"Private Reading," Andromeda, PG
Title: Private Reading Character(s): Andromeda Black, Cassandra Vablatsky (I have a bit of personal fanon wherein she taught Divination at Hogwarts before Trelawney). Implied Bellatrix/Andromeda and future Ted/Andromeda. Prompt: "glass moon" at 7spells Rating: PG Word Count: 656 Summary: When she left this room, she would know, for once and for all, whether she would ever break free of that which bound her. Author's Notes: Warning for implied incest
Andromeda tapped at the door and waited a moment, then pushed it open a sliver. Tendrils of perfumed smoke tickled at her nose. "Professor Vablatsky?"
"Miss Black." A smile, a real one if Andromeda guessed rightly, rippled across the wizened face. "You've come for a private reading, I suppose? Do come in. And please, pick your jaw up from the floor, my dear girl; I didn’t use my powers to sniff out what you wanted. I've taught here long enough; I know students. Always wanting a little glimpse into their future. Well, I'll give it to you, though I don't promise you'll like what you see."
"That's quite all right, Professor. I just…I have to know." Andromeda closed the door behind her. The click of the latch sent a shiver through her body. When she left this room, she would know, for once and for all, whether she would ever break free of that which bound her. She wasn't sure which answer she wanted, not really.
Professor Vablatsky shrugged and poured two cups of tea. The smell reminded Andromeda of a sodden pile of rotting leaves. She tried to keep her nose from wrinkling, but when Professor Vablatsky chuckled softly, she knew she'd failed.
"You'll be wanting sugar and milk in yours, I presume?"
They sat down at the small round table, the professor with her cup of murky green liquid, Andromeda with a concoction so full of milk and sugar it didn't look much like tea anymore.
Professor Vablatsky sipped her cup, set it down. She lightly ran her hands over the orb in the center of the table, which always called to mind a glass moon, some satellite from heaven fallen to earth by mistake. Andromeda saw her shiver, and thought of lessons: Remember, boys and girls, you can always tell a genuine crystal ball by its coldness.
"Do you need to know what my question is?"
"No, don't tell me; it'll influence my vision."
Andromeda breathed a sigh of relief. She'd been hoping she wouldn't have to spell out the whole sordid tale. She watched her teacher's eyes slip out of focus, saw them wander into the middle distance so that they didn't seem to really be looking at the crystal at all.
"A butterfly…in a cage. Simple enough, my girl: a soul in bondage."
Andromeda shivered again at that last word, and she knew it didn't just mean the ropes conjured by Incarcerous or the shattered silk scarves purloined from the attic at Black Manor. She knew it for truth, the heart of the matter, really.
"A serpent. Knowledge. Temptation. Poison."
Flash of Bella's wise taunting smile in the night; memory of lessons learned far too early and taught at an ungentle hand. Kisses like the sweet sticky taste of the apple you weren't supposed to eat.
"Unicorn. Innocence. Pure love. The horn is proof against poison. You must choose between the serpent and the unicorn, my girl."
But I don’t know anyone like that, and even if I did, it's too late for me, isn't it? "Which will I choose?"
Professor Vablatsky chuckled, and her eyes seemed to shift back into focus and see Andromeda again. "They always want to know which path they'll take, as if somehow I know better than they do. My girl, that's entirely up to you."
Andromeda wondered what it would be like: someone to ride into her life with pennons flying, someone with a simple and guileless smile. The kind of love that could transmute the poison and make even Andromeda Black white as snow again.
It's just a silly dream for children, she thought. She bit her lip and reminded herself that she was fifteen years old and that it would be ill-becoming to cry in the Divination classroom. "Thank you for the reading, Professor," she said, not quite able to keep the quiver out of her voice. "And the tea."