Ted asks himself everyday how he got so lucky. Blood purity has never meant anything at all to him, of course – his own veins hold blood as pure as a polluted river. But in contrast, it's always meant everything to a family like the Blacks.
Narcissa flaunts it in a subtle sort of way. Her hair is as golden as sunshine, but it doesn't glow. It's dim, even in the brightest of rooms. But she herself seems to glow, with power that comes from her blood and family name. She'll flick her eyes at you, and you'll know just what she thinks of you, with that one look. She's being courted by Lucius Malfoy, and that match is pretty obvious. The Malfoys, he's been told, have been trying to ally themselves with the Blacks for some time.
And Bellatrix is just flat out mad, she is. With her wild curls and vicious eyes, Rodolphus LeStrange must be some sort of character to be after her affection. Of course, with families like that, affection rarely has anything to do with it. It's all about the blood status and the political standings. None of it really makes any sense to him.
Then there's Andy. She's his, and he still isn't sure how it happened. With her status, and her looks, he doesn't know just how it came to be that she picked him, out of all the people she could have. She's every bit as beautiful as Narcissa, and just as untamed as her sister Bellatrix, but there's something different about her that he can't quite explain. For one, unlike her sisters, her smile reaches her eyes. At least it does when she looks at him. And when she laughs, he knows it's real, because he's seen her laugh properly before. A real, deep, belly laugh that left her eyes wet with tears of mirth, which he quickly wiped away.
He feels like he's pushing his luck, every day, just being with her. Every stolen kiss or brush of hands in the corridor seems like a step too far. While it's terrifying – he would hate to see what Andy's parents would do to her if they were to find out – it's also thrilling in a way. He can't explain it, but as they meet up outside their usual empty classroom and she looks into his eyes, he knows without a doubt that she feels it too.
He runs his fingers through her soft hair, and she presses her lips to his neck. He knows that he's pushing his luck, but all the same, he can't resist the temptation of pushing it as far as it will go. Maybe it's reckless, and maybe he's just stupid, but he's never really been the most intelligent of blokes, even for a Ravenclaw.
But when she murmurs something in his ear – those three little words he's never expected to hear from anyone, least of all her – he knows that he'll keep pushing, and pushing, forever, because this is too wonderful to pass up.