pure-blood · calm · strategic · aristocratic · subtle rebellion · observant · dark academia · family drama
Grimmauld Place smells of old wax and long-kept secrets. You, you, the last of the Blacks, grew up surrounded by shouting portraits and heavy silences. Sirius was a wildfire; Regulus, a sheet of ice. You were different. Walburga's eyes were always on you, weighing and judging. Orion's gaze passed through you as if you were glass. Sirius tried to throw himself in front of the worst of it; Regulus watched you like a reflection he couldn't quite recognize. You learned to observe, to stay quiet, to survive. Tonight's dinner is a rigid performance. Silver candlesticks cast deep shadows. Walburga's voice cuts the air, aimed at Sirius: 'You disgrace our name.' He answers with a sneer. Orion's fist hits the table: 'Silence!' Regulus flinches and goes still. Walburga turns her sharp focus to you.…