"Sisters share everything. Secrets. Clothes. And the terrifying realization that they are slowly becoming their mother."— Andromeda Black, private diary.
December 1967, The Townhouse of Cygnus Black, London
The drawing room of the Cygnus Black residence was brighter than Grimmauld Place, but no less suffocating. It was filled with the scent of lilies and the sharp, scratching sound of quills.
Three girls sat at a low table, supposedly practicing calligraphy.
Bellatrix, now sixteen, was bored. Her quill was digging into the parchment with violent strokes. She was restless, buzzing with a magical energy that made the candles on the mantle flicker every time she sighed.
Andromeda, fourteen, was writing perfectly. She was the mediator, the calm water between two fires.
Narcissa, twelve, was more interested in her reflection in the silver tea service than her Latin conjugations.
"He's weird," Narcissa said abruptly, breaking the silence.
Bellatrix didn't look up. "Who? The Malfoy boy? He looks like a ferret."
"No," Narcissa said, smoothing her blonde hair. "Vega. At the Yule ball last week. Did you see him?"
"Hard to miss him," Bellatrix snorted, finally dropping her quill. "Grandfather parades him around like a prize kneazle. 'Look at the Heir, look at his eyes.' It's exhausting."
"He didn't talk to anyone," Andromeda noted softly. "He just stood by the punch bowl and watched. It felt... like he was grading us."
Bellatrix leaned back in her chair, kicking her feet up onto the table—a gesture that would have horrified their mother, Druella.
"He thinks he's better than us," Bellatrix said, her dark eyes narrowing. "Because of the shifting. Because he's the Apex." She spat the word like a curse. "I tried to hex him in the garden four years ago. He didn't even draw a wand. He just looked at me and... changed."
"He changed?" Narcissa asked, eyes wide.
"He turned into Uncle Orion," Bellatrix admitted, though she looked annoyed by the memory. "Just for a second. Scared the wits out of me. It's not natural, Cissy. Magic isn't supposed to be that fluid. It's supposed to be rigid. Incantation. Wand movement. Result."
She snapped her fingers, producing a spark of red light.
"Vega just... flows. It's creepy."
"I think he's lonely," Andromeda said. She was the only one who had noticed Vega holding his little brothers' hands when he thought no one was looking. "He acts like an old man."
"He's ten," Bellatrix scoffed. "He's a child."
"Is he?" Andromeda countered. "Have you ever seen him play? Have you ever seen him laugh? Real laughter, not that polite noise he makes when Grandfather tells a joke?"
The sisters fell silent. They hadn't.
"Father says Arcturus takes him to the Deep Vaults," Narcissa whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. "He says Vega speaks to goblins."
"Everyone speaks to goblins," Bellatrix dismissed. "You yell at them until they give you your gold."
"No," Narcissa shook her head. "In their language. The throat-sounds. Father heard him."
Bellatrix went still. She stared at the ceiling, her expression unreadable.
To speak the Deep Tongue was not just a skill; it was a violation of the unspoken order. Wizards were above; goblins were below. To learn their tongue was to lower oneself—or, perhaps, to realize that the ground was not as solid as it looked.
"He's going to be a problem," Bellatrix murmured. "The Dark Lord is recruiting. He likes powerful things. But Vega... Vega doesn't look like a follower."
"He looks like a King," Andromeda said quietly.
Bellatrix shot her a sharp look. "There is no King but the Dark Lord." But the conviction in her voice wavered, just for a second.
Suddenly, the fireplace flared green.
"Girls!" Druella's voice shrilled from the hallway. "Your cousins are here! Fix your hair, Bellatrix, you look like a banshee!"
Bellatrix groaned, rolling her eyes, but she stood up and smoothed her robes.
"Showtime," she muttered. "Let's go see the prodigy."
They found the boys in the solarium.
It was a glass-walled room filled with exotic, carnivorous plants. Sirius (now seven) was poking a Peruvian Fanged Flytrap with a stick. Regulus (five) was hiding behind a fern.
And Vega stood in the center of the room, staring at a rare Devil's Snare.
He didn't look like a child. He wore his robes with an easy, terrifying grace. His hands were clasped behind his back.
"Cousins," Vega said, turning as they entered. He didn't smile, but his expression softened slightly when he saw them.
"Vega," Bellatrix greeted, stalking forward. She was taller than him now, a young woman grown, but she still felt that strange need to test him. "Admiring the weeds?"
"Observing," Vega corrected. "The Devil's Snare reacts to light, but also to aggression. It senses intent."
He reached out a hand toward the writhing vines.
"Don't," Narcissa squeaked. "It'll strangle you."
Vega didn't pull back. He kept his hand steady. He breathed out, lowering his heart rate, projecting a sense of absolute, rock-like calm.
The vines reached for him... and then curled gently around his wrist, like a pet cat nuzzling its master.
"It is only a monster if you fear it," Vega said, looking at Bellatrix. "Or if you try to fight it."
Bellatrix stared at the plant, then at the boy. She felt a prickle of irritation mixed with reluctant awe.
"Show-off," she muttered.
"How are you, Andromeda?" Vega asked, ignoring the insult and turning to the middle sister. "I heard you excelled in your Charms OWL results."
Andromeda blinked, surprised he knew. "I... yes. Thank you."
"Charms is the physics of magic," Vega noted. "It is the art of changing the world without breaking it. A useful skill for this family."
It was a compliment. A genuine one. Andromeda felt a flush of pride.
"And Narcissa," Vega turned to the youngest. "You look... iridescent today."
Narcissa preened. "It's silk from France."
"It suits you," Vega said. "Though I would avoid the blue sash. It clashes with the lilies in the room."
He wasn't being mean. He was offering an aesthetic critique. Narcissa looked down at her sash, horrified, then back at him with wide eyes.
"He's right," she whispered to Andromeda.
"Are you going to Hogwarts next year?" Bellatrix demanded, cutting through the pleasantries.
"Yes," Vega replied, gently untangling his hand from the Devil's Snare.
"Slytherin, obviously," Bellatrix stated. "If you go anywhere else, Mother will have a fit."
Vega looked at her. His grey eyes seemed to shift, turning a darker, stormier shade.
"The Hat places you where you fit, Bella," Vega said calmly. "But houses are just labels. The House of Black is the only house that matters."
He looked over at Sirius, who was now trying to feed a fly to the plant.
"And we look after our own."
Bellatrix followed his gaze. She saw the protective set of his jaw as he watched his chaotic little brother.
For a moment, the tension in the room broke. They weren't political rivals or potential enemies. They were just cousins, trapped in a glass room, weighed down by a legacy none of them had chosen.
"Sirius!" Vega called out, his voice snapping with authority. "Stop feeding the plants. They are on a diet."
Sirius dropped the fly. "You're no fun."
"I am responsible," Vega countered. "Which is why I am the favorite."
Bellatrix let out a short, startled laugh. It was a real laugh.
"You're arrogant," she told him, a smirk playing on her lips.
"I am accurate," Vega replied, a small smile touching his own face.
He turned back to the window, the sunlight catching the sharp angle of his cheekbone.
Bellatrix watched him. She still thought he was weird. She still thought his powers were unnatural. But as she watched him shepherd Sirius away from the dangerous vines, she realized something else.
Andromeda was right. He wasn't a follower.
And for the first time, Bellatrix wondered if maybe—just maybe—it wouldn't be so bad to have a King in the family after all.