Chapter 134
"Fine," I said, pretending to give in. "I understand. You don't trust me. But then at least… at least don't give all access to Dumbledore or your other 'well-wishers.'"
Sirius frowned.
"What do you mean!? Don't anger me, Malfoy!"
"You're going to get treatment after you accept the inheritance and the headship of the family," I said. "You have a lot of money. Why do you need St. Mungo's? Put Grimmauld Place under siege mode and go to Sancto Mente. The best clinic in Europe. They'll get you back on your feet much faster and better. Maybe even restore…"
I wanted to say "your sanity," but bit my tongue in time.
His eyes scanned my face, as if looking for a trick.
That's it. Apparently, a failure.
"I'm not inclined to follow your advice, boy. And if it were up to me, I wouldn't even be a Black. So I don't care about all this inheritance, kid."
"In that case, I have to try. If the thought is so repulsive to you, then renounce the headship of the House of Black. I know you hate your family and your house, so would you really accept the wealth of the family you despise?"
I spoke calmly, amicably, and confidently. I looked Sirius straight in the eye across the long oak table and saw his face change. First surprise, then disbelief, and then…
He laughed.
A loud, hoarse laugh that wasn't very pleasant. I had expected a slightly different result. Will Plan B fail too? I didn't want to risk moving to the next one. And I had already told him so much…
"Are you serious?" he breathed, when the laughter finally subsided, and there was something strange in his voice — a fracture. "Are you seriously asking me this? What's next, are you going to ask for the moon? Or maybe you want my soul? Ha! You know, Azkaban had its well-wishers too."
"I am quite serious," I replied, not looking away, trying not to show how his words had angered me. "You hate your family. You hate the House of Black. Is it really so important for you to destroy what your ancestors built for centuries?"
Sirius looked at me for a long second. Then his face contorted.
"Listen here," he said, his voice becoming quieter but sounding more dangerous. "Even if I hated my family three times as much, I wouldn't give Lucius a single Galleon from this inheritance. Not one. Got it? You think I don't understand what's going on? You think I don't see how you look at this house? How you lick your lips at every trinket, every book, every Galleon?"
"Lucius won't get anything," I objected, trying to sound convincing, though everything inside me clenched. "I will become the head of the House of Black. I will. Not my father, I will multiply the family's wealth. I will make the Blacks great… again!"
Sirius smirked. Crookedly and very distrustfully.
"You're not as smart as you think," he said. "In the end, everything will end up with Lucius. You can lie to yourself all you want, but I know how these families work. You Malfoys, or my family, or any other noble family — like spiders. You trap everything you can reach in your web. And you know what's the funniest part?"
He leaned back in his chair, and his eyes looked at me from the height of his age, his experience, his nine years in Azkaban.
"So I'd rather keep it all for myself," he said. "And if the hatred for this cursed wealth becomes unbearable — well, gold has no smell. I'll help those who need it. Give it away so people like you and your family don't get it. I've acted foolishly many times in my life, but I'm not stupid enough to give all this to someone like you."
Having said this, he twirled his finger, indicating everything around.
Apparently, the plan had still failed, but I would try to see it through to the end, because in the end, the outcome had to be the same. Now the result was more important than the means, even if I had to cross the line of my childish communication with Grandmother Walburga.
I mentally ran through the options, while keeping a calm, almost friendly expression on my face.
I had definitely underestimated him. Severely underestimated him. I thought hatred for his family would outweigh greed, but I was wrong. Sirius's double standards had played a nasty trick on me. I guess I shouldn't have considered him such a foolish person.
"Only, uncle, you're thinking no more wisely than I am. Your 'well-wishers' are no better than my family and any other nobles. Do you really think all this wealth will stay with you, given how much they helped you?"
"I won't go poor, though it won't come to that. And if it does, it's none of your business, Malfoy! Better explain this to me: why do you love this cursed family so much? I bet you don't love the House of Black, only what the Black inheritance will give you — money and power."
"Where to begin?" I asked, pretending to think. "Perhaps with how your mother, Grandmother Walburga, on her deathbed asked me to restore the greatness of the House of Black, raising me on stories about the great Blacks? With how for centuries our ancestors dominated all of Great Britain, to the point that even now old European families fear this name? With how the Blacks sacrificed much for the victory over Grindelwald? With how dozens of generations of Blacks did everything so that their descendants would live better than they did? Where to begin!? Those are some of the reasons why I am ready to do anything for the family you curse so much."
Sirius was silent during my monologue. He only remained silent to start laughing again, slightly madly, because for him it was all just a joke, a lie, a farce. For him, there were no ancestors who did everything so that their descendants would be above them and everyone else — only bastards and bloodsuckers.
"Do you hear yourself?" he shouted through his laughter. "'Asked me to restore greatness'! You! The son of Lucius Malfoy! I doubt my crazy mother, who threw me out of the house for daring to breathe out of turn, asked you! What, did she also give you the recipe for her favorite poison? Or teach you how to curse your own children? You know, in Azkaban, I often imagined her dying. I thought I'd be glad. And now I sit here listening to you, and for some reason, I want to spit on her portrait. And on you, too. How I hate all these words of pathetic nobles, it's like standing in front of another Death Eater."
I glanced at his plate — the untouched, cold steak. The goblet of wine was also full; he hadn't taken a single sip. He hadn't even touched the food. I had hoped hunger would take over. Here, too, I had apparently been wrong. The plan was as simple as it was unlikely to work.
I had simply added a bit of deadly poison — odorless, tasteless, colorless. The poison had been sent to me by my good friend, Louis. I had to add it myself, since Kreacher couldn't directly harm his master, but he could turn a blind eye to me adding an unknown seasoning to the food and wine.
I wondered, was he really that paranoid? Or did he trust his instincts so much that even my appetizing consumption of the dish hadn't made him touch the food?
The second plan was to gain his trust, open his eyes to the situation, and ideally, he would renounce the headship and inheritance. Or at least postpone it all for a couple of years while he received treatment at the elite psychiatric hospital Sancto Mente, rather than St. Mungo's, as Dumbledore had planned. I was sure that before Dumbledore put him in St. Mungo's, he would certainly help Sirius quickly claim everything that was rightfully his. And then, having gained indirect access — for example, by appointing himself Sirius's guardian due to his mental state — the old man would gradually appropriate some of the resources. But what I think is more important to the Headmaster than gold is the knowledge in the Grimmauld Place library.
In any case, Sirius was unlikely to suffer from the Headmaster's care, as he certainly wouldn't rob him completely. But even the part he could potentially extract for the "greater good," I was not willing to give up. Everything should belong to me. No matter the cost… yes, even the very thing I had so tediously tried to avoid.
Today, I would break the promise I made to Grandmother Walburga, but she had betrayed me first by giving me a goal, giving me a chance, and then bitterly taking them away with a couple of lines.
"Since that's the case," I said, my voice colder than I intended, "since you treat a nephew who was trying to help like this… then apparently I was mistaken. I thought you could be trusted. I thought you would understand what family means. Even if it's not the family you chose."
Sirius froze.
"What are you trying to say?"
"Nothing anymore," I shook my head. "Just… I was hoping to stay here for a while, since I've had a falling out with my father. And to help you with something."
"I don't think I would have allowed that."
"Is that so. So I won't even tell you about James's son then. Useless. You didn't even listen to the words of a nephew who wished you well. Not to mention my help in this matter."
"Harry?" Sirius rose from his seat and took a couple of steps along the table. His face changed completely — something appeared in it that I hadn't seen before. It was life and humanity, apparently. But also something else flickered in his eyes — that same mad glint, as if he were being chased by his own demons. "What about James's son? Tell me!"
"Why?" I shrugged, pretending not to care. "You don't listen or believe anyway. So… goodbye, Uncle Sirius."
I rose from my seat, approaching Sirius.
"However, just Sirius."
I stopped. He stood opposite me, and I saw two desires warring within him: to grab me and interrogate me, or to agree to my request and find out what I knew about James's son. Curiosity won. It always wins.
"What do you know about Harry?" he asked, his voice trembling. Trembling not from fear, but from the madness that had been building for nine years. "Have you seen him? Where is he? With whom? Is he alive?"
"A lot," I replied. "But if you don't want to fulfill my request, then you can find out everything yourself."
"Speak!" Sirius shouted, but he was unlikely to do anything beyond a simple threat.
"Not here," I shook my head. "And not now. You don't trust me. That's your right. But then… don't expect me to just tell you everything I know. You spat on my request, and I'll do the same with yours."
Sirius clenched his fists. His face expressed clear malice and a desire to beat the information out of me, but I no longer cared.
"You're bargaining with me?"
"No," I said. "You're simply giving me shelter now and trusting my words. And you'll need to put the mansion under siege mode, because my father's people might come here, and I think you can guess what would happen then."
"Trust?" he smirked. "You want me to trust you? I'm not doing anything except listening! Do you understand me!?"
"I want you to give me a chance," I said. "One chance. To prove I'm not just 'Lucius's son.'"
"No! Get out of here!"
"I'm not lying," I interrupted. "I swear."
"Don't come here again, boy! Next time, I won't be so welcoming."
Sirius looked at me gloomily, clearly displeased.
Perhaps before this I had been a little nervous, but now I didn't care. He stood about halfway down the table, I directly opposite, looking up into the slightly mad eyes of the former Azkaban prisoner.
Apparently, I had finally driven him to it. Until this moment, I had even been surprised — I hadn't expected him to last so long without attacking or throwing me out. But what made him think he had the right to order me around in my own house!
The thought flared in my head, scorching me with rage. I had felt the rage since the beginning of the conversation; now I felt that constant level of rage rising. Now, the familiar, unbridled rage was beginning to boil inside me. Even the potion I had drunk before the meeting couldn't keep my mind calm forever. My fingers clenched into a fist.
He who curses his own family! He who is incapable of accepting the truth! He who least values his own kin! He is unworthy to bear the name Black!
I took a breath in and out. Then another — but it didn't help. The curse was particularly strong after Yule.
Before my eyes was that moment when Sirius had sent an extremely fast and clearly dangerous spell. I hadn't had time to move then, despite all my boasting about my quick reactions, my reflexes, and my ability to read movements — but apparently, that wasn't enough. But I didn't care either!
What else had I expected, given that Sirius, despite his imprisonment, had trained in the Auror Office and fought on the side of the Order of the Phoenix throughout the civil war against the Death Eaters? The main thing was that he, despite being unworthy, was still a descendant of our House of Black. A born fighter who, having lost some of his skills, was still stronger than even an experienced Auror. This was the wizard who had blown up half a street in his eagerness to kill Pettigrew.
The magical emanations coming from him were also… impressive. In terms of skill, Flitwick would have wiped the floor with him in a duel. But in terms of raw power and pure reserves, he was quite comparable to one of the strongest Hogwarts professors. Nine years in Azkaban hadn't destroyed him.
I should have brought help from the start. Yes, the idea came after the fight, but that fight was such a trifle… compared to the importance of the situation…
On the other hand, then I would have been much more likely to become dependent. My father certainly wouldn't have let me go free if I had gotten the inheritance. Then I would have been not an equal, but a pawn. And Dumbledore wouldn't have protected me, as in the original plan when I had counted on Sirius not being freed in time. And I didn't want to be a pawn… in anyone's game.
But the complete loss of independence and anonymity, which I so dreaded, would have guaranteed me the inheritance… and then everything would have been manageable… probably.
All I had to do was say: "I'll help, Father. I know how to lure him out."
"Leave," Sirius said, his voice trembling — with that same damned rage, though I was sure it was weaker. "Leave before I…"
"I'm leaving," I interrupted, my voice steady, though inside I was straining with all my might to hold back the fury, the rage capable of drenching the whole world and then some.
He would not have been able to withstand the seething, all-consuming rage of the true heir of the Blacks that I was holding back. For I, and only I, am the true heir of MY House of Black, and no one else!
"You know what, Sirius?" I said, my voice quiet, so as not to reveal the contempt and rage inside me. "Perhaps someday we'll find common ground. So it was nice talking to my relative… there are so few of us left…"
I extended my hand.
He looked at my hand for a long time. His gaze slid over my face, then to the shoulder holster where my main wand rested. He didn't know that I had a spare wand. And that I could cast with my left hand almost as well as with my right. That's why my left hand was close to my belt.
I was ready to defend and attack at any moment. It would have been foolish not to be ready. Black is unpredictable when enraged.
Sirius moved his wand to his left hand, but it was still pointed in my direction, though lowered.
Without taking his eyes off my shoulder, he reluctantly, as if making a great effort, extended his hand.
Our palms met. I gripped his hand tightly.
And at that very moment, he flinched, feeling a slight prick and a tickle. Yes, someone else's magic penetrating through the skin couldn't be ignored.
He tried to pull his hand away — but it was too late. A demonic smile spread across my face. For Sirius had not understood that a Black in rage is unpredictable.
***
BANG!
The explosion came with a wet, squelching sound.
Black's wrist exploded from within — bones, muscles, tendons became a bloody pulp, leaving only a stump of an arm with shreds hanging off. Blood and bits of flesh flew in all directions. Splattering Arcturus's face and clothes, covering the table and Sirius himself.
"A-a-a-a-ah!"
Sirius's incoherent scream, Arcturus heard already mid-flight. Because he had been thrown against the wall by a spell.
The spell that struck his chest was extremely powerful. He was instantly thrown back, slamming into the wall with such force that the air was knocked out of his lungs. His body exploded with pain. Something cracked — ribs? Spine? And he collapsed to the floor, face down.
In his right hand, which Arcturus was still clutching tightly, there was still something. A hand — or rather, what was left of it. Shreds of flesh, bones, tendons — part of it all remained in the boy's hand until it fell out after the hard impact with the wall and the fall, when the boy opened his hand.
Sirius, meanwhile, was still screaming and hissing, clenching his teeth almost to the point of cracking, until Arcturus finally raised his head. Everything was swimming before his eyes. He inhaled hoarsely, only to groan in pain — but not even close to as intense as his enemy's.
Sirius stood ten meters away, cauterizing the stump at that moment. He had stopped the blood, but not the pain. His eyes were filling with fury and rage. Rage from the pain.
"YOU!" he roared. "YOU! A-a-a-ah! I'll KILL you, you bastard!"
Black's wand in his left hand flew up from below. Along with it, a wave of fire tore from the floor towards Arcturus. The latter, still gripping his wand, raised a Protego.
A giant avalanche of fire, rising to the very ceiling, crashed into the magical dome.
At that moment, they both knew how it would end. With death. But whose — their opinions differed.
The magical fire hadn't even fully subsided when something struck the dome dully, instantly shattering the defense. The shockwave slammed him into the wall again. He couldn't process anything, couldn't respond. The next moment, Black's boot smashed the boy's head against the wall with all its might.
Consciousness faded from the brutal blow. The limp body began to fall to the floor, but Sirius waved his wand, and a powerful stream of a spell threw Arcturus upwards, pinning his body back against the wall. The humming spell pressed on his entire body, flattening it, with each second grinding him into the stone, threatening to crush his bones, working like a hydraulic press.
This quickly brought the boy back to consciousness. Arcturus, in a peak of adrenaline-fueled madness, rage, and fear, poured all his strength into one attack. So that even without a wand movement — even without moving his hand — a powerful blast of air would strike Black's dark figure. His body trembled from the insane pressure, and blood flowed from his nose not only from the kick he had received.
The directed wave of raw magic pushed Black back, thereby shifting the focused stream of the former Azkaban prisoner's strange spell. Arcturus collapsed to the floor, but this time — despite the pain — he managed to scramble to his feet, thanks to the pain-dulling adrenaline and rage. He staggered but did not fall.
Rage was consuming both Blacks' minds, but soon the white-haired boy cut off all emotions with a mental technique. Knowing that even with the enhancement of the Black rage, he could not handle Sirius, he realized that cold blood and a clear mind would give him a better chance of survival.
On reflexes, literally with his hand, he created a magical barrier — it burst right at the moment of creation from a dangerous spell. And so did all the subsequent small barriers that Arcturus managed to raise a moment before a lethal hit. But against a more powerful spell in the form of a beam capable of piercing his body through, the shield didn't help, but it was deflected almost into the attacker's face.
Every moment could have been his last. Arcturus's reflexes and skills were insufficient to defeat the enraged Sirius. Even though he had long since transferred his wand to his right hand, slippery with the remnants of someone else's flesh and blood — his dominant hand. And his opponent was not only casting with his non-dominant hand but was also deprived of that very dominant hand.
What was going through the boy's mind when he decided to come here with this goal today was unclear, but he had certainly already realized that the subconscious belief in dubious future knowledge had not allowed him to judge clearly. For he had not fully appreciated how powerful his opponent was, yet for some reason he believed that surprise would help him if the first two plans failed. The result: the first two plans failed, and surprise did not help.
But he had not cut off his emotions for nothing.
Another spell flew dangerously close to his shoulder, tearing the enchanted robe with reinforced dragon hide inserts. If not for them, the obviously dark spell would have licked away not only the skin but also the flesh, decomposing the shoulder down to the bone.
"Pettigrew is alive!" Arcturus managed to shout a moment before Sirius would have ended the boy's life.
Black froze for a fraction of a second. But then, with a couple of sharp movements, he again swept the boy away with a spell, this time throwing him directly onto the carved table. But at least he didn't use the prepared dark spell with which he had intended to kill the boy before those words.