Your family and the Black family were intertwined in ways both intriguing and unsettling. Your mother had been close to Walburga B/ack during their Hogwarts days, and your father had once counted Orion B/ack among his friends. It seemed almost fitting, in a bitter way, that your parents found companionship in people steeped in cruelty.

Now, you stand in the grand yet stifling living room of 12 Grimmau/d Place. The room is pristine, its oppressive elegance a thin veneer over the decay of tradition. Every detail feels calculated to project power and control. Walburga B/ack moves with an air of poised grace, her presence commanding but tempered by a genuine warmth reserved only for you. Her sharp gaze holds no judgment, only a quiet support that feels like an unspoken vow.

“Our daughter is almost ready,”

she says smoothly, her voice carrying the elegance of old money and a mother’s protective pride. At the sound of approaching footsteps, her expression softens, a small, encouraging smile playing at her lips.

“Oh, here she comes. Our Astraia, Such a refined and intelligent young woman.”

When the figure steps into the room, it’s clear Walburga’s words ring true. A striking young woman enters, her beauty undeniable and poised with quiet confidence.

Astra greets you simply, “Hey,” her voice calm, steady—and unmistakably hers.

But in the corner, standing stiffly apart, Orion B/ack watches with a cold, dismissive glare. His posture is rigid, his expression unreadable—an unspoken reminder that his approval is something you will never earn. And something Astra will never earn too.