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runespoorTitle: Fourth Year
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
runespoor7
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Andromeda Black, Ted Tonks (Sirius, Bellatrix, Severus...)
Prompt: 002 - Middles
Word Count: 7015
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: Fourth in the Love in Hogwarts Years series. As always, thanks toluckilyotto who beta'd the series.
First Year Second Year Third Year
Fourth Year
Is when Andromeda starts wearing make-up, ignoring the school's clothing regulations, and having sex. It's when she's invited to the Slug Club, seemingly a consequence of her vaunted proficiency in Runes, and when Slughorn allows her a pass to borrow a handful of chosen books from the Restricted Section.
It may be a year for proving how special she is in her own family – re: the sex-having, the clothes-choosing, and the Slug Club-belonging, when Bella (who is more of a prude than ever before) only became a member when she was made a Prefect. But of course, it's also the year Sirius chooses for being Sorted into Gryffindor, just to spite her.
Andromeda has half a mind never to forgive him for being the little attention-stealing bastard she acknowledges him for, then graciously spares him. He's more bearable in Gryffindor than he ever was before, and he's apparently terrorised the best part of the first-years with tales of her Dabbling in Nameless Magicks.
It was fun at the beginning.
The last part of which is composed of anecdotes that are entirely true, except for the fact that technically she doesn't "dabble" so much as "devote herself", she'd never misspell the word magic even if it makes it look olde-worlde and more ominous by half, and it is only nameless to those who can't be arsed to look it up, as she informs Sirius one day she's been consistently avoided by all Hufflepuffs, but Head Girl Meadows herself, who told her what was the reason of the silent treatment. But her glowering at Sirius doesn't do much in the way of erasing the rumour, and in fact justifies it: anything that has him fearing for his life must be bad, in the Gryffindors books. Or psyche, or whatever it is they use as instinct. She's not convinced they can actually read, particularly after that encounter.
On the other hand, since even the Ravenclaws act as if they were in awe of her, maybe there's really no one with a brain but her. As she crossly reminds Sirius, it wasn't as if she'd meant to set him on fire – long-lasting, magic-repellent – when he was three. It had been entirely unintentional, as satisfying as it had proved to be and as painful as it was to admit it. She even manages to keep from landing him in the hospital wing, which would only confirm the gossip.
A distrusted Andromeda is an aggressive Andromeda.
*
"Where's Sirius?"
She asks a Gryffindor, of course. The Hufflepuffs avoid looking at her and the Ravenclaws either redden and skedaddle or take that far away look. The younger girl cringes but shrugs, a usual Gryffindor reaction, unsure but non-aggressive.
"Where's my cousin?"
She's alone. Her voice is more impatient than is wise, but she can't suppress it entirely.
"Meadows, sorry, it's me again, I'm looking for Sirius."
The Head Girl considers her, not unkindly. Damn Hufflepuff and her damn iron-fisted efficiency. She knows. She makes it her business to know about the school, Dumbledore-like in her intuitions. She hasn't been made Head Girl by chance.
Andromeda doesn't run to the greenhouses, and she doesn't curse Sirius on sight. Instead, she manages to keep the mask on until they're both alone, behind the trees, after he told his friends to go on.
He sends a joyous smile at her.
"Hi, Meda! It's nice to see you!"
The worst of it is, Andromeda thinks, that he's not even putting up a front.
She doesn't answer at once; instead, she smiles at him, whips her wand out, and cast a silencing spell over the area. It only comforts her in her opinion of her cousin that he doesn't flinch when she pulls her wand out.
"Unfortunately, I cannot say the same of you, you unmitigated little twat," she says without any discernable emotion. Inwardly, she's raging and wants nothing more than to snap the neck of the bloody thorn in her bloody side.
"Huh?"
He looks so very, very puzzled.
"Oh, so eloquent. You wound me with your words. Is there something in the air of Gryffindor that changes all its students into pathetic illiterate fools, or were you picked because you fit the standards, you wretched excuse for a Black?" She interrupts herself before she says anything damning and tries to rein in her white-cold fury. She's rather sorry she let it run away with her.
"Hey, I didn't do anything, okay?" He looks righteously indignant.
She's in no mood for his stupidity.
"Expelliarmus!" As Sirius' wand flies in a graceful curve to her hand, she thinks that maybe she could have used Accio instead: Sirius has been flung back against a tree.
"What was that for?" His voice reaches new peaks of squeaky alarm. "You could've banged my head…!"
"Wouldn't have done any damage that wasn't done before," she says mercilessly. "Shut up."
Sirius' mouth snaps closed. The manic glint in her eyes may be more pronounced than she thought, or Sirius' survival instinct at least matches that of a Flobberworm.
"So, I trust you're adapting to Hogwarts?"
He keeps wisely silent.
"Classes going well?"
Scathes, scathes, scathes. Her tone will leave no dignity standing.
"All these new victims to traumatise… I see how it can be exciting."
Intake of breath from the unfortunate first year. Apparently he gets where this is heading.
Andromeda flashes another of her very bright, very frightening smiles.
"Let me get this straight." She's lazily twisting her wand between her fingers. Sirius is eyeing it with an air that has crossed apprehension and is now quickly heading towards the wishing-for-the-ground-to-swallow-him district. The nonchalance of her attitude is belied by a venomous whisper.
"If you ever, ever think about pushing me this far again, I will see that your days at Hogwarts are such a hell, that you'll beg your parents to send you to Beauxbâtons instead, and that fifty years from now, when you'll hear the name of Hogwarts, you'll still be praying to dear Merlin not to wet yourself."
Sirius audibly gulps. He has first-hand experience of Andromeda's definition of revenge, and her current threat has the accent of a vow. His eyes are fixed upon his shoes.
"Er. I didn't mean to?..."
"Come to Hogwarts and positively ruin my life? Go that far? Be pursued by my best nightmare-inducing hexes if you don't get me off the bloody loop?"
It's apparent he didn't understand from her tone that the menace on his life was being alleviated until further offences, because he refuses to raise his head, and he looks as harmless as a wet and sorry little creature. Andromeda is seized by the urge to smack him upon the head and, taking pity on him, that's what she does.
Before she leaves him be, though, and because she has to make a grand exit, she looks back above her shoulder, and calls.
"'Obtenebro'. Look it up, when you have access to the Restricted Section."
*
She's not one for going on a crusade of any sorts; that's what the two official heirs are for, and with the way Bellatrix and Sirius have with it, it shouldn't be long before Andromeda and Regulus are left as the eldest living children, out of their respective family. Besides, the two of them are more or less doing it for her – or rather, they take the excuse to be nasty with each other. They're as usual blaming each other. Andromeda isn't too sure what exactly they can be blaming each other for, since after all, Bellatrix never approved of her consorting with other Houses, and Sirius never condemned her interest in twilight arts.
Finding the passageway leading to Honeydukes is a huge improvement; Hogsmeade is duller than Herbology, but you can Floo to Diagon Alley, as Brutus and her have been doing since her second Hogsmeade week-end, and as they can now do whenever they feel like it. Mostly it's her, because Brutus is a seventh-year, and as such is betrothed to his desk. Diagon Alley isn't much fun when you're alone, a Black, and supposed to be at Hogwarts: everybody knows you. The same applies to Knockturn, except that the risk or running into one of her relatives is even higher and the last thing she'd want would be to meet her aunt, even before her father, unamused as he'd be.
That leaves the Muggle world.
It's just on the other side of the Leaky Cauldron. She never cared much for her aunt's horror stories about what Muggles did to good little wizards. Wizards, by definition, have magic on their side. Moreover, she's not just any witch. She's a Black.
So she can go to Muggle London. And she does, repeatedly. She never uses any transportation, because it looks strange and complicated and she'd hate to look dumb, but she walks around a lot. She comes at least once a week, during the night, when something at Hogwarts makes her wish she was elsewhere.
*
"Hey, is that Black?" Abigail suddenly whispers to him, leaning back on her chair.
"What?"
There's no use in asking her to be quiet; if three years at Hogwarts have taught Ted anything, it's that Abigail Frobisher does not ever, ever refrain from speaking up.
"There, second row, with the black hair."
Ted thinks that's not especially useful, since of course the Black girls have black hair, and naturally Andromeda Black can be expected to be there during their Ancient Runes classes, but he nevertheless gives the other side of the room a cursory glance. And fails to locate her. He frowns.
"Where?"
Discreetly, Abigail gestures to a figure seated on the second row. From where they are, they can only see the back of her head, a short, shiny, ink-black bob.
"There! The girl with the hair!"
Ted uneasily shifts in his chair. Andromeda Black has a black mane that flows down her back in loose waves. It is as distinctive and as much a part of her as her charming personality. "Huh, Abigail…"
He's about to diplomatically mumble something of the 'I don't think…' variety, when his jaw rather suddenly and unexpectedly drops. The short, shiny, ink-black bob, which Ted's mind had already gone back and related to the stylish girls on the 20's photographs that Ted's sister hangs to her wall, is flipped back in an impetuous move that send all the locks swaying. Just as unexpectedly, as if his body had started a revolution and intended to strip his mind of its pre-eminence, his heart contracted. It is a flip that Ted has come to know all too well during the past year; that of, unmistakeably, Andromeda Black setting to extort praise from the teacher's lips.
And then she raises her hand and the brief illusion of a Muggle-born, a fan of Louise Brooks, is shattered by the dulcet tones of, who else but Andromeda Black indeed.
*
"I heard you cursed a Gryffindor this morning," Bella says, flopping down next to Andromeda at lunch.
"Then you heard wrong, my dear sister, for cursing has never been farther from my mind," Andromeda blithely answers, without taking her eyes off her book.
"Oh?" Bellatrix frowns.
Edmund Wilkes takes pity of her. Edmund Wilkes, Andromeda acknowledges, has had a rather disturbing crush on her sister for the best part of the last two years. It is somewhat unfortunate, she meditates, because Edmund is quite cute in an unassuming sort of way, and Bella would have had little to no arguments for complaining about her sister's taste in boys. But alas, it is not be anywhere in the near future. Besides, they'd have to come out in the open, and hello Prudish Big Sister Attack.
"We also heard you'd burnt the greenhouses down, you'd landed Professor Flitwick in the hospital wing, and you'd dropped out," he assured, "so we assumed at least one of these were true…"
"You've already done the setting-fire thing," Rodolphus says, helping himself with the onion soup.
"Bellatrix believed you'd never drop out before there was no more Hogwarts to drop out of. Whatever it is she means."
"And Professor Flitwick is a Duelling Expert." That's Evan, voice quiet and sensible.
"Oh?" Andromeda fakes a detached surprise, as though she hadn't known it since a month into her first term. "Well, that would have complicated things slightly."
Avery snorts. Avery, of course, is a little slow on the uptake, but what can be expected from someone who only wants to be called by his surname? Particularly since Avery is not that special a line to begin with. Though, privately, she has to admit he has a point: what kind of parents calls their child John?
"Yeah, well, you're not exactly a star in practical classes, are you?"
There's a silence. Andromeda wonders if ignoring him would be an act of kindness. Then she decides against it. If he doesn't learn to keep his mouth shut, some day someone will come along and not be as merciful as her.
Reluctantly, she looks up from The Wand & the Cauldron: a Social History of Magic in the Middle Ages.
"Are you defying me in a Duel, John?"
He looks startled.
"Because, just so you know, that's exactly how it sounded."
"Er, no, that's not what I meant."
"Too bad," Andromeda says placidly. "That's how I'm choosing to understand it. My honour as a Black will not be assuaged by anything else."
It's mildly upsetting that Avery isn't begging for his life, tears and snot running down his face, kneeling in supplication in front of her, desperately trying to grasp and kiss the hem of her robes, hiccupping and sobbing.
But he does seem a bit perturbed. Andromeda takes it to mean he hasn't realised how insulting he was being.
Edmund and Rodolphus exchange a glance. "Let's not make it to the death," Rodolphus suggests.
"No, I won't be satisfied until I leave him bleeding through every of his pores and coughing on his own blood on the floor of the Trophy Room."
Andromeda's matter-of-fact tone draws her looks from every one of the boys, and a Peering-At-Ceiling-Merlin-Do-You-Hear-That from Bella, who's consistently less obtuse in human relations than what Andromeda usually gives her credit for.
"Of course it won't be to the death. I have no intention to risk Azkaban just because one of my friends is being offensive."
Edmund and Rodolphus exchange another glance; this time, they let Evan join them in their time-honoured tradition. John hopefully grins at them. Bright boy who knew better than to ask Bella to fight her sister, even in a second capacity.
"I propose that we–" Rodolphus, who is decidedly in a talkative mood tonight, gestures to Bella, Edmund and Evan "–don't get involved." He doesn't need to add this is safest.
Bella frowns. "Obviously we'll still be there, though, to your Duel." Her voice is clearly conveying a so-don't-hope-to-get-away-with-whatever-it-is-you're-planning insinuation, directed, Andromeda suspects, at the both of them. "And you should find yourself a referee," she adds as an afterthought.
"A… referee?"
John, Andromeda notices, looks as mortified as she feels.
Bella gives a vigorous nod, and Andromeda knows it is useless to try and convince her to let it go. "Yes, a referee. Someone who's neutral enough and reliable enough to be trusted with the maintenance of the rules of the Duel."
On the other side of the table, Evan looks like he's going to burst out with pride. Andromeda, her attention focused on her sister, reaches over and smacks him on the head. Edmund and Rodolphus are very cautiously staring at their plates. John is still gaping at the idea of a referee. Andromeda's consternation is the only one in the open.
"You just sounded like a Gryffindor."
Bella shrugs. "Duelling has rules, that's what I know. If you don't, then it's not a Duel anymore and I don't see why you should be allowed to drag us all to some unwizardly room at some unwizardly hour of the night for something you could settle with a well-placed hex in a corridor."
There's only one thing that takes prevalence on Duel as far as her sister is concerned, Andromeda reminds herself, and that's sleep.
"And do you have any suggestion as to whom you'd like to entrust the Rules of Duelling with, or may we be permitted to choose our fate by ourselves?"
The sarcasm in her voice is too heavy to be very effective, Andromeda recognises.
"Not when you're acting like a brat, no," Bella replies in a calm tone.
Andromeda arches an eyebrow. The corner of Bellatrix's mouth twitches upwards. Andromeda, who is in fact quite content not having to look for a referee on top of a second, especially since it means giving John grounds for complaints, cause what of the neutrality of the referee and all, relents.
"Oh, fine. Go and have it." She waves her hand in a disgusted fashion. "Just don't make it a member of the Duelling Club." Cause there's already going to be Bella and Evan obsessed with rules and manners, and Andromeda doesn't think she could stomach one more pompous arsehole overlooking her first proper Duel. Her practice with Bellatrix doesn't qualify.
John raises a judicious finger. "Aha! 'Not a member of the Duelling Club'!"
"Does he want me to curse him, or what?" Andromeda wonders aloud. "I'm not afraid of the Duellers, you ridiculous dunderhead. Go and pick one as your second, for all I care. In fact, I think I positively refuse to fight you if you're not with a Duellist. Provided you can find one who accepts to fight on the losing side – if I were you, I'd consider the Gryffies." A pause in which Andromeda decides it's pointless to continue her tirade, judging it to conclude on a satisfyingly insulting note. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have places to be," she sneers, stuffing her book into her schoolbag.
"I think she means we're going to be late," Evan murmurs.
Behind her, there's a sudden rush and accompanying exclamations as the gang realises that, yes, indeed-y indeed, they are the last people in the Great Hall and they're going to be late. Andromeda, who's already at the door, righteously smirks.
*
Ted is racking his brains over his Transfiguration – not his best subject – in the library when the book he's reading is overshadowed by someone standing between the table and the light. He can barely register that the last time this trick was used was in Mary Poppins, and it was already corny then, when a voice calls for his attention.
"Tonks?"
"Er, yes?" He looks up, straight in the face of Bellatrix Black.
His first reaction is the settlement of the feeling of impending doom in the very core of his bones, as his mind whispers to him, 'uh-oh'. He'd known the status quo he and Andromeda Black had achieved in Runes, since the beginning of the year, was too good to last. His second reaction is that Andromeda Black would never ask her sister to fight her battles for her. He's learnt that much.
He's never seen Bellatrix Black from this close. He agrees with the consensus that finds her imposing. No doubt, she is, though, to be frank, Ted is prepared to find imposing any people towering over his seated form, an expression of grim resolve on their faces, with a reputation so big it takes several days for a rumour to gossip around, as long as he isn't asked to act on it.
"I have a favour to ask from you." She pauses, as if to give more weight to her request.
"What would it be?" Ted gives tit for tat. If she wants him to be struck speechless, she's going to be disappointed. Inwardly, though, Ted wonders as to what sixth-year Prefect Bellatrix Black could want from him. Except the passwords to Ravenclaw Tower, which he's not prepared to give up.
"You were in a Duel two years ago, right?"
It takes Ted a few seconds to pinpoint what she means.
"It was more of a melee, actually," he corrects. "Why?"
"What d'you know about Duelling?"
If he's ever thought Bellatrix Black telling him she wanted him to help her was grotesque, Bellatrix Black interviewing him about his practical Duelling experience could only be surrealistic.
His interest piqued, he answers, "Well, what everybody knows. A wizard or a witch challenges another on irrefutable grounds, they agree on terms, choose each a second to replace them in case they become incapacitated, the offended party sets the date and place for the encounter, and they get a referee who has to make sure they don't contravene to the rules. Sometimes magical binding is done to prevent the breakings of rules, but the rituals are known for backfiring."
A looming suspicion causes him to pause in his objectively-delivered tone to detail Black, gravely listening to him, giving no sign of approval or disagreement.
"This is not about the Duelling Club again, is it? Cause it's still no."
She shakes her head.
"It's about a Duel." She pauses again. There's something about Blacks and histrionics, Ted muses, that needs investigating. His theory concerning Andromeda Black's overuse of dramatics proved right – it's a family thing – he can resume minding the older girl.
"You're knowledgeable and if your hex-work improved at all in the last two years, you'd be able to follow. And, what's more important, you certainly can't be accused of favouring Andromeda." She smiles, rather suddenly. Ted had never realised how alike the older Black girls looked.
"Would you be interested in refereeing a Duel?"
"Huh?"
Damn, Ted thinks. She caught him out of guard. In his defence, how was he supposed to see this coming? In further defence, the oldest Black doesn't seem to enjoy the same smugness Andromeda Black would have if she'd been the one getting the better of Ted.
"Between Andromeda and Avery. He dismissed her Duelling skills and she took him on his word. The time is tomorrow night, in the Trophy room." Mistaking his stunned silence for an agreement, she nods. "Good. I'll tell them it's settled, then."
In the face of the danger, Ted recovers.
"Hey! Wait wait wait, not so fast. Give me time to think about it."
Maybe, on another occasion, Ted would have been amused by her puzzlement. 'Think about what?' her attitude screams. It's as if, as a Muggle-born, there was no way he'd say no.
Which, of course, brings him back to the primary question.
"What's in there for me?"
Black looks affronted, which pleases him. A favour is a favour is a favour, or so Ted's sister would say.
"Er. You'd see a genuine Duel."
This, Ted takes to mean between two purebloods. He sends her a 'puh-lease' look. He could count the ways this, whatever it is, cannot be regarded as a 'genuine Duel', not like Black understands it: underage wizards and witches, Muggle-born judge, forbidden at Hogwarts, not to the death.
Black looks away. Obviously she agrees with his meaning.
"Um. Well. Do you need any help with your–" she squints in distaste at his book "–Transfiguration?"
"No, I'm okay," Ted smiles. He's only doing okay by his standards; any parents would be enchanted if their child brought back such marks.
This is starting to amuse him.
Her brow is furrowed in reflection. Ted wonders if she will offer him money.
If making one pure-blood kick her heels is so much fun, Ted can only imagine the glee of assisting to the Duel.
Andromeda Black and Avery locked in deadly – not in deadly anything. That's crucial.
Actually, no. He can do more than imagine.
At the same time, Bellatrix Black sighs. "You'd know more about Duelling," she says in a disabused tone.
"Okay, I'll do it."
Let her think she knows the buttons of a Ravenclaw.
*
Brutus nods at each of Andromeda's words.
Of course he understands. Why she's telling him all that, she has no idea – it is not, after all, particularly humorous – except perhaps that they are friends. When Brutus has envisaged relinquishing his position as Quidditch announcer to study, she's listened to him, and she's given him her opinion (don't) when he asked. Here, she's not asking for a piece of advice, not quite, but the discussion happened in her life and she cannot bring herself to consider it less interesting than McGo's last lecture.
"You don't want me to be your second, do you?"
Andromeda shakes her head. "I know you'd do it – well, I think you'd do it – but I want him – Hecate, I want everyone – to know that I'm not counting on my second. He defied me, and I'm going to beat him so badly that it will be years before anyone will do so much as look at me sideways."
"And here was I, thinking you hated it. Things have changed since November, haven't they?"
Andromeda looks at him as if he's announced her he's giving up magic.
"A Duel between two Slytherins? Are you mad? They're going to love me. Two days from now, there will be so many Badgers grovelling at my feet that I could run the pest control for rats service in all of Scotland."
"Mhm." He doesn't look too convinced. It must be the allusion to the Hufflepuff-love. "And how do you know the tale will run? You're not going to advertise it, are you?" For a moment, he looks honestly concerned. He has long stopped to question Andromeda's taste for the controversial.
"How do I know? You're kidding? We're at Hogwarts. If we're not caught by a teacher, you can bet a portrait is going to see everything." She sounds delighted by the perspective.
*
It is, of course, after midnight that they meet, because Andromeda cannot know of a tradition and not be overcome by the irresistible urge to break it. So the rendezvous is at one o'clock, and everybody is there on time, except for Ted, who arrives at a quarter past, red and out of breath, at which time everybody is annoyed and several judgements on the unreliability of Muggle-borns have been issued.
Even before he's stopped by them, Andromeda Black's jaw has dropped.
"Tonks? That's who's going to be our judge? Ted Tonks? Was there no one else you could have picked? Guys, I'm talking to you!" she exclaims when none of the gang is willing to meet her eyes, except for Avery, who obviously doesn't have anything to do with the choice of Ted Tonks as a judge. "You're telling me that there's no one else in all of Hogwarts – and I didn't say Methyr or Durmstrang, you hear me, I said Hogwarts – there's no one else who could have performed the simple duties of a Duelling judge? You had to pick Tonks!"
The four of them exchange a glance. It takes them almost five seconds, and Andromeda has half a mind to tell them they look ridiculous.
Finally, Bella shrugs, but it's Rodolpus who speaks.
"We're sorry, Andromeda, but we needed to find someone neutral. And Tonks here is one of the few who can set his sights on the title."
With great difficulty, Andromeda keeps her wand in her pocket and doesn't curse the lot of them. She cannot believe it of them. They, of all people, handed that honour over to a Muggle-born? The world has come to a stop, Andromeda knows.
In a heart-wrenching moment, Andromeda is on the verge of commenting on it aloud.
But she doesn't. She'll have plenty of time to make a scene in private, without dragging three outsiders in it, which would be coarse and needlessly embarrassing for everybody involved. Besides, Tonks' blood isn't what gets under her skin; it's more Tonks himself.
And all that for a Duel which isn't going to last more than ten minutes if Marlene McKinnon is as good as her fellow members of the Duelling Club say she is. Still irritated beyond all hopes of getting any calmer before the beginning of the Duel, Andromeda takes comfort in the knowledge that John did, after all, take a Dueller for a second.
"Sorry," Ted pants, "lost track of time."
Andromeda's eyebrows rise dangerously. But Ted has his hands on his knees and is breathing hard, and as such doesn't have a warning.
"Oh, you got yourself a girlfriend, Tonks?"
Ted straightens. He looks frightfully dignified, though it is plain to anyone with eyes that he's very red. Of course, this can still be the residue of his dashing through the corridors. "Not that it is any of your business, Black, but I was revising for the Runes pop quiz."
Andromeda draws herself to her whole height and swings her black bob around, catching the light. She's not as tiny as she was in first year. In fact, Ted can see she's not even small anymore. She's of average height, though here it means she's only taller than the two youngest boys: one who is at most a second year, black-haired and determined-looking, and the other, a boy with auburn hair and a practically feminine face, standing next to the older ones. The other girl, of whom Ted doesn't know the name, is almost as tall as Bellatrix Black.
"Pop quiz?" she drawls disdainfully, eyelashes lowering. "How can you revise for a pop quiz?
"Yeah. The one I overheard Professor Bailey tell Professor Flitwick about. On asymmetrical scansion."
Ted, of course, has heard no such thing, but the occasion for putting her back in her place is too good to miss. It has become clear to Ted, during the last month, that Andromeda Black is not quite at ease with asymmetrical scansion as she is with the rest, though he doubts that anyone else has noticed it. She and he are so far ahead that they might as well be taking their NEWTs, for all that the others understand of their interventions.
She pales slightly.
Ted considers his goal reached.
The auburn-haired boy stifles a yawn. "S-sorry. Could we go on? It's late and if we're caught, this will cost us a lot of points."
Right. Points. Ted acquiesces.
"And some of us are Prefects," Bellatrix Black grouches. The other girl, the one with the straight brown hair, half-nods.
"Nobody asked you to come," her sister retorts. But she comes closer to Ted, on his left, the black-haired first-year on her heels, as Avery approaches, followed by the brown-haired girl.
Silently, Andromeda, Avery and Ted join the tip of their wands. Behind the two adversaries, their seconds have taken their own wands out.
Andromeda hopes he won't make them take formal oaths and use the typical judge language, so filled with metaphors you get a headache by trying to make sense out of it, since that was all the point of getting a referee who wasn't in the Duelling Club, and she doesn't think she's done anything that deserves enduring Tonks and the Duelling jargon.
He doesn't.
"Andromeda Black, John Avery, you meet in friendly Duel. No outside help is allowed. When one of you is rendered unable to fight back for the rest of the Duel, your second will take your place. Who?..." He looks quizzical.
"Marlene McKinnon," Avery answers.
"Severus Snape," Andromeda prompts.
Ted nods. "Right. Well, you're responsible for their actions during the Duel; they're not to interfere before I say one of you is out. Seconds, if I find you to be disloyal to the one you swore to help, I don't think I'll be the only one here rather miffed at that." He smiles briefly.
Andromeda's impressed. She didn't know he had it in him to sound so confident. He's so… neither meek nor serious even begins to cover it. The term is eluding her. She's tried describing to Brutus what it is about him that gets on her nerves, but she couldn't find the right examples, the right words, the right concepts
"Salute your opponent," orders Ted. The two seconds – and by the way, what was Andromeda Black trying to prove when she chose a first-year, and what does it say about his neutrality as a judge that he let a child on the stage without raising any objection – go to join the four spectators, sitting on low cases that display various minor trophies. One good thing about magic is that glass can be spelled against breaking.
Black and Avery give each other a curt half-bow, mind-bogglingly similar. Ted wonders if it is a House trick, passed from older Slytherin to younger snake ever since Salazar Slytherin.
Then they both spin on their heels, and walk the customary seven steps. Ted frantically searches his mind for an appropriate signal, caught in the heat of the moment as he is.
Heat!
"Fire!" he shouts. He wonders if the two Duellists, pure-blooded to their great-mother's core as they are, will understand a colloquialism that suddenly sounds very Muggle to his ears, but before his wondering can become anxiety, the first spell is already cast out. Ted congratulates himself on his quick thinking.
"Obtenebro!" Andromeda cries.
The black ray hits Avery full on the chest before he can utter a defence. An instant goes by during which nothing happens, and Ted, who is too busy holding his breath to note the spell, which he has never heard of, is as petrified as the rest of the on-lookers.
Then the boy blinks and slowly crumbles to the ground, eyes fixed on nothing.
"No," he whimpers, "no no no no no…"
He crawls away from Andromeda, but he doesn't seem to see her; all at once, he starts and looks behind him, as if he's heard something, and starts to scream, covering his eyes and rocking fro and back.
Another spell from Andromeda silences him at once.
Ted hurries to his side before he remembers he knows nothing about the spell – he could try Finite Incantatem, but chances are he wouldn't manage it, and of all the humiliations he'd rather avoid, failing to perform a spell in front of a gang of fundamentalist pure-bloods led by Andromeda Black makes to the top.
"The Dementing Curse? Isn't that… a bit much?" one of the boys wants to know. They're not applauding, they don't look amused, or even impressed. At best, they're in awe. Ted can put two and two together, and if "Dementing Curse" has anything to do with Dementors, he can see where they stand.
"He had it coming," Andromeda promises. But, since Avery is a friend and the judge shows no intention of intervening, she offers, "Chocolate is good." Chocolate will effectively annul the curse, and as she won't waste her energy away when she has still an opponent to face, and a more serious one at that, it's also the only cure they can use.
"He's out," Ted declares. "Take care of him," he tells the gang. The girl – Marlene McKinnon – strides past him while the others rumble through their pockets and stuff the collected chocolate in Avery's mouth.
The girls stand face to face, slowly circling around each other. This will not be as easy or as quick as the first part. Behind Ted, feverish whispering is going on, and Ted fleetingly wonders if they're making bets, and on whom they're placing their bets, and whether he'd have done the same if he weren't the referee.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
"Densaugeo!"
Both jinxes are cast simultaneously and are easily deflected. They're measuring each other up, Ted thinks. Andromeda Black's eyes are narrowed, her lips curved in a smirk.
Ted has read Lolita during the Christmas holidays. He's struck by how unbelievably contrary Lolita and Andromeda Black are. She's the anti-nymphet, he thinks. She's the girl who doesn't need to set expectations to thwart them, she's the girl who is a fourteen-year-old young woman, she's the girl who's currently hurling a hex at her opponent.
The older girl aims her wand at the ceiling, and the fireball bounces off her, leaving her unscathed and – she's yelling her own hex. "Stupefy!"
"Expelliarmus!" Andromeda shouts before the red light hits her.
The two spells meet in mid-air. Ted has dived to the ground, his hands protecting half-closed eyes, before the connected rays start to shine a glaring white and explode with a flash of negative light, grey-black skin and white-white hair, like a negative photography.
When the effect subsides and Ted's eyes are accustomed to the light again, he sees that Marlene McKinnon is sprawled on the ground, Andromeda's wand still pointed at her. As he makes his way to the unmoving girl, Andromeda Black flips her hair and smiles at him.
"She's Stupefied," she says. "I think I won."
Oblivious to her attempt at circumventing his powers as the judge, Ted examines the lying girl. It's obvious that she's been Stupefied, though her posture indicates she didn't fell victim to a mere Petrifying Spell. Black must have gone non-verbal, he deduces.
"What else did you use?" Ted inquires. The words are just out of his mouth when he starts second-guessing himself. Is it a necessary aspect of his duties to know about it, or is he just trying to increase his own range of jinxes and counters-jinxes? That's what he'd just need, for Andromeda Black to call him on his motivations.
Yet she doesn't. She addresses him what may or may not be a fleeting, knowing glimpse, and she smiles. It's not that she's transfigured, Ted reasons, because there's nothing unusual about her looking satisfied and smug, but there's something about it that's never been directed at Ted before, something like – not amusement, not insolence, but that has distinct elements of the two. Her eyes are positively sparkling with it, that gleeful cheek.
"Animam expira. I stopped her breathing."
Tonks stares at her. Well, he'd wanted to know. Andromeda's grin broadens. "That's why I Stupefied her. So she's not going to die."
There's uneasy shifting among the on-lookers. Avery has recovered and is now openly gaping at her. Andromeda wants to demand what it is he expected. Bella, whose taste runs to the long and messy curses that allow the duel to drag on until her opponent is either begging for mercy or the winner, is shaking her head. Andromeda isn't sure it's because she has wiped the floor with the Duellist before there was even a chance for thrills, or because the curses she favoured are, as usual, not so much legal as evasively legalised around, and, if a teacher had walked through the door just then, a one-way ticket for an exclusive scholarship at Durmstrang. It's a vicious stab at the notion of dabbler in the Dark Arts.
"Uh-uh. Perhaps you should undo it, then."
Andromeda is even more impressed that Tonks has the good sense not to try Finite Incantatem before he knows more. She's known Ministry officials whose jobs it is to rectify accidents that spell first and think later. Maybe it's because he's aware of his ignorance. In any case, it's a proof that he doesn't underestimate her, not like the boy now cautiously testing his legs.
"Animum adferro," she whispers with a glance at the brown-haired girl. "There you are, now you just have to lift the Stupefaction."
Oh, it's a challenge to Ted's charm work all right, despite her factual tone, and Ted knows enough not to take it any other way, but if there's something that has ever come naturally to him, it's Charms. He makes a point not to give her any kind of victorious smile – better not let her think it's actually a challenge, which it is not – and, with a lazy stroke of his wand, unfreezes the girl. He can do non-verbal too; there's something to be said about the need to keep very quiet in the library, and Madame Pince's Inquisitorial policy when it comes to the usage of spells around books.
On the ground, Marlene McKinnon takes a heavy breath.
"Wow… Well done," she pants. "I wasn't expecting it."
Avery helps her to her feet; she sounds more puzzled than upset. "You should join the club, you'd do great. Bellatrix, you hadn't told me I should look out for your sister too! Is this just you and Andromeda, or should I pass the word around not to get on the bad side of any of you Blacks?"
One of the boys starts to answer, but the girl cuts him short. Her intervention reduced the tension back several degrees.
"Never mind, you'll tell me back in the common room. After we've had a good night's sleep, I'm done in."
"You're coming, Andromeda? You shouldn't dawdle, if you have a test first thing in the morning," a boy teases.
Ted and Andromeda look away.
*
The gang has no idea how it's happened, but by lunchtime next day, the whole school is talking about Andromeda Black's Duel in the Trophy Room, against one of her friends. Her alleged motives diverge as vastly as the identity of the speculators, but most depict her as a romantic and dashing heroine. She has never been that popular. Only Slytherins whisper about slightly edgier things, mutters of curses not questionable, but Dark, yes, undoubtedly Dark.
There is, of course, no pop quiz on asymmetrical scansion. But if Ted thought Andromeda Black might somehow retaliate, he's mistaken; he's fled the Runes classroom at the end of the hour before she could accost him, and she makes no attempt against him for the whole day.
He learns the reason from Abigail the following day, who has it from Gryffindor Bertha Jorkins. Professor Slughorn has approached the middle Black girl at lunch, and she's now a member of the Slug Club. He thinks that she's going to be insufferable for the remainder of the year.
In fact, the only thing that's changed in her behaviour is that until they both leave King's Cross for the summer holidays, they don't confront each other.
Author:
runespoor7 Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Andromeda Black, Ted Tonks (Sirius, Bellatrix, Severus...)
Prompt: 002 - Middles
Word Count: 7015
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: Fourth in the Love in Hogwarts Years series. As always, thanks to
luckilyotto who beta'd the series.First Year Second Year Third Year
Is when Andromeda starts wearing make-up, ignoring the school's clothing regulations, and having sex. It's when she's invited to the Slug Club, seemingly a consequence of her vaunted proficiency in Runes, and when Slughorn allows her a pass to borrow a handful of chosen books from the Restricted Section.
It may be a year for proving how special she is in her own family – re: the sex-having, the clothes-choosing, and the Slug Club-belonging, when Bella (who is more of a prude than ever before) only became a member when she was made a Prefect. But of course, it's also the year Sirius chooses for being Sorted into Gryffindor, just to spite her.
Andromeda has half a mind never to forgive him for being the little attention-stealing bastard she acknowledges him for, then graciously spares him. He's more bearable in Gryffindor than he ever was before, and he's apparently terrorised the best part of the first-years with tales of her Dabbling in Nameless Magicks.
It was fun at the beginning.
The last part of which is composed of anecdotes that are entirely true, except for the fact that technically she doesn't "dabble" so much as "devote herself", she'd never misspell the word magic even if it makes it look olde-worlde and more ominous by half, and it is only nameless to those who can't be arsed to look it up, as she informs Sirius one day she's been consistently avoided by all Hufflepuffs, but Head Girl Meadows herself, who told her what was the reason of the silent treatment. But her glowering at Sirius doesn't do much in the way of erasing the rumour, and in fact justifies it: anything that has him fearing for his life must be bad, in the Gryffindors books. Or psyche, or whatever it is they use as instinct. She's not convinced they can actually read, particularly after that encounter.
On the other hand, since even the Ravenclaws act as if they were in awe of her, maybe there's really no one with a brain but her. As she crossly reminds Sirius, it wasn't as if she'd meant to set him on fire – long-lasting, magic-repellent – when he was three. It had been entirely unintentional, as satisfying as it had proved to be and as painful as it was to admit it. She even manages to keep from landing him in the hospital wing, which would only confirm the gossip.
A distrusted Andromeda is an aggressive Andromeda.
*
"Where's Sirius?"
She asks a Gryffindor, of course. The Hufflepuffs avoid looking at her and the Ravenclaws either redden and skedaddle or take that far away look. The younger girl cringes but shrugs, a usual Gryffindor reaction, unsure but non-aggressive.
"Where's my cousin?"
She's alone. Her voice is more impatient than is wise, but she can't suppress it entirely.
"Meadows, sorry, it's me again, I'm looking for Sirius."
The Head Girl considers her, not unkindly. Damn Hufflepuff and her damn iron-fisted efficiency. She knows. She makes it her business to know about the school, Dumbledore-like in her intuitions. She hasn't been made Head Girl by chance.
Andromeda doesn't run to the greenhouses, and she doesn't curse Sirius on sight. Instead, she manages to keep the mask on until they're both alone, behind the trees, after he told his friends to go on.
He sends a joyous smile at her.
"Hi, Meda! It's nice to see you!"
The worst of it is, Andromeda thinks, that he's not even putting up a front.
She doesn't answer at once; instead, she smiles at him, whips her wand out, and cast a silencing spell over the area. It only comforts her in her opinion of her cousin that he doesn't flinch when she pulls her wand out.
"Unfortunately, I cannot say the same of you, you unmitigated little twat," she says without any discernable emotion. Inwardly, she's raging and wants nothing more than to snap the neck of the bloody thorn in her bloody side.
"Huh?"
He looks so very, very puzzled.
"Oh, so eloquent. You wound me with your words. Is there something in the air of Gryffindor that changes all its students into pathetic illiterate fools, or were you picked because you fit the standards, you wretched excuse for a Black?" She interrupts herself before she says anything damning and tries to rein in her white-cold fury. She's rather sorry she let it run away with her.
"Hey, I didn't do anything, okay?" He looks righteously indignant.
She's in no mood for his stupidity.
"Expelliarmus!" As Sirius' wand flies in a graceful curve to her hand, she thinks that maybe she could have used Accio instead: Sirius has been flung back against a tree.
"What was that for?" His voice reaches new peaks of squeaky alarm. "You could've banged my head…!"
"Wouldn't have done any damage that wasn't done before," she says mercilessly. "Shut up."
Sirius' mouth snaps closed. The manic glint in her eyes may be more pronounced than she thought, or Sirius' survival instinct at least matches that of a Flobberworm.
"So, I trust you're adapting to Hogwarts?"
He keeps wisely silent.
"Classes going well?"
Scathes, scathes, scathes. Her tone will leave no dignity standing.
"All these new victims to traumatise… I see how it can be exciting."
Intake of breath from the unfortunate first year. Apparently he gets where this is heading.
Andromeda flashes another of her very bright, very frightening smiles.
"Let me get this straight." She's lazily twisting her wand between her fingers. Sirius is eyeing it with an air that has crossed apprehension and is now quickly heading towards the wishing-for-the-ground-to-swallow-him district. The nonchalance of her attitude is belied by a venomous whisper.
"If you ever, ever think about pushing me this far again, I will see that your days at Hogwarts are such a hell, that you'll beg your parents to send you to Beauxbâtons instead, and that fifty years from now, when you'll hear the name of Hogwarts, you'll still be praying to dear Merlin not to wet yourself."
Sirius audibly gulps. He has first-hand experience of Andromeda's definition of revenge, and her current threat has the accent of a vow. His eyes are fixed upon his shoes.
"Er. I didn't mean to?..."
"Come to Hogwarts and positively ruin my life? Go that far? Be pursued by my best nightmare-inducing hexes if you don't get me off the bloody loop?"
It's apparent he didn't understand from her tone that the menace on his life was being alleviated until further offences, because he refuses to raise his head, and he looks as harmless as a wet and sorry little creature. Andromeda is seized by the urge to smack him upon the head and, taking pity on him, that's what she does.
Before she leaves him be, though, and because she has to make a grand exit, she looks back above her shoulder, and calls.
"'Obtenebro'. Look it up, when you have access to the Restricted Section."
*
She's not one for going on a crusade of any sorts; that's what the two official heirs are for, and with the way Bellatrix and Sirius have with it, it shouldn't be long before Andromeda and Regulus are left as the eldest living children, out of their respective family. Besides, the two of them are more or less doing it for her – or rather, they take the excuse to be nasty with each other. They're as usual blaming each other. Andromeda isn't too sure what exactly they can be blaming each other for, since after all, Bellatrix never approved of her consorting with other Houses, and Sirius never condemned her interest in twilight arts.
Finding the passageway leading to Honeydukes is a huge improvement; Hogsmeade is duller than Herbology, but you can Floo to Diagon Alley, as Brutus and her have been doing since her second Hogsmeade week-end, and as they can now do whenever they feel like it. Mostly it's her, because Brutus is a seventh-year, and as such is betrothed to his desk. Diagon Alley isn't much fun when you're alone, a Black, and supposed to be at Hogwarts: everybody knows you. The same applies to Knockturn, except that the risk or running into one of her relatives is even higher and the last thing she'd want would be to meet her aunt, even before her father, unamused as he'd be.
That leaves the Muggle world.
It's just on the other side of the Leaky Cauldron. She never cared much for her aunt's horror stories about what Muggles did to good little wizards. Wizards, by definition, have magic on their side. Moreover, she's not just any witch. She's a Black.
So she can go to Muggle London. And she does, repeatedly. She never uses any transportation, because it looks strange and complicated and she'd hate to look dumb, but she walks around a lot. She comes at least once a week, during the night, when something at Hogwarts makes her wish she was elsewhere.
*
"Hey, is that Black?" Abigail suddenly whispers to him, leaning back on her chair.
"What?"
There's no use in asking her to be quiet; if three years at Hogwarts have taught Ted anything, it's that Abigail Frobisher does not ever, ever refrain from speaking up.
"There, second row, with the black hair."
Ted thinks that's not especially useful, since of course the Black girls have black hair, and naturally Andromeda Black can be expected to be there during their Ancient Runes classes, but he nevertheless gives the other side of the room a cursory glance. And fails to locate her. He frowns.
"Where?"
Discreetly, Abigail gestures to a figure seated on the second row. From where they are, they can only see the back of her head, a short, shiny, ink-black bob.
"There! The girl with the hair!"
Ted uneasily shifts in his chair. Andromeda Black has a black mane that flows down her back in loose waves. It is as distinctive and as much a part of her as her charming personality. "Huh, Abigail…"
He's about to diplomatically mumble something of the 'I don't think…' variety, when his jaw rather suddenly and unexpectedly drops. The short, shiny, ink-black bob, which Ted's mind had already gone back and related to the stylish girls on the 20's photographs that Ted's sister hangs to her wall, is flipped back in an impetuous move that send all the locks swaying. Just as unexpectedly, as if his body had started a revolution and intended to strip his mind of its pre-eminence, his heart contracted. It is a flip that Ted has come to know all too well during the past year; that of, unmistakeably, Andromeda Black setting to extort praise from the teacher's lips.
And then she raises her hand and the brief illusion of a Muggle-born, a fan of Louise Brooks, is shattered by the dulcet tones of, who else but Andromeda Black indeed.
*
"I heard you cursed a Gryffindor this morning," Bella says, flopping down next to Andromeda at lunch.
"Then you heard wrong, my dear sister, for cursing has never been farther from my mind," Andromeda blithely answers, without taking her eyes off her book.
"Oh?" Bellatrix frowns.
Edmund Wilkes takes pity of her. Edmund Wilkes, Andromeda acknowledges, has had a rather disturbing crush on her sister for the best part of the last two years. It is somewhat unfortunate, she meditates, because Edmund is quite cute in an unassuming sort of way, and Bella would have had little to no arguments for complaining about her sister's taste in boys. But alas, it is not be anywhere in the near future. Besides, they'd have to come out in the open, and hello Prudish Big Sister Attack.
"We also heard you'd burnt the greenhouses down, you'd landed Professor Flitwick in the hospital wing, and you'd dropped out," he assured, "so we assumed at least one of these were true…"
"You've already done the setting-fire thing," Rodolphus says, helping himself with the onion soup.
"Bellatrix believed you'd never drop out before there was no more Hogwarts to drop out of. Whatever it is she means."
"And Professor Flitwick is a Duelling Expert." That's Evan, voice quiet and sensible.
"Oh?" Andromeda fakes a detached surprise, as though she hadn't known it since a month into her first term. "Well, that would have complicated things slightly."
Avery snorts. Avery, of course, is a little slow on the uptake, but what can be expected from someone who only wants to be called by his surname? Particularly since Avery is not that special a line to begin with. Though, privately, she has to admit he has a point: what kind of parents calls their child John?
"Yeah, well, you're not exactly a star in practical classes, are you?"
There's a silence. Andromeda wonders if ignoring him would be an act of kindness. Then she decides against it. If he doesn't learn to keep his mouth shut, some day someone will come along and not be as merciful as her.
Reluctantly, she looks up from The Wand & the Cauldron: a Social History of Magic in the Middle Ages.
"Are you defying me in a Duel, John?"
He looks startled.
"Because, just so you know, that's exactly how it sounded."
"Er, no, that's not what I meant."
"Too bad," Andromeda says placidly. "That's how I'm choosing to understand it. My honour as a Black will not be assuaged by anything else."
It's mildly upsetting that Avery isn't begging for his life, tears and snot running down his face, kneeling in supplication in front of her, desperately trying to grasp and kiss the hem of her robes, hiccupping and sobbing.
But he does seem a bit perturbed. Andromeda takes it to mean he hasn't realised how insulting he was being.
Edmund and Rodolphus exchange a glance. "Let's not make it to the death," Rodolphus suggests.
"No, I won't be satisfied until I leave him bleeding through every of his pores and coughing on his own blood on the floor of the Trophy Room."
Andromeda's matter-of-fact tone draws her looks from every one of the boys, and a Peering-At-Ceiling-Merlin-Do-You-Hear-That from Bella, who's consistently less obtuse in human relations than what Andromeda usually gives her credit for.
"Of course it won't be to the death. I have no intention to risk Azkaban just because one of my friends is being offensive."
Edmund and Rodolphus exchange another glance; this time, they let Evan join them in their time-honoured tradition. John hopefully grins at them. Bright boy who knew better than to ask Bella to fight her sister, even in a second capacity.
"I propose that we–" Rodolphus, who is decidedly in a talkative mood tonight, gestures to Bella, Edmund and Evan "–don't get involved." He doesn't need to add this is safest.
Bella frowns. "Obviously we'll still be there, though, to your Duel." Her voice is clearly conveying a so-don't-hope-to-get-away-with-whatever-it-is-you're-planning insinuation, directed, Andromeda suspects, at the both of them. "And you should find yourself a referee," she adds as an afterthought.
"A… referee?"
John, Andromeda notices, looks as mortified as she feels.
Bella gives a vigorous nod, and Andromeda knows it is useless to try and convince her to let it go. "Yes, a referee. Someone who's neutral enough and reliable enough to be trusted with the maintenance of the rules of the Duel."
On the other side of the table, Evan looks like he's going to burst out with pride. Andromeda, her attention focused on her sister, reaches over and smacks him on the head. Edmund and Rodolphus are very cautiously staring at their plates. John is still gaping at the idea of a referee. Andromeda's consternation is the only one in the open.
"You just sounded like a Gryffindor."
Bella shrugs. "Duelling has rules, that's what I know. If you don't, then it's not a Duel anymore and I don't see why you should be allowed to drag us all to some unwizardly room at some unwizardly hour of the night for something you could settle with a well-placed hex in a corridor."
There's only one thing that takes prevalence on Duel as far as her sister is concerned, Andromeda reminds herself, and that's sleep.
"And do you have any suggestion as to whom you'd like to entrust the Rules of Duelling with, or may we be permitted to choose our fate by ourselves?"
The sarcasm in her voice is too heavy to be very effective, Andromeda recognises.
"Not when you're acting like a brat, no," Bella replies in a calm tone.
Andromeda arches an eyebrow. The corner of Bellatrix's mouth twitches upwards. Andromeda, who is in fact quite content not having to look for a referee on top of a second, especially since it means giving John grounds for complaints, cause what of the neutrality of the referee and all, relents.
"Oh, fine. Go and have it." She waves her hand in a disgusted fashion. "Just don't make it a member of the Duelling Club." Cause there's already going to be Bella and Evan obsessed with rules and manners, and Andromeda doesn't think she could stomach one more pompous arsehole overlooking her first proper Duel. Her practice with Bellatrix doesn't qualify.
John raises a judicious finger. "Aha! 'Not a member of the Duelling Club'!"
"Does he want me to curse him, or what?" Andromeda wonders aloud. "I'm not afraid of the Duellers, you ridiculous dunderhead. Go and pick one as your second, for all I care. In fact, I think I positively refuse to fight you if you're not with a Duellist. Provided you can find one who accepts to fight on the losing side – if I were you, I'd consider the Gryffies." A pause in which Andromeda decides it's pointless to continue her tirade, judging it to conclude on a satisfyingly insulting note. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have places to be," she sneers, stuffing her book into her schoolbag.
"I think she means we're going to be late," Evan murmurs.
Behind her, there's a sudden rush and accompanying exclamations as the gang realises that, yes, indeed-y indeed, they are the last people in the Great Hall and they're going to be late. Andromeda, who's already at the door, righteously smirks.
*
Ted is racking his brains over his Transfiguration – not his best subject – in the library when the book he's reading is overshadowed by someone standing between the table and the light. He can barely register that the last time this trick was used was in Mary Poppins, and it was already corny then, when a voice calls for his attention.
"Tonks?"
"Er, yes?" He looks up, straight in the face of Bellatrix Black.
His first reaction is the settlement of the feeling of impending doom in the very core of his bones, as his mind whispers to him, 'uh-oh'. He'd known the status quo he and Andromeda Black had achieved in Runes, since the beginning of the year, was too good to last. His second reaction is that Andromeda Black would never ask her sister to fight her battles for her. He's learnt that much.
He's never seen Bellatrix Black from this close. He agrees with the consensus that finds her imposing. No doubt, she is, though, to be frank, Ted is prepared to find imposing any people towering over his seated form, an expression of grim resolve on their faces, with a reputation so big it takes several days for a rumour to gossip around, as long as he isn't asked to act on it.
"I have a favour to ask from you." She pauses, as if to give more weight to her request.
"What would it be?" Ted gives tit for tat. If she wants him to be struck speechless, she's going to be disappointed. Inwardly, though, Ted wonders as to what sixth-year Prefect Bellatrix Black could want from him. Except the passwords to Ravenclaw Tower, which he's not prepared to give up.
"You were in a Duel two years ago, right?"
It takes Ted a few seconds to pinpoint what she means.
"It was more of a melee, actually," he corrects. "Why?"
"What d'you know about Duelling?"
If he's ever thought Bellatrix Black telling him she wanted him to help her was grotesque, Bellatrix Black interviewing him about his practical Duelling experience could only be surrealistic.
His interest piqued, he answers, "Well, what everybody knows. A wizard or a witch challenges another on irrefutable grounds, they agree on terms, choose each a second to replace them in case they become incapacitated, the offended party sets the date and place for the encounter, and they get a referee who has to make sure they don't contravene to the rules. Sometimes magical binding is done to prevent the breakings of rules, but the rituals are known for backfiring."
A looming suspicion causes him to pause in his objectively-delivered tone to detail Black, gravely listening to him, giving no sign of approval or disagreement.
"This is not about the Duelling Club again, is it? Cause it's still no."
She shakes her head.
"It's about a Duel." She pauses again. There's something about Blacks and histrionics, Ted muses, that needs investigating. His theory concerning Andromeda Black's overuse of dramatics proved right – it's a family thing – he can resume minding the older girl.
"You're knowledgeable and if your hex-work improved at all in the last two years, you'd be able to follow. And, what's more important, you certainly can't be accused of favouring Andromeda." She smiles, rather suddenly. Ted had never realised how alike the older Black girls looked.
"Would you be interested in refereeing a Duel?"
"Huh?"
Damn, Ted thinks. She caught him out of guard. In his defence, how was he supposed to see this coming? In further defence, the oldest Black doesn't seem to enjoy the same smugness Andromeda Black would have if she'd been the one getting the better of Ted.
"Between Andromeda and Avery. He dismissed her Duelling skills and she took him on his word. The time is tomorrow night, in the Trophy room." Mistaking his stunned silence for an agreement, she nods. "Good. I'll tell them it's settled, then."
In the face of the danger, Ted recovers.
"Hey! Wait wait wait, not so fast. Give me time to think about it."
Maybe, on another occasion, Ted would have been amused by her puzzlement. 'Think about what?' her attitude screams. It's as if, as a Muggle-born, there was no way he'd say no.
Which, of course, brings him back to the primary question.
"What's in there for me?"
Black looks affronted, which pleases him. A favour is a favour is a favour, or so Ted's sister would say.
"Er. You'd see a genuine Duel."
This, Ted takes to mean between two purebloods. He sends her a 'puh-lease' look. He could count the ways this, whatever it is, cannot be regarded as a 'genuine Duel', not like Black understands it: underage wizards and witches, Muggle-born judge, forbidden at Hogwarts, not to the death.
Black looks away. Obviously she agrees with his meaning.
"Um. Well. Do you need any help with your–" she squints in distaste at his book "–Transfiguration?"
"No, I'm okay," Ted smiles. He's only doing okay by his standards; any parents would be enchanted if their child brought back such marks.
This is starting to amuse him.
Her brow is furrowed in reflection. Ted wonders if she will offer him money.
If making one pure-blood kick her heels is so much fun, Ted can only imagine the glee of assisting to the Duel.
Andromeda Black and Avery locked in deadly – not in deadly anything. That's crucial.
Actually, no. He can do more than imagine.
At the same time, Bellatrix Black sighs. "You'd know more about Duelling," she says in a disabused tone.
"Okay, I'll do it."
Let her think she knows the buttons of a Ravenclaw.
*
Brutus nods at each of Andromeda's words.
Of course he understands. Why she's telling him all that, she has no idea – it is not, after all, particularly humorous – except perhaps that they are friends. When Brutus has envisaged relinquishing his position as Quidditch announcer to study, she's listened to him, and she's given him her opinion (don't) when he asked. Here, she's not asking for a piece of advice, not quite, but the discussion happened in her life and she cannot bring herself to consider it less interesting than McGo's last lecture.
"You don't want me to be your second, do you?"
Andromeda shakes her head. "I know you'd do it – well, I think you'd do it – but I want him – Hecate, I want everyone – to know that I'm not counting on my second. He defied me, and I'm going to beat him so badly that it will be years before anyone will do so much as look at me sideways."
"And here was I, thinking you hated it. Things have changed since November, haven't they?"
Andromeda looks at him as if he's announced her he's giving up magic.
"A Duel between two Slytherins? Are you mad? They're going to love me. Two days from now, there will be so many Badgers grovelling at my feet that I could run the pest control for rats service in all of Scotland."
"Mhm." He doesn't look too convinced. It must be the allusion to the Hufflepuff-love. "And how do you know the tale will run? You're not going to advertise it, are you?" For a moment, he looks honestly concerned. He has long stopped to question Andromeda's taste for the controversial.
"How do I know? You're kidding? We're at Hogwarts. If we're not caught by a teacher, you can bet a portrait is going to see everything." She sounds delighted by the perspective.
*
It is, of course, after midnight that they meet, because Andromeda cannot know of a tradition and not be overcome by the irresistible urge to break it. So the rendezvous is at one o'clock, and everybody is there on time, except for Ted, who arrives at a quarter past, red and out of breath, at which time everybody is annoyed and several judgements on the unreliability of Muggle-borns have been issued.
Even before he's stopped by them, Andromeda Black's jaw has dropped.
"Tonks? That's who's going to be our judge? Ted Tonks? Was there no one else you could have picked? Guys, I'm talking to you!" she exclaims when none of the gang is willing to meet her eyes, except for Avery, who obviously doesn't have anything to do with the choice of Ted Tonks as a judge. "You're telling me that there's no one else in all of Hogwarts – and I didn't say Methyr or Durmstrang, you hear me, I said Hogwarts – there's no one else who could have performed the simple duties of a Duelling judge? You had to pick Tonks!"
The four of them exchange a glance. It takes them almost five seconds, and Andromeda has half a mind to tell them they look ridiculous.
Finally, Bella shrugs, but it's Rodolpus who speaks.
"We're sorry, Andromeda, but we needed to find someone neutral. And Tonks here is one of the few who can set his sights on the title."
With great difficulty, Andromeda keeps her wand in her pocket and doesn't curse the lot of them. She cannot believe it of them. They, of all people, handed that honour over to a Muggle-born? The world has come to a stop, Andromeda knows.
In a heart-wrenching moment, Andromeda is on the verge of commenting on it aloud.
But she doesn't. She'll have plenty of time to make a scene in private, without dragging three outsiders in it, which would be coarse and needlessly embarrassing for everybody involved. Besides, Tonks' blood isn't what gets under her skin; it's more Tonks himself.
And all that for a Duel which isn't going to last more than ten minutes if Marlene McKinnon is as good as her fellow members of the Duelling Club say she is. Still irritated beyond all hopes of getting any calmer before the beginning of the Duel, Andromeda takes comfort in the knowledge that John did, after all, take a Dueller for a second.
"Sorry," Ted pants, "lost track of time."
Andromeda's eyebrows rise dangerously. But Ted has his hands on his knees and is breathing hard, and as such doesn't have a warning.
"Oh, you got yourself a girlfriend, Tonks?"
Ted straightens. He looks frightfully dignified, though it is plain to anyone with eyes that he's very red. Of course, this can still be the residue of his dashing through the corridors. "Not that it is any of your business, Black, but I was revising for the Runes pop quiz."
Andromeda draws herself to her whole height and swings her black bob around, catching the light. She's not as tiny as she was in first year. In fact, Ted can see she's not even small anymore. She's of average height, though here it means she's only taller than the two youngest boys: one who is at most a second year, black-haired and determined-looking, and the other, a boy with auburn hair and a practically feminine face, standing next to the older ones. The other girl, of whom Ted doesn't know the name, is almost as tall as Bellatrix Black.
"Pop quiz?" she drawls disdainfully, eyelashes lowering. "How can you revise for a pop quiz?
"Yeah. The one I overheard Professor Bailey tell Professor Flitwick about. On asymmetrical scansion."
Ted, of course, has heard no such thing, but the occasion for putting her back in her place is too good to miss. It has become clear to Ted, during the last month, that Andromeda Black is not quite at ease with asymmetrical scansion as she is with the rest, though he doubts that anyone else has noticed it. She and he are so far ahead that they might as well be taking their NEWTs, for all that the others understand of their interventions.
She pales slightly.
Ted considers his goal reached.
The auburn-haired boy stifles a yawn. "S-sorry. Could we go on? It's late and if we're caught, this will cost us a lot of points."
Right. Points. Ted acquiesces.
"And some of us are Prefects," Bellatrix Black grouches. The other girl, the one with the straight brown hair, half-nods.
"Nobody asked you to come," her sister retorts. But she comes closer to Ted, on his left, the black-haired first-year on her heels, as Avery approaches, followed by the brown-haired girl.
Silently, Andromeda, Avery and Ted join the tip of their wands. Behind the two adversaries, their seconds have taken their own wands out.
Andromeda hopes he won't make them take formal oaths and use the typical judge language, so filled with metaphors you get a headache by trying to make sense out of it, since that was all the point of getting a referee who wasn't in the Duelling Club, and she doesn't think she's done anything that deserves enduring Tonks and the Duelling jargon.
He doesn't.
"Andromeda Black, John Avery, you meet in friendly Duel. No outside help is allowed. When one of you is rendered unable to fight back for the rest of the Duel, your second will take your place. Who?..." He looks quizzical.
"Marlene McKinnon," Avery answers.
"Severus Snape," Andromeda prompts.
Ted nods. "Right. Well, you're responsible for their actions during the Duel; they're not to interfere before I say one of you is out. Seconds, if I find you to be disloyal to the one you swore to help, I don't think I'll be the only one here rather miffed at that." He smiles briefly.
Andromeda's impressed. She didn't know he had it in him to sound so confident. He's so… neither meek nor serious even begins to cover it. The term is eluding her. She's tried describing to Brutus what it is about him that gets on her nerves, but she couldn't find the right examples, the right words, the right concepts
"Salute your opponent," orders Ted. The two seconds – and by the way, what was Andromeda Black trying to prove when she chose a first-year, and what does it say about his neutrality as a judge that he let a child on the stage without raising any objection – go to join the four spectators, sitting on low cases that display various minor trophies. One good thing about magic is that glass can be spelled against breaking.
Black and Avery give each other a curt half-bow, mind-bogglingly similar. Ted wonders if it is a House trick, passed from older Slytherin to younger snake ever since Salazar Slytherin.
Then they both spin on their heels, and walk the customary seven steps. Ted frantically searches his mind for an appropriate signal, caught in the heat of the moment as he is.
Heat!
"Fire!" he shouts. He wonders if the two Duellists, pure-blooded to their great-mother's core as they are, will understand a colloquialism that suddenly sounds very Muggle to his ears, but before his wondering can become anxiety, the first spell is already cast out. Ted congratulates himself on his quick thinking.
"Obtenebro!" Andromeda cries.
The black ray hits Avery full on the chest before he can utter a defence. An instant goes by during which nothing happens, and Ted, who is too busy holding his breath to note the spell, which he has never heard of, is as petrified as the rest of the on-lookers.
Then the boy blinks and slowly crumbles to the ground, eyes fixed on nothing.
"No," he whimpers, "no no no no no…"
He crawls away from Andromeda, but he doesn't seem to see her; all at once, he starts and looks behind him, as if he's heard something, and starts to scream, covering his eyes and rocking fro and back.
Another spell from Andromeda silences him at once.
Ted hurries to his side before he remembers he knows nothing about the spell – he could try Finite Incantatem, but chances are he wouldn't manage it, and of all the humiliations he'd rather avoid, failing to perform a spell in front of a gang of fundamentalist pure-bloods led by Andromeda Black makes to the top.
"The Dementing Curse? Isn't that… a bit much?" one of the boys wants to know. They're not applauding, they don't look amused, or even impressed. At best, they're in awe. Ted can put two and two together, and if "Dementing Curse" has anything to do with Dementors, he can see where they stand.
"He had it coming," Andromeda promises. But, since Avery is a friend and the judge shows no intention of intervening, she offers, "Chocolate is good." Chocolate will effectively annul the curse, and as she won't waste her energy away when she has still an opponent to face, and a more serious one at that, it's also the only cure they can use.
"He's out," Ted declares. "Take care of him," he tells the gang. The girl – Marlene McKinnon – strides past him while the others rumble through their pockets and stuff the collected chocolate in Avery's mouth.
The girls stand face to face, slowly circling around each other. This will not be as easy or as quick as the first part. Behind Ted, feverish whispering is going on, and Ted fleetingly wonders if they're making bets, and on whom they're placing their bets, and whether he'd have done the same if he weren't the referee.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
"Densaugeo!"
Both jinxes are cast simultaneously and are easily deflected. They're measuring each other up, Ted thinks. Andromeda Black's eyes are narrowed, her lips curved in a smirk.
Ted has read Lolita during the Christmas holidays. He's struck by how unbelievably contrary Lolita and Andromeda Black are. She's the anti-nymphet, he thinks. She's the girl who doesn't need to set expectations to thwart them, she's the girl who is a fourteen-year-old young woman, she's the girl who's currently hurling a hex at her opponent.
The older girl aims her wand at the ceiling, and the fireball bounces off her, leaving her unscathed and – she's yelling her own hex. "Stupefy!"
"Expelliarmus!" Andromeda shouts before the red light hits her.
The two spells meet in mid-air. Ted has dived to the ground, his hands protecting half-closed eyes, before the connected rays start to shine a glaring white and explode with a flash of negative light, grey-black skin and white-white hair, like a negative photography.
When the effect subsides and Ted's eyes are accustomed to the light again, he sees that Marlene McKinnon is sprawled on the ground, Andromeda's wand still pointed at her. As he makes his way to the unmoving girl, Andromeda Black flips her hair and smiles at him.
"She's Stupefied," she says. "I think I won."
Oblivious to her attempt at circumventing his powers as the judge, Ted examines the lying girl. It's obvious that she's been Stupefied, though her posture indicates she didn't fell victim to a mere Petrifying Spell. Black must have gone non-verbal, he deduces.
"What else did you use?" Ted inquires. The words are just out of his mouth when he starts second-guessing himself. Is it a necessary aspect of his duties to know about it, or is he just trying to increase his own range of jinxes and counters-jinxes? That's what he'd just need, for Andromeda Black to call him on his motivations.
Yet she doesn't. She addresses him what may or may not be a fleeting, knowing glimpse, and she smiles. It's not that she's transfigured, Ted reasons, because there's nothing unusual about her looking satisfied and smug, but there's something about it that's never been directed at Ted before, something like – not amusement, not insolence, but that has distinct elements of the two. Her eyes are positively sparkling with it, that gleeful cheek.
"Animam expira. I stopped her breathing."
Tonks stares at her. Well, he'd wanted to know. Andromeda's grin broadens. "That's why I Stupefied her. So she's not going to die."
There's uneasy shifting among the on-lookers. Avery has recovered and is now openly gaping at her. Andromeda wants to demand what it is he expected. Bella, whose taste runs to the long and messy curses that allow the duel to drag on until her opponent is either begging for mercy or the winner, is shaking her head. Andromeda isn't sure it's because she has wiped the floor with the Duellist before there was even a chance for thrills, or because the curses she favoured are, as usual, not so much legal as evasively legalised around, and, if a teacher had walked through the door just then, a one-way ticket for an exclusive scholarship at Durmstrang. It's a vicious stab at the notion of dabbler in the Dark Arts.
"Uh-uh. Perhaps you should undo it, then."
Andromeda is even more impressed that Tonks has the good sense not to try Finite Incantatem before he knows more. She's known Ministry officials whose jobs it is to rectify accidents that spell first and think later. Maybe it's because he's aware of his ignorance. In any case, it's a proof that he doesn't underestimate her, not like the boy now cautiously testing his legs.
"Animum adferro," she whispers with a glance at the brown-haired girl. "There you are, now you just have to lift the Stupefaction."
Oh, it's a challenge to Ted's charm work all right, despite her factual tone, and Ted knows enough not to take it any other way, but if there's something that has ever come naturally to him, it's Charms. He makes a point not to give her any kind of victorious smile – better not let her think it's actually a challenge, which it is not – and, with a lazy stroke of his wand, unfreezes the girl. He can do non-verbal too; there's something to be said about the need to keep very quiet in the library, and Madame Pince's Inquisitorial policy when it comes to the usage of spells around books.
On the ground, Marlene McKinnon takes a heavy breath.
"Wow… Well done," she pants. "I wasn't expecting it."
Avery helps her to her feet; she sounds more puzzled than upset. "You should join the club, you'd do great. Bellatrix, you hadn't told me I should look out for your sister too! Is this just you and Andromeda, or should I pass the word around not to get on the bad side of any of you Blacks?"
One of the boys starts to answer, but the girl cuts him short. Her intervention reduced the tension back several degrees.
"Never mind, you'll tell me back in the common room. After we've had a good night's sleep, I'm done in."
"You're coming, Andromeda? You shouldn't dawdle, if you have a test first thing in the morning," a boy teases.
Ted and Andromeda look away.
*
The gang has no idea how it's happened, but by lunchtime next day, the whole school is talking about Andromeda Black's Duel in the Trophy Room, against one of her friends. Her alleged motives diverge as vastly as the identity of the speculators, but most depict her as a romantic and dashing heroine. She has never been that popular. Only Slytherins whisper about slightly edgier things, mutters of curses not questionable, but Dark, yes, undoubtedly Dark.
There is, of course, no pop quiz on asymmetrical scansion. But if Ted thought Andromeda Black might somehow retaliate, he's mistaken; he's fled the Runes classroom at the end of the hour before she could accost him, and she makes no attempt against him for the whole day.
He learns the reason from Abigail the following day, who has it from Gryffindor Bertha Jorkins. Professor Slughorn has approached the middle Black girl at lunch, and she's now a member of the Slug Club. He thinks that she's going to be insufferable for the remainder of the year.
In fact, the only thing that's changed in her behaviour is that until they both leave King's Cross for the summer holidays, they don't confront each other.
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Date: 2007-07-05 06:10 am (UTC)