it's funny how from simple things... [Andromeda]

[Theodore Tonks]

II and the days they seem to dance II

They did indeed seem to dance. Much like the newborn leaves on trees did. So little, so fragile in the onslaught of a wind not quite free of the savagery of winter. And yet still there, tenaciously gripping the slender branches in which they rested in the face of such adversity. Small and fragile and yet utterly deceptive, leaves were. And trees. Trees were much the same. Left to the elements for years at a time - sometimes thousands - and yet always there, always present despite how life went on and changed around them. Deep-rooted and tenacious and calm and immovable, as if some ancient magic ran through their very roots, anchoring them to life. Much like Professor Dumbledore, really, he who one could never imagine Hogwarts without.

Ted sighed, letting the book - fictional, as opposed to the textboot that lay beside him because he was such a good, thoroughly lazy student, he was - fall onto his face with a light whump-wuffle-fluttering sound. It was one of those days, really - one of those rare days in a less than warm season that teased and promised the prospect of a warmer time approaching. The sunlight warmed his sock-clad feet and long, strong legs even as the shade hid the worst of the sun from his eyes. It was surprisingly quiet for a Friday late afternoon in such weather, though for once, Ted didn't mind.

Only, lack of social interaction...made one...rather sleepy...yawn...

Yawn indeed, and then a snore, albeit a soft one. A breath of air fluttering the pages of the book resting over his face. Yes, yes indeed, the Head Boy had dozed off. Too many hours studying NEWTs and not enough hours sleeping, perhaps? The warm lure of sunshine dulling the senses? Who knew. One thing was for certain, though - Ted Tonks was indeed fast asleep under a tree. By the Lake. With a book on his face and sock-clad feet and shoes slowly drifting closer and closer to the water--

Wait.

"OI."

Apparently not so asleep as to miss the barely there slither of slimy tentacle, Ted promptly shot awake and just as promptly yelped his horror and displeasure at the predicament of his shoes. That predicament being their appropriation by none other than the Giant Squid itself keeper of the Lake and all things slimy, one long, enormous tentacle wrapped snugly around the sneakers. The enraged yell only served to speed the cheeky octypi along, and Ted gave another innarticulate howl of horror and mortification as the tentacle evaded his belated, disoriented-from-sleep leap for it, whipping backwards to dangle almost teasingly above the water and a good eight feet out - out of his reach and too far to swim safely - leaving the blonde-haired Head Boy there on the bank. On his knees, grass-stained and tousle-haired, gawping with a kind of incredulous childish horror at what had just occurred.

"You sodding bloody--"

Seriously, how often did one get their shoes stolen by a squid?

"--I will TURN you into calimari!"

Tag: Andromeda Black

[Andromeda Black]

And every night the entire family came out to play~.

Clear, strikingly so, the stars etching patterns across the black, night sky on cool spring nights, perhaps of no consequence to the untrained eye, but connecting the dots wasn’t so hard, if you knew where to look. Andromeda knew where to look. Family tradition, wasn't it? She could pick out the constellations with languid ease, no longer a marvel for her, only a constant. In an ever changing world, spinning so fast around her (round and round and round), at least she knew she could look up at the night sky and never have to question what she would find, who would be there, waiting for her. Hands folded neatly behind her as she tilted her head, peering out one of the windows in the dim corridor—not to see the starry night, but rather the warm sunshine, washing across the courtyard. Not so fond of nights, Andromeda can’t imagine why~.

An[dro]me[da].

A name with a story, much like all the names in the family; and somehow, somehow the stories seemed fitting, in a way. Most of them, at least. Hers? Not so, not that she believed. Andromeda, daughter of Cassiopeia. How Casseiopeia boasted of her daughter’s beauty, that she was more beautiful than the Nereids, the most beautiful of all. A wry smile found her lips and she turned, footsteps click, click, clicking along the hallway. Her own mother, thought no such thing. ‘You are not so plain as I had feared,’ was what her mother told her on her fifteenth birthday. Everyone knew, everyone knew Narcissa was the pride and joy; the one to show off at the parties and gatherings, the one to twirl in the fancy dress robes, lavish in the spotlight. Not that Andromeda begrudged her for it; no, it was… it was just Narcissa. Her lovely sister—they all, herself included, doted on her. Even Bellatrix.

Frowning, she felt the weight of her thoughts crashing down on her (drowning, drowning, s u f f o c a t i n g—how easy it had been, when they were young, sisters—just sisters, and now… noair, noair, noair). Of course, such arrogance could not go unpunished—an offended Poseidon sought [re]tribution for such boastful claims, and sent a fearsome sea monster to ravage the coast. An oracle explained that the only way to stop the destruction (stop, stop, the war) was to sacrifice Andromeda—chain her to a rock, offer her to the monster—naked, naturally. When WEREN’T the figure(s) of mythology naked? And so they did. No account, of Andromeda’s thoughts or feelings on the matter. Destiny sent her to be sacrificed and she was sacrificed, no questions asked (and certainly not of her). C h a i n e d to her fate.

A funny thing, fate. The idea that something&someone could be

defined—an entire life laid out in stone (brick by brick). Andromeda never really fancied the idea of fate, and yet it was undeniable that some things could not be changed… blood, for instance. Being born a Black, and everything that came with it (so much, too much). But Andromeda – in the story – did not die. No, she did not die but neither did she fight…instead, she was saved. By a man, of course, a man who agreed to save her only if he could have her hand in marriage (keep her bound&tied as all good women should be). Bitterness on her tongue, so strong she could taste it, she swallowed hard, turning the corner abruptly to move out of the shadows and into the light (of day). In truth, she had been on her way to the library… NEWTs, after all, but the call of spring distracted her. Perhaps, perhaps for just a moment. 

Or. Not.

Close (far too close) by, what appeared to be a thoughtless student of no consequence, was a Ravenclaw, most definitely a Ravenclaw or not so definitely, gaping&gawking like a mere schoolboy on the edge of the lake. And squawking. Mouth fell open slightly in surprise, quickly remedied and replaced by a mask of cool indifference, and yet such open and public displays always struck a chord with her; not a thought for social decency, public appearances, the duty to be a role model? Crossing the short distance, she stopped a few feet from him (at least three, three was deemed acceptable and proper) facial features contorting in a cool glare; subtle changes in the line of her brow, the curve of her lips. “Just what,” she asked quietly, “do you think you’re doing? Get up.” His actions did not reflect on just him anymore, didn’t he understand, but her as well, and Professor Flitwick, and Dumbledore, and the entire institution itself! “And…” Pause. “Where are your shoes?” Not once did she look to the lake, too captivated by the one man show in front of her; t r a i n w r e c k. 

[Theodore Tonks]

Ted was entirely coming around to the idea of leaping in and wrestling the Giant Squid himself for his shoes. It was not as though he were crawling in footwear, or the money to purchase decent pairs of footwear. And really, it was the principle of the thing, too - one did not take their possessions being stolen lying down unless they were a malleable waif, and Ted was no such thing. Despite what laidback smiles and baby blonde curls might suggest.

Only, exactly what was the principle of the thing, when a sodding Squid was the one who'd stolen your shoes?

Though, such a thing ceased to truly matter - though it remained at the back of his mind, as a surprising number of things did - when a voice intruded on his presence. Quiet voice. Softspoken voice. Low voice. Cool and indifferent. The Voice, he'd practically dubbed it, for there was yet to be another voice that could garner his attention like this one could. It was a Voice that made First Years and Fifth Years alike cringe, a Voice that had spent the better part caressing his teenage dreams, and by Merlin, he would delight if a day ever came whereby it's owner discovered this, for he rather thought she would blush pinker than a punk rocker's bubblegum hair if/when she did.

Perhaps one day, it was a Voice that he would learn to take heed to. Cool, reprimanding, warning and 'just what do you think you're doing, you Mudblood disgrace?' It was a Head Girl and a Pureblood speaking...and he inwardly grinned at it. Grinned and I am not intimidated by you, daughter of Cassiopeia. Lovely, lovely daughter of Cassiopeia. Quite frankly, it stirred the challenger in an otherwise down-to-earth nature.

Ted had seen students quiver and balk against argument when confronted with his female counterpart - the Head Girl to his Head Boy - and justly so. It was difficult to brook argument, after all, when masked with cool indifference and an eloquent tongue, all wrapped up in a deceptively fragile body and doe eyes. And perhaps he might have brooked no argument, and the thought did cross his mind to obey her or stutter and stumble like a teenage boy would out a response. It was the expected thing, really, a response even the lovely creature currently standing over him might be accustomed to expecting.

Ted, however, had learnt long ago that expecting the unexpected was the way in which one got better far more interesting results when dealing with the things little and small in life. Expect. The. Unexpected. And revel in it.

Thus, Ted simply turned his head away from the eight-tentacled burgler now playing finder's keeper's with his shoes, as if he had all the time in the world and was not under a stern watch. Blue eyes met hers, not defiantly, but steadily i'm not afraid of you, darling. Narrowing slightly, laugh crinkles deepening just so, the colour of the night sky before the dawn twinkling like those very last stars before the sun eclipsed them in something that might have been irony, might have been amusement, and was definitely at least one part playful challenge. A retort in itself to her order.

Make. Me.

"Living, Andromeda. Breathing. Enjoying Life." Slowly, deliberately, purposefully, he let his heavy body fall gently onto damp grass, a knee drawn up even as a lopsided smile drew itself up to, barely a twitch up the side of a grass-stained face and yet somehow boasting the same wealth as a wide grin would. Tail a-wag fearlessly and haunches raised in challenge, the cheeky canine wanted to play.

[Andromeda Black]

NEWTs. Lurking in the thoughts of every seventh year: the tests that defined what you could and could not do (your…capabilities, so to speak) after graduation. Making dreams come true and s H a t T e R i N g them at the same time. Of course, as Bella told her (over and over and over) NEWTs did not matter, not for any good pureblood woman and certainly not for a Black. After all, of what concern was a career when one came from money&power so intricately tied together. Her parents would arrange the best match possible (purest, my dear) and Andromeda would … run the household; the keeper of all affairs, a role she … respected. A fine (&fated) role. Not so far from the Andromeda twinkling in the night sky, after all. Perhaps, fate held a few cards of its own—a stake in the claim to be burned. That did not mean, of course, that she did not want to do well—exceptional, outstanding, even—on her own NEWTs. Ambitious that way, the silver and green threading the walls of her heart. Beatbeat.

An eyebrow raised, surveying the ground before her—a few discarded books, strewn carelessly along the grass. Apparently, Tonks had been studying as well. NEWTs. Inescapable, even to the most… casual of students. For a moment, they locked eyes, her own gaze hardening. Always something there, that she never could quite read. Usually, one glance and she could pierce through the walls, stare into souls, read people like she read the lines of her textbooks—thoroughly&completely. But not him. Never him. Never Ted Tonks. In these blue eyes, something clouded… always taunting and teasing, something she just could not place. Why it bothered her, she couldn’t say; she ought not give it any energy at all… though perhaps her inquisitive nature (Ravenclaw, nevermore, nevermore) may be to blame. Certainly, that had to be it.

And so it began.

The way he spoke to her set her muscles tense around her bones—every fiber, every strand, every segment. T e n s e. He spoke to her… with familiarity. Even used her first name. Though, he always had, hadn’t he? Never used her surname. Something her sister Bella noted (did that mudblood call YOU by your first name?) and threatened to take action. Mudbloods, after all, must know their place. Andromeda assured her sister that no, she could handle her own affairs thank you, thank you very much. She just… never handled her affairs the way her family would. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do~. Yet, what did it matter, just a name, after all. A disruption of o r d e r (&there must always be order, never chaos). Teach people their PLACE—as if everyone and everything had a

defined place in the world based solely on b l o o d. “Your standards for enjoyment of life are… expectantly low. Well then, if you insist like acting like a first year, expect to be treated as such.” 

Inhaling deeply, she took a moment to feel her lungs expand against her ribcage, complying with ease, breath down her trachea, to her bronchi, caught in the alveoli. Perhaps, for one such as him, he made a good point; he should not take living or breathing for granted. Unease washed across the lining of her stomach at the thought, a different sort of bitterness coating her tongue. “I should have known that I would need to be specific, somehow you always do need even the most basic of questions spelled out, to the letter.” As for the WHAT, well, that was blatantly obvious. Something about him… so blatant. Perhaps then, the proper question would be the WHY. “Why are you rolling around in the grass and screaming obscenities—a big word, forgive me, shall I spell it? O b s c e n i t i e s—at the lake? And, lack of proper footwear IS against the dress code.” Noting the books, she gave a brief wave of her wand, carefully stacking them up (neat&tidy—we must have ORDER) in the grass. “Studying for charms, I suspect,” she added casually. “Now that you have been reprimanded as a child, perhaps when you remember the responsibility that comes with that badge and decide to act your age, we can have a proper conversation.” 

[Theodore Tonks]

She had bitten. He'd known she was going to. All puffed up and self-righteous and proud every inch the snotty Pureblood she tried so hard to distance herself from. But that was the thing with Andromeda; she was remarkably predictable for someone who made such an obvious effort not to be. It was almost adorable. Or perhaps that was just Ted; he was a great deal more perceptive than people often gave him credit for. He understood far more than most, including the lass in front of him, clearly believed he did.

I see you. Yes, you. I see you.

Ted had been more than content to sit back and let her have her little tirade. He'd learnt quickly as Fifth Years, baby Prefects, that it really was just better to go along with it. Let her get it out. Blow off a bit of steam. Get off her high horse. It worked well for them. Balanced them out. They even got on because of it. Good Cop, Bad Cop, to use a Muggle phrase. It was all about compromise, really. And he was happy to compromise. It was what good people did. Friends, of a sort. Even if, more often than not, it seemed rather as though he was the only one compromising.

Like now.

He'd been in a good mood. A very good mood. Even with the studying. Even with the Giant Squid stealing his shoes. It had been more amusing than anything else, and it was perfectly human to respond in kind when marine wildlife was snitching your footwear. And then she'd opened her bloody mouth. And it wasn't even the words, really. Ted could not give a shite or twenty about her words. He didn't care if he was reprimanded for immaturity; he knew he was better. He didn't give a farthing about being spoken to in the same manner one might speak to his five year old sister when she struggled with a big word. He didn't even bother a wit that his intelligence was being thoroughly, utterly insulted (Not the typical idle Raven, that one. Evermore, Evermore. Not Nevermore.).

No, it wasn't any of that that roused him. Ted was an easygoing lad, even sweet at times. Sweet like Fizzing Whizzbee's. Very few things genuinely flustered him, roused him to anger. It was why he'd been picked as Head Boy, little miss. The one thing he could not abide though--

The tone. Speaking down from on high.

The voice. You are a lesser being.

Mudblood.

He could take a lot of things. But anything close to this perception, he could not. He just couldn't. It brought up all manner of unpleasant things, every connotation of persecution one could construe. And from her? Black or not be damned, it hurt. Whether she had intended it or not no longer mattered. In the perceptive eyes of a human - a wizard - far too used to such treatment, Andromeda had gone too far.

The books, so neatly stacked - never, ever something he could perfect with magic - tumbled askew again with the swiftness in which Ted surged to his feet, the quickness completely at odds with such a tall, broad stature. Eyes that had been the warm colour of the sky on a spring day, reflected in the glitter of a lake, mere moments ago were now a maelstrom of grey hurt and the pitch-blue of restrained anger, and careless now of tousled hair and shoe-less feet for entirely different reasons, Ted met her eye to eye, practically nose to nose for the merest of small moments.

"You know, for someone who's so eager to seperate herself from her family's reputation--" Oh, I know, yes I do "--you act rather obscenely like them at times, Andromeda."

Disdain was not a word regularly used in Ted's personal vocabulary, but the pitch of wounded pride, did enough to lace the growl in his words. The livid bruise of hurt that only someone you genuinely felt for could inflict.

Jaw clenched, Ted backed away swiftly then. Unable to bear the proximity for all the wrong reasons. With a note-worthy amount of restraint for someone who required speaking to like a child, he forced half-blind fury literally to it's knees, gathering his wayward books by hand now, clearly and fully intending to leave. Too much, far too much. No longer felt like dealing with it. Needed to nurse those skin-deep wounds in peace.

"You'll have to forgive me for the lack of dress code, Miss Black" --words not quite spat, but flinty blue eyes just bitter enough with dull hurt to ruin anyone's day, even if they no longer met those of their antagoniser-- "But our friend the Giant Squid apparently has a footwear fetish. Amusing as that is--" Yes, amusing, funny, humourous, such words do exist, you realise "--I'd rather not risk tentacular assault for a pair of sneakers."

[Andromeda Black]

People are made of pieces, small, big, ones that fit, and ones that don’t. A puzzle, just needed to be solved. Though she did not display it often, Andromeda had a keen sense of … people. Reading, observing, and understanding. With a little time and a little effort, people were not so difficult to understand. Some more challenging than others, of course, but in the end one could always find the mechanics (tick tock, tick tock, tock tick) behind the human being. Ted Tonks, of course, always was a bit of an enigma to her, though he seemed on the surface, so easy (&too easy) to read… something else was there that she just could not place her finger on. Swing, hit&miss. In the end, she would b R e A k him down, like all the others (no pun intended, not one to pun puns, that Andromeda). Kept her guessing, at the very least.

And so it was of surprise that the books suddenly collapsed and c L a T t e R ed.

He was on his feet all too suddenly, nose inches from her own, in her face –INHERFACE—something inside welled up and she bit down on her tongue, swallowing her words, BACK. DOWN.. Instead, the line of her jaw hardened, shoulders squared, spine stacking vertebrae by vertebrae, as she drew herself up. She did not flinch, she did not move, she did not so much as blink—a m a r b l e statue, just another stone in the courtyard. No. Reaction. As if the adrenaline suddenly released could not reach the receptors; immune—d e t a c h e d. And yet, she couldn’t help but question, WHAT had HAPPENED? Not one to react himself, Ted Tonks—the epitome of cool as a cucumber. But something struck a chord, pinched a nerve, left a m a r k letters lashing as her words were prone to do. Acid. Burn, burn, burn.

“You are, as usual, mistaken. Of what need do I have to separate myself from any reputation? I am what I am, or rather, who: Andromeda Black.” And all that comes with it. BLACK in her BLOOD. Always. Toujours Pur. Not just words but letters embedded into her very DNA; no longer A and C and G and T, but a certain … je ne sais quoi. “And I apologize for nothing, especially not reproaching you for your childish behaviors.” Merlin knew SOMEONE had to. “You continue to make quite the spectacle of yourself, even now,” she continued quietly, catching the few students staring in her periphery. Andromeda cleared her throat, continuing coolly, “And I would appreciate it if you would keep my family out of your quarrels with me.”

He finally stepped back and her chest collapsed in a sigh, glancing as he gathered his books. A tantrum. That’s all. That’s all this was. She knew all about tantrums, had quite a few of her own WHENSHEWASTHREE and having lived with the ever variable mood swings of Bellatrix Black and the dramatic highs and lows of the ever so tragic life of Narcissa Black, Andromeda knew how to w a l k the l i n e. Though, in this instance, she didn't quite understand what it was about THIS day and THOSE words and THESE things that set him off in such a way. More often than not when met with her harsh words, he snarked back or ignored her all together—but not … this. Whatever this was. Curious. Very curious. And curiosity killed the cat~ “What?” She scowled as he continued on in utter nonsense. Nose creased on her face and she turned her attention to the lake… nothing there.

“What are you talking about?” Just the pristine surface, still and unmarred, sunlight reflecting along the water’s line—a pair of sneakers floating further&further away. No squid. A hint of disappointment in her veins; just a hint. How as a first year she had so wanted to catch a glimpse of one of those tentacles, to tickle its beak, share her morning toast with the cephalopod and ask about its day. Nostalgia; a faint&funny feeling. This time was no different; she went, she saw nothing. Always, she saw nothing. Andromeda looked to Ted. Looked to the sneakers. Looked to him again. Raising her wand with mechanical motions, she held his gaze evenly, pointing it at the lake. “…Accio. Sneakers.” Within seconds the shoes came flying back, tumbled as they hit the grass, landing at his feet. “…You were saying?” Never saw the squid and she never would.

[Theodore Tonks]

Words, words. She was always words. Did it actually make her feel good, treading people underfoot? Attempting to bring them to their knees? I'd rather die standing, than live on my knees, baby. Not drag her family into the quarrel indeed; it was impossible not to, when her entire attitude was so very much like her family it burnt. Burnt like acid, not as vicious as it might have been, but no less so when it reared it's ugly head.

It was childish, he knew. He knew better than most what constituted at childish. But he did not care and he could not give a shit and he was tired of it. Tired of nursing wounded pride for the whims of his dick traitor of a heart. Tired of nursing his dick traitor of a heart when it was very clear Andromeda Black rather obviously thought him worth the same amount of time as dealing with a troublesome, cheeky child-cousin might be. Which was ironic of her in it's entirety, considering she rather did have a cousin exactly like that. Plain fucking tired of it, laughing like it was a big joke to be treated like everything done was the wrong thing.

His friends - the very scant few who knew of his idiotic infatuation with the icy, dark-eyed beauty - were right. Had been right. What was the point?

"No." Bitterness rose to the tip of his tongue, and he did his best to quell it before it ventured any further beyond soft-spoken words. "Astronomy, actually. I did always enjoy taking apart the stars." Enchanting, stars were. Enchanting and far away and warm and cold. Untouchable.

She didn't get it now. Likely never would. Hell, even if he tried, he'd probably come out looking like a bigger feel than he did even now. Clumsy and playful and heart on the sleeve Ted, that childish Mudblood with his too-free laughter and his insecurities and his laconic humour.

"You're right." His voice was calm again. To the point, as if they were discussing the latest financial review in the Daily Prophet. As if he hadn't just about come shy of blowing his stack moments ago. Calmer than the still water on the lake. Too calm. Calmer than Ted Tonks should ever be. Calm, though not unchastised, but still, rather dim all of a sudden. Almost husky really. He didn't even flinch when she made a further mockery of him, lips merely pursing when his shoes landed at his feet. Didn't even have the desire in him to tease her about the Giant Squid, now. Calm and still and grey-eyed and cold gaze for gaze, even as he bent to pick his thoroughly ruined, sopping sneakers up. Indeed, they were ruined; he had absolutely no talent when it came to proper cleaning spells. Especially the dry-cleaning kind.

What she was right about, he didn't bother letting on. To do so was likely a waste of time, and it was often said that the fool who babbled was the fool who had lost the argument long ago. Instead, he merely tied his ruined sneakers together, tossing them over the shoulder where the badge of Head Boy didn't reside. Not a word even as he bent to gather his books again, grimaced a little in unhappiness at the dampness that now encompassed the pages of the book he'd taken such delight in minutes ago. Brilliant Muggle, Jane Austen was. Not that it was likely the Pureblood witch before him even knew what, or rather who, that was. Or what a bloody pride and a prejudice and a sense and a sensibility had to do with each other. Which might have been a good thing - most people would likely mock a young boy to living hell for indulging in such a genre, if they knew what it was. Not that he cared even if she had seen the gold lettering on the tatty and obviously much loved novel. Not a bloody whit.

Likely too many parallels for her anyway, Ted thought sourly, though for once, he kept his snarky opinion to himself. Then, books settled, he straightened, gaze still flinty and yet not as steely as before. Blue again, not grey.

"You're entirely right, Miss Black," he said softly, for her alone and to hell with anyone staring. He was that pathetic about it that they probably knew their Head Boy was stupidly smitten anyway. And last names. Formality. None of this warm first name business. She was so intent on reminding him of her family name - Andromeda sodding Black - that it probably tickled her to sodding hear it anyway.

"It was childish of me. Childish to think it was worth making a spectacle of myself over you." He turned on bare feet then, intent for the castle and whatever refuge it offered that out here no longer did for him, as if his words hadn't meant a thing. Still, forced as it was, he offered her a shadow of his usual frank, cheeky smile over her shoulder. As if it didn't mean a thing, because it didn't.

"I apologise for wasting so much of your time. Don't worry yourself; I'll be sure to spare you embarrassment on our next patrol."

[Andromeda Black]

It came so easily (&too easily), this way with words, weaving wicked webs and oh what tangled webs we weave. Genetic, perhaps, embedded in her b o n e s and c a r v e d into the crevices of her brain, boiling in her blood; inevitable. To take the sharpest corners of each and every letter of each and every word of each and every sentence and angle it just so—slice&dice. Hardly even a conscious process anymore, speaking in such a way more than a force of habit but inherent in her very nature. Cut to pieces and leave nothing whole. Of course, she dabbled in the art of pleasantries as well (as was proper for all young women) but such a façade, pleantries—one she found to be tiresome—and she was far past any&all such illusions with Ted Tonks.

Called him a mudblood once. Once. And only once.

First year. The word just another piece of her vocabulary, a description of those born of muggle descent with no prior magical history in the family-- just a word and nothing more. A word her family used without thought, one she grew up surrounded by, a colloquialism; familiar. Her world so very small, until she came to Hogwarts… and found that so many things her family did and said were not appropriate by the wizarding society standards. Yet she only ever understood the definition of the word and not it’s connotations—not until she said it carelessly in reference to Ted Tonks, asking how a mudblood could best her on the first charms assignment—no malice in her tone, no intention of hurt in her words, just a plain&simple statement. Or so she thought. Until the cheeky little boy lost his cheek, met her only with those eyes, steeled&grey, and silence. For a boy who always had something to say, (his) silence struck a chord in her.

And so she asked him. Asked him to explain what she didn’t understand. And he did. He did explain. She never used the word again… not at Hogwarts, only in the shadows of her own home, where it was not only expected but practically protocol. Ever since, the word felt vile on her tongue—a word that caused pain to others, needlessly—something to be swallowed and spat but never spoken. The conversation began their competitive commodity; just a bit too familiar, as her sister Bella informed her—don’t, get, too, close. “It is not wise to allow your emotions to reign over you, have some control,” she commented quietly.

Andromeda did not miss the intention of his comment, but merely let it go, s l i d e on past her—to hold on would only give it energy and to give it energy would be to give it power, and to give it power would give him ground and rule one of any and all interactions was to stand your ground. After all, he had done just that, given her all the power, and she would not make such a folly. Take apart the stars (shine bright, shine far—be a s t a r)… she would like to see him try. The permanence of constellations (not talking about constellations anymore, now were we?) a constant, the only constant anymore. The calmness settling over them cool and eerie, the fog before the storm—reminiscent of first year, but still she said nothing, merely stood her ground as he stood his, lines drawn in the sand. And everyone knows (who, who knows?) lines must not be crossed. Though, every now and then, sometimes she wondered, just what was on the other side. Sirius knew. Fabian and Gideon knew. And yet… they could never come back. Back to this side. And what was this side anyway? The wrong side… but the side… everyone and everything she knew belonged to. Always carrying that horse around, time to bury that horse in the ground: This was who she really was. Why did he act as if seeing her for the first time?

You’re Right.
I know.

“What’s… that supposed to mean?” Question slipped blink “You were making a spectacle of yourself over shoes, Tonks.” She amended flatly. Shoes. Somuchmorethanshoes. “Thank you. I’m sure the rest of the school will appreciate your efforts.” About time he got his act together. Staring after him, she decided that a day in the sun was NOT what she needed, instead, it would be best if she slipped back into the shadows, daylight could be so violent. “Don't make … things into more than they are, this is only a battle, not the war,” she spoke more to herself than anything&one else. Gaze back on the lake. Nothing. Flicker of disappointment faded against her cold porcelain skin.”…I wonder…” she muttered to herself, what he really saw, if he saw anything at all, who knew, not her, not Andromeda. Ah. Another day, then. You would leave me, if you’ve seen what I become.