The Black Manor was most often a peaceful dwelling. It was large, and spacious. It's many rooms were airy and high-ceilinged, so even the high-pitched wails of the Black's two-year-old daughter could not be heard by the villagers outside the manor's walls. However, today the Manor was anything but peaceful. In a large spare bedroom on the second floor of the house, a pretty young woman lay on crisp white bed sheets that would soon be stained with blood. Her long, shimmering blonde hair dripped with sweat, caught against the plump pillows she rested on. Her face was flushed crimson, and frustrated tears leaked from her honey brown eyes. Her moans of pain were loud and frequent, as she struggled to push the tiny being inside her out of her womb, and into the world. Around her, three Healers fussed and fretted. The youngest one, who had wispy brown hair twisted up into a bun, took the pregnant woman's hand, whilst the others urged her to push. Immediately, the woman dropped the Healer's hand, as if it was as hot as coals.
"Mrs. Black, dear, please. You must let us help you!" exclaimed the young Healer.
"I'm fine, I can do this without your filthy hand to cling onto!" spat Mrs. Black, her breaths coming in short gasps.
The Healers exchanged looks of worried exasperation.
"Don't worry, madam," said one. "We've contacted Mr. Black. He's on his way."
Outside the spare bedroom, a little girl sat at the top of the staircase, her short legs barely reaching the step below her. She screamed and cried, her chubby pink fists flailing, her little feet in their laced up black boots stomping up and down. She didn't turn at the sound of running footsteps along the carpeted hallway behind her, and cried harder still as soft hands lifted her up and hugged her against their chest.
"There there, pumpkin, don't cry now," said the young woman who was holding the child. She was small and stout, and her dark brown hair was tied up in a neat bun at the back of her head. She had warm brown eyes, and her front teeth were crooked. She wore navy blue robes over a shabby grey dress and black stockings.
"Oh Bella, dear," she said, smoothing her small hand over the little girl's short black curls. "Please don't fret so; Abby's got you safe and sound."
Despite Abby's soothing voice, the little girl continued to cry. At only two years old, she was not a fluent speaker, but words were discernible through her tears.
"Mama…want milk…want teddy…down, DOWN!" she cried, squirming and flailing in Abby's arms. Abby held on tight, and began to walk up and down the length of the corridor, doing her best to ignore the cries of pain coming from behind the bedroom door.
"Look, Bella!" she exclaimed, freeing one hand from Bella's tight grasp to point at a painting on the wall. "Look at that lovely princess! At least, I think she's a princess, with her beautiful long hair and her pretty dress. But then, she doesn't have a crown, so maybe she's just really rich…" Abby trailed off, realizing that she didn't have the little child's attention.
"Oh dear, maybe it's time for bed, eh?" she said, and began to cross to the landing. Just then, she heard the heavy oak front doors open, and then slam shut. Bella was still crying, but she had stilled in Abby's arms.
"Oh, that'll be your daddy home from work, I think," whispered Abby in Bella's ear, smoothing a dark curl across her forehead. As she turned to descend the stairs the door of the spare bedroom opened and one of the Healers appeared.
"Did I just hear the front door open?" she asked, trailing one weary hand through her frizzy blonde hair.
"I think so, yes," replied Abby. "Poor little Bellatrix just won't stop crying."
"Well, maybe her father will cheer her up," said the Healer, and she began to scurry down the stairs, gesturing for Abby to come with her.
Abby followed the Healer down the grand, winding oak staircase and into the Manor's entrance hall. Their shoes clicked against the clean marble floor, the dim light from the crystal chandelier throwing shadows against their faces. The room was empty.
"He'll be in the kitchen," said Abby, rocking Bella gently up and down. She led the way, nudging her way through the large wood-paneled doors on the right. They had stepped into a large kitchen. In the middle of the room stood a long dining table topped with glass. A large ornate fireplace sat directly opposite the doors, charred logs and burnt copies of the Daily Prophet littering its bottom. An oven, benches and sink lined the rest of the extravagantly papered walls. In the middle of the room, a man stood hunched over the table, a goblet overflowing with Firewhisky before him. He wore a thick black travelling cloak, and he had wild dark hair. As he turned his face toward the two women, he revealed a handsome pale face, and bloodshot grey eyes.
"What is it?" he barked, taking a swig of the alcohol.
"Mr. Black sir, did you get our message?" began the Healer. "About your wife-"
"Who are you?" Mr. Black interrupted, dragging the back of his hand across his lips to wipe away the drops of alcohol.
"Healer Downberry, sir," she said, reaching out a hand to shake his. "One of the midwitches sent to deliver your new baby." Mr. Black looked thoroughly confused.
"We sent you an owl… I assumed that's why you'd come home?" she questioned, beginning to look worried.
"No, I didn't get your bloody owl," he said, setting the now empty goblet down on the table and facing Healer Downberry properly.
"Oh, well I did send it," she muttered. "But never mind, come upstairs, you've arrived just in time-"
"For Merlin's sake, will you take that screaming child out of here, she's doing my head in!" cried Mr. Black, drawing himself up to his full height. Healer Downberry jumped, and Abby drew the little girl closer to her chest.
"Mr. Black, she's just frightened!" started Abby, but Mr. Black had already begun to yell.
"Just leave me alone, all of you!" he roared. "It's not my business to be in there with Druella whilst she gives birth!"
"Well, it is really," argued Healer Downberry, doing her best to act professional.
"No, it isn't," replied Mr. Black with finality. "That's for her and the Healers to deal with, not me."
Healer Downberry sighed, feeling defeated. She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly.
"Well… if you're sure, Mr. Black," she concluded. "We'll keep you posted, then." With that, she turned her back and left the room, bounding back up the stairs. There was stillness in the kitchen, the only sound that of little Bellatrix wailing into Abby's shoulder.
"I told you to take her out of here!" bellowed Mr. Black, banging his goblet against the tabletop.
"Yes sir, sorry sir," Abby stammered, before hurrying out of the room.
As she slowly made her way back up the stairs, she noticed the sudden silence. She stood still, trying to shush Bellatrix. She could hear only hushed voices coming from behind the bedroom door. Then, there came a keening cry, shrill and high-pitched. It could only have come from a new-born baby.
"Well, Bella, did you hear that?" questioned Abby, a smile splitting across her rosy face. "That sounds like your new baby brother or sister!"
Mr. Black stepped tentatively through the bedroom door, held open by one of the Healers. Behind him, Abby stood meekly against the wall, her round eyes filled with joyful tears. In his arms, little Bellatrix screamed and cried, desperate to be put down.
"Quiet, child," he scolded, looking into her grey eyes. She cried louder still. Mr. Black sighed, and stepped into the room. His wife lay on the bed, her eyes closed and sharp face flushed. Her hair billowed out around her head like a halo. A wooden black crib stood against the wall. Healer Downberry gestured to it, a beam on her chubby face.
"Come and meet your new daughter, Mr. Black," she said. He nodded, and grunted in reply. Boldly, he strode toward the crib, Bellatrix still squirming in his cloaked arms.
He peered over Bellatrix' shaking shoulders, and caught his first glimpse of this newest baby. She was tiny, smaller than Bellatrix had been. Her hair was lighter too, soft and downy and flat against her little head. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and her small eyes were closed. She wore only a cloth nappy, and a small stub of umbilical cord was still attached to her belly button.
"Andromeda," he said, his voice resounding loud and clear in the large room. "Druella and I decided on Andromeda." At the sound of his voice, little Bellatrix turned her head to look into the crib. She caught sight of the little baby, and immediately began to quieten. Her gaze was focused on her little sister, and her tears slowly lessened.
"I think that's a beautiful name, Mr. Black," whispered one of the Healers. "After the star in the sky?"
"I suppose so, yes," murmured Mr. Black. He stooped low, and set Bellatrix onto the floor. Slowly, he began to back out of the room.
"Abby, take the child out of the room now," called Mr. Black. "Druella and the baby should rest." He strode past Abby, and out the door.
Abby stepped tentatively into the room. She glanced cautiously at the wooden crib. Little Bellatrix was clinging to the railings, staring in awe at her little sister. Not a single cry escaped her lips. Abby didn't have the heart to make her let go.