Duties of the Hostess Part II
Dorea found Lycoris towards the back of the dining hall. She strode past tables of the most decadent of foods served on silk tablecloths with goblin-wrought silver and fine china. Cascades of flowers were charmed to continuously spill from the centerpieces, filling the entire room with the delicate, sweet fragrance of exotic blooms.
“Dear cousin, would you help me fetch a drink?” Dorea asked quietly as she approached, still treading on eggshells.
“Yes, of course,” Lycoris acquiesced. “And before you say another word, I do apologize for being cross with you earlier. Charis may have had a point, but that witch has a way of just getting under people’s skin. It’s highly irritating, I’ll have you know.”
Dorea nodded in gracious understanding. “Yes, Charis can often speak out of turn, and I do apologize for the way she upset you.”
“Think nothing of it, my dear, it’s all forgotten,” Lycoris said with a wave of her hand. “I’m long accustomed to being the better person, and, as ever, I shall rise above the matter entirely. I am, however, waiting to hear from you.”
Dorea grit her teeth, but smiled nonetheless. “Thank you for your understanding, Lycoris. Please, let me make you a drink.”
Together they sauntered to an elaborate bar, where the charmed utensils whipped up the most fantastical concoctions. Dorea’s cocktail shimmered like liquefied diamonds, while Lycoris chose a strangely tangerine colored drink. They sampled their beverages in good spirits before Lycoris dropped her pretense.
“Oh, and I hope you’re grateful,” Lycoris said with a gloating grin. “I can understand why you wanted to use them, but, honestly, I at least expected a thank you.”
“I-I beg your pardon?” Dorea asked softly, quite confused.
“Don’t you remember?” Lycoris prodded. “My New Years soiree-1927-the centerpieces? You stole my idea.”
Dorea sputtered, momentarily struck dumb. “I wasn’t even at that event, Lycoris. I was only…” She hoisted on a polite, if bewildered, smile as she performed the mental calculation. “Lycoris, I was seven years old,” she declared. “I promise you, I never laid eyes on your party, nor your decorations.”
Lycoris narrowed her eyes shrewdly. “Ah, yes, but you’ve surely heard of them. People talked of them incessantly. They were spectacular.”
Considering her precarious position, Dorea spoke very carefully. “I’m sure they were something your guests would remember long after the party ended. You’ve always had the knack for creating… unique atmospheres. If I have-in any way-upset your sensibilities, I sincerely apologize,” she said diplomatically.
“Well, I suppose it is something of an homage,” Lycoris sighed, as if granting a great favor. “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery and all. It’s not that I mind, of course, it’s just that I expected a little gratitude.”
Dorea worked very hard not to let her frustration show. “Indeed. Thank you, dear cousin,” she said stiffly.
“Oh, think nothing of it,” Lycoris stated, again with a wave of her hand. “I’ve come to expect it from you. It’s hardly new behavior.”
Dorea almost choked on her drink. “Pardon?”
Lycoris let out a great roar of a laugh. “Why Dorea! Have you forgotten? You always wanted to be like me! Even when you were just a child,” Lycoris said, smiling fondly. “I remember it plain as day. At my twenty-first birthday you insisted on following me about like some kind of shadow. Oh, looking back I shouldn’t have been so frustrated with you-you were only a child, after all-but at the time you were always getting between me and Gaspard Selwyn-how I hated you just then!”
Dorea blinked, having no memory of this occasion whatsoever.
“We were always trying to be alone together, Gaspard and I, but we never seemed to manage it,” she continued, her face illuminated with a sort of half-forgotten joy. “He used to give me the most delightful-well. He was a very special man.” Lycoris looked the ceiling, color blooming in her cheeks. “You know, I was practically wild when I was with him. Cutting my hair short, rolling down my stockings-all very madcap. Don’t know what I was thinking.”
Dorea tried to picture her cousin as anything other than the staunchly conservative, outspoken spinster with an unhealthy affinity for doilies who stood before her now. She couldn’t quite grasp it. “Whatever happened to him?”
Lycoris jumped, as if startled from a day dream. “What happened to whom? Oh, Gaspard? He married little Josephine Merrythought-terrible match, that. She went through his money like a fiend, and no wonder, with a family like hers. Not a bit of sense between the whole lot of them when it came to decorum. Nouveau riche. Hmph.”
Dorea hardly knew how to respond, so she nodded in understanding.
“Oh my dear, dear Dorea,” Lycoris sighed wistfully, patting Dorea’s hand. “So few girls are as willing to listen to me as you are. There’s a certain genteelness in you that somehow passed over most of our relations. You truly understand how hard it is for me, with so many of our traditions vanishing right under our fingertips, and it is such a comfort to me that you have chosen to do an homage to my centerpieces. And the way you’ve chosen to honor the family with the charmed ceilings-why I feel as if you were but a copy of myself!”
Dorea rolled her eyes, but masked it by pretending to study the charmed ceilings where the stars were shining with beautiful intensity. “Oh,” she said, her brow knitting together in confusion. “The charm must be malfunctioning. The constellation Cygnus is lit up. I’ll have to see about repairing it.”
“Why would you repair it?” Lycoris asked. “It’s working just fine.”
“No, you see, Cygnus isn’t here, so his constellation shouldn’t be so bright,” Dorea explained. “It should only highlight the people who are in the household.”
“But Cygnus is in the household,” Lycoris said, as if explaining it to a small child. “Why else would I believe that you actually invited his family? Did you think I would take Charis’s word for it? He came by Floo just a few minutes ago, and he’s been looking for you-in fact, here he comes now.” Lycoris gestured to a tall, handsome man with a long stride, whom Dorea hadn’t seen in many years.
Dorea tried her utmost to keep her eyes from bulging. “My dear nephew!” she called, spreading her arms for a brief, aristocratic embrace. “What a… surprise!”
Cygnus Black kissed the air on either side of her face. “Oh, I could hardly pass up such an opportunity, Aunt Dorea. Your parties are legendary!” he said with an earnest enthusiasm Dorea hadn’t expected. “Father always said they were a credit to the Blacks, you know.” He glanced down at his feet and continued in a hesitant tone, “Father sends his regrets, of course. Business matter, very pressing. I-I hope you can understand-”
Dorea smiled and gently placed her hand on her nephew’s arm. “You needn’t make excuses for my brother. I’m delighted you could come. You are very, very welcome. It’s been too long.”
“Of course, Alphard is abroad, but he sends his love,” Cygnus continued nervously. “And Walburga is so consumed with setting up house, she could hardly spare a moment. She sends her apologies as well.”
“I am pleased to hear from them,” Dorea responded, still a bit bewildered.
“Oh! I must introduce you to my family, Aunt Dorea,” Cygnus exclaimed, brimming with excitement. “My girls so want to meet you! They should be along in just a moment-ah! Here they are!”
As they turned to the doorway two precious looking little girls entered the hall followed by their mother, who was cradling another child in her arms. Though Dorea gave a welcoming smile, she felt as if she’d tripped down the stairs. “Your girls?” she asked in a voice so carefully controlled that it barely wavered.
“Oh yes,” Cygnus explained, beaming with pride. “We have three now-little Narcissa is almost a year old. Andromeda will be three in the spring, and our eldest, Bellatrix, turned five not too long ago. And, of course, this is my darling wife, Mrs. Druella Black.”
Dorea nodded, her heart falling through the floor beneath her. What followed in the next few minutes, Dorea couldn’t begin to know. Somehow she greeted her nephew’s family and all three of his children, and somehow she managed to hold herself together. The words “Adult Attendance Only” danced through her mind, but there was nothing to say about that, as the children were already here. In fear of breaking down into tears, Dorea somehow excused herself from the tiny young faces looking at her like the haunting scraps of a nightmare. She fled, and the next thing she was really aware of was nearly knocking over one of her guests.
“So you finally managed to come around to me, did you?” asked a dull looking woman dressed in draping gray robes. With an anxious smile spreading across her face, Dorea rushed to this woman as if seeking shelter.
“Oh, Cass, it’s so good to see you!” Dorea exclaimed, wrapping her arms around her sister, tears brimming at the corner of her eyes. “It’s been too long-and I’ve missed your letters so,” she babbled, her entire frame quaking. “Come and tell me all about life at the seaside!”
“Not much to say, really,” Cassiopeia shrugged, extracting herself from her sister’s over-emotional embrace. “It’s quite monotonous; that’s rather the point. There’s only so much entertainment to find in splashing around in the surf and stretching out in the sunlight. I much prefer it in the winter. No foolish teenagers about mucking up the place, none of that sentimental nonsense about the romance of the shore. Just the raw crash of ocean under a cold, grey sky-it’s lovely. Honest. Simple.”
Dorea nodded at her sister, and tried her best to stop trembling. Some things never changed, and Cassiopeia’s dry delights and deadpan expressions were no exceptions. Dorea tried to take comfort in this. “Well, when summer comes, and your view is obstructed by sentimental teenagers, you are always welcome here,” Dorea offered, her voice thick. “I’ve truly missed you.”
Cassiopeia’s lips twitched upwards, a subtle expression Dorea had long ago learned to interpret as a smile. “Whatever has upset you, I assure you it’s going to be all right, Dorea. Don’t bother denying it-I know your moods all too well.”
Dorea bit her lip. “Pollux’s boy is here, Cygnus,” she said slowly, trying to will her sister to understand without explanation. “He brought his family with him-his little girls-” She stopped speaking immediately in fear of her voice breaking. Wrapping her arms around herself, Dorea desperately clung to her rapidly depleting composure. “I couldn’t stand there,” she whispered.
“So, you just ran away?” Cassiopeia surmised. She exhaled and shook her head. “No matter how old you get, Dorea, you are still a child,” she said bluntly. “You can’t run away from every little discomfort. I know it must be awkward to speak with Pollux’s son after so much time has passed, but that’s no reason to avoid your responsibilities. Cygnus is your guest!” Cassiopeia reprimanded, wrongly attributing the reason for Dorea’s distress to her falling out with their brother.
Dorea closed her eyes and hung her head, unable to explain herself. “You’re right, Cass. You’re always right,” she submitted. Even though Cassiopeia was blind to the cause, her advice was nonetheless sound. “I shall go back and see to my guests.”
“I’d like go as well,” Cassiopeia offered gently. “I haven’t seen Cygnus in ages.”
Together they both walked to where Dorea had left Cygnus and his family a few minutes ago. Dorea did her best to manage her mounting terror as they neared the children. She tired to get control of her emotions, but the prospect of facing these young girls was overwhelming. Dorea knew her own strength, and it wasn’t much.
Then, something wonderful happened. As they approached the girls, Dorea observed that Charis was already at the scene speaking animatedly and passing baby Narcissa to Lycoris. Charis then took the hands of Bellatrix and Andromeda, and with a wink to Dorea, she lead both the children and Lycoris out of the room. Giddy relief swept over Dorea, and she nearly laughed in surprise. By the devotion of her dearest friend, Dorea was saved. “Thank you,” she whispered to no one in particular as the group left the room.
Without the presence of the children to impede them, Cassiopeia and Dorea struck up a pleasant, if occasionally awkward, conversation with Cygnus and his wife. “So, Aunt Dorea, what have you been doing with yourself lately?” Cygnus asked after they had exhausted the subjects of the goings-on in Diagon Alley and the annoyances of living at the seaside.
With difficulty, Dorea bit back her initial reaction to that query. Sitting in these dusty, dark rooms weeping, and fearing, and hiding, and slowly going mad, was the unspoken response. “I’ve been keeping myself occupied with several domestic projects,” Dorea answered with a slightly-strained smile.
Cygnus nodded. “Oh, yes, weren’t you working on compiling all those Black stories into a children’s book? I tell you, I’d love to have something like that for my girls. Are you anywhere near finishing it by now?”
“No, I-I’m afraid not,” Dorea replied. She bowed her head, unable to say more.
“Oh, I hope you include that story about Rigel and the Dragon,” Cygnus said with childish enthusiasm. “Or the one with Aurora and the botched sleeping draught-or the story of the brothers hiding in the holly bush.”
“I’ve never heard of that one,” interrupted Cygnus’s wife, Druella.
“It was one of my favorites as a boy,” Cygnus explained. “It was really something to hear! It’s about Castor and Pollux Black, my ancestors who actually built Twin Hollies here centuries ago. Their Animagus forms were birds, you see, and one winter they came across some holly that saved their lives. I used to beg my father to tell us that story when we were all small. I could never get enough of it. You simply must have that story in your book, Aunt Dorea.”
“You always were a demanding child, Cygnus,” Cassiopeia remarked dryly. “Glad to see you’ve outgrown such tendencies.”
“Well, you know how it is, I suppose. I’ve always had a commanding presence, even as a child,” Cygnus pronounced, proudly preening under everyone’s attention. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. There are worse things to inherit.”
When a flurry of motion from the ballroom caught everyone’s attention, Dorea was glad of the opportunity to excuse herself once again. She lightly touched her sister’s hand and said seriously to her family, “I’m afraid that, as hostess, I must see to this. It’s been lovely speaking with you all.” Dorea curtseyed, and skillfully navigated her way across the room without the appearance of running.
“Step back, sir. I am already promised this dance,” declared a burly young man in ringing tones as he stood protectively in front of a bewildered looking Persephone Fudge.
“You’ll have no such thing!” cried Volney McMillan, his whole face turning as red as his nose. With fumbling fingers, he drew his wand and pointed it at his rival. “You shan’t lay a finger on Miss Fudge!”
Dorea paled as she approached the scene, fearing to step between the angry young men. From the corner of her eye, she spied a pleased-looking Charis entering the room from stairway corridor. No doubt, Charis’s skills of mayhem would hardly be an asset in this situation, so Dorea kept scanning the crowd for a helpful option.
Suddenly her husband appeared from the other side of the ballroom, lead by a crowd of anxious-looking partygoers. “All right, boys,” Mr. Potter said in what Dorea recognized as his Calm Voice. “I understand you all have come to an altercation. Perhaps if you come with me we can settle this like civilized wizards and not terrify everyone on the dance-floor.” Mr. Potter placed a vice-like grip on both of the boys’ shoulders and steered them to the back garden.
In the brief moment before the music started up again, Dorea watched as Persephone sought out Charis, saying in a dazed manner, “They were going to fight… over me.” Charis laughed, taking the girl by the arm and together they followed Mr. Potter and Miss Fudge’s would-be suitors. As suddenly as the disruption began, the dancing started up again, and all of the problematic guests were already taken outside.
Alone again, Dorea returned to the drawing room in hopes of taking her mind off the presence of her nephew’s three little girls somewhere inside the house. She edged to the back of the room and quickly spotted her own aunt. Belvina Burke sat in a high-backed chair at the far end of the sitting room, surveying the party around her with a regal air. As the oldest member of the Black family in attendance, her very presence commanded respect. A number of partygoers had flocked to her side, and Dorea approached her aunt with great difficulty. After several minutes of attempting to get closer, Dorea resigned herself to the fact that even being the hostess of the party didn’t necessarily translate to having a place at the side of Aunt Belvina. From where she stood, she could barely make out what her aunt was saying if she listened very intently.
“Do tell us of your newest project, Regulus,” Belvina requested from her throne-like seat. “Spare no details.”
“Oh, I’d hate to bore you, dear Aunt,” Regulus Black shrugged.
“No, no, no! I insist,” encouraged Belvina.
“Well, lately, I’ve been pondering the properties of concealment charms. I’m determined to prove there is a way to magically contain knowledge of a location inside a single living organism. I’m hoping by the end of this to develop a spell that will secure the location-stronger even than making it Unplottable. I believe I’ve mastered the Arithmancy required, but as far as the mechanism-well. Anything worth creating is worth a bit of struggle and experimentation, am I correct?”
“Certainly,” nodded Belvina. “Your inventiveness does remind me of my late husband. Oh, my Herbert was no intrepid spell-maker, but the projects he would bring home-and they way he would charm even the furniture to such perfection-why, even I couldn’t find where the charms overlapped! Of course, my youngest boy has already sold much of Herbert’s pieces in his shop. Mind you, they are quite fashionable now. Just the other day I heard someone boasting of owning a ‘vintage Herbert Burke,’ and I must admit that my heart did swell with pride.” Belvina grinned widely, allowing herself to indulge in a moment of reflection, before she continued with her encouragement of Regulus. “I am certain that if you remain faithful to your task, you will find a way.”
“Thank you, Aunt Belvina,” Regulus said with a swift bow before Belvina turned her attentions to someone else. Regulus shuffled his way to the edge of the crowd where he ran into Dorea. “Ah, cousin, how nice to see you!”
“Yes, indeed. It seems we’ve missed each other the entire evening,” Dorea said. “I’m glad we’ve found a chance to exchange a few words.”
Regulus leaned forward and whispered, “Every time I’ve tried to catch your eye, you’ve been cornered by my sister. Now, I know you have your duties as hostess, and I know you feel affection for your family, but there’s only so much of Lycoris Black that one can take in the course of an evening!” Regulus laughed. “I imagine it was something of a relief when Charis locked her away upstairs. Of course, it might be a bit cruel to lock Lycoris away with the little children, but Charis has always had that streak in her.”
Dorea blinked, not fully registering what Regulus had said. “She-she what?”
“Genius, isn’t it? Charis was just telling me-a simply wicked joke,” Regulus chuckled with a rogue grin. “Though, I’d hate to be the person to free Lycoris after all this. Yikes.”
Realization struck Dorea like a Stunning Spell. Not only had Charis undone all the careful foundations of goodwill between them and Lycoris, she had locked the children away with her. There were rooms upstairs that no living child had ever seen, tiny memorials to unborn children, and the thought tore at Dorea. The image of Lycoris and these girls traipsing through those silent chambers unnerved her more than she could articulate, and a blind panic coursed through her.
“You must excuse me,” Dorea said with a slight curtsey. She shirked away to the back hallway and out of sight from the party, and then she began to run as fast as her formal robes would allow her. At the foot of the staircase, she came across the spell which trapped Lycoris and the girls on the upper floors. After careful determination of what spells were in use, Dorea waved them away and climbed the staircase in a rush. The hallway went in two directions, but Dorea knew exactly where they had gone.
In her mind, she could clearly picture the nursery, filled with toys no child had ever played with, clothes no child had ever worn, and books never read aloud. It was a sorrowful place, full of hopes unrealized and terrible memories, haunted by phantom children who had never really existed. Dorea never went there.
She knew. Her heart filled with dread, she knew exactly where to find them.
“Oh thank heaven you’ve come!” cried Lycoris as soon as the nursery door opened. “That-that horrid Charis! She tricked me-trapped me upstairs with these little beasts! At least I managed to find a place do divert them.”
Bellatrix and Andromeda sat in the middle of the floor surrounded by heaps toys and books. Dorea felt ill. She instantly recognized every toy, remembering again the specific hopes and promises each plaything had once symbolized. To see these relics piled randomly in the middle of the nursery, the room in chaos, and to watch two living breathing children touch and play with them was startling.
Panic seized Dorea. “But why, Lycoris?” she asked, her voice much thicker than she intended. “Why did you bring them up to this room?” She held her hand to her forehead as if it would split in two.
“Heavens, I just asked one of your elves-Dippy, or Droppy, or whatever its name was-to lead me to the nursery. You act as if I’ve done something wrong, you silly thing!” Lycoris laughed. “Now, come and take these children, Dorea. I tell you, I cannot be bothered with the little ruffians for another instant!”
“I-” Dorea gasped for breath, feeling too small, feeling like she was falling. This room-the toys scattered across the floor-these girls looking up at her expectantly-it was too much. “I will send for their mother-I-I must excuse myself,” she said shakily, every instinct in her body telling her to run.
“I suppose it’s just as well,” Lycoris said, looking slightly pleased. “You and I can talk a bit more about your plans for the year-and you’d be wasted on these little devils, after all. You’re too much like me: you haven’t the temperament for children either. It’s a blessing you and Charlus never had any of your own.”
Dorea stopped in her tracks, her insides oscillating between ice and fire.
“A-a blessing?” she whispered.
She thought of those first horrific signs of blood, and the sinking, melting feeling as she futilely denied another impending miscarriage. Fever and failure radiated from the paradox of herself as her body betrayed its purpose. A life within a life, ending as it began, crushing in on itself-and she could only cry and thrash and convulse as another one slipped away, all her experience leaving her piercingly ill-equipped. She pleaded, sweat-drenched and weary, she screamed, she begged. Nothing could stop it. Nothing could save it. The last two losses in quick succession had broken her, sent her to a dark, haunted place from which she was only beginning to crawl.
She would never be a mother.
Dorea felt her breaths coming in shallow little gasps. Her mind reeled, though she stood rigidly still in the doorway to the nursery.
Truly, a blessing.
Had she tried to understand her cousin’s perspective, she might have realized that Lycoris didn’t mean any harm, and could hardly know about Dorea’s private struggles. Had she not been seething with a heartsick fury, she might have realized the statement was meant affectionately not snidely. Had she paused for just a moment, she might have remembered that a mere six months ago, the effects of such a statement would have confined her to a darkened bedroom for days on end.
As it was, she looked turned to face her cousin with defiance written in every line of her body, her head held high. “No. I think not,” she whispered.
“Pardon?” Lycoris tilted her head to the side, not understanding.
“No, on second thought, I will stay,” Dorea said, her voice trembling, colors flashing behind her eyes. “There’s no need to call for Druella. You can leave, if you like. I-I’m sure everyone will miss you downstairs.”
“Humph,” Lycoris said, seemingly affronted that Dorea would choose to stay with the children. She tossed her head and shifted Narcissa in her arms, looking as haughty as she could while covered in baby drool. “And leave you up here alone with these little monsters? You must be mad!”
Dorea, quite bewildered by her own decision, hung her head and frantically searched for any strength within herself. Why had she chosen to stay-and how would she keep from losing control of herself? Through the haze of Dorea’s emotions, one of the girls managed to catch her attention.
“You can’t call us that! We’re not monsters! You’re a monster!” Bellatrix objected, storming right up into Lycoris’s face.
“How dare you-” blustered Lycoris.
“I’m Protego and you’re a permanent sticking charm,” Bellatrix reasoned. “So you’re a monster forever! Take that!”
Dorea raised her head, and though her heart throbbed liked mad inside her chest, she quite liked Bellatrix’s interpretation. Feeling her knees starting to buckle under her, Dorea quickly seated herself on the floor next to Andromeda. “Some people like children, Lycoris,” she said quietly, watching the girl play with a doll she had bought during her second pregnancy. Dorea concentrated on breathing as she stared at Andromeda, torn between wonder and panic. “Some people say children are a gift.”
“Well, I suppose the little one is not so bad,” Lycoris conceded, looking down into Narcissa’s sleeping face. “But the other two are unholy terrors. Just look at what they did to Great Aunt Elladora’s slipper chair! Climbing all over it like-like Doxies-the indecency!”
Struggling not to let her emotions overwhelm her while balancing her attention between the children and Lycoris, Dorea nodded in seeming sympathy. “I can see how that would be very upsetting. It is a very precious heirloom and ought to be protected, but the girls don’t know any better,” she babbled distractedly. “And really, it shouldn’t have been in this room in the first place. That’s my failing, and I do apologize.”
Lycoris sniffed. “Well, then, I suppose it’s not the end of the world. But really, Dorea, you should move these artifacts to a more secure location. Who knows what they’ll get into next? You can’t trust them for a moment.”
“I’m right here!” Bellatrix proclaimed, aggravation growing in her girlish voice. “Don’t act like I’m not! I can hear everything you say!”
Lifting her head haughtily, Lycoris turned to address only Dorea. “There’s more imp in that girl than is proper. Must be the Rosier side. I’ve always held that Cygnus married beneath him!” Lycoris declared. She turned to face Bellatrix, and sighed. “At least you look your place with those lovely black curls-very becoming of a Black daughter, even if you are a terror.”
“That’s as much as you know!” Bellatrix pulled a face and swatted at her ringlets. “I hate them, but Mum charmed them to hold all night. She says I have to look perfect or else I won’t get to live in this house when I grow up.”
Dorea raised an eyebrow, and even Lycoris looked up at this. This was news. So, it seemed that earnest, awestruck Cygnus had an ulterior motive in bringing his children to the party tonight. Dorea was disappointed, but hardly surprised. Then again, perhaps she should make Bellatrix her heir. Everyone knew Dorea would never have any children of her own. She was on the verge of making a sound that was part manic laughter and part sob when Bellatrix interrupted and broke Dorea’s chain of thought.
“I don’t see what’s so great about this stinky place,” Bellatrix pouted. “Full of stuff I can’t touch, in the middle of nowhere, and even its name is silly. How can plants be twins-and who would name a house after a holly anyway?”
“How can you say such things, child?” Lycoris lamented. “Is this the state of the family? Has your father never taught you proper manners? Insulting Twin Hollies is-”
“I’m bored,” Bellatrix complained, tossing aside a toy hippogriff.
Startled out of her gloom, Dorea was suddenly struck with an idea. She might be able to entertain the children with one of the stories she intended to use in her manuscript. Black family stories should be told to Black children, after all. She started to speak, her voice cracking, “Perhaps…” Dorea hesitated. Did she truly have the strength for this? She gulped. “Perhaps if you’re very good, I will tell you the story about the birds and the holly, and why this place is called Twin Hollies. But you must promise to listen very closely. Do we have a deal?”
Easily-pleased Andromeda nodded eagerly, but Bellatrix seemed to deliberate the matter. Dorea kept her face impassive, hoping these little girls couldn’t see the terror underneath her reserve. After what seemed like an eternity, Bellatrix cocked her head to the side and said, “So, if we have to be respectful, does that mean we can’t ask questions? Do we have to be quiet?”
“Impertinent child,” Lycoris muttered, but Dorea ignored her.
“You’re welcome to ask any questions you like. Does that satisfy your sensibilities?” Dorea asked.
Andromeda giggled. “You say funny words!”
Bellatrix rolled her eyes and tossed her head importantly. “She’s only three. You must forgive her. She hasn’t the vocub-the vocabu-she doesn’t know many words yet. Not like me. Father says I speak splen-did-ly,” Bellatrix explained, sounding out each syllable with pride. “I’m always the best at things because I’m the oldest. You know how it is,” she finished, leaning in conspiratorially as if she were one of the grown ups.
“Actually, I don’t,” Dorea admitted, a blush creeping upon her cheeks. She took a deep breath and explained herself, her words coming out in a rush. “I’ve always been the youngest in my family. However, I can imagine that being the eldest sister has its rewards as well as its responsibilities. You’ll always have a playmate, for example. You’ll always get to be older, wiser, and first at everything. Then, you must look out for your sisters and help them along. It’s all an important part of being the eldest.”
Bellatrix looked up at Dorea, mystified. “That’s what Mum always tells me. How did you know that?”
Dorea smiled; she couldn’t help it. A natural grin bubbled its way to the surface of her face, and it transformed her. She felt smaller, younger, and almost playful. “Well, because I had three elder siblings to show me the way,” Dorea explained. “In fact, it was my eldest brother Pollux-your grandfather-who taught me the story of the birds and the holly trees in the first place.”
“Really?” Andromeda asked eagerly. She leaned forward and pulled Bellatrix back to the ground, throwing a blanket over them both. Clearly, a story from Pollux carried some clout with the girls, because Dorea needed nothing more to gain their attention. Now all she needed to do was keep their attention.
Dorea closed her eyes and tried to remember the way Pollux told the story so long ago, before everything went so wrong between them. She tried to bring his exaggerated emphasis to her voice, his childish enthusiasm to her face. She found, to her great surprise, that it wasn’t nearly as difficult as keeping up her unruffled façade with the party guests. Perhaps she had always been an actress, merely in search of the correct part. She cleared her throat and began the tale.
“A long time ago in the desperate winter, there were once two brother birds: the raven and the sparrow,” Dorea began in a tone she hoped recalled mystery and shadow and high adventure. She watched her audience carefully for their reaction.
Bellatrix and Andromeda glanced at each other with excited grins, knowing a good beginning when they heard it, and settled into the blanket for the long haul.
“Long had these brothers searched the wilderness, hoping to find the perfect place to build their nests. They traveled all across the country, looking high and low, in moor and forest and shore, trying to find the best place for their new homes, but nothing would suit them. Their search lingered on through spring, summer, and autumn until finally, when a particularly fierce and harsh winter settled in, the raven and sparrow had yet to find a home. They simply refused to accept anything but the best.”
“Naturally,” said little Bellatrix with an eager nod, her black ringlets bouncing enthusiastically. Dorea smiled as Bellatrix again batted the ringlets away impatiently.
“One evening, as twilight set upon a frozen wood, not very far from here, the raven and sparrow had set up camp in an old hollowed out log-a rustic, if temporary place to stay the night. They sat up together, trilling and playing as the gloaming light faded across the landscape, having a marvelous time-when suddenly a terrible sound rose up around them.”
Andromeda gasped and clutched her blanket tight around her, while Bellatrix leaned forward, her eyes wide with intrigue. “What was it?” they asked, almost at the same time.
With her audience so enthralled, Dorea continued, whispering so that the very walls seemed to lean in to hear. “The raven and sparrow were hearing howls-not just any howls, but vicious, unearthly cries that made their blood run cold,” she said in tones barely audible. “Then, as the brothers looked on in horror, three enormous, hulking beasts came into view,” she continued in a crescendo until her voice rang throughout the large room. “They were three bloodthirsty, raving, snarling hounds-with their glittering black eyes set on the raven and the sparrow!”
The girls shrieked, gripping their tiny hands, but Lycoris seemed unimpressed.
“Really, Dorea!” Lycoris interrupted loudly with a roll of her eyes, thoughtlessly destroying the carefully cultivated atmosphere. “I’ll give you the bird aspect. But to have hounds instead of those-”
“Oh my,” Dorea said with a false smile. She turned to face Lycoris, biting back her annoyance. “I would hate to muddle any of the important details. Perhaps you would like to continue from here, dear cousin-so we can be sure to have the correct telling?” Dorea found, smile or no, she couldn’t control her withering glare.
Lycoris Black blinked, then pressed the baby against her chest like a shield. “No, no, my dear. I fear I haven’t the dramatic talent you possess. Besides, you have started the tale, and it’s proper that you must finish,” she replied, clearly flustered.
Dorea nodded solemnly, kept her own counsel about Lycoris’s dramatic talents, and tried to pick up the thread of the story. “In fear for their lives the brother birds took flight, but the night was bitterly cold and the hounds were swift. After flying over a great distance with the hounds still on their tails, they flapped their wings with their last bits of strength and desperately searched for a place to hide. A terrible winter storm was beginning, and they didn’t have much time. Suddenly, they spied in the clearing beneath them a small, lone holly bush. It seemed too small to conceal them, but with no where else to go and no more strength to fly, the raven and the sparrow had no choice but to dive into the holly and wait.”
“But won’t the hounds find them in the-” Andromeda began in over-excitement.
“Shhh!” scolded Bellatrix. “Hush and listen. She’ll tell us.”
“Of course, I’ll tell you. It’s all in the story,” Dorea said with an encouraging nod to Andromeda and a wink to Bellatrix. Lycoris muttered something in the background, but Dorea was enjoying the story so much that she paid Lycoris no mind and continued.
“The birds crouched inside the tangled holly branches, peering out between the spiky green leaves and holding absolutely still as the hounds entered the clearing. Within moments the hounds had found the holly bush. They started howling and baying in glee with the knowledge that their quarry was trapped inside. They began to bark at the holly, snarling and baring their horrible rotting teeth, hoping the startle the brother birds into flight. Inside the bush, the birds felt their instincts urging them to flee, but they held their position, knowing that the hounds were waiting with open jaws just outside the holly. So long as they stayed inside, the raven and sparrow were safe.”
The longer she spoke, the easier the tale flowed from her tongue. Dorea felt as if something had loosened in her chest, letting her speak with vigor and vitality, allowing her to breathe freely for the first time in ages. Every time she paused for longer than a few seconds, Bellatrix would impatiently start to tap her foot, and Dorea was glad to spin each new development for the girls. Long had she dreamed of sharing this story, though Dorea had to admit she never imagined it like this.
“When the hounds realized the birds would not leave the safety of the holly bush, they started to get frustrated. In fits of impatience, they tried to dive into the bush and snatch the birds. One by one, the hounds jumped upon the holly, and one by one they yelped as they were stabbed by the spiky green leaves. They tried to crash into the bush with more might, only to worsen their injuries. Soon, the hounds realized they could not enter the holly by force. Still the raven and sparrow were safe inside the holly.”
“Stupid dogs,” Bellatrix laughed. “Serves them right!”
Lycoris muttered something that sounded vaguely like, “Impertinence!”
Still ignoring her cousin, Dorea continued. “The winter storm soon turned into a full blown blizzard, and the hounds were at their wits’ end. Though the hounds knew they couldn’t stay out in the blizzard for very long-especially once the freezing rain began to coat everything in the forest with a thick layer of ice-they had one last spiteful plan to kill the birds once and for all. Earlier while scouring the forest, the hounds had found an Ashwinder nest nearby, and soon the eggs caught fire. Taking a fallen tree branch, the hounds set it on fire and carried over to the holly bush.”
The girls squirmed in anticipation, and Dorea went on with a sense of urgency.
“Already, the brother birds were trapped within the ice-covered holly, completely unable to escape. The hounds thrust the burning branch into the holly bush, waiting for it to burn. But then, something amazing happened. The flame burned merrily along the branch, but no part of the holly bush caught fire. The hounds howled in wrath, but the storm was raging too fiercely in the woods now for them to continue much longer. The hounds refused to admit defeat, though, and reasoned that if the fire didn’t kill them, the ice storm would.”
“Nooo!” cried Andromeda. “I don’t want them to die!”
Lycoris shook her head, “You’ll give them nightmares, Dorea. Mark my words.”
Dorea paused and gave an appraising eye to her audience. Bellatrix was engrossed in the story, but Andromeda truly looked frightened. Perhaps the story was a little too dark for such a small child. “Would you like me to stop, Andromeda?”
With a timid look to her elder sister, Andromeda slowly shook her head no. She covered her mouth with the blanket so that only her wide eyes peeked out.
“All right then,” Dorea said gently. “But I promise, Andromeda, it all works out in the end.” When the girl looked slightly mollified by this, Dorea cleared her throat and continued the story.
“Back in the holly bush, the birds were doomed to face certain death. Unable to escape, they twitched and shifted inside the holly bush, waiting for the cold to slowly steal the lives from their bodies. They waited… and waited… and waited. But the bitter cold didn’t creep into their hiding place. The burning branch, still thrust inside the holly beside the raven and sparrow, provided plenty of heat for the two small animals. Though many hours passed, the branch did not disintegrate into ashes, and kept a small, steady flame. Again, the raven and sparrow were safe within the holly.”
Dorea lowered her voice to a whisper. “Night turned to day, but the storm was so fierce outside the holly that the brothers could not tell the difference. Occasionally one of them would climb to the top of the bush as far as the ice would allow and peek out between the spiny leaves, but the raging storm made little variation between midday and midnight. A second day passed. Hunger began to gnaw at the birds, but again the holly provided. They used their beaks to pick frozen berries from the outside of the bush, and took them next to the warm fire, where the berries began to thaw, softening into a mild, sweet taste. The brother birds wondered how much longer they could continue this way. They wondered how much longer the branch would continue to burn, how long the berries would last, how long the storm would rage on, how long their luck would hold out.
“On the third day, the sparrow awoke from his fitful, uneasy slumber to a new sight. Dappled sunlight poured in between the holly leaves, light falling on the interior of the bush like puddles of sunshine. Fully alert, the sparrow let out a trill of joy to wake his brother. As the two birds peeked out to the white-capped world outside the holly bush, the last embers of the burning branch finally went out in a small plume of smoke. Then, for the first time in three days, they felt a rustle of movement in the bush above them. Two black eyes met as the brothers simultaneously thought what they had dared not hope before that moment. Cautiously, gently, they climbed their way to the outer rim of the holly bush, and with baited breath they pecked and pecked until they could escape. The ice was broken.”
The girls let out a sigh of relief, and Andromeda visibly relaxed her grip on the blanket. Bellatrix punched the air as if she were punching through a sheet of ice, and Dorea smiled at her.
“With a great jolt of energy, both the raven and the sparrow flew out from the holly bush in grand, joyous swoops, soaring above their makeshift home. They performed one of the great and beautiful bird dances, that no human has ever been fortunate enough to witness. Trilling their glee to the treetops, the brother birds marveled at the ordeal they had just survived. As they looked down on the holly bush that had been their saving grace, they were astounded to see how small it really was. They vowed to never forget the days they spent inside the holly, and as a token, they each took a part of the bush with them so that this miraculous plant would have the opportunity to spread and grow in the new home that the brothers would build together.”
Dorea paused, relishing this last moment before her story concluded. Long had she dreamed of sharing this tale, though she never imagined it like this. If she let herself, Dorea could have easily fallen into a dark mood, but when she looked at the satisfied faces before her, she considered that perhaps there was a sort of beauty in half-fulfilled dreams. She thought of the joy she had brought these girls, of the release she had given herself, and Dorea wondered what about these children had frightened her so much.
Before she lost their attention, Dorea concluded her story. “On a beautiful spring day, the raven and sparrow had finally found the perfect place to build their homes. As they promised, both brothers planted their pieces of the holly bush. Over the years, these two holly plants thrived, growing and growing until they became two enormous holly trees. These trees still stand to this day, in front of this very manor. For centuries, the Black family has always honored these very special plants. And that is why the estate is called Twin Hollies.”
Once she finished, a silence fell on the room that was just long enough for Dorea to worry. “Well, what did you think?” she prompted.
“Wow,” Andromeda whispered. “Can we go hide in the holly?”
Dorea smiled. “Perhaps another time. It’s a little late tonight. Besides, you’d find it awfully cold. What about you, Bellatrix?”
“I liked it all except for the bird dance. That was silly,” Bellatrix explained. “Birds can’t dance-at least, not very well. Not like wizards and witches can.”
“Unless they’re Veela,” added Andromeda.
Bellatrix glowered. “We can dance better than any old Veela, ‘Dromeda.”
“Well, show me how you dance, then,” Dorea prodded, feeling slightly giddy.
The girls, who were too young to be self-conscious, began to jump and twist and spin, their laughter ringing in the room like tiny bells. For a brief moment, Dorea saw flashes of what might have been, and she had to catch her breath. In their lithe forms, Dorea could see glimmers of all the children she would never hold dancing across the room in uncontained merriment. She loved them all, these children who never lived, and to see them dancing in the shadows of these girls, to hear them in the echoes of childish laughter, filled her with such awe that she could only watch in wonder. Perhaps earlier this evening, such a sight would have wounded her, but with a surge of unknown strength, Dorea found that she could withstand it. She swayed to an unheard music, smiling at the girls, and the children smiled back at her.
“Dance with us!” proclaimed Bellatrix, spinning madly about the room.
Lycoris, naturally, protested, “Good heavens, I should think not!”
“Please?” Andromeda appealed, turning exclusively to Dorea.
Who was she to refuse?
Standing up, and taking the girl’s hands into her own, Dorea danced. She whirled across the nursery, scraping toys with the hem of her robes, feeding on the energy from the dancing girls until they were all completely wild. Hearts pounding frantically in their chests, heads aching in the spinning room, they moved and twirled and jumped and twisted with abandon. If anyone saw tears on Dorea’s face, no one said a word.
All too soon, and long before the girls grew tired of their revelry, the dance was interrupted by the intrusion of a subtle chime on Dorea’s watch. The first of the return Portkeys would depart soon. Thanking the girls for the exertion and apologizing for Lycoris’s disrupted sensibilities, Dorea sadly announced that it was time to leave. Together, they all made their way downstairs, where the girls hastened to return to their parents. Lycoris gladly passed over Narcissa, who had woken up and was now screaming loudly into her ear.
Knowing she’d have to do so eventually, Dorea placed her hand on Lycoris’s and whispered, “Thank you for helping me with the children.”
“Oh, well,” Lycoris huffed. “You hardly could have done it on your own. You haven’t the authority, or the patience with little ones that I possess. However, after such a trial, I find I am quite exhausted and must return home immediately.”
Dorea sighed, and said no more on the subject. Lycoris would never change.
As she and Lycoris approached the exits, Lycoris was once again hailed by Mr. John T. Carrick with the Society for the Support of Squibs. “Miss Black, please, I’ve been chasing you all night! I simply must thank you for your charitable donations to-”
“I say, what is the purpose of making donations under a pseudonym, if you insist on calling me out at every opportunity,” hissed Lycoris, motioning him to lower his voice. She looked frantically around her to see if anyone could overhear. She turned a pained expression to Dorea.
Busying herself with her guests’ cloaks, Dorea tried not to draw attention to herself, at least giving the illusion of privacy to her cousin. Lycoris had given money to the support of Squibs? The more she considered it, the more shocked she felt by this revelation.
With a wide grin, Mr. Carrick continued to speak in a normal volume, oblivious to Lycoris’s distress. “But, Miss Black, your generous donations make up over sixty percent of our annual income-we simply could not function without your patronage, and I merely wanted to thank you in person-”
“You will do no such thing,” Lycoris scoffed in muffled tones. “I need no flaunting of my charitable exploits, and you will kindly hold your tongue, sir. Is it not enough to do the right thing? Must I be punished for it?”
“N-no, of course not, Miss Black,” stuttered Mr. Carrick, looking highly confused.
“Good. Then, be thankful for the money, and leave me in peace! Dorea, thank you for a lovely evening.” Lycoris threw her cloak over her shoulders and regally swept out of the house without another word, her head held ostentatiously high.
Dorea watched her cousin Apparate away, her eyes wide. Never in a million years would she-or anyone else-have guessed that Lycoris Black possessed such a generous heart. Dorea smiled and thought a little better of her high-strung cousin. The world was full of surprises tonight.
Slowly, the guests of the party started to trickle out into the evening air to Apparate or Portkey home, and Dorea bade farewell to all of them. More than one partygoer commented to each other about the lightness and ease in their hostess’s manner which hadn’t been there at the beginning of the evening. Cassiopeia accepted an invitation to stay at Twin Hollies during the summer. Arcturus Black insisted Dorea join him on his next holiday to the Far East. When Cygnus and his daughters made their goodbyes, Dorea extended them an open invitation to visit Twin Hollies whenever they liked, her heart leaping when little Bellatrix waved one last time before turning for the Floo. Eventually, the number of guests dwindled down to a select few.
“Well, I’d call this party a success!” Charis cried, entering the hall like a conquering hero. “In the course of one evening, Persephone Fudge received two-count them, Dorea, two-marriage proposals and a duel held in her honor.”
“Impressive,” Dorea praised. “No doubt it’s an event that Miss Fudge can never forget. Hopefully she had as good a time as you did.”
“Oh, the time of her life. She wanted to accept Volney McMillan on the spot, poor thing, but I convinced her to deliberate the matter for another week or two,” Charis confided. “Hopefully her passions will have cooled by then. I understand what it’s like to be swept up on the romance of an evening, but I couldn’t let her agree to marry a man she’d only met once.”
“How very considerate of you,” Dorea remarked wryly. “Never let it be said that you are a malevolent agitator, just an unruly one.”
“I promise to behave better at your next event,” Charis said, her hand raised. “There… will be another, I hope?”
Dorea blinked. She hadn’t even considered the matter, but she already knew her answer. “Yes, I believe I will have another,” she replied, smiling bashfully. “Though I remain undecided on whether or not you will receive an invitation.”
Charis smirked. “Your life would be dull and empty without me, Dorea Black Potter, and you know it.”
Without warning, Dorea flung her arms around her cousin and held her tight. “Oh, I know, Charis. I know. Thank you for… everything,” she whispered in her dearest cousin’s ear. “Thank you.”
Charis squeezed back with just as much ferocity, their embrace communicating more than words ever could. When Charis took hold of the last Portkey, she held her free hand up in a silent farewell, tossed her head in a peal of laughter, and then they were all gone.
The party was over.
After the last guest left Twin Hollies, Dorea Black Potter leaned against the front door, sliding all the way down to the floor. Then, she started to laugh. Her laughter came in droves until she couldn’t speak, until she sounded unhinged, until tears came to her eyes and her sides ached. She laughed because the party was such a success, a heady release after months, years, of worry. All the pieces had fallen into place, all her efforts rewarded. Her party was finally over, and she had survived.
She laughed because her family loved her beyond cause and beyond measure, because Charis still possessed the ability to cause mayhem with a few well-chosen words, because Lycoris had a more generous heart then she ever knew, because the centuries old holly trees at the end of her front garden still stood tall against the sky, and because she would never be one of the Black family heroines in her manuscript of children’s stories.
She laughed as one who had faced all her greatest fears in the course of one evening, and having come to the other side, she could only laugh. She had danced with her unborn children that night. She looked straight into the eyes of an incredibly young Bellatrix Black, and found herself stronger than she’d ever dreamed.
She laughed for reasons she could hardly understand, because her world was reeling from one war and slowly spinning into another, because she was getting older with a streak of gray sneaking into her hair, because Charlus Potter still believed her beautiful and brave, because every time she felt she had come to the end of herself, she somehow kept going.
She laughed until her husband found her and helped her back to her feet. When he asked her what was so amusing, she could only reply that the world was dark and terrifying and wonderful-and at the middle and the end of grief, she could still laugh.
When dawn approached, Dorea still held her eyes open, looking blankly at the ceiling above her bed. This was hardly the way her life was supposed to unfold, but perhaps she was meant to tread this path. Perhaps there were other things in store for her. She still feared, but she no longer trembled; she still grieved, but she no longer felt so tangled and broken.
Dorea watched patiently as the pale winter daylight crept into the room. Today she would start work again on her manuscript of Black family stories. She would plan for her next event. Today she would begin a million things. She would live her life with meaning and drive. She would remember to laugh. Who knew what the future might bring? No matter what would come, Dorea knew she could withstand it.
And she hoped, with a renewed and fierce burning in her heart, oh, how she hoped.
March 27, 1960
Still unbelieving of her great fortune, Dorea Potter held her son close, blinking back her tears, half-delirious and utterly joyous. She laid a kiss into his black hair, trembling with emotion and exhaustion.
“My son,” she whispered thickly. She couldn’t manage to say any more, but those two words were heavy with meaning. “My son.”
She marveled at his tiny fingers as he reached into the air. He was so small and fragile, but Dorea already knew he was the strongest part of her. Oh, the stories she would tell him; oh, the parties she would give him; oh, the world that would be brighter because he was in it. This boy would never know a day in his life without love.
She drank in his every soft feature, reveled in his every swell of breath, and for the first time since Dorea could remember, her smile held no trace of fear.
~ * ~