PART I OF III - The Pledge
Chapter One: A Child, A Perfect Child.
22nd August 1968
Druella Lestrange stood at the window of the gloomy parlour, watching the rain cascade down the glass, blurring the view of the moors beyond the garden walls. She hated the rain. It reminded her of her wedding day, when the weather was so torrential that not even the most powerful umbrella charms could protect them from it.
Downpours were designed to torment Druella. They cleared the world of people, finally offering her the chance of peace, but the showers were stifling and claustrophobic. At every chance of solitude in the outside world, Druella was shut away in the dry. It made her ache.
And yet, watching the clear cold water stream down the window pane, Druella was calm. Cleanliness and clarity made her bones feel hollow and light, and her mind was rid of the messy storms that plagued her every day. She felt pure.
"Have you read this?" asked a stony voice from the sofas.
"No, my love," Druella replied, knowing that her husband was reading the Daily Prophet.
"Only forty one percent of new students at Hogwarts this year are purebloods."
Narcissa's first year. Druella's tranquility was gone. She could picture the Sorting, which would happen in a matter of days. Her youngest daughter would be stood in the hall surrounded by dirt and filth, itching to be called, to escape the mess and be sent to the pure children, where she belonged. Narcissa had only turned eleven that day. She would not be able to cope.
"Poor girl..." commented Druella.
"It's disgusting," Cygnus spat. "By the time my sister's boys are in Hogwarts, they'll be the only ones in Slytherin."
"I'm sure that won't be the case," said Druella vaguely, still staring out the window.
"I was exaggerating, woman."
Above them, Druella could hear footsteps. Three pairs, to be precise, running around Narcissa's bedroom. The girls were laughing.
"Then again..." Cygnus continued. "Orion is concerned."
Druella tried not to grimace. Her sister-in-law's husband was one of the least tolerable men she'd ever met. And even then, she still preferred him to his wife.
"Is he?"
"Understandably. There are so few of our kind left. This may be our only chance to continue the line of Black..."
Druella knew her husband was watching her. She no longer felt ashamed when he did. The prospect of providing Cygnus with son was long gone, and there was nothing either of them could do about it.
"But as my fortune goes to the older one," continued Cygnus. "I must encourage his matrimony to a pure Slytherin."
"Our daughters may give us grandsons, Husband."
"Irrelevant, I regret to say, unless a son is born to one of them before I am dead," he said miserably. "But like I said, there are so few purebloods left."
Druella's calm had vanished completely. She was sure it would not come back. Not until Cygnus saw a grandson. Not until she saw her fortune go to her child, not the brat of her husband's sour hag of a sister.
Above them, the girls had started cackling loudly, and singing.
"Shut them up," Cygnus ordered. "You know I can't abide girlish shrieking."
Druella ground her teeth and removed herself from the window. As she walked through the door to the hallway and began ascending the stairs, she thought about what she always thought about when she left her husband alone in a room: how easy it would be to curse him through the door hinge. Cygnus always sat right in the would-be firing line. He would see her. Druella was a dab hand at silent spells. But he would know it was her. Everyone would know it was her.
When Druella reached the landing, she could hear the girls chanting.
"Gryffindor, Gryffindor, they've never had a Black before!"
"I won't be in Gryffindor! I won't!"
"Slytherin, Slytherin, they'll never let Narcissa in!"
Druella opened the door. The girls froze. They stared at her. She stared back at them. "What is the meaning of this ridiculous behaviour?" she asked calmly.
Bellatrix, her oldest, smiled. "Look what arrived for Cissy today, Mother," she held out a piece of parchment. Druella took it and read it over.
Dear Miss Black,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at-
"Good," said Druella. She didn't need to read the rest. "We need to buy your supplies. Where's your list?"
The girls remained silent. They didn't move. Druella rolled her eyes. "Where is it?"
Andromeda, the middle child, turned round and picked up something from the writing desk behind her. She tentatively held it out towards her mother, who grabbed it. She scanned it. It was Narcissa's list of Hogwarts requirements, ripped down the middle, almost completely torn in two.
"Which one of you did this?" Druella demanded.
"It was her," answered Bellatrix, pointing at Andromeda. Andromeda's jaw dropped.
"No, it wasn't! It was Bella!"
"You lying bitch!"
Druella immediately whipped out her wand. One flick in Bellatrix's direction, and she could no longer talk. Another flick in Andromeda's direction, and her hands were stuck to her sides.
"That's for using foul language," she told Bellatrix, who was going red with fury. Her mouth opened and shut like a goldfish, her voice temporarily gone. Druella turned to Andromeda. "And that's for ripping Narcissa's letter."
"But it wasn't me!"
"Get your hooded cloak, Narcissa, it's raining. You two are staying here."
"But what about our new books?" asked Andromeda anxiously, sharing a worried glance with Bellatrix.
"I'll buy them for you. Who knows, maybe I'll save some money and buy second hand copies."
Bellatrix and Andromeda looked horrified. Druella could only stare at them, at their faces, at their pretty eyes and long hair. Cygnus' words echoed in her mind and pained her. There are so few purebloods left. Had they not advertised their daughters enough for them to be coveted by the sacred pureblood Houses? Had any of them paid any notice? Or did Druella have to try again?
"The three of you..." Druella spoke softly. "You are childish, my loves. Act your age, or you will be deeply disappointed when adult life is forced upon you."
Andromeda watched her mother with ominous suspicion, but Druella was more interested in Bellatrix. She was watching Druella in the same way she always did: as though she would pounce on her at any moment. Seventeen years of mothering her, and her look unnerved her every time.
"Come, Narcissa," she said, grabbing her youngest daughter's hand and exiting the room.
They walked across the landing to Druella's bedroom, which had the nearest fireplace in. "I'll go first," said Druella. "You're too young to be in Knockturn Alley without me."
"Mother..." began Narcissa cautiously. "You didn't bind Bella's arms."
"No, I didn't. I cast a silencing charm instead, because she used a bad word."
"She'll kill Andromeda when we're gone."
"It serves Andromeda right for ripping your letter, darling."
"But..." Narcissa paused.
Druella narrowed her eyes. "Did Andromeda rip your letter? Or was it Bellatrix?"
Narcissa gulped. She glanced down the hallway to her bedroom, where Bellatrix and Andromeda were still making no noise.
"Andromeda," said Narcissa, looking at the floor.
They arrived in Knockturn Alley and walked in silence, both of them thinking of the two girls they'd left behind. Bellatrix, surely beating her constricted sister to a pulp, was the most important piece in the game they were about to play. But she was a child. A stubborn child. Druella would need help from the most formidable source.
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31st August 1968
Irma Black arrived within an hour of Druella's owl.
A house elf showed her to the parlour, despite her knowing her way around the house better than Druella herself.
"Thank you for coming, Irma," said Druella when the old woman entered the room. "I can think of no better aid in times such as these."
"Think nothing of it," said Irma, waving her hand in dismissal. "It is not a laborious call of duty if it concerns family. Now, elf, let us have some lemon tea."
Irma Black was a terrifying woman: old, cold and wise, yet still allusive and powerful through the scrupulous connections of the House of Black. She lead her life according to her most valued core principles: tradition, wealth and decorum. She headed her late husband's beloved House of Black with their one goal at the forefront of everything they did. Legacy. Subconsciously, she filled her world with hypocrisy. For example, she claimed to be intolerant of scandal and would downright forbid any decision-making in the family that would lead to any undesirable reputations. Career paths must be approved by her, as were marriages and even new friendship circles. At the same time, however, she would leap at the chance to hear of the latest downfall of an acquaintance. Even in her old age, she seemed to get a thrill from being the source of all gossip and would hold back her information until she had people squirming at her feet. Such a woman was not well thought of by the likes of Druella, but never the less, she was useful.
"Now tell me," Irma began. "Which of your girls concerns you the most?"
"Um, I suppose the older two. It's only recently that I've started to notice their... age. Cygnus, too, is thinking of the near future now that the girls are maturing."
Irma nodded. "I understand. I confess, when I received your owl, I was conflicted. I'm aware that if I had refused to help, the money that my son would inherit upon my death would default to my grandsons on his death. As a member of this House, surely you can see why that would please me."
Druella swallowed. "Yes... I suppose so." This was a classic Irma Black technique: a person asks for help, you make them desperate. You have them entirely in your power. Druella would be spitting blood if she hadn't already been under Irma's thumb for the past twenty years.
"Nevertheless, it is my son's happiness I am concerned with now. My daughter can make do with her boys. Cygnus has nothing."
It was now that Druella remembered why she invited Irma round so little. She sickened her.
"I'm not sure I would call three daughters 'nothing', Irma,"
"You wouldn't?"
Silence fell between them as they sized each other up. Irma would be intolerable, but tolerate her, Druella must.
"So," Irma began again. "We should start with the trickiest one. Which of your daughters is that?"
Again, Druella did not speak. She was their mother. She was not allowed to answer questions like that.
Irma smirked at Druella's silence. "Come now, dear, we both know the answer to that question so let's admit it and move forward."
Druella internally cursed herself. "Bellatrix is... a challenge."
Irma nodded knowingly.
"She's..." Angry. Manipulative. Cruel. "Stubborn."
"Yes... yes..." murmured Irma, thinking. "Unfortunately for Bellatrix, the only hope of marriage for a stubborn girl is a desperate boy. If Bellatrix is unappealing, we need someone who's son is equally tricky to place. The Malfoys would never agree to it, which is a shame. The Goyles would not accept it either. There are the Zabinis, I suppose. They could do with some money. Or the Lestranges... they have two boys. They're about as unpopular as ringworm, but they're fairly well-off. Strict purebloods. That's just what we need."
The reality of what Druella was doing hit her like a ton of bricks. She leapt to her feet, only to knock a house elf flying, causing the freshly arrived tray of tea to spill everywhere.
"S-s-so sorry, Mistress!" squeaked the house elf.
"Stupid creature," muttered Irma. "Go and make some more and don't sneak around."
"Yes, Mistress!" The house elf scooped up the tray and shattered glass and scurried away.
Irma pulled out her wand and pointed it at the spilt tea. "Tergeo," she said, and the spillage was washed away. "Now, back to-"
"Irma..." Druella interjected. "Perhaps it is a bit too soon to be arranging a marriage for the girls. They are, after all, just girls. Maybe we should wait until-"
"Until they are too independent?" Irma snapped. "Until they have eloped with a shopkeeper's boy? Until after Cygnus is dead? Druella, please tell me you are not suggesting that we risk Cygnus' family line for the sake of a few more years of infantile behaviour."
Druella gulped. "I suppose... I suppose it would do Bella some good to grow up..."
"Get her."
"...Sorry?"
"Bellatrix. Bring her to me."
Druella did as she was told. She opened the French doors and called Bellatrix in, all the while wishing Irma was dead. But she had to remind herself of the cause. Tourjours Pur, Tourjours Pur, Tourjours Pur.
Bellatrix came in from the garden and Druella cringed. She was wearing the most babyish red button-up dress she could have possibly picked, with clunky black boots and plaited hair.
"Grandmother," greeted Bellatrix, looking as happy as a dead cat. "What a pleasant surprise."
"Likewise, my dear girl. Now, stand still,"
Bellatrix shot her mother a bewildered glance as Irma held her spectacles to her face and looked her up and down.
"The Lestrange boys," said Irma inexplicably to Bellatrix.
"What of them?"
"I'd like you to introduce yourselves to them."
Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. "I've already met them. They are repulsive."
Druella glowered at her daughter, who avoided looking at her.
"Their exterior characters aside, I would like you to become better acquainted with them."
"I will do no such thing."
Druella, sensing Irma's shock at Bellatrix's lack of respect, felt a surge of anger course through herself. "BELLATRIX!" she shouted, rising from her seat. "How dare you defy your grandmother. Have you no respect? No shame?"
"I have no respect for the Lestrange boys, Mother. You wouldn't either, if you knew them."
Irma was reading Druella's mothering skills through Bellatrix's behaviour, Druella could tell. With every defiance, Irma would be more and more disapproving. "You attention-seeking little madam!" Druella spat, seething with more and more anger and mortification with every second that passed in which Bellatrix looked unmoved by her mother's insults. Irma suddenly rose from her seat with unnerving calmness and strode over to Bellatrix.
"You will become acquainted with the Lestrange boys. Pick one, and I don't care which, and make him believe that you are... interested. If you care for your own happiness and for the future of this great family, you will do as I ask. I will write to Madame Lestrange before the Christmas holidays, enquiring about a visit from the boys. If I get a refusal, you shall be punished. I can assure you of that."
Bellatrix would have appeared unmoved once again to a casual observer, even perhaps to Irma herself. But to Druella, she could see anger building within Bellatrix by the slightest twitch of her set jaw. Druella hid her ominous expression with a sip of tea as Bellatrix stormed off upstairs.
"You're to take her to Knockturn Alley. Today. That dress is far too unflattering. She must look sophisticated and well-groomed if she is to make an impression among the more favourable wizarding families."
Irma reached for her cane that had been resting beside her chair. She was preparing to leave.
"Irma," began Druella nervously. "The girls are leaving for Hogwarts tomorrow morning. I doubt there'll be time for-"
"Then you'll have to make time," Irma said. Druella almost felt winded by her words. Her anger was nothing new, but speared Druella to ground none-the-less. Irma strode back through the house, the stabbing noises of her cane on the ground echoing around the cold house.
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