Arcane [Sirius Black]

Chapter 1 - Pureblood Pantries & Biscuit Bribes

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Stiff, stuffy, tight, restricting.

The dresses were always like this. Some horrendous combination of lace and frill atop silky robe-like gowns. Perhaps I'd be a fan of them if they were deconstructed, have some sort of appreciation for the soft-satin feel and elaborate designs of ornamental trimming, but in combination together and pulled so tightly around my body they only made me feel like I was a walking doily; the kind a grandmother would have.

It didn't help when the room surrounding was packed with others in similar attire, the smell of alcohol amidst and snooty voices with phony prim accents boasting stories of bigotry.

Claustrophobic and suffocating.

I attempted to keep the usual bored look on my face, trying to put off an aura of coolness that signified my place while doing a job of keeping suitors and other unwanted attention away, but tonight it was a struggle.

For starters, the house was smaller than the typical manor, its position in the midst of London to blame.

This particular room had dark wood-paneled walls and intricate wallpaper of old English brocade. There were ornate tables and crystal chandeliers. On one side of the drawing-room, there was a large fireplace, flanked on either side by baroque glass-fronted cabinets. The other side housed a family tapestry that was filled to the brim with arrogant faces.

I'm sure the decor was impressive at some standard, but in my opinion, it was horrid; dark and cold and pompous. Not that my own house was far off.

Secondly, I was in no mood to be here. I never enjoyed soirees like these, but tonight there would be no Oscar Fournier to break me out and spend the evening at the local children's playground.

No, Ozzy was in France. Probably playing some after-supper board game with his parents or bickering with his siblings. You know, stuff that normal, functional, Muggle families most likely do in their spare time.

He most certainly wasn't gallivanting in violet dress robes while the eyes of elderly wizards undressed him and old witches analyzed him to determine whether he'd be good enough to take home for their son.

He wasn't standing in an unknown house filled with unknown people in an unknown city feeling anxious about starting an unknown school in the fall.

It felt harder to breathe by the second. My heart rate picked up and I had to take extra care in taking in breaths. My stomach twisted and I felt the sudden need to cry.

I nicked two chutes of champagne off a house elf's tray, downing their liquid quickly.

A little better, but still to no avail.

"Diana," a harsh voice muttered sternly from my side.

I rolled my eyes, "What?"

"You're going to make yourself look like some lowlife drunk. Is that what you want our family to be? To look like a flock of lunatics? I will not have our honor disrespected by you again," My mother droned the spiel into my ear, attempting to put her hand comfortingly on my shoulder and keep a smile on her face so it appeared to others a simple interaction of love.

A simple interaction of love — Yeah, right.

"Well, it was either that or look like a panicked maniac in a dress her mother pulled so tight she can hardly breathe...something about showing off my new womanly body?" I retorted back in a drawl.

The hand on my shoulder tightened.

"Do we need to step out for some air?"

I knew what that meant.