Chapter 2
The Black family estate was a sprawling testament to ancient magic and aristocratic wealth. Its high walls and imposing iron gates served as both a fortress and a declaration of their prominence in the wizarding world. Within the grand drawing room, Arcturus Black sat in his high-backed chair, his posture regal and unyielding. His cane rested beside him, though he rarely needed it. His sharp gray eyes, identical to those of his son, Orion, bore into him with the intensity of a man who was not used to having his orders questioned.
Orion stood across from him, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression neutral but his mind racing. His father’s words lingered in the air, their weight impossible to ignore.
"Call Sirius and Regulus home," Arcturus repeated, his tone brooking no argument. "Tomorrow, we will host a family dinner. I have invited Harrison Peverell to join us, and I expect every member of this family to be present. No exceptions."
Orion’s brows furrowed slightly, but he quickly schooled his expression. "The entire family, Father?"
"Yes," Arcturus said firmly. "Sirius and Regulus included. The boy needs to understand the weight of his position in the wizarding world, and there is no better way than to meet the Blacks in their entirety. Besides," he added, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, "I’m curious to see how he handles it."
Orion inclined his head. "As you wish."
Walburga, seated on the chaise lounge nearby, raised an eyebrow, her sharp features etched with skepticism. "You’re parading the boy in front of the family like a prize. Do you think he’ll be intimidated?"
Arcturus’s smirk deepened. "Intimidated, perhaps. Or emboldened. Either way, we’ll see what he’s made of."
Orion didn’t respond. Instead, he turned and left the room, his mind already turning to how he would break the news to his sons. Sirius and Regulus had been away at their respective pursuits—Sirius with his rebellious streak, causing trouble wherever he went, and Regulus immersed in his studies and social obligations. Bringing them together under one roof was always a challenge, but this time, it felt like more than that.
That evening, in the Black family’s private study, Orion sat at his desk, quill in hand, as he penned letters to his sons. His handwriting was neat and precise, each word carefully chosen.
My dearest Sirius, he began, the formality feeling strange but necessary. You and your brother are to return to the estate immediately. Tomorrow, we are hosting a family dinner, and your presence is not optional. It is an important occasion, and I trust you will behave accordingly. Do not make me come find you.
He signed the letter with a flourish and set it aside, quickly beginning Regulus’s letter.
Regulus, he wrote, the tone slightly warmer, Your grandfather has requested your presence for a family dinner tomorrow evening. I trust you will make yourself available without delay. It is an important event, and your punctuality and decorum will be noted.
Satisfied, Orion sealed both letters and called for the family owl, a sleek black creature named Morrigan. She swooped in gracefully, her amber eyes gleaming with intelligence. Orion tied the letters to her leg and whispered, "Take these to Sirius and Regulus. Quickly, now."
Morrigan hooted softly before taking flight, disappearing into the night.
The next day, the Black Manor was a hive of activity. House-elves scurried about, polishing the silverware, arranging elaborate floral centerpieces, and preparing an extravagant feast. The dining room was transformed into a spectacle of elegance, the long mahogany table set with the finest china and crystal. The Black family crest hung prominently above the fireplace, a reminder of their legacy.
By late afternoon, the family began to arrive. Walburga, dressed in deep green robes adorned with silver embroidery, surveyed the preparations with a critical eye. Her husband, Orion, stood beside her, his expression unreadable but his posture tense.
The first to arrive were Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa, their presence announced by the sharp crack of Apparition. Bellatrix, clad in black with a hint of silver jewelry, looked as fierce as ever, her dark eyes gleaming with curiosity. Andromeda, more subdued but no less striking, offered a polite greeting, while Narcissa floated in with an air of grace, her blonde hair impeccably styled.
"Grandfather," Bellatrix said, inclining her head toward Arcturus, who had taken his seat at the head of the table. "This is quite the gathering you’ve arranged."
"Indeed," Arcturus replied, his tone cool. "And one worth your time, I assure you."
Shortly after, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange arrived with their father. The brothers exchanged knowing looks as they took in the scene, their sharp features betraying their amusement.
And then, with another crack, Sirius and Regulus appeared in the entrance hall. Sirius, dressed in a black leather jacket and dark trousers, looked every bit the rebel, his gray eyes flashing with defiance. Regulus, by contrast, wore formal robes of deep green, his expression calm but wary.
"Father," Sirius drawled, stepping forward. "I received your letter. Can’t say I’m thrilled to be here, but I suppose it’s better than being hunted down."
Orion’s jaw tightened, but he chose to ignore the jab. "Sirius. Regulus. Follow me. We have much to discuss."
As the family gathered in the drawing room, a soft knock echoed through the hall. A house-elf scurried to open the door, revealing Harrison Peverell. Dressed in midnight-blue robes that shimmered faintly in the light, he looked every bit the part of an heir to an ancient line. His emerald-green eyes swept over the assembled Blacks, lingering briefly on Orion, before he stepped inside.
"Mr. Peverell," Arcturus said, rising from his chair with a smile that was more calculating than warm. "Welcome to our home. I trust your journey was pleasant?"
Harrison inclined his head. "It was, Lord Black. Thank you for inviting me."
As introductions were made, the tension in the room was palpable. The Blacks, with their proud lineage and deeply ingrained traditions, were not easily impressed. Yet Harrison held himself with such confidence, such quiet power, that even the most skeptical among them couldn’t help but take notice.
Orion, standing slightly apart from the group, couldn’t tear his eyes away. Harrison met his gaze briefly, and in that fleeting moment, Orion felt the same spark he had in the Wizengamot—a pull he couldn’t explain but couldn’t ignore.
As the group moved to the dining room, the stage was set for an evening that promised to be anything but ordinary.
Harrison stood near the entrance to the grand dining room, his emerald-green eyes scanning the sea of faces before him. The Black family was a study in power, elegance, and quiet menace. Each member seemed carved from stone, their sharp features and sharper gazes giving away nothing—and everything—all at once. Yet, if they thought to intimidate him, they had grossly underestimated the last heir of Peverell.
He took a step forward, the soft click of his polished boots echoing in the vast room. Silence fell as all eyes turned to him, the weight of their scrutiny pressing against him like an unseen force. Harrison, however, didn’t flinch. Instead, he smiled—a slow, deliberate curve of his lips that carried both confidence and challenge.
"I see what this is, Lord Black," Harrison said, his voice smooth but laced with an edge that commanded attention. His gaze fixed on Arcturus, the patriarch seated at the head of the table. "You want me to be intimidated. Am I wrong?"
A ripple of surprise crossed a few faces—Andromeda’s subtle tilt of the head, Narcissa’s faint arch of an eyebrow, even Rodolphus Lestrange’s quiet chuckle from his place at the table. Arcturus, however, remained unmoved, his sharp gray eyes meeting Harrison’s without hesitation.
"You are not wrong," Arcturus admitted, his voice calm, almost amused. "But intimidation is only part of it. Tell me, Mr. Peverell, what do you think I hoped to achieve tonight?"
Harrison inclined his head slightly, his smile widening. "You wanted to test me," he said without hesitation. "To see if I’m worthy of the name I carry. To measure my strength, my cunning, my ability to navigate a room full of people who would rather see me fail than succeed." His gaze swept over the gathered crowd, lingering briefly on Rodolphus, who raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment, and then on Walburga, whose lips pressed into a thin line. "You wanted to see if I could hold my own against the best and worst the wizarding world has to offer."
Arcturus leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. "And have you?"
Harrison met his gaze with unwavering confidence. "That’s not for me to say, Lord Black. That’s for you—and everyone here—to decide."
The room was silent for a moment, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Then, slowly, Arcturus’s lips curved into a rare smile.
"Well said," he murmured, gesturing to an empty seat near the head of the table. "Come, Mr. Peverell. Let’s see how well you navigate the rest of the evening."
Harrison nodded and moved toward the table, every step deliberate, every movement radiating calm assurance. He could feel the eyes of the Black family—and their guests—on him, but he refused to let it rattle him.
As he took his seat, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange exchanged a look, their expressions filled with intrigue. Lucius Malfoy, seated beside Narcissa, observed Harrison with cool detachment, though his silver eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity.
"So," Bellatrix drawled from her place opposite Harrison, her dark eyes glinting with a dangerous sort of amusement. "The Peverell heir graces us with his presence. Tell me, Mr. Peverell, do you often find yourself in rooms full of people who’d like to see you fall?"
Harrison turned his gaze to her, unbothered by her sharp tone. "More often than you’d think, Miss Black. Though I find it’s usually not as dramatic as this."
Bellatrix’s lips twitched, as though she couldn’t decide whether to smirk or sneer. "Careful, boy. This family doesn’t take kindly to arrogance."
"Neither do I," Harrison replied smoothly, leaning back in his chair. "So we’re on equal footing, I’d say."
A soft laugh escaped Rodolphus, and even Narcissa’s lips quirked upward before she masked her amusement.
"Enough, Bella," Arcturus said, his tone firm but not harsh. "Our guest is here for more than your entertainment."
"Of course, Grandfather," Bellatrix said, though her tone was far from apologetic.
The first course was served, an elegant spread of soups and salads accompanied by wines older than most of the people in the room. Harrison ate with poise, engaging in light conversation with those around him. Walburga, ever the sharp observer, finally spoke, her tone deceptively light.
"You seem at ease, Mr. Peverell," she said, her gray eyes narrowing slightly. "One might think you’ve done this before."
Harrison met her gaze, unflinching. "I have," he said simply. "Though never quite like this. The Blacks have a...unique way of hosting."
A few chuckles rippled through the room, though Walburga didn’t seem amused.
"And tell me," Lucius Malfoy interjected, his voice cool and measured. "What exactly are your intentions, Mr. Peverell? You’ve reclaimed your seat in the Wizengamot, yes, but surely that’s not the end of your ambitions."
Harrison set his wine glass down and looked directly at Lucius. "My intentions are to restore the Peverell name to what it once was: a symbol of strength, justice, and leadership. Beyond that, my ambitions are my own. Though I suspect I’ll find allies—and adversaries—along the way."
Lucius inclined his head slightly, as though acknowledging the cleverness of the response.
As the main course was served, the conversations grew livelier, the tension easing slightly. Yet Harrison remained aware of the undercurrents in the room, the unspoken alliances and rivalries that played out in every glance and word. He wasn’t just dining with a family; he was facing a dynasty, each member a piece in a complex game of power.
But if they expected him to falter, they would be disappointed.
By the time dessert arrived—a decadent spread of pastries, chocolates, and fruit—Harrison had won over more than a few members of the family. Rodolphus and Rabastan, in particular, seemed charmed by his wit and sharp tongue, while Narcissa regarded him with a faint air of approval. Even Walburga, though still skeptical, appeared less hostile.
As the meal concluded, Arcturus rose from his seat, his presence commanding immediate silence.
"Mr. Peverell," he said, his voice carrying through the room, "you have impressed me tonight. It is no small feat to hold your own against this family, and for that, you have my respect."
Harrison stood, inclining his head. "Thank you, Lord Black. Your hospitality—and your honesty—are appreciated."
Arcturus’s lips twitched in what might have been amusement. "We shall see if you still feel that way in the coming days. For now, welcome to the game, Mr. Peverell. I suspect you’ll play it well."
Harrison met his gaze, his green eyes gleaming. "I always do."
As the family began to disperse, Orion found himself lingering near the doorway, watching as Harrison exchanged polite farewells with the others. When their eyes met, a spark passed between them, fleeting but undeniable.
"Goodnight, Lord Black," Harrison said softly as he passed, his voice carrying a note of something more—a promise, perhaps, or a challenge.
Orion didn’t respond, his chest tightening as he watched Harrison walk away. For the first time in years, he felt as though he was no longer in control of the pieces on the board. And for reasons he couldn’t yet name, he wasn’t entirely sure he minded.