Hello,
This Story is crashed beta-ed by SOY-chou because I took so much time to write this chapter that having it gone through an other beta would only delay the publishing progress further.
Thanks none-the-less to all those who volunteered themselves as Beta! Sorry but I am such a slow writer that I often get restless for quick release when I finish a chapter (which took me more than a year to finish ;_; ).
Thanks to all reviewers: Greener (X2); Imperial Dragon ; ep (Merci !); itachisgurl93; Cobra0000; Storyscriber (Walburga jealously kept Antarès for herself. Harry was not often allow out if at all. So no lesson with the Prince for him.); jannus (thank you very much); Flightless Bird; DarkRavie; Isabelledward; Lady Logos (X2); Failing Mentality; Madd Girl; darkwish3.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
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Wearing Masks
Chapter 4: The Blonde Step-Aunt and the Dark Knight
She had died just like that: one night she went to sleep after her last cup of tea and the next morning she would not wake up.
And Harry was left alone.
He would have to organize the funeral. Nothing grandiose, Grandmother Walburga would not have liked that. All she wanted was to be laid next to her husband in Black cemetery in Blackpool Lancaster.
"Kreacher." He whispered calmly.
The vile gargoyle appeared in a soft pop, eyes rimmed an ugly shade of red, nose running and his disgusting rag wet with the freshly shed tears and snot.
"What Kreacher can do for Young Master Antarès?" Kreacher moaned in between sobs.
"I want you to go get a ministry official to register Grandmother death." Harry ordered in his coldest voice. "Hurry up already! I'll begin the preparation as is customary."
The gargoyle disappeared in a soft pop. And Harry made his way up the stairs to the attic where Grandmother Walburga's portrait was.
He tried not to think of what it all meant for him: Being alone again. They might send him back to Aunt Petunia!
Harry shook his head.
Now was not the time to wonder about what would happen to him. He had things to do. Before the ministry official was to arrive to register Grandmother's death, he needed to have the portrait in Grandmother's room.
As per tradition, for the next twenty four hours, the portrait, which was charmed to acquire the subject's memories and personality at the time of their death, was to be suspended over-seeing the body.
Then, during those twenty four hours, friends and family would come in turn to pay their respect: It was called the Departing. At the end of the twenty-fourth hour, the corpse would be prepared cloaked in linen rubbed with salt then burnt to ashes. The ashes would then be gathered and put in an urn which would be sealed and submerged in holy water – as was the Black tradition –, to ensure that no-one would be able to desecrate the remains of the departed. Then the urn would be sent to the cemetery where it would be buried.
Before the end of the week, the will would be read in front of all those concerned or their representatives.
Harry carefully stepped down the last step and let out a loud tired breath. He really wished he had been able to use a levitating charm or a reducing charm, but it would disrupt the magic inside the canvas which, at the moment, was very unstable.
With great difficulty, Harry managed to get the over-sized portrait suspended opposite to Grandmother Walburga's bed.
The portrait immediately took life, the color of Grandmother Walburga's face took a slightly pinker shade, her blond hair took the shine that the painter had obviously been unable to reproduce, and her eyes cleared taking a more lively tone.
"So I'm dead." The creaking voice of Grandmother Walburga echoed.
"May your passing bring you to peace." Harry recited the customary words.
"Ah! My Antarès!" The portrait smiled at him.
Harry cringed a little at the possessive tone of the departed woman.
"Such a perfect Black heir!" She cooed.
"I have to go Grandmother Walburga." Harry quickly excused himself.
"Of course, My Antarès." She answered with a smile.
Harry bowed respectfully at the portrait and hurried back to his room to prepare for the mourning: First, he had to take a dragon blood (1) permeated purifying bath. For clothing, he would have to wear a pure white robe with the insignia of the family – the customary garment wore by the departed family –, the only jewelry accepted would be heir and lordship signet. The lack of flourish in any form was a way to show their respect to the departed. And, of course, wands were to be kept out of sight.
"You must be humble in front of death, My Antarès! Only the tasteless and tactless would show their fortune off at a departing." Grandmother had explained.
Being the heir of Black, Harry would have to crop his hair in the customary heir-grooming: high ponytail attached with a white slash of the same material as the robe.
Harry sighed casting a simple time charm: half an hour since Kreacher had gone. He would better hurry to the door to welcome the ministry official.
Kreacher had already appeared at the door side, ready to open the door.
"May you be welcome in the most ancient and noble house of Black. The departed lady Walburga Black is waiting for you." Kreacher croaked as he opened the door.
It was one of the few sentences that had been drilled into the gargoyle's mind. Over and over again, Kreacher had to repeat it in perfect English until Grandmother Walburga was satisfied and for each mistake, a round of atrocious threats was called but never enacted.
Harry found it quite bizarre that Kreacher had never been taught proper English. Would it not be easier to teach him proper English than to make him learn a few odd sentences?
But, when he asked Grandmother Walburga, she had scolded him:
"Knowledge is a weapon. You must be careful who you impart it to."
Harry had yet to understand what Grandmother Walburga meant. All he knew that he had to keep the Black secrets from anyone whose name was absent from the Black Tree.
He briefly glanced at the tree: Grandmother's name had turned black.
WM
Narcissa smirked at her husband.
"She is dead." She announced coldly, taking a white robe out of her wardrobe.
Her husband was already dressed in his own white robe, the signet ring of the Malfoy shining at his left index finger, hands firmly closed around the top of his cane.
"Is Draco ready?" Her husband asked.
"I asked one of the house elves to get him ready." Narcissa answered.
She ignored Lucius' frown of disapproval. She knew the man thought she depended too much on those creatures. Furthermore, her 'fault', as he put it, was staining his son.
"Hopefully, now that Walburga Black is dead, we will be able to reclaim what is ours by right!" Lucius spat angrily.
Narcissa knew that it was all because of the dowry which had been cut down in half under the order of one lady Walburga Black.
Narcissa had gotten used to the angry comments of her husband. Each time her family was mentioned, his mood would turn sour.
She was just a trophy wife, a whore easily bough by jewelry in the eye of her family. She could remember the look of her aunt as she announced she wanted to marry with The Malfoy Heir.
She had not understood their reaction at all! Marrying Lucius would further improve her social position and her family's. And the best part was they were attached to each other.
Narcissa clenched her teeth at the bitter memory of her aunt yelling and spitting at her.
But now, with her Aunt's death, she could take over the regency. It would be easy for her to have her newly-clean-of-charge cousin put under her guardianship. His stay in Azkaban had surely damaged his mind irrevocably.
If her family would not recognize her achievement, she would take over it and make them bend to her will! She would not be ranked as lowly as that wretched traitor of Andromeda anymore!
She added a little bit of blush on her cheeks to accentuate her features. Of course tradition demanded not to wear any artifice of any kind, but she would rather be dead than caught going out in public without make-up on. And, in her opinion, some traditions were made to be ignored.
She walked down the hall to the main entrance of the Malfoy manor. She ignored the disapproving look of her husband at her painted face. It was their only source of conflict: tradition. Lucius would want to follow them down to the letter but she wanted to be a little bit less strict about it.
She bent down to kiss the top of her son's head.
"Mother." Her little dragon moaned in disapproval patting his short hair back into place.
She smirked arrogantly.
Soon, she would be rich and powerful on her own merits, and no-one would dare to look down on her ever again.
WM
Harry walked down the stairs. That person from the ministry was really horrible!
She had dared to talk him down. Accusing him of usurping his title! Grandmother Walburga had yelled and yelled profanities to the woman. Words that Harry had never heard before and some he wondered the exact meaning of.
After showing the woman out – kicking her out –, he waited patiently for the first members of the family to show up.
He had discretely sent a letter to the Tonks, He knew that Andromeda Black-Tonks had been 'burned' out of the Black tapestry by Grandmother Walburga and would not be welcome at her departing. But he thought he should at least warn her of Grandmother Walburga's passing.
He had, of course, not said a word about it to Grandmother, as she would have clearly disapproved.
He heard a knock coming from the back door and frowned. The back door was for family only, could it be the Malfoy already?
Then he heard Kreacher curse.
He ran down quickly to the door.
"What is it Kreacher?" Harry demanded.
"Harry?" Came a croaked voice.
Harry frowned, he had not been called like that for so long. He knew that voice somewhat, even if it seems different: deformed, older, tired.
"Kreacher, let him in!" Harry ordered firmly.
Kreacher moved out of the way slowly, growling like a dog, showing his yellow decayed teeth.
Harry frowned, Kreacher only acted like that when someone Grandmother Walburga did not approve showed up without notice. Which meant that Kreacher knew the stranger.
Harry looked up and down at the stranger. He was tall and lanky, his gray eyes surrounded by the tell-tale black blue bruises of sleepless nights. He looked like he'd not had a good meal in quite a long time, also. Otherwise his appearance seemed somewhat neat: he wore a slightly out-of-fashion black robe over an obviously muggle outfit.
"Kreacher prepare the man a good meal, please." Harry ordered softly, letting the man in.
"Harry... Harry... Harry..." The man threw himself at Harry.
"Who are you?" Harry asked. "Are you here for the departing?"
Maybe that man had come for the departing and in a fit of rebellion had chosen to forsaken the traditional gowns. He really must have wanted to anger Grandmother Walburga, Harry thought to himself. But he knew Grandmother Walburga would not be Grandmother Walburga if she did not pest after something.
"I'm Sirius Black. I'm your Godfather! You're Harry, aren't you?" The man babbled out.
Harry noted the desperation in the stranger voice.
"Sirius Black? The head of the house of Black?" Harry muttered to himself.
"What? What is this?" Sirius said gripping Harry's hand. "The heir signet ring. How? Are you not Harry? No, no, no, you're Harry. You have to be him!"
"I was Harry, I was Freak too. But now I'm Antarès Americ Black, Heir of the most ancient and noble house of Black. Son of Sirius Orion Black the third and Persephone Noringhton." Harry explained. "But I would not mind being Harry again, I liked being Harry."
"You're Harry! You're Harry!" The man chanted sizing Harry firmly into a hug knocking the bowl of soup down in the process.
"Hey!" Harry protested jumping out of the liquid way. "I need this to stay clean! Grandmother Walburga would have a cow if I stained my robe before the end of her departing!"
"Departing?" The man's eyes widened.
"Grandmother Walburga died during the night." Harry explained. "You should get prepared as well."
Harry took the man's hand and proceeded to drag him upstairs.
WM
Andromeda Tonks was surprised by the arrival of a crow inside her house. She considered chasing the ill-omen bird when her eyes fell on the crow's claws on which were attached a piece of parchment.
She frowned: only the Black lord and heir used crow as messengers and she was pretty sure that her cousin Sirius, even with his new found freedom, would rather take an owl than use the traditional crow, symbol of their family.
She quickly took the message out of the claws of the crow:
'To Andromeda Black-Tonks.' It read in flourished black script.
'It is with a heavy heart that I came to inform you of the passing of your aunt: Lady Regent Walburga Irma Black.
Sincerely,
Heir apparent of the Black.
Antarès Aymeric Black.'
The letter was short and to the point, lacking clearly of the flourish which usually embellished the letter from her Aunt.
Even the letter announcing her disowning had not been so short – Andromeda really wished it had been:
It had been filled with imaginary faults of her husband and of any children who would be born out of their union. Aunt Walburga had gone on for two pages on how she was degrading herself and the Black and betraying the family motto.
She read the short message again: whoever that heir of the Black was, he had surely not known aunt Walburga to inform HER, the disgrace of the Black, the biggest stain in the Black family, of the old bigoted woman's passing.
She wondered briefly how the boy had been able to claim the title so quickly. It seemed impossible for the boy to have been named heir of the Black while her Aunt was still alive: she would have never accepted a bastard whom she would not have raised. And if she had raised him, she would have made sure to debilitate him with her idea on blood superiority and inflexible traditions and he would not have even considered to contact someone as 'dirty' as her, low worm she was in the eyes of her Aunt.
Before she met her Ted, she had always been considered a good daughter and sister. Her parents loved her and doted on her and her aunt approved of her – she always talked about how much alike they were, pride of the Black family they were.
She was the role model of her two younger sisters, the 'perfection' to reach. They were not the perfect family of course: it was hard to live up to her aunt's expectation. But they had been good enough, she had thought at the time. She would never have thought that her family would turn their back to her.
She had been so naive at the time. But she never had any regrets!
Ted loved her and taught her what a real family was like; far from the siblings rivalry, far from inflexible rules, far from unreachable expectation, far from blood-purity. She was simply happy and she would not change that for all the fortune in the Black Vaults.
She really pitied the boy who would have to live up to all those expectations, especially if her little sister, Narcissa, and her husband got their hands on him. Of course, with Sirius new found freedom, the man could surely claim guardianship over the boy. But then, with the minister so easily swayed...
Andromeda quickly got up, she had to warn Dumbledore. If there was one person who could do something about the boy, save him from the darkness, hatred, paranoia which plagued the Black and the pure-blooded family, that would be him.
WM
Sirius stood in front of the door of his mother's room, unsure what to do. The last time they had spoken to each other was just after his father's departing ceremony. And it had been quite ugly to say the least. She had screamed at him, outraged that he had dared to come. She had accused him of coming only to gloat over her dear husband's death. She had spit his name like a curse and had refused to let him in the room to pay his respect to his father.
It was on those time he regretted having chosen his friendship with James over his family. While he did not embrace the same ideology as his parents – blood did not make the wizard! –, he still loved his family deep down inside.
When his mother had sent him a howler – which had arrived in the privacy of his dorm – when he had been sorted in Gryffindor, he had tried to play it down like he did not care – his newly form friendship with James had helped with that. Their friendship had bloomed strong and quick as Sirius had been isolated of all he knew being sorted in Gryffindor. None of the 'friends' from childhood – all of whom had been sorted in Slytherin – would speak more than two words to him, looking in contempt at him as he was a lowly worm, a disgrace to his pure-blood status.
Even after receiving a letter from his father congratulating him for forming a friendship with the Potters whom, while being light sided fools, had political leverage and blood status equal to the Blacks, Sirius had felt abandon by his family. And if there was one thing Sirius Black feared above all, it was to be alone.
From there on, he had clung on James and his family – preferring to spend the holidays with the Potter rather than visiting his parents and antagonizing his parents at every turn by sticking Gryffindor banner in his room and muggle poster of girls in swimsuit. He had followed James blindly, partaking in foolish pranks to take his mind off the fact that his family disapproved of him and his behavior – but do not take him wrong, he loved pulling pranks and all the devious planning it involved. But true to his blood and his dark nature, he did take the prank too far. Like he had done with Severus Snape.
He had hated the boy who, despite his blood status – he was just a half-blood, for Merlin sake! –, had awed the Slytherin and gained, grudgingly, their respect for his excellent potion making ability and his spell work. Sirius knew that his hatred of the boy was irrational, but he could not bare to see the boy succeed where he had failed. If Sirius had been more like Snape, his family would not have abandoned him. It had been a fortunate turn of event that James, too, had developed an irrational jealousy of Snivellus – as they dubbed him – for his friendship with the charming Lily. They had taken on bullying him on every turn and Snivellus, far from being a meek Hufflepuff, had given back as much as he got – a fit worthy of a Slytherin considering that the ratio was 1 to 4. Sirius had taken it a step further when he had pretty much sent Snivellus to his death.
He had played the card of the thoughtless idiotic teenager adding it to the fact that he was a Gryffindor and thus impulsive and unpredictable, he had not thought that Snape could have died that night. It was just a harmless prank, he had pleaded. But the truth was that, that night, Sirius had known exactly what he was doing sending Snape to the shack.
Gullible Dumbledore had believed him. He could not see fault in any Gryffindor anyway. What with his turning a blind eye to the bullying they had put Snape through!
Finally, it had been decided that the 'incident' as Dumbledore called it, would be kept under wraps – for Remus' sake as well as James – and only the parents of the party involved would be warned.
Not that it matter much to him. In a fit of rebellion, he had cut all ties to his family at the mere age of sixteen over a trip he wanted to take with the Potter to some Greek islands. His mother had said no, his father had answered likewise, they were going to Germany that year for a series of Ball for Pure-Blood stuck up. It would have been his first official outing as the heir of the Black.
His mother had been outraged by his lack of interest in his duty as heir of Black, she had sent him the second howler he would ever receive in his life which he had not even bothered to answer to. His mother had proceeded to blast his name from the tapestry – much good it did – and ordered his father to disown him.
And that was how he ended up publicly disowned. Publicly but not officially. His father never went through the ceremony which would definitely strip him of his Black status. Maybe his father had had a slither of hope for him.
Sirius shook his head, trying to get out of his too vivid memories. Those were one of the numerous memories the Dementor's thrall dug out of his mind. They apparently loved regrets as much as despair and Sirius did live with a lot of regrets.
Sirius looked at the door, he would not add it to his long list of regrets. He would see his mother and talk to her. He would tell her how much she had hurt him and how much he had wished things had gone differently.
WM
Narcissa looked at the slightly battered pelting blue-painted back door. She had insisted they went through the front door, like any other guests. But her husband had stood firm and insisted they went through the back.
Where was his pride? To be forced through the servant gate!
She bombed her torso, raised her chin up and looked down at the disgusting pelting blue door. And now, she had to knock on it, actually touch the filthy things with her delicate hand. She just wanted to call on one of her house-elves to do it in her stead or better yet, go through the regal front door! But her husband stood just behind her, pressing her to knock on that blasted back door.
And where was that house-elf which her aunt seemed to favor so much? Kitcher, Ketcher, Kratcher whatever! It should have already opened the door to avoid her lowering herself further.
She reluctantly rapped her delicate hand on the wooden door and proceeded to impatiently tap her right foot the dirty half-buried welcome mat.
She glared angrily at her husband who stood tall, a step behind her.
The door cricked opened and Narcissa pushed her way inside the high ceiling Kitchen. She grimaced at the old fashion coal-covered lead cookware precarious hanging on the battered wall.
Could aunt Walburga upgrade her Kitchen already?
Lead cookware were so 60's, now it was time for copper cookware! It gave a way better taste to things than the low-quality lead!
She turned around brutally her hair flying over her face.
"Why did it take you so long to answer?" Narcissa snarled in anger at the disgusting creature half hidden behind the door.
"Kreacher be sorry, Mistress Malfoy. Kreacher have attend Master." The elf explained spatting out the word Master as he would a curse.
Narcissa snarled at the elf disgusting appearance. She, at least, had all her elves in clean pillowcase with the Malfoy Armory – apart from that disgusting little beast called Dobby! He could not keep its own clean to save his life which led to numerous gruesome punishment that Narcissa made a point to see through for each and every of them.
Fortunately, last year, her husband had seen fit to release him from his service.
A good riddance, if you asked her!
"Ah, Sorry for the wait!" A young voice came.
Narcissa looked up to see a young boy no older than her own little dragon, standing at the top of the stairs. He had long dark wavy hair fashioned in a high ponytail as was required for the heir of the house, his skin was fair and pale, his brilliant green eyes looked straight forward into her eyes with the pride any pure-blood should possess. But what caught Narcissa's attention, was the ring on the boy left index: It was the Black heir signet!
How was that possible?
Narcissa pursed her lips.
That signet belonged to her son! And no-one else!
"Welcome to the most noble and ancient house of Black." The young man explained as the custom required, bowing his head slightly in greeting. "I'm Antarès Aymeric Black, Heir apparent to the most noble and ancient house of Black."
Narcissa glared at the boy.
Heir apparent of the Black? How was it possible? How had it happened without her notice?
Had Sirius been so careless as to have some bastard with one of his whores?
"I'm Lord Lucius Abraxas Malfoy. Here is my Wife, Lady Narcissa Irma Malfoy née Black. And my son, Heir apparent Draco Lucius Malfoy." Lucius called out glaring at his wife for forgetting herself.
Narcissa gritted her teeth as her husband bowed his head to the bastard.
"Please, follow me, I'll show you to the departed." The bastard answered back.
Narcissa listened, distracted, as the bastard made small polite talk with her husband about the absence of his 'father' and the political state of the wizards' world leading them through the maze of stairs and rooms.
"You may wish to go to refresh yourself before facing the departed." The bastard discretely whispered to her as he showed her husband and son in.
"I do not need anything from a bastard like you." She whispered back coldly straightening herself.
She stepped inside the room, her head high and her icy blue eyes staring directly at the corpse of her aunt. She had to control herself not to smile in glee at the long awaited sight.
"Grandmother Walburga, Father. The Malfoy arrived to bid Grandmother their farewell." The bastard announced.
"Narcissa." Sirius acknowledged looking quite upset with something.
Narcissa doubted it had anything to do with the sudden death of his mother.
"Narcissa! You never had an ounce of decorum while I was alive, it is no surprise that you would not demonstrate any now that I'm dead! Coming painted like a clown at my departing! What a disgrace!" Her aunt berated.
But Narcissa could not care less about what the hag could rant about. She wanted explanation about this bastard! Where did he come from?
"So cousin, where did you get this little bastard? Which of your little whores played you for a fool?" Narcissa attacked, wanting to reel her cousin.
She ignored the disproving glanced of her husband as she looked down at her reddening cousin.
A plan was already forming in her head, she would get the Black Lordship no matter what!
WM
'So this man is Sirius Black.' Harry wondered as he stood in the back of the room, half listening to his Grandmother rants about proper decorum.
He remembered Grandmother Walburga ranting about her traitorous son. Apparently, he had been sorted in the wrong house at Hogwart and associating with wrong crowds.
To Harry, Grandmother Walburga's grudge was a lot like Vernon Dursley love of normalcy: totally biased and a waste of time. Plus he pretty much liked Sirius Black, apart from the fact that, if he was to believe Grandmother – which he did not –, the man was 'his father', Sirius looked eerily like the Dark Knight of his childhood fairytale and he called him Harry a name Harry long to hear himself called by. Not that Antarès was not a good name; he just preferred Harry. It felt just right to him.
Harry's attention was drawn back to the conversation when he heard Narcissa acidic sweet voice utter the word 'Whore'.
"Is that the speech of a lady?" Harry let out. "Such plebeian words in such a beautiful mouth."
Harry could feel all eyes turned on him. He could tell without seeing her that Grandmother Walburga's portrait had a smug smirk hanging on her face, proud that he reacted as she had raised him. He might have looked harmless to most but his tongue could be sharp, quick and poisonous.
Harry watched carefully as Narcissa frame stiffened her eyes narrowing menacingly at him and she knew she was trying to held back a bitter remark. As for her son, he seemed ready to implode into a litany of insults which would surely be as lacking as his mother's in term of creativity. The husband, on the other hand, was looking at him with appraising eyes. And Harry knew, that while the wife and son were useless at this dance, the husband might prove challenging.
"My mother, while having a status, was unfortunately a quite profligate person in her youth which, ultimately, led her to her death." Harry explained briefly.
Harry not so discretely glanced at Narcissa.
"The thoughtlessness of youth." Harry added using the very same phrasing Grandmother Walburga had told him Grand Uncle Cignus had used, years ago, to qualify Narcissa's behavior with Lucius.
"How dare you, little bastard !" Narcissa spit out, glaring at the outrageous boy, recognizing the words for what they were.
"Lord Malfoy." Harry called out, using the man proper title, acknowledging him as someone worth his respect. "Accept my apologize for upsetting your lady."
Harry bowed a little in Lucius' direction. Harry smirked knowing this was yet an other blow to Narcissa's pride.
"Please call me uncle, young Antarès." Lucius acknowledged Harry. "Excuse my wife. She is quite upset at the loss of her cherish aunt."
"Uncle." Harry smirked. It was a small victory, but a victory none the less.
His mental victory dance was interrupted by the sound of rapping on the front door. Finally, the first guests coming to pay their respect had finally arrived.
To Be Continued...
(1) Dragon's Blood does not refer to true dragon's blood but to a powder made out of resin from dracaena (or other plants of the same family.)
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