A/N: I wasn't really planning to finish this story. I had the hardest time writing this chapter three years ago, and I thought the first chapter stood fine on its own. But then I was inspired after reading Cursed Child last week (and only partly because I'm like 99% sure that I and most writers on this site can do better ...). So if anyone is still reading this, please don't hate me. I really will get Chapter 3 out soon.

Disclaimer: Characters and world belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers, Inc., and no copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 2

Bellatrix

The Ministry of Magic looked very different when you were applying for a job there, Bellatrix thought.

The place had always seemed impressive - large, pristine, full of bustling, well-dressed witches and wizards. The Fountain of Magical Brethren was still tall and glimmering in the artificial white light falling from the high, domed ceiling. Bellatrix felt the same sense of pride and power she'd always felt when looking at it, but this time, it was mixed with anticipation. And while as a child, tugging her father's arm as he walked briskly toward whichever department head he needed to see, she'd never worried what all the wizards there thought of her.

But she did now.

She was dressed in her best robes, black and conservative, falling down over her dragonhide boots. Andromeda had helped her tame her mess of curls by pulling it back from her face and securing it in the back with a glittering silver barrette. Bella had to keep resisting the urge to pat it to make sure it was still in place.

She clutched her cover letter and a copy of her NEWT results so hard that she was sure she would leave permanent thumbprints in the parchment, but she couldn't make her hands relax. Still she made her way into the lift with her shoulders back and her head high. No one gave her any odd looks – but no one gave her admiring looks either. Unless you counted leers – plenty of men had eyed her appreciatively, some of them licking their lips despite Bella's long skirt and high neckline. Aunt Walburga would be pleased.

Not why I'm here, Bellatrix thought. No worries, Aunt, I'll get right on that whole finding-a-husband thing just as soon as I find a job.

The lift came to a halt, and a smooth voice rang out, "Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Bellatrix stepped out, along with a crowd of other wizards, all clutching files or briefcases and heading purposefully in the directions of their departments. Bellatrix fell into step with them, trying to act more confident than she felt – she was a Black, after all, she deserved to be here. They would be lucky to have her.

The lift opened to reveal a curved hallway, and Bellatrix walked by the first set of oak doors. That way led to the Auror Office, and Bellatrix would tie herself to the most boring husband in the world before she worked for Henry Potter. Besides, she had a more elegant goal: Wizengamot Administration Services.

She knew she would never be on the Wizengamot now of course. Most of the members were in their eighties or older. But she could start at the administration level, get some experience, maybe even branch into investigating when Crouch finally came to his senses and put someone other than Potter in control of the Auror Office. As long as she was here in the middle of everything, she could make it work. She could influence the most important decisions made in the country, and the longer she stayed, the more she noticed and learned, the better she would be at figuring out how it all worked, and then, oh, and then….

She slipped into the office almost unnoticed due to all the other wizards who had entered before her. They looked to be mostly clerks, possibly lower-level associates. Bartholomew Flint, head of the Wizengamot Administration Services, wouldn't have an office here. Nor would the Minister of Magic, Millicent Bagnold. Bellatrix wished she could talk to either of them directly.

The clerks all bustled off to their own offices, leaving Bellatrix standing alone in a round room with a long desk seating only one clerk.

The clerk looked to be in her early thirties and bored. She was chewing gum while she idly flipped the pages of the latest edition of Witch Weekly. Bellatrix gritted her teeth and then cleared her throat.

The bored clerk raised her head and popped her gum. "Can I help you?"

Bellatrix stepped up to the desk. "I-" she broke off because she didn't like how high-pitched her voice sounded and started again. "I'm here to drop off a letter. I'd like to apply for a job with the Wizengamot Administration."

The clerk popped her gum again. "And how old are you?"

Bellatrix could feel the color rising in her cheeks. "Nineteen." Or she would be in November, anyway.

The clerk eyed her suspiciously. Bellatrix made herself stand straighter with her shoulders back. She held out her resume and NEWT scores.

"Didn't they tell you to start with a smaller department?" the clerk asked.

"I'm ambitious," Bellatrix said, staring the clerk in the eye and daring her to laugh.

The clerk held out her hand and took the papers. She put them in a pile of papers next to her and went back to her magazine. "If we would like to continue with your application process, someone will be in touch with you within the next couple of weeks," she said in the tone of someone who has repeated the same thing over and over and doesn't even think about what it means anymore.

Now that she no longer held the resume or scores, Bellatrix didn't know what to do with her hands. She forced them to stay still at her sides, resisting the urge to smooth her robes with them. "Do you know who I am?" she asked in what she hoped was a threateningly calm voice.

The clerk flipped a page of her magazine again. "Who are you?"

"Bellatrix Black."

The clerk froze. Her eyes moved slowly up from the page of the magazine to Bella's face. "As in…the Black family?"

This name does come in handy sometimes, Bellatrix reflected. "Yes, exactly," she said. "Now maybe you want to get someone who takes their job a little more seriously than you to come out here and talk to me, hmm?"

The clerk stared at her open-mouthed for a second and then leapt to her feet. "I'll be right back."

"See that you are," said Bellatrix, affecting the same tone she used when talking to a house elf. As she did so, she felt her confidence rise.

The warlock whose office Bellatrix was escorted to was far more impressive than the gum-chewing clerk. Large and broad-shouldered, he had tan skin, a heavy jaw and a stern expression. The nameplate on his desk read "Perseus Macnair".

Bellatrix sat across from his desk, forcing herself to keep her hands clasped in her lap, as he scanned her letter.

His office was almost Spartan – there was an award for National Dueling Champion of 1951 on his wall and a picture on his desk of him with the Minister, but the rest of the room was bare, but for a bookshelf stuffed with law books behind his desk.

After an excruciating length of time (about two minutes, but Bellatrix would never own to that), Macnair set her letter down. "Your marks are impressive, Miss Black," he said in a rumbling voice. "Most impressive. I daresay we'll find a place for you here – clerking or the like, at least to start. With a family like yours, you could rise high."

Bellatrix sat a little straighter. "Thank you, sir."

"Of course, you'll need letters recommending you," Macnair continued. "With your connections, that shouldn't be a problem, I'm sure."

"No, si – ah." Bellatrix stopped. No one in her immediate family would approve of what she was doing. No one in the Wizengamot could know that. "I – of course, yes, sir, I'll get them."

"Other than that, you can begin when-" At that moment, the clerk poked her head back in the office. Bellatrix shot her a filthy look and the clerk cowered.

"Pardon me, Mr. Macnair," she said. She slipped into the office, walked to Macnair's desk and whispered something in his ear. Macnair's eyebrows rose and he glanced at Bellatrix. His eyebrows contracted in the middle.

They know, Bellatrix realized.

Macnair got to his feet and swept out of the office, followed by the clerk. The door clicked shut behind them.

Bellatrix sat still, fear filling her. They knew – they knew she wasn't meant to be here. Someone had already tipped them off – her father or –

Of course. Aunt Walburga. Bellatrix closed her eyes in horror. Aunt Walburga would have owled Flint straight away, maybe even Bulstrode, following her conversation with Bella two nights ago. They were old school friends, the three of them. How, how, could she have been so stupid as to tell her aunt she wanted to work for the Ministry?

She glanced at Macnair's desk. Her NEWT scores and the letter were the only things on it. The letter she'd so carefully crafted all afternoon the day before – all for nothing.

A few minutes later, Macnair came back in. His face was apologetic. "I'm terribly sorry, Miss Black. It appears we have no positions open for you after all."

She let out a breath, feeling as though she were shrinking. Don't throw a tantrum, hold your tongue, girl.

She got to her feet, keeping her spine as straight as she could.

She looked Macnair straight in the eye. "I'll remember this, sir."

Then she departed before he could see her cry.

She burst into the ladies' loo just outside the Wizengamot offices. Bunching the skirt of her robes, she smothered them against her face and shrieked out her temper.

Hot tears of anger streamed down her face as she fell to her knees, sobbing in her fury. Releasing her robes with one hand, she reached up to one of the sinks and scrabbled until she found a bar of soap. With another scream of rage, she flung it into a stall door. She stuffed her robes against her open mouth and screamed again. She released her robes and fell forward, beating her hands against the floor as she attempted to get her volume under control.

Those – them! She couldn't think of words profane enough to describe them – her father, her aunt, those Ministry fools in their pocket – She couldn't think of horrors vile enough to inflict on them – She wished they were here so she could twist their bodies like rags with her bare hands – She wished she could make them hurt – make them dead – make them beg her for mercy -

Her head and throat hurt with the force of her sobs, and she realized her palms were throbbing from beating them against the floor. It made her angrier - she wasn't meant to show weakness, how dare they put her in this position -

Eventually her sobs quieted as she was able to sit back, blinking tears out of her eyes. Only then did she realize someone was staring at her out of the stall she'd thrown the soap at.

The figure was a girl about Bella's age. She had a wand at her side, as though she'd drawn it in preparation for a duel before realizing one wouldn't be necessary. Her blue eyes were red-rimmed – she'd been crying too. With a start, Bellatrix realized she recognized the girl. Alice Macmillan, a Gryffindor in Andromeda's year. What on earth did that wretched girl have to cry about?

What should she do? Threaten her? Curse her? She didn't want a witness to her breakdown. Before she could decide the best way to ensure the girl kept her mouth shut, the washroom door opened and Bellatrix hastily turned to the sink, straightening her robes and fussing with her curls, which had escaped her barrette.

A woman, perhaps in her twenties, stepped into the room. "Alice, dear?"

Macmillan turned toward the woman. "Are they still there?"

The other woman sighed as she stepped into the washroom, closing the door behind her. "Alice, the Ministry can't kick people out of the Atrium for no reason-"

"What about if they killed someone?" Macmillan demanded. "Because that's what they did – they killed my dad – they killed him-"

"Alice!" The other woman's eyes darted toward Bellatrix, who quickly faced the mirror again. The woman hurried over to Macmillan and said in a low voice (which still echoed in the room), "Alice, you can't just say things like that, they haven't been proved-"

"I don't care if they haven't been proved, they did it!" Macmillan cried fiercely. "He was investigating them, he was asking questions, he was onto them, and they killed him!" She began to sob. "I don't care, I don't care if they know-"

"Alice." The other woman's voice was still low, as though she was trying to get the hysterical girl to follow her lead. "These are powerful people, you don't want to go around accusing them-"

"Harry will agree with me!" Macmillan said, still loud and still sobbing. "He'll prove it was them! Can't he make them leave?"

"Your godfather is doing his best to find out what happened to your father, Alice, but until then-"

"He already knows what happened – they killed him!"

The woman threw another glance at Bellatrix, who was watching them in the mirror. "Alice – come along, dear, Mr. Potter's worried about you, he wants to talk to you, won't you come now?"

Sobbing, Macmillan allowed herself to be led out of the washroom. The silence left behind seemed strange.

Bellatrix looked at herself in the mirror. She remembered now. She'd read in the paper yesterday that an Auror named Patrick Macmillan had been found dead under suspicious circumstances. The Auror Office was investigating.

She peered at her reflection in the mirror. She splashed some water on her face and fixed her hair. She used her wand to smooth the wrinkles from her tantrum on her robes. She made sure she looked more presentable than Alice Macmillan.

Then she went to the Atrium.

A group of about fifteen wizards had arrived since she'd passed through earlier. They all wore black hoods and stood clustered in front of the Fountain of Magical Brethren. People seemed to be skirting past them, uneasy looks on their faces. As Bellatrix got closer, she heard the hooded wizards chanting in a not-quite-whisper, "Down with Mudbloods, down with Mudbloods, down with Mudbloods…."

Bellatrix approached, her mouth automatically forming the words. She stopped beside one of the wizards. "Hello."

The wizard turned his hooded head toward her. "I'm Bellatrix Black," Bellatrix said.

The man did not reply, nor did he remove his hood, but she could feel him appraising her. "Miss Black. I take it you're curious."

"About what?" said Bellatrix. "Your mantra seems clear enough to me."

"And what do you think of it?"

"I couldn't agree more."

He continued to look at her. "And you want a place among us?"

"Yes."

"Do you know who we serve?" he asked.

"Magic," said Bellatrix. She thought of her aunt. "Blood."

He chuckled beneath the hood. "A bold answer. The Dark Lord will be pleased."

"The Dark Lord?" echoed Bellatrix.

He lowered his voice. "Lord Voldemort."

A shiver of fear – but also excitement – slipped down her back. She knew the name – her aunt spoke it often in a tone of pride – but had never heard it spoken so reverently.

The wizard seemed to read her thoughts. "We do not say the name without respect," he said. "And soon, others will not speak it without fear."

"How can I meet him?" asked Bellatrix.

The wizard reached into the pocket of his robes and removed a small copper token. He took her hand and fixed her fingers around it. "When you feel it burn, you will know where to go. Bring it with you or you will not be allowed entry."

Bellatrix peered at the token. There was an image engraved on it – a skull with a snake escaping its mouth.

She closed her fist around the token and looked back at the hooded man. "I'll be there."

Andromeda

"Listen to this!" Bellatrix slapped the morning edition of the Daily Prophet onto the breakfast table, fuming. "In Henry Potter's letter to the editor, he writes, 'The latest wave of the anti-Muggle movement is made up of individuals who are not only morally and intellectually in the wrong; but it is made up of the greediest and most entitled members of our society whose insufferable smugness at their comfortably inherited positions of status is matched only by their blustering fear that their more capable peers, who spend more time trying to fix the ills of the world than tracing their lineage, will threaten those undeserved positions of power and comfort which the prejudiced minority of Purebloods now enjoy.'" She sat back, her arms crossed and her jaw so tight Andromeda's cheeks ached just thinking about it.

"Potter," growled Cygnus, setting his cup of tea down. "That man ought to be run out of the country."

"And yet, he's the one in a – what was it?" Bellatrix snatched up the paper again. "Oh, yes, a 'comfortably inherited position of status.' Or does he think it's his charming wit and blazing intelligence that made him Head of the Auror Office, rather than his last name?"

"Maybe it's because he's caught more Dark Wizards than anyone else in the office," said Andromeda dryly. When Bellatrix stared at her, Dromeda rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't look at me like that, Bella, you're not the only one who follows current affairs."

"Bastard," muttered Bella, her eyes back on the paper. "He goes on to suggest that the Ministry set a hiring quota of Muggles."

"Muggleborns," muttered Andromeda, but no one was listening.

"There aren't enough, are there?" said Cissy idly. When everyone else at the table looked at her in surprise, she continued. "I mean, there are only four Mudbloods in my year. Is the Ministry going to hire all of them?"

Andromeda had only a moment to be surprised - Narcissa had never said or done anything to suggest she was even the slightest bit interested in politics – when Bella sneered, "That's more than were in my year; that fool Dumbledore's letting more in every year."

"Maybe he's letting in the number there actually are in Britain," said Andromeda. "On account of how they need to learn how to use their magic."

"Even so, there's hardly enough for the Ministry to have to hire a certain number," said Narcissa, but no one was listening to her. Bellatrix and her father now had fixed their gazes on Andromeda.

"Are you insane?" Bellatrix sounded incredulous. "Did you even hear what I just read?"

"It was hard to miss," muttered Andromeda. "And anyway, Bella, I'm surprised you didn't agree with him. Wasn't it just the other day that you were calling the old Purebloods 'busybodying tea drinkers' who do nothing but arrange marriages and spout conservative politics?"

Cygnus raised his eyebrows and glanced at Bellatrix, who sat forward and spit furiously, "I was referring to the Purebloods who sit idly by while Muggle-loving fanatics like Potter and Dumbledore and Moody and who knows what other higher ups in the Ministry get more and more powerful only to give that power to a load of filthy Mudbloods!"

Andromeda felt a cold clench around her stomach, but she plowed on recklessly. "That's what you want to do in the Ministry? Stop letting Muggleborns into our world?"

"Fuck yes!" shrieked Bellatrix, ignoring their mother's gasp at her language. "It's about preserving us and our way of life, Andromeda!"

"You're not trying to preserve magic, you're trying to restrict it!" Andromeda wasn't sure where these words were coming from, but she was quite sure her father would never allow her to leave the house again.

"You actually want Muggles at Hogwarts, Dromeda?" Cissy stared at her, open-mouthed.

"Not Muggles," said Andromeda. "No one's saying Muggles ought to go to Hogwarts."

"Well, not yet!" said Bellatrix shaking the newspaper in her fist. "But give Potter some time. Mudbloods, Muggles – what's next, werewolves?"

Cissy gasped and turned to their father. "Professor Dumbledore wouldn't let werewolves into Hogwarts, would he?"

"Of course not," snapped Andromeda. "Neither he nor Potter are half so radical as Bella's painting them."

"They should expel the Mudbloods there now!" said Bella, slapping the paper against the table once again.

"Oh, come off it, Bella, they have to learn to use magic," Andromeda said.

"No, they don't!" said Bellatrix. "Why do they need to? It need not have anything to do with them. Their parents don't understand it – they don't grow up knowing how to go about in our world, they're raised by people who hated us and persecuted us, and the only reason they don't now is because they don't know we exist! And now you just would let them in, keep letting them take resources and professors' times and later jobs from us with pure bloodlines, who grew up around magic and who appreciate it!"

There was silence as everyone stared at Bellatrix whose chest was heaving.

"You're right," said Andromeda finally.

"Course I am," said Bellatrix.

Andromeda took a couple of deep breaths. She became aware that her midriff was cold and palms sweaty. She glanced up. Her father had sat back and was sipping tea in satisfaction. Bellatrix was glaring at her. Narcissa's eyes darted between her two older sisters.

Andromeda placed her napkin on the table. "Excuse me," she said. "I think I'll go finish getting dressed."

She could feel her sisters' eyes on her all the way out of the room. She took the stairs as quickly as she could without being too loud and escaped into the safety of her bedroom. She closed the door and sank back against it with a sigh.

Then her breath caught again when she spotted the owl by her window.

She'd never seen this particular bird before, and that could only mean one thing.

She darted across the room and removed the letter tied to its talons with shaking fingers. She opened the envelope.

Hello, love!

Andromeda let out her breath again. It was Reina's handwriting.

What do you think of the new owl? He's quite well-behaved, isn't he? Mum found him –

Andromeda dropped the letter on the desk without finishing it, fell back onto her bed, and waited for her racing heart to slow.

Narcissa

Narcissa sat quietly, mind wandering as Bella and her father continued to insult Henry Potter. She had never seen Bella and Dromeda row like that – come to think of it, she'd never seen Dromeda row with anyone. What could have brought it on?

It made her anxious, Dromeda's recent behavior, and the threats that Bella might leave home. It gave her that antsy feeling she got in her tummy when she put off a homework assignment too long. She didn't like the thought of things getting upset, of things changing.

"And Narcissa, I'll want you there too, and on your best behavior," her father said.

Cissy started and blinked up at him. "Beg pardon?"

"At the dinner we're holding for your sister," said Cygnus. "Were you not listening, girl?"

Narcissa glanced from her father's stern face to her sister's scowl. Her blankness must have shown on her face because her father sighed. "The Lestranges are coming for dinner tomorrow night. Your Aunt Walburga thinks their son might be a good match for Bellatrix."

Bella rolled her eyes.

Narcissa thought for a moment. "Is he good-looking?"

"That is hardly relevant," said Cygnus. "He is, by all accounts, a good lad from a good family. Bellatrix is handsome enough for them both."

Bellatrix did not look enthusiastic at the compliment. Cissy thought the Lestrange boy was probably ugly.

"Are you going to marry the Lestrange boy?" she asked Bella ten minutes later as they made their way upstairs to their respective rooms.

"Merlin's beard, I hope not," growled Bellatrix. "Though God knows I haven't anything else to do. Listen, will you keep the parents occupied over the next few days? Tell them you feel you've got Dragon Pox coming on again?"

"I already had it," Cissy said. "You can't get it twice."

Bellatrix groaned and raced up the stairs, leaving Narcissa behind with that same knotty feeling in her tummy.

Regulus

Regulus was sneaking up the stairs with his back to the wall.

It was a trick Sirius taught him. Since he could remember, Regulus had been terrified of the stairwell in Grimmauld Place – it was dark, winding, there were decapitated house-elves stuck up on the walls following him with their eyes – who wouldn't wet himself at the thought of going up it?

(Which Regulus had only done once, years ago. Okay, twice.)

It was Sirius who told him that if he crept up with his back to the wall, he could get the jump on anything coming down the stairs first. Regulus had so far gotten the jump on Kreacher, all the cousins, his dad twice, Sirius himself, the ghoul from the attic, and once his mother. (That last one was terrifying.)

He wasn't really afraid of the stairwell anymore.

"Master Regulus?" Kreacher's croaking voice came from up the stairs. Kreacher had learned early on to check for Regulus before taking the stairwell himself.

"I'm here, Kreacher," Regulus answered. "You can come down."

The house-elf's long snout appeared before the rest of him did. He examined Regulus shrewdly through his big eyes. "Would Master Regulus like Kreacher to accompany him upstairs?"

Regulus relaxed and stopped away from the wall. "That would be nice, Kreacher, thanks."

Together he and the house-elf walked up the stairs.

"Did Master Regulus hear Mistress's instructions to Kreacher for dinner tonight?" Kreacher asked.

Regulus ducked his head. "Don't tell Mother I was listening, Kreacher, promise."

The elf shook his head, his ears flopping. "Kreacher won't." He paused. "Does Master Regulus have anything he wants for dinner?"

Regulus nearly crowed with excitement – he never got to pick dinner. "Shepherd's pie with hot buns and Yorkshire pudding!" he said. "And chocolate frogs!"

"As Master Regulus wishes."

They reached the landing that led to Sirius's room. "Thanks Kreacher," said Regulus.

"Whatever Master Regulus wishes," said Kreacher, and he went back downstairs. Regulus continued to Sirius's room and knocked.

"Who is it?" came his brother's voice from inside the room.

"It's me! Let me in, I have something important to tell you!"

Sirius opened the door, and Regulus scurried in, jumping onto the bed and letting the mattress bounce under him. "Mother and Father won't be here for dinner tonight," he said. "And Kreacher let me choose the menu, and I picked Shepherd's pie!"

Sirius wrinkled his nose. "I don't like Shepherd's pie. It's soggy and smells like old lady."

"Too bad, so sad, Kreacher picked me to pick dinner."

"Well, I'll order him to let me pick," said Sirius. "I'm older."

"Wait, that wasn't the thing I was going to say," said Regulus hastily before Sirius could go find Kreacher. "I was going to say – Father is eating with someone from the Ministry, and Mother is eating with Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella and Bella and Dromeda and Cissy and Bella's new husband!"

Sirius's entire mouth came open and his head came forward. "Bellatrix is getting a husband?"

Regulus nodded. He began bouncing up and down on the bed again.

"Who is it?" asked Sirius.

"I don't remember," said Regulus.

A panicked look crossed his brother's face. "It's not me, is it?"

Regulus shook his head. "I'd remember you."

Though he'd always thought they would marry the cousins – Sirius and Bella, and him and Cissy. Dromeda could live with whoever she wanted. Regulus thought it might be quite fun to be married – like having a sleepover with the cousins that just went on forever and with no grown-ups around to bother them. He said so to Sirius, who said, "Girls are boring. I'm never getting married."

"But Sirius," said Regulus, getting to his point now. "You said none of us were ever going to be alone and that I could stay with Bella – if she marries someone else, how are we going to stay together?"

Sirius opened his mouth to answer.

And paused.

And closed his mouth.

And seemed to think for a minute.

And Regulus began to panic.

Because in his entire life, he had never, ever, not once, asked Sirius a question that Sirius didn't immediately have an answer to.

"Sirius," he said, blinking back sudden tears. "We are going to stay together, right?"

"Of course we are!" said Sirius. "Don't, Reggie, Bella's not going anywhere. And if she does – if she does get married – then I'll ask Professor Dumbledore if you can come to Hogwarts a bit early. I'm sure he'll understand. I'll ask, okay, Reg? But it won't be a problem, because Bella isn't going to leave. You'll see, Reg. It'll all be okay."

Narcissa

Cissy found her sisters sitting at the vanity in Bella's room an hour before dinner. Dromeda was straightening Bella's curls strand by strand. Cissy always found it soothing when Dromeda did her hair, but Bella couldn't hold still. She was twisting and drumming her hands impatiently on the make-up table. Cissy watched as Bella's elbow knocked into a small make-up bottle and a pink cloud of powder rose in the air.

"Heaven's sake, hold still, Bellatrix," Dromeda said with an exasperated huff. She glanced over her shoulder. "Hullo, Cissy. Want to join us? I'll do yours next."

"No," said Cissy. She desperately did want Dromeda to do her hair, but she'd come here for a specific reason and she would not be deterred. "Bella, I've made a list of all the reasons why you shouldn't marry Rodolphus Lestrange."

"Number one being that I'd be married," said Bellatrix.

The ancient mirror above the vanity wheezed in laughter.

Cissy ignored both her sister and the mirror. "Number one: you don't know him at all."

"I think that's what this dinner's for," said Dromeda idly. "Bella, hold still!"

"Number two," said Cissy. "You'll have to move out."

"That sounds like a benefit," grumbled Bellatrix. "Ow, Dromeda, don't pull."

"It's not my fault you jerked your head that way."

"Number three!" said Cissy loudly so as to be heard over her sisters' bickering. "You'd have to have sex with him!"

Andromeda burst into giggles as Bella gaped at Narcissa's reflection in the mirror.

"It's true," Narcissa said, jutting her chin.

"Dromeda stop laughing," snapped Bella, though she was grinning. "Cissy, what on earth is the matter with you?"

"Nothing! I'm trying to tell you that if you marry him, you have to have sex with him!"

"I think she's got her pros and cons lists mixed," said Dromeda through her giggles.

"No, I don't!" shouted Cissy. "You know what it means – it means he gets to stick his tongue in your mouth and he gets to stick …." She trailed off. Both her sisters were laughing. Even the mirror was wheezing again. She felt her face and neck getting warm. "Other bits of him in other parts of you," she finished crossly, because there were some things a lady just didn't say.

Dromeda set her wand on the vanity and sat down hard on the floor, howling with laughter.

"It's not funny," snapped Cissy, knowing her face was the color of Gryffindor banners. This did not improve her mood.

Bellatrix was cackling. "Cissy – Cissy, you're the one who wants all these boys to take you to Hogsmeade-"

"To buy me nice things and tell me I'm pretty," said Narcissa hotly. "And to kiss me properly and not stick his tongue in my mouth!"

"Listen to her!" Dromeda shrieked through her laughter.

"It's not funny!"

"Dromeda, Dromeda – stop laughing, Dromeda! What d'you think – if I kiss Rodolphus Lestrange tonight, will he try to stick his tongue down my throat?"

Andromeda's eyebrows bounced. "Only one way to find out!"

"Stop it!"

"We're sorry, Cissy," Andromeda said, wiping her streaming eyes. "We'd prefer you think sex is disgusting for a long time."

"Oh it is disgusting with Rodolphus Lestrange, the great oaf," said Bellatrix. "Now if it was someone elegant and powerful…."

"And slender," agreed Andromeda, gazing into space. "With dark eyes…."

"And long fingers."

Dromeda snapped back to earth and looked at Bellatrix in surprise. "Bella!"

"Oh, what? Just because I don't want to get married doesn't mean I'm not human." Bella turned to Cissy, eyes dancing. "But really, Cissy, what exactly do you think those Hogsmeade dates you're so looking forward to will eventually lead to?"

"They're an end unto themselves," said Narcissa with dignity.

The truth was, she'd always known what those Hogsmeade dates would eventually lead to, she just put it out of her mind. That future seemed a million years away and not worth thinking about when she was enjoying herself at Hogsmeade. And if that made her a prude, well, fine then. Narcissa would wear the label with pride.

She didn't want to be much like those girls who snuck back into their dormitory late at night with satisfied smiles on their faces – who acted like they knew secrets ordinary girls could scarcely comprehend.

As for her sisters, their reaction had surprised her – she didn't spend all her time with them at school – they were quite a bit older than her – but they never seemed to show much interest in boys. Bellatrix had something of a following among both boys and girls, but she was charismatic and admirable and none of the boys got any closer to her than the girls did. Dromeda stayed in her own small clique of girls with Reina Harper and that Delilah Borgin girl no one else liked and sometimes Reina's twin sister and those two Ravenclaw girls whose names Cissy could never remember. No boys ever penetrated that circle.

Cissy blushed and wished she hadn't just thought the word penetrated.

Still, she couldn't help but ask: "Why long fingers?"

Her sisters exchanged smiles.

"Don't worry about it, Cissy," Dromeda said, getting back to her feet and continuing with Bella's hair. "This dinner doesn't mean Bellatrix will marry Rodolphus. It's just a get-to-know-you thing. Rodolphus isn't really Bella's type."

Bella snorted. Cissy hadn't known Bella had a type – other than, apparently, someone with long fingers.

She really did want to know what that was about.

She tried to remember Rodolphus Lestrange. He'd been a seventh year when she'd been a first, and he hadn't even stayed the whole year. The image she conjured was of a large, round-shouldered boy with thick eyebrows and (probably) short, stubby fingers.

"Are you going to kiss him tonight?" she asked, worried her plan had backfired and she'd given her sister ideas.

"With our parents, our aunt, and his parents around sticking their noses in everything?" Bellatrix snorted. "Not likely."

Bellatrix

Two hours later, Bella was wishing the memory of Cissy's announcement was enough to keep her entertained through the meal.

Rodolphus Lestrange was a lumbering youth with short bristly hair and eyebrows so thick, Bellatrix was surprised he could see out from under them. He spoke in short jerky sentences and openly leered at her.

So did his father and even his ten-years-younger brother, who despite being Regulus's age was about the size of a twelve-year-old. Rabastan Lestrange looked like his brother in miniature. If Bellatrix could have, she'd have had the boy by the ear, hissing that if he looked at her like that again, she'd jinx him blind.

Rodolphus's thick elbow smacked into her arm again, and Bellatrix gritted her teeth. Her father and Aunt Walburga had insisted Bella and Rodolpnus sit next to each other. Bella's mother was on her other side. Her father and Aunt Walburga faced each other at either end of the table and Mr. and Mrs. Lestrange sat directly across from them. Rabastan was next to his mother. All three pairs of eyes were on her at all times. Bella wanted to use her spoon to flick mashed potatoes at them - or better yet, have Sirius come and do it.

The only thing keeping her from losing her mind was Andromeda, who along with Aunt Walburga kept the conversation going with the flair of a hostess. Maybe, just maybe, after this dinner Aunt Walburga would understand that it was Andromeda who should marry for the good of the family….

"Of course, Rodolphus takes an active interest in politics," said Mr. Lestrange stuffily. "Don't you, son?"

Rodolphus nodded, and Bellatrix could feel his eyes on her again. Narcissa's words came back to her. You'd have to have sex with him.

"What do you do, Rodolphus?" asked Andromeda politely when it became clear Bellatrix wasn't going to.

"Friends in the Ministry," Rodolphus grunted. "But I do a lot of grass roots organizing among our people – get youth involved."

"Grass roots?" Andromeda sounded genuinely interested. Maybe they should get married. "What organization?"

Rodolphus paused as everyone at the table looked at him.

"It's boring," said Rabastan loudly. "I hate the meetings."

"Quiet, Rabastan," said Mrs. Lestrange imperiously. "Rodolphus is doing work for Lord Voldemort."

Bellatrix dropped her fork with a clang.

"Bella!" her mother admonished but Bellatrix wasn't listening, for she had finally met her would-be suitor's eye.

"Lord Voldemort?"

Rodolphus's eyes raked her face and something like a smirk crossed his face. "We do not speak his name," he said in a low, rumbling voice. "But yes, we work for the Dark Lord."

"What sort of pay does it get?" her father asked. Rodolphus kept looking at Bellatrix.

"The work is its own reward," he said.

"I saw you," said Bellatrix. "At the Ministry the other day-"

"The Ministry?" repeated her mother in surprise. "What were you doing at the Ministry?"

"They were gathering," Bellatrix said, pretending to misunderstand her mother's question. "Like a protest, wasn't it? Letting purebloods' voices be heard-"

"Exactly," said Rodolphus, looking pleased that Bellatrix had caught on.

"I spoke to one of them," said Bellatrix. "One of your lot. I admire the work you're doing."

"Always a pleasure to meet an admirer," said Rodolphus.

"Our Bella takes an active interest in politics herself," said Cygnus. "The other girls are a bit more subdued, but Bella is quite passionate." He smiled at her indulgently as though she'd expressed an interest for painting.

Bellatrix would have none of this from her parents. After dinner, as everyone was retiring to the sitting room and her parents were busy scolding Narcissa for yawning, Bella touched her aunt's shoulder.

"Aunt Walburga," she said in a low voice. "Might I have a moment alone with Rodolphus? Nothing improper, but with my parents and his-"

Her aunt frowned at her, as though trying to work out whether or not Bellatrix was tricking her. "Very well. You seem to be getting along with him."

"I find his work interesting," admitted Bellatrix. "I don't want to promise it will go any further than that."

"Well, if you don't like him, you don't like him," Walburga said. Bellatrix raised an eyebrow in surprise, but her aunt gave an elegant shrug. "There are plenty of other young men, Bella. It makes sense for you to give many of them a chance. Just be sure you're looking."

"I am looking," Bellatrix promised. She didn't mention she planned to be looking at the meeting, with Rodolphus – not that Rodolphus needed to know that. He clearly already had her naked and spread out atop his sheets in his own head. She repressed a shudder.

While Walburga distracted their families, Bellatrix found herself alone in an antechamber off the sitting room with Rodolphus.

"You look beautiful tonight, Bellatrix," Rodolphus told her.

"Thank you," said Bellatrix quietly. She glanced to the side as he approached, trying to appear demure, which seemed safe when she both wanted to get him talking and keep him from thinking she was alone with him because she wanted him to take her now. Rodolphus laughed, a cold rumbling sound.

"What is this, Bellatrix?" he asked in that same low voice. "The girl I remember from Hogwarts was never timid."

Bellatrix met his eye. "The Dark Lord," she said in a lower voice than his. "I want to meet him."

Rodolphus seemed taken aback. His eyes darted downward, then back up at her. He smiled a little and reached out to cup her face with one hand. Repressing a shudder, Bellatrix did not pull away.

"I can arrange that," said Rodolphus.

"Be sure that you do," Bellatrix said, but she wasn't sure her order carried any weight with his hand on her like this.

His thumb brushed over her bottom lip. Bellatrix took a step back, and he released her.

"Very well," he said.

"I was invited to a meeting," Bellatrix said. "At the Ministry, whoever I talked to - he was in a mask, I didn't see his face – invited me to a meeting. Did you arrange it? Or are you just attending them? Because I want in, and I want to meet – him."

"I arrange them," Rodolphus said. "And I can arrange for you to meet him. He appreciates devoted followers."

"Then he'll appreciate me." Bellatrix crossed her arms. She was feeling uncomfortable and she wanted him to stop looking at her like that – like she was a piece of meat he would skewer. "I have a coin that will tell me where the next meeting is."

"Check it tonight."

Bellatrix froze. Already?

"When?" she breathed.

He smiled. "When we see each other next. Without parents around to ruin our fun."

Your fun. Bellatrix swallowed, and his smile turned into a leer. "I'll check it," Bellatrix rasped.

"And bring it with you," he said.

"Don't tell my parents," Bellatrix said quickly. "They wouldn't understand, they think it's a man's job-"

"Oh, it is a man's job," said Rodolphus. "But I won't breathe a word." He raised a hand, let it trail from her cheek to her neck. He smirked at her one last time and then left the room.

Bella took several long, slow breaths. She did not want to go back to the sitting room.

A few moments later, Andromeda poked her head in. "Bella?" She took in her sister's appearance – arms crossed, jaw tight – and let out what seemed to be a sigh of relief. "Thank God. Are you all right?" She slipped the rest of the way into the room, closing the door behind her.

"Yes, I-" Bella paused. "I don't like him much. Rodolphus Lestrange."

"He didn't do anything to you, did he?" Andromeda's eyes swept her. "The look on his face when he came out of here, I half expected you to be bleeding in the corner."

Bella thought for a moment. "Only if I'd let him," she decided.

Dromeda's eyes widened. "I don't understand."

Bella thought for a moment. "We made plans to meet again," she said. "He didn't do anything except try to look more important than he is."

Andromeda scoffed, then glanced behind her at the door. "Then why do you want to meet him again? For God's sake, Bella, he looks like a…."

She trailed off, and Bella cocked her head at her. "A what?"

"A cat about to crush a mouse under its paw," said Dromeda.

Bella thought for a moment. How much to tell her sister – her sweet little sister who only wanted to look out for her and who thought marriage should be all about romance and smothering happy children with kisses. "He's … taking me to people I would fit in with," she said finally. "Honestly – and this isn't the reason I'm going – but I expect to meet someone I'm better matched with there anyway. Rodolphus Lestrange is a thug, but he's not a leader. Someone there will be." Andromeda's eyes were huge and full of worry. "He's a means to an end, Dromeda, nothing more," said Bella. She thought she might even have reached out to comfort her sister if the thought of touching anyone hadn't seemed so foul right then. "So don't fret."

Andromeda cast a look at the door, scowling. "Don't let him get you alone."

"I don't plan to."

Later that night, after the Lestranges had departed and her sisters and parents were in bed, Bella got the coin out of her vanity drawer.

"Lumos," she whispered, and the tip of her wand glowed, casting the vanity in a ghostly light. She squinted at the coin. She could just make out thin words engraved around the edge of the coin, surrounding the skull.

Borgin and Burke's, Knockturn Alley, 28/7, noon.