The table they sat at was quieter than most — not because they lacked things to say, but because no one quite knew how to start. The Blacks were not a family accustomed to vulnerability, nor to small talk. And yet, here they were, gathered to have lunch, trying to play family. Or perhaps… trying to figure out how to become one.
Outside the enchanted windows, the sky was painted a dusky spring blue. Inside, roast lamb cooled slowly on forgotten plates.
It was Orion who broke it first.
“So, you know what becomes of all this…”
Cyril didn’t look up. “Enough to know what’s worth saving. And what’s not.”
That caught Walburga’s attention. Her hand stilled around her goblet. “And what, exactly, do you think is worth saving?”
Cyril finally looked at her.
“Family,” he said simply. “Not status. Not name. Not old ideals soaked in someone else’s blood. Just—family. That should’ve come first.”
A beat. Then another.
Walburga frowned, lips parted like she might protest, but she didn’t.
“You speak of it like we didn’t protect our own,” Orion said. There was a bit of anger in his voice — something edged with defensiveness.
Cyril turned to him. He chuckled, “Never imagined you would be so good at cracking jokes.”
Everybody tensed at his attitude towards the head of the house.
He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at Orion.
“If you had, the family ring would’ve accepted you.”
The table stilled.
Orion blinked. “You know of the ring?”
“I wield it,” Cyril said quietly. “I didn’t ask for it. It came to me. On its own.”
Narcissa’s brows rose, just slightly. Even Bellatrix tilted her head.
“It never accepted any of you,” Cyril continued. “Not because you weren’t powerful. But because to all of you — family was always secondary. Ambition, fear, blood politics — they ruled over loyalty. Black blood never bowed. But it did bend.”
Walburga’s jaw was tense. Orion’s eyes darkened with thought, but he didn’t argue.
“I don’t say this to insult you,” Cyril added, voice softening just a touch. “I say it because if you want to stop what’s coming… you have to start there. With what matters.”
Regulus watched him, silent, but something flickered in his eyes — pride, maybe. Or awe. Or guilt. It was hard to tell with Black men — always tightly buttoned beneath tailored robes.
Bellatrix scoffed lightly. “So what, we hold hands and play nice.”
“You better do, Lestrange. You are already on very thin ice with me.” Cyril said, eyes hardening a little. “We protect who’s ours. Without asking which house they were sorted into. Without weighing their bloodline. That’s what the ring honours. That’s what makes someone worthy of bearing the Black legacy.”
“And if we don’t?”
Cyril leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping once against the table before stilling.
“You already know the future. Don't be daft.”
Cyril exhaled slowly. “I’m being very patient right now — more than I usually am. I don’t forgive easily. Especially not when I offer a second chance.”
YOU ARE READING
SOLSTICE
Fanfiction"My lord," Cyril hummed in reply. Theo always preferred this title. Theo asked, referring to the future they all would be witnessing, "Are you okay with what tomorrow brings? It's like privacy being snatched away, and secrets won't be secrets anymo...
