...
He was nervous.
Very much so.
Of all the things Cyrus had expected out of the gathering he'd hosted, the man currently scrutinizing every piece of Astoria's creativeness attending it wasn't one of them.
Arcturus Black was not a man who made public appearances- Merlin, the man barely left his ancestral home since his grandson's imprisonment.
Any wizard or witch in his shoes would've long since been forgotten about mere months into their reclusion, and many had. The politics surrounding their world in truth didn't entirely rely on one's status or wealth- But rather their blood and presence in the spotlight. Wealth just happened to make that easier to accomplish.
It was part of the reason why a family like the Weasleys, despite the fact they were purebloods, held very little power in their world.
It wasn't because of scorn or a bias due to their open beliefs, even if that only marginally affected their standing, but rather the fact they were quite literally too busy working to keep up with the spotlight. And because they kept from the spotlight, meant they couldn't find themselves with the same... benefits, that the spotlight offered.
Better pay for one thing.
The fact they could barely afford to throw their weight around was in effect a way to keep them down, legally.
The other side of that coin however was the pureblood families that could afford to not be weighed down by the costs of living, and yet stayed away from the spotlight all the same. Augusta Longbottom was a good example of that, and while the average person wouldn't dare say it, the woman had as much sway as the Weasleys did when it came to the politics that defined their world.
Yes, those in power were politer with her, if only out of courtesy, but she very, very, rarely got what she wanted.
There were two exceptions to that rule.
Those who quite literally couldn't make it to the spotlight- With reasons ranging from their current predicament in Azkaban, or in the same case of Augusta's child, we're unreachable. In essence, anyone who simply didn't have the chance to go under that spotlight- And should they ever find themselves back into it, regardless of the means they took to accomplish their return, those same witches and wizards would hold much, much, more sway than one would expect.
Though in all fairness rejecting someone who'd already been to Azkaban was generally considered a stupid idea. Just as not giving a pureblood victim the time of day for being in a coma was considered an insult to their so-called pureblood idealogy.
Every pureblood, who made the effort, after all, should've been worth their weight in gold.
At least that's how their society looked at it.
And in one Half-blood's case, according to his daughter's stories, was looked at in the same way.
But very few if anyone else in history could claim to have survived the Killing Curse, so perhaps there was some leeway to Harry Potter.
And the other exception to that rule was the man in front of him.
Arcturus Black was not a man who dwindled in stature, regardless of how long he left it, regardless of how low his wealth supposedly dropped, regardless of how insane his family's reputation swept.
The Black Family was the unspoken exemption to society's rules, simply because they were considered the height of what every family should strive for.
In theory at any rate.
Even if that theory's origin was the fact that, though the British Ministry of Magic controlled the laws of the country, it was the Black Family that helped... fund it in the beginning, so to speak.
In layman's terms, that reclusiveness, that... disappearance didn't mean much when one remembered exactly what the man before him represented.
Tradition, in its absolute purest form.
And the young orphan had electedly to stun said powerful man, on his first return to wizarding politics since the fall of the Dark Lord.
And so, Cyrus Greengrass was, quite frankly, nervous.
Mostly for the boy. A light bit for himself considering the attack had happened on his property- And while anyone would've blamed the boy for it, Cyrus merely let out a sigh at the fact he likely hadn't known the consequences.
Still.
Of all the bloody people to choose to stun, why couldn't he settle for a Malfoy or something!?
At least that would've been entertaining.
But no.
Rodrick, the orphan without any leg to stand on, had elected to go after the most vengeful shark in the room, before promptly heading off to bed!
And there goes his nervousness rising a few notches further up.
He should've had an extra glass before this.
"It's truly disheartening to see the wastrels running around these days," We're the first words the man had elected to say since he'd entered his solar.
He couldn't help but narrow his eyes at those words.
"Are you calling my daughter, or the boy a wastrel?" He questioned, tersely. Truth be told he found himself not liking either of those options. His pride for one was offended on his daughter's behalf, her drawings were a delight to witness during his drearier days.
He wasn't sure what the feeling was concerning the boy. By all accounts, Arcturus had the high ground in regards to that incident, yet-
He blinked a few times the moment he took notice of the expression that filled the man's face at his question.
It was anger.
Visible, anger.
It took a lot for a practiced Lord to break and show their expression so easily, even taking the situation itself into account, it shouldn't have led to that.
"Don't you dare put words in my mouth, Greengrass." He blinked at the venom in the man's words.
Surely, he was overreacting-
"Of course, I am talking about your daughter!"
Truth be told, any other situation and those words would've landed in him attacking the blasted man, traditions be damned yet...
Surely, he wasn't that mad about the drawings..? It wasn't even his solar..? ...Had the Blacks owned this property before his great-grandfather had come into its possession or something?
Cyrus Greengrass was frankly confused.
Arcturus Black leaned ever so slightly forward, the anger still on his face, his hands visibly shaking as he held the table between them. "If I hear anything out of that boy's mouth in regards to me... To any supposed insult against him..."
There was a mad glint in the man's eyes as he locked gazes with him.
"I'll do everything in my power to drown your family name!" Arcturus finished with a whisper.
Cyrus Greengrass was very confused.
...The man... The great Arcturus Black... was afraid?
The man who hadn't batted an eyelash to his own grandson and technical heir's imprisonment... was afraid of an orphan child?
"I..." Cyrus blinked a few times before settling for a slight frown. "Right." A beat passed. "I take it you're not angry about the attack then?" He queried carefully.
Arcturus' anger disappeared as a jovial smile of all things filled his face. "Of course not!" A beat passed. "If anything, I am happy that child has a backbone." Another beat passed. "Merlin's beard how many children do you know of that can pull that off without a blasted care for the consequences?"
"...Right." He repeated himself, utterly out of his own depths.
What was even happening right now?
Arcturus Black had once sued his son-in-law for daring to name their child without his approval. Yet he was willing to overlook an orphan humiliating him in public?
And why did that thought fill him with fear..? Why did it feel like he was missing...
Cyrus frowned the slightest bit.
No. Not missing. Forgetting.
Cyrus Greengrass had the distinct feeling he'd forgotten something very important in regard to that boy and the man before him.
Try as he might, he simply couldn't figur- He blinked again as he took in the sudden shift in Arcturus' expression.
The man looked positively gleeful for some reason.
"Powerful, powerful, magic." Arcturus chuckled. "Wouldn't you say?"
He stiffened the slightest bit as he watched the man reach into the inner pockets of his robes to produce... a letter?
"Recognise this?" Arcturus questioned with raised eyebrows as he waved said letter in front of him- and all of a sudden the memory came back of the same record he'd found when he'd looked into the boy's name. The same record signed by the man before him and a minister of magic decades ago, that referenced a child named Rodrick. "Oh, take your time, it takes a second for the memory to kick in. Very troubling these sort of things you know, some memories do have a habit of hiding when they're not paid attention to."
And it was then another piece suddenly fit into the puzzle as he stared at the man before him. He suddenly remembered the fact that Malfoy had introduced Rodrick to the wizarding world, a fact likely caused by the man in front of him.
"What is the meaning of this?" He whispered, fear gripping his heart the slightest bit before it subsided as he felt anger start to brew inside of him, anger and fear mixing as he wondered what the man before him was-
"Oh Greengrass, you have no idea the kind of fire you're walking into with that boy." A beat passed. "I sincerely recommend you cease your communication, your manipulation, or whatever branded foolishness you've concocted in regard to him." Arcturus Black idly placed the letter back into his robes. "And you don't want that backfiring on you, of that can I assure you." The far older man chuckled. "Trust me when I say this, it's the kind of truth that purebloods die for."
And all he could feel was anger at even that statement. The fear from earlier disappeared as an image of the innocent child who had saved his daughter's life filtered into his head. An image of a child brought up in a terrible environment at the behest and manipulations of men like the one before him-
"He's a child-"
"He's worth more than every wizard and witch currently playing at politics in your ballroom, put together." Arcturus Black sneered. "And that includes my wastrel of a grand-niece." A beat passed. "Granted, I'll give you some credit in attempting to attach him to your family," The man shrugged. "Your daughter's not so bad a match I suppose, provided she's not the cursed one at any rate."
He barely noticed the fact he'd stood up, his wand clutched in his hand, his eyes almost glazed over in anger at the mention-
"Oh do calm down, you're a pureblood, not a muggle." The older man had the nerve to shrug. "Besides I am far too old to jest in insults, it's merely a factual statement, and I can't have that boy pledged to a curse, now can I?"
It beguiled him to admit it, but the man seemed genuine in his words.
With a sigh, Cyrus Greengrass sat back down, before he processed the rest of the old man's words.
"I didn't realize you were his guardian," He scoffed.
"Oh believe me if I could've jumped those hoops, I would've. But alas there is a line to go through in that regard. And I'd rather he didn't choose his family in ignorance."
He frowned the slightest bit at the double-speak, his earlier anger receding in the process. "...So he does have relatives?"
"And he grew up in a muggle orphanage, that should tell you their worth." The man sneered. "His mother thought them worthless." A beat passed. "Are you going to deny a dead woman's wishes?"
...That was a lot to just drop on him.
Cyrus blinked a few times, his brow furrowed.
"You knew his mother?"
"Briefly, she came to me before she died, courtesy of her father's connections." Another beat passed. "I obliged to help her."
"Why-"
"That's none of your concern." Arcturus cut him off, a stern look gracing his aged face. "And certainly not my place to tell. No, if you wish to find those answers, you're to get them from the boy himself, or not at all."
"Rodrick clearly has no idea that-"
"He knows his family name." Arcturus cut him off again, this time with a tap of his fingers on the desk before him. "Ask him for it, and you'll understand why."
"There is no possib-" He made to respond, his frustration building at the folly of it all. The boy was in an orphanage! Surely, surely if he had family running around-
Yet, he didn't get a chance to as the blasted wizard in front of him cut him off again.
"Learn it." He let out a slight, terse, sigh at the words. "And believe me, Greengrass, you will understand."
"Understand what?" He held in the urge to loudly ask, his frustration barely under control at the ludicrous nature of it all.
"The sleeping Nundu you're poking at." Arcturus's demeanor completely shifted as he whispered those words. As the sudden air for a moment turned cold. As the man's eyes seemed to seep through his soul.
It was a rather numbing moment to recall the fact the man before him was no slouch when it came to magic. And when the words registered in his mind, he found himself almost deflating as he processed them.
"...He's a child," He repeated, his emotions dampened, his mind frankly tired as it tried and failed to come to terms with what the man before him was suggesting, let alone outright saying.
"A child with a dangerous origin, and a chaotic future." A beat passed. "Truth is, Greengrass." He locked eyes with the man at the prompting. "It's not even a well-hidden secret. There's no real weight behind it. It's a subtle trick, a subtle lapse of one's mind and focus." Arcturus shrugged. "It stares right at you in those dark, yellow, eyes of his." The man shook his head.
"But a man would rather ignore the blaze around him for the clear sky above to feel safe." Arcturus leaned in a slight bit at that point, a strange fervent look in his gaze. "But if you focus on them, look past that origin and accept that future..." He let out a small chuckle. "Oh, the things you'll find. The things you'll see. What could be a miracle cure for you-" Cyrus held in the urge to narrow his eyes. "-could be a fanciful trinket for him."
"Who are you talking about..?" He questioned warily in an almost whisper, the hair on his skin rising as he felt a chill sweep through him. He couldn't be talking- No he wasn't talking about Rodrick anymore. This was something else.
Something worse.
"The one we can't reach." Arcturus whispered back, the fervent look in his gaze returned. "The one who holds us all at mercy."
...He was mad. He had to be, Cyrus reasoned as he stared at the older wizard in front of him.
These weren't words of a sane individual and yet... why did he feel so cold? Why did the coming words feel so... ominous? So... real?
"I speak, Greengrass... of the Master Of Death."
...
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