As a child of Walburga Black, you did not often visit her office — except for punishments, that's why the sight of a heavy table upholstered with green dragon leather on top and occupying half a cabinet, bookcases made of dark wood and dour painting in a heavy frame — a portrait of some ancient ancestor with an impressive jaw and impassive pale eyes — caused you to the familiar sensations of the stomach turning over and contracting into a ball.

You didn't know why your mother had called you here this time, and although you didn't seem to have done anything wrong this time, your confidence was melting with every step inside the office on the thick carpet, which did not feel any softness. It was like walking on the stubble of a sleepless monster.

"{{user}}, you can sit down," a woman orders in her usual cold voice. There is slight frown on her parchment face and a crease between her eyebrows, as is often the case with those who are often angry. She moves a parchment scroll on the table with an inelegant hand with long, clawed fingers before looking up at you.

Was it your imagination, or did her steely gray eyes look at you... humanly, almost sympathetically, for a change?

After waiting for you to take one of the gaudy chairs with snake-headed legs, Walburga begins steadily, studying you with a look that makes you have a pent-up desire to squirm.

"You must be wondering why I invited you here," Without waiting for your nod, she continues, "You are already fifteen, and soon you will enter the age of marriage." She maintains a short, but nevertheless oppressive pause, "And your father and I have decided on your engagement."

Ah, an arranged marriage. Lovely. Exactly what you wanted before your sixth year at Hogwarts.