The atmosphere changed the moment Alastair stepped through the concealed entrance. The old Black residence, despite becoming considerably brighter over the past several months, still retained the quiet dignity of an ancient noble house. Gone were the days when every corridor felt abandoned and every room carried the weight of neglect. Blake's presence, together with Kreacher's renewed pride in maintaining the ancestral home, had gradually restored a sense of life to the manor without erasing its history.
Liri accompanied him only as far as the entrance before quietly returning to her own duties. Alastair made his way deeper into the house, and before he had taken more than a few steps inside, Kreacher appeared with his customary bow.
"Young Master Alastair has returned," the elderly house-elf announced, genuine satisfaction evident in his voice. "Mistress Blake is in the kitchen. Mistress has been working there since this morning."
Alastair nodded in acknowledgment before continuing down the corridor.
As he approached the kitchen, the faint scent of fresh tea mixed with parchment and enchanted ink drifted through the doorway. The large wooden table had almost disappeared beneath dozens of neatly arranged projector discs, stacks of parchment filled with intricate runic arrays, and several notebooks whose margins contained Blake's precise handwriting. She was seated near the window with complete concentration fixed upon one of the latest designs, occasionally making small adjustments before comparing it against another draft lying beside it.
The sound of approaching footsteps caused her to glance toward the doorway almost absentmindedly.
Then the quill slipped from her fingers.
"Alastair..."
The surprise in her voice was immediately replaced by relief. She rose so quickly that the chair scraped loudly across the stone floor before hurrying across the room. Before Alastair could even greet her, she had already wrapped both arms tightly around him.
The embrace was different from the ones they usually shared.
Blake had always been affectionate around those she trusted, yet this time she held onto him with a desperation that immediately told him something had happened. Her grip tightened further, and before long he felt warm tears soaking into the shoulder of his robes.
Alastair didn't ask any questions.
He simply returned the embrace, resting one hand gently upon her back while allowing her to cry without interruption. There were no loud sobs, no dramatic outburst, only the quiet release of emotions she had evidently suppressed for days. The silence that settled over the kitchen was far more comforting than hurried words would have been.
Several minutes passed before Blake's breathing gradually steadied.
She loosened her grip and stepped back, embarrassed as she hurriedly brushed away the remaining tears.
"I'm sorry."
"There is nothing to apologize for."
Alastair's voice remained calm as he studied her face. The faint shadows beneath her eyes suggested she hadn't been sleeping particularly well, while the normally composed expression she carried had given way to unmistakable exhaustion.
"What happened?" he asked gently. "Headmaster Black told me, you were busy refining the projector discs. I assumed everything had been progressing smoothly."
Blake lowered her gaze toward the floor.
For several moments she struggled to gather her thoughts before finally speaking.
"It happened during the funeral."
The words came slowly, as though each memory carried its own weight.
Blake lowered her gaze as the memories resurfaced. She spoke quietly about everything that had happened after the service: the cold stares, the whispered conversations that stopped whenever she approached, and the members of the Black family who openly questioned Arcturus' decision to name her heir. Some refused to acknowledge her entirely, while others made no effort to hide that they considered her unworthy of carrying the Black name simply because she had spent her childhood in a Muggle orphanage. Although Arcturus had defended her without hesitation, the words had lingered long after the funeral ended, leaving her wondering whether she truly belonged within the family she had only recently found.
Alastair listened without interrupting.
When she finally reached the end of her account, her composure began crumbling once again.
"My own family doesn't want me."
The sentence emerged little louder than a whisper, yet the hurt contained within it was unmistakable. Fresh tears gathered despite her obvious attempt to suppress them, and she turned away slightly as though ashamed that those words had affected her so deeply.
Alastair stepped closer and gently brushed the tear from her cheek before answering, his expression remaining calm but his voice carrying absolute certainty.
"If they don't want you, then they were never your family in the first place."
Blake slowly raised her head.
"Blood alone has never defined a family. Grandfather Arcturus is your family because he chose you and stood beside you. Aunt Andromeda is your family because she has always cared for you despite everything the Blacks did to her." A faint smile appeared upon his face as he continued, "And I am your family. That won't change because a handful of self-important fools decide otherwise."
He shook his head almost dismissively.
"The people who looked down on you inherited the Black name, but that doesn't mean they inherited everything that made the House worth preserving. Don't waste your tears on people who measure family by prejudice instead of loyalty."
Blake looked at him for several long seconds before the tension she had been carrying finally began to disappear. She embraced him once more, though this time there was no desperation behind the gesture. Instead, it carried quiet reassurance, as though she had finally found the stability she had been searching for ever since the funeral.
Nearly ten minutes passed before they eventually returned to the table.
The silence between them was no longer uncomfortable.
After allowing Blake enough time to compose herself completely, Alastair reached into the satchel he had brought from Hogwarts and produced a familiar envelope bearing the school's crest.
"I almost forgot."
Blake looked at it curiously.
"Our results..."
"I brought yours with me."
She accepted the envelope before carefully breaking the seal. Having spent the past several days occupied by funeral arrangements and projector designs, she had almost forgotten that the examination rankings were due to be released.
Her eyes quickly moved across the parchment.
Then they stopped.
"I..."
She blinked once before reading the first line again to ensure she hadn't misunderstood.
"I came first."
She looked toward Alastair with unmistakable disbelief.
"Really?"
He smiled as though the answer had never been in doubt.
"Of course. Who else did you expect to take first place?"
Blake laughed quietly, still struggling to believe what she was reading.
"I knew I had done well, but..."
"You've always outperformed me in theory," Alastair replied matter-of-factly. "The only area where I consistently gained marks over you was practical magic, and even there the difference was never particularly large. First place suits you."
A genuine smile finally returned to Blake's face, brighter than any expression she had shown since his arrival.
Before she could respond, Kreacher entered once again, this time accompanied by Kipp. Between them they carried enough desserts to satisfy a small banquet, ranging from slices of treacle tart and chocolate cake to assorted enchanted sweets that had clearly not been prepared on short notice.
Kreacher placed the trays upon the table with obvious satisfaction.
"Young Mistress achieved first place," he declared proudly. "Such an accomplishment deserves a celebration worthy of House Black."
Kipp nodded enthusiastically.
"Kipp helped!"
"I can see that," Blake replied, laughing softly as she looked at the mountain of sweets before them. "Thank you, both of you."
The two house-elves positively beamed before retreating, clearly pleased that their efforts had been appreciated.
The remainder of the afternoon passed in a far lighter atmosphere. They spoke about the final days at Hogwarts, Cedric's narrowly missing the top ten, the twins celebrating their respectable results, and the preparations for the projector shop's inauguration. By the time the last of the tea had been poured, the sadness that had overshadowed Blake since the funeral had almost entirely disappeared.
Eventually, Alastair glanced toward the clock mounted upon the kitchen wall before setting his empty teacup aside.
"I am heading to Salvius manor to check the renovations."
He looked toward Blake with an inviting smile.
"Would you like to come with me?"
She answered almost before he had finished asking.
"Of course."
The eagerness in her voice was impossible to miss.
"I've been cooped up inside this house for so long that I was beginning to forget what the outside world looked like."
Alastair laughed softly as he rose from his chair.
"Then let's remedy that."