Sorry this took a little while - firstly, CHRISTMAS! Also, I wrote part of chapter 5 instead of this by accident (so a super fast update next time), and lastly, my cat keeps sitting on the keyboard, so it's a little hard to type. Here we go, then! Hope you all had great Christmases if you celebrate it.

TATTERED MARIONETTE

Andromeda had never served detention before.

She'd been let out the Hospital Wing that evening (rather reluctantly, on Madam Pomfrey's part) in order to go to detention.

The entire notion was alien to her. Detention meant getting into trouble, and trouble (in the words of her mother) was a sin.

Andromeda walked downstairs, remembering to straighten her back and walk sensibly with small steps, hands folded neatly in front of her. She smoothed out her favourite blue robes that had been made for her birthday, and pushed the door open (though not before knocking quietly, of course).

Inside, her mother leant against the mantelpiece, and her father sat in his armchair, both of them the entire picture of elegance. Mother raised an eyebrow expectantly.

Andromeda bowed her head a little, "Mother, Father. You called me?"

Her father looked up from his newspaper, neat little beard bristling as he spoke, "Andromeda, I wish to speak with you concerning your behaviour when you attend Hogwarts."

"Yes, Father."

His dark eyes glinted, "We are a noble family. Every member of this house has spent their lives acting respectable, strong, superior. That is who we are. When you arrive at Hogwarts, you are in the public eye. You can - and will - be observed. People will watch you. People will either respect you or fear you. But your every action will have a judgement. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Father."

"We expect only the best of you, daughter. That means top grades and sensible behaviour befitting of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Any slips will have consequences. Now what have I told you?" He snapped the question at the end, looking at her expectantly.

"I cannot get into trouble. I must work very hard."

"You cannot get caught in trouble, and you must be the best. There will be Mudbloods in your classes. You just show them the might of our family. You must show them how powerful their superiors are. If they require further … teaching … well, some things are necessary as long as you do not get caught. Just remember, my daughter: reputation is everything."

"Yes, Father. I understand."

"Good girl. Now hurry along and start looking in your textbooks. We don't want you to be behind, do we?"

She did, obeying his every word, as usual, wary of the consequences. At the age of eleven, only once had she seen his anger, felt his anger … and she did not want that to ever happen again.

And now she stood before McGonagall's office, where detention awaited. She had heard that a letter was sent home with every detention a child was given, and she prayed it was not true.

But what was the point? Her parents would find out anyway, through her mother's web of gossip or her father's contacts who had children in the school. Her every movement was reported, once again reminding Andromeda of the box that she still sat within.

There was no use avoiding it. That would make her late, and tardiness was (yet again, in the words of Druella Black) unforgivably rude.

With a deep breath, she knocked, and upon a command, walked in.

Professor McGonagall looked up from her desk looking as put-together as ever. "Miss Black. You're perfectly on time. Write me four feet on why fighting in the corridors isn't appropriate."

The Gryffindor head of house passed Andromeda a piece of parchment, and returned to her own marking.

Well, this wasn't so bad, she thought. She had been expecting something harsher. Her father wasn't afraid to lock her in the cellar for a day or two just for small accidents, and her mother could make her life hell by putting beetles in her food or itching powder in her bed sheets or something of the sort. For fighting, Andromeda would expect nothing less than a painful curse.

Four feet wasn't even that long, even if it was about something dull.

Andromeda put down her anxiety and started to write.

"How was it?" Judy asked as Andromeda walked into the common room. It was still early (she was glad she was a fast writer), so students lounged in chairs all around.

"Alright," she said, throwing herself (gracefully, as always) onto a green sofa.

The Slytherin common room wasn't exactly relaxing. The sofas and chairs may be soft and comfortable, but the eerie green light from the lake glowed like the killing curse and the vibe was unsettling. A group of older students huddled in the corner with dark gleams in their eyes. A third year sent dangerous hexes towards a cowering first year. Most of the books on the bookshelf had been smuggled in and covered less than pleasant topics. No-one in here was inherently evil, but when some of the Darker students gathered together, a chill seemed to settle over everyone - they became a malicious force, each trying to outdo the rest until someone got hurt. The whispered conversation that passed from person to person was full of references to an oncoming storm, a pulsing darkness.

The Dark Lord.

He was something new, something everyone thought about but no-one spoke about. Something you either hated or worshipped. Nothing between. He was extremes, demonstrating pureblood supremacy around the globe, killing muggles without a second thought.

She dare not say, but Andromeda was part of the group that hated him.

Her family raved about his power, about the 'Cause', about their precious Dark Lord who was bringing a revolution to wizarding politics. Bellatrix had joined the ranks along with her precious husband, Rodolphus Lestrange. Who had roped in his brother, Rabastan.

Andromeda had seen the mark on his arm, a mark of something very, very wrong. A mark that made her skin crawl.

Everyone around her craved his power, but she shied from it, sensing something evil.

It was when they joined. Bella, the Lestranges … when they had joined the Dark Lord, they had changed, their smiles turning into sneers, turning into smirks, turning into something mad. Their eyes turning from bright to dim before blinking out as if the power had been cut off. Or maybe they ran off a new power. A Dark power.

Judy was peering at her again, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes," Andromeda said, her voice terse. "I need to find my sister."

Narcissa was running a comb through her hair in her dormitory, humming something to herself.

"Hello, Cissy."

She looked up, blue eyes widening a little, then crinkling as she smiled, "Drommie."

"Not you too! It's just Andromeda."

"But that's far too long! How am I to call you in any efficient way if you insist on your full name?"

Andromeda found the comfortable smile melt off her face, "I need to speak to you. Seriously."

Narcissa understood. Despite being the youngest, Cissy always understood family matters. She may not be the most academic of the Black sisters but she was certainly the wisest. "It's not about that thing with Dolohov, is it? I wondered whether they knew. I left it out of my letter, if you're going to ask. I thought you might want to say it yourself."

"Or not at all."

"You know there's no point," Narcissa said, "They'll only find it out a different way, and then they'll be even angrier you didn't tell them."

She had said just what Andromeda hadn't wanted to think about. "Yes. Yes, I thought so too."

"So…"

"I don't know how to say it." She admitted.

"Well," Cissy said, "Just state the facts. Drop in some flattery and a lot of apologies. Don't ramble, just say the story - the true story."

"But everyone else is going to tell them a hundred different terrible lies. I'm the only one who knows the truth apart from Umbridge and Dolohov."

Narcissa frowned, "Who's Umbridge?"

"A half blood in my year. Thinks she's everything, but her father's a muggl- a mudblood-" Andromeda had concluded never to use that word after a lengthy discussion with a muggleborn in her class, but with family it was necessary "-caretaker at the Ministry and I'm pretty sure her's brother's a squib. Not that she'll admit any of that - she thinks she's Dolohov's girlfriend, but it's clear he's using her to get to me, and she says her dad works as an important member of the Wizengamot."

"Sounds simply disgraceful. Who does she think she is?" Narcissa spat, "Attacking her superiors, pretending she's worthy of our attention, lying to gain fame. Sounds like the sort of creature that would come of a marriage like that."

"Hmmm."

There was a pause before Narcissa spoke again, timidly this time. "What if … what if Mother doesn't believe you?"

Just thinking about anything along those lines made the room feel a few degrees colder.

Andromeda, shivering, spoke in the same low tone as her sister, "Mother? No, it's Father I'm worried about."

"Will he … will he curse you again?"

There was a silence, in which Andromeda remembered the first time she'd seen her father in a rage. She remembered his face: bright red, teeth bared in a snarl, spittle flying as he spat obscenities. She remembered the pain of that curse he had used. The Cruciatus Curse. An Unforgivable. The three sisters had never spoken of it, and Andromeda didn't dare say a word to anyone else, even Judy. Since then, Cygnus Black had grown angry several more times, but only very rarely did he use that curse.

The memory made her bones quiver.

She guessed the curse that Dolohov had used on her when he and Umbridge attacked may have been the Cruciatus, but he clearly hadn't had much practice, because when Cygnus Black did it, the pain was tenfold.

She let herself think he wouldn't. Let herself think he'd believe her without a doubt. "He won't."

"And … what about Rabastan?"

Her head spun, as if to say, you're stuffed, but she shook it with as much confidence as she could muster.

"No. No, he will believe me. In fact, he'll probably congratulate me if I tell him who Umbridge is. And I'll … I'll state very clearly that I was attacked. I wasn't the one to start it."

Besides, she couldn't spend the rest of her life doing everything on the basis of what her fiancé wanted. Couldn't let herself be controlled. She was stronger than that.

Wasn't she?

Yet again, her dreams took her to a dark place.

Chains. Cold, hard metal dug into her skin. They wrapped around her body, enclosing her into their grasp, pulling her into each and every direction. The links were rough, drawing blood from where they chafed against her, but she didn't feel the pain. The only thing she felt was a peculiar coldness as the blood ran rivers down her body.

Everything was cold.

The ends of the chains led far away, shrouded in darkness, and when she shook them, the rattling echoed again and again and again. She must be in some sort of chamber.

Already, that terrible claustrophobia shook her, and her breaths became fast and the walls - wherever they were - seemed far too close.

Andromeda stared into the darkness. Something inside her stirred as the darkness stared back.

Wailing as she wasted away for what seemed like hours.

Crying as she wondered whether it would ever end.

Screaming as the floor fell away, and the only thing holding her up were the chains.

They held her, now tighter against her skin, ripping layers off her body. She was suspended, and as the blood dripped, she couldn't hear the drops hit the bottom.

Andromeda was gasping for air now, sobs choking in her throat, that cold blood still draining out of her and coating her skin.

The Darkness was still observing her, and she glared at it, but as more time passed her defiance melted.

Then suddenly, she was out of her body, and years seemed to be passing in moments.

She watched her hair go limp.

She watched her skin sink into her bones.

She watched her eyes go dull.

She watched as there was no blood left to spill.

She watched as she gave up.

The chains were strings, coming from high above her. She hadn't eaten or drunk, and she couldn't breathe, but she was alive, in a way. No blood ran through her veins. No breath passed through her lips. Her body was wooden, its shape simple, and her eyes were made of glass. Her painted face had rosy cheeks but her mouth was in a childish pout. Her hair was coloured string, tied with a green bow, and her clothes were handmade - a little girl's pale green frock and drawn-on black shoes.

A doll. An abandoned puppet hanging from its strings.

Andromeda felt herself - not her body, not the one in the chains, but her mind, still watching - be pulled backwards, further away from the tattered marionette.

As she spun into the gloom, she saw a shape emerge around the doll. It was hanging in a sort of bell jar, and the Darkness was indeed watching. The Darkness had a face.

Rabastan Lestrange sat on a stool, a marionette's strings in his hands. He smirked as he made it hang limp. He laughed as he made it dance. He started to giggle hysterically as he made it smash against the walls of its prison, and Andromeda watched as she - the doll - sobbed helplessly, clawing at the glass. Unable to control her own body. Unable to escape. Sentenced to the life of a puppet.