The Dark Lord, despite his terrifying mien, had a very compelling voice. Lucius Malfoy's rich and influential pureblood guests were caught in his web almost the instant he opened his mouth.
Except one.
She was what lesser men than the Dark Lord would call beautiful. She wore studded, midnight blue dress robes that sparkled under the light of the chandelier. Her eyes (grey and heavily lidded) were quite striking. If all eyes were not on the Dark Lord, they would have been on her.
She listened intently but only clapped politely while the others roared with approval. When they toasted the cause, death and revolution she raised her glass but stood back and only took small, delicate sips while the others near drank themselves into a stupor.
The Dark Lord saw through her apparent sedateness (as he saw through all falsehoods). He found himself intrigued and made his way to the back of the room to speak to her. She bowed her head slightly in deference to him as he approached.
"You're not as eager as the others," observed Voldemort.
Her beautiful, aristocratic features were schooled into a look of indifference and, when she spoke, her voice was calm and quiet.
"A life of violence never particularly appealed to me, my Lord."
Voldemort smiled at her. The kind of smile that made grown men flinch. Her hands shook ever so slightly and she backed into the bookcase.
"I think that's a lie," he said softly. "You may act like the belle of Wizarding Society but you walk... like a duellist."
She tilted her head slightly. Pureblood women did not shrug.
"I keep my inner demons on a tight leash," she said as delicately as the blonde thing permanently attached to Lucius' arm that Voldemort assumed was her sister. "It would be a shame, I think... if we reinstate Pureblood society and have no one left but blood thirsty animals."
"I doubt a woman such as yourself would be in danger of that."
"You'd be surprised, my Lord."
Voldemort would have raised an eyebrow if he had one.
"Have a temper, do you?" he asked, amused.
"Family trait," she answered. "I find such things can prove... unhelpful."
Voldemort shook his head.
"We need wizards and witches like you fighting for the cause," he said smoothly. "You embody the true traits of Slytherin House. Subtlety. Cunning. Pure blood. Ambition."
"You are too kind, my Lord," she whispered.
"But ambition is worthless if you do nothing about it," he continued. "You have to take what you want, Miss Black."
These words seemed to have a genuine effect on her. Her eyes widened and she didn't speak immediately.
Then her thin lips twisted slightly into a smile.
"Perhaps you're right," she said quietly.
In the dead of night, a cloaked figure slipped into a muggle neighbourhood and stopped at house with a faded red car in the driveway. The figure scanned the street and, when she found it deserted, knocked at the door. A very startled young man with a heart-shaped face opened it.
"Dromeda?" he whispered.
Andromeda Black let her hood fall to her shoulders.
"I was wrong," she said softly. "This is what I want... and it's worth fighting for."
Ted Tonks only took a moment to process what Andromeda had said. He wasted no time in pulling her into a kiss which was enthusiastically returned.
"What made you change your mind?" he murmured into her ear.
Andromeda actually flinched.
"I think you're better off not knowing, Ted."
"How bad could it be?" he frowned.
"Trust me," said Andromeda firmly, before closing the door behind them.