James was intrigued despite himself. “What sort of forces?”
Lady Eunice relaxed slightly on her chair and allowed her gaze to drift over the table. “Few speak of it. Few, even amongst my peers, respect or remember. But once there was the Marquess of Rose whose endowment was the rapture of love. It was that title which guarded and preserved the tides of eros. Lost now to the ages, love still exists without the title’s noble ministrations, and always shall, but ever more tainted and diluted, random and untethered from its deepest cores.
“And much longer ago there was the Greene Barony, endowed with the boundaries of ambition, moderating the supply and demand of jealousy, rivalry, greed, and envy. Now, without its accountancy, such influences run rampant, unchecked, overrunning human nature like an invasive weed.
“And up until the beginning of this century there was the Dukedom of Goldenrod, guardian of the scales of courage and cowardice…”
James stared at the older woman as she spoke, not quite grasping the magnitude of what she was saying, and yet one detail struck him.
He blurted it out, interrupting her in mid-sentence.
“But, they’re all colours…”
Lady Eunice ticked her gaze back toward him, narrowing her eyes. She waited, watching as the significance of this realization settled over him. James’ mind spun. Finally, he looked up at the older woman again, meeting her gaze.
“You’re saying that Grimmauld Place isn’t just an old house,” he said in a hushed voice. “And Black… isn’t just a name. Is it?”
Lady Eunice nodded once, slowly. “Black is the elemental colour of the force that is your family charge.”
James blinked at her, his hair prickling. He furrowed his brow as he asked, “But, what kind of elemental force is black?”
Lady Eunice settled against the back of her own tall chair, as if content that James had merely asked the question.
“That, young Master Potter…” she answered, picking up her wine goblet again, “is your duty to discover. Once the day comes and the title passes onto you.”
James’ shoulders slumped, but his mind still whirled, considering everything that the Countess had told him. What did it really mean?
Should he tell his dad? Would Kreacher know anything about it? And what elemental force of human nature could possibly be signified by the colour black?
Shaking him out of this reverie, an unexpected voice suddenly said, “And what plans do you have, James?” It was Mr. Vandergriff, asking on behalf of the entire table, who turned to listen.
James blinked rapidly, glancing up at the man at the head of the table, who smiled at him expectantly.
“Er… what? Sir?” James stammered.
Millie’s older sister, Mathilda, offered him a chilly smile. “Upon graduation from your schooling, of course. Will you perhaps be following in the footsteps of your famous Auror father?”
“Or perhaps those of your grandfather, James the first,” Benton suggested, grinning and elbowing Millie next to him. “If I recall, his biggest plan upon graduating Hogwarts was to marry his school sweetie and start a family.”
“Now don’t be gouache,” Mrs. Vandergriff chided mildly. “I’m sure that young James has no interest in anyone’s romantic predictions.”
“Entertaining though they may be,” Mathilda suggested, still eyeing James closely.
Millie shook her head and turned pointedly to James. “Don’t listen to them. They’ve been scheming forever to get me married off to some ultra eligible, peered family.”
“And apparently you qualify,” Susan, the young cousins’ mother, confirmed with a sympathetic nod.
Benton agreed. “A member of the peerage, and not belonging to any pureblood family.”
“Now, Benton,” Mr. Vandergriff reproached, his smile thinning slightly.
James felt his cheeks redden as he glanced helplessly from face to face. Millie was still turned to him, but her eyes were on her mother.
“Mummy becomes impatient with pureblood families. She’s very progressive that way.”
“I’m not impatient with anyone, except perhaps the lot of you at the moment,” Mrs. Vandergriff commented primly. “I simply do not suffer the hang-ups of some other magical households regarding our heritage, and I harbor no shame about who knows it.”
Lady Eunice sniffed, “Quite the reverse, one might think.”
Mr. Vandergriff turned his attention to Millie. “And what of you, my dear? Still considering a year abroad? America, perhaps?” He dropped a quick wink to James.
“Actually,” Millie said slowly, suddenly lowering her gaze. “I might consider going to America. But not for an extended holiday. I was thinking of continuing my schooling there. I’ve been looking into universities. Ilvermorny looks interesting, and Alma Aleron has a marvelous program that I’ve become rather interested in.”
James, while glad that the attention was no longer on him, was surprised at the response Millie’s comment elicited. The smile fell away from Mr. Vandergriff’s face, while his wife looked both startled and puzzled. Mathilda’s gaze sparkled with mean interest as she watched, but Benton merely rolled his eyes and folded his napkin onto the table.
Millie’s mother asked, “More schooling, dearest? Why, whatever for? Do you not feel your schooling at Hogwarts has been sufficient?”
Mr. Vandergriff sighed tersely, “I told you she should have gone to Bragdon Wand.”
“No, that’s not it at all,” Millie said, sitting up straight in her chair and looking at both of her parents. “I just… I want to do more than look pretty and say witty things at parties.”
“Well,” Lady Eunice commented mildly, “one can’t know that until they’ve tried.”
“Mother,” Mr. Vandergriff said, cocking his head slightly.
“You’re not helping.”
“Or,” Millie said, warming to the topic and aiming a pointed glance at her grandmother, “sitting around having fancy dinners while real people are serving us and then leaving here to go out and live real lives.”
“Oh, now this is interesting,” Mathilda said, her eyes avid as she leaned slightly over the table. “What sort of ‘real’ lives are they leading, Millicent?”
Benton shook his head at Mathilda. “Don’t pretend that you didn’t go through a phase exactly like this.”
“It’s not a phase,” Millie said, firming her jaw, her own cheeks reddening now. “And I’ll tell you what they do. They write plays, and make music. They go on daring adventures. And they… well they build things.”
“Build things?” Mathilda repeated, barely concealing the mocking glee in her voice.
Lady Eunice recoiled in mild alarm. “Perhaps I am mistaken, but that sounds an awful lot like manual labour.”
“I don’t mean building things with my hands,” Millie said, exasperated, “Although I’m not above that. I mean… designing things.