The rising winter sun streamed through the east windows of the morning room at Travers Court. Andromeda held her tea with both hands and took a deep whiff of her breakfast blend. Notes of bergamot, caramel, and vanilla warmed her nostrils. It was her favorite blend at this time of year: with its brighter ingredients, it provided a modest oasis from the dreariness outside. When paired with the cranberry-citrus scones that her dutiful elves baked that morning, Andromeda could relax while she prepared for the cold weeks ahead.
Byron wouldn't join her for a few hours yet. Their meeting today would be startlingly similar to one they had over a year ago: they would be trying to find another young witch to become the next Mrs. Travers. This young witch would have the burden of being Mrs. Claudius Travers. Andromeda already felt sorrier for her than Eunice, whose pregnancy was going well, and if the tea leaves were anything to go by, a healthy son would arrive by the end of May. Neither Andromeda nor Eunice told the wizards of their tea readings—divination was woolly and untrusted by most of the men in their families—but there was hope that Eunice would give Malcolm a son and further cement Andromeda's triumph in choosing the plain, but kind, witch to be Malcolm's wife.
Andromeda's list of prospective witches was longer, what with more young women coming of age in the last year. Miss Elspeth Flint, Byron's first choice for Malcolm last year, was already married. Miss Alecto Carrow was on the list again, as Byron was interested in a double betrothal between the Carrow twins and Claudius and Nymphadora. After another fact-finding mission with her niece, Bellatrix, Andromeda was aghast upon learning that the Carrow twins were rumored to be disturbingly close.
Andromeda didn't care if Claudius had an inferior bride—it was what he deserved, in her mind—but if it came at the cost of Nymphadora's happiness, Andromeda would do whatever it took to find another solution. She would castrate Amycus Carrow with her personal knife before he had a chance to touch Nymphadora; Andromeda could never subject her precious daughter to such a vile man.
The Macmillans popped up again. Andromeda and Nymphadora alike would be horrified if bright and caring Iris Macmillan were promised to Claudius. Nevertheless, if Byron desperately wanted Alecto Carrow for Claudius, Andromeda considered negotiating a tentative understanding between the Macmillans and the Traverses for Carlisle and Nymphadora. If Andromeda could secure a soft promise from the Macmillans that their son could be promised to Nymphadora, Byron wouldn't feel the need to push the Carrows. And, should Alecto be the only choice for Claudius, Andromeda could simply remind Byron that they had an agreement with the Macmillans for Nymphadora, which would eliminate the need for Amycus. As it was, the Macmillans were wealthier and better connected, and now that Elodia Macmillan had known the Travers family for a year, she might be more willing to help Andromeda.
A quick letter was penned to Elodia, asking for no more than the favor of implying her interest in joining Carlisle and Nymphadora. Other letters were addressed to the families of the other candidates: the Carrows, the Greengrasses, for their eldest daughter, the Rowles, for their youngest daughter, and the Parkinsons, for any of their girls. She considered writing to the Yaxleys, but they were a faraway option: their only daughter, Valeria, was Nymphadora's age. Their son, Corban, was already engaged to one of the Selwyn girls, so the only advantage Andromeda had in writing to the Yaxleys was sparing Nymphadora from a union with a man twice her age.
Goldie appeared before Andromeda to inform her that the master was on his way to the morning room. Andromeda tucked loose strands of her hair back into her chignon and waved her wand over the scattered letters on the table. They arranged themselves neatly, just as Byron appeared in the doorway.
"I should have expected no less of you," he said as a greeting, upon finding the letters waiting for him. Andromeda poured him a cup of tea and he sat down across from her to leaf through the correspondence. "Rowle, Parkinson, Carrow, Greengrass . . . all excellent choices. I'm surprised with the Yaxleys . . . their girl is Nymphadora's age, no?"
"It can't hurt to strengthen our relationship with the Yaxleys," Andromeda said. "I know we've agreed that it's time for Claudius to marry, but if we change our minds, it wouldn't put us at a disadvantage to get to know the Yaxleys better."
Byron set his tea down. "I still favor the Carrows. It would be most convenient to have Claudius and Nymphadora marry into the same family."
"Yes, well—" Andromeda swirled milk into her tea to hide her disgust; she had attempted to disclose the alleged improprieties of the Carrows to her husband, but he was unwilling to take 'witches' talk' seriously. "We should get to know them before we decide anything. There are far better options than the Carrows."
The atmosphere in the morning room became cold and tense. Seldom did Andromeda openly disagree with her husband without good reason; the silence between them stretched on and Andromeda gazed into her tea, waiting for Byron to give her a condescending reply.
Byron cleared his throat. "Your birthday is coming up soon."
Andromeda raised her head. Her lips were parted in surprise and her breath quickened in her uncertainty over Byron's response. "It is," she whispered. "Next week."
Byron slid the letters across the table, away from both of them. " Antony and Cleopatra will be playing at the Globe that evening. I thought you might like to go."
Andromeda blinked at him, at a loss for words. She had considered asking him to see the play for her birthday, though she knew he didn't enjoy the theater as much as she did. That he was offering her a night at the theater, mere moments after she disagreed with him, was unsettling her.
"Have I upset you?" she blurted, feeling as foolish as she had when they were newlyweds.
"What would give you that idea?" Byron asked, raising a brow at her.
"I disagreed with you. About the Carrows."
"So you did." Byron shrugged and took a sip of his tea. "We've been married for some time, Andromeda. I trust you know by now that I take your opinion into account on matters such as these." He snorted softly and set his cup down. "You needn't look so surprised."
Andromeda gaped at her husband. There was something like warm merriment in his dark eyes, itself a flabbergasting sight.
"Would you like to go to the theater?" he asked again. "I know how much you enjoy it."
"I would," she heard herself say. " Antony and Cleopatra is one of my favorites."
"Shall I arrange for the boys and Eunice to come with us?"
"No—" Byron's brow went up again at Andromeda's quick reply. "I should say," she said evenly, "I would like it if it were just the two of us. We don't often have nights out together like this."
"As you like it," he said, smirking at his own response.
Andromeda's bewilderment grew further. She would have to pinch herself later to ensure she wasn't dreaming the almost playful tone of their interaction; she was almost certain that this was a trick or a trap. Andromeda took her leather-bound journal and opened it to the week of her birthday. Feeling Byron's eyes on her, she wrote down the details for their night at the theater, wondering what horrors awaited her. Surely her disagreement with him would have its repercussions.
"Is there anything else I ought to know for our social calendar this month?" said Byron, still clearly amused by Andromeda's puzzlement. She shook her head at him; somehow he had rendered her speechless. "Very well," he added. "I will arrange for our box to be ready for your birthday." He finished his tea and stood from the table.
In yet another baffling move, he came around to her, took her hand, and brought his lips down to kiss her knuckles. There was little Andromeda could do but wonder what came over her husband, thus derailing her concentration for the remainder of the day.
Perhaps a week's worth of psychological torment would be her punishment for disagreement. She should have expected no less from her husband.
As to your New Year's request, her name was Myrtle.
Dora traced her fingers along the postscript in her mother's latest letter. Initial confusion upon reading the solitary line led to understanding, and then to further confusion. In the busyness of the start of the winter term, Dora hadn't restarted her search for the mysterious Tom Riddle. Despite her mother's orders to drop the subject, Dora wasn't going to give up, and the letter reignited the spark to keep going. What perplexed Dora most, while chewing on a buttery scone, was the name her mother had given her.
There was only one Myrtle that Dora knew of, and that Myrtle made it impossible to use the girls' bathroom on the second floor. It was a last resort for any girls dashing from one class to another. Moaning Myrtle was never happy and always made her problems everyone else's. As if ghosts could even have problems, Dora thought, as she pondered the possibility that Moaning Myrtle was the Muggleborn Myrtle who died so many years ago.
"Letter from your mum again?" asked Maisie, the only other second year Hufflepuff who came to breakfast as early as Dora.
"She and Father are going to see a play soon," Dora replied absentmindedly. "Eunice is getting big with the baby."
Maisie brushed her hair behind her shoulder. "You look confused. Did something happen?"
Dora hadn't told anyone but her mother about the investigation into Tom Riddle, Hagrid, or the dead Muggleborn. After Andromeda's warning, Dora wasn't keen to share, but Maisie was a Muggleborn and wouldn't know about the Dark Lord's real name.
"I was just thinking," said Dora, "do you ever wonder how Myrtle died?"
"Moaning Myrtle?" Maisie's brow came together. "The ghost in the second floor bathroom?"
"She's wearing her uniform. She died when she was a student, I reckon, but why is she still here, do you think?"
"To annoy everyone?"
"If you died before you were done at Hogwarts and had to be a ghost, would you stay around?"
Maisie put her elbows on the table and put her chin in her hands. Her forehead creased and she hummed under her breath.
"But you've got a choice to be a ghost, right?"
Dora nodded. "All the books say that you can move on or stay behind, whatever that means. I'm just saying . . . if you had to be a ghost, would you stay here?"
A long sigh escaped Maisie's lips. "Probably."
"Why?" Dora asked, taken aback. "What about your fami— oh ."
"Muggles can't see ghosts," Maisie said grimly. "I don't know where else I'd go. Where else do ghosts spend time?"
"Graveyards. St. Morana's and St. Aelred's are the big wizarding graveyards. There are loads of ghosts there and they talk to their families when they come visit." Dora recalled the last time they visited St. Morana's, where great-great-great aunt Elladora was buried. She spent the whole visit bemoaning the infrequent visits her grandchildren and great-grandchildren made.
Maisie took her chin out of her hands and returned to slathering jam on her toast. "I wouldn't be buried in a wizard graveyard if I died while I was still here. I'd probably be buried next to my Nan or Granda."
Dora took an unhurried bite of her scone. If Moaning Myrtle was the Muggleborn Myrtle, Dora supposed she wouldn't have anywhere to go as a ghost except for Hogwarts, like Maisie.
"Do you think Moaning Myrtle was a Muggleborn too?"
Maisie shrugged. "Maybe she isn't, and she stayed here because she annoyed her family too much."
"Wizarding families have ways to keep ghosts away from their houses. You wouldn't want your great-great-uncle to watch you showering, right?"
A disgusted grimace came across Maisie's face, followed by surprise. "Does that mean . . . the Fat Friar . . . the Bloody Baron . . . can see us?"
Dora giggled at Maisie's innocence. "Probably not. They'd make him leave if he did. He's a good ghost," she said. The information didn't seem to ease Maisie's concern, but like many other things in the wizarding world, Dora was sure Maisie would understand one day. "Do you think," Dora added, "if we went to second floor girls' bathroom, we could ask Myrtle about why she's here?"
"Dora, she'll just cry and tell us we came to tease her."
"I'll tell her that's not why we're there. We just want to get to know her."
"But why? What's so important about Moaning Myrtle?"
"It's just weird, isn't it? How did she die and why is she here? Why would a Muggleborn stay behind if they could go on?"
Maisie bit her lower lip. "Do you really, really want to know?"
"Please?" Dora asked, placing her hands together as if in prayer. "We've got time before Transfiguration. Besides, it's only a few questions. How long could it take?"
As Dora would find out over the next hour and a half, during which she and Maisie became drenched in frigid toilet water, Moaning Myrtle had almost too much to say.
Thirty-two .
Andromeda traced the numbers on her silk sheets, on a spot under her pillow where she had kept one of Ted's letters for the last hour. The letter had left the faintest trace of him on her sheets, mocking her in her gloominess, titillating her nose with memories and naïve dreams. She closed her eyes, her cheek resting on the wet spot on her pillow where she had been crying. As flashes of her day came back to her, she conjured images of what her thirty-second birthday could've been like had her life gone another way.
As Mrs. Travers, Andromeda had woken that morning to cold silence, as she had every day for many years. Her bedroom at Travers Court was always cold, but with the bitter chill of January, she had to cast Warming Charms on her covers and clothes to stay warm. It was her birthday, as frigid as any other winter day, but at least she had new wool robes to keep the draft away.
Had she been a Tonks, Andromeda would've woken in the bed she shared with her husband of 13 years, Ted. He would've pressed soft kisses to her face, neck, and shoulders, ushering her out of slumber and into the warm and cozy space they shared. They wouldn't have needed a mansion, merely a charming cottage, tucked away from those who would harm them.
Andromeda dressed as usual. She breakfasted in the morning room with Byron, who gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek and gifted her a new set of matching, iridescent opals to wear for their night out at the theater. Letters and gifts were waiting for her in her parlor and she opened them with practiced care. She received cards from countless relatives and witches in her circles, fine gifts from her sister, parents, and in-laws, and curiously, two letters from Nymphadora. The first contained a handmade birthday card and the second, an explanation for the letter that arrived from Professor Sprout.
In her mind, Andromeda would have breakfast with Ted in a shabby, but clean kitchen, like the one he used to have. They weren't rich, but they were comfortable living on his salary as a Healer and the bit of gold she made as a seamstress for a local shop. She would've received a few simple gifts from friends she made in her new life, her mother-in-law, Elsie, and her little family. Ted might've gifted her new fabric for robes, or a modest piece of jewelry. Nymphadora would've sent her a letter, and she and Ted would've opened the letter from Sprout together.
The letter from Hogwarts informed Andromeda that Nymphadora was late to her latest Transfiguration lesson. While tardiness wasn't usually a cause for concern, Nymphadora and her Muggleborn friend Maisie arrived a half hour late and covered in filthy toilet water. The girls claimed they were comforting a ghost in the second floor girls' bathroom, who detained them and splashed water on them before they could go. Nymphadora repeated the claims in her letter and lamented a week's worth of detention as punishment. Andromeda wrote a sternly worded letter to her daughter in response, and then made copies of both Sprout's letter and Nymphadora's letter to send to Ted. Byron would never know about the ghost-and-toilet mishap, as he would overreact upon hearing that Nymphadora was caught in such an undignified state. Andromeda hoped Ted would find the incident somewhat amusing, and give him an idea of the sweetness that filled his daughter's heart.
She and Ted would've chuckled at their daughter's well-intentioned, but harmless behavior. They might've bantered back and forth on whether it was the right time to send a Howler to their only child, but as Nymphadora was usually so well behaved, they felt no need to do so. They would reflect on their unexpected, but wonderful daughter, and perhaps there would be other children to greet Andromeda on her birthday. Even if there weren't, Nymphadora would've been all she and Ted needed.
Once Andromeda had replied to all her correspondence, she prepared herself to welcome her daughter-in-law for afternoon tea. It had become a weekly tradition to see Eunice, and with the pregnancy, Andromeda wanted to ensure all was progressing well. Eunice was bigger than she ought to be, but there were no issues with the growing baby; nor had she been bothered by Malcolm throughout the pregnancy. Once it had been confirmed, he ceased visiting his wife's bed. Andromeda had been disturbed by that, as it meant he was likely visiting his mistress, but Eunice assured her that it was no trouble at all. She preferred the solitude and peace of a lonely bed.
If she were a Tonks, Andromeda would've visited her mother-in-law for tea. Andromeda had only met Elsie once, at Ted's father's funeral, and the elder Mrs. Tonks was too distraught to make more conversation. If Andromeda had married Ted, she was sure she and Elsie would've become friendly. Andromeda would thank Elsie for raising a good man, and Ted might've smiled at them together.
Eunice departed after a few hours to rest. It was good timing for Andromeda; she had to get ready for Antony and Cleopatra . She hung her new iridescent, black opal earrings on her earlobes. Its matching necklace lay against the base of her throat, and two bracelets adorned each wrist. When combined with the robes she had planned to wear for the fundraiser—the black velvet set with shimmering constellations—Andromeda felt every bit the galaxy she was named for. Byron had looked at her with darkened, lust-filled eyes, and she had felt warmth in her veins under his gaze. She had every intention of trying something new with him at the theater. She was going to move on from Ted.
Ted might've surprised her with tickets to the theater. If Andromeda had married him, she would have lost her place in the Black family box forever, but it wouldn't hurt so much when Ted took her out from time to time. She had already seen all of Shakespeare's works by the time she turned 13, and while it didn't matter if she didn't see them again, it was a pleasure to go to the theater with her husband on her arm. Andromeda imagined them on an upper or lower level, where the individually paid seats lay, and it wouldn't make a difference to her where she sat. She would hold Ted's hand throughout the performance, and even if she had less luxurious robes to wear or simpler jewelry, he would find her breathtaking. She might even be so bold as to let her fingers graze along his thigh, teasing him, readying him for a night in their bed.
Andromeda and Byron arrived in the Travers family box. They usually came with Byron's parents, or Eunice and Malcolm, but tonight it was just the two of them. Andromeda had plenty of admirers and Byron was all too pleased by the attention; it never failed to bring him pride that his much younger wife was a stunning beauty. When the theater went dark, she let her hand rest on Byron's forearm. Throughout the performance, she shifted her hand to his knee, having every intention of teasing him like she once did with Ted, but her insides went cold every time she tried to go too far. It seemed to have the desired effect anyway. Byron took her home quickly after the performance ended and was unusually vigorous in her bed. As usual, he didn't stay long after he was spent.
Ted would've taken his time. Andromeda pictured him in their small, but happy bedroom. He would unclasp her robes and kiss her slowly, taking each moment to lavish attention on her. She would've wanted to rip his clothes off, but he would whisper in her ear, urging her to be patient. It would be worth it, she imagined, when he held her and finally made love to her. He would moan her name, the name that was reserved for his use alone, 'Dromeda, tell her he loved her, and lose himself in her. When they had both been satisfied, Ted wouldn't leave their bed. He'd hold her against him and run his fingers along her back, wishing her a happy birthday and promising himself to her again and again.
The end of Andromeda's birthday had come with more tears. After Byron left, her trusted owl rapped at her window. There was a new letter from Ted, and Andromeda's heart had hammered with hope upon seeing his scrawl. Had he sent her a birthday letter? Perhaps a gift, given the slight parcel contained in the thicker-than-usual envelope?
It would've been just like him to remember her, even after the last year they shared. She had held her breath and broken the seal on his letter, only for her heart to be shattered upon reading its short message.
A-
Thank you for the copies of the letters you sent me. Please give this to Dora for Valentine's Day. I wanted to make sure it was sent in time.
T.
P.S. Happy 32nd .
Andromeda shed hot tears of disappointment, anger, and shame. It was preposterous for her to have even considered that Ted would give her something for her birthday, but why had he sent it so early? Anger coursed through her body that he would taunt her like this, and that she could feel so belittled by what was likely an innocent gesture.
Nevertheless, her curiosity burned at what Ted gave Nymphadora, and she untied the velvet pouch that was tucked into his letter.
A heart-shaped golden locket lay inside the pouch. It had a scroll-and-flower pattern engraved around the edge, which created a smaller heart in the center. When Andromeda unclasped the locket, she found Nymphadora's initials engraved into one of the sides. The delicate piece of jewelry, which was no bigger than Andromeda's thumb nail, hummed with protective magic.
It was the kind of gift Andromeda could've imagined being given to her for her birthday from the same man. Andromeda's eyes prickled with angry tears that Ted sent her the locket for Nymphadora well ahead of Valentine's Day. He couldn't have known how it would hurt her, could he? Jealousy bubbled up in her heart too; while Nymphadora had a good chance of a positive relationship with Ted one day, Andromeda had lost hope. She closed her eyes and breathed into her pillow; she had made many mistakes and had lost her chance at happiness, but her daughter didn't have to lose with her.
Nymphadora deserved better, so Andromeda tucked the locket away in a secure drawer and promised herself that she would send it to her daughter on her father's behalf.
When Andromeda returned to her bed, she took Ted's letter and brought it up to her nose. A single whiff was too much. She tossed it into the fire and returned to her bed, determined to put him out of her mind. Yet when she slid onto her silk sheets, his scent remained where she had kept his letter. Andromeda did what was most reasonable: she tossed her sheets in the fire too.
As the flames licked at the fine fabric, the flare of flame in her heart dwindled to bitter ashes. She vowed that by her 33rd birthday, she would think of Ted Tonks as no more than a wizard she used to know.