Years and years later, the house would be nothing more than a dingy ruin of its former self. Stripped and fading wallpaper, cob-webbed corners and worn carpets home to a mad house-elf and many other magical creatures that had infiltrated the dwelling over the years of its abandonment. It was all locked away behind a door with peeling black paint and a tarnished knocker in the shape of a snake.
But at one time, the house was resplendent, a place truly elegant and worthy of the Black heirs. The glossy black door, guarded by a snake in the form of a gleaming silver knocker, was the entry to a life of wealth and wants. It was at that time when a young governess entered the house. The most Noble and Ancient house of Black would never be the same.
“Isabelle Bingham. Why did you come to England from America?”
“I hardly think that’s relevant, Mr. Black.” Isabelle set her now-empty mug on the coffee table. The man had been questioning her for a short while, and she was ready to be done for better or worse.
“On the contrary,” Orion Black said, looking up from her résumé, “it’s very important. If you are a murderer fleeing the authorities, I most certainly don’t want the welfare of my boys in your hands.”
“If I were fleeing the authorities, I would have gone to a relatively isolated island. Britain is hardly isolated.”
“Answer the question, please.”
“I decided to make a new start. There was a terrible fire, and I lost all of my family. There was only heartache left for me in New Orleans.”
Orion gave a solemn nod. “Your marks in school are excellent, and considering your loss, I’m sure you’ll be able to understand what the boys are going through after losing their mother. I’m confident in hiring you as their governess. Sirius is ten. He is a strong-willed young boy and very bright. He may not like you. Regulus is nine and also very bright. He is quiet and he’ll try not to like you until Sirius does.”
“The boys are very close?”
“I rarely see them out of each other’s company.”
This wasn’t said with a smile as Isabelle would have expected. It was said with the same smooth and closed expression Mr. Black maintained throughout the course of the interview.
“When can I meet them?”
“The boys spend a few weeks each summer with their cousins in the countryside. That’s where they are now,” he explained. “They’ll be back tonight after dinner sometime and will go straight to bed. You can see them in the morning.”
“Oh.”
Orion summoned the house-elf and ordered the creature to escort Isabelle to her room, where she could change into more suitable attire. Isabelle’s mouth turned into a small frown. Her clothes were fine; they just weren’t quite British.
“You will meet me here before dinner, Miss Bingham,” he continued his orders. “I will give you a simple tour of the house at that time.”
Isabelle didn’t quite feel like being required for a tour, but it would be useful to know where things were in the house where she would be residing for the near future. She just didn’t like his tone: selfish, cold and composed. Even so, she plastered a polite smile on her face, nodded her head in assent, and excused herself before following the house-elf out of Mr. Orion Black’s study.
Isabelle checked her appearance briefly in the mirror at the top of the stairs and smoothed her new robes, taking a deep breath. She quickly descended the stairs and found Mr. Black waiting for her. She summoned her polite smile again. It was unnerving to be in this man’s presence because he was simply so solemn. Orion’s eyes swept over her, and she assumed that he now approved of her robes, for he said nothing, merely motioned for her to follow him.
She followed him down the hall with heads of house elves mounted on either side. That was not something she’d seen in any pureblood house before. Once they left the hall of mounted heads, the Black family residence began to show its true splendor. There were beautiful carpets, and the wood of the floor was polished. There were elegant paintings, each frame complimenting the attractive subject it housed.
Back in New Orleans, Isabelle Bingham had grown up in just as fine a house as Number 12 Grimmauld Place, with just as much heritage. However, this house was darker. It was furnished in lush, dark greens and soft, black leather. But aside from the physicality of the house, it just felt deeply and irrevocably tied to magic. After sweeping past the study, a small library, the dining room and a particularly grand ballroom, Mr. Black led her up the stairs.
She didn’t ask about what was behind the velvet curtains on the wall. Isabelle knew it wouldn’t be covered if the master of the house didn’t wish it to be so. Isabelle had her own reasons for respecting privacy.
Neither Orion nor Isabelle noticed the eerie flutter of the drapes as they passed.
Isabelle’s bedroom suite was on the next floor. She rather liked the room. It was the lightest room in the house from what she had seen so far, and she guessed it must be an enchanted guest room, charmed to change according to its occupant’s tastes. The room was a more mature version of the room she had as a child in New Orleans. There were two east-facing windows with elegant lace hangings. A small but decent sized mahogany desk sat nestled between the windows. The queen sized bed was made of a carved mahogany to match the desk and was adorned with blue blankets and white satin sheets.
There was another small library across the hall from her quarters. “This is where you’ll tutor the boys.”
“What would you like them to study?” Isabelle asked. She had puzzled over this before coming to meet him again, realizing they hadn’t discussed a curriculum for Sirius and Regulus.
“Latin, in preparation for their spellwork at Hogwarts, and French, for their familial heritage. Aside from that, I assume you’re smart enough to figure out what else they need, Miss Bingham.”
Isabelle felt a chill run down her spine and whipped her head to the left, looking at the mirror in the hallway. She could’ve sworn...but it was only the two of them, no one else.
“Miss Bingham? If we could hurry this along.” Mr. Black was already ascending the next flight of stairs, and his tone held an edge of impatience.
Isabelle nodded and hurried along behind him. It was probably just her imagination that produced the figure in a flowing black dress in the reflection of the mirror, but even if it wasn’t, this was an old, magical house. Strange things were bound to happen from time to time.
Isabelle took a deep breath. She was excited to meet the boys, and she desperately hoped that they would like her. She was nervous. She had slept quite well aside from a few bumps in the night. A tray of breakfast was waiting beside her bed when she awoke. Mr. Black had told her that breakfast in this household was a quiet, solitary affair enjoyed alone in one’s room. The end of the summer season afforded a scrumptious plate of fresh fruits in addition to the warm porridge.
She could hear the boys upstairs and she smiled. If only she could find her good quill! Isabelle knew she had put it on the small bureau by the window. It had been tucked neatly under her leather notebook with the things she’d prepared for her first tutoring session with the boys. Now it was missing. Where had she put it? It didn’t matter much because she had a dozen other quills, but she particularly liked the raven quill and was annoyed she couldn’t find it.
After two weeks of combing through shelves of titles in the small library across from her room, Isabelle was still not going to change her mind and settle for some theoretical or historical volume. The smaller library was clearly not where the interesting books were kept. At least Isabelle was hoping that she’d have better luck in the grand library downstairs. Surely there had to be some sort of engaging story in the house. If not, she’d be off to the bookshop she remembered passing in Diagon Alley when she first arrived in London.
Isabelle ventured quietly downstairs and crept into the library. In the dim light, she didn’t notice the solitary figure reading in the corner.
“Good evening, Miss Bingham.” The sound of his voice made her jump and drop her book.
“Mr. Black!” she gasped, ducking down to retrieve the book. “Good evening. I was going to...” She broke off, gesturing the obvious.
“You’re welcome to any of the books in this house.” After a pause, he continued, “I don’t mind an addition to the solitary party of one, either.”
Isabelle nodded and smiled, the polite smile. “Thank you.” Isabelle didn’t particularly want to spend the evening with the master of the house, but it seemed rude to refuse, and so she selected one of the fine chairs in the room and sat. The spot turned out to be more comfortable than she would have guessed. She decided to return the next night.
Isabelle was not one bit surprised as she strolled up the front walk of the fine, if small, house. The garden was blissfully full of flowers. There were apple trees with deliciously ripe fruit hanging from the branches. Isabelle dearly wanted to hike up her skirts and climb one of the trees, but she felt that would be highly inappropriate for a young woman to do when she was supposed to be visiting her old Etiquette Mistress.
Isabelle was quite surprised, however, when the tutor she’d grown close to at L’Université des Artes Magiques, the tutor who had taught her all about being polite and prim and the perfect debutante, came dashing out of the house and tackled her in a hug. Two lovely border collies were right on her heels, tails wagging excitedly. Anne pulled Isabelle quickly into the house, ushering the dogs in as well.
“Well, how are you, dearest Isabelle?” Anne asked. “Would you like some tea?”
“Yes, please.” Isabelle couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. It was so wonderful to see her old teacher again, and she was amused that primness was not a part of this home.
At her school in New Orleans, they had learned all about magic, but it was also deemed important for the students to be schooled in society and how to put on only the finest social airs. Part of the graduation exercises included an elegant debutante ball, something that was very important in the culture of the American Southern. The etiquette professor only spent two years at the school, and then a new teacher was commissioned from England. She worked with the students during their last year, and Isabelle and her classmates had all grown quite close to their teacher, Anne.
“Tell me all about your post as governess,” Anne insisted, setting a tray of tea things on the small table between their comfy armchairs. “Words on parchment just aren’t as good as hearing your voice.”
“I’ve been with the family for maybe six weeks now,” Isabelle started, stirring some lemon and honey into her steaming cup of tea. “Sirius is ten, but he’ll be eleven soon. He is entirely too smart for his own good. Regulus is his younger brother. He just turned nine at the beginning of the summer, and he is just as brilliant as Sirius. The two are as thick as thieves. Regulus is extremely quiet, though; he lets Sirius do all the talking. I adore them.”
“And who is your employer?”
“Orion Black.”
“Oh.” Anne gave a sly smile. “The dark, silent figure at the social events.”
Isabelle wasn’t surprised to hear this opinion of her employer.
“You know,” Anne continued, ignoring the frown that immediately appeared on Isabelle’s face, “his wife is dead. Rumor has it that he never even slept with her on the wedding night.”
“Whose rumor is that?” Isabelle tried hard not to snort any tea out of her nose.
“The woman he married.”
“What?”
“Things are different here in England, Isabelle. Many of the pureblood marriages in America can be made because two people love each other. Sometimes it’s just a vague inclination towards another person, and it’s not deemed bad if a witch or wizard never marries there. But the wizarding population has decreased somewhat here, especially the pureblooded folk. If purebloods don’t marry another pureblood, it’s a disgrace among many families.” Anne paused to sip her tea.
“Orion and Walburga married because they were told to. Everyone would assume that they’d never slept together at all if it weren’t for the two sons she gave birth to that no one could deny were his. I gather that Sirius and Regulus must resemble their father.”
“Yes, that’s very true.”
“Walburga actually died of syphilis. She took many men to her bed. No one stayed around for long.”
“How do you know all of this?” Isabelle asked.
“L’Université only contracts the most connected socialites in England, dear. But this is all beside the point. You, Isabelle Bingham, are governess to the children of a widower who is very rich and has been lonely for years.”
“Oh no, Anne,” Isabelle shook her head firmly, “don’t you even think it.”
“Why not?” her mentor cried. “Theodore and I met in the most unexpected of places. And Orion Black is not a balding fool.”
“No,” Isabelle laughed. Her mind began turning. Orion was definitely attractive, but he was also so arrogant and closed off from everyone around him. That is not what she wanted. “No, he is not,” she repeated quietly.
“Isabelle, you came to England to start a new life. You don’t need me to remind you of that.”
Isabelle gave Anne a small smile. She stirred her tea again and brought the soothing drink to her lips. Even if everything Anne had told her was true, Isabelle could never see herself with Mr. Orion Black.
The scratch of quills across parchment was steady as Isabelle gazed out the window at the massive amounts of beautiful, white snow. She’d never had snow growing up in the south back home. She found it entrancing. Isabelle didn’t become so distracted, though, as to not notice significantly less quill activity behind her. “Sirius?”
“I hate French.”
“Ah, ah, ah, en français, Monsieur Black,” she scolded.
Regulus sniggered quietly next to his brother, continuing to quickly scribble away.
Sirius, on the other hand, threw his quill down on the table. “No, French is pointless. I don’t like Latin, but I need it for spells. I don’t need French for anything!”
“Your father insists. It’s part of your heritage as a Black,” Isabelle explained.
“I’m not going to talk to my dead relatives.”
Isabelle had to try very hard not to laugh at the young man’s blunt statement. She hardly took notice of the objects on the other side of the room moving positions to different tables or corners of the room. “Tu as peut-être raison, Sirius, mais tes cheveux sont bleus.”
Regulus snorted, and a moment later Sirius also caught on. “What did you do to my hair?” he exclaimed, rushing out of the room to look at his reflection in the mirror at the end of the hall.
"Parle français, et tes cheveux redeviendront normaux!" Isabelle yelled after him.
Yet again, Isabelle had run out of quills. Run out wasn’t even what she should call it because this was the third time she’d gone out to buy a dozen quills simply because she misplaced them. She felt like she was losing her mind. It shouldn’t have been that hard to keep track of her quills. And she could have sent off for some, or even sent the grumpy house-elf on the errand, but she liked getting out of Number 12 Grimmauld Place by herself some evenings. In the spring time, Diagon Alley was a very pleasant place to be.
As she closed the door behind her, she was greeted by the sight of the master of the house. He nodded at her as he approached, and she put on her genial smile. He had a black owl perched on his arm. “This bird has been waiting for you.”
“Oh, thank you,” Isabelle hummed. She didn’t get much mail, and she certainly didn’t know anyone with such a fine owl. Quickly she removed the letter. Black parchment sealed with golden wax.
Isabelle read it through and then looked up at the man before her. “You’ve sent me a formal invitation to your Summer Solstice Masquerade?”
“Of course,” he replied, a very amused smirk on his face.
“But I live here, Mr. Black.”
“That is not why I invited you, Miss Bingham,” he responded. “In fact, if you decide to come, I think you will find I invited many people who don’t live here.”
Isabelle gave half a laugh and rolled her eyes.
“Make sure you send your reservation back promptly.”
“I’ll be sure to.”
With a small bow, Orion Black silently excused himself and retired to his room. Isabelle decided to go to the library. She wanted to finish the book she’d been reading the past few nights before she went up to her room to sleep.
She walked directly to the shelf where the book had been placed the evening before, and plucked it away from its fellows. As Isabelle turned around, there was a series of dull thuds as the books on either side of her flew off their shelves and fell to the ground, making her jump.
Isabelle frowned and sent the books back to the shelves with a flick of her wand. Dimming all of the light in the room, save for one small lamp next to her favorite chair, Isabelle settled in to finish her book. The words on the page completely enthralled her, and she flipped the pages eagerly as she came to the end of each one.
At one point, Isabelle turned the oil lamp up just slightly to give off a bit more light.
As she became enveloped in the enthralling tale in her hands, she didn’t notice that the room was growing increasingly brighter. One by one, each lamp flickered on, and they all slowly gave off more light, until finally it was so bright that Isabelle couldn’t keep her eyes open in more than a squint. She stood up and spun around the room. Immediately the light returned to normal. All but the original lamp dimmed and went out within a second. In the corner of her eye, Isabelle saw something move in the doorway. She spun, pulling her wand out, but there was no black robed figure to be found.
Now would be a good time for bed.
Isabelle smiled at her reflection. Anne had met her in Diagon Alley to go shopping for dress robes for the Summer Solstice Masquerade. The afternoon had been particularly delightful, including a bag of small indulgences from the sweet shop as some of the goods brought home that day. Anne convinced Isabelle to get the teal robes. Isabelle had wondered if the satin hugged her figure too much and if the color was right for her skin tone. It seemed nearly perfect, though; the color brought out her eyes. She probably shouldn’t eat all of the sweets if she wanted to keep a comfortable fit with her dress robes. Isabelle didn’t want to take off the robes - she loved the special feeling of wearing new clothes, especially fancy new clothes.
The afternoon daylight shone across the room, casting long shadows across the floor. For a few minutes, Isabelle played with different styles for her hair for the evening of the party. She turned to the side to examine it from the back, and that’s when she noticed that her shadow was drawn long across the floor - in the opposite direction of all the other shadows being cast in the room.
“Miss Bingham, what ever is the matter with you?” Orion asked, lowering the Evening Prophet and gazing across the room at the young governess.
“Nothing,” she muttered distractedly.
He decided to let her stew for a few more minutes.
After many nights of reading in the drawing room, it was no longer awkward silence between them, but companionable - or maybe it was better to say the silence was only comfortable. Occasionally one of them would take steps toward light conversation. Orion’s favorite evenings were the ones when young Miss Bingham got riled and cross with him in a disagreement.
Orion stood and took to the shelves to find a book for the rest of the evening. He spared a sideways glance at the young woman. She had most assuredly been ruffled by something, and he laughed softly.
Isabelle snapped her book closed and turned in her chair to face her reading companion. “What’s so amusing?” she asked harshly.
“You’re angry,” he answered with a smirk that she didn’t miss and most certainly didn’t appreciate.
“I’m not angry,” she protested, her voice unconsciously raising in defense.
“Ah, you’re angry with me.” His amusement was more than evident, and it only served to anger her further.
In less than two seconds, Isabelle crossed the room and was merely a meter away from the arrogant Orion Black. “What do you waste your time with every day? You spend no time with your boys aside from dinner, and even then you don’t talk to them!” she raged. “They’re your sons, and they’re young and they admire you so much! Just talk to them for a few minutes everyday. They need you!”
She shouldn’t have said it. She was only the governess, someone who could be fired and sent away from the house at anytime. She knew she should have held her tongue, but after almost a year Isabelle loved Sirius and Regulus and would do anything for them. She wanted to continue her tirade, but she firmly closed her mouth.
Orion was looking straight into her eyes, and she was frozen there, waiting for his reaction.
“I need you.”
“What?” she whispered, jerking her head back in utter astonishment. Orion had only ever been dignified and detached in her presence. Unless he was arguing with her to gain satisfaction in the way she lost her temper, but he somehow maintained his dignity and detachment.
Infuriatingly composed, even now when he stepped closer to her. “You heard me, Isabelle.”
Her heart did something when her name rolled off his lips, but she didn’t have time to figure out what it was because his lips quickly captured hers.
It was no more than a moment of lips meeting lips, but the feeling had been seared into Isabelle’s very core. She timidly stepped away from Orion Black. She felt completely different than she had sixty seconds before. She couldn’t think of anything to say, so she seized upon the first option her mind thought of and left the drawing room.
Isabelle glanced back at him as she crossed the threshold. She gave him a genuine smile; not the polite smile she sent anyone but his boys. Orion’s heart soared, and then he frowned. What were these feelings that were possessing him?
Was he really being drawn to this young governess? He was so much older than her.
But the man in him couldn’t deny that Isabelle was enticingly young and beautiful. She was spirited and intelligent. It seemed that as the past year had progressed, he found her occupying more and more of his thoughts. She was very distracting, as well. He couldn’t quite recall how long he’d been puzzling over her before he heard odd sounds in the house. He listened for a moment or two, and then he heard the muffled cry of a woman - the only woman in the house.
Orion swiftly left the study. With each step he took, the noises grew louder. As he got to the top of the stairs, he saw the doorway to Isabelle’s room rapidly opening and slamming closed again. Orion crossed the hallway and gripped the door, firmly throwing it open to a scene of absolute mayhem. Books, clothes and any other object in the room were all zooming around to different places. The bed was slowly scooting inch by inch across the floor. The lights were flickering on and off.
“FINITE!” Orion boomed, and everything immediately came to a stop. Isabelle, who had pressed herself up against the wall, let out a cry of relief and ran to his arms. He held her close, stroking her hair and trying to soothe her fears.
The moment Isabelle and the boys were gone, Orion stalked to the portrait. He ripped back the curtain and removed the Silencing Charm from the subject on the canvas.
“Hello, Husband.”
“I don’t have the patience for niceties,” he growled.
“You take time for plenty of niceties with the girl,” she stated evenly with her cold, cruel smile.
“You will leave her alone. She cares for those boys more than you ever did.”
“You never cared for me, Orion,” she spat, “but I will not let you have her.”
“Walburga-”
“I was nobly and magically bound into the Black family, unlike that girl,” she raged. “The spirits of this house still do the bidding of their mistress. I will drive her out if you do not send her away!”
Orion marched away in a rage, waving his wand behind him to cover and silence the portrait of his dead and misereable wife.
The lights were somewhat dim, casting the perfect glow over the grand ballroom and its guests. The walls were covered with honeysuckle, enchanted to grow and bloom before its audience throughout the night, giving off the most delicious, sweet scent. Isabelle had no idea how many witches and wizards were present, but the room was still comfortable. She assumed this ballroom was charmed to fit perfectly to its occupants just as many other gathering places were back in New Orleans.
That was about the only similarity to anything Isabelle knew from New Orleans. The music was different, the food was different, the dances were different, but the most distinct difference was the air of society here among the elite purebloods of Britain. Isabelle felt so backwards. She may have been living in London for almost a year now, but none of it had prepared her for her first social event among these people. Anne and Theodore had kept her company (and saved her) for most of the evening, but then the couple had swept away into the intricate dances out on the open floor.
Isabelle sat back in her chair and gently swirled the champagne in her glass, watching the beautifully dressed couples twirl around the dance floor. The bright colors and masks and costumes painted a rich, beautiful scene to watch.
A warm hand rested on Isabelle’s shoulder, and she smiled. She turned, tilting her head to gaze up at Orion.
“You’re not dancing.”
“No.”
“You have to, it’s part of tradition and society here,” Orion pressed.
“I don’t know any of the dances.”
“Neither do they. It’s all the trick of proficient charm work.”
Isabelle laughed and shook her head. “How unsurprising.”
Orion offered his hand expectantly, moving to stand before her. “Come,” he murmured.
Isabelle gave him her hand, and Orion led her into the thick of the dancing couples, and then he pulled her close. Her body tingled in pleasure as he held her against him, and she didn’t catch exactly what Orion whispered when he lowered his head to speak the charm into her ear. He kissed her cheek softly, and then they began moving around the floor with the couples as the new song started.
After twirling the beautiful creature in his arms around the ballroom for a few songs, Orion chuckled. Isabelle gave him an inquisitive look. He smiled down at her. “Perhaps I should have warned you about dancing with me. The women in the corner of the room have drawn their heads close together and are speaking rapidly while looking our way.”
“We really ought to give them more to talk about,” Isabelle laughed.
“Really?” Orion asked with a wolfish grin. “Let them talk about this,” he whispered in her ear. She shivered and then Orion trailed a few kisses down her neck. “You look ravishing tonight, Isabelle.”
She turned her head to find his lips in a kiss, but at that moment, there was a terrible sound that could only be described as a heavy rip. The couples all around broke apart, looking in the direction of the noise. A chunk of the ceiling seemed to be ripping itself out, and the people directly below screamed and dashed out of the way. The section of floor falling into the ballroom was evidently from Isabelle’s bathroom. The large porcelain tub that fell with the floor shattered as the wood smashed against wood. The masquerade was over.
Isabelle, Sirius and Regulus came tumbling into the house, eager to get out of the heavy rain, but laughing all the same. They dropped Sirius’ parcels in the entryway and removed their wet cloaks. In the midst of their gaiety, Mr. Black descended upon them. The boys sobered up somewhat in their father’s presence, but he didn’t pay them any attention. Isabelle was more surprised when he didn’t even glance in her direction. When he spoke, his voice was very serious. “Miss Bingham, come with me,” he said, leading the way to his study.
Isabelle was stunned by his formal address. She instructed the boys to take their purchases from Diagon Alley up to Sirius’ room and followed Orion.
He didn’t ask Isabelle to sit down or take a seat himself. He gazed out the window at the pouring rain, his back to the young governess.
“You must leave now,” he stated plainly, “and never come back to this house.”
“What?” she asked, jerking her head back in utter astonishment.
“You heard me.”
“But-”
“Go.”
The command was simple, cold, and absolutely firm.
Isabelle didn’t ask any more questions. She turned to leave the study, rapidly walking away from the man, only hesitating at the door for a second. But then she just left him alone in his study.
Orion continued looking out of the window. He hoped she would understand. How could she not understand when-
There was her shriek.
There could be no question in Isabelle’s mind now why he was sending her away.
Isabelle dropped to her knees in horror. The tears that were already streaming down her face flowed all the more, but she tried to hold back the great sob trying to escape her throat. She was absolutely numb and frightened, and she merely stayed in her slumped position on the floor.
Hovering and spinning around the ceiling of her room, the beautiful dress robes she had intended on wearing to the Summer Solstice Masquerade were torn into shreds, and the ends of each piece were dripping with blood. Her wash basin had been smashed to pieces, and blood was pooled around the shards of broken glass. There was a smattering of blood on the mirror, but she closed her eyes quickly, not allowing herself to read whatever morbid message was scrawled there. What was tormenting her in this house? Why couldn’t Orion stop it? Did she even want to know?
No, she resolved. All there was left to do was pull herself together and leave this horrid house at once. With a flick of her wand, Isabelle made the horrific scene vanish and cast a Cleaning Charm around the room, removing the blood. She could’ve packed everything into her magical bag in less than two seconds, but she needed to throw things in there by hand. She needed to do something to calm her, and a simple, concrete job would serve her needs.
Orion could have heard Sirius yelling angrily from any place in the house. He was in the grand ballroom, just off the entryway. Hovering behind the door as he supervised the cleanup from the Summer Solstice Masquerade, Orion could hear all of what was going on. Isabelle’s voice was quiet and resolved, even as Sirius raged at her. She sounded defeated. Sirius demanded to know why she thought she could simply leave. Isabelle’s answer was feeble, a lie, and Sirius knew it. Isabelle asked where Regulus was, and Sirius explained that Regulus refused to see her since she was leaving.
Mr. Black moved away from the door. What did they expect from him? One young governess was not worth invoking the wrath of Walburga. He was bound to the house just as his wife had been, and he couldn’t banish her spirit, nor could he overrule her. He wouldn’t even try. He wouldn’t leave the house, either; all Black heirs were bound to the house. It didn’t matter. Fleeting flutters of the heart were inconsequential. Generations of wizards and witches hadn’t needed the nonsensical notion of love, and that was sufficient reason for him to stay grounded as well. He’d married his pureblooded witch without hesitation, and plenty more generations would do as they were expected.
He never uncovered the portrait of that spiteful woman again. He would not let her revel in her victory. She didn’t have a victory. They’d each had their different bedmates, as was proved by her death, and now they were even. She’d had her scores of men that hadn’t been more than sex, and he’d had his one woman who had been so much more.
Noir House by electronicquillster
Chapter Notes: Absolute thanks goes to Redheadedweasley and ByMerlinsBeard for betaing the crap out of this story. Any character’s loose resemblance to persons living, dead, or in SPEW is entirely intentional but not quite accurate.