Blood Thicker than Water
The Mender
"I don't really know what I want to do, Professor."
Bella had warned me about Careers Advice before. She told me to nod at everything Professor Slughorn suggested, to indulge his natural tendency to imagine a brilliant future for the Slytherin sitting across from his office desk.
"He was sure I'd be picked as Beater at the Magpies' tryout. God, he's the last person I'd ever want to tell what I really want to do," said Bella with disdain. Her NEWT exams were scheduled at the same time I'd be taking my OWLs. Even with her graduation from Hogwarts fast approaching, I still could not find the courage to ask her what upcoming plans were making her so excited these days. I knew her well enough to understand that it wasn't the wedding that made her hands shake whenever she talked about the future.
"But my dear Andromeda, I thought you, out of all people, knew exactly what career best suited you," said Slughorn, looking as though he were swelling up from surprise. I felt annoyed. He, out of all people, should have known exactly what was expected from the daughter of a Pureblood family of conservative creed. Precisely once a year, usually around Christmas time, Father preached about the virtues of the "natural woman." A woman of honorable name reserved her energies exclusively for domestic duties as a wife and mother. Only "dirty-blooded" women stooped themselves in the pursuit of a profession. Slughorn knew that Bella would marry Rodolphus that summer, and yet he had pushed her towards a Quidditch career. Back then, as a confused fifteen-year-old, I found his behavior unsettling.
"I thought you knew from year one that you'd become a Healer," continued Slughorn, rummaging through a huge pile of pamphlets on his desk. I think I must have paled, because he stopped rummaging and asked in a concerned tone,
"Is something the matter, dear?"
"Oh no, Professor – I… I just wonder what made you think that about me."
"Well, your Potions skills have been outstanding from the first day you set foot in the dungeons, Andromeda. Such talent would be wasted elsewhere," said Slughorn. "And I also see that your professors have all predicted an Outstanding for you in Charms, Herbology and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor McGonagall informed me that you've always slightly struggled with Transfiguration. Nothing that a few extra revision assignments won't fix, though, dear."
I felt strangely devastated. Slughorn's belief in my potential as Healer filled me with an unfamiliar sense of empowerment. The fact that I had a talent I could use to develop and advance in a diverse wizarding community suddenly turned my future as a Pure-blood housewife and mother almost impossible to accept. As I returned to my classes at the end of the meeting, I remember thinking how overwhelming it is to feel powerful and helpless at the same time.
I was never much of an active member in the Slug Club. Frank took over the leadership role when Lucius "resigned," as a sign of protest against Slughorn's choice to extend membership to Muggle-born prodigies, the most notorious example being Lily Evans.
Lily Evans cannot be considered famous only for giving birth to the Boy Who Lived. Hermione Granger Weasley might be the only living witch who achieved as much as Lily Evans did during the years at Hogwarts. She was an important figure back in the late sixties and early seventies, standing as the prime example of Muggle-born equality, the living proof that blood purity did not influence magical ability.
"Evans drafted this new idea for the Slug Club," said Frank who had just joined me at the library, a few weeks after Careers' Advice. His eyes crinkled and shone as he smiled and said, "That girl is unstoppable. Thirteen years old, and already coming up with pretty good proposals." Frank pulled out a piece of parchment from his bag.
"As a way to enrich the Careers' Advice service, the Slug Club will conduct a private tour for its members at the Ministry of Magic, where Professor Horace Slughorn will arrange face-to-face meetings between the students and the representatives of the Ministry departments," read Frank.
"Seems kind of unfair for the students who are probably more brilliant than we are, but haven't had the luck to enter Slughorn's good graces," I said absently in response. I said this with Molly Prewett in mind, who sat by her usual corner in the library with her boyfriend, Arthur Weasley. I could see them exchanging notes while they studied for the upcoming NEWTs, Molly's Head Girl badge glinting in the sunlight.
Frank's silence helped me immediately realize what my words implied. It was the first time I had voiced my doubts in elitist systemizations, the very groundwork on which my whole family belief rested on.
On our last week of school, during that convenient time when exams are over and the fifth and seventh years enjoy some respite after their official examinations, Professor Slughorn decided to take the Slug Club for its first visit to the Ministry of Magic. He amended Lily Evans' original proposal by holding that, for efficiency's sake, he'd take the fifth and seventh year students only on a yearly basis.
I stood gazing at the majestic interior of the Ministry of Magic, while Professor Slughorn introduced the Head of Magical Transportation to Lucius Malfoy. I was no stranger to the details and events that led to the establishment of the Ministry, having frequently been forced to hear the adults of our family discussing and criticizing the minister's numerous errors. I was so familiar with the Ministry of Magic that I could have recited the Wizengamot Charter of Rights by the age of ten.
Ironically, due to our family's belief in isolationism, I had never set foot in it. The rows and rows of the fireplaces in the Atrium were glowing green every few seconds, from which witches and wizards calmly shot out wearing work robes. The ceiling stretched itself like a glittering, blue and golden carpet, and I temporarily lost myself in it, losing track of Cissy's whereabouts. I did not realize where I was going while I looked for my sister, so I found myself startled when my feet stopped in front of the Fountain of Magical Brethren. The sight of it did not take my breath away, as I had expected it to.
"It isn't as grand as they make it sound, right?" said a voice near me. I turned, and there stood a tall boy I only vaguely recognized as belonging to Hufflepuff. His hazel eyes had a lazy brightness in them, the same look I often saw on Sirius' face, and his lips were full, lending him an odd, child-like look. His entire appearance emanated an easy composure, a serenity that I had never encountered in anybody else.
"How long do you think it'll take them to add a Muggle up there? Perhaps scrubbing the wizard's shoes or something," he continued, looking into my eyes without the slightest effort. It took me a while to realize that he was talking about the statues. I glanced at the centaur, the goblin and the house-elf looking up at the witch and wizard with adoring eyes, and I secretly agreed with what he said. It would never have crossed my mind that this boy's words foreshadowed thirty years into the future, when the statues of the wizard and witch would be sitting on stone thrones placed upon a heap of Muggle bodies.
I disguised my lack of a prompt response by shooting him the Black signature look – the one I reserved for those socially inferior to my family. A haughty glance from the corner of my eyes, nose held discreetly high and a firm set of mouth. His reaction took me by surprise.
The smile he had worn from before widened into a full, flashing show of regular teeth. I was inexplicably struck by the fact that he had a very dimpled smile.
"I've been warned of that look before," he explained, still grinning. At that point, I had no choice but to speak,
"What on Earth are you talking about?"
"The Black sisters' death glare. It's renowned throughout Hogwarts. I daresay it has become quite a prominent topic of discussion between the non-Slytherin males at school."
I was confused. I have had my fair share of admirers, starting from third year. Bella had explained to me one day, wearing a mischievous smile, my Black patrician looks notwithstanding, I would always attract males for the same reason that justified her own popularity – we were both impossible to get. On the other hand, Bellatrix continued, Cissy would have to bear less of a nuisance from "the monkeys that men are." She looked much more approachable than us – fair and delicate-looking, boys would fancy her, but never obsess about her. In Bellatrix' own words, "Narcissa's fragile ways will leave nothing to their imagination."
"It isn't very polite to gossip behind one's back, is it?" I said coldly.
"Oh, trust me, Black. We males don't gossip. We only share very concise, very visual conversations when the topic involves women."
I blushed profusely. I felt both offended and embarrassed by such talk, but most of all, I was shocked upon discovering how little I knew not only about the other sex, but also in my peers in general.
The boy laughed heartily, in a most inappropriate way I thought, until Professor Slughorn spotted us alone standing by the monument.
"My dear Ted, I assume you already know who this young girl is? Her older sister Bellatrix is a member of the club graduating this year. Such raw talent in Quidditch, Bellatrix is. A pity she doesn't seem interested to show up at the Magpies' tryouts… Well, Andromeda here was selected for an entirely different reason. Quite a natural in Potions, she is. She's got the mind of a Healer, precise and calm. The little Lily Evans seems to be following her footsteps. And dear me, I was about to forget! Andromeda, this here is Theodore Tonks."
Professor Slughorn rested for a few seconds to regain his breath, and the boy took advantage of the brief silence to add,
"Please, call me Ted."
"I was downright shocked when he told me was a Muggle-born!" continued the professor. "Muggle-born and able to magically repair and fix anything he finds in his hands! He mended that eagle knocker at the Ravenclaw Tower when a fool tried to feed Doxy dropping in its beak. Quite unbelievable, I daresay! Just like Lily Evans, you are, Ted: a miraculous genetic anomaly!"
Slughorn kept talking, standing between Theodore Tonks and I as though he were the mediator between two people of different worlds unable to communicate with one another. Theodore, or Ted, looked at me with a steady gaze and an ironic, dimpled smile, and for a second, I believed that he too must have sensed how unnatural and ridiculous the whole three-way exchange felt like.
Author's Note:
Hi everyone. I know (thanks to the amazing stat function in every user's account) that a lot of you are viewing/following the story, and I'm glad and grateful that you are. I wanted to remind you, though, that leaving a teeny review could really make a whole lot of difference for my writing. So if you read and enjoyed my new chapter, be even more awesome than you are now, and please leave a comment! Thank you all!