Andromeda's first is at her sixteenth birthday. It comes in the form of her sister, and it is subtly done, but still, she has defied him.
She presses together her lips at the absence of Bella. It is her sixteenth birthday, one more year, and she will be an adult. At sixteen, she's quite free to wed any man of any age, if he was Pureblood, quit a landmark in the Pureblood world. Alerus Zabini, she knows, is her father's choice, Callistus Nott is her mother's choice, and Rabastan Lestrange is Bella's.
The door slams open, and Bella strolls in, pale face flushed excitedly. "Andry!" She called, demanding. "Andry. There's amazing news, perfect news, and we—" She tugs Andromeda's arm, pulling her up. "Must be alone is private for this. Mother, don't look so cross, it'll highly improve little Andry's marriage prospects, her standing in society, and all that."
Tugging Andromeda upstairs, she opens Andromeda's room, and pushes her sister down on the bed; face still that queer, burning, half-crazed red. "Andromeda," she recites breathlessly, making the name a prayer. She pulls the sleeve of her arm up, showing her Dark Mark. Andromeda can merely stare politely at it, face a cool mask. She can see in it the blood of Bella's victims in the twists of the snake, the red of their blood.
"I'm to train you to be like me. Isn't that exciting, Little Andry? You, a Death Eater! Just like me, and Roddy, and dear Rab, and Lucius—" Bella's blood red mouth twists angrily at the name. "And many, many other illustrious wizards. It's the chance of a lifetime, Andry, you'll love it. We'll be sisters twice over, hunting Mudbloods, slaying the weak, unworthy wizards, fighting for our Righteous Cause, for our true Lord, our God. "
Andromeda is speechless, her stomach roiling uneasily. She sees Ted, dear Ted in her mind, blue eyes crinkling up with some secret joke, all lanky legs and seemingly unkempt fair hair, nose always splattered with ink, or mud, or ash, hands always bearing scrapes and bruises. She knows that Bella would never cross the Dark Lord, and bring him someone she intended to train, never drop a name in his ear. If Bella wishes to train Andromeda, it is because the Dark Lord commanded her to, wants Andromeda's fair unblemished flesh to be marred by the skull-and-snake of the Dark Mark.
"The honor is great, indeed." She replies coolly, seemingly uninterested. "But I fear I'm not made for such—for such worthy stuff. I am not worthy. It's never been my wish to better our world by slaying the weak; I am of the weaker type of woman. My place is in the birthing bed, to breed to my husband heirs and daughters. I haven't half the skill you have with spells, Bella, nor is it in my nature to fight. " She casts her eyes downward, seemingly in shame, lets her hands lay limp on her lap.
Lies, utter lies. She is a Black, whatever is it, she is worthy for anything. She would rather fight than be the type of wife Druella Black aspired once to be, the type of wife their sister Narcissa was sure to become. Still, she would rather do that, and breed out Perfect Pureblood Brats then be a Death Eater. She has near the skill Bella has, even if hidden.
The flush leaves Bella, and her shoulders sag. "No, Andry, don't say that, Sister Dear.Please, please, please, Andry, come with me, and you'll see it's all you've ever wanted, you'll want it, I promise, Andry, please don't deny me—yourself this chance, it'll only come once, you'll regret it all your life, I beg of you, Andry—"
"I can't, Bella. I'd—I'd foul up the ranks, I'm unworthy of such an honor." Andromeda screws her eyes shut.
"You're a Black, we're pure over a thousand years, and you're worthy—"
"Would you bring this great honor to Narcissa?" Andromeda questions coldly.
"Of course I would, if told to! But Andry, it'll never come to that, even Lucius can see she's not the type—"
"And neither am I, Sister Dearest. Neither she nor I are worthy of this great honor He would wish to bestow on me. I beg of you, tell the Dark God I, the flea, cannot bear such greatness, tremble, and wish to provide my proper place to Pureblood society." Andromeda finishes, pale grey eyes still cool. Humbling herself in words is no easy task, beating back over a thousand years of pride and blood. Still, she will never become a Death Eater, serve in those foul ranks. Words are wind, simply wind.
His first is more obvious then hers, he marries the Pureblood Princess Andromeda Black, tad sullies her Pure bloodline with his. It not just defying the Dark Lord, who despises mixes such as theirs, but over a thousand years of her family tradition.
Her third is lesser known then most else, a refusal to leave the Mudblood she calls her husband, to cull the squalling infant she calls her daughter, and to flock to Rabastan Lestrange, and beg to wed him.
"Bellatrix." The name is coupled with a curl of red lips, a twist of an angry mouth, and an eternity of pain and longing.
"Andromeda." The name is coupled with bitterness, fury, hurt, and coldness.
"You wished to meet me. Under a white banner of peace, no wands." Andromeda offers.
"Yes, yes, that is the Vow you forced me to take. I was ordered to meet you." The sentence is spewed out, with a flinch of Bellatrix's hand.
"Well, you are here, and I am as well. Let me hear the orders." Andromeda flicks her eyes shut.
"You will be accepted back in the fold of Pureblood society, into the bosom of our community. Leave the Mudblood cur you call a husband, cull the Metamorphmagus mutt you call a daughter, and wed Rabastan Lestrange." Bellatrix's gaze reflects nothing of her true feelings; it is as if the girl Andromeda once knew has been turned into a statue.
Mother would be proud, Andromeda reflects somewhat distractedly. "With all due respect," She responds, ice dripping from her voice, "I've no choice but to refuse. As tempting as your offer sounds—"
"It is your only chance for salvation!" Bellatrix snarls.
"I quite happily refuse salvation, then, if that means killing the ones I love." Andromeda finishes somewhat coolly, a slight smile on her face.
"Love is a weakness!" Bellatrix snaps, upset.
Says she who loves the Dark Lord, Andromeda muses. "Love is strength, Bellatrix. If you do not know that, then I pity you, and I pity the ones you call comrades-in-arms. Tell me, sister dear—"
"How dare you! Never presume to call me that again! You are not my sister!"
"Lady Lestrange, then. Lady Lestrange, tell me of the new Lady Malfoy, I implore you. The Prophet's all very well if I wish to knew where, how long, with who, and what she's supped, or shopped, but naught a thing about my dear younger sist—" Andromeda replied, only to be cut off by Bellatrix.
"You dare talk of her, to sully her name with your unworthy lips—" Bellatrix spat.
"But I dare, Bella, I dare. She's my sister as well, or she was—and merely five years ago you were telling me I was worthy of all. My blood's as pure as yours, unless we share different fathers or mothers, which I dare say we do not. I am the blood of Cygnus and Druella Black, same as you and Narcissa—" Andromeda replied calmly, somewhat condescendingly.
Bellatrix spins on her heel. "If not the Vow, you would lie dead on the ground here." She snarls. "And you spoiled the Pureness of your blood by mating the Mudblood, and begetting your mutant spawn."