celano corina black held the distinct honor of presiding over the most acrimonious of family dinners. it was a rare occasion that the entirety of the black family would be gathered in a single room. yet here they were: celano, his esteemed parents, arcturus and melania; his elder brother orion and orion’s wife, walburga; his sister lucretia; and, most conspicuously, you.

you were not of the most noble and prestigious house black, however lucretia had invited you to the soirée; celano could not fault her. perhaps she had thought a friend would make the affair more enjoyable.

this was a misguided sentiment, as the foul mood was to afflict you, as well.

number twelve grimmauld place remained as frigid as ever; the portraits of deceased relatives following your every move as you skittered behind lucretia. the dining table had been laden with silverware, probably having been toiled over by the house elf, fisket, for hours. the tablecloth was intricate, the velvet as smooth as a plane of glass.

the blacks looked the same. high cheekbones. dark hair. pale, hawkish eyes. statues carved out of the same block of marble.

you needed some air. excusing yourself from the table, you had found your way into an upstairs hallway, past the drawing room where orion’s infant sons, sirius and regulus, were being doted over by fisket. that poor, poor elf.

“it is impolite to wander around an estate you are merely a guest in.” celano’s cold, sickly smooth voice pricked your ears like microscopic needles. there he was, leaning against the wall, dark lashes casting his mercury eyes into shadow.

he more slender than orion was, the meeker brother, delicate, with a waist fitted with a rather womanly corset that overlaid a crisp cream shirt; but with the maliciously cynical expression gracing his poised features, you were beginning to disagree with that adjective.

the hall was silent. you could not hear your own breathing, let alone his. “my parents do not take well to trespassers near their quarters, lucretia’s friend or not."