Subverted Expectations

Despite her initial expectations, two weeks into the school year it became apparent that the new girl would not be fading into the background any time soon, irritating Bellatrix to no end. Unfortunately, she was a seventh year and therefore in most of her classes, making it hard enough to avoid her already. But while she had managed to pretend that the rest of her classmates didn’t exist for the majority of her Hogwarts career, the new girl dangled in the back of her mind like a particularly flashy Yule decoration.

Emma Green- even her name was unassuming, and she, for the most part, was. She should’ve been irrelevant. Unremarkable. A pointless redundancy, a stupid Gryffindor that no one paid attention to. But this all changed the moment she set foot in any classroom, because this was where, evidently, she couldn’t keep her damn mouth shut.

The new girl, this almost painfully plain girl with seemingly no backbone at all, had been doing what no one else had dared do for the six years that she’d been at Hogwarts. While the rest of her classmates were content to sit back and allow her to go uncontested as the star pupil of their generation, this- this thing was going right ahead and answering every question, scoring the highest possible marks on everything, and had even gone so far as to correct her- her!- in the middle of class! In front of everyone!

For the rest of that class period, she had sat in stunned silence, glaring unabashedly at the back of the new girl’s ridiculously bushy head of hair. She’d actually intended on cornering the girl after class, because clearly someone needed to teach her a lesson, but, self-preservation skills probably kicking in at the last minute, she had fled from the classroom faster than Bellatrix could pack up her things. By the time she’d emerged from the room, wand already in her hand, she was nowhere to be found.

Naturally, she’d hexed a few younger students instead, but it just wasn’t the same.

She still hadn’t managed to get the girl back, and she just kept on being a little upstart whenever she saw her in class and then losing any backbone she might’ve had and fleeing when it was over, so she never caught her alone (further reinforcing what she’d known her entire life: if you didn’t take care of behavior you didn’t like, it was only going to continue). She could, of course, have launched an attack on her in the middle of class (Binns wouldn’t even notice), but that felt cheap. If she was going to scare the girl, she was going to do it on her turf, whether that be the corridors or the Great Hall (which she was never in at the same time as her) or-

The Quidditch Pitch.

Truth be told, when she had set out for the pitch early on a Saturday morning after a long sleepless night had left her with far too much excess energy, she hadn’t expected to run into anyone, because who went to a Quidditch pitch at five in the morning? Well, aside from her and, apparently, Emma Green, because when she got down there, the other girl was sort of just standing out near the edge of the pitch, looking up at the stands. 

Bellatrix felt annoyance flair up at the sight of her. What was she doing, standing there on her pitch (because after only two years on the team it could not be denied that it was her pitch)? Surely she wasn’t there to practice Quidditch, because she didn’t have a broom, for one, and Green didn’t strike her as a flier. She could, she supposed, have been athletic enough if she hadn’t spent more of her life inside a library than out, but she simply wasn’t cut out for sports.

Well, she was nothing if not opportunistic, she supposed. She would’ve preferred to curse the girl in front of most of the school, but leaving her on the Quidditch pitch to then be hauled up to the hospital wing would do, and this way she wouldn’t even get a detention. She switched her broom into her other hand and drew her wand, creeping up behind the other girl. She wasn’t normally one for stealth, but it would be worth it to get her to scream.

As she sidled up next to her, she half expected the other girl to turn around and spot her, but she stayed right where she was with no indication that she saw her. Frowning, she inched forward just a little more to find that her eyes were distinctly red, a clearly vacant look in them as she stood there staring at nothing. Bellatrix shivered when she realized that her own eyes were probably a bit red- would Green notice? (Why did she care?)

The other girl still hadn’t noticed her, which was a little shocking since she seemed to take almost special notice of her in every other situation, always managing to find her with that pale, wide-eyed expression because apparently something about Bellatrix was just terrifying to her (well, something about her- namely, her tendency to hex people when she was mad- was terrifying to many people, but this girl took it to a new level). Bellatrix realized just how out of it she was at the moment- why was she down here in the first place? Sure, she’d gone down to the Quidditch pitch to feel sorry for herself before, but never to just stand there doing nothing.

Feeling a little funny now, Bellatrix tucked her wand into her robes and took a careful step back. Green still didn’t notice her as she continued backing away, before finally turning around and leaving the pitch, tossing her broom into the shed on her way out. 

Later that day, she finally managed to track down Green, walking alone to the library in the empty hallway, her eyes now clear and present. Of course, this meant she panicked once she saw Bellatrix as usual, all the way up until she stuck her to the ceiling, content to let her hang there until someone found her.

Much more satisfying that way.

—-----------------------------

“Bella, are you even listening to me?”

“Hm? Oh. Yeah.” She turned her gaze to Cissy, who was pouting up at her impatiently. “Sorry, go on.”

“Alright. As I was saying, I’ve tried talking to McGonagall, but she just….”

The truth was, she really hadn’t been listening to her sister. This wasn’t exactly abnormal- Cissy could go on for hours about pretty much anything, and she simply did not have the patience to sit and do nothing but listen to her little sister ramble on about the latest Wizarding fashion trends (an exceptionally dull topic, since Wizard fashion was relatively unchanging). Still, instead of thinking about the upcoming Quidditch season, or whether or not she should do her Potions essay, she’d been gazing, as she found herself doing far too often nowadays, at the Gryffindor table. At Emma Green.

“... and she just won’t listen to me! I mean, honestly….”

She’d heard that someone had rescued her from being stuck up on the ceiling eventually, and, as she hadn’t heard a word from any Professors, she could only assume she’d kept her mouth shut. She was also keeping her mouth shut in class- or, at least, there was some improvement, since Green seemed incapable of not answering a question every now and then, as if they just burst out of her. But she was restraining herself, presumably out of extra fear of her.

“... of course, if she were any sort of a looker she wouldn’t be so bitter….”

And that should’ve been the end of it. It was. She was done with Emma Green now, and she could move on to thinking of and worrying about better, more important things. But every time she saw her- which was often- she was reminded of the morning on the Quidditch Pitch, of Green staring vacantly out at nothing like she’d seen what the world had to offer and was done looking at it now. That expression kept haunting her (especially since it was so achingly familiar) everywhere she went for the last week, especially whenever she saw Green herself. Like now, sitting across the Great Hall, looking perfectly normal as if there was nothing wrong. She was good at hiding it, she would give her that.

Still, she wished she knew what was going on with her, if only because she hated it when there were secrets in this school that she wasn’t privy to. And, partly, just a little bit, because she wanted to know what had given Green that expression.

“... but Lucius took care of it for me. Good to know he’s able to pull his influence when it matters, since I know father’s been talking of betrothal-”

Wait, what?

“Wait, what?”

Cissy blinked up at her, probably a little surprised she’d been listening at all. “Well, father told me to get to know Lucius because he and his father have been in discussions about betrothal. It could certainly be worse, at least I like Lucius.” 

She was sorely tempted to ask why, because she truly didn’t know- even if Lucius weren’t four years younger than her she wasn’t sure she’d see the appeal- but if Cissy was fine with it, who was she to interfere? But…. “Did he say anything about me?”

“What do you mean, Bella?”

“I mean,” she pressed, rolling her eyes, “has father said anything about betrothal discussions about me? I’d really rather be prepared in advance.” She wouldn’t be surprised if father had told Cissy about potential betrothals and not her, since he liked Cissy much more than he liked her. 

Cissy gave her a funny look. “No, he didn’t say anything. As far as I’m aware, he hasn’t bothered. He knows you can be- difficult.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

A brief flash of fear crossed her sister’s face. “Well, I just mean, he probably thinks he’ll have a hard time marrying you off, since you’re so- volatile. You did stab Crabbe last Yule for trying to dance with you.”

“He was fine,” she said, shrugging. “I just would’ve thought that since marriage is all father cares about when it comes to me, he would have at least thought about it.”

“Well, I don’t know anything about what father has been thinking about, Bella. You’ll just have to ask him.”

She made a face. If she tried to ask her father about marriage (or anything, really), it wouldn’t end well. But Cissy didn’t have to know that. “Sure.”

Well, at least she knew she wouldn’t have to marry Lucius, because unfortunately that had been a possibility. Perhaps Lucius’s father had worried she would end up killing him, and had gone for a safer option instead. She, of course, would certainly prefer to not marry at all, because settling down with some man and raising a litter of children (though, naturally, she wouldn’t have too many- it wasn’t like she was a Weasley) like she knew her parents wanted sounded horrid. But what was she going to do? It wasn’t like she was going to go and get herself disowned when she still had Cissy to look after, and besides, she wasn’t a blood traitor.

Speaking of which….

“Hey! Budge up, Cissy, I need to put my bag down somewhere.”

She scowled as Andy sat down across from her and Cissy slid over a bit so she could fit. If she wasn’t careful, Andy was going to end up getting disowned or worse- the Tonks boy was going to have to go. To be honest, she’d expected her to be done with him by now, since none of her other boyfriends had lasted even remotely this long. 

It was maddening. Couldn’t she see that running around with a mudblood would bring nothing but trouble? Not even a remotely attractive one, either- she didn’t see how Ted Tonks was worth leaving her family for. Nothing should be worth that in the first place.

Unfortunately, every time she tried to talk to her sister about this, it turned into a screaming match, which just wouldn't do while they were in school because a public and loud discussion about Andy's romantic interests would definitely get back to her father. They definitely couldn't have that.

So she was stuck pretending she didn't know Andy was still seeing Tonks behind her back until she could confront her about it alone. Which was maddeningly difficult, since Andy was just as good at avoiding her as Emma Green was.

“Bella, you’ve got mail.” She snapped out of her stupor when Cissy poked her from across the table, waving an envelope in front of her. “It’s from father.”

She’d already known that- the letter was sealed with the Black crest, and her father was the only person in her family that had ever written her at school. Unless Orion or Walburga had spontaneously decided to write her (needless to say, her mother doing the same was so preposterous that she didn’t even consider the possibility as a joke), it was always going to be her father.

Reaching out, she plucked the letter out of Cissy’s hands and pulled out the knife she used in lieu of a letter opener. 

I need to speak to you in person to introduce you to an acquaintance of mine. I expect you in Black Manor on Friday night at seven sharp. 

She frowned. Usually when father wrote to her while she was at school, there was a problem with her grades or she’d gotten one too many detentions that week (usually, he didn’t care if she hexed other students, but he also saw fit to reinforce the notion that women shouldn’t be fighting every now and then). He’d never asked her to meet an ‘acquaintance’ unless they were at a ball or similar events.

She glanced back up at Cissy, hoping this had nothing to do with a betrothal- as much as it put her on edge that her father hadn’t yet discussed it with her, she’d prefer it if he never did. Especially with an acquaintance, since that meant it would be either with the man himself or with his son. Please let it be a son.

Well, she would find out tomorrow either way, because no matter how much she didn’t really want to know it wasn’t like she could just not go. Her father didn’t take kindly to disrespect.

“What did he want?” Cissy asked, peering at the letter.

She folded it up- Cissy didn’t need to know. “Just to meet me at home tomorrow night.”

Andy looked up from her breakfast sharply. “Why?”

“Does there have to be a reason?” she snapped back. “He just wants me to meet someone.”

“Alright,” her sister muttered, raising her hands in mock surrender. “Just making sure.”

Well, she had no reason to worry- or any right to worry about her when she’d been avoiding her so much lately. Everything was going to be just fine.

Pushing down the knot of anxiety crawling at her throat (a frankly ridiculous reaction, she was going home not to the bloody gallows), she went back to her breakfast, content to let the matter fall from her mind until tomorrow night.