a/n: there's a lot of hinting for a new spin-off book for Ophelia *cue sly grin*
published december 4, 2016
Hello, Pauline,
It's odd, writing to you from across the seas. We weren't close, and I am aware of that, bu you were the closest to everyone that I knew in Ilvermorny.
So we crossed paths in the Qudditch World Cup—also, was the Amandla Picquery I saw you with? She was the Horned Serpent that vowed to be just like her grandmother, right? She was quite the academic prodigy— though she couldn't really match my smarts when it came to Reverse Cursing and Defense class.
Aside from that, I guess I also wanted to let off some steam that I really couldn't at the World Cup.
I guess you've heard of the mass murderer that escaped from Azkaban. He is my father. Though, I really don't want to talk about that in full detail. Maybe in the summer? Maybe we can arrange something?
I know we're aren't as close as we used to be. But there's no point in pretending we weren't ever friends, right?
Darcy Black
Daarcy thought the letter was good enough. So, after she sent it off to Ilvermorny, she headed down to the Muggle Studies classroom.
At first, Darcy thought it was empty, just like the other times she had tried to talk to Philly. THis time, Darcy really wanted to speak to her aunt.
Except, from the corner of her eye after turning away from the classroom, she saw Ophelia bustling out from the back door that lead to her office. She had her hair changed to light green and purple shade with the exception of a few strands of silver. It was an odd choice of color, since all of Darcy's life, Ophelia had only went for the stark black hair that made her resemble Sirius.
Ophelia caught sight of her niece, and she fixed her hair back. "Hi, Darce," she said cheerfully and smiled widely.
Darcy intensively walked in, her pace slow and aware of the odd and happy mood that her aunt was in.
"Where've you been?" she asked, repeating the same question she asked Sirius. "I've come in this class, and nearly all the time, you are not here on your free time. Harry's got the task tomorrow, and I'm really worried about—I was trying to get your advice—"
Darcy was engulfed in a hug that refuted her rant.
"I'm so sorry," Ophelia exclaimed, when she pulled away from their hug. She pushed Darcy to got towards the front of the desk, and closed the classroom doors. "I—just—I was trying to find a place for Sirius to stay—and I think I did!"
Darcy took a seat on a desk, and watched Ophelia closely. "You've gotten a place other than the expanded hut we lived in for the summer?"
Nodding enthusiastically, Ophelia waved her wand and there was an appearance of loads—and loads of papers. Darcy stood up and ran a hand over the stacks of paper.
"What's this?" she asked, looking up to meet the top part of Ophelia's head whilst she read through the papers.
"The paperwork I had to dig up at the Ministry so that they—those assholes—could give me back Grimmauld Place."
"What's—"
"—the house that Sirius and I grew up in, and abandoned the minute we were disowned."
Raising her eyebrows, Darcy said, "Why would you go back? Wait—I don't even know your past—Philly—please? Could you just keep your excitement in for a little while?"
Ophelia turned to look at Darcy expectantly, her face still happy and impatient.
Taking in a deep breath, Darcy nodded to herself in encouragement. "I've spoken to Padfoot—my dad two nights ago. He said—he said you were a—a death eater!"
That was good enough to stop Ophelia from shaking the papers in her hand so fervently. "He told you—what?"
Darcy made sure her words were clear. "You were a Death Eater, a spy for Dumbledore. Yes. Or no?"
A prolonged silence followed. Ophelia was borderline considering lying to her niece, or telling her everything. Her reasoning why she agreed to do it, to how she tried to prevent James and Lily's death. That would get into way more severe back story that Ophelia thought was too much for a Monday night.
"Yes, I was," replied Ophelia, to which Darcy's shoulders slumped a little. "But—I did it for many, many reasons that are far too long. Darcy, I would have to write you up a book. It would be like—fifteen to maybe twenty five chapters. Or more, depends on if you want me to tell you why James Potter actually fell in love with me—"
"Okay," Darcy said slowly, her eyes narrowing at her aunt. "Why didn't you tell me? I've—you've been keeping so much stuff, Philly—it's like, I don't even know you."
Ophelia's gaze turned steely. "Now," she said, this time her voice wasn't carefree. She seemed to take on a more scolding tone. "It doesn't mean that I'm a different person. Don't be dramatic, okay?"
Darcy's skin heated up, her cheeks burned with irritation. "You never tell me anything!" she screeched, her voice echoing around the empty classroom—maybe even the school. She flayed her arms around. "You never told me Sirius was my dad—I understand that you don't ever want to be connected to your old family, given what you told me—but—but I want to know! I shouldn't be denied to know!"
Also just as angry, Ophelia retorted, "Then what do you want to know, Darcy? How your mother died—at the hands of my cousin? How I was told—repeatedly that I wasn't going to ever live up to the Black name—how I was tortured by jinxes and humiliation, and my father wouldn't do anything but encourage prejudice against muggles and half-breeds and all things that I now love?"
It was a though the whole castle were silent, like it was depending on Ophelia's next confessions for it to continue to its normal buzz. Darcy didn't expect an outburst from her aunt like this—though she had to agree that maybe she was a little too pushy.
Embarrassed and speechless, Darcy released her clenched fists. Ophelia's hair had turned a bright orange, something that was slightly off-putting for Ophelia's pale features.It was also the matter that Ophelia had said she loved muggles—and half-breeds. It stuck to Darcy, now, why her aunt had been gone for so long. That maybe...maybe her aunt was in love with Remus Lupin.
"I—I didn't know all of that—" Darcy began
"I know you didn't," Ophelia shakily said and held onto her desk for support, "I never told you how I lived—the suffering that I endured."
After a while, Darcy felt that it was okay to joke.
"Maybe you should write a novel," she said, though it came out more serious. "Make it a physiological book for wizards today. Maybe...maybe you can make it a fiction novel for the no-majs."
A smile cracked onto her face, as though she was already doing so.
. . .
The morning of the task was a day that Darcy was feeling very on edge. She'd caught up to Harry in the Great Hall, who was receiving either nice or rude comments. She held onto his shoulder to get his attention and asked if he was prepared.
As cryptic as he could, Harry said, "Yes."
She looked at him, her eyes narrowing. "You have? With Hermione? You're all set?" She had been caught up with the training that they had done together, though Hermione also wouldn't get into too much detail.
"I'm not supposed to talk about it aloud, Darce," he said lowly, looking around only to see many people staring at the two. "Remember? I wasn't supposed to know?"
Grimacing, Darcy nodded, though she latched her arm around his in an attempt to be comforting. "Well, I really do hope your okay. I'm sure you'll do great—after all that Hermione's told me..."
"Yeah," Harry said, his shoulders slumping.
And after that, Professor McGonagall had swiftly taken Harry away from Darcy's arms, who was standing, watching them leave and fidgeting the rock on her neck.
Turning around, Darcy sighed, tagging along with Hermione and Ron to the stands.