Andromeda Black

ANDROMEDA BLACK 26 years old Pureblood Devotee of destiny Death Eater by necessity

[theother-lestrange]

Rabastan’s head span to find the source of the voice, expression dropping when his gaze fell on the person who had spoken. Andromeda Black, still Black even though she had married that ridiculous mudblood of hers. She still held her head high enough that Rabastan almost admired her and her pursuit of destiny. “If I sit, will people be less inclinded to engage me in conversation?” He asked her, though he was already moving toward one of the free seats.

He looked towards the mentioned door for a moment and considered her suggestion, and then ultimately chose to sat down without something to read. “If I stick my head in a book I’ll be called unsociable,” Rabastan said, gaze catching on the paper on her lap before he quickly looked away. “Better to look like you’re up for conversation but never be approached for one.” It was a hard balance to strike but Rabastan figured he could achieve it with the right expression.

[dromedanoir]

Sit with me and they might, she thought to herself. Her blunt nature wasn’t well-suited to nights like these but she couldn’t quite bring herself to leave it at home. Andromeda's company wasn’t especially pleasant like Narcissa’s, nor did it inspire awe or attraction like Bella’s. Between her general demeanour and the destiny she’d been dealt, small talk wasn’t something Andromeda had to engage in often, thank Merlin for that. Her reputation was beyond repair in any case. She saw the way people looked at her husband, how they looked at her for being married to the man. Andromeda’s destiny was unconventional, questionable, disgraceful even, if anyone’s destiny could be called such a thing. Rabastan on the other hand had a destiny befitting his position in pure society. 

“That’s the general idea,” she said. “But if you’re worried about being called unsociable I’d advise you hop back onto your feet at once. I believe that’s just one of the words used to describe me.” One of the kinder words, one that sat well with her by comparison to its partners. Listlessly, she turned the page. “Haven’t you got better things to worry about?” she asked, eyes still on the paper, however her attention was caught. She looked at him, curiosity tugging at the corner of her lips, a hint of a smile. “Go on then, let’s see it.” With only a few pages of the paper left, soon she would have little better to do than talk, be it big or small. Andromeda could do worse than Rabastan Lestrange.

[theother-lestrange]

“Is dinner starting yet? I can’t handle any more small talk.”

[dromedanoir]

“You’re welcome to take a seat while we wait,” Andromeda said. A newspaper rested in her lap, and she didn’t look up as she spoke. Her eyes continued their path across the page. She wasn’t under the impression Rabastan was addressing her specifically, rather himself or the room at large, but his statement was one she could sympathise with wholeheartedly. Andromeda used to be a natural at events such as these. Now, they were a test of her patience, of which she had very little.

“There’s plenty of reading material in that room.” With a tilt of her head she gestured towards a door. It had been locked initially, but when all it took was a quick Unlocking Charm to get to the other side she wasn’t worried. It couldn’t have concealed anything too private. Reaching the end of the paragraph, she lifted her gaze.

[murderousvance]

Sweeping Up at Selwyn’s || Emmeline & Andromeda

[murderousvance]

Emmeline hopped over a pile of books, absently cursing under her breath at the prints her feet left in the muck all over the polished—now filthy—wood floor. She was surprised to hear not only a familiar voice but that voice: Andromeda Black. Knowing how badly both Narcissa and Lucius had reacted to the fiery events in Knockturn Alley, Emmeline hadn’t expected to see any members of the Black family out-and-about so soon, but here came Andromeda and, if the light patter of much smaller footsteps following behind the first set was any indication, it seemed she had brought her daughter along. Granted Andromeda had always had something of a rebellious streak—but Emmeline was impressed nonetheless and hurried out to meet the other witch.

If she had realized that she was still holding the broom she would have put it down before she stepped into sight; she knew well how pure-bloods of their station (and the Blacks came from a higher station than the Vances anyway) reacted to the sight of wand-holders doing the work of House Elves since she was one herself. The first time she had caught sight of Elphard sweeping his shop she had shuddered all over, having never seen something so unnatural, but he had explained that there were no House Elves at work in Diagon Alley; some contract the merchants had negotiated decades ago, for political reasons that Emmeline hadn’t cared about enough to remember. Now it was a matter of course to clean the shop with her own hands and wand, and the fact that she knew her parents (and Elphard’s) scowled at the idea just made it more fun.

She didn’t think about that though, or the fact that she had smutches of ashy dirt across her face and more muck in her untidily-tied-back brown hair. Brushing a few stray locks off her forehead (and leaving another grey smear behind across her light gold-brown skin) Emmeline emerged from the narrow row of stacks to greet Andromeda—and, as she had guess, little Nymphadora too. She smiled, but that did nothing to detract from the confusion on her face. “A hand with…tidying up?” Emmeline asked, forgetting to be polite like a shopkeeper should be. “Are you joking?”

Emmeline actually laughed, picturing the refined and elegant Andromeda Black, or her pretty little daughter (her hair a vibrant burst of color against the dreary environs of the filthy bookstop; Emmeline grinned at the little girl and thought perhaps she would put a charm on her own hair later to brighten it up as well) cleaning up ash and mud from the floor and shelves of Selwyn’s Scrolls. “What’s got you out and about on this fine day anyway?” she asked cheerfully, for all that she was filthy and facing a long, arduous chore. “Surely whatever errands you’re on are more important than helping me mop a floor!”

[dromedanoir]

Bringing a child so close to the scene of an attack was inadvisable at best, but Andromeda couldn’t very well leave her at home with the house-elf, Regulus was difficult to get hold of, a sporadic babysitter, and leaving her with Narcissa was not an option. Only at her most desperate would she subject her daughter to Narcissa’s judging gaze. She could have arranged to have Dora spend time with someone from the other side of her family, but she simply didn’t want to. Andromeda wanted her daughter by her side. Her knowledge of the muggle world and all its dangers was sparse. Convinced the only way she could ensure the safety of her daughter was by keeping her in sight, Andromeda brought Dora with her.

Diagon Alley was likely the safest place to be, in any case. Security must be high. The chaos had been subdued. There wouldn’t be another attack in the area for a while. Andromeda would have to be a fool to think she could protect Nymphadora from the war. She was her child after all, she bore the name Black; she was born into the war, and she was a dangerous contradiction, a daughter of love and destiny and yet everything her family disapproved of, a halfblood and - adding insult to injury - a metamorphmagus.

When people spoke directly to Nymphadora, Andromeda was suspicious. Usually they targeted her daughter to mock and degrade. Andromeda’s fingertips found the top of Dora’s head, smoothing back her soft hair. Emmeline seemed quite taken with her daughter compared to some, but where her daughter was concerned Andromeda didn’t trust easily. 

“Dora,” she said, quietly, to her daughter. “Would you like to choose a book from the shelves? Something for daddy to read to you later.”

Nymphadora looked uncertain; she was growing up too quickly, her attention not so easily diverted elsewhere. Eventually her excitement about the prospect of a new story before bedtime won out and she approached the children’s section, fingering the books with the pretty pictures on the spines. Andromeda looked at Emmeline squarely. Her laughter chafed Andromeda’s pride, and that she dared talk to her like that in front of her daughter angered her. She wasn’t joking, but if Emmeline wanted to clean up the place without a helping hand she was welcome to.

“You live with my sister,” she said. “I expect she and Lucius are taking it every bit as well as her owl suggested.” Words laced with sarcasm. “I want to learn what people are actually saying about the attack. That isn’t something I can do from the safe confines of my home.” Andromeda knew what her family thought about the matter. A dip into other company was refreshing. There was too much anger from her sisters, anger she shared, but if she let that anger run amok she wouldn’t get any work done. Her cause was too important for that.

“The Prophet hasn’t reported news in months. I was hoping someone here might have something useful to say.” She crossed her arms, letting herself walk across the soiled floor without concern for Emmeline’s efforts to clean. She had made it clear Andromeda wasn’t to concern herself, after all. “There’s only gossip and here-say, so far.” Though that could be just as valuable. “My errands are important,” she looked at the other witch, her expression not unkind, but businesslike all the same. “Do you know anything that might turn this useless trip into town around?”

Andromeda felt a certain curiosity looking at Emmeline. Since the witch was offered a place in her sister’s home, she hadn’t seen a great deal of her. The idea of a person murdering their soulmate in cold blood in the name of destiny terrified her. The idea of someone changing their allegiance elicited a similar reaction. Was it really that easy? Emmeline’s new-found devotion to destiny was something Andromeda could admire. Her interpretation of destiny was not.

[dromedanoir]

Stoke The Fire | Andromeda & Dorcas

[magnificentmeadowes]

Dorcas looked sideways at Andromeda while she spoke, listening carefully, but acting more casual, until Andromeda accused the Order of being just like the Death Eaters. This might be a big attack, one that would hang the face of the war, but that didn’t mean that they were like the Death Eaters.. This didn’t name her like a Death Eater. 

She turned on Andromeda, sneering.

“Firstly, if you think that this war is merely an us against them deal, you’re even more foolish than I thought. This isn’t two groups of girls bickering at Hogwarts. It’s not a quidditch match.”

“Secondly, if we are discussing sides and blame, we are nothing like you. We don’t cause harm to people just because we enjoy it. We don’t believe in rubbish like hierarchical blood status. You think you’re better, because of where you came from? You think that makes you more of a person? That belief makes you less, actually, Black.””

Dorcas took half a step closer to Andromeda and lowered her voice to make sure the other witch was listening carefully. Each word was weighted and carefully spoken. She had her inclinations about Andromeda and the way she interacted with the other Death Eaters.. 

"And we don’t stand by, while other people do horrendous things, just because we have some ridiculous idea about destiny.”

[dromedanoir]

Andromeda took a step back. Not out of intimidation. Meadowes would have to try harder than that to provoke Andromeda into surrender. She stepped back out of defiance. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, her expression hardened, and she held Dorcas’ gaze. Her wand-hand itched to act. Every moment she stood here talking to Dorcas she was of no help to the people around her. But whilst Andromeda didn’t place any value on this witch’s opinion of her, she couldn’t tear herself away from her. Meadowes struck a nerve.

She didn’t think she was better because of where she came from, though it had everything to do with her being a Death Eater. Only with the help of a powerful obliviator - more powerful than Dorcas Meadowes - would she ever be able to escape her roots. They were as much a part of her as the soulmark on her left hip. But Andromeda wasn’t driven by a hatred for all things muggle. She was driven by a desire to protect. At eighteen she believed this was the only way - the only way to safeguard the life she wanted with Ted, and the only way to remain in her sisters’ lives. It was naive, but even now, looking back, she couldn’t see a happy alternative. Meadowes didn’t know what she was talking about.

Though she had much to say on the topic of destiny, she wouldn’t waste her words on Dorcas Meadowes. She’d save them for her pamphlets and posters. Some might perceive it as an act of cowardice that she waged her war at the printing press, but there was nothing cowardly about having both something to fight for and something to survive for. Destiny made her a wife. It made her a mother to a little girl. And if the name on her hip didn’t mean anything, why in Merlin’s name was it there? It was people like Dorcas Meadowes, those who openly contradicted destiny, who chose to ignore its pull, that threatened the life destiny had given Andromeda. Looking at the witch, Andromeda could barely contain her hatred, but it had nothing to do with the blood running through her veins and everything to do with her conduct.

“While my family do horrendous things,” Andromeda corrected. While I do horrendous things, she could have said. Her hands weren’t clean. That wasn’t her argument. No one was innocent, the exception being those too young to comprehend what battles their parents fought. “We both made a choice.” Almost pitying Dorcas, she shook her head. “I chose destiny, but not before it chose me. You carry a name on your skin long enough, it’s going to hold significance. Does Evan Rosier mean nothing to you?” What happened to the little girl who lived next door to him, constantly running around and getting into all kinds of scrapes? Evan was happier then. That much was obvious just from looking at him.

[murderousvance]

Sweeping Up at Selwyn’s || Emmeline & Andromeda

Emmeline hadn’t realized that the little bookshop where she worked would be affected by the recent disaster, Knockturn Alley being not exactly right next door—but all of Diagon Alley, it seemed, had suffered somewhat in the wake of the disaster, if only in the disarray left behind by panicked customers and the inescapable gawpers that any such chaos drew like flies. She had just thought, when she’d decided to go back to work (a most irregular arrangement, granted) that she would be able to escape the turmoil in Malfoy Manor and get a bit of peace and quiet amidst the dusty stacks and decaying tomes.

(Lucius was outraged that the shopkeeps hadn’t had more protections on their shops to guard against such disaster in advance; Narcissa was just furious that anyone would do such a thing in a place where children might be and was now refusing to let Draco put so much as a toe outside the manor’s walls.)

Instead Elphard had been all a-tither, his nerves apparently quite overwhelmed by all the noise and confusion. The moment she had walked in the door he had embraced her (they were cousins, yes, but that sort of familiarity was quite uncommon and had left Emmeline awkwardly patting him on the back while she tried to hold the hug at arm’s-length) and started blithering. Uncomfortable around such raw emotion from the normally crisp, taciturn wizard, Emmeline had finally suggested that he go have a bite and a cuppa somewhere while she got things back in order. It wasn’t until she’d ushered Elphard out the door that she’d realized quite what a task that would be.

Whether people had been pawing through the merchandise in hopes of finding special spells for extinguishing fires (as though a simple auguamenti wasn’t good enough for use in Knockturn Allen!), hoping to take advantage of the distraction to shoplift (good luck breaking those charms, she thought smugly), or whether Elphard himself had shared his nervous agitation with his stock—the end result was the same, and it required quite a lot of reshelving, and that on top of the muck that people had tracked in: ash and dirt and the muddy, ashy combination that left ugly gray-black smears of dirt all over the floor, and consequently on all the books that had tumbled from their shelves. Emmeline sighed as she finally finished stacking all the tumbled books in haphazard piles (she would sort through them later and clean what needed care before she put them back) and turned to survey the dirt. She grabbed her wand in one hand and a common sweeping-broom (usually more a decoration than anything else) in the other and was about to get to work when the bell over the door chimed.

“I’m not sure we’re actually open,” she called loudly, the tall shelves temporarily hiding her from view even though the shop itself was really more of a closet than anything else, and walked forward to meet the prospective customer, “but what can I do for you anyway?” Maybe they just wanted to know if she had any extra information about the fire through virtue of working nearby…

[dromedanoir]

Andromeda spent the day after the attack with Dora, walking through the woods outside their home. It got her away from the fireplace - too many heads had interrupted the intimacy of her home already. Any owls received through the day would be on their doorstep when they got home, and they could wait. Ted had left the house of his own stubborn will. If he decided he needed his family in these difficult times after all, he’d know where to find them. There was something soothing about spending time with Dora, as if the very act of protecting Dora from the evils of the world afforded Andromeda some of that protection herself. Andromeda couldn’t dwell on what happened, not today. She wouldn’t let fear or anger turn her into a ghost like it did to so many others. Dora needed her.

But by the second day, it was time for Andromeda to get back to work. She needed to know what people were saying about the attack and there was no better place to do that than Diagon Alley.

A sane individual would stay at home, lock their door, and leave shopping for another day. The world was filled with madmen. Though only half of the shops appeared to be open, the street was busier than Andromeda had seen it in years. Did they think Diagon Alley was safe again? The thought sent a chill down her spine. 

A pair of middle-aged witches huddled over a stall laden with trinkets. It was mostly jewelry, old and inexpensive. A sign told her they were supposedly charmed to douse the wearer in water the moment they sensed fire. It seemed a daft idea to Andromeda, but it wasn’t the objects she was interested in. It was the whispered conversation. She was wearing gloves, otherwise she would have never picked up one of the pieces, run her thumb over the design, appearing to contemplate making a purchase.

“Codswallop, if you ask me…no such thing as fate… was it fate that killed those people?… Who does he think he is, telling the world he’s fated to…Pre-ordained ruler, my ar-”

Andromeda only caught snatches but she’d heard enough. She dropped the brooch back into the pile, earning a scowl from the wizard on the other side of the stall. Slipping her hands into the pockets of her cloak, she continued along the length of the alley. When she came upon Selwyn’s, her footsteps slowed. On a normal day, the shop would be open at this time, but the world hadn’t returned to normal yet. Normal rules didn’t seem to apply. Andromeda swung the door open anyway and stepped into the shop. 

From among the shelves, Emmeline’s familiar voice called out. Andromeda’s eyes lingered over the books, but it didn’t take long for them to find the dirt instead. She halted the moment she saw the tracks on the floor, a sigh building in her chest. “Perhaps I should be the one asking that,” she said, taking in the appearance of the rest of the shop. Honestly speaking, Andromeda was impressed by how orderly it looked by comparison to its neighbours. It was obvious much of the mess had already been tidied. 

“That’s the thing about war. The damage has a tendency to spread.” Knockturn was the target, but even Diagon Alley was in need of repair. The war made cracks in Andromeda’s marriage and then, as if that wasn’t enough, it filled them; how long until it forced them to break? Removing her hands from her pockets, she pulled off her gloves. “Would you like a hand?” Between Dora and Ted, not to mention an older sister who loved the metallic smell of fresh blood, Andromeda had cleaned many spills over the years.

[dromedanoir]

...when your dreams come true, your true has moved. You've already stopped being the person who had the dreams, so it feels more like a weird echo of something that already happened to you a long time ago.

M. R. Carey, The Girl with All the Gifts

[boxed-in-black-blog]

No no don't rescue me I like the salt water stingIt feels so good to feel It feels so good just to feel something In the sea in the sea in the sea in the sea

dromedanoir | inamatus-black

i

They summered sometimes. Not as often as they would like. It was not every summer, it wasn’t every winter. It depended on if their parents were getting along and if their Aunt and Uncle weren’t waging their own war against one or many people. The house was tucked away in the mountains bordering Switzerland and Italy. Fresh water rather than salt, the water was icy cold even in the height of summer as it melted from the mountains.

They didn’t have a word for these vacations but each time they appeared heralded a week, two weeks, a weekend of nothing but chaos. Bellatrix lead, the rest followed, and silence was only ever found when they were forced indoors thanks to a summer storm.

Regulus was the only one who seemed to like these moments, mostly because they went on more trips when he was small—and Bellatrix and Sirius ran too fast and far for him to keep up. With rain, everyone was curled in one of several rooms—it was impossible to miss anyone or anything.

“I’m bored,” But this didn’t suit everyone. Sirius, who was a petulant six, had been staring at the blasphemy of a storm for just over an hour.

“You can read, can’t you?” Bellatrix turned a page, not bothering to look up.

“‘Course I can.”

“Then read.”

Regulus, certain he was helping, nodded, “The tutor said, ‘it’s like he’s reading french’.” Which might have been a complement, if he had moved on to learning how to read aloud French.

Andromeda laughed and Regulus only learned his mistake with how red Sirius’ was getting, “It’s good—isn’t it?”

It wasn’t.

“I can too read.” Sirius protested, “Better than that.”

“Of course you can.” Andromeda picked up a paper-crane she was folding and blew it over to Sirius before a proper fight could break out. “But help me make these instead.”

“That’s boring.” Sirius protested, but an hour later Andromeda had a bed full of them and two days later each of them had a couple charmed above their pillows.

ii

When Regulus was seven, Andromeda spent the whole holiday standing at the edge of the lake freezing her toes. He followed her once, then ran of shrieking when she kicked water up into him.

She only smiled when they sat on the fence late one night and watched the sky light up with fireworks.

“Muggle things,” She said, and it might have been a chastisement—except she was smiling. It almost made up for the fact that the sound of them made Regulus want to shrink down into the water himself and never come back again.

iii

When Regulus was fourteen and Christmas lingered around his home like a guillotine, Andromeda asked him what he wanted. He said: I want to see the water.

Andromeda was nineteen then, or twenty. She’d weathered the family and more. She took him to the lake house for a weekend, folded paper boats, and sent them into the freezing water. Regulus stuck his feet over the peir and watched them gradually sink one by one.

When they ran out of candles he found a packet of sparklers. Muggle things, again, he remembered. They lit them and left them dangling from tea cups to light the way.

“All our paper birds are gone,” He said later on that night. He’d only just realized, maybe only just remembered.

“Bellatrix burned them all.” She said. “With Ted. Before.”

Regulus sort of understood that, too, but didn’t say so.

[dromedanoir]

Stoke The Fire | Andromeda & Dorcas

[magnificentmeadowes]

When Andromeda claimed that this was the kind of thing the Order did, Dorcas raised a mocking eyebrow. This was the first thing like this that the Order had been involved with, at least to this level. That was why Dorcas had done It, she was tired of sitting around waiting for the action to find her. 

When the burst of sparks made Andromeda jump, Dorcas allowed a smirk to join her raised eyebrow. If there was one thing Doncaster enjoyed, it was seeing people like Andromeda uncomfortable. She had spent the early years of her life watching girls like the Blacks, and Evan’s sisters, meander about as if the whole world was below them, in a way that Dorcas had never managed. She couldn’t quite get down the look as though someone had shoved dragon dung under her nose..

Dorcas shrugged lazily, in that way her and Evan had perfected as teenagers, which had driven his family up the wall. Right now, Dorcas wasn’t sure if it would annoy Andromeda more, or just remind her of the connection that Dorcas and Evan had. Not that Dorcas wanted to be reminded of that connection herself…

"I guess we can assume that, for once, it’s not your little gang.. There isn’t one of those ridiculous skulls in the sky.”  

[dromedanoir]

The skull and serpent branded on Andromeda’s arm meant different things over the years. When she first agreed to take the mark, she knew it was a sacrifice, but it was a small one considering everything she stood to gain by taking it. Bear the mark and she will be left in relative peace. She only had it a short while before it became clear that wasn’t how it would play out. Being a Death Eater felt like a curse. But it also meant standing alongside family and friends, people she had known and cared for her entire life. There was some comfort in submission, however small.

It was in moments like this when her Dark Mark counted for nothing. It wasn’t a soulmark, which was in every way superior in its significance. It was the mark of a wizard, not destiny. A very powerful wizard but a wizard all the same. Andromeda Black might be a Death Eater but that label no longer set her apart as much as it used to, at least not in her eyes. They weren’t the only bringers of death walking the streets anymore. The Order of the Phoenix might paint a pretty self-portrait, but they weren’t any better. The scar across Bella’s throat was proof. Dorcas Meadowes wasn’t any better either, yet the disdain etched in her features as she looked at her was unmistakable.

“Yours then,” Andromeda said. Your gang. Though Dorcas dressed it in sarcasm, it was as good as a confession. Dorcas might not have cast the triggering spell herself, but she was one of them, wasn’t she? “Marked or not, it doesn’t matter.” 

Either way people get hurt. 

Andromeda’s anger crumpled, but she squared her shoulders, took a deep, steadying breath. “Talk about my little gang all you like but if you keep fighting like this you’re no different.” 

All this talk of sides was giving her a headache. Andromeda wasn’t on anyone’s side and no one was on her side. She couldn’t even guarantee the trust of her soulmate, nor offer it in return. She made her choice, and she chose destiny. Destiny didn’t have sides. Whether you believed in it or not was of no consequence. It was inescapable, and it punished and rewarded without discrimination.

[strikingmales]

Sam Claflin by Tomo Brejc.

[fuckyeah-rebeccahall]

[dromedanoir]

Stoke The Fire | Andromeda & Dorcas

[magnificentmeadowes]

Dorcas stood near the fire for a moment, looking around her at the devastation. Everyone was covered in ash, and some were nursing minor injuries, but there were no bodies, or badly injured people around, so it appeared that the initial fire and warning alarms had done their job.. Death had never been the aim for the attack. It was a warning, a question posed to the public, a question posed to destiny itself.

She was knocked sideways, as a man ran past her, heading away away from the fire. The back of his robes had started to catchand the flames edged up his back. Dorcas couldn’t tell if he had noticed and was just too panicked to act, or if he just hadn’t noticed.. She raised her wand, silently sending water to rover the man’s back, extinguishing the flames. The man continued running without pause.

She turned back to the fire, squinting against the smoke. Plenty o people around her were shooting water from their wands into the fire, so Dorcas concentrated on heading around the fire to check for any other members of the Order who may have made it down by now. They hadn’t been involved with the planning of these fires, but she thought they must have come down to check it out. 

When someone grabbed her arm, she turned towards them, expecting to see the face of someone from the Order. Instead, she was faced with the angry face of Andromeda Black. Andromeda shouted questions at Dorcas, questions that if Dorcas had answered honestly, she would almost certainly be facing a very painful death right now. 

“How in Merlin’s name would I know?” she snarled in Andromeda’s direction., shrugging her arm out of the other witch’s grip. She didn’t know why Andromeda would have grabbed her, it was well known that Dorcas was involved with the Order, and Dorcas knew Andromeda at least agreed with the other side.. Either Andromeda was blaming the Order, or she just grabbed Dorcas because she was passing. Either way, the situation was a bit too close for Dorcas to feel comfortable with.. She tightened her grip on her wand.

[dromedanoir]

Andromeda had no love for Dorcas Meadowes. What little she knew of the woman was enough to reach the conclusion she wasn’t to her liking. She was Evan’s soulmate, they had been inseparable once, perhaps they would have made the perfect match… if only Dorcas hadn’t chosen to defy destiny. That was what the Order stood for, after all. Not only were they fighting against the Dark Lord, a wizard whose cause Andromeda had been irrevocably tied to longer than she cared to remember. They were fighting destiny and destiny was Andromeda’s only reliable ally, the only thing protecting her husband and child other than herself. With recognition came disgust, and when Dorcas spoke Andromeda’s anger merely burned brighter.

“It’s what people like you do, isn’t it?” she shot back. The air was thick with smoke. Heat radiated from the blazing rubble. Andromeda clenched her left hand into a fist. It was the arm marked not by destiny but by the war - the arm marking her as a Death Eater. The truth was that people like Dorcas were not so different from herself. If it had been Hestia Jones’ arm she’d caught instead of Dorcas’, she’d have been tempted to snap that arm clean off. The Dark Mark wasn’t just granted to anyone, no matter what their bloodstatus was or the name they had been born with. It had to be earned. To protect her family Andromeda wasn’t above spilling a little blood.

There was a loud crack close by, something catching alight in a burst of sparks. Andromeda started. She dreaded to think what dangerous objects lay in the rubble of Borgin & Burkes. 

“This is clearly the fire of a phoenix,” she said, raising her voice against the clamour. No one who called themselves a Death Eater would be stupid enough to exercise an attack as poor as this. It hurt too many people who had proven themselves useful to the Dark Lord, who were loyal to his cause. The Dark Lord was many things, most of which made Andromeda’s stomach churn, but he was also a careful strategist. He demanded the same from his army. Everything about this wreaked of the Order of the Phoenix.

[sweetgentlemary]

Andromeda Black: People get hurt here. People fall down and stay down and I don’t like the way the song goes.

Mary always felt like Andromeda Black looked through her. She never felt like she saw her at all.

But that made sense. There was always so much going around Andromeda Black. Her one sister was married to Lucius Malfoy, the other was pratically the Queen of the Dark Side. Her soulmate was muggleborn, and she’d fought through fire to bind him to her, to make sure their daughter would inherit. She’d done so much. Everything was a fight with Andromeda.

And for Mary, nothing was a fight. She had no idea how to fight. She always let things happen. When she got knocked down, she stayed down, because that ended up causing less pain for everyone involved. She’d learned a long time ago that all she would get if she struggled to her feet would be an even bigger bruise as she fell down again, another mark on her face, more and more pain.

Sometimes, though, she felt like maybe Andromeda did have one thing in common with her. Sometimes, she saw a look in her eyes when all her colleagues were plotting and planning. It always passed quickly, but for just a moment, Mary could see that Andromeda wasn’t at all pleased with the things that were happening around her. She played her part, but maybe she wasn’t the mask she worse.

Not that it mattered. Because of all people, Mary wasn’t the one she’d let see her. After all, she never saw Mary at all.

[dromedanoir]

Stoke The Fire | Andromeda & Dorcas

She saw it first, fire erupting into the air like a ravenous beast, swallowing the roof of any and every shop within its reach. She felt it, the ground shaking beneath her feet, the swell of panic in her chest. A deafening roar split the air. Her hands shot to her ears. She cried out for her younger cousin, but if she couldn’t hear her own voice there wasn’t a chance Regulus would. The next thing she knew she was caught in a crushing wave of hot air, dust and smoke. In a flash, she drew her wand, raised a Shield Charm. When it settled, she was on her knees, her hair and robes caked in ash, and Regulus was nowhere in sight.

Using the wall, she pulled herself to her feet, wincing at the shot of pain in her wand arm. Having caught the force of the blast, it ached to use it. Smoke filled the far end of Knockturn Alley, ash was falling like snow, but she and Regulus had been far enough away to be safe. Except as Andromeda looked around at confused faces, fearful faces, even one or two excited faces, there was no sign of her cousin in sight.

“Regulus?”

Her voice came out cracked and hoarse. She called out again, louder this time, slipping on the powdered cobbles as she stepped forward. Andromeda could hear cries from the direction of the blast. Was it the dying? 

Andromeda wasn’t a hero. She marched to the beat of her own drum and it didn’t often lead her to battle. But there were some questions that needed answering. This was one of them. And she wasn’t going anywhere until she found her cousin. She had to find him.

Where’s Dora? she thought as she scrambled down the narrow alley. Nymphadora wasn’t anywhere near Knockturn Alley, of course. She was safe, Andromeda knew. Where’s Ted? She had less certainty about that one, but she didn’t entertain the possibility he might have business here. As she reached the eye of the storm, her grip around her wand tightened. This wasn’t an accident. Accidents like this simply didn’t happen. It was an attack and no Death Eater would attack their own.

She barged through the crowd, searching, eyes burning from the smoke. She rubbed them with her soiled hands, but it somehow only made the stinging worse. Accepting defeat, Andromeda turned her attention to the fire. She shot her wand into the air, sending a jet of water at the crackling beast. 

Another pang of pain in her arm and the spell failed. Andromeda took a deep breath, but before she could raise it a second time someone brushed past her. Not caring who they were, only that they might have answers, she seized them by the arm. “What happened here?” she demanded. “Who did this?”

Any number of people she cared about could have been here, eaten alive by the fire. Had the blast happened a mere ten minutes ago, she might never have gone home to her daughter. Whoever was behind this, they wouldn’t get away with it. 

[dromedanoir]

The Day Destiny Came Knocking | Andromeda & Ted

Andromeda stared at the robes on their hanger, fingers clasped in front of her face, expression grave. It was the only garment she possessed that was even remotely fitting for the occasion. Andromeda didn’t own any muggle clothing. Dress robes would have to suffice. She had written home, directly to the house elf itself, requesting that the robes be sent. Upon receiving them, she kept them locked in the bottom of her trunk until the night term ended. Just after Narcissa visited her in her dormitory for one last attempt at persuading her to come home for the holidays. But Andromeda would not be talked out of this one. When her family was seated around the dinner table on Christmas Day, remarking on her absence, they would say what a foolish girl she was, how stubbornly she clung to destiny with no sense of shame.

They didn’t know the half of it. For a start, she wasn’t at Hogwarts. She was spending Christmas with the Tonks family. And today? Today was her wedding day.

The robes weren’t quite as conservative as they’d been the night before. Andromeda was a master at denial. It started with a practical task, something to busy one’s hands. She adjusted the collar so it wasn’t as prim. Originally a shade of pale green, she faded the silk so that it could almost pass for white in the right light. Most of it she did herself, but Mrs Tonks had overseen her work, all the while advising her on the ins and outs of a traditional Scottish wedding. It was a safe topic, Andromeda thought, but the company was no less appreciated. Perhaps they aren’t that different, she found herself thinking, but for all the fantasising about her soulmate she’d done as a child, she’d never imagined a wedding, muggle or magical. Everything about this was strange.

They hardly looked like robes anymore. They looked more like a dress now, something a muggle would wear. Andromeda felt a touch of pride as she slipped it from the hanger. If everything could be fixed with a little magic she and Ted would get by in life beautifully. They were a magic in and of itself, not just destiny but love. Andromeda loved Ted, enough to run away to some peculiar town in the middle of nowhere and say her vows in front of strangers - his family, yes, but still strangers to her. That was partly the point of it all. Andromeda’s mother and father still required some persuasion, but if Ted’s family was ever going to see them married it had to happen this way, the muggle way. It was important to Ted which meant it was important to Andromeda.

She stepped into the dress, taking a moment to pause over the name on her hip. Edward Tonks. She had to look in the mirror to see it properly. The name had brought her comfort as a girl. It was the promise of a future greater than anything she’d known. In the attic at home, Andromeda had a secret corner with a window. It was grubby with the name, written in the condensation repeatedly. She went there whenever she felt alone, sometimes specifically to be alone. It was a comfort now more than ever. She brushed the second part of the name with her thumb. Today she became a Tonks and no one would know it. 

Anger shot through her at the thought; anger that she wouldn’t only look out at the sea of people to find there wasn’t a familiar face in sight, but that she couldn’t even tell them; anger that even in their ignorance they forced her to weigh the two and choose. Ted and her family were as different as night and day. Choosing should’ve been easy. But Andromeda was a star. Only the brightest stars could be seen by daylight. Andromeda didn’t know if she had it in her.

She twisted her arms to button the back of her dress, but her hands could only reach so far and there were more buttons than she could count. Brow furrowed, she hoisted the skirts of her dress and swung the door open. Mrs Tonks had said something about not being seen by the groom before the wedding; not in her dress, and not at all. Something about bad luck. Did she not realise destiny was on their side? In destiny there was no such thing as bad luck. 

This was some kind of hotel, she’d been told. A B&B, if she’d heard correctly. Not everyone can travel by floo powder, Ted explained as if that had more to do with her status than the fact she had only ever been a witch. Perhaps he had merely been speaking logistics. It was hard to tell. Andromeda’s nerves had been on edge ever since they’d gotten there. The doors were all identical, but there were only three on their floor. Ted had to be behind one of them.

"Ted,” she said, a whisper. The next second she rapped her knuckles against the door closest to her’s. Now that she was up and on her feet, she could feel adrenalin pulsing through her veins, intensifying every second that passed. Destiny was so close she could almost reach out and grab it. She stared at the door standing between her and her groom, willing it to open. She had half a mind to try the handle. It struck her it might be more polite to abide by his mother’s apparent superstition, but it was always Ted she wanted when she was excited or afraid. Wedding or not, today was no exception. “Edward Tonks,” she said, more clearly, knocking again.

[murderousvance]

57. Do we simply stare at whats horrible and forgive it? || Andromeda Black

[murderousvance]

A silvery mask on a table. Streams of red going down a drain. A shoe with the heel snapped lying in the grass. A wild-eyed sister with a wand in her hand. A boy with a fading welt on his cheek. A leather-bound book with its pages torn out, scattered across the carpet like dead leaves. A little girl’s laugh, hair pink and eyes bright. An empty house, the sink stained with blood. Two names on their skin; two sides of a war they’d chosen by fate and by chance.

Did all that really add up to the end of a friendship?

Well…it wasn’t as if they’d really been friends. Andromeda was two years ahead of her at Hogwarts, and as children two years had been an enormous gap, although now it seemed so small. But they’d been in the same social circle, always dragged to the same parties (although Andromeda more gracious about it, more adept at the dance both metaphorically and literally), so they’d certainly seen each other often enough for Emmeline to consider them friendly.

Certainly she’d felt as though she knew the other girl well enough to be surprised at who her soulmate turned out to be—although less surprised that Andromeda was determined enough to go through with her destiny, despite that the opinions of the Blacks for people like Ted Tonks was well known. Emmeline at once admired her for her conviction and was baffled by it; baffled by the very idea of surrendering to destiny like that…baffled that Andromeda was happy.

The silver mask and black robes were less surprising, especially after she had so boldly declared herself a follower of destiny’s whims. For a Black to be willing to wed a Muggle-born—a mudblood, in their preferred parlance—meant that she must be very deeply committed to the rule of destiny, to the fate of the marks. The violence that came with such devotion, well, that was horrifying to be sure—but was Emmeline any better, fighting for the other side? Surely Andromeda had to view her with even more dismay, maybe even disgust; she seemed to love her muddy soulmate, and Emmeline was sure that meant that Andromeda must despise her for opposing what she saw as fate.

That was unfortunate, because she’d always liked Andromeda, and Emmeline hated the idea that choosing different sides in this war over destiny and freedom might mean having to abandon old friends, or even old acquantences. Couldn’t they all still be friends even when they disagreed—when they fought? In cases like Andromeda, though, it was hard to see how friendship—even loose friendship—could possibly survive when the sort of fate that carried true love in its letters came into play, not when Emmeline knew that by her own actions she was rejecting everything that Andromeda was fated to stand for.

It never occurred to independent, contrary-minded Emmeline Vance that some people might see embracing their destiny as a choice…but then, she had never been as good at the society-dance as Andromeda Black.

[dromedanoir]

Marked For War | Self-para

Andromeda doesn’t expect it to hurt. Bella assured her it wouldn’t, but every summons sends a burning sensation down the length of her fore-arm. Not as important as her older sister and far less skilled in the kinds of tasks that are in demand, Andromeda only feels it every week or so, when a full audience is required. How often matters little to her. She doesn’t want it to happen at all. Bellatrix is happy to serve her master. Andromeda is not. Therein lies the difference.

Even when it doesn’t sting, it aches. Bella hadn’t told her about that either, but Andromeda doesn’t press the matter. Just admitting it to herself leaves her feeling weaker than she’s comfortable with. Besides, she’s afraid she already has an answer to that one. It isn’t her arm that hurts. It’s her heart. Through the years, her soulmark has brought her comfort, pride, and finally love. This mark fills her with regret, but it’s too late for that. There’s certainly no going back now, not from this. She smothers the feeling each time it rears its ugly head.

The Dark Lord seems to think he can call on his supporters any minute of the day or night.

It happens when she’s trying to fix one of the strange muggle devices Ted brought into the house, smashed by Bellatrix during her visit - quite by accident, her sister claims. She tried to fix it with magic but something isn’t quite right, it doesn’t sound the same and Andromeda can’t work out why. Frustration already built in her chest, it erupts at the burn of the dark mark - or perhaps its merely the reminder. Hissing from the pain, cursing under her breath, she sets the device down before she can do any more damage to it.

It happens while she’s with Ted. It takes weeks after she is branded to bring herself to undress completely. Ashamed of the mark, she gives Ted as few chances to look upon it as possible. No spell under the sun will remove it. It won’t be concealed by anything Andromeda possesses in her bathroom cabinet, which - admittedly - isn’t much. The Dark Lord’s mark simply won’t budge. The skull and serpent are branded on her skin forever.

Dark magic is a bitch.

She learns its almost impossible to purchase provocative lingerie that also covers the arms, and hires a seamstress to make the garments specially. Young and newly wed to the man she loves completely, it takes immense effort on her part not to give in and accept this is what her body looks like now. The initial months of their marriage are not what she wants them to be, free and unburdened by the world, filled with the innocent bliss of lovers who got everything they wanted. By taking the mark she invited the world in and now its an unwelcome guest, one who simply will not leave.

Eventually Ted wins her over. Ted always wins her over. He kisses every inch of her skin, showing special care to the name written where lower back became left hip. The name which bound them with more than their hearts, a name entirely his own, Edward Tonks. Andromeda almost thinks it’ll all be alright, that the second mark on her skin won’t have changed anything. But she doesn’t miss the pain and unbidden disgust that flashes across his face when he catches sight of it, the tired sigh that escapes his lips and the pointed way he wraps her maimed arm around his neck so he doesn’t have to look at it. Ted has never spared her from his true thoughts and opinions on anything. This is no exception.

Years pass and Andromeda still makes an effort to hide it. She curls her arm in the sheets so Ted doesn’t have the sight of it forced on him like so much else in their lives, so he doesn’t feel an onslought of disgust when he’s looking at her. So she doesn’t have to feel guilty at the woman she’s become in the fight to be with him. She’s learned to mask the pain, to ignore a summons. She might bear the mark but she will not abide the Dark Lord as if he is the designer of destiny himself. Some things are too important. Ted is one of them.

When they have sex, its often angry, because they are. Their bodies are a tale in themselves and its a tale of both love and war.

It happens when she’s making tea. She’s a mother now, almost used to the dark mark but not quite. With a daughter to care for the stakes are considerably higher. Andromeda finds herself standing on a bed of smashed china, her left hand squeezed tight into a fist, her knuckles white. From the high-chair, Dora is crying and Andromeda cannot reach her to comfort her without cutting the soles of her feet. She does it anyway. For Nymphadora, Andromeda will suffer any measure of pain without flinching. For her daughter she will do anything.

[limitlessplaylist]

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