Mid May, 1978
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
The weeks before N.E.W.T.s were dwindling down, and classwork was piling on top of Blanche like snow fallen over valleys victim to avalanche. She and Lily were the first to begin genuinely suffering, as they both took a number of extremely strenuous classes. Sirius did too, but he somehow achieved equally superb grades whilst doing half the amount of work they did. Nowadays even Lily's inexhaustible cheeriness—which could weather nearly every storm—was faltering as she protested the amount of work.
Blanche had woken at dawn on a Friday morning to finish homework upon which she'd fallen asleep the night prior. In six hours, she had to have another foot of an essay on the properties of slug brains, five inches about the internally combative natures of the Killing Curse, four pages worth of Crux-oriented latitude calculations for locations the planet Neptune, a perfect sample of an impossible antivenin, and a refreshed knowledge of Summoning Charms. None of these things would be particularly hard, but it was a lot. And to make matters even more difficult, the final Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw was in a week and a half, meaning Blanche had to often attend the rainy May practices and listen to Sirius complain about them whenever she wasn't complaining about the work load.
The playful tapping of rain against the windows made Blanche feel colder, so she made a fire with a flick of her wand. Her stomach began to growl after not much time, but she figured the house-elves wouldn't have finished breakfast yet. Well, she thought, they probably have finished, but it's really a matter of whether the doors to the Great Hall are open.
By the time she finished her final inch on slug brains, Blanche was sleepily sitting under a band of morning sunlight ripening through the window. As the sun peeked into the sky, Lily was up and walking down the girls' dormitory stairs. She typically rose with the sun during the school week.
"You're up early," she greeted with a smile. "Were you with Sirius?"
"The only thing I held whilst sleeping last night was Spellman's Syllabary," she grumbled. "I forced Sirius to leave me be last night when he wouldn't quit griping about that other Beater, Broadmoor."
"I see," Lily nodded, sitting down before the fire. "I can't tell what is more frustrating—the Quidditch or the homework. James has been a right mess lately."
"They've all been a right mess lately… all because of Mulciber screwing them in the game. I should really curse him individually with something nightmarish," Blanche brainstormed. "Like the Disintegration Curse…"
"Blanche!" Lily cried, shooting upwards and spinning around.
"What? I'm losing sleep over this!"
"You're not using that. If you need to do something, shrivel his ears or remove his hair, but don't do anything that will get you in real trouble."
"Real trouble? What's this?" Blanche heard Sirius' voice in the boys' stairwell. Although he wore his uniform (poorly albeit—as his tie was loose and his sweater untucked), his face was still fresh with sleep and a yawn contorted his handsome features. His lengthening hair was tanged in curls that fell to his neck. It was a particularly early rise for him, but these days he liked to wake early to complete work with (or more like distract) Blanche in her morning studies.
"Blanche is threatening to use the Disintegration Curse on Mulciber," Lily informed him bitterly.
"It's not like he doesn't deserve it," she retorted.
"Oh, young Blanche," he sighed, collapsing on the couch beside her. "So much anger."
"Come off it, Sirius," she spat back, irritated by the smug grin on his face.
"You're not using that curse, Blanche. Promise me you won't?"
Blanche screwed her lips into a scowl and she looked angrily at the fire.
"Someone's in a foul mood today, isn't she?" Sirius laughed, causing Blanche to slap him on the head. "Ow!"
"I promise I won't curse Mulciber with the Disintegration Curse—even though he thoroughly deserves it," she mumbled through her scowl after Lily glared at her expectantly.
Sirius, Lily, and Blanche waited until Remus, Peter, and James trotted downstairs sleepily. The days of including Lily's other friends—Holly, Olympia, and Kyra—were long over. The coupling of James and Lily as well as Blanche and Sirius had solidified everyone's idea of what the group of friends consisted of—Blanche, Sirius, Remus, Lily, Peter, and James.
At breakfast, the Great Hall's ceiling brewed something sour. Black clouds churned and rumbled with lightning ready to strike, and a silvery rain fell and faded into the atmosphere. When everyone sat down, their plates were adorned with foods of their choosing: back bacon, link sausage, baked beans, grilled tomatoes, porridge, poached eggs, hash browns, and potato cakes. A row of buttered toast was presented before them in a rack, all amongst puddles of jams, marmalades, jellies, and conserves.
"Moony, look—it's Penelope Poke," Sirius whispered across the table and knocked his knuckles against Remus' giddily. Remus jolted in his seat and Blanche swore she'd never seen his wise façade so shattered. She watched his Adam's Apple bob in nervousness and his cheeks ripen to a pale pink.
"Who's Penelope Poke?" Blanche asked, and Remus immediately shushed her harshly.
"Sixth Year Remus is in love with," Sirius answered.
"What house?"
"Hufflepuff," James replied.
"Where is she?" Blanche asked, following Remus' eyes across the Hall to the Hufflepuff table.
"Don't make it so obvious, Blanche!" Remus argued in a voice she had never before heard—it was almost petulant.
"Tall brunette," James helped Blanche find her.
"With the lovely rack," Sirius added. Blanche rolled her eyes before they swept across the Hufflepuff table. She found a full-chested, attractive girl with amber brown hair and a flush of freckles across her nose. Blanche had noticed her before, but never bothered to pay attention to her. She paid her greater notice as she thought of her own particularly small chest in comparison to that belonging to Penelope Poke, looking down at her blouse disappointedly. Sirius sometimes unthinkingly said things like this—it was a relic of their platonic relationship.
"I see," she commented, clearing her head of any insecurities. "I can't believe Remus is interested in someone."
"I'm not," Remus clarified. "I just made the mistake of telling Sirius I found her attractive."
"I'd say I could talk to her for you, but I'm really not the ideal fit for making those sort of connections. I would bet on Lily," she informed him, looking to the smiling Head Girl who was already considering getting up to go greet Penelope.
"No!" Remus cried, shooting out of his seat before she could fully stand. "I'm not interested in anything beyond… appreciative observation."
"Well, there's no benefit to that, Remus," James commented with a scoff, taking a large bite of toast.
"What should I do then, do you reckon? Harass her until she curses me with the bogies?" Remus snarked in response—Blanche was surprised to ever seen him lose his cool like he was in the face of Penelope Poke. She remembered the time Lily had cursed James with the bogies in Sixth Year; interestingly enough, it hadn't been long before she began accepting him as a romantic interest.
"Say all you'd like, Moony, but it did work, didn't it?" James enquired snidely, curling a hand around Lily's shoulders. She varnished his toast with mandarin marmalade as he did, smiling girlishly.
"It's not like that. I don't want to be involved with her at any capacity," Remus clarified stiffly, opting to focus on his sausages instead.
"Fine then," Sirius sighed. Blanche felt him fasten himself upon her shoulder. In the past few weeks, Sirius and Blanche had accidentally made a greater display of public affection. As per usual, they reacted belligerently whenever anyone publicly asked questions: Sirius only answered the questions of the Marauders—and only when they were behind closed doors; Blanche never answered anyone's questions, not even Lily's. However, slivers of their evolving relationship could be seen in small gestures such as these: his arm around her shoulder, her offering of buttered toast to him, his sleepy yet euphoric smile in acceptance, then leaning into her ear to tell her something that would nearly make her spit out her tea in laughter.
The Owl Postal Service flooded in to Remus' great relief, and letters descended from the sky in low swoops of feathers. The paper owls delivering the Daily Prophet strategically delivered papers to the Seventh Years of all houses before all the other years. They never squawked impatiently to the Seventh Years like they did to the students in all their preceding years.
Blanche, Sirius, and Remus were the only ones to receive the Daily Prophet and Blanche was quickest to drop one knut into the leg pouch of the owl who delivered her papers. She unrolled the paper and was faced with a disturbing yet familiar enchanted image of a green skull projecting into the sky. A snake jumped from its open jaw in the image and curled around the stars.
MURDER BY THE MARK:
MUGGLEBORN WIZARD AND FAMILY DEAD
ON 6 MAY 1977, wizards and witches of Camborne, Cornwall
were awoken by a cry and a crash as rebels cast the Dark Mark
into the sky after the murder of their most recent victims.
The unfortunate recipients of what Department of Magical
Law Enforcement insiders report as the Killing Curse were
the Clarke family, a muggle family with two daughters—one
squib and one witch. In the early May misery, all four members
of the family were pronounced dead upon law enforcement's
arrival. The family included Marcus Clarke, 49, Marie Clarke,
45, Aurelia Clarke, 18, and Miranda Clarke, 15. This is a most
unfortunate loss for the Wizarding world and Hogwarts School
of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where young Aurelia Clarke was
studying. This mass murder is just one of many over the past…
A scream ripped through the Great Hall; it became obvious to Blanche that someone had gotten a hold of the Daily Prophet before she had. Another racking sob rolled across the Hall and several teachers stood from their chairs to do something about the students; Blanche couldn't tell if they knew about the Clarkes or not.
"What is it?" Lily leant across the table in curiosity. "What has everyone crying?"
Sirius unrolled his newspaper and his eyes skimmed across the main story on the first page. Blanche felt his grip upon her shoulder tighten. "Death Eaters have killed another family," Sirius informed Lily gravely. James snatched up Remus' paper and read.
"Oh no. Who?" Lily enquired.
"The Clarkes," Blanche answered. "The family of Aurelia Clarke."
"How horrible!" Lily cried, tightening her grip on her spoon. "Is that why she isn't here?"
"No, she was killed too," Sirius told her. This news seemed to affect Lily drastically, as she transformed into a teary-eyed catastrophe. James held her tightly as Remus stood to look across the Hall—searching for Aurelia's friends at the Ravenclaw table. She'd had a tight-knit group of friends in her house through all her years at Hogwarts; there were sure to be some broken hearts in the Hall.
"Why are we all just now hearing about this?" Blanche asked the table.
"Dumbledore has been gone the past few days," Peter informed her.
"That's true. He's probably been dealing with that," James commented as he held Lily closely against his chest.
"But the teachers must have known. Why haven't they mentioned it?" Sirius asked. Peter and James shrugged their shoulders.
"Merlin, I can't believe this," Blanche shook her head mournfully.
Sirius opened his mouth but was interrupted by the sound of the doors to the Great Hall opening behind a pale blue-cloaked figure. Remus—still standing—informed the rest it was Dumbledore. "Reckon he's back to explain now."
Blanche leant forward on her hands to get a better view of Dumbledore as he quickly crossed the paths between the parted tables. The headmaster carried a rushed look in the blue of his eyes. He was before the podium with his wand to his bearded throat in moments, and Blanche noted he moved very quickly for a man nearing one hundred years old.
"Students," his voice boomed with the Amplifying Charm. Blanche watched all the heads of Hogwarts turn from their copies of the Daily Prophet and look at their headmaster. "I assume many of you have just now received the paper and now know what horrific tragedy has befallen a student here and her family. To those who are not yet aware: a Seventh Year Ravenclaw named Aurelia Clarke has been murdered by the Dark Lord and his servants, the Death Eaters."
A chorus of gasps ran through the crowds of students at his words. Even Professor Sprout jolted in her seat at the news.
"My most sincere grievances go to Aurelia's friends and classmates—" Dumbledore said but was interrupted by a muffled wail of one of Aurelia's closest friends. "When a life is dashed, especially so prematurely, there is no true remedy for the loss; all we can do is remember Aurelia and keep her in our hearts, thereby honouring her in death. And to those that knew her family—keep them with you as well…
To those that never had the pleasure of meeting her—she was an extraordinary young witch. Her thirst for knowledge was known amongst all teachers. More often than not she could be found pouring over books in the library. Her greatest strength was her learning, and her greatest passion dragons. She'd planned on going to the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary in just a few short months following her graduation. As you can imagine, she was very courageous as well… In fact, she was a Hatstall—the Sorting Hat could not decide whether her bravery outweighed her thirst for knowledge. Some Seventh Years and professors here may remember that she asked aloud: 'Is this a true Hatstall or just a near one? I've read about both—the former's really rare, isn't it?'"
Students almost laughed to themselves before realising the context in which they were laughing. Dumbledore had a way of inadvertently persuading those around him to forget the world around them.
"After that, the Hat was sure—Ravenclaw! In that way, Aurelia had a way of making even the tensest situations lighter. It's an incredible ability to have, really… Many of her friends I'm sure would attest to this, which is why we'll be holding a service tomorrow afternoon for her. Classes for today will be canceled in order to allow students to process the loss of their classmate. I do not mean to make this anything else than a merciless murder, but I urge you to let this serve as a reminder of the fragile balance of our world. None of us are only pure of blood or impure of blood, as none of us are only dark or light."
—
Lily and Blanche had attempted to make use of their extra weekend day by catching up on their homework, but neither seemed interested in focusing on anything like schoolwork. Death had a way of making mundane tasks ceaselessly trivial; exams and class attendance suddenly felt like ghosts hovering over palpable objects echoing death and life, good and bad, love and hate.
While Blanche made a conscious effort to distract herself with library tasks—putting away their books, sorting the good quills from the bad, magically diluting the wells of ink—Lily had taken to staring painfully out of the window. The weather outside seemed to reflect the general mood of the school—dingy, murky, hopeless. Pellets of rain hit the glass windows and made the world around Hogwarts a tearstained, swirling panorama.
"That could've been me," Lily spoke softly when Blanche was nearby, returning Potions books to their rightful spots. She paused her mission to turn her head in Lily's direction. Blanche saw her freckled cheeks were wet again.
"What matters is that it wasn't," Blanche clarified, releasing the spine of a book so it floated up to the highest row.
"But it could have been," Lily repeated. "A muggleborn witch in Seventh year, her squib sister, her Muggle mother and her squib father… It's like blanks were just filled in with different names and I got lucky. That easily could have been me."
"No, it couldn't have," Blanche turned around and looked at her. "Because you're not a Clarke. By no means am I blaming Marcus Clarke, but everyone knows he served as a liaison between the Muggle world and the Wizarding world. That's probably why they were targets. Your family keeps quiet. I see no reason to why you'd be considered a target."
"Blanche, you know that I think your levelheadedness is one of your most redeeming qualities, but I don't want to hear you make reason of this right now. I'm horrified right now—so scared I don't even know if I can stay for N.E.W.T.s and graduation—"
"That's exactly what Aurelia did. She went home when she wasn't supposed to and You-Know-Who knew it was the opportune time to knock them all out. You cannot go home. And besides, if you ever want to take a chance at beating this thing, you've got to graduate to get a high-ranking job. Everyone knows in order to make big changes, you've got to be high up," Blanche argued. The words seemed painfully hollow, but there was a cold truth to them.
Lily looked down and her red hair curtained her face, surely hiding an array of features contorted in sorrow. Blanche was not much good at comforting—she needed James to pick up here. "But there's nothing I can do about this fear and guilt. How am I supposed to live with this for however many years it takes to wipe out the Dark Rebellion? What if we never do?"
"Lily, you can't think like that," Blanche said, sitting down in the chair beside her. "You can't feel guilty for what you are. You should always be proud of yourself; being ashamed of it is exactly what You-Know-Who wants. The stronger you are—the prouder you are… It's fighting him. If you want to defend your family, that's how you do it. You never feel guilty for being what you are, and you never fear him, and you never run away from where you're meant to be."
Lily's head nodded. She pushed back her hair to reveal a reddened nose and watery green eyes. A glimmer of hope thrived in the latter though, and her lips softened with a new lightness, even though a separate segment of her mind acknowledged the hypocrisy with which Blanche spoke: she had no pride in where she came from and felt nothing but guilt over what she was. But Lily ignored it, knowing Blanche would never listen. "You're right," she nodded more fervently.
"Yes, I am," Blanche grinned smugly. "Now, where did we leave Asiatic Anti-Venoms?" She enquired.
"Oh, shit—I think I left it back at Potions. I'll go get it," she began to stand up, but Blanche shook her head.
"No, it's alright. I've already done my lab anyway. You get started whilst I get it."
"Thanks, Blanche."
Blanche left the library and headed down the corridor, taking a skinny flight of stairs she had discovered Second Year down to the ground floor's hall of classrooms and courtyard. She entered the courtyard for a breath of fresh air, walking along the cloisters to get to the staircase heading into the dungeons, where Potions Class was. Hardly anyone was out in the open that morning and the courtyard was silent. A mist rolled through the open grounds, obscuring trees less than three metres away from her into veiled ghosts. Not even the air was refreshing like she'd hoped; it only felt wilted and moulded in her mouth.
Breaking through the quiet, Blanche heard footsteps echoing through the cloisters and she turned around to see who it was. The mist shrouded them with anonymity until the were very close to her—four students arranging a diamond around her. Blanche recognised them instantly, they were in her year. Four Ravenclaws who had been the best friends of Aurelia Clarke: Violet Ashby, Nathaniel Humbert, Hester Cloy, and Alistair Weatherstone.
"Yes?" Blanche asked confusedly, perhaps a bit too coldly to those who were grieving. "Can I help you?" She tried to soften her tone. She wasn't sure how to address them.
"Don't you seem fine this morning?" Nathaniel asked sourly. "Being 'pureblood' and that—you probably don't have to worry about your family and friends."
"My best friend is Muggle-born," she informed.
"Who, Lily Evans?" Violet asked with a sharper but more hesitant glare. Blanche had once been assigned partners with her for a semester back in Third Year. She was always sheepish, but Aurelia Clarke had seemed to crack through that shell of hers in their First Year. Blanche hardly ever saw Violet and Aurelia apart. She was probably hurting the most out of them all.
"The only person I ever see you around is Sirius Black. You know, heir of the house of Black, the wealthiest and purest of the Sacred Twenty-Eight?" Alistair bit.
"And most deranged," Nathaniel added. Blanche thought to argue that the house of Lestrange could give the Blacks a good run for their money in these regards, but decided to stay quiet.
"I don't think Sirius Black has anything to worry about," Violet perked up. Her eyes—usually a soft doe brown—now seemed black, sitting between brows furrowed in anger. "But the rest of us… We go home to visit a sick family member, and your family kills us."
"I'm not a part of my family anymore, my father—"
"Yes, your father," Nathaniel spat. "Rabastan Lestrange, a Death Eater."
"Yeah, we know about that," Hester piped up. "That Slytherin, Snape—he's been talking to us. Said your dad killed the Clarkes. Apparently that's his job. Combs through the Daily Prophet to find good targets and must have read about Marcus Clarke. That true?"
Blanche's breath halted in her chest. The Daily Prophet… Always right in front of him, in those cigarette-stained, paper-white hands. He spent hours every day raking through the paper, voicing grievances here and there. Finding a Muggleborn or half-blood each day to hate. Now she knew why… Always reading the Daily Prophet. Always hunting.
Blanche started, opening her mouth, but nothing came out. She couldn't say anything in her defence. She was guilty—she hadn't noticed for all those years. She just now realised; she was a fool. An outsider saw it before Blanche could even think of it.
"So, Snape ratted you out. Looks like you can't keep your ulterior motives to yourself anymore," Violet said.
"And when you graduate, you and Black will follow in your parents' footsteps, I'm sure. Follow You-Know-Who's every command," said Nathaniel.
"I would never—" Blanche started. "Just let me explain."
"You don't get to explain," Hester stated resolutely, pulling out her wand.
"You can't explain to Aurelia, so you can't explain to us," Violet said quietly, taking out her own wand. Blanche could see the sheen of wetness in her eyes—that poor girl had lost her sister. Blanche couldn't imagine losing Lily, and she'd hurt anyone she would even slightly suspect doing it. Perhaps she deserved this. Even if she didn't agree with her father, she was still his daughter. She was still a member of the house of Lestrange, infamous murderers, burglars, and villains obsessed with what your blood was made of—marrying inwards, exploding with stolen wealth, hurting the innocent and vulnerable. And she'd done what she was supposed to, after all: stay silent and couple off with a Black.
"Expulso," Hester cast, knocking Blanche backwards against the wall. Her head thumped against the stone wall, causing a splitting pain to crack through her head.
"Not even going to defend yourself, Lestrange?" Alistair laughed cruelly. But she hadn't taken out her wand and she wasn't going to. Why should she? She didn't deserve the right to protect herself.
"Vermillious!" Nathaniel shouted, sending a jet of sparks her way. Blanche tried to hold on to the wall for support but it wasn't much use.
"Locomotor Wibbly!" Alistair added, causing Blanche to crumble to the ground.
"Snape calls you a pureblood who lost her way," Violet stepped forward. Blanche watched the tendons of her wrist harden as she tightened her grip on her wand, holding it like one would a pen. "And it's funny. You purebloods go around calling everyone names—mudbloods, scumsuckers, mudblood-lovers, blood traitors, dunglickers… But no one seems to ever call you a name."
Violet flicked her wand quickly, and the ebony wood began to glint with a silver spark. Blanche remembered Violet was quite a talented witch—particularly skilled with wordless transfigurations.
Blanche's eyes were teeming with colourless ants from her painful slam against the wall, but she could feel the sleeve of her robe being pushed up to her elbow, and Violet got to her knees to lean over Blanche and hold down her other arm. However, Blanche wasn't interested in putting up much of a fight.
Suddenly a searing pain jolted up her right arm, accompanied with bitter stabs into the soft, tender flesh of the inside of Blanche's forearm. She screamed, but found it quieted by the heavy sleeve of Violet's robe.
"Come on, Vi—" Blanche could hear Alistair's voice warily express concern behind her, but Violet silenced him.
"Her father murdered Aurelia and her entire family because they were ordinary people who had a witch as a daughter," she spoke through gritted teeth. A muffled shriek left Blanche's mouth. "The Lestranges go about branding the Muggleborn with the seal of impurity, and when they say something they're horrifically murdered by her family. So why shouldn't she be branded too, if that's what the Wizarding world is about now? If this is the institution she and the Dark Rebellion champion, I say she gets a label too."
Violet seemed to finish her cruel work upon Blanche's arm when she stood up, wiping a small mess of blood from her hands onto her robes. Blanche could feel nothing of the pain as she lay there—ashamed and deserving—within the actual fresh wound, but could sense a swell of blood that had travelled down her wrist, palm, and dropped from the tip of her pointer finger to the ground.
Hester, Alistair, and Nathaniel ran off at the sight of it—clearly sceptical of their sudden leader's violet actions. Violet followed shortly behind, but not before leaving her with a final message: "One day, I pray that is the most depraved of insults."
Before Blanche succumbed to the darkness that shrouded her sight of the misted courtyard, she looked down to her bloodied arm and read: "Pureblood."
—
Sirius was standing in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, which was empty aside from himself and James, who stood next to him tossing a Bludger between his hands. Both lost in their own thoughts, Sirius himself was swinging his Beater's bat without much effort—his mind was elsewhere.
The gloomy weather seemed to accommodate likewise gloomy thoughts. The air was heavy with mist—not a mist of spring that May was supposed to bring, but instead a sinister mist that seemed to hide secrets. And it seemed like the world was hiding secrets from him. Ever since he lost contact with his family and was effectively emancipated from the house of Black, he felt useless. He couldn't update those who cared with the malevolent plannings of the Dark Forces. His last remaining portal into that life was Regulus, but they certainly weren't on speaking terms. As long as his brother remained silent in the face of Orion and Walburga Black's insanity, Sirius would remain silent with him. Not to mention Sirius had yet to graduate. What help could a student do?
And now with the massacre of the Clarkes… It was all going to shit.
"Mate, this is a fucking nightmare," James seemed to echoed his own thoughts.
"You don't have to tell me."
"I mean—what the fuck is wrong with people?" He sighed loudly. "And Lily will be a right mess about this. I mean, a Muggle family with one witch daughter? You may as well fill in the blanks…"
"Hey, don't say that, Prongs," Sirius affirmed, looking his best friend in the eyes. "You know as well as I do that Aurelia's father wasn't exactly keeping a low profile."
"But it's just a matter of time before they start going after every bloody witch or wizard with a drop of Muggle running through their veins!" James exclaimed.
Sirius shrugged defeatedly—he couldn't find the effort to be any more optimistic. He just wanted to see Blanche, really. She could warm up the day in her paradoxically icy, sarcastic way. However, these days he was finding that he wanted to see her always, regardless of the weather or his mood.
"Where is Lily now?" Sirius enquired.
"With Blanche somewhere. Library probably, knowing those two. I wanted to talk to Lily alone, but Blanche sent me a look that would send the Devil running so I figured they had to have some girl-talk before I could get my foot in."
"Hm," Sirius offhandedly mumbled.
"How's it going between you too?" James asked, even though he was updated by the day.
"Well, you know Blanche," Sirius stated simply. "Cold, withdrawn, harsh, aloof… Ingenious, beautiful, independent, understanding, genuine, sensitive, phenomenally sexy, passionate—"
"I've met her, Sirius. I have also been long acquainted with your undying love for her so settle down. I meant more progress-wise."
Sirius nodded as he stared into the mist. "I feel like I'm in Second Year again," He laughed lightly. "And I've got to say… I'm into it."
"So you're not shagging, and you're into that?" James asked doubtfully, but then changed his tune. "You know what—never mind. That girl could tell you to put on a chastity belt and you would."
"Oh, shut it," Sirius rebuked. "Really though, I'd obviously never make her do anything she didn't want to do. And I think she will want to eventually, but it's a weird, transitory period. Like when you've been best mates for five years, how do you change the way you address one another? How do you ignore all the things you've told them that—you know—you should never, ever tell your girlfriend? Like that you once wanked to a shapely gargoyle in First Year out of lack of access to proper materials?"
James laughed loudly and his voice echoed through the pitch. "I couldn't tell you, Padfoot. Thankfully, Lily hated me up until a few months before we got together."
Sirius pursed his lips and shrugged, taking another swing with his Beater bat at an imaginary Bludger that coasted through the thick air. He pretended to follow the Bludger with his finger, watching it soar into oblivion, but he was interrupted with an echo of rushing wind.
"Sirius!" He heard Peter's perpetually distressed voice sound across the field.
"Yeah?!" Sirius shouted into the air, trying to track his fellow Marauder through the opaque skies.
"You've got to get to the Hospital Wing!" Peter shouted, arriving before him on his broom, carrying Sirius' with him. He threw it at Sirius, who caught it deftly with one hand.
"Why?"
"Blanche was attacked. She's unconscious," Peter informed him breathlessly. And with that, Sirius was gone.
—
Blanche woke up in a stiff bed that kept her tightly confined, as though she were wearing a straight jacket. Struggling to move, she wriggled her left arm out and lifted her torso up, looking around her. The Hospital Wing?
To her side, Sirius was slumped over in a chair sleeping restfully. It was clearly late at night, as most of the lights in the infirmary were out and the tall window just above her bed exposed a black night sky.
With her freed hand, Blanche reached out far to try and wake Sirius. The stain of her body against the sheets as she stretched seemed to clutter in her head, and she groaned loudly as she collapsed back onto the pillow.
"Blanche?" Sirius asked groggily, waking unusually easily. Blanche brought her hand up to her temples to rub them in the hopes of alleviating some of the pain. Sirius, fully awake within seconds, got to his knees so he could be right beside her. "How are you feeling?"
"Like proper shit."
"What happened to you? No one's come forth."
"To what?"
"Filch found you in the courtyard cloisters in a pool of your own blood. You were attacked!" Sirius informed her hotly.
With a pain that pulsated through her entire skull, she remembered being thrown up against the stone walls of the classrooms, locked in the legs, and mutilated by the grieving friends of Aurelia Clarke.
"Right," Blanche remembered.
"Who was it then, Blanche?!" He demanded, keeping his voice low but urgent. "I will curse everyone in this school into oblivion until someone comes forth. Were they some Slytherin lowlifes? Christ, and what they wrote—"
"No, it wasn't who you think," she shook her head, exhausted by his passions. She managed to slip her right arm out of the blankets to analyse the recently-realised wounds detailing her inner forearm.
It was wrapped with thick gauze and pins. She reached to undo a pin, wincing as the bandages shifted against her injury, but persisting to entirely unravel it. And—in moments—there is was: Pureblood. Written in the swollen, pink, torn flesh of her arm.
Blanche studied it quietly before looking to Sirius painfully. He slipped a gentled arm under her head and managed to supply her with a soft hug. "Whoever did this to you is going to—"
"Then I won't tell you," she mumbled into his shoulder and he pulled back.
"Why?!" He urged loudly.
"Because I… I'll make the allowance for it. I understand why they did it."
"What the fuck, Blanche?" He questioned harshly, true anger coming to his eyes, which appeared coal grey in the dark infirmary. "How can this be excused?"
Blanche wriggled against the tight confines of her sheets, swearing loudly at the hospital tucking. "Help me."
Sirius sighed and leant back, pulling the sheets free with a tough jolt and allowing her room. She stretched out her arms and looked around, seeing an empty infirmary. She pointed with her unwounded arm to the bed to her right. "Move the divider to that bed's other side and bring the bed over here. They roll," she said, pointing to the small wheels at the metal bed's base.
"Madam Pomfrey will throw a right fit tomorrow morning," Sirius said, but circled the other bed to push it against Blanche's. He positioned the divider close to their newly-double bed.
"She will survive, I'm sure," Blanche quietly answered. Madam Pomfrey was familiar with Blanche's shenanigans and the relatively frequent appearance of victims of her magic in the infirmary. However, she'd always found the clever retort of her charms and hexes a bit funny, albeit naughty.
Sirius climbed in the bed next to her, undoing the sheets and opening his arms for her. "Please tell me who did it," he pled as he held her shoulders, urging her with his eyes.
"I cannot blame the people who did it themselves, their reaction to Aurelia's death was fair. I'm okay that they took it out on me," Blanche informed him slowly.
"What does this have to do with the Clarkes' death?"
"It was her friends. Mainly her best friend, Violet Ashby. You know her—she and Aurelia were like sisters… Like Lily and I. And she thought my family did it, or she knew my family did it, because I'm sure my father was involved," she told him, and watched anger descend like hard rain upon his face. "But you can't blame her! I deserved—"
"You did not deserve this! Your father and you are estranged! You don't even use his last name anymore!" He quieted her.
"I don't care what you think about this—you're not doing anything to Violet or her friends. If you do, I'll be very angry."
Sirius groaned loudly in frustration. "This is absurd. You can't keep all this self-hatred—it's going to kill you!"
Blanche lay on her back, tugging her shoulders from his grip. "I've made my decision," she stated.
"So you're just going to happily fall victim to the whims of anyone who dislikes the Dark Rebellion?" Sirius asked dramatically.
"Sirius," she sat up stiffly, tearing herself away from him. "I said nothing for seventeen years of my life. I'm not blameless. I watched him read the paper all day…"
"The paper?"
"My father is a Death Eater, Sirius. He's You-Know-Who's hunter. He finds the families to kill off."
"A Death Eater?"
"And I've been almost certain of it all these years… I knew, but I never wanted to be sure. And I never said anything," she said, lowering to a whisper and staring into the divider, as though she could see some faintly-clad figure telling her something. "But now I know. Snape said so."
"Snape?! What the fuck does that git have to do with this?"
Blanche sighed, dropping her penetrating gaze and looking at him defeatedly. "He told Violet and the rest of her friends that my father was the one who killed the Clarkes."
"So this is his fault?!" Sirius began heatedly, getting to his knees.
"Stop it, Sirius," she said, trying to hold him down as he stood up, getting out of bed.
"No, I'm not going to stop. That snivelling wanker is going to get what he deserves," he left the bed, picking up his robes. "He went too far this time."
"Sirius!" She tried to shout after him, but he was gone in moments.