The Decline of the Blacks

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

September 1, 1979

Arcturus Black mourned.

Seated in his chair before the fireplace, he considered the past.

The old ways, the Traditions that had held the Blacks fast for hundreds of years, were falling by the way. An ill wind seemed to blow through the fortunes of several of the members of the Family.

Sirius, always so young and brash (and too well-suited for Gryffindor, it seemed), was in all but reality, dead to the Blacks. The most visible stain on the Black Family, he had shown his final contempt at sixteen by running away from home, and had been deservedly disowned.

Regulus, the remaining son of the blacks, who had stayed true to the family honour and ideals – where was he? Questioning Kreacher had revealed nothing except, "Kreacher does not know where Master Regulus is," which hardly helped. Walburga's worries and fretting couldn't help but make Arcturus uneasy, even as both had to maintain outward appearances.

Orion, his only son! Fading as he valiantly tried to overcome Dragon Pox. He was clinging to life at Saint Mungo's at the age of fifty, but it was obvious he was due to fail, though the Healers put their best face on the matter.

Walburga, in her turn, was clearly struggling to hold on to something, anything, that promised normality and safety in her life, and there was precious little to be had of that these days.

Of his cousin, Pollux, he saw little, but he supposed that at sixty-seven, his cousin was only marginally more equipped to handle the hammer-blows that had struck the Blacks in the last half-decade. Cassiopeia, an oddity of the family, was little-regarded, having never married and borne children.

Only Cygnus and Narcissa seemed to be doing moderately well, but Arcturus wondered how long that would last. It wouldn't be the first time a Malfoy acted a little too openly in his self-interest.

Arcturus's wife, Melania, in odd counterpoint, seemed to live on sturdily, pleased at the news that her nephew, a McMillan, had married and was already on his way to starting a family.

But Melania wasn't a Black.

Were all Blacks destined to be cursed from the moment of their births?

Sirius and Alphard had disappointed the Family, and Arcturus was not yet inclined to reinstate anyone, though he was Family Patriarch. The Traditions must be upheld, and Sirius had never shown any great love for them, proving himself wholly unsuitable to carry on the Black name and Family in the nobility to which they had been accustomed.

Arcturus felt every moment of his seventy-eight years when the Floo whooshed to life in a blaze of green, and the resident Healer at Saint Mungo's looked at him solemnly.

Dread certainty gripped him as he grabbed his cane (more for effect than real need) in one hand and stared at the fireeplace imperiously, wishing the news would not come.

And yet...

"Lord Black?"

Arcturus closed his eyes, nodded once, and said, "My son? Is he—"

Arcturus remembered that the Healer was named Erasmus Stangerson, and for all that he was a half-blood, he did excellent work. A look of defeat shadowed his face as he said, wearily, "Unfortunately, he is dead. The progression of the Dragon Pox was just too swift even though we did everything we could. I tried contacting his wife, but she's not—I hesitate to say—"

Brusquely, Arcturus replied, "There will be no need to dance around the niceties today, Healer. Walburga is not well. She will be in no condition to handle his affairs. I shall come through. Open your Floo."

Identifying the body was a swift formality, as was making the arrangements for the usual ceremonies the Blacks conducted upon the death of any member of the Family.

But there was one more task, one more duty. And Arcturus knew as surely as he knew he had his cane to lean on that Walburga Black would never recover from the loss of the three most important men in her life.

Yet it had to be done.

He threw the Floo powder into the fireplace at St Mungo's, and jumped in, barking "Number Twelve Grimmauld Place!"

Yes, there would be ample time to mourn another loss to the Black family. Ill winds, indeed.

June 10, 1980

Arcturus stood, outwardly the picture of pride and contentment with the nobility of his Family's heritage, as was its due. The people in the crowded Ministry meeting hall were babbling away unconcernedly. All seemed well. Even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would never dare attack the centre of wizarding power, the Ministry itself.

But beneath the calm, how sure could he be about Walburga? Only he and Pollux knew how much effort it had taken to soothe Walburga's brittle ego, build her up to the point where she would come out and be passably civil at the ceremony.

Arcturus surveyed the circle of people near him as he was obtaining the Ritual Food from a house-elf.

Walburga held her glass of elf-made wine in her hand, looking haughtily at Lucius. Narcissa was next to him, holding Draco and basking in the praise as the women she knew enviously looked upon Draco, and surreptitiously eyed their nervous husbands. Cassiopeia was off in the far corner, chatting amiably with that fierce harridan, Augusta Longbottom, and Melania.

Pollux was next to Walburga on one side, and Cygnus, Narcissa's father, on the other. Arcturus returned to the circle with a plate of small bite-sized sandwiches and a small glass of Ogden's Firewhiskey. As politeness demanded, he first offered the plate to the couple, saying, "With this nourishment offered at your son's Naming, I tender my wishes that your son be healthy in mind, spirit and body."

Lucius and Narcissa each took one, and their expressions showed that they honestly appreciated the taste of their food. He then offered around the sandwiches to Walburga and Pollux, both of whom refused. Cygnus, however, took one and ate mechanically. Arcturus then took one sandwich for himself, then unobtrusively called for a house-elf to take the tray away.

Arcturus leaned on his cane (at seventy-nine, he seemed to need to use the cane more now than he used to even a year prior), and in an aside to Pollux said, "We've a good gathering tonight. There's Minister Bagnold; remind me to thank her for allowing us the use of the Ministry Hall to conduct Draco's Naming."

Pollux smiled. "Yes. The boy is a Black, and only the best for him, eh? I say, I see the Head Auror's here, Amelia Bones. Word is that she'll become the next Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and you know what that means."

As Arcturus considered that comment, he idly noted Lucius was eyeing the cane with more than passing interest. Arcturus mentally groaned and wondered when that upstart copycat would get his own cane to flourish as though he needed another accessory to prove he could strut like an overgrown peacock.

Unfortunately, disaster almost struck as Walburga had not the decency to keep her thoughts to herself. She kept her haughty expression as she barked, "So! Lucius Malfoy. You must be very happy tonight, hum?"

Slightly guardedly, the young man replied, "Yes. I am very fortunate to have sired a son who will continue the noble Black line."

Walburga let out a snort, and Arcturus was in mind to reprimand his niece for such behaviour, while Pollux looked thunderstruck at the very idea of a Black who snorted in polite company. Cygnus's face turned ashen, and he seemed to visibly struggle for a way to end the situation gracefully.

She said, "And how far back do your Galleons go, Lucius? A century? Fifty years? It wouldn't be the first time I've heard of profits being made after those uncouth Russians decimated all the pure-blood communities – but I wouldn't care to speculate openly."

At that moment, Pollux acted. He said, "Walburga, I fear you are not up to the strain of a gathering like this tonight. Arcturus, I shall take my leave? My regrets, Lucius and Narcissa."

Arcturus nodded swiftly to Pollux, who at once took Walburga's arm in an iron grip and speedily escorted her to the nearest Floo. Cygnus broke away a second later to follow. Arcturus breathed a sigh of relief, making it appear as though it were an old man's wheeze at readjusting his stance to ease the weight on his knee. Thank Merlin Abraxas was too ill to show up at this gathering, thought Arcturus.

There had been more than enough evidence that Abraxas Malfoy had used his connections in France to illegally take commissions from frantic Russians wanting to transfer their wealth to the reputed safety of Magical Britain, as well as 'assist' them in setting up their exotic animal plantations, which usually meant Abraxas taking majority ownership in such enterprises.

But to openly hint at it, and at a Naming! Children were particularly precious in pure-blood society, because only the Weasleys and Prewetts seemed to bear more than just two healthy children per generation.

Thank Merlin everyone, even Lucius, whose slightly murderous expression had smoothed out into bland unconcern, was willing to put this incident down to Walburga's extended grief over the loss of her sons and husband.

With this sense in mind, Arcturus raised his voice and spoke to the onlookers. "My niece has been under strain for some time. She is not well, and my cousin has escorted her back to her residence. There is no cause for alarm."

Even now, his gaze could still command people, and he was grateful for it as those he locked eyes with would abashedly turn their faces away to their conversation partners, and the normal babbling of an unconcerned crowd resumed.

Walburga would never again venture out to social gatherings. Pollux reported only the next day that she began to ramble and rave about indignities to the Blacks: Sirius's open blood-traitorism, Alphard's support of Andromeda and Sirius, Lucius Malfoy's marriage to Narcissa, and the list seemed to go on and on.

Arcturus never forgot that expression on Lucius's face, and gave orders to Kreacher to keep people out of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place except for himself, Cygnus, Pollux and Cassiopeia. Not even Melania would be permitted near Walburga. Arcturus was no fool, and he had heard rumours of Lucius Malfoy's skills and his friendship with that half-blood scion of the Princes, that misanthropic nobody, Severus Snape, who had obtained his Potions Mastery in 1979.

It didn't take much to wonder if Lucius might be easily offended and unwilling to let such slights fall by the way, especially now that between Abraxas's own bout of Dragon Pox and Narcissa's dowry money, he had a good chance of gathering enough money to do real damage to those he disliked.

It wouldn't hurt to increase the protections on his own residence, just in case Lucius got any ideas.

November 2, 1981

Arcturus thought, What a difference over two years and a catastrophic event has made!

The impossible had happened.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been vanquished! By a half-blood boy, no less.

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, was being toasted in every corner of wizarding society. Even he, Cygnus, Pollux and Cassiopeia had quietly gathered at Arcturus's residence the night before. Walburga was indisposed, having fallen ill after one of her many indulgences with the bottle. He thought back again—

Cygnus looked torn between anger and relief. He muttered, "I was at Walburga's some time ago. Did you know the Family Tree shows Regulus is dead?"

The rest of them nodded, having gone to take looks at the tapestry when looking in on Walburga (usually very briefly). Cygnus, however, seemed to have imbibed a bit more than was good, or seemed to have felt his inhibitions lessen that night.

Cygnus continued. "I knew the boy was mixed up in it somehow. I knew it!"

Pollux, apparently trying to be diplomatic in front of the group, said, "Well, I think it was always clear that You-Know-Who had the wrong of how to go about things."

Cygnus glared and barked, "Oh, bollocks, father!"

Scandalised, Pollux replied, "I think you have taken a little too much liquor. Perhaps a Sobriety Potion is in order."

Cygnus had the grace to look abashed after that outburst, but Arcturus mentally filed that away for the moment. He calmly said, "The uncertainty is over. Let us make our peace with the past and adjust ourselves to the future." Solemnly, he raised his glass. "The Boy-Who-Lived."

Even the Blacks were not so ignorant as to fail to realise which way the winds of change would blow.

Walburga's slow decline was indeed a trial for he, Pollux and Cygnus, but the real tragedy was Sirius!

Arcturus, thunderstruck, re-read his copy of the Daily Prophet for that day. The headline screeched SIRIUS BLACK ARRESTED, FOUND TO BE SUPPORTING YOU-KNOW-WHO!

It was still so unbelievable. There was Dumbledore, publicly quoted as telling Minister Bagnold that he had been told, in confidence, that Sirius Black was Secret Keeper to the Potters' Fidelius Charm, and Cornelius Fudge explaining how the street had been blown up, several Muggles dead, and Sirius apparently laughing and babbling incoherently. The feeling of unbelievability that seemed to saturate the air as Arcturus read all this. Sirius Black, blood traitor, supporting the terrorists who wanted a pure-blood aristocracy? He didn't know what to believe anymore!

The one thing that bothered him was that there was no mention of any trial, imminent or otherwise. Other Death Eaters were already slated for trial, as noted in a supplementary article buried in the back. Then again, in the euphoria over You-Know-Who's demise, people sometimes forgot things.

Like trials.

April 1, 1985

Walburga's death proved to be more of a relief to him and Pollux than either felt was polite to mention. Even Cygnus's mouth had only quirked briefly after the funeral. She had become a virtual shut-in over the last few years, and Cassiopeia, for her part, refused to have anything to do with Walburga after harsh words were exchanged over the fact that Cassiopeia had never married, never borne children.

Charis and Callidora had been useless for years, keeping their distance as an ill wind seemed to blow through Black fortunes, preferring to involve themselves in their own relationships, their own lives.

And could he really blame them?

Arcturus was now almost eighty-four, and he saw that the recent years had not been kind to Pollux either.

We both look like such old men, he mused.

The funeral had been, by Black standards, a quiet affair. No-one would ever have dared to say it publicly, but Sirius Black being locked up in Azkaban, Regulus's death under suspicious circumstances (the Family Tree, as Cygnus had noted, had suddenly self-updated not long after Orion died), and Walburga's instability proved that the Blacks were on the decline.

Speaking of Sirius in Azkaban...

"Pollux?"

His cousin started, his faraway gaze out the window snapping into focus. "Sorry, Arct, I was woolgathering. How's Melania?"

"For once, we have good news as the Blacks go. She continues to be the picture of health, and for that I'm grateful. How is Irma?"

Pollux looked away, then looked back at Arcturus. "She recently tripped and fell. Saint Mungo's are having a harder time than usual repairing her bones without resorting to Disappearing them and using Skele-Gro."

The two cousins' faces both twisted in distaste at the memory of having to use that potion, In Arcturus's case, it was after a stray Bludger had smashed through the Slytherin stands, catching him on the shoulder. For Pollux, he had been a Beater in his day, and a mis-aimed swing resulted in his arm catching a Bludger full-on.

"I'm sorry, Pollux. Anyway, as much as I hate to bring up matters, I need to put before you some of my thoughts over the last few years."

Pollux leaned forward and said, "Go on."

"Has it ever struck you as curious that the Wizengamot has never ordered a trial for young Sirius?"

"Pah. Sirius. Arct, you know he's a blood traitor. Consorting with those Gryffindors, mocking Slytherin and mocking our Black traditions! He even had the audacity to somehow sway Alphard to his side, and that Muggle-loving Potter freely gave of his own family fortune! And you saw the newspaper. It's suicide to take up the defence of someone who supports You-Know-Who!"

Arcturus took a steadying breath and said, "Do you not think it beneath the honour of us Blacks to be treated so commonly, as though it were right that one of us be clapped into jail without consequence? Should we not reassert, at least once more, our noble heritage and demand this of the Ministry? For I have certainly tried.

"Other Death Eaters got trials, Pollux. You know this. I tried to meet with Minister Bagnold in 1982, after the Death Eater trials were over. I was barely able to get ten minutes, and that was with my use of the Black seat on the Wizengamot. I never got formal notification of a trial for Sirius, as by rights I should have even if I would have had to declare inability to try my own grandson. Millicent seemed unusually reluctant to discuss the matter with me; ten years ago a word from you, me, or Orion would have been sufficient to get the Ministry to jump at our command, and you know it. If we stand together, we may yet overcome the Ministry."

Pollux looked as though he were weakening, and was leaning forward. Arcturus thought he might stand a chance and leaned forward in his turn.

He said, "Lucius Malfoy is behind this, Pollux. That son of a thief has never forgiven Walburga's slight against him, I'm sure of it! He wants our wealth. Cassiopeia's dowry will return to the Black general vault when she dies; the Crouch branch will get the dowry for Charis, the Longbottoms will get Callidora's. and the same with Lucretia and the Prewetts. But that's minor, and you know it. We control the bulk of the Family fortune and the properties. Lucius wants them, and with the Lestranges out of the way, he has a clear claim as it stands, with a son in the direct line from Narcissa.

"Bellatrix was always a little unhinged, and I don't mind saying she always put me off a little with her fanatic intensity, though I have no quarrel with the idea that we pure-bloods represent the natural governing class of Britain. But I'm getting off track. I propose this, Pollux: We both must agree here and now to provisionally reinstate Sirius Black to Regent of the Family. I do not trust Lucius Malfoy."

Pollux shot out of his chair, his face suffused in red. "No! I refuse, Arcturus! Are you sure your brains aren't being addled by old age? If you keep on like this, I shall—"

Icily, Arcturus rose from his chair slowly, purposefully. He coldly said, "Do not presume, Pollux. I am Patriarch. I will not strike you off the Family Tree, but if you continue in defiance of me, cousin, we will not speak again."

"Then so mote it be. Good-bye – forever, Arcturus."

Pollux Disapparated, and Arcturus, his heart filled with sorrow, reset the wards to prohibit Pollux from ever reappearing in his residence.

July 7, 1987

Arcturus stood alone.

No-one came to Melania's funeral, save him. Cassiopeia had accidentally been bitten by a Venomous Tentacula and was at St Mungo's for treatment. Cygnus, influenced by Pollux, also refused to attend.

How far we have fallen. Orion's funeral was almost a State occasion.

He put his hand on Melania's coffin, recalling the sudden blast of Wizarding Flu that struck young and old earlier that year. Melania had lost so much weight, he had feared for her life that April; she had never truly recovered, and after a protracted convalescence, she finally slipped quietly into death as she lay next to Arcturus. He had woken up, and known instantly that something was horribly wrong.

And Pollux had not come, though he knew Melania's obituary had been published in the Daily Prophet. That hurt the most.

With renewed resolve, he took three steps back, pointed his wand, and said, "On this day the seventh of July nineteen eighty-seven, I cast thee back to the winds from which thou hast come. Incendio."

The wood caught fire on the metal bier, and Arcturus stood alone in the outer courtyard of his mansion, the very same courtyard that had been so full of people all those years ago when his son had died.

It was time for another futile try at the Wizengamot. It was the only thing that would keep him going now.

- - -

Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, banged his gavel and consulted his watch. Arcturus had heard it was a very strange watch, supposedly showing the stars and planets of the galaxy. It was of a piece with the man's general dottiness that seemed to show through at times.

Amelia Bones had indeed become the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement not long before. That sour-faced Crouch had always shut down any attempts to bring the case to the Wizengamot floor before. And to think I am related to that man, thought Arcturus mutinously.

As he regarded Amelia, he thought, maybe, just maybe. Hope flared through Arcturus as he wished Dumbledore had been more sympathetic. He could have overridden that bastard Barty Crouch easily enough, but far be it from him to jeopardize his comfortable sinecure as Headmaster of Hogwarts! Making controversial decisions was bad publicity for parents who could afford to send their children to Beauxbatons.

But Dumbledore was speaking. "As Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, I hereby open our session as of two oh-four in the afternoon exactly. What business have we to transact today?"

Millicent Bagnold lifted a piece of paper and said, "Chief Warlock, on behalf of the Ministry I would like to introduce the new head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Susan Bones."

The monocled witch to Bagnold's left gravely nodded, and Dumbledore made a brief note on a piece of parchment in front of him. He said, "Very good, Minister. Welcome, Madam Bones. I trust your career with the Ministry will be a long and effective one.

"Now, is there any other urgent business to conduct before we take up regularly scheduled items on the agenda?"

Arcturus stood. As he had several times before, he said, "I hereby petition the Wizengamot and the Ministry on behalf of my grandson."

The murmurs had grown in recent years, and this time, Arcturus distinctly heard, "barmy old crank" a few seats down. He set his jaw, and remained impassive. I am a Black, and I am not to be demeaned by lesser Families.

Also, Barty Crouch would always say—

"There is no evidence that has come to light which would justify reopening the case, Lord Black."

To his surprise, this time it was Albus Dumbledore. He retorted, "While you gave evidence that my grandson was Secret Keeper for the Potters, and it was on this fact that the Daily Prophet all but convicted him in the minds of the public, the fact remains that there was no trial here at the Wizengamot, or even a Wizard's Council. I received no summons. I wish to convene a full trial. It only takes the assent of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and a quorate session of the Wizengamot. Do I have this assent?"

Amelia Bones, surprised, said, "Let me be sure I am not mistaken. No record of any trial exists?"

"None, Madam. Will you agree to investigating the circumstances under which Sirius Black was sent to Azkaban Prison?"

Bones nodded. "I shall."

Yes!

Fighting to keep the jubilation out of his voice, Arcturus said, "Then all that is needed now is Wizengamot authorisation. Do I have it from this body, my fellow Lords and Ladies?"

That smug bastard Lucius Malfoy stood up. "May I have the floor for comment, Chief Warlock?"

Dumbledore nodded, and Arcturus fumed as he knew he couldn't demand to interrupt.

"Is it not true that Mr Black was disowned from the Black Family by his mother?"

Arcturus grated, "Well, yes. What of that? I am Family Patriarch."

Lucius zoomed in for the kill as he said, "Exactly, Lord Black. This disownment continues to operate and be effective as you have never acted to rescind the order. My fellow Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot, I note the advanced age of Lord Black and while his family is a long-respected one, it may be indelicate of me to suggest—"

That did it. Decorum or no decorum, he pointed his cane, and bellowed, "You arrogant young arse, how dare you stand before me and call me mentally incompetent!? You know as well as I that reinstating a grandson who'll be in jail for life is pointless prior to getting an acquittal at trial. I insist on a vote, here and now. Lords and Ladies, I ask for your support in convening a legal trial for one Sirius Black, currently accused of killing Peter Pettigrew and assorted Muggles!"

If Lucius had not been an enemy at all of the elder Blacks before, he certainly was now. His face was white with suppressed rage, and he sat down, apparently incoherent.

Arcturus sat down as well, with ill dignity, and stolidly listened as he heard Dumbledore call, pro forma, for a vote.

He knew, before the tally was even announced, that his rash act (how like Sirius that was!) had doomed his case before he could even get headway. The looks, the stares, the murmurs... the motion went down in defeat forty to ten, and most of those votes were minor Families beholden to the Blacks by some sort of contractual obligation and did not wish to jeopardise their status.

The rest of the session swirled by, with Arcturus perfunctorily agreeing to all the motions and legislation, followed by his departure in an aura of abject failure.

This marked the fourth, and last, time he had tried to seek some kind of justice for a grandson who should have been accorded better treatment than he did.

He never attended a session of the Wizengamot again.

February 2, 1990

Pollux and Irma had died within days of each other. Arcturus, after considerable mental debate, attended their combined funeral. Only Cassiopeia remained at the end, looking forlornly solemn. Cygnus had already left with perfunctory good-byes, clearly not up to the challenge of an extended discussion upon his father's death.

Arcturus was almost eighty-nine, and he knew his health was failing. He had so little time left to set his plans in motion...

He coughed sharply, which drew her attention. She hadn't paid him any heed before setting fire to the coffins on the bier.

Arcturus and Cassiopeia had never been close, as he had been close to graduating school when she was born. But they occasionally saw each other at social gatherings and the like. Their relationship, apparently, was still cordial, even if, as Arcturus remembered with some embarrassment, he had not spoken to her in at least a year or more.

"Hello, Arcturus. I was wondering when we would ever talk again. It was not easy listening to Pollux's litany of complaints about you, and trying not to harden my heart against you."

Arcturus lowered his gaze to the floor in acknowledgement, then looked back into the fireplace. "For that, I am sorry. Pollux and I had an argument the last time we talked, and... it did not go well. I wish now that I had tried to reconcile with him. At our age—"

"Indeed. But why are you talking to me of other things, when decorum would at least demand that these coffins be finished burning?"

"I am almost the last of the male Blacks. There is Sirius in Azkaban, as well as Cygnus, who I fear may be a little too close to Lucius for my comfort. And there is Draco, who is close to starting Hogwarts. Cassiopeia, I have never trusted Lucius Malfoy. We are both not long for this world, I suspect, and I have reason to believe Lucius has had his reasons to block my attempts to get a trial for Sirius at the Wizengamot. I have tried and failed four times, and my last was so ignoble I decided never to attend session again.

"Unfortunately as much as I deplored Alphard's behaviour on his deathbed, I am forced to emulate it. I have revised my will, and I am about to enact one of my last decrees as Family Patriarch. Narcissa and Bellatrix are expressly prohibited from inheriting more than the money I have allotted them. Sirius Black, or whoever he names as his heir, shall receive the rest of the monies. Cygnus will also inherit only as is usually prescribed, for he has already received much from Pollux.

"I have elected to name Sirius Black acting Regent of the Family for as long as he is alive, and for this to take effect on my deathbed. I cannot formally name him Family Head when as it stands, he will spend his life in Azkaban and could potentially still be disinherited if that strutting coward Lucius tries to make a grab for the money. However, Regent is a different matter, as it implies there is some heir as yet unspecified in the future for whom the Black wealth must be maintained. It would be harder to remove Sirius from that position, by far.

"Unfortunately, I failed to convince Pollux to go along with me on this, and so I have clung to life in the hope that I could live on and outlast any of my generation. A morbid thought, I know, and I'm sorry to sound so callous about your brother. While I do not strictly need your support, it would ease my mind tremendously if you could do your part to ensure Headship devolves somehow to Sirius instead of Cygnus, Lucius or Draco. I have never been satisfied with the idea that he killed his friend when the Ministry simply rushed him into Azkaban without a further word.

"And Dumbledore is tied up in this somehow. He has proven to be just as oddly recalcitrant to consider the matter. I can only conclude that it might be that Sirius would have designated Harry Potter his heir."

Cassiopeia's eyes went wide. "The Boy-Who-Lived!"

Arcturus nodded in certainty. "Exactly. He will be a power in his own right, the Muggle blood in him notwithstanding. Any boy who could somehow turn back the power of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is bound to have attracted Albus Dumbledore's attention. Before I became a shut-in due to my own disgrace as a Black, I heard rumours that he has been involved somehow in secreting the child away from anyone else, Death Eater or otherwise. And we Blacks are always so headstrong! Sirius would have been a thorn in Dumbledore's side, I suspect."

Cassiopeia nodded once, in precise motions. "Very well, Arcturus. You have my support. For what it is worth, Harry Potter is due to attend Hogwarts next year. If I am still alive then, I will try to keep an eye on the boy. Dark Lords are not always good for Family fortunes, so I owe him that much at least."

Arcturus raised his eyebrows, and then considered. The Dark Lord had apparently demanded monies from the Lestranges, and seeing as they were convicted Death Eaters, it wasn't hard to see why. Financing a private army was an expensive proposition.

"I am growing tired, Cassiopeia. Good day to you."

"And to you. Arcturus. Please contact me more frequently in the future."

- - -

Arcturus had one other try at reconciliation left. He had long ago bribed one of the clerks at St Mungo's, and held onto the information, not sure why he even bothered.

But that day, he held in his aged hand a yellowed piece of parchment, and concentrated carefully, for the address was not one he had been to before.

After appearing in front of the house – a rather ordinary-looking residence, he took a deep breath, unaccountably nervous.

Arcturus forced himself to move to the door, and raised his cane. He used it to knock on the door, precisely three times. Each knock seemed to echo through his head, as though it portended uneasy times ahead.

The door opened, and a man of apparent early middle age was looking at him. He was fair-haired and seemed to have the relatively uncharacteristic, aside from Horace Slughorn, tendency to gain weight as one aged, for he was already showing some of it around his stomach

Arcturus spoke as though his throat had long been unused to speech. "You are – I take it you are Theodore Tonks?"

The man appeared puzzled, and then squinted a tiny bit and seemed to realise something. "You're one of those Blacks, are you? Andromeda said you'd all disowned her. Sir, I may be 'just a Muggleborn' to you all, but if you do not leave this property at once I shall call the Aurors."

Arcturus almost responded as he would have of old, full of righteousness and nobility, thundering the weight of his Family's history at this young upstart, and then abruptly felt himself deflate. Of what was the use? He had long damaged himself at the Wizengamot. The years of struggle to deal with Walburga—the long estrangement from Pollux—the repeated inability to secure a trial for Sirius—all his failures seemed to attack him at once, and he simply leaned on his cane and said in a low, imploring voice, "I was wrong. I am old. I may die soon. I wish"—he looked away and then turned back—"I wish to make amends."

The man, Tonks, seemed to believe him and called for Andromeda.

She had aged, but she had aged well. She resembled a regal-looking Bellatrix without the always-fugitive intense insanity that marked her sister, and her haughty gaze pinned Arcturus rather neatly.

"I see you have finally deigned to come visit. Is it to once again convince me of the error of my ways? If so, I wearied of that years ago, and have never felt any need to come crawling back to the Family to claim any inheritance."

Arcturus sighed. "Andromeda, I have no desire to fence with words today. I offer you reinstatement, and will restore your inheritance at once."

Instead of responding with veiled hope and eagerness, Andromeda laughed. She actually laughed. It was a bitter, malicious laugh, the kind Bellatrix might have cackled out over her victims. Arcturus shifted uneasily as she stepped across the threshold to stand on the mat which read 'Welcome'.

She snarled, "So it has come to this, has it? The great Arcturus Black, proud Patriarch of the Family, desperate to keep his money from the Malfoys—"

At Arcturus's expression of shock, Andromeda drove on. "Oh yes, I am not so ignorant as you would have thought. I caught wind of your last attempt at the Wizengamot, and even before that Augusta would always purse her lips and regale me with the latest doings of Lucius Malfoy. It's so obvious, isn't it? Lucius wants your money and you don't like him, so you'll sink to vainly attempting to restore me to the Family to draw some of the money away from him and to me!

Vicously, she hissed, "Good riddance! Every Galleon, Sickle and Knut of that money will just be a reminder of all the years that save Alphard, none of you – none – of – you – dared once defy Walburga when she disowned me, and even Uncle Alphard only did so on his death-bed! May you all strangle on your pride and your money, Arcturus, for pride goeth before a fall, and the Blacks have surely fallen! Now leave and never come back!"

With that, she turned, stepped back inside her house, and slammed the door.

Arcturus Disapparated, an air of failure once again enveloping him as surely as it had at the Wizengamot.

May 1, 1990

The lawyer had been very helpful. His name was Robert Barbur, and he had a consultancy arrangement with a Goblin named Griphook, and between the three of them they had managed to create a legally somewhat ambiguous situation. The execution of a will was normally handled by the Ministry. But anyone who wrote a will could, for a fee payable to the Ministry and another one to Gringotts, instruct the Goblins to handle the transactions directly. This had the benefit of bypassing Ministry laws which would have invalidated the bequests to a convicted family member and sent the entire Black fortune to the Malfoys.

Sirius Black was named acting Regent. This could be changed the instant the Ministry changed Sirius's designation as a convict, and provided a "back door" to reinstate him to full Head.

Arcturus decided to take a daring move, for him, and to the shock of the lawyer, said, "I wish to swear an oath that allows a half-blood to take the Headship of Family."

He had in mind exactly one half-blood by the name of Potter, who could at least be nominally counted on not to sack the Black fortune for personal gain, unlike a certain Dark Lord.

"But, sir! Generations of Blacks have always—"

Arcturus's voice regained some of the strength and timbre of his youth as he drew himself erect in his chair, and commandingly gazed at the man. "Times change. I have changed. I have watched myself experience failure after failure, stalemate after stalemate, as I have tried to secure justice for my grandson. If he is guilty, let him be judged guilty! I would gladly turn my back on him if a trial, and evidence, proved this! But as it is, what evidence do I have that would allow me, in good conscience, to abandon him?

"The men and women of this world are sheep. They have taken the Ministry's word as golden as a Galleon, and refused to believe that lack of a trial means anything. If that is the case, am I also to believe any longer that purity of blood is more important than preservation of the Black fortunes? Dogmatism has no place any longer. I am old. I am tired. And I dislike that arrogant Lucius Malfoy, so greedy for our fortune. I should have seen the glitter in his eyes when Cygnus and Pollux foolishly gave him a bride-price far too high for someone like Narcissa.

"I would rather that Potter boy be an idiot with my money than have that jackass line his own pockets and buy himself a Minister to do his bidding. Now tell me, can I swear this oath or not?"

Barbur looked at Griphook, and then back at Arcturus. "Nothing prevents you, but I would advise looking it up in a Ritual Book before casting it prior to authorising these latest changes to your will."

"I'll get that Ritual Book and be back tomorrow."

- - -

The next day, the trio were reassembled in Barbur's office, warded against intruders and with an Imperturbable across the door.

The Black Family Grimoire had cautioned strenuously in the name of family tradition against allowing "the low-born, the lesser Families, the half-bloods and Mudbloods" to be in a position to have Black family money.

But nobody then or even ten years before could have predicted that so many members of the family would make such missteps as to weaken the power of the Black name to the point of near-irrelevance. That smarmy Cornelius Fudge was in the running for Minister for Magic; he was not in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which could be a handicap in the voting if it weren't for the not-so-subtle hints making the rounds about his role in capturing Sirius Black. His attempt to use a Black scandal to prop himself up made Arcturus's blood boil.

No point trying to get the new Minister for Magic to reopen Sirius's case, then! Arcturus thought sardonically as he mentally catalogued all the curses he could cast on that idiot Fudge without being caught.

So Arcturus cast the spell, "in times of grave threat to the continuation of the family", which freed the Black possessions from being solely inheritable by a pure-blood.

It felt a bit like being contaminated as the spell ended. Even the book felt different.

Barbur seemed a bit impressed, and shoved the will across to Arcturus. "Sign here, please. It will be magically registered."

Griphook shoved a couple of bank drafts to Arcturus's side of the desk as well, and in his grating voice, said, "Sign those, and the appropriate fees will be deducted. Your grandson will always be able to access his vault from this point onward."

Arcturus mechanically scribbled his signature on all the necessary documents, then gruffly said his good-byes.

It remained only to do one last thing.

- - -

"Cygnus."

"Uncle."

Cygnus and Arcturus were seated opposite each other at a round table in Arcturus's courtyard, savouring the incipient summer sun.

Arcturus led off after sipping at his tea. He said, "Cygnus, it is a time for speaking plainly and directly. I have little time left in this world, and you may save me the usual good wishes."

Cygnus nodded.

"Very well. You will become Patriarch after me, naturally, but I have named Sirius Black the Regent for the Family."

At that, Cygnus gasped. "What?"

"There is one more thing. I have invoked the Crisis Spells. The blood requirement for inheritance has been lifted – and before you get any bright ideas about cancelling the Crisis Spells as soon as I die, the Regent must cooperate in the counterspell, and must do so willingly."

Cygnus's expression seemed to merge with Pollux's all those years ago as his face went red with anger. "How dare you, Uncle? How dare you throw away our heritage like this?!"

"Because I have almost unlimited latitude to appoint the Regent, and the Regent cannot be changed except upon the death of the Regent, or unless he himself chooses to abdicate the duty. I am safeguarding our fortune against Lucius Malfoy, Cygnus. I am convinced that now is indeed a time of crisis for the Blacks. That jumped-up pretender to a long family history cares nothing except for social climbing, and Merlin himself be damned if I'll let him have my part of the Black fortune!"

Cygnus was struck dumb, unable, it seemed, to find any way to frame his words. Finally, he got up and Disapparated with a sharp crack.

Arcturus, suddenly feeling the same air of failure once again, sighed and once again readjusted his wards.

September 30, 1991

Arcturus lay on his bed, his eyes closed. He laboured as he struggled for one more breath—and yet one more—and still another. Cassiopeia was seated near him, a sombre expression on her face. He wondered if he was at all coherent as he rushed to get his final insights out to Cassiopeia.

"Promise... promise me you'll keep Cygnus from doing something foolish; I know you don't have much power over him, but you can at least keep him from getting the wrong kind of attention from Lucius Malfoy. That arrogant little peacock."

Arcturus sat up, his aged eyes squinting as he tried to resolve the haze his world seemed to take on most days. A cool glass was pressed into his hand, and he sipped the water in it. He handed it blindly back to Cassiopeia who said softly, "I have not forgotten. As long as I live, I shall guard Cygnus against his own destruction."

"Cass... I saw the Prophet. They finally ran a picture someone took of the Potter child when he got on the Hogwarts Express. That Rita Skeeter woman had something to do with it, I'm sure... such a small boy, and with the weight of every wizard and witch's expectations on his shoulders... and yet, he remains the one hope of the Blacks. He will be like that young James, tempered with the spirit of that Evans woman. Take hope yet, Cassiopeia. Save Sirius. Bring him justice, somehow."

He opened his eyes one last time, barely making out her face in his blurry vision before he finally gasped his last breath and let the darkness envelop him.

Author Notes:

This was inspired, in part by my own musings on the Black Family Tree, and also by Ten Toes's own brilliant extension of canon, although this fic is not specifically intended to be part of the "Two Sides of the Same Coin" arc. They can be considered independently of each other. Thanks go to Maddevillechilde and MisoSoop for beta reading, and to Ten Toes for her help and suggestions, as well helping inspire this one-shot. :)

Also, I'd like to thank several reviewers who pointed out some good things to take into account. You've helped make this a better fic. :)