Author's Note: I've always found the history of Black family (namely, the Black sisters) an interesting case study. Traditional high-class values, nobility by their own making, family bonds ripped and torn. I strived to make this as accurate as possible while being liberal with things the great J.K. Rowling herself does not divulge. This story doesn't talk about Bellatrix's descent into madness. Nor does it reveal Andromeda's eye-opening venture into a forbidden romance. Rather, these are chapters of the lives the Black sisters - past and present. Moments of their existence that touch on power, class, tradition, mercy, family ties, and three distinct and fascinating personalities. The timeline jumps around - but context clues within each chapter should help you out. Please review.
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Chapter One
Random acts of purification.
That's what he had called it, anyway, when the Dark Lord instructed his followers to haphazardly pick the homes of Mudbloods and blood-traitors to attack and destroy. Nothing incites more fear than irregularity and uncertainty, he said.
One particular Death Eater relished the idea of it. Her favorite mission: seek and demolish.
She knew most of her compatriots thought her torturing antics were unusual. She heard their whispers. She didn't care. The ecstasy and exhilaration of physically, mentally, and emotionally ravishing her captives brought on the giddiest of highs for her. Always the same questions - What do you want? Why are you doing this? - and the same desperate pleas - Please stop! I'll give you anything! Please don't hurt my child! All she could do was laugh at the unoriginality of it all.
She stepped outside the Death Eater headquarters, accompanied by a tall, hooded man. She breathed in deeply the summer air. A twisted smile crept across her face. She had a good feeling about tonight and its eerie calm before her self-induced storm. She looked at her companion and nodded. And in a smoky poof she was racing through the sky, a nighthawk searching for its prey.
Bellatrix Lestrange was on the move.
...
Last house on the left, look for the blue-flamed lantern. Last house on the left...blue-flamed lantern...on the left...It became a mantra. And then there it was. A small, non-descript bungalow at the end of the street. A rusty, squeaky weathervane swung uselessly on the roof. The yard was overgrown with weeds. To an unknowing eye, it looked deserted.
She knew she shouldn't be here. With her husband on the run, her daughter pregnant, and her son-in-law in the Order, the woman knew she owed it to her family to be less reckless. But her now-companionless home was suffocating her with worry. Sitting while others fought, others took action. She couldn't stand it.
She heard of this location from the Potterwatch radio show that she had taken to closely following after her husband's disappearance. 'River' had given vague information about a safe house for fugitive Muggleborns, and she couldn't resist. And now here she was. She knocked the code. Three hard pounds. Pause. One light. Pause. Two quickly.
The door opened, a portly, ragged-looking man filled the frame. His eyes widened in fear.
The woman had never quite grown accustomed to her initial reception from strangers. Her resemblance to her infamous older sister was uncanny at first look. She sighed and stepped forward, allowing the colored light to wash over her features.
"Oh!" the man squeaked. "Forgive me, ma'am! What a pleasure to have you with us this evening. Are you here to donate to the Smuggling Muggles Using Generous Gifts and Lavish Endowments foundation?"
She nodded curtly, adding, "And to look for my husband."
He stepped aside, inviting her in. She hesitated. This was it. This was the moment between passive and active.
Andromeda Tonks was crossing the threshold.
...
She either didn't notice or didn't mind the chilling breeze lapping through the open bay window. She stared out into the night, eyes unfocused, a million thoughts streaming through her mind.
She had never questioned her loyalty. Loyalty was something engrained since birth. Loyalty to family, to cause. Fidelitas cognatus. Blood loyalty. And yet where did one draw the line between loyalty to family and loyalty to family beliefs? She was done seeing her loved ones in danger. She tired of the constant fear and uncertainty that her husband and son would return from their missions - their meetings - alive.
She looked down at her bare, unblemished left forearm. She had never taken the mark, never felt the need to. One family member in the service was enough in her mind, although her oldest sister vehemently objected. But now...now there were two...
The woman stifled a rare sob. Stiff upper lip. Mother always said tears were a waste of energy because they resolve nothing. It was too much to think about. Suddenly, a hand gently clenched her shoulder.
"What is this window doing open? You'll catch a cold," a familiar voice drawled.
She smiled smally, reaching up to grip his hand in hers. "Darling," she whispered. "I didn't hear you come in."
She was shaken from her trance, but her mind was still mulling over its dilemma.
Narcissa Malfoy was in doubt.
