Shades of Silver and Black

THE PLANETARIUM WAS AN ENCHANTING ESTATE of which magic was spun to life at every nook and corner. It contained five hundred acres of sprawling woodland that jutted up to the Celtic Sea, an evergreen, dense forest rising up to which the mighty manor was situated on before the land came to an abrupt end and plunged into the water, hundreds of feet below.

The manor itself was a Gothic-Tudor novelty, a testament to the sublime architects of the fifteenth century, covered with tall windows, looming curtains and old bricks. The Black line stretched back all the way to the Middle Ages and the main, ancestral property had been shifted much too many times to count, but this spot had stuck despite the flaws.

Something about the cold breezes that rolled off the sea, the majestical hallways that were shrouded in dimming darkness along with the tragically haunting beauty that surrounded the estate in general and the Planetarium, in particular, had led the Lord and Lady of the Most Ancient and Noble House of the Blacks to make the decision to call the place, "home".

There was also the fact that the woods bordering the manor --which were thick enough to not allow the sunlight to touch the overgrown knotgrass and bubotubers-- was the perfect place to dispose of bodies that mysteriously disappeared.

The Planetarium contained a whooping eighty-eight bed-rooms, each with a private balcony and bathroom, three kitchens, four dining rooms, seven strategically placed living rooms, two drawing rooms, five master studies, nine large libraries and an amalgamation of secret rooms that lay undiscovered.

And ritualistically, every Friday, ladies and heiresses with large fortunes and larger egos would arrive at a designated dining room specifically designed to serve high tea and seat themselves for an evening of gossip disguised as posh talk to bruise the wounds of others in an effort to better themselves.

The 'High Tea' room, so dubbed, was decorated in deep greens and blacks, the walls panelled with dark wood and the ceiling crossed with original beams. Velvet touched nearly every available surface and if space wasn't covered, then it was shadowed by crisp flowers and silver accents.

"Rosalind! How nice of you to join us!" Walburga's voice echoed off the dining room's high ceilings as she rose from her chair to greet Lady Travers with an embrace.

Rosalind Travers' face pained a smile as she accepted Walburga's hug before both women seated themselves at the centre table, below the ornate chandelier that provided light through its crystals.

There was an unofficial hierarchy at which the ladies were seated. The centre table, which could seat a party of twelve, belonged to the Blacks --of which this week, only Walburga and Melania were in attendance due to the rest of the Black-blooded ladies having made prior commitments-- and those of whom were fortunate enough to be deemed their acquaintances. The marginally smaller six-seater six oak tables that surrounded the middle one were those who, by societal obligation, the Blacks were chided to invite; the women who although powerful could not dare compare to them in any way.

"Finally, Rosalind! Must you always take so long? I feel as though we are repeatedly obliged to wait for you in order to begin the tea." Elsbeth Avery scolded lightly, eyes shunned downwards as she delicately stirred her chamomile tea.

Rosalind remained undeterred by the allegation of her frequent tardiness. Tossing her head back, Rosalind laughed, fixing a faux apologetic expression on her face. "I'm sorry to have been so unpunctual. I was with my husband and my, I don't know where the time flew. You know what that is like, don't you, Elsbeth?" Her tone was as airy as a spring breeze but her words were cool and harsh.

Elsbeth's smugness slipped, face hardening and blending into a mask with expert practise. It was a known fact spoken in hushed words that the arranged marriage of Lord and Lady Avery was the definition of failure; a stark contrast to how Lord and Lady Travers' marriage could have been described as the epitome of love. The only times Elspeth hung off her husband's arm like the gardens of Babylon was for the sake of appearances during famous, obligatory gala events and even then, their surface smiles fooled no one of the cold glares that laid beneath.

In response, Elsbeth simply smiled, swiftly changing the topic. "Is your son feeling better? I heard he tried out for the Quidditch team but got rejected. My, if I hadn't known pre-hand, I would have never guessed him to be the grandson of the great Edgar Clogg. "

Her counter had its intended effect.

Rosalind smiled mockingly, lifting an empty teacup towards her like a toast before setting it down. She used the dessert pliers to gently pick up a tiny, squared piece of pineapple cake from the flowery platter centrepiece and moved it to her plate. Picking up a silver fork, she took a bite of it. After swallowing, she spoke, "My son is wonderful, thank you for asking. He did exquisitely in his O.W.Ls, it's a shame that the same can't be said about your pathetic excuse of an Heir."

The only evidence of Elsbeth's composure being lost was seen in the way she gripped her stirring spoon so tightly, her knuckles turned as white as her hair. Elsbeth had been barren, something that had caused her husband's hate to further and become seemingly justified in the eyes of the traditionalists who believed in the old, 'one Heir and one spare' logic.

For the longest time, Elsbeth had been pressured into announcing one of the results of her husband's many infidelities as the Heir of the House of Avery. That predictably did not sit well with her and so, she had done a one-eighty and proclaimed that the grandson of her husband's old and bitter uncle would be the next Lord. It was a surprising move, one done purely out of spite considering that the current heir was dumber than a bag of rocks and not exactly pleasing to the eyes either.

It said much about Elsbeth's character that she was willing to doom the very House that she had claimed to be honoured to bear the name of than accept the children of her husband's mistresses.

"My Heir is lovely. He is calm, composed and more importantly, does not have a creepy obsession with elegiac poems."

Rosalind gasped, defending hotly, "My son does not have an obsession with elegiac poems! He merely adores reading, something that I doubt your Heir even knows how to do."

Elsbeth smiled ruefully, ignoring the latter half of Rosalind's retort. "You know, Rosalind, it's funny. I never mentioned your son at all in my blanket statement. Hmm, I wonder, if perhaps the reason you felt the need to defend your son was because my words held truth."

Rosalind clenched her jaw, pretending not to see the way all the ladies in the room were discreetly watching the showdown and ignoring how by the next morning, their little fighting match would become common knowledge. Rosalind refused to be painted in a dim light by her so-called friends and have her name dragged around town by those unworthy to speak of it. So, she bit her lips, choosing to take the high road, mostly since she was aware that Elsbeth's crude, muggle-like savagery could not. But before that, she felt the overwhelming need to make one final statement.

Sighing as she took another bite of cake, Rosalind answered, "I would say 'fuck you' right now, had it not been so uncultured. You look like you could use the literal meaning of those two words especially since it isn't like your husband does so anyway."

The vein in Elsbeth's forehead gave the impression that it would pop out at any moment when Rosalind calmly resumed eating her cake.

Ladies around the room tried to muffle their giggles, including Melania who hid her smile by taking a long sip of her glass of champagne, something that she drank whereas everybody else drank tea and because Melania Black was Melania Black, nobody dared to call her out on it.

Meanwhile, Walburga made no effort to contain her amusement, laughing freely. There was a reason she was fond of Rosalind. Graceful and proper as she may have been, she was still a snake, biding her time and ready to pounce and choke her prey. Walburga seized the opportunity to speak before Elsbeth could recover.

"Speaking of Quidditch matches, isn't it lovely how my Regulus has led Slytherin to victory once again?" Walburga cooed, receiving expected compliments and praises from around the table.

"Indeed. Regulus is a fine, young man; and it is wonderful how the House of Slytherin is being led by two Blacks this time. I have no doubts that the current leaders will be as unyielding and prosperous as their predecessors." Belladonna Malfoy chimed, making Walburga beam when others voiced similar comments.

The odd one out seemed to be Lady Avery who felt the need to impose her distorted disposition upon all those who dared to wear smiles at the moment. In a drawing tone that captured the attention of those who were attending the tea in general and those who sat at the centre table in particular, she stated, "Yes, Slytherin's victory at the first Quidditch match this year was a fine outcome. Tell me, Walburga, how did your other son, Sirius, feel about this win? I mean, he is a Gryffindor, isn't he?"

Walburga's smile stiffened while frost entered Melania's eyes.

"What is it exactly that you are suggesting, Elsbeth? And answer your question very carefully." Walburga warned, discreetly glancing towards the piano that was situated between two walls. If only it wasn't so far away...

For the first time, Elsbeth took a sip of her tea. "No intended offence, Walburga, but I cannot help but observe how your House seems to be dwindling. You have blood traitors and even a mudblood in your midst. Not to mention, your Heir is a Gryffindor. Your own daughter has run away to a foreign land doing who knows what!"

"Healing," Walburga interjected cooly. "My parselmouth daughter who became the Slytherin Queen at the age of eleven, won arguments and debates in the parliament, is the holder of the title of the best dueller in the country, broke records for her studies and chose to take up the career of one of the hardest jobs in the world has embarked on a quest of learning along with her fiancé to learn how exactly to do said hardest job in the world. My daughter has achieved much more in her eighteen years of life than you or anyone else in your blasted family has done so in their lifetime together."

"Frankly, I would be surprised if your Heir, Elsbeth, could even spell the word 'healing' correctly without assistance," Belladonna added, fire burning in her eyes at the mere thought that someone had dared to suggest that her future daughter-in-law was anything less than flawless. "I'm sure if your Heir couldn't, one of your darling stepsons would gladly be able to do so. I met one of them the other day, you know. Lovely boy, very polite. A spitting image of his father and had I not known better, I would have even said he had your blue eyes."

Elsbeth's smile was drenched in honey as she lifted her hands in a mock-surrender action. "I accept that I might have over spoken when it came to dear Lyra but Walburga, I couldn't help but notice how you didn't defend the other things I said about your House. It's true then, isn't it, how it's now a safe haven for mudbloods and blood traitors, the same species who you claimed to dislike. Reality begs to differ, doesn't it? Age must have gotten to Lord Black considering he's now playing friends with the neutrals. Was this perhaps due to you all not being welcomed in the dark faction anymore because of your darling niece and her lovely husband? Truly tragic that this is your fate, especially since once upon a time, you all ruled the Wizengamot. It's sad to see how much the ideals that you claimed to worship are now crumpled parchment. In fact, can you even bear the toujours pur moto now? I heard that your niece is trying to get pregnant with a half-breed and dear Walburga, there is absolutely nothing pure about that. Can we term it as the downfall to the Most Ancient and once Noble House of Black?"

"Once Noble?" Walburga repeated, cocking a dark, disbelieving brow. "That's bold coming from you, Elsbeth. Extremely bold since I recall you condemning your House! Might I remind you that you are nothing compared to us. Nothing. The House of Avery is barely making enough money with your job --opening restaurants, I believe it was? Hilarious since the food there is almost as smelly as your husband's alcohol-stained breath-- than Stella does in a day! The power you hold at the Wizengamot is barely above that of a common mudblood and had your husband paid more attention to that rather than the arses of other ladies, perhaps that fate could be changed! You dare to speak about my daughter, my son; when you have none? Huh. I heard that people only fight for what they don't have so I suppose it shouldn't have been surprising to me that you picked a fight with me over dignity and children."

It was a low blow but all Walburga cared about was vengeance and victory. Licking her lips, she resumed speaking, lips curled cruelly. "Your House is done with one word from our mouths. We'll dry up your stocks and have you hanging from the ceiling of your very bedroom. I am not above spilling every inch of your blood the next time you utter such lies, Elsbeth, be warned. Besides, you're one to speak about toujours pur because darling, you wouldn't know purity if it cursed your heart. Or perhaps this is a wrong time to bring up the half-breed veela that you pay to warm your bed. Oops-- was that supposed to be a secret?" Walburga laughed at Elsbeth's wide eyes. "So many things about you that are hypocritical. Your House is being held together by a sticking charm and yet, you're bold enough to talk about our downfall, something that won't happen no matter how many times you whine to your absent husband that it should."

"At least my husband and I made sure to not have any mudbloods or blood traitors in our family! We disowned them like proper purebloods!"

Lady Melania Black clutched the stem of her wine glass tightly at Elsbeth pathetic counter. The bubbles in her glass of champagne looked like it contained all the unspoken, spiteful words, bubbling and unreleased. Elsbeth's clear attack on her House was not something that Melania tolerated, especially considering it was her husband's decisions that were being called into question.

"I honestly cannot comprehend what is sadder-- people who rub salt over their own wounds to spit out some sarcastic, untrue comments or people who are under the illusion that their insignificant House, whose money is brought by marriage to those better than them and whose total wealth is lesser than that possessed by my youngest grandchild, dare to compare to my House in any positive way." Melania drawled, making a show of humming thoughtfully. "I think I'll pass the salt along to someone who actually wants it. Just don't rub your insecurities on your betters, darling Elsbeth, thank you."

Elsbeth flushed and fell into a dissolute tranquillity while the rest of the High Tea took place reasonably quietly. There was silence spoken by the centre table and saddened by the lack of gossip, the surrounding six tables engaged in small, uneventful talk.

It was later, after the faux smiles and honeyed goodbyes, after Walburga went home and barged into the study of her husband at number twelve Grimmauld Place did she erupt like a volcano, startling her husband who sat behind the mahogany desk and had been reading history journals charmed to look like important documents with great interest.

Wordlessly, she picked up a quill and dipped it into some ink before all but stabbing words onto a spare parchment.

Orion looked confused by the whole ordeal. "Darling, what are you doing?"

"Writing Uncle Arcturus' damned three-day notice!" Walburga spat, scribbling a small paragraph. "You didn't hear what kind of comments Elsbeth made today, Orion, she deserves to die!"

"Perhaps. If she disappears, her husband might even thank us for it. Would finally give him the excuse to marry one of his mistresses." Orion hummed thoughtfully. "But darling, don't you think you are being a little--"

"--What?" Walburga whirled around, a hand perched on her hip and brow pointedly arched as fury swirled in her mercury eyes. "What am I being Orion? What am I being when this troll dared suggest that Lyra was being scandalous with her fiancé, that our House is heading for ruins and poked fun at Sirius, huh?"

"You are being incredibly gorgeous." Orion grinned, winking playfully.

A smile passed by Walburga's face, rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky; although she fondly rolled her eyes. Orion had an unorthodox manner of calming her and it worked every time.

She released a sigh before informing him, "I'm giving Uncle his stupid notice."

"You can do so." Orion leaned back against the headrest of his armchair. "But don't you think that you are being kind on this matter? I might not have personally heard Lady Avery speak them but given your face, I gather that they were awful lies. She must be punished, yes, but death would be a mercy, don't you think? She should suffer."

"She should." Walburga agreed, lips tugging upwards.

She walked over to where Orion sat and plopped herself on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder. Reflexively, Orion hugged her and for a minute, they simply sat there in silence, hearing their heartbeats and sharing warmth.

Orion broke the quietude first. "She said that our House would fall?"

"Repeatedly." Was Walburga's reply, her voice slightly muffled as Orion instinctively began to use his fingers to softly, gently, lovingly comb through her wild hair that now contained streaks of shades of silver between the blacks. "She kept saying how the House of Black is dwindling."

"It would be rather ironic then, should the House of Avery suddenly collapse, would it not?" Orion intoned nonchalantly.

Walburga lifted her head from his shoulders, meeting his twinkling eyes. "You can't possibly be implying--"

"--that we plot the demise of the House of Avery, pin the blame on Lady Avery and gain merriment in watching her reaction as her House topples? Yes, yes I am implying that." Orion's grin was bright enough to light up the night sky. "I mean, it would be sad considering that the House of Avery was once our allies but oh well, they should have been more careful and this wouldn't be the first time that we burn those who do us wrong. Lady Avery had no right to talk about Sirius or Lyra that way. Let's show her precisely what a grave fate she condemned herself to when she spoke ill about our children."

Walburga giggled in agreement. Orion's lips quipped upwards at the sound, continuing to speak, "We'll start by crumbling that proud reputation that Lady Avery seems to think that her House possesses. After that, we'll cut off whatever little source of income they own and then, we'll begin pitting the members against each other. Nothing says destruction like family feuds. Later, my darling Walburga, you can submit your three-day notice."

A heavenly smile blossomed into Walburga's lips as she connected hers and Orion's lips into the beginnings of a passionate kiss.

Many had wondered about the compatibility of the marriage of Orion and Walburga. They had been cousins, of course, but their personalities seemed to be on the opposite sides of the spectrum with the quiet, composed Orion on one side and the loud, acidic-tongued Walburga on the other. There were few that summed their marriage to be an example of the concept 'opposites attract' but the reality was deeper than that.

First and foremost, they were born Blacks and secondly, both embodied the mascot of their Hogwarts house. Where she was like a hissing snake, always stiff and ready to lash out; he was like a boa, slow but no less dangerous once you were in his sights. He was more likely to suffocate you slowly in his confines than his venomous wife who sunk her teeth without question. Either way, you were doomed with a slow, excruciatingly painful death or a quick ruin.

Orion and Walburga had been cousins, yes, but they had gotten married on their own accord. He admired the way she spoke without feeling confined and she was fascinated by how someone could pull off an innocent artifice so well. They were snakes, they were Blacks; and so, naturally, they would make their enemies fall like a snowflake on a desert.

"My mother is inquiring whether we've set up a date for our wedding yet," Lucius informed her as he offhandedly read the letter, seated comfortably on a big, green armchair before the fireplace.

Lyra hummed in acknowledgement to his announcement but did not reply further, stormy eyes fixed on the letters that were embedded on the parchment that she was holding.

Lucius frowned at her lack of response, lifting his chin to observe her. Usually, whenever the topic of the older generation subtly pressuring them into getting married quickly so they could start popping out a newer generation came, Lyra had plenty to rightfully state.

It was admittedly tiring to hear such comments. Over time, it had evolved from harmless teasing to polite questioning to annoying badgering. It seemed like all those around them did not understand that Lucius and Lyra wanted to enjoy the present for a while, enjoy having time for and learning how to take care of themselves before they became responsible for another human being.

After all, they were only eighteen, they had a whole life ahead of them and they personally felt that it was too early to dictate it to helping another little person grow up if they didn't grow as individuals first.

Lyra's silence surprised Lucius, urging him to eye the way Lyra was tilting her head as she read her letters, an action that she usually made whenever she was confused or bewildered.

Concern washed over him. "What's wrong, Lyra? Is everything alright?"

"Yes," Lyra answered absentmindedly, not diverting her attention from the letter she was reading.

Lucius' frown deepened at her reply. "Then why do you look suspicious?"

She finally set the letter down and met his gaze. "Because, Lucius, nothing is wrong and everything is alright."

"...And that is worrying?"

"Extremely; especially if you know my family." Lyra sighed, wordlessly handing him the letter to read. "My family never writes letters in the normal way. We spill everything that we are feeling, all our emotions and frustration into it. So much so that it usually ends up becoming either a vent, rant or rave of some sort; but from the past few months, I've been noticing how...proper... their letters are sounding, even my mother's! Not one mention of piano throwing!"

Lucius' eyebrows raised at her admission. In the years that Lucius had known Lyra, her mother throwing pianos at her brother was something of a common occurrence, one that she never failed to mention in the letters to her daughter.

Quickly, Lucius read the letter and noted that although it was expectedly eloquently written, it felt off for a reason that he couldn't put his finger on. Like Lyra had stated, there weren't any emotions poured into the letter. The first paragraph asked niceties, the second gave a brief explanation that everything was alright with them while the third was just a line long and wished them both good health. At the bottom, it was signed as Regulus A. Black.

There was no mention of how the Court was doing nor was there any lines implying how Regulus was faring as the Green Ruler. It was all very clean-cut, cautiously written and sanely dry.

"It's quite...."

"Filtered." Lyra finished for him.

Lucius nodded his head in agreement. Filtered was the perfect word to use to summarise the whole letter. As purebloods, they had been taught in their youth to write letters in a manner where it felt like loads of information was being provided but in reality, there was little to none. Regulus' letter to Lyra was a text-book example of that learning.

Lyra released a sigh, handing him a whole bundle of letters. "All of them are the same-- even Grandmother Melania's, even Grandmother Irma's, even my parents', even Narcissa's. Everybodys. They are all keeping something from me.... I don't know why or what but..." her voice faded but she cleared her throat, regaining it. "They're hiding something from me. All of them, I'm sure of it."

"Maybe they aren't. Maybe one of your snakes passed away and they did not want to dampen your mood with the terribly tragic news. Maybe you are feeling homesick and are missing them terribly. Maybe it's nothing." Lucius suggested because he didn't want to see Lyra feel bad. However, even to his ears, his explanation sounded weak.

Lyra gave a sad smile at his attempt. "Maybe."

"Or maybe," Lucius raked his brain for another elucidation. His countenance brightened when an idea enlightened him. "Oh, maybe, they are planning a surprise party for you!"

Lyra's head inclined to the left while arching a perfect eyebrow. "A surprise party?" she echoed with doubt.

"Yes, a surprise party," Lucius stated, more confidently this time. "I mean, I'm sure your family misses you very much, of course, and we'll be coming to London for Yuletide, right? I'm sure they have a surprise party planned for you and that's why they are treading so carefully with you now, so they won't spoil it." He paused for a heartbeat. "Also, be sure to act surprised, okay?"

Lyra smiled faintly. They both knew that that explanation was very unlikely but still, it was better to believe that than the alternative which, according to them, was that the House of Black were slowly distancing themselves from Lyra.

"Yes," Lyra agreed softly. "Yes, that must be the reason."

The next day, when Lady Melania Black found an odd letter being delivered to her by Lucius Malfoy politely inquiring if she could organise a surprise party for Lyra when they returned to England during the winter and if she could ask Walburga to please say that she threw a few pianos in her next letter to Lyra; Melania did not question it. Rather, a smile intertwined her features, happy that like Melania had found Arcturus, Lyra had also found someone who truly loved her.