Shards of Nuance

If ever there was a woman at war, it was Andromeda Tonks. Very few ever noticed this fact; from the beginning it was eclipsed by her older sister. Bellatrix had not only been named for war but seemed as if the Fates had fashioned her for it with her reckless abandon, ruthless desire to dominate, love for destruction, and incomparable dueling prowess. Warrior rhetoric surrounded her early on and never let up until the Dark Lord usurped her. Andromeda always hated it and how she had to fight to be seen through it all. Narcissa, forever strikingly different from her sisters in looks and demeanor, stood out without trying. Andromeda spent most of her early years being mistaken for Bellatrix’ twin, but disappointing everyone who made the mistake because she lacked the shining liberty that characterized her sister. She was intelligent but not brilliant like Bellatrix, so she battered her way through school. She was powerful but not as skilled at controlling it as Bellatrix appeared to be, so she kept herself on a careful, short leash. The only time she’d ever beaten Bellatrix at anything was when she blacked out once in duel and came to seated on top of her older sister who was laughing hysterically while blood rushed from her nose into her mouth which was pried open by yellow and purple magic snaking from Andromeda’s hands. Andromeda had dropped both of their wands in horror and fled the room, trailing the colorful magic and her sister’s blood behind her. As too young a woman, she battled internally for years about pureblood privilege and magic before she made the decision to leave her family and run away with Ted. Every day after that, she argued with herself about returning. Only Bellatrix’ demise at the Dark Lord’s hands convinced her to stay away. When the Order re-formed, she fought with her daughter day in and day out about joining; sometimes they even came to blows about it. Dora was convinced having her mother join the Order would be a huge factor in influencing the war in their favor (incidentally, Death once tried bet the Fates the very same thing in an accidental encounter, but they wouldn’t deign to entertain the likes of him). Andromeda scorned the notion because she despised what she saw as an erroneous cause that had no conceivable victory. The day she hated herself the most was when one of their loudest arguments ended with her daughter pinned to the wall, smothered by the weight of Andromeda’s raw magic. Not long afterwards, her husband and daughter were both killed at Hogwarts, and she berated herself constantly about her complicity in a world which led to their deaths. Again, there was no way to win or end her torment.

All that to say, if there was one thing that Andromeda was confident in as she stupefied the Wizengamot security with a flick of her middle finger, released the courtroom wards with an old Black family wand signature, and bashed open the door to the Wizengamot floor, it was that no one in that room could outlast her in a battle of wills.

A gasp went up from the terraced seats. The Chief Warlock startled so violently that his hat fell off, and he knocked his quills off the desk trying to catch it. The ink pot smashed and streaked magnificently across the floor. Andromeda spared him the mercy of pretending not to notice.

“Mrs. Tonks.” The man squeaked. “I see the aurors let you in.”

“Something like that. Very easy to work with, this new crop of law enforcement.”

He blushed. “To - to what do we owe your presence today?”

“I have come to claim my seat in the Wizengamot.”

Silence, then a murmur rose through the ranks. “Mrs. Tonks…”

“I have come to claim the Black family seat, Mather.” There was more murmuring.

“But you aren’t a Black anymore,” came a man’s sleazy voice. “You are Tonks by your own admission, your own action.”

Such a comment meant she no longer had to summon the will to be menacing. It simply came to her. She found the squat man nestled on the end of the first row. She had to bend down to hiss in his face. “Mr. Bulstrode. Tonks, indeed. You would do well to keep that fact in mind, to remember that I am married to a muggleborn wizard and mother to a halfblood witch, both who died protecting far inferior families like your own from crumbling under the pureblood fantasy of a halfblood Dark Lord ready to spit out your bones when he finished consuming you.”

The man shrank back from the magic swarming at him.

“But you are not the heir,” a wavering woman’s voice piped up further down the row. “Bellatrix is.”

Andromeda slowly paced toward the section from which the voice had come, eyes searching until she found for whom she was looking, a woman who she conveniently had planned to confront anyway.

“Penelope.” She smiled an unfriendly smile. “As you may know, my sister finds herself indisposed, but fortunately she has been so kind as to pass her right to the family seat and alliances to me, a right which luckily includes the condition of your family’s… partnership.”

The woman’s eyes widened and she her neck flexed as she swallowed. Andromeda withdrew a small vial from her robe and tipped it over mid-air. A long, thin strip of what looked like thick ash poured down onto the table in front of the woman. It curled itself up into the form of a tiny snake, which slithered up the woman’s arm and twice around her neck before descending over the other shoulder. It curled itself with a caress around the soft part of the woman’s wrist before sinking into her skin entirely. A coal-colored serpent tattoo remained in its place. The woman was horrified. Those around her scooted their chairs back away from the hardened stare of the Noble and Most Ancient Andromeda Tonks.

“No one has invoked the vassalage agreements in decades, Andromeda,” the woman pleaded.

“Yes, it seems we were distracted by lesser matters for some years.” She turned abruptly to the seats in the higher terraces. “Does anyone else need to be reminded of the position and procedures of the House of Black?” She emphasized both “p” sounds while scanning the room slowly. “Then was there any other matter we needed to discuss before resuming the session?” This was directed at Mather, who searched for some non-existent form of support from those seated before shaking his head no.

“Excellent.”

Andromeda placed one foot in front of the other slowly as she approached the steps to the terrace. Chin lifted, she narrowed her eyes at Penelope, who gulped, aware of the attention she was garnering from those around her. Gingerly, the Fawley family seat rose to her feet as the Black family seat passed her. Then did the man next to her, and the woman behind him, and the person next to her, until the entire section, approximately a third of the Wizengamot, stood silently at attention. Andromeda ascended the steps toward an ornate seat and lowered herself into it, her back coming to rest on the old engraving of the Black family crest inlaid with gold. Once she was seated, the other members resumed their seats below her.

**

Harry and Ron had mostly been able to maintain their friendship like normal despite their imbalanced work relationship. At first, Harry had worked far too much, but with Ginny’s urging he’d begun watching quidditch again, letting himself be destroyed by Ron in wizarding chess, and occasionally joining Fred and Seamus Finnegan for a rowdy evening launching harmless, exploding reptiles at unsuspecting victims in Diagon Alley (under significant glamour charms course). Ron’s auror team always got stuck with cleaning up the latter, but it didn’t bother him too much. It made Harry feel more like his friend again, and that made him feel more like himself again.

Hermione had even started showing up again, dropping hints that she might move or may have already moved back to the area. Several attempts to learn more were met with grumpy threats. Recalling what she’d done to the aurors in front of Shacklebolt’s office last year, he thought better of pushing for more information. He wasn’t able to get much out of her about the whole Lestrange event either.

“She just showed up at the placed I worked a few times, Ron. We chatted some. Then I helped her like I would’ve helped anyone in that situation.”

“Chatted? You just chatted up the most infamous Death Eater? On a whim?”

“Ron, the Death Eaters are gone. The Order is gone. All that’s left are people trying to live their lives.”

“I don’t think those are really a one-to-one comparison. I mean, objectively, the Death Eaters were bloody evil.”

Hermione sighed. “Objectively, nothing went well during that time. Objectively, no one wants to be a Death Eater anymore.”

“But then there’s Lestrange.”

“Objectively!”

He decided not to push that one further either. There was something else there, but he wasn’t going to figure it out now. Hermione was already grumpy at him for not adequately caring that there was no news about the attack on the dark witch.

“When does Harry get off again?” Hermione rubbed her hands together to control a shiver.

“Better be soon because Ginny’s holding us the best seats at the pitch. Look! There he is!” Ron brightened considerably.

However, Hermione was already looking because although Harry stood on the top step of the landing in front of the ministry’s main centerpiece, next to him was Narcissa Malfoy, shoulders erect, before a growing crowd of Ministry workers – and now one, now two, reporters with quills and flashing cameras. She was in a light blue dress, wrapped in a silken black shawl, and clearly posed for the cameras. An outstretched hand on her cane, she turned her head toward Harry so that dangling silver earrings could flash in the light. When she spoke, her voice was just loud enough for everyone on the stairs to hear it. Hermione wondered if anyone picked up on its saccharine coating.

“Please send the Minister my greetings and tell him to be on the lookout for an invitation to a ball at the Black Manor. And consider yourself invited, Mr. Potter.”

Harry’s face was mildly ashen, but he maintained a composure Hermione was sure he could not have managed several years ago. “Of course, Lady Malfoy.”

Questions bubbled up from the crowd.

“A ball? Like one of the old traditional balls?”

“What for?”

“When?”

“Is it only for pureblood families, then?”

“At the Black Manor? Not Malfoy Manor?”

“Yes, my old home really is excellent for parties. My sister and I are delighted to host there. All invitations should be received within the week.” Her lips puckered into a smirk when her gaze fixed on Hermione. Then she heard the question she was waiting for.

“Your sister? Which one?”

She tore her eyes from Hermione in triumph, raised her chin at the camera, and said, “Both of them.”

**

The quidditch match did not go well. They bought a round of firewhiskeys to soothe Harry and loosen up for the game. Barely 15 minutes in, however, an already tense Hermione ran hyperventilating from the stadium, disapparating at a dead sprint before her friends could catch up to her.

She landed in her living room and spent a few minutes trying to control her breathing. The lights had been bright at the pitch; there weren’t any fireworks; there was no billowing smoke; she heard no maniacal laughter. It didn’t matter, though. The memory of her father at his only quidditch match overshadowed her present experience. The memory was merciless: that voice, rolling heads, the crowd screaming, her father’s terrified face, her mother worried in the door, her mother looking up at the little birds and giving her a hug, the coffee mug her father pressed into her hand, her wand pointed at the backs of their heads, the ways the walls shook with her magic. With spellwork like that she was a great witch, wasn’t she? She had good intentions. She was a good witch. She was good, wasn’t she?

Unlabeled potions tumbled about as she groped through her shelves for something. Finding nothing satisfying, she whirled around and grabbed for a liquor bottle. Slurping from the top of it steadied her. She needed to talk to someone. Andromeda. Andromeda would hear her out. Andromeda knew about muggleborns and muggle life. Andromeda didn’t need her wax eloquent about “the greater good.” Andromeda would remind her of who she was or wasn’t.

Hermione gulped another swig from the bottle, and another. Then, instead of stepping into the floo and calling the Tonks residence, she seized the sparrow portkey to the Black Manor.

**

Bellatrix hadn’t been able to sleep so far that night, so she’d let herself take a stroll around the grounds to dispel some of her anxiety. Lately, when Azkaban crouched too closely at the edges of her sanity, she ruminated about the weekly games of wizard’s chess that had finally resumed with Hermione. She was surprised at the young woman’s unwillingness to confront the problem of their differences and the sins of their shared past most of the time – especially after their last disagreement at Hermione’s flat - and she got the feeling that she was doing her a service by allowing her to avoid it. They were cautious around each other, though probably for different reasons.

Bellatrix was returning to the Manor through the garden when Hermione appeared with the portkey she had sweettalked her middle sister into making for her.

The woman was unsteady, cursing as she stumbled over her feet. She caught herself on the lattice, aggressively wiped away scattered, wavy locks from her face, and cried out. “Bella! Bella, where are you?”

Bellatrix sank back into the shadows under the ivy so that the other woman’s gaze would not find her.

“Bella! I know you’re here. I know you know I’m here. Come out! Come out and face me!”

The dark-haired woman could see Hermione’s tear streaked face and cracked lips from where she stood, and she had a pretty good idea that Hermione was drunk. The sparrows teetered in a sloppy circle above her.

“Bella, it was you! It was you at the stadium, wasn’t it? You lit the fire. The heads – who did they belong to? Were they muggles? Were they people you knew? Or just unlucky people you found at the wrong place, at the wrong time?” She drew her wand. “My father saw you, you know. He saw me and asked me who you were. I told him I didn’t know. I lied to him! To protect him from you! Would you have come to kill him too? I lied to him so many times.”

“Were you successful?” Bellatrix finally spoke but didn’t move into the moonlight.

“In protecting him from you, yes.” Hermione spun around searching for her.

“What about from you?”

“I tried.” The air was still.

“I hear your magic is quite strong. That kind of spell would require it.”

Hermione barked a laugh. “Fuck my magic. Magic kills a person from the inside out.”

“You heard that from Andy.”

“I didn’t need to hear it. I see it, Bella. I saw it in your open body. I see it in your eyes.”

“That’s not magic, babe. That’s evil.” The woman stepped out from behind the ivy.

Hermione pointed her wand at the silhouette of curls. “That day at the stadium. Were you under the imperius curse?”

“Is that what you came here to find out?”

“Were you or were you not?”

“I wasn’t. Not that day.”

All of Hermione’s muscles clenched, but her wand didn’t move. “And the day at Malfoy Manor?”

“I was.”

“Then you resisted somehow. Why didn’t you the other times? Why did you let yourself do all those things?”

“I didn’t want to resist most of the time. We weren’t good people, Hermione. We didn’t go bad because the Dark Lord made us. We already were what we were.”

“Then why all the imperius curses?”

Bellatrix rolled her head back and forth; she looked tired. “Maybe for the sake of consistency? I hope by now you can see that bad people do good things as much as good people do bad things. There is no way to answer that question truthfully, and there’s no answer you want to hear.”

The young woman began to cry again; her outstretched arm shuddered. Bellatrix took cautious steps toward her until her cleavage was almost touching the woman’s wand, which was humming with magic.

“Hermione, even if you did something you think is wrong, you’re not unforgivable. You’re not damned.”

“Andromeda said no magic is inherently dark. She said the person makes it dark.”

“I bet she did. She would know better than anyone. You think I don’t use dark magic because I’ve turned good? I don’t use dark magic now because I don’t have magic to use anymore. You think Andy doesn’t use dark magic? She just uses it differently. Always has.”

Hermione was confused because the woman’s words were so awful, and yet her voice was gentle, her brow creased with legitimate concern, and her face so damn beautiful.

“I don’t want it to be like this. I don’t want it to feel like this anymore.”

“Then don’t. Just let it be. Just rest.”

“It’s not ok to ignore what’s been done. What I’ve done, much less what you’ve done.”

“I’m not asking you to ignore it. I’m asking you to go easier on the people you care about, including yourself.”

She put one hand on Hermione’s wand arm to lower it and pulled the young woman closer. She wrapped one arm around her torso, one arm around her upper back. Hermione dropped her forehead onto her shoulder, so Bellatrix placed her hand softly on the back of her head and held her while she sobbed. Eventually, Hermione’s arms, wand still in hand, clasped desperately around the ex-Death Eater’s back and clenched the fabric of her dress in both fists. Bellatrix let her chin press against the woman’s hair and breathed deeply for them both. The little birds came to a rest, perched on the women’s heads and shoulders. They all remained like that for a long time.