Bella sliced her palm and let the blood pour into the wooden bowl, coating the crystal inside of it in thick dark red. Narcissa winced at the sight, but she wordlessly copied her sister and let her own blood pool in the bowl.
"What if it doesn't work?" she asked.
"It has to," Bella hissed, her eyes wide.
They had tried every tracking spell they could think of other than blood magic. Andromeda's personal effects laid discarded around them, from her hairbrush to her journals, none had proven a strong enough connection to locate her.
Narcissa smoothed the map on the table, just to have something to with her hands, and Bella let the dripping crystal float above it. The crystal hovered for a few seconds before it started spinning wildly in her hand. The sisters held their breaths. The crystal kept spinning round and round, faster and faster. Bella smiled. The crystal flew from her and crashed against the wall, shattering on impact. Both witches stared at the shards, unable to move.
"What was that?" Narcissa broke the silence.
"The bitch cloaked herself," Bella answered, finally letting out her breath.
Andromeda wouldn't be found unless she wanted to be found. Bella let out a guttural scream that startled her sister then upended the table sending all its contents flying to the floor. She took her wand out and sent blasting spells in any and all directions. She kept casting and breaking until her rage finally simmered down, leaving her panting. Narcissa felt her eyes well with tears and she looked away before Bella could see them and take out her temper on her.
"How could she do this to me?" Bella whispered. "How could she do this to us?"
Narcissa stayed silent. She had no answer.
Somewhere in Scotland, hidden in a cottage under a Fidelius Charm, Andromeda was casting a different kind of spell. The light around her belly glowed yellow. Ted held the grimoire next to it and compared the colours.
"It looks like we're having girl," he announced, beaming at his wife.
Andromeda closed her eyes and felt her tears fall freely. Ted put the grimoire down and softly swept his thumbs under her eyes.
"Are you sure you don't want them to know? Not even your sisters?"
She shook her head and let if fall on his shoulder, letting him hold her up.
"Never," she swore. "I love them, but I don't trust them." She grabbed his hand and put it over her belly that hasn't started swelling yet. "This is my priority now. We have to keep her safe, at all costs."
Ted chuckled. "You speak as if they would pose a threat to their niece." His laugh died in his throat at the sombre look in her face.
"I cannot with certainty state that they would not, and that it threat enough for me."
Andromeda loved that her husband's preconceived notion of family revolved around unconditional love. She hoped that her daughter's would as well. Hers on the other hand was anything but.
Hermione knocks on Bella's door and waits for her signal to enter before doing so. She gasps softly at the sight of her cousin. She looks devastatingly beautiful, her black curls glossy and bouncy fall down to her waist, her darkened hooded eyes promise exquisite dreams, and her lips are painted a perfect red. Narcissa stands behind her, carefully pinning her curls with white gold ornate pins. Her own hair is pin straight and drawn into a high ponytail that highlights her angled features, and her eyes are coated in the same icy blue as her robes.
"You look breathtaking," she whispers softly.
Bella beckons her closer. "Mione, sweetheart, wanna play a little game?"
"I'm eleven, Bella, not a child." Hermione rolls her eyes.
"Alright then, it's not a game, not to me. It's a favour I desperately need you to do for me."
Narcissa freezes in her ministrations and cautiously peers down on her sister's face but can't catch her eyes. Bella produces a glass vial from her sleeve and hands it to Hermione.
"I need you to pour this into Rodolphus' drink and make sure no one sees you doing it."
"Oh for Merlin's sake, Bella!" Narcissa chides and plucks the vial from Hermione's hands. "Stop trying to murder your groom. Now you're roping our cousin into it, have you no shame?"
Bella huffs and slumps down in her chair, grumbling something neither of the other girls can hear.
Narcissa meets her younger cousin's widened eyes and subtly shakes her head.
"Bella, love, drink you tea," she nudges the teacup towards her sister. "Aunt Cassie made it special for you."
If the smell is anything to go by, Hermione knows just how special it is. Bella guzzles it down like a shot glass and loudly slams the tea cup on its saucer. It mellows her out enough to let Narcissa help her slip on her black robes. It also loosens her tongue. She grabs Hermione forearm and tugs her closer, her nails digging into the soft skin.
"Listen to me, little 'Mione, don't let Arcturus use you," she slurs her words, her eyes unfocused. "You need to be smart, you hear me? Be smart." Her words become intelligible then and Hermione can no longer understand what her cousin is trying to say to her.
Narcissa pries Hermione's arm away from her sister's death grip and rubs a soothing hand down her arm.
"You'll be alright," she coos and Hermione isn't quite sure which of them she's trying to reassure.
Druella comes in then wearing matching black robes, her face entirely bare of makeup and her blonde hair in a simple braid down her back. She hands her daughter a bouquet of dark crimson roses and purple hyacinths. Hermione thinks that's one way to make a point if she ever saw one. The mother daughter duo looks ready for a funeral. Hermione in her silver robes and Narcissa in her icy blue ones look almost inappropriate next to them. But she doesn't comment on it, not when Bella squeezes her mother's hand so hard her fingers start to go blue.
"Cousin," Dorea greets as she lowers herself gracefully on a chair next to him.
Arcturus spares her a sideway glance.
"Good of you to deign bestow your presence on us," he drawls.
"I couldn't possibly miss such a…festive occasion?" she eyes the dark crimson and purple centrepiece meaningfully.
"Druella's unfortunate little temper tantrum," Arcturus huffs.
"I see," Dorea hums. "And how many more of these tantrums will it take for you to loosen the leash on our family?"
"It is not a leash," he hisses and finally turns to look at her raised eyebrows, "it is a guardrail and one I must hold taut with my life lest our foolish family falls to their demise. Such is my responsibility."
"Is that what you tell yourself when you visit Lucretia's grave?"
Arcturus' nostrils flare. "That is precisely what I tell myself. If I had been more diligent, I would not need to visit a cold gravestone."
Dorea's eyes soften. "Archie, she died because it was her time. Had you not been so steadfast in your anger, you would have gotten to say goodbye."
"Had I been stricter, she would not have been slumming it with the Weasleys and would still be alive today."
Dorea sighs. It was a well rehearsed conversation they have had too many times. Arcturus blames Dorea for having stayed in contact with Lucretia despite his forbidding her to do so, Dorea blames Arcturus for cutting Lucretia out just for having gone for a disadvantageous marriage, Arcturus accuses the Weasleys of wanting to steal the Black family fortune, Lucretia blames her father for not putting her happiness above his ambitions, Arcturus blames Dorea for not taking his side, Dorea blames Arcturus for not breaking his resolve even as his daughter was sick, and Arcturus blames Lucretia for dying even if it is irrational, even if he will not voice it aloud. They could talk in circles for hours and still wouldn't reach any kind of conclusion. This is exactly why Dorea moved away.
They sit in a tense silence before Arcturus breaks it.
"How is Paris treating you?" Translation: was it worth it, abandoning your family?
"Paris is mercurial, a city after my own heart." Translation: I carry my family in my heart wherever I go, whether I like it or not.
"And how is my nephew?" Translation: you are still part of this family, and so is your son.
"He takes after his father a little more every day, makes you wonder who spent nine months carrying it." Translation: you will not get your leash on him, or you will have the Potters to deal with.
A surprisingly fond smile takes over Arcturus's face. "I may not see you in his face, but I see you in his fire." Translation: I still love you, and if he won't be under my leash, then he will at least be in my heart.
Dorea grabs his hand in hers. "I do miss you, dearest cousin." Translation: I miss you and I'm tired of playing games.
He squeezes hers in return while shaking his head. Translation: You're getting soft living with all these Gryffindors.
They separate when Cassiopeia arrives and presses a tumbler of scotch in her brother's hands. Both women register his hands shaking as he brings the glass to his lips. After he downs his drink and leaves to find to find his grand-children, they share a heavy look.
The ceremony is anti climactic to say the least. The hand fasting is done as quickly as possible. The bride and groom barely look at each other. Melania Black sneers at the colour scheme. Druella Black née Rosier ignores her in-laws and spends the rest of the day huddled with her brother. Arcturus takes pleasure in introducing his grandchildren to every Sacred 28 members in attendance. By the eighth introduction, Sirius starts tugging on his collar. By the tenth leer down her body, Hermione starts sweating. By the twelfth underhanded compliment, even Regulus starts yawning. They're saved from another introduction by the announcement of the newlyweds' first dance.
Bella and Rodolphus take the stage in rehearsed steps. They still look like complete strangers. Less than a minute in, a tall handsome man cuts in and asks Bella for a dance. She accepts with a slight flush and whispers rake through the guests.
"My most heartfelt congratulations, Madam Lestrange." His baritone voice is low enough to keep their conversation from unwanted ears.
Bella's bitter smile gets a smirk out of him.
"Would you answer a somewhat personal question?"
She raises her eyebrows at him to continue.
"Why not leave?"
"What do you mean leave?" she gapes at him.
"As I come to understand it, your sister was no happier about the union than you are, as I can only assume based on your cheery disposition. She took matters in her own hands and left. You stayed. Why?"
"Why should I leave?" she retorts, indignation bringing some colour to her cheeks and making her look alive for the first time today. "Why should I give up on my inheritance, my status, my birthright?"
"I see," he hums.
"Why do you care?"
"Oh I don't. I was just satisfying my curiosity. Today has been awfully boring. No offense, love."
"For you and me both," she grumbles before she can think better of it.
"Looking forward to the honeymoon, are we?"
"You're awfully cheeky, aren't you?" she snaps.
"Fortune does favour the bold."
"You know what," she gives him a toothy grin; "I actually am looking forward to the honeymoon. We'll be all alone in a big castle. So many stairs, so many accidents to be had." She heaves a dramatic sigh. "It would be so sad for me to be widowed on my honeymoon. Whatever shall I do with all my newly freed time?"
"As entertaining as that prospect sounds," he snorts, "I will have to request you refrain from murdering poor Rodolphus?"
"Why?" she whines.
"Because he's more useful to me alive than dead."
She huffs but doesn't argue. She's not stupid enough to push her luck with him. He's always indulged her more than others, but she won't delude herself into thinking she can derail his plans and live to tell the tale.
"To reward you for staying your hand," he placates her, "and to help make your honeymoon more exciting, I have a proposition for you."
"Are you propositioning me at my own wedding?" she teases.
His smile is all teeth and no warmth.
"I will not promise you any pleasure, only magic and mayhem. And, if we're lucky, some knowledge gained along the way."
Bella narrows her eyes at him.
"I'm listening."
"I've had the pleasure to look at your school files. Impressive. And you know I use that word sparingly."
Bella's breath hitches.
"Are you…?" she stammers. "I was told you didn't take students anymore."
"You were told right," he confirms. "But I am not fool enough to pass on a powerful witch such as you. I will not make Arcturus' mistake."
"No," she says, "a fool you certainly are not. A scoundrel, maybe."
She gets the first real laugh out of him that day.
"What do you say, Madam Lestrange?"
Her smile is cat like when she answers. "It would be my honour, Mister Riddle."
He dips her so low she almost drops, then brings her back against himself.
"Lesson number one, never call me 'Mister Riddle'."
"Yes, sir," she breathes out and he smiles approvingly.
When the rest of the guests start dancing and the polite introductions turn into longer conversations, Sirius is the first to escape his grandfather's clutches by latching on to the Potters who happily take him off Arcturus' reluctant hands. Hermione is the second. Once they reach Wizengamot members and start talking politics, she slips away, letting her twin handle his favourite parts of the conversation. She'd much rather discuss the latest potions publications with her aunt Cassie than whatever stuffy vote is putting wrinkles on her grandfather's forehead.
Hermione finds a secluded enough table to sit at and makes it ten minutes before she starts getting bored. Bet you ten galleons Rod will be dead by the end of the honeymoon, Hermione sends the thought to her twin and watches from the other side of the garden as he loses his composure. He bites his lip to keep from laughing and shakes yet another hand. He meets her eyes and shakes his head at her. She smiles mischievously.
Did you see the boogers on Mister Avery?
Regulus coughs to hide a laugh.
Stop it, he finally sends back, Grandfather Arcturus will have my head if he realises I'm not focused enough.
She's about to send another thought but he closes the twin channel on her. Hermione sighs. There goes her last chance at something the least bit entertaining. Maybe she should try and find Sirius.
"Someone once told that weddings are supposed to be fun."
Hermione startles at the voice coming behind her and turns to meet James's deep brown eyes. She turns away from his dimples to hide her twitching lips.
"This one seems to be the exception."
He takes the seat next to hers.
"So where's Sirius?" she asks in forced nonchalance. "I thought we'd have to pry him away from you."
James chuckles. "He's pestering my cousin about this year's Quidditch try-outs."
"And you don't care about Quidditch try-outs?" she inquires, surprised.
"I don't need to pester him about it. I already know I'm the best flyer he knows." He shrugs, puffing his chest.
"Cocky," she tsks.
"Confident," he corrects.
She can't help her smile this time. "So what brings you to my little corner?" she asks.
"I, um," he clears his throat and gets up to stand in front of her. "Would you care for a dance?" he extends a hand, his eyebrows high and his eyes hopeful. She takes his hand and lets him pull her to her feet, but doesn't let him take her to the dance floor.
"Would you do something else for me instead?" she whispers.
He grins and steps closer to her to keep their conversation secret. "Anything," he vows, his voice barely a breath against her ear.
"Take me flying." Her request is so low he almost thinks he misheard her.
His eyes widen in delight and he tugs her before she has time to regret it and back down. They run through the guests, duck under floating trays, and jump above discarded purses. When they reach the brooms shed, Hermione lets James select a broom. Once he mounts, he reaches a hand to her and she takes it. Her heart is beating so loud, she fancies he might be able to feel it through her palm. She's scared of heights. Suspects he knows that. But right now, after the fright Bella gave her, she thinks heights might just be the least of her problems.
She lets him put her in front of him, where she can stabilise her feet on the handles. Her hands are grasping the broom so hard she might just break it. He takes off with a cheer and she immediately tightens her grip on the wooden handle.
"Aleight, ease up," he tries telling her but she doesn't hear him. Her eyes are scrunched shut and her grip grows tighter. "Hermione, ease up," he tells her a little louder. The broom is tilting down and threatening to send them both careening down to earth. His hands go over hers and try to pry the fingers away, to no avail. "Hermione!" he yells and she finally opens her eyes. She shrieks at the ground growing closer and directs the broom up instead. They fly straight up, then straight down, then straight up again before she finally trusts him enough to let go of the broom and let him steer it all by himself. When he puts them at breezing speed around the manor, she lets herself go and looks at the sky above her, the clouds around her, the forest surrounding the grounds.
"Faster," she yells, and ignores the somersault her heart gives at the request.
"Are you sure?" he yells back.
She spreads her arms and let her head fall back on his shoulder. "Certain," she yells.
James grins and accelerates. She cheers, and he howls, and their voices sing a wildly disjointed symphony of freedom. And she reaches her goal. This high up, and this fast through the skies, there are no Bella warnings, and no Walburga glares, and no Arcturus threats. This high up she's unfettered.