Yule Break
The invisible carriage rattled over the uneven cobbled streets, its frame barely swaying as the four Black children sat in practiced silence. Outside, the London mist clung to the gas lamps, pooling at their bases like ghosts whispering along the pavement.
Hyacinth sat beside Narcissa, their hands folded neatly in their laps, mirroring each other’s composed posture. Across from them, Regulus leaned against the seat, his gaze turned toward the window, watching the familiar streets blur past. Sirius sprawled beside him, one leg stretched out, arms crossed over his chest, his foot tapping restlessly against the carriage floor.
Narcissa broke the silence first. “It feels like ages since we were all together,” she said, her voice light, carefully poised.
Hyacinth turned to her sister, observing the soft warmth in her tone. “It does,” she agreed, though she knew the time apart had not felt so long to the others. Narcissa had been busy preparing for her wedding. Hyacinth had been buried in her studies. Regulus had been navigating his own place at Hogwarts. And Sirius…
Sirius had been pulling away from them all.
“Lovely reunion,” Sirius drawled suddenly, flicking his gaze toward Narcissa. “So, Cissy, how does it feel knowing your entire life is now bound to the Malfoy’s fortune?”
Narcissa did not so much as blink. “At least I’ll never have to wonder where my next Galleon is coming from.”
Hyacinth hid her smirk behind her hand.
Regulus let out a quiet exhale, something between amusement and exasperation.
Sirius huffed, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant.”
Narcissa turned to him, her silver-blue eyes cool but steady. “Then say what you mean, Sirius.”
For a moment, the air between them stilled. Sirius’s fingers drummed once, twice against his knee, but he did not answer. Hyacinth studied him closely, noting the way his shoulders tensed beneath his school robes, the way his jaw flexed as he looked away.
Regulus shifted, finally speaking, his voice low but firm. “It could be worse,” he said. “At least Lucius treats her well.”
Sirius didn’t scoff this time. He simply looked away. Hyacinth glanced at Narcissa. There was no hesitation in the way she held herself, no flicker of uncertainty. She looked… content.
Hyacinth had expected quiet resignation, acceptance of her fate, but this was different.
This was peace.
She exhaled softly, settling back against the seat. Maybe duty wasn’t always a cage, and maybe, one day, she might find peace in it too.
The carriage slowed as it turned onto Grimmauld Place. The towering, soot-stained townhouses loomed ahead, the Black family crest shining dimly in the fog-drenched night.
Hyacinth inhaled deeply.
The doors of Number Twelve creaked open. Father had said to come to Grimmauld first, as Noctis Veil was under preparations for the Yule Ball they were hosting. Hyacinth belated realized that she had not been tasked with her usual flower preparations this year. It was something Andromeda used to organize.
-
Dinner at Grimmauld Place was as suffocating as ever. The grand dining hall, dimly lit by flickering chandeliers, stretched long and imposing, the Black family crest looming above the hearth. The table was set with fine silver, the polished plates reflecting the cold candlelight, but the presence of the family itself was sparse.
Hyacinth sat between Regulus and Narcissa, her posture impeccable, her hands resting lightly on the tablecloth. Across from them, Sirius sat stiffly, his expression blank as he idly pushed his fork against his plate. Cygnus and Soleil sat at the head of the table, speaking in low, measured tones.
It was only when dessert was served that Bellatrix’s absence was acknowledged.
“She will not be joining us this year,” Cygnus announced casually, slicing through his fig tart without looking up. “She is spending the holiday with the Lestranges.”
There was a pregnant pause, brief but noticeable.“She’s securing our family’s position,” Soleil added, her tone carrying an air of satisfaction. “It’s good to see her taking her betrothal seriously.”
Hyacinth’s fingers curled subtly around the stem of her goblet. Betrothal? That was what they thought she was doing? Playing the dutiful fiancée, ingratiating herself with the Lestranges?
Bellatrix had never been one for playing along.
“She’s ensuring her future,” Cygnus continued. “A fine match.”
Sirius let out a low scoff, the sound barely audible over the clink of silverware. Regulus remained silent, but Hyacinth saw the way his gaze flickered toward her, the slight tension in his shoulders. Hyacinth reached for her wine glass, taking a slow sip. “Is that all she’s doing?”
Cygnus barely spared her a glance. “What else would she be doing?”
There was something in his tone, it as final, unquestioning. A man who had never needed to doubt his control over his own daughter. Hyacinth lowered her glass, the taste of mulled wine heavy on her tongue.
She did not argue. There was no point, but still, she knew Bellatrix.
And Bellatrix was not the kind of woman who simply played along.
Sirius and Regulus both looked at her then, as if they had caught something in her expression that the others had missed. It was Regulus who spoke first, his voice quiet enough that only she and Sirius could hear. “You don’t believe them.”
Hyacinth’s gaze didn’t leave her plate. “I think Mother and Father believe what they want to.”
Regulus was watching her now, his sharp eyes assessing, reading between the lines.
“I sure of it, she must be with them, ” Hyacinth admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “But not for the reasons they think.”
Sirius exhaled through his nose, setting his fork down with more force than necessary. “You think she’s getting herself into trouble.”
Hyacinth didn’t answer.
She didn’t have to.
The silence between them said enough. Across the table, Cygnus continued speaking to Soleil and Walburga about the Malfoys, going on a spiel about the importance of strengthening bonds as if there was nothing amiss.
As if his eldest daughter wasn’t slipping away into something darker.
-
The scent of faint perfume and pressed violets lingered in the air, mingling with the traces of preservation spells woven into the delicate lace. Madame Blanchet’s Bridal Atelier was an exclusive establishment, reserved only for the most prestigious pureblood families.
Which was exactly why Walburga Black had sent her sons.
"A display of unity," she had called it.
"House Black has no cracks. No divisions. No rifts."
And so, Sirius and Regulus had been instructed to accompany Narcissa and Hyacinth to the fitting not just as family, but as symbols. They were there to prove to the world that the Blacks stood strong. Even if the truth was from it.
Hyacinth absently traced the embroidery on a lace sleeve, watching as Narcissa stood before the grand mirror, wrapped in white fabric.
The dress was exquisite: long-sleeved, elegantly structured, the kind of gown that was not meant to be worn, but to be admired. It suited Narcissa perfectly, and yet, it was not the dress that caught Hyacinth’s attention.
It was the quiet, flickering warmth in Narcissa’s reflection.
She liked the gown. She had a wistful look on her face, like she was dreaming about the day she would walk down the aisle.
A voice broke through the delicate silence.
“Hmm.”
Hyacinth turned just in time to see Sirius circling Narcissa like an artist assessing a portrait, arms folded behind his back, eyes narrowed in consideration. Narcissa arched a perfectly shaped brow. “Well?”
Sirius clicked his tongue. “It’s very… Malfoy.”
Regulus, standing near a display of veils, hummed. “That is the point.”
Hyacinth smirked. “What? Did you expect her to get married in Slytherin green?”
Sirius exhaled dramatically. “I’m just saying, a bit of contrast wouldn’t hurt. Silver embroidery, maybe. Or a more dramatic neckline—”
Narcissa turned slowly to look at him, a pointed glare on her face. Sirius held up his hands in surrender, grinning. “Right, right, not my wedding. Carry on.”
Regulus sighed. "Mother would have a fit if she heard you talking like that."
Hyacinth chuckled as she stepped closer to Narcissa, adjusting the lace trim along her wrist. She tilted her head, giving her sister a playful glance,“Mother isn’t making you wear a hanbok? I would have thought Grandmother would have forced you into one.”
Narcissa let out a soft breath, not quite a laugh, but close.
“She tried,” she murmured. “But the Malfoys have their own traditions. Apparently, it’s scandalous for a Malfoy bride to wear anything but a pure white gown.”
Hyacinth rolled her eyes. “Of course it is.”
Narcissa smirked. “At least I was able to compromise on the veil. Mother wanted a sixteen-foot train.”
Regulus, who had been quiet until now, snorted. “What, was she hoping you’d float down the aisle?”
Sirius grinned. “More like descend from the ceiling. Imagine, dramatic organ music playing, and whoosh– there’s Cissy, lowered by a hundred enchanted doves.”
Hyacinth bit her lip to keep from laughing, but Narcissa gave them all a look. “You’re all insufferable.”
Regulus smirked behind his hand. “We get it from you.”
“Mm,” Sirius hummed. “No, I’m fairly certain we get it from me.”
The seamstress, who had clearly dealt with pureblood siblings before, cleared her throat and stepped forward. “Miss Black, the alterations will be ready in one week.”
Narcissa nodded, smoothing her hands down the front of the gown. “Good.”
And there it was again that fleeting moment, that quiet contentment. For so long, Hyacinth had assumed Narcissa’s betrothal was nothing more than another pureblood arrangement, cold and calculated.
Now, she realized that Narcissa was happy.
Perhaps not in the way fairytales spoke of, but in a way that mattered.
-
The ballroom of Noctis Veil was alive with murmured conversation and the rustle of enchanted candles. The glow of floating chandeliers cast golden light across polished marble floors, illuminating the whirling figures of pureblood heirs and their carefully chosen dance partners. It was an engagement party.
Hyacinth stood beside Regulus, watching the scene unfold with quiet contemplation.
At the center of the ballroom, Narcissa moved effortlessly in Lucius’s arms. Their steps were precise, but there was something more than obligation in the way they danced. Lucius’s grip on her waist was firm yet reverent, his fingers barely grazing the lace of her gloves when he turned her. He did not just lead her, he saw her. He listened.
Hyacinth exhaled slowly.
“She looks happy,” she murmured. Regulus tilted his head, his silver eyes flickering toward their sister. “She does.”
Hyacinth had expected acceptance from Narcissa. She had expected duty.
Not the way Narcissa tilted her head slightly when Lucius spoke, her lips parting as if she were suppressing a real smile.
Not the way Lucius’s hand lingered just a fraction longer when he guided her into a spin, as if reluctant to let her go.
Not the way he looked at her as if she were not just his betrothed, but something precious.
Hyacinth’s chest tightened.
“I think Lucius adores her,” she said quietly.
Regulus considered that for a moment. “How can you tell?”
Hyacinth gestured toward them. Lucius wasn’t just performing for the sake of appearances, he was looking at her as if she was the only person in the room.
“He respects her,” she murmured. Regulus didn’t argue, though there was something unreadable in his expression. Before either of them could say more, laughter erupted from the other side of the ballroom. Hyacinth turned just in time to see Sirius twirling a lesser-known noblewoman with excessive enthusiasm, a deliberately roguish smirk playing on his lips.
“Oh, no,” Regulus muttered.
“I know,” Hyacinth sighed.
Sirius dipped his dance partner dramatically, clearly enjoying himself a little too much. Across the room, Walburga sat rigid in her seat, fingers curled against the armrest of her chair, her lips pressed into a thin line of barely concealed rage.
And Sirius knew it.
Which was exactly why, as he pulled his partner back upright, he grinned and raised his voice just enough to carry over the music,“I must say,” he drawled, “tonight has been quite illuminating. I think I ought to start preparing for my own marriage, don’t you agree, Mother?”
A horrified gasp came from one of the older pureblood matrons. Walburga’s jaw visibly clenched.
Regulus shut his eyes for a moment, as if praying for patience. Hyacinth pressed her fingers against her temple. “I’m going to kill him.”
Regulus exhaled sharply. “Get in line.”
But then, Regulus’s expression shifted. His gaze followed Sirius as he twirled his dance partner once more, but this time, there was something softer in his eyes,“You know why he’s doing it, don’t you?” Regulus asked.
Hyacinth hesitated. “Because he likes to annoy your Mother?”
Regulus exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “That’s part of it.” His voice dropped lower. “But mostly, it’s because he wanted to be here. With us.”
Hyacinth stilled. Her gaze flickered toward Sirius. The easy grin, the theatrical performance, the way he leaned just a little too far into his role as the Heir of House Black. It wasn’t just rebellion. It was survival.
She knew Sirius. If he truly wanted to rebel, he wouldn’t be here at all. But instead, he had put on the performance, had endured the suits and the dances and the pureblood spectacle because he wanted to spend time with them.
Regulus was still watching him, expression unreadable. “He’s not doing this for Mother. Or Father. He’s doing it for us.”
Hyacinth swallowed. She had spent so much time resenting him for his recklessness, for his carelessness. Across the ballroom, Sirius twirled his partner one last time, catching Hyacinth’s gaze as he did.
For just a second, his smirk faltered.
Just a fraction.
Not enough for anyone else to notice.
But she did.
Then he was back to being Sirius Black, the charming rogue, the disappointment, the heir who did not belong.
The orchestra swelled, the waltz drawing to a close, and as Lucius pressed a lingering kiss to Narcissa’s knuckles, Hyacinth realized something.
Her sister was not trapped. Her sister was content.
And maybe, one day, Hyacinth would be too.
-
Hyacinth went looking for Narcissa and found her standing near the grand staircase.
She wasn’t alone.
Lucius stood beside her, leaning in slightly as he murmured something into her ear. Lucius Malfoy was not a stranger to Hyacinth, nor was he unkind, but he had always been distant. Poised, polished, calculating in a way that most pureblood heirs were trained to be.
Hyacinth slowed her steps. She hadn’t meant to interrupt, she had only wanted a moment alone with her sister, but something about the scene before her made her pause.
Narcissa’s lips curved, not in the careful, polite smile she wore for social appearances, but in something smaller, something real.
Lucius’s expression remained composed, but his gaze never wavered from her.
Hyacinth had seen many pureblood couples, some stiff with obligation, others distant in their duties, but this was different.
Lucius wasn’t just standing beside Narcissa. He was with her. His hand hovered just near the small of her back not touching, not possessive, but ready, as if he were waiting for her to need him. His posture remained elegant, but there was a soft attentiveness to the way he positioned himself, just slightly angled toward her, just slightly closer than necessary.
Narcissa turned to glance at him, and Lucius, who had spent the entire evening handling Ministry officials, dodging overzealous pureblood families, and entertaining an exhausting number of pleasantries, immediately gave her his full attention.
He did not look away.
He did not brush her off.
And when he saw the way her fingers idly toyed with the lace of her sleeve, an absent, almost anxious gesture, he reached forward and adjusted the fabric for her, smoothing the lace with a practiced ease.
Narcissa exhaled softly, and Hyacinth realized then that Lucius had done it before.
Lucius Malfoy, always so careful in his appearances, had memorized the small things about her sister.
The way her fingers twitched when she was distracted. The way her shoulders tensed ever so slightly before a long conversation.
And he had memorized them not because he had to, but because he wanted to. Hyacinth felt something warm settle in her chest.
Narcissa would be fine. No, Narcissa would be happy.
Lucius finally noticed Hyacinth’s presence, she saw something in his expression that was not merely polite approval.
He inclined his head slightly. “Miss Black.”
“Heir Malfoy.” Hyacinth’s voice was steady, but there was no longer tension behind it.
Narcissa turned toward her, eyes softening slightly. “What is it, Cinthie?”
Hyacinth hesitated for only a moment before shaking her head. “Nothing. I just… wanted to see you.”
A knowing look flickered across Narcissa’s face, but she only smiled. “You saw me earlier.”
“Yes,” Hyacinth murmured. “But tonight, you’re glowing.”
Narcissa’s brows lifted in surprise before she let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Oh? And here I thought that was just the lighting.”
Lucius turned slightly toward her, gaze unreadable, but there was something amused there, something warm.
Hyacinth didn’t need to stay longer. She had seen all she needed to. And yet, as she watched him lean in slightly when Narcissa spoke, as she caught the way his fingers brushed the lace of her sleeve with absent familiarity, something shifted in Hyacinth’s perception of him.
Lucius straightened, but his demeanor did not change. Lucius studied her for a brief moment before gesturing toward the balcony beyond the staircase. “You’ve been watching from the sidelines all evening. Do you not care for dancing?”
Hyacinth arched a brow. “I do. But I prefer to choose my partners.”
Lucius smirked slightly. “A wise approach.”
Narcissa exhaled, clearly amused. “Don’t let her fool you, Lucius. She’s quite the dancer.”
Hyacinth shot her sister a look. “And how would you know? Have you seen me dancing recently?.”
“No, but I’ve seen you with Regulus.” Narcissa’s lips twitched. “I daresay he struggles to keep up.”
Lucius chuckled, and Hyacinth was startled by how easy the sound was..
Lucius turned his gaze back to her, his expression contemplative. “You and Regulus seem close.”
Hyacinth nodded. “He’s my brother in everything but blood.”
Lucius considered that before offering a rare sliver of information. “That is how I feel about Severus.”
Hyacinth blinked, surprised by the admission. “Severus Snape?”
Lucius nodded. “He’s not well-liked in these circles yet, but that is of little consequence to me.” There was no arrogance in his voice, just simple fact. “I know where his loyalty lies. That is what matters.”
Hyacinth tilted her head slightly. Loyalty.
A trait that Narcissa clearly valued as well.
A trait that, perhaps, bound them both together more than status or duty ever could.
Hyacinth looked at her sister then, really looked at her. At the way she stood comfortably beside Lucius, at the way she didn’t tense under his touch, at the way her usually unreadable expression softened when he spoke.
She had never seen Narcissa at ease with someone outside of their family before.
And yet, here she was.
Hyacinth exhaled softly. “You make her happy.”
Lucius blinked, clearly caught off guard by the directness of the statement.
Then, something in his expression changed. His gaze flickered toward Narcissa, his features settling into something softer, something unguarded.
“She makes me happy,” he admitted simply.
Hyacinth’s chest warmed.
Lucius Malfoy was not a man of empty words.
“I’m glad,” she said, and she meant it.
Narcissa’s fingers curled lightly around Lucius’s forearm. The gesture was small, but it spoke volumes.
Lucius looked down at her, his lips twitching faintly as if he was resisting the urge to say something in return.
She gave Narcissa’s hand a light squeeze. “I’ll leave you both to it.”
As she turned away, she caught one last glance, Narcissa tilting her head toward Lucius and Lucius leaning in without hesitation.
-
Snow blanketed the wrought-iron gates of Grimmauld Place, its pale surface untouched, pristine, a stark contrast to the heavy silence lingering inside the Black family parlor. The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting golden light over the dark wooden panels, flickering against the silver thread embroidered into the family crest.
Hyacinth sat curled into the corner of the velvet settee, her cup of tea balanced between her fingers, its warmth seeping into her skin. Across from her, Regulus was stretched in the high-backed chair, one leg crossed over the other, his posture elegant yet relaxed. Sirius sat beside him, one arm draped over the chair’s armrest, his gaze flickering between the fire and the fine crystal tumbler in his hand.
Dinner had ended, their parents had retired for the evening, and soon, they would all return to Hogwarts.
And yet, Hyacinth felt strangely suspended between past and future. “She’s happy,” she murmured, more to herself than to them.
Sirius scoffed lightly but said nothing. Regulus simply watched her.
Hyacinth turned the cup between her fingers. “I didn’t think she would be.”
Regulus exhaled. “You thought she’d feel like Andromeda.”
Hyacinth hesitated.
And there it was.
For so long, she had viewed arranged marriages as something to be endured, something that stole away choices and bound people to things they did not want. But Narcissa had found something else in hers.
Lucius had memorized her habits, her small tells. He had watched the way she carried herself, had learned when to be silent and when to speak. He was attentive. He was patient. He adored her.
Hyacinth exhaled.
“Would it be so terrible,” she mused, her voice softer now, “if I found happiness in it too?”
Sirius, who had remained quiet for most of the conversation, let out a sharp breath through his nose. “Cinthie.” His voice was unusually flat. Hyacinth glanced up, startled by the seriousness in his tone. Sirius turned toward her fully now, leaning forward, his dark gray eyes heavy with something she couldn’t quite place. “You know it won’t be like that for everyone.”
The warmth in Hyacinth’s chest flickered. “What do you mean?”
Sirius set his glass down with a decisive clink. “Lucius and Cissy got lucky.”
Regulus nodded, his voice quieter but no less firm. “Most people don’t.”
Hyacinth frowned. “Narcissa didn’t just get lucky. She chose to make it work.”
Sirius tilted his head. “And what happens when the person you’re betrothed to doesn’t care to make it work?”
The words landed heavily. Hyacinth felt the warmth drain from her fingertips because she knew what he was saying. Not every pureblood marriage would have a Lucius. Some would have a Rodolphus. Some would have a man who only cared about lineage and alliances, a man who saw his wife as a name to add to a family tree, not as a partner to cherish. Some wouldn’t even have that.
Some would be paired with men they would come to hate.
Hyacinth swallowed.
She had spent the past few weeks watching Narcissa and Lucius, letting herself believe in the possibility of something beautiful. But Sirius was right. She would not have a choice. And there was no guarantee that her match would be like Narcissa’s. No guarantee that she would be cared for, respected, loved.
Regulus watched her carefully, his silver gaze assessing. “You’re romanticizing it,” he murmured. “You shouldn’t.”
Hyacinth stiffened slightly, not because he was wrong, but because he was right. “I just want to believe it’s possible,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. Regulus studied her for a long moment before finally offering, “Maybe it is.”
Hyacinth glanced up at him, surprised. Sirius scoffed lightly but didn’t interrupt. Regulus exhaled. “Maybe some people do get lucky.” His expression was neutral, but his voice betrayed something wistful.
Something that made Hyacinth’s stomach twist because she knew what he meant. Regulus didn’t say it, but she knew he wasn’t just thinking about her. He was thinking about himself.
Sirius leaned back against the chair, his features settling into something more familiar, his usual defiance, his usual irreverence. But his eyes lingered on her for a fraction longer than usual.
Hyacinth sighed, rubbing a hand over her temple. “I’m starting to hate when you two gang up on me.”
Regulus smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s for your own good.”
Sirius grinned, tilting his glass in her direction. “It usually is.”
The fire crackled between them, filling the silence that stretched between their words.