written in the stars
andromeda black
( champagne supernova )
by Cuban Sombrero Gal
A champagne supernova in the sky
Wake up the dawn and ask her why
A dreamer dreams, she never dies
Champagne Supernova, by Oasis
It's Ted who explains it to her. Really, Andromeda thinks he's explained life to her, but that's far too soppy, because even if she's engaging in these little acts of rebellion, she's still a Slytherin and a Black, so …
He fiddles with the telescope between chaste kisses to her lips, cheeks and neck, and she giggles and blushes like her younger sister as he points out various stars. Of course they're up here under the pretense of mandatory astronomy tutoring – because what other excuse is there for the Slytherin turned 'good-girl' and the Hufflepuff she supposedly hates with a passion – and yet it's anything but.
He's actually got some sort of perverse fascination with this whole star thing; he says it comes from having a mother who buys newspapers simply for the horoscopes and an A+ on his essay about Mars back when he was ten.
Tonight, Ted says he has something special to show her, but if Andromeda's honest, she's more interested in a few hours of escapism from Bella's evil eye – it's obvious she knows something is up from that distrusting gazes and that sadistic leer that screams 'I will find your secret'- and just spending some alone time with Ted. It's exhilarating, being a rebel, and almost too much fun. I sound like my sister, she berates herself, I sound like Narcissa and like Bellatrix, but really, she can't help herself, because Ted, with all his strident bravado and that knowing little smile, is nothing short of intoxicating.
"Look," he says, pointing into the sky, where stars twinkle like diamonds and it's all so peaceful and free. "Look, there's Bellatrix."
"What the -" Andromeda spins around, arms flailing and heart pounding, and –
-and Ted catches her, sets her upright, snorts at the undignified look on her face.
"No silly," he mutters, "look out there."
Andromeda pushes her eye to the telescope, and stares at what is nothing more than a mass of yellow.
"There," he prods, and he's never irritated by her lack of understanding, never snappish about her blank stares. "Bellatrix. It means warrior, and it's the twenty-second brightest star in the sky." Even with her eye jammed to the telescope, Andromeda can see that his face is laced with excitement. There's so much she wants to say about Bella, but for all of Ted's loyalty and bravery, he's nothing but naïve when it comes to the idea of wizarding power. Candlelight dinners where the face of the murderer shines in the light, and spells where green does not represent a love of nature but an end to it mean nothing to him in the grand scheme of life.
So, she just sticks with a simple answer – even though she knows he isn't expecting one at all – of "Warrior? Wow that does really suit Bellatrix," to which he nods and makes a slight comment about her being a bitch, to which Andromeda snorts at and they continue looking at the stars.
Ted wraps an arm around her, and they stand still for a minute, time rushing past them like Muggle freight trains.
"There's Regulus," he mutters finally, his eye jammed up against the telescope yet again. "It's a part of the constellation Leo the Lion."
"So basically, you're saying my cousin should be a Gryffindor," she quips, and once again, they both know it goes deeper than that, deeper than astronomy and the symbolism of animals and possibly even love.
"Basically," he agrees with a laugh. "Merlin, can you imagine Regulus and James Potter on the same Quidditch team?"
"Of course not. Not at all."
To be honest, there's a lot more of both James and Sirius in Regulus than any of them will ever admit, especially Sirius and Regulus – while they're far from the picture perfect brothers of fairytales, they're both as stubborn as each other. She wants to voice this too, but once again, she doubts Ted will understand. She loves him, and she's far from prejudiced – or maybe she's just suffering from a different strain of bigotry from the rest of her family, maybe she's got lung cancer while their hearts are rotting away, all dripping crimson blood and hatred stripping away from the organ – but he will not understand.
"There's Sirius," he says next. "It's the brightest star in the sky."
"That sounds about right," Andromeda agrees. "Trust him to be the one who gets to shine brighter than us all."
"Yeah, he's a pretty … full on sort of person."
Sirius is a supernova, a shining light that's going to explode. He's far too reckless and insane for this life, for life in general, she thinks, and sooner or later he's going to disappear with a bang and a puff of smoke. Three, two, one … BANG! He's too bright almost, a glowing campfire in a world of dimmed lights and candles, and she's convinced that it will be his downfall (not that she ever mentions this, either, of course).
Instead, she asks where Cissa is, and he replies with a trace of unidentifiable emotion that there isn't a star called Narcissa, so she asks about herself, and he says that there isn't a star called Andromeda either.
"So, it's only boys who are named after the stars, then?" she asks curiously, because she's got an uncle called Orion as well, and even she, who's getting a P in Astronomy, has heard of Orion's belt.
"So you're saying Bellatrix is a boy then. I was always knew there was a reason she'd turned Lucius Malfoy down so many times."
"Good point."
"There is something called Andromeda," he mutters quietly. "You're so perfect, you get a whole galaxy named after you."
His hands caress the telescope again, because of course he's going to show her.
"Here," he says.
She looks, and it's pretty – and no, she's not being vain because of all the associations, it really is – so pretty.
"Are you trying to convince me that I'm bigger than my family and I can overrule them for you."
"Possibly." A grin slides across his face like melted butter, and then it fades. "It's up to you, of course. I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to."
As he leans in for a kiss, they can both taste his unspoken words: "but I'd love it if you did."
(maybe he understands more than she thought.)