The clock swings around to twelve o' clock. The day has come to an end. All eyes swivel accusingly to meet Marius Black, who is now eleven years and one day old, and quite definitely not in possession of an admission letter to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Cygnus Black stares at his second son in tightly reined fury. It is not seemly for a patriarch of Wizard Britain's elite to display anger openly; but likewise it is highly unseemly for a scion of said elite to fail to produce enough magical talent to be accepted to Hogwarts. Frankly, he has not even considered the possibility of such ridiculousness. At the moment, his rational mind is struggling for supremacy over the mounting rage to start thinking of a solution, something that will erase the shame and aberration.
Behind Cygnus stands his shadow, firstborn Pollux. Seventeen years old, his straight back and drawn cheeks make him appear far older. There is no touch of innocence or naïveté in his pale, handsome face; he already carries the aristocratic arrogance that he will need as head of the house. He faithfully reflects his father's wrathful expression.
If you were to look closer, though, you would see that his seriousness is just the tiniest bit forced. Not through any weakness of his own, you understand; he knows well what is required of the descendants of Black and despises his brother for failing in this responsibility. Yet a part of him, buried deep where his father will not see it and be ashamed of his heir, is sad. He is not exactly sure what about; surely he will not miss such a creature, a blight on his family. But a hidden slice of his soul sheds forbidden, inexplicable tears.
Cassie, vain as her namesake, looks on with boredom. She regards the whole scene as an utter waste of time; if asked five years ago, she would have assured you that Marius was without magical ability, or indeed any potential whatsoever. Today is just a formality; she had long since given up on her brother as useless, and she studies her fingernails, not even feigning interest.
Violetta, who was once Marius's mother, is the first to touch the outcast. She awkwardly pats his shoulder. There is no real comfort to be given; she cannot tell him that everything will be alright, because it is decidedly not so. But she allows herself to feel sadness that this is the case, to feel disappointment instead of anger. She is grateful that she will not be the one to decide his fate; she is free to mourn the loss of her son.
Little Dorry, youngest of all, does not know how to react, does not in fact really understand what is going on. She realizes that Marius has done something bad, but the current shocked silence is not typical of punishments in the House of Black and she is quite out of her depth.
It is only after her father solemnly announces that Marius will be dispatched to a Muggle orphanage the following day that she understands how serious this is. And yet it makes no sense; what could Marius possibly have done that was so bad; that could make him not be anymore, as her father states is the case. She runs to her brother, hugs his legs desperately, searches in vain for the new-found defect in his beloved face. She sobs, and is shrugged off by Marius, who is in the state of despair in which no show of love is welcome. She has to be dragged away from him when he is firmly shown out of the house the next day.
x
The Black family's infamy for disowning errant family members is somewhat undeserved. Not in the sense that they never do it; various burns on the wall are quite fair in their testimony. But it is always a last resort; various alternate measures of "persuasion" are first employed, which fit in rather better with the accounts of violence and mental instability that is the clan's hallmark.
But no such efforts are taken with young Marius, no second chances given. The stain on him is not one of choice, but one of blood, the darkest tarnish in the eyes of those who so firmly believe that they represent the light of all wizardry.
The experience of having a family situation which cannot be solved by a variety of painful and illegal curses is therefore a somewhat new one, and Cygnus finds himself incapacitated by rage and shock. It is Cassie, cold and passionless, who awakes from her self-absorbed trance to make plans for the creature's future.
Marius is given a bus ticket and the name of an orphanage in Manchester; he will not taint his family by sharing their ancestral city. Dorry is beaten daily for crying for him. Pollux says nothing, but develops a habit of staring wistfully at the burn on the tapestry when nobody is looking. Cassie remains unaffected; this lack of violent emotion is, ironically, more foreign to her family than the absence of magical talent. Unspoken words haunt the air.
x
Marius takes his mandated route with all the resolve and strength that have been drilled into him since infancy. The matron at the orphanage is horrified at the arrival of such an old child; she insists on embarking on a search for his parents, which he knows to be futile. Of course, no record of Marius Black exists, and so he settles down to a new life.
He barely misses his parents, who rarely spent much time with him. He feels guilty for not missing Dorea, and not at all so for being quite relieved to be done with Cassiopeia's company. The only one he really longs to see, just once more, is his older brother, and hopes that Pollux grieves for him too, if only a little.
Marius becomes Mark in time, and goes on to attend school and university and whatever else is offered by the orphanage. He is known for occasional random violence towards other children, but that calms down after a while. He is bright and alert, although a little creepy in his intensity.
When Mark gets older, he surprises his friends by being quite uninterested in dating. After all, he is attractive and intelligent; girls chase him by the hoards. One friend tentatively asks if he is "otherwise" and receives a black eye for his curiosity.
After a lot of alcohol, Mark reveals that he has no plans to marry, ever. A suggestion that he need not actually wed the girls he beds is met by the aristocratic glare that attracts said girls. After even more alcohol, he explains that he does not wish to have children, that he fears the transmission of a disease he carries. For a brief moment the mask slips, and this most suave and confident of boys reveals his self-loathing to his friends. But it is a university dormitory; his confessions are swept away the next morning with the empty bottles.
Vows of celibacy are easier made than kept, and Mark's resolve is tried anew on an ongoing basis. But each time he is tempted, he is grounded again by the fear of a magical child. Of having to return to that world. Of forcing his beloved brother to explain what happened ten years ago, in front of the magical society of which he is the most prominent member.
No physical desire can be worth the shame. Shame on himself for being deficient. Shame on his brother, who will face awkward questions from liberal politicians who do not deserve to sit in his presence. Shame on his child, who will walk the halls of Hogwarts known as one who sullied the purest of lines.
He is tormented by his self-aversion and confusion. The chaos of the war with Germany comes almost as a relief. The leaking of his blood from the bullet wound, his tarnished, unnatural blood, is cathartic; it mingles with the dark earth which is its equal. As consciousness fades, he imagines his family's blood, flowing golden through Black veins, like the golden threads that link them on the tapestry.
x
When Pollux hears of Mark Black's death in France through channels he will not admit, he purses his lips for a moment and makes a note of the date in his diary. Then he returns to the Ministry, never looking at the accusing hole on the wall a few inches from his own name. Perhaps he has learned callousness over time, or perhaps he knows he is forgiven.