The History of Magic, Volume I

Ted and Andromeda.


To date, there are four hundred and fifty-three volumes in the History of Magic Series. Self-updating and released yearly, there is no foreseeable end to the work, as it will continue it's duties until there is no more magic to report. The books have been hotly debated among current historians, half of them of the belief that magically written books don't have the integrity of wizard-written ones, and that the research is too impersonal to get the full context of the current events. Others, however, point out that so far no one has stepped up begging for the full-time job required to record all the magical goings-on in the wizarding world, and as such, it should be left to the spells.

Ted Tonks has no personal opinion on the matter. Whether "magic" books are right or wrong is of little importance to him. What he cares about is the fact that his six-month pregnant wife has been trying to read Volume I of the series for the past three weeks, and he cannot, cannot let her.

"Please trust me, Drommie, I know you," Ted begs, hiding the book behind his back. "It'll drive you crazy that you never actually finish it. It'll haunt you for the rest of your life."

"I'll haunt you for the rest of your life if you don't give me that book in three seconds," his beautiful, gentle wife snaps back, grouchy from the child growing inside her. "First you seduce me, then you impregnate me, and now you're taking away all my good literature? What sort of a sick man are you?"

Her glare seems to indicate that he is also at fault for the price of decent coffee, the broom traffic over Hogsmeade, and the fall of the Roman Empire. "The kind that promises to buy you lots and lots of those trashy romance novels that I know you read when you think I'm sleeping," he cajoles, dropping a kiss on her nose before she can swat him away.

Ted Tonks is a master of manipulation. Bringing up Andromeda's secret stash of romance novels is a sure-fire way to distract her from whatever she's talking about, no matter how serious. "I don't read trashy romance novels," she replies instantly, flushing a deep red. "They aren't for enjoyment. They're research."

"Research?" Ted asks, inching towards the door. If he can put a good hundred feet between them, he will be able to escape with the book and save Andromeda from herself. Usually no distance could protect him, but he's fairly certain that at her current stage he could outrun her, and everyone knows you don't Apparate when you're pregnant. "What could you possibly be researching, O pretty one?"

"Popular culture," Andromeda says, and she has that deadly calm edge to her voice that makes Ted rethink his decision to forego self-defense lessons last year. "And if you take one more step, I will make sure you are never able to impregnate another woman ever again."

He wonders where she learned these sorts of threats, and then wonders for the umpteenth time if they are legitimate, and then remembers who her family is and figures he should probably play it safe. She looks an awful lot like Bellatrix.

"Drommie," he whines. "I'm just trying to help. These books will drive you crazy, and I like you the way you are, you know, sane."

"A book? Hurt me? Ted, honestly."

Her face softens and she reaches for him, looking for all the world like a child, vulnerable, open. Unthinkingly, he goes to her, lets her fold him into her arms, wrapping his own around her middle and feeling their child in her bell—


The book is gone before he even realizes he isn't holding it anymore. "What—how—where did it go?!"

Andromeda kisses his cheek happily. "Not telling. You'll just take it again."

"Drommie. I'm serious. Do you want to be a crazy person?"

She looks at him fondly, and pats his cheek. "I already am, Ted. I gave up wealth and status and married you." She kisses him once, complacent and affectionate now that she's gotten what she wants, and he relaxes into her grip.

"Yeah," he says with a shake of his head, "I guess you're right. You must be crazy."

They sit like this for a few minutes, tangled on the couch, Andromeda's pregnant belly pressed between them, until—



"I have to pee."