I do not own Harry Potter, everything belongs to J.K. Rowling.
Also, this story will be the Harry Potter series told from the perspective of the House of Black (and Malfoy). However, it is also a story of personal growth and development. The over-riding arc of the story will be challenging of the members' prejudices and faults. The story is, nevertheless, rated M. It is not aimed at younger readers, and please do respect this.
Additionally, this story will eventually include all of the House of Black. However, as it focuses around a core cast of characters, some take longer to emerge than others. So, if you are waiting for the likes of Andromeda, Tonks, Bellatrix etc. you may have to be patient after this first chapter! : )
I hope you enjoy the story...
Chapter One
On the morning of 1st November, 1981, wizarding Britain awoke to the news that the dark shadow, under which they had all been living for so many years, was lifted.
Lord Voldemort was no more.
Harry Potter was the Boy-Who-Lived.
And the House of Black was in tatters.
...
Sirius Black pushed his hair back from his face. He squinted in the morning sunlight. He had a smear of ash across his left cheek, from visiting the wreckage of his best friend's home in the earliest hours of that morning.
What he found there would haunt him until his dying die.
And he wanted revenge.
He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun.
And that was when he saw him.
He saw him and he laughed.
"Good morning, Peter."
...
Irma Black was eating her breakfast alone that morning. Her sister-in-law was an early riser, and had already been in the library for many hours.
It was a house elf who bought her the news that sent her teacup and saucer and spoon clattering to the floor. The china smashed at her feet, and the pale brown liquid ran along the marble floor.
Their cause was lost.
...
Bellatrix Lestrage screamed like a wounded animal, when she heard the news. She screamed like one with a moral wound, like one with a broken heart.
But she would not fail him.
She would serve him until the sky fell in.
In her horror and her grief she wailed and roared, tore at her hair and her clothing.
And then she was calm. She stroked the wood of her wand and knew that she could still do the Dark Lord's work.
And one day, he would reward her.
...
Andromeda Tonks clutched her daughter close to her, tears streaming down her face. The little girl's hair changed from pink, to orange to green. She looked across the room at her husband, who had sunk down into his armchair in shock and relief.
"It can't believe it's over," he said, "I can't believe we survived."
She laughed suddenly, "But it is. It finally is."
He looked up at her and smiled. "I love you."
"I love you too."
Andromeda would be crying again by the end of the day, when she found out what her favourite cousin Sirius had done.
But for those few, brief hours, her life was perfect.
...
Druella Black already knew the truth, before it was told to her, before the house elf appeared, bearing its master's wand.
"Master Cygnus wished to spare you, ma'am."
Of course he did, she thought bitterly.
But that was what she would tell herself too, rather than the truth she knew in her heart of hearts; that her husband could not face Azkaban.
...
Narcissa Malfoy stroked the silky, silver-blonde hair of her darling son. She had not been able to sleep well the night before, though she could not imagine way. Perhaps the thinning of the veil between the worlds had disturbed her. Now, the dawn sunlight streamed through the damask curtain. She and her son were flooded in a pool of rosy light.
He turned in his sleep and tightened his grip on her finger. His skin was so soft, so perfect.
The door opened and her ashen-faced husband staggered into the room. He dragged his feet heavily, clumsily, and lost his balance, falling against the wall.
Narcissa ran to him and he pulled her tightly against his chest, holding her head in the palm of his hand and gripping her hair as if for strength.
She looked up at him, "Lucius, darling, what's happened?"
...
Cassiopeia Black paced the floor of her library. She paused at the window, straight-backed and proud. The years had aged her, but they had not bent or broken her. Her blue eyes were as sharp and piercing as they ever were.
She would weather this storm. She was a Black. She could weather any storm.
But thank Salazar that Pollox had not lived to see this day. Though how she wished Dorea were still here.
But she could not dwell on that now.
It had all fallen apart, and she had to pick up the pieces.
The House of Black would last as long as there were stars in the sky.
...
The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was, like the fragments of the Dark Lord's soul, ripped apart on the night of Hallowe'en, 1981.
Children were left behind, their parents dead or in Azkaban. Siblings were torn apart, lost to each other through love and war. Widowed dowagers and spinster sisters locked themselves away in bitter and gilded prisons of their own making.
So this is the story of the House of Black.
This is a story of lies.