Chapter Text
In history, women were written like doves.
As if they were a creation of something one could not touch unless begged and pleaded to.
Their softness, sanctified.
Their silence, scripted.
Feathers dipped in ink, not blood, because history preferred them beautiful—not alive.
Loud silent doves or beautiful statues sculpted by marvellous minds.
By men who carefully placed magic between the statue’s fragile fingers, the magic that carries the curse of destruction and death.
They began as girls, nurturing, bright-eyed larvae, with so much ahead of them, but by the time they harden into women, they are no longer gentle or sensitive.
They fight for their place among humans like wild animals under a rainy cloud.
They become vessels. Decorative flagons to pour wine into and poison out of. Longing for a purpose— something more than the simple stain of liquor or the occasional drain of their blood.
Some might say they are birds in a cage. Andromeda disagreed. Even caged birds are taught to sing before they forget the sky.
Unlike women who never get warned about what happens when they reach the age of seventeen, after the storm of war with their own flesh and bone, while they’re crawling through the earth like a lost moth.
There is just silence. A haunting voice that forces you to behave. Men brush it behind silver curtains and sterilized pamphlets filled with phrases like Graceful Tradition or Always Pure.
If anything, women are like gods— always begging to be believed. Always underestimated beyond their capabilities.
And when the woman is born for the star’s eyes, a prophecy is set upon her.
And when Andromeda Black was born in the star’s hands an augury was forced into her soul.
If she were ever to disobey the Black family name, she would become a foreigner within her own blood.
So every day since her birth Andromeda swore allegiance to her name.
Honor sweated down her skin every moment she allowed herself to breathe, and glory down her throat if she dared speak up.
After all— Andromeda was only a girl, gulping a woman’s guilt.
“We don’t look alike.” Narcissa once told her, her voice full of despair, sorrow filling her eyes.
Andromeda replayed that moment in her head often.
She was fifteen at the time, looking up at her sister who, even though a year younger, was always quite tall for her age.
Narcissa was born with platinum blonde hair just like their mother while Andromeda’s hair matched their older sister’s and father's.
“We don’t,” She began, her voice as soft as the rain as she brought fourteen-year-old Narcissa to sit beside her on her bed. “You look quite beautiful, but you must know that. You’ve heard that before haven’t you?”
Andromeda gave her a gentle smile, taking Narcissa’s hand in hers as they heard deafening thunder outside the window.
“Not as much as you are.”
“You’re right,” Andromeda nodded, her voice dropping down to a whisper as she gently squeezed her younger sister’s delicate hand. “Because you’re not me, that is your greatest gift. Being unique.”
“Can you keep a secret?” Andromeda continued when Narcissa stayed silent. She nodded at her slowly, almost like she was scared Andromeda would tell her something she never wished to hear.
“I wish I were as special as you,” Andromeda said, her voice barely above a whisper.
The heavy silence spread across the room like a disease. Her words were gone with the wind in an instant, and looking back, she never knew if Narcissa had heard her rotten confession. If she even remembered the words that were engraved so deeply into Andromeda’s mind she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to know herself completely if she forgot them.
Two years have passed since then and every once in a while, Andromeda likes to go back to that moment, cherishing the silent use of words like the letters she keeps tucked under her bed, reading them over and over again until she feels whole again.
It’s been two years since that moment, and now Andromeda sits alone in a cramped compartment on the Hogwarts Express. Just twenty minutes earlier, her mother, Druella, had dropped her and her two sisters off at platform 9¾, the air was thick with the smell of steam and the cheerful chatter of families saying their goodbyes.
The big red train gleamed in the early morning light, her mother nodded sternly at Bellatrix, and Andromeda wondered whether they had made a silent agreement that she was unaware of, one that perhaps only they understood.
As the air between them grew thick with tension Druella turned her attention to Narcissa, she instructed her to write at least once a week, to take care of their younger cousin who is now in his first year of hogwarts and to not get mixed up with the wrong crowd, her voice firm and unwavering. “And you, Andromeda,” she added, casting a sharp glance in her direction, “make sure you behave.” The directive hung in the air, filled with expectations that she was determined to keep.
They stepped onto the train and Narcissa quickly found her way, Andromeda guessed she was now sitting with a group of blood purists just like their father had told her to.
Unlike Narcissa, Bellatrix slipped away almost as soon as she stepped onto the train, and before going into her own compartment Andromeda found Bellatrix laughing with a blonde girl with thin glasses, one Andromeda knew by the name of Rita Skeeter. She closed the door to her compartment, now claiming it as her own. Her best friend Arthur would come by eventually— of that she was sure.
But for now, Andromeda devoted herself to the silence. Sinking into it, letting it slowly drink her frame and she was sure if she ever had to choose a sound to listen to forever it would be this silence. The kind that didn’t threaten to choke her until she begged for mercy and even then it will decide she’s not worthy of it.
The silence between train compartments was a peaceful one. It allowed her to relax.
If a film were ever made about the girl Andromeda is and the woman she will become, she would like this silence to be the beginning of it.
Except, just like every other gentle thing in Andromeda's life, it didn’t last long.
The door to her compartment opened and in walked a light-haired boy whom Andromeda recognised quickly. Not by his face but his walk, he walked rather funny— she thought.
One may confuse it for a skip or a short silly run but Andromeda was not the person who would make such a foolish mistake.
He walked into the compartment with a big smile and an even bigger trunk.
He sat down opposite Andromeda, only then noticing he was not alone there. Quickly getting up from his seat he asked. “May I sit here?”
The boy spoke like someone raised by the sun itself. Or maybe that was just the odd bag of food in his hand.
“Have we met before?” Andromeda asked, and the boy sat back down with a bright smile.
“We have,” he leaned forward, the bag of food still in his hands. Andromeda guessed he must be Muggle-born. No wizard, nor half-wizard, would ever bring a bag of food to Hogwarts on the first night of the year.
“Summer of '69 at Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club.” His smile brightened, and the once-silent compartment seemed to come alive with light.
“Of course, yes, the boy with the drinks!” Andromeda let out a quiet huff.
Except, she still couldn’t quite recall the boy’s name.
She remembered the night vividly, as if it had happened yesterday, not over a year ago. Back then, she had no idea how significant that one reckless decision would be in changing her perception of herself and those around her.
Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club had opened earlier that summer, and Andromeda had heard some sixth-years talking about the great Ella Fitzgerald performing. Andromeda was quite fond of her music ever since a little girl from Slytherin had once played "Misty" on her Muggle record player.
Every day since leaving for summer break, Andromeda had wished to go to the club. She begged her mother, father, and even her Aunt Walburga, but no one agreed, that same night she was punished for simply being curious.
July 14th came, and with only an hour until the club opened, Andromeda did the unthinkable— she dressed up in a puffy purple dress, donned a large black jacket she had stolen from her father, and wore boots. She looked rather horrifying, but like a Muggle woman—or so she believed.
She had no real understanding of how a Muggle woman dressed, as her family had always described it.
After everyone fell asleep, Andromeda took a pinch of glittering powder from a flowerpot she had found. She stepped up to the fire, threw the powder into the flames, and with a roar, the fire turned emerald green, rising higher than Andromeda.
She stepped into it and quietly said, “Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club,” before vanishing.
She landed behind a bush with a thud, adrenaline racing through her veins. As she emerged, her eyes widened at the scene before her— not a single woman dressed like her. What was it with everyone and their drab, outdated styles? It was like stepping into a time capsule!
Everyone except for one.
The same nameless boy was sitting in front of her. He had bumped into her on their way into the club, and as he took a good look at her, captivated by her puffy dress and boots, he said something that Andromeda mistook for an insult. Looking back now, she realized he never did tell her what it was.
It didn’t matter back then.
Their laughter had intertwined, echoing joyfully around them and drawing curious glances from others.
Just then, the boy, standing by himself as well, leaned closer to Andromeda and asked, “We are two lonely flowers, would you like to bloom with me?” Without hesitation, Andromeda accepted and the rest of the night unfolded like a whirlwind of music and laughter as they danced, and sang, and laughed a little more. By midnight, the boy was juggling two drinks—one bright orange concoction for himself, which he assured her was just orange juice, and a sweet lemonade for her.
Her hands were ready, but before she could grasp it, a bulky, towering man barreled into her, sending both drinks splattering everywhere—straight onto the towering brute.
Facing the man’s menacing glare, she and the boy exchanged wary looks, and just then, he leaned in close and whispered a countdown in her ear. “Get ready dear Blossom. 3… 2… 1… now!” Before she could process anything, he clasped her hand, and they bolted from the club.
That night, as they sprinted three blocks away—leaving the chaos behind—the echoes of her laughter filled the night air, drowning out everything else.
It didn’t matter that she never heard “Misty” again, the thrill of their escape was worth a thousand words.
“Ted, Ted Tonks.” He extended his hand to Andromeda now, and she reluctantly took it with a shake.
“Andromeda Black.”
“Pleasure to meet you, officially, Miss Andromeda.”
Andromeda smiled for the first time since boarding the train.
Such a small gesture of the excitement she so often felt when going to Hogwarts and yet that exact moment brought back the promise she made to herself many years ago when, as a lonely eleven-year-old, she stepped onto a large train for the first time.
Her sister, Bellatrix, who was only a few months older, quickly blended in with the crowd, while Andromeda found herself alone in an empty compartment, unsure of where to sit.
She chose the seat on her right because there was a small leaf resting there.
She remembered naming it Todd and asking it to be her friend.
When a gust of wind sent Todd flying out the window, Andromeda promised herself that if she could make at least one friend that year, everything would be alright.
Now, six years later, she found herself repeating that promise in her mind.
Maybe, if she were lucky, Ted Tonks would be that one friend for her this year.
“Why did you bring food to Hogwarts? Don’t you know there is a feast on the first day?” Andromeda asked back, her eyes dropping to the bag of food in Ted’s hands, the bag he’s been clenching even harder since he sat down.
He laughed and Andromeda couldn’t help but look back up, her eyes shining with amusement as Ted covered his face with his hand, his smile secretly peeking right under his hand.
“My aunt, she makes me bring food with me each year,” He began, taking his hand off his face, and for the first time, Andromeda noticed his eyes. A deep, calm color of brown like the trees in their prime season. “I told her about the feast, and wrote about it every year! She won’t budge, she says it’s in case someone eats faster than me.”
Andromeda nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips as Ted continued.
He shared stories from home without her having to ask, and in return, she laughed, and nodded, and asked questions. His life was quite interesting.
Every Friday, he and his aunt, who Andromeda learned was named Olivia, would bake cookies, or brownies, or cakes—whatever his mother requested. They would play songs and throw too much flour at each other while his mom chimed in to clean the dishes as they baked.
Andromeda also discovered that Ted’s full name was Edward. As a child, he disliked having a long name, so he shortened it to Ted. When she asked him about siblings, his expression softened. “I don’t have any of my own, but I used to take care of my neighbors when I was a kid. I’ve always wanted siblings, but my mom was too afraid.”
“Afraid?” Andromeda furrowed her brows.
“Yes, afraid.” He didn’t elaborate, perhaps because there was nothing more to say or because it was a secret he wasn’t ready to share. “You have two sisters,” he stated, not quite a question but not entirely a fact either.
“I do,” she replied, her eyes narrowing as she studied Ted suspiciously. “How do you know?”
Ted’s smile returned, this time softer, as if he were communicating in a secret language that he hoped she would understand. And she did.
Although she didn’t yet dare to ask for his opinion, she thought that softness was not a liability—it was a bold language. It might appear strange to the public eye, but it felt sweet and familiar on her tongue. If Ted Tonks were the one to speak it back to her, she would gladly open her compartment door to him forever.
“Your last name,” He began, leaning back until his back was pressed against his seat. “It’s quite popular, I’ve heard of it before.”Andromeda's smile faded just a bit, as if she were struggling to suppress a glare.
It always went this way whenever someone mentioned the Black family, and for some reason, people always had something to say. She wished more than anything that no one would ever speak about it again—never remind her of where she came from, who she was deep down, who she would always be, and who was waiting for her back home. Who— “It's funny,” Ted’s voice brought her mind back to life, snapping her out of the thoughts that every once in a while haunted her figure.
“funny?” She asked, her voice still lost.
“That some wizards are more well-known than others, that’s rather absurd.”
“Yes,” She couldn’t help the small smile that had spread across her face again. The strange gravity she felt was pulling her closer to the boy who knew so little yet so much. “Yes, it is rather absurd.”
Andromeda stepped off the train, the cold late evening breeze brushing her hair away, next to her Arthur was rambling on about the kind-looking girl with flaming hair he spent the train ride with.
One he’s been hopelessly in love with since the middle of fifth year when she gave him flowers for Valentine’s day, Molly Prewett hands everyone flowers every single Valentine’s day and yet for some unknown reason in fifth year cupid decided to hit him.
While only half-listening and occasionally nodding, Andromeda found an almost empty carriage to take them to the castle. Along with her sat Bellatrix and a couple of third-year girls, who were chatting about the latest article that Andromeda hadn’t read yet, concerning Honeydukes' new candy edition for the school year.
Andromeda took a seat between Arthur and one of the younger girls.
“I’m sorry I ditched you for her. You didn’t sit alone, did you?” Arthur asked after what felt like an eternity. Andromeda turned to him at once, noticing Bellatrix rolling her eyes behind him and muttering “Weasley” under her breath.
Just like the Blacks, the Weasleys had quite an unfortunate reputation. All of Arthur's relatives were known for being rather poor and unskilled.
The Black family often considered them blood traitors and treated them with disdain, except for Andromeda, who met Arthur in her second year at Hogwarts. Since then, they declared themselves best friends until circumstances tore them apart.
Both of them understood the weight of being judged simply for belonging to a family with a name they didn’t choose. They also knew they would grow up carrying the same reputation as their families, and it would be much easier if they could do it together, supporting each other when the world turned against them and loving each other unconditionally when it seemed impossible to others.
“No,” Andromeda shot a quick glance at Bellatrix, silently warning Arthur not to mention Ted or the night they met. “A boy came into the compartment.”
As soon as Andromeda’s words left her mouth, the younger girls responded with a chorus of “ooooo,” showering her with endless questions about the mysterious boy from the train. She laughed it off, saying he was “a younger man whose name I didn't quite catch.”
Arthur gave her an unconvinced look, but when he noticed the intensity of Andromeda’s older sister’s gaze directed at him, he dropped the topic. He tapped Andromeda’s shoulder, signaling that this conversation wasn’t over yet. Great.
The rest of the ride passed in silence, with only the occasional giggle from the girls. Suddenly, the carriages came to a halt, and the headlamps attached to the front were turned off.
First to step off was Bellatrix, who sent Arthur a glare and nodded at Andromeda. Following her were the younger girls, who excitedly ran away hand in hand as soon as they touched the ground.
Arthur got down after them and extended his hand to help Andromeda. She declined his offer, getting down by herself but gave Arthur a grateful smile nonetheless.
They stepped into the castle, the loud sound of chatting and laughter echoing in their ears as they made their way in, quickly saying their goodbyes and promising to meet each other the next morning— Andromeda and Arthur went their separate ways.
Arthur turned to the Gryffindor table along with Molly while Andromeda made her way to the Slytherin table along with her two sisters who were chatting about the latest gossip, the thing Rita must have told Bellatrix earlier on the train, and yet all Andromeda could think of was how lucky she was to be back at Hogwarts. With friends who were more like family than her own family, places worth missing and people worth meeting.
They sat down side by side just as instructed by their mother earlier that day, keeping another space empty next to them for the new Black joining the table. “Move along! There’s plenty of other chairs for you!” Bellatrix shouted to every person who even dared look at the empty seat. “We must keep Sirius with us, Walburga’s orders.” Narcissa said quietly, “I heard the Potter’s new child is in his year.” Bellatrix added, As Andromeda nodded along, the doors to the grand hall opened at once, and hundreds of excited students rushed in behind Professor McGonagall.
“The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting Hat is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. There is Gryffindor,” the Gryffindor table cheered loudly, “Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Ravenclaw.” The professor continued as the students stepped forward, each house cheering when its name was called. “Now, when I call your name, you will come forth, I shall place the Sorting Hat on your head, and you will be sorted into your house.”
She began listing off names, many of which Andromeda hadn’t heard before. She welcomed each new house member with a warm smile and a subtle thumbs-up.
“James Potter!” she called, and all three sisters turned to watch. Bellatrix scoffed in disrespect, Narcissa looked terrified—silently praying that he wouldn’t be sorted into Slytherin, as having to explain it to their parents would be torturous. Meanwhile, Andromeda was ready with her welcoming smile.
“Gryffindor!” All three sisters sighed, each thinking the same thing: thank Merlin.
Having to explain to their parents that a Black and a Potter would be in the same house would be like feeding a moth to a flame—impossibly dangerous.
Shortly after, another name was called. One that made the entire room look up. “Sirius Black!”
The professor placed the Sorting Hat on Andromeda’s little cousin, and her heart raced a thousand miles a minute. She nodded at him.
“Ha! Another Black. Mmm, plenty of courage I see. Not a bad leader either. You’re clever, oh yes, and you have a thirst to prove yourself…” the Sorting Hat said. “But a Black nonetheless… difficult, very difficult.”
The hat stayed on Sirius longer than it did for the others. Why wasn’t he put in Slytherin already? A whole minute must have passed, and Andromeda's heart was only racing faster in response.
More than anything, Andromeda believed that if Sirius stayed close to her, she could protect him—or at least keep him safe while he was at school.
“Alright,” the hat started to say again. Oh, how Andromeda wished to rip that hat off his head and pull Sirius with her. “Better be… Gryffindor!”
The room fell silent, an almost tangible tension settling in the air.
Narcissa’s expression turned blank, a mask devoid of emotion as Bellatrix’s eyes darted around, deliberately avoiding Sirius’s gaze. Andromeda, sitting just a few paces away, clenched her hands into tight fists.
It wasn't out of anger, but rather out of sheer desperation. She recognized the haunting look of terror in Sirius’s eyes from her vantage point and saw that he wouldn’t dare to meet her gaze, as if doing so might shatter whatever fragile hope remained.
The Potter boy was the first to cheer, his exuberance shattering the silence like glass. The sounds of applause erupted from the Gryffindor table, a wave of fervent joy that washed over the hall, drowning out the whispers of fear and disbelief that lingered in the hearts of those watching.
The shrieks and cheers grew louder, too loud, masking the shock etched on the faces of the Slytherins, who struggled to comprehend the turn of events.
Professor McGonagall had to call out to Sirius, reminding him to join his house. He stumbled forward, his legs trembling beneath him.
“Gryffindor,” Andromeda whispered silently to herself, the word echoing in her mind. Not Slytherin, not Ravenclaw, but a Gryffindor.
It was unexpected to everyone in the room, yet to Andromeda, it suddenly made a twisted sort of sense.
The boy who was always jumping headfirst into challenges that loomed larger than life himself, the one who never backed down, always standing on the front lines, yet somehow maintaining an elusive distance that made others question how close they could really get.
Of course he was a Gryffindor.
But inside lay the true complication, he was now a Black donning the crimson and gold of Gryffindor, rather than the green of Slytherin.
The implications were all too clear, it only meant one thing— revenge.