After receiving my father's consent, Matthias led me down to an open area. The stone vaults gradually gave way to a spacious courtyard lined with rows of enclosures. The air here was different: sharp and saturated with the smell of feathers and, overall, the scent of animals, albeit magical ones, which didn't exactly make the smells pleasant to the nose.
"There he is," said Matthias. "A black male, seven years old. Despite his formidable appearance, he's quite calm. We call him Night."
I moved closer and felt his full presence for the first time. His black plumage shimmered like steel when he spread his wings. Amber eyes, sharp as blades, pierced me with a heavy gaze. It was something between a horse and a dragon. A true predator that only acknowledges an equal.
"The first rule," — a man in his forties, a trainer in a leather vest and boots, appeared beside me — "is the bow. You can't even approach him without bowing. A hippogriff respects those who respect it. You bow — and if he accepts it, meaning he doesn't open his beak, then you can approach. If not… better not to try."
I bowed. The hippogriff stared at me intently for a while, as if assessing me, and then bowed back to me just as slowly.
"Good," said the trainer, who, by the way, worked specifically with this individual. "He has acknowledged you. That means you can mount him. His pedigree is traceable six generations back, so I assure you, Night is a calm enough hippogriff. Don't be afraid."
"The weak feel fear, I'm just assessing the danger of the situation," I said tensely, weakly snapping back.
"My apologies," the hippogriff trainer said with a smile and returned to his express training. "So, for pedigreed hippogriffs, we keep records of the family tree: the strong produce even stronger offspring. This determines the power of the wings, endurance, and temperament. That's why we can predict whether a fledgling will have a turbulent disposition."
He pulled out a worn book with information about Night's ancestors: dates, achievements, previous owners. But right now, I was focused only on this huge black mixture of horse and eagle.
"Those like him, of course, we don't use for ingredients," he continued. "Pedigreed ones are for prestige. In their time, there were even tournaments: flights, hippogriff races, almost like Muggle horse races. Dozens of spectators, bets, prizes. That sport is almost extinct now — brooms have replaced them; they're easier and safer. But…" — Matthias chuckled, looking at Night — "nothing compares to the feeling of holding a hurricane beneath you."
I carefully climbed into the saddle. The hard leather felt unfamiliar under my hands. Night shook his wings slightly, as if testing my resolve. A flicker of excitement stirred inside me.
"Hold on tight," the trainer called out. "First, a circle over the platform. Then, if you like it, we'll go higher."
The hippogriff's claws dug into the ground, its wings spread wide, and the world around us froze for a second… Then it struck the air with such force that my chest tightened as if I'd hit a head-on hurricane. The ground rapidly fell away, and I felt — this wasn't just flight, it was the weight of freedom. A wild, untamed force carried me upward. A broom is a obedient tool. A hippogriff is a partner. It doesn't tolerate the weak, but if it accepts you… it carries you in a way that makes you feel as if wings are sprouting in your own chest.
The idea of my own wings stuck in my thoughts from that moment on. Free flight — that was the desire that settled within me as we soared higher and higher.
At first, I gripped the harness so hard my fingers turned white, but gradually my hold became calmer. Fear gave way to excitement. Night made a wide turn: the air whipped my face, my hair came loose from its style. Everything around seemed too small, and the sky — too close.
At that moment, I didn't even notice that Matthias himself, and even Night's trainer, accompanied me the entire flight on brooms and only fell behind during the dive due to the hippogriff's immense speed.
The descent seemed fast, but I felt a certain smoothness. It wasn't falling, but rather rolling in, like a wave onto the shore. Its claws scraped softly against the stone slab of the platform, and Night stood still, barely swaying. I dismounted; my legs trembled slightly, not from fear, but from exhilaration. At least, that's what I'll tell everyone.
Father was already waiting at the foot of the tower. Behind him, in a distant enclosure, several hippogriffs were frolicking, running, and spreading their wings in the sunset light. The sky burned with copper and gold, turning everything around into a living painting. The atmosphere was truly amazing, but even such days must end. Perhaps in a year or two I'll repeat this experience.
"You handled it," Lucius said simply, but his gaze was attentive and appraising. It was as if he saw not the flight itself, but what I had gained from it.
I smiled:
"Thank you, Father. The day turned out to be… truly interesting."
He gave a slight nod, his gaze lingering on the flock.
"That is precisely what I wanted to show you. I mean, you saw all aspects of hippogriff breeding. Honestly, as a child, I flew once too, but it didn't fill me with delight."
"Father, I appreciate you deciding to involve me in the family affairs. I would be interested to sometimes visit our family's various enterprises with you. After today, much has become clearer. Our lands, our creatures, our business — this is also power. The family rests not only on its name, but also on our ability to manage what we have."
Lucius held my gaze, and I caught a rare spark of satisfaction in his eyes. He rarely showed emotion, but now I saw — he was pleased. Pleased that his son perceived all this not as a game, but as a lesson.
"That is precisely what I wanted to hear from you, son."
I didn't elaborate — the meaning was obvious. We stood in silence for a few more minutes, watching the hippogriffs beating their wings in the common enclosure area. Then Father turned towards the tower.
"Time to go home. There's still much to do, and Narcissa is probably already worried," he said.
I grabbed his arm. The world lurched, and after a brief, nauseating sensation of the Side-Along Apparition — a jerk through space — we were home. I hate Side-Along Apparition, it always makes me sick. I hope to master Apparition soon; I really don't want to remain without the primary means of magical transport until my later years.
***
"True power is not wealth, not strength, and not fear. It is the memory of the lineage, carried by the descendants. To erase it is to destroy the foundation upon which the family name stands. To multiply it is to ensure the immortality of the name."
— Aratrad Malfoy, 15th century.
I slowly closed the book with the gilded edge, running my fingers over the embossed cover. Every line in it breathed with the harsh confidence of someone who had lived his life in an era when the family name meant far more than the individual. The ancestor's words seemed to vibrate inside my skull, settling with a heavy resonance. I was sorry to put the volume aside, but another matter awaited me — no less important.
I stood up, and the soft light from the narrow windows painted sharp stripes of light and shadow on the floor. The corridor seemed longer than usual: my footsteps echoed loudly, the walls looked stern and cold. I was heading to the ritual room, to the place where blood, name, and magic intertwine. For most, rituals are scary, distant, semi-forbidden knowledge, but for me, since winter, it's a new hobby, one I can only partially access for now.
That said, every three weeks, precisely on a Monday, I perform a cleansing ritual. So, the desire to engage in this partly bloody branch of magical science is, partially, being satisfied. For me, one way or another, it is an integral part of my heritage. To be both a Malfoy and a Black — it's not enough to just bear the surnames. And now I will explain why.
Thoughts of Grandmother Walburga's will came to me on their own, as always in such moments. The weight of her will was felt everywhere, even years after her death. She had foreseen everything. So thoroughly that it seemed she knew in advance that without her instructions, everything could go down the drain.
Essentially, there were two wills. The first — official. In it, she named me the heir to all Black property. She literally secured the rights to the property, accounts, and enterprises. However, my name wasn't specified everywhere; it was simply the closest living and free wizard with Black blood.
The titles and, in general, becoming the heir, besides the will, were automatically secured by traditions and laws: the senior branch, direct bloodline. I was the closest living and free Black. Even if someone wanted to contest my right — attempts would shatter against traditions, laws, walls of documents, copies, and seals. But it wasn't for no reason that Grandmother didn't mention me specifically everywhere. She left a small window for her son.
The second will was a personal one, but more on that later. For now, I'll talk about the official will. Copies of Walburga's will were stored in five places — and each copy was confirmed by blood, magic, and signature.
The first — in the Ministry, in the Department of Noble Family Affairs, an office reporting directly to the Wizengamot.
The second — with Kikimora, the family's last house-elf, who delivered the will to us.
The third — in Gringotts, with the personal goblin solicitor tasked with managing the family's accounts and assets.
And two more — with two lawyers who had handled the family's affairs for decades, lawyers bound head to toe by oaths sworn a generation ago.
Seals, signatures, oaths, blood, and the Black family signet ring — all this made Walburga's will unassailable. Even the most cunning schemer couldn't contest such an ironclad web of protection. However, in all this, Walburga herself left a huge flaw.
I stopped at the door to the ritual room, but before entering, I allowed myself to linger on my thoughts. Everything concerning Grandmother Walburga's will always seemed to me like something more than just scrolls with seals and magical oaths. Her cunning will intertwined family pride, cold calculation, and some strange, spicy note of personal feeling for her family. I don't know what was going on in her head, but I'd be scared to be her contemporary.
Regarding the two lawyers, I'll explain that the magical world also has a need for legal assistance. Lawyers handling the affairs of a family line is quite normal practice. Almost every old house has accumulated dozens of legal knots over the centuries: deals, leases, shares in trading houses, debts, contracts with vassals. All this grew into entire businesses requiring professional management. Only families that had become impoverished and lost their standing, like the Weasleys, managed without it. And not because they didn't want to, but because they couldn't afford it.
I remembered them as an example of a fall from grace. Once, the Weasleys were among the Twenty-Eight Sacred Families; they had lands, titles, influential connections. But Septimus Weasley, with his act — which is unpleasant even to mention — turned them from respected figures into blood traitors.
The noble and influential families, through laws and traditions, stripped them of everything: holdings, gold, status. And on top of that, a family curse that has followed them for generations. This curse wasn't lifted, didn't weaken, but only gnawed at the family from within. To live to an old age, every Weasley had to repeatedly undergo special rituals, the components of which cost a pretty penny. And drink expensive potions. All this cost more than their work brought in.
That's why Arthur Weasley, even now being the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, could barely make ends meet. In theory, the position is highly paid, with a salary even higher than that of senior Aurors. And even regular Aurors earned quite well… well, compared to ordinary Ministry clerks. But in reality — perpetual poverty and patched robes. Now all this was perfectly clear to me.
Returning to the will: for it to come into force and be recognized as legal, at least two copies of the will had to be presented. Only then would the matter be brought before the Wizengamot via the mentioned department. At a Wizengamot session, I would be officially declared the Head of the House, but for now, I was recognized as the Heir — and only the Heir. According to British law, one can only become Head of a House after turning fourteen.
The conditions Walburga left in the official part didn't seem burdensome. A few traditional oaths upon accepting the leadership, and a couple of light conditions for safety. All this was done to emphasize: I am the direct and sole heir, and to prevent anyone from trying to obtain the entire Black family wealth through loopholes. But here lay the problem, as I already mentioned: Walburga herself left a huge hole in the will, and on purpose. That is, she secured every aspect, but if Sirius were somehow released, he, as the eldest son, would supersede me and receive everything that currently rightfully belongs to me.
I had no doubt that Grandmother loved me and had high hopes for me. But she was afraid that one day Lucius, through me, would absorb the entire Black inheritance and dissolve it into the Malfoy holdings, which I half am. A child's words couldn't convince the Iron Lady on her deathbed, but she had no other choice; yet she also left room for a sliver of hope, to pass everything to her son, and that's why she left a window.
In case of a "miracle," if I hadn't taken the full inheritance by that point and Sirius was freed, the will would favor Sirius. This was her compromise between calculation and maternal attachment.
But the irony was that she had forgotten Sirius himself. In my mind stood the image of Dumbledore's loyal dog, the man who, in the canon, turned the Black house into the Order's headquarters, letting all sorts of riff-raff inside. I remembered how "friends" conducted clean-ups, throwing out old "dark and nasty objects," and how some, like that slug — Mundungus — even stole valuables right from the house. This memory made everything inside me boil. And I understood: as soon as I turn fourteen, I must secure the title for myself, thereby gaining all the accounts, titles, and holdings of the Black family. Once I become the Head of the House, I will also gain access to the Black family's personal accounts. If I delay, I risk losing what I already consider mine.
Even if Dumbledore isn't a villain in this world, he is still a politician who might see a convenient loophole and, with a couple of moves, not only recover a piece but turn a pawn into a rook or a bishop. I'm talking about Sirius, in case it wasn't clear. According to my meta-knowledge, he escaped, but here everything could turn out differently. The butterfly effect.
In the personal will, she insisted: I must visit Black House to report to her living portrait. It is there, in her portrait, that an imprint of her personality, wisdom, and perhaps madness, is preserved. Every visit had to be accompanied by a ritual, and each year — a new step. The rituals were scheduled by age, time, and conditions. They couldn't be entrusted to outsiders, even hired ritualists under oath. Some steps I had to perform myself, others — with the help of my mother or Kikimora. And each ritual would ultimately help me, making me stronger both magically and physically.
That is why I had to visit Black House; there, Kikimora would give me everything needed for the ritual each time, including the ritual instructions themselves, which couldn't be performed without knowledge from the Black family library.
The personal letter also mentioned a special item I was to receive directly from Walburga's portrait. What it was remained a mystery. But I knew one thing: if Grandmother took such meticulous care of it, it must be truly important.
Why did I remember all this just now? Because recently, Mother gave me that very personal will. She had kept it until the right time, and now I held it in my hands.
I placed my palm on the cold copper door handle and took a deep breath. Ahead of me awaited the second serious ritual of my life, which needed to be performed today. Last time, it ended with the merging of two souls; this time, I hope nothing like that happens.