Blood Thicker than Water
Close Encounters
When the Sorting Hat sent one of our two male foils to Gryffindor, my sisters and I almost subconsciously began to look for replacements elsewhere. Arthur Weasley, a friend of mine and the head of arguably the most involved family in both Wars, once lent me a Muggle book on psychoanalysis. "It's always interesting to read about how Muggles try to make sense of their own behavior and instincts," he said, highly recommending me to give it a read. Based on what I learned from the book, the reason why Bella, Cissy and I all found a male counterpart that year can be attributed to Sirius' sorting, the moment he sealed his own destiny. Back then I believed that I, too, had lost him forever, unaware that I would eventually make his same choice.
"Where's Bella?"
Cissy and I asked more than I can remember during my fourth year at Hogwarts. As my parents were keen to point out, Bella had turned sixteen. This meant that she was losing the very little roundness left in her face, she had grown as tall or taller than most boys her age, and her clothes were starting to feel tight around her chest and hips. This also meant that she was about to enter the courting season, with or without her own will.
"Your father and I have arranged a Hogsmeade meeting between you and Malcolm Travers for the first weekend back to school," said Mother, a few days after the New Year ball, the one that Bella attended for the first time as a marriage prospect. She looked mutinous, but did not openly complain. A few weeks later, we understood why.
Malcolm Travers stormed back to the castle from his "date" with his mouth fastened shut by magically sewn threads, unable to cast a nonverbal counter-jinx. I was sitting in the Slytherin common room when he arrived, silently refusing to visit Madam Pettifer at the hospital wing, embarrassed by the fact that he couldn't undo the damage. He kept shaking his head, furiously pointing at me as though he could declare the identity of the culprit in that way. He needn't have bothered; everybody present in the common room knew that Bella had done it. Rabastan stood from his dark seat in the corner of the room, and cast Malcolm a nonverbal counter-jinx himself. I knew from the ease with which he cast the reversal that Bella had used one of the many disturbing spells and jinxes that she and Rabastan spent part of their free time making.
For most of that year, Bella made it so hard for her suitors that by April, only a handful of courageous admirers were left in our parents' waiting list. Then, Rodolphus Lestrange suddenly burst into her life.
Rodolphus used to stand remarkably tall and thickset, his strong body discernible even under his polished, perennially black robes. He was the older Lestrange son, twenty-six at the time he first met Bella. Father used to make occasional comments on Rodolphus, saying how he was "a pioneer," and "working for the right cause, our cause." Apparently, his involvement with "the right cause" justified his unmarried status.
He appeared on a lazy afternoon in May, asking for the whereabouts of his brother, Rabastan, who had sent him a request to meet him at the castle that day. We were all lounging about in the underground coolness of our common room, disinclined to get up and go find Rabastan, the only Slytherin from our group missing.
"You could try the Restricted Section in the library," drawled Bella, who seemed to be languidly sinking into the pillows of the only long sofa in the room. She was tall enough to require exclusive use of the longest sofa when stretching her legs. Rodolphus gazed down at her, lying lazily with an arm over her forehead. He looked interested and amused.
"Are you the infamous eldest Black sister?" he asked. Bella smirked and did not answer. The whole common room seemed to have gone quiet, as though Rodolphus Lestrange and Bellatrix Black were dominating a stage in which everyone but them were just extras. Cissy and I kept silent too, intimidated by the baritone of the older looking man.
"Why did you recommend the Restricted Section?" he asked, resting his weight against Bella's sofa, leaning towards her.
"That's where people find me when I go missing."
Rodolphus' increasingly frequent visits to Hogwarts coincided with the moment when Cissy bloomed. I do not know the precise event in which Lucius Malfoy swept my younger sister off her feet. She never revealed much about herself, having mastered the art of listening and diverting questions away from herself since she was a child. All I know is that at the age of thirteen, Narcissa Black decided that she was to become Mrs. Malfoy.
Lucius never really took her seriously in his first few years at Hogwarts. He cultivated higher pursuits, actively working with Professor Slughorn in building up the massive network of connections and acquaintances, which would later serve his purposes as chief Death Eater, disguised as benefactor and public official. It would take Lucius three more years to realize that he preferred Cissy to the many other possible wives offered to him. It would take Cissy's whole seventh year to convince him that marrying her for love would not disrupt his ascension to political power.
I enjoy imagining Lucius Malfoy as a late bloomer, as slightly backwards for having struggled to marry the most eligible Pureblood young girl for years. If I'm honest to myself, however, I have to admit that this personal struggle might have been his only redeeming quality ever. He ended up loving Cissy enough that he married her only a year after my own elopement, when disgrace was still fresh in association to the Black household.
"I need to be perfect," repeated Cissy throughout that summer. She kept saying those words while looking at herself in the mirror one day, memorizing the more obscure Pureblood family trees, while Bella and Rodolphus took a walk near the lake at the Black Mansion, un-chaperoned.
"You don't need to be perfect, Cissy. You'll do fine just by being yourself," I said, in response to the umpteenth time. Even as I said it I knew I had no idea what I meant while saying, "be yourself." No one had a clue who Cissy truly was. She could adopt different faces for many people – and yet, she was never spontaneous. I was afraid she had lost her own sense of self.
"I will be perfect," repeated Cissy, who chose to ignore my advice. She practiced a small, perfectly executed, dainty bow before the mirror, and then resumed reciting the names of the Gaunt family members.
When we returned to school after that summer, Cissy began socializing. She started from the bottom, making friends with housemates in her own year. She then moved on to the older Slytherin students, using her charming laugh and her flattering ways to gain the appreciation of Bella's own year mates. By her third year, she had Lytton Flint and Duncan Burke wrapped around her little finger. Cissy also became a pet of Slughorn's, a professor she was determined to impress, considering how much influence he played in Lucius' own future.
She was the first to figure out her goals in life, and started preparing for them immediately.
"You seem clever. Can I sit with you?"
I felt ready and professional on my first day back to school as a fifth year, eager to tackle schoolwork and my new prefect duties. Across from my desk in the front row, Professor Babbling was preparing for the first Ancient Runes class of the semester, peering through her thick glasses at her notes. There were around twenty other students taking this elective, a small number, considering that these classes weren't split according to houses. I knew all of their faces, having spent the last two years in the same class together. Therefore, when a familiar looking stranger approached me that day, occupying the usually vacant seat next to mine, I was taken aback.
"Dropped Divination. Thought I'd take something equally useless but interesting, at least," he said, grinning widely at me. I stared at him blankly.
"In theory, we should already know each other. I'm Frank, Frank Longbottom. You're one of the Black sisters."
I immediately understood what he meant. The Longbottoms used to be one of the top-tier Pureblood families back in the day, before the heads of the house began advocating unacceptable liberal ideals. I remembered Bella scoffing at James Potter's sorting the year before ("Blood traitor Gryffindor, just like that Longbottom scum"). He looked familiar to me because he and his parents used to be frequent visitors to the Rosiers, my mother's side of the family. Frank Longbottom looked delighted to see me awkwardly recognizing his name, his blue eyes glinting merrily as he took me in. I merely nodded.
"I'm Andromeda."
"I hope you'll become my friend, Andromeda. I have two years' worth of catching up to do with this class," he said, rubbing his hands together, as though excited to start. His enthusiasm was contagious: that particular Ancient Runes class stands out in my memory as one of the most exciting, interesting lessons I received in my whole academic career.
I met my first and only real friend at Hogwarts at the relatively tardy age of fourteen. The usual pattern at Hogwarts is to meet your definitive group of friends on your first day as a first year. A late bout of serendipity brought Frank and I together, but only his genuine good intentions broke through my reserved outer shell, making me discover, for the first time, what it was like to give your whole self to somebody other than family.
Author's Note:
The necessary backstory of Andromeda's tale turned out to be longer than I anticipated, and this chapter qualifies as such. I believe the pace will definitely pick up from the next chapter onwards, when Andromeda finally gets to meet the one really important character in her story. To avoid any confusion, I'm still sticking to the Wednesday updating schedule.