"I may be the black sheep, but some of the white sheep aren't as white as they appear."
~Unknown
"No woman that young should wear that much black." Weren't those the exact words Mrs. Weasley had used?
Felicity stood in front of her wardrobe, chewing her lip as she examined the dark clothing that hung there.
She had an assignment due tomorrow for her World History class that she really should have been finishing before George got there, and yet, there she stood, fretting over what her boyfriend's mother thought of her.
She might have been a squib, but Felicity Nott was after all, part of the proud and wealthy house of Nott. Of course she dressed well.
Posh, as the Weasleys had decided to call it.
As for all the dark clothing, Felicity couldn't even picture herself in anything else. She considered herself too broken to wear anything happy.
Carefully, almost cautiously, Felicity drew out a purple scarf that Jan had given her for Christmas last year. It was a deep wine colour, not so much purple as plum. Yet, it was probably the most colorful thing she owned.
Felicity looped the scarf around her neck, and examined her reflection. Her dark wash bootleg jeans accentuated her waist line and legs rather nicely, and her black jersey was tight-fit and flattering. Her feet were clad in four inch high heeled black ankle boots and her make-up was tasteful, but consisted of heavy eyeliner. Feeling experimental, Felicity coated her lips in a thick layer of plum lipstick to match the scarf.
Maybe this was casual and colourful enough for Mrs. Weasley.
Felicity doubted it.
"Hey 'Licity, your man's just arrived!" Jan sang as she skipped down the hallway to answer the door, loud enough that she knew George had heard her from outside.
Jan had been far to excited about Felicity's new relationship with George.
Felicity made her way through to the living area, but stopped dead in her tracks as she reached the doorway. She couldn't bring herself to move as she stared at the ghost in front of her.
Alabaster Nott looked at his baby sister in awe. She'd grown up a lot since he'd last seen her. Her features looked battle-hardened and her eyes held the same coolness his mother's always had.
She'd cut her hair short, something Alabaster remembered his mother forbidding her from doing, ever, simply because it had been something she had wanted to do. He noticed that she still had the scar on her bottom lip from when Theodore had pushed her down the stairs one Christmas Eve when he was thirteen.
She was beautiful, in a dark, haunted way, and Alabaster was suddenly not okay with the way George had spoken Felicity's name, filled with admiration and heavy with something Alabaster didn't care to name.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Felicity spat, not having noticed that George had come in with Alabaster until he had wound his arms around her waist from behind.
"Fel, listen to him."
"Why? He's a Nott."
"So are you." Alabaster reminded her tersely.
Alabaster Nott had spent the last five years on the run, hiding from the wizard community. Felicity had had no idea just how in depth the family politics had gotten after she'd left the first time.
"Her name was Dianne. She was a squib too." Alabaster explained, sitting across from George and Felicity with his eyes downcast, clutching the teacup tightly between his calloused hands.
"Worse than that, she was a werewolf." His hollow eyes stared vacantly at the abstract oil painting that hung on the wall behind Felicity's left shoulder.
"You think you're the first Nott to end up with a dead lover?" Felicity felt no sympathy for her long lost brother, he'd left and abandoned her all because of a girl?
"Ah, yes. What was his name again? Logan?" Alabaster sighed heavily, and even though his tone was damning, his eyes pierced her with an apologetic look. George placed his hand on her knee, squeezing slightly. It wasn't his place to ask questions, not now, but she needed to know that he was there, and that she could draw comfort from him.
"Lucian." The word tasted sour in her mouth. She didn't deserve to say his name. He'd been so good, so pure and light and he'd laughed with her, not at her. He'd smiled like the sun and thought the world of her.
She hadn't loved the boy. She'd been sixteen and full of hatred. She'd certainly liked him, his golden blond hair, his strong jawline, his sparkling blue eyes, he'd been every muggle teenage girls' dream boy, and he had decided that he liked Felicity.
It had been puppy love, a youthful infatuation that had no hope of actually ever becoming something more.
And then he'd been taken from her.
"Lucian. Yes. I'm sorry." Alabaster whispered.
"Enough about him. You were talking about your werwolf."
"She'd run away from the colony, you know, Fenrir Greyback had some sort of problem with her..." He trailed off, his eyes flashing. "Or maybe it was that he wanted...something from her. Either way, she ran, and I found her. I hid her in my flat, away from the manor. The Dark Lord was gathering power, and then Father asked me to-" Alabaster nearly choked. "He asked me to take the mark, and I refused. I took Dianne and we ran."
"They found you, didn't they?" George asked, but Felicity knew it was an unnecessary question. She knew how this ended. It always ended the same. Death and heartbreak and the bitter reminder of what it means to be a Nott.
"Of course they did. You can't run from Theodore Nott. That man always got exactly what he wanted." Felicity sneered. "Dianne suffered the same fate as Lucien. That monster probably made you take the mark."
"Exactly." Alabaster raised his ratty jumper sleeve, and showed the faded, greyish-red scar on his forearm to George and Felicity. "They forced the mark on me, and-and on Theo."
"Theodore wanted that wretched mark. He wanted it so badly he turned me in for it!"
"That's the thing, little sister, you were never supposed to make it to the ministry."
