Part I
Andromeda Black never wanted her daughter to grow up with the grave reality of being a Black. As a Black herself, Andromeda knew what those impossible expectations entailed: the bitter nourishment the Black children received instead of care, the nobility of a house on their shoulders as a blanketing affection. Being a Black meant that you could never be a child. You were an heir, a name in a map of pure aspirations, a bloodstain in the master narrative of bigotry.
When Nymphadora was born, Andromeda was elated that the girl had, in fact, nothing of the Blacks in her. Nymphadora was Andromeda’s constellation, a different star system that shone around her own orbit, in unique ways. She was a happy and joyful girl, a curious child with a knack of mischief and sometimes a dreamy demeanour that gave her an air of difference. But with difference also came misunderstanding. Dro always knew that Dora was meant to be different, whether it was the ability of the young girl to shape shift and change her appearance willingly, or her knack for trouble, Nymphadora was no ordinary child. She stood out and made the crowd disappear at the same time.
For Andromeda there was only Nymphadora. She could not love another child, no matter how selfish or unnatural this predicament was.
Of course, she always knew that she would have to tell her daughter about her maternal family, about how her two sisters had shunned her when she married Ted, how her own mother, Druella, had spat on her face and cursed her name and how her father’s jaw clenched with rage, his fists shattering glass when Andromeda calmly told them of her plan to cut ties with the Black family.
It would be a lie to say this was not difficult for Andromeda. After all, they were her family and she grew up with them, and although she did not agree with their ideology about blood purity and the role Andromeda ought to have taken as a member of their House, she craved their love and acceptance, albeit they had none to give.
The day Nympadora was born that changed. Andromeda was not a Black anymore. She was a Tonks.
Andromeda raised her daughter as a Tonks. She wanted to accept and celebrate her daughter’s decisions, to teach her to act on her own volition and to embrace her character. Although Nymphadora was visibly different from Andromeda, in that she lacked the aristocratic mould of the Blacks, she was a happy girl, a strong girl that would make her own mind, despite her perceived aloofness and endearing clumsiness.
Andromeda had not raised a foolish child. She knew and trusted Nymphadora and her decisions, so she never said no to her or disagreed vehemently at something Nymphadora wanted to do.
When her daughter said she wanted to become an Auror, Ted was surprised, but Andromeda was not.
During the first time Nymphadora went on an Auror assignment with her mentor, Alastor Moody, Andromeda was proud of her daughter.
When Nymphadora told her that she had joined the Order of the Phoenix in the fight against Voldemort, Andromeda had silently come to terms with her decision, giving her daughter a small nod of understanding.
When Dora told Andromeda that Sirius Black was innocent and was also a member of the Order but was placed under house arrest for his own safety, Andromeda felt proud that her daughter had met the one remaining Black that retained his humanity, despite the wounds of war, the scars of betrayal.
When Sirius had fallen through the archway, Andromeda embraced and held her grown daughter because she wanted to take away the pain and loss: if she had finished off Bellatrix, Sirius would be alive and well.
Andromeda never wished this upon Nymphadora. A dead cousin, an aunt that wanted her dead, hating the girl for her parents. Another aunt that thought Andromeda was a blood traitor, a dirty child herself.
Nymphadora had not talked to Andromeda about Remus Lupin from the start. Dromeda could sense a change in her daughter right after Sirius was gone. The girl she had raised to be a strong and independent person, someone capable of love for others as much as capable of loving herself, was now a despondent, depressed woman, pining about something.
The mother initially blamed the change of attitude to Sirius. Although Dro had not seen Sirius in years, she held a soft spot for him. Maybe his loss had affected her daughter more than she had imagined, maybe she had found a brother in Sirius, sharing a sense of solidarity and understanding with her long-lost cousin.
But no, this seemed like something else. Dora was becoming like a wilted flower, like her energy was stolen from her and she was now wallowing in sadness about something minuscule or grandiose, something unattainable. Unrequited.
Of course, it was love. It did not need much more guessing. One day Dromeda confronted Nymphadora about it and the young woman told her everything: how she had fallen in love with a fellow Order member, a man who was caring and compassionate, but also reserved and shy and soft-spoken. Someone who had a lot to offer, but did not think he deserved her. Someone who was hopelessly unavailable to Dora because he still loved someone else.
Andromeda was furious. She saw this as an attack to her child’s wellbeing, as someone unworthy wanting to take Dora down a path that was not her own to fight, someone who had his own demons and was clearly not able to let go of them.
No. Her Nymphadora deserved much better than a man mourning a long-lost love.
But still, Andromeda’s haughty remarks and thoughts had actually made her feel surprised. She suddenly sounded like the family that she had rejected a long time ago.
Did she view this man as a waste of time, as unworthy, a miasma?
Was this her being a Black through and through? This scared Andromeda and made her recoil.
But then suddenly Nymphadora rose from this state of despondency and was happy again, really happy for the first time in months.
It was a year after Sirius Black’s death, and Nymphadora had finally won over the difficult and elusive Remus John Lupin, a man thirteen years her senior. A man who had made Dora suffer for a whole year prior to their publicising their relationship.
Andromeda was not impressed. In fact, she was not impressed at all, but tried to be less haughty for her daughter’s sake.
And then came the time where Andromeda Black-Tonks had found out one of the disturbing truths of Lupin’s sad and complicated life. The first blow was easier to manage than the ones that would come later.
Lupin was a werewolf. Andromeda was trying to breathe roughly and her beautiful features, her dark heavy-lidded eyes, tried not to convey her shock and disappointment to Dora.
Her daughter, her only daughter, had fallen in love with a man with a chronic degenerative disease, someone whom society had treated so badly that he could not be employed, who was literally dangerous once a month and had to be removed, taken away from his own loved ones for their safety.
Dro had tried very hard. She tried to empathise and convince herself to stand by Nymphadora’s choices like she always had, but something thick and ugly was stuck in her throat, a pit that was becoming vile, and she could not get rid of it.
Soon after Dumbledore died, Remus had finally accepted Dora’s apparently persistent advances and they were all of a sudden, engaged to be married. It was so sudden and so strange that it really shook Andromeda.
They all agreed to have the wedding after the war, as it was too dangerous and Dora was an Auror. Lupin was a known werewolf and Order member. So Andromeda kept silent and watched her daughter being happy, revelling at whatever she saw in this man.
Dora was pregnant a few weeks into their relationship and her Dora was not happy anymore. She was happy about the baby, of course, but not happy with his reaction.
He was edgy, disappointed, and acted as if this was Dora’s fault, as if a grown man of thirty-seven did not know better.
However, what Andromeda saw as anger, latent aggression and knack for abandoning responsibility, Dora saw as desperation, as grief, and self-loathing. Her daughter believed that Remus wanted the child, wanted Dora, but felt terrible at the prospect that he would pass his lycanthropy to an innocent child.
Dora was sad. Dora was heartbroken. He had left her, left them when she was in the first trimester .
Andromeda could not be silent anymore. She remembered when she found out about Remus’ other secret, one that was a bigger blow than his lycanthropy, and she could not remain silent about her misgivings.
The memory still hurt her already tired eyes.
Dora was pacing to and fro at the small flat, her pale hands on her hips, the swell of her belly becoming visible now.
“ Bloody hell, Mum! He's just using his lycanthropy as an excuse. He thinks he can't be a proper father, that he'll put us in danger. It's not fair”
Andromeda said nothing at that comment, waiting for her daughter to finish her thoughts, as she kept pacing around the room and had a stormy look that spoke of more revelations to come.
“I tried so many times, but he's gone now, and I can't help but wonder if it's because of me.” Dora slumped on the couch, her shoulders hunched and her fingers fidgeting anxiously. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, and her voice trembled with a mix of anger and desperation. Andromeda's silence stretched on, her lips pressed into a thin line, as she processed the weight of Dora's words. Her brows furrowed slightly, betraying a mix of despair and anger that flickered across her features.
And then she saw it for the first time. Her daughter was hiding something from her. This was more than Lupin’s lycanthropy and his insecurities about being a father.
Dora shifted restlessly, her hands clenching and unclenching in her lap. She avoided meeting her mother's gaze, her eyes darting around the room, as if searching for an escape from the truth she had kept hidden.
“Mum, there's something I've been keeping from you. Remus...before we got together, he was in love with someone else. They were together for a really long time, before I came into the picture” said Dora sniffling a little.
Andromeda remembered that fact but had never pressed Dora to reveal too much about this. At the end of the day, Remus was a grown man. It was expected that there were others before Dora.
But this did not mean it did not anger Andromeda.
Andromeda's shock and anger were palpable as she processed her daughter's words slowly. She took a moment to compose herself before responding. Could Remus have left Dora for someone else…for another woman? Was that what Dora was saying?
Andromeda shifted a little and moved toward Dora on the sofa. Her daughter now had a hand on her stomach. Dro closed her eyes and took Dora’s hands on her own. She waited for the other shoe to drop.
Dora took a deep breath, eyes closed. “He was in love with Sirius for years.”
The room went cold in an instant. Andromeda's mouth went dry, but her daughter did not have time to be embarrassed at the scandalous revelation.
Dora instead swallowed hard and continued bravely:
“After Sirius died, I thought maybe I could be there for him, you know? Maybe if I gave him space, he would see that we could be together. I loved him, Mum”
Dora's tears flowed freely now, her breathing shallow and uneven. She looked up at her mother, her eyes filled with a mix of anguish and self-doubt.
Andromeda stood there looking at her daughter, unable to move. Her mask of composure wavered, her brows furrowing in disbelief and anger. She struggled to find the right words, her voice strained. It all made sense now—the depth of Dora's pain when Remus initially rejected her advances. Remus had been mourning Sirius, Andromeda's cousin, and Dora had been caught in the crossfire of his grief. In the crossfire of a werewolf's doomed love for another man, a man who was dead.
Anger then washed for disbelief. Why would Nymphadora, why would her daughter pursue a man who was grieving his lover of many years, who was probably not fit to be there for Dora the way she wanted and now that a child is involved, the sense of responsibility–or realisation–pushed him to the edge.
“Nymphadora…” said Dro, still holding her daughter’s hands. Dora did not object to the name she hated this time.
She continued speaking, without waiting for her mother’s thoughts to be uttered.
“I just... I wanted to be there for him, Mum. I thought maybe if I loved him enough, he could find happiness again. But now... now he's gone, and I can't help but wonder if I wasn't enough. If I had been Sirius, would he have stayed?” said Dora in a quivering voice.
Andromeda's facade crumbled, replaced by a deep well of angry sorrow for her daughter. She moved forward, closing the distance between them and wrapped her arms around her crying daughter, offering comfort and solace in her embrace.
“This. is. Not. your. Fault” she said to her daughter brusquely, and buried her face in her neck, not wanting Nymphadora to see that she was also crying.
Part 2
The night Teddy was born she had received a patronus from her son-in-law, Remus Lupin, in the middle of the night. The familiar wolf silently placed his large paw on her sleeping frame and Andromeda Tonks looked at him expectantly, nodding and getting up from the bed, grabbing her cloak and dressing quickly.
She used the floo and arrived promptly at the small apartment, passing through the wards and activating the password with the flick of her wand.
She was greeted by the anxious but plump face of Molly Weasley who was wearing her nightgown and a long white apron on top of it. Molly was holding a large basin with water.
“Oh my dear Andromeda, she is almost there! Your darling girl Tonks is almost ready to have her baby!” Molly beamed at her.
Dora was in labour. Her daughter was ready to have the child, which for months was the only thing that made her daughter hopeful, that kept her from a total state of sadness. The child, his child, had brought happiness to Dora without it being in the world yet.
Andromeda could not hesitate anymore. She touched Molly's arm, her voice coming out as a desperate croak.
“Take me quickly to her, Molly, please. Is everything..?” Dro began to ask Molly, but was interrupted by the sight of a tall figure sitting on a chair in a semi-comatose state, near the door. She could see the pale and sick face of Remus Lupin.
The sight of him sent a shiver of concern down her spine. Was everything alright with Dora and the baby? Lupin's face had a distinctive mark of eminent disaster. His normally composed demeanour was shattered, replaced by a mix of shock and anguish etched across his face. There was a haunted look in his eyes, as if he had glimpsed something beyond comprehension. Something of another world that bordered delicately at the curve between life and death.
He was not looking at her at all. In fact, she was not even sure he was there mentally. She observed the way his hands trembled slightly, betraying the turmoil that churned within him. His usual appearance was dishevelled, but he truly looked dreadful tonight. His hair unkempt and his clothes rumpled.
Andromeda knew this was not the time or place to last at her son-in-law or get offended at the total disregard he was showing. Although a sharp feeling of anger flushed on her face, she couldn't help but wonder what had transpired to leave Remus in such a state. She knew he had a complex history, but this seemed to be something entirely different, something that had shaken the very foundations of his being.
Perhaps he was to abandon ship again. Maybe he could not handle the demands of fatherhood now that he was literally on the brink of it.
As she watched him, a mix of concern and judgement wrestled within her. Her dislike for his past actions, his previous abandonment of Dora, threatened to overtake her perception of him in this vulnerable moment. Andromeda found herself torn between her protective instincts for her daughter and the recognition that Remus was, after all, the father of her grandchild that was now coming into the world.
Andromeda's heart pounded in her chest as Molly took her aside, her face etched with a mix of urgency and trepidation. They retreated to a dimly lit corner, their voices barely above a whisper.
“Molly, what has happened to him? Why is he in such a wretched state?” Molly's eyes flickered with a sombre intensity as she prepared to reveal the devastating truth that would shake Andromeda.
Molly casted a worried glance at Remus and whispered, with a heavy sigh, “Andromeda, brace yourself. Let's sit, probably that's better. Follow me, my dear--there we go," the woman said.
Molly took a deep breath and looked at Andromeda in a conspiratorial manner, eyes squinting at an upcoming revelation.
"There was an Order meeting tonight before Dora went into labour..and we got some, well, dare I say, miraculous news--about..about Sirius” Molly said whispering.
Sirius. Again, that name. Andromeda did not want to talk about Sirius at the time. She needed to go to her daughter's side.
“Andromeda, Sirius... Sirius, he's alive" whispered Molly excitedly. "Kingsley found him, but he's trapped, stuck in his Animagus form as a dog. They're doing everything they can to revive him, to bring him back to his human self. We just found out at last night’s Order meeting, and I s'pose it has impacted Remus a bit” Molly said with a downcast look.
Andromeda felt her breath catch in her throat, a surge of disbelief and anguish flooding her veins. The weight of Molly's words crashed upon her like an avalanche, threatening to bury her in a whirlwind of emotions. In that instant, Andromeda's mind raced with the implications of Sirius's survival for Remus, for their clandestine history as lovers. The depth of the pain, the unhealed wounds that would be ripped open anew, was unfathomable.
“Molly..that's--that’s not possible, right?” said Andromeda, closing her eyes. Her head was killing her. She could not bear the answer.
“I am afraid it is, my dear, a downright miracle, innit?” said Molly, looking awestruck as well.
There was no more time for silence. Andromeda had to act now.
Driven by a whirlwind of fear and protectiveness, Andromeda pushed past Molly with a fierce determination, her strides forceful as she made her way toward Remus. Her eyes burned with intensity, her entire being consumed by the desire to shield her daughter and their fragile family from the impending storm.
But before she could reach Remus, who now finally began to look alarmed, a piercing cry shattered the air, cutting through the heavy atmosphere. It was a cry that held both the innocence of new life and the ominous reminder of the darkness that loomed. A paternal wound would open and it would not close easily.
Andromeda froze in her tracks, her heart pounding in her ears. Ignoring Remus, she ran into the room with him leading the way, anxiously. There, in Dora's trembling sweating arms, was the newborn child.
“It’s a boy,” Dora said in a raspy voice looking elated. Andromeda sat back looking at her daughter in awe. Remus was now next to her, hovering above her and looking at the child, sobs escaping his lips. His trembling treacherous hand on Dora’s head.
Part 3
Months had passed since Andromeda had made her decision. The weight of her plan to leave her home today and visit London had become a suffocating burden, urging her towards a path she could no longer avoid. A path that led to darkness and uncertainty.
It was a moonless night in June, the air thick with anticipation as Andromeda stepped into the large courtyard with an array of old townhouses, her footsteps quick and purposeful. She knew she had to confront the truth that lay hidden within the walls of this old place.
Grimmauld Place, a place she hadn't visited in years, loomed before her like a specter of the past. The grandeur of the ancestral home now twisted and distorted by the sins it held within its walls. Andromeda's heart raced, her breath catching in her throat as she pushed open the rusted iron gates, their mournful groans echoing through the deserted street.
Andromeda's steps quickened, the urgency within her propelling her forward. She had not sent an owl to Sirius, for she knew that her arrival had to be unexpected, catching him off guard, just as the truth had caught her.
Her feet carried her up the dilapidated steps, each creaking board amplifying the tension that coiled within her. Memories of the past mingled with the present, blurring the line between reality and the haunting echoes of what once was.
Finally, Andromeda stood before the imposing door that was now appearing between numbers thirteen and fourteen, shaking the ground like an earthquake.
Andromeda's hand trembled as she stood outside the door. She took a deep breath and raised her wand, tapping it gently against the door, the sound echoing through the cold afternoon.
The silence was broken as the door swung open, revealing the pale but handsome face of Sirius Black on the other side, his eyes widening but not quite in surprise.
“Andromeda” he said coolly. “I cannot say I did not expect you here eventually,” he said in an air that carried something indeterminate. It was not quite an invitation. It wasn't harsh but not tender either.
“I am glad we seem to share the same expectation, cousin,” said Andromeda in a hushed tone but nodded bravely, following Sirius' lead into the dark hallway, where a new reality was looming, wanting to make its existence known, to become truth.
So she followed Sirius silently, both of them too brave for their own good—in a world that had yet to rise from the ashes.