The Get-Together
Sirius waited until the next morning to do anything.
To be honest, he was shell-shocked. It was different than when Cygnus died for some reason. Maybe because Orion and Walburga had always been worse to him than Cygnus was. Walburga, specifically, always seemed to haunt him. Whatever it was, it brought a numbness to his existence that he hadn’t experienced in quite some time. Not since Regulus disappeared.
It was strange that the two of them had died on the same day. Something was wrong. Things like that don’t just happen. Knowing Orion and Walburga, it could've very well been a murder. The Black family had enemies, but Cygnus, Orion, and Walburga made nemeses of their own as well. There were dozens of names to choose from, and all of them were likely culprits here. That was Sirius’ first thought – he knew the others would have similar suspicions. None of them were privy to the Black seniors’ endless abilities to piss people off.
Remus had a physical therapy appointment that next morning, right around when Sirius wanted to leave for the manor, but he offered to cancel it.
“No,” Sirius said, shaking his head.
“But that way I can come with you,” Remus countered.
Sirius made a sour face. “I don’t want you to have to deal with them. They're a tough crowd. Besides, someone will probably be swinging by lunch, and I’d rather not subject you to that.”
“Who do you think it will be?” Remus asked lightly. Sirius could tell the other man was trying to distract him from his negative thoughts. Rather than ignore it, Sirius indulged him.
“Bellatrix,” Sirius promptly answered. “Hands down it’ll be her.”
“You’d bet a pound on it?”
“Oh, for sure. Now the only drawback is she’ll probably direct her first punch at me.”
Remus barked out a laugh.
They were curled up lazily in bed. The morning light spilled in from their curtains, pooling on the wooden floors and creeping onto the bedspread. Soon Remus, who slept closest to the window, would be washed with light, painted golden by the sun. Sirius always thought it was the prettiest anyone had ever looked – sleepy, comfortable, and sun-kissed.
Sirius was tempted to stay in bed all day, but he knew it wouldn’t bode well. If he let himself stop and think about the whole situation too long, he’d just end up spiraling into anger or grief or some strange mix of both.
He made coffee – Remus liked his black, but Sirius liked to stir in milk to his – and breakfast despite not being hungry. Remus watched him carefully as they ate, prompting him to take a bite every so often, not satisfied until he ate at least one piece of toast.
They checked the forecast before getting dressed. The weatherman said it was going to be cloudy and windy, which also meant it was going to be cold. Sirius stole one of Remus’ sweaters to wear, rolling the sleeves up so they wouldn’t cover his palms. Remus made him put on their matching scarves as well, the ones Lily had knit for them just a year prior.
And then they were off.
They walked down to the tube together, their braided hands shoved into Sirius’ jacket pocket to keep them warm. Sirius was quiet on the walk.
The dread of going back there was getting worse and worse. It'd been eight years since he’d been in that house and since he’d seen the others. He didn’t know what to expect. Sure, he’d seen Narcissa online due to her marriage to Lucius Malfoy. He’d seen the articles about Bellatrix, though he took those with a grain of salt. But in person? It’d been a long, long time.
And that fucking house. He shuddered at the thought of it.
Remus chattered about something meaningless, but this part was never his strong suit. It was very rare to have Sirius be the quiet one. Usually, Remus was lost in his thoughts while Sirius filled the silence, content to speak without being heard. This time, Sirius knew it was because Remus didn’t want him getting too overwhelmed with his own thoughts. It was a sweet gesture – clumsy, but sweet, nonetheless.
They scanned their cards and pushed through the turnstile.
Remus’ stop was before Sirius, so they parted quickly. Remus pressed a kiss to Sirius' cheek and murmured, “Love you.” He didn’t stick around for the reply, just trusted it would come (which it did) and stepped off.
Sirius was alone. He popped his knuckles as he waited, bouncing his knee. He was always hyperactive as a kid. When he was younger, he would shift into Padfoot and run around until he grew tired. Now, he was filled with the same youthful desire, though he didn’t think the London tube would quite enjoy a dog running around.
His stop came a few minutes later, just moments before he thought he would burst with a need to move. He sprung up from his seat and slipped out of the train before the doors were even fully open, desperately needing fresh air. He pushed through the second turnstile and jogged up the steps, popping out onto the street.
The air was cold against his face. His eyes stung from the wind. Though it wasn’t overly uncomfortable, it was a sharp enough feeling to keep him focused.
Sirius just needed to get to the manor and figure out what happened. He wasn’t going back; he was just stopping by. It wasn’t a return.
It wasn’t a return.
The Potters still lived around here. At least, Effie and Monty did. If things got bad, he could stop by over there and call Remus to tell him the bad news. He decided that was the best course of action. Besides, he was due for a visit.
He continued walking down the street, burying his chin in his scarf. It was hard not to think of his childhood the closer and closer he got to the Black manor. Of course, there wasn’t time for that right now. He could rehash it all later when he was somewhere safer. Maybe with Effie. She was always good when it came to things like that.
The iron gate still stood proudly outside of the manor. Engraved on the iron plating was the Black family motto: Toujours Pur. He stared up at it, mouth pressed into a hard line.
Then he pushed the gate open.
It was unlocked, which could have meant a couple of things: either some of the others were there and left it unlocked or security had grown poor over the years. He hoped it was the former. He didn’t bother inspecting if the lock looked messed with – they'd picked it plenty of times as kids, not that the Black seniors were ever supposed to know about that, so there were bound to be tell-tale signs of meddling leftover.
When he reached the front door, he finally hesitated. Something kept him from knocking on the door. Maybe it was fear, maybe it was common sense, who knows. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Sirius was frozen on the front steps.
It was different than when he couldn’t bring himself to knock on the Potters’ door. The feeling of fear was sharper and older, more engraved in his bones. It was all too familiar.
The door swung open. Sirius looked down. Kreacher held the door open, his huge eyes staring up at Sirius with thinly veiled contempt. “Master Sirius,” the creature said, bowing his head.
Sirius’ mouth was dry. “Thank you, Kreacher,” he said, pushing his way into the house.
It was the same as when he had left it. The dark oak wood, the polished floors, the old furniture. The paintings of previous generations of Blacks hung on the walls, joined by Cygnus, Orion, and Walburga. The children had their own portraits on the second level; he wondered if those had survived when everyone left. The same bookshelves were everywhere, containing the same books, though the library still had the largest collection.
Sirius could hear Kreacher moving around as he wandered through the first level, taking everything in. The first living room was void of people. So was the dining room, with two plates still set out for a dinner Orion and Walburga would never have. The kitchen had no one in it, and Kreacher stared at him oddly when he poked his head in.
It wasn’t until he ventured to the second living room, the cozier one out of the two, that he found someone. Andromeda. Her hair was shorter than he’d ever seen it, pulled up and away from her face. A few strands fell over her forehead, curling slightly. She looked good. Healthier, for sure. She no longer looked as frail as she once did. When they were young, he could’ve sworn one wrong move would shatter her.
“Andy,” he said, relieved.
She turned and looked at him, face breaking into a smile as she quickly stood up. She pulled him into a tight hug. He was taller than her by a whole head, so she stood on her tiptoes to tuck her chin over his shoulder.
“You’ve grown so much,” she murmured, pulling back and inspecting him. “Your hair’s long.”
“Yours isn’t,” he countered, smiling.
In actuality, hers was probably still longer than his. It was just that they’d never seen each other like this before. As a child, Andromeda always had the longest hair Sirius had ever seen. It was beautiful. It was still beautiful, just in a different way.
“Who’s all here?” he asked as she finally pulled away and sat back down. He sunk into the couch across from her.
“So far, it's just been me.”
Sirius nodded, taking that in. “They might’ve stopped by earlier.”
Andromeda hummed.
Things were distant between them, he could tell. He knew it was his fault. He'd been the first one to leave, the first one to realize what a shithole this whole place was. Well, maybe not the first to realize it, but the first to do something about it.
“How’ve you been?” Sirius asked, knowing it sounded awkward. He didn’t know what else to do, though. When they were younger, he had always been closest to Andromeda out of the other girls. She was more like him – they were both rebellious in their youth, more willing to take risks than the others, and more secure in themselves. Now, he wasn’t sure what still lay between them, what commonalities they shared.
“Good,” Andromeda said, smiling to herself. She twisted a ring around her finger round and round. The diamond occasionally caught the dim light from the chandelier, glowing slightly during its rotation. “I have a family. A daughter and husband.”
“A daughter,” Sirius repeated, voice laced with surprise.
“Her name’s Dora. Nymphadora. Ted, my husband, he coined the nickname,” Andromeda said softly. “She’s three.”
“Nymphadora?” Sirius asked incredulously. “You named your daughter something as ridiculous as our names?”
“Tradition, I guess,” Andromeda said, a ghost of a smile on her lips.
“Have you seen Druella?”
Andromeda’s face darkened. “She’s charging right now. She was going upstairs when I showed up.”
Sirius nodded and stood up. “I’m going to look around.”
“Tell me if you find anything I didn’t,” Andromeda teased. Good. It was nice to know they were falling back into the old competitive routine.
Sirius took the stairs to the second level. Their bedrooms were on this floor. At the top of these stairs overlooking the threshold, Walburga had watched Sirius leave and never once called him back. At the top of these stairs, Sirius and Regulus had gotten into a fight and ended up tumbling down the stairs, hitting each other and screaming the whole way down. It was on these stairs that he’d broken Bellatrix’s nose for the first time – when she’d grinned, her teeth had been coated with scarlet blood.
He ducked into the first hallway, feeling the memories flood over his skin. Little signs were plastered on the wall at eye level for children. They depicted various fighting moves and were captioned appropriately with the names of said moves. He remembered thinking of the pictures during a fight once, finding them surprisingly helpful even years later.
All the doors to their bedrooms were closed.
His heart ached as he passed Regulus’ room. Part of him wanted to peek inside. Part of him wanted to let the dead rest. He ultimately ignored it.
His room was at the end of the hallway. He gripped the doorknob tightly, heart beating rapidly in his chest. He assumed it was all cleared out years ago, leaving it spotless and bare.
But he was wrong.
When he opened the door, it was like a shrine for his sixteen-year-old self. The same posters hung on the wall – partially naked women he’d only hung up to piss Walburga off. The bed was still unmade from when he’d woke up the morning he’d left. The pillow was still wrinkled with the indent of his head. The closet held the same uniforms as before, mostly because he’d shoved his normal clothes into the bag he’d taken with him. Trophies and awards littered his nightstand. Newspaper clippings were taped on the wall above his bed. The windowsill had a thick layer of dust on it.
Sirius brushed his hand over his old sheets, feeling the soft cotton. It was strange that Walburga didn’t have Kreacher clean the room out. Though they had no shortage of bedrooms, at the very least it would’ve been a way to officially kick him out.
He was forced to grapple with a strange and terrible thought: Walburga thought he was going to come back. That's why she must not have called for him – she didn’t want to seem desperate, not when she was convinced that he’d return, tail tucked between his legs like a coward.
He'd shown her, then. It'd been eight years before he came back, and she wasn’t even alive to see it. For some reason, he started laughing out loud. Then he snapped his jaw shut. Oh, Bellatrix would endlessly berate him if she caught him doing that.
After snooping around his room for a bit longer, he realized nothing was going to come from it. It was just as he’d left it, nothing more, nothing less. He didn’t even think Walburga had touched it at all, which meant there wouldn’t be any clues there.
He ducked out of his room and continued down the hallway. The old hardwood floor creaked beneath his feet. He remembered sneaking downstairs at night, nimbly avoiding the places he knew would make noise. He didn’t have that muscle memory anymore. Or maybe he just wasn’t as afraid.
Since she was a robot, Druella had to charge somewhere in the house. Cygnus had set up her charging port to be near the children’s bedrooms, that way she could assist them if they needed anything in the middle of the night. He knew he’d find her there now.
Druella was a very life-like robot. Once James had caught a glimpse of her in the window when they were twelve and he’d cried when he realized she wasn't an actual person. Neither of the boys really understood why he’d done that – to this day, James still denied knowing the reason behind his tears, but Sirius teased him that it was because he knew he could never marry her if she was a robot. James vehemently refused to accept this explanation, though, and insisted he must’ve been overwhelmed with sorrow for her. A robot looking out of a window almost like she had a deep desire to be human and see the world? It was too much for his empathetic heart.
Sirius approached her carefully. Druella was designed to be pretty and kind-looking – her hair was blonde, worn down in combed-through curls; her eyes were big and a bright blue; her teeth were straight and white. Everything about her was intentionally perfect. She had her eyes closed right now. Two pieces of metal were inside her ears, and paths under her skin blinked blue to show she was charging.
Druella’s charging station was set up in a room with a wall of windows for her to look out of. It was these windows that James had seen her from. Maybe he was onto something when he explained his theory that she longed to get out in the world. Druella spent so much time looking out the window. Back when he still lived here, she used to endlessly question the children about the outside world, curious about every little thing.
Sirius tapped her shoulder. She opened her eyes, interrupting the charging process. The metal pieces in her ears retracted as she looked up at him, smiling grandly.
“Sirius, dear,” Druella said, “are you feeling alright now?”
He was stunned. It was almost as if she wasn’t aware that any time had passed. Like she was frozen in a time eight years ago when she’d helped patch Sirius up after the Incident. But surely Andromeda would’ve said something downstairs if Druella had been like this for a while.
“That was eight years ago,” he reminded her. It came out harsher than he wanted it to, mostly because he was still confused. It was jarring to hear such a stark reminder of that day.
“Oh,” Druella said, frowning. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Sirius said, licking his dry lips. “Do you get like this often?”
Druella stood up, smoothing down the front of her skirt. She turned to him, smiling once again. “No,” she said, shaking her head. He studied her. It almost seemed like she was lying. He didn’t know she was capable of doing that. He'd have to ask Andromeda later. Or maybe figure out how to look through and understand Cygnus and Orion’s notes on her code.
Sirius let her lie, though. He didn’t see any harm in it. She was getting old, and now that neither Cygnus nor Orion was here to fix her up, he doubted she would function for another decade.
“Alright,” he agreed.
Druella said, “I’ll get Kreacher to make breakfast for you.”
Sirius didn’t protest despite the fact he’d just eaten before he came over here. He just watched her as she walked away, back straight and chin high, the picture of elegance. It reminded him of photos of Narcissa he’d seen.
He went up another flight of stairs, heading towards the third-story floor. Cygnus and Orion’s offices were up here. So were Walburga and Orion’s bedrooms. Cygnus took a room on the first floor, which he always claimed was for defensive purposes. It was right across from the library, though, so everyone knew it was actually for easier access to the books.
They weren’t often allowed up here as children, and when they were, they were only allowed in the offices for a brief amount of time, and never alone. They had to have an adult with them, which included Kreacher and Druella, not just the Black seniors. It was here that Druella found the star charts she taught them constellations with and named them after.
Orion’s office door was uncharacteristically cracked open. Andromeda had probably looked through everything up there, but he couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t miss something. He didn’t fully know what she thought had happened to Orion and Walburga. If she had different suspicions than him, she might’ve overlooked something important.
He started by looking at the desk. Papers were strewn about, stacked in uneven piles that had nothing to do with each other. Sirius was frankly disgusted about his lack of organization. Something must’ve changed over those eight years because this was nothing like the Orion he knew. The Orion he knew was meticulous and purposeful. He'd spend hours sorting out papers in a system only he understood. This was messy and hard to look through.
Almost like someone had riffled through it.
If someone had indeed broken in to kill Walburga and Orion, they’d left a huge mess of his office.
Maybe it wasn’t Orion’s fault at all, maybe this was the work of someone else.
Sirius dropped onto his knees and tugged open the filing cabinets. These were still organized nicely, thank God, but that sort of threw out his entire theory about the other mess. Until he noticed a huge chunk of paperwork missing.
The gap in the paperwork was substantial. It could’ve been Orion’s doing, but he didn’t think he would take what seemed like up to a hundred pages of paper out to look through. If this was a murder in retaliation or for revenge, maybe they’d also been looking for information. He couldn’t imagine what it was on, though. The only thing Orion studied was the progress of the children. Sure, having otherworldly abilities was cool and all, but no one else in the world had them, so there was no benefit to stealing this paperwork.
The whole thing was confusing. Sirius poked around a bit more, but he came up dry. If Orion had left any clues about what had happened, they were long gone.
He tried Cygnus’ office next.
As he crossed the hallway towards it, he huffed out a laugh. Maybe, if he looked hard enough, he could find the rotten interior of the house. He could figure out why it poisoned everyone inside it, sucking them into a black hole and refusing to spit them out.
Just as with Sirius’ bedroom, this room seemed to have been frozen in the moment Cygnus had died. Dust was collected on every surface. Cobwebs hung from the chandelier. Papers rustled from a gentle breeze flowing through a window that hadn’t been closed in years.
Sirius stared at it, utterly appalled. Walburga had made the entire house a shrine for the dead and gone. He wondered if the others had rooms just as preserved as these two were.
Cygnus’ office had the same mess as Orion’s, which confirmed his suspicion that someone was looking around. He didn’t think it was Andromeda unless she’d grown careless over the years. No, it couldn’t have been.
Sirius searched through the filing cabinet once again, wondering if he’d find the same result.
He did.
There was another gap in the paperwork.
That couldn’t have been a coincidence. He didn’t quite know what it meant, but he knew it had to mean something. He emerged from the office, troubled but certain that something was wrong with Orion and Walburga’s deaths.
Sirius could hear yelling from downstairs. He couldn’t make out words, but he knew it wouldn’t be good.
He barely felt the transformation anymore. When he was younger, it would hurt to turn into a dog, into Padfoot. He'd cringe in anticipation of the pain when he was forced to practice, but he never let them see how much it hurt. Not after the first time he made that mistake. Now, it was a fluid thing, almost second nature. He could go from human to dog without even thinking about it. Which is what he did now.
Sirius bounded down the stairs. His ears could hear so much more as Padfoot. He picked up the voices now, recognizing them to belong to Andromeda and Bellatrix.
He launched himself down the last flight of stairs as the yelling got louder, taking the corners sharply as he ran to the kitchen. The two women were screaming in each other’s faces. Andromeda looked upset. Bellatrix looked almost thrilled.
Padfoot jumped, throwing himself at Bellatrix. He was a big dog, so his paws slammed into her chest, knocking her back onto the ground. The back of her head cracked against the tile. Padfoot crouched on her chest, growling in a warning.
“Sirius, stop!” Andromeda cried.
“Down, dog,” Bellatrix scolded, laughing to herself.
He bared his teeth and barked loudly, flashing his sharp teeth. Padfoot could actually be a quite scary-looking dog, but Bellatrix never had enough fear in her. He was convinced something was chemically off about her.
Sirius transformed back into a human, still crouched over Bellatrix. He pressed his forearm against her throat, hard. “Whatever the fuck it is you're doing, stop it.”
“So quick to blame me,” Bellatrix bit out, baring her teeth. She brought her knee up sharply, catching him between the legs. He hissed in pain, temporarily loosening his grip on her.
She took that moment of distraction to flip them, rolling them both over the tile. Now her knee dug into his stomach as she put her entire weight onto it. She leaned over him, suddenly brandishing a knife.
Andromeda was scolding them, begging them to stop, but Sirius quit listening.
He'd missed this, in a weird way.
Bellatrix got her face too close to his, gloating. He quickly jerked his head forward, ignoring the threat of the knife, and slammed his forehead into her nose. Something crunched. Bellatrix made a noise of pain, but she didn’t let up. Blood dripped from her nose, landing on his cheek. She just smiled.
“Crazy bitch,” Sirius spit out.
It was a strange parallel to the moment on the stairs all those years ago. A terrible feeling that time would never truly pass came over him. He was doomed, somehow, to repeat things over and over again.
Bellatrix promptly dug the hilt of her knife into his cheek at that comment, pressing his face sideways toward the ground. His neck twisted uncomfortably. The cold metal ground his cheek into his teeth, and he could taste blood as the skin broke.
He reached up, using one hand to shove her chin up and away, trying to push her off. Her skin was slick with blood already. It was warm to the touch.
They were both pushing each other, daring the other to give up. Andromeda was still begging them to quit fighting. Then something came over her.
Quick as a flash, Bellatrix flew off Sirius, tossed by an invisible force. She hit the cabinet hard, causing the silverware in the drawer above to rattle.
“Fuck you, Number Four,” Bellatrix growled, wiping at the blood streaming from her nose.
Sirius rested his head back on the tile, just breathing. “Don’t talk to her like that,” he snapped.
“You wouldn’t have stopped,” Andromeda said to Bellatrix, exasperated.
“What the fuck is going on?” a new voice snapped.
Sirius quickly sat up, his lips parted in surprise.
Narcissa stood in the doorway, her arms crossed uncomfortably in front of her chest. Her hair was tousled and unbrushed, and she was wearing pajamas. He recognized the shirt she was wearing to be one of Regulus’. It swamped her, the hemline nearly brushing her knees. She had sweatpants on, as well, but she must’ve just woken up because they were pushed up around her calves in a way only sleep can do.
“Cissy,” Andromeda said, sounding like she’d been punched in the stomach. “I didn’t know you were here.”
Narcissa glanced back out of the kitchen. “I just woke up,” she said, looking back at them with a frown. “I heard fighting.”
“That’ll be us,” Sirius said, pointing to Bellatrix. She’d stood up and found a tissue by now, so she was trying to staunch the flow of blood.
“Why?” Narcissa asked.
Sirius shrugged. He really didn’t know. He just knew it was probably Bellatrix’s fault and he ran with it.
“I caught her stealing things from around the house,” Andromeda immediately accused. “I didn’t even know she was here.”
“It’s just a—”
“Advance on the inheritance?” Narcissa guessed, cutting Bellatrix off. One of her eyebrows was lifted in a rare display of contempt. She sounded completely unamused. “That’s bullshit. Well, if you could all just stop, I’d like to go back to bed please.”
She disappeared back out of the room. Andromeda immediately hurried after her, leaving Bellatrix and Sirius alone.
The two regarded each other warily.
“Did you set your nose?” Sirius asked.
Something cracked again as Bellatrix rebroke her nose into place. “I don’t need your help, One,” she snarked. He held up his hands in a symbol of peace and let her stalk out of the room.
God, he was exhausted already.
Andromeda couldn’t help but chase after Narcissa.
She knew the other girl wanted to go back to bed, but she’d missed her fiercely. She wanted to talk. She wanted to sit down and discuss why Narcissa had seemingly spent the night here. She wanted to ask about Lucius and tell her about Ted.
“Cissy,” Andromeda called, reaching out and grabbing her wrist to stop her.
Narcissa stopped and turned around. She tugged lightly, trying to pull her wrist back, but Andromeda didn’t let go. “What?” she asked flatly. Her under-eyes were dark and puffy, almost like she hadn’t been sleeping well.
Andromeda didn’t know what to say. She stood there with her mouth open and silent. She'd thought about reuniting with Narcissa nearly every day. She had planned out what was going to happen, but it was already too off-script to salvage. She didn’t know what to say.
“Andy?” Narcissa prompted. Hope threaded its way through Andromeda’s heart at the use of the nickname. Maybe it wasn’t all hopeless.
“I’m sorry,” Andromeda blurted out.
Narcissa’s gaze darkened, and her mouth twisted with uncertainty. She tugged her wrist from Andromeda’s grip and stalked off. Andromeda’s heart sunk in her chest, and she didn’t follow.
At the base of the staircase, Narcissa stopped and sighed.
“I’m going to get dressed,” she said.
“Okay,” Andromeda agreed.
“You could. . . You could sit and talk if you want.”
Andromeda could’ve cried with relief. “Okay,” she said again, moving to follow Narcissa.
They walked up the stairs in silence. Andromeda considered her words, trying to find a way to articulate them. The idea of coming back and seeing everyone was so much different than the reality of it. Wounds she’d thought time had healed were re-opening, bleeding once again. Arguments she’d put past her were resurfacing, and every ounce of patience she thought Dora taught her was suddenly eluding her, tucked out of reach.
She'd found Bellatrix rifling through the kitchen, looking for things to pocket that were made of real silver. Andromeda wasn’t stupid; she knew Bellatrix was probably looking to sell them. It made her angry, for some reason. They could divide it out later. Besides, their inheritance was large, and Cygnus had already left Bellatrix more than enough when he’d died. The other girl had no reason to be stealing.
When Andromeda told her off, Bellatrix just sneered.
“Don’t come in here and pretend you know anything about me,” Bellatrix snarled.
“I know you’re fucking stealing,” Andromeda said. “I can plenty well see it.”
“Number Five is messing with your head,” Bellatrix said, her voice lilting in a sing-song pattern. “She’s making you crazy.”
“Is that what happened to you?” Andromeda snarked, pissed off. It was too late to take that back now.
Bellatrix threw a spoon at her head with deadly aim. Andromeda ducked as the piece of silverware flew over her head, hitting the cabinet behind her so hard that it dented. The spoon clattered onto the floor.
“What the fuck?” Andromeda demanded.
“You’re weak,” Bellatrix declared. “You didn’t use your powers. You’ve gone soft. Is it that fucking baby? Are you not raising it right, are you forgetting yourself?”
Andromeda slapped Bellatrix. “What the fuck Bella!” she repeated.
Then the argument slipped away from them.
Both girls started screaming, getting up in each other’s faces as they argued back and forth.
That's when Sirius burst in, tackling Bellatrix to the ground.
It was safe to say this house was already making them lose it a little. Andromeda hadn’t gotten that worked up in ages. She hadn’t laid a hand on anyone in six years – not since after she left. She was shaken by the whole thing.
What if she was reverting?
What if she lost her well-earned gentle demeanor?
A terror crept up her spine when she considered the worst possibility at play: What if she hurt Ted and Dora?
Andromeda knew, realistically, she would never do such a thing. But she also never thought she would slap someone across the face again. That was such a Walburga thing for her to do. Was she becoming like her? Had something inside of her changed?
Andromeda nervously popped her knuckles as she trailed after Narcissa. The blonde girl was leading them towards her room. It'd been ages since Andromeda had stepped foot inside it.
It didn’t look all that different from what she remembered. The vanity was still there, still overflowing with makeup somehow. The paintings Narcissa had made when they were younger were still hung up on the wall. The bed sheets were the same as they’d always been – purple pillowcases and white sheets with lavender all over them. Andromeda smiled at the simplicity of it still.
She could almost imagine they were twelve or fourteen or seventeen again.
She could almost imagine nothing had changed between them.
Andromeda sunk down onto the unmade bed, the springs softly squeaking beneath her. She nervously pinched at the sheets.
Narcissa stood in front of her expectantly. “Go on,” she prompted quietly.
“I’m sorry,” Andromeda said again.
“Why didn’t you say goodbye?” Narcissa whispered, eyes big and round.
Andromeda answered truthfully, “I don’t know.”
The girls stared at each other. The moment was growing awkward, but Andromeda wasn’t just going to lie. She really didn’t know why she didn’t stop to hug Narcissa and Bellatrix for the last time. Maybe she was worried they would ask her to stay, and maybe she was worried she would agree. She would’ve done anything for them.
“I’m going to change,” Narcissa murmured, tearing her gaze away from Andromeda. “Tell me something good while I do.”
And Andromeda did.
Narcissa ducked into the closet, shutting the door partially behind her, and cracking it open so she could listen to Andromeda. She told Narcissa about Ted and Dora, her voice betraying the smile on her face. She told her about how exciting it was finding out she was pregnant only to be immediately swarmed with terror about the whole thing. She voiced her fears about being a terrible mother, then went on to gush about Dora’s pleasant temperament and cheerful demeanor. Then she complained about her inability to make Dora eat her vegetables, which Ted found both frustrating and hilarious considering Andromeda didn’t like them either.
Narcissa was silent for a while, taking longer to change than Andromeda would’ve expected, but she didn’t call it out. She just kept talking and talking.
Eventually, Narcissa emerged from the closet, wearing a cream sweater and jeans that were just short enough to show off fluffy socks. Andromeda wrapped up her stories, looking up at the blonde girl, finding it strange that Narcissa somehow still looked eighteen to her. Maybe she would always look the age Andromeda left to her.
“Your turn,” Andromeda said, leaning forward and propping her chin on her hands. “Tell me about Lucius.”
Narcissa smiled languidly, a serenity overcoming her features as she sunk into the chair of her vanity set.
“He’s good,” she said softly. “Busy, but good.”
“Is he nice?”
“To me, I suppose,” Narcissa said, smirking. “He’s a wicked businessman. I can hardly ever drag him away from the office. He likes it too much.”
“Ah, to be rich and pretty,” Andromeda said longingly.
Narcissa stopped dotting concealer under her eyes to laugh her bell-like laugh. “Well, you’re both, so don’t sound so jealous.”
“Tell me something else,” Andromeda prompted. “Something about him that no one else knows.”
“He’s a fan of watercolors,” Narcissa said slowly. She concentrated as she blended the cream concealer under her eyes out with the pad of her ring fingers. Her ring was on clear display here, bright and flashy on her finger.
“Watercolors?” Andromeda repeated, trying to imagine Lucius Malfoy as an artist or an admirer of artistry. “Does he paint them? Or just look at them?”
“He paints them,” Narcissa confirmed. “And he hates looking at them afterward, so I’m the only one who ever sees them.”
Huh, Andromeda thought. She looked around the room. Narcissa herself was an artist, so it made sense she would marry one. But it was kind of strange that Lucius wouldn’t want to look at his own work. Andromeda wasn’t an artist by any means, but if she was talented, she would’ve been admiring her work, you can bet on that.
“Do you still paint then?” she asked.
Narcissa brushed a soft pink blush onto her cheeks, leaning forward into the vanity to make sure there wasn’t too much or too little pigment. “Sometimes,” she finally said. “Only when I have nothing better to do.”
“Only when there’s no party to attend or magazine to pose for?” Andromeda guessed teasingly.
"Obviously,” she said in the same tone, a smile on her face. But something in her eyes revealed she was holding back, biting her tongue.
Andromeda wasn’t completely delusional, so she didn’t expect Narcissa to tell her everything. Things just weren’t good enough between them to warrant the same openness that they’d used to have. That was alright. This here? This was something. This was more than fine for now.
Andromeda watched in silence as Narcissa finished getting ready. The blonde brushed out her hair, put in white-gold earrings, and slipped her feet into shoes.
Together, the girls stood up.
“Cissy,” Andromeda started as they ventured out into the hallway. “Did you sleep here?”
Narcissa raised her chin, a challenge in her gaze. “I came to check on Druella. And then I didn’t feel like making my way through London in the dark.”
Andromeda felt like something was off, but she was well aware that it wasn’t her place to question it. She ceded quickly and just nodded, accepting that explanation.
“I would’ve sought you out if I realized you were here,” Andromeda said.
“Yeah, well, glad you didn’t,” Narcissa said, “considering I was asleep.”
Speaking of the robot, Druella wasn’t in her usual place charging. Andromeda knew Sirius had gone to speak to her, so she figured he must’ve disturbed her. Druella could be ditzy, so she must’ve gone off to do something else after being interrupted.
“Did you speak to Druella?” Andromeda asked as they began descending the stairs.
Narcissa’s face twisted uncertainly. “She seems different than I remember her, but fine. Didn’t seem too fazed by the whole thing. Sometimes I forget she’s a robot, so it makes sense she wouldn’t be bothered.”
“It would,” Andromeda agreed. “She only stopped and said hello to me like no time had passed since she’d seen me last. Then she went up and began charging.”
“She acted like that with me too,” Narcissa said.
“It’s disturbing.”
Narcissa hummed in agreement.
As they passed through the dining room, Druella and Kreacher were there.
“I had Kreacher make breakfast,” Druella said brightly. “I’ll go and fetch the others right now. Do you know where Regulus ran off to? I’ve seen each of you, but I must’ve lost track of him.”
Andromeda frowned.
“He’s not here,” Narcissa said softly. “Maybe you’ll see him next time.”
Druella nodded eagerly. “Oh, I would love that. I’ll be right back with the rest of them.”
Andromeda sunk into her assigned seat, falling back into the usual routine that was so readily engraved in her bones. Being in Narcissa’s room, eating a meal here now, it felt like no time had passed at all. She was both eighteen and twenty-four. She was simultaneously every age she’d ever been and every age she ever would be.
“You lied,” Andromeda accused Narcissa as Kreacher put a plate in front of her. They sat across from each other. “Why’d you do that?”
Narcissa murmured a “thank you” to Kreacher and picked up her fork. She turned to Andromeda, her eyes cool. “She shouldn’t have to grieve him again. She’ll remember eventually.”
“She’s a robot,” Andromeda gently pointed out. “Just a minute ago we were talking about the fact that she wasn’t bothered by Orion and Walburga dying because of that.”
“Well, she clearly cares about this,” Narcissa muttered, training her eyes on her plate.
Then why wouldn’t she care about Orion and Walburga?
Andromeda picked up her fork just as Sirius and Bellatrix walked in, glaring at each other. Druella followed after them, seemingly unbothered by the tension between the two.
Everyone sat at their spots. Druella stood off to the side as she always did, smiling brightly. Kreacher retreated into the kitchen, waiting for someone to order him to do something. In the meantime, he was probably scrubbing at the dishes.
Breakfast was two pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon.
There was a clear gap where Regulus should’ve sat – right between Sirius and Narcissa. Bellatrix, who would’ve sat directly across from him, didn’t even seem to notice him missing. She hungrily dug into her breakfast while Sirius and Narcissa watched her, both wearing vague expressions of judgment.
“Druella,” Sirius suddenly called, “would you mind leaving us?”
“Oh,” the robot said, smile fading just a little bit. “Alright. I’ll go finish charging then.”
She walked off, heels clicking against the wooden floor.
The moment the door was shut behind her, Narcissa hissed, “Why the fuck did you do that?”
“Because I think she killed Orion and Walburga,” Sirius said, holding her gaze evenly. “Or at least, she let someone kill them.”
Andromeda frowned. “Wait, what?”
“Think about it,” Sirius implored them all. “Druella was the only person here besides Kreacher, and we all know he’d rather die before lifting a hand against Walburga.”
“You don’t believe they died side by side?” Bellatrix asked, eyes rounded with mock sadness. “I guess you don’t believe in romance, then. That’s the real way to go.”
“What?” Sirius’ eyes were wide with horror.
“You didn’t know?” Bellatrix pressed, sounding all too delighted.
Andromeda covered her face with her hands. She remembered the day Bellatrix had figured it out. She’d run to tell Andromeda and Narcissa, both of whom didn’t believe her until they ventured upstairs and broke into Walburga’s room. It was empty. No nightstand. No curtains. Not even a bed.
Andromeda had promptly thrown up, and Narcissa and Bellatrix were left to frantically clean it up before anyone realized.
“Oh my god,” Sirius said, sounding as though he might be sick. Andromeda understood the feeling all too well. “Oh my god, did you all know?”
Bellatrix cackled and nodded. Andromeda peaked her eye out from between her fingers and nodded as well. Narcissa confirmed it with a regretful, “Yep.”
“But they’re cousins,” Sirius whispered.
“Oh, we know,” Andromeda said, sliding her hands down her face and clasping them together under her chin.
“Andy threw up,” Narcissa said, flicking her eyebrows up and smirking.
“I did,” Andromeda confirmed.
“This makes everything so much worse,” Sirius breathed out.
“Adds layers, doesn’t it?” Bellatrix asked sympathetically. “Makes you really want to cut your brain out.”
“Anyways,” Narcissa said, cutting off the conversation, always keen to stick to the point. “Why the fuck couldn’t it have been natural causes?”
“Well, does anyone know what the coroner said?”
“I do,” Narcissa snapped. “They said nothing was abnormal at all. They died within forty minutes to an hour of each other. If they’d been murdered, don’t you think they would’ve kicked it around the same time?”
“When did you talk to the coroner?” Andromeda asked, frowning.
“Last night,” Narcissa said dismissively.
“That doesn’t make sense, though,” Sirius insisted. “Coincidences like that don’t just happen. We all know Orion and Walburga. They treated Druella and Kreacher horribly. I wouldn’t blame her for killing them, I’m just pointing out that it makes the most sense.”
“You want this to be a mystery so bad,” Narcissa snarled. “You want this to turn into something where you can swoop in and be Number One again.”
“No, I don’t,” Sirius said, getting loud. “I just think it’s suspicious.”
“So you’re blaming Druella, who’s been nothing but kind and loving to us?” Narcissa asked.
Bellatrix was grinning, happy to see them getting riled up. She'd even stopped eating and had taken to just twirling her fork on her plate, tongue pressed against her cheek.
Andromeda figured it was best to just stay out of it and let them argue.
She could see some sense in what Sirius was saying. Shit, she could see a lot of sense in it. Druella seemed upset that Regulus wasn’t here, but not that Orion and Walburga weren’t. Robots didn’t even have feelings programmed anyway. It was weird.
“She had to know something was wrong with those incestuous motherfuckers,” Sirius insisted. “She’s not blind, Cissy. Just because she was programmed to be something doesn’t mean that’s all she is. She’s programmed to understand the passage of time, but she’s been fucking that up too if you haven’t noticed. Maybe something went wrong. I don’t know! I’m just saying it would make sense.”
“I can’t believe you,” Narcissa yelled.
“Fight, fight, fight!” Bellatrix cheered.
Andromeda was just watching, vaguely horrified by how terrible things were already going.
“Just because you might’ve loved them doesn’t mean everyone else did,” Sirius taunted.
Narcissa snatched up her fork, face contorted with anger, and snapped her arm out to drive the prongs into his forehead.
“Stop, what the fuck!” Andromeda screeched.
Narcissa hit Sirius with the side of her fist, the impact making his neck snap back. “It’s not even a real fucking fork, chill out,” she sneered, opening her fist to show that nothing was there; she'd just illusioned it.
“You’re fucking crazy,” Sirius announced, standing up. His eyes were wide and wild. “What the fuck was that Narcissa?”
Now it looked like a real fight might start again. And Narcissa and Sirius always played dirty.
Andromeda flew onto her feet as Narcissa opened her mouth, cutting her off and snapping, “Sirius, get out! Narcissa, you go too. Both of you go somewhere else. Somewhere where the other fucking isn’t.”
Sirius sneered at Andromeda and stalked out, looking so much like the angry sixteen-year-old who’d left in the middle of the night without a trace that it left her breathless.
Narcissa, too, pulled a face, muttering something foul under her breath as she went out the other door.
Andromeda sat down, putting her head in her hands.
“That was entertaining,” Bellatrix said merrily.
At the rate things were going, Andromeda thought somebody else was likely to die before the funeral even began.