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[toujourslamur]

BRISTLYBRANWEN

Had the face evoked a multitude of memories from a time before Bran had not only found who she was but also betrayed who she was, the correction of the name sent her all the way back to the present. Past the surroundings that had disappeared and back into the cauldron shop, where she stood in a leather apron and soot on her face, currently taking orders from a man way below her status and her mind in Order affairs. So much had changed since she’d last – properly – seen Andromeda Black.

Tonks. In almost a form of dark irony, Andromeda addressed her the way Bran always insisted on being called: Bran. Not Branwen. There was bitterness in this irony. 

But no matter how they lived in their rebellion with their names, Bran and Tonks, Andromeda was still one of them, and the small talk she then tried to engage in was proof of that. “Lovely,” she snorted, never really having been one of them herself. “a bloody Knockturn Alley shop, is what it is.” But her voice was not as rough as usually, permeated almost by something like nervousness. Even her gaze stayed warily on Andromeda and the person she’d become. “For as long as my mother thinks I’m not yet hopeless.” She tore the gaze away and put a little hammer on the counter. “What d’you want? Here?”

IT MIGHT BE THE MEMORY OF CHILDISH BANTER    that worms a way into her cadence. She knows more than most how long familiarity takes to work a way from her system, not calculated by distance or time in exact measures. She challenges, her eyes tracing along one particularly foreboding cast-iron cauldron.  “   –  It’s charming.  ”

They aren’t familiar anymore. Andromeda Black would scarcely recognize Missus Tonks, and there is good reason for it. Her hands now worked through with the topography of someone who learned to take care of herself, tend to a family, are not that which chased one high after the other in stolen moments at the Astronomy Tower. Bran, too, looks different in a starker setting. Drom resettles herself at the other’s prompting. 

“   My daughter needs a new cauldron.  ”   Back to business, she builds a buffer between the two. Dora offers the perfect marker where such distance should fall. Poison, or the antidote, to the sister of Bellatrix and Narcissa in the hopes a mother or a wife could live. Drom looks over with a smile reserved just for that little girl.  “  Something sturdy, she can be awfully clumsy.   ”

[toujourslamur]

SPELLNBONE

Those weren’t flimsy words. They made sense, in their own right, and Edgar let them linger in the air for a while, contemplating. Eventually, he hummed. “And what if that one person you’ve chosen disappears?” Dies. A possibility that wasn’t too far removed from their situation, the last ten years he’d lived. “Do you simply choose someone new? Or do you count yourself content to never be understood again?”

Edgar nodded. Yes, he knew. He’d felt it, today, for months. Thus his question. “So? What type of soup do you think will counter it?” It was the type of silly question you could dismiss, and Edgar wouldn’t hold it against you, but which you could also answer thoughtfully, and Edgar would return the favour and not dismiss. 

IT WOULD HAVE BEEN TOO SOON     with anyone else to get caught up in such weighty hypotheticals. No closer were they to their destination than they were to tackling what it meant to be truly known, Andromeda still didn’t mind the exercise     (     not with someone she could trust     ).    With that in mind, she took her time answering.     “     I’d wager when someone knows you to that extent, a part of you would be destined to go with them. So you couldn’t be understood, not in that way.     ”     It was practice to rummage around old scars, to see if the nerve damage still stood.     “     What you could do is open yourself up again to be known, the new version of you.     --     And that would take even more courage.     ”

Whatever ghost that chose to haunt such a sentiment was replaced with a question requiring nearly as much thought.     “     A stew would do me a world of good right now. Something to stick to the ribs, offering a different sort of protection. Though I do appreciate your assistance.     ”

[toujourslamur]

INCONSOLCBLE

Two days after the moon, he was just starting to feel better. His bones were still aching, his joints stiff, but at least his body was working well enough to get out of bed. It was no easy task, specially to be walking around in the cold, but at least it made him feel better. If he laid around and moped for the entire week it took him to be completely painless, he’d be a lot more miserable than he was now.

He didn’t expect anyone to search for him when he was on his way to visit the local bookstore, so he might’ve looked a bit startled when a gentle voice called his name. 

“Andromeda,” he echoed, the name and face both vaguely familiar to him. It was hard to keep tabs of all the Black family, you know, he wasn’t great with names, sue him. He tried to look like he recognised her more than he really did. His knuckles screamed in pain when he accepted her handshake, but he pushed through the pain with a polite nod. “What… would this be about?”

SHE KNEW BETTER AND YET SHE PERSISTED     chronic pain always offering a different marking to trace, he had practice in concealment. Still, she felt moved to quickly release his hand as soon as they grasped.     (     Fear of contact dissipated soon after she was brought into the project. Seeing how utterly human most were, both out of and during their monthly cycles left Andromeda with nothing short of awareness of what could be shouldered, let alone sustained.     )

“     I apologize for the intrusion, I swear I can be much more charming if given the chance.     ”     And she was apologetic, leaving charm to be up for interpretation depending on who was asked. Knowing that she had a finite amount of time with this relative stranger, she clarified quickly.     “     I work for the Ministry. And I was wondering if I could speak to you about an opportunity. Something I feel as though you’d have interest in.     --     If you have a moment, of course.     ”

[toujourslamur]

SPELLNBONE

Edgar gave her a warm, amused smile. He was not one for quips and while he did make sure to eat at least once a day, he had no interest in proving her so, correcting her concern, or finding something witty to say only to be contrary. He knew she meant well, and in a world like theirs, he saw no harm in that. “It’s rare to find something or someone who is truly familiar to us, isn’t it?” he hummed instead, softly, certain that even an affiliate to the Order like Andromeda had by now heard of Ainsley’s … betrayal. 

“Succinct, you say. And this, even though you know how much I enjoy long answers.” He offered her his arm, because he had done so the first time they had gone out on a walk together as friends, because he knew certain people appreciated the art of respect, because old habits died hard in old face’s company. “The chill in the air outside?” he asked. “Is it matched by the air inside this building?” 

SHE DIDN’T MEAN TO PROD OR PESTER.     So it is welcomed, the change of subject. Albeit one that offers a new sort of weight between them.     (     Her involvement with the Order felt tertiary, risk calculated only with a cool removal from real consequence. Something that burned in the light of Ainsley’s misstep.     )     “     It’s always been my experience you should count yourself lucky to be completely understood by just one person. Anything more seems greedy.     ”

Holding on to understanding of someone else, despite what they chose, was a burden onto itself. Why welcome that with more and more people?

Linking her arm through Edgar’s, there was a comfort in her own personal circle widening with just enough room for that.     “     Outside has the excuse of winter still working its way out. The air in here is entirely man-made, I’m afraid.     ”

[toujourslamur]

BRISTLYBRANWEN

Bran was, in fact, just on her lunch break, and with half a chicken wing in her mouth she groaned when the little front door bird chirped, warning her of a new customer. She gave Boris a grim look who only returned it with a smug grin of his own, then dragged herself up the stairs. “I’m coming! Just a moment!” she called, forcing somewhat of a friendly tone to her voice – but putting only *some effort into it.

Wiping her hands on the apron, she didn’t even bother to check in the mirror in the backrooms to see if there she looked presentable, and so it came that when she pushed open the curtains and stepped into the front shop, her face was smeared with soot, her hair tousled, and her mouth glistening with a sheen of chicken wing fat. 

Usually, upon encountering someone looking as … expensive as the lady before her, she’d have hurried to rectify all that (after all, people looking like that were usually one of her mother’s spies; no one with an ounce of money and nobility would go cauldron shopping themselves) but as it were, catching sight of the woman, she forgot everything. 

Forgot herself, her surrounding, the very fabric that held time and space together. Even the sudden, heavy sinking feeling in her stomach. All she good think, in that very moment, was the face before her, how familiar it looked like in an outlandish, strange way, and the name that came along with it: “Andromeda Black.” 

THE VOICE WAS IMMEDIATELY FAMILIAR     in a way provided only by access to memory she long chose to forget. A call across the Great Hall, beckoning her closer for some rather loud romp that would surely land them with a mar on her Prefect Badge. Playful teasing by someone who could only affectionately call her a bore. 

Branwen Yaxley had been a friend, once. An inspiration in the way she managed to live her life out loud. It was funny, how the past managed to catch up with her. In a cauldron shop of all places. 

“     Tonks, actually.     ”     A correction often necessary when trying to distance herself from whatever world that had been constructed for her before. Subconsciously, too, a reminder of what had marked the distance they had experienced. Andromeda retreated to the coast in the hope of finding miles away from a legacy burdened now with death and destruction. Coming at the expense some would think it was shame that chased her out.     “     Hello, Bran.     ”

Andromeda’s teeth barely graze against her lower lip but work as a reminder to keep posture straight and proud. Time had been an area of particular interest     --     the malleable way in which it often pretended to be. The counter between them was enough of a reminder on how much had changed in the years which had drifted by since they last saw each other. So she could be forgiven for the struggle to find footing among new terrain.     “     This shop is very lovely. I didn’t realize     --     I mean, how long have you worked here?     ”

[toujourslamur]

SPELLNBONE

His question came back right away, twisted into a sound of concern. Edgar couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped him, almost voiceless but very genuine nonetheless. “I’m sure the taste of food is acquainted with my tongue,” he joked, “I’m sure I must have eaten before, at least once in my life.” It was a friendly joke, though, not actually meant to sound cocky or dismissive of her question. On the contrary, he’d always appreciated the warmth of a mother extending to other people.

What mattered was that she agreed to his offer, anyway. Even if, no, he hadn’t eaten yet today, he was about to now, so her concern could only find foot in the thirty minutes. “You are lucky I’m not turning the question around to you,” he said, smiling at her from the side as they began walking. “Was today a day made for soup or for salad, then?” 

SKEPTICISM COLORED HER FEATURES,     pressed delicately between her brows.     “     You can be acquainted with something but not immediately familiar,     ”     she countered, habit forced by way of someone she could not mother. It was possible with the stretches of months she could not hear Dora’s knees catch the hinges of doors she was left unoccupied. All that energy laid dormant save for letters and care packages, and easily transferred to someone she knew worked so hard. 

“     Well, yes. But if you had I would have a brilliant and succinct answer for you as is my way.     ”     Something other than a day spent mucking about with time turners, possibly. Obviously was banking on it not being volleyed back. Matching his stride, the options are considered.     “     I think the chill in the air calls for soup, and Tom is rather talented in the art of it. Or so I’ve heard.     ”

[toujourslamur]

on the rise.

LOCATION : Hogsmeade Village  TIME : 12 March 1982 STATUS : ( Closed ) @inconsolcble​ 

A DELICATE TOPIC TO BROACH ,     one not easily managed by her colleagues graced with a little less tact     (     apparently bedside manner fell by the wayside when one was operating in such secretive conditions.     ).    But armed with a registry that could be construed a bit archaic, if it weren’t so tremendously helpful, and the periphery knowledge of the lunar cycle, the task of finding potential recruits for her Department’s latest venture wasn’t one Andromeda was ready to shy away from. 

At the very least, it got her away from the messy duty some found in autopsies of werewolves.  

The name was familiar enough from passing mentions by her cousin, though traipsing around in Sirius’ life wasn’t something she felt entirely comfortable with. Not when they had only just re-established contact, not when his personal connections were more landmines than kin to be uncovered. No matter the case, finding Remus Lupin was a particular get. One she certainly couldn’t pass up. 

(     He’d been turned so young, age etched next to his name in the registry had made her heart ache for him. All those years of bones shifting, the body tearing itself apart to build itself new. How much pain he must have endured.     )     --     She carried on.

“     Mister Lupin?     ”     Her voice stayed light, friendly as she offered her hand.     “     You don’t know me. I’m Sirius’ cousin, Andromeda Tonks.     ”     Delicate, yes. And probably not something to approach while in the middle of the street.     “     I’d love to chat, if you have a moment.     ”

[toujourslamur]

SPELLNBONE

a matter of soul

Location: Ministry Time: 26th of February Status: Closed, for @toujourslamur

To most people, Edgar looked as though centered by an energy of infinite patience and serenity. He never appeared stressed or annoyed to them, never in a hurry or aggravated, and in a way it wasn’t far from the truth; it was what he aspired to be. Only those who truly knew him well were aware of the never-ceasing tension which commanded his mind and muscles, which he felt drumming through his body every single second of the day. Every single second – except the few he shared with Amelia. 

In her presence, there existed true comfort, there existed the sole moments of rest he was ever really granted, and so, in her presence, he was blissful. Even those unaware of the tension within him couldn’t deny the sheer happiness he revelled in when he was with her, his energies becoming even softer, even warmer than at any other time. And luckily enough, it was an effect that didn’t immediately wear off the moment he left her.

It had been about half an hour now since he’d hugged her goodbye and made his way to find Andromeda Tonks, née Black, who he’d been acquainted with for more than a decade, befriended with for about half of it, and who he’d recently come to get to know even better. As little as he respected the Black family, he respected her and her choices. From what he’d seen of her over the years, she’d grown into an open-minded and vastly intelligent person, and while he didn’t exactly love her involvement with the Order, he did trust her. Especially with the thing he had to ask her about. 

“Andromeda,” he called after her as he caught her in the corridor, using her first name as he did it for very few people, and the smile on his lips surrounded him like an Amelia-shaped halo. “If you’re busy: have a lovely day. If you’re not: I’d love to steal you for lunch?” 

EDGAR BONES WAS NOT AN ENTIRELY OUT OF PLACE SIGHT     among the halls of those who hold all the secrets of the world.     (     Typically reporters were not allowed in the Department of Mysteries. Typically much of the wiccan world wasn’t. So it was lucky for him, then, Andromeda had a fondness for exceptions.     )    So few real friends in the world, she was contented to making room for those who found her family by way of her husband. Less lonely than she might have anticipated years ago, and most certainly less sticky when it came to the matter of politics. 

She watched her colleague retreat, back to the depths of vague scents of love potions and how closely such a potion could be replicated to something beyond amorous obsession. With a turn, her gaze flitted back up with a smile to match his own. In better spirits than she would have expected, but not without an air of someone who was about to ask for a favor. 

——-     Oh, well. At least he had enough social grace about him to bait her with food. 

A glance toward her watch confirmed what she had become a secondary suspicion to the first assessment     (     windowless nature of her department be damned     )     but the tone of concern remained,     “     Have you not eaten?     ”     Running ragged under time constraints of deadlines of varying mortal consequence, her affection toward Edgar was just as such she couldn’t let complete disregard for his well-being slide. A force of habit, maybe. Respect for him stops short of any Mother Hen-ing while teasing stayed firmly in the realm of possibility.     “     So busy is a bit relative. Let’s head to the usual spot.     ”

It was helpful that she managed to get her things together just as he arrived. The last of her files slipped securely into her bag, she straightened once more with all the grace of having spent a childhood with a rod pressed securely against her spine.     (     Slouching was indicative of a weak, idly mind after all.     )     “     I suspect it might be my duty now to see to it that you get one meal in you, at least.     ”

[toujourslamur]

hold the line.

LOCATION : Potage’s Cauldron Shop ( Diagon Alley ) TIME : 2 March 1982 STATUS : ( Closed ) @bristlybranwen

Mum, 

It wasn’t my fault I swear but Bill dared me and -- 

IT WAS DECIDEDLY NYMPHADORA’S FAULT.     But the ache she assumed came with any distance between mother and child coaxed from Meda all the affection which should have been poured into the hand at the back of her daughter’s head.     (     It was no surprise she would burn through supplies quickly, a childhood marked by skimmed knees and bloodied grins, limbs that moved too quick for their own good. Always moving too quickly ahead to pay much attention to such pesky nuisances as edges of tables or untied shoelaces.     )     

Long, rambling, letter cut short : Dora needed a new cauldron. The specifics of how exactly she went about destroying her last one were, seemingly in her mind, up for debate. Task-oriented, Andromeda set off to find an impossibly sturdier cast. 

Her gaze stay fixed ahead as she moved through the cramped streets of Diagon Alley, flicking from her any residue floo was known to leave behind. Rather than immediately trusting whatever was left in stock adorning the outside of the building, Dromeda pushed her way inside to speak to an expert.  

If there was one to be found.

“     Hello?     ”     ever-polite, she found herself circling a particularly extravagant gold cauldron. Movement from just beyond the curtain drew her gaze back,     “     If you’re on lunch, I can certainly come back?     ”

[toujourslamur]

SLYTHERIN APPRECIATION WEEK → day one » favourite female slytherin ↳ Andromeda Tonks (née Black)

[toujourslamur]

𝘛𝘈𝘎 𝘈𝘙𝘊𝘏𝘐𝘝𝘌 : 𝘋𝘠𝘕𝘈𝘔𝘐𝘊𝘚

[toujourslamur]

𝘛𝘈𝘎 𝘈𝘙𝘊𝘏𝘐𝘝𝘌 : 𝘖𝘙𝘎𝘈𝘕𝘐𝘡𝘈𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕