War has casualties. The body count in this one grows every day. But not Ted; please not Ted. Her eyes close, sending clinging teardrops rolling down her face. She should have known that their parting kiss would be their last. If she had, maybe she would have held him closer, kissed him longer.
"Watch after Dora. I'll be back," Ted had promised with a tired smile before pulling away, leaving his wife behind.
And she had believed him. Against all logic, the numbers of the fallen increasing daily, Andromeda had clung to that hope so childishly. He would be back for her; he'd promised.
"You're sure it was him? That it was Ted?" Andromeda whispers, voice cracking as she opens her eyes and stares at Kingsley.
The man nods, guiding her into the kitchen and helping her onto a chair. "I'm sorry."
Funny how people say that when you lose someone, as though they're somehow responsible for the tragedy. Empty, desperate words, hollow and meaningless. But Kingsley speaks with sorrow lacing his deep, velvet voice, and Andromeda almost finds comfort them.
"I need to tell Dora. I-"
"She and Remus are on their way," he assures her, moving away to rummage for bags of tea.
Nodding, Andromeda leans back, eyes drifting to the door Ted had left through. His final departure.
"I'll be back."
The promise echoes in her head, bouncing around her skull, repeating over and over. Spoken so long ago, what seems like a lifetime now, the words grow louder, deafening, drowning out the sounds of Kingsley as he puts the kettle on.
"I'll be back."
Andromeda hangs her head, silent tears dropping to the floor. A war is waging. Somehow, she has to be strong. For her pregnant daughter. For herself. For her murdered husband.
"I'll be back."
"You won't be," the witch whispers to the air.