For a Sunday in the Tonks household, it certainly didn't feel like the relaxed, lazy day that it should have. There was nothing physical different--Dora finally napping after having wrecked several rooms of the house, the telly softly pulsating light produced by the noontime news broadcast, Clytemnestra taking up three fourths of the couch to flop down on--but there was that undeniable feeling of tension. Sundays were supposed to be anything but tense, and it was making Ted twitchy.
Twitchy, however, was probably loads better than whatever his wife was feeling.
He let the screen door close silently behind him and leaned against the doorframe, watching Andromeda as she stood not two meters away. It wasn't that he didn't feel bad about this thing with Sirius too, but of course she was taking it worse--it was her cousin, basically the only member of her family that didn't hate her and whom she didn't hate back. If he knew her, he knew that she had to be blaming herself, at least partly, for what had happened (whatever that was).
Groping around in his pocket, he took out a half-empty pack of fags and extended them towards her back. "Need one?" he offered.
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