July, 1971
Nymphadora Travers was growing impatient. Her mother, Andromeda, was deep in conversation with her older cousins, Bellatrix and Narcissa, congratulating the elder on her upcoming nuptials, and the younger on earning a shiny prefect badge ahead of her fifth year. Alphard, their middle brother, was at Quality Quidditch Supplies, getting a new racing broom, as he'd been named Slytherin Quidditch Captain.
Sirius and Regulus, Nymphadora's favorite cousins, were nowhere to be found. Their parents, Uncle Orion and Aunt Walburga, were making small talk with the Yaxleys. Nymphadora suspected the boys were with Alphard, and with her mother otherwise occupied, she snuck out of Twilfitt and Tattings to find them. She'd had enough of measurements and choosing patterns for the next family portrait.
With only three weeks to spare before students returned to Hogwarts, Diagon Alley was bustling with activity. Nymphadora grinned, yearning for all the fun she'd have when she got to the castle. Bella, Al, and Cissa were annoyingly tight-lipped about the Slytherin common room and the castle grounds, and her mother insisted it was better to experience the magic of the giant school firsthand. Nymphadora spent all summer with Sirius, talking themselves hoarse over the adventures they'd share come autumn. Regulus would pout at them, having another year to go, but it was all in good fun.
Eeylops Owl Emporium was just ahead. Nymphadora's eyes flickered toward Ollivander's, but her mother would flay her alive if she tried to get a wand alone. She reached into her robe pockets and felt around. She had at least five Galleons and ten Sickles; if it wasn't enough for a cat, she could always wait for her mother to come by.
Nymphadora skipped ahead, thinking of cat names, when something very hard, and very solid, struck her in the face.
The faint sound of shouting reached Nymphadora's ears.
"Excuse me, excuse me, I'm a Healer!"
Blinking tearily, she noticed a crowd had gathered around her. A few fuzzy figures backed away. Her head throbbed and she tasted the coppery tang of blood in her mouth.
Her mother would not be happy.
"Excuse me—pardon me!"
A kind-looking man in lime green robes arrived in her periphery. The color indicated he worked at the poor wizards' hospital. He had thick, golden brown hair and the brightest blue eyes Nymphadora had ever seen. With the blood obscuring her vision, she thought she was looking at one of the cherubs painted in her mother's favorite parlor.
"Hello, miss," the Healer said, getting to his knees. "Let's clean you up."
Nymphadora watched the wizard's wand move expertly around her, healing her broken bone with a snap that didn't even hurt.
"Open your mouth, please."
The Healer held her face gently and tapped his wand on her upper lip. She felt something tingle from her teeth, and her cheek being stitched together. In minutes, she went from blinding pain to merely woozy; the Healer was smiling kindly at her and pushing her mousy brown hair behind her ear. He shifted her to the left and conjured a pillow for her to rest her body on.
Healer Greengrass was never this good. Nymphadora wondered if the poor wizards got treated more nicely because they were poor.
"What's your name, sweetheart? Are your parents around?"
"Nymph . . . dora T-travers," she replied, her tongue feeling swollen.
"Can I call you Miss Dora?" asked the Healer. "And perhaps take a look at your tongue?"
Nymphadora nodded and opened her mouth. "Wha–happen?"
"It seems someone was opening a heavy door and you were the poor soul who got a face full of it. I'm Healer Tonks, by the way," the wizard said, after murmuring a charm that made her tongue feel normal again. He was on his heels, now tilting his head at her, and smiling. "Your hair is turning pink."
"I'm a M-m-m-metamorphmagus," she explained, trying to smile, but her face hurt.
"What a wonderful gift you have, Miss Dora! Metamorphmagi are very rare. Your parents must be proud of you. Now, before we find them, let me see if I can give you something to make you feel better." Healer Tonks reached into his robes and pulled out a vial of a sky blue liquid. "This will make you—"
"NYMPHADORA!"
The unmistakable sound of Andromeda Travers's voice made Nymphadora cringe. She would be in loads of trouble after what she'd done.
Just as Healer Tonks pressed the vial to Nymphadora's lips, her mother came thundering through the crowd and slapped it away.
"Don't drink that!" she scolded. "You don't know who—"
"Healer Tonks, madam."
The wizard looked up at Andromeda and his entire expression changed. Gone was the kindly man who was fixing broken bones. He looked almost angry, with his face getting red and his eyes looking wet, and Nymphadora gaped when she saw her mother turn a very funny shade of puce.
Andromeda gripped her wand and glanced around.
"Don't you all have somewhere to be?" she snarled. "This is a private matter!"
The crowd dispersed. Healer Tonks was tomato red, and Nymphadora wondered what the wizard had done to offend her mother. He was only trying to help, after all.
"You must be Mrs. Travers," Healer Tonks said quietly, peering up at Andromeda. "I just had the pleasure of meeting your daughter, Miss Travers."
"Miss Dora!" Nymphadora half-shouted. "You said you'd call me Miss Dora!"
"Her name is Nymphadora," Andromeda said, the peculiar expression and color not leaving her face.
"But mother , Dora is so much better than Fifi or my stupid name! When I go to Hogwarts everyone's going to call me Dora! Everyone!"
Andromeda looked ready to argue. Healer Tonks seemed to notice and began speaking before Andromeda could say a word.
"When do you go to Hogwarts?"
"In September!" Nymphadora said brightly. "I just turned eleven!"
"Eleven, eh?" The Healer said, his brow coming together. A faraway look came into his eyes for a brief moment, and then he looked up at Andromeda, whose face was covered by one of her hands. "E . . . leven, you say?"
Nymphadora nodded enthusiastically. "I'm going to be a Slytherin. Everyone in the family's a Slytherin. Is that what you were, Healer Tonks? Did you go to Hogwarts?"
"N-no," the Healer stammered, his eyes darting back and forth between Nymphadora and Andromeda. "I mean, y-yes, I did go to Hogwarts. I . . . Hufflepuff. I was a Hufflepuff."
Nymphadora wrinkled her nose. Her mother always said Hufflepuff was just a good a house as the others, even if Slytherin was the best. Her cousins said Hufflepuffs were stupid and naïve, almost as bad as Gryffindors.
"That's all right," she said, trying to mimic the way her mother could feign politeness. "Hufflepuffs are hard workers."
"Eleven years old," Healer Tonks repeated softly, his throat bobbing. "W-when is your birthday?"
"Don't answer—"
"July 14th!" Nymphadora said, over her mother. "Only last week!"
"July—"
"We're done ," Andromeda interrupted, yanking Nymphadora up by the arm.
"Ow!"
"We'll go to the apothecary next. Get your supplies and a few potions for your pain—"
"Androme—"
" Mrs. Travers —"
Healer Tonks was up on his feet, his eyes still flicking back between mother and daughter. " Mrs. Travers, I've got potions with me. I am a Healer—"
"We don't need you any longer," Andromeda said curtly. "Thank you for your assistance with my daughter. We really must be going."
Nymphadora was dragged away by her hand, but as she looked back, Healer Tonks was still staring at them, looking as if he'd just seen a boggart.
A little ball of fur purred contently on Nymphadora's pillow. After she'd got her wand (made of cedar wood and dragon heartstring), she'd asked her mother for a cat. To her astonishment, Andromeda Travers was too flustered to argue. She'd been oddly discombobulated after the run-in with the Healer, and Nymphadora had enough sense not to press the matter, though she was positively desperate to know what had really happened.
The kitten, newly dubbed Otto, twitched his little black ears. As she stroked the fur behind his ears, marveling at just how white his whiskers were and how pink his little wet nose was, she wondered if he would enjoy naps this much in the Slytherin common room.
Almost everyone she knew had been a Slytherin; her parents, her brothers, her cousins, and nearly all her extended family on both sides had borne the serpentine crest. Bella and Cissa liked to joke that she was sometimes clumsy enough to be a Hufflepuff, but after meeting the kind Healer, Nymphadora thought it couldn't be so bad to be a Hufflepuff.
"Nymphadora?" Andromeda rapped softly at the door. "May I enter?"
"Come in, Mama!"
Andromeda stepped in, as tense as she'd been all through the afternoon. At supper, she'd talked over Nymphadora, preventing her from discussing the incident at Diagon Alley. It was all polite conversation; Bella's wedding plans, Al's new broom, and Narcissa's interest in the Malfoy boy were their main dinner topics. Nymphadora's new wand was brought up, as was the kitten, but there was no mention of the kind Healer.
She had her suspicions: certain types of witches and wizards weren't welcome in the Travers home. Though, like some secrets held between mother and daughter, Nymphadora learned that those types of witches and wizards were just as talented as purebloods, and no matter what her father, brothers, or family said, blood didn't make a difference.
"Hello, darling," said Andromeda, sitting down to scratch behind Otto's ears. "How does your head feel?"
"Fine?"
Andromeda took Nymphadora's head in her hands, inspecting it yet again.
"That Healer was nice. Are all the poor wizard Healers like that?"
Her mother stilled and swallowed hard. "No . . . like all Healers, some are kinder than others."
Dropping her voice to a whisper, Nymphadora tried pressing for details. "Mama, why didn't you tell father about it? Was the Healer a . . . a you-know-what?"
Andromeda nodded and put her finger up to her lips. Nymphadora felt her eyes grow wide. No wonder her mother hadn't said a word at supper!
"You mustn't say anything," Andromeda said quietly. "Not to anyone. Your father wouldn't hesitate to hurt the Healer."
"But he—"
" Lower your voice ."
Nymphadora winced and forced her voice to stay low. "Why would father hurt him?"
Andromeda's pupils narrowed and widened in the blink of an eye; the faraway expression mirrored what Nymphadora had seen from the friendly Healer. With a wistful tone, Andromeda replied, "It's complicated . . . you'll understand one day. Today, you need to keep this between us."
Frowning, as 'wait until you're older' was never a satisfying response, Nymphadora sighed dramatically.
"I know, I know." Andromeda brushed back a tuft of pink hair. "I hated hearing that when I was your age."
"Then why do you say it?"
"Because . . . because sometimes that's all I can say."
Otto yawned, squeaking a tiny meow as he stretched his little paws.
"Your kitty has the right idea," said Andromeda. "It's time to sleep."
Nymphadora yawned against her will. Tomorrow, when she had enough rest, she'd run her own investigation. Perhaps there was more to this mysterious, Muggleborn Healer than her mother let on.
Andromeda sat in her favorite parlor, with an indulgent cup of dragon pearl jasmine tea on the tea tray next to her, and a charmed letter sitting on her lap.
Ted Tonks had never been stupid, and eleven years' absence showed he had only grown in his magical skills. The letter was charmed to look like a red rose to anyone else, but to her, it was a rose made of parchment, ready to be undone to reveal its contents. Even after she'd unfurled and reread it thrice over, it folded in on itself and stayed perfectly intact.
And, far from being as innocent as a rose, the letter contained the damning accusation that Andromeda was hiding something from him.
If only Nymphadora had had the self-control not to tell him her birthday. If only he hadn't asked a harmless question, meant to bridge the awkward gap between them and distract the eleven year old from the palpable tension. The damage had been done: Ted had his suspicions and Andromeda had to deny everything.
She brought the cup to her lips and took a shaky sip. Eleven long, lonely years took place since the last time she saw him. She'd known she was pregnant the day she left him, and her prayers were answered when she gave birth to their daughter. If she'd had a son, he'd be in Byron Travers's hands.
Instead, she had a little girl, her beloved Nymphadora, curbing the loneliness of the last several years with the bright, charming Metamorphmagus as her constant companion. If she knew her daughter, the eleven year old would be trying to discover a secret.
Andromeda would let her, but it would be a half-secret, planned and executed by dutiful house elves. Nymphadora would solve a puzzle of Andromeda's own making, ending in a photograph of Andromeda with a nameless Muggle girl. The house elves would feed Nymphadora a story about the break in the friendship, at her grandfather and father's insistence.
Nymphadora would never know the Muggle girl was from a magazine, or that Andromeda had seamlessly doctored the photograph to make it appear authentic.
A soft pop announced an elf's arrival.
"Mistress," said the elf, bowing deeply. "Miss Nymphadora is in the morning room."
"Thank you, Tippy. She ought to go to the observatory next."
"Yes, mistress! Tippy is also bringing her mistress a message from master!"
"Oh?"
"Master is needing mistress in his study!"
Andromeda calmly set her teacup down. "Thank you again, Tippy. I'll join him there shortly."
The elf disappeared and Andromeda stood, smoothing down her robes. She tucked Ted's letter into a hidden pocket and began the trek to the other side of the manor. It was an enormous property that had overwhelmed her for months, until she requested a set of her own elves. Tippy was one of them and had served faithfully since those early, lonely days.
Andromeda reached the long corridor that led to her husband's study. Even after all these years, she felt almost childlike when she prepared herself for a meeting with her husband. It was like her days as a girl, growing up and fearing her own father. While not her father, Byron Travers demanded obedience, and Andromeda was expected to submit.
It didn't help that he was almost twenty years her senior, or that he refused to remove any portraits of his late, first wife, or that he openly preferred his sons to Nymphadora.
Checking that all hairs on her head were in their rightful place, Andromeda stood tall and knocked on her husband's study door.
"Enter," his deep voice called.
Andromeda slipped inside and took her usual place across from his desk. When they were first married, she stood like a child, but as she grew in confidence, she took her place and asserted herself as his equal.
Byron's walrus-like mustache twitched. "Why is my daughter pillaging her ancestral home like a common thief?"
"Nymphadora is under the impression I am keeping something from her," Andromeda replied coolly. "I'm indulging her, as she needs a lesson."
"What might that lesson be?"
"After yesterday's incident with that horrid Mudblood, I don't want her getting any wrong ideas. You know how silly little girls are . . . she'll soon learn that Mudbloods are nothing but trouble."
"The child is too soft."
"She's just a girl, Byron," Andromeda replied evenly. "You can't expect her to behave like a boy."
After a moment, Byron nodded and twisted the ends of his mustache. "With any luck, she'll lose that foolishness when she goes to school." He drummed his fingers against his desk and reached for his ornate decanter holding Ogden's finest, a vintage whiskey older than Andromeda herself. He topped off his crystal glass from the matching decanter and took a sip. "You never did get the name of the Mudblood who touched her?"
Andromeda shook her head. "I was preoccupied with getting his filthy hands off her. The nerve of that despicable man, touching our daughter."
Byron chuckled and poured out a generous portion of whiskey for himself. "I always like seeing you like this. Nymphadora might grow up to be a senseless ninny, but you'll steer her right."
Andromeda's hand drifted to Ted's letter, still hidden in her pocket.
"I would never dream of anything else."