XXVII: Relative Discomfort

Chapter XXVII: Relative Discomfort

With a huff, Charis closed yet another heavy leather-bound ledger and Levitated it back onto the shelf, right beside the umpteen others that had not held any answers. This research was getting more and more frustrating. In the weeks that followed their meeting with Dumbledore, Charis and Grindling had spent a great deal of their spare time trying to find clues about the prophecy. Grindling's idea to focus on the members of the Black family who had been blasted off the family tree had led to a dead end, however, and the hunt for any Gryffindors besides Sirius had been completely fruitless. Now they were making their way through birth dates to astrologically cross-check the number of Leos within the family, but so far, this had not yielded any results either.

'There must be something we've overlooked,' Charis told an equally disappointed Grindling.

'But we've been thorough and methodical with our research,' he pointed out, eyeing the ledgers they'd already been through. 'We should have found something by now!'

'I suppose research can only get us so far,' Charis admitted. 'If only Sirius was still alive to talk to. First-hand evidence would be so much better.'

She let herself fall into a chair. She was sure that talking to Sirius would have unlocked something she and Grindling had missed. He certainly knew a lot about the Black family. But he was gone, and the only surviving Blacks were firmly in the pocket of You-Know-Who. They wouldn't have spoken to Charis even if she paid them all the Galleons in Gringotts. Most probably, they wouldn't have touched the money even with a stick after Charis had held it in her filthy Muggle hands. They would burn it and her with it.

Charis shuddered at the thought of Bellatrix and the Dark witch's unsuccessful attempt on her life earlier that year. She still wore the scars on her chest. They had faded, of course, and were barely visible now. But Charis knew that they were there.

'It's actually quite a sad thought that there doesn't seem to be a single Black left who isn't cruel, Muggle hating, manipulating or just plain nasty. Apart from you, of course,' Grindling pointed out. 'I mean, every family has their black sheep. But in this instance, it seems that the Blacks might have a white one instead.'

Charis smiled at Grindling. His tenacity to find something was admirable, but he didn't know the Blacks as well as Charis did. They were vile, the whole lot of them, the living as well as the deceased. Even the portrait of Sirius' mother announced frequently her distaste at watching the shame that befell her family by associating with so-called blood traitors and half-bloods.

At the thought of the portrait of Walburga Black, Charis' eyed widened. There was no-one alive she could to talk to, this much was true. But there were dead family members that she could speak with! Hadn't Sirius told her that there was a portrait of her great-great-great-grandfather up in one of the gloomy bedrooms in Grimmauld Place? Phineas Nigellus, the least popular headmaster Hogwarts had ever had, Sirius had said. Could he hold the answers Charis was looking for? Would he give them to her? Or would he wrinkle his nose at her and walk out of the frame?

Well, there was just one way to find out.

* * *

Grimmauld Place was an unfriendly building at the best of times, even when the lounge was filled with Order members and the air heavy with the delicious smell of Molly Weasley's chocolate cake. But now, in the dead of night, the abandoned house was beyond creepy. The shadows themselves seemed to be moving, and Charis felt as if there was someone watching her from one of the dark corners. What had she been thinking? Why had she decided to come here on her own on a night that was as dark as if someone had covered the whole city of London with Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. Why had she not asked Dumbledore if she could talk to the portrait of Phineas that resided at Hogwarts? Surely, the headmaster would have been impressed by her idea and would gladly have let her use his office. But it hadn't felt right to talk to Phineas at Hogwarts. This was family business. And family business was best discussed in the family home.

Carefully, Charis made her way down the dark hallway, making as little noise as possible so she wouldn't disturb the hideous painting of the Black matriarch. Walburga would not be happy to see her, Charis was well aware of that. Grimmauld Place may have been home to her ancestors, but as a Muggle-born, Charis knew she would never be welcomed there. If she woke Walburga, the wretched woman would alert the whole house, and Phineas would most certainly agree with his great-granddaughter and want the Muggle-filth out of his house. Better to approach him carefully, and introduce herself in the nicest way possible.

But still, as Charis crept up the stairs, she was filled with a sense of foreboding. Sirius had said Phineas was a pureblood sympathizer. Surely, once he realised who – what – she was, he would not want to speak to her. But what choice did she have? There was no one else to ask.

In the light from her wand, the grotesque severed house-elf heads on the wall almost seemed alive, and even though she was thoroughly disgusted, Charis was unable to avert her eyes. It was like staring at a train wreck. She was, therefore, quite unaware of the dark clad man who soundlessly descended the stairs from the floor above. He, however, had already spotted her from one of the windows on the top floor when she had Apparated to the front door.

Snape paused on the landing, closely observing the blonde witch, who seemed to be spellbound by the unusual wall decoration on the staircase. What on earth was she doing at Grimmauld Place in the middle of the night? Didn't she have better places to be? Her bed, preferably?

When she bumped into him, Charis gave a startled yelp as the light from her wand illuminated his stern face and reflected in his black eyes, and Snape sneered.

'Stop making noises like a frightened little girl, Miss Byrne,' he snapped, realising almost at once that the term "girl" certainly didn't apply to Charis anymore. Frankly, it had not applied to her for quite some time. She was all woman. Feminine, desirable.

'What are you doing here in the middle of the night?' he asked smoothly, regaining his composure and looking down his nose at the blonde witch, who was looking back at him with her green eyes still widened in shock. How did Snape do this? How did he manage to creep up on her all the time when she expected it the least?

'I... I could ask the same of you,' she replied, surprising herself with her daring. But if Snape thought that he had the right to ask her about her business at the headquarters, then surely she had the right to ask him the very same question. After all, they were not at Hogwarts any more. He was not her teacher and she not his student. They were both members of the Order, and thus, in some way, equals.

Snape, however, did not seem to share Charis' viewpoint.

'You could, indeed,' he answered slowly. 'You will, however, do no such thing since you are very well aware that I, as a senior member of the Order, do not need to tell you.'

Charis scowled slightly at this, but Snape's glare made it look like a wince in comparison.

'Now, Miss Byrne, I will ask you again: What brings you to this godforsaken place at this hour?'

There was no use; Snape would pry it out of her one way or another, Charis knew that. She might as well tell the truth right away. But it felt like a defeat. She had wanted to do this on her own.

'I'm trying to find the portrait of Phineas Nigellus,' she started tentatively, not sure how much she wanted to reveal. 'I'd like to speak to him.'

Snape arched his eyebrow at this. 'One would think you'd have better taste, Miss Byrne. Phineas Nigellus Black is not exactly known for his conversational skills.'

Charis lowered her eyes. 'He's the only one who might be able to help me,' she said weakly.

'Help you with what, Miss Byrne?' Snape asked, slightly annoyed by the fact that Charis was now looking at the tip of her shoes. Surely, if she had picked up the courage to come to Grimmauld Place, a house which even gave grown-up Order members the chills at night, she had good reasons for it.

'Well?'

'The prophecy,' Charis murmured.

Snape's face darkened. He knew that Dumbledore thought the prophecy to be important. He thought that it held clues on how to find the means needed to destroy the Dark Lord once and for all. And now it seemed as if the old man had given Charis the task of deciphering the prophecy. Surely, she wasn't working alone.

'Has your boss not yet been able to make sense of his own words?' Snape asked silkily, just about able to mask his dislike for the man in question.

'The gift of Sight does not include the means of interpretation,' Charis answered, now once again bravely meeting Snape's dark gaze. 'Grindling didn't even know he'd made the prophecy, let alone what it might mean.'

A muscle twitched in Snape's jaw at the mention of the Keeper of the Hall of Prophecies.

'Well, well, well. Grindling, is it? One might think only the senior staff of the Ministry are on a first-name basis.'

Once more, Charis' eyes widened, but this time in surprise. Was Snape actually bothered by her calling Grindling by his first name?

'Or are the rumours true, Miss Byrne?'

'Rumours about what, sir?' Charis asked. She honestly had no idea what Snape was talking about. But she almost wished she had not asked when she saw a nasty smile pull at the corners of his mouth.

'The rumours about you having outgrown boys and having developed a taste for somewhat more... mature wizards.'

Charis almost laughed in shock at this. If she didn't know better, she'd think that Snape was somehow jealous. But that was absurd! Surely, he was being as mean and vindictive as ever. After all, those were the traits he was best known for.

For some moments, the fair witch and the dark wizard looked silently at each other, both absorbed in their own thoughts and feelings. Even now, Snape's words could cut through Charis like a knife. But if he was jealous, did that mean he still desired her somehow? Charis felt giddy at the very thought.

'Why, pray tell, do you think that Phineas Nigellus of all people would be able to shed any light on this prophecy?' Snape suddenly asked.

Charis blinked, the mention of the prophecy pulling her back to reality.

'The prophecy refers to the House of Black, we think. Phineas is the only one left to talk to.'

Snape nodded appreciatively.

'You will find his portrait in that bedroom,' he said softly, pointing to the door behind him. 'You would do well to knock. And bear in mind that Phineas is known for having a somewhat sharp tongue. Do not let him intimidate you.'

For the second time that evening, Charis looked at her former teacher in surprise. Had he just given her a solid piece of advice? Mere moments after having sneered at her?

But Snape didn't give her the time to think any more about it.

'Phineas will mention your blood status,' he went on. 'Do not engage in any discussion on this topic with him. He will win. And if he loses, he will walk out of his frame. Either way, it will be your loss.'

Charis' shoulders sagged at this. She knew it wasn't going to be easy, but now it seemed nigh-on impossible. She might as well turn around and go home again.

'Posture, Miss Byrne,' Snape chided. 'Phineas will not answer any of your questions if you look defeated already when you enter the room. Remember who you are. Remember what you have made it through. Be proud of it.'

Charis straightened up, and Snape stepped aside to let her pass. She would do well, he was quite sure of that. Phineas would certainly give her a hard time in the beginning, but eventually he wouldn't be able to resist her sharp wits. And he wouldn't be the first Slytherin to succumb to her. Yes, Charis would do well, and she didn't need anyone to watch her back. And so Snape turned and billowed down the stairs, walking as silently as ever. Charis never heard him leave, and when she turned to offer him her thanks, the landing was empty. It was almost as if he had never been there.

Outside of the bedroom which Snape had pointed out, Charis took a deep breath and then knocked curtly on the door three times.

There was no answer, not to her surprise. She was hardly expecting red carpet treatment.

She knocked again. 'Mr Black? May I come in?'

Again, there was no response. Wary about being rude and getting on the wrong side of her distant relation, Charis carefully opened the door and entered the bedroom. A small candelabrum leapt into life, casting the room with dim candlelight. She looked around. The portrait of Phineas hung on the wall, its owner seemingly asleep in the frame.

Charis' heart sank. Surely, he would not take too kindly to being awoken at such an hour? But she couldn't just leave now, could she?

Bravely, she cleared her throat. 'Mr Black?'

Had his eyelid just twitched, she wondered, but then decided that it had just been a shadow, cast by the candles on the table. She did not know, of course, that Phineas was indeed awake, but that he was planning to make her work a little harder to gain his attention.

And so Charis tried again, ever so softly. 'Mr Black?'

Phineas turned in his chair as if he was trying to get into a more comfortable position.

'Mr Black? Please, sir, I'm sorry to disturb you...'

Phineas' eyes sprang open, in a well-practised display of pretending to have just woken up.

'Hm? What?'

He stared down his nose at Charis, a look of distaste etched on to his features.

'How dare you disturb my sleep? Who are you? And what are you doing in the house of my ancestors?' he asked indignantly.

'Sir, I'm sorry to wake you,' Charis explained, in as humble a voice as she could muster. 'My name is Charis Byrne, and I am a descendant of Marius Black.'

'I hope you are not under the impression that this is something to be proud of,' Phineas replied, looking as if he'd stepped in something unpleasant. 'That good-for-nothing Squib... No grandson of mine...'

He muttered something inaudible that was no doubt highly offensive.

Charis swallowed before continuing. 'If you please, sir, I believe you must know a great deal more about the noble and ancient house of Black than I do. Would you allow me to ask you about them?'

Phineas raised a thin eyebrow. 'At this day and hour?'

'I realise it is a bizarre time to ask. But I wanted to be able to speak with you alone,' she finished earnestly.

Phineas gave a sly smile at this. 'Keeping secrets, are we? Understandable, with all the blood traitors and half-breeds running around here... Well, be quick! I need my sleep.'

Charis took a deep breath, unable to believe her luck.

'I was wondering if you could tell me if any of the Blacks had ever been Sorted into Gryffindor. Besides Sirius, I mean.'

Phineas was so appalled he looked at his great-great-great-granddaughter as if she had two heads.

'Excuse me? Every Black has been Sorted into the great house of Salazar Slytherin, myself included. What would give you the foolish idea that anyone, besides my worthless great-great-grandson Sirius, had disappointed the family in such a way? Gryffindor. Pha!'

Phineas crossed his arms and looked haughty.

'I do not mean to offend you, sir,' Charis replied, trying to limit the damage her insult had already caused. 'I am just curious. Are there some other descendants that may share the name of a lion, perhaps, instead?'

Phineas narrowed his eyes. 'What are these questions about, you silly girl?'

Charis didn't see any point in lying.

'There has been a prophecy, sir, which points to one of the house of Black and invokes the symbol of the lion. I am trying to work out what that might mean, and I hoped you could help me.'

'Lions!' Phineas shrieked with disbelief. 'There are no lions in the most noble house of Black. Is your eyesight that bad that you mistake the dogs on the coat of arms for Foo Dogs?'

He huffed indignantly as Charis looked down, suitably chastised.

'I apologise; I do not mean to offend you. But as one of the eldest and most respected members of the house of Black, I thought that you out of all people would know the history of the family.'

She looked up at her distant relative hopefully.

Phineas, to her surprise, began to puff up at the flattery. It had been a long time since anyone sought his advice, and he clearly enjoyed being spoken to with a tone of respect.

'As I have said, Miss... what was it? Byrne?'

'Yes, sir,' she answered politely.

'As I have said, all Blacks are tied to the great house of Slytherin. However, Slytherins do share some of the traits that Gryffindor house holds so high. Bravery, for example.'

Charis tried not to look disbelieving at this. The Slytherins she knew were not exactly brave, at least not when they were on their own. She knew, however, that there was an exception to every rule.

'Are there any of your descendants, or indeed forebears, that you consider to be especially brave, sir?' she asked.

Once again, Phineas puffed up with pride.

'Where to start?' he mused and cleared his throat imperiously. 'My own son, Cygnus, worked tirelessly at the Ministry to promote a bill in favour of wizarding supremacy, despite great opposition from the Wizengamot at the time. He also took the very brave decision to blast my grandson Marius off the tree when he showed about as much magical talent as a filthy Muggle.'

Phineas' eyes glittered down malevolently, and Charis looked troubled at this; she really did not want to steer the conversation back to blood status or to her errant ancestor. Instead, she tried a different approach.

'One thing I have noticed is that the Blacks all have such wonderful, regal names,' she started lightly. 'I was wondering if any of those had meanings that echoed bravery or valour.'

Phineas' mouth twitched.

'I can tell you are unfamiliar with Greek mythology,' he sneered. 'My great-grandson Orion was named after the mighty hunter. And his son, my beloved great-great-grandson Regulus, was one of the bravest in the family, standing up for wizard rights and taking the Dark Mark in order to preserve the purity of wizardkind.'

The old man's eyes became misty with recollection.

Charis, however, once more felt way out of her depth, and realising that Phineas had no useful information to impart, she decided to make her excuses and leave as quickly as possible before he had the chance to seize upon her blood status.

'That was very interesting. Thank you, Mr Black, you have been really helpful,' she said, trying hard to keep any tone of disappointment out of her voice. She was more than a little crestfallen at not having gained any information. 'I apologise again for disturbing your sleep. Thank you for taking the time to talk with me.'

Phineas' chest swelled as he gazed down at the polite girl in front of him. 'Do not let this become a habit. I do need my sleep.'

As Charis shut the door quietly behind her, she felt even more frustrated. How on earth could she be related to such vile people? And how, for the love of Merlin, were she and Grindling ever supposed to decipher what the prophecy meant? They might just as well give up right away.

With a sigh, she illuminated her wand once more and made her way back down the creepy corridors of her ancestral home, her stomach heavy with defeat.