who: andromeda & @tdtnks
when: febuary 26th, 1983
where: tonks residence
trigger warning: allusion of depersonalization/dissociation
Andromeda had always been good at distancing herself, at closing herself off, at hardening her spine into steel instead of allowing herself to crumble in the face of everything cruel and harsh and what some people might call evil. She didn’t really believe in evil or its foil, if she was being truthful; she couldn’t bring herself to. Having a childhood like hers, sharing blood with sisters like hers, having watched the world fall to pieces and be rebuilt a thousand times over in the name of the light and the dark; binary thinking such as good and evil, light and dark, Death Eaters and the Order never seemed productive, or survivable to her.
And the only thing that Andromeda had been after, for years, was her survival. Naturally that extended to Ted and Dora because they were extension of her own heart, her own soul; truthfully, she’d sacrifice her own survival if it meant saving them. And she would save them from this war, she was certain of that.
Of course, it would be much easier for her to do all of that if she wasn’t being yanked into the ever aforementioned war. She was yanked into the Order when Ted decided he wanted to be involved, something she couldn’t quite blame him for, but still terrified her. Then, of course, were the werewolf attacks, centering her division and research, and now… Sybill.
She hadn’t known her, really. But she knew enough about those that shared the Sight to know that she would be targeted eventually. People always thought lowly of seers, always believed that they were nothing but a hoax claiming to be divine, until they decided they needed divine intervention, or guidance, or however else people wanted to refer to the Inner Eye.
It was never a good thing when people took an interest in seers, that much was certain, that much was made abundantly clear to her by Cygnus several times over in her lifetime — and Sybill’s death put a bounty on any seer’s head, she was sure of it.
She should have seen it coming, really. But war’s a rather tricky thing to follow. The future was ever changing, shifting with each menial decision on either side, and Andromeda had half considered reaching out to Cygnus or Bellatrix or someone that might now how to repress the flashing images. She didn’t, obviously, but she had a much looser grip on her dreams after she left home; it was rather manageable, relatively unseen.
She had a feeling that wasn’t going to be the case for much longer and that thought alone was enough to make her body freeze up, to make her eyes gloss over with tears that she wouldn’t shed, to make her hands tremble. Cygnus knew, Druella could know, hell, Trixie could fucking know. Someone who didn’t know, though, was Ted, Ted who had put their child to bed after the broadcast and noticed the all too familiar look in her eye, one that came up far more than it should have, one that she didn’t offer much of an explanation for.
He deserved an explanation; he deserved to know that should anyone found out, their entire family could be targeted; he deserved the chance to get the hell out of this situation if he felt so inclined.
She didn’t jump when he came back into the room; the only indication that she was remotely startled by the sound was the slightest tensing of her left hand. She bit her lip, keeping her gaze forward as she had since the news was announced over their radio. She didn’t turn to face him, though she leaned ever so slightly to allow him to join her on her place on the floor should he be so inclined.
“Have I ever told you about Bitsy?” She asked, knowing damn well that she hadn’t, but she wasn’t entirely sure how to tell this story without talking about her. Her eyes slid over to meet his gaze, after a moment, a second, a third. She laughed, the sound light and honey sweet but damn near devoid of humor. “I know the answer to that, but I don’t really know where else to start with this one.”
Ted was observant. Over-observant, even. Observant to the point of seeing things that weren’t there because his anxiety told him the crease in someone’s brow or the lack of smile on their face meant he’d done something wrong. It was something he managed constantly and had learned to mostly reign in. Not to mention, he knew Andromeda so much better than the average someone. She was his wife. The love of his life. The light in the dark. And he was rather certain the darkening expression on her face as they listened to the nightly news broadcast wasn’t just a trick of his mind.
He couldn’t ask immediately though. If he was right, if there was something on her mind, she’d hold in because Dora had been with them in that moment. With a gentle squeeze of Andromeda’s hand, he’d volunteered to put Dora to bed; there hadn’t been much room for no in his offer. Dora didn’t protest either… Or not much, at least. She complained that she wasn’t tired with a mouthful of toothpaste, but settled easily into her bed and sleepily mumbled when he asked her if she’d completed all her homework. He even asked if she wanted to read with him – a chapter of muggle’s children book one of her cousin’s had let her borrow. He was silently grateful when she said no.
After pressing a soft kiss to Dora’s forehead, pulling the covers up around her chin, and flicking off the light in her bedroom, Ted returned to the living room. Andromeda was sat on the floor, staring off at something he couldn’t determine. A smudge on the wall? Dust particles in the lamp light? Fringe on the rug? Nothing at all?
He hesitated for a single moment in the doorway before padding across the room. Using the wall to brace himself, he slid to the floor next to her. A joint cracked painlessly. He would’ve made a joke about getting old, but it stuck in the back of his throat. Now wasn’t the time. He could see it in her side profile. There was something on Andromeda’s mind, on the tip of tongue.
“No, you haven’t,” he said with a small shake of his head. When she looked at him, he offered her a smile – it was uncertain, but it still reached his eyes, and it didn’t fade when she laughed, honeyed and hollow. “I’ll wait as long you need to figure it out. Or you could tell me about Bitsy.”
