Note: Co-written with the incredible almanera.
I would like to thank Guest for the kind review.
The following morning, it took Ivan Dolohov a moment to realise why he was feeling more elated than he had done in long months. Impatiently, he dealt with his morning routine and proceeded to interrogate the portraits for fresh news. Antonin, it transpired, had liberally indulged in his newly acquired marital rights during the night.
"The younger Lady Dolohov appears to be rather exhausted," his father's portrait reported gleefully, making sure to stress Andromeda's new title. "What can I say, Tony was eager; he seems to like her a lot. The poor thing was mostly unconscious—or perhaps having a nightmare, I could not tell. Her attempts at self-defence were quite adorable, though. As much as I loathe the Blacks, I've always wanted to see some of them this exposed."
"That makes two of us," Ivan smirked before his expression became thoughtful. "You know, I find it interesting that the Dark Lord entrusted her to him, of all people. I will ask him for details, but he can't have been the only one who volunteered."
"I am certainly not complaining. I knew Arcturus Black, and I hope he rolls in his grave."
"Oh, I'm sure they all will roll in their graves when she bears Tony's sons," Ivan nodded. "It's still hard to believe, though; I would have never expected to see him attracted to a Black. Not that they don't have the looks, but they are difficult to handle… to say nothing of their conceit."
"It does raise a question, doesn't it?" Vladislav's portrait agreed. "I believe Tony is only driven by revenge. He is one of us, and we never forgive."
Ivan expression sobered even more. "Supposing it is only revenge... is it wise to found a marriage on such an emotion? It's not what a marriage is about, is it? Look at my wife's behaviour, and she is hardly my political enemy."
"Well, no one says Tony can't become a widower," Vladislav suggested cruelly.
This only caused Ivan to sigh. As helpful as the advice of his ancestors' portraits often was, they were only enchanted objects, imprints of the minds that had lived in the past. They did not—could not—comprehend the new social order under the Dark Lord's rule, where his word, and his alone, determined wizards' fates.
He thanked his father and watched him leave his frame in order to guard their newest family member. Truth be told, it felt good to see his ancestors this excited and proud. After a few questions addressed to his grandfather, Plamen, he was told his wife had just woken up. This left him several moments for what he needed to do before he faced her icy temper.
Purposefully, he marched downstairs and retrieved some Floo powder from an inconspicuous vase. He watched the flames in the hearth turn green, and after a clear and laconic Rosier Manor, he lowered his face into the fire.
The Floo directed him right into the study of his closest friend, Euan Rosier, the last of his House. The man himself was reading newspapers by a tall window, which illuminated the high-ceilinged room painted with white and gold and reflected from the mirrored surfaces on the walls. He was a blond man, athletic yet lean with the cold and composed yet charismatic features possessed by only few pure-blood families.
"Good morning to my fellow early risers," Ivan shot out in guise of greeting.
"Ivan?" Euan Rosier looked up and approached the fire, folding his paper in two. He was the same age as the other wizard. "I can't say I was expecting you this early. Good morning, indeed."
"I hope your morning is half as promising as mine," Ivan smirked. "I don't suppose you've heard the news? In theory, it's not widely known just yet, and I wanted you to find out from myself rather than from third parties."
The fair man arched an eyebrow. In the sunshine bathing his study, it would have been difficult to spot the immediate change these words had caused, for the wizard's expression became calculating and alert, but Ivan had known him since their Hogwarts days.
"I take it this is rather important, then."
"I dare say." Ivan let out a sigh, and his face grew more serious as well. "I'll start from the beginning. Yesterday, Ghergana and I were spending a perfectly ordinary evening in the living room. Around midnight, here comes Antonin carrying an unconscious Andromeda Tonks in his arms and tells us the Dark Lord appointed him her husband and guardian. No one knows where her child has been taken or if she's even alive."
"Andromeda Tonks? You don't mean to say—"
"Your niece, yes. I guess that makes us relatives, doesn't it?"
Andromeda's mother, Druella Black née Rosier, had indeed been Euan Rosier's sister. An unwanted sister, no less. As far as the master of the manor was concerned, he was and always had been his family's only heir and name bearer, and now that his own son, Evan, had been killed in his service to the Dark Lord, his House would soon cease to exist altogether. Even though Andromeda Tonks shared some of his blood, their family relation was as unfortunate as the one between many wizards and the garden gnomes that invaded their houses, nothing more and nothing less. He did not consider that woman to be his niece.
It was interesting to know she had been allowed to live, though.
"I see," he said. "And she is to be married to Antonin, you say?"
"Yes." Ivan suppressed a smirk. "I doubt there will be a proper ceremony; their names might simply be entered into the register. From what I understood, the marriage… is already consummated."
"Explains why you look so happy," Euan commented. "An ironically fitting way of extracting revenge on the Blacks, seeing how they always treated you as one would treat a Flobberworm. You must be positively enjoying it."
"Not quite as much as my father's portrait is, to tell the truth," Ivan smiled wearily. "But even the most fitting arrangements can have hidden drawbacks."
"I can imagine." The blond wizard frowned. "It worries me that she's been allowed to live in the first place. After all, what advantage does it bring? The Blacks are gone, and so are all the prominent families they used to be tied to: the Potters, the Prewetts... There are still the Lestranges, of course, and the Malfoys, who are pretty much the top of the wizarding political elite. Then there are the likes of the Notts, the Macmillans and the Crabbes, all of them known for having been rather friendly with the Blacks back in the day. Yet even so, we have to consider her betrayal, not to mention the disgrace of the last heir of the Blacks—Sirius. Both factors should have guaranteed her death sentence in spite of her name and former connections, and now that she is allowed to live, I'm not sure how this might play out. It's the reason behind the Dark Lord's generosity that worries me."
"I need to find out more details from Tony," Ivan admitted. "All he let slip during these last few days is that she was captured last week and her fate was unknown until yesterday. The Dark Lord spent a while talking to her in private, and he was intrigued by what she had to say. Mind you, I would have expected Corban Yaxley to volunteer for the task of guarding her. That man is greedier than a goblin and has more tentacles than the Giant Squid. Oh, and Andromeda's daughter was found out to be a Metamorphmagus."
"I wouldn't care if her brat were able to conjure slugs in her sleep," Euan said dismissively. "Andromeda Black should have been subjected to the Dementor's Kiss for her betrayal; that's the law. Other pure-bloods who had dared oppose the Dark Lord received this very same sentence while their children were given up for adoption to the loyal families. Isn't this what happened to that foolish Muggle-loving rebel? What was his name?"
"Bell." Ivan sounded weary once more. "No chance of forgetting that name; Wilkes never shuts up about the 'ungrateful' extra child he and his wife now have to raise. My point is, there is a difference between a Metamorphmagus and some mediocre rebel's brat. If your niece has brains—and everyone in your family does, regardless of your feelings for each other—she must have used this to win over the Dark Lord."
"She most likely did. That's what unnerves me." Euan briefly thought of his sister, Druella. "You say Yaxley might have wished to wed her, for the lack of better term. If so, he was not allowed to do it precisely because he understands how things work. He might look like a moderately gormless old bookkeeper, but the appearances are deceptive." He paused. "When Dumbledore fell, the most powerful families loyal to him went down too. Think about it, Ivan. In just one chunk, we eliminated a significant number of magical talents. And still, the likes of Wood and Bell have to be stopped, even though we now spare their brats—something we didn't do for the Potters, the Longbottoms or the McKinnons, mind you. Meanwhile, most wizarding families simply go with the flow—think of those very same Wilkes, the Averys, the Notts. Half-bloods support us in even larger numbers because it's convenient. But leave one Black alive, and this precious balance will be disturbed. And that's exactly what certain families like the Macmillans, the Browns or the Diggorys want. They simply dream of the old days coming back."
Ivan's eyebrows rose. "Fair enough. But tell me again—what about Yaxley puts the Dark Lord on his guard? No one denies he's far from stupid. Does this mean Andromeda Black would have been a much too dangerous weapon in his hands? Do you suspect him of disloyalty?"
"Not necessarily, no. He can very well be loyal to the Dark Lord and our regime and still have his own agenda. These two aspects are not mutually exclusive," Euan shrugged. "At any rate, I suggest you be careful. The Blacks bring disruptions wherever they come: their last heir might have been a disgrace, but the sword and the Grims are present on their coat of arms for a reason."
"She has already brought disruptions to us," Ivan sighed. "Literally five minutes after she arrived. Still..."
"How is Ghergana?" the blond wizard suddenly asked.
Ivan rolled his eyes. "The usual. I don't reckon she'll be speaking to Tony or me for a month."
"It's not easy on her." Euan shook his head. "She is made of a different wand wood, and witnessing such things can only hurt her. If I had been there, I would have advised Tony against volunteering. When the fate of Marlene McKinnon was being decided, he listened to me and walked away from it all. He should have walked away now. Let someone else have Andromeda Tonks if the Dark Lord refuses to submit her to the Dementor's Kiss."
"You know, I agree," Ivan said. "As much as it pleases me to see him avenge us... I wish he had consulted me before taking this step. The Blacks are trouble—too much trouble for what they're worth. But there is no going back. Mark my words: that wench will do her best to turn Ghergana against us."
"For now, we don't know if her brat is still alive. That, too, will influence the course of the next days," Euan reminded him earnestly. "Either way, I can speak to Ghergana. If there is anyone who knows the Blacks for what they are, it's me. Druella was one of them."
Moments after Ivan joined his son for breakfast, Ghergana left her bedroom. Her limbs were still languid from the Calming Potion she had been administered the night before, and she was fuming at her husband's nerve. Antonin's actions, however, felt a thousand times more painful. She did not need to ask Plamen's portrait for news to comprehend what had taken place during the night.
Resolutely, she knocked on the door to her son's room, too furious to care whether she would catch him at an awkward moment. There was no response, though. After another knock, she pushed the door open.
Antonin had already gone downstairs, but the young witch was present and still in bed. She was motionless on her back with only a silk purple sheet for a cover, and not a muscle on her face shifted to indicate that she had heard the other woman enter.
Ghergana closed the door and came forth, eyeing the coppery-haired witch anxiously.
"Mrs Tonks?" she whispered. "Andromeda?"
"Who are you and what do you want?"
The question had been uttered in an impassive voice, as lifeless and dull as the look in her eyes, which she still had not turned towards the mistress of the house. Were it not for the slightly puffy skin on her face, which betrayed the tears she had shed, the sight would have been more than a little eerie.
"My name is Ghergana Dolohov. I'm Antonin's mother," Ghergana breathed, coming closer but keeping herself at a respectful distance from the distressed young woman. What she was seeing had knocked the wind out of her. She could not believe her son had done this, that he was capable of harming another person in such an unspeakable way. "I want to help you."
"Help me," Andromeda echoed, blinking the bitter moisture in her eyes away. "Tell me what they are saying about a girl named Nymphadora Tonks. Is she alive?"
Ghergana's heart gave a painful throb. "I don't know, Andromeda. I'm sorry. I'll find it out—if there is anyone who knows, I will find it out today."
The younger witch said nothing in response.
"Please let me assist you," Ghergana implored after a short silence. "I will heal you, bring you something to drink…"
"Leave me alone, Ghergana Dolohov."
With this, Andromeda turned on her side. The silk blanket slipped off her skin, revealing her bare back marred with several bite marks.