Chapter 1: Born a Black
Summary:
Petra comes to a new life that is surely a dream and decides to have fun. Because reincarnation doesn't happen.
(In another world her sister is laughing her ass off.)
Chapter Text
Petra Calliope screamed as if her life depended on it. She knew that if she kept it up for long enough, the House Elf would eventually desist his efforts and call for her parents, the little shits. You see, ever since she was born, Petra had been held by her parents for the smallest amount of time possible, the couple clearly disgusted with having to deal with child-rearing. However, Petra Calliope took the challenge to heart, and did everything she could to make them hold her small, pudgy, useless body. She was in luck that she was still too young to be hit like her older brother, and she would abuse it until they decided it was enough; then, she would begin phase two of her project: annoy them with pointless arguments.
At this point in time, however, she was still very much a baby, and her body was still very much useless and easily tired. Petra Calliope couldn’t keep up with screaming for long, so she did the next best thing in those times: remember how fucked she was.
She hadn’t been a big fan of the Harry Potter franchise, you see? Sure, she watched the movies a fair number of times, but she hadn’t been a hyper-focused ultra-fan like her sister, who inhaled the books and trivia and even fanfiction like it was oxygen and she had almost drowned. She hadn’t even been very knowledgeable about reincarnation and such. She had been reborn and realized it quite easily (a nipple inside your mouth and lack of movement and sight and being called a ‘baby’ did the trick), but when Petra Calliope had seen a small, wrinkled up child talking in the third person and making her diaper float, a scream of terror followed by a furious father coming in and berating her, Petra Calliope Black, for not being silent, the realization of ‘Harry Potter, Harry Potter’ filled her up.
Well, she had (mostly) gotten over it. Petra wasn’t still quite sure it was real, maybe it was just a big, elaborate lucid dream, and she suddenly wished she’d payed more attention to her sister’s ramblings, but it was overall just the best chance to mess with people. She could do a lot with her new life, decide what path she wanted to take, scorn her family name and join the Order of the Phoenix. It’d be awesome.
It was problematic, however, that the most she could do at this point was scream her lungs out and sit up. She wanted out! The months she’d spent annoying her new parents and terrorizing the Elf were fun, but it was starting to get a little stale. Her older brother (she really ought to learn the name of the kid) came often to her room to read some really strange stories, not that they weren’t entertaining, and her other older brother, the Sirius that was talked about in the screaming matches between her parents, was away at Hogwarts, and had been gone apparently just the day before she’d been born. He hadn’t returned for the Christmas Holidays, nor for the Easter Break, and Petra Calliope was pretty sure that her new mother would chew him out for it, and it was just the thing she wished to see, something other than her screaming at her brother or father or Petra. A new victim would be fun.
Petra didn’t have to wait for very long, as the day of picking Sirius from Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, as well as apparently two of her cousins, had finally come. The House Elf dressed her in a small, puffy dark green dress with a bow in the back and brushed her pale baby hair in what was ‘a proper hairstyle’, which means, apparently, a bow on the back and pretty curls, none of the usual messy waves. Petra Calliope kept trying to grab the curls to absolute destroy them, much to the displeasure of her mother, who had picked her up against all odds, and kept on batting her hand away from her hair. The frown on her face every time Petra Calliope tried was worth trying to maneuver the stupid puffy sleeves, and the sigh of ‘Not another one’ brought a giggle to her chest that she only just managed to contain. As the people in the drawing room, who’d been introduced as Aunt Druella, Uncle Cygnus and Cousin Bellatrix, awful names, really, went one by one into the fireplace to travel by Floo Powder, soon followed by the brother and the father, Petra wished she could speak just to mess up the trip, but it seemed that her best efforts during those boring hours hadn’t quite paid off yet. When her mother finally stepped in and the fire began, Petra Calliope stiffened by reflex and closed her eyes, and when she opened them she found her dress covered in soot and a shiny, smoke-filled train station filled with people.
There were kids everywhere, running around, talking loudly and eating candy, calling out to the parents that formed small groups around the pillars and near the opened compartments. The wizards and witches dressed in their robes and with their top hats were walking and levitating the trunks and talking with other adults, some adults in Muggle clothes were looking around, absorbing as much as they could. The Blacks waited until everyone had cleaned up with a spell and proceeded to make their way outside of the Floo area and into the Platform itself. It seemed that every person opened a path for them, whispering to their partner. Occasionally, a well-dressed wizard or witch went to greet father or mother or Uncle Cygnus or Aunt Druella, always going by their last names, Selwyn or Rowle or Rosier or Yaxley, and some looked calculatingly at Petra’s brother or at Petra herself before talking about blood purity and Old Houses.
It went this way until a boy with dark hair and devious eyes came over to the Blacks. He was still dressed in his Hogwarts robes, a scarlet and golden tie a sharp contrast against the Blacks’ black and green clothing. Two older girls followed just behind him, them dressed in the style o clothing Petra Calliope had gotten used to seeing in her mother, black dresses in some sort of Victorian style, but kept their hair down instead.
These were, apparently, Sirius, Andromeda and Narcissa, going by her mother’s reaction; Sirius received a stare of disapproval.
“Sirius Orion, what are you wearing?! I had explicitly written that you were to dress as according to your station.”
He, Sirius, looked up to her, his, well, their mother, with the neutral, well-practiced face of someone who frequently has to get out of trouble. “Really, Mother?” he said, “Because I believe that you also wrote that I was a ‘disgrace of an heir’ and a pathetic ‘Gryffindor bloodtraitor’. I was merely dressing according to ‘my station’.”
Their mother looked on the verge of fury, but Aunt Druella intervened just before a disaster could occur, asking her daughters how the year had been while Bellatrix, seemingly bored out of her wits, asked to hold Petra and proceeded to watch as she promptly destroyed her hairstyle. As Andromeda talked about the Transfiguration classes and Narcissa discussed the latest Slytherin politics, Aunt Druella calmly lead the family back to the Floo area while Uncle Cygnus and Father separated Mother from Sirius and Regulus.
Once back in the Black House’s drawing room, however, there was no stopping the fury of that woman, and Petra Calliope was quickly ushered away by her cousins to the nursery, much to her disappointment. She tried kicking and screaming and it seemed that Narcissa, the one holding her at the time, didn’t quite know what to do with a bawling baby, dropping her in fear, but Andromeda quickly caught Petra and was joined by Bellatrix in wrestling her into the crib. She gave them a foul expression of displeasure, and they all laughed.
“She looks just like Aunt Walburga!” said Andromeda, holding her hand in front of her mouth.
“Well, who else would she look like? I doubt that Uncle Orion has a very hands-on approach to parenting,” Narcissa pointed out while trying not to snort.
“Still,” Bellatrix spoke up, “if she continues to be this wild little thing, I’m sure that she’ll be a great warrior. She – all of us in this room – we could all serve the Dark Lord together.”
Silence.
Andromeda sighed as if they’d had this conversation a million times. “Bella, we’ve talked about this. Petra, Cissy and I will join only if we wish to.”
“But we must prove our loyalty to the cause, Andy! We must prove-”
“We don’t have to prove anything, Bella,” Cissy intervened. “We are Blacks, and that is more than enough.”
They then moved out of the room, leaving a quiet, dumbstruck Petra Calliope in her crib, wondering about what the hell she’d just had gotten into.
Chapter 2: Ramifications
Summary:
Petra learns some things and seriously hopes she didn't get into shit.
Chapter Text
It had taken about eleven months for Petra Calliope to learn her brother’s name. It was apparently Regulus, and she felt ashamed because he was not only a fairly important character, being her brother and all that, but she’d also lived with him and been told stories by him during those eleven months.
On another note, she’d finally managed to say her first word, which had been ‘Mother’, to appease the woman who’d been more and more frighteningly angry as Sirius kept talking back and pranking her. He’d been at the end of several shouting matches and even her wand at one point, and Petra decided to stop annoying her parents in fear of the woman’s magical prowess. It didn’t mean, however, that she stopped trying to have fun with her new life.
As the Summer progressed, her cousins visited the Black House quite frequently. Petra Calliope crawled around the drawing room’s carpet, pulling on their dresses to be sat on their laps and be regaled with mad stories of midnight duels and shady politics and the latest gossip of engagements and affairs and she just ate it all up. The Wizarding World was just so much more interesting than the Muggle one, even if similar in base. It seemed that for every mundane thing, from gardening to politics to just life in general, wizards and witches came up with dozens of magical novelties. Bella was going to get married to a man called ‘Rod’, whom Andy and Cissy seemed to disapprove of, but that belonged to a good House and supported her decision of serving the Dark Lord.
And that was the extent of discussing Voldemort in front of Petra Calliope when the sisters were together, but when the others left, Bella told stories of glorious battles and right morality and great heroes; all bullshit, of course, but entertaining bullshit, and Petra wasn’t complaining. The look of pure lust and awe in Bella’s face when she discussed the Dark Lord in particular was a bit disturbing, in the way that Mother’s look of disdain towards Sirius was disturbing, an expression that didn’t belong in someone so pretty. And it was true, that the Blacks were pretty. Mad, but pretty.
Regulus used the time he had left before he went to Hogwarts to hang out around Petra as much as he could. He spent a lot of quiet time around her, reading or working around a problem his tutor gave him, and liked to read for her. Out of all of her family members, he was the one Petra Calliope liked the most, and she made sure to include ‘Reg’ in her rapidly-growing vocabulary. He’d always talk about his plans for once he joined Slytherin and how he’d redeem the family after Sirius’ mistake, and while Petra would like to loudly scream that Gryffindor was the best, she found space in her black, charred heart (oh, the drama!) to not break his illusion and be the best kid sister one would want, so she entertained him.
Speaking of siblings, Sirius had come into the nursery one time only to leave with a bitten finger and a very angry Petra whose nap time had been interrupted; one does not simply wake Petra Calliope, after all. He tried to use the pretext of playing with her to escape the extra lessons assigned by Mother, but it hadn’t worked, so Petra found herself again in her room mad with herself for having screamed so loudly. Had she stayed quiet, she might have seen other parts of the House, and not just the nursery and the drawing room.
It seemed that Sirius stayed clear of her since that incident, half scared of her, half more interested in writing to his Potter buddy and the his halfblood friends. He had to smuggle the letters to the last ones past Kreacher, the House Elf, but correspondence with Potter had been allowed because, despite being a bloodtraitor, his mother was Dorea Black, who’d never been officially disowned. Mother still disapproved of the contact, but a strongly-worded Howler from Aunt Dorea to Walburga Black (what a horrendous name, Petra thought; who the fuck named her?) made clear that, while she had indeed married into another family, Dorea could and would use her status as a Black elder to, putting it nicely, ‘make bad things happen’. Again, they’re all mad.
Petra Calliope had then spent the Summer in-between preparations for a new Hogwarts year and a wedding, spending as much time with Regulus and her cousins and being avoided by her parents, as usual, and Sirius. All in all, it was interesting, and she dreaded the day the Hogwarts Express would take off and she’d be forced to spend her days by herself (and no, Kreacher didn’t count). As such, she tried to reap as much enjoyment as she could.
Of course it all went to shit because of her ignorance.
Did you know that Bellatrix Lestrange was born Bellatrix Black? Because Petra Calliope didn’t.
She only realized something very important right in the middle of the wedding vows, when Bellatrix Druella Black took Rodolphus Ares Lestrange as her husband. Only then did she remember that Sirius Black was killed by his cousin Bellatrix Lestrange and that she is Sirius’ sister and that Bellatrix Lestrange should then be her cousin and that she has a cousin named Bellatrix.
In her defense, however, she never heard of anyone called Rodolphus Lestrange in the movies and assumed that Bellatrix had been born a, well, Lestrange.
It shouldn’t have been a problem, however. But it was, because Bellatrix fucking Lestrange had taken an interest in Petra Calliope Black and very obviously wanted her to join her little murder club. And Petra didn’t have the time nor the patience for that in the middle of her plans of fucking shit up, being a Gryffindor and having fun. And it was not fun to have a mental breakdown in the middle of a wizarding reception party.
Not that anyone was paying much attention to the baby having her mind obliterated, being too busy playing their little political games. Sirius was parading around with a stupid smirk on his face and being bootlicked by other Heirs, Father and Mother were talking to some couples, Aunt Druella was ‘giving advice’ to Bella while being pointedly ignored by Uncle Cygnus, who watched Narcissa dance with Lucius Malfoy and kept an eye on Antonin Dolohov, who was trying to woo Andy. Petra just stayed in the high chair she’d been dumped in at the first opportunity, trying to work out what to do. Regulus, who’d been doing well at being a wallflower, approached her and just sat by her side, patting her head affectionally. Petra smiled at the gesture; at this point, it was very much welcome.
Hopefully, there was still time to fix this. Bella would become busy with her new ‘job’ over the next few months, and Petra could work on becoming as unappealing as possible. Hopefully.
Chapter 3: Always Pure
Summary:
Toujours Pur. Petra wonders if she should have thought more about what it meant.
Also, minions are something to be expected?
Chapter Text
This clearly meant something bad, being forced into a tight dress and having her hair brushed and styled. She wasn’t going to the Platform, as Sirius and Regulus had already left, and she wasn’t going back for a wedding or such, because Bella, Andy and Cissy would have talked about it. But Mother had still ordered a bath and formal clothing and Kreacher had still hurried Petra to be on time, and it meant out, but didn’t say where.
Where, it turned out, was Greengrass Manor, more specifically a tea party. A fucking tea party. And Mother didn’t even let her stay by the ladies’ table where all of the juicy gossip and politics comes from, and instead dumped her with some snotty toddlers. The kids are either really cute and bossy or ugly as hell and pretty daft too, just doing what the others tell them to. Petra didn’t really expect the bully-minion thing to be real, having been homeschooled ever since ever; and the lack of contact with literally anyone else other than her family left her severely unprepared to whatever the hell she was supposed to do.
A sharp look from Mother and a nod in the direction of two dim-witted girls who insisted on trying to eat an orange without peeling it made Petra realize what she was here for. She was supposed to get her own minions. And it was wonderful! Someone to order around and helping fuck everything up, she really wanted to thank Mother right now; she had, however, far more important things to do at this moment. The girls, two identical horse-faced twins with black eyes and corn-yellow hair pulled back into identical pigtails looked up when she toddled up to them and spoke, trying her best to speak clearly and not sound like a jumbled mess.
“I’m Petra Calliope. You come with me!”
And they looked at each other for a moment before shrugging and getting up to follow Petra Calliope to an empty miniature table, waiting until she sat in the chair before exchanging looks again and sitting down as well. The one on the right evaluated Petra before deciding to speak.
“I’m Nova. This is Norma. You Black?”
Petra blinked. She wasn’t black, and wasn’t sure where Nova got the ide- oh, she was asking about her family, of course! “I’m Petra Black” she said, “And you?”
“Rowle” this time it was Norma who spoke. After the exchange, the twins fell silent, seemingly awaiting orders from Preta.
A smirk came upon her face.
“Want to play?”
Petra’s minions ended up helping her slip some ice inside one of the kid’s shirt. Nova (or was it Norma?; she’ll have to find a way to distinguish them) stole it from the buffet table while pretending to pick up a cupcake, and the other one (Norma?) distracted the kid’s group. Petra just passed by, holding an ice cube with some tongs and quickly grabbed the back of the kid’s shirt and deposited the cube. With the tongs hidden in the frills of her dress, she ran as far as she could just before the screaming began.
The mother of the kid came running to find a wet shirt and no ice cube. Call Petra what you want, but she isn’t stupid; she specifically told Nova to give her the smallest cube she could find. The woman couldn’t say anything about being pranked, of course, and she had to leave the party with son in tow. The other ladies started giggling and whispering to each other as soon as the door closed. Mother stared approvingly at Petra for a second before turning to Madam Greengrass. It was strange, considering that she hated Sirius’ pranks.
Norma and Nova just kept following Petra Calliope around, not pranking anyone but just genuinely playing around. She’d forgotten what playing felt like; she’d been with older people for so long, she just never had the chance to make-believe. So she played the brave witch using unorthodox methods to slay the filthy muggles, and the Rowles just played along. For a while, they got to be just children.
She found later that the kid that she’d pranked was Eric Fawley and that he was rumored to be a halfblood and not a pureblood. His mother, who was not the woman at the tea party, was discovered to have had an affair with a muggleborn and ‘disappeared’. His aunt had reluctantly accepted to take care of him, as she couldn’t leave him; Eric was officially a pureblood and the wizarding community severely condemned abandonment.
It was Mother who told her that, sitting her daughter on a chair of the drawing room and messing with the necklace around her neck. She then pointed out to the tapestry covering the walls of the room.
“Petra, this is our History, the History of the Blacks. We are proud of our heritage, and princes in the Wizarding World; we must maintain our status.”
Petra nodded. It was bullshit, of course. She would never support a family that based itself in oppression and racism, but Mother would have her head if she said otherwise.
“It began many generations ago,” Mother continued, “when Altair the Black moved to the Isles and founded his clan. His daughter, Altaira, married a wizard from Scotland and continued the line.”
Walburga lowered herself to her daughter’s level, looking straight into her eyes. The woman smiled madly, obsession pouring over to her expression. She was dangerous.
“Toujours Pur. Always pure. You understand, don’t you, Petra Calliope?”
Petra nodded again.
Regulus came for the Christmas Holidays. Sirius did not, and while Mother was furious, Petra found that she didn’t really care. She had Reg, and that was enough.
Petra Calliope had finally been allowed to roam the house, as she was deemed proficient enough at walking. She went up and down the stairs, into rooms she was allowed into and others she wasn’t, she explored the library and the dusty portraits that lined up the corridor walls. She walked in the floors that Kreacher was cleaning, laughing when he groaned in annoyance because of her dirty boots; every day that she wasn’t annoying Kreacher, she begged him for an extra biscuit and gave him a happy, cute smile that melted his wrinkled heart. She stole the quill from Father’s office and left it on the drawing room or knocked a bottle of Mother’s perfume to the ground and narrowly escaped punishment by the virtue of Mother having a letter to send or Father having some legislation to pass and they ended up forgetting about Petra’s misdeeds.
Regulus had homework to complete for his classes, but let his baby sister throw herself into his bed and help him hang up a Slytherin scarf on his wall. Petra just kept asking him about Hogwarts, what the classes were like, everything.
“Is it true that the Gamekeeper is enormous? Like, this tall?” And she just put her hand as far up as she could.
Reg laughed, and stopped writing his Charms essay to turn around.
“Yes, some say he’s even half-giant! Imagine that, Petra!”
And Petra laughed, because the notion was ridiculous. How could a human and a giant, well, do it? And she moved on to the next question, about the armor stands, and time passed.
When Andy and Cissy finally came to stay at the House for a couple of days, along with Aunt Druella and Uncle Cygnus, they managed to convince Mother that Petra Calliope needed to see snow and took her out to the nearby park. It was a Muggle park, but good enough to see snow, she supposed. She’d lived in a place that never snowed; in fact, she’d only ever seen pictures of snow. But this white blanket was pretty and fluffy and very, very cold. Andy had to tear Petra away from it, and Cissy had to give her scarf to her cousin before she caught a cold, and they dragged her back to the Black House to rot inside for some more months, kicking and screaming, of course, because Petra Calliope wouldn’t settle for anything less.
On Christmas Eve, Mother dismissed Petra from her intonation classes sooner than usual and let her run around making noise more than usual. It was fine by her, and she hoped that the dinner wouldn’t be very boring. And it wasn’t, because the turkey was floating and made sparks when cut, and the cake was made of chocolate, something she hadn’t even seen since she’d waken up to this madness, much less tasted. With an Eve this great, she could only expect an actual Christmas Day to be absolutely grandiose.
Of course, it was just her luck when the next day she was dragged to the Malfoy Manor for a Christmas Ball.
Luckily, she found that Nova and Norma had also been invited, and that Norma had gotten an uneven haircut by her brother’s accidental magic. It looked ridiculous, and was quite ironic considering her name, but it was, at least, a way of finally distinguishing the twins. They couldn’t get up to trouble in this stuffy event, but Petra could be followed by her tridimensional shadows everywhere and steal Christmas Pudding and escape to the gardens to pull a cracker that gave her a silly hat and the twins a chess set (maybe it’ll do them good, she thought).
Best of all, staying glued to the Rowle twins gave her an excuse to avoid Bella, who was attending with her husband. Petra Calliope missed her mad and madly entertaining stories, but it was a small price to pay for a free soul. Nova and Norma did not, however, give her an excuse to ignore Mother’s call to her side, so after saying goodbye to her minions, Petra obediently (warily) made her way to where she was wanted.
Mother was standing beside a lady wearing a red dress robe, showing no skin but being just as sensual as one of those form-fitting dresses. She was hanging on the edge of the modesty in this world, just barely. Her manicured hands were placed on a boy’s shoulders. He was about five, and seemed just as happy to be there as Sirius seemed at the Black House; he had dark brown hair and blue eyes, and his face was full of moles, his nose a bit bigger than usual, but he’d probably grow into it. He stared blankly at Petra.
“Petra,” Mother began, “these are Freya Carrow and her son Arctus.”
Placing her right hand over her heart and clumsily bowing, Petra Calliope greeted them. “Merry meet.”
“Merry meet.” They repeated her motions. Madam Carrow smiled at Petra and craned her head up to look at Mother.
“Oh, Walburga, she’s just lovely! She’ll make a wonderful bride!”
What?
Appatently, she’d said it out loud, because Madam Carrow turned to her and kindly clarified the subject. “You see, Petra dear, you and my Arctus will marry each other!”
Petra Calliope stared at her fiancé who stared back at her.
What the fuck.
Chapter 4: The In-Between
Summary:
Time for magic, pranks and fiancés.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Will you really be back for Easter?”
Reg placed his shirts inside his trunk and moved over to his desk to get some books. “Of course I will. Why wouldn’t I, Petra?”
Petra Calliope looked at the floor. “I’ll miss you, so I don’t want you to go!”
“You mean you’ll be bored?” Regulus chuckled, brushing his hair back with his hand. He was starting to need a haircut.
Legs dangling off the edge of her brother’s bed, Petra looked up smiling. “Sure I will. You know I never have anything to do.”
“I feel honored that you consider me a way to fight off your boredom.”
“What else would you be good for, brother dearest?”
“I don’t know. Maybe never come home to actually be with his siblings.”
Petra was born after Sirius went to Hogwarts. She didn’t know what his and Regulus’s relationship was like, but it was surely destroyed after he was sorted into Gryffindor. That, and he preferred his group to his brother’s company. Would the same happen when Petra got herself in Gryffindor as well?
They remained in an uncomfortable silence, avoiding each other’s eyes, until Reg spoke up.
“I could send letters. You haven’t learned how to read yet, but I’m sure Kreacher could read them for you.”
“Wait, really?”
“Yes! Maybe I could even send you photographs of the Common Room or the Great Hall, if you want. What do you think, Petra?”
She jumped out of the bed and tackled him into a hug.
“Yes, yes, a million time yes!”
Regulus laughed and pat her head. “What about your new fiancé? Arctus Carrow?”
Petra Calliope wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know him. We were just introduced. Why are you asking?”
“So I can beat him up if he hurts you.”
“I can do it myself once I get a wand. Speaking of which…”
“No, Petra, I’m not lending you my wand.”
“Oh, please, just for a little while!”
“No” he closed his trunk.
“Please?”
“No” he went to the corridor and Petra followed him out.
“Pretty please with a cherry on top?”
“No, Petra, for the last time, I will not lend you-”
“Lend Petra what, exactly?”
Bella was standing in the corridor, arms crossed. Staring curiously at the pair in front of her, she raised and eyebrow, as if expecting an answer. Petra gulped and, before she could stop him, Regulus spoke.
“Petra’s been bugging me about my wand for a while. She wants to use it.”
Bella tilted her head. “That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“Well, if she wants a taste of magic, why not let her?”
“Bella, I’m not letting Petra-”
“You aren’t; I am. Besides, it’ll be my wand, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Petra’s only one-”
“She seems pretty capable to me. If you’re worried about magical ability, didn’t she manifest when she was, what, two days old?”
“I… What are you even doing here? Weren’t you at Lestrange Manor?”
“Had something to tell Aunt Walburga and Uncle Orion.”
Bella turned to Petra. “Come on then. I don’t have all day.”
Seeing no other options, with Regulus defeated in the argument, Petra Calliope followed Bella to the library. It was a large room that was two floors tall. The bookcases varied largely from each other, as they had been brought by members of the family during various generations. Kreacher worked incessantly to keep the dust off the tomes and parchments stored in the shelves. It was said in the pureblood circles that any book worth reading could be found in the Black Library, and it was true. History, Politics, Charms, and especially the Dark Arts, the Blacks had been archiving each and every worthy contribution to knowledge even before the creation of the printing press. Mother had brought Petra to the library to learn from the Pure-Blood Directory, even though she hadn’t yet been taught her letters.
Bellatrix sat on a stiff chair near the fireplace, motioning for Petra to stand in front of her. Reaching to her wand-holster, she brought out a curved, dark wand.
“I’m going to lend it to you for a little while. You’ll try Lumos. It’s a simple spell, should be no trouble for you.”
She then placed it on Petra’s hand and put her bigger hand on top of her cousin’s. Bella guided Petra through a simple swish. “Lumos.”
The end of the wand lighted up. It was fairly warm, and Petra Calliope wondered what would happen if she jabbed it into some parchment.
Bellatrix let go of Petra’s hand, and the light extinguished. “Now you try.”
Breathing in carefully, Petra swished. “Lumos!”
The wand lighted up again, but this time she felt excitement running through her veins. She’d just used her magic!
“Congratulations!” Bella smiled kindly. “I’m sure you’ll be a great witch.”
There was a knock on the door, and Mother’s voice could be heard. “Bellatrix, Orion is in the drawing room. Come with me.”
“Yes, Aunt Walburga!” She winked at Petra and retrieved her wand, putting it away in her holster. “We’ll see each other again, cousin. Goodbye for now.”
“Goodbye.” Good riddance to Bellatrix, hopefully.
Petra spent her days in boredom as usual, being ignored by Mother and Father and having only Reg’s letters to ease the stillness in her life. It got to the point that she even began to enjoy the stiffy lessons Mother had been giving her about etiquette and such. She did something different every time, at the very least.
The lack of activity seriously messed with her, and she’d tried four different times to get out of the House, three to steal Father’s wand (she couldn’t believe she’d gotten only a slap on the wrist for that), and five to break into Sirius’ room and paint his stupid walls Slytherin green. At this point, she decided to swallow her pride.
“Kreacher!”
The Elf appeared with a pop. “Yes, Young Mistress?”
“Can you help me get into Sirius’ room? I think it needs a little redecorating.”
Kreacher smiled that nasty smile of his and snapped his fingers, making the door open. Petra walked in and looked around. The wall behind the bed was covered in photos and Gryffindor memorabilia. Petra could see four boys waving in one, and in another a sickly-looking kid laughing. Near the bedside table, Sirius had glued a photograph of a red-haired girl berating a dark-haired boy, Potter, as she recognized from the paintings she’d been shown as part of her ‘education’. The other walls of the room hadn’t been yet filled with garbage, and Petra rushed to Kreacher to ask him for green paint. His eyes glinting in maliciousness, he disappeared only to return with a bucket of paint and large brushes.
Arctus wasn’t all that bad, she decided. A bit introverted, but she could deal with him.
Sitting in the miniature table that Madam Carrow had supplied to the two of them, Petra Calliope made a job of stuffing her mouth with biscuits when Mother wasn’t looking and actually talking to the kid she was engaged to as soon as the woman turned towards her.
“So,” she said, in between biscuits, “how old are you, exactly?”
“Five and a half.” He then furrowed his eyebrows. “Aren’t you one?”
“And a half.”
“You don’t talk like a kid your age.”
Did she? Now that Petra thought of it, she’d never really thought about that.
“Mother taught me.”
“That makes sense, I suppose.”
Madam Carrow approached the table with one of her large smiles. Petra couldn’t help but smile back.
“Are you having fun? Arctus, dear, why don’t you show Petra around?”
The boy moved away from his mother to grasp Petra’s hand. She noticed that his knuckles were white from how strongly he was grasping it.
“Yes, mother.”
He dragged her outside of the French pavilion and into the Carrow Cottage. It was less of a cottage and more of a mansion, to be honest. The Carrows lived by the sea, and it was windy all year. The leaves of the trees swayed and Petra was thankful for once that she’d been forced into one of those ridiculous braids that Mother had been trying to put her hair in. Arctus just pulled her along, ignoring her protests when she couldn’t keep up.
“Just walk faster!”
“It’s not my fault that you have such freakishly large legs!”
“Or maybe you’re just small.”
Alright, forget everything. Arctus Carrow is an asshole.
He led her out of the house and into the hedge maze and made her sit in a bench.
“There. Now we’re far enough that Mother can’t see us. You won’t have to walk anymore.”
Petra looked up to him in confusion. “I thought you had to show me around?”
“Well, I’m not.”
“Why?”
“None of your business.”
Petra looked up to him in anger. “Why not?! I’m your fiancée!”
“Well, I don’t want to marry a spoiled princess like you! Besides, girls are disgusting!”
She’d forgotten he was five. No matter how well he spoke, he still was five. A child.
“Alright.”
“What?”
“You don’t have to marry me. But we can still be friends.”
“But girls-”
“You won’t have to touch me. Then you won’t be disgusting too, right?”
He seemed to consider her words. “Fine.”
“Friends?” Petra Calliope lighted up.
“Friends,” replied Arctus Carrow.
Notes:
Thanks for reading so far!
Some feedback would be great! I'm always open to learning new things.
Chapter 5: Interlude I: An Heir, a Spare, and a Sister
Summary:
The birth of the Black children.
Chapter Text
It was no secret in the Black Family that Orion and Walburga had trouble conceiving their children. It could be attributed to their close familiar relationship; second cousins was cutting it close, even for Pureblood standards. Their marriage had been nothing short of a shipwreck, with constant arguments and fights that were doubled when Walburga whether didn’t get pregnant or miscarried once more. It took her four years to finally give birth, to a stillborn girl that they named Lucretia and buried in the Black Family plot. It took her four more years for a child to finally survive past the birth, and so Sirius Orion Black was the first little face that graced the Tapestry just below his parents, something that Walburga did herself with vengeance for Lucretia, Arcturus and Capella, the children born dead.
Regulus Arcturus had been a surprise, a healthy child born to a weakened mother. The Family had expected another miscarriage or stillborn, but he’d persevered until the end, and while his cries did not compare to his elder brother’s, Regulus still had a fighting heart, and Orion named him after the lion he was (he told the family he’d named him after his uncle, they did not need to know the truth).
And after the duty of the heir and the spare had been fulfilled, Orion and Walburga began to drift apart sexually. They’d indulge on it every once in a while, predominantly after a big argument that left them panting and wanting, but not often. The couple began to make separate lives, only being together when required by the society and Family.
Walburga’s third pregnancy had been wholly unexpected. If Regulus’s safe birth had been surprising, then the new child had been appalling. It had been eleven, nearly twelve years since Sirius’ birth, and Walburga was nearing her fourties, a strange age to have children by pureblood standards. The Family had forced her to rest; her problems with carrying children to term would grow with her age. She hadn’t been happy about that, and constant complaints became the norm in Grimmauld Place. The boys were all but walking on glass, trying everything they could to avoid setting their mother off.
The child, a girl, was born healthy the day after Sirius went to Hogwarts, and the screams during the birth were not only curses towards Orion, but also rage against Sirius becoming a Gryffindor. The child screamed along with her mother, and did not calm down for hours. She was like an unmovable rock, and Walburga, annoyed with having had to give birth for a third time, named her for the pun. Orion tried to object in the manner that he could, and gave her Calliope as a middle name, for the age he could see in the newborn’s eyes and the determination he wanted a Black daughter to have.
Two days after she was born, Petra Calliope began screaming once more and her magic broke the windows in her nursery.
Chapter 6: The Portrait of a Bloodtraitor
Summary:
Petra meets what remains of Iola Hitchens née Black. For some reason, she is reminded of someone else...
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Petra felt that she was beginning to become mad. Mother hadn’t taken her for another outing since the playdate with Arctus, and she had vehemently forbidden Nova and Norma’s visits. She’d been more bitchy than usual, probably because of something Sirius had done, and Petra couldn’t help but think that the woman was trying to take it out on her. It meant, of course, that Petra needed to give a fuck about it, which she didn’t, and Walburga soon moved on to other targets, mostly the House Elves.
As much as Petra didn’t really care, the lack of activity and interaction she’d been getting was minimal. It basically boiled down to the etiquette lessons with Mother and the weekly letters that Reg sent. She was bored, bored, bored. She was so bored that not even a good prank could cheer her up.
The general lack of attention that the adults in the House payed to her meant that she had a lot of time to wander around Grimmauld Place. Every day, Petra Calliope found something new: a hidden alcove in the library, a stash of Dark objects, a new painting of a arrogant-looking Black. The paintings themselves were a bit of fun, since they could talk and all that, but Petra soon got bored after Phineas Nigellus Black spout some more racist nonsense about muggleborns. All of those past Blacks were essentially gits, and she was enough of one herself.
Then one day, in a corner of the library, Petra noticed some marks on the floor, like something heavy had been dragged on it. It made a quarter of a circumference, and ended up on a wall. She put her hands up against it, feeling the wallpaper, and her digits caught on a small gap; she applied a bit of strength and the wall separated, forming a hidden door. She opened it, and found a small, thin room, covered in dust. Inside, on the floor, were many ruined portraits, cut in ribbons, the names in the metal plaques obscured. Petra coughed as she stepped in, and walked up to the only frame hung up on the wall. It was covered in a white sheet, which she pulled back. The canvas hadn’t been ruined, like the others. Instead, the girl looked up to a brown-haired, blue-eyed woman. The name plaque said Iola.
The woman snapped out of the trance she seemed to be in, and locked eyes with Petra.
“Who are you?” she asked. “I’ve never seen you before.”
“Petra Calliope,” the woman hummed in appreciation. “I am Orion and Walburga’s daughter.”
“Ah, Phineas’ descendant, then. I don’t think you know about me, then.”
Petra shook her head. The woman, Iola, smiled sadly. “I was disowned a long time ago for marrying a Muggle. I think the only thing that remains of my existence is a scorched mark in the Tapestry.”
“A Muggle?”
“Yes, Bob Hitchens. We lived happily together, with our son. But my family decided that revenge was in order and bound a part of my spirit to this portrait. Now I have to remain here even after my death.”
Petra pointed to the other ruined portraits. “Are these of bloodtraitors too?”
“Yes,” Iola Hitchens nodded. “The Family destroyed them for one reason or the other.”
“What did they do?” she asked. Mother had taught her the stories of the great members of the Black Family, but the disowned children had never been talked of.
“Phineas II supported muggleborns, Cedrella married a Weasley, Marius was a Squib. Farther back there are less disownments, but then the Blacks coexisted and intermarried with Muggles and muggleborns.”
Petra blinked in surprise. Iola laughed.
“Yes, girl, before our worlds separated, we Blacks were as much Muggles as Wizards. We only don’t say so to keep our status.”
Petra kept coming back to Iola Hitchen’s portrait. She was the only one in Grimmauld Place with a moral compass somewhat similar to her own, and she could hear something other than the mindless drivel that Mother fed her.
“I had siblings too,” Iola said one day. “Didn’t mean anything when I ran off with Bob. Phineas disowned me, and Elladora pretended I didn’t exist.”
“What about Sirius?”
“He came to me, begging me to leave Bob. I told him I couldn’t do that. He attacked, and I killed him while defending myself.”
Uncle Alphard came to Grimmauld Place for the first time in three years and Petra took a liking to him immediately. He was fun and subversive, and annoying his sister, Walburga, was his favorite activity, something that Petra Calliope could definitely relate to. They had a hell of a good time, sliding down the bannisters, disrupting the House Elves, drawing moustaches on the magical moving pictures in the drawing room. Between him and Iola, Petra no longer felt bored.
She learned while overhearing a conversation that he’d arrived to help prepare Andromeda’s wedding to Antonin Dolohov. Petra felt a bit sorry for Andy, for having to marry straight out of Hogwarts, but mostly for herself, because it meant that her cousin would live in the Dolohov Estate and not be able to visit as much as before in the Summer. Still, the idea of something new to prepare for gave life to the House of Black and they began to wrap themselves in activities and trips and decisions about this and that.
Reg kept writing to Petra, talking about the Exams and Andy, who’d been more anxious than ever. He and Cissy were worried about her, after she’d had a mental breakdown in-between a study session and reading a letter from Aunt Druella. She had, of course, insisted that nothing was wrong, but he was convinced otherwise.
Then finally came the day of the trip to Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. The public gave way to the Blacks, as usual, and Petra waved to Nova and Norma, who came to pick up their sister Ingrid, a girl on Reg’s year. Reg himself sported the typical emotionless pureblood look, that softened into quiet laughter as soon as Petra began to twist her face in weird ways to get a reaction out of him. Sirius was boisterously loud as usual, making a point on yelling goodbye to his halfblood friends, Lupin and Pettigrew, and Father discreetly smacked him on the head; Mother was as red as a beet. Andy and Cissy came soon after, the former receiving a kiss on the cheek from Dolohov. Petra came up to her, offering her hand, and could hear her grit her teeth.
“Reg…”
“Yes, Petra?”
“I want to use your wand.”
He rolled his eyes. “No, we already went through this.”
“And then Bella let me use hers!”
“If you want to use one again so badly, why don’t you ask her?”
Petra crossed her arms in frustration. It was true that Bellatrix had been staying at Grimmauld Place in anticipation of Andy’s wedding, but she had no plan of even being near the woman. She’d been hoping that Regulus would allow her just this time, but he’d been inflexible as always. If Petra Calliope didn’t love her brother so much, she’d be tempted to prank him.
She splayed herself on Reg’s bed. He’d decorated his room in Slytherin memorabilia in direct opposition to Sirius, who insisted on Gryffindor colors and themes. The eldest brother had been flabbergasted when he discovered the new state of his bedroom, courtesy of Petra and Kreacher, and his bad humor throughout the day warranted an unusual good disposition on Mother’s part.
Petra threw her shoes out of her feet and turned around to lie on her belly. She propped up her elbows and laid her face on her palms, kicking her feet back and forth. Reg took out a bunch of letters from his trunk and laid them on the bedside table, but then looked through the stash and took one out. He opened the envelope and unfolded the paper.
“Have you thought about Andy acting strange lately?” he asked.
Petra shrugged. “You know that she doesn’t exactly like Dolohov.”
“But arranged marriages aren’t unusual in those conditions, and Andy knows how to deal with him. No, what’s been happening to her isn’t about him.”
“What else could it be, then?”
Regulus looked lost. “I don’t know.”
Iola let Petra just slide down the wall to the floor and sit in silence. She stayed like that for some time.
“Were you forced to get married to someone?” she asked.
“I had a fiancé, like most other purebloods, but got married to Bob instead, you know that. Why?”
For some reason, Iola sounded a lot like Andy.
Petra couldn’t sit still. She was so tired of the restricting dress and shoes, and she’d already destroyed the ribbon and braid she’d been forced into. Mother seemingly quit trying to hold her down, and she quietly ran off from the bench and into the room where Andy was waiting with Cissy.
“Petra!” Cissy exclaimed. “Why are you here?”
“Was tired,” she answered. Petra Calliope walked over to Andy, making sure to wriggle out of her shoes first.
“Narcissa!” Aunt Druella opened the door just a crack. “Lucius Malfoy is here, go greet him.”
“Yes, Mother,” Cissy turned around to Andy quickly. “I’ll be right back.”
Andy nodded. Cissy opened the door and exited, before closing it carefully. Andy collapsed into a chair.
“Andy! What-” Petra couldn’t finish, as Andromeda motioned her to stop. The woman began to unlace her heavy wedding dress, hurrying the process with her wand, and stepped out of the fabric. She opened her purse and removed a Muggle shirt and skirt, along with some boots.
“Petra, can you please distract Mother and Cissy if they knock on the door?”
“What are you doing?”
“Something that will piss off the Family a lot.”
Petra grinned.
Andy finally finished dressing. They heard a knock on the window, and Petra’s cousin hurried in opening it. A young man wriggled inside of the room. He, like Andy, was dressed like a Muggle, and kissed her as soon as he regained his footing. She broke the kiss with a gasp, and turned to Petra.
“This is Ted,” she said. “I’m going to marry him.”
And then Andromeda left a letter on the chair along with her wedding dress and Disapparated with him.
The aftermath wasn’t pretty, with outraged Dolohovs, who lost a bride, and humiliated Blacks, who lost credibility. Bellatrix straight-up broke all of the china, Uncle Cygnus was occupied with a screaming match with Edna Dolohov, and the guests fled as soon as Mother began her rampage.
Nothing of Andromeda’s was spared: her photographs, her books, her clothes. Her portrait in the Tapestry was burnt. Her name was to no longer be spoken of. Her other portrait was torn to ribbons and thrown into Iola Hitchens’ room.
Narcissa and Aunt Druella sobbed. Sirius spoke up against the perceived injustice. Regulus took Petra to his bedroom.
And Petra? Petra grinned, loving the chaos that Andy had created, the chaos that tipped the balance of the Black Family. She was having a shit ton of fun.
Notes:
:D
Chapter 7: Just some days...
Summary:
Bellatrix tries again, Petra talks with Arctus, and a cool gift from Alphard Black.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It was once again September 1st, the day before Petra’s second birthday and the day Reg would once again leave for Hogwarts. Petra Calliope had all but begged Mother to let her go, and then Father and even Uncle Alphard, only for them to most vehemently refuse (Mother because she didn’t want her daughter to follow Andromeda into rebellion, the men because they were scared of Walburga).
Alas, she was left with Bellatrix if all people, for the rest of the family was to see the children off and Alphard was dragged along by his sister. As with every outing, it meant that Mother had prettied Petra up, with those itchy, restraining dresses and annoying hairstyles, but the fact that Walburga had been rather frazzled ever since Andy meant that Petra ended up being able to rid herself of all of those ribbons before being shoved to the fireplace. Bella took her arm as soon as she arrived, covered in soot and all, and Mother left just as quickly.
Petra Calliope sneezed as she patted the ashes off her dress. Bella snorted and cast a quick charm that cleaned it.
“Thank you.”
“Aunt Walburga has been teaching you etiquette -” Bellatrix took a seat on one of the big armchairs in the drawing room and crossed her legs, “- but has she taught you about blood purity yet?”
Petra nodded. “Mother has been reading from the Pureblood Directory.”
“Nothing of the Dark Lord?”
“No.” Was Bella trying to indoctrinate Petra into joining the Death Eaters?
But the woman didn’t continue the conversation. Instead, she snapped her fingers and told the Elf that appeared to bring wine, which it did right away. Bella grabbed the tall, thin glass and took a sip from the liquid.
“Ah,” she said, “Elf wine. Rod always has the best varieties.”
Petra gulped nervously. “Bella?”
“Yes?”
“Haven’t you told me stories of the Dark Lord?”
Bellatrix tilted her head, searching through her memories. “Ah, yes. Although I haven’t really talked about what we really do. Narcissa and…” she hesitated, “Narcissa doesn’t approve of this, but what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her.”
She uncrossed her legs and stared at Petra in fascination. “To think you are so young and yet you can already tame a wand as rebellious as mine… Not any adults could do it.”
Shit.
“I have some spells I’d like you to try, Petra dear.”
Getting away from Bellatrix before the woman could convince her to try some... less legal spells had been hard. Thankfully, Mother came to pick up Petra before something drastic happened. It had been one of the few times that she'd been glad to see Walburga Black.
Bella wasn't pleased at the interruption, but what could she do? She only scoffed a little before patting Petra's head and sending her off.
"We'll continue this later, little cousin."
Petra Calliope honestly wished they didn't.
Mother had apparently decided that two was an appropriate age to begin to learn how to read and write. Not that Petra Calliope minded, of course, for it meant she could begin to write back to Regulus… And, maybe, write some less appropriate words in those stupid propaganda-filled children’s book the Blacks had been feeding her. All in good fun.
It only occurred to Petra that Mother had began to flaunter her apparent ‘geniousness’ to the other pureblood wives when Madam Carrow quite publicly admonished Arctus, who was six, for not reading as well as Petra. The boy apologized profusely, eyes casted down, and escaped as soon as Madam Carrow’s attention was driven away from him.
Petra Calliope looked around at the other children in the tea-party, and nodded to Nova and Norma to cover her, before running off after Arctus.
“Hey!” she shouted. Arctus stopped when he saw Petra approach, breathing heavily. She really needed to work on endurance.
“Don’t, ah, don’t believe in that shit,” She said, hands on her knees.
Arctus furrowed his brows. “But it’s true?”
“Hardly anyone can, ah, read at two. You aren’t stupid.” Petra plopped down on the cold marble floor of the secluded corridor. “Sit down with me,” she patted the space next to her.
He joined her. “How do you deal with your mother? When she says things like that?”
“Hmm,” Petra tilted her head, “I just ignore what she says. The adults aren’t always right.”
“But they are adults!”
Petra Calliope laughed. “Has your mother ever been wrong about anything? Mine certainly has.”
Arctus stayed quiet.
“Well, I have somethings to do.” Petra propped up. “Madam Carrow will stand up from her chair eventually, and if Norma did her job properly, she should be tripping over her tied shoelaces soon.”
The older boy watched her leave. A distant thud and scream could be heard.
“Ah, Petra.”
Uncle Alphard entered the nursery, now turned into an actual bedroom for the youngest Black. Petra Calliope looked up from Regulus’ latest letter, Ingrid Rowle has been annoying lately, just because her friend Merielle has a crush on me, and faced the man.
“I’ll be leaving soon,” he said. “I thought you’d like to have these, and I know Walburga wouldn’t approve, so…”
Alphard carried a small box into the bedroom and placed it on the bed. Petra jumped out of the chair and walked up to it.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Instant Darkness Powder, Peruvian, of course. I know you’ll find some use for it,” he winked at Petra.
“I’m hurt, Uncle. You don’t even help me with one last prank?”
He smiled widely. “I suppose I might. For old times’ sake. It’s been a while ever since I turned Walburga’s hair pink.”
Needless to say, Petra Calliope ended up grounded in her room, with only Reg’s letters keeping her sane and inspecting the small stash of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. It’d be useful later on.
Thank you, Uncle Alphard.
And so, Petra Calliope Black’s mad world continued to turn.
Notes:
I didn't expect to make such a long fic jeez. This is gonna take forever :)
Chapter 8: Interlude II: Petra's Letter
Summary:
Andromeda Tonks receives a letter from her two-year-old cousin.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Andromeda had received a few letters ever since she married Ted, from her mother, begging her to come back and forget everything, from her father, telling her that no matter what Druella said, she’d never be allowed back. There were a few envelopes from Bellatrix that she vehemently refused to open. They still came, every month. She had to admit Bella was nothing if not persistent.
Ted has asked her if they should go into hiding, or at the very least protect their house with more than just Muggle-repellent charms. Andromeda was seriously considering it at this point – the latest years had made it very clear that a war was brewing, even to someone who didn’t grow up hearing about a Dark Lord. She was worried too, about the baby mostly. (A halfblood born in the beginning of a blood-fuelled war to a disowned bloodtraitor from a prominent pureblood family? It was only asking for trouble.)
That being said, Andromeda kept receiving letters from her former family. When she was nearing eight months of pregnancy, a name already picked and everything, she received a wobblily written letter from the youngest Black, Petra. Who was two years old. If Andromeda wasn’t aware of the oddity her youngest cousin was, she’d be far more surprised. This was somewhat fitting, honestly.
The letter read like this:
Dearest Andy,
What the fuck. Don’t call the kid Nymphadora, she’s going to be bullied all her life. Heck, I thought that with a name like yours you’d save your kid from it. Call her something else, like Alexis or Theresa or something.
(ink smudge)-other hand, Uncle Alphard wrote to me about some money he wants to send to you. You might not want to burn those letters – although I wouldn’t blame you for doing that, I’m pretty sure Bella isn’t above sending curses on hers.
Well, hope things are going well. Might not want to respond to this letter, Mother wouldn’t be happy if she found me corresponding with you. I’d be perfectly content with annoying her any other day but she’s been cranky ever since you ran off to marry Ted. Don’t want to feed into that in particular.
Petra Calliope
P.S: Should say that no, I’m not stalking you. Narcissa is. She told Reg who told me. You should probably invest in some Fidelius Charms.
Ted, the traitor, read it once and laughed out loud for a solid minute until he managed to croak out “She’s right, Dromeda, now someone other than me told you!”
Andromeda glared at him, her gaze sharp, but Ted continued wheezing. She chuckled, then smiled before breaking into laughter herself.
At night, after warding the house with a Fidelius charm, Andromeda sat down with Petra’s letter and the two letters that Alphard had sent her in the past, finding bank checks with a fair amount of money. Ted sat in the loveseat with one of those Muggle baby names’ books, flipping through the pages with interest.
“What about Janice?”
Andromeda pursed her lips in disapproval.
“Fine, then…” he skipped to the M’s, “Maia?”
“No stars, please.” Andromeda had left the Blacks for good, and she’d make sure to stay as far away from their traditions as possible.
“At this point, we might as well just call her Alexis like Petra suggested and be done with it.”
“Alexis?”
“Nah, you’re right, Dromeda. It’s dumb.”
Ted closed the book, but before he could get up, Andromeda sat him back down, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Actually,” she said, “I rather like it. Alexis. Alexis Nymphadora Tonks."
Ted snorted. "Really, Dromeda?"
"Yes, really."
Notes:
Yes, I know I haven't posted for a while. Please do not expect regular updates. I suck at self-imposed deadlines.
Chapter 9: A Grand Declaration
Summary:
It doesn't go right.
Chapter Text
Christmas that year was tense. It’d been only Mother, Father, Reg, Cissy and Uncle Cygnus who attended, along with Petra. Aunt Druella had fallen ill shortly after Andy left, melancholic in disposition and her magic rarely flaring up. Bellatrix had mentioned a celebration at the Lestrange’s that she had to attend, but she’d surely meet at the ball (which Petra hadn’t been allowed to attend this year, nor had Reg; adults only).
Petra found herself in her Mother’s lap, her arm strongly gripped to ensure her good behaviour. Walburga had given up on trying to tame her daughter’s hair into a braid, so she just told Kreacher to throw it up into a simple ponytail tied with a bow, but Petra Calliope had gotten rid of it at the first opportunity, and now her hair laid unruly and free. Narcissa had sniffed a little when seeing her youngest cousin’s disorderly locks, and pulled her aside before dinner.
They entered one of the many bathrooms spread across Grimmauld Place. Cissy took a hairbrush and started combing through the knots in Petra’s hair. She was careful, quite unlike Walburga, not to pull her hair, and softened the thick curls into hair that could actually be styled.
“There,” Cissy took a look at her handiwork, her lips pulling up in a smile, her brown eyes softening. “Your hair is just like Bella’s. Mother never had much patience for it either, but you should learn how to deal with it without just thinking of chopping it all off.”
Petra gaped at her. She had been thinking of cutting her hair into a more manageable length.
Her cousin snorted. “Bella cut it once when she was twelve – a horrible bob cut that Mother refused to level because Bella did it to annoy her. And it sounds like something you’d do.”
“I wouldn’t end up with such a bad haircut, you know! I’m not that bad with scissors.”
Narcissa shrugged. She picked up a stray piece of ribbon and fashioned it into a bow with her wand, before attaching it into the side of Petra’s hair. Petra Calliope instinctively tried to pull it off, but found that whatever spell Cissy used, it made it so that she couldn’t take it off.
“It’ll stay until the end of the party,” Cissy patted Petra’s shoulder, “so your hair won’t be so unruly.”
“I don’t like it.” Petra allowed herself a bit of whining. After all, Christmas didn’t happen every day.
Cissy messed with the tips of Petra’s hair, pulling a small lock carefully and watching it spring back up. She stayed silent when she helped Petra Calliope out of the chair and decided to forfeit her dignity for a while and picked her up. They walked down the hallway to the drawing room, where the Family was supposed to meet in half an hour. The portraits sneered as they passed, commenting on their postures and poise. Petra threw her arms around Cissy neck and gave the rude ancestors the middle finger on her cousin’s back. They sputtered indignantly and Petra chuckled in return.
“Don’t antagonize them,” Cissy murmured next to Petra’s ear. “I know they’re annoying, but you need to learn to control yourself. Otherwise, someday you’ll slip up in front of someone else.”
Petra Calliope rolled her eyes. She was very much in control of herself, and she knew better than to do something like slipping up.
Nova and Norma, now around three, had enough dexterity to begin sending Petra letters. Not enough to write anything other than their names, but the drawings they sent weren’t half bad for someone with hands as pudgy as theirs (Petra would know – her handwriting was atrocious). Petra sent back simple letters that could be proofread by their parents first, and then taught the twins the good old method of invisible lemon ink, telling them to not let it catch on fire when they held it over the fireplace. Kreacher was more than happy to deliver lemons to Petra’s room, and Nova and Norma were more than happy to help out with the latest prank idea.
Sometime in early February, the twins came to Grimmauld Place to spend the week with Petra. Their lessons cancelled for the time being, the three of them plotted in Petra’s bedroom, and Kreacher came with tea and biscuits frequently.
Nova showed off the small amount of magic she’d been able to control with help of her brother, levitating one of the Slytherin scarfs that Reg had sent, and Norma seemed more content in picking the crumbs off of the bedsheets than to pay attention. Petra and Nova looked at each other with a glint in their eyes, and the scarf inched closer and closer to the other Rowle girl. Norma looked up, confused, and Petra threw herself at the other girl, growling and laughing. Norma responded by picking up a pillow and throwing it at Petra’s head.
Nova responded with another pillow at her twin’s torso, and Petra joined her in revenge. The pillows burst and the room was soon filled with feathers.
Sirius wrote in April. It was short and to the point, and Petra burned the letter just after reading it. She kept the picture, though, disguised behind another framed picture of her and Reg, smiling a contained smile for one of those official portraits they had to do every year. Petra had still managed to sneak in an extra small eyeroll, though.
She didn’t send a reply. The two of them could reach an understanding between getting information on Andy and Alexis, but they would never get along. Petra would never allow someone who betrayed Reg into her life like that.
At night, when she was sure that no one would enter her room, Petra took out the picture and watched it for a few minutes. Alexis’ hair changed from brown to green and Andy laughed up at the camera.
Bellatrix appeared at the Black House only a few times the year before, always very official, her husband on her arm like a decoration. This time, she came alone, her hair in a disarray and covered in sweat, and left with a pouch filled with gold. She winked at Petra, mouthed ‘later’, and Disapparated once in the Muggle street. Mother placed her hand on Petra Calliope’s shoulder and brought her in to her etiquette lesson.
Later that day, Father, Orion, took Petra to his office and made her sit on the chair in front of his secretary. Petra bit her tongue. Had he found out about the booby-trapped inkwell? Or perhaps this was about some other prank? She’d never been taken to his office like this, and the uncertainty filled her with excitement.
Father circled her chair, his mouth tense. His lips were chapped, and Petra vaguely wondered if he too bit his lips. Finally, he settled on his own chair, and folded his hands over his crossed legs. “Child,” he said, tone grave. Petra straightened up in reflex. “It has been brought to my attention that your magic lessons should begin.”
Petra felt elation at his words. Fucking finally! She was finally going to learn magic!
“Really, Father?”
He chuckled. “Yes. Your lessons will start next week.”
“Yeah!”
Orion raised his eyebrows at her reaction, and Petra mentally groaned at having to correct herself. “I mean, thank you, Father.”
Fucking etiquette.
He gave her a small piece of paper. “Your tutors,” was all he said about it.
Petra read it.
Transfiguration – Jusperius Fawley
Charms – Anne Rowle
Herbology, Potions – Sophia Bobbin
History of Magic – Gracinda Macnair
Dueling – Bellatrix Lestrange
She gulped. “Bella?”
“Ah, she offered herself to be your tutor.” Orion took his quill and started writing in some documents. His glasses reflected the light from the fireplace, and, in the effect, Petra could not see her Father’s grey eyes. “She argued that it would not take time from her… other duties, so we agreed.”
Shit. Shit shit shit.
Iola clapped her hands when she found out.
“Congratulations, dear! To begin tutoring at such a young age, you must be really talented.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Petra mumbled. “It’d be great if Bella wasn’t one of them.”
Iola paled. “Bellatrix? The one you said…”
Petra sighed and ran her hand through her dusty hair. The torn-up portraits hadn’t been cleaned in ages, and neither had the rest of the room. As her fingers found knots, small clouds of dust rose up.
“Yeah, she’s gonna be a Death Eater, if she isn’t one already.”
The portrait’s eyes darted to the side, to the name plaque that said Andromeda. They remained there. “Be careful, child. Merlin help you, may you be luckier than I was.”
Dear Petra,
Congratulations! Bella is remarkably difficult to impress. But to impress her to the point that she wants you to be her student?
The rest of Reg’s letter went very much like that, praising Petra for obtaining Bellatrix’s attention. She would have revelled in it had her objective not been, you know, the entire opposite. At this point, the letter only rubbed salt into the injury.
Petra’s objective had always been to be a Gryffindor, fuck shit up, and join the Order of the Phoenix. She hadn’t forgotten. But it seemed that everyone around her wanted to pull her into the opposite direction. Had she ever even had a chance? What was it that Bella had said that one time?
Didn’t she manifest when she was, what, two days old?
Had Bella always had an eye on her? Had Petra never really had a chance at not catching her attention?
Shit, she thought. She rolled over, laying down on her belly. The bed croaked a bit at the movement. Petra skimmed the rest of the page, deeming it unessential in content, and turned to the other side.
Reg was just finishing up his second year at Hogwarts. At this point in time, he was preparing for his exams. Petra had written him that he didn’t need to send any letters, that the most important thing for him right now was to focus, but he still decided to send her a letter of congratulations.
The kid was corny, but he had his heart in the right place. Petra had more stress than happiness from the letter, but the intention was good. She finished up with the letter and folded it into four, making sure to keep it as flat as possible. After flattening a corner or two, she placed it neatly inside the box next to her and closed it.
She sighed and laid down again, her body in a starfish-like position and her head buried into her pillow. Petra laid there for a good while before getting up, putting away the box on her desk and patting down her dress.
She was Petra Calliope Black, and she was not going to let this get to her!
Chapter 10: Lessons
Summary:
An overview of Petra's tutors and some other things.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Miss Bobbin made Petra sit through endless books about how to recognize magical plants, which was about as interesting as one would expect – that is, boring enough to make someone contemplate suicide. Petra Calliope could think of a hundred different, more interesting, ways of spending her time other than trying to distinguish Dittany from Trumble from the shape of the fucking root, but what objections she had went unheard from the adults. Reg, when she wrote to him, simply told her to sit still and suffer through it, but Petra still groaned when Miss Bobbin said once more that the lesson was still Herbology.
They could make a Potion. It sounded a bit less boring than looking at books and weeds all day. Miss Bobbin pursed her lips when Petra Calliope suggested it one day, and her voice took a condescending tone.
“You must master the basics first, Miss Black. Many of the things you will learn in Herbology are intrinsically tied to the art of Potion-making, and an intelligent, pureblooded witch must be well-rounded.”
At the first chance Petra got to get out of the lesson, she rolled her eyes. Couldn’t she simply follow the instructions on a book and ask an Apothecarist to give her the ingredients? She didn’t need to learn about plants to make a potion.
Miss Macnair’s subject was almost as dull as Miss Bobbin’s. She taught History of Magic, and had begun by covering the Goblin Wars, which was, apparently, all that the Hogwarts Professor talked about. Miss Macnair found herself more sympathetic than Miss Bobbin to Petra’s plight, though, and said that they would get to the more interesting parts as soon as the Hogwarts curriculum was past them. In the meantime, she would tell tales of ancient witches and wizards that were far more interesting than the Goblin Rebellion of 1246 when she saw Petra losing interest in the lesson.
On Transfiguration, Petra had Jusperius Fawley as a tutor. He wasn’t just the only man teaching Petra, he was also the youngest of the lot, besides Bellatrix. Jus, as he told Petra to call him when they weren’t in the presence of her parents, was a 25-year-old who had decided to make a living out of teaching pureblooded children, much like many of the members of the junior line of the Fawleys. He was a decent teacher, not extraordinary in any way, but what he lacked in experience he made up in enthusiasm. Petra was his third student (he was also teaching Annelise Ogdon and Francisca Nott), and she found him rather hilarious.
Another point in Jus’ favour was that, unlike the previous two tutors, he actually employed magic in his lessons. Small magic, of course, trying to transform a match into a needle with the practice wand he brought (it fit strangely in Petra’s hand, foreign, almost, in a way that Bellatrix’s wand had never felt like – the wand chooses the wizard, indeed). But small magic was still magic, and Petra would take every chance she could.
After all, the sooner she got to the more interesting spells, the sooner she could get started on true chaos.
Charms had been what Petra thought could lead her to her objectives, but Miss Rowle had proven to be strict and unyielding. Much like Miss Bobbin, she went on and on about the importance of mastering the basics, but even Petra, as ‘ignorant’ as she was, could tell that Miss Rowle simply didn’t want to teach her properly yet. If some eleven-year-old kid could make a feather fly, why couldn’t she?
Miss Rowle would just look at her when she voiced her objections with a strange look.
“Miss Black,” she said once, “you are a toddler.”
“And?” Petra Calliope responded with an hint of sarcasm.
Miss Rowle took a deep breath.
“Class ends today. You are dismissed.”
Then she turned around and marched right out of the learning room.
Bellatrix would only teach Petra every two weeks, in order to keep up with her other duties. Petra honestly thought it a blessing, and decided to keep her mind out of her predicament for the following week. To keep herself sane.
A week, however, is a rather small amount of time, and soon the first lesson rolled over to disrupt Petra Calliope’s calm.
Bellatrix came dressed as usual, brandishing her wand with pride. She took out a tome from her small bag (Mary Poppins ought to have been a real witch, if things like this did exist) and opened it to what appeared to Petra a random page.
“Alrighty,” the older woman smiled at Petra. “I thought we could start nice and easy. The Disarming Spell is rather simple and effective, just watch.”
She pointed the wand at a training dummy and took a battle stance, her wand arm above her head.
“Expelliarmus!”
The stick in the dummy’s hand jumped up to Bella’s in a perfect arch. She caught it easily and broke it.
“Many wizards and witches are completely dependent on their wands. So, if you need to reduce someone to a non-threat, the most straight-forward way is to simply break their wand.”
Petra nodded. Despite coming from Bella, it was valuable information.
“Of course, it would mean that you need to learn some other fighting method. I was trained in knives,” at this, she revealed a small dagger hidden in her corset, “and when you’re older, I’ll teach you as well.”
Bellatrix stuffed the dagger back into its hiding place.
“Why not teach me now?” asked Petra.
“Because your hands are too fat to hold a knife properly, kid.”
“I’m not fat!”
Bellatrix guffawed. “Sure you aren’t!”
Petra crossed her arms over her chest defiantly. Bella rolled her eyes in return before sighing and placing a hand on Petra Calliope’s shoulder.
“Let’s try the spell yourself, alright?”
Arctus Carrow sent Petra a letter. It’d clearly been written by his mother, and the only piece of writing that was his was the signature.
Walburga read it out loud at the dinner table to a satisfied Orion. In between all the stuffy pureblood-speak that Madam Carrow had deemed necessary to stuff the message with, it seemed that Petra would be receiving a betrothal ring enclosed in the package. Indeed, when Mother looked once more at the owl’s pouch, a small decorated box was discovered.
The box was blue in color, and adorned with many small, incrusted diamonds. The cover had an engraving of the Carrow Family Emblem, and below it rested the words Sumus Feroces. When Mother opened the box, a golden band with a single blue jewel rested in blue velvet.
Father gave Petra a sideways look. “I’m afraid you are still too small for a ring of this size–” Petra glared at him “– but it would be discourteous not to use the ring in formal occasions.”
Mother looked up from her evaluation of the jewelry. “Too scabby for a daughter of the House of Black. Then again, Freya always made everything about herself…”
She snapped her fingers. With a loud pop, Kreacher appeared and took the box away with him. He disappeared once more.
“We shall hang it on a chain from the girl’s neck on official events. Orion, do you still have that one from your sister Lucretia?”
“No, I believe it went with her dowry.”
“Cassiopeia’s then. At least she never had to worry about dowries.”
Orion looked at his wife rather sheepishly.
Petra finished dinner and placed her silverware down with a loud clang. “May I be excused, Mother?”
When Walburga nodded, Petra Calliope bolted out of the dining room. She then rode the bannister to the ground floor and ran to the drawing room, where she proceeded to jump to the loveseat. The portrait on the hallway that had direct view into the drawing room, some Phoebe Black, turned up her nose at Petra. Petra gave her the middle finger back.
Reg’s second school year was almost over. Just a couple of weeks and he’d once again be at Grimmauld Place.
So would Sirius. Petra would have to think up something decent for that homecoming, that’s for sure. Maybe if she wrote to Uncle Alphard, they could brainstorm together.
Nova and Norma offered little suggestions in their letters, well, as far as Petra was capable of deciphering from their scribbles. They still wrote regularly, and, according to Mother, would start lessons on History and Herbology soon.
(Petra felt sorry for them, really. They didn’t deserve being subjected to such torture.)
Narcissa, on the other hand, seemed rather excited for her upcoming wedding. In the few times that she remembered that, yes, Petra could read, her letters were filled with romantic drivel about Luscious Locks Malfoy. Or occasional frustration on Andy’s apparent disappearance (Petra always giggled at that.)
The point was, Lucy Luscious was just so handsome, and so rich, and oh his family tree has only the best, they haven’t married someone out of 23 families in the past 300 years!
Druella Rosier Black and Bastilla Burke Malfoy are second cousins. Petra gagged.
No wonder the purebloods have so few kids, if banging their cousins is something they insist to do. Petra is lucky that she came out so perfect and fantastic and beautiful, when her Mother’s maiden name was also Black.
Ok, Reg also turned out alright.
Notes:
I can only write when I'm supposed to be asleep. One day my eyebags will be as deep as the Everest is tall.
Lol
Chapter 11: Before Narcissa's Wedding
Summary:
Reg is back from Hogwarts, and so is Sirius for once.
Chapter Text
“Again.”
Petra exhaled quickly before repeating the slashing movement, a purple light coming out of her wand. She missed the dummy by about two inches, leaving an arrow embedded in the stone wall behind it, and adjusted her stance slightly. Bellatrix pursed her lips in disapproval at her failure.
“Again, Petra.”
Petra furrowed her eyebrows in concentration, sweat sliding down her face. “Spinculum!”
This time, the arrow met its target, impaling the dummy where the heart would be. Bellatrix came over to it to examine the spell-work, commenting that while effective, the arrow could still be worked on. Petra used the back of her hand to wipe down her sweaty forehead, grinning all the while. She went up to the wall to pick up the misplaced arrows, arranging them in a neat group, before handing them out to Bella, who made quick work of Vanishing them. Bellatrix then held out her free hand, demanding the training wand back, and Petra sighed, looking wistfully at it while slowly handing it over.
Bellatrix impatiently tapped her foot, looking to the side. Petra grinned.
“Expulso!”
The force of the explosion threw Bella against the wall, leaving her with a bloody nose. The woman stared at Petra for a second, laying against the rubble, before cackling and pointing her wand back at Petra.
“Locomotor Mortis!”
Petra side-stepped the Jelly-Legs Curse easily, before sending out a Tickling Hex herself, which affected Bellatrix for a moment before she casted a Finite and sent out a silent spell of her own, which Petra couldn’t dodge.
Petra felt light-headed and disoriented, the room around her beginning to spin. She stood her ground, trying not to fall, and narrowly avoided a second jet of light hurling towards her.
Bellatrix laughed. “Is the little baby in need of a nap?”
Petra grit her teeth. She looked around, trying to get her bearings. She looked straight ahead to where Bellatrix stood, in front of the still mangled dummy. She shifted her feet.
“Spinculum!”
Bellatrix easily dodged to the right. She sent another Jelly-Legs Curse, which hit its mark, and Petra collapsed to the ground. Bellatrix celebrated her victory with a fist pump, and pushed her unruly hair out of her face.
Petra pointed her wand straight up ahead.
“Come on, Petra,” Bellatrix said. “You’re on the ground, unable to dodge, and you’re not even pointing at me!”
Petra rolled her eyes.
“Wingardium Leviosa,” she muttered. The dummy rose in the air, Bellatrix still none-the-wiser, and Petra quickly moved her wand. The dummy followed the movement, hurling straight at Bella. When Petra finally released the charm, it hit the older woman and threw her onto the floor.
Bellatrix sat up immediately and sent a Petrificus Totalus towards Petra.
“Ooh, clever,” she complimented. “I suppose it was my fault to underestimate you. Let this be a lesson, then, to always finish off your opponent.”
Bellatrix conjured a handkerchief and began to wipe her bloody nose, before absentmindedly waving her wand at the paralyzed Petra, releasing her from the Full Body-Bind Curse. Petra sat up slowly, supported by her trembling arms, but found that her legs were still somewhat wobbly. She picked up the practice wand from the floor and threw it at Bella, who caught it without missing a beat.
Petra sticked out her tongue and Bellatrix chuckled. “Careful,” she said, “someone might cut out your tongue if you keep showing it off.”
Regulus had grown during his time at Hogwarts. It seemed that since he turned thirteen, he could participate in the local weed-growing contest. Reg had also showcased his inability to maintain a proper haircut, or maybe it was just a fashion, because both him and Sirius, who decided to deign them with their presence during the Summer, sported the same shoulder-length hair, right down to the abuse of oil to keep it neat. Petra thought it just made them look greasy.
When Sirius overheard her muttered comments, he just laughed.
“If you think this is greasy, you clearly have never seen Snivellus!”
“Who is Snivellus,” she sniped back, “your boyfriend?”
Sirius started to get very red, either out of rage or embarrassment or both. Petra blinked her eyes cutely, faking child-like innocence. Reg just chuckled under his breath, disguising it with the sound of turning the page of the book he was reading.
Petra thought that Sirius wasn’t still bothered enough. “Oh, maybe he isn’t your boyfriend? The who is? James Potter? That small fat halfblood? Or the other halfblood, what was his name-?”
“Shaddup!”
“Lupin,” Reg added.
“Oh, yeah! Is Lupin your boyfriend, Siri?” Petra laid the cutesy aura pretty heavily on Sirius', ahem, nickname, making it sound as childlike as possible. Sirius just huffed and stormed out of the drawing room, his footsteps so loud that Petra was sure everyone in the House could hear them. When Sirius threw the door closed, she and Reg started laughing.
“Did you see his face?” Petra said between breaths, tears coming out of her eyes. Regulus held onto his stomach, nodding in response.
Arctus stood dutifully behind Madam Carow as she greeted Walburga and Petra. When they gave their own curtsies back, Madam Carrow took them through Carrow Cottage, showing Petra the various rooms and halls. Most of the walls were covered in wallpaper in sensible shades of light blue, contrasting with the dark wood that covered the floor. Fires ran in the fireplaces even during the Summer, and made the cottage seem stiflingly hot, despite the large windows that ran through the corridors being opened.
Madam Carrow held Petra’s shoulder with a manicured hand, her talon-like nails digging into Petra’s dress as the older woman and Walburga conversed. Arctus stood perfectly straight as he accompanied Petra, and tensed every time his mother frowned.
When Madam Carrow finished her house-showing, the adults dismissed Arctus and Petra, and they walked calmly to the playroom they’d been assigned. Madam Carrow waved her wand at the door, closing it.
Arctus sat down on the carpet, and decided to read a book. Petra, thinking that eavesdropping would be far more interesting, pressed her ear against the crack on the bottom of the door.
The voices on the other side seemed rather incensed. At first, Petra couldn’t quite catch what they were saying, but she waited a while longer, and when the figures moved closer to the door the conversation became perceptible.
“-of Black! And the daughter of the Head! You can’t just use that ring!”
“I can and I will, Walburga! The ring of the Materfamilias is only for an honourable wife. And the House of Black has lost its honor! Or has Andromeda’s mudblood never existed?”
“How dare- We do not speak of that name! There is no Black whose name is Andromeda!”
“Just like there is no Black named Walburga, I’m sure!”
“You little! Mucus ad Nauseam!”
Madam Carrow seemed to stumble against some vase, causing it to fall and shatter. Then, silence.
“Walburga,” Madam Carrow said, her voice low, “I have allowed this betrothal to continue despite your disgrace. If you want it, it will be on my terms. If not, good luck on getting any other agreement with the Sacred Twenty-Eight at this point.”
“You forget, Freya, that I am a Black.”
A chuckle, low and dark. Petra saw Arctus tense up instinctively.
“You forget, Walburga, that Eric Fawley is desperately looking for a bride.”
Petra could then hear steps coming up to the door, so she sat up, patted down her dress and tried to make her hair look less like she’d been tolling all over the floor. When the door opened, she looked semi-presentable, but it wouldn’t have been necessary, for Mother simply grabbed her by the arm and dragged her along out of the room, a deep scowl on her face. Petra looked back at the corridor as she was taken out of Carrow Cottage, and spotted Madam Carrow laying against the wall, the vase next to her no longer broken, her wand out. She looked victorious, despite all the mucus coming out of her nose and looking rather ill.
“That little…” Mother kept pacing back and forth, muttering under her breath curses against Freya Carrow.
Narcissa simply shrugged every time Walburga seemed to direct a complaint at her and continued reading her novel, her blonde hair perfectly taken into a low bun. She ran the fingers of her free hand through Petra’s hair, who was occupied trying to read A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration. She sat on the floor, right in front of the armchair that Cissy was occupying, and had a direct view to the fireplace. When it turned green, Mother stopped her ramblings and grabbed Orion right as he slid out of the fireplace, dragging him out of the drawing room. Petra followed them with her eyes.
Narcissa sighed and put her book aside. She looked down at her littlest cousin and squinted.
“Are you having trouble with Transfiguration?”
Petra huffed with indignation. “Of course not!”
“Oh?” Cissy tilted her head innocently. “So you can tell me all about Gamp’s Law?”
“Sure! It’s the one that- I mean, you have to- No, no, hmm…”
Cissy sighed. “Look, Petra, I know that theory is boring, but in subjects like this one you won’t get far without it.”
She picked up Petra and placed her on her lap, before summoning the book with her wand. Opening it right in the beginning of those horrifyingly boring diagrams, she began to speak.
“Gamp’s Law states that every transfigurable object has to come from a magically-equivalent object.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Petra gritted her teeth.
“Of course it does,” Cissy quipped back. “It means that you can’t make something out of nothing. You also can’t make something very small become very big. The magic that you would have to put in the object would make it so magically dense that attempting it would cause an enormous explosion.”
Now that’s something to be considered, Petra thought.
The two of them continued going over the basics of Transfiguration together, and Petra found herself far more interested in it when Narcissa explained them.
Chapter 12: Nuptias et Herus
Summary:
Finally, Narcissa is getting married. Unfortunately, this means a stuffy party.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Petra found that, after one pureblood wedding, all pureblood weddings were the same. There were all the same people playing their little politics games, there was Uncle Cygnus watching Cissy like a hawk, there was Mother and Father trying to reign Sirius and failing miserably, there was Reg in the background, pretending to be wallpaper.
Of course, now that Petra was older, she could begin to appreciate the opportunities that Narcissa’s wedding handed her. Sliding between the inattentive and drunk adults gave her many, many opportunities to swipe a wand from an unsuspecting pocket, and she ended up deciding on a nice rose-colored wand, short and unyielding. Not the most agreeable wand, but Petra Calliope found little risk in the lady noticing it’s absence for a while, for how inebriated she was.
From that moment forward, making the situation less boring was a simple matter of well-placed Levitation Charms and hiding behind curtains and servers. One Wingardium Leviosa and any snotty pureblood that went to the champagne fountain ended up with ruined robes.
But even that ended up boring after a while. Reg was much too focused in avoiding the party altogether and Petra knew that if she went of to Cissy, Mother would grab her and show her off, and she wouldn’t know a minute of peace. So, after stuffing the stolen wand inside her stuffy dress and enveloping her arms in her robes, she decided to sit down and just observe Luscious Locks’ pathetic attempts at masculinity.
Cissy was definitely the one leading in the waltz. Petra would die on that hill.
Leaning back onto Reg’s shoulder, his hand coming up to pat her in the head, Petra Calliope followed the action disinterested. Guest after guest joined the dance floor after Narcissa and Lucius left, and the newlyweds were congratulated by the Lords and Ladies of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and, after them, minor pureblood Houses.
As boredom overtook her, Petra decided that even torture would be better. Standing up, she patted down her dress, smoothing whatever wrinkle she may have caused, and made sure that the wand was still firmly secured and well-hidden. Regulus, having sensed her intentions, pulled back her unruly locks in a simple ponytail with the ribbons he’d brought tied to his wrist, knowing perfectly well that she would have gotten rid of hers as soon as Mother looked the other way.
“Be careful,” he whispered. “The Dolohovs are still very angry, and if you provoke them…”
“I’m not stupid.”
“I know.”
Reg gently pushed her forwards when he was finished, and Petra shot back a grin at him. “I’ll be fine!”, she said.
Petra Calliope dodged the guests, her small figure making it a bit more difficult since the inebriated men and women couldn’t look at the ground if their lives depended on it, and slowly made her way to Cissy.
Narcissa was shining. She wore many, many tiny pearls, decorating her hair and dress. The effect was very dazzling, but it also made her somewhat resemble a disco ball, if Petra’s memory of a disco ball was correct. Luscious Locks Lucius, on the other hand, wore some sort of wedding dress robe, perhaps a family heirloom, and his blond, long, luscious, soft, etc etc, hair was tied back with a simple white ribbon.
They gave the impression of a 18th century nobleman in a disco rave. But purebloods, amiright?
“Petra!”
Cissy turned to the small toddler, delighted. She looped her arm around Lucius’, before affectionately pointing at her cousin.
“Lucius, dear, this is my youngest cousin, Petra Black. Petra, this is my husband, Lucius Malfoy.”
They exchanged the typical Merry Mets, and Lucius kneeled down to Petra’s level.
“I’ve heard so much about you, Petra. Is it true that you are already learning magic?”
Petra puffed her chest in pride. “Of course! From the moment that I was born, I was already an exceptional witch!”
The couple laughed good-naturedly.
Cissy placed a hand on Petra’s shoulder and slowly walked with her to greet the remaining guests. The toddler was fawned over by the adults, mostly because of her cuteness, and then spoken of as if not there. Still, it was better than boredom.
After greeting Harold Blishwick, Petra recalled something. She went up to Cissy.
“Cissy,” she said, keeping her voice down, “where is Aunt Druella?”
Narcissa stilled. After a moment, she responded. “She has been ill, dear. But I’m sure that she’ll be better in no time.”
“Really? What does she have?”
Cissy quickly turned around. “Ah, Aunt Walburga, so good to see you again!”
Petra also turned, and met the sight of her mother.
“Yes, yes, you too, Narcissa, Lucius, congratulations. Although, would you mind if I took my daughter for a moment?”
Without waiting for a response, Mother grabbed Petra’s hand and dragged her off to where Father and Sirius were.
“- quite honestly, and I’d thought that you would grow out of it!”
“But she started it! Mrs Dolohov was insulting Andy!”
Sirius had his fists balled and his face was as red as the Gryffindor Common Room. Father just looked disappointed.
“Sirius, you know perfectly well that that is not how a Black deals with insults, and you are not to speak of her. I am tired of this scene. You will return at once to Grimmauld Place.”
“But-”
“Orion.”
Both of them quieted and turned once Mother spoke, Sirius still angry but now showing a bit of fear.
“What has happened?”
Father sighed. “Sirius has confronted Edna Dolohov for insulting the blood traitor. He was most disgraceful. I was about to send him back.”
Mother looked dangerously angry. She snapped towards Sirius. “In the few minutes that I was gone, you managed to-!”
“Dear,” Father interrupted, “not during the party.”
Mother pursed her lips. “Of course. Send him back.” She waved her hand dismissively.
Regulus appeared just as Sirius was gone in green flames. Mother grabbed Reg and Petra’s shoulders tightly, and the children tried not to wince.
“At least you two aren’t a disappointment.”
For now. Just you wait until I get into Hogwarts, you old hag.
Regulus gave Petra a side look, and she immediately schooled her face. At least those etiquette lessons were useful for something.
“Come now, children, we have many people to meet.”
It was dreadful. Every person managed to be more conceited than the previous. If greeting them was already bad with Cissy and Luscious Locks, then doing so with Mother introduced politics to the mixture. Backhanded compliments, thinly veiled threats, and Mother’s grasp on Petra’s shoulder made her smile as she was supposed to.
None of them were interesting. Petra was running on autopilot.
And then, Bellatrix arrived. It wasn’t just her, of course, she came with a full entourage, but when the telltale signs of Floo Powder appeared, it was all that Petra could focus on.
The witch had come with her eye-candy husband on her arm, looking as powerful as Mother. She spied Cissy within the crowd and quickly ran to her, her laughter loud and obtrusive. All eyes were on her.
“Oh, Cissy! Congratulations!”
“Bellatrix.” Lucius nodded to her.
“Ah. Malfoy. Lucky you, right?”
“Very-”
“Lucky indeed,” she continued, speaking over Lucius. “It’s quite the surprise that the marriage even happened, considering your lack of… faith in what matters.”
“I assure you, Bellatrix, that I have much faith.”
Bella smirked, cold and sharp. “We’ll see.”
The tension could be cut with a knife. No one dared to breathe.
Narcissa stepped forward. “Bella, you must be hungry. Come with me, let’s eat something.”
“Of course, Cissy. I’ll have to be the food-taster.”
As the sisters walked towards the desert buffet, the guests slowly began their conversations anew. Mother walked towards Luscious Locks, who was talking with a dark-haired gentleman, still looking rather pale and skittish from Bellatrix.
“Lucius.” Mother said, in her commanding tone of voice, leaving no space for questioning. Lucius and the man turned their heads to her, and Petra watched as her Mother’s behaviour changed in a blink of an eye.
When before the woman had been regal and composed, now she sported the smallest hint of shock and… was that fear?
Surely not, Petra thought. If Walburga Black was one thing, it was certainly not afraid.
But Mother quickly composed herself, and Petra dismissed the thought as a misreading of her expression.
Lucius smiled at his aunt-in-law. “Walburga, surely you’ve met Lord Gaunt?”
“I haven’t had the pleasure yet.”
“Well, this is Lord Thomas Gaunt. Lord Gaunt, this is Lady Walburga Black and her youngest children, Regulus and Petra Black.”
“Merry met.”
Lord Gaunt’s voice was very nice to hear. Dark, velvety. He had a handsome face and a charming countenance, highlighted by light, cold blue eyes, like ice.
The man smiled down at Reg and Petra. “I have heard much of you, children. Talented, noble. As expected from the House of Black.”
“Thank you, Lord Gaunt.” Mother answered, her nails digging into Petra’s dress.
Lord Gaunt chuckled. “Surely they will be great wizards when they are grown. I’d love to eventually teach them something.”
“Are you a Professor?” Petra asked, curious. Reg hadn’t spoken of any Professor Gaunt, so he didn’t teach at Hogwarts, and she wanted to know what other subjects existed outside of the ones that the school taught.
“Not quite, Miss Black, although I do function as a teacher at times,” he said, smiling kindly to her. “I pick talented witches and wizards and show them magic they could only dream of.”
Regulus and Petra Calliope exchanged hungry looks, wishing to learn whatever this man taught. Petra could only think of what kind of power he could give her.
“But you must grow first, of course, and learn,” Lord Gaunt continued. “Hogwarts is very important for any young child to live through.”
“Of course,” Mother nodded. “If we may be excused, Lord Gaunt, Lucius, it is getting rather late and my daughter should be going to bed.”
“Of course, Lady Walburga.”
Petra was quickly turned away from the two men, Mother’s accelerated pace hard to keep up with. She peeked back for an instant, watching Lord Gaunt meet up with Bella and Cissy, Lucius slightly behind. When the charming man met her eyes, she waved with her free hand.
After that, she was quickly shoved into the fireplace, watching the ballroom fade in green fire and soot.
Notes:
I am so lazy looool
Chapter 13: Major Arcana
Summary:
Divination is quite fickle and it seems that the Magical World should invest in antacids.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Sirius fidgeted with his cufflinks as the Potters went through the motions of greeting everyone present. Petra was finding it more and more annoying as the seconds ticked by, and it was only Mother’s look that stopped her from acting out. The Walburga special: ‘don’t you dare try anything you little bitch or I’ll beat you like there’s no tomorrow no matter that you are still too small’. She had never been subjected to that particular form of discipline, and she wasn’t interested in starting now.
That being said, imagining the ways that she could apply a Permanent Sticking Charm on his tied shoelaces and make him trip forever – however impossible given that Miss Rowle was still a condescending piece of shit – managed to distract her well enough to avoid a psychotic breakdown and Sirius’ subsequent brutal murder.
Reg seemed more interested in Charlus Potter’s seemingly endless fountain of stories related to misread fortunes (it apparently came with the territory of being Euphemia Potter’s brother-in-law or something), and he didn’t seem to notice Mother’s murderous look and Petra’s escapist coping mechanism, but being the good brother that he was, he still put a hand on his sister’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. Good kid.
James Potter, unlike his deeply annoying friend, didn’t have a terrifying parent holding him back from talking his ears out, and he practically yelled about Quidditch until Walburga finally sighed and scooted over to Dorea and Orion, figuring that attempting to maintain a dignified image would be useless with their current visitors either way. Sirius visibly un-deflated and scurried off with his pal.
Petra, still too distracted by her fantasies to notice, chuckled darkly under her breath. The sound finally caught Regulus’ attention, and the boy squeezed her shoulder, making her jump slightly in fright.
Charlus Potter gave them a lopsided grin that had clearly been inherited by his son and imitated by Sirius. His wife’s gaze stopped on him for a hot second, eyebrow raised, but she seemed to find nothing wrong and returned to her platitudes with Mother and Father. Potter the Senior seemed to not notice it, though, and continued his story on how Euphemia had one day or the other misread a poor man’s fortune so badly that he ended up almost dead via Hippogriff.
“A shame her readings are only accurate once in a blue moon. Her sister Sybill seems even worse than her. Ah, brings me back to when Flea took Divination just to sit next to her and dragged me along with him.”
Reg nodded, his face so serious that you could swear it was a life-or-death situation. Petra quickly attacked his side, tickling him until he had to cover his mouth with a hand, trying not to burst out laughing. He retaliated by elbowing her away, to which Petra simply winked.
Charlus still seemed absorbed by his story, not noticing that neither child was listening at this point. His body language was open and languid, making large movements with his hands as he spoke, his wand casually peeking out from his sleeve.
“Ah, what do you think, children?”
The question spurred Petra and Reg out of their little confrontation.
“Sure,” she said, completely out of reflex. Not quite sure what she’d just agreed on, Petra felt anticipation growing within her. The man clapped his hands once in delight. “Excellent! Come over, then, let us sit in those armchairs, my old legs are not what they used to be–”
As they made themselves comfortable, Charlus brought out a deck of cards. The backs were decorated with the Potter crest and a stylized E, and the background was an obnoxious maroon that hurt the eyes the longer that Petra was forced to stare at it. As he shuffled the cards, Petra peeked at Regulus, trying to telepathically ask him if he had a flying fuck of an idea of what was going on, to which he gave her a lost look. No idea, Petra, she imagined him say, by the way, tell me again I will totally help you substitute Sirius’ shampoo with pink sparkly hair dye that will make his head obnoxiously sing Celestina Warbeck’s latest song for a month.
After a minute or so, Potter the Old Legs seemed content with his shuffling and spread them face down on the coffee table, staring rather intently at Petra with a “Ladies first.” Not one to disappoint, she made a show of carefully considering her options, before going to the one that would have been the top of the deck. Potter laughed when she rose her eyebrow at him, and he quickly removed the card from her hands and turned it around.
“Oh, the Tower. Not quite what I had expected, to be honest.”
Regulus snorted. “On the contrary, if there is anything that fits Petra, it’s chaos.” The girl giggled in response, kicking her feet like a small child and feeling a blush come to her face. “So good to be recognized,” she said, smirking at her brother.
“Ah, I wouldn’t go that far – knowing Euphemia, even just using her set will make it a faulty reading.” Petra moped at Senior’s words. “But it’s still fun to try, no?”
“Indeed,” Reg nodded, reaching out to a card of his own. He quickly turned it around, revealing a pair of people engraved in it – the Lovers.
Petra hit his shoulder playfully. “Any lady friend I should know of? Merielle Ogden?”
“No!”, he stammered, blushing. “Of course not! She’s the one who likes me! Besides, Ingrid would give me a piece of her mind if I even considered– I mean, with the engagement and all–”
Petra grinned like a too-smug cat as Charlus laughed, hitting his leg excitedly. She leaned into her hand, narrowing her eyes, as Reg got increasingly flustered. “Keep incriminating yourself, brother dear. I’ll be here listening to all of it.”
Regulus finally managed to calm himself, but his blush refused to subside. Petra jumped down from the armchair and took his arm, guiding him out of the drawing room, saying simple excuses of going to powder her nose as she went along.
To give her credit, Petra did go to the bathroom, if only to drop Reg there. He made her promise to stay put while he recovered, but it took two seconds from the moment he closed the door for the toddler to run off.
Up the stairs she went, ignoring Elladora Black’s sneering portrait as Petra threw a stone she’d smuggled into her pocket at one of the ugly Elf heads hanging from the wall, and she turned the corner, promptly hitting Potter Junior’s chest.
“Oh, Merlin’s ba– aaaaaaaanister! Sorry, kid!”, he added when he saw Petra’s glare.
The girl pursed her lips, an annoyed sneer beginning to form in her face. “Hm. Sure thing, Jim.”
“Actually, it’s–”
“Jim. Exactly.”
Petra watched in amusement as Jim seemed to consider the morality of hitting a toddler for a hot second before resigning himself to trying to tolerate his new name.
Potter the Kid was suddenly flanked by Siri play Despacito (or was it Alexa? She couldn’t remember), and the annoyance in the oldest Black’s eyes was smoldering. Petra gave him her best innocent smile back, like an innocent child simply overjoyed by seeing her big brother.
Jim gasped, suffering from cuteness overload, and he quickly grabbed her arms and maneuvered them like one would do to a cat. “Let’s take her,” he demanded, the tone completely serious.
“No,” Sirius deadpanned.
“Come on, Padfoot!” Turning her head, Petra saw the determined look on Jim’s face, undeterred from Sirius’ headshake.
“You don’t understand, she’s the devil! She’ll bite you and cuss you out and make it seem like it was your fault!”
Jim waved his hand. “Oh, please, her only crime his butchering my name. And with this face?”, he pinched her cheeks, “How could anything this cute do something like that?”
“You say that about Evans.”
Jim paused.
“Good point,” he said in a tiny, tiny voice. He perked up after that, though. “Well, you did say that Petra likes pranks, so she won’t snitch on us if we let her in!”
His grin was so bright, Petra was sure she could light the entirety of London with it if she hanged Jim from the Big Ben.
“If she betrays us, you’re stuck with cauldron cleaning for the entire year.”
“Deal!”, Jim said, right before turning his head to Petra. “We’re slipping nausea potions into the food. Just got them from the bedroom, actually, now we just need to get to the kitchen.”
Petra made grabby hands immediately. Sirius handed one vial to her, which she inspected thoroughly. A viscous, almost transparent fluid sat in it. “Kreacher won’t let you in,”, she pondered, remembering her brother and the Elf’s hateful relationship, “and I know for a fact that Mother confiscated your wand after that situation at Cissy’s wedding.”
"Not like I used it back then," he grumbled, turning to his pal.
Jim shrugged noncommittally. “My Mum always makes me give her my wand when we visit someone – something about not trusting me to not set something on fire. Totally unfair by the way, I was seven!”
Really, Petra dryly thought. So much for getting some help with pouring the damn thing.
A sigh. “Luckily for you, I got an idea. Think you can distract Kreacher away from his dishes for five minutes?”
The boys nodded.
The kitchen was located in the ground floor, right at the bottom of the corridor. They took the secondary staircase to avoid the open door of the drawing room, and Sirius and Jim made quick work of antagonizing Kreacher away from his work.
Petra slipped the stolen wand out of her corset and uncorked the vial. She was lucky that the food was teleported from the kitchen directly to the dining room table, because it meant that every dish was in front of the metaphorical seats. Casting a Wingardium Leviosa, she carefully made the vial float carefully to the plates already filled with soup, before carefully letting the liquid drop in the right place.
A grin slipped on her face when she released the spell, the vial falling on a pile of dirty dishes. The wand felt warm and slightly… Annoyed? Was that it? It was a weird sensation, but it didn’t fight her will as Petra did her thing, so she decided to ignore it. Placing the wand back into its hiding place, she ran out to where the boys kept arguing with Kreacher.
“What is going on here,” she crossed her arms, glaring at Sirius.
Kreacher perked up when she interrupted, his ears straightening. “Oh, Young Mistress, Master Sirius has been saying terrible things. Terrible!”
“Oh?”
“Yes!”, the Elf nodded enthusiastically. “He has called the Mistress a… A puds!”
“Putz,” Sirius corrected under his breath as Jim snickered.
Kreacher sneered, and almost seemed disappointed? “The things he’s catching from all those Mudbloods… You must stop him, Young Mistress!”
Petra quickly grabbed onto Sirius’ elbow, steering him and Jimothy away from the kitchen. “Of course, Kreacher, I’ll make sure to have a looooooong talk with him.” She sneered at her brother for the effect. Thankfully, the Elf seemed satisfied, returning to the kitchen, and Petra quickly let go.
Jim Jimothy who probably needed a hairbrush now that she noticed it eagerly jumped on her. “So? You did it?”
Petra grinned from ear to ear. “They won’t know what hit them.”
She didn’t wait for a response and turned back to the drawing room. When entering, she noticed the adults tolerating Potter Senior’s animated monologue, and Reg sitting on the same armchair as before, looking down at the carpet like it was the most interesting thing in the world. His head snapped up when she squeezed next to him, mumbling about his large butt. His eyes quickly narrowed.
“Petra, I told you to stay put!”, he hissed. The toddler in question shrugged in response, a coy look on her face. “Relax,” she drawled, “I didn’t get in trouble.”
Meaning: she didn’t get caught. Besides, if bad got to worse, she could always put the blame on Sirius and Jim.
Now that Andromeda’s betrayal was slightly farther away and that Narcissa had somewhat helped quell the raging gossip, courtesy of her dearest Luscious, Petra was allowed back in public. Sirius was kept on a tight leash, i.e. Mother dearest’s strong grip. He was still fuming over what Petra called the dinner fiasco – the memory of him and Jim vomiting in unison was still much too fun, as had been Walburga’s indignant reaction – and Petra found his heated looks towards her amusing.
Regulus had been the one to hold Petra’s hand on Platform Nine and Three Quarters this time, as his other hand was occupied with his wand, maintaining a Levitating Charm on his truck. Father had opted out of bringing them to the train, so this year it was just the four of them and whatever pureblood approached for small talk.
Petra Calliope noticed Luscious Locks with who seemed to be a cousin of his, Ambrosius or maybe Basilius, she couldn’t quite recall, and he noticed her in turn. After shooing the smaller blonde twat to the Express, he approached the Blacks in large strides.
“Lucius, how good to see you,” Mother greeted, and Sirius used her distracted state to scram off to where Jim and two other boys (the halfbloods?) where. “How have you and Narcissa been?”
Locksies’ smile was lukewarm at best. Petra couldn’t blame him, seeing Walburga’s mug was enough to ruin anybody’s day. “Excellent, thank you. We’ve been meaning to visit, but…”
“Shoud we be expecting good news?”, Mother raised her eyebrow.
Lukewarm Lucius laughed. “Not yet, I’m afraid. Perhaps next year.” Mother joined in on the speculation, wondering about possible names that could fit both families’ traditions as Lucius grew increasingly uncomfortable. His poker face was almost perfect though, Petra had to give him props for it.
When Luscious managed to find a break in the conversation, he turned to Regulus.
“I know of this Slytherin dueling club – rather exclusive, I might add. Rosier could help you in, if you’re interested, just mention my name.”
Reg tilted his head slightly in ponderation. Luscious Locks rubbed his hands together as he smiled, his eyes crinkling. “The older students there have been taking lessons from Lord Gaunt. It seems to be something you’d be interested in? Before you can become his student yourself?”
That seemed to catch Reg’s attention, and Petra’s too, if she was being honest. A shame that these club probably wouldn’t accept a Gryffindor like herself, she’d love to join it.
“I’ll consider it,” Regulus answered, but Petra could see that he’d already made up his mind. Lukewarm Loser seemed satisfied with his half-answer, and scooted off to one of the fireplaces.
It was then that the whistle blowed, marking the imminent departure of the train. Regulus patted Petra’s hair and promised to write before running to find a way inside.
Petra Calliope waved until the Hogwarts Express was out of sight, and then she tripped some random child that was walking off to the Muggle World barrier. The kid shrieked and she snickered, content, before running up to Mother just in time to not get scolded as she was pulled towards the fireplace.
Notes:
It seems that I can only go on writing sprees at unholy hours of the night. Morning? Bah, it's almost 5 am anyways.
I'm beginning to see where this story is going! I always had a general idea, but now I could probably plot it point by point if I was in a good enough mental state. Unfortunately, I'll have to settle for plotting it all in my head instead of jotting down a proper outline.
Chapter 14: Coming out (not of the closet)
Summary:
Bananas are bought (maybe in a side story one day?)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The outside world was something that had been out of Petra’s mind for a long time. She had, of course, made excursions to other people’s houses and to Platform Nine and Three Quarters, and yet the mere street outside of Grimmauld Place had been all but forbidden and forgotten for the longest time. However, soon after her third birthday and an immense amount of annoying Father and Mother and bribing Kreacher, Petra Calliope had finally been allowed to visit the outside world.
Dressed warmly in one of those constricting Victorian dresses and a coat, her hair tied in a braid with a green ribbon and a ridiculous amount of Sleekeazy holding it down, Petra sat through Mother’s lecture. The usual.
“- and, for the love of everything, do not dirty your clothes. If I find you back with a stain, I will double your lessons. Now, your father will give you some money, and I expect you to spend it wisely, none of those Muggle… things that Sirius took to. Understood?”
“Yes, Mother,” Petra sighed, spying the door behind the older woman. Walburga looked Petra up and down, as if to evaluate her honesty, and seemed to find nothing wrong.
Nodding to Father, Mother stepped back into the house, her cloak swishing behind her. Father coated Petra’s hand with a few bills and left promptly, not even making sure that the child couldn’t open the door by herself. Fortunately, Kreacher, the ever-present saviour, came up with a pop and opened the door for her.
“Thanks, Kreacher. I’ll bring you back bananas.”
Kreacher spluttered, his cheeks red. “Y-young Mistress, you shouldn’t-”
“Oh, hush!” Petra waved it off. “I never said it was for you, Kreacher. I know just the thing I want to make with those bananas.”
Cissy, to her credit, had eaten the entire slice she’d been served. Petra could only frown the entire time, because if she knew it’d turn out that badly she would have had the chance to make it a proper prank, at least. Alas, the opportunity was gone and Petra had very much decided to make a grave for her poor banana bread as soon as she took her first bite.
Maybe she could ask Reg to write the obituary, he always had a knack for poetry.
Petra sighed and, in a very unladylike manner, stretched in her seat. Logically, since Mother wasn’t there to badger her about etiquette and Cissy was much too nice to bother her about that when there was no one around, such a conduct was entirely appropriate. Cissy still looked on disapprovingly, but said nothing about it.
Reaching into her pocket, Cissy removed a square of paper and put it on the table, smoothing the wrinkles with her wand.
“Whass dat?” asked Petra, who’d stuffed her mouth full of chocolate cake as soon as she stopped stretching.
“Don’t spit, Petra, dear,” said Narcissa, bringing out her handkerchief to pat clean her cousin’s mouth. Petra Calliope fussed a bit, muttering complaints under her breath, but still made the job as easy for Cissy as she could without sacrificing her pride. Grabbing her by the chin, Cissy turned her head left and right, inspecting her work, before seemingly content with the state of cleanliness and resuming her seat. She picked up the piece of paper and turned it towards Petra, who recognized it as a blurry picture of Andy carrying a fussy toddler that could only be Alexis.
She looked up at Cissy with a questioning look.
“For the longest time, none of my spies could find Andromeda,” Cissy said, frowning. “She must have been tipped off, somehow. But then, yesterday, one of them sent me this – they were caught in Diagon Alley.”
Petra gulped. Had Cissy found out that she went behind her back? She didn’t regret it, of course, the amusement of watching Cissy trip over herself when she couldn’t spy on Andy anymore was great, but she had genuinely grown to enjoy her confidence. Hesitantly, trying to school her face like Mother taught her to, Petra spoke.
“And?”
“You don’t see, Petra?” Cissy answered, grabbing the photograph so hard that the edges wrinkled.
“I’m an auntie!”
Petra blinked.
“When Bella said she’d never had children and Andy left, I thought I would never have nieces or nephews, but-”
Cissy launched off in a tirade about babies and how she loved them so much and it somehow went to complaining about Luscious not wanting a baby yet, and Petra could only sit there in stunned silence.
“But isn’t she a bloodtraitor?” Petra asked, confused about Cissy’s behaviour. The older woman shrugged, ignoring all sorts of protocols she usually obeyed to, and went back to gushing about the baby.
“What House do you think Nymphadora will be in, Petra, dear?”
“What?” Petra looked up, startled about being suddenly addressed, but Cissy seemed to pay it no mind.
“A Slytherin would be very traditional, of course, and it would make it easier for me to meet her, but given that her other parent is that, one can only hope that she at least ends up in Ravenclaw.”
Petra furrowed her eyebrows. “Who’s Nymphadora?”
“The baby, of course!” answered Cissy, showing her the photograph again. “Andromeda always said she’d want to name her daughter Nymphadora.”
“I… see…” Petra tried not to explode in laughter.
Nova and Norma spent the night at Grimmauld Place after Petra begged many, many times to Mother (and after many, many ‘accidental’ ink spills on Mother’s dresses). The constant chattering seemed to wear the woman down enough for an agreement to be reached, despite Petra’s recent blunder in the kitchen and the ruined dress that resulted from the subsequent funeral.
RIP banana bread, you will be missed. [Insert Reg’s poem here].
(She buried it alongside the bread. It was so flowery that it made her vomit on the dirt beside the grave. Fortunately, Kreacher had swiftly brought her hot chocolate to help with her ruined taste buds.)
Nova spent her afternoon playing wizarding chess with Kreacher as Norma and Petra, bored out of their minds after the first few plays, decided (or rather, Petra decided and Norma followed) to slide down the bannisters and draw mustaches with Colour-Changing Ink on the more forgotten portraits, leaving behind a hallway of screaming Black ancestors and angry carpets that kept trying to eat them, to no avail.
In the evening, Mother and Father declined to attend dinner, presumably because they didn’t want to deal with the children, and Petra bullied Kreacher into letting them eat pie AND cake. Wild.
Dearest Petra, Regulus wrote, I hope your lessons have been well. I know that you have many grievances with Miss Rowle, but you must understand that respecting your elders (despite your every attitude since birth, he thought) is a cornerstone of our noble blood and upbringing.
Now, about the thing you wanted me to tell you about, the dueling club is currently operating under Everett Rosier, and he’s teaching me and twenty other Slytherins many curses that I’m sure you’d love to learn yourself once Bellatrix finds you fit for them. In fact, just the other day–
“Black, come here,” Fawley interrupted Regulus’ musings to his sister and waved to a seat on one of the emerald couches around the main coffee table in the Common Room. Not one to ignore his Prefect’s order, he sat down where he was indicated, next to Durian Avery and opposite to Ingrid Rowle, who shot him a knowing look. The other Slytherin students awake at that early hour were observing the Daily Prophet, which Regulus still hadn’t had the chance to do, and quieted when Fawley rose from her seat.
Fawley cleared her throat and began reading the main article.
“Fifteen Muggle-born wizards and witches found dead, assumed murdered. The mark of the group known as Death Eaters was found above their houses. The Auror Department has been called for investigation. Auror Parker, in declaration to the Daily Prophet, said that ‘the clear radical views of the political party known as the Death Eaters is beginning to show itself’.”
The group sat in silence, absorbing the information. Rosier’s grin showed that he had already known something about the attack beforehand, but he said nothing.
Nott, looking up from his own copy of the newspaper, spoke up. “So, it’s finally beginning? The Dark Lord will finally start taking credit for His movements?”
“How exciting!” said Daria Avery, grabbing her twin’s arm. “This must mean that the Ministry is far more in His hands that it seems.”
Fawley nodded and walked to an armchair, settling herself down. Rosier walked up to Fawley and sat on the armchair’s arm, crossing his legs and looking very smug. He made a show of taking off his cloak and unbuttoning his cuff links to reveal the Dark Mark tattooed in his arm.
There were oohs and aahs around, as they all exchanged hungry looks for Rosier’s good luck. Regulus took a copy of the Prophet of his own off the table and inspecting the article. Mother’s lectures about making the family proud and acting like a proper pureblood came to mind, as did Father’s lessons of politics. The Dark Lord was playing the winning game, and Regulus wanted to join Him and serve as well as he could. For a better world.
Petra’s face came to his mind. Petra, so young and so smart, who should live as a princess and not as a peasant like the mudbloods would have her as. Petra, who despite her rough edges had enough cunning and ambition and pride to last her a lifetime.
(And maybe Sirius would finally see reason and things would go back to how they were before he decided to abandon Regulus.)
Yes, Regulus would make the world a better place. And Rosier’s club was his ticket in.
Don’t worry about me, Petra, he later wrote. I will make something of myself in the club.
In the morning, Nova and Norma completely wiped out, Petra went downstairs to get a drink of water and maybe spy on Father’s daily muttering over the newspaper. She was very careful to not trip on her nightgown and give herself away, moving slowly, but as she climbed down the stairs, she heard Mother’s animated voice.
Now, this in itself wasn’t all that uncommon – Mother was, after all, a very loud and screamy person by nature. Petra was used to it, but her uneasiness was still there, and it justified itself when Bellatrix’s voice was heard in response.
Swiftly finishing the last few steps, Petra put a finger to her lips, shushing the drowsy portait of Phoebe Black, and pressed her ear to the drawing room door.
The conversation itself was a bit muffled, but Petra could still catch a few words.
“Death Eat… recompense… -lutely not!”, said Mother.
“Honour… spare anyways.” Bellatrix answered.
Mother sounded like she was about to curse someone, and Petra stepped back from the door in case she was caught in the crossfire. She hid behind a curtain just when Mother stormed out of the room, her wand sparkling in time with her huffs. Mother looked left and right, as if suspicious that someone was hiding somewhere, and then made her way deeper into the house, her footsteps heavy.
When Petra was sure that the rabid woman was gone, Petra Calliope peeked from behind the curtain into the open drawing room. Bellatrix stood there, fuming but somehow more controlled than Mother, and Father had put a calming hand on her shoulder. “Come now, Bellatrix,” he said. “If He so wishes,” (and it was odd, that Petra could feel the capital H in that conversation), “then we have no choice but to abide. Regulus shall join Him when it is his time. Walburga speaks much and orders more, but she forgets her place often. I am still the Lord of this House.”
Appeased, Bellatrix put her wand back inside her holster. With the movement, Petra could see the inside of her left arm, uncovered due to her short sleeves. There, a cool-ass tattoo of a skull with a snake was inked.
“Thank you, Uncle Orion,” Bella said. “I know that Reggie is Auntie’s favourite, but she ought to learn to share him.”
Father chuckled. “You know how Walburga gets with her things. You are much the same way, Bellatrix.”
“Am I now?”
Petra tried to follow Bella’s movement across the room, but she had sat down in one of the armchairs that wasn’t visible from the curtain she hid behind. Considering her options, Petra decided to sprint down to the wall next to the doorway and hide there, but when she left her hiding place, her foot caught on the curtain and she tripped and fell with a loud thud.
Father was on her in an instant, and he pinched his nose with a sigh. Bella, her wand out in pure reflex, relaxed at once when she saw the figure Petra was in and laughed. Not one to take lightly her injured pride, Petra quickly got up and pouted.
“Good morning, child,” said Father. “I suppose I better give you the news, since you’ll find out anyways.” Father sat down on his armchair and languidly lighted a cigar, offering Petra a seat on the couch next to him. After a couple of puffs, making sure that his daughter was settled and paying attention to him, He brought out the day’s newspaper and offered it to Petra.
Reading through the headlines, Petra’s face became more and more excited. Finally, the plot was starting! While she couldn’t recognize everything from her memories of the movies, it was enough to get the general gist of it – and plans started to bud inside her head.
Bella got up from her seat while Petra was reading the article and made her way to her young cousin, twirling her wand absentmindedly. “Good to see that you’re so excited, Petra,” she said, petting Petra’s hair in mock affection. “You will make an excellent warrior.”
Oh, Bella, you are so right, Petra thought, chuckling to herself.
Dear Reg,
Miss Rowle can still go suck on a lemon.
Signed,
Your wondrous, prodigious, perfect sister, Petra Calliope.
Notes:
watch me forget what happened before in my story in real time
hello i am still alive (somehow)
i have no idea how long it's been, lemme check
*checking sounds*
oh wow, over 2 months. i swear i thought it was longer than that
anyways, please enjoy my mess of a brainchild. i said i had an idea of where i was going. turns out im a liar lol my plan has now changed and im a mess
Chapter 15: Interlude III: Sometime before Narcissa's Wedding
Summary:
A conversation between Cissy and Petra.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The spider crawled up the wall, then found a spot where to start its web. The first strand met a corner of the chifforobe, then back at where it started. Petra followed the movement with her eyes, up, down, left, right, and left again. It was vaguely amusing, watching the creature trying to establish itself when she knew that Kreacher would just clean off the web and probably crush the spider.
Narcissa looked at the insect in disgust (and was that a little bit of fright?), sneering at it in that very Cissy-like expression. Petra Calliope looked from Cissy to her book and then the spider again, a fun idea coming to her mind. The toddler got up from the bed, throwing down the book to where she’d been sitting, ignoring Narcissa’s cries about it being priceless or something – it was a basic Transfiguration book, why did it have to be a first edition – and approached the eight-legged creature.
Extending her finger, Petra caught the spider in her hand, and used the other hand to keep it from crawling down her arm. She quickly walked back to the bed, where Narcissa waited, looking paler by the second. The older woman swatted away Petra’s hand as the girl tried to stick it in front of her face.
“No, Petra!”
Petra cackled, ignoring Cissy’s complaints. She decided to just sit back down, casually, shift herself closer to Cissy, casually, and bring the spider closer to the woman, casually. Narcissa got stiffer and stiffer until she finally got up, closing her book with a loud thud and getting as much distance from the insect as possible.
“Merlin, Cissy,” Petra said with a smirk, tilting her head in a way that would suggest innocence had she not worn that particular expression. “It’s just a teeny-tiny spider! I didn’t even do anything too bad!”
It was true, Petra had restrained herself. Although she could keep the creature for later, maybe for sliding it down Sirius’ shirt… It’d be funny seeing the oh so brave Sirius screaming like a little girl. She chuckled at the mental image.
Narcissa huffed in annoyance and turned to the mirror, trying to calm herself. She brushed strands of hair off of her face, and twiddled with her necklace, a green and gold necklace gifted by Luscious Locks presumably during the last day at Hogwarts. Petra threw the spider off her hand and got up to join Cissy by the mirror, dragging a chair until it was next to the bed and picking up the hairbrush from the vanity. Narcissa sat down and Petra climbed the bed, sitting on her knees, and doing her best to brush Cissy’s hair, which was, fortunately, far tamer than her own.
Petra’s reflection in the mirror kept changing according to the hairstyles it was suggesting to the two girls. Narcissa, in her status as a bride-to-be, was shown with sensible hairstyles that didn’t tie all of the hair up. Petra found herself portrayed with several hairdos that left her hair mostly tie-free, as the mirror had suffered much abuse at her hands for providing only cutesy pigtails. The object exhibited a large crack from the top-right to the lower-left from that one time that Petra threw a hairbrush, two heavy books and, she was pretty sure, one of those odious heavy rings that littered the House like dust.
“Do you ever wonder,” Cissy sighed, taking care not to move her head too much in case Petra pulled on her hair by accident (or not), “about the state of the world?”
“Not really,” Petra deadpanned.
“It’s clear, of course, that there are many things wrong with it.” Narcissa looked down at her engagement ring. “Lucius tells me that he wants to build a better future for our children, and Bella… She’s always tried to get us to our rightful place. But then they ask me to do the same thing, and I – I don’t think I can do it.”
Petra hummed, noncommittally. Cissy didn’t really seem to hear, though, too absorbed in her own thoughts.
“Andy– she always said that we Blacks didn’t have to do it, but every day more and more is lost, and I know it, and yet every time I try to face any creature and put it out of its misery, I just can’t do it!”
As she kept brushing, Petra Calliope watched Narcissa still her trembling hands, little by little, until the woman regained her composure. Cissy looked through the mirror and found Petra’s reflection, dark hair in unruly locks being shown in a neat braid and grey eyes looking down at the hairbrush.
“You look so much like Bella…” she whispered.
When Narcissa finally left, hair brushed to oblivion, Petra Calliope found the spider walking along the floor, oblivious to the larger world around it, just waiting until the day Kreacher would find it. She raised her foot and threw it down, smearing the spider left and right just to make sure. A dark splatter was left staining the wood, and Petra found herself feeling satisfied.
Notes:
having a bit of a block at the moment, so here's something i wrote a while ago and found now that i was looking through my files.
Chapter 16: The Issue
Summary:
Druella Black is dead.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
November came with the sudden and mysterious death of Aunt Druella. A tragic loss, wrote the Daily Prophet, for a family as affluent as the Blacks. After the arrival of the newest edition of the newspaper with Uncle Cygnus’ letter (that was burnt before Petra could get her hands on it), the tone of the Black House shifted as Father spent much time in correspondence with the Rosiers, stuck inside his office, and Mother muttered angrily when she wasn’t out doing whatever she was doing. Petra had to deal with increasingly stricter etiquette lessons, as Mother kept correcting the smallest details and insisting on learning obscure ways to pour tea.
Petra’s other tutors came as a breath of fresh hair, even Miss Rowle, who seemed to ease up somewhat after Aunt Druella’s obituary was published. She even taught Petra the Verdimillious Charm, a nice change of pace after a year of theory.
Bella, on the other hand, had seemed somewhat perturbed by her Mother’s death. Understandable, Petra thought, but she also found it rather difficult to reconcile with the somewhat cartoonish image she had of Bella.
Regardless of Aunt Druella’s death, Bella still taught Petra as fervently as before, or perhaps even more. She seemed to double down on the propaganda, though.
Three days after the obituary, Kreacher dragged Petra out of bed at what seemed to be midnight and put her in itchy black robes before dragging her away to the fireplace in the drawing room. Such was the quickness of his actions that Petra didn’t even have time to shove the stolen wand inside her dress. Mother was similarly dressed, tapping her fingers on a dark wooden high table, while Father lighted a cigar and puffed its purple smoke nervously. Upon seeing their daughter entering (being dragged by Kreacher) into the room, Mother quickly set her hand on Petra’s shoulder (and boy oh boy did Petra stiffen immediately) and took Father’s arm before stepping into the green flames.
After a nauseating trip, Petra sneezed upon reaching whatever their destination was. Mother and Father simply walked on, Petra having to go with them thanks to Mother’s grip on her shoulder. She found herself in the middle of a large, airy parlour room, much of its furniture having been covered with white sheets and the simple, unadorned armchair on a corner being occupied by a decrepit old man. He had chin-length white hair, a frizzly beard, and features that spoke of a beauty once held that had wrinkled away. Besides him, stood a trembling and ancient Elf, holding a silver tray with a single tea cup.
Mother approached the man in large steps, letting go of Petra as she did so, and made a shallow curtsy.
“Father,” she spoke.
But the man – Grandfather Pollux, if Petra remembered correctly – made no sign of having heard Walburga, and kept fiddling with the ring that adorned his hand. Mother sighed.
“Still as senile as always, I see. Elf!” she turned to the trembling creature. “Call my brother. The Head of House has arrived.”
The poor Elf seemed even more unsettled before disappearing with a loud pop.
In the meantime, Father had decided to go smoke in another dusty corner of the parlour, filling the entire room with purple smoke. Mother looked disapprovingly at her husband, but did nothing more than shake her head and take Petra’s hand, more gently than she usually did, and bring her in front of Pollux.
“Father, this is my daughter, Petra Calliope,” she said.
Unsurprisingly, the old man did not react, but Mother seemed satisfied either way. She turned back to Father and whispered to him about something and the other, while Petra was left in front of Pollux.
Petra squinted at the old man, wondering what to do. When he showed no sign of life, she tried making a face at him. No reaction. Curiously, she wondered if he’d react to touch, and squished his cheeks.
Pollux did nothing.
Huffing her cheeks, Petra mentally declared Grandfather Pollux a bore and wandered off to explore the rest of the dusty parlour, not before peeking at Mother and Father to make sure they were still embroiled in their conversation. Petra raised a sheet or two, just to find the typical ostentatious (even if used and somewhat antiquated for pureblood standards) furniture. The portraits in the wall opposite to the grand window were torn and some even unmoving, but Petra could still recognise some of the people depicted – it was clear that either these ones or the ones at the Black House were replicas. Ursa Black even sent her the typical Ursa glare that accompanied her ugly mug every time that Petra slid down the corridor in her underwear and still-wet hair, Kreacher screeching after her.
The tension in the room was cut when the flames in the fireplace once more turned green, revealing Cissy and Luscious in dark, modest robes. Cissy greeted Mother and Father and then dragged her husband to stand near Pollux, grief written clearly on her face. Luscious Locks, on the other hand, seemed uncomfortable in general. His face showed some sign of relief when he saw that no one was paying attention to him (except for Petra, but Locksies seemed to be the kind of asshole who didn’t count children as people).
A knock on the door startled Petra, before Uncle Cygnus opened the door, the shaking Elf behind him, and walked into the parlour with the pallor of a dead man. Stressed as fuck, Petra thought. Mother promptly walked towards him.
“Are the Rosiers here yet?” she asked, strangely demurely.
Cygnus nodded and consulted his wristwatch. “Bellatrix said she’d arrive in a quarter, and the boys should be coming soon. But we can start moving to the mausoleum now.”
Petra stole another glance at Grandfather Pollux as he was wheeled out of the room by the Elf (turns out his chair was actually a wheelchair of some sorts), while Mother squeezed her shoulder in a silent warning to behave. Not wanting to poke a nest of wasps when it was clearly already on edge, Petra didn’t offer any resistance as everyone exited the room and made their way down a dusty corridor.
Unlike in the parlour, the corridor had heavy curtains that covered whatever light the break of dawn could give. The twilight had been enough before, but now Father and Luscious took out their wands and cast a silent Lumos, the light blinding the people in the portraits, who took to covering their eyes with their hands. Upon reaching a large staircase, Petra noticed a large tapestry that covered the wall. It was an identical copy of the tapestry at Grimmauld Place, except much rattier. She also noticed it stopped in Phineas Nigellus’ generation, to the point that it didn’t even have Sirius the first’s death date.
“Mother,” Petra whispered to Walburga, “is this the Ancestral House?”
Walburga looked annoying but still nodded. Squeezing Petra’s shoulder, she brisked up her pace and took her daughter quickly down the stairs to a grand hall that had clearly seen better days. On a table covered with a black cloth, laid a closed coffin.
Once Cissy, the last in line, descended the stairs, the door to a side room was opened. From there came half a dozen or so people, all blonde with varying eye colours. Petra recognized Lord and Lady Rosier from the genealogy classes, and the older man with a frown similar to Aunt Druella’s was probably her brother Herbert. He glared at Uncle Cygnus and huffed.
Father came to Lord and Lady Rosier and offered his consolations, all very formal and proper. Cissy hiccupped a little whenever she laid her eyes on the coffin, and Luscious awkwardly tried to comfort her. Mother stood off a couple of meters from Father, looking up the stairs.
The awkward silence remained for a few moments until Bellatrix arrived, accompanied by Regulus, quiet in her shadow, and Sirius, who looked distinctly unhappy with being with her. Petra shook of Mother’s weakening hold on her and ran off to Reg, who offered her his hand once she was within reach. She gladly took it.
“I thought you were at Hogwarts?” Petra asked once the room started to be filled with light conversation.
Reg shrugged. “Mother asked the Headmaster to let us come to the funeral.”
“You could have written to me. I didn’t know a thing!”
“No one told you?” Regulus asked, bewildered. “Surely Mother had mentioned it?”
Petra furrowed her eyebrows and shook her head.
Uncle Cygnus appeared from yet another side room, this time with a Ministry official. The official, dressed in ugly purple robes that were not at all appropriate for the situation at hand, adjusted his half-moon glasses that kept slipping down his nose before clearing his throat. He spoke in a scratched voice.
“We stand here today to part with Druella Helena Rosier Black, who shall lay in the House of her choice. Pray for her with your wands, so mote it be.”
With those words, every adult present rose their wands together to lift the coffin. The official, picking up his own wand, vanished the table under the coffin before lifting a smooth stone slab, revealing a large space under it upon which the coffin was then lowered. After sliding the slab back into place, the official engraved Aunt Druella’s name upon it.
Petra stood silent, observing the people as she held Reg’s hands. Sirius stayed in the back of the crowd, fidgeting with his crooked collar, very obviously missing his tie. He noticed that Petra was looking at him and promptly glared at her before looking away. Mother held her wand with a white-knuckled grip, stealing occasional glances at Uncle Cygnus, who looked dead inside, although occasionally he’d see Herbert Rosier’s hateful glares and paled even more.
The people dispersed after the ceremony, speaking softly with each other, but Uncle Cygnus promptly escaped the hall. Petra was about to start a conversation with Reg until she noticed Herbert Rosier swiftly following her Uncle. Curious, she let go of Reg and ran off after them.
The two men took a cramped corridor that got increasingly tighter as Petra went through it. She couldn’t keep up with them with her short toddler legs, and after a turn or the other, Petra Calliope found herself lost in an unfamiliar house with no wand and no one to call. There was an oppressive feeling in the air, like that of the cursed items that Mother kept locked up in display cabinets, and it crept through the walls.
Petra was scared, but she had little choice but to move forward, otherwise she’d lose whatever was about to happen.
She walked for a few minutes until she heard a shout and spell blasts coming from a room. Petra walked up to it as silently as she could before peeking through the opened door. Inside, Herbert Rosier and Uncle Cygnus stood front in front, wands turned towards each other. Rosier seemed to be snarling at Uncle Cygnus, who’s raised a shield. Scorch marks littered the space around the two, and Rosier seemed to be sporting a nasty bleeding cut on his wand arm.
“Are you rational now, Herbert?” said Uncle Cygnus, looking down at Rosier with scorn. “You’ll never win this fight, run and live another day.”
Rosier scowled.
“And let you pretend that Druella died of some disease? I know what you did, Black. You killed her! You killed Druella because she spoke to that blood traitor daughter of hers!”
“Don’t speak like you haven’t killed your own sister Rosetta for marrying a Muggle.”
“But Druella didn’t! She was trying to bring Andromeda back!”
Uncle Cygnus sighed and closed his eyes. “You’ll go home, Herbert. You’ll go to sleep and you’ll wake up tomorrow and you’ll realize that you are being an idiot. Druella had been sick for a while. We kept it a secret because of the press.”
“If you think you can just-!”
“Shh…” Uncle Cygnus dispelled the shield and quickly shoved Rosier to the ground, paralysing him with a spell. “You’ll be alright. Imperio.”
Rosier’s eyes glossed over. He blinked once, twice, before Uncle Cygnus stood up and let him lift himself up. Rosier embraced him rather mechanically before walking towards the exit of the room. Petra quickly hid herself in the shadows before Rosier could see her.
Petra could hear Uncle Cygnus’ steps from her hiding place. With bated breath, she watched him walk past the door and back towards the hall, but Petra’s little baby lungs betrayed her at that moment and she squeaked suddenly, attracting the man’s attention to her general direction. She suddenly felt a hand covering her mouth and another bringing her further into the shadows, and panicked until she managed to turn around in the person’s grasp and recognized Reg. Regulus lifted his hand from her waist and lift a finger to his mouth in a gesture to stay quiet.
Uncle Cygnus scanned the shadows, but he could find nothing, so he kept heading towards the hall. Once they could no longer see or hear him, Reg dropped his hand from Petra’s mouth.
“What were you thinking?!” he demanded. “You can’t just run off like that!”
Petra shrugged. “I wanted to see what was going on. It seemed interesting.”
“Petra, you can’t just-” Regulus sighed and ran a hand down his face. “You could have been in danger.”
“I just wanted to have fun!”
“Well, the world doesn’t work like that!” Regulus shouted.
Petra opened and closed her mouth a few times, but no sound would come out. She didn’t think she’d ever heard Regulus shout before, not even after her millionth prank.
Reg fell down on his knees, holding her shoulders delicately. He looked at her eyes and Petra couldn’t recognise the strange look he held.
“Petra, the world is dangerous. If you keep doing this, one day you will anger someone you shouldn’t have angered and it will end very badly for you. Please be more careful. And if you really must, don’t get caught.”
Petra nodded, frightened. Reg smiled weakly at her and brought her in to a hug.
“Please, please be safe.”
Notes:
Yo~
Sorry for not updating since September. Bunch of stuff happened.
ANYWAYS hopefully i'll be able to update more frequently lol
Chapter 17: Sinners, Saints
Summary:
War on the horizon and petty politics.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Regulus still hadn’t freed Petra’s hand from his tight grasp, even after (or especially after) Mother’s glance at the two of them once they returned to the hall.
She stuck closer to him when she saw Uncle Cygnus come out from some side room, talking with some Rosiers. Regulus squeezed her hand, and moved back to where Father was.
Petra let herself look back for one more second before she met Uncle Cygnus’ eyes, and then turned to the slab on the ground where Aunt Druella laid under.
Regulus and Sirius went back to Hogwarts at the end of the day, followed by Everett Rosier, who’d apparently also attended the funeral. Petra could vaguely recall a blond boy shadowing Denella Rosier, Herbert Rosier’s wife. If Petra went farther back on her memory, she could remember a few mentions of an Everett Rosier tutoring Reg.
Wasn’t Everett Rosier the one who ran the dueling club in Slytherin?
Regardless of who the Rosier boy was, truth was that Petra’s own dueling lessons with Bellatrix got put on hold indefinitely, for reasons that Mother and Father did not see fit to share with their three-year-old daughter. Even when Petra wrote to Reg, she didn’t obtain answers.
I don’t know why Bella isn’t teaching you anymore, he wrote. But I do know that Bella hasn’t been doing much at all – at least when it comes to public appearances.
So, no answers beyond idle gossip from bored people.
Early January, 1975, proved itself to be cold and unforgiving, much like the news that the Daily Prophet reported. The disappearance toll had slowly begun to rise, with notable figures slowly going missing.
Father and Uncle Cygnus convened frequently in Father’s office, and Mother tightened her grip on Petra, forcing her into more etiquette lessons now that she had more free time.
Sirius’ pranks and disgraces had also begun to grow in frequency, and with them, so did letters from his Head of House and Headmaster, which increased Mother’s general displeasure.
Petra knew not to poke a wasp’s nest, so she calmed down a little on the pranks.
(Sirius had still gotten a jinxed letter for Christmas, when he did not deign himself to attend.)
A cold Saturday morning in that January had found Petra in the unusual position of being with Father – or, rather, of Father requesting Petra to accompany him. It began with Petra running into Orion when she was running down the hall after messing with Kreacher and stealing his knife from him.
Father had promptly grabbed her from the scruff, to which Petra responded by immediately squirming.
“What are you doing, child?” Father asked, face scrunched up in confusion, and, miraculously, some amusement.
Petra made her best innocent face.
“Nothing…”
“Are you bothering the Elf again?”
“Kreacher needs to know to be on his toes.”
Orion Black laughed, actually laughed. “I suppose so! It wouldn’t do to have it being inattentive. Regardless-,” Father swiftly removed the knife from Petra’s hands, “you should not be running around with a knife. Your mother would get into a tizzy.”
“Mother isn’t in the House today, though?”
“No, she isn’t.”
Father finally let Petra go, and then gave her a slight smile. “You are very much like your mother, did you know?”
Petra frowned. “Like Mother?
“Oh, yes!” Father gently took Petra’s shoulder and guided her to the drawing room. “Walburga was quite the ruckus-maker when she was younger, much like you and Sirius, in fact. Regulus takes more after me, he reminds me quite a lot of my own sister Lucretia, but you… You are your mother’s daughter, Petra Calliope.”
Petra didn’t like the comparison.
“Your eyes are all mine though,” Father said. “Your brothers – they have Walburga’s eyes, but you don’t.”
She wondered where Father was trying to get at. It wasn’t a lie to say that this was one of the longest conversations she’d ever had with her Father. Surely, something was up.
But, as Petra was led into an armchair and Father sat on another, the Daily Prophet opened and being perused over, Petra could find no “something” other than… Father wanting to spend time with her.
How odd.
“Do you know why Altair the Black had his daughter go to Scotland, child?”
Petra did know – Mother’s lessons had forcibly ingrained themselves into her brain.
“Because an augur warned him that his lineage would fall if they remained in Rome – so they moved.”
Father closed the newspaper. “Correct. But what your mother was never taught was that Altair himself actually never went to Scotland. Do you know why?”
Petra shrugged. She’d never been taught that. Mother had been the one to teach her lineage, after all, and if she didn’t know that detail, then neither did Petra.
“We fathers do everything for our children,” Father said, crossing his legs. “We know only what Altaira was told of the augur’s prophecy, but would not Altair the Black conceal the truth to his daughter if it meant she would leave him and be saved?”
“I don’t understand,” she frowned.
Father smiled. “Fathers do the best for their children. Sometimes, the child might not know why, but they must accept that their father knows what’s best.”
“…?”
Father sighed and uncrossed his legs, and, after a pause, spoke:
“I want you to accompany me today, child.”
Dear Reg,
Father had me go with him today. We began by going to the Ministry, and you won’t believe the silly robes the Wizengamot has to wear-
Iola’s portrait hummed a tune while Petra read through the One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. The child was laying on her stomach, right on top of the carpet, kicking her feet back and forth.
Petra had smuggled a bunch of old rags to clean Iola, as well as the hidden room she was in, when Kreacher hadn’t been paying attention. It’d taken a few good scrubs to deal with most of the dust, but the portrait was still quite dirty. The walls and the portraits cut in ribbons hadn’t fared much better either, but it wasn’t as bad as it’d been before.
What she wouldn’t give to be able to order Kreacher to clean for her! But Petra knew that the Elf would report to Mother immediately, and she would be in the biggest mess she’d ever been, for talking with the bloodtraitor, and doing so frequently.
(-don’t get caught, sister-)
So, no Kreacher to help Petra clean, and also no Mother bothering Petra in that particular day, hence why Petra was studying Herbology rather than dining etiquette, or genealogy, or Astronomy (because the Blacks always needed an excuse to make their children memorize the names of stars).
Iola would sometimes comment on an herb or the other, or reminisce of her time at Hogwarts, and Petra would read Regulus’ latest letter aloud, at least the funny parts.
At the moment, however, Iola had taken to quizzing Petra on the book.
“What plant is Stinksap extracted from?”
“Mimbulus mimbletonia,” Petra muttered.
“And in which potions can it be used?”
“Erghh…”
Truth to be told, Petra didn’t have much of an interest in either Herbology or Potions, but Mother’s newfound strictness in Petra’s education meant she couldn’t just skate by with a barely passable grade anymore.
Besides, Miss Bobbin still hadn’t taught Petra a single potion (besides the effects some plants could have on them), which didn’t exactly endear her to her lessons. Still not as bad as Miss Rowle, though.
Iola smiled nonetheless, and simply offered a few answers.
Dear Petra,
Apologies for not writing last week, the Professors have kept us quite busy with quizzes lately.
Ingrid Rowle asked me to thank you for the gifts you sent her sisters for their birthday. Apparently, Norma and Nova are sad that you weren’t allowed to attend their party, but still loved the chess board-
Dear Reg,
Mother and Father are still keeping me mostly inside, but Father sometimes takes me to the Wizengamot when he sees I’m too idle. Right now, though, I’m confined to my room since Mother caught me swapping Father’s ink with Super-Blotch-
Dear Petra,
I’ve written to Father, and he’s agreed to take me on this weekend’s Wizengamot session as well. We should meet at Hogwarts after you go through the Floo system.
Your brother,
Reg.
On Wednesday, Father had Petra sit on his office while he worked and she reviewed her star charts. In between constellations and paperwork, he’d interrogate Petra on lineage.
“Edna Dolohov’s maiden name.”
“Edna Fawley.”
“And the Fawley’s other major marriage alliance?”
“Goyle, through Francisca the second cousin of the Lord.”
“Good, your mother hasn’t skimped out on your education. So, if we’re dealing with the Dolohovs, why should we be careful?”
Petra kept the smirk contained thanks to Mother’s lessons. “Andromeda. They’d go against the Blacks because of her.”
“And who else would side with them?”
“The Fawleys.”
Father looked up from his papers and stared at Petra with his grey eyes. “And not the Goyles? Or the Rosiers, who are also related to the Dolohovs?”
“Aunt Druella was a Rosier,” Petra said, mind going back to Uncle Cygnus cursing Herbert Rosier, “they’d be better off siding with the Blacks since she married into a more powerful House than the Dolohovs. She was also from the main line, while Tirania Rosier Dolohov was from the cadet branch.”
“Correct. And the Goyles?”
“Malfoy has a grip on them. They’d sooner follow him than Dolohov.”
“Not exactly wrong. They would go against Abraxas if their trading interests are threatened. So, how do you think this session will go?”
Petra considered the subject. Father would try to pass a restriction on the creation of Wizengamot seats. There was a section of them that was inherited, and, as such, had fallen into the hands of powerful families, but the other section was composed of certain Ministry employees, the Minister themselves, the Chief Warlock, and honorary members that had performed great deeds. It was exactly those last ones that Father was trying to encroach on – since it’d became clearer that war was on the horizon, two muggleborns had been granted an Order of Merlin, Second Class, for staving off Death Eaters and were liable to become a part of the Wizengamot.
“Lord Dolohov will oppose it out of spite for the Blacks, and Fawley will follow,” Petra considered. “Malfoy will go for us, and Rosier too, but Goyle has that daughter that got an Order of Merlin for… a potion?”
“Yes, Helen.”
“So, unless Goyle wants to lose power, he’ll also go for Dolohov. The other Houses are pretty much neutral.”
“Not quite, child. Although the Goyles would lose their daughter, though, Abraxas has gone to them. They’ll follow him.”
Petra scrunched her nose. “I had no way of knowing that!”
“Politics is often shrouded in darkness, child,” Father laughed. “You never know who has made a deal with whom until you’re on the battle ground.”
Both Reg and his Head of House stood from their armchairs when Petra and Father emerged from the fireplace. The office she found herself in was light in colour, thanks to the stone that made the walls, but the single window was covered in heavy green velvet, a crack letting only a sliver of light through. The room itself was illuminated via a large crystal chandelier. Various moving photographs decorated elaborately carved cabinets and the plain walls.
“Ah, Lord Black!” exclaimed Slughorn, the Head of Slytherin. “Such a pleasure, such a pleasure to meet you again! It’s been such a long time since you were mine own student.”
“Professor Slughorn,” Father nodded.
Slughorn turned to Petra. “And this much be your youngest? You look quite a lot like your mother, little Miss.”
For fuck’s sake why does everyone think that?
“Thank you,” answered Petra once she saw Reg’s look in her direction.
“I do hope this hasn’t been an inconvenient to you, Professor,” Father smileed. “This year has been so tumultuous; I simply must begin preparing my children.”
“Of course! Any good parent would do the same, I’m sure. Quite strange you wouldn’t also call for your eldest, I must admit…”
“Sirius does not have the temperament for the Wizengamot, I’m afraid.”
Slughorn laughed. It was a nervous sound.
“Oh, that boy… His Sorting was such a surprise.”
“Quite. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”
Reg walked towards the fireplace as soon as Father said the word. Slughorn stammered his approval immediately as well, but it was clear that his approval would not be necessary either way.
Petra grabbed the edge of Reg’s deep green robe, and he gently laid his hand on her shoulder and smiled down to her.
When they disappeared into the fire, Petra leaned into Reg.
Notes:
Hello! I'm not dead!
So what happens if you have a mental health crisis on and off for years and a bunch of writer's block crisis? A year with no updates! Sorry about that.
(I'm better if you want to know. Medication does help a lot.)
I can't promise not to disappear for another year, but I'll try!
Chapter 18: Child of Orion
Summary:
The Wizengamot, Arctus, and Bellatrix.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Not for the first time since Father had begun to take Petra with him to the Wizengamot, Petra found herself admiring the Ministry of Magic’s Atrium. It was a large space covered in dark green tiles, height spanning several stories, and banners with Minister Jenkins’ face hung from large columns that sustained a large metallic dome structure above the fountain.
From the fireplaces that lined the entrance corridor, several witches and wizards entered and exited constantly, green fire announcing their movements. Ministry employees stationed near them would demand identification before handing out either a visitor’s badge or welcoming their colleagues.
Auror Roland Blishwick quickly welcomed Father, Reg and Petra after Father spelled away the soot on their robes.
“Do tell the Minister that I wish to speak with her after the session, Blishwick,” Father drawled.
Blishwick, not one to stall, quickly spelled a memo that flew away into the Ministry, and accompanied the three Blacks through the Atrium.
As Petra passed the Fountain of Magical Brethren, she noticed Reg look at it. Tilting her head, she pulled weakly on his sleeve.
“What’re you looking at?”
“Nothing, don’t worry, Petra,” Regulus answered, his face straight and emotionless like how they were taught to keep it in public, but his eyes betraying his fondness. “How much of the Ministry have you already seen? Father has been taking you with him, after all.”
“Mostly the Atrium and the Wizengamot session rooms, but he’s met with the Minister a few times, and once we saw the Head Auror in his office! He’s got this scar on his face that he says a vampire once gave him!”
“I think Head Auror Denbright did once deal with a vampire colony about… five years ago?” Regulus rubbed his chin, walking in tandem with Father and Petra. “If it’s the same person, that might be how he got the scar.”
“That must have been it, then,” Petra hummed. She vaguely recalled Father calling him D-something.
When they reached the elevators, Blishwick made sure one was emptied before stepping aside for the three Blacks. Father entered first, and then Regulus and Petra followed, hand in hand. When the doors closed, Level Nine marked as their destination, Father chuckled at the image of his two children.
“Come here, child,” he beckoned Petra forward, and then picked her up. At three, Petra was just on the edge of being perhaps too heavy to pick up like that, and she didn’t particularly like being treated like a child either, so she wiggled a bit. Father took on a serious expression. “Calm,” he ordered her, and Petra stilled.
The door opened to the black-tiled corridor of Level Nine. Father and Regulus stepped out, Reg just half a step behind, arms crossed behind his back. At the end of the corridor, a plain door stood – the entrance to the Department of Mysteries. Petra had never been there, and while she did want to see whatever mysteries were kept there…
That door always seemed… off, somehow. She couldn’t help but fell a shiver run down her spine.
To the left of the door, there was a flight of stairs. Going down, a dungeon-like corridor led to the Courtrooms. Several witches and wizards waited outside of, entered, or exited Courtroom Four – where most of the usual Wizengamot session were held, due to its larger size. Journalists had impromptu interviews in corners. A few memos flew in, rushing above heads.
Father smiled diplomatically at acquaintances as he walked past them. At the entrance, leaning against one of the two big doors open towards the Courtroom, Abraxas Malfoy waited, occasionally coughing into a handkerchief.
When he noticed Father, Malfoy stood straight and fished two cigars out of his robes, one of which Father took without question. Malfoy smiled at Petra, who he’d seen in most of the other sessions that Father had taken her to, and raised an eyebrow when he spotted Reg.
“Your second son, correct?”
“Yes, Abraxas,” Father answered, puffing purple smoke into the air. “Children need to learn at some point. Is Lucius here today to watch as well?”
“Ah, no, no,” Malfoy chuckled, “that boy has been far too busy with the Malfoy investments and his new companions. Not to mention dear Narcissa’s company.”
Petra thought that Luscious probably just spent his days with Cissy, given how disgustingly in love they seemed to be at times.
“At least he seems to have found his faith. It’s good to see him devoted to something.”
Malfoy sighed, a tiny, wispy, translucent purple smoke dragon escaping his nose. “Merlin knows how long it took to convince the boy. Bastilla had to ask a few of her Yaxley cousins – you remember Eddol’s son, Corban? Well, after he took Lucius out with him, the boy fell in line pretty quickly.”
Petra, not wanting to hear more of Luscious, let her gaze wander onto the people around her, all while making sure she had a tight enough grip on Father’s robes.
The group of four walked into Courtroom Four, Abraxas Malfoy and Father still talking, and Petra found the Wizengamot awash in plum-colored robes with embroidered M’s in silver, as well as robes in sober colours, much like Reg’s deep green robes and Petra’s dark grey. The seats reserved to the members of the Wizengamot stood above the plaintiff, a stair-like disposition allowing vision for all attendees, and several smaller chairs had been allocated for the visitors and journalists. As they entered from below, Petra got a good vision of those who had already sat down on their own seats.
Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore was one of them.
Dumbledore’s appearance was unusual, as far as Petra could tell. He also had Hogwarts to deal with, and some other role in the ICW, so random Wizengamot hearings weren’t that high-priority for him. But even the Chief Warlock couldn’t avoid his position forever, so Dumbledore would just appear sometimes, at least to stop people from complaining too much.
Or so had Father told her, after a few too many cigars in his office. Petra got the impression that Orion Black did not like Dumbledore very much.
Petra, on the other hand, did like Dumbledore very much, and seeing the man for the first time was exciting as balls. Squeezing around in Father’s grip as he ascended the stair to his seat, Petra watched Dumbledore’s silver hair glint in the light as he read some reports and spoke with Minister Jenkins.
When Father sat on his seat, Malfoy having gone off to his own place, Dumbledore turned around for a moment and his gaze swept the people who’d already sat down. Petra held his gaze for half a second, and then watched as he looked at Regulus, sat in a little ornamental chair next to Father.
Reg looked back, his face stone cold.
When Father had deemed Petra’s squirming too much, he harshly grabbed her arm. “Quiet down,” he hissed. Petra inhaled a sharp breath, the sudden pain making her still. She sat down on Father’s lap properly, rubbing her now-free arm.
When Father absentmindedly pat her on the head, Petra had to contain an angry growl.
Well, that was bullshit, Petra thought. Father’s predictions on the Order of Merlin thing were mostly correct – it got passed because Rosier sided with him and Malfoy. It’d really gotten down to that one vote. About half the Wizengamot went against it, either to be against them (Dolohov) or against the proposal itself, and the other half did the opposite.
It was incredibly fucking boring, though. Father had kept an eye on Petra the whole time, even after he’d passed her to Reg.
Now back at Grimmauld Place, Reg sat down with Petra, reading one of Mother’s fashion magazines over Petra’s shoulder that she’d swiped from Mother’s bedroom, while Petra herself drew moustaches on the complaining models.
“I don’t know why you wanted to go, Reg,” Petra said, chuckling at Harriet Bobbin’s curly moustache. “Besides Dumbledore coming, it was so boring.”
Reg chuckled, and messed with her hair. Petra turned up from the magazine to him and stuck her tongue out, blowing him a raspberry.
“I suppose it can be quite boring,” he said.
“Eh. Dumbies made it worth it, I guess.”
“Dumbies?”
Petra signed off another moustache. “Dumbledore is too big. And a stupid name.”
“I don’t think you should call the Chief Warlock that.”
“Either Dumbies, or he gets called Dumbles,” Petra quipped. When Francesca Viorino ran from the quill, she stopped and considered. “Actually,” she turned, throwing the magazine and quill onto the duvet and jumping onto Reg’s lap, “you can choose! Pick one!”
Regulus grimaced. “Dumbles…?”
“That’s an option, yeah. He can be Dumbles.”
“At least that’s it.”
“Nah. There’s also Dolohov, but I still haven’t come up with a nickname for him," Petra sprawled herself across Reg’s lap, stretching her arms. “He’s a nasty piece of work, alright. Father is sure that the old man won’t ever let go of Andy.”
Not that Petra Calliope cared about that – Andy was quite funny in her letters, and the Dolohovs were all fuckers anyways. But a happy Father meant that sometimes she could be excused from lessons, and that was always a good thing.
Reg laughed. “Piece of work! That’s a good way of putting it. He’s probably only being so stubborn because his wife can’t get over it. From what I’ve heard from Dinara Dolohov, even Antonin doesn’t hold a grudge against us anymore. You can’t blame a family for their bloodtraitors.”
“Father’s probably waiting for the day he keels over!”
Regulus smiles. “It would solve quite a lot for us.”
Grimmauld Place grew tenser around March. Mother stopped talking with Father when she realized he had no intentions of stopping bringing Petra with him to the Ministry, and since Father didn’t seem to care all that much, she found herself the target of Mother’s frustrations.
Etiquette lessons were still the staple, as was genealogy, but recently Mother had decided that every little mistake was worthy of punishment. A wrong angle of the wrist was worth a little jinx, and a bit of an attitude had Petra at the end of a beating.
Kreacher always patched her up afterwards, and Petra was quite sure that Mother held back on the blows, but it still hurt.
Not enough to not have Petra get revenge on the bitch. Usually by using her stolen wand to steal things from Mother’s room that would then “reappear” in the strangest locations, or by tying the hag’s shoelaces together to make her trip.
Good thing that Mother still hadn’t realized it was Petra.
Sometime in the middle of the month, Mother had Petra wear that engagement ring that Freya Carrow had sent her, hanging on a pretty golden chain around her neck. The blue of the gem contrasted against the mustard yellow dress that Kreacher put her in, and against the yellow ribbons that tied the tight braids her hair had been forced into.
Mother slapped her hand away every time that Petra tried to mess with her hair.
Through the fireplace in the drawing room, Madam Carrow and her son Arctus appeared. Right after them, an older man emerged from the green flames, his white hair making his light blue eyes seem darker than they were. Aether Carrow, the Lord of the House and Arctus's grandfather.
Mother greeted them, thinly disguised scorn aimed at Freya, and Father soon entered the drawing room, his purple smoke following him and his lit cigar. Kreacher had Arctus and Petra sitting down on one of the loveseats, and they watched in a bit of an awkward silence as Aether Carrow and Father fucked off to wherever, and Freya Carrow and Mother smiled bitchily at each other.
Arctus seemed to have grown since Petra had last seen him. He was seven years old now, and leaner than before. His fingers were stained with ink, presumably because of the lessons he’d been taking.
He still looked like he’d rather not be where he was. Petra could relate.
“We could sneak off, if you want?” she whispered to him.
“Mother would be furious,” he whispered back. “Yours would probably be as well.”
It wasn’t exactly wrong.
When Kreacher brought the tea tray from the kitchen, Petra could only sigh in relief.
Dearest Petra, Cissy wrote, her cursive handwriting accompanied by a faint scent of flowers, Lucius took me to Place Cachée. I saw a few dresses that I was so sure would fit you perfectly! They should arrive within the next few days of you receiving this letter. Not to worry, I have also sent a copy of the French magazine Transfigurátionnèlle, which you might even subscribe to when Aunt Walburga begins your French lessons-
The dresses were pretty, but as uncomfortable as usual. Petra wore one for dinner, though.
She did like the magazine.
As Petra was having Jus Fawley helping her translate the Transfigurátionnèlle, Mother knocked on the study door, and demanded an early end to the lesson.
Walking through the corridor leading to the stairs, Petra looked up at Phineas Nigellus’s portrait, scurrying along the frames leading to the first floor, and then back to Walburga.
“Is something happening, Mother?”
Mother grumbled under her breath about unruly children before answering. “Bellatrix is visiting. She has decided to keep certain information from her family – for what reason, I cannot possibly understand. Why would she choose to hide a pregnancy?! What a ridiculous thing to conceal! And to such an extent-!”
A pregnancy…? Out of all things, Petra had never thought Bella to be even slightly maternal. Oh, her cousin did enjoy her time around Petra, but it was certainly a mixture of having a protégée and someone to be condescending to. And Bella did always seem the type of person to categorically refuse to get pregnant, much less have a kid.
Going down the stairs, Petra heard animated talking through the drawing room door. She recognized Uncle Cygnus and Bella, and then a quieter voice, Cissy’s.
Arriving at the first floor, Mother looked over at Petra, took out her wand, using a spell to neaten Petra Calliope’s hair, and approached the drawing room.
She knocked twice.
When the door opened, the first thing that Petra saw was Bella, hair in wild disarray, holding a swaddled infant. To her side, Rod, her arm-candy husband, grinned.
“Welcome, welcome!” Bella laughed. “Petra, little cousin, come meet my Rigel!”
Notes:
thank you all for all your kind reviews!
here we start getting into truly canon-divergent material! i hope i can make all of it work eventually. i don't think i'm a particularly good writer, and i'm not trying very hard either lol, this is mostly written for fun, but if i can even get a few things done well, i'll be happy!
happy halloween (late unfortunately)!!!!
(Edit: I just noticed that I had all my works locked for some reason. They've been un-locked! Hopefully more people will read this! :D)
Chapter 19: New Blood
Summary:
Rigel Lestrange, Bellatrix Lestrange, and going back to normal. Kind of.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The little Rigel Lestrange portrait on the Tapestry had a dark tuft of hair atop his head and big brown eyes, just like Bella, and a silly pointy hat, like those that adorned every other portrait.
The little Rigel Lestrange on Bellatrix’s arms had his eyes closed and tiny little clenched fists.
Petra was vaguely aware that she wasn’t a normal child – she was, after all, the best person to ever grace the face of the planet, bar perhaps Regulus, and even beyond that, her situation was unusual to say the least – but seeing the baby in Bella’s arms was still a bit of whiplash. It behaved… normally. That was so strange.
Nova and Norma, the children that Petra wound up speaking the most with, were about a year and a half older than her, and even Arctus was four years older. Seeing someone younger was odd and felt wrong.
Would Rigel Lestrange be like Petra? The idea felt ridiculous, just like her entire situation was ridiculous, but it wouldn’t leave her mind all the same. What would happen then? Would this child get in her way, or force her out of theirs? Would they take Reg away from her somehow?
And this was Bella’s child to boot. Disregarding the fact that Petra Calliope thought that Bellatrix had no maternal bone in her body, the idea of the kid turning out like his mother was… unsettling, to say the least. At least he would turn out pretty, taking into reference Bella’s Helena Boham Carter face. Small blessings, if only to offset the possible congenital madness that runs in the Black family.
Reg liked children. He liked Petra, despite her getting into sticky situations more often than not. He would like Rigel Lestrange as well.
Would he be like the adults around her and fawn over Rigel while she was ignored?
Bella’s Rod snapped his fingers and called for an Elf named “Willy” (and Petra couldn’t even muster a chuckle at that, from how frowny her face was), and Bella handed the baby to the Elf, who bowed, despite having a two-kilogram bundle in its arms, and vanished with a pop.
“Ah,” Bella sighed, a smile on her face as she plopped herself down on a loveseat, her husband sitting down besides her. “Now that introductions are done, and my Rigel has been charmed into the Tapestry, we can talk properly.”
Mother scoffed. “I still cannot understand why you didn’t tell us, Bellatrix! We are family!”
“It would have been inconvenient if it got out that I was having a child. Especially with Mother’s track record with her own pregancies, I would have been susceptible to not only miscarriage, but also sabotage.”
“Which is why you should have come to us! Children these days, thinking they have to shoulder everything by themselves… Why, back in my day, the entire family would have banded around you and protected you! We would have done the same!”
“What is done is done,” Rod interjected. “Rigel is already born, there is no use dwelling in the what-ifs.”
“Exactly! House Lestrange has an heir, no matter if you agree with what we’ve done, Aunt Walburga,” Bella smiled. “Wasn’t that the entire point of our marriage? It doesn’t matter if this tradition was fulfilled or not, what matters is that good blood is flowing once more.”
Mother sighed. Father lit a cigar and sat on an armchair, a leg crossed on the top of the other one. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to write an announcement on the Daily Prophet?”
“Yes, yes, Uncle. I couldn’t trust Rod’s father to do so, poor Roderick is going cuckoo as we speak, so this responsibility would fall into your lap.”
Petra still stood by the Tapestry, but walked over to Bella and sat down on the carpet, ignoring Mother’s sharp looks at her misconduct. Bellatrix absentmindedly pat her hair.
“It would need the time of birth and full name, but we’ll send you a copy of the birth certificate, of course. Rabastan should be finishing it with the Ministry by now, he can bring it. You’ll talk to him, Rod?”
“Yes, of course, dear,” Rod answered.
Father puffed out a purple hippogriff and began to chew on the end of the cigar. “It’ll be the talk of polite society, I’m sure,” he said. “It’s been over twenty years since the Lestranges have had a new child. Hopefully, we’ll even get to see new branches flourish. Has Rabastan found someone to marry yet?”
“No, no,” Rodolphus shook his head. “Since Carolina Shafiq died of that awful Bolivian fever, he’s hardly thought to marry.”
“What a terrible shame,” Mother smiled sharply. “I’m sure there’s plenty of good witches that would be delighted to marry him. Why, my cousin Araminta has two daughters about his age!”
“I’m sure that Cordelia and Penelope Meliflua would be more than acceptable for your brother, dear,” Bellatrix smiled, ruffling Petra’s hair. “Speaking of marriages, little cousin, how is your little Arctus Carrow?”
“Boring.”
Bellatrix laughed, a full-bodied laugh that then calmed down into snickers. “I suppose that the son of that bore Arctus Senior would take after him.”
“At least the boy didn’t take after his detestable mother,” Mother sneered. “Who does that woman think she is, to behave the way she does!”
“It is the way for those born to blood traitors to believe themselves better than others,” Father said, still chewing on his now put-out cigar. “Even if that girl turned out better than her traitor parents, an Abbott is still an Abbott.”
“Well,” Bella pulled Petra into her lap, grinning at her all the while, “even if little Arctus is a bore, at least you won’t have to worry about him being an upstart. That’s why Rod and I work so well!”
“I feel flattered that you think of me that way, dear,” Rod sarcastically grinned.
“Oh, hush!”
Father uncrossed his legs and brought out his reading glasses, summoning parchment and a quill with a flourish of his wand. “I’ll be started on the notice, then. You should return home, Bellatrix. You’ll need the rest.”
“Nonsense!” she declared. “I am more than well rested. I must simply ask you to restart little Petra’s lessons next week.”
Petra Calliope shifted uncomfortably in Bella’s lap. Of course, the damned woman would want the lessons back! She had to think of some way to get out of them.
“Uh,” she mumbled intelligently, “but… won’t it hurt you? Cissy said that a witch that has been pregnant recently will have her magic haywire.”
Mother, somehow, came to the rescue. “Indeed! Haven’t you heard of the old wives’ tale? The lady who swishes in the waters-”
“Oh, please, Auntie. That tale has more nonsense than the pro-mudblood pamphlets at the Ministry! My magic is more than fine. I will soon begin my work again, and there is no reason for Petra to not continue her lessons. It would be such a waste! She has magical control unseen in a child so young, not to mention her incredible power level.”
“Petra might be a genius, Bellatrix,” Mother glowered, “but I will not have you raise her to be a sellwand. She is a child still.”
“Of course, Auntie, of course! I am not a monster that will bring a child of three to a battlefield.”
“If that is all that’s to be discussed,” Father interrupted, and Petra looked at him, having forgotten he was there, “the girl’s lessons shall begin next week then. Same time as previously, if possible. Walburga, I don’t know what nonsense you have in your head sometimes, but children naturally don’t have a place in any battlefield, not to mention a child of the House of Black.”
Bellatrix smiled triumphantly. “Excellent!” She turned her head down to look at Petra. “See, little cousin? We’ll be seeing each other again quite often. Perhaps I’ll even bring Rigel with me! And, if you still find your Arctus a bore,” she looked at Mother, who in turn raised a questioning eyebrow, “perhaps Rigel might be an alternative for a husband? I’m sure that he’ll be an agreeable boy, and Petra would still marry an heir of the Sacred 28.”
Oh shit, Petra Calliope thought. Being distantly related to Arctus and her parents being second cousins was already bad enough, and now Bella wanted her to marry her kid. Jesus Christ, these people needed God so fucking much.
Was she going to vomit?
Looking at Mother, she thought that vomiting wouldn’t be taken very well by the bitch, so she instead swallowed it down.
“There is no point to such a marriage,” Mother, miraculously, came to the rescue again. “Your marriage just joined our two Houses. It is far more advantageous to marry Petra to Carrow, despite Freya’s… personality.”
“What a shame,” Bella pouted, looping an arm around her husband’s. “And here I was, hoping to get to call little Petra my daughter. Oh, well.”
Dear Reg, Petra wrote, detailing the insanity of the family meeting she’d just been at. At around Bella’s proposal of marriage, Kreacher knocked at her door.
“Come in!” she shouted. The Elf appeared with a pop, and did a little bow, his large ears flopping with the movement. “What is it, Kreacher?” she asked, jumping out of the chair of her desk.
“Master is wanting to see Young Mistress,” Kreacher answered.
“Yes, yes,” Petra grabbed the letter, dotting the final i’s with the quill, and shoved it inside an envelope. “Have this sent to Regulus, and clean the desk. I spilled ink.”
Walking down the corridor and then down the stairs, Petra unearthed the stolen wand from inside her dress and cut a little smile into a desiccated Elf head that hung on the wall. Shoving it back in, she smirked and gave the head the middle finger. Elladora Black snubbed her nose at Petra from her portrait, and Petra gave her the stink eye.
When she reached the office, Petra knocked twice.
“Do come in, child,” Father’s voice sounded from the inside. Petra pushed the large door, glowing blue with a Featherlight Charm, grace of Father, so she could do so, and stood properly, arms crossed behind her back and her posture as straight as Mother had drilled into her. “Well,” Father chuckled, “are you going to be standing there all day? Come sit, dear.”
Petra smiled and ran to Father, all but plopping herself on his lap. He laughed, and offered her a biscuit. “Ginger,” he said, “I know you like these. Don’t tell your mother!”
“Thank you!”
Father chuckled, and then righted his glasses (they’d gotten slightly askew when she sat on his lap). He picked up his quill and continued writing as Petra busied herself with her biscuit.
Curious, Petra read what he was writing.
It is with the upmost joy that the Houses of Black and Lestrange announce the birth of Rigel Cassius Lestrange on the 12th of March, 1975-
“Cassius?” she mumbled. “Like Cassius Rosier?”
“I can only suppose Bellatrix named him after her grandfather,” Father said. “Rigel follows both Black and Lestrange traditions, it would be redundant for the boy to have Rodolphus or Cygnus as a middle name.”
“So, Regulus is also named after grandfather Arcturus?”
“Why, yes!” Father smiled. “Sirius was named after me, he’s Sirius Orion, but Regulus was named after my father. Your mother wanted his middle name to be Pollux, after your other grandfather. My father was still alive at the time, and he wouldn’t stand for it. It led for quite a many argument.”
“What about you, Father?”
“Oh, I am also Arcturus. My sister, your aunt Lucretia, was named Lucretia Belvina after a great-aunt that married into the Burkes. Your mother is Walburga Araminta, but that is because her own mother insisted on giving her a rather Crabbe name.”
Petra thought back on her genealogy lessons. “So, I am Petra Calliope because of the Calliope Black of 1749?”
“I suppose so. Your mother chose Petra because you took so long to be birthed, and I decided to give you a… kinder name in turn.”
Yeah, Petra could see that. Mother did tend to be quite the bitch.
Father went back to writing, and, after sending the notice off with Kreacher, began to sign papers and trivial correspondence with business partners and such. Petra had long finished her biscuit, and found herself rather bored.
She fell asleep before noticing the clock announcing five o’clock.
Dear Petra,
I may have found a solution to a problem that’s been bothering me for a while.
Do you think you could ask Bella to write to me?
Bellatrix promptly said yes at Reg’s request, laughing loudly and ruffling Petra Calliope’s hair. Petra used the ruffling to get rid of the ribbons that tied that day’s braids.
Going back to Bella’s lessons wasn’t as difficult or mortifying as Petra had thought. Sure, it involved disintegrating a lot of targets and occasionally becoming the target of a jinx, but the muscle memory was there. If anything, Petra quite liked the workout, even if it was shoved between propaganda sessions.
The second week in, Bella brought her Rigel, and showed Petra how to make fluid invade the target’s innards while holding the baby and smiling down at it.
Petra caught on that spell with remarkable speed, imagining something else all the while.
When Mother had decided on restarting the social calls, the first place she decided to take Petra to was the Rowle townhouse. Nova and Norma, Nova now sporting bright pink hair to contrast with Norma’s dirty blonde and uneven bangs, dragged her away to their bedroom, demanding a chess match with their birthday chess set.
The twins had grown good at chess, Nova especially. Petra knew they’d be excellent players by the time they hit Hogwarts.
Their eagerness to please Petra was endearing as well. It was honestly baffling that these two were related to that condescending piece of shit Miss Rowle. It was no wonder the woman never married, with a personality like that, who would want to be within six feet of her?
After two matches, despite the twins’ enjoyment, she found herself rather restless. Fidgeting with her stuffy dress, Petra opened her black robes and threw them on the floor, before standing on the bed, forgetting she still had her shoes on, and placing her hands on her hips.
“This is boring,” she declared, with all the haughtiness she saw Mother using when she wanted something. “Let’s go do something fun. Where’s your Elf?”
Norma called for it.
“Elf,” Petra said, “I want you to bring me a bottle of condiments. Ketchup, mustard, whichever! It doesn’t matter.”
“What’re we gonna do with that?” Nova asked, the chessboard forgotten.
“We are going to do a little switcheroo. A little razzmatazz.” Petra grinned, jumping off the bed and landing on the rug with a little oof. “How many bathrooms are there in this house?”
“Eleanor, dear,” Mother said, face pale with bewilderment, “what manner of soap do you have?”
She had red ketchup in her hands.
Petra giggled with Nova and Norma, hidden in a little nook in the stairs.
Oh, she was so going to tell Iola about this.
Notes:
I think I should probably mention that my sister Is Not Like This in real life lol. When I began this fanfic, it was to make fun of her a little, but Petra has evolved since then into a slightly sociopathic (psycopathic?) child. Again. My sister Is Not Like This.
Apologies for any possible typos. It took me a bit to regurgitate this out of my brain, and by the time I was done I couldn't bear looking at it any longer.
Thank you all for everything! Do tell me what you think, no need to be shy!
(I crave validation)
Chapter 20: Blackmoor Hall
Summary:
The beggining of Summer at Blackmoor Hall, a Black family meeting, and some toxic couple counselling.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The fun ended pretty early on, since it took only for Mrs. Rowle to call for the Elf for Mother to realize just who was responsible for her little predicament. She got quite red in the face while apologizing to Eleanor Rowle, which was quite funny, to be frank, but it also meant that Petra got a good spanking once she got back to Grimmauld Place.
It didn’t hurt all that much, to be honest. Sure, her ass and legs were red and sore for a day or so, but Kreacher brought soothing creams to rub on them and the pain mostly went away after sleeping it off. It certainly wasn’t as bad as that time that Petra stole a cursed amulet from a random cupboard and had her hands skinless for a night while the regrowing potion that Kreacher slapped on her worked.
The worst part was that Mother insisted on extra etiquette lessons, grumbling on and on and on about proper behaviour and not humiliating one’s own mother at social functions, all while forcing Petra Calliope to stand still in a proper posture, charmed into holding that position for about two hours. Mother even had Petra reciting Nature’s Nobility from memory after she got tired of complaining.
At least, all those lessons meant she remembered the book perfectly. The downside being, of course, that she knew just how many cousin marriages had happened in her own bloodline.
Iola laughed when she was told about the ketchup incident over that day’s edition of the Daily Prophet, and told Petra how her sister Elladora once made the House Elf deliver Marianne Lestrange, at the time her rival at Hogwarts, a cake baked with salt rather than sugar.
“Lestrange made this expression,” Iola scrunched up her face, displaying an immense amount of disgust, “but since the cakes were so small and she ate it all in one go, she couldn’t prove anything.”
“So, your sister got away with it?”
“Oh, absolutely not. Father knew right away that Elladora had something to do with it – she was never very good at lying. He didn’t say anything to the Lestranges, of course, but he sent Elladora away to Aunt Misapinoa for the rest of the Summer. Elladora hated it there. To be fair, Aunt Misapinoa was quite dull, and so was her husband.”
A shiver ran down Petra’s spine. “Do you think Mother might send me away to Uncle Cygnus?”
“Knowing your mother, child, it’s far more likely that she’ll keep you with her and punish you herself,” Iola chuckled. “Reminds me of my own mother. She was quite unyielding. Although she died when I was young, I can never forget the many times she had me bent over her knee or under her wand.”
“Mother will certainly live a long time, even if only out of spite,” Petra said. “Merlin knows she will outlive us all.”
With Easter break came Regulus, once more stepping off the Hogwarts Express with a neutral expression on his face while Slytherin classmates chatted around him (Petra saw Ingrid Rowle, blonde and brown-eyed, waving at Nova and Norma from across the platform), as well as Sirius, who, for once, did bother to attend the holidays with his family, his little group of sycophants chatting around him. Petra recognized Jimothy, so the other two should be the halfbloods that she remembered Mother harping about during her earlier years, back when Sirius’ behaviour was more of a shock than something to be expected of him.
The Platform had grown quieter throughout the years. Families took less and less time to leave it, and several muggleborns had either stopped having their families picking them up, or attending Hogwarts whatsoever, as Reg had mentioned in a few letters (always with a bit of disdain towards Gryffindors and Sirius in particular squirreling in the complaints about idiots). On the other hand, since Mother and Father had had some kind of agreement on returning things to somewhat normalcy, Mother had grabbed Petra, having forced her hair into those annoying and restrictive braids, and Father had dragged Uncle Alphard from whatever hole he’d been hiding in to pick up the boys together. The man had managed to slink off back to near the fireplaces as soon as Father and Mother grew distracted with the crowd and the Express, so Petra thought that insisting that he comes was useless.
And so, the three of them waited for the two Black boys amidst the sea of wizards and the occasional Muggle, and Petra watched Sirius say his goodbyes to his little group and prance towards his family, and Regulus then following him.
Sirius once more had his clothes askew and hair messy. Petra was beginning to think that he had a death wish. It certainly wouldn’t do him any favours during the family holiday they were all being forced to take this year.
Instead of taking the Floo Network back to Grimmauld Place as always, Father had decided to instead key in a Portkey to visit Blackmoor Hall, where Uncle Cygnus (and his family, before he murked Aunt Druella and their daughters were married off/disowned). Apparently, it was far more conducive to a family meeting than Grimmauld Place, since its rooms were not limited to the Muggle layout of the building (despite Grimmauld Place having been charmed into having several more rooms than physically possible. Petra had checked – after the fifth floor, it started to get into some headache-ensuing non-Euclidian geometry bullshit that Kreacher had to rescue her from if she spent too much time in it. At least Kreacher wasn’t a snitch all the time, otherwise she was quite sure that Mother or Father would punish her for it.)
Why they needed a family reunion, Petra had no clue. Whatever issues they had seemed to be either ignored (see, Sirius) or screamed at (Walburga’s whole thing). Perhaps Father had finally gotten tired of Mother sending random Howlers whenever they got reports of bad behaviour from Sirius, and now they were going to give him a good beating. Or, perhaps they were going to dump their kids on Uncle Cygnus and Uncle Alphard to go on a second honeymoon.
Ugh. Imagining her parents in love made Petra cringe.
As Sirius pranced towards Mother, Regulus discretely rolled his eyes at Petra, as if to say, ‘Look at what I have to deal with everyday at school’. Petra gave him a pained smile in commiseration, as if to say, ‘It’s about the same pain as living with Mother breathing down your neck, innit?’ to which Reg sighed and walked up to Father, who puffed his cigar distractedly.
Sirius smirked at Mother.
“Hullo, Mother!” he said, tilting his head so his fringe got out of his eyes. “Got the whole family, uh? What’s so important that even I got called back?”
“That is a matter that is best reserved for a private setting, Sirius,” Mother answered, narrowing her eyes in disapproval. Her face didn’t let up once she looked him up and down, noticing a Muggle T-shirt underneath his messy robes, but chose not to mention it, instead trying to keep a fuming expression under wraps. “Come now, Sirius, Regulus. Dear, do bring Petra with you? Alphard is back at the fireplaces again.”
Father picked up Petra with one arm while taking the cigar out of his mouth with his free hand. The group walked back to the fireplaces, where Alphard was standing, holding a silver comb with the crest of the Black engraved in it. Petra reflexively grabbed the ribbon holding one of her braids together and pulled.
“Calm down, child,” Father said, throwing away the cigar and grabbing her hand. “Your hair is to be neat today. You may run around with it dishevelled at another time.”
Petra scowled, which Father ignored in favour of nodding to Wilkes Sr, who had inclined his head when Father passed, his son Elias Wilkes, Ravenclaw, who was a year or two ahead of Petra’s brothers at Hogwarts, waving politely to Reg. From what Petra could remember, the Wilkes were part of the lesser pureblood families, and had some relevant role in the Black businesses. She vaguely recalled hearing Father drone on and on about the several investments that the House of Black had made throughout the centuries.
There was a reason why purebloods tended to be and to stay rich, after all. At least, if the didn’t insult the rest of the rich pureblood society, like the Weasleys had done about a century prior.
Uncle Alphard straightened up ever so slightly from his almost imperceptible slouch when the group finally joined him, smiling sharply first at Mother and then making a wide grin once he laid his eyes on Sirius and Regulus.
“Ah, lads! Good year, was it?”
“Yes,” Reg answered, adjusting his black and green robes, slightly askew from the trip.
“Better than the holidays, that’s for sure,” Sirius said as he messed with his hair. “At least at Hogwarts I get a break from Mother dearest.”
Mother frowned at him and pulled on his ear.
“Ow!” Sirius yelped as Regulus quietly snickered, now standing next to Father and glancing over at Petra, who sported her own grin.
“You were taught better than this, Sirius,” Father tutted. “Hm. Not to fret. We have the entire Summer to finally end your little… rebellion.”
“The old Arcturus method, I suppose, Orion? Merlin knows both you and Lucretia needed it during your childhood. Perhaps not as much as your son does,” Uncle Alphard chuckled, “but I do recall an old tale about a grimoire and a Squib?”
“Ah, yes. November of 1939, if I recall it correctly. Both Lucretia and I had some quite intensive lessons from our father,” he chuckled, looking amused at the memory. “Perhaps you still remember it, Walburga?”
“I was already at Hogwarts, so I don’t recall it. Perhaps I was told in some letter or the other.”
Sirius rubbed at his pained ear, looking annoyed and slightly anxious as Father chuckled. “This isn’t really the place for a conversation. We should be going,” he said decisively, watching the silver comb in Uncle Alphard’s hand begin to vibrate very slightly, “it is nearly time.” Father adjusted his grip on Petra as he crushed his cigar with his free hand, purple smoke emitting from it briefly. He then opened it back up, not even ashes remaining. “Would you do the honours, dear?” he waved towards Mother, who narrowed her eyes and huffed, stepping forward and landing a single dainty finger on the comb in Uncle Alphard’s hand.
“Go on, Sirius, Regulus,” Mother said, glaring at her eldest son, as if daring him to disobey her. They did as she said, first Reg with little hesitation, and then Sirius, glancing at Mother to make sure she wasn’t going to pull on his ear again.
Father followed them, placing his own index finger, and adjusting Petra to make sure she was tightly held.
And then, with the warning of a slight light emitting from the comb, which had been steadily vibrating more and more frequently, Petra was sucked into the void.
If you asked Petra about it later on, she would tell you that the first experience of using a Portkey, much like Flooing, had had absolutely no side effects, at all, and she had not vomited even once.
If you asked Reg, he would probably not tell you the truth either. Petra liked that about her brother. He was a good brother.
Anyways, bypassing the weird and sometimes unsettling side effects of magical transportation methods, the first day at Blackmoor Hall was underwhelming. While Sirius had been dragged into some ‘conversation’ with Mother and Father, Reg had been busy with his Summer homework somewhere in whatever library there was in the house, and Petra was delegated to spending time with the decrepit Grandfather Pollux, who still did not react to anything about him, and Uncle Cygnus, the murderer who seemed more interested in his newspaper (that she had already glanced at that very morning, and so wasn’t interested in). If she were back at Grimmauld’s, she could have maybe snuck off somewhere else and take out her hidden wand, maybe break a vase or two, but Petra doubted she could leave the room without Uncle Cygnus noticing, not to mention that she didn’t know anything about the layout of the house she was in. Normally, that wouldn’t deter her, but Petra did not feel like provoking the murderer was a good idea for her continued survival.
She spent a few hours in the bright sunroom with the decrepit old man and her youngest Uncle, twiddling her thumbs and trying not to twitch too much. Kreacher appeared at around five o’clock to bring them tea and scones, Grandfather’s Elf, a shy little thing with large droopy ears and wearing an old and faded yellow pillowcase, helping him eat and drink and cleaning the corners of his mouth. Uncle Cygnus left sometime after that, muttering something about receiving his daughters, and Kreacher then dragged Petra to a guest bedroom, her dragging her feet the entire way just to be contrarian, mumbling all the way vague threats about hanging Kreacher from the ears to which the Elf gave a wheezy chuckle and said, “Kreacher finds the enthusiasm of Young Mistress contagious.”
“At least you aren’t the one stuck with nothing to do.”
“Kreacher thinks that the Master and Mistress will give something to do sooner than later.”
“Maybe,” Petra shrugged. “Do you think they’ll tell me what they’re going to do with Sirius?”
“Master Sirius’s punishment is a matter for the House of Black, not for the Young Mistress,” Kreacher answered. “Master said not to bother Young Mistress with it.”
Scowling at the indignity, Petra sneered. “I’m not a baby! Besides, it’s not like I have anything else to do,” she frowned, and then made a rude gesture at good old Phoebe Black, who scowled in return and ran off to her painting in Grimmauld Place, likely to sulk for a while. Great-Uncle Regulus’s portrait tutted at the rudeness, to which Petra responded by sticking her tongue out of her mouth as Kreacher continued to drag her away.
The bedroom that Petra was occupying was certainly less dark than her own back at the Black House. Large windows with a view to the French gardens were framed by light blue curtains, and the duvet was a soft pink that contrasted nicely with them. The furniture was a soft white wood, decorated with gold accents. Quite different from the dark wood and green velvets at home.
Despite the books and toys that had brought by Kreacher, including a lovely porcelain doll that Petra somehow still hadn’t managed to break, courtesy of some spell that increased its durability (very much needed, considering how her two previous porcelain dolls ended up shattering to pieces, one because of a misfired spell and one because she’d decided to throw it down the stairs just for shits and giggles), Petra still found herself bored after the first couple of hours.
To her credit, she managed to not sneak out of the room until dinner time, upon which Mother rudely opened the door, unannounced and unwelcome, to look at Petra Calliope and the mess she’d managed to make with an inkwell and way too many parchment rolls.
Mother frowned, and then sighed, clearly far too tired to do anything more than call some Elf to clean it up and grab Petra by the arm.
“Merlin knows that girl can never manage a few hours without doing something untoward,” she mumbled, annoyed, while dragging Petra along. “Listen, child,” Mother spoke up, “you are going to behave, and we will discuss your punishment after dinner. I will not have you behaving like a fool in front of your uncle, cousins, and grandfather, understood?”
Petra winced at the increase in strength with which Mother grabbed her arm with, feeling her arm redden up. “Yes, Mother,” she answered, making sure not to mumble. Mother hated when she mumbled responses to her. She was a bitch like that.
Petra Calliope would sell Mother to Satan for one cornchip. Maybe less than that, if Satan also offered to take Bella. Although, she thought, trying to ignore the pain in her arm as Mother continued to drag her away, maybe I’d keep Bella, actually. She’s got fun stories.
They arrived at a large room, a large white wood and clearly expensively carved table prepared to seat thirteen. Father sat at the head of the table, playing with a cigar butt as the rest of the attendees chatted, still standing, save for Grandfather Pollux, who was on his wheelchair, and an older woman with brilliant white hair and an antiquated dress on, who fanned herself, looking rather bored.
Petra saw Sirius standing in a corner, unusually quiet, wearing a conservative black robe instead of his Hogwarts uniform and that Muggle shirt. Reg stood on Father’s right side, his left hand laying on the chair’s top rail, and smiled when Petra looked at him, finally free from Mother’s grasp. She passed by Uncle Alphard, boisterously laughing at something that Luscious Locks said, himself gently holding Cissy’s arm, and hurried along to get to Regulus, who promptly sat down.
He patted her hair, messing it ever so slightly. Petra huffed playfully before jumping and being caught by his arms. Reg gently settled her down on his lap.
“Who’s that?” she asked, discretely pointing at the white-haired woman.
Regulus smiled while fixing the bow on Petra’s green dress. “That’s Charis Crouch,” he said, “Great-great-uncle Arcturus’s daughter. The one who married Caspar Crouch.”
“Oh!” Petra remembered those hours pouring over family trees. “She’s the one whose son is a huuuuuge pain in the ass for Father in the Wizengamot, isn’t she?” Petra whispered conspiratorially.
Reg winced. “Language. But yes, Barty Crouch is very firmly against several policies the whole pureblood block has been trying to push for, not just Father’s. His son is much nicer. We share a dorm.”
“So that’s why Cousin Charis is here?”
“Maybe,” Reg shrugged. “Father doesn’t tell me everything, you know? You spend far more time with him. If anything, it’s possible he tells you more than he tells me.”
Petra hummed. “Well,” she put her hand under her chin, before snickering and whispering conspiratorially, “Father does tell me quite a lot. The other day, he said we were going to have pudding for dessert after Mother forbade me as punishment for making faces at her during lessons. After Mother left to retire to bed, he gave me pudding!”
Father chuckled, shooting her an amused smile before standing up and motioning for Uncle Alphard. He excused himself from the little group he’d formed with Luscious Locks, Cissy and Mother, and walked over to the table. Both Petra and Regulus watched on curiously.
“Are they here yet?” Father asked, puffing out purple smoke.
“Lycoris felt ill a while ago and may not yet attend,” Alphard answered, playing with the golden chain of his pocket watch as he took it out, squinting as he read the time. “Bellatrix and Rodolphus should be here any moment, as soon as they shake off Walden Macnair’s parlour room. Cygnus will bring them to the dining room as soon as they arrive.”
Petra knew that Bella would probably also come, and since a polite dinner doesn’t involve impromptu curse lessons, she’d most likely be more of a fun story-teller rather than the insane cousin who wanted to recruit Petra into her cult. Small victories, she thought.
“Will they bring the boy?”
“I’m not sure,” Uncle Alphard shrugged. “Cygnus didn’t mention anything about him.”
Father hummed. “If Bellatrix brings her son, I’ll have an Elf taking care of it. No need to deal with a baby at the dinner table.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“Sirius was quite loud before Walburga and I decided to keep him in the nursery.”
Reg chuckled under his breath, and Petra followed his example, staring surreptitiously at Sirius, fiddling with the sleeve of his indoor robe. He locked eyes with her and scowled at her smirk. She put out her tongue at him, after looking at Mother and making sure she wasn’t paying attention.
Charis Crouch leaned over to Father and Uncle Alphard from her seat, smiling and joining in the conversation. “My Bartemius was very much like that as an infant, too,” she laughed, “always moving and screaming. Thank Merlin my Cecilia was far quieter than him.”
“It’s at times like this that I think that not marrying was the best decision of my life.”
“Nonsense,” Father interjected Uncle Alphard. “Having a child is the greatest happiness one can have. You only say that because your betrothed died young and you never had to fulfil your contract.”
Charis Crouch laughed. “Oh, Bartemius and Cecilia were also like that as children. Goodness knows no one wants to be married until they have a child or two running around.” She closed her fan with a snap, reclining in the chair, her bejewelled necklace shining in the light. “Perhaps you ought to find a wife, Alphard? You’ve been a bachelor for quite some time, and you’re not getting any younger!”
“If I may join in, my cousin Danae would be a good option,” Locksies intervened. “They do things differently in France, and she has no contract to fulfil. Give her a year or two to finish her Mastery and she would make a fine wife for you.”
Cissy smiled, locking her arm around her husband’s arm. “Danae is quite pleasant, and her mother was from the Schreuder family, the Bavarian-Austrians, that is. It would be a good match for you, Uncle.”
From what Petra could recall, Danae Malfoy was no older than nineteen, while Uncle Alphard was either very nearly fifty or somewhere in his early fifties. It left her somewhat uncomfortable.
“Pah,” Alphard waved off the idea, much to Petra’s relief. “I’m far too old for a girl to marry, and I rather enjoy my freedom. Let me travel and do business abroad, I need no wife to hang off my arm.”
“Father would have smacked you for that,” Mother grumbled. “No wonder he had Cygnus inherit Blackmoor rather than you, Merlin knows you would have run off first chance you got.”
“I did run off, Wallie dearest.”
“Exactly,” Mother sourly responded, an eyebrow raised in eternal disappointment.
Father chuckled, and then took another deep drag of the cigar. “To marry or not to marry, the eternal question. Worry not, Alphard, there is no point in your marriage at this time in your life.”
Petra watched Uncle Alphard smile lazily, but with the slightest hint of relief in his eyes. She stared at Reg, as if asking what all that was about, but he shrugged.
“You know how it is,” Reg whispered. “Marriages are how families make alliances, and Uncle has never wanted one.”
“He could just get married and then ignore her, though.”
“And be constantly pressured into having children? You’ve seen how Cissy is always asked when she’ll have one.”
“They can’t annoy him if he’s never in the Isles.”
“Eh,” Reg smiled, playing with the end of one of the ribbons in her hair. “They’d find a way. Mother would certainly send him Howlers.”
“Shame she can’t send them to Sirius instead when he misbehaves.”
“He already gets quite a few every year. Receiving more would make everyone at Hogwarts deaf.”
“Perhaps that’s why they forced him to come here instead, so Mother could scream at him in person without risking anyone else’s eardrums.”
“And to make sure you don’t put condiments in any other soap bottle.”
“Oh, come on, it was funny! Even Kreacher thought so!”
Regulus laughed and pat Petra’s head. She playfully pretended to try to bite his hand.
A knock sounded on the door, and it opened shortly hereafter, Uncle Cygnus appearing from behind the carved white wood, framed by Bella and her simp husband. A House Elf followed behind, dressed in some kind of dirty old curtain and carrying little Rigel. An old woman followed them, supported by a cane and decorated in antiquated lace – Great-Aunt Lycoris, Petra supposed. Father and Uncle Alphard had talked about the woman, after all.
Bella grinned widely and hugged Cissy, talking about this and that and oh, had she seen her little Rigel yet, while Rod and Uncle Cygnus quickly greeted Father and Mother, and Great-Aunt Lycoris sat down with a relieved huff, before calling out for an Elf to fill her glass with sherry.
Reg put Petra on her own chair, right next to him. As the two of them occupied the two seats on Father’s right side, Sirius was motioned by Father to sit on his left, and Mother next to him. As Father finally returned to his seat on the head, the remaining attendees slowly sat down as well.
Bella smiled at Petra as she sat on her right, Rod next to her, and turned around to order the Elf to take Rigel away.
“Are you enjoying this little holiday, little Petra?” Bella asked. “You have a break from your lessons, after all.”
Petra shrugged. “It’s been a bit boring. There’s nothing to do!”
“I ought to take you to my favourite place as a child,” Bella winked conspiratorially. “Do remind me tomorrow morning to do so, will you, little cousin?”
Petra nodded, and then watched as Reg served a bit of roasted Hippogriff before putting a bit of her own on her plate.
After dinner, and after a good spanking, courtesy of Mother dearest, Petra tried to fall asleep in the room she’d been given, but found herself tossing and turning while the small decorative clock ticked away the minutes.
Thinking, Ah, fuck it, she threw out the covers and jumped off the bed, finding her velvet slippers and putting a silk wrapper on. She blowed her hair out of her face, and then used her fingers when it failed, but just shrugged when it stayed wild. Picking out her stolen wand from underneath the pillow, Petra shoved it into the wrapper, securing it in her nightgown’s sleeve with a blue ribbon, and went up to the door, opening it as quietly as she could.
Night around Blackmoor Hall let the white moonlight enter the corridors through the sheer curtains, making the portraits seem like ghosts and the occasional critter scurry away from Petra’s shadow. She walked up and down, watching darkened rooms, hearing the occasional snore, and giving the middle finger to every portrait she could find that wasn’t awake. Not that she cared all that much about their opinion of her, but it wouldn’t do for Mother to find out she was out and about at this time of the night.
Going through the corridor where the dining room was, she noticed a light shining on a corner. Trying to be as quiet as possible, Petra held her breath as she glued herself to a wall, trying to hear for anyone coming before taking a peek around the corner.
An open door showed a room still with its light on. An office, or maybe some kind of guest room, given its location. Quiet voices came from it, and Petra scurried along the wall before stopping right before it, being hidden by the door in case anyone looked into the corridor.
“And this was your idea, Regulus?” Father’s voice seemed amused.
“Yes,” Reg answered, and Petra could imagine the nod and the blank expression he’d be wearing. “It wouldn’t have been possible without Bellatrix, of course, but the plan was mine.”
“Oh, you give me too much credit, Reggie,” Bella spoke through an audible smile. “All I did was stand there and smile politely, after all. You did all the talking.”
“Can I expect results, then?”
“Of course, Father,” Reg answered. “Antonin will have it done in two months at most, and then there won’t be a problem any longer.”
Petra wondered what the conversation was about. Most likely the Dolohovs, given that Reg mentioned an Antonin, but she still didn’t know the specifics. She decided to try to peek through the gap between the edge of the door and the wall, squinting to see better.
She saw Father seating down at a desk, feet propped up in it and smoking his cigar. Reg had a letter in hand, and Bella lounged on a loveseat, playing with her wand. Mother stood by the desk, turned towards a glass cupboard filled with heirlooms.
Bella smirked as she twirled one of her curls around her wand. “Of course,” she said, crossing her legs, “my help doesn’t come for free, Uncle, not even for you.”
“As it should be,” Father said. He took a deep breath and exhaled a purple Grindylow. “What compensation do you wish for, Bellatrix?”
“Regulus is fourteen now. Soon he will be old enough to join the ranks. I want to train him during this Summer.”
Mother turned around suddenly, a furious expression on her face so terrifying that Petra, knowing very well she was hidden, took a step back in reflex.
“Absolutely not!” she screamed, pointing her hand full of rings that created bruises that Petra still had on her legs towards Bella. “My son will not be a lapdog to that- that-!”
“Walburga,” Father spoke, cold, glancing sharply at his wife. “That is not yours to decide. Regulus is mine alone to keep or give away.”
“You can not be seriously considering giving him away to that half-!”
“Walburga!”
Mother flinched. She stayed quiet for a second before stepping back, hands trembling. “I- Yes, of course, dear.”
Father turned to Bella, smiling. “My apologies, Bellatrix. Walburga is quite protective of Regulus, as you can see. Regulus will be under your tutelage this Summer. You Father still has those old dueling rings, I’m sure he would allow you to use them.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” Bella smiled sharply. “Hopefully, by the end of Summer, I’ll have one more apprentice, right, Reggie?”
“If he doesn’t decide to double down on his treachery.”
“Worry not, Regulus,” Father said, putting out his cigar on an ashtray. “Your mother and I will be working on him. This method is quite effective. Right, dear?” he turned towards Mother.
“I-,” Mother hesitated, before returning to her usual haughty look, “Of course. Sirius will be a proper pureblood as he should have been all these years quite soon.”
“You should do your best to hurry,” Bella said, smirking. “They say if the rebellion isn’t stamped out by sixteen, then you’ll have a full blood traitor in your hands. A cuckoo waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.”
“There will be no need to worry about that,” Mother answered sharply, giving Bella a side-eye. “Now, it is getting quite late,” she changed the subject. “You should return to your room, Bellatrix, little Rigel will be needing you. You as well, Regulus, go to bed.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Of course, Aunt. Goodnight,” Bella smiled and bowed her head towards Father and Mother. She stood from the love seat, and began to walk with Reg.
Petra supressed a little gasp and pressed herself against the wall, willing herself to be as quiet and unnoticeable as possible. Bella and Reg walked out of the room, passing by her without noticing a thing.
Petra let out the smallest sigh.
Bella stood still for a moment, before looking back at the shadows where Petra hid. Stilling in fear of being caught, Petra tried her best to not move. Bella looked for a moment, but then simply turned around and left.
“I have told you again and again, Walburga,” Father said, after a few minutes of silence, “you are not to defy me. You may have a bit of power in social settings, but I am your Lord, and you are naught but the wife from a branch family.”
“I know, Orion.”
“Then why do you keep doing so?”
“A halfblood, Orion? You would sell our son, both of our sons, and even our daughter, to a halfblood?!”
“A halfblood whose power is comparable only to Dumbledore himself. A halfblood who is a descendant of Slytherin. A halfblood who wants the world to be how we want it as well, Walburga.”
“Our children are pureblood nobility, the mightiest of the might, and you would sell them to a man who should, by all rights, be their servant.”
“And what else would you have me do, woman?” Father snapped. “Let our House fall to those mudbloods and let our children become destitute? Serving a halfblood is the lesser evil. I will not have the House of Black rot in indignity, and if bowing to the bastard of a Muggle is what it takes, then so be it.”
“Ah!” Mother laughed sourly. “Either serve someone beneath us or lose everything. You do like to invent things, Orion.”
“You are not the one who goes to the Wizengamot. Every day, we lose something to those halfbloods and mudbloods, all steered by Dumbledore. If it remains as it is, we would lose everything. The House of Black, out heirlooms, our pride… Walburga,” Petra watched from the crack as Father stood up, tenderly taking Mother’s hand on his own, and Petra gagged at the affection, “I love our children. I want what is best for them. You must believe me.”
“How can I?” Mother asked. “I’ve lost children before, and I wish not to lose children again.”
“They will be safe, dear. The Dark Lord would not dare to send heirs of a House such as ours to be canon fodder. There are plenty other lesser purebloods and halfbloods for that. Our children will be confidants, advisors, much like Bellatrix and Lucius are.”
Mother sighed. “Nothing I say can sway your judgement.”
“Indeed, it can’t.”
“So be it. Orion,” Mother said, taking her hand from his hold, “sell our children. Allow that Lord to do what he wishes. When they die following him, I will cry and I will scream and I will curse you, and you will die by my hands. This I swear to you, Orion Arcturus Black.”
“And I swear to you that your fears will not be realised, Walburga Araminta Black.”
Petra Calliope Black - commission done by sparrrorow-art.tumblr.com
Notes:
Happy January!
Sorry it took me a while to update, I've been busy.
As always, please give me feedback! I hunger for it.edit: oh btw, i forgot that i commissioned a drawing of a slightly older petra a few years ago, but i have no idea how to go about putting it here. if anyone knows how to do that, please let me know!
edit 2: I figured it out!!! :D
Chapter 21: Exploring Blackmoor Hall
Summary:
Exploring, some time with Uncle Alphard, and little Rigel.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Petra slept little that night, ruminating on what she’d hear, about halfblooded Dark Lords and selling children to be soldiers and something about Antonin Dolohov. It was clear that this was one of the things that Father wouldn’t tell her about if she asked, or even Regulus, for that matter. Going to Mother was also a dead end – even if she wasn’t punished for sneaking out and eavesdropping, the woman would tell her nothing.
And Bella… well, going to her was out of the question, for obvious reasons.
She tossed and turned for what seemed to be hours before she woke up to a ray of light hitting her face, making Petra Calliope realise that she’d somehow fallen asleep at some point. Not nearly enough, given how tired she still felt, but the upsides of the holiday at Blackmoor Hall included not having lessons to be alert at, and so she turned around, frowning at the offending sun, and huffed in annoyance. She wouldn’t be sleeping very much with the light on her face, that was for certain, and so she sat up and threw the covers off.
Petra had Kreacher lay out her dress for that day before she went to bed, choosing one of the less cumbersome ones, so she stepped over her porcelain doll, careful to not kick it around, and grabbed the purple fabric. Shoving it in was rather easy, as it required no stays and was tied with ribbons, something she could do with ease. She grabbed her boots from the corners she’d thrown them to and put them on.
She grabbed a ribbon and was in the process of trying to brush through her locks to make them a semi-passable ponytail when a knock sounded on the door.
“Come in,” she called out, hands full with hair and ribbon dangling from her teeth.
Reg entered, smiling at Petra. “Good morning,” he said, walking to her and taking the brush from her hands. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yeah,” Petra lied, letting Reg deal with her hair. “Have you already eaten? We could go get some toast.”
“I’ll be busy today, I’m afraid,” Reg answered, grabbing the ribbon from her hands. “Father arranged for some new lessons for me. They’ll keep me occupied in the mornings during the rest of the Summer. But I’m sure you’ll find something to do.”
She pouted, turning her head slightly to give Reg the saddest wet dog look she could. “You’d leave me alone all Summer??”
“It’s just the mornings, Petra, don’t exaggerate.”
“It’s half of Summer, then! Still terrible!”
“Yes, because you are famously so lacking in entertainment,” he commented in a dry tone, although his face showed an amused smile. “You’ll figure something out. I’m sure that inviting your friends isn’t out of the question.”
“Nova and Norma are in Tuscany with the rest of their family this year, they can’t just do a quick International Floo, Reg.”
“Then why not Arctus?”
“Eh,” Petra shrugged. “Sure, why not? But I can’t just invite him every day, Mother would get in a tizzy.”
“Well, that’s done,” Reg said, patting Petra’s head to smooth out the braid he’d made. “I’ll take you to the dining room, and then I’ll be going, alright? Try not to misbehave too much.”
“No promises!”
“Good morning, child,” Father said, patting the chair next to him as he read his newspaper, reading glasses balanced on the tip of his nose but spelled to never fall off. Petra smiled openly at him after waving goodbye to Reg, and did as she was told.
Charis Crouch was sitting in front of her, similarly pouring over her own Daily Prophet, but looked up to smile at Petra. “Good morning, little one!” she smiled, a dimple showing on her left cheek. “I hear you rather enjoy ginger biscuits. Here,” she took one from a platter, “have one!”
“Thank you!” Petra said with a large grin, grabbing it eagerly. Charis Crouch seemed delighted, laughing a dainty little laugh, before she went back to her newspaper.
As Petra nibbled on the biscuit, a House Elf already working on bringing her tea and buttered toast, she looked at Charis Crouch’s newspaper, trying to read the front page’s headlines, with little success, given how the woman was folding it awkwardly to read it better, delicate little pince-nez perched on her nose. She decided to instead peek at Father’s, but he was pouring over the financial columns, which were as dull as they came. The only other person at the table was Grandfather Pollux, but he was currently being patted clean by his perpetually tired House Elf, and Petra doubted the man had the ability to even read a simple sentence, what more the newspaper.
In short, breakfast turned terribly dull.
Petra took to kicking her feet back and forth as she ate, trying to find something, anything interesting. She cursed herself when she realized she’d forgotten to bring her stolen wand with her, but then realised that there wasn’t anything she could have done with it while Father was still in the room.
Instead, she decided to eat as quickly as Mother’s etiquette lessons would have allowed her to in an informal situation and then excuse herself to find something to do. As soon as she gobbled down some toast and a glass of milk, she stood up, muttering an “excuse me” and jumping off the chair, braid flopping around with the movement, ignoring Father’s little chuckle at her hurry.
She got halfway through the distance to the door when it suddenly swung open, and from behind it appeared Uncle Alphard and Uncle Cygnus, laughing together.
“Good morning,” Uncle Alphard said, adjusting the collar of his robes, and locked his eyes with Petra. “Hello, little Petra! Going to go explore?”
“Yes,” she answered, giving him her best mischievous grin. “Mother said I don’t have lessons this Summer.”
“Excellent! Could I perhaps join you, little one? I have many an idea of what to do.”
Petra Calliope nodded, to which Uncle Alphard answered with his own grin.
“Do excuse me, Cyggie,” he said, patting Uncle Cygnus on the back.”
“I would prefer if you did not call me that, Alphard.”
“Nonsense. I am your older brother, am I not?”
“Would you prefer to be called Alphie then?”
“Or perhaps Phard?” Father intervened, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m afraid this is purely the older sibling privilege, Cyggie, Orion. Did Lucretia not have a nickname of her own for you?”
“I don’t think my name allows for many nicknames.”
“I don’t have one either,” Petra interrupted. “But I call Reg, Reg. And Sirius is Siri, sometimes, but only because it annoys him.”
“My sisters did not have one for me either,” Charis Crouch closed her newspaper. “But, back in the day, everyone called them Ella and Dora.”
“See, Cyggie?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Bah,” Uncle Alphard waved his hand dismissively. “Well, never mind that. How do you feel about a tour, little Petra? Cygnus probably didn’t change too much about Blackmoor Hall since my own childhood.”
“I would avoid the East Wing,” Father said, going back to the newspaper. “Cygnus set up the dueling rings for Regulus and Bellatrix, and I would like to avoid an unnecessary trip to St Mungus.”
“Oh, we’ll just be faffing around, no need to be worried,” Uncle Alphard smiled and grabbed Petra’s shoulder, gently leading her to the corridor. Petra skipped alongside him as they walked towards the main staircase.
As they walked away from the dining room, Petra heard one last thing, Charis Crouch’s voice slowly fading away.
“Dueling rings? What for?”
Uncle Alphard led Petra through the West Wing, pointing out the library, piano room, two drawing rooms, and, of course, the room where Uncle Cygnus kept the heirlooms for show. He showed her his mother’s jewels that came with her dowry, some ancient scrolls that had been passed down for hundreds of years, fine china, as well as a wall covered in medals for the Order of Merlin.
“That one was granted to Ophiuchus Black for the extermination of a dangerous sect of werewolves,” Uncle Alphard told her, pointing to a bronze medal, “and that one was for Demeter Janus who married into the family back in the 15th century.”
Petra hummed, focused on a cursed necklace that was locked inside a crystal box.
“And that one is your grandfather’s!”
Petra’s head shot up. “Grandfather’s? Wouldn’t it be in Grimmauld Place then?”
“Oh, it’s my father’s, not Arcturus’s. For services to the Ministry, or some other excuse.” Uncle Alphard smirked and kneeled on the ground. “He bought it, actually, but don’t let anyone else know that, capiche?” he whispered conspiratorially.
“Bought it?”
“When Wally and Cyggie and I were little, my branch and your father’s branch had a huge rivalry. My parents were always trying to compete with Arcturus and Melania, and the Order of Merlin was the result of one of those competitions.”
Petra tilted her head in curiosity. “Why were you fighting?”
“Something nonsensical, I assure you,” Uncle Alphard plopped himself down on the floor with a sigh, all manners and propriety forgotten. “My father thought he should be the Head of the House of Black, since he married a Crabbe and had two sons, while Arcturus married a Macmillan and only had one son. Arcturus thought he was ridiculous, of course, but when Father started to seriously challenge him, he quickly put an end to it.”
“That’s why Mother and Father married,” Petra realized.
“You’re bright,” Uncle Alphard pat her head. “But yes, that’s why Wallie is your mother. Old Arcturus thought having them marry would solve the schism, and if it didn’t, he would still have the upper hand. And Orion always liked Wallie, anyways.”
Petra made a disgusted face at the idea of cousin incest, to which Alphard laughed.
“Why marry cousins…”
“I’d rather marry a cousin than a mudblood, little Petra.”
“It’s still yucky.”
“It has its troubles, but that’s why lesser lines marry the halfbloods for us.”
“Can we talk about something else?”
“Why not?” Uncle Alphard smiled. “Say, would you like to go find my old stash? It should still be in its hiding place.”
“Your stash?”
“I lived here, after all. Did you really expect me to not have things to annoy Wallie with when I was a child?”
Uncle Alphard showed Petra how he kept a box of prank items under a loose floorboard in his bedroom that the House Elf never noticed. “Found it the Summer after my first year at Hogwarts,” he commented, “when I was playing around with my wand. Don’t just shove it into a random pocket, little Petra, ask your father to buy you a holster once you are old enough. Aunt Cassiopeia once lost two toes and a buttock via an accidental spell.”
“Did you ever lose any?”
“Only a finger,” he confessed, reaching out for his wand, gnarly and black, and levitating the box out of the hole. “The nurse fixed it pretty quickly, but it was still rather foul.”
“Did Mother ever lose one? Or Father?”
“If Wallie ever did, she never let me know. And I didn’t spend much time with Orion or Cygnus when they were both at Hogwarts. But I hear your brother once got into a similar incident.”
“Regulus?”
“No, Sirius. Didn’t he get his nose broken with some misfired spell?”
“Eh. He did so much nonsense, I can’t remember it all. Mother would send him Howlers so regularly they could probably substitute his normal correspondence. There was this time that the House Head sent a letter saying that he and his friends locked a bunch of first years inside a broom closet for twenty hours and made them do the tango.”
“No wonder Wallie can’t tolerate that boy.”
“Mother can’t tolerate much of anything anyways.”
Uncle Alphard laughed. “That is true. Did you know she once nearly stabbed Octavius Goyle when he tried to ask her to Hogsmeade because he apparently insulted her?”
“What did he say?”
“Merlin knows! Wallie can misconstrue anything she puts her mind to.”
“Did she ever stab you?”
“Far too many times. To be fair, I also hexed her in retaliation, and basic healing spells were taught early in my house,” he grabbed the box and forced it open, struggling through old hinges. “The only time it got serious was when she was made to marry Orion. Wallie was so upset that my father had to hire a curse-breaker to deal with the spells she had placed on the main hall.”
Petra watched as Uncle Alphard rummaged through the box, old dusty paper bags with faded lettering and strange items being picked up, examined, and then put back in it. He hummed as he picked up one such bag.
“There it is! Petra, this is a gift from an old friend of mine, Friederich Gunther. We used to share letters when I was at Hogwarts and he was in Durmstrang.”
“What is it?” she asked, as Uncle Alphard handed it over. She inspected the bag, trying to read the faded label.
“Phlegm Powder. It gives a wet cough that evolves into rainbow snot after two hours. Not too terrible of a prank, all things considered.”
“Does the person have to eat it?”
“You can just mix it into tea or wine,” he answered, taking back the bag. “It is rather tart.”
Petra grinned. “Do you think Mother would look nice with rainbow vomit?”
“I think Wallie would look delightful. Hmm…” he paused, “how about this? I will distract her from whatever it is she’s doing and you will sneak the powder into whichever tea she is currently drinking.”
“Wouldn’t she know you were involved then?”
“And do what? Orion will find it funnier than anything, and I will be far away when the vomiting starts.”
Not one to dismiss logic when she hears it, Petra shrugged and took the bag from Uncle Alphard’s waiting hands. She stood up, and watched as the man struggled to stand up himself, taking advantage of his moment of distraction to quickly swipe a random bag from the box and shove it inside a pocket of her dress.
If Alphard noticed, he didn’t say anything.
Petra and Uncle Alphard did not find Mother’s whereabouts that morning, and so decided to postpone their little prank to the afternoon, after he returned from a meeting with a business partner. Lunch featured Father and Uncle Cygnus, both rather quiet and focused on their pie, and Cissy, who struck light conversation with Petra while she stabbed her own slice (she had never been the biggest fan of liver pie).
After coffee, or milk in Petra’s case (much against her insistence that she ought to drink coffee herself, or at the very least tea, like Cissy), and severely complaining against a nap that Cissy had suggested, she ran off to the main hall, plopping herself down on a velvet chair and watching the fireplace, waiting for Uncle Alphard and watching the portraits scurry around and gossiping in hushed tones, as portraits tend to do. There were a few portraits at Blackmoor Hall that were not at Grimmauld Place, presumably some Crabbe or Bullstrode relative of the branch Black line, but most of them were the familiar faces that Petra ran past (and gave the middle finger to) on a regular basis.
Twiddling her thumbs and looking at walls wasn’t much for entertainment, and the grandfather clock on the wall barely marked half an hour past one when she climbed down the chair and decided to go on a detour by herself.
Avoiding the left staircase, which led to the East Wing and the faraway sounds of spells being shot and glass being broken, knowing that at this hour it would be most likely that Petra got it by some rather nasty curses than seeing interesting spellwork before getting it by said curses, Petra jumped her way down corridors on end, and then stopped by a door when she heard a faint cry.
Bella’s room, she remembered, and therefore where that baby would be staying. “Heh, fuck it,” she muttered, “might as well see what a real baby’s like.”
The door was cracked open slightly, and just a bit of force opened it enough for Petra to slip through. At the end of the canopy bed was a bassinet, made of white gold and stuffed with soft blankets, a sheer veil hanging from above to shield the baby from the light. An Elf stood on a pile of books, tending to Rigel, whose cries dwindled from annoyingly shrill to a few sobs.
She walked up to the bassinet, and demanded for the Elf to help her see Rigel, to which it promptly snapped its fingers and floated her to the top of the book pile, magic cushioning her so she wouldn’t suddenly fall. Petra balanced precariously, holding onto the edge of the bassinet with her hands and stretching herself up as much as she could, her feet on tiptoes.
Rigel locked eyes with her, brown meeting grey, and smiled, in that odd way that babies smile when they are still too small for it to be an unconscious reaction to a face. The baby was just over three months, and probably could only smile, cry, drink milk and shit itself. She would have to see what it would do when it could finally sit up, but Petra didn’t have many high hopes for Rigel. He clearly would never be as good as her, so there was no need to worry that he would take her place at all. Poor sod would have to suffer with Bella as his mother, but that was it.
The baby reached out, hands flopping around madly in Petra’s general direction, and she, annoyingly, flapped them away with her hand.
The baby caught her finger with a strangely strong grip.
“Oi,” Petra scowled, “let go. I’m not your mummy for you to grab like that!” but Rigel giggled and kept on with it. “Let go, you fucking brat!”
The Elf twittered a laugh, but stopped when Petra glared at it and hit its head in punishment. She looked back at the baby, and pulled her finger until he let it go.
“Morgana’s tits, why did Bella decide to have a kid? It’s as stubborn as her,” she grumbled under her breath, jumping down the book pile and being caught by the magic the Elf cast on her, making her landing soft and graceful. “No wonder she isn’t taking care of him, she would probably go even more insane if she had to deal with another her.”
The baby kept on babbling random syllables as the Elf went to back to tending to him, and Petra scurried out of the room, wondering if Bella was looking to make another crotch goblin soon and praying to any gods out there that she wouldn’t. If Cissy had a baby, it would be another story, of course, but Cissy was nice and decidedly not insane, even if the boy who was probably her kid in the story was a bit of brat. And played by Tom Felton, but that was not of much relevance unless suddenly Petra found herself looking forward to cousin incest, which she was not. It was bad enough as it was.
She went back to the corridor, and made a game out of skipping down as fast as she could, trying to slide through the waxed wooden floors when they were not covered by rugs. She’d slid down the second one when she had the sudden feeling that she’d forgotten something. What was it, again?
Ah. Uncle Alphard.
Well, she thought, he would find her anyways. She might as well break out the quill and inks from her luggage and vandalize a few portraits in the meantime. Simple and crude, but quite effective. She might even manage to dole out a few swear words at portraits that won’t rat her out to Mother this time (unlike the middle finger, which, for some reason, is not known as an insult by wizards).
She glided down – well, slid and occasionally fell rather disgracefully – the corridors, jumping into her room and picking out a nice red ink and a self-refilling quill, which she promptly set to the right inkwell. Jumping equally as fast from her room, she spied the portraits that littered the corridor, wondering which ones seemed sleepier or more affected by the repeated cousin incest.
And lo and behold, there was good old Ophiuchus, snoring away in his stupid bed and being wailed on by the permanently wailing Eudaemonia Gaunt, who looked like she could use something to cheer her day up.
Maybe something like a neat little moustache, or maybe a few vulgar drawings on her husband’s quilt.
Petra could take a smile. Or a scream. It was good to her either way. She would laugh regardless.
Notes:
Hiiii!!!!
I've been busy (lies, I'm lazy lol). Anyways, here's the new chapter. It was meant to be longer but I lost steam midway, so maybe next chapter will cover the rest I wanted to write.
I've been having a bit of a dillema on a certain part, but it is unfortunately very plot relevant, so I can't exactly go and ask you guys, but who knows! Maybe you have some nice ideas that can help.
Now that I think about it, now it was less than a month between updates, so I might be getting back on track. Let's hope that it stays that way.
See you in the comments below!
Chapter 22: The East Wing
Summary:
Petra and Alphard's prank, Reg and Petra bonding (feat Rigel), and we finally see the East Wing of Blackmoor Hall.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Going back to the main hall after drawing some pretty good doodles, if she may say so herself, Petra found Uncle Alphard sitting at an armchair, a leg gaily crossed over the other, showing off his shiny shoes and pressed Muggle suit trousers underneath his robes, and reading some random documents while a flock of small birds pecked at his hair. He would wince occasionally, when one or the other pulled too hard on a strand, but had little reaction beyond that.
Petra stared in confusion. “Where’d the birds come from?”
“Negotiations went a little… physical.”
“So they summoned birds? To peck at you??”
Uncle Alphard smirked. “You should have seen what I did to the other side.”
Petra looked him over, noticing a few spots where his robes had been burnt and a few suspicious dark stains. “Did you stab them?”
“I stabbed them,” he confirmed, his smirk widening. “Used a mean ol’ blood curse that Aunt Cassiopeia wrote about once as well. Let’s just say that hemophilia will be the least of their worries.”
Wicked, Petra thought, grinning.
Uncle Alphard threw his documents into the air, and they stayed there, levitating, while he got up, complaining about his back and waving the birds away. “I might have kept this bugger,” he said, watching one of the birds, red and angry, trying to rip a button off of his robes. “Shame it’ll be dispelled soon, these conjurations never last long.”
“You like those birds?”
“I can appreciate the courage it takes to attack me.”
Petra hummed in understanding. “Can I see your knife?” she asked in a cute tone, trying her best to make her puppy-dog eyes pitiable enough for Uncle Alphard to agree. “Please! Oh, I won’t damage it, I just want to see it!”
He laughed, ruffling her hair and picking her up. “When Bella starts to teach you, I’ll convince your father to show you all of the weapons our family has. Maybe he’ll even give you an heirloom.”
“But Bella said I have to wait years before that!”
“Such is life,” Uncle Alphard shrugged, using the momentum to adjust Petra in his hold. “You are prodigious, my dear niece, but your body is still too small to reliably make sure you won’t cut yourself on accident.”
Petra pouted. “If I can use a wand, I can use a knife!”
“No.”
“I’ll tell Father!”
“Still no.”
“I’ll tell Bella and she will shatter your kneecaps!”
“I would shatter hers first, I’m afraid.”
She huffed and crossed her arms, braid hopping up and down in rhythm with Uncle Alphard’s large stride down a corridor, alongside the few birds that had not yet disappeared like the others, occasionally pecking at the edge of his robes.
“Do you still have the Powder?”
“Hmm!” Petra nodded, pointing towards the direction of her room. “It’s under my bed,” she whispered surreptitiously, “in the room that’s opposite to Ophiuchus and Eudaemonia’s portrait. You know, the one where she’s always crying?”
Uncle Alphard hummed in contemplation. “I remember it, yes,” he said, taking a left. “That used to be Aunt Cassiopeia’s bedroom, when she still lived.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. I remember how she’d threaten Cygnus and I when we tried to read her grimoires. She was quite the private woman, detested any interruptions to her work,” he chuckled. “Once,” he whispered in a conspiratorial tone, “an Avery was visiting – I don’t quite remember which one, just that he was an older widower – and he tried to ask Aunt Cassiopeia for her hand in marriage.”
“Did she kill him?”
“Oh, no, nothing of the sort,” Uncle Alphard shook his head. “But the basement’s cells gained a new test subject for her experiments. Of course, the man could not remember anything after she was done with him, but he never tried to propose to her again.”
Petra Calliope giggled, putting a hand in front of her mouth to cover it, all while Uncle Alphard shooed a bird away.
Turning a corner, Uncle Alphard continued telling Petra how Aunt Cassiopeia had once nearly beheaded a House Elf while she was trying to enchant a table when the two of them heard a wail, louder and sharper than usual.
“What on-“
“Oh,” Petra mumbled. She’d forgotten about that.
Eudaemonia Gaunt positively screamed, her husband’s face covered in multiple tiny curly moustaches and his robes decorated with bright pink doodles that stained the painting’s oil. She screamed and screamed as Ophiuchus snored away as usual, and the neighbouring portraits had all decided to jump over to this one, observing the colourful additions that Petra had made.
Uncle Alphard shot Petra an amused glare.
“I didn’t do that,” she shot back, trying her best to level her expression.
“Of course,” he curled his lip. Pointing his wand at the portrait, he cast a quick Scourgify. “Well, shall we go in?”
Mother, when not occupied with petty social engagements or foaming from the mouth with rage (presumably), could generally be found in one of two places – by her daughter’s side, constantly breathing down her neck while instilling etiquette, or the drawing room, downing cup after cup of tea.
Petra was quite sure that Walburga Black had had an alcohol problem that had been forced out of her when she began getting pregnant, and now used tea as a substitute. That, or she was maybe a bit too English.
It was in Blackmoor Hall’s piano room that Uncle Alphard and Petra found Mother, sitting in an intricately embroidered armchair, sipping her tea while talking with Charis Crouch, who occupied the left of a similarly-coloured sofa. Cissy was going ham on the piano, figuratively speaking, a House Elf standing on top of a pile of books and flipping the sheets when necessary.
Uncle Alphard knocked twice on the open door, making Great-Aunt Lycoris, who Petra Calliope hadn’t even noticed was sitting in a corner, her lap covered in a lace-covered white blanket, jump.
“Well, good afternoon, ladies,” Uncle Alphard smiled. “May we join you?”
“Alphard!” Charis Crouch raised her teacup, waving them in with her other hand. “Come in, come in! Have some tea,” she pointed the seat next to her with the wave of her hand, to which Uncle Alphard promptly obliged.
“My thanks, Charis,” he sat down, balancing Petra to sit at his knee, before seemingly changing his mind and handing her over to Mother, who scowled but picked her up anyways. “It has been quite a while since we’ve had a family reunion. It’s such a shame that Callidora wouldn’t come.”
“Oh, you know how Dora is,” Charis laughed. “The Longbottoms have been diverging from good society for quite a while. I doubt that she would go against her husband.”
“Quite unfortunate,” Mother commented, twisting Petra in her lap until she was neatly sat. “At least your husband’s family is with us, no?”
“Caspar, yes, but Bartemius is rather stubborn, fixed upon the laws as he is. Ravenclaws,” she laughed, to which Uncle Alphard and Mother laughed as well. “His boy takes far more after Caspar, fortunately. My Cecilia, too, was a Slytherin, and her boy will also be one, surely.”
“There are always some bad apples in the family. You ought to spend some time with your grandson,” Mother said, snapping her fingers, to which Kreacher appeared and poured more tea in her cup, “make sure that the boy has the right influences, so that his family name does not become sullied.”
Petra tried her best to behave and stay quiet, biting her lip, to not just jump out and walk her boredom off. Uncle Alphard had told her to behave, after all. At least for a bit.
Charis Crouch smiled, and Petra couldn’t quite tell if the smile was genuine or not. “Worry not, Walburga,” she said, picking up a sugar cube from a Chinese porcelain bowl laid on a coffee table. “I have already made arrangements for him. My Bartemius does not spend much time at home, and his poor Rose is always glad to have Barty spend time with friends.”
“Spectacular,” Uncle Alphard said delightfully. “Speaking of Cecilia, how has she been?”
“As well as always,” Charis smiled and stirred her tea, before putting down the spoon on the saucer and taking a sip. “Her husband has been going up in the Ministry – I hear he is a Junior Assistant to Minister Jenkins now. I believe you may remember him, Narcissa? Thomas Flint?”
Cissy, still playing away, turned her head slightly in their direction. “He is of good stock,” she simply said. “What’s the name of their son? He was born right at the beginning of this year, no?”
“Marcus, I believe,” said Mother, slapping Petra’s hand away from the ribbon at the end of her braid, with which she’d been fiddling with. “Cousin Charis?”
“Marcus, yes,” the woman in question confirmed. “He is a darling little boy, a strapping lad.”
“I imagine so, knowing his father,” Cissy said with a smile. “He was in the Slytherin Quidditch team at Hogwarts. I’m sure many remember him for it,” she added in a slightly sarcastic tone, as if to imply that Thomas Flint did not have much to remember him by other than his muscle.
“Speaking of the Flints,” Uncle Alphard interrupted Charis’s inflamed expression, which promptly went back to vaguely content neutrality, “I’m afraid I have forgotten to send a letter to Grishin. If I may…”
Uncle Alphard stood up, patting down his robes as if to search for something. “Now, where did I…” he muttered, as Petra jumped out of Mother’s lap to stand by the side of her armchair. “Ah!” he exclaimed, taking out his clock. “Yes, I will be late if I don’t do this now. Excuse me.”
He promptly started walking out, going around Mother’s other side, when he tripped on his shoelace and fell against Mother. In her fright, she spilled a bit of her lukewarm tea on her dress, letting out a shriek.
“Alphard!” Mother shouted, face red. “Be careful! Oh, Merlin, my dress!”
“I- Wallie, I’m sorry-”
“Sorry? Sorry?! You despicable-,” she hissed. “Here, child,” she turned to Petra, “have more tea poured out for me.”
And with that, she stood up.
“It’s always like that with you, Alphard! Gross negligence, and then a ‘sorry’? No wonder Orion has you so far away from Britain, you’d be a political disaster here!”
“Wallie, I can clean it for you, if you want.”
“Do not Wallie me, you insufferable little-” Mother continued to chew out Uncle Alphard, to Charis Crouch amused face and Cissy’s vaguely annoyed sigh. Petra reached into her pocket, sneakily untying the little bag that held a gram or two of Phlegm Powder and pouring it into the teacup.
“Kreacher,” she called out, amidst Mother’s rant and Lycoris’ occasional snore, “tea,” she ordered, and the Elf complied, filling the cup with black tea to the top. Petra grabbed a cube of sugar from the porcelain bowl and stirred it into the liquid.
Mother didn’t even stop her tirade when Petra pulled on her dress, and just took the tea cup from her hands, downing all of the tea in a big gulp, as if it was alcohol rather than near-boiling black tea, and then continued with berating Uncle Alphard, who was starting to look a little pained.
And then Mother hiccupped, once, then twice, and suddenly had to stop to grab the handle of the armchair to avoid falling when her knees almost gave out. She started coughing, with a wet sound that reverberated even above Cissy’s music.
Alphard blinked.
“Are you alright? Walburga?” he asked, the picture-perfect image of innocence.
“Aunt?” Cissy stood up, walking to Mother’s side.
Mother continued coughing. “I have no idea what came over me-” another cough. “I haven’t had anything that could make me cough like this.”
“Perhaps you drank your tea too quickly, Aunt?”
“Nonsense. I’ve never had this happen before-” and then her eyes widened. She looked at Petra, who shifted in fear but maintained her composure otherwise.
Uncle Alphard gulped.
“Girl,” Mother coughed out. “What. Did you put. In my tea?”
Nova and Norma had sent a thick package by owl, containing such Tuscan delicacies as Buccellato and some kind of biscuit that tasted like almonds, as well as a few photographs of the twins waving towards the camera, and posing in front of landmarks.
Clearly, they were having fun on their holidays, while Petra was stuck in Blackmoor Hall and having to fabricate her own entertainment.
That was the reason why she had absconded with the letters clearly meant for Sirius before she’d been dragged away by Kreacher, who’d hit himself after Mother screamed at him for not noticing her tea had been tampered with – not that her brother would have gotten them anyways, with how their parents had been isolating him all hours of the day save for family dinners. Father didn’t say anything, and Petra knew he had noticed, so it’d be fine as long as Mother didn’t find out about it.
It was a shame that Petra hadn’t gotten to see Mother with the rainbow snot, but the cough was a bit funny. What a shame she’d been found out so quickly.
Putting the twins’ letter detailing their holiday aside, Petra grabbed the first envelope, written by Jim himself, and gave it a look-over. It wasn’t all that interesting, only talking about Quidditch and some random people that he wanted to prank with Sirius. She grabbed another letter, by Remus Lupin, who must be one of the halfbloods that Sirius insisted on consorting with. It didn’t really say anything interesting either, so she just gave up reading the other one.
For a group of teenage boys who constantly got into trouble, they certainly weren’t very entertaining via letter.
She chewed on the biscuit, sitting down on the carpet and picking up the twins’ photographs again, wondering if something interesting was going to happen or if Petra would have to shoulder the punishment for the rainbow vomit in pure boredom.
Given that she’d been stuck in her room for a few hours now, and would clearly remain in her room for the next few days, depending on Mother’s temper, she would have to find some way to entertain herself. Lacking the modern commodities of TV and video games, she instead went to unpack the various books that she’d brought to Blackmoor Hall.
There were her textbooks, of course, but also some children’s books, which were fun enough to flip through at times, two steamy novellas she’d once swiped from Mother’s bedside table, and a few copies of Transfiguration Today, the subscription a birthday gift from Cissy.
And, of course, correspondence with the twins and Arctus Carrow. While letters to and from the Rowles were common, Petra had never really bothered with her would-be fiancé/distant cousin, mostly because he had never really bothered either, other than the time where they sent the ring. But it was either that or reading the characteristics of magical plants again, and she didn’t even have Iola with her here to make it more fun.
So Arctus Carrow it was.
Dear Arctus,
As we are meant to marry (although Petra didn’t have any real intent to actually follow through with said marriage), we ought to get accustomed to one another. As such, you must know that I do so love ginger biscuits-
Isolation lasted a week in total. On the last day, Reg came to Petra’s room, admonishing her for disrespecting Mother and then sitting down and telling Petra all about the cool spells he’d been learning, and how he’d been shaping up to be quite the duelist.
“Bella took me to the library here,” he admitted, all while entertaining Petra’s request for her to braid his hair, “they have quite the collection of family grimoires.”
“Uncle Alphard told me about Great-Aunt Cassiopeia’s. Did you see it?”
“Yes, and Lysandra Yaxley’s, and also Elladora’s.”
Petra made grabby hands at Reg, who handed a ribbon to her. “Don’t we also have some at Grimmauld’s? I thought you’d be studying by those.”
“Father brought them as well, of course,” Regulus answered. He blew a stray hair out of his face. “Bella said that keeping the grimoires separate was a condition of Mother and Father’s marriage.”
“Are you writing one?”
“Of course,” Reg smiled, chest puffed up with pride. “Any good witch or wizard should have one of their own. How else would we pass down our knowledge? Or keep track of our studies?”
“I thought you didn’t do that at Hogwarts. Keep one, I mean.” Reg winced when Petra pulled on his hair too tightly. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s fine.” He bit his lower lip, dry and flaky, and simply moved on with the conversation. “Hogwarts hasn’t allowed private grimoires for centuries. Something about unfair advantages – the mudbloods complaining, clearly.”
Petra frowned. “But wouldn’t they want students to have them? They’re there to learn!”
“Because they needed something to justify the muggleborn’s lower grades. Clearly, it was because we had an advantage, not because they were worse naturally.”
“Wasn’t Evans the top of Sirius’s year?” Petra asked, trying to move on from the bigotry. “I thought she was a mudblood.”
“There’s always the exception,” Reg shrugged. “Most mudbloods have bad grades, did you know, Petra? There’s five in my year, and two of them have barely passing grades. Evans is the exception that proves the rule. Not to mention,” he whispered, “she used to get help from Snape – he’s an halfblood in Slytherin. He was the one who made her as good as she is now – they grew up in the same town, apparently.”
Petra… couldn’t really argue with that. Regulus wasn’t one to lie to her, after all. So, mudbloods could be worse at magic, and maybe argue against a really cool thing, uh?
Yeah, Petra wasn’t still going to join the bad guys. The series had been pretty clear on who the bad guys were, especially since she still remembered that tidbit of information.
“Never mind this whole talk of mudbloods, then. Can I see your grimoire?”
Reg gave her a look. Petra frowned back at him.
He glared back.
“Mother doesn’t have to know~,” Petra said in a sing-song voice, smiling.
“I think that Mother would be the least of my worries if you got your hands in it.”
“Reg! I wouldn’t do anything bad!”
He gave Petra a pointed look.
“Too bad,” she mumbled.
Regulus sighed. “When you’re older, and after a few years at Hogwarts, I’ll let you read any grimoire you want. But not now, alright? It’s too dangerous for you.”
“First the knife and now this…”
“First the what?”
Petra shrugged, and Reg just sighed again. She motioned for the other ribbon and he handed it to her, who tied the end of the second braid in a clumsy bow. “All done!” she chirped, happily jumping off of the bed and running to the vanity table. She’d asked Kreacher to get her small decorative hair pins, and he’d brought a box made of mother of pearl full of all kinds of hairpins, from big to small and encrusted with all kinds of precious stones and gems.
Petra climbed on top of the chair and grabbed a handful of the small ones, and sprinted back to the bed.
“Do you want me to put those on you?” Regulus asked, an amused look on his face.
“Nah-,” she answered, ignoring Reg’s “Speak properly, Petra”. “These are for you,” she clarified, “and you have to wear them the whole day! You promised me you’d let me braid your hair, and that includes keeping your hair braided!”
“Alright, alright, don’t worry. I’ll keep it like that until I go to bed tonight.”
“Good,” Petra Calliope nodded in satisfaction. She’d make sure he did – she didn’t keep that temperamental stolen wand around for nothing, after all. As long as no one noticed she had it, she could do whatever she wished with magic. “Don’t you have lessons with Bella today?” she asked, changing the subject. “I thought you were to be busy every day.”
“Bella had something to do.”
“Does this mean that you’ll spend the day with me? Oh, please, Reg!”
Regulus laughed. “Yes, of course, Petra. Tell me, what do you think of going to the East Wing?”
The East Wing, unlike the West Wing, did not hold many bedrooms or parlour rooms at all. Instead, it was home to a large library and three floors of dueling rings, of which Regulus showed Petra the first two.
“There’s something cursing the third floor,” he explained when Petra pointed out the blocked-out stairs. “No one is really sure what it is, exactly, but whatever it is, it’s loud and it hates anyone who goes in there with a passion.”
“A ghost?”
“Maybe a poltergeist,” he shrugged, “or maybe something a Black experimented with and it went horribly wrong. It doesn’t really matter.” He gave Petra a side-eye, and she shuffled in his hold. “I know that look, Petra,” he frowned. “You are not going there, unless you fancy losing a limb. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” Petra nodded. She didn’t fancy losing an arm or a leg – that didn’t seem quite funny enough for her. Now, if someone else did, she’d have no problem with watching that.
Reg seemed satisfied with her answer and moved on. The dueling rings didn’t have much about them, of course; they were little more than large rooms with protected walls that could withstand just about anything you threw at them. There was a circle marked with indents in the wood of the floor of the second one – something about making sure certain creations didn’t escape – but that was about the only unusual thing when compared to what Petra Calliope had expected.
The library, on the other hand, proved itself delightfully full of interesting things to poke at, from old manuscripts that probably shouldn’t be in her reach to the odd piece of jewellery that found itself crawling to a random cabinet. Reg showed Petra to the Transfiguration aisle, which had very little that Grimmauld Place did not have as well. The library in Blackmoor Hall was smaller than the one at the Black House, probably because they hadn’t bothered with changing the physical space of the Hall itself.
The only thing missing is Iola’s portrait, she mused to herself when Reg picked her up and sat her in her lap. Iola might have a bit of an issue with not repeating stories but she was still fun to read and study with. At least it was better than the all-consuming silence that Mother always expected from Petra.
Fortunately, Reg didn’t seem to mind striking a bit of a conversation about the book she’d picked. It was far beyond what she was studying, and written in something close to Shakespearean English, but he helped her understand the bare minimum of what was in there.
She’d missed him.
Reg kept his promise and didn’t take the braids off even during dinner, which made Petra grin wildly at him. He looked good in braids, to tell the truth, even if hers were maybe a little lopsided.
Mother didn’t seem to like it very much, but it was only the five of them that evening, since Bella and her husband had left for the night, Uncle Cygnus and Uncle Alphard were busy, Charis Crouch had gone home two days prior, and Cissy complained of a sudden illness, which left her and Lucy-Locks in their room.
And, of course, Great-Aunt Lycoris and Grandfather Pollux were already in bed.
Sirius picked at his food with the same uneasiness he’d developed ever since they had that first dinner at Blackmoor Hall. That is to say, he pushed most of it around his plate, avoiding the peas most of all. Petra frowned at the sight, wondering what was wrong with him. Sure, Father and Mother’s (especially Mother’s) punishments were nothing to sneeze at, but he’d surely gotten used to them during all these years, so what was up with him?
Sirius must have felt Petra’s eyes on him, for her turned his head to look at her with a bit of an annoyed expression, before going back to his food.
She looked at her right, where Reg sat, and shot him a questioning look. He smiled back at her with a half-shrug, as if to tell her to forget it.
The dinner was quiet.
Regulus took Petra to see little Rigel after dinner, saying that he hadn’t seen much of the baby since he’d been born. Petra felt a twinge of jealousy, but she wasn’t so petty as to resent a baby, of course not. She was amazingly mature, after all.
Rigel laid in the same crib as the last time Petra had seen him, and was wide awake, rolling around the mattress and reaching his tiny hands towards the coloured glass animals that floated above him, clicking with a soft melody and reflecting the light in various shades. His big brown eyes crinkled when a particular sound amused him, and he let out a gummy smile at it.
Regulus smiled back at the baby, reaching out his free hand (his other arm was busy with holding Petra up) to extend a finger at Rigel.
“He looks like Bella,” he commented, Rigel grabbing the offered finger. Petra twisted her nose at the contact.
“Maybe he’ll look more like Rod when he grows up,” she said dismissively. “Did I look like that when I was a baby?” Petra asked, trying to change the subject.
“You had less hair,” he answered, turning his head towards her, “and your eyes were blue before they turned grey. But all babies look similar, or so I’m told.”
“Not me! I was the best baby of all, clearly.”
Regulus chuckled. “Of course you were.”
Petra shot another look at Rigel, now sucking on Reg’s finger. She furrowed her brows.
“Let’s leave,” she turned her head to Reg. “It’s boring here, we should be doing something else!”
“I’d like to know my newest cousin, and I think you’d benefit from doing so as well, Petra.”
“Well, I don’t want to!”
But Reg ignored her answer, and simply put her down on the floor and told the Elf to bring a chair for her. Petra sat down with a hmpf and crossed her arms in anger, scrunching up all of her face to show it as clearly as she could.
Regulus simply ignored Petra’s tantrum (it was not a tantrum!) and continued to smile at the baby, who Petra glared at with increasing intensity.
Who even likes babies anyways? They’re tiny and useless and shit themselves all the time. She didn’t see the appeal.
Eventually, she got tired of glaring and jumped out of the chair, grabbed Reg’s hand, and took him out of the room. He, surprisingly, let her, merely jokingly complaining about her strength. “If we’re going to spend time together, then it has to be with only me,” she told him. “I don’t need any annoying babies!”
“Alright, alright. Only you, Petra.”
“Good,” she nodded, a proud look crossing her face. “I’ll hold you to your word.”
The next morning, things went back to normal. That is, Reg went back to her lessons with Bella, and Petra was no longer in confinement. She found little of interest to explore, and wasn’t about to re-read the same textbooks again and again, but since Father was working, Mother was off somewhere, and Uncle Alphard had left as well (and she wasn’t about to go to Uncle Cygnus for entertainment), she had no one to bother into translating old books for her.
So, instead, she decided to go back to the East Wing, danger notwithstanding. She had a wand! It might have been temperamental and not really like Petra all that much, but she was still perfectly capable of defending herself from some random spell aimed in her general direction.
And so she went, tiptoeing in case someone noticed her going in that direction and decided to ask questions. The only person she came across was Grandfather Pollux, thankfully, sitting in the main hall and staring at the sun rays from a window. He didn’t even react when she clapped her hands right in his face.
This was the man who bought an Order of Merlin, and he didn’t even know what day it was, she mused.
Turning her back to Grandfather Pollux, Petra simply headed to the East Wing. The first floor, which housed the entrance to the library on the right and the dueling ring on the left, was empty. From the vague muffled sounds that came from above, Petra could guess that Bella and Reg were on the second floor, so she decided to head to the dueling ring. Maybe there would be some interesting weapons there.
The first floor’s ring didn’t have the runes etched out in it that the second floor’s had, but instead it had a wall covered with about any martial weapon one could imagine. Reg had told Petra that it was enchanted so that no one except for the ones given permission by Uncle Cygnus could remove anything from it, and she was very well aware that it was magic beyond what she knew yet, so she decided to instead look at it.
There were five large swords with different lengths, all with incredibly detailed pommels, worked in leather and silver, and some incrusted with gems. Halberds laid on a corner, sharp steel gleaming in the light of the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. A mace laid on a small table, solid and dense. There were weapons that Petra didn’t recognize, too, but they were clearly all very expensive.
In short, a lot to see, but not a lot to do or mess around with.
At this point, permanent maiming was looking mighty attractive.
She went back to the corridor and only didn’t throw herself at the stairs because she knew she couldn’t make too much noise, lest Reg realise she was there. She went up as quickly as she could, trying her best to diminish the creaking of the wood, when she noticed that they probably couldn’t hear her above the sounds of their spells and Bella’s cackles.
They seemed to be having fun, at least. Petra was also finding her own mischief funny.
She climbed the last step and pressed herself against the wall, ignoring the soft complaints of the portrait she bothered, and peeked over the frame of the door to see Bella throwing a barrage of spells, their target beyond Petra’s field of vision. The woman laughed, hair wild and robes thoroughly askew. She had a belt of knives strapped around her waist, a few missing already, and sported multiple tears on her robes, as if she’d been hit already.
That was Bellatrix Lestrange, Petra Calliope realised. That was the woman she remembered from her past life, not the Bella that would sometimes tell her funny stories and teach her cool spells. She’d known what kind of monster she was, but had never truly understood it before.
And Bellatrix Lestrange was awe-striking. For the first time since she’d known her, Petra wished to be like her.
But a good guy.
Of course. Order of Phoenix and Gryffindor and all that.
Eventually, she reluctantly went back to the stairs, going back to her original plan of checking out the third floor. The stairs were still blocked out with a lock, but Petra knew Alohomora from Reg’s first year books, and had had some practice with the shenanigans she usually got into, so going in wasn’t particularly difficult. She was starting to suspect that a lot of the places she wasn’t allowed to go into were blocked off with magic because the adults presumed that she didn’t have a wand. Too bad she’d stolen one. Best decision she ever made.
As she climbed up, Petra started to pick up on some heavy breathing. It was odd – ghosts didn’t breathe, neither did poltergeists. It could be some other creature, she reasoned, and cast a Lumos before resuming her climb, paying attention to her surroundings in case she got jumped by whatever lived there.
The third floor’s dueling ring was bare, and, unlike the previous too floors, occupied the entire floor space. Only curtains decorated the room, closed tight, not letting any light in. Petra’s spell illuminated a small radius, and the room was quite large, so she couldn’t make out what was in the centre of the room. She could, however, see the ropes hanging tight from each of the corners of the room, tying up whatever was kept in the centre.
It still kept breathing. Petra gulped.
“Lumos maxima!” she said, and the ball of light expanded and flew to the top of the room, right where the chandelier was, illuminating the centre of the dueling ring.
There, Sirius was hanging, each limb tied by two ropes.
Notes:
Heyo, theydies and gentlethems! Have this absolute goliath of a chapter (5500 words on Microsoft Word)!!!! It took me a while to finish, but it's done now, so there's that.
We're getting to the meat of Blackmoor Hall, if you haven't realised it yet.
Also, thank fuck for the UK dictionary on MW, I lost count on how many times I used the USA spelling instead of the UK spelling. It confuses me a lot of the time, tbh, since I learned English from an unholy mixture of BBC shit for school and random gamer youtube channels (mostly american lol).
If you haven't checked it out yet, do see the art I commissioned for Petra on chapter 20! Truthfully, it is very old, I paid for it circa 2020/2021? I don't quite remember. Maybe one day I'll commission more, who knows? *shrug*
Well then, have fun! Don't forget to comment :DEdit: I just noticed! I published the first chapter of this fic in April 2020, so this marks four years for Petra Calliope! If I keep going at this pace, she'll be ten in six years lol, but I doubt that will happen. Happy birthday to this fic I guess!
Chapter 23: The Figure of a Bloodtraitor
Summary:
The great shift.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
A blink, then two. And then Petra Calliope rubbed her eyes, trying to see if it was an optical illusion or not.
But Sirius was still there, hanging from the ceiling, blinking his own eyes at the sudden bright light. He was covered in welts and bruises, his shirt ripped in places and covered in small blotches of blood.
Petra held her breath, eyes wide and unbelieving, stolen wand still in hand, when Sirius painfully raised his head.
She watched him open and close his mouth, and then cough, before he finally spoke. “Reggie? What-?”
Petra bit her lip, wondering if she should answer or just turn back, but just as she was about to turn and walk away, Sirius spoke again.
“Wait, Reggie, don’t go!”
She stopped.
“I’m not Regulus,” she told him, turning her head towards him.
Sirius blinked once more, and his eyes seemed to focus. “Ah,” he said, “it’s- it’s you, Petra. What’re you doing here?” he asked, coughing again. “This isn’t a place for kids.”
Petra tilted her head. “You’re a kid too.”
“No, I’m not. Not since I turned sixteen.” Sirius looked around the room, focusing on the ropes. “They want me to join him, d’you know? They want Reggie too.”
“I know that,” she stepped closer. “I overheard Mother and Father and Bella talking about it.”
“I- I can’t. My friends- It’s wrong, Petra. Everything out family stands for.”
“You want me to free you,” she plainly said. “So you can go and abandon Reg again.”
“No,” he coughed out, “not abandon. I just need to get away first. Go to the Potters. Then- Then I’ll get him back.”
And Petra knew that Bella and Reg were just downstairs, that Father and Mother could come back at any moment. She could get caught (Don’t get caught.), but…
A plan came to mind. A wonderful plan.
“How do I-?”
“You gotta cut the ropes,” he wheezed in pain. “I can’t free myself. They got some spell on them. Do you-” another cough “-know the charm?”
“Diffindo, right?”
“Yeah,” Sirius smiled, and Petra was slightly taken aback by its softness.
Petra cut away the ropes at his feet first, and then looked back at him. “I’ll be fine,” he said, winking. “Just- just cut them.”
She cast the ones holding his right arm, and then his left, and Sirius fell on the floor gracelessly in a pile of limbs.
“Shit,” he cursed, and Petra winced, not used to actually hearing curse words rather than just thinking them. “I’m fine, just- Just gimme a sec.”
Sirius breathed in, and then sat up. He tried to stand up, but promptly lost his balance.
“Whoa,” he muttered, and then flailed until Petra caught him. “Oh, I underestimated how beaten up I am. Thanks, uh, appreciated.”
“Don’t mention it,” Petra told him, and started to help him to the staircase. “Nox.”
Each step was a struggle between Sirius and his balance. Every time he nearly fell he would hold onto Petra, but she was quite small and not very strong, so she had to hold herself against the wall to not fall herself. When they got the first lance down, she peeked into the dueling ring’s room to see that Bella and Reg were still at it, so she helped Sirius onto the second lance of stairs.
As he walked more and more, Sirius began to regain his balance. He’d still walk slowly, and a slight limp on his right leg didn’t help matters, but when they finally reached the main hall, he seemed to be able to walk. Somewhat.
Petra had him stand against the wall as she peeked into the hall. There was still Grandfather Pollux in his chair, but the Elf had gone away somewhere, and it was otherwise empty.
“The coast is clear,” he whispered to Sirius. “What do you need to get away? Father will know where you are if you go by the Floo.”
“I just need to get to the edge of the property, where the wards don’t work anymore” he said. “Then- then I can Apparate.”
“What? I thought you weren’t old enough for that?”
“I’m not,” he smiled to her in a way that would probably be charming if not for the bruises in his face and the slight wince of pain.
Petra stared at him. “Where-?”
“Probably in the same place you got that wand of yours.”
She said nothing in return, but dropped the subject.
Petra grabbed his hand and took him to the door, watching Grandfather Pollux from the corner of her eye in case his Elf came back.
“What- what if it’s locked?”
“You remember I have a wand, right?” she asked, annoyed.
Sirius breathed in deeply, closing his eyes, and then opened then, exhaled, and grabbed the handle.
It opened, silent and swiftly, revealing the deep green of the faraway fields and the blue sky.
He stepped out, one step, two steps, looking around as if to make sure it was real, and then took off.
Sirius went, slowly, but hurrying as much as he could. He looked back at Petra, who waved goodbye at him and smirked. And he smiled back. She closed the door. And then she turned back, at Grandfather Pollux, his Elf off to wherever Elves went, eyes wide and unseeing. And Petra knew it then.
Don’t get caught, Reg had said, all the way back at Aunt Druella’s funeral, hugging her and begging her to be careful. And what’s the best way to not get caught? To have your cake and eat it too?
Well. You got to be the one doing the catching, no?
(She hated him so, so much, he who had abandoned Reg. He would never come back. He deserved it. She could not see Reg again as he was at ten, heartbroken over a brother that did not give a shit about him.)
Petra watched Sirius walk away, a limp on his left leg, until he was a good distance away, but still clearly visible. She shoved the wand into her dress. And then, she said, “Kreacher!”
The Elf popped in in front of her, giving Petra a bow. “What is Young Mistress wanting?”
“Kreacher,” she nearly whispered, pointing a trembling finger out of the window, in Sirius’ direction, “who is that?”
And Kreacher squinted, delicately pushing Petra aside, and he screamed.
Petra had never seen Mother angrier. Not even when she’d poisoned her, or when Petra stole her underwear and threw it into the dirty ground outside from the window of her parents’ room, balancing herself on the windowsill.
Father had never even looked angry before, so the fact that he was positively red in the face was probably a bad sign. He quickly dismissed Kreacher, instead binding Sirius with his own magic, and turned to Mother.
“Walburga,” he said, chewing his unlit cigar, black moustache twitching with the movement of his upper lip, “call Bellatrix and Regulus here. Cygnus as well, if you please.”
Mother nodded stiffly, and grabbed Petra by the hand.
Father shook his head. “Leave her here. Just go.”
Mother harrumphed in disapproval, but went into the East Wing either way. Petra was torn between being relieved and afraid, to be honest. On the one hand, being around an angry Mother was awful. On the other hand…
Petra wasn’t sure she wanted to be with an angry Father.
They stood silently, both Petra Calliope and Father, as Sirius kneeled, bound and crying, crying for the first time since Petra knew him, until Mother returned with Reg and Bella and Uncle Cygnus.
Reg had a clear look of surprise when he laid his eyes on Sirius, and then worry once he saw Petra.
Bella looked… well, not surprised, per say. Delighted, perhaps, and somewhat impressed (why, Petra was not sure), but not surprised.
“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Uncle Cygnus, waltzing into the main hall from the West Wing instead, still in his sleeping gown, but covered in a modest robe. “Why is it that Walburga sent me an owl into my room? You know I had work late into the night, Orion, surely nothing is urgent enough to call me down here!”
“The urgency, Cygnus, is that my son was waltzing outside, running away, and distinctly free from your magic-supressing ropes!”
“And how is that my fault?! Surely you fastened them incorrectly!”
Petra watched Reg sneakily step near her. “Are you alright? Why are you here?”
“I saw Sirius running away,” she whispered back.
“Oh, don’t you come with that now, Cygnus!” Mother interrupted her brother’s diatribe, jabbing at Uncle Cygnus’ chest with her index finger. “You have wanted to supplant my children ever since they were born! And now that Sirius is the disappointment he is, of course you would do whatever you could to remove him as heir!”
“I would never-! Walburga, I am not our father!”
“You are everything like him! He is the reason why I had to marry Orion, and you are the reason why I would have had to disown Sirius!”
“That boy is a bloodtraitor, Walburga! You would have had to disown him either way.”
“My son will not be a bloodtraitor, not if we finish this punishment.”
Cygnus sneered. “You can’t supress it, Walburga. A rotted apple will never un-rot. Especially if its roots are rotting as well.”
And Mother turned beet red. She raised her hand, high and mighty, and slapped him.
“That’s enough!” Father shouted.
Mother froze, hand still raised. Uncle Cygnus cradled his cheek, staring at his sister with a flaming look.
Bella stood in the sidelines, looking amused.
And Reg held tightly on Petra’s shoulders, as Petra stood between fear and amusement herself.
“My son,” Father lowered his tone, almost grinding his teeth, “my heir, Sirius will not be a traitor to this family. And I will make sure of it. Cygnus,” he turned to him, “your daughters will never supplant my children. And if you ever, ever, try to magic it so that they raise in station in the House of Black, I will make sure that you die.”
Uncle Cygnus nodded.
“Bellatrix,” Father turned to Bella, “you were in the East Wing. You were responsible for making sure that nothing happened while Walburga and I were away. What explanation do you have for this?”
“Reggie and I were dueling, Uncle,” Bella smiled, putting a hand on her hip and twirling her wand as to show she was saying the truth. “Whatever noise Sirius must have made would have been covered up by the sounds of spells.”
Father hummed. “We will speak of this later, Bellatrix.”
“Of course.”
He turned towards Sirius, and pointed his wand at him.
“Sirius,” he authoritatively looked down at him, “I understand your punishment was unpleasant. I understand that your time at Gryffindor House made you susceptible to bad actors that sought to make you steer away from your family. But you crossed a line, multiple times, and you now crossed another line.”
Sirius stayed silent, tears dried, crusting on his cheeks.
“Children,” Father turned to Petra and Reg, eyes softening, “our family protects each other. And our family does not accept betrayal. But Sirius is still your brother, correct? You would wish for him to gain another chance.”
“Yes,” Reg answered, looking down at Petra.
Father turned back at Sirius. “Your family loves you, boy. Your brother and sister love you. And that is why you shan’t be locked away forevermore, disowned and left with nothing but a solitary cell. But you must still be punished. If you will not learn with time to think for yourself, if you will not learn with mild pain, you must learn another way.”
Mother furrowed her eyebrows. “Orion, what do you mean?”
“This is extreme, but it must be done,” Father ignored his wife and trained his wand at Sirius, aiming at his head. “You will know that I do all that is best for you, son.”
Mother had a look of sudden, terrified realization on her face. “Orion,” she screamed, “stop!”
“Crucio!”
And Petra watched as Sirius screamed, shaking on the ground, convulsing with invisible pain. She hid her face in Reg’s robes, and he pushed her into them as far as he could, but the sounds could not be covered up.
She could hear Mother screaming, demanding for Father to stop, begging him to raise the curse. Uncle Cygnus, who Petra could spy on from her peripheral vision, looked shocked.
Mother started crying. “Please, Orion, please!” she said between hiccupping sobs. “My son, my son-!”
“Quiet, woman. Sirius needs his punishment, and I, as Head, must see it through.”
It went on for minutes on end, or so it seemed, until the screaming finally stopped.
“Walburga,” Father called to her, his tone sweetening, returning to his usual calm cadence, “take Sirius to his bedroom. I’m sure you know what potions he needs.”
Petra peeked from Reg’s robed, and watched Mother clench and unclench her hands, before taking out her wand and freeing Sirius from the ropes. She muttered a spell and levitated him away, walking off into the West Wing.
“Orion,” Uncle Cygnus stepped forward, “I am sure that this whole business with the ropes was a misunderstanding. Surely there is no need-”
“Enough, Cygnus. We will speak about this in the office. Bellatrix,” and Bella turned her head slightly, “meet him at the office as well.”
She nodded, and then she and Uncle Cygnus walked away.
Father sighed, pocketed his wand, and crashed into an armchair, spitting his cigar into an ashtray that was on one of the side tables. Reg and Petra stood across him, him still holding her close.
“I apologize that you saw me lose my composure, children,” Father smiled. “It was an ugly thing – necessary, of course, but ugly.”
Regulus shivered. It was so slight, that only Petra, who was pressed against him, could feel it.
“Father,” Regulus said, voice low as if to attempt to not draw his ire, “why would you do such a thing? The Cruciatus…”
“There was no other choice, Regulus. Your brother was not responding to anything, and if he had escaped, he would no longer be our family.”
“Still, Father, surely something else could have been done?”
And Father simply smiled sadly, as if to say, no, there was no other choice.
“You must understand, children, that when a man becomes a father, his child is the priority. A father must guide the child, lead them the rightful path. And if that child is being led astray, then they must be corrected, at any cost necessary. You surely understand, Regulus. You have always been a good son, a good member of our House.”
“I understand,” Regulus said, and took off a hand off of Petra’s shoulders.
“And Petra, you are still young. You must learn this, sooner or later. I had hoped that you would be older, but circumstances require you that you learn this lesson now.”
“I understand, Father.”
“Excellent,” he smiled in the same way as when he sneaked biscuits into Petra’s hand. “You are good children, and soon your brother will be a good child as well. Worry not.”
Reg smiled subduedly, and Petra, seeing him doing so, mimicked him.
Father smiled again and pat Petra’s head, and then gently rubbed her cheek. She was torn between leaning into and leaning away from the touch.
“I love you, children. You must know that, surely. Do you not love me as well?”
“Of course, Father,” Petra nodded. “I love you too!”
She really did. Father was fun and let her do things that Mother didn’t. So what if his anger was terrifying? Petra was smart enough to never spark it, and Reg was smart was well. They would never be in any real danger like Sirius, and even Sirius would likely never be in that position again.
She would never go through that.
She would never-
Reg nodded as well, and then bowed slightly, asking for permission to leave. Once Father gave his assent, he picked up Petra and went to the library.
An hour after the incident, Petra and Reg had found a collection of old newspapers that he’d seemed good enough to distract both of them from what had just happened. Frankly, Petra didn’t find them interesting enough, probably because she didn’t have much context on most of the articles, but some old editions, mostly those published in the 30’s, had crosswords on the back, so she’d decided to do those instead.
She’d wondered, right after he settled her down and proceeded to ignore what had just happened (all while his hands kept shaking, until he finally decided to hide them inside his pockets), if Regulus had known about Sirius’ punishment. He’d told Petra about a rumour of a monster, but he’d trained with Bella the floor right below where Sirius had been kept.
But Reg didn’t lie to Petra – maybe he sometimes omitted information, but he never lied to her.
She couldn’t ask him without admitting that she’d been behind Sirius escaping, though, so she said nothing.
It was best not to bring it up. It was best not to think of it.
Meanwhile, Reg would sometimes show her an article or two, and explain some of the things he’d learned in History of Magic, although they were apparently mostly about goblin rebellions and how the creatures were bloodthirsty and violent when not dealing with money. And sometimes even when dealing with money.
Petra wasn’t looking forward to having to deal with goblins once she had to go to Gringotts one day. At least they usually stayed in their niche, and away from wizards’ business.
Kreacher brough tea and biscuits for the two of them once the grandfather clock hit eleven o’clock, and Reg all but dragged Petra away from the crosswords (“So you don’t get crumbs all over them,” he said) and into a chair by an empty study table.
“Ooh, those are my favourite!” Petra exclaimed, all but throwing herself all over the table to reach the plate of ginger biscuits, to which Reg slapped her hand away and told her to sit properly.
“Merlin, does Mother’s lessons never settle in you?”
“They do,” she answered, before taking a bite from the biscuit he handed to her. “I just make a point to avoid following them whenever I can.”
“It’s a bad habit. Don’t speak with your mouth full, Petra,” Regulus sighed, putting a hand on his hip. “Either way, you should follow them even when no one can catch you. Otherwise, you will forget to do something proper in an important moment,” he added, sitting down opposite to her.
Petra pushed the plate of rhubarb biscuits to him.
“Alright,” she conceded. “But, if I can forego propriety to splay myself on the bed, I will do so.”
“But you must have table manners.”
“Alright, alright,” she waved her hand. “Look, I’ll show you how well I can drink tea.”
Reg chuckled. He grabbed the teapot and poured out a cup of camomile for her. Two cubes of sugar, just like she liked it.
“Well then,” he pushed the cup over to Petra, and then grabbed a biscuit for himself. He dipped it into his tea. “I will evaluate your attempt.”
Petra quickly straightened her back. She followed every step she’d been taught by Mother: picking up the cup properly, but not before stirring without clinking the cup, take extra care to place the fingers on their right places, and drink slowly, in delicate sips, without making noise.
Reg similarly drank his tea, sipping from his larger teacup and then taking another bite from his biscuit.
She placed the cup back on its saucer carefully. “So?” she asked, looking expectantly at her brother. “How was it?”
“Quite good. You must work on your fingers, though. They tend to slip.”
“Mother always says so, but she also says that I must grow before I can hold it better.”
“You do have rather small, pudgy fingers.”
“I do not-!”
“You are so short, I could use you as a stool,” Regulus said jokingly.
“And you are so large, I could use your head to hang a chandelier!”
“Look at you, so small an ant could crush you.”
Petra laughed. “C’mon!” she said, jumping onto the table and throwing herself on Reg, jokingly punching his stomach.
“Oh, no, I have been slain!” Reg dramatically pretended to be in pain. “This monster attacked me! This little basilisk cub!”
“Rawr!”
Regulus left after a quick lunch of sandwiches that Kreacher brought into the library at around one o’clock, and Petra was then led by the Elf back to her room, where she was promptly locked in. She could have magicked herself out, of course, but she didn’t exactly feel up to it after all that had happened that day. Something told her that stepping on an adult’s toes would not end well.
Petra grabbed The Compendium of Magical Plants and sat down to study it. She’d avoided the long lists of plants that she had to memorize, but she’d already studied everything else that her tutors had left her for the Summer, and she’d already read all of the magazines she’d brought. That, and Petra knew that if she decided to play with her doll, she’d probably break it and be screamed at.
At four o’clock, Kreacher popped into the room.
“Mistress Bella wants Young Mistress in the sunroom. Young Mistress is to dress appropriately and tie her hair.”
Petra stared at Kreacher from the bed, twisting her neck and blowing her wayward strands out of her face. “Alright,” she rolled away. With a huff, she landed on the floor.
Kreacher went to the dresser and took out a delicate light-yellow silk dress, with pretty lace on the edges, and laid it neatly on the bed while Petra stripped the pink and white striped dress-robe combination, leaving her in her thin shift and training stays. While Kreacher helped her into the dress, adjusting the ribbons and buttons that held it together, Petra made sure that her wand fit snuggly inside the stays, so it wouldn’t shift now that she’d redressed.
Kreacher snapped his fingers and a yellow ribbon floated from a box, only to tie itself around Petra’s hair in a low ponytail. With another snap, the shoes that he helped Petra into tied themselves as well.
“This way,” Kreacher bowed, opening the door.
Bella had changed from the dueling robes into a more modest and comfortable frock, and tied her hair into a simple braid that ran along her back. With her, she had little Rigel, asleep on her arms, covered in soft white fabric.
“Hello, little cousin,” she smiled at Petra.
Petra smiled back at her. “I thought you were going to be with Reg?”
“Uncle Orion had something to do with him. Instead, I found myself with some unexpected free time, and I thought to myself, ‘I did forget to show Petra my favourite place! How could I have been so forgetful?’”
“You did?” she tilted her head. “I don’t remember that.”
“Back during that first family dinner here,” Bella answered. “Although I would have liked to show you either way. It can be quite the palate cleanser.”
Bella gently led Petra by the shoulder to the glass door of the sunroom, which she opened to the gardens on the back of Blackmoor Hall. They were flanked by both the West and East Halls, and extended several hectares into a forest. Just before the edge of those woods, Petra could spot a greenhouse, glittering in the afternoon sun.
Bella walked into the gardens, now holding Petra’s hand.
Petra watched the large bushes filled with Summer flowers, their scents filling the air with a sweet smell and calling bees over. The trees were similarly flowering, camellias littering their branches.
“My mother was the one to cultivate all of these,” Bella told her. “The Rosiers are famous for their gardens. My grandfather, Cassius Rosier, once took us, Cissy and- and I, to the Rosier Manse in Champignon – flower fields with no end in sight. We took back seeds for ourselves,” she admitted.
They reached a little private nook at the bottom of a large tree. There, bushes filled with mismatched flowers hid the nook away from prying eyes: one with pink azaleas, one with white roses, and one with still green hydrangeas.
Inside that little hideaway, there was an intricate metal table and three chairs to match, each with delicate metalwork that shaped their structures and served as decoration at the same time. All were painted a soft white, but covered in a slight dust, as if not used or cleaned for some time.
“It’s nice,” Petra told Bella. “Why haven’t you been here?”
“I couldn’t. You’ll understand when you grow up.”
Petra let go of Bella’s hand and plopped herself down on a chair. “Well, I think that’s a waste. Sit down, we’re going to have some tea and cake!”
Sirius didn’t show up for dinner, neither did Mother. Reg and Petra sat side by side, in their usual seats, while Bella and her husband sat on what usually where Mother and Sirius’. Uncle Cygnus sat down by his daughter’s side, and Cissy and Luscious Locks sat down next to Petra.
“Are you alright, Cissy?” Petra asked her cousin. “You said you were ill yesterday.”
“I’m fine now. It was only a mild fever, nothing to worry about,” Cissy smiled.
“Really?” Bella interrupted. “With the way you suddenly became ill, I thought we were to hear good news?”
“Not yet, Bella.”
Bella pouted. “What a shame. And here I thought my little Rigel would soon have a cousin to play with.”
“If you want a cousin for Rigel, Bellatrix, you could arrange a wife for Rabastan,” Lucius drily said, patting his mouth with the napkin. “He and Rodolphus are the last Lestranges, aside from your son, after all. It would not do for such a prestigious family line to die out.”
Uncle Cygnus all but rolled his eyes and went back to his dinner, while Father watched in amusement.
“The same could be said of your family, Malfoy. Only a cousin in England and a woman in France? Your blood could so easily disappear.”
Cissy put a hand on her husband’s arm and glared at him. Then, she turned back to Bella with a smile. “Lucius and I will have a child, Bella, there is no need to worry. We are just hoping that the baby might be born in a more… stable time.”
Petra watched curiously as Cissy clenched her fist under the table, unseen by all except her and Lucius, who were right by her.
“Besides,” Cissy added, “as you said, there is Basilius and Danae. Just as your husband has Rigel and Rabastan, no?”
“Of course, Cissy,” Bella returned to a pleasant expression. “I was simply hoping that our children might be close in age. Much like you and I during our childhood were.”
“If we are lucky,” Lucius said, “that might yet still happen.”
“See, Cissy?” Bella tilted her head and widened her smile. “In a year or two, we might yet hear good news. Your husband is quite efficient, despite my… grievances with him.”
“If the matter is finished, will you return to your dinner, girls?” Uncle Cygnus grumbled.
At night, right before bed, a knock sounded on Petra’s door.
“Come in,” she said, throwing the hairbrush into the drawer of the vanity and making sure that the wand was out of view under her pillow.
Mother walked in. She looked… tired.
“Petra.”
Said girl felt surprised at the sound of her own name. Rarely had Mother used her name, usually calling her ‘girl’, or ‘child’.
“Mother? Are you- Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” the woman straightened. “At the end of Summer, there will be a ball hosted by the Selwyns. You will be in attendance, alongside me, your father, your brothers and your cousins. Do you remember our ties with the Selwyns?”
“Uhm,” Petra wracked her brain, “Bellona Selwyn is Sirius’ bethroted. And… we’re cousins by marriage, and fifth cousins.”
Mother nodded. “This ball will be the first gathering of all the main pureblood families in a decade. It is very important that you behave yourself. It will also be the first time you will meet your future classmates. I expect you to make a good impression on them.”
Petra nodded.
“Very well,” Mother picked her up. “It is time for you to sleep.”
Mother put her on the bed, and pulled back the covers on Petra, tucking her in, and used her wand to blow the candles.
“Mother?” Petra mumbled. It was warm and comfortable, and she was so, so tired.
“Hush. Sleep,” Mother caressed Petra on the cheek, and the girl leaned into it. “When you wake, it shall be a new day.”
Notes:
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Chapter 24: Field of Chrysanthemums
Summary:
The time between Sirius' punishment and the Selwyn's ball.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
July passed with little of note. Sirius went back to isolation, but this time in his bedroom, as Petra could confirm – she once saw Mother leave his room and caught a glimpse of him in bed. Regulus and Bella had their daily lessons, leaving Petra again to wandering around aimlessly, or hanging out with Cissy, who decided to start teaching her piano.
Unlike writing and magic, Petra found she had little talent for it, and she had even less interest in becoming proficient in the instrument, but she thought that the possibility of adapting future Muggle pop songs into semi-classical pieces for purebloods to hear was quite funny. Unfortunately, it meant that she actually had to bother with getting good at music.
Cissy had her started with some simple pieces, so she could get used to proper finger positions and such. Petra hadn’t thought that wizards also had Mary had a little lamb, but apparently it was a common children’s song.
By the eight repetition, she sighed and threw her hands on the piano carelessly, making a shrill chord.
“I don’t get this,” she complained to Cissy. “Surely there must be some kind of spell to make me know everything I need to know in an instant?”
“I wish such a spell actually existed,” Cissy laughed, and sat down on the piano bench, next to Petra. “No, Petra, this simply requires training. You are a bright girl,” she added, seeing Petra’s annoyed face, “you will learn this piece quickly. In a few years, you may even play for the entire Ministry!”
“Really?”
“Of course.”
“Ugh, fine,” Petra mumbled. “So, how did it go again?”
Cissy placed her hands over Petra’s smaller ones and guided her through the notes, singing them at the same time.
“Mary had a lit-tle lamb-”
“Mi mi miiii…” Petra mumbled the notes of the second little lamb that Cissy sang.
“Lit-tle lamb!” Cissy guided her fingers. “Mary had a little lamb-”
“-its fleece was white as snow…”
On the eight of August, Father received a letter notifying him of a routine Wizengamot session that was to happen on the following day, a Saturday, and he decided to bring Petra with him, saying that it would be good for her to do something other than wandering around or brewing trouble for Kreacher to clean up. He rubbed her head in amusement when she complained about that.
“I don’t cause that much trouble!” she insisted, pouting.
“Kreacher had to clean Ophiuchus’ portrait five times during this Summer.”
“He deserved it. Eudaemonia never shuts up.”
“I suppose you would not ‘shut up’ if your husband was cursed by your father either, would you, child?” Father smiled, handing her a biscuit.
Petra shrugged noncommittally, chewing on the biscuit and turning the page of the newspaper that Father was reading. He chuckled at her, and adjusted her on his lap.
“It’ll do good to you, Petra,” he added.
“Will Regulus also come?”
“No,” Father answered. “Bellatrix’s training is rather intensive, and he already lost an entire day. Perhaps after the Selwyn’s ball, but not yet.”
“Can I bring my Colour-Changing Inks?”
“May I,” Father corrected. “And no. I know you far too well, child, and the Wizengamot is not a place for your little pranks.”
“Oh, please, Father!” Petra pouted cutely at him. “I promise I won’t prank anyone too important! Just one of the Junior Undersecretaries, or someone unimportant!”
Father laughed and messed with her hair. “No, no, I apologize, but no. However,” he handed her another biscuit, “if you behave, I may take you to Twilfitt and Tatting’s. You enjoy new dresses, correct?”
Petra didn’t really think they were all that interesting, but she’d never gone to a clothes shop. Mother had always commissioned them from a catalogue and had them delivered at home, so they always obeyed her preferences.
“Alright,” Petra nodded. “But I want trousers!”
“Trousers are not appropriate for a witch of good breeding, Petra. Besides,” he puffed his cigar, “your mother would murder me if I allowed you to own a pair.”
“Fine… No lace on the dress, then.”
Father laughed, his moustache shaking with his laugh. “No lace, alright.”
Petra shook away the remnants of the purple smoke of his cigar, grinning all the while.
“-and that is why the taxes on broom shops should be raised an additional five percent. The remainder of the proposal can be found in the pamphlet-” the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports droned on, while Petra sat quietly on Father’s lap.
“How much longer is he going to keep talking?” she whispered to Father, hiding her mouth behind her hand.
“Hush,” he whispered. “Not much longer.”
“Missy be passing,” an Elf spoke in a low tone, dressed in a plain white toga with the crest of the Ministry and carrying a tray full of tea and wine. “Wizard masters be wanting drinks?”
“French white,” Abraxas Malfoy waved his hand, and a clear crystal chalice floated up to him. “Orion?”
“Anything strong,” he answered.
“I want pumpkin juice!” Petra added, and the cup floated up to her. Sipping the juice, she watched the session carry on as Father and Abraxas Malfoy whispered to each other.
“How is the Dolohov problem going?” Malfoy asked. “That boy is certainly taking his time with it.”
“Not here, Abraxas, and not in front of my daughter,” Father whispered back, seeing Petra tilt her head in curiosity. He took out his handkerchief and cleaned her lips of the juice.
“Of course,” Malfoy nodded. “Will you be attending the Gentlemen’s Club tonight? We could speak of it then.”
Father exhaled his smoke and took the cigar out of his mouth. “Of course. Goyle will also be in attendance, I imagine?”
“Can I also come?” Petra asked.
“Oh, little Black,” Malfoy laughed. “The Gentlemen’s Club is not for little girls like you.”
“Why?”
“Because that is the way of things, child,” Father answered, authoritatively ending the subject. She quickly shut up, recognizing the curt tone and knowing that nothing good would come of talking back. He turned back to Malfoy. “I will be there by nine o’clock, Abraxas. What do you think of inviting Herbert and Evan Rosier to the smoke room?”
“The more the merrier, of course,” Malfoy twirled his chalice between his fingers. “Crabbe and Goyle will certainly appreciate the company.”
“-the next speaker, Head Auror Albert Denbright, and Senior Auror Alastor Moody,” In the background, the Vice-Chief Warlock, Horus Pocus, began the next part of the session, “to speak on the recent attacks on muggleborn-owned businesses.”
Head Auror Denbright, with his wicked scar on his face and deep maroon robes, was accompanied by a rather short man, with a peg leg and a strange magical eye that seemed to see everything at once, rotating to even inside his head and, when paired with his permanent scowl, seeming to hate everyone in the room at once.
He was a rather ugly little man, Petra thought.
“Wizards and witches of the Wizengamot,” Denbright spoke, voice augmented with a Sonorus, “in the last months, the Aurors have seen a 340% increase in attacks against muggleborns, their families, and their businesses. I understand that many of you have investments in such business, and, therefore, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is requesting an increase in budget for the training and deployment of new Aurors to ensure the safety of muggleborns and their businesses.”
“The Department has already seen such an increase in the last twenty years,” a wizard, Lord Macnair, Petra recognized, stood up. “Under Minister Jenkins, indeed, during the riots against the Squib Rights marches, the Aurors hired three dozen more wizards and witches.”
Denbright did not seem to back down at that, and he answered: “Indeed, Mr Macnair, but these attacks are of an unprecedent scale. They are sudden and can happen anywhere, and are not the response against a specific march.”
Auror Moody beat his cane against the ground. “I imagine you would not understand the specifics of organizing a defense against terrorist attacks, Mr Macnair. I seem to remember your cousin was on the other side of those riots, after all.”
“That is enough!” Minister Jenkins interrupted. “Auror Moody, keep your allegations for yourself. As for Head Auror Denbright,” she turned to Pocus, “I imagine that the Wizengamot can reach a consensus on which part of the yearly budget to allocate to the Aurors.”
“Of course, Minister,” Pocus answered. “Head Auror Denbright and Auror Moddy, you may return to your seats. The Wizengamot will review and discuss the proposal at a later session. Now, for other budgeting issues…”
Father and Lord Malfoy waved goodbye at each other when they reached the fireplaces at the Atrium, and then Father picked up Petra and smoothed down her robes and his.
“What did you think of today’s session?” he asked, picking up the Floo powder.
“T’was rather boring,” Petra answered. “Do you really have to deal with budgets? That seems so… tiring.”
“What did you expect the responsibilities Lord of a Noble and Ancient House to be? Most of the daily work consists of budgeting and such things.”
“Urgh,” she shivered. “Thank goodness I’m not going to be Lady Black.”
Father laughed. “Thankfully, being Lady Carrow will mean that all you will have to worry about are your children (not a chance, Petra thought) and other ladies. Twilfitt and Tatting’s,” he spoke, and they were consumed by green flames.
They landed in a large, bright room, with fashionable robes displayed in white mannequins and shoes displayed everywhere. An attendant quickly walked up to the fireplace.
“Mr Black,” she bowed. “Welcome to Twilfitt and Tatting’s! How may I help you today?”
“My daughter is to chose two new dresses today. I expect you will bring out your best products?”
“Of course, of course! This way, please, Mr Black, Miss Black.”
Father adjusted Petra in his hold and followed the attendant into a small, private area, separated from the rest of the store by several layers of gossamer curtains. The attendant quickly waved her wand and several small mannequins floated into the area, dressed in several fashionable dresses in all manner of colours and styles and decorations.
Father set her down.
“These two are our best sellers for girls your age, Miss Black,” the attendant pointed at two soft pink dresses covered in bows and lace. “This one is made of French silk, with an underlayer of cotton that can be removed for the hotter days. And this one,” she waved towards the second dress, “is made of Chinese silk instead, and is incrusted with pearls and has some subtle silver embroidery.”
There were dresses that children would wear for a few months at maximum until they outgrew it, and Petra loved that she could afford anything she wanted, and how much she felt like buying.
Ah, the bright side of being a rich pureblood.
“I don’t want pink,” she crossed her arms and put a haughty expression on her face. “I want red!”
“Of course, Miss,” the attendant flicked her wand and several bolts of different shades of red fabric flew in. “We have various shades of reds, various patterns… I presume any fabric is on the table?”
“Of course,” Father nodded. “Anything my daughter wishes for, I will pay.”
“Very well. We have this maroon, this bright red, scarlet…”
After two hours of choosing fabric, patterns, embroidery, under-fabrics, cuts, and, of course, measurements, Father Floo’ed the two of them back to Blackmoor Hall. Kreacher grabbed their cloaks and disappeared after informing Father that Mother was in the drawing room and waiting for him there.
Father walked Petra back to her bedroom, where Petra stayed an approximate five minutes before she deemed that he was at a far enough distance and ran out of it.
But where oh where to go? Maybe the library, although she didn’t really feel up to reading, Uncle Alphard had gone away a week ago back to Bulgaria, and Uncle Cygnus was probably hanging out in his office, plotting some kind of murder, probably. Reg and Bella weren’t an option, Cissy and her stupid husband had gone back to the Malfoy estates, and Rigel was a stupid little baby.
Although, thinking about it, even a stupid little baby was a better option than Uncle Cygnus, or causing trouble again and getting another beating by Mother.
And so, Petra Calliope walked towards Bella and Rod’s room, where Rigel had his bassinet. Unlike her previous visit, there wasn’t an Elf there to take care of him, probably because the baby had fallen asleep, but Petra noticed that Rigel had now a new soft toy next to him: a light blue hippogriff with colourful green and purple feather in its wings. Maybe a gift from Cissy, or some other pureblood wife that was trying to cur favour with the Lestranges.
Petra dragged a chair towards the bassinet, ignoring the shrill sound it made, and plopped herself down on it.
“Hi, you stupid, fat, useless blob of flesh,” she said in a sing-song tone. “I don’t get how you can do this all day. All you do is sleep and eat and poop! I would be sorry for you for having Bella as a mum if you weren’t so dumb.”
Rigel didn’t answer, and simply breathed in and out as he slept.
“It isn’t fair! Bella spends more time with you and Reg than me nowadays… Even when she spends time with me, you’re always there. I don’t get it. What do you have that I don’t?!”
The baby turned around but still slept.
“You’re nowhere near my level. I’m special, you see? You will never be able to do the things I can just because you aren’t like me,” she self-assuredly pointed at herself. “But,” she added, looking down at Rigel, “you can get alright, if you do what I tell you to do. Point number one, you can’t draw attention to yourself when I’m in the room! Point number two –” she stood on top of the chair “– if I tell you to jump, you ask, how high? I’m older than you, which means that you must obey me, capiche?”
Rigel didn’t say anything. Petra sighed in disappointment and plopped back down.
“Of course you wouldn’t say anything. Stupid, dumb Rigel,” she muttered. “You aren’t even Cissy’s stupid blonde Malfoy kid, you’re just some random side character.”
The baby babbled softly before sighing back to sleep.
Petra jumped out of the chair. “Fuck this! I’m gonna go find something else to do.”
She ran out of the room, almost barrelling over the Elf that was about to go in. After a quick session of screaming at it for almost making her fall and having it go back to punish itself, Petra went back (now walking normally) to wandering the corridors.
She promptly ignored the drawing room once she heard vague kissing noises. Ugh. They should get a room.
Skiing up and down the West Wing, Petra finally realized that there was a part of Blackmoor Hall that she hadn’t seen yet, and a person that she hadn’t considered.
Sirius’ bedroom had his curtains drawn tight, so that little light escaped into it. It smelled of potions and bitter herbs, and Petra noticed several books littering his bedside table, illuminated by a single candle.
Sirius himself was sitting in bed, propped up by several soft pillows and covered with a soft, lightweight hand-knitted cover. He was reading some random book when she knocked and entered.
“Who’s there?” he asked, voice still rough despite the nearly four weeks he’d spent recovering.
“It’s me,” Petra called back, walking towards the chair that’s been placed tight by his bed and climbing into it. “I just- I wanted to see how you’ve been. Are you alright?”
“I’m better,” he shrugged. “It still hurts a little, but Mother said I could probably leave the bed in two days.”
“That’s good,” she muttered, staring at her hands. She looked back at Sirius.
She didn’t feel guilty. He deserved what he got, wanting to abandon Reg again, but she hadn’t thought that Father-
Father wasn’t like that, he was kind-
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he muttered when he noticed her staring at him. “If only I’d gotten away quickly, Kreacher wouldn’t have seen me.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” she told him, the truth burning in her tongue. “I tried to distract him,” she lied, “but I think that Kreacher knows my tells from how often I lie to him.”
Sirius laughed and pat her head. “Ah, you’re just like me!”
“Excuse me, I am most certainly better than you!”
“Yes, yes. Well, tell me, Petra, how is the outside world going?”
She started to talk about the recent news, and the Wizengamot session, and the letters that Nova and Norma and Arctus have been sending her. Sirius seemed to find all of it quite entertaining – if anything, it was better than spending all day everyday stuck in bed.
“-and then Arctus wrote that his grandfather was making him go through all sorts of extra lessons! Imagine that, it sounds so awful.”
“It seems to be a very heavy course load for him. How old is he, anyhow?”
“He’s nearly eight! You’ll see him at the Selwyn’s ball, for certain.”
“Ugh,” Sirius winced. “The Selwyns?”
“Yes,” Petra nodded. “Mother said it’ll happen by the end of the Summer holidays. I don’t think you’ll have an excuse to miss out on it.”
“Father will certainly want me there. He’s been whinging about family unity and the like ever since I got in bed.”
“Shame,” she stood up on the chair and awkwardly pat his back.
She hated Sirius. He hurt Regulus, he made Mother cry, he was an inconsiderate ass to Petra. But he still forwarded Andy’s letters to her before his owl got confiscated, and clearly Father and Mother still loved him, if they kept him despite his infractions.
Perhaps-
No, she hated him. She hated hated hated him.
“Will you help me avoid Bellona?” he asked her. “She’s insufferable.”
“Sure,” she gave him a grin, as fake as her happy mood.
By the fifteenth, Cissy had Petra started on some other, slightly more complicated pieces, and Petra found that, once she had nailed down the finger positionings and could passably read the music sheet, the piano wasn’t that terrible. At least she wasn’t tall enough to reach the pedals yet, which meant that she didn’t have to worry about them.
After she got tired of playing, Cissy let her sit on her lap and watch her move her hands skilfully to play a melancholic piece.
“Can you play Celestina Warbeck?” Petra asked her.
“Aunt Walburga lets you listen to that?” Cissy raised an eyebrow. “I thought that she was of the opinion that radio was a cesspool of degeneracy.”
“She doesn’t,” she shrugged, “but Father has a radio in his office and sometimes you can hear it thorough the entire floor. Did Aunt Druella let you hear Celestina Warbeck, Cissy?”
“My mother loved Celestina Warbeck. She had her autograph, did you know? I think it’s somewhere in the middle of the trophies…”
“So you know her songs? Can you play it? Can you play You Charmed the Heart Right Out of Me?”
“I don’t see why not! I will need your help with the singing, Petra, if you don’t mind…”
“Yeah!”
On the seventeenth of August, Petra walked into the dining room for breakfast when she noticed that Father was not there. Mother was buttering toast, and Cissy was sipping her tea, while Regulus and Bella had seemingly already gone back to the East Wing for training. Sirius seemed to be enjoying some scones.
Petra sat in her designated seat, and grabbed some toast that she nibbled on. Eyeing Father’s seat, she wondered where he was.
“Excuse me, Mother?” she piped up, trying to catch the woman’s attention. “Where is Father?”
“He’s been called to an emergency Wizengamot session last night. I expect you will not be bothering me again about this subject.”
Petra nodded and went back to her toast. She waved to Kreacher for him to serve her tea and milk, and eyed the tray full of scones.
“Good morning, everyone,” Uncle Cygnus walked in, rolling Grandfather Pollux into the room. “Good morning, Narcissa. Have you slept well?”
“Yes, father. Good morning.”
“Walburga. Do you know when Orion will be returning?”
“If I knew what that man was doing half the time, I would not be spiking my tea with rum.”
“Aunt…” Cissy shook her head. She turned back to Cygnus. “Lucius went with his father. Rodolphus as well… Apparently, Roderick Lestrange is not well enough to attend the Wizengamot.”
“I thought Rabastan was the one holding the seat?”
“He is,” Petra said. Rabastan Lestrange often voted in his father’s stead, although he spoke very little.
“I hear that Roderick will die soon,” Mother said, grabbing a spoonful of sugar and mixing it with her tea. Sirius grabbed the sugar as well. “Perhaps Rodolphus is trying to get a head start.”
“I suppose all we can do is wait for the newspaper,” Uncle Cygnus sat down and grabbed a few strips of bacon. “It is rather late today. They must be waiting for the session to be over.”
“Couldn’t they make a special edition for the session?” Petra asked. “I wish they’d hurry up with it, at least the Society columns are interesting.”
“If you want gossip, I could tell you some,” Cissy sipped her tea.
“And if you really find yourself with nothing to do, child, I might as well bring you with me to my social engagements,” Mother glared at her. “Or, perhaps, you are in need of more etiquette lessons.”
Petra winced. “I’m fine, not bored at all!”
Mother hummed. She took one big sip of her tea.
Suddenly, a spotted owl flew into the dining room, carrying multiple newspapers tied to its leg. Petra jumped in surprise when it landed in front of her, turning the trays and bowls upside down with its clumsy landing.
“Oh, speak of the devil!” Uncle Cygnus grinned. He paid the owl and delivered the newspapers to Mother and Cissy, keeping one to himself.
Petra stood on top of her chair, peeking at the headlines.
Demetrius Dolohov murdered! Minister Jenkins under investigation! Terrorist attack or government conspiracy?
“Dolohov?” Cissy muttered.
“Serves him well,” Mother bitterly shot out. “Him and his wife of his, always going against the House of Black.”
Father must be quite happy, Petra thought. Now that Dolohov was dead, Antonin was going to take his place, and Antonin Dolohov was far more agreeable towards Father and the general political ties that Father kept. Reg would probably also be happy. She remembered him telling her about Dinara Dolohov and how upset she was about having to publicly avoid their dueling group in public.
She wasn’t sure if Minister Jenkins was responsible for his death. She might have been – the Minister seemed to favour Dumbledore and his side in general, but it was also possible that Dolohov’s murder happened as an example for what happened when you didn’t side with the Dark Lord. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time – there were the Elmon murders just three months before.
Cissy turned the page to the article. A few paragraphs down the description of the murder and emergency session, a passage caught Petra’s interest.
Antonin Dolohov is to demand Minister Jenkins’ resignation, claiming her inability to deal with the recent blood attacks and the murder of his father.
Mr Dolohov, alongside his fiancé, announced just after the session, Miss Catherine Macmillan, agreed to answer the Daily Prophet’s questions-
“Oh!” Cissy softly exclaimed. “Aunt Walburga, Catherine Macmillan is going to marry Antonin.”
“At least he isn’t marrying another Russian,” Mother noted. “If there is anything that I agree with Demetrius, may he rest in peace, is that he did well in marrying an Englishwoman rather than keeping to other immigrants.”
“Catherine…” Petra knew she was her second cousin, but she’d never met her. It didn’t really matter anyway. Half of magical Britain were her third or fourth cousins. She couldn’t marry anyone without wondering if she wasn’t accidentally committing some even worse kind of incest because witches and wizards were so intermarried that their family trees often seemed more like family wreaths.
They weren’t as bad as the Gaunts, thankfully. Even if the Gaunts had stopped having their family tree be publicly registered (probably around the time that they started marrying first cousins and, in some very cursed instances, siblings), there were still enough public records for her to know that the Gaunts were the worst of the worst in terms of that.
“I imagine we will receive an invitation for the wedding,” Mother turned the page. “Or, perhaps, the wedding will be rather hurried. We shall have to see how quickly a child is born.”
“So long as there is good food,” Uncle Cygnus laughed.
“At least they’ll be getting married,” Cissy added. “Bastards can be such a delicate business… And Antonin really needs a wife now that he is the Lord Dolohov.”
“Couldn’t he just let his sister be the heir?” Petra asked. “She could marry someone and have her children take her name.”
“And let the House fall into a woman’s hands? Don’t be silly, Petra,” Cissy ruffled her hair. “That is simply not how things work, and you know it.”
“I just think it’s silly…”
“Many things seem silly when we’re children,” Mother sternly told her. “You will learn why they are the way they are as you grow older. Now,” she stood up, “I have an appointment with Olga Greengrass. If you will excuse me…”
And Mother left.
Cissy closed the newspaper and went back to her tea. Petra grabbed the newspaper back and turned right to the Society column, reading it over and finding little of interest.
“Hmm,” Cissy pondered, sipping her tea, “Petra, how do you feel about doing something… different today?”
“Depends on what it is,” she answered. “Are you going to make me sit properly for three hours?”
Cissy laughed. “No, nothing of the sort! I was simply wondering if you’d like to bake something with me. I can’t help but recall that… cake you once made. Of course, I am not knowledgeable in the ways of baking, but that’s what House Elves are for, no?”
Petra jumped out of her chair in excitement.
Two hours later, Petra and Cissy sat in Cissy and Bella’s (and Andy’s) old hidden spot, enjoying a much, much better banana bread. The House Elf in charge of the kitchen didn’t seem all too happy with letting the two of them cook, but it’d soon acquiesced to their desires.
“If the Misses be wanting,” it bowed away. It did help them with the recipe, and made sure that it wasn’t left in the oven for too long. Petra was sure that it’d sneaked in a few spices so it wouldn’t turn out too bland, but since it worked, she didn’t snitch.
Petra kicked her feet back and forth happily while Cissy talked about gossip that she’d heard during her tea parties.
“Oswald Smith is most certainly having an affair,” she conspiratorially told Petra, giggling, “with his wife’s sister!”
“No!” Petra gasped, letting the piece of banana bread fall from her fork on accident.
“Yes! And do you know what’s even worse? He’s also having an affair with a mudblood servant! And she’s pregnant!”
“Poor Mrs Smith,” she shook her head.
Cissy grinned. “Don’t be so sorry, Petra. Mrs Smith is also rumoured to have her fair share of lovers. At least her son looks like Oswald, otherwise he would have had their marriage annulled.”
“Merlin!” she gasped. “If someone ever cheated on me, I would have had them castrated long ago.”
Cissy laughed. “If your Arctus ever does that to you, you must simply come to me or Bella. There are quite a few ways to make sure your husband can not stray ever again.”
“Ugh... Arctus.”
“You say that now, but you will think otherwise once you are grown.”
“Once I’m grown, I won’t marry anyone!”
And Cissy laughed. “Alright, alright. You said it.”
Notes:
I'm going insane :D
Chapter 25: The Selwyn Ball
Summary:
The ball at the Selwyn's, and some other minor things before that.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
On the twentieth, Sirius and Regulus’ letters for the schoolyear came in, and Mother promptly wrote to the relevant stores to Owl-Order the materials that Reg would need. And only Reg, because, as Petra could read from Mother’s lap, Sirius would not be attending Hogwarts for the next three years.
“Where’s Sirius going to go to, Mother?” she asked, neatly laying her hands on her lap as she’d been taught. “Is he going to be homeschooled?”
“Your father wrote to Durmstrang’s Headmaster. He will be joining this year’s transfer students,” Mother clarified, signing the letter with a flourish on the B of Black. She dipped the quill in the ink and grabbed another piece of parchment. “They will treat him well there, at least. Durmstrang has always been favourable to purebloods. He will have good influences as well.”
Petra hummed nonchalantly and grabbed a scone from the table. Nibbling on it, she saw Mother list the items to be bought.
“May I have a pair of trousers?” she asked, deciding that she didn’t really have anything to lose from it. “I know it isn’t appropriate, but as long as I only wear them in private, it shouldn’t be an issue.”
Mother stilled. She turned to stare at Petra, and then sighed.
“Oh Merlin, I don’t know where I went wrong with you…”
“Mother?” Petra felt kind of offended.
“No trousers. Ask me again and I will punish you.”
Petra straightened up immediately and nodded.
“Good,” Mother smiled.
The red dress that Father bought for Petra came in on the twenty-first, as well as an emerald green dress-robe that she figured was for the Selwyn’s ball. Kreacher had it hanged up nicely and picked out a small set of pearl earrings from the jewellery box that Mother offhandedly pointed to. The shoes were also new, and Petra had to break them in for a couple of days so she wouldn’t get blisters.
Cissy also showed Petra her new dress-robe, a pale blue, lacy thing that fit nicely with her long white gloves and Malfoy heirloom diamonds. Cissy had quite a lot of pretty clothes, even to Petra’s standards, and Loser Lucy had some pretty pieces as well.
“A Malfoy tradition,” she said, explaining why Luscious tended to dress less conservatively than most purebloods (conservatively in wizard senses – wizards were far more colourful and eccentric in general than Muggles, even Victorian Muggles, who could be incredible freaks).
“Must be the French blood,” Petra grinned.
“The Lestranges and the Rosiers are also French, Petra, and they don’t dress like the Malfoys.”
“Oh, please,” she waved dismissively. “The Rosiers haven’t been French in nearly two centuries, and the only Lestrange line left is the English one. Besides,” she peeked into Cissy’s jewellery box and took out a pretty golden necklace, “only the Malfoys were a part of the French Royal Court. Isn’t this the Crabbe crest?”
“It was a gift from my grandmother – our grandmother, I mean. Don’t- Petra!” she grabbed the necklace. “Be careful with it, the gold is quite soft.”
Cissy gently placed the necklace back into the box, and took out a bracelet.
“This was a gift from grandmother Irma as well. Since you never met her, I am going to give this to you in her stead.”
Petra frowned. “Thank you,” she said, “but I don’t really need it? Mother already gave me a lot of jewellery, and there’s more stored for when I grow up.”
Cissy laughed, not unkindly, and gently grabbed Petra’s hand. “Oh, please, you know very well that one can never have enough jewellery. Especially heirlooms!” she slid the bracelet down Petra’s skinny arm. “Look how well it fits you.”
Petra twisted her arm to see how the light reflected on the silver of the bracelet. It was rather pretty, with tiny diamonds and emeralds incrusted all thorough it. It was a quite bit too large for her, but she would eventually grow into it. It would be a waste to resize it with magic, since those spells took quite a lot of power (that she couldn’t really expel yet), and never lasted for very long.
“It’s pretty,” she admitted. Turning back to Cissy, she eyed her collection of diadems. “Could I try those too?” she asked, pointing at them.
On the twenty-fourth of August, the day of the ball, Mother dumped Petra on Kreacher so she could have a few hours of peace for preparing herself without Petra doing some kind of prank or general mischievous thing. Petra, as a three-near-four-year-old, didn’t really need to do anything more than be clean, have a clean dress, and tie her hair neatly, so she didn’t have to get ready any time before four o’clock.
Reg knocked on her bedroom door at around eleven o’clock, and she promptly dropped her doll in excitement. “Go open the door, Kreacher!”
Kreacher, gently laying down the doll that Petra had handed to him, demanding to play with her, and opened the door.
Reg walked in, waving hello to Petra. He was carrying a tray with cucumber sandwiches, cut fruits and cold meats, that Kreacher immediately took from him and placed on a low table that appeared with a snap of his fingers.
“Are you up for lunch, Petra?” Reg asked, sitting down on the floor next to her. “I’m going to have to take a few hours to prepare for the ball, so this is the only time we’ll have today.”
Petra answered by grabbing a sandwich and shoving it into his mouth. Reg laughed in return. “Alright, alright,” he grabbed it, and took a bite.
Petra and Regulus ate the lunch while Kreacher floated in pumpkin juice and water, and, later, tea and sugar and milk. With a full belly and a teacup in her hand and another in front of her doll (she’d decided to call it Petra Junior and had Kreacher embroider the name on its dress), and the newspaper on the table, after the Elf brought it on Reg’s order, Petra turned her attention to the daily news.
“Uh,” she tilted her head. “I didn’t think that the Daily Prophet would report on broom taxes.”
“Why not?”
Petra shrugged, and then took a sip of her tea. “They seem to prefer sensational news. Broom taxes… they aren’t all that interesting.”
“Where else would they be reported?” Reg asked, smiling. “The Prophet is the only decent newspaper, and it’s funded by the Ministry.”
“I dunno.” “I Don’t know, Petra.” “Can you make Petra Junior drink her tea?”
Regulus picked up the doll’s empty tea cup and mimed it drinking the imaginary tea. “Thank you, Miss Petra,” he said in a high-pitched tone. “May I have a scone?”
“Of course, Miss Petra Junior! Here,” she grabbed a bit of hair in her empty fist and shoved it into the doll’s mouth. “Munch munch munch.”
After a half-hour torture session (or, really just Kreacher forcing Petra into the emerald dress-robe, annoying as it was, and tightly braiding her hair into two little braids with green ribbons tying them), and, of course, the necklace with the Carrow ring hanging from it, Petra was escorted to the main hall, where Regulus, Sirius and Narcissa (and her stupid blonde husband) were already, waiting for the rest of the family. Kreacher left her by Reg and Sirius’s side and popped away.
Reg grabbed her hand immediately, seemingly out of instinct, and then kneeled in front of her.
“You look very beautiful,” he told her, smiling and brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face.
Petra smiled shily and blushed in almost-embarrassment. “Thank you, Reg” she mumbled. “You look- you look alright.”
Reg and Sirius both had dress-robes that seemed identical at first sight but had some subtle differences. Both were dressed in black with silver embroidery, but the patterns were different, and their neckties as well. Sirius’s hair had been cut – probably against his will, given the frown he was wearing, but Regulus had his longer hair tied back with a black ribbon, à la 16th century.
Reg seemed to read the compliment between the lacklustre lines, and he gently pat her head in return with his free hand, before picking her up and settling her in his arms. Petra waved hello to Sirius, who nodded to her in return.
“Your first ball, uh?”
“No,” she shook her head. “I think I went to the Malfoy’s Christmas Ball once? Do you remember when it was, Reg?” she turned around in Regulus’s hold.
“You were one-year-old, if I remember it correctly.”
“One?” Sirius raised an eyebrow. “How do you even remember anything from back then?”
Petra shrugged. “Maybe it’s because I’m still little,” she told him. Truthfully, it was probably due to the same thing that made her remember her past life, whatever that was.
Magic, most likely.
But she couldn’t just go around and announce it to everyone else, unless she felt like being deemed insane or locked up somewhere. Maybe if she did that, she could figure out what was inside the Department of Mysteries? Even though that Department seemed to be made entirely of bad vibes.
Hmm, decisions, decisions…
Sirius dropped the subject and decided to fiddle with his cufflinks, while Reg re-adjusted Petra and walked over to Luscious Locks. They started a boring conversation about Quidditch that Petra didn’t care about, so she decided to just stay put (as much as realistically could) and wait.
Bellatrix and Rodolphus entered the hall about five minutes later, with Rabastan Lestrange following closely behind. She was dressed in black with brilliant gemstones sprinkled thorough her robes, and had a brilliant necklace with huge gems around her pretty neck, all while her hair called attention to her face, brilliant curl after brilliant curl expertly arranged in a half updo with a thin silver circlet decorating it. Her husband and brother-in-law were dressed to match her, but certainly less flashy.
Bella smiled at the group gathered in the hall, and walked up to Cissy, Luscious Loser, and Reg (with Petra).
“Oh, my, Cissy,” she grabbed her sister’s hand, “you look absolutely radiant! And your diadem – goblin-made, no?”
“Bought by my great-grandmother,” Luscious Locks told her, smiling, and flicked his hair. “Narcissa has found it quite fine.”
“I think it’s just so dear,” Cissy said. “The sapphires are beautiful; can you see the cut of the stones?”
“It suits you very well, Cissy.”
“You’re so pretty with it!” Petra told her cousin.
Cissy smiled in return, but Bella pouted playfully. “What about me, little Petra?”
Petra shrugged. “You also look pretty, I suppose.”
Rodolphus patted Regulus’s shoulder and whispered something to him that Petra couldn’t catch, and he handed her over to Bella’s waiting arms. “Sorry,” he muttered to Petra when he noticed her pout. The men walked to a corner near the fireplace, and grabbed Sirius along the way, who went with them seemingly annoyed.
While Cissy and Bella and Petra talked about meaningless gossip and the like, with Bella’s stories being significantly more interesting because she tended to do things that traditional pureblood wives didn’t do (for example, actually be a terrorist instead of just married to one), Father and Mother and Uncle Cygnus finally walked in.
The Lestranges, Luminous Loser, and Reg and Sirius all turned from their little conversation corner to look at the entering party. Uncle Cygnus moved to the Floo powder while Father and Mother greeted Rabastan.
After excusing herself, Mother went up to Bella and grabbed Petra from her arms.
“Thank you for taking care of my daughter, Bellatrix.”
“Oh, auntie! It was a pleasure.”
Mother smiled and turned away from Bella and Cissy, walking Petra towards the fireplace.
“I expect you to behave tonight. There will be many important people at the ball, and you are to behave accordingly to a proper daughter of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.”
“Toujours pur,” Petra answered automatically. Mother had drilled the Black family’s motto in her head every time she had her review her family tree, usually with the Tapestry at Grimmauld Place.
“Toujours pur,” Mother repeated. “You may be quite insufferable at times, child, but at least you seem to remember your lessons when important.”
Petra would take that statement as a compliment and ignore the somewhat resigned tone of her Mother.
The grandfather clock sounded the six o’clock bell, and Uncle Cygnus guided first the Lestranges to the fireplace, and then, after they’d disappeared, the Malfoys, with whom he went.
“It is our turn,” Father declared. He organized their placement: him and Mother, holding Petra, in the back, and Sirius in front of him, while Regulus was standing in front of Mother. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder and spoke, loudly and clearly.
“Selwyn Manor!”
They arrived in a wave of green fire, soot darkening their clothes until a neatly-looking servant waved his wand, cleaning the Blacks’ dress robes.
“Welcome, illustrious guests!” he bowed, pocketing his wand. “Please, follow me to the entrance of the ballroom, so you may be announced.”
The group did so, walking quickly across the small hall that the fireplace was located in and towards large, whitewood double doors, where a tired-looking witch was standing. She had a large list floating next to her, a quill noting down something while she spoke.
“-and the Urquharts should be late… Ah, my apologies, Mr and Mrs?”
“Orion and Walburga Black, with their children,” Father said succinctly, turning up his nose at the woman’s clear dishevelment.
“Of course, of course! Please, Mr and Mrs Black, stand in front of the doors, I’ll have it opened right away.”
They did so, and the witch put away the quill, or, rather, left it floating in the air next to the list, put on a large, black pointy hat, and waved her left hand while casting a Sonorus with her wand. The doors slowly opened.
“Mr and Mrs Orion Black, and their children, Sirius, Regulus, and Petra Black, now entering!”
They entered into a large ballroom, with a lower floor and a higher floor of balconies turned towards the ballroom. They were on that higher floor, and a large lance of stairs with marble railings, and covered in red carpet, allowed the access to the large area where witches and wizards were already socializing, smoking, waving fans, gossiping, and the like. After they entered and began descending the stairs, yet another group of guests was announced (Mr and Mrs Harold Blishwick and their daughter, Darlene Blishwick).
Uncle Cygnus was waiting right at the bottom of the stairs, and he quickly took Orion’s arm when they finally landed.
“Fawley’s attending,” Uncle Cygnus told him, “Vieson as well, and Olivera – I hear they’re planning to marry in.”
“All of that can come later, Cygnus. For now,” he turned to his family, “Regulus, I want you to go find your classmates. Socialize. Sirius,” said boy looked up from his cufflinks, “Friedrich Scheubert will guide you to a group of Durmstrang students. Form connections, find allies. I expect you to behave.”
Sirius nodded, but seemed rather down about it.
“Walburga, do as you wish,” Father finally turned to Mother. Mother sniffed back at him, as if frustrated that she needed his permission to do basic things, but said nothing in return.
“What about me?” Petra asked, crossing her arms. “Do I have no mission to fulfil?”
Father smiled at her, amused. He leaned in towards Petra, who adjusted herself in Mother’s hold. “Your Rowle friends are here, of course, but… well, I can only hope that you can hold young Arctus’s attention for a while. Your mother does not seem to like Madam Carrow, so keeping her distracted would be… advantageous.”
Petra nodded, her face all serious. “I’ll do my best!”
“Excellent!” Father said. “Now – off you go!”
“Nova! Norma!” Petra shouted, waving excitedly at the twins. Nova’s hair had gone back to its normal blonde colour, but Norma seemed to not have gotten rid of her uneven bangs yet. Both had grown rather tan with the Tuscany sun, and had identical dark purple dress robes on.
“H’llo, Petra,” Nova greeted her, speaking while chewing the biscuit she was holding. The twins (and most of the younger children attending, really) had rallied around the food and drinks section, and they’d clearly taken advantage of it, if the crumbs on their hands were anything to go by.
“Hello!” Norma chirped in, handing a ginger biscuit to Petra, which she quickly took. “You look nice.”
“I do, don’t I?” Petra did a twirl, showing off the spin of her clothes. “I don’t like the lace, it’s a bit uncomfortable, but Mother didn’t let me decide what my dress robe was going to be.”
“Mother didn’t let us choose either,” Norma nodded. “But Ingrid could. She said it’s because we’re still babies.”
“Tsch stchupid!” Nova added, and then swallowed. “We’re five, we aren’t babies!”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Petra waved it off. It was an old bit of conflict between the older and younger Rowle siblings, and something that Petra didn’t really care about. Nova and Norma were meant to be her minions, Merlin-damnit, not people that she had to support emotionally! “Look, I need your help for something,” she grabbed a biscuit from one of the lower tables and handed it to Norma. “Do you know where Arctus Carrow is?”
“With his cousin, I think,” Nova answered her. “Anna… Amelia… Uhm, do you remember her name, Norma?”
Her twin finished the biscuit and then answered, “Arianna. She’s a third year at Hogwarts, I think.”
“Alright. My Father wants me to talk to him, but I don’t have to do that immediately…” Petra hummed in thought. “Perhaps, we can go around and see if we find anyone who’ll be in our Hogwarts classes.”
“We’re going to be there,” Nova said
“I thought you’re going to be two years ahead of me?”
“Our father wants us to be with you,” she shrugged.
Petra shrugged as well, not thinking much of it, and grabbed the twins’ hands, taking them around the children, looking for three-to-four-year-olds.
She found that she was rather shit at estimating children’s ages, but at least she had several pureblood family trees shoved inside her head, so she could at least guess who she was supposed to be looking for.
Unsurprisingly, not a lot of young children (as in, under seven or eight) were actually at the ball. Petra was probably brought in to eventually be shown off, and Nova and Norma were there because Petra was there. Petra couldn’t find Peony or Parrick Parkinson, or Armand Macmillan, but she noticed a boy around her age hanging around the much older Penelope Meliflua.
“Who’s that?” she asked her minions, and Nova squinted at the boy that she was pointing towards. “That’s one of the Melifluas, they’re my Mother’s cousins, but I don’t remember him.”
“Oh!” Nova softly exclaimed. “That’s Tommy. Tommy Darcy. His father works with dragons. He even went to our house a few times before.”
“He’s alright,” Norma added. “He likes reading.”
“Boring,” Petra frowned. She decided not to talk with Tommy Darcy, and instead turned back to the biscuits.
The lights of the ballroom suddenly dimmed, and a bright spot shined on top of the large stairs, where a dignified wizard stood. He smiled at the guests and pointed his wand towards his mouth.
“My dear guests!” his voice reverberated towards the ballroom. “Welcome to our family’s ball! It has been many years since all magical families could reunite – or, at least, all of the families that matter,” he joked, to which polite giggles and chuckles answered. “In these times of unparalleled change and danger, we must join together and follow our values and traditions! Magic! Power! Family!”
Nova and Norma ignored the speech in favour of the sweets, and so did Petra, but she still caught the rest of it while chewing a piece of chocolate cake.
“Let us not separate, for us to be apart will dictate our fall. Let us join together, and make our world great!”
The crowd cheered, wands shooting colourful sparks towards the ceiling.
“I will not bother you anymore,” Lord Selwyn said. “Instead, enjoy the ball!”
Music started, signalling the ending of the speech, and couples, mostly the married or engaged kind, joined for a dance. Petra saw the twins’ parents, and Cissy with her husband as well. Scanning the ballroom, she noticed that Bella and Rod weren’t dancing together, but instead talking with a dark-haired gentleman that she couldn’t recognize, given that his back was turned towards Petra.
Instead of dwelling on what her parents could possibly be doing (ugh), she turned back to the twins. “Let’s go find Arctus,” she told them, crossing her arms. “I’ve got maybe an hour before I have to go to bed, and Father wants me to speak to him.”
The twins nodded and left the snack’s tables (Nova notably more hesitantly than Norma), and wandered around until they found Arctus, who was standing next to a bronze-skinned, black-haired older girl – Arianna Carrow, supposedly. Petra remembered that her mother was a Native American witch, so that was probably where she got her exotic looks from. At least her name was somewhat normal, or Petra might have had to learn names even weirder that Walburga or fucking Theophilus, which sounds like some weird disease.
“Hello, Arctus,” she greeted the boy. “Ah, hello. Arianna Carrow, I presume?”
“Yes. Merry meet, Miss Black,” Arianna smiled, placing her right hand in front of her heart and bowing. Petra mimicked the greeting and actions.
“Hello, Petra,” Arctus greeted her as well. “Do you need something?”
“Can I not wish to talk with my fiancé?” she asked rhetorically. “We have not met for quite a while, and now we are in the same place.”
Arctus winced. “I apologize, Petra, but I had promised to be with Arianna for the ball…”
Nova and Norma both crossed their arms, each one at Petra’s back, but they didn’t need to intimidate, for Arianna Carrow gently pushed Arctus forward.
“Oh, Arctus, don’t feel obligated to entertain me! Go talk with your friend.”
“I-”
“Perfect!” Petra quickly grabbed Arctus’s wrist, dragging him with her. “Let us go, then.”
The conversation wasn’t all that good, since Arctus did as he usually did: give basic answers to anything that Petra or the twins asked him, and generally act like an introverted kid that would rather go to bed. Petra didn’t really mind it, since he would eventually break and actually say something decent, but she was starting to wonder if a conversation via letter would be easier. He seemed to be more comfortable with it, at least. His letters actually said something, for once.
Nova eventually had a breakthrough with him, around ten minutes in, when she started talking about chess and Arctus actually said something about it. Petra knew the basics of chess – a remnant of her past life, most likely, since she didn’t remember learning it as Petra – but it was still very very basic, so she didn’t care for the conversation.
After a while, Madam Carrow swooped in, holding a chalice filled to the brim with bubbling champagne. She was dressed in a bright purple, fully covered as she was supposed to, but, as always, skirting the rules just so she could be significantly more sensually dressed than what was supposed to be allowed.
Arctus stiffened up.
“Good evening, Petra dear,” she smiled. “I see you’ve been keeping my Arctus company? How lovely.”
“Good evening,” Petra said, smiling as well.
“And these are?” Madam Carrow gently tilted her head towards the twins, who straightened up to greet her.
“Nova and Norma Rowle,” Petra introduced, and they greeted her. Madam Carrow laughed lightly and presented herself as Arctus’s mother, greeting the twins as well.
“How lovely,” she said, taking hold of her son’s shoulder and patting him in the cheek. “Well, I will leave you to your conversations and games. Arctus,” she addressed him directly, “your grandfather said that you are return by eight o’clock. Be ready to leave by then.”
“Yes, mother.”
“Excellent!” Madam Carrow’s serious look turned back to soft and light, and she pat him once again on the cheek. “Well, have fun, children. Try not to eat too much.”
And she walked away, her form-fitting robes swaying with her as she did so.
“D’you mind if I join you?” a familiar voice interrupted the group’s latest game of tag around the edges of the ballroom.
It was Sirius, the top few buttons of his clothes unbuttoned and his hair in disarray. He seemed wary and tired, and he poured himself a glass of butterbeer that he downed in two large gulps.
“Bellona Selwyn?” Petra guessed, making a signal for the twins and Arctus to stop the game.
“Yeah. Remember what I told you about her?” Petra nodded. “Well, look.”
Petra looked at the direction that Sirius was pointing to: a tall, beautiful red-haired girl dressed in all silver that stood right underneath a spotlight, as if she was the centre of the universe – actually, now that she looked up, the spotlight was real. Bellona Selwyn had actually had someone cast a modified Lumos spell to illuminate specifically her even if she moved.
“Oh.”
“Ugh,” Sirius sat down on the floor. “First those Durmstrang idiots, and then I have to deal with Bellona… I wish I was at James’s place.”
“He isn’t here?”
“The Potters weren’t invited,” Sirius told her. “Bloodtraitors and the like.”
That made sense, Petra thought. The Potters were invited to Grimmauld Place before things started to really heat up and families began to pick sides. Now that they were probably firmly on Dumbledore’s side, it was unlikely that someone like Selwyn would invite them to his blood purity ball.
“Shame,” she patted him in the back empathetically. Norma, who’d since gone back to the table, grabbed a biscuit and handed it to him.
“Thanks, kid,” he thanked Norma, and went back to pitying himself about his fiancée being a self-centred idiot. Petra thought it was a bit of a pot and kettle situation, but she didn’t care enough about telling him that, so she instead went back to her group to restart the game.
The distant sound of clocks marked the arrival of seven o’clock, and with it came Bella, arm in arm with her husband. The gentleman from earlier was on her other side, laughing about something she said, and a group of other men and women followed behind, hanging on his every word.
It was Lord Thomas Gaunt, Petra recognized. She instinctively stood up straight from where she’d been sitting, tired from the latest game she’d been playing with Arctus and the twins, and walked up to Bella.
“-and that is why Yaxley- Oh, Petra!” her cousin smiled down at her. “My L- Hmm, Lord Gaunt, this is my youngest cousin, Petra Black.”
“Yes, we’ve met. You’ve grown quite a bit, young lady. How old are you now?”
“Nearly four, Lord Gaunt,” Petra answered him easily. “I’m no longer a baby.”
“That is quite obvious, indeed. Bellatrix here tells me you have quite the talent for magic as well! Are you hoping to become a Master Duelist?”
“Maybe,” she said noncommittally. “Mother says I will marry Arctus one day, so I won’t be able to be one then, but maybe before I marry him I will.”
“Fabulous,” Thomas Gaunt smiled, those blue eyes of his seemingly penetrating Petra’s head. “Well, child, run along now,” he patted her head gently, and then dismissed her.
“Have fun, Petra!” Bella waved her goodbye.
By fifteen past eight, Petra was feeling full of all the biscuits and cake she’d eaten, and tired from the games that she’d played. Arctus had gone back with his family already, and Nova and Norma seemed to share her sentiments in terms of sleepiness.
They walked around the ballroom’s doors that guided towards private rooms, and plopped themselves down on the couches of the first free one they found (after discreetly closing the door on a lovey-dovey couple).
“These feel nice,” Petra commented. “I wonder what the Selwyns had them made out of.”
“Leather?” Norma suggested.
“No, it’s too soft. Maybe cotton?”
“I’m starting to think that you don’t know what fabrics are, Nova,” Petra told her. “Never mind. A place to lie down is a place to lie down.”
And they laid down, Norma muttering stories to herself (“Norma, I don’t need to hear you telling yourself Babbity Rabbity,” her twin complained) and Petra using her index finger to sketch out invisible drawings on the air in front of her. First a house, then a flower, and then an explosion killing and destroying all of it.
She’s been behaving all night. She can have this little bit of imaginary chaos. As a treat.
Sometime during that, she fell asleep, only waking up the morning after, in the bed at Blackmoor Hall.
Notes:
I ran out of steam at the end. I wanted to write a little bit of Walburga's pov, but maybe I'll just put it in some other interlude. We'll see.
Edit: also, apologies for the bit of real world racism at the bottom there, the Blacks aren't only racist towards Muggles and Petra has been absorbing a lot of it rather uncritically.
Chapter 26: The Lesson
Summary:
Petra's birthday, Regulus's time at Hogwarts, and a pretty cool lesson by Bella-dearest.
Chapter Text
Happy birthday, Petra!
I’ve sent your present for Kreacher to give you later today, with the rest of your gifts. I hope you like what I’ve bought for you.
School has been alright. I’ve been asked about Sirius not being at Hogwarts a dozen times already, mostly by those who don’t seem to read the Society Columns of the Prophet, and it’s becoming rather annoying, but it should die down soon.
Professor Vector proposed for me to join the fifth year Arithmancy classes yesterday, after the feast. I’m considering it, but it could be complicated given how much time Rosier’s club takes from my timetable. The extra work could conflict with it.
Ingrid Rowle sends her greetings, and her congratulations on your birthday. The Averys too – you remember the Avery twins, correct?
Have fun today! Don’t get into too much trouble, though.
Love,
Regulus
Petra,
Happy birthday.
I’m alright. I wish I was at Hogwarts, but what can I do?
Father didn’t allow me to take any money to Durmstrang, probably so I can’t fund an escape. That means I couldn’t buy you anything, so take this drawing instead.
Sirius
Dear Petra,
I hope your birthday is a happy one. Attached to this letter, I sent the first volume of ‘The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle’. This series seems to be quite popular nowadays, and I’m sure you will enjoy it.
Lucius and I will be in France for the entirety of this month, and so I will not be able to attend your birthday dinner. But worry not, for I will make it up to you whenever I am able to.
Have a good day,
Cissy
Petra finished the last of the letters, including Nova and Norma’s, which was more of a drawing than a letter, and Arctus’s surprisingly seemingly genuine congratulations letter. He was clearly much better with the written word than the spoken word.
She put Cissy’s letters on top of her vanity, neatly making a pile out of the parchments. Kreacher would organize all of them inside a pretty box that Mother had given Petra as soon as she started receiving correspondence. It was Charmed to have much more space than it appeared, and could be organized by date, sender, and subject.
Father had said that Petra wasn’t required to restart her lessons until September third, so she didn’t have to worry about waking up early (or, realistically, being dragged out of bed by Kreacher) until the day after her birthday.
She put her shoes on and made a point of ignoring her hair ribbons before shoving her wand inside her dress and opening the door.
The portraits of Grimmauld Place watched her both curiously and disdainfully, as usual, as Petra made her way to the dining room downstairs, grabbing onto the guardrail of the stairs so she wouldn’t slip – Kreacher had just waxed the floors, and the carpet that usually covered the steps and corridors couldn’t be put back until the wax dried.
Downstairs, Petra met right away with Father, who exited the drawing room with Uncle Cygnus, both smoking their respective cigars. Father made a large grin once he looked at Petra.
“Ah, the birthday girl!” he exclaimed, promptly picking her up. “Good morning. Are you going to go have a late breakfast?”
Petra nodded, and Father turned towards the dining room, but not before looking at Uncle Cygnus.
“We will continue the conversation later, Cygnus. For now, I have a breakfast to eat.”
“Alright. Happy birthday, niece,” he told Petra, who clenched her fist into Father’s robes.
“Thank you.”
Uncle Cygnus walked away, and Father took Petra to the dining room. With a snap of his fingers, Kreacher popped in, bowed, and had food appear on the table. There was tea and milk and pumpkin juice, toast and scones, bacon and fried eggs, grilled tomatoes, all kinds of jams, butter, and a large chocolate cake.
Father sat Petra on her assigned chair, and she grabbed toast and butter, immediately in her reach, while he sat down as well and picked out bacon and eggs, and then a piece of toast to eat with them.
Kreacher served tea to Father, with a cube of sugar and just a dash of tea, and pumpkin juice to Petra, who downed the cup while he served eggs and a slice of cake to her. He then handed the day’s newspaper to Father, bowed, and left.
Father discarded his cigar and then began eating, using magic to hang the newspaper in mid-air and turn its pages.
Minister Jenkins to be audited, the main headline said. She’d have to check that out later.
After ten minutes, Petra spoke up. “Father, may I make a request?”
Father hummed, squinting at the words at the newspaper (probably because he didn’t have his glasses with him – Petra wondered if he’d misplaced or forgotten them), but otherwise didn’t seem to mind her speaking.
Petra straightened up – good posture, for a witch of good breeding – and clasped her hands together on top of her lap. “I would like for Sirius to receive an allowance. He is the only one who didn’t send me a gift.”
“Your brother does not have an allowance for a reason. I apologize, child, but that is not possible.”
“But-”
Father waved the newspaper closed, his grey eyes shining thanks to the chandelier, face serious.
Petra bit her lip. “I understand, Father.”
“Excellent,” he said, and then smiled. “Would you like anything else? It is your birthday, after all.”
She thought it over quickly. Alongside the mental list of things she wanted but would never be allowed to have, there was another, more realistic list. The priorities of that list varied quite frequently, but she could just pick out one of them.
“I’d like a set of Gobstones,” she said. Gobstones were marbles that liked spitting on people. If she could get them in hidden places and managed to spell them so they spat on a person that passed in front of them, it could be a useful item for her arsenal of pranks.
“Gobstones it is,” Father nodded. “I shall have an order placed for the best set on the market. Do you have any preference in colour?”
“Red!”
“Very well. Kreacher!”
The House Elf appeared.
“Bring me parchment and a quill, and then take the letter to the owl.”
“Yes, Master,” Kreacher said.
Father went back to the newspaper, and Petra jumped out of her chair, patting down her dress out of habit. She went around Kreacher once he popped back into the dining room, and walked out.
Not wanting to do any studying until she was supposed to, and knowing that Mother was out and therefore un-botherable until she returned, Petra decided to instead go talk with Iola, and write a letter to Andy in secret. Sirius couldn’t forward her letters to Petra any longer, since all of his correspondence was watched, and Andy was probably worried that she hadn’t gotten any responses all Summer.
The door to the library was wide open, as usual, and Petra made sure to close it before opening up the secret area where Iola’s portrait was hanging.
“Hello, Iola!” she said, plopping herself down on the pillow that she usually picked up from the nearby armchair and laid on the floor.
“Good morning, Petra. You’ve been away for a while.”
“We spent the Summer at Blackmoor Hall. Have you ever been there?”
“No, my dear. My siblings moved to Blackmoor after Sirius died, but I’d already run away by then.”
Petra hummed. “Cool.”
Iola seemed confused at the response, but she then shrugged, clearly used to Petra saying what seemed to be nonsense at times. “Have you come to study?”
“Nah. I’m writing a few letters.”
“Alright. I’ll warn you if anyone is coming, as usual.”
On late September, Minister Jenkins was sacked. Father said that she was deemed incompetent to deal with the terrorism, and, really, considering how the Dark Lord was progressing, Jenkins probably wasn’t good at it.
Her replacement was Harold Minchum, a higher-up at the bureaucracy part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement known to be a hard-liner. He promptly ordered for more Dementors at Azkaban, and for more patrols of Aurors around Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade.
“There is nothing to worry about,” Father whispered to Abraxas Malfoy, back at Grimmauld Place after a Wizengamot session, while Petra played with her new Gobstones on the floor. “Minchum’s on Yaxley’s pocket. He’ll do the bare minimum to make it seem like he’s combating the Dark Lord, and feed information to us.”
“The Imperius?” Malfoy asked, sipping the wine that Kreacher was serving him.
“Perhaps. I know little besides of what Bellatrix has told me. Didn’t Lucius also tell you that?”
“Lucius and Bellatrix have different missions. I suppose he doesn’t know about it.”
“Hmm,” Father pondered, “better to keep it that way. Ideally, very few people know the truth.”
“And yet you say that in front of your daughter?”
“I’m very good at keeping secrets!” Petra grinned. “You don’t have to worry about it, Lord Malfoy.”
Father chuckled and pat her head.
“Very well,” Malfoy acquiesced. He took another sip of his wine. “Have you seen the new line-up of Abraxan races?”
“Yes. I betted on that Macedonian one. I suppose you went to the Hungarians? You tend to like the albinos.”
“They will win one day,” Malfoy grinned.
“When the Muggles gain magic, perhaps,” Father smiled, bantering. “You seem to be cursed to always lose your Abraxan bets.”
“May I make a bet too?” Petra popped in, forgetting the Gobstones. “Please, Father?”
“Why not?” he picked her up and sat her on his lap. “Do you still have the betting list, Abraxas?”
Malfoy snapped his fingers, and his Elf appeared, bringing a piece of parchment with it. It handed it to Malfoy, who then extended it towards Petra.
She didn’t recognize any of the names of the Abraxans or their trainers, but Father pointed at a few of them.
“Helios won quite a few races, but it’s getting older. Bibi is younger and quite fast, but the trainer has a tendency to have it sprint too early on.”
“Which one did you bet on?”
“Sillas. It’s my personal favourite.”
“Or you could choose Yemen,” Malfoy pointed at the third from the bottom. “I bet on that one.”
“Yemen?” Petra frowned. “Like the country?”
“All of that trainer’s Abraxans are named after countries,” Malfoy told her. “A shame that none is called England, but foreigners just don’t seem to understand how much better England is than them.”
“He’s a Hungarian, Abraxas. Do you truly expect a Hungarian to have anything in the sense of intelligence?”
“Nothing between their ears,” Petra grinned. Father and Malfoy blinked at her, and then the joke clicked in their heads. They laughed.
Petra noted down a bet next to the Abraxan named Yemen.
Dear Andy,
Sirius can’t respond to your letters anymore. He’s been sent to Durmstrang, as you probably read on the Daily Prophet, and his owl is heavily watched by Kreacher. Father reads every letter he receives, and doesn’t let anything he doesn’t approve of reach Sirius.
Don’t answer to this letter. I have no idea if Father is also watching any other owl, but I will distract Kreacher so that he can’t take this to Father before it reaches you. I have no way of making sure that any letter you send to me will not be confiscated.
Give my best wishes to Ted and Alexis.
Petra
“The Stunning Spell. Quite basic, but an extremely important spell for any fighter to have in their arsenal,” Bella walked back and forth, twirling her wand between her fingers. “If correctly done, it should rend the opponent unconscious – at least, until they are awoken by another spell.”
Petra played with the training wand that she’d been given, twirling it between her fingers as well, while Bella continued the explanation of the spell.
“Do you remember the incantation, Petra?”
“Stupefy,” she answered, referencing the long table of spells and wand movements that Bella had her memorize a long time ago. “Will I be trying it out on you, Bella?”
“Oh, no,” the older woman laughed. “You’ll do it on the dummies. Perhaps on someone else, once you get it right.”
Bella waved her wand, and three training dummies appeared, each holding a stick, pretending to be a wand. She stood behind Petra, correcting her stance and holding her hand to mimic the wand movement, a diagonal from the top right to the bottom left, and then a straight line from left to right.
Petra finally was left to try the spell. “Stupefy!” A red jet of light shot out of the wand, but fell short of the dummy. She frowned. “Stupefy!” she cast again, putting more power into it, and it hit the dummy, but it merely wobbled a bit before steadying itself.
“Hmm,” Bella put a hand on her chin. “Try visualising something or someone you dislike. It should be easier to put the right amount power that this spell needs into it.”
Petra wondered what to think about. Uncle Cygnus, perhaps? Sirius? Maybe Bella during one of her more psychotic moments?
She imagined Uncle Cygnus there, looking at her with his wand in her hands, Regulus crying in her arms.
“Stupefy!”
The spell hit the dummy right in its chest. It flew back, hitting the wall with so much force that its head broke in half, wood splinters flying everywhere.
Petra grinned, and looked at Bella, who grinned back.
Regulus had been paired with Snape, at Rosier’s request. The halfblood was a prodigy at potions and the Dark Arts, obvious even after the mere two lessons that he’d taken with the rest of them. Mulciber and the Averys dragged them into it after he’d had that fight with the mudblood Evans, and Regulus couldn’t help but think that it was for the better.
Imagining someone like Snape working for the other side… the idea was an eerie one.
Daria and Durian Avery were marked that very Summer. Mulciber hadn’t been yet, Nott was set to be Marked alongside Regulus, and the younger Fawley still had a couple of years before he turned sixteen.
There were others, Marked and to be Marked, of course, but Regulus simply did not care enough to remember all of their names.
The halfblood Snape, when not pining after his pet mudblood, threw himself into his studies, following Regulus around like a dog and absorbing every spell and ritual that he deigned himself to teach him. Regulus wasn’t one to share pureblood secrets with someone like Snape, but even he had an appreciation for talent.
Maybe the Dark Lord would arrange for a nice, lower pureblood wife to clean Snape’s bloodline. Or Regulus could find one for him.
Snape had less time to study the Dark Arts that Regulus had at the moment, given that Fifth Year was OWL’s year. Regulus was planning to take eleven of them in his own Fifth Year, which meant he had little time for anything other than classes, studying, and the dueling club in preparation. Snape’s constant badgering didn’t really fit into that.
“Black,” he addressed him. “I’ve gotten permission from Slughorn to request this book from the library. Would you like to study it together?”
“Black, would you mind explaining this ritualist rune array?”
“Would you care to pair up with me in this dueling club meeting?”
Regulus… didn’t really hate it. It was odd. Perhaps it was because he appreciated Snape’s intellect – their conversations were always interesting.
Hmm. He wondered if Petra would like to learn a little bit about basic runes arrays. He could send a book on it with his next letter.
By November, the weather grew incredibly cold. Mother got brand new fur-lined cloaks for everyone, and Kreacher lit every fireplace (the small ones and the one from the Floo system, although with normal fire). The troll-leg umbrella stand by the entrance was shivering thorough the entire day, rattling the umbrellas and canes inside of it, until Mother finally grew tired of it and cast a curse to immobilize it. A few cursed artifacts also reacted to the change in temperature. An heirloom hat, for example, began singing 15th century ballads praising ‘ye maiden of most grace’, while a gold cane decided to cover the room it was in in a magical swamp until Father finally managed to lock it in a fool-proof containment.
Petra had her lessons, and her pranks – the Gobstones got Mother in the face thrice until she confiscated them, but Petra was quite sure that she’d get them back once Father gave in.
And, of course, she had Father’s Wizengamot sessions, although he’d began to take her to them less and less.
“Some of these sessions are not appropriate for a young girl, child,” he explained when she asked him why she couldn’t go. “I assure you that if the session is appropriate, I will take you with me.”
And so she continued on, with her lessons and her homework, Mother’s drilling of etiquette and genealogy into her head, letters, pranks, talking with Iola, the occasional piano lessons from Cissy, bothering Kreacher, visiting Nova and Norma and Arctus, and playing with her dolls.
By late November, Bella took Petra to Lestrange Manor for that day’s lesson. She walked her from the drawing room into the basement. Prison? She wasn’t sure what to call it, frankly.
It was large and damp, and had several small cells on one side, and a dueling ring on the other. Petra saw a dirty man inside one of the cells – he had his hair and beard overgrown, clothing ripped. His feet were bare.
Bella put Petra in the dueling ring, and laid one of her hands on her left shoulder, while taking out her own wand.
“Since you’ve taken so well to all the spells I’ve taught you,” she smirked, “I’d like you to get some hands-on experience. ‘Tis an enlightening thing – there is quite the difference between learning in a controlled environment and actually fighting, after all.”
“Fighting?” Petra said panickily. “I can’t fight! I’m too small!”
“Don’t worry, Petra-baby,” Bella cooed. “You won’t have to actually fight anyone seriously until you’re far older.”
“What’re you getting at then, Bella?” Petra turned around to face her and crossed her arms.
Bella laughed and waved her wand. The cell unlocked with a click, but the man inside of it didn’t try to leave. Instead, he whimpered and tried to burrow himself into the back wall of the cell.
Bella clicked her tongue in annoyance. “Dearborn. Come out, won’t you?”
The man – Dearborn – seemed to ponder for a bit before growling. “I don’t think so, you bitch.”
A spell shot out of Bella’s wand and a piece of rope wrapped itself around Dearborn’s head, gagging him, and another tied his arms and legs, so he couldn’t move from a kneeling position. “Mind your tongue, bloodtraitor. I won’t have my little cousin speak such things.”
Dearborn seemed split between cowering and glaring.
Bella – Bellatrix floated Dearborn to the middle of the dueling ring. The man blinked when he noticed Petra, seeming incredulous, and looked back at Bellatrix, who took out the training wand and handed it to Petra.
“What about the Stunning Spell first? No, no, that won’t do, it’ll just knock him out. Do you have any ideas, Petra?”
Petra’s tongue was tied. Bellatrix was a bad guy. Bellatrix wanted her to be a bad guy. But she couldn’t say no, could she?
Oh, if only she could have only Bella and not Bellatrix Lestrange.
“Perhaps the Severing Charm first… Aim for his arm, Petra,” Bellatrix instructed.
Petra shakily raised the wand, and pointed it at Dearborn- at the man- at- at it. Bellatrix guided her hand through the movement, and then let her go.
“Go on,” she smiled softly, brown eyes looking at Petra with pride. “Just say the word."
Petra stared at the thing in front of her and cut it open.
Chapter 27: Chocolate Ice Cream
Summary:
An aftermath, conversations, and the beggining of Christmas Hols 1975.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“I vomited the first time I turned my wand to someone as well,” Bella admitted. “It’s quite different from training. It gets easier.”
“I don’t think I want to do that again.”
“You’ll have to,” Bella smiled, “sooner or later. That’s our lot as members of our family. But don’t worry, I’ll be there to help you.”
Petra scooted over to Bella, hiding her face in her dress. Bella laid a gentle hand on Petra’s hand, petting her. “Here, here,” she whispered, “it will be alright. You’ll feel better tomorrow, you’ll see.”
“Promise?” Petra piped up from her hiding place, voice muffled.
“I promise.”
The thing - for it had to be a thing, otherwise she’d done something she couldn’t take back – soon left her mind, buried underneath Bella’s soft touch.
They continued like that for a while, alongside the chirping of birds outside and the occasional ticking of a distant clock, until Bella finally let go, stood up and smiled at Petra. Petra, ignoring her still heavy heart, smiled back at her tentatively. Bella picked her up.
“Let’s get you some ice cream in the gardens. What’s your favourite flavour?”
“Chocolate!”
Bella laughed. “My favourite too! You have good taste, Petra,” she said, while carrying her out to the Lestrange’s gardens, the trembles long forgotten, the vile taste of her own bile overtaken by the sweetness of ice cream.
The rest of the time before Reg and Sirius’s Winter holidays were spent with lessons and playdates and Wizengamot sessions and, notably, not another (what Petra liked to call) situation.
It was fine, normal even. Father still sneaked biscuits to Petra, Mother was still unflinchingly strict, Kreacher still entertained her when Petra didn’t have Mother or Father around, Reg still wrote.
But Reg wrote less. He apologized about forgetting to do so, sent pages-long letters to compensate, saying that he was incredibly busy. And Mother seemed more nervous as days went by, Father smoked more, Cissy seemed paler, even when she brought Petra along to Malfoy Manor for tea.
And Petra still played, still pranked whoever she wanted, but even the stiffer atmosphere affected her.
“D’you think Reg’s alright?” she asked Kreacher, adjusting Petra Junior’s bow on her head. “He’s been writing very little.”
“Master Regulus is a good Master. He loves Young Mistress very much.”
She frowned. “That isn’t what I asked, and you know that, Kreacher.”
Kreacher paused. He thought, and then said, “Master Regulus seems to be well. Master and Mistress would certainly know if something was wrong.”
That sounded correct to Petra, but the latest anxiety that had been consuming her didn’t let her rest easily.
At night, she tossed and turned, falling asleep for a short while before waking up and being unable to sleep again. She kicked off her covers, and quickly regretted it, the cold air hitting her nightgown and legs, and pulled it over herself again.
But no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t get herself to fall asleep. She fished the wand from underneath her pillow and levitated the wrapper that Kreacher had left for the morning to her. She dressed, shoved the wand back into its hiding place, and then jumped out of bed and into her fluffy slippers.
She walked out of her room, wandering around, looking for something to help her sleep. Maybe she’d go to the kitchen, bother Kreacher in his cupboard for a warm cup of milk. That sounded alright.
Petra walked down the stairs, ignoring some of the portraits’ complaints about the sudden noise. When she reached the floor under the one her bedroom was, she noticed a light emitted from an opened room. Curious, she walked towards it.
It was the music room, a place that Mother usually kept closed and locked, even when up against Petra’s determined spellcasting. Father was there, sitting on the piano’s bench, but he wasn’t playing, or even turned towards the instrument. Instead, he seemed to be tired, and had laid his head on his hands at some point before Petra saw him.
“Father?” she asked, keeping her voice low. “Are you alright?”
Father looked up suddenly, as if startled, and quicky grabbed his glasses, that had been hanging from his shirt, and put them on. He stood up, and walked up to Petra, kneeling down in front of her.
“Why are you up, child? It’s quite late.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Petra told him. “Are you alright?”
“Oh, yes. I was simply a bit tired,” he picked her up. “Let’s get you some tea and then to bed, shall we?”
Petra nodded, adjusting herself in his hold. Father took her down to the kitchen, waking up Kreacher in the process, who promptly brewed up some tea for them.
“Can you play the piano, Father?”
“No,” he shook his head. “Your mother can, but I studied the violin.”
“I can play a little bit, Cissy taught me,” she proudly told Father. “I can even play a little bit of Ave Maria!”
“That is quite impressive,” he nodded indulgently at Petra. “ Although, if you feel so bored at your lessons that you seek to learn something else, I could rather have you started on French already.”
“Ugh. French.”
Father smiled. “It is a very important skill to have, child. Unless… you’d like to begin with Latin instead?”
Petra frowned at that. “I’ll take the French,” she decided. She’d rather learn a language whose basics she vaguely recalled than a dead one that she wouldn’t be able to pronounce properly.
Father pat her in the head. “Finish your tea, and then it’s off to bed.”
Durmstrang’s international students didn’t travel to the school via steam engine. Most went via the International Floo or Portkey Network, and even the locals preferred to do so to the school as well.
Mother and Petra were the ones to go pick up Sirius at the Ministry’s office that the international travellers had to report in. He was sitting on a rickety bench next to a tired-looking old witch with a large hat full of feathers, and what seemed to be a hag sitting on his other side. Sirius himself was dressed in dark fabrics and fur. His hair was shorter than it was the last time that Petra saw him, cut in an almost military-like fashion, and he had a nick on his chin, which was set with more tension than she remembered.
The Ministry worker had Mother sign the paperwork and then she and Petra walked over to Sirius.
“’llo, Mum.”
Mother pursed her lips in displeasure but did not say anything about the informal form of address. “Sirius. How was Durmstrang?”
“Cold,” he answered after a bit of ponderation. “Surprising, considering that it’s right next to Greece.”
“Have you been eating well?”
“Yes.”
“Are your classmates agreeable?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent,” Mother picked Petra up. “Let us move on, then.”
They walked out of the office towards the elevator, nearly filled with other Minister workers and visitors, owls flying around and occasional colourful flashes of light shotting out of places where random spells broke. The three of them squished themselves into the elevator, and stood silently while it began its movement, ignoring the loud background conversations.
When they reached the Atrium, Sirius walked out first, and then Mother (and Petra).
“Is Reggie already at Grimmauld’s?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.
Mother shook her head. “Narcissa and Lucius went to pick him up. He will be arriving in a while.”
Petra had wanted to go with Cissy to get Regulus, but Mother refused to budge on the issue. And Petra knew it was best to give in then, unless she wanted Mother to be moody during the entire holiday and ruin the fun for everyone involved.
“I suppose they’re also going to attend Christmas dinner?”
“No. Abraxas Malfoy has one planned for his family. But they are going to dine with us tonight,” Mother added, giving Sirius a critical side-eye. “I expect you to behave, Sirius. The time for your rebellion is long gone.”
“I know,” he answered bitterly.
Mother walked briskly towards the fireplace, and Sirius followed, until they finally Flooed back home.
“Welcome, Mistress!” Kreacher pat his hands dry on his dirty coverings when they emerged from the fireplace. He magicked away the dirt and ashes from their robes.
“Kreacher,” Mother placed Petra down on an armchair, “have a bath drawn for Sirius, and a change of clothing. Then fix Petra’s braids, she’s been messing with the ribbons again.”
The House Elf bowed and dragged Sirius and Petra away. He shoved Sirius inside the bathroom, and then had Petra sit in her vanity, hairbrush in hand.
“Young Mistress ought to avoid pulling on her hair,” Kreacher tutted in disapproval. “Otherwise, it becomes even more painful to untangle it.”
The mirror seemed to agree, showing Petra an image of her with wild, matted hair sticking out in all directions. Petra frowned in annoyance.
“Then you and Mother shouldn’t tie it so tightly,” she whined.
Kreacher gave her one of his more patient smiles, used to that particular complaint, and finished fixing her hair.
Reg arrived barely an hour after Petra did, and she promptly threw herself at him when he came out of the fireplace.
“Reg!” she hugged him, dangling from his neck. “Missed you,” she mumbled against his Hogwarts robes, ignoring Mother’s flat look.
Regulus laughed openly, and ruffled her hair. “I missed you too, Petra,” he picked her up properly.
With another plume of green fire, Cissy and Luscious Locks emerged from the fireplace as well. Cissy sported a pretty silver silk robe, decorated with white embroidery, and Luscious matched her in kind. By their side, a tiny Elf followed, hanging its head and floating Reg’s trunk.
“Auntie,” she smiled at Mother, and took her silver pointy hat off, handing it to the Elf. “How have you been?”
“Quite well, I suppose. How have you two been doing, Narcissa, Lucius? I heard of your networking.”
Cissy’s husband took off in detailing the people he’d been speaking with, to which Mother nodded in a stilted manner, throwing looks at Kreacher that the Elf knew to interpret as ‘bring tea and biscuits’, before going back to talk politics. Cissy, hanging by his arm, added bits she’d learned in the tea parties she’d attended.
Reg snapped his fingers and the Malfoy Elf floated his trunk into the house, presumably to his room, and then he turned back to look at Petra, smiling, and started walking towards the staircase.
“What was school like?” she asked him, making conversation. “Nova and Norma told me that their sister said you’ve been hanging out with a halfblood. Don’t worry, though,” she whispered, “I won’t tell Mother.”
Reg shrugged. “Snape is… useful,” he admitted. “His talent is unquestionable.”
“Snape…?” Petra bit her lip. Snape… Oh, the mean teacher with a crush on Harry Potter’s mum, wasn’t he? She hadn’t thought he was that young… Although, since Jimothy was Sirius’ age, it wasn’t as odd as she initially thought.
“His mother is the witch, not his father,” Regulus said, assuming that Snape’s surname was the source of Petra’s confusion. “Her name is Eileen Prince.”
“Oh!” her eyebrows shot up in realization. “That Eileen Prince? The bloodtraitor?”
“Has there been another Eileen Prince lately?” he smiled, his tone slightly sarcastic.
“Poor Snape,” Petra shook her head. “He must get a hard time with Victoria Prince in his year.”
“Victoria isn’t particularly bright, I’m afraid. She hasn’t yet realized he is her cousin.”
Although Petra had never met the Princes, she’d heard Sirius speak of Victoria once before, mostly when complaining about Slytherin House to their Mother and Father. She did know that they intermarried with the Goyles often, and the Goyles…
Well, they wouldn’t amount to much if they weren’t old purebloods, save for Helen Goyle, saved by her Backe mother.
Reg finally reached his bedroom, opening it with his elbow. His trunk had already been dealt with, all clothing and other items properly tidied, save for a few personal things. He set her down on his bed, covered with an emerald green blanket, and kneeled to pick out a few things from the opened-up trunk, still laying on the floor in front of the bed.
Petra kicked her feet back and forth while her brother picked up his wand and glued (well, cast a Permanent Sticking Charm on) a few newspaper cutouts on the wall.
She squinted. “Things about the Dark Lord?”
Regulus hummed in confirmation. “You’ve also read these articles, haven’t you?”
“Father gave up on keeping the Daily Prophet from me,” she proudly said, crossing her arms in front of her chest and raising her chin. “He just gives it to me after he’s done with it.”
Reg chuckled and pat her head with his free hand. “Hopefully, you’ll be paying as much attention to your lessons as you’ve been to Father’s newspaper.”
“Bleh. I mean, the news are important, but most of it is so repetitive! Raid here, raid there, mudbloods and bloodtraitors killed… It gets annoying after some time.”
“Petra…” Regulus sighed, understanding the implication that her lessons were similarly uninteresting to her.
Petra put her hands up. “Come on, I pay attention! At least, when it isn’t too boring. You can ask Jus, at least I do so in Transfiguration. Father even said I’ll start having French lessons after Christmas!”
Reg rolled his eyes and plopped down next to her, throwing himself back-first into his blanket. “I believe you,” he assured her.
“You better!”
Regulus went back to a grin.
Cissy and Luscious joined the five of them for dinner, but didn’t stay long afterwards. Soon after Father and Luscious went to the drawing room for a smoke and Cissy showed Petra the photos of her newest trip to France, the Malfoys returned home.
Petra couldn’t help but hope they’d stayed longer, since the atmosphere quickly grew sour after they left. Mother and Father had grown apart since Blackmoor Hall, and Sirius coldly refused to speak much besides the occasional sarcastic remark. Even Regulus had grown somehow more stilted, cold, even, when he thought Petra wasn’t paying attention.
Mother soon sent them to bed, and Kreacher made sure that Petra brushed her teeth instead of smearing the mirror with the toothpaste (made by mixing toothpaste powder with water in a little container, which seemed awfully archaic – although Petra wasn’t particularly familiar with the history of dental products) again.
She laid down with the latest edition of Transfiguration Today. She didn’t understand most of it, of course, but she’d been learning! At least, she could understand more than what she could a year prior. There was also the cutout of the day’s Society column, but it was mostly about the returning Hogwarts students – not exactly the most entertaining gossip.
Someone knocked on her door by nine o’clock. “May I come in?” Reg’s voice sounded muffled through the wood.
“Yes!”
Her brother walked in, closed the door carefully, and sat down on Petra’s bed, next to her. “Transfiguration Today?”
“Mother gifted me a subscription a while ago.” She looked at Reg, noticing a frown on his face. “Is something wrong, Reg?”
He bit his lip, seemingly absorbed by his thoughts.
“Regulus?”
“Ah-” his gaze shot up at Petra. “Oh. I’m sorry, Petra. I simply came to wish you a good night’s sleep.”
She raised a questioning eyebrow at him, but dropped the subject.
“Alright,” she nodded. She scootched forward, and caught him in a hug. “Sleep well. Don’t let the Dementors bite!”
He laughed. “Where did you hear that one?”
“I made it up!”
Regulus scuffed her head, and then stood up, taking a moment to tuck her in and kiss her forehead. “Well then, don’t let them bite you either.”
Petra slept well.
Notes:
Hello, everyone! So, I haven't titled this chapter yet, it is meant to be a sort of filler interlude before we go back to more juicy things. Blame exam season, it's just ended for me. If you have any ideas for a title, write it below!
In more personal matters, I've decided to swap university courses. I'll be closer to home, so hopefully my mental health will be better!
Chapter 28: The Marking
Summary:
The continuation of the Christmas Hols of 75.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Lessons went on as normal for the week, besides Bella’s, that is. Mother told Petra that Bella had been busy, with whatever work being a lackey for the noseless dude entailed (not that Mother said that in those exact words – she tended to jump around the topic of the Dark Lord and his work quite a bit, not to mention that none dared to call him noseless even against his back). Petra could still guess, though, with Father’s Daily Prophet hanging in front of her, held tightly by her hands.
In front of her, Reg buttered toast, and selected some of Kreacher’s homemade currant jam. Sirius seemed to drown his sorrows in coffee instead, while Petra ignored her boiled egg and toast in favour of reading the headlines.
Kreacher entered the dining room with a tea tray and Father’s words for the day:
“Master said that Master Regulus and Master Sirius are to join Master at the drawing room in half an hour,” the Elf put down the tray and served Petra a cup – two sugars, a dash of milk, and a ginger biscuit on the side, just how she liked it.
Reg had only a sugar with his tea, and Sirius waved Kreacher off, drinking coffee instead, although he paused at the pitcher of milk and filled the rest of his cup with it.
Kreacher then obediently straightened up and continued with his announcement. “Young Mistress Petra is to continue her lessons on the morning, but in the afternoon, she is to join Mistress.”
Perhaps Mother was going to take Petra on some tea party or the other. Mother liked to court Madam Greengrass’s parlour room, or visit Eleanor Rowle. Perhaps, they’d even visit the Selwyns, who rarely accepted visitors, or some distant relatives, like the Crabbes. Maybe even Aunt Lucretia, who, despite her husband’s family’s associations, was still not entirely ignored by pureblood society.
Whatever Petra’s afternoon plans were meant to be, she threw a curious glance at her brothers. Father rarely called for any of his children (save for Petra, of course, who was clearly his favourite), and since Kreacher had not said anything else, she could only presume that they would be busy for the entire day. Now, for what it could be…
A political move? Unlikely, given how unstable Sirius was on a good day. He was much more mellow since the Summer, and especially more since arriving from Durmstrang, but he was not yet sass-free to Mother and Father’s liking.
Perhaps Father hoped to visit the Malfoys or Lestranges, all of whom were quite used to Sirius’s attitude, but there would be little reason for him to exclude Mother and Petra from such a visit. The Gentlemen’s Club could also be an option… until she remembered that both Sirius and Regulus were not yet adults.
And then, she realized another option. One that made her grip the edges of the Prophet and crinkle her eyes in sudden panic. Father courted the Dark Lord, that much was clear. From his arguments with Mother to the tacit approval of Bella’s job, he hoped to support Voldemort in order to advance his own interests, and those of the House of Black. Perhaps…
Petra, lowering the paper, glanced at Reg, who sipped from his tea, and blinked. He put the cup down, and smiled gently at her.
Ah, she internally sighed in relief. Of course that couldn’t be it. Reg would never stand to be a bad guy, of course not. He was her brother! He loved her! Neither him nor her would be in the wrong side of the story, of course. Besides, she smiled back at Regulus and took a sip from her own cup, newspaper all but forgotten, Sirius was far too stubborn to accept serving the noseless twat either.
Inner fears forgotten, she finished her breakfast.
Miss Macnair let off on the Goblin rebellion she was going over (which one, Petra couldn’t remember – it seemed that Goblins had little else to do than being annoying little shits that were always demanding stupid things from wizards, like the things that wizards had paid good money for) at around twelve o’clock. Petra had a quick lunch with Mother (some fancy French dish that Cissy had talked about after her last trip) and then they both headed to the drawing room’s fireplace.
Mother grabbed Petra’s travelling cloak, bonnet, gloves and winter boots, and, after having Kreacher fasten the ribbons and buttons, looked her up and down, assessing her appearance.
“Where are we going, Mother?” Petra asked, tilting her head.
“Visiting Olga Greengrass,” she answered, tightly holding onto Petra’s hand. “She invited us to meet her for tea on her gardens. I hear there will be other children your age there. Now; I understand you have a friendship with the Rowle twins, but I still expect you to have a good relationship with your future classmates.”
Petra nodded in assent. Frankly, she had little will to befriend more children – Nova and Norma were more of a pair of minions than friends to her, anyway. But she’d quickly learned from birth (and from age three, after she’d been deemed “old enough” to be beaten) that it was better to do what Walburga Black wanted you to do, at least in order to avoid a headache and a sore bottom.
Mother led her to the fireplace’s green flames, and firmly said “Greengrass Manor!”, where Petra’s future Hogwarts class and House mates awaited.
He hadn’t been at Yaxley’s country home before. It was more of an abbey than a home either way, one abandoned during the rule of that Muggle King – some Henry or Harry or the other.
There weren’t any religious symbols of any kind. Instead, it seemed that the so-called Dark Lord preferred to shroud his temporary residences in darkness. Large, dark velvets covered the windows, while candles littered the corridors, floating above the visitors’ heads, hot wax dripping from them. Even the portraits were covered, as if to impede them from spying on anyone.
Sirius Black should have been at the Potters. With Prongs, and Aunt Dorea and Uncle Charlus, and Moony and Wormtail, and even with James’s weird Aunt Euphemia and Uncle Fleamont. He should have been practicing spells against Snivellus and training to fight in this war.
Well, he supposed, he was still going to. Just not for the side he wanted to be in.
Reggie, dressed in all black and as prim and proper as he’d ever been, mindlessly following their parents’ ideals like a lost duckling, didn’t even spare a glance at Sirius’s lost look. He stared forward as he walked, matching Father’s rigid rhythm, while Sirius lagged behind them.
Sirius should have been somewhere else, anywhere else. He should have gone with James before letting his parents find him in the Platform, he should have been more careful to not be spotted by Kreacher.
The three of them passed multiple doors, and finally reached a large dining room, where no furniture stood but for a large table. At its sides, a long line of people sat, all clad in black and with serious looks lining their faces. Bella and her husband attended some of the top seats, nearest to the seat of honour; opposite to them, stood a dark-haired moustachioed man that Sirius recognized as Eddol Yaxley, with a similar-looking young man next to him – Corban, his son. And then, a Selwyn cousin of Bellona’s, and Abraxas and Lucius Malfoy, and the Carrow twins, Alecto and Amycus, Barnaby Mulciber from his year at Hogwarts. Greengrass, Crabbe, Goyle, Rowle, Macnair. Anyone and everyone that the Blacks had relations with.
Merlin, he’d been doomed from the start, hadn’t he? From the moment his mother and father’s soiled blood had joined to form him, Sirius had been doomed to this.
Bella laughed when she laid her eyes on him, and gestured for them to join the three empty seats next to hers. They sat, Sirius, Father and Reggie, in this order, with Sirius being the closest to the head of the table. Bella snickered and dragged her long nails across his arm.
“Congratulations, cousin,” she whispered against his ear, and Sirius had to fight a shiver from escaping him. “A word of advice, from a Black to another – don’t lie to Him. He doesn’t like liars.”
He looked at her, and Bella, almost innocently, smiled at him.
With a gust of wind, the doors burst open, candles wavering. A tall man dressed in dark robes walked in, and all rose and bowed their heads. Father discretely tapped Sirius’ foot with his own, but Sirius had already bowed as well. He was a Gryffindor, not stupid.
The man slowly walked towards the head of the table, and then sat down. He chuckled. “You may lift your heads and sit, my friends,” a cold voice came from him. And, as if by a spell, they all did so.
The man was pale as bone, with red eyes and slits for a nose. He had a head full of dark hair, though it seemed to be balding. His wand, white as bone and as sharply-contrasting against his dark robes as his skin, was twirled against his fingers in an almost lazy way, although the man’s eyes surveyed the table with curiosity.
By Sirius’s side, Bella shook with an excitement that he used to know as a child to be only reserved to her favourite curses.
“Welcome, my friends, old and new,” the man smiled, although the expression seemed strange in his lipless mouth. “Yet another year has almost passed. And a new group of our finest youngsters has reached an age appropriate to help our cause.”
The man rose from his seat, and a large snake slithered onto the table. It sat there, blinking its eyes at the gathering.
“Who amongst us has come to offer their kin?” the man declared; his voice was colder and sharper, and he seemed to be pressuring the attendants to answer.
A man, Eddol Yaxley, stood. “My Lord,” he bowed, “I bring you Carling Yaxley, my sister, to serve You. She is of pure stock and magic, and shall forever be faithful.”
Carling Yaxley rose as well and bowed.
The man waved his wand. “So it shall be. Who else amongst us had come?”
Mulciber’s father did so as well, and so did a Shafiq. And then Father rose and bowed.
“My Lord,” said Father, his tone deferential, “I bring you Sirius Black, my son, to serve You.”
He laid a hand on Sirius’s shoulder, who then, hesitatingly, rose and bowed. But the man didn’t say the same words that he’d said before.
Instead, Sirius hear him walk towards him, and then felt the thin end of his wand raising his chin.
“Sirius Black,” the Dark Lord mused, red eyes meeting grey. “I have heard of you, of course. The proverbial black sheep of the Blacks, friend to halfbloods and bloodtraitors alike. And yet here you stand before me, being offered to my service. Tell me, Orion,” He looked at Father, “why should I not kill this boy where he stands?”
“My Lord, I beg of you. T’is true that my son was rebellious, but we’ve since brought him back to the fold. He’ll be one of Your faithful in little time, if not Your most faithful!”
The Dark Lord hummed in thought. And then He grabbed Sirius chin tightly. “Is that so?” He muttered. “Tell me, Sirius Black, will you truly be?”
Their eyes met, and then he felt it, against his mind – a gentle touch, as if to probe him, and then pain. Being pried open and watched and judged–
Blimey, and I thought you seemed alright?
Oh, look who it is. Snivellus! Washed your underpants recently?
You shall not besmirch my house with such ideas, Sirius Orion Black!
How dare you run away-!
So you can go and abandon Reg again.
Please, Sirius, James, don’t you think it’s too much-? No, I swear it isn’t because of the full moon. It’s just, you know how… McGonagall would give you an earful…
Maybe I’ll break the tradition.
You’re that English bastard, no? I’ll let you know that here at Durmstrang, we don’t accept talk like that.
They want me to join him, d’you know? They want Reggie too.
Sirius… my son… please, don’t give your father another reason for this, just drink your potions…
I can’t-
The four of us, Marauders!
How interesting, a cold voice sounded. There’s loyalty here, and bravery, all directed to the wrong side, but still… Nothing that can’t be used if warped well enough.
And then He left, leaving Sirius empty and out of breath.
Gasping, he held onto Father’s arm, while the Dark Lord smiled again, cold and cold and cold, a glint in his eye directed towards Sirius. And then towards Reggie.
“I do think these will be a good few years for new recruits.”
The Dark Lord waved His wand, and the table vanished, the chairs following soon after they all rose. Bella cackled and joined him, standing by his right side, while a group of dark robed and silver-masked men entered. They brought four people into the room, hanging in the air, each looking bruised and pained. Sirius could see they were gagged and tied, a transparent sliver of air snaking around their mouths and limbs, while their eyes showed either fear, panic, or nothing at all.
“Bellatrix, my dear, will you give our newest recruits an example of what we expect from them? Of how they should treat Muggles and mudbloods and bloodtraitors?”
Bella all but fell onto herself to grab her wand. She stepped forward, to where the prisoners had long since been dropped. “Crucio,” she cast, as the person writhed in pain. They could not scream with their bonds, but Sirius could still hear the sick sounds of crying and choking on their own spit and blood.
A man – Lestrange, Bella’s husband, he recognized – grabbed him by his shoulders while Father handed Sirius his wand. Two other Death Eaters grabbed Carling Yaxley, and Barnaby Mulciber, and Craig Shafiq. Bella stood aside when Sirius arrived next to her, lifting her curse, and he watched as the children – adults – people next to him raised their own wands and prepared to the same spell, all with someone holding their shoulders firmly.
Someone had run away before, he realized. Someone who didn’t want to do this either.
He looked at the person in front of him. He had white hair and blue eyes, wrinkles and spots from old age. From his clothes and fear and confusion, he was a Muggle – perhaps even the parent to a muggleborn. He trembled yet, tears and spit all over his face.
Please, the man seemed to be begging him. Please, please stop this. Please don’t do this.
Sirius raised his wand with the others, but his wand shot a different colour of light.
“Avada Kedavra.”
Multiple things happened at the same time. Bella yelled. The Dark Lord laughed. Muggles and muggleborns and bloodtraitors screamed. The people around them either rejoiced or shouted.
The Dark Lord himself walked to Sirius.
“Perhaps you may not yet be a lost cause, Sirius Black. Will you come under my service?”
And he didn’t lie when he answered “Yes.” Perhaps he could still do something before he was corrupted completely.
And there, between muffled screams and laughter, Sirius took the Dark Mark.
Christmas Dinner had an entire swan roasted to perfection, with chestnuts and potatoes on the side. Gravy and cream joined the table, as well as carrots, spinach, Yorkshire puddings and other savoury pastries. Father and Uncle Alphard, returned from South Africa, had sherry and Elf wine, while Mother, Reg and Petra had tea. Sirius had been offered his first cup of Fire Whiskey, and he’d drowned it as soon as possible.
Desert consisted of a flaming Christmas Pudding, burning in different colours and causing small controlled explosions inside the eater’s mouth, as well as small chocolates, various biscuits, mince pies, and an entire Christmas log that Petra had nagged both Kreacher and Father into allowing. Of course, Father, knowing how Petra favoured both ginger biscuits and chocolate, soon acquiesced.
After dinner, Sirius, Father and Uncle Alphard all went up to Father’s office, while Petra, Reg and Mother went to the drawing room. It’d been decorated festively, with garlands and socks above the fireplace, fairies floating around looking pretty, and a large white pine tree decorated with enchanted crystal droplets that shone and sounded as if being eternally hit by gentle drops of water.
Under the tree, a mountain of presents stood. One package had a pile of books and magazines, signed From Narcissa and Lucius; another held a brand-new Nimbus Ninety-Eighty-Four miniature, paired with a moving photo From Bella, Rod and Rigel. And then there were dolls and plushies, a book of piano partitures, a green and silver scarf, candy and chocolate, dresses and shoes and new jewellery, a new hairbrush; it seemed that Petra’s pile was never-ending. She was used to that, somewhat. Ever since she’d turned two, the pile on her birthday and on Christmas grew ever larger, from close family to more distant relatives, and even people she’d never really met before, hoping to gain favour with the Blacks by sending their youngest gifts.
After she’d tired of tearing the paper, and setting aside one of the new porcelain dolls to substitute Petra Junior (don’t ask what she did with it, it was an accident), Petra and Reg sat by the roaring fire, and she laid her head against his arm.
And all was well.
Notes:
Hello, my dear readers! Now things are truly going underway. I hope I managed to get Sirius's opinion of the whole thing well enough, but I find him frankly difficult to write.
Well, as youtubers say, like, comment and subscribe for more! Possibly still during this month if all goes well.
Chapter 29: Interlude IV: A Best Mate's Tale
Summary:
James Potter and his Summer Holidays of 1975.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It’d taken James about two weeks to finally decide that something was off about Sirius after all. It wasn’t entirely uncommon for communication between them to be cut off for a time during the holidays – Mrs Black especially always seemed vaguely upset at Padfoot for some reason or the other. And yet, it’d never taken his best mate that long to figure out a way around the locks on the Black’s owlery.
Moony and Wormtail didn’t receive anything either, they told him when they met at Diagon Alley for ice cream, an invitation that James’s parents took some care to not mention to him had been entirely disregarded by the Blacks. But Uncle Flea was loose-lipped when he got one too many brandies on him, and Aunt Effie didn’t care all that much about James finding out.
“The boy would know sooner or later, Dorea,” she told Mum. “Besides, this whole thing will soon cool out. The Blacks can’t keep their son at home forever, and from what I’ve heard, Sirius Black is not one to allow himself to be locked away.”
And that was that.
James kept sending letters to Sirius, of course, and tentatively tried to entertain himself with Remus and Peter at his house, but it wasn’t the same without Sirius. Remus was nice, sure, but he wasn’t much of a fun companion, and Peter was too much of a yes-man to come up with interesting activities.
Man, he missed Padfoot. If there was anyone that truly understood James, it was him for sure.
Playing Quidditch wasn’t even fun anymore without him to make two even teams. Nearly knocking Peter off his broom with a too-fast manoeuvre right by his flank didn’t have the same kick to it without someone else to flank the other side. Not even sending letters to Evans in hopes of scoring a date had the same enthusiasm put into it.
At least there was Hogwarts, James thought to himself. If nothing else, he had Hogwarts to look up to. To find his best mate again.
If not for that, he wouldn’t know what to do.
Notes:
Hello! Small interlude this time, I'm getting used to the new school year.
Hope you enjoy!
Chapter 30: Lay the Trap
Summary:
Christmas photos, French lessons, and an introduction to a Mr Brown.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Petra woke to the smell of fresh ginger biscuits and tea and the sound of laughter and talk. She jumped out of the bed, put a wrapper on and jumped into her slippers, and ran (as quickly as she reasonably could with said slippers) out of her room and down the stairs.
The dining room had its double doors open, revealing the roaring fire and the guests whose giggles she’d heard: Cissy who’d dressed casually, alongside the blonde twat Lucius. Uncle Alphard entertained them with jokes over toast, and Sirius even seemed to chirp in at times, for once.
Petra just ignored them and climbed up her chair, zeroing in on the biscuits. She grabbed the entire plate and dragged it until she could place it above her own.
Ginger biscuits! Two dozen or so of them. And all for her! Petra wasn’t one to deny herself her basic, inalienable rights: eating whatever the hell she felt like eating, especially when it came to ginger biscuits.
Ah, the advantages of being the best person in the world.
Speaking of best person in the world, Reg soon came in, already dressed properly, unlike both Petra and Sirius. With him, Father came in, reading glasses already on and the Daily Prophet under his arm. “Good morning!” he cheerily greeted, grabbing a cup of coffee as soon as he got seated at the head of the table. They all parroted back a greeting, Petra making sure to swallow before speaking (Mother would have a fit if she misbehaved in front of the Malfoys). Reg sat down next to Petra, picking up his own breakfast: eggs and bacon, beans on toast, and a cup of English breakfast tea.
“How is Aunt Walburga doing this morning?” Cissy asked, stirring her tea. “I hope she isn’t feeling ill, it would be quite a shame for Lucius and I to come so early for a family picture without her.”
“Walburga is merely resting a bit. She should be coming down soon.”
Perhaps Christmas had tired Mother, Petra thought. Merlin knows that the woman had little patience for happiness, given how bitter she usually was.
She then thought about the family picture. It was something the Blacks did every Christmas, although Cissy and her side of the family were never in it – it was usually only Mother, Father, Reg and Petra, given how Sirius would stay at school to avoid them.
“I didn’t know you’d be taking the picture with us,” Petra turned to Cissy and Luscious Locks. “Are Bella and Rod also going to come along? What about Uncle Cygnus?”
“I think the Lestranges are quite busy,” Lucius answered in lieu of Cissy, who simply shook her head. She then added, “The Lestranges have their own pictures, and Bella has gone to Albania besides. The Malfoys, on the other hand” – she grabbed her husband’s hand – “don’t quite have that tradition.”
“My father is more of a portrait sort of wizard,” Lucius said.
“It’s a bit of a shame, really. I quite missed the annual photos ever since I married Lucius…”
“Which is why we spoke to your father, Petra. I couldn’t deny Narcissa what she wanted, of course.”
They looked at each other with sickly sweet looks. Petra gagged.
She decided to focus on her breakfast instead and finished the plate of biscuits (plus the glass of milk that Reg goaded her into drinking) and then kissed Reg and Father in the cheek before running back upstairs to change.
Kreacher was already in her room, having tidied up her bed and the dirty socks she’d left strewn around the night before. He’d taken out an appropriate dress – black and red, with golden embroidery of crows on the skirt, and a stern and tight bodice. The sleeves had a row of tiny, fabric-covered buttons up to the elbow, and it had hundreds of little golden stars embroidered. It wasn’t a dress for everyday wear, especially for someone as prone to destruction as Petra, but rather a living embodiment of the Black family’s crest.
Petra had the slight suspicion that it was an heirloom piece, given how she didn’t remember seeing it before.
She knew better than to complain about the obviously uncomfortable dress, however, lest she tempted Mother’s already frayed nerves, and simply put it on.
“Mr and Mrs Malfoy to the left of Mr Black – Mr Orion Black, of course, thank you. And Mr Alphard, to the right of Mrs Black. As for the children…” the wizard pondered, rubbing his beard. His assistant tuned the camera as he thought, cleaning the lens while the machine tried to turn away from the rag, stubbornly refusing it.
The photographer directed Sirius and Reg to stand behind Mother, who’d had a chair Summoned for her to sit on, and then Petra had to sit on her lap. She resisted the urge to scratch at the dress and at her hair, pulled back painfully in a neat updo. Mother, noticing Petra’s restlessness, discretely laid her hand on top of Petra’s holding it down.
The assistant made a signal to the photographer, who then smiled and turned back to the Blacks. “All set, then! On three, ladies and gentlemen. Three, two-”
Petra felt herself nearly jump when the flash of light came just a second too early.
“My apologies, my apologies,” the wizard kept repeating as he fixed whatever had gone wrong with the camera. He then set it up again, taking the picture just fine that time.
He waved his wand at the camera and a large black strip came out of it. The copies of the picture slowly revealed themselves, miniature copies of the Blacks blinking at the viewer. The photographer handed a copy to everyone, kept two for the Daily Prophet, and gave the rest to Father.
Merry Christmas from the House of Black, 1975, it said in cursive lettering just below the picture. The Petra in the picture smirked back at the real Petra. She quite liked it, actually. Perhaps Jus would be kind enough to teach Petra the duplication charm if she asked him after her lessons resumed – Merlin knows Miss Rowle wouldn’t give a shit to her pleas. Andy would certainly like to have a copy of the picture (she’d always seemed open enough to whatever pictures and letter Petra sent, although she had no idea how she could smuggle her the photo now that her Sirius-smuggling method was no longer an option), and maybe Petra could keep a few copies to desecrate whenever she felt upset with Mother. Drawing moustaches on complaining portraits didn’t exactly fill the specific Mother-oriented spite she often felt.
The photographer then took a picture of the Malfoys, then Mother and Father side-by-side, then had Sirius and Regulus pose together.
“And the young Miss Black should sit on this chair,” he declared, pointing Petra towards the green velvet-lined chair that Mother had sat on before. She even managed to snag her hair tie before anyone noticed, and breathed a sigh of relief on her poor scalp’s behalf as she sat.
Reg discreetly laid his right hand on the chair’s back. Although Petra could not look back at him (the photograph would surely have to be repeated that way), she could feel the smile.
She smiled as well.
“Ils sont,” Mother prompted.
“Deux garçons,” Petra answered.
By early February, Mother had decided that Petra was ready enough for French lessons. Frankly, Petra didn’t see the point. Latin, she could justify later learning – it was one of the main languages used to create spells, after all. But French? The Blacks had come from Roman and Byzantine ancestors, and while they’d intermarried with Normands, to the point that the family moto was in French, they didn’t really acknowledge that as a part of the identity of the House of Black.
Uncle Cygnus’ daughters being learned in French and French culture she could understand, given how the Rosiers were French to their core (even if most of the family hasn't actually been French for nearly two centuries), but it made little sense for the thoroughly British Blacks to want to do so.
But, of course, it was one of the trappings of noble high society, and one that Petra found very funny. She doubted that any of the purebloods would be happy to know that they were just like Muggle nobles.
Just one more of the awesome bits of knowledge that being the awesome person that she was afforded Petra.
“Now. For the conjugation of aller. Note this down,” Mother moved to another verb, to which Petra internally groaned.
She’d forbidden Kreacher to speak to Petra in English, and clearly meant for the entire house to speak only in French until she deemed Petra proficient enough for her taste. At least, Petra still had her letters to Reg and Cissy and her books (and other lessons, obviously, which Mother had deemed important enough to not be taught in French – yet, at least).
So far, Petra had gotten by by mimicking as well as she could to Kreacher and occasionally saying a French word that she’d learned, as she’d found that trying to get around that system would just get Kreacher to hit himself. Which was unhelpful, of course, for him to do that when she needed him to do something else.
So, Petra wrote down the verb that Mother recited and wrote on the blackboard, thanking whatever magical power out there made Mother realize that Petra wouldn’t be able to discern the mysterious force that was French spelling. English spelling was already an entire beast, English spells even more so, but they had nothing on French.
She respected the grift, really. Someone decided to make children cry, and they did so perfectly. She was a little bit jealous, actually.
In fact, thinking about children like little Rigel or whatever spawn Malfoy and Cissy created having to learn French did amuse her somewhat. Reg would also privately find it funny, she thought, even if he admonished Petra for snickering as he usually did.
She tried to keep her snicker from leaving her head as Mother wrote a few example sentences and turned her eyes to the grandfather clock on the corner. Just half-an-hour more, and then she could open up Iola’s secret room and chat while writing her latest letters.
Petra went back to the French verb.
The invitation to Antonin Dolohov and Catherine Macmillan’s wedding arrived at mid-February, to Mother’s quiet grumbling that it seemed they hadn’t jumped the wand after all and to Father’s quiet delight that his cousin’s marriage to his newest ally was so soon. They had extended the invitation to the entire House of Black, and the guest list had such other families as the Malfoys, Averys, and such, alongside the Minister, several important Department Heads and businessmen, as well as a few foreign Dolohov relatives.
“We’ll buy new dress robes, of course,” Father said over the invitation. “Black and silver, of course. Walburga, what do you think of bringing your aunt’s earrings?”
“The goblin silver ones? Perhaps if you wish to curse the happy couple with their presence.”
Father snorted rather inelegantly at the joke.
“Father, Mother, may I bring jewels as well?” Petra asked, trying her best to stretch herself past the edge of the table as she could so they could see her properly. “Please, I promise I will be careful!”
“You will bring the Carrows’ ring and that will be it,” Mother sternly declared, leaving no room for further discussion. Petra looked pleadingly at Father instead, who slightly tilted his head in an apologetical way.
“More importantly, will Lucretia and Ignatius come?” Mother changed the subject. “They haven’t engaged in polite society ever since that niece of theirs married the Weasley, but surely they wouldn’t miss a Macmillan’s wedding, no?”
“She hasn’t written me yet, but I doubt they received the invitation early,” Father lowered his own invitation, patting at the paper to make his point. “But Lucretia has always liked the Macmillans. I doubt she will refuse it.”
Petra had never met Aunt Lucretia. Apparently, she rarely attended pureblood parties, even less in the latest ten years or so, but that was a plus in Petra’s book. Unless the woman was a demented introvert, at which point her only worth would be to be messed with, actively avoiding purebloods could be an indication that they did not agree with the Bad Guys, and were, by extension a Good Guy. Petra really needed a shoe-in to meet more Good Guys. As much as she liked Reg, Cissy, Uncle Alphard, and, to a certain extent, Father, they were all on the Bad Guy’s side.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be an issue once she got into Hogwarts and Gryffindor, but that was about seven years in the future, and Petra could get quite impatient, to be honest. She couldn’t take that much more Dumbledore-sightings edging at the Wizengamot.
“Is Aunt Lucretia a blood-traitor?” she asked bluntly, but feigning an innocent look, both to stir the pot a little and to do some information gathering.
“No!” Father clenched his fist and brought it down on the table, uncharacteristically angry. Petra flinched, and then blinked, clenching and unclenching her hands, trying to not flinch again when Father blinked, as if surprised by his outburst, and unclenched his fist. He adjusted his glasses.
Mother just looked tired of Petra’s bullshit, and angry that she’d suggest that a family member was a blood-traitor. “If she was, she wouldn’t be spoken of,” she simply said. She walked up to Petra’s chair and pulled on her ear harshly. “If you have the time to think such nonsense, surely, I have not kept you entertained enough with your lessons. What are our words?”
“Tou-toujours pur!”
“And what do we do to those who betray our family?”
Petra winced at the sharp pain when Mother pulled on her hear again. “We blast them off!”
“So why, pray tell, would Lucretia be one the Tapestry then?” she released Petra’s ear. “Merlin’s beard, how can that child be so dull and yet so bright,” Mother muttered as she sat back down. “It seems we will have to review your genealogy, girl. We can not have you look foolish in front of the Macmillans.”
Ah, balls.
Little Rigel stared up at Petra from the highchair that Bella had plopped her crotch demon into. She stared back, unimpressed and just lightly offended at the interruption. Not that she wanted those lessons with Bella specifically (she liked them, but Bella was as clear a fascist as one could be), but she certainly didn’t want the little drooling shit messing with her dueling time. She so rarely had the chance to learn actual fighting-aligned spells (beyond the occasional book she swiped from the upper shelves at the Black Library that she couldn’t really understand anyway), she didn’t need Rigel there.
So, of course, the first lesson she had with Bella after she returned from Albania had to involve the baby. Petra side-eyed him as Bella set up the dummies.
“This is quite the fun spell,” Bella smiled, twirling her wand. “The movement is as such” – a flick, and then a rectangle before a jabbing motion. Petra repeated the motion, trying her best to replicate it. She had usually no trouble with any kind of fine movement, despite it probably being really odd for a child her age (as Miss Rowle seemed to think, the bitch),but that didn’t mean she just memorized every spell’s wand movement already. That was for the future Petra to deal with.
“And then,” Bella added, “Organi Effectus!” and demonstrated the spell – a pink jet of light that caused the dummy to turn inside out – straw flying everywhere, the wood that made the stick that kept it up splintering up and exploding.
“Cool,” Petra whispered in awe behind the shield that Bella had put up in front of her and Rigel. The little creature giggled.
“Did you like it, Riggy?” Bella giggled. She came nearly hopping in glee towards her son, who giggle along. “Do you like to see Mummy do magic? Of course you do!” she picked him up and booped him on the nose. “Of course you do!”
Petra frowned and bit her lip, clenching her fists at the little shit.
“Do you like helping Mummy? Are you going to hunt mudbloods too, Riggy?”
Rigel giggled again.
Petra picked up the training wand and went up to another dummy. She pictured Rigel’s little face on it.
“Organi Effectus!” she shouted, and felt incredible satisfaction when it exploded over Rigel’s giggles.
“Perfect!” Bella twirled and grabbed Petra’s free hand, who pouted still, upset at the baby on Bella’s hip. “Just put a little more oomph on the flick, I find it breaks the middle better.”
Indeed, the advice proved solid: the stick that held the next dummy up had cleaner splints than the one before it. Bella continued nitpicking Petra’s form and pronunciation while Rigel stared in awe at the colour-changing bubbles that she conjured to entertain him. His large brown eyes reflected the multiple lights emitted by the bubbles – it had the effect of making him look somewhat like a kitten.
Petra almost thought he was cute, before she remembered that the little shit was consistently taking people’s attention and affection away from her. She couldn’t fall for the crotch demon’s charms, she was better than that.
They trained the spell for a while more. Eventually, Bella deemed Petra good enough for the moment, and had Kreacher bring tea and biscuits to the drawing room. Petra quickly went up to her bedroom to change, and then ran back down, nearly skiing down the rugs, to the portraits’ disapproval, to find Kreacher setting up the teacups and sugar.
Petra shoved Kreacher aside to reach a biscuit – lemon, unfortunately, and not ginger – and then reached her latest favourite armchair, one that had thousands of beads embroidered on it, making it fairly uncomfortable to sit on it without the cushion that were Petra’s several layers of clothes, but one that still made her look like a total badass. Bella had elected to sit on the loveseat next to that armchair, and the tea and biscuit tray was on the short table in front of it. Rigel had been placed in a pretty woven basket on top of the table as well, and was looking up at his mother.
“So,” Petra eagerly scooted to the edge of the armchair, “how was Albania? Did you see any vampires? Is it true that there are forests full of hags there?”
“I didn’t find any hags, although Rabastan swears he saw one,” Bella smiled. “Frankly, it might have just been his mother’s ghost,” she whispered conspiratorially. Petra giggled at the joke. Bella then grabbed a sugar cube and dropped it in her tea. “We met with a coven of vampires. Their leader is an Italian who calls himself Sanguini – very on the nose,” she smirked. “It means ‘bloody’.”
Vampires were one of those creatures that Petra felt a sort of morbid curiosity about. They were inhuman monsters that the Ministry did a very good job in exterminating or controlling – in her opinion, at least. And yet, the idea of them was quite alluring.
She’d had a Twilight phase once. As cringe as it’d been, the fascination was still there.
“Is it true they kidnap children?” she asked, thinking back to the fairytales she’d read that had vampire villains.
“Only the ill-behaved ones,” Bella pocked Petra’s nose. “Have you been behaving for your parents, or have you been swapping Aunt Walburga’s blush for itch powder again?”
“I haven’t!” she quickly denied – maybe a little too quickly. “I swear I haven’t!”
Bella laughed. “We’ll see. Perhaps you’ll still get to meet a vampire after all.”
Sirius’ blood-traitor and halfblood friends had been badgering Regulus all year about him, but they’d been merely annoying until Christmas – it seems that, ever since the holidays ended and the Daily Prophet’s Society Column was published, including the photograph of the House of Black and a small blurb about the current status of each member, they’d decided to be more direct with their means of obtaining information from him.
The Slytherins weren’t unused to that particular group targeting them. Snape was a frequent target, as were the younger students, but they seemed to have enough sense to not usually bite the ones that could bite back. Not that they didn’t – Mulciber was one such example, having spent a couple of days in the Infirmary after one of those ‘pranks’ – but Regulus had certainly never been a target.
Until now, at least.
“Oi, Black,” Potter sneered. He had, at least, enough sense to not go against Regulus in public, and had decided to bother him in the corridor on the way to one of the, often unused, study rooms. “We need to have a talk.”
Regulus looked around. Lupin and Pettigrew were flanking Potter. Longbottom, who wasn’t a part of the group but still seemed to back them up occasionally, stood behind Regulus, pinching him in between his accosters.
He considered stunning one of them, but he’d received a dozen spells before he could actually run away.
Regulus stood up straight and looked Potter in the eyes instead. “What do you want?”
Potter didn’t seem to like the snark, if his expression was anything to go by, but still decided to talk instead of going immediately to his wand. “I know what you’re doing, Black,” he said, raising his chin. “Taking Sirius away, going around and cursing people – and don’t deny it, everyone knows it’s you Slytherins. Hoping to join that fellow, are you? You can do whatever you want, you gigantic prick, but I won’t let you do that to Sirius,” Potter snarled.
Regulus had to keep himself from rolling his eyes. Typical of Potter, favourite of the staff and golden boy of Gryffindor, to think that Regulus had any way to sway his family on anything they didn’t want to be swayed on. Dorea Potter certainly coddled him too much, he thought. Miracle baby or not, she ought to have had a firmer hand on him.
The two halfbloods had different reactions to Potter’s little speech. Pettigrew tried to make himself as big as possible, something quite easy with his porky build, and seemed to try to back up each of Potter’s declarations. Lupin, on the other hand, didn’t seem to agree with all of them – and yet he had his wand on hand, twirling it absentmindedly.
Regulus wasn’t deaf. There were rumours around Lupin and his frequent disappearances – a chronic disease, family problems, some more farfetched rumours that he was some sort of creature – but the one that was whispered even lower than the other whispers was about Lupin’s preferences.
He had no idea if they extended to Sirius, but Regulus wouldn’t let them stand. No brother of his would be known as a pansy.
That is to say, whenever this matter blew, Lupin would be the first of the group to get hit.
“And what do you have to do with it?” Regulus rhetorically asked Potter. “You are not Sirius’ father or brother. You have no right to decide his fate. Besides,” he smiled sardonically, “it’s bold threatening someone who you’re so sure uses the Dark Arts. Perhaps Gryffindor should be known as the House of boldness and stupidity instead?”
“Don’t make me laugh,” Potter spat. “You’re surrounded. You’ll do what I tell you. Here,” he extended his hand, “we’ll do an Unbreakable Vow.”
“James,” Longbottom called, “are you sure…?”
Lupin raised his wand. “I still don’t agree, but you know James will just insist on it anyway,” he told Longbottom. “I’ll be the witness.”
Regulus wasn’t stupid. Unbreakable Vows were unbreakable for a reason, and he couldn’t agree to one. Potter didn’t offer anything in return either, so there was no point in entertaining any promise that he couldn’t even fulfil.
Running away immediately wasn’t an option. He needed to lower their guards first, get them to a more fragile state. Longbottom was clearly opposed to the plan he hadn’t been informed about, and Lupin seemed to have his own reservations. Pettigrew was as much of a yes-man as a dull halfblood could be, and Potter certainly wouldn’t hesitate to curse Regulus.
“Fine,” Regulus sneered. He extended his right hand, clasping Potter’s.
Potter seemed surprised that Regulus agreed to it, and then suspicious. “Wand,” he demanded. Regulus hesitated, but then reached into his pockets – even he had to admit that he could be lazy with putting his wand into its rightful holster. Potter grabbed it from Regulus’ grip, and then smiled. “Here, Moony,” he handed it to Lupin. “Take care of it, will you?”
Lupin pursed his lips but still grabbed the wand. It was a bit awkward to see him juggle his wand and Regulus’ on one hand – Regulus looked down to see his other hand was bandaged and clearly unavailable – but he still did it.
Potter clasped Regulus’ hand again, to which Regulus sneered and put his hand in his pocket. It wasn’t a move he would ideally do – it was fairly suspicious in this circumstance, but Potter seemed confident enough with having confiscated Regulus’ wand. He patted around for the dagger that Bellatrix had given him, a small thing with minimal enchantments that Regulus could pretend was to shave with if caught with it.
“For whoever gives you a hard time,” she’d winked at him during one of those Summer lessons. Regulus hadn’t expected to have to use it so soon, but he wasn’t going to squander the opportunity.
James turned his head at Lupin. “Remus, will you do the honours?”
The mousey boy hesitated before he placed his wand on top of Regulus and Potter’s linked hands. Potter looked at Regulus with a dark sort of satisfaction.
“Do you, Regulus Black, swear to leave Sirius Black live as he wishes?”
“Hmph,” Regulus snorted.
“Swear it.”
Regulus smiled more softly. He opened his mouth. “I –”
And with a swift movement, he slashed at Potter and Lupin’s hands with the dagger. They fell, crying out. Regulus hissed when he felt his own hand be cut, but ignored the throbbing pain as he grabbed his wand from the ground.
“Stupefy!”
Longbottom fell down, the jinx he’d been casting changing direction with him. Regulus turned back and disarmed Pettigrew’s shaky grip on his wand, before slashing at Potter with golden floating ropes.
“Lumos solari!” Lupin cried out. Regulus’ eyes were assaulted with a bright light, and he closed them instinctively, the burning brightness still penetrating his eyelids.
“Nox, Fumos obscuria,” Regulus whispered. The corridor was covered in dark smoke, obscuring both Regulus and his assaulters. “Homenum revelio.”
Four figures were revealed to Regulus. One unconscious, one cowering, one tied up, and one still standing. He could see Lupin trying to find the right counterspell for the smoke. Regulus knew he had about a minute before he managed to do so, running through the catalogue of variations of Finite.
Unfortunately for Lupin, Regulus wasn’t much of a noble Gryffindor.
He pointed his wand at Lupin and blasted him against the wall. The boy hit it harshly, probably breaking a few bones with the sounds he made – nothing that the Healer couldn’t quickly fix, but something that would send a message.
Regulus checked once again that none of the Gryffindors moved before he pat himself down and stepped out of the smoke.
He still had to study, after all.
“Reggie!” Bellona Selwyn sat next to Regulus at the Common Room. Ingrid raised an eyebrow at her, looking up from her book, but otherwise ignored Sirius’ fiancée. “Could you please do me a favour?” the insipid girl chittered. “Sirius simply hasn’t been answering my letters, and I’d hoped that perhaps you could convince him to write to me.”
Regulus knew that Sirius didn’t answer to Bellona because he didn’t give a shit about her. Not that it mattered – all that marriages needed were good blood and children, after all. But Bellona was attention-seeking and quite vain, and he knew she would not give up until she got what she wanted. Most of the time, it happened to not involve Sirius, but ever since he went to Durmstrang and was therefore deemed not a budding blood-traitor any longer, Bellona had decided that she wanted him after all.
Well. What could Regulus really do other than oblige to the wishes of his future sister-in-law? It would make for a funny story to tell Petra, at least.
“I’ll do so, Bellona, worry not.”
Bellona thanked him in that arrogant manner of hers before all but skipping away to her little study group. Ingrid snickered.
“Thinking of messing with your brother?”
“He’ll need someone to mess with him now that he’s away from England.”
“It must be terribly dull for him, then. Not enough first-years to terrorize.”
Regulus laughed. “I suppose not. At least not enough first-years that don’t know curses.”
Ingrid chuckled and went back to her book.
Durian Avery, who’d been watching the interaction from his spot near the fireplace, rolled his eyes at Regulus while pointing at Bellona, as if to say ‘how can you tolerate her?’, to which Regulus simply shrugged. He had experience dealing with obnoxious people. Bellona just happened to be slightly more obnoxious than usual.
He'd studied his book for one more hour when a group of owls flew into the Common Room, signalling the surge of Sunday afternoon correspondence. Ingrid’s owl pecked at her hair while she took the letter from it, and Regulus grabbed his own letters from the midnight-black owl he called Noctua. The package had his weekly letter from his parents, Petra’s weekly letter, a note from Bellatrix with a list of books to study curses from, a perfumed envelope from Narcissa, and a short message from Antonin Dolohov.
Setting the stage. Brown is a problem. Get his daughter infatuated with you, He will decide how to proceed later.
Brown’s daughter was a Hufflepuff named Rose. She was a soft, innocent girl roughly Regulus’ age that seemed entirely unaware of the political climate around Hogwarts and around her father. The man, Mr Brown, was a staunch mudblood supporter, but one that was too well-connected to simply deal with, or so Antonin had suggested before. Regulus had all but begged to help somehow, to which Antonin hesitated until Bella came along.
“Oh, just let him, Dolohov. Reggie here will join us officially soon anyway.”
And so he waited until Antonin found a way to use him – and that was apparently to get a hook on Brown.
The Dark Lord would use Rose Brown against her father, that much was clear, although Regulus wasn’t sure what would happen to her. But Rose Brown was a blood-traitor and an idiot besides, so he shouldn’t think too much of it.
As disgusting as it made him feel, Regulus supposed he should just… channel Sirius. His brother had gone around with dozens of girls and dated about none of them, so he had some kind of charm that Regulus could try to emulate. At least he wasn’t going to charm a mudblood or halfblood.
He'd have to be discreet, though. Ingrid didn’t deserve to think he was being unfaithful, even if he was merely following higher orders. He and Ingrid were merely friends – they, like most of the arranged marriages he’d seen, had little love for each other on a romantic sense – but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t respect her. She’d already been upset when her friend Merielle had a very public crush on Regulus, after all.
He'd talk to Snape later. Out of all the Slytherins, he was the closest to someone outside of Slytherin. He could get an in through him, most likely.
Regulus Reducto’ed Antonin’s note and then turned to his other letters. He needed something to cheer himself up with. Petra’s would surely do the trick.
“I hear you’ve been studying French lately, little miss Petra,” Lord Malfoy said, delighted. “Ça va?”
“Oui, seigneur Malfoy.”
“Ah, très bien! Your pronunciation is quite good, I must admit.”
Father chuckled at the interaction. The Wizegamot around them chattered while members still entered or awaited the beginning of the session. The topic of current gossip was split between Dolohov’s upcoming wedding, the decrease of the number of employed wizards, and the Smith bastard, who Mr Smith was trying to add to his family registry as a cousin, child of some long-lost Squib relative, despite everyone knowing he was his son. And Petra and Abraxas Malfoy, of course, were talking about Petra’s latest French lesson.
“Greetings, Lord Black, Lord Malfoy,” their group was joined by an old man with an impressive moustache. He was clearly significantly older than Father and Lord Malfoy, and a somewhat familiar face to Petra from the small portraits that occasionally appeared on Nature’s Nobility: Presley Parkinson, the elderly Head of the House of Parkinson, and a man that she knew Father often spent time with at the Gentlemen’s Club from the conversations he would have with Mr Malfoy when Petra was present.
Lord Parkinson turned at Petra with a smile. “And this must be the young Miss Black, I presume? It is a pleasure.”
“It’s a pleasure as well,” she smiled. No one could say that Petra wasn’t a perfect little girl when she wanted to – or when she had to. Unfortunately, public scenes would probably end up with a beating and being restricted to her bedroom, and so she decided long ago that behaving at the Wizengamot was in her best interest. Generally speaking. Mother’s hands weren’t the kindest on her butt.
Lord Parkinson then sat down next to Abraxas Malfoy, white moustache twitching every time he spoke. Petra pouted, kind of upset that her conversation companion had been stolen from her, but simply sighed and looked to her left.
Father and Lord Malfoy tended to sit to the right of the central rows of the Wizengamot, which were generally reserved for Ministry employees, although not officially, as Petra saw them change seats several times – it seemed that only the Minister, Chief Warlock and his Vice-Chief had actual reserved seats. Over the months, she’d seen sympathies wax and wane with seat placements. Dolohov’s seat, for example, had been the farthest it could from Father’s until Antonin Dolohov took over.
Now, the other side was seemingly chiefed by the Bones family, two McKinnon siblings who worked somewhere in the Ministry, and the Longbottom Lord – Al…bert? Alexander? Something like that.
Father’s side, on the other hand, had expanded quite a bit. A lot of old families had banded together under him and Lord Malfoy. Mostly Lord Malfoy, from what Petra could see. It seemed that Father wasn’t as publicly vying for allies as Malfoy. There were also some prominent halfbloods – Bobbin, Yare, Darlene Roland…
“Order! Let us all sit!” Vice-Chief Warlock Pocus smacked his gavel down. The conversations settled down into small murmurs as Pocus spoke the order of matters to take into account. “First, we will be reviewing the budget allocations into the Department of Law Enforcement, as per the proposed decree number 2563-”
Petra tuned out the rest. Most of the Wizengamot sessions were practically unbearable – the exceptions being, of course, when people actually started saying something decent other than throwing out random numbers.
Father absentmindedly patted down Petra’s hair as she began to fidget. Noticing she’d only marginally settled down, he instead discretely whispered: “I have a mission for you, child,” he grinned. “Do you see Mr Brown? I’d like you to keep an eye on him.”
Mr Brown – she couldn’t be half-arsed to try and remember his first name – was a middle-aged man with reddish-brown hair that contrasted very badly with his Wizengamot purple robes. Petra remembered the Browns, despite being Sacred 28, were not part of the families that called themselves Lords, although being well within their rights to do so. Their loss, she shrugged as she thought.
She couldn’t remember any reason why Father would want her to watch Brown instead of, say, Bones or Longbottom, but he might have just been playing the same game that Father was, being the leader of his faction while letting others be the face.
Smart. Petra could appreciate some cunning. It would certainly decrease the chances of being attacked directly.
The rest of the session was still rather boring, with Pocus going on about the several proposals, the occasional argument over increasing the minimum Muggleborn employment numbers at the Ministry, and Lord Parkinson whispering at Father and Malfoy occasionally. Brown seemed to perk up at the Muggleborn employment thing, only to frown at the opposing voices, but seemed to let Mr Bones handle it instead.
With a final strike of the gavel, the Wizengamot dispersed. Father quickly picked up his notes while Petra used the noise and his momentary distraction to jump off his lap. “I’ll be right back,” she mumbled, and simply walked away once Father muttered some distracted, unintelligible answer, not really paying any attention to her while he spoke to Malfoy and Parkinson.
She took it as permission.
Petra weaved through the sea of legs and stairs. The adults around her didn’t seem to notice her, too focused on their conversations and parchments. She jumped the stairs down – would have done so two by two, but she was still too short for that and didn’t want to fall.
Brown and Bones were both exiting Courtroom Four when Petra finally reached the bottom of the stairs. She looked left and right, and then back at Father, and sprinted towards the pair.
The corridor was packed. A group of journalists were interviewing a bespectacled woman, shooting question after question amidst the flash of their flying cameras. A group of men smoked in a corner, their cigars, cigarettes and the like emitting all kinds of colourful smokes while hanging from their mouths or hands, mixing with the sounds of laughter and gossip. Brown and Bones joined the group, taking out their own cigars, which a helpful friend lighted for them.
Petra hid next to a group of Ministry workers too distracted to notice her using them as cover. It took a bit of adjusting for her to be able to get close enough to hear what Brown was saying in-between puffs.
“Damned Malfoy,” she finally managed to catch. “I just know that damned bill was his idea. Just concerned about employment opportunities for the majority, my ass. More like, I don’t want any mudblood in the Ministry.”
Bones chuckled at the crass language. “There is still another reviewing session before the vote. We’ll get together tonight -Longbottom’s place. We’ll discuss how to fork it in then.”
“Best to make it quick. Minchum seems very invested in passing this. No doubt thanks to Malfoy’s gold. Lestrange and Black’s too, most certainly.”
“I’ll speak with Amelia,” Bones inhaled deeply. After a few seconds, he exhaled; a yellow smoke bird flew out of his mouth. “She’s got some standing with Minchum’s cabinet. Perhaps we will find an opening there.”
Brown grumbled something that Petra couldn’t catch. She yelped as she was roughly shoved by someone’s leg and tripped.
“Oof,” she felt air rush out of her lungs. She found herself kneeling on the floor; a dull pain slowly emerged from her knees, letting her know, between the beginning of tears, that she’d skinned her knees. Petra bit her lip to avoid letting a sob come out in reflex – she was a prideful creature, after all. The best of the best, in blood and flesh and everything else. Sugar and spice and everything nice.
She wouldn’t cry in the middle of the corridor.
“Oh, dear,” someone spoke. A pair of feet stopped in front of Petra, clad in brown leather shoes and then covered by the purple robes of the Wizengamot.
Shit, she thought, recognizing the voice. Thinking quickly, Petra let the tears flood. Sobbing, she brought a clenched fist to her eyes, trying to make it seem like she was helplessly crying and trying to clean her tears at the same time.
“Father!” she sobbed, looking up, as pitifully as she could. “I can’t find Father!”
Bones kneeled down, seemingly fooled by Petra’s childlike acting. “Oh, sweetheart. Are you lost?” he said in a sweet tone, trying his best to not frighten her. She held her arms out in a clear demand.
Bones picked her up, wincing at Petra’s weight, but still tried his best to have her comfortably in his arms. Brown raised an eyebrow at his companion.
“What?” Bones asked.
Brown sighed. “Just bring the girl to an Auror. They’ll deal with her, Edward.”
“Nonsense. If the child is here, then she is most likely the daughter of someone at the Wizengamot. Tell me, sweet,” he turned to Petra, “what is your father’s name?”
“Father is Father,” Petra sniffled, letting the downpour of tears stop gradually. At least they wouldn’t immediately link her to the Blacks – a good thing if she wanted to overhear something more. And it made her come across as a small child, which would work in her favour as well.
“Helpful,” said Brown. “Again, the Aurors would do a fine enough job.”
Bones ignored Brown’s sarcastic comment and simply asked: “And what about your name?”
“Petra,” she sniffled.
“How old are you, Petra?”
“Four… Can you find Father?”
“Maybe,” Bones smiled. “What does he look like?”
Petra bit her lip as if in thought. “He looks like me… Black hair. But he has a moustache, and glasses to read! Father reads the newspaper a lot.”
Urgh. Pretending to be stupid made Petra feel like she was losing braincells.
“Edward,” Brown butted in, “whoever the kid’s parents are, they are most certainly from the other block. Just look at her clothes. And I don’t remember anyone from ours having a daughter with that name.”
“Do you know if any of them brought their kid today?”
“Do I look like I keep track of other people’s children?” Brown snorted. “I have Rose and she is enough of a handful for me. Really, just leave the kid to the Aurors.”
Bones frowned. “The girl was crying! The Aurors are good for security, but would you trust them to deal with an upset small child?”
“Oh, Morgana,” Brown shook his head in exasperation, equal parts annoyed and endeared. “Never change, Edward, never change,” he smiled and patted Bones’ shoulder a couple of times. He threw his cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath his heel. “Let’s find the Aurors already, come on. It’s getting late.”
Bones and Brown kept arguing as they walked, Bones wanting to find Father without involving the cops and Brown wanting to rid his hands of Petra. Petra found herself ignoring the antics of those two – they didn’t spout out any useful information, and she wasn’t about to endure the argument of what she assumed were a pair of old, secret gay lovers. Or good friends. Whatever. Same old.
There were always some Aurors patrolling the corridors at the Ministry. While the corridor that led to the courtrooms of the Wizengamot was packed to the brim, Bones and Brown still spotted one fairly quickly – a young man with reddish-brown hair, talking with some other Wizengamot member.”
“Ah! Excuse me, officer, I have found-” Bones trailed off once the Wizengamot member turned around to face him.
Petra blanched.
“Black,” Brown said, taking the initiative.
“Brown,” Father gave a dry smile. “Bones,” he turned slightly. “I see you have found my daughter.”
“Your…?”
Petra extended her arms to Father, who took her from Bones’ hold. “I got lost,” she whispered to Father, but still loud enough for Brown and Bones to listen.
“Is that so?” Father softened his gaze at her. Petra smiled as well, relieved that he bought it. “I shall have to keep a better eye on you next time it seems.”
“Well,” Brown sniffed conclusively, “that is done then. Let us go, Edward.”
Bones frowned at Brown, but still took his arm when it was offered. They began walking away when Father did a little cough.
“Just one moment,” he asked, adjusting Petra before walking up to the two of them. “I have yet to thank you for finding my daughter.”
“No thanks needed,” Bones answered, seemingly truthful about it. “At least there will be one less frightened child tonight,” he added in what was clearly some kind of bark against Father.
She turned back to Father, but he kept his face impassive.
“Well then,” Bones added, smiling, “farewell, ‘Lord’ Black.”
The pair finally turned back, walking away.
“Father,” Petra whispered, grabbing onto his neck in a hold that was both affectionate and secretive, “do you want me to tell you about Mr Brown now?”
Notes:
Hello! I was going to write Merry Christmas but then I realized it was already the 31st lol
Apologies for the delay, I have no excuses. I am not really apologizing either, I write when I feel like writing and that sometimes means I take five weeks to do one chapter. Other times I take two hours.
To tell you the truth, this is the first big writing project I ever did (and am doing - the other one is Mourning Flowers, and that has a very, very different tone). It's been, what, four years since I've started? I don't regret it, but sometimes I wish I could go back and change some things that I feel haven't aged very well in my mind. Maybe, if I ever finish this, I will consider a re-edit or something, but that is so far off that it's useless to consider it at this point.
I also often feel out of my depth lol. I love exploring fascism and classism and just generally bad people and politics, but I struggle with that in general? Probably because I struggle with people. Autism can be a bit of a bitch. I still wouldn't not do it - after all, one can only learn by doing it. Hopefully, as I write, I will get better at it. I certainly fell like I already have.
Now, if only I didn't get constantly distracted...Anyway, personal-ish diatribe aside, happy holidays to all of you who celebrate? If you don't, then just have a happy time in general. Hope you enjoy, and hopefully you'll comment? I love and cherish each comment, even if I sometimes forget to answer!!!!! <3
Chapter 31: Honey Bait
Summary:
Orion and Reg are up to something, and Petra has her own things to deal with.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The Gentlemen’s Club had many a private room available for the use of the reputable wizards who gathered together there, speaking of politics and smoking. Orion and Abraxas would usually occupy the Bordeaux Room when not in other company, just as their fathers, Arcturus and Brutus, had before them. It wasn’t unusual for Cygnus to join, or Abraxas’s brother, Tiberius, to spend some time with them, or even some more distant relations and friends, such as Burke and Crabbe, or even the elderly and mostly senile Ulysses Gamp, great-uncle to Orion.
That evening, it was only Orion, Abraxas, and Presley Parkinson, smoking and drinking while a footman dealt the playing cards for them. Orion took a drag of his cigar and checked his hand – not the best he could have gotten, he’d admit, but he could work with it. He raised, throwing a couple of galleons at the table.
Abraxas folded, but Presley called. The older man showed his hand, a full house. Orion revealed his four-of-a-kind and took the pot for himself, arranging the coins into a neat little pile next to the ashtray.
“I hear you’ve had a talk with Messers Brown and Bones today, Orion,” Abraxas began, chewing through his cigar. Presley looked up from his hand and folded, paying more attention to Abraxas than the cards. “Care to share what you’ve learned?”
“They meet at Longbottom’s tonight. Intend to fork us and Minchum, no doubt,” Orion clarified. “I imagine they’ll try to curry favour with the Abbots. And Bones is intending to use that niece of his – Amelia, I believe. She is working under Minchum.”
“And how did you come to learn of this?” Presley asked, curiosity apparent on his face. “I doubt they simply told you.”
“My daughter overheard it. Brown and Bones were the ones to find her.”
“That is awfully convenient for us.”
“You suspect foul play, Presley?” Abraxas asked and called his bet.
Presley raised. “Any politician worth their salt knows not to give away their cards on public ground. Either Bones and Brown are idiots, or they are trying to play us for fools.”
“Or they simply think no one would take advantage of a private conversation. Gryffindors, honestly…” Orion mumbled.
“Brown was a Hufflepuff, if I remember correctly,” Abraxas corrected.
“I still maintain that this information is suspect.”
Orion folded. “Whether it is true or not, it is still worth investigating. The reviewing is next week, and the vote is the week after. We will convene with our own allies, try to sway others, and proceed as usual.”
Abraxas grabbed his whiskey and smiled. “I’ll get Bastilla to speak with the Abbots. She was quite friendly with Vera Abbot at Hogwarts, when she was still Vera Tottham.”
Presley grumbled but still accepted the idea. “My wife will have a tea party this week. Lady Nott will be in attendance. I expect Mrs Travers and Mrs Belchey will be as well,” he added.
“Very well,” Orion nodded. “I will meet with Macmillan this week. And there is the usual Wizengamot meetings, of course. We have plenty of time to deal with Brown and Bones.”
“You seem awfully confident, Orion,” Abraxas teased.
Orion smiled and bit on his cigar. Chuckling, he took it out of his mouth. “We will not have to worry about Brown for much longer if all goes according to plan, Abraxas. It is simply a matter of time.”
Near the end of February, Mother finally (dreadfully, terribly, awfully, bitchily-) decreed that English was henceforth banished from Number 12, Grimmauld Place until Petra could, as Mother put it, “speak as fluently as any proper Beauxbaton alumni”. Which meant she was now forbidden to speak, sing, write, read, or even listen to English. Even in lessons.
Even in her letters to Reg! Which was outrageous! Mother fully intended to burn away any parchment with a single word in English no matter whom they were meant to be sent to!
Petra had been silently fuming ever since, although she wasn’t stupid enough to voice those complaints anywhere near Mother, lest she risk another beating. She already got enough of those.
She had, to Mother’s credit, gotten very familiar with using French on her daily life. The grammar still tripped her up a bit, but she could order Kreacher around and answer some basic questions. Reading the Daily Prophet, charmed into French by Father after he was done reading it for Petra’s viewing pleasure, had done wonders as well.
Who knew immersion in a language actually helped learn it? Petra had been sure it was a scam from travel agencies.
There were, fortunately, very welcome breaks from the forced French-speaking daily living whenever there were social occasions to be had. Mother still brought Petra to tea parties, those that had the children coming along as well, which were excellent opportunities to spend more time with Nova and Norma (and Arctus, whenever his mother came to one of those events). And Father, who, of course, liked to bring Petra along with him to the Wizengamot.
He'd taken to also have Petra with him whenever someone came for an interview – usually, by having her sit on his lap and smile prettily. It made for good publicity. The Daily Prophet ate up ‘Mr Black and his beloved daughter’ when it came out, and Father had even bought Petra a new dress and some delicate silver hairpins for the good behaviour.
It still wasn’t trousers, but, at this point, Petra found she cared less and less for them when she had all the luxurious dresses and robes that money could buy. There were many benefits to being a Black, after all.
Perhaps the silverest lining of all (most silver?) was Cissy. She had, after learning that Petra was beginning to learn French, decided to invite herself over to Grimmauld Place every week and take over one of her lessons. Cissy was, after all, far kinder and more patient than Mother, and far less rigid to boot.
“Don’t worry, Auntie,” she’d mollified Mother when she came over one Saturday for tea, “I assure you, I have spent more than enough time to teach Petra adequately.”
And that had been that. So now, every Saturday, Petra had French with Cissy instead.
Another silver lining of her new French-infested life were Reg’s letters. They were always regular, coming every week like clockwork – and sometimes more than once a week. Between the gossip he imparted and the tales of grandeur she made up for herself, even in French, Petra found them to be a bright spot in her life.
Recently, Reg had been writing about a crush of his, some insipid girl called Rose (but asking her to keep it a secret for some reason), that Petra nonetheless got the impression he did not like her very much. It puzzled her as to why he’d be interested – this Rose didn’t seem like much of a scholar or a strong enough personality for Reg to be interested. Not to mention that Petra did not like his interest in someone else, especially when it came to someone like some random chit.
It was already bad enough he was away most of the year, she did not like to think about the fact he’d marry and have kids that would supplant Petra in his heart.
At least, if he married Ingrid Rowle, he’d be sufficiently close to Petra and the rest of their family.
Despite this, Reg’s letters featured little of the pined-after Rose and more of his daily life, leaving Petra to note down jinxes he copied from library books and to laugh over the hijinks Bellona Selwyn or Graham Dirk got up to.
One such Saturday, however, came a letter from an unusual sender: Sirius. It was rather short, not even bothering with any sort of formatting, instead being written on a tiny piece of paper as if to not use up any of the space dedicated to the other letters inside the same envelope.
Dear Petra,
Please forward this.
Sirius
Petra, of course, did not forward the letter. It was quite the miracle that the missive passed through Kreacher’s inspection, considering how her parents were confiscating all of Sirius’ correspondence until they could approve of it. Perhaps he’d found a way to bypass elf magic in some Durmstrang book, or maybe Kreacher had simply gotten careless.
Or, perhaps, this had been a test from Father to make sure that Petra was not in cahoots with her traitor of a brother, she thought, shuddering as she recalled what had happened in Blackmoor Hall.
Cissy looked up from her own correspondence, the Malfoy’s majestic great-horned owl preening at the chin scritches it was receiving. “Est-ce que tout vas bien? As-tu déjà lu tes lettres?” she asked, probably wondering about Petra’s hard look at the offending letter.
“Tout va bien,” Petra waved away Cissy’s question, a literal wave accompanying the dismissal. “Seulement un…” she paused, wondering. “How do you say ‘idiot’?”
Cissy laughed. She was always beautiful when she did so, letting her giggles and chuckles illuminate her face and eyes, making her look something akin to a Muggle’s notion of a fairy. “Imbécile, perhaps. Or maybe crétin.”
“Un imbécile,” Petra finished her sentence, nodding with certainty. Yes, that descriptor surely applied to Sirius. She hid his letter under the small stack of books she had on the tea table and continued on with the rest of them.
Petra mused about how to discard the letter during the rest of the day. She could always simply chuck it into a fireplace and call it a day (if she had any hope of controlling a fire spell, she’d use her wand, but oh well), but that was fraught with risks. What if Kreacher found the remnants of the letter? What if Father really was testing her to see if she would betray him?
And, of course, actually sending the letters inside the envelope was filled with even more risks, considering how Sirius’ friends receiving contact from him would suddenly become very public. They were idiots, after all, and did not know how to keep their mouths shut, or so Reg wrote.
Either way, these two options would likely spell disaster for Petra, and she liked to think herself smarter than that. And so, by the time dinner had ended, after Father went upstairs to his office to smoke and Mother had Kreacher prepare a bath for her, Petra grabbed the letter from the hiding place she’d found whilst Cissy was distracted by something – a drawer in one of the cabinets in the drawing room – and ran upstairs to Father’s office.
“Father” - she knocked on the door to the office, before realizing she’d spoken in English and quickly corrected herself - “Père?”
The door opened, and Petra found Father standing by a glass cabinet, smoking from his cigar absentmindedly, wand hand still turned in the direction of the door as if he’d forgotten to lower it after charming it open.
“What is it, child?” he asked, not bothering with French at all.
Suddenly, Petra felt herself feeling very small, a feeling so strange to her that it blindsided her for a moment. But she soon felt comforted by the familiarity of the situation – Father’s office, his eternal funny cigars with colourful, animal-shaped smoke, the perpetual murmur of the portraits in the corridors, the ticking of some distant grandfather clock, all grounded her.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I received this letter by mistake today…” she said, trying her best to be the picture of innocence, as if to banish whatever doubts Father could have ever had about her collaboration with Sirius’ attempted escape.
Father hummed, not bothering to look away from the heirlooms stored in the cabinet, and pointed at his desk before going back to the smoking. Petra, not one to miss an obvious cue, laid the letter down on top of a pile of other papers, and went back to greet Father before leaving.
“Have a good night, Father,” she placed her hand over her heart and curtsied, doing the formal greeting that Mother had instilled in her so long ago in hopes it would dissuade any latent doubts Father could possibly have.
But her worries soon proved unfounded, for Father’s hand simply ruffled her hair affectionately in response before he chuckled.
“Have a good night as well, child,” he puffed out a tiny purple butterfly formed from cigar smoke that circled around Petra twice before vanishing. “Don’t stay up too late!”
Rose Brown turned out to be as insipid as Regulus had expected, focused more on her friends and social life than school matters. She seemingly had no issue with mingling with everyone in her year group, walking around with Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, pureblood or otherwise.
Regulus found it quite easy to steer her attention away to himself. He was quite handsome, after all, and the girl, despite having heard a bit of the Black family’s reputation (and, of course, of Sirius’ bad behaviour) was naïve enough to believe Regulus’ stammering act in front of her, leaving her giggling in a broom closet after he told her they had to keep it a secret because of his family.
At the very least, she’d made a decent enough job of staying quiet about it. Ingrid had no clue that Regulus was gallivanting around with someone else, thank Nimue, and he wouldn’t have to explain to her that he wasn’t betraying their marriage agreement but working for his father.
Antonin’s letters were few and far between, but they all seemed to hint that Regulus would have to find some way to get Rose Brown into Grimmauld Place during the Summer, or, at the very least, make her sneak away from her father’s watchful eye and into some discreet place. Regulus thought it’d be easy enough – Rose was certainly falling over herself to get into dark corners with him, and even ditch plans with her friends to covertly walk by the edge of the Forest, so it’d be a matter as simple as buttering her up a little more.
Merlin, was she annoying, though!
She’d always come insisting that he hold her hand, or kiss her, and Regulus had to remember her birthday and get her a suitably bejewelled gift. Ingrid was never this demanding or needy with her affections, and it suited him well enough. In comparison, Rose Brown was a leech.
“I don’t know what you expected,” Snape pointed out one night in the Common Room, after Regulus threw down his hat in frustration, cheek still coloured in Rose’s lipstick. “I warned you when you asked me to find a way to talk to Brown. Why would you even want to get together with her if you didn’t like her?”
Regulus didn’t answer, preferring to instead groan into his arms.
Snape rolled his eyes in mock annoyance but changed the subject regardless. “Here. The curse I’ve been working on. I need a test subject for it.” He slid a piece of parchment over to Regulus, staring expectantly as he read it.
“A laceration curse?”
“Multiple lacerations over a period of twenty seconds. Follows the wand movement and cuts deep.”
Regulus analysed the runic description curiously. Whilst anyone could learn a spell, creating one required a lot more knowledge of the structure of the spell itself, and Snape had proved himself capable of weaving magic into complex patterns before – just a few months before, he’d come to Regulus with a spell for muffling conversations to avoid unwanted eavesdroppers.
“And…” Regulus squinted at the top nodes in the schematic, “it sources from the victim’s magic?”
Snape nodded. Regulus ignored how the grin in his face made him look like he was glowing. “Saps away at it and makes sure it cannot heal the cuts by itself. That would mean that the only way to fix it would be rewinding the wound itself.”
Regulus stared back at Snape. “This is very Dark magic.”
“I know. Which is why I cannot test it at Hogwarts.”
Regulus thought. His parents wouldn’t like Snape in their house, even if they’d reluctantly think of him as a good enough asset in the Dark Lord’s campaign. But Snape was, quite clearly, a genius, and not the worst company to keep around.
And, should Regulus not get to him first, Lucius Malfoy certainly would use the opportunity. He’d been talking about sponsoring Snape for a while now, or so Cissy told.
“Come to the Black House in the Summer,” he invited, grabbing Snape’s hand. “You’ll have all the space and materials you need there.”
Snape grinned again – Regulus felt his stomach drop in a strange way – and shook their hands together. “It’s a deal, then, Black.”
“Come here, Petra,” Bella waved Petra over to herself one day, her own wand, all curved and lovingly polished, already in hand. That day, they were having the lesson in the Lestrange’s drawing room, which surprised Petra when Mother had Flooed them over. She’d expected the room they used at Grimmauld Place, or maybe even a dueling room in Lestrange Manor, not the luxuriously decorated space they were in.
She wasn’t one to complain, though, and sat down on the sofa next to Bella, watching her uncover the mass hidden under a dark square of fabric: a small cage with a little mouse in it, sleeping all curled up on itself like a cat.
She looked questioningly back at Bella.
“I remember you seemed rather… affected by that time with Dearborn.” Petra froze. She’d- she’d nearly forgotten about it all. “Perhaps I should have started you with something easier...” Bella paused, looking at Petra’s face, before softening her face and patting her on the cheek. “Well, never mind that. That’s what we are doing today! I will help you with the hardest ones, and it’ll be much easier, I promise.”
And it was, indeed, much easier this time around. The mouse squealed and squirmed inside the cage, but it wasn’t like-
Like-
It almost looked like a wind-up doll, or those weird Muggle plastic battery things with obnoxious voices that she vaguely remembered having. Bella had her put her hand over hers, feeling the magic as she cast it, rotating between curses and then healing the creature in -between.
“Now,” Bella stopped healing the mouse, breaking the flowing of magic down her wand, “these next few ones are far more difficult. I don’t expect you to be able to cast them for years, of course – even fully educated adults have trouble with them. But, when you’re fighting someone, it is worth to know what you could be facing.”
“Hmpf!” Petra crossed her arms, looking away in indignation. “Of course I can! Haven’t I casted every spell you’ve taught me well?”
Bella’s look said all her words didn’t need to – that was, Petra was full of shit, but she was going to humour her anyway.
(What? It wasn’t her fault if most spells were difficult as fuck to cast! She’d learned a good bunch of them, so what if she couldn’t do the other ones?!)
“Of course, of course,” Bella playfully rolled her eyes. “Moving on. Tell me, what do you know of the Unforgivable Curses?”
Petra’s mind came back blank. “Unforgivable? You mean illegal?”
“Not quite. There are plenty of illegal curses and spells, but the Unforgivable Curses are the ones that will get you in prison forever if you ever use them on a human.”
“The other curses don’t?”
Bella laughed. “Can you imagine? Going to Azkaban forever because you cursed someone with the Babbling Curse?”
It was ridiculous, Petra thought amidst her own laughter.
“Anyway,” Bella cleaned a stray tear and turned back to the mouse, “the Unforgivable Curses are three in total. There’s the Imperious Curse – it takes control of the person’s mind and makes them do what the caster wants them to do.”
“Mind control?”
“Very much so. So, for example, if I cast it now – Imperio,” she pointed her wand at the mouse. Petra couldn’t see any difference in the animal, but Bella didn’t seem to mind. “If I order the mouse to stand on its legs now – look.”
The mouse, despite the pain it very clearly was still in after all the curses it’d been subjected to, stood on its hind legs in one fluid movement, like it was completely detached from it own body.
“Could you make it do other things? Maybe things it wouldn’t be physically able to do?” Petra asked.
“To some extent. I wouldn’t be able to make it talk, but perhaps could make it mimic a human dance,” Bella mused.
Petra sneaked her finger into the cage poking at the mouse, which did not move even as she annoyed it. “Will it just… stay? Like this?”
Bella nodded. “Quite fascinating, no? As long as the caster has enough power, the spell won’t be broken.”
It was indeed a fascinating thing. The hamster slowly twirled as Bella twirled her own wand, as if guiding it, the little critter still as calm as before. Petra thought that this spell – curse, whatever – seemed remarkably useful. Certainly, it’d be much easier to deal with annoyances if you could just make them do what you wanted.
Petra mentally noted to herself to learn the Imperious Curse as soon as she reasonably could. If Bella was right, it’d take her yet years until she could even make it work, but Petra was nothing if not stubborn. Maybe she could find some books at the Black House, or maybe even at Hogwarts once she turned eleven.
Bella finally dropped the curse. “The second Unforgivable,” she said, looking at Petra with a cautious look on her face, “is the Cruciatus Curse. I would tell you what it does, but you’ve already seen it.”
Petra tilted her head, wondering what spell she’d seen that could be this Cruciatus. Considering it was meant to be a super-duper illegal curse that no one had taught her about until then, it had to be some kind of magic she’d seen being casted by an adult without them explaining it to her. “I’m not sure,” she admitted, bringing her hand to her mouth. “Who cast it?”
“Do you remember that time at my father’s?”
Blackmoor Hall – and Petra realized what it was in a flash. That curse that Father cast, that left Sirius writhing on the floor, Mother begging, Petra hiding her face into Reg’s robes.
A shiver ran down her spine.
“Don’t-” she said, but cut herself off, feeling out of breath. Bella seemed to understand what Petra meant, though, and slowly and gently touched her shoulder.
“Alright,” she nodded, a smile on her face. “It’s always difficult the first time, and you’re certainly very young… Let’s move onto the next one.”
Bella opened the latch of the mouse’s cage and picked it up, before having Petra join her hands together to hold it.
“There are those who say this is the worst curse of the three, but I think the idea is silly. All things considered, it must be the least painful of all of them – and, most certainly, the most boring.”
“What does it do?”
“It kills.”
That seemed like a logical conclusion to the Super-Duper Illegal Trio of Curses (which was how Petra decided to remember them). A killing curse was menacing, that’s for sure. “How’s it any different from other curses, though? You could kill someone with a Crushing Curse, couldn’t you?”
“Politics,” Bella rolled her eyes. “What makes a Dark curse Dark is largely decided by people, not by the magic itself. ‘The Killing Curse is Unforgivable because it was designed only to kill’, they say.”
“That’s nonsense!”
Bella shrugged. “Alas, it is what it is. Don’t worry, though, there’s people involved in trying to change this nonsense,” she ruffled Petra’s hair with a conspiratorial wink, “and if our side’s efforts mean anything, they’ll soon succeed.”
Petra was quite sure that Bella’s side would lose, which meant that this whole thing wouldn’t work, but she decided not to mention it anyway.
“So,” she looked at the clock – it was just a bit after eleven o’clock, “is class over? Lunch will be soon.”
The two of them were interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Excuse Muttons, Madam,” a tiny, old and wizened elf opened the door, “Master Rigel is wanting Madam.”
The elf was, with its other hand, levitating little Rigel, who brightened up at the sight of Bella and made grabby gestures towards her. “Ma! Ma!”
“Oh, Riggy-wiggy! Come to mummy!”
Petra looked away in disgust.
Notes:
Hallo
I know it's been a long time, pls don't be mad :(
My birthday was like 5 days ago so I'm still riding that high, which is why I've managed to finish this.
Pray for Rigel, he's gonna be so fucking messed up with Bella as his mum loljust as a question, do you think i should tag homophobia as a theme? it isn't very big, but it is in the text (and reg is a huge gay homophobe in denial lol)
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