The Defiant Ones
Andromeda's not a believer. He thinks that's why he's so taken with her, really: it's shining through the flashing icy eyes on black-and-white. She's stone-cold at Hogwarts, or so he's heard, with mood swings that rival her sister's; and it's all so very ironic, thus, that they meet at Bella's wedding to Rodolphus, that he tumbles for the softly blushing bridesmaid.
The first thing he sees is how pretty she looks, trying on navy dress robes in the shop. Her hard eyes are blue and shrivel in the midst of gentle jaw and careless hair. He fiddles nervously with his mother's choice of frills about his collarbone and casually asks of Bellatrix her name; Andromeda comes the impatient response. He's nineteen and ashamed to be so giddy, so uncomfortable—he swallows, waves to her, but all for naught.
He's not a fan of happy endings, and the wedding is to fade from memory. It's the weeks before he'll know, for the politics of marriage made the Blacks live with Lestranges for a while. Andromeda stays down the hall, and he tactfully avoids her till it's late one night and neither one can sleep. He catches her in the kitchen, her sleeves rolled up and curls pinned back; she's cooking, like a Muggle, and tosses him a heartwarming smile. "Rabastan, is it?" and he falls again.
Rabastan, he's not a nice guy. Headstrong and arrogant, impulsive and rash, with a liking for trouble and the darkness: he signed on with the Dark Lord underage. A Slytherin of house and nature, true to the family name—just as raised was he. But it's all up in the air with her, so he lets his sleeve run past the Mark, to reassert.
"A defiant one, huh?" asks Andromeda, and she eyes it, blue eyes bright.
He's cocky and cruel, but still he stops to stammer. "You could say the same for yourself," he finally manages, and it's bluntly that he spots the burning cauldron behind her. "Not one for the right way of doing things, are you?"
"Rightness is a state of mind," and it turns out she's a chemist, not a cook. Science is her hobby, starkly opposing that which magic stands for, and of course they'll never be (if she plays hard to catch). Her casual demeanor fascinates, the way she casually drawls her boyfriend's Mudblood; he's sinking faster.
And it's so wrong but rightness is a state of mind besides.
Funny that he goes for pureblood rebels. He's orthodox, strong values, but it's a weakness he can't help; one minute he's independent, the next he can't imagine being alone. She creeps into his life, invades his mind, commands his time; it's slow and subtle and oh so expected. Like Marlene McKinnon in fourth year; but less serious, and somehow that much more.
He's betrothed to the Carrow girl, and she's with dirty blood, but they keep up their rendezvous until the night before the wedding. "I'm running off with Ted," Andromeda says; he kisses her slowly, finally, though better he knows.
When he pulls away and thinks she's crying, her ice-blue eyes are brown and blotchy. "Just took out my color contacts," and he realizes he'll miss a girl she's not.