The Black Brothers

The morning light spilled through the windows, painting the walls of the house in soft, golden hues. The tapestry room stood behind a locked door, its secrets no longer looming over Dorian. He had made a choice to leave it behind—not destroy it, but let it fade into irrelevance, a relic of a past that no longer had power over him.
Today was different. Today, the weight in his chest felt lighter. It wasn’t gone—not entirely—but the suffocating grip of fear and regret had loosened. For the first time in years, Dorian felt as though he could breathe again.
Elizabeth was in the garden, her laughter drifting in through the open windows. He could see her from his chair in the living room, her figure outlined by the vibrant greenery she had so lovingly cultivated. She was speaking to one of the housekeepers, gesturing animatedly about something or another, and the sight brought a faint smile to his face.
Dorian leaned back in his chair, his cane resting against his leg. The ache in his bones was ever-present, a familiar companion by now. But the pain didn’t feel quite so unbearable today.
As he watched Elizabeth, he thought of the symphony his life had become. For so long, it had been discordant—chaotic and painful, a jumble of notes that never quite fit together. But now, for the first time, he could hear the music beneath the noise.
It was her. Elizabeth was his symphony.
Every laugh, every sharp word, every moment of defiance or tenderness—it all came together to form a melody that gave his life meaning. She had been the one constant, the one thing that hadn’t been stripped away. And despite all his mistakes, all his flaws, she was still here.
Dorian’s hands trembled as he reached for the notebook on the table beside him. The pages were filled with thoughts, apologies, and promises—things he wanted to say to her, things he needed her to understand. He had started writing it after that night in the tapestry room, pouring his heart onto the page in a way he had never been able to do aloud.
He flipped to the final page, where the words he had written the night before stared back at him.
"Elizabeth,"
"You are everything I never deserved and everything I will spend the rest of my life trying to protect. Not from the world, but from the mistakes I’ve made. I see now that love isn’t about holding on too tightly—it’s about letting you breathe, letting you grow, and letting you be who you are."
"You are my symphony, and I will listen to your music for as long as I have left."
Dorian closed the notebook, his heart aching with the weight of everything he wanted to tell her. But not yet. He wasn’t ready to give it to her yet.
He pushed himself to his feet, gripping his cane tightly as he moved toward the garden. The sunlight was warm against his skin as he stepped outside, the smell of blooming flowers filling the air. Elizabeth turned as she saw him, her face lighting up with a smile that made the ache in his chest disappear, if only for a moment.
“Dad,” she said, walking toward him. “What are you doing out here? You should be resting.”
Dorian shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Resting can wait. I wanted to see you.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, but there was warmth in her eyes. “Well, you’ve seen me. Now what?”
“Now,” he said, gesturing to the bench beneath the old oak tree, “you sit with me and tell me what’s got you laughing so much this morning.”
Elizabeth hesitated for a moment, then nodded. She looped her arm through his, helping him over to the bench.
As they sat together, the sun filtering through the leaves above them, Dorian listened to her talk about the garden, her plans for the summer, and the little moments that made her smile.
And for the first time in a long time, Dorian didn’t think about the past. He didn’t think about his illness or his mistakes.
He only thought about the music of her voice, the way it wove through the air like a melody he would never tire of hearing.
His symphony.
And in that moment, Dorian knew that no matter what the future held—no matter how many days or years he had left—he would hold onto this feeling for as long as he could.
As they sat under the sprawling oak, the sunlight danced through the leaves, casting patterns on the ground that seemed alive. Elizabeth’s voice was bright, her laughter bubbling up in intervals as she recounted a particularly absurd incident involving a stray cat she’d found in the garden.
Dorian couldn’t help but smile, the sound of her happiness washing over him. He leaned back against the bench, letting his cane rest across his lap. The ache in his body still lingered, a dull throb in his legs and spine, but it felt distant now, overshadowed by the warmth of this moment.
For a time, the two of them simply sat in silence. Elizabeth tilted her head back, letting the sun kiss her face, while Dorian watched her with a quiet reverence.
“Do you ever wonder,” Dorian began softly, breaking the silence, “why we’re still here?”
Elizabeth turned to him, her brow furrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”
He sighed, his gaze drifting to the garden beyond them. “I’ve spent so much of my life wondering why I’ve survived when others didn’t. Your mother, my brothers… everyone I loved. And now, here I am, still breathing, still walking this earth, even when my body is falling apart.”
Elizabeth was quiet for a moment, her hands resting in her lap. “Maybe it’s not about why you’re still here,” she said gently. “Maybe it’s about what you do while you are.”
Her words settled over him like a blanket, both comforting and heavy. He turned his head to look at her, his expression softening.
“You’re wiser than I give you credit for,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Elizabeth grinned, the teasing light in her eyes reminiscent of her mother’s. “You should listen to me more often, then.”
He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “I should.”
The wind picked up slightly, rustling the leaves above them and carrying the scent of the garden. Dorian felt a twinge in his chest, a familiar pang of guilt mixed with gratitude.
“Elizabeth,” he said after a long pause, his voice thick, “there’s something I need to say.”
She turned to him fully now, her expression softening at the vulnerability in his tone. “What is it, Dad?”
He took a deep breath, his fingers gripping the edge of the bench. “I know I haven’t been… the father you deserved. I’ve held on too tightly, made mistakes—so many mistakes. I thought I was protecting you, but really, I was just letting my own fears control me.”
Elizabeth reached over, placing her hand over his. “Dad—”
“Let me finish,” he interrupted gently, his voice trembling. “I’ve been so afraid of losing you. Of losing the one good thing I have left in this world. But in trying to hold on to you, I forgot to let you live. I forgot to let you be yourself.”
Her grip on his hand tightened, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “You’re not perfect, Dad. But no one is. You’re here. You’ve always been here. And that’s what matters.”
Dorian’s throat tightened, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. He reached up, brushing a tear from his cheek as he nodded.
“I’ll try to be better,” he said finally. “For you. For both of us.”
Elizabeth smiled, her own tears falling freely now. “You already are.”
They sat there, hand in hand, as the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the world in hues of gold and amber.
For the first time in years, Dorian felt a glimmer of peace. Not because his pain had vanished or because the ghosts of his past had been laid to rest, but because he had found something stronger than all of it.
Hope.
And as the day faded into evening, the melody of their shared laughter lingered in the air, a quiet symphony of love, forgiveness, and the promise of something better.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the warm amber glow of twilight settled over the garden, casting long, soft shadows across the lawn. Elizabeth shifted beside Dorian, resting her head gently against his shoulder. Her presence, steady and reassuring, felt like an anchor in the tide of his restless thoughts.
The air cooled, and the faint chirping of crickets filled the growing stillness. Dorian closed his eyes briefly, savoring the moment. It was a rare kind of peace, one he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years.
“I used to sit like this with your mother,” he murmured, his voice low and distant, as though the memory were just out of reach. “Right here, under this tree. She loved the garden as much as you do. Maybe even more.”
Elizabeth’s head shifted slightly against his shoulder. “I wish I remembered her better,” she said softly. “All I have are fragments. The way her perfume smelled, the sound of her laugh. Sometimes I worry I’ll lose even those pieces.”
Dorian’s chest tightened. He turned his head, pressing a kiss to the crown of her hair. “You won’t. She’s in you, Elizabeth. In the way you care about things, the way you laugh, even the way you fight with me when I’m being stubborn. She’s always there.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly, her fingers curling around the edge of the bench. “I think she’d be proud of you,” she said after a moment.
Dorian’s breath hitched, the words cutting deeper than she likely realized. “I don’t know about that,” he said quietly, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
“I do,” Elizabeth replied firmly, lifting her head to look at him. “You’ve been through so much, Dad. More than anyone should. And you’re still here. That counts for something.”
Dorian met her gaze, the sincerity in her eyes catching him off guard. For years, he had seen himself through the lens of his mistakes, his failures, the weight of his illness and the past. But in Elizabeth’s eyes, he saw something different. Something he wasn’t sure he deserved but wanted to believe in anyway.
“Maybe,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.
The sound of approaching footsteps broke the moment, and one of the housekeepers appeared at the edge of the garden, a shawl draped over her arm.
“Miss Elizabeth,” she said gently, “it’s getting chilly. Would you like this?”
Elizabeth stood, taking the shawl with a grateful smile before turning to Dorian. “I’ll go inside and grab us some tea. Don’t move too far, okay?”
He chuckled, gesturing to his cane. “I think you’re safe on that front.”
As she disappeared into the house, Dorian leaned back against the bench once more, staring up at the darkening sky. Stars were beginning to emerge, faint pinpricks of light against the vast, inky expanse.
For a moment, he let himself wonder what his wife, his brothers, and even his parents would say if they could see him now. Would they pity him? Scold him for his missteps? Or would they be proud, as Elizabeth believed?
The weight of those questions felt too heavy to bear, so he let them drift away with the cool night breeze.
When Elizabeth returned, two steaming cups of tea in hand, she found him smiling faintly, his eyes fixed on the stars. She handed him a cup and sat down beside him, wrapping the shawl tightly around her shoulders.
They sipped their tea in silence for a while, the garden alive with the quiet hum of the night.
“Dad?” Elizabeth’s voice was soft, almost hesitant.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I don’t think we’ve ever talked about what you want. Like… beyond me. What makes you happy?”
The question caught him off guard. What did he want? Happiness felt like such a foreign concept, something he hadn’t allowed himself to think about in years.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted after a long pause. “For so long, I’ve just been… surviving. But this, right now, with you—that makes me happy.”
Elizabeth reached over, placing her hand on his arm. “You deserve more than just surviving, Dad. We both do.”
Her words settled deep within him, a quiet truth he hadn’t been ready to face until now.
As the stars brightened above them and the cool night air wrapped around them like a comforting blanket, Dorian felt something stir within him—a small, fragile ember of hope.
He wasn’t sure what the future held or how much time he had left, but for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to believe in the possibility of something more.
Something better.
And as he sat there with Elizabeth, the symphony of their lives playing softly in the background, he knew he wasn’t alone. Whatever came next, they would face it together.
Elizabeth rested her tea cup on her lap, her gaze thoughtful as she studied her father. The night was still and quiet, the stars casting faint light over the garden. Dorian, ever the picture of composure, sat beside her, his cane resting against his leg and his hands wrapped around the warm ceramic of his tea cup.
But something about him had always puzzled her—the way he carried himself, as though shielding a part of himself from the world. She had long accepted that he was a man of secrets, but now, as they shared this rare moment of vulnerability, she felt a deep, gnawing curiosity.
“Dad,” she began hesitantly, “can I ask you something?”
Dorian turned his head, his expression softening as he met her gaze. “Of course, sweetheart. What is it?”
She hesitated, her fingers tracing the edge of her tea cup. “Why do you always wear long sleeves? Even in the summer, when it’s unbearably hot. You never… You never roll them up.”
For a moment, Dorian didn’t respond. His grip on his cup tightened, his knuckles whitening slightly. Elizabeth watched as a shadow passed over his face, a flicker of something she couldn’t quite place—fear, shame, maybe both.
“It’s… complicated,” he said finally, his voice quieter now.
Elizabeth frowned, leaning forward slightly. “I’m not a child, Dad. You can tell me.”
He sighed, setting his tea cup down on the bench beside him. His hands trembled as he rested them on his knees, his gaze fixed on the darkened garden in front of them.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he said slowly. “It’s that I’ve spent so long trying to forget what’s under these sleeves that speaking about it feels like… like peeling open an old wound.”
Elizabeth’s heart ached at the pain in his voice. She reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready,” she said softly. “But if it’s something that still haunts you, maybe it’s time to let someone else carry a bit of the weight.”
Dorian turned to her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, slowly, he rolled up his left sleeve, revealing a forearm marred by an intricate, dark mark—a skull with a serpent slithering through its mouth, alongside the old scars from his illness and others that carried stories of his past.
Elizabeth’s breath caught. She recognized the symbol immediately. It was one of the most feared emblems in the wizarding world, the Dark Mark.
Her eyes flicked up to his, searching for answers. “Dad…”
“I was young,” Dorian began, his voice barely above a whisper. “And stupid. I thought I could change the world by following a man who promised power and purpose. I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing.”
Elizabeth’s hand tightened on his arm, her mind racing as she tried to reconcile this revelation with the father she knew.
“But you left,” she said, her voice trembling. “You’re not… you’re not one of them anymore.”
“No,” he said quickly, his tone resolute. “I left. Or rather, I was allowed to leave.”
Elizabeth’s brows furrowed. “Allowed?”
Dorian leaned back, exhaling deeply as he looked up at the stars. “My mother begged him—Voldemort—to let me go. She saw what it was doing to me, the missions, the violence. She struck some kind of deal. I don’t know the details; she never told me. But one day, he called me to him and said I was no longer needed. Just like that.”
Elizabeth felt a chill run through her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want you to carry this,” he said, his voice cracking. “I didn’t want you to see me as anything other than your father. Not as a coward, or a follower, or someone who made unforgivable choices.”
“You’re not a coward,” she said fiercely. “You made a mistake, but you walked away. You chose to be better.”
Dorian shook his head, tears streaming down his face. “I’ve spent my life trying to make up for it, Elizabeth. Trying to protect you from the kind of darkness I once embraced. But no matter what I do, this mark… it’s always there. A reminder of who I was.”
Elizabeth reached out, her hand hovering over the mark before resting lightly on his arm. “It’s not who you are now,” she said firmly. “You’ve been so afraid of the past catching up to you that you forgot something important.”
He looked at her, his expression raw and vulnerable. “What’s that?”
“That it doesn’t define you,” she said, her voice steady. “You taught me that, Dad. You’ve shown me how to be strong, how to fight for what’s right. You’re not that person anymore, and you don’t have to carry this alone.”
Dorian stared at her for a long moment, his tears falling freely now. Slowly, he pulled her into an embrace, holding her tightly as though afraid to let go.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For everything.”
Elizabeth clung to him, her own tears mingling with his. “You don’t have to apologize,” she said. “We’ll face it together. Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.”
And as the night deepened, father and daughter sat beneath the stars, the weight of secrets shared and burdens lightened, finally finding solace in each other’s arms.
***
Some years later—The soft, golden glow of the Tuscan sun bathed the sprawling Nott estate in warm light, illuminating the olive trees and vines that stretched across the rolling hills. The house itself, a stately villa with weathered stone walls and ivy creeping up its sides, buzzed with quiet celebration. It was Elizabeth’s birthday, and though she claimed she didn’t need a big fuss, her family had other plans.
The courtyard was set up with a long wooden table adorned with white linens and bouquets of wildflowers. The soft hum of conversation and occasional laughter filled the air as the Notts gathered to celebrate.
Elizabeth leaned on the stone balustrade of the villa’s terrace, overlooking the scene below. She watched as Theodore, her mischievous cousin, animatedly told a story to Mattia, who leaned back in his chair with a glass of wine in hand, laughing heartily. Mrs. Nott, ever the graceful hostess, flitted between the kitchen and the courtyard, ensuring everything was perfect.
“Happy birthday, my little duckling,” Dorian’s voice came from behind her.
Elizabeth turned, her face lighting up as she saw her father standing there with a small, wrapped box in his hands. He looked better than he had in years—the Italian air seemed to agree with him. His cane was still a constant companion, but his steps were steadier, and the shadows that had lingered in his eyes were less pronounced.
“Dad,” she said, smiling as she embraced him. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“Nonsense,” he said, his tone light. “It’s not every day my daughter turns another year older. Open it.”
Elizabeth took the box, unwrapping it carefully. Inside was a delicate silver bracelet, its chain adorned with tiny charms—a book, a quill, a star, and a rose. Each one held a memory, a piece of their shared history.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said softly. “You deserve it, and so much more.”
They stood together for a moment, the weight of everything they had endured over the years settling into a quiet peace.
“Come on,” Elizabeth said finally, taking his arm. “Let’s join the others.”
The courtyard erupted in cheers and laughter as they descended the steps. Theodore stood to greet them, pulling Elizabeth into a dramatic hug.
“Another year older, another year wiser,” he said, winking.
“I’m not sure about wiser,” she replied, laughing as she playfully pushed him away.
Mrs. Nott appeared, a tray of steaming dishes in hand. “The food is ready,” she announced, her elegant demeanor unruffled despite the effort she had clearly put into the evening.
As they all took their seats, Mattia raised his glass, his voice warm and booming. “To Elizabeth,” he said. “May this year bring her everything she dreams of, and may she continue to shine as brightly as she always has.”
“To Elizabeth,” the others echoed, clinking their glasses together.
The evening passed in a haze of good food, laughter, and stories. Dorian watched his daughter from his seat at the head of the table, his heart swelling with pride. For so long, he had feared he would lose her—that the mistakes of his past would cast an unshakable shadow over their lives. But here she was, surrounded by love, thriving in a way he had scarcely
Dorian smiled, his heart full. For the first time in a long time, he felt the faint stirrings of contentment. Whatever lay ahead, he knew they would face it together—bound by love, by memory, and by the unbreakable ties of family.