Author's Note : I'm back ! I'm writing this at a snail's pace but I'll finish, I promise. Hopefully before next Summer :D.
June 1995 -
Thick droplets soundlessly rolled off the roof and windows of the otherwise very ordinary-looking four-bedroom wooden cottage. A young mimosa bloomed proudly on the freshly cut lawn, not caring that it was the wrong season and the wrong climate.
Inside the sparkling clean living room, Edward handed a grinning big-haired witch a folder. "There you go, Clarabel. I have a copy of the paperwork. The house is yours." His eyes crinkled. "I suggest you take off the fur if you go to the village. Muggles will find it suspicious in June."
At the other end of the room, Andromeda was casting some last charms on the TV set. The weather lady unblurred (Rain. The forecast was always rain.) The colorful spellcasting was all show : the house had been ready for days, but customers liked seeing the Tonkses work. Electronics were a challenge, but their incompatibility with magic was overrated.
For years now, Ted had been selling rural muggle houses to wizards who had neither the money nor the know-how to buy property. Gone were Andromeda's years of summoning bills out of cash-dispensers. She and Ted had built their own money print and had multiple legal muggle bank accounts under various names. No muggle got stiffed and a few million extra pounds in circulation wouldn't disrupt the Isles' economy.
Frankly the auror department owed them an Order of Merlin. When the choice was toiling for years to buy a wizard-owned house or cursing a few muggle homeowners and hoping not to get caught, guess what a sizable minority chose?
Other wizards would one day catch on that there were lucrative ways around the pound-to-galleon exchange rate, but for now, the Tonkses made quite a comfortable living.
"Just to be sure," Clarabel flopped onto the brand new (and vividly orange) 6-person sofa, "it's not that the muggle heirs forgot about this place or nothing, they willingly sold it and got their money and all?"
"They absolutely did. You're all goo-"
A heavy slam rattled the wards.
Andromeda spun on herself. Gray smoke poured from her wand and swept her off her feet. The front door sparked orange, opening just in time to let her through.
Her feet glided over the wet lawn as she displaced herself around the property, muttering charms to keep dry and see through the tepid summer downpour.
Mud sloshed around her boots as she froze.
Auror uniform.
Ted and she had always worked under the Ministry's radar. Oh, they scrupulously respected the letter of the Statute of Secrecy, but nowadays Secrecy was code for "no fraternisation of any kind". They had an agreement with Amelia Bones, but -
Andromeda's fretting melted into worry-tinged exasperation when the disoriented auror pushed herself up. Morgana, she hadn't seen such drab mousy brown hair in years.
"Nymphadora, we're working." Carried by a flick of her wand, her words reached her daughter as loud as they'd been spoken.
Ted unlocked the wards.
"It wasn't him!" Dora, for all her skill, preferred to shout. "He spent the year in his trunk! I can't believe I didn't-"
A sobbing Nymphadora buried against his chest, Ted shot Andromeda a concerned look.
But as nobody was dying, why did they have to do this in public? Clarabel was right there.
The blonde witch cleared her throat. "Well, I know I got my money's worth on the wards. Stopping aurors and all that. Now go, Ma'am Tonks, looks like you have a family crisis on your hands."
Andromeda's own smile was stiffer than the tile floor. "Thank you. You know where to find us if you need anything."
The three apparated home. Dora disentangled herself with a scowl. "Integrum Corpus", Andromeda muttered.
"No, Mum, you didn't splinch me."
Then why the fierce glare? Andromeda didn't bother asking. Nymphadora was exuberant, affectionate, outgoing and optimistic whereas Andromeda was… not. But for all their misunderstandings and occasional fights, her daughter was happy, successful, and loved her, so Andromeda hadn't messed up too badly.
All thoughts on motherhood and daughters were brought to a halt when Dora revealed that Cedric Diggory had been murdered.
Harry Potter had returned from the Triwizard's Tournament's third task clutching Diggory's corpse and claiming Lord Voldemort had risen from the dead.
Alastor Moody had been impersonated by Bartemius Crouch Junior for the whole school year.
"It's not your fault," Ted whispered. "None of the staff noticed, and they were right there."
Moody, a trunk. At Hogwarts. Voldemort, surrounded by his surviving Death Eaters. Andromeda knew she should say something comforting but she had no words.
"I was him last time we talked!" Quivering lips. Brown hair to red. "He… that Death Eater grabbed me by the shoulders and said 'You got to grow up, kiddo. Stop clinging to my robes. You don't need me. Spread your wings and go be the auror you can be. We'll have a pint and chat in the summer.'" Five, ten centimeters taller, her shaking fists enlarging most of all. "I bloody hugged him back! I bought it! I didn't even suspect -"
Magic crackled, sucked by the house wards into an invisible hole. A chair clattered to the floor.
Dora clamped her mouth shut, shrinking back to her usual height. She turned to her mother, eyes downcast, looking suddenly much younger than her twenty-two years.
"Moody told me Crouch had made him coach him... He'd threatened to hurt students... But I've known him for fifteen years, damn it! I'm supposed to be a bloody auror!"
Andromeda took a slow breath. "If the Dark Lord is back, we must upgrade our wards." She forced a wan smile, manufactured confidence hardening her features. "Come curse things with me, it'll help."
"Right," Dora said after a pause. "Right, I'd like that." A cheeky glint crinkled her red-rimmed eyes. "Mum, you're not supposed to say Dark Lord when you're one of the good guys."
Present day
A white-haired man with large glasses spared the two women speaking in the corner of the bookshop a curious glance. Clad in work suits, they looked quite animated, and yet the man (whose hearing was superb, if he said so himself) could barely catch a whisper. An invisible force suddenly snuffed out his curiosity. He focused back on the bookshelves and promptly forgot the encounter.
Robes sticky with illusions, Narcissa and Andromeda had taken refuge a short walk off the Ministry of Magic. Layers of privacy magics clung to the thrillers on the shelves, giving the books a soft yellow-gray glow.
"Andromeda, are you unwell?"
It shouldn't be this funny. It was not funny. Ironic perhaps, but not-
A new peal of hysteria-tinged laughter escaped Andromeda's chest.
Narcissa's cheeks grew pink. "You hated her more than any of us."
"Actually, I was glad for her in a way."
"You were what?"
Andromeda's laughter died, replaced by bitter wistfulness. "She made me feel like a proper older sister… when I urged Bellatrix to fight for herself. I never found the words against our parents. I couldn't even find it in me to talk to you about Ted... I hid." She'd always hidden. "Cassiopeia was the closest I came to fighting."
A curious mix of surprise, irritation and compassion warred on Narcissa's face. It was soon replaced by stubborn consternation.
"You'd be a fool to think that woman cares one whit about-"
"Do you care?" Andromeda's smile was back, sardonic this time."Do you truly care about overturning the ruling class?" Cissy would do what it took to carve herself out a new place in society, and today that was Rowlands, but inequality and injustice hardly kept her up at night.
Stung, Narcissa placed her hands on het hips. "Regardless, you can't-"
A new traitorous chuckle escaped Andromeda's lips. "Cissy, you were a member of the Wizengamot for decades. What does Cassiopeia risk if exposed?"
The words floated in the air and cast an illusion of their own, cloaking Narcissa in an inscrutable mask (frosty poshness, Ted would have called it). Lady Malfoy was back in the room.
"This government doesn't lock up agitators. She'll incur a hefty fine for impersonation. The rest either happened on foreign soil or will be difficult to prove." A slow sigh left her little sister's lips. "That woman is clever enough to turn the tables on us even if we reveal her masquerade."
Her eye caught by the cover, Andromeda absently leafed through the Target by Catherine Coulter. She wistfully put it back on the shelf. Dozens of unread books already crowded her bookstand.
Unease (they'd been all so easily fooled, so happy to be fooled) and stale anger burned away her mirth. "Cordelia's mind was gone when her son left the country looking for a cure. Cassiopeia didn't kill her, she just finished those obliviators' job. If this comes out now, arresting criminal Ministry workers won't be the aurors' priority anymore. This isn't my mess."
"You're the Lady Black," Narcissa said pointedly.
Yes, I'm quite aware, thank you. For over two decades she'd been happy to pretend the Ministry didn't exist. Now, she was stuck with the title and even growing to enjoy the power. She would turn Cassiopeia Black's resurrection to her advantage.
"The Ministry just shat on you, Cissy," Andromeda said bluntly. "Either leave the country : you'll be happier with Lucius and Draco, or fight back with me. We, the family, don't need to be liked to consolidate our position."
"I've never needed to be liked," Narcissa muttered, the catch to her voice betraying how the war had changed things.
"Me neither. If Cassiopeia oversteps, we outduel her. If we are branded criminals..." Andromeda's eyes crinkled. "I have international portkeys stashed away."
Few people were a threat to her and Cissy, and why would any of them want to risk their lives to arrest the two of them? Besides, not turning in somebody had never been a crime worthy of Azkaban.
Narcissa shook her head in wonder. "I can't believe I am the one making this argument : Cassy is a ruthless dark witch. "
Yes, one motivated by self-interest and powerlust. But for all her flaws, their dear Aunt Cassy had always been pragmatic.
"And she must work with us as no one else will offer her shelter. Come now, Cissy, I didn't stop being a Slytherin when I refused to stay a bigot. I respect Kingsley," liked him, even, "and I do hope this was the last generation of nepotism and injustice, but I won't bet Teddy's and Lyra's futures on it."
Andromeda had no qualms striving to give people like Brycin a voice and also milking every advantage that came with her title. Nymphadora, not she, had been the idealist who had believed in fixing the system from within.
Andromeda swallowed back the grief still festering in her insides and began to plot.
1995
Cedric Diggory hadn't been murdered, but 'tragically killed' by one of the monsters of the Third Task. You-Know-Who was most certainly not back. The Triwizard Cup had always been a portkey, designed to take the victor back before the waiting crowd. Albus Dumbledore was trying to stir panic in order to cling to power and distract from the fact age had made him incompetent (Alastor Moody, impersonated by a madman and the Headmaster hadn't even noticed?). And that poor Harry Potter, Dumbledore's pawn, made fame-crazy by his unstable mentor.
Or so the Daily Prophet said. It was 1975 again, falsehoods and willful blindness (for all that Albus Dumbledore should have noticed that a Death Eater, no matter how cunning or skilled, had infiltrated his staff). Disgusted, Andromeda cancelled her subscription, lowered her warding fees, and braced herself for a hectic summer.
Today she'd added an emergency escape to Brycin's floo. Like every Wednesday, Ted was working late and she would dine at her daughter's (muggle take-away, always. Dora was confoundingly incompetent at household tasks but she had applied herself to finding the best curry place in England with as much Hufflepuff doggedness as if she'd been solving a murder. The curry was superb).
The flat was small and crooked with a great view over London. Nymphadora had packed her bags the second she'd graduated from Hogwarts, thirsty for independence and a place she could wreak havoc in without suffering her mother's judgment. Living apart did wonders for their relationship.
Nymphadora cheerfully greeted Andromeda with flecks of the shattered TV screen peppering her aggressively cheerful pink spikes. Her shoulder was bleeding.
Alastor Moody was standing next to her, the thigh attached to his wooden leg spreading out in an awkward, vulgar fashion and his magical eye firmly on the ground. Andromeda's lips curled despite herself. The poor man looked wrecked.
"He's been all slack and self loathing and it pisses me off, so I hexed him." Panting and bloodied, Dora looked quite proud of herself. "He's giving me tips."
Memories of Bellatrix resurfaced unbidden. Andromeda's words came out hoarse. "You don't fix someone by dueling them."
"Eh, he needs to break something. And a project."
The living room was… hopefully nothing magic couldn't fix. Andromeda shook her head. Aurors.
Moody grunted something inintelligible.
"A not dumb project," Nymphadora snapped. "Cedric needs justice, not your suicide. Especially if it's You-Know-Who."
"There's no if, girl. He's back." Moody's magical eye snapped up to mirror his good one. "You're going to stay neutral again?"
Neutral? Sudden outrage stole Andromeda's voice.
Sleepless nights crafting portkeys that she was scolded for selling instead of giving, despite her prices barely covering materials. Fabian and Gideon Weasley barging that awful night in with muggleborn and muggles that needed an escape. Men, women and children, wounded, haunted, dragging their misery into her home, in front of her young daughter. The disappointed, ungrateful looks when Ted agreed to help with the logistics but locked the Order out of their house. The judgment she faced for unabashedly practicing dark arts.
"Get out, you ingrate."
"Mum-"
Fiendfyre, turning their beautiful home of nine years into literal ash. Bellatrix's laughter, warped by madness. Cousin Sirius, and the answers Andromeda would never have.
"You. were. not. invited," the witch hissed through clenched teeth.
Triggered by her words, the wards hummed and whined, solidifying around the man into a shrinking glass cage. Moody apparated away with a snarl.
"Mu-um," Dora groaned. "This is my house. He's being a dick but he spent a year in a trunk. What's your excuse?"
"Helping him develop some social graces will make it easier to recruit for the Order," Andromeda said with a tight-lipped smile.
She couldn't quite say that she liked Alastor Moody, but for all his flaws, that cynical grouch was a good man. He had put an end to years of bullying by petty traditionalists and would come to dinner every month to talk of spellcrafting and crime-fighting. After that Rosier slimeball trapped eleven-year-old Dora in an unbreakable shrinking case to see how small she could morph, Moody got him expelled.
Which was why his accusation burned. She ground her teeth at the look Dora was giving her.
"I wasn't neutral! Had I been, you'd not have had those nightmares."
Nymphadora straightened, a rare solemnity hardening her face (her almost-her face, one that was softer, less Black, a notice-me-not bland cuteness. Andromeda yearned for the day her daughter would fully accept her roots.)
"Face it, you two could have done so much more. There's not one mage in ten who outclasses you, Mum."
I beg your pardon? "Feel free to go after him," Andromeda said frostily. "I won't be staying for dinner."
Present day
The dozen potted plants left barely enough space for a small round table, two chairs. The small white and yellow patio smelled of cinnamon, fresh pumpkin cakes and spiced tea. The pastries were lumpy, not two of the same size, and reminded Andromeda of her first years of house-elf deprived living (a vial of Tenser's Tell-all Elixir, the best test for poisons, curses, and run-of-the-mill awful food, weighted down her pocket.)
Cordelia/Cassiopeia, already seated, was reading Herbert's Dune.
"Precisely on time, Mrs. Tonks. I'm not surprised you came. I am surprised that you had the courtesy to give me warning." The older witch put the book down, her wand nowhere in sight. "Fascinating tale. Although I cannot grasp why Fenring let Paul live."
Andromeda blinked again. If her great aunt had meant to unbalance her, it was an unorthodox but efficient tactic. "A form of kinship," she said slowly, "or perhaps Fenring knew the emperor, his friend, would be slaughtered by the fremen if he didn't."
After a thoughtful pause, Cassiopeia let out a dry raspy laugh. "I begin to see why you spent so much time buried in your novels, Mrs. Tonks."
"Is it so difficult for you to call me Lady Black?"
Widening eyes, a broad grin and badly stifled laughter greeted her question. "Don't be absurd. You're the greatest success our house has seen in two centuries, Lady Black!" Cassiopeia giggled again. "This year spent with little people as Cordelia was… something different."
Andromeda had no patience for mean-spirited snobbery. She took a sharp breath.
Her great-aunt raised her hands placatingly. "I was used to rich little people. Everyone here has been... kind to Cordelia. They ask for so little."
Andromeda almost rolled her eyes. Cassiopeia's all-too relaxed attitude suddenly grated on her nerves. "You busted your relationship with Bellatrix because you valued drama over power. True power, not cruel mind games played with a teenager."
That tore a glare from the older witch. "He ruined her, not me."
"You still believe that?" Andromeda softly said. Perhaps Cissy had been right.
Cassiopeia lowered her gaze. "I didn't have children," she said after a tense pause, "I wanted them, but I trusted no man and I didn't trust myself: I am too much like Mummy. I wanted Bella to love me, to need me. Somehow it all went wrong."
"Somehow…" but oddly, Andromeda believed the regret was real.
"You think I enjoyed leaving England like some muggleborn refugee? She used the cruciatus on me! Me. I did what she wanted! We hadn't fought in years!" Cassiopeia tilted her chin up defiantly. "I have never cast an unforgivable curse, as tempting as the imperius could be."
'Muggleborn', not 'mudblood'. Good. Andromeda caught herself and bit back a smile. How low her expectations were.
She stood up, her tea barely touched. "You'll be proving your intentions with magic, not words." This time she would do the right thing. Not just the minimum. "I'm done with secrets."
A courtesy knock was the only warning before a small crowd filled the very last available space in the room. Brycin's smile was tense, but she grasped Andromeda's arm affectionately.
Regulus sat in the seat she had vacated. Narcissa and Hermione Granger stayed standing.
"We need something from you Aunt Cassy," he said, "or this will never work out."
In the cupboard behind them, a drawer cracked open and something could be heard rolling inside it, as if the wand wasn't quite sure it was being summoned. Cassiopeia herself sat straight, a neutral expression etched on her rubbery too-smooth skin.
"It would seem I have no choice."
She flinched when Regulus reached over and took her hand in his. "We need you to trust that we won't screw you over. Or you'll waste both your, and our time and energy. We've all made enough mistakes as is."
Hermione Granger made a very expressive face before swallowing back her urge to say something about mistakes. Andromeda almost envied her.
"You'll support Cordelia as long as our goals align?" Cassiopeia asked, eyes narrowed.
"Better, we'll adopt you. We'll fix that face of yours and blame the ritual for giving you the family's features. You'll be free to take a Black first name, as is tradition. And a prominent light family is about to owe you a life debt."
Cassiopeia Black, perhaps for the first time in her life, gaped, her eyes darting from one Black to the other.
Regulus suddenly hissed. "Get out of my head! Even a squib can tell when you're clumsily grabbing at their thoughts."
Wandless, wordless legilimency. That it had worked at all - Cassiopeia would be perfect. Narcissa's laughing eyes met Andromeda's. It shouldn't be funny. It really was.
Andromeda had decided she would do it the Hufflepuff way. Alright, no, the Slytherin way, but the values would be Hufflepuff. Cooperation. Trust. Improving the world one step at a time. She wasn't a fool, they'd keep a very close eye on dear Aunt Cassy.
Hopefully Nymphadora would be proud.
1995
Apologies weren't Andromeda's strong suit. Ted, the darling, held back a knowing smile and promised to go talk to their daughter. But even he stood stiffly, his eyes tight. Dora's willingness to be on the front lines was… terrifying.
The change happened quickly. Nymphadora wasn't quite herself : more serious, distracted, and preoccupied with something that seemed to both worry and excite her.
"You think it just could be that she met a bloke?" Ted said hopefully.
One evening, as her sleep-deprived but oddly giddy daughter reminisced with Ted about her Hogwarts years, Andromeda stealthily cast a tracer curse. She held her breath as the spell took root, half-expecting her auror daughter to whip out her wand and stun her. Slumped on the couch, Dora didn't even twitch.
Moody had already been brash when he'd been younger and less battered by his demons. With You-Know-Who back… Trust could be repaired but daughters couldn't be raised from the dead.
The curse born of fear and love twisted into an iron rope. Nymphadora haunted every second of Andromeda's waking thoughts, and her nights, both joyful dreams and nightmares, were full of a passionate girl with changing features. Andromeda just had to stretch her magic, as instinctively as if she had to lift her arm to know where.
Dora hadn't lied about currently working "desk cases" : most of her work hours were spent inside the Ministry. Outside work hours, her movements grew odd : she made one or two-hour stops all over England, and spent two whole nights in Surrey. Little Whinging, the map said. What could possibly be in that neighbourhood ?
After the second sleepless night, as Andromeda debated going to see for herself, the tracker faltered. London, Islington, -. Andromeda gasped in pain as magical recoil burned her hands. (She'd learn later that Fidelius charms blocked out trackers cast by people not informed of the sanctuary).
Andromeda's alarm was blunted by relief. The dark curse was making her obsessionally anxious. She couldn't live like this.
Less than an hour later, the threads of her spell broke one by one.
When Moody and Nymphadora slammed their way to the kitchen, they found Andromeda baking blueberry cookies, Dora's favorite. (She was bad at apologizing, but at least she could make something her daughter would enjoy). Moody, oddly, was almost smiling.
Nymphadora was natural-hair furious. "You couldn't ask? You didn't even give me the opportunity to lie! You went straight to dark-ass trackers that made -. Do you have any idea how freaked we were? I didn't realise it was you! I thought I'd compromised -
"Shut up, kid, before you tell your mother more than she'd manage to tear out of your mind."
Dora shut her mouth with a grunt. "Mum's no legilimens," she huffed under her breath.
"Figured it was likely to be you." Moody unabashedly popped a warm cookie in his mouth. His hideous magical eye rolled back and forth in what was hopefully appreciation. "Tricky bastard of a curse. We'd better up our game. How long ago d'you place it?"
"Five days."
That killed Moody's appetite. "Bloody Merlin we're rusty."
"So the Order of Merlin is back." Resignation slumped Andromeda's shoulders. A new war. And their stupid, incompetent Ministry… Her breath caught. "Dora, please, promise me you'll refuse to guard Azkaban."
"You can't do this!" Dora exploded, still flushed (and curly-haired) with anger. "Maybe sticking trackers on people was normal in your family but I-"
Laughter burst out of Andromeda's lips. Even Ted stared, but she couldn't help it.
'Normal in her family?' Oh, she was proud she'd shielded Dora so well.
Nymphadora threw her arms up in dismay. "Dad… you're fine with this? Or did she hex you too? Okay, let's check that first."
Andromeda flinched. Did her own daughter truly think she -
"I've buried friends during the last war, honey," Ted said gravely, grasping his wife's hand. "This secrecy was out of character for you and Mr. Moody will attest that even the strongest wizards can't always ask for help."
Nymphadora seemed to forgive them, somewhat, but she held her secrets close.
"Ask to join the Order, you'll find out," she would say with a too-bright smile.
Andromeda refused to take the bait. Instead she invited Bill Weasley to pool their wards knowledge.
But she didn't, wouldn't, let the threat of war put her life on hold.
The night sky was clear and so the Tonkses were in their garden, kneeling close together on the grass. A hypnotized dove cooed all too trustingly in Ted's hands. Hands shaking with excitement, Andromeda double-checked their monitoring charms and slipped two small chain-portkey around its neck.
"You're confident you got the maths right?"
Her Ravenclaw husband smiled indulgently. "If this poor thing dies before entering deep space, I owe you dinner."
Their moon-portkey was a thousand times faster than the speediest Intercontinentals. Even the navigator spell they'd spent two years perfecting just couldn't correct course fast enough to keep the two of them alive if a hail cloud, aeroplane or one of those increasingly numerous satellite debris crossed their path. They'd tried fruitlessly to have the portkey accelerate after leaving the atmosphere, but even the stoutest vessels would break if they weren't allowed to reach full speed in the first seconds.
The only solution forward seemed to be two portkeys : one to the closest geostationary satellite, and one the rest of the way. But such a mid-air switch, so to speak, could easily tear the passenger apart.
So test-doves it was. They did better than the rats, perhaps because Andromeda's magic picked up on the fact she felt bad about doves dying (doves were cute. Rats' intelligence didn't make them any less filthy).
A breathless two minutes later, Andromeda's monitor disintegrated. She winced. "Dead."
Her racing heart skipped a beat at Ted's grin.
"Three hundred miles past geostationary orbit. Perceived acceleration was 11g." Crushing, but close to something humans could survive. "The switch was just seconds off."
When the second dove exploded at barely 8g, Ted cheered and hugged her. "Look at us, we've go this! We'll be taking Dora for her twenty-fifth birthday!"
Andromeda choked on her laughter at the same time as Ted's face twisted.
"I'll shield," Ted said, unable to quite still his trembling hands.
It was like someone was pushing barbed wire up her left arm. They apparated to Dora's flat.
Dora was lying on the living room floor, clutching her emergency auror portkey to her chest as she moaned incoherently, her eyes revulsed. Something moved beneath her skin, leaving repulsive purplish blotches on its path.
Her left hand went slack first, then her forearm.
Andromeda caught herself staring and swallowed back her horror. There had been enough fear. There was nothing to fear. She and Ted would tear this filth off her.
Her baby.
Needles of raw magic shot out of Andromeda's wand and pierced Dora's pasty skin like a hundred vengeful swords.
Dora's arm jerked and struck the floor at an unhealthy angle, limp. A new moan of pain burst from her mouth.
"The paralysis isn't the curse!" Ted said breathlessly. "It's her morphing, she's removing her own nerves to protect herself."
See, Love, you've got this. We've got this.
Andromeda smiled at Ted, a smile equal parts promise and cold fury.
Her counter-curse changed, seeking the nerves, cradling the mielyn, the dendrites, coating them with a sheet of impenetrable glass.
Squirming wisps of voracious darkness howled, searching for a way around.
A muffled explosion shook the floorboards. Andromeda stumbled as Moody swore in recognition.
Andromeda stared at him hard then gave him a tight-lipped smile. Twenty-six seconds. He would have reached Dora in time.
"Mum, how?" Dora said weakly.
See, just a little more.
Guided by love, spear-pointed by fury, aided by Ted's diagnostics and Moody's own considerable power, they made short work of the curse.
In minutes, Dora had propped herself half-seated.
"Another tracer ? You can't be serious! Mum, you promised!"
"If you ever choose to have a child of your own, you'll understand how pointless asking me to promise that was." This one she'd cast with Ted, to share the burden. It was a lot less invasive, only providing feedback when Dora realized she needed urgent help.
"I'm not a child!"
"I don't care how old you are!" Andromeda snapped, her eyes stinging with sweat and her hands shaking. The powerful urge to shove a de-aging potion down Dora's throat to make her eight years old and easier to protect was threatening to overpower her.
Ted's soft voice reminded her to breathe. "Hey, you could have died, kiddo."
Still swaying slightly, Dora put her face in her hands and leaned into her father's hug.
"I just… I don't want to realize one day you've dosed me with veritaserum, obliviated me and had me spill all the Order's secrets for my own good." Her eyes shot to Moody. "I'm… I don't want to be a liability."
"You know the spells to alert for obliviates. Moody tests you both daily for potion residue."
The ex-auror barked a laugh, relief obvious on his lined face. "You're both being thick on purpose. Merlin's balls, Tonks, be grateful your parents are there to catch you when you listen to those bloody Gryffindors and figure you can outfox the man who trained half the Death Eaters."
"You had her track down Igor Karkaroff? Are you out of your mind!"
Dora abruptly hugged her. Andromeda's skin burned from the touch as her magic rushed for her daughter. Hers. To keep safe.
Whiplash from Dark Arts was the first of many warning signs. Andromeda couldn't find it in herself to care. She hugged her back fiercely.
"I just… I'm sorry. I wish I didn't need help. I wish… I wish you'd just join the Order. We need you."
"Dumbledore wouldn't want me. I'm a dark witch, I don't take orders well. I'll help, I promise, but my way."
Dora's soft laughter was an exhausted wheeze. "I'll hold you to that."
The next morning, for the first time in ten (twelve?) years, Andromeda found herself with a little warm bundle squeezed in between her and Ted. She shut her eyes, overcome by nostalgia, as Ted shuffled over and Nymphadora grew back to her adult size.
"Mum, you laughed when I accused you of being like your parents for tracking me that first time. Why did you laugh?"
The bed creaked, betraying Ted's departure. He winked as he left the room. "Do this," he mouthed.
Andromeda loved him for making this as painless as possible. Faced with her daughter's searching gaze, she wished she didn't find talking about her feelings, her past, so difficult. Dora deserved better.
"My parents couldn't have betrayed my trust," she whispered, staring at the ceiling. Nymphadora edged closer until their shoulders touched. "There was nothing to betray. I don't talk about those years because I was a coward then. I didn't protect my sisters. I was the eldest and I let Bellatrix fend for herself. She was… she used to be just a child, you know? And Narcissa…" Narcissa was fine, Andromeda's mind whispered. Disgustingly rich and happily married to a Death Eater who used his fortune to further sink the Ministry in a swamp of corruption and incompetence.
Her fingers twisting at her nightdress, Andromeda took a shaky breath. "I thought I'd at least helped Sirius. He... he was brave, he learned from his mistakes. He suffered so much more as a child than I did but he never grew cynical. I wish Dumbledore would have let me visit him. I don't see how he could have done it, not willingly."
"You think Sirius is innocent?" Dora said, her voice odd and hoarse.
"I don't see how- why- He was tortured, Dora, for days, and he told them nothing. They must have twisted him." Andromeda squeezed her daughter's hand ."Failing to fend off the Dark Lord's mind arts is not a crime. I don't understand why-"
It was perhaps Dora's breathing, her stiffness, or just instinct, that had Andromeda turn to face her daughter. Immediately, she knew.
"You've found Sirius. Where is he!"
Dora pulled the bedsheets over her face with a groan. "I keep telling you to join the Ord-."
The sheets vanished among blue-green sparks. Andromeda gripped her daughter's wrist. "Don't. He's my cousin. He's the only family I have left! Does… does he not want to see me?"
Nymphadora rolled over and sat up, her eyes far away. "Okay, if I'm kicked out of the Order, it'll be your fault'." She conjured a ball of clay and started kneading it, anger seeping in her tone. "You never said you'd asked to visit Sirius. You never said you doubted. It's like you don't want me to know you."
Yesterday, Andromeda would have had a dozen reasons. Excuses.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Please, let me see him."
Present day
Night had fallen, but they were all too high-strung to so much as yawn.
Neville Longbottom greeted them at Saint Mungo's with the mind-healer that had accepted to assist in this very experimental and very dark, healing attempt.
Cassiopeia had given up all pretense. The old witch was almost running, her fingers painfully tight around Hermione's arm, questions tumbling out of her mouth. Her shoulders shook with excitement and stress. Good. Dark Arts were nothing special when emotions didn't run high.
Here we are, 2-3 chapters to the finish line. Any loose ends you want to see tied up? How would you feel about a chapter/section in Cassiopeia's POV (I admit I miss writing villains^^) ?
