This fic is dedicated to 12 year old Sofia, who died last Monday, the day she was supposed to be finishing treatment for a rare bone cancer. On Thursday wde held her funeral, while we should have seen her off to the airport; she would have flown to Paris to visit the Louvre. This is the closest to the museum I could give her. At least this one has a happy ending.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, I make no money out of this in any way, but who doesn't like the Louvre?
The many visitors of the Louvre had specifically chosen this particular destination for their travels for the sense of wonder they would experience there; this was not a reason though for them to not openly stare at the family of four that was making its way through them, under the glass pyramid that shone as bright as the sun in the middle of the City of Lights. They must have been thinking that they were part of some sort of campaign to support the Impressionistic Gallery, because the cameras of the omnipresent Japanese groups were flashing frantically to capture the 'actresses'.
The only adult of the small group was a petite woman, so blonde and delicate, she looked almost transparent. She was dressed in what seemed to be a late Victorian promenade gown of pure navy blue velvet with a matching hat and parasol, decorated with fresh flowers. Mrs. Black was talking non-stop to her three girls in an elitist British accent that was enough to send back a century even those who found the obviously real and very tight corset inadequate.
"- surrounded by so many people! If I had not made a rule about not talking ill of Mr. Riddle, I would say-" she paused abruptly to cast a very strict look at her eldest daughter, as if it was her who had been rude. "Well, it is not prudent, perhaps Mr. Lestrange will have another talk with the manager here about transferring our entrance elsewhere, all this staring is very upsetting. Ah, I think I can see him," she added, and a large smile spread on her pale face. Her colourless eyes were fixed on the tall silhouette of a man who was leaning on the wall next to the cashier. The man was attracting a lot of attention anyway, mainly of the female visitors and staff, who apparently had never seen such high cheekbones and creamy skin.
"Mr. Riddle, how nice to see you again," Druella said in a much girlier tone than before, offering him her hand.
"An honour as always, my dear Mrs. Black," the man said smoothly, bending low over the skinny hand to kiss it softly.
"I do apologise for the wait, young Miss Black here would not decide on the style of clothing she would be wearing," Druella said, her voice getting strained again. "Apparently she thinks she is old enough for women's frocks. I apologise again, I will make sure she understands that this kind of behaviour is unacceptable."
Voldemort scanned the eldest of the Black Sisters devouring hungrily the combination of the sunset-themed silk gown that now covered even her ankles and the elegant, plaited knot that revealed her long swan-like neck for the first time.
"I suggest you pass, Druella," Voldemort said, his fiery eyes finally landing on the young girl's sapphire ones, piercing them through and though. "I say it is worth every second of the wait." And with those words he extended his hand again, waiting to give the same kiss on the knuckles in the typical greeting gesture for well-respected pureblooded women.
Bellatrix offered her small hand under the incredulous gaps of both her mother and two sisters, a devilish smirk on her own face. The sight could have easily sprang out of the priceless paintings kept in the museum.
"It is wonderful to see you again, Mr. Riddle," she said, her voice less confident than her smile as she curtseyed.
"I believe the pleasure is all mine, Miss Black," Voldemort muttered, his lips lingering on the delicate skin a tad bit longer this time. Then he turned to the two other girls. "Miss Andromeda, Narcissa," he tipped his hat.
The girls hadn't finished greeting when Druella spoke again imperiously.
"Bellatrix, take your sisters for a small tour of the first two floors, Mr. Riddle and I will be at the café outside. And when I say the first two floors, I mean exactly that; no side-tracking, no stops and I want you back in exactly two hours, not a minute more. Civilised, yes?"
"Yes, Mother," Bellatrix said, her eyes still on Voldemort. "Come, girls, we have appointments with people long dead. See you later, Mr. Riddle."
Narcissa and Andromeda grabbed their eldest sister's hands preventing her from waving at the man, but he still winked at her before offering his arm to their mother.
"You can find us in the back of the café," he told the young woman. Bellatrix had already led her sisters a few feet away towards the Wizarding Entrance, but she turned her head back to flash him a last smile and get one back in return.
Voldemort's smile was the only thing that helped Bellatrix get through the next hour. The three sisters presented a very harmonious sight with their hair turning lighter and lighter as the age went down and the matching dresses- blood-red for Bellatrix, orange for Andromeda and light blue for Narcissa. In reality, though, the quarrels between them suggested otherwise. Narcissa wanted to visit the Renoir Collection to admire the clothes of the era and take ideas for her own outfits, while Bellatrix had declared she would be visiting the Greek antiquities, so she could put her Ancient Greek to the test and later boast to Mr. Riddle about how his lessons were worth his time. Andromeda, on the other hand, simply shrugged when asked what she would like to see.
As no middle ground could be found, Bellatrix had dragged the girls to her collection of choice, promising Narcissa they would make a short stop at the Impressionists, and would have a longer visit later during their vacation in France. Bellatrix had been to the Louvre plenty of times with Voldemort and found nothing particularly fascinating in pretty paintings, but her sisters had been quite young when their parents had brought them here, and, after Cygnus' murder, Druella hadn't had the courage to revisit. This had led to a very grumpy Narcissa who held her stuffed unicorn close to her chest and a silent Andromeda who clearly had no interest in the information Bellatrix was offering about the Nike of Samothrace and other masterpieces of the era.
"Even though the Hellenistic Era is also called the Second-Classical Era, there are distinct differences between the two art styles, mainly in the more vivid expressions and plump bodies," Bellatrix was saying, while all three stood in front of the Venus de Milo, "and the excessive decor- Cissy, for the love of Slytherin, put that thing away, you're a big girl now."
Narcissa eyed her sister, her lower lip pouted.
"You can't take away Snow, he says he wants to see the pretty dresses from the paintings of Reroir, he likes them," she whined.
"It's Renoir," Bellatrix said impatiently, "and somehow I doubt a stuffed animal has anything close to likes and dislikes. Give me Snow and you can have him back when we leave."
"Snow likes the paintings," Narcissa said indignantly, as if her sister had offended her heavily.
"Look," Bellatrix started in an angry whisper as fellow tourists were turning around to find the source of the disturbance, "you're eight years old, you don't need to drag around a toy like you're three-"
"I'm not giving you Snow!" cried Narcissa and shiny tears fell down from the glassy eyes while she turned to the side to shield the stuffed unicorn from her sister's grasp.
"Don't behave like a baby, Cissy, and keep our voice down!" Bellatrix hissed. "Can you recall Andy or myself walking around with a stuffed animal clutched in our arms at your age? I'm asking you. Andy, do you remember this happening? Andy?"
Bellatrix had turned around where the middle child should be standing, only to find thin air. Forgetting all about Snow and Narcissa, Bellatrix twirled on the spot, her eyes scanning the vast room. Andromeda was nowhere to be seen.
"Andromeda?" she repeated slightly louder, barely covering up the tremor of her voice. There was no response.
"Cissy, did you see Andy leave just now?" Bella asked slowly, flat-out refusing what reality was telling her.
Narcissa shook her head meaning 'no', still sobbing.
"I'm not giving you Snow," she said sulking.
"Forget about the bloody thing!" Bellatrix hissed and the little girl took a step back in fear. "Give me your hand and don't let go," she said, and then approached a couple near them. "Excusez-moi, madame, avez-vous vu une fille qui a dix ans, les cheveux bruns et porte une robe orange? Elle était ici tout à l'heure."
"Entschuldigung, Fräulein, wir sprechen kein Französisch. Englisch, perhaps?" the man said kindly.
"Yes," Bellatrix breathed, "have you seen a girl around ten? She has brown hair and wears an orange dress, similar to this," she said quickly, pointing at Narcissa's clothes.
The man, obviously taken aback by the force with which the language had assaulted his ears, turned to his companion.
"Ich glaube, das Mädchen sucht nach seiner Schwester," the woman muttered. "Girl, ten years," she raised all ten fingers, "left there," and she pointed towards the grand staircase that gave access to the rest of the huge palace. The poor woman seemed to take pity in the two remaining sisters when Bella's eyes opened wide. "Help?" she offered.
But Bellatrix had already left, dragging Narcissa behind her and violently shoving the Japanese tourists aside, her free palm covering the lenses of the old-fashioned cameras.
"Where're we going?" asked Narcissa through violent sobs. Bellatrix, who was much taller, was running with long strides and the little girl had difficulty following.
"To Tom- Mr. Riddle, I mean," Bellatrix cursed herself for the tongue-slip in her panic.
"Where's Andy?"
"I don't know, just run faster!"
"Mother says we're not supposed to run..."
"Mother also says we're not supposed to see the Renoir Collection, you had no objections there. I said, run!"
The crimson and ciel dots flew through staircases and corridors and precious artifacts, stopping only outside the glass doors of the museum's café. Voldemort's well-combed head was the only one standing tall enough for the girls to see from their position. Bellatrix was wholeheartedly hoping their mother couldn't see them either, because Druella's short temper would certainly explode if she found out what had happened.
Bellatrix inhaled deeply through the nose and exhaled through the mouth in the way Voldemort had showed her was most effective to regain a stable breathing pattern and focused on Narcissa, whose face was red and swollen from crying.
"Stay here, don't move an inch," she said and opened the door, trying to look like her usual, self-assured self.
"Hello, Mother, Mr. Riddle," she greeted the adults.
"Bellatrix!" Druella hissed, "I told you to not disturb-"
"It's fine, Druella," Voldemort said. He had stood up politely when Bellatrix had approached their table and had spotted the distress on the young face, something that her mother hadn't. "How can I help you, Miss Black?" and, when the girl just stared at him with meaning, he turned to Mrs. Black. "How about I talk to her outside for a minute, my dear Druella? No reason to stress you too, yes?"
Druella didn't seem very happy with this, but consented. She didn't dare question the man she knew was The Dark Lord, but also couldn't help the question: "where are your sisters, Bellatrix?"
"Bathroom," Bella muttered the lie without blushing. "Mr. Riddle?"
"Of course," Voldemort offered her his arm like he had done with her mother and led her outside, where Narcissa was thankfully still waiting.
"Where is Miss Andromeda?" he asked the moment they were not audible to Druella.
"How did you-?" Bellatrix forgot her panic for a second.
"I have told you I can always tell when I am being lied to," Voldemort said loftily. "Where is she?" he repeated, taking notice of Narcissa's tears.
"I have no idea, Tom, no idea," Bellatrix said calmer than she expected. His presence was enough to calm her down instantly.
"First you need to relax," he told her quietly. "Now, tell me, where did you see her for the last time?"
This clinical approach was the exact reason Bellatrix had rushed to him for help. Her own mind was usually in such a whirlwind, thoughts scattered right, left and centre, while his was perfectly structured and organised- absolute balance between the two of them. Taking a deep breath, she thought hard.
"In front of the Venus de Milo, I was telling Narcissa to hide her damn toy away and she was just gone the next second. But a German woman in the room said she saw a girl that looked like her head to the staircase. From there she could have gone anywhere!"
"Remember what we said about staying calm, my dear? The fact that she left when you two were absorbed by yourselves means she left of her own accord. She waited for you to get distracted and seized the opportunity. Think, Bella, did she say she wanted to see something and you refused?"
"No, she didn't say anything at all," Bellatrix said, a hint of desperation in her voice. "Tom, I-"
"Shush," Voldemort said in an unusually tender tone and, even more bizarrely, cupped the pale cheek with his long fingers. "Then she was probably afraid you would mock her for what she wanted to see- now don't you give me that look, young lady, you know what I'm talking about- yes, so she went on her own. What could that be?"
His touch seemed to have paralyzed Bellatrix and she needed a second to come back to reality.
"Something that I'd find stupid... Umm paintings of cute animals? But she's afraid of animals more than I am. I don't know..."
"Try again," Voldemort's voice came steady and calm, like when they were training and a particular curse had not come out as powerful as it should have. Bellatrix inhaled deeply again and collected her mind. She was most comfortable and happy when training, it was her favourite thing in the whole world. It felt natural. And then... a candle lit up in her mind.
"I know where she is," she told him, a huge smile on her face. "Tom, you're a genius!"
"I know. Do you mind sharing?"
"She went to see that sculpture of Cupid and Psyche, she's been carrying around a painting of it for ages and, yes, you're right, I think it's totally stupid, I wouldn't have let her go. Especially with Cissy with us, Psyche is naked, for the love of Slytherin, Mother would have skinned me alive! She must've gone to see it and now she can't find us. Did I mention you're a genius?" she said again, tiptoeing to hug his tall body; her head barely reached his chest. He put his left arm around her stiffly, patting her cheek, only his wide eyes giving away his surprise and awkwardness.
"Yes, you did. Enough with this nonsense, you go find her and I shall think of a good excuse for all this mess, okay?"
Bellatrix nodded multiple times, her eyes shining wildly.
"We'll be back soon, it's not far from here!" she declared and grabbed Narcissa again, disappearing into the crown as quickly as she had come and leaving behind a Dark Lord who was fighting back the urge to roll his eyes in amusement.
Bellatrix shoved the same people out of her way with a confused Narcissa in tow. The little girl seemed to be pondering a variety of themes in her mind, from the panic about where Andromeda was, to since when Bellatrix was so intimate and casual with the scariest of their guests who had eyes the colour of fire.
The two girls burst into its area of exhibition and there it was, shiny white stone forming two embracing figures, the marble gods parting from a passionate kiss in eternity. And behind the large, spread wings of Eros, an orange blur was standing. Bellatrix and Narcissa ran even faster towards their sister, who seemed to have cried enough gallons to fill the Seine. The teary girl had spotted them too and, before she knew it, Bellatrix was crushed by her younger sister's arms.
"Bella," Andromeda sobbed, not able to say another word from the shock. Bellatrix wrapped her arms around her mechanically, her own eyes wide, as if she could not believe the nightmare was over.
"Don't you ever do that again. Ever. Walking away without a single word, abandoning us like that."
A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think.
Note: In the Victorian Era young girls would wear frocks that ended under the knee and their hair was free, usually supported just by a bow or ribbon. Women considered eligible for marriage (around their 14th birthday) would cover their bodies and the hair was worn in knots, as these were both symbols of sexuality. The daughters of a respected family are to be addressed as 'Miss Black' for the eldest, 'Miss Andromeda' for the middle, and the rest with solely their name, 'Narcissa', for example.
The artifacts mentioned above are part of the original/Muggle collection of The Louvre or now of the Musée d'Orsay, but since they are so amazing, wizards could have easily made them, yes? :)