A/N: Small disclaimer, I have no idea how inheritance works. So please just assume this is how it's done in the wizarding world. Also, pleas


e check out the pieces I mention! They're really awesome (and public domain, so I'm technically aloud to 'quote' them according to ffn laws)

THC – Round 3

House: Gryffindor

Class: Astronomy

Category: Standard

Prompts: (Image) Piano and Sheet music, (Theme) Lost Love

Word Count: 1,538

Triggers: mentions canon character deaths


~~ harmony, memory ~~~

Andromeda thinks she might just bite off the head of the person who has rung the bell.

That's the sixth person today.

And she literally just moved in yesterday!

As she marches to the door, Andromeda knows very well she's being completely irrational, and when she inevitably snaps at the delivery guy (at least, she hopes that's who it is. She's still missing two boxes), she'll feel terrible because it isn't the poor fellow's fault at all.

It's just that she's a forty-six-year-old woman, taking care of a six-month-old baby—something she hasn't done in years—, she hasn't properly slept in five months, she just moved in yesterday, her house is an absolute mess, and the boxes missing are, of course, the ones with all of Teddy's bottles and high chair.

She just does not want to deal with another so-called friendly neighbours, who only want to know why a single old woman is taking care of such a darling baby boy as Teddy. That, and the electricity guy who was supposed to come three days ago, to fix things up before they moved it.

Needless to say, she isn't in a good mood.

Andromeda wrenches the door open, the baby still firmly on her hip.

"Hello, what can I do for you?" she practically growls.

"Mrs Andromeda Tonks?" the man in front of her asks, and Andromeda is surprised to find a young man, dressed in official wizarding robes, a sombre look on his face.

"Yes, that's me."

There's a box on the floor next to him. Andromeda doubts it's the baby bottles, but she's still quite curious to know what's inside. She hopes it's the baby bottles. She needs those things.

"After the reading of the will, this both was bequeathed to you. If you wish to receive it, please sign here." And he shoves a clipboard under her nose, but Andromeda is a little confused.

"Wait, what will?" she asks, taking the clipboard.

This time, it's the official looking gentleman who looks confused. "Your sister? Bellatrix Lestrange?"

"B-Bella?" she stutters, the words catching in her throat.

A sudden wave of emotions overcomes her. Emotions she can't control, has trouble making sense of. A maelstrom of feelings grows in her, like a hurricane she is tossed around in. She can vaguely discern a deep anger, hatred even. Maybe some disgust, definitely pity. But even deeper in there, in the eye of her own emotional tornado, she can make out sorrow, and the sense of loss.

She barely realises there's a tear rolling down her cheek.

Teddy, sensing her distress, starts to wail a little, and it snaps her out of her trance. She quickly wipes her tears away and reassures Teddy.

Her voice still isn't steady when she says, "I just didn't think she'd leave me anything."

The guy shrugs, but he still seems unsure of her. After all, it mustn't be everyday that one of his clients forgets someone who has died in their family. Especially someone as darkly famous as Bellatrix Lestrange. He's probably wondering if she isn't crazy, too.

"Will you please sign here, ma'am?" he asks again, pointing at the spot she's supposed to sign.

Andromeda obeys, a little automatically. What could her sister have possibly left her? As far as she knows, she was supposed to be dead to Bella. Why would she still care, after her death?

"Have a nice day," is all he says, before disappearing. Probably anxious to get away from her. Mad woman, he must think. But that's what she'll think later on.

For the moment, Andromeda barely hears him.

Even Teddy is momentarily forgotten.

All she can perceive is this cardboard box in front of her. It's tied up with string, though the string is fraying at the ends. The edge looks slightly kicked in, as if it's been lugged around a lot. When she picks it up, it feels slightly damp to her touch, and she wonders how much this box has had to go through before it could reach her.

Maybe through her other sister first. Maybe through a dark-curse routine check. Maybe someone forgot it, in the rain. Only remembered it much later.

But those thoughts are quickly pushed out of her head and Teddy begins to wail. Andromeda suddenly realises he's almost falling out of her arms and quickly steadies him.

Merlin, what a terrible grandmother she makes.

A few minutes later, Teddy is now in his playpen, happily gurgling at one of his teddybears. It's one of the really nifty ones Harry managed to get her from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. It can tune in to Teddy's hair colour and match it. It is rather clever.

As for Andromeda, she's sat on the piano stool, one of her only seats that can be conveniently moved around—the main kitchen chairs are still missing. There's the box on her legs now.

Carefully, she unties the string. It's a little rough under her figures, and the knots are real tight, so it takes her a moment to untie them. And now, she's opening the box.

A musty smell escapes from it. But the scent is strangely familiar, and far from unpleasant. Quite on the contrary, waves of nostalgia seem to waft up from the box, and suddenly Andromeda is transported to a place she can't quite name, and overwhelmed with a feeling of happier days.

She's now more curious than ever.

Though perhaps a little apprehensive; what could it be? What could Bella possibly have that would make Andromeda feel so...light?

The answer is obvious once she sees it.

Dolly pour piano à quatre mains, Fauré.

Fantasia in F minor, Schubert.

And so many others.

Sheet music. So, so much sheet music. But only piano four hands, four hands she played and played again and again with Bella.

Suddenly Andromeda is transported to another time.

It's a time when she sits down at the piano, everyday for an hour, going up and down her scales. Then, she'll play her piece, work through the most difficult bits, and then, finally, work on her part of the four hands.

It's a time when Bella comes next to her, shoves her over, forcing her to make space. They'll call each other fat, but they'll have smiles on their faces. After that squabble, that can last a few minutes, Bella will give the tempo and they'll work through the piece.

Bella always got the more important part, the one that had the melody.

Or, alternatively, the one that was the most virtuous.

And once Bella has made up her mind about which part she wants, there's no changing her mind. Their teacher once tried to give Andromeda Bella's part, and Bella refused to speak to the two of them for a week, even though Andromeda didn't want the primo part at all.

It's a time before school, or a time in between school. It's when they're still young and carefree. When she can still call her sister, her sister. She can laugh with her, tease her. Andromeda can love Bella and Bella can love Andromeda.

It's a moment when they can create beautiful sounds together.

Harmony.

That time ended without any warning. It gradually faded away until it wasn't anymore. And suddenly Andromeda didn't know where it had gone.

And now all that is left is this sheet music in Andromeda's hands. Slightly yellow, the way all old paper turns. Covered in annotations. Things like 'Crescendo', or 'sing it!', or 'BELLA BE QUIET' . It's slightly crinkly, the way things that have been loved are.

And now, all that is left is just one of the players.

Her sister is dead, and what is the point of a piano four hands if half of the hands are missing?

Once again, the tears well unbidden in Andromeda's eyes.

Her sister, her estranged sister, kept these. She kept this memory of better times between them. Why did she do it? The answer probably isn't as idealistic as she would like it to be, but a small—a large—part of Andromeda hopes it's because deep down, Bella still cared about her.

But now Bella is gone. There will never be a chance for the two of them to play together ever again.

Suddenly, she's overwhelmed by all of the people she has lost because of this stupid war. So, so many people. Everyone she has ever loved, truly, is gone. Disappeared. Never to be seen again.

Remus. Nymphadora. Ted.

Bellatrix.

There haven't been a lot of people she loved in her life, and now they are all gone.

Andromeda places the sheet music on the piano stand, and starts to read the music once more.

She makes a lot of false notes, but it doesn't matter. The music also feels hollow. After all, it's missing its other part.

But as Teddy starts to gurgle happily in his playpen as he listens to her play, Andromeda starts to smile again.

Yes, she has lost so, so much. But she still has Teddy, her darling baby grandson. And that's enough for her now. It's enough to build back a life, to build back love. Enough to bring harmony back to her life.

And who knows? Maybe Teddy will play these very same pieces with her too one day.