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It’d been raining every day for the past week, and as usual, Sirius found himself sipping cocoa with Lily and James in his apartment while the rain battered down onto the pavement.
“Anything new from Dumbledore?” James asked.
Sirius shook his head, grumbling. “He hasn’t given us anything in a damn month. The Order’s practically been trapped in Limbo since then.” With a frustrated huff, he picked up his mug and sipped his hot chocolate.
“It’s not as if he’s been hiding any death eater activity,” Lily ventured, her fingers tapping the ceramic mug thoughtfully, “You do have to admit that they have been rather quiet.”
“I guess,” Sirius conceded, a frown pulling down his mouth, “But that just means they’re up to something, and I highly doubt Dumbledore has no clue what it is.”
“Oh come on mate, you’re just itching for a fight, admit it,” James said, grinning widely.
Despite his mood, Sirius found himself grinning too. Although he was genuinely frustrated about Dumbledore’s lack of information, he was also bored, and there was nothing like a good duel to inject some excitement into the otherwise dull life of a vigilante. When he’d signed up for the order, he had of course done so for faith in the cause, but also because of the thrills that went along with the life of an Order member. He quickly found out that aside from the occasional duel, it mostly consisted of stakeouts, planning, and monthly meetings. There was the Ravenclaw Rebellion, but he would rather cast a killing curse on himself than willingly attend one of those swot-fests.
“Well I don’t know about you lot, but I’m rather glad things have been quiet. In fact—“ Lily’s thought was cut off by a sudden knock at the door.
“Ah, that must be Moony with the food, I’ll get it.” Sirius got up from the table and walked towards the door, eager to put something in his stomach. He hadn’t eaten in half a day and needed some Chinese from the place up the street now more than ever.
Opening the door, his stomach dropped the second he looked at who was on the other side of it. It wasn’t moony, no. This man’s hair was pitch black instead of Moony’s mousy brown, his eyes steel grey rather than hazel, and a perpetual sneer on his face rather than a lopsided smile.
“Grandfather?” Sirius managed to choke out. He hated the way his voice faltered, but Arcturus Black had never failed to make him tremble in his boots. Though he required a cane nowadays, and flecks of gray dotted his impeccably slicked hair, he was no less formidable, and Sirius found himself feeling like he was six years old again with every second of Arcturus’s penetrating glare assessing him.
“Sirius,” Arcturus replied. “You’re looking well. If I may come in, there is a matter I must discuss with you.” Instead of waiting for a response, Arcturus walked into the apartment, the sounds of his cane hitting the floor echoing off the walls. Looking to his side, Arcturus noticed Lily and James sitting at the table. James was looking at Arcturus warily, while Lily seemed to shrink under his gaze.
“Ah, I didn’t realize you had company, forgive me.” Taking a look at James, he added, “Judging from that bird’s nest on your head I assume you’re James Potter.” Looking across James, he focused on Lily. “And you, girl?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
Clearing her throat and trying not to look as intimidated as she was, Lily answered. “Lily Evans, sir.” It came out much weaker than she wanted it to, and she tried to make up for it by straightening her back and looking at him without shrinking. She’d never met Sirius’s grandfather before, nor heard much of him, but with the intensity of his stare, he may as well have been looking through her.
Raising a haughty eyebrow, Arcturus replied, “Can’t say I’ve ever met an Evans before.” Though his words were innocuous enough, the implication was clear due to the way he punctuated the name ‘Evans’ with a distasteful sneer. He’d practically called her a mudblood without actually saying anything close to the word. Lily’s eyes darted away from the aging wizard, trying not to flinch from his remark.
Finding his voice again, Sirius cleared his throat, “What are you doing here?” he asked, inserting some steel into his voice.
Turning to look at him, Arcturus replied, “There is an issue regarding the inheritance that I must resolve. I need your participation in order to do so,” he replied silkily.
Realizing that his grandfather would probably be here for a while, Lily excused herself and beckoned James to come with her to the bedroom. Though reluctant to leave Sirius alone with his grandfather, he acquiesced and walked with her away from the living room.
“What kind of issue? I was burned off the tapestry, doesn’t that cover it?” he asked.
Rolling his eyes, Arcturus replied, “Unfortunately, your mother’s womanish penchant for drama does not qualify as disinheritance. It is far more complicated than simply adding another scorch mark to the tapestry.”
“How complicated?” Sirius asked.
“The laws for disinheritance are extremely complex. There is strong magic involved in this that one must bypass, blood magic, more specifically. In order to fully disinherit you and make Regulus the heir, we need some of your blood.” Arcturus took his free hand, and reached into his jacket pocket, revealing a small glass flask a little larger than a thimble. “Simply fill this up, and we can be done.”
Resisting the urge to flinch from his Grandfather’s glare, Sirius cleared his throat and offered a rebuttal, “I don’t recall Andromeda ever telling me about bleeding into a jar to disinherit herself.”
With a curl of his lip at the mention of his cousin’s wayward granddaughter, Arcturus huffed, “Of course you’d be in contact with her,” Shaking his head, he continued, “Nevertheless, in addition to being from a secondary branch of the family, Andromeda is both a middle child and a woman, there was nothing for her to inherit—Nothing of importance, anyway—You, on the other hand, were meant to inherit not just Number Twelve and the other properties, but the position of head of the family. So as I’m sure you can see, things are more complicated than that.”
Exhaling, Sirius turned around. Of course, this was happening. It couldn’t just be a regular old disownment, with this family it was never a regular old anything. So, of course, he had to bleed into some bloody flask while his grandfather watched.
“Fine,” he huffed, “Get on with it then—” When his grandfather did nothing but raise an eyebrow and level him with another icy glare at his tone, Sirius promptly added “—Sir.”
Nodding, his grandfather took his hand. Without so much as a word of warning, he flicked his wand, giving Sirius a slight cut on his thumb.
Sirius sucked in a breath, completely unprepared. As his blood began to drip on his floor, his grandfather walked over to an armchair by the fireplace. Sitting down, he groaned slightly—a sign of his age—and looked at Sirius on the other side of the living room before adding, “The floor is not meant to collect your blood, boy. That’s what the flask is for.”
Realizing he hadn’t put his thumb to the flask and was instead bleeding on his shag carpeting, Sirius sheepishly took the flask and held it under his thumb, listening to the slow drip of his blood as it hit the bottom of the container.
“So, what have you been up to these past 3 years?” Arcturus asked.
“Do you care?” Sirius snapped.
Ignoring his tone, Arcturus matter-of-factly replied, “Not particularly, no. Just making small talk, although it’s clear you’ve inherited your mother’s affinity for it.”
Sirius’s jaw tensed. There were many things he was willing to be called: blood traitor, disappointment, shame, stain on the black name, but if there was one thing he wouldn’t tolerate, it was being compared to that soulless harpy.
“I am nothing like her,” he replied through gritted teeth.
Arcturus snorted, something which Sirius didn’t think he’d ever heard him do, and calmly replied, “Oh please, you’re nothing like your father. He’s calm, steady, patient, and aware of his duties. Your mother, on the other hand, is rash, impulsive, vindictive, and vicious when she wants to be. You’re exactly like her, you’re just too stubborn to admit it.”
Feeling the urge to argue the point further, it only took one look at those grey daggers his grandfather called eyes not to continue the conversation.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve seen fit to live amongst muggles. You always did take pleasure in cavorting with the riffraff, in spitting on your family’s name and lineage.” Arcturus continued, shaking his head in disapproval as his eyes wandered around his grandson’s apartment.
Sirius bit back a sarcastic reply. Instead, he settled for a venomous glare.
Arcturus continued, unfazed by his grandson’s petulant staring, “You never did care about your history. A thousand-year lineage that you never bothered to take interest in. What would you know of Ophiuchus Black, and his adventures with William the Conqueror? What would you know of that extravagant castle in the midlands we once called home? What would you know of the Kings and Queens, both muggle and wizard, who rose and fell at the whim of whichever Black was head of the family at the time?”
Losing his patience, he turned to face his grandfather. “Yes well, that 'extravagant' castle isn't 'extravagant' now is it? It’s probably in ruins, Thanks to people like you who put their faith in idiotic causes,” Sirius replied hotly.
Arcturus raised both eyebrows at his grandson’s tone, tapping the hilt of his cane repeatedly. “Quite right,” he replied unexpectedly. Sirius did a double-take while his grandfather continued, “A shame how a lineage as old as ours can be so damaged by a few reckless sons,” he spit out, looking pointedly at Sirius, “That castle was once the envy of Great Britain, towering over everything in sight. Highpoint, they called it. And yet what is left of that magnificent castle now but a ruin? A pile of rubble that only serves as something for muggles to gawk at? Although it’s not because of people like me, no. It’s due to idiots like you who prioritized indulgence rather than duty. I am quite thankful though, that those imbeciles who almost brought about this family’s ruin are now little more than scorch marks on the tapestry, just as I’m happy you are as well.”
His Grandfather’s words had hit Sirius like a stunner to the chest and hurt far more than he’d care to admit. “The feeling’s mutual, believe me,” Sirius bit out.
“I’m sure it is.” Arcturus calmly replied. “It is a pity though, truly. Your parents were far too lenient with you. Had you been my son, you would’ve been brought to heel at the first sign of impertinence. It would’ve been a painful process, but it would’ve been done, nonetheless.”
“Yes, well. I’m sorry I’m not the perfect black heir that Regulus is, or my father.” Sirius replied.
To his surprise, Arcturus let out a hearty laugh. “Ha! Perfect? Orion was far too soft. Always mewling and whinging about the smallest inconvenience like a bloody woman, hiding behind his mother’s skirts whenever things got too difficult. Regulus is, regrettably, much the same. Although, just as Orion did, he’ll learn.”
Sirius didn’t know how to respond to that, instead opting to listen to the ‘drip, drip, drip’ of his blood filling up the flask. If there was one word he wouldn’t use to describe his father, it was soft, but then again Arcturus practically had no conscience, so he supposed Orion Black was soft in comparison. It was almost full now, just a few more drops and he’d never have to see the old codger again.
Finally figuring out what to say, Sirius responded, “I almost wish I was an only child just so that your precious ‘Noble House’ could’ve collapsed into nothing when I left.”
Arcturus, unfazed, wasted no time in replying, “That would not have happened.”
“Why?” Sirius asked. “Because I would’ve been ‘whipped into shape’?”
“Perhaps,” Arcturus answered, “But also if you had been the only heir, your indiscretions and association with the riffraff would’ve been far more tolerated. Provided you had married a decent pureblood girl and she squeezed out a son or two, no one would’ve much cared about any of your, unsavory associations. Fortunately for us all, your parents had the foresight to have both an heir and a spare.”
An heir and a spare. The words echoed in Sirius’s head for several seconds. That’s all that he and Regulus were to them, Thoroughbreds meant to keep an old family from fading into obscurity. They had never been loved, they’d never been appreciated for who they were, they were simply meant to breed.
A shiver came down his spine, Arcturus’s words had caught him so off guard he didn’t even notice the fact that James and Lily were now coming out of the bedroom, and that the flask was overflowing. Fortunately, Arcturus had realized, and with another groan, pulled himself up from the armchair with his cane.
“I do believe that the flask is now full,” He took it from Sirius’s hands, closing it up with a small cork, “Thank you for your cooperation. Usually, the blood required for disowning the firstborn son is, well, not meant to be gathered peacefully.”
The implication of his words hit Sirius like a ton of bricks. Of fucking course, he thought to himself.
“But, I am glad for your understanding so we could avoid any of that. Do enjoy the rest of your life, Sirius. You did give up so much for it,” he continued silkily.
Sirius merely nodded, putting pressure on his thumb to stop the bleeding. Arcturus tipped a nod back and began walking out of the apartment.
James and Lily looked on at the scene that had unfolded with confusion and unease. Lily, gracious as ever, addressed Arcturus as he left, “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Black,” she said with an uneasy smile.
Arcturus turned to look at her as if she was a very annoying bug, “Pity,” he said, “I cannot say the same.”
Her smile fell, and James bristled, but either Arcturus didn’t notice or didn’t care, as he merely kept walking until he finally closed the door behind him, the familiar crack of apparition following suit.
James turned to Sirius, “What the bloody hell was all that about?” He asked indignantly.
Sirius merely looked at him, shaking off the insecurity that his grandfather had always made him feel whenever he saw him and offered a strained smile.
“You know, just some more of that Black family love and support,” he replied.
Turning away from James and Lily’s worried stares, he walked towards the window and looked out onto the street, where the rain still battered away at the pavement.
‘Drip, drip, drip,’ was all he heard.