Cassian stepped into Regulus’s study and stopped short.

Everyone was already seated. Nobody looked thrilled.

Matching frowns. That was never a good sign.

He raised a brow. “Who died? And don’t all raise your hands at once.”

Aunt Viola didn’t even glance up from her whisky glass. Just rolled her eyes and swirled her drink.

It was Armand who answered. “Sirius Black escaped from prison.”

Cassian blinked. “That a punchline, or are we being serious?”

Regulus’s jaw clicked faintly. “The Prophet confirmed it. Early this morning.”

Cassian dropped into the nearest chair. “That’s impressive. The one bloke who actually deserved the cell gets out, and meanwhile, I still can’t get a Ministry signature for a library expansion.”

Lucian folded his arms. “This can’t be luck. Azkaban’s never had a breakout. Ever. Someone helped him.”

Armand’s brows pulled in. “You think he had help inside Azkaban?”

Lucian shrugged. “Or outside. Either way, he’s not wandering into the North Sea on sheer rage and a wandless prayer.”

Cassian looked around the room, then raised an eyebrow. “And why are we caring now?”

The room stared at him.

Regulus answered. “We’re making moves to take over Black heritage.”

“Lucius is pressing from his side,” Lucian continued, before Cassian could utter anything to infuriate him. “He’s trying to force a transfer, heirship from Sirius to his brat. If he pulls it off, all the Black vaults fall into Malfoy hands. He’s positioned better than any of us. Narcissa’s a Black by birth. Direct line. Cygnus’s daughter. That gives Draco a bloodright we can’t override. We’re cousins, not heirs.”

He glanced toward Magnus, who sighed, deeply, “If Sirius dies without a will, and make no mistake, the Ministry will happily lose any document that complicates their narrative, the estate defaults to the closest living kin. That’s Narcissa. Which means Draco. Clean transfer. No contest. Vaults, property, titles, ancestral holdings… everything. Malfoy’s been greasing the Goblins for years. The Gringotts registry doesn’t care what your last name is. And Narcissa has Black blood. That’s all Lucius needs.”

“But it’s not just about vaults.” Regulus scoffed, “If he’s behind Sirius’s escape, and I think he is, then he’s not just trying to control inheritance. He’s cutting out the only person who could dispute the Malfoy claim. If Sirius dies on the run, a fugitive, the Wizengamot won’t blink. And if Draco’s installed as heir, that’s not just fortune. That’s legitimacy.”

He kept going. “The Malfoys were closer to Voldemort than we ever were. More public. More loyal. When the war was at its height, they didn’t hedge bets, they sponsored them with everything. The Rosiers played both ends, funded the rise, then buried the bodies. We distanced. Lucius didn’t. If he’s pulled Sirius then he’s playing a deeper game. Because Sirius isn’t just a criminal. He’s a symbol. The last living Black heir. A former friend to Potter’s father. Godfather to the boy himself. And downfall of Potters. The kind of name that still matters in certain corners.”

Cassian hummed, “Why would he push this far? We didn’t even have a shot to begin with. Great-Aunt Druella doesn’t carry Black blood. Just the name.”

Viola scoffed. “We had other levers. Influence, contracts, half a dozen oaths tied to the estate. Enough to keep us in the room. But if Sirius names Draco, or dies before he can name anyone—”

She knocked back the last of her whisky. “All that’s piss down the drain.”

Cassian drummed his fingers on the armrest, expression dry. “Right. Because nothing says ‘subtle political coup’ like handing your ferret-faced son the key to the House of Black.”

Viola let out a short laugh. “That ferret-faced son has a name stamped on more invitations than you’ve got completed NEWTs, darling.”

Lucian’s brow twitched. “The boy’s an idiot, but he’s a pureblood idiot. And the Wizengamot loves a clean name.”

Magnus tapped his cane against the floor. The sound was soft, but it cut through the murmuring, “More than that,” he said. “That’s two extra votes in the Wizengamot.”

Cassian’s brow furrowed.

The Sacred Twenty-Eight families each held two votes. Council members got one. Order of Merlin holders had a sliding scale, depending on which Class they’d managed to kiss or kill their way into.

But Malfoy getting the Black seat? That wasn’t just a vault shuffle. That was power consolidation. Two fresh votes. Unchallenged.

Regulus gave a nod. “He’s consolidating. Votes, gold, bloodlines. He’s gearing for a push. He wouldn’t bother with Sirius if he wasn’t.”

Lucian leaned forward, arms on his knees. “What about the Weasleys?” he asked. “We could cover their seat levy. Offer financial assistance. Enough to put Arthur back in the room. Cassian is close to their sons.”

Ophelia sighed through her nose, barely looking up from the rim of her glass. “Arthur hasn’t paid his seat dues in over twenty years. No levy, no votes. You can’t resurrect a corpse with pocket change. But… if we sway them politically, even without the seats, it’s still useful.”

Magnus shook his head, “You won’t get them. They’re stuck to Dumbledore like cursed ink. And Molly’d rather gnaw her own arm off than owe this family a Galleon.”

No one argued. There wasn’t much to argue.

Cassian muttered, “So we’re counting out allies before we’ve even asked.”

Viola looked over, lifting one brow. “We’re being realistic.”

Cassian shrugged, not particularly fussed. “Realistic sounds a lot like lazy.”

“Lucius already owns too much of the board,” Regulus said, eyes fixed on the hearth. “If he gets this… we lose more than money.”

No one corrected him. Because he wasn’t wrong.

Armand squinted at him. “Lucius’s coffers got a lot heavier in France. Since you convinced Brother to pull out of the French market, you basically handed him the keys.”

Regulus’s stare cut across the room like a thrown dagger. “Armand.”

That was all it took. Armand’s mouth clamped shut, jaw twitching.

Cassian reached into his coat, pulled a folded sheaf of parchment, and tossed it onto the table.

“As short-sighted as ever, Uncle.”

No one moved.

He gestured lazily. “Go on. Have a look. Before you burst a vein.”

Viola was the first to reach for it. Her brows lifted as she flicked through the top pages, expression tightening by the second. She handed it off without a word.

Lucian scanned the contents, then let out a sharp breath through his nose. “You’re joking.”

Cassian chuckled. “Not even a little.”

Regulus took the papers next, flicked through them, and went still.

One by one, they read through the numbers. Quiet at first, just a shuffle of parchment and the occasional swears under breaths. Then Magnus let out a grunt, jaw slack.

“T-that’s…!”

Cassian grinned, sprawled across the armchair like he’d just won a bet nobody else knew was happening. “You’re welcome.”

Regulus didn’t look up from the second page. “How much more can you shift?”

“Should we pull other branches?” Magnus asked, voice chirpy again, suddenly all business. “Diversify outside the Isles?”

Cassian shook his head. “No. Spread too far, too fast, and someone will start sniffing. This is already flirting with a spotlight. Keep it lean. Reroute the returns back through existing channels.”

“You’re saying stall expansion?” Lucian said, not hiding the doubt in his voice. “When we’re ahead?”

“I’m saying don’t get cocky and drown in your own reflection,” Cassian replied. “Keep your neck above water.”

He didn’t add that ’93 was going to be slower. He’d keep that to himself. No need to hand them a forecast with their biscuits.

Regulus looked at him with something dangerously close to pride. Cassian nearly grimaced. It landed sideways in his gut like drinking saltwater by mistake.

“Well done, son.”

Cassian plastered a smile on and gave a jaunty thumbs-up. Like he was some overachieving toddler who’d drawn a nice dragon. The room didn’t love that. Especially not Lucian, who immediately straightened like someone had lit a match under his chair.

“Father,” Lucian said, tone crisp, “I say we take tender for next year’s event.”

That got a few nods, one cough, and an approving noise from Armand.

Cassian lifted a brow. “Event?”

Regulus leaned forward. “The Cup.”

Cassian blinked. “The Quidditch World Cup?”

Lucian gave him a look. “What other bloody Cup would we be bidding for, Cassy?”

Cassian felt revolted the moment he heard the nickname. He hated when Lucian called him ‘Cassy’ He hadn’t used it since their school years. He’d picked it up from that bastard, but after graduation, when that bastard took the fast-track to Azkaban and then to death, Lucian stopped using it too. Hearing it now made Cassian realise Lucian’s gaze on him. Clearly, Lucian wasn’t happy with him lately.

“Dunno. Could’ve been the Rosier Family Annual Self-Congratulation Gala. Or the Dark Artefacts Bake-Off. We’ve got options.”

Regulus ignored him. “It’s being hosted in Britain next year. The Ministry’s opening tenders for primary sponsors. Hospitality, security, international accommodation, that sort of thing.”

Magnus tapped the table. “It’s already political. Minister’s office wants to show Britain can host without incident. Smoothly, cleanly. Post-war, stable hands.”

Cassian whistled low. “So naturally, you all thought, yes, let’s add us to the mix.”

Lucian nodded. “Exactly. We’ve got the gold. Infrastructure. Ties in the Department of Magical Games.”

Cassian didn’t comment. The way Lucian sat up straighter, eyes flicking toward Regulus every few seconds, he was trying to earn points. Probably thought getting the Cup contract would plant his name deeper into the family crest. Not that subtlety had ever been Lucian’s strong suit.

Regulus saw it too. His face didn’t twitch, but he gave a nod. Clearly he was pleased with the sibling rivalry. Lucian was getting too comfortable lately.

“All right,” he said. “Make sure you do it properly.”

Lucian beamed. “Yes, Father.”

Cassian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He could already hear the smug retelling at the next gathering. ‘Father entrusted me with the entire Cup initiative. Said I was the only one with the finesse for international diplomacy.’ Utter bollocks, but Lucian did love a mirror.

He had a feeling something was off about the Cup. A faint itch at the back of his head, something from the past life, maybe. But every time he tried to pin it down, it slipped sideways. Just fog and static. Probably nothing.

He stood, brushing his coat down with one hand. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got actual things to do.”

Regulus nodded, looking at the papers Cassian dropped earlier. Eyes shining.

Lucian opened his mouth, probably to say something smug, but Cassian was already halfway to the door.

Behind him, the conversation started up again. Low voices. Paper rustling. Pipe smoke curling into the stale air.

(Check Here)

I checked for signs of life. Don’t worry, minimal, but present.

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