The Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Black.
A name that commands reverence, synonymous with power, prestige, and immeasurable wealth—far beyond even the richest and most influential wizarding families. The Blacks were once the most prominent, largest, oldest, and wealthiest pure-blood noble family in Great Britain, their lineage tracing back to the Middle Ages.
To hear their name was to invoke images of unrivaled magical prowess, extraordinary talent, and undeniable beauty. They were masters of the Dark Arts, feared and revered in equal measure. There was a time when their power rivaled even that of the Dark Lords themselves. In the wizarding world, they were not just aristocrats; they were practically royalty.
Yet royalty fades. The once-mighty House of Black has dwindled over the years, with fewer and fewer heirs to carry the name. The legacy that once inspired awe has begun to wither, leaving only echoes of its former glory.
Arcturus Black, the current head and paterfamilias of the House of Black, stood silently by the window of Blackwood Castle—the family's ancestral estate, passed down for generations. The moon cast a ghostly glow over the manicured gardens, painting a scene of breathtaking beauty. Yet, to Arcturus, the sight no longer brought peace. Once, he had found solace in these quiet moments; now, all he felt was the weight of a legacy slipping through his fingers
Arcturus Black was facing a crisis.
The Dark Lord—defeated by a mere infant. The political forces of the wizarding world rejoiced, hailing this moment as the dawn of a new era for the light. But Arcturus would never side with them, not while their figurehead was Albus Dumbledore. That man could smile all he wanted, could play the role of benevolent leader with his twinkling eyes—but Arcturus was no fool. He saw through the façade. Dumbledore was as cunning, as manipulative, and as powerful as any Dark Lord before him.
Yet, even Arcturus was furious with the state of the dark faction—the faction his family had belonged to for generations.
The Wizengamot was divided into three factions: the light, the dark, and the neutrals—the latter few in number, and dwindling further as the light grew stronger, absorbing defectors with empty promises of prosperity. The dark side, meanwhile, had suffered devastating losses—not just in politics but in bloodlines. Many families had perished in the war, their legacies snuffed out, while others crumbled from within, brought down (though many of his line would never admit it) through inbreeding of their cousins.
Now, only two heirs remained.
Sirius Black had turned his back on his heritage, siding with the light. Yet, despite the war's end, he was nowhere to be found. Arcturus knew the boy was a grown man now, but to him, Sirius would always be just that—a reckless, impulsive boy. Some claimed he was merely another casualty of war, yet no proof of his death could be found.
Regulus Black, on the other hand, was presumed dead. The Dark Lord himself had informed them that the younger heir had perished at the hands of Aurors. But his body was never recovered.
Two heirs—both vanished, one presumed dead and the other lost to fate.
If neither of them is alive, then it was over.
The Black family is already dwindling.
The remaining male members were aged and unlikely to produce heirs. While it was still technically possible, the notion of them taking younger wives to secure an heir would be nothing short of a scandal—not that such things hadn't happened before. Yet, even beyond societal propriety, most of them were in frail health, hardly fit to continue the bloodline.
The women of the family remained strong, but tradition bound them—patriarchy ensured that none could inherit the position unless one of them bore a son out of wedlock. And even then, the child would forever be marked as illegitimate.
Now, only three young Black women remained.
Andromeda had abandoned the family, choosing love over blood when she married a Muggle-born. Bellatrix had descended into madness, committing heinous crimes that led to her imprisonment in Azkaban. Narcissa had aligned herself with Lucius Malfoy, a man whose ambitions Arcturus knew all too well. She had borne a son—Draco—and in keeping with the Black legacy, had named him after the stars and constellations. Arcturus understood the calculated intent behind it. Malfoy was grasping for a place in the Black family's fortune. By ensuring Draco's name appeared in the Black family tree, he had made an audacious move, despite the fact that the boy did not bear the Black name.
But Arcturus would rather sever his own arm than watch the Black legacy dissolve into the Malfoy estate. If it came to that, then their proud, noble house—once the pinnacle of status, wealth, and power—would be nothing more than a fading memory, swallowed whole by another family.
Had fate cursed him to be the first paterfamilias to witness the downfall of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Black?