Còir Buaidh

The Early Years 4

... ...

I recoiled, almost dropping my fork, and the roast chicken that was attached to it, as the torc suddenly heated up. Whereas previously it had merely warmed in select runes, this time the entire torc shimmered with a newfound, all-encompassing heat.

“Someone touches the wards.” I turned at hearing Kadic say that a frown coming to my face.

“Who?” I asked, wondering who would be trying to enter the castle. I hadn’t even tried to lower the wards yet, mainly as I didn’t know how, so unless it was just a general attempt by someone looking to gain entry to the castle, no one should be there.

“Kadic not sense clan blood.” The elf turned and looked at me, a glint in his eyes. “The MacLeod wishes Kadic to remove them?”

“No,” I replied with a shake of my head. “Go see who they are.”

Kadic vanished with that now familiar popping sound, and I resumed my focus on savouring the delectable roast chicken before me, relishing in its tantalising flavours and succulent tenderness. The exact combination of sauces and spices that Kadic had infused into this culinary masterpiece remained a delightful mystery, but it was delicious, and I was enjoying the meal. Though sitting alone in the kitchen was weird. The table here was large enough to sit six with ease, something I remembered from my memories. Still, it was better than using the main dining room. The tables there were meant for upwards of thirty people, though I only had a handful of memories of such meals, and just being in the room with only Kadic for company was unnerving. As if the ghosts of the past were somehow judging me unworthy to be seated as The MacLeod. Hence why I was eating a proper meal in the kitchen.

The heat in the bracer shifted, though not in any way that I felt meant something had happened to Kadic, and a moment later the faint pop echoed in the room.

“The MacLeod has a guest. Claims he is distant family. Kadic not trust him.”

“Did he give a name?” I asked as I took a sip of water. If someone was wishing to speak with me, it was better my breath didn’t smell too much of my dinner.

“Lord Black.” The water in my mouth went down wrong as I heard that, and I started sputtering. Kadic clicked his fingers, pulling the water from my throat before it then floated over to the sink.

“Th-thanks, Kadic,” I muttered as I wiped my mouth.

“Kadic serves The MacLeod.” I offered him a small smile as I stood. Even before naming him the head elf, he’d been loyal. Since then though, it was clear. Kadic would if I asked him to, kill anyone. Or at least attempt to as I doubted an elf could take out a properly trained adult wizard. At least when away from their home wards.

I placed a hand on the elf’s shoulder, not wanting to walk all the way to the entrance to the castle. While I knew the way, why bother with the long haul when I had Kadic by my side? He knew the ins and outs of the castle like the back of his hand, navigating effortlessly while skirting dangerously close to the impenetrable defensive wards. Sure, I had a good sense of their whereabouts too, thanks to the torc that seemed to infuse knowledge directly into my mind. But knowing where they should be and actually standing at their edge were two different things altogether. I wasn't about to risk overstepping and leaving myself exposed to a mysterious wizard whose very name I remained ignorant of.

After the familiar twisting of my insides, I found myself standing at the end of a road a little under two miles from the castle proper, flanked on either side by a dense thicket of ominous woods. From within those arboreal depths, a symphony of sounds emerged, hinting at the presence of creatures taking refuge under the protective embrace of the wards. But the nature of these creatures and the extent of the wards' coverage would have to remain enigmas to be unravelled another day. For now, my focus was on the man standing about twenty metres away, at the point where a tarmacked road ended.

An innate intuition washed over me, affirming that the spot where he stood marked the precipice of the outermost defensive enchantments. These particular wards possessed a rudimentary nature, primarily aimed at dissuading unsuspecting muggles and certain fauna from breaching the sanctity of the estate. Whether Arcturus possessed an astute awareness of this fact or had simply chanced upon that precise location remained an open question, though the latter possibility seemed rather improbable, given the circumstances.

Arcturus stood with an imposing stature, his height nearing the vicinity of two meters, though such dimensions proved elusive to gauge from my vantage point. He presented himself with meticulous elegance, every aspect of his attire meticulously curated. The outermost layer, a cloak of deepest black, billowed gracefully in the gentle zephyrs swirling around us, unveiling glimpses of its blood-red inner lining. As my discerning eyes glanced beyond, I noted the inner garments he wore, an ensemble that, while evoking a sense of antiquity, resonated with memories of my father donning similar attire for momentous occasions, such as his attendance at the esteemed Wizengamot. His dark tresses, meticulously combed back, intermingled with strands of silver that gracefully crept near his ears, bestowing an air of distinguished wisdom. But it was his gaze, his penetrating eyes fixated upon me, that held the allure of a man attempting to fathom the essence of the boy now standing before him, searching for truths hidden beneath the surface.

“Greetings, Chief MacLeod,” the man began, his voice deep and instantly commanding. “As your elf has no doubt told you, I am Lord Arcturus Black. While I doubt you know of me, we do share a faint blood connection.”

I frowned, trying to place where that might come from. My father’s sisters hadn’t married into the Blacks, though I knew one was married to a Greengrass and another to an O’Leary. Now one of my great-aunts might have married into the Blacks, but given the naming convention they used, I felt I already knew who he was talking about. “My grandmother.”

There was a faint twitch of Arcturus’ lips. “Indeed. I’m impressed you were able to determine that.”

I shrugged. “It couldn’t be a boy on either side, or the family names wouldn’t hold. I know who my aunts married, so the next logical choice was my grandmother. Plus, I heard House Black likes to use stars for names.”

“Quite.” Arcturus went silent for a moment, his eyes once more wandering over me. “I do hope that her reaching out to me doesn’t concern you. She, along with your grandfather and others are concerned that as the last MacLeod, or at least the last of the main line, it would be wise to find someone they can trust to educate you in the ways our world works.” He took a step forward, and I felt Kadic tense. I shifted my stance, readying myself to move if he turned hostile. Arcturus raised his hands, showing he had no wand in them as his eyes widened for a moment. “All I wish to do is talk, lord to lord.” I glanced down at my arm to see my shirt had shifted enough to reveal the torc. “It seems my niece neglected to mention certain critical information. Even in death, she enjoys her games.”

I blinked, wondering what I was missing and just why my grandmother had reached out to her birth family. I hadn’t talked to them since before lunch, and while the paintings had seemed intelligent – more so than the lore I knew suggested they should be – I was in the dark as to her motives. And those of my grandfather and great-grandfather.

“Forgive me for not following expected graces, but why are you here?” I asked, my stance still not relaxing. “I can guess as to why my grandmother reached out to you, but what do you want from this?”

Arcturus' lips curled once more, this time sculpting a semblance of a smile upon his countenance. "Your... lapses in etiquette are forgivable, given your tender age, though they remain inexcusable considering your esteemed position as the chief of Clan MacLeod," he remarked, his voice laced with a measured tone. "It is precisely for this reason, among others, that I find myself here today. Your grandmother, in her wisdom, divulged fragments of the predicament that befell your lineage. Extending on reports that have circulated within the circles I grace. And now, in witnessing the scene that unfolds before me, it becomes evident that you are alarmingly unprepared for the tumultuous realm you shall soon encounter."

With a graceful gesture, Arcturus extended his arms, granting a glimpse of his inner cloak, its edges adorned with a gilded trim that seemed to ripple with a life of its own. "I approach you now unarmed, driven by a fervent desire to aid your navigation through the labyrinthine world of lords, ladies, chieftains, and all the intricacies that accompany such elevated ranks. Together, we shall resurrect Clan MacLeod from the edge of the abyss and restore it to its rightful eminence," he proclaimed, his arms gradually descending, his gaze scanning the surroundings. "Might we proceed with our discourse within? It has been many a year since I last graced the threshold of Dunscaith Castle, and I find myself piqued by the prospect of witnessing the changes wrought by my great-nephew before his untimely departure."

I stood there, considering his offer. “No. At least not today,” I replied slowly, being careful of how I spoke. While my grandmother had reached out to him, he was clearly one of those people my ancestors had warned me about. “While I am grateful for your offer, I need time to consider it. And learn why my grandmother made it without asking me first.”

I mentally frowned. I wanted to speak more eloquently, but I was seven. If I spoke like an adult, I’d give away that I was smarter than I truly was.

Arcturus inclined his head in a gesture of acknowledgement. "A prudent decision, indeed," he affirmed, gracefully receding a step while maintaining a steadfast orientation towards me. "In three days, or sooner should you convey your grandmother to summon me, we shall reconvene to resume our dialogue. Until then, on behalf of House Black, I extend our heartfelt condolences for the abhorrent tragedy that befell your family. Moreover, I extend our unwavering support in not only unearthing those responsible for the execrable deed but also in aiding Clan MacLeod's resurgence, restoring it to its rightful position as the paramount force within the realms of the Highlands and Islands."

“On behalf of Clan MacLeod, I thank you for the offer of support and friendship, Lord Black. In the coming days, I hope that we might find common ground to restore the links our houses once shared.”

A gruff chuckle escaped his lips. “Well spoken, young chief. Impressively so.” With that, he swirled his arm and vanished. I waited, wanting to be sure he’d gone, which I somehow knew he had. The torc cooling now that he’d left. With that confirmed, I turned to Kadic. “Take me inside.”

As he placed a hand on my arm, I resolved to have a long, detailed conversation with the portraits of my ancestors. There was more going on here than I knew, and I hated being in the dark. First though, I wanted to finish my lunch.

… …

… …

“Why did you reach out to Arcturus Black?”

That was the first thing I said as I stepped back into the Inner Library after lunch. Having taken the time while eating my roast chicken, and complimenting Kadic on his culinary skills, I’d gone over reasons why my grandmother had done what she’d done. Thus, I wasn’t angry about things, but I wanted a clearer picture before making a decision on Arcturus’ offer.

"Education is of paramount importance," Cassiopeia replied with a serene composure. Her response emanated an air of expectation, as though she had anticipated my inquiry, and while I had taken the time during our midday repast to contemplate her motives, she and her confidants had likely utilised that interval to prepare for the volley of questions that would surely ensue. “There exist perils, dear one, simmering within our world," she continued, her tone steady and measured, "Once word spreads of your ascendance as The MacLeod, there will be those who shall vie to assert dominion over you, seeking to either manipulate your actions or eliminate you entirely. My uncle, though stern in nature, perceives the undeniable advantages that lie in forging a bond of friendship with you, envisioning the potential for a powerful alliance between our houses that far outweighs the potential hazards posed by those who would dare to challenge your authority."

“However, you cannot trust him,” my grandfather cut in. “He is The Black and, like any lord or clan chief, will seek to use you for his benefit. Arcturus might not be the Minister of Magic, but he is the power behind the throne. Or at least enough to counter the growing influence of that fool of a Headmaster.”

“Albus Dumbledore?” I asked, wondering what sort of man he was in this world. In canon, at least that of the books, he’s never seemed to be manipulative. At least not in the sense of being evil. No, it always appeared he did things that he felt were best, though our narrative for that came from children. I’d read enough fan fiction to know that there was a wide range of opinions on why he’d done what he’d done to Harry, and what his true motives were.

"Aye, that man claims to have vanquished Grindelwald," my grandfather spoke with a hint of scepticism laced within his voice as if harbouring doubts about the true demise of the notorious dark wizard. Such reservations aligned with my recollections, for I remembered my father mentioning that my grandparents had fought valiantly on the opposing side during the Wizarding War. Once I unravelled their true intentions, I might divulge to them the unsettling truth that Grindelwald may not have met his ultimate end, or at the very least, the possibility loomed. However, such matters could only be broached in due course, as they required the confirmation of Grindelwald's confinement within the impenetrable walls of Nurmengard Castle, an endeavour reserved for the far-off chapters of my life yet to unfold.

"Instead of ascending to the position of Minister of Magic or assuming leadership within the International Confederation of Wizards," his voice echoed with a tinge of incredulity, "he opted to remain ensconced within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, eventually ascending to the mantle of headmaster in the latter part of the previous decade."

“You’ll have to forgive your grandfather, he sees plots everywhere,” Cassiopeia said while gently patting her husband's arm. “He thinks that Dumbledore chose to stay at Hogwarts to manipulate the minds of the children that passed through its halls.”

“The idea holds merit,” remarked Alasdair. “Dumbledore, for all his faults, is a powerful wizard. If he’d become Minister his legacy risked being tainted by the position. Better to step back from the limelight, but stay close to the corridors of power as a trusted advisor; something he can do as headmaster of Hogwarts.”

“I believe we’ve drifted off-topic. Young Dòmhnall here doesn’t need to concern himself with Hogwarts, the headmaster, the Minister or anything like that just yet.” I gave Áine a smile of thanks. I did want to learn more about the world I now lived in, starting with the situation in the British Isles, but other things came before that. Such as getting a wand and learning some magic. Something I couldn’t do without help, which my ancestors believed Arcturus Black could offer.

“Yes, Arcturus.” Grandfather huffed, crossing his arms and avoiding his wife’s attention. “I don’t like it, but he is our only option.”

“What about my aunts? Or Uncle Fergus?” Fergus was my mother’s brother and head of Clan MacDougall. Any of them felt like better choices than Arcturus Black.

“All of which would make sense; however, we have no way to contact them, at least not without lowering some of the wards. Others would learn of that and therefore that you or at least a new Macleod was within the castle. People who are a threat to our line.” There was something in my grandfather’s words that made it clear he was holding something back. I wanted to know what it was, but I could prod about that later.

“Your father, in his wisdom,” the way my grandmother said that hinted she didn’t think it was wise, “felt that keeping the portrait for him and your mother in Gringotts was safer than leaving it in this room. Otherwise, your mother would’ve reached out to her birth family instead of me.”

“Besides, you’ve met the Black children if I remember.”

“Aye,” I said to Áine. The last time had been for a winter dinner held by the Ministry. I hadn’t interacted with them much, preferring to spend time with my cousins in Clans MacDougall, MacMillian and O’Leary, but thanks to Emotionless Recall it was easy to remember the brief interactions with Sirius, Regulus and the Black sisters.

Sirius had been about as happy as me to be there, and Regulus was too young to do much but cling to his mother – who I disliked simply for how she was portrayed in canon, though there was nothing in my memory that suggested this version of her held the same views – however, it had been the sisters I’d remembered most clearly.

Bellatrix was a friend of my sister Sine, and through them, I’d met the other two Black sisters. It was hard to read much into their behaviours as Bellatrix was the oldest at eleven. Though that stood out as, from what I recalled of canon, she was meant to be significantly older than Sirius. Perhaps it was an alteration that resulted from my choices, but she and her sisters were younger than they should be.

“Good. That means when you study with Arcturus, you’ll have children your age around you.”

“If I learn, grandmother, if.” That made her smile and earned a chuckle from Alasdair.

“Smart lad. Not trusting us even though we’re portraits imbued with the memories of your ancestors.” He smiled and kissed Áine on the cheek. “I believe this lessens the need for his first lesson, aye son?”

“Aye, Father, though I’ll still give it.” My grandfather looked at me with conviction. “However, this will take time, so you’d be wise to settle in.”

I nodded and sat down on the carpet. While I could learn from these portraits, their usefulness ended at the boundaries of the castle’s ward. I wasn’t crazy enough to attempt entry to Diagon Alley with a painting under my arm. No, for that I needed a flesh-and-blood wizard or witch to guide me. And it seemed that had to be Arcturus fucking Black.

Still, it was better to hear all the warnings from my ancestors before I spoke to him again. And then assume they only knew part of the picture when it came to Lord Black.

… …

… …

I stood in front of the fireplace in the main living room of Dunscaith Castle, looking at it curiously. I’d travelled by the Floo network with my parents, and yet, like many things now, this was also entirely new to me.

The adornment that graced my person, an emblematic sash donning the vibrant hues of Clan MacLeod and emblazoned with our ancestral crest, held a certain peculiarity. Anticipating a traditional kilt, I found myself surprised to learn that such attire only gained popularity subsequent to the enforcement of the Statute of Secrecy. Instead, it was customary for a clan member to don a sash that elegantly draped from the right shoulder to the left waist, proudly signifying their affiliation. Typically, the crest badge would be affixed to the sash or perch atop their bonnet, yet as the newly appointed clan chief, I possessed the privilege of displaying the crest upon the sash itself.

In truth, the badge itself held minimal magical properties, as my grandfather elucidated, consisting primarily of rudimentary defensive wards and similar enchantments. The true reservoir of power and protection resided within the torc gracing my arm, for it bore the inherent might reserved solely for The MacLeod.

“Remember, the phrase you want is Le Domaine Nior,” my grandmother said. The portraits of her and my grandfather and my great-grandparents had been moved by Kadic to this room. While I had spent a lot of time in the Inner Library over the previous week, most of my time had been spent here instead.

That time had been split between lectures on social normalities I was expected to know as The MacLeod, learning what the portraits knew of the current political situation in the UK. My parents had only mentioned a handful of major events from the past seven months – the calendar had trickled into August yesterday – which left all of us at a loss for news of other major events. Though what we did have was a small backlog of The Daily Prophet and The Northern News.

The former didn’t appear as filled with innuendo and rumour as it had in canon while the latter covered events within the smaller community of Scottish magicals. The backlog went back about a month and a half, to when my family, and others it turned out, were attacked.

Twelve clans had been at the Summer Solstice, and of them, only leaders or heirs of Clans Glengarry, MacKinnon, MacDonald, and MacLean were known to have survived. MacLeod was believed to have been wiped out, at least in the male line, while there were rumours Clans MacGregor, MacDougall, MacKenzie, MacKay, MacNeil, Campbell, and Cameron had lost at least most or all males. The other Scottish clans, be they Lowland or Highland based, were up in arms, considering it an attack on their magical heritage and the Ministry had promised to investigate. However, over a month later there was little information on who was behind the attacks.

My grandmother had wailed upon hearing that as her stepdaughter, Kara, had been from clan MacDougall as had Uncle Fergus, so the clan would be of little use in helping me prepare for my emergence into Wizarding Britain.

My grandfather and great-grandfather had ideas of their own. Those ranged from a move by the Lowland clans – which they raged were more English than Scottish – to remove the influence of the Highland clans on Scottish and British politics, to moves by English houses to weaken the Celtic influence – normally most of the Scottish, Irish and Welsh houses voted as a bloc on matters, though not always – on British politics. There had been a suggestion the attack had come from a rival Highland clan but was shot down as Clan MacDonald, our clan’s biggest historical rivals, had suffered in the attacks as well, with their chief being one of the victims and his heir surviving though losing an arm in the process.

From what I was told, the MacLean, MacDonald, and MacKinnon were elder clans of Scotland, being the only three Highland clans who were regarded as Most Ancient. Interestingly our clan, along with Clans MacDougall, MacKay, Campbell and MacKenzie were a generation or two from rising to Most Ancient status. From what Alasdair said, that would grant us slightly more voting power in the Wizengamot and influence among the Scottish clans. He never said it, but I suspected he felt the attack might’ve been orchestrated to ensure that didn’t happen, and thus keep those three clans as the only Most Ancient clans while MacDonald also retained their added position as the largest and most financially powerful.

Regardless of if that was the reason behind the attack or not, the event had greatly weakened the power of the clans in the Wizengamot, further dampening the voices of houses not from England. That irked me as it seemed even in the hidden magical world, the need for everything to be England-centric in the Isles remained.

However, while I and my ancestors wanted more information on the status of the other clans, that would have to wait for another day. Today, I would be travelling to the Black estate – somewhere in Cambridgeshire my grandfather had informed me – to meet with Arcturus. Kadic wouldn’t be travelling with me as he couldn’t enter the wards of another magical house, but to ensure my safety, Arcturus’ son and heir, Orion, was currently being watched by Kadic in the sitting room next door.

I was honestly surprised Arcturus had agreed to these terms, but he’d not argued against them too heavily when he’d spoken with my grandfather’s portrait two days ago on the matter. Arcturus had entered Dunscaith Castle twice since our first meeting. The first time he’d spent with my grandparents and great-grandparents portraits speaking on matters I wasn’t allowed to overhear. The second time had been to negotiate my coming to the Black Estate today and explain some of the expected protocols I’d have to endure upon my arrival.

I’d already seen them displayed by Orion when he’d arrived, though there was something off about the man. While none of my ancestors commented on it, they seemed to agree as I saw them sharing glances before I turned my attention to the fireplace.

“Are you ready?” There was a hint of annoyance in Alasdair’s voice, which made some sense since I’d been staring at the fireplace for a minute now.

“I… I’m just concerned I will get the name wrong and get lost in the network,” I replied slowly, trying to cover my concerns about this method of travel and my wandering mind with a possible worry. “Every time before Mother said the words.”

“You’ll be fine sweetling,” Áine offered with a reassuring smile. “Just remember, it’s Le Domaine Nior. Since it’s not English, just be mindful of the pronunciation and off you go.”

I took a breath, steadying myself, and then tossed Floo powder into the fireplace. “Le Domaine Nior.” Once the flames turned green, I closed my eyes and mouth and stepped into them.

A moment later, after feeling the familiar but new sensation of the Floo network as I travelled along it, I stumbled. My eyes opened just in time to prevent me from falling face-first to the floor. Which was when I noticed I was no longer in the main room of Dunscaith Castle. The floor here, at least near the fireplace, was wooden as well, but I was no longer in my sitting room, instead, I found myself in a long, exquisitely decorated corridor.

“Chief MacLeod, on behalf of The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, I, Arcturus Black, welcome you into our home and offer you protection while under our wards. No harm shall come to you, from within or without, so long as you offer no harm to us.”

I looked up at Arcturus as he stood there with who I assumed was his wife. “I, Uh…” I paused and cleared my throat. “Lord Black, on behalf of the Ancient and Noble Clan of MacLeod, I thank you for the offer of protection on this day and graciously accept it. May this lead to a long and prosperous alliance between our two great houses.” When I finished I bowed, as not only was the House of Black above Clan MacLeod – simply for being a few hundred years older – but Arcturus was the host and I the guest.

When I lifted my head, I took in Arcturus and the woman beside him, both dressed resplendently in garments that undoubtedly cost a small fortune. Their clothing exuded opulence, highlighting impeccable tailoring and an unmistakable sense of refinement. The fabric, adorned with intricate patterns and rich hues, spoke of timeless elegance. From the fine embroidery on the cuffs to the ornate clasps securing their attire, every detail reflected meticulous artisanship. Their ensembles were a testament to their noble bearing and projected an air of authority, radiating an aura of refined grace. Delicate lacework added an ethereal touch, enhancing the allure of their attire. It was evident that no expense had been spared in crafting these exquisite garments, which epitomised a fusion of elegance and sophistication.

“May I introduce my wife, Melania.” I stepped forward and bowed to her as she offered her hand.

“My lady,” I said as I kissed her knuckles. All this felt extremely odd as I was seven and both of them were far older, but as I was a standing lord – or clan chief in Celtic terms – this was expected.

“Chief MacLeod, it is an honour to welcome you into my house,” Melania began as I lifted my head and released her hand. "When my husband imparted the news of not only your miraculous survival but also your ascension as The MacLeod, I experienced a conflicting surge of relief and distress." A furrow formed on my brow, betraying my confusion.

"I was born into Clan McMillan, you see," Melania revealed, her words imbued with a sense of nostalgia. "Though we may have deviated from the ancient traditions of the clans, my father held your father and grandfather in the highest regard, considering them to be paragons of honour as esteemed chiefs. If not for the veil of secrecy that shrouded your survival, I would have already approached him to share the astounding revelation of your existence."

“I, uh, thank you for your kind words, Lady Black. I can’t say how my father felt about yours, though provided today’s meeting goes as planned, it may be possible to inform him of my survival. However, that would come with the promise of him not mentioning it to any other family. Until I can learn what happened on the Summer Solstice I’d prefer to keep the news of my survival quiet.”

“Quite understandable and agreeable, Chief MacLeod.” Melania turned and gave Arcturus a small smile. “I see you were truthful in how wise he was for one so young, husband.”

Arcturus nodded, his countenance displaying a tender affection as he gently clasped Melania's hand. "When I recounted our encounters to her, she found it difficult to fathom the depth of maturity that emanates from you," he explained, a hint of intrigue lingering in his voice. "Although I am indeed curious to uncover the origins of this exceptional trait, I deem it fitting to reserve such inquiries for a more opportune moment." Turning their gazes towards the corridor enveloping us, both Arcturus and Melania gestured towards the array of four doors adorning the passage. "Might we adjourn to the main room for further deliberation?"

“By all means,” I replied with a smile. Arcturus slipped from his wife’s grasp and moved forward. As a guest of close to equal stature, I was expected to walk beside him. Thankfully for me, he took shorter steps than he normally would otherwise I’d be forced to jog to keep pace, which would be unsightly. Or so my ancestors said. Melania fell into step behind us, and I wondered what the situation between the McMillan’s and MacLeod’s was. Neither my grandfather nor Alasdair had mentioned her, but they should’ve known about her as, since Orion had children of his own, she and Arcturus would be in at least their fifties. That meant that either my ancestors considered the clan McMillan as beneath us, or they wanted me to not go into this meeting with preconceived notions.

The room we entered was large, able to seat about a dozen in the various seats and sofas dotted around it. The floor was darkened mahogany while the walls, like the corridor, were covered in a dark green wallpaper, one that reminded me of a forest. On the walls were various portraits of older men, which I assumed were deceased members of the Black family. On one small table beside what had to be Lord Black’s chair – it was the one with the highest back and had gems inlaid in the arms and legs – was a decanter filled with a dark orange liquid.

“Please,” Arcturus indicated a seat on the other side of the small table. As I sat, he slid into his chair while Melania took one nearby, but far enough away that it didn’t feel as if she was intruding on us. “You are too young to fully savour this, but it is a tradition of mine that when a fellow lord, or in your case clan chief, visits, we share a glass of firewhisky before any discussion.” He turned the bottle to allow me to read the label.

It was a bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky, and my eyebrows rose at seeing it was produced in 1850. “I… I don’t believe a sip would kill me,” I said slowly, trying not to betray my eagerness, which drew a smile from Arcturus. Ever since being reborn here, a part of me had been looking forward to sampling firewhisky, I just didn’t think that would happen before I was ten!

Arcturus poured me barely a mouthful of the drink into a glass. As the whisky swirled around, a gentle melody played from the glass. “A simple enchantment to confirm the purity of the alcohol poured into the glass,” Arcturus explained. The glass he used for himself played a longer tune, which made sense as more whisky was added to it. “Santé!”

“Santé,” I replied as I lifted my glass. After raising it in salute, I moved the glass to my lips cautiously. While I doubted Arcturus would attempt to poison me, there was still a chance he might. As the first drop of firewhisky touched my lip, I closed my eyes. To him, it would look as though I was bracing for or savouring the taste. However, I was waiting to feel any build-up of heat in the torc. When none came, indicating the drink was safe, I let the sip slide into my mouth.

Coughing erupted almost instantaneously as the fiery liquid coursed down my throat, engulfing it in a searing blaze. My vision blurred as tears welled up, cascading over my eyes like a gentle stream. But then, to my astonishment, a sudden surge of heat engulfed my chest, radiating through my body.

Gasping for air, I involuntarily opened my mouth, and to my utter disbelief, a flicker of flames burst forth from within me. A spray of fire, albeit small and short-lived, escaped my lips, dancing in the air for a fleeting moment. My heart pounded in my chest as I gazed at the residual wisps of smoke swirling around me.

After the small fit of astonishment had passed and I had wiped my eyes clear, I cautiously turned my attention to Arcturus. His lips curved in the faintest upward twitch, betraying a trace of amusement. Yet, he remained composed, seemingly unphased by my unexpected display. "Th-that is certainly different," I muttered, the burning sensation now transformed into a fiery warmth coursing through my veins.

"With time, you shall become more accustomed to the effects of the firewhisky," he remarked, his voice laced with a mixture of intrigue and assurance. "However, until you reach the pinnacle of your maturity, I would advise exercising caution and not indulging in more than a mere sip." As he placed his glass back onto the table, Arcturus reclined in his seat, exuding an air of serene control over his surroundings. "Now, let us attend to the pressing matters that lie before us."

“To business,” I replied as I placed my glass next to his. “Regarding your offer for educating me on the customs of our world, I feel there is little harm in accepting. Though I would prefer it if such lessons took place at Dunscaith. My grandparents are… concerned about allowing me to leave the castle too often. Whoever was behind the attack on my family and the other clans will surely move to strike if they learn I still live.”

“Understandable and acceptable,” Arcturus replied with a nod. “However, I wonder if perhaps my wife might be an acceptable substitute for me. While I look forward to helping with your education, I am often occupied with other business. I would suggest one of my brothers, or even my cousin Pollux, however, you haven’t yet met them, and Melania is from a Scottish clan; even if it is no longer considered a Highland clan.”

“I would have to speak with my ancestors, but I can agree provisionally to that,” I replied. One thing that had been drilled into my head by my grandparents and great-grandparents was to not dismiss any offer or counteroffer out of hand. I was to defer to their judgement on most matters. The few I was allowed to make independently were those regarding times and regularity. Mainly as I was free at almost any reasonable time and lessons with my ancestors could work around those with Arcturus.

“Excellent. Now, since you are now The MacLeod,” there was a sharp intake of breath from Melania hinting that Arcturus hadn’t mentioned that to her, “I should inform you that you are required to present yourself before the Wizengamot at the opening of the new session, which is the first Monday after the new year at Hogwarts. This year, that is the fifth of September.” I frowned as I’d rather not get drawn into wizarding politics just yet. “While I can tell you are reluctant to do so, the sooner you present yourself, the less chance there is that a cadet branch of your family moves to gain control of your political and business power. Even if they do so, the vaults in Gringotts are protected by magic that only a lord or chief can cancel,” he glanced at my torc indicating that was what would allow me full access to the family vaults, whatever might be in them. “The Ministry is less… restrictive in how it defines lordships. However, even if another comes forth to claim your seat, the fact you bear the MacLeod torc would counter most of their arguments.”

“But not all?”

Arcturus nodded. “Indeed. There would still be a need for blood proof. That is a simple matter to arrange with the goblins, as Gringotts is the only registered entity in the isles that can conduct a blood confirmation ritual. Or at least, the only ones whose results the Wizengamot will accept.”

“So, before I reveal my title to the Wizengamot, I first have to go to the bank? Wonderful.” I didn’t even bother to hide my disdain for this, as it seemed that even in this world, to do one thing, you needed another.

“Quite. However, there is another matter that must be handled first. As part of the agreement we have with the Goblins, no wizard or witch may take a blood confirmation ritual without either first having a wand, or having someone who has graduated from Hogwarts present with them. Normally, this would be a family member, or a teacher in the case of any muggle-born,” his mouth twisted just a touch as he said that word. “However, in this case, that would be problematic.”

“Would it be wise to assume you would be willing to do this for me, for a favour or reward?” I already knew this was how deals often worked between the older families, so making it clear I understood the rules was something Cassiopeia had been insistent on. From how she phrased it, to a Black, going into combat – be it with a wand or your wits – without knowing the rules proved you were unworthy of their time and effort.

“That would be the expected outcome. The size of such favour is something we can agree upon now, or I can discuss with your ancestors.”

“I feel it would be wisest to do that with them present,” I replied slowly. “While that isn’t the standard way of conducting business between houses, I am far from a normal case.”

“No, you certainly aren’t,” Arcturus agreed as he picked up his glass. After taking another sip he spoke again. “The other issue for the ritual is your lack of a wand. The Wizengamot is quite insistent that no child not attending Hogwarts or one of the lesser training centres in these isles or beyond can obtain a wand. However, due to your status as The MacLeod, there exists a loophole in the laws that we can exploit. Provided, of course, you would be interested in learning magic early?”

“I do believe that is a trick question,” I said with a smirk. Melania laughed behind her hand and Arcturus’s lips shifted into a proper smile. One that seemed to reach his eyes. “Though I suspect there are issues with even a clan chief gaining a wand before they’re a student at Hogwarts.”

“It is, shall we say, a grey area in the current laws. Ones predating the Wizengamot by centuries.” My brow rose, wondering about that. “Lords, chiefs or even ladies if the house’s laws allow it, have the right to purchase a custom wand. This wand is never registered with the Ministry, nor can it be examined by Aurors without a majority decision by the Wizengamot – something that few lords are willing to allow as to allow one such case to occur places all at risk. Normally, this wand is never revealed in public, however for you to confirm your status as The MacLeod with the Ministry, a wand is required.”

I leaned back in my chair, marvelling at how it seemed to shift as I moved. It was so comfortable that I almost wanted to sink into it and relax, which might be why Arcturus had guests sit in it. Something so comfortable would place most at ease, and more likely to agree to his propositions.

“If that is the only option, then so be it, however perhaps there is another,” I began as an idea to root in my mind. “I know little of how wands work, but shouldn’t the wands of my grandparents and others be available? If not at Dunscaith Castle, then in a vault in Gringotts?”

Arcturus rubbed his chin. “Yes, in theory, they should. For example, I know where the wands of my forebearers are. However, you’d first have to locate the wands and then find one that is suitable for your soul. I don’t believe much of the lore the Ollivanders put forth regarding wands, however, they are correct in saying a wand chooses the wizard. At least in the sense that there must be a connection between the magics involved.”

“That does bring up another matter dear,” we both turned and looked at Melania. “Once young Dòmhnall has a wand, he will need tutoring in magic. The moment he reveals himself to the public, challenges will emerge to his power. Even if he cannot accept them until he reaches his majority, that doesn’t stop less honourable individuals from attacking him. His clan, and others, were after all, almost wiped out less than two months ago.”

“My wife’s point, as normal, is accurate. Both of us would be willing, for a favour, of course, be willing to help instruct you in spell work that you normally wouldn’t cover until you entered Hogwarts. Or if you prefer, we could direct you to others that would be willing to tutor you at a pace of your choosing.”

“Once I have a wand, I’ll be taking that offer,” I replied with a large smile. “However, as with anything major, for the time being, I will of course, be speaking with my ancestors before making any final decisions.”

“Of course, of course.” A chime rang out around the house, and the adults shared a look. “We can continue our talks later. For now, we would be honoured if you would stay for lunch. I believe our grandsons would welcome a new face at the table. Provided, of course, that you are willing to speak with them.”

I nodded. “Certainly, though I think it best to inform Kadic of this first. I’d rather not have him pacing around worriedly when I fail to return.”

The pair laughed softly at the image. “Certainly. Melania can escort you to the fireplace. I will speak with my grandchildren and inform them we have a guest.” He stood and I followed suit. “And I think speaking to someone closer to your age might do you some good. While you are remarkably fluent today, you have been deprived of friends for too long.”

I nodded in agreement and then followed Melania back to the corridor. While this hadn’t been expected, I couldn’t say I wasn’t looking forward to meeting Sirius and Regulus. Sirius had always been one of my favourite characters in the books, and since being reborn here – at least when not thinking about the chaos that had erupted around me – I’d wondered if I could gain the friendship and loyalty of one if not both, Black boys.

There were many moving parts in play for the future, but gaining the support of House Black, both in the current generation and future ones, would alter the game board dramatically once Riddle started to make his move.

… …

… …