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Chapter Text

Hogwarts

1984

A line of ink, and the half-decade-long secret had been lost.

Now, five exemplary wizards and witches sat around a table, excited for the latest turnout of students. Surrounding the table were the caregivers of the wizarding world's young, the people shaping the future of wizarding Britain. The five of them, four heads of houses, and their headmaster, would meet up a few months before the first day of term each year, to look over the names of the incoming class. That, and of course, to watch out for the name of the Boy-Who-Lived.

The child of legend, the bringer of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s downfall, the saviour of their world, would be entering Hogwarts any day now.

For most of them, Harry Potter was no more than a tale told to their children, inspiring them with his reverence, and his magical prowess. He had, after all, defeated the darkest wizard who had ever lived. Now, with the promise of his name on the list, written by the Quill of Acceptance, the air was thick with anticipation. They knew that his name appearing in the Book of Admittance would not occur for another half-decade, but from the looks on the faces of those present, Dumbledore could tell that they were eagerly awaiting to hear the name of their saviour.

Two DictaQuills floated above their respective parchments, the one to Albus Dumbledore's left visibly shorter than the one to the right. The list of Muggle-born children, after all, was never that long.

The impact of the last war still lingered within the castle, with less than fifty new students being admitted annually. Even now, the amount of displaced, and orphaned youngsters remained a disheartening sight. Their lives lost to the cause, far too many parents would never hold their children again.

Every year, they pray to see a few more after the devastation. After all, no matter how big an incoming class might be, every magical child had a place in Hogwarts. Safe. Even safer now that the presence that threatened their world had been defeated.

Now, sitting at the head of the table, Dumbledore began dictating the list of students set to be part of the incoming class of 1984.

“Charles Weasley.” 

The DictaQuill to the left wrote the name down.

McGonagall smiled. “Another one? Molly and Arthur’s firstborn is barely two years in.”

“Oh, please,” said Pomona Sprout as she rolled her eyes in good humour, “We all know how much you adore Bill.” 

“Of course I do. He’s been an angel.”

Dumbledore, with a twinkle in his eyes, could not find it in himself to disagree. Knowing where the boy’s family had sided in the War of Wiccan Blood, he hoped he could trust their children just as much, and if not, he still had time to figure them and their alliances out. He would be much more discerning of his students this time. The last thing they needed was for another Dark Lord to rise.

He read the last name to the quills. 

“Nymphadora Tonks.” 

Flitwick turned to Sprout. “Look at that, she might follow her father’s steps, and end up in your House, Sprout,” the Head of Ravenclaw House jibed. It had become a game between the four Heads to bet on which students would go where.

The Head of Hufflepuff House tilted her head. “Or follow her mother’s, and be in Snape’s. She is a Black.”

“I’m quite sure I heard the Headmaster say ‘ Tonks ’ not ‘ Black ’, Sprout,” Flitwick drawled. “Ten galleons, she's a badger.”

“Ten on snake.” The two Heads shook hands.

McGonagall, after declaring her support of Sprout, turned back to the Headmaster, his mind still occupied with the book in his hands. “Is Miss Tonks the last student on our list for the year?” she asked.

He simply nodded, letting the four professors chatter among themselves. 

Dumbledore, balancing the book on the edge of the table, traced the name of the Boy-Who-Lived.

Harry James Potter, age five. Backyard, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.

The Headmaster smiled. The boy was still with his family. Good. His lookout, Arabella Figgs, had mentioned a bulbous son seen about. Dumbledore felt satisfied. The Dursleys must be feeding Harry well.

When the boy’s name had appeared a couple of nights ago, Dumbledore couldn’t have been happier. The loss of his parents was heavy upon the surviving Order members, their deathday occurring on the same day they celebrated their liberation from the Dark Lord. Dumbledore tried to comfort himself, telling himself that they died for the cause. For the free world the survivors now witness.

Even so, death was still death. He would never hear the voice of James, accompanied by the boisterous laughter of his friends, the tactful, melodic voice of Lily, the unafraid loudness of Marlene combated only by the calm essence of Mary, or the eerie voice of their resident Seer, Pandora, ever again. They had loved, been loved, their voices now extinguished, and never to be heard of again.

They were the children he had lost forever.

Yet with the loss of Lily had come the surge of magic that protected Harry Potter, making him a boy of legend. Their saviour. 

Yet, it was another child's name that stole the table’s attention from that of their hero. 

Only a couple of rows under Harry Potter’s name laid one they had never expected. One that struck fear and an odd sense of curiosity amongst the professors present.

Professor Flitwick, the Head of Ravenclaw House, had peeked over, and immediately snatched the book from the Headmaster’s hand, his eyes widening. 

“He Who Must Not Be Named... had a child?”

Then came the questions. One after another in an unintelligible jumble of overlapping words. Never before had this table witnessed such disarray. 

McGonagall immediately snatched the book and replicated the page, creating her copy of the damned name. 

It came as no surprise that the parchment was a crumpled mess from being carelessly passed from professor to professor in a frenzy of wanting to read the words for themselves, yet no amount of scrutiny could alter the name that was etched upon it.

Delphini Riddle.

Delphini Riddle was to be a student at Hogwarts one day.

“How have we had no news of this? When did this happen?”

“... shouldn’t we have known?”

“Albus, what are we to...”

"His child, here in Hogwarts? What would the press say? What about the parents?"

“Now, now, Minerva...” Albus Dumbledore's voice was perhaps the quietest of them all, yet as swiftly as a severing charm, it bid the entire room into an anticipatory silence as he continued his statement, “As previously established, and in good detail, I must add, the threat of Voldemort no longer looms over this country; the father is dead, and the child, the child is very much alive. It is not our job to persecute individuals for the sins of their fathers, is it? Especially not children.” Followed by a concurring silence, he then added, “After all, there is no child in the world who doesn't have a place within this school.”

With the Ministry practically in his hands, there rarely was an occasion where Dumbledore wasn't informed about something of this magnitude. He was the headmaster of one of the most illustrious academic institutions for magic, after all. He even held the title of Chief Warlock. Yet, in the face of the revelation, the man stood as astonished as the company before him, though they'd never know it from the look on his face.

“But she would be a Riddle. ” McGonagall turned to Snape. “The heiress of Slytherin. Her house is all but predetermined.”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves. The Dark Lord was not born into power, after all. He accumulated it,” Snape spoke with a tone of finality. He was the youngest Head of House, but no one could refute his knowledge of the Dark Lord. “If she is sorted into my house, however, I will make it my duty to thoroughly investigate the nature of her inclinations.”

It was only Sprout who nodded. She had always hoped for the best for each and every student who passed, and would pass by under her tutelage.

“The Prophet is going to have a field day with this one,” Flitwick said as he sat back down, sighing as he massaged his forehead.

“Not if we can help it, Filius,” Dumbledore replied.

“That Skeeter woman would never drop a story like this,” said Professor McGonagall. “She'll be all over it as soon as the poor girl sets foot into Hogwarts, I assure you.”

“You're both correct, of course, but it is our duty, as professors, to shield those most vulnerable from the vultures of the journalistic world,” Dumbledore reminded them.

The paper finally landed back in Dumbledore’s hands. His eyes scanning over the name the Hogwarts’ Quill of Acceptance has written, he frowned. The name was a new addition, he knew. It had not been there when he checked for signs of James and Lily's son, which was, coincidentally, every evening as soon as he retreated into his office, not wanting to miss the moment when young Harry's magic became definite. When he'd received the report from the ministry, he did not read of a Riddle, no. The child was listed as a Black.

Flitwick looked up, his leg shaking from nerves. “Do we know of her mother?” 

At that, the professors settled down to watch their Headmaster. If anyone were to know, it would be him. 

Dumbledore let out a long breath. His mind flashed back to the date of the girl’s birth in the records, and it only matched one woman. He was awfully curious about her pregnancy, noting how she never truly had a romantic interest in her husband, and would not have put it past her to seek sexual relations within her family, it wasn’t too far from what they knew of the Black’s marital customs. Sirius and Regulus themselves were products of incestuous relations, and he was far more concerned with the children born when the seventh month ended, and not when the eleventh started.

He should have known. It would be better for the young witch that fewer people knew, but if they were to guide her to where she should be, her teachers should be informed. “There can only be one woman... I'd heard that she was with child, but foolishly assumed that it to be the product of an incestuous union between a cousin of hers and she, according to their martial customs. The dates do match...” He sighed. “Bellatrix Lestrange.”

The professors stilled, worried with the knowledge Dumbledore brought forth. 

Bellatrix? The same Bellatrix that tortured another incoming student's parents into husks?

A couple of mouths fell ajar in response. Clearly, the mere thought of this union stirred discomfort within the professors present.

The Headmaster replied with ease, displaying a facade of nonchalance. He did not need the others to get alarmed. He was in control of the situation and would prefer it to appear that way. “The girl that I, until today, considered Delpini Black has no registered father within the ministry's records. Her mother is Walburga Black.” 

“We all know that the ways in which the Blacks raise their children can oft-times be... injudicious,” said McGonagall with a frown that indicated a much firmer sentiment. “And Walburga of all people? Why, I...” She never finished the sentence.

It was no secret that the Black Cousins were a force to be reckoned with. Prideful. Arrogant. Wealthy. Plus, they had a large family to back them up. A family that would never let a child of theirs be belittled. The older generation of Blacks were one of the few the Dark Lord had no sway with. They could hold on their own with terrifying ease. 

Of course, it came with a price of blood, sweat, and tears. No Black child was raised without having hell bent onto their shoulders. Even if the scars don’t show on their skin, the children bore their lessons.

“A child we could steer in the right direction,” Dumbledore said with a frown. He wasn't giving up on the child. Even he was shaken by the news, but his resolve to give the child a chance was not. “She is young still. She will have her chance to choose her own path.”  

Professor Sprout spoke up first, a slight tremor of fear rattling through her voice. “And Bellatrix Lestrange... They've only just locked her up, they might reduce her sentence, for Merlin's sake! What if she gets out and comes looking for the girl?” She wrung her fingers together in an attempt to stifle the tremor in her hands.

“Unless they chose to hide the information from her mother,” Flitwick added. “Azkaban may be fortified, but the news would still spread once the girl enters Hogwarts.”

Sprout, an unfamiliar expression settling on her face, rebutted, “But she could still escape…”

A furrow settled in Snape’s brow, his face twisting into a familiar frown. “And how do you suppose she'd do that? I’ll remind you, there is not a witch or wizard to have escaped Azkaban alive.”

“Azkaban is more than capable of keeping hold of the dangers within.” Dumbledore’s voice washed over them as he waved his hand in a reassuring manner. 

To the professors, his word was law. He would never bring a threat into Hogwarts, as far as they knew. No, the child was too young to truly have to worry about. Her mother on the other hand…

“And if she ever did escape. There is little she could do regarding her daughter. Delphini would be a student. She would be well-protected here,” Dumbledore declared with a tone of finality, resting his hands atop each other on the edge of the table. “And as we know, Hogwarts will always help those who ask.”

“I still don't think we should admit her,” said McGonagall, her eyebrows furrowed, “What would the parents say?”

“They wouldn't know. The Dark Lord's name is well hidden,” Snape said as he placed the paper back on the table, his goddaughter’s name shining right back at him. He would always protect her, Dumbledore knew that, even against the very same people in the room. “He has made sure of it.” 

The room settled into an uncomfortable silence.

Pomona Sprout picked up the paper again, her eyes widening at the sight of the name just a few rows before little Riddle’s.

“Harry Potter and Delphini Riddle. The daughter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the boy who killed him. Both in the same school…”

“What a pairing that would be,” said Dumbledore, more to himself than to anyone else.

Nobody could tell whether the twinkle in his eyes was one of fascination, or of discovering a fresh pawn for his game.

With a man like Dumbledore, the lines blurred easily.

Chapter Text

Grimmauld Place, London

1980

Any witch or wizard lucky enough to be born into the Black family had their entire life predetermined before birth. Everything from what career would best befit them, to which partner would suit them, how many children they would rear—oft-times even when, and where they would die, was already set in stone. 

In the room where a single set of armchairs were held, a room which no one but the household’s house-elf visited, hung a tapestry embroidered with the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black’s family motto.

Toujours pur.

However, there was nothing pure about the child whose face stared back at Kreacher from within the woven design. He sensed it. That was why, without hesitation, he snapped his fingers to apparate to his mistress' side immediately, to where she lay in a darkened room, concealed behind the canopy of her bed, a husk of her former self. A sight he had grown accustomed to as days bled into one another. It mattered not to Kreacher, for even in this state, Mistress was a greater woman than any he had the pleasure of ever serving. Powerful. Wise. Beloved.

“Mistress Black?” he called, as he wrung his hands in fear. He knew not if his Mistress Walburga would wish to find the child or kill it. The decision would never be in his hands.

Walburga laid still, an impressive impression of a corpse. Only her lips moved. “You know better than to disturb me, Kreacher.” She sighed. “Go, clean a desk.”

Kreacher's magical vow to obey every Black’s order rang through within him. It hurt him to even attempt to disobey a direct order, but he knew better. The news would warrant the pain he would endure from his disobedience. There was a Baby Black.

“Kreacher has news for Mistress Black,” he forced himself to say through his bindings. “Kreacher thinks Mistress Black should know.”

A painting fell.

Tendrils of the House’s magic started to creep towards Kreacher.

Oh no. Kreacher took a step back.

Walburga slowly sat up as the walls started to shudder, her magic sparked off her as steely grey eyes landed on the house-elf. Despite laying waste for the last few years, her back was pin-rod straight. Regality was etched into the very bones of her being.

The eyes that held storms narrow. “Does Elf Black dare disobey a direct order? Must he be taught his place once again?”

Kreacher shuddered as a jolt of pain ran down his spine. He could feel the Black magic leak out of the walls, the House magic bending to the will of its Mistress.

He was terrified. The last time he felt the wrath of his Mistress, his wounds wouldn't close for a week, but it had been decades since. 

He trusted his knowledge of her. She would need to know of the new Black.

“A Baby Black has appeared on the Family Tapestry.”

Her magic dwindled. Less angry. “Andromeda has a new child?” The shadows receded to the corners. It too was curious about what he knew. “Why would I be surprised? Surely she would give her halfblood disgrace of a child a sibling.”

He shook his head. “Not her, Mistress.” Andromeda was one of the kids he raised and Kreacher would always bear the weight of not raising her to Druella’s standard. This new baby felt like Kreacher's chance for redemption. “Bellatrix appears to be the Mother.”

“ Bellatrix? ” She hissed. Venom laced around the name. “It has been long enough. She had to sire an heir for the Lestranges. As is her duty.”

“The child is not a Lestrange, Mistress. They hold the name ‘Riddle’.” He does not know what to think of the tilted breathing his Mistress started to exhibit. “‘ Unnamed Riddle’ it says on the Tapestry.”

Her eyes widened a fraction, but it was enough for Kreacher to know something was wrong. A part of Kreacher was saddened. He might have to bury a Black he had yet to tend to. 

“Unnamed? Are you sure it says Unnamed?” He nodded. “Show me.”

With a snap of his fingers, he had them both Apparated to the Tapestry Room. It's been years since Walburga blasted her eldest son's name off, never entering the room since. Kreacher was worried for his Mistress, but all her eyes conveyed was dismay as her eyes read over the name.

“An Unnamed Riddle?” Walburga frowned, her eyes narrowed. “Does the blasted halfblood not plan to name his own child? And what about Bella?” 

“I don't know, Mistress.” 

She sighed. “Of course, you won’t know. You are a house elf.”

Kreacher did not know how to respond. “Should Elf Black look for the child?”

Walburga waved her hand dismissively. “Don't bother. As long as Bellatrix is alive, the child should be fine. She may have lost her path, but that was what she was raised to do.”

The months flew by, droning on like nothing had changed. The changes were so subtle Kreacher had not realised it was happening until it became the norm.

Days passed, and Walburga started to walk outside her bedroom again. Weeks passed, and she started to sit, and read the Daily Prophet again. Months passed, and she would visit the Tapestry room, muttering under her breath about the ‘still Unnamed Riddle.’ A year had passed, and she now took her tea in the Tapestry Room, her eyes never leaving the name that hadn't changed, her hands waiting for the Daily Prophet from Kreacher.

A year, a week, and a day had passed since the child had appeared on their wall. A year, a week, and a day had passed since they found out about it. A year, a week, and a day had passed since a new Black had entered their universe.

A year, a week, and a day had passed since they had any news about the eldest female cousin.

Until today.

~ o ~

Grimmauld Place

1981

BELLATRIX LESTRANGE, WELL-KNOWN DEATH EATER, ARRESTED AT THE SCENE

Looking every bit unlike the regality of their name, Bellatrix’s face was posted on the front page of the Daily Prophet, her face distorted, and filthy as she laughed maniacally against the bars of the prison she would call home. 

Walburga had no desire to get her out. She made her bed, she would lie in it.

Barely a week after her Dark Lord had fallen, and she was already captured. Walburga wasn't even sure if Bellatrix put up a fight. Bellatrix exhibited a different type of stupidity to go after well-known Aurors just a couple of days after her Dark Lord was expelled by a child.

However, the news of her arrest wasn't what interested Walburga the most. It was the lack of news of the child she made with her Dark Lord. With a child produced from a union like theirs, there must be news about it. Yet, as Walburga's eyes devoured the paper, unease started to settle.

‘Where is the child?’ She frowned.

Walburga was sure that Bellatrix hadn't given the daughter to her mother, Druella would have told her. She was also entirely sure that the Halfblood had no living relatives to pass the child onto, him being an orphan himself. 

‘An orphan . That's what this child is now.’ With a father long gone and a mother held in the stronghold prison. She was scared to glance at the bracelet on her wrist, the twelve dark beads, and two white beads evenly placed in a chain around her wrist. She must not get sidetracked.

Walburga was sure that Bellatrix lacked the tact to assign a Godparent to the child.

The old Bellatrix would have never forgotten; the Bellatrix that was besotted with a power-hungry monster of a being, would have.

Walburga wasn’t entirely ‘there’ when her three nieces were being raised. She was in her bed, year after year, making the Heir for their House. It doesn't help that seeing their parents act completely in love was too painful. She’d rather not see it. She would not have doubted Druella’s skills in raising Black women, but here Bellatrix was. In prison. Walburga didn’t want to blame the mishap on sweet Druella, but she had no qualms about blaming it on her brother, Cygnus. 

Bellatrix and the Dark Lord had a child.

Bellatrix and Voldemort.

Bellatrix and Tom Riddle.

A very hypocritical man who vowed to aggressively eradicate the kind of man he was named after. A blood supremacist in all but blood. His own was a contradiction of his war efforts.

Walburga could almost laugh at the absurdity of it all.

She never understood the other students’ obsession with the younger Tom Riddle. Sure, he had the looks, the popularity, the smarts, and the personality of a well-bred son, but that wasn't scarce to her, she was a Black. That came naturally to them.

Yet, she saw how it started. How the halfblood had convinced students with higher powers to bend a knee to him. Walburga scoffed at the memory of him approaching her with the promise of a world she dreamt of.

She had to remind him that that world would be void of him, and his kind.

It was almost hysterically absurd how he even tried to get a Black to bend the knee to him. No living monarchical figure had successfully done it, much less Him.

Then, he stooped lower than she ever expected. At the unsuccessful attempts to bring in Walburga, and even Orion, Cygnus, and Alphard who were younger than him, he targeted their children.

Their easily swayed, and susceptible children. Old enough to serve their households, but too young to serve in a war. 

Walburga had never experienced a loss like that. How she never realized her biggest weaknesses were made of her blood, she didn't know. Walburga was raised to care for the House of Black only, she should have known better. She should have protected her family better. 

Deeper into the trenches, her family fell.

Two sons lost: one was convicted of treason, and multiple counts of murder, and the other joined the sect that killed his brother’s best friend. 

She severely underestimated the Dark Lord's power back then, and she wished she could do so now. It had His blood running through their veins, and she does not know how much that affected the child. 

‘What would she do with it?’

It was… a child. A child unmolded, unknown to the life it could have. A child is unblemished by his powers. It should be a year old at most.

But it is His. She had no idea how she could let a child who could have his magical prowess roam freely in their world. The world she just got back? 

It is just a child. She had killed worse. S he had no trust for any child that had his blood. His lineage. No matter how old it was. She cannot have a potential dark wizard grow.

With newfound conviction, she stood up.

“Kreacher, get me my robe. We are to get it before anyone else finds out.”

Surprise flickered over the house-elf’s face, his eyes widened. His Mistress never left the house after her eldest living son had established who he valued as his family. Walburga never searched for him, to bring him back, but she had never left. Kreacher knew better than to tell his Mistress that she shouldn’t wait anymore, that Regulus needed her, but he couldn’t. Kreacher never liked seeing his Mistress cry, and after he left, that was all she did. Until she stopped feeling. Yet, she still never left the house, always waiting for him to come home to her. All Kreacher could do was keep her afloat.

He would do anything for her.

“How about Master Orion, Mistress?” Kreacher worried, his eyes flitted to the stairs, he knew his other Master was in his study. “He might come searching for you.”

She let out an unladylike snort as she let Kreacher robe her. “He hasn't looked for me for years. I doubt he will start now.” 

“But Mistress–”

“If you are uncertain, you have my permission to slip something into his tea. Something that would let us have the day for ourselves.”

Kreacher didn’t respond, and took the order with no fight. He is his Mistress’ elf. He would do what she wanted. Always. He nodded, and quickly saw to the Patriarch, and made sure he was settled before he returned to his Mistress.

“Killing the child won't be too hard. We should be back before dawn,” Walburga said, her hand unconsciously checking her wand holster as she stared ahead. Kreacher did not need to know what the emotions displayed on her face meant. He took her words as it was. An order.

With a hand in his, Kreacher Apparated the both of them to what appeared to be the bottom of a hill. 

They were alone, and not even the wind dared pass by them. Sat atop the hill, teeming with enough Dark magic to make even Walburga squirm, was a wooden hut.

It looked unexemplary. Uninviting. The hut was sure to not hold even a basic dining table. It was basically a shed. The decayed wood, the tall grass, and the evidence of long-dead creatures surrounding the area did not help its appearance in the slightest.

Yet, the magic almost spilling out of the hut was no doubt extraordinary. She could feel the pulses of magic. Walburga stilled. ‘Pulses? There is more than one?’

She did not care to keep her expressions at bay. The area they were in was not one she would consider habitable, no matter how desperate one could be.

‘Is it here? There's no one around, no caretaker in sight.’

“Kreacher, are you sure we are at the right place?”

“Kreacher magic brings him here, Mistress Black. Kreacher could feel Child Black is near.”

“Then we should greet it.” Walburga did not know what to expect. A child of that union… nothing good could come of it. The balance of her world is too brittle, it should not live. “Lead the way, Kreacher.”

Kreacher shook his head. “Kreacher cannot go further than this Miss. The wards do not let him.”

“Wards? You are a house elf. No wards should be able to keep you out.”

Walburga watched him struggle to step forward, even if she could do so with ease. “Unless someone warded it to specifically keep you out, Kreacher…” Her mind started to race. Bellatrix can have her secrets. But having a child of the Black House be ostracised from the same elf that raised its mother? Something is off. “Why would Bellatrix do that?”

“Traitor Black must have known that Kreacher can find Baby Black if need be,” Kreacher answered, his gaze straying to the shack. “She must not have known that Kreacher wouldn't have come alone.”

“Fine.” Walburga turned to the hill. “It's best not to diddle-daddle. Prepare a grave, Kreacher. I won't be long.”

Not bothering to hike up her skirts, she let her well-contained magic flatten out. Her magic was far more sinister than most of the Dark Arts. The Dark Arts was child's play, she was proficient in all it could offer by the time she reached adolescence. She was a Black after all. 

She doesn't bother to watch her magic pulse out, well aware of what she would find. The once overgrown field had flattened, the plants wilting away as Walburga started her ascent. 

The ground rumbled, fighting against her magic, but her magic was confident and unyielding. It was her magic after all, and she was a woman of the House of Black. Magic wasn’t something she learned to wield. It was her birthright.

She barely had to halter her pace, the magic formed her steps up the hill.

Holding her wand in her right, she wordlessly cast the door away. Yet still, there was no sound. No frightened squeal or movement could be heard. ‘ Was it already dead?’ She paused. ‘ Couldn't be.’ Walburga can still feel its magic.

It was weak. The Soul Magic she could tell was contained in an object was… more potent than that of the child's. ‘ It's nearly dead.’ She frowned. Walburga doesn't know if she should be relieved or disgusted. Despite its blood, it was a Black. No Black should die like this. It was as if no one understood how important a Black was.

It is… dishonourable.

She felt her resolve dwindle, but the voice of her Grandfather shoved it back in as harsh as the pain buried deep into her skin. Lashings unseen but eternally in pain. A reminder of her role. She clutched the beaded bracelet with renounced vigour.

“Do not let dishonour run rampant among the young. Kill the weak and make more. It's what you are here to do.”

She was eight when she learned her role in her family. Nine when she lost her favorite Aunt to childbirth. Ten when she watched the child her Aunt died for take its first step. Eleven when she was promised to her younger cousin. A couple of months away from her entrance to Hogwarts, where she would have found ‘distractions.’

She found a silver lining that Orion was younger by four years. Surely, he would experiment around before he found himself in her bed. Yet, he was merely fourteen when he forced her into his bed. They were never close as cousins, but she knew her duty to her family. She was barely out of Hogwarts when she lost her first child. 

Followed by another, and another, and another. Fourteen pregnancies, three children living past infancy, two living until adulthood. Twelve lost. 

After Regulus, Walburga spelled herself infertile. She did not find another need to bury an unnamed star. Twelve was enough. 

Twelve unnamed graves in the back of Black Manor.

Druella was lucky, her role with her daughters was different from hers. Druella was trained by Pollux to find influential connections, and establish their power through matrimonial relationships with the three daughters.

Walburga’s was to sire strong heirs. A daughter was never allowed to be born. Pollux killed her five daughters after all. As soon as they left her womb, she was placed under the Cruciatus curse immediately. A few by Pollux, a couple by Orion himself. All for procuring daughters. 

She always wanted a daughter.

It was a favourite pastime for them to subject her to their abuse. Right after she lost her children who never had the chance to live their lives. Her unnamed stars. 

They were never truly unnamed. She had their names. She would always have their names. 

Corvus, her first. When it first happened, Pollux said it would get easier while Irma merely shook her head. It was Pollux who taught Orion how to not have the child appear in the Tapestry, and any of their records. Indus . Walburga always wanted a daughter. Someone to raise to be just like her, to be with her. Orion took her life before she had taken her first breath. That was when their Head of House back then, Lord Sirius Black II, decided that Walburga was made to sire heirs, and only heirs. Lyra . Another daughter Walburga cried for. She was an anomaly, blonde and blue-eyed. Walburga buried her herself. Cassiopeia, Aries , Castor . Walburga was starting to believe she wasn’t meant to bear children, but the tombstones of her perfect, once-living daughters deferred the thought. 

Altair. Then Atlas. The first that got to live. Orion's desired heir. However,  it wasn't enough, she needed to make a spare.

Then Pollux . She thought that if she named him after a Black who would surely outlive her, he would have the same fate. He didn't.

Carina.

Perseus.

She was tired of being wrong, but at least Sirius , who came after Perseus, became the spare she needed to quell Orion’s thirst for his perfect children.

It didn’t last long, she lost Atlas before she could give birth to Alya. Sirius became the heir, and that meant she needed to make another spare.

With Alya, Walburga knew she would become another loss as soon as Atlas passed. Then Regulus marked her last pregnancy. Their spare.

Walburga lost seven before Atlas, and three before Sirius. Her brightest star was barely a month old when she lost her first. Her beautiful son. Her son that held her sky. It was with him that she felt like she understood the true beauty of creating life. She lost him too soon, and her sky crumbled, at the hand of her husband. She was ready for the time she would get to meet them in the Afterlife. 

She learned of the lashings too late. Most of her time was spent away from Atlas as she housed the spare.

Almost like clockwork, Walburga had to bury another child whose demise came from the hand of his father. Before her grief could last a day, she was forced to have another son.

Orion wouldn't even let her put a name to Atlas’ grave. He became another unnamed star.

However, they were never truly unnamed to her. 

Orion wanted to keep them unnamed, to forget their existence altogether. He called them failures, but Walburga knew better. She was the one that failed them.

Regulus was a gift for not making her suffer too much. She lost one star before him. That was enough.

Twelve lost stars were enough.

Then, when her eyes fall onto a poor excuse of a sack and bones, a weak body yet strong, grey, and stormy eyes catch hers. Eyes exactly like hers. Her hair was as dark as the night that held their stars. 

Walburga didn't notice until her nails pierced her skin, and red crescents appeared on the lower half of her palm. She paid it no mind. Her eight superficial cuts were nothing to the scars littering every visible surface of the child's skin.

Wide grey eyes, and a hopeful expression stifled by a neglected demeanour, it tried to reach out to Walburga but could hardly lift its hand for the lack of strength. Something in her chest shattered at the sight.

No child deserved to be punished by a world that barely knew them.

Walburga went there with a plan. Kill the child, bury the possibility of another Dark Wizard to rise, and go about her day. Do what her Grandfather beat into her, make her family proud, and make sure her family was pure. 

Despite it all, Walburga crumbled.

Twelve stars were enough.

Chapter Text

The Gaunt Shack, Little Hangleton

1981

Ever since she was born, Walburga knew what her role was in the family: she was a puppet. A marionette of her parents' making. 

Her father was her puppet master while her mother stayed the costume maker, making sure that her appearance matched what was expected of a Pureblood daughter that had her last name. No matter how much she sought attention, affection, or support from her mother, she was hexed before being turned away. Irma Black née Crabbe was constantly present but had nothing else to do with Walburga than make sure she looked alright.

Yet, she was a Black, and looking alright was a disappointment in the making. She had to look exemplary, had to be far better than the rest, even if her most secret, sinful desire was to be common. It was a childish dream, one too painful to wish for, one too unintelligent to utter out loud.

Slowly, she had learned that being excellent would earn her a small smile from her mother, a nod of approval from her father, and acknowledgment from her grandfather, Lord Sirius Black II. The small doses of attention were all she hung on to, and if her life was never meant to be hers, at least she could hang on to those. To her, they were the small glimpses of light, and like a moth starved of light, she kept the small glimpses of light close to her heart, even if she knew that each one were dying embers, never meant to last long enough to matter.

Therefore, Walburga became everything her family wished a Pureblood daughter of the house of Black was supposed to be like. An unimaginable standard of perfection was desired. An unimaginable standard of perfection was achieved. She was the perfect daughter. A puppet of beautiful design, and her will beaten out of her: she had no desires of her own.

However, what her parents had forgotten was that the more taut a string on her marionette-like-life was, the more prone it was to snap. 

The strings have been there ever since she was born. She had always had a place to fill, a personality to inherit, a life built for her to follow. It was almost impossible to feel them until she pulled a bit too hard. She treated her strings as if they were guiding forces to do right by her family. 

Walburga wanted to visit a place commonly associated with halfbloods? Too taut. She backed away. Studying runes, and curses that her father deemed too unnecessary for a woman to know of? Taut. She stopped studying it. Liking women? Taut. Her role in her family was to marry another Black, and make ‘pure’ Blacks. She was betrothed to her cousin before she even entered Hogwarts.

Growing older, the more she felt the strings’ presence. As if she was in a maze made of semi-translucent threads that were made to guide her when it just led her deeper into a maze she knew no ending of. Every year she grew older, the tighter the strings became until it was the only thing keeping her upright.

The few strings still stringing her along propped her up, forcing the marionette to do their bidding. After years, and years of compliance with their rules, she had made more than her fair share of bad decisions to live up to the family name. Yet, over the years, she had lost most of her strings whenever life grew more brutal. 

At eleven, her first string snapped when her parents betrothed her to her cousin, and her desire to meet another woman immediately squashed. 

Her second was when she was first bedded, another when she lost her first child, another when she realised that no daughter of hers would live, another when she lost Atlas, and another when Alya was killed; Atlas hadn't lived long enough to guarantee her life. 

Then Sirius left, and another string snapped. 

When her grandfather, Lord Sirius II, passed away and his son Arcturus took his place, she thought the handle on her reins would lessen, but it did not. She was not close to the new Lord, and it affected her greatly. She wondered if he knew of her upbringing, but she relinquished the thought. He was their Head, he must have.

When Regulus arrived back to her home, barely alive: the eighth was cut.

She still felt it, the weight of the string that was supposed to lift her. The control it had over her, and the ideals she had upheld for the family.   On the other hand, she had seen the child on the floor. Even knowing what it was, knowing who its father was, Walburga let go of all of her family’s lessons and did what her instincts drove her to do: nurture.

The last string controlling her was cut by her own hands.

In less than a minute, she was hovering over the child, and her hand trembled as she slowly reached forward. The child didn't even look wary of her. It leaned into Walburga's hand, and closed its eyes, leaning into the warmth of her touch. It was unnerving to see how difficult it was for it to breathe; their ribcage stuttered every now and then, and there was a wheeze in its chest.

Walburga was not proud of herself at that moment. Of how she wanted to curl herself around it and hold it to her chest. How she wished to burn her way into Azkaban and rip the womb off of her niece. A womb she didn't deserve. 

How she couldn't stop the tears from spilling down her cheeks, her chin wobbled as she held its face in both hands. Walburga hated her tears. A Black never cried. She was stronger than her emotions. 

But no.  

She was not stronger than this.  

Trembling, she leaned forward, and placed a kiss on its forehead, a promise in her whisper. “I will protect you now. Don't worry, your family is here.” 

However, she doesn't know how to help . Walburga doesn't know if it was safe to move it, if they had any broken bones that could hit something detrimental, or if even touching it in the wrong place would bring it pain. 

In a panic, she brought her wand out and tried to focus on each injury she could reach without moving the child. “ Episkey, ” she whispered. “Episkey,” she said as she moved on to another. Yet, before it could close, the one she had just healed reopened, a stream of red exiting it. Her breath caught. “ E-episkey , Episkey, Episkeyepiskeyepiskeyepiskeyepiskeyepiskey–”

She was never any good at healing spells. It was the irony of her name. Walburga was named after St. Walpurgis, known to repel witches, and to heal the sick. Her entire being battled the meanings of her name. She made broken wizards with her womb, but she could not heal them. She did not know how to. A part of her wondered if that was the reason her stars died, if it was her fault they never got to live. If ever someone was hurt in her home, she had Kreacher for that, and if spells couldn’t do the trick, they had potions for that. No matter how expensive it was, the Blacks just bought–

Potions. 

Healing Potions are more potent. More stable. She sat up.

Snape. She needed Snape. Her house had not needed their potions store replenished for a while, not needing the services of the young Potions Master, but he would know what to do. A well-trained Occlumens with his own plans. Plans she could have a hand in. He was a Slytherin, he would know what she was capable of, what she could offer him.

There is nothing a Black couldn't do.

Except for this Black. This Black didn’t know how to heal.

In a shuddering breath, she thought of her happiest memories. There were only three that were strong enough for a Patronus. She was never that good at Light spells, her soul was marked Dark since birth.

Though, she had three that were enough. Three memories of three matching babies with a black head of hair, grey eyes, and their first laugh. The times she felt proudest of being a mother to her wonderful children. 

She thought of the one she lost but still lived, and watched as a large dog spelled out of her wand in wondrous wisps of white.

“Find Snape. Ask him to bring Potions for healing then bring him to me.”

It didn’t take long for the Potions Master to be brought to her. She could hear Kreacher’s patronising jeers from down the hill. 

Not wanting to leave it, but knowing that she couldn’t do what needed to be done without Severus, she made her way to him.

The young man in his early twenties, donned in his usual dark robes that billowed in a wind she couldn’t see, waited for her at the bottom of the hill. His angular face betrayed no emotion as his hair was tied to hold it away from his face. It didn’t hold all of his raven hair but held enough to not bother him. Walburga was used to the look. It was what she sees him in whenever he comes to her house, dealing his wares.

He greeted her with a small bow. “Mrs. Black,” he raised an eyebrow at their surroundings, a flicker of something Walburga couldn’t place passed by his eyes. She did not have the time to be wary. “This is… not our usual point of contact.”

“What would it take for you to keep everything today a secret?” Walburga kept it blunt. It is dying, and she still needed to have this sorted. “A secret you'll take to your grave?”

Severus, fortunately, is used to the curt nature of her House. “What can the Blacks offer me?”

“Money. Fame. Protection,” she recited instinctively. It was the three she had powers in, the three she could promise in her own name, and not of her husband’s. “Name it, and it's yours.”

His eyebrows raised slightly. “What secret is so important that you would willingly negotiate with a known Death Eater?”

“That is something you will find out when you choose,” she was growing impatient, but she wouldn't let herself show it. She was facing another Slytherin that could hold his own. Walburga can’t have Severus assume anything more than she was willing to give. “Money. Fame. Protection. These are what I can guarantee. Choose.”

“I want all three.”

“It is one secret. Choose one. ”

Severus simply raised an eyebrow. An expression she wasn’t too familiar with the younger, but the roles were reversed now, he had what she wanted. “As it is a secret of this calibre, I believe I am owed those three,” he drawled. “We may be familiar, Mrs. Black. But I am not daft. I know where we are.”

She pretended not to be surprised. Leave it to Severus to be familiar with an abandoned shack filled with magic she couldn’t identify. “Fine,” she hissed out. “I will swear for all three. Will you take the vow when I find a binder?” 

“Of course.” 

Walburga turned to the shack  and started her ascent. She doesn’t turn around to check if he would follow. He needed what she could offer as much as she needed what he could. “Then that is all. You will have what you need from my family.”

“And when I get caught?”

“Is it a matter of when and not if for you?”

“The Aurors know who I am and that I am not dead. It is simply a matter of time.”

Walburga nodded. “Very well.” Her thoughts ran to what she knew of the Ministry’s procedures. She wasn’t taught it in its entirety like the men of her House were, but she was still well informed. She was still intelligent. She was a Black, after all. “I will get the Wizengamot to demand you a trial and to find you not guilty of your charges. I will stand as a witness that you were dealing me Potions on the nights you are unaccounted for.” 

He nodded, satisfied. 

She now stood by the door of the shack. She stepped to the side to let Severus in. “Now, save it or you will find my front lawn decorated with your remains.” She whispered, her eyes sharp.

Severus took a step towards the child but Walburga unconsciously slotted herself between them. Severus watched with an amused gaze. He had never witnessed a maternal Walburga. The Matriarch always seemed like the complete opposite.

Yet, here he was, in the middle of a desolate town, the hill barren, and stood in a decaying shack teeming with Dark Magic. Walburga Black stood between him and a child he couldn't see but could… feel. It wasn't just the presence of the child he could note, but the magic pouring freely from the child. It was familiar.

Severus frowned. “... The magic –”

“You can feel Soul Magic?” Walburga’s eyebrows raised as she scanned the young wizard in front of her. If he wasn’t a half-blood, she would have thought he was attractive enough, but her type has always been blonde beauties. “Then you can tell that it's dire. The soul is barely holding on–”

He shook his head. “No, not Soul Magic. That hasn't been seen in more than a century.” Soul Magic was a Hidden Art. Not many knew of it, and the practice was barely held on with it dying off. The Blacks had more secrets than anyone should assume. “Keeping secrets from the Ministry, Mrs. Black?”

“As always, Snape.” Walburga’s smile didn’t reach her eyes before she tilted her head to the child. “Speak of what you meant then.”

“And no, not their Soul. It's the child's magic. It feels familiar.”

Ah. Walburga should have known that a Death Eater who worked closely with the Dark Lord would have been intimately familiar with His magic. “Of course you would.” 

“Does anyone else… know of the child's parentage?”

Her eyes narrowed. A nod. “Kreacher. But until I register its existence with the ministry, it will be called ‘Unnamed Riddle’ in the Black's Tapestry.”

“You plan to keep the child?”

“Unless its maternal grandmother would claim it, it will be raised as my own.” Druella… Walburga never realised that there would come a time when she would get to talk to the blonde alone, years after Hogwarts. She missed her. At least it would be a valid excuse to meet with the woman she once loved. Call her selfish, but if it was for the child’s benefit, it was a good reason to meet up with the blonde.

“Despite their dubious parentage?”

A twitch appeared on the corner of her lip. So he knows the Dark Lord’s real identity as well. She gave him an appraising look. “Despite it all.” She nods. “I am not losing another Star.”

Severus knew better than to ask. “Then let's start saving the child, yes?” 

Walburga, reluctantly, moved to the side, and the sight of the child was unforgivable. Severus was sure that death would have been merciful, but he could not tell Walburga that. Not when she's watching him with the eyes of an eagle. She sat to the side, and gave enough space for Severus to work, but not let go of the child. The child was watching with a terrified look on their face, but it also held a tinge of… curiosity. 

The child looked eerily familiar with what he was there to do. 

The child glanced back at Walburga who gave them a small nod. They then presented their wrist with immense difficulty, their arm trembling.

Severus gently laid his hand under the arm, and the similarities between them are jarring. The kid's arm, and his were littered with cuts. His were long-healed, evidence of how much he had slaved over his Potions ingredients, the knife getting a few cuts in before he would notice. However, the child's were… blackened. Some would need stitches. He doesn't know if he should feel distraught or relieved by the crawling maggots by a particularly bad gash on her leg.

He closed his eyes, he tried to compose himself.

Merlin… this is a child.

As he knelt, he cast a diagnostic spell and watched a list of ailments appear.

“Unnamed Riddle”

Female

1 year old

Throat: Infected Gash

Gangrene: Left calf 

7th, 8th, 9th, 10th ribs : Broken

Untreated cuts: Left Arm (8), Right Arm (4)

Untreated wound: Right calf (4in)

Burns: Lower Torso (4)

Fractures: Left foot

Ailments: Malnourished, Anaemic, Muscle dystrophy, Nerve Damage (Cruciatus)

Severus shut his eyes and took a deep breath. If the child was fighting their best for their own life, he needed to get his act together. 

This is treatable. It will take a while but the child will live.

Severus pretended to not see the water pool in Walburga's eyes as she read the diagnostic that appeared over the child’s wrist.

He cleared his throat. “She will live.” Then he gestured around the shack. “But, I need more than what I have and I need more space. And it will take time.”

“I can Transfigure–” she started but Severus simply raised his hand to stop her. He does not care if it seems improper to interrupt a woman of her pedigree, but he couldn’t find it in him to care at the moment. With the extent of the child’s injuries, it was a miracle the kid was still alive.

With a curt nod, Severus gave her a long look. “This place won't do. The magic in the property will interfere.”

Conflict warred in her eyes as she ran through every possible solution and outcome. It didn’t take long before she nodded. “Very well, then. We can work in Black Manor. I will have Kreacher and the other elves cover the Paintings. This must be kept secret.”

“About that. I need Narcissa.”

She shoots him a glare. Walburga wanted to keep this a secret for as long as she needed. Having her niece might not be for the best. “What for?”

“She has been healing far longer than I have made Potions. I can heal but not as well as her.”

“Are you not adept enough to handle this yourself?”

“Not if we want the recovery to be flawless,” he points out. Severus was familiar with the Black’s desire to keep all marks under wraps. “With Narcissa… we can assure you nothing will remain of the child's abuse. No remaining nerve damage, no tremors, no scars.”

Walburga finally gave him a grateful smile and Severus stilled. It was unfamiliar, but he won’t mention it. “I will… trust you on that.” She closed her eyes, and leaned against the decaying wood of the shack. “I will contact Narcissa. Let's have Kreacher assist us in transporting it to Black Manor.”

~ o ~

The Black Manor, France

1981

As soon as Narcissa entered the bed chamber, her eyes falling on the child, she whirled around, and pressed a wand against the throat of the Black matriarch.

“What have you done? ” Ice dripped off every word. Narcissa was close to hexing her Aunt, and she couldn't find it in herself to be wrong. What she saw was a damaged child. Something her Aunt was known for. 

Walburga, the perfect portrayal of indifference broken as rage etched in every inch of her face. Narcissa almost stepped back. She knew the wrath of her Aunt, and the aftereffects incredibly well. But this was about a child.  

‘How could she–?’ Her thoughts are interrupted as she gets forcefully pushed back by the Manor's magic, protecting Walburga. Narcissa was the only one of her sisters who could see it. She always thought it was crazy how houses could recognize the magic of their Masters until she became a Malfoy, and the Manor’s magic would bend to her will.

Though, the Malfoy Manor’s magic was not as intricate as the magic of Black Manor. She was almost jealous of it.

Except for now, when the Black Manor’s magic was fighting against her. The wisps of black gave her warning touches as she moved away from Walburga.

Her Aunt gave her a scathing look before glancing at the sleeping child, her eyes immediately turning warm. No. No. That look isn’t something that belonged on Walburga’s face. Narcissa briefly thought that her Aunt was polyjuiced but the glare that return ed to Narcissa brought her chills. ‘ No, that was her.’ 

“I am not this monstrous.” Narcissa’s eyes settled on the child. ‘This is monstrous. This is a child.’ Her mind couldn’t help but compare the child to her own, sleeping peacefully in his nursery, and if Narcissa had any say, would be kept safe for his entire life. “You have your dear sister to thank for this.”

Narcissa stilled. ‘ No. Andy would never.’ She hadn’t seen her sister since she left the family, but she just knew her older sister would never do this to a child. Her sister was filled with love. This wasn’t from love at all. “I know Andromeda, she would never–”

“ The other one. ” Walburga frowned. “Severus promised you would be smart enough to help but I am highly doubting it at the moment.”

‘Bellatrix then.’ Narcissa frowned. She had seen her sister often enough during the war. Narcissa would have been able to notice if she was pregnant. “Why did you call me?”

“To save Delphini.”

Her clouded blue eyes widened as she stared at her Aunt in disbelief. “Delphini? You're naming the child?”

“I will raise it if your mother doesn't choose to lay her claim.” Walburga motioned to the door. “Severus is in the Potions Laboratory, in case you need him.”

Narcissa shook her head before tying her hair up with a ribbon, her blond hair compliant, and familiar with the motion. “I can start without him.” 

It became the routine they formed as the Death Eaters would seek the two of them after an unsuccessful raid. It became clear to her after a couple of months into the war that the Dark Lord was unwavering in his desire to get everyone around him Marked, but she proved herself in other ways. 

Her Lucius chose a side he thought was safest for them. A side that even Narcissa, the more compliant Black, heavily scrutinised, but she had to make do.

She became their Healer.

The two moved closer to the child, and Narcissa had to fight everything within her to keep her wits with her. 

She looks like she could be Draco's age… 

Narcissa turned to the bed and quickly glanced at the list of ailments Severus left for her, she frowned. It was a miracle the child was still alive. The infection should have reached her heart a long time ago, especially with how old it was, how small the child was, and how sick she was. “Wouldn't it be merciful to end her suffering?” she whispered. The child may be sleep-induced, but it still felt rude to talk about her mortality in the way she was.

“She is… fighting. Her soul has been fighting for so long. It would be an injustice to not fight for her as well.” Walburga’s voice was soft as she sat by the child’s side, her fingers running through Delphini’s hair. “And I am not losing another Star. Not when I can finally let them live.”

A pang of sympathy, and sadness courses through Narcissa. It wasn't easy for her to earn Draco, and she was aware how her lineage had more than one family married into them compared to the others. She couldn’t imagine how hard it was to keep a child from a union like Walburga’s. “How many?”

“There are twelve unnamed plots in the back of the Manor.” Walburga’s eyes wandered to the window that peers to the gardens. There was a garden the children were never allowed to visit, which of course, made Bella, and Andy want to break in, but Narcissa let it be. She had always been an obedient child.. Narcissa understood now. “Your cousin Atlas was the eighth.”

Narcissa leaned over, and held her Aunt’s hand for the first time in a long time. 

She was born the same year he was, and grew up with him. She knew how much Walburga loved him, despite not being allowed to show it. Narcissa was also there when Walburga lost him, and saw how hard grief rattled her. No one in the Black family could deny how much she loved Atlas, and all her lost children. She had never known a Walburga that wasn’t mourning. Grief was simply love not knowing where to go. 

She finally understood her.

“Don’t worry, Auntie.” She pulled her sleeves up, and prepared for the gruelling night. “We’re not losing another Black tonight. Not when I could help it.”

And help she did. With both Severus and Narcissa working in tandem, the child started to visibly get better. It didn’t take long for the potions to start working with the child’s magic, but the progress was slow. Severus needed to make the potions less potent with how weak the child was, he didn’t want to shock her system. 

Walburga never left her side. She took to whispering promises of a better life to the child every night, holding her close. 

Despite not knowing what would be Druella’s decision for the child, Walburga started to dream again.

She could see herself dressing the child in dresses fitting of her name. Teaching her the stars. Holding her hand. Making her laugh. Watching her blossom in a world she belonged in.

To be raised as the daughter Walburga always wanted. 

Walburga, at the ripe age of fifty-five, had started to dream of a long life with Delphini. The child hadn’t woken yet, but Walburga knew she would do anything for the child.

All she had to do now was wait.

It took one week to get the child stable. It was a terrible week but everyone breathed easy when her health wasn’t in danger anymore.

A week, and two days for Severus and Lucius to get caught in the second group of Death Eaters. The day after, Severus cashed in his favour. Another day, and he was free.

It took two weeks for Orion to realise she was missing. Two weeks and a day for Walburga to contact Orion's mistress, and get her to bring Orion out for the rest of the year. He went without a fight.

Three weeks, and all the wounds have closed entirely, stitches snipped away, but the child still slept. Yet, Walburga wasn’t worried. After how long she had watched Severus, and Narcissa work diligently for the child’s health, she trusted them. Delphini's Soul was a lot more attached now than it was when she found her.

It took four weeks, and a day when she woke up, smiling at Walburga. Another day before Delphini she attempted to make a sound. Her voice was so small, barely a whisper. It was obvious to anyone that the child had no confidence in being heard. Nothing a Black should sound like. 

Despite that, Walburga couldn't be happier. The child was precious.

After a month since she set out to kill the child, she held Delphini close to her chest, and let herself cry. “Beautiful girl, you are worth more than the world. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise. You don’t deserve this hurt.” Walburga kissed both cheeks of the beaming child. “No one will be able to hurt you again. Never again. ”

She carried the child on her hip, an action she never had the chance to do with her sons, she brought her to the terrace. In the corner of her eye, she could see the shadows reaching for the bannister, waiting for them.

The tendril of Black magic caressed Delphini's cheek. A burst of laughter erupted from the child, and Walburga watched in fascination as Delphini grabbed hold of the magical coil, and held it close to her, embracing it. 

The Black family magic, the very same that would make muggle blood burn, and throw muggleborns and halfbloods against the wall with blades to their throats, was playing with Delphini, wholly accepting her. If Walburga believed in messages from magic like her brother Alphard does, she would take this as one.

Not every Black child had the affinity to even see the Black family magic that is embedded into their walls, much less touch it and be friendly with it. 

Seeing how the magic accepted Delphini made Walburga’s worries about taking in the child wash away. The magic was older than her, older than her father, and older than every living Black there was. Therefore, the magic’s approval was all she needed.

Holding onto her lifeline, she let Delphini peer over the terrace, her eyes wide in fascination. Walburga would give her the world.

“Welcome to the world, Delphini.” Walburga held the child up as she gazed deeply into the eyes of a child she would protect with her life. Her last chance at becoming the mother she always wanted to be. “This will all be yours one day, ” she promised her daughter. 

There was no way Delphini could understand her at the moment, but she did not care as she proclaimed her promise. Walburga finally got the daughter she always wanted. This daughter would live. 

“And as a Black, you will be revered by the world.”

my walburga playlist <3 

Chapter Text

Grimmauld Place, London

1981

It was well into the night when Orion returned to Grimmauld Place, choosing to enter through the front door rather than through Wizard means. Already, he could tell something was off in the house. The air was less stuffy and less cold than what he associated with the home. He could even hear the distinct crackle of firewood from the sitting room: a sound he only heard during Yule when they lit a lone Yule log just for tradition. 

He frowned. They have a couple of weeks more to go before Yule.

Yet, that was not all. Drifting through the halls was a sound he had never heard in these halls before: he heard singing. Without hesitating, he found himself drifting towards the source of the sound, his feet travelling up the stairs until he found himself by the entrance of the drawing-room, staring at what must be a hallucination. 

“Sleep, my little star, so bright, Guided by the silver light.  

In the velvet sky you shine,  Dreams of magic will be thine.”

She might look like Walburga, her svelte form in her natural posture, her complexion pale, her nose tall and straight, her raven hair fashioned into an updo with two thick streaks of silver hair as the only indication of her age, her face never betraying it, but Orion was sure it wasn’t Walburga in front of him. She was smiling. She had never smiled at him before.

“Stars above, so clear and fair, Whisper secrets through the air.  

Rest your eyes, let slumber call, In the night sky, you're loved by all.”

The imagery of his wife was swaying side-to-side, the Black lullaby on her lips. It was what filled their halls, and even Kreacher, the dratted thing, was standing to the side of the room, watching the scenery. Its eyes were filled with familiarity while Orion’s did not. He would never use the word ‘maternal’ after his wife’s name. It was simply out of nature for her to act this way. Even Atlas, who Orion would deem her favourite, did not get to have this treatment. Orion was almost angry at the small child bundled in her arms. 

“Twinkling gems in the night's embrace, Watching over with gentle grace.  

As you drift to lands afar, Know you are our brightest star.”

Orion frowned for he knew that the child was not theirs. Orion may not pay attention to his wife, but he was well aware of the lengths she went to make herself infertile after their last son. He knew that he, and his wife do not speak unless required, but surely getting a child would be a topic Walburga would have brought up to him. They were married for a reason. 

“Close your eyes, my precious one, Dream until the rising sun.  

In your dreams, the stars will sing, Of the magic they’ll bring.”

However, a seed of doubt nestled into his chest when he glanced at the child. It looked just like them. With grey eyes and dark, raven-like hair, it had what most Blacks had, down to its heavy eyelids. He did not want to admit it if his wife would ever find out what he thought of it, but the child was as pretty as a doll, just like how his sons were. 

“Sleep, my little star, so bright, Guided by the silver light.”

It must be a Black… He thought to himself, his frown turning into a scowl. 

“In the velvet sky you shine,  Dreams of magic will be thine–”

“Who is this?” he interrupted her before ordering Kreacher away, his eyes settling on the child who was now asleep. 

Walburga, the great duellist that she was, immediately had her wand in her hand, aimed straight at him. Orion could almost feel the Ignis magic that danced in her eyes. The child, jostled at the movement for her to get her wand, woke up again, her eyes settling on him. The child did not let out a cry or squirm like most who were awakened from their sleep. It was eerily unchildlike. He did not meet its gaze, choosing to keep his attention on his wife who was watching him in contempt. “Why does it matter to you?”

He raised his eyebrows. Defensive? Why? “It’s a Black, isn’t it?” He took her worried glance at the child as confirmation, innately proud of himself for reading his wife so well. “Which Black though? It surely isn’t mine or I would have known.”

“She’s a Black, that’s all that matters,” she said as she canted her body for him to not see the child so easily.

“But which Black’s?” he emphasised, a sneer growing on his lips when he didn’t get the answer he wanted. “Regulus’ child? No, your son is too perfect to make bastards. Andromeda’s?” He let out a laugh. “As if you would hold halfbloods willingly, and she’s too proud to not have children with the man she chose over us. Bellatrix was imprisoned, and no ravenette can come out of a union like Narcissa and Lucius’,” he pointed out. “It must be Sirius’ then. For what other reason would you treat a child like this? As if you’re actually capable of being a mother?” 

“I am one,” she declared, her wand unwavering as she walked forward, pointing the wand at his throat. He took a step back.

Orion scoffed. The woman couldn’t even hold his lost sons long enough for them to live. The only ones that lived were… girls when he wanted heirs. What a rotten excuse for a mother. “Pushing out dead children does not make you a mother, Walburga,” he said condescendingly. He relished in the glare he received. If he had to live the rest of his life with this invalid, he would make her remember her place. “You are merely a womb who took decades to serve her duty–”

“Do not talk to me of duty, Orion,” she spat out. He rolled his eyes, tired of the conversation. Orion could feel something pushing against him, its touch burning him to stay away. He could not see the magic she wields, but anyone in the room could feel its presence. “You think sticking a prick in a hole every nine months was duty? Please.” She scoffed.

The air around them crackled.

“And when the child comes out without a prick, you have never shown them mercy.” Walburga pushed her wand deeper into his throat, but Orion did not bring his out. Despite Walburga being just a woman, he knew his Ater magic was no match to her Ignis magic, no matter how much he would like to believe otherwise. “Did that make you feel powerful, Orion? Taking the life of hour-old infants?” she whispered, but the vehemence was as clear as it could be. “You will never be the man you dreamt yourself of being.”

Orion, taken aback by Walburga's boldness, attempted to assert his authority. “Remember your place, Walburga. You remain just a woman.”

“A woman who kept this family alive,” she retorted sharply, her voice unwavering. “All you are is a donor. Remember your place, Orion. Every child out of me is a Black. There is no doubt about that.” She shook her head slightly. “Yet not every child you brought into this world would own our family name. Arcturus does not legitimise stray seeds, Orion. Now, tell me. How many bastards did you father?” Her words pierced the air, heavy with accusation. 

Orion's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with anger, his magic prickled his skin, wishing to release. With a snarl, he lunged. Not at Walburga, but at the child, his hand reaching for its throat. Yet, as soon as he felt its skin, he was pushed against the wall with a bang. Magic kept him from moving, his feet dangling. Despite the position, he held his chin up, and sneered down at them.

“You will never touch another child of mine, kinslayer. ” Walburga declared firmly, her wand still pointed at Orion as a silent warning, but he knew the magic was not hers. He had known her all his life, her magic did not feel like this.

The magic felt cold and moist. Not like snow was, but eerily reptilian. As if a serpent coiled around him, relishing in the shivers he gave before tightening slowly.

When his eyes fell on the child, its grey eyes met his, glaring at him. All of a sudden, he could feel himself fall short of breath, his lungs finding it hard to take another gulp of air. Orion did not want to believe it, but he knew it was the child that retaliated. His point was proven when the magic let go of him as soon as he watched Walburga whisper something in the child’s ear. 

“Leave now, Orion. No one here wishes for your presence.”

Her words struck a nerve, and Orion's facade of superiority wavered momentarily. “Watch yourself, Walburga.” He dusted off his robes, turning to leave. “Nothing happens within the Black Houses that Arcturus does not know of.”

~ o ~

The Black Villa, France

1981

It didn't take long before what Orion said rang true.

Walburga found herself standing in front of the Black Villa, the very vision of poise. If she was nervous to meet Lord Black, she tried not to let it show. It would not do well to show weakness in front of her head of house. 

She had only seen Arcturus Black twice: the first was when his father and her father agreed on the betrothal, the next was when she was wed. In either instance, they had never spoken to one another. 

Before becoming their Head of House, the man was known to be more reclusive than most of their family, choosing to stay home under the pretence of illness, but Walburga knew better. Even as she was heavily pregnant each year, she still attended events, while he had not. There must have been an agreement he had with their past Lord for him to miss those events. What agreement that was, she did not know.

When he was chosen as Sirius II’s Heir, a lot of them were confused but dared not bring it up to him: for Sirius Black II was not a man to be reckoned with. Aside from his recent sacrifice for her son, one she would be eternally grateful for, Lord Sirius II was as brutal and heavy-handed as the men before him. Lord Sirius II was the complete opposite of his wife: the Aunt she adored so much. The couple were estranged for most of their marriage but Walburga didn't have it in her to care when she was younger. She just chose to spend her time with Aunt Hesper as much as she could before her untimely demise. 

She had never met this Lord Black, choosing to force Orion to do what Lord Arcturus needed from her branch of the family. She had met another Lord Black, Arcturus's father, under worse conditions: after Heir Sirius left, when Andromeda pleaded to be allowed to love who she loved, and when she experienced the wrath of her father's and her husband's Cruciatus right after delivering children at home. 

If the object of his anger was her, it would have been fine. She had grown used to it.

However, it wasn't her life she was terrified for. 

It was Delphini's.

The idea of having her precious daughter get killed after she fought so hard to live, was excruciating, and if Lord Arcturus was anything like his predecessor, then he wasn't the most forgiving man.

As a woman, she thought that as long as she did her duty to her family, she would fly under the radar. It all went crashing down when she got betrothed to her cousin, Orion.

She had no qualms about marrying a cousin. If it was what kept the magic in their family potent, it does not matter what she thinks. Walburga was a Black and it was her duty to produce heirs for the House of Black. Especially with a union like her and Orion's. Two Blacks should have the most brilliant offsprings was what was believed. Even if she found it hard to fall in bed with her husband, or any man, really. 

There were rare instances where she would feel attracted to a man and would find herself in improper situations. However, it had never gone farther than a heated snog, much to Orion's accusations, she could never feel attracted enough to them to go all the way through.

Though, there was a recurring theme amongst them. They were lithe and graceful. Their faces softer than most of their gender.

Blonde, blue-eyed, and warm smiles. 

It was too late for her when she realised who they reminded her of. The woman was marrying her brother.

Her Hogwarts roommate that plagued her dreams was too near for her to ignore, but far enough out of her reach for it to be painful. Yet, as always, Walburga put up with it for the sake of her family.

However, what she found frustrating was how easy it was for Orion to make her life a living hell. As is his greed for her magic. 

Soul Magic was a strain off of the Ancient magic, and it was extremely picky with who would have an affinity with it. In the eyes of the Academic Wizarding Institute, it was a dying art with no scholar to study and teach it in the last century. Though, they didn't have what the Black Family had: their one-of-a-kind tomes that are centuries old, their connection to Ancient Magic, and the access to the now-forgotten Hall of Wraiths who had the knowledge that could upset the Wizarding World.

Walburga entered the Hall of Wraiths at the age of nine and left at eleven. She and Alphard were the only ones amongst her generation that were called to it, and only Arcturus was called from the generation before.

The Hall of Wraiths was not a simple endeavour to go through, and if Arcturus, like her and Alphard, came out alive with knowledge of a special magic she knew nothing about, she was terrified.

Yet, that doesn't change the fact that she needed to face him today. He was her Lord, and having Delphini would be more than enough to push his patience.

It doesn't help that she had two children to plead for. 

Despite her disagreement with Sirius, he was strong. He was raised a Black. She will plead for his release after pleading for Delphini's life. Sirius can defend himself, he was her son a Black, after all. The decision between one's life, and one's torture was hard to decide between, and if she could plead for both without it lessening their chances, she would have. 

However, she only had one Lord, and one temper to deal with.

For her son’s sake, it helped immensely that he was under Dumbledore before he was arrested. With his influence and her political power, they got Severus out of it. She can do it all over again for Sirius. If she had to do it under Arcturus's radar, so be it. She can face whatever punishment Arcturus would deem fit for her disobedience, it was for her son after all.

Keeping all of them alive was the most she could do right now.

Letting out a long exhale, she stepped up the stairs towards the imposing doors.

The French villa was not one of their biggest estates, but it was one of their oldest. The Lord and Lady of the House always had the first pick for their residence before allocating the rest to the others, and almost always, they would choose the villa.

She couldn't blame them. The Villa had enough room to house the whole family, and more than enough rooms to house guests after night-long events.

Yet, that was not the reason she adored the estate. There were secrets of their world hidden among the many doors of the villa. No single wizard had ever opened every door, the walls altering itself every week or so, and it was one of these unexceptional doors that led you to the Hall of Wraiths. Walburga was no religious woman, but she prayed for whoever fell into the traps of the House to have a painless exit. The Hall of Wraiths was not a forgiving place to be in. The only positive factor about it was that you cannot find it if it doesn't seek for you.

However, that didn't stop the Lords and Ladies before her from choosing the villa to house their immediate family, hoping for the magic to leak through, and choose their kids. It never worked. It was quite unintelligent of them to think that they could manipulate magic that way. They may be Blacks, but they couldn't demand that much from Mother Magic.

Oh, how she wished Mother Magic could save her from Arcturus. 

Manoeuvring through the entrance hall of the villa, Walburga could tell that the magic of the villa was curious of her. The Magic itself wasn't exactly one colour like hers was, it was imagery of graphic scenes stretched out to be illegible. If this was Arcturus’ magic, she shouldn't be too surprised.

The magic of the house conformed to the prowess, and abilities of its owner. As how Black Manor, and Grimmauld Place conformed to hers. She let the magic lead her to Arcturus’ study, Merlin knew how daft it would be for her to try, and find it herself. 

Walburga stood in front of an impressive set of double doors. The magic tendrils moved like serpents as it writhed on the door’s surface. It was constantly moving and Walburga could not see where one door ended and the other began. A single tendril broke off, and let her in. 

“Come in.” Arcturus’ voice travelled before she got a chance to glance at him. With slight hesitancy, she took a step inside.

Arcturus Black was an imposing figure behind a grand desk, his eyes glowed silver as his mane of black, and silver locks were long, and blown away from his face. Walburga thought that he looked like a Lion. Knowing that Arcturus was a Slytherin like herself, that would have been an insult.

As a Black, his face had never betrayed his age. No one would know that the man in front of her was just a couple of decades away from hitting a century.

Aside from his features that echoed amongst their family line, it was the way he held himself that terrified her. Arcturus Black was seated straight, his grey eyes were like steel as he held her in place just with his gaze, his own Tapestry of Family Black behind him. The House of Black's motto plastered right above his head.

Toujours Pur.

Always pure and never tainted. The old, and Ancient Magic of their house ran through their veins, and only theirs. She was familiar with the family's desire to keep everything wondrous about their family within, to keep it to themselves, and once upon a time, she was proud of it. 

Proud to be a Black, to marry a Black, and to continue the lineage of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

It was all she knew.

Yet, at this moment, it was this very motto that would cost her her daughter. Much like it had cost Druella her second daughter, and how her Uncle Marius was considered useless when his Squib identity was revealed. To them, their purity of magic was everything.

She fully expected this conversation to go sour, her and Arcturus’ relationship was strictly transactional. He, through Orion, would tell her what to do, she does it, and he rewards her. She had never tried to find out how his punishments for disobedience were given, and as far as she knew, no Black near her had tried. It was easier to play safe under the hands of a Lord Black.

However, she wasn't here to care for her pain, it was to establish Delphini into the family. Or to at least keep her alive.

“Good day, Lord Black. I trust you have been well?” 

Arcturus gazed at her, his face unmoving. Walburga doesn't know what to think, or what to take out of his expression since there wasn't one. Granted, Walburga should have known better than to expect Arcturus to betray his thoughts through his expression. It was a Black trait to never spill your thoughts. Keeping it hidden meant it was kept safe, and no one could use something to hurt you if they didn't know it did.

“Let us skip the pleasantries, Walburga. Why was I not notified that you had found Bellatrix’ child, and kept the halfblood in our halls?”

“I apologise for not notifying you earlier, my Lord. The child was near death and had to be nursed back to health,” she started, trying her best to keep her wits with her. “She had only recently been cleared of her ailments, sir.”

“That was no excuse to not notify me. I am the Head of this House.”

“My sincerest apologies, my Lord.” She bowed her head, not wishing to meet his gaze. “It should not happen again.”

“I assure you it won't for you are to dispose of the child.”

Her head whipped up in shock. “My Lord?”

“I do not believe my orders were unclear, Walburga. Dispose of the child.” He said sternly, his attention focused on the papers splayed on his desk. “What would our ancestors say about having a halfblood stinking up our family line?”

“But, my Lord. There was something different about her.”

“What? That she was a Riddle? Do not be daft, that halfblood couldn't bring my children under his belt but stooped so low to sleep with one of us to infiltrate this family line. What a disgrace.”

“That was not what I meant, Lord Black.” She shook her head vehemently, growing desperate as she begged for her daughter’s life. “The Manor's magic accepts her. She could wield it to her will.”

“Do not stoop so low as to lie for a child.”

“I am not.” She, without permission, moved closer to the desk. She did what Blacks were never known to do, even her Regulus did not care to do so when he was involved with the Dark Lord. Walburga bent her knee. “You may check my memories, my Lord.”

She immediately put the memories to the front of her mind, and caught his eye.

His Legilimency was brutal. 

Walburga was sure that the man was able to sneak into someone's mind like a shadow, no one expecting him to be reading their memories when his eyes made contact with theirs, but that was the case of someone unexpecting, and that wasn't her case. Much like the treatment of his father of Walburga throughout the years, he remained uncaring of her health as he dove into her head.

It didn't take long before he retreated, a contemplative set on his lips as his eyes scrutinised her.

“ La magie de l'âme, ” he whispered, his eyes blazing in delight. “Is that what the Hall of Wraiths blessed you with?” (transl: Soul Magic/The magic of the soul.) 

She nodded. There was no use in lying at this point, she only cared for the fate of her children.

“And, was that the Black Manor's magic interacting with her?”

“Yes, my Lord. She was able to fully see it and wield it. I, as of the moment, do not know how familiar she is with magic.”

“She is no Squib, for sure. That is a relief.” He looked away before waving his hand dismissively. “You may stand.” She obeyed.

Relief? Walburga did not know if she could hope yet, her eyes greedily searching for an answer. “Am I understanding this correctly, Lord Black?” 

He watched her for a while, a contemplative look in his eyes. With bated breath, she waited in silence. She could not screw this up. “She will live.” He granted with a nod. “But I want her to be under my tutelage.”

Her relief was quickly shattered as her mouth gaped open in growing horror, memories of her own tutelage under a Black patriarch resurfacing. “S-sir, I–”

Arcturus raised his hand, effectively shutting her up. “I need to know her capabilities. How Riddle is she?” 

“I will raise her as a Black. Pure and exquisite–”

“But, that's the thing, Walburga. She isn't pure,” he pointed out. “Her life will depend on how Black she is. It doesn't help that her grandmother was a Rosier, and not one of us.”

Walburga was stubborn. “Must she be here–?”

He leaned into his seat, his hands folded neatly in front of him as his eyes narrowed. “You appear to be difficult on this matter. Why is that?”

Walburga's hand searched for her bracelet, her fingers finding solace in the familiarity of its beads. She takes a deep breath. It would be easier in the long run for her to be as honest as she could be. Arcturus would get the answers from her one way or another, it would be safer for it to come from her. 

“My father and my husband were never forgiving to my daughters. They killed them as soon as they left my w-womb.” She bit her lip, forcing her voice to stop quivering as she continued, “I wish for no harm to fall on her.”

Arcturus’ eyes were wide, his breathing heavy as he stood up, leaning on his hands. It was a slow movement, but he looked like a snake coiled to attack all the same. “My son did what ?”

A jolt of electricity ran down her body at the question. He must have known. He may not be Lord Black at that time but his father must have told him. It did not seem possible for her to think otherwise. “My sons, most of them did not make it past birth. All my daughters did, but were killed shortly after. Pollux and Orion took care of that.”

“How many? And all of the kids were with Orion?”

“Yes,” she answered immediately, her mind growing hazy as her answers became automatic. “I have twelve graves in the back of Black Manor. Six sons were lost in childbirth, five daughters were killed, and another son was killed. His name was Atlas.”

Arcturus' eyes were shut now as he slumped back into his seat, nodding. “I knew him. He was a good kid.” He started shaking his head. “I did not know he was killed by my own son… Six perfectly healthy pureblood Blacks… killed just like that…”

Silence settled around them. Walburga was growing more confused by the minute. She was sure that the Lords told each other about what was happening in their House, especially between a Lord, and their heir. “The late Lord Sirius… did he not tell you about it?”

“My father has told me nothing of the sort. He wasn't the most… affectionate father. He preferred me away when he handled family matters.” He shook his head. “I did not know about this, Walburga. I am terribly sorry for everything you went through.” He then gestures to the seat by his desk. “Forgive my manners, please take a seat.”

She nodded slowly. “I appreciate the apology.”

“What would you like me to do to them?”

“Wh-what?”

“Their consequences. I do not care if you hold any affection for either of them. They could not go unpunished.”

“I… have a choice?”

“Of course you do. We have no mercy for kinslayers. They sinned against the family, but they disrespected you the most. You get to choose.” 

Walburga did not know what to do with the news. The idea of their demise would satiate the small desire she had since she was a kid, but it was not an offer she thought she would receive. The only part she hoped for was for Arcturus to be forgiving with Delphini, that he would not be adamant about her leaving the family. She did not expect to be offered justice for what her father, and her husband had done against her. 

This Lord Black was a lot different from what she expected.

“I… appreciate the offer, my lord. But I have not realised that an offer like this would come from our meeting today. All I had in mind was securing the girl’s life,” she said honestly. Compared to her experience with the late Lord, she found herself not terrified of being completely honest in front of this one. His wand was nowhere in sight. “If I could request that I take time to think over this, sir, I would be grateful.”

“Granted.” He nodded, his right hand quickly scrawling something onto parchment to his right before grabbing something from the drawer she couldn’t see. He started casting under his breath, quiet enough for her not to hear as his hand hovered over something. It took a couple of minutes before his attention returned to her. “I won’t ask for a deadline,” he said before levitating something toward her until it stopped right in front of her. It was a black velvet box. “Open it, Walburga. It’s a gift.”

When she reached for it, a shiver ran down her spine. The magic weaving itself all around the box was intoxicating to watch, and was eager for her. As soon as she touched it, the box opened, presenting her with a beautiful victorian necklace. In links chained to the intricate silver piece were tear-drop-shaped black diamonds, silver runes etched into each of them. “Whatever for, my Lord?”

“Protection, security, and promises, Walburga. We can discuss what each accomplishes later,” he said as he spelled it shut, letting it settle on her lap. “We need to discuss your new daughter. That is to say, you do plan to raise the child yourself, yes?”

She nodded, putting the enchantments laid in the necklace to the side. “Yes, sir. And I have chosen to call her Delphini. Delphini Black.”

“Delphini… the five-pointed constellation?” She nodded. “A true Black then, named after the stars.”

Walburga did not flinch at the attack. Despite giving her everything to her family, she was one of the few Blacks not named after the sky. 

She was named after a saint. A saint known to repel witches and was known as the healer of illnesses. Both of which weren't like her at all. She doesn't know how to heal anyone, even if her or their life depended on it. 

It was odd. Names have power and what they wanted to give her was that.  

On the other hand, a small part of her understood Irma's, her mother's, point. If she wasn't named like a Black, would she be able to avoid the Black Curse? Would she be able to avoid the fate of those who perished at the weight of their magic? She can't answer that, she never had the symptoms.

Yet… Alphard had. As soon as he did, he was shipped off to Egypt, and when Sirius left, he laid his alliance to her son. Now Alphard's and Sirius’ faces had matching scorch marks on their tapestry.

However, she was worried for Delphini. One of the symptoms was being highly adept at wielding magic at a young age. She frowned. “Do you think she will be susceptible to the Black Curse? She already has an existing symptom.”

He shook his head. “Time will tell, Walburga. She could have the Curse, or she is just generally powerful with magic. Her father was known to be adept at magic even before Hogwarts, despite his muggle upbringing. Your daughter may have simply inherited his prowess in magic.”

The idea of that terrified her. The Dark Lord brought destruction to all that she loved, even if he used pureblood ideology as his main motive. However, Walburga used to be one of his ‘Knights of Walpurgis’ , she knew that it was just his way of using her society for his gain. She would be eternally disappointed in those who fell for it. She does not know how Delphini would turn out, but she would try her best to pivot her path away from his. “That is true.”

“Is there anything else, Walburga?

It’s now or never, she thought to herself as she fought over her nerves. She successfully kept Delphini safe from Arcturus, requesting for Sirius’ release should be easier. He was Arcturus’ heir still, even if it had been years since he had left. “I have one more request, my Lord.” She let out a deep breath, her hands folding elegantly over the velvet box, wishing for his lenience. “It’s my son, my Lord. He is still in Azkaban. I wish to get him out.”

“You need not ask. I have sent word to Orion and Regulus to get it sorted. Cygnus and I are in correspondence. I will be asking him and Narcissa to help wager with the Wizengamot's society to soften his reputation. It should not be hard.” He nodded as he leaned back in his chair. “If you have qualms with Orion working on the case, I could remove him. I had thought it would be easier for him to work the case as he still holds the Black seat in the Wizengamot. He will be there during the trial.”

She shook her head. Walburga may hate her husband, but she knew he had his uses, no matter how little they may be, and being proficient in their political scene was one of them. “I do not mind him helping Sirius get out, he is his father after all. However, I would like to request permission to join them in their pursuit.”

“Granted,” he agreed easily. “Is that all?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

He nodded. “Bring Delphini to the villa when she turns three, she will be tested. I will have your accommodation fixed by then. Will that be agreeable?”

“Yes.”

“Then that is all.” Arcturus looked up, offering her a tight-lipped smile. “Happy Yule, Walburga.”

“Happy Yule, my Lord.”

As Walburga walked out of the Black Villa, her mind ran through the events that had just happened, still not believing in the grace Lord Arcturus gave them. She had thought that at most, he would demand something big of her. Especially with the thought of housing and claiming a child of impure blood. 

However, he had gone and given them his blessing, on the off chance he got to learn what he wanted off of Delphini. What he meant by that, Walburga was not sure, but if it guaranteed Delphini’s life, she could not find it in herself to care.

For the first time in their family history, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black claimed a halfblood. 

~ o ~

Grimmauld Place, London

1981

Yule had not been celebrated in her home for years. Walburga could not remember the last time the walls of Grimmauld Place had heard the carols of the holiday, but this was the year she felt truly happy after a long bout of dark years. Celebrating Yule did not feel like a ruse for once.

The day started great with Delphini’s bright mood affecting everything in the house. Kreacher had asked her a few days prior if he could decorate the townhouse like he used to, and she easily gave him her permission. It would do great for the house to feel lived in. It was also the first time she had sent out invitations for their small celebration. There were only a handful of people who knew of Delphini, and she wasn’t planning to introduce her to the rest of the family when Delphini was still young. It hadn’t even been two months since she found Delphini skirting limbo. It was much too early to bring other people in. 

Narcissa and Severus were enough. 

Walburga sent an invitation to Lord Arcturus for formality’s sake, but was pleasantly surprised to in return receive his sympathies instead. She had forgotten that before he was their Lord, he was reclusive. It wasn’t obvious in the way he presented himself but in the finer details like how he preferred meetings to be private, or that in the events he did show up to, he would be gone after the first hour. Walburga couldn’t blame him, she despised having to keep up appearances, and would prefer to meet fewer people if she could help it. 

His letter came with an order for Orion’s dismissal from the townhouse. Arcturus had organised another home for his son, and had removed his son’s signature to the wards of the home. The only room Orion was now permitted into was just the study Arcturus used when he visited. 

When the special floo-network was fitted into the study, Orion was livid. As soon as she entered the room, the man lunged at her, his hands reaching for her throat. However, once he got a foot away from Walburga, a red light flashed in the room. The spell met its mark, and the Orion was launched into the wall, his back cracked with a sickening thud. 

Arcturus had Apparated into the room, his wand pointing at Orion. “Do you enjoy defying orders, Orion?” 

Orion sat up, wincing as he did. He glared at Arcturus, spitting blood towards his feet. “Hello, Father. Do I have you to thank for the spell?”

“Good to know your head still works. I wonder where it went when you tried to hurt your wife after you killed your own children.”

Orion sent a scathing look at Walburga. “What have you told him?”

“ Nothing happens within the Black Houses that Arcturus does not know of ,” she mocked with a smile. “Not all, but most.” 

“Believe me when I say, Orion, the only reason you are still in our family is because of your wife’s mercy. Do not forget that,” warned Arcturus, his wand trained at his son. “Now leave, you are being a disturbance.” Without reluctance, Orion stood up, and used the new floo to leave, all the while tracked with Arcturus’ wand. 

As soon as he left, Arcturus turned to her. Walburga quickly curtsied. “Good evening, my Lord.”

“Good evening, Walburga,” he greeted with a small nod. “Has he harmed you?”

“No, sir. He didn’t reach me.”

“Splendid.” He looked pleased while he quickly spelled the room clean. Once it all settled, Arcturus gave her another bow. “If that is all, I shall take my leave…”

“Lord Arcturus?” she called. “May I ask what had happened?”

He simply pointed at her neck, as if it made complete sense. After seeing the unwavering confusion on her face, he explained. “Your necklace. Orion and Pollux are forbidden to hurt you. Spells cast would rebound. Physical harm would be retaliated by a simple ‘Stupefy’. ” He cast a ‘Tempus’ under his breath before giving her an apologetic smile. “I will explain the other enchantments another time. I have an appointment with Cousin Cygnus.”

Walburga nodded. “Don’t let me keep you.” With another nod, Arcturus Apparated away. 

Her hand rested on the necklace, her fingers playing with the center-most jewel. When she put on the necklace the night after visiting the Black Villa, she tried not to think about collars meant for dogs, but that was an unfounded thought. She’s a wizard, and above all else, Walburga was a Black. 

However, she could not help but think that her life was entirely in his hands. ‘For Delphini,’ she reassured herself as she clasped it closed, a cold rush of magic settling over her. ‘For her, I’d do it all.’

Unfounded thought, indeed. 

Aside from that instance, she had felt no magic ebbing off of the necklace. Even charms as simple as ‘non-tarnishing’ or ‘ever-clasped’ could not be felt. Lord Arcturus turned out to be quite a well-trained Enchanteur. 

Fortunately, Orion had not attempted anything since then. Choosing to ignore her presence if she ever passed by the open door of the study. Even Pollux, her father that haunted her nights, was ousted to another estate. One he shared with Orion. The two gits could live the rest of their lives with each other in a house filled with doxies while she, and Delphini would thrive in Grimmauld Place.

Kreacher did an amazing job with decorating the home. Everything was much brighter, the smell of pine filled the halls while cheerful songs played on the gramophone. 

Despite their Yule only being celebrated by three wizards, one house-elf, and a one-year-old, she was happy.

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black's Family Tree :

Chapter Text

Grimmauld Place, London

1985

Walburga, unlike her namesake, was no saint.

It was a bitter irony that filled Walburga when she learned of her name. Of how her mother doomed her from being a celestial-named Black by naming her after a saint. A saint who hunted wizards and witches. A saint that healed people. As if naming her after an ordained muggle would free her of the sins that came with the Black name. 

Names have power and her mother used it for naught.

Now, there are certain estates in their family name that would not let her through. That would burn her skin and toss her to the ground as if she were a mere mudblood that sullied their halls. Her father told her she deserved it. That her name did not matter for how the properties treated her, it was her fault for being what she was. ‘A woman,’ was unsaid but understood.

Then her first brother came into the world. A Black named after the stars. A man who could have everything she had ever wished for. 

She was five when she realised how differently they were regarded. How Walburga, a girl with a name she shared with no star, was inferior to Alphard, a male babe named after the brightest star in a serpentine constellation. 

When her parents barely regarded her existence, she sought attention elsewhere. Hogwarts was the perfect place for her. Noone could deny her when being a Black had already placed her higher than most.

It was in Hogwarts where she met the darkest wizard of their time: Lord Voldemort. However, she had always known him by his muggle name.

Tom Riddle Jr revered her for the knowledge he never knew. Of the people he would have never met until she introduced him. Of the oppositions in Pureblood society while expertly navigating through it.

While she had helped him become worthy of the Gaunt heritage, he had made her, a pureblood woman with little decision of her life, feel important. 

Under his leadership, she had gotten a taste of the power that came from being feared. It was intoxicating. Every scream of terror, every cry for help, and pleas for mercy made the blood in her sing.  

She could find herself getting used to it: to the power of being one of the esteemed Knights of Walpurgis.

However, it had all come crumbling down when Tom Riddle Jr had summoned her, demanding her to bend the knee, to use the connections she built, and to mark her as his servant. The grotesque imagery of a skull with a serpent leaving its mouth was not what brought Walburga back to reality, it was simply remembering who he was.

Tom Riddle Jr, or Lord Voldemort as he named himself, had instantly reminded her that he was a man. A man willing to use her for his advantage, no matter the price she would pay for it. Just. A. Man.

And a Black bending the knee? She scoffed at the reminder. How insulting.

Walburga knew enough of him to navigate her way out of his reach. His political power stemmed in his connections as a Slytherin. Where he, who everyone thought was a mudblood at the very start, had to delve into Dark magic head first just to prove his proficiency in his skills.

It had barely been a year after his graduation from Hogwarts when he came back to society, naming himself ‘ Lord Voldemort.’

Unfortunately for him, it was obvious to even the most lack-witted purebloods that the Dark Lord that had just emerged, seemingly out of nowhere, was not raised in the way they were. His movement was unnatural, his self-taught accent was easily picked up on, and the gaudiness of the items he had chosen spoke measures of his upbringing. No ‘Heir of Slytherin’ would have been raised in that manner, especially as the family line was the founder of not just one, but two great Wizarding Schools. 

Yet, Walburga could admit, he had targeted well. 

Orion, for the first time in their lives, had completely agreed with Walburga. They were Blacks, to bend the knee was to insult their ancestry and to believe that the Dark Lord was superior to them. It was the most idiotic idea to ever cross through Riddle's brilliant mind.

It shook her out of whatever fantasy of power she had in his graces, reminding herself that just by being born the person she was, she was already more than what he ever claimed to be.

Every Black that was in their generation had denied him. All five of them knew their places in their lives, and that if they followed the newly debuted tyrant, they were to bring more than dishonour to their heritage. It brought danger.

One of the more revered aspects of the House of Black was that it was one of the only Noble Houses that stood the test of time. Their House was established far earlier than most Houses in the country were. In their continent, there was no existing House older than theirs. No House that stood with them centuries ago stood with them now. Through multiple counts of war and terror, only their House survived. 

It was not by chance, that would be disrespecting the efforts their predecessors had made to keep their family lineage alive longer than anyone expected them to. Even if the blood malediction still haunted their family centuries past its casting, they still lived through it all. Every Black was born and raised to prioritise the future of their family. 

Walburga wondered what went wrong with the generation after her.

Bellatrix joined Riddle’s group with no resistance. Walburga had wondered if it was the same allure she was once poisoned with that entrapped Bellatrix to his cause. It would make sense, she was a brilliant woman in her own right, did not have the same opportunities the men in their family had, and the company of a strong wizard could be intoxicating. Walburga had first hand experience with that desire.

Yet, the same could not be said to her dear Regulus. Her dear, dear Regulus. All his life, he was the perfect son. Smart, obedient, and brilliant. A Black in his own right. Walburga never fully understood what had pushed her son to the point where he seeked the Death Eaters. She did not know where she went wrong. It was awful watching him struggle, and once again feeling powerless when it came to her child’s life. Of how his safety was a desire, and not a promise. 

Fortunately for her, her son still trusted her. 

The night he returned to her was a night she wished she could burn the memory of. For months, all she could smell was the blood of her child as it stained their floors, bite marks wrapping his svelte frame as he laid on the floor, crying for her. It was a smell no mother should have to endure. 

It was a night that almost restored her faith in her then husband, Orion. The man, in less than a heartbeat, had called for Lord Black and ordered for Mediwizards sworn to their family to join them in securing Regulus’ life. Walburga had not known what to do, she did not know how to heal anyone, and nurture did not naturally come to her, and Orion, despite all of his flaws, understood that.

That night, she let him order her around, recognising how the sight of their sickly child was debilitating to her mind. He had her sponge bath him, fed him in his small glimpses of lucidity, and made sure he was comfortable as he rested. Even without command, she did the one thing her son had loved when he was younger. The Black family lullaby was always at the tip of her tongue as she comforted him after bouts of pain, doing the best she could for him to rest peacefully. 

As if Death had taken pity on her, her son was healed in less than a fortnight. Inferi bites were hard to staunch the blood of, the infection was even harder to fight off. 

A day later, he was up walking. A week later, she still had not stopped shadowing his movement, terrified for his life. She could tell something was still bothering him and she had prayed to Circe it was not something that could put him to the brink of his life again. 

Yet, it irked her, Regulus was never a moody child to raise, much less paranoid. Paranoia ran through Lord Black's and Orion’s blood, but not through Regulus’. Walburga was not sure if it was comparable, especially after what he went through. 

Up until then, she did not know what had happened to him, but she had no desire to question him so soon. That was more Orion's focus. All she cared for was making sure he stayed alive, and if shadowing him was a way for her to quell her paranoia of him leaving again, she would do it for the rest of her life.

Two weeks later, he had enough of whatever he was scared of (and potentially her swaddling), and erupted. 

With screams and pent up emotional magic surrounding them, it was the first time she had feared for her life in the mercy of her child. 

Whipping around them were shattered remnants of their drawing room, her dress in shreds as broken glass ripped them as they passed her, not sparing her skin as lines of red run down her arms. Though, it was not her wounds that terrified her, but that of her son's. The shards of glass were not merciful to him, his body coated in blood once again.

With all the strength she had left, she lifted herself off the ground, and enveloped her son in an embrace, tucking his head into her shoulder as she hummed their lullaby. There was something cold pressed between them but she did not mind it. 

Their embrace did not do much in regards to their open cuts and pieces of their destroyed drawing room, but she did not care. She had her son in her arms, whose magic stilled at her contact. Walburga was never a maternal witch, but at that moment, who she was and who he was did not matter. 

At that moment, all she was was a mother comforting her son.

The magic started to settle around them. She could hear Kreacher and Tini working on repairing what they could in the room, clearing out the damages as the duo slumped to the floor. She shifted until he was partially laying on her, his head in her lap. 

It was only when the house went to sleep and the ceiling started to mirror the night sky did he start to speak.

“The Dark Lord… he's not going to be happy with me,” he whispered, his tear-stained face glancing at her desperately. 

She shook her head. “He doesn't have to be–”

“Mother. He w-would kill me,” he interrupted, sitting up abruptly as he held her hands close to his chest. “H-he's going t-to find me and destroy me. And I d-don’t think it would s-stop at me, mother. He c-could reach you too!” 

“Regulus–”

“I n-need you to do something for me, mother. Yeah?” He started babbling, nodding to himself. “It's d-dangerous but you could do it. You have Soul Magic, m-mother, out of everyone I know, you could do it.”

“Do what, my dearest?” Her Regulus had never looked as distraught before as he did then. His hands clammy as he tightened his grip on her. “Is it something we must worry about now? We have time…” Her voice trailed off at the sight of him. She had never seen him so terrified. “What do you need me to do?”

With haste, he let go of her hands, and reached for a chain around his neck. When he pulled it out, she saw the familiar crest of House Slytherin intricately melded into a locket. 

It was not the fact that before her was an artefact of historical importance that terrified her, but it was the shard of Soul she could feel from it. It's anger woven into the piece. Without even touching the locket, she could tell the Soul was centuries younger than the locket itself. 

Horror clouded her mind as she understood the implications of what Regulus brought forth to her. A Soul shard.

Before them was a Horcrux . One of the most terrifying pieces of Soul Magic.

No man who thought to create one respected themselves. They had disrespected their own Soul to the highest degree and nothing they could do would ever repair that. 

Riddle had destroyed the one thing that should always remain whole. 

Yet, her worries were not for the implications a Horcrux had, but the life of her son who had stolen it from the strongest dark wizard alive.

Walburga needed to hide her son.

It was only when she was reminded of one of her son's namesake did she realise what she could do. As soon as she was sure Regulus was asleep, she requested an audience with the Lord Black at the time, Lord Sirius II. The dying man, under a magic she was unfamiliar with, took Regulus’ Dark Mark into his own arm before he passed. When the Dark Lord gets resurrected, Regulus would appear dead to him. 

Walburga had confessed about the existence of the Horcrux to Lord Sirius II before he passed. Even on his deathbed, he had a sound solution for hiding the Horcrux. Even directing her where to find a book that could have answers to destroy it. But for now, they hid it.

Lord Sirius II had passed the next moon. The secret of where the Horcrux was hidden passed to his heir, the newly anointed Lord Arcturus Black.

Walburga could not express how thankful she was for his sacrifice, knowing that the man was nearly dead, and the spell took all the magic he had left. Until his dying breath, he had served his family.

Like a true Black should.

It had barely been three years when another Horcrux entered their home. 

The first came with her son, Regulus. The Slytherin Locket was an angry entity, forcing whoever wore it to have heightened negative emotions. The second came with her new daughter, Delphini. Similar to the locket, this Horcrux was attached to a chain that hung around the small girl's neck. Yet, this one came in the form of a ring. A ring she recognized to be Riddle's, an heirloom he gained back when he was obsessed with his heritage.

The Gaunt ring and the Slytherin locket. Two Horcruxes made of his family's artefacts. How sentimental.

On the other hand, the very concept of making a Horcrux, never mind more than one, was haunting. For the next few years, she would research how to destroy it whenever she could.

The book the late Lord directed her to was a loose end. It was in parselscript. 

Back when Regulus brought the locket, she could confidently say that she knew no one alive that could have had the ability. She could not say the same thing now. Walburga now had a daughter that descended from the Gaunt lineage, it was not a reach to imagine she would have the family talent as well.

Yet, she could do nothing about it for now. Delphini was far too young to know one of the biggest sins her blood father committed, much less read a book on how to destroy it. 

They could wait. Both Horcruxes were hidden in a location where they could not harm anyone, be used, or be taken from.

For now, that was all she needed.

~ o ~

The Black Villa, France

1985

“A certain amount of darkness is needed for the stars to shine as bright as they do.” Was a saying Arcturus’ father lived by whenever he asked about their affiliations with the dark. It was no secret that the boundary line between light magic and dark magic was a line they crossed to enter their homes. It would not be a stretch to say that being Black means being familiar with the dark. 

Arcturus pretended he understood. He had no qualms with using the darker arts, but he was not like his siblings and cousins who used it freely. It was one of the reasons why he was confused as to why his father had chosen him as heir. In their generation, the largest the Black family had ever had, there were ten possible candidates. Even if they don’t include the ones who were disowned, there were still eight of them. 

Aside from maybe Cedrella, he was the lightest of the Black cousins. 

Yet, when he inherited the Lordship and all that entailed, he realised that maybe his difference from his family was what would have been a smart choice. He wasn’t as self-serving or cunning as his more Slytherin relatives, and that might have been the main reason his father had chosen him, despite the decades of his father wishing he was different.

Two of the notable things he had inherited were: the knowledge of where the Horcruxes were hidden, and being the host for the Hall of Wraiths. 

The latter being the main reason he was chosen, for that Arcturus was sure of. If he had the same ambition as the others, he doubted they had the self-control to not corrupt the Hall for their pursuit of more magic. As if their family magic was not already a renowned magic in and of itself, Arcturus thought.

Arcturus wondered if his father would have anticipated the changes he would bring to the family. Changes that would have made his predecessors roll in their graves. One of those changes was staring right at him.

Delphini was, without a doubt, the strangest child he had ever met. 

It was no question that she was Bellatrix and Riddle’s daughter. She was almost a perfect mix of the two brilliant wizards. From Riddle’s hair, to Bellatrix’s face and eyes, it was almost uncanny. Yet when it came to her gaze, that was when the similarities skyrocketed. Her gaze was wary and calculating. He knew Riddle was known for that gaze, but he wondered if Riddle had the same gaze when he was that young.

There was something wrong with the child. She barely reacted as a child would have in the situation she was in. Yet, then again, he could not confidently say that all children would react the same given the circumstances. 

He did expect the child to at least cry . It was like how midwives wait for the first cry of a child to confidently say they were fine, he was waiting for Delphini's reaction to it all. He had yet to see it in her demeanour.

Arcturus debated over the fact that the lack of a reaction might have been a result of long term exposure to a Horcrux. It had not gone unnoticed that the horcruxes reacted aggressively to those in its company, but he could not be certain that that was the reason for her behaviour.

He wondered if he would ever get the answers he seeked. In any other case, he would have taken a peek into their mind and ravaged through it to get the knowledge he wanted. He never had knowledge he wanted be restricted from him. He's a Black, having what he wanted be presented to him on a silver platter was to be expected.

Yet, this was another Black, and not just a normal Black, she was a child . 

Arcturus could not use Legilimency on her as much as he'd like. It would destroy her sanity. With the known Gaunts in her lineage, her sanity needed to be cared for.

Nevertheless, he had the child with him today and he had no idea what to do with her. All he had prepared was for when she was a tad bit older. He didn't have a plan for the day.

It had been at least an hour since Walburga had dropped her off. It was the only time he had seen the child hold any emotion in her eyes, desperate to not be separated from Walburga. He could only try to understand as he created an apparition of her to appease the child. He had made a mental note to have a portrait of Walburga commissioned for the girl.

It managed to placate the child easily enough. Letting herself be separated from the real person, Walburga slipped away to a different room to wait for them, but ever since the child had stopped wailing for her mother, she had been quiet. Back to the girl’s eerie staring.

That doesn't mean that it was easy for Walburga to let Delphini be out of her sight. It was only when he presented her with a gift did she comfortably move elsewhere.

——— o ———

“Walburga,” Arcturus called as the matriarch was being escorted to the villa's library by one of their house-elves, the perfect picture of poise she was known to be. “I… have another thing to discuss with you.”

Walburga, with no readable emotion on her face, bowed her head as she curtsied. “Yes, my lord?” She moved to stand closer, her eyes darting towards the elf nearby before settling on Arcturus. He procured a muffling dome around them, noting how Walburga bristled at the motion, her hand twitching for her wand holster. “Is something the matter, Lord Black?”

“Nothing too serious. We need privacy and the walls are porous,” he said. “I have a gift for you.” 

Arcturus brought out a small velvet box from his pocket. He made sure the box was as inlaid with enchantments as the object within. It was not just for keeping it as perfect as he made it but to protect whoever would handle it.

He hovered it to Walburga. “Open it.”

Walburga obeyed. After a small glance at the item, realisation washing over her features, did she whip her head to stare at him. “What…” she whispered.

The look on her face grew more vulnerable as the silence grew longer. He cleared his throat, and avoided her gaze. “It's a bead for your bracelet. The enchantment is linked with Delphini's magical signature. If she's in danger, you will know. If you meet someone who has no good intentions for her, it would heat–”

“You're a lot different from your father, my Lord...” He couldn't handle her expression, choosing to look at the enchanted bead. “Thank you, Arcturus.”

He smiled. “You're welcome, Walburga.” He took a pause before presenting another box from his pocket. He didn’t need the same amount of enchantments in its box as the ring inside was far more stable, and far older than he was. “Now… this is one that I promised you years ago. I had to drain the rest of his blood from our family’s wards, but that would help it last longer. Here,” he said with a flourish of his hand, the box presenting a silver ring with an inlaid stone filled with flowing silver. The Canis Major indented into it. 

“A ring…?”

Arcturus shook his head adamantly at the insinuating glance. “I know our family has queer customs, but I am devoted to my wife. This…” The ring floated closer to her. “Is the promise I made years ago. Sirius’ blood is enchanted to glow white if he ever enters a Black estate and you would be portkeyed to his location. Even if he finds himself in Grimmauld and you were here. You can always reach him.”

“My lord…”

“Grimmauld Place is not the home your children seek, but it is you,” he whispered, confessing. The woman had been punished for far too long for sins their family had done. He hoped to change that. “Be free, Walburga… Live. ”

——— o ———

It was the little girl who brought him out of the haze he didn't realise he was in. The small sliver of light that slipped between the curtains fell on her, the bright light dancing in her grey eyes as she watched him. The same grey eyes he had.

“Lonely snake outside”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Snake?”

The girl pointed at the window, a tendril of her magic pushing the curtain to the side. Her magic did not look like Walburga's, Bellatrix's, or even his own. It looked like fluid ink that flowed off the parchment that was Delphini. 

Pressed up against the window was a garden snake, so small that he couldn't imagine it being longer than his forearm. “His name is Silas.”

He stood up, expecting her to follow him as he headed to the window. As soon as he reached it, the snake was coiled as it hissed at him. Even at its small size, it was still a threatening image. 

“What is he saying?”

Delphini raised her arms in a silent request to pick her up. Arcturus stilled. It had been decades since he had last carried a child. Both his children didn't seek his affection, even on the off-days he wished they did.

They felt like how his father was. Cold, blunt, and intimidating. Sometimes, he wished he was like that too. 

To be able to put his emotions aside for the virtues his family upheld was a trait his father had and upheld. His siblings melted into the mould their family needed like butter. Even if they were spread thin enough to become translucent, their own personalities were too vague for them to dream further than what was presented to them. 

His father detested how he didn't suit his Hogwarts House as much as his siblings did, mentioning how ‘Hufflepuff’ he was. It was only his pillow that knew of his cries, of his wish that him begging the Hat to be a part of Slytherin, was enough for his father. 

Yet, his father saw through his Sorting, knowing full well that just being a part of Slytherin wasn't enough, he needed to uphold their values too. 

His father always looked at him with disgust, proclaiming over and over how Arcturus’ difference from the rest of his family would become his undoing. 

Now, in front of him was the perfect example as to how he was unlike his Father, unlike his sister Aries, or their brother Regulus. Unlike the precedent set by his ancestors, he had claimed a halfblood bastard. 

It was a surprise to him, and their family that Arcturus was named Heir. Sure, he was the eldest of his children, but there had been Blacks disinherited for far less than being different. Nonetheless, he took the appointment with stride. Much like his predecessors, he was a Black to be feared, a star that burned as bright as fiendfyre. 

So, he wielded his new power to establish their influence past the borders of their continent. There was no reason for them to stay in a singular place when he was confident that they would be regarded as the best of the best even outside of Europe. With that, he brought on changes that battled the ideologies of the original Black family. He was in contact with their vassal families that were long forgotten by the past few Lord Blacks, offering them a clean cut away from them or to swear a renewed fealty to their family.

Some had taken the offer to disconnect from the family, which Arcturus needed to meet soon to officially disconnect their ties from the family magic, while some had yet to respond. Yet, there was one family that stayed true to them, despite the scandal that graced the founders of that branch of their family: the Blackwoods. They had offered their obeisance for the protection the House of Black brought. 

Aside from the news of Lysandra betraying her mother, Artemisia, to the muggle witch-hunters, they rarely heard from them. It was almost to be expected, for even the labyrinth their founders made was nomadic, choosing to send a raven every year instead. All he knew was that there were only two of them left. A boy as young as Delphini and Draco, and his great-aunt. The latter handled everything their branch of the family needed. Arcturus offered one of their estates for them to take as their own, a barely-veiled invitation to be welcomed back to their family. Adrastea, the elderly witch, had accepted under the promise that they could have another year to fix up their loose ends before returning to the fold. Of course, he accepted. 

He had a year to prepare for them, which he would need to study more about them. He was incredibly curious about the way they enchanted the labyrinth. Arcturus wondered if it was a similar magic to the Hall of Wraiths or something else entirely.

For now, he needed to fix the main branch, the House of Black, before he could truly strengthen them all. He hoped that the seeds he had sown in the recent years would come to fruition soon. 

The power of being Lord Black was exhilarating, especially knowing how the changes he made would tilt the wizarding society as they knew it. 

He just needed to wait.

“Lord Black?” 

“Yes, Delphini?” He turned to the girl who was now on his lap. “And, you could call me Uncle Arcturus, it is fine.”

“Uncle.” Delphini's eyes grew determined, the most emotion he had seen from the little girl. “Arckkk--rus”

“... Close enough,” he said as he nodded.

“Uncle Arcy?” 

Arcturus melted. “Even better.”

She beamed, the room brightened as she did, before turning to the window. “Silas said he is going to eat. Can we make him a home?”

“Make him a home?” He shook his head lightly. “Delphini, I promised your mother that you were brought here for lessons. Now, maybe we could start with…”

If anyone saw the prominent Lord Black knee-deep in a hole less than an hour later, creating a home for Silas the snake, with an equally muddy toddler by his side, no one said anything.

~ o ~

For the next few months, the three hours he had each day dedicated to tutoring the newest Black became a part of his routine that he looked forward to.

Delphini was like most Blacks, her personality blossomed past their acquaintanceship, brightening the room whenever she walked in. Arcturus was excited for, but also dreaded the attention the girl would get when she grew older. As the Lord of the House, it would be his duty to deny the moths claiming to be Icarus, that had flown too close to their sun.

Deep inside, he was also terrified. There were parts of the villa that were too… curious about the little girl. Granted, she was the first halfblood in its halls, but he knew that that was not the reason it was acting the way it did. He should be more worried, if he was honest with himself, especially with how aware Delphini was with it. He hoped his presence granted them safety.

Lucky for him, he learned that moving Delphini around helped keep it at bay. Every half hour or so, they would travel outside to greet the snakes, which helped greatly.

He had figured that outside of Delphini learning how to speak in English better, she was quite adept in learning theory, and understood them well enough for a three-year-old. Arcturus never imagined himself becoming a tutor to anyone, but he found that refreshing his knowledge on basic magic enjoyable. However, the challenge of breaking down magic theory until it was digestible for a three-year-old was proving to be harder than he had expected.

Every last hour of their meeting, they would reconvene back to the study, ironically, the place they studied the least in. 

The young girl had developed a habit of pointing at a face on the family tapestry behind him, demanding to learn something about them. Arcturus openly obliged. It surprised Walburga greatly when she walked in one day to find Arcturus on the couch instead of his usual desk chair, reclined back with Delphini lying on his chest as she listened intently to the stories he offered.

“-Phineas Nigellus Black was once the Headmaster of Hogwarts–”

“Hogwarts?”

“Yes. Good job on saying that,” he commended. The girl was much more comfortable speaking in Parseltongue than in English, but her progress had been impressive. Teaching her French would have to come later, he supposed. “Hogwarts is a magical castle in Scotland. Far away from us right now. But when you go home later, you are far closer to it–”

He was interrupted by a couple of polite knocks on the study's door. “You may enter.”

“Good day, Lord Black–” Walburga paused mid-greeting, her face, for the first time since he had known her, transparently confused at the sight. 

He propped himself up, letting the girl down who immediately ran for her mother. “She wanted to hear stories about the Blacks,” he quickly explained.

She nodded slowly. “I understand,” she said, her voice still faint and with an almost unnoticeable tilt to her head. 

Arcturus moved behind his desk, beckoning Walburga to take a seat. “Please sit, Walburga. Is there anything I could help you with?”

With a quick shake to her head, she shook herself out of her stupor, and moved closer, taking a seat with Delphini propped on her lap. “I wanted to propose a business prospect we could reinvest into, if you wished to,” she started, only continuing when he gestured her to. She slid a folder on to the desk, passing it to him. “The Black Keep’s smithery was still in excellent condition, according to Regulus who had visited recently. It had been more than a century since it was in business. But I believe that with a good crew and a reliable manager, it would be a good investment.” 

“I agree.” He nodded, his mind running with ideas. Restarting the smithery would be a good side-business for the family. He’s pretty sure that the moulds were still in the archive and finding their old recipes shouldn’t be a problem. His eyes scanned over the documents she compiled, impressed with how thorough she was with the proposal. 

“We would just need someone to manage the crew–”

“Why not you, Walburga?”

“...Me?”

Arcturus nodded, his mind already decided. “Yes, you. I know it isn’t solely your husband that handles your family’s affairs, but he has always been more political. You, however, seem perfect for the part.”

The more he said it, the better the idea became. Walburga, outside of raising Delphini, did not have a lot going on in her life, but had an impressive mind for someone whose potential was restrained by their family. It was perfect. 

He just had to convince her that she deserved it.

~ o ~

Spinner's End, Cokeworth

1985

Severus was, once again, annoyed with Walburga.

The woman had a knack for dragging him into issues he would have been happily distant from. Time and time again, he got involved with the Blacks for more than one reason. Each time intertwined their lives far more than he was comfortable.

Yet, then again, it was not Walburga he had a problem with, it was her son. Not even Regulus was ever mean to him, it was just Sirius. The sadistic bastard haunted him even past Hogwarts. It was the Black heir that spoiled the entire family for him.

It was not a stretch that there was a certain envy he held for members of the House of Black. They were born with the world at their fingertips, but yearned for even more. It was not enough that they had everything they seeked laid by their feet, Sirius demanded his humiliation along with it. 

No matter how talented Severus was, or how he had to fight for survival in a House that placed him below all else in their blood hierarchy, two Gryffindor purebloods bullying an impoverished halfblood shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did. They were all the same. All these arrogant purebloods with their supremacist ideals loved watching him, who was raised with nothing, be buried under the ground they walked on. 

“Scum,” one would whisper. 

“Waste of space,” said another.

He had thought that the first Gryffindor in a family of Blood Purists would have been a person that treated him differently from his Slytherin counterparts, but no, it was Andromeda Tonks née Black that truly defected from the family and its ideals.

Over the years, he had gotten closer to the woman. After working quite closely with the Healer as one of the Potion Masters St Mungo tapped for their stores, he would say that she was one of the closest friends he had. He could not say that she was his closest confidant, the spot would forever be held by Lily: it was only her who could truly understand his past, and therefore, everything that happened that stemmed from it.

Yet, he and Andromeda had a certain camaraderie. He had never expected their relationship to bloom the way that it did, seeing as Andromeda was almost a decade older than him, and was another Black child sorted into Slytherin. They were both stretched thin from the last wizarding war, and knew that whatever they did, they would always be involved: Severus, as a spy for both sides; and Andromeda, who could never escape the family name. 

He wondered if the girl in front of him, one that Walburga dragged to care for, would ever be able to escape the family name. Or if she even needed to, he reminded himself.

There was no doubt that the child in front of him was going to become the catalyst of change for the family. With just the fact that she existed, Lord Black had defied the precedent their family had set for centuries: he had claimed a halfblood child born out of wedlock. Oh, how Artemesia Blackwood would roll in her grave at the news.

Even Walburga, a matriarch known in wizarding society for her brutality, was fighting tooth and nail for the child’s survival, and if what he heard was true, Lord Black had been fixing the family’s connections with their old partnered establishments, even reaching to muggleborn-owned stores to supply them their wares.

It seemed out of the question, but after Andromeda told him of Lord Black reaching out to her, he started doubting everything he knew of the family. Something was brewing, and the House of Black was the eye of the storm, and he, by Walburga’s and now Delphini’s clutches, was dragged into it all.

There wasn’t anything he had to worry about for the near future, but he stayed wary. The only Black he could trust with his life was Andromeda and that wouldn’t change anytime soon.

Although now, here he was. He had a three-year-old placed in an armchair by his desk, her bright grey eyes watching him with caution. It was eerie, a thought he would never voice out loud, how calculated and wary her eyes were. How her eyes had seemed to know much more than he could even imagine. 

The only thing that they knew for certain was that the child was left for dead, adorned with injuries unbefitting for a child. For what reason? He did not know.

Bellatrix was a cruel woman, but no one had expected to treat her own daughter that way. Not when she and a few other Death Eaters spared the Longbottom child. 

Which made the circumstances around Delphini a lot more surprising. A mother who spared other people's children left her own daughter for dead, while the House of Black, known to be one of the more cruel wizarding families, saved her life.

“The changes you're bringing… I wonder if our world is ready for it,” he whispered as he watched the child. If he was creeped out by her understanding gaze as she digested what he said, he did not say.

Chapter Text

The Black Villa, France

1985

“Mama!” Laughter erupted from Delphi as she scurried to meet Walburga at the foot of the stairs. After a clumsy curtsy, she grabbed onto her mother's skirt. “Carry!”

Walburga sighed, slightly irritated at the notion. She was becoming too old to be carrying a child for long lapses of time. Her bones started to ache and her joints creaked every time she moved, but she could never say no to Delphini. No one could tell from looking at Walburga’s expression that she had grown to secretly love it too.

Bending down, she easily lifted the girl and had her anchored to her hip. Delphini beamed and started rattling about her day.

It was almost always just a rearranged version of the day before. Aside from the stories of the gardens, the child's day was pleasantly conventional.

She would wake up an hour after dawn and have breakfast prepared by Kreacher. Walburga would always accompany the two, but let them be when Kreacher directed Delphini to the bath.

Then, a class with her governess that focused on her literacy and etiquette, quickly followed by a class about simple maths filled her mornings. Arcturus only demanded three hours in the afternoon for their lessons, but Walburga never knew what the classes were about.

Walburga always hoped that Delphini would tell her what transpired, but she never did. Her stories would always revolve around what she learned from the snakes in their gardens, what they did that day, or where they came from. Delphini was filled with stories of them. Just them. 

Kreacher had Apparated to Walburga in a panic when it first happened. His face and legs were covered in dirt after he wrestled the snake away from the giggling girl. The house magic that stretched over the lands should have kept the snake away, but it didn't, and that made Walburga's sense of security in the villa fall.

Kreacher wanted to bring them both back to Grimmauld Place, so he could protect them better. He was terrified of what it would mean for his ward and Walburga could only agree. 

Yet, it was Delphini who gave her the answers that placated her. 

It was the child who called for the snake. In the little words she knew, she explained what had transpired.

To Delphini, it was simple. She just wanted a new friend and found one that didn't look like her or Kreacher, and she found it fascinating.

To Walburga, it was not as simple. She did not want to restrain the child from pursuing fluency in a language no one but snakes could teach, yet snakes were… venomous. They were dangerous, and Delphini was too young to know how to protect herself from the creatures. So, Walburga did what Blacks knew best: she created backup plans, and even more backup plans for those backup plans. She can't have something dire happen to her dear daughter.

With a new gameplan, she allowed Delphi to meet with the snakes, and Kreacher was permitted to kill any that dared bare their fangs.

These were the stories that interested Walburga the most out of Delphini's day. Because just like the little girl, she had nothing to interest her in the meantime. The Black Smithery was running smoothly, Regulus was studying under an Enchanteur Master in Egypt, and most importantly, Druella hadn't replied to her letters.

She frowned.

Walburga should not have hoped for much, it was one of the lessons she learned from losing so much too fast. However, she had thought that with Delphini in the picture, it would have been different. That Druella, having heard of another grandchild, would bless her with her presence.

Irma was never a maternal Mother, a trait Walburga saw in herself. A carbon copy in personality, while her appearance was entirely of the Black family. Irma was strong, independent, harsh, and cold. 

Druella was the complete opposite of that.

Whenever she saw the blonde, it felt like she was basking in sunlight. Walburga couldn't help herself to stop imagining what life would be like with Druella's sun-like presence. 

During the holidays, when the House of Black was one, Druella brought the cheer no one else could. Fighting against Black tradition and having made an alliance with the house elves, she created celebrations even more magical than what Walburga thought their magic could conjure.

There was no question how easy Druella became the life of the party. Don't get her wrong, every Black was raised as the perfect socialite: polite, graceful, and charming. The Rosiers had the same standard for their offspring, but Druella was all that and more.

She was cheerful, loving, and radiated warmth like no other. Druella belonged in the limelight, her shine never hidden.

To Walburga, Druella was the sun.

Yet unlike Icarus, Walburga was too scared to put on Daedalus’ wings. For she knew that if she flew too close to the sun, that she would fall. The sea would welcome her before she knew it. And the Blacks? They fall deep.

That is if they ever do fall.

The instances of love in the House of Black were not common. Relationships were brought for duty, for magic, to keep the family ‘Always Pure’ . 

Love was a privilege they were never guaranteed to have.

The love for siblings was the most they could work with. Yet, her family took that from her as well.

She lost Alphard a week after Sirius left. Lord Sirius II was unforgiving when he found that he had gone behind their backs to support her son. Nevermind his Black Curse symptoms, Alphard was thrown out all the same. She couldn't have loved her brother more than at that moment. He had done what she couldn't have and sacrificed his ties to the family for it. Walburga could never thank him enough.

Cygnus was still in her life, annoyingly so. He was far from her favourite Black relative, but he was still her brother. She would die for him. She knew that she loved him, despite disliking his entire being. However, the moment he was betrothed to the one person she had ever fully loved, she couldn’t help but envy despise him. To see them be so happy with their family while she struggled to keep her children alive and herself afloat was rubbing salt into her twelve wounds.

“Mama! No frown. Frown bad.” Delphini's fingers reached the corners of her lips, forcing them to lift. “Smile better. Mama should be happy.”

Walburga, who only really finds her true self in these moments with Delphini, smiled. “You make me happy, my little star.”

“Good.” Delphini nodded, the ribbons in her hair bouncing. 

Walburga never expected to see ribbons on a child of hers, but Narcissa loved placing them all over Delphini, and Walburga would not stop her. She knew how much a woman like Narcissa would love a daughter if she had her own. As another Mother who lost so much, she couldn't say no to Narcissa's desire to dote on the little girl. 

She kept them on Delphini.

Walburga felt a tug on her sleeve and turned to the child, an eyebrow raised. “The green snake says hi,” she said as she pointed down, and sure enough, a small garden snake was hissing up at them. “Say hi, Mama.”

The Walburga her sons knew would never have waved.

However, this Walburga was different. She had found a reason to live, an anchor to keep her from desiring to meet her stars in the Afterlife.

This Walburga waved at the snake. “Good day to you, Mr. Snake.”

The snake shook its tail and said something to Delphini in the tongue they both shared, eliciting a giggle from the young girl before it made its way deeper into the gardens. Walburga took a deep breath. She did not like dealing with snakes as regularly as she had been doing in the past few years, but it made Delphini happy to have their company, and maybe this Black didn't have to feel as isolated as those before her.

The little girl, whom she caught playing with the flower bracelet Kreacher made her, leaned into Walburga's chest, and tucked herself under her chin. “Mama?”

Walburga's head naturally settled on Delphini's as she swayed side to side. “Yes, little star?”

“Story Kreacher tells has family. Family where?” she whispered, her voice blending into the rustling leaves of the tree that shaded them. 

Walburga stilled. It was not a topic she had expected Delphini to bring up this early as she made sure to keep the child as occupied as she could. But of course, the child was perceptive. Walburga does not like to lie to the little girl, their family had too many secrets and a child could only handle so much. So, she told her.

“Your family is not ready to meet you yet, dearest,” she mentioned as she swayed back into a rhythm she knew she enjoyed. 

“... Will they like me?”

Walburga hated the doubt that emanated from her voice. Delphini was a spectacular child and she should be known as such. It was just a bit too hard to gauge her safety in the hands of the Blacks who are familiar with pain. Inflicting it, receiving it, it was all the same to Walburga. 

But to have Delphini held under the same knife felt too cruel, and the matriarch knew that they would not be as well received by the older Blacks. There was a reason as to why they were more disowned Blacks than there ever were.

“They will love you. Just as much as I do,” she reassured her.

Yet, there is no denying it, Delphini would have to be presented to the rest of the Blacks sooner rather than later. Arcturus demanded that she would be kept a secret until the annual Black Rite this year and Walburga held no fuss. She wasn't that excited for everyone to know about Delphini. She wanted to keep her all to herself.

However, the Black Rite, which occurred every Samhain, was the perfect time to introduce her, and get the necessary rituals out of the way. As soon as Delphini had claimed her Black Protection from Samhain, she would breathe easier.

Yet, Walburga was not so sure if that was the only ritual Arcturus wanted to perform for Delphini.

Samhain was known for many rituals. Rituals that the Blacks were all too familiar with; the day was best known for protection, which was what Walburga wanted, shadow work, grounding, divination, and ancestor communication rituals. The last being what must have made Arcturus the most curious.

This was the first time an Heir of the four Hogwarts Houses had appeared in their lineage, and Walburga doubted that he would not take the chance to satiate his curiosity by speaking to her ancestors on the night of Samhain. Which would be the best time to commune with the dead, when the veil between their world and the afterlife was the thinnest it would be throughout the year.

Another part of Samhain that Walburga adored was the Fyre Festival. Their family celebrated it differently from the muggles, as always. The muggles' knowledge of the sacred cyclical day was underwhelming and incredibly disappointing. The night the Blacks and most of the Wizarding Society celebrate dearly, was a day muggles terrify one another and spoil their teeth rotten in hideous garbs, while celebrating muggle anointed figures of their church. Muggles used to amuse Walburga as a child, but now, she knew that they simply were inferior to her. Lesser. Their standard of knowledge is so disturbingly low that she would not be surprised if they were illiterate. Well, that was what Pollux said, and her Father was a Black, he was always right.

But Samhain's Fyre Festival will always be awe-inducing. 

With how long the Blacks had lived and how they were the longest Living House that was heavily affiliated with Samhain, their Blood offered to the festival every year for a Millennia, they could feel the rush of Fyre whenever the blessed day came.

The Blacks would feel the magic burn throughout their body as it called for them, and all they had to do was close their eyes and accept its hand. In less than a second, all the Blacks who accepted the call would be brought together, and travelled in means they did not know of, but their trust in Samhain's magic was bigger than their desire to quench the desire to find out how.

The list of what the Blacks would consider greater than themselves was barely a list but was a simple parchment, the name ‘ Samhain’ written above their own.

What the Wizarding Society does not know was that the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black derived from Ignis Magic and Ater Magic. For there is no Star that is not made of Fyre, and the everbeing and expansive Night that made it shine even brighter.

It is the imbalance and greed for both that created the dreaded Black Curse.

No Black that claimed and was claimed by both Magics survived the curse. Elladora Black was the last one who tried her hand at wielding both, resulting in a death that was too grisly for any more attempts. After too many deaths of a similar nature, the Blacks simply chose one of the Magics to wield for the rest of their time. Walburga had always been considered too subdued to have chosen Ignis Magic, but to her, it suited her needs greatly. 

Yet, Orion had chosen Ater Magic, its shadow suffocated her Ignis magic until it was mere embers.

She had loved Samhain, but magic had, and always would be tricky.

That is what terrified Walburga the most for that year's Samhain. Aside from the rituals that every child born into the family of Black would have to go through, Delphini would be introduced to both the Ignis and Ater magic at the same time. With how unpredictable magic was, she was scared that the magic would call on Delphini this year to choose her fate.

However, Delphini was too young. She was merely four.

Walburga had never seen someone that young claim their magic that early, but she would never know. Delphini was a puzzle she could never figure out.

Walburga, after almost three decades of being a mother, never realised how hard it was to raise a child.

All she thought she had to do was make sure it was fed, it was clean, and that it had an education. Oh, how she was wrong about that.

Delphini was a pleasant kid, much more pleasant than Bellatrix ever was. Her niece used to scream like a banshee while she demanded that all attention belonged to her and only her, but her daughter was a lot more timid, a lot more shy, and was always wary of what she was given. As if all the babe knew was mistreatment and scarcity.

When Delphini glanced at her with wide and wary eyes whenever the matriarch gave her a small item, like her childhood doll she had Kreacher search for, Walburga's anger at her niece only grew stronger. No matter how little the item was, how insignificant, Delphini treasured it. The sight saddened Walburga to no end. This child was a Black, she deserved more than just a doll. Every time she visited her room, she would find a trove of stale biscuits under her pillow. At first, Walburga was disgusted, yet after she glanced at the protective girl over the measly crumbs of her biscuits, Walburga wanted to cry. 

She had never in her life experienced going hungry, much less starved so often she would want to hoard as much food as she could.

Walburga almost wished Delphini screamed like a banshee instead.

A spoiled, proud, and easy-to-anger kid was a lot easier to handle. She was once one herself and she could say that the majority of her family were raised the same way: with a golden spoon in their mouth, the world in their hands, and a grumpy house-elf sworn to do their bidding by their feet.

Yet, Delphi would not care for anything that was visibly better than what she had. She treasured them all equally, but one thing Walburga did notice about the little girl was that she liked company the most.

All her treasured items would be tossed to the side as soon as Walburga or Kreacher entered the scene, her whole focus dedicated to them, and only them. It was endearing, watching someone desire her company as much as Delphini did, but it was also something entirely new to her.

Atlas was the family's first expected heir and was adored until his untimely demise. Sirius was a rambunctious kid and never liked to be held. He demanded your attention but that was it, he just liked being the one that shined the brightest in their eyes. Then, Regulus was the most timid, but exceptional in his own right. He was prodigious in every art form he laid his hands on. Painting, sculpting, playing the piano, and the violin. Even with his studies, Regulus was extraordinary.

Yet, all Delphini wanted to do was hold Walburga's hand and do magic.

The first few weeks of her third year was overwhelming for Delphini, or as far as Walburga knew, and with the little Arcturus was willing to tell her, Delphini was looking for her. Every time the doors shut between the two, the younger would wail to no end. 

Walburga never knew she could be missed.

Arcturus held onto his promise and never raised a hand or wand against her child. He simply requested that Walburga would have another portrait of hers painted to satiate the child.

It worked. When the child returned to Walburga, she had stopped crying but would still cling to Walburga until she could settle down. She could never say no to the child and she found herself missing the younger's presence too.

It was hard not to when for the past couple of years, her days were filled with only Delphini. From her development, her well-being, and taking time to get to know her, there was barely any time for her to worry about anything else.

Including Sirius, her brightest star.

However, she tried her hardest, even when her lost nights turned to withered bones, she made sure she was there with Orion and Regulus when they planned how to help Sirius.

She would come to the meetings with rumpled skirts, dried milk on her shoulders, and dark eyes, but she made sure she was there. Sirius needed her and she would be there for him even if he would have detested the very idea of it.

Regulus would glance at her with concern, his hand on her lower back, his other hand assisting her to her seat as Orion watched her with a frown, his fingers drumming onto the pile of documents in front of him as he impatiently waited for her to take her seat.

Orion, Walburga knew, was angry with her involvement with Delphini. He always greeted her with a jibe at the situation, and that day, three years ago, started the way it always did.

——— o ———

“Did it take a daughter for you to become maternal?” Orion sneered.

Walburga, despite her appearance, still held her ground with a glare at her husband before she gave a smile to Regulus and patted his hand, letting him know she was fine. “No. It took having a child untouched by you, and will never be touched by you. One you couldn't kill without having your neck under Arcturus’ blade to make me like this.”

Regulus stilled, his face was blank but Walburga knew better, Regulus was not as ignorant as Orion would like to believe. Regulus, her sweet, sweet boy, never took her acceptance of Delphini that bad. He understood the stakes of the decision she had made, and how different her situation was now compared to how it was before.

Regulus, out of her two living sons, was the only one who knew about the meaning of her bracelet. Of her twelve darkened beads and the three that shone freely. That there were twelve unnamed graves in the back of their family's Manor. He had them marked on the ceiling of his room, the same ceiling that held the whole night sky. Fourteen, now fifteen, names shone brighter than most.

Despite what Orion wished, Regulus knew it all. How many she had lost, the one she thought she didn't have to lose but was taken by his Father, of the threats on their lives if Walburga defied him and his wishes, even if those wishes were for her to raise a wand at their children. For Regulus knew, simply by the lacklustre effect of her Cruciatus Curse, that it was for their protection. That the pain she caused under Orion's orders was for them to be able to survive after. That the pain of her wand was lighter than the blades Orion had sunk into their skin.

“I will not tolerate such disrespect in front of our son–” Orion’s babbles were met with a roll of Walburga’s eyes and a glare from Regulus.

It was Regulus who interrupted him, “Sounds impossible, Father, for I have no respect for you.” He glanced at his mother, who held his hand under the table. “I came because Mother called and my brother needed my help. If Arcturus didn't decide that you should help, I doubt you would be in this room.”

“How dare you!” the patriarch exclaimed, his knuckles turning white as his hands gripped the edge of the table as he towered over their seated forms. “I am your Father!”

“Then act like it,” Regulus said simply. Walburga couldn't be more proud of her son who used to be terrified of being in the same room as his Father, now taking his stance against him. “A Father is to love and to support, and a husband is to respect and to communicate. Pray tell when have you accomplished any of them?”

“So you have more grace for your Mother than your Father? Is that it?”

“Of course I do,” Regulus retorted. “Mother had less privilege, less legroom to work with compared to you. But she did what she had to do to make sure you never laid a hand on us.” Regulus was the very picture of poise, undisturbed by Orion’s anger. It was only Regulus’ eyes that held anything other than nonchalance, the gaze burning as it held his Father in place. He, like his mother, claimed Ignis Magic when he was called. “When I found out about my eldest brother, the pain didn't register as painful as the pain of knowing you would kill your own kids did.” The word they all thought didn’t have to be said. The name they once gave to banish a Black who had committed the worst crime against their own family. Kinslayer .

Orion turned to Walburga, a sneer on his lips. “You told him?”

“No, she didn't have to.”  Regulus tilted his head to the side, a mocking smile on his face. “I am simply not as daft as you would like to believe.”

“You don't know anything–”

“Six who didn't make it, five daughters perfectly healthy but were killed by your hand, one son who lived through infancy just to get killed by lashes inflicted by you. A fate Sirius and I would have faced if we were in front of you instead of Mother.” Regulus slowly rose from his seat, his hands landing on the table in front of him as he stared his Father down. “So, no, Father. I do know enough. Now, can we get on with the planning? I'd rather have Sirius seated in this office, in his rightful place, than you, a Black who will never be Lord.”

Walburga's eyebrows raised and a smile settled on her lips at the reminder of Orion never getting named heir by Arcturus. It amused her to no end that despite her husband’s grovelling, and kiss-assery to the Head of the House, the title of Heir Black never fell on his shoulders. For the first time in their lineage, a whole generation was skipped in favour of the youngest, and it was her children who deserved the title. Her perfect, beautiful, and brilliant children.

Orion, her not-so-perfect, not-so-beautiful, and not-so-brilliant ex-husband, grumbled. “Why are you so amused, Walburga? Look at the failure of a son you raised!”

“Failure? Regulus is perfect. Smart, handsome, privileged, and incredibly competent. A man who has a higher chance to be the Lord of our House than you do.” My perfect little boy. Her eyes glanced back at her son. The signature Black hair that held her waves, his lighter grey eyes framed by thick lashes that mimicked hers, and the bone structure to match. There was no mistaking that he was her son, through and through. “Being jealous of your own son is unbecoming, Orion. You should know better than that.”

“Of course, no child of yours would ever be considered less than perfect,” Orion spat as he leaned into his seat. “And does your precious halfblood daughter meet your standards?”

“She does. And so much more.” Walburga gave him a wane smile. “And despite your desire to oust her for her blood, she would be raised as the perfect Black daughter–”

“How many times did I tell you?” Orion scoffed. “You can clothe her in the finest robes, teach them the manners of a Pureblooded girl, hide them in our family name, but you’ll never hide the stench of the halfblood scum that she will always be.”

“A halfblood with more power in her small age, more respect in her name, more acceptance of our family’s magic than you will ever have. A girl to be taught by the very Lord Black that you couldn’t get on your side even when you begged,” she whispered but the men in the room’s attention was wholly on her. No sound escaping her lips could be ignored. “She is not only a Black. She is more than. An Heiress of Slytherin, raised by the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. The world is hers.” 

Orion raised his hand as he rolled his eyes. “Save your maternal prejudice to our sons. And if you would recall, our eldest is currently in Azkaban, waiting for his doting mother to make an appearance.”

Walburga was pleased. Orion clearly lost their small argument today, and she loved the gratification it gave her. 

“Of course, I know that, Orion. I am no dunce.” She presented a small pile of photos and a folder stamped with the DMLE’s logo brandished across it. Walburga should feel disappointed by how easy it was to get a copy of the file with a small pouch of gold, but it still proved to be useful. “I already have made offers to three Azkaban guards.” She pushed three photos forward. “Namely Finnick Koren, Inka Montoya, and Lavania Selket. They’ll testify for his good behaviour”

“You didn’t approach the other two?” Orion asked as he took note of the photos. “There should be at least four on his level that do their rounds, and another that guards the entrance of his floor. Wouldn’t it be good for all of them to say he was on his best behaviour?”

“They lessened the guards on his floor to guard the higher-ranked prisoners.”

“Who would be higher ranked than Sirius?” Regulus asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

Walburga scowled. “Your cousin, her husband, and her brother-in-law,” she started listing off. “And others. Those who won’t renounce His name and worship Him to this day.” She turned back to Orion. “And it does not matter what the gate’s guardsman would say. It would seem suspicious to have him be too knowledgeable about how good Sirius was as an inmate.”

Orion waved his hand dismissively. “Continue.”

“I hope you aren't too fond of the Boston Pier House. It's at a great location and the land is more than enough for each to have at least three acres.” Walburga brought up another photo of one of their lesser-known properties.

He grumbled, barely taking the energy to glance at the photo. “It doesn't matter. The property hasn't been used in decades and none of us truly loved that country. It is of no loss to us.” Orion nodded. “Good choice.”

“Of course it was. I made it.” Walburga huffed as she pushed another pile of papers forward, ones from Gringotts. “Now for the galleons, they were subtracted from my vault–”

Regulus interrupted her, “Why not the Family's?”

“The Family vault is highly guarded and every transaction is heavily scrutinised. They would question the amount that was withdrawn,” Walburga explained as she pushed another parchment, one that held the number of the money transferred to a foreign vault. “I have a string of vaults. All from different countries and are under pseudonyms. They’ll be transferred around until it won’t be recognisable that it came from us.”

“And they won’t question your withdrawal? This is five figures.”

She scoffed. “Hardly. I could spend a couple of weeks in France with Narcissa and that would match the cost.” 

“If it is too much–”

“Don't worry, Regulus. I have more than enough.” She turned back to the pieces of evidence she placed on the table. “We tackled the guards and their price. Narcissa and I have started mentioning it in our circles, the blow would soften those amongst the Wizengamot in no time. Handling the Wizengamot and its court would be your duty, Orion.”

“Of course.” He nodded as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. Despite Arcturus knowing that Orion would never be a good Lord for their family, he recognized his intelligence in all things political. Or that was what most of the Blacks assumed when he let Orion handle their Wizengamot seat. “The Chief Warlock was rather fond of him, I would find myself reminding him of it in the near future.”

Regulus looked up after reading through the pieces of evidence his mother brought forth, but Walburga knew something bothered him, he started worrying his lip like he would do as a nervous child. “How about the witnesses?”

“Witness,” she corrected, her frown deepening as she slid the photo to Regulus, “Eden Bones née Selwyn, sister-in-law of Amelia who is Head of the DMLE. Probably one of the most credible there is for a case like this.”

“Shit,” Orion muttered under his breath as he ran his hands down his face. “I know her. Her whole family is connected to the Ministry. Amelia holds their family’s seat in the Wizengamot, while Eden herself is in a high position too.”

Walburga nodded. “Of course you do, both sisters are formidable witches in their own rights.”

Their son tilted his head to the side, his fingers fidgeting with the corner of the photo. “So… this woman is what’s between my brother rotting in Azkaban, losing his sanity, and his freedom?”

“It seems like it.” Orion breathed out before grabbing the photo from Regulus. “Eden Bones… it’s been years since I’ve seen her. I heard she just had a daughter,” he added, “She should be around your daughter’s age.” 

A part of her deflated. She knew the easiest solution would be to deal with Eden and make her an unreliable source. To make her clinically insane would be easy, it wasn’t the first time a Black used their family’s stores of forbidden potions to their liking. Yet, a big part of her was wary. Walburga was as much a monster as the villains in Delphini’s bedtime stories were, but she had grown soft, and the idea of taking someone’s life, one who was a mother herself, made her pause.

She read the papers, she knew what her niece did to the Longbottoms, what she did to make their child considered parentless. With parents as gone as they could get without being dead. An orphan in his own right. Walburga was intimately familiar with the Unforgivable used on them, but her family was well aware of what the line they shouldn’t cross was, she had been on the brink multiple times in her life, but to know that her niece used the same curse they would use in their family, especially to their women, to another woman and their family, made Walburga’s rage grow.

Walburga had no problem leaving her niece in the fortress, she could rot for all she cared about. Even Arcturus was in no rush to get her out. In his eyes, even Andromeda, her mudblood-loving niece, was more respected in their family’s eyes than Bellatrix, who had been the perfect daughter. Her fall from grace was marked by her knees hitting the ground by Tom Riddle’s feet. No Black should ever kneel. Regulus never had, and luckily with his sparse contact with the Dark Wizard, he was less charmed by the man. Her Sirius would never have bent his knee.

Now, they had to deal with the consequences brought on by the wizard who thought he was greater than them. As if any wizard could go head-to-head with her entire House, it was simply unheard of. She blamed Riddle’s muggle upbringing for the lack of that knowledge. 

“How do we deal with her?” Regulus asked.

Orion massaged his temple. “It depends on the pieces of evidence she presented.” He started listing them off, “How many they are, if Veritaserum was involved, or even if she submitted a vial of her memory for the court to study–”

“One,” Regulus interrupted his Father, his eyes focused on the paper in front of him. “Just a written testament, nothing else. This should be an easy trial, yes?” He looked back up. “When is it?”

The two parents bristled. Walburga thought it was common knowledge to everyone that those arrested during the siege of Riddle’s downfall held no trial, but she had forgotten her youngest son was hidden at the time: the Hall of Wraiths protecting him. She sighed. “Regulus…”

“There is no date, son.” Orion’s voice was solemn and clear as it washed over them. “There is no date given for those assumed to be under Riddle's ruling, which Sirius falls under–”

“But that's bullshit! Did we go lawless after the war? What happened to the proper procedures?” he exclaimed, his face more animated than it had been the whole night. “We have to demand a trial.”

“We can't–” Walburga started.

“And why not?” Regulus interrupted, a scowl on his face. “He's a Black. We are his family, we could demand it.”

“If they find anything amiss, they'd assume we were part of it,” Walburga explained gently, taking Regulus' hand in her own. “Which is true, but we can't have that as common knowledge.”

“Then what is the point of all this planning if we can't even demand a trial?”

“That is easy enough to fix. We can have someone else demand it for us.”

“I still don't understand why we couldn't do it ourselves.”

“It’s because of our name,” Walburga’s voice cracked. For her, her last name was everything. It is what she had known, and had always been since her birth. She had never experienced a life outside of being a Black, but she had never imagined how much damage it could potentially cause to someone within the family. “No matter how hard he tried to escape our name, it became his downfall. If he was named anything else…” Like a Potter , she reminded herself. “He would have been safe. Would have been investigated properly.”

“Then we make it happen!” Regulus was on a rampage. “Help him get the investigation he deserves! Where the fuck are his dear ‘Marauders’ when he needs them now?”

Walburga’s eyebrows furrowed. She had heard the name come out of her son’s lips more than once, but she simply thought he was speaking of Pirates or Adventurers. Very Gryffindor-like of him, she once thought. “Marauders?”

Regulus sneered. Perhaps there was more to their story than Walburga knew. “His dear band of bandits in school. Lupin, Potter, and Pettigrew.” Ah, yes, she thought to herself. The family he had found. 

“Missing, dead, and the missing dead,” Orion said. Walburga’s gut was telling her that she was missing something, a factor that would make everything clearer. She just didn’t know what it was yet.

“How about the Potter’s parents? They should surely defend him if they were so willing to steal him away–”

“Both are dead,” Orion quickly rebutted, folding his hands together in front of him. “Dragon Pox, a couple of years ago. Trust me, I’ve tried. We only have Eden to factor in–”

“Maybe not even that,” Walburga interrupted before glancing at Regulus. “Do you have any enemies, son?”

Regulus’ eyebrows scrunched together as he shook his head. “None that I know of. Why?”

“Add another witness to the mix with a different perspective, her testament would falter. Bring in another suspect with disagreements with our family name, we got someone with a motive,”  she said as if it was common knowledge. To the Blacks, it was. All of them were brought up better than their peers, even if they didn’t express it.

“And if they use Veritaserum? Or check their memories?”

“We demand they do the same for Sirius. With his blood-traitor-loving past, I trust he didn’t do these crimes.” She waved a hand dismissively. Knowing Sirius, he wouldn’t have. He was too Gryffindor for it. “Eden’s memories can be rewritten. We can mould enough for Sirius to be granted innocence, and do the same to the scapegoat. It should be easy enough.”

Orion turned to his son. Regulus was barely a couple of years younger than his brother, he knew the people of their batch well enough to decide who to punish. “Who do wish it to be? They must be someone known to be affiliated with the family–”

Regulus nervously glanced at his mother. “Pettigrew… has a mother–”

“No.” 

Orion sighed at Walburga’s immediate dismissal of the option. “It would be easier–”

“It is cruel,” she said with a stern tone. 

“So? Not like it matters when our son is being held in a fortress for a crime he didn’t commit!”

“I can… talk to her,” Walburga offered. She had never met the matriarch before and hated meeting people outside of her circle. However, this was for Sirius. She could do this and more just for him to get out of Azkaban. “She isn’t always in her proper mind but she is an Occlumens. Skilled enough to make her a formidable alibi, and have her memories of Sirius in her house appear to be on the date the Potters were killed.” 

“But why would she help us? When the world believes our son is who killed hers?”

Shit , she thought to herself as it dawned on her. “I don’t think he is dead,” she started as the puzzle pieces in her mind fell into place. “His death doesn’t make sense.”

“If they could believe that he betrayed the Potters, killing Pettigrew would not be that far of a reach–”

“And the muggles?” she asked, her fingers tapping on the photo of the Muggle street Sirius supposedly had his killing spree in. 

“Must we care about those?”

“It’s their dead bodies that matter,” she stated as she pushed the photo to the middle of the table, letting them take a look at it.

Orion, who didn’t even lean to glance at the photo, shook his head. “Explain.”

“Twelve bodies, wholly intact, probably killed with the Killing Curse. But the evidence of Pettigrew’s death is a finger cut clean off? And wasn’t Pettigrew one of his best friends for almost half his life? Why would he make it the most gruesome?” She watched gleefully as realisation dawned on their faces. The plan was becoming more feasible than she thought.

“...What are you saying?”

“We prove the boy’s not dead, we get the Mother in our corner, then Sirius should be free soon enough.” It was Regulus who continued relaying the plan, a sinister glint in his eye. “And if Mother is up to it, I do have two bullies I am not fond of. No lovers for either of them and they are both disowned from their family.”

She nodded, already planning out the spells she’d use to lengthen their torture before tinkering with their minds. “Names?”

Regulus tilted his head, worrying his lip again. “Alecto and Amycus Carrow.” Walburga could not place the expression her son held as he mentioned the names. She doesn’t know what had happened to her son while he was under the lunatic, but she knew that their Lord wasn’t the only power-hungry, devious, and mal-intended person in there. Whatever they did to her son, no matter how small, was enough for her to want to burn them. “They both despise muggles. The former has a radical intolerance of them while the brother is a coward, and listens to his sister’s every whim. It won’t be too far-fetched to assume that they would kill in that magnitude.”

“And the secret keeper that led to the demise of the Potters?”

“I have a plan for that,” Orion said as he leaned back into his chair. “Sirius may be adopted into the family, but there are two others that they trust entirely.” Pettigrew and Lupin. No matter where they were, Walburga knew that they could easily be found even if Aurors could not. There was a reason why the Blacks never strayed from deeper, darker magics. “And if you think Pettigrew is not as dead as he likes us to believe, we may have found the key to our son’s freedom.”

Walburga grinned, a sight the two have never seen before. The Carrows are two people she could play with without her newly found conscience being too big of a bother. If the two had hurt her son and matched the profile needed, there wasn’t much else standing in her way. “Oh! How delightful.” She clapped her hands together. “This should prove to be fun.”

——— o ———

As always, she was right.

It had been fun and the success of her son’s freedom was exhilarating. It had been a while since she had to use all of her capabilities as a member of the Black family to get what she wanted. One where success wasn't determined, but was achieved.

As she sat in the tapestry room of Grimmauld Place, her daughter Delphini in her lap, her youngest son in Egypt under an Enchanteur master, and her other son alive and well, she found herself feeling accomplished. After the disastrous wizarding war, she did not hope for much but should have known better. Once she set her mind on it, and had family Black behind her, she could accomplish anything.

Walburga shouldn't have doubted. She was a Black after all.

Her eyes settled on Sirius' name listed on the Tapestry, his face was scorched off but was still there. No matter how she felt at the moment, no part of her could fully disown a child of hers. They were her stars after all. "He may not choose to be with us, but at least he's safe," Walburga murmured to herself, her voice tinged with a mixture of pride and resignation. She knew that Sirius's rebellious nature and desire for independence had led him down a different path, one that diverged from the traditions and expectations of the Black family, but it slowly became a path she was proud of him for choosing.

Despite how she was raised and how she raised him, she was incredibly proud of his divergence from the family and their traits. Maybe then, for Sirius, his cycle would be broken. He could be the abused that does not become the abuser. That he would not end up like she did, a perpetrator of a harmful cycle that she was once a victim of. 

Yet, despite their differences, Walburga would always feel a mother's love and protectiveness towards Sirius. She had endured the pain of losing him to the Potters, losing him to the war, then losing him to Azkaban. Luckily, with her family by her side, it turned out well. Sirius may not be with them, but knowing he was alive was sufficient. 

It was more than enough.

Chapter Text

The Black Keep, France

1985

Arcturus and Orion were together when they had decided to bring Delphini to their ancestral home: the Black Keep.

Walburga was meant to come, but Arcturus knew how much pain it gave her whenever she visited. The ancestral home does not recognize her as a Black, as she was not named after an astral being, the Astral magic embedded into the estate was always ready to remind her of her outlier name. He will never stop blaming Walburga's mother for naming her out of their family. It brought more pain than she ever expected to know of. It was important to name the blood of the Stars with the name of Celestial beings. It was tradition for a reason .

Orion wasn't meant to follow, he was already dismissed by Arcturus when he visited the villa to complain about something minor. Arcturus did not care much for what irritated his son, he was far from the pleasant infant he once knew. Despite his efforts, his son had followed his cruel cousin's ministrations.

When Orion asked where he was headed, Arcturus told him the truth. A mistake on his part.

Orion had mentioned how he needed to visit their temple: how he needed to replenish his blood offering for their family magic, but Arcturus could see through the lie. He knew his son well enough to know that his son preferred to offer his blood nearer to Samhain, the magical pull of the cyclical day making him more altruistic to the magics gifted to him. Samhain was months away, it was merely April.

Arcturus could only guess that his son did not trust him in the company of Delphini. The thought amused him. He echoed the same sentiment, he did not want his son near any Black child again. 

With the child holding both their hands as she walked in between them, the Lord of the House, Arcturus, pushed the door open. As if even the wind within the house was excited for their visit, it rushed out in a soft wind. 

Even from just the doorstep, Arcturus could see the tendrils of magic deeply embedded into the house, what most would believe to be decorations were actually writhing threads of magic. He wondered what someone like Orion would see in a magical home, if he only saw plain decorations and static walls. Much unlike the swirls and ever-moving curls of magic Arcturus had grown used to seeing. 

It spoke incredibly how Delphini, as young as she was, could already see the magic. If Walburga was to be believed, which he did wholeheartedly, Delphini could see and interact with them at the age of one. Maybe even younger, even before they had met the young witch.

Before Walburga had saved the one year old girl who was left for dead.

When they reached their ancestral chamber, Arcturus could already feel something in it trying to pull Delphini in, almost hungry for her. Arcturus stilled. Despite his acceptance of the small girl, there were sure to be reactions that would harm her. Bringing her to the Black Keep was getting less, and less ideal. 

“Delphini, I don't think this is the right time to–”

“It's okay, Uncle Arcy. It won't hurt you.”

“It's not me I am worried about, little Black,” he replied, taking a pause to watch the room before continuing, “There are items in there that could do you harm . ”

“It won't. It's just lonely,” the little girl replied. She wasn't looking at him as she said it, the hall behind her had her attention. Delphini waved at something he couldn't see. “There is something in there who had not been visited in a while. Let's go say hi.”

Arcturus was conflicted.

He trusted the family magic and the girl's intuition. What he did not trust was how their family magic might affect the little girl. She was the first claimed halfblood in a family with centuries worth of historically disowning or murdering them behind it. 

Letting out a long breath, he nodded. He could lay down his life to protect her if magic demanded it. It was his fault they were in the Black Keep in the first place.

Delphini beamed, and walked ahead of him, spotting something on the ground.

“Are you really going to follow the child's guidance, Father?” Orion asked, a frown on his face.

“If she said it was safe, then it is.” Maybe if he said it enough times, Arcturus would believe it.

Orion scoffed. “And if she didn't but I did? What would you do then?”

“Leave.”

Orion's eyes narrowed. “What could I have done to deserve this distrust? I am your son .”

“You are barely my son,” he fumed, his voice quiet but dangerous. With a critical eye, he looked at what once used to be his biggest joy, only disappointment was left. “You must be daft if you thought I would consider a kinslayer as a child of mine.”

“Is that why you chose Sirius over me?” 

‘There we go,’ Arcturus thought to himself. “No. He holds ideals of what I would want the future Lord Black to have. You, however, have none.”

“How could he be a better Heir? He’s not even here!” he said with a wave of his arm, his face enraged.  “You would rather choose a Gryffindor over someone with the same ideals–”

“You must be mad to think that I have any ideal similar to yours, Orion. You couldn’t be farther from the truth.” He turned away from Orion, the decorations holding more intrigue than his failure of a son. “I am tired of speaking to someone who has no thoughts of their own, choosing to masquerade in the ideals of others instead.”

Arcturus gladly greeted the silence, choosing to admire the centuries old portraits that lined the halls. They were in the Black Keep, which was the oldest fortress of the House of Black. It was located in an unplottable mountain in France. Despite it being their oldest fortress it was also their least used estate. The Keep was mostly used for Rites on Cyclical days, but in the off-season, it had become a museum of all things Black. 

The Black Keep was a fortress of multiple buildings. Ranging from their main living quarters, the great hall, a squire tower, an archive, an unused smithery, servant quarters, and long-forgotten stables. However, the only building they needed to get to is their archive. 

It was a magically potent building, the walls were filled with magic older than everyone he knew, made to fight against those who wished to steal what was theirs.

All he had to make sure that Delphini–

‘Wait.’ Glancing around, he could not see the little girl anywhere. His heart started to pound harder as multiple disasters ran through his mind. ‘Fuck.’

Arcturus, with the tip of his wand, cut five small cuts on the pads of his fingers on his left hand. A pang of pain filled his chest, his mouth blooming with blood. With a flick of his hand, the droplets flew to the ground. Another intricate hand movement, and the blood droplets grew into spectres of young, faceless children. “Find her.”

Arcturus spat the blood out, noting that his son was watching from the sideline with an unreadable expression.

Something snapped in Orion as he started running out of the building they were in and towards the main edifice of the Black Keep. It didn't take long before Orion remembered who he was, and whipped into a black fog to get to where he needed to go faster.

Arcturus could not be bothered to wonder what Orion was planning to do, and started using the ‘Point Me!’ charm to find Delphini. The wand in his hand spun sporadically. ‘Merlin… let us find her.’

It didn't take long before a disruption occurred across the Black Keep. Starting from the main building came a wave of magic. One Arcturus recognised, his eyes widening. Blood for blood.

Orion had gone to the ward room to offer his blood, using it to find her. The spell was an intricate one and was almost as magically taxing as an Unforgivable. Though, it was the most useful spell to find a family member. Even if she was trapped in a magical entity, she would reappear.  

Arcturus was surprised he knew it, much less withstand its consequences to find Delphini. He also wondered why Orion didn't do it for his own son.

A few moments later, the childlike apparitions he created came back to him unsuccessful, but he didn't mind, Orion's spell was sure to have worked. Blood magic was one of the stronger magics out there; one that didn't discriminate against the people who could wield it. 

The only thing people were wary about the magic was the consequences for using it. The morality of using blood to use it was often discussed until it was outlawed by the Wizengamot. That didn't stop the older families from using it, however. As long as they know how to handle it and not let the magic consume too much of their magic, they should be fine.

Soon enough, he saw Orion stalking back to him with Delphini in tow.

He crouched down to be the same eye level with Delphini. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine. The dark was just being playful again.” 

Not knowing how to answer, he just nodded. He turned to Orion. “Are you alright, Orion?”

The man's eyebrows raised in surprise before Orion could hide it. “I am fine. Dark magic is not as taxing as it once was.”

I could only imagine, Arcturus thought to himself. “I would like to thank you for finding her.”

“Anything for the House of Black.”

Lucky for them, Delphini led them forward, effectively ending the conversation they did not want to be part of. 

When they entered the room, Delphini walked ahead of them, seemingly familiar with the fortress already. The two men hung back, curious on where Delphini would lead them, if she knew where they needed to go.

With the growing familiarity of the walls surrounding them, they knew that the magic leading Delphini was well aware of their intentions. A cold wash of magic poured over them as they entered the room. 

The cylindrical building was built that way for a reason. Wand magic was incredibly potent, even when their original owners had passed. He never had the chance to study wandlore or the magic of making wands. The only Black he knew interested in it was Dorea Black, who only got into it after marrying into the Potter family. 

The most he knew about wandlore was that wands of powerful wizards would mourn their loss erratically and the Black family had powerful wizards in droves. The distressed magic liked to attack its prison and corners are easy targets.

Along the walls were glass cases filled with wands of all makes, all owned by the Blacks of ages past. Even named Blacks who marry out of their family would swear their wand into this building, and if the disowned Blacks held any leftover respect for their family, they would too. It was tradition.

It was also tradition to train with an ancestor's wand before gaining their own. It was written into law a few centuries ago that children could only get wands by the time they were ready to learn how to control their magic. Their family followed the law in public by only getting their own wands at the age of eleven, but in private, they trained their control of magic far earlier. They were Blacks, mere laws would not decide their fate with magic itself.

It was time for Delphini to follow where her ancestors had before. They were here to get her a wand to train with. The little girl was showing an unnatural affinity to wandless magic, even for a Black. If it was any other family showing that much control of their magic at a young age, they would have been referred to as a prodigy.

For a Black, it blurred the line of being a powerful wizard and getting corrupted by the Black Curse.

That was the prime reason as to why Arcturus deemed it necessary for them to get her a wand lest her magic manifests too strong too fast. Most Blacks get their training wands at seven and have the next four years to train with it, before transferring to their own wands at eleven. He had hoped that getting it at the age of five, an exception to their rule, would help quell her magic.

However, the problem was that Delphini was the first halfblood to enter the Keep and the magic within the fortress had tortured Blacks for lesser reasons. Fortunately for him, the magic wasn't hostile. Unfortunately for him, the magic's curiosity of Delphini was unsettling.

With that in mind, he had stretched his magic to cover her. It won't do much, the magic of the fortress was far stronger than his, but it would serve as a warning at the very least. 

Orion was quiet the entire way up, his hand gripped onto his wand firmly, and his eyes never straying far from the little girl a few paces in front of them. Arcturus was unsure of his motives. Within the past few decades, his son has killed more Blacks than there were Blacks born in that period of time. Which was against everything he was taught about when becoming the Lord of their House. His main purpose was to protect them and their vassal houses, and to make sure the security of their lineage was never questioned.

Yet his son spilled his own blood to find Delphini. It wasn't an easy spell to accomplish. The ward room was old and ran on stronger magics, making its demand from them far greater than their normal magic. Blood Magic like that could not be healed by magic: Orion's arms were now wrapped by red-stained gauze.

A part of him wished to seek help for him, to order him to visit St. Mungo's. Orion was still his son after all. However, he knew the man was stubborn, he wouldn't leave until they were finished. It was the only honourable part about him.

As of the moment, all Arcturus wanted was for her to pick her wand and leave the Keep. The centuries-old fortress may be their birthright as Blacks, but it still made him uncomfortable. The history of the place was darker than their name.

“Delphini, come here for a moment,” he called, his hand out reaching for her. The girl, used to the motion, went up to him without a fight, slipping her hand into his. He was proud that she kept her curiosity well-controlled. The space must be incredibly interesting for children, especially one as susceptible to magic as Delphini was. “Do you know what this place is?”

She shook her head, but her eyes were still straying to glance at the wands. To be fair, the display of centuries worth of wands was awe-inducing. “Wand store?”

“Not a store, but an archive,” Arcturus corrected. “Before us are the wands of our family. As tradition, every Black trained first with a wand of their ancestors. Hundreds of Blacks, no matter how far they strayed, lay their wands here as a way to pay tribute to our history while continuing our tradition.”

“Ooooh, that's interesting,” she said, her eyes as wide as saucers. “Where's the wand keeper?”

With his eyebrows furrowed, he asked, “How did you know about them?”

“The wands were expecting him. They're the one who told me,” she said.

“That is interesting…” His voice trailed off as his eyes scanned around for the wraith. He should have been there to receive them. Arcturus sighed. “Okay, Delphini, time to choose your wand.”

Delphini's eyes widened, the stars adorning them. “Can I choose any?”

“Yes. We will test you with it but you'll know it once you come across the wand,” he said, taking a pause before warning Delphini, “But stay in sight, we do not want to lose you again.”

“Will do, Uncle Arcy,” she said with an enthusiastic nod. Without preamble, she moved away from the two men, her eyes hungrily taking in every displayed wand.

Orion moved to stand beside him, his arms folded. “Are you not terrified?”

“Of?”

“Her becoming mad,” he said simply. As if the very thought doesn't terrify him. Orion continued, “She's too familiar with magic. She's a Parseltongue, has incredible control of her magic, could see them physically, possesses the ability to use Shadow magic which she shouldn't be able to, and now, can talk to wands, ” he said  almost whispering, his eyes trained on Delphini as she made her way through the display of wands. “I know we are exemplary, but isn't this too much?”

Arcturus eyebrows were raised, his eyes scanning the man in front of him. Orion was acting a lot different than what he expected. “How fascinating. Despite your obvious aversion to your ex-wife, you hold the same worries.” He turned back to watch Delphini, making sure he stayed in sight. “She will be fine.”

“How would she be? No one diagnosed with the curse had ever lived longer than a muggle . There is no saving them.”

“It's different now,” he disagreed. “In the past, the House of Black never had the opportunity to use everything they had.” Arcturus couldn't help but find them unintelligent. The past generations of Blacks chose to hide their issues under the facade of brilliance even to other Blacks. There had never been a time that the House was completely whole.

“This time around, the stars have aligned. For the first time in our history we have the most diverse members of the family. What we thought was an extinct magic resurfaced in Andromeda's daughter. Soul magic, Shadow magic, Lunar magic, a Metamorphmagus, a Parselmouth, and multiple Enchanteurs all under our roof,” he emphasised, his voice heated. “If it ever gets to that point, we can save her.”

“What makes you so different from our past Lords?” Orion took a step closer, his finger poking at Arcturus’ chest. “You're a born and raised Black, how different could you really be?”

Arcturus was undisturbed, a single eyebrow raised as a zap of his magic made contact with the offending finger, the smell of burnt flesh in the air. “I'm different enough to save us, Orion,” he said, his voice strong and controlled. “Maybe if you had your head screwed on right, you could see the future where the House of Black lives and you would fight for it–”

“Found her,” Delphini interrupted, her eyes wide as they flickered between the two men. She reached forward and grabbed Arcturus' hand. “Follow me.”

The two men squandered their quarrel and obeyed her wishes.

Arcturus didn't read the name of the wand's owner, more fascinated by the reddish tone of the wand. He was not as knowledgeable about wandlore, but he knew a cherry wand when he saw one. They were rarely used outside of Mahoutokoro, where they were seen as prestigious. For in most of Europe and the wizards of the western hemisphere, they were seen as ornamental.

Despite the prejudice against the wandwood, cherry wood often made wands of unbelievable power. It was known that if the core was made of dragon heartstring, it could only be paired with a wizard with exceptional self-control and strength of mind .

“Cherry wood. A magnificent choice,” he smiled, before turning to the display it was in. “Now what is the core?” 

“None. None that was known. That is… Cassiopeia's wand,” Orion said, basically whispering, as he watched the young girl handle the wand with excitement.

Arcturus stilled, his heart pounding in his ears. “Which Cassiopeia?”

“Pollux's sister. Your cousin.”

He closed his eyes and let out a long breath. “Delphini… could you try another one?”

“Why? I like her,” she nearly whined, her lips forming into a pout. 

“Because…”

“Let her try it out,” Orion interrupted, his hand on her shoulder. “Give it a try, Delphini. A small swish should do.”

Arcturus’ eyes shot to Orion's, his eyebrows furrowed. “Orion–”

Delphini, for the first time since Arcturus met her, decided to be obedient, immediately pointing the wand at the display, and shooting a burst of stars. The magic in the room rippled like a wave. The entire tower shuddered.

“Shit,” Orion muttered, shooting a wordless ‘Protego’ around Delphini. The little girl was hopping in place, giggling as she watched her magic form. “Maybe the wand is not the best fit.”

“Language,” Arcturus chastised, as if Orion was his bright son from decades ago and not the man he was now.

“It was in English.”

“Don't try to be funny. It doesn't suit you.”

Orion didn't have the chance to answer as a silver glow shot out of Cassiopeia's– now Delphini's - wand. 

It was now Arcturus who muttered, “Shit.”

Every wand owned by a Black had lifted from their display in a flurry of silver magic. The whole tower, lined in silver, was filled with activity. Arcturus was concerned. It was known that the claiming of wands had always been an eclectic affair, but they had Circinus to guide them. This time, the wand keeper was nowhere to be seen.

The wands spun like the hand of a compass, all in different directions and different speeds before a deafening snap! was heard. Immediately, they all paused, the glowing tips of the wand pointing straight at Delphini. 

At once, streams of light connected in the centre, sending a ball of collected magic to the little girl. Arcturus felt helpless. There were centuries worth of wands, no spell he could cast would protect her–

Circinus, the  wraith, immediately appeared. The wand keeper stood between Delphini and the incoming burst of magic. He let his body absorb the impact of the ball of light, the magic dissipating in his wraith body for everyone to see.

For the next minute, the four of them were silent. Only Delphini looked unperturbed at the event, still bouncing on her heels in excitement.

“Cassiopeia's wand… how fitting.” Circinus’ gravelly voice was all they heard.

The wraith had his hand in the air, placing the wands back in their displays with a small flick of his hand.

“Are you dead?”

Arcturus gasped. “Delphini! That's rude to ask someone you've just met.”

Delphini turned to the wraith who had an amused look in his eyes. “I'm sorry,” she said with her sweetest smile. Arcturus could see through it and internally sighed. “I thought most wraiths were dead?”

Circinus raised an eyebrow. “Yes  they are… How do you know that?”

“There's a lot of wraiths in the long room,” she said simply, most of her attention was on the wand in her hand.

Long room? What long room? he wondered. The little girl had not travelled much in her life, there was no place he knew that housed a lot of wraiths in a long room. Unless…

“Impossible…” Circinus whispered.

Arcturus crouched in front of Delphini, taking her hands in his. “Delphini… What do you know about that room.”

“Not a lot,” she confessed, her head tilting to her right when she noticed the serious expressions of her companions. “But the wizard in the tree called it the Hall of Wraiths. He was the only one who spoke to me.”

Orion's eyes hardened. Arcturus knew that his son was always bitter he hadn't been called to the Hall. An eighteen-year-old Orion had once gone on his knees in front of him, an action that Blacks swore to never do, begging him to let him in the Hall. Arcturus couldn't. The Hall of Wraiths were an entity of its own, Arcturus was merely the host for it, just like the Lord Blacks before him were.

He turned away from his son, and watched as Circinus asked, “When did it call for you?”

“Before Mama found me,” she said.

Realisation dawned in Arcturus, remembering the year and circumstances that led to Walburga finding Delphini. The year the Dark Lord had fallen. “Walburga found her a little over her first birthday…”

“That's too young.” It was the first thing Orion said in a while. 

Arcturus, who knew that Delphini's attention was piqued with the discussion, her stance abnormally still for a child as restless as her, had casted a muffling dome-shaped shield around the girl.

“Is it? Who are we to judge what magic decides?” Circinus defended. 

It was known by few Blacks that Circinus didn't choose what he became. He was never a magically curious wizard, and had close to no interest with wands, but Mother Magic had given him the affinity for it. It was written in their books how Circinus Black had a talent he never wanted. When he entered the Hall, he didn't believe he would survive, but was found alive outside its entrance close to a decade after. Circinus Black's period with the Hall of Wraiths was known to be the longest there ever was.

Yet, even afterwards, he did not care for the magic he learned. But as all Magic did, it demanded what it wanted from him. When he passed, he became a wraith entrapped in the Black Keep. A wand keeper to haunt the estate for centuries. Circinus Black was a wraith who was bitter with magic, understandably so.

“We are Blacks. We protect our own,” Circinus continued, taking a pause before he said, “Arcturus, Obliviate her.”

“What?”

“Remove the memory of the Hall. It would find her again when she's older. When it is safer for her.”

Orion folded his arms. “What is the point–” 

Circinus interrupted him. “Once the Hall calls, and you are aware of it, you could vanish into the realm anytime you wanted. You cannot contact anyone on the outside. You are not guaranteed to even live through the experience, Orion. Imagine what a child curious about all magic would do?” He turned to Orion. “Didn't you offer your own blood to find her earlier? Even a spell as strong as that could bring her out of it. No spell could.”

Orion bristled at the reminder before turning to him. “My Lord, I think the suggestion would help keep her safer for longer.”

Arcturus shook his head. “But Obliviation ? If not done correctly, the damages to her mind would be irreversible.”

“Then don't fail,” Orion replied, as if the Mind Arts was simply executed. “You are Lord Black. You can do this.”

“Okay,” Arcturus sighed. “Just about the Hall or should I take the memories of her first year of life too?” 

Orion's eyes widened. “You hadn't hidden them yet? After all this time?”

“What's wrong with her first year–?”

Circinus was interrupted by Orion, who quickly answered him. “Bellatrix left her for dead.” Orion's voice was harsh. “But going back to this. You left the girl with memories of the year she was tortured?”

“She was too young. She would have forgotten it.”

“She has Riddle's mind! That should be enough for you to at least expect that she'd remember... You're torturing the girl.”

“And you would know all about torture, wouldn't you?” Arcturus turned into ice. His glare piercing. He didn't need someone like Orion to judge his decisions.

“Just do the right thing and erase them,” Orion said, returning the glare.

He removed the spell he had cast to protect their discussion from Delphini's curious ears, and beckoned her close. “Delphini dear, come here please.”

When Delphini stood beside him, her hand reached for his, something started to press on his chest harshly. “I'm sorry,” he whispered.

“Wha–?”

“ Obliviate .”

Chapter Text

The Black Villa, France

1986

Delphini was six when she slipped into the shadows for the first time.

She didn't like it. It was cold and wet, and the darkness pressed against her skin like a starved leech. It sucked her in, and a familiar tingle settled in the base of her neck as her skin stretched out to the point it felt like it would break. The pain was too reminiscent of her life she could not fully recall, and she hated how small she felt in it, how pain became the only constant thing surrounding her.

Walburga acted like the time before her never happened, and Delphini went along with it. Her mother worked too hard for her, and if whatever happened to Delphini brought that much pain to Walburga, it was better to not be reminded of her past constantly.

However, she never forgot the fact that something must have happened to Delphini that was that unforgivable. She just doesn’t know it yet, but she would. One day. 

Walburga had told her that her biological mother would get what was coming when the time came. Delphini wished it would happen sooner; maybe then she would be allowed out to meet her peers. Arcturus promised her she could if she could defend herself against formidable wizards, and come out on top as every Black had done before her.

Delphini did not understand why someone would like to hurt her, but she knew better than to question Arcturus' teachings. He was, after all, one of the greatest wizards she had ever met. Even if the list of Wiccans she knew was considerably short, consisting mostly of her family members; her godfather Severus; and a few governesses and tutors; his control over his magic was just astonishing.

She wished to be like them, to be full of power that others would die for, to have the control to wield magics most know not of. Delphini knew she could achieve it, Arcturus had said as much, and he had never been wrong. Delphini knew that all she needed to do was hone her magic skill more.

Yet this magic, the encompassing fullness of the shadow magic, was unfamiliar to her.

It wasn't protective like the Black magic was, or educational like her Snake-speaking magic was. It was different. Knowing her family, their protectiveness, and intrigue in her abilities, she had to tell Arcturus if she was ever to learn more about it.

But first, she needed to get out of it.

The shadows weren't sticky like Arcturus’ magic sometimes was, it felt like heavy air that pressed down on men in rainforests during the summer. It felt like it was pushing down on her while dragging her into itself. The heavy air was sucking her skin into itself, her flesh stretched into the void.

The six-year-old tugged her hand back but the grip was too strong. In a panic, she started to yank her body backward frantically, towards the way she came, but she barely budged. She pulled and pulled and pulled but it just wasn’t working.

She was stuck.

Delphini could only watch in horror as the darkness closed in around her, swallowing her whole until there was nothing left but the cold embrace of the shadow.

The blood started to pound in her ears as her heart thudded louder in her chest. She couldn't see anything and was half worried her vision was gone permanently as she was sure her eyes were as peeled back as they could be. The magic did not feel malevolent, but it felt eerily joyful to have caught her as if she were a mouse in a trap.

She cried harder, her chest growing tight as bile rose in her throat.

Feeling the air pushing down on her, she yanked and yanked, and tried her best not to cry. Her family told her that Blacks didn’t cry. They were calm and collected, but it was getting annoying, and nothing she was doing was working.

It didn't take long before she felt her tears betray her, and start running down in rivers. She took a shaky breath in and held it before releasing it.

You can get out of here. You can do this. You are a Black, nothing can truly trap you, she thought to herself, the mantra echoed over and over again until she was ready to try once more.

More out of spite and anger than a genuine desire to be released, she started tugging harder, pulling at her skin until it grew red and warm.

Get. Off.

Just then, a disembodied voice reached her. She couldn't tell if it was a woman or a man who spoke to her, but she knew the entity was old. It felt even older than her Great-grandfather Arcturus and that man was ancient.

“Stop fighting against me. It is futile. I am a part of you and you know it.”

“Who are you?” It wasn't her voice that spoke out loud, but a chorus of young voices, melding together in an eerie symphony. Something was grounding about the voices as if she wasn’t alone in the dark.

“You could not tell? It is quite apparent, child. If you merely had the desire to look.”

A small part of her, the part that liked pleasing authoritative figures, desired to answer that she did know . It affected her like most magics did, a tingle on the base of her neck persisted as if it were a relentless itch, but her hands were still stuck where they were. Magic had always been a sentient being to her, but she had never met one that spoke to her. “I know what you are.”

“Then you should know that I am not here to harm you.”

“How does knowing what you are make sure you won't harm me?” The voices that echoed her words were far lesser than it was earlier. After a couple of moments, she realized that it did not aim to answer her. “Do I know you?”

“I have been with you since your beginning, and will be with you until your quietus. You will never find a time I would not be with you. You have me at your disposal.”

“I don't know what that means,” she answered truthfully, the chorus much louder than it had been.

“I am a Magic that bends to your will. I would do anything, and everything for you.”

“I still don't understand…”

“You will in due time. But for now, simply tell me where you would like to go.”

Simple enough. She was terrified, there was no denying it, but she only had trust for magic, and this was pure magic . No matter how much it crept her. “I want to go to my family.”

“Very well then. Take a step for me, little Black.”

Just like that, she found herself tugged into a room, her foot stepping into Arcturus’ office.

The man in question was on his desk, slouched around a short glass filled with amber liquid, his eyes wide as he watched her step out of the shadows. His gaze had always been heavy, she could feel his stares whenever they studied magic together. However, she didn't mind it as much, not when the eyes were so familiar. Sharp and grey, just like her own.

Glancing at the tall bottle at the side of the desk, he muttered, “Since when did you get so strong?”

However, the sight of the grumpy man made Delphini so happy . 

The small girl ran into his lap, her arms around him as she tucked herself into his chest, the tears already soaking his shirt. “U-uncle Arcy…” She hiccuped, her sobs wrecking through her small body.

The man stilled but Delphini could not find it in herself to care, and stuck to him, soaking the comfort only another Black could give. Hesitantly, strong arms cradled her closer.

Just like it was with Walburga and Kreacher, she felt safe. The strong safety and security that came with her family enveloped her. It felt right , like all of her issues melted away.

She knew she was safe with him.

Another wave of tears pour out of her, spilling onto her dress. “I-I'm so sorry, U-uncle Arcy.”

“Shhhh, little star. You are safe here.” It felt awkward, the stiffness in his arms never truly left, but she didn't mind. At least he was trying.

For a while, that was all they did. He leant back in his chair and held her, his left hand pointing out stars and constellations on the ceiling of his study as he whispered their stories, calming her down. It didn't take too long, Delphini always felt like she had to be the perfect vision of calm in front of him.

She pulled back from him, and the Lord of their House, uncharacteristically, swiped his thumbs under her eyes before holding her face gently. He whispered, scared to frighten the child into another fit. “What was wrong, Delphini? Did something happen?”

Just like her usual bouts of chatter, she told him everything.

The black snake, which she just realized was a shadow , lured her into a dark corner of the house when it told her to take a step. She tried to be clinical about it, to state the facts, and nothing but the facts, ignoring how she felt so panicked when she was overwhelmed by whatever she spoke to.

At least now, she knew she was safe. She had Arcturus.

~ o ~

Arcturus had a solemn look on his face, his eyes distant as he flicked over different instances of what it could have meant.

He blamed himself for not realizing it earlier. He had seen the magic before, and he recognized the sliver of a shadow attached to Delphini's. A small reminder of its presence.

The last person who had access to Shadow Magic had been dead for more than half a century. A Headmaster Black who brought on another rise of Black political power: Phineas Nigellus Black, his grandfather.

His grandfather would tell him stories of how he'd travel from the Black Lake to his office in less than a minute. As a young child, he thought it was Apparition. As a young man who had attended Hogwarts, and knew of its wards against Apparition, Arcturus thought his grandfather was lying.

However, now, nearly a century old, he realised that his grandfather was called to the Hall of Wraiths for Shadow Magic. A rare magic that was, almost exclusively, wielded only by members of the Black family. 

Most importantly, it only appeared to named Blacks. Something Delphini was not.

Delphini should not have access to the magic at all.

~ o ~

Grimmauld Place, London

1986

Walburga was not comfortable with the amount of magic her daughter was getting introduced to. 

When Delphini woke up from her injuries five years ago, the magic of the Black Manor reached for her. One aspect of magic she was incredibly thankful for, was to know that the little girl was accepted by their ancestral magic, but Walburga knew that she was far too young to even recognise it. A one-year-old girl should not be able to see what most grown Black family members could not.

In less than a year, Delphini held longer conversations with her snakes in Parseltongue than she did with English. 

In her third year, Walburga was terrified to send her little girl to Arcturus, but it was a confusing surprise to find how taken he was with her. Then there she was, still younger than the Hogwarts admittance age, having an encounter with a type of magic exclusive to the Black family. When Arcturus brought her to the side to talk about it, he was curious about the magic her daughter exhibited. Much like Phineas Nigellus Black, Delphini was chosen by Shadow Magic.

Yet it was not as simple as other magics, it was picky . It shouldn't have been inherited by Delphini, the Black Family Tapestry knew her as a Riddle before she was adopted to hold the name Black. 

The magic must have chosen Delphini because it was taken with her, or it was desperate, both of which did not calm Walburga's heart in the slightest. Most magic grew desperate near the end of its life, or the extinction of its wielders. If those were the only reasons it presented itself to Delphini, then the Blacks have much more to worry about. 

Something larger was at play, something bigger than her, and all she knew of magic. Walburga was terrified.

Delphini, her little darling, was in the middle of something massive, and Walburga was unsure of how much she could do to protect her. The lessons with Arcturus helped greatly with quenching her anxiety about the subject. Just knowing that Lord Black was doing all he could do to help train her, despite how young she was, helped slightly.

No matter her abhorrence of Tom Riddle, she could not deny his excellence when it came to his academics, and all things magical. He was highly intelligent, and no spell, rune, or ritual were ever hard enough to deter the man from it.

If his brilliance was as genetic as the Blacks’, she wondered if Delphini would go down the same path. Follow the same route her father had traveled, grabbing onto everything magic with an unrelenting grasp. Being excellent in magic was not something outside of Delphini's future.

Walburga worried when it would be enough. For Delphini was not just Tom Riddle Jr's child, she was Bellatrix's. Black blood flows through her veins. Black blood was ladened with a curse that would cause havoc, and had always ended in one way, an untimely demise. The Black Curse was nothing to scoff at, and Walburga heeded its warnings.

For as much magic her daughter would dream to wield, the more magic would long to consume her.

It did not help that she recognized Delphini's father's soul etched into the ring they brought back with her. 

It was a gold ring inset with a black stone, engraved with a familiar image. In the center of the stone was a triangle, a line striking down from the highest point with a circle laid in the centre. The image etched onto the stone was not lost to them. Despite Arcturus's endless curiosity, she was relieved to find out he held as much caution as she did with the heirloom. 

Having the ring the fabled resurrection stone was in being a horcrux of all things was terribly amusing. The irony of it all, Walburga thought to herself. The stone made to bring back wraiths of the past embedded in the metal that contained one fractured.

Despite the heaviness that settled on her shoulders at the knowledge they homed an object that ensured the Dark Lord's ability to return, she was surprised to find out that despite his exceptional nature, he did not know of something as simple as the ‘Tale of Three Brothers’. A product of his muggle-raised nature, that's for sure.

Walburga was glad he didn't. She could not imagine the destruction he would have made if he managed to find, and win the Elder Wand: the strongest wand known to mankind.

The conversation she had with Lord Arcturus regarding the ring spanned hours, the both of them understanding what it meant. Walburga had taken the time he was with Delphini to access books regarding Soul Magic, the Dark Art that would sensibly involve the creation of Horcruxes, and how to destroy it.

Yet that day, she and Delphini were not in the Black Villa. Lord Arcturus told them that classes would be cancelled for the day, and he had to replenish his blood offering in the Black Keep. A ritual she needed to attend to once Orion was available, seeing as he was responsible for bringing her blood there. The castle may not recognize her as a Black because of her uncelestial name, but the magic in its reliquary recognized her, and that was enough for her to be protected.

Yet, it's been more than a month since she had last seen her husband, and the house's books were not in order. With Arcturus not needing her and her daughter, she took the time to settle in the study. Hoping that the classes she had beaten into her decades ago were still useful.

What’s the use of a husband if he could barely keep up with balancing the books of the estate? Walburga thought to herself as she sighed, pushing another folder of documents to the side, choosing to deal with it after the rest. 

Orion's way of organizing the documents did not make sense to her, and she was thinking of his inept organization skills when she saw Delphini's governess’ file slotted into the stack of Wizengamot bills Orion needed to read through. 

In that instant, the house magic notified her of another person entering the townhouse, but she was not alarmed. She may not be aware of any incoming visitors, but the said person held no mal-intent to anyone in the house or else they would not have been permitted to enter in the first place. The House magic was pleased with the new visitor, and a part of her wished it was her husband to free her from doing his job.

Reaching forward, she brought another stack of papers towards her. With a glance at the text, she frowned. Another resignation notice. She sighed, quickly flipping it over to get more details of the matter. However, she should not have felt so disappointed at what greeted her, it was always the same. The appointed tutors had nothing else they could teach Delphini. 

Most of their society would have been delighted to find a prodigy in their child, but as all Blacks were, they did not conform to the norm. It was troubling, having her daughter be so accustomed to magic, her knowledge far exceeding those of her age, even with the standards purebloods uphold themselves to. Being powerful was expected of her, but despite being born to attract notice, as most of their family do so effortlessly, too much attraction would be dangerous. If, no, when Riddle would resurrect, Delphini's existence would come to light. Riddle would take her daughter away–

No. Walburga shook her head. If she could hide Regulus from his old Master, she surely should be able to do the same with Delphini. Walburga wondered if hiding Delphini in the same place Phineas Nigellus hid the soul-filled ring would be feasible. No. If two beings of value to Riddle were hidden in the same place, he would look for them himself– Her thought was interrupted by a familiar voice. One she hadn't heard in years.

Leaning against the doorway to the study was a blonde witch. Her hair was fashioned in a loose bun, donning a pale blue dress that hovered above the ground. “Now this? This is a sight I could get used to.”

“Dru-druella?” It was never a normal experience to see Walburga flounder like she was, but this was Druella. A witch that unknowingly held her heart for many years. Tearing her eyes away from her, scared of having her desire to stare abashedly at her be apparent, she saw Delphini placed on the hip of her Druella. She frowned. “Delphini, what did I tell you about approaching strangers?”

Delphini, in all her adorable glory, pouted. “Druella is not a stranger. House was happy when she entered. Happy House means safe.” Walburga ignored Druella's pointed stare at the mention of House magic. She was far too tired (because of the paperwork), and confused (because of Druella's sudden appearance) to care much about explaining anything at the moment.

“But you know better than that, Delphini.” 

“But she's so pretty.”

“Yes, yes she is,” she agreed before sighing. It was easier to comply with her daughter's words than to suggest anything different. “Now  call on Kreacher to play with you while the adults talk, yes?”

“Okay.” Wriggling out of Druella's hold, she bounded to Walburga's side before calling for their House-Elf. “Kreacher!”

With a distinguished pop! Kreacher arrived, bowing deeply to the women in the room. “Good evening Mistresses, and little friend,” he directed the last part to Delphini who beamed. “How may I help you?”

“Can we play, Kreacher?” 

“Of course, little friend. Come along.” Kreacher held out his arm for the little girl, but was unsurprised when she chose to hold his hand instead. However, before they could leave the room, Delphi rushed to Walburga, dragging the elf behind her as she did, her lips already pouting.

Walburga, never knowing how to deny her, even in front of a guest (if you could consider someone as important as Druella as a guest ), leaned forward, and let her daughter kiss her on the cheek before placing one of her own on her child's forehead. Sitting up straight, she waved them off. "Run along now."

As soon as the two exited the doors, Walburga spelled them shut. If the curious gaze Druella settled on her indicated anything, it was that they would not be leaving the room until she was able to get the answers she wanted. Druella had always been relentless when it came to satiating her curiosity.

It didn't take long before Druella spoke up her inquiries. “Little friend? Isn't that improper of him to address her in such a manner?”

Walburga, who was trying her best to seem nonchalant on the matter, waved her hand dismissively. It was a matter she had discussed heavily with the house-elf, and with her daughter. But, like always, Delphini had gotten her way. “She demanded to have him call her ‘little friend’ , and I couldn't refuse. Kreacher would have made a vile soup.”

“ Soup? ” Druella muttered under her breath. Walburga didn't offer an explanation. “Demanded? And you let her get her way?” 

“You will find out soon enough that no one could say no to her. She even has Arcturus wrapped around her finger, if you could imagine.”

“That must be a sight to see,” Druella agreed, nodding her head as she got closer. "I did not know you and Orion were still… active."

"You know better than most that he was the main reason I spelled myself infertile, Druella."

"Then… who is she?"

Already hating the onslaught of questions she would get from what she would say, she just lets it out. "Biologically, she is your granddaughter. Bella's child."

"Is she why you summoned me?"

"Why else?" Walburga tried to keep her mask on. She could not say that she needed her company the most in the last few years she had Delphini. She never had the chance to raise a daughter  and she did not know if she was doing an adept job at it. Sadly, the only person she could ask was unavailable for the longest time. She didn't know what to feel when the person she sought arrived at her doorstep when she was finally, by her own standards, taking care of Delphini well enough. "She is your granddaughter, Druella. And her own mother is currently indisposed."

Druella, who had taken the seat across the desk, frowned. "I would not have expected Bella to announce me as her guardian for her daughter if she was unavailable. May I see her will?"

Walburga shook her head. "She did not make one." 

"What do you mean by that? Surely she would have made one when she conceived as she was–"

"Taught. Yes," Walburga interrupted, letting out a sigh. "But…" Walburga suddenly grew wary of how to relay the next set of information without offending Druella. 

Druella, with a knowing look, just nodded. "Say it. You know I can handle it."

"Bellatrix was not the… sanest near her arrest." Walburga pointedly looked away as she said it, choosing to focus on the papers in front of her. "She could have easily forgotten to make one while their cult rampaged through Britain. Did Narcissa not tell you?"

"Narcissa knew?"

"Of course she did. Did you not read any of my letters? I explained everything there."

"What letters?" Druella's eyebrows furrowed adorably, and the corners of her lips turned downward.

How could she not have gotten my letters? Walburga thought to herself. I've sent so many since I found Delphini… She shook her head, choosing to ignore the idea that someone was blocking their correspondence in favour of the current conversation. "Then how did you know I was summoning you?"

"Kreacher,” Druella said simply. Walburga frowned at the news. She knew she didn't order the elf to do anything. "He delivered a message through Vinnie. I don't know how they even knew of each other, Vinnie had never visited Grimmauld Place before." A curious glint flashed in her eyes. "What did you want to ask of me?"

Walburga watched her for a minute, innately debating how much she should tell the other. It's been years since she saw the other, she did not know if it was proper to barrage her with something as heavy as someone's life. "Your custody of Delphini,” she said. "How involved will you be in her life? Because if it is the same as my mother was with me, I would rather you leave," she said as she stared straight at Druella. It pained her to say it, but Delphini needed Walburga more than Walburga needed Druella. She had handled worse, and would handle the worst as long as Delphini would be safe. "Choose wisely."

"Choose?" Druella said in a whisper, her emotions splayed on her face. "What exactly are my choices here, Wally? Why would I not be in my granddaughter's life?"

Walburga stilled at the mention of her childhood nickname, one she only let Druella use. She took a deep breath before continuing, "If you choose to be in Delphini's life, you could not be in Bella's anymore." She made sure to maintain eye contact with the other. Delphini's life was not a debatable topic. "If the fates let me mould destiny, Delphini would never see her birth mother." 

"Wally…" Druella whispered. "What are you not telling me?"

"I could not say it." Walburga's lips quivered at the memory. She wished it did not affect her the way it did, but it was the sole reason she devoted the rest of her life to keeping Delphini safe. "I will not say it. Just choose–"

"Show me," Druella interrupted. Her pursuit of knowledge was always something she could not shift away until she got her answers. "If you can't tell me, show it to me." Walburga worried her lip. She did not know if showing the memory to her would prove anything. " Please ."

Walburga nodded.

"Legilimens."

Druella did not expect that her visit to Grimmauld Place would be so… enlightening.

From finding out that Grimmauld Place's interior was brighter than she had ever seen it, to seeing a child wander its halls, a snake following her. “Please don't tell Mama that I brought him in,” the little girl asked. Druella promised she wouldn't. She could barely hold in her surprise when the girl spoke to the snake, and was trapped in a conversation with the snake after the child insisted. The little girl was their translator, of course.

When she found Walburga in the study, the perfect portrait of a woman in power, she did not know she would be knee-deep in the sins her eldest daughter committed.

Druella thought that Bellatrix had a modicum of decency, even if it were small, to know better than to torture a child seeing as the Longbottom child was still alive. Unfortunately she wasn't, as she was starting to realise, she did not know if her eldest daughter held even a shred of her sanity left.

She watched as Walburga and Kreacher reached the desolate shack in the middle of the day. Even in the memory space, she could feel the magic emanating from the small structure, and fought against the shiver that ran down her spine. It was strong magic. Yet it was odd, Druella herself could not sense magic like this. It did not pass through her mind that Walburga's grasp on magic was legions above her own. A question for another day.

She watched as Kreacher's magic did not let him go closer. That's odd, she thought to herself. There were barely any wards known to keep a House-elf out.

Watching through Walburga's eyes, she saw two ripples of magic greet her, no , Walburga's magic from the shack. One was far weaker than the other, and somehow that made Memory-Walburga worry. Druella had no idea what it meant. Walburga had cast the door of the shack away, and heard a sharp inhale. Before she could move to look at what Walburga found, she started to hear a string of names emerge from Walburga's thoughts.

Corvus. Indus. Lyra. Cassiopeia. Aries. Castor. Altair. Atlas. Pollux. Carina. Perseus. Alya. Then it started over again. Corvus. Indus. Lyra. Cassiopeia. Aries. Castor. Altair. Atlas. Pollux. Carina. Perseus. Alya. She watched her fidget with a bracelet. A bracelet Druella always thought did not match the rest of Walburga, but she knew that the other never took it off. Then she realised the witch's fingers were shifting from one bead to another after each name, her hands skipping over the two white beads, but the name that hovered over one of the black beads made her heart lurch.

Atlas. A name she recognised. Her first nephew. Her own memories of a cheerful, and playful child flashed through her mind before ending in an empty casket . No casket should ever be that small. 

Walburga never told her where Atlas was laid to rest, but with the ease of how she handled the funeral that once confused Druella, now made sense. Atlas’ bead was one of twelve names. Each name had its own bead around Walburga's wrist. Realisation dawned on her. No… 

Rushing to walk through the wall, her heart broke. By the corner laid a heap of a… thing. Druella could not tell what it was, but as soon as Memory-Walburga grew closer to it, it shifted . The child propped its head up with obvious dis-ease, that was when she saw her . It was Bella's eyes that caught her attention first before she noticed how the girl was barely alive. 

Her breath halted as she stood in place, letting go of Memory-Walburga, she watched her drop to her knees near the child. Even as she left Walburga's body, she could still hear names circulate through Walburga's mind, memory-Walburga's hands trembled as she reached for the small girl.

Twelve stars were enough.

With revelation stunting her ability to hold her weight, Druella dropped to the floor beside Memory-Walburga, and stared at the girl.

Her daughter… her daughter did this?  

Druella did not realise that she had moved while she was visiting Walburga's memories. She found herself kneeling in front of Walburga, their foreheads touching when Walburga pushed her out of her mind. She only realized how close they were when Walburga straightened her back, and quickly wiped her eyes. 

"Choose."

Druella barely had her wits with her, leaning onto her heels as she blinked up at Walburga. "Wh-what?"

"I won't show you more until you choose." Walburga shook her head stiffly, leaning back into her seat. A long bout of silence settled between them. Druella did not move from where she was. She knew it was improper to be in this position, most purebloods would never find themselves on the ground, but she could not find it in herself to care. 

The little girl she held in her arms less than an hour earlier was left for dead. By her own mother. Druella's own daughter.

Her hands crept to hold her abdomen. The idea of killing her own child was one she could never fathom. What had Bellatrix done?  

"I swear to Mother Magic herself, Dru. Choose now or I'll choose for you. You won't ever see me or her when I–"

At that moment, she made up her mind. It wasn’t too hard of a choice to make, she had lost her Bella long ago. No kinslayer was worth supporting, even if said woman was her own daughter. "Walburga,” she decided as she stood up. They had places to be.

"Yes?" Walburga looked up at her. Druella did not admonish her for how clear her emotions flashed in her eyes. 

It was a rare moment for Walburga to slip off her mask, and Druella would never fault her for being vulnerable. Anyone would be when they’re face-to-face with the situation she went through. She had never understood the Blacks’ way of hiding their emotions to the point of self-sabotage, believing that it was never good to keep everything to yourself. Well… now I have all the time in the world to fix that.

"Stand up. Let's go." She tugged at Walburga’s arm, slipping her arm through the crook of Walburga’s elbow as she headed towards the door.

"Choose first."

"I already did,” she assured her, a small smile on her face. "Now come. Let’s get to the Ministry. We have some adoption papers to fill up.”

Realisation dawned in Walburga’s eyes. "Good," she muttered as she let out a small breath, her eyes closing shut in relief. "I was never good at memory charms, anyway."

Chapter Text

Grimmauld Place, London

Early 1987

The distinct tell of Delphini's end of classes came in the sound of banging doors. 

Delphini Black entered the room Walburga was working in, the small gust of wind that came with her entrance rustled the papers on her desk.

The six-year-old skipped into the study with a flurry of ribbons and pink, plopping into the chair across from her in an unbefitting manner. Walburga frowned and did not speak up on it. She had long forgone the need to chastise her when they were at home. As long as she remembered herself in the company of others, Walburga was fine with her not upholding her manners at home. She took great pleasure in the fact that Delphini knew she could be comfortable in Walburga’s company enough not to be wary of her. Walburga wished it was, but she could not say the same for her sons. 

“Would it hurt you to be gentler with the doors?” 

Delphini chose to wave her concern away. “Can I have new teachers? Severus says they are incompetent,” she said, trying her best to mimic her godfather’s drawl as she did. 

“I would not trust his judgement over teaching children, Delphini,” she pointed out, knowing that Severus held no grace for the children he handled in Hogwarts, choosing to be cold. A facade for his Death Eater past that melted away in the company of Delphini, as all people did. Delphini was a natural in wielding her charm, as Walburga had come to learn. “You're also just saying this because Severus doesn't have a cap on what you're learning.”

“Because he understands that I’m brilliant .”

“I see humility should be added to your curriculum.”

Delphini gave her a deadpan stare, knowing Humility was never a defining trait for a Black, it had always been the opposite. “Fine. But as long as you give me Ancient Runes and intermediate-level Charms,” Delphini tried to barter, her eyes lit up. 

Walburga hated it, but she was the strict parent. It would be safer for her in the long run. She shook her head. “That, I would not be doing. We will keep your curriculum as is.”

“But they're all so boring ,” Delphini whined, crossing her arms.

“Of course, they would be boring to you, Delphini. You are well beyond your years in your academics. Even Lord Black had said as such.”

“Then does that mean you'll let them bump up my lesson plan? I promise I will be good.” She tried again, this time making her eyes wider than normal. She could not deny that it was an adorable sight and would have worked on her in any other circumstance, but this was different. 

“No, Delphini. We will keep you where you are.”

“Why not! All their classes are boring , Mama! I’m not learning anything new!” 

“It’s for your safety, Delphini,” she stressed out, belatedly realising that she slipped out the truth. Walburga immediately changed the topic. “You can have Kreacher follow you to the gardens, you can speak with your snakes–”

“What do you mean by safety , mother?” Delphini interrupted, her eyes narrowing in disbelief. Even from here, she could see the slight wetness building in her eyes. Walburga wanted to burn herself alive. “I was talking about classes , not blades .”

“Delphini–”

“No, I don’t want to hear it,” Delphini whispered as she stood up. “I would much rather you have not said anything than lie to me.” Before she reached the door, she turned to Walburga once more, the ‘mask’ she used for company perfectly displayed on her face as she curtsied gracefully. “If you would excuse me, your grace.”

This time, instead of the usual glee she would feel when the doors banged, her heart was filled with sorrow.

~ o ~

Green flames flared to life as a tall shadow stepped into Grimmauld Place in the dead of night. 

Regulus hadn't been in the townhouse in years, most of his time after the Dark Lord's disappearance was spent in the company of the Borgin and Burke apprentices, studying their mastery of enchanted items. Aside from guaranteeing the release of his elder brother, he had not visited the home.

Too much… pain was filled in every corner of the country. 

Of course, no one outside of the family knew of anything: to the rest of Pureblood Society, they were perfect, as the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was known to be. However, it was not even close: the veneer of perfection was easily whittled when the pressure came from within.

No one questioned why his brother was gone, why Andromeda barely lived in Wizarding Society, or even why his Uncle Alphard had never been seen in soirees since 1975.

Or why Regulus’ left arm was bare, even when other known Death Eaters had the faint silhouette of the mark. His unmarked skin was a point of envy from his peers.

The late Lord Sirius II may have been the object of his nightmares growing up, but he did the one thing Regulus never expected from him: he bound the Dark Mark to his life just before he passed. If the Dark Lord were to resurrect, Regulus Black would be dead to him. His Dark Mark marring the rotten skin of his grandfather's corpse.

Lucky for him, despite how late it was when he arrived, the house was as welcoming as it had ever been. He may not be as connected to the House magic as his mother was, but anyone would notice how the house responded to those within it, especially after the Fidelius Charm that greatly agitated its wards. The house's magic was offended that they deemed it necessary to add a foreign charm atop the intricate braid of wards that kept them safe. 

Nevertheless, his mother was adamant, and the House magic favoured her above everyone else.

Regulus could not blame it. Even with a lineage as strong, and magical as the Blacks, the women still got the shorter end of the stick. Their opportunities were significantly lesser than those of their male counterparts, no matter how brilliant of a witch they were. He could understand why the house would sympathise with her most of the time.

Fortunately, none of their house-elves greeted him as he walked to his room, taking care of their tasks diligently. If they saw him glance at his brother's room with a sad, wistful gaze, they would never say anything.

Later that day, Regulus was on his way out of the house when he heard a sniffle. There was only one person in the house he knew it could be from. 

With all his planned errands thrown off his mind, he tugged the door of the cupboard open and found the little girl tucked in the corner. Her usually well-cared-for waves were now tangled, and dust marred her legs.

It didn't take much for him to enter the cupboard to join her.

Delphini didn't mention his presence, her hands busy with the ribbons inlaid into her skirts as she sniffled. The only acknowledgment he got was when Delphini gently laid herself onto his lap, her body jolting every now and then as her sobs turned into hiccups. Regulus frowned. Delphini, ever since she arrived at his home, was a bright child in both mind and demeanour. Seeing her upset was not an image he was comfortable with.

Regulus never imagined what he would have been like to have a younger sibling, but he knew how he wanted to be treated. He gently fixed her hair, and tucked her into himself, humming the melody of the Black lullaby, hoping to bring even the smallest ounce of comfort to the little girl. 

“Here to take me away, Reggie?” her voice was small, a stark contrast to her loud personality that he had grown to love. 

He frowned. “Would you want me to?”

“...No?”

“Not sure about it?” He tried to joke, poking at her cheek until she swatted his hand away. “Never knew of a Delphini that didn’t know what she wanted.”

She glared at him. “If you are here to pick a fight, the door’s that way. I’m pretty sure Uncle Arcy is dying to make you a proper duellist.”

“I’m an excellent duellist.”

“Duel me then.”

“No.” Regulus immediately shut down the idea. He recognised the desire for hurt and needed Delphini to lose the want. She was far too young to search for pain, especially after everything she had gone through, even if her memory had been wiped off the whole affair. “I’m not here to fight.” 

A memory of his escapism tactic flashed into his mind, and he smiled. He had the gift ready but didn’t know that the opportunity to give it came so fast. He smiled as he brought it out of his pocket.

“Then what are you here for?”

“I’m here to bring you out.” He dropped a couple of twigs on top of her skirt, before waving his hand over them. In her lap, she watched as the twigs, or what she must have thought were twigs seeing how her eyes started to bulge, grew to be two full-length broomsticks. Making it a tight squeeze for the both of them and the two brooms to fit in the cupboard. “Let’s learn to fly.” 

“Wh-what?” She was propped up now, watching him open the doors as her arms circled the handles of the brooms, her short arms barely holding them together. “I don’t think it would be smart, Reggie. Mother is displeased with me as of the moment.”

“Displeased? With you?” 

“Don’t act too surprised. It isn’t such a stretch,” she whispered, her voice more childlike than he expected. “I-I asked–”

“You need not tell me, Del. Especially if the thought still hurts,” he said softly. Not wishing for his younger sister to reminisce about something that had hurt her. “And do not worry, I will force Mum to allow us.”

She looked lost, unmoving from her spot in the cupboard. Her eyes still settled on the broomsticks. “Delphini? Come here,” he whispered as he kneeled on the floor, beckoning for her to get closer. 

Still sniffling, she made her way to him, a childish waddle in her step as she quickly threw her arms around his shoulders, clearly only expecting a hug. A shriek left her as he hoisted her up, quickly followed by giggles that slightly settled his concern.

“Reggie! I’m far too big to be carried still!” 

“Oh, hush now. You’re my little sister. You’ll never be too big for me to carry, little Black,” he said dotingly, before calling out, “Kreacher!” 

Regulus waited patiently until he heard the small pop! He turned to him, watching in amusement as Kreacher frowned at the mess they made: the brooms were in the middle of the hallway, surrounded by dust that followed them out of the cupboard. 

With a snap of his fingers, the mess was quickly tidied, the brooms leaning against the wall. “Kreacher, Delphini and I are planning to go to the Manor today. Could you help Delphini get fitted for riding robes? You can refit my old trousers for her.”

“Trousers?” Delphini pouted, an adorable furrow present on her brows. “Do I have to?”

“For flying, yes. Trust me, you’ll need them.” He settled her down. “Now, go get ready with Kreacher, I’ll speak with our mother.”

“Good luck.”

Regulus had quickly changed into comfortable robes, sporting his old Quidditch uniform that upsettingly still fit, before making his way towards the study. He had thought he would have grown a lot more than he did. An upsetting revelation, it was.

When he entered the study, he noted that his mother had the doors spelled open. Which was unusual, his mother hated getting interrupted in the middle of working.

Walburga was well into a stack of documents, a dictaquill beside her furiously scratching its parchment. He knocked once before sliding into the room.

“Mother? Could I bring Delphini out to the Manor?”

Walburga straightened up and took a second to digest what he said before a furrow settled on her forehead. “Whatever for?”

“Some sibling bonding time?” he said as a question, which proved to be a mistake on his part. He wished for his mother to not have noticed, but his hopes were shot when he noticed her narrow eyes, urging him to tell the truth. “I want to teach her how to fly.”

Walburga gave him a stern look. “She's six.”

“Almost seven.”

“Not for another five months.”

“And? You have had me flying since I was a toddler.” An exaggeration on his part, but wasn't that far out of reach. He and his brother were raised with a broomstick in hand, making use of their sylph frames like his mother had once done.

“She hasn't been in the Manor since she was healed.”

“That would be great for her then,” he offered. He sighed when his mother's expression was unmoved. “For most of the year, she's either here or in the Black Villa. We have so much land to our name. Lands with wards strong enough to survive large attacks. She will be fine.”

Walburga's gaze was still wary. It would take a lot to change her mind but Regulus was one of the few people who knew what got her to that point. However, he also knew that she never wanted to diminish their lives to little more than house arrest. She was just a protective mother.

“I promise to keep her safe. Nothing would hurt her there. And! Some sunlight will do her good, Mum,” he said. Walburga stared at him, fully knowing he had something more to say.  “ AndIgotherabroomtomatchmine .”

Walburga let out a deep breath as she shook her head lightly. Once, as a kid, he would have been scared of such an expression, but after growing up, he knew better. The gaze was nothing to be terrified of, it was fondness that filled her eyes. “Which broom?”

“The Comet 260.”

“ No, ” she said with a stern shake of her head. “Find something slower.”

It may seem improper for such a gesture, but he simply shrugged. Regulus never kept his old brooms aside from his first, choosing to give them to the school for the students to use, but his childhood training broom was not in a position to be used in any capacity. Especially if Delphini's safety was in mind. “I don't have any other brooms for her to use,” he pointed out as he moved to the back of an armchair, leaning over it. “I could get her a training one but it would take time for it to arrive.”

“Then do it another day.”

“But it's such a great day today, Mum. She'd love to spend the day out.”

Walburga's jaw tightened. Regulus could tell that she was close to crack. “ Fine, I have a Shooting Star in the Manor. Just ask Kyra to grab it from storage.” 

Regulus almost grumbled at the mention of the house-elf. She was inherited from one of their French vassal houses and liked to discipline him while shouting in French whenever she had the chance. She makes him wish he never learned the language. 

“She can use the Comet 260 when she's better,” Walburga continued.

“The Shooting Star? That's not an easily controllable broomstick at all.”

“Treat it like it is,” she said as if it was the simplest skill in the world. “The control needed for it would do well for her other magical pursuits.”

“Not everything has to be a lesson, Mother,” he rebutted. “I wanted this excursion to be fun for her.”

“I am pretty sure she'll find all of this enjoyable. She hasn't been exposed to Quidditch yet.”

“ Mother, ” he stressed. 

“ Fine .” Walburga sighed, running her hand down her face. “She can have a couple of laps with the Comet, but only after you taught her how to handle a broom. You understand?”

“Of course, mum.” A grin grew on his face. It had been years since he flew, and the Manor would be the perfect place to get back to it. Delphini would, for sure, love the new kind of magic he could teach her. He was excited. “She'd love it.”

“She would,” she agreed. “Just stay safe. Okay? Look for me when you arrive.”

“I'll keep her safe, don't worry–”

“And you?” Walburga interrupted. Silence met her words. She slowly stood up and made her way to him. She cupped his face gently and with a small smile said, “You are my beautiful son that I wouldn't trade the world for… I would need you to stay safe.”

He cupped her hand that hid his face and kissed the back of her hand. “You will have all of us back. Safe and sound. Don't worry.”

“It's impossible not to,” she whispered. “I am a mother. It is inevitable.”*

~ o ~

The Black Manor, France

1987

The wind was soft, its gentle caress ruffling her hair as Regulus quickly threaded her hair together in a poor excuse of a plait, his fingers trembling as he did so. It took a couple of moments before Delphini could tell he was nearly done as he now grunted at the knot at the end of her tail. 

Delphini pouted, she knew for certain that the ribbon was ruined. She would simply have to ask him to get her another one in the future.

“That should do it,” Regulus said, dusting off his hands as he marvelled at his work. “Not my best work but it will have to do.”

“I don't understand why it took you so long when you have your own mane of hair to work with every day,” she said, her arms folded. She was still a bit cross with him. The whole journey, he refused to elaborate on how exactly he would teach her how to fly with a tool she had seen Kreacher use to clean their home with. 

Regulus even had her change into trousers. It was cruel of him. She needed him to start explaining things to her soon. She was in no capacity to be patient at the moment. 

The two were in the field by the Black Manor. The magic of the estate crept up to greet her when they arrived, and her own magic was at ease with it, familiar with how it coiled around her. She does not know if she had ever been to the place before and must have forgotten it, seeing how the magic interacted with her. She would have to ask her mother when she could. 

If they would ever recover from their argument. 

The idea made her pout, and a familiar prickling started at the back of her eyes. Delphini held the stick with an iron grip, her mind washing over all the ways her mother could say to disown her. She desperately wanted nothing of the sort. She was happy. Her family made her happy, and she does not know what to do without them.

Her distraught must have been splayed on her face as Regulus appeared before her, kneeling on the grass, his hands holding hers gently. “What’s on your mind, little Black?”

Delphini’s honest nature was always one of the traits she wished she could fix. Just like now, where she wished nothing more than to keep everything to herself. “Do you love me? Would you ever leave me? I don’t want to be alone, Reggie. I don’t think I can handle it!” she blurted out, blubbering her words under the tears that resurfaced.

Regulus, eyes wide, immediately pulled her into an embrace. “Where is this coming from, Del? Did someone say something?”

“Just… answer me,” she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “ Please. ”

“I’ll never leave you,” he whispered as she pulled back from his embrace. He wiped her tears away. “And I love you. That will never change.”

“Even with my blood being the way that it is?” she whispered. Desperation leaking into every word. “I know about Blood Purity, Reggie. I learned about the ‘War of Wiccan Blood’ a while ago. I know who my father was and that you stood with him–”

“Stood. Past tense, Del. Realisation dawned on me far too late and the family paid the price for it,” he interrupted. “Your blood means nothing to me. You are a Black and you will always be a Black. Your father being who he is means nothing to me.”

“Even if I am a halfblood?”

He shook his head again, softly. “Blood means nothing when it comes to magic. Trust me when I say that the three strongest wizards in recent history were all halfbloods.” 

Delphini just watched him with wide eyes, still sniffling.

“Albus Dumbledore, our Supreme Mugwump, was the vanquisher of Gellert Grindelwald,” the way he said it made a part of Delphini feel irritated. There’s a history there she knows nothing of. “Lord Voldemort, the strongest dark wizard that ever lived. And Harry Potter, who vanquished the Dark Lord at the young age of one. Blood has nothing to do with it.” 

“But… Toujours Pur?”

Regulus let out a chuckle at that. “Ask Lord Arcturus about what it truly means.”

“Then what makes us so special?”

“We are Blacks,” he said as if that alone was an adept explanation.”We are no normal wizards. We are of the stars.”

The image of the tapestry at home came to mind. Her mind's eye focused on the branch that led to one of her cousins from the scorched cloth, her wild brown curls peeking under the soot. “Then what about Nymphadora? Isn’t she a Black? Why am I here but she isn’t?”

It took him a while to reply, his head tilted to the side with a sad look in his eyes. “Our… family changed a lot with Arcturus receiving his Lordship. I could not confidently answer why she isn’t here with us when you’re with us now.”

“I want to meet her. And Narcissa’s son. I want to meet my cousins,” she confessed. 

“Then wish for it. Each Black gets a wish on their debut in the Black Rite. Ask for it then and no one could deny you.”

Black Rite? she thought as she tilted her head. She had never heard of it before, but she could ask Arcturus when they meet next. She nodded. Asking to meet her cousins would be amazing. She heard that Nymphadora was a Metamorphmagus, and that Draco was a great flyer, which she still doesn’t understand what that meant. Delphini was so excited to meet them. 

Visibly a lot brighter, she beamed at Regulus. “Okay.”

Regulus was visibly relieved, his shoulders slumping as he stood up. “Good. Now, let’s learn how to fly.” He summoned the brooms closer and settled one by her feet.

 It was a different one from what he showed her earlier in the cupboard. This was visibly aged, its twigs a lot more dull than the excellent polish the other one had. She raised her eyebrow at Regulus who immediately caught on to her confusion. “Our mother said you can’t practise with the new broom yet. It would be too fast for you, and would be dangerous for a first-timer.” He gestured at the broom. “She offered her old Shooting Star for you to learn with.”

A part of her felt warm at the mention of their mum still caring for her, even if it was just for her safety. “Understandable,” she agreed as she glanced back down at the broom. “What do I do?”

“Stick out your right hand over your broom,” he said as he demonstrated the stance for her to mirror before continuing, “and say ‘ Up !’”

As soon as her hand hovered over the broom, it immediately jumped into her hand. “...Up?”

When she glanced up at Regulus, a question in her eyes, she saw the twinkle in his. He started hopping lightly, his hand on his broom, excited. This was a side she had never seen from Regulus, and she found it adorable, even if the man was almost twenty years her senior. “That’s a good sign. Now, here is how to mount it without falling off the end.”

After fixing her grip, he taught her how to kick off, only letting go of the broom when she hovered stable, a bright smile on his face. “You’re a natural at this, Del. We’ll make a seeker out of you.”

She preened at the praise. “Whatever that means.”

He chuckled. “They’re known for speed and having an eye for a golden ball in a field of chaos. Quidditch is a game where three different battles are being fought. There are the Chasers, who score points through tossing a ball, the quaffle, into hoops that are protected by a Keeper. Then there are the Beaters who play with the bludger, a large ball enchanted to knock players off their broom, they have a bat to protect their own or to aim it at another player–”

“And people find it fun?” 

“It is when you can use it to your advantage,” Regulus said with mischief in his eyes. “Then, of course, there are the Seekers. While the two battles occur below them, most Seekers play above them, their eyes on the hunt for the golden snitch. The game ends when it's caught, the team’s seeker who catches it earns one hundred and fifty points, almost always guaranteeing a win,” he enthused. His gaze was hazy as it seemed that he was reminiscing another memory. “It is the most coveted position despite the qualifications in place for it.”

“What position did you play?”

“The seeker, of course.” Regulus clapped his hands together. “Now, before your head gets any ideas about Quidditch, you need to learn how to actually fly.

“Control of your broom is the biggest factor in flying. To go forward, you lean forward, your body hugging closer to the broom. To stop, you have to abruptly pull up the front of your broom– yes , just like that– then to steer around, you need to steer the top of your broom followed by a lean to the side,” Regulus said, nodding when she followed his instruction. “Trust your broom. It won’t let you fall unless you wish it to.”

“But what if I do?”

“I’m here to catch you,” he said, smiling. “You’ll be fine. The air up there is much better. Trust me.”

As soon as he was satisfied with how she handled the broom, he mounted his broom, and kicked hard against the ground, up he soared. Following his lead, she soared higher into the air, a giggle escaping her as exhilaration started pumping through her. He did a couple loops in the air which Delphini didn’t mirror, choosing to focus on keeping on his trail.

It was hard to fathom that the man in front of her was well past his minority when he was shrieking in delight making loops in the air. However, she couldn’t complain. It was nice to see him this way compared to his ‘proper’ persona that he upheld in front of the rest of the family.

Out of nowhere, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Whipping her head to look at Regulus, her mouth dropped open in shock at this mischievous grin. “ Tag, You’re it.” Without warning, he dashed away. 

With how little experience she had on the broom, the competitive part of her won over her rationality. With a matching grin and a readjusted grip, she shot toward Regulus like an arrow. 

After a while, he started speeding and halting at various intervals. Delpini, who was hot on his trail, was mirroring every movement. It was when he did continuous loops that she chose to simply hover, waiting for him to get his adrenaline out. “I can’t do that yet! I just started!”

“Try!”

“You must be joking!”

“Trust your broom! I’ll catch you when you fall!”

“When? When?! Why do you make it sound like it's inevitable?”

He didn’t respond as he flew away, leaving laughter in his wake. He started doing spirals as he shot forward, which for Delphini, looked a lot easier than the big loops. She turned to him and followed his trail again, leaning forward, and tucking herself to the broom, holding on for dear life as she tilted to the right, letting her body weight initiate the spiral. 

With her heartbeat in her ears, and her robes whipped out behind her, she and her broom easily gained speed as they spiralled to where Regulus hovered. She grinned, a mischievous plan on her mind as she overshot, choosing to settle above him before promptly mirroring the moves he made earlier.

Delphini made a large loop, amidst Regulus’ shouts of encouragement, and by the precipice of the loop, she let go of the broom, and let herself fall. 

“ DELPHINI! ”

~ o ~

Grimmauld Place, London

1987

After Regulus and Delphini left, Druella slipped into the study. 

“I heard that you have upset Delphini,” she said, skipping all the pleasantries as she took a seat. “What happened?”

“I promise it wasn’t on purpose…”

“Of course not,” she said, nodding slowly, unbelieving.

She narrowed her eyes at the blonde witch. “If it was anything, I was unnecessarily honest.”

“What did you say?”

Walburga sighed. “She asked for advanced lessons, mentioning how bored she was from her current teachers,” she said, pausing before continuing, “Severus even called them incompetent . As if they aren’t the top tutors we could hire for her age group.”

Druella frowned, tilting her head to the side. “I don’t understand. Why can’t we simply hire tutors for the year above her? If she knows all she can at this level, just give her advanced lessons.”

Walburga shook her head. “She’s already studying lessons meant for nine-year-olds when she’s merely six. ”

“Then give her one meant for ten-year-olds? I do not see the problem here.”

Another shake to her head. “I can't. Too much magic.”

“ Too much magic? ” Druella scoffed. “Whatever do you mean by that? There is no such thing as too much magic.”

Walburga gave her a look, countless names appearing in her mind of cases where Blacks had too much magic. Their fates were sealed when their greed triumphed over their rationality. “You know that's not true. My family is the perfect example of it.”

Understanding dawned on Druella’s eyes, but the stubborn set of her eyebrows stayed. “I don't think she'll have the curse, Wal. It's not as common as it once was.” 

“ But it's still there ,” Walburga emphasised. “I need to control the amount of magic she's introduced to. She'll know the basics and that's it–”

“If you do that, what makes you think you won't accidentally cause her to have an obscurial?”

“What would you like me to do? Too much magic might develop the curse. Too little magic to the point she resents it and she could form an obscurus. Where is the middle point!” Walburga erupted, losing the indifferent mask she kept for company. 

“Control. It is what made sure Tom Riddle Jr held on to his magic. I do not believe Slytherin Magic to be an accommodating sort.”

Walburga stilled. She had shown Druella the memory of how she met Delphini, but nothing more. Nevertheless, there should not be anything that would point to Delphini being His daughter too. “How did you find out?” she whispered.

“Do you take me as a fool?”

Walburga bowed her head in apology. “You know I do not. It is just that Arcturus and I made sure to keep everything under wraps. The tutors brought in had to have their magic sworn to even glance at her. To the outside world, Delphini does not exist.”

“I see…” Druella said, moving to stand up. “Just… talk to her? I promise it would be good for the both of you.”

Walburga nodded. “Of course. I will talk to her as soon as she comes back from flying.”

“Flying… I remember when you used to be addicted to it.”

“It was freeing.”

“I know,” she said, giving Walburga a small smile. 

Before she could leave the room, Walburga called out. “Dru, wait!” As soon as she got the blonde’s attention, she asked, “How did you know? About Delphini’s father?”

“Oh, she talked to a snake the first time we met.”

Of course she did, Walburga thought. That’s my girl.

~ o ~

The Black Manor, France

1987

Regulus Black remembered the first time he had met the young girl: it was when she had barely turned two. He had barely been home for thirty minutes before Delphini thought it was time for them to meet.

——— o ———

“Who are you?” Delphini asked as she pushed the door of his room open. “I don't know you but the magic of the house likes you… so you must be a Black then?”

Regulus stilled, his wand in the air as he levitated items out of his bag. His eyebrows furrowed, his mother was the only other person who lived in Grimmauld Place, aside from Kreacher, and she was already spelled infertile. Surely, he would have known if someone in his family was pregnant. Any pregnancy became an event for celebration.

Of course, the child may not be a Black’s, but she looked just like them with her grey eyes, fair complexion, and midnight-black hair.

“I'm… Regulus Black,” he answered, still confused about the child in his room. He had half a mind to call for Kreacher. “Are you… are you lost?”

“No. I'm Delphini, nice to meet you,” she said in a manner that was masked to sound older. To Regulus, the girl seemed odd but familiar. 

Regulus looked behind her, hoping to find someone who could possibly explain to him what was going on. “Are you meant to be in here?”

“Maybe not,” she said with a shrug. “Mother doesn't like me coming to this floor. She says it's for her sons only.”

Is the mother she's pertaining to… my mother?

Regulus called for Kreacher, and with how familiar the house-elf was with the girl, his suspicions were confirmed. After sending the girl to sleep, he had Kreacher explain everything to him. 

“Now, Kreacher,” Regulus looked down at his long-time friend, an eyebrow raised. “Which Black sired a child in the years I was gone?”

——— o ———

It was a memory that flashed through his mind as he watched his sister plummet to the ground.

~ o ~

Grimmauld Place, London

1987

Walburga wondered if Sirius ever thought of home.

Then again, would he even consider Grimmauld Place his home? She’s afraid of the answer. It was easier to live in denial than to know the truth. No matter what people around her told her, she did not believe them. Sirius will have to tell it to her upfront for her to believe it, but for that to happen, Sirius would have to come out of hiding and meet her. 

A part of Walburga knew that despite his actions, seeing her in person would not go down well. For as much hatred Sirius had in his heart for Walburga, she knew that he still had a certain amount of affection for her, despite all that had been said and done between them. He could not escape her. Hatred was never the opposite of Love, for that position was held by Indifference. A trait Sirius could never uphold in her presence.

She missed him, dearly. 

Even if the last year before he left was one of the worst times in her life, she doesn’t know what she wouldn’t sacrifice to have him back. He was still her brightest star. 

It was when ‘ Mum ’ turned to ‘ Madam ’ that Walburga knew she was losing her son. 

He was eleven, back then.

Over a decade had passed since he left but memories of him would forever be embedded into their walls. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

At that moment, she paused in front of his room. Every other week, Kreacher was tasked to let the draft go through his room but to never clean it. It was still his room, she could never touch it. No matter their past, she would always be her son. He would always have a home with her. 

It was only when something wet fell on her hand did she realise she was crying. It’s been a while since she last allowed herself to. However… after what transpired between her and Delphini, and seeing her son’s room, she couldn’t stop her tears from falling.

She was failing what she promised was her last shot at motherhood: she failed Delphini. 

Walburga had never argued with her daughter before. They both understood that they were both trying their best, even if their best was lacking. Walburga felt like her best was not enough. Her mind started to run, her doubts festering as her tears clouded her vision. Maybe… I wasn’t meant to be a mother. What if I just corrupt every child that goes through my hands? What if–?

“Wally?” Druella’s soft voice called out, peering in from the doorway. “What are you doing here… oh…” her voice trailed off as she registered whose room they were in.

Walburga quickly wiped off her tears. “You didn’t see anything.”

“Of course, I haven’t,” she said, reaching forward to take Walburga’s hand. “Walk with me?”

Walburga slowly nodded, getting to her feet. “Sure.”

If Druella noticed the croaky nature of Walburga’s voice, she did not mention it. 

~ o ~

The Black Manor, France

1987

Falling, she started to realise, was the most freeing feeling she had ever experienced. 

Delphini had never felt as close to the stars as she did at that moment, the feeling of weightlessness encompassing the fear she should be feeling. The wind whistled in her ears, the air rushing through her clothes as gravity tried to claim her, was a whole new experience. Plummeting several hundred feet, from the beautifully clear sky towards the green field beneath them was… liberating.

It was wonderful.

Delphini would keep this memory close to her for the rest of time. There was beauty in it all, the sun, the clouds that rushed away from her, and the cry of wind around her. She loved every second of it.

Suddenly, with a harsh tug, her elbow was in an iron grip, and she found herself dangling instead of falling. A small part of her was sad at the loss of the freeing feeling, but seeing the stress on Regulus’ face made her laugh. His eyebrows furrowed further as he swayed in place, he and his broom tilted to accommodate her weight. “Do you have a death wish!”

Delphini laughed in response, letting Regulus swoop down to get leverage before tugging her swiftly, manoeuvring them until she landed on the broom he was on. He was further back on the broom than he had taught her. Making space for her. “That is so Gryffindor of you!” he scolded, his arm tucking her closer to him as he dived forward, heading for the ground. “What were you thinking!”

She shrugged, a large smile on her face as she leaned against him. “You said you’d catch me.”

“That didn’t mean you should test it!”

“I just trusted you,” she said. “Don’t worry. Reggie. I won’t do it again unless you’re near.”

“You shouldn’t do it regardless,” he corrected as they landed on the ground. 

Delphini hopped off the broom, her hand already summoning for the Shooting Star who was on the field nearby. It soared to greet her. “But if I did, you would always catch me, right?”

Regulus had a soft look in his eyes as he ruffled her hair affectionately. “Always.”

~ o ~

Grimmauld Place, London

1987

It was well into the night when Walburga bumped into her daughter. The small girl had a cup of milk in one hand and a biscuit in the other. The two stared at each other for a while before any of them spoke.

It was Walburga who reached out first, her voice tentative as she said, “Good night, Delphini. Rest well.”

She turned to leave but was stopped almost immediately. “...Mama?” Delphini’s soft voice called out. “Would you like to have tea with me?”

Walburga smiled and nodded. Receiving the olive branch wholeheartedly. “Of course, I would. Lead the way.”

A hesitant hand reached for hers. Walburga clasped on tight.

They didn’t speak much as they made their way to the room, only their joined hands provided any comfort over the awaiting discussion.

As soon as they entered the room, they were greeted by a complete set for tea. Kreacher must have immediately prepared a room for them. The house elf was excellent at reading what they wished for.

The two settled down, quietly serving each other before drinking their tea in silence. Walburga turned slowly, her heart heavy with regret, as she watched her daughter from across the table, noting her fleeting glances, before letting out a long breath. You can do this, Walburga. Apologising shouldn’t be too hard, she thought. 

“Delphini,” she began, her voice softer than usual, as if the words were unfamiliar on her tongue. “I… I need to talk to you.”

Delphini’s eyes flickered with hurt. She didn’t respond, just continued to stare at her cup.

Taking a deep breath, Walburga forced herself to continue. “I know I haven’t been the mother you deserve. I’ve been distant, cold… I’ve made you feel sad, and for that, I am truly sorry.” Walburga reached forward, searching for a spark of understanding in her daughter’s expression. “I’ve been caught up in my own world, in my own struggles, and I forgot how to connect with you. It was never my intention to push you away.”

The silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable. Walburga felt her chest tighten, the memory of their argument flooding her mind. 

“I realise now that the way I have spoken has hurt you,” she continued, her voice trembling slightly. “I’ve neglected the most important relationship in my life. I’ve lost sight of what really matters.” 

Delphini finally looked up, her eyes glistening. “You didn’t have to lie to me,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “You know how I hate lying.”

“I know,” Walburga admitted, her heart aching at the truth of her daughter’s words. “I was so wrapped up in my own issues that I didn’t see yours. And I hate myself for that. You deserved better.” She reached for Delphini’s hand, catching her eye. “I’m here now, and I want to do better. I want to rebuild what I’ve broken. Can you give me that chance?” 

Delphini studied her mother’s face before nodding slowly. “I just… I need you to stop lying,” she said finally, her voice steadier. “I need to know you trust me.”

“I promise I do,” Walburga said, her voice firm now, a new resolve taking root. “Now… this is no excuse, Delphini. But I was speaking the truth. Sometimes too much magic is terrifying. One day, I will tell you everything about what that entails. I promise . Just… give me time to prepare. I am willing to put in the work to fix my mistake, Delphini, because you are worth it.”

As they locked eyes, a small smile spread on Delphini’s face. Standing up, Delphi ran to her mother’s side and threw her arms around her neck. “Good.”

Walburga laughed, wrapping her arms around her daughter before saying, “Now… tell me how was your day.”

With excitement in her eyes, Delphi, as she usually does, started prattling about her day.

~ o ~

I should be happy, Regulus thought, trying to convince himself as he ran his fingers over his clean left arm. No Dark Mark marred his skin, he was free. His relationship with his mother was the best it's ever been, he had the opportunity to travel the world with no fear of the Dark Lord, and he had a family that supported him. 

Regulus should be happy.

Yet, he couldn't find it in himself to be happy despite it all. Not when someone had to die for him to be free. Not when he could only leave his home in disguise. Not when, after all this time, his brother still hadn't returned to him.

The events from earlier were a harsh reminder of who he lost. A big part of him wished he could have bonded with Sirius about Quidditch, but he lost his brother as soon as ‘ Gryffindor ’ left the Sorting Hat's mouth. Never mind that they learned to fly together, that the only person who could truly know what each other went through as a Black was each other, that they were brothers.  

Sirius had forgotten it all. 

Most importantly, Sirius had forgotten him. 

Regulus thought that he could forget Sirius, like how he was forgotten by him time and time again. However, he knew that no matter how he tried, Sirius would always be part of him. Even if Sirius barely acknowledged his existence the older they became, he was one of the people who influenced who he became. Not the Death Eater Regulus, but the Regulus that defied the Dark Lord from right under his nose.

Regulus was ready to die that night. When he found out that the object the Dark Lord almost killed Kreacher to hide was a Horcrux , his life was void. He had a Soul shard of the darkest wizard alive, He would not have been happy to know that it was discovered.

So, he did what he knew would save him. Regulus ran to his mother for help. 

Walburga… was a complicated person. Loving her was easy, that was his mother, but liking her was hard. It was only when Kreacher slipped, mentioning the graves of his siblings, did he start to understand Walburga. It took a while, but he never stopped. It was apparent to him how their family had failed her over and over again. If he could give her any sense of safety with his presence, he was sure to grant it to her. 

Nevertheless, the one thing he could rely on for the rest of his life was the love she had for him. Even if Sirius left the family and broke their mother's heart, he knew that if he ever chose to come back, Walburga would defend him from whatever the House of Black would demand as a consequence of his defiance.

However, he wondered if that was even necessary. The House of Black was changing, and he knew that Delphini wasn't the starting point of the changes within the family, but she unintentionally became the focal point. She became the physical representation of the changes that were happening.

It was cruel to put that amount of expectation on the child but she handled it in stride. Regulus made it his goal that she could enjoy the life she had.

Regulus tried his hardest to cover up the gap in his chest with his newest sister, but he wasn't fooling anyone. No matter how much he loved Delphini, it was different from the love he'd always have for Sirius.

Delphini was a curious child and loved freely. She was reckless, arrogant, intelligent, but still absolutely brilliant.

He wondered if she and Sirius would have gotten along, they were so similar to the point that they might clash. He couldn't be sure, he hadn't heard from his brother for more than a decade. 

Nonetheless, he had trust in Delphini's ability to charm everyone around her. She had the leader of the most influential wizarding family wrapped around her finger. It would not surprise him if she–

“Are the roof tiles particularly comfy?” Delphini asked as she peeked out of the window, watching him as he laid on the roof outside his bedroom window, the night sky in perfect view. 

Speak of the devil and they should appear.

“No. Why do you ask?”

She folded her arms over the windowsill, leaning over it as she glanced down. “You've been sitting there every night you’re home. I would assume that the roof must be a nice place to sit on, then.”

“I'm not here for the roof. I'm here for the stars,” he whispered, loud enough for her to still hear.

“I see… I'm joining you,” she declared.

Regulus flinched, his hands out to stop her ascent. “Wait, it isn't safe.”

“You're here, I'll be perfectly fine,” Delphi said, waving her hand dismissively. “Now, will you offer me your hand or will you let me fall?”

Regulus sighed and reached out his hand to stabilise her as she settled beside him. It was futile to deny her, as he had come to learn. As soon as she was beside him, she leaned back on her hands, staring up at the sky. 

“Tell me about your favourite one,” she asked after a while. 

“Favourite one?”

“A star, a constellation, maybe even your favourite planet if you wished.”

“Altair: it's the–”

“Your favourite one, Reggie,” she interrupted, glancing at him briefly. “I know that isn't the one.”

He sighed, reaching over to ruffle her hair with a smile as she curled to rest on his lap. “Am I that obvious?”

“To the people who love you, yes,” she confirmed. “Now tell me about the Sirius star. Uncle Arcy won't speak of it.”

A reminiscent smile grew on his face. “The Sirius star, also known as the Dog star.” 

“Point me to it?”

“There,” he whispered, pointing it out to her. She smiled, tracing the constellation it was in. “In almost every depiction of Sirius, it was known as the brightest star in our sky. In Ancient Greek, it meant ‘ glowing ’ or ‘ scorcher ’. And in their myth, as Orion’s dog,” his voice trailed off harsh, anger evident in his voice. It took Delphi reaching over to hold his hand for him to continue. “One depiction I liked the most was the Scandinavian name: Lokabrenna, Loki’s torch. A nod to the Norse trickster god. Much like he was…”

“Sounds like he is brilliant,” she whispered. 

“He was,” he said simply. 

After a bout of silence, Delphi whispered, “I'm sorry I couldn't be him for you.” 

Regulus shook his head, a small smile on his face. Leave it to Delphini to worry about things she does not need to. “ You don't have to worry about that, Del. I love you as you are.”

“But Sirius–”

“Sirius chose his path,” he emphasised. “Even if it had hurt me in the past, I will always love him. That's just what family is, Del. There is space for him in my heart just as much as there is space for you. Love is not finite, even if love hurts.”

“Would you feel the same if I was sorted in a different House?”

Regulus had a sad smile as he ran his fingers through her hair. Sirius’ sorting never made Regulus hate him, even if it felt like Sirius’ love for Regulus left when he was sorted. “Of course, I would. Hogwarts House doesn’t mean anything to me. It doesn’t change who you are.”

“Good,” she quipped. “Slytherin fits, though.”

He shook his head, letting out a laugh. “It does.”

~ o ~

In the middle of the night, Walburga woke to a sudden warmth on her chest. 

The middle-most gemstone had started to glow red, the light pulsating. It was the first time it had done that and a foreboding feeling settled into Walburga. Nothing good could come from it, surely. Quickly summoning her robe, she held onto the glowing jewel and let it portkey her away. 

As soon as she landed, she realised that she was in Arcturus’ study in France, the room dimly lit by the Floo fireplace in the corner. She was the only visitor, the only other soul in the room was Lord Arcturus who didn’t acknowledge her arrival as he sat by his desk.

The man in question had his head in his hands. Without invitation, she took her seat in one of the armchairs as she waited for Arcturus to bring up the reason he summoned her. 

A couple of minutes passed before he looked up, his eyes were sunken, and the corner of his lips turned downwards. When his eyes settled on her, he hung his head and took a deep breath. “How honest would you like me to be?”

“As honest as you want.”

“Your father…” Walburga stilled at the mention, her breath hitching as her back straightened as if it was an instinct at the mention of him. His grey eyes turned to her as he continued. “He has passed.”

Walburga glanced at him. “I am sorry for your loss, my Lord. Despite everything, he was your cousin,” she said, offering her condolences. “How are you feeling?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that, Walburga? He was your father.”

She shook her head. “I stopped being his daughter long ago,” she said truthfully. She had mourned over him a long time ago. “In my home, he won’t be missed.”

Arcturus nodded slowly, sinking into his seat as he said, “I understand.”

Walburga had nothing to add. She bowed her head, the man was visibly still digesting the information and all she could do for him now was grant him a moment to mourn. 

It took him a while, but Acturus finally said, “I desire to hear good news. How is Delphini?”

She smiled. “She just learned how to ride a broom.” Her earlier conversation with her daughter resurfaced. A promise she made. “Actually… Arcturus. I have something to suggest.”

“Go ahead.”

“I think Delphini is ready for her debut.”

Chapter Text

Grimmauld Place, London

1987

“Mama?” 

Delphini slowly entered the study, her eyes flitting between the inhabitants of the room; Orion, who she barely knew but had heard horror stories about; Lord Arcturus, who sat behind the desk in a stature fitting for a king with his mane of now silver hair shining in the candlelight before settling her eyes on her mother; Walburga, who was standing regally by the side of the desk. 

The young girl closed the door behind her, her body rigid from how anticipatory their glances were. “You asked for me?”

Walburga nodded, offering her a small smile before she gestured to the armchair by the desk. “Take a seat, Delphini. We have to talk to you about something.”

“Why is he here?” she asked, frowning as she glanced at Orion. Her mother had, more than once, flinched or stilled unnaturally at the mention of this name, and Regulus would do his best to avoid situations with Orion involved. Those alone spoke volumes of what kind of character the Black was. Delphini took a seat.

“I'm still a Black, you insolent child–”

“Oh, do us a favour and keep your mouth shut, Orion. You'll attract flies,” Arcturus interrupted, rolling his eyes at his behaviour. “Now, Delphini. I needed to talk to you about something important.” 

Walburga moved to stand beside her, her hand settling on Delphini's shoulder, offering a sense of comfort. “You need not worry, it's nothing bad. Knowing you, you'll love what we have to say.”

Delphi slowly nodded, her trust in her mother and Arcturus far greater than any fear she could fathom. “Okay, then,” she agreed as she folded her hands together on her lap.

Lord Arcturus leaned back into the chair as he asked, “Have you heard of the Black Rite?”

At the question and Delphini's lack of reaction, Walburga's eyebrows raised. Delphini was never told about it by her and her mother must have expected that she'd ask her about it if she had heard of it. Delphini gave her a small smile. “Just a bit. Regulus mentioned that I can have wishes when I debut.”

“That's right. Have you thought of what you wanted?” Arcturus nodded, a flash of amusement in his eyes.

“Yes, I have.”

“Good. But that is not the most important aspect of the Black Rite. However, do not worry, we will reconvene to your wish later,” he said, a soft look in his eyes as Delphini nodded agreeably. “Orion, if you could?”

Orion, who looked like he would rather be anywhere else, nodded and brought out a large book. “The Black Rite happens every time a new Black debuts to our family magic. They get to choose between two magics: the Ater and the Ignis . This happens only on Samhain,” he emphasised as the book opened to show the Sabbatical days. “There is a ritual that you would have to go through to prepare your mind and body to accept the new magic. Every Black has a specific sequence that would be decided by your witness.”

“Witness–?”

Orion interrupted her, uncaring for her confusion. “However, if you were to participate in the Black Rite, it is only right to have it quickly followed by your debut to society. A lot of people would question the House of Black if they saw you during Samhain with no explanation as to who you are.”

Arcturus turned to Delphini. “Sadly, that is true. The wizarding society's gossip mill is ever-turning. If you were to go through the Black Rite, you would have to be introduced as well.”

“Do you think you are ready for your debut, Delphini? If you aren't, we can always push to the next Samhain,” Walburga brought up, her hands busy fixing the ribbons in Delphini's hair. “No one is forcing you to do this.”

“Why not tell her why she should this year?”

“Orion…”

“Walburga, let him. There is no reason to keep things from her.”

“Thank you, Father.”

Walburga looked like she wanted to disagree but Delphini took her hand in both of her's. “Don't worry, mama. I can handle it.”

The look on Orion's face was almost proud of her response. “Child, this year's Samhain will bleed into your seventh birthday on the 1st of November. With how important the cyclical day is to the House of Black, and the magical significance of the number seven, this year's Samhain is fated–”

“ Feels fated,” Walburga corrected. 

Orion gave her a deadpan look. “I don't understand how you don't see it, Walburga. Every sign points to how exemplary her debut would be. Imagine the potency of magic that she could inherit–!”

“You would need to choose your witness for the event, Delphini,” Arcturus interrupted. “Someone from our family that would direct your proceedings.”

She quickly glanced at Walburga with a smile, completely missing the small shake of her head. “I want my mama.”

“I apologise, my dear child. But the magic has astral ties. Walburga is not named after the sky and could not be able to help you in regards to your debut.” Once he said this, she could feel Walburga's breath hitch and a smug smile settled on Orion's face. Delphini wondered how fast it would drop if she hexed his mouth off.

“Then how did you do yours, mama?” Delphini wondered as she glanced up at her.

Walburga offered her a soft smile and a small shake of her head. “A story for later, my little star.”

Arcturus continued, “Unfortunately, that would also take Narcissa and Druella out of the running to be your witness for the Black Rite.” 

She frowned. She did not know a lot of her relatives and half of them were already not allowed. “How about you? Surely, you could, given that you're named after a star?”

Arcturus, with an apologetic but soft look on his face, shook his head. “I'm the standing Lord Black of the family, I have to be the one officiating the Black Rite. Your witness has to be a Black separate from me.”

Orion was almost preening in the corner, a satisfied gaze in his eyes. He must know that there were not a lot of options for Delphini, but what he didn't know was how close his own son was with her.

“Reggie, then,” she said, revelling in the twitch that blessed Orion's eye, the corner of his lips now downturned. His displeasure brought a smile to her face. 

The dictaquill beside Arcturus started moving once he nodded. “That would be great. I'll meet with him soon to go over everything needed for the event.”

“Is there anything left to discuss, Arcturus? It's getting late for Delphini,” Walburga asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing else. If anything comes up, I will call for you. But for now, you could leave us. Orion and I will just go over the House's decisions for the upcoming Wizengamot meeting.”

“Understood.”

~ o ~

The Black Keep, France

1987

The flutter of nerves that came with the dawn of the new day was all-consuming.

It was all she felt when she was moved throughout the day. When Kreacher bathed her, when an eerily familiar but unknown woman dressed her, and when Regulus directed her through the process, all she could depend on was the muted voices and her heartbeat echoing in her ears. 

Delphini had figured out that the Black family traditions were well-guarded secrets that even other Blacks did not know of in their entirety. From their trusting but curious eyes, as they watched the ritual form around her person, she could tell that they were fascinated with it. She was no different, so she moved wherever they bade her. Delphini tried to keep her nerves to herself, finding comfort in the little she was familiar with.

All the faces were familiar, everything else was not. 

Kreacher, in all his familiar, wrinkly skin, had a proud but curious gaze in his eyes as he caked her in grey ashes before rinsing her in a mixture of oils she could not name. She tried her best to not cry out her discomfort, no matter how itchy it all felt. The bottom of her stomach was warm and woven into knots, no matter how many remedies she had used to try and extinguish the feeling, the feeling was persistent.

When Kreacher left, an unknown woman in a long robe entered her room, a small trunk floating behind her. The woman was someone she had never met before. She was as tall as Druella, with long, curly brown hair, and kind eyes. 

It was only when she met the curious gaze of the woman did she realise that this would be one of the Blacks she had never met before. The only telltale signs were her cold eyes and aristocratic demeanour, her hair significantly brighter than Delphini’s raven locks. 

It was fascinating, though, they had the same bone structure. 

Delphi wanted to ask her who she was, but the fluttering in her belly prohibited her from saying anything coherent. The woman noticed, however, and gave her a small smile. 

When the robed woman dressed her, she was presented with plain robes that were made of the finest material. The item was inlaid with enchantments, magic woven into every thread, but it had the plainest design she had ever seen. Yet, a cold pour of magic washed over her as she slipped it on, a comforting contrast to the ever-present warmth that pooled in her belly.

The cloth was soft against her skin as the stranger fixed the robes over her shoulders, and belted them neatly at the waist with a thick silver cuff. Unlike how she was usually dressed, all else remained bare. No jewels were placed by her wrists, her fingers, or her neck. There wasn’t a single ribbon placed anywhere on her body, even when she was sure she had packed a handful when they moved to the Black Keep for the ceremony.  

“It's time,” the woman said, her voice low and calming. 

“A-already?” she asked faintly, her hands trembling as she pushed against the left side of her chest as if she could calm the frantic beating of her heart through sheer force. 

Delphini felt nervous and terrified: there was a part of her that was certain she couldn’t do this.

She knew she had survived worse, but back then she relied on magic to keep her alive. This time, her magic could not provide the sense of security it always did. She couldn't wield it like she did before, but she still felt its presence in her core, an omnipresent being. Delphini tried to use that feeling to comfort herself; to keep her calm. 

It barely worked.

All of a sudden, the robed woman was on her knees in front of, taking her hands away from her chest, and holding them in both her hands. Her eyes were soft as she gazed at her, and some part of her was pacified at the understanding in her eyes. “You will do great, child. You are a Black. The magic will guide you if you let it.” She held Delphini's face. “Now, breathe, child. Our family magic is ready to welcome you.”

Delphini did not know what to say so she simply nodded, holding tightly to the hand she offered as the robed woman guided her to the door. With each step, the confidence that came with their name returned to her. As she reached the door, her head was held high and the stuttering in her chest had settled.

This was her family magic.

This was her family.

This was her blood.

Her birthright.

It was not simply a plain girl who stepped through the door, her gaze locked firmly ahead of her. 

It was Delphini Black, daughter of Walburga and Druella Black. It was the blood of the Stars that ran through her veins and it was time for her to meet her kin. 

Delphinus was ready to meet the rest of the night sky.

Regulus picked her up from her quarters, which she first believed was because she was unfamiliar with the Black Keep, but it was another part of the ritual. An aspect she figured out when he wouldn’t answer her questions, offering her an apologetic pat on her head as he muttered a string of spells under his breath, unable to respond to her. After they rounded the corner, Arcturus joined her other side, falling into step with Regulus while his voice joined Regulus’ in chorus. 

As soon as he did, Delphini’s head was forced to look straight, even if she tried to glance around the estate she had never seen before, magic was forcing her to look the way they intended her to. 

She tried to stretch out her magic, to get a feel of the magic surrounding them, but it wouldn’t stretch out of her like it usually did. All her magic was stuck within her and it was the first time in a long time that she felt so out of touch with it. Ever since she was under Arcturus’ tutelage, her control of magic was the one thing she could say she was the best at.

Yet now, she was not so sure. 

On the other hand, the magic that kept her from going off track felt familiar, and that was enough for her not to break. Her trust in her family’s magic was all she needed. Her head was held high, her posture straight but she could not see farther than a few steps before her, the hood covering most of her vision. The more they moved forward, the more footfalls she could hear fall into step behind her, but no one else had joined the muttering of spells.

As she walked through the Black Keep, shadow footprints were before her, her feet filling the shadows without much effort as she let the magic lead her away.

It was only when the limestone floor turned into flush grass she started to hear feminine voices join in harmony, a different string of spells sang in accompaniment to Regulus and Arcturus’. It was the first time she had ever heard spells cast that way, and it gave a weird sort of comfort, the melody was quite similar to the lullaby sung to her growing up. She wished to ask Arcturus more about it but the magic still forbade her from turning.

It was odd, though, as she hiked up the hill with her entourage, the more unsettled her magic was. The heat that was from her belly had settled on her skin, bringing a slight sheen to it. However, she could feel that they were close, her magic was craving for something she couldn't see.

Once they reached the top of the hill, she could feel the magic holding her still release her, the entourage that was once behind her had left. 

When she looked up, Delphini could see why. 

Almost as tall as her home stood an unlit pyre. Silver birch tree trunks served as logs as they leaned against each other in a cone, each trunk had symbols– runes – she corrected, burned into them. In front of the pyre was a stone bowl large enough to hold her in it (She hoped that the correlation was just pure coincidence). Surrounding the logs in a circle was a large and wide limestone platform where various hooded figures stood. 

There were far more people than she expected. Delphini had assumed that there would be less than twenty people invited to this year's Black Rite, but she was proven wrong. It would not be that far of a guess to assume there were almost a hundred witches and wizards in attendance. She wondered if this was the usual turnout to their annual retreat but the surprised look on Regulus’ face proved otherwise.

On Arcturus’ face was a different story, he looked proud. Realisation dawned on Delphini as she caught the curious eyes of the people surrounding her, but it wasn't just curiosity that filled their faces, she could see barely hidden sneers and a couple of wizards who had rolled their eyes.

She wasn't just a Black debuting to their family magic, and in turn, debuting in their society. Delphini was the first Black after a couple of decades to present themselves and was said to have been made under the union of Walburga and Druella, two women who were already spoken for.

It was impossible for them to have any other reason to dislike her. The knowledge of her blood was a well-kept secret. Even Orion, who freely showcased his disdain for her presence, had vowed against his magic to never speak of it. As did most who knew of her true parentage.

Delphini knew for certain that the knowledge of her blood would eventually come to light and she was terrified that tonight would be the night it did.

Despite the surety in the steps she took to get there, a small part of her was still nervous. Delphini knew that many aspects of the family had accepted her despite the respite coming from her mother's ex-husband and father who had passed away a couple moons ago.

However, that didn't quell the nerves she felt the entire day. This was different. This magic was far older than anything or anyone she had ever known and she didn't want to upset it. Additionally, being the first of her blood to be put under its mercy was terrifying.

If it all went well, she would debut to the rest of wizarding society on her seventh birthday the next day. If it did not, there would only be ashes left of her.

Delphini's stomach churned at the thought.

Regulus settled his hand on her gently to not frighten her and discreetly urged her forward. Even the shadow footprints she was following earlier had started to move towards the front of the pyre. As soon as she followed, his hand dropped from her shoulder and her last source of security was gone. Delphini had to hide her trembling hands behind her as she stood there alone, not wishing for the strangers to see her be nervous. She was a Black. She could do this.

She had her ‘pureblood’ mask on, showing an arrogant, haughty, bordering impolite expression on her face. One that made her believe she was above everyone else, as most Blacks were. 

Delphini stared back indifferently at the gazes that sought hers, choosing to avoid the gaze of her close family. She did not trust herself to not lose the small grip on her composure if she were to meet their eyes. The urge to run into their arms and seek comfort was far too large.

She stood still and straight as she waited. Delphini knew that Samhain started as the sun set on October 31st and would end by sunrise the next day. The time when the veil between their plane and the afterlife was the thinnest it would be all year round. She wished the ceremony would go quickly. Delphini knew that Kreacher had prepared all her favourites for her birthday the next day and she could do with the comfort his food brought her.

As soon as the sun's glow turned warmer, the orange light settled over everyone in attendance, and the pyre behind her lit up in a grand flame. The heat nearly scalding hot against her skin. It took everything in her to not turn around and marvel at the sight she knew it would be. She had a persona to uphold. 

Barely a minute had passed before movement was seen from the crowd. Her family members had turned to line up in front of her where the large stone bowl stood between them. 

It was beautiful. Amidst the glow from the pyre behind her, everyone's magic tendrils were dancing around their hooded figures in different arrays of colours. She knew she was not the only one who could see them now as a slight murmuring erupted in the audience. Delphini should have known that their magic was more potent on cyclical days, especially ones where their family's magic was more intertwined with.

In the line before her stood Walburga, followed by Druella, then Regulus, Narcissa, the robed woman from earlier, Orion, followed by faces she had never met but had known just from the family Tapestry alone. There was Lucretia Prewett, Callidora Longbottom, and even Cedrella Weasley which surprised Delphini, as she knew the witch was disowned after marrying into the Weasleys. Nevertheless, Delphini was glad to meet another Black. At the very back of the line stood Arcturus.

Each one of them held an offering for Samhain, which she had learned more about in the past few months, as they all offered it into the bowl before her. They all drew a symbol over her as they did, an incantation on their lips, each magic poured over her reminding her of a glass of cold water. 

What she did not expect was for each one of them to slice down their ring finger over the bowl, their blood dropped into it before they reached forward and slid it across her lips, the magic from their blood felt like her face homed its own pyre.

There was a reason Blood Magic was one of the strongest magics out there. No one could deny the sincerity that came with spilling blood, especially if it was the blood of their own kin. Family was made to protect each other, drawing blood from enemies and not from their own. It was why the price of kinslaying was far too large to ignore.

The first time it happened, she stilled. The idea of it felt gross, but she knew that there was a reason this ritual had worked before. The magic in their blood burned their way into her mouth, every point of contact burned just as sharply as the last did. Within her, Delphini's blood sang, happily greeting the blood of the Stars.

Each one offered her a small smile before letting the next person offer what they wished to. She gave them all, even those she had never met, a timid, blood-stained smile.

The runes that they drew above her slowly settled on her. Her skin raised as if someone dragged a blade to write the symbols without breaking the skin. It was fascinating, seeing them appear on her bare skin with no contact. Each mark sent a jolt of heat down her veins.

Walburga was the first to give her her blessing. The sky held no stars yet, it was much too early, but they were present in her mother’s eyes. 

Delphini and Walburga shared a smile before her mother brought out her wand. With a raise of her wand, little stars followed its direction as she drew a rune into the air. Sowilo : the Sun. Prior lessons with Arcturus flashed through her mind as the meaning of the rune spread warmth through her chest.

Then Druella followed with Berkana , the Birch tree. The rune matched what Delphini knew as Druella’s traits perfectly, and with her wishing the same blessings for Delphini, she felt incredibly grateful. Regulus drew Dagaz into the air, which was quickly followed by Narcissa's Laguz . 

The brown-haired woman who had helped her earlier stepped up. As soon as Narcissa’s face left her vision and the stranger’s entered, Delphini noted that there was a similarity between them. Delphini could tell that her presence bristled the other Blacks, a reaction she hadn't had the chance to see when they were alone earlier. 

Yet it was Narcissa's and Druella's reactions that confirmed who she was to Delphini. The woman was known to be her biological mother's nearly identical sister: Andromeda Tonks. She should have noticed the similarities more, but Andromeda was far kinder looking than any imagery of Bellatrix she had ever seen. With a wave of her wand, the Mannaz rune hovered between the two of them. 

Then Orion’s Nauthiz were followed by the three Blacks she was most unfamiliar with:

Lucretia Prewett. Kennaz.

Callidora Longbottom. Uruz.

Cedrella Weasley. Gebo.

It felt like an eternity, during which she did not dare move before Arcturus came into view. His magic was free flowing from him, which Delphini found comfort in its familiarity as he did the same as the rest. However, more than one rune was carved into the air, three of them hovered over her: Wunjo, Algiz, and Othala. His runes were far larger than the rest, almost as big as the pyre as it settled over her. She couldn't help but feel overwhelmed.

With her family’s magic in her veins, she fully understood how they are known to be celestial, for only stars could survive the fire running through her. 

Yet, even after Arcturus passed his blood over her lips, he did not leave. Instead, he took a step back and held his arms out wide, the incantation that fell from his lips turned from whispers to a loud chant echoed by everyone in attendance as the pyre's flames grew even higher as if they yearned to reach the stars themselves.

As the chant grew louder, the bowl levitated towards her. As if by instinct, she reached to hold it and the flames grew wider, almost licking at the people behind her family, their eyes growing wide in fear and wonder. The bowl was a lot lighter than she had expected, almost weightless in her hands. 

The flames around them burned ever higher, spurred on by the magic that filled every person present. There was nothing but her and the fire that warmed her, though she could no longer tell whether it came from within or from the pyre. The warmth that was within her the entire day danced happily within her.

Then, as if directed by Mother Magic herself, she turned to greet the grand pyre. 

She was not scared anymore. The nerves had left her long ago and what she felt as she stared at the mass of heat in front of her were safety and security, and the magic within her craved to meet it. She dared not deny her magic its creator.

Delphini stepped into the grand pyre.

She could hear screams of terror come from the way she came, but she did not understand why they were so scared. It was magic . It felt intellectually inept to be scared of what filled their veins. Delphini knew she was right to feel the way she did, none of the cries came from a member of her family and, as always, they were right.

It wasn't like anything she had expected stepping into fire would feel like. It was warm, as all fires were, but it didn't scorch her the way her robes were burned off when the flames greeted her, it felt like the blood inside of her wanted to burn itself out of her and greet the magic flowing all around her. 

The pyre acted like a cave, the flames surrounding her as she settled in its centre. A part of her wished to reach over, to skirt her fingers across the fluttering flames but held herself back. Mother Magic may seem like they had directed her, but she still entered with her own intentions, of her own volition.

With the blade in hand, she sliced down the pad of her thumb, letting the blood run for a bit before tracing her mouth with it. The heat across her lips amplified as it mixed with the blood of her family. 

She pursed her lips and kissed the blade, letting the blood of the sky stain its shine before kneeling in front of the bowl she laid on the floor. She pretended to not notice how the ‘blood’ that stained it was not a deep red anymore, but a bright silver. Almost as bright as the stars her family was named after.

‘Hello, Delphini.’  

She did not know if it was her own thoughts that filled her mind or if it was the divine. Nothing she was doing felt real anymore. Delphi felt herself being watched, but the lack of hostility consoled her. She choked it up to something they all had felt during their own debut.

‘It has been a while since another Black has graced my presence,’ the voice spoke, its omnipotent presence coming from everywhere and nowhere, all at once.

Over the bowl, she cut both of her palms. She did not know if it was just her mind playing tricks on her but the blood stained on the blade felt… sentient as it mixed with the blood pooling in her palms, the silver mixing in with the deep red of her blood. Wincing, she clasped onto both sides of the bowl and watched as something stirred within it. She fought to remain upright, overwhelmed by the sheer sensation.

‘Tell me, child. Are you ready to choose?’

~ o ~

When she stepped out of the pyre, she wasn't alone. 

Delphini did not realize what was happening as the crowd before her started to bow, all their faces facing the ground. It was only when she felt the presence behind her move that she realised she left the pyre with company. 

The goliathan figure of a God had followed her out. The imposing figure was a couple of stories tall. From the gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes barely seen under the hood, he almost looked skeletal. His skin was unnaturally pale as it stretched over his bones. His robes were as dark as the night, shimmering as he moved, an almost purple undertone in them. 

It was only when he moved to push his hood back that she realized who it was. Above the stitched skin that served where his eyes would have been, atop his silver, intricate crown, was the symbol of Death . 

Despite her upbringing as a Black, she was told that they were above everyone else, that they were made of the Stars and not of flesh, that the only beings above them were the Gods, and now, right before her stood Death. Delphini dropped to her knee and genuflected.

Her knee hit the floor so hastily that she knew it would bruise in the morning. Delphini bowed her head, her dark hair falling forward, curtaining her face. She was grateful as it hid her face from the expression she couldn't keep away. 

Delphini was terrified.   

It felt like the death she evaded all those years ago came for her again. To claim what it couldn't the first time. For the past few years, it had felt like her life was on loan. But it was hard. Delphini had a life she wouldn't trade for the world, and having Death visit her on the day she was presented to family magic felt like a bad omen. 

As if a noose were around her neck, she could hardly breathe. She wished to claw at it, as if the invisible coil would materialise if she reached her hand for it, but the presence of the God in front of her kept her frozen. If she could just– 

“Your eminence,” Arcturus’ voice sounded from the left of her, his genuflected body coming into her peripheral vision. With him came a levitating cloak similar to what she wore earlier, his magic quickly clothing her in it. She couldn't express how grateful she was for it. She knew that omnipotent beings held no malice, but the idea of being bare any longer would make her spiral. “We did not expect to be blessed by your arrival.” 

“Nonsense,” Death said. With just one word, the earth around them shook drastically. It took every part of her to keep herself stable. She found comfort in the fact that she was not asked to move and that the platform itself did not give way to his might. 

With her face hidden by her hair, she took the opportunity to close her eyes and catch her breath. She had hoped that with Arcturus there, all would be fine. That Death visiting was not a sinister omen meant for the end of her life. 

As if the Gods themselves were playing a joke on her, she felt Death move to stand in front of her. Their long, skeletal finger reached over to tilt her head up. “You do not kneel to me, my child.” With a sharp nod, she stood up but kept her eyes on the ground, pushing her hand against her chest to stop its stuttering. 

“You have no reason to fear me, my child. You are not expected in my realm for years to come,” the deep voice of Death rumbled. “Keep your head up high. Something larger is at play.” 

Without acknowledging anyone else, Death left. Without their presence to dampen the sound of everything around them, the sound of the crackling pyre met everyone’s ears once again. 

No one dared to move.

~ o ~

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire

1987

Apparently, according to the rest of the Wizarding Society, the concept of rest was not a thing during Samhain.

After she presented herself, the rest of the festival-goers initiated their own offerings with their own pyres. Delphini could not see what they saw, but given how solemn everyone was, she could tell the night had been an emotional one for many of the attendees.

There was never a time she had seen so many wizards and witches in one place, and she wondered if the serenity upheld that night was a common occurrence. 

She couldn't see most of their faces before she was whisked back into the Black Keep. This time, to prepare for her debut.

She had asked Arcturus about what would happen concerning Death's visit, but he was confused, not knowing what she meant. When she explained, nothing clicked for him. The more she talked, the more confused he looked. Delphini had a sinking feeling that the loss of his memory, and most likely that of the others, was caused by Death themself. If only she could–

Knock. Knock.

Delphini turned to the door, frowning. If it was Walburga, Druella, or Narcissa, they would have knocked once and immediately made their way in. Kreacher was the type to just pop! in while Regulus shared a special knock sequence with her. Whoever was behind the door was someone she was unfamiliar with. The butterflies she had not felt since the Black Keep made a resurgence.

“You may come in.”

At once, both doors opened with a flourish. With a clack of polished leather shoes, arms stuck stiffly by his side, came a boy around her age. He was barely taller than her, his platinum-blond hair giving away his parentage, but the sneer on his face was not one she would associate with Narcissa. 

His grey eyes reminded her of who she was here to meet. Even if the pompous child before her bore a sneer, he was one of the Blacks she was meant to meet that night. Unfortunately, before they left the Black Keep, the woman she had guessed to be Andromeda apologised to her:

——— o ———

“Little Black…?”

A hesitant voice called out for her. With the way the two blondes in their party had bristled, it was no question to whom the voice belonged. Delphini turned to Andromeda with a small smile. 

“Hello, Aunt Andromeda.” The brunette slightly winced at the name, not expecting the address, maybe not even the use of her full name. Andromeda’s eyes flitted to Druella, then Narcissa, before returning to Delphini, her eyes imposing a question. Delphini smiled and shook her head. ”I guessed.”

Andromeda nodded before she turned to her mother and asked, “Aunt Walburga, may I speak to Delphini?”

Walburga tilted her head, her eyes scanning Druella’s and Delphini’s reactions to the request. Druella gave a curt nod while Delphini was just watched with hopeful eyes. “As long as she is willing, I will agree to it.”

“That’s a yes for me!” Delphini grinned, a skip in her step as she approached the brunette, her hand out for hers. “I know a place where we could talk privately. Walk with me?”

“...Sure,” Andromeda said as she reached down to hold her hand. “Lead the way.”

The grip she had echoed her hesitance at the whole endeavour, but the longer the distance between them and the other Blacks, the more the unease lifted from her shoulders, a noticeable shift in her demeanour. The same Andromeda that helped her earlier that day had reappeared as soon as they turned the corner. A part of her was saddened that the family she had grown to love was the source of sadness of another person in their family. 

As soon as they entered one of the studies she had found earlier, finding the ever-present Floofyre in the fireplace flooding the room with a green tint quite pretty, they settled on the window nook, the two sitting on opposite sides. It took a while before Andromeda started to speak, her voice quiet. “Delphini…”

Delphini nodded, giving her an encouraging smile as a foreboding feeling started to settle deep in her stomach. Maybe… maybe Nymphadora doesn’t want to meet me? What if she hates me for the way my family treated her mother in the past? Will I never get to meet her? I– she shook herself out of her thoughts as she realised she had left her unanswered for so long. “It’s alright, Aunt Andromeda… I can take it.”

“You can just call me Aunt Andy, darling. Andromeda is a name I don’t use often outside of official matters.”

“Then, please call me Delphi,” she said, grinning. “Delphini always sounds like I’m about to get scolded,” she jokingly added.

“Delphi…” Aunt Andy smiled before she nodded, but her eyes were downcast as if she were wary of Delphini’s response to what she would say next. “I have to apologise but my daughter and I will not be able to be there for your debut. I… have left the family for their ideals and I will not bring my daughter in a room where she would be judged for something she has no fault in… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay–”

“But if you still want to meet her, we can arrange something separate. I know it might be a bit inconvenient but…”

“Alright,” Delphini smiled. “You don’t have to worry about this, Aunt Andy. I understand the need to keep your family safe and I don’t want to sacrifice your safety for my comfort. I’m willing to meet her in any other setting.” A sense of calm washed over her. It’s not that she doesn’t want to meet her… It’s just that the people present wouldn’t accept her. Just like how they would do so if they knew of Delphini’s blood status. “But it has to be a setting Kreacher is allowed in… I don’t think he’ll be okay with me being out of his sight.”

A wry, reminiscent smile bloomed on Andromeda’s face as she dipped her head in agreeance. “Of course. We can have that arranged,” she agreed, pausing before she said, “Thank you for understanding… I was wary about agreeing to be one of your attendants today, because of what had transpired between me and your parents in the past. But I realised that was a mistake on my part for affiliating that with you.”

“I understand,” Delphini confessed. It was hard not to after hearing the stories of how the family treated each other in the past; how they tore each other apart. It was a miracle that there was still a House of Black for her to be raised in at all. “Have you… received a letter from Uncle Arcy?” He never mentioned anything outright to her but he did not find it necessary to hide her even if important business arrived at his doorstep during their study sessions. 

“Uncle Arcy…?” Andy’s voice trailed off in confusion, before clearing her throat and continuing, “I… did. My husband and I are still discussing it.”

“Feel free to ask him about it anytime between one to four in the afternoon during the weekdays, so we could bump into each other, if ever.”

At that, Andy smiled. “I would love that.”

After a promise to correspond through Severus (she made a mental note to question the man for keeping that secret from her), they moved to the front of the estate to wish Andy goodbye while the rest of her family stood behind her. 

If she had imagined the look of lost hope on Narcissa’s face, which was quickly followed by a mask of indifference, she would not have mentioned it. Delphini had missed her family before she met them, she could not imagine how hard it is for someone they grew up with; someone they were girls together with. 

While they moved to the Apparition point, Andromeda’s carriage long gone, she reached out and held Narcissa’s hand. 

——— o ———

At least tonight, she would be able to meet one of her cousins. Even if the boy in question had a sneer on his face when he regarded the manner she had left her room. Delphini rolled her eyes. How someone as sweet as Narcissa could raise the boy who stood in front of her, she did not understand.

“Follow me,” the young boy demanded as he offered his arm, his eyes still not meeting hers but had his nose up in the air. 

Delphi may be curious about her cousins, about the family she hadn't met yet, but she would not be deemed someone they could speak to in that way. She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Not when you speak to me like that.”

He frowned. “I was tasked to bring you to the ballroom.”

“I don't know how that means you could order me around.”

“Mother entrusted me to bring you to the ballroom, nothing more.”

“And being a decent person is so far out of your reach? Narcissa taught us better than that.”

Delphi could see the mental conflict on his face as he assessed what to do. She was acting stubborn, she knew that, but she stood by what she said: she would not be disrespected just because she wished to meet her cousins. A smile bloomed on her face when he relented, letting out a sigh. “... What do you need me to do?”

“Apologise.”

“Sorry.”

“Sincerely,” she emphasised.

“I sincerely apologise for talking to you like that.” She made a motion for him to continue. “And I won't do it again.”

“Good. I accept your apology,” she said, standing up to take his arm. “Now, let's go.”

Her cousin, surprised by her change in demeanour, took a moment to assess what had happened before he turned to face her. “I'm Draco, by the way. Draco Malfoy,” he introduced as he started their journey to wherever Delphi was needed. Delphi was lost on what she had to do and where she needed to do it; she took the allotted time between the Black Rite and her debut as the perfect time for a nap, choosing to ignore Narcissa’s invitation to explore the grounds. 

“Well met, Draco. I'm Delphini.”

“Ready to meet the rest of Pureblood Society?”

“No,” she confessed with a deep exhale.

“Too bad,” Draco said with a shrug. “Because here we are.”

They were stood by a large, ostentatious set of double doors. With ‘Salle de bal’ engraved in calligraphy over the arch. The sounds of unmistakable chatter muffled behind it.

“With how large your home is, I expected a longer walk,” she breathed out. The heated flutters in her stomach returned. It had started to get annoying if she was honest with herself.

Draco made an amused noise. “Nervous?” he said, his voice teasing.

“Yes,” she confessed.

“... you weren't supposed to confess that,” Draco said after a long quip of silence.

“Sounds stupid to hide it if you asked.”

Draco watched her with an assessing eye. “You should keep that hidden. Father says information like that could be used against you,” he said.

Delphini sighed and closed her eyes. “If they have a way to connect my stomach rumbling to me being weak at magic, go ahead. They could try their best.”

“Make sure to not leak out once you start walking.”

“That's disgusting!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide as she scowled at Draco in disgust. After a glare sent at his amused expression, she asked, “How long until it starts?”

“Now.”

With a flourish, the white doors burst open, the crowd behind it slowly dwindling in noise.

Ahead of them was a grand ballroom befitting the Malfoy name. From the crystal chandeliers to the marble floors, the money poured into the room was evident. Running through the middle of the lavish room was a plush, black velvet carpet that reached their feet. The other end was a raised dais made of marble, her family atop it with Lord Arcturus in the middle. It was hard to not imagine they weren't royalty in another life.

At both sides were throngs of witches and wizards dressed in stylish dress robes. Aside from Draco and her, there were no other children in the room.

There was an announcer to the side, shouting their names and their titles before glancing back at the two children with an expectant gaze. 

Which was a lot less demanding than the gazes of the people from the room.

Luckily for her, she didn't have to walk across the room alone. Draco led her slowly, a mask slipping onto his face. Beside her was not the snarky child from earlier, but a perfectly moulded son of the highest pedigree. 

Delphini slid her mask on. With every step the two took, the more comfortable she was in her role. 

“An unknown Black could bring in this kind of a crowd?” she muttered under her breath, making sure only Draco could hear. “How boring are their lives?”

A small smile appeared on his face for a split second. “You should expect this kind of turnout. You're a Black.”

“That shouldn't be enough of a motive to come.”

“But for our society, it is.”

“It shouldn't be,” she said as she tilted her head higher to match Draco's. “I don’t know these people,”

“That is not as important as them knowing you. Their idea of you is just that: an idea. They don’t know what you are like or what you are capable of. Yet, that does not change the fact that they are all here for you,” he said with a matter-of-fact tone. “Ready to entertain?”

“So that's what I am? A jester on the Queen’s court?” 

“Like a Black whose magic is leagues above their own,” Draco corrected. Delphini hadn't realised that they were now by the steps of the dais, looking up at the rest of the Black family. “I'm not following you up there, Delphini. You have to reach the sky alone.”

“... are you proud of yourself for that one?”

“Absolutely,” he quipped before stepping to the side. Delphini's hand dropped and she immediately missed the mild comfort it brought. 

With another glance up at the raised dais, there was no other way to describe her family than otherworldly. None of them were in their usual robes of navy blue or black, now adorned with robes of the same silver-white cloth. They were embedded with stars and twinkled as they moved.

The Blacks were made of stars, indeed.

“As we all know, the Black family magic is heavily intertwined with that of Samhain.” Arcturus exuded charisma like an expert as he commandeered the room's attention. No one would believe her if she said that the man avoided socialising like it was the plague. 

“As children of the sky, we are blessed with a choice between Ater and Ignis. Two ancient magics much older than the land we stand on today. A right that has been promised across our line across centuries. And tonight, our youngest had made her choice.” He had the crowd's attention in his hand, toying with them as everyone's breath was bated. “But first, it is my pleasure to announce our newly debuted member of the family! Please welcome our dearest Delphini Black!”

That's my cue, she thought to herself as more than a hundred pairs of eyes settled on her. Time to give them a show.

Delphini smiled and took a step upward, the train of her dress robes fluttering behind her as she made her way to her family. As soon as she arrived by Arcturus’ side, he received her with a smile before turning to the audience.

“It is my honour to present that our Delphini Black had chosen…”    

At the pause, every source of light in the room was snuffed out, plunging the room into darkness. A couple of screams could be heard as the crowd started clambering for their wands. Mutterings of ‘Lumos’ could be heard all around. It was a futile attempt. Her shadows made sure of that. 

When the crowd applauded at the simple performance of magic, it took everything in her not to roll her eyes. That was barely anything, she hadn’t even tapped into what she had recently received.

Everyone could hear the smile on Arcturus’ voice as he announced, “ IGNIS! ” 

It was not her that uttered the words but her lips moved all the same. “ Stellae Ignire. ”

With the newest magic that she claimed, bright flashes of magic leaped into the air before exploding into tiny renditions of celestial bodies taking place above their heads, the ceiling of Malfoy Manor now perfectly mimicked the night sky, setting the room in a soft glow. Every star, constellation, or galaxy was lit up brighter than the rest as it floated far higher than the crowd’s reach.

As they all say, the Blacks were closer to the skies than they were to men.  

~ o ~

Delphini was glad that she didn't have to go through another magically taxing endeavour at her debut. She just had to… meet and talk to every single person invited. 

It was only polite, she was part of the host family, even if she barely cared for the visitors. Delphini just wanted to meet her family members she had not met before. She knew not everyone was invited; however, according to Arcturus, the vassal houses were not usually invited to these types of events.

For her actual debut, Narcissa had offered her home: the Malfoy Manor. Walburga was wary, she was not comfortable with debuting a Black in an estate that wasn't theirs but Druella made a point. Most of the Wizarding Society was familiar with Malfoy Manor already as the Malfoy Yule Ball was always an event highly anticipated by their society and having her be presented in a place so familiar to them would help make her debut much more welcoming.

Which would be good for them, she thought. She didn't want to seem unapproachable. That's not how she'd get friends. It would be nice to have some of those, she didn’t have anyone near her that was her age. At least now, she could consider her cousin Draco as one. But only if he fixed whatever was stuck up his nose. 

Luckily for her, she noticed her godfather standing by one of the windows as he spoke with Narcissa’s husband, Lucius. Who oddly also looked like he was smelling something foul. It must have been hereditary. 

“Good day, kind sirs.” She almost dropped her mask to glare at her godfather who failed to stifle his amusement at her greeting.  “You must be my Uncle Lucius, Cissy has mentioned great things about you.”

“Has she?” He preened at the mention, his disposition eerily echoing the pale birds on the estate grounds. “Well met, Miss Black. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure is all mine, sir,” she said with the sweetest smile she could muster. “I must apologise, however. I wish to steal my godfather for a moment. I would have him returned to you shortly.” 

“Must it happen now?” Severus drawled. Delphini’s deadpan stare didn’t budge until he did. “... Fine .”

Lucius’ eyes were lit in amusement. “You can have him for as long as you need. It is time for me to find my wife. If you would excuse me.”

With a bow, he left to find her but was almost immediately brought to the side by another man. Unless her aunt had turned into a burly, hairy man as tall as a boulder in the past hour since she last saw her, that was not Narcissa.

Severus looked unperturbed by Lucius’ attention being easily taken. It must be a common occurrence. “Is there something of the matter, Delphini?” 

She turned to Severus and shook her head softly. “Kind of?”

His eyebrows furrowed, a much harder look in his eyes as he scanned the people around them. “Is there something wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong, per se ,” she started, tilting her head as she looked up at him. “But I would like to speak to you about something private. Do you know someplace here where we could have some privacy?”

“Your quarters?”

“Narcissa has it warded against me until the procession is over. Saying I would probably hide if I had the chance,” she complained, her arms crossing.

“Is this not the chance you're looking for?”

“This is for something important,” she whined, a pout wishing to form on her face but Narcissa taught her better than that. 

“This isn’t the first time I heard that statement,” Severus said with a small raise of his eyebrow.

Delphini pouted.

“ Fine . I know of a room we could use.”

With notable familiarity with the Manor, he started leading her far away from the ballroom that opened to the gardens and further into the main entry of the manor. The sound of chatter greatly diminished.

The estate was beautiful, its walls filled with a beautiful mix of Narcissa's and another's magic. If it was any other day, she would have had her mouth open in awe at the imposing manor. Yet, just that morning, she was brought to the Black Keep again and was reminded of its beauty. Anywhere else, no matter how grandiose, paled to its beauty.

Call her biased to her family and what was theirs, but that had never been a bad thing. She was simply stating a fact.

It was only when they were in a quiet hallway, one that was lined with marble busts and sneering portraits, did they finally slowed to a stop in front of a bust of one ‘Abraxas Malfoy’ . 

With his pale, long, silk-straight hair and the expression of eating an unripe lime upon his narrow features, it held no mystery as to who his son was. The resemblance was uncanny.

“How did he die?”

Delphini almost screamed when the bust became animated, turning to face her as it said, “It is quite rude to assume someone is dead, child. Surely your parents taught you better than that.”

“It is also quite vain of you to have a marble bust made of yourself if you were still alive,” she pointed out. “So, are you dead?”

“...yes,” Abraxas the bust reluctantly replied. “I don't know who you are, but I am a Malfoy–”

Severus cleared his throat. “Abraxas, we didn't come here to antagonise you–”

“Could have had me fooled,” he muttered.

“-but we came here for something else,” Severus continued. “ With knowledge comes light .”

“I'm not letting that child in.”

“You will,” Delphini argued. It was fun to irritate an animated marble bust, but she had something to talk to Severus about. “We're family now, Abraxas. I was introduced to Draco a couple of hours ago.”

“A Black, then?”

“Yes. I'm Delphini Black. I would shake your hand but – whoops! – you don't have any.” 

Delphini reveled at the silence that followed, her gaze trained at the narrowed marble eyes. “Severus, take this child away before my head explodes.”

“If you would so kindly let us into the study.” 

“Password?”

“ With knowledge comes light ,” he repeated, already tired of the interaction.

With more grumbling, the marble Abraxas complied. Around the pillar that homed the bust, the floor descended into steps, leading further underground with torches lighting their way. 

When she entered, she realised it was Lucius’ study. Delphini’s eyes wandered through the tall shelves in wonder. Titles she had never heard of and Malfoy family journals adorned the wooden bookshelves. Calling it a study and not a library was an injustice to the amount of books that were housed in the room. “He really found the meaning of his name and ran with it.”

Severus, who was moving through the room, clearly familiar with it, said, “I don't think a Black should be saying anything about that.” She rolled her eyes. “Now, what did you need to talk about that demanded such privacy?”

Delphini reached her hand out between them, her palm facing up with an expectant look on her face. It didn’t take long before Severus’ eyes softened in understanding. “I’m not a Black, Delphini. My rune would not mix well…”

“I’m not fully Black, Sev,” she said, her voice low.

“I know that–” 

A thought steeped with insecurity crossed her mind, her eyes widening. She knew that most of the time, runes were given to family members. Delphini had always seen Severus as a father figure, she had never thought if he thought of it differently. She tried not to let the stuttering in her chest show in her voice. “If you're uncomfortable with giving me one, that's okay–”

“It's not that, Delphini. I would love to give you one,” he interrupted as he kneeled before her, making his eyes levelled with hers. “I meant that I could not offer you a rune the Black family way.”

“Then give it to me the way a Prince would.” 

“I have never done this before…” For the first time in her life, her father figure sounded unsure of himself. 

She frowned. Her Severus was many things but being someone unsure was not one of them, but even at the small age of seven, she understood 

Even if he was at his weakest or his most vulnerable state, he would always be the strongest person in her life. “I would be incredibly honoured to be the first.”

He nodded.

“Does it involve more blood?” She couldn't help but ask, the events of the last day were a lot weirder than she would care to admit.

“Were you uncomfortable earlier?”

“Yes,” she confessed as a shudder ran through her. “The magic was fun, the blood not so much,”

“No, there is no blood needed. We have our own ritual.” He brought out a small vial of oil from his coat's inner pocket. It was a well-loved bottle with protective runes engraved in it. A label written in a language she was not familiar with was featured on its front.

Her eyebrows raised. “You knew I was going to ask?”

“Of course,” he said. “You're predictable that way.”

“... You're not allowed to be mean, it's my birthday.”

“Alright.” The simplest word in his softest voice.

The scent of citrus and wood bled into the room as soon as Severus pulled off the stopper. From her lessons with him, she could only assume that one of the anointing oils was cedarwood or frankincense . Knowing him, it could be both. 

A small note of woody vanilla, an almost honey-like scent followed. Benzoin oil . Then another woody note, subtly different but Severus taught her how to distinguish scents quite well. It was deep, almost creamy in smell. Sandalwood . Lastly, a rich, sweet, and musky floral scent finished what she could distinguish from the vial. A scent she had grown up to love from Druella's collection. Jasmine .

When she registered the mixture of the scents and what they represented, her eyes widened. “You made Astral Oil?” she whispered.

“Try not to look surprised, Delphini.” His usually taunting voice came out softer than she expected. “I am fully capable of doing so.”

“It's not that. You made Astral oil, just for me?”

“You are made of the stars, Delphini.” Severus smiled, patting her head fondly. “It was only fitting.”

As the ritual started, she could see his magic reach out for hers. It was unlike any other she had seen before. It was fluid, and mostly opaque, weirdly distorting the imagery behind it.

The Prince ritual for giving a rune was a lot different from the Black's, but the one thing they had in common was the potent, sentient magic that interacted with them. Both ancient. Both curious. Both excited to react to them and their magic.

The magic came with ashes, the anointing oil, and a song. Severus sang under his breath in a language she did not know, a wooden bowl in between them where he mixed the ashes and oil together.

With his left ring finger dipped into the mixture, he started tracing the rune onto her face. From her right temple to her left ear then ending at the right corner of her jaw, the first half was drawn. The mixture left a prickling sensation in its wake.

Severus took a deep breath before he continued to sing the song. With another dip into the mixture, he finished the rune. Another line started from her left temple to her right ear, then the left corner of her jaw, then from her right temple to her left ear to her right jaw. 

As soon as he finished it, the completed rune started to stretch her skin in agitated pulses, searching for something she didn't know of. Severus reached for his wand, a flame at its tip.

“Trust me?”

“I do.” 

You never need to ask, went unsaid, but was understood.

Severus let the violet flame reach the oil that yearned for it, almost stretching her skin to reach it. The Inguz rune was set aflame.

Delphini's face felt like it was burning off.

She smiled.

~ o ~

The Black Villa, France

1987

On the eve of the first of November, Delphini was awakened by a song so soft, so delicate .

As if she were entranced by a sirensong, she stood up, and let magic lead her toward the glowing door that appeared in the middle of her room. There were no traces of fear or trepidation on her face as she reached down to open the door, greeting magic with a smile.

At the age of seven, Delphini Black had entered the Hall of Wraiths.

Chapter Text

The Black Villa, France

1987

Walburga was the first person to realise Delphini was gone.

As soon as Delphini stepped into the Hall of Wraiths, the door closing shut behind her, Walburga jolted awake, her heart feeling empty. A cold, creeping dread settled over her as her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. She sat up abruptly, her hand instinctively clutching at her chest as if she could physically grasp the unease that had taken root. 

“No…”

The silk duvet beside her shifted. A head of blonde hair peeked out, and familiar blue eyes peered open sleepily at her. “Wally...?” Druella called out, her voice soft with sleep as she propped herself up against the headboard. "What’s wrong?”

Walburga did not answer. Her eyes were wide as she sent pulses of her magic through the halls, the magic of the villa easily accepted hers as it joined the search for her daughter. The further out the magic reached, the more her heart started to stutter. 

A couple of seconds passed, then another. 

Then a minute passed. Her magic found nothing.

Before another second could pass, Walburga was up and running. 

“Walburga!”

She barely registered Druella's voice that called after her, her mind wrought with worry as she thought: Delphini… why can’t I feel you? What… what if…? Walburga shook her head, falling into her mind wouldn’t help the situation. She had to find her daughter. She had to know she was safe.

Walburga tore through the darkened halls of the Black Villa, her bare feet slapping against the cold floor, her nightgown billowing behind her. The ancestral portraits lining the walls stirred, their occupants startled out of their sleep as they watched her whip past them. She paid them no mind.

Walburga burst into Delphini's room, her breath catching in her throat. The room was empty. The bed was unmade—which was not characteristic of her daughter—as if she had left it in a hurry. There was no sign of Delphini.

Walburga's knees buckled, and she steadied herself against the doorframe, her nails digging into the wood. “Delphini,” she whispered, her voice breaking, her gaze fixated on the bed where her daughter should be. 

She turned, her eyes wild, and began searching the room frantically. She checked the ensuite, every corner, calling her daughter's name, her voice growing more desperate with each passing moment. 

As if the Fates wanted to mock her further, a bone-chilling feeling washed over her as a presence passed through her.  

Before her stood a wraith in the eerie visage of her daughter.

Not-Delphini’s jaw dropped open, an insouciant, austere voice filled the room, saying: 

“Between Life and Death, Delphini resides,

The fate of her life, Magic decides. 

To the Hall of Wraiths, she was swept away, 

Where secrets of ages in darkness lay. 

Knowledge unbound by time’s cruel hand, 

And magicks veiled from the mortal land. 

By her strength and craft, she must abide, 

For in shadows deep, her fate will hide.”

Walburga's breath hitched, her chest tightening as the reality of the situation coursed her relentlessly as she stared at the wraith. It felt like a mockery as it smiled with a smile that wasn’t theirs as it settled on the bed, watching Walburga in eyes that usually held starfire but was now hollow.

But she couldn’t find it in herself to find comfort in the echo of her daughter, the fear of the unknown gnawing at her from within.

A sound escaped her then, a low, pathetic whimper that grew in intensity until it became a wail that seemed to shake the very foundations of the Black Villa. The windows rattled, the portraits covered their ears, and even the ancient walls seemed to tremble under the weight of her anguish.

“Oh, Wally…” Druella’s gentle voice could barely be heard, lost in the sounds of Walburga’s heartache who cried noisily, making loud, convulsive gasps.

Druella rushed to her side, wrapping her arms around her, but Walburga barely felt it. She sank to her knees, her wail echoing through the house, a sound so full of pain that paintings and house-elves alike tried to peek into the room, to try and alleviate the suffering she was going through. Her hands clawed at the floor, her magic surging uncontrollably, causing the air around her to crackle with energy.

But they couldn’t. All Walburga needed was to know that Delphini was safe . 

“M-my little girl…” she cried, her voice breaking. “My daughter… Delphini…”

Druella held her tightly, tears streaming down her own face, her face pale. “Walburga, please, tell me what's happening. Where is Delphini…” Her voice trailed off, but Walburga didn’t know what had caught the blonde’s attention until she whispered, “What… what is that?”

“The Hall…” Walburga whispered, her hand clenching at her chest, as if the pressure would help soothe the ache. It didn’t.

Druella’s voice was low, confused, asking, “The what?”

But Walburga could not answer. Her mind was spiralling, her magic flaring uncontrollably as she tried again to sense Delphini's presence, no matter how futile it seemed. Still, there was nothing. It was as if her daughter had vanished completely.

“Walburga…”

It wasn’t Walburga who answered Druella, but a low, sombre voice, barely above a whisper. “The Hall of Wraiths,” Arcturus answered for her. Walburga didn’t realise that she must have alerted him with the amount of noise in the middle of the night, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. Arcturus continued, “The Hall had called for Delphini, and she had answered.”

Kreacher appeared suddenly, his large eyes filled with tears. “Mistress Walburga... Kreacher cannot find Miss Delphini. She is not in the house.”

Druella tried to console Walburga. “We'll find her, Walburga,” she whispered, though her voice was barely audible over Walburga's cries. “We'll find her. I promise.”

But Walburga could not hear her. Her world had narrowed to the unbearable truth: Delphini was gone.

Arcturus helped Walburga up with the assistance of Druella, but didn’t offer her empty platitudes for things he couldn’t promise. He turned to the house-elf who was wringing his fingers together, eyes wide in worry. "Kreacher, could you grab Regulus and notify Narcissa and Severus that we will be having a discussion in a half hour. You are to join us.”

“Of course.”

~ o ~

The Black Villa, France

1987

In the days after the event, Lord Arcturus blamed himself for it all. What was supposed to be a day of celebration ended with a foreboding feeling, the newly-debuted Black stolen by the Hall of Wraiths.

The same night she had been taken, he assembled the family that had raised Delphini. With Severus, Narcissa, Kreacher, and Regulus summoned to his study—Walburga and Druella already waiting inside—the latter trying her best to console the wailing mother, he explained what the Hall of Wraiths was. 

Including how Delphini was neither alive nor dead while she was inside it.

Severus demanded to get her out of it while Narcissa shouted her agreement with him. Regulus and Kreacher held matching gazes of disappointment when Arcturus denied that he could do anything about it. Even if he was the current host of the Hall of Wraiths, there was nothing he could do.

They left mumbling variations of “Couldn’t protect his own” and “Then what’s the use of being Lord Black.”

Arcturus tried to not let it get to him, he himself had been invited to the Hall when he was younger, but this was different . Delphini entered the Hall far younger than those who were called in the past, and Arcturus had removed the Call from her memory. How she had managed to answer the seemingly erased Call, he did not know. 

But he worried, immensely.

He delved into his duties as the Lord of the House in hopes of settling his mind. It never worked. He continued to do it anyway.

Night after night, he would be cooped up in his study as he swapped between drowning in the Black's political and business affairs or dazing at the window Delphini frequented, where her snake friend Silas visited every so often, searching for her. 

His mind kept straying to the youngest Black.

Delphini. The child who had brought an unexpected brightness to their bleak family. She was a paradox—a Black by blood, yet unlike any Black he had ever known. Where the family was known for its cold ambition and ruthless pride, Delphini was a burst of warmth. She had been raised by Walburga, of all people, yet somehow, she had emerged not as a reflection of her strict, unyielding mother, but as something entirely her own.

And now she was in the Hall of Wraiths.

Is she safe? His mind drifted as he found himself staring at the desk he had brought in for Delphini to use years ago, the dust settling on it making his heart pang. Stop it. She'll return, surely.

With a sigh, he dropped his head in his hands. His heart did not believe his own logic as his mind raced, every theory that crossed his mind made the pit of his stomach clench. The Hall was no place for a child, let alone one as young as Delphini. At seven, she was the youngest to ever enter it. Arcturus had rechecked everything he had on the Hall just to be sure of the information drilled into him by his father.

He was right. 

He wished he wasn’t. 

Arcturus had survived it himself decades ago, but the memories still lingered like shadows in the corners of his mind. The whispers of the wraiths, the illusions that twisted reality, the physical and mental toll that left even the strongest wizards broken. And Delphini, with her bright eyes and contagious optimism, had walked into a nightmare she was too young for. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. She was strong , he reminded himself. She had to be. But strength alone was not always enough in the Hall of Wraiths.

Arcturus rose from his chair, pacing the length of the room, restless. The silence of the house pressed in on him, heavy and suffocating. Walburga had retired hours ago, her despair silenced for the night. The portraits lining the walls watched him with their usual disdain, but even they seemed subdued, as if they, too, were worried for Delphini.

He stopped at the window, staring out at the dark sky. The stars were hidden behind a blanket of clouds, the moon hidden, as if the sky itself could sense that the brightness in their lives was lost. Delphini loved the stars. She would often sit by this very window, her small face pressed against the glass, Silas the snake settled on her lap as she pointed out stars and constellations, asking about them, her mind like a sponge for stories of their family, her curiosity insatiable. She was everything the Black family was not, and yet, she was undeniably one of them.

Arcturus sighed, running a hand through his silver hair. He had tried to bury his worry in paperwork, in the mundane tasks of managing the family estate, but it was no use. His mind kept straying back to her, to the dangers she faced. He had seen the Hall of Wraiths break grown wizards, men and women who had entered with confidence and never emerged again. What would it do to a child?

Delphini… come back home. Please.

~ o ~

Grimmauld Place, London

1988

Kreacher could not stop working.

It had been months since they had moved back to the townhouse, not able to find anything when they turned the Black Villa upside down to find anything more about Delphini. A part of him wished his soul was bound to hers, like how elves of centuries-past had done. 

If his little friend was gone, he did not wish to live. 

Regulus had promised Kreacher she would be back. For the first time in his life, Kreacher did not believe him. Regulus held the same lost gaze the household had slowly cultivated.

Mistress Walburga spent her days staring at Not-Delphini while Master Regulus spent his nights delving into darker magicks to find her. 

Kreacher could do neither. So, he did what he knew best.

He baked.

He cooked.

He cleaned.

He took care of the House of Black.

“Kreacher must work,” he muttered to himself, his voice hoarse and trembling as his small, gnarled hands shook as he scrubbed at the already spotless floor. “Kreacher must keep the house proper. Little friend would praise him for it. Little friend would…”

Little friend was gone.

The reminder struck him like a blow, and he froze, the brush slipping from his hands. He stared at the floor, his large eyes filling with tears. Delphini, with her bright laughter, kind words, and playful nature, who always treated him with respect, who always called him ‘Little friend’ instead of ‘elf’— was gone . And Kreacher didn't know how to bring her back.

“Kreacher must work,’ he whispered again, his voice breaking. He picked up the brush and began scrubbing again, his movements frantic. “Kreacher must not think. Kreacher must not—”

A sob cut off his words, and he dropped the brush once more, his small frame shaking as he buried his face in his hands. The tears came then, hot and uncontrollable, streaming down his wrinkled cheeks. He didn’t try to stifle his sobs: no one in the house could fault him for crying, the house became a mausoleum of grieving souls ever since she was taken.

“Little friend,” he whimpered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Kreacher is sorry. Kreacher should have protected her. Kreacher should have—” He broke off, his sobs echoing through the empty room. 

After a moment, Kreacher wiped his eyes with the back of his hands and picked up the brush again. His hands still trembled, but he forced himself to continue scrubbing. Work was all he had left. Work was the only thing that kept the despair at bay.

“Kreacher will work,” he said softly, his voice steadier now. “Kreacher will keep the house proper. And when his little friend returns, she will see that Kreacher was good. Kreacher has been waiting for his little friend.”

He repeated the words like a mantra, his movements growing more mechanical as he lost himself in the task. He continued to do his tasks like the good Kreacher he was.

He baked.

He cooked.

He cleaned.

He took care of the House of Black.

Then he baked, he cooked, he cleaned.

Again and again…

and again…

and…

again.

~ o ~

Grimmauld Place, London

1988

It had taken an Incarcerous from Regulus and a modified Draught of the Living Death from Narcissa to stop Severus from razing the House of Black down.

That was his daughter that was missing. 

It had been years since the last wizarding war, but he had never feared for another's life like he did for Delphini. And these Blacks want to spout about a mythical Hall? How could a bloody corridor take the most important person in his life from him? It was irrational. Mad. Like all the Blacks were.

However, no matter how many times he condemned that family and the ideals they upheld, they were his string to what could have happened to Delphini. And most importantly, the string to get her back.

Sweet Circe and Merlin above… keep her safe, he thought to himself whenever his mind strayed to the little girl, feeling, once again, helpless in the plight of his loved one’s life.

If magic took another light of his life from him, even the Gods would not stop him from the destruction he would cause.

Severus entered Grimmauld Place, shared an understanding, grief-filled gaze with the house-elf, before he made his way to Delphini's room. In the beginning, he could not enter the room without losing his composure, his body crumpling as he saw the wraith in Delphini's bed. 

It perfectly mirrored her baby-fat-filled cheeks, her raven waves, even down to the ribbons she favoured. It should have been a comforting visage, but it was so… lifeless. A descriptor that could never truly be affiliated to the little girl who wielded brightness like she was the sun.

Even when she was barely holding onto life all those years ago, the girl had life in her and greeted everyone with the luminance fitting of a star.

This… this was not his Delphini.

However, just like he had done every free chance he had, he took the seat beside Walburga and watched the wraith in silence, barely breathing as they did.

Neither moved until dawn broke.

~ o ~

Grimmauld Place, London

1989

The eery and desolate nature of Regulus’ childhood home, Grimmauld Place, was far too familiar—borderline reminiscent of his past, for him to feel comfortable.

The curtains that Regulus had grown accustomed to be open for the light and air in had remained shut, the hallways returned to its dim mien, and the once moving portraits had grown still once again. As if the life Delphini breathed into the home had been sucked back out. It reminded him too much of the half-life they had lived before Delphi entered their lives.

Even Grimmauld Place, their sentient and ancient home that Regulus had always associated with the shadows of his memories, seemed to brighten in her presence.  

Delphini did her namesake justice.

Yet now, she’s gone.

The house seemed to mourn with him. Shadows seemed to stain the corridors, unchanging no matter the candles Kreacher rekindled every night. Morosity permeated from the frozen portraits of their ancestors, their expressions hard, dour, and humourless as they watched the inhabitants of the home turn into shells of who they were. The very air felt heavier, as if Grimmauld itself was holding its breath, anticipating her return. 

Now that Delphini was gone, the house was retracting to its former state—and it was even worse than it had been.

Regulus had not spoken a word since the Hall of Wraiths had taken his sister.

Days, weeks, months, years —it didn’t matter. Time blurred into a hazy gloom with no end in sight. Words began to seem pointless, empty, and inadequate for conveying the emptiness that had arisen inside him.

Regulus Black was seated in the drawing room, his posture perfect, his hands resting on his knees, his face expressionless. He had not talked in days. Not to his mother, who wandered the halls like a ghost. Not to Arcturus, who buried himself in work to avoid his mind wandering back to their youngest family member. Not even to Kreacher, who had always been his closest confidant growing up. 

As time passed, silence was the only company he kept. It clung to him like a parasite, heavy and unrelenting as it sucked the life out of him, every breath was a laborious task. The world moved; he did not. Arcturus’ worried looks went unnoticed. Kreacher’s quiet pleas to eat were ignored. He had nothing left to give. He was adrift, numb to everything but the weight pressing down on him.

Delphini had disappeared. His little sister—not by blood, but by bond—was gone .

Regulus stared at the empty fireplace, his mind replaying memories he couldn't escape no matter how many bottle bottoms he had met. His mind raced with memories of Delphini's laughter as she raced through the halls, her determination as she practised her magic, or her endearingly stubborn defiance whenever she argued with Orion. Even the memory of them flying together by the Black Manor’s fields, which used to fill his heart with warmth, felt like a pang.

Yet… it wasn't just Delphini's absence that haunted him, it was the way the loss reminded him so much of his older brother. Sirius Black.

Sirius, who had left him behind without a second thought. Sirius, who had chosen his friends over his blood family, who had walked out of Grimmauld Place without a word to him. That loss had burned, had filled him with anger and resentment when he was younger because Sirius had never looked back. He had walked away and never once wondered what Regulus had been left with. Regulus had only ever admitted how much that had hurt him, how deeply it had cut to be abandoned by the one person who was supposed to stand by him no matter what, to one person: Delphini. 

Delphini's disappearance felt like losing Sirius all over again, but with one crucial difference—she hadn't chosen to leave him. She hadn’t abandoned him and their family, her love for everyone around her had never wavered. She had been taken, and though the pain was unbearable, it wasn’t poisoned by betrayal. She had loved him, trusted him, relied on him. It was so much more than he expected when he found out about his mother adopting Delphini, but there wasn’t anything he was more grateful for. That knowledge offered a small comfort, even as it worsened the ache of Delphini’s absence. 

This absence was not a betrayal from someone he loved; it was a loss.

With a sigh, Regulus sank into a chair, his head in his hands. Her absence was unbearable, like a physical rope was wrapped around his chest, squeezing in on him. He wanted to scream, to break everything around him, to do anything to release the pressure that built within him. Yet, he couldn't: he was a Black, and Blacks did not show weakness. 

Instead, he remained statuesque in the untouched study, where Delphini had once sat on the floor, surrounded by books far too heavy for her small hands but spread on the carpet, the little girl soaking in knowledge. The dining hall, where she had curiously poked at her food, was now simply a table set for silent guests, chairs unmoved, candles remained unlit. Even the staircase, which had echoed with her hurried footsteps as she chased Kreacher, now felt empty and devoid of life, croaking in neglect.

The sentient house creaked once more, the sound almost resembling a whisper. Regulus lifted his gaze, his eyes searching the room, and for a fleeting moment, he thought he saw a flicker of something bright in the corner, a soft colour reminiscent of Delphini's dresses. But it vanished as swiftly as it appeared, leaving him alone in the dark.

"Bring h-her back," he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur as it cracked from disuse. "Please."

The house did not respond. The shadows deepened, the air grew colder, and Regulus was left alone with his grief, the weight of it pressing down on him until he could barely breathe. Grimmauld Place, once a symbol of the Black family's status and pride, now felt like a tomb—a tomb for the girl who had once brought light into their lives as if it was her calling, and for the love of life that had disappeared with her.

~ o ~

Grimmauld Place, London

1991

For four years, Walburga Black couldn’t breathe.

Every time she saw raven curls on a girl, the achingly familiar sight of a perfect ribbon, or heard the sound of banging doors echoing through the halls of Grimmauld Place, she would stop dead in her tracks. Her breath would catch, her heart would stutter, and for a fleeting, agonizing moment, she would search the faces of strangers for Delphini. She would search for her daughter’s bright eyes, her mischievous smile, the way she tilted her head when she was about to persuade them to get her way. 

Yet, it was never her. It was never Delphini.

It had taken both Arcturus and Regulus to take her away from the Black Keep, from bleeding herself dry to find her by their wardstones, to find Delphini. The wounds that could never close because of Blood magic that stained her arms mirrored the wounds on the men’s skin. Arcturus and Regulus had eventually dragged her away, their voices sharp with fear and frustration of her working herself thin, she knew it was based on concern, but she had fought them anyway. 

Walburga always fought them, fought anyone who tried to stop her.

Delphini was out there, and she couldn’t just leave her.

Walburga was not daft. She knew the Hall of Wraiths had taken Delphini, just as it had taken her all those years ago. She knew the rules, the enticing gifts it presented, and the cruel game it played, and yet, knowing did nothing to ease the ache in her chest.

The wraith was the cruellest reminder of it all. 

Not-Delphini laid on her daughter’s bed, its eyes closed in a mockery of slumber, its form a perfect replica of her daughter. Walburga hated it. She hated the way it looked so much like Delphini, the way it tried to mimic her daughter’s smile. 

However, she also clung to it; its presence meant Delphini was still alive . If the wraith disappeared, it would mean her daughter was gone forever, stuck in a magical plane no one could reach.

And… and the very thought of that was unfathomable. Delphini was a fighter, ever since she graced them with her presence, even when her grasp on her life was fickle, she fought for herself. Surely, this was no different , Walburga thought to herself, yet, the knowledge of how brutal the Hall could be made her wary, her heart never settling.

Every day since Delphini had disappeared, Walburga visited the room, her footsteps heavy as she approached the bed, her heart breaking every time she watched the wraith, waiting for it to breathe. For the past four years, it never did.

The pain was grounding, in a convoluted way. 

Every second Delphini was away from her felt like another needle driven deep into her skin. It was a constant, ever-present reminder that her daughter was out there, somewhere, fighting to survive. And Walburga would endure it. She would endure it because she had to. She can't fail another one of her children, not when she was finally fighting for them.

Druella tried to help as much as she could. Druella brought her tea, sat with her in silence, and tried to persuade her into eating, into sleeping, into living. Walburga would recognise how much the other had attempted to ameliorate the pain: to bring any semblance of comfort to her. Yet, it never lasted.

It felt as though Walburga was living a half-life all over again, her days a blur of waiting and longing for her daughter to return. She moved through the house like a ghost, her presence retracted into a living corpse. The magic of Grimmauld Place seemed to mourn with her, its tendrils unadventurous yet always accompanying Walburga wherever she went, as if it could sense the weight of something heavy upon her. Even the portraits, usually so loud and judgmental, who transformed into chatterboxes when Delphini was around, remained eerily still, their eyes following her with uncharacteristic pity, unmoving, once again.

In Delphini’s room, she spent hours staring at the wraith, willing it to open its eyes, to smile, to speak. She would sit by the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her eyes never leaving Delphini. 

And then, one day, the wraith was gone.

Walburga had been sitting by the bed, her eyes fixed on the wraith, when it happened. One moment, the wraith was there, and the next, it had disappeared. Walburga’s breath caught, her heart pounding in her chest as she stared at the way the wraith opened its eyes, smiled, turned to her to whisper, “You should be proud,” then slowly dissolved into dark vapour. 

For a moment, she couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Delphini… Delphini died , her mind automatically supplied. Then, the reality of what had happened crashed over her, and she let out a wail that reverberated through the house, raw, primal and full of despair.

Downstairs, in the landing room, a familiar door appeared. It was old and weathered, its wood dark and splintered, its handle tarnished with age. The air around it seemed to hum with magic, the house’s tendrils reaching for it in confusion. 

And then, slowly, the door creaked open, and a familiar figure slipped through.

Chapter Text

Grimmauld Place, England

1991

Orion had many preferences that he had cultivated over the course of his life. Some may say that they are ’particular’ , however, Orion cared not for what they thought, he was a Black: they were lesser . Their opinions had no hold over him. 

For instance, he liked his women to be obedient and serving. They do not need to speak. His wife spoke enough for womankind. The dreadful excuse of a woman was a nuisance to be around. Walburga should be grateful she was born a Black, she would not have survived their society otherwise. Knowing how daft she was, Orion was surprised she managed to get Lord Black on her side.

Then again, Walburga was a whore. He would not be surprised if she… seduced his father to get Arcturus against him. How else would she have convinced him to let a halfblood bastard be part of the family, much less go unpunished for not disposing of it earlier?

Luckily for him, Walburga’s dear halfblood daughter entered the Hall of Wraiths. 

Orion had planned her funeral already.

If he, a pureblood of the highest pedigree, was not invited by the Hall, a halfblood like her would surely perish. She did not deserve to be in there. She was a halfblood. She would taint the Hall with her mediocrity by the minute. Even if she exhibited the potential her powers could have in her debut, it was all for show. It must be. She only had half of his capabilities. 

Blacks were ’Always Pure’ for a reason.

Orion did not expect Delphini to exit the Hall of Wraiths, much less survive it. She was too weak , too plain, too un-pure for her to go through it unscathed. He was well aware that his incompetent wife was invited to it when he was younger, and with Mother Magic’s pity, she came back. What a waste. 

Orion always believed that he deserved better than the cards he was given. The heirship, mentorship from the Hall, competent sons, and a submissive wife was all he wanted. It was what he deserved. Instead, he was surrounded by degenerates. Degenerates that were so… contagious that they had turned his own father against him.

How annoying. 

When Delphini returned four years after she disappeared, Orion was stunned. She looked just like her mother did at that age. What came out of her mouth next cemented that she was indeed Bellatrix’s daughter:

“Could you teach me how to duel?”

He smiled. Another Bellatrix. 

Perfect.

~ o ~

The Black Villa, France

1993

“ Rennervate. Again!”

Delphi groaned but pushed herself up and got back into her duelling stance, the perfect mirror of Orion who stood twenty paces away. Orion’s wand was trained on her, his narrowed eyes focused on her. Once upon a time, the visage would infuriate her, but this time it only brought excitement.

In the few years since she had come back, she had trained with Orion almost daily. What she had learned in the Hall… pushed her to get as ready as she could. Even if she hated every fibre of his being, Orion was the best duellist in the family, and she had no other option. She needed to be ready, the Hall told her so. 

Of course, with Orion as a mentor, she had to learn how to reign in her disdain. 

In pursuit of invaluable knowledge, it was worth it. 

——— o ———

1991

The duelling chamber of the Black Villa was a circular building with a domed roof made of glass, separated from the main residence as it nestled into the forest behind the estate. The chamber’s walls were lined with birch wood panels, and its floor was polished to a mirror-like shine. It wasn’t difficult to ask Arcturus to permit them to use it, it was harder for Delphini to get permission to even learn how to duel, especially with how recently she had arrived from the Hall.

However, after a week of persuading on her part, and a well-established vow on Orion’s part, Arcturus conceded. It was also not a good look on any member of their family to not do well in duels, they were the Blacks , they were meant to be the best. 

Today was the first time Orion Black had brought her to the duelling chamber after weeks of learning the rules and theories. A nervous buzz of energy under her skin distracted her from the intricately charmed room.

All she could think about was going wand-to-wand with her uncle—cousin ? No, technically he’s her great uncle— whatever the fuck he was to her. Despite all her grievances with Orion, he was the only Black she knew who wouldn't hold back on her. Especially with his pride on the line.

On one end of the room, twenty paces away, was Orion— his posture rigid, an eyebrow arched as he watched her. At the other end stood Delphini, her wand gripped tightly in her hand, her chin lifted in defiance. 

“Get into position," Orion instructed, his voice carrying in the basically empty duelling chamber.

The two Blacks raised their wands to the sky before they placed their fists on their chest, their other hands behind them as they bowed over their casting arm, their heads barely inclining. As soon as they glanced back up, Delphini had her wand in a vice grip as she canted her body, her legs equally spaced apart, trying to mirror the illustrations from the books she had read prior.

"You’re holding your wand like it’s a broomstick," Orion mocked, "Do you intend to sweep the floor with it, or are we here to duel?"

Delphini rolled her eyes, her lips curling into a scowl as she shifted her body to mimic his stance. The only approval she got was a minute nod. 

“Wands at the ready," Orion drawled. "Three, two, one. Start!”

With a smirk on his face, Orion watched Delphini with hawk eyes, his wand loosely held in his right hand. A taunt. Delphini scowled, he didn’t see her as a threat enough to even grip his wand right.

“Bombarda," she whispered, hoping that it could help make the spell less obvious. Instead of dodging the spell, he easily deflected it to hit the wall, his wand hand barely moving. Then, with a flick of his wrist, Orion sent a red spell toward her. Delphini frowned, recognising that he was using one of the simplest duelling spells: an Expelliarmus.

Delphini dodged to the side, her movements quick but uncoordinated as she staggered back into the duelling stance. With the corners of her lips downturned, she retaliated with a disarming charm, her wand slicing through the air with practised ease. Orion deflected it effortlessly, his expression unimpressed.

"Predictable," Orion mocked, his tone condescending. "You cast with all the grace of a mudblood ,” he spat out the last word with disgust. “You are a Black, stop being a disappointment.”

Delphini shot him a glare as she tried to cast an Expulso that fizzled before it could even reach Orion, who watched it with an arched eyebrow, unmoving. She huffed, "Maybe if you actually taught me something practical instead of just criticising, I’d be better at this!”

“I’m not here to coddle you, Delphini. The world won’t coddle you either. If you want to be a Black, you need to be better than everyone else. And right now, you’re not.”

A flash of anger coursed through her, but she said nothing. He wasn’t, technically, wrong. She just needed to be better. Instead of retaliating with a comment, she started slashing the air with vigour, casting a series of rapid spells in quick succession. Orion deflected each one, his movements calm and measured, but there was a flicker of approval in his eyes, a corner of his lips slightly upturned.  

“Better,” he admitted, albeit begrudgingly, as he quickly cast a stinging hex at her, too quick for her to dodge in time. She scowled at him as she shook out the discomfort. “But you’re still too reckless. You leave yourself open to counterattacks.”

Delphini responded with a nod, her focus entirely on the duel as she watched Orion stalk his side of the room. She moved to mirror him. In a split of a second, she feinted to the left, then spun to the right as she sent a stunning spell straight at Orion, her body twirling. He blocked it, but the force of the spell pushed him back a step.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Orion’s lips twitched into something that might have been a smile or the closest thing to it that the man was capable of expressing. “Acceptable,” he said, his voice flat, as if he was reluctant to say so. “But don’t let it go to your head. You’re arrogant enough.”

Delphini lowered her wand, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. "I wouldn’t dream of it," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "After all, I still have so much to learn from the great Orion Black.”

Orion scoffed as he rolled his eyes. "Insolent brat," he said as he shook his head. "But you have potential. You just need more training." 

“Every day at two in the afternoon, then?” she asked, eyes hopeful as she straightened her robes. The short duel was exhilarating and was infinitely different from what she had been taught by her family growing up. It was something new and exciting. She just needed more chances to actually do it. 

“Did the stinging hex accidentally Obliviate you?”

Delphini frowned, her arms crossed. She knew it was rude to do so in the presence of someone older, but it was Orion. She couldn’t find it in herself to care. “... No.”

“Then tell me why we can’t duel every day?” he asked, an eyebrow arched as his arms folded behind him, by his back, assuming the ’teacher’ role he had been using when he taught her about Duelling.

Her shoulders dropped in admittance as she recited what had been taught to her since she was three: “Magical cores oscillate more the younger a witch or wizard is and its depletion could be permanent…”

Orion nodded. “And?”

She sighed but obeyed, saying, “Duelling every day at my age would over-exert my fluctuating core.” Orion glanced at her with an expectant look. She gritted out, “So, every day at two is not the smartest decision.”

“Exactly.”

“What’s our training schedule, then?”

Orion headed toward the entrance of the duelling chamber, the magic of the building activated as it started to mend the cracked tiles and damaged panels. He didn’t wait for Delphini but she dutifully followed him as he said, “We’ll alternate days, dedicating around two hours per session. If the schedule proves too demanding or too lenient, we’ll adjust as needed. On non-duelling days, we’ll focus on stamina training and theory. For now, we’ll remain flexible and adapt as we go. Are you amenable to that?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good. I wouldn’t have accepted a no either way.”

“Bastard.”

“I heard that.”

“Oops.”

Orion shot another stinging hex at her, which was met by childish giggles. They might not like each other, but they had grown to respect each other when it came down to each other’s determination and strengths, and in the world of the Blacks, that was enough.

——— o ———

In the distance, Kreacher blew a whistle. Start.

“Mimblewimble! " She cast first, ensuring he could not speak the spells out loud, which was not that helpful, in hindsight. The man did not need words to duel brilliantly. As soon as the spell hit, Orion glared at her. She responded with her middle finger. 

Stupefy! Alarte Ascendare! Tarantallegra! She cast wordlessly, trying it out even if the spells were not as fast or strong compared to casting out loud. She was better than she was when she started duelling a couple of years ago, however, her development in that skill was slow. She needed to be better at it. The advantages were far grander for her to just push training that certain skill aside.

As always, he parried the spells like they were nothing, deflecting them to the side, remnants of their furniture scattered on the floor around them. Orion had a smile on his face as a blue spell shoutout of his wand. Expecting it to be a Mobilicorpus, she performed its counterspell just to get struck in her chest, flying a few feet back, the wall catching her. The pain made her body beg her to back down, to stop duelling, but she retaliated by hopping back on to her feet. Her pride not letting her back down. How did he mask the colour of his Stupefy?  

Bombarda–!

Before her spell could leave her wand, Orion’s Incarcerous entrapped her, effectively pushing her off balance. The pain that flared when she landed barely registered as irritation coloured her senses.

“Might be better to learn spells in Parseltongue if your wordless ones continue to be that weak," he remarked, his tone condescending.

“You were cheating! Since when did we allow spell alterations in our lessons?" she retaliated as Orion released her from his spell.

Orion scowled as he looked down at Delphini, who was still sprawled on the floor even after being freed. “Since when did real duels follow rules? You’d be dead if you didn’t prepare for instances like that. Rules won’t save you when your opponent is aiming to kill.”

Delphini rolled her eyes, as she propped herself up on her elbows, her dark hair falling into her face as she shot him a defiant look. “Teach me, then,” she challenged, tilting her chin up defiantly.

Orion crossed his arms. “We’ll see.”

“Orion,” she gritted out, her silver eyes locked onto his with a glare.

“What?” he clipped, though there was a glint of something in his eyes—amusement, perhaps, or maybe just irritation. With Orion, it really was either or. 

“Teach me,” Her voice was steadier this time, less like a request and more like a demand. If she was with any other Black, she wouldn’t have been so petulant, but it was Orion. She never really cared what he thought of her. Then, she played her hand, her voice taking on an edge of persuasion. A student of Narcissa, indeed. “What kind of ’ Orion Apprentice ’ would I be if I’m this easily defeated?”

She noticed the flicker in his expression—a twitch at the corner of his mouth, the brief narrowing of his eyes. A hit. He hated losing, even in arguments, she thought to herself, satisfied. And she knew for certain that the knowledge of her training with Orion wasn’t common, but if exploiting his pride got her what she wanted, so be it.

“You’re not my apprentice,” Orion scoffed, though the corner of his lips twitched, as if he were fighting back a smirk. He was always proud of anything he could claim as his own achievement, Delphini’s competence at duelling being one of them.

“Your actions say something completely different,” she shot back, an eyebrow arched as she pushed herself onto her feet and brushed off her duelling robes. “You’ve been training me for years. Don’t pretend you don’t care.”

Orion’s scowl deepened, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he gestured impatiently for her to stand. "Get up," he quipped, his voice sharp. “Disarm me once, and I’ll teach you the theory. Until then, cease your unnecessary blabber.”

Finally. Progress. 

“Now we’re talking.” She stretched her fingers, as she hopped in place, shaking off the discomfort of the last duel before she settled into the duelling stance. 

“You’re confident for someone who’s never done it before,” Orion remarked.

Delphini shrugged, the corners of her lips lifted. “Never had a prize to win before,” she said simply, her wand held steady as she focused on him.

Orion’s scowl never left his face as he moved into position once more, his posture disciplined and sharp, like a duellist forged from years of rigorous training. Which couldn’t be closer to the truth if she tried. “A Black shouldn’t be so easily bribed,” he muttered, though there was a hint of approval in his voice.

Delphi arched a brow, her wand twirling lazily in her fingers. “If you deem knowledge that lowly, I’m surprised you got this far.”

“Oh, shut up . Kreacher, again!”

Once again, Kreacher blew the whistle. Start.

This time, Orion didn’t wait for her to cast first. With a whirl of his wand, the shattered remnants that surrounded them started to float and flew toward him. Another whirl and the sharpened edges pointed at Delphi. Shit.

Protego! She tried casting wordlessly again, but the spell didn’t hold as the attack started, a red gash now on her side. It isn’t working… she thought to herself as she surveyed the area. Orion was stalking his side of the room, watching her with his lion-like eyes. 

Bombarda! Deflected.

Engorgio Skullus! Deflected.

Confringo! Deflected and redirected to her. She barely managed to get a Protego in place as it landed. 

Just then, she remembered what he said a while ago. Parseltongue… huh. 

However, before she could start casting, Orion sent an Orbis at her, effectively dragging her into the ground. Lucky for her, it stopped at her waist, but it still left her vulnerable to his onslaught of interwoven hexes, the colours untelling of the actual spells used. Fuck…

“Obscuro!” she hissed in Parseltongue, watching Orion’s confusion with amusement before adding, “ Fumos!” 

Orion, unperturbed, swiped a whip made of fire through the fog, searching for her. In a panic, she cast, “ Serpensortia Maxima!” An onslaught of snakes left her wand, immediately targeting Orion as soon as they landed. “ Don’t aim to kill. Just subdue,” she ordered in Parseltongue

“Vipera Evanesca! Vipera Evanesca!” Orion started casting out loud, alarm clear on his face as he fought off the snakes. While he was distracted, Delphini seized the opportunity. With a quick, whispered spell, she levitated herself out of the ground, her movements fluid and silent. She landed lightly on her feet, her wand already raised.

Then, in Parseltongue, she cast, “ Incarcerous! ” 

Thick ropes of magic whipped out, wrapping around Orion who barely had time to curse before he hit the ground with a thud, bound tightly by the spell. The snakes she conjured join the ropes, curling themselves around the bound man.

For a couple of beats, all that could be heard was her panting, quickly joined by Kreacher applauding. 

Delphini’s face broke into a wide grin, her chest heaving, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins as realisation dawned on her. “I did it…” she gasped, her hand over her mouth in shock. “Sweet Circe, I did it. Oh Mother Magic, I did it–!”

“If you are done celebrating over one victory,” Orion’s voice cut through her celebration, dry and unimpressed, “could you get me out of this thing?”

“Teach me how to alter a spell’s appearance, first.”

He scowled at her, an eyebrow arched, unimpressed. “While I’m wrapped up in a boa constrictor? On the ground? Don’t be daft, child. Get me out.”

Delphini sighed dramatically. “...Alright,” Delphi said, frowning as she commanded the snake to release him with Parseltongue before releasing the Incarcerous. “You’re no fun.”

Orion got to his feet, dusting his robes off with an unwavering scowl. “I do not care. Meet me in the library when you’re ready. I’ll teach you the theory–”

“But I want to try it out!” Delphini interrupted, her eyes wide as she gestured outward.

“You wouldn’t be able to do it without theory. You should know better than to think otherwise.”

Delphi narrowed her eyes but knew he was right. “Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll see you there, then.”

As Orion turned to leave, Delphini noticed a subtle flicker on his face—not quite a smile, not exactly approval, but maybe a hint of satisfaction. She couldn’t help but smirk to herself; she had done it! 

For just a moment, she had finally bested him, and now she felt one step closer to mastering the magic she so eagerly craved.

~ o ~

La Courbe d’Argent, France

1993

Only with the company of Narcissa— and Druella whenever Walburga wasn’t clingy —did Delphini get the chance to travel farther than the boundaries of Britain, with only the other Black estates as the other places she had access to. With Narcissa, Delphini got the chance to discover other magical districts, just like the town they were in at the moment: La Courbe d’Argent.

The streets of the French magical district bustled around them, conversations weaved with the scent of newly baked pastries in the air as well-dressed witches perused the high-end boutiques that lined the cobblestone streets. Delphini was dressed in a pale blue dress, her dark blue robes embroidered with delicate silver were tightened around her, as she held onto Severus’ arm. They were led to another boutique by Narcissa, her blue eyes caught on the display as the shopping bags and boxes floated behind her. 

“Did he even teach you what he had promised?” Narcissa asked as they entered the boutique, her tone light but curious, barely sparing a glance at the shop attendant before she waved her away with effortless grace. Severus held the door open for both of them before stepping inside. “My uncle is not the most… honourable when it comes to promises.”

Delphini smiled, the memory of the duel still vivid in her mind. Of course, Orion still easily decimated her in the duels that followed, but the first win boosted her confidence when battling the older Black. To the point that, since that fateful day, she had managed to knock him off his feet in a duel, and disarm him of his wand in another. “He did,” she said, her voice tinged with pride. “Orion taught me the theory, but we have yet to try it out in an actual duel. But…” She tilted her head, a proud smile on her face. “I am still happy I managed to beat him. Even if it was just a couple of times.”

Narcissa paused by a display of silk scarves as her expression softened with approval. She reached forward, cupping Delphini’s cheek in a rare display of affection as she nodded. “You should be. Orion is the best duellist in the family for a reason. Barely anyone has ever bested him. I know I haven’t.”

Delphini blinked owlishly. “Do you know who did? Did Reggie?”

Narcissa chuckled, shaking her head as she moved to examine a rack of robes, a soft look on her face. “Don’t tell your brother that I’m spilling his secrets, but no. He was never really a duellist.”

Delphini frowned, her mind racing through the short list of names she could ask about. The Black cousins… there were only five of them—most of which were tied to delicate memories, and Delphini wasn’t sure if her curiosity was worth broaching the topic. She hesitated, unsure if she should press further, but Narcissa, perceptive as always, gave her an encouraging smile. “It’s okay… you can ask about them.”

A quiet guilt twisted in Delphini’s chest as her mind raced. Would I have been granted such openness if I wasn’t gone for four years? Were they overextending themselves for her sake? A selfish part of her didn’t care—her insatiable hunger for knowledge was far stronger than her desire to remain demure, but she also didn’t want to go too far.

“Was it Auntie Andromeda?” she asked tentatively.

This time, it was Severus who chuckled, his deep voice cutting through the quiet hum of the boutique. “Your aunt doesn’t like fighting,” he said, his tone dry but fond. “At the first sight of an argument, she would rather tie them up to subdue them than inflict any pain. So, no. Not her.”

“Was it Sirius, then?”

Narcissa’s expression softened, though something else flickered in her eyes. Something Delphini couldn’t quite place. “Despite being an Auror before everything that had happened, he never liked training with Orion and opted out as soon as he could. The best was Bellatrix, my oldest sister.” ’Your blood mother’ was unsaid yet understood by all of them.

Delphini’s heart skipped a beat, her fingers curled slightly as she hid them under the pretense of running her hand over the material of the displayed dragonhide gloves. “Could you… could you tell me about her?”

Narcissa’s eyes were downcast, nodding. “Of course,” she said, her voice gentle. 

Severus shot her a sidelong glance but said nothing.

“Bellatrix, like her namesake, was Orion’s Huntress,” Narcissa started, her voice turned lighter as she slipped into her teaching persona. “She excelled at duelling. Within pureblood society, she was known as Orion’s prodigy and it was only during their duels could you see the dreadful man smile. He found them liberating, and it was only with Bellatrix that he felt he did not have to hold back.”

Delphini’s eyebrows furrowed as she absorbed the information, her expression thoughtful. “That’s… interesting,” she said quietly.

Severus, ever perceptive, immediately picked up on Delphini’s shift in demeanour. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Delphini hesitated before she exhaled slowly, then confessed, “I want to be better than her.”

Narcissa and Severus exchanged a glance, before the witch turned to Delphini. “Why?” Narcissa asked gently, “You’ve already proven yourself more than capable. Why the need to surpass her?”

Delphini blinked owlishly, her lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the question. She had expected the both of them, or at least Narcissa who indulged her every whim, to accept it without question—to assume it was merely ambition, a competitive streak, a hunger to prove herself. As what was normal for Delphini. But they knew her better than she expected.

She should have known better.

Delphini glanced down, tracing her fingers over the velvet trim of her sleeve as she gathered her words. For a moment, she seemed to wrestle with her words, her usual confidence faltering. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but laced with determination.”Because if… if there’s a war coming, I need to be ready. I need to be strong enough to protect myself—” she paused, voice quieter now, more careful, as if speaking the possibility aloud would make it real. “And the people I care about. And if she…” She trailed off, her jaw tightening. “If she ever comes for me, I need to know she won’t be able to touch me. Not again.”

The air in the boutique seemed to grow heavier, the unspoken weight of Delphini’s words settled over the three of them. Delphini felt ashamed, especially with the knowledge that both of them fought to keep her alive when she was left for dead over a decade ago, but they knew of the dangers firsthand. She glanced at them shyly, noting how Narcissa’s eyes softened with understanding, while Severus’ expression darkened, his protective instincts flaring.

"You think your—” he cleared his throat, his eyes wary before continuing, “You believe Bellatrix will come for you?" Severus asked, his voice low.

Delphini worried her lip before she dipped her head in a nod. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I do know that something is coming. I’ve seen enough, heard enough, to know that the world isn’t as stable as people pretend it is. I won’t be caught unprepared. Not again.”

There it was: the subtle shadow of war, the acknowledgement of the unrest that stained their society, whispers and warnings hidden in the actions and gazes of those who hadn’t moved on from the war. It wasn’t blatant— not yet —but Delphini had learned to read between the lines ever since she was young, and she refused to be helpless if the worst were to come. She needed to be ready.

Narcissa studied her for a long moment before she sighed and reached out to gently tuck away a stray curl that framed the youngest Black’s face. “You don’t have to carry this alone,” she said softly. “We will always be there for you. Always.”

Delphini nodded, though her eyes remained distant, as if she were already envisioning the war to come. “I know,” she said quietly. “But I need to be ready. I can’t… I can’t let her hurt me again.”

Severus stepped closer, his voice firm and resolute, leaving no room for doubt. The simple presence of her godfather made it easier for her to breathe. “You won’t. But you don’t have to face this alone. We’ll make sure you’re prepared—for whatever comes.”

Delphini looked up at him, her expression softening. “Thank you, Sev,” she murmured, a rare moment of vulnerability slipping through.

Silence lingered between them, heavy with unspoken promises—until, suddenly, Delphini’s face lit up with an idea.

“I have an idea,” she said, a slow grin spreading across her lips.

Severus sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose, resigned. “I’m not going to like the idea, am I?”

“You won’t,” Delphini admitted, her tone teasing. “But you’ll say yes. I just know it.”

Severus exhaled, long and suffering, but his gaze was still fond. “Of course, I will.”

Narcissa shook her head as a smile tugged at her lips, the corners upturned. “You two are impossible,” she said, admonishing. “Now, let’s finish here before Delphini ropes us into another one of her schemes.”

~ o ~

Grimmauld Place, London

1993

The study in Grimmauld Place was no longer the only room in the house Orion Black was permitted to enter, but the man barely cared for anything in the home. The only thing of interest he had within it was the youngest inhabitant, and he had grown accustomed to meeting her in the study and flooing straight to the Black Villa instead of dawdling within the townhouse.

However, he recognised that Grimmauld Place was the best setting for what he expected to be a difficult discussion. The topic of interest was the most protected member of the Black family, and the two men— Regulus and Severus —were a few of the more protective guardians for Delphini. 

Within the study was a large mahogany table, the three men sat around it, skipping the empty pleasantries as Orion led with an explanation of Delphini’s wish:

“Delphini has made a request,” he began, his voice low as he watched the two men with an unwavering gaze. “One I find both reckless and necessary. It has been known to those close to her that the young Black had been preparing valiantly for a war—as she had been told by the Hall…”

“Where are you going with this?” Regulus asked, his eyes narrowed.

Orion scoffed. “If you withheld your breath, I would have said it by now,” he said with a scowl, sneering at him as his eyes scanned his son up and down. “To continue where I was unnecessarily interrupted, Delphini has asked to duel the both of you.” 

He paused, letting the words sink in as he assessed the reaction of the two men. A frown grew on Regulus’ face as he stared Orion down, his arms crossed, while Severus had a perfect mask over his features. Even with Orion’s experience dismantling said masks in pureblood society, he couldn’t tell what the Potion Master was thinking. It irked him but they had more pressing matters. He continued before either man could interject, “She knows the risks, and so does Arcturus. Delphini had asked Lord Black before she came to me and the three of us had a long discussion about it.”

“Delphini understands that the possibility of meeting opponents on the field, opponents who had experience as Death Eaters, is quite high. She knows the calibre of those she will face, and she understands that mere practice will not suffice. She wants experience— real experience. And who better to provide that opportunity than two men who have already stood among the Dark Lord’s ranks? Delphini believes that training against the two of you will give her the edge she needs to survive. And while I am not one to indulge every whim the brat has, I cannot deny the logic in her request. If the War of Wiccan Blood returns the second time around, she must be ready. No matter how much we protect her, she will be brought into it. The girl’s self-preservation… is limited, as we all know.”

He straightened, his voice final. "The choice is yours, but know this: Delphini will not stop until she is ready. If you refuse, she will find another way. And I would rather she face you—those who will keep her alive—than risk her life against those who will not."

For the next few moments, the study was quiet. Regulus turned his gaze away from Orion to glare at the lit fireplace. Severus’ expression was, once again, unreadable. But if Orion took the white-knuckled grip the potion master had on the armchair as a sign, the man was pissed at the situation. It was finally Regulus who broke the silence. 

“I don’t think this is smart, Father,” Regulus said, his voice tight with frustration. “Delphini is too young to go against more than one opponent! She’s barely thirteen, for Merlin’s sake!”

Orion sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Delphini asked to be trained against those trained by Him. What was I supposed to say, no?”

“You never had a problem saying no in the past!” Regulus shot back, his tone sharp. “Since when do you let a child dictate her own training?”

“Since she proved she’s more than capable,” Orion replied coolly, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes—pride, perhaps, or maybe just exasperation. “She’s not an ordinary child, Regulus. You know that.”

Before Regulus could retort, a small voice interrupted the argument. “But I want to do this.”

All three men turned to see Delphini standing in the doorway, her arms crossed and her expression stubborn. Her dark curls framed her face, and her eyes burned with determination. She looked so much like her mother in that moment that it gave Orion pause.

“Delphini…” Severus sighed, his voice softer now, though his brow was furrowed with concern. “This isn’t a game. Facing multiple opponents at once is dangerous, even for experienced duellists.”

“Please,” Delphini said simply, earnest. She stepped further into the room, her gaze shifted from Orion, sending him a curt nod, before focusing on the two men who still needed to be convinced. Regulus’ shoulders tensed as if caught in a silent battle between his instincts and her request. Severus, though impassive as ever, looked away for the briefest of moments. Orion noticed how both Severus and Regulus, who had been so adamant about Delphini’s safety moments ago, seemed to wilt under her pleading look. How interesting.

She had them.

“If I were to fight actual Death Eaters in the future—” she began, but Regulus immediately cut her off, shaking his head.

“You won’t,” he said firmly, his voice final, as if the very idea of her in danger was preposterous. “You’re not going anywhere near them.”

“You don’t know that!” Delphini shot back, her voice rising. “You can’t promise that! What if they come for me? What if they come for us? I want to live. This will help me live. And if the both of you hold back on me now, then the more unsafe I am when that time comes.”

A tense silence filled the room.

Severus exhaled through his nose, his shoulders dropping. “Delphini?”

“Sev,” she turned to him now, voice softer but no less insistent. Her eyes wide, pleading. “You told me you would do anything to keep me safe. This is part of that. You can’t protect me forever.”

Severus raised an unimpressed eyebrow, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I never said otherwise.” He gestured toward the space behind her. “Just wanted to tell you that Kreacher’s been waiting by your side for a while now.”

Delphini blinked, then looked down to see the house-elf standing beside her, staring up at her with wide, expectant eyes. “Oh… sorry, little friend,” she said, her tone softening as she reached to hold onto his hand, much like she would when she was a lot younger.

“Reggie?” Delphini turned to her brother, her eyes wide and pleading.

Regulus ran a hand through his raven hair, groaning as though he had already regretted his next words. “Fine! Just this once.”

“Sure!” Delphini quipped, her grin returning in full force. Orion could already tell that she would easily persuade Regulus again when the time came. “Thanks! I’ll be seeing the three of you soon, then.”

With that, she turned and left the room, Kreacher trailing behind her. The study fell silent once more, the only sound the crackling of the fire. 

After a few moments, Orion broke the silence. “So,” he said, his tone dry, “when is your availability?”

Regulus groaned again. Severus pinched the bridge of his nose.

This was going to be a disaster.

~ o ~

The Black Villa, France

1994

“Get into position,” Orion instructed, the tip of his wand on his throat, the Sonorus helping his voice carry in the now clustered duelling chamber. The enchanted building mimicked a clearing in the middle of a forest, trees lining the sides, a gust of wind rustling through them.

Orion was elevated on a podium transfigured from a tree trunk as he watched the three duellists settle in their positions with a narrowed gaze. The two wizards were twenty paces away from the young witch, their wands held vertically, splitting their faces in half. 

Orion had instructed all of them not to hold back. Delphini needed to understand the brutality of war, to experience what it would be like to face relentless, experienced Death Eaters on the battlefield. All while being outnumbered, outmatched, and fighting for her life. 

This was nothing like the training duels he had previously engaged in with her; it was a test, and Orion needed to see if she had what it took to survive.

The three duellists moved in unison, raising their wands to the sky before they brought their fists to their chest, their free hands clasped behind them. They bowed over their casting arm, their heads dipping slightly—a gesture of respect without submission. Their motions were precise and clean, all familiar with the history of wizarding duels. 

As soon as they glanced back up, their eyes locked on one another, the tension in the chamber thickened. Almost completely in sync, the three of them slid into their stances, their movements smooth and deliberate.

Regulus assumed his rendition of the traditional duelling posture, his torso lowered slightly, his non-casting arm stretched out behind him for balance. Beside him, Severus mirrored the stance but with a subtle twist that caught Orion’s attention. Instead of extending his free arm for balance, Severus kept it close to his hip, his fingers slightly curled. Orion scowled, his eyes narrowed at the deliberate positioning of his hand. Orion made a mental note to watch him closer than he expected, the unexpected deviation made him a lot more interested in the halfblood.

Orion’s attention shifted to his apprentice. Despite being taught by Orion, Delphini’s stance had evolved into something entirely her own—something unmistakably reminiscent of Bellatrix. 

The youngest Black crouched low to the ground, her body canted to the right, her left leg stretched out while her right knee bent, lowering her centre of gravity far below that of the two wizards. Her casting arm was drawn back, her wand held near her jaw like an archer nocking an arrow, while her left arm extended forward, almost parallel to her outstretched leg. 

Under him, facing her brother and godfather with an excited glint in her eye, Delphini perfectly mirrored Bellatrix. 

“Wands at the ready," Orion called, the tension in the room palpable as the three challengers waited for his call with bated breaths. "Three, two, one. Begin!”

The chamber erupted into motion. 

Severus had struck first, his wand slashing through the air as he sent a blue bolt of lightning hurtling toward her as Orion dipped his head in acknowledgement, glad that he wasn’t holding back on Delphini. The girl sidestepped, her movements quick and fluid, but her brother was already prepared to attack. With a whip conjured at the tip of his wand, Regulus caught her by her ankle and dragged her across the field, closer to the two wizards. Severus was near him, unending spells leaving his wand which she deflected, hissing spells that barely landed. 

One of Delphini’s hands grappled at the grass, which caused Orion to scowl at the disheartening scene, but his eyebrows raised when she didn’t look terrified or desperate at all. 

In the midst of a duel where she was outmatched in all aspects: Delphini was grinning.

Orion watched in fascination as she threw fistfuls of shredded grass in the air, the blades turned into serpents mid-air, her spells sibilant as she conjured and commanded them to her will. The air within the chamber crackled with magic, but the area around Delphini seemed to shift , as if her palpable magic turned visible for a moment. 

However, something was different with these serpents, wherever they moved, the grass was stained black. It was only when one of the serpents managed to get close to Regulus, his robes started to burn, did Orion realise that the snakes were burning everything in their path. The corner of his lips twitched upward.

Delphini’s wand flicked and twisted as she cast spell after spell in the serpent’s tongue as she was back up and fighting both wizards, surprisingly holding her own. Orion dipped his head in acknowledgement, a sliver of respect slipping through as he recalled how she had defeated him the first time, even if something unnerving coiled in his gut. 

There was something eerily familiar about the way the spells fell freely from her lips, the way the ancient language sounded natural with her voice, the way magic seemed eager to please her. It reminded Orion of him. Tom Riddle. The man he had disrespected, then grew to respect before being disrespected by him, like an ironic cycle.

Tom had been a prodigy, his climb for power relentless as he established himself in every place he stepped foot in. When he was a part of the Knights of Walpurgis, he had seen the once-young Dark Lord duel and cast spells with calculated moves and a prowess deserving of the title ’Slytherin Heir’. It had been both awe-inducing and nearly debilitating in its magnitude. And now, as he watched the Dark Lord’s scion, Orion couldn’t help but see the echoes of that same power.

On one hand, as someone who had known the Dark Lord and his scion, it was easy to discern the two from one another. 

Riddle had always been precise—a creature of careful, borderline paranoid calculation, his magic dark, cold and methodical with an eerie polish. But Delphini was something else entirely: she was made of starfire, bright and relentless, striking without hesitation, her magic telling of her celestial bloodline. Where Riddle sought to own the world, to press his perfectly manicured foot against its necks until they yielded, Delphini sought to understand it, to prove herself beyond the world’s expectation of a girl of her upbringing, of her blood, of her name.

And , Orion thought, a flicker of stubborn pride stirred within him, Delphini had an inheritance Riddle could never touch—the unyielding supremacy of a Black.

The House of Black didn’t just believe they were superior in any way, shape, or form; they knew they were.  

It was ingrained in the way she held herself, the way she moved, the way she effortlessly got what she wanted with minimal persuasion. It was all telling of her Black heritage, and despite his refusal to acknowledge she was one of them in the past: she was a Black, through and through.

Orion turned to watch the duel, assessing every move, every mistake, every… commendable decision made by both parties. Delphini was fast—a lot faster than most would expect—but she was reckless. He sighed. In the past few years, Delphini’s recklessness had always been a spot of contention. It made her open for counterattacks but had worked with her unpredictability in that aspect. Most purebloods, who have also in turn been trained by purebloods, have self-preservation trained into them. Delphini, however, would always hone in on her objective and stubbornly push through dire situations to achieve it, her own survival be damned.

It made her an interesting opponent; it made her a liability for the House of Black. 

Regulus, however, was fighting with a tenacity Orion hadn’t expected—his movements were clean and resolute, each spell cast with no hesitation. He did not expect that between Regulus and Severus, his son was the one to be on the offensive. He had thought that the both of them would be more cautious, defensive—to let Delphini bring the fight to them—but that wasn’t the case. Regulus was on the attack, his spells were sharp and unyielding, while the potion master matched his pace with calculated efficiency. As if they had fought side by side before, which wouldn’t have been surprising if it weren’t for the extent Orion knew his son played during the last war.

Orion scowled. If Regulus—who was barely on the field as far as I know— was this good… Delphini’s in a whole lot more trouble than we had expected.

What had surprised Orion even more was the chemistry between the two wizards. Their spells and shields appeared, disappeared, and flowed together seamlessly, as if they had fought beside each other for the last century. Severus’s defensive magic wove around Regulus’ attacks, protecting the younger as he closed the distance between the two Blacks. their interwoven spells created a hum that was almost hypnotic to witness. It wasn’t just a duel—it was something far more intricate, far more deliberate. 

Far more dangerous , Orion added as his eyes narrowed, observing them, his mind piecing together the patterns. It almost looked like a—

“It’s a dance,” Orion breathed out, his voice low and almost foreign when a tinge of admiration was mixed into it. “They fight like they’re dancing.”

Suddenly, Severus’ left arm twitched, something flying into his fingers that he immediately threw at the ground by Delphini. The object— A phial, Orion’s mind supplied—shattered and from the broken shards erupted a dark, tar-like substance that clawed at the ground, staggering and writhing as it formed a grotesque creature. With jagged limbs that swiped at its surroundings, a roar erupted from its gaping mouth, the monster’s eyes locked onto Delphini: Severus’ monster had joined the battlefield.

In a fit of desperation, Delphini reacted quickly. However, instead of casting the spell in Parseltongue like she had done earlier, she shouted the spell in the language they all understood, “Serpensortia Maxima!”. Delphini had both of her hands holding her wand tightly, her arms shuddering with the strain of magic as she conjured a large snake from its tip, one that was receiving too much of her attention, too much of her magic, as she directed the snake to fight Severus’ creature. However, it was obvious how the spell took a physical toll on her, her body slackening, her duelling posture staggering. 

Then, one of Regulus’ spells hit, and Delphini was shot backwards until she hit the branches of a nearby tree before falling into an unceremonious heap by its roots. Orion wasn’t perturbed at the sight, noticing that Delphini still had a tight grip on her wand, even though one arm dangled, limp, possibly dislocated. He dipped his head in acknowledgement as she staggered back onto her feet, a testament to her inability to yield when most would have.

“Focus, Delphini,” Orion barked, his voice cutting through the chaos of the battlefield. “You’re fighting two opponents, not just one. Watch your surroundings; be vigilant.”

Delphini shot him a glare but said nothing, the duel snatching her attention as the spells exchanged didn’t cease. She paid no attention to her dislocated arm as she slashed her wand through the air, casting a shield charm to block the hex Regulus hurled at her before she spun around to counter Severus’s next attack. But she was tiring, her movements growing sloppy, her spells losing their precision as they missed their target more often than not. 

Orion raised his wand, his expression blank as he summoned a series of stone pillars that erupted from the ground, dividing the room and creating obstacles for all three duellists who staggered at the quakes that ruptured. Delphini stumbled, barely avoiding a pillar as Severus sent a cutting curse her way. She retaliated with a banishing charm, sending one of the pillars crashing toward Regulus who dodged it effortlessly, his wand already moving to cast his next move, a bright red spell crashing onto the ground by Delphini.

“Better,” Orion muttered under his breath. Delphini was adapting, using the environment to her advantage, but she was still too predictable. She needed to think ahead, to anticipate her opponents’ moves rather than simply reacting to them. Orion made a mental note to tackle that mishap on the next lesson, however, with the exhaustion the youngest Black was visibly exhibiting, he knew the next lesson wouldn’t happen for a while. The girl would need to recuperate.

Severus and Regulus started to close in, the gaps between their casting nonexistent as a barrage of spells forced Delphini to retreat. She was backed into a corner, her chest heaving, eyes wide as she struggled to keep up, her shields barely staying up long enough to absorb the spells. Orion could see the fear in her eyes, the realisation that she was outmatched, but she didn’t give up. She raised her wand, casting a powerful blasting curse that shattered one of the pillars, sending rocks flying in all directions.

Severus and Regulus were forced back off for a bit as they dodged the debris, giving Delphini a moment to catch her breath as she staggered away from the corner, her eyes frantically scanning for a safer place to head to. Orion’s lips twitched in the faintest hint of approval. She was resourceful, he would give her that, but that alone wouldn’t save her in a real fight; Delphini, at her current skill level, would not survive an attack from Death Eaters.

“Enough,” Orion said, his voice carrying through the chamber as the platform lowered until he was close to them. The duel came to an abrupt stop, the three duellists lowering their wands as they turned to face him; Delphini was breathing heavily, her hair dishevelled, her robes singed, her casting arm now holding on to her dislocated shoulder, but she held her head high; Severus and Regulus looked as composed as they always did, though there was a mix of worry and respect in their eyes as they glanced at Delphini.

Orion stepped forward, his gaze swept over the three of them, lingering on the two men for a moment before settling on Delphini. She stood before him, her chest rising and falling with exertion, her shoulder visibly bruised from the duel. Without a word, Orion raised his wand and whispered, “Ferula,” watching as bandages materialised in the air, wrapping themselves tightly around Delphini’s injured shoulder. She winced slightly but didn’t protest, her eyes locked on his as she dipped her head in a silent nod of thanks.

“You’re reckless,” he said, his tone cold and low, “You leave yourself open to attack, and you rely too much on brute force. If this had been a real fight, you would be dead.”

Delphini’s jaw tightened, her lips pressed into a thin line but she said nothing, her eyes locked on his as she dipped her head into another nod.

“However,” Orion continued, “you have potential. You’re quicker than most would expect, you’re creative with your spells, and you adapt well under pressure. If you can learn to control your impulses and think ahead, you might just survive.”

Delphini nodded, her expression contemplative as she processed the information. "I understand," she said, her voice steady despite her visible exhaustion, the posture Narcissa taught her nowhere to be found.

Orion studied her for a moment before turning to the two wizards who had joined them for the duelling session. “You two did well. Dismissed. Severus, please see to Delphini’s injuries.”

“Of course,” Severus replied, his voice as calm as his wand started intricately casting in the air, a scroll appearing in front of the potion master.

“And Delphini?” Orion added, pausing as he turned back to her.

“Yes?”

“You did better than I expected,” he said, his voice flat. “Good job.”

Delphini’s face lit up, her smile blinding. “Thank you.” 

Orion nodded, a flicker of something resembling pride in his eyes. As he turned to leave, he could hear the young girl erupting into excited chatter as she recounted the duel with Regulus and Severus. The latter nodded along as he passed her a phial of potion to consume for her injuries with a quiet instruction to drink it, while Regulus listened with a faint smile, his earlier seriousness melting away in the face of her enthusiasm. 

Delphini was young, and she had much to learn, but Orion could not deny the potential that coursed through her. She had the tenacity of a Black in her veins, and that , he thought, might just be enough.