to cuban sombrero gal: for inspiration, for frequent readings in my painful writings and woes, and for marshmallows&hugs&siriuses, I bestow upon you... happy Andromeda! (oops, spoilers...)
As memory may be a paradise from which we cannot be driven, it may also be a hell from which we cannot escape. - John Lancaster Spalding.
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Keys of Paradise
"The blackest night shall darken all souls, shall be the puppeteer of every good heart. All shall welcome oblivion, at the very end; it will be a mercy from the eternal hell of purest evil." Andromeda reads, her voice a little whisper at the very end, so seven-year-old Nymphadora Tonks has to strain to hear the last few words.
"You said hell!" she accuses her mother.
"So did you," Andromeda smiles gently, but it wavers slightly. "Time for bed. If you don't go to sleep now, Santa Clause won't come."
"Good night," Dora said quickly, too quickly for Andromeda's comfort. She stared suspiciously at her daughter, whose hair turns a pale, whitish blonde.
"Good night, then," she answers, and tucks her daughter in bed, kissing her forehead and turning off the lights.
Back in her room, lying alone on the queen-sized bed (Ted is still at work), she watches the snow fall, in small slivers, ice sliding down the glass-paned window in little washes.
(It's so beautiful.)
She is eleven, and lying on a single bed, Black-crested bedpost and all, when someone knocks at the closed door. It is a timid knock, hardly heard above the silence, and Andromeda knows exactly who it is. "Enter, Cissy," she says with a smile, sitting up, and the door creaks open to reveal her nine-year-old sister fully-dressed in a snow-white coat and galoshes.
Andromeda opens her eyes, trying to push her thoughts of Narcissa away, to the back of her brain, anywhere. She is no longer her sister, as Andromeda has cut ties with the Black family; therefore she is no longer a Black, no longer a pureblood fanatic like all the rest of them.
(Though she always will be.)
"Andi, can you come out and look at the snow with me?" Narcissa pleads, holding her delicate, gloved hands together. Andromeda notices how perfect they are, in every curve and line, how the gloves are starched ever so neatly (elf's work, no doubt).
(Andromeda bites her nails, and her hands are pudgy and squat.)
(Narcissa was always the perfect one)
She shuts her eyes tight, shunting away the image of her younger sister's hand, but another illustration floats into her mind – one when she was so much younger – possibly at four.
"Come on, Andi!" She sees the miniature, seven-year-old image of Bellatrix, the one with the beautiful dark eyes.
(Like a doe's.)
Bella carefully pulls the cowering toddler from the porch, one step at a time, to finally sit at the bottom doorstep. (She was already like a little lady then, everyone praised.) She takes hold of Andromeda's chubby little hands, and puts them, gloves and all, upon the snowy ground. "Snow," she says calmly. "This is snow." "Shno." Andromeda repeats after her. "Yes," Bella smiles, dropping the child's hands, and packing a ball of snow, "And snow is perfect for… snow fights!" she hurls it lightly at Andi's left knee – it hits its mark and Andi keels over laughing, and searching for enough of that white, icy stuff to pack a snowball...
(They spend the rest of the afternoon chasing each other around, careless and free from Dark Lords and family ties.)
Andromeda sighs, flipping over, placing her head under the musty cotton pillow.
Druella gave her a bed made of phoenix feathers, complete with a phoenix-feather pillow and blanket for her eighth birthday. It felt like heaven, lying upon the soft mattress.
(She would never admit it, but living as a Tonks was rather difficult.)
She had lived seventeen years under her parents' roof – where they had gourmet delicacies and cocktail parties, silk dress robes and crystal high-heeled slippers – the best of everything.
"Christmas times," she murmurs dreamily, "With beautifully-decorated Christmas trees wrapped in silver tinsel and golden ornaments, an assortment of colourful presents hidden under the trees, apparating and disapparating themselves – so you had to catch them."
And she could remember no further than that.
The night passes, and when Andromeda wakes at five to hide her daughter's presents under their tree, she finds her husband sleeping peacefully beside her. Giving him a peck on the cheek, she proceeds to the living room, carrying a handful of boxes wrapped in Daily Prophet newspaper.
(It was still dark outside – no doubt the blackest night of all)
Under the green stick of a tree (in which Dora had adorned lavishly with newspaper rings and rags dyed different colours), she discovers a small lump, covered in paper, and addressed to: Mummy (Andi Tonks).
Smiling, she tears open the present – to discover a rainbow.
It is seven locks of hair – red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet and pink – all in the brightest shade available. Inside there is a note:
Dear Mum,
Merry Christmas! Every rainbow leads to a pot of gold. (Dad told me that.)
Love from Tonks.
P.S. – The pink is to tick you off, so you don't come hug the life out of me.
(Even the blackest night has some light to it.)
-Written for Bonnidolle's (The Blackest Night) Challenge.
Disclaimer: Andromeda Black/Tonks, Nymphadora Tonks, Santa Clause, Narcissa Black/Malfoy, Bellatrix Black/Lestrange, Ted Tonks, and mentions of rainbow legends don't belong to me (though I wish, with all my heart.)
The title is taken from a quote from Eric Hoffer (in which Gaby has graciously provided me with): Children are the keys of paradise. (which I do hope is true.)
Thanks to Rabbi & Gaby for betaing/helping. You guys are the best ;)
And Rye, of course you can have Sirius! Why not include it in the usual review threat? (This time, it's a bribe.)
(I should stop now, my "Author's Note" is getting too long for comfort.)
Please leave a review - I'll give you Sirius! dangles Sirius in front of readers or Remus, whoever you fancy, really... (great, now I sound desperate. . )
