.
"There was never a reason to." Arcturus shrugged, the room snapping back into focus as he cleared his throat. "It was my burden to bear."
"Did you ever speak of it to anyone?"
"Melania." He grunted, pushing himself up off of the desk. "Melania and I had no secrets."
"I wish I'd have known her – everything you've mentioned over the years… She seems like she'd have been wonderful." Sirius smiled sadly, pressing his lips tightly together.
"The world is worse without her presence." Arcturus grunted, running his tongue over his teeth as he eyed the clock. "I've spent the time since your trial trying to right the wrongs I made in my grief – I'll continue to do so until the day I die. Afterwards, I'll face her judgement." He nodded slowly, smiling sadly.
"You've more than made up for whatever mistakes you made – you're making the world better for Harry, one piece of legislation at a time." Remus smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners.
"Perhaps." He said, shrugging a shoulder.
"That reminds me – Amelia asked me something that's been driving her crazy for years, and at the time, I just shrugged it off, but ever since she asked, it's had me thinking too."
"What's that?"
"Why did we swear to House Potter? I get why I did it – but why you? Merlin, House Black and Potter have been rivals for almost two thousand years."
Arcturus pursed his lips as his eyes drifted back to the clock – it was time. He sighed as he adjusted his armour slightly and patted his chest. "There's a lot of things that House Black and House Potter have forgotten, and I had my reasons outside of you wanting to prank Britain and protect Harry." He said, stepping over to Sirius, who got to his feet.
With Sirius before him, Arcturus placed his hands on the shoulders of his heir and smiled. "At the time, I thought telling you why was a mistake – your friends had only just left the world, and you deserved to grieve for them in your own way." He glanced at Remus. "You both did." He pressed his lips together as he looked between the two men. "When I return, we'll talk about everything – there's plenty you should both know."
"I'll hold you to that." Sirius winked, grinning cheekily. "Go on, old man – you should get going. You'll be late."
"I'll have your favourite meal prepared for you when you get back." Remus smiled, and Arcturus nodded at both men.
"When I get back, then." He said, stepping away from both men and taking a fistful of Floo Powder and throwing it into the roaring flames, wincing as they flashed a violent green and grew larger – almost to the point that the hearth would no longer be able to contain them. He stepped into the flame, the heat a distant sensation and turned to glance at the two men in the room.
With one last wink, he called, "Wercomb Keep!" and threw his head back as the flames engulfed him.
It was a strange experience, to travel by Floo, and one that he had never quite gotten used to over the years. It felt very much like being sucked through a tube, feeling your body compress into almost nothing and then hurtled across a large distance.
Realistically, he knew that travelling via Floo was almost instantaneous – but actually experiencing it – it felt like an age as he was thrown along the currents of magic. The swirling colours surrounded him in a thick nebula so thick, he could almost feel it brushing against him. It was all in his mind, he knew, but there was something about it all that called to the childish wonder in him, almost a century after he'd first experienced it.
All too soon, he found himself stepping from the hearth in a room he didn't recognise – there were large stone pillars that were thicker than two grown men standing next to one another. They stretched high into the ceiling, which was arched and blended seamlessly with the support structures holding it all up.
Behind him, the Floo died out, and he felt the Wards of wherever he was snap into place. Outwardly, he remained impassive, his eyes ranking in the details of the room, while internally, his mind raced with possibilities and various scenarios.
He wasn't at Wercomb Keep – that much was for certain.
The room was too large for the Beardmore family – they may have been Ancient and Noble, but their ancestral home was half the size of Blackwall. The early afternoon light spilled through the large windows that were almost two stories tall, and the room felt warm despite the early January weather and the sheer scale of the room.
He turned, noting the faded, and in places, rotten floorboards – in their prime, they were no doubt a rich mahogany, and would've been a sight to see. Now, they were faded, stained, and covered in a thick layer of dust. His boots clicked quietly against them as he wandered around, his eyes searching for any movement.
There were a number of pieces of furniture – there were sofas, which looked half rotten, chairs, which appeared to have been recently used, judging by the lack of dust, and a number of tables and sideboards that littered the edge of the room.
The room looked like it had been abandoned in a hurry, whenever that had happened – the air was thick with dust and had the distinct musty smell of neglect. There were few homes in Britain that could compare to the sheer scale of this place, and many of them belonged to long dead families, or those that had no intention of ever returning to the island.
His hand trailed over one of the large stone columns, the spiralling carvings of half a dozen fantastical creatures decorating its surface as his eyes darted to the large balcony at the far end of the room, where large portraits hung, staring unblinkingly at him.
He approached them slowly, the dull thuds of the heels of his boots echoing throughout the room – as he moved further in, he could see evidence of recent activity. Tables and chairs were arranged close together, all the dust from them removed, and the remains of various pieces of food strewn about lazily.
Almost at the base of the steps to the balcony, a figure appeared at the top, clad in dark armoured plates with vicious looking spikes on his shoulders, elbows and knuckles – he walked lazily, almost as if he had not a care in the world.
His hair was longer than he remembered, though it hung loosely down the front of his shoulders in small braids. His beard was thick and almost completely hiding his thin lips – which Arcturus could see were pulled into a confident smirk.
"Lord Arcturus Black – the third, correct?" The man asked, clasping his large arms at the small of his back as he came to a stop at the railing of the balcony – even from where Arcturus was, he knew the man to be huge, in both build and height.
"Aye." Arcturus replied warily, stepping away from the steps slowly as his eyes darted about the room. "And you're Elbert, of House Crane – a Vassal of House Trevelyan."
"Very good – you do me honour to know of me." Elbert grinned, placing a hand to his chest, which had the sigil of his House – a large, golden Manticore on a field of black.
"It's hard not to." He replied, wryly. "You're half giant."
Elbert chuckled as he placed his hands on the railing and leaned forward, his hair dangling loosely. "Perhaps I'm descended from them – if I am, it's been lost to history." He was quiet for a moment, and Arcturus felt his eyes take the measure of him. "Tell me, Lord Black – do you know where we are?"
"Judging by the scale of the room, I would hazard a guess that we're in the home of one of the older families."
"Aye, you'd be right about that." Elbert grinned, his white teeth a bright contrast against the darkness of his beard. "Do you know which family, Arcturus – can I call you Arcturus?"
"You can call me whatever you want." Arcturus replied. Already, he could feel his muscles twitching, and it took everything in him not to draw his wand – who knew what precautions had been taken before his arrival. "I'd hazard a guess that it's House Ruccall – they're extinct in both domains, and none would expect anything untoward to happen here. Especially the kidnapping of the current Lord Black."
"You really are as intelligent as he told me. Forgive me, it's simply fascinating to see it in person – I find second-hand accounts to be… biased, more often than not."
"Trevelyan, by any chance?"
"Correct again – he was most displeased by your performance last Yule. Personally, I found it all rather entertaining."
"So, should I expect to be able to pass my thanks on to our esteemed Viscount?"
Elbert's face turned stony, in less time than it took to blink. "I'm afraid not – you see, this isn't a warning."
"Ah – so that's how it is." Arcturus nodded, slowly. He rolled his shoulders under his cloak casually, and his fingers flexed. "So, why not simply curse me as I came out of the Floo? Why give me the chance?"
Elbert shrugged casually. "Why do we do anything? My Lord has commanded me, and I must obey – you are an obstacle that needs to be removed, nothing more. You are also a powerful man, no? I was," Elbert paused, weaving his head back and forth slowly, as if searching for the right word. "curious."
"And if I escape from here – you must know your Lord will kill you for failing."
"Perhaps." Crane shrugged, the dull rattle of his armour following. "But I don't think you'll be leaving here, Arcturus Black, Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black."
"You seem confident."
"I consider it more a case of good planning – but also, yes – I'm rather confident." Elbert smirked. "Can I tell you a secret, Lord Black?"
"I can spare a minute or two."
"I brought friends – I'm sorry that you couldn't have brought your own. I'll be sure to meet them soon – the Potter boy is the one I'm most excited about. I've heard such tales!"
Arcturus narrowed his eyes as a dozen wizards and witches appeared at the top of the balcony alongside Crane – all wore similar armour and had the sigil of Crane's house on their breast. Some held staves, two were hefting bladed weapons – a sword and a Warhammer – and the rest were holding wands.
"You'll definitely have to kill me if you think I'll let you anywhere near Harry." He growled.
"That was the plan." Crane shrugged, gesturing for his men to descend the stairs. Arcturus was trapped, he knew – there would be no escape through the Floo, and there were no doors behind him – only thick stone walls and large stone columns. He nodded to himself, his eyes raking over those before him.
There were twelve of them – all fairly young, and no older than forty, if he were to guess. Seven were men, while five were women – though all looked fearsome and battle-worn. He nodded to himself and chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Well, you definitely have me out-numbered here." He sighed. "Will you at least grant me last requests?"
"If it is in my power to do so." Elbert answered from his position on the balcony.
"I request simply that I be allowed to die with my cloak off – it's rather stuff in here, and I'd rather meet the Gods comfortably."
"I grant your request, Lord Black."
Arcturus nodded, and bowed at the waist slightly. His hands went to the straps that crossed over his chest, lifting it up and over his head with a small grunt of effort. He held it before him as he glanced at those before him.
"Shall I put it anywhere in particular? I'm afraid I'm not half the man I used to be – war wounds and all."
The men and women before him looked between themselves, each frowning in confusion – no doubt they couldn't care less what he did with the cloak. He was a walking corpse.
That was their first mistake.
He flicked his wrist, the cloak still held before him and felt the familiar handle of his wand leap into his waiting palm – careful to keep his face neutral, he pointed it at the closest of his opponents and let loose with a powerful blasting spell.
The curse blew through the cloak as if it were nothing, and struck the woman in the chest, blowing her torso wide open. She was launched backwards across the room, slamming against the wall with a wet, meaty slap before tumbling through an old table. There was a brief cloud of dust, but Arcturus was already on the move, launching himself behind one of the stone pillars as he grinned to himself.
One down, eleven more to go.
The pillar was thick enough to provide him some cover, even as the spells thrown at him pockmarked its surface and blew chunks of rubble everywhere. He winced as one came particularly close to taking off his ear, before whipping around and firing off a pair of cutting curses at one of the men that were edging closer to him.
The spells impacted his shield easily enough, and just as he ducked around the column once again, leaning out of the way of a spell levelled at his face, Arcturus conjured a ball of flame the size of a grown man, and launched it at the man. The resulting booming impact and the screams of terror and pain as the man's shield was shattered and he burned to death were like music to his ears.
Arcturus had missed this – nothing quite got the blood pumping like a battle, even if he was tragically out-numbered.
The crackling of the flames as the fire spread around him was all he could hear for a moment, and he knelt and spun out of cover, his wand already up and firing bolts of ice across the room in deadly spears. None struck any of the scrambling men and women he was fighting against, but they served to force them behind cover for a brief moment.
Arcturus bolted from his position – his legs pumping as he sprinted across the room toward another pillar and launching himself over a table that had been in his way. A spell caught him across the back – a cutting curse, and he was once again glad for the gambeson he wore. He grunted as he slammed into the pillar and winced as he tried to move his left shoulder. Already he could feel it bruising.
He spun around the pillar, a trio of Reducto curses thrown at the feet of a woman that was advancing upon him – her shield snapped up, and he took great pleasure in the shock on her face as her legs disappeared from the knees down as the floor exploded beneath her – a final cutting curse separated her head from her shoulders, her shocked face bouncing off of the wooden floor as blood pooled around her.
His wand snapped up, deflecting a trio of spells into the ceiling as he stumbled backwards. He managed to keep his shield up just long enough to duck behind the pillar once more, and he could feel the sweat building on his forehead. One of the men rushed his column, a war-cry in his throat.
Arcturus reacted quickly, pulling the dagger from the back of his belt, and ducking under the swing of the Warhammer – it struck the stone with a sharp ring, and the man stumbled back, grimacing. He was too close to use his wand, and so Arcturus stepped up to him. He struck his attacker in the nose, channelling his magic through his arm. The nose shattered in a spray of blood, and Arcturus took that opportunity to quickly slice his arms – the dull thud of the hammer as it bounced off of the floor registered in the back of his mind – before punching the blade of the dagger through the man's throat.
Grimacing, Arcturus grabbed the front of the choking man's armour and used him as a human shield as he retreated further toward the hearth, quickly banishing the dropped Warhammer into the knee of another opponent – they dropped with a cry, and Arcturus banished them bodily into the still roaring flames from his previous kill.
A number of curses struck the man he held aloft, his body trembling as all manner of spell collided with him – his left arm dropped to the floor with a wet slap, and his head rolled from his shoulders with a wet gurgle. Arcturus dropped the body carelessly as he leaned back to avoid a curse from the side.
His shield snapped into place, the white, shimmering barrier absorbing spell after spell, while Arcturus moved his wand erratically in a bid to keep it in place long enough for him to duck behind a third column.
A Bombarda struck the floor just in front of him, and if it weren't for the shield already in place, the spell and the shrapnel would have been the end of him – as it was, the spell absorbed much of the impact, though he was still sent hurtling through the air, spinning violently until he crashed into the last pillar before the sofas and chairs by the Floo.
He scrambled behind the pillar and hacked up a mouthful of blood and saliva, spitting it onto the floor with a grimace – he could feel one of his ribs broken from the impact. He leaned out of cover, his wand tossing a fork of pure, crimson magic at the fool that had thought to rush him. The man keeled over, a gaping hole in his chest as his sword clattered to the floor. Ducking back behind the stone of the column, he groaned and closed his eyes briefly as he leaned his head against the structure behind him, his hand absently patting the place over his heart where her picture remained.
"Excellent work, Arcturus!" Elbert shouted over the roaring spell fire, and he had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.
"Oh, fuck off!" He hollered back, swinging around the pillar, and snapping off a pair of spells – though neither did much of anything. He just managed to duck as a spell came dangerously close to his nose.
His breath came in laboured gasps now – not only was he injured, but he was forty years past his prime. While he was only middle-aged, his illness had affected him for years – Merlin, the illness had been a curse from Grindelwald's war, and he could feel its affects all over his body. He ground his teeth together, and ducked around the pillar again, dropping to a knee as he sent a stream of fire at the closest opponent – they screamed as it boiled them alive, dropping their staff.
A lucky cutting curse sliced the leg from one of the last opponents, leaving only four to contend with – even as Arcturus blew his entrails across the room like they were made of confetti. He didn't even get to scream, so violent was the curse.
Arcturus cursed as he felt a cutting curse slice his thigh – it was a shallow cut, but it made him focus. He leapt from the column, just as a large, cyan ball of magic struck it. The stone immediately began to crumble, and Arcturus dived out of the way as it tumbled around him, kicking up all the dust around him. He leapt over the closest sofa, crashing through one of the nearby tables before scrambling from the debris.
He remained kneeling, his eyes scanning the thick cloud for any shape he could find. His breathing was heavy, and he wheezed from the dust, but dared not to cough for fear of giving himself away. He wiped the sweat from his forehead just as his eyes caught sight of two dark figures through the cloud. They were approaching slowly, and side by side – it would be surprise that would be his ally.
He burst from his position, half a dozen Reductos flying ahead of him – the first disappeared in a shower of blood, bone, and soft tissue. The second managed to get a shield up in time, but could do nothing for Arcturus's knife opening their throat to the bone as he rushed past.
That left only two more to contend with.
Arcturus sprinted toward a chair – it was a large armchair, that, in its day, must have been quite spectacular. Now, it was a half-destroyed, rotten mass of wood and cloth. He dropped to his knees, groaning as he slid behind it, just as a spell tore through where he had been only a second before.
He leapt to his feet, half a dozen spells leaving the tip of his wand and striking his opponent – each impact making the last remaining man dance and stumble backwards. By the time he fell to the floor, there was nothing left to resemble who he had once been.
Arcturus grunted as he was thrown forward, his final opponent crashing into him from behind as they tumbled over the chair he'd been standing behind.
The two of them landed in a tangle of limbs, and he cried out as his final attacker – one of the women, delivered a pair of sharp punches to his broken rib. A hand wrapped around his throat, while her knee pinned his wrist with the dagger – his wand having tumbled from his hand as he landed.
His eyes widened and his vision began to grow dark around the edges as he watched her pull a dagger free from her belt. She had the advantage, and for a moment, he began to panic. His feet scrambled beneath her, and his free hand struggled to hold the weapon away from his throat.
He grunted as he changed tactics, pulling the blade toward him, but to the side – the dull thud of the tip imbedding itself into the floorboard beside him removing that concern for the moment. He tore his hand from her wrist and struck her hard in the jaw, sending her rolling from him.
Sucking air into his lungs, his vision returned quickly, and he scrambled to his feet, only just narrowly leaning back as her armoured fist swiped at him. His body was wracked with a series of short, violent coughs, but he made sure to keep moving. Her face was contorted into an ugly scowl, and she lunged at him once more, colliding with his stomach and crashing him against the pillar behind him. He groaned before quickly hammering his elbow into her back.
She released him just enough for him to grasp her hair and sharply pull it up, her scream only interrupted as he smashed his fist into her face once, twice, three times, causing her eyes to roll back into her head as blood gushed from her nose and mouth. He quickly spun her around, his arm tightening around her neck as she scrambled and clawed against him uselessly.
With a sharp, jerked motion, the crack of her neck echoed throughout the room, and he dropped the corpse to the floor and tried to suck in as much air as he could. He was filthy, exhausted, and wounded. He pulled himself to his full height after a moment and stretched his hand out, calling his wand to him.
"Very good, Lord Black."
He stumbled forward, landing heavily on his knees, as he felt something punch through his back, knocking all of the air from his lungs. He glanced down, staring at the hole in his chest in disbelief, watching as his life's blood gushed from his body like a macabre waterfall.
He tipped forward, limp, his vision fading and darkness closing in, and all he could think of was the small, green-eyed child he'd come to love with all his heart.
Arcturus Black, Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, was dead.
