i. taunting fires, touching wires, been believing liars
Who wants to separate
The world we know from our beliefs
And who sees only black and white
Distinguish loss from sacrifice
Some day we may come to peace
With the world within ourselves
"How come Andy gets presents, Mother, and I don't?"
Five year old Narcissa's face is contorted into a frown as she watches her older sister unwrap a bracelet; Andromeda's delicate fingers claw at the paper as she tears it off, exposing red rubies that glisten in the sunlight like diamonds.
"It's my birthday Cissy," Andromeda replies, not really interested in her sister's complaints as she tears the paper from another present, all her Black formality and regality misplaced for just a second amidst the sparkling silver wrapping paper and the promise of a toy broomstick. "I'm the one turning seven today…"
"It's still not fair."
"Life isn't fair, Narcissa." It's such a harsh statement for a seven year old girl to mutter, and yet, in the dusty drawing room of velvet curtains and haunting silence, it doesn't seem out of place. Druella glances at her, a mixture of pride and humanity smoothed across her usually blank face – she wants her daughter to be a Black, and yet, she doesn't; it's as much about motherhood as it is about tradition, and the treaty line between them is impossible not to cross – and then nods at the slightly smaller pile of presents.
"Open another one, and then we can go and show Aunt Walburga."
There's another flurry of hands as Andromeda tears at the wrapping paper again, watched by Narcissa, who, even at five years old, wears distaste like a mask, and Bellatrix, whose haughty features give away none of her feelings.
"Life may not be fair Andy," her older sister says finally, "but you can rise above that. You can make a name for yourself in this world."
It's obvious from the passion in Bellatrix's voice that she believes in this… this initiative fully, and that she's always going to be the apple of her mother's eye for it. It's one thing to be beautiful like Narcissa or intelligent like Andromeda, but in her mother's eyes Bellatrix's ideals are everything, and Andromeda just cannot wrap her head around it.
"Your sister's right," Druella nods, ash dropping from her cigarettes like falling stars,
"it's up to you girls to continue the family name and make something of yourself in the world." She glances at Andromeda, whose attention is focused solely upon the Ludo Bagman model in her hands. Andromeda spins it over and over, Ludo's tiny plastic fingers caught between her own slender ones, and nods, never meeting her mother's eye.
It's not so much that she disagrees with her mother – she doesn't, her mother's ideas on life may be a little harsh, but they're not bad – but that right now, it's her birthday and she can't bring herself to care. It's just a name, she thinks, and why's it so important? Why?
ii. your side, watch the change in time, when you whisper.
Somewhere weakness is our strength,
And I'll die searching for it.
I can't let myself regret such selfishness.
My pain and all the trouble caused,
No matter how long
I believe that there's hope
Buried beneath it all and
Hiding beneath it all, and
Growing beneath it all, and...
They've never earmarked her as good at Quidditch – that's a role that's been nominated for Sirius, since before he was born, because it's the boys who play Quidditch and the girls who dress up, not matter what Ted Tonks says with that lifted eyebrow and patented smirk about Muggle feminism and the right to kick a man's arse – and yet they still expect her to win. It's not so much about ensuring Slytherin a victory as it is about reputation and pride and preserving the family name by being the best Seeker her team can possibly have.
It's her birthday today, she's turning thirteen today, and yet there's a sinking feeling in her heart that permeates her entire as Tonks scores one, two, three, four goals; the Hufflepuff crowd and their cheers of joy boom like thunder in her ears as she realises that it's panic flooding her: what will her house say if she doesn't win, what will Cissy and Bella say, what will her parents say if Slytherin doesn't win and she doesn't catch the Snitch?
She doesn't of course, though whether it was because the other team was better than her or because she was hopeless or because she wasted too much time worrying, Andromeda doesn't know.
All the presents in the world can't rewind seeing the hurt in her sisters' eyes and that eternal smirk on Ted Tonks' face as she scurries into the dressing room, hiding her tears behind a mask of "great game guys," and jostling for a position in the showers. They can't fill the wound that's torn open in her heart or wipe the disappointment from her cheeks as she finally lets the tears fall and wonders if this will ever end. She wonders if she'll ever find the ability to scream and shout and stand up for herself in this world of illusions and blood ties.
It's Ted Tonks who finds her behind the greenhouses, fresh sweat glistening on his arms as he wraps one around her, undoubtedly testing her resolve to see how close he can get before she snaps.
"It's just a game, you know," he laughs, falling onto the log beside her and grimacing at the mud that attaches itself firmly to his pants. "Make love, not Quidditch, remember. Okay, so that wasn't quite the right example – it comes from a Muggle saying, don't worry if you don't understand – but it's not worth worrying about, anyway." Ted continues to ramble, his thoughts wandering everywhere and refusing to find their target: Andromeda just does not want to know.
"Happy birthday, by the way."
It's only the second time Andromeda's heard that today – her team sang "Happy Birthday" after their pre-match "get out there and win" speech; it's not like her sisters to go out of their way to wish her anything, let alone a good day. They don't hate each other, but it's certainly not affection that lingers between them on summer holidays.
"Thanks."
Even if Ted wasn't Muggleborn, even if he was Slytherin, he wouldn't understand her regret at not winning, and it doesn't seem right to burden him. Not yet, anyway…
iii. i wish i could sing no regrets and no emotional debts
Trembling, crawling across my skin.
Feeling your cold dead eyes, stealing the life of mine.
"I don't hate you Bellatrix. We're sisters, family, and you can't forget where you came from. We've chosen different paths, that's all." Andromeda stands in front of her sister, her back against the wall and her fingers tight around her wand, waiting for a response.
"Different paths?" Bellatrix scoffs, and Andromeda is reminded of her sadistic side – the one that spent so many years buried during school holidays under a pristine white mask decorated with crimson red lips and the desire to please Mummy.
For all the hidden agendas their family revels in, they are a pretty simple lot to figure out: lie, cheat and lie some more, and Andromeda really cannot deal with this now that she knows what else is out there. The Blacks are all wearing masks, hiding their decaying, decrepit morals behind civility and the allure of high society. It's not just Bellatrix, but she's the most ruthless of the lot.
"Just because I don't agree with your ideas doesn't mean I'm going to stop you. I may be fifteen today, but that doesn't make me a baby. I'm old enough to choose my own path now."
'Age doesn't create experience, Andromeda."
"No, but it helps."
They're both staring with a mixture of anger and regret – there's a fine line between enemies and friends and sisters, and it's fading underneath them with every word they mutter. Neither of them wants this confrontation, but neither of them wants to live the life of the other…
"Look," Andromeda says finally, "I didn't expect you to understand. I've made my choice, and I never expected you to agree with me."
"Good," Bellatrix replies, her lips twisted into a malevolent sneer, "I'm pleased you didn't expect me to."
With that, the two sisters walk their separate ways: there is no fanfare here, simply two sisters each searching for where they belong.
iv. those three words are said too much; they're not enough
I'm gonna overcome this, paper hearts can't win this time
And all along I should have known this wasn't your dream, it was mine
I know you wanted me to give up this life to be
Everything I was back when you had the hands my heart was in
"Happy birthday, 'Dromeda. I love you."
"Thanks."
Andromeda draws a hurried breath before Ted smothers her with a flurry of chaste kisses and birthday presents she knows he really can't afford and she drowns in affection and a passionate love that's almost too overbearing.
"No 'I love you' then?" he laughs, staring down at the pitch when all this began as a way of hiding the fact that he really wants those three words to venture into the world from their hiding place, no matter how much he knows she can't say them, not yet.
She's seventeen, not seventy, and yet she feels as harrowed and hollowed as someone twice her age and then some. Andromeda wishes she could blame this, this thing with Lucius, but her lies reek of self despair as much as a lack of honesty.
"You know I want to tell you that," she says, "but I can't." They don't need reasons to come between them, more fabricated truths to tear them apart when they both know she's engaged to a man she cannot love. "After I deal with this engagement…"
"I'll wait for you." Life is not a fairytale romance, and this is not a fairytale by any stretch of the imagination, and yet she cannot help but feel like she is living one.
She just has to deal with the snide, blonde haired weight that hangs over her head first.
"I know."
Andromeda thinks, no she knows, that this is what she loves about Ted: he doesn't understand, and yet, intangibly, he does. He doesn't understand about war and families and exactly why that tapestry strikes fear into the heart of every Black – better to die than be blasted away, her mother said once, remember that Andromeda, remember that – and yet he understands that he needs to give her space and to wait for her.
"Thanks."
They're talking in short snippets, tiny phrases that aren't long enough to betray their stone cold faces or their longing to hold each other. It's better this way, better to be restrained and prepared in the face of disaster than to taste the Forbidden Fruit and have it ripped away from them by an engagement of blood and of convenience.
"I better go," Andromeda whispers finally, after several long seconds of their clasped hands holding both their hearts. "I have to talk to him – it's not right to do this to him, and I may be a Black but it doesn't mean my heart's as dark."
"Good luck."
"You too."
It's going to be just as torturous for Ted, waiting, waiting for something, anything that will let him take Andromeda into his arms and hold her tight. The worst thing for both of them is that all their hopes and dreams rest upon this secret midnight meeting with Lucius Malfoy.
v. for diamonds do appear to be, just like broken glass to me
Kiss you off these lips of mine
Kiss you off for a custom shine
Pissed yours truly off this time
It's why I ain't just kissin' you I'm kissin' you off
It's five minutes to midnight, and the moon illuminates the engagement ring as she twists it around her finger – focusing on it delays the inevitable sacrifice, marks the inevitable point of no return – and yet Andromeda feels as though her birthday is long gone. It's two hours since she talked to Ted, two hours since she told Malfoy to meet her here, two minutes until she seals her fate.
"Happy birthday. What is all this about, Andromeda?" He arrives in a swirl of swishing robes and cold grey eyes, allowing her hand to linger on her face just a little too long for friendship or hatred and removing it a little too quickly for it to be anything else but propriety.
"It's about us, Lucius." She hates the way the words roll of her tongue – just like him, it's not raw affection or raw loathing, but something else entirely. They're bound not only by the parents but also by what their encounters do not portray
"The wedding has been planned for June. My mother is currently organising caterers and dressmakers – she'll only have the best, you know."
"Of course. That's nothing more or less than I'd expect."
"So why do you need to talk to me? I have duties to attend to and homework to complete – how are you finding that Transfiguration essay McGonagall set, by the way?"
Not once in three months have Ted and Andromeda discussed schoolwork – merely the impact it has upon them, for Ted is the epitome of every house except Ravenclaw and Andromeda's best subject is decidedly not History of Magic – and she hates that Lucius and her are reduced to such formalities.
Andromeda Black may be a Slytherin, but it does not mean that love is a word lacking from her vocabulary.
"I can't do this, Lucius." Maybe, just maybe, if she's as blunt and as honest and as everything as she is with Ted, this will be easy.
"Can't do what, Andromeda?"
"This."
Andromeda waves her engagement ring under his nose, eyes blazing and heart sinking and mutters, "I don't love you, Lucius, you know that as well as I do." She's not sure whether it's a testament to his upbringing or his inability to show emotion that causes his lack of response.
"I know."
"I-I-I just can't do it." She looks down, and the words bounce off her feet like fallen soldiers toppling to the ground; they're some of the most liberating words she's ever said.
"But-"
"Look, I'll deal with everything." Andromeda's already moved beyond emotional to practical, and she supposes that's proof that she's dealt with this, it's done, it's over, she's free.
"But-" Lucius - her soon to be not fiancée? – is lost for words, and she can almost smell the confusion in his breath as it wafts over her: he's a Malfoy, a perfect, snide prince, and this isn't what his place inn society dictates.
"Goodbye, Lucius, goodbye."
She waits for confirmation of her choice, for the flood of memories and the heartbreak and the worry and the pain, but it doesn't come. She is not submerged, but dragged to shore by the promise of a brighter future away from this asphyxiation and struggle to survive.
With that, Andromeda throws her wedding ring at Lucius and storms out the door.
vi. there's nothing you and i won't do, i'll stop the world and melt with you
I want to hold you to the sun
I want to be your faithful one
I want to show you all the beauty
You don't even know you hold
"Happy birthday Mummy." Even at six o'clock in the morning, Dora is filled with relentless energy as she jumps on Andromeda, who groans and mumbles something about coffee and the chance to sleep in. Ted leans over her, laughing at her inability to wake up, and plants a chaste kiss on her pale, almost fragile cheek, before motioning to Dora to hand over her present.
The card is a mess – Nymphadora's many talents do not extend to drawing, and Andromeda's never known 'happy' to be spelt with an 'i,' but she pulls her daughter close, whispering 'thank you' and 'Mummy loves you' into her hair.
It's times like this when Andromeda wonders how she made it here – her life hasn't exactly been fraught with physical danger (just the emotional type, and that's so much more bloodcurdling, she thinks), and yet, she's lucky to be alive.
"Happy birthday 'Dromeda." Ted's voice, rough and harsh with the slightest hint of a laugh, sends shivers down her spine as he pulls her out of bed, enveloping her body with his arms, and whispering something in her ear that is definitely not appropriate for their daughter.
"Dora made you breakfast. Your favourite – choc chip pancakes."
"Thanks honey." Andromeda ruffles her daughter's hair, which is a vibrant cherry red today, laughing at the indignant look she receives. Such a simple gesture, she thinks, and yet she turns her nose up. Some of her laughter actually stems from the beautiful irony of this situation – Andromeda would have done anything for her mother to show affection, Nymphadora is so well loved she finds no need to care at all.
"Dora, go find Mummy her slippers," Ted says, placing his head on the small of his daughter's back to guide her out the door. As soon as her small frame has disappeared from sight, Ted leans over his wife, smothering her with his breath and his affection and his love.
"Shall we start off where we finished last night?" he whispers in his ear; his voice is seductive as it moves along her neck, the words it spills fluttering against her cheeks and her hair.
"I don't know. Maybe we can start from the beginning again?"
--
Lyrics:
i. Memento Mori, The Academy Is
ii. Let the Flames Begin, Paramore
iii. Dance with the Devil, Breaking Benjamin
iv. Liar, Emilie Autumn
v. Kiss You Off, Scissor Sisters
vi. If I Were A Sailboat, Katie Melua
Section Titles:
i. Red, Sara Bareillles
ii. Justify, Red Jumpsuit Apparatus
iii. My Tears Dry Own Their Own, Amy Winehouse
iv, Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol
v. Northern Downpour, Panic at the Disc
vi. I'll Stop the World and Melt With You, The Cure
Dear friends, my muse is back. I love having finished all my assignments, and I'm finally getting over this damn flu.
This may be a little choppy in parts, as it's been my project for the last month (yes, month), and I've been writing little bits and pieces each time I found inspiration. The songs I've chosen all provided a lot of this, and I thought that their lyrics also suited Andromeda well.
Anyway, the technicalities... this was written (nearly two months late), for the Reviews Lounge project project, where the idea was to take a canon character and write a story based upon the prompt 'birthdays.' So a very belated HAPPY BIRTHDAY REVIEWS LOUNGE (hip hip hooray, anyone), and may you be a successful for much longer.
On that note, it was my birthday a week ago, and reviews make great presents. -wink wink nudge nudge-
Peace Out,
Cubie xx