Four

The air seemed to have stifled inside the salon that evening even though the windows were open. Even as she was surrounded by a reasonable amount of people, Astraea felt herself fade away in the crowd. Her pleas to feel noticed went unheard by them amidst the sound of clinking wine glasses and the solemn music.

      She was wrong.

They perceived her, talked about her in hushed whispers. 

She never seemed to blend in with her kind. Her back arched awkwardly against the tight fabric, her brown eyes lost in some delightful dream, her fingers constantly worrying the satin bow on her waist, her wings longing to thrive. She was too chaste to be here, her heart wasn't corrupted with the depravity of her bloodline yet.

So they avoided her, oblivious of her deviating mindset.

Astraea longed to leave them behind, her wings ached to carry her away.

      "Fix your hair, dear, the Notts are watching," Walburga appeared behind her daughter, attempting to make her stand straight.

She lapsed away from her mother's grasp. She wished to hold on to pieces of herself. She wished to be herself, not a charlatan who longed to please her mother's antics.

      "Yes, mother," She nodded, finding her way to the bottom of the stairwell.

Slipping past the crowd was easy. They were irreclaimable in their corrupted palaver, their lips aching by falsifying radiant smiles, smiles rooted in envy and sprite. They took joy in others' misfortune.

All of them talked of the dark lord's fantasy of purification, erasing the muggle-borns from the wizarding world. They applauded the idea, agreeing amongst each other how a need for cleansing was overdue.

The war had raged too long, too gruesome. Her parents had talked about it with pride during dinner last night.

The pureblood families were gathered here tonight, the sacred twenty-eight, to discuss the turmoils the war had caused. The Blacks, being one of the prominent of the lots, were proud to host this gathering.

She began her climb up the stairs, the noise died away as she moved higher. For a moment, she was moving heavenward, leaving the dull chatter behind. The arched windows facing the landing showed a calm landscape outside. The grey sky opened into the heavens, snow falling gently into the ground.  

A small smile spread on her face as she recalled what Aanya had told her the day they walked to their herbology class before the holidays.

      "It's wet and cold, gives me horrible leg cramps."

It was her, whose heart felt cramped in her absence, longing to see her face again. She wished she was back in the library with her again.

An unexpected movement behind her caused her to turn around. Relief flooded through her when she realized that it was just her brother.

      "You're supposed to be downstairs." She frowned.

Sirius gave her a bitter smile, shaking his head.

       "So are you," He answered simply.

She smiled. They rarely got time to talk in peace. She walked up to her brother, occupying the empty space in the step beside him.

      "Maker, we stick out like sour thumbs out there." He laughed. There was a twinge in his voice. It didn't go unnoticed by her.

Sirius was like her, luminous eyes and moonlit smiles. He had the courage to do what he dared, intriguing her always. Will he fly away soon?

      "Better be sore thumbs than brainwashed losers," He continued. His smile comforted her.

She knew he was referring to Regulus. He, on the other hand, had mastered the ability to be one of them. He moved from person to person, flashing his perfected smile and false niceties. Regulus was like her, a charlatan, pretending to be someone he was not.

      "At least, the thumbs are still in the hand for now." She offered finally.

Sirius smiled, there was a melancholy in his smile.