HERES A FUCKING PROMPT/HEADCANON: The Tonk's household the day they found out Lucy died.
“It’s Lucy Logan, she’s dead.”
Andromeda doesn’t need to hear it twice. And, even if her husband repeats it, she wouldn’t hear a sound. There is nothing but eerie silence in her head, and a slight humming of a distant, familiar, tune.
*****
{A few minutes earlier}
“Nymphadora,” sang Andromeda as she walked in to her daughter’s room. The little girl looked up from her playpen and smiled at her. Andromeda picked her up and whirled her around. Nymphadora squealed in delight. It made Andromeda laugh, too. She slowed down to a stop and kissed her daughter on the head. “I love you, little bird.” She was very slightly taken aback as the words slipped through her lips. Little bird. She smiled as she remembered who she had originally bestowed that nickname. “Lucy,” she murmured.
“Ludi,” came the sound of her daughter’s voice.
Andromeda stared at Nymphadora for a little while. Then, she grinned at her daughter. “Yes, Aunt Lucy. She’ll be glad to hear about you saying her name.”
“Ludi,” the toddler repeated with a mirthful little laugh. Her mother couldn’t help but laugh along with her.
“Come on, let’s go find your daddy,” said Andromeda as she walked out the door. “Let’s tell him about this new milestone of yours.”
*****
“Ted,” she called out. Her smile had faded now. She knew something was wrong. Something had happened. The terribly familiar feeling of dread had settled inside her. She looks down at the piece of parchment he was holding. “What is it? What does it say?
Ted turns to look at her, and she immediately regrets asking. There are tears in his eyes. “It’s Lucy Logan,” he says shakily. “My little Lucy. She’s dead.”
Andromeda’s mouth hangs slightly open, just enough for a sharp intake of air to pass through. Her grip on her daughter tightened, pulling Nymphadora closer and cradling her head upon her chest. She looks back at Ted. He’s stares back at her, and the hurt in his eyes only intensify hers. Andromeda looks away. She turns towards the nearby sofa where she gently put down her daughter. She hands Nymphadora her favorite stuffed animal, one that Lucy had given.
Tears fall from her eyes as she turns back to Ted. She walks over to take the piece of parchment from his hand. She reads it, and she tries to hold back the sobs that were threatening to escape her.
Lucy was dead. Andromeda pictures Lucy in her mind, desperately trying to hold on to the memories for they were all that was left of her now. But it was as if they were already beginning to fade.
“It’s not fair, Dromeda,” Ted cries softly. “She never did anything to anyone. She’s not even a part of the Order. She’s innocent”
Andromeda finds nothing to say. She only pulls him into her arms and holds him tight. For quite a while, they hold each other. They cry for Lucy, as they’ve cried so many times for the people they’ve lost to this war. It’s taken so much. Yet it goes on. Yet they still fight. It’s so easy to get mad. It’s so easy to forget the cause they’re fighting for when they were faced with so much loss.
“Ludi,” comes the sing-song voice of Nymphadora.
Ted and Andromeda pull apart slightly. They look at their daughter, and then back into each other’s eyes. Perhaps loss was all around them. But love was, too.
