The Black Legacy Druella's Awakening

The Heirloom (Edited)

When Druella's mother came home that evening, she greeted her with a small smile and handed her a book.
"I got you something," she said.
Druella took the book eagerly, nodding as she opened it. It didn't take her long to realize it was about He Who Must Not Be Named. The text was dense and complex, but Druella was determined to read it from cover to cover.

That year, Druella spent most of her time in silence, tucked away in her room. The library became her refuge, filled with books about Hogwarts and its history. She often imagined herself walking through the castle's halls, making friends, and learning defensive spells. Each page she read deepened her longing for her first term.

But Narcissa had other plans for her. She insisted Druella take piano lessons and never let her practice alone. Narcissa would sit beside her, watchful and precise.
"Keep your posture straight, dear," she instructed, her tone as gentle as it was firm.
Druella nodded, shifting on the bench and resuming her playing. The music itself was soothing, but her aunt's constant corrections grated on her nerves. Narcissa never seemed satisfied, always pointing out mistakes or insisting on helping with things Druella was sure she could manage on her own. Even mundane tasks like laundry weren't left to her—Aunt Narcissa handled them all, while Draco was expected to manage his himself, something he frequently complained about.

At dinner, the conversation revolved entirely around Draco—his grades, the subjects he was studying, and his accomplishments at Hogwarts. Druella remained silent, her presence barely acknowledged.

She missed Draco terribly when he was away. The days felt endless, and she spent most of them buried in books, trying to feel connected to him. She read everything she could about first-year subjects and even ventured into second-year material. The more she read, the more determined she became to excel. She wanted to make her family proud, to be the kind of witch they would admire.

Without a wand, Druella had to get creative. She used a branch from the garden, pretending it was a wand, and practiced the techniques she'd read about. Sometimes, she combined her pretend spellwork with dance moves from her lessons, spinning and twirling as if casting powerful magic. It was the only way to prepare for the day she would finally have a real wand in her hand.

Her eleventh birthday arrived on December 23rd, just before Christmas, and with it came Draco's return home. Druella's excitement bubbled over as she rushed to greet him.
"Hey, how've you been?" she asked, her smile wide.

But Draco ignored her.
"Do you want to hang out?" she tried again, her voice hopeful.
"NO, GO AWAY!" he snapped.

Druella froze. He had never spoken to her like that before. For the rest of the holiday, he barely acknowledged her presence, not even on her birthday. She didn't understand why. They had always been close, yet now it felt like she didn't exist to him.

On the morning of her birthday, Druella tried one last time.
"Hey, do you want to hang out?" she asked hesitantly as she approached him.
Draco didn't look up from his desk. "Would you leave me alone? I'm busy," he muttered.
Her eyes drifted to the empty surface in front of him. "You don't look busy," she said cautiously.

Draco's temper flared. He stood abruptly, grabbed her arm, and dragged her to the door. Without a word, he shoved her out and slammed it shut.

Swallowing her hurt, Druella made her way to the sitting room, where her mother was waiting to celebrate. The gifts were thoughtful—a black cloak, elegant black dresses, and a few books on dark magic. But one gift stood out from the rest.

Her mother led her into a smaller, quieter room and handed her a small box. Druella opened it to find a necklace inside, a black stone set in a delicate silver chain.
"This necklace has been in our family for centuries," her mother explained, fastening it around her neck. "It was crafted for one of our ancestors and has been passed down to the eldest daughter ever since. When a daughter turns eleven, her mother gives it to her."