Toujours Pur

Blackwood Manor, 1932.

The house was always silent.

Not peace, never peace, but a silence so thick you could feel it, pressing like a second layer of flesh. Even more so at night, when the only noise you could hear were Mother and Father's voices, coming from the drawing room. Every single night they talked for hours about the family. Every single night, Lucretia slipped off of bed to spy on them.

The long halls were bathed in a dim glow, cast by the flickering sconces that lined the onyx-and-marble walls. Their flames never truly went out, they were enchanted to burn forever, just as the Black family name was meant to. Lucretia Black moved through the house like a shadow. She had learned how to step carefully, how to move unseen, unheard, unnoticed. The Blacks did not tolerate spies, nor did they tolerate idle curiosity, but Lucretia had never considered herself idle. She was not like Walburga, who burned with ambition so bright it left marks wherever she went. She was not like Orion, who drifted through life with the weightless indifference of a leaf caught in the wind. Lucretia sought knowledge. Not for power. Not for rebellion. Simply to know. And that was why, every night, she left her bed and wandered these halls.

Tonight, she had a feeling. She was going to learn something that was going to rock her world.

The drawing room's thick wooden doors were slightly ajar, just enough for Lucretia's wiry body to slip in to the wide doorway, and stand there, in the shadows. Warm light coming from the fireplace flooded the lounge where her parents sat, casually sipping tea and listening to classical music. That was how it always began.

Arcturus Black III was a man of sharp lines and even sharper thoughts. He sat in black leather armchair, his back straight, his mustache twitching slightly. He was contemplating the fire like a king contemplated his kindom, his gray eyes burning. Father was an intelligent man, always planning ahead, always wanting to anticipate everyone's next move. But sometimes, he was to afraid to act. Like when he played chess with her. He was excellent at it, always knowing which piece Lucretia was going to move, but he often lost because he was too afraid to risk it. That was why Lucretia liked knowing everything. Understanding everything. Because then she was one step ahead of everyone, and also knew what not to do. Lucretia? She was never going to be afraid of acting.

Across from Father, on a long emerald-velvet fainting couch, sat Melania Macmillan Black. She was smaller, softer, her delicate features framed by thick, dark auburn hair pinned at the nape of her neck. She was still dressed for the evening, though her fingers, long and elegant, rested against the untouched rim of her teacup. The scene was familiar. But tonight, the words were different.

Father leaned against the back of his armchair, without taking his eyes off the fire. “You must know. Lucretia and Walburga have been allowed in on Family Meetings.”

Mother looked at him, tapping her index finger softly against the teacup. There was a moment of silence. “What do you think of it?” She ended up asking.

Lucretia observed as his Father almost reluctantly stripped his gaze away from the fireplace and looked at Mother.

“I think my cousin Pollux is going to...win.” He said slowly, like if he was tasting that last word, and not enjoying it. Mother nodded. “I think,” Father continued. “he is slowly convincing everyone that Walburga is the perfect candidate for being heir.”

Silence reigned in the drawing room. Lucretia pressed herself more against the wall behind her, trying to control her breaths. Heirship and Walburga were not common themes in Mother and Father's late night talks, since those had always been touchy subjects for Father.

“And she cannot be heir.” Arcturus's tone was strong, convincing, unshakable. Melania sighed.

“She is the eldest.” Mother pointed out, her voice barely a whisper.

Father shook his head. “She is a girl who will become a woman,” he corrected. “and a woman cannot lead this family.” His tone was not cruel. Not angry. It was simply a fact.

Mother did not look at him. She traced the rim of her cup with a single pale finger. “Maybe with the right guidance...She is intelligent. Strong-willed. More than capable.” Lucretia leaned forward a bit. She agreed with Mother.

“She is too emotional,” Arcturus countered, his voice dismissive. “She acts without thinking. She speaks when she should be silent. She is a woman. And women, Melania, are not meant to rule.”

Lucretia barely breathed. Mother’s fingers stilled. Arcturus leaned forward, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair. His gray eyes burned cold. “This house has stood for centuries. It has thrived because of its blood, its name, its power. And do you know why, Melania?” She said nothing. “Because men have led it.” Mother looked at her lap, and then took a careful sip of her tea. “The world bends to strong men.” Father kept talking, and for once Lucretia just wanted him to stop. “The Ministry. The Wizengamot. Families. They do not follow women, the follow leaders. And women, are not leaders. They are weak, emotional. They are driven by heart, by impulse, not by logic. They are powerless.” Lucretia felt her mind spinning with the things she had heard all her life. But for once, she questioned why. She said nothing. She thought everything. Father continued. “Of course, there are some women, like my mother, who are not as weak as the others. But do you know why, Melania? They are stronger because they know their place and their duties. Marry well, have our children, take care of the house and of your family. Those are the simple things us men require of you. That is where your strength lies. When some of you women understand that your place is not to lead, the world will become such a better place.”

Lucretia’s fingers curled against the doorframe. She had been raised in this world. She had known these ideals her whole life. And yet, as she listened, something within her stirred, an itch, a question, something restless and unspoken. Why? Why couldn’t a woman lead? Why was it so impossible?

Mother played with her fingers. Father sighed. “It is settled. I do not care what it takes. Orion will be heir.”

Father's words hit Lucretia like a blow in the face.

Orion. Heir.

Lucretia blinked. What?

Mother sighed. “You sound so...convinced.” She said with a soft spoken voice.

“I am convinced. Orion is the perfect candidate for Heir, and most importantly, a man.” Father said, slowly moving a little spoon inside his tea.

Lucretia hadn't been more skeptic in her life. Her brother was younger. Quieter. Passive.

Mother seemed unbothered. “He has no ambition.”

“Good.” A beat of silence. Arcturus lifted his cane, tracing a finger along the silver serpent’s head. “Orion will not lead. He will maintain. He will obey. That is what this house needs.”

A leader who did not lead at all. Lucretia understood. Her father did not want a visionary. He wanted a puppet. A figurehead who would never challenge, never question, never change. A leader who he could lead himself.

Melania’s voice was softer now. “You do not seem worried.”

Arcturus’s expression did not change. “I am not.” He said, fully sinking into the armchair again and closing his eyes for a second.”It has been agreed on since Orion was a newborn. In a few years, Orion will marry Walburga. If she refuses, Orion will be instantly be made heir. Nothing can go wrong for us.”

Lucretia’s blood ran cold.

For the first time in her life, she almost moved. She almost gasped. Almost shook.

Melania set her teacup down with deliberate care. “He does not know.”

Arcturus shrugged. “He does not need to.”

The words felt wrong. She had always known the Blacks married their own. It was expected. It was duty. But Orion and Walburga...that was not some distant cousin. That was close. Too close.

Her mind spun. Had Walburga been told? Did she know? Would she fight? Would Orion even care? She hated that she didn’t know the answer. She hated not knowing.

Lucretia took a slow, measured step backwards. She did not allow her hands to shake. She did not allow her breathing to hitch.

She had wanted to understand. And now, she did. And for the first time, she wished she didn’t.

The library of Blackwood Manor was the grandest room in the estate, second only to the ballroom, though far colder. It stretched two stories high, the ceiling a magnificent dome of dark wood with a chandelier of wrought iron and crystal suspended like a frozen constellation. The walls were lined with towering bookshelves of ancient mahogany, their shelves groaning under the weight of centuries-old tomes, their spines embossed with gold, silver, and the Black family crest. Through the tall, arched windows which were normally shut by black curtains, a bright sun rare in England was coming through, making the dust particles dance in the air. The scent of aged parchment, candle wax, and faint cigar smoke lingered in the air, wrapping around the emerald green armchairs and the large ebony tables.

In the center of it all, feeling right at home, was Lucretia. Dark brown curls framed her sharp features, though today they were half-pinned up with a silver clasp in the shape of a serpent. She was sitting on one of those armchairs, her legs folded under her, in a way clearly improper for a Black. Her gray eyes scanned avidly the pages of a large, ancient tome, her long pale fingers followed the sun's rays across the book's pages, the tips of them ink-stained from hours of research. She had spent hours combing through the oldest books in the library, desperately seeking records of women who had led, queens, matriarchs, rulers, anything that contradicted what her father had said the night before. She did not doubt his words, she had been raised to believe in men’s superiority as much as she believed in the certainty of the stars in the sky. But she wanted to know why. She needed to know why it had been decided that Walburga, sharp, cruel, and brilliant, could not be heir. She needed to know why her little brother Orion, who could barely summon passion for anything at all, was being forced into a role he had never asked for. And most of all, she needed to know if there was a way to stop what had already been decided. If she could find proof, if she could find precedent of women who had led, then maybe, just maybe, Walburga wouldn’t have to marry Orion. And Orion wouldn’t have to marry Walburga.

The idea sent a chill down her spine. She shuddered, forcing her mind back to the book in her lap. She found herself lost in the ancient words of Merovingian queens, of Byzantine empresses who had ruled through their sons, of witches who had led covens, their power undeniable, their authority unquestioned. And yet, in each story, the men still found ways to twist history to their favor. Women ruled, but only through others. They led, but only as shadows behind a throne. Never truly alone. Never truly equal. Her stomach twisted.

She stretched a bit, reaching for the next book in front of her.

“Pourquoi es-tu ici, et non au piano, Lucretia?”

Lucretia froze. Her father’s voice was smooth yet unyielding, cutting through the heavy silence of the library like a knife through silk. She looked up, slowly closing the book in her lap, masking her thoughts behind a carefully blank expression.

Arcturus Black III stood at the threshold, watching her. He was a tall man, imposing and immaculately dressed, his dark robes lined with silver embroidery, his cane resting lightly in one hand, though he did not need it to stand. His presence commanded attention without effort, his sharp, angular face unreadable. His gray eyes, so cold, so calculating, fixed on her with quiet scrutiny, waiting for an answer. Lucretia sat up straighter, smoothing the front of her dark dress.

“Je lis, Father.” She replied smoothly. Her father’s eyes flicked to the stack of books beside her.

“Reading, indeed.” His voice was neutral, but there was something sharp beneath it, something dangerous. He stepped further into the library, his cane tapping softly against the marble floor. “And what, pray tell, is so urgent that it keeps you from your other obligations?”

Lucretia hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I wanted to understand...”

“Understand what, precisely?”

She could feel his gaze boring into her, weighing her response before she even gave it.

“History.” She answered simply.

Arcturus exhaled, a long-suffering sigh. He glanced at the books on the table, but he didn't read the titles. His lips pressed into a thin line.

“You have an obsession with knowledge, Lucretia. It will do you no favors.” He set the book down, eyes meeting hers once more. “There are more important things than books.”

Lucretia did not respond. Her father continued, his voice low, measured. “A Black’s duty is not to understand the world, it is to exist within it, to lead it, to rule it. You are a Black, your worth is in your lineage, your marriage, your sons. Not in your intellect.”

Lucretia felt her fingers dig into the armrest of her chair. “But why...”

“Pourquoi?” Arcturus interrupted, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “There is no why, ma fille. It has always been so.”

A pause. Lucretia swallowed, carefully lowering her gaze. She knew better than to argue. Arcturus studied her for a long moment, then exhaled.

“Enough of this. You will go to your music lesson. And this afternoon, you will practice your ballet. Both of them are to be perfect, or you will not eat dinner tonight. If you are to be part of this family, your mistakes will not be tolerated, especially when there is so much at stake. There is no room for weakness here, Lucretia. ”

“I understand, Father.”

Her father gave a sharp nod. Then, with one last glance at the towering bookshelves, he turned and strode toward the door.

As soon as he disappeared, Lucretia let out a slow breath, her nails still pressed into the velvet of the armchair.

Lucretia moved with measured steps across the wooden floors of the manor, her mind still thinking of what Father would have said if he had read the titles of the tomes she had grabbed. She had been careless. She ought to know better.

Lucretia got distracted by the faint melody of piano that filled the corridors. Orion. She smiled.

The grand clock in the hallway chimed, stripping her away of the melody and making her continue her way to the sitting room where Mother spent most of her time.

Lucretia paused just outside the sitting room door, listening for any sign of her mother’s presence. Inside, the soft, rhythmic motion of needlepoint punctuated the silence, a steady, calming noise that Lucretia knew well. Melania Black, seated at the low sofa, was bent over a delicate piece of fabric, the fine threads slipping through her fingers with practiced ease. Her pale hands, elegant yet slightly worn from years of embroidery, moved effortlessly, the needle dancing in and out of the fabric with a grace that would have made any person fail to notice the hidden tension. Lucretia, however, even at the young age of seven, was observant.

Lucretia observed her mother for a long moment before she finally stepped inside, the door creaking softly as it swung open.

Melania looked up, offering a gentle, almost disarming smile, one that never quite reached her eyes. The smile was too perfect, too rehearsed. “Ah, Lucretia,” Melania’s voice was sweet, a lilting softness that held an edge of distant formality, like ice wrapped in velvet. “How is your reading?”

“It was good , Mother,” Lucretia replied, her voice steady but quieter than usual. “I have been reading a book about queens...How they ruled in past times.”

Melania raised an eyebrow, her needle pausing mid-stitch. There was a kind of detached curiosity in her expression. “Queens, you say? Well, that is certainly an... interesting choice of reading.” Her tone was not dismissive, but there was something in the way she spoke that made it clear she didn’t fully approve. Still, she gestured to the armchair opposite her, inviting her daughter to sit. “Tell me, what have you learned so far?”

Lucretia took a seat, crossing one leg over the other as she placed the book down beside her. It was a thick, leather-bound volume with gold lettering on the spine that had faded over the years. She opened it slowly, showing her mother the section on Byzantine empresses, her eyes scanning the pages, lingering on the stories of women who ruled in their husbands’ stead, their reigns often marked by strength and intellect. “They seemed… capable,” Lucretia began hesitantly, unsure of how to phrase her thoughts. “In many cases, they ruled with more power than their husbands, more influence than the men around them. It is curious, don’t you think? To think that a woman could lead as a king does.”

Melania’s expression tightened slightly, but she masked it with another smile, this one a little colder. “Hmm, yes,” she mused, her needlepoint continuing its rhythmic motion. “But, my dear, you must understand, there is a reason why women like that were rare. They had power, yes, but it was never their own. Power does not belong to us.”

Lucretia felt a twinge of discomfort at her mother’s words, but she pressed on. “ I do not understand, Mother. Why is it that men are seen as fit to lead but women are not? Why were those women forced to hide their power behind men?”

Melania set the needlepoint down, her hands folding neatly in her lap, the practiced grace of her movements betraying something darker beneath. Her blue eyes, so like Orion’s, cold and detached, looked at Lucretia with a careful, almost calculating gaze.

“It is the way of things, my darling.” She said, her voice soft but unyielding. “The world is designed to favor men. The world of power, of politics...those are arenas where only a man’s strength and mind are trusted. A woman’s role is to be a companion, a mother, a nurturer, someone who makes the man stronger. We are not designed for leadership. But that is okay. It is a beautiful role.”

Lucretia felt the words settle like lead in her chest. Nurturer. Companion. The words felt as though they were heavy, restrictive, confining her to a role she had never even considered, never dared to question until now. “But what about those women who ruled, Mother?” Lucretia’s voice softened, as though she were trying to gently probe an unknown depth. “Surely, they were more than just… companions.”

Melania’s smile was patronizing now, though she hid it well behind her calm demeanor. “Of course, dear, of course. There are always exceptions.” She said, the words slipping from her lips with the practiced grace of a woman who had been taught to speak with careful diplomacy. “But those exceptions are rare. And in the end, their power was always limited, stolen from men. You see, a woman must be supportive of men, not their equal. That is what makes a family, a legacy, a strong house.”

The words were a bit of a pinch to Lucretia's stomach. She did not voice it, not out loud, but something deep within her churned, a part of her mind rejecting the neat little box her mother had placed her in. Her gaze fell to the needlepoint her mother had resumed, the repetitive motion a stark contrast to the questions now multiplying in her mind.

“But if a woman can lead…” Lucretia’s voice trailed off, as though she were testing the air for something she wasn’t sure she should say.

“No, Lucretia. A woman cannot lead. She can only… support. Lead through her strength of character, yes, but always behind a man’s presence.” Melania’s voice was now decided, firm, but with a coldness that made her words feel distant.

Lucretia’s fingers clenched the edge of the book in her lap, a sense of restlessness beginning to settle in her bones. She wanted to argue, to protest, but her mother’s calmness, her cold, firm authority, seemed to freeze the words before they could form. For a long moment, the only sound was the soft scratch of the needle moving in and out of fabric. Finally, Lucretia stood, her voice small but filled with an unfamiliar resolve. If she stayed a second longer, she would explode. Blacks did not show emotion.

“Thank you, Mother,” she said, her gaze meeting her mother’s. “I should go now.”

Melania nodded, her smile still present but touched with a faint sadness, as though the weight of their conversation had affected her.

“Of course, darling. We shall speak later. Go and practice, as your father wishes.”

Lucretia nodded stiffly, clutching the book to her chest as she turned to leave the room. As she crossed the threshold, her mother’s voice called after her, sweet and insistent. “Remember, Lucretia, the strength of the Black family lies in the women who know their place.”

The words hung in the air, echoing in the silence of the hallway, but Lucretia did not turn back. Instead, her thoughts raced, mixed in contradictions, in confusion, in a quiet rebellion she could not yet name. What if she was not willing to accept the answers she’d been given? Lucretia shook her head. Enough. Enough for today. She had to practise, or she would not eat dinner. She focused on the piano that could still be heard, and followed the sound to the music room.

She didn't knock before opening the door softly, but that was alright, she didn't need to. Not with Orion. Lucretia stood in the doorway, still clutching her book, and looked at her brother. Even at three years old, Orion was a master of music, just like any other Black should be. He sat with is back straight in the square leather stool, his feet dangling, far from the ground. His small, chubby hands touched the keys with a bit of imprecission, too little for them. His blue eyes were wide open, switching frenetically between the sheet music and said keys. His dark brown hair, so like Lucretia's, was a bit messy. He was playing a piece by Mozart, a muggle musician who had actually been a wizard. The piece was called Minuet and Trio in G mayor, and played by Orion it was like hearing a mermaid sing.

Lucretia stepped forward, placing the book on top of the piano, careful not to distract her brother, who saw her and immediately squatted over, without stopping the song. Lucretia saw the empty half of the stool and did not need telling twice. She immediately sat down, her elbow almost touching Orion's shoulder as she placed her hands on the keys. She breathed, inspiring the cold aroma of the music room, and closed her eyes, tilting her head backwards a bit. She started playing the song too, her brother easing into the duet version of it.

Lucretia played with her eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of the cold keys beneath her fingers, of the music filling her, of Orion sitting right beside her. They spent the next few minutes playing the beautiful G mayor piece, and Lucretia completely forgot about women, queens and empresses altogether.

However, when the song ended after a few simple notes, it all came flooding back in, and Lucretia opened her eyes, blinking rapidly as if she had just emerged from a dream. Her hands feel slack on the piano, so she carefully tucked them in her lap. Orion was looking at her in silence, with an unbothered look, swinging his feet.

“Do you enjoy playing, Orion?” Lucretia asked, looking at him.

Orion turned to look at the piano, as if the answer to the question was writen all over it. He raised his shoulders. “I guess.”

Lucretia gave him a tight smile, used to her brother's passiveness and lack of passion for everything.

A long silence stretched between them. Lucretia fixed her gaze on the book resting on the piano.

“What do you think of cousin Walburga, Orion?” Lucretia asked suddenly.

Orion took his time before answering to that question too.

“She is...scary.” He said, still not looking at her.

Lucretia exhaled, brushing his curls a bit with her fingers. Really, could you ask more of a three year old boy? But then, why did she feel a slight prickle in her eyes, like she wanted to cry? Blacks did not cry.

“And marriage? Que penses-tu de te marier?” She asked, and it was a breathless whisper, staring at him with wide eyes, anxious to hear the answer. Orion did turn to look at her now, a small frown on his face that made Lucretia play with her hands.

“Je ne sais pas. I guess I want to. I have to.”

Lucretia exhaled. “Yes, I know you have to. But do you want to?”

“Je ne sais pas.”

“Who would you want to marry, Orion?”

“Je ne sais pas. I guess I still have time to decide, right, Lu?” He said, looking at her with pure, innocent eyes.

A knot made its way into Lucretia's throat, making her choke slightly. Her eyes were stinging now, and she was sure, by the way her brother was looking at her, that he could see the unshed tears in her eyes. She hugged him suddenly. He hugged her back.

“Tu as raison, Orion, you are right. We still have got plenty of time.” Lucretia breathed deeply and slowly, and tried to calm herself.

Orion was right. Of course he was.

Hugged fiercely to her brother, Lucretia Black made two silent decisions. There was still time to figure out what to do about Walburga's and Orion's marriage, and she would find a way to stop it. And she would never, ever, get married.

She didn't know how wrong she was in both of those decisions.