The curtain over the portrait was new.
It was floor to ceiling, heavy dark fabric, hung with a precision that suggested considerable thought had gone into the placement. The area around it had a faint shimmer of layered enchantments, subtle enough that you could miss it if you weren't looking.
Sirius looked at it for a long moment.
"Don't," Regulus said, from the doorway to the kitchen. He had a cup of tea in each hand and the expression of someone who had said this before, to himself, at length, and had arrived at a position he intended to maintain.
"I wasn't going to—"
"You were thinking about it."
"I was going to ask—"
"The answer is that I tried everything." Regulus set the cups on the low table and sat down with the unhurried quality of someone entirely settled in his own space despite the space being objectively grim. "Every removal charm, every counter curse, every method in every text I could find. She put something in the portrait itself, I think. It cannot be moved, it cannot be silenced permanently, and it cannot be destroyed without destroying the wall, which would bring down the ceiling in the room above, which happens to be where I sleep." He looked at the curtain. "So, I curtained it. Reinforced the curtain. Put a silencing enchantment on the area so she doesn't wake unless something breaks the perimeter." He picked up his tea.
Sirius looked at the curtain for another moment. Then at his brother.
"That is," he said, "genuinely impressive."
"Thank you," Regulus said, without warmth but with the quiet satisfaction of someone whose practical solution had been acknowledged. "Sit down. You look terrible."
Sirius sat down and put his face on the table.
Regulus regarded this. "That bad."
The sound that came from the direction of the table was not quite a word.
"Start from the beginning," Regulus said.
Sirius started from the beginning.
He told it in order. The preparations, the bonfires, the Silent Supper. Lyra removing her mask for three seconds during the cleansing to rub her eye and what that three seconds had cost them. The corridor, the candles going out, the woman's voice coming from his four-year-old daughter's throat. Esme speaking to her dead mother. Clarisse's fury and what it had done to Lyra's body. Rigel stepping forward with that gold light and the spirit coming out like something expelled rather than simply leaving.
Regulus listened without interrupting. His expression moved through several things he did not comment on.
When Sirius finished, Regulus was quiet for a moment.
"Lyra is a medium," he said.
"Apparently."
"At four years old."
"Apparently."
Regulus looked at his tea. "The Black family does not have medium blood. As far as I know." He paused. "Though mediumship is — it appears in families without any history of it. It is rare even among the families that have the most — the Laveaus, the Addams, the Gordons, all in the Americas. Nobody quite knows why the Americas produce the most. Even among those families it skips generations, appears in only one child of a generation, sometimes does not appear at all for fifty years and then—" He stopped. "I have been doing research. For unrelated reasons."
"Of course you have," Sirius said, without judgment. "How are you not a Ravenclaw." He mumbled.
"It is always female," Regulus continued, ignoring the comment. "Every documented medium. No exceptions. The families with the strongest lines prioritize their female heirs because of it." He set his cup down. "The Laveaus in particular. Their head is currently a woman named — I don't have the first name; she goes by Madam Laveau and that appears to be sufficient. She would know more about what Lyra is facing than anyone alive." He looked at Sirius. "You need to contact her."
"Isaac is working on it," Sirius said. "He has a connection somewhere in that network. He is verifying before he reaches out." He lifted his head from the table slightly. "In the meantime, Lyra has been — she has been seeing things. In the castle. She was watching something in the corner of the kitchen this morning while Esme was trying to get her to eat breakfast."
Regulus absorbed this. "What did she say it was?"
"She said it was a woman who liked the smell of the food." Sirius put his face back on the table. "She said it very calmly. Like it was normal."
A brief silence.
"That is," Regulus said carefully, "concerning."
"Yes."
"But also, very Lyra."
"Also, very Lyra," Sirius agreed, muffled.
Regulus allowed himself a small exhale that was almost but not quite a laugh. "And the others?"
Sirius lifted his head again. "Alphard." He said it with the tone of a man producing a second item on a list that was already too long. "Alphard is a Metamorphmagus."
Regulus went still.
"He manifested during the visit from Andromeda and her family," Sirius said. "Nymphadora changed her hair and Alphard — followed. Black hair went pink. Cat ears appeared. He was extremely pleased about the ears."
"He is two years old."
"He is two years old," Sirius confirmed.
"The earliest recorded Metamorphmagus manifestation is four," Regulus said. "I know this because I looked it up after Nymphadora. Out of curiosity." He looked at Sirius. "Two is — that is not a normal manifestation age. That is—"
"Powerful," Sirius said. "The younger the manifestation, apparently, the stronger the gift." He paused. "But also, unstable. Which is concerning in its own right given that he currently has no control over it and it appears to activate whenever he sees something interesting."
"And Rigel," Regulus said.
Sirius was quiet for a moment. "The gold magic."
"Tell me."
"I have been seeing the ancient magic in the castle since the blood adoption. It runs silver-white, like — like moonlight. Old and settled. It follows the leyline, pools at the corners, responds to the threshold observances." He looked at his hands. "What came out of Rigel in that corridor was not silver-white. It was gold. Deep gold, not bright. And it was stronger than anything I have seen. It hit the spirit and she — left. Immediately." He paused. "I don't know what that is. I don't know if it's the ancient magic or something else or something in addition to the ancient magic and I need to understand it before—" He stopped. "I need to understand it."
"You are considering the Peverell library," Regulus said.
"Esme said we can find answers there. The Peverells studied ancient magic extensively. Whatever answer there is, it is probably in Germany."
"And Corvus," Regulus said.
Sirius looked at him. "You noticed."
"I notice things." Regulus looked at his tea. "The animals."
"Every time he is outside, they come to him. Birds, mostly, from the forest — but also the foxes and rabbits. Once a deer at the edge of the tree line. He was sitting reading and there were three squirrels on his lap and he hadn't noticed." Sirius shook his head slightly. "I don't know what that is yet. I don't know if it is a gift or simply — Corvus. He is a gentle child. Perhaps animals sense it."
"Perhaps," Regulus said, in the tone of someone who did not think it was simply that but was choosing not to say so yet.
"One thing at a time," Sirius said.
"Yes." Regulus looked at him. "Though I would point out that you have four children and you appear to have four separates — situations — developing simultaneously, and the most pressing of which is—"
"Lyra," Sirius said.
"Lyra," Regulus agreed. "Who is not only a medium manifesting at four years old, but who is also—" He paused. "Has she been confirmed as Peverell heir?"
"Not confirmed. Not possible to confirm until she is seven and can be presented to the main estate." Sirius looked at the ceiling. "We have to know whether the Peverell magic would accept her."
"But it is possible."
"It is possible."
Regulus was quiet for a moment. He had the expression he wore when he was about to say something that Sirius was not going to enjoy hearing. "If Lyra is confirmed as Peverell heir — and if her mediumship becomes known, which it will, because these things always become known—"
"I know."
"Two ministries, Sirius." Regulus looked at him steadily. "The British Ministry will want her because she is a medium on British soil with a British father, and the Ministry registers and deploys rare gifts as a matter of policy. And the German Ministry will want her because the Peverell estate is primarily located in their jurisdiction and a confirmed Peverell heir activates a considerable amount of dormant political and magical architecture that they have been waiting on for—"
"How long?"
"I don't know exactly. Long." Regulus set his cup down. "The point is that you will have two governments with legitimate competing claims on your daughter's future and you will need to be in a position to tell both of them no with sufficient authority that they listen."
Sirius stared at him.
Then he put his face back on the table.
Regulus watched this. He was, Sirius did not need to see his face to know, faintly amused. Not unkindly.
"The headship," Sirius said, muffled.
"The headship," Regulus agreed.
"I was going to take it anyway."
"But soon has become immediately I think." A voice interrupted them.
Both brothers went still.
Arcturus Black stood in the drawing room of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, brushed a nonexistent speck of Floo powder from his sleeve, and looked at his two grandsons with the expression of a man who had arrived exactly when he had intended to and found things approximately as he had expected.
The silence stretched.
"I should have locked the door," Sirius said, without lifting his face from the table.
"I live alone," Regulus said. "Why would I lock the door."
"Against this," Sirius said, gesturing towards his grandfather.
Arcturus regarded them both. He crossed to the armchair — the best one in the room, which he sat in with the absolute certainty of a man who had never in his life sat in a chair that wasn't the best one available — and looked at Sirius, whose face was still on the table.
"Sirius," he said.
"Grandfather," Sirius said, muffled.
"Sit up."
A pause. Then Sirius sat up, with the expression of a man who had decided that dignity was a lost cause and was choosing to accept this gracefully.
Arcturus looked at him for a moment. Then at Regulus. Then back at Sirius. "I understand," he said, with the precision of someone who had heard more than the room's occupants were aware of, "that there is something to discuss regarding one of the children."
Sirius looked at Regulus.
Regulus looked at the ceiling.
"How much did you hear?" Sirius asked.
"Enough," Arcturus said. "Tell me the rest."
Sirius took a deep breath and told him.
He told it more briefly than he had told Regulus. Arcturus was not a man who needed the same detail twice and the expression on his face suggested he had caught more from what he overheard from them. He covered Lyra's mediumship, the Samhain events, the Peverell heir question, the age restriction on confirmation. He covered Alphard's Metamorphmagus manifestation. He covered Rigel's gold magic briefly and without elaboration because he did not yet have the words for it and Arcturus's eyes sharpened at that in a way that suggested it would be returned to.
Arcturus listened throughout with the stillness of a man who had spent sixty years in political rooms and knew how to receive information without letting his reactions become information in return.
When Sirius finished there was a silence.
"Alphard manifested at two years old." Arcturus confirmed.
"Yes."
"The Metamorphmagus gift." Arcturus said it in the tone of someone confirming something they had already filed. "Early manifestation indicates considerable strength. The gift matures with the child, but the foundation is set at manifestation — the younger it appears, the deeper the root." He paused. "That is a significant asset to the family."
"He is two years old," Sirius said. "He is not an asset. He is a child."
"He can be both," Arcturus said, without heat. "I am not suggesting otherwise." His eyes moved to Regulus briefly and back. "And the girl. The Peverell question."
"We won't know until she is seven."
"No." Arcturus was quiet for a moment. "But the probability is — not negligible."
"Regulus was just explaining the political implications," Sirius said, with the tone of a man who had recently put his face on a table and was not entirely certain he was finished doing so.
Arcturus looked at him steadily. "Two ministries. British and German. Competing claims on a confirmed Peverell heir who is also a documented medium." He said it flatly, as a list of facts. "Yes. That is a considerable problem." He paused. "Or a considerable opportunity, depending on how it is managed."
"It is a four-year-old child," Sirius said.
"Who will not be four years old indefinitely," Arcturus said. "And who will, at seven, either confirm or not confirm a claim that has been dormant for decades. If she confirms it—" He stopped. Something shifted in his expression. Something Sirius had not seen before on that face, something that sat in the lines of it with a quality he could not immediately identify.
Regulus saw it first. "Grandfather."
Arcturus did not respond.
"Grandfather," Regulus said again, with more emphasis.
Sirius looked at his grandfather. At the expression on his face.
Arcturus Black was smiling.
It was not a large smile. It was not warm. It was the smile of a man who had spent decades watching a board he had set up be played badly by people who did not understand what they were sitting at and had just seen a move that changed the entire configuration of the game.
"Why are you smiling like that?" Regulus asked.
"I don't like that smile," Sirius said, at the same time.
Arcturus looked at them both with the expression of a man who found their concern faintly amusing and entirely appropriate. "The House of Peverell," he said, "holds a Wizengamot seat. Or held one. The seat has been dormant since the last confirmed heir died without issue." He paused. "If Lyra is confirmed — and if the House of Peverell is formally reestablished — that seat becomes active again."
The room was very quiet.
"Two houses," Sirius said slowly.
"Two houses," Arcturus confirmed. "The House of Black, under its new head — and the House of Peverell, under its heir, managed by her family until she comes of age." He looked at Sirius with the directness of someone delivering an assessment they had already completed. "The political weight of that combination in the Wizengamot would be — considerable. Particularly given the current composition of the chamber and the positions currently held by various factions." He paused. "Lucius Malfoy has been the loudest voice in that room for some time. He has been loud, in part, because there has been nothing of sufficient weight on the other side to balance him."
Sirius stared at his grandfather.
Regulus was looking at the ceiling again with the expression of a man who had followed the logic to its conclusion and found it both brilliant and deeply alarming.
"You're not just talking about protecting the children," Sirius said.
"I am always talking about protecting the children," Arcturus said. "I am also talking about not wasting an extraordinary confluence of circumstances." He folded his hands. "Now. The headship."
"I was going to—"
"You were going to take it eventually," Arcturus said. "Eventually has become immediately. I think you know this." He looked at Sirius with the expression he had worn at Blackwood — the one that gave nothing away but missed nothing. "However. I am not simply going to pass it to you."
Sirius looked at him. "What?"
"The headship of the House of Black is not a title you receive. It is a function you perform. There is a considerable difference." Arcturus looked at his hands briefly. "You need to be prepared for it. The Wizengamot, the family alliances, the political history of the house, the outstanding obligations and the dormant ones — these are not things you learn by being handed a ring and told good luck." He looked up. "I am prepared to give you three years."
"Three years," Sirius said.
"To prepare. To learn what you need to learn. To be ready." Arcturus paused. "During which time I will handle certain — preparatory matters."
Sirius looked at him. "What preparatory matters?"
Arcturus was quiet for a moment.
"The Wizengamot seat has not been exercised in years," he said. "Since before the war, in practice. The seat is maintained — the dues are paid; the position is held — but it has not been used." He paused again. "I intend to change that."
Sirius frowned. "You're going to attend Wizengamot."
"I am going to attend Wizengamot," Arcturus confirmed.
"You haven't attended in—"
"Years. Yes." Arcturus looked at them both with the expression of a man who had decided and found it satisfactory. "I have been — indisposed. Grieving, as the world was kind enough to assume. And ill, which I did not publicize." He straightened slightly. "I am less ill than I was. And I find that I have become—" He paused, considering the word.
"Bored?" Regulus said.
Arcturus looked at him.
"You are bored," Regulus said, with the flat certainty of someone who had been living near this man long enough to read him accurately. "You have been watching people mismanage things you built for years, and you have decided you have had enough of watching."
A silence.
"I have," Arcturus said, with great dignity, "a sudden and pressing interest in the current state of Wizengamot proceedings."
Sirius looked at Regulus.
Regulus looked at Sirius.
"He is going to walk into the Wizengamot chamber after years of absence," Sirius said, "and simply — sit there."
"And watch," Regulus said.
"And take notes," Sirius said.
"Without saying anything."
"Without doing anything."
"And the effect of that," Regulus said, "on everyone in that room who has been operating under the assumption that the House of Black is dormant and Arcturus is dying—"
"Will be," Sirius said.
They both looked at Arcturus.
Arcturus looked back at them with the expression of a man who was not smiling but was very close to it.
"Considerable," he said.