Nymphadora scrunched up her nose and thought hard. Her hair came down in loose, chocolate brown waves. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she thought she looked like her mother. They'd be wearing the same patterned robes for the family portrait today, an annual event that tested everyone's patience.
Long gone were the days of her trying to wear her hair any way she liked. Father hated any 'unnatural' colors. She'd learned it was best to match her mother's shade, or sometimes her brothers', but she never liked the dull tones. If she had her way, her hair would always be pink, her favorite color.
Goldie, one of her mother's elves, popped into her bedroom.
"Miss Nymphadora!" Goldie greeted, with an exaggerated bow. "Mistress asks if you is being ready?"
"I think so." Nymphadora shrugged. "Mama's going to fix my robes and hair anyway."
Goldie smiled kindly and clapped her leathery hands. Nymphadora liked her mother's elves best; Tippy and Goldie could always be counted on to be friendly faces. They even shared secrets with her, like the existence of an unknown Muggleborn girl her mother had been friends with. The next task would be finding out who the girl was, but that might have to wait until she was home from Hogwarts for the holidays.
They walked through the mansion, with Nymphadora running her fingertips along the weathered, stone walls. She'd often wished she had a sibling closer to her age. It was always more fun when Sirius and Regulus were around, but sometimes she longed for a sister. Her only witch cousins were Bella and Cissa, and while Cissa was only four years older, it felt like a big gap. When Nymphadora wanted to play with dolls, her cousin wanted to talk about fashion or stupid boys.
Malcolm and Claudius's voices rang out from the library. Nymphadora hesitated before turning the corner. Her older brothers, while never quite cruel, always talked to her as if she were still five years old and covered in mud. She was older now, ready to go to Hogwarts, so she stood up straighter and walked inside to meet them.
"If it isn't little Fifi!" Claudius called, smirking.
Nymphadora grimaced. She hated the familial nickname, which was even worse than her given name.
"Can you call me Dora instead?"
"Dora?" Malcom asked, raising a brow at Claudius. "You don't look like a Dora."
"I don't look like a Fifi! That's what you call a yappy little dog, not . . . not me," she finished lamely.
"A yappy little dog, she says," said Claudius, tilting his head from side to side. "I don't know, Fifi, you could make a very convincing little dog if you tried."
"She wouldn't need to try very hard," chortled Malcolm.
Nymphadora balled her fists at her sides and felt her hair changing against her will, cascading fiery red around her shoulders.
"See? Look at that face!" Claudius laughed. "All she needs is a collar!"
"Stop it!" Nymphadora cried. "It's not funny!"
"Oh, Fifi, you know how it is," Malcolm said dismissively, rolling his eyes just the way their father did. "It's just what brothers do."
"Half-brothers," Claudius hissed quietly, turning to one of the older family portraits, from the year before Nymphadora was born.
The first Mrs. Byron Travers was an austere-looking woman. Nymphadora felt that her eyes were always watching her, and not just because there were many portraits of her in the mansion. Only one of her portraits spoke, the one hanging in the master's study.
"We're still family," Nymphadora muttered, plopping down in a leather chaise while they waited for Byron and Andromeda.
Malcolm and Claudius exchanged glances. Clearing his throat, Malcolm said, "Speaking of which—we hear your cousin Bellatrix is getting married."
Nymphadora shrugged. "I guess so. Mama says I'll be a bridesmaid."
"Shame that Roddy gets her, the lucky bastard. He won't enjoy her half as much as I would," Claudius said, his dark eyes trained on Malcolm. "The younger one's rumored to be promised to Malfoy's son."
"Pity," Malcolm murmured, now turning to Nymphadora. "I suppose that means the younger Lestrange is still on the hunt for a wife. Interested, Fifi?"
Nymphadora shook her head violently. "Mr. Rabastan? He's so—he's so— he's so old! "
"Rab's my age," Claudius said. "Are you calling me old?" He put his hand over his heart and faked being hurt.
"Well, no, but—"
"But what?" Malcolm goaded. "Too old for you? Your mother is almost twenty years younger than our father."
"It's different, Mama was 19—"
"Fifi, you're being stupid." Claudius twirled his wand around his fingers. "You wouldn't marry Rab tomorrow. Give it seven, eight years and we'll owl him to see if he's still available."
An uncomfortable weight settled in Nymphadora's stomach. She had half a mind to find her parents at once and make them promise not to have her marry Mr. Rabastan, who was always drunk and never kind.
"Malcolm! Claudius!" Byron Travers's voice boomed across the library. The boys stood at once and shook their father's hand warmly. Nymphadora stood to the side and waited for the fatherly pat on the head she'd receive.
Andromeda had arrived as well. She was always polite and put together; she kissed the boys' cheeks in greeting and told them it was good to see them, though Nymphadora thought her mother was sometimes lying when she said things like that.
The photographer came in too and began swishing his wand. Two heavy chairs zoomed across the floor and landed next to each other. A drab background came out of nowhere and unfurled itself behind the stately library chairs. It seemed the portrait would be identical to the others; Byron and Andromeda would sit together, side-by-side, Nymphadora would stand next to her mother, and the boys would flank her father.
Byron finally reached Nymphadora. She got her pat on the head and then joined her mother, who was making small talk with Claudius.
". . . yes, counterfeit broomsticks can be quite the challenge," Claudius drawled, "but they can be offloaded at the right price."
Nymphadora recognized the look of unreserved disapproval in her mother's grey eyes. It seemed to go over Claudius's head, and as Nymphadora had been scolded one too many times for interrupting conversations, she allowed her focus to be drawn away by the snatch of a bird song coming from the window.
As she watched the cavorting of the starlings outside, Nymphadora wondered what it was like to be her mother at that moment. Nymphadora hadn't given much thought to her future beyond Hogwarts; she supposed, like other girls in her family, she'd marry young and have children. She didn't mind the idea, but she pondered what it would be like to marry someone who already had children, as her mother had done.
Or, now that she was eleven, Nymphadora imagined what it would be like if her father got a new wife and she had a stepmother. After all, Malcolm and Claudius were about her age when Andromeda married their father.
Without thinking about it, she wrapped her arms around her mother, not feeling sorry when Claudius sneered at her.
"What's wrong, darling?"
"I'm glad you're my mama, that's all."
Andromeda kissed the top of her head and smiled warmly. Claudius harrumphed and snapped his fingers at the photographer.
"When are we getting started, Montague? You've kept us waiting long enough."
"I'm ready for you, Master Travers," the photographer said calmly. "I don't like to interrupt family conversations."
"Good man," Byron said, clapping Montague on the back. "Boys, Andromeda, Nymphadora, come now."
The photographer made them pose for what felt like hours. They never smiled for these boring portraits; all five of them sat or stood, straight, stiff-backed, and severe. Nymphadora hated the way she and her mother looked in past portraits; it always looked like they had the light taken from their eyes.
When the ordeal was over, Byron handed Montague a bulky, velvet sack of coins and announced he would retire to his study with Malcolm and Claudius until supper.
Nymphadora was itching to return to her room to play with Otto. She was about to turn to leave when her mother caught her by the sleeve.
"Stay for another minute, please."
"But Mama—"
"It won't be long, I promise."
Nymphadora sat, frustrated, while her mother said something quietly into the photographer's ear. He nodded and began rearranging the furniture, again, but left a few pieces against the conjured backdrop.
"Is this what you were looking for, Mrs. Travers?"
Andromeda smiled and nodded. She turned to Nymphadora and said, "I wanted to get a portrait of you— just you—before you go off to school next week."
"You do?"
"And I want you to wear your hair any way you like."
"Even pink?" she asked hopefully.
"Especially pink."
Nymphadora grinned when her mother handed her a mirror. She scrunched her eyes, made a few adjustments, and beamed when her short, wavy pink hair looked back at her.
"Beautiful," Andromeda murmured, leading Nymphadora back to the backdrop. There, Andromeda asked her to smile as brightly as she could, which was no trouble at all.
After a few snapshots, Nymphadora got an idea.
"Mama, take some with me!"
"No—"
" Please ? Just us girls!"
Andromeda hesitated just a moment longer, but relented. Montague, the photographer, had a warmer personality when it was just the two of them, and encouraged mother and daughter to hug and smile. It was the most fun Nymphadora ever had when taking formal pictures, and the session ended too soon.
"You'll be very pleased, Mrs. Travers," said Montague, as he put his camera away.
"Send them to me separately." Andromeda gave him another, smaller sack of gold. "If you can develop them quickly, it would be much appreciated as well."
Montague assured her he could expedite the portraits, and for the first time, Nymphadora looked forward to seeing them.
For sixteen days in a row (not that she was counting) Andromeda had received a new letter in the shape of a flower. Though the flower changed, it was from the same sender, bearing the same message.
Ted was persistent and dedicated. She'd loved those traits on him before, and Nymphadora had inherited them, but now they were mocking her, reminding her of all she'd had to give up.
Today's message, sent two days before the start of the new term at Hogwarts, included an additional line.
Wednesday. King's Cross, Platform 9 ¾, 11:05. I need only a minute of your time. I won't bother you again.
Andromeda breathed slowly through her nostrils, willing herself to stay calm. She wouldn't put it past Ted to find her at King's Cross. She had no doubt in her mind that Byron would leave the platform as soon as the train pulled away. It wouldn't be difficult to convince him she was staying behind to catch up with her sister, Walburga, or her brother, Cygnus, who would also be dropping off their children for the new term.
It would be difficult to convince Ted that Nymphadora was not his daughter. It would be painful to lie to him, as she had that freezing, fateful day she'd left him.
It would be almost impossible for her to have the strength to walk away again. She had dreamt of little else but Ted Tonks the last two weeks; it was just like her first year of marriage, but this felt worse than before.
Sometimes, she'd have pleasant dreams, but she'd be in tears when she woke. She would be alone in her bed, which only knew her husband's warmth when he wanted her intimate company. Her night's rest would be shattered by sobs, after having lost the dream of waking up in Ted's arms, her face buried in his warm, safe chest, and his seed between her legs, rather than her husband's.
Other nights, she had nightmares of Ted under the Cruciatus Curse, cast by her father, or her husband, or even her stepsons. He would scream and scream, looking to Andromeda, cycling between pleading with her to kill him and cursing her for ever being in his life.
After those dreams, she'd wake up in a cold sweat and assure herself she'd made the right decision. Ted was safe and alive. It gutted her that she'd had to deny a life with him, and deprive her daughter of a father who would have truly adored her, but she couldn't risk their lives. They were better off, alive and separated, than sharing the grave.
"Mama!" Nymphadora called, disrupting her disquiet. "Mama?"
"I'm in my parlor, darling," Andromeda returned, setting the newest letter aside.
"Look at what I taught Otto, Mama! Look!"
Nymphadora held a feathery toy in one hand and a cat treat in the other. She touched Otto's nose with the feather, and when she lifted it up, he stood on his hind legs, twisted around, and sat back down with a disgruntled meow.
"Good boy!" Nymphadora gave him the crunchy treat and beamed. "What do you think?"
"He's a very clever kitty."
"I'm going to teach him so many tricks. He'll be the smartest cat in Slytherin house!"
Andromeda took a moment to ensure they were alone before speaking again.
"Nymphadora—" She frowned, not knowing how to begin. "Why don't you sit? There's something I'd like to tell you."
"Am I in trouble?"
"Not at all. Sit with me for a few minutes."
Nymphadora sat down with her eyes roaming around the parlor.
"Is something wrong?"
Andromeda shook her head. "There's nothing wrong. I wanted to have a little chat with you, mother to daughter."
"Oh, okay." Nymphadora got quiet for a moment and then snapped her head up, eyes wide. "Is this about more witch things? I've got the stuff in my trunk—I put it in the secret compartment and everything—"
"Why don't I just tell you?" Andromeda said suddenly. "I wanted to talk to you about the houses at Hogwarts."
At this, her daughter's face went blank. "The houses?"
"Yes, the houses . . . I know you've been told by many in the family that Slytherin house is the only house worth being sorted into—"
"Ravenclaw's not so bad."
"Please don't interrupt." Andromeda sighed, exasperated. "I want you to understand that it doesn't matter to me which house you're sorted into. Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw are all the same to me. I will never be disappointed because you're not a Slytherin."
Nymphadora kicked her legs lamely. "Mama, am I stupid?"
"Of course not! What gave you that idea?"
"It's just that everyone says that the best house is Slytherin, the smartest house is Ravenclaw, and everyone too stupid for them go to Gryffindor or Hufflepuff."
"None of that is true. Bright witches and wizards come from every house. It's not the house that makes them talented." Her daughter turned away, frowning.
"Did father get that for you?" She pointed at the letter, which was in the shape of a pink dahlia. "It's pretty."
"Yes," Andromeda replied carefully. "Your father was kind enough to bring this to me."
"Does he always bring you flowers?"
"Sometimes."
Nymphadora shrugged. "Will he be upset if I'm not a Slytherin?"
"If he is, let him be upset. You're not responsible for him, Nymphadora."
"I know," she responded, her bottom lip sticking out. "I don't like it when he's angry."
Andromeda glanced at the dahlia-letter and thought of Ted. She could picture him consoling their daughter, hugging her, and never getting angry over things that didn't matter. He would be proud of her. Of that Andromeda had no doubt.
"Let me take care of your father," Andromeda said, taking her daughter's hand. "Whatever may come, leave it to me. Everything will be all right."
Later, when Nymphadora had left to teach her kitten another trick, Andromeda took out her stationery and a fine, eagle-feather quill.
She would meet Ted Tonks on Wednesday, but it would be in a location and time of her choosing. If she was going to break their hearts once more, she would at the very least ensure they had decent tea.