Chapter Text
Alphard pressed one hand firmly against the small of the boy’s back, nodding his approval as the child adjusted his posture. “Scales,” he murmured, stepping back as the younger Black opened his mouth.
“Do re mi fa so la ti do…”
“From the chest. Use your diaphragm.”
“Do re mi fa so la ti do…”
Alphard led the boy through a series of vocal exercises, remaining largely detached from the child. This was Sirius Castor, Walburga’s oldest son, and a positively spoiled monster of a child. Alphard had hated him from the moment he was named. Sirius. He had begged his sister to not use that name. The years he’d spent under Sirius Phineas’ thumb had been nothing short of torture, shredding his mind and his voice. He’d only had seven years of relief before Walburga brought a Sirius back into the family for a new generation of hell. (Though she did, at least, reconsider the middle name ‘Orion.’ Family tradition could be set aside in favor of less-unfortunate initials.)
Sirius Castor was now six-going-on-seven (as he was quick to point out, he only had two more months until he was seven, only two) and the world revolved around him. When Alphard was feeling generous, he did acknowledge that wasn’t entirely Sirius’ fault. The entire family (save for Alphard and some of the youngest girls) doted on the boy, certain that he would one day be the Head of the House of Black. He was the eldest son of his generation, after all, and he had a double helping of Black genes from his mother’s side.
Not only that, but the boy was already beautiful. His face was still immature, but everything from his wide grey eyes to his soft black hair to the smaller type of Black ears told of his future appearance. Alphard didn’t believe his smile would change much. Sirius was quick to smile and smirk and laugh, wicked, teasing grins that made his whole face light up and made it difficult for even Alphard to dislike the boy at times. He wanted for nothing, yet, despite his spoiled nature, he doted upon his younger brother, Regulus Arcturus.
Sirius did have a sweet voice, a soaring treble. If anything, that made Alphard dislike him all the more. There was no such thing as a perfect Black. If they had everything else—power, voice, charm—then they would lack in just one area, usually the overly-large ears that tended to crop up in the family. Or, if they were breathtakingly gorgeous, their voices were faulty. A Black who was breathtakingly gorgeous (or would be, once he lost his chubby baby face), could sing like a lark, and who was already showing prodigious magical talent should have been, at the very least, a younger son.
No, the worst that could be said about Sirius was that he expected everyone to do exactly as he told them, and he was prone to earsplitting tantrums if he didn’t get his way, usually unleashing uncontrollable magical storms at the same time.
It wasn’t often that someone said no to Sirius Castor.
The most recent tantrum Alphard had heard about was the most frightening. Sirius had been in the Leaky Cauldron and had run from Walburga, run into Muggle London. The Blacks all feared reports of Sirius’ magic running wild through the streets of the muggles for the two hours it took to find him… but nothing had happened. Sirius had been found with muggle policemen, munching on biscuits and entertaining them with his stories of flying broomsticks and magic wands. A quick Memory Charm by the Ministry officials who had arrived with Orion Black had been enough to fix that damage.
That had been six months ago, and Walburga reported that Sirius was always a little angel whenever he returned to Diagon Alley with her. Why, he was showing signs of great intelligence already, preferring to sit in Flourish and Blotts with his nose in a book while she did her shopping.
Walburga had always loved to boast about Sirius. From his talent on a broomstick to his knack for setting his crib aflame at the shockingly young age of five months, there was nothing Sirius Castor could do that Walburga wouldn’t brag about.
“Uncle Alphard?”
The lesson was over for the day, and Alphard had given the boy a cup of tea, as was the proper thing to do. He looked over the rim of his own cup at Sirius, raising an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“Muggleborn,” was the next word out of Sirius’ mouth, and Alphard nearly spilled his tea. A six-year-old Black should never have even heard of that term. It was never used in polite company. Of course, Alphard preferred it over the insulting ‘mudblood,’ but Orion and Walburga were both the old-fashioned sort.
“It means ‘mudblood,’ don’t it?”
“Doesn’t it. Do not slur your words, Sirius,” Alphard said, automatically correcting the poor grammar. “Yes. It can mean ‘mudblood.’”
Sirius frowned, both of his small hands clasped around his cup. He was looking unusually solemn. Serious, even. Alphard could almost see him thinking.
“Mudblood is the mean word for muggleborn, right, Uncle?”
Both of Alphard’s eyebrows shot up now. Should a Black child hear about the term ‘muggleborn,’ they were always coached to use it secondary to the ‘more-appropriate’ mudblood. Muggleborn was the vulgar word, they were taught when they were children. “Yes, Sirius. Muggleborn is the polite word, to be used in mixed company. Perhaps you should talk to your parents about this, if you have questions.” Alphard had already used up his first chance with the family. If Walburga or Orion checked in and found Alphard talking about muggleborns with an impressionable child… Alphard didn’t want to think of what the consequences might be.
Sirius was shaking his head, though, a scowl on his face. The expression was adorable with his little cherubic cheeks, but Alphard didn’t smile. Sirius didn’t like being laughed at when he was upset. “Mummy and Daddy got mad when I asked them. They said I shouldn’t say that word. Muggleborn.” He looked up at Alphard, the scowl melting back into a thoughtful frown. “Why shouldn’t I use that word, Uncle?”
Oh dear. It looked like Alphard would be the one to educate Sirius after all. “If your mummy and daddy told you to use mudblood instead of muggleborn, then you should do what they say. They are your parents.” The words tasted like ash on his tongue. Alphard closed his eyes, remembering the two glorious years he had spent living among the muggles, reveling in their culture and lifestyles, marveling at their creativity and ingenuity.
The Black family had no idea what they were excluding. Alphard had long ago given up on trying to make them see sense.
“Mummy and Daddy use mudblood,” Sirius said, looking back into his tea. Alphard opened his eyes to watch the cogs of his young mind working once again. “And mudblood is the mean word. Are Mummy and Daddy mean?”
Alphard bit his tongue and lifted his cup, taking a long drink from his tea as he tried to think of a good answer. Luckily, Sirius continued on with another question before Alphard had to further defend a view he did not believe or insult his sister and her husband in front of their child.
“Why don’t Mummy and Daddy like muggleborns?”
“Why did you call them muggleborns just now, Sirius?”
Sirius looked up, his brow furrowed from the intensity of his frown. He really was thinking quite hard about this. “Because you’re not yelling at me about calling them muggleborns instead of mudbloods. And muggleborns is the nicer word. You should always try to at least pretend to be nice. That’s what Madam Cleo says. Even if you’re going to be mean to someone, you should pretend to be nice in front of them.”
“But you are not in front of muggleborns right now, Sirius.”
“I like muggles,” Sirius answered, and the innocent honesty in his face made Alphard smile. “They were nice to me when I was lost. And they gave me yummy biscuits and apple juice.” He giggled. “I didn’t know you could make juice from apples! And they wear funny clothes, and they have funny toys…”
Sirius’ excursion into muggle London must have had a profound impact on the child. Alphard was softening toward his nephew. Perhaps the Family’s prince was not as perfect as they thought. Now, to keep Orion and Walburga from crushing these first rebellious thoughts…
“Why don’t Mummy and Daddy like muggleborns?”
“Your mummy and daddy… they don’t think muggleborns belong.” Alphard set his cup down and folded his hands on the table, his smile growing as Sirius was quick to imitate him. “You know your grandfather’s dogs?” Arcturus Sirius, the current Head of the Family, was fond of his hunting dogs, large, sleek black hounds, with pointed muzzles and sharp teeth, that resembled the dogs in the family crest. Sirius nodded, a smile lighting up his face. The boy did love the hounds. Even though they were for hunting and not for play, Sirius always found a way to pet them whenever he visited with his grandfather. “You know how they all look alike, with long legs and long faces?” Sirius nodded again. “Well, what if one was born that had short, stumpy legs?”
“He’d grow into long legs,” Sirius answered promptly. “All the baby puppies have really small legs. I saw them.”
“But what if he did not? What if he had short, stumpy legs his whole life? He would be very different, right? He would not belong with the other dogs, because he cannot run as fast with tiny legs, or jump as high. He would be useless, and he would not belong.”
Sirius was frowning again, looking upset. “He would not be useless! If he couldn’t hunt, then you could give him to your wife and he could be her pet! Or to your grandson, and he could be my pet! Just because he has short legs-“
Alphard sliced his hand through the air, a universal sign among the family that meant ‘be quiet.’ It was most often given from an elder to an impertinent youngster, and all Blacks, even Sirius Castor, learned quickly that to ignore such a sign would be asking for a Muffling Hex. The boy did fall quiet, still looking upset.
“You see value in such a dog,” he said quietly, offering a fond smile to the child to show that he would not truly harm such a dog. “And I would see value in such a dog. But your mummy and daddy would not. They would think such a dog could not do what it was meant to do and should be put out of its misery. That is what they think about muggleborns, too. A muggleborn is a wizard or witch born to muggles, not to other witches and wizards. A muggleborn cannot be taught how to be a magical person by their mummy and daddy, because their mummy and daddy don’t know. Muggleborns do not come into our world knowing how it works, and so they blunder around and make mistakes and upset the wizards and witches who do know how things work. And that is why your mummy and daddy do not like them.”
“But you can teach them how to do things, can’t you?” Sirius pressed his hands together, his brow furrowed. “You can show them how things work, so they don’t make such a mess…”
“But you have to take time to teach them,” Alphard said. “And effort. And it is easier to hate them for their mistakes than to teach them how to do things properly.”
He was, of course, simplifying the entire relationship between muggleborns and the pureblood families, but Sirius was only six. He didn’t need to know the entire history and debate, or where their family very firmly positioned itself.
“Well, you should do that,” Sirius decided, crossing his arms and scowling again. “You should teach muggleborns how to act properly, because it’s not their fault if they don’t know what to do. Like how I had to be taught how to play Quidditch. And nobody got mad at me for not immediately knowing. They taught me how to do it. And so we should teach muggleborns.”
Alphard smiled, rising from his seat as his house elf, Bete, cleared their empty tea cups. He set his hand on Sirius’ hair, stroking the soft locks. Sirius looked up at him, and Alphard drew him up to stand up on his chair and gave him a hug. “Yes, Sirius. I do agree with you. But the rest of our family does not.”
“They should,” Sirius said quietly, his little arms wrapping around Alphard, pressing his face into Alphard’s chest. It was the first time Alphard had voluntarily hugged this nephew, and he was surprised at how protective he suddenly felt about the small body in his arms.
“Your mummy and daddy will not like to hear you talk about this,” Alphard told Sirius, pulling back to cup Sirius’ chin and tilting his face up to him. “But if you ever have questions that you want to talk about, I will always be happy to discuss this with you.”
“Thank you, Uncle Alphard!” Sirius grinned, his face lighting up again, and Alphard smiled back. “I’ve read all kinds of books in Flourish and Blotts! Can we go there so I can show you? Because there are some bits I don’t get. And I want to know about halfbloods. Because they aren’t mentioned much, but sometimes. And I want to know about muggles, and muggleborns, and why are they supposed to have dirty blood? Is their blood really dirty? And-“
Alphard slashed his hand again, but he was laughing as much as he was able to. “So many questions, Sirius! I’ll talk to your parents about taking you to Diagon Alley someday soon, and you can ask me your questions then. But for now…” Alphard glanced at the clock, then back to Sirius. “For now, it is time for you to go home, before your mummy and daddy come looking for you.”
“Aww, do I gotta? I want to keep talking with you!”
“Yes, Sirius, you have to. Do not slur your words.”
Sirius rolled his eyes and hopped off his chair, bouncing toward the fireplace. “Okay, but when I come for the next singing lesson, we can talk more, right?”
“Of course.” Alphard smiled as Sirius grabbed a handful of Floo Powder (more than he really needed, but the boy insisted on doing it himself these days) and threw it in the fire.
“Bye, Uncle Alphard!” Sirius waved before hopping into the flames, calling out “Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place!” and was gone.
Alphard shook his head, still smiling as he exited the room for his study. Damn that boy. Six, nearly seven years of holding out, and even Alphard finally succumbed to his charisma. If this was Sirius’ power as a child, Alphard could only imagine what would happen when the boy became an adult.
Alphard might not be the only black sheep in the Black family after all…
