The Lords parted, making way for the freed prisoner. Some extended a hand, others averted their eyes. Sirius walked without looking around, only forward.
But at the doorway, they did come face to face with a group of Lords descending from the upper rows. At their head walked Lucius Malfoy. Behind him came Lord Nott, Lady Parkinson, Lord Rowle. Several others, their faces pale.
Today, Lucius Malfoy, one of the richest and most influential wizards in Britain, had lost. Not because he was weaker. But because he had played by rules he hadn't set. Because he had learned those rules too late. Because Dumbledore, the old fox, had been preparing this game not for a day or a month — he had been preparing it for six months, inserting amendments into laws that no one read, laying mines that were meant to explode precisely today.
"Albus," Lucius said, his voice as smooth as a frozen lake. "Congratulations on your victory."
"This is not a victory, Lucius," Dumbledore replied softly. "It is justice."
"Justice," Malfoy repeated, venom entering his voice. "Of course. Justice."
He shifted his gaze to Sirius.
He was looking ahead with a thoughtful expression.
"Mr. Black," Lucius said, something akin to respect mixed with contempt in his voice. "Nine years in Azkaban. Not everyone could have endured it."
Sirius did not answer. He just looked at Malfoy, and there was something in that gaze that lessened the venom in Lucius's smile.
"I am glad I was finally able to free a war hero," Dumbledore suddenly interjected, not allowing Sirius to say anything. Though he hadn't seemed inclined to. "Despite the resistance. Undoubtedly, a joyous day for all of magical Britain. Isn't that so, Lucius?"
"Yes," he hissed. "I am also immensely glad. I hope you recover soon, Mr. Black. And I hope I can personally invite you to dinner. We have many… family matters in common."
"Sirius is in no condition for family matters now," Dumbledore said firmly. "He needs to recover. And believe me, I will personally ensure that the compensation he receives from the Ministry is substantial."
"Of course," Lucius nodded. "You always take care of those you need."
He stepped aside, letting them pass. Dumbledore nodded and led Sirius towards the exit. Behind them, the hall continued to buzz.
Lucius watched them go, an expression on his face that only those who had known him long enough could read. This was not defeat. It was a reprieve. For Lucius was not ready to back down and thereby lose such capital… such resources.
Greengrass, who had been standing a little apart, waiting to be noticed, approached.
"Today we lost the battle," Lucius said quietly. "But not the war."
"The alliance remains in force," Greengrass replied. "The Malfoys, the Greengrasses, the Notts, and, I hope, the Rosiers?"
"Unquestionably."
They moved towards the exit, their footsteps echoing dully under the stone vaults of the hall that had just witnessed one of the most high-profile trials in recent years.
***
I sat at the table in Malfoy Manor's small drawing-room, struggling to keep my composure. How I hated everything! Why did misfortune always have to strike me?
Before me stood a cup of tea that had long gone cold. Mother sat opposite, her hands folded in her lap, looking at Father with an expression that conveyed everything: anger, disappointment, and that particular icy detachment she could turn on when displeased. Draco, sitting beside me, kept twitching his head nervously, opening his mouth to say something but immediately closing it, glancing at Father.
Lucius stood by the fireplace, leaning his hand on the marble mantelpiece. His face was red with rage, as he very expressively wanted to describe what had happened in response to his wife's question. But he restrained himself, caught his breath, and maintained a calm tone, albeit with gritted teeth, throughout his narrative.
But I already understood everything. We all understood everything from the atmosphere and his expression.
"Fudge," he said, and in that name was all the contempt the head of the Malfoy family could muster. "That wretched, trembling slug. He couldn't even in that moment avoid trying to sit on two chairs at once!"
"You said he was reliable," Narcissa said coldly, and there was so much reproach and bitchiness in her voice that I had never seen before.
"As soon as Dumbledore appeared and gave his speech, he immediately decided to back down. Two-faced, pathetic… coward!"
"How could you not know about that damned amendment!" Narcissa interrupted, momentarily displaying her Black nature. "How could the lawyer not have warned this Fudge! You said so yourself."
"Stop blaming me, Narcissa! It's all because Fudge didn't bother to study the laws he himself signed!" Lucius whirled on her, anger flashing in his eyes. "Because he's used to someone else doing his work for him! Because he's a damn incompetent who got his post only through connections and the lack of other compliant candidates!"
He fell silent, caught his breath, and continued more calmly:
"He certainly now owes me for such a betrayal, and I will remember this." Then Father looked at me with disgust. "Arcturus, control yourself; your face shows your true nature."
Was he mocking me!? He couldn't even delay the case with my help, and something told me… A man who only knows intrigue, without valuing strength, couldn't even handle that. He even gave in to his emotions, while not suffering from a curse. And he reproaches me for my emotions! What an insolent worm! I can't… I can't take it anymore; I want to take my wand and use Bombarda to blast away this useless piece of meat called Lucius Malfoy… how can he be my father! No wonder Voldemort called him "Slippery."
"Yes, son. Control yourself," Mother said coldly, clearly hiding her own anger, only further fueling my rage.
I couldn't take it anymore. I was ready to burn the table I was sitting at, blast down the wall, and go to Black, wherever he was… kill him!
"Father," I hissed. "Can't you just remove… remove him as a candidate for the inheritance?"
The words only miraculously were not shouted. I was on the edge.
"That is what I am doing, but Dumbledore will defend him well. Don't think you're smarter than everyone else, Arcturus," Father said dryly, then looked at Draco. "Remember, Draco, there is no worse person in Britain than the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore. He is the greatest enemy of all pure-blood wizards."
"I will remember, Father," Draco replied arrogantly, clearly trying to please Father with every word.
"Time?" Narcissa asked. "We have no time. My cousin is free and will soon be healthy enough to claim the Lordship. What are you going to do?"
"Wait," Lucius replied. "Dumbledore is too self-assured. Soon he will have to divert his attention, focusing on Hogwarts and the Acromantula nest. And then what must happen will happen."
Everyone understood what he meant, but it was not discussed openly.
Draco snorted.
"Father, why didn't you foresee this?" he asked with a child's directness that might have been amusing in another situation. "You always said everything must be calculated."
"Draco," Narcissa said warningly.
"What?" Draco shrugged, continuing with an even more insolent face. "I just want to understand! We lost! And Malfoys can't lose! Can they?"
"Don't disappoint me, Draco," Lucius repeated coldly. "Don't interfere in adult conversations. Go away!"
His face twisted — whether from hurt or anger. Draco wanted to say something, but meeting his father's gaze, closed his mouth and left.
Throughout the conversation, I sat and felt the rage spreading through my veins, like hot lava, like acid eating away everything in its path. The Black rage. The very one that today, after all the news, after Father's account, after realizing that everything had gone off plan, demanded release.
Father blames Fudge, the lawyer, Moody, but it was he who failed! Failed at one single task…
Words jumbled in my head. I felt my fingers clenching into fists under the table, my nails digging into my palms, my heart pounding somewhere in my throat.
"Arcturus, son?" Mother's voice came from somewhere far away. "Are you alright?"
I looked up at her. Everything inside me was boiling.
"Perfectly," I replied through gritted teeth. "I'm tired. The news is bad. I think I'll go to my room."
I was barely restraining myself from lashing out at Father. How torn apart I felt just from understanding the situation… Aaah! I can't take it anymore! How it all infuriates me!
I stood and headed for the exit, but Father decided to prove that stupidity was hereditary.
"Arcturus, I warn you, I have already made arrangements with the Rosier family. Prepare yourself. The betrothal will take place on January fourth."
That was the last straw! Damn freak, worthless Flobberworm, incapable of anything! I gave him the tool, and he still led me to a dead end! Why!? Why couldn't everything have gone according to plan? Why does everything always have to be so difficult for me?
I had planned everything counting on the inheritance… and now, now I'll have to start from scratch… I HATE IT!
In the end, I couldn't control myself externally either.
"How could I have doubted! Father! Not doubted that you would come to this! Couldn't even take what was handed to you on a silver platter! And you still dare to reproach me!"
The words stunned Father and Mother for a second. In just one second, I said everything I had wanted to, and then my mind, having calmed down slightly, thought to apply total emotional suppression to avoid further escalation.
Emotions were instantly cut off, and I was left with the bare fact that for the first time in my life, I had dared to speak so insolently to my father. The effect was immediate. Stupid situations don't arise by themselves — you need at least one fool. And here, there were two of us.
"How dare you, Arcturus! You Mordred-cursed…" Father shouted, and a Stinging Hex flew from his cane-wand. But it didn't reach me. I deflected it into the wall with a light flick of my wand tip. Then I immediately returned my wand to its shoulder holster.
Then genuine chaos erupted. Shouts and arguments that would only have fueled the rage further, but fortunately, the few dozen seconds without emotions that I had saved Father from an instant counter-attack.
"You dare not accept punishment for your words, Arcturus! I should have beaten you with a rod since childhood!" Lucius shouted angrily, venom in his voice. At that moment, I couldn't bring myself to call him Father.
Mother tried to stop it all, but Father had given in to rage too. Only his rage was child's play compared to what would soon erupt from me. My sober mind helped me think logically, and I realized it was all pointless and would only worsen the situation.
"Yes, I dare!"
So I simply turned and walked away. But I didn't last long. For Father, shouting something, decided that I had no right to defend myself from the flying "punishments." Without emotions, it all seemed so childish, so reckless, but in any case, I would not allow myself to be punished, for only he had made the mistake.
Perhaps it was at that second that I lost whatever vestiges of respect I had left for Lucius Malfoy as a father. Lucius stood by the fireplace, gripping his cane — at the very moment I had turned my back to him, the Stinging Hex hit me in the back. Not strong; I could have avoided taking the hit, but I needed to show that such behavior was unacceptable. The very fact… the very fact that Father had raised his wand against me!
I froze.
Slowly, very slowly, I turned.
"You dared?" My voice was quiet, but in that silence, it sounded like a clap of thunder.
Lucius did not answer. He looked at me with an expression he probably thought was commanding, but which I at that moment found simply pathetic.
The next instant, everything changed.
I didn't wave my wand. I didn't utter a word. I simply willed it — and the world obeyed.
A thin chime of crystal rolled through the room, and Mother, sitting at the table, raised her head, not understanding what was happening. Then the cutlery on the polished tabletop began to slide — forks, knives, spoons — they jumped as if alive, one by one soaring into the air. Plates, cups, and goblets followed them. Then the heavy, oak chairs with carved backs — they lifted off the floor as if they weighed nothing. A crystal vase of fruit arced and stopped near the ceiling; apples and grapes scattered through the air, spinning in a mad dance.
Dozens of objects were lifted by me. It was my limit, so everything rose slowly. Yet such a display was enough to show my overbearing parent that he could not punish me without his guards.
Lucius watched this, cane in hand, and on his face I saw bewilderment and even a hint of fear. He didn't believe his eyes. Snape's words about my abilities, which he had once listened to with disdain, must now have been stabbing into his memory like daggers.
"Never raise your wand against me again," I said, each word falling into this mad silence like a stone into water. "Never. Under no circumstances. Do you understand me… Father?"
I spat the last word with such bitterness that it sounded like an insult.
Lucius opened his mouth, but didn't have time to say anything.
I released control.
Everything that had been suspended in the air — crystal, porcelain, oak chairs, silverware — crashed down. The noise was wild. The crunch, the shatter of breaking goblets, the crack of porcelain — this cacophonous orchestra accompanied me as I turned and headed for the exit.
Behind me, Mother gasped:
"Son! Wait!"
I didn't turn around.
Lucius shouted something after me — an insult, a threat, I don't know, and I didn't want to know. His voice sounded muffled, as if through cotton wool. I only caught fragments: "…discipline…", "…degenerate…", "…Black spawn…"
Outside the door, in the corridor, my magical senses, heightened to their limit, detected a foreign presence. Draco was standing around the corner, pressed against the wall, staring at me with wide eyes.
"Where are you going?"
"To the training hall," I replied, not looking at him.
"Now?" he asked in surprise. "Why?"
I didn't answer. I just kept walking.
"Brother!" Draco caught up with me. "Why are you behaving so improperly? Father said…"
"Draco, shut up," I said, and there was something in my voice that made my brother recoil. "Leave me alone."
"But…"
"Leave me alone, I said!"
He froze. His hurt, angry face flashed before my eyes. Draco sniffed — arrogantly, as only he could — and finally left me alone.
The suppression of emotions stopped working, but I managed to reach the training hall. I locked the door with a spell and only then let go. No one was to enter here today.
The rage hit with such force that I didn't even have time to inhale. It burst out of control — not gradually, not in a wave, but in an explosion that smashed the very cage where I had been holding it all this time.
The rage demanded release. It demanded blood, screaming, destruction.
Malfoy Manor's training hall seemed built for such moments. A vast chamber, rivaling a professional dueling arena in size, with protective barriers into which fortunes had been poured, with floors and walls that could withstand even a direct hit from powerful explosive spells.
I raised my wand.
"Bombarda!"
The nearest training dummy shattered into splinters, but it wasn't enough. I launched myself from my spot, lunging towards the training dummies. A new spell flew from my wand before the fragments of the first dummy hit the floor. Then another, and another, and another.
"Bombarda! Bombarda! Bombarda!" The explosive curses hit the walls, the dummies, the floor, but the rage only grew. Rage at my father, at myself, at Dumbledore, at Sirius, at Walburga, at the situation, at life. At EVERYONE!