‘That makes sense.’
Black accepted Dumbledore’s explanation, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it.
The institute had been abandoned.
He had been left there as a failed experiment, untouched for decades.
Why had someone suddenly remembered him eleven years ago?
For now, there seemed to be no way of answering that.
Then another thought occurred to him.
A rather more startling one.
He looked at Dumbledore.
‘So… strictly speaking, the two of you are my…’
He didn’t finish.
Dumbledore understood perfectly.
He and Grindelwald had nearly two centuries between them.
And now, apparently, they had a son.
It was absurd.
It was also entirely the doing of that old wretch, Grindelwald.
But Black carried both their blood.
In the most literal sense, he was their child.
Otherwise, Fawkes would not have recognised him as a member of the Dumbledore family—or sensed that he needed help when he was in danger.
Dumbledore pressed a hand to his forehead.
Whatever the circumstances of the boy’s creation, he had already accepted Black as one of his family.
He would see that the child grew into a good person.
And an excellent wizard.
As for his equally undeniable connection to Grindelwald, Dumbledore thought it best to keep the two of them well apart.
‘You carry the blood of the Dumbledore family,’ he said.
‘I would like you to take your place in it.’
He paused.
‘But only if that is what you want.’
Black met his earnest gaze.
After a moment, he said, ‘I’m sorry, Professor.
I need time to think.’
At the word Professor, something dimmed in Dumbledore’s eyes.
He had longed for family more than he cared to admit, especially since Ariana’s death.
He still had a brother, but they were little better than strangers now.
It had been a very long time since he had known the warmth of a close family.
Then Black had appeared.
A child who was, impossibly, one of his own.
Somewhere beneath all his concerns, Dumbledore had hoped the boy would agree.
Perhaps there might still be room for that warmth in his lonely later years.
‘You grew up here.
Mrs Marian has been very good to you.
It is not a small decision.’
He gave Black time to look up before continuing.
‘If you decide against it, I won’t force you.’
Then his expression became more serious.
‘Whatever you choose, please don’t introduce yourself as Grindelwald.
You’ve heard his history now, so I think you understand why.
There are still many people who hate that name.’
Black nodded.
‘I understand, Professor.’
Dumbledore had arrived before supper.
By the time he left, stars filled the sky.
They had spent several hours together in Black’s room, yet Mrs Marian hadn’t interrupted them once.
Black found that strange.
As far as she knew, Dumbledore was a stranger.
Why would she allow him to remain alone with one of the children for so long?
He wondered whether Dumbledore had used magic.
Then he found Mrs Marian sitting quietly at a table in the dining room, and knew that wasn’t it.
‘Finished talking?’
She rose at once.
‘Come and have your supper.
There’s salmon soup, and your favourite spaghetti.
It won’t be as good as yours, I’m afraid.’
She lifted the covers from the dishes.
The food was still steaming.
‘Mrs Marian?’
Something was wrong.
Her voice was thick and nasal, as though she had been crying.
‘Eat, dear.
You must be hungry.’
‘All right.’
Black picked up his fork.
Mrs Marian sat watching him, twisting a handkerchief between her hands.
At last, she spoke.
‘That gentleman who came this afternoon… he’s a relative of yours, isn’t he?’
Black choked on his spaghetti.
‘What makes you think that?’
She sighed.
I do notice things.’
Her gaze rested on his face.
‘He has exactly the same lovely blue eyes as you.’
Black said nothing.
‘So I suppose it’s time for you to leave us.’
‘I don’t have to go,’ he muttered.
‘It’s a good thing, dear.’
She tightened her grip on the handkerchief.
‘I don’t know why you were left here.
But I’ve always hoped the children would…’
She stopped and tried again.
‘You know what I want for all of you.
Someone to adopt you.
A family of your own.’
Her voice faltered.
‘No child should have to grow up with nobody to turn to.’
Late that night, Black stood in the woods outside the orphanage, watching the bear devour the salmon he had brought.
As he had suspected, it hadn’t managed to catch anything.
Without this meal, it would probably have gone weak with hunger.
‘I think I’ll call you Bear One,’ Black said.
The bear made a few enthusiastic noises and stuffed another fish into its mouth.
Black chuckled.
‘No, being called Bear One doesn’t mean you’ll get a brother called Bear Two.’
The bear considered this.
Bear Three, then?
‘Just eat your fish.’
As Bear One worked through his supper, Black thought about Mrs Marian.
She believed Dumbledore was a relative who had come to take him home.
And she supported it.
She understood better than most how much a family could mean to an orphan.
Perhaps he should go with Dumbledore.
It wasn’t that Black felt a desperate need for a family.
He hadn’t thought there was anything particularly wrong with being an orphan.
He was considering the future.
If he left with Dumbledore, he would have Dumbledore behind him.
Then he thought about his Blood Pressure System.
‘Actually… if I want to keep winding people up without getting killed, going with him might be a very good idea.’