A/N: So, I was looking through all the shit I have saved in my USB-and trust me, it's a lot-and I found this. It's something I had been working on a while ago-three months to be exact-but I never got around to posting it. I have no idea why I do this to myself, when I'm in the starting phases of my first-ever fanfic and I still haven't even finished half my homework, but , well, here you go. I have a few chapters already, so if there is interest in this story, I'll make sure to post them up soon.

Disclaimer: Read closely, because this is the only time I'm going to add one of these: I do not own Harry Potter.

Now that I've made that clear, happy reading!

Prologue

Have I made some horrible mistakes?

I lie wide-awake in bed, with my husband sleeping peacefully beside me, listening to the silence of the night: to the soft hooting of an owl soaring overhead, to the faint chirping of crickets. For several nights, I've had trouble sleeping. It is not going to bed that is the problem; I feel all the normal stages of weariness, the lack of focus that becomes more pronounced as the clock strikes closer to twelve. It is my thoughts that keep me awake, late at night.

I allow my mind to wander briefly to my daughter, but I know that Remus will never allow anything to happen to her, so I cannot blame my insomnia on her.

What is keeping me awake, even though I would never admit it aloud, is the thought of my sisters. I wonder if they are all right, wherever they are. Because despite everything Bellatrix and Narcissa have done throughout the years, they are my sisters, the missing parts to my whole.

My childhood, as I like to think, was magical and golden; it was definitely a much preferable time than the one in which we are now, where there is chaos and death and destruction. We used to wander around the gardens of our childhood home, Bellatrix, Narcissa and I, escaping from the tutors that were supposed to be preparing us for Hogwarts. There we let our imagination run wild, pretending we were princesses and knights, warriors of distant lands going off to war, adventurers exploring new and uncharted territories. It was more out of our need to escape our crude reality than anything else; we wanted to pretend, if at least for a moment, that we were somewhere other than trapped within the cold walls of the Black Manor, where the absence of our Father and blatant indifference of our Mother were a common occurrence.

I remember the scowling faces of the house-elves that tended to us, while our Mother indulged herself in having tea with the other elite women and our Father escaped to London for days at a time, attending to his business. I remember being punished for asking impertinent questions, the kind only small children have the courage to ask.

By no means am I saying that my parents were bad parents. Perhaps they were not perfect, but they were as good as they knew how to be, considering the way in which they had been brought up. I believe that my mother cared for us in the only way she knew how and I do not blame her for it, and neither do I blame my father. It was just the way things were done back then. They weren't ones to show much affection, but I do believe they loved us, in the only way they knew how.

Early in my marriage, when I expressed these thoughts to my husband, he said nothing, merely gave me an indulgent smile as he pressed a soft kiss to my temple. I know he thinks that I've overlooked all the bad things for the good, that I cannot see what my sisters have become. But I can and I do. What Ted doesn't realise, having had two loving parents and a close-knit family, is that when a child grows up in an environment much like the one in which I grew up, they cling to anyone that holds the same innocence as they do. In my case, it was my sisters.

My sisters and I are all close to age, only a year apart, and were rather close back then, closer than three sisters that are as different as day and night can be, brought together by the need to escape our crude reality. I know that, had our circumstances been different, my sisters and I might never have been as close as we once were.

When I think of them, I remember them just as they were in my childhood, before we were torn apart by war and the choices we've made, before we allowed ourselves to be changed by politics and men, before we were led down different paths.

I remember Bellatrix, with her mischievous smile and dark black eyes full of possibilities and magic, long before they lost their glow and turned into a deep abysm of insanity. Even then, she was quite beautiful and charming, something she used well to her advantage. She was my wild side, the one who talked me into doing things that would eventually lead us to trouble. She has always been confident, outspoken and every bit of insolent as I have heard endless people claim her to be. She has always had the ability to draw sheer numbers of followers to her, by the deep pull of her outgoing personality. There was nothing Bella would not do and telling her she could not only made her more determined to do it. To her, the world was full of possibilities and they were all hers for the taking. Even then, she had a certain thirst for power, as well as knowledge, and a brilliant mind, which, although I did not see it then, can easily be drawn into darkness by the sheer power of wanting more.

Bella and I look remarkably alike, a curse and a blessing all in itself. A blessing because whenever I miss my sister, all I have to do is look in the mirror and she is right there. And I do miss her, sometimes; I can't deny it. After all, she is my sister. But, as I said, it can be a curse as well, because whenever I see myself, I see her and I remember all the horrible things Bella has done throughout the years. I wonder, had things been different, would I have turned out like Bella? Had I not found solace in my books, that allowed me to broaden my mind, would I have also become a cold-blooded murderer? I like to lie to myself, sometimes, that no, because, even though Bella and I are similar in looks, we are very different from one another. I like to think that I was the balance Bella needed, her voice of reason although, being the middle child, she could easily manipulate me into doing things the way she wanted. By no means was I quiet, but I've always preferred to listen and observe rather than to make my opinions known.

Narcissa, being the youngest, was the most innocent of us all. She did as she was told, never asking such impertinent questions as I did, nor presenting any of Bella's boldness. She was the one you could always count on to be polite and educated and elegant in the company of others—'a perfect example of how a lady of society should act', my mother would always say. Even then, she was breathtakingly lovely, with her blond curls and crystalline blue eyes and delicately pale face, something she has always known and learned to use to her advantage. Countless men have made the mistake to underestimate my sister because of her beauty and this is, I believe, what has allowed her to continue being strong, despite her world falling apart around her.

If I think about it—and believe me, I have—I can pinpoint exactly the moment when we all started drifting apart, when these small cracks that would soon turn into deep holes that would separate us all started forming. For me, it was when a certain fourth-year Muggle-born Hufflepuff, with stunning blue eyes and an overly confident personality pulled me under the mistletoe and gave me the kiss that would cause me to question everything I believed I stood for.

For Bellatrix, it was when a then-handsome man with indescribably cold eyes stared into her defiant eyes as he tilted her chin up with a long, white finger and said nothing, just gave her a smile that would have sent shivers down anybody's spine, but in Bella seemed to release the monster she had been trying to hold back.

For Narcissa, it was when an arrogantly confident, handsome, blond boy with stunning grey eyes looked into hers and gave her a smile that held, at least for her, promises and perfection. Despite his cold appearance and everything that has come between them, I believe Lucius has always loved my sister and she has always loved him.

Sometimes, I wonder, had I tried harder, would we have drifted apart? Would Bellatrix have become the cold-blooded murderer she is now?

I only have to look back to know that it was inevitable. Because, as I have learned throughout my life, some things are just meant to happen.