Chapter Text
“You are the one… the only one, Gwen, darling.”
Virgil lifted her hand in his broad grasp, fingers rough with the calluses of rigorous duelling. Gwenog could barely breathe. Her eyes filled with a glossy sheen and she shook her head.
“But you cannot know—how could you—?”
“I did not need to see your Mark to know you were meant for me. I hear the promise in your laugh, the way our hands fit together,” he squeezed her fingers with a teasing smile, “Merlin—even your name. It is music to my humble ears.” He reached his free hand up to the neckline of her robes and brushed them tenderly to the side, revealing what he knew already. “Your Mark only tells me what I know at my core.”
The tears overflowed and Gwenog reached up to cup Virgil’s face. “You are perfect. Perfectly mine.” She leaned up to capture his lips with her own—
A bitter sting at Andromeda’s spine ripped her from her fantasy, and she arched her back, yelping. The book in her lap tumbled to the ground as she leapt from her seat, trying to escape the sudden bite of cold.
“Gah! Bella!” She yelled as she untucked her shirt from her skirt, freeing the culprit—a large ice cube—to fall to the library floor and shatter on the wood. Andromeda turned to her sister with a glower that could petrify. Bellatrix was red with laughter, her dark eyes dancing with life.
“You are too easy, Droma!” She teased. Her curls bounced as she bent to retrieve the forgotten tome. “What were you reading?”
Andromeda wrinkled her nose. “A book,” she answered vaguely.
Bellatrix turned it over, skimming the olive green cover with a perfunctory glance. “ The Soul of Gwenog Pevens,” she read aloud. “Is this another ghastly romance? Yech!”
The younger sister yanked the book away from the elder and hugged it protectively to her chest. “It’s sweet!”
“Sickly.”
Andromeda stuck out her tongue, but nearly bit down on it when their mother’s voice interrupted.
“Andromeda. Put that tongue back in your mouth, you are not a child anymore,” Druella said sharply, looking her daughter up and down. “And tuck your shirt in,” she added.
As Andromeda set down the book and hastened to fix her attire, she caught Bellatrix sticking out her own tongue behind Druella’s back. But would she get caught? No, Bella was the esteemed first-born. Bella never got caught.
Druella cleared her throat and crossed to a bookshelf. “Both of you will go and finish making your preparations for school. Merlin knows the elves will forget something.” The girls began to leave, Andromeda with the book in her arms, head hung low. “Oh, Andromeda. One more thing—do stay for a moment.”
She froze, turning back and biting her lip. Her gaze flicked between her mother and her book. Was she in trouble? Thin, spider-like fingers plucked the book from her own shaking hands.
“You have no need for fantasy, daughter.” Her mother’s eyes looked softer than Andromeda had been expecting. “You,” her mother began, straightening the black collar of Andromeda’s shirt with a gentleness she rarely expressed, “are a witch, a strong member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. You are of pure, delicate blood. And you will marry a wizard with equally good breeding, a man of your father’s and my choosing. He will be good to you, and you will grow to love him in a deep, true way. The way of your parents, your ancestors.”
Andromeda nodded dutifully. “Yes, mother. I know.”
The book in Druella’s hand disappeared with a quick snap.
Andromeda did not wince, but returned her mother’s smile as she tucked a lock of hair behind the girl’s ear.
“I am so very, very proud of you.”
✶✶✶✶✶✶✶
Andromeda held her bookbag close to her chest and followed her sisters through the Black manor’s fire, onto Platform 9 ¾ at King’s Cross Station. Convincing her parents to allow her to carry a bag onto the train was difficult, but she managed to persuade them by promising that she’d stored textbooks inside and fully intended to use the time on the train to study. It was wise, playing to her father’s ego–of course he valued top grades and would never hinder his dutiful daughters’ studies!
“Practically a Ravenclaw, you are, my Dromeda. Slytherin won’t know what hit them,” he proclaimed proudly. Andromeda had no such intentions–she would be reading fiction the entire ride, if she had her way.
The moment Andromeda’s feet left the fireplace grate, however, Bellatrix snatched up her arm and determinedly pulled Narcissa and her along. “Come, Droma, Cissy, I have so many people to introduce to you!” Bella was clearly excited and there was no escaping her sister when she had a mission.
“I’ve already met them all, Bella!” Andromeda protested, playing her younger sister role to a tee. “We see everyone at parties and meetings–and they are so booooring!”
Though Narcissa did not argue, she did look a tad sceptical.
Bellatrix scoffed, but the smile never left her strong features. “They’ve always known you as Dromy, my little sister. I want them to meet Andromeda Black, Bellatrix the Second!” she proclaimed proudly.
Andromeda rolled her eyes. How very much like Bellatrix to want more of herself in the world.
Little Narcissa made a noise in the back of her throat, wrinkling her nose. “Why am I not Bella number two?”
Andromeda poked her little sister in the side, earning a small yelp. “You’re much too quiet to be Bella!” She proclaimed. “Don’t worry, it’s a good thing,” she added in a whisper.
“I heard that,” Bellatrix grumbled.
A group of teens were grouped near the train, talking excitedly about the year to come. Andromeda found that she hardly recognised them, many of the young witches and wizards looking far… happier than she was used to.
Bellatrix pulled up to the group, letting her sisters go and spreading her arms. “We’re here! I know you all missed me so!”
Narcissa glanced back around her shoulder, and Andromeda could guess she was looking for their parents. Bellatrix was being quite loud and unladylike!
A tall boy in the circle, hands stuffed in his pockets, smirked. “Don’t worry, once we get on the platform, the adults don’t badger us about being too proper,” he told the younger Blacks with a conspiratorial whisper. Andromeda recognized him as Rodolphus Lestrange, the older of the two Lestrange brothers. He was a year above Bella, and one of her closer friends, so Andromeda had heard. Both he and his brother, Rabastan, were devilish looking, with a charismatic, boyish charm—but Rodolphus was looking much more mature these days, and it was only doing him favours.
Also in the pure-blood pack was Rabastan himself, the Carrow twins, Matthias Jugson, and the Malfoy heir, Lucius. Andromeda recognized plenty of other faces around her, but couldn’t immediately place them. She would learn quickly, she always did. Fingers brushed her own and Andromeda turned to see Narcissa biting her lip, reaching for her hand.
She took her sister’s hand in her own and squeezed lightly, twice to say I’m here . The three pulses in return made her smile. I love you.
“You don’t need to be nervous, Cissy,” she whispered, trying not to draw attention. “We know everyone we need to know already.”
“That’s not what scares me,” Narcissa mumbled, eyes trained on her perfectly shined Mary Janes.
“You’re a Slytherin, through and through, Ciss. The hat knows you’re a Black, and Blacks go to Slytherin,” she comforted. It was a conversation they’d had dozens of times since Narcissa had turned eleven in August. Andromeda was also a first year, but only because her birthday was so dreadfully late in the year–October.
“But what if–Well, what if you go to Ravenclaw?” She countered quietly.
Andromeda laughed. “Ravenclaw wouldn’t be able to handle me! Remember what Bella said about the hat? It’s smart. We are both going to Slytherin and we will share a room. We will have our classes together, sit together—this is going to be the best year of our lives, Cissy.”
When Andromeda saw the smile that crept onto her little sister’s face, she knew things would all be okay.
“Thank you, Dromy.”
“Always, Cissy.”
✶✶✶✶✶✶✶
While eager to show her sisters off to her friends, Bellatrix was also adamant that they leave her be as soon as they boarded the train.
“Our compartment is already full! Find one of your own!” Bellatrix dove into a conversation with Rodolphus, leaving Andromeda and Narcissa to find their own way.
Taking charge, Andromeda walked down the train, glancing in each window with Narcissa hot on her trail. Finding an empty compartment, she stopped and opened the door. “This one is free!”
The blonde shook her head. “Don’t you want to sit with people? We should make some friends, right? Maybe we can find Carrie.”
“Does she start this year too?” Andromeda asked, tilting her head. She was not the biggest fan of Caroline Zabini, but she knew that Cissy was good enough friends with her. “Yeah, I guess we can find her.” She wasn’t eager to have a full compartment, but Cissy would probably feel better with another friend.
They continued on, looking this way and that.
“There she is!” Narcissa exclaimed, brushing past Andromeda and pulling open a compartment. “Car—ew!” Andromeda peeked over Narcissa’s shoulder and frowned, watching as Caroline and a boy (who, she didn’t know) sprang apart.
“Cissa!” Caroline cried, brushing her silky black hair down with shaking fingers.
“Were you…?” Narcissa started, but Andromeda cut her off.
“Merlin, Carrie, we’re eleven! You already have a boyfriend?!” The boy looked between the girls, flushed and harried.
Carrie rolled her eyes. “We were just kissing,” she told them, as if it were obvious.
Narcissa sat down and pulled Carrie to sit beside her, as Andromeda pushed the unsuspecting boy from the compartment and swiftly shut the door. She whipped around and put her hands on her hips. As she was the oldest of them all, the responsibility of proper instruction obviously fell to her. “You aren’t old enough to be kissing boys, Caroline Zabini!” Carrie scoffed, but Andromeda continued: “And you should know better! Your parents will be matching you in a few years and you want to be pure for your husband! No boy wants a sullied girl!”
Even as she spoke, Andromeda couldn’t help but realise how hypocritical her words were. She dreamed constantly of a wild romance (when she was older, of course) not condoned by her parents. But she would never act on it!
Carrie crossed her arms and looked to Narcissa for support, but Narcissa was quick to shake her head and fidget with the high collar of her green shirt. Andromeda was pleased to see her being sensible–unlike her friend.
“Carrie, what if he wasn’t a pure-blood?” Cissa asked.
“Oh, that was a half-blood, I think... I don’t really know,” Carrie said nonchalantly.
Narcissa blanched and Andromeda felt quite the same.
“But… There’s Muggle blood in him! What about your purity ?” Narcissa questioned, glancing out the window to the station they’d yet to leave. To their parents, whom they all knew full well were standing just outside.
“What no one knows won’t hurt them.”
Andromeda sat down opposite the other girls and put down her bag. “Narcissa and I are respectable pure-blood Blacks. We can’t have you tainting that reputation,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “And besides, we’re eleven, we shouldn’t be kissing boys anyway.”
Narcissa was quick to change the conversation, and they were soon talking about Hogwarts and the ghosts, while Andromeda pulled out a book and shamelessly read about love, adventure, and Soulmates.
In the Black household, and indeed in most pure-blood households, high collars were a sign of modesty and submission—in fact, they were standard. Even in the summer, when playing outside or sitting by an open window, every pure-blood child kept their Soulmark, the little tattoo on the front of their throats, covered. Andromeda knew of some families who had permanent metal chokers which hid the designs, but she agreed with her parents that they looked like dog collars, and were unfit for any Black to wear.
But what society could agree on was this: Soulmarks were a tired magical artefact from the unruly ways before the aristocracy, and they caused more harm than good. Andromeda knew of countless stories in which a witch or wizard chose their partner based on their Soulmark—not compatibility, station, or family. It always, always turned out poorly. There were cases, of course, in which a husband and wife married, only to discover they had matching Soulmarks on their wedding night, but it was rare, and unremarkable. It changed nothing.
At least, that was real life . That was what she had been told. Books told a different story entirely.
In her novels, written by magical folk from other countries, usually Soulmarks were held in high esteem. There were implications that bonded Soulmates (a witch and wizard with paired marks that consummate the union) had a more powerful magic than those without. Tales spoke of wandless Legilimency, or of stronger magical signatures in the children, of a musical rhythm shared between the bonded pair. Story after story, all life-altering and different! Some stories even mentioned bonds between two wizards or witches or even wixen, but then they were from other countries, weren’t they?
Andromeda found it interesting, to say the least. But that begged the question: with millions of magical people in the world, what were the chances that you would ever meet your Soulmate, anyways? And what promised that a Soulmate was even age-appropriate? What if there was a 50 year age gap? Or if one’s Soulmate died ? It was too much to comprehend, and unrealistic, even if it was also a beautiful notion.
She was much safer with the Black way. The correct way.
All this crossed her mind as she left the train and looked around at the first years who were gathering near the boats. There, mixed in with the pure-bloods as if they belonged, were children that were decidedly impure. half-bloods, blood traitors, perhaps even some Mudbloods.
And all of them wore exposing necklines, under their new Hogwarts uniforms. It was indecent. Narcissa blushed and looked to the ground, but Andromeda could not help but stare. The only Soulmark she’d ever seen was her own, Cissa’s, and Bella’s, once, when she’d walked in on her in a bath. Here, though, were bare necks, each bearing a small but distinct symbol. A girl beside her had lovely little flowers like baby’s breath, spreading from her neck down under her collar. Her throat looked vulnerable and pale, and Andromeda only realised she’d been staring when the girl’s throat bobbed with a swallow.
She locked eyes with Cissa.
“Mother would not be happy,” Cissa whispered.
“She must have known already,” Andromeda answered in an equally low voice. “Bella probably told her.”
“It’s… it’s like they’re naked !”
Andromeda nodded. This would be hard to get used to.
✶✶✶✶✶✶✶
“Slytherin!” Andromeda jumped up from the stool and whipped the hat from her head, holding it out for the professor. She squealed and ran into Bella’s arms, feeling as if she were aglow. Surely, everyone else could see the light streaming from every pore in her body!
Bella laughed and squeezed Andromeda one more time. “Okay, Cissa’s turn,” she whispered, sitting and patting the bench beside her. Bella had even saved her a spot at the green table!
Vibrating with nerves and joy, Andromeda plopped down beside Bella and turned to the front of the hall. The professor with the hat and scroll gave the excited Slytherin an indulgent smile and cleared her throat.
“Black, Narcissa!”
The smallest of the new students, Cissa’s bright blonde head only appeared when she’d stepped up to the stool and taken a seat. Andromeda craned her neck, not wanting to miss a moment. Cissa looked calm and collected, but her serene smile wobbled as the hat was lowered onto her brow. Andromeda bit her lip and took Bella’s hand, squeezing it tight.
Bella didn’t speak, her gaze fixed on her youngest sister, but her hand tightened around Andromeda’s own. Ten long, silent seconds passed and Andromeda flicked her eyes to Bella. What if Cissa was improperly placed? Could the Headmaster fix it? Put her in the House of snakes, where she belonged? Twenty seconds. From this distance. It was hard to tell, but Cissa’s face looked very serious. Thirty seconds now, and people were starting to mutter. Bella shook her head and squeezed Andromeda’s hand again.
Just when Andromeda was beginning to write an apology letter home on the behalf of her little sister, the hat called out a hearty, “SLYTHERIN!”
Both Black sisters let out their breaths and smiled, standing to welcome Cissa to the House. Cissa did not run, but she walked quickly, beaming at them. “I did it!” She whispered excitedly into their hugs. “I did it!”
Once all were seated and the sorting continued, Bella seemed much more relaxed, talking quietly with her friends and making jokes about each new student.
“Blishwick, Lionel” had gone to Ravenclaw, quickly followed by “Burbage, Charity.”
“Burbage? What kind of Muggle name is that?” She snickered as a stocky blonde joined Ravenclaw. “Mudblood, for sure.”
Andromeda made a mental note not to befriend that Ravenclaw girl.
“Campbell, Willamina!” was sorted into Gryffindor and Lucius Malfoy, who sat across the table from the girls, sniffed.
“Relation of the Mulcibers. Disowned, of course.”
The Gryffindor table was whooping and hollering in response to the sorting: absolutely inappropriate behaviour, Andromeda thought. She continued watching each kid take a seat and receive a House, but it was starting to blur together. She really was hungry!
“Tonks, Edward!”
Contemplating buttery rolls and tender chicken, Andromeda nearly yelped when Bellatrix’s voice rose to hiss loudly “Another Mudblood? What next, a dog?”
Andromeda looked up and saw a boy walking up to the stool, a bright smile on his too-wide mouth. “It’s Ted, please!” He said brightly, taking a seat and confidently scanning the room—the four tables, the magic. If Andromeda was not mistaken, this was the annoying kid in the boats who’d been leading a sing-along of ‘row, row, row your boat’. The hat fell upon his sandy locks and Andromeda narrowed her eyes. If Bella hadn’t confirmed his dirty blood, she could’ve guessed it herself. He was clearly loud—and worse, his neck was indecently exposed, revealing the black lines of his Soulmark. She froze. That wasn’t. That couldn’t be?
Ted Tonks tilted his head to the side and the hat looked as if it may fall off. Andromeda gripped her seat and frowned. Now it was unmistakable. On the Tonks boy’s neck was a dragonfly, facing skywards with its wings wrapping around his throat like a choker.
Andromeda spun to look down at the table, her mind a blur. She heard a loud “HUFFLEPUFF!” and the responding cheers of the table across the hall, but she was no longer there, in the room. She was curled up in her favourite overstuffed chair, devouring books like they were the air she breathed. “Mudblood, I think,” echoed in her thoughts, disturbing the peace that was the safety of the Black library.
Of course, as a young witch of eight or nine years of age, she’d pictured a dragonfly tattooed on people’s throats. She’d imagined what she would do, if she discovered her Soulmate, her person . Usually, in her fantasies, he was tall, with thick black hair and a roguish grin. Rabastan would wink at her and pull her into the corner at a party, and tell her that he knew what was inked upon her very neck. That they were Soulmates. And it made sense. Because Rabastan was a pure-blood, and he was handsome, and he was funny. It made sense, because their parents certainly wanted a Lestrange-Black union. And they would fall in love and be Soulmates. Her world would be complete.
The Mudblood Tonks boy was not any of those things. And Andromeda was never, ever, going to care about Soulmarks ever again.
Always pure .