Title: Fading Facades
Rating: T for implied themes and foul language
A/N: This particular chapter was inspired by "That's a Woman" by Celtic Thunder. This story has now officially been turned into a full-fledged one, so please keep an eye out for updates!

Chapter One
Disappearing Footprints

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I cried that night. I cried as the rain lashed the windowpanes, as the wind shrieked, as the dead branches screeched against the glass outside. I buried under the covers like a rabbit, and over the sound of the storm outside, came the sound of the storm within: a heavy, repeating beat and an eternal scream.

Mummy never cried. She came into my room hours later to tuck me in with tears in her eyes always, but she never allowed them to flow. Her eyes were puffy and red, bruised, often black and blue, but she never showed me her pain. It wouldn't be until many years later that my eldest sister would tell me about everything I didn't see: the red scars streaking across my mother's back, lacing around her shoulders, her entire body. Far worse were the unseen scars she bore everyday: the frightful memories, the daily, waking nightmares, the eternal threat skulking through our home.

He always wore black. His hair was transfigured to conceal the streaks of white, yielding a slick head of hair the color of the night. His cloaks were black, his dress shoes were black, his robes were black, and I, at the age of six, could have sworn his eyes were black. Just like his soul. The first night, the first time I can remember, his business dinner party had failed miserably at impressing the resident boss – he was not going to receive the esteemed promotion. My father was furious.

He raged through the mansion, slamming doors, pummeling any house elf unlucky enough to run in his way – poor Phelma was too slow, the dear – and smashing all of the vases in sight. Mum pushed us into Bellatrix's bedroom, the one nearest to us, her eyes wide, fearful.

I will never forget the look in those electric blue eyes that had once been so joyful.

The three of us ran to Bella's bed and dove beneath the covers, wondering what daddy could possibly do to us. We were still his family, right?

Mummy stood in the doorway, her skinny frame silhouetted by the dim lamplight coming from the hallway. She was protecting from us from a threat she already knew was coming, and had probably known would come for years. I still didn't understand. In fact, I whispered, "What's going on, Bella?" as quietly as I could. My sister didn't answer; she was too busy staring at the exchange occurring in the doorframe. She was shivering.

Cissy, meanwhile, was too young, even younger than I. She gurgled, happy that Bella and I finally joined in her game – she was usually forced to play by herself.

"Cygnus, dear, why don't we adjourn to the study?" Mum's voice was shaking as she gently pushed my father out of the room, away from her children.

Daddy growled in response and brushed past her, into the bedroom. "Where are they?"

Mummy didn't respond and kept shooting fearful glances at us, urging us to stay put with her eyes.

"WHERE ARE THEY, DAMNIT?"

"Darling--"

"If they had just kept BLOODY QUIET, the punchline to my half-blood joke would not have been UTTERLY RUINED!" He whipped around to face my mum, who was watching him with wide eyes.

Bella's shivering increased.

"Druella, I am going to ask you one more time," he hissed, his upper lip curling with disgust. "WHERE ARE THE DAMN CHILDREN?"

"I… I… I sent them to grandmum's," Mother finally whispered, her hands shaking. "I thought they should s-spend the night there… Darling, Cygnus, you have to understand-"

SLAP!

Bella whimpered in fright as Mum crumpled to the floor. Dad snarled and sent a glob of spit flying into Mother's hair before stalking away to lose himself in drink.

After that night, every dinner was a silent affair. Bella was always quiet, and we didn't talk much amongst ourselves. Our life's goal was to stay out of Daddy's way, for fear of the unknown. Sometimes, though, we'd hear whimpers in the night, and we'd shrink beneath our covers, praying our very hardest that Merlin would smite Father. Smite him hard.

Finally, we were of age to escape to Hogwarts. Bella went first, fearing for Cissy and my safety as she left, just as I eventually feared for Cissy whenever I boarded the train. We were ultimately together, though, no worse for the wear. Mummy was the one we left behind, and Mummy was the one bearing the scars.

Summertime was painful. Mum would bustle about, trying to convince us that she was alright by planning family outings: picnics, shows, Quidditch matches. We were her daughters, though, and we saw the deadness in her eyes that she attempted to hide. To compare her to Cissy – the one who looked the most like our mother – was heartrending. Her blond hair, usually silken like Cissy's, lay limp and unkempt. Her porcelain skin, once as flawless as a doll's, was bruised, scarred, and pale. She was unnaturally skinny, and her posture slumped, as if she had finally bowed under the weight of my father.

After graduation, I moved into my own flat: a meager thing above a Hogsmeade shop. But I was happy and carefree, sure that I had shed the chains accompanying my eternal sense of responsibility to my family. I was working in the Ministry of Magic as a lowly secretary with miniscule pay, but I was free.

One can never be free.

Dear sir/madam, the letter read.

We regret to inform you of Druella Rosier Black's passing last Monday, due to natural causes. The Black family invites you to a viewing/memorial service on Saturday. All monetary donations will go to her husband for the continual upkeep of their family house.

-Cygnus Black

I cried that night. I cried as the nightmares flashed through my head, as the memories beat against my temples.

I cried as I stood over my mother, as I held back tortured screams.

I cried as the imprint of a hand on her cheek slowly faded away.