Disclaimer: I'm not J.K. Rowling; I'm only visiting her universe for nonprofit fun and edification. (No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended).

***

By June, there's a curfew around full moon, during which the adults at the Burrow do patrols around the perimeter. The defenses of the Burrow were proof against all but the Death Eaters at full strength, but the Ministry is not sure how much training Greyback's irregulars received during their alliance with Voldemort. On the night of June tenth, Andromeda is on duty with Percy between midnight and four a.m.; Harry and Ginny came in from their patrol from moonrise to midnight and took over her duties at Teddy's bedside. He sleeps through the night, for the most part, though this night he seems to have picked up on the excitement among the adults and is waking every few hours.

Percy is restless and unhappy, she can tell. She's watching the shadows, because she knows that the werewolves like to lurk there, in the sharp darkness created by the brilliant moonlight, before massing for attack. She can feel her patrol partner's distraction. She knows that he gets up very early to leave for work at the Ministry and does not come home until late; it's not clear to her if it's the conflict with George, the considerable work load at the Ministry, or something else.

Luckily, she is paying attention when the first movement comes around three a.m., a barely visible shift in the dappled shadows outside the hedgerow. She tugs Percy's sleeve and points. Silently they watch as six dark outlines take shape out of the dark, slink up to the edge of the defenses, try them and are thrown back.

It's Percy who throws a volley of stunning spells and knocks out all six of them, after which she casts Incarcerus and binds them.

At the change of the guard at four a.m., Arthur and Luna take over guard duties. They leave the bound werewolves outside the defenses, where a pre-dawn patrol from Ottery St. Catchpole finds them and slashes their throats with silver knives before either Arthur or Luna can intervene.

Arthur tells the household over breakfast that the Ministry had issued no policy on the treatment of prisoners, since this wasn't an official war. He describes with merciful brevity the impromptu burial of the six underfed adolescents whose remains appeared when the vulpine corpses reverted to human form at moonset. He's prepared a report on it already, though this doesn't bode well.

***

Molly Weasley has been sharp with Hermione for some days now, since her absence at Hogwarts over the full moon period on unspecified business. Andromeda has a guess at that business, given that the Vile Purple Potion is prepared at the full moon, and Molly had earlier been fuming about Hermione going to another connection, which is likely Neville Longbottom at the Hogwarts greenhouses. There's also been an article in the Prophet mentioning Hermione's name in connection with the War Crimes Commission, specifically her outburst against the internment of war crimes suspects in Azkaban Prison, juxtaposed with speculation about her torture at Malfoy Manor. Rita Skeeter, of course, who seems dead set to discredit her as an unstable Muggle-born who doesn't understand the wizarding way of life and the necessity of meeting the Unforgivables with stern punishment.

The article also contains a reiteration of previous unflattering commentary about the Shacklebolt Ministry's handling of the werewolf problem. Skeeter seems to be siding with those who want a war of annihilation against the werewolf packs, coupled with stern measures against those werewolves still free in the population. Amazingly stupid, of course, and Andromeda can still hear Remus' remarks on that, how very difficult it had been to argue with his fellows against Greyback's blandishments, given how ill-treated they had been by the Ministry and the wizarding world at large. Rita's nothing more than a mouthpiece, of course. Previously, she answered to Andromeda's brother-in-law, and now she seems to be taking a rather different tack on the Pureblood agenda, by attacking the effectiveness of the new, mixed-blood regime. What's clear enough is that now that Lucius is no longer a power, his former allies have decided he's a liability. His last-minute defection (or desertion) from the cause doesn't help matters, she's sure.

She doesn't know if Cissy sees the Prophet at Azkaban. It's ironic that her sister and brother-in-law are actually being defended by one of their victims, if Rita Skeeter quoted Hermione's remarks correctly. She writes Cissy a carefully neutral letter, thinking as always about the Ministry censors. No mention of the werewolves, of course, given that Greyback was originally Lucius' creature. No mention either of the undercurrents in the household, the tensions between Harry, Hermione, and Ron—or, to be more accurate, between Hermione on the one hand and Ron and Harry on the other. Instead, she talks about Teddy's progress, his eating and sleeping habits, and her gratitude for the assistance of her grandson's godparents, whom she doesn't name. Harry was named godfather, but Ginny has quietly stepped into the role of godmother.

Harry and Ron just began Auror training; since then, more than once in the last week, Ginny has gotten up in the night to take Teddy for walks as he cries; during the day, she holds him while Andromeda does her necessary work. Now, as she's writing this letter, she looks up briefly to see Ginny silhouetted against the light from the garden, as she sings to Teddy and points out birds in the garden. He's not old enough yet to understand her words, but he does understand that someone is holding him and paying attention to him. Ginny Weasley. Another name not to mention to Cissy, given the well-known animosity between Lucius and Arthur. Only "Teddy's godmother," mentioned in passing—that's safe enough—who's not actually the godmother but the fiancée of the godfather.

There's no question but that Teddy is a wizard, either, and she mentions that because she's already given it away; Teddy, like his mother, is a Metamorphmagus, and his transformations are already evident as he makes new faces—literally—to suit each mood. She remembers her initial puzzlement at Nymphadora's changes, given how rare the gift is, until the presiding Healer at St. Mungo's told her in so many words what her daughter was. More things they never told us at home, she thinks with some bitterness, that marrying outside the tight circle of acceptable Pureblood families might reap unexpected benefits for the children. Of course, Teddy will be a handful once he's walking and talking. Even at the crawling and gurgling stage, Nymphadora had been trouble; her disposition was sunny but not placid, and her wild magic followed fast on the heels of desire and even whim. Andromeda was making use of contraceptive charms before the child was weaned, and the Vile Purple Potion thereafter, lest she have two such children to juggle.

Cissy loves babies, of course, and she asked for news of Teddy. Andromeda remembers her sister's first pregnancy—the child who was actually conceived before she was out of Hogwarts, so that Andromeda was a witness to the morning sickness that took Cissy on the eve of the NEWTs—and the silence thereafter. A miscarriage or a Squib, she's not sure which, and she certainly knows Pureblood ways, so she assumes there were more such, before she bore Draco nearly ten years later. Enough, then, about Teddy, and on to a description of the garden burgeoning as the season climbs toward midsummer. Cissy loves gardens, too, and growing things, and she's never been to the Burrow so she won't recognize it, only that Andromeda is staying in a wizarding household somewhere in the English countryside. The Owl Post relay to Azkaban removes the addresses of prisoners' correspondents, and the censor takes care of any geographic references in the letters, so Cissy knows only that she's writing to Andromeda Tonks, wherever she is.

Small talk. It's all small talk, except that they haven't spoken in sixteen years. The one exception, at that picnic in 1982, was largely a matter of Cissy stepping forward to say, "Look, I have a fine child too, and he's a wizard." They did talk at that picnic, and their conversation was much as it is here, gardens and babies. Of course the garden at the Manor overshadows anything Ted and Andromeda ever had, but Cissy's baby was already overshadowed by having arrived seven years after Andromeda's, and he may have been a wizard but he was not a Metamorphmagus. Cissy prattled about his beauty and his talent, but all Andromeda could see was a fairly ordinary child who was already showing signs of becoming spoiled.

She writes, in the final lines of her letter, that she hopes her sister is well. Hesitates. Cissy doted on Lucius before she had a child, so in all courtesy she ought to remember that her sister has a husband, and send him her… regards. That's about all she can manage. "Love" or even "greetings" would be hypocritical; she has no love for Lucius and can't imagine greeting him, given that he's cut her dead every time he's met her in Diagon Alley for the last sixteen years. And, if not one of Bella's friends, he was certainly on the same side, and he shared Bella's belief that blood traitors should be reminded of their treason. The only difference was that Bella's notion of a reminder was somewhat more forcible.

She finishes the letter, seals it, and addresses it. She'll need to borrow an Owl, of course, probably Ron's. Ginny tells her that Ron is upstairs with Hermione, and she might want to knock.

As she reaches the top of the stairs outside Ron's room, the door flies open and Ron comes storming out, unseeing, and bumps into her, knocking her against the wall. He's flustered and red in the face, but he does have the presence of mind to apologize. She stammers that she was just wanting to borrow his owl, if that isn't imposing; she has a letter to send to London. To the Ministry.

"No problem," he says. "Pig will be happy for the exercise." Andromeda knows that Ron isn't much of a correspondent, especially now that his best mates are living in the same household. Charlie is the only one he writes to; Bill he visits by Floo.

He clatters down the stairs. A minute or so later, Hermione emerges, white-faced, with her face set in dry-eyed agony. Something dreadful just happened, perhaps the culmination of the tension that's been building over the last weeks. Hermione doesn't acknowledge her, but walks slowly down the stairs, her shoulders squared in immovable tension and her head held defiantly high.

***

Something dreadful did indeed happen, but its nature is only hinted at. Hermione shows up to dinner, in fact helps Andromeda with prep, but she sits silent, and Molly snipes about those who can't be troubled to pull their own weight or to contribute in kind, and who insist on making a spectacle of themselves.

Ron is ignoring Hermione; Harry is uneasy but doesn't meet her eyes either. Percy is looking at her, and the expression on his face is sympathetic pain.

Hermione picks at her food, and defiantly ignores all of them, but before dessert, Molly feels impelled to say something about outsiders who ought to be more grateful, and Hermione gets up and leaves the table.

The next morning, Hermione rises early, with Percy in fact, to leave for her new job at the Ministry. Andromeda comes in as she's saying, "I'll be leaving, you know. It won't be possible to stay." Percy looks disappointed, and then quickly masters his expression to neutral concern.

***

Two days later, she moves to Grimmauld Place. The household is in an uproar, and Molly is making remarks about spoiled children who won't stay to face the music, but Andromeda can't help noticing a certain satisfaction on her face.

Harry takes Andromeda aside and asks her if she'll check on Hermione there, because it's really no place to sleep alone. She nods. It's not really practical to refuse, of course, given that Harry is contributing to her upkeep and Teddy's, however delicately he doesn't mention that. In any case, there are closets to be cleared out, she says. She's been putting off the task, and maybe it will be easier with someone else in the house.

She waits a few days before going. It really wasn't something she looked forward to.

In the meantime, there's an article in the Prophet about how the detainees in Azkaban have been released to house arrest—no doubt with the exception of those who went mad in the first weeks of imprisonment. That's not mentioned in the article; anyone who knows Azkaban even by reputation can fill that in for themselves. This puts Andromeda in a bit of a quandary; she'll be able to write to Cissy at the Manor, but no doubt her letters will pass through other hands on the way. In particular, they'll be reviewed by the Aurors who will be guarding them on house arrest. She's not sure if she should tell Harry or not, as it may get back to him by another route via the Auror office.

Really, it shouldn't be a problem at all. The sisters have broached no subject more controversial than babies or gardens, and the whole correspondence could be published in full without the slightest hint of compromise on her part. In fact, it compromises Cissy more than her, since it was she who had made the first overture with an expression of condolence for the deaths of three blood traitors, or to be more precise, a Mudblood, a blood traitor, and a werewolf. So difficult to enumerate all the points of offense.

She decides for the time being that she will keep silent.