dust to dust ➤ oct. 1978
abouttonks:
He swallowed thickly, hating that he played any part in her reasoning. But it was difficult to argue against something when he was guilty of doing practically the same thing. Worse, perhaps, when he had all but resented Edgar’s attempts to trivialize his concerns, pointing out that the very barriers Ted spoke of (and Andromeda too, he supposed) were nothing more than a nuisance - just a thing to be knocked aside if they merely tried. Now, as everything seemed to spiral so quickly out of control, Ted wished he was the sort of person that could do exactly that. But then the potential threat of physical harm became less immediate with Andromeda’s denial (though a part of him wasn’t entirely sure he could trust her judgment on that), his heart slowed to a more steady beat, and they were back to the same problem that they had circled in his backyard (and so many times before it). “Does it?” There was no bite to his tone - Andromeda’s demeanor made that impossible - but it was still the one flaw in her argument that Ted couldn’t let go. “Because some might say that it’s part of a system designed to divide and squash anyone that’s not a pureblood.”
But her next admission - a simple thing but deeply personal all the same - did have him biting his tongue. The argument was right there. Because it seemed pretty clear to Ted that any positive behavior from her family had very little to do with Andromeda herself and, very likely, more the fact that she was doing only what they expected of her. Something so shallow couldn’t possibly sustain itself. Not to match the length of the lifelong commitment they were asking from her at any rate. But this wasn’t a justification she was telling herself to make it better - this was something she wanted. Possibly longed for. It seemed almost cruel to point out such a truth and potentially snatch the rug out from under her. More likely, however, it fell in line with what he’d told Edgar. That she simply wasn’t ready to hear it yet.
The flaws remained readily apparent, however. It hadn’t been that long ago that Andromeda had sat on his back porch and sprouted off a long list of grievances her family held against her. It had seemed to extend into every part of her life and it was why the attempted joke received a raised eyebrow rather than anything resembling a smile. Because she had viewed it as exactly that, something to dread, and Ted couldn’t imagine that her opinions on an arranged marriage had all but changed overnight.
It was why he stood, taking the opportunity she gave him, ignoring the fear of Andromeda somehow discovering the truth behind his injury in favor of simply keeping her in front of him for a few minutes more. “I guess my concern then, Andromeda, is that you’re not marrying your family.” He spoke carefully, keeping his focus fully on her even as he unbuttoned his shirt and rolled up the undershirt beneath it, stopping just above the rib in question. “And while it’s a wonderful thing to want to make them happy, it’s also a pretty big sacrifice if that’s your only reason. Especially when it wasn’t even the only source behind the tension between you. Are you going to have to bend on everything else too? And what about your new fiance,” he swallowed, disliking the taste of the words in his mouth, but knowing that it was truly the more important thing to focus on - the sort of man she would be tied to for the rest of her life. “Rowle, you said? How well do you know him?”
As unconventional as Andromeda’s opinions tended to be regarding pureblood tradition, she had failed to be as present in such politics simply because of her own baggage. It was difficult to proclaim all of pureblood society absolute folly when most of her loved ones partook in such practices. She had very few people in her life whom would speak so brashly of their elitism, or put it in such simple terms; even she had trouble doing so, given how she was invested in her world more than she would like to admit. But Ted’s statement was true. Getting wrapped up in reception color schemes and formal garden luncheons often obscured the foundation of what they were perpetuating, the very superiority complex that was bolstered by their wealth but founded in the purity of their blood. As much as Ted’s tone might have not been combative, she still couldn’t help but feel a pang of shame for being involved in the very thing that made him feel less than. When – really – he was more than. More than many of the high-society purebloods she’d had the misfortune of brushing elbows with.
“It is,” she agreed with a tired sigh. “And I forget that sometimes. Which makes me both selfish and horrible, but when it’s all I’ve ever known, it’s difficult to override.” She paused, suddenly needing him to know that she didn’t want to be that way, didn’t want to ever hurt him or people like him and wanted no involvement in such violence. But how could Andromeda say so when she was partaking in the very system he loathed? It didn’t matter whether she wanted to or not when she was doing it regardless.
Grateful both for his compliance and the opportunity for a tangible distraction, she straightened in her chair so that she was properly at eye-level with the injury. Ted was right; it was his rib, the swelling visible even through the sheen of the thick salve he’d applied to his chest. Trying to decide which rib — or how many — had been affected, her hand gingerly rose to graze his skin, her thumb gently pressing and searching for a reaction. The presentation of a physical problem she knew she could fix made it easier to focus on the opposite.
“You’re the first person to call it anything akin to a sacrifice,” she observed. “I thought I was mad for thinking marriage is a significant milestone.” Her tone was lighter, though edged with a shadow of her familiar cynicism. “I’m not sure on the rest. Thorfinn expressed a disinterest in interfering with my work, at least. That’s a positive. i suppose my family might view this entire thing as a compromise, perhaps large enough to disregard the rest.” A part of her worried that an engagement would do nothing to lie their disapproval to rest, though thus far it had seemed to do so successfully. “We’ve crossed paths before. He was in Narcissa’s year. I get the impression he’s a bit immature, but I don’t know much else. Cordial, or at least he acts as much when his mother is within earshot.” Happy her eyes were trained on his swollen side, she prompted him further. “How exactly did this happen?”
