Shards of Nuance

“Ladies, our invitations have all been sent. Most have already confirmed attendance, including the remainder of the Sacred 28, representatives of all the major new sources, and officials from every Ministry department.” Narcissa was arranging letters into neat piles on the table with Andromeda peering over her shoulder.

Bellatrix, however, was sprawled unceremoniously on a nearby armchair, her legs spread as much as her hair. “Did Potter accept?”

“Of course.” Narcissa looked at her disapprovingly. “Bella, it’s so nice that you’ve exchanged your old corset and skirts for hip, new muggle pants when you sit like that.”

“Shush, Cissy. I only did it to save face for the family. Gods know what Black incest rumors would get resurrected if it seemed like Draco fancied his aunt.” Bellatrix shot Andromeda a salacious smirk.

Both of her sisters rolled their eyes. Andromeda dismissed her quickly. “You’re insufferable. Speaking of Draco, is he up to this?”

“He is quite the businessman. Takes after his mother. I’ve no doubts about his ability and desire to execute.”

“This is boring.” Bellatrix kicked her heels in the air. “Surely, you have some juicy Wizengamot secrets to spill by now, Andy.”

“Actually, I’m late for an appointment with a regular client at St. Mungo’s. Keep me posted, Cissy.”

After Andromeda was gone, Bellatrix spoke again. “Did Granger get invited?”

“I thought that was a given.” Narcissa replied without looking up. “But I’m glad to hear we’re on the same page. Don’t get distracted from your job, Bella.”

“I would never.”

**

To Hermione’s surprise, she arrived at the Black Manor at the same time as her best friends. Even though she had conceivably been closer with at least one Black sister than she had with her old friends in the last year, their presence made her feel more confident. Ron looked smart in a standard tux. Harry sported a tuxedo tailcoat, and Ginny had been fitted for a new dress in a stunning emerald color that Harry’s eyes matched deliciously.

“You are a handsome lot.” Hermione grinned at them.

“And though you try to remain as nondescript as possible, you are as dashing as usual, though I think you’ll have to fend off more suitors than you even did at the Hogwarts Halloween ball.” Ginny remained one of the kindest people she knew. Ron blushed darkly.

The ball’s attendees were all giddy with anticipation. They filed in through the front of the Manor, where their coats floated of their own accord to hooks pre-labelled with their names. Opulence adorned every inch of the house with gold and silver. Glasses of champagne hovered in clusters waiting for greedy hands to seize them. Even the house elves were conspicuous: their ragged clothing had been replaced with purple and blue suits with bowties that glittered. Chandeliers rained down light that evaporated just above their heads, and ancient magic gleamed from the ornate engravings that accented the edges of every surface in the room. There were loud guffaws and slaps on the back between those who hadn’t seen each other in a long time mixed in with not-so-muffled whispers between young and old purebloods about other families. Shacklebolt himself made an appearance and did some strategic rounds through the other guests. Hermione was surprised at how quickly the interactions became calculated political and social networking, speculations about the Malfoys and the Blacks notwithstanding. It seemed that, despite the magnitude of the Black family presence – or perhaps because of it – they remained almost mythical.

The guests ate and drank without any sign from the hosts. Dancing began, following music from an orchestra of instruments playing themselves. Ginny turned out to be right; Hermione politely refused half a dozen well-dressed men before consenting to one dance with one whom she thought had been a seventh-year student at Hogwarts when she was in her first year. When Harry and Ginny disappeared, she even allowed Ron to twirl her onto the floor, and she was relieved to feel at peace with her friend. Merriment replaced nervous energy throughout the crowd until the music faded away and a lone figure appeared at the top of the grand staircase on the far side of the room.

The crowd hushed to focus on Narcissa Malfoy clad in a tastefully fitted beige dress, her cane looking more like a scepter than a reminder of war. A large silver ring with an obsidian stone flashed from the hand resting on it. When she spoke, her voice filled the room without booming.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am delighted to welcome you to the Black Manor, long the home of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. I hope you are finding the amenities suitable to your needs. If you wish for anything, please address the elves with utmost respect as they have been with our family for more generations than most of you can trace in your own lineages.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile at the woman’s paradoxical snobbery and unexpected support for house elves. Ron looked confused at her smile. Energy then began to roll from the woman out through the room, and Hermione knew something big was about to happen.

“You have been invited here today to be part of something very important. The Black family has lain dormant for far too long. Though our mothers, fathers, all our ancestors wielded power and sound judgment even amidst some of the darkest of times, we stumbled in the shadow of a great evil, not unlike many of you.”

A mixture of respect, regret, and mourning descended up on the crowd. They were playing their part in Narcissa’s drama very well.

“The wizarding world in Britain has entered a new era; it is much-needed, though it took many people and things from everyone that it should not have had to take in the process. Not unlike you, the House of Black has had to gather itself from its knees to return to its glory. So I am now proud to present you a new Black family empire for the new wizarding age.”

The crowd tittered. Hermione tightened her grasp on her drink. Narcissa looked positively like one of the legendary sorceresses of old, or perhaps like a drawing of the Fates she’d found tucked into the pages of a book in the restricted section in her third year at Hogwarts.

“I myself will be executing the operations of the Black family investments and trade agreements. My son, Mr. Draco Malfoy has agreed to take over the Malfoy estate. Any business done with Malfoy Apothecaries, its associated corporations, or the Malfoy alliances will be conducted with him.”

Draco appeared in an all-black suit from the dark recesses of the landing to stand beside her. They shared a look, and he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand before descending the stairs halfway and planting himself by the bannister.

Narcissa continued. “Next, we welcome a fortuitous development. My late cousin, Sirius Black, included an addition to his will true to his classically progressive character.” Hermione’s and Ron’s jaws both dropped. “Mr. and Mrs. Harry Potter will act as deputy administrators of Orion and Walburga Black’s share of the family fortune.”

Harry and Ginny emerged to stand by her side. The three of them inclined their heads to each other with a small bow, and the Potters joined Draco, mimicking his stance by the opposite bannister. They looked straight ahead, refusing to meet the eyes of anyone in the crowd.

“The next announcement is the dearest to our hearts, a reconciliation born of the worst of tragedies and the magic that always outlives them. Returning to claim the Black family seat in the Wizengamot and manage our family alliances is a witch long-esteemed in every wizarding faction, Mrs. Andromeda Black Tonks.”

There was an audible gasp from the crowd. Hermione gasped too, against her will. Andromeda strode forward in magenta and silver with both a pretentious pureblood air and an authority that shattered the auspices of power that had accompanied the ball’s guests. Her magic blasted forth, and Hermione couldn’t believe no one in the room was knocked over by it. Narcissa planted a tender kiss on the woman’s cheek before Andromeda descended to a place next to Draco who averted his eyes in deference. There was an empty space between Harry and the middle Black sister. Hermione felt her jaw quivering.

“Finally, it is my truest pleasure to re-introduce to you the heart, soul, and head of the Black family, my eldest sister, Mrs. Bellatrix Black Lestrange.”

Bellatrix sauntered from the recesses of darkness behind her sister. The light dawned on her from the ground up, revealing a tight, shimmering, black dress with a slit that extended from her tall heels to mid-thigh before illuminating her face, framed by loose ringlets overflowing the mass of hair swirled up on her head. She wore black gloves that reached past her elbows, leaving her bare upper arms separated from a plunging neckline by a thin cloth strap. Hermione couldn’t look away. No one could.

“Lady Malfoy, you are ever so kind.” Bellatrix placed her hand in the palm Narcissa offered, and the youngest Black sister escorted the head of the Black family dramatically down the stairs. Then she came to a stop two steps above the others, releasing the dark-haired woman who placed herself in the gap between Harry and Andromeda. As if on cue, they all – including the Potters – barely tilted haughty chins in the signature Black posture. Narcissa spread her arms above them. “Witches and wizards! Your new Black Family Empire.”

The clapping began slowly with only one or two people. Others joined in hesitantly until the room rang with applause and cheering. Bellatrix kept her head held high while she removed her gloves one finger at a time, smoothed them out, and draped them over the arm that Harry extended at her command. Then she stepped forward into the crowd. The music began again, and most found it prudent to resume to their festivities.

Hermione was overwhelmed. She hadn’t felt so much magic in one place since the battle at Hogwarts. Ron stewed beside her. Harry and Ginny were reluctantly making their way back to them, obviously trying to delay their return with side conversations. Worst of all, she could track Bellatrix’s every movement because of the way the guests knotted around her and the wake of wide eyes and wagging heads that trailed behind her. They were being reeled in and pushed out without their knowledge. Her laugh trilled (where was that maniacal cackle for which she was so famous?) to compliment the seductive lilt in her voice. Men of all ages flocked with their hands outstretched to dance, and dozens of women laughed too loudly at her comments or too readily brushed her arms or dress with their fingertips. Hermione could see the dark-haired woman’s glee; she winked, feigned surprise, pursed her lips, raised her eyebrows, lowered her eyelids, straightened collars, and touched lower backs in rapid succession. It was dizzying to observe the power she held over the people near her. They jostled for a position next to her and blushed whether she pulled them forward or pushed them back. She accepted a well-placed dance or two, her fingers delicate and intentional on the shoulders and necks of the men leading her. The swarming magic around her was thick and smoky. How was she doing it?

Hermione shook her head trying to free her mind. She wanted to be disgusted. It had taken mere minutes, a mere dress, a handful of sultry glances, to make them all forget the woman’s past. The murders, the tortures, the pureblood supremacy all disappeared with a tiny nudge. But there she was too, unable to take her eyes off the woman, hands awkwardly clutching her empty glass because they suddenly felt foreign to her, some desire circulating between her ribs and abdomen. Gods.

Harry’s and Ginny’s presence rescued her for the time being. Harry’s hands were in his pockets while he back and forth on his heels. Ginny looked much more comfortable than he did.

“Um, well… surprise!”

“What the hell are you thinking, mate?” Ron was irate.

Ginny rolled her eyes at her brother. “Come off it, Ron. It’s not like we didn’t want to tell you. We just had to wait for Narcissa.”

“Wait for Narcissa? Listen to yourself!” Ron was flabbergasted.

Harry looked apologetic but shrugged his shoulders. “It just makes sense. The offer was irrefusable. Turns out there’s an old agreement between the Blacks and the Potters that guarantees us 20% of the revenue of the Black family investment of our choice as long as we back the head of the Black family politically and financially. 20%! And Malfoy Apothecaries has locked down the entire healthcare market right now.”

“Are you bloody mental?”

It was Ginny that called him out with an almost motherly smile. “Ron, don’t act all high and mighty. It’s not like you turned down the invitation to come ogle the Blacks’ wealth and power.”

He looked incredulous. “Being fascinated by a legendary, wicked family is totally different from supporting their monopoly of our world!”

“Is it though? Look at you, groveling for their attention along with everyone else here.”

“They’ve lost it, haven’t they, Hermione?” He looked to her for help.

She opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “I think Harry knows what he’s doing.”

Harry cracked a grin. “That’s a relieving thing to hear, especially considering what you said the last time we were in a room with a Black sister. But I think you’re on their radar as well.”

Hermione followed his gaze. Draco was casually strolling toward her and slipped his hands in his pockets when he neared. “Granger.” He inclined his head.

“Malfoy.”

“At a later date, I’d be curious to learn more about your… production. In more discrete company of course.”

She matched his stance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please. I know my company’s most important customers like the back of my hand.”

“I’ve never shopped at Malfoy Apothecaries.”

“Ah, but you have. And you make very interesting purchases. Given other markets, I find your work highly promising. Truly, it would be an honor.”

Her face remained impassive, but he wasn’t concerned. He smiled after a moment. “I’ll send an owl. Potter. Weasley.” He nodded curtly and left them.

“I don’t know what he’s – “ She tried to cover for herself.

“We know, Hermione. It’s fine. But that’s not who I was talking about.” He tugged his wife and his friend away as a black-clad body and barely parted red lips passed impossibly close, leaning across her to reach for something on the refreshments table.

“Hermione.” The figure breathed. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d actually come.”

The woman’s front was pressed against Hermione’s side and a loose curl tickled her cheek. Hermione’s breath caught as she struggled to maintain her composure; the woman didn’t back away.

“You’re making quite the impression.” Hermione willed her voice not to waver.

“Am I? I hadn’t noticed.”

The lips stopped inches from her own, the woman’s breath warm on her cheek. Hermione swallowed and forced herself to speak again. “The magic is practically billowing from you. Is this how you build the new empire? Love enchantments? Lust charms? Seducing the masses with sex?”

“Is it working?”

“Apparently. Look at them.”

“No, I meant on you.” The lips smirked, and Hermione couldn’t help exhaling sharply when the woman’s hips rolled away from her. Bellatrix let out a low chuckle. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” was all Hermione could muster. Her hands now gripped the edge of the table behind her.

“Don’t be so tense. Balls are supposed to be fun. Calculated, conniving, and fun.” Bellatrix drained her champagne flute.

Just then, a greying man probably a decade older than Bellatrix approached the two women with a silky smile. “Bellatrix.” His voice was condescending. “You look stunning for a woman your age.”

“And you look terrible for a man of yours, Arcturus. Truly, the Dark Lord was so generous when he eliminated 14 years of Azkaban’s damage to my body. Don’t worry, he made sure to crucio the lights out of me afterwards.” Her voice dripped with disdain.

Arcturus didn’t take the hint. “That’s what all this is about though, isn’t it? Good coming from the bad.” His hand curved around the dark-haired woman’s side to slide across her back. Hermione’s gut recoiled.

In a flash, Bellatrix seized the hand and twisted it with a ripping sound. Arcturus screeched; his hand hung limply with the bones at the base of his palm thrust forward unnaturally. “You bitch!”

With one hand, she jerked him forward by his collar. “No, you’re the bitch. You’re my bitch, actually. Did you forget your family’s subjection agreement with me? How many generations is that? 8 more after you? Don’t ever touch me again.” She shoved him backwards into a small crowd that had gathered to watch with mouths agape. “Go see Andromeda. I’m sure she can fix your wrist in a hot minute, but I hope she drags it out. She’s been known to do that. Should I summon an elf, or can you get across the room on your own?”

The man looked at her, horrified, and stumbled away through the crowd. Bellatrix acknowledged none of the stares as she turned sweetly back to Hermione. “Where were we?”

“Do your sisters know what you’re doing?”

Bellatrix laughed. “They’re just happy they don’t have to be around while I’m doing it. Also, you know I can’t do magic, but I’m flattered that you mistake my natural charm for a spell to, what did you say, ‘seduce the masses with sex’.”

The woman gave Hermione a devious smile, eyes sliding down to her waist and back up to her face. “Don’t be a stranger.” Then she sauntered away.

Hermione gulped and tried to control her dizzy head before finding her friends.

“Damn. What was that all about?” Ginny probed.

“Nothing. She’s bloody mental.”

“Finally! It’s about time!” Ron exclaimed.

A house elf appeared with a flute of champagne in hand and addressed Hermione. “Mrs. Lestrange sends this to Ms. Granger.”

Hermione reluctantly took the drink from his hands. A high pitched “thank you” left her lips when she found Bellatrix Lestrange with a lifted chin and narrowed eyes smirking at her from across the room.

**

The ball ended after midnight. At 6 am, the Daily Prophet featured no fewer than half a dozen articles about the event. “HARRY POTTER’S COLLUSION WITH BLACK FAMILY,” “EX-DEATH EATER EMPIRE,” and “PRODIGAL DAUGHTER FILLS BLACK WIZENGAMOT SEAT” were the more notable titles. The main attraction, however, was “TOUJOURS PUR ONCE MORE” under a large photograph of the three women. They had clearly arranged themselves on the mezzanine to attract the attention of Lee Jordan’s keen camera at the ball. Their ploys had been successful; people on the streets were practically drooling over the front-page photo. Andromeda stood in the middle fully facing the camera, jaw squarely set with her auburn hair undulating around her; her eyes were unblinking and threatening. Her arms were settled at her side, wrists facing forwards, the wand in her right hand still emitting sparkling smoke upward into the charm she had just cast: “Toujours Pur” floated above their heads in arcing calligraphy that unsettled Hermione with how much it looked like that from her Hogwarts invitation. Narcissa’s cane was almost touching Andromeda’s wand, while the blonde woman’s stony gaze bored holes into the camera. Her body faced her sister, left hand wrapped possessively around the woman’s upper arm. Bellatrix also faced the middle sister on the other side, but she was pressed in so closely that her breasts hugged either side of the woman’s left arm. She had her hands folded lazily on Andromeda’s shoulder. Her head was facing her sister entirely, eyes narrowed toward the camera as if to include the viewers in a secret she was whispering in her sister’s ear. Her lips were frozen mid-sentence. Unlike most wizarding photos, there was no movement save the smoke spiraling from Andromeda’s wand into the shimmering family motto.

Hermione meant to throw the paper away a dozen times. Each time she picked it up, though, Andromeda’s stunning gaze penetrated her. She wanted to look at her - and be looked at by her - forever, she thought, though she had the impression that she might be burned up by the woman’s eyes if she tried. It was a more earthy thing to consider Bellatrix. The dark-haired witch made her body feel real, a thing that had never crossed her mind before. Andromeda was transcendent; Bellatrix was immanent. She always put the paper back on the table instead of in the trash.