The soothing scent of fresh earth tickled Andromeda's nostrils. She had her gloved hands inside a pot of soil, carefully rearranging new umbrella flower bulbs to maximize their chances of cross-breeding. Beautiful violet blooms had arrived last spring; with any luck, magenta blossoms would join the rainbow of gigantic umbrella flowers come Eastertime. It was one of Nymphadora's favorite sights in the greenhouse; the vibrant kaleidoscope never failed to bring her joy. This year, perhaps they would bring the prettiest blooms to St. Aelred's to adorn the altar for Easter Sunday.
Andromeda hummed a quiet Salve Regina under her breath as she worked. The knife she usually kept on her person was as effective in slicing human skin as it was in trimming leaves, and the blade never rusted or became dull. With each bulb she unearthed for repotting, she trimmed excess stems and placed the bulbs into their new homes. Her thoughts drifted to another recent victory.
Druella had given Andromeda's father a favorable report from the meeting at St. Mungo's; she had gleefully told Pollux that Andromeda refused to shake hands with a Mudblood, even out of politeness, and had exaggerated Ted's offense. Andromeda hadn't asked her sister-in-law to do anything, and Pollux's slight nod at Andromeda assured her that she was staying in line. She set her knife down and sighed softly, knowing she was doing what was right.
A long shadow from Andromeda's left indicated she had a visitor.
"I thought I'd find you in here," said Byron. He crossed his arms over his chest and sniffed at the air. "Planting for springtime?"
"I thought I would give some of my best blooms to St. Aelred's for Holy Week. What do you think?"
"The bishop would certainly appreciate the gesture." Byron leaned against a post and took a good look around the greenhouse. "I haven't seen you this interested in the church since we were first married. Is there something I ought to know?" He glanced at Andromeda's midsection and frowned.
Andromeda burst into laughter and shook her head. "No, no, dear, you know that's quite impossible."
"Stranger things have happened," Byron said, shrugging. Andromeda's laughter died on her lips. She pressed soil into the pot and moved it aside.
"Eunice is having some terrible morning sickness." Andromeda flicked her wand at the next heavy pot and brought it up to her work station. "It may seem silly to you, but it gave me comfort to pray when I was going through the same. There's not much any of us can do for her, but I can pray for a healthy baby, can't I?"
Byron raised a brow at her. "A healthy baby boy , you mean."
"It goes without saying," Andromeda murmured, as she began scooping fertilized soil into the new pot. "I pray for her too, for a safe delivery. She's anxious to give Malcolm at least two sons."
"An heir and a spare, as we say."
Andromeda gently placed a purple bulb inside the soil. "My sister has been talking of trying for a third son. I don't know what she's thinking, at her age. Sirius is a little rebellious, but no different than how she was at his age. Regulus is a good boy. He always does what his mother asks of him. They don't need a third."
"Third sons are difficult to maintain," Byron admitted. "Unless one is unlucky enough to have a Squib for a first or second son, a third is entirely unnecessary. A girl would be more useful to them."
Andromeda swallowed her distaste for the way Nymphadora was seen as a tool and slung manure into the pot. "Has Claudius given you a response to your request?"
Byron rolled his eyes. "He is unhappy with the choices I've given him. If Eunice bears a healthy heir, I'll give Claudius more time to choose."
"I don't believe he would be happy in the priesthood," said Andromeda, recalling the tense meeting where Byron proposed that Claudius 'settle down' from his wild ways. Andromeda felt responsible (but not guilty) for the timing; Claudius's limp and the weblike scars across his right jaw were her doing, though her stepson had blamed it on a drunken fight at his club.
"The wealthy young widow Claudius met has a questionable past," she went on, thinking of the beautiful Beatrice Zabini and the three wizards she had outlived, "but undoubtedly it will be harder to find him a witch like Eunice. If he wants to settle down but live as he prefers, he will have to work hard for his living."
"He has no choice," Byron scoffed. "The priesthood is respectable and stable, but I quite agree, Claudius is not meant for a celibate life. The young widow . . . he would have as much gold as he liked for the remainder of his lifetime, but my son will not become Mrs. Zabini's fourth late husband." Byron put his hands behind his back and inspected the young mandrakes that lined the sunniest part of the greenhouse. "Once again, I find I have to acknowledge your wisdom in arranging the donation at St. Mungo's. Claudius will certainly gain connections from the family's alliances."
Andromeda felt pride bubbling in her heart under the praise. She looked over the top of her planter, her cheeks warm and glowing, and caught Byron's eye. He smirked at her and pulled out a wilting daisy. He murmured a charm on it, restoring it to its former glory, and set it next to Andromeda's hand.
In that moment, she imagined herself in love with her husband. She pictured herself ripping her gloves off and falling into his arms; he would whisk her off to the first available surface and kiss her. He would hold her face in his hands and whisper his love to her. She'd willingly drop down on her knees and give him all the pleasure her tongue was capable of, and in return, he would hold her tenderly when they made love. Afterwards, he would stroke his fingertips along her bare spine and tell her she was beautiful, just like Ted once did.
Instead, she felt Byron's imposing presence at her side and his mustache tickling the shell of her ear.
"I thought we could adjourn to your bedchamber for a spell, Mrs. Travers," he said softly. "You can return to your pastimes when we are finished."
Andromeda removed her gloves, pushed stray hairs behind her ears, and took Byron's arm, which allowed him to lead her out of the greenhouse. This time, when they made love, she promised herself she wouldn't think of another man. She would let herself believe she was in love with her husband, who loved her in return.
Byron's pride in her, and her continued loyalty to him, had to be love by other names.
The first Hogsmeade weekend had arrived at Hogwarts. While Dora was still only a second-year, she was looking forward to having the library quiet for the day. Madam Pince only let her take out ten archived Prophets a day, and if the library was filled up, that number dwindled down to whatever the matron would allow. In a month, Dora had barely scratched the surface of the news in 1943, the year that the Muggleborn had died while Tom Riddle had been prefect. Everything in the papers was about the rise of the Dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald and a big Muggle war in Europe.
Before she went off to take ten more Prophets out of the archive, Dora decided to join her cousin and watch the older students queueing for their turn to go to the magical village. She and Regulus sat atop a half-wall that lay just inside the Entrance Hall, observing the hordes of students waiting to show their Hogsmeade permission forms to their Heads of Houses. What interested the cousins most was a set of shiny blond heads below.
"Are they always like that?" asked Dora, turning her nose up at Narcissa's high-pitched giggling.
"They snog all the time in the common room. It's disgusting." Regulus mimed retching over the edge of the wall.
Dora watched Narcissa whisper something into Lucius's ear, and then the two sixth years were kissing while waiting for Slughorn to view their forms.
"See?" Regulus pointed at them. "It's like that! You can't even say anything because they're stupid prefects!"
"What does Al say?"
"Our cousin, Alphard?"
"No, Al for Albus Dumbledore," Dora deadpanned. She rolled her eyes at Regulus's shocked expression and shook her head. "I'm joking. What other Al is there?"
"Our Al's never in the common room. He's always on the Quidditch pitch or with his friend Thorfinn, that big bloke."
Dora frowned at her lovestruck older cousin and hoped she never looked that stupid if she fell in love one day.
"Not so fast, Mr. Black!"
Regulus's head shot up at the sound of his name, but his expression changed immediately when the Mr. Black in question was his brother.
McGonagall held two boys by their ears. "Potter! Black! What do you think you're doing?"
"We're not doing anything—" started James. Older Gryffindors went around him and began giving their permission slips to any Head of House who would take them.
"I've got another here, Minerva!" Filch showed up with Peter Pettigrew trembling at his side.
"Where's Lupin?" McGonagall demanded.
"I'm here, Professor." Remus popped out from behind a statue. Though he hung his head, Dora could see that his cheeks were red.
McGonagall gathered all four offenders in front of her. While Sirius and James only looked mildly put out, Peter was cowering and Remus hung his head.
"20 points from Gryffindor— each —and detention two nights this week! How dare you try to sneak out of the castle!"
Sirius offered her his most indulgent smile, the kind that could let him get away with almost anything with Grandmother Irma. "But, Professor," he said, his tone sweet as honey, "we were only trying to go outside to get you flowers!"
"Grow the flowers yourself in the greenhouses. Off with you!" McGonagall shook her head and beckoned for Filch to join her. "Escort these gentlemen to Professor Binns. They'll be copying lines today and tomorrow."
The four Gryffindors were ushered away from the Entrance Hall while Dora laughed into her elbow. Regulus sat up straight, grinning at his brother's misfortune, and stuck out his tongue when Sirius glanced up at them. Sirius returned the innocent gesture with a far more vulgar one. Dora only wished she had a camera so she could take a picture of him and send it to her Auntie Burgie. The shrill Howler that Sirius would certainly get from his mother would be worth the deafening shouts at breakfast.
"Did you see his face—"
"What idiots ," Dora said, snorting at the boys' attempts to go to Hogsmeade. Somehow she hadn't seen them sneak into the Entrance Hall from the staircase that led from Gryffindor tower, but she'd spotted them almost as quickly as McGonagall had.
"Was he like this last year?" asked Regulus.
Dora scrunched her nose up. "They snuck three roosters into Professor Binns's class and put tags around their necks that read one, three, and four so they could spend all class looking for two. They must've lost 50 points for Gryffindor."
"Is it always the four of them?" Dora thought there was a hint of longing in Regulus's voice; she thought it must be hard for the two brothers to be in different houses.
"Most of the time it's just Sirius and James. If I wasn't related to Sirius, I reckon I'd hate having classes with him. I definitely don't want to be a Gryffindor."
"As if being a Hufflepuff is any better," Regulus said haughtily.
"It's loads better than living in a dungeon," Dora argued. " And we live right next to the kitchens."
"Slytherin has more famous witches and wizards."
"Hufflepuff has nicer witches and wizards."
"Slytherin's better at Quidditch!"
"Hufflepuff's better at working hard!"
"OI, SHUT IT!" an older, Ravenclaw prefect glared tiredly at Dora and Regulus. "If you're going to argue, do it somewhere else. Your bloody voices are echoing all the way down the corridor!"
Dora jumped off the half-wall and walked downstairs with Regulus. Several other students had stopped to look at the commotion, but seeing that it was over, their interest fell away.
"Better than being a Gryffindor?" Dora offered, holding her hand out to Regulus.
"Better than being a Gryffindor," Regulus repeated firmly. He shook her hand and turned his head toward the stairs that would take Dora back to her common room. "Do you really live next to the kitchens?"
Dora nodded enthusiastically. "Want to see how you get in? The elves just love students! They're like Mama's Tippy and Goldie, not like cranky Kreacher."
"They'll make us something if we ask for it?"
"If they've got the stuff for it, yeah!" Dora grabbed his sleeve and started dragging him toward the basement. "C'mon, Reg! Their hot chocolate is almost as good as Chester's!"
With Regulus on her heels and a grin on her face, Dora figured the hunt for the news could wait. Hot chocolate and a rare chance to be with her family came first.
Andromeda sat in the dining room at Grimmauld Place and tried not to laugh at her sister's expense. It was particularly difficult on that rainy November night—Sirius's 13th birthday—after Walburga and Orion had received yet another letter from the boy's Head of House that he had broken another school rule.
"Trying to sneak off to Hogsmeade, the nerve of that boy!" Walburga thundered. "What does he need from the village that he can't get by writing to us? Sweets, robes, books—even butterbeer, we can arrange for those things—"
"Burgie, don't you see?" Andromeda said, stifling a laugh, "It's not about the things. He's just testing what he can get away with."
"20 points from his house and two detentions! Undoubtedly it's that blood traitor boy he's befriended who wants to ruin him for our family! The Potter brat and whatever half-bloods and Mudbloods he's surrounded by in that awful house—"
"You can hardly blame the company for the boy's ways, Walburga," said Druella. She snapped a finger at Kreacher and the elf poured a generous glass of rich, red wine for her. "If he knew better, he'd have been sorted into the right house." Walburga reddened and the vein in Orion's temple throbbed; a screaming match was imminent if no one put a stop to it, or worse yet, Walburga might be furious enough to brandish her knife at Druella.
Andromeda cleared her throat and drew attention to herself. "Druella, you'll remember my daughter isn't a Slytherin, and she has similar, mixed company in Hufflepuff. Even Bellatrix had letters from Slughorn for poor behavior. It has more to do with the child's temperament. We all know that Sirius has always had a rebellious streak, not unlike many of us."
"Very well said, Annie," Walburga said haughtily while glaring daggers at Druella, who smirked back in her direction. Orion's eye twitched and his jaw was clenched. Andromeda widened her eyes at her brother, hoping he would get the hint to change the topic.
Cygnus shifted uneasily in his seat next to his wife. He tapped the edge of his empty glass, which was refilled by Kreacher, and then clinked his spoon against it.
"Why don't we have a toast for Annie and Byron?" he said. "It's hard to believe my baby sister has been married for almost 13 years!"
"Here, here," came as a resounding call from those at the table.
It was an intimate dinner party, with only Pollux, Irma, their three children and their spouses attending. They raised their glasses to Andromeda and her husband, who took her hand in his and placed a chaste kiss on her knuckles. The rare display of affection was enough to make her feel self-conscious, but no one else seemed to notice or care.
"Speaking of which," said Walburga, once the clanking of glasses died down, "what will you two be doing to celebrate?"
Andromeda looked expectantly at Byron. She had just started her monthly cycle, the only guaranteed reprieve she had from having him visit her bed. She looked forward to those five days each month, despite the cramping and other physical discomforts she felt.
"We had planned to keep it a surprise," Byron said, his eyes meeting Andromeda's and then curiously, Pollux's, "but perhaps now is a good time to share that we will be going to Paris for a short holiday."
The witches at the table oohed appreciatively, while the wizards nodded at Byron. Andromeda, her eyes still locked on his, parted her lips in surprise.
"We are?" she asked softly. "Paris, France?"
"Your mother mentioned you wanted to go for your last birthday," he said, after taking a sip of his wine. "I believe we will enjoy ourselves, and you will enjoy the company of your mother when you visit the shopping districts."
"My mother?" Andromeda raised a brow at her parents.
"Yes, your mother and I will be joining you," said Pollux. "It will be like the holidays when you were a girl and your brother and sister were away at school."
Even leaving the country with her husband wouldn't spare Andromeda from being away from her father's watchful eye, she realized, as her father's lip curled into a cruel smile.
"That . . . that will be nice," Andromeda choked out. "Just like old times."
Another round of congratulations rose from those gathered. While the glasses clinked and new bottles of wine were opened, Byron leaned into her ear and whispered, "You and I will have our privacy every night. You needn't worry in that regard."
Andromeda forced a smile to her face and tried her hardest to be excited for Parisian fashion and the beautiful bolts of fabric she would be sure to bring home.
Andromeda's fingers trembled as she broke the seal for the latest letter from Ted. He sent it the morning after she had written a letter to him, informing him in the briefest way that Pollux Black still controlled her life. She had grown panicked after the surprise trip to Paris was announced; it would be too easy for Pollux to hire someone to eliminate Ted from the picture while he was out of the country. Though she promised herself she wouldn't take any more risks where Ted Tonks was concerned, overwhelming guilt gnawed at her until she wrote him three necessary lines.
T-
Be wary of my father. He knows who you are.
He knows the truth.
-A.
Ted's letter, this time in the shape of a tulip, terrified her almost as much as her father did. As selfish as it was to continue wanting to see him, Andromeda knew Ted had every right to end the rocky acquaintanceship they began since he met Nymphadora.
The seal, shaped like a petite petal, dropped to the floor.
A-
What else is new?
-T.
The scrawled words left Andromeda in shock at first, and then she burst into laughter at his unaffected reply. It was so like him to brush off danger and threats to his life. It was just like Ted to send a funny response to something deeply serious, to lighten the mood when everything seemed hopeless and low.
Andromeda brushed her fingertips across his messy scrawl. She imagined his warm hand gliding across the parchment, his fingers smudged with ink as they often were, and the look of concentration on his face when he pointed his wand at the letter and cast charms to fold it up into a tulip.
As her laughter quieted, Andromeda tucked the letter into her pocket and found her way to the big window that overlooked the gardens, which had yet to be transformed into the winter wonderland she designed every year since Nymphadora's birth.
"It's all been for you, my darling," she murmured to herself, thinking of her sweet daughter. While Ted still held a painful place in her heart, Nymphadora was her light in the darkness.
Nothing and no one—not even Pollux Black—would ever separate the love between mother and daughter.