The Other Black Girl

Oh sweet Fancy! Let her loose;

Summer's joys are spoilt by use

John Keats

The Terror Run:

By the end of the summer following my first year, I had fallen madly and gloriously in love. He was the perfect first romance, charming, handsome and oblivious to my infatuation. My heart had been pierced by Cupid's arrow and it felt different. It would jump, flutter and almost stop dead at the sight or even the name of my love. I nursed my affection furtively, not even sharing it with Bella who, I reasoned, at the tender age of ten could not possibly understand. Like all of my year I had emerged from the Hogwarts express with a newfound air of superiority. Next year we would be second years and would have the luxury of people to look down on. We had changed from a rabble of nervous children into a cast of fully formed characters, all with our parts to play.

There was Ludo Bagman, the jester, who would make even the prudish Ravenclaw girls giggle in Defence Against the Dark Arts, egged on by Theo Nott, the shy heartthrob of the Slytherin boy's dorm. There was Gilderoy Lockheart who would spend his free-time telling anyone who would listen how he had single-handedly defeated a crumple-headed snork in the Easter holidays until his only audience was Odette. She would later rush into the dormitory pink cheeked, theatrically announce that she had found her future husband and start unsuccessfully trying to bribe us with offers to be her bridesmaid. Even Bertha Jorkins, her partner in crime, would roll her eyes and attempt to divert her attention with the latest stories of Alexis Wilkes' exploits in the astronomy tower. Then, there was Erika Svensdottir, the Icelandic ambassador's daughter, who spent most of her time complaining of the heat and trying to sneak off to the forbidden forest. Erika preferred boys' company to our own, however she and I formed an alliance against Bertha and Odette's chattering. Sometimes, on rainy Sundays, when Odette was alphabetising her collection of Teen Witch Weekly romances, she would tell me about the land of ice and fire, where her large extended family bred winged horses on the homestead she returned to in the summer, and the ancient Icelandic sagas in which her ancestors featured.

We could have been friends if we had wanted to, but I was not prepared to try to understand her love of her people and country and she was acquiescently intolerant of my world.

'I don't understand you British and your blood,' she told me disdainfully one hot summer's day after I had just told her to 'Avada Kedavra' me if I ever expressed a wish to spend time with a Mudblood.

Alice De Winter had, to my ill-disguised annoyance, insisted on accompanying me to the hospital wing and kept asking me if I was all right and trying to reassure me that: 'Ted didn't mean to throw his football at you and I'm sure he didn't mean to laugh and wouldn't have told you to stop throwing a wobbler if he'd have known how much it hurt,' She opened her mouth as though she was about to say something in reply to Erika and then thought better of it.

'You make such a big thing about it. In Iceland people don't really bother so much, so many muggles believe in magic anyway,' pressed on Erika. 'When I was younger and they came to sell supplies to us they told me that they leave offerings to the fairies at the foot of the mountains.'

'You've met muggles!' I exclaimed, curiosity getting the better of me.

'What! And lived to tell the tale. Cor, that's amazing!' came a voice from the doorframe.

'Ted!' Alice said, suppressing a giggle and gesturing at her friend to come over. 'Are you all right?'

'Yeah, Andie's little mates tried to jinx me but I think I shook them off.'

'Andie?' I said in the most barbed tone I could muster whilst lying down with blue liquid on one side of my head.

'Andromeda, Miss Black, Your Royal Highness,' he said, biting his lip appraisingly 'Ummm...I'm really sorry bout your 'ead.'

I sighed and, suddenly thinking of trying to copy up from Odette's notes when they would be covered in love poems to Gilderoy Lockheart, swallowed my pride and lifted my head up. 'Apology accepted, I suppose, Mudblood. By the way, what did I miss in Charms?'

'Alohomora! I figured you'd already know that one, being amazingly pure-blooded and superior and all that, so I just wrote you some basic colour-coded theory notes.'

'Did you get all the back-ground reading as well?' I asked hastily and he nodded.

'Yeah, and the 'istorical theory.'

'Thank you,' I said haughtily, trying to keep the surprise out of my voice and wishing he didn't always look so amused whenever he spoke to me.

'Anytime, Andie.'

I watched him and Alice leave before I gave a snort of exasperation. Erika surveyed me for a while as though I was a scientific experiment:

'I know purebloods are better, everyone knows that,' she said matter-of-factly, pushing a wisp of blond hair out of her eyes. I nodded, wondering where this was going:

'Then why does Tonks annoy you so much?' she asked, sounding slightly bemused.

******************************

It was Rodolphus Lestrange who first came up with the idea for the terror run.

That summer the unnatural heat caused my parents and their friends to retreat from their usual round of parties and pleasures and they sent their armies of house-elves to air their Villas and Chateaus that were scattered along the cooler coastline.

Rodolphus was the elder Lestrange brother, treating the world with a fourteen-year-old's contempt in his dark eyes. At first he had planned to barricade himself in his bedroom for the duration of his parents' annual house party. However, the combined sight of Narcissa in her short black sundress and the fact that Thalia Nott, Theo's Ravenclaw sister, was on the warpath against him after he had 'accidentally' stumbled on her and Marcus Parkinson kissing in the conservatory, coaxed him out.

So, banished from the rose garden where the older teenagers lounged and from the shady chateau where our parents' activities held even more mystery, the six of us, Narcissa, Rabastan, Rodolphus, Dorcas, Theo and myself found our own hideaway in the small craggy unplottable cove beyond the walls of the chateau's grounds. Sirius and Bella were not with us. They were inseparable as always and would slide down the immense gothic corridors of the chateau, making the portraits shake their fists and the suits of armour clink with disapproval Although we did not know it, that summer would become a bittersweet watershed, one that we would remember in years to come as our lives tore us further apart. For although we could barely comprehend the ancient magic that was taking hold of us, we were teetering on the brink of our childhoods. As we swam in the cool sea and lay on the warm sand we began to understand that we would never be so young, so innocent and so free as we were that everlasting summer.

It was on one of the hot summer days we spent at the cove that he first dreamed up the terror run. Narcissa refused to swim, citing something about a curse, which made me ask repeatedly who had cursed her and Dorcas laugh her tinkling high laugh. Instead, she sat on a flat rock, her sundress wet and shining as she combed her long hair like an aloof mermaid, only calling occasionally at me not to swim out too far.

Dorcas was in Narcissa's year, tall and willowy with long dark hair, yellow cat's eyes and a small button nose that caused people to joke that she had a touch of the 'mudbrush' in her. We shared a mutual dislike for each other, for my part based on the talent she had for barbed compliments, the way she surveyed the common room like a queen holding court and most importantly the fact our personalities were far too similar for us to ever enjoy each other's company.

We had no swimming costumes so we swam naked; our childhood innocence tinged with the startlingly new discovery of each other's bodies. That summer as I treaded water whilst holding Rabastan's hands, our palms gripping each others as our splashes gained confidence and the sun beat down on our pale skin, I noticed the way small freckles broke out on his broad back and for the first time in my life became conscious of my own body. Suddenly the thing that had seemed part of me for the last thirteen years detached itself, my legs felt alien and uncontrollable as they grew, losing their former grace, my tender breasts heavy and uncomfortable, my cheeks flushed as I met Rabastan's eyes.

It was his laugh that first attracted me, not like Bella's wild violin sonata but calmer, warmer. He had none of the measured reserve of his brother, his warm brown eyes constantly flickering with life as he charmed the world with his easy-going, friendly nature. It was Rabastan who first taught me how to catch butterflies, lying on the cliff tops with our hands cupped over the bracken and when the first fluttering insect landed softly on my hand I first fell in love with him.

It was a few days later that the terror run was born, when Rodolphus traced the wide sandbank with his fingers and announced that he bet he could run to the end before the tide came in. Rabastan who always followed his brother's lead grinned and seconded the motion, punching the air with euphoria.

'We should try it tonight!' he laughed, kicking the sand with his toes as he pulled on his shorts. Whilst I combed my hair with my fingers I tried to calculate how long the run would take and frowned.

'It can't be done,' I said after a second. 'Not at this tide.' Narcissa shot me warning look; she was unimpressed with Rodolphus, treating him with the same cool indifference she afforded everyone except Bellatrix and me. However, nice pureblood girls were not supposed to contradict boys and Rodolphus looked incredulous at my words.

Rabastan just smiled at me.

'Is that a challenge?' he asked, forcing me to smile back.

**************************

Bella and Sirius demanded to come but Rodolphus put his foot down.

'You're too young,' he whispered to her scornfully over breakfast as Narcissa and I exchanged nervous glances. Bellatrix's grey eyes flashed, the Black temper as evident a reminder of the family power as Father sitting at the other end of the table conversing imposingly with Uncle Orion. Being told she couldn't do something always heightened her determination and Bella determined was a formidable presence. However Rodolphus was resolute and for once it seemed as though she might have met her match. All day I waited for her retaliation, feeling more nervous by the minute as I remembered the day Mother had taken Narcissa and me shopping for Hogwarts and she had retaliated by tearing the head of Narcissa's favourite doll, leaving her splayed on the floor like a dead baby. However that night, as I crept out into the moonlit night for the run, she slept soundly with a small secret smile on her face.

***************

The next year, when she was about to become a Slytherin second year, she ran the terror run, finishing in record time despite being the novice. Rodolphus had been training her, of course, training her ever since the day he told her she was too young. He didn't care about the rest of us; we could puff and pant behind him, but for Bella who had argued with him so forcibly he would settle for second. She was his project, his challenge, and he met her triumph with cool satisfaction in his eyes.

The rest of us followed behind the two of them, collapsing on the sand and laughing. We were veterans of the run now and we knew each other's habits, how Dorcas would always pretend to trip up forcing Theo to lag behind with her. How Rabastan would run beside me, our strong young bodies in unison, breathing together. Narcissa would be last as always, breathing slowly and steadily, her face composed and its normal colour except for a slight pink flush on her high cheekbones. She was fourteen now and her breasts rose magnificently as she ran, making Theo gape. Despite her steady pace the tide seemed to wait for her, as though even the wild sea would calm for her beautiful smile. Rodolphus had stolen fire-whisky, which would give me my first hangover and which made Dorcas laugh a lot and flirt with him as he held court over us.

'Did you hear Father this morning?' Rodolphus asked his brother. The alcohol had not gone to his head as it had gone to the rest of ours and he seemed as alert as always.

Rabastan looked mildly interested. 'What, the muggle killings?' he asked running a sandy hand through Dorcas' dark hair and making her shriek with drunken indignation. He shrugged. 'That's hardly important, is it?'

'Father seems to think it is, maybe it had something to do with the Knights of the Walpurgis?'

'Does it matter if it did?' replied Rabastan, relaxed as always and quickly bored by any talk of politics. The Muggle-killings had been more frequent lately although they hardly intruded on our comfortable circles. When the grisly descriptions reached polite conversation, people would look slightly disgusted, mutter 'what a pity' and change the subject to something more interesting. The ministry suspected foul play, however there were few people with the inclination or power to do anything about it. The Knights of the Walpurgis was a respectable pureblood association with a lot of power to which our fathers belonged. If any of its younger members got a bit rowdy it was a minor internal problem, after all boys would be boys and Muggle hunting had only been outlawed a century before.

Of course, there were always rumours, drunks in bars or lunatics in the streets, shouting of an apocalypse, of a turning of the tide. However we hardly heard them and when they did they were objects of ridicule; the idea that anything could shatter the power of our blood was ludicrous.

'Could you kill a muggle?' asked Theo.

'We don't know any, you imbecile,' snapped Dorcas. 'Besides they're not like us, are they?'

'Fine, then. Could you kill anyone?'

Rodolphus took a swig of whisky. 'Yes,' he said unwaveringly. Rabastan who had been watching for his brother's reaction anxiously thought for a moment.

'If they deserved it,' he said, his voice gaining confidence.

'I would,' Theo followed quickly now the others boys had affirmed the motion.

'How about you Bellatrix?' asked Rodolphus suddenly, not bothering with Dorcas, Narcissa or I.

Bella's eyes sparkled into his. 'We Blacks come from Warrior stock,' she laughed.

*********

On the last day of the party Rabastan and I walked out in the dusk and I tried to remember the lecture Mother had given me the day before.

'Men are weak,' Mother had told me as she changed for dinner. She had called me to her room in a rare display of interest.

'How old are you now?' she had asked with mild curiosity, breathing in expertly as a house elf laced her corset.

'Thirteen, Mother.'

'Come here and stand up straight,' she ordered as I moved over to the light. She looked me up and down as though she was sizing me up for something.

She placed her cold slim elegant hands on my tender breasts making me gasp slightly with pain and the shock of her touch. Even when we were younger she had never embraced us, causing us to retreat into each other for human warmth.

'Have you started to bleed yet?' she asked when she had finished examining me, clipping a ruby lobe into her ear. I bit my lip and stared at the floor.

'Last year, Mother,' I whispered. Narcissa had known instinctively what was wrong when I had run to her dormitory late at night. She had given me a rare embrace and ignored my rapid questions about the exact theory of the mysterious curse she blamed.

'How regular?'

'They come at the same time as Narcissa's Mother.'

She nodded, a satisfied look in her cold eyes and then to my surprise turned me around to face a gilded mirror.

'You've turned out beautiful,' she told me. I stared into the mirror, the summer twilight illuminating my defined aristocratic features and grey eyes and breathed in the rare praise like gold dust.

'Men are not blind, Andromeda, and you will soon interest them however young you are. You have the power to control them.'

'But what if I don't want to control them?' I asked, biting my lip. Mother smiled coldly.

'You're a Black girl; it's your place in life. Watch Narcissa and learn from her,' she said. 'And keep the family honour.'

'What about love?' I ventured softly. I had read the story of Dido and Aneas that summer and the half-familiar concept of romance fascinated me even more than Father's books of Arithmancy I had pored over in preparation for my third year.

'Don't be ridiculous!' she snapped. 'Love is for Mudbloods and half-breeds, not you.'

************************************************

'Could you kill someone?' Rabastan asked me as the waves crashed against the shore and we crept back to the Chateau.

'If they hurt someone I loved, maybe,' I told him after a while.

'The Black Passion,' he smiled, and I shook my head. The Black Passion was the infamous trait of my bloodline, nurtured over the centauries by inter-marriage. Some called it madness and perhaps it was; it barely mattered as it had served the family well throughout the ages.

I shook my head. 'I'm not like Bellatrix. I'm sorry.'

'No. I like you the way you are,' he said, stopping suddenly; his voice had lost its normal ease and sounded almost nervous. I tried to remember what Mother had told me about men but for once I found my brain didn't want to work. I made to walk on but he seemed suddenly resolute, placing his arm tentatively around my waist.

And so we shared our first kiss, awkwardly tainted by our inexperience, clouded by our raw, unformed young emotions but strangely sweet and perfect all the same. In the sky my constellation twinkled slightly, keeping its bound state.

So kiss me Kiss me out of the bearded barley
Nightly, beside the green, green grass
Swing, swing, swing the spinning step
You wear those shoes and I will wear that dress

Kiss me down by the broken tree house
Swing me upon it's hanging tire
Bring, bring, bring your flowered hat
We'll take the trail marked on your father's map

Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight
Lead me out on the moonlit floor
Lift up your open hand
Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance
Silver moon's sparkling

Kiss Me- Sixpence None The Richer

Crumple-horned snorkack?