So, yeah…anyone else feel really, really sorry for Andromeda Tonks? I certainly do, and that, I think, is where this odd, melancholy, little story came from…
DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING!
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But your memory is here and I'd like it to stay
Warm light on a winter's day
-Pink Bullets
The Shins
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Andromeda sleeps. When she isn't doing that, she's walking the streets, Teddy in his pushchair. His hair fades out from blue to green to buttercup-yellow. They stay inside at the window when it rains. Cold hands on glass. Breath.
When Teddy cries, Andromeda cares for him. When Harry Potter comes calling, she gives him the boy and then walks away. Sometimes in and around the local parks and gardens. Graveyards. Never shopping centres or places where there will be too many people.
She thinks about her sisters, living and dead. She thinks about her daughter and her husband. Teddy. She remembers that once her house was full of photographs (smiling eyes and grinning faces, stranded somewhere years away) and now it is not. Every few days there is a bouquet of fresh flowers on the table in the hall; Teddy grows older in a well-kept home.
Andromeda grows older. One grey hair at a time. One wrinkle. It doesn't matter. Her hips ache sometimes in the very cold weather, but she never apparates anywhere. She walks. She buys the flowers herself.
The photographs grow older too, in the attic in their box. The frames grow thicker by the day with dust. The people in them never change; they smile, they wave. They are happy forever and Andromeda envies them that, and she doesn't like to look at them because they don't make her feel sad anymore. Because nothing really does; because she feels nothing at all.
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She never sees it coming. That's the only saving grace of it. She never has to stare her own, impending death in the eye before it comes to take her.
All she can see is him, after all, and he's already dead on the floor. Not a blemish on him but she knows it all the same. That unnatural stillness. In the chaos no-one else has noticed.
Her guard's down. Her wand is idle. She's on him and she's crying and she's begging him to just wake up and to just open his eyes and-
"Oh."
Surprise takes her, so much more so than the pain, and then she's on the floor too. The noise levels fall and the lights go down. She never saw it coming. In these dangerous times she never even thought about it once, but its here. Darkness. Quiet.
For the briefest sliver of a second, she sees the outline of a person. Then nothing.
(She wonders what her son will do; she wonders who her son will be)
She closes her eyes as the light fades entirely, then is quietly gone. In the madness that surrounds them- him and her (as it always should have been) - it will be a while yet before anyone will notice.
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In the cool, bright springtime she likes the park, to sit there for hours and watch as life begins again for so many things. If it rains she just stands there and watches as it falls, thinking about how the sun will come out again, someday, and it won't really matter to anyone when it does. Sometimes, she wonders if anyone else even notices all these things or if they just take them for granted.
Sometimes, Andromeda thinks that she is the dead one, not them, but it doesn't make a difference to her either way.
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They catch him. He always knew they would.
They grab him somewhere near Somerset, the Snatchers, and at first they don't even bother with magic. They stomp him delirious with their heavy, black boots. His nose breaks with a sound like someone snapping a breadstick in two. It's so loud.
Masked faces. Jeers. Abuse. He closes his eyes and endures it all, thinking that he's heard it all before and that it's almost-sort-of-nearly funny how he was the hunted, and yet they are the animals.
When it stops, abruptly, he knows what will soon follow. He keeps his eyes closed tight and regrets that the last face he saw could not have been Andromeda's. That "mudblood" and "scum" will be the last things he'll hear. Almost.
Just two more. Quietly, calmly, as if they mean nothing at all. Avada Kedavra. The end.
His very last thought is of her. That's all.
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Andromeda grows older. One grey hair at a time. One wrinkle. The photographs in the attic grow thick, thicker by the day with dust. Sometimes she thinks about taking them down. Travelling through time.
She never does. Instead, when the urge presses her, she takes Teddy out in to the cool, evening air, thinking about how big he's getting. How independent. His hair fades out from red to violet to summer sky-blue. Soon he will be too big for his pushchair. Soon she will be yet another year older and another few hairs greyer. Soon he will leave her for school and she will be all alone.
It doesn't matter. She is used to it by now.
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The years have seemed short but the days go slowly by
Two loose kites falling from the sky
Drawn to the ground and an end to flight
-Pink Bullets
The Shins
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Yeah. Well…reviews, please?