"Ambition is simply a wish given time. My son will have time. My son will have the world."— Walburga Black, to Orion, in a moment of rare tenderness.
November 3,The Master Suite, Number 12 Grimmauld Place
The Master Suite was a room built for control. Every artifact, every tapestry, every shadow served a purpose: to project the ancient, unshakeable authority of the House of Black.
Orion Black, forty-two, stood by the mantelpiece, watching the fire. His features were the classic Black mask—austere, handsome, carved from stone. He held a glass of dark elven wine, untouched.
Walburga sat at her vanity, dismissing Kreacher with a crisp flick of her wrist. She was studying her reflection, touching the faint stress lines around her eyes, not with vanity, but with clinical assessment. She was tired, but the Hogwarts letter, now safely tucked away in a locked drawer, had infused her with a fresh, ferocious energy.
"The list is exquisite," Walburga stated, breaking the heavy silence. "They have customized the texts. Arcane Theory speaks directly to his nature. Dumbledore is being observant."
"Dumbledore is being cautious," Orion corrected, taking a slow sip of his wine. "He sees a potential threat and assigns it homework. He wants Vega predictable. A Metamorphmagus of his caliber is not a wand, Walburga, he is a force of nature. Dumbledore seeks to harness it."
Walburga turned, the reflection of the fire dancing in her eyes. "Then let him try. Vega will teach him the difference between a rope and a chain."
"Will he?" Orion's voice was low, measured. "You see the glory of the Black blood in him, the strength of the Pharaohs. I see the boy who, at seven, made his arm stretch and snap back just to stop Sirius from falling down the stairs."
Walburga scoffed. "Sentimentality. He used his gift to ensure the line survived. That is not sentiment; that is strategy."
"It was a brother protecting a sibling," Orion insisted, his stoic mask faltering slightly. "A fierce, illogical, protective instinct that will make him a terrible heir and an exceptional man."
He set his glass down. "You want Vega to be the sword of this House. Arcturus wants him to be the impenetrable shield. I simply want him to survive the both of you."
Walburga stood, her robes rustling like dry leaves as she crossed the floor. She stopped right in front of him, forcing him to meet her gaze.
"Survival is weakness, Orion. Dominion is the only goal." Her voice dropped to a fierce whisper. "We gave him that ability—that terrifying variable. We allowed the old magics to flow through his birth. It was a risk, yes, but it worked."
She trailed her finger along the line of his jaw. "Vega is the proof that our lineage is not exhausted. That we are not just a footnote in history, clinging to old gold. We are the foundation, Orion. And Vega is the architect who will build the new empire upon it."
Orion gently removed her hand. "You forget the architect requires good soil. Sirius is already growing wild. He is questioning the purpose of the House. He asks too many questions about Andromeda and her Muggle interests. He is a spark, Walburga. Vega is already spending too much energy shielding him, not just from others, but from us."
The mention of Sirius caused a flicker of genuine anger in Walburga's eyes. "That boy is a mistake. A flaw in the design. He is loud, he is disobedient, he has no grasp of decorum—"
"He is his own man," Orion cut in, his voice rising slightly. "Which is what makes him dangerous to our design, but perhaps better suited to the chaos that is coming."
"Chaos?" Walburga lifted a disdainful eyebrow. "A few loudmouths in the Wizengamot? A charismatic boy stirring up trouble in the streets? This house has survived the fall of Rome, Orion. We will survive a few restless teens."
"Arcturus doesn't think so," Orion murmured, looking back at the fire. "He sees the lines connecting the discontent. He sees the rise of the radical pureblood sentiment—the kind that believes blood alone grants power. Vega knows better. He knows power is geometric. It is leverage, it is the Deep Rock, it is the blood, but only when it is directed."
"Then let Vega direct it," Walburga concluded, her argument finished. "The boy needs the world to realize his own scale. Hogwarts will do that. It will surround him with the ordinary. It will test his Occlumency and his loyalty to the name. He will have to choose his path, and when he does, he will realize that only the Black path is strong enough to carry his weight."
She walked back to her vanity, the discussion closed.
"Did he seem excited?" Orion asked, a rare, soft question.
Walburga paused, looking at her reflection. She remembered the pure, unmasked joy on Vega's face, the tremor in his hands when he opened the official seal.
"He was... pleased," she said finally, choosing a colder word. "He is looking forward to the curriculum. He is looking forward to the new textbooks. He is looking forward to the library."
He is looking forward to escaping us, Orion thought, but he didn't say it.
He simply nodded, picked up his glass, and walked to the window. He looked out over the black, silent London street, where no Muggle could see the palace hidden behind the wards.
Vega was the star that shifted. He was the anchor of the future.
And he was about to leave the confines of his cradle for the first time.
Orion raised his glass to the reflection of the Black Family Crest in the window.
"May your choices be better than ours, son," he whispered into the empty air. "And may you be fast enough to protect the ones who cannot protect themselves."