Before Tonks has a chance to react, a knock on the door startles the witches. Tonks blinks once, and then again and again in rapid succession before another series of knocks sounds at the door. Shaking her head as if to clear it, she gets up and unlocks the door. Andromeda bustles in, looking for the nearest flat surface to set a tray of cucumber sandwiches on.
Noting the stunned silence that has taken over the atmosphere of the room since Hermione's confession, she asks, "Everything all right loves?" Andromeda looks between Hermione and Tonks as she asks this, noting how Hermione's lips lift at the edges when she says "loves". Such a shy girl, she thinks, not for the first time today.
It's Tonks who reacts first, flashing her easy smile and confidently stating, "Dad owes us 20 galleons". Hermione blushes at the warm looks directed her way from the two older witches.
"Let's collect over dinner in an hour, shall we?" Andromeda winks at Tonks, and then redirects her gaze to Hermione who appears to be concentrating very hard on her shoes.
"I'm glad to have your trust, Hermione" Before Hermione has a chance to argue that she's always had it, that she's had it since she took her in and gave her a home, Andromeda continues, "It's one thing to share parts of yourself for survival, but another thing entirely when you share because you feel at ease."
Hermione manages a tight nod, a wad of emotion already lodged in her throat, preventing speech. Andromeda fusses over a mess in a corner of the room ("Mum, that's an organized pile of laundry") before leaving the room, closing the door behind her.
Tonks stands in the middle of the room, looking at Hermione's prone position on her queen-sized bed. She looks carefully at the younger witch, who is still struggling with the emotion stuck in her throat. Tonks walks over to her slowly, giving her enough time to recover her poise before joining her on the bed and asking in a voice as gentle as she can manage,
" 'Mione, how much do you know about the Black family?" she asked, partly to buy time until she figured out what to say and partly to give the younger witch an opportunity to show off her impressive memory—an opportunity that never failed to cheer her up. Predictably, it worked.
"Well," Hermione began, back straightening, "I know that they're purebloods, originating from the modern-day Dalmatian Coast in the 1300s, when the first public record of Xercophus Blake lists him and his family as passengers on a ship headed for the New World. They got turned around and ended up in England instead, where they took advantage of political instability to gain power and influence, not to mention land. It was actually the estate that motivated Xercophus to change the family name from Blake to Black—apparently, everything that grows on those grounds, grows black. Perfect for a brooding, melodramatic eastern European."
Hermione looked pleased at the opportunity to share this knowledge, but when she looked over at Tonks she noticed the older witch didn't look surprised or intrigued.
"Sorry, am I boring you?" Hermione asked, somewhat hurt.
"Hm? No, no, not at all, it's just that I meant more in terms of the present-day Black family," Tonks glanced at Hermione and smiled, hoping this would encourage the girl to keep talking. She was stalling; she knew what she had to say, but she just couldn't bear the thought of hurting the younger witch.
"Ah, well.. I know that Professor Black has sisters…" Tonks tensed at this "but I don't know who they are. I don't think they're on speaking terms."
"Well, you're right about that last part" Tonks said, straightening up her posture on the bed and turning to face Hermione, "So, I'm going to tell you something that might make you reconsider your little crush."
Hermione looked as if she were about to protest this; Tonks knew she only had a few moments before Hermione launched into a long-winded tirade, so she quickly spit out, "Bellatrix Black is my aunt."
This quieted the argumentative young witch for a moment, and Tonks took advantage of her stunned silence to continue, "She and my mum used to get confused for twins all the time, I wonder how you didn't make the connection," Hermione opened her mouth and then shut it, "and I know what you'd ask if you were in your right mind, 'but dear infallible Tonks, do you have any proof?' Why, yes, I do, little 'Mione" Tonks got up from the bed, patting Hermione's leg as she made her way to the closet—and, because she's Tonks, couldn't resist saying, "Well it certainly has freed up some space now that you're not hiding in here anymore."
Predictably, a volley of pillows came hurtling in her direction. Hermione exhausted her arsenal quickly, but Tonks still worked quickly to dig up what she was looking for. She didn't want Hermione to think of a way to get back at her, after all. After a moment of rummaging, accompanied by a healthy amount of muttered curses, Tonks evidently found it; "it" being a dusty brown box, bent out of shape due to the weight of the contents. She hurried over to the bed and dumped all its contents in Hermione's lap.
"Ow! Merlin Tonks a little warning next time!"
"That's the proof right there—the truth hurts, ay 'Mione?"
"This is just a bunch of old photographs and letters—"
"Yes—proof. Just look through them and you'll see" Tonks said in her usual self-assured manner. An annoyed look came over her face and her button nose morphed into an aquiline one; she added "I need to go check on how dinner's going; either I'll walk in on my parents doing it in the kitchen again, or the kitchen will be on fire, again".
Hermione, who had slowly been sorting through the mess around her, looked up and said in a bemused voice, "My hero."
Either not hearing the humor in Hermione's voice or choosing to ignore it, Tonks nodded briskly, squared her shoulders and headed toward the door. Before she shut it behind her, Tonks leaned against the wooden frame, "I know this is a lot to take in, but I'll be downstairs if you need me. Just holler "Dear Infallible Tonks, protector of all helpless witches and wizards, come and help me! Right?"
Hermione snorted but nevertheless answered in the affirmative, and a second later Hermione heard the door click shut. Left alone at last, she sighed and looked at the two piles she had made. One was a pile of yellowing, moving photographs; the other, a stack of heavily creased letters. Hermione looked at the two piles and decided to start with the photographs—a mixture of curiosity and impatience, she wanted to know as much as possible in the shortest amount of time. She scanned each flimsy photo with her eyes carefully. A snapshot of three figures in motion—girls—soaring on broomsticks. It was taken from too far away to get a view of anyone's face. There was a hulking structure of stone in the background, alpine trees lining up in the distance. Hermione noted the odd environment; it didn't look like the English countryside. The next photo gave her pause—a close-up of two girls, arms slung around each other and heads tilted toward each other in camaraderie or mischief or both. The portrait was a loop of them walking towards the camera from the waist up. The girls looked identical, but the closer Hermione looked the more she noticed—or, perhaps, finally acknowledged. The girl on the left had a few rays of light caught in her hair, highlighting the earthy brown tones in it. The curve of the brow-line and the dimples around her cheeks gave her away. Andromeda. She looked to be about 16 or 17. She looked happy, but there was a glimmer of anxiousness in her eyes even as the figure in the endless loop tipped her head back to laugh at something the girl on her right whispered to her. The girl on the right was positively radiant, even in the shadows of the shoddy composition. Her hair was darker than Andromeda's, a bit more wild and untamed in its curls. A sharp jawline, decisive cheekbones. The rosey color of youth somewhat softened what would later grow into an angular jungle of charming lines. It was unmistakable, it was her. Hermione reflexively covered her mouth with her hands as she looked into the eyes of a young Bellatrix Black. The longer she stared into those wild, penetrating eyes, the more she had trouble keeping that specific memory from resurfacing.
—
"The problem" she said, in a low, husky voice, "is that you want me to love you like the ocean," she was circling closer and closer toward her "and pull you down with me," closer still "but you can't swim," so close, "and you are afraid to drown." The last part she puffed near the younger witch's ear—she was behind her now, less than a centimeter apart, and her arms hovered dangerously around Hermione's body. Slowly, surely her right arm rose until it was wrapped around her throat. This touch, however light, revived Hermione's voice—a whine passed quite unwittingly through her lips. Her blush came to view as she turned her head slightly up and to the right
"You're right," Hermione finds herself saying, in a voice foreign to herself, "I am afraid," Hermione brought her hand up to the one Bellatrix had around her throat, pressed it tighter, "but that doesn't mean I don't want to sink". Bellatrix bent her head down to Hermione's, trailing her black curls down around her like a veil. She was a hairbreadth away when a loud crash echoed from the room.
A loud crash echoed through the room?
Hermione jolted to attention in her seat, suddenly hyper aware of her peers around her. She cast a furtive gaze around the room, studying faces and trying to gather whether anyone had any idea that her mind had been drifting. To her immediate left sat Ron, and she could plainly see the look of wonder on his face.
"Blimey Hermione, you gotta teach me an' Harry how to sleep with our eyes open like that," he whispered to her, his eyes opened so wide she couldn't help grinning back at him.
"Yeah, sure Ronald," she whispered back. Hermione brought her gaze to the front of the room, finally, and processed what the rest of her classmates had been watching with mild to incredible astonishment. Professor Black, in her tight black corset glory, was floundering. She repeated the same sentence three times in a row, forgot what she was trying to explain about the spell referenced in it, and looked down at the cracks along the marble floor, as if looking for the answer tucked away in one of them. Abruptly, she snapped her head up and met Hermione's gaze. Hermione was too startled by this abruptness to have the sense to look away. Instead, she stared into dark brown eyes and wide, impossibly dilated pupils. Wide-opened and wild in their sweeping intensity.
"I am quite lost to myself at the moment," Professor Black said, standing straighter and addressing the class but keeping her gaze locked in their visual embrace, "you may be dismissed."
There was a moment of indecision among the fifth year students of Gryffindor—the Slytherins were already making their way to the doors, not looking their gift horse in the mouth. The Gryffindors trickled out in close knit clumps not much later, some casted looks over their shoulders to check if this was really happening. When all was said and done, only Hermione remained in her seat. Neither witch had looked away. Professor Black carefully walked toward the desk Hermione occupied, each step of her immaculate, heeled boots echoing in the empty chamber in a soothing, rhythmic way. The rhythm came to a halt—she was right there—and her towering figure cast a shadow over Hermione. With her left hand she reached down and slowly traced the length of the younger witches jawline, her fingers gliding along without ever actually touching her directly.
"Merde" is the only thing she mutters before she steps away suddenly, walking quickly back to her desk at the front of the room. Hermione stares after her in uncomprehending awe. Hermione probably would have remained seated until she was a corpse had a whisper shout from the main exit not called her attention—or rather, her name.
"'Mione!" Ron un-stealthily yelled at her, "C'mon before she changes her mind!" Hermione could see Harry's head over Ron's shoulder, looking at her with that sorry, anxious expression on his face like getting out of class early is the one thing that's contributing to his happiness, and he can't bear the thought of having it taken from him. Begrudgingly, Hermione gathers her things and joins her friends. As she shuts the door behind her, she doesn't hear the ragged exhale from the older witch finally sinking into her seat.
"That girl," she says to the empty classroom, shaking her head in disbelief, wonderment, "That girl."
