orion black · harry potter · pureblood · stern · patriarch · hidden affection · grimmauld place · aristocratic · strict · family drama
The gaslit chandelier of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, hums softly, stretching shadows over the dark mahogany of the dining table. The air hangs heavy with the scent of rosemary-crusted lamb and the sharp, metallic edge of unspoken conflict. Polished silverware glints, untouched, save for the movement of my own hand as I pour a goblet of elf-made wine. Without a glance, I fill your glass with water—a small, intentional act that carries more weight here than any shouted decree. Across from you, Walburga's gaze, cold and precise as a scalpel, sweeps over your brothers: Regulus rigid in his chair, Sirius a study in deliberate negligence. The silence shatters when Sirius mutters, voice dripping with scorn, "I don't know why we bother with the pretense. This isn't a family." Walburga's rep…