Chapter 3: highway to hell by ac/dc [July 1979]
Summary:
I am absolutely blow away by the response to this fic—thank you to everyone who commented, subscribed, bookmarked, and kudosed!
No man, save One, since Adam, has been wholly good. Not one has been wholly bad. The truth about the Blacks, no doubt, lies between the two extremes. They are accused of loose morals, and of having been addicted to improper practices and amusements. Well; what then ? – adapted from Frederick Rolfe
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 8, 1979
Narcissa Black Malfoy had been sequestered in the study of Star's Hall for far too long than anyone could bear on a beautiful August day.
Her grandfather and her distant cousin (and lawyer) stood before a grand web of photographs and parchment that occupied one wall, while her father's head remained bent over a thick stack of parchment—her own elegant signature running off the scroll onto the floor.
Her mother, herself, and Aunt Burgie had put on a good show the last few days—shopping in Asterik Alley and lunching at the Jarvey in Diagon—Lucius had replied to the Black Matriarch's note with empty platitudes, seemingly all too glad that his wife was amusing herself rather than sitting in Malfoy Manor, musing on his affairs.
Nevertheless, she was musing on the other women, an array for surreptitiously taken photographs forming a web opposite her. She examined their dark hair, their androgynous slenderness, their long legs—seeing the polar opposite of herself.
Narcissa didn't have a long and lean figure—her bust not ample enough to be considered a Renaissance Madonna, but she had the wide hips, small waist, and long flowing blonde curls of a Venus. Her body was athletically toned, considered slender, but not the waif ideal that the women before her portrayed.
She had returned to her childhood bedroom, elves strategically moving her wardrobe and belongings from her husband's home in small bouts, to avoid suspicion.
Narcissa loved her proper gowns and robes, she truly did. But they were stiff and structured—made to be like armor for society's sharp eyes and sharper tongues. She had vastly preferred the stolen clothes from Sirius's muggle wardrobe: the soft cotton of the t-shirt, the unrestricted movement of its short length, her loose hair—she had felt lighter than she had been in six years.
Once, she was merely the third daughter of the cadet branch of an illustrious noble house—promised that she would be allowed to become whatever she wanted (within reason): a talented dancer, a brilliant academic, a purveyor of taste. There was little need for one to worry about a match for her, the family legacy wasn't on her shoulders, nor was an urgent need for little Narcissa to grow up and bear someone heirs.
Yet, as she grew up, Bella had seemed to be barren and Andromeda ran away, the failing of the elder sisters stealing dance from her feet, thrusting her out of childhood.
She had read her own marriage contract; she knew the carefully crafted loopholes the Malfoys had written in. Narcissa wondered if her father was merely searching in vain for a cause that hadn't been tailor-made as a blank check for Lucius.
"Daddy, why don't we just file for divorce—it's not like you've found a breach of the contract yet," she sighed.
"Because I'm not paying the fucking Malfoys to free you," Cygnus's eyes flashed dangerously, then softened as he noticed his youngest daughter cringe. "What did I tell you, on your wedding day, my little chick?"
She tilted her chin up proudly.
"You will always be a Black first, someone's wife second," Narcissa repeated back to her father. "But you paid them to marry me, Father."
Narcissa loved to toe the line with her father, as the baby he always did indulge her. Cygnus sighed with regret.
"It's how things have always been done, my love—I had hoped you would find love in your match as your mother and I did, but…" Druella interrupted him.
"But we should have known the age gap would be a hurdle, didn't I tell you, Cyggy?" Narcissa's mother said, moving the curtains back to glance out the window.
"Even though your husband has mistresses, did you consummate the marriage, Miss Black? That would the easiest way to declare it null and void," Belgravius Burke inquired indelicately, his portly figure obscuring the wall laden with evidence of her husbands' trysts. "Forgive me for bluntness, but this is a very narrow space with which we are working."
Narcissa looked out the window for a moment.
"Most inconsiderately, yes," she refused to meet anyone's eyes.
"Is adultery not grounds alone?" her father muttered resentfully. "The bloody proof is there."
"Intent, is key." Her grandfather said. "All of these women are from well-off houses, it's not as though he has deserted the marriage or spent your dowry on them."
"How long have you been married again Cissy?" her grandmother's sharp voice seemed to plant a bug in Narcissa's ear. His sharp grey eyes fixed on her, demanding she think, that she see the path he was attempting to forge.
"A little over two years," she answered, cogs turning in her brain.
"And he had four years prior to your marriage, romancing plenty of pureblood girls who would have tried to fall pregnant with a Malfoy Heir," her mother's canniness had always been unrated in comparison to the House of Black's reputation of cleverness—she fit well into the clan, despite not being born into it.
"All three of the girls were tested for fertility when they were 13—the rumors about Bellatrix aren't due to her blood that she is yet to conceive," Irma was thinking quite hard, looking at her husband of over 50 years with a slight smile.
Narcissa had always admired their marriage—for all their banal arguments, the cunning couple could communicate with just a glance.
"Close contact with certain… Dark objects," the whole family seemed to flick their eyes at Burke, who just looked like his commission was likely to be easily paid. "Can render a witch or wizard impotent."
"It will all matter what the Malfoys are willing to fight—we drop enough proof of infidelity in the press, establish that he never intended it to be a true marriage in the first place…" Burke scribbled on a stray bit of parchment.
"They'll engage Avery to fight it, no doubt, my daughter's dowry was substantial," Cygnus warned him. "Abraxas is quite the gambler."
"That's only the first part, Lord Hwicce, sealed court documents will include these lovely photos," the rotund wizard reached into his vest pocket and took out a new envelope of photographs.
Black and white images spilled onto the desk like prints of a crime scene, blood-stained altars, her husband's white blonde hair, his hands covered in blood clutching a small book, the bare form of a naked woman. A tattoo on both their forearms, the snake branding them in the service of a higher power.
"Avery will find these lovely images, bring them to the Lord Malfoy, and then will they realize that annulment is a far kinder recourse than depraved infidelity and infernal rituals being aired in the Prophet," Burke smirked, his sorting shining through in the deviousness of the plan.
It wasn't as though the Malfoys could pursue revenge for such threats; it was considered standard-practice since the 'mysterious' disappearance of Lavinia Selwyn at the turn of century that upon death or disappearance, the goblins of Gringotts always seemed to follow through with a Sacred 28 threat from beyond the grave.
"Where was this?" Narcissa asked quietly, the fiery Black temper sparking through the cold ice of her voice.
"Last weekend, at Corban Yaxley's 'hunting' party," their distant cousin said. "I believe that is Cassandra Yaxley, no?"
"She was in Bellatrix's year," her mother had always had a head for remembering that sort of thing.
The man reached into his pocket again and pulled out another envelope, leaving this one closed, and handed it to her grandfather.
"In regards to her, I'd suspect you will want these photos to be kept private then. No need to embarrass the Blacks," Pollux turned pale, but nodded his head.
The elderly lawyer drew his wand and swept it in a circle, collecting the papers, evidence, and notes into a neat file folder.
"I'll have the documents drawn up by the end of the week, I suggest the sooner we file, the better—with Lucius out of the country, it won't look good in front of the tribunal," what he really meant was that the Prophet preview would be accompanied with an ambush of Lucius Malfoy and his mistress of choice on the Continent, for an extra juicy Front Page.
Barnebus Cuffe really would owe the Blacks a fruit basket.
"Judges won't be a problem, if you execute your plan as seamlessly as you say. I'm sure Ignatius Prewett's Fuck Off will be heard in Oxford," Pollux said with delight. "The court of public opinion on the other hand…"
The lawyer gave the branch patriarch a sharp look.
"Even if we do succeed, you are aware of the allegations the Malfoys trot out," Burke was a Black too, as the son of Belvina Black, albeit without the stain of the family surname.
"Ravishment and incest," for such sinful words, her father's tone was dismissive. "Curse of the blood—the Prophet will go through their old stories, dredge up old Black scandals, we are sure."
"Of course, they will: it's not the first time House Black has fleeced an unworthy husband, and it surely won't be the last," her grandmother smiled deviously. "Besides, nothing will be as bad as when Burgie and Rion broke two contracts to engage with each other—dear god, they must have gone to the Archives to find that much dirt."
"If they want to drag our name through the muck, then we'll give them something to talk about," Narcissa looked at the elderly man, the mask of innocence fading from her youthful face as her eyes narrowed.
The lawyer smiled indulgently at the women, not realizing that scandal, wrapped in a tableau of distractions, was exactly what the Black Family intended, when they raised hell.
The dissolution of the marriage of Narcissa Malfoy, the return of the Heir, no one would even suspect to think why Regulus Black had no attended a Death Eater meeting.
('Have you seen the Prophet? Black family is a right mess, I bet he's needed at home, saving face for The Family,' they would tell their master if he asked. Lord Voldemort would likely not, after all, 18-year-old boys from good families are only high-ranking enough for their names to be forgotten after an introduction.)
THURSDAY, AUGUST 9, 1979
Regulus Arcturus Black may have moved out of his parents' home (finally!) but he couldn't resist the feeling that he had as a small child, when boarding the train to Hogwarts.
"Do you have your helmet?" his brother was as bad as their mother had been, checking to see if he had all his equipment, as if he was 11 years old and not eighteen.
"It's on my head, Rus, Merlin, you and Mum would get along so much better if you showed her this side of you," his brother chucked one of the couch's pillows at Regulus's head, which he easily dodged.
"And you're sure you had Kreacher bring down Neptune from Mansion Noire?" Regulus had been gifted the White Jade Pegasi for his tenth birthday, bred especially for him upon Arcturus Black's request. The brothers were accomplished horsemen, yet Regulus was a league onto his own in flight.
Sirius was more comfortable on the ground—he had stabled his handsome pure Black Bucelphalan, Pluto, in Hyde Park (for now). The rare war horse, descended from the steed of Alexander the Great, was uniformly black, apart for a white star on his forehead—befitting of the celestial family. The other aristocrats that boarded their horses jealously coveted his steed, but he would never confess where they could get one of their own.
(It's a magical bloody horse, used for hunting Peryton. A normal wizard could scarcely handle the stallion, much less a muggle.)
He really should have known he wasn't disinherited; James and the rest of the Marauders had been shocked to find out he had snuck into Castle Black for his horse when he ran away.
(It should have been a clue to Andromeda too, when she had found her mare, Ceres, penned in her front garden.)
Narcissa had never bothered to move Proserpina from Noire, preferring to use riding as an excuse to get away from her husband, and Bellatrix… Bellona was now mostly exercised by their grandmother Irma.
The banging from the opposite end of the apartment was causing both brothers a headache—their parents had wasted little time making a frankly obscene offer for the other apartment that occupied the top floor of the townhouse on Montagu Square. His aunt Druella fancied herself something of a designer, directing all of the Black family elves in complex reconstruction spells of the space.
Given the pureblooded intrusion, Sirius had never felt more grateful that wizards were blissfully ignorant to the concept of a 'garage.' Elvira had been safely hidden out of his mother's sight.
"It sucks that you're missing tea—Nym is going to drive Mum mad," Sirius was again dressed to toe the line of what his mother considere1d proper wizarding attire—leather pants, dragonhide boots, and a black velvet surcoat to bow to magical convention.
Regulus wore an old Slytherin emerald polo, with white jodhpurs and tall black boots—ironically looking more mundane than the elder.
"What? Is she your spiritual heir, sent to change Mum's hair to snakes?" that particular bout of accidental magic when Sirius was 8 had amused everyone but Walburga Black.
"Her pranks are more of the Hufflepuff variety," Sirius answered, smiling fondly at the kind, gentle imitations Nymphadora Tonks put on.
"I could always tell which of your friends' tricks were your ideas, Rus," Regulus said gently. His brother looked at him questioningly. "You did have an aptitude for Slytherin cunning."
"And you, it seems, hide a predilection towards Gryffindor bravery," Sirius smiled fondly. "Did the Hat give you a choice?"
The implication that it had given him one was unsaid. Regulus bent down, picking up his bag of clubs silently.
"You once compared us to Cain and Abel, brother, promising we would not be thus," Regulus said. "I'd counter there is a better pair—the rebellious light bringer, the dutiful protector of the Father's legacy."
"Are you comparing my flight from home to the Fall?" Sirius had once found his brother's faith nauseating: good dutiful Regulus who sought religion the same way he repeated the family's pureblood ideals—tradition.
"Wasn't that your whole argument with Mum and Dad? Free will, independence, your own way of doing things?" Regulus bitterly said every word.
"And look where that got me," Sirius gestured with his left hand, the Black heir's signet ring glittering as he swept his arm around the transforming space. "Serving in heaven rather than reigning in hell."
Sirius couldn't deny the poetry, and was surprised his brother had remembered their lessons enough to recall Milton was one of the few authors he had liked. It hadn't been the author's intention, but the young heir had felt only sympathy for the devil by the end of the book—a kinship
"Of course it got you here, the tale goes that the Morningstar was the angel God loved best," Regulus yanked off his helmet, tucking it under his arm. "No matter what the dutiful son did to please him."
"So, you chose Slytherin for Mum and Dad?" Sirius said incredulously. But it wasn't out of the realm of possibilities to conceive. "Come on, your analogy is a load of pious shit: you the Saint and I the Devil?"
Regulus shook his head.
"Sirius, come on, you know you were better at almost everything as me," Regulus's calf-like eyes pierced through Sirius's wired fence of sarcasm. "I'm not compared you to the Devil as a good and evil dichotomy, but it's because your damn light, your fucking brilliance dims everyone else."
Sirius was taken aback.
"I never meant to…" he cut him off. "Fuck Reg, it's not like I wanted to be this way. I wished I could be like you, the obedient son, the good son, and then I gave up on it and consigned myself to just having a bloody good time."
"We're quite the pair, don't we," Regulus had the kind of melancholic smile that middle aged men with regrets wore.
"Not yet two decades and already cast into roles," Sirius was not like his brother, not a devout man, but one whose religion was found in history, culture, and myth—Shakespeare's all the world's a stage was a favorite of his.
The Black family nominally was pious, but Sirius knew that the real Black family religion was not Christianity, but the grand myths they wrote about themselves. Before this month, before the Horcrux, Regulus had never showed any inclination towards self-creating myth, yet, it seemed he had the most courage of any of them: to transcend to godkiller.
"I don't believe for the second that these are the last part we are conscripted to perform," Regulus put his hand on his brother's shoulders.
"Forgive me if I'm going to cling tightly to the one you have assigned me for a while—I quite fancy the idea of leading our family down the Highway to Hell," Sirius noticed Regulus's confused face at the unfamiliar phrase.
"What the bloody hell is a highway?" his brother's high forehead wrinkled.
Sirius laughed a freeing, jubilant sound.
"You are coming with me to a bar tonight," good god, wizarding music didn't hold a candle to muggle. "Not knowing the Rolling Stones is bloody sacrilege."
Regulus rolled his eyes and ducked away from his brother's hand trying to ruffle his hair.
"I eagerly await my education," he said with a mocking salute before disapparating with a Crack.
The 'modest' freehold residence of the Hwicce Blacks had never been intimidating to Andromeda, but it felt thus today. Like all the houses on a quiet street adjacent Kensington Palace, Star's Hall was a simple three-story villa whose facade disguised a magnificently hedged garden.
Her daughter shift uncomfortably next to her, looking nervously at the imposing structure before her, quite unused to family visits being a bit like meeting the Queen. Her paternal grandparents had an understated home in St. John's Wood, while the Tonks' home was a well-to-do ground floor flat in Notting Hill.
The land across the park was a very different world to the five-year-old. Andromeda felt grateful that tea was at least not in Islington—the home of the Middle Anglia Blacks could be quite dark and scary, especially to a young child.
Unlike Grimmauld Place on the other side of London, the five-bedroom home where she was raised was bright and airy—with light colored parquet floors, white stone walls, and open doors to the covered terrace and shrubbery.
She took a deep breath and used the door-knocker to rap lightly on the door. Unlike Grimmauld, which was made inhospitable without one, the door ornament of her ancestral home was wrought in the shape of the cadet branch's symbol, a fearsome bull with a trio of ornate letters 'B' woven into its visage, as its horns and ringing its nose.
To her surprise, it wasn't Tippy, the family elf, who answered the door, but instead her golden-haired sister. Andromeda offered her a nervous smile, straightening her smart navy structured dress, yet the one Narcissa returned her was positively dazzling.
"Right on time Andy!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around the older woman, who still clutched the child's hand. Nymphadora squeezed it nervously. Narcissa removed herself from her sister and looked down at her niece for the first time. "And you must be Nymphadora, it's so lovely to finally meet you."
She knelt down to the young girl's level and extended her hand. Nymphadora had half hidden herself behind her mother, peering around from behind Andromeda's hip.
"It's alright, love, remember this is your Aunt Cissy," her mother said gently, wrapping an arm around the little girl, encouraging her to shuffle forwards. "I'm sorry Cissy, she's usually not this shy around strangers."
"It's alright," Narcissa smiled softly. "You know, I used to do the same thing until I was about 7, when your mum went off to school. Andy's legs were my favorite hiding spot."
Her conspiratorial whisper drew one wide grey eye over her mother's legs to peer at the blonde. Narcissa smiled triumphantly.
"Why don't we go inside and have some cake—your grandmother wasn't sure which you liked so she had seventeen made," Her daughter giggled.
Andromeda groaned internally, knowing that her family would not be the ones having to deal with the hyperactive child that evening, but felt a sigh of relief go through her as her daughter hesitantly took her aunt's hand.
Since they were children, Narcissa was convinced that Sirius Black believed time bent to him rather than the other way around.
Her sister's child had asked her—after escaping a close inspection by her great grandmother (what a fine Black child, Andromeda, wonderful bone structure, and those eyes!)—if Uncle Padfoot was coming. Narcissa had felt relieved that the girl had spoken to her with such familiarity—she had feared the girl would despise her for the abrupt reintroduction into her life.
"Wanna play hide and seek?" Nymphadora asked her, her heart shaped face covered in frosting. It seems that she had divined that Narcissa was scarcely out of childhood herself, without a companion at the table. She toed off her sensible nude heels, feeling the cool grass beneath her feet.
Narcissa covered her eyes and began to count, hearing the girl's excited giggle and chatter of the other adults in the background as her sight remained black.
"… just like you when you were that age—why the amount of strengthening charms I had to put in that bow to hold your curls back, I expect you had to do the same with her," the sisters' mother commented fondly. Narcissa could imagine her peering over her tea cup, surveying the scene with all the grace of a queen observing her dominion.
"…quite the trickster—goodness did she turn her hair green? Clever girl," her father's grin was apparent in his voice.
"… without shoes! How much time are you exposing her to Sirius, that savagery could only be learned from him," her aunt sniffed.
"Burgie, all the children ran around like heathens, do you remember the forest…" her uncle chided his wife.
"You lot were just as wild, I may be old, but I haven't forgotten your youth, Walburga," Narcissa could almost see the twinkle in her grandfather's eye.
Narcissa shouted 51 and opened her eyes, surveying the garden.
Her white straight-cut dress swirled around her as she checked behind each hedge, in each potted plant, the short-puffed sleeves bouncing with each step. She could, of course, see the girl's bright grey eyes peeking out from inside the topiary, but Narcissa let the giggles grow louder as she pretended to be unable to find her niece.
"Your mum named you well, little Nymph!" Narcissa startled the child from behind the bush. Tonks shrieked and burst out of the hedge—her yellow tulle dress nagged into several places from the branches and there was dirt around the edge of the skirt, yet she ran with abandon all the same.
Narcissa chased after her, her more casual, lighter skirts allowing her to dart after the quick child with ease. A tall, dark-haired man stood as the door that opened from the parlor, grinning as he (and the rest of the Blacks) watched the thoroughly uncivilized display from the Lady Narcissa.
"Sirius, Sirius, save me!" shrieked Nymphadora, her hair turning a euphoric shade of pink. "She's going to catch me!"
Narcissa nearly caught up with the darting schoolchild who somersaulted out of her way, towards Narcissa's cousin. Nymphadora ignored her mother's warning that she could throw up all of her tea cakes and sent a mischievous gaze to her Aunt as she ran off again.
"Not if I catch her first!" he snuffed out his cigarette underneath the toe of his boot, with a devilish twinkle in his eyes.
She shrieked with laughter, hiking her skirts up to her mid-thigh as she ran. Her skirts may have made her an even match for an almost-six-year-old, but they were a significant hinderance in a pursuit by a grown man.
She made a poor attempt at dodging his advances as he practically corralled her into a corner of the garden, much like a sheepdog would to a lost lamb (it seemed some of his Animagus traits had rubbed off on his human side).
Nymphadora watched in amusement from the safety of a tuffet at her Great Grandmother's feet as Sirius grasped the older girl around her waist and spun Narcissa around, wrestling her to the grass in a fit of giggles, ignoring his mother's calls of 'she's wearing white, for heaven's sake Sirius!'
"I believe you have stained my dress," Narcissa said breathily, awareness settling in as she felt the weight of the man on top of her.
He was dressed, as usual, in that strange mixture of magical and muggle—in a pair of denim pants, white linen shirt, and black robe.
"I thought you Slytherins never minded a bit more green," he teased her, his lovely graphite eyes staring deeply into her own pewter ones.
"Grass stains are unbecoming of a lady," she tried to affect a proper tone. He smirked at her.
"I believe the ladies and gentlemen are over there, taking tea and chatting," The playful smirk split into a blindly white grin as she mock-glared at him. "C'mon Cis, I heard from Grandfather, you'll be free to be who you want to be soon."
The sincerity with which he said it, with which he looked at her, stole the air from her lungs, her bodice heaving with the utter faith that he seemed to have in her bucking family tradition.
"If you believe I'll be able to choose who I want to be, Sirius, you must think that the Family values me more than you, the Heir," she sighed. He rolled off of her and propped his head up to gaze at the loveliness that was Narcissa Black.
Her coils of gilded hair were loose, as they had been before she became a married lady and pinned them back due to convention. A smattering of faded freckles dusted her nose and high cheekbones, which were rosy from exertion, just as her eyes sparkled in the sun with the ghosts of childish joy. Everything was large about her features—the wide eyes, the ski-slope nose, her plump lips that were an enticing shade of dark pink—her lipstick gone long enough to allow the natural shade to break through.
In the long summer months, her usually alabaster skin had tanned to a healthy golden glow; he found his eyes trailing the limited real estate her chest that the propriety of her dress allowed, just as he had found himself ensnared in her bare legs the other day.
"Perhaps they'll at least let you choose your next husband," he tried to say encouragingly, stroking her finely wrought cheek.
"Your mother has already brought up arranging a match for you?" Narcissa said, surprised.
"Figures the sooner I'm shackled, the sooner I'll be tamed. Dad's gotten her to hold off until I'm 21, says my 'reputation' will have gone through enough habilitation by then to prevent a gold digger," he barked out a laugh, laying back to stare at London's cloudless blue summer sky.
"Would you even want a wife?" she turned her face to study his features, recalling the stories of why her father was the Heir, instead of his elder brother.
"If they were the right bird, yes, I think," his features were the kind of handsome that sonnets and myths were dedicated to—masculine, yet arrestingly beautiful. His Romanesque nose, sculpted cheekbones, cut jawline, and lips with a bow that begged to be kissed.
"I wasn't aware you were interested in women, cousin," she wryly said, lifting one penciled-in eyebrow.
"You never listened to all the rumors at school? Mary, Marlene, Emmeline… think I made it round the bend with most of the unsuitable candidates of Hogwarts," he smiled to himself, remembering the Howlers he would never fail to induce when someone (Regulus) sent word about discovering Sirius on his knees for a muggleborn girl.
"But you were with Lupin for long, I had just assumed you had just been finding yourself, your…" she cut herself off.
"The word is sexuality, it's not a swear, Cis," his eyes darted to where the rest of their family had lost interest in their antics and returned to an enthralling gossip session about the Crouch marriage.
Sirius and Narcissa had always been like this, their dramatics an amusement for the family, but quickly dismissed as more important matters took their place.
Andromeda may have been Sirius's favorite cousin, maternal and understanding, but her personality had always suited Regulus more. Narcissa and Sirius had the theatrical Black flair, which sometimes ran counter to each other, but it gave them a unique understanding of the other.
They suited each other, here on the grass, his dark hair and clothes juxtaposing well with her golden hair and white dress.
"I never did ask; I know the new Mrs. Zabini was your choice and Lucius wasn't but… do you even like blokes? Do I need to stand up for you like Grandfather Pollux did for Aunt Cassie?" he had always been a sweet, protective boy: a trait she felt grateful he had carried into manhood.
She shook her head.
"I suspect it's the same for me as it is for you; the right man, I'd think would be happy," she blushed.
"How would you know, if Lucius wasn't to your liking?" he didn't say what had made her marriage terrible—emotional distance in the bedroom, carnal relations ringed in duty: he could scarcely imagine the loneliness and pain the last two years must have brought for her.
"I… dallied with Kings, before he graduated from Hogwarts," Sirius's eyebrows lifted in surprise, recognizing the name of the older Order of the Phoenix member.
"Pity he's engaged to Njinga Kama," Sirius said—the wizard was Sacred 28. Narcissa let out a long sigh. He reached over, knitting his fingers into her own. "Don't worry, Cis, I'll make sure you are married off to whomever will make you the most happy."
The motto of the lesser branch of Blacks brought a smile to her lips.
"Promise?" she stared at his lips, begging to hear the vow from them.
"On my Black honor, my love," he said in a surprisingly imitation of a gentleman, bringing the back of her hand to kiss.
The world that they ensconced themselves in crashed back to earth with the interruption of one Nymphadora Tonks.
"What are we talking about?" she asked, settling herself into the small gulf between the cousins.
"If your aunt is a real lady, I don't think many would be running around like she did, what you think, Nym?" Sirius asked the girl, who seemed to take the question very seriously, turning to scrutinize her Aunt, determining if Narcissa was proper enough.
Narcissa sat up and arranged her skirts around her legs, struck a pose, allowing the afternoon sun to catch her hair into a blaze.
"She certainly looks like one," Tonks said rather seriously, her hair changing from her mother's shade of warm dark chestnut to the same blonde as Narcissa.
"Don't be fooled, she's just as much of an enchantress as the rest of this family, why, she'd give Veronica Lake a run for her money," Sirius whispered conspiratorially to her in a carrying voice.
"Then, she's a magical princess, rather than a lady," Tonks insisted. "Like Rapunzel!"
Sirius rolled his eyes at her words, sharing a look with Narcissa.
"I suppose she does have the hair for it," he reached out to tug a spiral of gold. "Well then, fair storyteller, who is her dashing prince to rescue her from the Tower?"
Tonks had quite the imagination—it seemed—Narcissa thought, as she watched the metamorphagus's hair grown to the same length as the fairy tale character, extending past her ankles.
"You know, Uncle Sirius, if you dressed properly, you look just like a Prince—you brush your hair and gaze at your own reflection enough to play the part," Narcissa hid her delighted smile behind her hand as she watched Sirius's jaw drop.
It shouldn't have been a surprise to him—after all, in their childhood games, he had always been fond of playing the Knight. The child wasn't wrong, of course, generations of carefully good breeding had culminated in a set of features that could only be classified as divine upon the face of the Heir of House Black.
"Why you little!" Sirius made to grab at the child, in jest, yet she scampered to her feet, fleeing his tickling fingers. He ran after her, changing into the black dog that appeared on their House crest and pounced on her, bestowing long licks onto her face.
She lay back on the grass, caring not for her dress or her mother's beckoning eyes trying to lure her back to conversation. She had heard names being dropped—Bones, Fawley, Prewett—neutral families of suitable lineages with eligible sons; her sister's face was all she needed to know to stay away.
Narcissa had been told enough fairy stories as a child to know hers was not one, no matter what idealistic children dreamt.
Remus Lupin had learned quite early on in his friendship with Sirius Black that timeliness was not his strong suit, nor forethought.
"It's Thursday bloody night, where the hell could he be?" Peter Pettigrew complained into his pint. "It's not as though he has a job, apart from posing for the papers."
Wormtail had been briefed on the dog being let out of the bag, in a harried floo to the Potters, once the splashy spread on Father and Son Black had arrived Tuesday morning.
He hadn't quite believed them, but the cheery note asking the Marauders (plus Lily) to meet him at their usual grubby Soho bar that magical and muggle youth alike favored.
"Sorry for the delay, gents! And lady." the man of the hour waded through the crowd of young professionals, beatniks and barristers, punks and would-be princesses, Sloane Rangers and Mayfair Mercenaries, scions of industry and noble houses alike. He fit in best with latter, despite his rebellious attire, his features bearing an announcement of noble lineage as much as he tried to hide otherwise.
"Had to wrangled this one into something less conspicuous," Sirius set down an armful of pints on the table, dragging a cross looking man behind him.
James Potter nearly dropped his pint in shock at the sight of Slytherin Regulus Black out in muggle London.
Regulus was dressed not too dissimilarly to the other men of noble bearing in the bar, nice slacks and a white button-down shirt. The one concession he had seemed to make to his brother's influence was the distinctly muggle Barbour jacket, no less expensive than the rest of his attire, which was likely bought somewhere in Asterik Alley. He stared at the seat next to his brother uncertainly, to the left of James Potter.
"C'mon Reg, sit down, fuck's know you need it after practice," his brother nagged.
"Shit, who did you sign with? Good god, I hope it's not Wimbourne, they just signed Bagman," At Hogwarts, People had always said James Potter could go professional, Regulus Black should be a professional Quidditch player, and Ludo Bagman would play for England.
Regulus took a sip of the ale with a crumpled face, which melted into surprise when he found muggle beer to not be as revolting as his delicate pureblood preconceptions had made him thing.
"England," he answered. Lily had to wrestle her husband back into his seat due to the shock.
"No bloody way, NO BLOODY WAY," James yelled, the bar turned to him, mistaking his words for anger, yet he was grinning.
"You are 18, that's rather unusual for the team, no?" Remus asked peering at the less handsome brother of his ex. Regulus had the same Black family smirk as Sirius, same inky waves, yet he wore his much shorter than Sirius's princely shoulder-length locks.
"Stop being a prick, Reg," his brother punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Regulus is the newest member of the English National Aerial Polo team, not Quidditch."
"Polo?" Remus wrinkled his nose. "But, weren't you the best Seeker in a quarter century or something?"
"According to my brother, the commentator," Regulus smirked.
"Sixty-seven second Snitch record doesn't like, brother," Sirius raised his glass in salute.
"Bloody waste of talent, you're a bloody natural on a broom! What does polo have that Quidditch?" James, the scion of a nouveau riche Pureblooded line who forged their fortunes in potions, failed to understand certain traditions of that families like the Blacks.
"Aristocratic bearing, for one," Regulus answered. "Nobility, honor, horsemanship."
"Bloody hell, you sound like the Prince of Wales, that's all he basically does in public anyways," Lily tried to make a joke.
To Lily's surprise, the Slytherin didn't act as if she hadn't spoken (as many did in Slug Club meetings) or turn their nose up at her addressing him. Instead, he smiled at her jape.
"It's the same fields as regular polo, we play in those matches too—have to change your horse, of course, but it's the same rules," Regulus answered. "I'll probably play against our bonny prince at some point."
Remus Lupin's clever eyes were studying him, scanning specifically his left arm. Regulus pretended not to notice, instead he took off his jacket and cuffed his sleeves.
"It's bloody hot in here, haven't they ever heard of cooling charms?" he performatively looking around the bar.
"What?" Regulus looked back at the table, where the four Gryffindors were blatantly staring at his bare forearm. In the absence of the dark crested tattoo, they seemed to fail to notice the constellation of silvery scars that decorated the pale flesh.
"I thought you were…" Remus said, rather surprised.
"A Death Eater?" Regulus threw his head back in a laugh. "May have gone to a few meetings, but c'mon who doesn't want to join a gang when they don't have a job."
He gave a rather pointed look at Sirius. Remus shifted uncomfortably.
"But don't you believe at the bullshit? Hell, weren't you friends with Mulciber?" Lily asked, her eyes narrowing.
Regulus Black was not the type of Slytherin who defected. Duty seemed to drive him, and devoid of his brother's leadership, he had fallen in with the same crowd as Severus at school: he was a natural follower, not a leader.
"What I believe in is my Family," the younger boy answered, his honey brown eyes staring into her brilliant jade.
"Reg translation: I say jump, you say how high," Sirius groused. His brother playfully scowled at him.
"But, isn't Bellatrix one of them?" James still looked very unconvinced. "And isn't your other cousin married to Malfoy?"
The brothers looked at each other.
"Bella is a radical," Regulus answered slowly. "Her dad never cared much for blood politics, Uncle Cyggy cares more legal contracts and rare magics than that."
"The same Uncle who disowned Andromeda for marrying Ted?" James asked skeptically.
"Andy was his favorite, he was right cut up that she left," Regulus answered, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Plus she breeched a rather tightly bound contract with the Malfoys."
"Which is why Narcissa had to marry the bloody tosser," Sirius darkly muttered. "Shite contract too since the Malfoys had leverage with one runaway bride already. Cis is in the dark to his activities as much as any princess locked in a damn tower."
He turned to look at his friends, the skepticism still evident on their faces. Lily had her eyebrows raised at his analogy; Sirius had always been a wordsmith, but this was a new level.
"Look, I'll even take Veritiserum to prove it, but I'm not Imperiused or a bloody turncoat," he said emphatically.
"Sirius, you said your family was bloody awful, crazy blood supremacist—you expect us to believe they're not Death Eater supporters?" Peter Pettigrew was first to interject his incredulity.
"I may," Sirius winced, as he always did when forced to admit he was wrong about something. "Have underestimated their emphasis on The Family over ideology."
"Sirius Translation: I got into a massive row with Mum and Dad, ran off in a rash fit, realized what I'd done, stuck with it, then dangled enough bait through fucking goblin gossip to get pulled back in," Regulus had a teasing smirk on his face.
"Fuck off Reg," Sirius playfully shoved him. His barstool tipped but did not fall.
"Sirius, what the hell did you do?" Remus said wearily. A grand list of antics ran through his head, among them cheating the goblins, bad bets, or an empty account emerged at the top of the list.
"You didn't read the papers, Remus?" Wormtail asked, his face a friendly mask that Regulus seemed to notice had a few fissures—concealing well-disguised jealousy. "Our Padfoot seemed to have taken to toeing the Statue and dipped into the muggle financial sector.
Remus's well-defined brown eyebrows rose in surprise.
"So that's it? You made a killing with the Banks and that was enough for your dad to want you back?" Remus asked.
Sirius stared at his hands around the empty beer glass.
"I may have blasted off in a fit of temper, but I wasn't inherited," he confessed. James could not swallow a sharp intake of breath. Sirius looked up and gave first Regulus, then Remus a dry smile.
"Besides, there may have been certain… inducements to get back into fold, heavens knows, Regulus didn't have the appetite or aptitude to be Head of the Family," Lily's brow furrowed at her fellow Slug Club member's poor presentation.
"But, Regulus was a favorite of Professor Slughorn, Quidditch Captain, hell if that's not a display of leadership," she said in confusion.
Regulus's brows jumped in surprise.
"My mum taught me everything she know, Potions was the one subject I excelled in," he admitted. "I didn't have the raw talent or prodigious creativity like you or Snape."
Lily jumped at the mention of her former best friend. Beside her, she felt her husband tense.
"You lot's pranks, tricks, and schemes demonstrated that Sirius was always a far better fit for Heir than me," he drained his glass and smirked, mostly to himself, his eyes glittering in the dim orange-y light of the pub. "A political animal, I've seen one."
"Did you rat Sirius out to your dad?" James said accusingly.
"I didn't have the faintest idea he could become his name incarnate," Regulus brushed him off. "However, I did keep the secret about the rest of you lot—tell me, was this lark inspired by Mr. Lupin's lycanthropy or your own boredom?"
His nonchalance was so much like the attitude normally attributed to his brother that he could have been stating the weather rather than one of the Marauders' most closely guarded secrets.
"How the hell did you know that?" his brother growled at him.
Regulus fixed a non-plussed look at his brother.
"Ill every full moon, the unhealable scars?" he then rolled his eyes. "You also incriminated yourself, Sirius. You think I wouldn't notice the entire shelf of books on werewolves gone from the family library? Also, you lot really should have thought through your nicknames—all that evidence then you call Lupin Mooney?"
Remus Lupin was bright red and looking at the door.
"I'm not going to share your secret, Remus," Regulus said in a kind voice. He looked up in surprise. So did the rest of the Marauders.
"Why?" James blurted out.
"It's not my secret to tell," Regulus answered, rather simply. The shocked faces of the band of brothers made him sigh, just as the shrewd eyes of Lily Potter gave him a reason to open his mouth again. "You lot count yourselves as my brother's brothers. I believe we've mentioned enough time how The Family is everything to the Blacks."
Sirius wanted to fling his arms around his baby brother, the pride roaring his chest like the lion tattoo over his heart.
"Enough seriousness," his brother opened his mouth to quip a joke. "Tell me what creatures are Messrs Wormtail and Prongs?"
The delight on James' grinning face was unmistakable (finally someone to play pickup Quidditch with), the relief on Remus's (finally another check on Sirius's wild antics), the poorly disguised eagerness on Lily's (she had missed someone to discuss potions with; James, for all his birthright, was hopeless at the subject, Lily worked at Potter's Potions Ltd. instead of him.)
They were so trusting, Peter thought, the reluctance at his place in the group nagging at his head even more. The younger brother of Sirius seemed to mesh so well with the rest of them, while he had always felt like he had to try so hard to worm his way in.
He thought back to some of the conversations he had had with his childhood neighbors, the Goyles. Perhaps there were other places in the world that could appreciate him more.
FRIDAY, AUGUST 10, 1979
The rehabilitation of the reputation of one Sirius Black was not a task that the Countess of Middle Anglia took lightly. Nor was it an easy one, her eldest son had taken to calling 'the process' dragging him back to hell.
She did not take kindly to the comparison.
"Sirius Orion Black, go back this instant and change into the robes I sent for you, we are going to be late!" Walburga Black was glad that they had arrived at the 13 Montagu Square early to pick up her sons, as she discovered Regulus half-dressed and her eldest dressed in an entirely unsuitable set of muggle leathers.
"Why do I bloody have to!" he complained. "I hate the theater."
"Because you need to be seen as a proper gentleman!" Walburga argued. "Banking with your father and attending family dinner is not enough to convince the rest of the world!"
"FINE!" Sirius yelled, storming off towards his room.
Walburga emitted a long-suffering sigh and shared a look with her husband, who seemed more amused that stricken by his son's spirited behavior.
"You of all people should know Walburga that one doesn't truly muzzle a hound," her husband received a hateful look.
The couple settled in with two glasses of 'decent' elf-made wine as they waited for their boys.
Regulus first presented himself, dapper in a set of hunter green dress robes, his curls artfully arranged. His brother stumbled out of his room not three minutes after, wrestling with the royal blue silk cravat (and losing).
The man's mother let out a long-suffering sigh.
"Sirius Orion, come here and let me do that for you—the material is very delicate," scowling, yet obediently, Sirius shuffled over to his mother.
"Now, aren't these much better? I'm glad they fit, I had to guess your size," the Countess said patronizingly, admiring her handiwork. Behind her head, Sirius could see his brother smirking at him.
Sirius rolled his eyes.
"Didn't you say we were going to be late Mum?" he gritted out.
He felt rather silly apparated, given how close his residence was to the Theater District, however, propriety demanded otherwise.
Sirius would deny it, but he felt a bit nervous to walk beside his family once more. His hand tightened around his wand as the four Blacks emerged from the apparition point.
For all his rebellions, Sirius still had the art of etiquette drilled into him from an early age. Standing near the apparition point on a hidden corner in West End, next to her parents, was the unaccompanied Narcissa, with Lucius mercifully still out of the country, she was free to attend such family outings as Fridays at the Orpheum.
Still, an unescorted lady sent the wrong message to certain circles—usually her father would juggle the high-strung Druella and his lovely daughter, or Regulus would take his place.
However, tonight, as the eldest son, the honor was his.
Sirius bowed low and took her extended hand.
"Would you do me the honor of escorting you tonight, Lady Narcissa?" he asked, brushing a kiss on the ivory silk of her glove.
Tassels of sparkly green lace were draped over her shoulders, making a river down the low back of the dress before wrapping her full hips from behind, while the rest of her gown was the same color and material as his cravat.
She giggled and nodded her head, taking the offered arm and following their parents towards the theater.
He thought he could see a camera flash as they went into the wizarding theater, not sure if it was for 'Britain's Hottest New Wizard on Horseback' or for the 'Return of the Heir.'
(The photographer it seemed, had a different idea all-together, hinting at how the Viscount Malfoy possibly could be out of the country when he had such a lovely wife, escorted by her cousin in his absence, the dashing Viscount Black.
The Prophet drew quite the contrast, printing a photo of the blonde Malfoy couple underneath the larger photo of the cousins. While the married couple looked like a matched set (almost like family in their looks), the theater-goers were juxtaposed in 'his darkness and her light,' that Skeeter woman had written.
Clearly, her pen had only grown more venomous since school.
People had always been assumptions made about Sirius's looks, that he was the type of rogue to screw one's wives—as if they forgot the house he was sorted into was associated with honor.
He did not usually enjoy it, but the following morning, his too sharp grin paired with the Prophet's delicate implications that toed the line of slander seemed to make a rather pleasing threat to the Death Eater.
A family who gives a bride can just as easily take it back.)
The elder members of the family had rushed to the Black Box (a favorite joke of Sirius's), cutting a wide berth through the crowd of theater-goers. The younger ones lingered on the upper tier of the hall, where the rest of the wealthiest families had their boxes, stationing themselves near the bar where the other young and noble were dulling their ears before what was sure to be a lovely rendition of Electra.
Regulus was quickly dragged off by Marshall Fawley, one of his new teammates, while he and Narcissa were left to survey the scene. He thought he spied Bellatrix off in one corner, which prompted him to take her by the elbow and steer her in the opposite direction.
"Oi, Frank, you remember Cousin Cis right!" Sirius had guided her towards the Longbottoms first, safe, neutral, but still Black relations. Frank was their second cousin or something, the grandson of Callidora Black, and Alice had been in Hufflepuff—both in Narcissa's year.
"Course I do, must say I'm surprised to see you back at this 'dusty graveyard,'" ever friendly Frank wrapped Narcissa in a bear hug and Sirius politely kissed Alice's outstretched hand.
"It's lovely to get to see you again, Narcissa," Alice smiled at her old Herbology partner. She did not have to imply much else—everyone had known that Lucius Malfoy dictated who his wife associated with and Gryffindors—even wealthy, pure, and highly-ranked ones such as the Longbottoms—were not one of them.
"You'll see me quite a bit more, Sirius has graciously agreed to chaperone me, while my husband is away," Narcissa grinned at her, taking in the stunning red silk gown that the Countess Bernicia wore. "Now, you must tell me where you got that dress…"
Frank leaned into Sirius, his easy grin at the two women's chatter faded into a serious expression.
"What are you Blacks up to? My dad's having a bloody cow, wants me to quit the Aurors and 'figure out muggle investments,'" Frank snorted at the ridiculousness of the idea.
"Dad caught wind of it from the fucking goblins, you know they've never been above caring where money comes from," Sirius muttered back.
"It's not just that—c'mon Narcissa here on your arm, saying we'll be seeing her more? They got you under a curse or blackmail?" Frank was like an older brother to the Marauders, his bushy brows furrowing in concern.
"Black's mail is an old tradition to uncooperative sons," Sirius downed the glass of firewhiskey that the bartender set in front of him, motioning for another.
"They going to make you join up?" Frank felt his wand.
"Naw, they are not about to risk any of the Black boys, sure your father is probably thinking the same," Frank looked unconvinced, even as the sole child and heir to the Duke of Northumbria. Sirius sighed.
"Look, there's Reggie over there with his new teammates on the English National team, with a large International spotlight on it," Sirius motioned to where John Macmillan had his arm around the newest member, already fabulously drunk.
Frank seemed to catch on quick. After all, he had Black blood in him as well.
"So, how the hell is your cousin here outside of her husband's wand? We all know the Malfoy marriage is controlling as hell, she wasn't even allowed to attend Alice and my wedding," Sirius smirked.
"Let's just say watch the papers, Frankie, watch the papers," Frank sighed. He hated Black schemes.
Sirius and Narcissa had mingled with the Longbottoms, made suitably bland conversation with Fabian Prewett and his fiancée, Amelia Bones, and successfully avoided any of her husband's acquaintances.
He felt quite proud of himself as he escorted her to their seats. His luck, however, had seemed to run out when it came to the Family.
"Well, well, well, the papers didn't lie," Bellatrix Lestrange made her entrance into the Black family box as they had just settled in. She was still arresting, yet there was an undercurrent of avarice that seemed to make the angularity of her face too gaunt. Her eyes were trained on Sirius.
"Bellatrix darling, we had hoped to see you tonight!" her father was a talented actor, it seemed, looking thrilled to see his eldest daughter.
"Hello Father," she said flippantly, but still her gaze remained on the errant heir to her natal family. "I had wondered if the Prophet had somehow made a mistake that this blood traitor had been welcomed back to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."
Sirius's father sent him a look, warning him to keep his mouth shut. He got up and walked to the corner of the box, where a bottle of champagne had been put on ice.
"Lady Pengwren, we were unaware that you cared so much for the Family succession," Orion Black said rather blandly.
"Nothing is more important to me than the purity of wizard kind," Bellatrix asserted, a manic gleam to her eyes.
"Then, it should please you that Sirius was never disinherited in the first place, after all, it is not as though House Black has many boys with such… talents to become Head," Orion continued his monologue, Bellatrix's eyes widening in surprise.
"Did you read the returns he's made just with his own capital? Extraordinary, simply extraordinary, imagine what he'll do with the vaults," Cygnus raved.
Bellatrix looked quite put out and at a loss for words.
"But, you have Reggie…" she said.
"Yes, Regulus who is more adept at flying than finances," Orion levelled a look at her. "I expect he's quite pleased to be joining the English National team, now that his brother is back."
"You'll have to come to some of the matches, Trixie!" Regulus, the little liar, sounded actually enthusiastic.
"Isn't it so nice, our boys back and safe with us?" Walburga sighed, looking at the two fondly.
Sirius had been forced to dawdle near the champagne for far too long, hiding his grin at the theatrical calling of his kin. He returned to the pair of seats with two glasses of champagne, handed the second to Narcissa.
Bellatrix seemed to recover her venom as he did so, her eyes landing on a new target (and an old favorite—the baby of the sisters).
"Not pregnant yet, Cissy? Poor Lucius, his ornamental bride with nothing to show for it," she questioned in a syrupy tone that any one of them could see that she reveled in her sister's perceived failure.
Narcissa looked down at her hands, visibly swallowing. Even though she was little more than a broodmare, she had still longed for a child, for something to fill her long lonely days.
"You have been married for over double the time your sister has, Bellatrix and have nothing to show for it. I would not throw stones in your glass house," their father admonished her.
"We know that there is nothing wrong with either of you girls, St. Mungo's itself gave a clean bill of health…." The girls' mother chided her. "Your husbands, on the other hand… remind me, Rodolphus, your mother had you tested if I'm remembering correctly?"
Rodolphus Lestrange had been lurking in the doorway of the box, clearly not wishing to be subjected to his wife's relations. He shifted uncomfortably, under the sharp eye of his mother-in-law.
"Yes, Lady Hwicce," he grumbled out. Druella pursed her lips.
"A pity, it's not as though you are getting any younger Bellatrix," sniffed Walburga.
Bellatrix seemed quite uncomfortably at the assault from her elders, always regarded as the golden child of House Black.
"If you really cared about purity as much you said, you would spend less time worrying about her sister's contributions and worry about your own," her Uncle Orion had always had the viper's tongue, but rarely had she found it directed at her.
Sirius picked his jaw up off the floor at the elegant cut his father had inflicted on his least favorite cousin (and crazed Death Eater).
"Who knows what the problem is, it could be time, but really magic is such a fickle mistress—I'd never dream of defiling my purity with magics that could potential corrupt my ability to continue our line," he put on his best Pureblood snob voice. Bellatrix's eyes narrowed at him, as if she was trying to scry the next move in the game.
"What is it Bella, dear?" he asked innocently.
"How could you let him back in? Betray our cause like this?" she seethed, turning on Regulus.
"He's the eldest, the Heir by right," Regulus neutrally said. "I did nothing to betray our traditions."
"He supports Dumbledore and his merry band of mudbloods!" she nearly shrieked.
"My sorting does not pledge my loyalty—my blood does," he quietly said, with all the sharpness of a Lord.
Bellatrix stopped her hysteria in its tracks, staring very intently at the boy that she could no longer ignore was a man.
"Yes, Madam Lestrange?" Sirius cocked a brow.
"I may have been… mistaken about you Sirius," she savored the words, darting her eyes back to her husband. "Would you care to stop by a little gathering with Regulus at some point?"
"I said my blood—I'm a Black, Bella," Sirius sneered at her. "Regulus is a star athlete, now, and I the Heir—family comes first."
Sirius hadn't forgotten how to deliver the cut, clearly. Bellatrix slinked back to the Lestrange box chastened and contemplative—there was something different about this re-introduced version of Sirius Black. The independence, the arrogance, the ferocity, the dramatics were all still there.
But, it seemed that some of the heat of hot head had cooled to bow to the cool fire of a conqueror. Bellatrix could not resist a twist of fear and pride in her heart to see him again, staring down at her arm, tracing where the dark mark covered the constellation with her family name.
She did not regret joining the Dark Lord for a second.
She worried she may come to regret the self-induced alienation from the House of Black.
Notes:
Sirius and the Blacks are such the Big, Screwed-Up Family trope that of course I sprinkled in references that they are descended from some of the historical nobles houses of Europe that had similar dynamics.
Sirius in canon, is an anti-hero and definitely is capable of being cold and calculating if he was given the chance. Murder and bloodshed is a line he showed he *is* willing to cross.
Similarly, I hope I've done some justice to expanding Narcissa and Regulus's characterizations—characters who are written in fic as traditionally soft, but I think have the Black iron beneath them. All the Blacks have different gifts, different strengths, which is something I wanted to draw out here.
There is this trope called the three faces of Eve that I feel like really inspires the Black sisters: the steady, wise Wife (Andy), the sexual Seductress (Bella), and the innocent child (Cis). However, I wanted to invert it a bit through the expectations that their family legacy put on them rather than the family itself, each girl adapting to play a certain role yet they rebelled in their own unique way.
Bella felt like they expected loyalty and knowledge, but she took it to a perceived extreme of what the family wanted, believing they would notice her. Andromeda was the kind and loving peacemaker, but she took it to an extreme in falling in love with the wrong man. Narcissa doesn't look like her sisters (I used my own measurements to get inside the headspace)-the beauty standard for the 60's and 70's was this waif-y gauntness that I imagine Bella and Andy had-while Narcissa is a bit hippier and a tad curvier, still slender, but more of an athletic build (as a dancer). She feels like the family expected obedience and charm from her, so she took it to an extreme of course and did not fight. But, she's the youngest and was always given more runway to dream as a result, which I think is why her rebellion is a bit like Sirius, who was similarly indulged as the oldest and the Heir.
Most of my London knowledge comes from present day, I've tried my best to research (hence the Sloanies and Mercenaries), but I work in both London and the States so a lot of my knowledge/worldview comes from that! Apologies if I have butchered some Britishisms and cultural aspects.
Also, finally working in Bellatrix and Nymphadora, gosh I love their dynamics! I find it a bit hard to write the Marauders, so if anyone has constructive feedback please please let me know!
Thank you all for all the comments, kudos, and bookmarks! Seriously, I've never written faster in my life. I am still trying to figure out what day is best to update for traffic, so bear with me as I figure out a schedule!