Author's Note:
This is a longer chapter than usual, and the reason is because I wanted to show Andromeda interacting in two completely different worlds. I'm eager to write a believable relationship for Andromeda and Ted, so please let me know what you think of them in this chapter. Thanks to fictitiousburn for being an excellent beta. Enjoy and please review!
Blood Thicker than Water
Two Parties
On the sweltering late afternoon before Bella's wedding day, I was at the Lestrange's country house standing between my two sisters, our backs aching for the long hours spent in the heat trying on the dresses for the big day.
"I still believe that Narcissa should be the maid of honor, Bellatrix," said Cornelia Lestrange, frowning behind her pince-nez, scrutinizing me with lips poised for further criticism. My fingers fluttered gently against Bella's, a warning to keep her already flaring temper at bay. Mother noticed Bella's balled fists and was prompt in her reply,
"Oh, Cornelia. You do know how Bellatrix and Andromeda are virtually inseparable…"
"I tell you, Druella, it won't look right to have the middle child as maid of honor. She looks too similar to Bellatrix, and that would only confuse the guests. Narcissa, on the other hand, would contrast Bellatrix' looks beautifully," said Cornelia.
I could sense Bella's anger boiling and threatening to burst, scalding hot. She had been adamant throughout the whole process of planning the wedding, absolutely refusing to yield to the majority's preference of having Narcissa replace me as maid of honor.
"The middle child has a name, Cornelia. It'sAn-dro-me-da," said Bella in a dangerously low voice. Cissy fidgeted beside me, which meant that she was very nervous. Cissy never fidgeted if she could help it.
Cornelia looked affronted, whereas I could see by Mother's tightened jaw that she was quickly thinking of a safe way out. Her thoughts reached a conclusion within twenty seconds, as she said looking pointedly at Bella,
"Why don't you and Andromeda take a walk out in the shade, dear? Narcissa, you can come and show Cornelia your wonderful landscape paintings, wouldn't that be nice?"
I immediately grabbed hold of Bella's hand, while Cissy sent us a pleading look as she walked over to her bag to retrieve her portfolio. I heard Cornelia's huffy remark on "the girl's incorrigible temper" before Bella slammed the door shut behind us.
"I swear it, if we have to share the townhouse with that decrepit bitch after we're married, I'll slit Rodolphus' throat open," said Bella, grinding her teeth. She paused and then added, as an afterthought, "And Rabastan's, for that matter, since he was the one who introduced us in the first place."
I kept quiet as we walked towards the open, lost in my thoughts. Bella resumed her attack on Mrs. Lestrange, walking so briskly that I had to jog to keep up with her. It was only when the late afternoon heat enveloped us in the courtyard that she noticed my troubled expression.
"What's wrong, Meddie?" she asked me, her aggressive tone shifting immediately into concern. I was about to head in the direction of the woods when Bella, with unswerving strength, turned me around using only one hand on my shoulder.
"What is it? I've seen you worrying and mousing around the house since we came back from school. Is it Cornelia Lestrange? You know she just adores Cissy, don't take it personally. She would rather have her marry her dear Rodolphus if only a twenty year age difference wouldn't scandalize her ridiculous posse…"
"No, Bella. It's not about Cornelia Lestrange," I said, putting an end to my sister's impassioned speech. She seemed to relent, steadying herself, searching for the reason behind the trouble brewing in my eyes. I sighed heavily once, and then, in a tremulous voice, asked her,
"What will you do after you get married?" Bella raised an eyebrow, unbelieving that her post-wedding plans were the source of my brooding. She answered, nevertheless,
"Well. We're going off on our honeymoon - a pathetic thing Mother and Cornelia organized for us. A week spent wasting our time on some Greek island, or something. Then we'll go back to Rodolophus' townhouse in London, where I'll have to play the good housewife for a few months. And then… I'll be a bit busy."
"Busy for what?" I enquired bluntly.
"None of your business, Meddie," snapped Bella. Seconds lagged on in silence. She seemed to reconsider. Bella had her thick black hair loose on her back, and beads of sweat were forming on her frowning brow.
"I've decided what to do with my life, Meddie. Rodolphus finally recognized my talents. He himself admitted that I'm probably better prepared for politics than most men he knows. Oh, don't look at me like that – it's not the Ministry of Magic kind of politics that I'm talking about. There's… someone," Bella's sure voice was now a whisper. I remember feeling a chill down my spine at the blind reverence I detected in her choice of using the word "someone." She continued.
"There's this visionary man, and Meddie… I have never seen someone with so much subtle, effortless power in my life. He promises everything that our family has been advocating for centuries. I can be the first pureblood woman to lead the revolution – and believe me when I say that there will be a revolution. But in order for that to happen, there must be more followers. So… Rabastan, Rodolphus and I, and some others in our group… We're planning to go on a sort of recruiting mission."
That was the first time I inadvertently came to hear about the man who would later be known as Voldemort. On that hot late afternoon, Bellatrix revealed to me her ambition in life, merely the seed that would eventually bloom into a deranged obsession with power. However, all my sixteen-year-old self could decipher from those mysterious words was that my beloved older sister would be separated from me indefinitely. That prospect washed me over with dread.
Bella seemed to regret having told me so much, and to try to distract me she proposed a ride on one of the Lestranges' horses.
"Are you sure, Bella? You haven't ridden in years," I said, already running to catch up with her. She strode towards the stables, and said,
"Once you learn how to ride, there's no turning back."
She prepared the tack on a dark enormous horse, adjusting the saddle and the stirrups using deft, precise movements that had nothing to do with the violently delighted young Bella and her faithful Diana. The kick to start the Lestrange's horse sounded forceful, yet uncannily controlled. Her grip on the reins was tight, yet it lacked the brimming excitement that once shook her fingers, clasped tightly around the leather. That was Bellatrix, the Amazon ready for war; young Bella, riding for the pure thrill of the wind against her face and the speed propelling her forwards… That Bella was long gone.
Clinging to her with my arms around her waist, I let the tears flow, desperate to hold her back, to keep a part of her near me. But Bella rode on, and no matter how hard I pressed myself against her back, I couldn't shake off the feeling that the girl who used to waste her extraordinary talent in school had finally transformed into a woman, a woman who was steering the reins of her life towards her destiny; a place I knew I didn't belong.
"It's time we go back in," said Bella, maneuvering the horse up a path parallel to the river. I was glad that she couldn't see my wet cheeks – she would not have appreciated the tears.
No matter what happened between my sister and I in the future, I still can't imagine how there could have been a more beautiful farewell than that horseback ride on the riverbank. Everything about those thirty minutes remains impressed in my mind like the littlest detail has been carefully carved out on the stone slate of my memory.
In the end, Cornelia Lestrange's wish was fulfilled, and I never stood closest to Bella on the day of her wedding. Cissy looked breathtaking in the intricate dress tailored specifically for the maid of honor. Cornelia had been right – she did contrast Bella's looks beautifully. She softened my elder sister's strong features, making her look like a real bride, with all the vulnerabilities and the doubts that it entails.
I remember talking to Sirius months before his death, almost thirty years after this particular wedding.
"That was the only time I ever felt like I was related to my family. When I saw you and Narcissa standing near Bellatrix, who looked actually like a woman, for once. To be honest, I never saw all three of you as beautiful at the same time. It was usually just Narcissa, but on that wedding, it was actually like you were all one very beautiful person."
How ironic is it that Bella, Cissy and I looked more beautiful than ever on the day that officially separated us into our own individual molds?
During the wedding, I remember catching Rabastan gazing towards my sister more frequently than usual. You might not think much of this, since it is not so surprising to have people staring at the bride on her own wedding day. But it was the look in his eyes that captured my attention – he had eyes that shone resolute with triumph.
Many years later, it was discovered that Rabastan manipulated Rodolphus into meeting Bellatrix on that fateful day during her sixth year as an act of desperation. Apparently, he was afraid that if nothing was done, Bella would have ended up married to someone who would cage her in an environment completely incompatible with her nature.
Rabastan knew his brother very well – Rodolphus had been one of the first to become a follower and believer of Voldemort. The devotion he nurtured for his cause – the cause Voldemort initiated, the cause that warped Bella's whole existence – surpassed any of the prejudices so ripe in our backward society. Rabastan reckoned that his brother would realize how useful Bella was to become for the revolution, and their marriage would serve to both satisfy her family's expectations and also grant her access to Voldemort's gender-restricted movement.
Rabastan, the poor man, was in love with Bella, but he also knew that my elder sister's only love was for power and the Dark Arts. He was aware that binding her to him with the chains of marriage would have ruined the singular relationship they shared, so he chose the easier option: keeping her to him by having her married to his brother. The three of them – Rodolphus, Bellatrix and Rabastan Lestrange – would later to be infamously known as the Cruciatus Death Eaters.
In the end, it was not only Severus Snape who lived hiding the fact that it was love that fuelled his life. Rabastan descended into the evil of the Dark Arts with Bellatrix, afraid to lose her if he didn't. He committed suicide shortly after Bellatrix' death in the Battle of Hogwarts, on May 2nd 1998. The Aurors inspected his wand after Voldemort's demise, and Priori Incantatem proved that he had cast the Killing Curse on himself just before Harry Potter confronted the Dark Lord for the last time. Rodolphus fled from Hogwarts after the defeat, only to be incarcerated in Azkaban, again, for the rest of his shrunken life.
"It's your turn now, Meddie. You're going to the ball for the first time as a marriage prospect."
Bella looked terrifyingly stunning, wrapped in a black, almost sheer fabric that seemed to ply her already flawless body into a captivating mélange of tautness, angles and felinity. I remember wondering whether I would still feel the rush of familiarity I always got by being held by Bella; her body had never been sharper, more defined. It would take me years to know that that was already the body of a warrior.
The Black Mansion's ballroom was an opulent affair. It was a circular, massive room, with the velvety rich, blood red curtains that seemed to drape the room in its entirety. As a child, there was nothing I wished more than dancing on the dark marble of the floor.
However, stepping into the ballroom for the first time as an expected guest was a completely different experience. Escorted by Lucius Malfoy, trailing behind the newly wed Rodolphus and Bellatrix, eyed with curiosity by the crème de la crème of the pureblood community, the room felt menacing to me.
I shouldn't be feeling like this, I kept repeating in my head, the heels I was wearing lacerating the tender, contracting skin of my feet.
"So, Andromeda. You certainly look like your sister's double, which is naturally a compliment," I heard someone saying, but the words drifted towards me as if from a distance. The relentless chatter around me became a buzzing sound in my ears, and the elf-made wine in my mouth tasted steely, rusty; the blood-red curtains seemed everywhere, as though to suck me into their depths.
Frank rescued me.
"Meddie, you look dashing," said he, saving me from Lucius' dispassionate presence. I could practically feel the vibes of disinterest he directed at me.
"The usual flatterer," I replied wryly, but I couldn't help a genuine smile from forming on my rouged lips. He had always been handsome, but for me the beauty in him seemed most obvious in the small details of his looks. His wide smile always reached his blue eyes. Those staggering eyes: they carried so much genuine emotion.
"Should I be worried that Tristan Avery is sending me optical daggers?" asked Frank, grinning happily as he spun me around with skill. The playful tenor of his voice almost relieved the pain of my feet.
"Unimpressed," I answered in a monotone, "You shouldn't care less of what Avery thinks of you. He likes girls. And what's more, he likes them young." Being Cissy's best friend gave me a huge advantage in the field of gossip.
"Well, then it must be that you look much younger than sixteen, Meddie. He can't take his eyes off you," said Frank, and I could almost feel the smugness pouring out from him. The Longbottom heir was like that - both pleasant and unpleasant, depending on the whims of his mood.
"Oh, hush. Look at Mother. Can you see her talking to Thea Rosier? They're evaluating how much the Black family can profit from my marriage to either Lucius Malfoy or Rabastan Lestrange," I whispered in Frank's ear, surprised at the bitterness I found in my voice. He looked surprised too.
"Oh, no, Meddie. You can't be telling that your parents are planning to arrange your marriage, too!" he almost cried out. I shot him a severe look and gracefully stomped on his foot.
"Shout it out, why don't you? Anyways, I thought you were a little more perceptive than your fellow Gryffindor friends. I doubt that I have free will in a matter as important as marriage. Did you know that Sirius' parents are cousins?"
"Hey, I didn't need to know that," frowned Frank, looking nauseated, "There are a few more pureblood males in our society other than Lucius Malfoy or Rabastan Lestrange. You don't want to marry an iceberg, do you? Or Bellatrix' long lost twin?"
I shook my head.
"You are thick today, aren't you, Frank? I just told you Sirius' parents are cousins! Why do you think incest is allowed in our family? Marrying between cousins is the best way to keep the family line pure. The Malfoys and the Lestranges are the only families the Blacks retain pure enough. I really have no other choice." I had just voiced something that I had known since early adolescence, but had never dared to speak aloud.
"I will never, ever call you by the name of Andromeda Malfoy. Or Andromeda Lestrange, for that matter," declared Frank.
Unfortunately, our conversation came to an abrupt end when Lucius, prompted by the insisting looks of his parents, decided to grace me with his attention. I can perfectly recall the repulsion that coursed through me at the touch of my hand to his gloved ones. He would wear those silky, white gloves until the last day I would see him - at the Wizengamot trial of the war criminals after the defeat of Voldemort. He will probably be buried wearing those gloves.
After drifting for two hours among agonizing dances and good manners, I sought Frank out and almost begged,
"Will you take a walk with me outside? I'm about to suffocate here." He, best friend extraordinaire, obliged. But once we reached the grounds, me wrapped in a gold shawl, Frank clutching at his blue summer cloak, he suggested something that would mark the pivotal moment of my life.
"How do you like joining a real party, Med?"
I looked at him with an arched eyebrow, but I had always been one to play along, so I indulged him.
"And where is the exact location of this real party, my gallant Frank?"
"Somewhere in London. And wipe that indulgent look off your face, I'm not joking!"
I began to feel alarmed.
"How on Earth are you planning to get away from here? Neither of us can Apparate yet, we have no form of transportation whatsoever and the only possible fireplace we could use for flooing right now is in the fainting room," I enumerated all of our obstacles in a tone that I hoped didn't reveal how terrified I actually was.
"What about the fainting room? I bet there's no one in there, the party is at its peak right now," said Frank, still smiling. I let myself smirk at his naïveté and said,
"The fainting room, Frank, is the room where the women retire to when they're feeling tired. And considering that all our female guests are wearing corsets that are literally cutting at their ribs, I doubt the fainting room is empty right now."
I almost thought I won, but he walked me back into the ballroom and forced me to lead us to the infamous fainting room. I always regarded that part of the house as a minefield during parties. The women gathered there did not rest as they were supposed to; their painted lips moved in unison to create an atmosphere crackling with tension and unspoken hatred, gossip and scandals exchanged underneath the facade of propriety.
Frank deftly hid behind the nearest curtain when the women were all turned to the direction of Anastasia Burke, who was proudly showing off her daughter's engagement ring received by Sebastien Rosier.
"But here is Andromeda Black! How very like Bellatrix you look, dear," said Eleanor Yaxley, her yellow hair looking like a huge bird's nest on top of her head. It took me seconds to realize how irritated I felt by what she said. I was starting to wonder if people even differentiated who I was, or if they just dismissed me as the middle Black child, who looked so much like Bella but had none of her charismatic flair.
But I had to act fast. The plan Frank had devised had little probability to work, but strangely enough I had found myself accepting the role I had to play after only moderate resistance. I ask myself now if I was truly that reluctant as I claimed to be back then. I am quite sure that terror and excitement surged in equal measure.
"Ladies, I am very sorry to interrupt your conversation. I just had to escape from what is about to happen back there. I have been warned in advance that Rowan Vaisey is about to join the party with Nicole Selwyn," I said with unexpected confidence.
I had doubted Frank's plan, refusing to acknowledge that the women there were gullible enough to believe that the recently disowned Vaisey heir would ever have the courage to show up with his new squib wife. However, they reacted with such cruel excitement that I stood frozen in the room. They hurried back to the ballroom with a clatter of heels and a vulture-like expectation in their eyes. I was confused as to why I was affected so much by their reaction. And then I knew that I did not want to become one of them, one of the wives of Pure-blood, powerful men who fed on other people's misfortunes.
"Well done, Meddie," said Frank, disentangling himself from the curtains and clapping me on my shoulder. "Now, where is the Floo powder?"
I opened the heavy box containing the powder and threw some in the fireplace.
"Just call out for "Everett flat, London" and wait for me there, alright?" said Frank, urging me to go first. I obeyed, and what I thought before disappearing within the flames was that I had just broken one of the most prominent rules of the Black family.
And then I was in another world.
I had never been anywhere that was not at least as large as the Black Mansion. People swarmed in and out of rooms, and it seemed like every space of the flat was occupied for some purpose or another. The magically expanded sofas in the living room occupied the quietest of the guests, several of which I had seen back at Hogwarts. Most of those standing danced to the beat of a frantic-rhythmed song, and many were stumbling around laughing and clearly drunk.
The tiny kitchen seemed to be covered by bottles of what I suspected was alcohol, ranging from Firewhisky, wine, butterbeer, gillywater and mead to liquids I had never laid my eyes on before, such as the clear, transparent solution in fat bottles with the word "vodka"written across them. I grew more and more convinced that Frank had dragged me to a party hosted by somebody of questionable blood status.
He left me on my own, excusing himself with an apologetic wink, a warning to meet him by the flat's fireplace by three o' clock and a glass of gillyweed thrust hastily in my hand. I followed him with my eyes and saw that he had abandoned me in the middle of a party to meet a girl I did not recognize. He handed her a butterbeer in his charming way, and she smiled at him with a sweetness that I chose to mistake as falsity. I looked at the rather large glass of alcohol in my hand and downed it.
"I would never have imagined a Black attending Lucas Everett's parties, not even in a million years," said a voice that provoked an inexplicable tingle in my fingers. I immediately recognized Ted Tonks, standing tall while gazing at me with what seemed like a thoughtful expression. I sensed something missing in his presence, until I understood that it was the absence of the dimpled smile I had last seen during the Ministry of Magic trip. But he did not look unfriendly. Only thoughtful.
"And never would I have thought you could drink a glass of gillyweed like that, Dromeda," he continued, and this time he showed the dimples. I decided to ignore the horrid nickname that he had just randomly created, and said,
"I can attend whichever party and drink whatever I like. So please, go and fetch me something stronger than this." Ted seemed to believe that I could hold my Firewhisky, because he came back from the kitchen with the transparent solution that I so strongly distrusted. But before I could decline the drink, he said,
"It's Muggle alcohol, it's great. It'll warm you up." And I decided to try it, because knowing that Frank was moving forwards without me seemed to have left my limbs chilled with a frost that penetrated through bone. Ted watched me drain the glass without a word, and then I followed him towards the balcony. My body instantly relaxed in the warm sultry breeze. It felt nice to escape from the noise.
"So, Tonks, do you know who that girl is?" I pointed at the short, tiny blonde who was laughing at something Frank had just said. They stood in a secluded corner of the room, under dimmed light, their shadows far too close for my liking. "The one talking to Frank, I mean." He nodded and said,
"Yes. Her name is Alice Bode, she's in the same year as ours, a Gryffindor. A good person." He emphasized the last few words with a pointed look in my direction, as if expecting a defiant retort from my part. The Muggle alcohol was already beginning to muddle my thoughts, but I remained strangely coherent in my speech.
"I do not doubt her being a good person. Frank would never be so smitten over a girl who's not his equal," I conjectured slowly. I turned away from the sheet of glass and leaned my elbows on the railing of the balcony.
"You know, when I first met you at the Ministry of Magic, I thought you were intriguing. I was absolutely captivated by how little reaction I managed to provoke in you," said Ted, his voice mellow. I turned my eyes from the night sky. I came face to face with dimples and full lips.
"Well, haven't you considered that that may be because your existence is far too inconsequential for me to react in any way whatsoever?" I answered, turning my gaze resolutely towards the sky. I swear, I felt him smile wider. It gave me a shiver.
"I've discarded that possibility quite a while ago. As a matter of fact, I believe that you're extremely responsive when I'm around you. I've observed the way you act around me, you see? And despite your behavior remains restrained, I noticed the little things." Ted took a step back, as though he were appraising me. His eyes swept over my face and shoulders, slowly and sleepily. I immediately cast my eyes in the opposite direction.
"For example, just now, you are avoiding looking at me. You start searching for something in your bag, or start touching your hair or your bracelet. And I know that the reason why you do all that is because I make you nervous." The vodka gave me enough nerve to answer quickly, but I still couldn't get my eyes to make contact with Ted's.
"Merlin, Tonks, I never thought of you as stalker material."
"Believe me, Dromeda, I'm no stalker. You're extremely easy for me to understand," said Ted. This time I looked at him, and I saw in his eyes a kindness that made me temporarily forget the ice-cold manners I was so accustomed to.
Something alien was starting to happen to me. I stood frozen, but as I watched Ted taking a decided step closer, I felt strange warmth seeping over me. The boy, whose Muggle-born "unclean" blood was flowing near mine, considered "pure" and "untainted", lifted a scorching-hot hand, and cupped the side of my face with a gentleness that seemed foreign to me. I believe he had no intention other than to express compassion for a girl he thought was broken beyond repair. But whether it was the rush of alcohol in my head or a chemical reaction to his touch, I instinctively wound my arms around his neck and kissed him without thinking. At first, I was stiff, I was unmoving. And then I was moving. My form, first solid like an ice cube, welcomed his tall frame like the gentle curving of the waves, melted.