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. 

Narcissa peeled herself away from the arm of the sofa at Andromeda’s confessed desire to make everyone happy, a sense of accomplishment settling through her body as she stood up. Because at last, her sister got it. After a dreadful number of arguments, disagreements over the dining table, unhappy frowns from their mother, it seemed to have finally sunk in that the only thing that really mattered was pleasing the family. Why it had taken Andromeda quite so long to realise this was beyond her, but she wasn’t about to start complaining. “Embracing your betrothal to Thorfinn and making it work will do exactly that.” She offered a small nod of acknowledgement, distinctly aware that, when it came to life endangerment, there were rather larger issues lurking in the shadows than the backlash of rebellious acts. Her spine straightened a little more, dismissing unwanted thoughts to somewhere deep and difficult to reach. “I know you do. We love you too. All we’ve ever wanted is the best for you.” She was certain those two things went hand in hand: adoration and prosperity; fondness and luxury. 

“Thank you is what you say to the goblins at Gringotts when they open up the vault. What is Thorfinn going to do with a thank you?” Narcissa’s attention was on her dress as she adjusted the lace neckline, a faint twitch of her lips at Andromeda’s question the only sign that she had heard. It took her a moment of fiddling before responding. “He was as all pureblood wizards are in school – mischievous, mouthy, and mean to anyone who stood in his way. I’m not sure who was in detention more frequently for getting into fights, him or Lucinda. Slughorn didn’t have a clue what to do with him. I think he was encouraged to duel, in the end, to help channel his anger.” Aware that she was far from singing Thorfinn’s praises, Narcissa hesitated. As much as she wanted her sister to be comfortable around him, she could not shake the protective urge to tell her all. “It seems to have worked, I haven’t seen him sporting a black eye since seventh year. But I would be careful, Andy. It would be unwise to provoke him.” She reclaimed her make up with a brief smile that barely registered across the rest of her features. “He seems to be doing well at work. Rodolphus is fond of him, I believe, so that’s certainly a good sign.” She swallowed down the bitter taste of the lie. It most certainly was not a good sign. “But if you truly want to find out more about him, I would talk to Anastasia Burke. The two have apparently known one another for years.”

Andromeda was vaguely certain she was meant to feel nothing but relief, enough of it to overtake any amount of lingering doubt she might have left. Instead, Narcissa’s words failed to soothe her and instead left her uneasy. Her sister made embracing an engagement sound as easy and quick as fixing herself a cup of tea, when in reality it felt infinitely more significant. Such sentiments should not have surprised her. She’d slipped effortlessly from life as a single adolescent to that of a fiancée without batting an eye. But the declaration of love was what Andromeda chose to hold onto instead, wondering if she could ever properly become the sort of woman Narcissa pictured. “He’ll have to grow accustomed to my ‘thank you’s, I reckon. I don’t have nearly as natural a skill as you do for elaborate gift-giving.” 

The look on her face - somewhat incredulous, he thought - gave him pause and he realized, perhaps, that he must have crossed one of those unspoken lines. Lines he still didn’t quite know how to define, the odd contrast between the intensity of their discussions and the rarity in which they actually spoke making for murky waters, further complicated by something deeper (and likely inappropriate) he couldn’t quite shake. And just like that the thumb tracing gentle circles on her shoulder stopped (an old habit that he likely shouldn’t have fallen back into quite so easily considering the circumstances), knuckles just grazing her arm before finally falling back into his lap. He leaned back a bit too, wanting to give her space without pushing away completely, while his brow furrowed in concentration, trying to take in all of what she said.

He nodded when she prompted him, offering an encouraging smile of sorts, even as he decided against pointing out that he had ultimately backtracked on that exact advice. Their conversation that day had continued in such a way that Ted had been forced to realize, unfortunately, that what should work simply wouldn’t. Not when her family operated on a level so intense that Ted didn’t think he would ever truly understand it, let alone discover the secret to actually navigating the complex dynamic. Not without taking on their own approach of all or nothing. Still. Ted was just glad to hear that at least some of what he’d said had somehow sunk in. Because even if it probably wouldn’t have worked in her exact situation, it was important. And maybe it was just as important to try. To compare and contrast. To understand how relationships should work and to realize how that particular one wasn’t. It certainly wasn’t fair to her, not when her family was all but backing her into a corner, attempting to mold her into a person that she clearly wasn’t instead of simply accepting her as she was.

But it was for that same reason that Ted didn’t get where he maybe should have when Andromeda trailed off. Despite her assurances that her family would never purposefully hurt her (which didn’t really offer any comfort or peace of mind), Ted found that he couldn’t find it in himself to give them the benefit of the doubt as he maybe would have before.  It didn’t help, perhaps, that the world now seemed so much darker than the days of sneaking around, trying to find a place they wouldn’t be seen together. Then, as far as he’d understood it anyway, his blood simply meant he was beneath her, unworthy. But now such things prompted widespread terror, just talking apparently warranted an Unbreakable Vow, and just a pencil could somehow justify an attack and torture. It set his imagination off, prompting all sorts of dark, horrific scenarios to materialize. Things like manipulation and threats and more deadly promises. Just the possibility of it made it difficult to breathe and he tugged on his collar as his heart took on a fear-filled gallop that echoed so fast and so loud inside his own head that it almost seemed impossible that Andromeda wouldn’t somehow hear it herself. 

All of it made any sort of resignation on her part suddenly unacceptable and again, still gentle but a bit firmer too, he insisted, “You don’t. Andromeda, whatever they said or did to make you think that ….” Forgetting himself for a moment, he took a deep breath in the effort to calm himself (this really wasn’t the right place to get worked up) and then winced at the sharp pain it inspired. He ignored it though, letting it act as nothing more than a reminder of the potential stakes, spurring him on. “You’re not alone. I’ll help you. And Edgar. Florence, too. We can figure something out. Protect you, even, if you need it.”  Well, Edgar and Florence more likely. Ted could barely protect himself. But he’d try. 

Ted wasn’t entirely off the mark. It was something that they had both done and said that had changed her mind. She noticed his use of a ‘them’, drawing an intangible distinction between who the pair of them were in this shoddy office and the many identities her family shifted through as quickly as replacing a mask. It struck her in a way Andromeda hadn’t quite expected, the implication that Ted was on her side against a ‘them’ that he spoke of. Perhaps this entire mess would be far easier if it could be that simple. 

“Well, perhaps you shouldn’t be proud of them,” Narcissa suggested airily as if speaking of something inconsequential like the weather. She was growing rather bored – Andromeda’s attempts to persuade her that her past choices had been worthwhile and necessary left her feeling as if they were going round in circles. They were both so desperate to get their cases across, to make the other see it from their point of view, that it seemed impossible for either of them to truly understand where the other was coming from. “That’s exactly the problem, darling. They were decisions that make you happier. Not our parents. Not Bella and I. Just you.” She tried to refrain from frowning as she busied herself with the quilted shoulder bag that hung at her side on a delicate chain, plucking out a compact and lipstick.

“Need you even ask? You’re my sister, of course I wouldn’t have,” Narcissa spoke only after she had reapplied the glossy nude colour to her lips, examining it in the mirror which she then closed with a snap. “Not that it matters now that you’ve now been given the chance to redeem yourself.” She didn’t think this line of enquiry particularly productive (mostly because, yes, she would indeed have done it, because she had a second family’s reputation to think about now – and if the likes of Sirius and Andy wished to muddy the Black name, she had no choice but to concentrate on the Malfoys). Her gaze slid back to Andromeda, somewhat disappointed at her sister’s lack of gratitude for her newly betrothed’s generosity. “Andy. You could have at least bought him a gift to say thank you. Taken him to the chateau in France for the weekend, even. And I do wish you’d stop referring to him as a stranger. The Rowles are hardly unknown. Thorfinn was only the year below you in school, he and I had classes together all the time.” With a gentle shake of her head, Narcissa pressed the lipstick and compact into her sister’s palm in the hope that it would cheer her up. “Here, put this on. It’s from Emma’s shop. It knows the exact colour to complement what you’re wearing.”

The implication of selfishness was petty, but struck a pang of guilt all the same. That was what Andromeda feared above all else, really. She had always told herself her victories were mutually exclusive from her sisters’ accomplishments. Her independence had done nothing to harm Narcissa’s meticulously-manicured social standings or Bella’s influence over Rodolphus. Or - at least - she had hoped as much. She tilted her head against the back of the chair with an even stronger frown. “I want to make a decision that could make all of us happy,” she admitted with a streak of honesty. “And it would matter to me if you had decided I was endangering your life with mine, Cissa. Even if it might only be hypothetical. You might think I care only for myself, but I love you and Bella dearly.” The Blacks did not often opt for declarations of affection, but her words rang sincere all the same. 

“It’s fine, honestly, please don’t worry about it.” He carefully avoided the no that would be a lie and the yes that would potentially inspire more guilt. And really, Ted didn’t mind. He wished, of course, that he worked somewhere with a bit more leeway on these sorts of things or, better yet, that he hadn’t used up all his sick days. In fact, “Normally, I’d just skive off, but I’ve done a little too much of that lately so,” he grinned, something between reassuring and apologetic, “if anyone asks then you’re from York and saw someone selling a muggle a singing toilet.” The smile soon faded, however, Ted sobering in those few moments she struggled to continue and when she finally did, all thoughts of his job and being late and the potential consequences of that just disappeared.

In fact, everything went fuzzy and then kinda blank and Ted just sank into the chair opposite her with a heavy, weighted down, “Oh.” Anything beyond that didn’t want to materialize and it made Ted suddenly grateful that he thought to bring the form and a pen to fill it out. It was a trick he had picked up a long time ago now, and even if it looked like he had stopped paying attention, the truth was that it helped him concentrate, fighting off the frustration that came with focusing on some impossible thing for too long. The mundanity of it helped, Ted had completed the thing so many times now that he could have done it in his sleep. Which was lucky considering the words had seemed to rearrange themselves into something nonsensical - a problem Ted hadn’t seriously struggled with since school when he’d found himself facing a particularly challenging lesson. So he took extra care, forming letters carefully until the fog plaguing his mind seemed to clear, thoughts forming, allowing him to focus on the actual situation in front of him.

It occurred to him briefly, based on their last conversation, that this could have been the decision Andromeda ultimately came to based on his parting words. But then everything else sank in too, and he all but discarded it as a possibility. Her mother had sorted it, she had said, followed by the fact that she found out yesterday. Both came together to suggest an arrangement in which Andromeda had merely been an afterthought. Or, at least, not a part of the process in making the decision. About her life. He felt another jolt of uncharacteristic anger bubble up, this time on her behalf, and on the form he took a moment to put down random numbers next to the question asking for a date, allowing the familiar action to soothe him, kicking yet another part of his brain into gear.

He had, perhaps, allowed too much time to pass in silence when clearly Andromeda had sought him out in a sense of urgency, or perhaps desperation. Because she couldn’t really be that worried that he’d find out from the paper considering the rocky end to the few conversations they had, right? And now - focused on her lap and unable to meet his eyes - she seemed so uncertain and vulnerable that it made distance seem like the last thing that was necessary. And just like that Ted was trading one side of the table for hers, sliding a chair until his knees were just a breath away from her own. He might have even knelt in front of her if he didn’t think the pain of it would distract him from everything else. “Hey,” he said softly, a hand reaching out and finding a shoulder to squeeze reassuringly as he tilted his head a bit, hoping that would catch her eye and get her to meet his gaze. “It’s like we talked about, right? It’s your life. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” It was infinitely more complicated than that, he knew, but in that particular moment it felt like the most important thing of all.

The dejected ‘oh’ coupled with solemn-sounding thump of his body easing into a seat was plenty to envision the look on Ted’s face. With their friendship being as fragile as it was, Andromeda was caught in a strange place, unable to deduct whether she was overreacting or not. Because in reality, Ted didn’t have a true reason to be invested in her life. She could count the conversations they’d had in the past five years on one hand. He had certainly expressed his concern thoroughly the last time they’d spoken, a truth that was hard to swallow but true all the same, but perhaps he would have done the same for anyone. That was the beauty of Ted, really. He was kind to everyone whom crossed his path unless they offered a reason not to be. The rapport he had offered her might not have been any different to a courtesy he’d extend to a stranger on the street.

“Doing what everyone expects is hard,” she pointed out quietly with a somewhat stubborn frown, far from eager for Andromeda to assume that playing the obedient pureblood daughter was an easy task. “But significantly less so than going against what our parents want. What society wants.” The thought of daring to do anything which may displease their peers (the important ones, that was – some of them were far below her on the social ladder thus making their opinions irrelevant) was so foreign to Narcissa, so abstract, that she could barely conceive how her sister must have felt when pursuing her employment at St. Mungo’s. Fear, perhaps. A frightful awareness of arched eyebrows and disappointed tuts. It was enough to send a shiver of dread down the length of her spine. “Believe me, if anyone can do this, Andy, it’s you.”

An indignant hum rose in the back of her mouth. “Of course you don’t.” For once, she wasn’t entirely fond of having been proved right. “Yes, darling, but there is being proud of your rebellious acts and there’s being proud of your decision to accept a betrothal. Those are two infinitely different things.” She hesitated in explaining further but disregarded her attempts to be soft and soothing in favour of the truth. “The former was the sort of pride that had people talking about you behind your back. Did you know that?” Narcissa tilted her head, inquisitive as to whether Andromeda knew the true extent of the damage she had done to her reputation. “I was even advised to stay away from you or risk having my own image sullied.” It was difficult to hide her surprise at the news of Thorfinn's decision but she disguised it as best she could behind a honey sweet smile. “How tolerant of him. See, Mother couldn’t have found a lovelier match. Lucius and Rodolphus would never have allowed myself and Bellatrix to continue working in such a place.” Not, that was, that either of them would ever wish to condemn themselves to the misfortune of having a job. “I hope you thanked him.”

Narcissa’s firm assurance would have made Andromeda laugh, were the circumstances difficult and if she were feeling any more combative. Her sister had never made being a shining example of pureblood manners look hard, and while the Blacks were all highly adept in obscuring inner turnmoil, she highly doubted Narcissa had ever found it truly difficult. She’d always seemed genuinely happy navigating the turmoltuous social waters of their circle’s hierarchy. “I was never proud of my choices for their rebellious nature,” she reminded Narcissa, her tone still reflective of wanting to be understood rather than argue. “I was - am - proud of what those choices got me in return. I don’t enjoy being a rebel, you know. I enjoy making a decision about what could make me happier, and then following through with it. Being less conventional was only an unfortunate side effect.”

“You could say that, yeah.” Ted used to think it was one of the more rougher sports. He still did, really, but it seemed wrong to give Rugby that title flat out when there was Quidditch to contend with. Still, he shrugged and did his best to give a decent explanation. “Rugby is … Well, it’s basically just football except you can touch the ball, and it’s like Quidditch except the bludgers are just humans plowing into each other. And no snitch, obviously.” That would just be silly. But of the three, Ted certainly preferred football. He never actually took to Quidditch. Or flying. The stories Andromeda hinted at a good reason why.

Her words likely should have inspired some sort of relief, he supposed, but Ted really only felt dread. Not that he wouldn’t be grateful for the help. He was. Truly. But it hadn’t even taken Andromeda the five floor trip down to Level Three to deduce something was wrong. And, as impossible as it seemed, he could only imagine the sorts of things she would gleam if he actually submitted to an examination (though he supposed he could relax a bit because it wasn’t like she could do it then and there, right?). He opened his mouth - perhaps to say a word of gratitude, or to try and insist that it wasn’t necessary - when the faded gold letters reading ‘Muggle Liaison Office’ on a door to their right saved him from answering.

The change was all but instant, and without really meaning to Ted’s typically relaxed posture stiffened, open features becoming somewhat guarded as he tugged on the door. Everything about it - the perfectly positioned desks, the somewhat hostile environment his boss inspired, and even the fake view magically supplied out the windows - felt like a cage. Today it was raining, and that was yet another reason Ted had been desperate to get out of the city. “I’ll be right back,” he told Andromeda, hand nearly landing on her back in one of those habitual reassuring gestures before he remembered himself, turning it into a quick point over his own shoulder.

He greeted some of his co-workers with a smile and others with a terse nod when he received a short “Tonks,” in passing, eyes scanning different forms as, behind him, one witch gossiped to another about something they had read in the paper. Finally, he pulled out what he was looking for and took a quick detour to find Lily (or whoever was filling in for her that day), stumbling over the excuse he had concocted in the elevator and asking her to please tell anyone who asked that he was here and working. He passed his desk  (which he had recently stripped of anything too personal like family pictures), shrugging out of his jacket before he grabbed a pen and, after motioning to Andromeda to follow, led them to a room in the back that they mostly used for meetings. It wasn’t much, just a few chairs surrounding a table, but it had a door and he gestured for her to sit as he closed it behind him. “Okay, so,” he tried to relax a bit, put on a reassuring smile, but it didn’t really work. He was far too aware of where they were and that, as much as she had tried to play it off before, there must be some urgency to what Andromeda had to say for her to seek him out like this, “You wanted to talk about something?”  

Struggling to recall if Ted had ever mentioned playing childhood sports during their time together (she certainly knew he’d never seriously touched a broomstick), she tried to envision him tackling someone else to the ground and failed. She recognized football as being another Muggle sport she didn’t know very much about. A number of their conversations had transpired in such a way once, where Andromeda had been genuinely curious in a number of Muggle traditions; Ted would mention another mysterious concept in the midst of a different long-winded explanation, and she’d prompt him right into another. It was tempting to slip into old habits had it not been vastly inappropriate given the somber circumstances that brought her there in the first place.

“I won’t deny that I did. You can get angry when people are shooting stuff at you for hours at a time. The women on the team aim for me on purpose. They keep on trying to mess with my beautiful face. Not that I could ever hit them back. Those are my girls,” he said with a warm sense of pride for his team. Clark shook his head and scrunched his nose. “That’s absolutely terrible. The people you have to work with. It’s a shame, really.” He didn’t know how to comfort her. Being a medic sounded pretty terrible. “At least you’re helping people. That’s good, right?” He nudged her shoulder. “Soon, you may not even need to work. Or you’ll be too busy. Congratulations on your engagement.”

“I’m sure if they were doing it intentionally, it would be for good reason.” The thought of hurling a bludger at the likes of Lucius Malfoy or Rodolphus Lestrange sounded oddly satisfying, though Clark was certainly not within that category of men. Clark’s assurances had her shaking her head. “Oh, I complain but I wouldn’t have it any other way. For each difficult patient I’ve had there’s something rewarding, too. I like what I do too much to think it’s terrible.” The mention of leaving her position in lieu of an engagement nearly produced another grimace, though she reined it in, smiling instead. “Ah, you’ve heard about that. Thanks.”

“That didn’t stop him from doing it all the same,” Narcissa replied, a sharp look of warning flashed in her sister’s direction. Even in their solitude, she could not stomach listening to Andromeda defending him. Sirius was gone. Forgotten. He was a traitor to their family and did not deserve the breath it took to speak his name, let alone their kindness. “Time will help,” she said. The nod that accompanied it was determined, her words spoken with such certainty that it was as though uttering them with enough conviction would make them come true. She wholeheartedly believed it too. Time, patience, and practice made even the most difficult of tasks easy (but perhaps it took a perfectionist, someone who refused to be seen as anything less than flawless, to know that). 

“You haven’t unsettled me. It’s just that – well – it surprised me. You’ve always been so strong, Andy. You fought mother and father for days to convince them to let you move out. You didn’t blink once when people tried to dissuade you from training to become a mediwitch. If you can do all of that, then surely the task of marrying Thorfinn Rowle, something everyone wants, is easy in comparison?” Narcissa paused at Andromeda’s request, ceasing her gentle motions. She pulled her hand back. “You aren’t going to like my answer.” It was peculiar to even be asked; surely her sister knew what she must do? It was the very same thing that their mother had once done. That Bella had done. That she had done. The younger witch picked at a barely visible loose thread on her skirt. “You must stop feeling sorry for yourself and learn to cope. You are a Black, Andy. You need to act like one.” Her words were not unkind, but neither were they particularly soft. “Raise your chin and be proud – of yourself, of Thorfinn, of our family. Make people love you just as much as they fear you. Set aside childish dreams and focus on your future as Mrs Rowle.” She paused, blue eyes bright with something clever and aware. “Men adore gestures of devotion. If I were you, I would quit my job.”

Andromeda refrained from commenting further on Sirius’ traitorous status, aware that Narcissa was already quite clear on where she stood. Her contact with Sirius was frowned upon, but typically overlooked by her sisters. Either that, or Narcissa genuinely didn’t know. Her mind still drifted to the subject of her cousin, and wondered if time had been as kind to him as Narcissa believed. The initial sting of his disownment had been horrific, Andromeda knew, but did it get easier? Were the wounds of betrayal and neglect something that faded, or still bled fresh in the years that had followed? What Narcissa suggested was akin to avoiding the injury altogether. Andromeda couldn’t help but wonder if it was the right choice or merely the most cowardly. 

“Andy, darling.” The words were expelled on the breath of a small sigh. “There is no need to be so worried. It is obvious that they like you. Do you really think Cynthia would marry Thorfinn off to someone she didn’t care for?” Narcissa hovered for a moment, wondering whether her sister had ever looked this small and vulnerable. Perhaps just once, in the wake of an ended relationship that should never have happened (although she had received considerably less sympathy). “Nobody strives to purposely disappoint people. Except, perhaps, Sirius.” His name was difficult to say, even now. It felt uncomfortable in her mouth, sharp and heavy. “Send anyone who dares suggest that you are to me, I shall deal with their nonsense.” She moved to perch on the arm of Andromeda’s chair, fingertips brushing her dark hair back with gentle, reassuring strokes. “All of this self-doubt can’t be healthy for you. I don’t like seeing you like this.” Narcissa silently praised her wise choice of moving their conversation somewhere private – she didn’t want anyone else to see Andromeda like this either. 

“I don’t think you are alone in that,” she pointed out diplomatically. “Everybody wants to be happy with what they have, but I very much doubt that there are many who truly are.” It was easy to fall back into silence, incapable of knowing what she could possibly say to help Andromeda clear her mind and leave the room feeling less anxious about her future. She tried to recall any advice given to her by their mother or Bellatrix which may help, but she could not. Her own happiness had never particularly concerned her so long as she was met with proud smiles and pleased words, but perhaps that was where her satisfaction in life stemmed from: approval from others. “Maybe it will simply take some time? You can hardly expect to become that person overnight.”

The irony of Narcissa’s assurances did not escape her. She was fairly certain her sister had single-handedly implied just that during their last unresolved argument - that she awoke every morning, immediately searching for the quickest way to rebel and disappoint as many people in her path as possible. “Sirius never enjoyed disappointing anyone,” she assured Narcissa with a frown, unable to stop herself from defending her cousin even in the midst of her apparent personal crisis. But her sister’s gentle touch somewhat dispelled thoughts of Sirius’ pain, her shoulders slackening. “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe it will become easier with time.” Her brows knitted together at the thought; she had nothing but time before, months spent living alone and finding a job and trying to sort herself out. All of that time hadn’t made any ounce of difference. Whom was to say that she wasn’t already a lose cause in fitting to her family’s mold?

Andromeda’s words struck a little too close to home. Narcissa remained poised as she collected her thoughts, stubbornly ignoring lingering concerns about lies and secrets and masks. “Why you would take such a risk is beyond me, but if being yourself and not playing the game is what you want to do, Andy, so be it. Think carefully about it though. If Thorfinn or his mother decide that you are too unruly, or that you are disobedient, or that you lack the decorum they expected from a Black, the fault will lie solely with you.” She almost pointed out that this continuous battle she waged against the traditions of pureblood courtship and marriage was equally as exhausting, but decided that it sounded too cruel. Her sister was making progress – baby steps, admittedly, but progress all the same. “Then don’t share a bed with him until you truly know one another,” she responded, still determined to offer solutions regardless of whether or not they fell upon deaf ears. Her gaze lifted from the fidgeting form of her sister to the photo of a dragon staring down at them from the wall as it stalked back and forth in its cage. The uneasiness of both the creature and Andromeda was uncanny. “Lucius and I are still yet to.” 

Time hung between them at the confession. Through the thin, glass window panes the murmured noises of conversation in the garden could be heard, accompanied by distant music from somewhere else within the house. Narcissa wondered how she was supposed to respond. With comfort? With horror? With denial? What she did not wonder, however, was why Andromeda hadn’t shared this fear with their parents, or even Bellatrix. Her careful composure wavered, a look of worry passing over her features. “Sometimes,” she began, tentative, “we have to mould ourselves into something new to survive. We can not expect to stay the same person we have always been for our entire lives. There is an opportunity in not knowing who you are – it gives you the chance to become someone new. Who is it that you want to be?”

Andromeda was familiar with advice dolled out in such a way - the ‘do what you’d like, but here are all of the terrible consequences you might face’ strategy - but while she normally could let it roll down her back and leave her unscathed, it struck her then perhaps more thoroughly than Narcissa ever managed. Now that she finally had a firm grasp on her family’s approval, it was a harsh reminder that it could slip through her fingers just as easily if she didn’t sort out her own mess. Passing a pale hand over her face, she sunk to perch upon the arm of a deep mahogany armchair. “I don’t want you to think I’m not taking this seriously,” she said carefully, because the truth of the matter was that she was. “Of course I want them to like me. I’m not looking to purposely disappoint anyone, contrary to popular belief.” Perhaps that was an even greater confession the last, as Andromeda had not known how much she wanted to be liked until then. Loved, even. By her supposed fiancé, his family and hers, Narcissa herself. 

“I’m glad I picked the right one, then.” He lightly clinked his cup with hers. “Practice was good. I didn’t break anybody’s bones and nobody broke mine, so I count that as a success. How is work? Any weird patients lately?”

“I’d also count that as a success. But you still could have knocked someone off a broomstick without snapping a bone, of course,” she reminded him wryly. “I’m glad, at any rate. Wouldn’t want to make an entrance to Hestia’s party with a limp. It’d cramp your style.” The mention of work made her grimace. “Weird patients always. Not that I’m allowed to say they’re weird, of course. Some cases are merely more eccentric than others. Last week we had a man come in who’d attempted to use a Shrinking Hex in the midst of his move - he claimed he wanted to shrink his sofa, see, make it easier to move - but told this long story about it’d somehow backfired off of a mirror because his sister’s cat startled him. At any rate, it ended with his head shrinking three sizes too small. A right mess.”

Nearly, Ted blurted out that he still shouldn’t have done it. Not when Edgar had to know how uncomfortable the topic made Ted in the first place. But it lacked any sort of sense, the frustration behind the sentiment too sudden and too intense give that he had only really been, at most, mildly exasperated at the time. Thankfully, he got distracted by Andromeda’s equally intense look and if it weren’t for the obvious once-over, he might have tried to dodge the question, brushing it off as one of those overslept, running-late type things (and obviously that explained the frustration too). But it was clear she had figured something out and Ted really was a horrible liar.  He would have sighed heavily if he hadn’t already learned that’s when things hurt the most.

“Oh. No. Well, it’s stupid, really. I failed to avoid some fight in a bar and kinda messed up a rib, I think.” While a hint of bitterness leaked into his tone, he still grinned and shrugged like it wasn’t that big a deal, absently pointing out the tender part of his side. Perhaps he should have been ashamed or embarrassed that he had all but run like a coward (and then still lost miserably), but the kind of disgust and utter vehemence his attacker had displayed was something he had seen and dealt with for years and years now. If he had learned anything from it then it was that you couldn’t argue against hate. Just as you couldn’t win a fight against those who didn’t play fair. The thought of Andromeda even potentially catching onto just how unfair it had been though pushed Ted to keep talking, gliding into a somewhat adjacent topic, as if that would distract her from everything that came before it. “The same thing happened to my brother, actually. Henry, I mean. Well, he didn’t get into a fight or anything, but he got injured playing Rugby.”

The lift came to another grimace-inducing stop, and Ted stepped out, doing the equivalent of holding the door open with his arm as he lowered his voice a bit and nodded down the hall. “We’re just around the corner.”  The excuse was already half-formed. A string of singing muggle toilets down in York providing the perfect alibi as he could just say she had a potential lead. It would earn them an office and a chance to chat a bit. Not nearly enough effort considering she came all this way. Meaning whatever she had to say must be important and, really, that should be enough to earn her more than a borrowed room and his poor attempt to avoid trouble with the boss. He could just try to explain things, he supposed, but that man wouldn’t understand or care that someone else might be dealing with something more important than being on time.  

Which was another very un-typical thought for Ted and he distracted himself from the guilt of it quickly, launching right back into his story as they walked down the hall. “But Rugby, yeah? He wound up on the wrong side of a tackle and crack. The doctors couldn’t do much, it just had to heal on its own, but it got him out of chores for like a month and a half. He probably would have tried to push it further, but mum caught him and his friends riding their bikes down a flight of stairs in town. Luckily, wizard,” he pointed to himself and hoped that, maybe, she’d take all this as a reason he would neglect to see someone, “So I heal faster than him.”

Imagining Ted in a bar fight seemed tremendously out-of-character. Her frown deepened, coupled by a worried crease between her eyes as her gaze flickered to the side he’d gestured to. She was glad, at least, that he hadn’t tried to cover it up or pretend as though he wasn’t hurt at all for the sake of not worrying her, though by the way he immediately launched into a story of his brother’s Rugby injury she couldn’t help but wonder if there was something else he was trying to distract her from. It was a common tactic, after all, one that Andromeda was well-learned in herself. But a rib was generally a serious injury. More than just bruised knuckles or a scrape. The jarring halt of the elevator and the accompanying wince did nothing to dissipate her growing concern. “Ah. I see.”