Chapter 3: A Father's Legacy
Arcturus ran through the dimly lit hallway, his bare feet slapping against the cold stone floor. A distant crash echoed behind him, and his heart pounded in his chest like a drum. He could hear his father's voice, sharp and commanding, shouting incantations as flashes of light illuminated the walls. His mother's golden eyes wide with fear as she whispered words he didn't understand.
"Go, Kreacher!" she urged, her voice trembling but firm.
The house-elf clutched at his arm, tugging him toward a side door, his long, bony fingers surprisingly strong. "Quickly, young Master!" Kreacher croaked.
But Arcturus didn't want to leave. He twisted in the elf's grip, his gaze fixed on his father, who stood rigid with his wand raised, facing the heavy, shuddering door. Whatever was on the other side wanted in. The room seemed to shake with its rage.
"Papa!" Arcturus cried out, his voice breaking, but his father didn't turn. His mother tightened her hold on him, pressing a kiss to his forehead before Kreacher yanked him through the doorway.
Then there was only darkness.
The next thing Arcturus felt was a sharp thud to his stomach.
"Wake up! Wake up! We're going to London!" a high-pitched voice squealed directly into his ear. His eyes snapped open just in time to see a blur of auburn curls and freckles as his cousin Élodie bounced on top of him like a small, overexcited pixie.
"Oof, Élodie—what are you doing?" he groaned, trying to push her off.
She was unfazed, grinning ear to ear. "Portkey! London! Breakfast! Get up, you lazy dragon!" She punctuated each word with another jump before darting off the bed.
Arcturus barely had time to sit up before she was already out the door, slamming it shut behind her. Her laughter rang down the hallway, echoing through the house like a bell.
He sat there for a moment, catching his breath as his thoughts drifted back to the dream—the same dream he'd had countless times before. His father's determined stance, his mother's trembling voice, Kreacher's desperate grip. It was like a fragment of a memory stuck on repeat, though the edges blurred whenever he tried to grasp it.
Shaking the lingering unease from his mind, Arcturus swung his legs over the side of the bed and got up. He grabbed a clean white shirt from the back of a chair, shrugging it on before pulling on a pair of black jeans and his slightly scuffed Converse.
Catching sight of himself in the mirror, he paused. His dark hair, perpetually unruly, stuck up at odd angles no matter how much he smoothed it down with his fingers. It wasn't messy in a careless way, though—more like it had a mind of its own, as though each strand refused to be tamed. His eyes stared back at him, sharp and intense, the same golden shade as his mother's.
His uncle had once joked that when he was deep in thought, he looked like a hawk zeroing in on its prey. Arcturus had never been sure if that was meant to be a compliment, but he liked the comparison anyway.
Taking one last glance at his reflection, he squared his shoulders and headed for the door.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm bread greeted Arcturus as he stepped into the kitchen. The room was already alive with the gentle hum of morning conversation. His aunt Céleste stood by the sink, her wand flicking back and forth as she guided a sponge to clean the last of the breakfast dishes. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled warmly at him.
"Good morning, Archie," she said, her voice soft but cheerful. With another casual flick of her wand, a plate floated gracefully onto the table, laden with a classic French breakfast—freshly baked croissants, slices of baguette with butter and jam, and a small bowl of fresh fruit.
"Sit, eat," she added, nodding toward an empty chair.
At the table, Étienne sat at the far end, his face hidden behind the crisp pages of Le Prophète Magique. He had already finished eating, as evidenced by the empty cup of coffee and crumb-dusted plate pushed to the side. Across from him, Aurelie and Élodie were deep in a lively discussion, their voices occasionally overlapping as they spoke.
"I'm just saying," Aurelie began, gesturing emphatically with her fork, "it can't be that complicated. You just go underground, get on and get off at the right place. Muggles do it all the time."
Élodie frowned, her freckled nose scrunching in confusion. "But how do they even know when to stop? And what if it breaks down? Do they just… walk out?"
"That's ridiculous," Aurelie retorted, rolling her eyes. "I'm sure they have it all figured out. They're not that helpless."
Élodie snorted, looking unconvinced. "I still think it sounds like a nightmare. Imagine being stuck in a dark metal box, underground, with no Floo powder or Portkey to get out. I'd rather just Apparate."
"You can't Apparate yet," Aurelie reminded her smugly, smirking over the rim of her glass.
"Neither can you," Élodie shot back, crossing her arms with a huff.
Arcturus stifled a small smile as he slid into his seat, his plate waiting for him. He picked up a croissant and tore off a piece, savoring the buttery, flaky texture.
"Ready for the big day?" Étienne asked, lowering the newspaper slightly to reveal a curious glint in his warm eyes.
Arcturus paused mid-bite, meeting his uncle's gaze. He nodded, managing a small smile. "I've never felt more ready."
The words came out smoothly, but his stomach twisted slightly as he spoke. In truth, he was nervous—more than nervous, really. The thought of leaving the familiarity of the French countryside, venturing into the bustling wizarding heart of London, and stepping into the shadow of his parents' legacy felt monumental. But if there was one thing Arcturus had learned from growing up under Étienne's steady influence, it was how to mask emotions that weren't useful at the moment.
"Good," Étienne said, leaning back in his chair and folding the paper neatly. He studied Arcturus for a moment longer, as though he might sense the nerves hidden beneath his calm exterior. "You'll do just fine."
The conversation shifted as Céleste returned to the table, setting down a fresh pot of coffee. "Have you thought about where you'll buy your wand?" Étienne asked casually, refilling his cup.
Arcturus glanced up, surprised by the question. "I… hadn't really thought about it," he admitted, wiping a few crumbs from his hand.
"You have options," Étienne said with a small shrug. "You could buy one here in France before we leave, or you could wait until Diagon Alley."
At the mention of Diagon Alley, Céleste turned slightly from the sink, her expression softening. Étienne's gaze drifted momentarily before he added, "Your mother bought hers from Ollivander's." His voice took on a reflective tone, tinged with fondness. "She always said the old man was a bit odd but amusing."
For a moment, Étienne froze, the cup in his hand suspended in mid-air. His words seemed to unlock something deep within him—a vivid flash of memory. He could hear his sister's voice, bright and full of laughter, echoing faintly in the back of his mind.
"Quirky, yes, but brilliant," her voice said, lilting and warm. "His shop is… charmingly chaotic. But when he handed me my wand, it felt like it had been waiting for me my whole life."
The memory faded as quickly as it had come, leaving behind a hollow ache and a fleeting sense of longing. Étienne blinked, shaking his head slightly, and took a sip from his cup as if to steady himself.
Arcturus glanced at his uncle, sensing a brief flicker of sadness in his usually steady demeanor. The table fell into a short, contemplative silence, the hum of Céleste's cleaning spell the only sound in the room.
Finally, Étienne cleared his throat and straightened up. "I think you should wait," he said firmly, his tone regaining its usual steadiness. "If your mother trusted Ollivander, I'm confident you'll find a wand there that's truly meant for you."
Aurelie nodded, her smile softening. "I've heard the shops in Diagon Alley can be a bit overwhelming," she said lightly, "but it's fun. You'll find the perfect wand, I'm sure of it."
Élodie leaned forward with a mischievous grin. "Just don't let Aurelie pick one for you—she'll probably choose the most boring wand in the shop."
"I would not!" Aurelie huffed, glaring at her sister.
Before another argument could break out, Céleste raised her hand, cutting them off with a motherly smile. "Girls, enough," she said, shaking her head.
"Alright, everyone, we've only got a few minutes," Étienne called out, his voice carrying an edge of urgency as he shrugged into his coat. "Grab your cloaks and scarves—it's chilly out this morning."
The children scrambled to follow his instructions, Élodie nearly tripping over her own scarf in her excitement. Arcturus grabbed his heavier jacket, slipping it over his shoulders as Céleste handed him a pair of gloves. The family stepped out into the backyard, where the morning air was crisp and carried the faint scent of damp earth. Above them, the pear tree swayed gently in the breeze, its branches bare save for a few stubborn leaves clinging on from autumn.
Étienne held the old pocket watch aloft, the small, scratched device glinting faintly in the pale sunlight. "Alright, everyone, form a circle. Hold hands, and don't let go," he instructed, his voice firm but calm.
Arcturus stood between Aurelie and Élodie, who both took his hands eagerly. Céleste stood next to Étienne, the two of them completing the circle. Étienne glanced at his wristwatch and counted down.
"Any second now…"
The world seemed to hold its breath, the moment stretching impossibly long—until, without warning, the pull came. It was as though an invisible hook had latched onto Arcturus's stomach and yanked him forward with tremendous force. His feet left the ground as a whirlwind of color and sound swallowed him. The world spun wildly, and he felt as though he were being dragged through a tunnel, wind rushing in his ears and the pressure mounting in his chest.
And just as abruptly as it started, it stopped.
The landing, however, was far from graceful. Étienne and Céleste landed lightly on their feet, the Portkey dropping into Étienne's palm as if it had been plucked from the air. Arcturus, Aurelie, and Élodie, however, weren't so lucky. The three of them tumbled to the ground in a heap, Élodie letting out a squeal as Aurelie groaned in exasperation.
"Every time…" Aurelie muttered, untangling herself from Élodie's scarf.
Arcturus blinked, the room spinning slightly as he tried to regain his bearings. They had landed in what appeared to be an old bar. The wooden floor beneath them was worn and scuffed, with deep grooves that spoke of decades—if not centuries—of use. The air was warm, carrying a faint scent of wood smoke and butterbeer. Dust motes floated in the sunlight that streamed through the narrow, grimy windows.
The bar itself was long and made of dark, polished wood, though its shine had dulled with age. Shelves behind the counter were lined with bottles of all shapes and sizes, some glowing faintly with an otherworldly light. A man stood behind the bar, wiping a glass with a tattered cloth. His eyes twinkled with amusement as he took in the sight of the three children sprawled on the floor.
"First time with a Portkey?" he asked, his voice warm and slightly gravelly.
Étienne chuckled as he stepped forward, offering Arcturus a hand to help him up. "For the children, yes," he said with a small smile, his French accent soft but noticeable.
The barman raised an eyebrow at Étienne, his expression curious. "Not often we get visitors from abroad," he remarked, setting the glass down on the counter and extending a hand. "Tom, at your service. Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron."
Étienne shook his hand firmly, introducing himself and his family. "We're on our way to Diagon Alley," he explained.
"Well, you've come to the right place," Tom said with a grin. He gestured toward a door at the far end of the bar. "The entrance to the Alley is just out back. I can show you the way if you'd like."
Céleste stepped forward, smoothing her cloak as she helped Élodie to her feet. "That would be wonderful, thank you," she said with a polite smile.
Tom led them through the bar and into the small, enclosed backyard behind the Leaky Cauldron. The space was surrounded by high brick walls, damp from morning dew, and cluttered with a few stray crates and barrels. It was nondescript and unremarkable, save for the faint sense of something ancient lingering in the air.
"Gather 'round," Tom said with a grin, producing his wand. "This part's always fun for first-timers."
Arcturus watched with wide eyes as Tom approached the brick wall directly opposite the back door. He counted out bricks carefully, tapping one with the tip of his wand. The brick quivered slightly, then pulled itself backward, creating a ripple effect as the rest of the wall began to fold and twist. Brick after brick slid aside, revealing a grand archway that opened into a bustling street.
As the wall transformed, Arcturus felt a tingle of excitement course through him. The bricks continued to shift and rearrange until, with a final flourish, the archway was complete. Beyond it lay a scene so vibrant and alive that it left him momentarily breathless.
The street stretched out before them, lined with crooked buildings that seemed to defy gravity, their colorful signs swinging gently in the breeze. Shopfronts spilled over with displays of magical wares: cauldrons stacked high, robes in every color shimmering in enchanted windows, and stacks of spellbooks that practically glowed with power. Witches and wizards bustled to and fro, their robes swishing as they hurried between stores. Children pressed their faces against shop windows, marveling at broomsticks and enchanted sweets, their laughter filling the air.
Étienne took a moment to admire the scene, then turned to the family. "Alright, we'll meet back here at this archway in two hours. "Arcturus and I have some… boring errands to run," Étienne replied, winking at his nephew. He turned to Arcturus, his tone gentle but firm. "Give your list to your aunt. She'll make sure you've got everything you need."
Arcturus pulled the folded parchment from his pocket and handed it to Céleste, who tucked it into her satchel with a nod.
Élodie pouted, crossing her arms as she looked at her father. "Why can't we come with you? What if your errands are more exciting than ours?"
Étienne chuckled and crouched slightly to meet her gaze. "Trust me, chérie, you'd be bored stiff. It's all paperwork and goblins—not exactly the kind of adventure you're hoping for."
Élodie huffed but didn't argue further, though her disappointment was written all over her face.
"All right, then," Étienne said, standing straight again. "We'll be back before you know it. Stick together, and don't let Élodie spend all her pocket money in the first shop."
That earned him a small laugh from Aurelie and an exaggerated eye roll from Élodie.
With a final wave, the group split up. Céleste and the girls disappeared into the crowd, their chatter fading into the background. Étienne and Arcturus turned in the opposite direction, heading toward the towering white building that loomed at the end of the street.
Gringotts Wizarding Bank stood like a marble colossus, gleaming in the midday light. Its towering white façade was polished to perfection, each stone seemingly untouched by time. The building's architecture was imposing yet beautiful, with tall, narrow windows and ornate carvings etched into the marble. Great brass doors stood at the entrance, guarded by a pair of goblins who eyed passersby with expressions that ranged from disinterest to faint suspicion.
Arcturus stared up at the massive structure, feeling dwarfed by its sheer scale. The steps leading up to the entrance were worn smooth by countless feet, yet they shone as though freshly polished. The goblins themselves were exactly as described in books Étienne had shown him—short and wiry, with sharp, calculating features and pointed ears. One goblin gave Arcturus a brief, piercing glance before returning to its stoic position by the door.
"It's impressive, isn't it?" Étienne said, his voice low as he guided Arcturus toward the steps.
Arcturus nodded, his gaze fixed on the enormous brass doors.
As they approached the entrance, one of the goblins stepped forward, pushing the brass door open with a fluid motion that required surprisingly little effort. The moment they stepped inside, Arcturus's breath caught.
The interior was nothing short of magnificent. The marble floors gleamed, reflecting the glittering chandeliers that hung high above. Goblins sat behind long counters that stretched the length of the hall, their nimble fingers counting coins and scrawling on parchment. Vault keys dangled from their belts, glinting in the light. Wizards and witches moved purposefully through the room, some holding bags of gold, others deep in conversation with the goblins.
Étienne and Arcturus hesitated as they entered the main hall of Gringotts, their steps echoing against the gleaming marble floor. Étienne glanced around, his brow furrowed as if trying to decipher some unspoken protocol. Goblins lined the length of the counters, their sharp quills scratching furiously on parchment or their long, gnarled fingers carefully weighing piles of gleaming gold.
"Let's try here," Étienne muttered, steering Arcturus toward the first goblin to their right.
The goblin was entirely engrossed in his work, peering down through a pair of tiny, round spectacles as he balanced a delicate scale with gold coins on one side and a sliver of enchanted metal on the other. In his other hand, he scrawled calculations onto a crisp sheet of parchment, his movements impossibly precise.
Étienne cleared his throat politely. "Excuse me—"
The goblin's head snapped up, and his expression was one of immediate irritation. His small, dark eyes darted between Étienne and Arcturus, as if sizing them up, before he waved a long, bony finger toward the center of the hall.
"Middle desk," the goblin barked curtly, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. Then, without another word, he turned back to his work, quill scratching once more as if they had never existed.
Étienne muttered under his breath as they made their way to the middle desk. "I will never understand goblins. Efficient, yes, but good manners are clearly lost on them."
Arcturus bit back a grin, his attention drawn to the imposing goblin desk at the center of the hall. Perched high atop an elaborate wooden dais sat an ancient goblin, his weathered features and silvery hair lending him an air of quiet authority. His small, sharp eyes peered down at them as they approached, glinting with a mix of curiosity and impatience.
When they reached the desk, the goblin folded his hands atop a stack of parchment and spoke in a gravelly voice. "State your business."
Étienne stepped forward, his tone polite but measured. "We're here on bank business for Arcturus Black."
The name seemed to ripple through the room like a dropped pebble in still water. The scratching of quills faltered, and several goblins at nearby desks lifted their heads, their dark eyes flicking toward the pair. Arcturus noticed the shift and glanced around nervously, but as soon as he made eye contact with any of them, they immediately looked back down at their work, as though nothing had happened.
The old goblin narrowed his eyes, leaning slightly forward to get a better look at Arcturus. "Do you have the letter that was sent to you?"
Arcturus nodded quickly, fumbling to pull the folded parchment from his jacket pocket. He held it up toward the towering desk, his arm straining slightly to bridge the gap.
The goblin reached down with surprisingly long fingers, plucking the letter with ease. He unfolded it methodically, his sharp eyes scanning the contents in silence. For a moment, his expression remained unreadable as he read through the document. Finally, he folded the letter neatly and set it on his desk.
"Everything appears to be in order," he said with a clipped nod. Then, with a snap of his fingers, a younger goblin appeared beside Étienne and Arcturus in an instant, materializing with a soft pop.
The new goblin was smaller and thinner than the others, though his sharp features and quick movements hinted at a keen intelligence. He inclined his head slightly toward the old goblin, awaiting instructions.
The elder goblin gestured toward Arcturus and Étienne. "This is your new account manager Grimnock. He will escort you to vault 711."
Arcturus glanced at the younger goblin, who gave him a small, calculating look before gesturing for them to follow. "Right this way," he said briskly, already turning toward the vast marble hallway that led deeper into the bank.
Étienne placed a reassuring hand on Arcturus's shoulder as they followed the goblin, his voice low. "Well, this should be interesting."
They followed Grimnock through a series of grand hallways, each one more elaborate and intimidating than the last. The polished marble floors reflected every step, and the high ceilings were supported by ornate stone columns carved with ancient runes that shimmered faintly under the flickering torchlight. Gold-framed portraits of grim-faced goblins lined the walls, their watchful eyes seeming to follow the pair as they walked past.
"We're going quite deep," Étienne remarked, glancing nervously at the narrowing corridors. His brow furrowed slightly, his usual composed demeanor slipping just a fraction.
Grimnock said nothing, leading them briskly to a narrow platform where a small, rickety metal cart sat waiting on rusted tracks.
"Get in," the goblin instructed curtly, gesturing toward the cart.
Étienne hesitated, eyeing the cart with visible apprehension. "This… contraption is safe, I assume?"
Grimnock gave him a withering look. "Completely."
Reluctantly, Étienne climbed into the cart, offering Arcturus a hand as he followed. The cart felt alarmingly lightweight, the thin metal rattling slightly as they settled in. Grimnock climbed into the front, tapped a lever, and without warning, the cart jerked forward.
Arcturus grabbed the edge of the cart for dear life as they were launched into the darkness. The tracks twisted and turned sharply, the cart rattling loudly with every sudden drop. Étienne, seated beside him, was noticeably silent. Arcturus glanced at his uncle and immediately bit back a laugh—Étienne's face had gone pale, his eyes wide as he gripped the edge of the cart with white-knuckled hands.
"Are you… alright?" Arcturus asked, trying not to sound amused.
Étienne didn't answer immediately, his focus entirely on not losing his dignity—or his breakfast. "I've… had smoother rides," he managed through clenched teeth, just as the cart made a particularly sharp turn that nearly sent them careening into Grimnock.
The ride only got wilder as they passed through a shimmering silver waterfall that roared down from the ceiling. Arcturus instinctively braced himself, expecting to be soaked, but the water swept over them like mist, leaving them completely dry.
"That's the Thief's Downfall," Grimnock said without turning around. "It removes all enchantments, illusions, or disguises."
Étienne made a noise that was halfway between a grunt and a groan. "Wonderful," he muttered. "Now it can also strip away the last shred of my composure."
The cart plunged deeper into the tunnels, and Arcturus couldn't help but marvel at the sights around them—glowing veins of gold running through the stone walls, a shimmering underground lake with shadowy figures moving beneath the surface, and even a massive dragon chained to a distant vault door, its glowing eyes following the cart as they zoomed past.
Étienne, meanwhile, looked increasingly worse for wear. By the time the cart finally screeched to a halt outside Vault 711, his face was a sickly shade of green. He staggered out of the cart, swaying slightly as he leaned heavily on the side of the tunnel wall.
"Mon dieu," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "I think I've aged ten years in five minutes."
Grimnock, unimpressed, hopped down from the cart with the nimbleness of someone completely unaffected. He glanced back at Étienne with a faint smirk. "Perhaps next time you'd prefer the stairs?"
Étienne glared at the goblin. "There are stairs?"
Grimnock didn't answer, turning instead to the massive iron door that marked Vault 711.
Arcturus bit his lip to keep from laughing as his uncle straightened himself, trying to reclaim some semblance of dignity.
Grimnock reached into his uniform and pulled out a long, ornate key, its intricate design glinting faintly in the dim torchlight. "This key opens the vault," he explained, holding it up for them to see. "A copy can be made if requested, though for now, it remains in my care. For... specific reasons we don't have time to discuss."
Étienne gave a weak nod, still bracing himself on the wall as Grimnock stepped forward and inserted the key into the lock. The door groaned loudly, gears grinding as it slowly swung open to reveal the vault beyond.
Arcturus stepped forward hesitantly, his breath catching as the room came into view.
The vault was immense, its ceiling disappearing into shadow. Piles of gold coins shimmered under the glow of enchanted lanterns, cascading like waterfalls across the stone floor. Silver chalices encrusted with rubies and emeralds were perched on top of the heaps, along with ornate jewelry boxes spilling over with strings of pearls. At the center of the room stood a black pedestal, upon which rested an obsidian chest carved with glowing runes.
Arcturus took a step inside, the crunch of loose coins under his boots echoing faintly. He couldn't help but stare, the sheer scale of the treasure overwhelming. Étienne, finally recovered enough to step forward, let out a low whistle.
"Your family certainly knew how to make an impression," he muttered.
Grimnock simply folded his hands behind his back, his expression impassive. "Vault 711," he said curtly. "All is in order."
Arcturus stepped carefully through the glittering piles of gold, the soft crunch of coins underfoot the only sound in the vast, echoing vault. His heart raced as he approached one of the larger mounds, running his hand over the smooth, cool surface of the galleons. It was a dazzling display of wealth, more than he could have ever imagined, and the sheer scale of it was overwhelming.
He crouched and scooped up a handful of coins, letting them spill through his fingers like water. The weight of them felt heavy, not just in his palm but in the significance they carried—his family's legacy, stored here beneath layers of enchantments and goblin magic.
"Fill a bag, Uncle Étienne," Arcturus said, looking back with a small smile. "There's enough gold here to last a hundred lifetimes. We might as well make use of it."
Étienne had been standing near the entrance, hands tucked behind his back, his expression thoughtful. At Arcturus's suggestion, he approached slowly, eyeing the mountains of treasure. For a brief moment, a flicker of temptation crossed his face, as if the sheer magnitude of the wealth was almost too much to resist.
But then, Étienne shook his head, his features settling into a calm, measured expression. "No," he said firmly, stepping closer and resting a hand on Arcturus's shoulder. "We have enough. More than enough."
Arcturus frowned slightly. "But… there's so much of it," he said, gesturing to the endless sea of coins. "Why not take more? It's ours, isn't it?"
Étienne crouched slightly, meeting Arcturus's gaze directly. "Listen carefully, Arcturus," he said in a quiet but serious tone. "Gold is a tool, not a purpose. It can provide comfort, yes, but it can also corrupt. Don't let it define you or the choices you make. Your worth—your legacy—isn't measured by how much you have in a vault, but by who you are outside of it."
Arcturus absorbed the words in silence, glancing back at the endless wealth that surrounded them. The gold had seemed dazzling moments before, but now it felt oddly less important.
Grimnock, standing stiffly by the vault's entrance, raised a sharp eyebrow. "Fascinating," he said, his voice laced with dry sarcasm. "A wizard who preaches restraint in the presence of fortune. I assure you, such sentiment is a rarity in this bank."
Étienne turned to him with a faint smirk. "Well, I suppose we'll just have to remain the exception."
Grimnock muttered something under his breath, his expression unreadable, but he made no further comment as Arcturus pocketed his small handful of coins and moved back toward his uncle.
Arcturus glanced back at Grimnock, his curiosity resurfacing. "What about the letter? The one my father left for me?" he asked.
Grimnock straightened, his thin fingers tapping against the edge of the vault door. "The letter," he said, his tone clipped, "is locked under magical seals that will not break until you have reached the age of legal maturity—seventeen years old. That was a condition set by your father himself."
Arcturus felt a pang of frustration but quickly masked it. "So there's nothing I can see? Nothing at all?"
The goblin's sharp eyes narrowed slightly. "There is… one note," he admitted, his voice reluctant. "A short message left for you, should you visit Gringotts before reaching the required age."
Arcturus blinked in surprise. "A note?"
Grimnock reached into the folds of his robe, producing a small, folded piece of parchment. He handed it to Arcturus with a sense of finality, his sharp eyes glinting in the dim light. "This is the note. Left for you by Regulus Black, should you come to Gringotts before your seventeenth birthday."
Arcturus unfolded the note slowly, his breath catching as his fingers traced the loops and strokes of the handwriting. His father's handwriting. For a moment, he just stared at the opening line, the weight of it pressing heavily on his chest.
"My dearest Arcturus,"
The words felt almost alive, as though his father were standing beside him, speaking softly. He drew in a shallow breath and forced himself to continue reading, though each word seemed to carry an unbearable weight.
"If you are reading this, then fate has taken your mother and me away from you far too soon."
His throat tightened. He clenched the letter slightly, the edges of the parchment crinkling under his grip. His eyes burned, but he blinked quickly, refusing to let the tears fall. Étienne stood nearby, his gaze steady but silent, and Grimnock remained at the edge of the vault, his sharp eyes betraying no emotion. Arcturus could feel them both watching him, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
The words on the page were all that mattered.
"There are no words that can express how deeply I regret not being there to watch you grow, to hold you when you're afraid, or to guide you when life feels uncertain. I am sorry, my son. More than you could ever know."
His hands trembled slightly as he lowered the letter for a moment, staring blankly at the golden coins scattered across the vault floor. A lump rose in his throat, and he bit the inside of his cheek, hard, to steady himself. He could feel the sting of regret in every word, as if his father had poured his very soul into the letter. The apology hurt more than he could bear.
He forced himself to look at the letter again, the lines blurring slightly as he read on.
"I hope you've laughed often, run freely, and found joy in your days. That is all I ever wanted for you—happiness without the shadows that haunted my own choices. You deserve the world, untouched by the weight of my mistakes."
Arcturus's breath hitched, and a single tear escaped, slipping down his cheek before he could stop it. He wiped it away quickly, his movements sharp and frustrated. He didn't want to cry—not here, not in front of Grimnock or Étienne—but the words felt like they were breaking something open inside of him.
"But there will come a time when you must face truths that I cannot shield you from, and for that, I ask for your forgiveness. You are braver than I ever was, stronger than I could hope to be. When the time comes, I trust you will step into the legacy that was left for you, not as a burden but as a path to understanding."
Arcturus drew in a shaky breath, his shoulders stiffening as he straightened. The mention of a legacy—a burden he hadn't asked for—felt like a cold weight settling over him. He didn't want to think about it, not now, but the trust in his father's words made it impossible to ignore.
He glanced at Étienne, who gave him a quiet nod of reassurance. It was a small gesture, but it gave Arcturus just enough strength to keep reading.
"Remember this, Arcturus: even in the darkest moments, you carry the light of those who love you. Your mother and I—our love for you is boundless, eternal. You were our greatest joy, our greatest gift."
The tears came again, silent but unstoppable this time. He pressed his lips together tightly, his free hand curling into a fist at his side as he struggled to maintain control. The letter felt so achingly personal, so full of the love he had always longed to feel from his parents. It was overwhelming, and yet he couldn't stop reading.
Then came the line that stopped him cold.
"The locket holds the key."
The locket. His mind raced, frustration mingling with confusion. What locket? What key? The cryptic message left him grasping at straws, and he felt a sharp pang of anger at the impossibility of asking his father for answers.
But then his eyes fell on the final lines.
"Even the smallest light can drive away the darkness.
I leave you with all my love,
and all my hope,
Your father,
Regulus Arcturus Black."
Arcturus exhaled slowly, the breath trembling as it left him. He read those final words again, committing them to memory, letting them settle deep within him.
He folded the letter carefully, his movements slow and deliberate, as though handling something fragile. His hands lingered on the parchment for a moment before he tucked it into his pocket.
Étienne stepped closer, his voice low and gentle. "Are you alright?"
Arcturus hesitated, his gaze fixed on the ground. Then, with a small, sharp nod, he straightened his shoulders. "I'm fine," he said quietly, though his voice wavered slightly. He pressed his hand against the pocket where the letter rested. "I'll figure it out… when the time comes."
Étienne placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, his expression soft but full of pride. "You will," he said simply.
Grimnock cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "If we are finished, I will secure the vault."
Arcturus gave a nod, stepping back and watching as the heavy iron doors groaned shut with a finality that echoed through the chamber.
As they turned to leave, Arcturus felt the weight of his father's words settle over him—not as a burden, but as a quiet, burning determination. He walked alongside Étienne, the letter pressed close to his chest, its final line repeating in his mind.
"Even the smallest light can drive away the darkness."