The Ministry Gala
The Ballroom in the Ministry was decorated with long purple tapestries. The chandelier in the center of the dance floor was gold and shimmering. Suspended balls of light hang in the air. And Hyacinth was completely enthralled by it all. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the hum of quiet, controlled conversations. Everyone moved with calculated elegance, their words laced with hidden meanings, their smiles sharp and deliberate.
Hyacinth entered the room behind Aunt Walburga and Uncle Orion. Her gloved hand was wrapped around Sirius’ forearm, she was wearing a white chemise, her black wizarding robe draped over her shoulders, the gold detailing of runes and stars printed on it. Her hair was in a braided low bun, a hyacinth hairpiece stuck in it. Although she was only 8 years old, Aunt Walburga had taken the liberty to put a dash of pink blush across her cheeks and a rose tint was patted on her lips
Hyacinth was accustomed to grand gatherings, but this was different. It wasn’t just a display of wealth—it was a battlefield of power, of alliances and quiet negotiations.
Then, she saw them.
Bellatrix. Andromeda. Narcissa.
Her sisters stood in a perfect line, the way they had since they were old enough to understand what was expected of them. Bellatrix, at seventeen, was a vision of dark beauty, her presence commanding the room’s attention. Andromeda, at fourteen, had an effortless grace about her, her sharp wit hidden behind a well-practiced smile. Narcissa, at eleven, was still delicate and doll-like, but her poise was already impeccable.
And then there was Hyacinth—still a child, still small, still the baby of the Black family.
But when their eyes met, her sisters’ faces softened.
"There’s my little flower," Andromeda murmured as she knelt slightly, cupping Hyacinth’s face.
"You’ve grown," Narcissa said, tilting her head with a fond smile.
Bellatrix, who rarely displayed open affection, merely smirked and reached out to pat Hyacinth’s head. "Bet you’ve been causing trouble without us."
Hyacinth let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. This was what she had missed—the warmth hidden beneath the Black name, the unspoken understanding between sisters.
-
As they moved through the ballroom, Hyacinth found herself near the Potters, standing beside Sirius and Regulus as their families exchanged polite greetings. James Potter was the same age as her and Sirius, but there was something different about him. He had the natural poise of a pureblood, but none of the stiff arrogance. He looked comfortable in his skin like he belonged anywhere he chose to stand.
Sirius, never missing an opportunity, smirked. "Careful, Potter, stand up any straighter and they’ll start thinking you belong with us."
James blinked before grinning. "I’d rather not, thanks. I hear Black is an awfully dull color. Doesn’t suit me at all."
Hyacinth bit back a laugh. Sirius actually grinned.
Walburga’s nails dug into Sirius’ shoulder. "That’s enough."
As they were led away, Hyacinth stole a glance at James. He was still grinning, watching them go with unshaken confidence. She knew she’d see him again.
When the trio had finally found their table, Hyacinth turned to Regulus, his face full of confusion.
"Why did Mother get so angry?" he whispered. "That boy was nice."
Hyacinth hesitated, glancing toward Sirius, who was watching the adults with something unreadable in his expression.
"Because he laughed at the wrong joke," she murmured back.
Regulus frowned. "But—Sirius was funny. That James boy thought so too."
Hyacinth inhaled sharply. "It’s not about what was funny, Reggie. It’s about who’s allowed to laugh."
Regulus fell silent, and she could see the gears turning in his head. He was beginning to understand, even if he didn’t fully grasp it yet.
As the night wore on, the air grew heavier. Hyacinth, no longer interested in standing by the adults, slipped away toward the grand staircase where the conversation was quieter.
That was when she heard them.
Her parents.
Cygnus Black stood beside Walburga, their voices hushed but urgent. Soleil Kim, her mother, was there too, her expression unreadable.
"Lestrange is ready to make an offer," Cygnus murmured. "His family has been waiting for the right moment."
Walburga hummed in approval. "Bellatrix is of age. It’s time."
Hyacinth’s heart twisted.
Bellatrix.
She turned, glancing across the room until her eyes found her eldest sister—still fierce, still commanding, but… unaware. Unaware that somewhere, in the shadows, her future was being decided for her. Hyacinth felt small.
For the first time, she truly understood her place in this family. She was the youngest flower in the Black Garden, the last to be pruned, the last to be shaped into something useful.
Her whole life had been mapped out before she even had a say in it.
She turned back to her sisters, her gaze lingering on Bellatrix.
Tonight, it was her turn.
One day, it would be Hyacinth’s.
A chill settled in her bones, and for the first time, she didn’t feel like a child anymore.
-
Hyacinth sat curled between Andromeda and Narcissa in the carriage, but her thoughts lingered on the gala, tangled in the whispers she had overheard. She knew better than to bring them up in public. Any type of outburst was improper, and speaking out of turn was a dangerous thing in their world. She would wait until they were home, where the walls of Noctis Veil kept their secrets safe.
As the carriage lurched forward, she glanced out the window just in time to see Sirius and Regulus being ushered into another carriage. Walburga’s sharp voice cut through the cold air, her words indistinct but unmistakably angry. Hyacinth watched as Regulus kept his head down, obediently following, while Sirius—Sirius who never knew when to keep quiet—stood rigid, his hands clenched at his sides.
She lifted her hand in a small wave.
Regulus didn’t see it. But Sirius did. His stormy gray eyes flickered to hers, his expression unreadable, before he gave her a small, fleeting smile—just for her—before turning back to his mother.
Then the carriage doors shut, and the night swallowed them whole.
By the time they reached Noctis Veil, the castle was warm despite its eerie look, the only sound was the soft crackle of the enchanted torches lining the halls. Soleil and Cygnus retired without a word, trusting that their daughters would conduct themselves as they always had—with dignity
But the night wasn’t over for the Black sisters.
Bellatrix’s chambers were like stepping into another world, where the air was laced with the scent of old parchment, candle smoke, and the faintest trace of expensive perfume. The four of them gathered there, as they always did when reunited, a habit that had started when Bella first left for Hogwarts, and Hyacinth was still too small to understand why her sisters had to go.
Hyacinth settled onto the floor between Bellatrix’s legs, her back against the plush chair, while Bella absently undid the pins in her hair. The weight of the long, dark strands fell loose, and Bellatrix wordlessly took up her silver-handled brush, working through the knots.
“How was it?” Narcissa murmured, reclining on the settee with the kind of grace only she could manage. “Our little flower’s first time without any of us?”
Hyacinth knew Narcissa was referencing Hyacinth’s time together as a whole.
“It was different,” Hyacinth admitted. “Sirius and Regulus were with me most of the time.”
Andromeda’s lips curved slightly. “They kept you entertained, then?”
Hyacinth nodded, a small smile creeping onto her face. “Sirius got us in trouble. But that’s not new.”
Bellatrix smirked. “What did he do now?”
Hyacinth recounts all the times that Sirius had gotten the trio into trouble, whether it be them all sneaking around Grimmaould to play instead of going to their lesson or flying as high as possible with their brooms. She talks about her time in Grimmauld fondly, and it invokes a sense of calm in the three older sisters, at least their little flower was not at Nocits Veil spending her days alone.
Hyacinth clears her throat, “We met a boy at the gala, James Potter.”
Narcissa and Andromeda exchanged a glance, but neither interrupted.
Hyacinth shifted. “Sirius made a remark about how James was acting too stiff, almost as if he was a Black. Then two of them laughed. Very loudly and Aunt Walburga got mad at him”
Bellatrix let out a low chuckle, shaking her head. “That sounds like him.”
“James laughed,” Hyacinth added, recalling the way the other boy’s eyes had lit up with amusement. “Really laughed. I don’t think anyone has ever laughed at something Sirius said like that before.”
“Because most people don’t have the audacity to,” Narcissa murmured.
Hyacinth nodded before fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “Aunt Walburga was furious. She kept saying he was a disgrace. And Regulus—” She hesitated, looking up at them. “Regulus didn’t understand. He kept asking why she was so angry, and I didn’t know how to explain it to him. Blacks have a reputation to uphold”
Andromeda inhaled sharply, her brows knitting together.
Hyacinth looked at her elder sister, eyes wide. “How do I explain it to him?”
Bellatrix’s fingers stilled in her hair. For a moment, there was silence, save for the crackling of the enchanted flames in the hearth.
“Sirius is going to make things harder for himself,” Bellatrix finally said, her voice quieter than usual. “And for Regulus, too. Sirius doesn’t think before he speaks.”
Andromeda exhaled, “Regulus is young. But he’ll understand soon enough.”
Narcissa, ever composed, simply smoothed out the folds of her gown. “You can’t explain it to him without making him see the cracks, Hyacinth. And once he does, he won’t be able to unsee them.”
Hyacinth swallowed. She wasn’t sure she liked that answer. For a long moment, they sat in silence, Bellatrix resuming her gentle brushing of Hyacinth’s hair as if the rhythmic motion could smooth away her worries.
Then Hyacinth said, almost hesitantly, “I also heard something else.”
Three sets of sharp, dark eyes turned to her.
“I heard them talking about your betrothal,” she admitted, turning her head slightly to look up at Bellatrix. “I heard a name. Lestrange.”
The air in the room grew heavy. The three older sisters all exchanged glances. Bellatrix stiffened. Then, without warning, she let out a sharp, irritated scoff. “Of course, it’s a Lestrange. Who else would it be?”
Andromeda’s head snapped up, her eyes widening ever so slightly. Narcissa, usually the most unreadable, inhaled slowly, her fingers twitching against the fabric of her dress.
Hyacinth caught all of it.
“You already knew,” she realized. Bellatrix groaned, tossing the brush onto the vanity. “It was always going to be someone like him,” she muttered. “I just didn’t think it would be so soon.”
“Andromeda?” Hyacinth turned to her next.
Andromeda didn’t speak at first. Then, slowly, she said, “I just… I didn’t think they would go through with it.”
“Don’t be naïve,” Bellatrix snapped, but there was no real bite to it. Narcissa, meanwhile, was smoothing out an invisible wrinkle in her dress, her face carefully neutral. “It makes sense,” she said after a long pause. “Politically. Strategically.”
“It’s disgusting,” Bellatrix muttered.
“It’s expected,” Narcissa corrected.
Hyacinth felt something tighten in her chest. Bellatrix sighed, rubbing her temple before turning back to her youngest sister. Her gaze softened slightly, and she reached out, taking one of Hyacinth’s hands in hers. “Listen to me,” she said, her voice quieter now. “We may not have a choice in most things. But we always have each other,” she says. Hyacinth nodded, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on her small shoulders.
Bellatrix squeezed her hand. “We share blood, a bond no one else will ever understand, it isn’t something they can take from us”
Narcissa nodded slightly, and even Andromeda, who had been quiet, conflicted, didn’t argue.
Hyacinth exhaled slowly. She understood now.
She understood that their world had rules that even Bellatrix, the wildest of them, could not outrun. She understood that marriage was not about love, but about duty. And more than anything, she understood that no matter what happened, they were Black sisters.
And they would always have each other.
-
The morning at Noctis Veil was soft and gentle, a quiet interlude before the bustle of Yuletide. A light frost clung to the ancient stone walls and winding cobblestone paths, and the first rays of sun danced over the dew, turning the grounds into a shimmering winter wonderland. In this delicate light, the Black sisters—Bellatrix, Narcissa, Andromeda, and little Hyacinth—strolled together along a garden path lined with silver-frosted holly and clusters of winter blooms.
They laughed and chattered easily, the sound mingling with the distant call of an enchanted fountain. Bellatrix led the way, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she recalled a humorous incident at Hogwarts. “You remember Professor Flume, don’t you?” she said, her tone teasing. “I swear, his robes were so poorly maintained last term that I almost mistook him for a walking wardrobe malfunction.” Her laugh was infectious, and even Narcissa allowed herself a small, delighted smile.
Narcissa, ever graceful and poised, delicately sipped her tea as she added, “It was amusing, though I do hope Flume takes his appearance more seriously this term. Proper presentation is everything, after all—even for a professor.” Her voice was light, yet beneath it lay a hint of the pressure she constantly felt to uphold every nuance of pureblood decorum.
Andromeda, who usually guarded her secrets close to her heart, surprised them with a rare burst of candor. “I overheard a rather scandalous rumor in the common room,” she confessed with a playful glint in her eyes. “Apparently, one of the older Slytherins were caught sneaking muggle sweets into the kitchen—can you imagine?” Her tone was conspiratorial, and the sisters exchanged amused glances.
Little Hyacinth, nestled between her elder sisters, listened with wide, curious eyes. “Did they get in trouble?” she asked in a small voice, the innocence in her tone softening the scandalous nature of the rumor.
Bellatrix ruffled Hyacinth’s hair affectionately. “Oh, my dear, sometimes it’s the little mischiefs that remind us life isn’t all rules and rigid traditions.” She paused, her expression turning tender. “Remember when we used to hide in the kitchens, giggling as we stole a taste of the treacle fudge?”
Narcissa’s eyes softened with nostalgia as she nodded. “Yes, those were simpler times—when our biggest worry was being caught by Mother, not the unyielding expectations of our future.”
The conversation drifted, and Andromeda, always the one planning and organizing, steered the topic toward their upcoming Yuletide celebration. “For this Yuletide, we have some fun plans ahead,” she declared brightly. “Bellatrix, you and Narcissa will help arrange the table settings and the Yule tree—the silver ornaments must shine just right. Hyacinth, my sister you’ll be in charge of the flower arrangements. I want each bloom to reflect a little of your own unique charm.”
Hyacinth’s eyes lit up with excitement at the task, though she hesitated as she looked around at her sisters. “I… I can do that,” she murmured, a mix of determination and gentle wonder in her voice.
-
Cygnus Black stood on the sweeping marble steps with a stern, almost unapproachable gaze. When his four daughters approached him, without a word, he dismissed the youngest three daughters with a curt gesture, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. Only Bellatrix, his eldest, was to follow him into his private study.
Inside, the study was a testament to pureblood opulence. Ornate dark wood paneling, heavy velvet drapes, and gilded portraits of forefathers lined the walls. Shelves cradled ancient, leather-bound tomes and priceless artifacts, while richly embroidered carpets muffled every step. At the far end of the room, Soleil sat in a grand, high-backed armchair, her posture impeccable though her eyes betrayed a guarded concern. The atmosphere was thick with expectation and unspoken judgment.
Cygnus’ voice, measured yet seething with impatience, cut through the quiet. “Bellatrix,” he began sharply, “the Lestranges have expressed a keen interest. They have sent a notice of interest and wish to meet with you.”
Bellatrix’s heart pounded as the words hung in the air like a decree. Her eyes narrowed in quiet defiance even as she struggled to maintain her composure. “Father, I am too young—” she started, her tone trembling between protest and the conditioned respect she had been forced to internalize.
“Enough!” Cygnus barked, his strict tone echoing off the rich, cold surfaces of the study. “You are a Black. Our legacy depends on these alliances. This match with Roldophus Lestrange will secure our standing for generations to come.”
Bellatrix’s defiance flared as she tried to reason, “But I do not wish to be defined as a wife, nor to bear children—my identity should not be reduced to a mere man.”
Her words, spoken in a clear yet quivering tone, made Cygnus’ expression darken. In a swift, searing moment of anger, he struck her with a backhanded slap. The sharp sound of skin meeting skin reverberated through the study, and Soleil’s hand flew to her mouth in a silent gasp, her eyes filled with a mixture of horror and restrained duty.
Without a pause, Cygnus drew his wand and pointed it directly at Bella. “You will learn your place,” he declared. With a flick of his wrist, he cast a spell—one he had perfected for such moments—uttering, “Vox Mandata!” In an instant, Bella crumpled to the floor, her body slackening under the force of the spell.
Soleil’s gaze darted toward Bella, the maternal part of her aching to rush forward, but duty and decorum held her back. Cygnus then raised his wand once more, his eyes cold and unyielding. “Mentis Imperiosa!” he intoned.
A surge of invasive magic burst forth, penetrating Bella’s mind with relentless legilimency. The spell tore through her thoughts like a vicious wind, forcing her to hear the unyielding echoes of her ancestors and the harsh, imperious commands of her father: “Uphold your duty. You are a Black. Sacrifice your desires for the honor of our name.”
Bella writhed on the cold stone floor, her mind assaulted by visions and voices. The curse left visible marks—a network of silvery, shimmering lines along her neck and collarbone—that pulsed with the weight of her imposed destiny. Her body trembled, and tears streamed down her cheeks as the curse forced its bitter message deep into her soul.
In that unbearable moment, as the cruel incantation wracked her with both physical pain and mental torment, Bella’s defiant spirit flickered. Through choked sobs, she managed to whisper, “I will never... marry him.” Her voice, though fierce, trembled with anguish as the magic continued its relentless assault.
In the silence that followed, Soleil’s eyes filled with sorrow, but her features remained stoically composed—bound by the unyielding duty of her position. Cygnus’s voice, harsh and unrepentant, echoed in the stillness, leaving no room for rebellion or plea.
-
Bellatrix slowly awakened to a haze of pain and regret, her eyes fluttering open to a dimly lit room heavy with the quiet of early morning. The familiar, austere decor of her private chamber at Noctis Veil—dark wood paneling, a few faded portraits of stern ancestors, and the soft glow of enchanted candles—only deepened her sense of isolation.
As her vision cleared, she became aware of the anxious faces of her sisters gathered around her on a small settee: Narcissa’s eyes were downcast with worry, Andromeda’s looked conflicted yet protective, and little Hyacinth clutched her hands together, tears glistening in her wide eyes.
Bellatrix took a shuddering breath, swallowing the pain before speaking in a low, trembling voice, “Father… he cast two spells. First, he used Vox Mandata —forced me into submission, and made me collapse, as if I had no will of my own. And then… he followed with Mentis Imperiosa , burrowing into my mind, screaming at me to uphold our duty, to accept this arranged match with Roldophus Lestrange. It hurts.” Her tone grew bitter as she recalled the memory. “I refuse it. I refuse to become someone I’m not—a wife, a vessel for their ambitions. I will never marry him.”
Her sisters listened in heavy silence. Narcissa reached out hesitantly, brushing a stray lock of hair away from Bellatrix’s tear-stained face. Andromeda’s eyes flashed with a mixture of sorrow and fierce determination, while Hyacinth’s small face was a mask of hurt and confusion.
Unable to bear the sight of her eldest in such agony, Hyacinth slipped out of the room for a few moments. When she returned, she clutched a worn leather-bound book of healing spells. With trembling fingers, she flipped it open and found the precise page—one detailing the counter-spell for restorative healing, titled “Anima Curae.” She looked up at Andromeda, whose steady gaze and quiet strength had always been a source of comfort.
“Here,” whispered Hyacinth, pointing to the page with a child’s earnest hope. “This spell… it can ease the pain and mend the marks.” Andromeda nodded, understanding the urgency in her little sister’s voice. With care, Andromeda raised her wand and recited the incantation in a gentle, rhythmic tone:
“Anima Curae, libera dolorem,
Mendare vincula, et sanare animam.”
A soft, shimmering light enveloped Bellatrix’s injured skin, and slowly the silvery wisps that marred her neck and collarbone began to fade, as if being washed away by an invisible tide. Bellatrix’s eyes fluttered, a pained exhale escaping her as the healing magic took effect. For a brief, tender moment, the atmosphere in the room softened, replaced by an unspoken bond of sisterly care that defied even the harshest edicts of their world.
Even as the magic mended the physical marks, the weight of their legacy and the painful, inescapable duty it demanded hung in the air.
The sisters exchanged solemn looks, their bond unspoken yet unbreakable, as they vowed silently to protect one another.