The Noble and Oldest Black Family

In the blink of an eye, several days have passed since that farcical press conference.

Belvina Black's life returned to normal, as if she had never met a man named Remus Lupin.

That morning, Belvina was lazily curled up in her soft, comfortable bed. Her thin white gauze nightgown could not hide her graceful curves; on the contrary, it made her fair and supple legs appear even longer and more beautiful.

Actually, Belvina was already awake; she was just reluctant to get up. Everyone makes that little mistake sometimes.

However, soon someone will appear and correct Belvina's mistake; her mother, Mrs. Black, who has been dead for many years, will awaken her from her laziness in a very special way.

"...A disgrace to the family! The bastard I gave birth to..."

Sharp, piercing curses rang out precisely on time in the empty house at number twelve Grimmauld Place. Mrs. Black, already hanging on the wall, was relentlessly cursing, using every swear word she had ever learned to hurl insults at Sirius Black, who was serving time in a dungeon.

The resentful curses could not reach distant Azkaban, so Belvina, who was nearby, became the unfortunate victim who took the blame for others.

If it weren't for the thick curtains, Mrs. Black would have started her tirade three times a day, morning, noon, and evening, at a time more precise than Greenwich Mean Time.

Belvina had considered putting the portrait away, but the old lady had left a secret: the portrait hanging in the foyer was under a permanent adhesive spell, impossible to remove unless the entire wall was moved with it.

If that's the case, why not move away from Place Grimmauld and live alone elsewhere?

That's because compared to the grumpy and foul-mouthed Mrs. Blake, the old folks in the house who were practically buried in the ground were much more difficult to deal with. With Mrs. Blake's intimidating portrait guarding the foyer, those old fogies would visit less often.

Amid Mrs. Black's incessant yelling, lazy little Belvina reluctantly got up, shuffling out of her fourth-floor bedroom in her slippers, and staggered downstairs.

"Stop cursing. What good will it do? That bastard can't hear you anyway," Belvina said weakly, stretching as she spoke. "Kreacher, come out here. I see you."

Before the words had even finished, the house-elf Kreacher, hunched over and dragging his feet, slowly walked over, step by step.

He looked very old; his skin seemed to be several times larger than his body actually needed; his large, bat-like ears were covered in white hair; and his tennis ball-sized eyes were always hazy.

"Good morning, Miss Belvina, forever pure." Kreacher bowed deeply, his chubby nose flattening on the carpet.

"Kreacher, if you really respect me, don't just show it with your old back." Belvina said, her feet still moving as she walked downstairs. "Didn't I tell you not to pull back the curtain that obscures the portrait? Don't pull back the curtain that obscures the portrait?"

The house-elf's face remained turned toward the carpet as he spoke in a deep, husky voice like a bullfrog: "Kreacher obeys, Miss Belvina, forever pure."

Kreacher straightened up, first making sure Belvina was listening to him, and then said in a soft but clear voice, "My poor mistress, she is having difficulty breathing because of the thick curtains, and the only thing old Kreacher can do for her is to draw back those curtains."

“Listen, your mistress isn’t having trouble breathing. She doesn’t need to breathe at all because she’s dead,” Belvina said. “And didn’t I tell you not to put random prefixes before my name?”

"Kreacher, as you command, Miss Belvina, forever pure." Kreacher bowed deeply again, his muttering growing faster, "Miss Belvina is becoming more and more like the ungrateful Sirius Black. That's not some random prefix; it's the motto of the noble Black family. My poor mistress, if she knew this in the afterlife, she would be heartbroken. What will poor old Kreacher do? How can he make Miss Belvina understand the greatness of Black?"

Belvina had reason to suspect that Kreacher's rebellious behavior was intended to provoke her so that she would cut off his head in a fit of rage.

Kreacher, the house-elf, had a lifelong wish: to cut off his head like his mother did, glue it onto a plaque, and hang it in Black's mansion.

As expected, like attracts like.

There isn't a single normal person in the Black family, from top to bottom, inside and out, including the house-elves!

Despite Mrs. Black's sharp and piercing curses and the moralizing from the house-elf Kreacher, Belvina made her way to the foyer.

As soon as the youngest daughter of the Black family appeared, Mrs. Black in the portrait immediately turned her attention to her daughter and began to berate her.

"Belvina! How could you run around the house dressed like this! This indecent behavior is a disgrace to our ancestral home and an insult to your grandfathers' house!" In the portrait, Mrs. Blake waved her claw-like hands repeatedly to express her anger. "You must clearly realize your mistake. You must not let your indecent behavior bring shame upon the entire family! You are a daughter of the Blake family; you must uphold—"

"Shut up! Can you stop acting like an old witch from a fairy tale!" Belvina rudely interrupted her mother in this life. "What's the point of you sticking to your stupid rules every day? Will it get that bastard released from Azkaban, or will it get Regulus back in front of you? Sometimes I wonder if your cousin, my father, died so young because of your stupid rules and your bad temper!"

When it comes to the skill of cursing, ten Belvinas wouldn't be a match for Mrs. Black, but when it comes to being infuriating, Belvinas is second to none.

When Belvina decides to annoy someone, she goes straight for their lungs, guaranteeing a silent punch.

"You! How dare you—you dare—" Mrs. Black in the portrait was clearly furious, unable to utter a complete sentence, only able to wave her claw-like hands incessantly.

But no matter how hard the person in the portrait tries, they cannot touch the person outside the portrait.

"What do you mean, 'what do you mean, 'what do you mean, 'what do you mean'?" Belvina, equally seething with anger, continued her barrage. "The Black family, my foot! Do you know there are only two men left in this family? One is your bastard son, and the other is your brother. Even when the patriarchal line of the Black family is gone, you'd better stick to your rules and not let your guard down!"

With that, Belvina snapped her fingers, and the heavy curtains began to move slowly along the slide.

Mrs. Black's portrait gradually disappeared, along with her increasingly shrill shouts, leaving only echoes reverberating in the empty house.

"You unfilial daughter! The wicked thing I gave birth to!"

Belvina curled her lip dismissively; she was already used to Mrs. Black's volatile temper.

"Sigh..." A sigh came from somewhere in the empty mansion.

Belvina is probably truly cold-hearted by nature. She enjoys the advantages that come with her family's status, thanks to the Black family name, yet she allows the Black family to gradually decline without taking any action, and even uses this to criticize her own mother.

Strangely, whenever she thought about the impending demise of an ancient family, Belvina's heart, hidden beneath her ribs, would ache for no reason, as if it had been squeezed by an unseen hand.

Belvina shook her head, banishing the unrealistic thoughts from her mind.

It's better to rely on their uncle (or great-uncle) Signas Black, rather than on Sirius Black, that stubborn, purebred progenitor to carry on the Black lineage. He's a ruthless man who became a father at the age of thirteen.

Signas is fifty-three years old this year, which is the prime of his life. If the old man puts in a little effort, he might actually be able to give birth to a big, healthy son.

I just don't know if Aunt Druella would be willing to be an older mother.