𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐘 . 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐓

È𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐒 𝐃𝐄 𝐃È𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄.

1995;

Cygnus Black was an embodiment of cruelty, a figure known to all in the family. He was seen as a disappointment, for fate had denied him the joy of having sons. Instead, he was left with daughters, a mere consolation prize, he would bitterly remark. Yet, it wasn't for lack of trying. The gods seemed to conspire against them, with each attempt resulting in stillbirths or those lost before taking their first breath. Despite his resentment, he eventually settled for three daughters: Bellatrix, Narcissa, and Andromeda.

Cygnus held high hopes of marrying off all his daughters to wealthy and influential suitors. However, much to his disappointment, only one fulfilled his desires. The other two brought him nothing but distress. One descended into madness, while the other dared to wed a mere half-blood. To Cygnus, the latter was a greater disgrace than Bellatrix's imprisonment in Azkaban.

"What does it read?" inquired Druella, her voice laced with curiosity as she delicately placed her fork upon the table, leaving a substantial gap between herself and her husband.

Cygnus maintained a grave silence, his eyes fixed upon the letter, his reading far from complete. With each word he absorbed, the gravity of the situation deepened. Bellatrix, in her characteristic recklessness, had once again ventured into the treacherous realm of escaping Azkaban.

The two of them were engaged in their daily ritual, observing the familiar routine with unwavering precision. Seated in the dining room, they scarcely ate, instead merely prodding at their food. However, this time, Viola had joined them, adding a presence to the somber tableau.

"Cygnus, darling," Druella interjected once more, her fingers gently grazing the ends of her hair as she spoke—a telltale sign that her patience was wearing thin. "I daresay it would greatly benefit us both if you were to divulge the contents of this letter."

Cygnus shifted his gaze from the letter to meet Druella's eyes, his silence lingering for a moment longer. Then, without uttering a word, he flicked the letter out of his hands and onto the center of the table.

"Our sweet daughter," Cygnus spoke with a hint of disdain. "has performed quite the remarkable feat, escaping Azkaban as if it were merely a playground."

Druella's countenance momentarily flickered, a fleeting moment of vulnerability before she regained her steely determination. "I'm not surprised to see your daughter inheriting your traits. So spare me your accusatory tone, as if I'm responsible for this outcome."

Cygnus let out a derisive scoff at his wife's words, his voice dripping with disdain. Druella, forever attuned to the emotions of others, was always so easily affected. "I said no such thing," he retorted sharply. "It was you, dear Druella, who molded her into the very reflection of yourself."

Viola, enveloped in silence, found little interest in the conversation, opting instead to quell it with the solace of a book. To onlookers, it appeared to be a tome of forbidden knowledge, steeped in the dark arts. Little did they know, it was but a clever disguise, concealing a collection of hauntingly beautiful poetry.

Druella's breath grew heavy, her fork clattering against her plate, as she rested her hands beneath her chin, fixing her gaze upon Viola.

"Viola, my dear," she said with an unnaturally saccharine smile, smoothly transitioning away from the previous subject. "It seems you've developed quite a fascination with the dark arts, haven't you? A truly captivating pursuit, wouldn't you agree, Cygnus?"