thornyrose42 | (no subject)

Play rehersals are going well you will be pleased to find out. I'm starting to make a dent in the huge number of lines that I have to learn, which is all good, but doesn't exactly leave a lot of time for drabbles or fic. And when I do write I'm trying to concentrate on my Dean fic, so....

Yeah.

But I have dredged this up out of the depths of my computor for your viewing pleasure. It is pre-DH, so well, it would need some major changes to fit into canon now so, yeah, it is still Andromeda/Ted.

I am now going to tell you about Ted.

I am afraid that you will be disappointed. People always seem to expect a great love story, you see. And, really, there isn’t one. I think it must be to do with the word “elopement.” People’s minds spring to secret rendezvous, midnight flights and pledges of eternal love. They imagine nights of wakefulness, internal arguments, love sickness…. Muggle-borns talk of Juliet, or sometimes Lydia. Among the magically raised: Diamante. Heaving bosoms are also mentioned. By males usually. Everyone thinks: fear, danger, excitement!

The reality is rather, dare I say it…dull.

I didn’t meet him until sixth year. This may seem strange. After all, we had lived in the same castle for five years. But, as you know, I don’t like to put myself forward. And he was an older, Muggle-born boy. A very undesirable person, as Cissy would have said. Nobody would have introduced him to me--or pointed him out to me as a useful connection. But I suppose I must have seen him in the corridors, wandering somewhere. Or in the library. Studying. I suppose I must have – and not remembered. After all, unlike a hero in a story, Ted isn’t handsome. At all. Or memorable. Maybe that’s why… why I liked him. He was like me.

It was Bella’s fault. If she hadn’t been deluding that poor first year, I would never have left, disgusted, for the library. If Bella hadn’t just scorned Evan, Melia wouldn’t have been too busy comforting him to go with me. And if Bella hadn’t laughed at my “wimpishness” I wouldn’t have been trying to stop myself crying. And if I hadn’t been doing that, then I wouldn’t have sat down at Ted’s table, thinking that it was empty.

As you can see, it was all Bella’s fault.

I suppose I could have got up. I was going to. But then he asked me to pass him the book beside my elbow: Wizards Are From Mars, Muggles Are From Mushrooms. I did. After all he had said please. He took it, still writing. With a muttered “Thanks.” He then added: “A B S U R D or A B S A R D?” I replied. He nodded, and was about to go back to his work when he looked up at me and did a sort of double take. He then informed me that I wasn’t Mark. I agreed. I wasn’t Mark. I was Andromeda Black. He blinked. Then asked me, in a puzzled sort of voice, why I was sitting at his table if I wasn’t Mark? I started to apologize—to explain To explain that I hadn’t seen him and that I would go if he was waiting for Mark. He cut me off by telling me that his name was Edward Tonks but that everyone called him Ted. Then he held out his ink-stained right hand. I took it.

There was no spark. No leaping of the heart. No goose bumps up my spine. Very disappointing, you will agree. But…I did warn you that this isn’t a romance novel.

His hands were slightly damp, and when I let go I found that my hand was now equally as stained as his. He apologised, and offered me his handkerchief. Which was, if possible even more covered with ink than his hands were. But I wiped my hands, and didn’t tell him that I had a much cleaner hanky of my own in my breast pocket. He smiled at me and said, now that the formalities were over, I was welcome to stay at his table for as long as I wanted.

I have told you before that Ted was almost completely unremarkable. Average, is the word. Average height. Average weight. Mouse-brown hair cut at an average length. Brownish eyes of average shape. A heart shaped face with average cheekbones. Average. But he did have a nice smile. Sort of vague but warm as well. Genuine, I think is the word. It made his eyes crinkle up. And his average nose wrinkle.

So we sat there and talked. Looking back I can’t remember what about. Lessons? The tyranny of Madam Pince? Rumours about the old Head Boy’s upcoming marriage? I don’t know. They were just ordinary little things. Inconsequential. What we didn’t talk about was ourselves. On my part, that was deliberate. I was trying to deceive myself. To pretend that I didn’t know what, from the moment he had introduced himself, I had known. Ted was, at the very least, a Half-blood. Filth, as Auntie Walburga would have said. Someone who I couldn’t possibly talk to as an equal. It would be wrong. Stupid. And as such, something I would not, could not, ever do. So I pretended. I told myself that I must have heard his name wrong. Or forgot that Tonks was a pureblood name of good standing. So that this…this delusion wasn’t challenged. So that later I could say that I had had no idea. That he had tricked me. Led me up the garden path. And I had followed, all unknowing. I didn’t ask him about himself. And in return, he didn’t ask about me.

(Looking back now, I suppose he must have known. Bella was in his year after all. And he would have had to have avoided her and her friends. He might not have known me by sight… but he would have known my name. Or at least my surname. I suppose the really surprising thing is that he didn’t walk away from that table. I wouldn’t have blamed him. Bella could be…rather unpleasant to some people.)

We stayed there, talking, until Madam Pince threw us out at eight. Ted, being a polite sort of boy, escorted me down to the Entrance Hall - and, being a polite sort of boy, he carried my books for me. And said goodbye, very nicely. And that would have been the last time we saw each other. But for one thing.

His handkerchief. I kept it you see. Maybe by accident. Maybe not. But it meant that I had to give it back. Which meant that I had to see him again. And talk to him. Maybe ask him his opinion on my History of Magic Essay while I was there. After all it would be rude to just hand the hanky over and leave. Wouldn’t it? It certainly seemed so to me. And I probably know an awful lot more about etiquette than you will ever want to know.

I waited a week. After all, I needed to clean and press the handkerchief. And find a way to shake Melia off for an afternoon. This proved easier than expected. Apparently Evan had, at last, realised that Bella was not the only girl in the world. And, according to Melia, he had reached an "Understanding" with her. I was pleased for her of course. Evan was a good match. A bit too handsome for his own good. But she didn’t seem to mind. She was in fact very, very happy. And she was happiest when she was either with him, or talking about him. I listened, nodded, and smiled throughout the week. Then I quietly slipped away on Saturday morning muttering about an essay that I had to finish.

He wasn’t in the library.

I felt let down. Disappointed out of all proportion to the event. Then, of course, I felt foolish. I realised suddenly that it was irrational to expect him to be in the library. It wasn’t as if we had arranged to meet. It was silly to think that, just because I needed to see him, he would be there. But I hadn’t thought. I had just assumed.

I stood there for a while, my cheeks heating up with shame, his newly cleaned handkerchief neatly folded up in my pocket. I couldn’t think what I was meant to do next. Stay in the library and work? Wander around the school and hope for a miracle? One option was defeatist, the other was…well, silly. I turned around anyway. Somehow I couldn’t face my Astronomy essay now.

And then…and then a miracle happened.

Ted came in. He gave me a slightly puzzled smile. And for a moment I thought that he hadn’t remembered me. That was unpleasant for me. Obviously because it would have made it harder for me to return his handkerchief. At least, so I told myself then. Thankfully I didn’t need to worry. At least about that. He did remember me. Quite well in fact. He greeted me by name, invited me to sit down with him and asked how my research for History of Magic was going. Ted may look absent-minded, but he isn’t really. (Except when it comes to things like mending socks or cleaning handkerchiefs).

So we sat and talked for a while. Quite a long while really. And I completely forgot about giving him the handkerchief back, which was rather dim of me, I think you will agree. But I liked talking to Ted. He seemed to be genuinely interested in my opinion. And he had a way of listening that made me want to tell him things. I don’t know what it was. The way he tilted his head perhaps. Or the way he nodded when he thought that I had said something interesting. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t laugh when I said something silly. Instead he would smile in a nice way, and say that, yes, he liked the smell after rain too. And that didn’t I think that there should be a proper word for it? Then somehow we would end up discussing possible words that would mean the-smell-after-rain.

I was having such a nice time. Such a nice time. I didn’t want it to end.

It did of course. As all good things do. Six o’clock brought grumbles of complaint from my stomach. For a moment I was tempted to ignore them, but reason prevailed. Melia would wonder if I missed supper. So I parted from Ted for the second time, his handkerchief still folded up in my pocket.

I saw Ted quite frequently after that. In the library normally, on Saturdays, when there was hardly anyone else about. We had our own table in the library, almost hidden in a funny little alcove right at the back. Neither of us commented upon the deliberate seclusion. We continued to avoid certain subjects, as if ignoring them would make them go away. But we still found plenty to talk about. At first, we only talked about shallow subjects: school work, articles in the Prophet. Then as time passed we delved down into deeper water: hopes, fears, dreams…. Ted was working on a book and hoped, some day, to get it published. He let me read what he had written so far. He let me read his book. His book which, he confessed, I would be the first one to see. I was so pleased when he, blushing lightly, pushed the cheap notebook towards me. So proud that he trusted me with…with his future, me of all people! It was a wonderful burden. After all, I could give him nothing in return. I had no book. No grand scheme to entrust to him…. So instead I tried to look after him. I checked through his essays for spelling mistakes. I added patches to his robes, which had gone at the elbow. Once he let me cut his hair. It was inadequate, but at least I was doing something. At least I was doing something….

I would have been quite content for us to continue that way. With our study meetings and our shared friendship. Quite content. But, as you know it didn’t stay that way. No, it most definitely did not.

It was, I remember, the last weekend before the Christmas holidays. The last time I would see him for several weeks. I had bought him a new notebook, (brown leather, with a quill holder and small enough to slip into his pocket) and was, irrationally, nervous about giving it to him. What if he didn’t like it? Or worse, what if he wasn’t able to return the gesture? I had spent ages figuring out what to write in the front page. Was “from Andromeda” too informal? Was “love from Andromeda” too soppy? I knew that I was worrying needlessly, since when had Ted cared about the formalities of letter writing? But still…I was nervous even after I had finally decided, and it was with great difficulty that I restrained myself from tearing off the wrapping paper and rubbing out the whole inscription.

Anyway, we met in the library as normal and settled down at our table. We talked of inconsequential things for a while. The "Incident" in the Entrance Hall the night before, (involving, in case you wanted to know, Peeves and a large amount of mistletoe), the amount of homework the teachers were setting for the break…. Ted seemed slightly distracted; he kept losing his thread and trailing off into silence. Which is very unlike Ted. Mind you I wasn’t much better. I kept thinking that this would be the last time we would be able to talk to each other for weeks….

Time slipped away, as it does when you try to hold onto it. The hands on Ted’s watch had somehow jumped a couple of hours forward. There was a lull in the conversation. I remember thinking, in a rather clichéd fashion, that it was now or never. I stuttered out that I had something for him. Then I retrieved the notebook from my satchel and pushed it across the table. Task completed. I busied myself with looking up a date I suddenly needed for my essay. I listened to him thanking me, unwrapping and opening the notebook. Then there was a pause. I could feel my cheeks heating up and I didn’t dare look up to see his reaction.

He took my book away from me. Stretched over, eased it gently out of my grasp and set it aside. Automatically I sought refuge behind my hair, dipping my gaze to my lap. He stopped me. Reached out and cupped my chin with his hand. I froze. His fingers trembled against my skin. I was suddenly very aware of my heart beating faster and louder than normal. We stayed like that for a moment. Teetering on the brink of unknown territory. Then he tilted my head up until our eyes met.

“You don’t need to hide.” He told me gravely, “No one as… as beautiful as you should ever need to hide.”

I blinked. It was all I had time to do, because then he leaned forward, and kissed me.