The Wizengamot hall remained under the same dense atmosphere, but for Magnus Riddle, everything had changed. The name he had heard from Narcissa still pulsed in his mind like a string vibrating under tension. Narcissa. A star name. A clear echo of the Black family tradition, as Phineas Nigellus had once explained to him, on one of those long, silent nights in the Slytherin Common Room.
As he returned to Narcissa, he positioned himself with the formality of an ancient duke. Lucius remained at his side, attentive and quiet, while Draco stood back, taking everything in with wide eyes.
"Mrs. Malfoy," Magnus said, his tone more controlled now, though the weight behind each word was evident, "allow me to insist on a more personal matter."
Narcissa nodded slightly.
— The name you bear... reveals an origin that is dear to me. I met a Black man, a long time ago. A man of strong spirit and sharp mind. Phineas Nigellus. He was my mentor, my guide, my reference. It's... disturbing, to say the least, to know that his blood still runs in the veins of few.
Narcissa seemed to touch something inside her. Her expression softened, although a shadow of sadness took over her eyes.
— Phineas is remembered in our family. A name that carries weight. But... much has been lost since his day. — She took a deep breath. — House Black has been fragmenting. Old values have been confused with blind pride. Alliances, marriages... estrangements. And now... the last head of the house is in Azkaban.
Magnus did not respond immediately. His jaw had tightened. The fingers clenched silently beneath the sleeve of the cloak.
He felt angry.
But it was not a raging rage. It was deep, silent, like underground lava. The Black name had, in his youth, been synonymous with strength, with structure, with tradition and purpose. And now? Reduced to a fragmented lineage, with no worthy heirs, with its chieftain locked away among dementors.
— How...? — he murmured. — How was this allowed to happen?
Lucius replied, carefully:
— Sirius Black was accused of treason, of mass murder, of betraying allies to the enemy. He was imprisoned without a formal trial. Many say it was a mistake. Others say it was inevitable.
Magnus stared at Lucius for a long moment, as if considering a cup that might contain poison.
— And you? — he asked. — What do you believe?
Lucius hesitated for a second, unnoticeable to most, but clear to Magnus.
— I believe that truths are lost when there is a rush to find the guilty. At the time, everyone wanted revenge. And the Black family... was already weakened enough not to contest it.
Magnus turned his eyes to Narcissa again.
— Did you know him well? Sirius?
She hesitated before answering:
— As children, yes. After that... no more. He distanced himself from his family. He rejected their customs, broke ties. He was... impulsive. But not a murderer. I don't believe he was.
Magnus's heart was heavy. He had hoped the Blacks would stand tall, ready to support him in his future endeavors. He had expected to see Phineas's house as a bastion of tradition and order. Now he saw only social and political ruins.
His mind was racing.
He still needed to discover the whereabouts of old friends. Investigate the supposed opening of the Chamber of Secrets in the 1940s. Understand who this "Tom Riddle" was who had appeared in his time of absence. And now, this additional burden: reconstructing the Black family.
He could not allow Phineas Nigellus' legacy to fade away quietly. I could not allow names to be erased through cowardice or carelessness.
— Do you have contact with anyone else from the Black lineage? — he asked, restrained.
Narcisa shook her head.
— Few remain. My sister is estranged. The other... well, she's not worth mentioning. The old ones are dead. The young ones have dispersed. The name still exists, but the house does not.
Magnus clenched his fists.
He said nothing more. But in his mind, decisions were beginning to form.
He would search for the portraits. He would interrogate Phineas. He would search through archives. He would seek allies. He would make plans.
And he would save the Blacks, even if they had forgotten how to save themselves.
Narcissa watched him in silence. There was something about that man that was not seen in others. An old weight. An honor that was not displayed, but imposed. She knew, with the silent intuition of those who live among polished beasts, that Magnus Riddle would not allow darkness to consume what he considered his.
He bowed his head slightly, in final respect.
— I appreciate your honesty, Mrs. Malfoy. Sometimes the harshest answers are also the most necessary.
Narcissa just nodded.
Magnus turned, walking away silently.
As he walked between the ancient pillars of the hall, with the green torches casting their long shadows on the stones, his thought was one:
"The Black family will never be erased as long as I draw breath."
And so, with the decision in his heart, Magnus Riddle left behind not just a conversation, but the beginning of a new path. A path that would lead him to defy not only external forces, but time, history, and the very machine that crushed legacies beneath the weight of indifference.
The Black sky would shine again.
And he would be the spark.
He walked away from the Malfoys with slow, steady steps, but his heart was racing, his blood racing hotter than usual. The confirmation that Narcissa was of the Black line had ignited not just a memory, but a burning unease.
And Magnus knew that if he were here, old Headmaster Phineas would frown at what was left of his family.