They call it the Waiting Room, for that is what they do there: wait. Three girls sitting on the velvet green sofa, backs straight, eyes staring unblinkingly ahead, hands folded neatly in their laps. The dresses they wear are velvety black, with fine lace trimming the edges and gold buttons running down the backs. Reflections of wealth and sober tastes.

There are two extremes on the sofa they sit on. At the far left, closest to the door, sits Bellatrix, the oldest. She has long black hair, scraggly, and a thin face with thin lips. She purses these lips together slightly, watching her sisters carefully out of the corner of her heavy-lidded eyes. Even now, when there is no one to watch her, she has a dignified, superior air. Bellatrix is a Black, through and through.

At the far right sits Narcissa, the youngest. She contrasts against her elder sister, with her fair wavy hair and deep blue eyes. Like a porcelain doll, with pink lips and round baby cheeks. She doesn’t move a muscle, increasing the effect that she is not a human of flesh and blood. It is unnerving to see a child of her age sit so still.

And then there is Andromeda, of the middle. She was born in the middle and sits in the middle and looks in the middle, with her wavy brown hair that isn't quite as dark as Bellatrix's and her blue eyes that aren't quite as deep as Narcissa's. The only thing that is really hers are the freckles splashed over her nose. These freckles are a curiosity. It is unheard of for a Black to have freckles.

And what are they thinking, these sisters? As usual, they are not thinking about what they are waiting for: they had done enough of worrying last night. They are thinking of different things, of different extremes, like each side of the couch.

Bellatrix is thinking about Hogwarts. She has gotten her acceptance letter only last week. Generally this would have been no cause for thinking, for what was there to think about? She would be in Slytherin, of course, and would excel in all her studies and everyone would envy her, all because she is a Black. It is only natural. No, she is not worried about Hogwarts itself. She is worried about boys in Hogwarts.

She is not worried in the same way other girls are, about whether anyone will ask her to the Ball, or if she is pretty enough to attract a boyfriend. She is worried about the future. What if there is no one suitable to help her carry on the Black lineage? What if all the other purebloods have damaged bloodlines? What if they are all ruined and have no money left? But then she tells herself that Mother and Father would no doubt find her the right husband. She should stop worrying.

Andromeda, on the other hand, is thinking about far more trivial things. She is thinking about the portrait on the wall. It is probably one of her deceased relatives, he has the trademark Black proud features. She looks at his strong nose, his sparse white hair but incredibly thick, bushy eyebrows. Like cobwebs. These eyebrows knit, those dark eyes glare so ferociously that Andromeda wants to stick out her tongue at him. She bites back the urge. Bella would not be pleased.

Narcissa is not thinking about anything. This is not unusual, for she is still young, and she has not been taught to have a mind of her own. She is sitting on the edge of her seat, so her feet will touch the ground and she will be able to resist the temptation to swing them, but this position is tiring her. Cautiously, she slides herself further back on the sofa, sneaking quick glances at her sisters. They don't notice. She kicks rebelliously in mid air. There is no reaction. Satisfied, she slowly sticks her thumb in her mouth.

"Cissy!" Bellatrix hisses, pouncing on her sister immediately. Narcissa quickly whips her thumb out and sits straighter. "What would Mother and Father think? Still sucking your thumb at this age!"

Narcissa stays silent. She looks at the floor.

"Blacks do not-"

"Oh, lay off her for ten seconds, Bella," Andromeda cuts in tiredly. Bellatrix rounds on her.

"And you keep your mouth shut, or I just might tell Mother how I caught you reading that filthy Muggle book the other day."

Andromeda bites her bottom lip nervously and does her best to look offended.

"Oh Andromeda, you didn't." Narcissa looks up at her sister, big blue eyes wide. "You couldn't have."

"No I - I mean - I don't know what - Of course not…"Andromeda stutters, fighting the guilty flush that creeps up her neck. Her sisters look at her, Bellatrix condescending, Narcissa incredulous. "Well, it was only one," she concludes helplessly.

"Ha! I knew it!" Bellatrix says triumphantly. "I knew it was a-"

"Shhhh…" whispers Andromeda pleadingly."They'll hear us."

Seeing the sense in these words, Bellatrix falls silent and they once again stare straight ahead. They wait.

Murmurs drift from the room next door, just out of reach so they can't hear the words. The heavy silence bears down on them, a muffling cloak. The anticipation is tangible; the air carries the metallic scent of tension. The door swings open.

"Come in."

They stand up, the three sisters, and link hands. This is traditional, almost instinctive: they do it without thinking. Bellatrix reaches across to Narcissa and, with her free hand, smoothes her black dress free of wrinkles. It is a protective gesture, a faint motherliness Bella is capable of only at brief moments like these.

And once again the Black sisters stare straight ahead. They look always forwards, never backwards, never glance to the side. The older squeezes the hand of the younger, who in turn squeezes the hand of the youngest. Warmth and strength passes from sister to sister, palm to palm.

It is at this moment that Andromeda knows. She knows Bella will never tell about the Muggle book. Because however different the Black sisters may be, one thing they do is stick together. They look out for one another because, in the end, all they have is each other.

And they are, for a brief moment, standing at the same level, the same spot on the scale. Each can feel the other next to her, the steady reassuring rhythm of her breath. Each tries to radiate a comforting aura.

The three sisters walk through the doorway together, and they are not afraid.