Selenophile

Chapter 1

1961- Part 1

"You've settled an agreement, I presume?" Amabel Lestrange came to a halt in the doorway of her husband's study.

"Indeed," he looked up from his paper, "she is to be married to the youngest Black once they're of the proper age."

"The youngest?" Amabel frowned, "not the heir?"

"The future Lord Black has already been promised to Lucretia Rowle," Roderic Lestrange sighed, "this was the only option if we wished to maintain our agreement with the Black family."

"Haven't we already fulfilled the agreement?" Amabel argued, "Rodolphus and Rabastan are betrothed to the two eldest Black sisters, why must Pandora marry into their family?"

"Amabel, they were expecting a son for their youngest," Roderic said sharply, "Cygnus and Druella were not pleased that we couldn't provide one. They've had to promise Narcissa Black to the Malfoy's boy."

"We could try for another," Amabel began, "I can produce another son, I swear it."

"Narcissa Black is already six years old," Roderic said, "even if we had a boy this time, it would've been too late, trying for another one would do us no benefit. The girl is already too old."

"But-" she tried.

"Enough," Roderic held up a hand, "I will not hear anymore of this. The matter is settled. Our daughter will marry Orion and Walburga's son and that is the end of it. Now leave me."

Silently, she turned on her heel and strode down the corridor to the nursery.

"Madam Lestrange, Zinkie has put the little miss in her bassinet," the house elf bowed deeply, "Master Rodolphus' trunk has been packed, and he and Master Rabastan are in the library, does Madam need any assistance?"

"No, that is all," Amabel dismissed, pushing past the elf into the nursery.

Laying in the center of the bassinet was a perfectly swaddled infant, wisps of blonde combed down on her head.

Pandora Ophelia Lestrange

The silence hung heavily in the air.

Amabel frowned as the baby's face scrunched before relaxing once again.

The baby was perfect, with big brilliant blue eyes, round flushed cheeks that contrasted against her porcelain skin, and hair so blonde it nearly looked white.

She was different in nearly every way from Amabel's two sons, who had dark hair, tanned complexions and dark eyes.

It unsettled Amabel greatly, the beauty of the child she had bore, she was afraid that it would surpass her own. The debt of time had been catching up with her in recent years, lines were creasing across her forehead and streaks of silver were now visible in her dark, dulling hair.

With one last glance at the sleeping infant, she left, closing the door behind her.

"Zinkie!" She called.

"Yes, Mistress," the house elf appeared a second later.

"Fetch Roldolphus and Rabastan to my chambers," she demanded.

The elf disappeared with a snap.

Only a few moments after she had arrived in her sitting room, her two sons shuffled in, closing the door with a loud bang.

"Rabastan!" Amabel scowled, "what have I said about the doors!"

"Sorry, Mother," the nine year old said with a mischievous smirk.