Walburga Black didn't talk to me for a few days after our initial conversation. She just watched me carefully from her dark corner every time I passed by her portrait.
And I ignored her.
On the third morning after we'd first talked she waylaid me on my way down to breakfast again. 'Phineas says that Sirius left you everything,' she said.
'Which Phineas?' I asked.
'Phineas Nigellus...'
'Yep.'
'Hmph. It should have gone to Bellatrix.'
'Bellatrix is dead.'
'I don't accept it,' Walburga said.
'She's definitely dead.'
'I meant that I don't accept that you've inherited the Ancient and Noble House of Black.'
'And what do you intend to do about it, seeing as you're also dead and just a bit of canvas and some dried up old oil paint and there's no one left of your line beyond Andromeda Tonks and Narcissa Malfoy and her son?'
She hissed at the mention of Andromeda. Or maybe the bit about being dead. I wasn't sure. 'The Malfoys then...'
I smiled sweetly, 'you do know that Narcissa and Draco have been declared heroes of the war? Because they both saved my life on separate occasions and rose up against the oppression of Voldemort's ways.' I couldn't help being delighted at being the bearer of that news.
She harrumphed, muttered, 'blood traitors', and left the frame again.
It was a day later that she said to me, without any preamble, 'I understand both my sons helped you in their own ways. I want to know more,' she paused, watching me intently.
Kreacher appeared very rapidly again. 'Master Regulus is being most brave and noble in helping to defeat the very bad man,' he interjected.
'Yeah, he was brave, incredibly brave, and incredibly clever,' I added quietly.
'So, you discovered what happened to my boy?'
'Yeah. Regulus worked out that Tom Riddle made a Horcrux from splitting his soul and he tracked down where it was hidden. Retrieving the Horcrux to destroy it was what killed him. Riddle's Dark Magic, that is, and his insistence of messing around with the dead and creating Inferius.'
'And you know where he died?' her voice was quiet, filled with genuine grief.
'Yes, off the south-west coast of Ireland. A place called the Cliffs of Moher. And you do have my sincere condolences. As Kreacher said, he died nobly.'
'He should have been interred properly in the Black crypt at Highgate cemetery. I was unable to mourn for him.'
'I can arrange for some kind of memorial. For Sirius too, though Sirius would probably hate the thought of it.'
She watched me beadily. 'There are no bodies for either of my sons.'
'No. But that doesn't mean we can't formally remember either of them for their heroic deeds.'
'You consider that Sirius was heroic?' she asked blandly.
By this point, Kreacher had moved to between me and portrait, looking distinctly like he might want to take Walburga Black on in a boxing match. I would have put my money on Kreacher.
'Yep,' I said stiffly. 'Incredibly so.'
'I see.'
'Master Sirius is dying defending our Ministry and the heart of our society from the treacherous Death-Eaters,' said Kreacher proudly.
I ignored how traitorous and foul Kreacher had been during those days, not that Sirius had helped his cause.
Instead, I said, 'did you hear that it was Bellatrix who killed your son? She laughed about it afterwards. Danced on the spot, shouting with glee that she'd killed Sirius Black. And that's who you wanted to inherit the Ancient and Noble House of Black. Doesn't seem like a very good example of your noble name...'
Walburga sneered but I wasn't sure if it was because of Sirius or Bellatrix or my little dig.
None of us spoke for a while until she said, 'I see you have the allegiance of my grouchy House-Elf.'
'These days, Kreacher is a model of excellence for all House-Elves. He fought bravely and valiantly in the Battle of Hogwarts. He led an army of House-Elves against the bastards who attacked a school full of innocent children.'
'Master Harry is most gracious,' said Kreacher with a small bow.
'The praise is deserved, Kreacher,' I replied with a genuine smile.
'Perhaps Master Harry would like me to prepare him some breakfast now. Kreacher was thinking of making pancakes this morning.'
'I'd be delighted, Kreacher. I'll come down to the kitchen in a tick.'
He disappeared off with a small 'crack' of apparition.
'Hmph!' huffed Walburga. 'He never cooked pancakes for breakfast in my day.'
'Because you didn't permit it or because he didn't like you?' I asked. 'He's bloody good at them, you know. Delicious with Nutella and fresh strawberries.'
She narrowed her eyes. 'I met your father once. I didn't like him. He had the same sort of quick cheek.'
I waited.
'I suspect he didn't like me either. I also suspect he had a more pragmatic reason than I did.' She looked away. 'I suspect I didn't do either of my boys well.'
I didn't know what to say. In fact, I was, at that particular time, beginning to think that I really needed a coffee and this was all too much for first thing on a Monday morning.
'You're a Half-blood...' she mused, watching me beadily again.
I looked at her sharply.
'But your father was a Pureblood. The Potters were always Purebloods, purer than most.'
'The Blacks included,' I said slyly. 'But so long as you kept burning away the names of Muggles and Squibs from the family tapestry, you can continue to pretend in your bullshit. Sirius told me all about it, how you considered the name "Black" akin to Muggle royalty.'
She scowled, though whether it was because I had called her out, compared her name to something Muggle, or because I swore, she didn't say.
'You remind me of him,' she sneered.
'Who?'
'Sirius. You have the same disrespectful need to answer back to your elders and an equally bad potty mouth.'
I rolled my eyes. 'Regarding my elders... most have let me down in one way or another, most have used me for their own means, for their versions of the "Greater Good". Many have tried to kill me. The first attempt on my life was when I was fifteen months old. And then I had seven years of feeling like every day was a game of Wizarding Chess combined with Exploding Snap. And that's before we get onto my darling relatives who "brought me up", using the loosest possible meaning of the phrase. You'll have to forgive my lack of trust and lack of kowtowing respect but it's been hammered out of me, mostly by those who you admire and consider superior, yet their behaviour consistently proves the worst of the lot. Besides, as you've not exactly behaved civilly towards me over the past six years, I'm withholding judgement. And as for my values, well, I've already explained that they are somewhat different to those of your Toujours Pur bollocks.'
'Hmmm,' she said, her lips drawn into a thin line.
'I'm going to eat my pancakes while they're still warm,' I said, unimpressed by the whole conversation though somewhat surprised that there had been no screeching or yelling involved.
I stood up and made to close the curtains.
'You can leave those open, young man,' she said.
I raised an eyebrow. 'Are you going to wail like a fucking banshee when I pass or when my friends visit?'
She stuck her nose in the air. 'I have matters to discuss with Phineas,' she said haughtily and disappeared out of view.
'Which Phineas?' I muttered quietly.
Somewhat perplexed, I left the curtains as they were and took myself off to the kitchen. I flicked on the little radio that I'd brought when I'd been out shopping for things for the house and filled the rooms with loud and upbeat music. Sometimes the radio was easier than vinyl and I liked hearing Lee Jordan over the soundwaves; he had continued his calling as a DJ.
I was decidedly unsure what to make of it the entire situation with Walburga Black. Perhaps I was in dire need of actual company but one thing was for certain – I'd been right when I said I didn't want to invite anyone over, the house was an embarrassment. Even Ron and Hermione had only been that once.
I decided to tackle the 'Drawing Room' next because it had the potential to be exquisite, even if I wasn't following my vow to work from the bottom-up in the house.
At lunchtime, after watching me make several trips up and down the stairs and out to the garden laden with shrunken furniture, curtains, and the carpet, she called out to me as I passed, 'Mr Potter, what, exactly, are you doing in my drawing room.'
'My Drawing Room. Making it habitable. I'd quite like to use it in the evenings if I have friends over and currently it's a doxy-infested, depressing shithole.'
Walburga narrowed her eyes. 'You need to do something about your language.'
'I need to do something about this house. When was the last time it was decorated?' I said.
'My grandfather...'
'We're probably two centuries on by now. No wonder the wallpaper is peeling off everywhere. It desperately needs updating. The so-called Drawing Room smells like something curled up in the corner and died in there.'
'What are you doing with the Black tapestry?'
'I haven't decided. But it's faded, grubby, and rotten. And it's riddled with doxy larvae and held together with dust. The whole thing is quite disgusting before we even get to the contents. Not exactly something to be proud of anymore. You know, all the soft furnishings need to be burnt to deal with the doxy infestation.'
'You could repair the tapestry,' she said coldly.
'Why?' I said.
Walburga narrowed her eyes. 'It's my family tree.'
'And how is that relevant to me? Or anyone for that matter. It's not like Andromeda is proud of her family and knocking down my door to know what I'm doing with Grimmauld Place.'
'Sirius left you his heritage to treasure.'
I actually laughed. 'Well, at least you admit it's mine now. Though Sirius was another one who wasn't exactly enamoured with his heritage, as you know. Perhaps I'll change the tapestry, make it about the Potter family that just shows my connection to Sirius as his godson and heir.'
Walburga actually blanched.
'I tell you what,' I said. 'I'll let you decide between two options: either I get rid of it completely or I change it to the House of Potter.'
'THIS IS THE HOUSE OF BLACK, YOU FILTHY HALF-BLOOD SCUM!'
I cast a strong Muffliato and drew the curtains across the portrait.
'I'll make the decision then,' I said calmly to the closed curtains before heading back up to the room to study the tapestry.
'Mr Potter,' she called ten days later after the Muffliato had faded. 'What has all that racket been about?'
'Are you going to call me names again?' I said to the closed curtains. 'You know, as the last talking representative of your family line, is this how you want the Ancient House of Black to be remembered and recorded in history? Do you want your honourable name to be degenerated to the lone and loud screeching of a bloody cruel and grasping harpy?'
There was a silence.
'Say it,' I said coldly, 'and I'll consider opening the curtains.'
'Apologies, I have behaved in a most undignified fashion unbefitting to my name,' she said in a meek voice.
'Yeah.' I drew back the curtains. 'I'm surprised you would let your apparently noble name be associated to such behaviour.'
She actually looked ashamed. Then looked at the hallway, stairs, and landing visible from her portrait and said, 'oh!'
I waited as she took in everything in detail. I had redecorated the entire stairwell and house entrance in her 'absence'; right from the kitchen in the basement up to the attic rooms. It had been one hell of a job but I'd challenged myself to complete it all non-verbally so Walburga Black wouldn't know what I was up to. The once dark and depressing area was now bright and clean and entirely restored to what once of been its former glory. The beautiful long narrow antique crystal chandelier that cascaded down between the floors sparkled from the white ceiling above because I'd used a temporary Stretching Jinx on myself to reach up and clean the entire thing, crystal by crystal. It was worth it. The woodwork was all snowy-white, apart from the French-polished mahogany finish on the stairs plates and banister. The carpet runner up the stairs and along the landing was the same fern-green tone as the walls and there were hunter-green accents picked out here and there. The masterpiece was the back wall of the stairs was covered from attic to basement with a carefully replicated, cleaned up and repaired image of the Black family tapestry merged with the Potter family tree. My research into the House of Potter uncovered that I wasn't the first Potter to be associated with the Black family and I found it entertaining to merge the two families using a book I'd found on Ancient Tapestries, renovating and updating them. The finished piece was much lighter that it had been in the sitting room and every family member was on it, good or bad. It looked like a fancy wallpaper and I was really pleased with the final effect.
'I hope you approve,' I said.
'Yes,' she said slowly, looking around. 'It's... beautiful... and with the greens... remarkable... the stairs have always been grand but this... this is reminiscent of the old days.'
'No need to sound quite so bloody surprised. Besides, the elf-heads and overdose of snake decorations everywhere were distinctly lacking in class and a bit disgusting. You'll notice that I've moved Phineas N.'s portrait to here so you can talk to him, when he returns.' I indicated to the currently empty picture. 'He's getting upset that you keep barging into his frame. I understand it goes quite beyond all portrait etiquette.'
'Oh,' she repeated when she realised there were a considerable number of Black portraits, the ones that I could stomach, that is. The collection included the portrait I'd commissioned of Sirius and Remus. And a portrait of Regulus was hanging beside his brother. There were tears in her eyes as she looked at her sons. I had hung some of the portraits over the names on the family tree that I wasn't particularly keen to look upon every day. It gave me a particular sense of satisfaction that Sirius and Remus were directly over Bellatrix Lestrange's (nee Black) name. I considered it petty revenge.
'My boys...' she said. 'Thank you. Though I'm not sure I approve that you've had Sirius painted with the werewolf. And is that a bloody Potter with a Mudblood on my walls,' she pointed to the new portrait of my mum and dad.
I got up and made to shut the curtains again and she pursed her lips, took a deep breath, and said 'apologies' very quietly. 'Please don't shut the curtains.'
I acquiesced and as I looked at her, I raised an eyebrow. She nodded once.
'My walls,' I reminded her. 'If you can prove to me that you can actually be quite civil, if not pleasant company, I might consider removing the curtains completely.'
I left her then, though when I glanced back, I saw that she was carefully studying the newly decorated hallway and stairs with something akin to awe written in her hard features.
***