"Andy?" Ted's voice called from downstairs, almost drowned out by the rain. "I've got a couple of teenaged thugs at the door trying to rob us."

"I am a Professor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!" came Lyra's muffled voice.

Andromeda paused only to roll her eyes. She still couldn't believe Dumbledore had done that. "Let the thugs in, Ted. Maybe they'll finally take that ridiculous toy train collection off your hands."

"They are not toys!"

Andromeda hummed, focusing on the mirror again. Goodness, how long had it been since she last put on makeup like this? Maybe at the (third) wedding of Ted's best friend, perhaps. She had rarely dolled herself up since she was in her teens and twenties, dying her hair in aggressively bright colors and dressing like a Muggle hooligan to further twist the knife into the family that had betrayed her so readily. It was rare enough these days that she went out at all, much less dress up for it.

"Oh my," said Ted, leaning against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. "You look beautiful."

Andromeda smiled at him through the mirror. "You exaggerate."

"Got to look your best to piss on your sister's legacy, huh?"

Andromeda huffed, though it was a tad forced. She would never claim to mourn her dead sister. Bella had always been an angry young woman, her ambition clashing with her insecurity, her paranoia finding insult where there was none, and Andromeda had been viewed simultaneously as a disappointment and as a threat to her authority. Their relationship had been strained at best, and Andromeda had avoided her long before she eloped with Ted. And yet, there was still a part of her that wished for what could've been, and those rare moments of kindness that Andromeda received, however misguided, she treasured still.

"Why don't you go and watch those two instead of giving me undue praise? Go, before they stick everything not nailed down on the ceiling."

"Your sister's also here," he said. "I invited her in as courtesy demands, but I won't be looked down on in my own damned home."

Andromeda pursed her lips. "She's gotten better… don't you think so? She likes James well enough, and he's also Muggle-born."

"He's a fit young bloke who's probably already a more competent wizard than I am, and I'm forty-three with a beer gut and thinning hair."

"Don't sell yourself short. You do look quite nice these days," said Andromeda, looking him up and down. Though he'd always been of a lanky build, he'd put on some weight after Nymphadora was born and their lifestyle became more sedentary. The past few years had been good for him, though. He'd limited his alcohol intake, quit smoking, and started exercising more between lifting weights and playing football on Saturdays. Her lips twisted in a little smirk. "I wouldn't mind taking a closer look, once I get back."

Ted just gave that crooked grin, the same one that, no matter how many wrinkles or grey hairs he got, reminded Andromeda of that time he'd been caught by her slipping a dungbomb into that bitch Patricia Armstrong's Sleekeazy's and shaken it up to make a rather explosive cocktail later when she went to take a bath.

"I'll hold you to that," he said. "Now go entertain your sister. I sure bloody won't."

Andromeda stood, tossing her braid over a shoulder, and went downstairs, pressing a kiss to Ted's stubbled cheek as she passed him. It would have been nice to have Nymphadora here too, two sisters and their daughters, but she had flatly refused, citing the Azkaban Incident.

"Andy," said Narcissa, standing gracefully and admiring her. "Now this is more what I expect of you. You look simply gorgeous." She held her arms out as the two met in the middle of the living room. "It makes no sense you should intentionally hide your potential."

"Morning, Cissy," Andromeda said, returning the embrace. "And you might be surprised to learn that there is a quality called 'humility.' You may have seen it in a dictionary."

"A word lesser people use to excuse their inelegance to themselves," said Narcissa dismissively.

Lyra snorted from the corner, where she and James were huddled together, cooing over Little Miss Mittens, who was squirming on her back as she batted her oversized kneazle paws at their fingers.

"And you still wonder where I get it from," said Lyra to James, who picked up the feline, which yowled at the treatment. Lyra tried to snatch her out of his hands and received swats from both James and the kneazle.

"Yeah, but you're just a snot-nosed brat, a pale imitation of your mother."

Narcissa said dryly, "Thank you, James." Andromeda rolled her eyes again. As though Narcissa hadn't been precisely that at the same age. As though Narcissa still wasn't precisely that.

"Hi, Auntie Andy," said Lyra, beaming and holding out her arms.

"Hello, sweetheart," said Andromeda, giving Lyra too a squeeze.

"When did you adopt a kitten?" said James, delighted, as Mittens pawed at his hair. "What's their name?"

"Little Miss Mittens, or just Mittens," said Andromeda, feeling a little foolish even as she said the words. James laughed.

"Adorable," said Lyra, seeming smitten with Mittens.

"You've gotten better at names," said Narcissa idly, as she inspected her mug collection in the kitchen. Andromeda ignored her.

"Why am I the only one good at naming pets?" said Lyra as she scratched Mittens under the chin with her sharp nails, charmed translucent pink at the base and white at the tips. Maybe Andromeda was due for a spa day. Perhaps Nymphadora could be convinced to come with Lyra? She knew she was being something of an annoying mother meddling in their child's social life, but it hurt to see them still separated.

"Good?" said James. "You named a cat Sméagol once."

"Oh, she had big wide eyes," said Lyra in a sweet and hushed tone.

"She," repeated Andromeda, feeling a little vindicated about her names now.

"And she'd go from sweet to a personality of an ugly little creature obsessed with a deeply evil artifact. Sound familiar, James?"

James held the kitten out towards Lyra. "Smell that, Mittens? That's the enemy. Whenever you see her, you're going to attack. Attack!"

"Mrrow?"

"All right, that's enough of that," said Andromeda, sweeping Little Miss Mittens from his hands and planting a kiss on her furry head. "She's smart enough to listen, but not smart enough to realize you're kidding."

"I'm not kitten at all."

Lyra was the only one who gave him an appreciative smile — and a fist bump.

Andromeda asked her sister, "Are you sure he didn't come out of the womb with her?"

Narcissa's scowl in that moment was neither haughty nor elegant, and Andromeda allowed through a sliver of a smirk. It was good to know she still had her magic touch. At least now she knew exactly how much she tolerated James.

"Are we all ready to go, then?" said Narcissa, zero humor in her voice. "As much as I'd love to appraise your collection of mugs and Muggle music discs while you all cover yourselves in fur, we do have places to be."

"Seriously, stop messing around," said Lyra to James.

"I'm not doing anything!"

Andromeda dropped Little Miss Mittens inside a magical maze that would keep her distracted with caches of food and enchanted toys until she tuckered herself out, hopefully avoiding any further damage to the carpet or to the sofa legs. She pulled on her boots, then her coat, and glanced at the others, all watching her expectantly.

"Shall we?" she said, sweeping past them and out the door.

The day was suitably bleak as thick sheets of rain hammered upon the asphalt, as though it weren't enough to merely drench those few unfortunate enough to be outside, but God wished to make them truly understand that he considered them his mistakes.

Narcissa opened up a parasol wide enough to cover all four of them. James glanced up warily at the intricate, but certainly not waterproof designs of multicolored lace, glittering like a pixie's insectile wings in light, but the water simply moved out of the way of the umbrella, keeping them dry.

"Was it this street or the one after it?" said Andromeda, and Narcissa hummed.

"The one after, I believe," said she, and led them down a dilapidated alleyway, the asphalt balding in places where it wasn't covered in all sorts of sick, and stopped in front of a wooden door. The paint was peeling, the boards themselves rotted and the nails brown. Narcissa snapped shut the parasol, grimaced, and pushed open the door with a gloved hand.

"Good memory," said Andromeda, carefully stepping over the broken bottles and approaching the half-ruined upright piano. Lyra and James glanced at each other as Narcissa opened the lid and hovered her fingers over the yellowed keys.

"Don't compliment my memory just yet," said Narcissa, Andromeda leaning over her shoulder.

"Why are we here?" said James, examining a peeling portrait of a man within a brass frame that would appear rather impressive, were it not for the fact the name-plate had been modified to spell out '2nd Marquess of Cockingham' and the man in the portrait had been given a combover haircut, a toothbrush moustache, and a large, veined phallus hovered at his mouth. "Couldn't we have just gone through the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Tom closes on Mondays," said Lyra.

"That one." Andromeda pressed one of the keys, forcing a tortured sound out of the piano. "Perhaps not."

"Instruments have never liked you, sister, so do stop interfering."

"That's not true," said Andromeda, poking Narcissa's side, where she'd always been ticklish. The resultant squeak was met with a wry grin. "See? I can make music." Lyra smiled warmly at the two of them.

"I will hex you," said Narcissa, turning back to the piano where she performed a very hesitant introduction to Für Elise with her pointer fingers. Lord Cockingham's portrait swung open somewhat lethargically, as though it were not particularly impressed with Narcissa's rendition of Beethoven. "Come, children." From her tone, Narcissa was probably including Andromeda in that category.

They emerged into the bowels of Ephemere Alley, the roads nothing more than packed dirt rutted down the middle by the flow of draining water. While the rain had disappeared, as though they'd simply emerged to somewhere else on the planet, the gloom pervaded. The buildings that loomed overhead, darkening the streets with their shadows, were not made of brickwork but a hodgepodge of timbers, with only magic keeping them upright. Perhaps only one hovel in ten had a lamp hanging at the door, the remainder empty (or pretending to be). Lyra and James simultaneously looked up at a third-floor window, and when Andromeda followed their gazes, she only caught a pair of curtains fluttering closed behind dusty wooden shutters.

Lyra poked James and said, "That was your girlfriend, I think."

"Eat shit."

Knockturn Alley had once upon a time been what Diagon Alley was now, until about a century and a half ago, the latter sprouted from one corner of the former and ended up displacing the old district as it grew. The same had happened to Ephemere as well, when Knockturn had been born somewhere around the early Renaissance and subsumed its parent. Ephemere too had done the same to an Anglo-Saxon settlement, which in turn had displaced an old Roman district, its name long forgotten and the buildings and roads of which could still be found in the depths of magical London if one looked long enough. And, of course, one day Diagon would also grow old, and something new would be born from its stagnant body, perhaps with electric lights and tarmac roads, dwellings of concrete and glass and steel withal, or whatever else those industrious Muggles would have come up with in the next century.

Continuing along the dirt and occasionally mud roads, Andromeda could only feel a deep unease, perhaps like she was trespassing on a cemetery. These buildings had been full once, and the roads bustling. Children had played here, teenagers had found their first love, aspiring young adults had bought their own home or storefront. The dreams and hopes of thousands of people over hundreds of years had thrived here, once upon a time.

Andromeda flinched as someone stumbled out of an alleyway so dark she'd initially missed it, clutching a bottle in hand and singing badly:

"Their pollax swung and their silver sliced, yet their marrow's filled with greed;

Urg came across a gilt doorknob bright, and gold he did believe!

For all his boasts of iron bite, he cracked open his teeth,

No equal unearthing gold you'll find, but no match for steel was he!"

The drunk did not notice them and continued on down the road, his uncertain gait splashing mud onto the hem of his robes. Andromeda caught a faint coppery whiff from the bottle, and almost instinctively, she reached and wrapped her hand around Lyra, pulling her close to the rest of the huddle, her wand clutched tight in her other hand.

"Vampire?" James murmured, his voice low.

"Yes," Narcissa said tightly.

"Thanks," said Lyra. "I'm sure they'd love the traces of veela in my blood."

"Be silent."

Lyra made a silly and stupid face at Narcissa's back.

Slowly, the timber and dirt of Ephemere morphed into the brick and cobble of Knockturn, and while Knockturn was still a slum of sorts, a slight sense of relief filled Andromeda as she saw some actual life. Wretched life, but it filled that dark hole of abandonment Ephemere always left her with.

"That soup bar is still there," she said, eyeing the dusty windows. "It was old when I was a child. Why hasn't it been shut down already?"

"Aurors found no evidence of wrongdoing, allegedly," said Narcissa. "Of course they didn't find anything. Nobody wants to get within smelling distance of those soups."

Andromeda stared at the door of the place, which was barely hanging onto the frame with the last scraps of its strength. The dirty windows made it difficult to see through, but then she realized a particular dark spot on the glass wasn't smudge, but the grotesque countenance of the restaurant's hag owner. Andromeda flinched, the wide pale eyes shooting a chill through her, and turned away.

Andromeda re-examined Knockturn Alley for the first time in decades, and was both impressed and unsurprised to find that nothing had changed. At first glance, perhaps, it could get away as a slightly differently themed offshoot of Diagon Alley, where for whatever reason witches and wizards did not dress in robes that were not black (or, in one daring instance, dark grey). They walked, and talked, as normal people did; a gang of teenagers with ripped-off sleeves plotted their next misdemeanor; an older gentleman with a bowler hat sat on a bench, newspaper tucked under an arm, scattering breadcrumbs to a family of rats. A second look revealed more details, however, that differentiated this part of London from the rest of it, such that children were advised to never go in alone.

An old fortune-teller holed up in his storefront, which walls were covered in spoons of every size, shape, and material, willing to accept more spoons in lieu of cash as payment for his services; tiny human-like skulls stacked in a neat pyramid as though one might arrange fruits or vegetables at a greengrocer's; an old witch whose face was hidden under the wide brim of her pointed hat sat in a rocking chair on a verandah and knitted clothes for faceless straw dolls that had been nailed to every visible wooden surface until it covered the entire store like fur; rope that had been slung around the necks of death-sentenced Muggles decades ago being sold in exchange for dwarf livers, and only dwarf livers; a topless Veela on a third-floor balcony watching down at them with vertically-slit eyes while she snacked on a leg of some animal, blood dripping from her serrated teeth and onto her pale chest; and a man emerged from a tea shop, only to turn back around and enter it again, and again, and again and again and again.

"Never gets old," said Lyra.

"Oh, aren't you the Triwizard Champion? And your companion must be the newest Hogwarts Professor!"

James and Lyra looked behind them, faltering in their lockstep, but Andromeda grabbed them by their elbows and kept walking. She recognized that voice as well, just as she did all the other oddities in this place from the rare visits to this place in her childhood, and she cared not to dwell on it.

"James, I get, but how'd he recognize me?" said Lyra, frowning and trying to look around Andromeda.

"You were in the Daily Prophet after Dumbledore made you professor," said James.

"What a pleasure, what a pleasure indeed," said the man, huffing in exertion as followed their quickened paces. "Well, I can see you're all rather busy at the moment, but if I may be brief —"

"We are not interested," Andromeda snapped, without looking back.

"— I'll pay you both six galleons for each strand of your hair!"

Lyra scowled, and quicker than Andromeda could do anything, twisted out from her grip and flicked her wand at him. Andromeda didn't even get to see his expression before he was thrown twenty meters backward, leaving behind only a squeal. She cared nothing for their suffering, but she felt the eyes of the other denizens, the brief altercation having drawn their attention.

"He was harmless," said Andromeda. "So long as you don't let him within ten feet of you anyway."

"Come," urged Narcissa. "We shouldn't linger."

Lyra ignored them both and turned to James. "Why didn't you tell me I was in the Prophet?"

"I assumed someone else would've told you. You know I don't read that stuff, I got told by Larissa."

Lyra rolled her eyes. "I don't read the bullshit Larissa tells me to read. Did they say nice things about me?" she asked him, looking to Andromeda and Narcissa for answers as well.

Narcissa waved a hand and began walking; Andromeda realized she was luring Lyra out of this place with the information she desired.

"They mentioned you're the daughter of an alleged Death Eater," said Narcissa, her steps quickening perhaps a touch. "Which, ironically, is why you and I are more protected than the average witch in this place. This place is lawless, and the closest thing to authority that it has experienced in recent memory is the Dark Lord's retribution. Now come, let us go."

"I'll have to thank Voldemort the next time I see that fat pig, then."

"Please," said Narcissa, flinching as Andromeda did. "Do not say his name here of all places! You have already stirred the cauldron enough."

"You were still young when the war was still going," said Andromeda, her words betraying her discomfort. "You wouldn't have known. But to some, he was — still is — more than just a man, and his faithful are not known for their reasonable responses."

"I'm well aware," said Lyra.

"Are you?" said Andromeda. "You don't act as though you do. You might have Seen what it was like, but you never lived through those days. You never lived without lights to give the illusion of not being home. You never started your copy of the Prophet every morning with the obituary." She turned to Narcissa. "I'm surprised at you, Cissy. Have you not told her what it was like, back then?"

"I have," said Narcissa, and there was a touch of some kind of discontent there. Andromeda noted that Lyra did not acknowledge her mother's words, instead choosing to let them slide over her like water. James glanced between them with an expression of a man who wanted to speak up but thought it wise not to.

"Diagon Alley," murmured Lyra, adding nothing more to the discussion. "Finally."

Emerging into the newest magical district in London felt a little like the cloud cover had moved away, giving them warmth and sunlight in its full, unimpeded measure. The storefronts were cleaner, more colorful, and the people didn't look so glum. Relief swept the anxiety out of Andromeda, and it immediately became easier to relax. She idly pulled James out of the way of a wizard being dragged down the road by two dozen bats on individualized, color-coded leashes while she peered into the window of Sugarplum's to see if they still had those cauldron cream cakes in stock.

Soon enough, they came upon Gringotts. The fortress-bank was unmarred of any visible seams or joints; they did not have rooves held up by pillars or columns, nor any sculptures placed upon pedestals, but instead adorned with cavernous alcoves and bas-reliefs that appeared remarkably three-dimensional despite their planar existence. The structure looked as though it had been carved out from a single titanic prism of marble, reflecting their subterranean aesthetic as much as it did the light of the sun. The burnished bronze doors were open, but instead of the usual attendants in gold-and-crimson uniforms, four armed guards flanked the entrance, in stout iron armor and carrying thick halberds twice their height.

"Is this a bad time?" Andromeda whispered.

"It's just sabre-rattling," said Narcissa. "Fudge plans to use anti-creature sentiment for his next run."

"Thank James for that," said Lyra, and she turned to him. "Honestly, you cause more trouble than I do without doing even a fraction of the shenanigans."

"James? How…" Andromeda glanced warily at the goblins as they stepped through the second, silver set of doors.

Narcissa frowned at her. "The Prophet has been harping on about it for weeks. I understand you're something of a recluse, but you still receive news, do you not?"

"I only get the Sunday editions," said Andromeda. Narcissa rolled her eyes.

"Well," scoffed Lyra, "after James almost got himself killed, again, because he grabbed an obviously cursed artifact, again, people started freaking out about non-humans — again."

"Hey," said James halfheartedly.

"And Fudge is going around 'just asking questions' —" Lyra rolled her eyes "— you know, that typical disingenuous bullshit. Rather feed the flames of fanatical rhetoric again than grow some balls and actually talk to the beings in question." An ugly scowl came down over her face. "I should kill more politicians."

Even James elbowed her there.

The interior of Gringotts was more impressive than its exterior. Above the dome held a large skylight made of goblin-fluted glass, scattering sunlight upon the black marble floors streaked with unmined veins of gold and silver. Circular granite tables and chairs dotted the place, and bioluminescent ferns arranged tastefully around them, and tall potted fungi were arranged near the exits and entrances, a familiar yet alien sight to any visitor from aboveground. When Andromeda took a deep breath to compose herself, she could smell a slight scent of soil after rain.

"Wicked," James said to himself.

Narcissa stopped in front of a teller. While the desks were intentionally raised such that most wizards and witches were forced to look up at the goblins, they were at near eye-level with the Blacks, who were well-known for their height, after other notably uncommon traits like their left-handedness, clinical insanity, and unhealthy attraction to cousins.

"Narcissa Malfoy and Andromeda Tonks," said Narcissa. "For a meeting at half past three in the afternoon."

The goblin pulled out a chunky but elegant pocket watch before nodding. "You are in Conference Room Eighty-Six. Gornuk will be your guide."

The teller picked up a small bell and rang several times, the chiming sound barely crossing the room before it was drowned out by the clinking of metals and the sharp footsteps traveling every which way. Moments later, another goblin arrived and bowed — not at them, but at the teller — before gesturing. "Follow me, please."

They went down a corridor that was plainer than the grandiose hall they'd come from, the floors polished white marble and the halls lined with more normal-looking plants. After passing by a number of identical-looking doors with no inscriptions, they arrived at yet another unmarked door, which Gornuk pushed open.

"Conference room eighty-six," he announced. "Mister Ogbert will be present shortly. Please help yourself to any refreshments that have been provided."

"Thank you," said Narcissa, with more cordiality than Andromeda would've expected of her, even as she and James echoed similar sentiments.

Gornuk nodded and departed. The conference room was exceptionally mundane, in her opinion. It was certainly opulent still, but it almost looked like those Muggle hotels she and Ted had stayed in during their honeymoon. Narcissa took a graceful seat, and Andromeda hesitated for a moment before sitting next to her. Lyra and James sat opposite them, their eyes lingering on those refreshments: chocolates, fruits, cured meats and cheeses, and even a small bottle of mushroom wine, in a stout stone bowl.

"Oho," said Lyra, grabbing the meats and cheeses and stuffing her mouth with them.

"You were a bit rude back there," said James to her. "Didn't even say thank you."

"They don't give a shit," said Lyra, reaching for the wine.

James turned instead to Narcissa and Andromeda. "How rich are the Lestranges, exactly?"

Narcissa tilted her head. "Not particularly. They've always possessed a martial bent, fighting for liege lords or merely for gold in far-off foreign lands, hence their name. They have some land that was granted to them as reward for excellence, but the land itself is not productive. Always more concerned about what they could achieve through violence than through investment and nurturing…"

"I guess we know why Bellatrix married into them," said Lyra, and Narcissa pursed her lips; but Andromeda noticed the strain in her eyes.

"It was likely a consideration," said Narcissa tonelessly.

The family history of the Lestranges was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door, which then swung open, revealing another goblin in a more wizarding style of dress. They nodded in acknowledgement of the room's occupants and sat at the head of the table.

"Good morning. I am Ogbert," he said. "I am responsible for the Lestrange vaults. Since Bellatrix Lestrange died intestate, the role falls to her closest relative to execute the will. I'm to understand that Mrs. Tonks, Mrs. Malfoy, you have applied to be joint administrators?" Andromeda and Narcissa nodded. "In which case matters are simplified. In the event that an agreement between yourselves of equal rank cannot be reached, then there are several options. One is to involve the next degree of kin, such as nieces and nephews or cousins, to the voting process. The second is Gringotts. We have appraisers on hand who are available to assess the worth of all assets and randomly divide them into piles of approximately equal value. Additionally, we are open to purchasing any non-cash assets to convert them into gold, whereby we can provide a more equal distribution of wealth. For a small fee, of course."

"Of course," echoed Narcissa.

"In that case, here are the possessions of the late Bellatrix Lestrange, kept in Vault One-Twenty-Two dash F." Ogbert slid a scroll towards them. "Would you like some time to go through the list?"

"That would be much appreciated, thank you," said Andromeda, and Ogbert nodded, placing a polished call bell on the table.

"Let me know when you've made a decision using this. Otherwise, please do not hesitate to let us know if you need anything."

"Thank you," Lyra called after him, as he stepped out of the room. Then she looked expectantly at James, as if she deserved a reward.

Andromeda unfurled the scroll, and a wave of her wand had it triple in size, and she stuck the corners down with a bit of magic. Lyra and James stood and leaned over Andromeda's shoulders to read the document the right way up. The list wasn't all that long, but Lyra immediately jabbed at a line, her fingernail leaving a scratch on the parchment.

"That one."

Wrought cup, twenty-three karat gold, four ounces, enchanted.

Narcissa sighed slowly out of her nose, crossing her arms delicately. "Is that it, then? What we came here for?" she said, though Andromeda could sense the tightness beneath.

Lyra glanced at her mother, her expression touched with the slightest hint of concern. "Yeah."

A humorless laugh fell from Narcissa's lips. "All for a golden cup," she said.

Lyra didn't say anything, and just stared at the letters on the page. After a moment of silence she said quietly, "Mum…"

"What is its purpose?" said Narcissa.

"It's Hufflepuff's Cup," said James.

Andromeda's eyebrows shot up. Hufflepuff's Cup?

But Narcissa gave him a cold look. "I asked for its purpose. My daughter did not kill my sister for a trophy."

Andromeda felt her heart drop through her stomach with a frightening speed, a chill left where it used to be, spreading through the rest of her. "I beg your pardon?"

Lyra grimaced.

"You didn't know," remarked Narcissa. "So you kept it hidden from Bellatrix's other sister? How considerate of you. I had wondered why you were so unconcerned, Andromeda, your failed relationship with Bellatrix aside."

Andromeda glanced from her to Lyra, and in a split second all the pieces came together — the trip to Azkaban, her little Patronus project, the future she had Seen, and the question of why that had been endlessly asked over the Azkaban Massacre. "No."

Lyra stared at the document, unwilling to meet either of their eyes. James sat uncomfortably in his seat, trying not to draw their attention.

"Is this true?" said Andromeda, feeling rather breathless. She looked at Narcissa. "You jest, Narcissa — she couldn't have — break into Azkaban? — it's preposterous!"

"Of all the people you know," Narcissa drawled, "would you not say that a Seer — who has already Seen the method by which the Dark Lord entered that place — would be the most suited to such a thing? Who else could be so bold, capable, and foolish if not my own daughter?" She finished with a bitter little laugh.

Andromeda had no retort. Despite her best efforts to scramble the pieces, the puzzle felt close to completion. She glanced at Lyra, who had already visited Bellatrix once, who had professed already to seeing a future in which Bellatrix had murdered Nymphadora. What would have happened to Ted? What would have happened to Andromeda herself that Lyra had sanitized for everybody's sake?

Andromeda licked her lips, but they felt just as dry as before. She looked at Lyra's tense form, then at James, who certainly had played a part in this too, and then turned back to Narcissa.

"Oh."

A silence came over them, and no one broke it. Andromeda suddenly had a bizarre desire to laugh. Bellatrix Lestrange, throat slit by her own niece in some miserable rock in the middle of the sea. Then she really did laugh, though it was more a short scoff of disbelieving amusement. If their parents could have known…

"Good," she said at last, and everyone looked to her in shock. Narcissa's face twisted in confusion, then betrayal, while Lyra just seemed surprised. "I'm not going to pretend I grieved her, and it's a kinder fate than she would've otherwise received, and certainly kinder than any she would have given any of us. I won't live in any future where she lives and our daughters die."

"Neither would I," said Narcissa sharply. "I would cut Bellatrix down without blinking if I had to, but that does not mean I would have my own daughter be the killer herself. Are we supposed to pretend it's normal that two sixteen year olds broke into Azkaban and slaughtered half the Dark Lord's inner circle — his most faithful servants? Our sister?"

"It's not normal, but those two have never been normal, you know that. And Bellatrix killed people at that age too," Andromeda said darkly, "but younger, and actually innocent. If anything it's a mercy to be killed in Azkaban —"

"I do not care about Bellatrix!" said Narcissa, raising her voice. "I care about my daughter! Her safety, her health" — she turned suddenly to Lyra — "and don't you pretend you've been the same since then! You've slept little in the past months, and the few times you did, you awoke all of us with your screaming." Tears swam into her eyes. "I care little that Bellatrix is dead, but not at the cost of you!"

Andromeda sighed, as Narcissa descended into sudden silence, her words spent.

"I would do it again," said Lyra, and from the dark promise in her eyes Andromeda knew she'd do it a hundred times oveR. Lyra looked at Andromeda. "You're right, I never lived through those days. And I don't plan to." She shifted her gaze to Narcissa. "You know what the future could have held. If it wasn't this, it would be me and her in the end anyway. And I don't think I would have won that fight."

"You wouldn't have," said Andromeda. "Bella received the Dark Lord's tutelage."

"And if it's inevitable I'd have to fight to the death against someone like that, why wouldn't I just cut her out of the picture now? Call me a killer, call me reckless and stupid and everything, but James and I stopped God knows how many Killing Curses from being cast. Every one of us in this room is significantly more likely to see their hundredth birthday now. I won't ever apologize for that."

"As difficult and frustrating as it might be to admit," said Andromeda, "your daughter is a woman grown, now... She holds a professorship at the most prestigious educational institute in Europe, works with Dumbledore, and has done more than perhaps anyone else to hinder the Dark Lord. She cannot stay under your shadow forever, and you know as well as I that she was always destined for things beyond you or —"

"Stop," said Narcissa, her eyes closed tight. "Please, stop."

Andromeda sighed, and Lyra's face twisted into a pained expression.

"Let's get on with what we came here for," Andromeda said quietly.

"You and I will speak about this later, Lyra," said Narcissa quietly.

Lyra pursed her lips, and nodded.

Andromeda turned back to the scroll, and skimmed through it again, before returning to the golden cup.

"Are you sure this is it, dear?" she said.

It took a moment for Lyra to realize that she was being addressed.

"Uh, well, are there any other cups listed there?" said Lyra. "I'll know anyway when I see it."

"Nothing specifically listed as such," said Andromeda, running through the list a third time. Bellatrix was never a particularly materialistic individual, and her relatively sparse list of possessions reflected such. She did not bother with the appearance of power or prestige, as some like Lucius might; Bellatrix firmly believed that power resided where power lay, and no more.

"Then that's probably what we need."

We. Andromeda glanced at James, whose expression was shrouded. While Andromeda would hardly dare to critique Lyra's Muggle-born choice of company — learning so long ago that Lyra had made best friends with a Muggle-born in her first year filled Andromeda with such an overwhelming sense of validation that she'd laughed until she'd cried — she would admit to holding some curiosity about what, exactly, had tied the two of them together so tightly, that Lyra would trust him with her revelations before even her own mother.

"Very well," said Andromeda, and pulled close a provided quill and inkpot. "I, Bellatrix Lestrange, leave my wrought golden cup to my beloved niece, Lyra Malfoy. Happy?"

"Mm," said Narcissa.

"Anything you particularly want, Cissy?"

Narcissa, avoiding looking at Andromeda, glanced through the list, her gaze lingering here and there. "I suspect Lucius would be enthused to have some of the books in here," she said. "Perhaps he'll already have them… I'll take them nonetheless, unless you have any objections."

"Not at all," said Andromeda, scratching an 'N' next to a few of the books, and an 'L' next to the cup. "Anything else?"

Narcissa and Lyra both leaned in and from a certain angle they looked so uncannily alike that Andromeda had to pause for a moment to process what she was seeing. They quibbled about minor enchanted artifacts that might prove useful to either of them, but the gold and other wealth went untouched.

Andromeda tapped the back of James' gloved left hand, but he didn't react at all. She had to try again, poking his shoulder, for him to look at her.

"Is there anything you want from the list?" she asked, and James blinked.

"I'm not even related to any of you." He glanced at Narcissa. "I certainly hope I'm not."

Andromeda couldn't even muster any indignation at that; Narcissa didn't seem to be paying attention.

"Fair… our family isn't exactly wholesome," said Andromeda. "But you're Lyra's friend, aren't you? If there's anything you like, I'm happy to reserve it under her name on your behalf."

"Only if he never makes comments like that again," said Lyra, scowling at James, who smiled angelically. "Better yet, just don't spoil him at all. He's getting popular enough as the Triwizard Champion, he doesn't need your attention on top of that."

James gave a disbelieving scoff. After an encouraging smile from Andromeda, he eventually pointed at an enchanted tent.

"Interesting choice," said Andromeda, marking the tent under 'L'. "But it's always good to have a home away from home…"

"Might be useful one day," James agreed.

Narcissa decided to take a collection of likely illegal artifacts that might interest her husband, and once Lyra reserved a set of torture devices for herself ("It's for Kreacher," she'd said defensively), they were done. Andromeda couldn't bring herself to take anything of Bellatrix's. She would hold onto some of the family keepsakes, like Phineas Nigellus' old wand, and transfer it to the main Black family vault at a later date. While she didn't particularly care about Phineas Nigellus, Narcissa would likely resist if Andromeda tried to sell it, and even she could admit that Phineas' portrait treated her more or less the same after she'd married Ted; that was to say, he had always been consistent in its discourtesy. She rang the call bell and Ogbert reappeared barely a minute later.

"Your choices are confirmed?" he said, and Narcissa and Andromeda both nodded. "Excellent. Six enchanted articles and seven books for Narcissa Malfoy; twelve enchanted articles for Lyra Malfoy; four enchanted articles for Andromeda Tonks; one hundred galleons for Nymphadora Tonks; one hundred galleons for Draco Malfoy; three knuts for Sirius Black; and all unacknowledged tangible assets to be sold through Gringotts, with a fee equivalent to twelve percent of the item value, as well as a one-time processing fee for each item based on size and weight."

"That's correct," Andromeda said.

"And I understand that the remaining wealth is to be donated to the Muggle and Muggle-born Victims Fund?"

"Yes."

"Very noble of you, Mrs. Tonks," said Ogbert, snapping the scroll shut. "I donate to the One World Foundation, myself. They're blind when it comes to species and magical status — a refreshing change. If both of you, Mrs. Tonks, Mrs. Malfoy, are satisfied by these decisions, then you'll simply need to sign here and here. Mr. Stark, you, as the witness, will be required to sign on the line below."

Andromeda dipped the quill in the inkwell and smoothly printed her signature twice on the parchment, before passing it off to Narcissa.

"When can we expect the assets to be delivered?" she said.

"Within three days," Ogbert confirmed, and when James signed his part, he took the parchment. "Very well. Our business here is concluded. Mrs. Tonks, Mrs. Malfoy, Gringotts thanks you for your patronage today, and we look forward to meeting you again." He pulled out a small bell from a pocket, as the teller had done earlier, and rang it. "Do enjoy the rest of your afternoon."

The door opened, revealing Gornuk once more, who bowed to Ogbert, before gesturing at the door. "If you would follow me," he said. "I'll escort you back to the foyer."

By the time they emerged into the main hall once more, the skylight was a glowing warm orange, turning the marble floors into a pool of molten bronze. Stepping outside, the clouds had been banished entirely, leaving behind a tapestry of gold and violet. Narcissa and Andromeda glanced at each other, and Narcissa sighed, before stepping forward with her arms out.

"No," said Andromeda.

Narcissa blinked, surprise and hurt flashing across her face.

"This day isn't over yet," said Andromeda. "I'll take you all to dinner. I know a place — it's on the Muggle side of things, but you won't regret it." A small smile touched her lips. "Or do you wish to rid yourself of me so much, Cissy?"

Narcissa's brow furrowed. "No, of course not."

"Good. Then it's settled." Andromeda took her sister's hand, and her niece's in the other. "Come along, then. I'd hate to end the day without seeing you happier than when we began."

"You say that as though we did not confront our sister's death today," bit out Narcissa, and her expression made it clear that she wished she could say more.

"I'm fully aware — that's precisely why I'm taking you out for cheap wine, sister." She glanced at Lyra. "You, though, can pay for your own drinks."

Lyra shrugged. "I'll pay for everyone's drinks if we go to Afterlife, that bar on the far side of Knockturn."

"Is this where we find out you know the directions perfectly?" said James wryly.

"It's a cool vibe!" said Lyra defensively. "You'll see."

"Fine," sighed Narcissa, the tightness in her expression giving way to reluctant acceptance.

To Andromeda, Bellatrix represented every misery of her childhood. The fear of judgment and punishment and the absence of any form of pride or happiness. Well, Bellatrix was dead now, and Andromeda was alive, as was Ted and Nymphadora and all those she still loved. She wouldn't allow Bellatrix's memory to take them away from her too.

Good riddance.