Blackbird

Chapter 3: On with the Show

You could say that my parents took the betrayal well. But then you'd be lying.

It threw quite a wrench in their plans. The troublesome child was gone, but still remained a black hole on the family tree and a stain on the family name.

His betrothal plans were all canceled, and Mother and Father furiously tried to find another way to get back into the Greengrasses' good graces. But the damage was done, and old blood had more pride than riches.

A year later and my fourth year was to start. And what a start it was. One brother down, the laughingstock of the pureblood families, our prestige taking a nosedive and the other pure bloods circling like vultures. We'd made a bit of recovery in the past year, but not a lot. Not enough.

Mother made sure I had the best clothes and beauty products. I was well versed in beautifying charms, glamour, hair curling, longer and thicker eyelashes, you name it. There were spells for the perfect bun, spells to grow hair and remove it, spells for perfectly done nails and everything else under the sun. And I had to practice them to perfection.

You could say I was very good at charms and potions because of this. But I hate giving Mother credit for anything.

Armed with galleons upon galleons worth of clothes and hand me down textbooks I was more unprepared for school than I'd ever been. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, all my cousins had already graduated. Unable to harp at me or keep me on my toes throughout the school year.

Despite all the magic in the world, glamour can't cover everything. So even though it's a fairly warm day, I wrap my Slytherin scarf securely around my still bruised neck. Long sleeves white and frilly, a stylish black skirt hugging my hips before falling loosely to the floor, and a black necklace make up the rest of my outfit.

Peering into the mirror, I can confirm what I already know.

I'm much skinnier than I was a year ago. Noticeable enough for it to be a potential problem. But it's unlikely. Sunken cheeks and pale skin aren't uncommon. Walburga thinks it makes a woman look more regal. Like cousin Bella. I think it makes us look more feral.

But perhaps it is the same thing.

"WHERE IS THAT DARNED GIRL!!"

At Walburga's shrill voice I still can't help but flinch. Scrambling for my trunk as my breathing turns erratic. We can't be late. I can't make us late.

Shaking off my panic, I rush down the stairs as fast as I can, my trunk's weight making my arms tremble. But I can't drop it. With the death grip I have on it, it's more likely to pull me down with it then anything else.

That's probably not good.

But whatever. I have more immediate things to think about. Like the witch currently screaming in my face. A shadow is all the warning I get before I'm knocked to the ground again.

Pain cuts through my haze, a boney, but strong hand is pressing down on one of my many bruises, hauling me, and in turn my trunk, up and out of the house before apparating quickly. I'm convinced one of these days she'll splinch me on purpose just to watch me bleed out on the floor. Not today though.

My head is still spinning when she lets me go, and I barely manage to stay upright. Regulus disappears quickly, leaving me to handle myself.

Poor little Reggie, I can't help but feel bitter. Sirius left and now it's like we aren't even siblings. I was the punching bag for the past year and he didn't even speak a word.

I got on the train, and wandered down listlessly, passing compartments full of noise and crowds of friends, new and old. I didn't have any. People tried, but with the decrease in our family's popularity, I can't say I'm surprised.