Authors Note: Very short piece that I just felt like writing. I don't know why, because I don't normally read Black family fics. It's a new writing style for me, because normally I wallow in detail - - I've tried to be rather concise here. Please give me your comments at the end!

Proud

A Black was always proud.

Velvety grace, syllables tinged with faint manipulation, aristocratic beauty that turned heads ... and ever-always proud.

Three. The day, the night, the dusk. A girl for every occasion. Any father would be proud. A Black father was no different. Everything was for the daughters now. Marry them off; continue the family line, the Black line. To be sure that there would be descendants of the mighty family when blood did no longer matter in some circles.

Narcissa, her angles delicately laced with a power no man could resist. Hair reaching the small of her back... shapely legs with a sheen, lashes inviting, commanding men to adore her.

Day.

The darkness was potent in Bellatrix. Beauty wasn't a factor here; she didn't care if she wasn't as pretty as her sugar cream sister. It was always theatrics with Bella... always. The proudest Black. Lips pouted, eyes slanted... mind whirring...

Night.

My wife doted on Narcissa, deliciously took vicarious pleasure in every glance, look or wink our Day received. I guiltily felt pleased when we received Owls from Hogwarts telling us Bellatrix was in trouble... for being outspoken about the Dark Arts, trying (and succeeding) to curse an 'innocent' half-blood (why is it that half-bloods always seem to be the 'innocents' in situations like these?

Our eyes, always focused on our favourites... blurred towards everything else. Everyone else. Andromeda. Middle child. Like a stray poppy seed she struggled to grow, hidden underneath the shade that swathed her. But she persisted... and soon we had a woman, untouched by criticism and the Black pride.

We made a mistake. Narcissa was composed, Bellatrix heedlessly spontaneous, but our Dusk-child, she was the middle child. Always, and forever. Proud, not of her Black name, but of herself.

We should have been surprised. My wife was, certainly. Metallic tongue spitting blood.

'Mudblood!'

The shame. Whatever happened to the family name? Honour, beauty, valour. Devastated, in one kiss with a filthy half-blood.

The pieces of the Black family pride, shattered. There were no clear solid lines with Andromeda now, unlike Day or Night. She was the middle child, muddy, with blurred edges. Forever Dusk.