There'll Be Bluebirds

Andromeda carried a tray with a sandwich and a glass of milk up the stairs. She balanced it on one hand and knocked softly on Teddy's bedroom door. 'Teddy? Can I come in?' A wordless grunt was her only reply. She tried the doorknob and it turned easily under her hand. Teddy lay facedown on the bed, the brown leather-bound diary clutched in one hand. His hair rippled between turquoise, sandy brown, and deep inky black. 'Are you hungry?' she asked, setting the tray on the small desk at the foot of Teddy's bed.

'No,' he mumbled into the pillow. His grip tightened on the diary.

Andromeda pulled the chair from the desk and dragged it over to the side of the bed. She sat down and touched Teddy's elbow. 'Teddy, darling... I know you're upset...'

His thin shoulders jerked in a shrug.

Undaunted, Andromeda continued, 'I never meant to deliberately withhold those from you.'

Another jerky shrug.

'It's only that your father could be brutally honest about everything and everybody, including himself. And there will be things in there that might be confusing for you.'

'So?' The defiance rang clear, even though his face was muffled by the pillow.

Andromeda heaved a frustrated sigh. Teddy had his mother's teenage audacity in spades. It made her wonder what Remus would have been like, if he hadn't been so tightly self-controlled.

'So... I wanted to wait until you were a little older...'

Teddy sat up. 'It's always "when you're a little older"!' he mimicked. 'I'm going to be grown up with my own kids at school, and you'll still think I'm too young!' he added scathingly.

'Teddy, that's not true...'

'Then why didn't you tell me about these?' he snarled, brandishing the diary.

'I really did forget,' Andromeda said gently. 'Things were somewhat chaotic around here. You were barely a month old, your grandfather was gone, both of your parents...' Her brows drew together slightly. 'In all of that, you were my main concern... And I generally stay out of that attic as it is, so it slipped my mind they were there.'

Teddy snorted in response. 'Yeah, whatever you say, Gran...'

Andromeda bit back the angry retort that rose to her lips. 'All right,' she said calmly, mildly surprised to find her voice was smoothly neutral. 'You don't have to believe me.' Internally, she seethed, ready to throttle Teddy for his attitude. She rose gracefully to her feet and replaced the chair before leaving the room, closing the door soundlessly behind her.

It made Teddy blink. Andromeda didn't shout or visibly lose her temper when she was angry. She was however, a master of the controlled silence. Even Harry wasn't that good.

*****

Remus slipped into the Ministry and instead of the lifts, headed for a hidden doorway. Much like the entrance to Diagon Alley from The Leaky Cauldron, one had to tap certain bricks in the wall with their wand in order to open the door. He came to a stop next to a portrait of a sleeping Grogan Stump, and resisted the urge to give him a rude hand gesture. Continuing on, he began to tap a series of bricks next to a small painting of an ornate tapestry. It stretched until it became the size of a door, and a handle sprouted from the intricate embroidery.

He seized the handle, and pulled until the frame of the painting pulled away from the wall. He slipped down the many dizzying steps until a black door with a faintly glowing '10' on it came into view. He whispered the password Kingsley had given them, and the door slid aside. Sturgis Podmore was fingering the door they guarded. Remus attempted to whistle like Fawkes, but he couldn't sing very well under normal circumstances, and tension made anything musical he attempted to produce rather flat. He saw Podmore's shoulders draw in a little at the discordant noise. Podmore was one of those people who could sing beautifully, without a jot of training.

'It's been quiet,' Podmore told him softly.

'Thanks.' Remus settled on the floor, his back braced against the wall, waiting until Podmore had slipped through the door. He didn't quite trust Podmore. There was a vague look to his eyes that made Remus worry. It reminded him of a person who was Imperiused. Must send on a message to Dumbledore about that one... he mused.

He let his eyes close. Midnight was one of his favorite times of day. The streets of London were somewhat quiet. And he could amble in relative anonymity, free from the usual stares that greeted him, from wizarding folk and Muggle alike.

Remus didn't worry about anyone or anything catching him unawares. The wolf would know. It could sense things before Remus did. Over the years, his relationship with the wolf had evolved into something of a love-hate sort of thing. On the one hand, Remus strongly disliked having to endure his monthly transformations. On the other hand, he appreciated the enhanced senses the wolf brought him. On a night like tonight, he could let his mind wander freely, secure in the knowledge that the wolf would alert him if anything were to arise. When he was between tutoring jobs, Remus scoured libraries, Muggle and magical, for something to read. In the days after James and Lily had died, and Sirius shut away in Azkaban, Remus found a book by a Muggle psychiatrist. To Remus' subdued delight, it finally gave him a vocabulary to talk about his rather splintered personality. If his conscience was his superego, the wolf was his id. His conscience was prim, nearly as prim as a Victorian spinster, constantly checking his behavior. Do this, don't do that, it told him. The wolf, on the other hand... The wolf as impulsive and childish in its attempts to get what it wanted, what it craved. Between all the internal battles between what he wanted and what he actually did, Remus was sometimes surprised to find himself still sane. No wonder most werewolves go the way of Greyback and his ilk. It's much less wearing.

He drew his knees up into his chest and wrapped his arms around them, drawing Mad-Eye's invisibility cloak over his body. He was having a difficult time himself these days keeping his id and superego balanced so his ego didn't run mad. He didn't know why he wanted Tonks so badly. Maybe it was because she was one of the few women he knew who acted as if the lycanthropy didn't matter. Lily had been one. Molly was another. But if Molly was like a mother to Remus, Lily had been like a sister, so he'd never experienced this level of restlessness with them. Tonks was the first who represented even the concept of a possibility. If they happened to leave an Order meeting together, he would walk her to the Underground station. If they talked a bit before meetings started, and she would touch his arm or shoulder. He could feel Sirius' knowing gaze on him, and a flush would creep up his cheeks.

It was like puberty and adolescence all over again.

The wolf had hated puberty and adolescence. And so had Remus.

*****

20 August 1995

Sometimes, I think Dumbledore enjoys keeping us in the dark.

Yes, I realize that's close to blasphemy in some circles. Like Elphias Doge. He'd want to have me publically flogged for daring to question Dumbledore. It's not so much that I question Dumbledore's goals. Just his means of achieving them. It might make things easier at the Department of Mysteries if we knew what we were guarding. I'm hoping that once the children all go back to school, and we can have a meeting of the Order without fear of being overheard by certain underage witches and wizards. Or a couple of wizards who do happen to be of age, just not yet members of the Order. As it is, all he's told us is that it's something that could help Voldemort. So needless to say, rumors of its true purpose are rampant among the members of the Order who take on the responsibility of guarding what ever it is.

I'm also concerned about Dumbledore's continued, well, lack of interest in Harry. Every time Molly, Arthur, or I bring up our concerns about him, Dumbledore changes the subject. It's rather odd for someone who has a vested interest in the boy's future.

The children haven't gotten their book lists and Hogwarts letters yet. That's surprising. For one thing, it means Dumbledore cannot find anyone to teach the still-vacant Defense position. However, given how the last several Defense professors have been treated, can you blame people for not wanting the job? It's been years... Forty of them, actually, since the post last had a regular teacher. I've heard it's cursed. It's probably one of those stories people make up to explain things, but on the other hand.... How could it not be? Nobody's lasted more than a year since Dumbledore refused to hire Riddle/Voldemort as the Defense professor. Or at least, that's what McGonagall says...

*****

Remus stood in the warm kitchen that was as brightly lit as Molly could make it. She was holding a small dinner party to celebrate Ron and Hermione being made prefects. Remus was more than slightly stunned that Ron had been made a prefect over Harry. Not that he was biased, really, but the year he had taught at Hogwarts, he'd observed Ron was something of a follower and rather hot-tempered, to boot. Not that Harry didn't have his own issues controlling his temper, but Remus imagined it was due more to his feelings of isolation. He - or rather the wolf - had heard Harry's shouting the night they brought him to Grimmauld Place from the Dursleys'. He'd seen the shuttered expression that fell over Harry's face when Molly declared that Harry knew everything he needed to know, and then some. He'd also seen the letter Harry had sent to Ron. Ron had left it carelessly at the kitchen table the morning it had arrived.

Tonks stood with Hermione and Ginny, fizzing with effervescent laughter. 'So my dad tracks my mum down to the library and she turns him down.'

'Was he deranged or something?' Ginny asked, wide-eyed.

'Oh, no. Dad's a right old bloke, but my mum was born a Black, and Dad's Muggle-born,' Tonks explained.

'That could be a bit complicated,' Hermione said circumspectly.

'Just a little,' Tonks replied teasingly. 'So they started studying together in the library their sixth year, tucked away in a hidden corner, safe from the prying eyes of her family. Then, one summer's day, Dad asked her out on a date. Against her better judgment, Mum accepted, and snuck out of the house to meet Dad. He took her to Regent's Park to see a play. And during their seventh year, they dated, but they had to keep it a secret, so her family didn't find out,' Tonks added with a dramatic flare. 'Six months after they finished school, Mum said they had arranged her marriage to Lucius Malfoy, so she ran away to Dad. They got married the next year, and had me a year after that,' she finished. 'To hear Dad tell it, it's a great romantic story, but he's sort of squidgy.'

Remus hid a smile as he picked up a plate and wandered down the table set up buffet-style. He added a few things to his plate and joined in toasting Ron and Hermione with the rest of the group. He wasn't surprised to hear Tonks hadn't been made a prefect. She was cheeky enough as an adult, that he could imagine she must have been a handful as a teenager. He noticed Harry's posture, which had been projecting a decidedly dejected air, straightened considerably with Sirius' admission that he, too, and not been a prefect, either.

Later, he half-listened to Hermione's earnest exhortations about house elves, impressed, as always, by the depth and breadth of her knowledge. She was right, of course, but Remus could have told her change would have to come from within on the issue of elf rights, being versus beast designations. It wasn't a new topic for him, after all. He'd struggled against its current for nearly thirty years, after all. If anything about Hermione's oration surprised him at all, it was that she could be awfully naïve for someone so intelligent. Then again, he thought, intelligence and common sense don't always go hand-in-hand. She was bound and determined to free the house elves from their servitude, single-handedly if she had to. Whether they wanted it or not. Remus nearly snorted aloud. Free will... If she would just stop talking long enough to listen to herself, she's talking about free will... As much as he wanted to remind her each elf was an individual - that she couldn't paint the lot of them with the same wide brush - he knew she needed to learn that for herself. His telling her wouldn't make a bit of difference to her right now.

Hermione let herself be pulled away by Molly to take a few snapshots with Ron and their prefect badges. Sirius rolled his eyes and made gagging noises. Kingsley joined Remus and spoke in a low voice. 'I must say, I'm confused why Dumbledore didn't make Potter a prefect.' he rumbled.

Remus glanced across the room. Harry was standing alone in a corner, holding a plate, its food untouched. His shoulders had stiffened once more, and Remus knew, in spite of Kingsley's best efforts not to be overheard, Harry had heard him. 'He'll have his reasons,' Remus replied noncommittally. Damn! It's the last thing he needs right now!

'But it would have shown confidence in him,' Kingsley continued, as if Remus didn't know that.

Remus didn't hear the rest of it. His attention had zeroed in on Harry. What little color the boy's face held drained, leaving it a collection of angles and shadows. Mad-Eye had taken a crumpled photograph from his pocket, and handed it to Harry. It was one of the Order from before. A good number of the people in that photograph were dead now. Remus wondered just how good Mad-Eye's magical eye actually was, if he couldn't see the misery on Harry's face. Harry managed to make an excuse and fled the party.

Remus didn't blame him.

*****

31 August 1995

That photograph... I could strangle Mad-Eye for showing it to Harry. I know Harry can handle things far beyond most fifteen year-olds. He's faced Voldemort four times in his brief life and walked away each time. More than most fully-trained wizards and witches can say. I do understand why Harry's so upset about not making prefect. But what bothers me is that it wasn't until Sirius and Tonks mentioned they hadn't been prefects either, did he seem to feel better about it. Does he think people won't love him unless he's extraordinary all the time? If that's the case, he's going to wear himself out trying to attain it. And what he needs is consistent unconditional affection. Something he's not likely to get between now and the next time Dumbledore allows him a nice, long visit to the Weasleys.

I do heartily wish Kingsley hadn't spoken about the entire prefect issue while Harry was in the room. I know he heard. And even though Kingsley was criticizing Dumbledore, I'm certain all Harry heard was the idea that it might have been a lack of confidence in him on Dumbledore's part. And given the way Dumbledore's been treating Harry lately, maybe he does feel that way. I don't have to imagine. I know it's devastating.

Molly is the only one of us who is willing to admit what we're all thinking. This time it might not end well.

Faith, in of itself, is fine. But I find that you need to experience the other end of the spectrum to appreciate what you have. Rather strange dichotomy, isn't it? That in order to maintain your faith, you have to question it. Otherwise, you're merely following something or someone in complete blindness. And that is no way to live.

*****

Teddy hoisted his bag to his shoulder and reached into the urn for a handful of Floor powder. 'Bye, Gran,' he said carelessly, before throwing the powder into the fireplace. Before Andromeda could respond, he hurriedly stepped through the flames and disappeared in the emerald-green whorl.

He managed to disembark at Harry and Ginny's without falling on his face. Feeling a small sense of accomplishment at this feat, Teddy headed for the stairs and swiftly ran up them to the first floor.

Giggles from Lily's room piqued his curiosity. Albus sat on Lily's bed, his face and arms covered with a generous sprinkling of crusty green spots. He held a common Muggle marker in one hand, and Lily's chin in the other. Lily dissolved into ticklish titters as Albus began to trace a pattern on her cheek, using the marker to connect the spots. 'You shouldn't do that,' Teddy admonished. 'Ginny'll go spare.'

'It'll wash off,' Albus offered. He picked up a face cloth and dunked a corner into the water glass next to Lily's bed and began to scrub at the design on Lily's face. 'James said so.'

'Owwww!' Lily squealed when Albus began to rub firmly over her still-tender spots.

Teddy reached between them and plucked the face cloth from Albus' fingers. 'Haven't we told you not to listen to anything James says?' he sighed.

'But he promised!' Lily protested.

'He always promises,' Teddy reminded her. He tossed the face cloth into the basket in the bathroom and stomped upstairs to his attic bedroom. 'Promises don't mean shite,' he muttered, as threw his bag on the bed.