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Francis 'Frank' Longbottom has always considered himself an observer, rather than a doer. Oh, he enjoys duelling, and he's quick enough on the draw with a wand when he needs to be, but he doesn't revel in being in the thick of the action the way lots of his peers do.
His dormmates mock him for it, for not being willing to throw himself in and be one of the lads, but, thankfully, his House being Gryffindor, there's more teasing in his housemates' mockery than actual cruelty. And besides, their teasing turns to admiration every summer, when he lifts the boys' duelling crown year on year on year, his countless quiet moments paying off as he finds his opponents' weaknesses and exploits them ruthlessly.
What no one knows; what he'll never admit to anyone, lest he lose his head for it, is that, more often than not, the object of his intense scrutiny is Lady Andromeda Black.
They are Sorted the same year, Frank going to Gryffindor like his mother and father before him, Andromeda following her older sister, Lady Bellatrix, into Slytherin, just like every other Black since Hogwarts itself was founded.
She seems joyful enough there at first, joined at the hip with Bellatrix, her oldest friends, Cassandra Lestrange and Cressida Greengrass, hovering at her shoulders constantly. Even to a Gryffindor like Frank, it is obvious Andromeda rules her year, and is second only to Bellatrix in ruling her House as a whole, just because of who she is. The Blacks always rule Slytherin. As the highest-ranking family in Wizarding Britain, there is never any question that they will, not unless there's a Selwyn or an Evans in the same year, and everyone knows Lady Bellatrix bested Lord Aristeus Selwyn in a duel not two weeks into their first year. As for the Evans girls, Lady Lilyanna won't join Hogwarts for another two years, in the same cohort as the youngest Black daughter, Lady Narcissa, and the eldest, Lady Petunia, has always been frail. It was hardly surprising Lord and Lady Evans chose to have her tutored at home rather than send her off to boarding school. No, Andromeda's crown as the unspoken Princess of Slytherin is safe, safe for as long as she chooses to wear it.
And wear it she does. For three years, she swans at her sister's side, chattering lowly in the Old French that only the oldest families still choose to speak, her every move unthinkingly graceful, thanks to the dancing lessons she has been taking since she can walk. Despite himself, despite knowing that she'll never so much as look at him, Frank can't take his eyes off her.
By the start of their Fourth Year, however, something has shifted. Bellatrix, a Sixth Year by a matter of weeks, grows wilder, crueller, by the day. Loudly bemoaning the fact that she's still in school, surrounded by idiotic children, she follows the rising of the new Dark political faction led by the hitherto unknown Lord Voldemort avidly, declaiming to anyone who'll hear that she thinks he has the right idea, that their world would be a far better place were it but empty of all the Mudbloods who come into their world at 11 and never even try to fit in, who want to rid the world of all their natural superiors, namely Purebloods, hold closest to their hearts. Andromeda still stands at her side, still has her back, come what may, but the complacency has gone out of her eyes. She no longer stands there as though she wants to be there, but rather as though she doesn't know where else to go.
Oh, Andromeda hides it well, but Frank, who's watched her every day since their Sorting, knows her well enough to see it, even if no one else can.
As such, he might be the only one who is not surprised, when, one cold February day, she appears at his table in the library.
"Lord Longbottom," she nods at him, "I told Bellatrix Flitwick had paired us together for a Charms project. Would you mind if I joined you for an hour or two, before she finds out I'm lying?"
A tremor runs underneath Andromeda's voice, and there is a greyish cast to her features that belies her desperation. Frank has been raised too much a gentleman to refuse her, even if he doesn't quite know exactly what's driving her.
He stands, bows, and guides her into a seat, "It would be both an honour and a pleasure, Lady Andromeda," he says gently, as he does so, and he knows he doesn't imagine the way her shoulders sink, just the tiniest bit, in relief.
"Thank you," she breathes, "Bellatrix is…well…" she trails off at that, before controlling herself, "Let's just say it'll be nice to get away from Slytherin politics for a bit. Now, have you any idea what Babbling is going on about with those Arithmancy principles?"
Frank blinks at her, then snorts with laughter, "Does anyone?"
That's all it takes for the ice to break. After all, different Houses aside, they are both Members of the Twenty-Eight. They've grown up attending balls at each other's houses, even if their parents don't always see eye-to-eye on the political spectrum. They have both been taught to hold a civil conversation even with their worst enemies.
Andromeda smirks lightly and, without another word, they bend over the textbook together, Andromeda's honey-brown curls almost touching Frank's blonde cowlick as they lean forward. They are so close, Frank realises later, that, were they not in the library, with about a hundred of their peers effectively acting as chaperones, there would be serious questions over Andromeda's conduct.
As it is, however, while people might look askance at a Slytherin mingling with a Gryffindor, there is often far juicier gossip running through Hogwarts' halls for many to care that Lady Andromeda Black has taken to studying with the Longbottom heir, particularly once they are both named Prefect to their respective houses, and therefore often have to discuss meetings, patrols and infractions of the rules together.
Lady Bellatrix is not pleased – Frank and his family are far too Light for her to approve of her younger sister spending so much time with him – but his rank is sufficient that she doesn't threaten to write to their parents, or indeed, say much in protest at all, even as Frank and Andromeda's friendship deepens and blossoms, until one day, they suddenly realise that they have, quite without meaning to, become each other's closest confidantes.
Not betrothed, though. Never betrothed. Not because Frank doesn't want to be – in the privacy of his dormitory, he can admit, even if only to himself, that he'd offer for Andromeda tomorrow if he thought her father would accept his suit – but, because he is not blind. As much as Andromeda likes him, and she does – the sheer fact that she allows him to call her Andromeda sans honorific is proof enough of that – her sixteen-year-old heart has been given, utterly and completely, to that year's Hufflepuff Head Boy, Master Edward 'Ted' Tonks.
Oh, she thinks she's being subtle, but the way she lingers after Prefect meetings, the way she is always, always Edward's chosen partner for patrols, no matter how many times they rewrite the roster, gives it away, as clearly as though she were screaming it from the rooftops. Why, Ted even laid his hand over hers at the last meeting and she didn't pull away! She didn't pull away, even though everyone knows the Blacks, like the Evans and the Selwyns, are sticklers for protocol.
Master Edward took her hand in public. More than that, he kissed her on the cheek as they left together. It was quick and furtive – if Frank hadn't glanced back as he turned the corner of the Prefect corridor, he'd never have spotted it, but nonetheless, Ted had done it. If he were a Pureblood, if he were Sacred Twenty-Eight, the next step would be offering her hair ornaments in his house colours, and then a public Bonding, before their wedding shortly after Andromeda left school.
Andromeda knows that as well as Frank does. And so, given Andromeda didn't refuse Ted's hand, didn't refuse his kiss, Frank goes back to his dormitory, and stuffs the clips of amber studded with dove grey lazulite into his sock drawer, meaning to send them back to Longbottom Manor as soon as he gets a chance. Before he goes up to the Owlery, however, he writes Andromeda a quick note in their shared journals.
"You were damn lucky Bellatrix blew the meeting off to join Lord Lestrange in Hogsmeade. If she'd seen today, we've have been carrying what was left of Master Edward to the infirmary in a matchbox. Be more careful next time. I can't cover for you forever. – F.
Frank does what he can, but he's no Slytherin. He's no Black, Selwyn or Evans. And Andromeda, despite herself, gets careless, cocky. Two and a bit years after the day when Master Edward put his hand over hers at the Prefect meeting, she meets him on the Quidditch Pitch, flying around in long, lazy circles with him for hours, so utterly convinced of her own power as Head Girl, as Queen of Slytherin, that she doesn't think to watch who sees as she slides off her own broom and on to his, as she nestles against him and tips her face up to his for a long, searing kiss.
She lets Edward take her to Hogsmeade, walking hand in hand with him the long way round the lake and down the drive, laughing and blushing the entire way.
So drunk is Andromeda on her own power, so sure is she that not a single Slytherin would dare spill her secrets, that she forgets how much Rosaline Greengrass resents all the Blacks for the fact that Narcissa is betrothed to Lucius Malfoy, the boy she's had her cap set at since they were all in dance classes together. How much she resents Andromeda herself for being Cressida's best friend, for never giving Rosaline the chance to have the same kind of relationship with her cousin as Andromeda once had with Bellatrix.
Andromeda forgets everything but Edward…right up until the moment Bellatrix appears in Hogsmeade with fire in her eyes and curses flying out of a borrowed wand. Curses that Edward, who was never fit, even before he spent the last two years waiting tables at Fortescue's and eating far more ice cream than was good for him, has no chance of dodging. He bleeds out in Andromeda's arms even as their screaming compatriots dash for cover, for Madam Pomfrey, to call the Aurors.
Frank doesn't expect to see Andromeda at their usual table three days after the attack. She hasn't been in lessons and he assumes she's been pulled from school. He expects the Blacks to have retreated to one of their impenetrable strongholds in London, or in the country, as they prepare to brazen out the scandal of their eldest daughter murdering their second's unsuitable boyfriend in cold blood. Lady Narcissa has certainly shifted Families very quickly, appearing at breakfast on Lord Malfoy's arm two days after the event with royal blue gems in her hair and an unmistakeably Malfoy pendant around her neck. Given that she is still a year away from the traditional Bonding age of sixteen, it is the boldest denouncement of her oldest sister's actions Lady Narcissa can make, no matter that it is largely unspoken.
He blinks, then coughs, unsure what to do.
"Andromeda?" he ventures at last. Andromeda lifts her head to him, and he is alarmed to see her eyes are red and swollen. Like any child of the Sacred 28, Andromeda has learned Occulmency since the age of seven. To be crying in public, for long enough for her eyes to go this red…well, it's unheard of.
Frank almost collapses into the nearest seat in shock, "Andromeda?" he repeats.
She stares into his eyes and then stands, her hand shooting out to catch his wrist in a vice-like grip.
"I need your help," she pleads, her voice catching on the last word, "Frank, I need your help."
For half a second, Frank considers disentangling himself, of reminding Andromeda who she is and where they are. And then her cloak falls open, revealing the swell of her burgeoning stomach.
The Blacks are survivors. Oh, they might be Dark, one of the Darkest families in Wizarding Britain, but they're survivors first and foremost. Cygnus has always planned to have a foot in both camps, just in case the grandiose plans his oldest daughter is so fond of espousing come to nothing. It's always just been a case of how best to achieve that aim.
Bellatrix was a lost cause from the beginning. The most magically sensitive of his three daughters, she'd been the one who suffered most from the traditional Black upbringing that kept children apart from their parents. Her powerful magic had been damaged from the beginning by Druella's ignorant neglect. In some ways, it was astonishing she'd made it to fifteen before the Black madness truly began to rear its head. But once it had, the only way to even hope to control her was to wed her into the most powerful Dark family in the country and hope that the subsuming of her magic into theirs would stabilise her. Sadly, as the events of the last week have shown, it has turned out to be a futile hope.
But since Bellatrix has had to marry Dark, the burden of being the Blacks entrée into Lighter circles must necessarily fall to one of her younger sisters. Cygnus has known that for years, ever since Bellatrix was Bonded to the eldest Lord Lestrange. Still, he never thought he'd be arranging a match quite like this, the Longbottom Heir standing in his study, his arm around a weeping, sullied Andromeda, his family's ancestral hairpins in his other hand.
"Are you sure, Lord Longbottom?" Cygnus asks, "You're your family's Heir. You'll be Lord Longbottom someday. Will you truly have a fallen woman as your wife without concern? When you know that, should this child be a boy, it will be your Heir in the eyes of the law?"
Cygnus can't help the way his eyes flick down to Andromeda's rounded stomach as he speaks. It heartens him to see Lord Longbottom's arm tighten around his middle daughter's shoulders as she flinches.
"Lady Andromeda is not a fallen woman to me, Lord Black," The boy says steadily, "I have no doubt that Master Edward loved her and that she loved him. I'd swear on Merlin, Morgana and all the Four that he would have asked her to marry him, had he but got the chance. It would be my honour to take Lady Andromeda as my wife…and yes, her son as my heir, if that's what it comes to."
How can Cygnus refute an argument like that? Particularly when it is his daughter's virtue on the line? Andromeda's liaison with Master Edward was bad enough. If word of Andromeda's condition gets out, he'll be lucky to find anyone willing to wed her, no matter her bloodline. Lord Longbottom is his saviour and they both know it.
He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.
"I'll Floo the Temple, Lord Longbottom. You'd better fetch your parents and explain just why you need them to witness your marriage here and now, before they've even seen you Bonded."
They settle into what is traditionally the Dower House on the Longbottom estate, Frank Flooing to and from Hogwarts every day. There is no question of Andromeda accompanying him, not with their child growing within her every day. The foreign magic would harm the child, as being raised by a wet nurse and the House Elves harmed her sister.
They discuss it once, briefly, three months after their marriage.
"Andromeda?"
"Yes, Frank?"
"You know you'll have to raise the child all but alone? I won't be able to help. After all, Edward's magic will have been different from mine. We don't want a repeat of your sister."
He stutters over the words, but he needn't have worried. Andromeda – Meda, as she's insisted he call her since their wedding day – simply arches an eyebrow.
"Frank, dear, no one wants a repeat of my sister. Or of my aunt Walburga. Quite frankly, it's remarkable that our parents are as sane as they are. It's a wonder I'm as sane as I am."
And that is that. They never discuss the subject again, not even when their first child arrives, red-faced and screaming, in the labour suite at St Mungo's.
For all he meant his words to Lord Black about being happy to consider Andromeda's son his heir, Frank can't help but be the tiniest bit relieved when he hears the mediwitch say, "Congratulations, Lord Longbottom. You have a beautiful baby girl." It just makes everything so much easier, magically. His son, when he comes, will never have to worry about not being accepted as the family heir, while Ted's daughter can be subsumed into the Longbottom family magic and raised as Lady Demelza Alcyone Longbottom without anyone having to be any the wiser.
Exhaling slightly, he nods at the mediwitch and goes to see Andromeda. She is leaning over the baby as he approaches the door, so he waits, lounging against the door frame as he watches them together, not wanting to intrude.
A second later, Andromeda senses his gaze. She looks up and meets his eyes, her grey eyes meeting his blue ones. A thousand words pass between them, and, in that instant, he knows. Everything is going to be all right. He's not Andromeda's first love, her first choice. He never will be. Nor, if he's honest, would she ever have been his father's first choice for him. There had long been talk of wedding him to one of the Bones girls, or to a Mackinnon. Marlene, perhaps, or else her cousin, Alice. One of the Light heiresses, at any rate.
But that doesn't matter. Not now. Not with a baby snuffling in Andromeda's arms. Confidence born of joy swells in him and he crosses the room to take the baby out of Andromeda's arms and kiss them both.
"Everything's going to be all right, Meda," he whispers, as he buries his nose briefly, oh-so-briefly, into her brown curls, "We'll make this work."
She doesn't respond, not verbally, but he feels her nod into his chest, and that gives him hope that maybe he's right.
Their son arrives four years later, red-faced and squalling like his sister.
Indeed, from the moment he is born, Kenver Sirius Longbottom is loud, loud enough that Frank's mother, Augusta, flinches at the sound of his screams, muttering something about how much nicer babies are when they are shown off under the influence of a sleeping charm, or at the very least, a well-placed Silencio.
Andromeda flinches too, the Black temper rearing at the slight to her son, but Frank just laughs and takes the boy from her, bouncing him until the screams have turned to giggles. Then he wraps his free arm around her waist and kisses her long and hard, ignoring his mother's scandalised gasp.
He and Andromeda have worked too hard for what they have now to let anyone take it from them. Somehow, while the world around them grows darker and more dangerous by the day, the two of them have managed to pick up some pieces and make something beautiful out of them. Something shattered and mismatched, but no less beautiful for all that.