They were tucked away in the corner of the restaurant, their table piled high with seafood of debatable freshness. Narcissa was blatantly breaking the Statute of Secrecy by vanishing the prawn shells that had overflowed and spilled from the bowl. James was staring at them throughout, his expression blank, likely having underestimated how much seafood two drunk middle-aged women could consume in one sitting, especially without their husbands present.

"Andy," Narcissa said quietly, almost a whine.

"Again?" said Andromeda, reaching over to grab and crack the crab legs Narcissa had piled onto her plate with the experience of a woman who clearly often frequented such dimly lit seafood bars. "Do you even clean your own arse in that manor of yours?"

"Thank you, Andy," said Narcissa, giving her a mellow smile.

"You're welcome, brat."

A silence fell upon them again, only interrupted by the clatter of shells and chitin against each other. Looking at the rest of the table, Andromeda got the sense that the scene before her was rather bizarre, even to her inebriated mind: James was squatting on his chair, dominating his corner of the table with a portable grill he'd Transfigured, grilling squid and octopus and scallops and fanning the glowing coals with the plastic-laminated menu. Only because of magic did none of the staff and other patrons give them a second glance.

Across from him sat Lyra, her head bent down as she scribbled away in a notebook.

"Lyra, sweetie, what are you doing?" said Andromeda.

"Scheming," murmured Lyra.

Narcissa glanced at her as she nibbled on crab. "Mm, Lyra, dear, eat some more, you're too thin. You can do that later."

Lyra shook her head. "I scheme best when I'm drunk."

Andromeda leaned over the table to see what she was writing: it was a mixtape for someone named Larissa. She laughed. Scheming indeed. The urge to pinch Lyra's cheeks was becoming more overwhelming by the second.

"Who's this?" she said. 'I don't recognize their name. You were planning on introducing them to me, weren't you?"

Narcissa leaned over to see the name too. "Not a pure-blood, is she?"

"Oh, honestly, Narcissa —"

"I was only asking!"

Lyra's cheeks turned redder than they already were from the wine.

James hummed. "It's her student."

Andromeda raised her eyebrows. "Really, Lyra."

"We're the same age!" she said defensively. "And we're not dating or anything — she just likes Muggle music and I've been showing her mine." James snorted.

Narcissa shook her head. "I still can't believe Dumbledore made you a professor."

"It was a very clever ploy," said Lyra, with a distinct hint of respect in her tone. "I don't even want to take over the world anymore! I like being a teacher."

"He's really neutered you, hasn't he?" said James. "He'd never have made you a professor if he knew that you lusted after your own students. But I guess that means he never did end up Legilimising you after all."

She swung her head around to face him. "Firstly, it's Legilimencing. Secondly, I do not lust after her."

"He really shouldn't have made you a professor," said Andromeda blandly.

Lyra scowled at her too, then looked down at her paper, scratched out the name, Larissa, and wrote below it, Dora. Andromeda grimaced and James giggled.

"What happened between you two anyway?" said Narcissa.

"She despises me," said Lyra morosely.

"Lyra didn't tell Dora about her Seer stuff," said James, making a nebulous gesture with his hands to punctuate his point. "And then Dora realized that the Seer stuff was the cause of everything that went wrong in her life, up to and including overhearing Charlie Weasley telling his friends that he thought she was weird."

"James," said Andromeda disapprovingly.

"It can be directly traced back to the time Lyra stole Dora's diary and sent it to Charlie by post!"

Narcissa laughed uncharacteristically harshly. James and Lyra turned to her, and she waved them away. "It's nothing," she said, but Andromeda had a suspicion that Narcissa was thinking about the incident in her fourth year when she herself conveniently found Mary Wingate's diary and arranged to have select passages read aloud by Howlers during breakfast. Poor Mary had to transfer to Durmstrang after that, leaving Narcissa to step into the vacated queen bee position.

"But in the end, I think there just wasn't enough healthy communication between the two of them." James nodded firmly. "Lyra's too much of a manipulator, see. Dora needs someone straight and forward."

He glanced at Andromeda and winked. Andromeda just sighed.

"The two of you are veritable nightmares," she murmured, resting her chin on her fist. "Narcissa —" she managed, before she snorted.

Her sister took a moment to look up. "Hm?"

Andromeda opened her mouth, carefully running the words through her head to make sure she didn't slur them coming out, and then giggled to herself. Narcissa looked at her challengingly as Andromeda tried to quell her laughter, and failed.

"I can't — I can't believe you had two kids," Andromeda managed out, before dissolving into a fresh round of piglike snorts. "You gave birth to this one —" she gestured at Lyra with her empty glass "— and you, you really thought, 'yes, please, I'd like more of that'?" She burst into laughter, nearly shattering the wine glass on the edge of the table before she had the sense to put it back on the table, out of her reach.

Narcissa frowned prettily, and pulled her wayward daughter into a hug.

"Of course I did. I love Lyra. She is the beastliest little creature that has walked this earth, but she's mine."

Lyra frowned, as though struggling to remember something. "Is your love for me based on your narcissism?"

Narcissa placed her head against Lyra's with a heavy thunk. "No, dear. If that were the case, I wouldn't love the parts of you that you inherited from Lucius."

"Like what?" said Lyra, sounding rather offended.

"Your arrogance," said Narcissa, bopping Lyra's nose. "And your habit of collecting admirers." She glanced at James. "Lucius does love his admirers."

"You mean patsies for when he's faced with Azkaban," said Andromeda.

"He was acquitted," said Narcissa.

"I can't believe you married that peacock," said Andromeda, refilling her glass. She paused halfway through, as a small voice in her head wondered if it were really safe to be drinking as much as she was, then she topped up the wine glass anyway. "Peacock. Heh."

Narcissa didn't notice Andromeda's amusement, instead too concerned with cuddling her daughter's head like a teddy bear.

"Oh, Lyra Rhea Malfoy, you impossible girl," Narcissa sighed. "You have changed so much, yet so little. In the end, you are still that toddler who learned to walk and immediately abused this privilege to run around and hide in the most impossible places."

James looked up from the grill, the light of the flames casting his features into aesthetic shadows. "Rhea?" he said.

"Oh, no," Lyra moaned. "Mum, I told you not to say that in front of James!"

Narcissa gave a woolly smile. "Did you?"

"That's a cute name, Rae-rae," said James, and Lyra looked ready to spit on him.

"Rhea isn't a bad name at all," said Andromeda slowly. "I don't understand what's got you so embarrassed."

"Your approval, I'd imagine," said Narcissa, taking a swig. "Merlin, I'm embarrassed to have given it. As though a clown complimented me on my nose."

"Rae-rae," said James, giggling.

"I — my names are not bad!" said Andromeda.

"This is why," said Lyra, scowling, "I knew he'd give me that exact nickname."

"Little Miss Mittens," said Narcissa, ignoring them both and rolling her eyes. "You'd adopt a creature as regal and proud as a kneazle, and give her a name better suited to a protagonist of a picture book. About collecting apples in a wicker basket with an — ant — anphor — a talking rabbit."

The look of loathing Lyra directed at James as he repeated Rae-rae was replaced by something fonder as she turned to Narcissa. "Like that one you knitted for me when I was baby?"

"Ah, yes, I did do that, didn't I?" Narcissa swirled her wine in her glass. "You adored that thing. Lopsided little creature though it was."

"I loved her," said Lyra, her eyes sparkling.

"And then she fell in battle against doxies that tried to bite you when you were seven."

Lyra took a deep, shuddering breath. "She was the best friend I've never had since."

James just frowned. Lyra noticed.

"Don't you dare say anything, James. She was sweet and pure and you'll infect her memory with your stupid."

James' gaze returned to the glowing coals as though it contained all the secrets of the universe.

"You knitted a toy that fought against doxies?" he said eventually.

"No," said Narcissa. "We were all rather surprised it showed so much initiative… I had animated it, of course, but I was not quite so impressive at Charms back then to do that." Narcissa frowned in thought, then looked at Lyra. "Did you do anything to it?"

Lyra gave her a look. "With what wand, exactly?"

"Please, how many times have I had to tell you off for taking my wand?"

"That would be cool," James said, seeming to address nobody in particular, still staring at the flames. "I should look into animated creations."

"Gonna make yourself a girlfriend?" said Lyra. "She still won't love you."

James scoffed. "You're the wrong person to lecture me on the topic."

"Yes, Lyra," said Narcissa agreeably, "don't you think it's time you dipped your toe into the pool a bit? You're seventeen now, dear, and unless you've been lying to me, you haven't even made an effort to find someone. Surely you'd not waste your beauty and youth? Why, before I started seeing Lucius, I had so many adoring little puppets wrapped around my finger, catering to my every whim —"

Lyra frowned. "So do I."

"— and you'd never know it, but your aunt was a spiteful little heartbreaker as well," Narcissa finished. "Andy, that is. Not even the most foppish Gryffindors had the courage to speak to Bellatrix."

"A heartbreaker?" said Andromeda incredulously. "As I recall, you gave me the exact same conversation that you're giving Lyra now, then sent a dozen different boys in my direction without my say-so. You knew I wasn't interested in any of them — in fact, I didn't even know their names — and you still managed to convince them to serenade me with grand gestures in front of everyone!"

Narcissa's lips twisted into a small, cruel smile. "And they certainly learnt their lessons, didn't they?"

James' gaze flicked between Narcissa and Lyra, his expression torn between amusement and exhaustion, clearly having had secondhand experience with Narcissa's rather flexible brand of morality.

Andromeda stared at her. "You used me for your petty schoolyard politics?"

"You are remarkably useful, sister, let none tell you elsewise."

"You're not using me, are you?" said Lyra warily, and Narcissa shook her head.

"No, dear, I've had my fun. I'm an old crone, now, destined to be forgotten and fade away like the stars at your sunrise." Narcissa took her hands, looking into Lyra's eyes. "It is now your responsibility, therefore, to manipulate others for your amusement. Do you understand?"

Lyra smiled brightly. "I do that already!"

"I think," said Andromeda gently, "that you two might have had enough to drink."

Lyra giggled, then nodded loosely. "Yeah…"

Narcissa didn't bother looking at Andromeda, only gesturing vaguely in her direction. "See? Useful. What wouldn't she do for me?"

"Come, now," said Andromeda, with far more patience than she felt. "Let's get you home before you have an accident."

Scooping her sister up by the underarms with a grunt — her sister had definitely put on some weight — Andromeda pulled Narcissa to her feet, as James and Lyra removed all evidence of their magic, using magic. Andromeda grimaced as a slightly drunk James tried to show off his wandless magic, only to Vanish a bottle but not its contents, spilling wine all over the already-sticky tablecloth. She'd have to leave a tip to make up for that, for certain. Narcissa managed to find her footing, though she did keep one hand on Andromeda's arm.

"Feel like you can walk?" Andromeda said dryly.

"I think so," she said. "Best not try to Apparate, though."

"That was always out of the question, I think."

Andromeda fumbled with her purse — it was because of Narcissa immobilizing her right arm, and surely nothing else — and paid in cash, pulling out a wad of bills without looking beyond making sure the stack exceeded the final price in value. She stumbled a little (which in turn knocked Narcissa off-balance) as they stepped outside. Why anyone would decide to put such a minuscule, pointlessly low step at the door was beyond her. The cool evening wind was a blessing after the slightly damp warmth of the bar, and the clouds above roiled with wrathful promise, in the typical London fashion. James said something that Andromeda missed, then danced around Lyra's flying fist, which led to the pair of them stumbling around as though they were children half their age playing It. Narcissa sighed, leaning into Andromeda, for more support or perhaps for warmth, with the way the breeze whipped the hem of her dress around her legs.

"I'm sorry."

Andromeda rolled her eyes. "It's fine. It's amusing enough seeing you piss drunk, anyways."

"No, I meant," Narcissa said, and sighed again. "About everything. About forsaking you, when we were younger."

Even through the drunken haze, a sharp ache shot through Andromeda's heart. She couldn't respond, for a moment frozen in place —

But she was snapped out from her thoughts by James tripping and crashing into a stack of chairs outside a cafe. As he clumsily got back on his feet, passersby around him laughing or giving him dirty looks, Lyra pushed him back into the chairs again, snickering uncontrollably.

Andromeda shook her head and raised a wand to the street. She couldn't remember if the muggle-repelling magic of the Knight Bus extended toward the summoner, but whatever. They wouldn't be able to see them get on it anyway.

"Andy…" said Narcissa, but Andromeda was saved from answering as the Knight Bus popped into existence in front of them with a deafening bang! The muggles around them kept walking on, oblivious.

"Wicked," said James, stumbling on board with great assistance from the handrails, then peering into the driver's compartment. "Where's the Shrunken Head?"

"Oi, no need to be rude, fank you very much," said Stan Shunpike. "Ern's doin' just fine as he is, he still has a few more years 'til he gets that wrinkly."

"Where the fuck is the Shrunken Head, Stan?"

In her rush to get in Lyra pushed Andromeda aside, saying something about a movie. Looking behind her, Andromeda noted Narcissa's far-off expression and grabbed her by the hand, pulling her into the Knight Bus. When they settled down and paid their fees, the Knight Bus shot off, and in the state they were all in, it was an achievement that none of them fell over.

"Stan, how's the magic on this thing work?" said Lyra, expressing a very drunken interest in the topic as the Knight Bus darted through the metropolis, with all the lamps, traffic lights, walls, and muggles themselves stretching and jumping out of the way, the very fabric of reality bending around the Knight Bus.

Andromeda didn't like the way Stan's pimpled cheeks turned a bright red. "Wot? I didn't enchant this fing myself. Ern's been teaching me to drive, though, right Ern?"

"Who did enchant it?"

"Er," said Stan.

"It was Madam Gloria Reinhard," Ernie mumbled in his slow cadence, spinning the steering wheel this way and that, though the bus itself didn't actually change direction. "In eighteen-seventy-seven. 'Course back in those days it was horse-pulled."

"By what kind of horses?" said Lyra in awe. "Abraxans? Pegasi?"

"Quarter-unicorns," Ernie grunted. "They're the only kind that can go that fast. When they feel like it."

"And this is still her original enchantment?" Lyra frowned. "But this can't be the original chariot or whatever —"

"Of course not," said Ernie. "They had to replace it piece by piece, so the enchantment didn't fade off. 'Course, we had to stop using horses too when them muggles stopped."

"The Bus of Theseus," said James wisely.

Lyra turned to Narcissa and Andromeda, eyes shining. "I want one."

And then James went flying down the corridor as the bus suddenly accelerated. Narcissa and Andromeda managed to hang on, having prepared for this exact moment, while Lyra just laughed so hard that Andromeda worried she might throw up. But if there was any good place to throw up, the Knight Bus was one of them. It was their norm.

The trip lasted perhaps three minutes, which went by in silence, both sisters keeping their mouths clamped in fear of everything they'd consumed over the past few hours coming back out. Lyra had her face pressed against the window, watching the world twist itself around them with childlike awe, while James spent the remainder trying to crawl his way back to the front. He needn't have bothered; he got flung into Andromeda's waiting arms as soon as the bus stopped.

"Thanks, Auntie," he said breathily, lingering for a moment longer in her embrace for support. Andromeda patted his shoulder before letting him go.

With another violent bang, the bus disappeared as soon as their feet touched the ground, leaving them standing on the cracked concrete sidewalk in front of Andromeda's quaint home. The clouds that had coalesced earlier had finally started to rain, a light drizzle on their shoulders, and Andromeda ushered them inside. From her perch on the magical maze, Mittens blearily opened her opalescent eyes and yawned.

Ted's boots were absent from the entrance hall. Andromeda suspected he'd dropped off into the pub again. He often did when she wasn't home, easily bored without human interaction. She didn't understand how someone could gorge themselves on conversation like he did and not feel sick. She left the porch light on for when he returned, before turning back to the others.

Lyra sprawled over the couch with a groan, her hair a windswept mess and her refined robes falling off and pooling near her elbows. James knelt at Mittens' altar, resting his head on one of the fur-covered columns to stare adoringly into the snoozing kitten's face. Narcissa, despite her state, first sat primly in Andromeda's armchair, then after a moment sunk into the cushions. When she met Andromeda's eyes, she gave a mellow smile, an expression that looked a little bizarre on her.

Snorting quietly to herself, Andromeda sat on the armrest, placing a hand on Narcissa's head. That evening had, she would admit, gone better than she'd expected. She thought back to Narcissa's question, only now realizing that she'd never given her sister a response.

It was something that she'd wondered about ever since that meeting at Grimmauld Place. She longed for justice still — justice for all the indignities she'd endured in her last year of Hogwarts, girls who'd called themselves her friend turning their backs on her in a heartbeat; justice for her and Ted's elopement, too humiliated to host a wedding when she knew her side of the aisle would be barren. Somewhere deep inside her had simmered a brew of resentment and bitterness, poisoning her for years. That part of her knew that if she forgave Narcissa now, she would never receive that retribution, that closure.

For Narcissa had been a part of that pain, back then, still blind to the world beyond whatever their mother had taught her. Narcissa had ridiculed Andromeda, scorned her, and in the end had disowned her like the rest of them. It was well within her right, Andromeda knew, if she wished to take up arms against these troubled thoughts and their perpetrators, if she wished to burn this bridge and leave her life as a Black behind for good.

She could imagine what path Bellatrix would take in this situation and, with a note of undeserved shame, knew it was not something she could do. Andromeda had never considered herself particularly strong. And it was easy not to be right now, as she felt the weight of Narcissa's head settle on her arm. Andromeda breathed in, savoring every sensation, the sight of Narcissa's pale neck peering out from under her fur-lined robes, the scent of wine and wildflowers, and the feel of her silky hair pooling in the crook of Andromeda's elbow.

"Cissy," she said.

Narcissa turned her head, craning her head to look up at Andromeda, and the gesture was painfully nostalgic.

Andromeda smiled softly, and said, "I accept your apology."

"Apology?" said Narcissa. "Whatever would I apologize for?"

Andromeda nearly laughed at the absurdity, but she limited herself to rolling her eyes.

"For everything, for forsaking me, I believe are the words you used."

"Oh," said Narcissa, a rare and delicious note of embarrassment in her voice. "Thank you, Andy."

"On one condition, if you would," said Andromeda. "I should like you to make a greater effort to speak to Ted. You don't need to be friends. But I'll not have him feel threatened in his own home, the times you visit."

Narcissa, to her great discredit, seriously considered that. "I can certainly make an effort, as you say," she said slowly. "Whether your husband will be receptive —"

"Narcissa."

She gave a petulant sigh. "Fine," she said.

"Good," murmured Andromeda, running her fingers through Narcissa's hair. "Good. That's all I have ever wanted."

She felt Narcissa's arms around her waist, then, constricting tightly; and she felt Narcissa's immense strength strangle her buried regrets, burning up the toxins with a sunlike radiance. Sitting in the parlor with only the sound of the rain hitting the roof, her fingers stiff with the cold yet her breast alight with a heat she'd not felt in aeons, Andromeda knew this moment would be fleeting; but the warmth, perhaps, might last that little bit longer.