In the unplottable depths of Grimmauld Place, in the shadowed silence of the study, Orion Arcturus Black sat alone. He leaned forward over his desk, one hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey, the other holding a cigarette that dangled lazily between his fingers. Veins traced up his strong, sinewy hands, enough to make anyone notice. His hair, black as night, was styled in a wolf-cut; half tied up in a loose bun while loose strands framed his face, lending him a rugged allure. Across one brow, a faint scar ran down to his nose—subtle, nearly invisible until closely examined, but adding an edge to his aristocratic features. His eyes, a striking molten silver, were rimmed with red, and his lips curved in a faint, almost dangerous smile. The sharp lines of his jaw, honed enough to slice through paper, added to his intense and brooding appeal.
He had a powerful, muscular build, strong and well-defined, his body marked by countless small scars, each one a reminder of battles past. His skin held a warm tan, rich and sun-kissed, which made his chiseled frame all the more captivating.
Before him, on the desk, lay a magical photograph, gently moving. In it, a beautiful Indian woman smiled, her eyes meeting his with warmth and quiet confidence. She was striking, with luminous brown skin that was neither too light nor too dark, radiating a soft glow. Her thick, black hair reached down to her waist, a few wild strands escaping a messy braid adorned with delicate jasmine flowers. She wore a red, sheer saree, edged with intricate golden accents that hinted at her curves. The fabric draped across her waist, revealing just enough to showcase her slender waist and delicately carved navel, while a delicate waist chain rested against her skin, shimmering with each movement.
Her doe-like eyes, lined with rich kohl, held a steady gaze, filled with both warmth and an unshakable confidence.A delicate red dot adorned the center of her forehead, perfectly placed between her eyebrows, as if painted by an artist's hand. Her hairline was filled with vermillion at the part.Her small nose was adorned with a delicate nose ring, a small extension dangling with each movement. Plump lips curved into a smile that lit up her entire face. Her saree blouse, which covered her neck, was crafted from gold-threaded fabric that was both modest and mesmerizing, accentuating her figure rather than concealing it. Gold jhumkas hung from her ears, and her arms were adorned with a cascade of colorful bangles. Her hands and feet bore intricate mehendi, and her ankles were encircled by thick, jingling anklets, with toe rings adorning her delicate toes.
In her hand, she wore a ring, set with a stunning black gem—a match to the one on Orion's own finger. As she held her saree's pallu, her bangles jingled softly, the sound filling the stillness of the study.
Orion stared at the photograph obsessively, his eyes never leaving her face as he murmured her name softly, his smile widening, caught between awe and longing. His gaze was filled with a rare tenderness, a glimpse of the softer side beneath his dark exterior.
Still lost in his memories, Orion's gaze lingered on the photograph, tracing every detail of the beautiful woman in it. A knock on the study door pulled him back to reality.
"Come in," he called, his voice deep and magnetic, resonating with an allure only a man of his power could possess. With a subtle command of his mind, he made the photo vanish, a testament to his impressive control over magic.
He took a long drag from his cigarette, set it aside, and placed his glass of whiskey down. Leaning back in his luxurious leather chair—a piece so stately it bordered on regal—he looked as though he were seated on a throne.
Walburga Ursula Black entered, tall and proud, her piercing gray eyes carrying a calculating edge. Her wavy black hair framed her aristocratic face—a beauty reminiscent of classic French nobility. Her athletic build and refined features projected strength, though they concealed the unease that crept in whenever she faced Orion.
Though Walburga prided herself on control, she held a deep-rooted fear of the man before her—a fear even greater than her wariness of the Dark Lord. Orion exuded a quiet, undeniable power, a force that seemed to emanate from him effortlessly. Every encounter left her unsettled, his presence pressing in on her, commanding obedience without a word.
Orion's mind was a fortress, one that even Voldemort had failed to penetrate. This knowledge filled her with reluctant respect and frustration. Despite her own skill in Legilimency, she sensed nothing beneath his calm exterior. Here in this room, despite her strength, she felt like a mere pawn in a game he had already mastered.
Orion removed the cigarette from his lips after a long drag, his steely gaze flickering to Walburga as she stood in the doorway.
"You done staring?" he asked, voice smooth and edged with a hint of mockery.
Walburga straightened, a slight flush of irritation passing over her features. "Our lord… Voldemort wishes to—"
Orion raised an eyebrow, silencing her mid-sentence.
She hesitated, quickly correcting herself. "I mean…." She crossed the room and took a seat, schooling her features into composure. "The Dark Lord wants to know when the House of Black will officially support him."
Orion took a measured sip of his whiskey, his eyes darkening as he looked down into his glass. "He already rides on the Black name, Walburga. He has half our family, our children pledged to his cause. What more could he possibly want?"
Walburga stiffened, struggling to keep her voice steady. "I meant that perhaps we could also provide him with re—"
He interrupted by setting his glass down and pinning her with a piercing stare. "What is your name?"
The question caught her off guard, and she stammered slightly. "Walburga," she replied, brows furrowing.
His gaze didn't waver.
"Walburga Black." she continued.
She swallowed, the silence between them thick with tension. Orion leaned back, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The look in his eyes made his meaning unmistakable: he was dismissing her suggestion and, with it, questioning her loyalties, leaving her to choose where her allegiance would truly lie.
Understanding his silent command, Walburga rose, feeling the weight of his gaze on her as she left the room.