An: first go at writing Andromeda/ted! :) for some reason, I've always pictured ted as a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff, but he's a Gryffindor here :)

In life there are lions and there are snakes.

The lion; brave and proud he chases the prey, resolute and indomitable; he does not stop until his teeth sink into the soft and satisfying flesh of success.

The snake; he slithers over rocks, always twisting and winding, never meandering off the path to triumph, regardless of what obstacles may be put forth. He is relentless as he sinks his fangs into victory, exuding a poisonous trail in his path.

Sometimes, they clash. The serpent raises its almighty head and threateningly hisses, its head dancing in almost seductive movement, daring the lion on. And the lion, being a lion, obliges. It raises its shaggy mane and belts out a roar, defying the snake's soft hisses with its deafening bellow.

At other times, the serpent and the lion remain indifferent of each others' presence – residing side by side in blissful ignorance, both in acknowledgement of the others' assets yet hesitant to cross the limits of nature and become a powerful union. Imagine – I dare you – that these two creatures transcend these confines and join in allegiance? What a compelling amalgamation they would be.

For she is a Serpent and he is a Lion and this is the tale of boundaries surpassed.

Dear Ted,

Time is precious. It has the speed of a sprinter and the worth of the world. So much time is wasted with hate, war and mystery. We spend too much of it chasing the future, looking forward and not looking back. Failing to grasp hold of it, steady its pace, turn to our loved ones and let them know just how grateful we are for them. My dearest Ted, if time were reversible and I had much more; I would hold you tight and never let go. But it is too late for you and for me, so I'll conceal my gratitude within in this letter and through these words and as times goes on, it will remain strong.

Pressure is a fickle thing. It comes in fluctuations; some days a consuming throb and others a mere tickle at the back of my mind. But when it is present; it is ominous. Like the force of blazing lava as it pushes its way through earth's crusty cores; it leaves behind a weighty, fiery trail.

For as long as I can remember, there have been fundamental principles woven into my life. As a Pureblood and foremost, a Black, it is imperative pour être toujourspur. I must walk like a Black, talk like a Black, work like a Black, eat like a Black, and think like a Black. From a young age, I watched as my beautiful sisters abided our mother's word without question; Cissy with her long blonde locks and pale pretty face, she danced around our parents' toes, always the angel, admired by all yet valued by none.

Bella…my heart aches for Bella until this day, and perhaps that is what made us so different; I could love and loved too much. But she was a dark vixen, with a sinister type of beauty that was striking and salient. Her mind a place so indecipherable; she was known for her tantrums and her temper drove trepidation into the minds of all, but our parents still adorned her, delighted with her sharp inquisitiveness, boundless pride and genuine pleasure she showed towards dark matter.

They said I looked like Bella, the same dark and prominent features, yet encasing an entirely different soul. Whilst the others lived without wavering, I was always the replica, the second-hand Bella yet much less perfect. I was clumsy and misunderstood and perhaps once or twice my parents caught a glimpse of apprehension in my eyes, or possibly a flicker of boredom. Whatever they saw, they did not like at all and were not the least bit anxious in attempting to sneer it out of me.

The middle sister, I led a fairly average childhood, often fending for myself, always loving and hurting, trying to interpret some good from my family and spending too much time pressed up against my window, speculating about a day in the future where I would discover a world outdoors which could possibly, hopefully, consist of something other than Pureblood tea parties and the heads of House Elves patterning the walls.

And that day came one sunny September morning as I boarded the train to Hogwarts with Bella for the first time, the promises of neglect if I dared not be sorted to Slytherin ringing fresh in my mind. I must admit, I expected to be sorted into it regardless, with family and an upbringing like mine, no other outcome could be foreseen. And so I watched with eyes wide as hundreds of children of different backgrounds and different lives joined in unification. I did not watch with bitter scorn as Bella did whilst she pointed out the different Muggleborns, but in wild curiosity.

I only knew the derision that resounded in my home; that Muggleborns were dirty creatures, lowly and beneath me. But it was in the queue to the Entrance Hall that I first realised that these children were the same as me. With freshly pressed robes and expectant grins, we scuffled in union into the Great Hall and for the very first time, I felt like an equal.

I was, of course, sorted into Slytherin, which came to no surprise. I relished in the few moments that Bella's eyes flickered toward me, full of a hungry pride. Perhaps that was the last time she looked at me and felt happy. I yearned for her to accept me, to love me like I had loved them all and perhaps that was my fleeting moment.

Of course, you know what happened next, for we became fast friends. Being a Black and you a Gryffindor, there was much scandal for both of us. I remember clearly being on the end of a torrent of Gryffindor abuse, i.e. on the receiving end of plenty of Dungbombs. Did I ever thank you for how you valiantly chased them off? And of course Bella gave me no pause from her incessant threats and I received many stern owls from home. But I had made my intent clear, you were my friend regardless of status and house, and it was then that my Slytherin arrogance shone through. I was proud, very proud. Of having you.

The years progressed and as they did, so did the pressure. A portentous thought, it took over my mind; I was captured in this constant tug of war between desire and propriety. I remember as we grew up and you took me on adventures by night, running rampant around the halls with a grin on your face which rests even now, a lucid image in my mind. Each night I returned to my dorm breathless and exhilarated, half drowning in lust and half cursing you for making me feel that way.

Slowly but surely our ways became more meaningful, there was connotation behind those grins you spared just for me and perhaps I was a little more flirtatious than necessary. Remember that night in sixth year? I recall it well. There had been rumours of our relationship, that it had transcended into something more. I laughed rather derisively when I first heard of it, possibly wishing it had been true but not once did it cross my mind the consequence of Bella hearing this rumour. By this time we had a strained relationship, but I was Andromeda and I loved too much remember?

Perhaps it was on that night that my heart broke. The pain that seared across my features as her hand reached my face was probably more from an emotional turmoil. My sister, the face of my family, portraying me with a look in her eye that she savoured only for those she despised. And the worst thing of all was that she thought it was for my good. Oh, she did. I could see it in her face, the urgency, the silent plea. Because in her eyes, I was throwing my life away. And I know it is wrong and I do not agree, I never did. But what mattered to me was that she, for once, showed she cared. It was on that night that I pivoted and finally broke. Your face as you looked at my dishevelled appearance, defiant tears in my eyes, is an image I will never cease to remember.

You took me in your arms, soothingly playing with my hair as you let me cry into your chest. You were there; you listened as though I had spoken. And when I was raw and could cry no more, you looked me in the eye, a fierce determination resting there, and you told me very important words, words I needed to hear. You told me that you cared. Did I ever thank you for that? Really? Because of all the gestures in the world combined, it really hit the spot. Without you at that moment, I would have truly gotten lost.

From then on it was all rushed secrecy. Secret meetings, secret kisses shared in the darkest crevices of the night. At first a rush of excitement, sharing stolen moments, heated yet hasty. But it took its toll did it not? I saw it in your eyes as you stared over at me during class. In your hand as it twitched in the corridor, itching to take hold of mine. But we ploughed on and you did not complain. It was your sacrifice to me and perhaps I didn't thank you enough.

I could talk forever about the blurred years that followed; finally leaving Hogwarts, finally facing my troubles, finally leaving that letter on my bed in my childhood room as I left the house for the last time. But they were fleeting moments. Years we spent in blissful ignorance, finally the pressure released from my mind like the uneasing tension of a soft and soothing massage. It whittled out of me day by day, slowly creeping into the recesses of my head. Shortly after, we had our baby.

Little Dora, how much you loved her. I watched as you gave her everything I had not received; love, attention, acceptance. And it really breaks my heart to think you've left me without me being able to thank you. Really thank you. I don't think you ever knew how much it meant to me.

It is years after the war, and I would very much like to skip past those awful months were you had to flee. And you fled with my heart, you truly did. How it broke and how I hurt when I heard the news. I have mourned for several years but I finally feel as though my days are drawing to a close. It is time to close the chapter of grief and prepare to join you, wherever you are. It is impossible that this letter reach you now, but let this remain as a reminder of love and a proof impervious by time of my deep thankfulness for you.

Time is ticking and as its feeble handle strikes again, I am reminded deeply of my loss. I lived for you, dear Ted, and I can only hope that your sacrifice has payed off.

Yours forever,

Dromeda.