Turn to Stone | Stasja

Somehow Andromeda never felt more like a mouse in a snake pit than when cornered by a member of her own house. The Sorting Hat had wanted to place her in Ravenclaw, but she had insisted on Slytherin. Fate had a sense of irony, it seemed, for in these troubled times, the place she once desired to be had become her prison. Oh, for many years she had been happy enough there, with Bella and Narcissa, basking in a fairytale-like ignorance. The three Princesses Black, just like Belltrix still seemed to obsess over. But with age, perspective and wisdom had come doubt. Doubts about the way things had always been done, about their supposed 'rights' as Purebloods. The final nail in the coffin had been driven home only weeks ago, as Dromeda's older sister informed her that they were to be part of the Dark Lord's great plans. Andy's sole hope of escape rested upon the already-burdened shoulders of her childhood friend Atlanta Vaisey, unless she wished to join her cousin Sirius as an ostracized Blood Traitor. It did not escape her notice that the neither of those two were in Slytherin House. In fact, she was starting to believe she was the only one there who thought that Blood Purity was hogwash.

So when Stasja Carovski, the Pureblood, Slytherin Head Girl, walked through the door into the Owlery, Andromeda was immediately on the defensive. Civility had to be observed, of course, but Andy felt her blood turn cold. She forced herself to smile pleasantly, as she had been brought up to do around 'polite company.' For all she knew, Stasja was not in her sister's graces, but then few people were. It did not automatically make her Dromeda's enemy, though the latter was sure she was far from a friend. "Stasja, hello. Yes, I was writing home to our mother." Our, even though she was alone here. Andy mentally cringed at the way she defaulted to relying on her sisters and the family name. It was as though her subconscious had no desire to separate herself out as an individual person. She was Black sister number two. Just the impression she wanted to give, she thought sardonically. She finished crumpling up her letter. "But I find it hard to know just what to say to her anymore. She's terribly upset by my father's death, you understand."

Her eyes fell onto the correspondence Carovski clutched to her, almost defensively. "Are you writing home, as well?" There almost seemed to be something more to it, from the protective nature the other girl displayed. Despite herself, Andy was curious. Who was it that Stasja could be writing so secretly? Surely, if it had been something mundane, like post home or a job application, she would not have seemed so desperate to keep it hidden. Andromeda thought she would try the sweet tactic to find out. She put on a convincing look of concern. "Nothing's the matter, I hope?" Perhaps she truly belonged in Slytherin after all.

Condolences, yes, Andromeda had gotten used to that over the last several months. Stasja's words were flat, just as every offer of sympathies had been. With the exception of Narcissa and Druella, no one (not even his other daughters) mourned for Cygnus Black. Though, honestly, Andy had been surprised at her mother's reaction. The woman tended toward alcoholism as long as Dromeda could remember, but the death of her husband pushed her over the edge. Andy had no idea that her mother had cared that much – though the more cynical part of her rationalized Druella's grief as loss of hope for the family as a whole. Without Cyngus' tyranny (which was actually the source of their problems), she seemed to think they were doomed. But such things were not to be discussed around outsiders. Dromeda was stiff, even cold, in her reply to Carovski. A little threat was hidden in her words. "Thank you. It's a difficult time for us all, of course, but we Blacks are nothing if not strong. We will always rise above adversity."

A part of Andromeda really hated what she was doing. She was playing into the stereotypes of her name. The haughtiness of her words, in moments like this, where why people lumped her in with Bellatrix so frequently. The trouble was that her own 'kind' – the other Pureblood elite – brought it out in her. As much as she rebelled against her little bubble, another side of her enjoyed the game. She was good at the acting, the pride and manipulation. She struggled between rejecting the elitist dogma and embracing being aristocracy. It was simply human nature to enjoy feeling special, though, she justified to herself. There was nothing wrong with appreciating the pomp and splendor of her social standing. Besides which, there was a clear distinction in her mind between what Bella did – lording over those of lesser blood – and holding one's own against equals. It was somehow easier to relax around those 'lower' in the social hierarchy. Stasja, though... she put Dromeda on edge.

It was difficult to believe the other girl's sincerity as she attempted to downplay whatever was wrong. In fact, the more hesitant she became, the more it confirmed Andromeda's suspicions. Something was up – but what? There were always games within games with their lot; moves and checks at constant play. "I do know how it is," she echoed. Perhaps she still sounded a little stand-offish. She softened her tone and eased her posture. Andy knew that her strongest skills were in subtlety and softness. Empathy was her weapon of choice. "I understand exactly what you mean. My parents, they had a very clear vision for all of us... A little too clear to leave any room for argument. It's rather strange to not have that anymore... You should appreciate them while you've got them. If you don't mind my saying so."

"My father taught me many important things about life, and yes, I will always be grateful," she replied softly, avoiding the question of love. Had anyone actually loved Cygnus Black? Perhaps that was what had made him so rotten... Andromeda had no desire to follow in those footsteps. Bellatrix might have been brave or cold enough not to care what others thought of her, but Dromeda had always been more sensitive to other's opinions of her. It came with the territory of middle daughter – having been too often over-looked for either of her sisters. She did not like to make enemies; she was the 'nice' one.

She noticed that Stasja was getting agitated, apparently by her own questions. Maybe there was more going on with the Carvoskis than Dromeda was aware of. She was starting to wonder whether all the Pureblood families were going the way of her own. Then again, perhaps it was just the usual, old troubles-behind-closed-doors. It might not be as serious as succumbing to Lord Voldemort's cause, but there was undeniably something wrong. Elitist dogma, abusive father, drunkard mother... the Blacks had pretty much faced it all. Whatever was eating Stasja, Andy knew she could probably relate. She was motivated to try, even if it was more to sate her curiosity than the goodness of her heart. "My father... imparted a lot of wisdom to me. Not all of it he meant to, but I would not be who I am today without his influence on my life," she said quietly, carefully. The implication of her true meaning was there for Stasja to pick up, but it could all be denied if necessary. "My name, my family is all that keeps me going. Sometimes that's all people like you and me really have..."

Only a few weeks ago, Andy had been having a conversation a little like this with Atlanta Vaisey. There was another example of a Pureblood girl being coerced by her family onto a dark path. The two of them had come to an understanding; they were in this thing together. Andromeda was not prepared to trust Stasja in such a way, just yet. Atlanta had been distraught beyond the point of faking it, but Stasja could easily be playing a ruse. On discovering the vulnerable middle Black sister alone, she might have decided it was an opportunity to hook in one of her rivals. Dromeda could not afford to play the game under any other assumption than that.

Stasja's words were intriguing, that much was sure. The real question was, were they sincere – did she really mean to imply what Andromeda was inferring? If the Head Girl was also caught up in things beyond her control, if she too was being forced into the war, then that was very interesting information. Andy hesitated to think of it as 'useful' for fear of taking after Bellatrix too much, but there was no denying that Stasja could make a powerful ally. If she really was morally opposed to the Death Eaters, then she might be someone Dromeda could trust... Perhaps even rely upon in the dark days ahead. She resolved to keep digging, but also to speak with Atlanta about her thoughts on the matter. Andromeda had known Atalanta Vaisey her whole life; they had been playmates as children and she felt a strong sense of common ground with her. Carovski was still a little more of an unknown. Plus, she and Bella had never been close. Still, the risk was worth taking... just slowly.

"I don't know what else I would have, other than family. So I suppose it's lucky I've got an older sister like Bellatrix, who takes such a keen interest in my life. It really makes me feel like I have the full support of the House of Black behind me," she said in a neutral tone, though her expression was searching. She dared to say a little more, being bolder with her words. "You're very right, that there are things worth fighting for... Is family not paramount among them? What other cause could be as worthy?"

"We don't have a choice who our family is, of course... But what they represent can change, don't you think? Nobility may rise or fall with the changing of the tides. Surely it's best to go along with it, not to struggle against the sea – or would you disagree? Would you argue that the only way to change the tide is by fighting back? Personally," she added softly, "I'd rather be inland, far from any tide. But since I find myself on a boat, I must make the wisest decisions for myself and those I care about." Andromeda had always liked her metaphors. Bella used to tease her about it. It was a habit born from reading too many Romantic, old novels. However, analogy served a real purpose in conversations like this. It conveyed her point yet also added what Muggles referred to as 'plausible deniability' to her speech. She watched her companion closely, wondering if she would answer plainly or continue to parlay veiled words.