Andromeda Black’s generally pretty face wore an uncharacteristic scowl, and her eyes fiery with an anger the likes of which did not burn in them often - she was, by nature, a reserved person, and she associated, for the most part, with people she knew well, people who were not likely to incur her wrath. Her sisters were, of course, an exception - as the scene that now unfolded clearly narrated.

“I am not going!” the second of the famed Black sisters announced, stamping her foot on the elegantly-tiled, wooden floor. [The floor must have been pretty hurt by such a treatment: it was used to careful polish, and the click of expensive shoes -- ironically, mostly high heels that belonged to not-so-nice people.]

At the foot of the staircase, Bellatrix hitched her silk wrap over her shoulders, her manner calculatedly cool, her tones calmer than the gentles of winds when she spoke. “You will have to, Dromeda.” She might have been explaining, to a pretty child, that two plus two must always equal four. No exceptions.

“I do not see the need,” Andromeda returned haughtily, throwing back her head. It would be wrong to say she was not a Black - there were few others who could be as arrogant as her, when the time to show such a side arrived. “You know just as well as I do that the Castles are stuck-up snobs who hate the Blacks. What is the point of attending their ball, then?” Yes, that was Andromeda Black: logic speaking out loud.

Logic that aggravated her elder sister.

“It is one of the best balls the Wizarding World sees each year,” Bellatrix snapped, her cool breaking and anger setting in. “To refrain from attending would be to invite a scandal – The presence of the Blacks on a ball of such prestige is necessary.”

“You’ve got mom’s bug,” Andromeda said, rolling her eyes. “You know that bug she has? Of speaking grand words - even French and Latin, which she knows fully well I am not well-versed with - and not just simple English that normal human beings can understand? You know, don't you? Besides,” and now her eyes acquired something of a mischievous glint. "Scandal is delicious. The stuff drama is made of."

“They are already talking about you, Dromeda,” Bellatrix pressed on, absolutely ignoring the major part of Andromeda’s remarks - though they remained in her memory, ready to be used as quick weapons, any vulnerable moment in the future. “About how much of a disappointment you are turning out to be. Cissy is foolish, too, but at least she believes in the Black pride and nobility. You go too far.”

“You know what?” Andromeda said coldly - she might not have agreed with many of her family's ideals, but she prided on being a Black, and it stung to be told she did not live up to the standard of one. “You’re R-I-G-H-T, right! I don’t give a you-know-what about it! It’s who you are, not what your family name or your blood lineage is, Bella!" Her tones were fast escalating, for she did not have the cold, calculated control over her anger that came very naturally to her elder sister. "Dang you, dang the Blacks and their stupid -”

“Dromeda, this is not a game!" Bellatrix cut through, very coldly. Honestly, the stuff her sister talked, sometimes. You would think she came from some sort of rundown shack, not a House of the Blacks. "Come down at once.”

“Tell mother I’ll be in my room if she needs me to cook or something. Because I, for one, will not be forced to go this ball.” There was the sound of flats clicking across the floor, and Andromeda Black had disappeared from sight.