43. Fanfiction: The End of the Beginning
Title: The End of the Beginning
Author: Liliths_Requiem
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Molly Weasley, Bellatrix Black, Druella Black, Andromeda Black
Pairings: Molly Weasley/Bellatrix Black, allusion to Andromeda Black/Ted Tonks
Era: First War, Early 1973 to be exact
Word Count: 1268
Prompt: 100quills 15. Shaken
She isn’t there the night Andromeda leaves forever. Rodolphus wants her to go out that evening, and she’s learned that refusing her fiancé often leads to bruises she has to hide with too many concealing charms and not enough smiles. So she throws on scarlet dress robes and the gold bracelet Molly bought her years ago, just to piss off all the Slytherins bound to be there and leaves the house at a quarter after eight. It doesn’t register that Romy’s usually never out past seven. They’ve grown apart as they’ve grown older, and Bella can’t be bothered to care.
It isn’t until she arrives home, well past two the following morning, and finds her mother still awake in the Drawing Room that Bella realizes there is something seriously wrong. Druella Rosier Black is pureblooded, well bred, and French. She is not the type of woman to sit cross-legged on a rocking chair at two in the morning drinking cheap liquor and letting tears destroy her impeccable makeup. If Bella were anyone else, she would rush over to her mother’s side and ask to know what was wrong, all the while whispering words of comfort in those perfect, diamond-adorned ears. Instead, Bella is Bella, and she is much too proper to do anything like rush, ask, or whisper. She walks over to her mother, demands to know what it wrong, and screams loudly into the otherwise empty Drawing Room, disregarding Narcissa and her father, who, while probably not sleeping, are in their beds upstairs.
“How could you just let her leave?” the oldest Black daughter asks her mother in a quiet voice, one that contrasts painfully with her loud screams, still reverberating in both of their minds, even if their echoes have been lost against the high ceilings. “How could you not stop her?”
Druella looks like she wants to say something comforting, but thirty years of trying to destroy her heart have left her immune to any sense of guilt she should feel. There is only a lingering sense of emptiness, as if she’s lost a part of herself. Which she has, in a way, as Andromeda is her daughter; or was, now that her name has been blasted of Walburga’s tapestry. In many ways, the Blacks were just like any other pureblood family. In many ways, they were entirely different. “I had no choice, mon Cherie.”
Bella hates those words more than anything else in the world. In her mother’s eyes, no Black woman has a choice, in any aspect of her life. It was a belief she has tried to breed into her daughters from an early age, but Bella was too rebellious to believe it and Andromeda was too smart. At times, Narcissa submitted to her mother’s reasoning and at times she rebelled against it. Of all the Black children, Narcissa was the only one truly deserving of the House of Snakes. She refuses to respond to her mother, and does nothing more than take the glass of wine and fling it against the nearest wall before she begins the ascent to her bedroom. Honestly, she does not have the energy for theatrics tonight.
She falls against the silk sheets with something akin to tears wavering on the corners of her eyes. She hasn’t cried since graduation, but there’s something so terrible about loosing one’s sister that she knows she has little choice but to let the tears go. Soon, she is sobbing into the silver and gold pillows, a gift from Molly back in their third year, and muttering incomprehensibly into their soft feathers. Andromeda was the only person in her family that she would have given anything and everything up for, and now she was gone.
After a few hours, the tears subside and she is able to stand up to greet the morning sun. A part of her wants to believe this was all a horrible dream, but she knows she has not slept and she knows her mother has not yet gone to bed. Drowsily, she makes her way back to the Drawing Room and, seeing that her mother has fallen asleep in the chair, she picks her up and carries her to bed. If she allows her mother to sleep off the hangover, she can trick herself into believing she can sleep off the pain.
She’s tempted to try and sleep, to fall against her soft sheets and surrender to the peaceful oblivion she cannot find anywhere else. Instead, she changes into robes of deep purple and fixes her makeup and hair. She’s meeting Molly in muggle Oxford for shopping in an hour, as the Gryffindor is pregnant for a second time and her husband and son are away for the weekend. It’s rare, these moments that the two women can step over battle lines and spend time together. Bella doesn’t mind the secrecy, she only hates the guilt.
She apparates a few miles from their meeting place and walks the rest of the way. She can almost feel herself crying, but the wind blowing against her face is enough for her to blame the moisture on her cheeks on the weather. Molly is waiting for her when she arrives, and they both step inside the small bakery. Bella orders a cup of hot tea and a scone while Molly orders more than her friend has ever seen her eat in one sitting. “Eating for two, remember?” the redhead says in way of explanation, and the two grab a window seat in the back.
“What’s wrong?” Molly asks, as she lowers herself onto the maple chair. Even though she’s only two months into the pregnancy, she’s already put on ten pounds. Her appetite increased rapidly with Bill, and so Bella understands why the once thin frame is now curving outwards. She’d comment on it, if the other girl didn’t look so damn sexy with her hips sloping out like that.
The Slytherin shrugs, unsure as to how to approach the topic. They do not often talk about family or the war, as both lead to fights neither wants to have, and they know they’ll never see eye to eye on many of the points they argue over. This time, however, Bella needs someone to comfort her, even if her Black pride won’t allow her to admit it aloud. “Come on, Belle,” Molly prods, stirring her tea absently, “You’re shaking.”
Swallowing hard, the older girl bites the words out with as much nonchalance as she can muster. “Andromeda’s left.” The words cut through her like knives of ice, and she can feel her heart, hardened by forbidden love and too much blood on her hands, fall apart as it is sliced in two. She looks down at her wobbling tea cup and realizes Molly is right, she is shaking. The realization puts her over the edge and she ends up crying, small tears teeming from her eyes as she falls against Molly in the middle of a muggle bakery, somewhere far away from the world that has taken everything from her.
After loosing the girl she loves to a man; after giving up her body to a man without human feeling; after entering into a loveless engagement; after torturing innocents and murdering more people than she can name but not enough faces that she can’t remember; she is ashamed but not surprised that loosing her sister is the thing that broke her. Sometimes, it’s true that water can cleanse the soul; but always, always, the blood in one’s veins is harder to deny than the blood running down one’s fingers.
Author: Liliths_Requiem
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Molly Weasley, Bellatrix Black, Druella Black, Andromeda Black
Pairings: Molly Weasley/Bellatrix Black, allusion to Andromeda Black/Ted Tonks
Era: First War, Early 1973 to be exact
Word Count: 1268
Prompt: 100quills 15. Shaken
She isn’t there the night Andromeda leaves forever. Rodolphus wants her to go out that evening, and she’s learned that refusing her fiancé often leads to bruises she has to hide with too many concealing charms and not enough smiles. So she throws on scarlet dress robes and the gold bracelet Molly bought her years ago, just to piss off all the Slytherins bound to be there and leaves the house at a quarter after eight. It doesn’t register that Romy’s usually never out past seven. They’ve grown apart as they’ve grown older, and Bella can’t be bothered to care.
It isn’t until she arrives home, well past two the following morning, and finds her mother still awake in the Drawing Room that Bella realizes there is something seriously wrong. Druella Rosier Black is pureblooded, well bred, and French. She is not the type of woman to sit cross-legged on a rocking chair at two in the morning drinking cheap liquor and letting tears destroy her impeccable makeup. If Bella were anyone else, she would rush over to her mother’s side and ask to know what was wrong, all the while whispering words of comfort in those perfect, diamond-adorned ears. Instead, Bella is Bella, and she is much too proper to do anything like rush, ask, or whisper. She walks over to her mother, demands to know what it wrong, and screams loudly into the otherwise empty Drawing Room, disregarding Narcissa and her father, who, while probably not sleeping, are in their beds upstairs.
“How could you just let her leave?” the oldest Black daughter asks her mother in a quiet voice, one that contrasts painfully with her loud screams, still reverberating in both of their minds, even if their echoes have been lost against the high ceilings. “How could you not stop her?”
Druella looks like she wants to say something comforting, but thirty years of trying to destroy her heart have left her immune to any sense of guilt she should feel. There is only a lingering sense of emptiness, as if she’s lost a part of herself. Which she has, in a way, as Andromeda is her daughter; or was, now that her name has been blasted of Walburga’s tapestry. In many ways, the Blacks were just like any other pureblood family. In many ways, they were entirely different. “I had no choice, mon Cherie.”
Bella hates those words more than anything else in the world. In her mother’s eyes, no Black woman has a choice, in any aspect of her life. It was a belief she has tried to breed into her daughters from an early age, but Bella was too rebellious to believe it and Andromeda was too smart. At times, Narcissa submitted to her mother’s reasoning and at times she rebelled against it. Of all the Black children, Narcissa was the only one truly deserving of the House of Snakes. She refuses to respond to her mother, and does nothing more than take the glass of wine and fling it against the nearest wall before she begins the ascent to her bedroom. Honestly, she does not have the energy for theatrics tonight.
She falls against the silk sheets with something akin to tears wavering on the corners of her eyes. She hasn’t cried since graduation, but there’s something so terrible about loosing one’s sister that she knows she has little choice but to let the tears go. Soon, she is sobbing into the silver and gold pillows, a gift from Molly back in their third year, and muttering incomprehensibly into their soft feathers. Andromeda was the only person in her family that she would have given anything and everything up for, and now she was gone.
After a few hours, the tears subside and she is able to stand up to greet the morning sun. A part of her wants to believe this was all a horrible dream, but she knows she has not slept and she knows her mother has not yet gone to bed. Drowsily, she makes her way back to the Drawing Room and, seeing that her mother has fallen asleep in the chair, she picks her up and carries her to bed. If she allows her mother to sleep off the hangover, she can trick herself into believing she can sleep off the pain.
She’s tempted to try and sleep, to fall against her soft sheets and surrender to the peaceful oblivion she cannot find anywhere else. Instead, she changes into robes of deep purple and fixes her makeup and hair. She’s meeting Molly in muggle Oxford for shopping in an hour, as the Gryffindor is pregnant for a second time and her husband and son are away for the weekend. It’s rare, these moments that the two women can step over battle lines and spend time together. Bella doesn’t mind the secrecy, she only hates the guilt.
She apparates a few miles from their meeting place and walks the rest of the way. She can almost feel herself crying, but the wind blowing against her face is enough for her to blame the moisture on her cheeks on the weather. Molly is waiting for her when she arrives, and they both step inside the small bakery. Bella orders a cup of hot tea and a scone while Molly orders more than her friend has ever seen her eat in one sitting. “Eating for two, remember?” the redhead says in way of explanation, and the two grab a window seat in the back.
“What’s wrong?” Molly asks, as she lowers herself onto the maple chair. Even though she’s only two months into the pregnancy, she’s already put on ten pounds. Her appetite increased rapidly with Bill, and so Bella understands why the once thin frame is now curving outwards. She’d comment on it, if the other girl didn’t look so damn sexy with her hips sloping out like that.
The Slytherin shrugs, unsure as to how to approach the topic. They do not often talk about family or the war, as both lead to fights neither wants to have, and they know they’ll never see eye to eye on many of the points they argue over. This time, however, Bella needs someone to comfort her, even if her Black pride won’t allow her to admit it aloud. “Come on, Belle,” Molly prods, stirring her tea absently, “You’re shaking.”
Swallowing hard, the older girl bites the words out with as much nonchalance as she can muster. “Andromeda’s left.” The words cut through her like knives of ice, and she can feel her heart, hardened by forbidden love and too much blood on her hands, fall apart as it is sliced in two. She looks down at her wobbling tea cup and realizes Molly is right, she is shaking. The realization puts her over the edge and she ends up crying, small tears teeming from her eyes as she falls against Molly in the middle of a muggle bakery, somewhere far away from the world that has taken everything from her.
After loosing the girl she loves to a man; after giving up her body to a man without human feeling; after entering into a loveless engagement; after torturing innocents and murdering more people than she can name but not enough faces that she can’t remember; she is ashamed but not surprised that loosing her sister is the thing that broke her. Sometimes, it’s true that water can cleanse the soul; but always, always, the blood in one’s veins is harder to deny than the blood running down one’s fingers.