A/N: Developpés are nifty ballet exercises at the barre. You lift/unfold your leg through a series of positions – hence the association with "developing". Everyone here is growing up quickly. It means that now I can write without having to take a child's perspective, so things ought to flow! This chapter echoes the first and second chapters a lot.

Inspired by WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot's astute comment that Mr and Mrs Black seemed rather stiff, formal parents.

Chapter 4: Developpé

"Mother, do I have to?"

The sisters had been forced into almost-identical garb for the Annual Black Christmas Party. This meant velvet dress robes and thick, itchy stockings for Bella, even though she was now thirteen and considered herself grown out of the childish costume. It was very tight around certain areas of her developing figure. Having said that, it wasn't she who was doing the complaining.

"Yes, Andromeda," sighed Mrs Black, inserting hairpins into Bella's wild black hair. For some years now, Bella's hair had refused to fit into neat pigtails without half a bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. As long as it was out of Bella's face, her mother had stopped caring, unlike in the case of her two younger daughters.

"I feel sorry for Regulus," whispered Cissy, who was nearly ten, and having her hair brushed and braided by Andromeda. "He's only a baby…"

"Oh stop whining, Cissy," said Bella, as a pin jabbed into her scalp. "There are important people coming tonight." She longed to scratch at the wretched woollen stockings which were irritating both her legs and her temper. But she knew that the smallest ladder in her stockings would get her grounded for the remainder of the Christmas holidays.

"Bella, I don't understand you," said Andromeda. "You accuse Cissy of being deaf and dumb, and then when she says anything, you tell her to shut up."

"Language, Andromeda!" scolded their mother. "Bella is right; there will be a lot of important people present tonight, ranging from young Rebecca Avery to the great Antonin Dolhov, come all the way from Russia, to the son of the former Minister for Magic, Lycurgus Lestrange himself…"

"What of the Dar…" Bella began, before being interrupted by Andromeda.

"Can I take my Malecrit book with me?"

"What do you think?" scolded their mother. "Of course not. Your father and I would like you to make a good impression on our guests. You never know when good impressions can come in useful…"

Once all three girls had been dressed to her satisfaction, Mrs Black escorted them downstairs. "Remember, after dinner you will stay in the back room with all the other children. Do keep an eye on Sirius and Regulus – I promised your Aunt Walburga that they would be well-looked after."

At the children's table, Bella winced in her seat; she suspected her mother had plonked her between the two cousins to act as the babysitter. Thankfully, on Regulus' other side was Narcissa, and on Sirius' other side was Andromeda, where all the maternal instincts were. She rolled her eyes at the person across the table from her, a familiar-looking boy with brown hair and steel-blue eyes, sitting next to a girl who looked about Andromeda's age, and might have been his sister.

"Some dinner party, huh?" He had a casual air to his voice that put her a little more at ease. "I'm Slinkhard," he said, picking up that she couldn't recall his name. "I'm in your house…except…"

The puzzle pieces clicked into place. "Oh, of course! You're in fourth year!"

He nodded. "And this is my sister, Minnie. She's starting at Hogwarts next year."

"You mean…you've already got your letter?" Andromeda suddenly jerked away from Sirius.

"Of course not," said Minnie, smiling. "But I'm quite sure of myself. How about you? Have your parents taught you anything yet?"

"Well…" said Andromeda, beginning an extensive rant on how she had mastered levitation charms and simply couldn't wait to start basic Transfiguration.

Slinkhard turned to Bella again. "So how are you finding second year, with bugs and buttons?"

"You mean…transfiguring beetles into buttons?"

"That," he said, grinning. "Two years is evidently sufficient to erase all McGonagall-inflicted traumas from one's memories."

"I reckon McGonagall favours all her grimy little Gryffindors. What do you think?"

"Oh, of course – but that's only because dear old Slughorn is so very good to us."

As she watched him fling a few stray strands of hair out of his eyes, she nodded, patting the hairpin over her left ear to check it was still neatly in place. "So do you have any tips for getting through the next few years?"

He rested his chin on the backs of his fingers. "Hmmmm…beware the Mandrakes."

"The what?"

"You should be asking Phyllida Spore, not me," he teased. Spore was the author of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.

Bella's jaw was starting to hurt a bit from the non-stop smiling, but she simply couldn't stop. She also desperately wished her collar wasn't so high, stiff and starched, and that she'd worn her necklace with the silver stars. She wasn't going to let it show though, as they continued to converse.

"What's your favourite subject?"

"Defence against the Dark Arts."

"Is it true that teachers change every year?"

"It's true, I'm afraid. But I'm mainly self-taught anyhow. If you want, I could tutor you…"

Praise and thanks be to: Aphoride, Cuban Sombrero Gal, Darkhorselover22, JoSchmo666, Schermionie, Syndic-Machiavelli, WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot, dahliax, lyssy31 and twilightatdawn who have "Danse Macabre" on alert!