Sorry guys for the short chapter.
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The days that followed were strange.
Not silent—no, the House of Black was never truly silent—but tense. Hushed footsteps, long pauses in conversation, and the distinct, aching sound of legacy shifting beneath the weight of choice.
Then, one morning, Rigel woke to the scent of winter roses and the whisper of wards unraveling.
Lord Arcturus Black had returned from a journey unannounced.
He stepped into the drawing room, his ancient robes rustling like thunderclouds. His expression was unreadable, his eyes darker than storm glass.
In his hand, he held a wand—unfamiliar. And at his side stood a girl, small and solemn, with an air of quiet dignity far beyond her years. Her gaze did not waver as she took in the ancestral hall of her forebears.
"Her name is Nymphadora," Arcturus said, his voice low and devoid of emotion. "Daughter of Andromeda Tonks, née Black. She is six years old—the same age as you—and she bears the same talent."
He paused. "She has lost everything. And we have lost too much already."
Rigel stood by the staircase, watching, unsure of what to make of the strange, heavy scene. Arcturus's gaze lingered on him briefly, the hardness in his eyes softening for the faintest flicker of a second, before returning to the girl beside him.
"You are now welcomed into the House, Nymphadora Black," Lord Arcturus continued, his tone formal, as if the magic itself demanded the declaration. "Your blood binds you to us. And you will never be forgotten again."
Dora said nothing. She simply nodded, the tremor in her hands betraying the weight she carried. Her eyes, once filled with laughter and mischief, were quiet now—cautious, but not broken. She looked at Rigel. He looked back.
Two children. Two heirs of a great and crumbling legacy.
"I..." she began, her voice raw and small. "I don't know if I deserve it."
"You do," Rigel said, before his thoughts could stop his tongue. The words slipped free, earnest and immediate, surprising even him.
Her eyes widened, and for a heartbeat, silence took the room—deep and magic-laced. The house listened. The portraits watched. The walls themselves seemed to lean in.
Lord Black gave a small nod. "There is no turning back now."
The ancient magic of the house stirred like a sleeping beast waking. Rigel felt it ripple through the air—a low, humming pulse, like breath held and finally released. The old stones seemed to sigh, and the wards shimmered faintly in acknowledgment.
Even wrapped in sorrow, even cloaked in loss, something had returned with her.
Not just blood.
Legacy.
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The days after Dora's arrival passed without much fanfare.The funeral proceeded without any hitch with only close family and friends attending.
Even though the Blacjk family was in a decline and she was expelled many elderly people attended along with her sister Narcissa Malfoy.
Saying that the funeral was tense would be an understatement although it was completed without any drama.
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Author's notes.
Please give me power stones.