nymphadora tonks is back from the stars. (hufflepunk) wrote in reoccurrence, @ 2020-08-21 03:03:00 |
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Entry tags: | tonks andromeda, tonks nymphadora |
WHO. andromeda & tonks.
WHERE. andromeda & ted's house.
WHEN. (briefly 19th aug), morning 20th aug.
WHAT. a fight and an apology.
STATUS. complete.
Wednesday Afternoon, 19th August. Andromeda, intent on marching herself to the Ministry. Tonks, protesting and growing increasingly more agitated. Andromeda, telling her if she isn't going to fight back against these things because she feels like she can't then she will take it upon herself to do so. "If you actually listened you'd know that's not what's happening here," her daughter responded in a low voice, and held the door open for her to go. But Andromeda was not being dismissed from her own home, so, "A temporary flat, in Merlin knows what state, is not a solution. This entire situation is outrageous." "Just to clarify, are you angry for us or about your family's house?" "Sorry?" "It's also temporary. It's also in a bit of a state, which is why we can't even bring our kid over. The only thing that's changing is the building, and the fact we're both out of jobs now which we haven't even talked about. It's a valid question." And then Andromeda's eyed flashed and she speedwalked out and disapparated immediately. Thursday Morning, 20th August. Sometime in the late morning (judged only as such because they had all eaten, her and Teddy had both been called sleepyheads when they rose from their lie in, and it felt like she ought to be showered and in proper clothes by now even if it also, emotionally, felt appropriate to sit around in pjs forever) Tonks sought out her mother. She wasn't hard to find; in a small two bedroom house, the five of them felt as if they were constantly bumping into each other, in ways that had nothing to do with two of them being disastrously clumsy. Still, it made wanting to have a private conversation all the more awkward, and her, "Hey, can we talk?" came out half mumbled as she checked over her shoulder they weren't about to be barged in on by any husbands or sons. Today, Andromeda was doing her best to pretend that yesterday didn't exist. She had been up bright and early, kneading bread and cleaning and rearranging the new items in the pantry that she certainly hadn't brought home herself. A happy housewife whose house bustled with life; not an overcrowded, overstressed woman feeling the foundations of all the little things that had kept her from going mad over the years wearing away under her very feet and powerless to do anything about them, or any of the trials facing her family either. It had been nice, for a moment, feeling like she could have an impact on anything besides the spotlessness of her counters. The return owl from the Ministry knocked any pretence of that away very quickly; Nymphadora's accusation knocked away any further pretence just as swiftly. So she had not gone to the Ministry, but rather spent the afternoon at a park in Kensington, only a few minutes away from her childhood home. It was familiar, because venturing out to see the sights was one of the few rules she had ever broken when she was young. And it was safe, because it was muggle; the people who would not go there were now joined by those who could not. Those selfish few hours she'd spent on her own, indulging in the feelings of sorrow and obsolescence before returning home to make supper and clean, clean, clean. Today, she was continuing that, polishing the tiny, damaged set of second-hand silver she used for her infrequent guests. Maybe she ought to sell it, she mused, as she watched Nymphadora furtively glancing behind her. "Of course, darling," came out of her mouth automatically, although she couldn't muster up much in the way of feigned enthusiasm for what was undoubtedly yet another post-mortem of a tense moment with her daughter. Tonks watched her working, something of a pained expression in her face, both uncomfortable and embarrassed to know she had caused all that. Cleaning and cleaning and detached politeness and cleaning. Their whole family could be awfully transparent sometimes. She swallowed, her throat feeling tight in that way it always does when you have something that takes effort to say. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said any of that yesterday. You were only trying to help and I wasn't being fair about it." "Thank you," Andromeda said, only because she knew a protestation of it's fine would draw this out, create more fuss and more shrapnel in the process to no reasonable end whatsoever. She paused in wiping a burnished line on the sugar bowl, but glanced out the window towards the yard rather than looking at her daughter; she wasn't entirely sure she could keep her expression neutral enough if she did. "Was that all?" Despite having sat with herself for a good while contemplating how quickly she had slid into anger and how destructive her temper could be when she wanted it to, there was still a sudden, sharp urge to toss back a really?. Knowing her mother, knowing it was likely a measure of protecting them both from bruising each other further rather than outright dismissiveness she managed to swallow it, mercifully. But in its place came a heavy sigh – more of despair than frustration, though she wouldn't be able to name which she felt more of even if there were ten galleons in it. "The thing is –," she restarted, without any permission or sign Andromeda wanted her to. (Bulldozing this was going to have to be the way it was.) "I get it, I do. I get the anger. I feel it every fucking day. You had somewhere to put yours, trying to get them to change things, and I was shoving mine down and then it came out and massively misfired. I don't think that, what I said about the house. And it's – it's worse, because we're really bloody grateful for everything you've done. You've made this whole thing bearable and are really the last person I should be having a go at right now." If you didn't think some version of that, it would have never occurred to you to say it, Andromeda thought idly, but whatever small catharsis saying that would bring was vastly outweighed by not wanting to interrupt Nymphadora, who clearly needed to say her piece for her own sake. Which meant Andromeda needed to say something back, something that wouldn't elicit one of those sighs again but also wouldn't start another argument. Proximity makes for easy targets wouldn't do, because it simply wasn't true; it was, specifically, their proximity that was the trouble. A simple I'm glad to help- no, too generic, and it had an equal chance of causing frustration or more self-effacement. "I'm your mother," is what she settled on finally, because it neatly covered everything. "And you're under a great deal of stress right now," because that neatly offered up an excuse. "Yes, but –," she started, and then slowed at hearing the swell of frustration gathering up. When she continued her voice was softer. "That doesn't mean it's okay. I'm sorry, really." "I know you are." It was very cruel of her mind to pick that moment to whisper you weren't supposed to get hurt in a familiar, broken voice to her; she shoved the memory down with as much mental effort as she could, the distraction taking her away from keeping herself outwardly composed enough that her hand clenched around the rag in it and her jaw tightened. With the thought largely quashed, it took further effort on her part to open her mouth up to speak again, and she tried for a light and airy tone to further chase the one shadow back with all the others into the corners of her head. "Thank you for taking the time to tell me." Tonks exhaled, resigned, though it wasn't nearly as heavy as her sigh had been. And then she lingered where she stood, one of her hands fidgeting awkwardly with the hem of the t-shirt she had slept in. Taking note of that lingering, Andromeda asked, "What is it?", only then realising how tightly her hand was clenched and forcing herself to relinquish the rag. There was grime all over her hand, and she lasted all of the tenth of a second it took to realise that before the compulsion to wash it was too strong and had her walking over to the kitchen sink. Tonks followed her, collecting a tea towel that she offered for her to dry her hands on. "Is it too Hufflepuff of me to ask to hug it out?" With a little nod of thanks, Andromeda took the towel and methodically dried off her hands, starting with each finger and finishing with the palms and backs. "A bit- but I'm used to it," she replied, setting the tea towel down on the counter and holding her arms open for her daughter. Tonks watched her thoroughness with a tiny frown, biting on her lip, but smiled at her response. She hugged her tightly, exhaling with relief, and murmured a "Love you," into her shoulder – sappy but necessary. Andromeda wrapped her arms around her in turn, and allowed herself the one self-indulgent moment of squeezing her eyes shut and taking a slightly deeper than usual inhale of breath against lungs just aching for a slip of control to shudder it back out. "I love you too," she echoed, her voice barely more than a whisper as she emphasised it with a tighter squeeze. |