( 𝔳𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔦𝔦, 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞-𝖙𝖜𝖔 ) — noble and most ancient house of black

''Sorry for the wait, I was feeding Buckbeak. I keep him upstairs in my mother's bedroom. Anyway, Molly asked me to take a look at this writing desk.''

Evangeline rose from the leather settee she previously occupied, nodding to the slightly shaking locked cabinet.

''It is a Boggart,'' she told the Black man. ''At least, I think it is.''

''Perhaps we ought to let Mad-Eye have a shifty at it before we let it out — knowing my mother it could be something much worse.''

A loud clanging bell sounded from downstairs, followed at once by the cacophony of screams and wails.

''I keep telling them not to ring the doorbell!'' Sirius exclaimed exasperatedly, hurrying out of the room. He thundered down the stairs as Walburga Black's screeches echoed through the house,

''Stains of dishonour, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children of filth . . . ''

He had returned within a couple minutes, out of breath, only to find Evangeline and Kreacher in what seemed to be a staring contest, when in reality the miserly house-elf was trying to decipher where the pure-bloods loyalties lied.

''What do you want, Kreacher?''

''Kreacher is cleaning,'' he said evasively, his large eyes darting from the witch.

''A likely story,'' he muttered, glowering at the house-elf. Kreacher flung himself into a ridiculously low bow that flattened his snout-like nose on the floor. ''Stand up straight. Now, what are you up to?''

''Kreacher is cleaning. Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black—''

''It's getting blacker everyday, its filthy.''

''Master always liked his little jokes. Master was a nasty ungrateful swine who broke his mother's heart—''

''My mother didn't have a heart,'' he snapped. ''She kept herself alive out of pure spite.''

Kreacher bowed again, murmuring furiously. ''Whatever Master says. 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 what you were up to. Every time you show up pretending to be cleaning, you sneak something off to your room so that we can't throw it out.''

''Kreacher would never move anything from it's proper place in Master's house,'' he said, before whispering very fast. ''Mistress would never forgive Kreacher if the tapestry was thrown out, seven centuries its 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,'' Sirius concluded, 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.''

A house-elf didn't dare disobey a direct order; nevertheless, the look he gave his Master as he shuffled out past him was redolent of deepest loathing.

''—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!''

''My house-elf is better than yours,'' Evangeline laughed, staring at where Kreacher had stood before her. ''What did you want to speak to me about?''

''Nothing specific. I was pre-occupied at dinner yesterday, and we haven't spoke since Hogsmeade, so I just wanted to catch-up on the gossip. How are you feeling?''

He knew. She knew he knew. So, she changed tack at the speed of lightning.

''You are not on here,'' the brunette observed, scanning the bottom of the tree.

The tapestry was immensely old; it was faded and looked as though doxies had gnawed at it in places; yet, the golden thread with which it was embroidered still glinted brightly enough to show a sprawling family tree dating back to the middle ages. Large words at the very top of the tapestry read:

THE NOBLE AND MOST ANCIENT HOUSE OF BLACK

❛TOUJOURS PUR❜

''I used to be there,'' Sirius pointed at at a small, round, charred hole on the tapestry. ''My sweet old mother blasted me off after I ran away from home — Kreacher's quite fond of retelling the story under his breath. Your family have a tapestry just like this, or something similar, I presume?''

''There is a tapestry at the ancestral home in France,'' she nodded. ''At the manor, though, there were just portraits in chronological order. When I ran away, I did not stick around long enough to find out what they did with mine, but I am sure it was something dramatic.''

''I was sixteen. I'd had enough. I hated the whole lot of them: my parents, with their pure-blood mania, convinced that being a Black made you practically royal . . . my idiot brother, soft enough to believe them . . . that's him.'' He jabbed a finger at the name beside his own, which had a date of death following the date of birth.

Regulus Black.

''He was younger than me, and a much better son, as I was constantly reminded.''

''He died.''

''Yeah. Stupid idiot . . . he joined the Death Eaters.''

''I was only a year older than you when I ran away,'' Evangeline reminisced. ''It was in the middle of the night. Were your parents Death Eaters?''

''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 pure-bloods in charge.''

''It was the same with mine,'' she sighed. ''Although, they were much more hands-on with it, actually having joined the Dark Lord's ranks. There is a photo album in my parent's bedroom, which has a picture of me with your parents at a luncheon. Your mother would be wholly disappointed if she could see me now.''

''Oh, don't let her get wind of your disownment — you're the only one out of us lot who can keep her bloody portrait calm.''

''When I said I was in need of friends, I did not have Walburga Black in mind, Sirius,'' she laughed. ''I must say, being here reminds me more of home than I would like to admit. Well, what used to be my home.''

''That feeling goes away after a while,'' he assured her. ''It takes a few years, but eventually that small hole in your chest will close up, and you'll realise how much better off you are.''

''I suppose so.''

''I'll tell you what Fleamont — James' father and Harry's grandfather — told me when I showed up on their doorstep: ❛the stars with the darkest pasts tend to shine the brightest❜.''

''It is fitting enough for you, you are named after a star. My name is some random word from Latin that my mother found pretty.''

They stood in a comfortable silence for a couple of seconds, in a trance of mutual understanding, before Evangeline changed the topic.

''Harry wrote to me again. I know it is on Dumbledore's orders and all, but I cannot help feeling guilty that he is so isolated from everybody else.''

Sirius rolled his eyes. ''Tell me about it. I know him staying at the Dursley's is for his own safety, but I can't stand Molly's judgement for wanting my godson with me.''

''I think Molly fairly likes me, although I am not sure she is pleased with Charlie's sudden interest in me.''

''Charlie?'' He repeated, intrigued. ''Come to think of it, I have been hearing your two names coming up a lot in the same sentence. Care to share?''

''I would, if there was anything to share,'' she shrugged, studying the multitude of heirlooms in the room. ''He has been keeping me company, that is all.''

''Good, I can't imagine Remus would've been to pleased.''

She stilled her actions, and Sirius suddenly looked as if he regretted every last word. ''Remus? What does Remus have to do with any of this?''

''I think Kinglsey wants a word, I can hear him—''

''Sirius,'' Evangeline warned. ''I will not hesitate to stick you to this wall with a permanent sticking charm if you do not provide me with an answer.''

''He told me what happened,'' the pure-blood wizard confessed. ''All I have to say is that good things take time, Evangeline.''

The Rosier girl opened her mouth, a retort ready on the tip of her tongue, but the words died as her eyes fell onto the mysterious man in the mirror.