Chapter 135
Arcturus hit the table, not having time to defend himself. Another spell paralyzed his body — but differently than the usual Petrificus. Arcturus could speak, but what good were words? He couldn't move his arms or legs, couldn't use magic outside his body.
"Don't kill me! I'll tell you! Wormtail is alive! You didn't kill him then, Sirius!"
"What are you saying, you bastard?!" Sirius shouted, barely pulling his consciousness back from the embrace of rage.
The wand in his left hand pressed into Arcturus's collarbone. He leaned his elbow of his severed arm on the boy, roaring in his face and demanding answers.
"Wormtail is alive," the boy repeated, looking into the mad, pain-filled eyes. "Pettigrew. He's alive!"
"You're lying!" Sirius rasped.
"If you kill me, you'll never find out where he is!"
Sirius froze, making titanic efforts not to succumb to the desire to kill the one who had taken his hand.
"Talk," he hissed, almost turning into a growl. "Talk, you degenerate!"
"Not now," the boy lay there, clearly not in control of the situation, his eyes darting back and forth. Blood ran down his neck. He had landed directly on the plate and goblet, shattering and scattering everything. "First let me go, then we'll talk."
"I'm not letting you go, you Malfoy degenerate," Sirius hissed with fury. "You tore my hand off! Do you think I'm stupid!?"
"That doesn't matter anymore," Arcturus smirked, and in that smirk, Sirius didn't even notice the feigned confidence hiding the tension in the boy's eyes. "I'm not an idiot, uncle. Did you really think I would come here alone? Without backup?"
Sirius's eyes widened. Something like realization flickered in them — and was immediately replaced by a new wave of rage. He waved his wand sharply, renewing the paralyzing spell, and immediately added unfamiliar binding ropes on top — dense, semi-transparent dark grey ropes wrapped around Arcturus's body, depriving him of his last hope of movement.
"Let's see how your people find you," Sirius growled, stepping back.
He quickly, professionally swept his gaze around the room. A few wand movements — and the entrances to the hall were sealed with static shielding charms. The Floo network was also blocked. Even the doorway was covered with a semi-transparent shimmering film.
"Your people," he said, returning to the prostrate body, "won't get through without my knowledge. And you... you're going to talk now! The more you tell, the less chance I'll kill you!"
Arcturus didn't answer. They both knew he wouldn't leave alive. He lay paralyzed and bound, and only his eyes — sky-blue — followed every movement of Sirius. The latter loomed over him again, again pressing his wand just below the collarbone. Arcturus felt the sharp shards of glass against his back, unsuccessfully trying to pierce through the ropes and his robe.
"And now," Sirius's voice was quiet, but such power was felt in that silence that the air itself seemed to tremble, "talk. How do you know Pettigrew is alive!?"
"Soon my father's people will come through the Floo network," Arcturus replied calmly, though his brain was working at its limit on a completely different task. "And if you block the Floo network... they still know where the entrance to Grimmauld Place is."
"I sealed the door as soon as I entered this damned house. By the time they break through, you'll be dead."
"Then you'll never know where the one responsible for the deaths of James and Lily is," Arcturus didn't look away. "The one who, after turning into a brown rat, hid for many years. And now only I know his whereabouts. What reason would I have to tell you if I'm going to die?"
Sirius flinched. His face contorted, reigniting the rage that had subsided a little.
"Talk, you bastard!" he roared, spittle flying from his lips. "Or you'll find out that Death Eaters weren't the only ones who knew how to torture!"
"I demand a guarantee," Arcturus said, his voice, despite the pain, sounding steady. "That you won't kill me. In that case... I'll deliver Pettigrew on a silver platter. Right into your hands."
"You tore that hand off," Sirius hissed.
He pressed a little with his wand, and a dark mist erupted from its tip. Like a worm, it began to penetrate the skin of the paralyzed Arcturus.
"A-a-a-ah!" the boy screamed, feeling the dark magic penetrate under his skin, like hot forceps, burning and destroying muscles. "A-a-a-ah!"
Gradually, the clothing smoldered under the wand tip, revealing skin already "adorned" with a dark network of vessels created by the vile spell. The winding network of dark mist spread under the skin, soon reaching up to the neck. Sirius watched as the teenager screamed in pain, howled. His facial muscles, which were not paralyzed, contracted in an endless spasm.
"A-a-a-ah! Asaraaaah! Pre… A-a-a-ah! Krati!"
At Sirius's will, the spell slightly slowed its pace; he raised his wand slightly. The dark vessels stopped at the border of the neck, but even this caused hellish unpleasant pain, like a deep burn and frostbite combined. The boy hissed through his teeth, feeling the mist writhe in his vessels like a miasma.
"Where is Pettigrew?" he asked.
"In Malfoy Manor," Arcturus exhaled. "Ah... asa... in rat form. And only I know about it!"
Sirius doubted. His eyes darted over the boy's face, searching for a lie. Then he pressed on the wand again.
The mist continued its journey, and Arcturus screamed again — louder, more desperately. His paralyzed, bound body could neither arch in agony nor thrash in convulsions, and this made the pain even more unbearable. The dark vessels crawled up his neck, approaching his face.
"I'll bring Pettigrew!" he shouted through the scream. "A-a-a-ah! I swear! I'll bring him!"
"I don't believe you," Sirius growled.
"Akhhh... A-a-ah! Stop!" Arcturus was suffocating from the pain, screaming at the top of his lungs. The pain was unbearable, even slightly comparable to the half-forgotten pain of the Cruciatus. But even this was unbearable.
Sirius removed the wand. The stream of dark mist disappeared, leaving indelible marks under the boy's skin — dark, winding, like the roots of a withered tree. He looked at Arcturus's contorted face and smirked. The pain did not go away, for the dark magic mist remained under the skin.
"I didn't expect such endurance from a Malfoy," he said. "Now talk. In detail, just like you were before."
"A-ah... I've changed my mind, you beast! I won't, go to hell!" Arcturus said, exhaling the pain through his clenched jaw.
He understood that the paralysis cast by Sirius was different from the classic Petrificus. The spell held with a death grip, having a huge margin of strength and a slightly different principle.
Sirius, angered by the insolence, decided to continue the torture. He again leaned his elbow on Arcturus's throat, pinning him to the table. The wand in his left hand again pressed against the place where the skin was already gone, exposing muscles corroded by the caustic magic.
The wave of pain this time was equally terrible, but the boy's reaction was only slightly different. Fortunately for him, Sirius could not see the toes writhing in his shoes. The body tried to escape the pain, writhing madly, but there was only trembling, for Arcturus held on by sheer willpower, not moving, only screaming.
"Decided to show off, did you? So show me, you degenerate," Sirius rumbled angrily, then removed his wand to cut off the boy's arm with a sharp flick. But his eyes suddenly rolled upwards. He jerked violently, his neck arched — and Sirius simply fell beside him, face down on the table.
The last thing Arcturus saw on the face of the former Azkaban prisoner was a frozen expression of surprise. Genuine, almost childlike surprise of a man who didn't understand what had happened.
A final rasp escaped his throat, and with it, a trickle of blood. Arcturus, as if he hadn't been paralyzed at all, slowly turned his head to the side, exhaling painfully.
A knife was sticking out of Sirius's head. The very table knife without a sharp point that the boy had been using to help himself during the meal.
When Sirius threw the boy onto the table, everything on its surface was overturned and fell. The knife fell too. And while Sirius tortured him, while he laid the paralysis, while he bound him with ropes — Arcturus slowly, grain by grain, destroyed the spell. Not immediately, not quickly, for the spell was complex and strong. But every movement, every breath and pulse of magic in his body worked against the charms cast by Black.
The dark mist with which Sirius tortured him was the last straw. At the peak of pain, at the peak of despair, Arcturus gathered all his will into a fist — and finished off the spell already weakened in dozens of places.
That's why he was stalling for time.
Had it been a Petrificus of similar strength, a few concentrated jabs of focused magic would have sufficed. But here, more was needed — including due to lack of knowledge of the vulnerable bindings of the cast spell. If Arcturus hadn't trained every night on himself, if he hadn't had such monstrous control over the magic inside his body, he would now be missing an arm, and soon everything that was rightfully his.
Even the dead Black himself would hardly have been able to break the spell. But the main thing was that he could.
And when Sirius was preparing to cut off his arm — he simply reached for the knife. It was already an achievement to hide the fact that at the last circle of torment, he had freed himself. And he couldn't wait any longer for a better moment, otherwise he would have lost his arm. Telekinesis, which he had trained every Mordred-forsaken day for many hours, worked flawlessly.
The knife entered exactly into the back of the head, at the base of the skull. He was lucky that the blunt table utensil shifted along the path of least resistance, getting between the cervical vertebrae.
Blood flooded the table as Arcturus lay beside it, staring at the ceiling with a mad smile. He understood that he had once again been on the brink of death, but the risk had paid off handsomely. Any other outcome would have meant the loss of the inheritance, the loss of himself, and the loss of freedom.
It was quiet in the room — no one knew he was here. Only the blood dripping onto the floor, counting the seconds of someone else's departed life. But then, a sudden burst of laughter. Mad laughter.
He had been bluffing, after all, a paranoid so paranoid that he wouldn't resort to the help of even his school friends, let alone someone like Pettigrew, who would have simply finished off the survivor.
"Ahahahahaha! You son of a bitch… why does it still hurt so much!" The now sole heir of the House of Black, still entangled in magical bonds, laughed madly through the pain. "But still… how good this feels! Hahaha!"
Slightly calmer, he closed his eyes and allowed himself simply to breathe. Because breathing was a reward. Despite the terrible pain from the mist spreading under his skin, everything was wonderful in his perception.
For he had won. For he had succeeded.
***
First came the euphoria. A mad, wild delight — the knife had entered very neatly between the cervical vertebrae, and I had survived. At this thought, I laughed — loudly, hysterically, choking on my own pain.
Then the laughter subsided. Leaving emptiness and heavy breathing, which brought pain, reminding me of how I had been smashed against the walls.
I closed my eyes.
The pain from the dark mist, spreading under my skin, did not subside. It pulsed somewhere deep, reminding me of itself with every heartbeat. I could feel the dark vessels on my neck, chest, and shoulder; my body felt their foreignness. But now, at this moment, even this pain was pleasant. Because it meant life.
Now I lay, bound by magical ropes, staring at the ceiling. Sirius's corpse was piled on top of me, his blood soaking my robes, my face, and my hands. I couldn't move — the dark grey ropes, woven from pure magic, held me in a death grip.
I had killed him. I had killed Sirius Black!
The only one who could contest my rights to the House of Black. All other candidates are powerless while I live.
From the back of his head, slightly below the base of the skull, protruded a table knife. Blunt, without a sharpened point, the same one I had been cutting my steak with just an hour ago. Blood still oozed from the wound, mixing with that which had flooded the table and floor. Dark, thick, crimson — it smelled of iron. A good smell. I like it.
For the enemy will no longer breathe air, while I breathe. So why should I complain about the smell of blood? Breathing slowly, I calmed down, getting used to the pain. The mist under my skin continued to burn, but I had already learned to ignore it. After all, it was the price of victory.
Now, perhaps, it was enough lying around. I needed to free myself, clean up, and figure out how I wanted to proceed. Many ideas tormented my head before, but only now, considering the situation, could I confidently choose a new plan to follow.
I closed my eyes and concentrated on the bonds. Telekinesis was my trump card, which had saved me twice today. Alas, when Sirius attacked at such high speed, I didn't have time to use it. The fight was at too high a speed. It seemed to me that an ordinary person cannot move and react so quickly and sharply.
I thought that the most powerful wizards, like Dumbledore, had transcended the limits of the human body, but even Sirius was more enduring and faster than what could be considered the human peak, not to mention his reaction. But when there is time, telekinesis is power. For someone, very unexpected power. Minute by minute, I poured magic into the knots, weakening them, stretching them, and destroying them. The bonds were clearly not ordinary — like steel cables.
"Damn ram," I hissed, as another rope snapped. "You got my robes dirty. And left your stupid spell…"
The dark network on my skin did not disappear. I looked at the wound site — there were veins, filled with something black, protruding like nodules, spreading in a network. The place where he had applied his wand was like a large miasma. The dead flesh, in which I could see damaged muscle tissue, greatly darkened, did nothing to boost my morale.
Fifteen minutes. A full fifteen minutes of hell I endured, when every movement sent pain through the burned tissues, and the dark mist under my skin pulsed in time with my heart. I wanted to just give up and lie still.
But I didn't give up. It would be funny to give up now… to magical ropes. I'm just very tired, hence such thoughts arise.
I wonder why he didn't use the Cruciatus?
The thought came unexpectedly. I remembered that pain — the memory had certainly reduced the intensity of the pain in my recollections. But even so, I understood that the Cruciatus was more effective in terms of inflicting pain, and it didn't leave such traces directly. And this spell… it seemed to cause less pain during application, but was worse for other reasons. Sirius's obviously dark spell harmed the body, not creating pain through the effect of magic, but actually damaging the body to make it hurt.
On the one hand, I wouldn't want to experience the Cruciatus again. On the other hand… the consequences of this… well, I'll have to live with them somehow. But I'd better get help from a healer soon, so that this filth goes away, and who knows what additional effects it might have.
But these are just minor annoyances!
Because now I had the inheritance. Not yet all of it, only a small part stored in Gringotts. Or part of that part, but I think it's enough to at least start my activities.
I'm unlikely to get the headship of the house now, nor the entire inheritance, because for now I'll have to hide Sirius's death. Arrange everything as if he had locked himself in Grimmauld Place and doesn't want to see anyone. Maybe even send a letter to Dumbledore — writing that he doesn't want to be treated at St. Mungo's, intends to go to Sancto Mente, and that he won't receive a return owl because he'll be living at Grimmauld Place.
I worked out the details while the bonds snapped one by one. A Quick-Quotes Quill will help me — to have no particular handwriting, lest they be able to compare it. Or better yet, no letter at all, so as not to give myself away through some stupidity.
And in six months, when he is considered missing, or more precisely, not claiming the headship for unknown reasons, I will receive the official right to become the head of the house, bypassing the main heir, whose death will be unknown. Then I will receive both the title and the full inheritance, with access to the vault, to the enterprises, to the family library, and to the defensive system of Grimmauld Place. For now… for now, no one must know of his death. Even if it would mean my immediate becoming a full-fledged Lord Black. The latter would only result in my father taking everything away, and a war might start between Dumbledore and the core of the Conservatives.
Before this, I had hoped, by receiving Dumbledore's nominal protection, to become Lord Black and then overthrow them both. And if Sirius's death becomes known, then although I would receive the Lordship immediately, my father would take everything from me, and then — a war over Sirius's death. Or rather, Dumbledore's attempts to get back what he already considered his.
Now, I don't even know. Apparently, I need to gather mercenaries, vassals, and more people, so that when, without announcing Sirius's death, I will still be able to obtain the headship of the house, my father doesn't take everything from me.
For now, I can get the part of the inheritance that is in Gringotts. I'm unlikely to get access to the main vault, as one must be the head of the house for that, but in the absence of a head of the house, I will have free access to some vaults.
The last rope snapped. I slowly, with difficulty, sat up on the table, pushing away Sirius's corpse. The body fell to the floor with a dull thud, into a pool of its own blood. On the table, too, remained a dark bloodstain, mixed with the remains of wine and broken dishes.
I got to my feet, swaying. Pain shot through my chest — reminding me of my broken rib. Damn… Gryffindor.
I need to dispose of the body. Kreacher is unlikely to be triggered, but it's better not to show that the future master killed the unworthy but beloved son of his deceased mistress.
I looked at the corpse. Sirius lay on his back, his eyes open, with surprise frozen in them. The last emotion on his face.
"Farewell, Sirius Black," I said quietly. "You were a powerful wizard, and by killing me, you could have changed the history of an entire world. But I couldn't allow that. Don't worry, the history of the House of Black, comparable to royalty, will not end with you. I won't allow it!"
***
From the Author
I think you didn't expect this. And yet, I hinted that two would not leave here alive, that Arcturus, by calling for help, would lose the inheritance, etc. Now, I hope it's clear why he didn't call anyone with him (I repeat: his father would take it away, and as for calling someone with him... Arcturus is a paranoid — more on that in the next chapter).
As for any criticism of that chapter, it will probably be that Sirius should have been killed differently. But in the next chapter, I will also clarify this point, so it won't be unclear why he didn't set a trap... why he didn't use the element of surprise differently. Here, I would insert facepalm emojis, because it would be enough to re-read the chapter and remember Arcturus's capabilities for most of the questions to fall away — including the fact that tearing off a limb was the best solution, as Sirius would have noticed the wand in his hand, even if you hid it up your sleeve. Any movement, and he would have been sent flying into the wall before the hero's first attack.
In the end, everything went exactly according to Arcturus's plan. The only thing he underestimated about Sirius was assuming that tearing off his hand would end the fight. Usually, that would have been more than enough to take an opponent out of the fight, but Sirius turned out to be an extremely strong fighter.
In short, I consider Arcturus Malfoy a true genius... who makes mistakes, for he is not made of cardboard. If we consider all his actions as a coherent picture, we can see that he did everything so that his family wouldn't be too affected, he achieved his goal, and he didn't ruin his relationship with Dumbledore. And please note — this is not plot armor. He literally achieved this with blood, planning his actions and understanding where they would lead.
In the text, starting from the summer holidays, everything was built with the goal of obtaining the inheritance. And I think it would be strange to mention this in every chapter only for it to fizzle out. But in any case, he cannot yet receive the full inheritance he wanted — nor the Lordship to officially become an adult wizard. That is, to go through the emancipation procedure. Therefore, winning in court was so important for Arcturus. Now, he will have to find a way out.