/𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒\ [𝒔. 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌]

𝟕.𝟚.𝟣

But if they wanted her dead, they would've done it already. That's what kept her going from day to day. She'd be dead already, or worse, indoctrinated into the Death Eaters. That's what they were calling themselves. It was the only positive side to Artemis staying there. She knew more about the dark wizard's movement than she'd ever wanted to. The Death Eaters. It rolled off the tongue at least, Artemis supposed. But it scared her more than anything in the world.

"Artemis!" Aunt Isobel's shrill voice rattled up the stairs. Artemis didn't answer. She held her breath and started counting the seconds before her aunt called up again. "Artemis, I know you're up there, don't make me shout!"

"You're already shouting," Artemis muttered to nobody in particular, but she swung her legs over the side of the bed and crept carefully to the top of the stairs. "Yes?"

"Come down here."

Isobel was wearing a set of her finest robes and a cold, grim frown on her face. Artemis took the stairs slowly, almost leisurely, just to make her aunt more angry than she already was. When she was on the bottom step, she gave Isobel a petulant stare. "Yes?"

"We're having friends over for tea." Artemis's heart sank. "Friends" always meant more dark wizards who would give her cold stares and talk in low voices about things Artemis didn't want to imagine. "We need you to serve the tea and clean up afterwards. Go and get changed."

And with that, Aunt Isobel swept back into the dining room leaving Artemis to run her fingers through a snag in her hair and glare after her.

Tea time was as horrible as always. Artemis was responsible for serving the tea and "or d'oeuvres" as Isobel called them, and then she was instructed to stand in the corner in case anybody needed something. It was humiliating, in a way, serving the very people who were probably responsible for all of the disappearances over the last few years, and it took everything in Artemis not to take her rage out on them. She imagined it every time, pouring tea over their heads or "accidentally" dropping a platter of food all over some lady's dress. But the thought of the punishment that would come afterward stopped her every time.

Then there was the issue of the food itself. Or, Artemis supposed, the lack of it. Since the beginning of her stay here, she'd been allowed one meal a day. That wouldn't even have bothered Artemis as much, if it weren't for the harsh criticisms about her appearance Aunt Isobel laid out every chance she got. It made her not want to eat, and she spent long minutes at the mirror each night scrutinizing herself, wondering if the things her aunt said were really true.

A week later, Artemis was sitting in the kitchen with her aunt, helping her make a menu for that year's midsummer's eve dinner party. It was eerily similar to the time Artemis had helped with the menu for the end of summer party that had ended so badly years before, she could've sworn Isobel was even wearing the same set of dark green robes. They were sitting at the kitchen table, sorting through recipes, making a stack of ones that could be useful for the party.

Uncle Gregory had just stormed out after a particularly nasty tirade involving the meal last night and Artemis's appearance, which seemed to be a favorite topic between her aunt and uncle. Gregory had turned on Isobel at the end, blaming her for letting Artemis get away with "looking like a fucking mudblood," something Artemis wasn't used to. It was rare for Gregory to turn on his wife, but it had been happening more often lately.

At any rate, Isobel had been silent for most of the evening. She sullenly discarded any recipes Artemis thought might be good, even the ones Artemis knew were her favorites. At last, Isobel sighed and ran a hand over the page of the recipe book in front of her. "You and me are the same," she said in a voice no less cold than her usual, but softer and less shrill.

"Sorry?" said Artemis, bewildered.

"A long time ago, you asked me why I- I think you worded it "put up with all this shit," said Aunt Isobel, piercing Artemis with her dark stare.

Artemis smiled a little. "I was just looking for trouble when I said that."

"Yes, well, I never gave you an answer, did?"

Artemis was dumbstruck. After weeks of berating and cruel jabs, they were having what felt close to a real conversation. This was uncharted territory, and Artemis didn't know how ready she was to explore it. "No, you didn't," she said, no longer meeting her aunt's gaze.

"I put up with it for the same reason you're here right now."

"You wanted vital information about a brother you haven't seen in two years?" Artemis tried to joke.

Isobel didn't smile. "No, child. I was like you when I was young. A half-blood, hungry for power, excitement, trouble, even." Artemis couldn't picture her aunt ever wanting trouble in her life, or being young at all. "I wanted the power and the glory, so I married your uncle and he gave me everything I wanted."

"How is that anything like me?" asked Artemis.

"You're here for power and glory too. You think that if you can somehow "save" your brother, you'll be redeemed in your own eyes, as well as those around you." Isobel was starting to sound like an odd kind of prophet. Artemis didn't like it. "What you don't see is that you're on the wrong side. If you really want power, you'll join your brother. You'll join us. You would have a grand and glorious life here if you just stopped hunting for whatever it is you're hunting for and gave in to the power that will eventually consume you anyways."

Artemis wanted it to stop. She hated the tone in her aunt's voice, a sort of condescending, brainwashed sadness. She stood up. "Aunt Isobel, you and I are nothing alike. I'm not looking for power or glory or fame, I'm looking to make sure the people I love are safe. That's all. And honestly, I doubt you'll ever know what that feels like, so let me tell you." She took a deep breath. "Every time I think about my brother, I don't think about the times he told me to go away, or the times I saw him do horrible things to innocent people. I think about the times he took me to museums, and when we played as children, and I feel this horrible, gut-wrenching, bone-ripping pain for the man he's become. That's why I have to save him. Because I know he can still be saved, and I won't stop until I'm positive none of my efforts can do anything for him anymore."

She thought Aunt Isobel was going to hit her. She steeled herself for a second, bracing herself for the punch the way Remus had taught her years before when she was convinced she was going to have to fistfight Bellatrix. But it never came. Her aunt didn't even rise from her seat. She merely looked down at the stack of recipes in front of her and sighed. "Well, you're still growing up. You'll see it one day, and you'll regret not taking advantage of a better life while you could."

Artemis slipped out the kitchen door, swearing to herself that she would never do what her aunt said. She wouldn't regret a thing when she was older, not if her efforts now made even the slightest difference in the lives of the people she cared about.