On the second day of winter holidays, Andromeda hears that Bridget Macmillan has been murdered. Her mother tells her at breakfast, matter of fact, then tosses the paper onto the table.

“What a pity,� she says. “The girl could have gone far, if she hadn’t been so misguided in her beliefs.�

Andromeda says nothing. She knows - knew - Bridget, who had been Head Girl during Andromeda’s second year at Hogwarts. Bridget was blonde and kind, a short witch with a stocky build and no nonsense attitude. She’d caused a minor scandal when she’d taken a post at the Ministry of Magic and continued to promote bills in favor of equal rights for Muggle-borns.

Her mother takes her silence as agreement, then begins talking about the holiday plans in her usual strident tone. There’s to be a party on Christmas Day, as always. The house elves will prepare a feast, and there will be dancing and elegant décor. The Flints, her mother says pointedly, will be there with their eldest son. Although the words remain unspoken, ‘suitable match’ echos clearly in Andromeda’s head.

Five minutes later, when the last of the details left to be dealt with have been rattled off, her mother finally leaves the dining room.

When she’s alone, Andromeda picks up the discarded Prophet and begins to read. The identity of the murderer is unknown, but the writer of the article suggests Voldemort’s supporters are behind it, and Andromeda has no reason to doubt that.

She tries not to flinch at the description of the body, at the hints that this is just the beginning. The Prophet has been calling it war since the beginning of seventh year, and she’s never forgotten that, of course, but it’s easier to ignore when she’s tucked away at Hogwarts. With warm fires and friends, with books to read and tests to study for, she can almost convince herself that the battle Voldemort has begun is only happening in hypotheticals. The Muggles that could die; the wizards who might lay down their lives.

But Bridget’s death settles heavily around her, reminding her of what’s at stake. It reminds her that she will have to choose.

She doesn’t want to, of course. She wants things to carry on like they always have. Andromeda has never had Bella’s convictions about blood purity, or Narcissa’s willingness to accept what she is told. Still, she likes routine and order; change and instability are frightening concepts to her.

Her thoughts are interrupted when Bella comes into the kitchen. She’s dressed in her outfit for the Christmas party and wants Andromeda’s opinion.

The robes are a deep red - the colour of blood, Andromeda thinks before she can stop herself - and her sister has never looked older, more sure of herself. Two years away from Hogwarts have done much to change Bellatrix, and there are times when Andromeda thinks she doesn’t know her sister at all. Moments when there is a look in Bella’s eye, an expression on her face that says to everyone that she knows something they don’t.

“You look beautiful,� Andromeda says. It’s what Bella wants to hear, but it’s also the truth.

Her sister fiddles with the hem absentmindedly. “I just wish I didn’t have to go. It’s silly to waste time on parties and dances when there are other things going on in the world.�

She waits for Bella to elaborate, but when she doesn’t, Andromeda is almost glad of it. There will no going back from whatever is happening, she realises with a sudden conviction, not for Bella.

The only question that remains is whether Andromeda will follow in her footsteps. It's a thought that, coupled with the news of Bridget's death, continues to haunt her.

--

Two days before Christmas, Bella asks Andromeda to go to Diagon Alley. Narcissa tags along, too, eager to escape their parents preparations for the Christmas party.

Andromeda welcomes the distraction, at least until Bella mentions that the Lestrange boys are meeting them there. At best, she’s tolerant of Rabastan, but she loathes Rodolphus, who is cruel and condescending and increasingly involved in Bella’s life.

Still, she hopes fresh air and an afternoon away from the manor will finally get her to stop thinking of Bridget Macmillan. For the past week, she has dreamt of Bridget and of bright flashes of light that wake her up without fail. The holidays have seemed like nothing but endless time to think on things she'd rather avoid, and Andromeda wants nothing more than to run back to Hogwarts and escape it all.

When they arrive at Diagon Alley, they find the streets decorated for the holidays, lights covering the shops and mistletoe everywhere. It’s picturesque, almost, and it gives the street a bright feeling that seems at odds with the world around it. If it all seems a little less crowded than usual, no one says anything about it.

Still, despite the décor, Andromeda finds herself distracted and disinterested, her mind jumping from Bridget Macmillan to the news that came in today’s paper and back again.

She tries her best to ignore those thoughts, focusing instead on being polite as they meet the Lestranges at Flourish and Blotts.

To her surprise, the the day passes by pleasantly enough, even if Andromeda is more withdrawn than usual. No one seems to notice, though, which isn’t surprising. She has always been quiet, never bold like Bella or willing to please like Cissy.

There’s only one last stop - Madame Malkin’s to pick up an order for their mother - when it happens.

It’s no one’s fault, she knows. The five of them had been discussing something intently, and no one had seen the boy walking toward them with his eyes trained on the most recent Daily Prophet.

It’s not until Ted Tonks picks up his fallen paper (‘Five Muggles found murdered in Southampton’ - Andromeda knows that’s the main headline today) that she realises what’s happened.

“Watch where you’re going, Mudblood,� Rabastan hisses.

Ted, for his part, regards them mildly, as though Rabastan is just a petulant child calling him silly names. “Lestrange,� he says, “didn’t see you there.�

If anything, Ted’s refusal to be drawn into an argument makes it worse. Before Andromeda can suggest they move on, Rodolphus’ wand is out.

“You’ll apologize to my brother, you piece of filth,� he says.

Narcissa looks a bit frightened, her skin pale under the red flush from the cold. Bella merely looks bored, her eyes focused on the path that leads toward Knockturn Alley. Andromeda’s hand slips into her robes to grab her own wand, and the thought that she would disarm Rodolphus without a second thought is a bit startling to her.

It’s just that… she likes Ted, is the thing. She wouldn’t use the word friend, as the thought of trying to explain that to any member of her family, save Sirius, is laughable. But he’s pleasant enough in Potions, having overcome her persistent iciness at the beginning of the year. He makes her laugh with his impersonations of Slughorn, and provides amusing commentary about the latest act of stupidity from Benny Clevery.

Andromeda keeps quiet, though, hoping the conflict will resolve before she has to do anything. The moment seems frozen in time, Rodolphus and Rabastan pointing their wands at Ted, whose own wand is held firmly in his hand.

“Enough,� Bella says after a long moment. “There’s no need to cause a scene in the middle of the street.� She looks at Ted, and the lack of emotion in her gaze is chilling. “The Mudblood will get what he deserves soon enough.�

The Lestranges listen and lower their wands, their reluctance apparent. Ted mimics their movements, and as he does so, finally meets her eyes. He turns to go quickly enough, but not before she sees the hint of anger there. But more than that, there is a look of disappointment. Andromeda watches him walk away, his shoulders tense and steps full of purpose.

“He has it coming,� Rodolphus says, his voice pulling her attention back to the group.

His anger is visible only to those who know him well. They all are nothing if not well trained on hiding emotions, on keeping reactions private. Andromeda can see it, though, in the sharp flash of his eyes, in the tensing of his jaw. But for all the intent that she knows is behind the words, his tone could be used to discuss the weather.

Her own expression is controlled, but her emotions are not. She is thinking of Bridget Macmillan, of the family she left behind, of how the memory of a witch she barely knew has been hanging heavily over her own shoulders since she heard about the murder. And before she can stop it, her mind drifts back to a conversation she had with Ted in the last Potions class before term ended.

You’re different that I thought you’d be, you know, he said.

Different how? she had asked, although she had a good idea what he meant. Were you expecting to find that I have claws? A third arm?

He had smiled at that, but the look in his eyes was more intense than the conversation really called for. Just different, he said finally, and Andromeda let it drop, a little afraid to know what he was really thinking.

“Let’s go,� Narcissa says in a small voice, dragging her back once again to the present. “It’s getting late.�

And in that moment, Andromeda makes up her mind. “I’ve just forgotten,� she says suddenly. “I’ve got to get a present for Liam Flint.�

Bella nods approvingly. “Mother will be pleased. Can you meet us at Madame Malkin’s in half an hour, then?�

“Of course.� And with that, she’s off. Andromeda hurries down the street, afraid she will have lost him in the crowd. She finds him finally, just outside the apothecary.

“Ted!� she calls. “Hey, Tonks!�

He turns sharply, and she doesn’t miss the fact that his hand slides into the pocket of his robes. She knows his fingers are gripped tightly around his wand. When he realises Andromeda is the one calling him, he relaxes a little, but his expression is still guarded.

It’s hurts more than she thought that he doesn’t trust her.

“Something you needed, Andromeda?� he asks, and if his tone isn’t cool, it’s still sharper than usual.

She suddenly feels very small and vulnerable, standing in front of him under the cover of apothecary’s awning. “I just wanted to... that is, I thought-�

It’s not like her to stumble over her words, and this, she thinks, must be what softens Ted.

“It’s okay,� he says, stepping a little closer to her. “I understand. The ties that bind, and all that.� He touches her arm briefly, and she still feels the warmth of his hand even after it’s gone.

He’s letting her off the hook, she knows, but Andromeda needs to say it herself. She swallows tightly. “I’m sorry, Ted. I should have said something.�

He shakes his head. “And have been disowned by your family for defending a Mudblood?� He can’t quite keep the bitterness from his tone, but he manages a smile and adds, “You didn’t join in, and I’ll take what I can get from you.�

She’s not entirely sure she wants to think on what he means by that, so she says nothing. The short pause that follows is just shy of awkward.

Finally, Andromeda nods at the apothecary. “Stocking up on ingredients in the hopes of beating me in Potions?�

“Of course.� Ted grins. “You should watch your back; you can’t be top of our year forever.�

“But I can try,� she replies easily.

They talk for a few minutes about the coming term, about NEWTs, before Andromeda says, “Well, I should go. I have to meet up with everyone.� She gestures vaguely down Diagon Alley, trying to ignore the thought that the rest of the group could easily walk their way and see her talking to Ted.

He nods and says goodbye, that he’ll be ready to beat her in Potions in a few weeks’ time. She’s already begun walking away when he calls out to her. She turns, eyebrows raised, to find him grinning at her.

“Happy Christmas, Andromeda.�

She returns his smile before she can stop herself. “Happy Christmas, Ted.�

She turns then and fights the urge to look back, or worse, hurry back to him and suggest they grab a butterbeer at The Leaky Cauldron. There’s something about Ted that relaxes her, makes her feel like herself.

It’s something that makes her think about what the cost of the war will be. That, in the end, Avada Kedavra works the same regardless of blood purity. It makes her realise that she cannot be neutral, cannot watch Bella become more and more entrenched in this madness and expect to come out unscathed.

She has to make a choice.

And as she hurries back down the street to Madam Malkin’s, she thinks she knows exactly what that choice will be.