Deverra sat across from Arbrand as he devoured his supper. Forty years of marriage, and Deverra still never sat beside him when there was no need to. The trade-off had been sex, which Deverra had always given him easily enough, although that particular chapter was nearly closed in their life as husband and wife, aging as they were. Any other physical intimacy she'd avoided. Bertram, and partly Arbrand himself had seen to that, unwitting as they'd been.

Arbrand's fork scraped against the plate. Deverra continued to watch him eat as she considered the question that had been on her mind for some time, now.

"Have you ever considered visiting Nicander's children?"

Arbrand did not look up from his food. He'd barely paused at her question. "No." He scooped more vegetables onto his fork.

"Why ever not, Arn?"

Arbrand reached for his glass of water. This line of questioning was new from Deverra. He hadn't told her that, just over three years previous, a letter had been sent to them from the Department for Magical Families in Crisis about their eldest son's five children. Arbrand had artfully responded with a single written sentence that managed to convey how totally unwelcome the little bastards were in his house. His cousin, Donius, later wrote that he had guardianship over the children, to which Arbrand never replied.

So, what was Deverra's sudden interest in Nicander's children? And as far as she should know, there was only the first one—Branda. They'd never asked for nor received any news of other grandchildren.

"Why ever would I? For that matter, where's this even coming from?"

Deverra brushed a stray hair from her face. "I saw his girl, Arn, the one he brought to us with that Eira."

Arbrand took a drink of water, set the glass down, and did not look at Deverra.

"I know she isn't the only one. Don't you think it might better to know—"

"No," snapped Arbrand. Why was she doing this? Was it not enough that they had one dead daughter and a son who'd been imprisoned in Azkaban for a year and had come out—in Arbrand's words—damaged? Tolmander was a handful; why did Deverra have to bring up Nicander or anything that concerned him at all? They'd disowned their son for a reason, and Deverra hadn't exactly balked then. What could possibly have changed her attitude now?

Deverra sighed, got up from the table, and walked to the window to look out at the moor, which was bare of the snow that had graced their relatives' homes further north. Deverra had tried not to think of the girl—her granddaughter. She looked so much like Nicander, and therefore a little like Arbrand, with their broad cheeks and flushed complexions, their black-brown hair, and sturdy, oak-ish build. She wondered what the other children looked like—and she knew there were more than just the girl—Lucius had called her Deverra's eldest granddaughter.

Arbrand wrapped the table with his knuckles to get her attention. "Deverra, I mean it. We're not digging any of that up."


Remus

In the hours since they'd taken her outside of Malfoy Manor, Kingsley had made his report, and Dumbledore made it plain that Remus was, in fact, to be trusted with Branda Burke. But he was not to let her go.

In the early hours, Remus traveled to Grimmauld Place for a hasty meeting, during which he and Tonks both recounted the incident. Naturally, questions were asked about the captured girl herself, which he readily answered.

"She doesn't believe that Voldemort has returned." "She does not support Dumbledore—well, no more than most of her family does." "She is older than Harry and was in Slytherin House." "Yes, she knows I am a werewolf."

From the corner of his eye, he caught the continual shakes of Tonks fuchsia-hued head. Of the Order members, Tonks was the most confused by Branda.

After the meeting, she told Remus, "I don't see how she can be all right with you being a werewolf, but not be all right with Dumbledore, or—it just doesn't make sense to me." Tonks shook her head sadly.

"Well. . ." Remus thought a moment before continuing, "prejudice is not a one-size-fits-all trait. Branda was raised by a family that eschewed even the slightest interactions with Muggles. And her parents were Aconitors; those people are known to despise the Statute of Secrecy—they feel it hampers their living. And the part of Wales Branda grew up in, the magical families there came to settle it because they too distrusted the Ministry."

"But wouldn't she prefer Dumbledore, then? If she hates the Ministry so?" Tonks asked.

"Remember how she's been raised to view Muggles—if she sees the Statute of Secrecy as a threat to her existence, it stands to reason that she sees Muggles as obstacles, and Dumbledore has always been the loudest voice for the fair treatment of Muggles. To Branda, Dumbledore is not someone to look up to."

Tonks only shook her head again. Then she looked up. "How can anyone completely avoid contact with Muggles? It's impossible!"


Andromeda

"It isn't."

Andromeda loved her daughter, but sometimes she wondered at how naïve the girl could be. She was like Ted that way. But hadn't that been part of why Andromeda fell for Ted, the light-hearted faith he had in people's goodness? His unapologetic belief—and he was inexplicably practical about it—in an idealized world where your skills and not your last name dictated others' expectations of you? That had been a revelation to Andromeda, the idea that you could separate an individual from their family and view them differently. She supposed she'd always been destined to separate from the Blacks, though. Andromeda had been too independent, too willing to ask questions and explore all potential answers.

That didn't mean she'd forgotten what it was like to be a Black.

Her daughter looked up from the mug of tea she'd brewed for her, the lack of understanding plain on her face.

"Mum, how? There're far more Muggles than there are of us."

"Believe me Dora, those who hate Muggles enough do in fact manage to avoid them; they give it all they've got. There are entire communities of our kind who've never been inside a car, who've never experienced electricity, who've never had Muggle neighbors . . . For people like that, avoiding anything to do with Muggles is just a normal part of their lives."

Her daughter stared at her, then she dropped her gaze. Her expression was disgusted. "I just can't believe that, Mum. I can't. . ."

Nymphadora rarely whined, not even when she was a child, but the high note at the end of that last sentence got to Andromeda.

"Dora, have you ever been to see my birth family? Have you ever visited the wizarding families that have lived on tiny islands along the coast of Scotland for hundreds of years? Have you met the ones who live on the moors up north? Because I have. I lived like they do my entire childhood. Not once did I consider that we were in any way isolated—I'd never thought of it that way until I met your father."

Andromeda paused, made sure her daughter was listening, and continued. "To those sorts of witches and wizards, Muggles aren't people—they hardly view them as real human beings. And they're angry that nearly everything that surrounds them outside of their homes has been built by Muggles, so they feel trapped—weak. Some of them think, 'If we're to be set apart from each other, our kind should be above the other,' and when they look at you, and you must understand this, Dora, when they look at you, they see someone who shouldn't exist. They see someone who is an intruder."

Nymphadora stared at her mother.

"So, whatever it is that has you feeling pity for whomever it is you've had to deal with in your work, Dora, don't count on them to stand with you because of your kindness. They will pass you over and forget about you the moment they can do so without consequences."


Remus

When he returned home at noon, Branda was downstairs by the fire. She looked up with a slightly nervous expression, and he thought her eyes darted over his shoulder, watching for any others that might have accompanied him.

"I've brought us something more substantial to eat than bread and butter!"

Remus set the package of wrapped sandwiches Molly Weasley made after she heard Remus asking for something to feed the girl who'd been caught outside Malfoy Manor. Of course, Molly had insisted on sending Remus home with three days' worth of helpings. Branda eagerly tucked into a ham and egg salad sandwich while Remus brewed them a cup of tea.

Before he'd left that morning, Remus woke Branda with a mug of tea and a warning—gentle as he could make it—to stay inside the cottage— "or at least don't walk out of sight of it." He was relieved now to find her still there.

He would spend the rest of the day at home with Branda. During that time, she regained her voice, and they talked. As Remus suspected, but had hoped it would not, talking with Branda about certain subjects proved almost disheartening. When he asked what the nearest village was where she'd grown up in Snowdonia, she'd sneered and said 'her people' didn't live near Muggles.

Remus chewed his ham and turkey sandwich thoughtfully before telling Branda, "Have I ever told you that my mother was Welsh?"

Branda's eyes lit up. "Really?

"Yes. She was from Cardiff—quite some distance from you're family! She was a Muggle."

Branda nearly choked. The way she stared at him. . .

"Why did your dad marry a Muggle?"

Remus shrugged and tried to give Branda a small smile. "Well, I certainly assume he fell in love with her."

Branda now looked confused—actually confused. "How—" She seemed stuck, as though she couldn't even imagine what sort of question one might ask about magical and nonmagical people falling in love with each other. Then a different look, a mischievous, thoughtless expression, crossed her features as she asked Remus, "Was her name Mary?"

Branda quelled under Remus's glare. It was a common trope amongst wizards that every other Muggle woman was named 'Mary.' "Which one was it: Mary with the arse, or Mary with the tits?" Remus remembered hearing jokes like this as a boy at Hogwarts. He had plenty of dirty jokes up his own sleeve, but that kind, they'd only ever disgusted him.

Remus took a breath, softened his features. "My mother's name was Hope." He told her the story his father, Lyall, had told Remus about the night he met Hope.

Branda listened quietly, but at the end he could see thoughts of consternation in the furrow of her brow, and in her inability to meet his eyes. He could almost hear her thinking, That didn't mean he had to go and marry her. . .

She didn't actually say this, but Remus found himself asking, "You do not think you would marry a Muggle?"

Now Branda met his eyes—hers showed surprise. "I wouldn't fall in love with one!"

At least she wasn't sneering, Remus thought. She looked genuinely perplexed about it. He lightened his tone, gave her another small smile, and asked, "So then, who else would you not fall in love with?"

"A stepbrother; a foster brother; a cousin of any kind. . ."

Her professed refusal to consider even distant cousins surprised Remus: all purebloods were interrelated to some degree, with some quite connected, while others were less so. A couple like Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black, for example, may not be truly related to each other nowadays, but if they'd been born just a few generations earlier, they would have been. And so, Remus learned of the Cadwalladers' taboo against marrying anyone who wasn't removed by at least eight generations— "So if I met someone and we liked each other, we would have to count back by seven of our grandparents," explained Branda. Remus didn't know who his third great grandparents—on either side—were. Branda said she knew every surname in her family over many generations (far more than just seven). She knew every kind of cousin there was, how they related, and to what degree— "A first cousin is your fourth degree relative . . . might's well be first degree, far as I'm concerned." It was as though some sort of blood-map had been etched into her brain. Was this common among purebloods (not the intermarrying taboo, obviously)?

"Yes," said Branda. "A lot of us know at least a few of our great grandparents' last names. Some people want to hear at least four wizarding names in your family, but the more you can list, the better it is."

"The better for what, exactly?" Remus asked.

"Because the farther back your wizarding genealogy goes, the more magical blood you have."

"So, what about Muggle-borns?"

"What about them?"

"Do you think they have poor magic, then?"

"Honestly, not really; they're just—fucking annoying. Like, I don't like it when they talk about Muggle stuff all the time or ask us stupid questions about our way of doing things—like why we wear certain clothes, or why we don't use some Muggle things, or whatever."

"I see," said Remus. "All right, let me ask you this: do you think they should leave their Muggle parents and family completely?"

"Wha—" Branda seemed stumped for a second, but in another second, she surprised him. "No, no! Those are their parents—I wouldn't expect them to just abandon them."

"Yes, that's obvious, isn't it? But what—er—well, do you not think that there are—things in our world that make it difficult for witches and wizards" (Remus made sure to stress that Muggle-borns were magical persons, and not just people) "from Muggle families to adjust to our ways?"

"Well yeah. It's a completely different world, innit? And I can understand things being—maybe—scary, or strange to them." She paused again, and a look that held something like insight overtook her expression. "Like, when people tell me to just speak English and to forget about Welsh, that doesn't mean shit to me. I'm not pretending I'm not something other than English just because we're part of Britain."

It was obvious that this was a profound issue for Branda. Remus latched onto it.

"Do you suppose Muggle-borns ought to ignore their parents' nonmagical heritage?"

"What? Like—pretend their parents are magical? Absolutely not! I can't stand people who do that—especially if you love your family—then it's just insulting to them."

"So do you think that if someone is a Muggle-born, they should be honest about it?"

"Yes, of course—just don't start asking me why we wear so much black, or why we don't do this or that. So stupid!"

Remus marveled at how a person could take offense when there was no one present to give the offense. He was afraid he might have pushed too close to the edge, so he changed the subject. Sort of.

"If you ran into my mother on the street—"

Branda interrupted him, her brow furrowed as she asked him, "Like, if I knew who she was?"

"D'you mean if you knew she was my mother? Well, I suppose so, yes."

Branda shrugged. "I guess I'd say "Hello," or something."

"What if you didn't know who she was?"

Branda's sharp brow furrowed even more now. "Well, I . . . well, I wouldn't even be on a Muggle street in the first place—"

"Humor me, Branda," said Remus with another little smile. He watched her eyes, now quite wide, dart about the cottage in the way of someone who's been caught off guard. He suddenly realized that his question had a hole in it. "Actually, I mean if you saw her in Diagon Alley, or on platform nine and three quarters. . ."

Branda nodded, shrugged again, and replied, "I wouldn't do anything."

"You'd just ignore her, then?" said Remus without judgement.

"Ie."

"Is that how you interact with Muggles on a daily basis?"

Branda looked uncertain again, except this time her uncertainty seemed to be in Remus's even asking such a question. "I don't interact with Muggles on a daily basis. . ."

"Absolutely never?"

"Ne-ver."

Remus nodded. He himself did not go out of his way to befriend any Muggles, but casual interactions—many other witches and wizards could not see how that was avoidable. But Remus knew well that if you wished to avoid something—or someone—enough, all you needed was to be willing to put in the required effort.

Branda looked like her thoughts had become too much, so Remus let off on his questions and offered her a tour of the surrounding moor, which wasn't especially broad; the nearest village was just over a mile away. Later, in the afternoon, he would learn that Branda viewed the wealthier purebloods who made her acquaintance as a means to an end, certainly not as friends. "I'm an Aconitor; people like me don't really associate with people like them that way."

Remus hadn't yet asked her about her relationship with the Malfoys.

Shortly before he thought they ought to eat dinner, Kingsley stepped out of the floo. It was as though a veil had been drawn up—Branda's face became clouded as she recognized Kingsley's voice and dashed up the stairs. Kingsley set a warm package on the small table where Remus ate his meals. "Molly made roast chicken—she also sent a loaf of sliced bread and some other things for sandwiches later."

Under his breath, Remus asked Kingsley, "Has there been any word about—" he raised his eyes to the ceiling, indicating the young witch currently above them. At first, Kingsley didn't speak; then he gestured for Remus to follow him outside.

"There was no discussion amongst the Order about the girl. But Dumbledore spoke to me today. There is no reason to keep her. You may let her leave."

Remus was shocked. "Isn't she—I don't—"

"Dumbledore trusts you, Remus." Kingsley reached into a pocket then and pulled out Branda's wand to give to Remus. He had not realized Kingsley even had it. "So do I, for that matter."

This was not what Remus had expected. He'd worried about defending Branda against her memory being modified. He'd worried they would have to hide her from the Death Eaters. He had not considered that Dumbledore would leave her fate entirely up to him.

"Tomorrow night is the full moon. She can't be here."

"Will you let her go?"

"I—"

What should he say? What should he do? Remus was as uncertain now as Branda had been during his questioning of her pureblood values.

"I'm worried for her. I don't think she understands anything that's going on, Kingsley."

"But she has you in her corner, hasn't she?" Kingsley asked. His eyes were calm, filled with a kind of knowing that almost made Remus's throat catch.

Remus shook his head. "I can't abandon the Order over this. She's not—"

Kingsley held up a hand. "Remus, Dumbledore has always made it clear that every witch, wizard, and magical being is worthy of protection from Voldemort. Caring for one vulnerable young witch is not—as I suspect you've been thinking—against anything the Order is trying to do."

What could Remus say to that?