Kreacher, the house-elf, hadn't found any trace of Lockhart and his companions. He grumbled curses at the noisy Muggle street outside the window, then, hearing his Mistress's summons from afar, he scurried off deeper into the corridor.
A moment later, only the clamor of the Muggle street remained outside the corner window; the entire corridor settled into an eerily quiet, bewildering stillness. Tonks found the peculiar silence unbearable and began to struggle against the wall.
"Don't move."
A deep voice rumbled in her ear, strangely resonantly, as if passing through the wall and her ear bones, echoing within. The sound was discomfiting, and Tonks instinctively twisted her body again in protest. Just then, the sound of bare feet on wooden floorboards drifted from the staircase corner. A girl, who bore a slight resemblance to Tonks, skipped lightly down, gripping the banister. Soon after, two more girls of similar age followed, one appearing gentle, the other regal.
"Mummy~"
Tonks fell silent, staring blankly at the girl who had run ahead, smiling as she turned back to call to her two sisters. Finally, once the three girls' chattering figures had departed, a faint, fluorescent glow spread before her eyes, and her vision was pulled back into the wall. It was a profoundly odd sensation, like being embedded within hard stone or wood, able to move within it yet feeling sticky and sluggish.
"Come on, we must be careful. The ancestral home of the Black family isn't so easy to trespass into."
Lockhart held his wand aloft, its tip casting a soft light forward, as he led Tonks and Madam Mary slowly onward through the wall. At last, they arrived in the great hall. In those days, the Black family still flourished. The hall was brightly lit, and house-elves bustled through the crowd, carrying food and warm towels, serving every master. A drowsy old man, a blanket over his knees, sat by the fireplace. Not far off, several adults were holding wine glasses, engaged in spirited conversation. Two boys of the younger generation played separately, while three girls frolicked and teased each other.
Lockhart's control over magic was clearly at an advanced level. As they moved into a corner of the hall, none of the Blacks or house-elves detected their presence. He made no additional movements, simply waiting patiently. Having travelled here by means of the Time-Turner and Apparition, following Bellatrix's memories, this was clearly no ordinary day. Something significant was surely about to happen, and he merely needed to wait.
Indeed, it wasn't long before the three girls approached their two cousins to play. As they chatted, they suddenly broke into an argument.
"I just won't learn it!" a child cried out furiously, drawing the adults' attention. This child was impeccably dressed, in exquisite attire befitting a classical noble, with elegant, beautiful black hair, and was very handsome.
"That's Sirius," Tonks whispered, prompting Lockhart. Although her mother had been disowned by the family before Tonks was born for marrying a Muggle, as a new Auror often assigned to routine inspections at Azkaban, she was quite familiar with those who had sided with the Dark Lord, such as Sirius and Bellatrix. (P.S.: According to Auror files, Sirius admitted to causing the deaths of the Potters and killing a dozen Muggles on a street, and was imprisoned in Azkaban as a servant of the Dark Lord. This is the impression most people have of Sirius, believing him to be an undercover agent.)
Lockhart nodded, carefully waving his wand to quell the disturbance created by Tonks's voice.
"I just won't learn Dark Arts!" Sirius shoved away his brother, who was trying to pull him, and furiously looked at the group of adults. "You all say our Black family has the noblest pure-blood lineage, so I don't understand why the so-called noblest Blacks have to be Dark wizards?"
"Sirius!" His mother was beside herself with rage, screaming as she threw her wine glass and moved to strike him, though she was fortunately restrained by Bellatrix's mother.
The old man by the fireplace slowly raised his head, let out a sigh, and closed his eyes sorrowfully.
"Because that's not Dark Arts, and those who learn Dark Arts aren't necessarily Dark wizards!" Sirius's father, Orion Black, said in a deep voice, striding forward. He looked down coldly at his perpetually wayward son. "I never should have let you go to that blasted Hogwarts!" His gaze was filled with anger. "Hogwarts' teachings are always so absurd, talking about Dark Arts and Dark wizards. Child, remember this: historically, all wizards have been wicked, and historically, all magic has been wicked!"
Sirius froze, and the other children gasped in disbelief.
"Orion, my brother, you can't speak to the boy like that." Bellatrix's father, Cygnus Black, shook his head and stepped forward, looking at the young generation of Blacks. "Children, magic has always been the same, it has never changed. What has changed is the era. This era has categorized many spells as 'Dark Arts' and declared those who master them 'Dark wizards'." He spread his hands. "We pure-blood families don't oppose the construction of such a modern magical system; in fact, we, along with many other families, promoted this reform tailored to the times."
"Because the Ministry of Magic's laws will forbid most wizards from using these powerful and dangerous spells, yet for us pure-blood families, for us noble Blacks, the Ministry of Magic's laws cannot restrict us."
"This gives us a significant advantage."
He looked down at Sirius, a faint smile on his lips. "I know, I've gone through struggles like yours, always pondering good and evil. But remember, to maintain the glory of the Blacks, you cannot foolishly surrender your advantages or blindly conform to societal values that have been deliberately manufactured, ultimately fading into obscurity."
Young Sirius clearly didn't understand such reasoning, nor was he listening. He merely sneered in rebuttal, "The glory of the Blacks, through Dark Arts? I'd rather have none!"
"I'll beat this beast to death!" Sirius's father was enraged, roaring as he lunged forward, only to be caught by his brother Cygnus.
"Hey, my brother, you can't solve anything this way." He persuaded and calmed him, and once his furious brother had pulled free and walked away to cool down, Cygnus turned back to face the youngsters. He pointed to the family crest on the wall. "Black, meaning darkness, evil, ill-omened!"
"I know, everyone has good intentions and longs for beauty, so they always despise darkness, evil, and ill omens. But there's no helping it; such blood flows in our veins..." He looked warmly into the eyes of each child. "Such ill-omened magical blood always causes us to encounter one accident or another, to die prematurely. Children, perhaps when you grow up, you may never see us old ones again."
"Father!" His daughters sounded uneasy at this description, Narcissa clinging tightly to her father's arm.
"This is the truth: a brief yet powerful existence forges the glory of the Black family. Only through the continuation of our bloodline can the Black family achieve eternity."
He walked over, looked down at Sirius's complex expression, and smiled faintly. "Child, I know you can't grasp it now, but I hope you remember my words. Perhaps one day in the future, you will suddenly come to understand this truth yourself."
"Why do we say the Blacks are the noblest and most ancient family? Why do even the other families among the so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight Pure-Blood families acknowledge us as having inherently noble magical blood?"
"It is because the most ancient wizards were, in fact, dark, evil, and ill-omened."
"Wizards have always been this way, drawing immense power from mystery, from evil, from ill omens. They appear in ill-omened places, bring ill-omened prophecies, and are enveloped in ill-omened auras. Muggles feel this deeply; it has been so from ancient times to the present."
"Wrong!" a sharp cry suddenly echoed from behind, causing everyone to turn their heads. It was the old man by the fireplace. That was Sirius's grandfather, Arcturus Black, and he looked profoundly sorrowful. "The times are changing dramatically, children." His voice was so ancient, every syllable seemed to be pulling at a tearing bellows, making speech an effort. "My father, Phineas Black, the father who served as Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, his name, in adherence to the Black tradition, included 'Nigellus' as his middle name, meaning black, dark, ill-omened..."
"He told me he was despairing, because he found that his generation might be the end of the Blacks, for the dark, ill-omened, mysterious era belonging to wizards had passed."
"He was powerless to stop it, maddened by the pain."
Grandfather Arcturus's gaze deepened as he looked at Sirius, a faint smile on his lips. "If you won't learn Dark Arts, then don't. Perhaps you can forge a new path for the Blacks."
"Nonsense!" Sirius's father roared in fury. "You're dead, do you understand? Stop talking nonsense. You're always like this, acting so enlightened, but others always bear the family's burdens!" He furiously pulled out his wand and waved it at the fireplace; the warm flames instantly extinguished, and the old man's figure vanished from the chair beside the hearth.
Having done this, he rose, his gaze sharp, and strode forward, staring intensely down at Sirius. "You were born a Black, Black magical blood flows in your veins, and the power of that magical blood has flowed through the river of history, constantly drawing strength from the darkness, evil, and ill omens of wizards!"
"This is your bloodline, a bloodline you cannot strip away, and it is the task you bear!"
"Betray your bloodline, and you will find that you will quickly fall from your self-satisfied excellent state into a weak one. You will even find that your bloodline begins to betray you; you will be devoured by darkness, evil, and ill omens!"
"Darkness, evil, and ill omens are not inherently derogatory terms; they are definitions assigned by modern wizards. Wizards have always been like this throughout a thousand years of history."
"It is your glory, and your curse!"
"You won't learn Dark Arts, haha, let me tell you, you will very likely be attacked by terrifying Dark Arts, you will be thrown into icy waters and devoured, or thrown into places like Azkaban to be stripped of everything by Dementors, ultimately killed by Dark Arts!"
"Because that, is the magical bloodline!"
He stared fixedly at Sirius. "Have I made myself clear enough?"
Sirius stood his ground, neck stiff with defiance. "Then I'd rather that happen!"
"Very good!" Sirius's father was so enraged he seemed about to explode. "Then I'd rather not have a son like you! The Black family doesn't need someone who betrays their bloodline and betrays the Blacks!"
"Now!"
He pointed forcefully at the door. "Please leave our Black family gathering! You don't belong here!"
"Then I'll go!" Sirius retorted without backing down. "Evil blood makes me sick! Glory maintained through wickedness is meaningless!"
Bang!
He kicked open the door and stormed out in a fit of rage. The few youngsters around were stunned, never imagining that their little argument would lead to Sirius being disowned by the family. For Sirius's father was already furiously using a burning cigarette to scorch Sirius's name off the family tapestry on the wall.