Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based upon the Harry Potter world, and all recognizable elements of the plot, characters, and settings are completely the property of J.K Rowling.

Prologue

Elara was not one to hesitate; it was only what her chosen profession of mediwitch demanded. Yet standing at the doorstep of 12 Grimmauld Place, there was no denying the truth—she was downright nervous. The bundle within her arms stirred slightly, perhaps sensing her distress. Despite herself, a fond smile greeted the slumbering face. Her son was often quiet, almost mistaken for shyness, though her husband instantly denied the possibility. Leo had taken after his father, after all.

Another tremble befell her limbs, as well as the frozen shard digging a little deeper into her chest. There was a time and place for that, Elara thought, adjusting her dress slightly. The details mattered now, more than ever. A flush glazed over her cheeks, as she realized that she would meet her mother-in-law for the first time—though she dispelled it immediately. The ridiculousness of the circumstances was not lost on her, but she stowed away those feelings deep inside her heart, as she always did.

She dawned the mask once again, a determined expression plastered on.

The knocks against the darkwood door resonated in a pulsation of magic that seeped through the cracks; perhaps a magical equivalent of a door bell. After a few moments, the door creaked open, revealing a middle-aged woman, with peppered-hair tied up in a bun, outfitted in a smart but clearly casual dress, telling of the time period. If one glanced at the woman from a distance, it would be easy to dismiss her — but those eyes; eyes filled with a grey vigor and the guile of someone decades younger.

"Bonsoir, Lady Black," Elara said, curtseying as gracefully as she could.

Walburga Black, nodded politely, as befitting a lady of her station, but she noticed the stiffness in her posture; it seemed as though there was not a shred of uncertainty in her.

"Lady Rougmont," she replied, her voice as sharp and kind as a knife's edge. "It is a surprise to find you here at this hour."

Not a mention of her son yet, Elara noted. Her mother-in-law had studied him from the corner of her eyes immediately; a few glances, here and there. She was curious, but not enough to forget herself and her position.

"I request asylum," Elara said purposely. "A private audience as well."

Walburga's perfect demeanor flickered for a heartbeat, before she nodded curtly, and re-entered the house; not a question raised at all. Elara followed after her, only hesitating slightly at the threshold.

Grimmauld Place was different from what she had imagined — each and every story she heard deemed it a horrific place, and the gloomy atmosphere only seemed to accommodate them. While it still pulsated with a sense of melancholy, there was a hint of warmth; of a time where these halls were filled with happiness. Walburga clapped her hands softly, not even pausing in her step.

"Kreature," she said. "Prepare refreshments for our guest."

The house elf appeared with a soft pop, bowing so low, his nose brushed against the floor. He was dressed in rags but they seemed inherently to fit him better, as though they were his source of pride. Elara wrinkled her nose slightly, though she hid her expression behind her knuckles. Many counties of Wizarding France had discontinued the usage of house elves, finding their presence to be unbefitting of their beautiful image. At least for personal usage, Elara thought grimly, countless private industries still utilized them for the production of their goods, where the light of day would never be defiled.

Still, the creature was respectful, so she ignored it; her nervousness providing an ample distraction from her distastes.

Walburga entered a parlor, gesturing politely to one of the couches, waiting until Elara was seated, before planting herself directly in front of her. They did not speak, waiting until a plate of biscuits and water appeared upon the glass table with a pop. No hand had extended, even with the starving clenching of her stomach; the first to touch them would be declared impolite, and Elara did not wish to be rejected for a breach in mannerisms. In a similar vein, Elara waited for Walburga to speak, the hostess in this situation.

"Well?" she asked. "You wished for asylum, and a private audience."

"My lady," Elara replied, hesitating for only a moment, before continuing. "Your son…my husband…was imprisoned on charges of mass murderer."

"Yes, quite a scandal," Walburga said, reaching forward, and drinking from her glass. "He was caught yesterday night, and in the morning, the Ministry reports him placed in Azkaban."

Elara narrowed her eyes. "There was no trial?"

"Perhaps not."

"T-Then we must write to the Ministry, demand that they-."

"What would that accomplish, child?" Walburga asked. "The war has only just concluded, and the public despise each and every dark family. Fools, the lot of them, but my son was the perfect focus for all that hatred. The Ministry would not risk a chance at his freedom."

"It's not just!" Elara said, anger bubbling within her.

"Rarely is anything in life just," she replied. "The House of Black knows this above all else."

A tremble threatened to over take her body; Leopold could feel it.

"So you will do nothing?" Elara hissed. "He is your son! Do you not care?"

Walburga was raised a finger, a silent expression of cold fury, contrasting the neutrality woven into her face's mask.

"Silence," she said, a dangerous undertone to her voice. "I will not have you disrespecting my generosity, and by extension, my House."

Silence reigned for what seemed like hours, before Elara slumped, all of her vigor dissipating as reality descended upon her truly. She did not cry, nor would she. Leo held onto her arm, squeezing gently. It was comforting, and she held him close; the tear within her chest healing just a little more. Like his father, indeed.

"I understand your frustration, child," Walburga said in a tone softer than she expected. "In the past three years, I have lost my husband, and both my sons." She paused. "No, I suppose I lost my eldest long before."

Elara glanced at the Black Family Tree, focusing particularly on the most recent burn mark; the one that had replaced Sirius's name and image, as he had bitterly detailed. But it seemed to be repaired slightly, the faint outline of his face visible beneath.

Walburga continued. "After Sirius left, Regulus was to be heir. He was the perfect son…the perfect pureblood. Orion and I were proud when he joined that radical terrorist group." She laughed mirthlessly. "Of course, we did not know of their true nature. If we knew that our son was to be branded like cattle, and made to kiss the robes of a mudblood, we would have never encouraged him to join."

"Mudblood?" Elara gasped. "You mean that he-."

"Why else would he hide his name?" Walburga asked. "Any pureblood would bear their name with pride. Grindelwald was not such a coward. Yet this dark lord was powerful, and Regulus was too frightened to leave, surrendering more and more of himself, until only a corpse remained. Perhaps Sirius was correct in avoiding our ministrations, or he may have died as well." Another laugh spilled from her lips. "The moment when he finally adhered to our wishes, was when he too became lost."

Elara tightened her jaw slightly. "Sirius did not commit those crimes."

"It does not matter," she replied. "The evidence dictates that he did. All we can do is hope for any proof of his innocence. Until then…"

Walburga did not need to finish her thought, for it seemed to linger in the parlor. Sirius would have to suffer damnation for years, and….she did not know how long. The only potential witness that could provide counter evidence vanished, not even confirmed dead. Her husband mentioned Peter Petigrew the least of his band of self-proclaimed genius, though Elara thought them more a motley crew of delinquents. He loved them, yet, not a single one still remained to save him now.

Elara's arms tightened around Leopold, and he squirmed a little, uncomfortably.

"He is a quiet boy," Walburga said, her eyes glazed over as she stared at him.

"Yes," Elara said, smiling slightly. "Oftentimes, I wonder if he can hear and understand us."

"He reminds me of Orion, when we were still young," she mused. "What is his name?"

"Leopold," Elara replied, hefting her son proudly. "Leopold Sirius Black."

Walburga's lips twitched. "I suppose that was my son's decision?"

"Not entirely," she said. "My favorite uncle was Bulgarian, strong and ruthless in the political field. I believed that he deserved to be honored in name, as he did not have children of his own. But you are still somewhat correct. Sirius wished to honor his Hogwarts house as well as following the naming scheme of House Black." Elara sighed. "Honestly, I do not understand the British obsession with school houses past graduation. In Beauxbatons, there was no such system at all."

Walburga smiled with clear amusement. "It is more than simply about school houses. They are precursors to the real-world's societal framework, though extremely simplified. When Hogwarts was founded, Britain required peasants, scholars, soldiers, and rulers. Most of House Black were sorted into Slytherin to become rulers of some sort, and as such, our sorting became a source of pride for us." She shook her head. "Sirius was not fit to be a ruler, I see that now. He was entirely a soldier, while Regulus…I believe that in his later years, he may have preferred to be a scholar, rather than a ruler. Instead, he was forced to become a soldier."

Elara frowned, looking down at Leopold. Walburga seemed to read her thoughts.

"He'll be a Slytherin," she said, staring at her grandson. "Not because he is a Black, but because of his eyes. They are of his great-grandfather, Lord Arcturus Black, grey and flecked with black…glinting with intelligence."

"Of course, he'll need to be," Walburga continued. "As the Heir Apparent of House Black, it would be his responsibility to lead us when he reaches his maturity. Lord Black was most saddened at the death of Orion, and Regulus, as well as the imprisonment of Sirius. Yet, he knows of Leopold, and will no doubt attempt to groom him for his future lordship."

The prospect of her son, learning from the infamous Arcturus Black both intrigued and frightened him her yet she knew that whatever his great-grandfather would teach would definitely be essential to navigate the fragile political framework of Wizarding Britain.

"Ah yes," she said, straightening her posture, as the Lady Black resurged. You will require accommodation, would you not?"

"I do not mean to impose," Elara said politely. "Perhaps for a few months, then we may need to move to France to live with my family."

"Nonsense," Walburga said, waving her hand aside. "You both may live here in Grimmauld Place. As a Black and his grandmother, it is my responsibility to play a role in raising him, in place of my son. Then you may visit your parents to let Leopold know his maternal family as well."

Elara relaxed, as the weight of being a single-mother, caring for her son was alleviated significantly.

"Thank you, my lady," she said, bowing her head slightly.

"Please, we are family," Walburga said, a gentle smile upon her face. "You may refer to me as Walburga."

"Then I must grant you the same courtesy, Walburga."

As their conversation then dissolved into talks of topics of certain families, the political landscape, and delving into her work as a mediwitch in France, Elara did not realize that her meagre step of pure desperation would mold the future of House Black. All that was required was a foundation and the spark that lit within her son. A tinge of ambition was only a necessity for being a Black, after all, and it could only lead down a path against the world.