Dues of Blood

Dues of Blood-

The cold stone courtyard of your old home is one place you never thought you would have to see again. It holds the stains of your past, the grey flagstones a silent witness to the generations of Blacks that have been carried across it on the way to the family crematorium. You shudder as you pass the old stone structure, its fires silent for years now; there have been no deaths, no bodies to feed its greedy, fiery jaws. It lies open, cold and waiting, ashes long scattered by the wind.

It is only fitting, then, that you have come here tonight with death on your mind; fitting, that you have returned here in the shadow of a life wasted.

'Come to pay your respects to the last of the Blacks?' a voice calls out over the stones, and you stop dead in your tracks, feet frozen firmly to the ground. The comforting sounds of your bare heels moving softly on stone die away, as do the faint echoes, but the person stays. She gracefully takes leave from her shadows as she walks towards you, her dark hair open and knotted in the wind and her robes billowing around her.

'No, Bellatrix, I have not,' you say, inclining your head towards her in a gesture of acknowledgement and your hand already reaching for your wand. You had anticipated her being here... maybe even hoped for it. You came prepared. The smooth wood under your fingertips is little consolation, but it is the only one.

She laughs lightly as she steps towards you and you notice that she is barefoot too, that she has come under the guise of one who has nothing to give but still comes, either to grieve or to mock the dead one. Her hands are empty save her wand, and as she grips it the moon casts its light over her scarred skin.

When you look down so that you don't have to look at her, you notice the dark spots that surround you, creeping across the stones under your feet, and you imagine that his blood is still warm under your chilled soles.

*

You ran out as you heard them shout, his voice rising in anger and hers in triumph. She held him down, pinning him to the stones in the grand courtyard. You could see her eyes alight with triumph and her face twisted into a malicious grin. She pushed her hair out of her eyes with a bloodstained hand, leaving a smear of red across her forehead; the trickles of sweat on her skin sparkled under the hot summer sun as they dripped down her face.

'I win,' she said.

Beneath her, he still struggled, gritting his teeth and trying to push her off, but unable to. He squinted up at her, staring defiantly into her face. His lips were stained crimson, a deep red line trickled from his mouth, and even though she had locked his arms to his sides with a well-aimed curse, his grazed palms were visible. The tiny cuts were filling up with grey and red, grit and blood.

'You lose. You're pathetic, traitor,' she sneered, and wiped her hands on the front of his already filthy tunic, grabbing the Gryffindor scarf from around his neck and setting fire to it with her wand. He growled, but was unable to say a word, instead directing a venomous stare at her, his body trembling with suppressed rage. She laughed at his obvious discomfort, and waved her wand tantalizingly in front of his face, slowly rising to leer over his paralyzed form.

His wand lay beside him, broken cleanly in two, the ends crackling but with no one to control them.

*

'He isn't here, as it is.' She speaks almost as if she is bored, stretching her arms and arching her back. The smile on her face resembles that of a contented cat, and her voice is a low purr.

'I knew he wouldn't be,' you say softly, and you allow yourself a small half-smile as you appreciate the irony of your own presence here. 'This ground is forbidden to traitors.'

'Then why, traitorous Andromeda, do you return?' she asks and smiles, but it is the coldest, thinnest of smiles, the very semblance of what it might be for the dead to grin with her sneer set in her waxen, sunken face. 'He is beyond forgiveness now. He is beyond redemption.'

'I never said I came for his redemption. He doesn't need your forgiveness,' you snarl, but she seems unperturbed by your hostility, not even blinking when you draw your wand.

'Well, you're just a little too late to save him. As always.'

The words are said lightly, but they hit you with about as much force as a broomstick to the head. A seething mass of guilt and rage burns in your heart, grief and a thirst, a desire for vengeance resurfacing as you all but scream at her.

'I didn't come to save him!' you shout, your voice raw and wavering. 'I didn't-'

'Then what did you come for?'

For revenge,

you think, but you swallow the words down, because you're not ready just yet. Instead, you control your voice, forcing it back to its normal tone as you say, 'I came to hear how he died.'

*

The waves slammed upon the shore angrily, as if they were pummelling the sands in punishment. Huddled in his thick cloak, he never heard her creeping up on him. You made to scream, but you were bound to silence and were unable to shout out a warning before she swooped down upon him, like a hungry hawk grabbing her prey. You could see the surprise in his movements as he scrabbled for his wand but she got it first, a quick Expelliarmus! making it fly into her outstretched hand before his eyes.

His shoulders slumped, but his face was squared in determination as he made an unsuccessful attempt to snatch his wand away from her. No longer the weaker one, he stared her down, their eyes locking in a battle of wills before he suddenly lunged at her. She simply laughed, backing away from him, muttering an incantation under her breath.

You looked up in horror when he let out a sudden cry, only to see him rising above the ground. Spells burst from his mouth, but to no avail; he didn't know the counter-curses to her advanced hexes and his wand was useless to him, being controlled by her.

She levitated him over the edge of the cliff, ignoring his shouts and your wild gestures, ignoring everything except the sudden terror in his face. He clawed at the air around him, desperately trying to reach for anything to hold on to, and she seemed to hungrily savour his fear, drawing off it, breathing it in.

'Stop this!' he yelled, but she simply smirked at him before flicking her wand upwards. Immediately, his hands and legs began to move of their own accord, jerking madly in the air, and the sounds from his mouth were little more than garbled cries. He turned over and over, rising higher and higher, his limbs moving puppet-like as she controlled his actions. His body was becoming smaller, silhouetted in the pale, clouded light, but even then you could hear him. Racing to her, you shook her hard, grabbing her by the shoulders until she causally glanced over her shoulder at you. You dropped to your knees, begging, mouthing a request to Put him down, put him down, please, please...

'Okay.'

The next second he was plummeting towards the ground, arms flailing, and in the split second between the awful thud from the rocks below and his scream reaching your ears, you heard her laughing.

*

'You pushed him.' It is not a question, but a simple statement. You are not asking for verification, but for a confession, an admission of guilt. She smirks at you, twirling her wand between her long, thin fingers, her deep, dark eyes lighting up. You fancy that you can see her lunacy reflected in her wild stare.

'Yes, I did,' she whispers, her voice taking on a tone of awe before she throws her head back and laughs. 'Just a simple spell, really... but I cast it. I put an end to the dishonour he brought on us. I did it!' she crows, and red sparks fly from the end of her wand. 'I killed the traitor, I killed him!'

You clutch your own wand tighter, feeling your fingernails dig into your skin. You can almost imagine the look on his face as he fell, a glance of confusion, of fear; you can hear her laughing as he slipped beyond reach; you can hear her laugh still ringing around you even though she has stopped and is simply staring at you.

'I killed him,' she spits, her voice frosted with malice, her eyes narrowed malevolently. 'But that's not what you came to hear, is it?'

With her words, a sharp wind blows, and you shiver.

*

The sound of spells flashing from the cellar were almost inaudible from above ground, but as you crept down the steps they became clearer, more pronounced. You could see them in the dim light that filtered in through the door you left open, barely anything more than two shadows struggling against each other. As you watched, they circled each other warily, and you moved so that you could see their faces; his eyes darted about the area, and his face was set in a taunting sneer; hers was simply a mask, betraying nothing.

He let fly with a shouted incantation, but she simply stepped to the side and watched in amusement as it fizzled out behind her. Her own attack was silent and whispered, and caught him, binding him with glowing chains that snapped themselves around his wrists and ankles and hardened into thin, metal cords. Immobilized, he was powerless, unable to defend himself against her sudden barrage; you stifled your gasps as the beams of light pierced his flesh, eliciting a short scream from him as his face twisted in agony and he convulsed, blood bursting from a thousand tiny points and staining his skin, his face, his clothes.

When he caught sight of you, hiding in the shadows, he only gave the slightest of starts to acknowledge you. He tried to raise his arm, fist clenched, and swing it at her but she checked him. Twisting her wand so that his bonds pulled themselves tighter, she forced him into a grotesque, almost impossible tangle of limbs as he backed up against the wall and tried not to fall over.

And still, his desperate eyes were levelled at you, unblinking; his muscles of his face were taut, rigid. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, he turned so you could see his face better, battered as it was. Slowly, deliberately, he passed his tongue over his bloodied lip in a silent reminder. Now it was your turn to flinch as you understood what he wanted you to do, what he expected you to do.

You swallowed hard and looked around. There was no other, no other who would exact the dues of blood, no other but you. Your stomach twisted as you thought about it, but then his eyes locked on you and the small note of defiance in them was all you needed; you understood that some things had to be done.

His blood dripped on the stone and again she laughed at him. 'What now, traitor?' she asked, pulling the cords at the end of her wand tighter, causing him to topple over. 'What now?' she demanded of him, and he replied with a piteous moan, barely loud enough to mask your approach.

She never even heard your footsteps until you were directly behind her, your wand tip sharp on the back of her neck. Even then, she never stopped laughing, turning slowly to face you, the wood sliding against her skin, coming to rest against her pulse.

'Don't do this,' you said softly. 'Don't make me do this.'

She threw her head back and snorted. 'I don't care. Take your blood and leave the traitor to me.'

*

Dues of blood, Bella. I've come to take his dues of blood,

you think. Forcing yourself to ignore your fears, you concentrate on the spell you need, but you have never been good at Dark Magic, and you have grown uncomfortable with the idea of hurting another. The words almost refuse to be spoken, your voice dying in your throat.

But you refuse to walk away, because you will not let him go unavanged, and again you feel the fire rising in your blood.

I will do this. I will kill her

.

She turns to look at the moon as it disappears once more behind a cloud, and you take advantage of this; your chance has come. In the darkness it is much easier to just say the words and look away, and not confront the consequences of anything. In the darkness, everything is easier, and you point your wand at her and shout. You are almost thrown off your feet as the magical energy surges through you and through your wand, the tip exploding into a deadly ray.

But you are nervous and you miss, the bright jet of light bouncing off stone uselessly and disappearing into the darkness. She whirls around immediately, and all the courage you had summoned up ebbs away, only leaving the adrenaline rush and the bitter cold surging through your veins, the aftermath of an Unforgivable making you feel weak.

'That was truly pathetic, Andromeda.'

Her face is set in a mask of indifference, but you tremble as you see the spark in her eyes, the glow in them almost feral. Her smile is unnerving; she is much too calm, much too focused, while your heart pounds away wildly, almost racing out of control. You try to stop your hands from shaking and glare stiffly at her, holding your wand in front of you, an open invitation to battle.

She glances once at your stance and goes off into peals of delighted laughter.

'Do you really think that you can fight me, Andromeda?' she says, her voice soft but no hint of emotion in it but malice. 'Do you think that he was worth it? Worth this?'

You barely have time to think before she sends a spell at you from behind her back.

*

You slammed into the wall from the force of her spell; all the bones in your body felt as if they were crumbling. You shook in fear as she still advanced upon you, but you refused to be beaten, rolling to the side mere moments before her curse hit the place where you had been standing, forcing the stones of the duelling-chamber floor to shatter.

'Is he really worth this?' she called, sending another hex at you that you barely dodged by ducking under it, feeling the energy pulsing, hot against the back of your neck.

'Yes!' you shouted, panting, firing off a spell. 'He... and all of us... are worth it! We are all Blacks!'

'But he is a traitor!' she retorted, and this time her spell is off-target, the acrid smoke left behind the trail of sparks hinting of her anger. 'He has truly betrayed us... he has denied us! He has denied his heritage, and his blood!'

'But that doesn't... make him... any less... of a Black!' You smirked at her, but only because you knew better that there was more than one blood traitor in the Black family, and that by the time they realized it, you would be gone too. She sidestepped your spell, growling at you because you had almost hit her.

'He is a coward! He's left you to fight his battles!'

This time you rushed ahead, ignorant of anything coming towards you or the remnants of spells ricocheting off the walls, your rage blinding you. With a quick wave of your wand, you pinned her to the wall behind her, immobilizing her completely.

'He is not a coward.'

You drew up your wand and quickly slashed the air; she flinched ever so slightly as a deep cut appeared on her cheek, but her stare was steady, unwavering, her lips still upturned in some semblance of a smile.

'Still defending him, are you? What, are you in love with him or something?'

You shake your head and glare at her. 'The blood of Black demands more blood, Bella. You know that,' you said, trying to hide your disgust but still hearing it, a thin veneer of disdain that coated your voice in ice. You raised your own arm to her, whole, smooth and unscarred, and turned away as you slid your wand against it, gritting your teeth against the sudden burst of pain, only glancing out of the corner of your eye to watch the blood blossoming down the white of your sleeve.

She stared at you in wonder, visibly entranced by the sight of your blood, still obviously puzzled by the way you marked yourself.

'Why-' she began, but you stopped her with a pained glance.

'The blood of Black demands more blood,' you repeated before releasing her and walking away.

*

She is sprawled on the ground and her wand lies, broken and useless, halfway across the courtyard. Her legs are secure under you, doubly held with a leg-locker curse and your weight. You have your wand against her throat and your sleeves slide back, revealing the scar where you had once marked yourself. She glances at it, then back at you, her face moving in and out of the shadows in the moonlight.

'The blood of Black demands more blood,' she whispers, her tone mocking, traces of her smirk showing through on her pale face. 'Go on, Andromeda,' she says, and turns her cheek to you so that you can see the twin of your scar. 'Go on, mark me.'

'I won't mark you, Bella. Blood demands blood... but a life... demands more...'

You shake your head as you speak, and let her see your smile, cracking its way slowly across your face like something alien. You feel the desire in your soul heightening, goading you on, telling you to do this quickly, but you tell yourself you want to savour this one victory. You can't help but let out a short laugh at the incredulous look on her face, the disbelief in her eyes... something dies in her glance, something of her bravado and there is a faint flicker of fear that she tries to cover...

'You wouldn't.'

'You're right. I wouldn't,' you say, almost sadly, '...if I didn't have to.'

'You're not like me.'

'I know I'm not like you.'

She relaxes slightly and you take the opportunity to push the wand down so that it rests right above where her heart should be. That is, if she still has one.

'I'm not like you,' you say. 'I'm not like you, Bellatrix, so you'll never know what I would do. Avada Kedavra!

Again, the magic rushes through you, this time leaving you shivering, your blood thickening and cooling in your veins, almost as if you were the one dying. It is only a few seconds before you feel the warmth returning from your wand and back into you but those moments make you feel even number than death itself, your breath refusing to come and your vision wavering. The light in her eyes flares up for the briefest of seconds before dying away, a smirk etched into her waxen face, but there is none of the satisfaction you had expected to feel... there is only a sadness, a sadness that despite the fact that you have finally won, it has accomplished nothing; nothing you could do can bring Sirius back.

And the full impact of the situation bursts upon you as you realize what you have done, as the circle in your mind reaches completion and the lessons of long ago come rushing back in one horrendous thought.

'The blood of Black demands more blood,' you whisper in horror as you recoil from Bellatrix's body, 'but a life... demands more, demands another life in return...'

You rise and stumble away, your feet slapping loudly on the stones. Your wand is slippery in your hands but you know that you must hold onto it, and your sweaty fingers clutch at the wood like you try to clutch at your sanity. Somewhere, you can hear a dog barking, the sound coming closer until it echoes in the stone courtyard and you glance about, frightened, eyes unseeing but still searching for the sound until it dies, leaving the silence pressing on your ears. You try to run from the place but it won't let you be; your own breath comes in heavy, laborious gasps from running but everywhere you look, it all seems the same, the same stained stones under your skin and the walls blocking your way. You don't dare to look back at Bellatrix, still lying where you left her, because you can swear that she's laughing, that she's still laughing, that she's...

You stop running and turn your face to the sky. The wind blows through the courtyard as you finger your wand, cherishing the feel of the smooth wood against the skin of your fingertips, trying to hold on to any last thread of normalcy you have.

But you have none, none at all. You look down at your arm, running a finger over the scar there. It still tingles under your touch, but the sensation is fading fast, and you imagine that a numbness is spreading from your fingertips through your entire body, deadening your senses until all you're left with is just the sense of being, of existing...

... but a life demands more, demands another life in return...

You know what you must do. In one fluid movement, you turn the wand towards yourself, bringing it to rest against your heartbeat and feeling the steady throb, feeling the magical energy that trickles from the end of the wand and into your body with every heartbeat. There is a sudden urge to laugh and you find yourself giggling, unable to control yourself, spasms of painful, hysterical laughter rocking you as you double over and drop to your knees on the stones. You wonder if the madness you had seen in your sister is responsible, but then you realize that you don't care, and that makes you laugh even more. Through your chuckles, you force yourself to speak; your lips struggle to shape the words and you barely manage to sputter the incantation; an explosion grips your heart and squeezes it, slowing it down, sending spidery fingers of ice through your body.

Above you, the sky blacks out from existence.

*

fin

*