And yet another first person narrative, Andromeda this time. No one is safe…

Disclaimer: Being that Andromeda never ever appears in the series other than a brief mention as Sirius' favorite cousin and another blood traitor, I pretty much created her. She is probably a conglomeration of all those ignored-bordering-on-original characters floating around out there in fandom. But right now she's mine.

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It feels so strange to be sitting here sipping tea while he just lies there staring back at me. I mean, it's like he's a bloody guest in my home or something, not a photograph off the morning Prophet.

I take another sip of tea and look away. It's been ages since I've thought of him, any of them. Ten, maybe twelve years. Whenever it was he was sent away. I'd seen his face in the paper then too, and it was at that moment I decided I would wash my hands of the entire family then and there. For the most part it worked.

He had shown such promise of turning out differently in his youth from his twisted family. I mean, who'd heard of a Dark Gryffindor? Well at least not then, not when he was sorted into the House. Thanks to dear Sirius, we have another first; Azkaban escapee and traitorous Gryffindor.

But that is all icing on the cake that is Sirius Black. My hated cousin and blood-loyalist.

Perhaps Nymphadora is right. I do tend to get a bit overly dramatic. But I have my reasons so for this one time she'll just have to excuse me. Miss Tonks, as she is styling herself nowadays, will just have to accept that.

Another sip of tea and another stolen glance at the silently fuming figure. Sirius must've been in rare form that day; his glower is particularly vindictive. I suppose they must have taken it before he was too long in Azkaban, before the insanity could set in. It could even have been right after they'd caught him; right after he'd…

I turned the offensive copy of the Daily Prophet over so I didn't have to ponder him or any other Black anymore. At the earliest possible chance I had married Ted and gotten out of that family. I did not need memories resurfacing over the morning news. The only picture I ever wanted to remember of the Blacks is their horrified faces twisted in anger at the very idea of their daughter – their pureblood daughter – marrying a common filthy Muggle. Oh yes, that one is priceless.

It seems the tea is done. Good. I did not want to pour over the news anyway, morning beverage in hand. I might actually be early for work today. There is a crash from some room in the house and I know that there is a chance I will still be late. Cleaning up after my accident-prone daughter is a time consuming project.

Idly, I wonder if she will read the paper today. Will she see Sirius' face on the front cover and wonder who he is? Will she remember seeing him before? I'm rather curious about it. Perhaps it's a morbid curiosity, wondering if my daughter will remember her murderer of a relative. We had been really close at the time, me and Sirius, and I had wanted my favorite cousin to see my wonderful daughter. He didn't seem like a stinking traitor at the time. He was really different from the other Blacks…

Which of course brings me back to the family I love to hate, and who among their number could be more near and dear in my heart than my two sisters, Bellatrix and Narcissa. I must have wished them dead twenty times and hour. I know for a fact they thought the same of me - in fact they told me so on quite a regular basis. "Shrivel up, Andromeda." "Drown yourself in your beauty potions, Narcissa." Hogwarts was such a welcome sight.

Here I go again, thinking about them. I laid them to rest ages ago but here they are, back from the dead. Wouldn't they be so pleased? Perhaps I should burn the paper. No, then Nymphadora would probably burn the house down and I'll never get to work. I'll just throw it in the trash on my way out.

Of course just as I pick it up to dispose of it, what should my darling daughter request but the morning issue of the Daily Prophet. Well ask and ye shall receive – or rather, be careful what you wish for…

I toss the paper to her and turn to leave. Regardless of my earlier curiosity, I found I didn't want to be there anymore. I didn't want to know if she remembered. There would be too many questions I had no desire to answer, now or at any date; questions I could not answer because there were no answers, questions that had lain dormant for many years. I did not want to face them.

Regardless of my wishes, the questions floated to the forefront of my mind. For example: Why did my headstrong, Dark-hating cousin – who was one of the best things to happen to the Black family in many generations – betray and kill his best friends? What did a blood-traitor burned from the ancient family tree have to gain by going back to his roots? Was there an answer to the enigma that is Sirius Black?

Fortunately, Miss Tonks was much to absorbed by the results of the latest Quidditch match to ponder front page news. Some Auror she would make. A Dark Wizard escapes Azkaban and she heads straight for sports.

"Well, I'm off," I say. "See you in a bit, dear."

A muffled "Bye, Mum!" is all I get. She has discovered the toast I left on the counter. As I walk out the door I hear the tinkling of broken china and I know I should have purchased the plastic dishware when my daughter asked to move back in.

I return later in the afternoon for lunch. Nymphadora is gone, presumably to London, as is the paper – thankfully. Just me and my sandwich, free from family reminiscing. Or the opposite of reminiscing, whatever that would be. Anti-reminiscing.

And yet for all my resolution to think about anything – anything – but the Blacks, I seem obsessed. It is infuriating how single-minded I can be. And to top it all off, the blasted Prophet is still hanging around the house. Apparently it, too, will not leave me alone. Nymphadora seems to have only relocated it, disturbed it momentarily from its mission of causing me misery. It now resides in the hall, outside her bedroom. It lies there Sirius-side up and I hate it. I want to jump on it, tear it into little pieces, grind the scraps into particles and burn each one separately. Oh, Bella would be proud.

See!? There I go again! It won't let me forget them. The mere sight of it infuriates me; the sight of him infuriates me! Why won't he leave me alone?! Why can't I forget him and move on?

But I know that I can't and I don't think I ever will because I still remember my Sirius who hated his brother and cousins and pureblood, Muggle-hating family and would run away with me whenever he visited to play Muggle in a closet somewhere that our parents couldn't see and would tell me all about school and his friends and would laugh and laugh so happily when he talked about James and Remus and Peter and never had a Dark bone in his body and was the only Black I ever let hold Nymphadora because I knew he would not care her father was a Muggle-Born and so I guess I couldn't hate him because that man on the cover of the paper was not him and could never be him as long as he looked at me like that.

I said it. Can't take it back now that I've said it. I've been avoiding the truth for a very long time, but what's done is done. For all he's done I still can't bring myself to hate my cousin. That Sirius Black, who stares at me with hate and venom in his eyes, that's a different person. Another Sirius Black who was always faithful to his family and hated Muggles from the day he was born and never shared secrets with his cousin Andromeda. My Sirius could never do those things - he was too much a part of me. We shared too much for there to be this deep confusion that exists between us. We were blood traitors together, for ever and always. That is my Sirius.

The man in paper just does not fill the place of that laughing boy I knew so well. He is a stranger and, honestly, I do not want to know him. There is only room for one Sirius in my life and I have always known the one I prefer.

I pick up the paper and this time I do throw it out. I don't want to see that face anymore, I remember it quite well without the assistance the Daily Prophet. But the face I know smiles easily and laughs on a whim. I'm not so stupid to believe I can avoid the Blacks forever; they are as much a part of my life as Ted and Nymphadora. But I do not have to welcome them in with the morning paper. I have worked too hard to move on from that part of my past.

And tonight - tonight if Nymphadora asks why that Sirius Black looks so familiar or shares the same name I was born with, I will tell her the truth. He was my cousin. I will not tell her all the fun was had together as children or how I trusted him so deeply, because that is not the man on the front page. My Sirius is hiding somewhere, deep in the past.

I wish he could find his way out.

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