"Marriage in the House of Black is rarely about love. It is a treaty signed in blood and sealed with a heavy dowry. Sometimes, it is also a surrender." — Vega Black
June 11, 1970
The journey from King's Cross to Islington usually acted as a decompression chamber, a slow transition from the magical world back to the stifling silence of Grimmauld Place. But today, the moment Vega stepped through the front door of Number 12, he could sense the frustration leaking in the air. The faint residue of magic having been cast.
Kreacher was not there to take his coat. The hallway stood empty, but the gas lamps flickered violently, pulsing in time with a shouting match raging on the floor above.
"It is a match of equals!" a man's voice roared.
"It is a sale!" came the answer, low and cold. Arcturus.
Vega didn't bother shrinking his trunk. He left it in the hall, his hand instinctively dropping to his wand, though he kept it sheathed. He touched the Ring on his finger, grounding himself against the ambient pressure, and climbed the stairs.
The double doors to the drawing room had been blasted open and hung crookedly on their hinges, testifying to the violence of the argument.
Inside, the room was a tableau of a family shattering.
Arcturus Black stood by the fireplace, a figure of absolute, incandescent rage. His back was rigid, his wand gripped tightly at his side, and the fire behind him spat furious violet tongues that licked at the mantlepiece, reacting to his volatile magical aura.
Facing him stood Cygnus Black, Vega's uncle and Bellatrix's father. Cygnus was a tall, thick-set man with the Black jawline but none of the Black discipline. He looked flushed, triumphant, and slightly terrified all at once, like a man holding a wolf by the ears.
Beside Cygnus stood his wife, Druella. She was preening, her blonde hair piled high, wearing a smile that was all teeth and ambition.
And in the armchair, sipping tea amidst the vibrating tension, sat Walburga.
"Vega," Arcturus said. His voice was gravel, and his eyes remained locked on Cygnus. "Come in. Close the doors. If we are going to tear this family apart, we will do it in private."
Vega waved his hand. The broken doors groaned and slammed shut, the locking charms clicking into place with a definitive snap.
"What is happening?" Vega asked, moving to the window to flank his grandfather.
"Your cousin," Cygnus announced, his chest puffing out, "has secured a match. A brilliant match.
The contract was signed this morning."
"Bellatrix," Vega stated flatly.
"Bellatrix," Druella purred. "She is engaged to Rodolphus Lestrange."
Vega felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. The Lestranges were old blood, rich, and sacred.
On paper, it was impeccable. But the reality was far more complicating Rodolphus was one of the loudest voices in the 'Knights', this Voldemort's right hand in the recruitment circles.
"It is a prestigious union," Walburga chimed in from her chair, setting her cup down on its saucer with a delicate clink. "The Lestranges are impeccable. Pure blood. Old gold. They stand for the right things."
"They stand for Him," Arcturus snarled, turning on her. "Do not play the fool, Walburga. You know what this is. This isn't a marriage; it's a recruitment. Rodolphus Lestrange does not take a breath without asking this 'Voldemort' for permission."
"And what of it?" Cygnus shot back, emboldened by Walburga's support. "The Dark Lord is the future, Father! He values our blood. He respects our traditions. He doesn't want to regulate us like the Ministry; he wants to empower us!"
"He wants to own us!" Arcturus roared.
The windows rattled in their frames. A vase on the mantlepiece exploded, showering the rug with porcelain dust.
"I am the Head of this House!" Arcturus's voice dropped to a whisper that carried more weight than the shout. "I decide who we align with. And I did not give permission for my granddaughter to be branded like cattle by a man who hides his face."
"The contract is signed," Druella said icily. "By Cygnus. As her father, it is his right."
Arcturus looked at his son with pure, unadulterated disgust.
"You sold her," Arcturus said. "You weak, grasping little man. You sold your daughter for a seat at a table that is going to burn."
"I secured her legacy!" Cygnus yelled, his face turning purple. "She will be powerful! She will be feared! And you... you sit in this house and rot, old man. You count your gold while the world changes. Bellatrix is part of the vanguard!"
Vega watched them silently , his grey eyes moving from his uncle's flushed face to his aunt's smug smile.
He saw the lines being drawn. Cygnus and Druella saw Voldemort as a ladder, a way to climb higher than the Black name alone could take them.
"Vega," Walburga said, turning her sharp eyes to him. "You are quiet. Surely you see the benefit? Rodolphus is a strong wizard. A pureblood. This strengthens the family."
All eyes turned to Vega.
He stood in the crossfire. He was twelve years old, but in this room, as heir to House Black, he was a pivot point, age did not matter.
Vega was silent for moment. He stared at his mother piercingly, as he considered the implications.
"It strengthens the Lestranges," He finally said. No change of emotion in his voice.
Cygnus flushed red and scoffed. "What would a child know of alliances?"
"I know that when you marry a soldier, you marry his general," Vega said. He looked directly at Druella. "Bellatrix isn't just marrying Rodolphus. She's marrying his cause. And that cause demands total submission."
He touched the Ring on his finger.
"Since when does the House of Black submit?" He asked the room simply.
"We do not submit!" Cygnus spat. "We lead!"
"Then why," Vega asked softly, "is Bellatrix reporting to a Lord who isn't you?"
Cygnus opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The logic cut straight through the bluster.
Arcturus let out a sharp, harsh breath. He looked at Vega with a flicker of grim approval.
"It is done," Arcturus said, his voice flat, accepting the reality of the ink on the parchment. "The contract is signed. I cannot annul it without declaring a blood feud with the Lestranges, and that would tear the Sacred Twenty-Eight apart."
He walked to the window, looking out at the grey London street, his silhouette stark against the light.
"Let her marry him. Let her wear his ring and his brand."
He turned back, and his face was a mask of granite.
"But mark me, Cygnus. If she brings that man, this 'Voldemort', into my house... if she tries to fly his banner from my roof... I will blast her from the tapestry myself."
Druella gasped, her hand flying to her throat. "You wouldn't."
"Try me," Arcturus whispered.
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Cygnus and Druella left quickly after that, sweeping out of the room with an air of offended dignity, though Cygnus looked pale around the edges. Walburga finished her tea in silence, her eyes gleaming with a fanaticism she kept carefully hidden, before retreating to her chambers.
Vega and Arcturus remained in the ruins of the drawing room.
Arcturus waved his wand. The vase repaired itself. The fire calmed from violet to orange.
"They think they are rising," Arcturus murmured, pouring himself a drink. His hand shook slightly from the adrenaline of the confrontation.
"They are hungry," Vega said. "Voldemort feeds the hunger."
"He feeds them poison," Arcturus corrected. He downed the drink in one swallow. "He is breaking this family apart, Vega. He'll turn father against son, brother against brother."
He stared at the tapestry silently for some time time. Vegawatched, he knew better than to break Arcturus's contemplative mood.
Arcturus finally turned. "And you? What did you learn at school? What did you learn."
Vega thought of the trophy room. The name in the gold. Tom Marvolo Riddle.
For some reason the name had stuck with him.
"I learned that history repeats itself," Vega said carefully.
Arcturus snorted.
He sat down heavily in his chair, the leather creaking.
"The wedding will be in the winter," Arcturus said. "We will attend. We will smile. We will pretend that we are a united front."
He looked up, his grey eyes piercing.
"But you, Vega... you watch. Watch Rodolphus. Watch his friends. See who kisses the hem of the robe and who stands at the back. We need to know who his allies are."
"I'll watch," Vega promised solemnly.
"Good." Arcturus closed his eyes, leaning his head back. "Now go. And make sure your Lei Shen behaves himself. If I have to deal with one more headache today, I might just hex the cat."
Vega walked to the door. He looked back at his grandfather, the Old Lion of House Black, sitting alone in a room full of ghosts, surrounded by the names of family members who were slowly turning into strangers.
The war hadn't started on a battlefield. It had started here, in the drawing room, with a signature on a marriage contract.
Vega closed the door softly.
He went downstairs to his trunk. He opened the lid.
Raijin looked up, his blue eyes glowing in the gloom of the hallway.
"You're lucky," Vega whispered to the spirit. "You don't have to worry about all this family drama."
He reached in and strokes the Raijin's head letting the sparks bite his fingers. The creature purred and rubbed itself against Vega's hand.
"Greedy creature," Vega murmured, amused at the beast's posturing.
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And I'm back guys! Sorry for the delay. Was ironing out how I want to continue with this story.
Please check out my new story: The Copy Ninja of Camp Half-Blood | (Kakashi Hatake insert as Luke Castellan)