Blood Thicker than Water
It Takes Two
I often still wonder what Ted saw in me as a sixteen-year-old, confused Slytherin. I could understand his initial admission of having been "intrigued" by the myth surrounding the Black sisters. My dark hair and pale grey eyes merged with the Black family delicate bone structure in order to produce an unreachable kind of beauty. My family name inspired awe and fear, made even more interesting by the reputation of both my sisters: one as a beautiful and ruthless radical, and the other as the loveliest socialite at Hogwarts. I could make sense of why Ted, or any other boy in school, would have been initially attracted to me.
What I could not understand, however, was how Ted seemed to retain the same enthusiasm and keen look of interest in his eyes over time. I was aware of being uptight, quiet and mostly cool in the company of anyone who wasn't Frank or my sisters. I knew that standing literally in between Bellatrix and Narcissa required a special kind of sacrifice: having my own brightness partly dimmed out.
As the school year progressed, I did eventually become more comfortable around Ted, managing to meet his ever-steady gaze more often, and sometimes even offering smiles of thanks or genuine amusement. It seemed that Ted truly enjoyed my wry, dark sense of humor, which even Frank had sometimes trouble digesting. He reciprocated with spontaneous, often inappropriate jokes that promptly brought on furious bouts of blushing and reluctant delight.
"Does Lucius ever say or do things that make you feel like – I don't know… Like he can see right through your robes?" I asked Cissy on an unusually warm, gloriously sunny day in March, a Sunday of pure relaxation at Hogwarts.
The question sprung out of me almost reflexively, as a consequence of retracing every single step of an "incident" that occurred during breakfast that morning. I woke up late, having promised Guinevere Bulstrode that I'd meet her for breakfast in order to go through our plans for her upcoming remedial Potions sessions. I dressed in a hurry, not paying attention, throwing on my clothes in an uncharacteristically careless way. I reached the Great Hall breathless and with my hair tousled from the run, searching for Guinevere at the Slytherin table. I did not find her, meaning she had already finished and left. Instead, I found out that Ted was there, having breakfast with his group of tight-knit Hufflepuff friends. At first, I thought he was not really looking at me. He seemed to be spacing out, his gaze simply focused in my direction. He appeared to be hit by something. When he noticed my puzzled look, he himself shook out of whatever reverie he was having and lifted his goblet of pumpkin juice, making a toasting gesture and wearing a strange, playful smile visible even from a distance.
I instinctively looked down to check my general appearance. And there lay the answer. In my hurry to get dressed for breakfast, I had forgotten to finish buttoning up my blouse. To my horror, I realized, only too late, that I had walked in the hall in a state of undress comparable to that of those awful girls posing in Sirius' Muggle posters. I tried to throw Ted a condescending look, but I discovered I couldn't. I knew he wasn't mocking me. I was almost certain that his was a look of appreciation.
My question seemed to reach Cissy's ears like they had been spoken in an alien language. She furrowed her delicate brow, without looking away from the party guest list that Slughorn had asked her to compile. Then she said,
"Of course not. He's the best-mannered gentleman in the whole school. He wouldn't do that to me."
I let her resume her party-planning project. I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to understand why my sister responded to my question as though being looked at by a man counted as a negative, vulgar thing. I only knew that I had loved every moment of it.
Back in my day, Rubeus Hagrid, who still retains the title of Hogwarts' groundskeeper, used to hold a bonfire evening every year. He lit up a dozen small, easily contained fires near the outer edge of the Forbidden Forest, encouraging students to enjoy the beginning of spring outdoors. This was a hugely popular tradition among the students, who enjoyed the free days of the weekend grouped around the fires, eating, talking and playing games in the pleasant warmth.
"Don't get too comfortable here yet. We'll be practicing elsewhere today," said Ted on a Saturday session of tutoring. He was waiting for me in the Transfiguration classroom, sitting on the teacher's desk, wearing a backpack and a placid smile. I stopped right by the door, raising my eyebrows in a questioning manner. Ted jumped off the desk and swept by me, heading towards the stairs.
The evening sun was close to setting, and the whole castle seemed to be bathed in light. I followed Ted half-warily, afraid that my Slytherin housemates might use our proximity as an opportunity to persecute him. It was strange for me to discover that I wasn't too worried about myself. My fear of being seen in his company derived from the sure knowledge that my fellow Slytherins would only be too happy in trying to break him, and that was not an option for me. I had grown to care about him far more than I ever thought would be possible.
"Will you ever be bothered to tell me where you're going?" I asked irritably, when it became clear that he was heading outdoors. Ted looked back towards me, his walk slowing down a notch. His cheeks were slightly flushed from the fast pace of the walk, and his eyes shone bright from anticipation.
"Patience, Dromeda. You'll see soon enough."
When we reached the outer edge of the forest, I knew that our practice session would take place around the fire. He had found one at a considerable distance from the rest, so that I wouldn't have to worry about being seen. I wondered how he had learned to deal with my peculiarities so fast.
"I thought we should take advantage of the open space and Hagrid's fires. The fresh air might bring about your best results yet," said Ted, peeling the backpack off his shoulders. I looked at him, unsure whether to show my amusement or stay skeptical. He seemed to have read my mind, because he burst into laughter and beckoned,
"Oh, come off it. Mentoring Club doesn't dictate where we ought to be practicing." He sat down near the crackling fire and patted the grassy spot beside him, smiling encouragingly. I gave in.
We spent the first few minutes by the fire trying to discuss the best way to practice human transfiguration. However, Ted's supply of butterbeer and chocolate cauldrons and an overwhelming sense of nearness helped us forget the real reason why we had even started meeting in the first place. He had brought with him a salamander in a jar, which he hoped could provide some form of entertainment. Placed right in the middle of the fire, the salamander burned and danced around merrily while we talked. By the time Ted finished telling me about his unintentional displays of magic among his Muggle family members, I had already forgotten everything, including myself.
"They've always been a boisterous bunch, my family. Got good cheer and sense of humor, that's why they all tend to live until they're one hundred years old," concluded Ted, taking a swig from the butterbeer bottle. Earlier on, he had convinced me that I didn't need a glass from which to drink ("Everything tastes better directly from the bottle!"). Now I held the neck of the bottle in my hand, drinking less and less awkwardly each time I tried.
"I wonder if it's right to think of our strengths and weaknesses as hereditary. I mean – Are we all destined to follow a certain path, or can we make something out of ourselves?" I said, my voice coming out unexpectedly quiet. Ted, who had been lying on the grass, sat up a little straighter. I rested my cheek against my gathered knees, holding his gaze easily and feeling oddly peaceful.
"We're never forced into anything, Andromeda. Choice is there for everyone, no matter how hard it might be for some," he said softly. I smiled, trying my best to hide the sadness from my face.
"You might have figured it out by now. I want to become a Healer."
"I guessed that was your first choice, career-wise. What wouldn't I give to see you in a nurse uniform during your training at St. Mungo's," said Ted with a sigh. I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing. I knew that Ted, being aware that I usually closed down whenever the mood became too heavy, was lightening up the atmosphere on purpose.
"I think of the Healing program as the only way for me to save myself," I continued. Was I becoming a little too morbid? "Everything else will kill me, I know it. I'm a Black."
It definitely sounded dramatic, but I couldn't find any other way to express this deeply buried certainty. My heart felt full of bad presentiments.
"Madness and early death have both been unusually common in our family. My ancestors' habit of inbreeding certainly didn't help matters." I paused, half expecting Ted to recoil in disgust, or worse. He only seemed intent, leaning close to me as I talked.
"Take this salamander, for instance. It's genetically designed to live and spark really brightly while they're burning in the fire, but they die out as soon as the flame is gone. The Blacks are exactly like that. We let our own flame consume our mind. We do great things, terrible things. And then we die."
I stared at the fire. I felt strangely relieved to voice this particular fear, as it had sat dormant in me for years, building up a numb sense of inevitability meanwhile. From where I stand now, I can say that I hadn't been completely wrong. Bellatrix and Sirius are the two best examples of the inherited Black fate. I believe that Narcissa and I only forced ourselves to become the exception to the rule.
"That's not your fate, Dromeda."
Ted had spoken in a sure voice. His words warmed me better than the bonfire, enfolding that broken part I knew was deep within me like a balm. I let my hand rest on his large, welcoming one.
"How could it be? You're brave, and you think for yourself. You've developed your own conscience, and I know you believe in the right things," continued Ted. He lifted my hand and pressed his burning mouth against the palm, near my wrist. My heart beat so fast I was afraid it would stop altogether.
"You're not this salamander. You don't depend on the flame that you were born in to survive."
I wished I knew how to speak again. Pure joy wasn't something I had encountered often in my life, and now it suddenly filled up my whole body, making it unable to function properly. I could only look back at this strange, remarkable boy, who saw straight through me like nobody else ever could.
Ted had suddenly let go of my hand, shaking his head.
"I said I'd stay away, that I wouldn't make it hard for you. There go my promises," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He looked torn.
"It's not your fault Ted," I whispered. His smile became sad.
"Really? Because I was just about to tell you that I'm completely and madly in love with you."
I must have let my eyes widen; my looks must have betrayed the shock that I received from the sudden declaration. If he noticed it, he ignored it. Ted pushed a strand of hair away from my forehead, and held my face between his hands. I remember him saying,
"Can you really blame me for it, Dromeda?" before he drew me in for a kiss that could have went on all that night.
Author's Note:
Yes I apologize, this is the second time I ended my chapters with a kiss, it's inexcusable! :) I have to confess, though, that I had to do a lot of chapter restructuring and rewriting to do over the weekend, as I have reached the crucial point in my story. It's becoming slightly more challenging to write these chapters now, and that is why I really need you guys for advice/support: what you'd like to see more of, what you think I could do without, etc. Please review, you have no idea what difference that makes for me. Until next Wednesday!