Shadows
Andromeda has been making plans her whole life. Today is no different.
What Grace was doing could barely be called walking. It was more like the first-year was being dragged along by Andromeda, her feet sliding across the smooth stone of the castle as Andromeda hauled her forward. But Andromeda could hardly fault the poor girl for it. After all, Grace seemed particularly faint after taking a bite of that roast beef. Andromeda briefly wondered if the younger girl had somehow managed to contract food poisoning.
Just as they neared the corridor the Hospital Wing was located on, Grace stopped her sluggish trudge along Andromeda's side.
"Come on, Grace," Andromeda began, one arm wrapped firmly around the first-year's shoulders. She tugged Grace forward, but the girl simply refused to budge. "It's only a bit farther."
Grace didn't say anything. She was trembling under Andromeda's arm, and when Andromeda looked down at the first-year—half-perplexed and half-worried—she found that Grace was vibrating.
No, Andromeda reasoned quickly, dark eyes roving over Grace's quivering figure. Vibrating was the wrong word. Grace was seizing. The tremors were miniscule at first, but the longer Andromeda stared and panicked, the worse they got. The convulsions increased in strength and intensity so quickly that, within a second, Grace was collapsed against Andromeda's side, her eyes shut, her hands closed into two tight fists.
"Grace?" Andromeda swallowed thickly, knowing that Grace could not answer but hoping all the same.
Andromeda hooked her arms under Grace's armpits and tried hauling the younger girl forward, towards the Hospital Wing she so clearly needed to reach. But every time Andromeda took a step, she found that Grace kept tugging back, kept shaking away from Andromeda's grasp. Pursing her lips, Andromeda heaved Grace up once more, wildly hoping that Pomfrey might just emerge from the other end of the corridor. Andromeda was growing so desperate that she would have taken anyone's help at this rate—even Peeves.
"Grace, please," Andromeda pleaded. It was unlikely that Grace could even hear her, but Andromeda tried all the same. "Come on, it's only a bit—"
Grace screamed, and it was an ear-splitting thing. It was shrill and hoarse and cracked, and reminded Andromeda too vividly of the shrieks and howls of her childhood. Andromeda started, and with only one goal in mind—to stop the screaming—she lifted Grace up in a tremendous rush of strength and hoisted her over her shoulder.
The screams did not lessen in the slightest as Andromeda ran to the end of the hallway. If anything, they only seemed to grow—louder and louder until Andromeda was sure it was the only thing she would be able to hear for the rest of her life. There were no pauses in between the cries; each one bled into the other. There was no rest, no respite. Andromeda didn't understand what was happening, and this was a very rare feeling for the seventh-year. She had made it her life's mission to always know what was happening, because that was the only way you could be prepared, of course.
"Sweet Circe," Pomfrey gasped when Andromeda burst through the open doors.
"I don't know what's happened to her," Andromeda said rapidly, voice just barely audible over the screams. Pomfrey began levitating Grace away and towards the nearest empty cot. "She seemed perfectly fine. She only had a bite of roast beef, and then she said—"
"I understand the situation perfectly well," Pomfrey cut in, and her voice was the most severe Andromeda had ever heard.
When Grace was rested against the hospital bed, Pomfrey waved her wand. A myriad of curtains enclosed the bed, shielding both Grace and Pomfrey from view. After another second, the screams stopped. In their place was a faint yet persistent buzzing, and Andromeda knew that Grace's howling had not stopped, not really. They had only been glamored over, had only been concealed.
It didn't help, if Andromeda was being honest. She could still hear Grace's screams—the ones from the corridor, the ones that were so sudden and alarming that Andromeda felt a dagger had been pressed to her throat. The cries echoed in her head—distorted and terrible, too loud and too sharp—and her stomach lurched, the contents of her half-eaten dinner threatening to spill.
That wasn't food poisoning. That was something else, and Andromeda dreaded to know what.
Andromeda's head snapped up when she saw Pomfrey emerge from the screen of curtains, wand aloft. Several flasks of potions were being levitated from various different shelves all at once. Pomfrey took each one as they reached her, scanned its contents quickly, and then gave a quick shake of her head and sent it back to its rightful position. The muffled buzzing still surrounded Grace's cot, so Andromeda knew the poor girl was continuing to scream her head off.
Frowning, Andromeda bounded towards the matron.
"No, stop!" Pomfrey cried out. The vials of potions froze in midair. "Miss Black, you cannot come near her right now. Miss Potter's condition is critical. I have half a mind to send her to St. Mungo's."
"Then do it!" Andromeda throat closed in. Grace's screams continued to rebound in her head, raw and stark. "Merlin's beard—is she going to be okay? I've never seen anything like that, Madam Pomfrey. And I—I don't think that was any type of Dark Magic or anything like that. She just collapsed in my arms, and started seizing—"
"Yes, I'm familiar with the routine," Pomfrey cut in. Her voice had grown softer, but it was still brisk and stern. "Miss Black, I understand your concern for Miss Potter, but I simply have no time to get into any details at the moment."
Andromeda's eyes flickered from Pomfrey to the curtains closed around Grace's cot. Her heart constricted painfully. Salazar, that was Regulus's best friend. She couldn't even imagine going back to the Slytherin table after what she had just witnessed, couldn't even think about sitting beside her youngest cousin and pretending everything was alright.
"Is there anything I can do?" Andromeda asked.
Pomfrey's hands curled around one of the bottles floating in the air. "Yes, well, I suppose there is one thing—" Andromeda straightened up, "—if you could fetch her brother for me, James Potter—"
Andromeda was already starting out the door. She knew where the older Potter was. She had seen him along with Sirius, at the edge of the Gryffindor table, laughing gaily about some or the other joke.
Andromeda hurtled through the corridors and hallways. When she stepped back into the Great Hall, it was like the past ten minutes had never happened. The whole of the room was a wall of light and warmth, with clumps of students scattered all about, eating and chatting merrily. The scene was so vivid and bright it burned against Andromeda's eyes. In the back of her head, Grace's screams rang on and on and on.
"Potter?" Andromeda asked when she reached the end of the Gryffindor table. Several students looked up—among them, Sirius—and gazed at Andromeda with heavy scrutiny.
"Andy?" Sirius questioned. He peered at her, and the grin dropped from his face. "Are you okay?"
She ignored him, eyes landing on the bespectacled student right next to him. "Potter? James Potter?"
James eyed her suspiciously. "Who's asking?"
Sirius nudged James. "That's my cousin, you dolt."
"Oh," James said. "The good one?"
"Yeah."
"Oh," he said again, and this time a smile flitted across his face. "In that case, what can I do for you?"
"Madam Pomfrey's asking for you. You've got to come immediately. It's an emergency." The words fell from Andromeda's mouth like a torrent—rushed and messy, with each word spilling into the next.
James blinked at her, brows furrowing. He rose from his seat with great hesitance. "Er—what?"
"It's your sister," Andromeda said, and willed for some of her somberness to transfer to him.
This got not only James's attention but Sirius's and a thin, scarred boy's as well. The corners of Sirius's lips dipped, and the scarred boy's eyes flickered between James and Andromeda with something akin to apprehension. Several surrounding Gryffindors were listening in as well, although they were making a heavy effort to make it seem like they weren't eavesdropping.
James, to Andromeda's utter shock, scowled and dropped back to his seat. "Oh—seriously? How much did she bribe you to pull this stunt?"
Andromeda's lips pursed. She resisted the urge to drag the boy by the ear and call him her every foul name she knew. "Look, your sister is in the Hospital Wing. Pomfrey said it's critical—"
"That's bloody impossible," James cut in, eyes blazing. "It's already bad enough that I got doused in stink pellets the other day. Now she's using this to try to get one over me? That's just low."
Andromeda had put together by now that Grace and her brother were engaged in some sort of absurd feud, but she had never imagined it was this serious. She had never been given a reason to believe there was any type of bad blood between Grace and her brother. She had thought the stem of the conflict was some sort of petty argument—forgetting to pay back borrowed money, or using a dearly-held item without permission. She had never thought it might have been so bad that James wouldn't come to his own sister—his own flesh and blood—in a time of need.
Andromeda was reminded, unwillingly, of Bellatrix. And the twisted grimace fixed on James's lips only served to enforce that image.
"You listen to me very carefully, Potter," Andromeda said seriously, and her voice dropped to a shadow of a whisper. She leaned towards James, and her dark eyes burned into his. "I don't know what sort of blasted argument you've gotten into with your sister, but this isn't a part of that. She collapsed on the way to the Hospital Wing and started fitting—"
"What?" James said, and the grimace had flickered into something softer. His voice was lighter. "What do you mean?"
"I mean exactly what I said." Andromeda was beginning to think Grace's brother might be a bit thick. "She collapsed, started fitting, and then she just—" Andromeda faltered, "—she just started screaming."
James stared at her for one long, unnerving moment. "She," he began very slowly, like he was only just now beginning to piece everything together, "wouldn't have told you that."
Andromeda's forehead creased. "What?"
"Fuck," James yelped, and he bolted up from the table. "Merlin—I've got to go—Sirius—"
"Yeah, don't worry," Sirius said, but James was already halfway out of the Great Hall. Sirius followed James's receding form for a moment longer before turning back to Andromeda. "What's happened, exactly?"
"It's not our business," the scarred boy that had been on James's other side said before Andromeda could so much as open her mouth.
"I don't see how that's the case," Sirius muttered. His eyes flickered back to Andromeda, and he squinted at her. "It's not a trick, is it?"
"What?"
"It's not some trick Grace persuaded you into—"
"Merlin's sake, Sirius," the scarred boy snapped, drawing Sirius to a halt. "If it was a trick, do you think James would have run out of here like he'd been set on fire?"
"Depends on what the trick was, doesn't it?"
"Stop being a git," Andromeda told Sirius wryly. "It's not a trick."
"You're telling the truth?"
Andromeda frowned at him. "I always tell you the truth, Sirius."
Sirius shrugged. "Just checking." He took a great bite of his shepherd's pie and chewed noisily. "So—are you not going to tell me what happened?"
The scarred boy was growing steadily more annoyed. Before he could lash out once more, Andromeda said, "No, I'm not. It's not something you need to know."
"Fine," Sirius said, but his tone was a tad waspish. "I'll ask James later, anyway." He poked at his pie with his fork. "I reckon she's got some sort of disorder."
Andromeda's brows furrowed. "Who? Grace?"
At the same time, the scarred boy said, "Sirius, I'm saying this with all the love in the world: shut up." His lips were set in a deep frown. "It doesn't do anyone any good if you start spreading rumors."
With that, the scarred boy pushed his own half-eaten plate away and rose from the table. He shouldered his bag roughly and stalked out of the Great Hall.
"Merlin," Sirius said, rolling his eyes as his friend left. "He's been touchy ever since Wednesday."
"It might do you some good to listen to him," Andromeda said pointedly, turning away from the Gryffindor table as well.
Her gaze travelled across the Great Hall, landing momentarily on the Slytherin table at the far right. Regulus's head peeked out above the huddle of first-years. He was watching Andromeda vigilantly, and Andromeda knew he was expecting her back, expecting her to let him know what had happened, if Grace was okay, if he should come.
But she knew if she went to him, he would only grow upset. Andromeda couldn't tell Regulus what had happened. That scarred friend of Sirius's had been right, after all: it wasn't any of her business. She oughtn't spread word of what she had witnessed tonight. The rumor mill at Hogwarts worked expediently and nastily. If Andromeda spilled everything to Regulus, he might tell his other friends, who might tell their own friends. Sooner or later, the whole of the school would be gripped by some senseless story that Grace really did have a disorder.
Andromeda didn't want that to happen. So, she ducked her head so she wouldn't have to meet Regulus's questioning stare and fled the Great Hall. She wandered aimlessly for a minute or so, sticking near the shadows the great stone columns created, before absentmindedly finding herself back near the Hospital Wing.
The light that spilled through the open double doors was dimmer now. When Andromeda was close enough, she could hear voices:
"—and never this frequently?" Pomfrey was asking.
"No," came James Potter's voice. There was a tremble in the word. "There's always months in between. It's never—" his voice broke and he stopped.
"That's quite enough," Pomfrey said softly. "I'm sure your parents can fill in the rest."
"Have you Flooed them? Could I—could I see them?"
James's voice was so small and vulnerable that Andromeda felt instantly guilty for having heard what she did. She moved away from the corridor hastily and headed down the flight of stairs that led to the dungeons, trying to ignore all that she had learned.
But she couldn't. Her mind ached to figure out what it did not know. It gravitated towards the bits and pieces it had picked up all through the night. What in in the name of Salazar's serpent could have possessed Grace to collapse and seize and scream like that? There was no precursor to what had happened, no warning, except—of course—Grace's own insistence that she had to go to the Hospital Wing. James's reaction had been rather perplexing, too. In about a half-minute he had gone from disbelieving to rattled to the bone, which meant that he had understood what it was that happened to Grace.
Sirius's curt words—I reckon she's got some sort of disorder—floated through Andromeda's head. She couldn't find any reason to doubt what he had said.
"It would explain why she's in N.E.W.T.-level Divination with us instead of Flying like the other first-years," Ted said after Andromeda explained what had happened last night.
"I suppose that makes sense," Andromeda nodded, and added that little tidbit to the incomplete map in her head.
She was trying to make sense of all that had happened last night—Grace's fits, Pomfrey's curtness, James's change of mood. Sirius's theory was gaining more and more credence, but Andromeda was reluctant to believe it, if only because she would have noticed, right? It wasn't as though Grace was showing up to Divination every week looking like she did last night—rattled and peaky. It was likely a one-time thing…but what could it have been? What could have caused the first-year to scream like that?
"Are you sure it wasn't just epilepsy?" Ted asked quietly as they rounded on the corner that led straight to the Hospital Wing.
"No," Andromeda murmured. "I think that's just a Muggle thing, right? I'm not certain witches and wizards are affected by that…and, even if they are, we've got potions for it."
"I don't know, Dromeda. Someone in the wizarding world must've had epilepsy at some point," Ted insisted. "Otherwise how would we have developed potions for it? Not to mention, it's not like our biology is any different from that of Muggles. We all catch the same diseases, don't we?"
"Maybe," Andromeda shrugged. Ted had a vested interest in the differences between the magical and non-magical worlds, which Andromeda shared to some degree. If she were being honest, she was more interested in the Muggles' lightning-magic. Healing and medicine, in comparison, were a bit boring. "But Muggles don't get our diseases: Scrofungulus, Dragon Pox—"
"Yeah, well, how many Muggles do you know that regularly frolic about with dragons?"
Andromeda snorted. "That's a good point. Maybe you should write about this for your final project for Muggle Studies."
"That's brilliant," Ted beamed. "I'd have to get Swindells to sign off on it, though."
Andromeda resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Swindells practically worshipped the ground Ted walked on, due to the fact he was the only Muggle-born in the entire N.E.W.T. Muggle Studies class. Ted would have to submit something truly heinous as his project proposal for Swindells to even consider rejecting it. Even then, Andromeda suspected Swindells might accept it on the grounds of 'subverting expectations' or some bollocks like that.
"Have you got it?" Andromeda asked as they reached the threshold of the Hospital Wing.
"Got what?"
"Ted," Andromeda sighed, stopping and turning to him. "I reminded you before breakfast—"
"Only teasing, darling," he said hastily. He patted his knapsack. "I've got the Honeydukes Deluxe—"
"Come off it, Potter!" a shrill voice cried out. "Let me through."
Ted and Andromeda both froze. Ted's eyes flickered towards the open entrance of the Hospital Wing. Andromeda peered within: there was a slight, redheaded girl angrily brandishing a thick textbook at a very cross James Potter. James, it seemed, had taken it upon himself to stand guard outside a cluster of closed curtains.
"Er—what should we do?" Andromeda asked unsurely. The girl's eyes were lit with fury, and she seemed only a second away from throwing her book squarely against James's head.
"Don't ask me," Ted said immediately. "You're the Prefect."
"Oh, right," Andromeda said. "I always forget."
"Yeah, you do—until it's convenient for you, like the time you took twenty points from Ravenclaw because Henderson insulted your dress style."
"I'll have you know, insulting a Prefect is against the rules," Andromeda sniffed, stepping into the Hospital Wing and striding towards the arguing second-years.
"There isn't a reason for you to be here, Evans," James argued. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his brows were knitted together. He looked rather listless today, not at all like the bright, cheery boy Andromeda had lightly threatened last night.
"Yes, there is," Evans huffed. "Your sister never showed to the library last night, and Pince interrogated me for nearly fifteen minutes about it. If she's skipping our tutoring sessions, then I'm going to get in trouble—"
"Are you thick, Evans? I told you she's in the Hospital Wing."
Evans pursed her lips. "If that's the case, then why won't you open those curtains? If that's the case, then why can't I hear your sister?"
"She's asleep!"
"What's going on here?" Andromeda started, and immediately regretted how hesitant she sounded. Twelve-year-olds could sense doubt and insecurity like a shark could blood, and they absolutely took advantage of it.
James's eyes flitted towards Andromeda. She thought he might relax once he caught sight of her, since she was a Prefect and a seventh-year and Sirius's 'good' cousin, but his gaze only grew duller and his shoulders tensed.
"Nothing," Evans said immediately.
"Doesn't seem like nothing," Ted said breezily.
"Evans," James muttered darkly, "is assaulting the sick and injured."
Evans's brows flew up. "Me? Assaulting? Sick and injured?" She gestured widely at the entirety of the Hospital Wing, which was empty save for the four of them and, presumably, Grace, who was hidden behind the fort of curtains. "There isn't anyone here, Potter! I highly doubt your sister's been admitted into the Hospital Wing. I think she's skiving off—"
"She's not," James bit. "She wouldn't do that."
"She destroyed the library along with you the other day," Evans pointed out, and her voice was tight. "And then she doused the Gryffindor table with stink pellets two days ago. So, you know what? I'm beginning to think skipping tutoring sessions is exactly what she would do."
James bristled, and a spark was lit in his dull eyes.
"Actually," Andromeda cut in before James could pull or say something drastic, "he's right. Grace was admitted into the Hospital Wing last night. I was the one who escorted her here."
Evans's eyes flew to Andromeda and landed on silvery Prefect badge pinned to her robes. Evans's mouth snapped shut and she deflated. "Oh."
"Well—I'm glad that's been resolved," Ted said. He pulled out the two packages of Honeydukes Deluxe Sweets from his knapsack and started towards Grace's bedside table.
James immediately blocked his path. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Er—" Ted brandished the packages, "—is it not obvious?"
James squinted at the sweets, as though trying to determine whether or not they really were sweets, before giving a jerky little nod and letting Ted place them on the table. Andromeda might have found the protective gesture sweet were it not for the fact that something seemed off about this whole situation.
"You said Grace was asleep?" she asked, and craned her neck, trying to catch a glimpse past the closed curtains.
"Yes," James said.
"Are you sure? You two were borderline yelling when Ted and I got here."
"I—" James frowned deeply, "—yes, I'm sure. Merlin, what are you? An Auror? Wait—" his eyes flickered to Ted, "—who even are you?"
"I'm a friend of Grace's," Ted said simply.
"You?" James said with heavy disbelief. "But you're a seventh-year."
"Huh, really?" Ted said lightheartedly. "I never noticed."
James didn't seem at all impressed by the joke, which Andromeda supposed was understandable. She wouldn't exactly be in a joking mood if her sisters—well, Narcissa at least—wound up in the Hospital Wing.
"Well," Andromeda said, grabbing Ted by the arm, "if Grace is asleep, we'll just stop by later."
"She'll probably be asleep then, too," James said readily. Andromeda privately wondered if he had some sort of grudge against visitors.
"You want to know what I think?" Evans began.
"Honestly?" James said. "I actually really don't."
Evans glared at him. "I don't think she's in there. I think you're lying, Potter."
"Merlin's gnarled foot," James muttered. "Why would I be lying about this?"
"She really was admitted to the Hospital Wing," Andromeda insisted.
"Yeah—last night, you said," Evans agreed. "But I bet she's been released and Potter's helping her terrorize the school with a new prank."
Andromeda honestly wouldn't put it past Grace or her brother to do something like that, but she highly doubted the younger Potter was up to pulling pranks and gallivanting across the castle after the events of last night.
Andromeda frowned. "Now, I don't think—"
"Is there a party going on in here or something?" a loud but thoroughly disgruntled voice called out.
Andromeda twisted around. Sirius and his friends—the scarred boy from last night and a pudgy boy she hadn't seen before—entered the Hospital Wings, their arms laden with parcels of sweets. Sirius's steps were hard, and the usual easygoing grin he wore on his face had been swapped in favor for a resentful grimace. The scarred boy seemed rather irritated as well, and didn't say a word as he and his friends edged closer to James. The pudgy boy squeaked when he caught sight of Lily's furious glare and James's cross expression, and attempted to book it. But Sirius caught onto the back of his robes and hauled him over before he could manage to escape.
"Oh, great," Evans said with much sarcasm. "Called in the cavalry, have you?"
"Andy?" Sirius said, throwing his sweets onto the Grace's bedside table. There were packets of ice mice and chocolate frogs. Sirius's friends gingerly added some packets of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans on top. "What're you doing here?"
"Just wanted to check up on Grace," Andromeda said. Sirius turned towards James and engaged him some sort of strange staring contest. "What are you doing here?"
"Me?" Sirius said coolly. "Oh, nothing—"
"Mate," James cut in, and his voice was weary, "I told you it's nothing personal. I just can't give you the whole story."
"Sirius," the scarred boy sighed, "I think you're taking this a bit out of proportion, too. We've dropped off the sweets. Let's go."
"That was only phase one, Remus," Sirius protested. "I want to see Grace."
"Well, unfortunately for you, she's asleep," Ted said. His eyes wavered amongst the small crowd of children. "I'm also just now realizing that Pomfrey probably won't appreciate it if we're all loitering around here, so maybe—"
"Excellent point," Sirius said. He nodded towards Andromeda, Ted, and Evans. "Why don't you lot head out?"
"Excuse me?" Evans seethed. "I was here first."
"So?" James said. "None of you should actually be here, bar me."
"Look," Sirius started, "you've all had your chance to talk to Grace. Now it's my turn."
"I actually never even got a chance to see her, let alone talk to her." Evans's vivid green eyes landed on James once more. "Whatever you're hiding had better not be putting students at risk."
The scarred boy—Remus—suddenly let out a barrage of loud coughs. The pudgy boy patted his shoulder sympathetically.
"You okay, mate?" Ted asked with concern.
"Yeah, I'm fine." Remus looked to Sirius. "We've given the sweets. Grace is asleep. You're so-called 'ingenious plan' isn't very ingenious at all, Sirius. Let's just go."
"Now, hold on," Sirius protested. His eyes darted between Evans and James. "Evans has figured out something's amiss, too, so I can't be mistaken."
"Hold on yourself," James said, dropping his arms. "What do you mean 'ingenious plan'?"
"Nothing," Sirius said defensively.
"He's touchy you didn't tell him what happened last night," Remus explained without a trace of apology in his voice. He sounded rather put-off about being dragged down to the Hospital Wing by Sirius. "So, he was going to persuade your sister into telling him instead."
James stared at Sirius. "How in the—" his eyes landed on the ridiculous pile of sweets, "—Merlin, were you going to just bribe her with candy or something?"
"I'm not going to tell you anything if you're not going to tell me anything," Sirius said.
Evans scoffed. "Only you would stoop to such childish antics, Black."
"Look," James sighed. "Grace is asleep right now, so—"
"How's she not woken up already?" the pudgy boy said. His voice was reedy. "Sirius came in here shouting."
"Excellent point, Peter," Sirius said, clapping the pudgy boy on his back. Peter yelped in surprise. "It's nearly one in the afternoon. I doubt she's still sleeping."
"People need rest, Sirius," Remus said matter-of-factly. "We ought to keep it down, and—" his eyes flickered to Ted, who was looking on with faint amusement, "—perhaps some of us should leave. I don't think Pomfrey will like it if we're all here at once."
There were seven students in here now, and the maximum amount of visitors allotted for admitted students was actually three. And, to be honest, James Potter was right: he was the only one who really had any need to be here. It was his sister for Merlin's sake.
"I agree," Andromeda said, drawing herself up. "Let's leave—"
"What?" Sirius said incredulously. "That's bollocks. I'm not leaving without seeing Grace! How's she to know I stopped by? How am I ever supposed to find out what happened?"
"Sometimes you're not meant to know," Ted said. "Curiosity killed the cat, after all."
Everyone stared at him.
"What?" Sirius said, momentarily brought off track. "What cat?"
"It's an expression, you twat," Evans bit.
"Like a Muggle one? Why cats?"
"Are you lot leaving or what?" James demanded.
"Not until I find out what's going on," Sirius said resolutely.
Andromeda felt like this was all getting a bit out of hand. Whether or not Grace was awake was no longer the real issue. "Look, Sirius," she sighed. "I'm sure we're all worried for Grace, but the truth of the matter is that none of us have a right to know what's happened to her. We should respect her privacy—"
"Is it really too much to ask to just see her?" Sirius said.
"Er—why are all of you here?" a new voice piped in.
Andromeda turned to find Regulus padding forward. He had his own pile of sweets—candy floss and cockroach clusters—in addition to a couple of books haphazardly thrown into his open knapsack. His brows furrowed as he took in all the people crowded around the curtained-off bed.
James threw his hands up. "Great! Wonderful! Is there anyone else you lot have invited, or is that it?"
"Is Grace okay?" Regulus asked, setting down his addition to the pile of sweets on Grace's bedside. One of the chocolate frogs fell down.
"Cockroach clusters?" the pudgy boy—Peter, was it?—said, frowning. "Who wants to see cockroaches when they're on the mend?"
"Oi," Sirius said, smacking him lightly, "don't insult my brother—"
"It was a criticism, not an insult—"
"Grace likes cockroach clusters," Regulus said defensively. "They're her favorite, although I don't understand why…."
"Cockroaches are her favorite insect," James said easily. "That's why."
Evans's lips curled with disgust. "God, what is wrong with your family?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" James frowned. "Cockroaches are wicked. Grace read a Muggle book about them—supposedly, they can survive explosions."
Remus sighed.
Andromeda cleared her throat. "Alright—why don't we all get going? There's really no point in us hanging about back here, talking about—" she wrinkled her nose, "—cockroaches."
"What?" Regulus said, alarmed. "What about Grace? I wanted to see her. I brought her The Miraculous Mage." Regulus pulled the first book of the series from his knapsack to show Andromeda.
Sirius tugged at the knapsack. "Did you bring the whole bookstore as well?"
"Look, I appreciate that you've all dropped in on Grace's behalf," James said magnanimously. "I'll be sure to tell Grace later, when she's awake —"
"Bollocks!" Sirius cried out. His voice was brash and sharp, and sounded very much like the whistle Madam Hooch blew to signal the start of a Quidditch match. "Like she's still asleep after the ruckus we've made."
"Sirius…" Remus began tiredly.
"Black, would you keep it down?" Evans snapped. "Christ, it's like you were raised in a barn!"
"A barn? Is that another sort of Muggle expression?"
"I think we should all keep it down," Ted stepped in once more. "Come on, let's go. Or I'll get Pomfrey, and she'll disperse you lot. She'll give you detention, too, if she finds you're badgering sick students."
"Bollocks!" Sirius cried out again. "I haven't even gotten the chance to badger Grace!"
"Five points from Gryffindor," Andromeda said, growing tired of whatever petty reason Sirius had chosen to be irrationally angry about.
Sirius gaped at her. Remus let out another worldly sigh. Evans glared at Sirius with the strength and intensity of ten thousand burning suns.
"Can't I stay?" Regulus asked James. "I'm quiet, and—besides—Grace and I were supposed to spend the day together—"
"Doing what?" James said. "Prancing about the library, reading children's books?"
Regulus's shoulders dropped, and Andromeda stepped closer to her youngest cousin. "Look," she said sharply, "there's no reason to get snappy with one another. We've long established that none of us should really be here at this point. If any of you stay a moment longer, I will take House points."
"This is the Hospital Wing," Sirius said. "We're all allowed to be here. You know what? I've got rather a sore throat, I think." He let out a weak cough.
"You act more and more ridiculous with each passing day," Remus said exasperatedly. He grabbed Sirius by the upper arm and began to tug him away.
"No!" Sirius cried out, and wriggled his way out of Remus's grasp. "I refuse to be silenced! I refuse to be put down—"
"Another five points from Gryffindor," Andromeda said.
"Oh, come on. I thought we were family—"
"What?" Andromeda quirked a brow. "Did you think I wasn't serious earlier?"
"Look, could you all leave?" James pleaded. "I'm going, too—"
"Go, then," Sirius said, and he marched towards the curtains "I'm going to see Grace. You can't stop me—"
"Merlin's ingrown toenail—she's not here, you pillocks!" James exploded. He wrung open the curtains, and the seven students before him stared dumbfoundedly at the empty bed.
"Ha!" Evans said. "I knew it!"
"Then why the bloody hell were you here all this while?" Sirius demanded.
"I was talking to Pomfrey! And I was just about to leave when I saw Evans, and I knew she was going to kick up a fuss—"
"Hey!" Evans said indignantly.
"—especially if I told her Grace had been transferred to St. Mungo's—"
"What?!" all seven of them said at once.
"—so I closed the curtains around Grace's bed, and told Evans she was asleep. How was I supposed to know Evans was going to kick up a fuss regardless? How was I supposed to know all of you—" James glared, "—were going to barge in here and attack me with all your questions! And insults!"
"You've insulted us more than we have you!" Evans protested.
"Let's rewind a bit," Andromeda began slowly. "You said Grace was at St. Mungo's? Is she alright?"
"Well, obviously not, seeing as she's at St. Mungo's," James bit out. "I dunno, okay? Would you all sod off now? Merlin knows my mum already interrogated me good and proper this morning..." James shoved his hands into his robe pockets and continued to mutter to himself as he left the Hospital Wing.
"Tetchy..." Peter murmured.
"Of course he's tetchy!" Sirius's voice had bled into something softer, and the hard grimace melted away. "He's worried. C'mon, you lot—" he nodded to his friends, "—we ought to go cheer him up—"
"And apologize," Andromeda said sternly.
"Yeah, sure," Sirius said. He reached over to Grace's bedside table and began to pool the mound of sweets into his arms.
Evans stared at him. "What on earth are you doing?"
"Well, she's not here to enjoy them, is she?" was all the explanation Sirius offered.
"Typical," Evans muttered, shaking her head.
Sirius gathered not only his own packets of sweets but Regulus's cockroach clusters and candy floss as well. When he laid a hand on the deluxe box of Honeydukes chocolates, Ted cleared his throat loudly.
"I can't believe this," Remus said. He grabbed half of the sweets in Sirius's arms and threw them back onto the bedside table. He then took Sirius by the arm and began leading him out. "This was a terrible idea."
"You say that about all my ideas," Sirius grumbled as they left, Peter following closely behind.
"Yeah, so it follows that...?"
"That you've got poor judgement?"
When their lighthearted bickering faded with distance, Andromeda turned towards the remaining students. Regulus was staring forlornly at the remaining cockroach clusters while Evans shifted awkwardly near the rack of curtains.
"Sorry about earlier," she told Andromeda and Ted. "I was concerned for Grace earlier, but then I bumped into Potter and got a bit—er—suspicious. It hadn't occurred to me that he might be upset." A brief frown flitted across her face. "I didn't really think he was capable of feeling anything but arrogance, to be honest."
"Well, it is his sister," Ted pointed out.
"Yeah…" she shifted once more, glanced at Regulus, and then left after giving Andromeda and Ted a brisk wave.
Andromeda let out a sigh and wrapped an arm around Regulus's shoulders. "C'mon—have you had lunch, yet?"
"Er—" Regulus peeled away from Andromeda, and pulled out an entire tin of apple tie from beneath his books. "I was going to?"
Andromeda and Ted both laughed.
"I got it from the kitchens—"
"You know where the kitchens are?" Ted said, mildly impressed. "I didn't figure that out until I was in my fifth-year, and I live right across from there."
Regulus stared at Ted strangely.
"Don't worry about him," Andromeda said, brushing it off. She was worried if Ted got wrapped up in any sort of conversation, Regulus might figure out that he was Muggle-born. And she absolutely did not need that getting back to her family, not right now, anyway. "Did you bring that for Grace?"
"Yeah. One of the house-elves likes Grace, and she made it for her." Regulus put the pie back in his bag and followed Andromeda and Ted out of the Hospital Wing.
"You're a good friend, Regulus."
Regulus beamed. "Thanks. I was thinking of inviting Grace home for Christmas holiday. Do you think Mother would let me?"
Andromeda's lips pressed together. She stopped Regulus just a few meters shy of the Great Hall, and glanced at Ted as discreetly as possible. She inclined her head towards the entrance of the Great Hall.
Ted got the hint. He raised a hand in farewell. "Well, I ought to get going. I'll see you two around!"
With that, he skirted around the corner and disappeared.
"Who was that?" Regulus asked, craning his neck.
"Just somebody in our Divination class. We bumped into each other when I was heading to the Hospital Wing," Andromeda explained away quickly. "Anyway—do you think your mother would let you have Grace over?"
Regulus was mulling it over. Andromeda already knew the answer. Aunt Walburga took blood purity and tradition to the extreme. Andromeda could still recall the wild, shrill screams of the Howler Sirius had received the day after he was Sorted into a House notorious for churning out blood traitors. (She had no idea how Sirius was able to brush that off so quickly. In fact, he hadn't seemed miffed in the slightest; if anything, it had only emboldened him.)
Whether or not the Potters were really pure-blood had become something of a moot point within the ancient pure-blood families of England. The Potters, as far as Andromeda's entire family was concerned, certainly didn't act pure-blood. They advocated for Muggle rights, spent time amongst Muggles, and worked with Muggle-borns. So, of course, dear old Aunt Walburga would have a problem with inviting a Potter over.
"I dunno," Regulus admitted at last. "Mother has never mentioned the Potters, so I don't know if she'll have anything against them. But, last year, Sirius went to the Potters'—" Andromeda's brows raised, "—for Easter. He told us he was staying at Hogwarts for a project, though, which makes me think that if Sirius didn't want Mother to know he was going to the Potters...then Mother doesn't like the Potters?"
Andromeda had no idea Regulus had learned of this, and she was a bit worried that he might let word of it reach back to his parents. There was a reason, after all, as to why Sirius had told Andromeda—and only Andromeda—about the secret Easter visit. Andromeda had always hidden Sirius's secrets. She had always helped to lessen any doubt his parents might cast on him, had always helped him to figure out a way to do what his parents would not approve of. Andromeda was good at this, after all. She had spent her whole life like this. She was a vault.
And Regulus was not.
Andromeda glanced at her youngest cousin. It wasn't that Regulus might accidentally let slip secrets like the ones she and Sirius had. He wasn't dense, of course. He was anything but. Regulus could read people better than she could ever hope to. He had an innate talent for it, and Andromeda suspected it was because Regulus had spent all his life trying to read his parents—trying to figure out whether they were angry, whether they were happy, what it even was that they demanded from him.
And that was exactly the problem. Regulus spent every single minute trying to please his parents. He was incredibly impressionable; the fact that he had glued himself to Grace Potter's side like Sirius had to James Potter was evidence enough of this. One withering glance from Orion Black, one almighty shriek from Walburga Black, and Regulus was done for. Everything would come spilling out at once.
Andromeda was sure Regulus didn't mean to do it. He was just…young was all. Too young. Too afraid. Too Slytherin—quick and unrelenting in his grasp for self-preservation. Regulus would always tell his parents what they wanted to hear, if it meant he would be screamed at less, tolerated more.
His soul was cut of a material much softer than Andromeda's and Sirius's were.
"I think you've answered your own question, Regulus," Andromeda said gently. "Your parents probably wouldn't like it if Grace came over."
"But you don't have a problem with her," Regulus pointed out.
Well, of course she didn't. Andromeda was a separate case entirely, but she could hardly go explaining all her reasons—all she'd learned over her past seven years at Hogwarts—to Regulus. "I suspect I get along with her for the same reason you do," was all Andromeda said, and she hoped Regulus might just leave it at that.
"Okay," Regulus said, and she could tell he was not at all convinced.
"Have you considered…doing what Sirius did? Spinning an excuse and going to the Potters'?" Andromeda asked very carefully.
Regulus's eyes widened. "But—well—" he deflated, crestfallen. "I've thought about it, actually."
Andromeda was mildly surprised by this. "And?"
"You wouldn't tell Mother or Father, right?"
"What's there to tell?"
Regulus shifted nervously. "Well, I don't know if it'd work. I don't even know if Grace would want to invite me over. Even if she did, I couldn't go during Christmas holiday. Mother wouldn't let us miss the Yuletide dinner."
Andromeda resisted the urge to roll her eyes. That blasted dinner was a snoozefest. Why in Merlin's name anybody in the Black family felt the need to hold it let alone attend it was beyond Andromeda. The younger kids were forced to stay silent, the older ones were ignored, and the adults only traded thinly-veiled insults.
"Then go for Easter?"
Regulus didn't quite meet her eyes. "Er—maybe."
A wan little smile flitted across Andromeda's lips. "You wouldn't risk it, would you?"
"What if I got in trouble?" Regulus whispered, as though, even now, his mother could be listening in, could hear the treacherous plans rolling in his head.
"You'd only get in trouble if you let yourself, Regulus."
He looked away from Andromeda. His hands trailed over the strap of his bag repeatedly. "I didn't mean to tell Mother about what Cissy did," he let out very quickly, voice pained and sullen. "I really didn't. It's just…she was asking and Bella was there, too, and I—I—"
Andromeda wrapped her arm around his shoulders once more and drew him to her. She gave him a gentle squeeze.
"I know," she said. "I know, Regulus."
"You should give him a chance," Ted said after a moment.
Andromeda shifted on his chest, her dark, wavy hair splaying out, and looked up at him incredulously. "Seriously?"
Andromeda had gone up to the Hufflepuff boy's dormitory shortly after lunch. Her conversation with Regulus played endlessly in her head. Her heart was torn up about it. She wanted to help him, wanted to orchestrate some sort of get-together with Grace during Christmas holiday, but she didn't know how to go about it. She didn't know how to involved Regulus in a way that wouldn't have him suffer some sort of stress-induced aneurysm.
"Yeah," Ted said. "The kid hasn't enough nerve. I reckon if you give him some responsibility, something that affects him, something he wouldn't give up to his parents willingly, he might become—I dunno—less…."
"Panicky?"
"Sure."
Andromeda bit her bottom lip. "I'm not sure what to do."
"Okay," Ted said. "Hear me out on this—"
"Oh, great," Andromeda murmured.
"—he wants to hang out with Grace during holiday, yeah? Why don't you help him out with that, make that into a big secret? If Regulus manages to keep that to himself, then you'll see how much you can trust him, how much he's grown up. If he blows it…well, he'll likely be the only one in trouble, right?"
"Unless he mentions my own involvement," Andromeda pointed out.
Ted faltered. "Yeah—that wouldn't be good. Unless you can keep yourself out of it?"
"Maybe." Andromeda paused. She stared absentmindedly into the mustard yellow of Ted's bed hangings. "I don't blame him, of course. He's just caught up in the spin of it. You know how families like mine are—"
"You mean the hoity-toity pure-bloods?"
"Yeah," Andromeda said rather dryly. "You know what they were like, Rabastan Lestrange and the lot. Imagine having people like that around you your whole life, drilling nonsense into your head from sunup till sundown. Some of us break out of it, but others—" but Regulus, "—get caught up in the whirlpool of it. And they want to get out—I think he wants to get out, Ted—but the current is so strong, and he's so small."
Ted didn't say anything for a long moment. Andromeda wondered if he had been hurt by what she'd said, but she couldn't imagine why. Ted hadn't really been bullied by the pure-bloods who were a couple of years above them (it helped that he was a Hufflepuff, that he stayed out of sight and didn't involve himself in much drama); he'd mostly just witnessed them bullying others.
Just as Andromeda was about to ask if something was the matter, Ted spoke: "I fucking hate Rabastan Lestrange."
"That's what you got out of that?" Andromeda said disapprovingly.
"What?" Ted said. "I can't hate the tosser who manhandles you at every available moment? I can't hate the git who has the gall to think he'll be getting with my fiancée?"
Andromeda rolled her eyes. "Jealousy isn't a good color on you."
"It's a good thing I'm not jealous, then," Ted retorted. "What reason do I have to be jealous of him? S'not like I'm walking around, wishing earnestly to be a baboon."
She snorted. "Baboon is too kind a word for Rabastan."
"Oh, so that's your only criticism on what I just said?"
"I'll be seeing him at the Yuletide dinner, you know." She felt Ted go tense besides her, which, quite frankly, was a little bit ridiculous. If anyone should be going rigid as a board at the mere mention of Rabastan Lestrange, it was Andromeda. She was the one who actually had to see him, who had to put up with his crass jokes and leering eyes and tight grip.
Merlin, how'd she get saddled with the brash Lestrange brother while Bellatrix—snarling, biting Bellatrix—had gotten the timid one? It was like her parents and the brothers' parents had had some sort of miscommunication when they were first sorting out the betrothals, and then neither pair decided to correct it—either out of embarrassment or social courtesy.
"What if you didn't go?" Ted said. "What if you said you were staying here and came over to mine for Christmas? Mum wouldn't mind; she's been dying to see you again."
The desire to go to Ted's little cottage in Wiltshire for Christmas burned so fiercely in Andromeda's chest it was a surprise it didn't set her whole body aflame. She had only seen the cramped home once—very briefly, during the evening of the last day of her Easter holiday in sixth year—but the visit had been so full of warmth and love and light that she had felt like she had lived there her whole life.
"I can't," Andromeda said quietly. "The event is going to serve as Bellatrix's engagement announcement."
"You don't like Bellatrix." There wasn't anything rude in Ted's voice. It was just a fact, torn off his tongue without any feeling, but Andromeda felt defensive all the same.
"It's not that," Andromeda said, a frown overtaking her features. Her childhood felt so far away, as distant as a dream, but she could remember snippets from it with startling clarity. She remembered those days Bella, Cissy, and she had been stuck to each other's sides like shadows.
She remembered when she was seven and Cissy was five and Bella was a whole ten years old. They had worshipped the ground their older sister walked. Bella would curse a boy six ways to Tuesday if he so much as glowered at her sisters. When Cissy had a bad dream, she'd sneak into Andromeda's room. And then Andromeda would gather her little sister and whisk them off to Bella's room, because it was Bella, and only Bella, who could make something as large and terrifying as a nightmare seem as insignificant and dull as a Flobberworm. You're sniffling over that? she'd say. Come, now, you're more ferocious than that.
Bella—who was straight-backed and quick to retort and never, ever backed down—was everything Andromeda had wanted to be. Bellatrix had courage, and it was just too bad she had never been Sorted into Gryffindor, where it could have been put to good use.
"We've just grown apart," Andromeda said weakly. It was not just a lie; it was a bad lie, but Ted didn't contest it in the slightest. It was still difficult for Andromeda to accept the truth of the matter. She had seen the Mark on Bellatrix's arm this past summer. She knew what it meant. She had read the Prophet on the few days she could actually stomach the news. It wasn't anything too bad—just the odd disappearance now and again—but it was enough to make you think.
And Andromeda did a lot of thinking.
"Come to mine," Ted asked again, and this time his voice was soft and sweet as honey. He pressed a kiss against the crown of her head.
"I can't just leave Cissy there by herself," Andromeda said.
Ted didn't put up a fight after that. He had never met Narcissa formally (and probably never would), but he knew how much Andromeda cared about her sisters, knew how badly she wanted to rewrite the path Narcissa was walking on.
They fell into a comfortable silence after that, Andromeda's curls brushing against Ted's jaw every time she shifted a little. Ted began running his free hand over her scalp, and Andromeda's eyes flickered to a close. Her thoughts brewed in her head like a storm. All problems, it seemed, were really just one: Bellatrix's past, Narcissa's future, Regulus's softness, Sirius's loudness. It was all just expectation. It was all family.
"Are we still…" Ted began and then stopped. His hand froze on her head. "At the end of the year, I mean—"
"Yes," Andromeda said firmly. It was a conversation Ted had begun to bring up more and more recently, ever since the first day of crystal gazing in Divination. Andromeda wished she had never said anything about inconstancy; it seemed to have struck a chord.
The hand resumed its stroking. "I've got it all planned out in my head. Is that strange?"
"No." A smile flittered across Andromeda's face. "I've daydreamed about it, especially in Vector's class, when he goes on those long tangents."
"What're you imagining?"
"We get off the Hogwarts Express," Andromeda said slowly, "and we walk across the platform, on opposite sides."
"No one suspects a thing, eh?"
"No," Andromeda agreed. "But you're keeping an eye out, waiting for my cue. I go up to my parents, but I haven't got my trunk. And Mother asks me where it is, of course. She says, 'If you don't find that trunk in the next five minutes, we won't make it to the manor in time for so-and-so's visit.' And then I look her in the eye—" Andromeda twisted across Ted's chest so they were now face to face. Her dark eyes bored into his light ones. "I look her in the eye, and I say, 'Actually, I'm not going to the manor. I'm going somewhere else.' She'll be cross then, I suspect." There was a grin working its way across Ted's face. "And I'll tell her I'm notmarrying Rabastan Lestrange, that brute, and then she'll be very cross. And then I'll tell her I'm marrying the person who's got my trunk—"
"Wonder who that could be?" Ted joked.
Andromeda chuckled. "Mother will be furious, I imagine. So will Father, if he shows. And I'll point you out amongst the crowd. I'll tell her, 'You see that tall, gangly fellow with the mussed fair hair? The one who's so valiantly carrying two trunks instead of one? I'm marrying him. He's a Muggle-born, but he's braver and smarter and kinder than any pure-blood I've ever met and I love him.'" Andromeda's eyes were shining. "And then I'm going to bound across the platform to you, snog you senseless, and then shout one final, parting 'fuck you!' to my parents before Apparating away with you."
Ted roared with laughter. "Let's do that. It's much better than what I had planned, Dromeda."
"What were you thinking of?"
"Nothing special. I just wanted to whisk you off to Wiltshire the moment the train stopped and never leave your side ever again." His eyes were so heartfelt that Andromeda was seized by the sudden, inescapable desire to kiss him.
So, she did.
Later, when Andromeda was in her own dormitory, her thoughts circled back to Regulus. Give him a chance, Ted had said.
Andromeda wanted to. She burned for it, hoped fiercely that Regulus would break free of the hold his family had on him, like Sirius had done during his Sorting, like Andromeda would come summer. She thought Ted was on the right track—giving Regulus a secret that actually meant something to him might teach him to act in his own self-interest for once, to find happiness that didn't rely on pleasing his parents.
But she couldn't risk getting herself in trouble. She had had too many close scrapes, already—praising Muggles for harnessing light in a bulb during that one dinner, going to Ted's towards the end of sixth year's Easter holiday, arguing with Bellatrix about her involvement in Muggle disappearances. She couldn't have her parents raise anymore suspicions, not when summer was looming close, not when she had so much at stake.
So, how could she help Regulus?
It was obvious she couldn't organize a way for Regulus to meet Grace during the holiday. She needed someone else to do it, someone who could shrug off the blame, someone who didn't give a rat's tail about what Aunt Walburga thought was proper.
As soon as she thought it, the answer came to Andromeda as easily as a dream: Uncle Alphard, of course. Uncle Alphard, who had always been kinder than his siblings, who didn't give a damn about convention, who broke off his own betrothal when his parents passed on and didn't bother marrying after that, who Andromeda highly suspected had a Muggle telephone hidden in the attic of his house.
Andromeda picked up a quill and a piece of parchment from her bedside. She had only the broad strokes of a plan in mind and wasn't sure how it might all come together, but Uncle Alphard was her best bet. He would not give her up. He hadn't back in fourth year, when Andromeda sent him a frantic owl telling him she'd kissed a Muggle-born of all people, so why would he now?
Dear Uncle Alphard, Andromeda began penning. I was wondering if you could help Regulus and Sirius spend some time with their friends during Christmas holiday. Their friends are Potters, you see….
A/N : hope you enjoyed this one! andromeda is such an interesting character and i've had this chapter planned for a long time. it's very black family focused, so we finally get some insight into the rather complex dynamic andromeda has with all her family members. let me know what you think!