novelraw Chapter 66: The Black Family Deal
Chapter 66: The Black Family Deal
Chapter Sixty-Six: The Black Family Deal
Sirius Black was so distracted because he was worried about something else entirely.
A few hours earlier, just as Draco entered Harry's room, a heated conversation had taken place in the long, dark hallway on the ground floor.
"Sirius, this place is a pigsty—" Narcissa surveyed her surroundings like an imperious queen, as though she wished to hold her breath for fear of inhaling some noxious vapors.
She glanced at the gaunt, dark-haired man before her, a mocking smile playing across her features. "The noble House of Black has fallen to such depths! I wonder if Aunt Walburga's soul can rest easy seeing her carefully maintained residence in such a dilapidated and wretched state."
"If you'd heard her vile cursing, you probably wouldn't worry about her soul." Sirius glanced quickly at the velvet curtains at the end of the corridor. A low snoring sound seemed to emanate from beneath them.
"She was always strong-willed and obstinate, and you wounded her deeply." Narcissa's tone held understanding.
"Enough pleasantries. What does the self-proclaimed noble Narcissa want, condescending to visit my pigsty? Surely you didn't come merely to discuss my mother's character?" Sirius said bluntly. "Get to the point. What do you want?"
"I want to know the secret of how you didn't go mad in Azkaban," Narcissa said curtly, lifting her delicate chin.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Sirius gave her an enigmatic look.
"Don't play games with me. How have you managed to remain so lucid for the past decade? And how did Peter Pettigrew escape? Bellatrix's magical ability is no less than yours, yet she was driven half-mad by the Dementors' torture—and you're unscathed. I don't believe you didn't employ some trick." Narcissa crossed her arms and paced imperiously in the entrance hall.
Sirius paused, momentarily stunned.
He burst into laughter. "So that's what you're after!" He thought of the platinum-haired boy upstairs, who, like Harry, was an enemy of Peter Pettigrew.
How fascinating that everyone in the world who most desperately wanted to know how Pettigrew escaped Azkaban was now gathered under this very roof.
"What's so amusing?" She stopped and fixed him with a haughty stare.
"Indeed, I do have a little trick." Sirius met her gaze steadily with his grey eyes, a weary smile on his face. "However, it's a life-preserving method for avoiding Dementors, and I can't simply give it away. If you want to know this secret, you must give me something in return."
Narcissa drew back cautiously; she knew Sirius often harbored unexpected schemes.
"What do you want?"
"As you can see, I've been managing the Black family fortune ever since I was released from prison. Years ago, Bellatrix took something from me. Help retrieve it, and I'll tell you." Sirius studied her, a calculating look in his eyes.
"That's all? What is it?" Narcissa remained guarded.
She was certain this would be no simple matter.
"A small golden cup. I believe it's stored in the Lestrange family vault." He spoke casually, as if inviting Narcissa to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink.
"You're mad!" Narcissa exclaimed angrily.
Open the Lestrange vault and take something without permission? Bellatrix would be furious.
"Splendid! Then no one will ever learn how Peter Pettigrew evaded the Dementors' watch and escaped." Sirius toyed idly with his wand.
"Only Bella can access that vault." Narcissa pursed her lips, determined to refuse.
"Come now, I know you're her key guardian," Sirius said impatiently. "How much have you transported to Azkaban for her over the years? You think I haven't noticed? I lived right next to her cell!"
A crack appeared in Narcissa's carefully composed facade.
"My uncle must be devastated, yes? His most beloved eldest daughter imprisoned in Azkaban, and his rebellious middle daughter having disgraced herself by eloping with the Muggle-born wizard the Black family despised most. Only you, his most dutiful youngest daughter, willing to care for him—and you, the esteemed Lady Malfoy, forced to lower yourself and visit Azkaban regularly..." He continued speaking, utterly oblivious to Narcissa's shifting expressions, as though he were discussing the weather rather than reopening old wounds.
"What business is it of yours?" Narcissa glared at him fiercely.
"You fancy the Black family's gold mine in Peru, don't you? I'll transfer it to you. Just give me that golden cup." Sirius softened his tone, brushing a speck of dust from his wand, his expression impassive. "I'll hunt down Peter Pettigrew myself, so your precious son will be safe."
"My son and your godson are close friends! Draco even saved you and secured your release from Azkaban. And yet you're threatening his mother, attempting to strike a bargain..." An incredulous expression crossed her aristocratic features as she regarded him with disdain in her blue eyes.
"Spare me the theatrics. The House of Black doesn't care about family bonds—only positions and interests," Sirius sneered.
He remembered the tapestry in the Black family drawing room upstairs, where his name had been burned into a blackened void years ago.
"Perhaps Peter Pettigrew's target isn't my son at all, but your godson." Narcissa remained silent for a long moment, still refusing to yield, instead affecting a seemingly relaxed expression.
Draco was speaking with Harry Potter at that very moment—he might already have extracted the information from him.
"I know what you're thinking. I haven't told anyone this secret, not even Harry. Not yet, anyway, and I can't guarantee the future. The only guarantee I can offer is that I'll keep this secret until we reach an agreement," Sirius warned, seemingly reading her thoughts.
"Aren't you afraid your godson will meet a violent end? Are you truly willing to take that risk?" she asked with a half-smile, finding his behavior absurd.
"Pettigrew lurked around Harry for two entire years without making a move." Sirius feigned indifference, though his worry was evident beneath the surface. "I suspect Draco, who 'captured him after years of concealment with a single casual remark,' is far more likely to provoke his hatred. Or are you willing to take that risk?"
Narcissa glared at him with loathing, and he returned her stare just as fiercely.
"I remember that object. That golden cup." Finally, Narcissa spoke in a low voice. "It was enchanted with Protego Diabolica and a Geminio Curse. It must have been something extraordinarily important. Otherwise, you wouldn't go to such lengths to obtain it."
Sirius studied her, his expression suddenly growing serious.
"What concern is it of yours? Your sister's crimes are sufficient to keep her imprisoned in Azkaban for life. She wasn't wrongly convicted, and I'm certain you know it." He suddenly grinned at her, his expression malicious. "I swear to you, that object doesn't belong to her, nor does it belong to the Lestrange family."
Narcissa's elegant brows furrowed deeply.
"Very well. I agree. But tell me first—what is your method? I need to ensure the information is valuable enough to justify the risk." Narcissa's eyes darted about.
"Payment on delivery. I'll tell you when you bring the golden cup." Sirius rejected her proposal without hesitation.
"Fine! I'll retrieve it immediately, before I reconsider. While I'm gone, clean up this pigsty! Also, tell Draco not to touch anything suspicious." She wrinkled her nose in distaste and shot Sirius a disgruntled look.
"Yes, madam," he replied nonchalantly.
"You'd better honor your word." She turned away sharply, her black outer robes, embroidered with exquisite dark patterns, billowing in the shadowy corridor like a surging tide at twilight.
When the door to the Black family townhouse finally closed, Sirius's composure evaporated instantly. He paced anxiously back and forth in the long, dim entrance hall, attempting to steady his breathing.
There was definitely something significant about that golden cup.
The eleven years in Azkaban had been eleven years of absolute darkness.
But simultaneously, many dark secrets ceased to be secrets there. When he'd finally regained his freedom and breathed the air of liberty, certain striking fragments had suddenly awakened in his mind during those countless numb nights.
His cell had been directly adjacent to Bellatrix's. Sometimes he would hear her cursing and threatening frantically as the Dementors made their rounds to torment the prisoners.
"The Dark Lord's golden cup—I'm safeguarding it... As long as it exists, he cannot die, and he'll certainly return to me..."
The Dementors were too preoccupied draining prisoners' happiness to care about their ravings. When Ministry officials occasionally inspected the facility, Bellatrix kept her mouth firmly shut, uttering not a word about the cup.
He'd initially assumed she was raving. How many prisoners in Azkaban weren't mentally unstable?
But even madwomen sometimes spoke truth; a certain conviction occasionally flashed in her manic eyes, which was rather intriguing.
Wizards understood that the torment of Dementors could excavate the deepest darkness in people's hearts. Few realized that many genuine yet hazy memories would be magnified infinitely during this process and become exceptionally vivid.
Sirius knew this because he'd experienced it firsthand.
Bellatrix's Occlumency was formidable; she could have buried this secret with her. But nothing compared to the impact of Dementors.
The only question was: was this merely her delusional madness, or was it actually real?
With this in mind, he'd tested Narcissa with his words, never anticipating that the golden cup was a genuine article.
Even if there existed only the smallest ember that could facilitate Voldemort's return, he would extinguish it. He had to obtain the cup, whatever the cost. Sirius stared grimly toward the doorway, a resolute expression on his haggard face.
"Sirius!" His godson Harry's call pulled him back to reality. Sirius emerged from his reverie to find them seated in the spotless basement dining room.
All the silver cutlery gleamed brilliantly, and the porcelain cups, plates, and bowls were so pristine they could serve as mirrors.
A long wooden dining table was immaculately arranged with an abundance of delicious fare: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, lamb chops, sausages, roast potatoes... At the far end sat apple pie, chocolate éclairs, jam doughnuts, and treacle tart.
Dobby the house-elf had somehow acquired a brand-new, snow-white chef's uniform, complete with a tall toque, and stood obsequiously beside the table watching them.
"Dobby, you're incredible!" Harry exclaimed delightedly, beaming. "Why don't you join us for dinner?"
Dobby looked utterly astonished. He bowed and said tearfully, "Oh, great Harry Potter, sir! Your praise is the greatest reward for Dobby! Dobby never dreamed he could dine at the same table as Harry Potter, sir! This is too much for Dobby, Dobby cannot accept..." He blew his nose and vanished with a loud crack.
"You frightened him away." Draco reluctantly set down a book—the one Sirius had used to Transfigure his silverware earlier, Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. He glanced one last time at the Peverell symbol illustrated within: a figure composed of a vertical line, a triangle, and a circle.
Harry paid no attention to what Draco had been reading; he was merely puzzled by Dobby's reaction. "I only invited him to eat, and he acted as though I'd insulted him..."
"That's how house-elves are—they're accustomed to serving wizarding families. They're ashamed of leisure." Sirius casually sliced a generous piece of steak with an air of refinement that reminded Draco of his own mother. "Look at Kreacher—even though my mother's been dead for years, he remains devoted to her."
"Why not release him?" Harry asked. He'd heard from Dobby that house-elves could leave wizarding families if their masters presented them with clothes.
"He knows too many Black family secrets. I can't simply let him go." Sirius took a sip of his drink with a gloomy expression and added sardonically, "Besides, he doesn't wish to leave. His greatest ambition is to become a 'glorious' ornament on the Black family wall after death, just like his ancestors."
Draco and Harry exchanged a glance. They both thought of the row of mounted house-elf heads on the staircase wall.
"Too macabre," Harry muttered, biting into a sizzling sausage.
"You're as kind-hearted as your mother." Sirius smiled faintly at him.
"Harry's mother was quite popular at Hogwarts during her school years, wasn't she?" Draco asked casually.
"Naturally. Lily Evans was the most beautiful witch at Hogwarts in her day, the most admired girl there." Sirius swirled his whisky with ice floating in it, still contemplating the origins of that golden cup.
"I heard she and Professor Snape were childhood friends," Draco remarked offhandedly.
Thud! A large piece of turkey dropped from Harry's mouth onto his plate, and he stared at Draco in shock.
"Snivellus? That greasy git? I'm baffled how someone like him became a professor... He deserved to be rejected." Sirius ceased eating and spoke contemptuously. "Do you know what he called Lily? Mudblood!"
"I expect he regrets it terribly," Draco said nonchalantly, seemingly oblivious to Harry's stunned expression as he poured Sirius another measure of whisky.
Sirius Black, whatever occupied his thoughts, was clearly in an unusual state of distraction. And he evidently knew Professor Snape well—whether his account was biased or not, this was a golden opportunity for Draco to study Snape and perhaps uncover the motivations behind some of the professor's actions.
"Of course he came crawling back, begging Lily for forgiveness, looking utterly pathetic. But Lily was heartbroken." Sirius spoke gleefully. "If it were me, I wouldn't have forgiven him either."
Draco observed the look of complete disbelief on Harry's face.
"I wager he truly despises you, doesn't he?" Sirius suddenly tilted his head and asked his godson with studied elegance. Even after so long in Azkaban, his every gesture still carried an air of nobility.
Harry nodded mutely at his godfather, who'd just made such a startling revelation.
"He hated your father. And you're his spitting image. Only your eyes resemble your mother's." Sirius spoke defiantly, clapping his godson's shoulder. "Don't fear him. If he troubles you again, tell me, and I'll support you."
Harry, appearing distracted, gave a hesitant acknowledgment.
Draco hadn't intended to ask quite so directly. But the opportunity was too valuable to squander, and if he didn't inquire now, who knew when he'd see Sirius Black again?
Sirius's words provided Draco with further confirmation—Professor Snape had cared deeply for Harry's mother, or at least once had, and had committed some foolish act that cost him Lily Evans's affection.
When they finished their afternoon tea, Narcissa finally returned. She looked pale and carried a package that appeared to contain something round and substantial.
Harry and Draco's voices drifted faintly from the third floor; they were directing Dobby to clean a bedroom cluttered with debris. Meanwhile, Sirius led Narcissa into the drawing room on the first floor.
"This is more acceptable." Narcissa surveyed the clean, bright surroundings and finally consented to sit.
"Where is it?" Sirius asked warily.
Narcissa waved her wand, and the drawing room door slammed shut with a resounding bang.
Dust still swirled behind the door.
"The cleaning wasn't thorough enough," Narcissa observed.
"The item is here." She frowned and shook the package in her hand, her expression grave.
Sirius pushed a signed parchment before Narcissa, requesting she verify its authenticity.
"It's legitimate," she confirmed after lengthy examination.
Sirius reached for the package. Narcissa, however, drew it closer to herself.
"Tell me." She fixed him with an intent stare.
"This is merely conjecture, but I believe it's quite close to the truth..." he said uneasily.
"Tell me," she demanded sternly.
"He's an Animagus." A complex smile appeared on Sirius's handsome, drawn face.
"Obviously I know he's an Animagus," Narcissa said impatiently. "Every witch and wizard in Britain knows he was captured by my son whilst in rat form."
"Isn't it evident? Use that pretty but apparently useless head of yours!" Sirius retorted even more impatiently. "Let me enlighten you—Dementors are exclusively interested in human emotions and thoughts, not the consciousness of a rat!"
Narcissa stood frozen for a prolonged moment. Her expression shifted from impatience to confusion, and then to dawning comprehension.
"I've been completely forthright with you," Sirius stated bluntly. "Hand it over!"
Narcissa, her face rigid, silently opened the package in her hands, revealing a solid gold cup. The cup bore two finely wrought handles, and its surface was adorned with exquisite engravings.
"Don't tell anyone about today's transaction." Narcissa shot him a warning glare, tucked the transfer agreement into her bag, and ascended the stairs to find her beloved son Draco without a backward glance.