ted tonks.

Edgar felt a quick clench in his stomach at the approval, but he pushed past it. He couldn’t get distracted by a little praise when they had something so much bigger to worry about. One little test in the middle of a larger one was hardly something to take time to think about right this moment.

He blinked at Ted as the question came back at him. Okay, that was fair. This was Edgar’s thing. Even if he’d been hoping to rely on Ted’s expertise as someone who better knew the Ministry and how missions like this worked, Edgar understood why it was being thrown back on him. Ted was testing his instincts too, if he could strategize in the moment. 

“Lets head all the way in,” he decided, taking his first step forward as he spoke. “We can make sure we’re actually alone and hopefully get good progress before anyone surprises us. Plus, if it does need a second pass to finish the rest, the team then can stay close instead of having to move through what we’ve already done.”

.

Ted listened to Edgar as he spoke, explaining the the reason for his choice. Good, he thought. Smart. There was a reason Edgar had been (at least Ted had heard, they’d never overlapped at Hogwarts) the top of his class. There was also a reason he, instead of any of the other younger crowd, had been asked to step up as a potential leader.

They walked towards towards the opposite side of the large room, moving through doors that unlocked with a simple Alohomora until coming to one that didn’t. The first ward. Ted thought of a spell he’d used but this was a test, so he turned to Edgar, raising an eyebrow in question. Not saying anything, but allowing the younger wix to take the lead. He wouldn’t let them get into any real trouble - would’ve stepped in from the beginning had Edgar’s choice been the opposite one he’d have done.

The better answers, the ones that were good enough—no one was capable of giving her those because they simply weren’t possible. And yet, ‘McGonagall has taken over from here’ fell so painfully short of even adequate as far as answers went. ‘They’d have options’—but what sort and would any of them really be a choice in the end? Or just the bare minimum difference between possible survival and possible survival. It wasn’t enough, and the enormity of that ‘not enough’ burned in the hollow of her chest.

Ted couldn’t help any of that, though, so Lily returned his smile with one softened with resignation. “That’s all right. I’ll… I’ll talk to McGonagall when I can. And… and maybe Jones and Alastor.” She pursed her lips together for a second. “We half to do more. We haven’t been doing enough and we, we need to be better.”

Be better. Stop falling into the half-desperate complacency that had gripped them for more than a year, wake up, face facts, and be better. Enough excuses.

Jaw set with that newfound determination, Lily relaxed it as she looked back up at Ted, a muddled wave of emotions washing over her. “…Thank you, Ted. For everything.” For all the things she couldn’t encompass in words but knew he’d understand from the familiarity of walking a similar, difficult path and having shared in it with her.

Lily seemed heartbroken by his answer - but, then again, that might’ve just been the physical pain she was in. Still, Ted listened because that was what he did best. He didn’t always have the answers, but no one would really have the answers to Lily’s desperate pleas of being better. The Order was already spread too thin and, as a Muggleborn himself, he could understand her fight. But he also knew that doing more wasn’t always an easy fix.

Still, he didn’t contradict her. Not only would that have been cruel in Lily’s current state, he also wouldn’t have seen the need had she been at the epitome of health. There was no point in arguing over something like that. Lily was right, of course - but so was Ted’s logical brain. With a child and a job, he knew that people only had so much to give. And, to him, the Order would never be first.

He gave her a soft smile as she finished speaking in response - not agreeing or disagreeing, just understanding. And she seemed to read his expression perfectly because, in the next moment, she was thanking him. Ted nodded, shifted backwards to stand. “Of course,” he said, looking down at her. “Now, get some rest. Call if you need anything - Talkalot’s on duty, too.”

Before he left, he reached out - down, so much taller than the cot Lily was laying on - to touch her leg gently. Not enough pressure that it would hurt her broken body, but enough she would feel it. He gave another soft look before standing fully and turning to go check the rest of the notes that Rosier had left for them to make sure he wouldn’t mess this up.

franklylongsuffered​:​

Frank chuckled but didn’t disagree. He hoped nothing so tragic ever happened to him as desk chair melting, but worse rumors had floated around the ministry before. Even aurors weren’t imune when paperwork got too high or the nights got too long. Instead he listened to Ted, expecting a little more detail and not getting it. That was probably all right. If work drama was the only thing they had to talk about, they had bigger issues. The chair melding process would have already begun.

“Crime crime crime,” he muttered before he started eating. Frank had been at this long enough to know that both his friends were right, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Some days the job took everything out of him, and lately, they’d been too numerous.​

​Still, he looked up sharply when Alastor mentioned doing a sweep. Mentally he echoed Ted’s question. Alastor was damn good in the field, but Frank always felt a little restless when he was gone too long. It was hard to say what was happening with his friend and harder to be one of the voices of dissent if Scrimgeour decided to get on one of his soap boxes while the other wasn’t around. Frank was pretty sure he did it on purpose. He only knew rumors and a few cryptic comments about what had happened there, but he knew better than to pry.

@madeyed-andmoody​

@ted-tonks, @franklylongsuffered

Meeting Ted’s knowing look with a brow raise and a a small nod, Alastor suppresses a sigh. Bigots were never going to stay away, even in their world of magic, and it was all Alastor could do not to bite their heads off. He’d had to be stopped more than once. It was a known fact not to place them near his unit. They wouldn’t last long.

It was the one thing Scrimgeour had ever listened to him about.

“Dunno,” he says, shrugging a shoulder. “An’ if I did I couldn’t tell you lot, nosy biddies that you are,” he teases, softening the reply with a grin. He knew they worried. Alastor worried, too, though he knew part of it was a ploy to remove him from the office. The other half, truly, was that there was a need for a sweep, to make sure nothing had been missed.

While Alastor himself had faith on both men beside him, the management didn’t always place their faith so readily in any of them. There was always double checking and triple checking. A waste of resources, just as much as it was a way to rid the office of Alastor Moody’s severe pain in the arse self.

Ted quirked his lips as Alastor called him nosy. That was one thing Ted rarely was, though admittedly he did like to gossip with his wife. “Do you know how long you’ll be gone for?” he changed his question to ask instead. That, he actually wanted to know if he could. Because it always changed the dynamics in the Order, whenever Alastor was gone.

He looked at Frank. “You’re not going?” he asked. Ted knew that Frank and Alastor often worked together, but Auror hierarchy and dynamics were it’s own sort of thing in the world. The only reason Ted even halfway understood it was because of his close friendship with so many people in the department.

Lucinda raised a brow. She wasn’t used to people listening to this capacity. Not just listening to what she said, but paying attention to what she actually meant. For now, she was too tired to figure out how she felt about that, so instead she mentally filed it away under things to remember. At the very moment, her sleep-deprived self found it quite useful.

“Yeah, something like that,” she said. It wasn’t a question, but she answered none the less - it felt like the sort of statement you didn’t let slip away. Lucinda gave a little shrug. “I don’t know - I feel like I should be more versatile, more prepared. I don’t want someone to end up here after the next mission because I couldn’t keep up.”

She gestured to the room around them. While it was astoundingly candor for her, she still held back the part where she thought she wouldn’t make it this far if that was the scenario. If she showed up with someone half dead (or Merlin forbid, worse), that would probably be it for her Order career. The final nail, so to say.

Lucinda took the moment of silence to sip her tea. Strangely, Ted’s calm quietness was exactly the energy she needed right now. It felt right for the moment. A sort of early-morning peacefulness. Even the question of work wasn’t enough to ruin the odd sort of contemplative mood she felt.

“Not a hard one, luckily. Got a half-shift at the shop - we sell potion supplies, over at Diagon Alley.” she said, with another little shrug. “It’s just a job, but it’s nice. Owner’s pretty laidback and all that. Biggest threat is old witches trying to haggle ingredients.”

She bit her lip, glancing over at him. “You work at the Ministry, yeah? I don’t suppose they take ‘I was up all night working for my illegal organisation’ as an excuse to call out.”

Lucinda went on to explain more about what she meant. She felt like she could’ve done more, been more prepared. Ted’s brows raise slightly, a finger on his chin as he leaned forward. “And what, exactly, do you feel you haven’t done that would help you be more prepared?” he asked. Maybe something that sounded harsh, but just honest. Wanting to know. It could be something he could help her with.

She seemed to calm the longer she spent with him, but Ted didn’t really attribute that to himself. Sometimes, people did feel that around him - other times, his presence was so aggravating that he made it worse. Most of the time, he didn’t take this personally - more of their problem than his. 

“The house-elf can’t gestate it for me,” Alice retorted coolly—an unfair sharpness, unfair iciness, in response to Ted’s warmth and understanding, but the words jumped off her tongue with the speed of a sentence that had been said far, far too many times in the silence of her own thoughts for her to hesitate over them now. Alice didn’t want to be one of those parents who just handed their child over to elves or nannies or relatives or in-laws as soon as it was weaned; had never wanted that, even if she’d also never been as wholly subsumed by the idea of motherhood as many of her peers had seemed to be been back when they were young and the world still shone with nearly limitless possibility. Becoming a mother was an obligation she had to fulfill eventually, of course—an obligation she had agreed to fulfill the moment she’d agreed to marry Frank—but she also wanted to be a mother, properly, not just produce the required heir and move on. She still could have walked out of the nursery now without qualm—albeit undeniably with very real regret—to fight and finish this war while others did the baby-tending, however; there would be years after the war for her to be mother to the child whose future she was fighting to better. But the problem was getting said child to the nursery in the first place.

Most witches were healthy enough to stay active and engaged with the world for the bulk of their pregnancy, and even those few who eventually ended up retiring to bed rest or St. Mungo’s for care or caution in difficult pregnancies still had months of activity before they had to retire to restful, solitary rooms. But there was a chasm of difference between “active and engaged” and being fast enough on your feet for a duel. The moment the bulk of her belly slowed her down, she’d be a liability in the field—not just at work, but for the Order too. No matter how healthy she felt, how capable, she’d be a danger to everyone else if her reflexes and reactions lost their edge…or if everyone else in the field with her started worrying more about the baby than they did trusting her to keep up her end of a fight. That would start happening long before the physical symptoms of pregnancy actually impacted her performance, Alice knew.

“Was I supposed to leave Frank, to leave everyone, to fight alone all those months while I sat back and twiddled my thumbs over my belly?” she asked softly, even though she knew he couldn’t possibly have the answer for. No one could, not even Ted. “Maybe I should have. Maybe I would have, if I’d known how long the war was going to last, but…but I didn’t think it would be this long.” She shook her head, fighting back a sudden urge towards tears. “I didn’t think it would be this long. Four or five months out of so many years isn’t much, I suppose…but I didn’t know it was going to be so many years, Ted. I thought it would be done by now. I thought we’d have won by now, and we could all go home and have a baby and be a family without any Death Eaters knocking on our doors, and…and…I just thought it would be different,” she finished, the last word coming out with a crack in the middle of her voice, just like her heart. “I thought the war would end, and we’d have another baby, one that would be born in a safer world, and the one that might have happened a year or two earlier wouldn’t matter anymore. What difference would a year or two make?”

It had seemed like such a simple decision at the time. A small necessity; a delay, nothing more than that. Just a delay. But the war kept going and the right time never came along, and now…now she was here, struggling to figure out how to come clean about a lie she never should have told; a lie that had grown so much larger and heavier over the years; that had gone from a small omission to a betrayal. And—

Oh. A betrayal.

Theo.

Alice closed her eyes and groaned. She was a fucking idiot. Because while Ted was the first person to have found out about this, he wasn’t the only person other than Alice who knew. She’d told Theo back when she’d done it, because she’d needed to tell someone and she had trusted Theo. Fuck. She had trusted Theo, and now Theo who had never been worthy of any trust, who had never actually been the friend she’d pretended to be, knew something that could hurt Alice. Knew something that she could hold over Alice’s head. Would she use it? Fuck, of course she would. She’d been using their lives all along; why the fuck wouldn’t she use this too? Fuck, fuck, fuckity fucking cockball fucking shit-fuck.

That was that, Alice realized. There was no holding onto the secret any longer. She had to tell Frank, and tell him quickly before Theo did. Maybe this would be the end of everything, the end of him loving and trusting her; the end of their life together. The end of their future she’d been fighting for. But if so, that end needed to come between them, not because Theo used Alice’s secret as a weapon or a shield for herself. Not because Alice let herself be blackmailed or compromised from begging or bartering with Theo to keep quiet. Theo could not be trusted…which meant Alice was going to have to tell the truth. Fuck.

“Yeah,” she sighed aloud to Ted, “yeah, I need to tell him. I need to tell him now, before Theo tries to…I don’t know…use it somehow. Fuck.” Not that Ted was wrong, either: Frank deserved to know because Frank deserved to know. Alice had known that all along, but she’d been able to keep putting it off—always intending to tell him some day, but a day that wasn’t yet today—but now reality was forcing her hand. Again. “He deserves the truth…and he deserves the truth from me, not her. Fuck.”

Alice got sharp with him, but Ted did not flinch, just as she hadn’t when he’d cut her off rather abruptly earlier. They knew one another. They’d known one another for a long time. She was one of his oldest friends. If he couldn’t take being snapped at in a moment of desperation, of high emotion, then it would prove to be quite the fragile friendship. Besides, she was right. A house elf could not do everything a mother could. He gave a little nod, making a Hmmm noise as he conceded. He wouldn’t argue with her about this. Her choices were hers and he supported them now, just as he would’ve back when she made it.

She continued, though. About the war. About how long it was proving to last. That, too, was something that even Ted couldn’t have anticipated. He’d experienced enough in life to not have the same sort of surprise as Alice, but he’d assumed there would be a winner by now. Had even gone as far to think it probably wouldn’t be his side. Had thought he might be dead sooner over later - or, at the very least, locked up for being a Muggleborn.

“I understand,” he replied gently, reaching out to touch her hand. He wasn’t much of a physical affection kind of guy outside his wife and child, but there were times where that extended to his close friends and Alice was one of those people. This was one of those times. “None of us could’ve anticipated it. I understand why you didn’t want to bring a child into the world we are currently living in. With Dora... we were so young. It was so much longer ago...” He trailed off because there was not a moment in his life that he regretted his daughter, but there were plenty of times that he regretted the world he had to raise her in.

Alice leaned forward, groaning and closing her eyes, and Ted’s heart wrenched for her. It did. He felt for his friend - felt for the confusion, the anguish, this must’ve brought. Which was why he was telling her now. Because he, too, felt that for Frank. He moved his hand from her arm to her back, touching her shoulder lightly in a form of the comfort he was able to give. 

“I’m not sure you have to worry about Theo just yet,” he said slowly. He might not have trusted her, but she was also dealing with her own shit. Then again, the fight had been brutal, so there was potential for her trying to get out some revenge there. “I’d imagine she’d be wrapped up in having a child to a pureblood out of wedlock,” he explained. “But I do agree that you should tell him. It needs to come from you over anyone else. You might just have a bit more time than you think.”

“Not unless you were planning on inviting someone else to sit in it,” Amelia gave a proper smile this time. She wasn’t usually one for cracking jokes but the opportunity was there so she had to take it.

“It would appear so,” She agreed. Even with a need to feel constantly busy, Amelia seldom took time to do something she actually enjoyed. Family was the most important thing to her so she didn’t mind playing catch up with her siblings. The Order was another excuse to keep busy instead of setting aside time to herself. Being surrounded by others was a better bet than being alone. 

“Makes me miss my quidditch days,” Amelia added and shook her head. “Not that I would have gone professional or anything, but there was something about the game that left me feeling at ease.” It primarily stemmed from her feet being off the ground and having to focus on the game instead of everything else going on but the team part of things had also a plus.

Amelia reminisced about Quidditch and Ted smiled lightly. “Ah, that’s right,” he said. “You played for our house team. What was the position again? Beater, was it?” He hadn’t thought a whole lot about Hogwarts Quidditch since he’d graduated. He’d always liked the sport, but never held an obsession for it like some of his mates. It reminded him of the way the Muggles went crazy over football - or the Americans and their other version of a sport with the same name.

“Interesting you’d that that being hundreds of feet off the ground is at ease. Could be why I never tried out for the team.” While Ted wouldn’t consider heights his greatest fear or anything, it certainly wasn’t something he would willing put himself in. 

Lily didn’t know about the deaths. Not yet. Not consciously. The pieces were there—the quietly bustling street, a neighborhood so alive with early afternoon, warm summer activity, paired with ‘explosion’ and the severity of her own injuries. She had all the parts she needed to be able to draw the conclusion, but hadn’t allowed herself to think about it. Let her live in the calm of the storm, keep her burden of guilt a little lighter, for a little while longer,

Ted’s hand grounded her with its large warmth as he helped her sit upright enough so she didn’t spill water all over herself like the clumsy, uncoordinated toddler she felt a bit like right now. Her sips were slow and careful, the cool water sliding over strained muscles and warning her to not cough and make it worse.

The question made her pause, considering, swimming through the slow molasses of her mind ot give it proper thought. “I…” she started, only to inhale and bite at her lips for a second. This was Ted; this question meant something different coming from him, and a tiny handful of other people she could trust to be sincere in asking if she was well. Betraying that with a shallow lie—it was unthinkable.

“As well as can be hoped for.” Which wrapped up ‘We’re in a war’  and ‘People want me dead’ and ‘I’m the reason the love of my life was tortured for months’  and ‘I’m not sure I can count on my supposed allies in the ways that matter most’, in as small and tidy a package as it could ever get. Ted would understand it, she was sure. “Maybe even a little better than before.” After all, she and James had finally talked and heard and understood. Which didn’t make it easier or better, but might make it more bearable.

She would take whatever small silver linings she could scrap together.

“…do you—” Lily started and then fell silent, exhaling with a frown before trying again. “Has anyone discussed what will happen with the families now?” 

He helped her with the water, watched as she slowly took them, deliberate in her movements in the way only an injured person would ever have to be. She began to answer his question, but then hesitated, considering. Ted didn’t jump in or try to ‘save her’ from her thoughts. Not only did Lily Evans not really need saving - she was no damsel-in-distress - he also was patient. Sometimes his questions of people were heavy, deep, and they needed more time. As someone who usually took a lot of time in his own speaking, he could understand that.

As well as can be hoped for, she finally landed, and Ted could hear all the things she wasn’t saying underneath. Mmm, he made a sound of understanding, his lips turning up just slightly at the corners when she said she might even be feeling better now than before. So Potter did do something right, after all.

Ted sighed wearily at the question and moved the water cup to the tray on the side of the cot again so he could sit back, crossing his arms over his question. That was a loaded question - a hard one, in fact. It had been discussed, yes, but it was unlikely either of him would ever know what happened to those families. What path they’d decided to take. “McGonagall has taken over from here,” he told her. “They’ll have options, as would anyone. But they’ll remain in the safe houses until they’ve made their choices. I’m not sure we will... ever truly know what happened to them after this.”

Amelia scrunched her nose up when Ted spoke and let an awkward smile spread over her lips. “Sorry,” She winced. The quick look up from the book hadn’t involved seeing Nymphadora at first glance. Admittedly a little guilty from having caught the looks exchanged between father and daughter but she wouldn’t worry about it. Not too much, anyway.

A low sigh escaped when Dora left, her shoulders rising up in a shrug. It was one of the rare days where she had little to do and the weather was cooperating. An infrequent occurrence since she tended to keep herself busy to the point of having no downtime.

“Couldn’t have asked for a better day,” She gave an awkward half smile. “First one I’ve not had anything to do during it in a while. Not that is an excuse for the tone I used with you and your daughter.” Her eyebrows furrowed together after that.

“Lesson learned though,” She sighed. “Quick glance up wasn’t sufficient.”

Amelia, as Ted had hoped, let the tension go. It would be easier to move on from her blunder, rather than dwell on it. He probably had another twenty minutes before Andromeda joined them and, as he assumed would happen with his daughter, another ten finding her because she would lose track of time with her friends. Amelia would make for pleasant company in that downtime, though only if they weren’t on weird terms.

She brought it up anyway, but it wasn’t that awkward. Besides, she was apologizing - sort of, without using the words, but an apology all the same - and Ted nodded his head in acceptance. Of course, it would’ve been better going to Dora herself, if his daughter was still here, but he’d accept it.

Edgar glanced at Ted as the other man spoke, momentarily furrowing his brows together at the question. Wait, this was a test. It had to be. Edgar turned back to the lift doors as he answered, “Two people. The witch was blonde, um, dark robes, but I guess that’s most people here. Focused totally on the floor and not on any of us. The wizard was tall, balding, looked like he had a stick up his ass. Wait, actually I think I recognized him. Wasn’t he in a Prophet photo not that long ago? From the minister’s office, I think.” He wondered if Ted had recognized them and whether he’d be confirmed or corrected if he had.

Since he’d already been looking at the lift doors, it was no surprise as they reached the bottom and the doors slowly opened around them. Edgar kept his fingers on the edge of his wand in his pocket. “Ready? Do you want to start at the entrance and work our way in or head toward the other end and work our way back?”

.

Edgar took a moment to realize what Ted was asking, but caught on quickly - a point in his favor, even if he got the answer to the question wrong. It meant he was quick on his feet, not stumbling over action, even if that action was a simple question. Ted listened as the younger wizard explained what he saw, his lips pulling up at the corners. He gave Edgar a quick nod, once in affirmation. “Good,” was the only reply, making mental notes of what he’d need to tell Alastor, Hestia, and Caradoc later.

They stepped out of the lift together as Edgar posed a question. Ted had his answer on the tip of his tongue - start at the end because getting back might be tougher if someone caught on to them and, at least then, they’d be close to the entrance and able to make some silly excuse about getting off on the wrong side. “What would you do?” he asked Edgar instead. The second test. That was how all these initial missions went. He himself had gone through something similar with Moody at the helm when he’d first been considered for Team Lead.

The anticipated retort came, and Andromeda hummed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes – even in fondness, it was a habit she should quit; she was hyper aware of it now that their twelve-year-old had become a mirror. “It’s different,” she insisted, leaning into the hand briefly on her cheek.

“I had all the choices. My body carrying the baby, my family disowning me, my love for you. What I had to gain and lose, it was all in my hands.” She continued, because of course she wouldn’t let an argument go so easily, attached to her views like a rabid dog to a bone. It made sense to her, to see the disparities between their situation and Evan’s now, and she needed to make that clear. “Evan is in a much worse spot, you have to agree. It’s either being disowned, or disowning his own child, if Theodosia insists on keeping it. His hand is being forced here.”

If roles had been reversed with them, she likely would’ve terminated her pregnancy, not wanting Ted to have to choose between his family or this possible baby. But that was easy for her to say now, knowing everything she went through getting disowned. She didn’t wish it on anyone; it was a pain in the arse on the good days, and absolute agony on the bad days. She wouldn’t want Ted to go through it. She went through it because of her own choice, she chose him and their new family. It was different. She leaned down, pressing a light kiss to her husband’s shoulder, just for the sake of staying close. “Fine, yeah, they are in love. I don’t think I’d doubt that, either.” She let out a sigh, eyes momentarily elsewhere as she thought about the situation some more. “But anyway– how old are they, an accidental pregnancy at this point? I mean, Merlin, that’s infuriating. Behaving like kids. And don’t even compare it again– we never had a second, did we? We’re adults. Come on.”

.

Andromeda made a noise that was familiar to him - it meant she’d disagree. And Ted shouldn’t be surprised. They’d disagreed about the their differences more than once; though Andromeda had rarely downplayed his hardships, she didn’t always understand them. She tried too, though, and that was more than he could say about a lot of purebloods he knew. A lot of her family.

She had a point, though. She was the one making the decisions to leave her family or leave him, which was different than Evan and Theodosia’s situation - but he didn’t agree that Evan had it worse. He gave her a look at that and she’d know that he was about to spike his own disagreement, just like he’d known with her little hum from before. “We don’t know he’s being forced,” Ted replied, his tone even, still pleasant. They weren’t fighting this time - it was a discussion. If they were fighting, it would’ve felt tense, uneasy. Rather, there was a lightness around them as his fingers continued to stroked her skin, down her neck to her arm.

“Evan will be in less danger over this, Andy,” he pointed out. “What happened with Potter wasn’t typical... they were making a statement with him, in a different way than they were with the others. Theodosia will be the target. And...” He paused, looked up, considering his words. “... if they can take out the child with her, they will.”

It was a hard topic of conversation, given their own situation. Selwyn wasn’t a muggleborn, Ted was. Evan and her weren’t married, Ted and Andromeda were. The child hadn’t yet been born, while Dora was right here. Change the names and the situation just slightly and Ted might’ve been talking about their own lives, their own danger, their own daughter as a target.

Of course Ted wouldn’t tell Frank, if she didn’t want him to. He was a good person. And of course it would hurt him keeping that secret from his friend. He was a good person. And Alice…well, she tried to do good. She’d never been under the illusion that she was as kind as Frank, but she believed there were different ways to actually do good in the world, and throwing yourself like a shield between innocents and the darkness that wanted to hurt them was a good way to do good without actually having to be particularly nice. It had always worked before, but…but that was before she was lying to Frank about something she knew would hurt him.

That was before she’d started cutting her husband out of her life so as to avoid having to admit to him that she’d done something she knew would break his heart.

Fuck.

Ted mentioned advice and Alice couldn’t stop herself turning to look up at him, eyes probably as wide and pleading as a sodding first year caught out after curfew by a prefect who now dangled the possibility of getting off with a warning over their head if only… Ted wasn’t the sort to play those games, of course; probably hadn’t been even at school. But Alice couldn’t help feeling like she was twisting under the gaze of one of the sods who had, like she was some scared idiot kid again hoping for leniency. She wasn’t hoping for leniency: she was looking for a solution. For salvation. She drank in his words to that effect and her heart sank as he spoke about his and Andromeda’s marriage; about honesty.

Ted was a good person and he was right, so double-fuck to that.

Alice groaned. “I know,” she said, “I fucked up. I fucked up so badly, Ted. I don’t know why I didn’t tell Frank right off—No,” she interrupted herself with a sigh, finally shoving herself off her knees only so she could flop back, head sagging, against the back of the bench. “I know exactly why I didn’t tell Frank right off,” she corrected. “Because I knew how fucking excited he would be to be a dad, and I couldn’t face being a mum. Couldn’t face leaving the fight in order to be one, I mean. I just…” Alice sighed, shook her head without lifting it off the back of the bench, and looked sideways at Frank. “How could I have let all our friends, let Frank, walk into danger while I sat at home and…and knitted booties or something for five months?

“And then what about after?” she continued bleakly. “Kids don’t just open their eyes and start taking care of themselves. You know that better than me. So, what—either Frank or I stay home with the baby for…what, ten years until it goes off to Hogwarts? Hand it to Augusta to look after while we run around dueling Death Eaters?” Alice grimaced. “You can imagine how that would go over. No, we couldn’t have taken the time for a kid. I knew that…but I don’t know that Frank did. And I couldn’t turn my back on the war, on Voldemort, and live with myself. I couldn’t stop fighting the war we have to win to save the world in order to have a kid who’s supposed to live in that world.”

It had been different for Ted and Andromeda, of course; they’d been courting the wrath of the Blacks by just being together. The war hadn’t started yet when Nymphadora was born. They hadn’t been part of the fight because there hadn’t been a fight. For them, having Nymphadora had been an act of bravery and defiance. But Alice and Frank had been Aurors and Order members, and they didn’t have relatives like Andromeda’s to contend with. For them—for her—stepping back from the war to have a baby would have felt like surrender. Like complacency. Like letting the Death Eaters run unchecked out of selfishness. “War first, then a family,” Alice said firmly. “Make a safe world first. That was the plan. But…” She hesitated, then decided that at this point there was no point not being completely honest, was there? “But I was afraid Frank wouldn’t see it that way,” Alice whispered.

Tears brimmed in her eyes but didn’t fall. Not yet, anyway. “And I was afraid that if I told him, he’d want to keep the baby. Would say that it would all turn out for the best, or something. I was afraid that he’d…that I’d let him convince me to drop out of the fight so we could keep it. And afraid that I’d hate him for that. Or he wouldn’t be able to convince me, and he’d never be able to look at me the same again after I got rid of it. Or even leave. Or…” Her voice fell to a murmur, but it felt to Alice like the words were pounding in her ears like gongs. “Or worst of all, that I’d lose him, because I wouldn’t be out there to protect him. And I’d hate him, me, and the baby then.”

She finally met Ted’s eyes properly. “I knew even as I was drinking the potion that I shouldn’t do it without telling him. I still know that. It eats me up inside every day. But, Ted…how?” The question wasn’t a defensive one; it was a plea. Alice wasn’t trying to explain herself, to justify; she was begging for an answer. A solution. “How could I have? How can I? Please. If you’ve any idea…please, tell me how.”

Alice finally looked at him as he spoke and his own gaze shifted between her and the air around them, watching the people traveling to and from work as they moved swiftly through their busy days. He spoke of honest in a, well, honest way. It was all he knew and she seemed to understand it. 

She denied not knowing why she’d done what she’d done at first and Ted let her, not interrupting. She would get there eventually and, rather quickly, she was spouting truth just as he’d been a moment before. She hadn’t told Frank because she knew her choice would hurt him - and her choice was one that felt necessary to her in war. Her view of motherhood was skewed, but that was not surprising with Alice, who was a rather all or nothing kind of person.

Of course she would believe there would be absolutely no place for her outside of raising the child because that was how she was raised. That was what she would’ve been expected to do, as both a pureblooded woman and the daughter in law of one Augusta Longbottom. He would push back on that - later. There was more to being a mother than just being a mother. He could prove that with his own wife. But he could also acknowledge wanting to wait. Would he have chosen Dora in a war? He couldn’t know for certain, as his life had been different and now, he couldn’t imagine a life without her at all.

But he could, at the very least, understand Alice’s choice.

The war, for so many people, needed to come first. For Ted, it had edged his way into importance in a way he’d never wanted, though knew would happen the moment Andromeda had informed him of her wayward decision to pull them into it. 

Ted waited for a long moment after her confession and then, quietly, he said, “You’re very likely right about that.” Frank wouldn’t have understood. For as long as Ted knew him, his best friend had wanted to be a father. He looked at Ted’s own daughter - Ted’s life - with a gaze clouded in envy. “And I can’t say I disagree with your choice, Alice. Raising a child in the midst of war has been hard for us... and it would be even harder now, with the danger being what it is.”

He looked at her softly. “But I hope you also know that being a mother doesn’t mean you can’t also be other things. It’s more than just... just staying home and knitting booties, as you put it.” He smiled kindly, a barely-there turn up of his lips. “Especially with your privilege,” he added gently. Not just of Alice and Frank’s blood status - their child would be pureblooded and therefore less tainted in the eyes of those wishing to kill the Order - but also because of their status, their money, their house elf. 

“But I do understand you wishing to stay home, to be with a child during those early years rather than letting them be raised by someone else - or a house elf. I just think... I think your relationship is strong, but strength can only be real if it stands the test of all truths.” He couldn’t help but think of his wife and her own secrets. That love she still kept in her heart for her sisters, while keeping that knowledge from him. Did she not trust him with that information or was it herself she was keeping it hidden from?

Location: Ministry Atrium Date: July 5, 2984 Starter: @ted-tonks​

Edgar didn’t spend a lot of time at the Ministry and tried not to look out of place as he casually walked along behind Ted. They’d gone over the plan, of course, but he still felt a flutter of nerves at what they were able to do. This required stealth, planning, care. It wasn’t flash-bang. Edgar was pretty sure that’s most of what he’d shown before, so this felt important. He’d been singled out for this, and Edgar was determined to prove himself. The fact that it was Ted here with him felt good too. Edgar felt a bit intimidated by the older man, but he was something to trust and rely on; he put Edgar more at ease that someone like Moody or Alice who moved with such authority. Ted had it too, but it was a quieter kind. Edgar could jive with that.

They slowed as they reached the lift, and Edgar fingered his wand where the handle stuck out of his holster absentmindedly. Mentally he went over the spellwork they’d need again. This was going to be good. They got on the lift, and Edgar wondered if they were always this empty this time of day. Perhaps Ted had done that on purpose. Edgar glanced at him as they stopped on the next floor, the only other people in it trickling off at that point. They were officially on their way.

.

Ted had been quiet most of the beginning of this mission. It wasn’t an easy one, per say, but he doubted it was most dangerous, either. The courtrooms should be empty today - they’d done their due diligence - but it also required stealth, thinking, and a particular brand of magic. It would be good, for Edgar’s first such as this. A test of sorts to see if he had what it took to lead a team some day. Looking at him now in the lift, Ted could only think about how young Edgar was. Only seven years older than Dora. They were very nearly in school together.

Ted stood on the opposite side of the lift from Edgar, his arms crossed, pretending as though he didn’t know the lad at all. The moment the last occupants left, however, he stepped closer, turned to his companion. “How many others were there in here with us?” he asked Edgar, the first question to the test. “Do you remember what any of them looked like?”

How was she? There was always an odd feeling after missions were done, when everything had calmed down properly. Normally she went home and curled up in her flats one window-sill, watching the street below as she sorted through all her impressions for the day. Let the fact that she was still alive settle. It was always when thoughts of Mica was hardest to push away - did he ever feel the same afterwards?

Although those questions gnawed at her, now more than ever, she pushed them away. Instead she did what she always did; found a distraction. With all patients and healers seemingly sleeping soundly, she turned inwards instead, and Ted’s question was the perfect launch. How was she? Exhausted from the day. Guilty from seemingly avoiding any of the hard work. Annoyed at not handling everything better. All the things she could never voice.

“Better than them,” she said simply, adding a small shrug. Lucinda sat down in the nearest chair, allowing herself one moment to lean back and close her eyes. “I don’t think I even have a scratch. When everyone else was fighting, I was off chatting with the muggles.”

Not even able to get a knife off Reggie’s throat. Normal Lucinda would never discuss these things, but that part of her brain had gone to sleep a few hours ago. “And yeah, at least we got the kids out, but I just…” she stopped herself, both because she didn’t know how to formulate how useless she felt, and because Ted Tonks, her randomly assigned shift-buddy, didn’t need to know. “They’re out, everyone survived, that’s all that matters and that crap, yeah? And by the looks of it, our healer haven’t keeled over completely, so successes all around. Now all that’s left is surviving a day of work.”

Better than them. It was the non-answer sort of answer that Ted didn’t quite fancy. That hadn’t been what he’d asked of Lucinda - he hadn’t wondered out loud how she was in comparison to people like Lily or Theodosia, laying still in their respective cots - he’d just wanted to know how she was. He’d live with a painful understanding of the world long enough to know that someone always had it worse than you... but that didn’t mean your feelings for your experience weren’t also something valid.

Ted didn’t say any of this to Lucinda, however. He just leaned back with one hand up towards his face, listening as she spoke. That - the rest of what she said - told him a lot more about her than she probably intended. Mmm, Ted made a soft noise of affirmation, nodding slightly. “You felt as though your role wasn’t a useful one,” he said gently. Not a question - a statement. A summary of what she’d been saying and her feelings behind it. No judgement of his own - nothing in his tone to suggest that he believed she hadn’t been useful.

She continued. They got the kids out - it was all crap. Her use of the words was an interesting one he tucked away for later. But, again, he said nothing right away. It was a long moment of silence - these instances where Ted stayed quiet typically bothered people. Andromeda, for her part, had shaken him more than once in their life together, asking desperately for him to say something! 

Working. Of course. He hadn’t been on duty for the Order, he had a real job. (Something Lily probably ought not envy him for, but ah, well, some things couldn’t be helped.) Should she have known that? It felt like a detail she should have been able to remember, and that she hadn’t, couldn’t, made her grimace and flush with irritation and that spot on her head that radiated a throbbing pressure pulse.

“I apologize for any and all headaches you have in the next week due to the mess,” she said, aiming and falling short of lightheaded. There were too many unknowns for her to properly joke about it: how bad was the damage? Emmeline had said the kids and the whole team had gotten back safe, but what about other injuries? There had been lots of people living on that street, that all of them had walked away unharmed was a miracle she wouldn’t count on. The most she could hope for was that she had been the worst casualty.

Smiling over Andromeda splinching herself wasn’t kind or polite, and neither was smiling over the mental image of the witch chewing out the Order healer, but Lily smiled all the same. It was a comfortably realistic, grounding image to hold on to. “I was in good hands with Emmeline, earlier, I’m sure I would be fine, if Andromeda wanted to come back for round two.” Another pulse of that ache in her head contradicted the claim, but it didn’t deserve being acknowledged.

“I’m sure she will. Still, I’m sorry you’re stuck here with me, instead of home with her.“ That soft envy bleed in, her expression drooping with a wistfulness for home and a waiting family. Lily didn’t let herself wallow in it for long, though, moving on instead to say, “A glass of water would be lovely, please. I haven’t had anything to drink all day.” Or eat, but even the thought of food made her feel a bit ill.

Ted smiled kindly at her. “Nothing you should apologize for,” he said. “You were not the one who caused the headaches.” Or the deaths, he added silently to himself. Surely, Lily would know that many Muggles have already been declared dead or injured from the explosion - but that number was still growing with every hour that passed and he worried she wasn’t in the right headspace for the current death count.

“I think I’ll refrain from telling her that when I get home,” he replied honestly. Andromeda, of course, was rather cross with him already - and he doubted she’d want to hear about his infirmary shift unless there was gossip to be discussed. Joking with Lily wouldn’t count as such. “Emmeline is a fine young witch,” he continued. “But she’s untrained. We certainly needed Rosier today.” He didn’t comment that Lily would likely have not survived without the healer, though he suspected Lily herself would be able to guess once she learned of the extent of her injuries.

Yes, he definitely wouldn’t be telling Andromeda about Lily’s words. He could hear the I told you so now. “I’m sorry you’re stuck here at all,” he said and then sat up straighter, pulling his wand. “Of course.” He summoned a cup to him and tapped the edge. “Aguamenti,” he murmured and it filled with water. He passed it to Lily and then offered his hand to help her sit more comfortably to be able to drink.

Amelia & Open Diagon Alley - July 01, 1984

Taking time to herself was something Amelia was seldom able to convince herself to do. There was always too much on her mind, not enough hours in the day to get what she needed done, and feeling like she wasn’t doing enough in the few moments where she managed to sit down. She was a busy body and it simply didn’t feel right to remain still if it wasn’t work related.

She had taken the long way to get to Diagon Alley, having minimal shame toward being spotted briefly on the streets of Muggle London. In doing so, she took a brief excursion into one of the stores near the Leaky Cauldron, coming out with a book in hand and the slightest of smiles on her face when she passed through the bar itself and made her way into the alley. She was quick to grab a seat outdoors since the weather was nicer than anticipated, reading until a shadow cast over the page she was on.

“Do you mind?” The question was accompanied by a quirked brow when Amelia looked up from her book. “You’re blocking the sun.”

It was Sunday and Ted had been working overtime all week. It had made him missed dinners at home or spend time before bed with his daughter and wife. Because of this, he’d suggested a family outing to Diagon Alley for some light shopping and, much to Dora’s excitement, ice cream.

Andy, for her part, got stuck in a clothing store that Dora deemed much too boring and these robes are old fashioned, Mum! To ward off an argument when they were having such a nice time together, Ted had volunteered to take Dora to the Leaky Cauldron early, where they planned on having lunch.

As they passed to their outdoor table, Dora got distracted at the edge of the fence, pointing across the way at a group of friends she’d met at Hogwarts, trying to show Ted. He was about to sigh and tell her to head off with them, but come back in time for Mum, when someone spoke. Dora widened her gaze, looking at Ted for guidance, and Ted glanced between his daughter and, he now saw, Amelia Bones. “Don’t apologize, darling,” he told Dora, but was looking at Amelia. “The sun belongs to no one.”

Of all the things Alice might have expected Ted to raise the subject of, her onetime almost-baby had not been last on the list only because it hadn’t even been on the list. In the tumult of the revelation that someone she’d thought was a friend had, in fact, been selfishly betraying and endangering the entire Order for the last four years and the subsequent shouting-match caused by said revelation, some of the details of what precisely had been exchanged during said shouting-match had been somewhat obscured by emotion and exhaustion.

“Oh fuck,” Alice said, staring at Ted. “Did I really—? Fuck.” Of course she must have mentioned it, because how else would Ted have known? It wasn’t something she’d talked about to people much, having not wanted the secret to get back to Frank. She’d told Theo, because she’d wanted to tell someone (wanted to get drunk and vent her feelings to someone, more accurately) and she had—because she’d been an idiot—thought at the time that Theo was trustworthy (ha!). But then she’d lost her temper and shouted it at Theo last night, when they’d hardly been in private environs, and now…fuck.

Alice dropped her head into her hands and grunted an acknowledgement. When she resumed speaking, her words were muffled by the pressure of her palms grinding into her cheeks, but she didn’t delude herself into thinking that meant Ted wouldn’t be able to hear her—or wouldn’t be listening. Ted was a very good listening, damn him. “Of course I don’t think you’re judging me for not having a baby in the middle of a fucking war,” she mumbled. Not that there weren’t people who would judge her for that—Augusta Longbottom included, along with every other insufferable twat out there who thought that the only thing in life that mattered was producing an heir—and for all she knew Ted very well might be one of them, and was just too polite to say. (He and Andromeda hadn’t made the sensible choice twelve years ago, after all, although there hadn’t been an active war twelve years ago so it wasn’t really the same.) But that wasn’t the problem. Alice could handle slanting side-eyes and pointed mutters and petty gossip; she’d been dealing with that sort of low-grade shit for years. She could even handle it from her friends if she had to.

The problem was Frank.

She sighed and pressed her hands harder into her cheeks, as though she could melt straight through her own wrists and into the pavement below. “But no, yeah, you’re right,” she said. Her stomach twisted with guilt. “I didn’t tell Frank. And I’m not particularly keen on keeping secrets either, for that matter, but here we are.” Alice heaved another sigh and dropped her hands, slumping down until her forearms rested on her knees as a sort of prop to keep her semi-upright, although she didn’t raise her head to look up at Ted yet. “Fuck me.”

It seemed to dawn on Alice what he was talking about slowly - and then all at once. She reacted with fervor. He expected the curse words - what he didn’t expect was just how plain they were. Fuck, fuck, fuck wasn’t really that creative and Alice was known for her unique swearing. It meant she was really stunned, shocked by the news (even though that was rather silly of her, given she’d yelled it in an infirmary where he was only a few feet away).

She dropped her head and her words were muffled, but Ted stayed silent, like a tall, still statue. He listened. She understood he wasn’t judging - talked about it like it would’ve been ludicrous even though he suspected that purebloods in general (not to mention her very judgmental mother-in-law) probably shared the idea of producing a child like some Muggles he knew. But she confirmed what he thought... she hadn’t told Frank, she didn’t like keeping secrets, she was doing it anyway.

He could hear her better without her hands blocking her speech, but she still wouldn’t look at him and he let that knowledge rest uncomfortably in his stomach. They’d slipped from their normal, casual easiness into something undesired, but neither of them tried to leave or dismiss this very real conversation. “I... won’t tell him,” Ted began very slowly, considering his words as he went. “If that’s what you’ll ask of me. Despite the fact that I’d rather not lie to Frank, this is also something between the two of you that I don’t plan on getting involved in.”

Something that could very well ruin your marriage, he didn’t add. Ted, for his part, believed in their relationship and hoped they’d stay together. There was so very clearly love left over there. “But, if you’d like some advice - and feel free to take it or not - there are very few things Andromeda and I keep from one another. I believe it’s made us stronger.” He paused, rubbed a hand over his beard, and looked at Alice, willing her to look back at him.

“I don’t pretend to have a perfect relationship. We have our faults, just like any other couple. And I understand just how hard marriage can be, with or without raising a child in the mix. However, I will proudly say that she and I have been able to weather a very turbulent storm together and I would bet my hat on one of those reasons being our honesty.” She might not understand just how much pressure their relationship had to succeed - just how dangerous it was. She was a pureblood who married a pureblood. But surely she could see it, at least partially.

franklylongsuffered​:​

Frank snorted and spoke without looking at Alastor as he used his wand to carefully heat his food. “You wouldn’t know how to sleep for a week if you tried. You work too much.” It was the kind of comment that Frank could perhaps hold up a mirror and say instead, but he didn’t particularly care. There was no heat to it, and perhaps they both needed to hear it.

Ted too, he realized as the other breezed in. Frank gave him a nod as he reached for the container Moody had asked for. He was preparing tea. Good.

Frank took his tea back over to the table and sat down with a heavy sigh. “I don’t want to talk about Sunday,” he near-moaned. “Everyone acts so stupid after an attack. If it happened on Sunday, don’t try to hock cursed items in the middle of Diagon Alley on Tuesday. It isn’t even my case. Artifacts has it, but they decided they needed an auror’s signature on the paperwork. Now I have to do the paperwork. Tell me how that’s fair?”

@madeyed-andmoody​

@ted-tonks, @franklylongsuffered​

Ted Tonks was greeted with a grunt and a half-wave from where Moody was still turned, fixing up the kettle for their tea. He’d turned back to check it was brewing properly, that one of the numpty headed interns hadn’t done it in with their ineptitude, before slinking over to the table and settling down into a chair with a groan. 

“Says the man who will, no doubt, meld with his desk chair one day,” he mutters, casting a look over his shoulder as his neck rolls to the side. There’s a small smile on his face as he says it, no heat to his words, and Alastor watches as the other wizard heats his food, grabs the container Moody’s asked for. 

Stretching out a bit, Moody deliberately knocked a foot into Ted’s leg, getting his attention as he turns back ‘round. 

“Aye, well, we’re gonna be talking about it for at least another few weeks, ‘m sure. How was your clean-up duty? Anyone give you too much trouble?” Trouble held the same distaste as ‘death eater’ did for Alastor. While he was a pureblood, he had his mum’s coloring, knew what he looked like to some Muggles, the whispers that only occasionally followed him around. He knew that they plagued Ted with a ferocity, one that would’ve had Alastor at his wit’s end, once. 

“Ah, but hocking cursed items moments after an attack is the way of the stupid, Frank. They’d not get anywhere if they didn’t, and we’d be out of a job. ‘ve been asked to do a sweep later in the week with some hit-wix, make sure the ‘threat is neutralized,’ or some such other bollocks. Really, I just think they want me outta the office again.” 

.

“Still cleaning up,” came the easy, even reply. His department was all working overtime this week and likely some of them - Ted included, as one of the senior members in his team - would continue into next week. The whole cover up from Sunday would take much longer than that, of course, but Obliviation was a process and the bigger issue in his department was getting ahead of the story.

He didn’t respond verbally to the second question - the one about trouble - but gave Alastor a knowing look as an answer in itself. Of course they’d given him trouble. He’d had to show his ‘badge’ in order to get them off his case and, even then, some of them had looked at him like he still must’ve been in on it.

Ted listened to Frank whinging about complaining of his work and his lips pulled up into a grin. Even though he wasn’t an Auror, he’d been around enough of them for long enough to understand their lingo and follow along. “Crime doesn’t stop just because a bigger crime happened,” Ted said, a bit of humor sliding into his tone because it was something he’d heard both of them say in the past. An Auror motto or something.

Ted took a bite of his food as he listened to Alastor. “Where are you headed?” he asked him neutrally, knowing that the other wizard might not be able to tell him. He wouldn’t be offended if the answer was a quick can’t say.