That was the fourth year of Minister Wilhelmina Tuft's term, a cheerful and optimistic woman who was quite popular among the magical world citizens. Since taking office, she had established the tradition of making Christmas and New Year celebrations memorable for everyone. Besides encouraging celebrations among wizards, she herself hosted a New Year's Eve party, of a charitable nature, which was often attended by the wealthy families of the wizarding elite. Regardless of the cause to be supported, anyone who was someone in the wizarding world would be at the party.
That was why Sirius and Hesper Black, along with their nieces, were attending the event for the fourth time. Some other family members occasionally attended as well. The twins joined the young debutantes of high society, some classmates from Hogwarts, others recent graduates. Marguerith discreetly glanced at the corner where Alphard and Bartemius seemed engrossed in an amusing conversation. For a few seconds, she fixated on that scene, completely abstracting from the topic the girls near her were discussing.
She gave a discreet smile. Marge's mind wandered to the day she began to realize that what she felt for Alphard was moving beyond friendship. Marguerith didn't know if it had been his worried look at the time or the careful way he treated her wound in the following days. The truth was that it was the first day she started seeing Alphie as someone she could love. And, no matter how much she tried to deny to herself what she was feeling, the love kept growing. The more she fought against it, the more the feeling grew inside her. Perhaps she just needed to muster a bit of courage to make clear what she felt for him.
What mattered to Marge was that at that exact moment, she was happy. And that was enough.
She turned her face back to her colleagues, trying to join the conversation, when she noticed Betelgeuse staring at something behind Marguerith. The older twin had a mischievous and intensely seductive smile.
Marge turned, observing a tall, dark-haired man with absurdly blue eyes. He wore a pinstriped suit, and even under the clothes, his well-defined muscles were noticeable.
Betelgeuse excused herself from the other girls and, as she passed her sister, whispered in her ear:
"That is Stephanio Ivory. He's spending some time here in London for leisure and business. I saw it in the Daily Prophet. I'm going to introduce myself to him."
Marge slightly widened her eyes, envying her sister's boldness. Perhaps she could learn something from her.
The night had long fallen over London, but the hours had not yet advanced enough for the inhabitants of the mansion located at Grimmauld Place to be almost entirely immersed in the realm of dreams. However, it was likely that among them, the most awake was Marguerith. Already dressed in her white silk nightgown and wrapped in a thin robe of the same material, the young woman was stationed in front of her older sister's bedroom door, pacing back and forth, unconsciously biting her nails—a forgivable act for a lady of the wizarding society, who should maintain herself impeccably composed. But, the young woman was too anxious to care about her appearance.
Marge had a problem she had concluded she could not handle alone. She decided she needed to turn to someone she truly trusted. Precisely for this reason, the younger of the twins believed the older one might understand what was troubling her. The young woman stopped again in front of the door, holding her breath as if the inhaled air would give her extra courage for what she was about to do. She lightly knocked on the door, only resuming breathing when she heard Bete's voice inviting her to enter.
Her back was turned, her ebony-colored hair cascading down her back as she concentrated on brushing it while observing her reflection in the vanity mirror.
"You've been standing outside the room for ten minutes, Marge. I could hear your steps from here." Betelgeuse said in a neutral tone that the younger one couldn't interpret.
"I'm sorry, Bete." Marguerith said, wringing her hands together, not hiding her nervousness. She was usually self-assured, but in front of her sister, she allowed herself to show her feelings more openly.
Betelgeuse finally turned, scrutinizing the younger one, observing every detail of her gesture. It was definitely unnecessary to dwell on conjectures to conclude that something was bothering Marguerith.
"What do you want?" the older one asked in a slightly softer tone.
"Bete..." Marge stammered, her eyes fixed on her own hands, unable to look at her sister. "I need some advice... and I thought maybe you could help me..."
The younger one fell silent, waiting for some indication from her sister to continue.
"Go on," Betelgeuse's velvety voice sounded once more.
"I'm in love with Alphard. Maybe you could tell me what to do."
Marguerith closed her eyes, waiting for the response. However, what she heard was entirely opposite of what she imagined. A loud and shrill laugh echoed through the room. Only then did she dare to lift her face and face Bete. The older one's features bore an expression of amusement that Marge rarely saw in her sister.
"Dear, I can understand that you believe you're in love with Alphie. I confess he has certain charms that might interest some women... but have you considered how unsuitable he would be for you?" Betelgeuse said, noting that the younger one's attention was entirely directed at her. "Our cousin will never be more than a bohemian. Is that the kind of man you want to spend the rest of your life with? Someone who would easily ruin your name and give you a marriage full of insecurity?"
The younger one felt herself trembling inside upon hearing those words. To Marguerith, they weren't observations or advice but rather ill-omened prophecies coming from her sister's mouth. She knew that, given Alphard's behavior, Bete was far from lying.
"I... understand..." she stammered once more.
Betelgeuse nodded, turning back to the vanity and resuming the act of brushing her hair.
"You deserve someone better, Marge. Someone who is worthy of you," the older one said, using the same neutral tone as at the beginning of the conversation.
"Thank you, Bete." the younger one replied, trying to hold back the tears that stubbornly formed at the corners of her eyes. "Good night."
Without waiting for Betelgeuse's response, Marguerith left her sister's room, walking quickly towards her own bedroom, still trying to restrain her tears. Perhaps Bete's intentions were the best, but the older one might not have been aware that she had shattered the younger one's dreams.