Disclaimer: Was Draco the only Junior Death Eater who was properly used as Voldemort's hands in Hogwarts, despite many of the Slytherins in Harry's year supposedly being the children of his followers?
If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whomever else she sold the rights to.
------------------------------------------------------
Jen's lips pursed as she looked down at the choices available to her. Her fingers played along the length of the wooden stick she held, just for a moment, and then she leveled it at her target. Supporting the far end with her left hand, her right moved in and out… in and out… A quick thrust, and the tip shot forwards with a sharp crack.
The white cue ball smashed into the 2-ball and ricocheted off to smack a few others; the ball she had been trying to put in the corner pocket, on the other hand, only bounced against the rail next to the hole and drifted away.
Tonks groaned loudly at her missed shot while Sirius chuckled and Ted merely shook his head and approached the table. "You're still my favorite cousin," the metamorph said in a faux-consoling voice, "but seriously, you can't shoot pool worth shite."
"Well, excuse me for not having yet mastered a game I first played this month," she snarked back, tossing Dora the cue.
"Don't mind her." She turned her head to look back at Ted as he sank the 14 and 9 in rapid succession. "She has a bit of an edge on you, after all. I've been taking her with me to the pub since she was old enough not to change her looks accidentally, so she probably knew how to play pool before she could write her own name."
Ignoring Dora's spluttering at that – though considering the name in question, she could easily believe the claim – Jen rolled her eyes and glanced at the two others in the room with them. Andromeda had snuggled down into a puffy armchair and surrounded herself with several skeins of yarn as she knitted another jumper; presumably it was for one of the children who spent most of their time living in the Margery Dewitt Wing of St. Mungo's Hospital, a wing for patients who need more long-term care, where Andromeda often volunteered. Compared to her sister, Cissy was positively indolent; after a busy day of researching precedents the pro-war Houses of the Wizengamot could use to push forward a more aggressive agenda, the piebald woman had lain down on a sofa and was watching the older wizards and younger witches' game with half-open eyes. That looked to be a loosing battle, however, and the soft clack-clacking they made was slowly but surely drawing her eyelids shut.
Jen strongly doubted that Cissy would be this relaxed anywhere else, but the older witch obviously felt safe here. The sitting room was completely at odds with every other room in the townhouse: a thick red carpet covered the floor, all but refusing to be walked on by anything other than stockinged feet, and the dark emerald paint on the walls gave the illusion that the room was slowly shrinking to wrap them all in its embrace. There were no uncomfortable antiques or showpieces, either; every piece of furniture, from the armchairs and sofas to the small fireplace that provided them with a merry warmth, was meant to promote relaxation and soothe aggravations.
Many people who thought the Blacks stiff and obsessed with appearance would be shocked at the sheer comfort of the sitting room, not that they would ever have the opportunity. This room was for the family, and the family only. Even under Sirius's comparatively lax enforcement of protocol and traditions, this was where they could all be the most themselves.
YOU ARE READING
B.Q. Book Two: Black Princess Ascendant
FanfictionSecond in the Black Queen series. Last year, Jen had to contend with a deadly Tournament, a revived Dark Lord, a meddlesome Headmaster, and worst of all, reconciliation attempts by her parents. Surely her OWL year can't be anywhere near as complic...
