And I to sigh for her, to watch for her,
To pray for her! Go to. It is a plague
That Cupid will impose for my neglect
Of his almighty dreadful little might.
Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, groan.
Some men must love my lady, and some Joan.
Polite applause followed Berowne's speech. Andromeda blinked, adjusting her vision as the theater lights came on for the play's intermission. Two elves began bustling around the family box that had belonged to the Blacks for hundreds of years. As they refilled wine glasses, presented the witches with fresh pastries, and cast their magic to clean, Andromeda turned to her guests, Eunice and Giselle.
Walburga had already caught their attention. "Our family have had a private box here from Shakespeare's earliest days," she said. "Our ancestors helped burn the old theater down to ward away the Muggles."
"You see," said Irma, "the Muggles wanted to ruin the original structure. Barbaric, destroying Shakespeare's old theater to put up those awful buildings for their poor. After the Statute of Secrecy was passed, the Muggles forgot Shakespeare was a wizard. You know he was a Sayre by birth, and we've got good reason to believe he was distantly related to the 's a shame the Sayres aren't pure anymore, but they became Americans. What else could we expect from those revolutionaries?"
Irma snorted and took a long sip of her wine. Andromeda palmed her forehead and groaned to herself; the idea to bring her prospective daughter-in-law and her mother to the play was well-intentioned, until all the Black family witches decided to make it an event about their family.
As if she needed a reminder that her family were the reason why she couldn't have Ted. As if she needed to remember that her family wouldn't hesitate to reject her for even thinking of Ted. As if she could forget that they were the reason she bore the surname Travers, while Millie would get to be a Tonks. (The Blacks might congratulate Andromeda on killing Millie the Muggle, however, which continued to be a not unwelcome proposal after the run-in at the garden.)
"Legend has it that it was the first Phineas Black who thought of going underground with a new theater," interjected Cassiopeia, her silver brow rising and falling in her excitement to share the tale. "He convinced the Muggles to burn down the old site. The oldest pureblood families rebuilt the theater underground to enjoy the Bard's work as it was meant to be heard."
"With family boxes built for the most dedicated among us," said Walburga, with her haughtiest grin.
"Do the Traverses have their own box?" asked Giselle, now turning to Andromeda.
"We do. It's not as large as this one–"
"The Blacks have the grandest one of all, you know–" Irma interrupted.
"My husband's family's box is one level above, and on the east side of the theater," Andromeda said curtly, irritated at her family's behavior. "It seats six. We rarely fill it, as my sons never liked Shakespeare, but it is available when we desire it. When I come with Byron, we sit in the other box, but Nymphadora usually joins me here for comedies. Eunice will be welcome to join us whenever we come, either for comedies or tragedies."
"Nymphadora enjoys the theater?" asked Giselle, with a measure of disdain slipping off her tongue.
"Why wouldn't she enjoy it?" Walburga demanded. "It's a Black family tradition to educate our children with the finest sources."
"Nymphadora does prefer comedies to tragedies, admittedly," said Andromeda, in an attempt to diffuse the tension, "but it's true that our children are well-read by the time they start at Hogwarts. It was rather charming to see Nymphadora and her cousins play-act Titus Andronicus for us the Christmas before she and Sirius started at Hogwarts. It was cleverly done."
Andromeda smiled at the memory of Nymphadora asking her to make costumes for the young cousins' Christmas play. She wished she had taken more photographs, as her daughter's skillful morphing to play various characters had been a sight to behold.
"My Sirius played Titus," Walburga said proudly. "You see, our noble blood—"
The lights dimmed as Walburga waxed poetic over her eldest son's many qualities. Andromeda realized how foolish it had been to propose a Black witches' outing so close to Bellatrix's wedding. It was meant to be a last-minute, relaxing occasion before the stress of the wedding. The plan backfired when the Black family witches opened their mouths, and turned miserable when Andromeda's mind began wandering during the performance, away from the costumes, sets, and actors' lines. If her mind was going to wander, Andromeda forced herself to think of someone she truly loved.
Nymphadora would have enjoyed Love's Labor's Lost, had it been any other week. Andromeda arranged for her daughter to spend most of the day in Scotland with the Macmillans, to give her a reprieve from the intensity of family gatherings over her Easter holidays. It also gave Andromeda time to dwell on the privileges she held as a member of her family, shortly before she met with Ted for what would be a taxing meeting over Andromeda's 'busyness,' and the apparent impossibility of meeting with him and Nymphadora. His curt letter to her had arrived at Travers Court mere hours after they had seen each other, demanding an explanation for her supposed lies, and she returned his letter with a short one of her own with instructions for a meeting the following day.
As Andromeda pondered what she would tell him, she ran her fingers along the velvety seat she occupied, her favorite place since childhood. She gazed at the witches around her, generations of Blacks by birth or marriage, who had sacrificed pieces of themselves to keep the family strong and whole. She had done her part to fall in line with the others, but at a heavy price. The ostentatious ring on her left hand felt like a weighty chain; the modest, but pretty ring on Millie's hand might have once been Andromeda's. She would have been lighter and freer.
Andromeda would tell Ted a softer version of the truth. It was simply too hard to find time to meet him with Nymphadora over the Easter holidays. It was too much to ask of her to continue fabricating chance encounters between them. She would offer him a different solution, one that wasn't yet decided, but she wouldn't let him disagree.
Andromeda was a Travers by name only, but she was a Black at heart, and Blacks always got their way.
A disgruntled sigh was all Andromeda was given as a greeting by Ted upon her arrival at the tea house in Yorkshire. She was in no mood to entertain his childish antics, much less be alone with the man who wanted nothing to do with her, except for her role as his child's mother and gatekeeper.
(It was the barest consolation to Andromeda that she still held the power over him in this aspect of her life.)
"Where is she?" Ted said abruptly, his eyes darting beyond her. "Where is my daughter?"
"In Scotland," Andromeda replied coolly. "Did you really think I would bring her here to meet with you?"
"I made it clear I wanted to see my daughter, not–"
Not you.
Ted didn't need to finish his sentence for Andromeda to know what he wanted to say, and how little she meant to him. It wasn't surprising to know he felt this way, but it did take her aback by how much it hurt to have it confirmed. He closed his eyes and pursed his lips, pressing them into a thin line.
"Why isn't she here?" he asked.
Andromeda felt her chin wobble against her will. She pressed her shoulders back and stood tall, unwilling to let Ted win. "Nymphadora is with one of her friends. She hasn't had much time for herself, or for her personal enjoyment, in quite some time. This is a hectic week for my family, and as her mother, I thought it would be best for her to have a relaxing day ahead of her cousin's wedding weekend."
"As her mother," Ted repeated. "As her mother, you didn't think she'd benefit from seeing her father? Not even for a few minutes?"
"You're just another adult to her–"
"I don't want to be just another adult–"
"You can't be anything else, Tonks," Andromeda snarled. "Not yet."
"Don't forget what I'm capable of, Travers," Ted growled.
Andromeda didn't flinch. This time, Ted wouldn't get away with his threats. She closed her eyes and shook her head at him, forcing a polite, pitying smile to grace her features. Ted's wide-eyed confusion brought her back to power.
"You have no other children, do you?"
"Of course not–"
"Then you wouldn't know," Andromeda said, pausing to wiggle her eyebrows at him, "that sometimes, mothers and fathers can't have their way. Sometimes, they need to put their children first."
Ted narrowed his eyes at her. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Do you have any idea how selfish you are, Ted Tonks? To keep demanding my time–Nymphadora's time–with no regard for our lives or safety? Don't you realize that your quest for fatherhood is delusional at best, and lethal at worst?"
"I'm selfish," he said, strained. "I'm selfish? Do you think this is what I want, Andromeda? Do you think I wanted to become a father like this? To have to grovel for time with my daughter, when your son of a bitch husband barely acknowledges her existence?"
Ted stepped closer to her, his body shaking with fury as it had when they'd met in September. Andromeda kept her body still and her head high. She wouldn't break this time.
"You don't think I realize how dangerous this is? That I wouldn't know how little your family thinks of me? I'm a Mudblood, remember?"
"Don't say that–"
"Does it upset you, sweetheart?" Ted sneered. "Does it hurt when I call myself that? Because I don't give a shit what you or your family call me. None of this is me 'having my way,' as you so kindly put it. Is it so selfish to want to get to know the child whose existence you hid from me for eleven years? Was it greedy of me to have changed my will so she inherits everything I own? Am I so egoistic that I'm willing to risk everything I've accomplished for the child I always wanted?"
"A-always w-w-wanted?" Andromeda stuttered, feeling her walls coming precariously close to breaking down. Ted gripped the back of a chair, appearing to steady himself, and shook his head.
"You knew I wanted children, Andromeda. I never hid that from you."
Andromeda balled her fists at her sides. She breathed through her nose, exhaling hard with each breath, and reminded herself that she was still in control. No one–not even Ted Tonks–would be permitted to endanger her daughter's life.
"I actually came with a new proposal in mind," she said, regaining her strength when she saw the storm calming in Ted's eyes. "I have what I believe will be a flawless, and entirely safe method guaranteed to allow you to see Nymphadora at least twice a year. But it seems you want to fight, Tonks."
Ted let go of the chair and clasped his hands behind his back. "I see what you're doing . . . I'm not a fool. Unless your little plan is set in stone, it's nothing but empty promises to me."
"You doubt me?" Andromeda challenged. "You must have forgotten what I'm capable of."
Ted's jaw clenched. A million things were unsaid on his face, secrets Andromeda once knew, but were now lost to the past.
"I'll give you ten minutes," Ted grunted. "Not one more."
Andromeda steadied herself. She was back where she belonged.
The Scottish Highlands surrounding Macmillan Hall stretched far into the horizon. The Macmillans' ancestral home sat in a valley; on one side, they enjoyed their own little forest. On the other side, a mountainous range jutted out. It was covered in verdant grasses, and the longer Dora stared, the more she fell in love with what she saw.
"You get to live here?" she finally said, turning to Iris, in awe of the untamed landscape.
"You haven't even seen the best part!" Iris lifted a picnic basket, which the Macmillan elf had packed for them, and began marching confidently toward the forest, shouting, "C'mon!"
Dora dashed after Iris and into the trees. As it got darker and they went deeper within, Iris slowed down and put her finger on her lips. They stopped and hid behind a huge tree trunk; from there, Iris poked her head out and smiled.
"Don't make any sudden movements," Iris whispered. "Give them a minute and you'll see."
"Them?"
Iris took a tentative step and beckoned for Dora to follow. Less than fifty feet ahead, there was a small herd of wild unicorns grazing on berry bushes.
"Wow," Dora breathed, having never been so close to a herd like this.
"If we're lucky," Iris continued, her voice still at a whisper, "they'll let us pet them."
"What do we do?"
Iris took Dora's hand. They came out of the shadows and into the sunny clearing, where Iris clicked her tongue softly. A unicorn neighed, spurring the others to neigh in fear at the arrival of the intruders, but Iris held Dora in place, waiting for the unicorns to realize the girls weren't threats.
Clicking her tongue again, Iris dug into the picnic basket and pulled out an apple. Dora gazed at the herd and noticed a set of slimmer legs. Her heart skipped a beat; unicorn foals were notoriously rare to find outside of menageries or Magizoologists' collections.
A single unicorn, the herd leader by the look of it, began trotting in their direction. Dora held her breath as Iris held out the apple for it. The unicorn sniffed the apple from a few feet away, and Iris tossed it in the air. The unicorn—a stallion—leapt and caught the apple, landing back on the grass with a satisfied whinny. Iris glanced at Dora, grinned, and set down the picnic basket.
"Sunny packed us loads of apples," Iris said, lifting the wicker flap on the basket. Dora bent down to grab a shiny green apple.
"ACK!"
Dora shuddered when she felt a hot, slimy sensation at the back of her neck. She looked up, startled to find a unicorn eyeing the basket hungrily, while sticking its tongue out in the air to try to lick her again.
"One at a time," she said, snorting when the unicorn whinnied in her face. It licked her cheek and then took the apple from her hand.
"Don't worry," said Iris, giggling when a unicorn licked her neck. "There's a river nearby. We can wash up there before we eat."
The basket the Macmillan elf packed had been charmed with an Undetectable Extension Charm and it seemed to never run out of apples. Dora counted sixteen unicorns and three foals, and they were all fed to their heart's content. Her arms were sore from digging into the basket, and her hands and face were sticky with grateful unicorns' licks, but she felt at peace here, quietly feeding wild unicorns in the forest clearing.
"They're finally full?" Dora asked, when a few of the unicorns began grazing on the grass.
"Or they're ready for something new," Iris answered. "Let's go to the river. Mum said the wildflowers have started to bloom!"
The girls reentered the forest, walking in the opposite direction from where they had come, and to Dora's surprise, the unicorns joined them, flanking the girls on either side as they journeyed into the woods. Two enormous stallions stayed closest to them, and when the woods started clearing again, they found themselves along the bank of a babbling brook.
Birds chirped overhead and rabbits dashed along the brook's edge. The unicorns took their spots along the water and began lapping, whinnying and braying as they drank.
Iris pulled out two clean cloths from the basket and handed one to Dora. They dipped them in the cool water and washed themselves off. The sun shining overhead kept them warm and its brilliant light reflected off the unicorns' manes and tails, making them iridescent. It was the most peaceful and beautiful place Dora had ever been and she couldn't wait to tell her mother about it.
"I wish I lived here," admitted Dora, when she and Iris felt clean enough to eat. They spread a picnic blanket on the ground near the brook, and the unicorns were still around them, hovering around as if they were among their own foals.
"Maybe you will," Iris said, smiling and taking bacon sandwiches from the picnic basket. "My mum says your parents want you to marry my brother."
Dora scrunched up her nose. "Mama says I'll only marry him if I'm in love—no offense."
"But then we could be sisters!"
Though Dora couldn't picture herself being married to Carlisle Macmillan, she thought of endless days in the Scottish woods, surrounded by woodland creatures and unicorns.
"Maybe," Dora conceded, "but I wish we were real sisters so I could live here already."
"You wouldn't miss your family?" Iris wiped her hands on the blanket.
Andromeda's face popped up in Dora's mind. "I'd miss my mama. She's the best."
"I wouldn't trade my mum for anything," Iris said seriously.
"Neither would I," murmured Dora, grabbing a pumpkin pasty from the basket.
"Want to pick flowers after we eat?" Iris pointed to the other side of the brook, where patches of wildflowers were growing. "Mum loves the pansies."
Dora grinned. She and Iris finished up their lunch and found a shallower part of the brook to wade through. The unicorns kept a watchful eye on them, giving Dora an idea.
"Do you think they like flowers?" she asked Iris.
"The unicorns?" Iris shrugged. "We could pick some and see?"
Dora plucked several daisies and found one of the mares. She tucked a daisy into her mane, like the gardener had at the flower show the previous day, and the unicorn neighed, seemingly in approval. She wished she was old enough to have a Black family knife, to cut thorns away from the wild roses nearby. Though roses were pretty, there were other flowers, and soon Dora and Iris were picking every bloom they could find to adorn the unicorns' manes with natural beauty.
As Dora braided daisies into a stallion's mane, she heard whooshing from above. Two yellow blurs passed above them and Iris waved.
"That's just Dad and Carlisle," she explained, threading yellow pansies into a mare's mane. "I told them we'd be here so they're checking up on us."
Dora swallowed a pang of jealousy. Neither her father nor her brothers would take the time to check on her; house elves would be sent in their place before any of them went out of their way to find her.
"Iris, do you ever wish your life was different?"
"Huh?" Iris bent down to catch a falling pansy. "Different how?"
"I don't know . . . do you wish you could live somewhere else, or you had a different family, or . . ." She petted the mare, who shifted to allow Dora to pet her colt.
"I've always wanted to live in a castle like Hogwarts," replied Iris. "Macmillan Hall is nice but no one told me it was just like the Hufflepuff common room. Castles are prettier."
Dora sighed and shrugged. Travers Court was like a castle on the inside and it never felt as warm as Hogwarts. She'd rather live in the Hufflepuff common room for the rest of her days; maybe she would be lucky enough to marry a nice boy with a house like the Macmillans', rather than any of the homes the Blacks or Traverses had. It was almost all Dora could think about while threading flowers into the unicorns' manes, wishing she had secret places like this to run to whenever she wanted.
With the unicorns occupying their attention, the girls said little else until the last of the unicorns was receiving her flowers. Looping heather in with the daisies, Dora decorated the last mare and stepped back from her work. The unicorn neighed playfully and nuzzled Dora's cheek. There were plenty of flowers left for the girls to craft with, giving Dora another idea.
"What if we made flower crowns for ourselves?" Dora suggested. "Mama taught me how!"
Iris happily agreed and the rest of the afternoon was spent in braiding flowers together. They had just finished their crowns when Mr. Macmillan flew overhead again and asked the girls to come back to the house, as Andromeda had arrived and it was time to go.
They made their goodbyes to the unicorns, who traveled with them back to Macmillan Hall. The unicorns remained in the cover of darkness of the forest, letting the girls forge ahead to the valley where they had begun, watching over them like sentinels until they reached their parents.
"Mama, look!" Dora shouted, once she was within earshot of her mother. She pointed to her head and Andromeda smiled. She murmured a charm on the crown to keep it steady and took Dora's cheek in her hand.
"Beautiful, just like you."
Andromeda's eyes were pink and watery, but Dora couldn't say anything while Mrs. Macmillan fussed over the girls' appearance. Several charms later (and a fresh set of robes, at Mrs. Macmillan's insistence), Dora made her goodbyes and joined her mother on the brisk walk back to the Macmillans' Apparition point.
"Did you enjoy yourself today, Nymphadora?"
Dora nodded at once and launched into an in-depth description of all the wonders of Macmillan Hall and its land.
". . . and they even let us pet their foals! Mama, they're so cute and wobbly!"
Andromeda smiled at her but it didn't look like a real smile. Her eyes were still watery; Dora grew worried that her mother had been crying.
"Are you okay, Mama?" Dora ventured, once they stopped at the Apparition point. "Did you like the play? Did Eunice like it too?"
"I'm very well, darling, and the play was lovely," Andromeda replied, with the barest trace of shakiness in her voice. "I'm very tired, with all the events for your cousin's wedding. I'll take some Pepper-Up Potion when we get home."
Dora didn't quite believe her mother. But, as they had to Apparate, she decided not to ask any more questions. On the off chance her mother was upset enough that they'd get Splinched on the way home, Dora didn't want to add to her pain.