The Last Letter
Challenge Seventeen: Messages From The Heart
Title: The Last Letter
Author: bambu345
Wizard/Witch: Ted Tonks/Andromeda Tonks
Rating/Warnings: G
Genre: Romance/Despair
Word count: Exactly 750
Prompt: I’m leaving you -- forever
Summary: Andromeda stays home with the baby.
Fear shrouded the house. The only sounds in the dark rooms were the creak of a rocking chair and the whimpers of the baby cradled in her arms. Andromeda managed a one-handed charm, muffling the chair’s protests, finally lulling Teddy to sleep.
Please, she thought, Please, please, please.
After a time, her mantra, coupled with the rocking motion of the chair, soothed her.
Her family was in danger . . . out there beyond her ability to help. Ted had left months before in an effort to deflect negative attention. Remus, whom she had reluctantly begun to consider family, had left the day before, and Nymphadora had left mere hours ago.
Andromeda was accustomed to Ted’s absence, but she’d never grown reconciled to Nymphadora being in harm’s way.
The kitchen clock chimed four.
Carefully, she rose to her feet, holding Teddy one-armed while she jabbed her wand at his cot; it rose to a comfortable transfer height and she swished a Warming Charm on the bedding. Gently, she placed her grandson in the small cot, kissed him on the head - in exactly the same spot her daughter had done hours earlier - waved her wand, and watched the cot return to the floor, swaying in a subtly gentle motion.
Then Andromeda slipped from the room.
Lying atop her own bed, her hand automatically slipped to Ted’s side. Her heart lurched, just as it had done every night since his departure. She tugged his pillow into her arms, inhaling deeply . . . but his fragrance was gone.
After thirty minutes, she acknowledged the futility of courting sleep.
Padding downstairs to the kitchen, she flicked her wand, turning on the hob. Electricity didn’t work near magic, but Ted had finagled the gas range their first year in the house.
Prescience suddenly shuddered up her spine, and Andromeda spun, her wand raised defensively.
The sight which met her eyes caused her free hand to fly to her chest as if to hold her heart in place.
There, hovering inches above the surface of her kitchen table, illuminated by golden light, floated a thick envelope, with the date - 2 May 1998 - pulsing mid-air.
Choking back sobs, Andromeda staggered to the table, eyes tracing the single word address: Mum.
It was Nymphadora’s next-of-kin letter. Every active Auror kept them on file with the Department of Mysteries, to be delivered at the time of their deaths.
Andromeda was shaking so hard she couldn’t make herself reach for the envelope . . . and then she found that she could.
In one jerky, violent movement, she reached through the security barrier - the enspelled light spreading from point of contact until it completely surrounded her in a glowing aura, confirming her identity, and then, instantly, the light disappeared.
She sagged into a chair, clutching the envelope to her chest, like a band-aid over a gaping wound.
It took her three tries to light the candelabra; she couldn’t summon the magical focus.
It hurt to breathe, but false courage filled her lungs, and she broke the wax seal. Unexpectedly, there was a second letter inside. Bewildered, Andromeda pulled the smaller missive from its parchment hiding place.
Golden lettering unexpectedly hovered mid-air: 21 March 1998.
Apprehensively, she turned the envelope over, then thought she would faint. Scintillating sparks dotted the periphery of her vision as she stared at her husband’s distinctive, bold scrawl emblazoned across the small envelope. Ande, it read.
Gasping for breath she opened his final letter.
I won’t insult you, Ande, you know what this letter means. We’ve lived in fear of receiving one since Dora joined Magical Law Enforcement. When I decided to go on the run, she was able to do this small favor for me.
There is so much to say and not enough time or paper to do my thoughts or you justice . . . Ande, I’ve loved you from the first moment I met you on the Hogwarts Express. I was terrified and you were kind. I’ve been yours from that moment and I have never regretted it. I love you more today than I did then.
The future is cloudy, but I know that you will do whatever it takes to survive . . . to keep our family safe. Be careful.
I regret this letter means I’m leaving you . . . forever. But forever isn’t so long, love, we’ll be together soon enough.
Ted
Andromeda Tonks clutched the parchment to her chest, rocking back and forth, her eyes wide and unseeing as she keened her losses into the night.
Author's Notes: Please note there is no fixed date for Ted Tonks’ death in canon; however, it can be reasonably assumed to have occurred sometime in March, and certainly before the birth of his grandson. Why his letter wasn’t delivered before is up to you - for my part, I’d like to think it was some form of Ministry incompetence, or the Unspeakable in whom Tonks entrusted this matter was somehow compromised.
I’ve had a hell of a time with this challenge, as my little plot bunnies seem to run wildly awry. This is my fourth effort, and I really hope it works.
Proof-reader: snarkywench_64 has given them ALL a read, and she thinks this one will do.