Ursa I
A cruel tiredness lurked behind her eyes. It had been a long time since she’d felt something akin to the exhaustion that people only experienced in airports and train stations, the day young and the body weary, but it had not prevented her from remembering it. If she had been younger, more inexperienced, she’d slouch and groan; but the years had been long, and the lessons learned in them were hard enough to wind into her muscles enough to keep them straight. That the train would be a long and gentle one, allowing them much-needed rest, was especially convincing.
Ursa boarded first; neither her Black cousin nor her Rosier one, were there yet and only a few stragglers lingered on the boardwalks of the train. For the first and last time, her sister aided her up the steps with her trunk, before she, too, disappeared to the unknown depths.
The tendrils of sleep that tugged gently on her conscious mind had almost finished their encroachment when the slam of the door opening scared them off. “Oh, sorry,” Evan said, entirely unrepentant. He thumped down opposite; his nature, it seemed, was given to that of the dawn. “If I’d known you were sleeping, I’d have been quieter.”
Ursa let out a soft huff as she resettled herself. “No, you wouldn’t have.”
“No, I wouldn’t have.” He agreed, but his eyes softened. He was not without mercy. “Go back asleep. You have about an hour until Regulus comes.”
For the next hour, her body equally refused and excitably embraced the yawning drop. Oft, it was her fault; her palm would give way, or she’d slide too far down the window, to be jolted into an unwelcome and crude awakening that every nerve rejected. The bundles of nauseating excitement certainly didn’t help, filling her stomach with snakes and serpents. Her mind, it seemed, was designed to yank her from the formless haze when she refused it herself, as though it didn’t weep for every minute she lost. Frustration joined her climbing anxiety, yet to be sated by any means. Though her gaze was bleary, she could see the amusement grow on her cousin’s face; but early mornings had a queer slowness to them that sucked the poison from their veins, and she settled with nary more than a smouldering glare.
By the time Regulus had promised to arrive, she’d settled into a doze that was no more a proper rest than running laps. The bustling of the growing crowd was a gnat in her ear, the constant, unsettling anxiety a serpent song in the other; neither had much hope of lulling her. As the chamber choir grew, her determination faltered. She stretched, the bones in her back rejoicing at the ability to be freed from the hunched-back cage, and leaned over her palm to skim the first pages of her cousin's reading.
“It’s just a book, Ursa.” He huffed, but he did not move to yank it from her sight. Tight, pale fingers clutched the binding. “If you want it, just ask.”
“Grandfather is giving you reading, now?” She grinned lazily.
Evan’s face fell into an unhappy scowl. “Aunt Regina has spent most of these last weeks run off her feet tending to him and the household, never mind sparing the time to teach me. She was never happy with the choice to take me in, you know.”
“Is it bad?”
“Not… really.” He shrugged, and perhaps it was only experienced in expressions that allowed Ursa to see his badly-hidden concern. “He’s not going to die, but he’s too ill to run the house at the minute. It’s come on more and more, Aunt Regina says, since he caught that nasty case of dragonpox.”
There was little she could say to comfort him that mattered - of course, she’d watched three of her four grandparents ail before their deaths, but that had been a lifetime before this, and how was she to explain that without sounding like a lunatic? Both her parents were in the peak of health, and only Walburga had ever been bedbound for longer than it took the mediwizard to arrive. Ursa ran her tongue over the back of her teeth; Evan’s mother had, of course, perished to the disease herself during their time in the United Federation of Eastern Europe, sometime after the arrest of his father but before his wardship. He rarely spoke of his time in the U.F.E.E, but any memories he harboured were very obviously without warm light, and she doubted that seeing the old man ail from what had struck down his last parent was anything but a kind reminder.
“He’s nearly seventy.” Ursa offered in exchange. “If anything, that he’s still kicking, is fairly impressive; besides, there’s only been talk of arranging my education. If it were truly dangerous, I’d assume I’d be swallowing down books on Wizengamot law and history by now.”
“‘Suppose.”
They fell into a lull, the silence more dispirited than it had been, to begin with, but there were worse days, she supposed. Bellatrix’s wedding had been spent navigating the complex and intricate web of politics that she’d neither the inclination for nor the want or will to manage, and she’d managed not to trip any wires. Silence, it seemed, was a fond friend. They traded a few more remarks on the goings on of their lives, but they had been near-conjoined at the hip since the start of summer, and so there was little news that neither of them had heard before, but in some strange way, it made it all the sweeter as it lapsed, and finally, settled into something resembling comfort.
Again, she found herself perplexed at the fast friendship they’d formed. Evan Rosier had been a fabled name in her household, having belonged firstly to the mystery murder-man in her faded memory, then to the first French prefet de police after the fall of the French oligarchy, then to the small boy who her mother liked to whisper about across tea when she though Ursa was distracted. Poor lad, she’d say, with a father like that; of course, Ursa had assumed that he’d be much the same as the devious man who he called father, but the truth had been far from that. Whatever cruelty he’d been capable of was not yet within him.
Reflection, it seemed, was never one for her to linger on. With less presence than Evan, Regulus slipped into their compartment; he was all structured anxiety, dark eyes flickering back and forth between the window and the inside world, failing to manage even a scant perfunctory greeting until he settled into his seat. Both Ursa and Evan had it within them to keep themselves to themselves until he jerked out a near-silent hello.
“Took your time, didn’t you, Reggie?” Evan joked, always one to clear the pot before replanting.
“Apologies.” He murmured, his voice rough and entirely unlike the smooth tenor they’d been so caretaking-ly schooled in. “I… Mother wanted to see Sirius before we left, I believe.”
Again, they shared a glance over Regulus’ head. Ursa had been entirely sure that Walburga had refused to see both boys off, but then again, she received information third-hand; Evan was lucky to receive it fifth-hand, if ever. The intricate nature of Grimmauld Place had never been properly opened to her, giving her only incremental knowledge of its inner workings. Not that she wanted to know - Black Manor was itself a host of decades of grudges and mistakes, culminating in a tense atmosphere made worse as the occupants grew beyond the borders of their parents. Imagine living with Walburga, Narcissa had said; and that was that, certainty cemented that she’d rather be Druella’s daughter than anyone else’s.
“I imagine that went well.” Ursa drawled, for the sake of it.
Regulus shrugged. “Nobody died.”
“That’s all you can ask for, really.” Evan snickered. “I’ve heard rumours, you know, of your mother. Some say she studied in the Federation before getting banned for dark magic, which, I mean, that is bad; I mean, it’s the Federation. Necromancy or something.”
“That’s not true.”
“No, I heard that one too.” Ursa wondered. “One of my tutors actually resigned once he realised she was my aunt.”
“The blonde one?”
“That’s the one.”
Evan cocked his head. “Are you sure it wasn’t because you accidentally lit him on fire for refusing to give you the Tomes of Ruchev?”
“Yes.” Ursa insisted, vaguely insulted. “That was… ah, one of the northern ones, I believe, from Sweden or Norway. He was only temporary, anyway.”
“The list of your temporary tutors is longer than my arm, cousin,” Regulus spoke, louder than he had since he’d arrived, more like his normal way of behaviour.
Evan continued to make digs at her history with teachers, but though her pride stung as some hits landed true, it was made worthwhile as her cousin pulled further and further away from the restrained boy who’d entered. Whatever had occurred that morning, she doubted would be spoken of, unless she tormented Regulus to the point that he confided; but that, in itself, was as unlikely as Walburga willingly disgracing herself. In their silent agonies, it seemed mother and son shared a similarity.
The last hour of ten o’clock seemed to drag on forever, and they had covered all the recent events of the past month before the great crowds swelled, surging forward to give one last goodbye. As the train jolted into motion, a lump formed in her throat. This is it, she thought; her fellow cousins seemed to share the same thought, but a dark-faced figure lingering outside their compartment seemed to snap them out of their reverie in sync.
“That’s Sebastian Peyrite.” She murmured to Evan, who was deeply irritated at this strange boy interrupting their rare moments of emotional reflection. Ursa could relate; she might not hold it against Regulus, for he was her cousin and thus due forgiveness, but she could find fault with this shy, ducking little boy.
The most diplomatic of them, her dark-haired cousin stood to receive the boy not unlike how one would receive unwanted guests. But Peryite did not seem to understand that whatever fledging acquaintanceship they’d formed would not be extended into any sort of friendship, and smiled instead. It betrayed his doubt, and his anxieties, wobbling and twitching as it dared to fall into a frown. “Hullo.”
“Hello, Peryite.” Regulus greeted coolly. “Has your cousin sent you?”
Evalin Peyrite was not heir to the house, nor was she incredibly important, but she was the eldest of the house in Hogwarts, and it made her de facto above the spineless boy. Not that she wasn’t already; Evalin was a charming, hot-headed girl with a tendency to cast before she spoke, but was exceedingly smart with theoretical subjects, and as any witch or wizard could tell you, that skill was as rare as glazed diamonds. Her charisma and confidence, not to mention her intellect, made her an excellent candidate to usurp Sebastian if he ever faltered; and as the rumour had it, the large house was already considering reorganisation of the line of inheritance.
A cruel, tiny thought, born of a dozen afternoons spent keeping the shrinking violet entertained, hoped it would happen, but realistically, Peyrite would inherit the seat and squander it, and that Evalin might have been Lady would be nought but thought for them to ruminate on.
“No!” He burst out but nailed under Regulus’ stony stare, he retreated into himself. “I was just wondering… if maybe, you know, you had, uh, any room, in your compartment?”
Evan smiled, unkindly. Ursa felt a sudden surge of pity. “For you?”
“Yes!”
“No,” Evan told him. When he realised that he wouldn’t leave so easily, Evan began making a shooing motion. “Go on, get.”
Peryite turned his gaze next to Regulus, who had already spared enough pity not to say anything. Self-preservation, it seemed, kicked in when his dark eyes sharpened into flints and he placed his pleading gaze next to Ursa.
“You heard him, Peryite.” She gestured to Evan, who smiled beatifically, no hint of malice or scorn within his fine features. “I’m in no mood to listen to your platitudes until dinner.”
Peryite flushed but shuffled out, metaphorical tail tucked between his legs.
The rest of the train ride passed without any interruptions Ursa cared to make major note of; the Carrow twins spent an hour or so regaling them with tales of their summer house before retreating to their maternal relations further down the train, and Rabastan Lestrange, one year elder, designed to give them a brief overview of the sorting ceremony before retreating to whatever depths he came from. If she had been anyone else, she might have appreciated it.
The last of summer clutched to the skies when they changed; Ursa first, then the boys. The uniform was strange; for a long time, she’d worn the witches' version of robes, with only an underdress rather than a proper outfit beneath heavy robes, and to be back in something that reminded her strongly of her last life was startling at the least, uncomfortable at most.
It had been, at least, a pleasant day that they’d departed with, and so it was a pleasant day they arrived with. The lake looked still as they cooed and cawed over their surroundings, carefully linking themselves with subtly placed arms and fingers as they watched the uncertain lose themselves in the throngs of crowds.
“FIRS’ YEARS, OVER HERE!” Bellowed a great, hairy giant of a man, who Ursa knew to be Hagrid; they had, perhaps, underestimated his size in the films. He was thrice the size of Ursa, so that she saw only his knees when she stood directly before him, and his palms were as wide as her face. It was easy to believe he was half-giant when the evidence was displayed callously.
“What an oaf,” Evan muttered, but his insults were lost to the shifting tides of people as they rushed to return to another year of school.
There was the small matter of gathering into the boats; if they would settle with another of their station, creating further bonds, or if they would allow the chance to take its course. Only, that there were a few that all three of them could agree on, and before they could come to any sort of conclusion, Ursa realised quite fast that many boats had ceased to be empty, dragging them to the nearest one before they were split into two-and-one or separated. They ended with their fourth as a shuffling, pale-faced girl who stared blankly into the depths of the black lake.
“Don’t mind her, cousin.” Evan shrugged. The long journey had left him devoid of amusement. “Defective, probably.”
“How’d they let her in, then?” Regulus snarked, but the insults rose no defence from the shrinking violet, and so they returned to their banal chatter, made all the more interesting by the building excitement as Hogwarts came into view.
The castle’s borders seem to stretch the width of her palm, even across a lake. Glimmering lights twinkled behind the arrowhead windows, the stones a stormy grey under the cloudly sky; it was a galaxy within itself, just as odd and miraculous as everything in this world. Branches of stone spread out without support, but as broad and as strong as any oak tree would proclaim to be, and just beyond them was a green sea, blackened by the dusk. Even the pale-faced girl turned from her stupor to admire it, lips silently parted in awe.
Holy shit, Anna wondered.
This is it, Ursa thought grimly.
They stepped out onto damp steps, some cloaks slightly soaked where they’d been foolish enough to let the water dampen them. Professor McGonagall met them with a snap of heels, sternly taking in their appearance, and when she was satisfied, began the spiel that must have greeted generations before them, and would greet those after.
As she explained the houses, a muttering descended on those who knew. A few muggle-borns, ostensibly, seemed mighty confused by their inherent importance of them. What does that mean, they asked one of their new friends when they believed the chatter shielded them.
“Imagine coming to Hogwarts not knowing what the houses meant.” Sneered Regulus, who had, of course, been given a very broad - and sudden - education in the political and social implications that Houses held in their world. It seemed that the wound still smarted. “Of course, we’ll all be Slytherin. Nothing less for those of our calibre, isn’t that right?”
“Well, Ravenclaw isn’t too bad.” Ursa pointed out; that she might be placed there was one of her main worries. She may convince the hat off Hufflepuff, or Merlin forgive, Gryfindor, but two of the four still left it up to chance.
“True.” Evan agreed. His mother had been a Ravenclaw, and so had his grandmother. To be a Rosier and be a Ravenclaw was not at all dishonourable. “Though I doubt it in my case.”
As they approached the great, wooden doors, the serpents began to swim again. A thousand possibilities might happen, based on the next half-hour; she could be disgraced, or enamoured to the world, or forgotten and placed aside entirely. If Evan, who was sure to be a Slytherin, became the more appealing heir, was she to be discarded as Walburga sought to discard Sirius, and as Evalin Peyrite would be, in the next years? But they were foolish thoughts, for she had Druella as a mother. And she was many things, but she was unconditional and ambitious. You will not be overlooked by some second cousin’s orphan boy, her mother had promised her, and she was many things - cruel, cold, occasionally neglectful - but she’d lied about nothing important, so far.
It seemed logical process mattered little to her mind, and she found herself trying not to fidget as she waited for the stupid, stupid hat to finish its illogical, stupid song.
“Are you nervous?” Regulus asked her, so quietly she thought she had imagined it; but his eyes were wide in a way they were when they sought comfort in the aftermath of a row, shoulders beginning to make their way up to his ears, a flightiness in him that was so rare to capture.
Damn the consequences, Ursa thought, braver than she’d ever been, and shook her head.
(She squeezed his hand tightly, and watched him until he settled.)
“Ancel, Trevor!”
The first of their year - a small, trembling boy, who shoved the hat on his head and then promptly fell off the stool, much to the laughter of the hall - when to “HUFFLEPUFF!”
And she had thought there would be more time, after all, the surnames that begun with A were likely to be more than one, but her hopes were surely dashed as the Professor called: “Black, Regulus!”
The hall seemed to sit to attention, eyes gleaming as the memory of the previous years slotted back into the forefront. She didn’t need to turn to see her older cousins to know that they were much the same, leaning forward and focused. Regulus, thankfully, gave no outward inclination to his nerves as he sauntered up to the stool, all pureblood swagger and coolness; she watched, intently, as his face betrayed only the base of his emotions. Conflict, confusion, demand. She wondered, if, perhaps, they had come close to a Gryffindor generation of heirs.
“SLYTHERIN!” The hat bellowed, and Regulus handed it back to McGonagall with a sturdiness he’d lacked since they first entered. The table itself burst into a round of thunderous applause, and the hall settled back into plain, old curiosity, bored with the lack of variation.
“Black, Ursa!” McGonagall called, and very faintly, Ursa could recognise that she was approaching the hat.
Back straight, chin up, the ghost of Druella said, don’t disappoint me.
She sat primly, scouring the hall, but even the most familiar faces became one in the sea of curious watchers before the large brim fell over to obscure her eyes.
“Did you know,” the hat said, “that if I had a penny for every time this happened, I may have a pound?”
But Ursa did not come here to be regaled on tales of reincarnation. What did it matter, in the end, that she was not the first: only that she would ensure her goals to succession, and then some. The truth of the world mattered rarely when it was no more than a queer accessory, as the blue of the sky and the roughness of dry dirt were.
The hat did not fall silent, for there was the course of thoughts-against-thoughts, mind-against-mind, but it did not speak, and that was perhaps the closest it came. “You are an ambitious thing, in both knowledge and aims. Slytherin would make you great; but you have a hunger in you that is sated by discovery, a want that cannot be quite fulfilled if you trek down this road.”
“I’m a proficient multi-tasker.” She thought, keenly turning away from the nights spent pouring over records of duels and strategy when she might have been reading tomes on subjects she liked.
“You would be happy there,” the hat agreed. “But your ambition has out-grown your thirst, and your knowledge seeks to become a blade. Don’t let it become a serpent to sting you.”
“SLYTHERIN!” The hat bellowed, and the world cheered, and everything was alright.