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Ted held out his hand, inviting her to dance, and Andromeda took it shyly. Even Arthur Weasley had abandoned his examination of the record player and was now taking it in turns with Fabian to twirl a laughing Molly Prewett around the room. And Andromeda found that she felt happier in that abandoned classroom, dancing with Ted and listening to Rock and Roll, than she had in a long time.
Andromeda stared at the ceiling as she lay in bed the night of her sixteenth birthday. Hot tears spilled from her eyes and slid down her face, wetting her hair and stinging the still pink skin of her cheek—a painful reminder of the forceful slap her mother had given her earlier that evening.
You're sixteen, beautiful, and you're mine.
Sleep eluded Andromeda for a week after her official breakup with Ted. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Ted’s devastated face and his sullen, defeated walk back to his job. His own misery amplified her own and made her chest ache in a most uncomfortable way. She sighed heavily and tried to think of happier things.
My Little Runaway
Andromeda turns seventeen.
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