The House-Elf and the Tapestry
The Blacks were perhaps the oldest and proudest of all the pure-blood wizarding families left in Britain. Their influence, perpetuated through shrewd marriages and Ministry nepotism, could overturn a Wizengamot decision or oust an half-blooded politician faster than you could say “pure-blood mania.” Their reputation was formidable, even sinister, in wizarding social circles.
They were first on every guest list, at the head of every table, in the oldest genealogy books, in the deepest vault at Gringotts. To fail to include the Black matriarchs at a tea meant a lightning-fast fall from grace: you would suddenly find yourself with a dearth of invitations, suddenly received in almost no London salons. No-one even thought about crossing the head of the Black family, as the consequences would doubtless reach far beyond simple tea-party disgrace.
They owned many shareholdings in Wizarding firms and a vast amount of property both in London and the country. Their city townhouse at Grimmauld Place lacked open grandeur but contained some of the most prized family heirlooms and valuable possessions.
Their sprawling manor, Black House, was set on a hill in the country overlooking their well-tended fields and forests to the south and a bleak moor to the north. It was said that only Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire rivaled the lavishness of the home and grounds.
Their dynasty was chronicled in a vast, mouldering tapestry in the London house that traced the births, espousals and deaths of its many blue-blooded progeny with lines of gold embroidery that spider-webbed up the wall for seven hundred years. Tiny embroidered pictures of every Black since the thirteenth century showed, in minute detail, the high cheekbones, arching brows, and haughty demeanor inherited through the generations. Handsome, imperious faces stared insolently out into the room, as if keeping watch on future generations, daring them to do anything that would cast doubt on the family’s blood purity status.
Tonight the family tree, enchanted centuries ago by the proud Black wizards, was updating itself. Toward the very bottom of the massive tapestry, a straight line of gleaming gold embroidery was slowly creeping downward from the double gold line linking Orion Black to his second cousin Walburga Black (the Blacks believed that “keeping it in the family” was preferable to marrying those of questionable blood status). The little line of close stitches, sewn by an invisible needle, inched southward, halting some two inches below Orion and Walburga’s union.
A house-elf, as old, dilapidated, and tied to the family as the tapestry itself, shuffled into the drawing room by the light of several ornate sconces and watched the new name appear. The flickering light made the crisscrossing, intermingling lines of gold thread glitter curiously. She cackled to herself, apparently delighted that soon she would have yet another pure-blooded Black to serve.
“Oh yes, a new little master, Totty wonders if he will be like the other one…but Mistress Black doesn’t like to talk about that. Totty is wanting to know if he will be named for one of his forefathers, one of the noble Blacks Totty has waited on so proudly…”
A floor above the drawing room, the messy reality of childbirth drove all thoughts of the self-embroidering family tapestry from Alphard Black’s mind. On the other side of the wall against which he leaned, his older sister was having trouble getting the thing out. Lime-clad Healers, called from St. Mungo’s at the first sign of trouble, scurried in and out of the bedroom door, carrying towels and buckets, wringing cloths and mixing strange poultices.
A particularly drawn out groan of pain caused Alphard to clench his fists. His sister wasn’t doing well. Where the hell was that husband of hers? It had been hard enough for him, Alphard, to get away from his job”Senior Clerk of the Ludicrous Patents Office, not that the family considered this to be an important enough occupation for a Black”but Orion, as father, should be able to tear himself away from the Wizengamot Administration Office and his precious ambitions to attend the birth of his child…
Alphard, torn between brotherly duty and manly revulsion, finally crept into his sister’s bedroom. He averted his eyes carefully from the activities of the Healers at the foot of the bed and grasped her outstretched hand.
“Orion’s coming, Walburga.” He tried not to grimace as Walburga’s long-nailed white hand dug painfully into his own. He silently willed Orion to show up and relieve him of this uncomfortable duty.
The mid-December night had started off well enough, despite Orion’s failure to appear at his wife’s side: Alphard had been the one to Apparate home from the Ministry when her contractions started, and summon the Healers when it was clear something was amiss. At thirty-five, though she wasn’t exactly in her first youth, she should have been able to deliver the baby properly…but from the bits of harried conversation he caught from the Healers, Alphard gathered that it was coming out the wrong way round.
“Come on, sister,” was the best Alphard could manage above Walburga’s yells. Come on, Orion, he added silently.
As if on cue, Orion Black burst through the door of Number Twelve. The impact of the door on the foyer wall sounded as a cannon blast; Alphard extricated his hand from Walburga’s clutch and ran to the landing. His brother-in-law looked quite mad, drawn up to his full height, bits of snow glimmering wetly in his hair like quickly-melting dandruff. Wild-eyed, Orion took in Alphard on the landing and a nervous trainee Healer wringing out a towel beside him.
He took the stairs three at a time, carelessly shedding his overcoat and shaking his head, doglike, to rid himself of the melting, soaking snowflakes. Alphard, drawn by Orion’s curious gravitational pull, followed his brother-in-law meekly into the bedroom.
Orion let Walburga’s gripping hand latch onto his own without a word, dismissing Alphard from the room with a wave of his hand. Alphard was only too glad to wait outside, reflecting dully that if this baby died in delivery, he was out of the room and could not be blamed this time.
Downstairs, a name had begun to appear under the new line of descent on the ancestral tapestry. Neat Roman letters proclaimed the birth of Sirius Black, 1959. Totty the house-elf screeched with delight.
“A new young Black master! An heir for old Master Arcturus! Totty is going right away to tell Masters Arcturus and Cygnus in the kitchen, Totty knows they will be so pleased…even Mistress Druella must join in the celebrations this time, and Master Orion will be inviting kind Mistress Lucretia… ”
And with a final, loving glance at the Black family tree, the house-elf crept out of the drawing room, her tiny footfalls muffled by the thick drawing-room rug. Behind her, the newest addition to the tapestry gleamed gold.
In the basement kitchen of Grimmauld Place, four figures sat clustered at the long table, frozen in various attitudes of expectancy. The hearth- and candlelight cast flickering shadows onto the polished wood. The ancient wall clock solemnly sounded the hour, seemingly drawn out and echoingly in the ringing silence.
A noise at the top of the top of the stairs caused all four to crane their necks. Four pairs of eyes followed the tiny, stooped figure’s halting progress down the stairs. When Totty was halfway down, she seemed unable to contain herself further and exclaimed, “Mistress Walburga is having a boy!”
Three of the figures relaxed visibly. A stooped, white-haired man with an ear trumpet clapped his grey-haired neighbor, a tall and severe-looking man with deeply etched frown lines, on the back three times. “There you go, Archie! Heh heh, bet you were worried there’d be no heir again, eh?” he leered.
‘Archie’ frowned deeply. “We shall see, cousin.”
Across the table, a middle-aged man with a drawn face contracted his eyebrows fiercely and glanced meaningfully at the woman beside him. She alone had remained rigid and impassive at Totty’s announcement. She surveyed first her husband and then the two old men with heavily hooded eyes, her expression unreadable.
Totty, oblivious to the sudden tension, was capering around the kitchen floor. “A new master in Totty’s old home, oh how proud the ancestors must be!”
The middle-aged man scowled at her. “Elf!”
Totty froze immediately and bowed low. “Is Master Cygnus requiring anything to sweeten his celebration? Do these good sirs and gentle mistress”“
Cygnus silenced her. “Fetch us wine and then attend to my sister. I do not wish to hear your squeaking blither again tonight.”
The elf hurried to do Cygnus’ bidding, her watery eyes wide. Cygnus turned his attention to ‘Archie,’ who appeared lost in thought. “Arcturus, am I correct to assume that the, ah, estate”“
Arcturus cut Cygnus off with a glance. “The will must now be revised, yes.”
The man with the ear trumpet leered around the table. “I’ll bet you aren’t too pleased with yourself now, eh son? Eh?”
“Father”“ Cygnus began warningly, but Arcturus suddenly pushed out his chair and glowered at them both. “I must check on my grandson. Cygnus, you and Druella would do well to return to your own children tonight. Come, Pollux.”
The white-haired man gave Arcturus a meek, house-elf-like look and followed him out of the room. The two patriarchs passed Totty on the stairs, ignoring the elf’s struggles under a heavy wine bottle. Druella looked again to her husband, her rather heavy brow shadowing her face in the flickering light.
“Cygnus, this could change everything.”
“Peace, Druella.” Cygnus uncorked the dusty bottle of wine and conjured two crystal goblets with a mahogany wand. “We have little reason to fear for our share.”
Druella Black, née Rosier, reflected for a moment, and decided to mask her concern with domesticity. “Arcturus is right. We really should get back to the manor and our children, Cygnus. Bella is doubtless waiting up for us; she is eager for news of her new cousin.”
Cygnus stood up and drained both his goblet and Druella’s untouched one, Vanishing them both when he was done. He tucked his wand away and nodded at Druella to follow him upstairs and out into the darkening, snow-driven street. Husband and wife turned on the spot and disappeared in perfect unison.