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Castor Ophiuchus Black had never much been one for the killing of muggles and the torturing of mudbloods. He preferred an evening in with a nice glass of wine – all right, a bottle of wine (or two), and it needn't be the nice stuff either and maybe some cigarettes – to running around wearing masks and terrorizing the masses. And so it came as no surprise to Castor when his father called him a great disappointment and his mother sniffled into her embroidered handkerchief when they send him off to apprentice with his uncle Aloysios. If they couldn't cure his disinterest in the family's leisure time activities, at least they could get him out of the house and away from anyone who might see the embarrassment that was their middle son. And if his mother had even the slightest hope of Castor returning to the fold as a glorious Death Eater, it was thoroughly crushed when Castor fully embraced his new life and changed his name to something as mundane as Bernard.
#
It started in the summer. That alone was reason enough to be thoroughly disgusted by anything at all, Bernard though. Summer. Too hot, too humid, too many people being off work and cheerful and wandering into his shop.
The first sign that anything beyond the usual summer madness was going on was the owl.
Bernard woke up that Thursday – might have been Saturday, come to think of it – and came face to face with a tawny barn owl. He yelled in surprise, bringing Manny into his room at a run. He took one look at the owl, eeped, and came back with a broom. The owl was shooed out and didn't get a chance to drop her letter.
Just as well, Bernard thought. He had no desire to talk to any of the people who could possibly be owling him. His family was dead or as good as, and the rest could just rot.
Of course, when he and Manny returned from the pub that night, a small pile of identical yellow-brown parchment envelopes was sitting on the front stoop, neatly arranged.
"Huh," Manny said.
"Er," Bernard said.
They took the letters inside and Bernard waved Manny off when he asked to open one. Manny, apparently, took that for permission and broke the seal on the topmost letter.
"Huh," he said again. "It's blank!"
Bernard glanced up from his glass of wine. He made a gimme gesture, snapping his fingers when Manny didn't obey quickly enough.
As soon as Bernard's hand touched the parchment, the writing appeared. Of course the letter wasn't blank, not that Manny's muggle eyes would know the difference.
Dear Mister Black, the letter started, and Bernard snorted. Probably another plea to lift the Fidelius on the old place. The tax people stopped at nothing, it seemed. But as he read on, it became clear quickly enough that it wasn't about Grimmauld Place or any other Black vault, property or asset.
"Escaped!" he hissed. For a second, he felt afraid. But then he realized that Sirius never cared about anything Black. He'd been declared a blood traitor and was then summarily blasted off the family tree, the family books and out of the family itself. Even if he killed Bernard, he wouldn't get the Black estate – not that he would want it.
Bernard shrugged. He stumbled into the kitchen and up the stairs, letters clutched in his hand. Manny, ever curious, followed and then watched as Bernhard tossed the letters into the fireplace.
As far as Bernard was concerned, that was it. So what if Sirius had escaped Azkaban? He probably had better things to do than try and find him.
#
Of course, as far as the rest of the world was concerned, that was not it.
The next morning started with another owl in his face, this one more insistent. Bernard accepted the letter and then spent thirty minutes rifling through boxes in the attic until he found the one with his wand. It had an ugly scratch down the side and it hadn't been polished in decades, but a quick flick of the wrist proved that it still worked.
"BERNARD!" Manny shouted up the stairs. "What are you doing up there?"
"BLOWING UP THE ATTIC," he yelled back.
"Oh." He didn't need to see Manny to know he was doing his confused panda expression, followed by a trusting shrug. "All right then!"
It turned out to be a good thing that he had his wand on him because not three hours later, two red-robed Aurors tried to Apparate into his shop and got bounced into the empty lot across the street when the wards activated at the attempted intrusion. Bernard smirked, watching the disgruntled Aurors cross the street.
"Mr. Black," the older of the two Aurors said when they entered the shop, "I'm--"
"Don't care," Bernard interrupted. "I got the letter, but I don't see what any of it has to do with me."
The Auror pursed his lips in annoyance, fingers twitching. "Your brother is a dangerous man, Mr. Black."
"Sirius is touched in the head, just like the rest of the lot," Bernard said. "If he wasn't before, he is after twelve years in that place."
The younger of the two Aurors shuddered, no doubt reliving his first time in the company of dementors.
"That doesn't change the fact that he might try and--"
"He won't."
The Auror casually put his hand over his wand holster. "If you have any information on--"
Bernard rolled his eyes at their sudden suspicion. If he were in cahoots with Sirius, he'd hardly tell them, now would he? He headed into the kitchen; he'd need tea to deal with this. Or better yet: wine.
"Sirius and I haven't talking in sixteen years. The last time I saw him was on his last day at Hogwarts. Now if you--"
He was interrupted by Manny, coming down the stairs in his dressing gown, his ridiculous hair hidden behind an equally ridiculous towel turban, made yet more ridiculous by the fact that the towel was light pink, to complement his pale yellow dressing gown.
"Oh," he said, blushing until his face was nearly the colour of his towel. "I didn't know there were people here. Other people."
"This is Manny," Bernard said. "He lives here."
The two Aurors exchanged a glance.
"What's all this then?" Manny asked. He gave the two Aurors a curious look, embarrassment forgotten at their strange appearance. "You off to a fancy dress party?"
"We're--"
"Leaving," Bernard interrupted. "And I don't want to see any of you lot in here again."
He told Manny to put the kettle on while he shooed the Aurors out the door and then conjured up a piece of chalk. With large letters, he wrote AURORS on the blackboard of Things Not Allowed In His Shop.
(Two days later, Manny frowned at the blackboard.
"Authors? Autos? Hey, Bernard, what's this mean?" he asked.
"Argh!" Bernard growled, burying his nose deeper in his book.)
#
The goblin popped in three days after the Aurors, neatly circumventing the Anti-Apparition Wards by virtue of being a goblin capable of goblin magic. He was waiting in the kitchen when Bernard stumbled down the stairs, and instantly made Bernard's hangover induced headache worse.
Grumbling, Bernard grabbed the cauldron from under the sink and unlocked the secret cupboard behind the fridge. Thank Merlin that hangover cure was easy to make, even while hung-over.
The goblin watched him for two minutes, then snapped his fingers. A quill appeared in his gnarled hand, and he took a parchment from his inside pocket. "Mr. Black, my name is Clawfoot. I'm the Black account manager at Gringotts."
Bernard grunted and turned up the heat under the cauldron.
"In light of your brother's escape from Azkaban, Gringotts Bank strongly recommends you designate an heir for the event of your death."
"Why," Bernard groused, "does everyone think Sirius wants to kill me?"
The goblin didn't answer.
"Fine!" Bernard decanted the potion and banished what wouldn't fit into his glass. While the cauldron was being scrubbed by their rather sorry-looking pot brush, he stowed the ingredients and locked the cupboard again. After the first big swallow of potion, he sat down.
"This is the will you made when you became of age," Clawfoot said. "Since you weren't the Black Head of House at the time, nor his designated heir, you haven't made provisions for passing on the house and title."
"What's the name of Andromeda's brat?"
The goblin took a slim notebook out of one of his pockets. "Nymphadora Tonks, daughter of Andromeda and Ted Tonks. Andromeda was, of course, disinherited."
"So?" Bernard said. "Doesn't mean her children aren't Blacks by blood. Nymphadora is the oldest. She'll be my heir."
"Very well." The goblin waited until the parchment with Bernard's will magically expanded and then added a section to the bottom of it. "You'll need to date and sign the addition."
Bernard took the parchment.
In the event of my death, my second cousin Nymphadora Tonks, daughter of Andromeda Tonks and Ted Tonks, as my oldest blood relative in line for the house and title, is named as my heir.
Bernard grabbed his wand and held it to the will. "I, Bernard--"
The goblin coughed.
"Right," Bernard said. He touched the want to the parchment. "I, Castor Ophiuchus Black, being of sound mind and under no duress, sign this document on the, uh..." He glanced at the goblin.
"Twenty-third of June," the goblin said, disdain seemingly dripping from his razor-sharp teeth.
Bernard pulled a face and finished the sentence. His signature flashed on the bottom of the parchment and Bernard handed it back to the goblin.
"I will put this back in your personal vault," he said. "A copy will be submitted to the Black family solicitor. Thank you for your--"
"AAAAHHH!"
Bernard and the goblin turned to the stairs where Manny stood, eyes wide. He'd dropped the laundry basket, as evidenced by the pile of dirty laundry at his feet, but snatched the empty plastic basket back up to use as a (truthfully rather useless) shield.
"What--"
"Nothing," Bernard barked. "You're still asleep."
"That--"
"Go!" Bernard said to the goblin.
The goblin bowed and vanished.
"W-w-what the bloody--"
"Hangover induced hallucination," Bernard said. "You're imagining things."
"But I--"
"NO!" He threw the nearest thing – a newspaper – at Manny. "Up! GO!"
Manny flew up the stairs.
Bernard sighed and regarded the pile of laundry. Manny would be sulking for a bit, but there was simply no way he was doing laundry. That was house elf work. Or, in Bernard's circumstance, Manny's work.
With a shrug, Bernard downed the rest of his hangover potion and went to find himself a good book and a bottle of wine.
#
The rest of June passed without incident and Bernard had just started to relax a bit when a loud crash from across the street made him stand up to look out the window. Three people, two wizards and a witch, were gathering a crowd of onlookers as they tried to scramble to their feet.
Chuckling to himself, Bernard snatched a book from the nearest shelf and settled in his chair. It would be a while until his visitors had sorted out the muggles.
"--should have informed us of the Anti-Apparition Wards, that's all I'm saying. I hate having to obliviate so many muggles."
Bernard looked up, annoyed, and ripped a page out of his accounts book to use as a bookmark just as the three he'd seen through the window entered his shop.
"Ah, Mr. Black" the witch said. "Pleasure to meet you. I see you've been taking precautions against your brother."
Bernard didn't bother to tell them that the wards were more to keep people like them out.
When he didn't respond, the witch's smile faltered. "Well, straight to business then. I'm Amelia Bones, and these are my associates Archibald Wassenburg and Reginald Greengrass. We're with the Ministry, Department of--"
"What do you want?" Bernard interrupted.
"Your brother was sighted in Yorkshire earlier today and--"
"Shouldn't you be in Yorkshire then instead of bothering me?"
Eyes narrowing, the witch crossed her arms. "Mr. Black, your brother poses a serious threat not only to the wizarding population at large but to anyone he might be having a grudge against or harbouring any sort of ill-feeling towards. We've taken steps to ensure the well-being of any individual we think is in danger. You, however, resist our every effort to ensure your safety."
"I don't need your protection," Bernard said. "As you can see, my shop is warded. I've got my wand. What more do I need? Besides, Sirius isn't trying to kill me. Why would he?"
"The Black estate--"
"That's FAMILY BUSINESS," Bernard shouted. "It's bad enough I have to put up with the goblins sticking their large noses in, but the Ministry has no business even thinking about the Black estate." He pointed at the door. "You can leave now."
Manny chose that unfortunate moment to come home with the shopping. The jaunty tune he was whistling died on his lips when he saw the three robed figures in the shop.
Before Bernard could tell him to stop gaping, one of the wizards had his wand out and Manny fell to the floor like a sack potatoes that someone had toppled over.
"WHAT," Bernard shouted, "DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? That's mine," he said, pointing at Manny. "That one's my muggle. Do you go around stupefying everyone's pets when you visit their homes? Is there a reason you're still here? OUT!"
To make sure they got the point, Bernard whipped out his wand and conjured a small tornado that neatly deposited the Ministry people on the pavement in front of the shop, making a spectacle of themselves in front of the muggles once again. Bernard grinned at the thought of the paperwork they'd have to do, having to call the Obliviator Squad twice a day, and to the same street.
But then his gaze fell on Manny and he scowled.
(When Manny woke up a few hours later, he was on the couch in the shop. The shopping was gone and his head was pounding. He groaned.
"What happened?"
"You're sleeping on the job," Bernard grumbled, wandering over without taking his eyes off his book.
"What? No! There were people! Strange people! They wore dresses and--one of them attacked me!"
Bernard scoffed and kicked at Manny's feet which were hanging down the side of the couch. "That's a likely story," he said. "Now up with you, you lazy inbred fool!"
"I'm not inbred," Manny muttered as he heaved himself to his feet. "And there were too strange people! With sticks!"
Bernard ignored him.)
#
Over the next month, there were several more attempts by the Ministry to talk to him about Sirius. He added to the wards and then put a notice up outside that nobody was welcome, nobody at all. It helped somewhat, as did the fact that the doorway wouldn't let anyone wearing robes past the threshold.
Then Albus Dumbledore walked into his shop, wearing a suit in purple velvet that might have been fashionable before the turn of the century – the 20th century that is.
Bernard made a face.
"Now, now, Mr. Black, no need to be so put out," Dumbledore said. "Minerva, why don't you come in?"
A cat bolted in through the door and jumped up on the chair – his chair.
Bernard narrowed his eyes, but wasn't foolish enough to send a stinger at the creature to make it move. Minerva McGonagall might have been old enough to be his grandmother, but she was one of the best in her field and he had no urge to spend his next few hours transfigured into a teapot.
Bernard put a cushioning charm on a stack of books and sat down. He opened his book again and tried to tune Dumbledore out. Since he seemed to be giving Bernard a summary of how badly the Ministry had failed at finding and catching his brother, he didn't see the point in listening. Fifteen minutes later he caught himself reading the same paragraph twice, Dumbledore's voice echoing in his head. Annoyed, Bernard hunched his shoulders and raised his book a little, blocking his view of the man in purple velvet.
It didn't work. A minute later, he realized he hadn't the foggiest what was going on in this chapter.
Bernard shut the book and thumped it down on the desk. With a glare at his visitors, he moved to the kitchen, not surprised when the curtain he'd drawn moved back to open the doorway.
"I'm not going to climb out the window," he snapped. "You're invading my home – if anything, you'll be the ones leaving."
He filled the kettle and then grabbed a box of tea from the top shelf, sneezing when some dust flew up his nose. He lined three mugs, mismatched and slightly chipped, up on the counter and dropped a tea bag into each one, filling them up with the now boiling water. He took his own mug and levitated the other two to the desk.
"You're not getting sugar or milk," he said. "That's for invited guests only."
McGonagall gave her mug a distasteful sniff, but snapped out a thank you when Dumbledore nudged her side. Minutes later, the tea mugs half-empty, Bernard banished the contents of his own mug and floated the paralysed bodies of his two visitors to the sofa. Dumbledore's eyes were still twinkling, like it was all a big joke, while McGonagall's were promising him a world of hurt.
With a content sigh, Bernard settled back into his chair and opened his book. The next sixty-eight minutes were spent in complete silence while Bernard finished his book, smoked half a pack of cigarettes and downed nearly a full bottle of wine.
Closing his book with a satisfied nod, Bernard chugged the rest of his glass and grabbed a new bottle from inside his desk. Casting around for something else to read, his eyes fell on his two visitors, still in the same stiff position he'd left them in.
"Ach, right," he said. "You lot."
He lazily scratched his nose, then the side of his neck. Reluctantly, he went into the kitchen and fetched a few mouldy looking ingredients from his secret cupboard behind the fridge.
Ten minutes later, the deputy headmistress blinked and looked like she was gearing up for a massive snit, but the headmaster took the wind right out of her sails.
"Brilliant!" he said. "Absolutely brilliant! I haven't seen such an ingenious use of potions in years."
"Needs must," Bernard said, fingertips skimming the handle of his wand. McGonagall still looked like she wanted to hex him.
But the next words out of Dumbledore's mouth made him forget all about the Scottish woman with murderous intentions.
Dumbledore clapped his hands. "You must come to work at Hogwarts, Mr. Black."
Bernard snorted. "No."
"Oh, but you must. With Sirius on the loose--"
"No," Bernard said.
"Hogwarts is the safest place in the country," Dumbledore said. "And I have, so far, been unable to secure someone for the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts. However, if you were to take the Potions classes, my current Potions teacher would be free to take on the Defense classes."
"Albus," McGonagall said, "do you think it's wise to let Severus--"
"It's perfect!" Dumbledore gushed.
"I don't think that's a good--"
"Nonsense," Dumbledore interrupted her. "Castor – I mean, Bernard – here did get an O in Potions in his NEWTs, if I remember correctly. And I think we've seen firsthand that he is definitely still proficient in the subject."
McGonagall glared at Bernard. She likely wouldn't forget any time soon, if that glare was any indication.
"Really," Dumbledore said, "it's rather quite fortunate you happened to give us the tea laced with Petrification Solution. I do believe you've just solved my problem and found a way to keep yourself safe." He chuckled. "Speaking of petrification – we had an incident last year with a Basilisk that--"
"What," Bernard ground out between clenched teeth, "will it take for you to go away right now?"
McGonagall pursed her lips in annoyance, but Dumbledore merely blinked at him. "Why," he said, "say yes! Agree to come to teach Potions at Hogwarts this year!"
Bernard heaved a long suffering sigh. "Fine, all right, now OUT!"
He tuned out McGonagall's angry protestations and used his wand to slam the door shut behind them.
#
Bernard managed to forget about agreeing to teach at Hogwarts before the day was over. Unfortunately, the headmaster did not. On August 31st, Bernard was once again woken by an owl in his room.
"Ack," he said, slapping the owl away. It retaliated with its claws.
Breakfast that morning had a nervous Manny shooting covert glances at a scratched up Bernard, who was muttering into his toast.
"All right," he said, pushing his plate away.
Manny jumped.
"I have to go away for a bit."
"Go away?" Manny asked. "Where? For how long?"
"Magic school," Bernard said. "A year."
"You want to go to magic school for a year?" Manny said. "You have a book shop."
"I know! And I don't want to go," he pointed out. "I have no other choice."
"But that's--"
"Ridiculous, I know!" Bernard nodded. "Don't know what Dumbledore was thinking, making me come to teach."
"Teach? At magic school?"
Bernard narrowed his eyes at Manny. He was being slower than usual.
"Well, when are you leaving?"
"Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow!" Manny gave him an alarmed look. "But what about the shop?"
Bernard shrugged. "I'll lock it up."
Manny looked at him with big eyes. "What about me?"
"I'll lock you up, too," Bernard assured him.
"Or," Manny said, carefully not looking at him, "I could mind the shop."
"Will you sell any books?" Bernard asked suspiciously.
"No!" Manny said. "Well, maybe a few. But I'll get new ones!"
"You stick to the rules," Bernard ordered. "And no parties! No floozies! No book-selling!"
Manny nodded.
"All right then. But I'll be back at Christmas and so help you if you've sold all of my books!"
Manny was still nodding, enthusiastically enough that it was making Bernard dizzy. "Go!" he said. "Do something useful."
Manny scurried up the stairs and Bernard sighed. Too bad muggles couldn't see Hogwarts. Who knew what Manny would get up to alone in the shop for a year. Maybe he could bribe Fran to keep an eye on him?
#
Platform 9 and 3/4 was still the same. Empty so far, since it was over an hour before the train was set to depart. Manny had been unbearable, jumping between exhilaration and devastation. Exhilaration because he was in charge of the shop for the year, and devastation because Bernard wouldn't there to yell at him.
Bernard floated his trunk into the first compartment he came across and set it down on the seat. It was, naturally, full of books – Manny had tried to pack for him but instead of packing any books, he'd put in clothes and toiletries. Yuch. That boy would never learn! Bernard grabbed a book and stowed his trunk under the seat, settling in to read.
A bit more than an hour later, he closed the book and looked out the window. The platform was swarming with kids being badly herded by their stressed out parents. Bernard sniffed and closed the curtains of the window, transfiguring his book into a pillow. His hangover potion had taken care of his morning headache, but the screaming children had brought it right back. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and pretended the world didn't exist.
His mother's screeching voice woke him up. Bolting upright, Bernard grasped for his wand. The train wasn't moving and the compartment was ice-cold and plunged into unnatural darkness. Bernard's lip curled a little. There were children in the compartment with him, staring, wide-eyed and more than a little pale, at the doorway.
Dementors. Bernard's lip curled even more, settling into a sneer that would have made his great-grandmother proud. Even his mother had thought dementors were somewhat distasteful – and she'd been the sort of woman who displayed the severed heads of her executed house elves on the walls of her house.
"Out!" he said, shooing at the dementor with his wand arm. "Go on. Move it!"
The dementor slowly turned to face him and his mother's voice came to mind again, listing all the things that made him unfit to be a proper son of the House of Black.
"Right, that's it." Wand raised, Bernard thought about the day of Uncle Aloysius' funeral. He'd offended his aunt, kicked his cousin in the shin and then tossed the whole extended family out on their ear, leaving him alone in his - his! - bookshop. "Expecto Patronum!"
The dementor recoiled before his patronus had fully formed. Bernard snickered as his glowing white vulture patronus chased the dementor down the corridor and out the next open window.
"Harry!"
Bernard turned around at the girly scream, finding one kid on the floor in a dead faint, while the others crowded around him, still pale and a bit shaky.
"All right, settle down." The children exchanged uncertain glances and Bernard scowled. First dementors and now this? Children were his least favourite kind of people anyway – he hadn't planned on talking to any of them over the next year unless he absolutely had to. "Does anybody have any chocolate?" he asked, poking the fainted boy awake.
One of the kids produced a squashed bag of chocolate drops and, after plucking one out for himself, Bernard instructed them to share the chocolate while he tried to go back to sleep. Between the children's chatter and the lingering cold from the dementor, that didn't quite work, so Bernard kept himself warm and calm with thoughts of punching Sirius in the face should he actually show up at Hogwarts. Twelve years of peace and quiet; then Sirius breaks out of Azkaban and suddenly everyone wanted to get involved in his life? Oh, a punch in the face was the least of what his brother deserved.
#
Two days later, at the ungodly hour of nine in the morning, Bernard blearily watched the first of the miniature torture devices, otherwise known as children, file into his dungeon (ha! His ma would be proud!). He took no further note of them – if he had to be up this early, the least they could do was to let him read in peace.
"Um, professor?"
Bernard glared at the speaker, a girl with extraordinarily bushy brown hair that looked vaguely familiar, and closed his book with a loud thump.
"Right! Potions. You brew things." Bernard waved at their desks. "It's in your books. Page seventeen. Or something. Early on in the book. Go fetch the ingredients!" He waited a moment, making a shooing gesture when none of them moved.
Two boys from the middle row exchanged a look and then tentatively approached the storage cabinet. The rest slowly followed.
Bernard rummaged in his desk until he'd found a half-empty bottle of wine, a goblet of questionable cleanliness and another book. He poured himself some wine and took a fortifying gulp of his liquid breakfast before opening the book to page one.
"Professor Black?"
"WHAT?"
The girl flinched. "What do we--?"
"You've got the ingredients, so brew! Go on, get to it!" Bernard paused. "But, you know, don't get killed. I hate scraping blood from the ceiling."
The girl – the same bushy-haired one from earlier – gulped and lowered her head to look at the instructions. Around the room, all the little monsters were doing the same. Bernard allowed himself a self-satisfied smile and started reading.