Nymphadora was relieved beyond words when she walked into the Great Hall. The hours-long journey on the train was exhausting. Narcissa paraded her around, telling anyone who would listen that little Fifi could change any feature of her body, and that left the young Metamorphmagus with the unpleasant tasks of telling everyone to please call her Dora, and then fill the hours by entertaining everyone with her abilities. She'd practically gotten to know everyone in Slytherin house by the time they got to Scotland, and while they all marveled over her abilities, hardly anyone called her Dora.
When she found Sirius by the docks, where the gigantic man called Hagrid was guiding first years into boats, he was no help. He'd made three new friends on the train and they were taking the trip across the lake together. It forced Nymphadora to share a boat with the younger siblings of Narcissa's friends.
But here, in the Great Hall, where candles floated above her and the ceiling looked like the night sky, Nymphadora got a glimpse of her future. She saw four long tables, each decorated with its house's colors, and thought of a life beyond the Slytherin common room.
"Nervous, Fifi?"
Nymphadora jumped, irritated that Sirius had frightened her.
"Shut up, Sirius. And don't call me that stupid name anymore. I'm going by Dora now."
Sirius turned to one of his new friends, a messy haired boy with round glasses and a lopsided grin, but his plans were foiled when the stern Headmistress, Professor McGonagall, tapped him on the shoulder. Nymphadora stuck her tongue out at him and followed the queue of students up to the front of the Great Hall. A tattered old hat on a stool sang a song and the Headmaster made an opening speech, but Nymphadora didn't hear any of it. She was preoccupied with looking at the faces of the students around her; perhaps, somewhere in this sea of people, she would find her own friends.
"AVERY, MATTHIAS!"
Professor McGonagall's sharp call tore Nymphadora away from her study.
Matthias, a boy she'd seen many times at fancy parties, looked rather small as he approached the stool. McGonagall put the Sorting Hat on his head, and in the blink of an eye, it shouted.
"SLYTHERIN!"
The Slytherin table erupted with cheers. The next student was called, a girl called Angela Barrow, but unlike Matthias, the Sorting Hat waited a full minute before sending her off to Ravenclaw.
"BLACK, SIRIUS!"
Nymphadora pushed past the scrawny boy on her left to get a good view of her cousin. She waited with bated breath as the Hat fell over his eyes.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
If she had been bigger, Nymphadora was sure her jaw would've fallen to the floor. There was a smattering of nervous clapping at first from the Gryffindor table, but then McGonagall stared them down, causing the table to burst with applause. Nymphadora turned back to see her cousins, Al and Cissa, gaping at the sight with equal expressions of disbelief.
The sorting continued, despite the baffling turn of events, all while Nymphadora chewed on the inside of her cheek. She was unable to focus on anything but the place where her cousin was sitting, among crimson and gold decorations, thinking it was all wrong.
"TRAVERS, NYMPHADORA!"
"Go," hissed Valeria Yaxley, another familiar face, pushing Nymphadora forward.
All eyes were on her. She walked carefully up the steps to the stool, knowing her penchant for clumsiness, and saw the Great Hall disappear when the Sorting Hat fell over her eyes.
"What have we here?" a little voice said. "Good mind . . . resourceful when you need to be . . . brave as well . . . but where to put you?"
Nymphadora didn't know if she could talk back to the Hat, so she stayed silent, her heart fluttering much too quickly.
"Loyalty and extraordinary tenacity too, no less," the Hat noted, its tone growing more pensive. "Difficult, difficult indeed."
The Great Hall was now a sea of whispers. Nymphadora knew what it meant; though it seemed like no time had passed, she had become a hatstall. Just when she thought that the Hat would shout that she didn't belong at Hogwarts after all, she felt it open its brim.
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
Unlike the Gryffindors, who took their time for Sirius, the Hufflepuffs cheered right away for Nymphadora. She glanced at the Slytherin table, on the opposite side of the Great Hall, finding her cousins muttering at each other. Meanwhile, at the Gryffindor table, Sirius stood on the bench, clapping and whistling, while an older girl yanked him back down.
Nymphadora took an open seat at the Hufflepuff table and drank in her surroundings.
The students around her were grinning brightly, clad in gold, black, and badger paraphernalia. There were a few vaguely familiar faces: an Abbott or two, the Fawley sisters, and a couple Macmillans. Many more faces were new to her, but no one seemed unhappy to be a Hufflepuff. Nymphadora missed the last few sortings, one of which was a girl who would join her in her dormitory, but she clapped loudly, beginning to feel at home at the table with golden students.
The feast began without another delay, earning delighted gasps from students around the Hall when the tables became heavy with mountains of mouth-watering delights.
Nymphadora had just filled her plate when a burly boy whistled over her head.
"First years! First years!" he called, clapping. "Stay where you are! Prefects are coming!"
Six older boys and girls stood up from their spots and came to the end of the table where the first years sat. Two sat on either side of the first years, and two more sat in the middle on either side.
"Welcome to Hufflepuff!" a girl with chestnut hair announced. "I'm Honoria Walsh, your seventh-year prefect. We've got a tradition where all the prefects sit with the first years at the Welcome Feast, help you introduce yourselves, and make sure we know each other's names by heart."
"I'm Beckett Diggory, Head Boy," said a tall boy. "We like to do this with a game. See if you can catch the pattern!"
A girl on the other end of the first years spoke next. "I'm Heather Haywood, fifth-year prefect. I've always wanted to visit Helsinski and I like hippogriffs." She then turned to the boy across from her.
"I'm Cillian O'Neill, sixth-year prefect. I'd like to see Canada and I like chess."
The next prefect was in the middle. "I'm Bernard Carey. I've been to Berlin and I love bratwurst!"
The last prefect was called Louisa Bennett, from Liverpool, and then Honoria introduced herself again.
"Now it's your turn," she said, smiling. "Who wants to go first?"
A honey-haired girl's hand shot up.
"Hi, I'm Flora Diggory," she said breathlessly. "I like Finland and . . . foxes?"
"Close," said Beckett, chuckling at her. "My little sister hasn't been to Finland, but now we know that's where she wants to be." Flora flushed a deep shade of pink.
Each of the first years followed. Nymphadora tried to go next at every turn, but someone beat her to it, so it was unsurprising when she was the last one left and all eyes turned to her.
"Hello," she said, in an uncharacteristically small voice. "My name starts with an N but I don't want to go by that name. Can I use a different one?"
"Your name, your decision," Honoria said at once.
Beaming, Nymphadora took the leap.
"I'm D-Dora Travers. I've been to Dublin and I like daisies."
"Nice to meet you Dora," called several voices, just like they had with the others.
"Now we remember and repeat!" Beckett called. He pointed to himself, saying, "Becket Diggory, Belgium, butterbeer!"
Every prefect followed suit. Dora was roaring with laughter by the time they finished introducing themselves, as they tripped up on names, places, and objects. Everyone called her Dora without question, and her face hurt from smiling when the Welcome Feast was drawn to a close.
Dora gave no further glances towards the Slytherin table or her cousins. She was at Hogwarts, and she was thrilled she was a Hufflepuff.
The second night at Hogwarts proved as joyful as the first. Dora spent the day in classes, delighted to be getting to know her classmates and a castle that was truly magical. She begrudgingly admitted her mother was right about the school: it would have been impossible to describe it without experiencing it for herself.
She was at dinner, chatting animatedly with her new friends over the parts of the castle they'd try to explore on Saturday. Suddenly, her friendly, always smiling Head of House, Professor Sprout, came by to see the students during their meal.
"Good evening, first years!" she greeted cheerfully. "I hope you've all had a marvelous first day at Hogwarts. I've got a few messages to pass on. Mr. Booth, your toad was found in the dungeons and returned to your dormitory. Miss Travers, please see me after dinner. That will be all!"
Dora lost her appetite as soon as she heard Sprout's message. Her friends began theorizing as to why she might need to see her Head of House, but Dora felt sick: what if the last two days had been a dream?
It was when Professor McGonagall began walking toward the Hufflepuff table with a worried Sirius at her side that Dora began panicking.
"Did something happen in our family?" Dora asked loudly, seeing the two Heads of House next to each other, not caring that half of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw could hear her.
"Nothing to worry yourself over, Miss Travers," said Sprout. "Come along with me. You and your cousin are going to see the Headmaster for a few minutes."
Sirius blanched. Dora felt many pairs of eyes on her, and while she wanted to die of embarrassment, the professors weren't offering that mercy.
Instead, McGonagall and Sprout led them to a faraway part in the castle, where they found a gargoyle statue.
"Before we go in," said Sprout, "neither of you has done anything wrong. Sometimes, parents are confused when their children are sorted outside of their expected houses. In these particular cases, we like to reassure you that you are where you belong."
"Is that true?" Sirius asked.
"It is, Mr. Black," McGonagall replied briskly. "We'll be going up now." She murmured " ice mice " at the statue, and it moved aside to reveal a set of spiral steps.
Sirius grinned at Dora, who was equally mystified by the hidden staircase, and they followed their Heads of Houses up to the Headmaster's office. She looked forward to meeting the Headmaster, all for being sorted as a Hufflepuff, but her temporary happiness was extinguished when she saw that the Headmaster was not alone.
Dora felt as small as a flobberworm when she saw her parents, aunt, and uncle arranged in a half-circle, with everyone but her mother and Professor Dumbledore wearing a disapproving scowl.
"EXPLAIN YOURSELF!" Walburga thundered at Sirius. "GRYFFINDOR? SHAME ON YOU!"
"Nymphadora," said Byron, his tone clipped and surly. "Why did that blasted Hat make you a Hufflepuff?"
"Mrs. Black, Mr. Travers," a serene voice called. Dora looked past the cool mask of fury her father wore to see the Headmaster in person. "May I remind you that this office is for civil discourse?"
Walburga sat down, fuming, while Orion flashed Dumbledore a disgusted look. Dora turned to her mother, the friendliest face there, and hurried into her arms.
"Ought to have sent her to a school," Byron muttered at her. "Soft, spoiled child." Andromeda held Dora tighter and kissed the top of her head.
"We brought your children here to remind you that no matter what colors they wear or house they belong to," Dumbledore continued, his bright, blue eyes twinkling merrily, "they are still your children. Mr. Black and Miss Travers have not changed from one day to the next. They will spend the next seven years receiving an education alongside their peers, and when their schooling is complete, they will still be your children. No house, no colors, and no behaviors will ever change this."
Dora was still in her mother's embrace. She glanced at her father, who stared coldly ahead, and wished she'd begged the Hat to put her in Slytherin. Sirius, on the other hand, looked positively delighted that he'd earned his parents' disapproval.
"As I previously stated, we do not re-sort at Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on. "The sorting on the first day of the term is final. Mr. and Mrs. Black, Mr. and Mrs. Travers, I invited you here so you can look at your children again and see that they are no different than yesterday. Even if they have been sorted into houses which you disapprove of, they are the same children you've always known and loved."
Dora's admiration for the Headmaster increased exponentially. She half-wished she had been sorted as a Gryffindor, like him.
"Provide me the surnames of the boys in his dormitory," demanded Orion, turning to McGonagall.
"Mr. Black, we do not divulge students' personal information," McGonagall replied sternly.
"I'll tell him!" Sirius offered. "James Potter, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and—" He'd counted off the students on his fingers and frowned. "And Dave . . . Price."
Walburga stiffened, her lip curling in disgust. "We shall discuss this in a letter, Sirius."
Sirius paled before his mother but stood tall; Dora knew that look all too well. Try as he might, he wouldn't get away with upsetting Auntie Burgie.
"Nymphadora?" Byron arched a brow and set his hands on his belly. "Care to inform us as your cousin did?"
"You don't have to answer—" began Professor Sprout, but Dora shook her head.
"I was going to write it in a letter anyway," she said, in a small voice. "Erm, there's Amelia Bones, Flora Diggory, Iris Macmillan, and Maisie . . . starts with U or W? Maisie's very Scottish." She held her breath, seeing her father's brow knit together. She wouldn't reveal her new Muggleborn friend's blood status, so she pleaded with her eyes at her mother to help.
"I've heard of the family," Andromeda murmured into Byron's ear, nodding at Dora. He grunted and sat back in his chair. Relieved, Dora leaned into Andromeda.
"I believe there is nothing more to be said," Dumbledore concluded. "It is nearing curfew. Mr. Black and Miss Travers ought to return to their dormitories."
Orion, Walburga, and Byron looked mutinous as they stood and made their cold goodbyes to everyone. Only Andromeda was calm, giving Dora an encouraging hug and Sirius a pat on the shoulder.
Dora and Sirius were left with their Heads of House and the Headmaster.
"Professors, if you could return your students to their dormitories?" Dumbledore gestured to the door back to the rest of the castle. "And welcome to Hogwarts, Mr. Black, Miss Travers."
Sirius was grinning from ear to ear the whole way back to the big staircase. He and McGonagall went up, while Dora and Sprout took a left to get back to the Hufflepuff dormitory.
"Your mother was one of my brightest students, Miss Travers," said Sprout, as they walked through the Great Hall. "She had a keen eye for plants."
"Mama's conservatory is one of her favorite places to be. It's big. She likes to grow herbs and vegetables for our kitchens."
"I would have expected no less."
Sprout smiled kindly and led Dora to the corridor where the barrels were. Dora was nervous when tapping her wand in the rhythm necessary to get inside, but it worked for her on the first try.
"There you are, Miss Travers. Good night."
"Good night, Professor Sprout." Dora smiled back at her professor. The cozy, plant-filled common room waiting for her already felt like home, and when she ran into her dormitory to tell her friends about what happened, she got nothing but support and happy cheers.
Dora Travers was a Hufflepuff, and this was where she belonged.
Mr. and Mrs. Travers went home in silence following the meeting with the Headmaster. When they stepped through the Floo, their elves took their traveling cloaks and offered evening tea, but the refreshments were refused. Byron was red-faced and fuming. Andromeda concealed her anxiety with a perfected façade of indifference. They made their way through the mansion without a word between them, stopping only for a moment when they reached the sitting room that sat between their bedrooms.
Byron opened the doors, allowing Andromeda through, and followed her inside.
When the doors to their shared sitting room had closed with a loud thump, Andromeda clasped her hands and moved to stand by the roaring fireplace. She watched Byron silently unclasp his robes and lay them across the back of one of the oversized wingchairs. He paced in a short line and stopped when he reached the window that overlooked the east gardens.
"Wait for me in your chambers, Andromeda. I shouldn't be more than ten minutes."
"Yes, Byron."
Andromeda slipped through the door to her bedroom and started undressing in preparation for her husband's visit. It was a routine she had perfected over the years. She unpinned her hair and let it fall around her shoulders. Byron had never expressed an opinion on her style, but when she looked in the mirror and saw the chocolatey waves cascading down, she felt younger, as if her future was not yet fixed.
She disrobed next, removing each article of clothing unhurriedly. She watched her reflection as, piece by piece, her body was revealed. It had been years since she felt self-conscious over her appearance, but after her conversation with Ted, she felt as if she were on the verge of losing control of everything she held dear.
It was made worse when he mentioned his engagement; it was well and truly over between them, and the knowledge of Ted's mystery woman led Andromeda to wonder what she was like. Was she prettier than Andromeda? Younger? Sweeter? Did she have golden hair, like the sun, or was her hair as dark as night? Did he hold her, touch her, and love her the way he'd once done for Andromeda?
Ted may have held her while she cried, but she knew now that it wasn't with the tenderness that she once enjoyed. While Andromeda had grown a touch rounder from bearing a child and coming into her womanhood, Ted had grown more rugged and found someone who could give him the lifetime of happiness he deserved.
It couldn't matter to her. Andromeda wrapped a sheer, silk nightgown around her body and waited for Byron's arrival. She held her chin in her hand and rested her elbow on her vanity, trying to reassure herself that she was still beautiful.
The door to her right clicked open. Byron arrived in his dressing gown, as always, and gazed at her for a moment. He took a seat near her bedroom's fireplace, a sign he wanted to talk, and beckoned for her to join him. Their chairs were close enough that she could stretch her hand out and offer it to him. A weak-willed need for comfort bubbled within her chest. She drew her hand from her side, palm up, and laid it close to her husband's.
"Please?" she asked quietly, afraid she would lose her composure if he refused.
Byron must have taken pity on her, as he intertwined his fingers with hers and brought her knuckles up to his lips. The fire crackled between them for several seconds. Andromeda kept silent while Byron seemed to compose his thoughts.
"You were very calm during the meeting, Andromeda," he said at last. "I expected more from you."
"Nymphadora feels guilty enough," she replied. "She's a sensitive child."
"Senseless is a better word for that girl." Byron shook his head disdainfully. "It's embarrassing to have a Hufflepuff for a child."
"She's not a son or an heir, Byron. If anyone ought to be mortified, it's my sister and her husband."
Byron snorted. "Orion's going to be the laughingstock of the club. A Black scion in Gryffindor . . . what is the world coming to?"
"Perhaps the Sorting Hat has lost its touch," Andromeda suggested lightly.
"Perhaps." Byron stretched his neck from side to side and released a slow breath. "Her classmates won't be entirely useless. The Boneses are well connected at the Ministry. The Diggorys aren't as pure as others, but they've kept their bloodline cleaner than most. The Macmillans are a soft family, but reliably pureblood." He turned to look at Andromeda. "You knew of the last family?"
"I believe so," she lied. "It's likely Nymphadora's classmate is an Urquhart. They are an ancient, Scottish family. Their son was a Ravenclaw in my year."
"Blood status?"
"Not unlike the Diggorys, if I'm not mistaken."
Byron nodded at her, mollified by the explanation. "At best, they're all essentially purebloods."
"At worst, a few half-bloods," Andromeda added.
"In her dormitory," he corrected. "Hufflepuff won't be anywhere as pure as Slytherin. She'll have Mudbloods in her common room."
"And her classes, but that's not to say she will befriend the wrong sort."
A log crackled and fell out of the hearth and was swept back to the fire with Byron's wordless charm.
"Write her in the morning," Byron commanded. "Steer Nymphadora toward the Macmillan girl. That would be a beneficial connection. I believe they've got a son in his fourth or fifth year."
Andromeda swallowed her disgust, but agreed to writing the letter. Quiet fell over them again, until Byron cleared his throat.
"Come now, Andromeda," he said, getting to his feet.
"Byron," she addressed, before he could remove his dressing gown. He arched a brow at her, confused by the delay. "May I ask you something?"
"Naturally. You are my wife, after all."
Andromeda bit her lower lip, knowing she was cracking under the pressure.
"Do you think I'm beautiful?"
Byron's eyes widened almost comically. He gaped at her for a few moments, apparently struggling to form a coherent thought.
"Here I thought you were calm over this whole affair," he said slowly. "I assure you, I am not dissatisfied with you. Nymphadora's sorting was a . . . disappointment . . . but you have proven to be a sensible mother to her."
"Thank you, but . . ." Andromeda felt tiny and insignificant under his gaze. "Perhaps I need my husband to tell me he is pleased with my appearance."
"Ah, yes . . . you are still just a woman." Byron simpered and placed his hands on her hips. "Mrs. Travers, I am most satisfied with your appearance. You have all the qualities of an exemplary pureblood witch." His hands traveled up to her breasts, where his thumbs came to fondle her nipples, making them erect. "Come to bed with me," he whispered. "I will give you what you need."
Andromeda followed her husband to bed, and when he had his fill of her, he swept out of the room with a satisfied smirk.
When his footsteps were no longer discernible, she placed a Silencing Charm on the door and cried herself to sleep.