November 3, 1981

The morning started with a fight. Or, Narcissa supposed, swirling her tea around with a flick of her pinky, an argument. Tensions in Malfoy Manor had been rising since Draco's birthday in June, and the recent crash in job security for Lucius only made things more strained. If the situation she found herself in wasn't so precarious, she might have been smug that her warnings to her husband had been correct.

She'd been telling him for years that the Dark Lord should be kept at arm's length, that he needn't join in the madness of the crusade outright no matter what sickly Abraxas Malfoy has said, that Draco, his son, their son, deserved to be kept safe. He deserved a chance to be raised away from chaos and bloodshed and men playing at being god's — men she knew would never once hesitate if it came to hurting him. The Dark Lord would have crushed Draco underfoot if he thought it would help him in his quest for power.

Lucius never listened.

He put on a good act. He'd nod dutifully, respond carefully, and press chaste kisses down on her cheeks, but he'd never taken her words to heart. Instead, he'd don black robes and a grotesque mask, and he'd disappear to destroy whatever he was ordered to destroy. He'd come home sometimes smelling like smoke, sometimes like rot, or, on the worst days, like death. His magic, in her opinion, suffered the most. It was always manic after a mission; all twisted up and dreadful and clingy.

How many days had she been forced to hear about the strength and greatness of the Dark Lord? How many galas did she have to suffer through, enduring the creeping weight of the Dark Lord's eyes on her, searching her head for any inclination of betrayal? How many times did her husband say to her, breathless, in awe, and, sometimes, a little drunk: "The taste he gives us of his power is only a drop of what he can actually do. He's like Apollo reborn."

Perhaps he was like Apollo. He was, after all, bright, alluring. He drew all of them, all of his precious, renewable Death Eaters, to his side like moths to an open flame. The threat of danger was always humming in the air, but never a foreseeable reality. And now — now, after the extraordinary, awe-inspiring, god-like Dark Lord was dead, killed by a Half-blood baby — Lucius and his contemporaries were dropping from the sky, repeating the mistakes of Icarus.

Sighing, she took a sip of her tea, before wrinkling her nose. She hated bergamot.

Today would mark the third day in a row her husband had hurried off to the Ministry, rising with the sun and vanishing in a violent whorl of Floo-powder. Today also marked the third day she'd tried to get answers out of him, and the third day that her questions resulted in a hushed argument in the foyer.

Narcissa had asked, smoothing a hand over Lucius fine robes, "Will you tell me your plans, darling? You can't imagine how worried I am all day not knowing what's happening." She made sure to look away from him when she added, "Or what will happen."

He hadn't taken her gentle insinuation well. "I'm not going to let anything happen. You are well aware of how delicate the situation we've been thrown into is. My apologies for not running everything I do by you first, but I hardly have any time to waste, and I would assume that you, of all people, would trust me enough to get us out of this."

"Oh darling, I do trust you. I just want to help. Perhaps I could ease your workload, or contact some assets, or, well, anything." Before she could stop herself, the tender part of her, the part that still remembered how giddy she'd been to marry the handsome and gentle Malfoy heir, burst forward along with her doubts. "Lucius, you can't tell me you actually believe you'll be able to dig yourself out of this on your own. Dumbledore is consolidating power, the Wizengamot is in chaos, and too many people suspect you already. It would be easy for someone to implicate you or use information about you to reduce their sentence — Parkinson would in a heartbeat, or Montague, he's always hated you. Please, let me do something—"

He interrupted her. "I," he said, his eyes glinting, "am going to leave for the Ministry. By the time I return this evening, I hope such... insolent thoughts of yours are dealt with."

And then he was off.

He was nervous, she'd realized moments after he vanished. He was nervous and that made her pause. Narcissa, in all the years that she'd been married to Lucius, could not remember a time he'd ever been nervous.

When Moody's Aurors were searching through every nook and cranny in the Manor, he only smiled and offered them refreshments when the hunt was over and nothing was found. When Abraxas had sat them down and explained that his mother, Delphine, suffered from a hereditary madness and that it could very easily pass onto him, Lucius hadn't blinked. Instead, he folded his hands neatly and told his father, "I would take this opportunity to point out that I'm still of sounder mind than you are."

But now with the Dark Lord's defeat, he was nervous. He hadn't planned for what to do in such a situation. After all, the Dark Lord was practically a god among men, what chance was there that he would ever lose power?

Apparently, they hadn't planned for toddlers to have any grave impact on world domination. Narcissa could hardly stop herself from laughing at how absurd her life was. Her husband was probably going to be arrested for following a madman. She was probably, at the very least, going to be investigated to see if she had a part in any of his actions, and her son would be at the mercy of the Ministry — or worse, her sister.

Bellatrix had, thankfully, disappeared after the news of the Dark Lord's defeat. Had her sister decided to stay at the Manor, Narcissa was certain she'd somehow be embroiled in a half-mad revenge scheme, and, really, that was the last thing anyone needed. She loved her sister, of course, but as the years went on, Bellatrix had only become more unstable, more vicious, more devotional, and Narcissa's sometimes transparent loyalty to the Dark Lord had only created rifts between them.

Privately, she blamed Rodolphus for who her sister had become. He freed her from the restrictions Arcturus had kept her under when she was still a member of the House, and let her mania run unchecked. When Rodolphus first attended a Death Eater meeting, Bellatrix attended at his side. And when the Dark Lord promised a world remade in blood, her sister promptly dedicated herself to him. Rodolphus may have offered her freedom to torture and kill and experiment as she pleased, but the Dark Lord offered her real power and, to Bellatrix, as obsessive as she was, someone deserving of her affections.

Her sister was a frightening creature now. She was nearly unrecognizable from the girl who had let her stand on her toes to teach her to waltz and smuggled sugar quills around their parents to give her when she was sick. Now when she thought of Bellatrix she remembered the harsh smile she'd worn when she held Draco for the first time, she remembered how her long nails ran across her son's face like a taunt, and she remembered, with dread, what her sister had said.

"He's perfect, Cissy. And so clearly more Black than Malfoy. The wittle dragon here will be strong in his service to the Dark Lord. Wittle, itty-bitty dragons are fierce and devoted to their Masters — oh, yes they are," Bellatrix had sung, half to her and half to Draco, sleeping in her arms.

After that particular incident, Narcissa had gone out of her way to avoid her sister. Draco was too young and too good to be involved in any of the Dark Lord's schemes. If she had it her way he'd never be in the same house as him, let alone close enough to gain any sort of attention.

Of course, now amidst the uncertainty that had befallen her family, she wished Bellatrix the best in avoiding the Ministry, but if they decided to go after her there was very little she could do to help. It made her twitch in anxiety to think about what would become of her headstrong sister (and Lucius — but, as it was, she had much more faith in her husband managing to escape persecution than Bellatrix. She could be rather impulsive at times).

Crouch was on a warpath. Already he'd managed to arrest Sirius, throwing him into Azkaban before anyone could take notice. She tried not to think of her younger cousin often, but she would never have taken him for a Death Eater or the Dark Lord's right hand, especially considering what happened in May. Lucius only twitched when she brought it up, refusing to answer her questions and leaving her even more curious as to her cousin's status.

Sirius had always deplored anything to do with blood purity and preferred to befriend mudbloods and half-breeds over proper witches and wizards. If he was a Death Eater than she'd have to give him credit for being a better actor than anyone could have expected. If he wasn't — well, then she'd have a problem, and Crouch would have a bigger one.

It was odd to think that the only person in her family that would without a doubt escape the current turmoil in the magical world was Andromeda. Her mudblood loving, blood traitor sister would be able to continue living in peace and, while that fact alone should fill her with anger, she couldn't help but feel proud despite herself. Not about Andromeda's choices, those were absolutely reprehensible, but that her sister had somehow managed to do what Narcissa wanted to do for the duration of the war. She kept her head down and her family safe. It was applaudable, enviable.

But since she refused to make empathy for blood traitors a habit, she brushed all thoughts of her estranged sister away.

She sighed and took another sip of her tea. Inexplicably, she found herself feeling nostalgic. She missed the early days of her and Lucius's marriage, when they'd dance and take vacations for no reason whatsoever and Bellatrix was happy — or as close to happy as her sister could be without bloodshed — and everything was rose-tinted and the world seemed to spread forward endlessly, often times going out of its way to cater to their needs. Of course, in those days Draco hadn't even been a thought in her mind, and she would trade a million halcyon days just to ensure his happiness.

He was being entertained by his governess for the time being. Narcissa didn't want to risk startling him if the Ministry sent people to the Manor and, in a worst-case scenario, if she was taken away for questioning the governess, a young, plucky thing named Emeraude, would spirit him away to her Grandmother Irma in Germany. Lucius, naturally, had no idea. If he did, she could already imagine the condescending tone he'd take up with her, telling her that he had "everything under control" and that she "needn't worry about matters that will right themselves given the proper attention." Both were things he'd already spat at her over the last few days.

She loved her husband, even if she was far from pleased with his conduct at the moment, but he was slowly digging himself into a hole that she would bury him in if he wasn't careful. She wasn't some airheaded trophy wife like Priscilla Parkinson and she certainly wasn't going to run to the DMLE like Anita Higgs had. She would always stay and protect their interests, even if Lucius seemed to think she was too feeble-minded to do so.

Narcissa was, after all, a Black before she was a Malfoy, and very proud of the fact. If her husband continued to overlook her capabilities then she would have to do something very unpleasant and certainly improper. She could deny their similarities all she wanted, but Bellatrix was still her sister, and, for all their differences, they were more alike than she really wanted to admit.

But that was neither here nor there. Lucius was just as anxious as she was, and getting worked up about his actions wouldn't solve anything. When this situation passed — she refused to get caught on the very possible chance that they were dealing with an if and not a when — and things settled again, Lucius would return to himself. On the very slim chance he didn't, then she'd do something about it. For now, she just had to breathe. Doing nothing but worrying for days on end had, unsurprisingly, done nothing kind for her. Not worrying, however, was easier said than done.

Before she could spiral any farther in her thoughts, a familiar tapping filled the sitting room. She had an owl. For a moment, everything was lost behind the roar in her ears and the anxiety she felt clawing its way up her throat. Then, with a start, she recognized the bird as one from Black Manor's owlery. She hadn't known that Arcturus and Melania returned home.

With a nervous flick of her wrist, the window unbolted and the owl flew inside, dropping the letter next to her before flying away just as quickly as he'd come. The parchment was soft, her name was written in emerald ink across the envelope, and knowing Melania, she'd probably laced her ink with a poison of some sort.

The letter itself was addressed solely to her, which was a relief. Her family were not the fondest of Lucius, and letters addressed to the pair of them were, more often than not, filled with contempt and complaints and, on occasion, curses.

Oh, how she'd missed her family.

Resigned, she read:

Dearest Narcissa,

While Arcturus and I were abroad we missed many things. I recently became aware that you gave birth to a healthy boy and that you honored him with a name from our House. There is no way to overstate my pride in you, and I'm sure that Pollux and Irma will express the same when they see you again. With that said, Arcturus and I wish to offer our congratulations. Your relationship with Lord Malfoy has always, unfortunately, been a point of contention in the House, but it is my hope that with the recent turn in your husband's politics that a sort of reconciliation could be reached.

Beyond any platitudes I can offer, I only wish to remind you that before you are Lady Malfoy, you are Narcissa Black of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Over the past decades, our families power has diminished and our reputation has been varnished, and I'm sure you would agree that with such a family as ours, that is one of the greatest travesties to befall our society in recent years.

With that in mind, Arcturus and I would also like to humbly extend an invitation to you, and you alone, to join us in Black Manor later this afternoon to participate in a family Council.

With the greatest fondness,

Toujours Pur

Melania M. Black

She blinked. Then blinked again, before rereading the letter to ensure she hadn't misread it. The Lady Black had always been aggressive, but this letter implied a lot of things that went beyond plain aggression. There were implications here about greater things. Implications about more power, about more prestige, about a family revival.

For the first time in days, maybe even weeks, Narcissa found herself smiling.

. . . . . . . . . .

Black Manor had always been a grand and imposing place. She hadn't visited often as a child, just enough to have a skin-deep familiarity with it, but even now, years later, its visage made her hesitate. She brushed it off. After all, she was a Black first and foremost and had no reason to worry — at least, that's what she told herself.

She'd just made it up the front steps, and was about to knock on the door, when a loud voice called out from behind her, "Oh, could it be our precious daisy? Back from your shanty with those Malfoy's? Tck. Abraxas was always a little worm. You know, he always fancied himself blondes. I've always said that that man was half in love with himself, but to marry girls who could pass as his twin… and so young. Harfang. Harfang, look at her. Too young to be withering away with that Malfoy. What her father was thinking, I'll never understand. He was nearly as brainless as your family."

Callidora Longbottom certainly was a whirlwind of a witch. For such a slight woman, she had more presence than half of the girls she had tea with could ever muster. Narcissa had always been impressed by her ability to say so much without breathing. Her mother not so much, but that was most likely because she was on the opposite end of many of Callidora rants. Now, she was starting to understand her mother's frustration.

Fixing a smile on her face, and graciously ignoring the slight towards her husband's family, she said, "Auntie, it's so good to see you again. I haven't heard any news of you since the Longbottom's announced their heir. Unfortunately, you seem to have mixed up my husband with his father. I'm married to Lucius, not Abraxas."

"Bah. They're all identical, by any means." Callidora said, looking her up and down, which was ridiculous as Narcissa was half a head taller than her.

Harfang had the decency to look embarrassed by his wife's behavior. "May many good tidings befall your family," he said with a nod, not seeming to mean it one bit. "Pardon me, my dear, but I'm forgetting your name… Andromeda, was it?"

"Oh, you hopeless buffoon." Her aunt hissed, "Andromeda was the one who ran off and eloped with that Muggle-born boy. Utterly shameful. Elopements are such a farce. She should have had the goodwill to at least invite those of us who tolerated her. But no, she had to follow in the footsteps of Cedrella. Truly, truly unacceptable." She gestured towards her, "This is Narcissa. She may have married a Malfoy but she had the decency to do it publically. Very brave thing to do, girl. You have strength that your sister will never know."

Narcissa's smile tightened.

Harfang glowered. "Well, how am I supposed to remember that! You have so many family members I have half a mind to carry around a family tree!"

"You'd be down to a quarter of a mind, in that case, darling. I'll advise you to suck it up. I had no problems cohabitating with your family for years. And Merlin knows that I was deeply, deeply tested through it all. I, however, pulled through."

"Calli, you hardly knew anyone's names. You either gave them nicknames or just pointed at them like they were house elves."

Her aunt sniffed. "Nicknames are a sign of affection. I would have thought you'd have cherished the sign that I was opening up to your dreadful relations."

"Perhaps I would have cherished it if—"

He was interrupted by a very pointed cough from the doorway. Narcissa pivoted around, cursing herself for getting caught up in the spat, and found Melania standing behind them looking cross. The Lady Black was, perhaps, even more elegant than she remembered; dignified, decorous, cold. She had always been beautiful, but now with the forbidding air about her, there was a terrible edge to it. Her hair was still a glossy copper, somewhat muted with her age, and her posture was just as rigid, but the warmth that once filled her pale eyes was gone.

Glaring at them, she said, "If you all are finished behaving like muggles, I would be inclined to let you in."

Narcissa immediately dipped into a small curtsy, as was proper when reintroducing oneself to a Head of House after such a long time apart, and murmured, "Lady Black." Behind her Harfang and Callidora were undoubtedly following the same tradition.

"Yes, yes, you all have manners." Melania seemed to narrow in on Callidora as she said this, but continued nevertheless. "Please come in, and follow me. There's much we need to discuss."

She straightened immediately, the hours of lessons drilled into her head moving her along like a marionette. Behind her, she could barely make out what Callidora muttered under her breath — something crude about where Melania's wand was — but the hiss that escaped her after Harfang presumably elbowed her was loud enough to make the already testy witch leading them into her house stop and glare back at them.

The Manor itself was warm but airy. There was no sign of the dust that had to have accumulated while the Lord and Lady were away. The oddities that lined the hallways were shining from where they sat on ebony tables, waiting to be looked at. A few of them, like the ancient golden astrolabe and the winking circlet of stars, caught Narcissa's attention, but the pace Melania set kept her from studying them any further. It was probably for the best, as the antiquities kept by the House of Black were more often than not chosen for their malevolence rather than their beauty.

Above the oddities, the walls were lined with portraits, dozens of them all looking at their little group as they walked. Growing up, Narcissa remembered that her distant, long-dead relatives would usually be out of their frames or sleeping, seeming to have better things to do than watch as her and her sisters ran throughout their ancestral home, trying to find ways to prank their mother. The scrutiny they watched her with now would have been more nerve-wracking if she hadn't been so used to the Dark Lord picking her thoughts from her head, looking for even the barest hint of dissent so that he could punish her.

Melania stopped suddenly outside of a large, arched door without a handle. For anyone outside of the family it would have been unassuming, just another example of the strangeness of the Black's. For Narcissa, however, it was like walking into a Thunderbird. As soon as she neared the door she felt electric, her magic was buzzing, and the family magic seemed to loop around her, cocooning her and reassuring her that she was a Black, that she would always be a Black. The magic left her after a moment, tendrils of it still swirling around her, and she wondered if this is what Lucius felt with the Dark Lord: power and ecstasy and a withdrawal that came far too quickly.

"You three aren't the last to arrive. That honor, unfortunately, belongs to my daughter," Melania said, after giving the three of them a moment to collect themselves. "For years you've all acted without any sense of your House. For the sake of the Council, please pull yourselves together."

Callidora huffed, as Melania looked pointedly at her, but said nothing.

Placing her hand on the odd stone door, the Lady Black muttered something under her breath — a string of Latin that, while meaningless to Narcissa, must have served as a powerful charm since the door melted away into nothing as she spoke. Behind the unobscured archway was a round stone table that seated many familiar faces. The family magic squeezed around her again, before dissipating, moving into the room and wrapping around a graying, weathered old man. If she wasn't mistaken it was Arcturus, the current Lord Black.

Melania glared around at them again, but this time there was something softer about her face. An old, easily called upon kindness, that she was working very hard on concealing. "Well, don't dally now. In you go."

Narcissa stepped through first.

She wasn't sure if she was supposed to greet Arcturus first or if she was to just sit down and await the start of the Council, whatever that entailed, but the choice was taken from her when her grandmother called from where she was sitting, "Come here, dear," while patting the stone seat next to her.

Irma always had a soft spot for her. She would seek out her company over her sisters and gift her Crabbe family heirlooms that probably should have gone to Bellatrix, and, most importantly, while she was growing up her grandmother was kind, always willing to answer her questions however trivial or foolish. When the war heated up, and everyone was initially going into hiding, her grandmother stopped by Malfoy Manor for tea and invited Narcissa to leave Britain with her and grandfather. It was a sweet offer, but one she had to refuse.

As she settled into her spot at the table, glad to no longer be the center of everyone's attention, Callidora strode into the room dragging Harfang along by the arm. The Longbottom's moved loudly around the table, before dropping into seats across from Arcturus. Neither seemed to think it was much of an honor.

"Arcturus it's good to see you back with us," Callidora said, not looking at a bit sincere. "Cutting your hair was a wise choice. If you left it as long as it was before you left, you would have looked like Phineas Nigellus, and, really, no one would want that."

Irma gave a titter at that, Arcturus and her always had some sort of feud between them, and Melania's heels clicked against the tiled floors ominously as she moved to her own seat. Arcturus only raised a disinterested eyebrow at her. "Cousin. How charming it is to see you again. Why, exactly, are you here?"

"That wife of yours wrote to me. Seems she's finally good for something, hm. I remember how angry you were when your betrothal to that tart of a girl was broken. What was her name again? Evaline? Corrianna? I suppose it doesn't matter. Imagine my surprise, when I got an owl from Melania of all people, informing me about the Council. Well, I knew it had to be important for her to send me a letter, so here I am, taking precious time out of my day for you."

Grabbing Melania's hand, probably to keep her from drawing her wand, Arcturus took a deep breath. "It's a wonder you were interested in the Council at all considering we're to discuss current events, and you always seem to be stuck in the past." Callidora hissed, but he continued as if he hadn't heard. "In any event, the Council is for Black's only. An exception was made for you, as you were once a Black, but your husband has never been part of this family."

Harfang looked decidedly uncomfortable under Arcturus' stare and twitched like he planned on standing, but Callidora clutched at his arm to keep him in place. "The letter sweet Melania sent was addressed to both me and my husband. More importantly, Harfang has been privy to every action of this family since we were married and has proven himself as an invaluable ally to House Black. He's not going to hurt the family for his own self-gain, and you know that. He's a Longbottom, not a Malfoy."

Narcissa didn't twitch at the insult. The family had always disparaged her father's choice of setting her up with Lucius and she doubted that they would ever approve of her husband. Her grandmother, ever her defender, called down the table on her behalf, scowling at Callidora. "If you haven't forgotten, we have a Malfoy in our company now!"

"All the more reason to send her away," her aunt Cassiopeia said, her long nails clicking against the table.

"Narcissa is a Black first and foremost," Melania interrupted. "Lucius wasn't invited due to his ties to the Dark Lord, not because some of us disprove of the Malfoy family."

Callidora sniffed, "Some of us? I can't think of anyone in their right mind who approves of the Malfoy family. A bunch of no good, spineless—"

"That's enough!" Irma said, her voice raising. "Narcissa has done more for this family the past few years than anyone else here has. And she's done it as a Malfoy!"

Cassiopeia made an angry noise.

"Yes, yes, you've done quite a lot as well," Irma acquiesced. "I would just like some acknowledgment for my granddaughter. The girl even named her son for our House. Surely, that deserves some merit. Think Callidora, the Malfoy heir shall be more Black than Malfoy."

Truthfully, Narcissa didn't have any ulterior motive when she named Draco, but if her family wanted to think she did it to undermine her husband then she would let them. Blushing high in her cheeks, she demurred, "I did what anyone else in my position would, Grandmother."

"Yes, of course, you did," Cassiopeia sneered.

There was a beat of silence. Callidora took the moment to recompose herself, happy to let the subject of the Malfoy's drop if it meant scrutiny of her own husband lessened. Narcissa understood her more at that moment than she ever had before. Then she opened her mouth again, and any semblance of calm at the table fell away.

"It is so good to be with family again." She said as if she hadn't spent the last few minutes antagonizing everyone who sat around her. "I've missed you all terribly. Even you Pollux, which I never thought would happen considering how dreadful you were to me when I was a child."

Her grandfather glared. "You would create hordes of bees to follow me around whenever I was forced to watch you. You were well aware that I'm deathly allergic to them."

Cassiopeia laughed.

"Oh, Pollux," she shrugged, her lips quirking. "It was just a bit of childhood mischief. You know that you managed to get revenge, don't act as though you didn't."

Melania made a noise of distress. "Callidora now is not the time—"

That was the wrong thing to say. If there was one thing that Callidora loved, it was irritating people. "Good Merlin, Melania. It's been years since I've had to deal with you and your sensibilities, and even after all this time your voice makes my ears ring. I've spent the past few appalling, distressful years shackled up in hiding with my in-laws. It was truly a fate worse than death. I should have braved the Dark Lord. And now that I'm back with family, you tell me it's not the time. Well, sod that."

Narcissa coughed, Cassiopeia cackled, and Harfang looked at his wife aghast.

"It wasn't that bad, darling," he said. "You told me Augusta had grown on you."

Callidora nodded. "Indeed, like cobwebs grow over a house, or mold grows over rotten bread. That woman is the single most vexing person I've ever met. And I've met her husband — no, don't defend Herman. He spent the whole duration of our time in the Manor whining about how unfair it was that he had to put up with a Dark Lord ruining his retirement. That man had the gall to speak about Cedrella like she was a friend. Well, he should be glad that I decided it wouldn't be worth my time to practice my spellcasting on him. Not to mention that other brother of yours, Algie. I swear if I hadn't met him, I never would have thought it possible for one person to be born lacking an entire brain."

Harfang looked at her in shock. "You never told me—"

"Tell me what good would it have done me when we were stuck living with them? The only ones that were remotely tolerable were that French girl and her baby — and I was forced away from them more often than not!

"Frank thought that you might upset Neville."

She sniffed. "With a name like Neville the boy will have to grow a thick skin sooner or later. I don't know what those two were thinking. Frank and Alice and Neville. It just doesn't fit. No, a boy needs a strong name, like Narcissa's boy, Draco. That's a name to be proud of."

Narcissa bowed her head slightly. "Thank you, Auntie."

Her grandmother brushed her words aside, and said, "Don't thank her, you only did what was right. You are a tribute to this House."

Cassiopeia rolled her eyes. "Yes, the little flower can do no wrong. You've been telling us all that for years. We get it, Irma."

"Is it wrong of me to be proud of her? She's the only one from her generation that didn't fail our House. My other girls either went mad or betrayed us, and the less said of Melania's boys the better. I always knew that Sirius was going to ruin us, but—"

"How dare you!" Melania shouted, struggling against her husband's hold on her wrist as she tried to reach her wand. "Arcturus, let go."

Arcturus did not let go. Instead, he stood up, dragging Melania along with him, and glared at everyone who sat around the table. The family magic began to pool around him, drawing on his anger and making the look on his face all the more terrible. Never before, had Narcissa been made to feel so small, so unimportant, with a single glance. She imagined that her grandmother felt even worse, being the one to set him off.

"That is quite enough," he said, his voice quiet. "If you could all settle down, perhaps we'd be able to start this Council meeting. I wouldn't have thought that such an important matter would let itself be swallowed up by petty grievances and old feuds, but I suppose years without behaving as true Black's can't have helped any of your temperaments."

No one said anything. It was clear that he wasn't speaking as himself anymore, but solely as Lord Black. After a long pause, he finally released Melania, who pinched her lips into a frown, but sat down nonetheless.

"While the letters Melania sent didn't explain word for word what we would be discussing today, I had hoped you all would have enough sense shared between you to puzzle it out. Over the last decade, our House has fallen from prominence. We no longer hold power, not even the memory of it. We've fooled ourselves into thinking that this isn't a problem, that the world wouldn't dare move forwards without our approval, that House Black is still a family that people should want to stand behind. But the truth of the matter is that the people have forgotten us. Cygnus and Druella, Orion and Walburga, none of them worked towards reinstating our reputation. They were all far too besotted with their personal vices and their lives in luxury to work towards anything. They've failed us all."

He let his words ring for a moment, before continuing. "Worse still, we have failed our House. The world may have grown complacent in their regard for us, but before that, we grew complacent ourselves. We have let them forget us. For years now, we have allowed ourselves to toil in the background of the Ministry, playing puppet master with those in power. But what does that get us? Where is our mark on the world? After a few years without control, we're left behind. New Houses pull the strings of the bureaucracy, and House Black is left with nothing."

"And what are we supposed to do about that?" Pollux asked. "The only people tied to this family are old men and women or girls married off and bound to another House. Go ahead and take control of the Wizengamot seat, Merlin knows Walburga's done a number in there, but twenty years in the Ministry won't get us anything. We have no heirs, Arcturus. We have no legacy."

"That's where you're wrong," a voice from the doorway said. Lucretia, it seemed, managed to get through the stone door without making a sound, all for the sole purpose of dramatically interjecting herself into the conversation. She continued, "We have an heir: Sirius."

"Sit down, Lucretia," Arcturus sighed, before looking pointedly at Pollux. "In any case, she's correct. Sirius was never officially disowned. He's the last male heir of House Black."

Callidora clicked her tongue. "As if that matters now. The boy's been sentenced to life in Azkaban. I've always known you lot have slippery morals, but to even think of instating a Death Eater as heir of the House is unacceptable. He'd probably kill us all in heartbeat. Frank was so surprised when the news first broke. He couldn't believe that Sirius would ever hurt James Potter. He said they were brothers. Well, he's made clear time and time again that we were no family to him, so imagine what he would do to all of us. It's repulsive."

Melania hissed, and Narcissa couldn't help but agree with the sentiment. Sirius had never struck her as the type to follow others easily — or, more importantly, as a blood purist. He was always happy to galavant around with all sorts of filth, never once worried about how it would impact his reputation or the families. He was a quintessential Gryffindor. Even as a child, he never managed the sort of subtlety and nonchalance his brother and cousins had. Not to mention what happened the last time she'd seen him, captured by Rabastan. For all of that to be an act… she couldn't imagine it.

"He's not a Death Eater," she said, resisting the urge to flinch when all eyes turned to her. "I would know. My sister's a Death Eater. My husband's a Death Eater. I've hosted galas for the Dark Lord and his ilk, and never once has Sirius been mentioned as anything other than a problem to be dealt with."

Her Grandmother reached out to pat her hand. "Sweet girl, perhaps they purposefully misled you. They might have been fond of public displays, but there's a reason the Aurors were never able to get ahead of them. If he really was a spy—"

Cassiopeia snorted in derision. "Are we remembering the same boy? He was a passable liar, but duplicitous he was not. If Sirius ever allowed that maniac to mark him like he marked that bumbling brother of his, I'll eat my own hat. Just because your girls ended up wrapped in the Dark Lords schemes doesn't mean all the children were so careless."

Narcissa ignored the slight. She was perfectly aware of what type of monster the Dark Lord was, and what exactly he made out of her family. If she could somehow travel back in time to keep them all from joining in his crusade she would, but as she couldn't they would all just have to live with the consequences. Regulus was dead, Lucius was likely going to end up in jail, and Bellatrix was going to lose what little remained of her mind.

"You're right Cassie, not all of them were so careless. After all none of my grandchildren were found in the midst of a psychotic break, surrounded by their twelve latest victims," Pollux snapped.

"Do not call me that," Cassiopeia snarled. "I don't know what you've been doing since you crawled back from Germany, but Bellatrix hasn't exactly been careful in covering her tracks. In April there was evidence that she had taken part in a massacre of thirty muggles!"

"It's all speculation!"

"Thirty! They may just be muggles, but thirty are dead by her hand. Get your head out of your—"

"We've gotten sidetracked," Lucretia interrupted, raising her voice above Cassiopeia's. "We're not here to discuss what's been done by Bellatrix Lestrange. We're here to discuss our heir, my nephew. All of you are always so happy to crow about whose children are worse, but none of you care about what's happened to those children; what injustices they face."

Callidora muttered, "I'd say Azkaban is getting off lightly when it comes to being a Death Eater, let alone the Dark Lord's Right Hand. Completely rotten, I say."

Not wanting another argument to break out, Narcissa quickly drew attention away from her aunt by asking, "What do you mean? What injustices?"

Arcturus was the one who answered her, quieting all of the squabbling conversations and imposing down on all them, the buzz of the family magic a warning hanging around his shoulders. "There was no trial, no assurance of guilt. They had nothing except circumstantial evidence and the damnation of our family name. Can any of you say that you ever imagined Sirius becoming a follower of the Dark Lord? That dumb, brave young man who screamed himself raw about the magical rights of half-breeds and mudbloods; could you imagine that boy becoming a Death Eater?"

No one answered. The silence that fell over the room was so absolute, that Narcissa could scarcely breathe, could scarcely think, because thinking meant comprehending what her Head of House was implying about Sirius. The truth rattled around in her head like a curse. Innocent.

"I couldn't imagine it," Arcturus continued, looking more and more drained. "I would never have imagined it. That boy was a lot of things, but a Death Eater? Do we remember the same person? You are all so quick to brush him aside — just like Dumbledore and all of his followers. He has been abandoned by everyone he held dear. The people he left us for have shown their true colors, and it is time now to welcome him home."

"How?" Cassiopeia asked, drumming her nails on the table.

Lucretia smiled. "There is an old law I've found, from the days before Azkaban, that will force Minister Bagnold into releasing Sirius after a month of imprisonment. We just have to be patient."

"Something that isn't this families strong suit," Melania interjected. "All of you must hold this plan close to your chest. If anyone was to get word of it before we freed Sirius… it would be disastrous. In the meantime, we must prepare for his homecoming and the challenges that will face us in our reemergence."

Pollux scoffed, shrugging off the restraining hand Irma placed on his shoulder. "And then what? Are we to let the world believe we have a Death Eater as our heir?"

Callidora, in a rare show of solidarity, said, "For once he's speaking sense. Having any connection to the Dark Lord in the coming years will be nothing but a hindrance, not to mention the stigma that will surround him as the Dark Lord's most favored. He may not have had a trial, but who's to say that he wasn't a Death Eater nonetheless? Who else could have betrayed the Potter's?"

"You're reaching now and you know it," Cassiopeia said, glaring. "All of this is circumstantial. I say we get the brat out of Azkaban and dose him with Veritaserum — that'll get us to the crux of the issue, no need to skirt around it. If he is, by some twist of fate, a Death Eater… well, there are family spells we can use to deal with that. If he isn't then there's no need to fuss over this nonsense anymore. Whatever the case we need an heir. You and Pollux can complain until you're words are as pointless as an elf's, but it won't change the circumstances we're facing."

Arcturus nodded in agreement. "While I stand by my belief that Sirius is nothing but a victim of Dumbledore and Bagnold's maneuverings we will, of course, prepare for the chance that he's fallen under the Dark Lord's charm. As far as public perception goes, that's an area that we must work through together, Pollux. We've dealt with worse scandals in the past."

"I'm not sure if covering up Lycoris' husband's death or my father's attempts on the Minister's life reached the same notoriety that Sirius' crimes have," Pollux said, dryly.

Lucretia scowled at him. "I'm sure his innocence will help clear away any scandal."

"Supposed innocence," Irma said, ever the supporter of her husband.

Again Narcissa found herself speaking in defense of her long-estranged cousin, driven by a familiar, clinging guilt. "Sirius is no Death Eater. I may not be certain about the circumstances that lead to his imprisonment, but I am certain that he would never follow the Dark Lord. He was always sure of who he was unlike Regulus and Bellatrix." And me, she added silently.

Callidora cleared her throat. "We will all be invited to view his questioning under Veritaserum, I assume? To assure the honesty in his testimony."

"He'll be under one of the most powerful truth serums in the world. Why in Mordred's name would his honesty be in doubt?" Cassiopeia asked.

"You will not be present," Arcturus said to Callidora, his patience clearly reaching its limit. "Pollux, Irma, Melania and I shall be the ones administering the questions. Unless you doubt that we have a combined mastery over OWL level potions, then I see no need for anyone else to attend."

She huffed and muttered something under her breath that only Harfang could hear, but ultimately fell silent.

Lucretia spoke up. "There will be strong backlash over Sirius' release, both politically and socially. If any of you have unrevealed goodwill projects to help clear the decay that's fallen over the family name, now would be the time to reveal them. I'd also suggest, probably needlessly, that Walburga is removed from the Wizengamot seat immediately. Her heightened insanity is only hurting us, and we all know how she feels about Sirius."

Irma sniffed but said nothing. Narcissa knew that her grandmother's relationship with her daughter was perpetually strained — from what her father had let slip, Walburga's marriage to Orion may have fit within Black family traditions, but the Crabbe's always had a longstanding, and in Narcissa's opinion rightful, disdain towards inbreeding, and Irma disowned her daughter and her grandchildren from her life as best as she could without Arcturus' support in the matter.

"Walburga will be sealed within Grimmauld Place to live out her final years in comfort," Melania said, trying, and failing, to summon an empathetic smile. "We will all, of course, be able to visit her whenever we wish."

"Wonderful. Merlin knows what I'll do without Walburga's delightful little chats in my life," Cassiopeia laughed.

Lucretia ignored her, as she carried on with her list of suggestions. "Sirius should be brought back to here once freed. It's imperative that the Ministry and Press are kept far away from him, especially since he'll be in an incredibly vulnerable state." She added, unnecessarily, "High-security prisoners are locked away without any human contact. He'll have had nothing but constant exposure to dementors for a month. I can't imagine the toll that will take on him, but we must have a trusted healer stationed here to treat him."

Melania took over for her daughter. "Stay aware of what's happening in the Ministry. Cultivate anyone you think will help us in the coming years. I will send word of the next Council after Sirius is released. So many of our plans will be tied to him that it's useless to develop them now. Nevertheless, be ready for our reintroduction into society.

"We are all Black's," she glanced over at Harfang for a moment, before continuing. "We've endured too much to fall into obscurity now. Some of you still have your doubts, I know that, but you are all placing your trust in the House as is your duty. And now, I, Melania Mary Black, adjourn this family Council. The secrets shared here are now bound to your magic. Any break in faith and the might of House Black will come down upon you. Merry part."

As she spoke the heavy weight of the family magic filled the room, brushing over Narcissa's skin like static electricity and slinking into her bloodstream with a bitter edge that was somewhat reminiscent of an Unbreakable Vow but somehow stronger. Melania hadn't uttered an incantation or a curse but had still managed to wield the unruly family magic and bind everyone present to her will. Had the magic not been so addictive, she might have felt invaded.

Before she could fully snap out of her daze, the Lady Black was standing and speaking again. "You are all free to leave, but please be prepared to be summoned back here if there's any change in plans. Narcissa?"

"Yes?" she answered, wary but still too overwhelmed by the force of the family magic to fully gather her wits.

"Could spare a few minutes to chat with me?" It wasn't a question. "There's something we need to discuss."


I'm honestly astounded at the amount of interest this story has garnered. I'd just like to thank everyone who's followed, favorited, and reviewed this, you've all kept me motivated to get this chapter out.

If you ever want to talk to me about this story (or, really, anything related to Harry Potter), you should go to my tumblr, ronalbillius. I'm nearly always active, and I love talking about my projects so feel free to pester me.

Next chapter (which will hopefully be up in less than 2 months): Horcruxes are discussed, the Black's find a healer they can trust, and there's a reunion with an estranged family member.