Thanks to my dear reviewers, all five of you. :) This chapter is a bit longer than most of the previous ones.

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Wouldn't you know it, Narcissa went to check the Bible this very day, not long after breakfast. Sometimes she really annoys, no, infuriates me---to the point where I don't even like her (except she's my sister, so I must, at least somewhat). She simply had to run and tell mummy that it wasn't on its shelf.

Mother has worked herself into a frenzy. O no! Something has escaped her control! Heaven forbid! And this is only a book. Imagine what she would do if one of her own daughters disobeyed her?

She's enlisted us all to help her search. Father quickly thought of something pressing at work to be taken care of, but it's not as though his effort would have helped. The stupid heirloom is perfectly safe, under my bed.

Dear God, it says right there. Mira Tonks, born to Andromeda Black and Theodore Tonks.

I am becoming such a horrible person!

First, I get myself pregnant. Yes, I can write that now. I'm reasonably comfortable that as long as I keep this book and the family Bible bewitched invisible and locked in my trunk that no one shall find out my secret. It is a small bit of temporary relief, which I have done something most heinous for. All right, I suppose you want me to fill you in. Whoever you are. In fact, you had better not be Narcissa! Oh, I need some really excellent hexes to put on this book…oh, yes. What happened.

I have never liked my Great-great-aunt Altais, though I have not had this discomfort of knowing her in real life. I daresay she has never felt kindly towards me, either. One of the most unpleasant memories I have is her urging my mother to beat me for wanting to go play Quidditch with some of the neighborhood children. "She is eight years old, it is time she started learning about how to be a lady and not a delinquent." She has always had rather unenlightened views, I'm afraid. Had a right fit when I came downstairs wearing my pajama pants one morning.

But I needed to talk to her, so I went into the library, wasting a few minutes stoking the fire. When I stood up, she was looking at me—not with contempt, but blatant approval, even pride.

"Never thought you had any nerve," she said, folding her wrinkly, bejeweled hands, a trace of a smile on her face.

"What do you mean?" I asked. Forgo the innocence, I was trying not to incriminate myself.

"Oldest trick in the book, you know. I think one of my own daughters used it, though she never did tell me outright."

I stood before her, my hands clasped nervously over my middle. "I have no idea what you speak of."

She smiled fully now, sending chills down my spine. "There there, dear, I'm not going to tell your mother, though I will tell you that she'll be pleased. There's no shame in what you did, one has to watch out for themselves, and acceptable husbands are running thin in this day and age, what with all the inter-muggle marriages…."

When I did nothing save look confused, she continued.

"It will have been the Malfoy boy, won't it? Your sister seemed quite taken with him, but you are the elder, it is only fair you have first choice. As I said, I never thought you had much nerve, nor a very good head on your shoulders, but now you have proved me wrong, and happily so!" She beamed down at me. "So, that is you as good as married, we must find someone for Narcissa and Bella…though Bella's young yet, and if there is no one else, she could marry Sirius, they are close in age…."

I felt my stomach contort in disgust. "First-cousin marriages aren't done anymore!" I exclaimed. "It is utterly revolting for you to suggest such a thing!"

"Hush, silly girl! Perhaps you are not so wise—perhaps you did not mean to get yourself with child to force Lucius—"

"I will never marry Lucius Malfoy! He is not the father of my child, you miserable hag!"

She stopped, frozen in her portrait. With a cry I pulled it from the wall—I could hear her shuffling, attempting to untangle herself from her broad skirts and run to the safety of another painting, but I was too swift. Before she could flee, I flung her into the fireplace to burn and trouble me no more.

And now I sit in the light of those dancing, glorious flames, watching the last of the ebony frame give way to fire and ash. I have bought myself months of time now, time in which I may speak with my love, and everything will be all right. I know there are ways to rid oneself of child, but I am above those—maybe Great-great-aunt Altais was right, and I simply have no wits. Either way, this child is mine—this daughter—and I do not know what I shall name her, but you could bet your life it will not be Mira.