Harry Potter: Fire Lord Black

They did not go straight to Grimmauld Place.

Narcissa had insisted he stop at Malfoy Manor first, and refusing her while still pale from a hospital bed would have required more cruelty than Edward felt like spending that morning. Kreacher held his hand for the Apparition and muttered warnings the whole way.

"Master must bend his knees when landing. Master must not pull away. Master must not faint. If Master feels faint, Master must tell Kreacher before falling."

"I will try to schedule my collapse properly."

"Kreacher is serious, Master."

"I know."

The world folded.

They appeared before the gates of Malfoy Manor. Edward stumbled once. Kreacher caught him immediately, muttering darkly about healers, boys, and the general failure of legs. The manor rose beyond the silvered iron gates, immaculate and cold, with peacocks moving across the lawn as if they owned the place and tolerated the Malfoys by contract.

Lucius was waiting.

He wore black robes, perfectly pressed, with his cane in one hand and a silver serpent brooch at his throat. The man looked as if dust would apologize before touching him. Narcissa stood at his side in pale violet, her hair pinned with careful precision. Her expression changed when she saw Edward. Not much. A Malfoy did not emote in public unless there was profit in it. But her eyes softened.

"Edward," she said, stepping forward. "You look better."

"That is a low standard."

Lucius's mouth twitched.

Narcissa ignored both of them, which was probably a skill learned through marriage. "St. Mungo's is competent when properly encouraged, but recovery does not end because a healer signs a form. You will rest. You will eat properly. You will not bury yourself in old books until you collapse into one."

Edward glanced at Lucius.

Lucius lifted his cane slightly. "I have learned not to stand between my wife and medical tyranny."

"Cowardice," Edward said.

"Experience."

Narcissa turned to the house-elf behind her. "Dobby, hot cocoa. Three sugar cubes. And bring the Honeydukes tray."

Dobby bowed so low his ears nearly brushed the floor. "Yes, Mistress Malfoy. Dobby is going, Mistress Malfoy."

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Edward watched him vanish. Kreacher sniffed, offended by another elf existing within ten feet of him.

Inside, Malfoy Manor was exactly as he remembered: polished, expensive, and arranged to remind visitors that wealth could be weaponized by people with good taste and no shame. Silver caught the light. The tapestries were old but not decaying. The yew hedges outside had been trimmed into obedience. Grimmauld Place had history. Malfoy Manor had presentation. Neither felt like home, but one at least smelled less like dust and ancestral disappointment.

They took cocoa in a sitting room where the chairs were too fine to be comfortable. Narcissa spoke about food, sleep, potion schedules, and the dangers of overexertion. Edward listened because she meant well and because interrupting her would only prolong the campaign. Lucius said little, but when he did, it mattered.

"The Pensieve matter has been handled," he said. "The Ministry will not pursue it."

Edward lowered his cup. "They wanted to?"

"They wanted to avoid embarrassment. That often looks like pursuit until someone reminds them of legal exposure."

"The Pensieve nearly killed me."

"Yes. They were distressed to learn that fact could be phrased aloud."

Edward looked at him for a moment. "Thank you."

Lucius inclined his head. "It was a small effort. The Ministry is full of men who believe a title is the same as competence. Correcting them is almost a public service."

Narcissa gave her husband a look.

Lucius drank his tea.

Edward did not stay long. The manor's beauty pressed against him after a while. It was not hostile, but it was too controlled, too polished. It reminded him of what pure-blood families wanted the world to see: silver, silk, portraits, lineage. Grimmauld Place showed what lay beneath when nobody bothered to polish it.

When he rose to leave, Narcissa handed him a box.

Inside were new robes and several protective items. A charmed clasp. A ring meant to warn against common poisons. A small silver pendant with layered defensive charms worked into the metal. Practical gifts, hidden beneath Malfoy elegance.

"These are small things," Narcissa said. "Take them."

Edward knew they were not small. He also knew refusing would insult the care more than the wealth.

"Thank you, Aunt Narcissa."

Her expression softened again. This time she did not hide it quickly enough.

Lucius pretended not to see. Kreacher saw everything and looked insufferably pleased.

They returned to Grimmauld Place at dusk.

The old house received them without warmth. It had never been talented in that direction. The narrow facade stood in its usual gloom, tall and severe among the Muggle houses that did not know it existed. The dying light touched the upper windows and gave the black brick a temporary gentleness, which was generous of the sun and dishonest of the house.

Inside, the air smelled of dust, old wood, polish, and secrets stored badly.

The portraits were asleep or pretending to be. Edward preferred either option. Kreacher led him through the hall, past the library, and toward a row of shelves that looked no different from any other. Then the elf pressed three knots in the wood, muttered something in a language too old and ugly to be Latin, and a narrow seam appeared between the bookcases.

A hidden door opened.

Naturally the House of Black had hidden rooms behind its library. It would have been more surprising if it had not. Pure-blood families put secrets in walls the way ordinary people put coats in cupboards.

Kreacher took an old lantern from a hook. "This was Young Master Regulus's quiet place," he said. His voice had changed. It became smaller, as if the house might punish him for speaking too loudly. "The family was noisy. The portraits were noisy. Mistress Walburga was..."

"Loud," Edward supplied.

Kreacher looked pained by the accuracy. "Yes, Master."

They descended a narrow stair. Small lamps glowed along the wall, dim but steady. The stone smelled cool and dry. At the bottom was a room, not large, but carefully kept.

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