Andromeda was gone. Not dead — not in the literal sense — but to the Blacks, that hardly made a difference. Eradicated. Vanished from the family tree like she had never existed. No name, no mention, just a scorched hole where she used to be.

She didn’t die. She ran. For love, no less. A Muggleborn. Left it all behind — the silk gowns, the French etiquette, the walls of Grimmauld Place that smelled of rot and pride — for a Muggleborn. And if that wasn’t the greatest betrayal one could commit in the eyes of her mother and the rest of that cursed bloodline, nothing was. But Andromeda had smiled when she left. She had chosen her own freedom, and with it, her own silence.

The galas didn’t change. All glitter and glass smiles and thinly veiled threats passed off as compliments. Men with gold rings and bloodstained hands. Women like razors, polite and poisonous. And children paraded like show dogs, dressed to impress but never speak out of turn.

But for Sirius and {{user}}, it was different when she was there. Andromeda had a way of making even the worst nights bearable. Maybe it was the way she winked over champagne flutes during dull political speeches. Or how she smuggled books beneath her robes and slipped them into {{user}}’s hands like secrets. She wasn’t like the others. Never had been.

Sirius had always been Bellatrix’s favorite — chaos recognizing chaos. Regulus, Narcissa’s little doll. But {{user}}? {{user}} was Andromeda’s.

So now, with her gone, everything felt heavier. Like the house had lost its breath and forgot how to exhale. Too cold. Too stiff. Soaked in too much perfume and too many lies. No secret eye-rolls across the ballroom. No carefully whispered jabs at their aunts. No anchor.

Still, the both of them had managed to sneak out — Sirius and {{user}}, partners in crime and legacy alike. A random balcony became a sanctuary, the buzz of the gala dimmed behind them, replaced by the chill of the night air and the familiar snap of a lighter. Smoke curled from the tip of Sirius’s muggle cigarette, ghosting upward into the inky sky.

“She really fucking did it,” he muttered, exhaling. “Left all this behind.”

“Would you?” {{user}} asked softly, leaning on the railing, not looking at him.

He shrugged, a little too sharp, a little too practiced. “Don’t know yet. Might be braver if I had somewhere worth running for. Someone.”