A pile of prettily wrapped parcels covered the tea table in Andromeda's parlor. It was her birthday, which had arrived as cold and grey as any other January morning, but this year felt different. While it was neither a major milestone nor the occasion for a long-awaited holiday, as in years past, Andromeda had much to ponder on her thirty-first journey around the sun.

The gifts she received that morning marked the series of changes that had taken place since her last birthday. Andromeda had a number of gifts from witches who were new to her social circle. The Bulstrodes sent her a set of brooches; they had recently been invited to Travers Court for a second visit. Malcolm turned his nose up at Eunice, but her father, Gilbert, had offered Byron a substantial dowry for her. The other families they'd invited, from the Carrows, to the Fawleys, and even the Flints, couldn't compete.

Elodia Macmillan had also sent a gift. The visit with the Macmillans had almost been a disaster when Mr. Macmillan began discussing their children's potential futures together. After dinner, when the witches were together in Andromeda's parlor, she'd assured Elodia that the only way their children would marry was if they were blissfully in love. Andromeda was firm that where Claudius was concerned, he would never touch young Iris, and while she was delighted with the Macmillans' well-mannered, amiable son, Carlisle, unless Nymphadora was head-over-heels for him, there would be no Travers-Macmillan union.

Besides the usual gifts from family and friends, two others stood out to Andromeda. The first was a narrow box which had come from her daughter. It contained a charming, hand-drawn birthday card and a pink leather bookmark. Nymphadora had carved a daisy into the bookmark and asked Professor Flitwick for help to charm it so the flower's petals opened and closed. It made Andromeda ache, wishing she had her daughter with her. Nymphadora was happy at school, but Andromeda missed her daughter's joie de vivre.

The other gift that had Andromeda's heart aching came from Ted. He'd sent a new letter in the shape of a flower, as he always did, but this one came with a thick envelope. When Andromeda opened it, she found it was full of photographs from their days together. His letter to her was just as painful.

A-

I think it'd be best if we tried to limit how much we see each other. I'd prefer if we kept our communications strictly through letters, and see each other only when we meet with our daughter. I'd like to see her over her Easter holidays.

-T

The letter brought on the sting of humiliation. The lunch she'd recently shared with Ted and Nymphadora was mortifying. Andromeda had come home, shut herself in the bathroom, and turned the tap on. She amplified the sound of rushing water filling the clawfoot tub, allowing her to sob unnoticed on the cold tile floor. She'd wept until she was dry heaving and gasping for air, hating herself for how easily Ted could destroy her.

When he'd said " we're not friends anymore ," she had accepted the callous dig for what it was; it was true they were no longer friends or even friendly.

When he'd said, " I have new friends now and they aren't going anywhere ," her heart broke further, reminded that he was engaged and his marriage would be happier than hers. His fiancée, Millie, was terribly lucky to have him. Andromeda only had bitter jealousy to fall back on.

It was when Nymphadora had asked if Ted missed his 'friend' that Andromeda had to leave out of fear that she would burst into tears at the bistro. He'd claimed he'd once missed her, but it was no longer the case. She knew it was unfair of her to want him to miss her, unlike her, who had spent the last eleven years thinking of him daily. After learning that she was nothing to him after they'd shared what had been the happiest, most beautiful years of her life, she couldn't take another second in his presence.

It cut her most deeply that back in September he'd promised he wouldn't hurt her again. Yet, that cold December day, she had done nothing but hurt because of the man who continued to break his promise. Every time she walked away from him, he found a way to make her feel wretched while insisting that he had moved on from their past, giving her no option to address his behavior without revealing how badly she missed him, or how she'd spent every day wishing she'd never left him.

Andromeda had to set her sorrows aside when Goldie popped into the parlor to announce the master's imminent arrival. The old photographs and Ted's letter were quickly transfigured into a stack of nondescript cards and Andromeda fixed her appearance. Not for the first time, she was grateful her husband wasn't particularly observant. Her elves had certainly caught on that something had been upsetting their mistress for months; her favorite cinnamon buns kept growing in size and number.

Byron appeared seconds later with a single flower in one hand and a small white box in the other. Andromeda blinked quickly at him, astonished at the twinge of color creeping up his neck and cheeks.

"Andromeda," he said gruffly, crossing the room to meet her, "many happy returns." He handed her the flower—a red rose—and the box, then stood across from her and clasped his hands behind his back.

"Thank you," she replied, unable to find other words to alleviate her speechlessness. Her husband had never gone out of his way to personally give her a birthday gift.

"I hope it is to your liking," he said, nodding at the box in her hands.

Andromeda untied the ribbon and lifted the lid on the box. Inside, she found a glittery necklace inlaid with pearls, diamonds, and emeralds. It was the finest piece of jewelry he'd ever given her, and it was obviously shiny and new, rather than the time-worn family heirlooms he often produced for her.

"Byron," she said, stunned, "this is beautiful . . . th-thank you." She glanced down at the luxurious jewels, marveling at the way they sparkled in the sun. "I . . . I'm not sure what else to say. This is quite the surprise."

He nodded and sat down in the chair across from hers. "You've been most cooperative lately . . . in my last meeting with Gilbert, he mentioned your conversation with his wife, Giselle—"

"I'm sorry—if I went over the line or—or—"

"Nonsense," Byron interjected. "Gilbert didn't share the details, but I came to understand you were vocal in your defense of our family, particularly in your defense of—"

"You," Andromeda finished, meeting his eyes.

"Yes . . . and all these meetings with witches and their families have given me a reminder of what you looked like when I met you. You couldn't have been out of school for more than a week."

"Four days," she murmured, recalling how much she'd cried and begged her father to spare her from having to marry a man twice her age, all for the unforgivable crime of loving someone he deemed 'unworthy' of her.

"Perhaps I'm growing softer as I get older," he mused, shrugging, "but I thought to tell you that I, ah, appreciate how you've grown in your role as Mrs. Travers." Byron cleared his throat and drummed his fingers against his thigh, his brow coming together as he thought. "Your efforts with Malcolm will pay off handsomely, even if he doesn't want to hear it."

"Miss Bulstrode is a good girl. She's more prepared at her age than I was, and she's already fond of Nymphadora. She'll be an attentive wife and mother."

Byron observed Andromeda for a moment, and settled back into his seat. "You've been melancholy without her."

Andromeda allowed herself to nod demurely and said, "Nymphadora sent me this bookmark for my birthday." She handed the pink leather bookmark to Byron and explained Professor Flitwick's help in charming the petals to open and close.

"Nymphadora ought to have written to me," Byron said, handing the bookmark back to Andromeda. "She needn't have resorted to manual labor."

"You know she's sensitive, Byron. Do you remember your 45th? She spent all those weeks in the kitchens, coming up with 45 kinds of truffles for you. It's just the way she is."

Byron harrumphed to himself. "Unlikely she'll grow out of that mawkishness, but it'll be another man's problem soon enough."

"Some men find that kind of sentimentality quite charming," Andromeda countered, keeping her tone gentle.

"Not the kind of men I find worthy of being called man," Byron muttered, rolling his eyes.

"I understand, dear, I do . . ."

Andromeda rubbed the pink bookmark between her fingers. If Ted had received it— no, she chastised herself. She had to stop thinking of him. She set her gaze on her husband; he was her future, not Ted.

"Perhaps our future son-in-law may surprise us," she said, "as might Nymphadora. I wasn't unlike her when I was her age. I too was the youngest, and I can only assume I was also an unexpected arrival for my parents. I grew up, and so will she."

Byron's gaze drifted to the sparkling necklace in her lap. "I find I'm unable to disagree with you. You were barely a woman when we married and now it's plain for anyone to see that you are an exemplary wife. I am pleased with the witch you have come to be." He looked as if he wanted to say more, as a delicate shade of pink began creeping up his neck again, and while Andromeda was undeniably curious to hear what he had to say, one of her elves popped by to announce the arrival of several Black witches.

Byron stood from his seat and held his hand out for Andromeda. Confused, as she was staying inside the parlor to receive her sister, she understood when he bent down and kissed her cheek.

"I'll be visiting you tonight," he murmured into her ear, as Andromeda's family's steps became louder. Andromeda nodded her agreement, feeling a perplexing rush of fondness for the man she'd married.

It was less than two weeks to Valentine's Day and Dora plopped into an open seat at the Gryffindor table. She was happy to see that her friend Remus was already at breakfast, though he was peaky and had dark circles under his eyes.

"Hullo, Dora," he said weakly, pushing his half-eaten plate away.

"You don't look so good," said Dora, bringing the plate back to him. "You should eat and see Madam Pomfrey."

"I already have." He pushed the plate away again and rubbed his eyes, yawning. "I'll be fine."

"You should be in bed. We've got Herbology today—want me to take notes for you?"

"I was in bed yesterday and the day before. I can't miss any more classes."

Dora frowned at him. "Suit yourself. When is everyone else coming down?"

Remus shrugged and mumbled something about ' being bored of me already. '

"No, silly," Dora replied, rolling her eyes. "I want to know what Sirius is getting his mother for Valentine's Day."

One side of Remus's mouth went up and he tilted his head to the side, making him look like a confused puppy. "You get your mothers gifts for Valentine's Day?"

"You don't?" Remus shook his head and Dora continued. "It's not much. I'm sending mama flowers and chocolates and I want to know if Sirius is doing the same so I can borrow his owl, since our letters would go to the same place."

"Your other cousins aren't—"

Dora snorted and waved off the Slytherin table. "Al and Cissy are so snooty. They're sending my Auntie Druella some jewelry, which is pretty, but chocolate's better, don't you think?"

"I suppose so," Remus said, unsure.

Tapping her fingers on the wooden table, Dora sighed and grabbed a strip of bacon from one of the platters. "If you missed classes, do you want help with your homework while we wait for the sleepyheads?" Remus glanced down at his rucksack.

"No, erm, it's all right—"

"Are you sure?" Dora insisted. "McGonagall assigned an essay about the Switching Spell."

Remus relented and grabbed his battered copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One . Dora pulled out her Transfiguration notes and half-written essay, and began going through the principles of the Switching Spell with Remus. Dora noticed that every few minutes, he would wince and his brow would come together, as if he were physically hurting.

They were through most of the chapter on the Switching Spell when the other Gryffindor boys came down for breakfast.

"You're back!" James clapped Remus on the back in greeting. Remus whimpered quietly and Dora scowled; hadn't the other boys known Remus was ill?

"What are you doing here?" Sirius asked Dora, loading his plate full of bacon.

"Looking for you," Dora replied. "What are you getting Auntie Burgie for Valentine's Day?"

"You give your mummy a valentine?" James grinned gleefully.

Sirius glowered at Dora and said, "Nothing. I'm not getting her anything ."

"If you're not sending her anything, can I borrow Excalibur?"

"No—"

"Why not?"

Sirius scrunched his nose up at James, whose smile was bigger than the Cheshire cat's. "I've got to send something to . . . Regulus."

Dora sighed dramatically. "I suppose I'll have to write to Auntie Burgie myself and get her some chocolates since you'll be disappointing her."

James, Peter, and Remus started sniggering at Sirius's obvious discomfort and Dora shook her head disapprovingly at them . Boys could be so stupid.

"There's nothing wrong with being nice to your mother," Dora said, standing up and putting her hands on her hips. She stuffed her things into her bag, huffed at the boys, and took off for the Hufflepuff table, where her friends were just finishing their breakfasts.

"What took you so long?" asked Iris. "We were getting worried."

"I was helping Lupin with his Transfiguration essay," Dora replied. "He missed classes yesterday and the day before. He's still not feeling well but he doesn't want to miss any more classes."

"The full moon was two nights ago," gasped Flora. "What if he's a werewolf?" Maisie, their Muggleborn friend, gaped at the Gryffindor table with wide, fearful eyes.

"They'd never let a monster into this school," said Dora, slathering butter on a piece of toast. "No way Lupin's a werewolf."

"But what if he is?" Even quiet Amelia Bones had her curiosity piqued and chimed into the conversation.

"Professor Binns is a ghost," Iris offered. "They let him teach here."

"Rumor has it that Professor Flitwick is part-goblin," Flora added. "He's a Head of House!"

"Hagrid's an ogre, isn't he?" Maisie asked. Seeing the others' confused reactions, she said, in a smaller voice, "Or a giant? He works here."

"Hagrid's too small to be a giant," Dora reasoned aloud. "But you can't get a half-giant. That doesn't . . ." She felt herself blush furiously, recalling the conversation she'd had with her mother over the winter holidays, when she'd learned even more about the way witches and wizards' bodies worked.

"That doesn't what, Dora?" pressed Maisie, while Flora nodded furiously. Iris and Amelia were giggling quietly to themselves.

"It's not important—doesn't matter—"

"Professor Acula's definitely a vampire," Iris continued, interrupting Dora. "He's chalk white, he's got black hair, and no one has ever seen him sleep."

"That's because he's a professor," Dora said tiredly. "No one sees the professors sleep."

The other girls looked to the Gryffindor table. Flora was the first to lose interest. "You're right, Dora. Werewolves are monsters, not Gryffindors," she said glumly.

"It's just a coincidence," Dora insisted. She looked over her shoulder to where Remus was sitting, pale and tired, and wearing a small smile as he talked to his friends. Her friends could be even more fanciful than she was. Remus was just another silly boy.

Andromeda drummed her fingers against her temple and stared at the blank parchment on her desk. Ted had sent her a letter to remind her that he wanted to see Nymphadora over the Easter holidays. It was irritating enough that he had written to her on Valentine's Day. Not only had it dampened her mood to be reminded she wasn't with him, but it had left her melancholy for most of the day, knowing that Ted would have his fiancée to love that night, while Andromeda would submit to her wifely duties as usual.

Now, as she sat in her bedroom, exhausted from a day of visits with her family and Byron's visit to her bed, she groaned at the impossible task before her. The Easter holidays were going to be busier than ever. With Bellatrix getting married the Saturday after Easter, the week leading up to the wedding would involve yet another bridal shower, final robe fittings, and countless last-minute crises. It was certainly possible to carve out a short visit to see Ted, but after the last lunch they had, she was in no hurry to repeat the mortification she endured.

The clock on her mantle ticked quietly. Andromeda summoned a cashmere shawl from her wardrobe and wrapped it around her shoulders. She stood, and clutching the shawl tightly around her body, began to pace around her bedroom in a practiced rhythm.

Secret meetings with Ted and Nymphadora couldn't be regular occasions. Nymphadora would grow suspicious of repeated 'chance' meetings with him; to her, he was a kind Healer, but no more. The Traverses had no reason to visit St. Mungo's as patients. They had private Healers at St. Teilo's, and a trip to St. Mungo's would arouse even more suspicion from Byron and Andromeda's father. Pollux Black knew who Ted was and what he had meant to Andromeda.

If it wasn't my idea, she thought to herself, deliberating over how to get Ted and Nymphadora to see each other in a controlled and socially acceptable environment, Father couldn't stop me. Hogwarts would be ideal, but there was no need for a new infirmary Healer or a professor.

It left St. Mungo's as the best meeting place, but the only way Andromeda could imagine visiting the Ministry-funded hospital was for a charitable cause.

"A donation," she murmured. "A sizable one." Andromeda pressed her lips together and furrowed her brow. The Traverses had the funds to make a donation, but a one-time charitable gift wouldn't be enough. A continuous fund was the only option, and that required more than a single influx of gold.

Andromeda strode to her desk and took her quill out. Instead of writing a letter to Ted, she began writing ideas for a fund at St. Mungo's. She would have to convince Byron that it was his idea to give up thousands of Galleons on an endowment and fundraising efforts to keep the endowment afloat. If she succeeded, it would be the greatest triumph in her marriage since convincing Byron that Nymphadora was his daughter.

After notes and calculations were made, Andromeda cut another sheet of fresh parchment to write her letter to Ted.

T-

Easter will be too busy with my niece's wedding. I'll make plans for July.

-A.

P.S. Wait for my next letter. I have no need of further reminders of your desires.