DPASW: Revenge is Best Served Raw

Interlude - Alexandra's Birthday Party

To Alexandra Patricia Black, the dim shelves of the Black Library were a place of worship. She hefted the satchel slung over her shoulder, and made her way through the stacked shelves. The thin fingers of her free hand kissed the spines of the books to her side as she walked past. This was her legacy, what set her apart.

She wasn't too sure about blood supremacy. It didn't really make sense to her, but she was glad she was pureblood nonetheless. Purebloods, like noble houses, held power in the Wizarding World.

She stopped, briefly, and ran a finger down the spine of a fiction book.

No. She paused. That wasn't quite true. Almost half the noble families were pureblood, even those of the Light and the Gray, but many others were half-blood families. She knew this because she'd checked.

She fingered a newly selected dusty book and slid it from its brothers' snug embrace. The title read 'The Dark Mountain - A Story of Power and Heroism'. The edges of her lips tugged upwards. She'd read many of these stories now, and the subtitle of this one summed them all up. In every story there was a hero, and it didn't matter if they were a blood supremacist, a protector of muggles, or the dutiful child of an ancient bloodline, they were always a hero. And in every story the hero found some special power, which gave them the ability to win. Sometimes it was special teachings from a mentor, sometimes it was a powerful artefact, and sometimes it was a demonic or necromantic ritual, but whatever it was, without that special power the hero would be just another smear on the wall.

She looked down the aisle of ancient tomes. Her jaw firmed.

This was her special power — her key to being someone. She would never be Lord Black. She was a witch. But with this library that wouldn't matter so much. Many of the books dated back over a thousand years and contained spells and rituals long since forgotten or banned. With this library, she would achieve great things.

She slid the new book into her satchel and continued on her path. The end of the aisle opened to another aisle, halfway down which was an alcove hidden between two bookshelves. She ducked between the two shelves, placed the satchel on the floor, and gently lowered herself into the large, plush armchair.

"Good morning, Alexandra."

On the wall in front of her hung the painting of an older man, large and imposing, with long black hair and a medium-length black beard. The words beneath the portrait read 'Orion Arcturus Black'.

"Good morning, Grandfather," she said, lowering her head.

The man smiled. "Rise, child. And sit up straight."

She did so.

"It's been a few weeks since you last visited." His voice was light and amused. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten me."

She averted her eyes.

"Ah, come on. None of that. I'm not blaming you. I'm sure you've been busy."

She relaxed slightly. "Yes, I have. Reading mostly."

The man chortled. "I wouldn't be surprised if you get sorted into Ravenclaw at this rate."

Her head jerked. "I will not. I will be in Slytherin."

Orion Black continued his deep, baritone chuckle. "I'm not doubting it. If you want to, you can achieve anything. You are a Black, after all. Black blood flows through your veins."

She nodded.

"On that note, how go your efforts to reach out to Lord Slytherin?"

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Slowly. He appears to be a very private person." She brightened. "But I did get this though." She reached into the satchel by her side and pulled out what looked to be a new, thick tome.