I own my dog, my fish, and my car.
Chapter One
Moments
The great hall was a clutter of eggs and knives, warm tea and cold pumpkin juice, and screeching owls carrying the morning post; though I knew that the hall was filled with students trying to shovel food into their stomachs or last minute knowledge into overfilled brains, I couldn't hear anything over the pounding in my ears. Dolohov, Antonin Dolohov. We're excited somebody would have you, dear. It's just wonderful, isn't it? Wonderful? Antonin Dolohov was not wonderful. He was a cruel, foul boy who had nearly been expelled a few years prior for sending a student to St. Mungo's after an illegal duel. He is a coal haired, dark eyed knave and the only life I would have with him was the same life my mother had with my father or my aunts with my uncles or any other pure blood woman with any other pure blood man. Elaborate parties, the best robes, house elves to cater to my every whim and a beautiful mansion on top of a lovely hill. The trail of thought caused a sharp ache in my chest and something unnamed twisted in my abdomen. All of a sudden, the idea of food or my lovely sugared tea made me sick. All I wanted was to be anywhere where everybody else was not. It wasn't quite time for morning classes, but it wouldn't be odd for me to be eager either and the walk to the greenhouses really would take some extra time in this weather…
I thanked the endless days of finishing school, which made up most pure blood girls pre-Hogwarts education, for my silent gait as I approached the entrance hall and pulled my grey fur-lined cloak tighter around my shoulders. Cissy had barely noticed my departure and for that I was grateful. Excitement and planning of wedding days had filled our childhood games and I didn't have the energy to summon the enthusiasm that would be expected; at least, not enough to fool Cissy.
Narcissa, my younger sister and the youngest Black daughter, was my closest friend. For many teenaged girls, that would be heartbreaking to admit and even if she was a bit shallow, she was always loyal. She had been horribly naïve growing up, so sweet and thoughtful to anyone, that she sometimes drew my father's ire. The first time, at 8, covered her pale skin black, blue and red, but she never said one kind word about muggles again. Since then, if our father ever looked mad at Cissy, I found myself shattering a heirloom or casually mentioning one of the few Blacks that had been disowned- both were sure fire ways to get his and my mother's attention. It was better me than her; Cissy would always be my fragile, kind sister to me- the one that I taught to read by candle light, the little girl that cried as I soaked the crimson lashes on her back with tea leaves and comfry and explained that even though the little boy had been starving he wasn't like us and she couldn't offer him even a kind word, never mind the chocolate frog out of her own pocket.
In a way, that evening with Cissy set in motion a small series of events that would change my life in ways I was just beginning to realize. It was because of her that I started to study which herbs were most effective in healing physical and mental ailments, and later, what prompted me to borrow my mother's wand and practice healing charms well before my 11th year. Once I started school, my younger cousin, Sirius, knew that, as long as we could find a private place at family events, I would heal his wounds that he received as he loudly disagreed with his parent's blood purity lectures. During my third year, a Gryffindor boy melted his cauldron, resulting in severe burns to his partner, Natalia. Even Slughorn stood in awe as I healed her burns with a flick of my oak wand. He later invited me to join his affectionately (or unaffectionately, depending on who you asked) named Slug club, inadvertently bringing me to notice of Madame Pomfrey-whom I've assisted in the infirmary ever since. It was the one place I was free from my family's influence- I was able to help everyone, regardless of blood status and Madame Pomfrey encouraged me to be more than just the perfect, pure blood wife.
My parents believed that a daughter's only use was to make a respectable marriage, and even with my passion for healing, I would never have opened my eyes to any ambition beyond that of wife and mother if it had not been for the good mediwitch's constant support and encouragement. My parents kept only a vague interest in their daughter's studies. As long as we weren't failing any classes or taking a 'rubbish class' (such as muggle studies), then they were perfectly happy with ignorance. We wouldn't need a job, with the family money now, and later our husbands would support us. Their ignorance gave me the room to take the N.E.W.T level classes that I would need to become a healer. I couldn't help the day dreams of patient's smiles, and money that was mine alone- earned through hard work and not tied to any family name, even if I knew it would never be possible. It was unheard of (and an insult to one's husband) that a woman would actually like to do anything outside of having tea parties and attending fancy balls- It was all we were bred for, all that we were taught since the age of 4.
So, while my classmates took only enough classes to fulfill the graduation requirement, I was spent my time studying Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, Herbology and Defense Against the Dark Arts. There weren't many other Slytherin's in my classes- only potions, charms and transfiguration- and they were all male. In Defense and Herbology, I was left to my own devices. Later, my family would blame those two classes for all that had happened, but 'all that had happened' has not come to pass, yet.
My thoughts were interrupted as I finally reached the door to greenhouse 4 and was able to find an escape from the chilly air and the rainy mist that obscured the day. I was thirty-five minutes early, but to my surprise there was already a student seated at a work table.
I hadn't consciously noticed Theodore Tonks throughout my previous years in school but as I observed him now, I was taken aback by how much I seemed to know about him. He had been Hufflepuff's male prefect since 5th year (as I had been a Slytherin prefect for the same amount of time). He played keeper for the quidditch team (and though a 'puff, he managed to block many Slytherin goals through the years), and I had seen him in the hospital wing on occasion before games and otherwise because, not only was he competition, he was also a mudblood. He was smart, smart enough to be in three of my newt classes- charms, defense and, of course, herbology, but he was also kind. I had seen him stand for younger students multiple times when they were being picked on, mainly, I had to admit, by members of my own house(and often my own family, he had been at the wrong end of Bella's wand often enough before she graduated last year). In the dreary social and political environment, he often laughed off the insult of mudblood and any implication that anyone without 'pure blood' wasn't worth a magical education. I had seen him cheer up other students in the face of such claims, and he held tutoring sessions in the library for anyone to attend, though it was mainly directed to other muggle borns and halfbloods.
Maybe I had noticed him, even as I overlooked his sun-bleached blond strands and dark blue eyes, even as I purposely ignored his laughter, I couldn't help but admire him. He did for others loudly, what I did for Cissy silently. He did what I wished I could do ever since Cissy gave that homeless, mudblood boy her last chocolate frog. Her actions had shamed me that day, even though she just meant to be kind. I had noticed (after an encounter that I'd rather not speak about) that even if they didn't share our blood, muggles were still human- they still bled if cut and screamed if tortured, they loved and took care of their own- just the same way magical folk did. But until that day, I had turned a blind eye and agreed mindlessly with whatever prejudice my parents spewed. Even as Cissy now nods her head at our parents lectures, and uses the term 'filthy blood' as often as she can apply it, I remember her kindness and innocence and cannot find it in myself to believe that muggles are any less than we are. Not when an eight year old did what a ten year old dared not.
An "ahem" floated through the room and I swear I jumped a mile straight in the air. Obviously, Ted had noticed me standing in the door way just as he had noticed my gaze. Just how long had I been staring at him? It could have been 10 minutes or only a second, there was no way to tell. Embarrassed at my absentmindedness, I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin a notch higher in the air. My strides were purposeful and my wandering gaze now focused firmly forward as I swept past Ted's desk to my preferred work bench in the back corner.
Sirius once observed that the only time I held myself like a Black was when I was uncomfortable. Other than that, he joked, I could easily be mistaken for any other blood traitor because, as he claimed, I just appeared too nice. The Blacks, like most pure blood elitist, were known for their arrogance and haughty mien, and while I always let my shyness be mistaken for snobbery, I didn't hold myself with the same commanding bearing that most of my relatives did. I couldn't silence a room with a look as Bella did; I didn't draw every man's gaze with my movements, like Cissy. Mother often called me plain, but I preferred to think of it as understated. I was pretty enough, closely resembling Bella with our father's dark hair and eyes, but my nose was less angular- a nod to my mother's Crabbe blood. Bella's hair was a moonless night sky while mine called to mind the fertile soil of a spring afternoon, and our eyes were a difference too, she had the heavy lids of our mother (giving her a sultry tilt) but mine were wide almonds set in my face. Despite these differences, before Bella's graduation unobservant students and teachers confused us more than once- a comparison that set my teeth on edge. My relationship with my elder sister left much to be desired. Maybe it was jealousy on my part; she was a favorite of my parents- receiving their approval and praise when Cissy and I always seemed to fall short of acceptable. But with Cissy developing a close acquaintance with the Malfoy's last year, it seemed I was the only one 'falling short' lately. Though, with my engagement to Dolohov, maybe mother would finally be satisfied.
Movement caused my eyes to dart up from the surface of the desk and I found myself eye to eye with an abashed looking Ted Tonks.
"Andormeda, right? I know we don't know each other, but, I, eh, managed to cut myself on the devil's snare this morning and I was wondering if you'd mind, I'm rubbish at healing charms and the weather's so dreadful that I'd rather not if possible…"A cut, it seemed, meant 'half my bloody finger is missing' to Theodore Tonks and all I could do was nod dumbly when he removed the crude parchment wrappings. It took me all of six minutes and some complicated wand work until he was as good as he was going to get (a small cut was simple, missing flesh was a different brood of owls). In dismal, I crisply instructed him to go see Madame Pomfrey for a blood replenishing potion as soon as he had a free moment. Instead of leaving, however, he settled himself in the empty seat to my right, summoning all of his belongings with a wave of his wand. And that's where he stayed (despite my scowl), as if it was the most normal thing in the world- It was just me, my pot of Devil's snare and Ted Tonks.
Some moments you only think are going to change your life and sometimes you just know your life will never, ever be the same again. I should have known as soon as he sat down.
But I didn't.