Chances Are
Chances are you believe the stars that fill the skies are in my eyes
Guess you feel you’ll always be the one and only one for me
And if you think you could
Well, chances are your chances are awfully good
14th February 1975
The talk of the school had turned political with the changing year.
Minister Eugenia Jenkins had been given the boot with a formal vote of no confidence from the Wizengamot. A vote sealed by the Malfoy, Rosier, and Black families. Dorea wrote to the Black siblings shortly after it, warning them to inform her of any correspondence from their parents; fearing the shifts the Ministry was undergoing.
Neither side quite had a foothold in anything.
Especially given that with Jenkins out, no party of the Wizengamot could decide on who to take her place.
The top choice seemed to be some hardliner named Harold Mitchum; who openly picked neither side. There’d been a big article in the Prophet a week prior, detailing his career and rise to the top - along with his consistently neutral voting record and incredibly dull speeches.
That was not the only piece being debated, however.
Rita Skeeter, a relatively new columnist for the Prophet had written of the group led by Lord Voldemort, and his allies. At the top of the list read Bellatrix Black, simply because it was alphabetical.
Most Slytherins had some family member indicted, others in other Houses being shunned for news of wayward cousins and some dangerous fathers.
Except in Hufflepuff; the loyal House caring for Regulus through all the gossip and spite. They closed rank around him, walking him to classes in huddles.
Even some of the older Gryffindors were shunning the Black twins. At least their dorm mates and friends in nearby years were on their side; knowing these kids were not involved with their Dark family.
It was made worse by Skeeter’s follow up article; a piece dissecting the Black family and some of their biggest secrets. She had known an unsettling amount.
Walburga had written Ara in its wake, confirming the necessity of her return to Grimmauld for Easter.
To discuss the Black family’s next steps.
Still, there was far more fun things to talk about.
Alice was gushing about her new haircut - having gotten a girl a few years above to cut her one long locks into a severe bob. It flattered her face quite well; sharpening her jawline and drawing attention to her soft cheeks. An act clearly done due to the fact that half the girls in their year had done drastic hair changes over the Yule break.
Ava Clearwater had cut a long fringe and choppy layers - looking rather like Stevie Nicks. Polly Patel had lobbed off most of her length, with a short flicks of curls around her ears. Half the Hufflepuffs had gotten perms, with the others (and several Ravenclaws and Slytherins) magically straightening their hair and cutting layers that were eerily similar to Ara’s. She supposed she was just glad they hadn’t copied her colour too.
Or the fact that she’d gotten Lily to cut her a very messy fringe a few weeks prior. She’d held up a picture of Mark Bolan and begged the ginger to try and make it look like his, much to the dorm’s amusement. Marls had ended up finishing the job for her, before turning the scissors around and asking Ara to add some more layers to the front of her hair too.
The Wildflowers had decided to sit at the Ravenclaw table that Valentines, if only to stop the twins squabbling at their varied card amounts. While Sirius did tend to get more cards, Ara was given far more gifts - a hoard of chocolate to test and offer to her werewolf later.
Marlene was to their side - sat between them and her Ravenclaw friends as she tried to engage in both conversations. Dorcas Meadows and Emmeline Vance exchanged amused glances with the Gryffindors as the blonde looked from side to side as though watching tennis.
She sectioned her plate into thirds absentmindedly, not noticing the glance her two friends shared at the habit.
“Bets for this year, folks?” Marlene ducked her head towards her housemates, looking at the sheet in Pandora’s hands.
“All roads lead to Shacklebolt and the Prewetts collecting the gold.” Pandora smiled, reaching for her tea.
“What about our year?” Marls pressed. “Is it too late to bet on Lupin? He has had quite the image shift this year.”
“From what I’ve overheard in the locker room, I think you’d be better betting on Ara.” Dorcas laughed from beside her, offering the surprised Black heir a waggle of her brows. “Even all the grimy Purebloods are willing to admit that you got pretty fit this year.”
Ara’s nose wrinkled.
“I’m already betrothed.” She pointed out with a sigh. “Why would any of them bother?”
“There’s four years left for your lot at Hogwarts.” Vance laughed, the sound uttering and a little condescending. “And there’s plenty of broom closets.”
“Emme!” Dorcas gasped, swatting the girl’s shoulder. “They’re all only little, still.” She chided her friend, blind to the amused looks shot Ara’s way by her dorm mates.
Luckily for her, the morning post began to swoop before any of them could offer some obvious comment.
As Pandora suspected, the lump sum of Valentines went to Shacklebolt and the Prewett twins - the latter pair bowing to their table as they crowned themselves ‘Hogwarts Most Eligible Bachelors’. They spied an awful lot falling between Remus and Sirius at the Gryffindor table - with a respectable amount to both James and Pete by their sides.
The girls had all gotten a handful each - the older Ravenclaws with a few more than the rest.
Well, save for Ara.
Much to her surprise, she found herself with a pile so large that she could no longer see her plate. The flowers were sweet, if all a little on the nose. Pink roses and tulips that were just not her style. Not that any of the random boys sending them would know.
“Merlin, this is so silly.” She sighed, picking up the first envelope to scan with her wand. No signs of any hexes or curses or foul play to be found, Ara ripped it open with her knife looking utterly bored.
“You could seem more excited.” Marls huffed. “I’d kill to be as revered as you.”
“Trust me, it’s not worth wishing over. They’re only paying attention to me since I’m the perfect teenage rebellion.” Ara rolled her eyes, scanning the card before she snapped it shut and placed it down on the table. “Who’s Gilderoy?”
“Oh, Lockhart.” Dorcas pursed her lips, eyes darting to further down the table. “He’s a Ravenclaw but he’s a bit of a ponce.”
“Good to know.” Ara remarked dryly, moving onto the next envelope. “Oh, this one’s nice. It’s just a little thank you from Reg’s mate David.”
“What’s he thanking you for?” Lily snorted. “You’re the one that nicks half his comics.”
“I read them within a morning and send them onto the next in the chain by lunch. Face it, I’m the perfect person to lend a book to.” They stuck their tongues out at each other before a fit of giggles ensued and the group resumed watching Ara fumble through her Valentines.
One from Tucker Clearwater in the year above; the Ravenclaw brother of the Slytherin she’d pulled away from the boggart. A few from boys in the years below that she hadn’t known existed.
Her favourites were those from her friends.
Especially Pandora’s loving words inside an etching of three others; the handiwork clearly traded from Pete.
“I’m glad Fate bound us.” Pandora had spoken softly as Ara thanked her.
“Me too.” Ara had smiled in reply, their cheeks pinking before the girls looked back down to their own Valentines.
Or, in Ara’s case, to the thick shimmering envelope that had slipped in with the rest. Sealed with black wax and a crest that made her shiver in recognition.
“Oh, Merlin. It’s from Flint.” She frowned, flipping the gold envelope in her hand.
Ara Hermione Black
Considering our contract, I thought I might wish you well on this day of romance. I have spoken with your uncle, and though I do not understand your refusal to accept your responsibilities; I am willing to allow you the time to collect your thoughts prior to our meeting this summer.
You will be expected for tea with myself and my mother. I will not tolerate another year being added before I can inspect you again. I trust that the bracelet remains secured.
Rather, I know it is. You may be young, but you cannot expect to dally on your responsibilities without consequence. Our contract is resolute. Only the bonder can break it now, and that will simply never happen.
Submit, or face the consequences.
I shall expect a letter in return by July.
Olin Flint
“What did he say?” Lily asked, Ara’s eyes shooting upwards to face the concerned glances of her cohort.
She stuffed the parchment in her robe pocket and shrugged, grabbing the next envelope.
“Nothing worth repeating.” The girl replied with a dark and sour tone, shredding the next envelope and tearing the card free.
It was a muggle card. Embroidery on thick card-stock - little flowers of thread overlaying painted fields.
No, not fields. And not just flowers.
It was a meadow of wildflowers.
Inside it read:
When it is dark enough, you can see the stars.
And in the blackness, I see you.
“Is this another bloody anonymous card?” Ara frowned, handing it to the eager Pandora. “This is getting eerie.”
“Sometimes thoughtful gestures lose loving in abstraction.” The girl muttered as she read the words, eyes darting to the Gryffindor table. “Your culprit, I suspect, may have misinterpreted the translation of their words.”
“I can see how it’s meant to be cheerful.” Ara begrudged. “I just wish that whoever it was would own up to it. I have to know them, it’s got to be someone close to me, surely.”
“Isn’t it Remus?” Lily questioned.
“He hasn’t admitted to anything.” Ara looked to her diminished pile and spied a recognisable handwriting; that familiar sloped scrawl from secret notes and shared homework. “Nope. This one’s from Remus.” She sighed, looking up to the Gryffindor table to shake her head exasperatedly at the boy.
Remus’s reply was to send her the dirtiest wink she had ever seen in her life.
“Ara!” Lily exclaimed as her friend dunked her elbow into the pumpkin juice. Ara blushed heavily as she distractedly looked back to the table, completely missing her damp elbow until Lily pointed to it.
Lily turned back to look at their House table, spying Remus looking down bashfully. It was as she began to roll her eyes that she caught something. The flash of a glance from James Potter between Ara and Remus; a look on his face as though he were considering something deeply.
Spinning back to face her friends; Lily gripped the table edge.
“I think James might have suspicions.” Lily whispered as Ara finished wiping her elbow dry - handing the napkin to Pandora to vanish (as the girl did love a vanishing spell). “He’s been so suspicious lately.”
“Maybe he’s found his own girl?”
“Potter?” Lily raised an eyebrow incredulously.
“Okay, you may have a point.” Ara acquiesced, begrudgingly. “As long as he doesn’t say anything to Sirius, I don’t care.”
“We both know that the first person he’ll bring it up to will be your twin.” Lily deadpanned. “I think the secret may be not so secret, Ottie.”
“Bugger.” She sighed, eyes darting between the tables as she worried her lip. “It’ll be fine. They’re idiots, but they aren’t that stupid.”
“Just you wait…” Pandora muttered to herself, a laugh caught in her throat and turned to a cough at her friends scrutinising glares.
——
Rita Skeeter had never been the biggest fan of red. As a colour, she found it lacking. Too gauche, too sharp. She was better suited to greens. Bright and vivid shades; limes and viridescent tones. They paired nicely with blacks, deep charcoal and inky blots. A black scarf over a green dress. An emerald shirt with a raven skirt.
She had been a Ravenclaw, once. A fact she hoped others would forget; her intelligence a pale stain against her cunning and ambition.
The Skeeter family were hardly mentioned in the history books. Odd members here and there, often dead at the hands of their superiors. Destined to tell tales and die for their wording. The only real connection they had, was to the Daily Prophet. Her grandfather had commented on Quidditch (before being killed in an honour duel with a player he had slandered), and her mother had been part of the beauty and style research team. That is, before she had mysteriously drowned in a vat of her own lip tint potion. It had stained her face scarlet.
So, no. Rita did not like red.
Instead, she wore her green and black well. She spoke at the appropriate times in meetings, pushed for more articles and more risqué stances. Made herself well worth the salary, demanded more when it was clear that she was becoming a fan-favourite amongst the masses.
She made time for pleasure too, of course. After all, Rita was young enough for messy affairs of the heart. Young enough to make mistakes and fall in love with the wrong person.
Bellatrix Black had been that person.
Her great love.
They’d gone to Hogwarts together; different houses but within similar groups. An assortment of Slytherin and Ravenclaw Purebloods, all gossiping politics and social affairs. Building their own little network of future ladies, ready for a future of tea once a week and silent plots while raising babies.
Except, Bella had always been different. Obsessed with creating a life for herself separate from a husband - blanching at the idea of betrothal as she watched her parents sign her future away for connections and approval. All hard edges and crackling fury; bound with dark curls and eyes that bloody sparkled when she was murderous.
How could Rita not fall in love?
It had taken time, for Bella to truly see her. Patience, watching her flirt with a Hufflepuff while they were in school - only really reaching for Rita as amusement when intoxicated.
She’d worked hard to get the girl. Damn the marriage, or that Bella still pined for a girl that thought her a monster… Rita had known a part of Bellatrix Lestrange that no other had. And it made her in-expendable.
It had to.
It had to.
The words swirled in her gut - dread like a snake in her belly as she entered the back entrance of the Lestrange Manor.
Her entrance, she liked to think.
Through a passage between the walls, Rita clambered up to Bella’s bedroom; her steps memorised and dampened by magic. Stopping at the ebony door - hand almost reaching the silver handle.
She knocked in their practiced pattern, straightening her shoulders as she waited.
And waited.
She knocked again.
But there was nothing. Silence following the echoes, empty and meaningless.
Rita placed her hand on the handle and seized the door open - almost surprised at how easily it clicked undone.
“Bella? She called out, scanning the familiar room.
The curtains were drawn in. Flickers of dim lighting from gas lamps and candles in corners that left shadows across the walls. Dancing like smoke over dark wallpaper.
And there, sat in the armchair by the window, was Bellatrix Lestrange.
Her fingers clutched at the Daily Prophet; Rita’s words staining the front page.
“Bella?” Rita stepped closer, falling to her knees by the woman’s side. Desperation as she looked to the witch, and saw nothing at all. “Bella, I’m sorry.” Rita pleaded, eyebrows titled desperately as she pulled at Bellatrix’s arm. The dark haired woman remained catatonic, the paper slipping from her hands as Rita shook her. “You know I love you. Please, Bella, I had to do it!”
But Bellatrix Lestrange did not speak. Did not even glance Rita’s way.
She saw herself out, after an hour of waiting. Fled the Lestrange Estate under the knowing gaze of her lover’s husband - head ducked in shame as his eyes narrowed and Rodolphus Lestrange turned away.
A week later, the Lestrange owl appeared at her window. A great beast of a bird; black feathers and beady orange eyes. The kind of beast that could simply squish her, pop her animagus form into bug-sized pieces.
It stayed long enough to drop a small parcel.
A pair of crimson gloves; all lace and elegance - wrapped in black paper and fabric.
She understood the message. After all, she was a Ravenclaw. Riddles and hidden meanings were her forte.
Bella would never be able to unsee the blood off her hands. No matter how hard she scrubbed, it would linger forever. But Rita… it was easy for her to forget.
This was a final goodbye. A gesture of ill will, a warning to never forget. To hold her mistakes with her, forever.
She placed the gloves on her hands.
And she would never take them off.
How could she part with the final reminder of her only love?