𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀 || 𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐋𝐔𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊

I- gunmetal grey

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

September 1976

   As the first rays of sunshine peeked out behind the horizon, the inky black sky gradually turned into a veil of gunmetal grey. The dry, falling rusty leaves were lightly glistening from the traces of last night's storm.

Danica stretched her arms above her head, still in her thin nightgown, and watched how her released breath added to the already-settled fog. The smell of the lit fireplace in her bedroom was inviting, but the sensation of the chilling Autumn wind that prickled her skin was enough to keep her on her balcony.

It made her feel human. Feeling, anything at all, had her believe that not all was lost.

"Young Miss."

The small voice broke Danica out of her reverie, and she turned her head around. Her personal house elf stood timidly at the balcony's threshold, trying to keep themself within the room's warmness.

"Master Lestrange is asking for Young Miss to meet him in the dining hall."

Danica sighed, and walked towards the door, gently patting the elf's head on her way inside.

"Thank you, Smudgy. Tell him I'll be there in a moment." She said with a tender smile.

Smudgy looked at Danica with slight concern, before clicking her fingers, disapparating.

Danica raised her head to look at the long-case clock on her wall. 7:21. She assumed she had to be there before half past seven, so she had nine minutes left.

Swiftly turning around, she marched towards her lacquered mahogany dressing table. Danica pinned up her long coffee brown hair, appropriately for her family's standards, and slipped into her already prepared clothes, courtesy of Smudgy. The soft green fabric of the dress was nothing short of surprising. It was always green.

She liked to think it was because it perfectly matched the colour of her eyes, but realistically, it was due to her family's Slytherin pride. The dress was paradoxically modest and old-fashioned, concealing her curves and body.

Taking one final look in the mirror, she made a couple more adjustments to her dress and stockings and sprayed on her favourite perfume before looking up again to the clock. 7:29. It was time to go.

   Opening her door, Danica strolled down the dimly lit corridor.

The British residence of the Lestrange family had evolved over centuries, a testament to their legacy. The floor was covered in rich, deep burgundy carpets that swallowed her footsteps in silence, and the walls were wrapped in dark, intricate patterns.

As she ventured deeper, the portraits lining the hallway, each depicting a generation of the family, observed her every move. All of them men.

   When the large ivory doors that led inside the dining hall came to her view she took a deep breath to calm down and squeezed her hands into fists a few times before entering.

   "Good Morning, Danica." Her father, Reinhard Lestrange, was sitting at the head of the table, leisurely sipping on his drink and reading the freshest edition of the Daily Prophet. "You are one minute late."

   "I apologize for my tardiness, Father."

   "Hm, sit down. We have something to tell you." He said without much genuineness in his voice, finally looking up.

   Danica looked around the table. Her father looked the same as every day. His slim face was cleanly shaved, his hair gelled back, and his shoes shined. The only difference was his suit being made of darker-coloured wool due to the first day of Autumn.