Ultimate Aphrodisiac

Chapter Five

Defection

"Love is whatever you can still betray." - John LeCarre

On the 13th of April in 1970, Bellatrix Black turned eleven years old, something that the house elves and her younger relations had been dreading for some time. The anniversary of her birth was much fêted; even Clytemnestra seemed mildly glad to remember the day she'd brought this child into the world. Orion had, of course, spoiled her with presents. She rejoiced over a crimson riding habit, with her father's promise that he would teach her to ride a pegasus. New books, dolls, and toys littered the floor of her room, and there were new gowns and robes as well. And it was no surprise when, flash at noon, a black-feathered owl winged its way in through the open window of the Day Room, clutching Bellatrix's official Hogwarts acceptance letter in its beak.

Bellatrix laughed as she read it out loud, at Narcissa's prompting, and then she looked expectantly at her father. "May we go and get my wand now?" she asked, dark eyes crinkled with eagerness.

Smiling, Orion stood, and took Bella's hand. "I suppose we'd best, sweeting." With a truly giddy squeal of excitement, Bellatrix hugged her father. Narcissa's blue eyes turned up to them with the faintest hint of envy; she knew she would not be invited along for the trip. That was the way of it; when Sirius would go for his wand in December, Regulus would not be allowed to accompany him. The wand-acquiring trip was something only for the child and father to share. "I imagine we'll be back shortly," Orion told Clytemnestra. "I don't expect this should take very long. And then we'll tell the house-elves to prepare whatever it is my little angel wants for supper," he added, petting Bellatrix's hair fondly. She laughed again as he lifted her in his arms. "All right, my dearest, hold on." Bella wrapped her arms about his neck and buried her head in his shoulder, waiting for the strange sensation of being Apparated along with her father to Diagon Alley. The Blacks didn't travel by Floo Powder if they could help it, considering it common and unnecessarily dirty, and so Bellatrix had long ago become accustomed to Side-Along Apparition.

They appeared with a pop! in Diagon Alley, just in front of Ollivander's. Bellatrix knew the façade well, with its seemingly ancient bricks and the painted wooden sign proclaiming their long, long lineage, but she had never before been inside. Orion set her down and opened the door, holding it to usher her in.

Orion did not call out for Mr Ollivander when he entered; that had never been Orion's way. He did not call attention to himself, but rather let it come naturally, as it always did. His very presence commanded respect, and Bellatrix always loved to watch lesser folk gravitate towards his power.

It took Ollivander only a moment to realise he had an important customer, and the grey-haired man stepped out from between two shelves. "Ahh, Mr Black. Good day to you, sir." He gave Orion a reverent, though not obsequious, bow, and then his too-pale grey eyes fell on Bellatrix. "Eleven today, then?" he asked.

"Afternoon, Oscar," Orion replied, inclining his head to acknowledge the man. "And yes, my darling Bellatrix's birthday is today, and she didn't want to wait any longer than necessary for her wand."

Orion did not have to nudge Bellatrix forward; she approached the wandmaker readily, and though she would bob no curtsey to this man, she treated him with a sight more respect than she did most people, because her father esteemed him. "Yes, sir. I'm eleven and I should like my wand."

Ollivander gave Bellatrix a piercing stare. A lesser girl might have flinched, but Bellatrix stared right back, unintimidated. "Well, then," he said after a moment, "Miss Black, you seem a strong sort of person, rather like your father. Let's start out with one similar to his. Up on the stool, there."

No sooner had Bellatrix seated herself than Ollivander presented her with dark, slender wand. "Shorter than his, but same wood and core - walnut and dragon heartstring." But he had barely let her fingers touch the wand before he pulled it away. "No, no, that won't do, not at all..." Another wand, slightly longer. "Maple, eleven inches, phoenix feather." And snatched away just as quickly. "No... too delicate... wouldn't stand up to hard usage... rowan, eleven and a quarter, dragon heartstring - no, no, I should think not, good for Transfiguration but too weak on Charms... Birch, ten and a half, and phoenix?" Bellatrix's nose wrinkled at the pale-coloured wand, and Ollivander didn't even bother handing her that one. "No, lacks spirit. Hazelnut and dragon heartstring?" He let this one linger in Bellatrix's palm for a small moment longer than the others before taking it away. "No, but close... Ah! Let us try..." He placed a wand in Bellatrix's hands, and as soon as her slender fingers curled around it, a shower of green and gold sparks erupted from the wand's end. Bellatrix grinned at the spectacle and whipped her head about to look at her father.

Orion had a small smile on his face, and was nodding. "What is it, Oscar?"

"Hawthorne," Ollivander replied. "Ten and three-quarters, dragon heartstring. A good solid wand, will hold up to all sorts of spellwork... a bit rigid, but more than makes up for that in character."

"Hawthorne," Orion commented. "That's unusual."

"Yes... it was sacred to Maia, you know. Love and death. I don't often use it... bit temperamental on occasion but... unusual, yes..." The barest of smiles creased the old wandmaker's lips. "I think your daughter will be no ordinary witch, Mr Black."

~~*~~

Andromeda arrived home two months later. Clytemnestra considered it gauche to mingle with the rabble at the train station to pick her up, now that she was of age to Apparate herself home, and so when Andromeda appeared in the main foyer, dragging her trunk and with her little cat Juliet in her arms, she was not at all surprised to find herself lacking a welcoming party. She suspected that her parents had both forgotten what day she was to arrive home, and that her sisters, if they had known to begin with, had probably buried it under the self-absorption of their ages.

Andromeda stood silently in the foyer for a long moment. Something about the grandeur of her parents' home never ceased to instill a sense of awe in a heart as humble as hers. Ebony Manor had been built in the late 16th-century, as the Black family sought to move farther away from the rest of civilisation. The ancestral home up until that point had been in Devonshire, but Ebony Manor was built not far from one of Cornwall's most impressive coastlines, on a deserted plain, Unplottable, invisible to any eyes they did not wish to see it. It had only been in the last century that some of the family had taken up in London, and that townhouse was much smaller, much less grand than the estate, fitting residence for Procyon, a younger son, and his family. Alphard's cottage home in Wales had been his own acquisition; a third son had few prospects to count on, and though Orion would hardly have let him starve, Alphard had been wise and struck out on his own early in life. He had a modest fortune and a comfortable home, but none of his nieces or nephews had ever spent much time there.

Ebony Manor stayed true to its Elizabethan roots on the outside, but the interior had been redecorated in patches, some rooms not redone at all, still bearing heavy tapestries and ancient oaken furniture, while others had been refurbished as recently as the Edwardian Era, their décor more fragile, more refined. Everything, though, spoke of splendour. No space had been left to deteriorate. The team of house elves kept every doorknob shining, every plank of wood polished, every piece of silver at a gleam, every velvet covering brushed to perfection.

The main foyer was designed with the sole purpose of impression in mind. The front door opened into an immense hall, and along each side were a series of doors, leading to the many drawing rooms and parlours, each outfitted with particular colours and themes: Sunrise, Sunset, Night, Day, Gold, Silver. 'All the little matched pairs...' Andromeda thought, letting her eyes drift down the rows of doors. 'We do so like symmetry in this family... to put everything and everyone in proper place... to assemble the perfect set...'

The hall drew the eyes immediately upward, however, rather than to the sides. Immediately in front of anyone as he came in was the grand staircase, hewn out of black marble, run through with silvery veins, and above this hung a chandelier of truly magnificent proportions. Though it was the fashion in many pureblooded homes to have lights of gold and crystal, the Blacks made the point of their family more uniquely: the chandelier was crafted from the darkest iron, weaves and coils and spires of black metal, weaving together like a wrought forest. The lights were enchanted, blue and purple flames sparking up from points, and reflected by not glass or crystal, but obsidian of the thinnest cut. Andromeda didn't know how much it had cost to construct, but she imagined that the Black responsible for its commission had parted with a king's ransom's worth of Galleons. 'And it really is so like my family... beautiful, opulent, almost too great to be believed possible, to be thought more than a warped dream... and yet inherently dangerous...'

After a house elf appeared to take her things upstairs, the next living form Andromeda saw was the dark head and blurrily-moving form of her younger sister, a bolt of black hair, tawny skin, and red gown tearing towards her. "Andi!" Bella yelled, with her usual exuberance. "You're home!" It was this shout that broke Andromeda from her thoughts, though even as the eleven-year-old's arms wrapped around her waist.

"Bella, Bella..." Andromeda said, kissing Bellatrix's forehead. "My dear, you're getting too tall. You must have gotten three inches taller since spring holidays." She smiled thinly. "You'll be outgrowing your robes every month."

Bellatrix laughed. "I hope so!" she exclaimed. "I want to be very tall. Then I shall look as important as I am." This was said so without guile, with such innocent candour, that Andromeda worried a little. She noticed then that it wasn't only in height that her sister was growing. In such a short time, Bellatrix seemed to be filling out, morphing out of the compact slenderness of childhood. There was the faintest of swells beneath her gown now, a tiny roundness to her hips. Even her voice was changing, subtly, still passionate and quick of diction, but now somehow darker, more sombre, acquiring with age a gravity that suited her imperious manner more than a child's high pitch did. It struck Andromeda very suddenly that her little sister was beginning to grow up. 'Shouldn't be so surprised... You were maturing when you entered school, too... we come to it quickly, we Black women... isn't that what Aunt Elladora told you?' The old witch, really her father's aunt, sister to Grandfather Perseus, had sent three husbands to early graves before deciding that dowager-hood suited her better. She had died when Bellatrix and Narcissa had barely been out of the nursery, but Andromeda had endured, in her childhood and early teenage years, any number of supposedly helpful adages and pointed remarks from the dragon.

Andromeda wondered why, at this time, her thoughts were so on her family, on her past, on the ancestors whose blood intermingled, at times too nearly, and had filtered into her. She had spent so long not thinking of that long line of Blacks at all, but now, being home, seeing the estate where so many of their footsteps had landed, it somehow brought the ghosts into her mind.

They were driven away just as quickly, though, by Bellatrix's insistent tug on her hand. "Come on, Andi, Papa will want to know you're home, and I told Mama to make sure the house elves made your favourite for dinner."

Through supper and the rest of the evening, Bellatrix usurped her older sister's attention, telling all the stories she hadn't remembered to fit into letters, and showing off what small charms and tricks she'd already learned with her new wand. Andromeda was impressed by how adept Bella was, having only had the instrument for two months.

Orion retired early, then Clytemnestra, taking Narcissa along with her. Bellatrix and Andromeda remained behind in the Night Room, Bella still chattering excitedly. She and Andromeda sat on a couch, Bellatrix lying half-against her sister, with Andromeda's arm draped loosely about her. "And I've been trying some potions, too, Father's allowed me some practise, though only if he's with me, but I'm sure he'd let you teach me instead." Eyes shining, Bellatrix beamed up at her sister. "Oh, Andi, will you teach me all sorts of wonderful things now that you're home? I can learn now!"

Andromeda's smile was not as broad or promising as Bella had hoped. She seemed to be holding something in reserve, as though keeping a secret in her pocket. "We'll see, dear."

Bellatrix let the lack of enthusiasm slide. "Oh, Andi, I can hardly wait till September. I'm sure it isn't as difficult as Mama keeps telling me it will be. Papa says I have natural talent, and that the professors and other students will of course recognise it."

"I'm sure they will." Andromeda meant that, if only because she suspected Bellatrix would not rest until every person she passed acknowledged her for a prodigy, a child empress, a Black.

Bellatrix gave a great yawn, tilting her head against Andromeda's shoulder. Sleep had ever come upon her thus, and she always reacted as though surprised to be reminded that her body needed rest. Abruptly, she snapped upright, shrugging a knot out of her shoulders. "Goodnight, Andi," Bella said cheerfully, giving her sister's cheek a kiss before bouncing off of the couch. "I'm glad you're home."

The hour suddenly seemed very late. Andromeda watched, fighting to keep tears from her eyes as the eleven-year-old flounced out of the room, black ringlets bouncing charmingly, bare feet skittering over the marble below the hem of a pale green nightgown. "Good night, Bella," she whispered, pushing one of her own limpid curls from her face.

~~*~~

The next morning, Bellatrix took breakfast alone and early in her room, intending to venture outside before the sun was very high to find something to surprise her sisters with - likely flowers to put by Andromeda's bedside and some sort of crawling or slithering creature to put in Narcissa's bed. She was flouncing unconcernedly down the front stairs when she heard the unmistakeable sound of something very expensive breaking. This was followed by a shout that, though the words were indistinguishable, could only have come from her father.

Something deep in Bellatrix trembled, some sixth sense warning her of the direness of the situation before she could hear a word of her father's tirade. Rather than racing down to eavesdrop immediately, Bella bolted back up the stairs to find her sisters. It didn't surprise her that Andromeda wasn't in hers; Andi had often been an early riser, and Bellatrix assumed she was already downstairs, and so went to Narcissa's room to shake her awake. "Cissy, Cissy... get up, get up, Papa's terribly upset about something... get up, get up!"

Narcissa somehow managed to look a dainty angel even when rudely awoken and half-dragged from her bed, with her pale hair hanging sleekly about her thin face, not mussed and tangled like Bella's wild curls. With Cissy's pale hand clasped in her dusky one, Bella went back down the stairs, discerning from the echoing shouts that her father was in the Sunrise Room.

The two young girls paused outside the closed doors, and with ears pressed to the ancient wood, could now hear Orion's harsh words.

"Betrayal! Dishonour! Treasonous little wretch, should have been drowned at birth!"

"Orion, please--"

A second voice, their mother's, who had not previously been audible above the din. "No, Clytemnestra!" Orion roared. "I will not be swayed from it! This - this abomination! This catastrophe!"

"What's he talking about?" Narcissa whispered to Bellatrix.

"I don't know," Bella replied. "But I mean to find out."

Her hand moved to the doorknob, but Narcissa's fingers, so small but surprisingly strong, caught about her wrist. "Bella, don't!" she exclaimed softly. "He's so angry..."

"Well, not at me," Bella stubbornly said. "I'm going in." A quick twist of her wrist both broke Narcissa's hold on her and opened the door.

The bellowing was even louder without the protective barrier. Bella stormed in with her usual impudence, and Cissy, following loyally behind at first, soon fled to the shelter of her mother's arms.

Orion, pacing before the window, had in his right hand clenched a sheaf of parchment, which he brandished as though it were a declaration of war. Clytemnestra was huddled on a chaise, now with Narcissa cradled in her lap. Bellatrix stopped in the middle of the room, watching her father with wide eyes, in awe of the towering, tempestuous force.

"This is sin!" he yelled, apparently not even noticing Bellatrix's and Narcissa's intrusion. "Highest treason! Crime against nature! I will not stand for it, Clytemnestra! I will not stand for it!"

Only now did Bellatrix notice her mother was weeping, though Narcissa, her sleeve held to her mother's cheek, seemed to have realised it immediately. "Orion, you can't. It's too drastic. She didn't--"

"She?" Bellatrix exclaimed. Orion's eyes fell on her, somewhat startled, just seeing her there. Bella looked about in confusion, noticing for the first time that her elder sister was not, as anticipated, present. "What--"

Orion strode forward and thrust the parchment into Bellatrix's small hands. Clytemnestra gave a sharp cry and lunged forward, tumbling Narcissa from her lap in an attempt to prevent Bella from reading the letter, but Orion made a quick gesture, and she halted. Weeping openly now, Clytemnestra sat back and hugged Narcissa to her, as Bellatrix's eyes scanned the paper.

Shock set in quickly. Though Bellatrix comprehended the general meaning of the letter, only a few words stuck in her mind, the rest filtering through like sand through fingers. 'Not my intention... something I have to... tell them I'm sorry... could never have... expecting in February... truly love...'

Bellatrix didn't know what she was feeling. Outrage, shock, horror, all tumbling through her young mind, so that in a fit of dizziness, she let the paper fall from her fingers. Beneath it all, though, was something Bellatrix had never experienced before: pain, terrifyingly acute, tearing at her heartstrings and freezing the pulse of her veins. Bellatrix had never known betrayal, never known emotional hurt; all her scratches and rebounded hexes, sprained joints and misfired curses, even the once-broken collarbone, had in no way prepared her for this internal anguish, this rip in the fabric of her soul. She would have felt the loss of a leg less than whatever had just been ripped away, leaving this sudden, gnawing gap.

She didn't realise tears had come to her eyes until she blinked and felt the splash of them on her cheeks. "No..." she whispered. Narcissa broke at last from Clytemnestra's grasp and went to take up the fallen parchment. "No... no, no, no, no!" The pitch of Bella's voice rose in a fitful tremor. She collapsed to the plush carpet, not a faint or even a fall, but simply losing the will to keep herself standing. Her sorrow was so great, it drowned even her childish pride, and she curled her knees to her chest, weeping profusely.

"You see, Clytemnestra?" Orion said, gesturing to his two younger daughters. Narcissa, too, had begun to cry, though more out of fright of her father's anger and the surprise of seeing Bellatrix break down than out of true understanding of the letter. "Even these two have sense to see the shame of it, of how great a traitor she has become." Clytemnestra's lower lip trembled fearfully, but she nodded slowly, resigned. "If this is the path she has chosen for herself, leave her to it! Let her then be none of ours!"

The pop of Apparition sounded in the room, but Bellatrix did not look up until she heard her Uncle Procyon's voice. "You are decided, then, Orion?"

"Of course!" Orion barked. "There can be no other course! She has brought this upon herself!" He sighed, raking a hand through his usually neat black hair. "Where's Alphard?"

"Wouldn't come," Procyon replied, scowling. "Said it was our business, and not his. He won't stop us, though."

Orion cursed under his breath. "Blasted sentimental fool. He's as bad as Clytemnestra."

"Well, Elaine agrees with us," Procyon said, a touch proudly. "I think she'd do it herself if I let her."

Orion paced a few steps, then strode over to Bellatrix. "Here, pet, stop that," he said in a low voice, lifting the girl into his arms. She had grown so much in recent months that she was nearly too large to be picked up in such a fashion, but Orion was tall and broad of shoulder, and let her curl herself against him. "No tears for traitors, my dear," he said, pulling a silken handkerchief from an inside pocket and holding it to her eyes. "Clean yourself up, there's my good girl." Narcissa, given no such special treatment by her father, retreated to her mother's arms again, drying her tears with the sleeve of her nightgown.

With Bellatrix still cradled to his chest, Orion turned back to his brother. "We are agreed. We will erase her from our homes and our minds. Her name will never be spoken. She is not dead to us; she was never born." Orion shifted Bellatrix from his right side to his left, so that he might clasp arms in accord with Procyon. "To it, then."

Procyon Disapparated, and Orion set a now-quieted Bellatrix down on the floor. He strode from the room, across the hall to the Gold Parlour, and Bellatrix followed. Clytemnestra and Narcissa, both still crying tears of grief and shock, respectively, stayed behind.

The Gold Parlour was the public shrine to the Black family, the best of their awards and achievements displayed there, and centrally placed, the fabled tapestry, whose weight and promise Bellatrix had felt for years now. It was not a unique creation; its identical mate hung in the house on Grimmauld Place, where Procyon and Elaine lived with their sons. As Orion drew his wand, Bellatrix leaned against him, taking comfort in his solid strength. His free arm caught about her shoulders, pressing her tightly as he pointed his wand down to the bottom of the tapestry, to the very last line of the golden scaffolding etched on the ebon fabric. No words, but a sudden blast erupted from Orion's wand, and a white-hot flash of light burned over Andromeda's name, searing the thread with a sizzle and the faint scent of smoke.

Bellatrix watched in a sickening mix of pride and horror as the tapestry shifted, altering before her eyes to adjust for this elimination. Her own name slid left, around the scorch-mark, so that it looked now as though she was Orion's eldest born daughter, and ever had been.

Orion was breathing heavily, as though the effort had taken much out of him, and as Bellatrix looked up at his face, he seemed older somehow, for the first time in her life. Something had pulled at the edges of his grey eyes, and defeat set the lines of his mouth. The expression passed quickly, however, and after sheathing his wand, he knelt, turning Bellatrix to face him directly.

"Our hopes lie on you now, my Bella," he said, sombre-voiced, touching her hair and cheeks gently. "You're the eldest. Your sons will be my heirs." Hand cupping the back of her head, he pulled her close and pressed a kiss to the corner of her eye. "It is on you, Bella. You won't let me down."

There were tears in her eyes again, though she didn't know why, and she shook her head vehemently. "I won't, Papa. I won't."

~~*~~

Bellatrix woke sometime in the afternoon. She could not remember being put to bed or falling asleep, and could only assume she had been carried. Discomfited by being abed and still in her nightgown so late in the day, she rang for the governess to come and help her to dress.

By the time the woman had appeared, Bellatrix had already chosen an amber-coloured dress and gotten it nearly on. She gestured impatiently for Governess Graves to assist with the fastening along the back. The woman took out her wand and ran it along one edge of the fabric, melding the fabric together seamlessly.

"Miss Bellatrix," Graves said, in a very small voice, as she sat Bellatrix down, took up a comb, and started detangling the forest of black curls. "There's someone to see you, if you're--"

"No," Bellatrix said stubbornly. "I don't want to see anyone. No one at all."

Bellatrix saw Grave's thin, pale face wince in the mirror as she obviously struggled with an internal debate over whether or not to continue. "But, Miss Bellatrix... your father thought... that is, Master Black said..."

"Oh, spit it out!" Bellatrix snapped, losing patience with the woman and snatching the comb from her. She started tugging through her hair somewhat vindictively, feeling the snarl each time she hit a knot and finding the excuse to pull even harder rather cathartic.

"I'm sure Master Sirius would be--"

"Sirius!" Bellatrix exclaimed, throwing the ebony comb down on the vanity and whipping about. "That's not 'someone'! That's Sirius! Send him in immediately." The woman looked startled for a moment, just long enough for Bella to shout, "Well! Go!"

The woman skittered out of the room, and Bellatrix took up the comb again half-heartedly. She had nearly worked through all the tangles by the time Sirius entered the room, visible in the mirror's reflection. Bellatrix let the comb fall from her fingers this time, rather than hurling it down, and turned about to face her cousin. She stood, and they walked towards each other, silently, and Bellatrix was shamed to feel tears pricking at her eyes again.

Sirius had always been awkward with strong emotions, feeling them acutely but never knowing how to well handle them, particularly the paradoxically delicate ones. Anger he expressed readily; sorrow somehow caught in his throat. And he did not know how to comfort. To challenge, to protect, to defend, all came instinctively, but compassion came trickier.

It was especially difficult with Bellatrix, who had never in her life known how to hold in whatever she was feeling, and for Sirius to see her in despair, she who should have been, who had always been, so alive and so unfaltering, to see her broken truly unsettled him. He had seen her in rages, of course, seen deluges of tears when she thought it the best method to get her way or when she was so furious or indignant they were the best expression, but when he saw the light reflecting off of the droplets clinging to her dark eyelashes, he couldn't make sense of it. He did not know what to say to her, did not know what words would be a balm to her terrible hurt, and so they stared at each other for a too-long moment.

"Well, say something!" Bellatrix snapped, but Sirius heard a note of pleading beneath the impatience of her voice. It pained him somehow more, to know how desperately she must want to put it from her mind, and be unable to come up with a suitable distraction.

"Bella, I..." He drew a very deep breath, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I'm sorry, Bella."

A choked noise between a sob and an aggravated shriek escaped her, and she hit the nearest wall with an open hand. "Don't say that. Everyone's going to be saying that, and I don't want to hear it!" Her voice was beginning to shake threateningly, and Sirius shifted uncomfortably. "I don't want to hear how sorry everyone is! I want to hear how we change it!" Sirius didn't bother to tell her that he didn't think that could be done.

What happened next startled Sirius out of his wits. With a sudden and violent sob, Bellatrix collapsed right there on her bedroom floor. "Why would she leave us?" she cried. "Why, why, why? It isn't fair!"

Sirius finally seemed to find himself, and dropped to his knees beside her, putting his arms about her shoulders. "Please, Bella... don't cry... I can't bear it if you cry..."

"I hate them!" Bella shouted, and for a moment Sirius did not know who she meant. "They took her from me! Stupid Muggleborn filth!" Wiping furiously at her eyes, Bella's sorrow changed to rage, as swiftly as it had come upon her to begin with. "Papa--Papa always said they only cause trouble for the real wizards, that they only interfere, and he's right, he's right!" The tears dashing from her eyes now were hot and furious. "I hate them all! They should all die!" Another fractured sob hiccoughed out of her, and she hid her head in Sirius' shoulder. "Then I could have her back... then she'd come back to us..."

Sirius had no words for her, too bewildered by the outburst, and still suffering himself from the shock of what Andromeda had done. He wouldn't admit such to Bellatrix, or anyone else in the family, but Andromeda's actions interested him. It amazed him, the strength it must have taken, and it made him curious as well. He wondered what could be so worth it, so worth the risk she was taking. She was lucky Orion and Procyon had only disowned her; he wouldn't have been surprised if his father and uncle had taken it in their heads to hunt her down and punish her for her betrayal. And so he wondered what this Ted Tonks must be like, what love could possibly draw her away like this, what devotion could make her take her future and lay it down to be sacrificed.

Bellatrix was still sobbing into his shoulder, and he let her. It was a long while before her tears abated, but when they did, she disentangled herself from him and stood up, wiping her face free of moisture. Sirius stood, too, and saw a steel behind her eyes that had somehow been newly forged, a hardness that had never been there before, for all her tempests, for all her pride. He knew then that he had seen her cry over Andromeda for the last time. Perhaps it would be the last time she would cry at all. He didn't know, but the black iron of her gaze scared him a little. "Come on, Sirius," she said, her tone quiet but strong. "Let's go outside."

He nodded, and followed her from her room. They did not go towards the front staircase, but down a small side passage, one they fancied a secret to themselves, even though surely Orion and Procyon both knew of its existence. Halfway down, Sirius seemed to find his voice, cleared his throat, and began. "Bella... about what Andromeda--"

But she cut him off quickly. "No." She paused on the stairs, turning her upper body to look at him. These stairs were dark, lit only with torches, and in the sharp relief her face seemed to have lost all softness. "Never say that again. I don't ever want to hear it, not ever again." Silence hung between them for a moment, as chilling as the draft that passed between the stone walls. "You understand?"

"Yes, Bella," he replied, and she saw something shift behind the grey storm of his eyes, something she couldn't identify. "I understand."