Andromeda Tonks

When: 5 December Who: @dromed-a​ Where: Tonks household

She’s been seconds from crying since she heard the news. Gasping against the hardness that’s building up inside her chest, the stinging feeling of tears that she refuses to let fall. She’s Apparating to Andromeda’s before she can think about it–instinct draws her towards family, and panic has her acting before thinking.

“Andromeda!” she calls as she raps her knuckles on the door. Her voice sounds harsh and strained, even to her. Whispers, then: “please be home.” Sirius is captured, Sirius might be dead, and her heart is seizing with emotion, caught up tight in the tightness in her chest that’s making it hard to breathe. “Meda, please!” She knocks again, hard enough it hurts.

There’s a numbness to her, there has been all day. A newspaper passed into her hands by a friend with worried eyes, the breath catching in her throat as her eyes skimmed the words. There were so many things Andromeda had been scared of for years –– her worries became her steadfast companions, but now one had gone too far, gotten too close, slipped a knife between her ribs until she felt like she could barely breathe. 

Andromeda had things to do, and though she longed to shirk her duties, she carried on. She finished her classes. She graded the last few papers she had waiting on her desk, she refused to let herself fall apart. And at the end of the day, she went home to the person she loved. Holding Ted always helped soothe her aches. Still, when they went to sleep she found herself staring at the ceiling, unable to drift away. 

All she could think about was Sirius. 

She’s already up and out of bed, hot cup of tea spiked with whiskey in her hand. So she’s close, when the knocking comes. She moves, chest seizing with emotion at the sound of the voice, tears finally threatening to actually escape her eyes. She pulls it open, let’s Narcissa in, ushers her into the warmth. 

“Ted’s sleeping.” She says, a quiet warning. But she gets it, too. She wants to scream. It’s been building in her chest for hours. “I’m gonna pour you a drink. That’s what we’re gonna do, right now.” Because it feels the easiest, because if Narcissa hugs her she’ll fall apart. She moves, grabs the bottle and doesn’t bother with the pretence of tea, just presses a cup of the amber liquid into Narcissa’s hand. 

Life these days is a constant quest for answers. There were always so many questions: what to do about Riddle, what to do about the Order and the Insurgency, what to do about Nymphadora. Now the world needed a simple explanation for what could have caused this mess with Portia. What spell might it have been? Who might have done it? What could revive her? No one seemed to know what to do, and they were supposed to be the grown ups here. They were supposed to know. 

It didn’t make sense to Andromeda no matter how much she turned it all over in her head. If a person had come into the castle and done this to Portia, they would have had to have been in possession of some very dark magic. Dark and obscure. Dark and advanced. Even with her family’s history, she couldn’t put her finger on a curse that might have done it. She’s been sitting here at the girl’s bedside for more than an hour now, pouring over whatever books she thought might have been helpful. But there are no charms for this, no easy fixes. 

Her constant worry for Nymphadora wasn’t making it any easier. Her mind kept wandering. She kept wanting to take Nym and go, bring her home and away from the castle. Stupid, and selfish, when Andromeda was needed here by so many people. None of them were as important as her daughter, but she still owed it to them to try.

There are footsteps behind her that pull her out of her thoughts, and she’s mildly relieved for whatever company they might bring. “If you’ve come to relieve me of duty, it’s okay. I’m gonna stick around for a while.” 

28 october, nearly midnight, andromeda’s office, hogwarts        ( @dromed-a )

If it had been up to him, and his panic, he would’ve marched up to the castle as soon as he’d had the owl from Dromeda, and brought both her and Dora home immediately, too afraid to think of what might happen if they stayed up at the castle even a moment after, that either of them could be next to be attacked. But he didn’t. No, he went up to the castle, of course, but he had gone to Dromeda’s office, had holed up, busying himself with making tea and tidying up while his wife helped deal with the fallout of the attack.

By the time she reappeared, mercifully with Dora at her side, already having insisted she sleep under their watchful eyes that night, even if it was still in the castle, Ted was in full mode panic over what would happen, what this meant for all of them, and the dangers being so clear and on their doorstep. Between this, the sighting on the border, and the rumored appearance of another from the other side, he wasn’t sure what any of them were going to do. But what he worried most for was his family, and how he could possibly keep them safe in the face of all of this danger.

They’d tried to have a normal night, as normal as it could be for the three of them to be bunkered up in Dromeda’s office for a worried sleepover, trying to talk through things with Dora, but just as every other time in the recent weeks, she been distant, reluctant to talk, withdrawn, even.

When she finally does fall asleep, legs draped over his lap, it feels like, in some small way, he can breathe again, can let go of the facade of certainty and confidence in their safety together, allowed to give into his worry again. Asleep like this, she looks peaceful, like there’s no worry in the world that could touch her; it makes him wish he could give her that in waking life, too.

“So peaceful like this; nearly makes it possible to pretend it’s alright. Nearly,” he sighs, finally looking to Dromeda, before shaking his head lightly. “I dunno what we’re going to do, Dromeda. This is…every day, it gets less safe here.”

She’s running on adrenaline, running on fumes, almost running out of steam. It may have been the first day of her career where she hated being a Professor at Hogwarts –– seeing a student hurt, damaged but alive and with no solutions readily present, it was the hardest thing she’d ever gone through. That, coupled with the ever growing worry about Nymphadora. She felt like she’d drop the second the responsibility stopped holding her up. 

It’s a relief to walk into her office and see Ted there. It’s a relief to have all of them together. Their family. It made her ache for the time before Dora came to school, when everything still felt bright and full of life and hope and dreams at home. They still had that, in small ways, but nothing could really make a night like this feel normal. 

When Dora falls asleep, Andromeda can’t help watching her. She perches on the arm of the couch, next to Ted. An arm around their shoulder for balance. She watches her daughters face with rapt attention, the smooth expanse of it in sleep. It looked peaceful, looked so innocent. She was a wide open book in sleep, and Andromeda wanted to bring her home and tuck her back into bed. 

She gives the softest hum in reply to Ted’s words, exhausted in the way that makes it harder to form the words. It takes her a few long seconds, thinking it over in her mind. It doesn’t feel safe here, she doesn’t feel safe, doesn’t feel steady. She wants to take Dora home. She wants to take Dora away, wants to make all of them hide. 

“I don’t know either.” She admits, very quiet. She has things to do here, at the castle. Research to do on petrification, counter measures, castle security, taking care of the Slytherins who had looked at her tonight like they were lost ducks and she was the only mother they had to guide them home to safety. “We could ––” And then she stops, bites her lip. “Maybe Dora could start sleeping at the house, instead of in the dorms.” They’d still have to worry about her all day, though. During and between classes, on the way to dinner. And she’d be furious with them for it, already struggling with life here wouldn’t be made easier by being removed from everyone else. Andromeda didn’t want to weigh the damage of either option –– she’d rather have a pissed off eleven year old than a petrified eleven year old. 

“A few weeks is like forever!” Marlene insists. And sometimes it did feel like a few weeks apart was forever, with how often the Order could be in each other’s pockets. “You’re fucking right you did,” they approved with a nod and a laugh. Something about Andromeda… If you asked them, Marlene wouldn’t be able to pinpoint what exactly it was, but something about the woman just put Marlene at ease.

Marlene takes the offered drink with a little tip of cheers and sips. Something like guilt edges her chest when a shadow briefly falls over Andromeda’s face. It soothes away quickly though and Marlene meets her smile. “Well, it is a fine second-best, yeah, but it’s to Gryffindor, and we all know that.” She nods as if to punctuate her point and drinks again.

“You and Ted should be going out all over the place, now, since Dora’s all taken care of.” Married life was quite the mystery to Marlene (and wouldn’t likely continue to be, thanks much) but they imagined that’s what they would do given an empty house. Or maybe the opposite, they wouldn’t leave and re-christen every room. “Of course seeing me is the highlight, though.” At the mention of the meeting, Marlene lit up even more. “Me too! I’ve been excited all week, basically. I’m just so ready to do something. Get to work, you know.” The Order meeting had been something of a disappointment and so Marlene was looking far forward to the change of pace they expected.

An arched eyebrow, an amused smile. “You’re forgetting all the classes and other little ones we have to take care of.” She did ache to see him more, when she could, if she could. They’d been doing their best, finding the time, going on soft adventures and trying to be normal. “My Slytherins may be a motley crew these days, but Merlin, they’re a handful.” 

It was true, the kids in her house were few in number but big in personality. Good kids, meshing well with the school, but often walking on thin ice when it came to the rules. Not unlike herself, when she was young. And then the idea of Dora, taken care of, with her sullen expressions and peevish moods more frequent than anything else. No, it wasn’t easy for her and Ted to relax and unwind. 

It was nicer, tonight, to focus on the ideals. The Insurgency, and all its brilliant fire, and Remus’ brilliant little mind behind it. It was what Andromeda needed, to not feel utterly useless. “Cheers to that,” she mused, taking a sip. “I feel like I’m losing my mind, sometimes, not knowing what the plan is. Missing people and worrying about people and –– well, you know all about that.” She reaches out, takes a hand, squeezes it. “I’m just excited to start fixing things.” 

He grins so easily as the sound of her voice, at hearing her call him love, almost like it’s the first time hearing something like that from her all over again. “Right you are, as always,” he smiles, before taking a deep sip of his tea, savoring the warmth it brings to his body. Mornings like this are full of that warmth, everything feeling a little more gentle and beautiful when they can just enjoy each other, when they can just be without the weight of the world pressing down, even just for a few hours.

For as much as he always has to be moving, always has to be changing, in reality, he’s never wanted for anything in his life. The world was kind, even if outsiders might look at the struggles and disagree. But it’s the truth; a fantastic family, love found so suddenly and easily, a beautiful daughter. Only recently has he started wanting. What he wants is to have this be the normal again. He wants Dora to be her happy, daring self, he wants Dromeda to smile and laugh, he wants to be able to stop worrying about his family’s future.

Maybe, for now, all he can ask for is doing so for this afternoon. 

“You’re all mine, eh? Now, I like the sound of that,” Ted hums, smiling up at her as she continues on with the morning. “What I want to do is to do anything to keep that smile on your face. As long as I’m allowed to look at you, I’ll be happy. Remember that little valley we found, just outside of the village, surrounded by hydrangeas and daisies. Maybe a bottle of wine, a little grass, it’ll be like we’re teenagers again.”

The laughter that bubbles up is sweet, Ted and their flattery. It makes her warm and easy, makes her want to hide sometimes. It did when she was seventeen, his attention overwhelming and terrifying and so much nicer than anything other boys threw at her. A little gentle, a little reverent. 

She moves, ducks down, unable to help herself, gives him a gentle kiss. A sweet thing, soft and quick, smile firmly in place when she pulls away again. Enough, enough. She wants to tell him. You got in my pants when we were sixteen, you can quit it with the compliments. 

She lets out a soft sound, slips into a chair of her own to rest her head on her palm and look at him, adoration obvious. “You had me at wine.” She says, grinning, letting herself lean into his gravity for a second. He had her at the offer of any time together, in reality, just the idea of spending a day with him surrounded by nature, peace and quiet and dreamlike. She misses it, feeling free and easy, like a kid. She nudges his foot with hers, playful. “If you really wanted to relive our teenage years, there’d be stargazing too.” 

“It’s not silly at all,” Al shook their head in earnest. “One way or another, that’s why most of us are doing this, to leave the world a little bit better than we found it.” If one wanted to seek out infamy, joining a rebel group out of the shards of another certainly wasn’t it. Al saw no reason to not believe Andromeda’s reasons for joining the group, though there were still other questions that lingered in their mind. 

“And I guess you could say I did it for the same reasons,” they offered, figuring it was only fair to share their own side in all of this. “I respected the fact that he had secrets he wanted to keep in the beginning, but after a decade it was trying my patience, until I was left wondering if it was because he genuinely wanted to protect us, or simply didn’t trust us.” 

Trust, such a rare quality in times like these, and hardly given freely. Al hoped they could trust Andromeda, but like the old wizard, she seemed to have secrets too, secrets Al feared would implode if not dealt with properly. The only way they were going to be able to address them though was for Al to show part of their hand. 

“I wonder if your sister Narcissa feels the same with her little one,” they added casually, the look they give her however reveals there was more behind the question than their tone let on. “Of course, her husband’s vision of a better world, is a lot different than our’s.” 

Not silly at all, but Andromeda still felt it sometimes. Maybe it was something the world engrained in her young, that her dreams and wants and worries and reasons were sillier than everyone elses. Even if no one else thought it, there was still a little voice in her head telling her it was true. 

It’s still a comfort to hear why Al is in this, their reasons from straying away from the warm embrace of Albus’ leadership. Al didn’t strike them as the kind of person content to sit around and let other people make the decisions, to never have a real say and to never know the reasons. “It doesn’t feel like he wanted to protect us, that’s all I can say.” It’s a soft musing, thinking back on Remus and Sirius and the scars they’re going to wear forever. The damage and the trauma and the weight of it. She can never excuse the fact that Albus asked children to do such terrible things. 

She’s almost easing into it all, the oddness of the meeting, the strangeness of sitting and talking like this. But she has to smile when it finally comes out, the casual mention of Narcissa. Of course. Of course Al wants to talk about this. The snake in their lions den. 

     “A lot different from hers, too.” She says, and its mild and easy on the air. She’s the only one here who needs to trust Narcissa, and she hopes beyond hope that she’s right to do so. “She won’t let Draco turn out like him, at the very least. It’s a path he isn’t going to get the chance to walk down.” It’s more honest than Al deserves, Andromeda thinks. But that’s the easiest way to play this game, before she asks, firm: “Just leave Narcissa to me, okay? Don’t try drag her into this, going forward.” 

Her gaze lingers on her son, too. “Yes,” she says slowly, fingers curling around the mug, grateful for something to touch, something to ground her. “Yes, I understand that.” The things she worries about are terrifying. Draco growing up with a tattooed arm and bitter curses on his tongue.

The words settle in her mind, and she looks away from Draco to focus on Andromeda, frowning a bit. “Are you worried about Nymphadora?” she asks. Narcissa still has trouble thinking of this girl as her niece, a fully-formed child with Andromeda’s eyes and rare powers, entirely nonplussed by Narcissa’s overwhelmingly emotional reaction to meeting her.

Everything about this is different than what it used to be. Narcissa’s not sure how she feels about that. Of course she misses their closeness, back then, but the environment–the pristine curtains and ruffled bedsheets, Druella’s judgment breathing down their necks, the uncomfortable clothes at parties and the constant demand to perform, to be someone–was less than desirable.

She was lucky. She was the youngest, the least, and could hide behind her sisters and her mother and slip around the edges of everyone’s notice. Nobody expected things of Narcissa Black: they were too busy expecting things of Bellatrix and Andromeda. She could get away with being just a little bit different. At least until Andromeda was gone, and all the attention swiveled around to focus on her.

She wants to help, now. Her sister has escaped that life–her sister trapped her in it, in a way, but Narcissa doesn’t blame her, because Andromeda couldn’t have known. They both escaped. Narcissa can feel that thin thread that linked them once starting to reform. She just needs to be careful not to let it snap.

Andromeda gives Narcissa a kind smile, a warm thing, sad around the edges at the mention of her daughter. She know’s its odd for both of them, to come face to face with nieces and nephews you’ve never met before. It takes some getting used to, and Draco seems so much like his father that it’s hard to look at him sometimes, when the light hits and highlights it. He’s like his mother too, a saving grace that Andromeda focuses on. 

She knows a new cousin has been odd for Nymphadora, too. She’s so used to the ones she knows, helping watch Harry while the grown ups talk, chatting easily with the Weasleys. They aren’t family by blood, but Andromeda likes to think of them that way. Then again, everything has been odd for Nymphadora lately.

     “She’s been....going through a hard time of it, these last few weeks.” Her Nym, withdrawn and tired, not her beaming cheerful self. Always with a head in a book, always scrawling something in her diary. Andromeda didn’t remember what being eleven was like, but she doesn’t remember it feeling like a burden heavy on her shoulders. “Nymphadora, she was such a happy kid. So...sweet, and cheerful, and rebellious.” A small smile, knowing Narcissa hasn’t seen her in full form yet, wishing she had. 

So she gives a nod of her head, sips her tea absently. “We’re both worried, me and Ted, but i’m not sure there’s anything we can do about it aside from be here if she needs us.” 

It breaks his heart, knowing without needing to ask that she’s thinking about Dora. Her own daughter, so free and wild and enthusiastic; it’s been impossible not to notice that this has taken a toll on the girl, withdrawn even in his classes lately. 

      ‘That’s what we’re doing, Andromeda,’ he says, reaching out to take her hand in his. She doesn’t look like Sirius, most of the time, besides the general family resemblance, pale skin, dark hair, sharp features. But right now, the despair in her heart so clear in her eyes, she is his mirror image: momentarily helpless, momentarily hopeless. He knows that, like Sirius, he will blink and she will have smoothed her features over; she will smile and the shine of her eyes will have faded. They have always been so good at putting their harder emotions away, the two of them. He supposes that’s what they were taught to do, early on, when they were young, and the skill has never faded.

There has been ample time for practicing, after all.

      ‘I mean it. We’re going to give them one. All of them. Dora, and Harry, and– and Draco, we’re going to fix it for them.’

The breath that sighs out of her is a shaky little thing, more vulnerable than she’s comfortable with most of the time. Remus is too kind a man for his own good, sometimes. A gentle thing. She doesn’t know how he ever survived under the Riddle Regime –– but then again, she saw him when he came back. She knows that it took him a long time to find himself again, under the monster-shaped armour he built for himself. 

Sometimes it shakes her, how strong he is. She doesn’t think she could have survived the things he has. She doesn’t think she’d still be as good deep down. Good, and brave, and honest. It’s easy to see why so many people love him. 

     “Well, when you say it like that.” The smile she gives him is a gentle one, slipping into place over the hurt and sorrow. His conviction is a nice thing, she lets it wash over her. “Might be some hard work, but i’m gonna hold you to it, Lupin.” 

Marlene had been waiting all week for this meeting. They had been waiting to be among people who were willing to do more than just be sad and panicked over Dumbledore’s death. Among people who were willing to do something. What a sodding concept, eh? So they had arrived at the Hog’s Head a little early, happy to hold the bar up with her drink and greet people as they headed past to the basement. 

They’ve been there a bit when the opening door reveals Andromeda. Something lilts in Marlene’s heart then and they hop up once Andromeda gets close enough to pounce on. “I missed you!” they shout, arms around the woman’s shoulders. 

It hadn’t really been that long since they had seen Dromeda, but it felt like forever and they had indeed missed her. “Of course you can.” It takes real effort not to nuzzle into Andromeda’s neck and instead Marlene just keeps one arm slung around her. “But first we have a bone to pick, all right? Because I’ve heard that daughter of yours ended up in Hufflepuff and honestly, I’m distraught. Who ever heard of a Hufflepuff?” Marlene laughs heartily, showing that they’re only teasing. Of course – Marlene adores all of the little next generation that their friends seem to be birthing, no matter what house they end up in. “How’re you, love?”

A beaming smile takes Andromeda over as she returns the hug with equal enthusiasm, a softly amused laugh bubbling up in her chest. Marlene’s energy and happiness were infectious things, Andromeda has always thought. They had an aura that couldn’t help but cheer Andromeda up. And Marlene gave bloody good hugs, which didn’t help the matter. 

     “Its only been a couple of weeks, Marls.” She sighs, happily. “But yes, I missed you too.” 

Another startled laugh escapes Andromeda as she settles in at the bar, looking at Marlene with amused and disbelieving eyes. She moves over, bumping their shoulders playfully. Flagging down old Aberforth, she orders them both a drink.

     “Hufflepuff is a perfectly respectable house, I’ll have you know.” A cocky raise of her eyebrow. “Its no Slytherin, but it’s a very good second best.” Andromeda fights to keep her spirits high, internally brushing off the heavy emotions that want to pour out of her. She slides their drink toward them when it arrives, gentle look in place. “Ah, I’m doing grand.” Fingers drumming on the bar. “It’s nice to be out and about, seeing people.” Another nudge. “Seeing you. And I’m excited for the meeting.” 

Andromeda relaxing releases a tension she didn’t know existed. Her shoulders fall a half an inch and Narcissa breathes easily again since the moment of panic that maybe Andromeda doesn’t want her around. Her life is full of moments like that: realizing she’s unwanted, hated even, dreading walking into a room if she’s not sure who’s inside, sometimes even when she is sure. Nobody likes her here in Scotland, and she can’t even blame them. Look at who she was married to. Look at her sister.

Look at this sister, too, the one who left and sent a letter and she’d been frozen in place, in terrified teenage indecision, wanting to follow because she needed explanations and reassurances from the sister she loved. Narcissa couldn’t imagine a life without Dromeda, back then. She’d been locked in her room for a week for daring to say maybe it was best the wedding didn’t happen, if Andromeda didn’t love Lucius back. She’d hidden Andromeda’s letter from their mother; luckily the owl had come straight to her bedroom window, bypassing Druella’s wards. Monitoring her correspondence, in case Andromeda tried to convince her to leave, too. Narcissa wrote a ten-page letter back and burned every page. When Bellatrix came by, noticed the ashes, she lied and said it was old pictures of Andromeda.

She has a lifetime to apologize for, but nobody wants to hear her apologies, save for Andromeda, and even then she’s not sure. Narcissa’d managed to apologize for unspecified things the night they were reunited, but in conversations since then it’s been hard finding the words she wants to say. She listens, mostly; when she has to speak, she talks about Draco, about Fletcher’s flat. Once, she talked about her nightmares, the ones about Lucius finding them, Bellatrix bursting in and killing the entire Tonks family. Somehow, those are almost as bad as the nightmares about Lucius carrying Draco away and leaving her here. She hasn’t told Andromeda about those.

Narcissa follows and sits obediently. She likes to watch and listen–Andromeda looks like Bellatrix, but her eyes are soft and her face rounder, and her voice has a cadence she picked up somewhere in their ten years of separation that Narcissa knows didn’t come from their upbringing amongst the pureblood high society. She has a confidence that reminds Narcissa of their adolescence, but it’s different now, matured into something else. Narcissa is fairly certain that, if she ever had a similar air, she’s lost it by now. Strip away the haughty facade, and she’s become something timid, too afraid of repercussions, willing to turn a blind eye to things that are surely terrible because to look too closely means to confront what she has been a part of her whole life.

Except now, sort of. She’s trying to reject the person she used to be, accept the perpetual discomfort of her new life. If nobody on this side of the border thinks she is deserving of redemption, she can only embrace their judgment and beg them not to let it extend to her son. Even if she is damned for eternity, meant to endure a life in derision, Draco deserves better. Not the sins or his father nor mother.

She wants to hug Andromeda, offer her sister some measure of comfort, of support through great stress. But the gap of a few inches spans a dozen years and she isn’t sure how to bridge it, still. Narcissa’s fingers twitch toward Dromeda’s arm as her sister passes, instinct attempting to push past emotional barriers, nosing the walls for cracks.

“Thank you,” she says instead. “How are you feeling?” Hoping her smile is something reassuring. Stomach still in knots over hearing Dro call her my sister. She isn’t sure she deserves that, now.

How is she feeling? It’s a good question. She feels like she’s on a very rocky boat. She feels like she has the weight of the world on her shoulders. She feels worried for Dora –– constantly, worried for Dora –– and worried for every child in the world. She feels sad that Albus is dead, glad they don’t have to defy him to his face anymore. 

She feels like she’s very far away from the woman who Narcissa knew, once upon a time. The handful of years between them in age had never felt like an issue to Andromeda. Her younger sister had been her equal in almost all things. As clever, as beautiful, as strong. She’d been someone that Andromeda could share every secret with. She used to sneak into Narcissa’s room and talk to her for long hours, curl up on her bed and gossip, share dreams and worries and fears, and every feeling she ever had. 

That was a long time ago. Narcissa isn’t that girl either. They’ve grown up and apart and in different directions. Maybe they can grow back together again, with careful tending. 

     “Overwhelmed.” She sighs, honest as she can manage. “I’m feeling overwhelmed.” And it feels silly to be standing here, making tea. She’d only offered because it felt right, felt like what you do, what you offer. She just wants to sit down. She finishes anyway, sets the chipped and stained mug down in front of Narcissa and distantly hopes she won’t mind the state of it. It’s a far way off from the fine china she’d be used to. 

She slumps into her own chair, when she gets the chance. “And worried. M’worried too.” Nymphadora today, at the funeral, so distant and moody and withdrawn from her and Ted. She didn’t know what to do about it, how to smooth it over. She glances at Draco, sitting quietly still, for once. “But you know how it is, with children. You’re always worried about something.” 

Stepping into the dusty warmth of the Hogs Head is a little alien for Andromeda –– it isn’t one of her regular haunts. Their meeting is down in the basement, but Andromeda has arrived a little early, anxious for the night to get ahead. It’s been a long time since she had some real liquid courage, and she figured she could buy herself a drink before the meeting started. 

Marlene is a familiar sight that makes everything feel easier. They’re one of the kids that Andromeda always feels protective of. Like Sirius, like Remus, like James. That era, those twenty-something year olds who make her feel so much older than she is, and just as young as they are, somehow both at the same time. 

     “Well, look who the cat dragged in.” She drawls, shrugging her coat off as she slides up next to Marlene. “Buy you a drink?” 

“You can blame the kid for that,” they waved off with an amused roll of the eyes. The ‘kid’ in question meaning Augustus of course, his real name was something only voiced in rare occasions. “I wouldn’t have had the thing if it weren’t for him. The kettle is all your’s though, there are tea bags in the box on the counter. I’m afraid boiling water is about as far as my tea making capabilities go.” 

Taking a seat at the kitchen table they allow her to get what she needed, their gaze following her as she did so. A small smile curls at the edge of their lips as she voices her comment, one that seemed innocent enough given the dimpled face that asked it, but Al knew better than that. Sorry be the wix who ever underestimated the middle Black sister, they thought to themself. Eyes meeting Andromeda’s, their smile grew, a nod in answer to the silent question the witch asked.

 “Well I figured it was long overdue, especially now considering our newly found shared interest and all.” They replied, the shared interest being the new little rebel group they both found themselves yet again. Taking a sip of the coffee they still held in their hands, they leaned back in the chair, gaze not leaving her. “I am curious though, what led you away from the rest of the flock as it where.” Despite the fact they both now knew Al wanted her there for more than just some light chat and tea, they continued carrying on the conversation as if it were one, finding more fun in playing along with the charade. 

Andromeda lets her smile grow wide and easy at the comment. Having someone in your care did things to you. A soft humming sound comes out of her, and she moves to help herself. She’s happier, honestly, just being allowed to make it for herself. It would seem too odd to have Al serve her like some kind of honoured guests, break out nice cups and give her the full treatment. 

She can feel Al’s eyes on her as she does it, goes through the familiar motions of making a cup of tea for herself. She doesn’t mind the watching, the slight tension it leaves in the air. Their eyes meet when Andromeda turns, hip resting on the counter-top and tea held in hands. 

She lets out a small huff of laughter. Their newly found shared interest is something Andromeda had been hungry for for a long time. Dumbledore and his cause made her itch in ways she didn’t quite understand –– he was a man who asked for too much and never gave them any real hope in return. 

“Few reasons, to be honest with you.” She takes a long sip of her tea, though its still scalding hot. “Didn’t like the way Albus used people, and I trust Remus more than anybody left in the Order.” She fixes Al with a long look, then continues, slow. “And I want to start taking more action, I don’t want my daughter to have to finish growing up in a world like this.” 

Her eyes stay fixed on Al –– strong Al, intense Al. “Maybe it’s a silly reason. But it’s my reason.” 

It’s not a surprise, in his mind, that it still feels just as overwhelmingly lovely to be near her after all of these years, but he’s still thankful for it every day. Not many people have the privilege of stumbling into something so good. As romantic as he was, as much as he had asked the stars and planets and galaxies to give him a good life, he couldn’t have anticipated what it would be like to see her, truly see her, for the first time, back in school. Couldn’t have anticipated that he would know, that very moment, that one day he would marry her, and they’d build a family together.

He couldn’t have anticipated that even after nearly two decades, it would still feel exactly the same, in the most beautiful way. She and Dora were what made it possible to keep going, no matter how cruel the world was. Anything, if it meant he’d get to keep waking up to this.

“The universe is telling me it’s infallible today, but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to corroborate,” Ted grinned, leaning down to press another kiss against her cheek.

The gentle nudge toward his usual chair made him smile, just the same grin he couldn’t help as he sat down, watching Dromeda start some toast. “Oh? I think I’d like nothing more! We could use something nice…haven’t been out much lately, maybe we could, I dunno, go on a little date?”

     “Better to be safe than sorry, love.” She comments, voice calm and mild as she goes about her morning. Their easy banter is a soothing thing, with all the worrying she’s been doing these last few weeks. 

She shoots another smile in Ted’s direction at his comment. She knows it’s been a hard few weeks for them, for all of them, but for Ted especially. Ted has a soft heart, and she knows that he’s been struggling with all of this, with all the many feelings piling up. They’re so sweet, it breaks her heart sometimes. She’d like to make the day nice for them. 

     “A date, I like that idea.” It will be nice to just get them both out of the house, spend some care free hours together, to feel like life is continuing. “We can do anything you like, I’m all yours.” 

It’s so easy, to sit here in the comfy armchairs of his office, tea in hand, and talk to her; he thinks, sometimes, guilt creeping up his spine, that it isn’t fair that he gets to have it this easy, that he gets to spend afternoons drinking tea in comfort with nothing more to worry about than grading papers or giving out detentions, while there are people out there dying and living in misery under Riddle’s government. And then he shifts his weight, or moves his leg, or breathes, and he feels the pain in him that he knows won’t ever go away, remembers the years he spent forgetting how to be a man on someone else’s orders. 

No one else, he thinks, to himself, as he so often finds himself thinking. A quiet mantra, he closes his eyes and takes a sip of his tea, thinking it again: no one else, not like this, not like me. 

     ‘Honestly, I think we could all use a good cheering charm,’ he replies, but he’s mostly speaking for himself. He’s been amazed by how quickly the kids have moved on, at least on the surface. There’s something elastic about teenagers; they feel things so deeply but they spring back faster than he remembers, faster than he knows he could. ‘I think they’ll be alright, really. I just– feel like we owe them more.’

Like a world without war. As if that was so easily done. 

She feels so tired thinking about it, about all the things they owe the next generation. They deserve more than they have, these children they’re helping to raise. The ones on the other side of a boarder, too, who might never get the chance to study and learn and live full lives. Its been ten years since the boarder closed –– so many muggle born witches and wizards on the other side who will have missed school completely. So many muggle born witches and wizards like Ted, who would be treated like a monster or a criminal if they lived in England still. 

It makes her ache. She can’t help thinking about Dora, so excited to start school. All the children who don’t have what she got. But once she thinks about her daughter things only get heavier. The shift she’s starting to see in Dora is a worrying thing, the dimming of her eyes, her distant nature lately. She seems like a ghost, and Andromeda is scared for her. She can’t help but feel like she’s failing here. For eleven years she sat and thought to herself about how good she was at being a mother. It was narcissistic, misguided, cocky. She’s no superhero, and she’s messing it up. 

     “They deserve a better world than this.” She agrees, a little numbly. “The best we can do is try to give them one.” A small shrug follows, a kind look in Remus’ direction. 

Date/Time: Saturday prior to Insurgency meeting, noon

Location: Moody Residence 

Status closed to @dromed-a​

Casual get togethers were far from Al’s “thing”. They didn’t do Sunday brunches, or Friday nights out at the pub. They did backroom meetings, and drinks shared in order to make war planning all the more easier to accomplish. It was rare when Al planned to meet with someone without some kind of motive at play. Yet that was precisely what they made this little meeting out to be when they brought it up to Andromeda the last time they saw her, “just to catch up”, is how they put it. Truth be told though, there was more to their intentions, but they figured it best to keep that to themself for just now. 

Unsure whether the witch preferred coffee or tea, Al set out their box of tea bags and kettle shortly after turning on the coffee pot. If it hadn’t been for Augustus they wouldn’t have had the makings for the typically English drink in the first place. Moody may have moved away from the States when they were just a child, but they were still a coffee drinker through and through. 

It was only a couple minutes later when they heard a rap at the door. With a flick of their wand, the series of locks, both seen and unseen, clicked open, allowing the door to fall open as they did so. “C’mon on in,” they called out. 

Andromeda wasn’t quite apprehensive when she made her way to Moody’s door. They were a little terrifying, in the right light, could set even the bravest person on edge. But they were also on the same side as Andromeda, here. What Andromeda is is curious. She and Moody aren’t exactly best friends, they aren’t the kind of people who go for lunch and gossip. 

She knocks quickly when she gets to the door, listening for the click and click and click of locks. Paranoid, vigilant. Maybe Andromeda should put a few more on her house. She steps inside and finds Al quickly, offering them a warm, if not guarded, smile.  

     “Ah, the sound of a kettle boiling. Exactly what I like to hear when I walk into a room.” Cautious banter, a light voice. Maybe if she was more delusional, she’d believe that Al really just wanted to chat, that this was about building and developing friendships. She was a little excited, really, to get down to the meat of things and see what their ulterior motive might be. 

     “I’ll admit, I didn’t think you were actually serious when you said we should meet up for a cup of tea.” 

Waking to hear the sounds of Andromeda already up, moving about the home they built together, is one of his favorite things in the world, only ever made better by the sound of Dora running about, too. In the absence of their pride and joy, every noise feels so much louder. There’s a certain longing, but there are pieces of joy amongst the aches and pains of a child growing up.

He feels even more acutely attuned to every movement Andromeda makes. It’s almost like falling in love all over again, relearning the parts of her he had become familiar with in completely new ways. 

Waking, and hearing her moving around in the kitchen, it brings a gentle, sleepy smile to his face, makes him excited to get out of bed in a way that’s difficult some days, now.

There’s something like hope in the air.

He rolls out of bed, throws a housecoat on, and barely does anything more before making his way to the kitchen, a grin on his lips as she greets him with a radiant smile of her own. It’s amazing the way every morning it feels like he’s seeing her for the first time, all over again. He goes to her, hand finding its way to her waist, pulling her close to press a kiss to her forehead, before accepting the cup of tea with his free hand, fingers brushing each other, a spark of something in the contact that almost makes him feel sixteen again.

“It’s always a beautiful day when this is what I get to wake up to,” Ted hums, smiling down at her. “You think the tea leaves’ll say anything this morning, or should I just trust that smile of yours instead?”

There it is, the forehead kiss, the beautiful voice, the beautiful face. She can never hold back her beaming grins on these mornings that they spend together, something warm and grateful filling her up inside until it has to come spilling out. He touches her and she feels so alive she can’t quite believe she stays standing when he’s gone. 

Maybe it’s a little over the top, a little over-wrought, but the world is a brighter and more worthwhile place with Ted in it. She gazes up at him, lets out a soft warm little laugh, reaches up to fix a stray strand of hair. 

     “You know, I’d double check. Even this smile of mine is fallible sometimes.” A teasing lilt, a bright tone. The weight of the world is waiting somewhere to be laid across their collective shoulders, but she’d like to ignore it for a little while, and stay wrapped up in this day. 

A soft nudge, she moves him toward one of the well worn chairs at their table. She moves to the counter, slipping some bread into the toaster –– one of those delightful little muggle things –– without asking him if he wanted any. “I think we should do something nice today, you and me.”

He can’t help but laugh, at the image: it sounds like something he would have done, when he was a fifth year, something Sirius or James would have come up with to torment Severus back at the height of their rivalry, back before the world fell apart, when things were easier. It’s nice to know, in a way, that the students are just teenagers, even in a world like this. That at the end of the day, they’ll be alright, they’ll pull pranks on one another and say mean things and cry and make up and move on and laugh again. It’s a part of why he loves being a teacher, now: it gives him a rare kind of hope that puts everything into perspective.

     ‘Strict Professor Black,’ he jokes. ‘For Stephen Lovelace? I wouldn’t have even given a detention.’ That much is probably true – he’s never been much of a disciplinarian, especially when the crime took as much skill as all that. 

He opens a tin, takes out a couple of biscuits and sets them on a plate: he’ll eat the whole box if he doesn’t, they’re his favorite kind, and he hasn’t got time to replace them until the weekend. He brings the plate and his own mug over to where she’s sat, sits across from her so they can really talk without his needing to keep busying his hands. His legs are aching, anyway. 

     ‘I know what you mean, though. I keep thinking I ought to ask Sirius to come for the day, let them run around and pet a dog for a bit, pick up their spirits, get things back to normal. But they’re getting there. We all are.’

Andromeda lets out a small snort of laughter again, shooting Remus a warm smile at his joke. She knew he had a soft touch, as far as teachers went, but she wasn’t exactly strict either. She didn’t have the heart for it, when it came to most of the children. A gentle approach had always worked for them. 

She reaches out, steals a biscuit from him without being told to take one. The thought of Sirius makes something warm and soft blossom in her. She’d been amazed when she found out what Sirius and his friend did for Remus, such brilliant magic from people so young. They’d been so incredibly clever, and so few people understood the extent of their genius. The thought of Sirius’ running around playing fetch was delightful, and it suited him.

     “Getting there, slowly but surely. Even without my cousin slobbering all over us.” She agrees. The long sip of tea she takes warms her inside and out. “I’ve been considering starting my lesson on Cheering Charms early, but I’m not sure if it would be a little heavy handed, you know?” A small grimace, but she’d been feeling like they could all use something to cheer them up over the last few weeks. 

     “I think Minerva is helping, you know. She’s so steady, the kids know her, they feel safe around her.” And Andromeda trusts her far more than she trusted Dumbledore, near the end. Even if Minerva agrees with him, Andromeda knows she’d always follow her heart and her head first. “I mean, they’re as terrified of her as I used to be, but that isn’t a bad thing.”