Dora floated in and out of consciousness in the hours after the visit to St. Mungo's. She dreamt of urchins, winged creatures soaring across the sky, and a warm embrace. When she woke up, hungry and sweaty, she was surprised to find her room was aglow in orange light, casting long shadows across the floor. Her head hurt and her mouth felt dry; she scrunched her eyes and thought of what had happened at St Mungo's. Flashes of spiky protrusions and a man's screams came to mind first; overwhelming sleepiness and hushed, soothing tones came second.
Otto chirped at her from the foot of the bed when he noticed she was awake. He arched his back, yawning, and stretched his legs out, extending his sharp claws before he curled back into a fluffy ball. Dora envied him in that moment, thinking of how much easier her life would be if she was just a cat.
"Hi, Otto," said Dora. She sat up and scratched the space between his ears. "Did you stay with me all this time? You're a good kitty."
A soft pop startled her and Otto. His ears perked up, pointing at the door, and then Dora heard the graceful, but hurried steps of her mother coming down the corridor.
"Nymphadora?" Andromeda rapped on the door, but she was already turning the brass doorknob.
"I'm here, Mama."
Andromeda closed the door and smoothed her gauzy and flowing lilac robes. She waved her wand at the lights, brightening the space, and sat down on the bed to join Dora.
"How do you feel, my darling?" she asked, placing the back of her hand on Dora's forehead. "Does anything hurt?"
" 'M tired," Dora replied, yawning. "Hungry too."
Andromeda called for Tippy. In a minute, a silver tray bearing a plate of chocolate crinkle biscuits and a glass of milk hovered over the bed. The sprightly elf at the foot of the bed balanced the tray perfectly and let it land on Dora's left without spilling any of its contents on the covers.
"Have a bite of this," said Andromeda, lifting a biscuit to Dora's lips. "I had Goldie prepare cheese toasties and soup for later, but I thought we should have a little chat first."
Dora stuffed the whole biscuit into her mouth, grateful for the sustenance, and swallowed three big gulps of milk. Her stomach kept growling—she never thought she'd see the day she'd prefer dinner before dessert.
"About today?" asked Dora, wiping the back of her hand against her mouth.
"It has to do with today." Andromeda conjured a napkin and handed it to her. "I hoped we could talk about something that I think has happened to you, and I want you to be honest with me."
Dora froze halfway to bringing a third biscuit up to her lips. She thought of Goldie—what if the elf had seen what had almost happened that morning?
"Did Goldie say something?" Dora asked. "Nothing—it was nothing."
"What was nothing?" asked Andromeda, arching a severe brow at Dora.
"Never mind . . . must've dreamt it . . ." Dora nibbled on her biscuit but her appetite was waning.
Andromeda set the biscuit aside and took Dora's hands in hers. "You've done nothing wrong . . . and we can discuss Goldie, and whatever it is you dreamt, when we're done here. Anything that happened to you isn't your fault. I know you've been hurt by someone or something, and Nymphadora, my love, I'm going to make it right. You just have to tell me what happened."
Claudius's continued threats echoed in Dora's mind. She could sometimes feel the ghost of his fingers on her wrist or fracturing her fingers; her toes had healed, but the sight of them, bloodied, bruised, and twice their size would be permanently etched into her memory.
His latest threat was given to her just that morning. It was mere seconds before Goldie inadvertently rescued her from being tortured, if the vicious gleam in Claudius's eye was any indication.
No one will believe you, he'd told her, as his hand balled up into a fist and she protested, claiming she'd tell her mother. It was then that Goldie appeared in the nick of time, telling Dora that her mother needed her.
"Darling, whatever it is, whatever happened," Andromeda said gently, "nothing is going to happen to you. I'm going to take care of it. I can't do that if you don't tell me what happened to you. You've been brave, all on your own, but you don't have to do this by yourself anymore. Let your mama help you."
Dora hung her head and brought her fingertips together. She tapped them lightly against each other while thinking of the possibilities: her mother had never been able to rein in the worst of her brothers' behavior. If Byron, their father, got involved . . . Dora shuddered. Claudius would take his revenge on Andromeda.
"I know it's hard, but don't be afraid." Andromeda held her cheek in her hand; the gesture kindled what felt like a long-lost memory. "I won't be upset with you."
"Mama, if I tell you," Dora whispered, "will you promise not to tell Father? I don't want you to get hurt."
Andromeda narrowed her eyes and a dark, ferocious shadow overcame her. Dora trembled, having never seen such hatred in her mother's eyes. "Why do you think your father would try to hurt me? Has he done something to you?"
Dora shook her head violently. "No! Father has never hurt me! It's Claudius!" She clapped her hands over her mouth, horrified she'd divulged the secret so carelessly.
"Claudius," Andromeda repeated curtly. "Your brother , Claudius, has hurt you."
With tears welling up in her eyes, Dora nodded. "I'm sorry, Mama—"
"There's no need for you to apologiseapologize," Andromeda said. She put her arms around Dora and drew her to her chest, smoothing her hair, and let Dora have a short cry. In a soothing tone, she continued, "You didn't do anything wrong. Nymphadora, I know this will be hard, but you need to tell me everything that happened. I promise you, he will never hurt you again."
"What if he hurts—"
Andromeda took Dora's face in her hands. "No one is going to get hurt. Tell your mama everything and it will all go away."
Though she didn't quite believe her mother, Dora had held back the storm of the secret for too long. As the pain and shame now poured out of her, almost against her will, she hoped that her mother wouldn't be swept away by the inevitable flood of Claudius's wrath that would follow.
Andromeda stood alone in front of her mirror and pulled her hair up into a bun. Minutes after Byron had left her bed, she changed into her simplest set of robes and a pair of plain black boots. She wouldn't need to draw attention to her appearance: there was no one to impress tonight.
Her evening routine was somehow the same and different. She took off her left earring, then the right, and the necklace followed. The pieces were laid neatly inside the locking drawer in her vanity. When her watch joined them, she slid it closed, and the precise, staccato click of the mechanism was remarkably similar to that in her mind when she had determined how she would pass the evening.
Tippy had been set on Claudius's trail from the moment that Andromeda left Nymphadora's room. Goldie was charged with ensuring Byron's nighttime tea had a splash of Dreamless Sleep Potion, while Chester proudly stood sentinel unseen outside Nymphadora's bedroom. Goldie had given Andromeda a full report of what she had seen in the library, claiming she hadn't had the opportunity to reveal the details until Andromeda was finally alone in her room. Nymphadora had already divulged Goldie's 'accidental' rescue, and Andromeda was grateful to the elf for sparing her daughter from further trauma.
Andromeda slipped out of her chambers while thinking of each injury Claudius inflicted on Nymphadora. While she moved lightly and calmly as she slipped from her chambers, her footfalls might as well have been drumbeats in her ears, as in her mind each step conjured a new grotesque image of Nymphadora's wounds at her own false brother's hands. She waved her wand over every portrait she passed, ignoring sounds of surprise or indignation as each found their view of the house, and her path, obscured by a veil of red mist. When she stepped out into the dark, moonless night, she had neither doubts nor fears over her decision. Of all the offenses Claudius had committed against her, nothing had come close to what he had done to Nymphadora. Andromeda wouldn't lose a wink of sleep over what she was prepared to do.
She turned on the spot and appeared with a crack at the edge of Knockturn Alley. The Twisted Talon, her destination, was an old pureblood wizards' club that hung onto the barest amount of respectability. It was a favorite among young, wealthy wizards seeking connections, both reputable and otherwise. All manner of lurid tales and sordid stories had been conveyed in whispers in dark corners of galas and banquets, whispers that she had never found titillating the way that others of her station seemed to. Tonight , she mused, warranted an exemption from perpetual avoidance of scandal.
The bulky, ape-like wizard at the entrance gawked at Andromeda when she requested entry.
"I have particular business with a patron," she said, shoving a sack of coins into his hand. "Claudius Travers—bring him out to me or let me in."
"Travers . . . 'nothin 'bout a guest from 'im." The foolish brute ogled her freely, then grunted. "Yer not one of his usuals."
Andromeda's disgust at her husband's lecherous spawn added a layer of frost to the steel in her tone. "As I said, I have business with him. You can let me in or bring him out. I'm not leaving."
The entrance wizard muttered something at the skull behind him. Its eye sockets moved up and down, and then the door clicked open.
"In the back. Private rooms," the wizard grumbled.
Andromeda walked through the hazy club with her hood over her head. It reeked of pipe tobacco, stale alcohol, and a vague musk that wasn't much more pleasant than the smell of the alley outside. Her brisk walk toward the rear afforded dim glimpses of peeling crimson and black wallpaper, a once burgundy carpet gone muddy with years of boot tracks, which were undoubtedly mixed with things she'd rather not think about. Time-worn furniture filled the perimeters; booths made of cracking leather and sticky wooden tables, once-handsome carved chairs and matching tables, and moth-eaten velvet seats were occupied by moving bodies and the remnants of their libations.
Through the smoky air, Andromeda recognized many faces and clucked her tongue disapprovingly. The scantily clad witches were largely unfamiliar, but several of the wizards were regular guests at pureblood society events. For all of Byron's faults, thought Andromeda, he had the decency not to seek pleasures outside their marriage; she smugly admitted that he had no need to, as she had inherited her family's aristocratic, noble features, and she rarely declined Byron when he desired her.
As she walked further inside the club, the walls narrowed to form a corridor. Heavy velvet drapes obscured the many private rooms, which were more like deep alcoves than proper rooms. Andromeda peeked through one of them, finding a gaggle of bodies intertwined with each other, and suppressed a shudder. Her glance, as brief as she could make it while still serving its purpose, revealed glimpses of sweaty, tangled, nude bodies, pulsing together in motion that only bore the vaguest resemblance to humanity. Her gorge threatening to rise spurred her feet toward the next alcove. She hadn't considered the possibility that her stepson could be engaged in such blatant debauchery, or that the club had so few protections in place to obscure the seedier activities of its patrons.
A quick look inside each room revealed varying degrees of immorality: besides orgies, there were sacks of gold being exchanged, glassy-eyed wizards with half-drunk vials in their hands, and what Andromeda hoped wasn't a corpse being defiled. She was only a few rooms away from the end of the corridor when she heard her stepson's voice.
"Come off it, Rowle," said Claudius, scoffing, "no one wants to hear about your bloody bastard."
A surreptitious glance through an opening in the drapes revealed that Claudius sat in a semi-circle with a handful of his school friends, while a few witches took turns dancing on them. They were clothed, with empty glasses littering the tables in front of them, and a couple of the young men smoked pipes. The room was dark and small, but Andromeda wouldn't let the dimensions get in her way. She straightened her posture and swept one of the drapes aside.
"Claudius Horatio Travers," she said loudly, with her eyes adjusting to the dim light.
"Is that—"
"Shit—is that an Auror—"
"Shut up," Claudius snapped, shoving the witch in front of him to the floor. "What are you doing here, Mother ?"
Claudius sneered at her. The dancing witches stopped their movements; like the witch dancing for Claudius, the others were shoved aside, and then the sultry music playing in the background disappeared.
"I need to speak with you," she said calmly, eyeing his friends. "Outside might be best."
Claudius crossed his arms over his chest. "What if I don't want to?"
Andromeda rolled up her sleeves and took her wand out. "Your desires mean nothing to me. I will get what I came for and leave, with or without your consent."
One of the boys wolf-whistled at her. "Travers, you didn't say your ma was such a nice little totty."
"She isn't my real mother," Claudius said coldly, meeting Andromeda's gaze. "She's just my father's wife."
"Even better," replied the boy, licking his lips hungrily. "I won't feel bad when I fuck her later." Claudius and his friends roared with laughter, but Andromeda wasn't flustered.
"Have I been a naughty boy?" Claudius leered, licked his lips, and glanced around at his friends. "Do I need to be punished , dearest stepmother?" His friends guffawed and made vulgar gestures, with one going as far as grabbing a witch and mimicking thrusting into her.
"You do, in fact, need to be punished," she said, ignoring the suggestive motions of the young wizards around her. "I know what you did to Nymphadora."
Claudius paled slightly and his eyes grew round. He quickly recovered his arrogant smirk and stood, his eyes narrowing at her. "What are you going to do about it? Tell Father?"
"I don't need to." Andromeda cleared her throat and twirled her wand around in her hand. "I've come to show you exactly the kind of fate that awaits you should you lay another finger on her."
Claudius's hand twitched toward his wand. "What are you going to do about it? Spank me?"
"No—and I'm going to give you one more chance to take this outside, or your friends will become an audience for what I'm about to do to you."
The oohs of his friends and their return to offensive gestures seemed to spur him on. He stood taller and he brandished his wand, but Andromeda was quicker.
"Imbecile," she hissed, twitching her wand at him. He yelped as the spell took its effect between his legs and stood, turning around for evidence of burning, but the pain being inflicted on his genitals was all in his head. His friends burst into rowdy laughter; they pointed and jeered at him, while he turned purple.
"You fucking bitch!" he snarled, as she released him. He began casting a curse but Andromeda had already cast a wordless Expelliarmus .
"You won't be needing this," she said coolly, tucking his wand into her pocket. "It isn't as if you know how to use it very well, now is it?"
His friends oohed once again and sat back with eager, cruel smirks. A humiliated Claudius lunged at her, but she knocked him back with a simple jinx. He growled and pounced again; Andromeda let him get close enough to let him think he'd hit her, but she flicked her wand at him at the last second, and threw him against the back wall like a ragdoll. He lifted himself off the floor, his bottom lip bleeding, and extended his hands in an attempt to cast a wandless curse.
"Claudius, you and I both know that won't work," Andromeda mocked, watching his face get redder and redder as the faintest sparks emerged from his palms. Two of the boys wolf-whistled at her, but no attention from them would distract her. He grunted loudly and snatched the wand poking out of his friend's cloak.
"Oi, give it back—"
"I need it more than you do," Claudius growled, sending a ribbon of purple sparks towards Andromeda. She lazily flicked them away; it was obvious the borrowed wand had no interest in doing his bidding.
"I almost pity you, Claudius," Andromeda said, tossing his wand back to him. "Even with a wand, you won't be able to win."
" Cruc— "
Andromeda moved aside from his attempt at the Torture Curse. It hit the velvet drape behind her and set it aflame. She put it out and in the next breath, she sent a jet of red light at him. The acrid scent of burning velvet did nothing to stop her from her battle.
"FUCK! " he screamed.
The sizzling jinx hit him in the stomach. He doubled over. A table was knocked aside. Someone yelped and Andromeda blew the table apart. Its fragments, splitting apart with hundreds of tiny cracks , flew at Claudius's face. He clutched his chest as Andromeda restricted his lung capacity and bits of wood smacked against his bare skin. He fell to the floor, coughing, wheezing, and covered in splinters.
Andromeda stood over him and vanished his boots and socks.
His punishment wasn't over.
"What the—" he gasped. His friends leaned forward, craning their necks to see in the hazy light.
Andromeda began breaking his toes, one by one; she would break his fingers next, and with each of Claudius's tries to get himself up, or cast something nasty, she blocked it and moved onto the next digit. She heard the sound of retching behind her, but didn't care if she offended any sensibilities. The snap and crunch of each bone, accompanied by Claudius's wretched whimpers, was still not enough to soothe her rage: Andromeda wouldn't stop until he felt as hurt, insignificant, and humiliated as he'd made Nymphadora feel.
Claudius tried to pick up his wand with broken fingers.
Clang.
He swore when it fell to the floor, slipping right out of his grip.
"I'm–going–to–k-k-" he stuttered, lifting himself up on his palms.
Flump.
His attempt to stand up failed.
Andromeda was reminded of the night she'd found Nymphadora in her bathroom, bloodied and panicked from her own broken toes. She cast a charm on the grimy floor beneath him, making it slippery, and the next time he tried to get up he fell with another crunch .
Andromeda stepped closer, satisfied with the blood gushing from his broken nose, and the pieces of broken teeth sticking to his face with his own blood, sweat, and tears. Not revenge , she thought, but justice.
She crouched down as a hush fell over the room and everyone came closer to see her handiwork. Claudius's limbs twitched and he moaned, with bubbles of blood appearing on his lips. Andromeda unsheathed the knife tied around her thigh and put the blade up to his cheek.
"If you touch her again," whispered Andromeda, her lips mere inches away from his ear, and her knife tracing a jagged line across his cheeks, "I will end your life." His eyes watered, mixing with the fresh blood springing from his cheeks, staining his neck and collar with salty, pink blotches.
"You— wouldn't ." Claudius grunted and rolled to his side, spitting out a mouthful of blood on the floor.
"Your father has no need for a second son," Andromeda snarled, "and I'm certain your mother's corpse could use a companion." The tip of her knife traveled down to his neck, down to the spot where she could guarantee his premature death.
A low, deep whistle came from one of Claudius's friends.
"Psychotic . . . cunt . . ." he wheezed, his palm reaching for his wand, but his movement caused the knife to slice his skin. She tucked the dagger away; it would clean itself in its holster.
Andromeda took Claudius by the front of his robes, taking perverse pleasure in seeing his face broken beyond recognition. "Call me anything you want—Nymphadora is off-limits. Lay a finger on her again . . . I won't be so gentle next time." She let him go, letting him fall to the floor, and stood up, straight and proud.
"It should go without saying that if any of you breathe a word of this to anyone," said Andromeda, meeting the others' wide eyes, "you will suffer a similar fate as my stepson."
She swept out of the room without another word. Her mission was complete.