The heavy Gringotts owl delivered a package to Arcturus before evening. It contained a list of his vaults and an inventory of their contents. Skimming through the documents, Arcturus discovered that he had also inherited Bellatrix Lestrange's vault. The attorney hadn't mentioned her inheritance because there was hardly any money in Bellatrix's account, but her vault held many ancient artifacts, some of which were marked as unique.
Arcturus was still feeling overwhelmed; too much had come crashing down on him at once. Kreacher was very helpful, but there were some family matters and responsibilities he wanted to discuss with someone other than the house-elf. And he remembered that the manor had one resident who cared about everything that happened here. At least she had, when the Order of the Phoenix had occupied the place, and she had driven Sirius to the point where he covered her portrait with a thick piece of cloth.
Walburga Black, Sirius's mother, left an impression of being, if not insane, then certainly uncontrollable. But perhaps, in the absence of unwanted individuals, she would behave differently—and if not, the portrait could always be covered again. With these thoughts, Arcturus left the bank papers in a secret study and headed to where the former Lady Black's portrait hung.
He stopped in front of the portrait and hesitated. The woman whose own son renounced his family. The woman about whom the entire Order of the Phoenix had unanimously said that, yes, anyone would run away from such a mother—forgetting that she had raised not only Sirius but also Regulus. Arcturus, once Harry, had loved his false godfather as only an orphan could love someone who had shown him even a bit of kindness. Cheerful, carefree, Sirius was easy to get along with and felt like a peer—back then, in fifth year. Now, Arcturus would probably feel older in front of this eternal Marauder, who had incidentally turned out to be his accidental father. Sirius had to have understood what a child must feel when they watched their only close person die because of them. How could he agree to that, if he understood? Or did he not understand?
Arcturus didn't know which was worse. He remembered how easily and carelessly Sirius had spoken at a meeting about the girl he had casually taken the virginity of and made the mother of a bastard. Did he understand what he had done back then, or not?
Either way, it was unclear what was worse.
Arcturus reached out to the portrait and slowly pulled back the curtain, revealing an empty canvas with a background. His resolve whimpered indignantly—it had taken so long and been so hard to muster the courage, only to find no one there. Yet, a trait from his Harry days stirred within him—once he gathered the courage for something, he didn't back down until he saw it through. So, he didn't close the curtain but began searching for a way to summon the portrait's inhabitant. In the process, Arcturus placed his hand on the frame, and the image of Walburga slowly appeared on the canvas.
"Good afternoon, Lady Black," he said as the image fully formed, and Walburga's dark gray, nearly black eyes focused on him.
"Good afternoon, young man," she greeted him, her tone dry and haughty. "Are you one of them too?"
Arcturus knew whom she meant.
"If you mean the Order of the Phoenix, they no longer have access here."
"What pleasant news..." Walburga's voice softened. "Tell me, young man, how did that happen?"
"I forbade them from entering, as the rightful owner of this house." Arcturus braced himself for a scolding from this not-yet-old woman, but to his surprise, she responded calmly, evaluating him with her gaze.
"You have Black family traits," she finally said. "Would you mind introducing yourself, young man?"
This made it easier for Arcturus, who wasn't sure how to begin the conversation about his Black lineage.
"Arcturus Procyon Travers-Black, at your service," he said with a slight bow. "Your grandson, Lady Black."
"Grandson..." she repeated, studying him intently. "Whose son are you, Sirius's or Regulus's?"
"Sirius's, Lady Black. I am his illegitimate son, and Joshua Travers is my adoptive father."
"So, you were adopted into the Travers family—that's good for you and your magic. An outcast's son cannot claim inheritance, but one adopted into a family, any family, can. Have you been adopted for long?"
"Apparently, since soon after birth."
"I am grateful to Travers, though there's little I can do for him in my current state. Were you raised by family tradition?"
"I'm afraid not, but that's not my adoptive father's fault. It's a long story, Lady Black, and I need your advice. You see, I used to be Harry Potter..."
Arcturus pulled a chair closer to the portrait, for it was indeed going to be a long conversation. He made himself comfortable and began his story. He didn't hide anything—after all, it was now someone else's past, and he longed to finally confide in someone. No matter how he tried to keep it brief, it wasn't until evening that he finished. Walburga listened without interrupting, only occasionally inserting remarks or asking clarifying questions.
"I remember when Harry Potter first appeared here," she said when Arcturus recounted the overheard Order meeting. "Thin, underfed, frightened, and yet stubborn. He kept trying to stand up for his own, not because they were right but because they were his."
"And you behaved… very differently back then," Arcturus said uncertainly, struggling to find a polite word for Walburga's behavior at the time.
"I was under a spell then. There are spells that seem harmless at first glance but have far-reaching consequences. The effect of this spell could be described as making one act according to their nature. It's little known and unpredictable, mostly useless, but in the hands of a wizard who understands people well, it can be a formidable weapon. Unlike Imperius, it's not immediate, but if a decision is made under its influence, a person will be uncritical of both themselves and their decision. In life, I was very restrained—that's how I was raised—but by nature, I'm hot-tempered. If I had been alive under that spell, I might have rushed to perform reckless acts—perhaps heroics, perhaps something else—but as a portrait, I could only scream and curse."
"Could Sirius have cast it on you?! He was always urging you not to curse."
"No, not him. Dumbledore cast it on me and regularly refreshed it, thanks to Sirius's negligence in allowing him access to the house. The funny thing is, grandson, if you cast this spell on Dumbledore, you wouldn't notice any difference. He already acts according to his lying, treacherous nature."
"And what if it had been cast on me? During my school years, I never questioned why I kept rushing into situations where children had no place, but now it seems strange."
"Quite possible. If you couldn't ask two stupid Muggles for food, though they tormented you out of fear—yet you ran off to save Britain from the Dark Lord—then, yes, your nature must be brave and noble, even if it manifested as a deadly foolishness. But there aren't many brave and noble natures, grandson; most human natures are far more base. This spell can cut sharper than a knife if you understand people."
"Cut..." Arcturus repeated the word that caught his attention. "I didn't want to kill anyone, and yet I had to kill Voldemort. Britain calls it a heroic deed, but according to Dumbledore, it should have torn my soul apart."
"Don't believe that old liar. He'll twist anything. People have always fought wars and still passed on with their souls intact. Only a ritual can tear a soul as a metaphysical entity, but those capable of killing are more likely to undertake such a ritual. That's why there's a connection, though not the one Dumbledore describes."
"I had to behead Winky to free her from her past," Arcturus recalled. "Is that considered murder?"
"Technically, it's murder. Good thing you had the presence of mind for it. Now you've seen for yourself that not every killing is evil, and sometimes it's necessary to kill for cleansing. But to Dumbledore, all killings are equal, and a soul can be sliced like potatoes. You know why he didn't wait for you to grow up, grandson? Because no adult would swallow the vile nonsense he fed you all those years."
"Lady Black, do you understand people?"
"Understanding people is an art in which there's always room for improvement. I know some things, and I can advise you on others, but I wouldn't claim to know everything. You can call me 'grandmother,' by the way."
"Alright, Grandmother… Teach me that spell, and I'll figure out people myself."