English Countryside – Black Manor
2nd November 1981 – Morning

The name BLACK echoed through the wizarding world with a mix of respect and apprehension. An illustrious and formidable family, they had weathered the ages without faltering, imposing their influence from the corridors of Hogwarts to the cobbled streets of London, and far beyond. Until now, at least.

The magical world may have been governed by ancient bloodlines, but longevity was never guaranteed. Far from Muggle eyes, centuries of history had witnessed entire dynasties rise and fall. Many great families, once as imposing as the Blacks, were now little more than forgotten names on dust-ridden tapestries.

The traces of their disappearance were visible everywhere, especially in the Hogwarts valley. Where once grand manors and opulent castles stood, there remained only ruins.

Even Gringotts bore the mark. Its vast vaults, carved deep into the rock beneath London, were filled with treasures whose inheritance no one came to claim. Gold accumulated, frozen in time, much to the goblins' irritation, for they despised the uselessness of an abandoned fortune.

The few families still standing watched this slow disappearance with suspicion. For decline spared no one. Today the Yaxleys, yesterday the Selwyns, and tomorrow perhaps the Blacks.

Their grandeur belonged to the past. In the span of two generations, the Blacks had descended from the pinnacle to near extinction. Now, only one man bore their name. Unmarried, without an heir, he carried persistent rumours of infertility, the consequence of an unfortunate curse during his time as an Auror.

It was this threat that had driven Arcturus Black III to act. And for that, he had to start with the manor.


Ten years had passed since the Blacks had set foot on the grounds of their ancestral home. Yet, the estate seemed untouched, frozen out of time. At dawn, the first rays of sunlight gleamed off the garden maze and the bronze plaque at the entrance, where the family motto read: "Toujours Pur."

Inside, in the vast drawing room illuminated by tall windows, the centuries-old tapestries and antique furnishings whispered the history of the Blacks. Over a hundred portraits adorned the walls, witches and wizards of yesteryear observing the scene with piercing eyes, muttering inaudible gossip amongst themselves.

At the centre of the room, Arcturus Black stood tall, his imposing figure accentuated by the morning light. His silver hair, contrasting with his dark beard, and his sharp grey eyes behind golden spectacles lent him an undeniable presence. He was the last true patriarch of a millennia-old lineage.

The Blacks were not just a family; they were an institution. Ennobled in 1043 by Edward the Confessor, their influence had extended far beyond wizarding circles. Their lands bordered the Scottish frontiers, and their titles, Marquess of the Eastern Marches and Earl of Cumberland, had once conferred absolute authority over their domains.

Even after the implementation of the Statute of Secrecy, which severed the wizarding world from the rest of the country, the Blacks had managed to retain their power. While the English Crown lost all grip on the magical nobility, they remained masters of their territory, protected by tradition and the Wizengamot.

But today, all that was under threat.

Arcturus knew this better than anyone. Black magic was strong, ancient, sometimes unpredictable – some even spoke of a Black madness, a power so intense it became destructive. But what use was power without an heir to pass it on to?

This gathering was his last chance. Today might mark the beginning of a new era… or the final end of the House of Black. And that, he could not allow.

Arcturus bore the weight of many regrets, and among them, his inaction during the war against the Death Eaters weighed on him the most. The old families had preferred isolation, barricading their estates rather than opposing Voldemort. Prudence or cowardice? Hard to say. Some lords had even joined the Dark Lord, and who knew how much worse the war might have become if all had involved themselves?

But this inertia had come at a cost. His authority had wavered when some of his kin chose the wrong side. The death of his grandson Regulus, which he had learned of only through the update of the family tapestry, had been a terrible blow. He had kept the secret, brooding over his pain in silence.

And then, there were the Potters. Fleamont and Euphemia, gone too soon. Few knew that Euphemia was, in truth, his own sister, born of a hidden liaison between Sirius Black II and Ismelda Gaunt. A secret he had protected all his life. Their son, James, had fallen in turn, but his son, Harry, had survived. A glimmer of hope, fragile, uncertain.

The birth of Nymphadora Tonks, the first Metamorphmagus of the line in centuries, should have been a source of pride. But Andromeda, her mother, had been disowned, rejected for marrying a Muggle-born. Another mistake of the past.

Enough. It was time to gather his kin, to repair what could still be saved.


Black Manor – Grand Drawing Room
2nd November 1981 – Morning

In the grand drawing room of Black Manor, Arcturus waited. Through the enchantments of the house, he sensed the approach of the first guests. The doors opened silently, admitting Lucretia Prewett, née Black.

"Father!" she exclaimed with a smile, placing a kiss on his cheek. "Looks like I'm the first."

"Lucretia, ever punctual," he replied with amusement.

"I prefer to say 'well-informed.' What's on your mind?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

"Always the mystery lover… But was it really necessary to invite everyone?"

Arcturus raised an eyebrow.

"You're referring to your niece and her family? They remain Blacks, after all."

Lucretia sighed, folding her arms.

"A Weasley, really?"

"A descendant of Cedrella," Arcturus corrected, his tone leaving no room for argument. "It is time to rectify certain mistakes."

She did not reply, but her interest was piqued.


A presence was felt, and Arcturus's expression hardened. Orion and Walburga Black entered, the very embodiment of wizarding nobility. Orion, tall and sombre, Walburga, imposing and severe.

"Father," they said in unison, bowing with measured deference.

"Take your seats," Arcturus declared curtly.

They exchanged a puzzled glance but obeyed, sensing that this meeting was far from ordinary.

The next arrival caused quite a stir: Arthur and Molly Weasley, followed by their brood of red-haired children.

"Lord Black," Arthur greeted, bowing.

"Arthur, son of Cedrella, welcome to you and your family," Arcturus replied, opening his arms in a gesture of welcome.

A wave of murmurs swept through the assembly. By uttering those words, he had officially reinstated the Weasleys into the Black lineage.

"We are honoured," Arthur said with emotion, introducing his children. "This is William, Charles, Percy, the twins Fred and George, Ronald, and our little one, Ginevra."

Molly, despite her emotion, launched into an enthusiastic praise of her sons. The mention of Fred and George reminded everyone of Gideon and Fabian Prewett, their murdered uncles, casting a brief silence over the gathering.

"And the younger ones?" Arcturus inquired, a smile on his lips.

"Ronald is still young but promising, and Ginny… she's already following in her brothers' footsteps," Arthur replied proudly.

A tray of biscuits appeared as if by magic, immediately attacked by the children. The atmosphere lightened slightly.


The arrival of the Malfoys brought a palpable tension. Lucius, ever immaculate, held Narcissa on his arm, while she cradled their son Draco. Beside them were Andromeda Tonks and her husband Ted, accompanied by their daughter Nymphadora, whose hair shifted with her emotions.

"Grandfather Arcturus," Narcissa greeted with dignity. "We answer your summons."

"Marquess Black," added Lucius with a respectful nod.

"Narcissa, Lucius, you are welcome," Arcturus said, motioning with his chin. "Take your seats."

Andromeda remained silent for a moment before speaking.

"Lord Black," she said, her voice firm but tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

Arcturus held her gaze.

"Andromeda, daughter of Cygnus Black III, you and your family are welcome here."

But this time, no magic accompanied his words. Andromeda frowned.

"A curious absence of flourish, isn't it?" remarked Lucretia with a sly smile.

"What does that mean?" Ted asked, intrigued.

Arcturus slowly leaned back in his chair.

"You were never banished, Andromeda. Only the head of our house holds that power, and I never pronounced such a sentence."

Andromeda paled.

"Then why the separation?!"

"Your father acted without my consent," Arcturus cut in. "I allowed you to live your life, knowing you were safe, even if your reputation suffered."

A silence settled. Then, abruptly, Andromeda turned away, eyes glistening with emotion.

Ted squeezed her hand, and Nymphadora, despite her young age, seemed to grasp the significance of the moment.

Lucretia watched the scene with discreet satisfaction, while Orion and Walburga fumed in silence.


But the atmosphere froze when one last presence approached.

Cygnus Black III entered, the weight of years etched on his face. Leaning on a cane, he moved with a slow but assured step, followed by his wife Druella Rosier, as upright and dignified as ever.

Cygnus's gaze swept the room before fixing on Andromeda. His face hardened.

"How dare you show your…"

He raised an accusing finger, but before he could finish, Arcturus intervened with a sharp gesture.

"Silencio."

An absolute silence fell over Cygnus and Druella. Their lips moved, but no sound emerged.

"You will be silent and take your seats," Arcturus declared sharply, indicating an empty sofa. "You are here as observers. Nothing more."

Cygnus obeyed reluctantly, shooting daggers at Andromeda before lingering on the Weasleys with barely concealed contempt.

A palpable unease settled until Arthur Weasley, seeking to lighten the mood, asked:

"Who are we still waiting for?"

"My heirs," replied Arcturus.

A murmur ran through the assembly. Orion straightened, his face tense.

"I am your heir!" he exclaimed indignantly.

"You have not been for a long time, Orion," Arcturus replied, implacable. "You have proven your unworthiness."

Walburga sprang up, furious.

"How dare you—"

Another Silencio silenced her before she could go further.

It was then that Sirius entered, Harry Potter in his arms. A heavy silence fell, all eyes fixed on them. Arcturus welcomed them with unusual warmth.

"My grandson. Welcome home."

Sirius flashed a provocative smile towards his father before announcing:

"This is Harry James Potter, my godson… and heir."

A shiver ran through the assembly. Walburga, freed from the spell, nearly choked:

"Them? The heirs?"

Arcturus nodded slowly.

"Sirius Orion Black is my legitimate heir. Should he ever fall, Harry James Potter will take his place. Let magic bear witness."

A luminous circle formed around Arcturus, sealing his words. A stunned silence fell over the room, quickly broken by the furious protests of Cygnus, Druella, Orion, and Walburga.

Lucretia, unflinching, observed the scene with a sly smile. With a casual gesture, she swirled her brandy, which had appeared as if by magic. The family gathering promised to be even more entertaining than expected.