By day, the old building would not have appeared quite so imposing, but by this drizzly evening gloom, the place looked bleak, as though all hope had abandoned it. A few lights shone out of heavily curtained windows, but even their dimmed glow could not give the place a warm atmosphere. A tall man, with a salt-and-pepper beard stepped out of the black taxicab hovering on the curb. He swung a small, battered suitcase out of the boot, and opened the car door. A small girl aged about four stepped out. She looked subdued, and slightly nervous, but not in an excited way. She was dressed entirely in black, except for white socks peeking over the top of her Mary-Jane shoes.
The man took her hand, and tried to guide her towards the front door of the house. But the little girl stood transfixed on the spot.
“Where are we?” she whispered hoarsely, playing with her mud-brown plait. It was falling out in places, and the end was severely chewed. The man bent down, and took her shoulders gently, looking into her blood shot eyes. “I want Mummy.”
The man looked uncomfortable. “I’m so sorry…” he murmured, “Truly I am. But I can’t look after you, and you know you can’t have your mummy.”
Her thin bottom lip trembled slightly, and she looked even smaller than she had before. “Where are we?” she repeated.
“It’s called Waverly House. You’ll like it here. They will take good care of you, I promise. And I’ll come and see you lots,” the man said very quickly.
He straightened up, and led the little girl to the front door. He knocked firmly three times. A young girl, who looked about ten, opened the door but before she could say anything, a woman behind her came running up, berating the girl for opening the door before an adult could get there.
“It’s not safe! You know that, Katy! Go on, go back and finish reading your book. I can’t believe…” She shook her head then turned and saw the man standing on the doorstep. “Ah, you must be Mr Harland?”
“That’s right,” the man responded, “This is Flick. Say hello, honey.”
The girl looked up, then looked shyly away again, ducking behind the man.
“Well, uh, come in. I’ll go find Mr Waverly for you then, shall I?”
“I would be very much obliged.”
The man and the little girl followed her into the wide hallway. It looked warmer inside, at least, and comfortably furnished. A long spindly staircase stood to one side, with a little boy in a dressing gown crouching at the top, looking down on the new arrival. He made a face, and went back to his room upon seeing it was a girl.
The pair were led into a smallish office, and given seats. The man, Mr Harland, sat down, placing the little girl on his knee, where she pulled him into a tight embrace, then fell asleep.
Mr Waverly shuffled through the forms.
“Can I just get some details on the little girl?” He finally asked.
“Of course.”
“Name?”
“Madeline-Felicity Anne Harland,” Mr Harland responded.
“And how old is she?”
“She’ll be five on the third of April. “
“Any allergies?”
“No,” Mr Harland responded, “And no medical history either.”
Mr Waverly smiled. “Well, we are happy to give little Madeline a temporary home here. I can assure you that she is in safe hands. I’m sure we’ll find a home for the little poppet.”
Mr Harlow smiled, and thanked him, before going to wake Flick up. “Come on, Honey. I have to go now.” She looked up, sleepily, and he kissed her. “Bye bye, my little angel. Bye.”
And so, the stately Mr Harland drove away, leaving Madeline-Felicity Anne Harland behind, at Waverly house.
________________________________________
Half an hour later, when Madeline was tucked up safely in bed, a rather stately-looking woman arrived, in order to adopt a child, more specifically a little girl. She too was dressed entirely in black, but she did not look at all forlorn - she rather looked as if the black had been her own preference, as opposed to something forced upon her due to a death.
Her very style, indeed, screamed opulence, and perhaps not an opulence that had led to a kind manner, or indeed a charitable one. All the same, the woman was here to adopt: always a good thing. The orphanage rarely saw serious clients, and seeing someone who clearly had cash was almost unheard of. Yet here she was, standing, clear as day. Ready to adopt.
“Mrs. Black, it is an honour to have you here,” gasped the clearly overwhelmed social worker, who had answered the door to Mr Harlow, not an hour earlier.
“Quite,” she replied, raising her eyebrow, as though something about the twenty-something carer deeply offended her sense of class. “I want a little girl. Someone sweet, innocent, unsullied by popular politics. Someone I can dress up in pretty dresses and take to parties. Someone with a brain and talent. Do you have anyone like that?” she demanded.
The carer was worried. Most of their little girls had been there quite a while, acted pretty lower class, and played rough games with the boys in the mud. Nevertheless, they couldn’t say that there was nobody. What about this new girl? Madeline or something? Could she do? It would be good to get rid of her, before they had to find her a permanent bed, and everything. Moreover, the girl seemed to have an amazing wardrobe as it was, so Mrs Black would not have to supply her with clothes either...
“We have just the little girl you’re looking for!” the carer enthused, “her name is Madeline-Felicity Harland. She is an absolute angel, and only just recently arrived.”
“Fine. Bring her down.”
In a state of panic, the woman flew up the stairs to fetch Madeline, and make her look somewhat presentable. The little girl was fast asleep, but was awoken quickly, as the youth worker shook her repeatedly and urgently. Rapidly, the carer pulled a scarlet frock over the girl’s head, and pulled her hair up into a bow. She shoved shoes and socks onto her, and brushed the ends of her hair. Fine. Great. Perfect.
“Ah, yes,” Mrs. Black smiled approvingly, “She will do.”
“I’ll do what?” Maddy asked sleepily.
“This kind lady wants to adopt you. Isn’t that nice of her?”
“Mmm.”
The carer smiled happily. Her plan had come together perfectly . “Well, I’ll go and get her things, shall I?”
“Please,” replied Mrs Black stonily. “You, girl, do you play any instruments?”
“No…”
“Dance?”
“No.”
“Draw, sing, sew, speak French, Italian?”
“No, why?”
“Oh, no reason. You’ll learn soon enough I expect,” Mrs Black replied, rather cross that her new charge seemed to know absolutely nothing about, well, anything at all really. But she could work with it. As long as…
“What is your opinion on Muggle-borns?” she blurted out, desperate for her charge to agree with her ideas, or at least have no opinion.
“I don’t really have one…should I?” the little girl asked quietly, and sounding slightly worried at her lack of interesting information so far.
“Perfect. That’s perfect, my new little girl.”
“GIVE ME BACK MY BROOMSTICK RIGHT NOW, SIRIUS BLACK!” screamed a girl of about eleven. She was dressed in pink robes, with a little quidditch badge sewn onto the lapel, declaring she was a fan of the Chelsea Chariots.
A little boy, a few years younger, giggled, and watched the scene from the shade of an apple tree. A boy, of the same age as the girl, hurtled past with a broomstick in hand, laughing like a maniac, before tripping on a tree stump, and cascading with none of the elegance of a waterfall, to the ground in a crumpled heap.
“Ouch,” he said. The little girl laughed triumphantly, and grasped the broomstick from his hand.
“Madeline,” he whined, “that really hurt….”
“You’re such a baby, Sirius,” stated the little girl, “and frankly, you should be grateful I’m not running to tell mummy. Not making any promises though,” she added, poking her tongue out at him.
The children slumped next to the younger boy under the apple tree, grabbing an unripe cooking apple each, and gnawing away at the edges, wincing at the sourness. The youngest boy, Regulus, grinned proudly at them both, as though pleased at his inclusion into the group.
“Don’t tell her though,” Sirius said, his eyes meeting Madeline’s pleadingly, and all three children understood the seriousness of the request.
Madeline nodded. “Of course not, but… You may want to get that grub of your robes. She’ll get you for that.”
In response, Sirius wiped at his robes with his hands, frantically removing dust and grime from the black material.
Presently, the children heard the faint sound of a bell, and a maid yelling from the back door.
“Ten minute warning,” Regulus asserted, and the children stood and galloped back to the house, to change and wash for dinner.
Dinner in the Black household was quite a formal occasion, where it was expected that men would wear shirt and tie, and the women dresses. So when the three children descended in such finery, it was nothing out of the ordinary. The family, with mother and father included, all sat and made stilted conversation over their dinner.
“Pass the vegetables, please,” Walburga murmured to Regulus, who obliged, and silence fell again.
“What did you children get up to today then?” asked the booming voice of the children’s father. Madeline shrank back into her seat. She was the special favourite of her mother, but her father always scared her somewhat.
“Not much,” replied Regulus. “Siri and Maddy played broomsticks though!”
“Quidditch? For a little girl?” asked Walburga tetchily. She glared at Sirius as though it were his idea.
“Not quidditch… Siri stole Maddy’s broom!” Regulus corrected her, grinning widely, as though the memory filled him with joy and happiness.
Walburga’s eyebrows raised. “We’ll discuss this later, Sirius.”
The little boy nodded dully, his eyes shooting daggers at his betrayer.
“You need some girl’s company,” she continued. “I have invited your cousins Narcissa, Andromeda and Bellatrix to stay for the week, before you all depart for school. I hope this is satisfactory to you.”
Sirius groaned, but Madeline’s eyes lit up. She loved having the older girls around, and her mind already filled with imagined shopping trips and makeovers. She did feel lonely sometimes, with only two brothers for company, and had always longed for a sister, especially such a glamorous and beautiful sister as her cousins were.
The remainder of the summer passed in a happy blur, as the children eagerly, or not so eagerly, awaited the arrival of their cousins for the final week. For Madeline and Sirius these were the final weeks of freedom before they entered Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, and for Regulus they were the final weeks before his playmates were snatched from his hands. The Black residence, although completely invisible to passing muggles, was an amazing place to play. On rainy days, the children rampaged upstairs, turning the play room into a pirate ship, a castle, an assault course, and even Hogwarts itself. On sunny days, the children charged outside, in the orchard where the apple trees grew with their increasingly ripe, but still incredibly sour cooking apples, or by the lake, where they paddled and splashed. The only shadow over their six weeks of freedom was their parents, who, they all knew, had to be kept at bay. They protected each other. Madeline, who had always been her mother’s favourite, supposed she did not know the full reasoning for this distance, but her father was someone she very much wanted distance from. She could never quite understand why, but there was something in the way he gazed at her and the way he addressed her that sent shivers down her spine.
The arrival of their cousins caused something of a rift between the two eldest Black children. Madeline and Sirius had always been playmates: enemies, friends, and colleagues in works of mischief. They conspired together, and explored together, and had always had a special bond which neither of them could gain with Regulus. But the arrival of these newcomers into their world of play was something Sirius could not allow. His position would be usurped. He would no longer have the undivided attention of his sister, and Regulus would hardly do for a second in command. He was too young, and too whiny. And the newcomers wouldn’t even play, he mused, they were far too old and grand to run about, or eat cooking apples, or swim in the lake. They liked to converse about people they knew, and paint their nails, and read gossip magazines. He did not understand girls one bit, and dreaded the day that his sister would transform into one of those gossipy, girly, boring creatures.
The day of their arrival, therefore, caused great hush and nervous tension in the playroom. Madeline was too busy staring into the mirror to play, and besides, Sirius was too busy glaring at Madeline staring into the mirror to even consider persuading her. Only Regulus was interested in starting a game, but he knew better than to push his ideas, and played quietly on his own in the corner, with his plush dragon toy.
The front door was heard to creak open, and the children stood at the top of the banister, staring down, knowing better than to rush down the stairs straight at the visitor. Their mother did not always like them meeting her guests. Auntie Druella and Uncle Cygnus stood in the door way, and the house elf rushed to take their coats, as their mother glided up to greet them.
“My darling sister!” she exclaimed, kissing her on both cheeks, “How well you look! And where are the children? Ah, here they are. How are you all? Well I hope?”
Madeline stood, transfixed, as she watched her cousins remove their cloaks, and saw them standing, dressed in the latest fashions. Sirius watched her watching them, with an expression of disgust firmly planted on his face. He muttered something that sounded distinctly like, “Bloody girls” and wandered back to the play room in a strop.
“Madeline! Sirius! Regulus! Get down here!” shouted their father, and the children raced down the stairs, stopping abruptly at the bottom, and straightening out their clothes.
“Hello, auntie, uncle, cousins,” said Madeline with a shy smile.
Sirius nodded his greeting, and Regulus, torn between the two opposite greetings and unsure who to copy, extended his hand in the way his father might, and said, “Hello everyone”, in a rather too grown up voice for such a little boy.
Auntie Druella had a rather annoying habit of refusing to talk to the children, but rather talking about them, loudly, to their mother. Uncle Cygnus had an annoying habit of never speaking at all, not even to say please or thank you. This made afternoon tea, taken in the parlour that was reserved only for guests, a somewhat awkward affair. Madeline, who was always considered the favourite and something of a trophy child, was asked for perform, which she did, blushing all the while, displaying her musical, linguistic and poetic talents.
“Yes, she is coming along rather nicely. Shame about her hair. Rather ordinary, don’t you think?” commented Aunt Druella, and Madeline wished the floor would just open up and swallow her whole. Madeline had the most boring hair, it was true: Mud brown, and wavy: neither straight, nor curly, and not in the slightest bit glossy. It drove her mother insane. But regardless of the truth of the statement, she did not necessarily want it pointed out for all to hear, and a slight pout fell over her face, which could not even be removed by the promise of chocolate cake and cream.
Once her auntie and uncle departed to return to their country manor, leaving their three daughters behind at Grimmauld Place, things were no less awkward. Andromeda, the youngest of the three, was the only one to make an effort to play with the children, and this made her far less interesting to Madeline. Sirius was willing to talk to Andromeda, but only by way of a replacement Maddy, and with a great weariness because he was fully aware that most girls carried germs. Maddy tried, desperately, to connect with the two older girls; she hung around them while they charmed their hair different styles, and flicked through glossy magazines, and she offered to fetch, carry and buy them anything their wished. The girls, in turn, treated her with the contempt and distant apathy that older girls often do when followed by a young admirer. Indeed it was not until the sorting ceremony at Hogwarts, almost two weeks later, that Narcissa and Bellatrix deigned to speak to Madeline.
It had been a long journey; Madeline had not been prepared for quite how long it would be. She had passed the many hours from London to Scotland in a carriage with Sirius and a few rather nervous looking first years, who introduced themselves as Lily, James and Severus respectively. James and Severus did not seem to like each other much, and Sirius, desperately trying to make friends, immediately sided with James, who, with his scruffy black hair and arrogant smirk, seemed the natural leader of the group. Lily had smiled shyly at Madeline, who was far too nervous and slightly queasy to do much back than smile vaguely and stare resolutely out of the window. Sirius and James had been talking excitedly about houses, and Sirius, wanting to shock a response out of Madeline had stated, very loudly, that he hoped very much he would be a Gryffindor. She ignored this.
“Which house would you like to be in?” Lily asked her, in an impatient tone as if she thought Madeline was being incredibly rude for no good reason.
Madeline responded by standing up, opening the window, and vomiting out a large quantity of sick. She sat down, wiping her mouth with the corner of her sleeve, and muttered, “I don’t feel very well”. The others left her alone for the rest of the journey.
Hours passed before the youngsters were making their slow glide towards Hogwarts. The splash of the water was vaguely comforting, reminding Madeline, who had closed her eyes to avoid looking at the towering, imposing castle that would become her home for the next seven years, of the lake back at her home in London. But as the first years marched towards the castle doors, this fleeting feeling of comfort seemed a million miles away. She was led, with Sirius at her side, into the great hall, and felt a million eyes watching her every move.
“This is it, Siri,” she murmured, and he nodded, his dark brown eyes watching the hat with silent determination.
After some time, the name “Black, Madeline” was called out, and she stumbled, anxiously, up to the hat on the little stool. She placed the hat upon her head, and closed her eyes to the hundreds of schoolchildren watching the hat.
“Please Slytherin, please, please please…” she thought, concentrating very hard, hoping, and pleading that she would be put in the house that would please her mother most.
“Slytherin, eh?” came a tiny little voice.
“Please… Slytherin...”
“Hmm… Black…” the hat mused, “you don’t seem like one of them…”
“I am,” she thought desperately, “I have to be in slytherin.”
“Hmmm…” said the hat again, sounding contemplative. The voice grew louder, and boomed “Slytherin!” for the entire hall to hear. There was an eruption of cheering from the table decorated in green, and Madeline found herself pulling off the hat, smiling proudly, and taking her seat amongst her new house mates.
“Black, Sirius,” announced Professor McGonagall.
Sirius marched up to the hat, plonked it on his head, and grinned out at the hall. The hat shouted, “Gryffindor!” and the Gryffindor table cheered. James gave him the thumbs up from the queue of first years waiting to be sorted.
“Well, at least one of my cousins isn’t disgracing the family name,” said Narcissa, looking down at Madeline, “Well done. Welcome to Slytherin.”
Madeline watched her brother mournfully. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that she would hardly see each other now they had been separated in such a brutal way. She turned away, swallowing the lump that was forming in her throat. She had never felt so far from home.
Blood Runs Deep by Siriusly Mr Black
Story Notes:
This used to be in these archives, but i neglected it (A LOT), so i deleted it for Blood Runs Deep version 2.0. This version is much longer, and will hopefully be updated soon. So please read and enjoy :)
I also couldn't really get the warnings thing to work, so this story contains abuse, mild profanity, alternate universe, character death and violence.
Chapter Endnotes: Thanks for reading :) Hopefully there'll be a new chapter soonish... reviews are always welcome