There was a broad marble platform at the bottom of the stairs and the entire Black family present in today's Yuletide Gala had arranged themselves upon it without a word as if they have rehearsed this for centuries.
Arcturus Black stood at the very center. His wife beside him and his grandson, Sirius stood half a pace behind him, confirming his status as the next head of the most ancient and the most noble House of Black. On either side, the rest of the family fanned out in the order they had descended, rank upon rank of dark robes and jeweled gowns, the light of the great chandeliers sliding over silk and velvet and silver.
Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. The music did not return.
James had stood in that ballroom for what felt like an age, among hundreds of the finest families in Britain, and he had never seen anything like it. They did not look like a family at a party. They looked like a portrait that had stepped out of its frame, like something carved, something that had stood in this exact shape for hundreds of years and would stand in it for the next hundred more. Every face was pale and proud. Every pair of eyes was the same cold, clear grey, and all of them were turned outward, upon the room.
And the room, for its part, had gone utterly still.
Arcturus tapped his cane once against the marble, and the sound carried to every corner of the hall.
"Honored guests," he said, and his deep voice filled the ballroom without effort. "Lords and ladies. Friends, and those who are not yet friends. I thank you for coming."
He let his gaze travel slowly over the crowd.
"Tonight is Yuletide, the longest night of the year. For many of us it has always been a night for remembering what has passed. But it is also the night on which the light begins to return. The dark does not end tonight, but it turns, and every year after it the days grow longer."
His grip tightened a little on the silver head of his cane.
"This House has been quiet for a long time. Tonight it is quiet no longer. We have opened these doors to every family in Britain, and I will say this plainly: tonight is not about what divided us. It is about what comes next. It is a new beginning, for the House of Black and, I hope, for all of us who are standing here."
He raised his free hand, and a house-elf appeared silently at his elbow, bearing a silver tray. Arcturus took a glass of dark wine from it without so much as a glance, and the elf vanished with a quiet pop.
"So, eat, drink and be merry. I hope every one of you enjoys the gala." A faint, dry smile touched his mouth. "To new beginnings."
Across the hall, hands rose, hundreds of glasses lifting toward the chandeliers. "To new beginnings!" The cheer swelled, rolling from one end of the ballroom to the other until the ice-crystal sconces seemed to tremble with it.
*****
The party was in full swing. The orchestra had struck up again, and the ballroom filled with dancing, drinking and talk. The tension of earlier had eased, though it had not quite gone. With the Blacks now among the guests, people began to gather around the family, each hoping to be noticed.
Most gave Cassiopeia a wide berth. A few approached Cygnus and Pollux, and a few more sought out Lucretia and Ignatius. Some brave souls approached Marius and Ophelia, curious, no doubt, about a man who had been a Squib until so late in life. But the largest crowd by far had formed around Arcturus, who moved through the hall greeting each guest in turn, with Sirius at his side.
Lucius Malfoy took a sip of his wine and watched it all. He was in no mood to ingratiate himself to the House of Black. There was no need. He was Narcissa's husband after all.
"Lucius. It has been a while." Lord Theodore Nott, Sr. approached him.
"Greetings, Lord Nott," Lucius said, a little bored.
"Quite a spectacle, isn't it?" Nott said, his gaze drifting toward the platform. "The Blacks have made quite a comeback. And what do you make of Sirius Black?" He gave a thin smile. "A shame, really, that Draco won't inherit the Black fortune after all."
Lucius frowned.
It was no secret that he had set his sights on the House of Black. He had married a Black daughter and given his son a name drawn from the Blacks' own tradition, not the Malfoy's. His father had not been pleased. But Lucius had judged that the Blacks were in decline, with too few heirs to hold their fortune together, and that the day would come when it passed to the Malfoys by way of his wife and son. Who could have guessed that Sirius would return and with children of his own, solidifying the Black fortune and authority to remain in their family.
Of course, many in the dark faction were smirking at him now, no doubt savoring the chance the Malfoys had missed. Lucius could feel their glances at his back.
"I assure you, Lord Nott," Lucius said coolly, "The House of Malfoy has never needed another family's fortune to be what it is. Draco will carry the Malfoy name, and that has always been enough for any man with the sense to value it. I would not trade it for all gold in Britain."
Nott's thin smile faltered. He had clearly not expected such an answer, but he chose not to react. To rise to it would have been to admit that the barb had stung. The Notts and the Malfoys maybe Marquis level houses but Nott can't change the fact that the Malfoys outranked them in wealth and political power.
Lucius turned his attention instead to the lady at Nott's side. "Lady Regina. I did not realize Lord Nott had brought you. Is Lady Nott not available?"
Nott frowned even further.
Everyone in the dark faction knew how Nott treated his wife. He was not a kind man. Lucius could only assume he had left her in no state to appear tonight, and that he had brought his sister instead to forestall any questions. Lucius did not approve on how some lords treated their wives. He would never have done to his own wife what Nott did to his, but there was nothing he could do about it either. A man's household was his own affair, and to meddle in it would be taken as an insult to Nott's authority, perhaps even an accusation. It would have set one of the dark faction's own against him, in a hall full of eyes, for no gain Lucius could name. So, he said nothing, and neither did anyone else.
"Happy Yuletide, Lord Malfoy." Regina Nott curtsied.
"And to you, Lady Regina." Lucius inclined his head and took another sip.
"Where is Narcissa? I was sure she would be at your side tonight."
"Narcissa has gone to the parlor with Lady Black. She and the other ladies have something to attend to. I did not ask what." Lucius knows the reason, but he cannot elaborate. Narcissa and Andromeda are up there to rest. The purpose for their attendance was already done and with Lady Melania Black at their side, no one would ask questions even if they don't come back.
Regina Nott is Lord Theodore Nott Sr.'s sister. She was an attractive woman, and everyone knew it. She was also unmarried which to those who are not familiar to the reason would find it surprising. Most noble women in their standing would have been married off by now. She had been betrothed to Corban Mulciber, but he had been sent to Azkaban after the war, and the betrothal was negated. By then, most eligible bachelors had already been paired off, and finding a husband among the nobility was difficult. For a house of marquess rank, the demands made of a husband were high, even if one looked abroad, so Regina Nott remained unmarried.
But Lucius noticed something else. Regina was looking at Sirius Black, who stood beside his grandfather talking with Lord Greengrass and Lord Parkinson. She was not the only one. Many of the eligible ladies were looking too.
And then Lucius understood.
No one in the hall, beyond the Blacks and their immediate circle, knew that Sirius Black was already married.
Of course they were looking at him with such predatory hunger. To the rest of the sacred twenty-eight, Sirius was the premier bachelor in Britain—the dashing, untouchable Heir to an empire. None of them cared that the man is sorted to Gryffindor. The title of Lady Black was the ultimate ambition of every high noblewoman in the room, and for Regina, a Slytherin who measured life strictly in triumphs, capturing Sirius Black would have been the crowning glory of her social existence.
Lucius's brow furrowed, a dark shadow passing over his features.
He didn't entirely approve of Sirius leaving Esmeralda behind tonight. While the excuse of the children's sudden illness was a practical shield—Draco was among the sick children, after all, giving the story absolute authenticity—Lucius couldn't help but wonder how long his sister intended to hide in the shadows. She valued her privacy above all else and Sirius respected that, but total isolation was a dangerous game in high society.
Yet that was not what truly disturbed Lucius. The real problem was Sirius' history.
Lucius was intimately aware of what a notorious rake Sirius had been. It was no secret across Hogwarts—and certainly not in the years after—that the current heir of the House of Black had been an insufferable, flirting bastard who left a trail of broken hearts across the country. How his strict, immaculately disciplined sister had ever brought herself to marry such a man, Lucius would never truly comprehend.
And with the fresh, bleeding wound of their own father's infidelity still raw in Lucius's heart, the thought made his blood run cold.
Extramarital affairs and keeping concubines were not entirely unheard of in the darkest, most ancient corners of pureblood nobility, even if modern society heavily condemned it. But Heir Black or not, Lucius swore silently to himself. If Sirius Black ever dared to disrespect Esmeralda, if he so much as entertained another woman or brought a stain upon his sister's honor, Lucius would ensure the House of Black felt the full, lethal wrath of the Malfoys.
"Well... as much as I would love to continue this conversation, Lucius, I see Lord Black has a rare opening," Nott murmured smoothly, cutting short their discussion with a brief, practiced incline of his head. "If you will excuse us."
Without waiting for Lucius to respond, Nott turned on his heel, offering his arm to Regina as he guided her across the polished marble floor toward the Head of the House of Black.
Lucius stood frozen near the high archway, his blue eyes narrowing as he watched them retreat. A deep frown settled over his pale face. He knew precisely what Nott was attempting to do—parading his sister in front of Sirius the moment the Heir appeared unattached. It was a predictable, desperate play, and watching Nott scramble for scrap favor from the Black family only added to Lucius's lingering irritation.
*****
Across the hall, Arcturus and Sirius held court, greeting every lord and lady who approached with practiced, aristocratic grace. Arcturus took careful measure to introduce—and in many cases, reintroduce—Sirius to every major figure in the room, lingering longest before Lord Parkinson.
"Ah, yes. Sirius, this is the lord who provided the house-elves for your residence."
"Oh." Sirius inclined his head, his posture flawless, though a glint of sharp amusement flickered in his grey eyes. "Thank you for that, Lord Parkinson. The elves have been quite outstanding."
Lysander Parkinson blinked, caught completely off guard. Lord Black had casually mentioned that the family required additional elves for the vast ancestral estates in their possession. He didn't expect the elves had been quietly routed straight to the young Heir's personal residence.
What kind of estate must the Heir be living in, Parkinson wondered, to require an entire contingent of house-elves?
"If I recall, Lord Parkinson," Arcturus said, his deep voice smooth as aged firewhisky, "you have a daughter, don't you?"
Parkinson was taken aback by the sudden shift but answered dutifully. "Y-yes, my Lord. I do. She is at home at the moment... turned six this year."
"Ah, yes. Wonderful, aren't they? Daughters?"
"Of course." Still bewildered, Parkinson nodded quickly. It was no secret in high society that he doted heavily on his young daughter.
Sirius, for his part, was eyeing his grandfather with a mixture of quiet curiosity and deep suspicion, a single dark eyebrow raised. It was a completely uncharacteristic line of questioning for the old patriarch.
A few guests later, Arcturus put the exact same question to a thoroughly confused Lord Greengrass, inquiring warmly after his two daughters. The moment Greengrass bowed and moved off into the crowd, Sirius leaned in toward Arcturus, speaking strictly under his breath.
"What are you doing?"
"Hmm?" Arcturus murmured, the picture of smooth, unbothered innocence. "Whatever do you mean, Sirius?"
"Are you fishing for potential brides for my sons?"
The old lord said nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a barely perceptible smile.
"Grandfather," Sirius warned softly, his tone hardening just enough to carry weight. "You already know how Esme and I feel about betrothals. They are still five!"
"I am not arranging betrothals for the boys," Arcturus said mildly, taking a slow sip from his crystal glass. "But is there any harm in introducing you to the lords who happen to have eligible daughters? Besides... you will be the one making those decisions after me."
"Yes, but the way you are asking is making them think you are looking for brides for me. That's why they keep giving their ages."
"Am I?" Arcturus murmured, a dark, wicked glint flickering in his grey eyes behind his heavy brows.
"Grandfather," Sirius warned softly, his voice dropping into a dangerous, deadly serious register. "None of these people know I'm married yet. They think I'm single. And now you're asking after their little daughters like some matchmaking old codger. They're going to think I'm looking for an arrangement, and it's wildly inappropriate."
"Well..." Arcturus began, his grey eyes glinting with wicked satisfaction beneath his heavy brows, "Far be it from me to clear up a useful misunderstanding."
"Happy Yuletide, Lord Black."
A smooth, practiced voice interrupted them as Lord Nott stepped forward, offering a bow that was precisely as deep as protocol demanded for the Head of the House of Black. "Heir Black."
"Lord Nott. Happy Yuletide," Arcturus said smoothly, his tone immediately shifting into the cool, measured cadence of the patriarch. "And who is this?"
"My sister, Regina Nott," Lord Nott introduced, gesturing to the sleek, dark-haired witch beside him. "I am not sure if you remember her, my Lord. You met when she was quite young."
"Ah, yes. I do," Arcturus replied. "How are you, Lady Regina?"
"I am very well, thank you, Lord Black. It is an honor to see you again." Regina curtsied to Arcturus with exquisite grace before turning toward Sirius. "Heir Black."
Her second curtsy was deliberate. She dipped low, holding the pose for a fraction of a second longer than etiquette strictly dictated—a classic, subtle movement intended to display her posture, drawing attention to the line of her neck and the shimmer of her silk robes.
Sirius, however, didn't bat an eye. His expression remained politely vacant, his mind already drifting back to how much he would rather be at home. He offered a crisp, perfectly practiced nod of his head, completely oblivious—or entirely indifferent—to her calculated charm.
Arcturus, on the other hand, missed nothing. A quiet flicker of dark amusement passed through the old lord's eyes. Sirius was right, Arcturus thought to himself. The room thinks he is the most coveted bachelor in Magical Great Britain.
Arcturus had almost forgotten that years ago, before Sirius' sorting, Regina Nott had been quietly put forward as a potential bride for him. But the moment Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor, the Nott family had swiftly backed out, reluctant to align their bloodline with a rebel. They had arranged a betrothal between Regina and a son of House Mulciber instead. A match that had collapsed in spectacular disgrace when her betrothed was condemned to Azkaban for horrific war crimes. Now, with the Mulciber alliance in ashes, Lord Nott was clearly eager to position his sister near the Heir of the House of Black once more.
"Regina has been looking forward to tonight's gala," Lord Nott said, casting a pointed glance toward the dance floor where the orchestra was tuning their instruments for the opening set. "She has always been fond of the traditional waltz. Perhaps, Heir Black, you might honor my sister with the opening dance?"
This caught the attention of the people around them. Some women were even glaring at Regina Nott, furious that she had outmaneuvered them so early in the evening.
In high pureblood society, etiquette permitted an unmarried woman to dance with a gentleman provided he was of equal or higher status, and the dance was public and formal. However, a gentleman dancing the opening set—a dance traditionally reserved for one's spouse or a courted lady—with an unattached young woman sent an unmistakable, public signal of romantic interest.
Lord Nott was testing the waters.
Sirius felt Arcturus's gaze burning into the side of his face. He knew his grandfather was waiting with quiet, wicked amusement to see how he would handle this.
Sirius offered Regina a smile that was impeccably polite, impeccably cool, and completely lacking in personal warmth.
"You flatter me, Lady Regina," Sirius said, his deep voice effortlessly carrying the smooth, cultured cadence of a Black heir. "And under normal circumstances, I would be honored to join you on the floor. However, — Dora? What are you doing?"
Everyone turned to what Sirius was looking at. A flurry of movement near the refreshment table had caught his eye. A dark head ducking low, a swish of skirts vanishing behind the tablecloth. There was a muffled thump, then a pause that was far too innocent.
"I was... investigating!" Dora's voice squeaked from somewhere around knee-height.
Sirius blinked, looking down to find his young cousin crouched awkwardly on the polished marble floor, her formal dress bunched around her knees. Her gray eyes were wide with panic as she glanced frantically between the underside of a nearby refreshment table and the startled group of adults.
Before Sirius could even begin to process why Dora was currently crawling on all fours at the most prestigious gala of the decade, a sudden commotion rippled through the nearby crowd.
Two young Weasley boys—Bill, looking thoroughly mortified, and Charlie, looking wildly determined—were practically lunging into an alcove, hands outstretched as if trying to wrangle a particularly nimble Niffler.
"Did you catch him?!" Dora hissed, scrambling to her feet so fast she nearly tripped over her own hem.
"Catch who?" Sirius asked, his eyebrow twitching as he took a cautious step towards his cousin.
"I—nothing! Nobody!" Dora declared loudly that her hair flashing from a demure brown to a guilty, vibrant pink for a split second before she violently forced it back to black. "Just a... very fast mouse!"
Lord Nott's lip curled in subtle disgust at the display, while Lady Regina looked thoroughly unimpressed by the sudden disruption to her carefully calculated moment. Arcturus, however, merely leaned heavily on his cane, his sharp grey eyes tracking the chaos with a look of dark, quiet intrigue.
"Dora," Sirius said, his voice dropping into a dangerously soft, paternal tone. "What are you doing under the tables?"
"Well," Dora stammered, backing up a step and pointing an accusatory finger toward the champagne tower. "I was trying to stop him, but uh, then—"
She didn't get to finish.
From beneath the heavy, silver-embroidered tablecloth of a nearby display, a tiny, dark-haired toddler popped his head out, clutching a stolen crystal cherry in one sticky fist. He blinked up at the bright chandeliers, completely unbothered by the hundreds of stern, aristocratic eyes suddenly turning in his direction.
Sirius froze. The breath completely left his lungs.
"Papa!"
The little boy let out a triumphant squeal, abandoning the cover of the tablecloth entirely and toddling straight out into the open floor.
A collective, sharp intake of breath echoed across the surrounding hall. Whispers exploded instantly, rising like a sudden gale through the sacred Twenty-Eight.
A child?
Whose child is that?
Did he just say 'Papa'?
Lord Nott's thin mouth fell open. Lady Regina's calculated, elegant composure completely shattered, her eyes darting from the toddler to Sirius in sheer disbelief.
Sirius didn't hear any of them. His heart slammed against his ribs as he recognized the chubby face, the messy dark curls, and the unmistakable, stormy grey eyes.
"Alphard?" Sirius choked out, abandoning all pureblood protocol as he dropped to one knee right there on the marble floor. "How in the name of Merlin are you—why are you here?!"