A/N: Quick note before we begin! A number of you may have already read this. This was originally posted back in August, with much hesitation, because, much as I liked this fic, something felt off about it. I just didn't know what. Very recently, I was hit with sort of an epiphany about what I thought was wrong about it (at least one major thing; I'm still not happy with parts of it, but I'm happier)—mainly the way I'd posted it. So. This isn't going to be a one-shot anymore, but a fic with seven very short chapters. The only part that will have changed in any significant way at all is Andromeda's part and even that is similar to the original. But, in any case, thanks to all of you who read and/or favorited and/or reviewed this while it was still in its one-shot form! Also, thanks all of you who have read this ridiculously long author's note! And please leave a review telling me what you think! Also, this entire fic should be uploaded within the next two weeks.
Disclaimer: This is all J.K. Rowling's. The characters and the reasons for their disownment were taken from the Black Family Tree. It's not mine.
The Black Family in Seven Parts
"You're leaving," Elladora said flatly as she stood outside the room.
Isla's head shot up to look her sister in the eye. Elladora looked as she always did. Every hair was in place, her robes were perfectly pressed and her make-up perfectly applied.
Next to her, Isla felt ugly and low. She knew that her hair was a mess, completely falling out of the bun she had put it in just an hour ago. Her dress was wrinkled and she had gotten a grass stain on it that morning when she had tripped chasing after the dog who had stolen the laundry their poor house-elf had been trying to hang on the line. She knew her face was red and sweaty and that she looked flustered.
"I—yes," Isla finally replied, deciding that it would be useless to try and lie about it.
Her trunk was half-packed (if flinging everything she could get her hands on into the trunk could truly be called packing, Isla thought glumly) and her room in more of a disarray than usual. It was painfully obvious what she was doing.
"Why?" Elladora asked, her face a study in disinterest.
Isla huffed, "Because."
It was a bad answer. An awful answer. It wasn't even a complete sentence. But Isla had never been good at thinking on her feet in times of pressure.
Isla wasn't good at a lot of things. She couldn't flirt like Elladora did, or look as pretty and put together or as poised either. She wasn't as smart as her brother Phineas and she didn't have his great ambition and motivation. She wasn't as gentle and graceful as her mother and, while her father could pull off aloof and arrogant, she couldn't if her life depended on it.
She didn't fit in here, in this world of perfection and grace. She was clumsy, and stumbled over her words and had to work really hard to get good grades at school. Whenever she was at home, she could just feel people's eyes on her, telling her that she wasn't good enough. That she didn't belong.
So, she was leaving.
"It's because of that boy, isn't it? That Hitchens," Elladora speculated scornfully. "That useless boy who always had his hands in the dirt and constantly blew things up in class."
"He's not useless!" Isla snapped before she could stop herself. "He's perfect! And he loves me and we're going to get married!"
Bob had asked her to marry him last week, when she had pretended to be sick so that she could sneak out and see him. She hadn't said yes, but Bob had smiled and given her the ring-the beautiful silver ring-anyway and told her that it was hers and, if she changed her mind, he'd be waiting for her. Isla had changed her mind.
Bob never made her feel as though she weren't good enough, as though she were a disappointment, like her mother and father did. He never scorned her when she tripped or stumbled over her words or couldn't figure something out in class, like her brother had throughout all their years at Hogwarts. Instead, Bob helped her or told her funny stories about when he'd done something similar. He made her feel as though she weren't worthless and Isla was so, so tired of feeling worthless.
"You're going to—Isla! That's ridiculous!" Elladora sputtered. "He's a mudblood! You can't marry him!"
But she could. And she would.
Isla closed her trunk and gave Elladora a long look, for once feeling as though, maybe, she wasn't beneath her perfect older sister.
"Good-bye, Elladora," she said, pulling her trunk behind her as she swept out of her room and out of the life where she had never been worth anything.