Melaina K. Nott

Location: the nature pavilion Who: OPEN!

“I–Oh wow,” Emma breathed, eyes wide as she stood mere feet a dark, horse-like skeletal creature with wings folded into its sides. “That’s a thestral, isn’t it?” Though there were people nearby, she wasn’t speaking to anyone in particular. She’d never seen one before. She’d known they’d existed – everyone who went to Hogwarts did – but she hadn’t been one of the unlucky children who could see them. And now she could. A wave of something rolled over her at the realization which she shrugged off. In that moment, she didn’t want to interrogate when that had changed. Instead, she took a step closer, slowly raising her hand. The thestral stepped forward to meet her, butting its nose into her hand. An excited squeak escaped. Emma looked over her shoulder, meeting someone’s gaze. “Can you see it too?” 

It was hard to believe that half a year had passed. The Winter Solstice had marked the beginning of some dark times in Melaina’s life with the arrest of her father and subsequent interrogations of her son. Work had become a difficult place to be for the first time in her life and when she went home she was the primary caregiver to a three year old. And, all the while, she was still doing work that her stomach was not quite strong enough for. Brewing Polyjuice with Barty Crouch was one thing but helping to poison a traitor, while important and necessary work, had put a strain on her. She couldn’t remember being this stressed since the day she realised that she was pregnant with Theodore, and all the implications which had come with the fact. To top it all, with nobody at home most of the day to make sure her cat wasn’t wandering too far into the village, she ended up having a litter of kittens.

Sirius really didn’t know what he would do if their parents actually went through with the arrangement. Part of the reason he was having so much fun with this was because he didn’t think it was permanent. If it got too close to being real, he was going to have to do something more drastic. He just didn’t know what that was.

This meeting was more serious than some of their others and while on one hand it was nice to see her in a different light, he also preferred lighter conversation. At the core of it, Sirius didn’t agree with Melaina’s views and it was hard for him to listen to her speak when he knew what she really thought.

Sirius wasn’t sure how what Melaina said was supposed to be reassuring to him. Sure, it would be if he could play the part of the reformed bad boy. But he didn’t think that’s what Melaina thought of him. Is that what her father thought he was marrying his daughter into? Someone who made mistakes as a teenager but saw the error in his ways? That’s certainly not who he was. “Names aren’t everything,” he said. He should have stopped there, played the part, but did Melaina really believe him? “And I don’t see them as mistakes.”

It was very frustrating and Melaina couldn’t see why Sirius was so stubbornly against just playing the part he was born to play. Everybody had their rebellious streaks, even quiet, obedient Melaina who had spent her Hogwarts years experimenting with tattoos and then left school only to get herself pregnant by a muggleborn and lie to her father about the fact. At the end of the day, however, she was a Nott and that meant more than any fleeting feelings of happiness that might come with living recklessly. “I beg your pardon?” she asked, finding it hard to hide her horror over his suggestion. Of course names were everything. What else could they be? And how could a Black say any different? It was utterly absurd and she had no idea what to say in response.

Melaina didn’t frown when Barty handled the cauldron so he figured he must have done something right. Anyone who has an affinity for potions knows how to handle their equipment with respect. And he knows that they don’t allow just anyone to handle their cauldron. Barty placed the cauldron they planned on using on the center table as if it was his own.

She looked at him as if his answer was the wrong one. “Have you?” It would make sense if she hasn’t. Maybe that’s why they paired them off together? So that she could learn it from him. As far as he knew, Nott was a formidable potioneer on her own. But still, not everyone has brewed themselves a batch of Polyjuice Potion. Not everyone has the time. It would also make sense if she has. That would mean there are fewer chances for them to mess it up. Barty couldn’t help but wish that it’s the case of the latter. “I haven’t actually.” Especially considering it takes twenty-one days to do so… “That’s why I need assistance actually. I currently can’t do it on my own.”

“Never. I have studied the effects of taking an incorrectly brewed Polyjuice potion and brewed cures for such a thing but the potion itself is hardly one required in the repertoire of a Healer, even one who works specifically with potions.” Nor was it ever brewed as part of potions classes in Hogwarts, as Crouch would well know, although they had to know what it did for their written NEWT exam. In fact, there really was only one reason someone who did not sell potions might brew a Polyjuice Potion and Melaina had never been struck by the desire to pretend to be somebody else. “Why would I have wanted to?” Before she had been tasked with doing so, that is.

Seeing Mel almost made her feel badly for how she’d reacted. Almost. Of course, the careful part of her was still reeling, still looking for an answer to the rustling in the bushes. Marlowe wasn’t used to being careful. She was used to careless, and so he words were harsher than she’d meant for them to be, especially to someone who was a friend. “Oh, oh, Mel, no please…” she trailed off, gently reaching out and grabbing her friend’s shoulders. “Y’don’t have to apologize. That was harsh of me, yea? And I don’t have a bloody tissue…” 

Marlowe’s face bunched up as she pulled at her yoga pants. Truthfully, she never really was prepared for anything, but at least she had magic on her side. Bending over, she found a good sized leaf and quickly transformed it into a napkin, passing it to her friend. “Sorry if it still smells grassy. Transfiguration’s never been my best subject.” Still, it was soft, at least, which would help her eyes. 

Marlowe waited for a moment, as Melaina gathered herself. She knew the other woman grew up in pure-blood society, much more than she ever had, and the pressures of that were something she’d never truly know. It hurt to watch them unfold in front of her, though. Marlowe knew it must have been rough, but this rough? It made her ache for her friend; for a person who seemed to have it all, but truly was hurting on the inside. “If it makes you feel any better, I truly do think your manners are impeccable,” she said, adding a soft smile to try and ease her friends’ worries. “And even if you were raised by trolls, they were the loveliest trolls this side of the Thames. Y’know, I once ran into a troll that offered me tea, so it must’ve been… those trolls.”

It was hardly the first time Melaina had cried in front of someone else and it probably wouldn’t be the last, either. Overly-sensitive, her grandfather had always said of her. It was still a source of embarrassment when she was unable to keep those tears private but at least these days she was better at embracing that part of her. Still, the instinctual reaction was to say a quiet, “I’m sorry,” to Marlowe for all the bother, and for scaring her so much in the first place. Not to mention her own lack of tissue. She usually had a handkerchief on her but the one in her cloak pocket had been used to wipe Theo’s nose that morning.

“Oh, thank you.” It was hard to keep the surprise from her voice. Though kindness was not a completely foreign concept to her, these days it seemed limited to the professionalism of work colleagues and the guile of those with an ulterior motive. She had almost forgotten what it was to be surrounded by Hufflepuffs who bled thoughtfulness. Enough so that even though she was tempted to transfigure the napkin again to turn it into a silk handkerchief that might be a bit nicer to use, she refrained from doing so before she dabbed at her eyes. “It’s fine,” she said, although it was true that there was a hint of grassiness.

Jokes had never been a common feature of growing up in the Nott household and when it came to quips about one’s family she tended to see them as an insult as that was the only reason people usually had for making comments on other families. Particularly one that likened her father to a troll. How could she take it any other way? Except, of course, that Marlowe had a way of softening the words and making it clear that she didn’t really mean them. Melaina managed a choked-up laugh into the napkin and shook her head. “Sorry for being so—” She shook her head and attempted to regain her poise. It just wouldn’t do for her to admit to her shortcomings out loud. With a flick of her wand, the leaf returned to its original form and floated back to the ground leaving only a hint of redness under her eyes as a sign that she had reacted so strongly. “I did try to catch your attention but it seems not well enough. I imagine a troll might have done a better job of doing so before you were startled like that.”

It was interesting.  Most were easy enough to read, simple enough to determine a motivation, but that wasn’t the case when it came to Melaina.  It was why she was good at what she did.  Clearly there was something holding her back, but she couldn’t figure out exactly what it was.  It wasn’t as though she were a stranger to this crowd, as intimidating as they could be.  But the younger girl was far more poised than she herself was, as clear an indication as any that she belonged with this group of people far more than Mia did.  

They were just reaching that point in the evening when the less experience players were hovering between sloppy and disinterested and the more experienced players were doubling down, meaning the crowd was thick.  She wasn’t sure if a crowd made this situation better or worse, but unless Melaina wanted to hide in the back room for the next hour or so there was no helping it.

She passed Melaina her drink and linked their arms again, leading them in the direction of the table she had picked out for them to join.  Mrs. Clutterbuck was hilariously bad at poker, and she was going a bit senile, forgetting the cards in her hand nearly as soon as she looked away from them.  And her niece’s English was passable at best.  So, if being a novice was the thing that had Melaina anxious, she was sure that this would be the right spot, and if it were just the new environment then perhaps their ineptitude would inspire her to offer some advice to the harmless players, if nothing else.  “Ah, yes.  You’re a healer, right?  Well, I think it’s lovely whenever anyone finds their career path.”

She pulled a chair out for Melaina and settled into her own.  “Mrs. Clutterbuck, do you mind if we join you?  This is Melaina Nott.”

“Oh yes, my dear.  We were just about to deal another hand.”

As they weaved through the room, Melaina found herself noticing again just how successful these nights appeared to be and once again mentally commended Mia for having managed something like this. Or, more accurately, for keeping up with it week after week because while Melaina liked to think she was pretty good at hosting the occasional event, it wasn’t something she would want to be doing too frequently and Mia was doing this on top of her day job. She was good at it, too. Not just the business side of it but Melaina was fairly impressed as she accepted the seat at the table with quiet grace and the realisation that at some point in the distraction of conversation, Mia had managed to con her into playing a game. After all, she could hardly argue now that Mrs Clutterbuck had automatically assumed that Melaina wanted to be dealt in and what was she supposed to say? She had been raised to consider poker to not be a game for proper ladies? She could hardly say that at a table full of other women.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Clutterbuck,” she said. “I should perhaps warn you, this will be my first game.” She looked around the table, feeling nervous about what they might think of her. Once the other introductions were complete, however, and the cards were being dealt, a couple at one end resumed an interrupted conversation and Melaina relaxed enough to turn back to Mia and belatedly answer her question. “I am a Healer, yes. In the Potions and Plant Poisonings ward since the end of my training although at one point I did consider Spell Damage. Should I have changed my Galleons?” She glanced around the table at the other players’ piles of chips.

Sirius could tell Melaina might not agree, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t press it. He didn’t feel like arguing this one either. He had much more important things to spend his time on. He planted the idea of children as something else they didn’t agree on and now he could move on and continue to sabotage this marriage before it even happened. It was a bit sad sometimes. He had a feeling the wedding would be quite the party. “Sounds best,” he said, nodding slightly. On the surface they finally agreed on something.

He knew that even if they were both raised by pureblood families, that they were still raised in different ways. He saw the way his cousins were raised what it was like to be a girl versus a boy in their society. How the girls were raised to believe that love was never an option even more than the boys were. At least the boys had some semblance of control.

He tried to keep his facial expressions blank, but it was clear that even after all this time, thinking about Regulus was still tough to handle. “No, it’s fine,” he assured her. He gritted his teeth, trying to remember his brother was a traitor. That even if their family branded Sirius as such, it was Regulus who had betrayed him in the end. How differently it would have been if Reg had joined him when they were kids - if they had been a united front against their parents from the beginning. Maybe he’d still be alive. “I don’t think it was in the parents’ wishes for the most part,” he said, trying to be careful with his answers. “As I’m sure you know, the eldest Black boy has his reputation and even if I have the last name, no one wants the blood traitor bargain boy Black now do they?” He paused. The words felt heavier than he’d meant them to be. “Except your father I guess.” He laughed. “Wonder how that conversation went.”

Of course at times like this, it was the hope that Sirius would do something that would end this arrangement once and for all in a way that meant Melaina couldn’t be blamed for any failures but she did occasionally get a niggle of worry in her head. Now, for instance, with him simply agreeing with her made her think what if they never found a way out of this? What if in all these games with each other, they found themselves pushed into something neither of them really wanted? What if... what if her father stayed locked away? She had no idea what she might do then. The first impulse was to turn her attentions to the one family she had left but... well, that was why it was almost ironic that Sirius had brought up Regulus. Melaina had always known what happened to those who betrayed their families but before Regulus she had hardly considered the Death Eaters to be an extension of her family. They were a political ideal she was expected to follow and she would because she was good and loyal, but then she had returned from abroad, pretending to be the doting elder sister while her step-mum carried her baby on her hip and Melaina had learned that a quiet backing away to focus on what had become much more important to her than pleasing her father was never going to be an option. She was in this. Forever.

Her eyes dropped to her wine, as though staring at the burgundy liquid would dispel the need to comment further on his brother because the truth was it wasn’t fine and of all the people Sirius could have found himself in this situation with, Melaina knew that more than most but to acknowledge that was something she wouldn’t be ready to do with someone else, let alone Sirius.

Adonis nodded, taking in this information. He knew that they would want to question her child, and now, with Marcus in the back of his mind, he wanted nothing more than to make sure they did not do that. He could tell, too, that was what she really wanted. That was why she was here. Of course, getting her father out of prison would be helpful, but keeping her son safe; making sure that he wasn’t implicated in this mess, was her priority. Adonis should have known she was a parent the moment she walked in the door. Her protectiveness was written all over her face. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “You did the right thing. Especially because I can draft up some paperwork to make sure he doesn’t have to be questioned in private again. He’s much too young. No child should have to go through that. I’ll warn you, in court he most likely will be called to the stand. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure he doesn’t have to be up there long.”

He was good with kids, surprisingly. Being a dad had naturally come to him, and he had to put that on his own parents. They were caring, despite the fact that Don had never quite thought of himself as such. With Marcus, he was a different person. “The reason I’m asking is if no one actually saw anything, we have a case,” he said shrugging. “As of now, House Elves usually aren’t involved in these matters. They couldn’t tell the truth. Even under a spell.” Adonis leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. “If no one saw who killed your step-mother, how would they know who did it? Why are they only pinning it on your father?” He paused, raising a brow. “You see what I’m saying. If there’s anyone else that might have had some grudge against her… or if she had any ailments? It very well could have been an accident.”

“He’ll be—” Melaina shook her head, distress evident in the pleading look she sent the lawyer. “Is there no way to keep that from happening at all? He’s three, and this happened before his birthday. They get so easily confused at that age even without him blocking out traumatic memories.” With a little help from Auntie Freya, of course, not that Melaina had any intention of admitting she had allowed her friend to play about with her baby’s memories to make sure he wouldn’t have to live with that image. “I’d hoped he would be able to stay at home during the trial. Away from... all of that.” It was a relief, at least, to know she wouldn’t have to get the house-elves involved. Some families might have tried to implicate the house-elves in something like this, as the only beings certainly at the house, but Melaina had been relying on all three of them so much since finding herself on her own to look after the house and Theodore as well as her own busy life.

“Her wand. She was killed by her own wand. They have that with priori incantatum.” Melaina was fairly sure there was no way of arguing that Avada Kedavra could have been an accident so that was all she said on that point. “I don’t know of anyone who might have had any grudges against her. She was just... a mother.” Her teeth buried into her bottom lip. She trusted Adonis not to try and use her as someone else who would potentially have something against Fauna, the woman who had pretended to mother her child, but it was a theory she hoped the prosecution would never fall upon. Especially given how close it was to the real reason her father had decided it was time to silence his wife. “My father, though... You don’t get to his position on the Wizengamot without making a few enemies along the way. Perhaps that’s why they want to pin it on him.” In fact, it was a possibility but more because, as she had discovered as she got older, most of the investigation into her own mother’s death had pointed to her father having done it but the lack of hard evidence was what prevented a charge being made against him. This made it all to easy for people to draw comparisons between the two cases.

There were some shifts after which returning home immediately just weren’t possible, even when it was the sort of hour of the day nobody should be wandering around the streets. It wasn’t all miraculous recoveries and watching families be reunited in the hospital, however. There were people whose prognosis wasn’t so pleasant and scenes that weren’t so easy to watch and at the end of a night filled with such moments, the last thing Melaina wanted to do was to go home to a house filled with ghosts. Not actual spirits, but the haunted memories of life. The hollow reminder that her father wasn’t there, because he was at this point in Azkaban. Only her and her baby and the house-elves who were currently watching over him or preparing her a meal so that she could eat when she got home, or catching up on their own sleep.

who: open start. where: the local park. when: april 21, 1983.

Marlowe knew that she shouldn’t be out alone these days. It was late, and she was tired, but she had wanted to go for a run and she’d been too tired in the mornings. Still, here she was, by herself in the park, and while she was not an Order member she knew of the dangers. These days, anything could happen. These days, someone might think she were a seer or, just because of her last name, make assumptions. Marlowe knew they wouldn’t be entirely wrong, but being part of the Order was not something she was ready for. Not yet. She had to make sure Gideon was going to be okay; that Mia and Mary and Molly’s kids were alright. She had to make sure that someone was there, in case of disaster.

At the sound of footsteps, Marlowe slowed, turning to look over her shoulder only to jump at the sight of a familiar face. “Blimey,” she said, heart pounding. “Don’t do that! Don’t sneak up on people! Who taught you manners? A troll? Bloody hell.”

When Melaina first saw Marlowe, she did try to get her attention. A quiet hello that wasn’t enough to get the other’s attention, an awkward clearing of the throat when she didn’t want to try and shout, half a wave when she thought Marlowe had glanced her way, only to lower her hand again as she realised it was just the way the wind caught the woman’s hair.

After such a failure and not wanting to make a fool of herself in public by trying any more to get her attention, Melaina would usually walk away. Unfortunately, they were walking in the same direction, which led to her following her friend’s path through the park and just hoping that she noticed her before it became too awkward.

As such, Marlowe’s reaction to seeing her was absolutely the most mortifying experience she had lived through in a long time. All Melaina had been trying to do was avoid any bad manners involved in shouting across a park and being someone who was used to a life full of being praised for being perfection and there being absolutely no room for getting things wrong, Marlowe’s words stung. So much, in fact, that tears automatically sprang to her eyes. Melaina knew that she could fill a book with people who would scorn her if they saw her right now and she just had to hope that Marlowe wasn’t one of them. She hadn’t been that type back in school but, then again, they had all changed a lot since the comfort and sanctuary of the lack of politics in the Hufflepuff common room. “I apologise. I did not mean— I tried—” But she fell silent, as often felt the easiest course of action to her.

Barty could understand her logic which was cut and dry. “Of course. You’re absolutely right.” He didn’t mean to infer that they should brew the potion in any other room when they already have this room with that exact purpose. Maybe Melaina wouldn’t understand. She doesn’t have to hide her cause from her family after all. Except for her nephew. In fact, if Barty’s presumptions were correct, her father might be the only reason she’s part of the Death Eaters in the first place. ”I believe you,” he said. What else was there to say?

He gently placed the cauldron back down. Barty had always been careful with potion equipment. Moreso now that they weren’t using his. He made his way to inspect the other one and sure enough, it had no discernable smell to it. “I see. Shall I bring it to the center table then?” He turned and saw her reading a potions book. No doubt, she was trying to remember what steps were required to brew the potion. Barty didn’t peak over her shoulders. He has the process memorized. “I have yes. I find it very useful.” His first attempt was simply a test. It resulted in him walking around his room as a bum from the street of Diagon Alley for half an hour before reverting back. Once he mastered it, Barty started scheming for his father’s removal right away.

Melaina watched him over the top of the book as he inspected the cauldrons and found herself both satisfied and appeased by how he handled it. While it wouldn’t be too terrible a prospect to replace any broken equipment, it wouldn’t be insignificant in even the Nott family finances, particularly if they were to meet Melaina’s high standards of quality. She also saw a high correlation between taking care of potions equipment and having the right level of care and precision when brewing potions. She hadn’t been certain about undertaking this as a group project, particularly one with someone younger than her, someone Melaina wasn’t sure if she trusted considering his father, but his actions reassured her that he was taking this seriously at the very least. “Please,” she said. He had proven himself to be able to do that.

“I dunno, I’ve seen James and Lily raise Harry and it seems like luck is involved sometimes,” he said with a shrug. He knew the Potters were more than capable parents, but sometimes it did seem like luck. Luck that your kid went to bed early. Luck that your kid didn’t fling mashed peas all over the house. Luck that your kid wasn’t a complete arse. “I’m not saying the other two would shirk their duties,” he said in his best haughty Pureblood voice. “I just want to better the odds. Obviously we would raise all of our children to be perfect Pureblood children, no matter their title.”

He couldn’t tell if he had thrown her for a loop when he asked the question, but ever the diplomat, Melaina had a perfect answer at the ready. It was infuriating as much as it was thee fun of it. He wished he could crack the facade, but he was having great fun trying. “Doesn’t seem like an option when they set us up like this,” he said, dropping his own put on persona. He didn’t expect her to agree with him, but it was his opinion at least. He wasn’t sure if he’d actually want to marry, but he didn’t see how an arrangement like this would give way to any compatability.

Sirius tried to hold his tongue at the way she said his brother’s name. Even if they hadn’t been on the best of terms towards the end, Sirius still didn’t like hearing the laugh behind his name. “Yes, I suppose he was,” he said stiffly. He was still in school because he had been too bloody young and even if Sirius didn’t agree with his ideals, he at least wanted his brother to have had an adulthood. “Guess that’s where our parents differ. I think she would have married me off at age 6 if she could have.”

Melaina didn’t agree but she wasn’t one to argue or assert her opinions. Particularly if those opinions were likely to offend. After all, she was sure it would boil down to luck for a blood traitor and a muggleborn. After all, she was sure Sirius’ parents would have wanted to convince themselves he had been the result of bad luck rather than bad parenting. “Perhaps it is a conversation for at least when the first is on the way,” she suggested. That way they would never have to have that conversation.

She only smiled in response to his assertion. There was nothing to be said, really. What could she say of marriage? Love was not meant to be a factor but lack of love didn’t necessarily mean lack of compatibility, in her view. Marriage was such a distant concept to her, however, with both her father’s marriages lacking both love and compatibility and ending in the worst possible ways, so she really had no idea how an arranged marriage was supposed to foster respect, trust and tolerance between spouses.

A gentle nod of his head followed her words, and he was looking at the notepad, making sure that the quill crossed out my. Adonis knew that it must have taken a lot for her to say that word, that one simple word that would give away a secret she must have been keeping for ages. He could hear it in the way she whispered it, and while he was not in the mood for kindnesses these days, in this room he couldn’t help but feel as though she needed one. He would want one, after all, after an admission like that. Adonis refused to show surprise; refused to make her feel different after that admission.

“That’s… well, for lack of a better word, useful,” he said, leaning forward. “If someone else can say you weren’t there, and the only other witness is a child, we have no witnesses.” Adonis tilted his head ever so slightly, meeting her eyes. “Does anyone else know that Theodore was there? I don’t want to sugar coat it with you. The Prosecution will try to use the fact that he’s part of your family as bait, if they know. I can come up with counters, especially since he’s so young. Fortunately for us, the testimony of a small child doesn’t exactly hold up well in court.” And, at least, if it were to come up in a court room, Adonis would be ready. He wouldn’t let another child suffer from a family trauma. “Is there anything else we know from that day? Anyone else that might have been in the house? Might have seen your whereabouts?” He paused for a moment, leaning forward. “To be completely candid, I’m merely trying to poke holes in their case. Enough holes… well… The ship will sink.”

Melaina winced as she nodded. “I told the Auror who responded to my firecall that he had been there. I didn’t want to be answering questions about why I didn’t call straight away so I told her upfront that I had to get him away from the body. And she was so nice about it. She’s a mother herself and said it shouldn’t be necessary to stress him further by putting him through an interview so it wasn’t until later, when they came back in full force the next day and one of the other Aurors insisted on him being questioned that I thought... maybe I shouldn’t have told them he was there.” Was that something she should admit to considering? It was an admittance of wanting to withhold evidence in a way, after all. It was his warning that really worried her, however. She was loyal to her father, through and through, but at the end of the day if she had to choose between him and Theodore, she would throw her father to the dementors without a second thought.

“Nobody,” she said, then paused before correcting herself. “Well. The house-elves, although not until... after. When I told them to stay out of the drawing room so that the Aurors could work. I’m... sure others at work would be able to say I left late. But I’m not the one on trial.” She wanted to get her father off, but not by implicating herself in anyway. “How does it work if a house-elf is asked to testify? With them bound not to speak any ill of their families, does that mean their testimony will not hold up, either?” she asked, curiously. After all, she had told them to say her father hadn’t been home when the Aurors asked but she didn’t know if that meant they could stand up in court and commit perjury just because they were ordered to.