Blood Thicker than Water
Hogwarts
Bella was about to start her third year at Hogwarts when I bought my first wand, the only wand I would ever use. I was escorted to Diagon Alley by one of the two family house-elves in chief, Polly, and I clearly remember the awe that struck me as soon as I stepped into that famous wizarding location, never visited until then.
The Black family believed in isolation rather than in the increasingly popular ideal of expanding one's horizons, and the extent of travelling done by the Black children - my sisters, Sirius, Regulus and I - was confined to the three Black residences in England and the castles, palaces, mansions and manors of the pureblood families that belonged to the elite. Thus I was mesmerized beyond the norm when I first visited Diagon Alley, at the age of eleven.
I remember feeling disillusioned standing in Ollivander's shop, beholding the complete chaos within: a myriad of boxes stacked haphazardly behind the rickety counter, floor coated with dust dating centuries, windows opaque from years of neglect...
However, my doubts on Ollivander's capability as a wand-maker dissolved as soon as he spoke to me.
"The second-born of the Black family, I presume. Your sister Bellatrix before you was chosen by a very powerful wand, young girl. 12¾ inches, walnut, dragon heartstring, unyielding. A powerful wand indeed, capable of ruthless prodigy."
I didn't really question the reason behind his ability not to blink, ever; I didn't wonder too much on how he remembered my sister's wand in such detail, despite it was bought two years ago. However, those words were enough to stir respect in me for this fragile-looking man with glassy, foggy eyes. It was the first time I did not treat someone involved in trade with contempt.
After much testing and a few explosions later, a wand chose me: 12 inches, mahogany, dragon heartstring, rigid. The rush of magic that ran through me at finding the right wand felt like going back to a home very different from the cold Black Mansion.
I never second-guessed myself on the matter of which house I belonged to. Being brought up with firm beliefs and rules, I was taught that Slytherin was the only house in which those with blood as pure as mine could be sorted into. Another option was a foreign, alien idea for us of the Black family. The rare times our parents or Bella would discuss the other houses, I only noticed that Griffyndor was talked about with an air of disapproval; Hufflepuff was treated with derision and Ravenclaw as a very last resort. We children were sent to Hogwarts with the full conviction that we would belong to one house, and one house only.
"Bella, how does the school decide where to sort me?" I asked my sister, as we sat in one of the train compartments of the Hogwarts Express, on my first day of school. This one particular compartment was half-empty, and while back then I thought it was only normal that we, the Blacks,would be left in peace, I believe that it was the three other people sitting with me that prevented others from disturbing us. Bellatrix was lounging over two seats, her head resting against the window and her feet propped up on the arm of the seat. Rabastan Lestrange was staring out of the window and Lucius Malfoy was reading a book next to him.
Rabastan was the youngest of the Lestrange sons, and he held the prestigious title of Bella's only friend. Of course she could have had as many friends as she would have liked, if only she made the effort. Her precocious beauty and talent, as well as her lineage, impressed even the older students. However, she and Rabastan seemed to have clicked in a way that both puzzled and pleased our families. They were two very similar spirits: unpredictable, brilliant, but lazy, and politically aware from a young age. However, she was the leader and he was the follower. That didn't mean that Bella bullied him, or that Rabastan trailed after her like a wimp. It was just the dynamic of their friendship, or whatever it was that united them. Sometimes I heard people teasing Rabastan, about how he was bossed around by a girl. However, I have always suspected that there was a deeper motivation in him that prompted such obedience. It eventually turned out that I had not been wrong.
Lucius – well, I had met him countless times on various occasions, usually at tea and dinner parties. Since he was my same age, and we were to be classmates, my family particularly recommended him as a potential friend. We never showed each other anything other than mild dislike. He was one of those champions at manipulation, maneuvering situations and circumstances like he owned them, even at that young age. I often wondered if he had ever lived the innocence of childhood. I saw right through his pleasant manners and the soft, slightly drawling and insinuating sound of his voice.
And he disliked me back. I have always been impressed by his discerning eye, which penetrated right through my perfect Black child armor and noticed those budding seeds of doubt in me, my doubts on what he believed in with all his heart – blood purity.
"There's an old barmy little talking hat that can read the mind of the student who wears it. He picks out your most prominent traits and decides which house suits you best," answered Bella in a slur, her eyes closed and an arm dangling from the headrest. She suddenly opened one eye and stared at me,
"Why are you asking this, Meddie? Why do you care how you're going to be sorted, when you know you'll be in Slytherin no matter what?"
I remember Lucius looking up from his book and into my eyes, his expression unreadable. He was only eleven, but, ironically enough, he was the first one to see me for who I was.
Of course I was sorted into Slytherin, but I went through waves of fear, dread and shame in the process. The hat had taken an unnaturally long time to decide.
"Hello. You come from a rather ancient family, don't you, little girl?"
"Yes, I'm from the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black."
"Very well, very well. I detect pride in you. Pride indoctrinated in you by your family, I can see you're not proud by nature. You certainly are a rational, logical piece of mind. Perhaps Ravenclaw? Hm, you do possess self-discipline. Not exactly the boldest out there. Not a typical Gryffindor. I could not put you in Hufflepuff; you have few words to share, and there is aloofness in you that would cast you as an outsider in that house. Slytherin would be perfect, and yet… There is something that bothers me. You are not like your sister Bellatrix, with firm beliefs in what your family advocates. But I see that the outside traits of your personality are well suited for Slytherin. So don't worry, little girl, there is no need to plead like that. SLYTHERIN!"
I saw Bellatrix smiling complacently, clapping her hands with the rest of them, but all throughout the feast I could not shake off the suspicious looks Lucius sent me as soon as he himself joined the Slytherin table.
So my life at Hogwarts did not begin as smoothly as I expected, but my first year of school was the only one out of seven that wasn't troubled in some way. I was well accepted in my house, where everyone treated me with respect, even though it was probably only because I resembled and was related to Bella. I wrote to Cissy every week, long parchments describing my new life. I was never very social, so the contents of my letters mostly consisted of what I thought about the lessons.
18th October 1965
Dear Cissy,
I miss you so much. I read your last letter, and I know that you want me to write more about the people here, about what Bella and Rabastan are up to, about my roommates, about Lucius Malfoy and all the other people you think are so interesting but are not. I can't find anything worth writing about them. Bella and Rabastan are always together, and they sometimes let me join them playing cards in the common room, but they mostly keep to themselves, and are always talking in whispers together. Sometimes Lucius joins their conversation, and I find it so unfair, Cissy. That slimy little idiot is allowed to talk to them, but when it comes to me, Bella tells me that I'm too young to butt in and that I should go play with Clothilde and Guinevere. You know what, Cissy? I think that Lucius Malfoy is not really twelve as he claims to be. I think he's secretly fourteen like Bella and Rabastan, but he pretends to be younger just to be able to always look at me the way I described to you in my last letter. I know he enjoys scaring me.
But you can't imagine how wonderful the classes are! Yesterday Professor Slughorn praised me in front of the class, and said that I made the best student-brewed boil-cure potion he has seen in a decade! I enjoy Potions so much; it's so relaxing and soothing. Sometimes Professor Slughorn lets me use the dungeons to make potions he says I'm perfectly capable to make. Oh, in fact, he invited me to this club he's made, called the Slug Club, where Bella belongs, as well as Lucius Malfoy. I think he's one of those people Mother calls 'social climbers': there are a lot of students with famous names in the club.
I'm struggling a little bit in Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall is rather strict, but I cope. Bella, who you know is a genius at Transfiguration, says that in Potions you're either born with the talent or you're bad at it, whereas in Transfiguration, it's more to do with concentration rather than intuition.
The grounds here are beautiful, Cissy. I swear, every time I look towards the Forbidden Forest, I expect a unicorn to come out. It's really that beautiful. And the lake reminds me so much of home.
I wish you were here. I love you. Yours,
Meddie.
My younger sister never failed me in her letters. She knew how to listen to me best and always had comments and eager questions to ask me. Sometimes, though, she wrote words that conveyed an emptiness that even an eleven year old like me could perceive. I often thought of her, alone and lonely in her room, playing with the dollhouse. I could not even be relieved to know that Sirius and Regulus visited frequently, because I knew how Sirius and Cissy just could not get along. Her absence was just as tangible as Bella's had been in the Black Mansion for two years, and no matter how much my so-called friends, Clothilde Yaxley and Guinevere Bulstrode, tried, their attempts at befriending me only made Cissy's missing even that more obvious.
9th June 1966
Dear Meddie,
Your last letter made me laugh so much. Unfortunately Aunt Walburga and Mother were in the same room while I was reading it, and I got such a scolding for 'making unbecoming noises like a dirty-blooded commoner'. It's at times like this that I wish with all my heart to join you and Bella in Hogwarts, and can you believe it that you'll be back here with me in a few weeks? I can't wait to show you what Polly did to my hair, it's not curly anymore, but nice and straight like yours and Bella's. I was so happy about it, but Mother told me that I will have to resort back to my natural hair before I will leave for Hogwarts, because curls are much more feminine and aristocratic, and that they suit me better.
I almost squealed out loud when I read that you beat Lucius Malfoy at your end of year Charms exam. Father may say that Black girls should be academically mediocre, but I am so proud of you, Meddie. I can only dream of being as brilliant as you or Bella when it'll be my turn.
Just yesterday Sirius and Reg came to visit, and I almost threw a tantrum in front of Aunt Walburga. Sirius snuck into my room and took all the clothes off my dolls and hid them in the house-elves' den. I was so angry that he ruined the clothes by dirtying them with what Mother calls 'house-elf smell and filth', that I couldn't help myself from taking revenge, and I told Aunt Walburga about that time he set Mr. Flint's backside on fire during the last Christmas dinner party. I know you will say that I shouldn't have, and that he's younger than me, and that it's not ladylike to take revenge on close family members. But Bella told me before leaving after the Easter holidays, should Sirius cross the line with me in the future, I was justified to tell on Aunt Walburga about that tiny little fact. Oh Meddie, you're not angry, are you?
Oh, I was about to forget. Mother told me that Guinevere Bulstrode received the lowest grade at these end-of-year exams. Is that true? How unfortunate is it that such a plain girl should also be stupid?
I will be counting down the days of your return. Yours,
Cissy.
The complete reunion between the three of us was more emotional than I predicted. I came back to meet a changed younger sister, taller and in much better health than the last time I had seen her in Easter. Knowing that from then on I would never have to miss Cissy's physical and internal growth brought a deep sense of relief in me.
The summer flew by; we swam in the lake, drank iced lemonade, cooled off under the shade of trees, attended tea and dinner parties, talked about everything and nothing in the stillness of the night at the Black Mansion. Bella, when she wasn't locked in her room reading voraciously and sending multiple daily owls to Rabastan, entertained the rest of us. When in the right mood, she was the life of the party, and that summer, she seemed to be more flamboyant than ever. She led us in exciting adventures around the mansion, coaxing each and every one of us to commit small rebellions that seemed to us like breaking the most profound rules of magic.
The idyll of that summer flowed through me like a refreshing stream of cool water; it came to its last drops in September, when I, flanked by Bella and Cissy on either side of me, crossed the Nine and Three Quarter platform and boarded the train for Hogwarts to start my second year.
Cissy's Sorting took a few seconds at the most. Royce Burke, a fifth year who was sitting right next to me, commented loudly as the Slytherin table clapped for yet another Black in its house,
"Blimey, Narcissa's Sorting took even less time than Bellatrix'." Bella threw him a dark look and he quelled under her eyes. I put on a happy smile in front of my younger sister, but truthfully, I wasn't at ease with her Sorting - or perhaps, I wasn't at ease with myself. I hated to admit it, but it hurt me to see the contrast of Lucius Malfoy's reaction at Cissy's Sorting with mine - he welcomed Cissy in Slytherin with a smile, albeit an arrogant one. Did my fragile, passive little sister possess more Slytherin qualities than I did? At that time, I found the thought threatening.
In my second year I defied Bella for the very first time.
For as long as I can remember, I collected. There has always been a strange impulse carved on the back of my mind, an impulse that makes it hard for me to let go. I am referring to the kind of 'letting go' that involves the most inconsequential of objects, from yellowed, eared parchments to broken hairpins.
Age five, and my bedroom hid the most unimaginable number of doll clothes. I had enough variety of clothing to be able to change each one of my countless porcelain dolls into new dresses daily.
Back in the day, visitors of the mansion seemed to follow an unspoken rule by offering porcelain dolls and attire to the Black daughters. Their house-elves would pick out the most expensive porcelain dolls and the most beautiful fabrics for dresses from the best Italian artisans, which would then be presented to us as gifts. Bella discarded them without second thoughts, occasionally keeping some to perform vicious, unpermitted magic on them.
She said dolls were "disgustingly inert", and reflecting now, I am surprised to realize just how early she started revealing her disrespect for anything that lacked a certain amount of living force.
Cissy, instead, loved dolls and clothes, loved their pretty, ivory faces, the elaborately crafted dresses and the lacey, ruffled trains. However, she only loved them shining new. So she punctually threw away those that reached a certain time span, leaving me picking them up with compulsive and loving hands. I stored the clothes in a doll-sized wardrobe, magically enchanted to pick out dresses for me, a gift from Uncle Alphard.
Age nine, and I changed direction. The desk in my bedroom began to disappear under the sheer amount of stationery I began collecting. I tired of doll clothes, and focused my devotion on quills instead. Eagle, pigeon, dove, raven, peacock… Even the rare hippogriff quill. Again, a present from Uncle Alphard.
It was during my second year at Hogwarts that I willingly went against Bella's commanding authority. I remember that surge of defiance as clearly as if I were reliving the moment in a pensieve. My sisters and I were lounging in the common room, and the atmosphere was unusually peaceful for a Slytherin gathering. I think that may have been due to the impending Christmas holidays.
Cissy was spacing out, an activity she excelled at, all the more for doing it in the perfect, upright posture of the Pureblood lady. Taking up more than half of the stiff divan we were sitting on together, Bella was possessed by the bouts of inspiration that seemed to bite into her veins and literally compel her to pick up quill and parchment. She never showed me those long pages of her hideous, characteristic cursive, and only many years of learning how to stand up on my own two feet enabled me to find and read her earliest political manifestoes clandestinely.
I was trapped between a sister who seemed to simmer in unrestrained energy and another who could easily have been a life-size, lifeless porcelain doll. And then I found it – a quill unlike any other, its feathers so white and fine that they looked like solid dewdrops. It was resting on the floor, and no one seemed to be looking for it, so I picked it up, delighted.
"Meddie, what are you doing picking up a Sugar Quill from the floor?"
I jumped, startled to find Bella's gaze fixed on my hand, but managed to say,
"I didn't know it was a Sugar Quill. I could add this one to my collection, don't you think?"
"Put it back where you found it, Meddie. Blacks do not pick things up from the floor," was my sister's reply.
As I snuck the quill back to my dormitory that night, I vaguely thought that despite having it drilled into my mind since birth, I was still uncomfortable with the rule: Blacks don't pick up things off the floor. They always have them served on a silver platter.
Author's Note:
The updates' schedule is set for one chapter every week (Wednesdays). Thanks for everyone who reviewed. Your comments and opinions keep my motivation fresh, pushing me to write more and more chapters.