While the corridors of Hogwarts buzzed with the latest rumors of the Chamber of Secrets, the return of the Brazilian exchange students, and the multifaceted Lee Jordan, in other corners, the atmosphere was markedly different...
...
A fine drizzle fell over the night, barely broken by the dim glow of the streetlights. A female figure, wrapped in a dark cloak, advanced with hesitant steps until stopping in front of a door that made her chest tighten with nervousness. The last time she had set foot on that threshold, she had done so driven by the desperation to protect her son's inheritance. Today, reality was vastly different: a widow, with her only son abroad, begging for an audience before the ancestral home of her lineage.
*Knock, knock, knock.*
She knocked without pretense. She knew she lacked any semblance of authority; she was unaware of whether her late husband's name still held any weight, and she was about to face the sister from whom she had been estranged—and even despised—for decades.
The door opened to reveal a short, scrawny creature, dressed in an impeccable maid uniform that highlighted her tidiness. The house-elf, feather duster in hand, peered into the gloom with curiosity. No one usually knocked at these hours, least of all such a suspicious silhouette. However, after fixing her large eyes on the visitor's face, the creature let out a gasp of surprise.
"You have finally arrived!" she exclaimed before disappearing with a sharp pop.
Narcissa remained motionless, caught between tension and bewilderment. Before she could articulate a word, the door swung wide open. In the foyer, eight house-elves dressed in spotless butler and maid suits flanked the entryway in two perfect rows, bowing in unison.
"Welcome!" they chanted in flawless synchrony.
Narcissa froze at such a display. The interior of the residence looked... unrecognizable. Swallowing the certainty of her vulnerability, she took a step forward, and the door closed magically behind her.
The initial elf reappeared before her, executing a pair of deep bows.
"Please follow me, Mistress Narcissa. I will take you to the mistress immediately," she indicated, turning to guide her with a measured yet graceful stride.
A thousand questions swirled in Narcissa's mind, but she preferred to remain silent and absorb her surroundings.
Having lived with elves both in House Black and Malfoy Manor, she couldn't help but calculate the number of servants. Between the nine she had already seen and those she could sense operating in the shadows, the figure was astounding. A residence like this didn't require such a staff; maintaining them was an absolute display of opulence.
But what truly captured her attention was the architecture. She had known this house since childhood, yet the place bore no relation to her memories. The structure was completely restored to an imposing state that far surpassed the former splendor of her own manor. The remodeling was masterful: the paint on the walls, the polished floors, the warm lighting, and the finishes combined a refined, Muggle-style modernity with the ancestral solemnity of the Black legacy. It was the old family fortress, yes, but it breathed a completely renewed and dominant vibe.
The journey was brief, interrupting her thoughts.
"Cissy!" Andromeda's voice resounded, overflowing with joy.
Before Narcissa could react, her sister lunged at her in an overwhelming, warm embrace. Malfoy's widow stood motionless, faced with such effusiveness, paralyzed without knowing how to reciprocate. The woman holding her tight was the same one the family had disowned; the same one who now held the headship of the clan, the one who might have orchestrated Lucius's downfall, and the one who possessed a power unknown to her. She had come to humiliate herself before her, and yet, Andromeda received her as if the years of estrangement had never existed... with an affection even more transparent than that of her childhood.
"Hello... Mrs. Black," Narcissa managed to articulate, stiff.
"What 'Mrs. Black' or anything of the sort? Leave the formalisms for strangers; we are family," Andromeda replied in a cheerful tone, delicately stripping her of the damp cloak to hand it off to an elf.
With a slight magical flash, Narcissa's clothes dried instantly. Without her coat, she felt unprotected, stripped of the armor of superiority she usually displayed.
Ignoring her sister's reserve entirely, Andromeda took her by the arm and guided her toward the main drawing room. At an implicit signal, the elves lit the fireplace and laid out a table with steaming tea, pastries, and the mistress's favorite cakes.
Narcissa observed every movement. Her sister showed neither the stiffness nor the cold decorum expected of someone in her position, nor did she attempt to assert her authority after the recent dramatic events. Even her wand rested on a side table, neglected, as if the mere thought of an attack were irrelevant to her. Andromeda's serenity—along with that energetic aura, far more powerful than Narcissa remembered—only heightened Narcissa's nervousness: nothing is more terrifying than the unknown, and about this new version of her sister, she knew absolutely nothing.
Andromeda guided Narcissa to one of the armchairs and gently nudged her to sit, while she settled into another with ease and a radiant smile, as if she had been waiting for this meeting for a long time.
"You took your time showing up... I've been expecting you for a while," Andromeda commented teasingly, making a subtle gesture with her hand for the elves to begin serving the tea and the pastry selection.
"I have been... busy. With all of this... following Lucius's death," Narcissa excused herself, accepting the steaming porcelain with slightly trembling hands. It was still hard for her to process the room's atmosphere.
"Even so, you could have come before he expired. You didn't need to become a widow just to drop by and visit your sister," Andromeda replied with total indifference to the loss of her brother-in-law, even adopting a tinge of childish reproach.
Narcissa's pulse faltered again, threatening to spill the contents of the cup. She looked up at her host, stunned by the drastic transformation in her attitude. Beyond the coldness toward Lucius's demise, what truly bewildered her was that unusual youthful energy emanating from her figure. And, of course, her physical appearance.
Andromeda was dressed in a modern, loose-fitting robe that combined elegance and sophistication without being overly ornate. The unsettling part was her face and skin: she looked like a woman barely entering her thirties, devoid of wrinkles, expression lines, or any trace of the passage of time. Even by combining the most expensive magical treatments and the rarest elixirs, Narcissa had never managed to preserve anything more than a mature freshness. Her sister, on the other hand, radiated full youthful vitality, moving with the ease of someone enjoying a body in its prime.
"What's wrong? Do you like what you see?" Andromeda asked playfully, puffing out her chest with pride.
"I..." Narcissa was left without a response. She was on the verge of formulating one of those rehearsed replies typical of high-nobility protocol, but her sister interrupted her before she could structure it.
"Cissy, relax... You're home, you're with me; you don't have to weigh every word," Andromeda said, softening her voice and looking at her with absolute transparency. "I know you have a thousand questions, I know you didn't come driven solely by sisterly affection, and I understand that you feel afraid... but you have nothing to worry about. I am not going to hurt you; I am your older sister. All I want is for us to be a family again. And if it's any consolation, consider that you have nothing left to lose. Allow yourself the luxury of being free for a moment and say what you think."
The words struck deep within Narcissa, leaving her motionless. She gazed at her sister, whose eyes offered a sincere affection that felt foreign after so many years of alienation. She had never imagined such a scenario, yet there she was. Despite the latent tension, she drew upon the composure inherent to her character, set the cup down on the side table, and let out a long exhalation to release her accumulated stress.
"You're right... Andromeda," Narcissa admitted, her eyes marked by fatigue. "I have nothing left to lose..."
"See? Doesn't it feel better this way?" Andromeda smiled, before adding with a mock pout of indignation: "Though 'Andromeda' feels a bit cold... Cissy."
"Andy..." Narcissa articulated. The trembling in her legs was no longer from fear, but from the relief of releasing the tension and the strangeness of pronouncing that nickname from the past.
"Much better. Now let's enjoy something to eat before we address serious matters. Try these pastries; the elves have outdone themselves. And don't worry, they don't affect your figure," Andy mentioned, popping a bite into her mouth with complete freedom, using her hands without regard for protocol.
Seeing the brand-new matriarch act with the ease of a young woman rather than the rigidity of a noble house leader, Narcissa tried to go along with it. She picked up one of the plates, though maintaining her habits: she used the small silver spoon to serve herself discreet portions. Casual conversation did not take long to flow.
"I noticed you have executed deep renovations in the residence," Narcissa initiated, seeking to break the ice and resolve her doubts about the environment.
"Indeed. Do you like the result? Many elements were frankly obsolete. I restored part of the original heritage, acquired complementary pieces, and integrated modern technology," Andy explained naturally, detailing the interventions.
Narcissa alternated between tea and pastries as she listened to the explanations, carefully examining each addition. The integration of art, the woodworking finishes, and a Muggle television that seemed to operate through subtle enchantments demonstrated that Andromeda had known how to merge contemporary comfort with the prestige of the Black lineage. Nevertheless, one doubt persisted in her mind.
"And... what fate did you give to the family portraits?" Narcissa asked with a degree of reserve. "Did you get rid of them?" She knew of the resentment accumulated from Andromeda's banishment, and she was unaware of whether her sister had destroyed the gallery. "What happened to Aunt Walburga?" she added, pointing to the exact spot where the canvas used to hang, now covered by a thick tapestry.
"Oh, I'm not that drastic. After all, they are the record of the house; I wasn't going to throw them away," Andromeda answered, brushing it off with a wave of her hand. "As for Walburga... she remains in her usual spot, though keeping herself 'busy,'" she added with an icy smile.
Andromeda took her wand from the table and made a slight motion in the air. The tapestry lifted immediately, revealing a scene that caused Narcissa to drop her spoon from her hands.
Walburga's portrait remained on the wall, but the depicted figure completely lacked the arrogance and aggressiveness that characterized her. The canvas had been modified in a perverse manner: the former matriarch appeared stripped of her clothes, secured to a wooden pillory, her body emaciated and covered in a thick white liquid, subjected to an explicit and uninterrupted profanation. The painting showed a mechanical device inflicting constant penetration into her holes, surrounded by a crowd of Muggle-looking figures who cast damning murmurs in the background. The woman's image reflected a completely broken and exhausted gaze, wrapped in a trance of continuous degradation.
Upon perceiving the light following the removal of the tapestry, the figure in the painting seemed to react instinctively, showing absolute panic.
"Andromeda! Please, stop this! I'll be good, I swear!" the voice trapped in the canvas pleaded immediately, cut off by a loud groan as her body was forced to respond to the machinery's stimulation in an orgasm that made her shudder and roll her eyes back. The murmurs of the crowd in the painting grew in volume, heightening the psychological punishment. However, as she focused her lost gaze and noticed the visitor's presence, the painting seemed to cling to a final hope: "Narcissa! Please! Your sister is insane! I can't take it anymore! SAVE ME!" she implored in desperation.
"Silence! Or I will bring back the packs," Andromeda declared in an icy voice.
The threat had an immediate effect on the portrait. Walburga's face lost every trace of resistance.
"No! Please, not the dogs!" the painting exclaimed with a broken voice, beginning to move her hips to the rhythm of the machine of her own accord, stripped of any remnant of dignity and slipping further into madness. "Woof Woof! I'll be a good dog, I'm a good whore! I'll do whatever you ask!"
Narcissa stared at the scene in absolute shock. The severe, inflexible, and dominant aunt who had ruled the destinies of the family was nothing more than a wreck suffering an endless punishment.