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Excerpts from Unearthing Our Spiritual Past: Historical Research Into Pre-Christian Wizarding Beliefs by Millicent Bulstrode (2007).
The Old Religion, or the “old ways” as fervent believers are wont to whisper breathy tones, is really an amalgamation of beliefs and traditions with a history as old and as complicated as the British Isles themselves. Born in Ancient Greece and spread through conquest and migration, the Old Religion practiced in the United Kingdom and Ireland borrows heavily from Roman and Hellenistic traditions and Celtic folklore (“Introduction”, p. 1).Unlike the organized and standardized doctrines that Muggles practice, there is no central dogma or scripture to help indoctrinate new believers into the Old Religion. Most initiates are simply born into the faith and taught by their elder members of their practicing families. For those few who are proselytized or attempt to convert without guidance, little to no texts exist as a resource: most traditions and rituals are preserved through family lore and oral history. Though some modern texts have previously claimed to expose the secrets of the Old Religion, these are either scandalously altered for the sake of furthering certain political bents [the author would like to note that more than a few 'seminal' texts were published on the eve of crucial Wizengamot votes] or utilized as a poorly-disguised vessel for slanderous gossip [see Rita Skeeter’s 1987 exposé Bathing in the Moonlight and Other Naughty Noble Stories]. (“Faith Without Guidelines”, p. 19).Those in possession of ancient manuscripts have zealously guarded them for centuries, not only because of their priceless nature, but also due to the memory of thousands of texts lost to the bonfires of the witch hunts. For the first time in modern history, the wards on these Most Ancient and Noble family libraries have been metaphorically lifted. For the purpose of this research, sponsored by L’École magique des sciences sociales de Paris, the author was granted access to multiple previously-unseen manuscripts dating back to the Roman conquest. In conjunction with interviewing longtime practitioners, this research aims to demystify the beliefs and practices of the Old Religion in order to lend a better understanding to the spiritual fundamentals of wizarding society (“Faith Without Guidelines”, p. 21).  
Tonks Residence, Oxfordshire

Beltane, May 1, 1999
The steady warmth emanating from Andromeda's crackling fireplace was a far cry from the raging Beltane bonfires of her youth.Fascinated by the cheerful dance of flickering flames, little Teddy rapidly toddled over to the sooty hearth as fast as his chubby legs could take him—only to be abruptly stopped by the magical barrier his grandmother had the foresight to put in place. Plopping unto his bottom, the little boy scrunched his button nose in surprise. In the blink of an eye, his nut-brown curls brightened to an unnatural shade of orange, undulating vertically atop his head."Oh, Teddy darling," sighed Andromeda Tonks, but she was too busy levitating large serving dishes to pick the boy up. "Harry, could you please strap him into the high chair?"Teddy gurgled and tugged at luminescent hair, delighted by the turn of events.Andromeda's maternal heart constricted at the sound. Despite all that had elapsed over the past few years, her grandson was a happy baby, so achingly reminiscent of her Dora as an infant. Just a year old, Teddy’s cheeky laugh and dimpled smile were already his most prominent Tonks features."I've never even heard of Beltane before, Mrs Tonks," revealed Harry, scooping up his impish godson with capable arms and settling Teddy on his hip. "Even 'Mione couldn't tell me much about it."This change of perspective quite suited Teddy, who immediately began pulling at the buttons on Harry's corduroy jacket. Though Andromeda eyed the worn outer garment critically, she bit her tongue.In the year following the Battle at Hogwarts, she'd grown fond of the Potter boy. She even came to regard him as something like a nephew; they were, after all, technically related by way of his paternal grandmother. Out of respect for Harry, Andromeda would never harangue the unassuming boy into buying some decent new clothes. Oh, but sometimes she desperately wanted to—especially when he insisted on wearing oversized hand-me-down Muggle clothing. It wasn’t as if Harry could not afford anything nicer.Born into a societal class clinging on to their last shreds of old grandeur, Andromeda had grown up hearing about the fortune tucked away inside the Potter vaults. The estate had only doubled in size with the tidy sum Charlus Potter inherited from his Uncle Fleamont. Not that any decent pure-blood witch would sully their bloodline for ghastly merchant money, but envious whispers acknowledged it was a substantial amount of galleons—potentially enough to rival the Malfoy fortune. Certainly, Andromeda thought, Harry’s inheritance should have been enough for him to purchase clothing without any previous owners. Then and there, she decided to gift him a dragon-hide jacket for his upcoming birthday. Circe knows Sirius would have approved."Well, you've always been at Hogwarts for it," replied Andromeda, putting the finishing touches on a table piled with enough food to put even Molly Weasley to shame. It was an extravagance for her usually middle-class budget, but Andromeda knew she would send Harry away with enough leftovers to feed him and the Granger girl for at least two weeks."But Dumbledore never celebrated it at Hogwarts—""Headmaster Dumbledore, may he rest in peace, was never quite keen on our old ways," interrupted Andromeda, quick to nip any Dumbledore talk in the bud. Although she’d never faltered in her allegiance to her daughter and, by extension, the Order of the Phoenix, Andromeda’s upbringing made her wary of the hero-worship surrounding the late headmaster. Brilliant wizard the man had been, but always so distrustful of any deep-rooted traditions that would undermine his own vision for a progressive wizarding society."Originally, we shared some of these beliefs with Muggles," she explained gently, remembering when it had been Dora on the receiving end of the tale. "But then time passed, and the world changed, and eventually most wizarding families adopted newer Muggle customs. By the time I was a little girl, the only ones to practice the old rites were the pure-bloods."Harry eyed the fireplace warily, a slight frown pulling at his mouth. "So is Beltane… Dark?"Andromeda sighed, slightly exasperated. There was not much to recommend her upbringing, since the Blacks were known for their less-than-stellar parenting. However, Andromeda could admit that her family had been much more comprehensive on teaching the nature of Magic. Certainly far more instructive than any professor ever hired by Albus Dumbledore—barring her own son-in-law, of course."Of course not," Andromeda explained, careful to avoid condescension. "Beltane goes back to the days of primitive Magic, before our kind developed ways to use it for harm. It’s meant to be a happy time, for celebrating life and youth and new beginnings."With a flick of her wand, a floral arrangement of primrose blooms, rowan berries, and hawthorn branches daintily settled itself above the doorway. "It isn’t much, but this will have to do," she declared, speaking more to herself than her guest.Harry looked thoughtful. "Did you celebrate every year with your family? With Tonks and, er, Mr Tonks?""Well, we did, or at least Ted and I tried to…" Andromeda trailed off. Over a year after her husband’s death, a dull pain blossomed inside her chest, reawakening like an old injury. Even Teddy’s sunshine could not soothe the gaping wound that had been carved out by the loss of their family. Its constant presence was reassuring, a faithful reminder that they had been happy and whole once. "Last year's festivities were interrupted, for obvious reasons," Andromeda continued, cold steel hardening her words.The previous May, the Tonks’ meagre Beltane celebrations had ground to a halt as a silvery hyena bounded into her living room, the Patronus effectively silencing all dinner conversation. Newborn Teddy had been delighted at its appearance, his chubby fingers reaching for the luminous wisps of magic.Remus was the first to answer Fred Weasley's call to arms, despite all attempts to discourage him from charging into battle after weeks of malnourishment and fatigue. With the full moon only ten days away, it was a risk for even a talented dueller like Andromeda’s son-in-law.Their newborn son coddled in her arms, Dora looked torn between asking Remus to stay or charging into battle with him. But the hard-headed werewolf would not be dissuaded from joining the fight, even as Dora whispered urgently into his ear and baby Teddy whimpered at the sound of their quiet argument. Sombre expression starkly pale against her pink hair, Dora reluctantly gave Remus her blessing to leave. "If you need help, call for me and I will come to you," she murmured within his embrace.In retrospect, Andromeda knew that to be the moment she lost her daughter. As a mother, she should have realized that her impetuous Nymphadora—her brave little girl who earned her scars fearlessly fighting bullies on the playground—would not be content to wait and sit quietly while her husband risked his life.By midnight, Dora’s patience had reached a breaking point.In the months following the battle, whenever she closed her eyes to sleep, Andromeda could still see herself arguing, imploring, even begging her headstrong daughter to stay. Nightly, those visions held her hostage. And every night, without fail, Dora cuddled and kissed her infant son goodbye, the optimism in her voice faltering ever so slightly."Take care of him until I return," Dora instructed, her eyes blazing with determination, before wrapping her slender arms around Andromeda tightly. "Love you, Mum."Just before the valerian tonic finally kicks in, Andromeda’s last recollection is the strength of Dora's final, fierce embrace before disappearing from their lives with a sharp crack.A year after that fateful night, Teddy’s whimpers brought her back from the swirl of memories. The little boy cried for his grandmother to take him from Harry's arms, "Nana!" His young godfather had fallen silent, most likely submerged in his own recollections of the previous May.Harry had become withdrawn in the weeks approaching the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, preferring the quiet solitude of Grimmauld Place to the overwhelming grief that hung heavy over the Burrow. To lift his spirits, Andromeda had invited the Potter boy to celebrate with her and Teddy at her home.With the looming prospect of a highly-publicized memorial at Hogwarts, Harry had been roped into the role of honoured guest by the imposing Augusta Longbottom. Following the end of the war, Mrs Longbottom established herself as Chairwoman of the Ladies' Society Fundraising Committee for the Hogwarts Reparations Trust. Wielding her family influence and formidable headwear, Madame Longbottom had selected a motley party of reputable witches to aid her efforts—including Mrs Andromeda Tonks (née Black).The Fundraising Committee had planned a large and lengthy event filled with speeches to commemorate the dead from both wars, as well as enough food to feed both attendees and Hogwarts staff and students. To his chagrin, Harry was scheduled to give a speech—an error from which Andromeda was unable to dissuade the committee—as well as unveil a large memorial plaque at the entrance of the Great Hall.To atone for the massive, public, and most likely overwhelming event Harry would suffer through, Andromeda had planned Beltane as a private time for them to mourn the past—all the while embracing new beginnings.After all, Beltane was about youth, fresh life, and rebirth.Taking her whimpering grandson from Harry's arms, Andromeda strapped a gurgling Teddy into his high chair, leftover from Dora's infancy. Fixing Teddy a plate of mushy foods, easy on his sensitive baby gums, she also handed Harry a plate of his own in the process: "Here, help yourself to anything you’d like."The boy gratefully heaped mounds of succulent roast chicken, tender carrots and peas, and fluffy mashed potatoes. Not exactly a traditional Beltane spread of fruit and wine, but Andromeda supposed it would have to do.While Harry wolfed down her cooking, Andromeda spoon-fed Teddy mashed potatoes that he diligently spat out on to his high chair and smeared on his face. Occasionally, she would spare a glance at the young boy—no, young man—who sat at her dinner table.Despite having met James Potter only once in his youth, there was no mistaking the uncanny physical resemblance between father and son. Same handsome thin face, dishevelled midnight hair, and lanky-muscled frame.However, to her eye, it was Remus Lupin's influence that became the most apparent to Andromeda. Upon meeting the Boy-Who-Lived, she had recognized the same starved look in his eyes: a hunger for family, friends, and unconditional love. Unbeknownst to Harry, who’d attempted to hide embarrassed tears upon first meeting his godson, Andromeda had looked at the Potter boy with quiet approval.In Harry, she identified the quiet strength she had come to appreciate in Remus—sincere humility, awkward charm, and unwavering dedication. As much as Andromeda had enjoyed meeting young James, whose mischief had rivalled and complemented that of her cousin Sirius, it was these humble qualities that made Harry all the dearer to her.And, more than anyone else in Andromeda's life, Harry understood the importance of family above all."Have you heard anything from the Malfoys recently?" she inquired politely, during a lull of conversation in the meal.Andromeda used a cloth napkin to wipe away a smear of mushy peas from Teddy's cheek, since the toddler had yet to master hand-to-mouth coordination.Once Harry paused and swallowed a forkful of flavourful roast, he shook his head apologetically. "Malfoy's still being monitored as far as I know, but Mrs Malfoy hasn't been seen or heard from in a while. I'd say she left for the continent like many of the others, but well…" he hesitated, green eyes pausing on Teddy."You doubt she'd leave Draco?" Andromeda asked frankly."Very doubtful," agreed Harry.Cissa's loyalty to her son was infamous, to say the least. Though Andromeda felt she’d failed as an elder sister on many counts, Cissa’s fierce love for her child was one trait to be proud of."Well, you're right of course," she replied, setting aside Teddy's finished dinner. He'd done enough fingerpainting for the night.With a flick of her wand, she summoned an envelope which soared into her hands from a bookshelf. On the back was a broken wax seal, emerald green inlaid with the Malfoy family crest. "This arrived with the morning owl," Andromeda informed him. "Narcissa… Well, my sister says she would like to see me."She extended the letter for Harry's perusal, knowing it contained no sensitive information—the Black family was careful to treated all correspondence as potential blackmail. It was a concise missive, a courteous but stiff invitation to Narcissa's new residence, presumably still within Britain. An address would be provided upon RSVP.Although Andromeda had checked for any Dark magic on her own, Harry still performed a few simple detection charms he'd learned during Auror training. Pale swirls of magic misting peacefully over the parchment, the letter gave no sign of being a curse, a trick, or a trap."It appears to be clean," he declared, scanning the contents."I thought so too," she agreed, and Teddy burped in chorus. "It doesn't seem forged either."Returning the letter to its intended recipient, Harry leaned over to pick up Teddy, who had speedily crawled over to his favourite visitor once released from the abhorred high chair."Would you consider seeing Mrs Malfoy?" he asked carefully.Before losing both daughter and husband in less than a year, Andromeda would have never even considered acknowledging such an intrusive question—let alone from a young man whose connections to the Black family were tangential at best.Andromeda Black's strained relationship with her family was a subject those closest to  her had learned not to broach. Even Ted, who had always carried some guilt over what his wife had chosen to sacrifice, rarely found Andromeda willing to discuss her feelings on the matter. And Ted had been her best friend, whose absence she still felt every day of her life.But the Potter boy, Harry, had become something of an exception in Andromeda’s lonely new life—a special case if you will. Not only had she had come to rely on Harry for help with raising a rambunctious Teddy, but Harry had also been the sole witness to a significant moment between the two remaining Black sisters.Simply put, Andromeda did not know what possessed her to go to the Malfoy trial.One of the most publicized events of the year, the wizarding public was almost bloodthirsty in its desire to witness the fall of one of its most revered families. With the Dementor's Kiss barred as a possible sentence, the crowds gathered outside the courtroom and demanded 'Life! Life! Life!' as the Malfoys entered the courtroom to face justice.The trial was nothing short of mayhem.In that foreboding tribunal chamber located within the bowels of the Ministry, the victims of Lucius Malfoy and his cronies called for his incarceration as the prosecution rolled out an unfathomably long list of crimes. Widows, orphans, and bereaved friends and relatives testified to the depravities of the Dark Lord and his faithful followers. The Wizengamot would then determine in which of those offences had Lucius and his son been involved.Unfortunately for them, the Malfoy men were tried simultaneously rather than as separate cases for expediency's sake (a decision the Granger girl had unsuccessfully protested in court, alleging a violation of due process). The final effect was disconcerting.Unlike the raving Lestrange brothers who preceded them, father and son stood stony—faces marble-white yet unflinching as allegations were hurled at them. Their Malfoy glamour had lost its characteristic sheen: expressions drawn and pale, platinum hair white and dull, and quicksilver eyes shuttered against the prying gaze of the Wizengamot.As regal as a painted Madonna, Narcissa sat with the public, surrounded by Aurors to separate her from the masses clamouring for restitution, directly across from Andromeda. Following the revelation of her role in the Boy-Who-Lived’s survival and triumph, Narcissa Malfoy had become a polarizing public figure, redeemed and mistrusted in equal measure. Though Mrs Malfoy appeared to be unshaken by proceedings, Andromeda watched the intensity in her sister’s dark gaze, never straying far from her only child.Utter silence descended when Harry took the stand, testifying in favour of Narcissa and her son. Despite Narcissa not being on trial, his defence of the mother was impassioned, recalling that without her intervention he would not have been able to defeat Voldemort. To the audience's discomfort, he reminded them that Narcissa Malfoy's love for her son had been a direct catalyst for the victory over Voldemort.Draco Malfoy, Harry argued, was a pawn in the game of men far more powerful, cunning, and mercenary than him. The Malfoy heir was a disposable player in the plans of You-Know-Who. Even Dumbledore realized that Draco had only been set up for failure—Draco had never fought to win the war, only survive it.On Lucius' behalf, Harry spoke sparsely and straightforwardly. Although his house and Gringotts account had been at You-Know-Who's disposal, toward the end Lucius was rarely an active participant in Voldemort's schemes. The man's fall from grace after the attack on the Ministry had rendered him inconsequential in the eyes of the Dark Lord. Ultimately, Lucius Malfoy was a self-serving coward who had renounced Voldemort while he was still alive, in order to search for his only son (although just prior to Voldemort’s defeat, as any self-respecting Slytherin would).It was a powerful, memorable testimony that would eventually spare the Malfoys, whose last-minute switch in alliances had indebted Harry to them. It was also, Andromeda knew, not a testimony entirely of Harry's crafting. His friend Hermione, incensed by the Wizengamot's dismissal of her objection to group trials, had coached Harry relentlessly and now sat fuming in the seats reserved for the public.Whilst the members of the Wizengamot deliberated in tense murmurs, the media, the accused, and the witnesses sat with bated breath. With her sister still seated beside the Malfoy solicitor, only Andromeda noticed how Cissa held herself absolutely rigid, lily-white hands clasped in the folds of her silk robes. Her lips moved minimally but rapidly, as if she was whispering to herself.Andromeda knew better—her sister was praying to Her.In the end, it was the testimony of another Hogwarts student, Terry Boot, that played a deciding factor in Draco's sentencing. Although the Death Eaters' spawn were expected to partake in the Carrows' punishments, no students punished by Draco ever experienced anything more severe than a sharp Stinging Hex. Most often, like Boot himself, they were subject to a mildly disfiguring jinx before being summarily sent on their way and instructed to keep quiet. The pattern only became apparent after Dumbledore’s Army—Andromeda internally snorted at Harry’s chosen name for his own loyal followers—compared notes.The Wizengamot came to a decision: no Kiss for either man, but five years of probation for Draco and a ten year Azkaban sentence for Lucius, contingent upon his cooperation in testifying against his fellow Death Eaters. Draco would be required to return to Hogwarts to finish his schooling and help with the reconstruction efforts. [1]Bedlam ensued in the courtroom as photographers and journalists alike erupted into a flurry of flashes and scribbling Quick-Quotes Quills. The Acting Chief Warlock, Griselda Marchbanks, was forced to call for order since the next defendant, Mulciber, was still awaiting trial.The next morning, the front page of the Daily Prophet was emblazoned with a picture of Malfoy Sr.'s brief whispered goodbye to his wife and son before being whisked away into custody. It was then, right before the Aurors came to escort mother and son from the room, that Andromeda finally made eye contact with her sister.What struck her the most was not the sheer vulnerability in Cissa's eyes (already disturbing enough in her usually glacial sister), but the split second it took for her sister to recognize her.All of a sudden, the years of distance and silence between them had never felt as real and as tangible. Despite being sisters, born of the same womb and to the same House, Andromeda felt as if their separation had rendered Cissa a stranger.The gaping vacuum inside her chest created by her family's deaths, which left her without breath at the most inopportune moments, immediately expanded as Andromeda realized the true scope of her own loss. Since her marriage, Andromeda had never felt faint, but for a split second, she was seventeen again and struggling to breathe. Not only had she lost the dead, she'd also lost the living.Andromeda did not even notice that she was swaying on her feet until she felt the warm, steadying hand of the Potter boy on her shoulder. And so to Harry, and only Harry, would Andromeda ever consider giving the answer to such a personal question."Yes," she replied resolutely, heart softening as she looked at Teddy in Harry's arms.Harry nodded. "Then whatever you need, you can count on me, Mrs Tonks."  Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London
New Moon, July 3, 1970
"Andromeda, must you be so rude to Rabastan Lestrange?" demanded an exasperated Aunt Walburga, sweeping into the drawing-room in a swirl of velvet robes, with all the airs of an injured countess. For reasons unknown to Andromeda, her aunt unfailingly wore dark velvet to each Deipnon dinner, even in that summer's unseasonable heat."Andromeda darling, sarcasm is just so unbecoming in a young lady," Grandmother Irma Black helpfully chimed in, already seated in her usual armchair by the fireplace. The night was too warm for a fire, but Aunt Walburga always insisted on being contradictory. "In my day, Amelia Greengrass' entire engagement was called off because she was uncouth enough to attempt a joke at dinner."Aunt Cassie, Irma's sister-in-law, snorted in derision: "That wasn't because of a joke. It was because Amelia Greengrass was caught in a broom closet with her legs around a half-blood and her knickers around her ankles."Grandmother Irma’s pale thin cheeks flushed in distaste, and Aunt Cassie crowed mockingly: "Why Irma, is your memory failing already?"Seventeen-year-old Andromeda Black hid an unladylike snort from her viperous elders, knowing that her mother would not shield her from Walburga if things got nasty—and they so often did, whenever the entirety of the Black clan descended upon Grimmauld Place.After a particularly excruciating Deipnon dinner, one of the few times so many Blacks could be persuaded to convene in Aunt Walburga's ridiculous townhouse fortress, the ladies and gentlemen of the party had retired to separate rooms. In Uncle Orion's private study on the third floor, the men were off to puff on imported cigars and gamble away Galleons that only wizards of their standing could afford to spare. Other pure-blood families were more modern, like Andromeda’s Rosier cousins, who retired together for drinks in their library, but the Black witches were sticklers for tradition.In the opulent second-floor drawing-room, the ladies gathered for coffee, digestifs, and scathing gossip. The most recent subject of interest was the Lestrange men, the family of Bella's abhorrent new fiancé. Ever since Father and Mother had formally announced Bella's betrothal at the previous Beltane, the Lestranges—specifically Rabastan—had been simply impossible to escape. The ink had barely dried on Bellatrix's engagement contract before Rodolphus' younger brother had unsubtly begun to drop his own heavy hints towards Andromeda.Purposefully seated beside her during dinner, Rabastan had immediately attempted to ensnare Andromeda for every social event of the upcoming season. Under the watchful gaze of her delightful family, she'd successfully parried every invitation with a myriad of excuses before he tried to secure her as his date for the Malfoys' Yule Ball. She'd been unable to conjure up an excuse for an event so far in the future (it was still only July, for Circe’s sake) but Andromeda was saved by the scraping of chairs as Uncle Orion hastily adjourned the dinner party.Before Rabastan could continue to harangue her, Andromeda politely excused herself and scurried away to the drawing-room. Pure-blood witches should never run, but that night Andromeda came suspiciously close."Andromeda, look at me when I am addressing you," commanded Aunt Walburga imperiously from the chintz loveseat.Seated across from Walburga, Mother shot her sister-in-law a sharp look. Though Mother would never admit so, Andromeda suspected she found Aunt Walburga's manners to be lacking—and Druella Black prided herself on immaculate deportment. Proper witches did not rely upon the overbearing mannerisms Aunt Walburga was known for, and Mother instead advocated for a more subtle art of feminine warfare."What did I do wrong, Aunt Walburga?" Andromeda sighed quietly, dangerously verging on insolent. "He asked me if I was interested in attending the theatre with him and I answered honestly.""You asked if he had tickets for separate boxes," Cissa reminded her primly under her breath, as if Andromeda would soon forget Rabastan's bewildered expression."Aunt Walburga, why won't you believe me if I say that I honestly believe the theatre is best enjoyed when you eliminate all possible distractions?" countered Andromeda, as cautiously as she could manage. Although it was amusing to frustrate her aunt, Walburga was known for her volatile temper and predilection for unpleasant hexes.Aunt Cassie smirked mischievously, already sipping on her second digestif. "And young men can be such a distraction, can't they darling?"Playing with the fine beading on her new robes, Andromeda pointedly ignored Cissa's knowing smile. Rabastan Lestrange was distracting, to the point where Andromeda had considered a Silencing Charm to safeguard her sanity. Just turned fifteen, Cissa had finally been deemed old enough to partake in these post-dinner conversations, instead of being sent home for bed. Andromeda’s younger sister took to gossip and scheming with the type of aplomb that she herself would have to fake all her life. Even Bella despised these affairs, despite being Walburga's beloved goddaughter."Rabastan is very handsome though," whispered Cissa beside her, careful to not be overheard. "Certainly much nicer-looking than the boys in my year."Breathtakingly lovely since birth, Cissa had just begun to receive her own formal offers for courtship from some of Britain's finest families. Quietly, Andromeda suspected Cissa was waiting for a specific offer, from a certain scion from a certain prominent House, known for siring blonde sons with pointy faces."Rabastan would make a fine husband for you, Andromeda. Wouldn't he, Druella?" declared Aunt Walburga, who considered herself an authority on all subjects pertaining to the Black family. Her husband, Andromeda's Uncle Orion, was set to be the next Black family patriarch. As such, Walburga believed herself to be closer to divinity each day, as long as Patriarch Arcturus would hurry up and bite the dust already."Ha!" snorted Violetta Black, Andromeda’s great-grandmother, breaking her silence from her own spot beside the fireplace.Born a Bulstrode witch, the true family Matriarch was a wizened crone almost as ancient as the odious tapestry that hung in the room. Perpetually draped in swaths of black lace since her husband's death thirty years prior, Violetta resembled a very blind, very frilly bat as she scrutinized Andromeda through her golden monocle."This girl of yours is much smarter than your first one, Druella," she croaked approvingly with a pointed glance at Bellatrix, who stood silently glowering beside the open window. "You may be quick to forget, but I remember Corvus Lestrange before all that little unpleasantness happened. This branch of the family isn't so distantly related to them as you'd like to believe, Walburga." [2]Among pure-blood society, phrases such as 'the unpleasantness' or 'the little trouble' were nearly always utilized as euphemisms for incest, murder, or Muggles (or some lurid combination of the three). In this case, Andromeda had interacted enough with the Lestranges to know that was a stone best left unturned.Violetta's daughter, Aunt Cassie, made no attempt to hide her sharp laugh. "No one in pure-blood Britain is distantly related, Mummy-dearest. That's why it's better to live on the continent than start marrying cousins.""How can you think so, when you've never been married at all?" rallied Irma, in quick defence of her daughter Walburga's marriage.Cassiopeia Black, technically Andromeda’s great-aunt, was the spinster of her generation—a fact which Grandmother Irma would always lord over her, despite Aunt Cassie’s complete disregard for matrimony.After the defeat of Grindelwald (and a society scandal that meant she never spoke to her father again), she'd absconded to France to live out her days in a sumptuous pied-à-terre as an independently wealthy lady of leisure. Retaining her dark good looks even at an advanced age, Aunt Cassie's rare visits to Britain were often solely intended to scandalize her family—arriving in a flurry of luxurious perfume, sensuous silk, and unabashed hedonism. [3]And while Grandmother Irma might have relished in Aunt Cassie's unmarried state, Andromeda had long suspected her great-aunt never wanted for company in her Parisian flat.Ignoring her daughter and daughter-in-law's petty jabs at each other, Great-grandmother Violetta forged on. Borderline incest, after all, was just one of the many dubious ways the wizarding elite of Britain had forged their Most Ancient and Noble Houses and kept themselves pure for generations. After centuries, quibbling about it was simply a moot point."The Lestranges have already witnessed the collapse of one of their lines, only She knows if they have it in them to continue this one. Tell me, girl, did your father ascertain that everything would be in order when the time comes?" Violetta asked, peering inquisitively at Bellatrix, her suggestive meaning clear to everyone in the room.Bella's visage whitened before turning a peculiar shade of grey, hand fisting in the pocket of her dress that Andromeda knew concealed her wand. Father had refused to buy Bella a wand holster for her birthday, leaving Bella to accidentally singe the inner lining of all her formal robes.Knowing Bella's quick temper was often her downfall, Mother hastened to address her grandmother-in-law's concerns as tactfully as her Rosier manners would allow. "Madame, I assure you Cygnus would never sign a contract if all wasn't perfectly in—""I don't know, Mummy dearest," cut in Aunt Cassie with just a hint of bite, slate grey eyes dancing merrily. "Such ladylike hands those boys had. I’ve never seen such delicate fingers.""Let's hope Rodolphus’ appendages aren’t all delicate!" snickered the old woman, mother and daughter sharing a good joke at Bellatrix's expense.Scrambling for self-control, Andromeda fought the insane urge to laugh by biting the inside of her cheek and clenching her hands into the folds of her dress. Though Cissa remained impassive as always, Andromeda heard the tiniest exhale of amusement.The eldest Black sister, always at odds with the crotchety Matriarch, shot them a look of injured betrayal, as if she hadn't laughed at Andromeda's expense a million times before. Though Bella wouldn’t dare retaliate under their great-grandmother's eye, something in her expression promised vengeance. Ever since childhood, Bella had made sure to toe the line under the adults' noses and unleash demons behind their backs.Experience made Andromeda take note—she would need to ward her room that night, to protect her from one of Bella's signature nasty little hexes."Madame!" hissed a scandalized Grandmother Irma, her prim features pinched in dismay. "There is nothing wrong with their fingers, they're perfectly formed. Just the right size."As this set off another round of laughter, leaving Grandmother Irma looked vaguely perplexed and insulted.According to Aunt Cassie after a few drinks, Irma Crabbe had once been a great society beauty—considered by all wizards as the catch of the season. However, a visibly unhappy marriage had set unkind tongues wagging, with pure-blood society suggesting that Irma's naive conservative tendencies had driven her philandering husband, Grandfather Pollux, to find his entertainment elsewhere. [4]However, since Aunt Cassie rarely interacted with her family entirely sober, Andromeda could not confidently ascertain the veracity of this last bit of gossip. Cissa’s delicate inquiry the following morning had been met with a mysterious smile."You know what they say about hands, girl," leered Violetta, who greatly enjoyed needling her prudish daughter-in-law. "They match the—""I think that's quite enough, Aunt Violetta," intervened Lucretia Prewett (née Black), who'd sat quietly amused for most of the conversation. "Andromeda and Narcissa are still schoolgirls and Narcissa is only fifteen."The stylish Lucretia was Andromeda's favourite aunt, even though she was technically her cousin some many times removed.Although Mrs Prewett also lived in London with her attractive husband, she rarely made appearances at her brother Orion's dinners. Her official excuse was that poor Ignatius' asthma could not bear the stuffy air inside of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Unofficially, most Blacks knew that it was due to Lucretia’s poorly concealed loathing of her sister-in-law."Everyone knew what you were doing at fifteen, Lucretia," snarked Walburga, who thought Lucretia was a bit presumptuous, acting and dressing too young for her years. Personally, Andromeda believed she was simply jealous. While Aunt Walburga insisted on wearing the ostentatious dark robes of her youth, Lucretia swanned about in the colourful gauzy robes recently popularized by the songstress Celestina Warbeck. The whole effect was that, although Lucretia was a few years older than Walburga, she looked almost entirely two decades younger.Additionally, the recent discovery that Great-aunt Cassie had also adopted the new lightweight styles (with a décolletage that plunged even more dangerously than Lucretia's) only added insult to injury."It may come as a surprise to you, dearest Wally," retorted Aunt Lucretia, unintimidated by her cousin and sister-in-law. "But school is primarily intended for learning, not for scheming to steal our best friend's beau."As the vein in Walburga's forehead bulged, Andromeda discreetly turned away and stared down a rather gaudy arrangement of hothouse flowers, tucked amongst the potentially lethal knick-knacks of Grimmauld Place. She could not risk making eye contact with Cissa.Even Mother, who always tried to appease her tempestuous sister-in-law, had to lightly press dainty fingertips against her lips to control a smile that verged on peeking through her stately demeanour.For anybody fool enough to make the Black family’s acquaintance, the assiduously disseminated family legend was that Walburga and Orion had been destined for each other since birth. There was simply no match with a more illustrious heritage and a higher pedigree in all of wizarding Britain.Off the record, on a shopping excursion to her aunt’s preferred Parisian atelier, Lucretia had once revealed to Andromeda that Walburga had pursued Orion relentlessly after discovering his liaison with one of her best friends—and also her biggest rival. Walburga could not stand someone having something over her.‘She's always been greedy,’ Lucretia had remarked disparagingly at a particularly awful Deipnon dinner last winter, careful to not be overheard. Aunt Walburga was not above using her little house-elf as a spy."The Lestranges are a fine family for any of our girls to marry into," said Mother, in an attempt to redirect the conversation back to the original subject, used to de-escalating family squabbles. Considering the clan of impetuous and headstrong Blacks she'd married into, the graceful Druella Rosier had become adept at keeping storms at bay. "We already have the Patriarch's approval.""Arcturus is a fool, a damned fool who only cares about that ridiculous pamphlet," declared Violetta contemptuously, referring to her nephew—a foreboding man who abided by Cantankerous Nott's Pure-Blood Directory almost religiously. Both he and his wife Melania had ‘regretfully’ declined their invitation to dinner.Considering that Great-uncle Arcturus was an ageing curmudgeon who rarely left the confines of the old Black family estate, Andromeda found it hard to believe he was also Aunt Lucretia's father."When it comes down to it, the Lestranges don't follow the old ways," Violetta continued darkly. "And you girls, don't let these silly fools convince you otherwise: heathenism is much more unfortunate than a Squib or two in the family line. At least those can be dealt with appropriately."If Aunt Walburga had been able to Avada her own grandmother, Andromeda was certain she would have done it without a second thought. As it was, most of the ladies in the room looked mildly uncomfortable with such an unwitting declaration of tolerance (or nonchalant acceptance of murder)—but all appeared unwilling to contradict the Matriarch.For as long as Andromeda had been alive, the Black witches had been tip-toeing around her great-grandmother in hopes of staying in her favour (and in her will). After all, the old bat was said to have a collection of trinkets that rivalled the even the Selwyn family jewels."Nobody believes in that dragonshite anymore," retorted Bella, who couldn't give a damn about glittering diamonds unless they were cursed. At last, her patience had run out with the old bat. "Not in the Goddess or any of that nonsense you blather on about.""Bellatrix, don't swear in front of your great-grandmother," admonished Mother in a soft voice, never letting a harsh word cross her perfectly bred mouth."That dragonshite, as you call it young lady, is the root of all Magic. To understand it and to venerate it is beyond your pitiful scope of comprehension," retorted Violetta scathingly, peering at Bella with quite a bit of haughty condescension. "May She illuminate your path before you become irredeemable.""So may it be," chorused Aunt Lucretia in frank agreement.Madame Violetta Black was a living relic in many ways, but never more so than when she talked about the Old Religion.In centuries past, wizards had believed Magic was a primal force, rooted deep in the bowels of the Earth. Its forces were supposed to be governed by the Goddess: a three-fold being who was maid, mother, and crone, and who had gifted wizards and witches with the ability to harness Her magic. During Great-grandmother Violetta's youth, the elder generations had still venerated the Goddess and the beings who'd roamed over her dominion, sources of all magic. When at her most nostalgic, Violetta had spoken of moonlit rituals and wild bonfire nights, extravagant feasts and ritual sacrifices to appease the Goddess.Of course, with the advent of modernity, most widespread practice of the Old Religion had faded. Only the oldest of pure-bloods remained faithful and, even then, Christmas and Easter were popular celebrations among the younger set. Indeed, very few of her fellow students believed or even knew about the old ways at all, least of all Muggle-borns.Andromeda supposed bloody animal sacrifices could not really compete with brightly wrapped presents under a glittering tree.Still, the Blacks gathered to celebrate the holy days to appease the old lady, who (Aunt Walburga hoped) had little time left to share with them. The first family dinner of the summer break was a particular favourite of the Matriarch. Though Deipnon was held on the new moon of each month, having the younger set back from break gave Violetta an opportunity to berate three generations of Blacks over their many and varied failings in person. Bellatrix, who’d withstood more than one sly dig over five different courses that night, was starting to look as if she very much wanted to tell Violetta exactly where her Goddess could go shove it.Sensing her sister was at the end of her tether, Andromeda sought to escape any potential bloodshed. Her periwinkle organza dress robes were new and she'd been hoping to wear them to the Young Ladies' Society tea the following week."Pardon me, but I need to use the powder room," announced Andromeda, seizing on the brief lull in the conversation. With Bella already sharpening her claws, she was eager to leave soon. After all, there was only so much time the Black women could tolerate being in the same room together.Once she'd hidden for a satisfactory amount of time in the guest toilet, Andromeda reluctantly exited and headed down the dark second-floor corridor. For all her airs of grandeur, Walburga could certainly be odd—refusing to light the candles in the hallways during the summer. It was her aunt's own damn fault that her guests kept tripping over that heinous umbrella stand.
"Pssst! Pssst, Andy!"
Quiet giggles came from the winding staircase at the opposite end of the hall. Two handsome boys, aged ten and nine, dangled their raven-haired heads precariously over the edge of the landing. Regulus, cautious as always, shot nervous looks at the drawing-room door, while Sirius greeted her with his usual debonair grin."Why good evening, dear cousin," he drawled."Reggie, Sirius, you absolute scoundrels," Andromeda smiled, by way of greeting. "How did you two escape on Kreacher's watch?"Mischievous little Sirius gave her a signature angelic smile, which told Andromeda that Kreacher had most likely been the subject of a devilish prank. She hoped Sirius hadn't tricked him into Apparating into Muggle London again, since Aunt Walburga had punished Kreacher rather severely that time.Sirius deliberately ignored Reggie's panicked tugging at his sleeve. "Nothing of the sort, Andy. Say, you wouldn't happen to have any of those delicious biscuits, would you?""Has Aunt ordered Kreacher not to give you any?" queried Andromeda, bemused."One could say that," he admitted slowly. "But she never said we couldn't ask you to give us any."Adorably, Reggie and Sirius attempted to look innocent and utterly failed. "Please, Andy?" they chorused pleadingly.Hearing the rumble of men's voices from upstairs, Andromeda hurriedly handed over her own stash of Kreacher's biscuits. She preferred Memsie's chocolate-chip biscuits anyways—her family’s house-elf had a better grasp on flavours, having trained with the Rosier elves in her youth. "Here, but don't say you got them from me!"Delighted, Sirius opened his gob and immediately crammed two into his mouth, shoving the rest in his pyjama pocket. With a muffled, "Cheers!" he hauled his little brother up and together they scampered back up to their rooms.For the life of her, Andromeda could never figure out how Walburga had managed to produce such charming boys. It was enough to make a person doubt their parentage, but the thought of Walburga taking a lover was both disgusting and unimaginable."Meda, where are you? We're heading home!" drifted Cissa's voice down the hall, as the ladies began to take their leave.Andromeda nearly sighed with relief. Thank the Goddess, she despised family dinners at Grimmauld Place.  
Rosier Mews House, London

New Moon, July 13, 1999
When Andromeda had first broken ties with her family, Cissa hadn't been at home—her younger sister had left early for a shopping excursion to Diagon Alley with her schoolmates. Already graduated from Hogwarts, Andromeda had taken advantage of a quiet summer morning at Asterfield House to leave without fuss and bother, only stopping to deposit a letter on the drawing-room table, slipping out through a side door unseen. Neither Father nor Mother had reached out to her since, although Gringotts had sent an owl to notify Andromeda that her access to the Black vaults had been revoked.Because she had never really witnessed Cissa’s reaction, Andromeda once privately hoped that her younger sister hadn’t taken her departure as poorly as the rest of the Blacks (Aunt Walburga had sent a lovely flower arrangement containing Devil’s Snare). Remote silence meant that Andromeda was free to imagine Cissa didn’t wholly despise her, even though her intuition told her otherwise.But Cissa had always been Andromeda’s favourite, her precious baby sister.After a difficult labour, Mother had welcomed her and Bella into the nursery of the country manor where the sisters had grown up. A vicious fight had promptly broken out between the toddlers, over which of them would be first to hold the angelic newborn in the bassinet, who woke and wailed when jostled. Despite being sent to bed crying and without supper, it marked the beginning of a lifelong dynamic between the Black sisters.Lustrous hair like pale gold silk, Cissa took after the fair Rosiers, rather than matching the traditional Black dark good-looks of her elder siblings. Cissa was indisputably the darling of the three sisters, wholly beloved and rarely denied anything she ever wanted.Despite the coddling, Cissa grew to be an even-tempered and well-behaved girl, if a bit capricious. As the middle child, constantly at odds with the domineering and explosive Bella, Andromeda welcomed Cissa's soothing manners as a respite from the ever-present bickering. Foul-tempered Bella did the same and little Cissa grew to be the adhesive that bound the sisters together, often playing quiet confidante and advisor to both.Until she made her fateful decision, Andromeda had not really understood what life without Cissa’s steadying presence would mean.As was expected with every errant Black, Andromeda’s close connection with her sister was effectively severed by her whirlwind—and abhorred—elopement with Ted Tonks. After her departure, Andromeda’s first and last letter to Cissa was returned unopened, wax seal intact.Regardless of the pain caused by the rift, leaving her family was a decision she could never bring herself to regret. The years she had spent with Ted and their daughter were full of more life and joy than all her time as part of the Black family. Most tellingly of all, Andromeda struggled to regret her lost ties to Bella in the same way she missed being Cissa’s elder sister.Over the years—through society pages and wagging tongues—Andromeda heard of the life that she herself might have lived. The wizarding press eagerly covered Cissa's enviable marriage to that Malfoy bastard (not literally, the scandal) and her life of dazzling charity galas and glittering robes. The birth of a long-awaited heir was splashed announced by Rita Skeeter’s scathing quill, and Dora returned from Hogwarts with rumours about the Malfoys unsavoury ties to that other bastard (that one quite literally). Not once over the years had Cissa written to her, not even when Bellatrix had been justifiably condemned to rot in prison over those unspeakable crimes (Bella, her brooding, passionate, and temperamental older sister, had been dead to her since then. Whoever emerged from Azkaban, whatever heartless monster she became—Andromeda was welcome to despise that person freely).Not once had she heard from Cissa. Not once until that letter in May, over twenty years and two bloody wars later.On a bright July morning, Andromeda stood on a lonely Muggle sidewalk, facing a long-forgotten mews house in the historically fashionable Mayfair district of London. From the outside, the house appeared small and unassuming—very different from the lavishness of the Malfoy townhouse Andromeda knew was tucked away somewhere else the city. If anything, Cissa’s choice in abandoning her husband’s residence was strategic, that Andromeda could tell, but for what purpose was yet to be determined.Fisted in one hand was Narcissa's message, a perfunctory olive branch on luxurious heavy parchment—enchanted to self-destruct to if opened by the wrong hands. For her younger sister, the war was clearly far from over.Approaching the house carefully, Andromeda surreptitiously flicked her wand, feeling her magic brush up against the magical protections. The old Rosier wards hummed, recognizing one of their own blood, while an additional layer of Legilimency sussed out her intentions. Had those been less than innocent, Andromeda suspected a more malignant curse would have made an appearance—one of the barely legal variety, long favoured by the Black family.Once a Black sister, always a Black sister, Andromeda mused.Having passed muster, Andromeda quietly strode up to the white brick façade and sharply knocked on the simple black front door. It was an unnecessary nicety—if Cissa and her boy knew what was good for them, they would have been aware of her presence the moment she Apparated on their doorstep.Without pause, the door swung open to reveal a wizened little house-elf. Her bulbous eyes were a nebulous blue, nearly blinded by cataracts, and she wore a neatly pressed white pillowcase with eyelet lace trim as a shift."Memsie?"  asked Andromeda, surprise colouring her voice."Missy Andromeda," croaked Memsie, the old Rosier house-elf who had no business living longer than Methuselah. "Come inside, my Mistress will see you in her parlour."In line with pure-blood tradition, Mother had most likely given Cissa her own house-elf as a wedding gift. Originally intended as a way to protect newly-wedded daughters, gifted house-elves often served as key allies to the young women in their husbands' households. Since house-elf magic was dependent on their mistresses’ magical core, Memsie's loyalty was solely to Narcissa and her offspring, not Lucius Malfoy.Stepping over the threshold, Andromeda discovered a bright and airy interior, simply decorated in the mauve blues and ivories left over from the Rosiers' French heritage.Originally part of Druella Rosier's dowry, Andromeda knew Father had not found much use for the quaint little mews house during their London visits, particularly when the much more opulent Grimmauld Place was just across town. He had not seen any appeal to the converted carriage house attached to the back of old Rosier Place, so close to his interfering in-laws. It seemed that after Druella's death, the house had gone to her favourite daughter.Despite being reoccupied, the house looked unmistakably shuttered and unused. Paintings and furniture were covered by protective cloths, a thin layer of dust coating most surfaces. Although a few spots looked like they had been vigorously tackled with a duster, for the most part, the house appeared uninhabited.For all her undying loyalty, poor old Memsie seemed to be at what Aunt Walburga had affectionately called 'the beheading age.'With a brisk hobble, Memsie ushered Andromeda into a dainty sitting room, which appeared to be the only room clean enough for entertaining. Two chintz chairs faced a set of French doors leading to a fragrant garden, replete with magical blooms that should have been out of season. A delicate porcelain tea set was already served with steaming tea and chocolate—a Muggle brand, Andromeda noted.From one of those chintz armchairs stood an elegant, slender figure.Oh, Cissa.Narcissa Black was still as beautiful as ever, but the delicate planes of her face appeared sharp and hardened, fine marble worn down by age, worry, and pain. The resplendent champagne hair of her youth had faded to platinum blonde, streaked with white at the temples and braided into a neat coronet around her head.A queen with no throne, no king, and no land."Andromeda, thank you for coming. Please, take a seat," Cissa spoke in a quiet sigh, as if her voice went unused for long periods of time, and gestured wanly towards the chair beside her.Despite the long years apart, neither hugged nor wept upon reuniting. Instead, they scrutinized each other carefully, taking in any significant changes and searching for cues to inform the subsequent interaction. It was a reunion that would have made their mother proud—even as a young parent, Druella had loathed tears and snot. Had Cissa collapsed into some unseemly display of emotion, Andromeda would have suspected some trickery, enchantment, or potion. "The Barmiest and Most Bigoted House of Black," teased Ted’s voice, always lingering in the back of her mind. From the first eye contact, Andromeda could sense that Cissa did not seek sympathy or pity, let alone an over-emotional tearful reunion that reeked of insincerity. Choosing the direct approach, Andromeda opted for Ted-esque frankness. "Why have you asked me here, Cissa?"Her sister pointedly chose to not to respond. "Let's have some tea first, shall we? Memsie, please offer my sister some refreshments."Although Memsie did not abide by the Black family tree as Kreacher did, the emphasis on the familial relationship established that Narcissa would not permit any disrespect under her roof. It was a peace offering, expressing to Andromeda that Narcissa was willing to recognize her as one of her own.She accepted the proffered cup, patiently waiting for Cissa to initiate the conversation. Unlike Bella, Andromeda had never been one to ruin the moment with impetuousness."I believe I owe you an apology," began Cissa, perfectly composed other than the tightly clasped slender hand in her lap. "No, I know I do. Many apologies, in fact.""For?" Andromeda arched an inquisitive brow, curious about what Cissa believed she had to atone for. It was also an expression that highlighted her uncanny resemblance to their sister Bella. From the slight tightening of her mouth, it appeared Cissa saw the similarity as well."Where to begin?" Cissa hesitated. "For your husband, for your daughter, even for her werewolf husband—""His name was Remus—" Andromeda broke in, her temper flaring. She would not tolerate any disrespect towards her daughter's husband, a far nobler man than any in their mutual acquaintance."Forgive me, I did not mean to offend."Looking more chastised than a woman of her age should, Narcissa fell silent. Her entire demeanour lacked the quiet confidence that had enabled her to rule pure-blood society with an iron grip. Instead, she seemed uncertain, as if she was treading on thin ice and didn't know where to step.Observing the blossoming garden beyond the French doors, Andromeda noticed a cluster of rare white stargazer lilies. Among the brightly coloured blooms at Dora's and Remus' funeral had been a modest wreath of these, the preferred flower of the Black family. No note had accompanied the arrangement.Resolving to be kinder, Andromeda smiled ruefully. "Old habits die hard, don't they? Even I had difficulties coming to terms with their marriage—not because of what he was, but because of the hardship I knew Dora would face by association. But Remus was a good man, in spite of his condition."Andromeda decided that if she was committing to this, she would work on Cissa's prejudices later, tabling that inevitable conversation for another time.Cissa looked regretful, or as close to regretful as Narcissa Black could look."It's not just for the werewolf. It's for the years of missed opportunities, for the distance, for not being brave…" her voice became almost inaudible. "For Bella."Even in death, Bella's overbearing presence was inescapable. The weight of her memory settled in the heavy silence between the remaining Black sisters, who'd mourned the loss of their third long before her passing."None of us can be held responsible for Bella," declared Andromeda, breaking the ice with a tone sharper than intended. Cissa had always cared for Bella more than she ever could, making excuses for things Andromeda had found unforgivable (like water and oil they'd been, since birth). "She chose her fate a long time ago."Cissa looked resigned. "Even then, I did not nothing while our family was driven apart, while Bella fell into the clutches of that madman. We walked straight past the gates of Tartarus, Meda, but I did nothing to stop it."Despite the sombre topic at hand, Andromeda's heart surged with hope. Cissa had not called her Meda in over twenty-five years."If you have asked me here to atone for every sin you have ever committed Cissa, you are wasting my time," Andromeda replied, tone measured. "I am no priestess. The war is over and the past is in the past. We cannot change what happened… The only thing you can change is what will.""How? How can I change anything? Look at what we've been reduced to," Narcissa retorted, gesturing helplessly at her current abode—though not exactly destitution, it was a far cry from the luxuries of Malfoy Manor. "I'm irrelevant on my best days, despised at my worst. I can't even live in my own home, it's been quarantined by the Aurors for months. This isn’t living Meda, it’s surviving."The torrent of words came out in a harsh rush, the first break in Cissa's composure. Oh Cissa, some things never really do change.Andromeda nearly rolled her eyes, unimpressed. She wanted to end what looked like a months-long pity party before it really took steam. "Seems to me an improvement from having You-Know-Who at your breakfast table."Cissa's jaw tightened, "The Dark Lord never—""You-Know-Who," Andromeda emphasized, wanting to nip that 'Dark Lord' nonsense in the bud as well, "is as dead as a doorknob, thank Harry Potter. You're alive and that's more than others can say."Involuntarily, Andromeda touched the collar of her robes, underneath which rested a cheap silver Muggle locket with pictures of Dora and Ted, the reassuring cool of the metal always pressed against her chest.Cissa fell silent, but she was still clasping her hands tightly."What about your boy, where is he?""Draco is… asleep, I believe.”Andromeda paused in surprise. "It's almost midday, Cissa."For the first time, Cissa looked discomfited by Andromeda’s incredulous gaze. Both women were aware that most strapping eighteen-year-olds did not waste their days in bed—especially the well-bred kind. "Draco just returned from Hogwarts,” replied Cissa, eyes defensive. “He has few friends left in Britain, those who aren't in Azkaban have left for the continent."Not a surprise. Most pure-blood families with questionable allegiances during the war had decamped for the continent as soon as the borders opened up again. These families had syphoned off their wealth to where the Ministry would not be able to follow."So he wastes his days in bed?” retorted Andromeda."Master Draco is a not being a proper wizard,” croaked a defiant voice from the corner of the room. “He sleeps all day and then goes out after supper. Mistress isn't seeing, but he comes back after Mistress has gone to bed, smelling like a liquor cabinet.”"Memsie!" rebuked Narcissa sharply, but the little house-elf is unmoved.Andromeda was pleased to see that Cissa had not attempted to squash her house-elf's spirit—although it would have been near impossible, considering Memsie had seen them all in nappies. Memsie had always been loyal to her mistresses and their offspring, but she loathed to see them behaving below their station. In her unforgiving approach to propriety, Memsie was all that remained of their mother Druella.Taking note of this potential ally, Andromeda forged on. "Draco needs an occupation then, something to do with his time so he does not fall into idleness. Have you been in contact with that husband of yours?"If the mention of Draco had made Cissa vulnerable, bringing up Lucius turned her to stone. "I have not seen Lucius in months."Wisely, Andromeda kept her thoughts to herself as Cissa did not seem to want to elaborate further. Her dear brother-in-law was certainly in trouble.Personally, Andromeda thought it would have been ideal to have Lucius locked away for life. However, she knew her sister would suffer without her ridiculous peacock of a husband. In any case, he would be dealt with when the time came (in nine years, thank the Goddess)."And what do you do all day, Cissa? Tea parties?" The question was a little tactless to be sure, but Andromeda knew it would bring out whatever backbone was left in her sister.Immediately, Cissa's voice turned hard. "The families of our acquaintance are either out of the country or indisposed to receive us—despite taking full advantage of our hospitality when it was You-Know-Who summoning them to the Manor. Nowhere else is the Malfoy name welcome.""Then, have you thought about an occupation? A job, perhaps?"Cissa looked aghast, as if Andromeda had suggested she take Tom, the elderly bartender at the Leaky Cauldron, as a lover.Loyal Memsie harrumphed from the corner of the room, similarly offended. "I hardly mean that you start working as a barmaid at the Hog's Head. But you can't hide away forever, Cissa. You're still young."Her sister still seemed unconvinced. "But what would I even do? And if Lucius were to receive word that I was working—""Narcissa Black," scolded Andromeda, inadvertently channelling the steely mannerisms of their great-grandmother. "Your husband is rotting away in prison and your son is wasting away at home and drinking himself to sleep every night. What do you plan to do about it?"Narcissa's blue gaze turned steely at Andromeda's challenge. A creaking above their heads alerted them to the movements of the last, unseen occupant of the mews house. Although it was now past noon, it seemed Draco was finally awake.Cissa turned to Andromeda, expression determined."Well, I supposed we better get started then.”Andromeda smiled, slow and conspiratorial, “Memsie love, would you please wake the young Master? It’s almost time for dinner.”The elderly house-elf beamed, throwing back hunched shoulders: “With pleasure, Missy Andromeda.”  
End Notes:
[1] Canon divergence: Neither Lucius nor Draco receive prison sentences in canon, but for the sake of character growth and a personal disgust for impunity, they get sentences in this story.[2] According to my calculations, Violetta barely coincided with Leta at school. However, due to her age and circumstance, her father and male relatives most certainly would have been in the same circles as Corvus Lestrange.[3] At a now infamous Malfoy Yule Ball, Cassie was publicly challenged by Abraxas Malfoy's new young wife over adultery allegations. The subsequent scandal and shame made temporary pariahs out of the Blacks, thus enabling Cassie's younger sister, Dorea, to accept an entirely unsuitable marriage proposal from Charlus Potter. Mrs Potter now openly credits her own conjugal bliss to her sister's own shameless disrespect for marital vows. This version of Cassiopeia Black pays homage to ShayaLonnie's portrayal of Cassie Black in The Reclamation of Black Magic.[4] Namely, a half-blood mistress Pollux sets up in a secret flat in Muggle London. The result of this affair is a little girl who grows up to be a fine woman and mother—unlike the parent who never publicly acknowledges his illegitimate child.

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Excerpts from Unearthing Our Spiritual Past: Historical Research Into Pre-Christian Wizarding Faiths (2007) by Millicent Bulstrode.
How and when to celebrate the Old Religion widely differs among magic-users across Europe, North Africa, and the Middle East, particularly when taking into account the many and varied peoples that endured the Roman conquest. However, there is one core tenet that rings true across all regions: Magic is a primal force ruled by the Goddess, who gives and takes as she sees fit. Like the Greek Hecate and the Roman Trivia, the Goddess is a trifold being, whose life cycle is celebrated throughout the annual seasonal markers. Every year, She is born with first blooms of spring, blossoms into maidenhood on the eve of summer, transitions into a mother with the fruit of the harvest, before fading into winter as a crone. For British and Irish wizarding populations, the triptych appearance of the Goddess is likewise reflected in the four major celebrations adopted from existing Celtic rituals: Imbolc in February, Beltane in May, Lughnasadh in August, and Samhain in November. (“She Who Needs Not Be Named”, p. 38)  
Asterfield House, Wiltshire

The morning after Lughnasadh, August 2nd, 1970
Powder-blue dawn lingered at the edges of Andromeda’s curtains, creeping softly into the corners and crevices of her childhood bedroom. Chestnut-brown curls fanned out on her silk pillowcase, Andromeda stared up at the roof of her canopy bed, somehow restless and yet so very tired. A gold-edged porcelain teacup full of hot cocoa lay untouched on her bedside table, with the telltale spiral steam of a dreamless Sleeping Draught wafting from its surface. Beside her dozed Cissa peacefully, with her arms wrapped tight around a plummy feather pillow and her empty teacup on the opposite nightstand.The house was preternaturally quiet in the early morning hours. Still, Andromeda lay awake—listening, waiting.————————//————————
The night before at Lestrange Lodge
At the beginning of the evening, there had been nothing remiss about the Lestrange party, nothing to insinuate it would be anything more than the usual pure-blood soirée.After Mr Lestrange had caught wind of the charges of heresy levelled against his House, he had undertaken the task of silencing the Black criticism once and for all. Andromeda could have told him it was a futile endeavour, but the Lestranges were never really known for their good sense. Regardless, in his attempt to spite old Violetta Black, the elder Mr Lestrange had inadvertently organized the affair of the summer—and he was thrilled.Above the miles of lush parkland that surrounded the greystone manor, a new moon hovered high in the velvety darkness, casting only a weak sliver of light on the raucous festivities below. In the centre of the clearing stood a towering bonfire, its orange flames soaring high above the heads of party-goers and bathing them in a vermilion glow. By the time the Blacks made their appearance, more than one inebriated fool had already been saved by the protective wards encircling its sweltering heat.As the master of ceremonies, Mr Lestrange had led a vaguely interested crowd of pure-bloods through the ceremonial cutting of the corn, before unleashing them upon the sumptuous spread of fruits, cheeses, and cured meats. Vintage elf wine and honeyed mulled mead flowed freely amongst the illustrious guests. “Why, Cygnus, let me introduce you to the president of the Soviet Magical Sports and Games Federation. She's very graciously offered us box office seats for the World Cup final,” Mr Lestrange had just about crowed, steering Andromeda’s father in the direction of a dour-looking woman in sharply-cut dark grey robes.Pretending to lean onto her great-granddaughter for support, Violetta had snorted with quiet derision: “Has a chip on his shoulder the size of Gibraltar, doesn’t he? Minor branches do go above and beyond to prove themselves.”Though the glittering assortment of guests included the recently retired Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, more than a few Ministry department heads, and the famously beautiful Ruwa Shafiq (recently widowed), no one garnered more interest than a tall pale wizard dressed somberly in simple black travelling robes. A former schoolmate of the elder Mr Lestrange and her father, that guest of honour had been set up at a small circular table, away from the fire and the general merrymaking. Whoever he was, he’d arrived with a small entourage of cloaked foreboding men who did not stray far, including three members of a Byelorussian coven—one of whom was quick to steal Andromeda from Rabastan Lestrange’s arms after the first dance.Strong-boned with dark brows and a prominent nose, he could have passed as a peasant with his dark travelling cloak, if only one ignored its rich emerald velvet lining and the intricate golden cross pinned ironically to the breast pocket of his white shirt. The vampire introduced himself as Vasil, omitting a surname as was customary amongst his kind.“How very lovely you British witches look tonight,” remarked Vasil appreciatively, his thick accent warm and syrupy. “All dressed like the Vestals.”Though Andromeda felt more like a virgin sacrifice than a virgin priestess, the vampire hadn’t entirely missed the mark with his comparison. Under the pretence of experiencing a true harvest celebration, Mr Lestrange’s invitations had bid guests shed their habitual finery for the sake of spirituality. Though poverty as a state of being was deplorable, as a costume it was to be celebrated among the elite.Modest lightweight robes were all the rage among the young ladies, most of whom wore wreaths of wildflowers in their hair, whilst the men chose simpler-cut robes in rougher fabrics. Nonetheless, despite instructions, firelight still reflected off bejewelled signet rings and discreetly placed diamond earrings. Even the deceptive simplicity of Andromeda’s own outfit, a confection of white muslin and eyelet lace, was belied by the opalescent shimmer of the goblin-crafted stargazer lilies tucked into her flowing dark curls. “Thank you, how kind of you to say so,” replied Andromeda politely, alternating meeting his intense gaze with keeping a watchful eye over his shoulder. Hosting duties could only keep Rabastan Lestrange occupied for so long.“I’d be careful if I were you, Miss Andromeda,” continued Vasil, his bemused smile at odds with his brooding features. “My colleagues are quite taken with some of your lovely witches—especially that little slip of starlight over there.”Of course, how unsurprising.As always, Mother had taken great pains with all her daughters’ appearances, but without fail Cissa emerged as the most resplendent of the three. Wearing robes of silvery-white chiffon, she approached Andromeda and Vasil looking like a moonbeam in the night. Led by the arm of Lucius Malfoy, that pompous silver-haired peacock, the admittedly attractive pair approached Andromeda and her companion as the music dwindled.Although the Malfoy scion was also her year-mate at Hogwarts, Andromeda rarely chose to interact with him and his associates beyond the usual niceties required of their station in life. With his little self-assured smirk, Andromeda found Malfoy to be insufferably arrogant and all too aware of how many young witches vied for his attentions. He really was very handsome, unfortunately—high cheekbones that could cut glass, paired with mercurial eyes. To his credit, those eyes had rarely strayed from Narcissa throughout the evening.For her own peace of mind, Andromeda was gratified to observe her sister maintain her wits about her, keeping the blonde wizard at a respectable distance. Though Cissa was among the younger set at the event, her sister would never make a fool of herself by clinging onto the Malfoy heir like some kind of common trollop.“Cissa, Malfoy, what a lovely evening isn’t it?” she called out. Mother disapproved of  raising your voice in public, but exceptions could be made for crowded parties.“Andromeda, you look enchanting,” greeted Malfoy with a short bow, as if they didn’t see each other in the common room every day from September to June. “And this is Mr—?”“Please let me present Mr Vasil,” supplied Andromeda smoothly, as if the Blacks often deigned to associate with bloodsuckers. “He’s here with Mr Lestrange’s honoured guest.”Vasil gave a short nod in confirmation.“Meda, Mr Rabastan just asked us where you’ve been,” Cissa teased lightly, as if she knew exactly what her sister was up to. “I’ve told him you’ve already given away most of your dances, but he seems very adamant about blessing you with at least one more.”“How generous of him,” Andromeda deadpanned. “I really should find him if they play another Celestina tune.”Standing with Cissa’s hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, Malfoy smirked at Andromeda. “Lestrange didn’t trod on your slippers, or did he?”It was rather disconcerting to see her sister perfectly at ease on Malfoy’s arm, the pair smiling conspiratorially. Though Malfoy wouldn’t be allowed to court Narcissa until she was of age, Andromeda hoped that engagement could be held off even longer—she wasn’t quite ready to give up her sister just yet.Mr Vasil eyed her speculatively: “Your elder Miss Black is the betrothed of our young host, is she not?”“Our Bella is engaged to marry Rodolphus, Mr Vasil,” confirmed Cissa, with a polite smile.Malfoy added on, none too tactfully, “Some are already wondering if Mr Rabastan will follow in his brother’s footsteps.”“And all this time I thought you were studying for your N.E.W.T.s, Malfoy, instead you’ve been playing match-maker with Crabbe and Goyle,” Andromeda surmised, enjoying the barest hint of strain at the corners of Malfoy’s smarmy expression. Cissa raised a thin blonde eyebrow in warning, looking unimpressed with the pair of them. “I’m sure Lucius only has your best interest in mind, Meda.”“I care for the welfare of all Black sisters,” Malfoy assured her gallantly, and Cissa’s glacial demeanour melted slightly.Andromeda fought the urge to retch.“Lucius!” A sharp baritone voice carried over from the secluded table in the outskirts of the clearing, where Abraxas Malfoy’s blonde head shone brightly against a sea of dark cloaks, motioning for his son to join him. Though it was hard to focus on the group, from what she suspected were hastily cast Notice-Me-Nots, Andromeda could see more than a few illustrious families represented in their midst: the Goyles, the Crabbes, the Averys. At their centre sat the unknown tall, pale wizard, his features waxy and blurred in the firelight, in the middle of a fiercely whispered conversation with Lestrange the elder. For all his previous preening, Mr Lestrange looked a bit like a child about to face his father’s belt.“Ladies, just a moment,” Malfoy excused himself with a polite nod. “Our host is currently out of favour with my Lord,” observed Vasil drily, accent rolling heavily on his tongue. “That does not bode well for his sons. Maybe you would consider the suit of another House instead, Miss Andromeda?”Cissa’s eyes narrowed, demeanour frosty. “How very helpful you are, Mr Vasil. When the House of Black begins to take advice from a vampire, we’ll certainly be in touch. Now, if you’ll excuse us, my sister and I are in desperate need of the powder room.”The vampire laughed abruptly, a rusty unused sound that attracted curious looks. “After nine hundred years, witches never change,” he shrugged, sweeping away with an unnatural flair of his black cloak.“Insolent bloodsuckers,” Cissa hissed in her ear, hand tucked into Andromeda’s elbow and steering her through the crowd toward the refreshments. “Really, Meda, what were you thinking? All these nice proper wizards and you choose to dance with one of those.”“Oh stop, Cissa,” groaned Andromeda quietly. “You’re beginning to sound just like dear old Wally.”In the week leading up to the Lughnasadh celebration, nearly every Black family member had expressed their qualified opinion as to whom Andromeda should (or should not) consider as a potential spouse. With the problematic Bella finally betrothed, pairing off the next two sisters should have been smooth flying.Since their last Deipnon dinner, Aunt Walburga had picked up a relentlessly campaigning for Rabastan, eager to fortify their ties to the House of Lestrange, while Aunt Cassie had suggested Andromeda pursue one of the older well-to-do wizards on the market. Plutochrus Parkinson might have been ugly as sin, but he’d bought his first wife a set of rare tanzanite earrings and she hadn’t even given him a son.Though Mother had preferred to keep her cards close to her chest, as per usual, even Father had unexpectedly requested Andromeda save a dance for Mr Corban Yaxley, the son of his close associate and a great-great-nephew to Lysandra Black.And, whomever her great-granddaughter chose, Great-grandmother Violetta’s only request was that Andromeda would remain ambivalent towards Rabastan Lestrange for as long as possible—she wanted to see Aunt Walburga squirm for a little longer.For most attendees, the evening had an air of playful romance. Around the bonfire’s girth, scores of witches and wizards danced, laughed, and drank unreservedly, indulging in the heady elf wine flowing freely from the stacked tankards at the edge of the field. Woodland fairies fluttered overhead, their gossamer wings refracting the firelight and sparkling in the night sky. With the hand-fasting season wrapping up and newlyweds inducted into married life, a new set of players were taking their places in mothers’ game of choice: match-making. That night, it seemed like everyone other than Andromeda was keen on participating.“Oh dear, here comes Mr Yaxley,” Andromeda sighed before putting on a pleasant smile, with Cissa all but pushing her into the tall blonde’s arms.Over the next hour and a half, Andromeda engaged in two intricate sets of footwork simultaneously. For one, she danced and whirled with wizard after wizard by the bonfire: Yaxley, Warrington, Montague, Avery, Avery, Yaxley, Travers, and so forth. Nonetheless, each move was deliberately calculated to take her further and further away from a certain young host. Unbeknownst to her fellow guests, Andromeda was in the middle of playing a game, one more akin to the hunter and prey variety.For a brief pause in the music, when the musicians switched from live playing to a melodic enchanted piano, Andromeda was given a short respite. “Have you seen Bella?” Cissa materialized as if Apparating by her side. Though she still looked impeccably put together after an evening of dancing, concern was straining at the corners of her expression. “Honestly, Cissa, she must be off with Mr Rodolphus somewhere.” Most likely snogging, but Andromeda would never say that out loud to her little sister. Bella might not love Rodolphus, but she certainly liked him enough to frequent every cupboard in Asterfield House with him. Regardless of Andromeda’s assurances, the worried crinkle in Cissa’s brow refused to budge.Andromeda sighed, careful to keep an eye on her surroundings lest Rabastan Lestrange sneak up on them. “Really, Cissa—she’s probably helping Mr Rodolphus with his hosting duties, managing house-elves and whatnot.”Narcissa raised a thin blonde eyebrow in response. Both sisters knew Bella would rather succumb to dragonpox than play little housewife.In truth, Andromeda wasn’t very worried. As far as she was concerned, wherever Bella went, the Lestrange brothers were sure to follow.It was odd, to be sure. Most newly betrothed witches loved to flaunt their engagements and the pretty baubles they’d been gifted. As future daughter-in-law to the host, Bella was reserved pride of place, especially with no living Madame Lestrange to contend with. Had Bella been a normal young lady, she would have been preening over the black diamond choker now roped constantly around her neck—a piece cursed to asphyxiate any wearer who’d obtained the necklace through duplicitous means.But then again, Bella had never been one to stick to convention.Anxious that so much time spent in one spot meant Rabastan would be sure to find her, Andromeda crossed her arms impatiently. “You want me to find her, don’t you?”Delighted, Cissa cracked a pleased smile. “That would be lovely, thank you. It’s just that I promised Alexander Montague a dance a while ago and look, he’s coming to claim it right now.”“I’ll do my best, but don’t expect much. Bella never does anything she doesn’t want to.”Tossing back a sheet of shining blonde hair, Cissa teased: “And please, Meda, no more dancing with bloodsuckers. We have taste.”Over Cissa’s shoulder, Andromeda caught sight of a familiar head of dark hair trailing behind Montague. Quickly turning on her heel, she slipped through the hulking figures of Mr Crabbe and Mr Goyle, making a beeline of a refreshments table with enough oversized gaudy glower arrangements to conceal her from view. “Andromeda, darling, how lovely to see you,” called out Charity Crouch, her father’s second cousin, while dragging a sullen straw-haired boy behind her. “I’ve been looking for dear Bella, do you know where I could find her? We need to use the Lestranges’ Floo.”“Auntie, I want to go home,” whined Barty petulantly, kicking the rear legs of a nearby chair. Its occupant, an inebriated wizard who had dozed off with a goblet in hand, woke to find its contents spilt down his front. With a hiccup, he waved his wand and turned his shirt a lurid shade of chartreuse.Such a little beast, thought Andromeda, careful not to wrinkle her nose in distaste. “So sorry, Cousin Charity, I daresay I haven’t. Why don’t you ask Mr Rabastan? He’s right over there,” Andromeda faked her regret without any compunction. “I’m certain he could be of some help.”“Marvelous idea—Mr Rabastan! Mr Rabastan! Barty, where do you think you’re headed?”Delighting in her momentary triumph over Lestrange, Andromeda was at her leisure to weave around wooden picnic tables bearing overflowing cornucopias, replete with ripened bilberries, stalks of grain, and fresh loaves of bread. The scent of succulently roasted pork wafted in the air, magical plates refilling instantly. As someone well-acquainted with Cousin Charity’s ability to hold others hostage with her inane chatter, Andromeda knew she had time to fill a small plate of her own before Lestrange could make his escape. With the party in full swing, Andromeda caught snippets of conversation as she cut through the attendees, fully aware that hushed whispers or startled changes in conversation meant gossip was underfoot.
‘Why are you so surprised, of course they found her a Lestrange to marry—one of the few families they’ve never dipped their claws into.’

‘Haven’t seen her all night, she’d skipped out on the reception line by the time we arrived. What else can you expect, all those Blacks are so high and mighty.’
Andromeda made a point of stopping by that particular table and asking Mrs Marianne Prince about her own daughter, who’d notoriously run off to marry some common Muggle boar.Of course, nowhere else was the gossip more vicious, more derisive, or more accurate than the Matriarchs’ special tent. Tucked away at the edge of the field, Mr Lestrange had furnished a haven of comfort for his elderly feminine guests. There, Great-Aunt Melania, Grandmother Irma, and their cohort had already discussed at length their opinions on the night: from the hosts to the ladies’ robes to the hors d'oeuvres, they had studied all with meticulous attention to detail—and found it wanting.“This entire event is a farce, Circe save us,” declared Great-aunt Melania, comfortably ensconced in an armchair and sipping on champagne from a crystal flute. Whereas Grandmother Irma’s famous beauty had only faded into vacant sort of elegance, Great-Aunt Melania remained a forbiddingly sharp witch: her cloudless blue eyes seemed to know all.Great-grandmother Violetta twisted her thin lips but kept silent, preferring the scornfully bored expression she’d adopted for the night. Not only did Violetta have to endure Lestrange’s party—which she’d griped about plenty in the weeks leading up to it—but she also had to do so surrounded by Great-aunt Melania and her group of loyal sycophants. Once Andromeda had dutifully doled out a round of air-kisses and compliments (“Is that fairy-spun silk, Madame Flint?”), she was instructed by her Grandmother Irma to “Sit right here dear, right beside me, and ask that horrible little creature to serve the ladies more lemonade.” Great-grandmother Violetta strategically handed her a bunch of grapes, which Andromeda accepted gratefully as an excuse to let the matrons talk amongst themselves.Over the years, Andromeda’s great-grandmother had made it clear she thought Great-aunt Melania’s band of loyal followers had about as much substance as baby puffskeins. Whether or not this was true, Andromeda didn’t think it her place to say. Nonetheless, these matrons headed some of the most important families in wizarding Britain. From the luxury of their sitting rooms, these witches ruled society with an iron fist, passing judgement on their peers and sentencing them to either censure or praise. Mostly censure. Great-aunt Melania, always pleased to have an audience, continued with her scathing assessment of the night, “I simply don’t know how that man sleeps at night, if this is how he honours Her.” From Irma’s right, her sister-in-law Grendelle Crabbe grunted in agreement. It was as much as she would ever say—Madame Crabbe was a troll-like woman of few words.“Did you see his secretary hiccuping his way through the speech? Shameful,” readily agreed Belladonna Flint, whose pinching fingers had bruised many Black children's cheeks. Madame Flint had earned that particular privilege through her mother, the late Belvina Black.“So frightful the way he stumbled all over the platform, it was like Mr Fawley at poor Cora’s seventeenth all over again,” criticized Charis Crouch (née Black). “Andromeda, did I see you speaking with my daughter? Is that boy giving her any trouble? I don’t know what my nephew was thinking, bringing an eight-year-old to a bonfire night.”Personally, Andromeda thought their censure of Mr Lestrange’s straight-laced secretary was a bit unfair. Mr Hornsby had been entirely unaware that the young masters had spiked the first few tankards of wine with something stronger (and not entirely Ministry approved). As to Barty Crouch Jr’s behaviour, Andromeda could only attest, “He didn’t seem to be in the best of moods, Aunt Charis.”“That boy needs a firm wand,” declared Madame Flint. “None of my boys turned out that way. Young men these days behave less and less like wizards and more like common Muggles, wouldn’t you agree Irma?”As if to illustrate her point, shrieks of laughter came from a group attempting to catch the fairies above their heads. Andromeda recognized Warrington, last year’s Head Boy, as he tried lifting a young witch by the waist and promptly collapsed from the effort. Although he stood up relatively unscathed, the same could not be said for her white linen skirts, which were left grass-stained and muddy by the fall.The ladies collectively tutted in disgust. Andromeda suspected Warrington would have a hard time finding a suitable bride this season.“Andromeda, dear, do not accept any more invitations from those young men tonight,” instructed Grandmother Irma quietly,“Really, how uncouth,” declared Great-aunt Melania, her friends nodding in agreement. Great-grandmother Violetta let out a thinly-veiled snort of derision. In her knobbly hand was a lowball glass full of Ogden’s Finest, which she pointedly brought to her thin lips.“If I were your age again, Andromeda, I’d certainly accept a drink or two from a young wizard—especially if he’s uncouth,” announced Violetta, breaking her silence with a dangerous smile cutting across her wrinkled face. “Circe knows old Cygnus was clever enough to snap me up before I entered my prime.”“Really, Madame,” sighed Grandmother Irma, embarrassment slightly colouring her thin cheeks. “This party is no better than a common Muggle drinking establishment. Andromeda knows better than to associate with wizards of that calibre.”“But what about bloodsuckers?” asked Great-grandmother Violetta, mirth glinting behind that golden monocle. “There are some very nice ones on the hunt tonight.”For Circe’s sake, one dance with Mr Vasil and Andromeda would be hearing about it until next Yuletide. “Mr Vasil is here accompanying Mr Lestrange’s honoured guest,” replied Andromeda politely, careful to avoid sounding exasperated.“I never thought I’d live to see the day when a nameless nobody was Mr Lestrange’s honoured guest,” scoffed Great-grandmother Violetta, motioning for a nearby elf to refill her plate. “At least my boy Cygnus never went sniffing around that Riddle boy. We can all thank Druella’s charms for that. All those other fools were completely enamoured—look at Thaddeus Nott, no wife or heir to speak of.”“Madame,” protested a wide-eyed Grandmother Irma, unable to say more in front of the ladies. Grandmother would never dare berate the Matriarch in public.“As for Ravenus Lestrange, he’s organized this Lughnasadh not to celebrate Her, but to celebrate himself,” condemned Great-grandmother Violetta. “Such vanity, one could mistake him for a Malfoy.”In the ensuing uncomfortable silence, Andromeda could only take a very long sip from her goblet. “Won’t Andromeda have her pick of the season next year?” eagerly intervened Madame Crouch, executing a very abrupt transition into her preferred subject of conversation. The witch prided herself on an eighty per cent success rate in predicting matches. “I daresay Cygnus and Druella have had plenty of offers.”If her parents had, this was Andromeda’s first time hearing of it—not that she’d alert Madame Crouch to the fact.“She could have a Lestrange if she wished,” declared Grandmother Irma quietly, with a hint of pride—as if it was her doing that Andromeda was such a desirable prospect and not the Black family name. “But nothing will be announced until after Bella’s marriage, of course. Family tradition.”“What about Abraxas’ boy?” queried Madame Flint, peering at Andromeda curiously through slim bifocals. “He isn’t spoken for yet.”Despite the engaging smile she offered the ladies in response, Andromeda was irked. She was already so tired of all this match-making talk and her season hadn’t even started—gossiping non-stop about wizards day in, day out. Had it been that way for Bella? Had she simply accepted Rodolphus’ proposal as an alternative to exploding from sheer exasperation?“Don’t wait too long girl,” recommended her great-grandmother, jabbing a spindly finger in her direction. “Wizards aren’t anything at all like elf wine—they don’t get any finer with age. Best get them young and ripe, when they’re still worth the trouble.”“Maybe Andromeda would consider a Rosier?” inquired Madame Flint, coughing delicately to alert them to the approach of prying ears—and a potential suitor.“Andromeda!” A young flaxen-haired Apollo strode deliberately up to the matrons’ tent, white smile dazzling in the evening firelight, “Cousin, I’ve been searching everywhere for you. Mesdames, you’re looking lovely this evening.” Two pink spots bloomed unattractively on Madame Flint’s sallow cheeks, while the surrounding witches tittered in amusement.Thank Circe for Ellis Rosier.Only a year below Andromeda in Slytherin, her second cousin was as charming as he was handsome, as well as a particular favourite among the old biddies.“I wish I had more time to enjoy your illustrious company, but I’ve come to claim the dance I was promised. Shall we?” With her grandmother’s nod of approval, Andromeda daintily grabbed hold of Ellis’ proffered arm and let herself be guided towards the bonfire.It was a universally acknowledged truth among their set that Ellis Rosier’s good looks, good breeding, and good fortune meant he would have no trouble when it came time to find a spouse. Of course, the massive family estate in Devonshire that he was set to inherit as the eldest son was already a source of excitement for young witches. Though his own season wouldn’t be for another two years, Ellis’ mother had confided in her cousin Druella that she’d turned down three offers already. Personally, Andromeda understood why, tilting her head back to look into Ellis’ cloudless blue eyes, which sparkled down at her with Puckish mischief. It seemed her younger cousin had grown a head taller than her over the summer. “Since when do I promise you dances, Ellis?” inquired Andromeda, thoroughly amused by the whole scheme. “I can’t say I appreciate being commandeered like that.”“You can thank your sister for this rescue,” Ellis laughed. At Hogwarts, Ellis’ beguiling smile had earned him a cult following among ladies and even some men. “After my dance with her, Narcissa made it clear that I wasn’t to return to the floor without you.”Andromeda smirked. “And you’re the obedient type, are you?”“Don’t pretend, Andromeda, you’ve been avoiding us boys all night,” he teased, deftly twirling her closer to the bonfire. “Wizards have been falling all over themselves to dance with the next eligible Black sister, only to see her cavorting with a bloodsucker.”“That’s an awful way to refer to yourself,” she quipped. “You’re only a slight pest.”He sidestepped her playful jab, returning with one of his own: “But you are avoiding someone, then? Come now, it wouldn’t happen to be a certain host, would it?”“I can neither confirm nor deny, Ellis. After all, we have three hosts.”“Well, we both know Bellatrix never shares. So unless you’re avoiding Lestrange Sr—in which case, what an excellent party this would be—by default, my next guess would have to be Lestrange the younger,” deduced Ellis with ease. “But why should the rest of us have to endure your absence as a consequence of his ardour?”“His ardour? I wasn’t aware you were subscribed to Witch Weekly magazine,” Andromeda scoffed. “You didn’t even notice my absence until Cissa pointed it out—and you could have kept on entertaining her instead. Or are none of the other ladies to your liking?”“I think we both know who your sister prefers,” Ellis answered, leaving her second quip unanswered. “But I believe the question on everyone’s mind is, who do you?”She raised an eyebrow, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. “If that’s the question on everyone’s mind, then the Daily Prophet must be having a slow week.”“Heart as black as your name, I see,” Ellis countered. “I wonder, which brave wizard will be as up to the task as Perseus was? Perhaps Rabastan Lestrange’s affection is being put to the test? What monster will he have to fend off to win your favour?”Andromeda’s sharp laugh caused whispers to ripple around them.“You hurt me, cousin,” she replied, lowering her voice to avoid eavesdroppers. “We’re simply playing a little game—it’s not my fault that he’s such a slow player.”“Ah, but I’ve never known you to play a game you couldn’t win, cousin.”With a final flourish, the band wrapped up their upbeat tune to thunderous applause. As for Ellis, he deftly twirled Andromeda one last time—only to leave her standing face to face with a triumphant Rabastan Lestrange.“Except this time, cousin,” Ellis snickered in her ear, before setting off to gather his next dance partner.“You’re a fine wizard, Rosier,” called out Rabastan Lestrange behind him, an appreciative gleam in his dark eyes as he finally faced Andromeda, smug as a Kneazle.Ellis was a right bastard, Andromeda fumed. It had been too long since she’d seen Ellis outside of school, long enough to forget his childhood game of choice—pranks, usually nasty in nature.“Miss Andromeda,” simpered Rabastan, as if they hadn’t spent the better part of the night playing capture the kelpie. Fuck, a game that she had been winning, at least until she let her guard down.Andromeda resisted the urge to grimace in his face. Anything less than impassive politeness would incite a wave of gossip that would reach her parents’ ears. Anything more would serve to inflate Rabastan’s already considerable ego. “Mr Rabastan,” she replied, settling on feigning innocent surprise. “I haven’t seen you all night, wherever did you go?”A flash of annoyance moved like dark lightning over his thin features—it appeared he’d had too much spiked wine to keep his usual level of composure. Quickly, Rabastan smoothed his expression into what he must have believed was a charming grin.  “Looking for you, of course. One could almost say you’ve been avoiding me, Miss Andromeda, but we both know that to be false.”“Only almost, Mr Rabastan? What a shame.”Once more, anger flared in the shadow of his dark eyes. Remembering the Lestranges’ reputation for congenital madness, Andromeda considered that was a side to Rabastan best left unexplored.“You promised me a dance earlier,” Rabastan reminded her, extending his hand. It was unfortunately true. In retrospect, it had been foolish to agree when Andromeda had no intention of fulfilling her word, only doing so under the impression that she would be able to avoid him the entire night. Now, with other pairs assembling around them and the band tuning their instruments for the next piece, Andromeda suspected there was no escaping this one.Over the curve of Rabastan’s shoulder, she caught sight of Mother and Aunt Walburga mingling by a nearby refreshment table with the newly-minted Madame Malfoy (by way of her mother-in-law’s untimely death of course). The three ladies were eyeing the pair speculatively, her aunt leaning over to murmur in Mother’s ear. To reject Rabastan in public would be fodder for gossip, and to do so in front of Aunt Walburga would be signing her death warrant.“So I did,” Andromeda conceded, keeping still as he slipped both a delicate hand into hers and a slender arm around her waist.Standing in his embrace, she realized for the first time that Rabastan wasn’t as tall as her imagination made him out to be. Facing each other, they stood nearly nose to nose, eye to eye. Though he wasn’t as unattractive as a Crabbe or a Flint—indeed, his dark aristocratic features bore an offhand resemblance to the Blacks—Rabastan definitely lacked the ability to make her pulse race for the right reasons. While Rabastan led her through another high-spirited tune, the fiddler’s fingertips fairly flying over the strings, Andromeda felt a current of righteous fury course through her chest, burning white-hot under her ribcage. As he steered her through the jaunty steps of the dance, Rabastan was unabashedly parading them as a couple in front of all of society. Curious eyes trailed their figures, taking in whatever perceived signs of affection Rabastan fed them: guiding her gently by the waist, brushing a dark curl off her shoulder, letting his dark eyes linger too long on her lips.Society matrons around them murmured knowingly, beginning to calculate for the sake of their own daughters. Rabastan Lestrange is a catch, they seemed to say, and Andromeda Black has stolen him from right under your noses.It was humiliating, to say the least.“Enjoying yourself?” he asked at one point, bringing her so close after a spin that the heat of his wine-soaked breath tickled the delicate shell of her ear. Andromeda pointedly stifled a yawn. In response, his grip on her waist tightened uncomfortably.With the moon at its zenith in the night sky, the wine had already been flowing freely for the past few hours—dancers were becoming careless, stepping on toes and stumbling on skirt hems. Rabastan himself reeked of whatever concoction he’d been drinking that night, whatever heinous combination that brought out the dangerous edge in his personality that Andromeda found so disquieting.The band couldn’t have wrapped up the song any faster. No sooner had the last note faded, Andromeda had immediately scoured the crowd for her next escape.“Now, I have quite a nice idea. Why don’t we—”But as to what Rabastan Lestrange thought would be a nice idea, Andromeda was destined to never find out. By the Goddess’ will, her saviour appeared in the most unexpected of persons—seeming to materialize out of thin air, even though Apparating within private residences was considered bad form.“Andromeda Black, where have you been hiding all night?” Amaryllis Carrow’s strident voice had never been more welcome. Despite her size, the diminutive witch barreled through the crowd, wielding sharp little elbows as her preferred weapon to part the masses. Behind her loomed the dark shadow of her older cousin Amycus, a high-strung wizard who personally took on the charge of supervising his female relatives—including his own adult sister.Though the relationship between the girls was strained at the best of times, Andromeda had been friendly with Amaryllis for the better part of their time at Hogwarts. After years of sharing such close quarters in the Slytherin dorms, Andromeda knew Amaryllis could always be counted on to barge her pert nose into the lives of her nearest (and not necessarily dearest) friends.“Amaryllis, so lovely to see you,” smiled Andromeda, with more warmth than she’d ever expressed toward her schoolmate, and nodded at the disapproving chaperone. “Mr Carrow.”“Carrow, what a pleasure,” greeted Rabastan politely, mindful of his host duties. Though he was perfectly gracious, there was an annoyed edge to his smile.“Mr Rabastan, what an honour,” simpered Amaryllis, undaunted by his visible displeasure. She adopted a coquettish smile that Andromeda had seen her practice in the mirror regularly, often before in the early morning hours before lessons. “Such a delightful party you’ve hosted, my mother was just thrilled to be invited. We do hope that this is the first of many.”Considering the predatory glimmer in her friend’s dark eyes, Andromeda acted on the opportunity before, Circe forbid, Rabastan could make his excuses and drag her away to some secluded corner. “Mr Rabastan, have you met Miss Amaryllis before? She’s such an exquisite dancer, please do give her a turn.”Positively clenching his jaw with anger, Rabastan barely disguised his chagrined expression. “With pleasure. May I?”“Miss Andromeda is exaggerating,” preened Amaryllis, attempting and failing at self-deprecation. Though she acted kittenish, Amaryllis was more like a Wampus: light and quick on her feet, but most certainly lethal if she caught you with her teeth. “But I would be delighted to. Cousin Amycus, why don’t you invite Miss Andromeda to dance?”Always unfailingly rude, Amycus Carrow grimaced. “I think I’d rather not. If you’ll excuse me, my sister needs attending to.”To Amaryllis’ delight, the band had finally decided to slip into a series of plaintive love songs perfect for couples. Although Mr Lestrange had been unable to secure Celestina Warbeck as entertainment, he had found a decent replacement in Tillie Holiday, a witch whose syrupy voice was crooning a rendition of What a Bit of Firelight Can Do (For You). With Rabastan glaring at her departing figure, Andromeda felt almost lighthearted with the recent turn of events. There was no possibility that Amaryllis would release him from her sharp clutches within the half-hour. Judging by the low-hanging moon and the bonfire’s dwindling flames, Andromeda planned to be snug and warm in her bed in less time than that.It all happened very quickly, Andromeda considered in retrospect.After joining the ladies by the refreshment table, Mother had been brushing an imaginary speck off her sleeve, whispering instructions to keep her options open for as long as possible (“Be careful darling, we wouldn’t want you to squander any opportunities”). Meanwhile, Aunt Walburga fixed Andromeda with a withering glare, unable to berate her in front of Madame Malfoy.Most partygoers were considerably tired and inebriated by that point, beginning to gather their belongings and stumble their way to the enchanted wagons (“How tawdry,” Violetta had scoffed), which would take them up to the greystone manor, where they would Floo from the Lestranges’ foyer. Across the clearing, Andromeda could make out Father and Cissa leading the grandmothers over to the carriages, with a wizened little house-elf carrying their heavy fur-lined stoles behind them.An eery chill had stolen over the clearing, temperature dropping sharply, when a blaze of light and sound erupted at the edge of the forest. Menacing cloaked figures emerged from the dense treeline, faces obscured by shadows, wands held aloft like torches. Magic crackled in the air when, with a flick of the ringleader’s wand, two motionless figures soared overhead. Young boys barely older than Barty, dressed in obviously Muggle clothing, were suspended by magic in mid-air, hovering above the bonfire like spit-roasted hogs.A familiar feminine laugh, feral like the wind in a thunderstorm, made something in Andromeda’s stomach roil. Around them, the remaining partygoers eagerly hastened to flee the scene, lest the Ministry arrive and cut off access to the Floo Network. Madame Malfoy hid a dainty yawn behind her handkerchief, excusing herself for the evening: “I’m sure Abraxas will be home when he’s had his fun.” Aunt Walburga looked vaguely amused while Mother appeared unmoved, wandering off to summon their cloaks and shawls. A hysterical Cousin Charity hurried past, calling out frantically for a missing Barty.“Come now, ladies,” called out Father, a white-faced Cissa trailing in his wake, before ushering them onto the remaining wagons. Pearlescent magic rippled in the sky above, a telltale sign that Aurors were already attempting to penetrate the wards. “Go on home, I’ll be behind you shortly. Druella, send an owl to Mr Darrow as soon as possible.”————————//————————
The morning after Lughnasadh at Asterfield House
Not long after their arrival, upon which Mother immediately retreated to her bedroom with a nightcap in hand, the door to Andromeda’s room creaked open and Cissa slipped inside without invitation. With her pale blonde hair streaming over the shoulders of her white muslin nightgown, Cissa’s freshly-washed face appeared younger and more vulnerable than it had in years.“Can’t you sleep?” she whispered.Andromeda shook her head, wordlessly turning down the corner of her plush pale-blue comforter. Slipping underneath, Cissa curled onto her side to face Andromeda, who sat rigid with her back against the headboard and her knees tucked up inside her own nightgown.“I enjoyed myself tonight,” Cissa admitted quietly. “All things considered.”Humming absentmindedly in agreement, Andromeda played with her thick chestnut curls, weaving her fingers through the tangles and pulling at a particularly difficult knot. “Stop, don’t do it like that,” reprimanded her sister, sitting up and reaching for a mother-of-pearl inlaid brush, a gift from Grandmother Irma, before turning Andromeda around so as to run the bristles through her hair.“You were the prettiest witch there, Cissa,” noted Andromeda ruefully. “Even Lucius Malfoy couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”Cissa’s gentle brushstrokes stilled momentarily, “We only danced twice.” If Andromeda didn’t know better, she’d think her sister was pouting. Andromeda snorted: “He would have asked for a third if his mother didn’t keep him on such a tight leash. Besides, you certainly weren’t wanting for partners—Alexander Montague seemed very determined on getting that second dance.”“Montague’s great-grandmother was a half-blood,” said Cissa dismissively, yet she refused to elaborate more on Malfoy.“What about you, ‘Meda?” she continued, putting away the brush and beginning to weave the curls into loose braids. “After Bella marries next Beltane, you’ll be free to make whichever announcement you’d like.”“If Bella marries next Beltane, then I guess we’ll see. For all of our sakes, let’s just hope Mr Rodolphus doesn’t bore her anytime soon,” warned Andromeda darkly.“You always think the worst of Bella,” Cissa rebuked mildly, a long-running argument.“Fine,” huffed Andromeda, rolling her eyes. “If they keep discovering shared interests like they did tonight, then maybe we’ll have a nephew by next year’s Yuletide.”Andromeda jolted as Cissa tugged a bit sharper than was necessary. “Do you think…” she hesitated, much as Cissa always did when afraid to appear naive, “that the Ministry could lock her away for tonight?”“You know what Great-grandmother Violetta says: Muggle-baiting is hardly worth a trip to Azkaban,” reassured Andromeda, not entirely certain that was actually the case. “In any case, the head of the DMLE is a Yaxley by his mother’s side. Father won’t let him do anything to Bella.”It was the way their world turned: through small favours for family and friends, sorting out sticky situations with enough Galleons to grease the wheels. In any case, Cissa appeared to be sufficiently mollified. “There,” she declared, tying a bit of pink ribbon at the end of the braid, and Andromeda turned to face her. “You know,” Cissa continued, avoiding eye-contact as she climbed back under the covers. “If Ellis Rosier were just a few years older, you could be engaged by next summer. Though you two could always wait, if you’d like.”“Ellis Rosier?” squawked Andromeda unattractively, pulling at the covers to reveal Cissa’s amused expression. “Whatever happened to Mr Rabastan? Everybody else is so keen on him for me.”Since a grimace was too unladylike, Cissa’s nose crinkled daintily instead. “He’s… fine. I mean, Bella and Mr Rodolphus are well-suited, they’re both—”“Bloodthirsty loons,” interjected Andromeda and yelped when Cissa pinched her side.“They’re both very intense,” Cissa corrected, frowning. “But I do think one Lestrange boy is enough for this family.”Andromeda stifled her snicker. For her sister, such vague disapproval was the equivalent of shouting from the rooftops that under no circumstances did she want Rabastan Lestrange as a brother. Good—Andromeda would need an ally on that battlefield, whenever the time came. That did not mean, however, she was all that interested in shifting her attentions toward anyone else, let alone her second cousin Ellis.Silence fell between them as the minutes waiting for Bella to return slowly transformed into hours. Though Cissa gratefully accepted the potion-laced hot cocoa when Memsie’s quiet knock came, Andromeda stayed awake, focused on the steady ticking of the grandfather clock in the corridor.Andromeda couldn’t sleep, but she also didn’t want to.How could she? Well, if completely honest, Andromeda had always suspected Bella had an incredible capacity for cruelty. Her older sister’s preferred childhood games were always unkind: she had a flair for jinxes and hexes that were too nasty to be truly playful. But Father and Mother had always kept Bella on a short leash, ensuring she toed the line of propriety—if not for herself, then for the sake of the Black family reputation.But that night, Andromeda had seen something in her sister’s dark, wild-eyed gaze. Something had broken free inside of Bella, snapping the chords of her sister’s self-restraint, and raging like Fiendfyre in the dark.As the hours crept on, Andromeda waited and listened. Small birds flitted outside her window, chirping in the twilight hour before the sun fully peaked over the horizon. Late summer breezes rustled the branches outside her window. Somewhere downstairs, Memsie’s footsteps padded across the morning room rugs.Not long after the grandfather clock struck six, there was a ruckus in the corridor outside Andromeda’s bedroom door. Angry voices drifted down the hall: Father’s warnings, low-pitched and unforgiving, and Memsie’s berating, high-pitched and admonishing. Bella’s shrieked laughter cut through their rebukes as she evaded their attempts to shepherd her to bed, the heels of her boots clicking rapidly on the marble floors. With a sharp rattle, the silver knob on Andromeda’s door turned and a head of wild curls poked inside. Dark eyes shining and cheeks flushed sunset, Bella looked oddly lovely, even if her hair would be hell to detangle in the morning and the ivory lace on her robes was torn and singed in places. “Bellatrix!” Father protested gruffly, unseen.“Trouble sleeping, little sister?” Bella cooed, eyes glittering with amusementAndromeda remained impassive, knowing better than to feed her excitement.“I hope you were impressed, Bast wanted to dedicate that little show just to you,” Bella snickered, her full wine-stained mouth curled into a mocking smile. “He’s really very sweet on you, Andy darling.”Andromeda kept her eyes trained on a portrait of her great-great-aunt, Elladora Black, who snored softly from the corner of the room.“Sweet dreams,” Bella whispered saccharinely, before Father pulled her out of the doorway.Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.Deep long breaths, just like Memsie had taught her to do as a child. It had been so long since Andromeda had felt like this—this off-centre, off-balance. Wrapping slender arms around her fluffiest pillow, Andromeda tightened her grip until it felt as if she’d almost strangled the feathers out of the poor cushion. If she didn’t move, if she didn’t blink, if she just kept very still and held herself together, then Andromeda could pretend that Bella’s unspoken threat didn’t really frighten her.  
Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London

Lughnasadh, August 1, 1999
The first time Narcissa Malfoy crossed the threshold of Number 12, Grimmauld Place—after having spent over a decade shamelessly avoiding the drafty old mausoleum—she was startled by a hunched little figure who threw itself at her feet. Before either Harry or Hermione could prevent the spectacle, a wailing Kreacher dove on to the black-and-white checkered marble floor and reverently pressed damp kisses into the hemline of Cissa’s grey robes. “Missy Narcissa!” the house-elf cried plaintively, wrinkled little face crumpled with emotion, as the entire party in entrance hall watched in horrified silence.“There, there,” Cissa consoled stiffly, patting the bald top of Kreacher’s head. Andromeda fought the wild urge to laugh. Instead, she couldn’t help taking a step back, uncertain as to whether Kreacher’s lips would also be taking a liking to her new dragon-hide boots, and greeted above the commotion, “Harry, Miss Granger, so lovely to see you.” It took Harry issuing a rare order for Kreacher to get off his knees, though the faithful house-elf’s eyes suspiciously watered as he hobbled away to prepare to tea for his honoured guest. “The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black has returned,” Kreacher wheezed as he shuffled past.“Sorry ‘bout that,” Harry muttered, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. With Kreacher out of the way, Cissa finally had a moment to appreciate her surroundings, sweeping her critical gaze over the entrance hall’s new bright and clean interior. “It’s unrecognizable,” breathed Cissa, just short of outright praise. Unrecognizable was quite the understatement. As far as Andromeda was concerned, the Granger girl had worked nothing short of miracles in turning what was left of Walburga’s townhouse fortress into an inhabitable and welcoming home.Gone were cobwebbed chandeliers, the dusty velvet curtains, the moulding carpets and the rotting peeling wallpaper. Upon returning from her eighth year at Hogwarts, Miss Granger had been given free rein to redecorate the house in pale ivories and muted gold touches, restoring the mahogany floors, and polishing the marble accents. It was an ambitious project, one that had taken most of the summer to complete even with magic. More than a few night had Andromeda Floo-called only to discover Harry, Hermione, and the Weasley boys had fallen asleep amidst paint cans and wallpaper adhesive. Sometimes Andromeda slept very easy at night, knowing that Walburga’s entire bedroom set had been replaced with a rather tasteful and thrifty collection from Ikea.The odd party was quickly ushered into the drawing-room, which barely resembled the foreboding splendour Andromeda had known in her youth. Afternoon sunlight streamed in through the sparkling floor-to-ceiling windows and reflected off the striped eggshell silk wallhangings by the whitewashed fireplace, where Aunt Walburga’s beloved floral chintz chair had been reupholstered in dark emerald satin. “She’s probably rolling in her grave,” murmured Cissa in quiet awe.However, still in pride of place was the threadbare Black family tapestry, its enchanted gold weave beginning to fade. Miss Granger had yet to devise a way to remove it without causing its destruction, especially considering that Kreacher tended to burst into tears whenever Harry offered to blast it into smithereens.“Is it to your liking?” asked Miss Granger, gnawing nervously on her bottom lip. Throughout the arduous renovation, the Muggle-born witch had extensively consulted Andromeda over what to discard and retain from the Black legacy at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Though Andromeda had personally advocated burning the structure to the ground and starting anew, Miss Granger had successfully argued that the house’s peculiar legacy—from pure-blood fanaticism to rebellion headquarters—merited some kind of physical homage. Personally, Andromeda suspected that Miss Granger had also refused to let the Potter boy continue living in a rotting, moulding mausoleum of a house.“Maybe Kreacher would like to keep the tapestry for himself?” suggested Cissa delicately. “I’m sure he would cherish it.”Miss Granger beamed, clearly fond of the little elf.Standing in front of Aunt Walburga’s most prized possession, none of the afternoon’s little ironies were lost on Andromeda. Although she and Cissa were the only ones whose names featured on that dreadful tapestry, it was the half-blood Potter boy and his Muggle-born best friend who were playing hosts. Had Walburga known what would become of her beloved family home, she would have razed it to the ground as her funeral pyre—with Kreacher still inside.As the silence stretched uncomfortably between the guests, both witches pretended not to notice Miss Granger discreetly elbowing Harry in the ribcage, startling the boy into remembering his manners. “Oh, err, please sit down Mrs Tonks, Mrs Malfoy,” he offered, pointing to a plush loveseat by the fireplace. “Mrs Longbottom Floo-ed to say the other ladies would be here soon. Let me go see if Kreacher needs some help.”Harry left the room as quickly as possible, still not quite comfortable with playing the master of the house.“Thank you for letting us host the Ladies’ Society tea here, Miss Granger,” interjected Andromeda after the wizened house-elf reappeared, bearing a tray laden with a mountain of hot scones and delicately-arranged petit-fours.“It’s no trouble at all,” Miss Granger dismissed politely, as Kreacher went about serving their tea. “Please enjoy the refreshments. Kreacher made these biscuits especially for you, Mrs Malfoy.”Seated primly beside Andromeda, Cissa eyed the young woman speculatively. Her sister had expressed a certain interest in the Muggle-born witch, who’d featured repeatedly in many of her nephew’s letters over their time spent together at Hogwarts.According to Narcissa, Draco had often written home bemoaning that the young witch, despite being raised unaware of her magical prowess, had consistently outscored him in every single one of their classes. To add insult to injury, as a member of the Golden Trio, they embarked on annual hare-brained adventures that rarely lost Gryffindor enough points to actually sacrifice the House Cup. In their third year, Miss Granger had even once punched Draco in the nose for being a rude little brat—though Narcissa maintained the violence was undeserved, Andromeda now felt she knew her nephew’s moods enough to know better.“He had such a fine, aristocratic nose before that,” Narcissa had insisted, visibly put out by Andromeda’s laughter. “Now it looks so… common.”Draco Malfoy’s peasant nose notwithstanding, Hermione Granger was a witch who had every reason to despise her current guest, having been the object of the Malfoys’ scorn and derision for years, as well as subject to torture while captive under their roof. And yet, for reasons Cissa could not understand and Andromeda thought not her place to explain, Miss Granger’s moral compass had dictated that she not only defend the Malfoys’ right to a fair trial to the best of her ability, but the young witch had also done so with a tenacity Andromeda found admirable. Even after her fifty-page tome on the Wizengamot's failings in imparting with transitional justice was essentially denied without review by the court itself, an undaunted Hermione had relentlessly drilled Harry into giving a flawless testimony that effectively won Draco his trial.Twenty-something years ago, Narcissa Black would have benefitted from Hermione’s help with no gratitude whatsoever, considering it reflective of their respective stations in life. Now, however, Narcissa Malfoy—forced to reassess all she’d been raised to hold sacred and hallowed—was under the uncomfortable impression that she was indebted not only to Harry, but also his Muggle-born friend. It was a humbling realization, one that had induced Narcissa to accept Hermione’s generous offer to hold this particular session of the Fundraising Committee’s weekly tea at Grimmauld Place.Using only her forefinger and thumb to swirl the teaspoon in the porcelain cup, Cissa looked up thoughtfully. “It has come to my attention, Miss Granger, that you have gone to great trouble for my family over the past year, when we…,” her sister trailed off, hesitant. “When we have not done much to deserve it all. I would like to extend our gratitude on their behalf.”Some might have considered this to be an understated, even insufficient, apology for the abuse Miss Granger had suffered at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange at Malfoy Manor. Indeed, Cissa remained composed, voice relatively quiet and steady, not even a tear shed. When Draco had been told of their afternoon excursion, he’d laid out in no uncertain terms that he did not believe any apology would mend that bridge, let alone ingratiate his mother with “Saint Potter” and his Muggle-born witch.But Andromeda knew her nephew to be a pessimist at best. The past year had taught her many lessons about the complexity of pain, the non-linear process of grieving, and even the surprising nature of forgiveness.Miss Granger, who always held herself impeccably straight, glanced down at the teacup she clasped tightly in her hands. The long sleeves of her blue button-up shirt obscured the graphic lettering deliberately carved into her forearm.“I don’t have much family anymore, Mrs Malfoy,” she admitted. Misty brown eyes turned to face them. “You might not have protected me, but you inadvertently protected the loved ones I have left. What I did…” Miss Granger smiled ruefully, “consider that a debt repaid.”Harry’s dishevelled dark head poked inside: “Mione, I think the rest of them will be here soon. Where should I put them?”Rolling her eyes and shrugging off the sombre mood, Miss Granger rebuked the young Potter, “Put them? Harry, they’re ladies, not packages. Have Kreacher take their cloaks and bring them here, of course.”Even when berating her best friend, Miss Granger’s bemused expression was fond, even sisterly. To be frank, Andromeda appreciated the girl’s protective behaviour over the Boy-Who-Lived, the young man who’d come to fill a hollow left by her absent family. From viciously fending off reporters in one moment to berating Harry for not folding his clothes in the next, Andromeda found Miss Granger’s fiercely protective mannerisms endearing, to say the least. In preparation for the onslaught of society matrons, Kreacher reappeared with another silver serving tray loaded high with baked delicacies and tiny finger sandwiches, porcelain tea set hovering behind him. Considering the already expansive spread arranged before them, Andromeda suspected Kreacher was seeking to woo Narcissa through the sheer volume of his baking.At the sight of a precariously perched saucer, teetering at the edge of the tray, Miss Granger offered kindly, “Kreacher, would you like help in bringing in the rest of the tea service?”Were his wrinkled cheeks still capable, Andromeda was certain Kreacher would have flushed red with embarrassment. As it were, his foggy eyes swivelled nervously toward the Black sisters before quickly hobbling out of the room.Over the rims of their teacups, the sisters exchanged pointed glances, with Andromeda losing the silent battle of wills: “Miss Granger dear, I know you mean well, but house-elves will take offence to those offers.”Pink bloomed against the brown of Miss Granger’s cheekbones: “I only wanted to help.”“What my sister should explain, Miss Granger, is that such well-meaning offers—especially as Mr Potter’s cherished friend—will insinuate that Kreacher’s services are no longer required,” elaborated Cissa.Miss Granger shuddered, seemingly at the reminder of the beheaded house-elves, all of whom had been relocated to a makeshift graveyard in the back garden. “Thank you, Mrs Malfoy, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” she said politely, when Andromeda had been half-expecting another speech on the house-elf liberation movement.Forging ahead with the conversation, Cissa queried, “Will you be joining us for tea, Miss Granger? I understand the Ladies’ Society has already extended their invitations to your graduating class.”“Hermione has refused our offer, for the time being,” Andromeda revealed, bearing the girl no ill will.“I’ve been offered quite a few apprenticeships,” Hermione explained, a bit sheepish about her success. “Some of the Charms masters brought in to help restore Hogwarts were interested in my work.”“Apprenticeships?” Cissa raised a quizzical brow. “I would not have suspected you had such a thirst for academia.”Miss Granger flushed. “I applied to the Wizengamot apprenticeships, but it was made apparent to me that my contributions were undesired.”“I see,” Cissa took a dainty sip of warm tea.Andromeda could already see the cogs turning in her sister’s mind. Clearly, both of the Black sisters thought Miss Granger’s ambition would be wasted if she spent her youth holed up in a dusty classroom, under the tutelage of some grey-haired maestro with little power or influence beyond their books. While the Muggle-born witch had already declared her actions to be a debt repaid, the Andromeda knew better—if Narcissa Black had any strings left to pull, she would use those connections to place Miss Granger in a position better suited to her potential.“You’re welcome to join us whenever you please, Miss Granger,” offered Andromeda, keen to diffuse the girl’s awkwardness. “I believe Miss Susan Bones has already accepted, as well as a Miss Luna Lovegood.”Miss Granger’s mouth twisted strangely, as if holding back laughter. “Luna?” she asked, incredulous. “In a Ladies’ Society?”Andromeda frowned, “She came highly recommended by Madame Longbottom’s grandson.”“I think I better stay for tea,” agreed Miss Granger. ————————//————————Considering its historic ties to the Black family, Grimmauld Place had gained certain notoriety among the wizarding public after Rita Skeeter’s tell-all exclusive piece on the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. The townhouse’s existence had been the only detail she’d gotten right in the rubbish article, which had mostly speculated about a tempestuous love affair between Remus, a penniless werewolf, and Sirius, the disgraced Black heir. Though its location remained unplottable, most were aware that Harry Potter had retreated to the privacy of his godfather’s childhood home to escape the relentless press attention. So, when members of the Ladies’ Society were extended invitations for tea, most had eagerly accepted, their natural curiosity overpowering their disdain for the Black family reputation. “Not at all like I remembered it,” declared Madame Longbottom, one of the few who had visited during Walburga’s lifetime. Though the Longbottom line fell under Callidora Black’s name, Andromeda eyed the extensive tapestry and located Melania Black (née Macmillan), Augusta’s beloved aunt. “Quite the improvement, Miss Granger.”As the other ladies trailed inside, they made similar favourable remarks on the extensive renovations, despite never having seen the original edifice. “Is that a first edition copy of A Potioneer’s Guide to Rare Magical Brews and Elixirs?” wondered Solomina Diggory when shown the library, having arrived promptly before anyone else. Before becoming Amos Diggory’s wife, Solomina Morgenstern had worked as a bookkeeper at her family’s centuries-old store, Flourish and Blotts, and now served as the Fundraising Committee’s treasurer.Though Mrs Diggory hid her eagle-eyed appraisal well, Andromeda could tell her mercenary mind was already estimating how much the Black family library would earn at an auction. Miss Jocelyn Fawcett had similarly eyed the glittering crystal chandelier in the dining hall with shrewd interest: “My great-grandfather’s handiwork, I suppose. We haven’t worked on chandeliers in a few decades, but we would make an exception for you, Mr Potter.”“Do I detect nutmeg in these biscuits?” queried Felicity Bones, a proud home-baker who’d attempted to snoop in the kitchens before Kreacher had politely escorted her to the drawing-room. “Absolutely scrumptious.”“Cinnamon,” remarked Andromeda, drily. “How delightful,” agreed Madame Bones brightly, a round-cheeked witch who possessed neither the wit nor the brains of her late and brilliant sister-in-law. She was, however, an uncommonly kind soul, and had been the only one to greet Cissa with any degree of warmth.Her daughter, Miss Susan Bones, wore her blonde hair in a short, blunt bob, reminiscent of her Aunt Amelia, and nodded politely upon introduction. There was a steely look about the Hufflepuff girl that Andromeda appreciated, and she was unsurprised to discover Miss Bones would also be joining the new Auror recruits.“What a beautiful home you have, Harry,” sighed a blonde waif trailing in the shadow of Madame Longbottom’s avian headwear, her luminous silver eyes roving curiously over the surroundings. “Such a shame about the Blibbering Humdingers in the curtains. You can lure them outside with the smell of dirty laundry, they’re quite fond of old socks you know.”“Thanks, Luna,” replied Harry with fond amusement. “You can come help with that, if you’d like.”Miss Luna Lovegood beamed, lighting up like the summery yellow frock she wore. Cornflower blue cartoon eyes dotted the hemline and cuffs, swivelling in excitement, and a pair of feathery earring brushed the tops of her pale shoulders. With her wand tucked behind her left ear, it was certainly the most interesting getup Andromeda had ever seen—and she’d been a mother to Nymphadora. “Oh, hello Madame Malfoy. Your home is quite lovely too,” complimented Miss Lovegood pleasantly, and Andromeda failed to detect any hint of sarcasm. “I’m sorry to say the cellars were a bit damp, but I made some good friends there.”“Miss Lovegood.” If Narcissa could appear abashed, this was the closest Andromeda had ever witnessed, with her sister clearly searching for the appropriate words.Downstairs, a ringing doorbell announced the final addition to their group, and Harry made a swift exit to avoid the quiet tension that descended upon the ladies. Though Madame Bones still maintained her sympathetic expression, both Miss Fawcett and Mrs Diggory’s demeanour had turned glacial. As Miss Lovegood’s sponsor, Madame Longbottom appeared ready to do battle for her foundling.“I wonder…” continued the blonde witch serenely, seemingly unaware of how many wounds had reopened at the reminder of her capture and imprisonment. “Draco brought us a very nice Yule pudding once, Mr Ollivander really enjoyed it. Only the leftovers, of course. Would you happen to know the recipe?”“Draco?” wondered Miss Granger out loud. “Luna, since when are you on a first-name basis with Malfoy?”Continuing in that breathy tone, Miss Lovegood revealed offhandedly: “We correspond. I write to him, occasionally he writes back. Owl post is very efficient nowadays, now that the office is run by actual wizards and witches.”“As opposed to…?” wondered Miss Granger, but Madame Longbottom shook her head to dissuade that line of questioning.Miss Lovegood only smiled in response.“Miss Lovegood, I was not aware you are friendly with my son,” Narcissa let out the tiniest exhale of relief. “You’re more than welcome to—“The drawing-room door swung open for a final time, letting in the last two arrivals.“I do hope we’re not too late, Melina was having a spot of trouble with her Floo.”Both Black sisters turned to greet the elegant figure who swanned into the room, every bit as fashionable as she’d been twenty years prior. Despite the midnight hair turning a lustrous silver, Lucretia Prewett looked just as graceful in her sharply-cut burgundy robes as she had during their youth. Behind her strode in a small, stocky woman, whose conservative robes did nothing to hide the appearance of densely packed muscle on her elderly frame.“Aunt Lucretia?” queried Narcissa, eyes wide with surprise. “I thought you were…”“Dead? Old Wally always hoped I would croak before she did,” chuckled Aunt Lucretia, swooping in to press a warm kiss against each of Andromeda’s cheeks before rounding on her other niece.“Now, Miss Narcissa Black, exactly how long has it been?”  
Hogwarts Express, Somewhere in Great Britain

September 1, 1970
“Mother thinks it’s disgraceful, that’s what she called it,” declared Amaryllis Carrow for the third time in a row since the scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express had pulled away from the platform. Dreary rain splattered against the window, dense fog obscuring the rolling green hills of the British countryside outside.As seventh-years, Andromeda and her cohort had laid claim to the most comfortable compartment in the third carriage—uncharitably referred to by some as the ‘viper’s nest’. Although Andromeda would soon have to report to the prefect’s carriage for their first meeting of the year, she had been keen to reunite with her friends for at least the first thirty minutes of the train ride. Most of that time had been monopolized by their diminutive friend, who’d insisted on dissecting every little piece of summer holiday gossip she’d been able to unearth while separated.Imogen Selwyn rolled her eyes in disgust, lounging with her head tilted back against the windowpane. “Can we please change the subject?” she implored. “The old bat’s dead, let her rest in peace.”Amaryllis turned her pert nose up at Imogen: “Of course you wouldn’t care. Everyone knows how your family felt about old Madame Malfoy.”The recently departed Madame Malfoy, née Cerridwyn Selwyn, had infamously taken the news of her nephew’s marriage to a Hong Kong banking heiress quite poorly. When the old witch was suddenly taken gravely ill with spattergroit at the beginning of June, Imogen’s father Cuthbert had scheduled a family pilgrimage to Asia to pay his respects to his wife’s ancestors.Tossing back a sheet of glossy black hair over one shoulder, Imogen raised a perfectly-groomed straight brow in response. “Since when are you Madame Malfoy’s biggest fan? It took your mother five years of grovelling to get back on the guestlist for the Yule ball after accidentally serving her scalding hot tea at a Ladies’ Society meeting.”Amaryllis flushed, the colour clashing against her jaunty strawberry blonde ponytail.Seated across from Andromeda, Caitriona Fawley shot her a commiserating smile. Summer break had offered them a brief respite from Amaryllis and Imogen’s near-constant sniping, which had begun sometime in their fifth-year and was ongoing ever since.“I think we can all agree nobody liked old Madame Malfoy very much,” conceded Caitrona mildly, ever the peacemaker when Amaryllis was out for blood. ”That’s not to say the new Madame Malfoy was right to start wearing a dead woman’s jewels within the week.”At the Lestrange soirée, eyes had popped at the sight of the Malfoy party, who’d arrived in their usual calculated show of splendour. Since Mrs Malfoy’s mother-in-law had passed away only a month prior and no other female relatives were alive to claim the title of Matriarch, Cecily Malfoy (née Travers) became the first inductee of her generation into the ‘Madame’ club. To celebrate the occasion, Lucius’ mother had taken the opportunity to display her new title by arriving in floating blue robes of silk and organza, with an eye-watering rope of diamonds wound snugly around her neck. If the late Madame Malfoy hadn’t been such a notorious bitch, it would have been in very poor taste to forego mourning so soon.“Speaking of jewels,” continued Amaryllis, turning towards Andromeda like a bloodhound following a scent. “What do you think Rabastan Lestrange will give you as a betrothal piece, if Bellatrix is already wearing his mother’s necklace?”Andromeda nearly groaned in despair.Amaryllis scoffed, “Don’t act so surprised, I was invited to that party too, you know. Madame Crouch was telling my mother that he’s absolutely gone on you.”“If Mr Rabastan had any intentions of proposing, I’d be the first to know, Amaryllis,” returned Andromeda, the barest hint of steel in her voice. “Not you, and certainly not your mother.”“But, well, has there been an informal arrangement between you two?” asked Caitriona, hesitant.“There is no understanding between myself and Mr Rabastan,” she asserted, careful to disguise her disgust. If Amaryllis reported that back to her mother, Andromeda would be receiving more than a few strongly-worded letters by next Friday.As it was, Andromeda’s final year at Hogwarts and impending social season already had her parents on edge. Breakfast that morning had been spent listening to Father lecture her on the importance of behaving like a witch of good breeding, as if she were somehow going to lose her head like some common twit. All the while Bellatrix smirked in the background, fingering her enchanted choker with a knowing gaze.“That’s not what Mr Rabastan told my brother last week,” revealed Imogen, looking at Andromeda with keen interest. “Or what Mr Lestrange told my father.”“They must have meant my sister then,” Andromeda insisted.“It wasn’t Bellatrix he asked to dance at his party,” retorted Amaryllis, eyes narrowed. “Twice.”“Were you so lacking in partners that you needed to keep track of mine?” snarked Andromeda.The other three witches exchanged loaded looks, which she resolutely ignored.“If Andromeda says there’s nothing between her and Mr Rabastan, then there isn’t,” declared Caitriona, blue eyes sympathetic.“Thank you,” replied Andromeda tersely. “I’ll see you lot later.”Standing up and pinning a freshly-polished Slytherin prefect badge to the left lapel of her robes, Andromeda nearly slammed the compartment door behind her as she left. Walking down the length of the train towards the prefect carriage, younger students made themselves scarce at the sight of her thunderous expression. On rare occasions, Andromeda’s uncanny resemblance to her older sister came in handy.“Who put a Hungarian Horntail down your knickers?” taunted a masculine voice behind her.Irked at the nerve of the boy, Andromeda rounded to face Ellis Rosier, whose own silver badge gleamed proudly on his chest.“I wouldn’t sleep so easy at night if I were you,” greeted Andromeda, smoothing over features into something more pleasant. “Crossing a Black witch."Ellis pouted, letting a rakish lock of golden hair fall forward. “You hurt me. I thought I did you a service.”Together, the cousins reached the door to the prefect’s carriage, behind which a low drum of voices indicated the meeting was about to begin. Letting Ellis reach forward and slide the door open for her, Andromeda shot him a foreboding smile over her shoulder as she passed.“You did do me a service, dear cousin. And won’t I enjoy returning the favour?” she promised.Although Ellis smirked in return, his step had visibly lost some of its previous swagger.“Black, Rosier, finally, take a seat,” barked Malcolm Hughes, a stocky seventh-year Hufflepuff and their new Head Boy. Standing at the front of the carriage, he was accompanied by his counterpart, Susana Clearwater, from Ravenclaw and a notorious teacher’s pet.“Shame you didn’t get it,” whispered Ellis as he clapped a hand on Lucius Malfoy’s shoulder, taking his seat amongst his fellow Slytherins. Even though Daisy Flint, a fifth-year and one of her sister’s loyal followers, looked up at Andromeda hopefully, she chose to slide into a chair beside Madeline Urquhart. The sixth-year girl nodded curtly in greeting, their group falling silent as Clearwater rapped her knuckles against a table and proceedings began.Thankfully, neither Hughes nor Clearwater was as verbose as Warrington and Fawcett had been the year before. Despite his family’s many political connections, Warrington had lacked the necessary common sense to know when to shut up. Instead, the new Head Girl and Boy were concise, prepared, and efficient, having already set out patrol rotations for the train ride, as well as designated partners for the first half of term. “We’ve already made sure these don’t clash with your class schedules. Mind none of your other extracurricular activities interfere, we won’t be as accommodating as our predecessors,” instructed Clearwater, eyes hard behind her oversized cat-eye glasses. “Especially athletes,” added Hughes.Quiet murmurs rippled through the crowd. As a Slytherin Chaser, Malfoy scowled—Warrington had been infamous for setting aside Head duties in favour of captaining the Slytherin Quidditch team, a practice which had apparently been taken into consideration when selecting his successor.A few other prefects grumbled when the timetables were passed out, some even groaning out loud at Clearwater and Hughes’ distribution of rounds.“Quiet! Remember who chose you for this responsibility,” called out Clearwater, ever the drill sergeant.Andromeda accepted her schedule from Daisy with a brief thanks.“Tonks? Who in Circe’s name is Edward Tonks?” Andromeda wondered in a whisper, and Madeline shrugged in response. Her housemates looked similarly consternated with their pairings, with Ellis already audibly complaining about being assigned to Frank Longbottom, a Gryffindor fifth-year.The hard little ‘7H’ beside his name indicated Edwards Tonks was a seventh-year Hufflepuff. Unlike the Slytherins and Ravenclaws, the other two Houses sat in an evenly mixed group, leaving Andromeda to only guess at the identity of her patrol partner. In their earlier years of schooling, they’d had few classes with Hufflepuff to begin with, and even less after taking her OWLs. Considering she’d escaped the possibility of being paired with Malfoy or worse, some loudmouthed Gryffindor, putting up with a nameless nobody Puff until Yule break seemed feasible.Hughes continued over the room’s displeasure: “Fifth-year prefects, remember you must escort the first-years to your respective common rooms tonight. Have an older prefect from your House help you prepare some words of welcome—““Nothing rude or obscene, please,” called out Clearwater, some of the Gryffindor boys snickering behind her back.“—and make sure to introduce yourself to your patrol partner before you leave. We’ve been nice enough to let you do rounds with your housemates on the train, but after tonight there’ll be no switching partners. Bathroom password for the month is ‘squeaky clean’ and always ask Boris if someone is inside before you barge in. See you in two weeks, Monday at nine o’clock. Meeting adjourned.”Chairs and tables shuffled on the carpet as students rose to their feet, the room now buzzing with conversation. Immediately, Daisy Flint turned her pathetic puppy-dog eyes on Andromeda, ready to set off together for their round of patrolling on the Hogwarts Express.  “Just one second,” Andromeda instructed curtly, leaving the girl to wait while she scanned the room’s occupants for a face that could resemble an ‘Edward Tonks’.Common Muggle name, most likely. She’d never heard of a half-blood Tonks, let alone a pure-blood, and Grandmother Irma had relentlessly drilled her on multiple wizarding lineages from the time she could read the names on the Black family tapestry.“Uh, excuse me,” interrupted a masculine, friendly voice from somewhere behind her, tapping her lightly on the side of her arm. “Andromeda Black, right?”Andromeda turned to meet partner, and then immediately had to crane her neck to look up.For a split second, it seemed absurd that it had been so easy for her to overlook someone who appeared to take up so much space. “Edward Tonks?” she asked in confirmation.The Hufflepuff prefect grimaced, “Name’s Ted, if you don’t mind.”‘Call me Ted’ Tonks was a broad-shouldered, strapping young man of seventeen, standing nearly a foot taller than Andromeda herself. Had he introduced himself as a farmer or some other menial labourer, she would have been unsurprised due to his muscled frame and rough-knuckled hands. Under his thatch of dark blond hair, Tonks wore a congenial expression across his tanned features, freckles stretching across the bridge of his nose as he offered her a dimpled smile.Feeling strangely discomfited, Andromeda crossed her arms and frowned. “What if I call you ‘Tonks’ instead?”That broad, dimpled grin faltered and something inside Andromeda’s stomach twisted. “Oh that’s alright too, I guess,” he agreed readily, looking more awkward than a boy his size should. “I just wanted to check if you were okay with meeting outside the Great Hall for rounds—I already talked to Rob and Sally and they don’t mind.”‘Rob and Sally’, Andromeda gathered, were Robert Wood and Sally Flowers-Flannigan, of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff respectively, and the other two prefects who would be accompanying them on their rounds. “Sure,” agreed Andromeda reluctantly, still frowning and not sure why. It wasn’t as if she had anything against meeting by the Great Hall, though somewhere more centrally-located would have been more convenient.“Ted, let’s go!” called a girlish voice, and Andromeda could see Sally’s double-plaited orange head bouncing by the door at the other end of the room. Around them, the carriage had slowly emptied as students set off on their rounds. Only a few stragglers remained, including a patiently waiting Daisy Flint, who sat primly by the opposite door. “Alright, see you Tuesday then?” asked Tonks, already beginning to retreat towards his friends.Andromeda nodded in agreement, “Tuesday,” before swiftly turning on her heels and rejoining her patrol partner.The rest of her train ride would be spent  quietly ruminating on the many flaws of Hufflepuff boys with crooked noses and dimpled cheeks, while Daisy pestered her with questions about Cissa and her supposed secret betrothal to Lucius Malfoy.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Excerpts from

Unearthing Our Spiritual Past: Historical Research Into Pre-Christian Wizarding Beliefs

by Millicent Bulstrode (2007).
Magic-users, i.e. those who can wield the force of magic to induce desired outcomes(whether beast or being), are considered Blessed. For purebloods, to please the Goddess is to stay Blessed. They believed, erroneously, that to procreate within the same magical bloodlines would be to keep the Blessing within those already gifted with Magic.It is important to note that no one truly understands the mechanisms of Magic. Much in the same way Muggles have always grappled with concepts of soul and consciousness, witches and wizards have attempted to make sense of Magic’s capricious and unpredictable nature. Among pure-blood acolytes, it is widely believed that strong family magic, kept within Blessed lines, please the Goddess and her gift. Those who displease the Goddess will bring her punishment down upon the House, which will be stripped of its magical gift (see Squibs).

Rosier Mews House, London

September 1, 1999
“And this was the month that Nymphadora began shifting.”“Oh, that nose, how silly she looks!”“I know, the first time she gave herself a nose like that, I thought she’d broken it.”A heavy leather-bound photo album switched hands eagerly, passing back and forth from sister to sister as they flipped through pages of glossy pictures. The majority of the slots contained wizarding photographs, with bright-haired Dora at all ages readily flashing a toothy smile. However, the few Muggle ones, taken during holidays with Ted’s family, depicted the Tonks as a little family frozen in time, unmoving and unchanging.Happy, unaffected, and blissfully ignorant of the tragedy that was to come.“Was he always this handsome?” Narcissa held up a picture of young Ted and Andromeda, scrutinizing it carefully before the older Andromeda plucked it from her hands.“And what in Circe’s name are you wearing?” Cissa questioned, perplexed.Standing in front of their newly-bought family home, no older than twenty-four, the attractive couple beamed and waved at the camera, Ted’s arm slung about his wife’s shoulders. Judging by the verdant paisley skirt Andromeda wore and her husband’s corduroy bell-bottom pants, it must have been sometime in the mid-seventies.“A tragedy,” replied Andromeda, wincing at the outfit. “And, of course he was always that handsome. As if you ever even looked at anyone else—you only had eyes for Malfoy, Circe knows why.”“You know why,” returned Cissa slyly, daintily nibbling at a chocolate digestive without a crumb in sight. “Your husband was a Quidditch player too. Such a shame they loosened the trousers after our time.”“Luckily for Draco, otherwise you would have had to beat them off with a stick.”“I did, once,” recalled Cissa, almost wistfully. “When he was five, the Bulstrodes tried to invoke some heinously old betrothal contract, but Lucius and our solicitors wouldn’t have it.”“How medieval,” Andromeda frowned, and it occurred to her, “I should warn Harry to check his vaults for any loose ends.”Only two years prior, had anyone dare suggest to Andromeda that she would once again take afternoon tea with her sister, quietly reminiscing and confiding over the years spent apart, the witch would have hexed them silly on the spot. As it were, the ladies had sat down to converse not long after four o’clock, but already the shadows of dusk had begun to creep into the sitting-room.The old Rosier residence had changed quite a bit since Andromeda’s first visit in June. Windows had been thrown open and washed, floors and ceilings scrubbed, and all shelves assiduously dusted. It was as if the sight of a newly refurbished Grimmauld Place had invigorated Cissa, who put both son and house-elf to work in bringing an air of feminine comfort and elegance to her home. Now, the lady of the house presided over a small but spotless domain, where the sisters concerted to take tea together once a week, aside from their regular meetings with the Ladies’ Society.Madame Malfoy had been readmitted into their ranks after a heated discussion amongst members, who were rightfully suspicious of her actions and motivations. However, the witches of the Fundraising Committee made a compelling case in her favour.Not only had Narcissa been a crucial component in the Boy-Who-Lived’s miraculous triumph, but she could also potentially become an indispensable tool in rehabilitating and reshaping the wizarding world for the better. Give her a chance to prove herself, they asked—to pay penance, to make amends, and to redeem the unredeemable. What better form of justice than to utilize the Malfoy coffers to fund the construction of an open, tolerant, and diverse society?Judging by her speechwriting skills alone, Andromeda gathered that Miss Granger would make a terrifying barrister and an excellent member of the Wizengamot. Both of the Black sisters thanked her for the assistance and silently took note of the girl’s capabilities.“Up!” cried a lisping voice down by their calves.Having toddled unsteadily across the plush blue-and-white Persian carpet, Teddy tugged at the satin slate-grey folds of his great-aunt’s robes, grasping at them with his chubby little hands.“Hello, darling,” cooed Cissa, lifting and settling him onto her lap, unfailingly gentle with the child.Though Narcissa had been apprehensive about meeting her half-blood half-werewolf grand-nephew, all unease had melted away in the face of a gurgling toddler who readily placed a sticky kiss to her cheek. Not for the first time was Andromeda grateful that Teddy was a cheerful baby, rarely fretful, and who loved to cuddle and be cuddled in return. It also helped his case that Teddy had developed a certain fascination with the distinctive Malfoy colouring, eagerly shifting his nut-brown curls into soft platinum down whenever they visited his great-aunt.Andromeda would forever cherish the memory of Draco’s panicked expression, after discovering his mother coddling a baby boy that looked to be his own son.“When is this guest of yours arriving?” queried Andromeda, curiously peering through the windowpane at the empty London street outside. “It’s already quite late.”Autumn had descended abruptly that year, chasing off a golden summer with a cold and relentless drizzle. Leaves fell from branches into mushy piles on the hard pavement, while an unseasonable blustery wind encouraged urbanites to stay indoors when possible. Platform nine and three-quarters must have been miserable this year, considered Andromeda, internally grimacing at the thought of sopping-wet trunks and muddied robes.“Not to worry, she’ll be here soon. The invitation was for dinner, after all,” Narcissa informed her, still engrossed with petting the top of Teddy’s shining blonde head. “You’re welcome to stay, of course. I suspect I’ll be needing the company.”“Why all the mystery? Why not just tell me who it is?” demanded an exasperated Andromeda, feeling too old to still be wheedling information out of her younger sister.“You’ve grown so impatient,” teased Cissa. “How many times must I explain myself? I don’t want Draco running off before she has a chance to… persuade him.”“Persuade him?” Andromeda quirked a brow. “With what? Her feminine wiles?”“That’s hardly the case, Meda, don’t be obscene,” retorted Cissa, passing off the toddler when he reached for his grandmother’s arms. “I only mean that, now that I’ve asked, Draco has begun going through the motions of adulthood—”“You mean he bathes and eats and wakes at a reasonable hour.”“—only to please me, but he is still so disheartened. So unmotivated.” The blonde witch frowned with motherly concern, “I simply considered that maybe what Draco needs is, well, a different kind of incentive than his love for me.”“You mean sex?” Andromeda deadpanned.“Not at all,” disagreed Cissa with a conspiratorial smirk, rising to her feet at the sight of a diminutive figure crossing the empty street towards the house, “I meant fear.”Miss Pansy Parkinson was certainly not what Andromeda was expecting when Memsie announced her arrival, quickly escorting the witch into the sitting-room where the Black sisters awaited.For one, the young woman was short, her petite figure fine-boned and birdlike—not the buxom temptress Andromeda had sordidly allowed herself to imagine. The tips of her silky black bob brushed the shoulders of a black-and-white houndstooth cropped blazer, under which she wore an ebony cashmere turtleneck tucked into a matching miniskirt. Fairy-sized feet enclosed in sharp leather stilettos (obviously custom-made, Andromeda ascertained), Miss Parkinson had finished off her outfit with conservative pearl earrings and a silver brooch engraved with her House emblem, the double daffodil with an interlocked scythe and wand.It was very fashionable, admired Andromeda, whose taste was much improved since the era of paisley skirts and fringed waistcoats. The outfit was also undeniably Muggle, the kind featured in the lustrous pages of Tatlerand other tawdry gossip rags (which Andromeda only perused at the shops and neverbought).“Pansy, darling, do sit down,” greeted Narcissa, briefly pressing an affectionate kiss against the perfectly-powdered rosy-pink cheek. “Let me introduce my sister, Mrs Andromeda Tonks, and her grandson Edward Lupin. My goddaughter, Miss Pansy Parkinson.”“Such a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Miss Parkinson replied demurely, and Andromeda had a very jarring flashback to being seventeen, pretending to be quiet and pristine and obedient while taking tea with society matrons twice her age.How quickly time flies, she considered, reminded of the silver strands now flecking her own chestnut tendrils of hair, and how the tables have turned.Promptly, a stern-faced Memsie brought out an array of aperitifs on a silver platter—Andromeda gratefully accepted a glass of crisp sauvignon blanc and a plateful of miniature amuse-bouches. Soon after, baby Teddy was whisked away, blearily yawning and ready to be changed into his favourite footie pyjamas, soft-blue decorated with enchanted miniature dragons.“I hope your mother is well, Pansy. Is she enjoying France?” inquired Cissa, once the ladies were settled into the floral chintz chairs and the loveseat by the windows.Sorting through twenty years’ worth of society announcements in her head, Andromeda was unable to immediately place the identity of Pansy’s mother—presumably a pure-blooded witch of their age cohort. However, something about the self-important tilt of her nose and the keen brightness in her eyes struck the older witch as familiar.Miss Parkinson’s smile turned brittle, “Mother returned to Britain a few weeks ago without us. She’s been… ill-disposed to make calls.”“Such a shame,” answered Cissa, apparently unwilling to press the subject further.“Are you coming straight from France then?” asked Andromeda, continuing when the younger witch assented, “That’s quite the journey to make only for a dinner, Miss Parkinson. Arranging international Floo travel is quite a nightmare these days.”“It was no trouble at all,” the girl demurred. “Not after…”Clearly a smart witch, Miss Parkinson first deferred to Narcissa before disclosing any details of her appointment.“Speak freely, Pansy,” instructed Andromeda’s sister. “You are among friends.”Miss Parkinson continued: “It was no trouble at all after the letter Madame Malfoy sent, of course. Our family is greatly indebted to your House.”The Parkinsons, if Andromeda remembered correctly, had escaped facing criminal trial through the mere technicalities of their association to You-Know-Who. Despite a long history of financial support, none of them had ever taken the Mark or explicitly placed their loyalty among the Death Eaters’ ranks. Instead, after evidence of their monetary sponsorship was wrestled from the goblins’ clutches, quite a few heavy fines were levied against their family—just enough to hurt old Plutochras in the money pouch, but not enough to outright cripple the family business.In fact, the finer details of the Parkinson case were quite lost in the press, amidst the sensationalism of the post-war trials and the many other not-quite Death Eaters who also faced a reckoning in the days and months after the Battle of Hogwarts. It dawned on Andromeda that the only place where she’d heard Miss Parkinson referred to was in a Rita Skeeter piece, a lurid exposé on the young Slytherin witch who’d offered Harry Potter up on a silver platter.Silently, Andromeda wondered how and when Miss Pansy Parkinson had made such a transition: from pureblood fanatic and Death Eater accessory, to a decorous young witch dressed in an expensive Muggle skirt suit.Taking a delicate sip of dry white wine, Cissa agreed with Miss Parkinson: “Our Houses do have a long and storied association. But please consider this a personal favour to me, Pansy, and the House of Black.”Though she arched a shapely brow in surprise, Miss Parkinson didn’t hesitate to agree, because even as a social pariah, no one said no to Narcissa Malfoy.“Memsie?” called Cissa sharply, and the little house-elf materialized by her side with a quiet pop. Like a soldier ready for combat, Memsie straightened in expectation of her marching orders.“Yes, Mistress?” Memsie croaked, adjusting her frilly pillowcase with knobbly hands.“Bring me what I requested earlier, please.”Within the blink of an eye, the wizened house-elf disappeared and reappeared upon the same spot on the Persian rug. Now bearing a silver-etched tea tray, it was laden down with two crystal goblets of water and an assortment of finger sandwiches, as well as a lethal-looking pair of hairdressing scissors that glinted ominously in the candlelight.Calmly, Narcissa situated the tray in the young witch’s startled hands, “Pansy, darling, please take this up to Draco.”Miss Parkinson’s quizzical brow lifted higher, “Is that all, Madame Malfoy?”“His room is on the second floor, first door on the left. Memsie can lead you there,” instructed Cissa, wordlessly dismissing the girl’s question. “Bring him down for dinner when he is ready… I think you will understand what I mean.”Meticulously adjusting her outfit as she rose from the chair, Miss Parkinson looked inquiringly towards Andromeda, as if expecting more directions from her quarter. Preferring to let Cissa take the lead in whatever scheme she’d concocted, Andromeda made a tiny gesture to indicate she should follow the waiting house-elf.“Miss?” croaked Memsie lowly, standing at the doorway and ready to escort Miss Parkinson to her task. “Follow me, if you please.” Together, the odd-looking pair climbed up the narrow staircase, Miss Parkinson’s stilettos clicking against the floor as she disappeared from view.Left alone with her sister in the candle-lit parlour, Andromeda turned and asked, “And now?”With a rustle of silk robes, Narcissa sunk slowly back into her chintz chair, “Now we wait.”Shooting a wistful look at her empty glass, Andromeda frowned at her sister, “Right, well, I hope there’s more wine left.”————————//————————
The Second Bedroom, Rosier Mews House
With the sun’s dim rays dipping below the horizon, the darkness of the upstairs second bedroom intensified. It was a sparse, utilitarian little space, with whitewashed walls and the same rosewood parquet flooring that continued throughout the rest of the house. The inhabitant had dispatched of the room’s more feminine touches, leaving only the vintage writing desk, a nightstand, a wrought-iron bed, and a wingback chair that doubled as both wardrobe and laundry heap—much to Memsie’s long-suffering chagrin.Curtains were perpetually drawn over the square double-hung windows, which overlooked the residential street outside. Considering the enchantments that concealed the house’s residents from Muggle passer-by, obfuscating their appearances with those of a non-magical middle-class family, the habit was intended to maintain an uninterrupted state of blackness.At present, the room’s sole occupant sat on the floor, his back against the side of the bedframe and facing the windows on the opposite wall. Turning the pages of a book balanced carefully on his knees with one hand, the young man used his other to lift an amber-coloured bottle to his lips and took a sip. A wand, tucked behind the pale shell of his ear, illuminated the printed letters with a hazy golden light.Such a gripping pastime—reading and drinking—had kept him enthralled for hours, but one could question whether he had yet to absorb any of the information contained within the hefty tome.Draco Malfoy was relatively at peace that afternoon, quite unaware of the disturbance that was about to come his way. His first warning should have been the sound of the front door creaking open and shut, but the young wizard could be forgiven for mistaking that for his Aunt Andromeda’s departure. Though the murmur of voices outside in the corridor was a dead giveaway, Draco was often too listless to focus on much other than the task before him.A soft knock and a high-pitched “Master Draco?” alerted him to Memsie’s presence on the other side of his bedroom door, but the blonde wizard tonelessly dismissed his mother’s elf.“Not now,” he called, barely lifting his eyes from the sentence he’d already read twice.Only when the door clicked with the quiet whir of an Alohomora, springing open to reveal what must have been a hallucination of Pansy Parkinson coming to reap his soul, did Draco realize what a foolhardy error he’d made in avoiding the local pub that night.“Disgusting,” declared his long-time friend as she disrupted his solitude, gingerly kicking aside a discarded cardigan before letting herself into the room. Heels clicking a slow, foreboding rhythm against the hardwood, Pansy set down a tea tray on his nightstand with an unceremonious clatter, before throwing open the curtains and turning on the lights with a flick of her wand.Squinting blearily at the sudden brightness, which to him glowed with all the unforgiving intensity of a Quidditch stadium, Draco barely registered the grim-faced witch whirling about to face him.“What in Circe’s left tit is growing on your face?” Pansy demanded to know.Eyes adjusting gradually, Draco frowned petulantly in response, self-consciously rubbing at the scruffy dark-blonde hairs that now dusted his sharp jawline: “Some people would call it a beard.”“If by some people you’re referring to Mad-Eye Moody and the visually impaired, then yes, by all means,” retorted Pansy, wrinkling her pert nose distastefully, “Honestly, it looks like Potter’s god-awful mop is growing on your face. And it’s blonde.”“It’s not that bad,” Draco protested, feeling quite unfairly attacked, when his mental facilities caught up to the implausibility of Pansy Parkinson standing in his bedroom. “Wait, what are you doing here? How did you break in? You’re not even keyed in to the wards.”Pansy rolled her eyes, choosing to hop on to the desk rather than risk upsetting the clothing tower balanced precariously on his armchair. “Don’t be so dim, Draco, you do Madame Malfoy a disservice,” she replied coolly, daintily crossing her legs at the ankle, the light of the streetlamp outside outlining her figure with a ridiculous faint halo.Maybe this really was some terrible dream. Rendered speechless by surprise, Draco could only stare, still not quite believing his eyes.Like the majority of his friends, none of whom had mothers who’d aided the ‘Saviour of the Wizarding World’, Pansy and her family had eagerly fled to continental Europe not long after the gruelling post-war trial process concluded. Public sentiment for Death Eaters and their families was less than sympathetic in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, even when the most bloodthirsty and vicious among their numbers had been locked up. ‘France is divine,’ she’d written in the first months of their self-imposed exile, ‘and Mother complains I won’t find a husband if I get too fat from eating freshly-baked croissants every morning.’“Well? No warm words of welcome?” Pansy teased, playfully jutting out a bottom lip coated in something pink and glossy.Self-assured and sophisticated, the young woman before him was a far departure from the frightened little girl who’d spent their seventh year ceaselessly worrying about her nearest and dearest, often haranguing Draco for not eating or sleeping enough. When someone had finally thought to release the Slytherins from the dungeons, Pansy had nearly choked Draco with the strength of her embrace before shaking the wizard furiously for letting himself be dragged into battle. Then she’d been too thin and too small, all desperate-eyed and hollow-cheeked, with anger and frustration sharpening the edge of her quicksilver tongue.Now, Pansy Parkinson sat on his desk with a slight smirk and immaculate posture, throwing back her shoulders with a self-confidence he hadn’t witnessed since the Dark Lord had begun frequenting their dinner tables.Something ugly roiled in the pit of Draco’s stomach.In the sobering months that followed the Dark Lord’s defeat, Draco had felt himself wither away into a mere shade of the wizard he’d once been—or the man he could have become. The Malfoy heir did not exactly lament his master’s fall, quite the contrary. Living at Lord Voldemort’s beck and call, under his cruel and twisted brand of leadership, had made it uncomfortably clear that the Death Eaters were not the noble pure-blood wizards Draco’s father had made them out to be. War had taught Draco about the ugliest parts of human nature: about depravation and depravity, about premature death and finite mortality, and about prioritizing one’s own survival above others.After both sides laid down their arms and the wizarding world moved on to the task of rebuilding, Draco had accepted the ceasefire with the understanding that the next phase would be one of never-ending penitence. At first, he’d been angry at the prospect: a lifetime of keeping his head down, his eyes lowered, and carrying the weight of guilt and regret. During the trial process, the Ministry-provided furniture in their temporary flat withstood the brunt of his frustration. But months of being constantly demeaned by the government, the newspapers, and the public at large, had finally ingrained in Draco that, as far as the magical world was concerned, the Malfoy name was worth less than mud.So, to see Pansy shamelessly standing tall and proud (or as tall as one could at five-foot-one), as if unaffected by the memory of the war he relived constantly in his nightmares—it was galling, to say the least.“What the fuck are you doing here, Pans?” he snarled, picking himself up to face her. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?”“Mind your manners, Draco,” cooed Pansy, a feline glint in her eye. “And if you must know, Beauxbatons ends their school year in July. You’re looking at a freshly-graduated witch,” she declared, flicking the ends of her shiny bob over her shoulder.“I thought the Carrows gave you all Os,” he remarked offhandedly, knowing the Death Eater twins were a sore spot with his friend. “Why go back for an eighth year?”Pansy narrowed her dark eyes dangerously, “I think we both know those grades weren’t worth shite.”“Fine then,” Draco agreed, tossing the book on his bed with more force than necessary and storming closer to confront her. “Why not go back to Hogwarts? Why fuck off to France, or Bulgaria, or Greece, or wherever the fuck it is you lot escaped to?”Why leave me behind? he wanted to demand, but Draco stopped himself from asking such a vulnerable question. The Malfoy name might have sunk low, yet not low enough to do something so disgustingly middle-class like cry. Besides, Draco knew the answer already, he could see it in his friend’s face.Upon closer inspection, a delicate silver scar nicked the arch of Pansy’s right eyebrow—the same brow she raised in response to his unspoken query.In the first chaotic weeks after the battle, when the Aurors where still rounding up the remaining Death Eaters, public mourning sometimes translated into spurts of vigilante justice that the Ministry fought hard to snuff out. For those once associated with the Dark Lord and his followers, it was impossible to leave their homes without facing public harassment. On what was supposed to be a quick outing to the local apothecary, who ultimately refused to serve her, Pansy took refuge from the summer rain in a nearby pub. It was a few days after the Skeeter woman had printed Pansy’s scowling face all over that absurd exposé and, Draco presumed, some of the pub’s patrons took offense to her presence.The dark-haired girl refused to disclose the details of that afternoon, not even after arriving at Daphne Greengrass’ doorstep with a blood-splattered blouse. Instead, their close-knit group of Slytherins was left to guess at what happened. Though Zabini had jokingly put his money down on someone’s pet Fanged Puffskein, Draco and the others were wont to think the worst.Sullenly, Draco backed off at the sight of her challenging countenance.The blonde wizard knew it was hypocritical to hold his friends’ absences against them, not when he would have done the same if given the opportunity. Other than Goyle, currently serving a two-year sentence in house imprisonment, the rest of them hadn’t thought twice about escaping, not once the Ministry had charged reparations and lifted the ban on international Floos.“Don’t pout at me, I’m not the one ignoring my friends’ letters,” reproached Pansy, thin features pulled into a fierce expression. “What have you been doing? Theo and I have written to you loads of times and we haven’t received a single response. Even Zabini wrote you! Have you any idea how much it costs to send an owl across the Channel? Of course not, because you don’t write us back.”“As if you lot care,” he replied resentfully, “when you’re all having a great time over there.”“Oh please, spare me the dramatics,” she rolled her eyes. “If you’d read the letters we sent you, you’d know that Theo is absolutely miserable with that batshit great-uncle of his, locked up in that drafty old castle in Sweden or Switzerland—"“Norway,” interjected Draco drily, “don’t pretend you don’t know.”“—or wherever the fuck he is,” Pansy shrugged off the detail, adding darkly, “and let me assure you, Beauxbatons was no walk in the park either.”Draco mulled this over before asking the question that’s been gnawing at the back of his mind: “Can you even speak French?”Using a colourful vocabulary that could make a sailor blush, Pansy told him exactly what she thought of his beard, before looking at him impatiently, “Well then? Stop avoiding my questions, Draco, why haven’t you stayed in touch?”Focusing on a spot just above her shoulder, Draco pointedly ignored Pansy’s scrutinizing gaze and mumbled, “It’s not the same.”“What isn’t the same?” she demanded.“It’s not the same for you lot,” he elaborated reluctantly, mercurial eyes darkening. “You lot get to leave, to escape; you get a chance to fucking forget that this nightmare ever happened.”Running long, pale fingers through unkempt blonde hair, Draco pretended to preoccupy himself with returning his discarded books to the lone shelf suspended above his iron-wrought headboard. A loaded silence settled between them, with Pansy’s calculating mind whirring away behind his back.“You’re wrong, you know,” she declared flatly.Risking a look over his shoulder, Draco watched his tiny friend gracefully slip down from her perch upon the desk. “Wrong about what?” he replied.Pansy crossed slender arms and observed him like a wild animal about to flee.“You’re wrong,” she repeated, enunciating slowly as if he was a child. “It doesn’t work like that, Draco. None of us get to escape. Not you, not me, not Theo, not anybody else… The things we saw, the things we did—nobody just forgets that.”“It’s different for you,” Draco countered, whirling around to thrust his forearm in her face, displaying the midnight-black skull and serpent motif still writhing on his skin. “You don’t wear his Mark on your body. You lot weren’t stupid enough to let yourselves be branded like fucking cattle, not even Theo.”“That’s called not having a choice,” responded Pansy, unmoved. “And you weren’t the only one. Have you already forgotten Greg? What about Vince? Even Theo was scheduled to join after graduation, you self-obsessed git.”Headache creeping up on his temples, Draco considered whether casting the Silencing Charm on Pansy would be worth explaining during his monthly appointment with the DMLE.She forged on callously: “Oh, get over yourself, you’re getting too old to sulk. The Dark Lord’s been dead for more than a year, and this time He’s not coming back, unless there’s something Potter isn’t telling us. You know that Mark will fade, just like Snape’s did. Why can’t you just get past it?”“Get past it?” hissed Draco furiously, feeling magic stir in his veins and flicker the gas lamps in his room. “Get past it? No, I bloody well can’t get past it, you cold-hearted hag. And do you know why? Because the rest of this Merlin-forsaken country will never let me, because I’ll be atoning for my sins for the rest of my fucking life, because I’ll never be more than lowly Death Eater scum.”Amber-glass shattered along with Draco’s composure, the remains of his Muggle beer bottle glimmering jagged and sharp atop the rosewood floors.Unperturbed by his outburst, Pansy coolly asked: “Anything else?”Oh.So, this is why they sent her. To poke and prod and push until he burst, until he allowed himself the breakdown he’s been suppressing for months, to spare his mother the heartbreak. Exhaling heavily, the air rushed out of Draco’s chest, slightly loosening the tightly-coiled ball of searing rage and despair nestled within his ribcage.“Maybe if I’d died,” he whispered, laughing mirthlessly, “maybe then I would have been forgiven. Died like Snape—a murderer, a traitor, and a hero, all in one. The whole package.”Something in Pansy’s impassive countenance softened, only marginally, but enough for her to respond quietly: “I think our side’s hero quota has been filled for a lifetime, wouldn’t you say?”Sighing in agreement, Draco sank down atop his white quilted duvet and cradled his ashen face in his thin hands. Despite the nausea and exhaustion surging inside him, Draco was dimly aware that the weight on his shoulders felt lighter than it had in months. Smoothing down her skirt primly, Pansy took a seat beside him, gently guiding his blonde head down to her lap and weaving delicate fingers within the platinum strands.Letting his eyelids flutter shut, Draco leaned into the familiarity of this childhood ritual. Raised alongside her since infancy, he knew Pansy’s sharp edges, her cutting words, and her contrarian demeanour better than most. He was intimately acquainted with her hard and brittle outer shell, designed to protect herself and those she deemed worthy. Moreover, as children, it was Pansy and her frilly white petticoats who most often knocked the Malfoy heir down, only to offer the same dainty hand to pull him back up.Distantly, Draco wondered if this was a healthy relationship. Merlin knows it wasn’t romantic, he and Pansy had already explored that route in fourth-year to no avail. Maybe, he considered, this was what having siblings felt like. Nothing like a litter of boisterous Weasleys, but instead the quiet understanding he sometimes witnessed between his mother and Aunt Bella and, now, Andromeda.“The Ministry is using it against us,” he revealed gruffly, breaking the peace between them.The industrious fingers halted their tender ministrations, Draco looking up into the curiosity shining brightly in the depths of Pansy’s dark eyes: “Using what?”“This,” he said, hauling himself up into a seated position, careful to avoid knocking into his friend. Rolling up the sleeve of his grey cashmere jumper, Draco once again brought out the Dark Mark for inspection, taught pale flesh appearing stark white in contrast to the enchanted black ink.Though she couldn’t bring herself to touch it, Draco noted, Pansy’s polished fingertips hovered hesitantly over the cursed tattoo.“They’re using it to track us,” Draco explained emotionlessly, pushing the sleeve back down and looking up at the dusty ceiling. “All of the younger set—Goyle, Pucey, Flint, Montague… me. Every time they channel the magic of the tracking spell through the Mark, it’s as if He’s still taking tea in our parlour. It won’t fade.”“For how long?” asked Pansy, her mouth pursed in a gesture reminiscent of his mother.“As long as the Auror in charge of my probation deems it necessary,” Draco smiled bleakly. “Could be years… Goyle says Dawlish isn’t too bad, but Proudfoot is a downright bastard.”After a thoughtful pause, Pansy said tartly, “You could leave, you know,” and rolled her eyes when Draco shot her an offended look, “We both know you won’t, you have too much daft pride, but you could if you wanted to.” Clearly warming up to the idea, she baited, “Maybe we could fake your death, find you a new identity with papers and all—Mr Greengrass has worked miracles, you know—and we could set you up in one of those nice little vineyards Blaise’s father left him. You know he has a lady friend twice his age now?”“I’ve heard,” Draco admitted with a rueful smile. “And I presume Daphne must be consumed with jealousy?”“Absolutely not,” protested Pansy sharply. “That was a schoolgirl infatuation, those don’t last.”Smirking, Draco airily remarked: “I’m not so sure, Pans, what about you and—ow!” The blonde wizard yelped when a pointy elbow forcefully collided with his ribcage. “Funny enough, I didn’t really miss you doing that.”“Tough luck, because I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”As a comfortable silence settled between them, a queer warmth began spreading through Draco’s torso. It wasn’t as if Pansy herself was comforting, quite the opposite—she was beginning to look mildly bored, and a bored Pansy only spelled trouble for himself. But having her there, pestering him as if nothing had changed, as if the past two years hadn’t upended his whole world and sense of being, made Draco feel as if things were… Simpler. Straightforward.“Hey, Pans?” he asked suddenly, recalling a question that crossed his mind when she’d first stormed into his room.“What?”“What in Merlin’s name are you wearing?”  
Hogwarts, Scotland

New Moon, September 30, 1970
With Ted Tonks nowhere in sight, Andromeda crossed her arms in frustration and seriously considered the alternative of simply setting off on their prefect rounds by herself. Standing alone, outside of the massive double-doors that led to the Great Hall, the eerie quiet of the usually lively space put her on edge.Minutes prior, when the low clanging from the bell towers had announced the beginning of Hogwarts’ ten o’clock curfew, Andromeda had sent Daisy Flint and her fifth-year Ravenclaw partner on their own route with a tense apology.Annoyance prickling at the base of her neck, Andromeda bitterly thought about everything else she could be doing. The prospect of a thirty-inch scroll due for McGonagall next Monday weighed heavily on her mind, as well as a ‘surprise’ Potions examination the following day, which Slughorn had conveniently let slip in front of his favourite pupils. Wasting precious minutes of her night waiting for her fellow prefect did not rank highly on her list of priorities.Resolving to report Tonks’ absence to Hughes and Clearwater the next morning at breakfast, Andromeda turned on her heels and hastened across the darkness of the entrance courtyard. If the he even thought to show up, Tonks certainly looked athletic enough to catch up.Halfway to the greenhouses, the fast-paced clatter of shoes against stone floors alerted the witch to her partner’s reappearance. “Sorry!” Tonks called out from behind her, visibly out of breath as he sprinted towards Andromeda, “So sorry! It won’t happen again—”“There’s blood on your collar,” noted Andromeda flatly, narrowing her dark eyes at Tonks’ dishevelled appearance.“Yeah, I was at the Hospital Wing,” revealed Tonks sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Found some of the second-years trying to duel. They, uh, didn’t get very far with wands.”Ruffled blonde head gleaming molten gold under the torchlight, Tonks was ruddy-cheeked and clearly winded by the dash, his Hufflepuff tie askew and his dress shirt half-untucked. Too busy embarrassedly fixing his collar, he didn’t notice Andromeda sweeping a critical eye over his figure. Even in the darkness, it was apparent that his summer tan was beginning to fade after a month in the Highlands. It only highlighted the faint smattering of freckles spreading across the bridge of his crooked nose.Refusing to let her mind linger too long on Tonks’ untidy exterior, Andromeda wordlessly whirled about and continued marching towards the first destination on their route.As per usual during their rounds, the other prefect easily matched her stride. Though she was a brisk and purposeful walker, Tonks’ height and proportional legs ensured that he could stroll beside her at a somewhat leisurely pace.Over the course of a month, their weekly patrols had finally settled into a sort of companionable silence. At first, Tonks had gamely attempted establishing a friendly rapport, asking inane questions about her lessons and her coursework and her opinions. Exactly why he cared about her thoughts on the new Charms professor, Andromeda could not begin to fathom. After finally taking the cue from her terse replies, they instead had fallen into a routine of polite greetings and peaceful quiet.Well, approximately quiet.Hands shoved in his pockets, Tonks began whistling. Always an unfamiliar tune, always echoing off the walls, and almost positively alerting any errant students of their approach.Already irritable, Andromeda’s hackles rose at the sound of the whimsical melody. If only to cut him off, she tetchily remarked, “I thought Hughes and Clearwater said there would be no switching.”Despite normally patrolling on Tuesday nights with Wood and Flowers-Flannigan, over the weekend Andromeda had received a note informing her of a one-time change of schedule. She and Tonks would be swapping shifts with Gordon Allen, a seventh-year Ravenclaw, and his sixth-year Hufflepuff partner with the unfortunate fringe.“Oh, sorry ‘bout that,” apologized Tonks, apparently a trend that the evening. “Was it too inconvenient? I was going to check with you first, but then Allen got to Clearwater before I could.”Sincere regret shone bright in his hazel eyes, and Andromeda found herself biting her tongue to deter an overly hostile reply.“It can’t be helped now,” she said dismissively, “but I’m surprised she agreed in the first place.”“She wasn’t too keen, but she has a soft spot for Allen.”“Does she?” Andromeda remembered the steely glint behind the Head Girl’s glasses. “I didn’t think Clearwater had a soft spot for anyone.”Tonks grinned at her, “Everyone has one, don’t they? No one’s an island, or something like that.”Andromeda looked away.“Why did you do it?” she asked, wondering why her week had been upended with this change of plans.“Do what?” he asked blankly, looking a bit surprised to be on the receiving end of a follow-up question from his fellow prefect.“Switch,” she clarified with an exasperated look.Igniting her wand with a nonverbal Lumos, Andromeda led them down the uneven stone steps toward the greenhouses. Nights were growing colder and longer in Scotland, and with the nascent moon hiding from view, only weak starlight twinkled against the deep ebony overhead. If the nippy autumn breeze was not enough to deter trespassers, she was convinced the strong scent of manure was a sure-fire deterrent for anyone lurking in the darkness.“Oh, that,” shrugging his broad shoulders, Tonks admitted, “Well, Allen had some scheduling issues with the Gobstones Team. He’s a nice enough bloke, so I didn’t mind helping him out.”Despite merely receiving a disinterested hum in reply, he somehow interpreted this as an encouragement to keep up a one-sided conversation: “And I owed him the favour, to be honest. He’s a bit of a genius with, er… Muggle stuff, you see, and it’s nice to be able to listen to some of my records at school.”“Records?” Andromeda asked involuntarily, the word conjuring up a mental image of the student files she knew the House heads stored in their offices.“They’re like these large disks made of vinyl,” Tonks explained, and at the sight of Andromeda’s blank expression, he added, “You could say they’re kind of like books, but for music. The songs are written on a disk that you can buy, and then you put it inside of another machine that plays the music—kind of like a wireless, sort of, except it’s called a gramophone.”Pursing her lips, Andromeda knew she had no business feeling ignorant in front of her patrol partner. As far as she and most of her friends were concerned, any knowledge of strange Muggle technology was essentially useless, and in some families, even dangerous. But the possibility of playing her favourite songs at will, rather than sit through the whole of The Witching Hour on the wireless… It sounded surprisingly practical.Well, it stood to reason that, in the twentieth century, Muggles weren't entirely savages. Just severely impaired.Though they didn’t discuss much, Andromeda often found herself strangely discomfited by Tonks’ presence, even more so when she was unable to pinpoint why. He was handsome, yes, but so were quite a few other young wizards at Hogwarts. Physical attractiveness wasn’t necessarily a rare or remarkable attribute.(Although, Andromeda wasn’t sure if her other classmates filled out the training kit as nicely as Tonks did. He’d shown up to their second patrol of the year looking tired and sweaty, with a painful-looking purplish shadow stretched across his left cheekbone. ‘Bludger at try-outs,’ he’d explained, wincing at the movement of his jaw. ‘S’alright, I’m fine to do the rounds.’)It wasn’t even his demeanour that put her off, nonsensical whistling aside. He might have lacked the stiff formalities practiced by wizards like Lucius Malfoy, but Tonks was unfailingly polite in a considerate, boyish sort of way. When he insisted Andromeda lead the way back up to the castle, the gesture was sincere—he’d taken too many tumbles down the staircases of Hogwarts to risk any chances.The first time he’d offered, she’d been on the verge of accusing him of impropriety. Then, of course, Andromeda remembered that the hems of their school-issued outer robes went down to their ankles. Hardly the most tantalizing view.What Andromeda found strangest about Ted Tonks was the way he looked at her or (more specifically) all the ways he did not. The sparkling hazel of his eyes was unclouded by the judgement, the apprehension, and even the poorly-concealed loathing that Andromeda frequently encountered in her schoolmates. She could see nothing there other than that peculiarly open, unguarded sort of friendliness he displayed with everyone. If anything, Tonks was sometimes curious, but never probing and never pushing beyond the little information she offered.And, for all the social training her upbringing provided her, Andromeda didn’t know what to do with a person who clearly didn’t want anything from her. Expect anything from her.It was strange, to say the least.Patrolling in silence on the eastern side of the castle, the pair nearly lost their path when the staircase leading to the library had a change of heart mid-way through their descent. For most of the trek, Tonks went back to whistling the same silly, upbeat tune, to which Andromeda didn’t have the energy to object. Their only interruption came in the form of a harried-looking Slughorn, who waddled over to them when they were about to finish patrolling above-ground.Looking a bit flushed, he requested they escort his group of Slytherin and Hufflepuff fourth-years up to their midnight lesson in the Astronomy Tower. “When nature calls, one must answer,” the professor chortled, bouncing a little on his feet.“Certainly, professor,” agreed Tonks with a grin, unfazed when Slughorn thanked him with a quick, “So kind of you, Mr Thompson, Miss Black.”While some of the Hufflepuff fourth-years offered their prefect a commiserating look, a mean-spirited snicker rippled through the young snakes. Either unaware or unbothered, Tonks ignored the mocking titters and immediately struck up a conversation with a stringy, spotty boy, who Andromeda identified as the new Hufflepuff Chaser.(If Andromeda found herself eavesdropping on the odd bit of Quidditch gossip at the breakfast table, it was only because partner loss due to injury mid-way through term would be quite an inconvenience. What if, Morgana save her, she was paired with someone as smarmy as Lucius Malfoy?)As they rose up the dizzying height of the tower, Andromeda felt the heat of curious eyes focused on her back. Tossing dark curls over her shoulder, she glanced behind her and discovered a clique of fourteen-year-old girls furiously whispering amongst themselves. Most were half-bloods she knew only by sight, but their mousy-haired ringleader was easily identifiable as Morgan Travers’ younger sister.“Can I help you with anything, Meryl?” Andromeda asked pleasantly, enjoying how the little vipers swiftly fell silent under her scrutiny.To her mother’s credit, Meryl Travers quickly recovered and offered a sweet smile. “We were just discussing the first Hogsmeade weekend,” she remarked, setting off a chorus of eager nods, and asked, “Would you happen to know when it will be?”“On Samhain,” Andromeda informed her crisply, watching the girls’ faces light up with excitement. “It won’t interfere with the bonfire lighting.”Though his legacy paled in most respects to his successor’s, former Headmaster Dippet had been a firm believer in the old ways and, before retiring, ensured that those who remained faithful to Her could still participate in the sacred rituals. All Hallow’s Eve was a particular favourite among students, who enjoyed the opportunity to celebrate under the starlight.“Excellent,” grinned Meryl, and added, “I was wondering…” she hesitated, coyly looking up at Andromeda, “Will you be going down to the village as well?”Internally sorting through all the layers of subtext hidden in the teenager’s innocuous expression, Andromeda responded, “Yes, of course. Why would you want to know?”“No particular reason,” Meryl replied innocently, “only some of the boys were talking in the common room, and…”One of Meryl’s friends let out a shrill giggle, earning herself a reproving glare from the surrounding fourth-years.Understanding dawned on Andromeda, “I see.”Brusquely ushering the students inside Professor Halley’s classroom, Andromeda dismissed Meryl Travers and her merry band of gossips with a strained smile. Piqued by their impudence, Andromeda hastened back down the spiral staircase fuming.After dancing with him once at the Lestrange party, Morgan Travers had been friendlier than usual. They were in the same Ancient Runes course and often compared notes in the common room. But nothing in his manners was ever flirtatious, nothing in his gaze had ever betrayed further interest.In fact, that same morning, she would have confidently wagered that Travers was working up the courage to ask the much lovelier Caitriona to accompany him to the village, not Andromeda herself.Unfortunately, it seemed that Andromeda would have to reduce any future study sessions with Travers, Ancient Runes marks be damned. Funnily enough, she knew it didn’t really matter whether or not the young wizard was seriously pursuing her. If poisonous tongues linked Andromeda to too many potential suitors, she was sure to garner a reputation for being flighty or, worse, some sort of immoral young woman. Not that she particularly cared—in fact, she briefly considered whether it might discourage Rabastan Lestrange—but living with Mother’s constant and severe disapproval would be unbearable after graduation.How infuriating.“Everything alright?” questioned Tonks breathlessly as he caught up to her, descending two to three steps at a time like a reckless fool. “There’s only the dungeons and basement left,” he informed her when he reached Andromeda at the bottom of the steps, then suggested sympathetically, “You know, if you’re in a rush, I can do those by myself.”“No, no, I’m fine,” Andromeda rejected his offer with a nonchalance she didn’t feel, strangely aware of those hazel-green eyes observing her with concern. A queer feeling stirred in her ribcage, and she recovered, “Right then, let’s just get this over with, please.”Rather than take the long route, through the castle’s maze-like corridors and winding steps, the pair instead decided to cut through little-known passageways in order to finish their rounds before midnight. At one point, while navigating a steep, spiralling staircase, Tonks turned to offer Andromeda a sturdy arm as support—who, eyeing the plunging free-fall to her right side, decided gripping the Muggle-born’s shapely forearm would be preferable to her potential demise.Shapely forearm? Merlin and Morgana.“This castle is full of death traps,” muttered Tonks in faint disbelief.Mutely, Andromeda couldn’t help but agree, grateful when they reached the bottom and emerged near the kitchens.Strangely, Andromeda had always preferred the cool darkness of the castle’s lower levels to its soaring towers and turrets. Only torchlight illuminated the empty corridors, which were sparsely decorated with the occasional dozing portrait or impassive statue. Most doors on these floors were magically sealed off and the Potions dungeons were expressly off-limits. Students usually preferred the abundance of above-ground broom closets (which Andromeda found disturbingly strategic) for their midnight rendezvous.Footsteps echoing on the stone floors, Tonks mercifully abandoned his incessant whistling. Unfortunately, that meant he looked to be on the verge of initiating another conversation, and this time Andromeda was not in the mood to discuss her Charms homework or the Quidditch House Cup. Parting his lips to ask some sort of trivial question about their upcoming History of Magic essay or, Circe forbid, ‘Who’re you taking to Hogsmeade?’, a low murmur of voices ahead immediately derailed his initiative.Now extremely displeased by the prospect of encountering rule-breakers this late in the night, which meant paperwork for justifying deducted points, Andromeda warily rounded the corner only to discover an abandoned passage. Motioning for Tonks to stay quiet, she slipped out her wand and whispered into the night, “Homenum revelio.”Gratified by the tug of magic orienting her, she led them to a rather gaudy statue of a buffoon at the far end of the hall. Although seven years at Hogwarts had acquainted Andromeda with a few of the castle’s secret passageways, this one was a novelty. “We don’t know how to get in there,” said Tonks, a fan of stating the obvious.“No, obviously we don’t,” she replied, reluctant to begin guessing at all the possible ways one could access the hidden space inside. “Are we going to wait for them?”Tonks shrugged, “Do you really care that much?”“Not in the slightest,” Andromeda admitted drily, amusement quirking at the corner of her mouth. “Let’s just leave it, we still have—”A dull groan reverberated through the corridor.Apprehensive, the pair watched as the stone mechanism began moving, rotating and shifting to reveal a small, house-elf sized entrance latched shut behind it. With a click, the door swung open and two slender figures awkwardly crawled out of the concealed hiding space, clearly having concluded their night-time appointment.Taking a startled step back, Andromeda caught sight of a drooping strawberry-blonde ponytail and a sheet of long glossy black hair, dainty fingers fixing a Slytherin tie and smoothing out crumpled pleated skirts in vain. Her jaw dropped.“Er, Andromeda?”
 “Andromeda?”
The deep baritone of Tonks’ confused voice blended with Amaryllis Carrow’s sharp disbelief, the inharmonious sound echoing through the corridor. Speechless, Andromeda stared at two of her year-mates—who, only at dinnertime, had been at each other’s throats.“Well, fuck me,” Andromeda heard herself say, vaguely aware of Tonks turning bright red behind her.The Hufflepuff stared pointedly at anywhere but her and her friends.“You can’t really be that surprised,” declared Imogen Selwyn, raising a cynical brow.Distantly, Andromeda questioned whether her fellow Slytherin was really that unflappable. Dark outer robe hanging open, dress shirt unbuttoned lower than usual, and a smudge of sticky cherry-red lip gloss glistened at her collarbone. To be fair, few things ever fazed Imogen, who delighted in offending conservative sensibilities and had a mild rebellious streak that was normally easy to indulge.“Last year, I kept telling her,” Imogen was saying, nodding at Amaryllis, “that I was positive you knew.”“You give me too much credit,” replied Andromeda, trying to put the unlikely pieces together.Not that Imogen left her so astounded—no, not in the slightest. Had it been anyone else with her friend (for example, the curly blonde Ravenclaw who flushed whenever Imogen crossed her path), this would have been forgotten after a few playful quips.No, Amaryllis was the greatest shock of all, standing white-faced and furiously silent, her usually pristine appearance dishevelled at the edges.For most of their friendship, Amaryllis had appeared so predictable. The girl was high-strung, conniving, and obsessed with climbing the rungs of a social ladder with little room for manoeuvring. After all, the Carrows were a struggling House, without the necessary wealth, influence, or connections to avoid slipping into irrelevance. Everything was a plot with Amaryllis, everyone had an ulterior motive.Which is why, in Andromeda’s honest opinion, this dalliance felt so incredibly out of character for Amaryllis. (Such poor strategizing, whispered Druella Black in the back of her mind.)Somehow finding her voice, Amaryllis crossed her arms and spat, “Who will you tell?”“Oh, no, this isn’t—well, this really isn’t any of my business, I—” stammered Tonks from behind Andromeda, his presence almost forgotten.“That wasn’t a question for you,” interrupted Imogen drily, “But for your sake, it’s best that you keep this to yourself,” and she shot him an unamused smile. “Come on, let’s go.”Shoving a hand through the crook of the smaller girl’s arm, Imogen forcefully steered Amaryllis in the direction of the Slytherin common room, shooting a casual “We’ll talk about this later, alright?” at Andromeda. As they departed, Amaryllis’ blonde ponytail kept whipping around, the tiny witch sending mistrustful looks over her shoulder.Pivoting to face Tonks, who still looked a bit flustered around the collar, Andromeda narrowed her eyes at him curiously. “Well?” she asked.“Well what?” he replied uncertainly.Andromeda elaborated, “Well, will you tell anyone?”Hazel eyes widened, and Tonks frowned, looking a bit flummoxed, “We’re not reporting them, are we? We can’t take away points if they’ve already gone.”She rolled her eyes, “Not the professors. I meant as in tell other students.”“Like I said, it’s not really my business,” was Tonks’ answer, crinkling his nose as if hazarding a guess in class. “Shouldn’t we, um, shouldn’t we keep going?”Taking off towards the dungeons, the pair wandered through the vacant, serpentine corridors, finding no more trouble-makers. Considering their brisk pace as they retired, Amaryllis and Imogen were most likely already inside the Slytherin dormitory. When had they…? Andromeda began to question, but quickly silenced that intrusive thought by reigniting her conversation with Ted.“You know, there’s nothing to stop you from telling anyone,” she remarked, somewhat enjoying the startled look on Tonks’ face. Andromeda knew she was unusually chatty that night, but after that discovery, what point was there in trying to keep an impersonal distance?“I know,” returned Tonks after a thoughtful pause. “But it wouldn’t be very kind, would it?”Andromeda snorted, feeling particularly unladylike, “Some people in your House would say they don’t deserve kindness.”“Then you don’t know my House very well,” replied Tonks, with a sort of good-natured bite, and the sound sparked something inside Andromeda.“No, I daresay I don’t,” Andromeda agreed, an involuntary smirk tugging at her lips. “But it’s useful information to have, wouldn’t you say?”A crinkle appeared between his dark-blonde eyebrows, “Useful how?”Andromeda’s smirk widened.As they walked the last leg of their trek, the Hufflepuff seemed to be mulling over something in his mind, twisting his mouth as if considering voicing his thoughts out loud.“Are those…” Tonks began hesitantly, “Are those types of relationships allowed here?”“What do you mean?” she asked.“You just don’t seem very… surprised? By your friends, I mean, being with each other,” he trailed off at Andromeda’s uncomprehending expression, and explained, “You know, since they’re two girls?”“Why would that not be allowed?” wondered Andromeda, slightly mystified by the phrasing.“Oh,” replied Tonks, looking a bit embarrassed, “Well, where I’m from—you know, in the Muggle world—two people of the same gender can get in a lot of trouble for being together.”“Really? How peculiar,” Andromeda tried to imagine it. If that were the case, some of the older tomes in the Black family library would undoubtedly be outlawed. Well, mixed-blood marriages were only a few centuries old, weren’t they?“It’s certainly inconvenient,” she continued, “but it isn’t illegal. Of course, the Selwyns might be well off enough for Imogen to live however she likes, but the Carrows are definitely short on galleons and heirs.”The tall wizard furrowed his brow as if Andromeda was translating from a foreign language. Tonks must come from one of those families, she deduced, where people did things like marry for love and not legacy. His parents probably cried at the platform when they sent him off to school.Another thought occurred to her: “If it’s illegal in your world, as you say, then shouldn’t it bother you?”“Well, my grandfather was a vicar. There’s plenty of things about the world he thinks are unnatural, magic and spells included,” Tonks admitted with a rueful smile, “But he also says that we’re given too little time on this Earth to waste it condemning other people to hell.”“It does seem a bit silly, doesn’t it?” The response slipped out before she could catch it.“It does,” Tonks flashed her a dimpled grin, hazel eyes flicking in her direction, and cautiously added, “But I wasn’t quite sure you’d agree.”A pause. “What exactly are you implying?”“Well, some people from your House, aren’t they…” Tonks averted his gaze, the barest hint of tension in his broad shoulders. “Don’t they have opinions about people like me? And well, you, I just thought—”“I know what you thought.”And she did, or at least Andromeda believed that she did.The unspoken question of blood-status hung heavy between them. After all, the Black reputation preceded Andromeda, and Bellatrix had done nothing to persuade the student population otherwise. Her reign of psychological terror as a prefect had no precedent as far as Andromeda knew, and Bellatrix had particularly enjoyed terrorizing hapless Muggle-born students.‘Easy prey,’ she called them.The memory of her sister’s words overlapped with the image of Bella, wand a loft, hovering Petrified Muggle children above a bonfire, like hogs on a spit. The implicit comparison rattled her. Did Bella’s shadow loom so large that Andromeda must be as malicious or unkind as her older sister? No, Andromeda was not a bloodthirsty enthusiast, but that was a far cry from alienating her family by declaring herself a Muggle-loving blood-traitor.“I don’t disagree with my family’s beliefs,” Andromeda felt necessary to say, and it was true. Even if there was nothing substantive to differentiate them as human beings, the accident of her birth meant that Andromeda was born into circumstances far different from his own.“But I’m not a fanatic,” she added tersely. “And I’m not a bully either.”Why was she defending herself to this relative stranger? She didn’t owe any explanations to Ted Tonks, no matter how he might look at her.Back in their first week, Tonks had come across her quickly disarming two Slytherin fifth-years on the verge of ambushing a litter of lost Gryffindor first-years. A peculiar expression had crossed his handsome features then, looking back at her as he led the first-years to their lesson—the same expression he wore now. Whether it was confusion or curiosity, Andromeda couldn’t pinpoint, but it made her feel queer on the inside.He’s quiet, for a moment, before lowly responding, “Some would say that’s not enough. That standing by and letting it happen is almost worse than wielding the wand yourself.”Andromeda frowned. “I…” she started but trailed off.There’s a lifetime of explanations on her lips, a full list of reasons that justify her and her family, their beliefs, and their history. All of them unquestioned, accepted without a second thought as unchangeable facts of life.They were ready, on the tip of her tongue, but she faltered.“We’re not all terrible people,” she chose instead, and the words tasted like ashes. “Excuse me, I think we’re done here.”————————//————————A lone blonde figure awaited Andromeda’s return to the Slytherin Common Room.“Cissa?”Enchanted embers burned low in the fireplace, casting a golden light on the pale, thin face of her sister. There’s a book on Narcissa’s lap, but little indication she’d been reading it. Instead, she turned her focused blue gaze from the fireplace to Andromeda.“Is everything alright?” Andromeda questioned.When at school, Cissa religiously retired early—Mother said weary complexions and dark circles were most unattractive on young witches.“How were your rounds, Meda?” Cissa asked, as if it was perfectly normal to find her awake past curfew.“Fine,” Andromeda shrugged, ignoring how Cissa frowned at the gesture. “What are you doing up?”“Just some light reading,” Cissa replied, adopting feigned levity.“I didn’t know that the Standard Book of Spells was such an enthralling read,” remarked Andromeda flatly, raising an eyebrow at the dreadfully tedious textbook in Cissa’s hand.Her sister came close to pouting. “Who were you with tonight, Meda?”“Me?” Andromeda shot her a confused look. “I had rounds, there was a switch in the schedule. Didn’t I mention this at dinner?” And she had, in passing, when she’d grumbled about the load of homework weighing on her shoulders.“Did… did everyone switch?” Cissa asked hesitantly.“No, only Tonks and I switched with Allen and that Hufflepuff girl, the one with the ridiculous fringe,” Andromeda answered. “Why the curiosity, Cissa? You’ve never cared about my prefect schedule before.”“No reason, I just thought…” A dismissive smile pulled at her lips, the kind that might fool professors and friends, but not Andromeda. “It’s nothing, forget I ever said anything.”She narrows her eyes in consideration and, after a beat, revealed, “Lucius Malfoy didn’t have rounds tonight. But he wasn’t in the common room, I presume?”Cissa looked stony.It’s easy for Andromeda to forget, sometimes, that Narcissa is younger than she. Only fifteen, barely out of her girlhood, but always so composed and collected. There was much Cissa kept to herself and very little she opted to disclose, often leaving Andromeda to interpret the tiniest of ripples on her impassive expression.“There are other wizards than Malfoy, Cissa,” Andromeda said, because she believed her sister needed to hear it. “Plenty of boys here would love to take you to Hogsmeade, if you just gave them the chance. I think Crabbe might even cry.”There’s the barest hint of an amused smirk.“Go to bed, Cissa,” she suggested kindly, and then, because she’d been disappointed once too, added, “Maybe he’s busy with Quidditch practice, I’ve heard the team needs a lot of work this year.”When the dark-haired witch finally slipped through her dormitory door, she found the chamber quiet and dimly-lit, as was routine on most school nights. Soaring floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of the long, rectangular room displayed the shimmering midnight-black depths of the lake. A flicker of iridescent scales behind the glass betrayed the occasional school of fish. An enchanted candle burned low at Caitriona’s ebony nightstand, who greeted Andromeda with a soft smile.“Long night?” the blonde witch inquired.Satisfied by Andromeda’s drowsy sigh of reply, Caitriona adjusted her large, wire-framed reading glasses and returned to thumbing the yellowed pages of a dusty library book.Absently going through the motions of her bedtime ablutions, Andromeda’s mind drifted easily in thought. While weaving unmanageable curls into a thick braid, she couldn’t help but speculate—did Caitriona know? Andromeda wouldn’t be surprised if she’d kept the secret; the blonde and Amaryllis were third-cousins and thick as thieves since childhood. But earlier, when they’d been caught red-handed, Amaryllis had asked with whom Andromeda intended to share her newly-acquired information.There were plenty of dangerous hands for that secret to fall into, but only one person whose opinion Amaryllis genuinely valued, who could cause that sort of deep-seated anxiety.It was only a guess, of course, but Andromeda felt confident that if Caitriona knew, it wasn’t because she’d been told.Wrapping her plush dove-grey robe tighter around her body, Andromeda soundlessly made her way from the bathroom to her bed, embroidered slippers protecting her feet from the icy stone tile. Both Imogen and Amaryllis’ four-posters were sealed shut, concealing the girls behind deep-emerald velvet curtains and—Andromeda supposed—preventing any further inquiry before morning.Crumpled dark uniforms, hastily discarded dress shirts, and forgotten skimpy dresses in bright, sumptuous fabrics spilled out of Imogen’s trunk and wardrobe. The careless trademark of someone self-possessed, self-assured, and comfortable in her wealth. The chaos of Imogen’s belongings was a diametric opposite to Amaryllis’ meticulous organization skills, which painstakingly kept everything in the girl’s orbit in its proper place.Nearly tripping over a stray burgundy dragon-hide boot, Andromeda kicked it aside lest it spark another bitter row between her roommates. On the other hand, she mused, that could just be their version of foreplay.Concealing a yawn, Andromeda climbed under the sumptuous ivory-and-silver duvet of her bed, exasperatedly untangling the ribbons on her long nightgown. She’d once threatened to cut them off, but Memsie’s quelling glare was enough to deter even a dementor.“Sleep well,” whispered Caitriona softly, and Andromeda paused before closing the velvet hangings of her four-poster.If the blonde witch was made aware of the night’s events, nothing in her porcelain features suggested that was the case. Never, either during meals or the long hours spent gossiping in their room, had Andromeda seen those slate-blue eyes turn to Amaryllis with suspicion.However, Caitriona had always been deceptively observant, with the good sense to use that skill to her advantage. Not that she was ever unkind or malicious—the blonde witch had an unassuming, amiable nature. But Caitriona was such a rare combination of beauty, grace, and intelligence, that even a fairly confident girl like Andromeda could admit she’d felt threatened after meeting her in first-year. Early on, Andromeda had determined it was better to befriend the witch rather than risk upsetting whatever lurked behind that passive, peaceful demeanour. Impishly, Andromeda wondered whether Caitriona was also concealing her own torrid love affair. Somehow, she felt doubtful, even when considering recent revelations. If Morgan Travers didn’t secure Caitriona’s fancy, then there were plenty of eligible and suitable wizards ready to take his place.“Something wrong?” queried Caitriona, noticing Andromeda’s lingering hand on the edge of her emerald-green curtain.“Not at all,” Andromeda refuted weakly, and quietly added, “Good night,” before pulling the velvet hangings of her four-poster firmly closed.Submerged in the dark privacy of her bed, Andromeda’s mind kept whirring away, chasing off sleep when she desperately needed it most.Andromeda was strangely… unsettled. She’d felt foolish that night, and Andromeda did not appreciate the feeling.For Circe’s sake, she was a Black.On her father’s side, Andromeda could trace her ancestors back to the Norman Conquest. She recognized the unique pedigree of her lineage, her family’s role in preserving ancient Magic, and her privileged upbringing. Of course, she and Ted Tonks would never be true equals. Anyone with even a speck of common sense could take one look at wizarding society and observe that too much separated them: breeding, wealth, circumstance, among other factors.In the darkness of her four-poster, Andromeda reassured herself—she was a Black. Being born a Black entailed a whole host of privileges and responsibilities that Tonks, with his easy-going grin and uncomplicated existence, could not even begin to comprehend.Except…That had seemed liked such a paltry argument to make earlier that night, especially when compared to Tonks’ easy acceptance of something forbidden and reviled in his world. How quickly he’d rationalized that people mattered much more than his ideas about right or wrong.Andromeda had never thought of herself as a zealot.Few in her family still delighted in Bella and Aunt Walburga’s specific brand of cruelty—personally, she had preferred to believe that sort of madness was dying out. Weren't those antics uncivilized and old-fashioned? When Araminta Meliflua Black tried to force through a Muggle-hunting bill in the nineteen-thirties, she’d been derided as an extremist. Mother had taught them that there are other, more subtle ways to assert your superiority than to recklessly flaunt your magic. Druella Black (née Rosier) had not forgotten how her French relatives had fallen alongside Grindelwald.Whenever whispered rumours of Bella’s cruelty reached her ears, Andromeda had pursed her lips in disapproval. Using first-years as target practice to establish your own dominance was beneath them. She’d never caught Bella in the act, of course. That would have required spending more time with her sister than Andromeda was inclined to do.Nonetheless, Andromeda came to the uncomfortable realization that she’d believed that disdaining those base impulses had made her different from Bella. A proper, modern pure-blood witch. A better Black.But Andromeda had never attempted to stop Bella, had she? Never bothered to openly condemn her, even when the younger years gave her sister a wide berth, like Bella was a nightmare come to life. Yet, she was a Black before anything else, and so was Andromeda. To reprimand her sister, in their family’s view, would be to align herself with the same children that she taunted.And, if she was honest with herself, Andromeda wasn’t certain she ever could. Standing on the wrong side of her sister’s wand took a braver (or foolhardier) soul than she possessed. After all, Andromeda was no halfwit—she valued the full use of her limbs and the privacy of her mind. Afternoons of Legilimency practice in Father’s study had taught Andromeda that Bella had little respect for the sanctity of private thoughts. Neither did she value the delicate balance of the human psyche.So, whatever Tonks might think of her, Andromeda knew there was little to be done in her position. If a rebuke were to come from the Matriarch or their father, maybe it would hold greater sway with her sister. There was no point in Andromeda single-handedly attempting to hold back a storm, only for the outcome to be comparable to drowning.However, his disapproval disquieted her, regardless that a stranger’s opinion should hold no weight with Andromeda. There were no ties of friendship between them. But she’d come to appreciate that Tonks wasn’t the boorish teenage boy she anticipated. Instead, there was a quiet understanding during their rounds, where he expected little and asked for nothing.Andromeda wondered what Tonks would think, if he knew, about the Lestrange party. The flames casting shadows on Bellatrix’s pale visage, her dark eyes glittering with excitement. A summer breeze playing with her fallen curls, new robes splattered with mud as she emerged from the forest’s edge, wand pointed skywards.Those Muggle children, visceral fear in their eyes, clothing singed by the heat of the bonfire. No, it was better that Tonks didn’t know.

Tonks Residence, Oxfordshire

New Moon,
October 9th
, 1999
Andromeda was humming as she set the table.She’d never gotten the hang of whistling, but Andromeda often hummed along to the wireless set in her sitting-room. At some point during her pregnancy, Dora had accidentally charmed it to only play sixties and seventies love ballads. They’d been unable to switch it back. Her daughter had loudly complained that she missed modern rock, but Andromeda enjoyed it.“And you can tell everybody this is your song,” she sang under her breath, the kettle whistling merrily in the background. The house was otherwise quiet, Teddy napping in the nursery.With a swish-and-flick of her wand, Andromeda sent a plateful of store-bought palmiers out to her dining table. According to Ted’s mother, if you arranged them pretty on a serving dish, guests will be none the wiser. In the Black family mausoleum, Grandmother Irma was rolling over in her grave.As she set up her best porcelain, Andromeda kept a watchful eye on the living room window. It was her turn to host the Fundraising Committee tea, and Narcissa would be there soon to add the finishing touches (in other words, a basketful of Memsie’s home-baked chocolate chip scones). Although there were certain homemaking skills Andromeda appreciated to keep her busy, baking was certainly not one of them.Andromeda felt the ripple in the wards before she saw them. Three slender figures in dark winter coats, one substantially shorter than the other two. The buzzing of a doorbell to announce their presence.“Meda darling,” greeted Cissa with a fleeting kiss to her sister’s cheek. Despite the torrential downpour outside, she swanned through the entranceway in perfectly dry navy-blue robes—unlike her younger companions.Miss Parkinson’s dark trench coat, cinched at the waist, was damp from the rain, and she gratefully accepted a Drying Charm with a, “Thank you, Mrs Tonks, such a pleasure to see you.”Ducking inside, Draco grumbled, “It’s raining crups and kneazles out there”, and dutifully pressed a kiss to his aunt’s cheek. The hem of his robes was soaked and dirty. Andromeda chided him to Scourgify his shoes before he trekked mud through her parlour.Although Miss Parkinson and Draco are only there to pick up Teddy for an afternoon excursion, Andromeda felt it would be remiss of her as host to send them off without refreshments. The pair had been attached at the hip since Miss Parkinson’s return to London. Andromeda could already see improvements: his beard trimmed short, his platinum hair combed and swept back, and the neat, freshly-pressed robes that didn’t look slept in.“How nice you look, Draco,” Andromeda praised, but it was Miss Parkinson who preened in satisfaction.Perching their outerwear on the coat hanger in the hall, she took the package of biscuits from Draco’s arm and guided them through to the sitting-room.“Tea? Water? Butterbeer?”“Butterbeer?” sniffed Cissa, judgmental.“I keep it for Harry,” Andromeda explained, before reminding her sister, “And I remember someone else used to be quite obsessed with butterbeer. The only way you ever disappointed Mother.”Cissa frowned. “I was thirteen. I haven’t had a butterbeer in years.”“Well, today is your lucky day,” Andromeda smirked.Returning with a trayful of beverages, Andromeda discovered a tense silence between her guests. While Cissa looked mostly unperturbed as usual, there was the barest hint of strain at the corners of her placid smile. Across from her sat Draco, who was openly scowling and ignoring Miss Parkinson’s rebuking gaze.“Anything the matter?” Andromeda asked lightly.An Earl Grey with honey, a glass of water with a slice of lemon, and a crystal goblet full of butterbeer came to rest on the coffee table.“Nothing to worry about,” dismissed Cissa coolly.“I wouldn’t say it’s nothing,” muttered Draco.Cissa quietly reproached, “Draco.”Observing the mother-son pair shrewdly, Andromeda pressed, “Care to explain?”Clearly weighing his options, Andromeda’s nephew looked around at the ladies before making a decision. “She’s been to see him,” he glowered. “In Azkaban.”Narcissa looked stone-faced.Turning to Andromeda, the young man demanded, “Tell her she shouldn’t have gone. Tell her that he ruined our lives. She’ll listen to you.”Miss Parkinson stared at him as if she thought he was unbelievably stupid.Despite knowing her nephew to be quite the student, Andromeda was inclined to agree. There was a steely glint to her sister’s eyes now, one that reminded Andromeda of the frosty anger she’d once associated with Druella Black.“Pansy darling, I think it best that you two leave,” Cissa instructed lowly.“But—”“I agree,” Andromeda interrupted her nephew’s protest. “The ladies will be here at four, the meeting should be done by six. I know it’s damp out, but there’s a public library with a story-telling hour that Teddy enjoys. Here, let me get you his things.”Going into the nursery, Andromeda brought out both a yawning Teddy and his excursion bag. Technically, it was one of Harry’s old school bags, one that Miss Weasley had stuffed full of diapers and baby-appropriate snacks. The strap was fraying and the black leather was faded and scuffed. Miss Parkinson passed it off to Draco with a disgusted expression.Teddy was delighted by their visitors, morphing his natural nut-brown curls to match the sleek Malfoy platinum. Handing him off to Narcissa’s care, she went back to retrieve his favourite Weasley-knit hat. Since Teddy was only a year old, he could only change minor things like his hair colour and texture. More complex organs were, thankfully, still beyond his ability.Finding a beanie with a pom-pom on top, she returned to find Teddy pressing sticky kisses to Cissa’s cheek. Draco looked on sullenly as his mother resolutely ignored him.“Stop pouting,” Andromeda overheard Miss Parkinson whisper.“Alright,” Andromeda said, pulling the blue-and-white cap over Teddy’s head. “Be back in two hours. This bag should have everything you need. If you need help, Muggles have something called a public telephone—like this one, but there’s a slot for coins—put in this amount and punch in these numbers I’ve written down for you here. Like a Floo call, but no fireplace.”Even Narcissa looked slightly mystified.Andromeda rolled her eyes, “Actually, don’t bother with any of that. There’s a wizarding pub off the main road, it has a statue of a hag outside, just tap her left elbow to go inside. You can’t miss it. They’ll let you use their Floo for five Knuts per call. Be safe.”After pressing a kiss to Teddy’s forehead, Andromeda escorted the young pair out the door, lending them her enchanted umbrella for the afternoon.“Don’t let him have too much sugar,” she called out, hoping Draco would be more judicious about sweet-purveying than Harry.The door swung shut behind them, and Andromeda turned to her attention to more pressing matters.“You went to visit Lucius?”Narcissa mildly remarked, “The ladies will be here soon.”“Cissa, tell me, did you visit Lucius in Azkaban?”Her younger sister frowned, expression almost resembling Draco’s pout. “What does it matter if I did?”Irritation flared inside Andromeda, “It matters because I want to know why you did it.”“Forgive me, Andromeda,” Cissa’s tone was icy, “I wasn’t aware I needed your permission to visit my own husband in prison.”“Of course, you don’t need my permission,” agreed Andromeda. “But I do want to know why you concealed your visit from your son.”“I see. Should I have asked for his permission instead?”There’s a familiar anger simmering inside Andromeda’s chest. As children, disputes between the younger Black sisters were rare. More often, it was Bellatrix and Andromeda who were quick to argue, their thunderous rows ending in painful hexes and slammed doors. Whenever she and Narcissa quarrelled, there was no cathartic explosion. In its place was Cissa’s glacial fury, slow to thaw and incredibly difficult to rile.Even as a grown witch, it was capable of driving Andromeda mad.“You know that’s not what I was implying,” Andromeda narrowed her eyes. “But he clearly hasn’t forgiven Lucius yet. In fact, up until this afternoon, I was under the impression you hadn’t either.”“You don’t know anything about Lucius and me,” her sister sneered, defensive.“Of course, I don’t—you don’t talk about him, Cissa.”“Yes, I do,” the blonde refuted.Andromeda scorned, “Reminiscing about your honeymoon in Paris is not the same thing as talking about all the damage he brought down upon you and your son.”A shadow darkened Cissa’s expression. “This isn’t the time.”As if to reinforce her point, the doorbell rang, announcing their visitors.Before long, the illustrious witches of the Ladies’ Society Fundraising Committee were gathered in Andromeda’s parlour, sipping tea and nibbling at buttery, flaky scones. The older ladies arrived by Floo, dusting soot off their robes and into the hearthplace. Most notably, Madame Longbottom came with a new hat, a flock of red-breasted swallows perched on the brim. Her protégé, Miss Lovegood, affixed her own enchanted bird to a beribboned headband. It had the uncanny ability to flutter its wings during awkward pauses in conversation.“How clever, Luna,” admired Miss Bones, who joined them fresh from Auror training.The sight of those familiar aubergine-coloured robes reminded Andromeda of another Auror trainee, blue-haired and exhilarated by her first day at work. Something squeezed painfully deep in her ribcage. To steady herself, Andromeda briefly pressed her fingertips against the locket dangling from her neck, its cool metal reassuring.Madame Longbottom presided over the proceedings, as was usual, with Madame Bones on one side and Aunt Lucretia on the other. Mrs Diggory and Miss Fawcett sat together on the loveseat, so they could intermittently swap gossip in-between presenting the committee’s finances. The rest of the ladies were in assorted armchairs, though Melina Blishwick shamelessly claimed Ted’s old recliner for herself.Cousin Melina was what Ted would have called a side-kick: wherever Aunt Lucretia went, the stocky woman with short iron-grey hair was sure to follow. Her ties to the Blacks were distant (her great-great-great-grandmother was Misapinoa Black), but Aunt Lucretia liked to remind them that family was still family.Andromeda just wished ‘family’ wouldn’t prop their mud-caked boots up on her dead husband’s favourite chair. For a second, she almost shot Cissa a disbelieving look before she remembered their discussion. “Ladies, some would say that our work is finished,” concluded Madame Longbottom, looking down at the agenda for the day. “And certainly, your tireless efforts over the past year have been commendable. Not only has the Great Hall been restored, but the majority of the castle’s overall structure has been rebuilt. Headmistress McGonagall has assured me that, combined with the Ministry’s contributions, Hogwarts has enough funds to finish what she calls ‘the detail work’.”“And the Room of Requirement?” asked Miss Bones curiously. “We—the D.A. I mean—we wanted to see it during the commemoration, but Professor McGonagall said they were still working on it.”“The Room of Requirement has yet to be located,” answered Madame Longbottom crisply. “I don’t know what else we can expect from a place called ‘The Come-and-Go Room’.”“It’ll be back,” Miss Lovegood assured the other girl quietly. “All of us needed some rest after that year.”“Sounds like a pretty useless room if it won’t come when it’s required,” declared Cousin Melina.Andromeda would agree, but the usually stern-faced Miss Bones looked disheartened.“Missing room notwithstanding, we can consider our work at Hogwarts completed for the moment,” decided Madame Longbottom. “Now, I move to open the debate on what shall be our next project to sponsor.”It was a full hour of a tense back-and-forth between the ladies.Aunt Lucretia was a proponent of providing small loans to Muggle-born owned businesses, pointing to her exquisitely embroidered robes as an example. “We need to reinvigorate the market,” she affirmed, with Cousin Melina there to second her opinion. While not a supporter of fashion, Cousin Melina had discovered a Muggle-born run farm near her cottage, that serviced both Muggle and wizarding ice-cream parlours (as well as providing unbelievable discounts on manure for her garden).Though as a businesswoman Miss Fawcett was sympathetic to the suggestion, she favoured Mrs Diggory’s idea instead—funding the Ministry’s proposed half-way home for vulnerable populations displaced by the war. The project was gaining traction with the public and the press, who were pushing the Wizengamot to set aside funding for the home. “Are we to be lobbyists then?” queried Madame Longbottom, “Or will we finance the project ourselves?”Preferably provide financial backing directly, the ladies replied. With the citizenry so invested in the cause, the Fundraising Committee could amass thousands of galleons in donations.“Why direct our efforts to something already poised to succeed?” countered Andromeda.“Does that make the cause any less worthwhile?” returned Miss Fawcett.The Hogwarts Reparations Trust had been an immediate necessity, argued Andromeda. A year after the war, they had the luxury of deliberating and researching what kind of rebuilding was necessary to avoid another tragedy. Throwing money at a cause célèbre would not solve the cracks in their society’s foundation.“War widows and orphans die; newer generations forget,” intervened Cissa in Andromeda’s defence. “Let the half-way home be built by the Ministry, they have plenty of grovelling left to do. We should put our money behind something that endures.”“What about a school?”The witches turned to stare at Miss Lovegood.Bemused, Mrs Diggory responded, “I believe we just discussed that our work at Hogwarts is done, Miss Lovegood.”Miss Lovegood smiled, “I don’t mean Hogwarts.”A confused silence settled between the older witches. Clearly taking pity on them, Miss Bones interjected, “I think Luna is referring to a different school. A school other than Hogwarts.”“A school other than Hogwarts?” Miss Fawcett echoed, sounding scandalized.“I believe,” Aunt Lucretia interrupted, before confusion devolved into an argument, “that Miss Lovegood is referring to a school for younger children.”Miss Lovegood beamed.“Why would we send children off to school before Hogwarts?” asked Mrs Diggory. “Isn’t that a bit heartless?”Cissa nodded minutely in agreement. “Draco wept the night before he left for his first year.”“So did my Neville,” reminisced Madame Longbottom, and Andromeda could see a hint of softness behind the esteemed witch’s hardened façade.Andromeda, who’d had to wrestle an over-excited Nymphadora to bed, nearly rolled her eyes. “Miss Lovegood means a day school, similar to the kind Muggles attend when they’re children,” she informed them. “They leave for classes in the morning and come back home in the afternoon. It’s fairly common.”“Did your daughter attend one of these?” inquired Miss Fawcett.“We tried,” Andromeda revealed, smiling ruefully. “But it isn’t easy to convince a seven-year-old Metamorphagus that she can’t go to school looking like Ziggy Stardust.”The ladies stared at her blankly.“Who is Ziggy Stardust?” Miss Bones ventured to ask.  Sensing that was a line of questioning that would entirely derail the topic at hand, Andromeda ignored the query, “Not important. If I may say so, wizarding primary education is in a woeful state in comparison to the Muggle system. You know, they have laws that make it mandatory for children to attend school. They make sure all children are taught how to read and write, how to do arithmetic.”Mrs Diggory hesitated, “Call me old-fashioned—""Allow me," interjected Cousin Melina."—but isn’t that a mother’s job?” she concluded. Andromeda knew Solomina Diggory had given up her job at the family business to raise a beloved son. “I knew what I was signing up for.”“My sister-in-law would have disagreed,” refuted Madame Bones. “Amelia refused to marry because she refused to give up her career. I don’t blame her.” The kindly witch placed a hand on her daughter’s arm, “You and your siblings were a blessing, darling, but it’d be a lie to say I didn’t struggle.”Miss Bones squeezed her hand in understanding. “Some women don’t have the opportunity to choose to stay home over their career. What about them? Who teaches those children?”"Some of my year-mates barely knew how to read," deplored Aunt Lucretia.“If this Muggle system is so great, why don’t we just put our children in there as well?” offered Cousin Melina, beginning to warm to the idea.Cissa frowned, “And risk exposing us all? So many children exhibiting accidental magic in front of Muggles would surely violate the Statute of Secrecy.”“What do Muggle-born children do then?” inquired Miss Fawcett. “They go to Muggle schools, don’t they?”“An Occamy often chooses the obvious solution. People rarely do,” Miss Lovegood answered serenely.Miss Fawcett blinked owlishly.“Ladies,” exclaimed Madam Longbottom, bringing order back to the discussion. “It seems to me that the possibility of opening a school for younger children has aroused plenty of interest. Am I right in assessing that the committee would like to explore this proposal further?”A murmur of agreement rippled through Andromeda’s sitting-room.“Duly noted.”“Madame Longbottom, if I may,” interjected Narcissa smoothly, continuing when she received a gesture of approval. “Would the Fundraising Committee be interested in commissioning a full report on the logistics and expenses of undertaking such an endeavour?”The witches around her nodded.“Are you offering your services, Madame Malfoy?” replied Madame Longbottom, scrutinizing her carefully.“Of course not,” Cissa looked vaguely amused by the suggestion. “But I would like to propose a witch for the job.”After the ladies had retired, leaving in a whirl of Floo powder and feathers, Andromeda flicked her wand to begin clearing the tea service. Although the matter of Cissa’s visit to Azkaban was still a subject pending for discussion, the committee meeting had raised other concerns.“How could you volunteer Hermione Granger without consulting the girl first?”Still perched on an armchair, Cissa reached for a palmier. “Because I know she’ll want it.”“Really? How exactly can you know that?” Andromeda countered. “You barely know the girl.”Clearly finding the palmier lacking, Cissa returned it to the plate and daintily dusted off her fingers. Biting her tongue, Andromeda resisted the urge to scold her (‘Ladies don’t pick up food they won’t eat,’ Mother had once whispered in her ear, pinching her arm hard).“Please, Meda. Miss Granger helped the Chosen One defeat the Dark Lord,” Cissa raised a thin brow. “She’s an ambitious teenaged witch, one who’s just been thwarted by those stuffy old wigs in the Wizengamot. If there’s anything she wants right now, it’s to prove them she doesn’t need their approval to change our world.”“She’s just started an apprenticeship with the most acclaimed Arithmancer in Britain,” Andromeda replied, disagreeing on principle. Knowing Miss Granger’s zest for social reform, it was a feeble argument.“If she’s half as brilliant as they say, then she can do both,” Cissa retorted.“And how do you know she’ll say yes?”Cissa smirked. “Because once you pitch her that lovely little story extolling all the virtues of the Muggle educational system, she’ll be here in a week telling us where, when, and how to build this school.”And the matter was settled.Somehow, due to her younger sister’s underhanded manoeuvrings, Andromeda would have to convince the brightest witch in her age to abandon a prestigious internship for an unpaid passion project. Or, possibly, undertake both—which had the potential for causing the girl a life-long dependency on caffeine and Reinvigorating Draughts.“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about Lucius,” she reminded Cissa sternly.Pointedly ignoring her, the blonde witch looked out the window and remarked, “Draco and Pansy are back. Oh look, they’ve brought company.”Curious, Andromeda opened her front door to reveal—“Unhand me, Potter!”“That’s not how you hold a baby, Malfoy.”“Really? I was just thinking about swinging him around like a Beater’s bat. Isn’t that what they did with you?”Miss Parkinson shoved past the squabbling pair, looking extremely consternated and extremely damp. “The boy wonder found us on our way back from the library,” she explained flatly, pushing her short, wet hair out of her face. “Did you know he put a tracking spell on the bag?”No, but Andromeda wasn’t exactly surprised.“Everything alright Harry, dear?” Andromeda interrupted.Harry Potter, in the middle of wrenching his godson from Draco Malfoy’s grasp, seemed to realize what he was doing. “Um, hullo, was Teddy supposed to be with them?”The boy was still in his dragonhide uniform, which was passably Muggle if one ignored the aubergine cloak swung over his shoulder at an angle. His glasses were skewed, his hair matted by the rain.“Yes, Harry,” Andromeda responded, very amused.Draco shot him a filthy glare. “Is it so unbelievable that someone would trust me with a child?”“Yes,” replied Miss Parkinson without skipping a beat. “And, for the record, you weren’t. You were there to babysit Teddy, while I was there to supervise you.”“No, you weren’t,” argued Draco, but he sounded unconvinced.Taking the boy from his cousin’s arms, Andromeda reached over to welcome Harry with a one-armed hug. “So good to see you. Now that you’re already here, why don’t you stay for supper?”Embarrassed by his overreaction, Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, I can’t. ‘Mione and I made plans—”“Nonsense,” interjected Cissa, a self-satisfied smirk playing on her lips. “Why don’t you invite Miss Granger for dinner?”