InsaneJournal

Night-blooming snapdragons were one of Ted's favorite flowers. It maybe wasn't saying much, really, since he had a different favorite for any number of occasions, but- at least for right now- these won out. Leaning over the greenhouse work table, Ted carefully ran a finger along the line of not-yet-blooming flower buds, sighing to himself. It just wasn't yet late enough into the night for the blossoms to have emerged, which meant that he'd likely be there for a few hours yet.

Not that he minded, really. Sitting back on a tall stool and hooking his heels on the footrest, Ted gave a wary look up to the greenhouse roof. Though the glass wasn't entirely clear, he could still easily see the storm that raged outside- rain pounding on the roof and lightning flashing off somewhere in the distance. He wasn't always fond of rainstorms, but at least here he was safe, warm, and dry.

Idly summoning one of his field notebooks, Ted started to record his observations. It was a good hobby to get into- at least, so he'd been told, and the owner of the shop where he was apprenticed had trunks and trunks full of said notebooks. Somewhere behind him, one of the Sneezewort plants sneezed. "Gesundheit," Ted replied, politely, barely looking up from his work as he did.

--

It was a dark and stormy night.

All right. As melodramatic cliches went, that line was the all-time classic; right now, though, Andromeda didn't care. In fact, she relished it. Let the storm rage, let the wind howl and the lightning flash, let her clothes get soaked through and her hair plaster itself to her face and the runnels of water dripping down camouflage any tears that might mingle with them. It all suited her mood, thank you very much, the way a thunderstorm at night could only suit an eighteen - year-old with a broken heart.

Or something. It was possible that her mental soliloquy was becoming confused.

She'd always known, of course, that she'd have to marry a pureblood someday. It was part and parcel of being a daughter of the House of Black, inevitable as the tides and evidently just as apt to drown you. She'd thought that she'd have a choice, though. Some say in the matter. Veto power, if nothing else.

Apparently not. Apparently she'd lost the right to make any determination about the course of her own life the moment she'd become friends with a muggleborn.

That conversation- if you could call it that- had ended an hour ago, maybe a little more, with her parents hexing her door shut. They'd forgotten the window, though, or perhaps it had just never occurred to them that mousy little Andromeda would be so determinedly disobedient as to chance the three story drop just to get out of the house in the middle of a rainstorm.

As she saw it, they hadn't left her much choice. Not that she had any idea how she'd get back in. Or where she would go in the meantime.

Arms curled protectively around herself, she walked. Almost no one was out, and those few who were gave the sopping wet, umbrella-less, intermittently crying teenage girl a wide berth.

In the end, there was only one possible destination. She didn't entirely know In Bloom's hours of operation, but there was the faint hope that the shop catered to a late crowd...

The light on in the greenhouse was the best thing Andromeda had ever seen. At least it was until the sight of Ted inside eclipsed it as soon as she got close enough to make him out through the rain and the glass.

Much as she wanted to just throw open the door and barge in, good breeding won out; shivering, Andromeda knocked on the glass, as loud as she could without breaking it.

--

Technically speaking, the shop was closed- but it wasn't as if he could work in complete darkness. Ted just didn't really expect that there would be anyone up and about at a. this hour, or b. in this weather. So when the heavy, insistent knock on the glass game, it startled him more than any sudden crash of thunder might have done.

Curious, though wary, Ted set his notes aside and held his wand low at his side. He wasn't a fool- this late at night, with the world as it was, his unexpected visitor could have been something untoward at best. As he approached the door, he squinted through the clouded glass- and, finally, pulled the door open (with a gust of wind assisting, so to speak).

"A-Andromeda?" Look out past her- no, she was alone- Ted quickly ushered her into the greenhouse. "What on Earth-" He shut the door, and asked another half question, "What's going-" and a third, "Are you okay?"

--

She'd been cold and wet all along, hugging herself to hold together, but it wasn't until Ted pulled her into the warmth of the greenhouse that Andromeda really began shaking.

"I'm en-engaged, " she said, teeth chattering hard enough to make speaking difficult. "Or betrothed? Betrothed. That's what they, what they call it when they don't ask and you don't agree. As if calling it something pretty makes it all right!"

--

Calling ugly things by a prettier name- that could have applied to a variety of different things, in Ted's (albeit limited) experience with pureblood wizarding society. But that assessment wasn't important right now- his bitterness was misplaced, or at least ineffective, and wouldn't help him, in the long run.

But... Betrothed? If his face fell a bit at the news, well, that was hardly his fault- and, really, it could have easily been played off as concern for his... friend. They were friends, of a sort. Maybe. And while he wanted to protest, to rail against her parents for doing this to her, Ted wasn't certain that his efforts would be welcome in that.

So, instead, he bit his lower lip and then offered, "Let me just- get you a towel, alright? We need to get you dried off before you catch your death."

--

"Don't bother," Andromeda said, turning to pace up the length of the greenhouse's center aisle. "Who cares if I do? They'd probably be relieved! It would solve the problem nicely, wouldn't it, if I ended up dead of- of pneumonia, or something. Let it be a muggle disease, that will be really poetic for them, I bet!"

--

Though Andromeda was pacing, now that he'd been directed (more or less) not to help, Ted stayed in place and just felt awkward. He watched her, though, carefully. This was a new side of her, in many ways, and he wasn't quite sure how to take it.

"Well, for the record," he offered, finally, "I'd care."

--

Andromeda spun again, turning to face Ted with another rant on her lips.

At the sight of him standing there, though, looking uncertain and awkward and being so kind to her in spite of everything, in spite of how little she deserved it, the words died on her tongue.

She stared at him for a moment, visibly deflating, and then she was hunching over on a sob, hugging herself even harder than she had been a minute ago and shaking with more than the cold.

--

If she'd scolded him for caring, Ted might have withered under Andromeda's gaze alone. He'd almost expected it, really- maybe he had no right to care for her anymore.

But then she'd done just the opposite, and- despite the directive against it, Ted was at her side and, a moment later, had summoned a large, fluffy towel which he draped carefully over her shoulders. "Hey, hey- breathe, alright?" His hands had stayed on her shoulders- ostensibly to hold the towel in place, but also because Ted wasn't quite sure that Andromeda could support herself at the moment. "Whatever it is, w-" No, not we, Ted. "-you can fix it. I'm sure of it."

--

It was too much, Ted doing this, holding her up. She couldn't stand it. He had no reason to care about her, anymore. She'd given that up. She didn't deserve it.

But she couldn't shrug him off, either. Instead, she just cried harder.

"I can't," she managed eventually, voice hoarse. "I tried. I, I, I broke up with you, I gave you up, I've been so good, and they still haven't- they don't- why? Why would you care?"

--

I gave you up. Of course, Ted would have been lying if he'd said he wasn't hurt by what had happened between them, but it had ended more than a year ago. Yes, Andromeda had been coming 'round the shop more often, lately, but he'd never detected even a hint of anything untoward about those (supposedly) random meetings.

"I care because you're a good person, Andromeda," Ted replied, finally. It was a simple assessment, perhaps, but a true one all the same. "I don't always understand the things you do, but I've never doubted that goodness, underneath." Even if, sometimes, it was harder for him to see it.

Hesitating a moment, he added, "You deserve better than the way they treat you. I'm just sorry that I'm the only one who seems to see that."

--

She needed to stop crying. She needed to stop crying, stand straight, thank Ted for his time and apologize for her behavior, and leave. Maybe if she hurried, she could get home and back into her bedroom before anyone noticed she was gone at all.

Ted was wrong; she wasn't a good person. She couldn't have been, because a good person never would have defied her family and gotten involved with a muggleborn in the first place. Or would have, but never would have ended it just to try to avoid trouble. A good person might have done one of those things, but not both of them, and Andromeda had, so Ted was wrong.

She shifted away from him, dropping down til she was not quite sitting on the floor, an awkward hunch to make herself small. "I miss you," she said quietly, more to the floor than to Ted. "I miss you so much. I'm sorry, Ted. I shouldn't have- I'm sorry." A pause, and then she squared her shoulders and looked up, face tear-streaked still but starting to calm. "But I can't marry some other man when I'm in love with you."

--

Though he wasn't very tall, normally- Ted was fond of saying that he was altogether average- once Andromeda had crouched down, he felt very detached and awkward, separated from the (very suddenly) important conversation. He wanted to tell her that the apology was unnecessary, that he didn't need it... but maybe he did. He'd never gotten one, before, and now- well, despite the circumstances, it felt nice to hear. "I miss you, too, Meda," he offered, carefully, the familiar nickname- one he hadn't used since their split- slipping out before he could stop himself. "But I-"

Her last words cut him off, and Ted just blinked down to her, all but dumbfounded. "I-" Blink, blink, close your jaw, Tonks. Breathe. "No, I- I don't suppose you can."

--

Ted was staring at her like she'd just grown three extra heads, but really, that was no more than Andromeda deserved. She laughed, a little hysterical and utterly humourless, and looked down again. "I know. That was- I know. Merlin. I'm just, I'm going to go. I'm going to...just...I'll go."

She pushed herself inelegantly to her feet, started toward the door, paused to take the towel from her shoulders and make an aborted gesture toward handing it back to Ted before setting it down on a nearby table instead.

--

He was still processing it all- and maybe would be, for days, weeks, months to come. Andromeda Black was in love with him. Something that she hadn't said even when they were dating- and yet here she was, half hysterical and soaking wet and...

"Don't go," Ted finally managed to find his voice, and with quick steps he'd caught up with her just enough to lay a hand on her shoulder. "Just- stay? Please?" Well, now he sounded like he was begging, but there was probably no helping that. "Look, just- stay. I'll make us tea, and we can talk, alright? You don't have to go back to them."

--

Ted's touch made Andromeda start shivering again, and his words got another laugh, faint and sad. "Yes, Ted, I do," she said, pulling in a shallow breath; anything deeper and she would start sobbing again. "I don't have anywhere else to go."

--

Though he winced at her laughter, Ted didn't withdraw his touch. This was important, and he knew- with a sickening certainty- that if she walked out the door, he'd never see her again.

"You can stay with me," he said, the words escaping before he'd quite realized their implications.

--

For a moment, Andromeda let herself pretend: that it was possible, that Ted was offering what she wanted. What she’d come here for. For a moment, she let herself lean into his hand, look at his face, and just...pretend.

It was an offer he’d make to anyone who stood crying in his greenhouse, she knew. He was a kind person, a good person, the sort who cared for people and tried to help them when they needed it whether they deserved it or not. Whether he wanted to or not.

Maybe if he loved her, she could say yes. Maybe then she could stay. But he didn’t; she’d had a chance at that once, and she’d never said it, and she’d thrown it away, and now it was obviously too late. If she stayed, he’d be a target, just as much as she would, not to mention be burdened with a pureblood girl who’d never had to work a day in her life as a roommate. There was no way she could let him do that for her just to be nice. For once in her life, she was going to be the good person Ted wanted to think she was.

And besides, she still had her pride.

“I don’t want your pity, Ted,” she said, drawing back into herself as best she could. “And I’m not going to let you make a bad choice just to be charitable to a crying girl.”

--

"It's my decision to make, Andromeda," Ted replied, simply, but firmly. "And I'm not changing my mind." Yes, Hufflepuffs were known for being caring and welcoming, but- at least in Ted's mind- they had their claws, too, and could dig in and hold on to something when they really needed to.

"I've felt a great many things for you," he added, after a moment, "but pity has never been one of them. If anything- if I must- I pity them, because they're the ones who are pushing you away." And he- he could never do that.

--

There was a crack of thunder overhead, and Andromeda looked up, startled and shivering once more.

“Did you ever meet my sister?” she asked after it had died away again, though she continued looking upward. “Not Cissy. Bellatrix. Did you ever speak to her, Ted? No, I know you didn’t. Did you ever listen to her, or see her, or- did she scare you? Because she should have.”

She looked back to the young man, then, and reached up to swipe wet hair off her cheek. “You shouldn’t let me stay. You shouldn’t.”

--

"If I was going to be scared by your sister- or her friends- then I'd be off living in the muggle world, alone. But I'm not, Andromeda- not now, and not ever. I have magic in me the same as you, and nothing they say will change that." He'd thought about this a lot, even if it wasn't something he talked about very much. He wasn't trying to make enemies- at least, no more than he already had just by his existence alone. But neither was he going to spend his life cowering and hiding away.

"Should or shouldn't, I am," he added, simply. "If it's a mistake, it's mine to make. So," Ted summoned the towel again, offering it out to Andromeda, "stay."

--

Andromeda stared at the towel like it was an unpredictable creature that might just bite her, though she'd had it wrapped around her mere minutes ago. If she took it now, it would mean that her choice was made, that she was staying. There would be no going home, no somehow sneaking back through her third floor window. No loveless marriage to a man more than twice her age, true, but no sisters as bridesmaids at her wedding, no father walking her down the aisle. No family Christmases, no shopping trips with Cissy or secrets with Bella. No forgiveness, no more chances. She would be a Blood Traitor, off the Tree and out of the House. Anathema.

Then again, wasn't that how they treated her now? If she was going to be called Traitor, she ought to deserve it.

Reaching out, she took the towel from Ted; and then, ignoring it, she closed the distance between them to kiss him, sudden and passionate and not at all in the careful way that she had before, when they'd been together at Hogwarts.

--

Honestly, he'd expected her to refuse the offer. Yes, Ted was firmly fixed in his convictions, but he wasn't sure that Andromeda had quite gotten there, yet. It was frustrating, upsetting, disappointing, even, but he couldn't force her to see her family through any different kind of lens. She had a lifetime of their propaganda (as he saw it) to overcome, and it couldn't have been easy...

So lost in these thoughts, however, Ted was caught completely by surprise when Andromeda kissed him. He floundered a moment, unsure what to do with his hands- or his lips, come to that- but Ted Tonks was no fool, in the end. Hands found Andromeda's waist, holding her close- wet clothes be damned- as he leaned into her kiss to return it with equal fervor.

--

She hadn't been sure that Ted would kiss her back, and when he did Andromeda was so relieved she nearly ruined the moment by laughing. Or crying, she wasn't sure which she wanted to do more. It didn't matter. She was kissing Ted, and that was all that she needed to think about.

She lifted the hand that wasn't clutching the poor towel to cup his cheek, forgetting about the state of her clothing as she pressed up close against him.

--

Ted clung close to Andromeda as they kissed- oh, the distance between them had long since been erased, but that didn't mean he didn't want to keep it that way. It was some time (he didn't know how long- lifetimes, perhaps) before he finally pulled back from the kiss- and only barely, then, just to ask, "I'll take that as a yes?"

--

"Yes," Andromeda said softly; she was flushed from the kissing, eyes a little swollen and hair starting to dry frizzily. She had to look an utter mess; if Ted wanted her to stay now, he must mean it. "If you're sure."

--

There was no hesitation in his reply: "I'm sure." It wasn't just about the snogging, but it wasn't just about Ted being a good samaritan, either. It was some (maybe odd) mixture of the two, but that conviction was enough for him.

--

Andromeda nodded. She wasn’t going to fight any more. If Ted said he wanted her to stay, she would trust him.

“All right,” she agreed. “I’m staying, then. I’m...I’m staying. I’m not going back.”

--

Tugging her closer- a simple embrace, this time- Ted pressed a kiss just to Andromeda's forehead. "You never have to go back." Maybe it was too soon for nevers- it was almost certainly too soon for calling them a we, though he was tempted. Ted didn't really know what was ahead of him, now, but he knew he'd do all he could to help Andromeda along the way.

"My flat isn't far from here," he offered, finally, "and there's a Floo connection in the back." Which, to be fair, if there was a Floo, it didn't bloody matter where his flat was. "We can go whenever you'd like."

--

It occurred to Andromeda, abruptly and awfully, that she couldn’t actually remember the last time someone had simply hugged her. Her family’s affection had been rarely shown and limited in its demonstrativeness for most of her life, and never moreso than recently. An embrace was a reward, in her world, and maybe it was no different now- she’d made the right choice, perhaps, or the choice Ted seemed to want- but it had been so long since anything she’d done had been right, had been worth rewarding.

She wanted to curl up against Ted’s chest, his arms around her, and never leave.

Instead, she pulled back a little, just enough to blink up at him and arch a brow. “Aren’t you- there must be a reason you were still here. Work?”

--

Ted's cheeks reddened, as if he'd been caught at doing something he shouldn't. "Ah, yes- work," he nodded, reaching a hand up to scratch the back of his neck, an awkward gesture. "But it's nothing that can't wait until tomorrow night, and I'd say that this is rather an, er, extenuating circumstance?"

--

Andromeda had to laugh; it was that or weep again, and she’d had just about enough of that.

“If you say so,” she agreed, shrugging. “I trust you.”

--

Trust. It might have been offered rather simply, but it wasn't something that Ted intended to take for granted. No, he would prove himself worthy of that trust- perhaps he already had, in some ways, but the task wasn't yet done. Maybe it never would be.

"Come on, Meda," Ted stepped back, but reached for Andromeda's hand as he did, carefully lacing their fingers together. "I'll take you home."