nature boy

He lets out a rough woof at the sound of his own name, perking up again. Ted is a godsend, seeing them is a blessing. Sirius has been aching, missing people, missing Ted and Andromeda and Dora. It was easier at the start, but hes been feeling the absence like an constant ache lately, feeling distant and at odds with the world. Hearing his name now, on the lips of someone he loves, it does a lot to bring him back to himself. There’s no sneer to it, no haughty tone. The last few weeks, he hasn’t heard it as anything but a taunt. 

Ted sends their patronus away, the promise of help and Andromeda and Hogwarts on their tongue. With a great deal of effort, Sirius sits up again, shifts to lick Ted’s face in thanks, press heavily against their body. He wants to change back, be a human again, get a real hug from someone who’s been as good as a sibling to him since he was a teenager. But he knows it isn’t safe. Every time he’s become human somewhere unwarded the last few weeks, there have been Death Eaters hot on his trail. He won’t lead them here, to this house. A whine of agreement then, at the mention of the castle. He could change back there, if the wards were holding. 

Harry is still crying by Ted’s side, big wet tears, and Sirius nuzzles him gently. The best course of action seems to be to pretend to be almost fine –– fit and ready to face the world head on. Back on four legs again, though his body is hot with pain, Sirius stands ready to move, nudging Ted as if to say: alright then, lets go. 

They give his fur a gentle pat as he leans against them, careful not to touch any hidden wounds. It’s not much comfort, but then even just seeing him here, knowing that he’s alright, nearly safe, that’s got to count for something. The problem now is getting him up to the castle, where he’ll actually be safe, and they can start helping him. And there he is, even in his clear pain, trying to comfort Harry, seemingly all the more determined to show him he’s alright.

“Look, Harry, Padfoot’ll be alright, he’s going to come with us all the way up to the castle and we’ll get him all fixed up, I promise,” Ted comforts, before getting up himself, and scooping Harry up into his arms. He looks around for a second, trying to think of a better way to get them there, but anything else would be too risky, or too impossible in his state.

One instant she was reaching out for Ted and the next she was wrapped up wholly in his arms. She fit her face into his chest and tried to calm the shudder in her heart. It hadn’t quieted since Sirius was taken away. But now, here, with Ted, some of it was soothed. Her hands clutched at his towering shoulders and she let herself fall under the solid presence of Ted’s reassurance.

We’ll be all right, and, Merlin help her, Amelia believed him. The loneliness, the fear, the frantic uncertainty, it all went muffled. There was no earthly way they’d be “all right.” Not any time soon, anyway. The war was more on than other and the enemy was getting ever bolder. Amelia was still stranded across enemy lines, alone. But in this dark, quiet kitchen in the middle of Hogsmeade, they were all right.

“Ted,” she sighed on a stutter and then pulled back to meet his eyes. She cupped his face gently with one hand, wiping at her embarrassing tears with her other. “When I read about King –” Her throat convulsed and she dipped her head, unable to say more, to actually say what had happened to her old friend. “Were you there?” Amelia hadn’t contacted any of Scotland since… well, in weeks, really. Guilt and shame, first, and then the danger of it, for both parties. Other than her hasty, heavily-warded message to Ted begging for this night, Amelia had been radio silent. Waiting.

Waiting for news that never came. Intel that didn’t exist. Plans that hadn’t been made. And King down meant there was just one less leader in their back pocket. And, of course, one more good friend out of the fight.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she murmured. The hand over Ted’s cheek dropped to his chest, just over his heart. “You and Dromeda and Dora…” All their friends, though, still in harm’s way. All of them. And then Sirius… Amelia pressed back into the comfort of Ted’s embrace. “How’s… Rather. Have you heard from Remus?” Was it even fair of her to ask how the wix was, given the circumstances? Circumstances of Amelia’s making. But still, she had to ask, had to check in. Remus might hate her, understandably so, but she needed to know that he was at least whatever passed for all right these days.

He hadn’t let himself fully realize just how afraid he was for Amelia until her letter had come, and his thoughts had been set in motion. There had been so little to do, it all felt too hopeless, Sirius, Amelia, Kingsley, everything falling into chaos so easily in the blink of an eye. Now that she was here, safe in his kitchen even for a few short moments, risky enough as they were, he didn’t want to let go of her. All he wanted was to keep her right here, safe, with them, not to let her go back to that place full of hatred and violence and danger without anyone else around.

But it was easier to let hope live when he could see her, and know that she wasn’t hurt, no matter how hard things were for her, and all of them.

When she pulled back to look at him, he kept his hands on her shoulders, rubbing gently, trying to give even a little comfort in such a difficult time, when it all felt like a mess. Seeing her like this, and knowing there was so little he could do to ease her mind, it broke his heart. And when she brought up the attack, what had happened, he found his own tears pooling at the corner of his eyes. He hadn’t known Kingsley well, but that didn’t matter. Any of their own lost was too many, and he knew how much he had meant to so many of the people he cared about; that was without considering what it meant for their community, too. 

Letting himself think about the vigil, all that had happened, it hurt, it made a now too familiar panic creep up, the urge to run again, to try to protect Andromeda, and Dora, and anyone else he could; not being able to protect enough people. All Ted could do in response was nod slowly, bite his lip. “I’m so sorry, Amelia, I know you were close,” he said quietly, knowing no words would ease that pain.

He let his arms curl around her again when she moved back towards him. “We’re glad you’re okay. And I’m going to figure it out, I promise; I’ve been helping them work on the wards at the castle, keeping busy, it’s good...but getting you out is the thing that matters now. You, and Sirius,” he nodded. “Remus is in a bit of a frenzy, from the little I’ve seen and heard, but he’s alright, he’s strong. Trying to do everything he can to find Sirius and get him over here safe, of course. You did what you had to do to stay safe, Amelia, Sirius knew the choice he was making. And he’ll make it back to us and Remus, too, I promise.”

It’s almost magic, how easily Ted talks to Draco. She often finds herself stumbling over verbal roadblocks, nuances Draco doesn’t understand, her own helplessness when she begins a sentence and realizes the logical end will only upset him further. At home, she could hand him off to a nanny, invoke his father, or conjure a toy or distraction–she was there to make him happy, a bright part of his day but not one he saw as at all authoritative. Here, with his shrewd face and Lucius’ eyes, she felt dreadfully young and inexperienced.

But Ted manages to keep their voice a slow and steady tone, employing the kind of reasoning Draco could actually follow, words that make Narcissa gape a bit with their simplicity. And with her standing farther away, with only Uncle Ted to think about, Draco begins to nod his head slowly–”Yeah,” he says, and straightens up a bit, no longer caving his shoulders forward and down. “I’m a big kid.”

Narcissa breathes out, a relief she didn’t intend to feel. She’s standing close against the wall, now, trying not to draw attention to herself–feeling small, unobserved, a role she feels comfortable with in this house because being here so often feels like bringing danger to her sister’s life. A wolf in a henhouse, except she’s the meat that draws the wolf near. Draco walks past her to go toward the kitchen, and she wants to reach for him, to hug him, but restrains herself, watching him go and saying to Ted: “You’re so good with him. Thank you.”

They wait, give him the time he needs to process, pleased to see that he is listening, willing to take their words in, and a smile breaks out over their lips when he begins nodding, before agreeing. He stands a little taller, prouder, and he looks a lot like how they remember thinking Lucius Malfoy had looked from afar, when they were all a whole lot younger, when they had felt an even greater fury every time they saw him, for his part in what Andromeda went though. He looks like Narcissa, too, though, and they try to see that just now, associate that with the good. 

“You sure are,” they smile, giving his hair a ruffle, before starts off to the kitchen, and Ted looks back at Narcissa again finally, standing there against the wall, as if she had been trying to make herself small. In that moment, it’s a little easier not to think of the way she might break Andromeda’s heart all over again, the way they’re not sure they can trust her intentions. Right now, she’s just a mother who wants to do better for her son.

Ted shrugs, puts their hands in the pocket of their hoodie, takes a few steps towards the kitchen after Draco. “Of course; I know how hard it can be, with kids. I’ve been dealing with it a bit longer than you have, who would I be if I didn’t help in a little way? Takes some practice, is all. It gets easier, I promise,” they said with a certain nod, as if that was that.

She’s running on adrenaline, running on fumes, almost running out of steam. It may have been the first day of her career where she hated being a Professor at Hogwarts –– seeing a student hurt, damaged but alive and with no solutions readily present, it was the hardest thing she’d ever gone through. That, coupled with the ever growing worry about Nymphadora. She felt like she’d drop the second the responsibility stopped holding her up. 

It’s a relief to walk into her office and see Ted there. It’s a relief to have all of them together. Their family. It made her ache for the time before Dora came to school, when everything still felt bright and full of life and hope and dreams at home. They still had that, in small ways, but nothing could really make a night like this feel normal. 

When Dora falls asleep, Andromeda can’t help watching her. She perches on the arm of the couch, next to Ted. An arm around their shoulder for balance. She watches her daughters face with rapt attention, the smooth expanse of it in sleep. It looked peaceful, looked so innocent. She was a wide open book in sleep, and Andromeda wanted to bring her home and tuck her back into bed. 

She gives the softest hum in reply to Ted’s words, exhausted in the way that makes it harder to form the words. It takes her a few long seconds, thinking it over in her mind. It doesn’t feel safe here, she doesn’t feel safe, doesn’t feel steady. She wants to take Dora home. She wants to take Dora away, wants to make all of them hide. 

“I don’t know either.” She admits, very quiet. She has things to do here, at the castle. Research to do on petrification, counter measures, castle security, taking care of the Slytherins who had looked at her tonight like they were lost ducks and she was the only mother they had to guide them home to safety. “We could ––” And then she stops, bites her lip. “Maybe Dora could start sleeping at the house, instead of in the dorms.” They’d still have to worry about her all day, though. During and between classes, on the way to dinner. And she’d be furious with them for it, already struggling with life here wouldn’t be made easier by being removed from everyone else. Andromeda didn’t want to weigh the damage of either option –– she’d rather have a pissed off eleven year old than a petrified eleven year old. 

The feeling of Dromeda’s arm around his shoulder is grounding, comforting, even if he’s well aware she’s feeling just as at a loss as he is. That’s the bright light in all of it, they have each other, it’s not something any of them have to face alone; their family’s dealt with so much, already, surely they can pull through this, too. Only this time the danger feels so much more real, because they can see it there, another child petrified, with not much to do but desperately try to keep the calm.

In a way, hearing her agree makes him feel better, to know that he’s not alone in his confusion. They struggle, but they struggle together. He only wishes that he could do something to smooth the frown from her forehead, assure her that not only were they safe, but so were all of the students, all those they care about. But he can’t do that, he can’t give her the perfect world he’s always believed she deserves, and it makes his heart ache to know it. One hand moves to Dromeda’s knee, thumb running back and forth absently, the need to be close to her, be touching her, strong. He’s always been someone who needed that sort of thing, and in a moment like this, when danger feels so close, threatening those he cares the most about, having them within arms reach feels even more important.

So her suggestion isn’t a surprise to him, because he feels wholly the same, had been considering it himself, in the time he had spent waiting for them both to return to her office. It isn’t a solution, isn’t a guarantee of safety, when they would both still be spending the majority of their days in the castle, but the darkness feels more dangerous, always has, and when else would someone like whoever had attacked that poor student strike?

“It would make it all feel a little better, wouldn’t it?” Ted agrees tentatively, quietly, looking back down at Dora, in her peaceful slumber. He can guess already what her reaction would be to that, anger, angst, more space put between them, even if their proximity was closer. That thought is enough to make him let out a low sigh. 

“I wish I could say yes without feeling like we’d be taking something away from her. She’s already having such a hard time.”

“Don’t apologize,” Amelia immediately countered, long fingers petting gently through his hair. When she met his eyes, she saw what she expected: Ted was about three seconds from shaking apart. “I’m happy to come over, especially when my best friend needs me.” Moody had told her, in fact, about the Death Eater sighting last week, but Ted was on to something. All these things happening all at once… Amelia didn’t love what it might mean. 

“One thing at a time, Ted,” she soothed. Leading him to the nearby couch, Amelia settled him to sit. She ducked back toward the kitchen for a moment to reset the kettle – no doubt the cup of tea Ted had was stone-cold – then joined him. The wards failing was…frightening, to say the least. That seemed to be the most pressing matter, if there were already attacks happening on the children there. But the first matter for Amelia was settling her friend. Working up a bit of a smile, she laid a hand over his knee. “You’ll run yourself into overdrive, Teddy. Shall I call you ‘they’ for right now? You’re much too much for just a singular person.” It was a joke from their Hogwarts days and she hoped it would put a smile on his face, even if it was only brief.

“Dromeda and Dora are safe, right now. And you have to trust in them to remain safe – them, and in all our friends up at Hogwarts, right?” Then, she met his eyes straight on, a little bit of flint to hers. “And don’t you dare say that all you’re doing is sitting here and worrying. That’s not true at all, Ted. You’re working to make the world safer, just as we all are.” She could understand how he felt, though. She often felt the same, sequestered off in London without much connection to the Order or any of her friends. “And I’m… I’m fine. There’s no need to worry about me.” Lonely, a little, and frustrated, but Amelia was safe. Pureblooded and seated on the Wizengamot, in good favor with Lord Black… She was certainly safer than the whole of Scotland, at least.

“The wards, that’s something to figure out,” she mused, half to herself, half hoping Ted would pick up on the thread to distract himself. When the kettle sang out, Amelia had a fresh cup of tea wavering toward them with a flick of her wand. It set itself on the coffee table in front of Ted. “Have some tea, love,” she directed. In their friendship, tea was a salve for most things.

It was a little easier to slow his breathing, Amelia there to comfort him, to ground him in a way he’d never been very good at doing for himself. Growing up being taught to be so open with his emotions, feeling things so big, he had never really gotten the hang of being calm once things become overwhelming. It was nearly impossible for him to stop the emotions from overflowing, overwhelming, once they had already had their room to run amiss. But Amelia knew how to deal with it, just like Dromeda did, and she had been since they were barely more than kids.

He let himself be guided over to the couch, shaking his head slightly, trying to clear it, listening to her words. She was right. It would only feel worse piling everything on top of each other, but it was difficult not to, when it all felt connected, all of it threatening the safety of his family and everyone he cared about. Putting his head in his hands, he tried to concentrate on his breathing as she went to the kitchen quickly. She was back before he knew it, putting a comforting hand on his knee. Letting out a strained laugh, Ted shook his head a little. “Guess I’ve never been very good at feeling things in a small way, have I?” he said with a small smile.

That made it a little easier to calm himself, the familiar joke reminding him that things kept going, there was time. It was a nice thought of hers, saying he was helping, but he felt utterly helpless, and had since Dora had gone up to the castle. It only felt even more evident now, as children were being attacked, and Dromeda was finding her own place in a new sort of fight, just how little he was doing to help them all stay safe. “Cheers, Amelia. I appreciate it. And I’m trying to keep up the faith, you know, but it’s hard, when we’re all where we’re at just now, and the danger only seems to be growing by the day,” he sighed.

Her words about the wards were interesting, though. Ted obliged, took a thoughtful sip of the hot tea, savoring the feeling of warmth. “I wish I was better at that sort of thing, defensive, protective magic, maybe I could try to help in some way...as it is, though, how could I do much of anything if someone like Minerva can’t?”

     ‘It’s not small,’ he answered. ‘And it’s not trouble. She’s your kid. And that’s what Minerva’s there for, to make sure they’re all okay. I’m not saying she’ll fix it, but she might at least be able to point you in the right direction.’

He couldn’t argue against the fact that they were all stretched thin – they were, more than they should have been, and he’d always been a big believer in the whole united we stand, divided we fall thing, but it wasn’t his place right now to criticize the people who Dumbledore had failed. Not when the worst thing that had happened to him was not being sent to England to be useful, not when his family was mostly safe. But the hardest part about being stretched thin was knowing that things were gonna fall through the gaps and go unaddressed, and he couldn’t bear the thought that little Nymphadora Tonks might be one of those things.

He glanced at Harry again, in the distance, who was now crouched down digging at the ground with a stick, probably looking for worms or something equally investigative. Imagining, even for a second, all of the joy suddenly gone from Harry’s face, and him at a loss to understand why…

     ‘It’s not selfish to care about her well-being. We’ve got to work together, you know? It’s what we’ve got going for us that the other side doesn’t. Love.’

They nodded, looking down at their hands in their lap as James went on. It sounded easier when he said it somehow. He had a way about him that made it easy to believe that it was all true. That it wasn’t small, that maybe there would be something to do, if they just asked for help, asked for someone else to point them in the right direction. It was hard to remember that the world had to keep turning, in the midst of everything else. But that was part of it, in the end. 

Even at the start, when it had felt like the world was crumbling around all of the, that was what they had been more focused on. How to keep their world turning, their family’s world turning. And maybe it was alright to consider that again now. They only wished that there was as clear of a direction for that now, as there had been ten years ago. Now, they weren’t even sure that there was a right direction, which made it all the harder. But James was right. They were all there to work together, to try to help things get better, and maybe it wasn’t selfish to care about how his family was faring in all of it.

That was what they were fighting for, after all, when it came down to it. The people they cared about, and their well being. Maybe Ted was just a little more concerned about the micro at the moment.

“Cheers, James,” they muttered, with a small smile. They reached over and gave his knee a fond squeeze of appreciation. “It means a lot; I appreciate it, I really do. I think we all just need a reminder, that’s all. Hard to remember, sometimes, that that’s what we’ve got; the togetherness, the love. But I suppose we’ll be alright if we keep to that, yeah?”

If it had been up to him, and his panic, he would’ve marched up to the castle as soon as he’d had the owl from Dromeda, and brought both her and Dora home immediately, too afraid to think of what might happen if they stayed up at the castle even a moment after, that either of them could be next to be attacked. But he didn’t. No, he went up to the castle, of course, but he had gone to Dromeda’s office, had holed up, busying himself with making tea and tidying up while his wife helped deal with the fallout of the attack.

By the time she reappeared, mercifully with Dora at her side, already having insisted she sleep under their watchful eyes that night, even if it was still in the castle, Ted was in full mode panic over what would happen, what this meant for all of them, and the dangers being so clear and on their doorstep. Between this, the sighting on the border, and the rumored appearance of another from the other side, he wasn’t sure what any of them were going to do. But what he worried most for was his family, and how he could possibly keep them safe in the face of all of this danger.

They’d tried to have a normal night, as normal as it could be for the three of them to be bunkered up in Dromeda’s office for a worried sleepover, trying to talk through things with Dora, but just as every other time in the recent weeks, she been distant, reluctant to talk, withdrawn, even.

When she finally does fall asleep, legs draped over his lap, it feels like, in some small way, he can breathe again, can let go of the facade of certainty and confidence in their safety together, allowed to give into his worry again. Asleep like this, she looks peaceful, like there’s no worry in the world that could touch her; it makes him wish he could give her that in waking life, too.

“So peaceful like this; nearly makes it possible to pretend it’s alright. Nearly,” he sighs, finally looking to Dromeda, before shaking his head lightly. “I dunno what we’re going to do, Dromeda. This is...every day, it gets less safe here.”

It was hard to imagine Nymphadora struggling. She’d always been an outgoing kid, bright and extroverted, the kind who seemed like she’d easily be able to make friends once she started school, a lot like James had been at that age. Still, the fact that she was struggling so much and he hadn’t even know was a testament to how distracted he’d been lately, how caught up he’d been in everything. So it would make sense, for any of the kids to be upset – with the funeral and the chaos that had spun out around it – especially a kid like Dora, old enough to actually understand what was going on.

     ‘Merlin, Ted, I’m sorry,’ he said, glancing back at Harry. Still oblivious, still enjoying himself, but suddenly the overly-serious look on Harry’s face just a moment ago felt less like something to laugh about and more like something to worry over. Would Harry grow up like that too, leaving his childhood joy behind, losing his spark as soon as he was no longer being actively protected and cared for by his parents? He hoped not, but it didn’t seem like something he had much in the way of control over.

It hadn’t been like that for him – he’d thrived from the moment he set foot in that castle, the world not revealing its complications and difficulties until much later in his life – so he didn’t know what there was to be done, didn’t have the kind of advice or reassurance he wished he could give Ted just then.

      ‘Have you talked to Minerva about it? I know she’s busy, but… if I know her, I know she cares about every student in that castle a hundred times more than anything else that’s going on. Maybe she’s noticed something, or might be able to talk to her?’

They gave him a weak, but still clearly upset smile, knocked his shoulder with their own in thanks for his sympathy. It was hard to admit just how difficult it had been lately. Already hard enough having to let her go, and start to grow up, but then the change in her on top of it all. If she had been thriving, if she had been having the sort of time they had when they had first made it to Hogwarts, then it would be a little easier to stomach the crippling loss that they felt suddenly having an empty house, feeling like their purpose was up, until she came back for summer. But she wasn’t, and so it broke their heart even worse, knowing how hard it was for her, too, being at the castle, especially as the world got more and more dangerous by the day.

“Not yet, no...” they trailed off, considering the suggestion. It was the truth, of course, Minerva of all people cared about each and every student in that castle as if they were her own. But with so much else on her shoulders, the running of the school, as everything became so precarious, they could scarcely imagine she would’ve had time to notice anything so small. 

And part of them hated to think of putting anyone in more trouble than they were already in, when they already had done so little to help out.

“I don’t want to trouble anyone, you know,” they admitted, after a pause. “It’s such a small thing, in the grand scheme of things. Dumbledore’s gone, everyone’s at a loss, dividing in half amongst ourselves...I know how much you all care about her, too, but I’m not naive enough to think...I know there’s too much else to be worrying about. But I suppose I’ve always been a little selfish. Always cared more about what’s going on in my own life than the grand plans, and all that...that’s the only reason Dumbledore was able to convince me to join, you know. And now what, if my Dora’s going to be in so much pain no matter how it all splits up?”

She watches, holding her breath with apprehension. Draco listens intently, the five-year-old concentration on his face overriding the melodramatic pout. Ted’s logical tone of voice and reasonable–even to a child–case has thrown him off, set him off from the tantrum he’s been having since the word no first came from Narcissa’s mouth.

Because this isn’t how it’s supposed to be, she isn’t supposed to be the one telling him no. No is for nannies and his father, not her, no, she’s built her relationship with him around being the yes, the indulgent parent. She never wanted to discipline. She just wanted him to love her.

(She can’t see that he’s learned from his father, too, watched Lucius’ treatment of her and picked up on more nuance than can be healthy. She doesn’t know what he’s seen, what he’s assumed.)

Apology is an impossible word to Draco, but he’s neither getting what he what nor getting a direct denial of what he wanted, and he’s wrong-footed. Unsure whether Ted is a rival in this war he’s fighting or an ally. “I wanna learn at the castle,” he says. “Aunt ’Meda can teach me.”

Draco’s not the same as the gaggle of kids Ted’s spent time babysitting and helping with; it’s clear as day with how he interacts with the world how different of a situation he was raised in than the other kids of Hogsmeade. He’s young, still, which makes it feel a lot more possible to help undo some of the habits he’s learned before now, but it takes a little more work to get him to give in than it ever did Dora, no matter how stubborn she’s always been, too. 

They wonder, vaguely, what they would’ve seen if they could’ve peered into how things were before they got here, but they’ve glad they don’t know. Easier to do their best to help now, and give Narcissa the chance to see different ways to go about it all.

“You’re going to spend so much time learning up at the castle when you’re older. Your aunt will be there to teach you, and I have a feeling you’ll be in her house, too. But right now we have to let the older kids learn without any distractions,” they explain, putting a hand on Draco’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “See, they wanna play and learn with you, too, but they have to do their work first. Big kids are smart enough to know they have to wait. Can you be a big kid, and stay with your uncle and mum and have some biscuits until they have a break? Maybe we can learn how to make tea to tide you over your aunt gets home to do the real teaching.”

Amelia shouldn’t have come over the border again. It had barely been a week since the last time and she had just been congratulating herself on how good a job she had done with moderation. She couldn’t go running off to Scotland every time someone sent a letter, anytime she felt so incredibly homesick and lonely that she thought her heart might turn itself inside out. But, as usual, most of her resolve went out the window when it came to Ted and his family.

She had heard about what happened at Hogwarts – whisperings through the Ministry, official statements, etc. Her mind had first gone to her friends and professors: Remus, Andromeda, so on. And then, quite abruptly, it crash-landed on the children. One of them petrified, a few inconsolable, all of them vulnerable, apparently. Dora, little Dora. Could it have been her, walking through corridors and coming upon whatever had petrified the other girl?

Amelia didn’t want to think that, wouldn’t. But when Ted’s letter came she had barely finished reading it before she was appearing suddenly in his kitchen. It was such a knee-jerk reaction, she almost hadn’t realized she had apparated, even. “Ted!” she called, half to locate him and half to let him know that the intruder was just her. She found him in the living room a moment later, looking all the way to a wreck. She immediately scooped him into a hug, fitting her small frame against him. “Got your letter,” she said, words muffled against his shirt. After a moment, Amelia let herself pull away, hold him at arms-length and meet his eyes. “Are you all right? All of ours are okay?”

It was still terrible, horribly so, but at least Amelia could know that none of their number was injured or caught up in it all. 

The little pop made him jump slightly, but the sound of his name called out in a familiar voice, the voice he needed for comfort just now, made some of the resolve he had been trying to keep up melt. Amelia’s presence was permission to let himself give into the overwhelming emotions in a way, and as soon as she came into the living room, and wrapped her arms around him, he nearly broke down with the worry over it all. He had never been one to hide his emotion from anyone, especially Amelia, who had seen him through all of his best and worst moments, and so if a few tears fell, he couldn’t be bothered to feel self conscious about them, not when there was so much more to worry about.

“I’m so sorry, Amelia, I know I shouldn’t have sent you that message, I know I shouldn’t expect you to drop everything to come here, it’s so dangerous,” he said, shaking his head, as she pulled away to look him over, “But I didn’t know what else to do. I’m a bloody mess. They’re all fine, all of ours are okay, but, Merlin, they saw bloody Death Eaters crossing the border, Marlene and Fletcher did, then this happens not a week later?”

Ted paused, trying to level his breathing, calm his frantic heartbeat, but he was fairly certain nothing was going to do that, but knowing that his family, and everyone he cared about, was truly safe. The trouble with that was that he had no idea when that might happen again. It made him want to find a way to do it himself, even though that felt impossible.

“How long will we all be okay? If Hogwarts isn’t safe, nowhere is. I can hardly handle knowing Andromeda and Dora are up there, while the wards are failing, kids being petrified, and there’s nothing I can do to keep them safe. All I can do is sit here and worry. And you’re stuck over there, not knowing when you can come back. It’s all so horrible, Amelia.”

     ‘Cheers to that,’ he answered with a laugh, and sat back – now assured that Harry was unharmed, as he’d gone right back to running around and was now spinning around instead. He tried his best, to make sure Harry spent plenty of time around kids his age – Ron and the Weasleys, mostly, as not many of his friends had had kids, with the world in such an uncertain place, and those who had, like Ted and Andromeda, had mostly had them before. Harry loved Nymphadora, had been devastated to learn that Dora turning eleven meant he wouldn’t get to play with her every day anymore. But sometimes, playing alone for a while wasn’t the worst thing in the world. 

He felt, sometimes, like everything he knew about parenting, he’d learned from watching Ted babysit, or take care of their own daughter. Ted seemed to have an unending capacity for love and enthusiasm, even when everything was falling to shite around them – the same kind of warmth and love that James fondly remembered his own parents having. Harry might have never gotten to meet his grandparents – either set, really – but James still felt like he could fill his son’s life with the positivity and love that Harry would have gotten from them if they’d been a part of his life

     ‘How’s Dora, then? Taking the castle by storm, already, I imagine.’

It was nice to indulge in a hint of normalcy as it seemed like everything they knew could fall apart at a moment’s notice. But it also made them long for the days when they actually could be free and unburdened without feeling like it was wrong, or that their own worry would ruin that feeling in an instant. It was enough to deal with the changes in their own family, Dora away at the castle, and Narcissa and Draco suddenly around, but on top of everything else happening in the world it felt overwhelming so much of the time.

So when the conversation turned to Dora and how she was doing at school, Ted could feel their heart sinking again, the small on their face faltering as they considered how to answer. There was no use in keeping the truth from James, even if it wasn’t ideal. Perhaps he would even have advice or insight, maybe he’d seen such a change himself years ago when he’d been at school. 

“She’s...” they started, letting out a little sigh, “Struggling. Dunno what it is, probably a combination of everything, to be honest, the change of being away from home, the grief, the confusion, but she’s just not herself lately, James. It worries me, seeing her like this, like she’s lost her spark, and everything is grey for her suddenly. Wish I knew what to do to help, it breaks my heart seeing her feeling so lost, but I dunno what we can do besides keep reminding her we’re here.”

It wasn’t like him to shift into full on panic mode, but word from the castle had caused just that, and quite frankly, he wasn’t coping very well. He’d been all but ready to pull Dora out of school the moment he had heard, to ask Dromeda if she might want to take a little break from work until things were safer, which, of course, he hadn’t done, but it was tempting, uncharacteristically. It wasn’t like him to feel this way. Even in the height of the danger he and Dromeda had faced, after her family had found out about their elopement, and before they’d fully settled into their own little private haven, he had never felt so wholly terrified. Even the paranoia that had held over somehow running into her elder sister hadn’t felt quite so real.

This, though, it felt as if the danger was suddenly on their doorstep, again, and that he was quite helpless to do much about it. He thought about what Remus had been saying about the wards, had to wonder if anyone else had had any success with them yet, this seemed to prove, though, that the opposite was the case. And if Hogwarts wasn’t safe, none of them were. His mind had latched onto each possible cause in turn; the wards failing, Narcissa’s appearance, the Death Eaters seen on the border, a spy, perhaps, in their midst. 

Left alone with his panic, all he could think of to do, besides run up to the castle himself, and try to somehow help––which he knew would be no help in the state he was in––was send a message off to Amelia and hope to Merlin she might be able to reply, despite it not being their usual time.

Nothing else to do, but pace the living room, waiting for something, unable to do much besides worry, a cup of tea sitting on the coffee table, long cold now.

There’s one benefit of being out of favor with Ted: when they are kind, it’s not because they feel obligated to be. No reason to be nice to Narcissa, because Narcissa hasn’t earned that from them. Nobody here has any reason to show her anything approaching kindness. She’s lucky her sister forgives her, took her in, allows her to stay around. She wonders if Ted is only nice to her because it makes Andromeda happy–but they don’t know, do they, that they could kick her out of the house and she would never say a word against them. Narcissa loves Andromeda too much to say a word against Ted. She doesn’t want to break her heart again, can’t shove a stake between herself and Andromeda again. Ted could treat her however they chose, and she would simply accept it and never address it again.

But they won’t, because they’re the one Andromeda chose. And nobody Andromeda chose would be unkind to someone Andromeda loved.

She wants to smile and say something nice back, but her lip is trembling and she doesn’t want to break down in front of Draco. Narcissa manages to say a very quiet “thank you” as Ted turns to address her son.

At their approach, Draco lifts his head, his pout pronounced. His arms are crossed and his voice has the hint of a whine. “I want biscuits,” he says, slightly mollified. “I want to play in the castle and Mummy won’t let me. She’s mean.” He tucks his head back down, staring at the floor again.

Despite the discomfort, despite the paranoia that this whole thing will only ever lead to more heartbreak for Dromeda, and danger for their whole family, they could never argue that Narcissa doesn’t love her son, doesn’t want what’s best for him. This is more proof of that. She only manages to offer the quietest thank you, but they simple nod, give her the space she needs, still not quite sure how they’re meant to handle the more difficult emotions, when they have a hard enough time just being around her. 

Emotions are their expertise, taught from a young age to be open and honest, to care and empathize, but this is a test of their ability. They try, though, they do; and they think Narcissa’s trying, too, even if it’s all still too fresh to have given her the chance to truly change.

It’s a classic instance, just like what they’ve seen over and over again since Draco came into their lives. It makes them wonder how Lucius Malfoy was with him, what it was that caused him such anger towards his mother. It makes their heart ache, knowing how horrible they’d feel if their own child acted towards them how Draco did. They hoped that what they did helped, that he might realize, one day if not now, all that his mother had done for him.

“I understand it’s hard not to get what you want, but that’s not nice, Draco, your mum isn’t mean, she’s being thoughtful of other people. You see, up in the castle, there are a bunch of people learning, and a bunch of people who have to teach them, like your Aunt Andromeda. We have to let them focus right now, and then they’ll be able to play once they get a little work done. Besides, don’t you like visiting your Uncle Ted?”

They get up, and look at Narcissa, nodding towards the kitchen, before giving Draco’s shoulder a little bolstering pat. “Once you help me with the tea, and you apologize to your mum, we can have some biscuits, alright? Maybe I’ll even give you a piggyback, later, if you keep up the good work, how’s that sound?”

Amelia had to smile a little, thinking about Dora with a crush. She didn’t think it would happen anytime soon, but sort of thing was near impossible to tell. “I wasn’t much older than her when I was first interested in someone,” she told him, giving a teasing grin. If she could poke some fun at her old friend, she would take the chance. It was so rare to find smiles, these days. Reaching out, Amelia ruffled his hair affectionately. “You weren’t all that bad.” He was, though – she could still recall all the hours spent in the Huffepuff commons, Teddy sighing and mooning over Andromeda.

She could understand Teddy’s apprehension when it came to Narcissa easily. But even if she couldn’t, this is what she and Ted did for one another, had always done. Be there, listen, let the other have the space to feel and think through things. It was probably just as hard for Ted to let Narcissa in as it was to admit that he didn’t trust the woman. “I know, Teddy,” she affirmed. “It’s not odd that you feel this way, you know. I think anyone in your position might.” She didn’t want him to think that he was being a bad person or anything like that for having the reservations that he had. There was no better person than Ted. That was a simple truth of the universe that held no matter the conditions. “How’s Draco, though?” she asked, hoping that branch of the situation was a little more pleasant. “Does he get along well with the other kids?” There was something of a daycare, some days, between the Weasleys and Lily and James’s son running about. Amelia hoped that Ted had been able to find joy, at least, in being Uncle Ted to another little one.

He closed their embrace and there was a comfort merely in that. Merely in pretending for one second longer that it was ten years ago, that they were in the commons, that things were easier. “That is a nice thing,” she commented softly. That had often been a past-time that he shared with Andromeda, she remembered. “You tell Mercury to hurry it up, please, if it can,” she joked lightly. Amelia had never been one to follow those sort of things – Astromony and Divinations had not been her favorites. But if Ted believed it, she could too.

He remembered that well, and he was also perfectly aware he had been the same, so ready to love and be loved from such a young age, thanks, in no small part, to his parents teachings of open and wholly encompassing love. Amelia had been gentle, though, they had come through easily with someone even closer on the other side. Ted, well, he had been a small terror when he’d first started to understand what hormones were good for.

The topic of Draco was easier, but still worried him, seeing more and more how much he struggled with Narcissa’s authority as his mother. He tried to help, but he worried he couldn’t do enough. “He’s...struggling. Which, you know, it’s understandable; child, taken away from all he knows, taken from his own father, no matter how much of a bigot he happens to be, it’d be jarring for any kid,” he said with a sigh. Still, though, he was infinitely glad that Draco was here, and not still over there. That he would be given the chance to grow up kind, and understanding of others, instead of what he would’ve been had Narcissa chosen to stay. No matter what her intentions, what he true motives, that, at least, was something he could be glad for. 

“It’s clear it’s good for him, though, being around other kids who aren’t trapped in that life, hell, and being around adults who aren’t that way. I’m hoping he’ll be able to learn with the other kids, grow with them. But it’s tough...he’s a stubborn little thing, and he doesn’t like to listen to his mother. He’s...a little cruel, but it’s getting better. I’m trying to help, when I can.”

There was something infinitely peaceful in being with Amelia, almost like they could pretend they were back at Hogwarts again, when all their worries were classes, and crushes, and little else truly serious. It was nice, to play pretend, even if it was only for a moment. He rubbed her shoulder, let out a little hum of agreement.  “I’ll let Mercury know. I’m sure it’ll hurry up, knowing what you mean to me. I need you back here for good, after all,” he said softly, with a little hopeful smile.

Ted was right. Of course they were right. He maybe hadn’t always believed in hope – it had been hard to, when things were as bad as they could get – but he was trying, now. To have hope. To provide it for others. 

There had been so much happening since Dumbledore’s death, on top of his own work with the Insurgency. It kept seeming as if every time they set their focus on one problem, two more arose. But there were people who could help – Kingsley and Minerva didn’t have to handle it all on their own. Neither did he. And even if they might not trust him anymore to help them, there were still concerns that it was his right to have, problems he was well within his right to try to fix.

They needed to triage their issues: the spies, first and foremost, and the wards needed the most help, the most direct focus. But Alastor had taken on the spies, and Minerva was working with the wards. With Dumbledore gone, they didn’t have to play a waiting game, anymore… he could start talking to people about the Mark, start asking questions. In fact, he knew a cursebreaker who might be particularly interested in solving that unsolvable puzzle. 

Maybe talking to Ted was exactly what he needed, today, to pull himself out of his own despair.

     ‘You’re right,’ he said, his voice a little steadier now, feeling bolstered by Ted’s words. He picked up a biscuit from the table. ‘You’re exactly right, Ted, thank you.’

It was a little thing, in the grand scheme of it all, offering tea, and an ear to listen, but they like to think that maybe it does do some good, just seeing the way Remus’s resolve seemed to be bolstered by their words. In a way, that was enough to make them feel a little better about the day themself. There was less darkness when they could be around other people, when they could put their focus on helping someone else feel a little less lost and alone in the world as it was now. 

After all, it was the truth, no matter how hard it had been to hold onto hope lately. There were just as many people as ever ready and willing to do their best to change things, no matter what name they were doing it under. What mattered is that they didn’t let things come between a common goal; they didn’t even want to consider that fear, and what it could do to all of them if that was the case, maybe selfishly what it would do to them. 

For now, even having the strength to continue on and try to fix the problems before them, keep each other safe, that had to count for something when such a huge loss had been felt so newly, and none of them quite knew where they were any longer. They offered Remus a small smile, and picked up their cup, in a half toast.

“I’m glad I can help. Nothing quite like a good tea, with a dash of hope, to make an afternoon look brighter,” Ted offered. “It’s hard work, but I think we’ll all be alright in the end, Remus. And if it’s not alright, it’s not the end. That’s what I’ve always told myself.”