Well, hello. I'm a bit late in updating, but here is the chapter. A bit of action! Tell me whether it's okay (I'm not too sure about the end).
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She had gone through the day without even an inkling of her usual joy. Every second seemed to drag on her bones, each step seemed to take her further and further down a deep tunnel of despair. Even in the greatest of spaces, she felt walls pressing in on each side. In the busiest of rooms, she felt completely alone.
She had also realised that Judy was a very friendly person. Andromeda found herself friendless in the corner while Judy chatted away to everyone and no-one. It had been like this for years, but why was it itching at her now? Why was it suddenly so important and terrible?
Andromeda just needed something to distract her, to tell her beautiful lies. Everything will be alright. That was a good one. Her pillars were crumbling underneath her; she needed someone to hold her up.
Her sisters certainly wouldn't be any help. Narcissa was on the path to engagement to Lucius Malfoy, and spent all her time cooing over him. Bellatrix sent her letters, each one descending further into madness, speaking of 'a flame that will never die', and 'the incoming storm'. She raved about the Dark Lord and his growing might, immeasurable power and immortality. Was she going mad? Was the whole family going mad?
Andromeda wandered down the corridor after Transfiguration, trying to fight away the pressing walls of her little Black box. She'd parted ways with Judy, but felt no more alone than she had before. Her head was heavy on her shoulders, aching with random facts that she needed to remember, spinning with the burden of trying to translate Bella's novel-length letters.
The clack, clack, clack of her shoes echoed down the empty wing, bouncing off walls like a ping pong ball. The way was lit with fiery braziers, but because nearly everyone was in lessons (Andromeda had a free period), they were slowly snuffing out, one by one.
Soon enough, the corridor was left in an eerie half-light from the dulled sunshine that filtered through the windows.
Clack, clack, clack.
Another two people had asked about her engagement in the five hours since breakfast. She couldn't get away from it, still haunted by Rabastan's shadow even in the safety of the school. Now she thought about it, she felt him now, strutting beside her with a cool smile twisting his mouth. Hello, Andromeda. His voice was still smooth, each syllable slipping into the next, the words dipping a little at the end. The way he said her name made her skin crawl, her ears burn.
Clack, clack, clack.
He isn't there, she tried to tell herself. He's in France with his father.
But when she saw a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye, she looked out for those dead irises, the glint of his spectacles. When she heard the tiniest whisper, she imagined his voice. My beautiful Andromeda, he'd croon, we don't have to wait for the wedding. Why not become better acquainted now?
Clack, clack, clack.
Why couldn't she escape? Why couldn't she be away from all that at Hogwarts? It was meant to be different here. She was meant to be safe. Safe. She could feel his hands clasped around her waist, pulling her into him. He was a weight beside her, a cold spectre, a ghost.
Clack, clack, clack, click.
A higher noise, sharper. She faltered, paused and looked around, then continued a little way.
Clack, clack, clack, click.
Clack, click.
Clack, clack, click.
Her footsteps were shadowed. Whenever she walked, a different sound lingered behind her own step. The sharp sound of a stiletto heel echoing off the flagstones rather than the soft patter of her own practical brogues.
"Who's there?"
Her voice cut through the cold silence.
"Show yourself!" She demanded.
All was still. You could've heard a pin drop in the seconds that followed. A string of tension wrapped tight around the area.
Andromeda turned back around, still on high alert.
"Stupefy!"
She dodged the spell just in time, leaping to the side but hitting her head on the wall hard.
Her head spinning, she turned to see two figures in Slytherin robes with their hoods pulled up blocking either end of the corridor.
"Go away," she said, knowing as she did so how pathetic it sounded.
The figure to her right, who was rather more short and round than the other, gave a little laugh. A very familiar, very fake laugh.
"But you, Andromeda Black, have been a very naughty girl."
The voice was high and sickly. So, so familiar. She just couldn't put her finger on it.
The other figure spoke now, clearly male with hint of an accent, "You shouldn't have refused me, Black."
The girl gave another tinkling laugh, "You really hurt my boyfriend. And you can't be so rude to me, Andy. Honestly, it's not ladylike. Your friend called me a frog!" she said, a hint of anger lacing her simpering voice.
Andromeda sighed. Dolores Umbridge. Who else?
She turned back to the boy, thinking of any recent rejections. Of course. Antonin Dolohov. Him and his pathetic new girlfriend were annoyed at her for something as insignificant as that? What was wrong with them?
Wait, they were going out? Ew. No way did that work in Andromeda's mind.
Dolohov snarled, "And who came to save you, Black? Ted Tonks. A pathetic mudblood. You're nothing but a dirty blood traitor!"
With that final yell, Dolohov sent another spell at her, non-verbal this time (it was probably an attempt to surprise her), but Andromeda shielded herself and sent a spell right back. The floor under his feet gave way with a satisfying crack and he stumbled.
Spinning around, she did the same to Umbridge, who had the sense to leap aside, casting a cushioning charm as she did so and landing safely on her feet.
With a sharp jab of her unusually stubby wand, Umbridge sent a diffindo towards Andromeda, which skimmed her cheek, drawing a line of blood against her pale skin.
Andromeda sent a spell back in retaliation, but Dolores dodged again, laughing in that pathetically sickly way.
Another spell. Burning heat. A curse sent straight back. Another hex, deftly dodged. The strongest shield she could manage. A shuffle from behind her. She turned…
Then ringing.
Laughter, jackal-like and harsh.
Cold. Cold cold cold. Chilling her to the bone. Ripping through her body.
Screaming. Someone was screaming. Or was that her? Screaming, screaming, screaming. Loud. Ever so loud. Wouldn't it just stop?
Andromeda was faintly aware that she was on the floor, that her throat was being filed with sandpaper, that her body was aching, aching, aching.
It came all at once: a dull pain at the back of her head where she'd hit the floor; the icy cold stripped away to reveal the agony of some sort of curse. Her stomach was on fire, burning with all Dolohov's rage when the spell had hit. Her head was throbbing, pound, pound, pound, as if someone was knocking at a door. Her veins were full of acid, her chest holding a swarm of bees, her head… Oh, her head. She could feel a thick liquid dripping across her forehead, a lightness that shouldn't be there. And her eyes were rolling, and her ears were ringing, and her mouth was screaming, screaming, screaming.
She was writhing around, twisting on the cold ground, trying to shake off the torture. She kicked and punched at the floor and at the thin air, finally curling in on herself when she realised there was nothing she could do.
The screams ceased. The pain kept rolling on, but she had stopped screaming, the sounds turning into wracking sobs that shook her whole body. She wept and wept and wept, and finally - finally - gave up.
Panic. Panic panic panic.
Where was she? What happened? Who - why - when - what - where? Why was she hurting so much?
Calm. Calm, Andromeda. Be calm. Work it out.
Cracking her eyes open, she observed her surroundings. The world was a kaleidoscope. The colours twirled around each other, blurring into patterns before flowing together again, spinning in her vision. Colours? No, wait. She found it hard to separate each shade from the next, but strained her eyes and saw: white, green, blue. Red? Red red red. Lots of red. Red was down. White was up. Green was either side. Red white green.
She tried to strain her ears, but there was a consistent ringing hovering within them that she couldn't will away. It buzzed, the sound dipping and diving as she twitched her head, but never ceased. Like a bee zipping around her head in drunk circles.
She tasted something metallic, something familiar… blood. She tasted only blood. It rested on the tip of her tongue. It tickled. Was that the red? Was that the red that covered her body?
Could she smell? It seemed so, because drifting up her nose was the smell of disinfectant and bandages and blood. Ah, a hospital. St Mungo's? The Hospital Wing? That meant she was injured.
Next, Andromeda tried to feel. She was wary, because she knew she was hurt in some way, so she only let herself sense things very tentatively.
Soft. Something soft, and she could see a little of it - was it white? More white. Yes, white, white and soft. A duvet. Something was hard underneath her, but a little springy, and Andromeda thought back to the days that she and Bella would bounce on their beds while Narcissa turned her nose up. A bed. That was good. That meant sleep and rest and perhaps healing. A bed. She thought of another bed. Was Rabastan here? She was sure she'd know if he was, and she couldn't hear his slimy voice (she couldn't hear anything) and she couldn't see his spectacles (she couldn't see anything), so she told himself that he couldn't be here, then.
Oh! She felt something else. A … liquid? A thick liquid? That must be the blood. Now, Andromeda had nothing against blood, but she wasn't reassured by the feel and taste of it. That definitely meant she was injured.
As she lay there, still testing each sense over and over again, everything slowly, very slowly, became clear.
She could see now. Green curtains and a white bed and blood (lots of blood).
She could hear a little, mostly unrecognisable chatter from beyond the curtains.
Hospital Wing, certainly. The high ceilings said it all. Which meant a lot less chance of a serious injury. Whatever happened, it wasn't bad enough for St. Mungo's.
And memories! In a frenzied rush, they flooded into her thoughts, spilling into her mind. Oh. Oh.
Well, that certainly explained the Hospital Wing and the blood.
She wasn't happy. She wasn't happy at all, because Dolores Umbridge, the little toad, had attacked her, with Antonin Dolohov, of all people. Honestly, she would've thought Dolohov would have higher standards than Umbridge.
And what reason did they have? That she had laughed at a funny comment, even if it was rude? That she had a silly little crush on a muggleborn?
She was a Black. She could do whatever she liked, and it was everyone else who were disgraced.
That's what her mother had told her anyway.
Could Andromeda trust her own mother's word any more? All her life she had followed blindly along, guided by the every word of her ancestors.
What did they know? They knew the most effective way to beat a child, to kill a muggle, to manage a massacre. They were experts of lies and secrecy and Dark magic. Was that the kind of thing Andromeda wanted to listen to, to follow, to fall into?
No, she realised. No, it really wasn't. And now, in her bedridden state, after a while of contemplation, she saw what she had always looked away from: the truth. The truth that the Blacks weren't good people.
Because there was nothing wrong with Ted Tonks. He was polite and kind (and cute). A lot more so than Rabastan Lestrange, in all three attributes. And she knew - she had always known - that there were an awful lot of things that were wrong with Rabastan. He was messed up in a hundred ways. There was no denying that.
"You're awake!" Came a voice.
Ugh. Too loud.
"Yes," Andromeda croaked, "I'm alive, Judy. No need to shout."
Judy sat down on the bed, grinning down at her.
"I am so proud. I never thought I'd see the day - you actually started a fight!"
"What? I -"
"Don't you dare deny it. McGonagall found you in the corridor with some other students, and they said you started it. She looked at your wand and did that thing that shows the past spells, and it came up with a couple Dark curses. Those are forbidden. Like, really forbidden. Illegal forbidden. You're lucky you were unconscious, 'cause now she's cooled down a bit, but Merlin is she angry."
"I didn't, Judy. They attacked me. I never used any Dark curses, either."
"All the evidence is against you, Andy." Judy was still grinning.
"But what about their wands? Did she look at their wands?"
"Dunno. Probably, but they claimed everything was self-defense."
"They're lying!"
Judy turned at the sound of a sharp voice at the doorway of the hospital wing.
McGonagall.
"Better think of a pretty good excuse, Andy." And she left Andromeda to speak to McGonagall alone.
The green curtains parted, revealing the Professor, an unreadable look on her face. "Oh, good. You're awake."
Andromeda didn't say anything, unsure of what she should start with. The classic 'it wasn't me', or perhaps the 'what in Merlin's name are you even talking about'?
She didn't have time to decide.
"Andromeda, why are you always involved when there are problems?"
Well, a good a start as any, Andromeda thought. It was true. She could recall hundreds of scenarios in which she had indirectly caused commotions, and it was easy to remember various scenes of ruckus blooming around her.
She didn't express this, because that was a very good way to end up spilling millions of events which would earn her years of punishments. "What on earth do you mean?"
"Well, there was the bowtruckle revolution and the pixie escape and that issue with the textbooks in your Transfiguration class. Not to mention the incident with your sister's hair."
"That was her fault. Bellatrix just wanted attention. And the rest of them weren't me."
Silence. One raised eyebrow.
"Okay, the bowtruckle thing was a little bit my fault. And the pixie attack. And yes, I charmed the textbooks. It was funny, Professor. You even laughed!"
"That is not the matter we are discussing. I found you in the corridor and heard that you'd attacked Miss Umbridge and Mr Dolohov. Your wand had just used a Dark curse."
"I used no Dark curses, Professor. And they must be lying, because they attacked me. Did you look at their wands? They used some pretty terrible magic, Professor."
"They claim it was self-defence, but each of them will receive a great many detentions for the evidence we've found that they used Dark curses. I will ask you now, Andromeda: did you use Dark magic?"
"No. Surely the cruciatus curse can't be called self-defense?"
"There was no evidence of any unforgivables. I think you must be exaggerating."
"It certainly felt like it!"
"And how would you know how that felt?"
Andromeda stayed silent. She knew how it felt perfectly well. She wasn't going to forget in a hurry.
McGonagall sighed, pursing her lips. "Well, there is no other way to tell who is telling the truth, so you will have the same punishment as the other two. As for the 'who started it' argument, I am afraid it is two against one. Detention today and tomorrow evening for that. You will also have detentions every Friday evening for the rest of the term along with Miss Umbridge and Mr Dolohov. And if you did use Dark magic, I warn you that if you do so again, you will be expelled. No fighting in the corridors either."
And the Scottish deputy-head stalked off.
Andromeda felt branded. As much as McGonagall had tried to seem unbiased, it was easy to pry open her mask. The name of Black had sentenced her to a life of blame and punishment.
Yes, it was a fact. 1970 was cursed.