a/n: wow! i updated! And it's super long (like over 4,000 words!).
unedited. published 1/14/17
"I don't know what Harry's so grumpy about," is what Darcy retorted when Ginny had felt incredibly "bad" for said boy.
In one way, some could say Darcy Black was jealous. Though, she would say she's just grumpy that Harry got his questions answered, meanwhile she's trying to do the quadratic formula as to why she couldn't know about the Order.
Secrecy was one that Darcy had a long-term hate for. And maybe, during the summer, she suspected that her aunt and her boyfriend were sneaking off to some form of group, to help with fighting Voldemort. (That, and there was the sneaking suspicion that Ophelia and Remus were having a little alone time. Though, Darcy saw them sucking face even at home).
Then, there was her father, Sirius Black, not paying a considerable amount of attention to her. This...this got to Darcy in a spiraling and heated anger that needed to be diffused by letting it out. But, she couldn't without waking the entire house up.
It was the morning after. Darcy was up the earliest, still not ridden with her anger.
"Hello dear," said Mrs. Weasley, her voice surprised to see one of the kids up. "Would you mind waking up the others? Got a long, long day ahead of us!"
Darcy was groggy, but did as she asked. She slowly walked up the stairs, catching a sight of the old elf that was hanging around the first tier.
"Morning," she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. She got distracted, watching Kreacher stow away some ugly tarp. "What do you have there, ugly?"
The elf glanced up, his eyes wide. "Grimy half blood," he said. "Watching, talking and staring at Kreacher so oddly. Mistress would not want me to talk to her..."
Shrugging, unfazed by the elf's talk, Darcy glanced up at the stairways. Already, she heard the voice of George loudly waking up others.
"You got them up?" called Darcy, her eyes squinting.
"Yeah!" two unison voices replied.
Taking that as the OK to leave, Darcy headed back down to the kitchens. She heard the bombarding footsteps later, and soon enough, the group had towels wrapped around their faces. Though, after spraying Doxycide, Darcy quit and retired to a rusty armchair. (Plus, there was the short "morning" that Sirius and she shared before he went off again, leaving Darcy feeling her chest boil.)
"That was horrific," coughed Darcy, her hand waving in front of her face.
"I think we'll tackle those after lunch."
Mrs. Weasley pointed at the dusty glass-fronted cabinets standing on either side of the mantelpiece. They were crammed with an odd assortment of objects: a selection of rusty daggers, claws, a coiled snakeskin, a number of tarnished silver boxes inscribed with languages that could not be understood and, least pleasant of all, an ornate crystal bottle with a large opal set into the stopper, full of what was most likely blood.
The clanging doorbell rang again. Everyone looked at Mrs. Weasley.
"Stay here," she said firmly, snatching up the bag of rats as Mrs. Blacks screeches started up again from down below. "I'll bring up some sandwiches."
She left the room, closing the door carefully behind her. At once, everyone dashed over to the window to look down onto the doorstep. They could see the top of an unkempt gingery head and a stack of precariously balanced cauldrons.
"Mundungus!" said Hermione. "What's he brought all those cauldrons for?"
"Probably looking for a safe place to keep them," said Harry. "Isn't that what he was doing the night he was supposed to be tailing me? Picking up dodgy cauldrons?"
"Yeah, you're right!" said Fred, as the front door opened; Mundungus heaved his cauldrons through it and disappeared from view. "Blimey, Mum won't like that. . . ."
He, George, and Darcy crossed to the door and stood beside it, listening intently. Mrs. Black's screaming had stopped again.
"Mundungus is talking to Sirius and Kingsley and—and—Jani?" Fred muttered, frowning with concentration. "Can't hear properly . . . d'you reckon we can risk the Extendable Ears?"
"Might be worth it," said George. "I could sneak upstairs and get a pair —"
"Or my legilimency," added in Darcy, her eyes closing with— "Damn, never mind, they're blocking me out..."
But at that precise moment there was an explosion of sound from downstairs that rendered Extendable Ears quite unnecessary. All of them could hear exactly what Mrs. Weasley was shouting at the top of her voice.
"WE ARE NOT RUNNING A HIDEOUT FOR STOLEN GOODS!"
"I love hearing Mum shouting at someone else," said Fred, with a satisfied smile on his face as he opened the door an inch or so to allow Mrs. Weasley's voice to permeate the room better. "It makes such a nice change."
"— COMPLETELY IRRESPONSIBLE, AS IF WE HAVEN'T GOT ENOUGH TO WORRY ABOUT WITHOUT YOU DRAGGING STOLEN CAULDRONS INTO THE HOUSE —"
"The idiots are letting her get into her stride," said George, shaking his head. "You've got to head her off early, otherwise she builds up a head of steam and goes on for hours. And she's been dying to have a go at Mundungus ever since he sneaked off when he was supposed to be following you, Harry — and there goes Sirius's mum again —"
Mrs. Weasley's voice was lost amid fresh shrieks and screams from the portraits in the hall. George made to shut the door to drown the noise, but before he could do so, a house-elf edged into the room. Except for the filthy rag tied like a loincloth around its middle, it was completely naked. It looked very old. Its skin seemed to be several times too big for it and though it was bald like all house-elves, there was a quantity of white hair growing out of its large, batlike ears. Its eyes were a bloodshot and watery gray, and its fleshy nose was large and rather snoutlike.
The elf took absolutely no notice of the group. Acting as though it could not see them, it shuffled hunchbacked, slowly and doggedly, toward the far end of the room, muttering under its breath all the while in a hoarse, deep voice like a bullfrog's, ". . . Smells like a drain and a criminal to boot, but she's no better, nasty old blood traitor with her brats messing up my Mistress's house, oh my poor Mistress, if she knew, if she knew the scum they've let in her house, what would she say to old Kreacher, oh the shame of it, Mudbloods, scums of her flesh, and werewolves and traitors and thieves, poor old Kreacher, what can he do. . . ."
"Hello, Kreacher," said Fred very loudly, closing the door with a snap.
The house-elf froze in his tracks, stopped muttering, and then gave a very pronounced and very unconvincing start of surprise.
"Kreacher did not see Young Master," he said, turning around and bowing to Fred. Still facing the carpet, he added, perfectly audibly, "Nasty little brat of a blood traitor it is."
"Sorry?" said George.
"Didn't catch that last bit."
"Kreacher said nothing," said the elf, with a second bow to George, adding in a clear undertone, "and there's its twin, unnatural little beasts they are."
Darcy stared oddly at the elf. Was he trying to be funny?
The elf straightened up, eyeing them all very malevolently, and apparently convinced that they could not hear him as he continued to mutter. ". . . and there's the Mudblood, standing there bold as brass, oh if my Mistress knew, oh how she'd cry, and there's a new boy next to the filthy Black—the horrid relation, Kreacher doesn't know his name, what is he doing here, Kreacher doesn't know . . ."
"This is Harry, Kreacher," said Hermione tentatively. "Harry Potter."
Kreacher's pale eyes widened and he muttered faster and more furiously than ever. "The Mudblood is talking to Kreacher as though she is my friend, if Kreacher's Mistress saw him in such company, oh what would she say —"
"Don't call her a Mudblood!" said Ron and Ginny together, very angrily.
"It doesn't matter," Hermione whispered, "he's not in his right mind, he doesn't know what he's —"
"Don't be so naïve," spat Darcy, her eyes glaring at the small elf.
"Don't kid yourself, Hermione, he knows exactly what he's saying," said Fred, eyeing Kreacher with great dislike.
Kreacher was still muttering, his eyes on Harry. "Is it true? Is it Harry Potter? Kreacher can see the scar, it must be true, that's that boy who stopped the Dark Lord, Kreacher wonders how he did it —"
"Don't we all, Kreacher?" said Fred.
"What do you want anyway?" George asked.
Kreacher's huge eyes darted onto George.
"Kreacher is cleaning," he said evasively.
"A likely story," said a voice behind the group.
Sirius had come back; he was glowering at the elf from the doorway. The noise in the hall had abated; perhaps Mrs. Weasley and Mundungus had moved their argument down into the kitchen. At the sight of Sirius, Kreacher flung himself into a ridiculously low bow that flattened his snout like nose on the floor.
"Stand up straight," said Sirius impatiently. "Now, what are you up to?"
"Kreacher is cleaning," the elf repeated. "Kreacher lives to serve the noble house of Black —"
"— and it's getting blacker every day, it's filthy," said Sirius.
"Master always liked his little joke," said Kreacher, bowing again, and continuing in an undertone, "Master was a nasty ungrateful swine who married filth and broke his mother's heart —"
"My mother didn't have a heart, Kreacher," Sirius snapped. "She kept herself alive out of pure spite."
Kreacher bowed again and said, "Whatever Master says," then muttered furiously, "Master is not fit to wipe slime from his mother's boots, oh my poor Mistress, what would she say if she saw Kreacher serving him, how she hated him, what a disappointment he was —"
"I asked you what you were up to," said Sirius coldly. "Every time you show up pretending to be cleaning, you sneak something off to your room so we can't throw it out."
"Kreacher would never move anything from its proper place in Master's house," said the elf, then muttered very fast, "Mistress would never forgive Kreacher if the tapestry was thrown out, seven centuries it's been in the family, Kreacher must save it, Kreacher will not let Master and the blood traitors and the brats destroy it —"
"I thought it might be that," said Sirius, casting a disdainful look at the opposite wall. "She'll have put another Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of it, I don't doubt, but if I can get rid of it I certainly will. Now go away, Kreacher."
It seemed that Kreacher did not dare disobey a direct order; nevertheless, the look he gave Sirius as he shuffled out past him was redolent of deepest loathing and he muttered all the way out of the room. "— comes back from Azkaban ordering Kreacher around, oh my poor Mistress, what would she say if she saw the house now, scum living in it, her treasures thrown out, she swore he was no son of hers and he's back, they say he's a murderer too —"
"Keep muttering and I will be a murderer!" said Sirius irritably, and he slammed the door shut on the elf.
"Sirius, he's not right in the head," said Hermione pleadingly, "I don't think he realizes we can hear him."
"He's been alone too long," said Sirius, "taking mad orders from my mother's portrait and talking to himself, but he was always a foul little —"
"If you just set him free," said Hermione hopefully, "maybe —"
"We can't set him free, he knows too much about the Order," said Sirius curtly. "And anyway, the shock would kill him. You suggest to him that he leaves this house, see how he takes it."
Sirius walked across the room, where the tapestry Kreacher had been trying to protect hung the length of the wall. Harry and the others followed.
The tapestry looked immensely old; it was faded and looked as though doxies had gnawed it in places; nevertheless, the golden thread with which it was embroidered still glinted brightly enough to show them a sprawling family tree dating back the Middle Ages. Large words at the very top of the tapestry read:
The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
"Toujours Pur"
"Huh," said Darcy. "This is our family?"
Sirius smiled grimly at her. "Quite a bunch, aren't we?"
"Where's Philly—?"
"They're not on here!" said Harry, after scanning the bottom of the tree.
"We used to be there," said Sirius, pointing at a small, round, charred hole in the tapestry, rather like a cigarette burn. "My sweet old mother blasted me off and her loving father tore it off to bits after we ran away from home— Kreacher's quite fond of muttering the story under his breath."
"You both ran away from home?"
"When we were sixteen," said Sirius. "I'd had enough."
"Where did you go?" asked Harry, staring at him.
"Your dad's place," said a light voice. Ophelia had entered the room, her hair the shade of lavender.
Sirius seemed relieved that he wasn't alone and brought his sister to a hug.
"Your grandparents were really good about it; they sort of adopted us like their own," continued Sirius. "Yeah, we camped out at your dad's during the school holidays, and then when I was seventeen I got a place of my own, my Uncle Alphard had left me a decent bit of gold — he's been wiped off here too, that's probably why — anyway, after that I looked after myself. I was always welcome at Mr. and Mrs. Potter's for Sunday lunch, though."
"Then I had to be a spy," said Ophelia, her hands clamped around Sirius's. "I left everyone behind. Everyone knew why, it was a very hard decision to do..."
"But . . . why did you . . .?"
"Leave?" Sirius smiled bitterly and ran a hand through his long, unkempt hair. "Because I hated the whole lot of them: my parents, with their pure-blood mania, convinced that to be a Black made you practically royal. They did unspeakable things to Ophelia because she was only half the Black . . . our idiot brother, soft enough to believe them . . . that's him." Sirius jabbed a finger at the very bottom of the tree, at the name Regulus Black. A date of death (some fifteen years previously) followed the date of birth.
"He was younger than me," said Sirius, "and a much better son, as I was constantly reminded."
"But he died," said Harry.
"Yeah," said Sirius. "Stupid idiot . . . he joined the Death Eaters."
Ophelia met her eyes with Darcy and pursued her lips. She shook her head.
"You're kidding!"
"Come on, Harry, haven't you seen enough of this house to tell what kind of wizards my family were?" said Sirius testily.
"Were — were your parents Death Eaters as well?"
"No, no, but believe me, they thought Voldemort had the right idea, they were all for the purification of the Wizarding race, getting rid of Muggle-borns and having purebloods in charge. They weren't alone either, there were quite a few people, before Voldemort showed his true colors, who thought he had the right idea about things. . .They got cold feet when they saw what he was prepared to do to get power, though. But I bet my parents thought Regulus was a right little hero for joining up at first."
"Was he killed by an Auror?" Harry asked tentatively.
"Oh no," said Ophelia said softly. "No, he was murdered by Voldemort. Or on Voldemort's orders, more likely...
"I doubt Regulus was ever important enough to be killed by Voldemort in person," Sirius interjected. "From what I found out after he died, he got in so far, then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out. Well, you don't just hand in your resignation to Voldemort. It's a lifetime of service or death."
"Lunch," said Mrs. Weasley's voice.
She was holding her wand high in front of her, balancing a huge tray loaded with sandwiches and cake on its tip. She was very red in the face and still looked angry. The others moved over to her, eager for some food, but Darcy and Harry remained with Sirius and Ophelia, who had bent closer to the tapestry.
"Look," chuckled Ophelia. She pointed to a torn piece of fabric that looked like a Doxy had chewed it. "That's me. Orion did that when I revealed I was a metamorphagus. He and Walburga lost it. That was the day they said I wasn't even pureblood—not that I cared."
"You're not?" said Harry. He'd thought that Sirius's father wouldn't associate himself with a half-blood.
Ophelia shook her head.
"No...to have an ability—seer, or metamorphagus—it meant that you weren't full wizard or something. Which is really not true, but who would know? That was just Orion and Walburga being nasty..."
"We haven't looked at this for years. There's Phineas Nigellus . . . my great-great-grandfather, see? Least popular headmaster Hogwarts ever had . . . and Araminta Meliflua . . . cousin of my mother's . . . tried to force through a Ministry Bill to make Muggle-hunting legal . . . and dear Aunt Elladora . . . she started the family tradition of beheading house-elves when they got too old to carry tea trays . . . of course, anytime the family produced someone halfway decent they were disowned. I see Tonks isn't on here. Maybe that's why Kreacher won't take orders from her — he's supposed to do whatever anyone in the family asks him. . ."
"You both are related to Tonks?" Harry asked, surprised.
"Oh yeah, her mother, Andromeda, was my favorite cousin," said Sirius, examining the tapestry carefully. "No, Andromeda's not on here either, look —" He pointed to another small round burn mark between two names, Bellatrix and Narcissa. "Andromeda's sisters are still here because they made lovely, respectable pure-blood marriages, but Andromeda married a Muggleborn, Ted Tonks, so —" Sirius mimed blasting the tapestry with a wand and laughed sourly.
Harry, however, did not laugh; he was too busy staring at the names to the right of Andromeda's burn mark. A double line of gold embroidery linked Narcissa Black with Lucius Malfoy, and a single vertical gold line from their names led to the name Draco.
"You're related to the Malfoys!"
"The pure-blood families are all interrelated," said Sirius. "If you're only going to let your sons and daughters marry purebloods your choice is very limited, there are hardly any of us left. Molly and I are cousins by marriage and Arthur's something like my second cousin once removed. But there's no point looking for them on here — if ever a family was a bunch of blood traitors it's the Weasleys."
"What about your mom?" said Darcy to Ophelia. Then to Sirius. "And mine?"
Sirius stared surprised at his daughter.
Ophelia smiled lightly.
"Well, my mom was a Fawley," she said. "Turned out she was a half-blood illegitimate child too. She was quite the lady, I suppose. Orion told me that she only had an affair with him to spite him, but I guess I've got relatives...Pureblood Fawley's, I think."
"No way!" said Darcy excitedly. "So—your related to Gemma Fawley? And—and what about Anna-Marie? My mom? Did she have relatives?"
She was so eager to know. This was the first-time Sirius had so much as said anything to her about her family. She couldn't help but release every negative thing into midair.
"Anna..." said Sirius whimsically. "She was the lady..."
Ophelia laughed, her shoulder bumping with her brother. "I wouldn't know, I wasn't there."
"We were nineteen," said Sirius. "She was a waitress at this twenty-four-hour diner, and I guess you could say it was love at first sight..."
From the corner of Darcy's eyes, she saw Harry was now looking at the name to the left of Andromeda's burn: Bellatrix Black, which was connected by a double line to Rodolphus Lestrange. "Lestrange . . ." Harry said aloud. The name had stirred something in his memory; he knew it from somewhere, but for a moment he couldn't think where, though it gave him an odd, creeping sensation in the pit of his stomach.
"They're in Azkaban," said Sirius shortly. It seemed that he was not fit to even talk about Anna-Marie at the mention of "Lestrange." Darcy, although she didn't show it, was annoyed. "Bellatrix and her husband Rodolphus came in with Barty Crouch, Junior," said Sirius in the same brusque voice. "Rodolphus's brother, Rabastan, was with them too."
"You never said she was your —"
"Does it matter if she's my cousin?" snapped Sirius. "As far as I'm concerned, they're not my family. She's certainly not my family. I haven't seen her since I was your age, unless you count a glimpse of her coming in to Azkaban. D'you think I'm proud of having relatives like her?"
"Sorry," said Harry quickly, "I didn't mean — I was just surprised, that's all —"
"It doesn't matter, don't apologize," Sirius mumbled at once. He turned away from the tapestry, his hands deep in his pockets. "I don't like being back here," he said, staring across the drawing room. "I never thought I'd be stuck in this house again."
Darcy's attention was pulled away from Ophelia's hand pressed tentatively on her shoulder.
"Would you mind coming with me?" said her aunt, and glanced worryingly at Sirius. She pointed upstairs. "I need to talk to you personally."
The two had made their way up to a foreign tier, where a door with the letters, R.A.B. were inscribed to it. Ophelia had opened the door, and inside was a dusty-filled tidy room. Muttering, Scourgify, the room had cleared up in an instant.
Darcy took interest in the posters and news clippings around the room's walls. There were bold letters of the Dark Lords rising, and even a few posters of a wizard band she did not know of.
"This was my younger brothers room," said Ophelia, closing the door behind them. "Regulus."
Confused as to why Darcy was in this room, she stared emptily. She heard what Sirius had said about his brother, how he was a Death Eater.
"Why'd you bring me here?" Darcy asked, flipping a few pages in a journal.
Ophelia aimlessly wandered the place, her eyes searching every corner quickly.
"I was with him the day before he died," she whispered. "The day Reg died, was the day before the Potter's were killed by Voldemort..."
Her aunt turned towards Darcy, a singular tear on her cheek.
"I don't think words are able to explain this, Darcy," Ophelia said carefully. "The memory is sorted out in here—" she pointed to her head, "—so you can see it."
Shell shocked, Darcy stared at her aunt with wide eyes. Is Ophelia being serious?
"You're asking me to go into your mind?" Darcy blurted, gob-smacked.
Ophelia nodded, her eyes grave. "What Sirius said about Reg...it's not entirely true—it's just," she sighed, "he was a Death Eater, and he did think like his parents, but there was more to it."
She stared at Darcy, beckoning her.
"Go ahead, Darce."
Slowly and carefully, Darcy had stared at Ophelia's eyes, and was bombarded with a full courtroom. There were four people...there was Bellatrix Lestrange, her husband, brother-in-laww, and Barty Crouch Junior. They were convicted...convicted of performing the Cruciatus Curse on Frank and Alice Longbottom—Bellatrix furthermore convicted of killing a muggle...Killing Darcy's mom...
Then, in a swirl so fast, Darcy was seeing a youthful Ophelia a year after the fall of Voldemort and merely a day before the court jurisdiction, carrying a baby, and trying her best to shield off curses and hexes from Bellatrix. It was then, that the body of Anna-Marie was seen at the foot of Bellatrix, who was cackling. There were taunts, sneers that the witch was throwing at Ophelia.
At one affront, Ophelia had faltered and this left an open spot for an experimental curse to hit the baby and silent it's cries. In a flurry of anger, Ophelia had casted the Impediment Charm, and the Cruciatus Curse, bringing down Bellatrix at the few moments before five Aurors came to disarm them.
Another memory was being thrown at Darcy this time. Ophelia and Dumbledore were having tea at a muggle café, and she was warning him of Voldemort's plans to kill the Potter's. Then it was Regulus Black, his handsome features contorted into one of pure fear. He was saying to Ophelia...telling her to get out as fast as she could. Saying they need to destroy him. The next memory, Regulus was proclaimed dead among the Death Eaters as a traitor—where Peter Pettigrew had first confronted Ophelia, approaching her like a friend...
Ophelia was becoming restless in her spy-work. She disapparated, leaving to Sirius's house with Anna-Marie late at night that same day. This was the day of the Potter's death, by mere hours. Ophelia was telling him she's leaving and was about to tell him Regulus's innocence, but never got the chance...there were more important matters at hand.
Anna-Marie was standing next to Sirius, their child held in her arms. Her voice was like angels...She was taken into hiding on October thirtieth with the Longbottoms. Sirius was fit to fight...ready to confront Remus Lupin as the leak, but was soon convinced that Peter Pettigrew was the traitor.
They went to Peter's house, Sirius barged the door down...no one was home. There was fear. Peter had figured that Ophelia was a spy...Though, how could he have known? Only James, Sirius, and Dumbledore were aware of her departure to join the Dark Lord as a spy. They made the Unbreakable Vow...Peter had followed Ophelia to Sirius's house....
Later the day, October thirty-first of 1981—Ophelia's mission failed, on Halloween, Sirius and Ophelia Black were too late. Peter Pettigrew had cheated them out. James was laid out on the floor, dead and lifeless. Ophelia had cried, caressed the body with such care—and sadness...If she'd known Peter was the leak...if she wasn't so hung up on her brother's nearly impossible task to defeat Voldemort. She would've noticed...much longer before...
Darcy had pulled out—seen enough death for her to even count. She looked around Regulus's room, seeing the posters of such hate crimes...feeling oddly enlightened...
"He was a good man," said Ophelia, her eyes watery. "I'm so sorry, Darcy."
"She was beautiful," Darcy said. "I look like her."
"You do."
"Do I remind dad of her?"
"Every day."
"Is that why he won't talk to me so much? Why he always talks to Harry instead of me?"
Ophelia stayed silent, realizing that Darcy's tone was oddly angry.
"/TX�l�]