TED TONKS. ( @tdtnksââ )
Ted was observant. Over-observant, even. Observant to the point of seeing things that werenât there because his anxiety told him the crease in someoneâs brow or the lack of smile on their face meant heâd done something wrong. It was something he managed constantly and had learned to mostly reign in. Not to mention, he knew Andromeda so much better than the average someone. She was his wife. The love of his life. The light in the dark. And he was rather certain the darkening expression on her face as they listened to the nightly news broadcast wasnât just a trick of his mind.
He couldnât ask immediately though. If he was right, if there was something on her mind, sheâd hold in because Dora had been with them in that moment. With a gentle squeeze of Andromedaâs hand, heâd volunteered to put Dora to bed; there hadnât been much room for no in his offer. Dora didnât protest either⌠Or not much, at least. She complained that she wasnât tired with a mouthful of toothpaste, but settled easily into her bed and sleepily mumbled when he asked her if sheâd completed all her homework. He even asked if she wanted to read with him â a chapter of muggleâs children book one of her cousinâs had let her borrow. He was silently grateful when she said no.
After pressing a soft kiss to Doraâs forehead, pulling the covers up around her chin, and flicking off the light in her bedroom, Ted returned to the living room. Andromeda was sat on the floor, staring off at something he couldnât determine. A smudge on the wall? Dust particles in the lamp light? Fringe on the rug? Nothing at all?
He hesitated for a single moment in the doorway before padding across the room. Using the wall to brace himself, he slid to the floor next to her. A joint cracked painlessly. He wouldâve made a joke about getting old, but it stuck in the back of his throat. Now wasnât the time. He could see it in her side profile. There was something on Andromedaâs mind, on the tip of tongue.
âNo, you havenât,â he said with a small shake of his head. When she looked at him, he offered her a smile â it was uncertain, but it still reached his eyes, and it didnât fade when she laughed, honeyed and hollow. âIâll wait as long you need to figure it out. Or you could tell me about Bitsy.â
It took Andromeda years to actually adjust to Tedâs patience, kindness, genuine bloody goodness and even now, it still took her slightly off guard. She never quite understood why he was so good to her, but sheâd stopped expecting him to turn on her, to yell at her, to make her cower against a wall. She knew he wouldnât do that.Â
Still, she couldnât help but feel some level of guilt for her action, for the emotions that she typically kept a tight lid on spilling over the surface. She was being dramatic, she was sure of it. This happened nearly twenty years ago, she shouldnât be this shaken, she shouldnât be this scared, she should have told him sooner. Of course, Andromeda was never all that skilled at doing things that she should do.
âI should tell you about her, even if I canât get to the actual point; she was family. Sheâs just always been a bit of a sensitive topic, given what happened to her,â the last few words were barely exhaled, the sound of her breath controlled to a fault. She knew that her grip would slip from her carefully curated control during this conversation, she knew that she needed to start strong.
âI was always a..â she paused, her eyebrows knitting together as a slight huff exhaled from her nose, âdifficult child, according to my mother. Even as an infant â especially as an infant, actually. Caring for me wasnât something that Druella or Cygnus were really capable of; Trix was always Cygnusâ golden child and Druella was pregnant with Cissa before she could really form an attachment to me. It was difficult for them, dealing with nightmares, the screaming, and the wailing, and insomnia.â
She turned to face him, pulling her knees to her chest. âI used to have these nightmares â I still have them, but theyâre more.. controlled, less horrific,â she blinked, once, twice. It was a lie; they were every bit as terrifying as when she was younger, she was just better at controlling her reaction now. âBut even as a baby, I would wake up screaming and thrashing and scared out of my mind. Nothing that Druella attempted would calm me, apparently,â queue another huff, erring on the side of disbelief. âSo, they brought in Bitsy.â
âShe was a house elf for the family, technically, but she didnât do anything other than take care of me. She essentially acted as my nanny, caretaker, actual parent until I was about eight or so,â she didnât expand on what happened when she was eight. She was more than certain she would get to that point soon enough. âShe was the only one that was able to keep me from screaming at night, the only one that would actually be able to calm me down, the only one that cared enough to try, the only one to actually recognize the dreams for what they were.âÂ
Andromeda paused, smiling as tears started to sting at her eyes. Sheâd wiped them as soon as theyâd formed. Andromeda wasnât one for tears; nothing really rattled her, but Bitsy was an exception. She was always an exception. âI absolutely adored her, truly. I swear to Morgana, her heart was bigger than her entire body. She kept me safe, kept me out of trouble, taught me to how to survive my parents. She protected me with her life,â the final sentence was nearly inaudible.Â
Her breath was more labored now and her gaze had slid from her husbands to the floor. Her eyes met his once more, urging him, begging him to say something â anything â so she could catch her breath, collect herself, process the fact that she was discussing Bitsy for the first time in nearly two decades. Â