There'll Be Bluebirds

Ginny dabbed ointment on Lily's face, casting a beady eye on James, who lurked in the doorway of the bathroom. 'James, what in Merlin's name possessed you to say that marker would wash off?'

James sulkily swung a foot at the doorjamb. 'Dad did it to me when I had dragon pox,' he mumbled, wrinkling his nose at the sharp odor of the ointment.

Ginny sighed and set Lily on the floor. 'Go find Albie, all right?' she told Lily, who ran from the bathroom, her bare feet pattering lightly on the tiles. She wiped her hands on a small towel and placed them on her hips, glaring at her eldest son. 'James, we don't use markers on our faces,' she sighed. 'Especially markers that don't wash off...'

'But it was fun when Dad did it!' James protested.

'Your dad also knows which markers wash off,' Ginny retorted darkly. 'Go downstairs and make sure Lily found Albie, would you please?'

'Fine.' James trudged out of the bathroom and clattered down the stairs.

Teddy slouched by the bathroom on his way up to his bedroom. The door that led to the attic slammed as Albus padded into the bathroom.

'Teddy's mad,' he informed his mother.

'Really?' Ginny said dryly.

'Uh-huh.' Albus clambered up to the closed lid of the toilet, swinging his feet slightly. 'He said a bad word.'

Ginny knelt in front of Albus and gently spread the ointment over his cheeks. 'Did he?'

Albus nodded vigorously. 'Yep. It was really bad. He needs to put a Sickle in the jar.'

Ginny felt her eyebrows shoot up. When James was old enough to start repeating everything he heard, she and Harry set a jar on the counter in the kitchen, adding a Sickle every time they swore in front of the children in an effort to curb the amount of expletives they used. The children took a great deal of glee in reminding their parents to add Sickles to the jar. 'I'll make sure he puts one in,' she promised.

When she finished with Albus, Ginny sent him downstairs to Harry and walked toward the attic door. She opened it and slipped up the narrow stairs. Teddy was sitting on his bed, his back against the wall, his fingers tracing the dates written on the slightly yellowed flyleaf of the journal. She sat on the bed next to Teddy, who shrank slightly away from her. 'May I?' Ginny asked, holding out a hand. Teddy reluctantly surrendered the journal to her and Ginny perused a few pages. 'Where did you find these?' she queried, even though she knew perfectly well where he'd found them, and about his argument with Andromeda.

'The attic at Gran's,' Teddy said stiffly. 'She says she "forgot" about them,' he scoffed.

'I see.' Ginny closed the journal and handed it back to Teddy. 'And you're upset by this.'

'Wouldn't you be?' Teddy raged, flinging himself off the bed and pacing around the small room.

'I suppose,' Ginny replied neutrally.

'And she said she didn't want me to see them until I was older,' he spat.

'I can understand that.'

Teddy's eyes narrowed and he glared at Ginny. 'Whose side are you on?' he demanded.

Ginny heaved a sigh and picked up an abandoned stuffed dragon from the windowsill near the bed. 'I'm not on anybody's side,' she said. 'But if you could calm down for a moment?' Teddy stopped pacing and stood on the edge of the rug, his arms crossed over his chest, lips clamped together. 'One, your grandmother had a lot on her plate after your parents died. Trust me; taking care of a newborn by yourself is not an easy thing to do. And if your father just mentioned his diaries were up there in passing, it is possible that it did slip her mind in the rather time-consuming job of raising you... And two, there are possibly some things in those journals that she didn't want you to read until you were in fact, older than you are now,' Ginny told him gently. 'And believe me, Teddy; I know how it feels to always be told, "Just wait until you're older." But there are things in there that might be difficult for you to understand. Things about your parents that might be confusing for you, after everything we've told you.'

'Yeah? Like what?' Teddy grumbled sullenly.

Ginny hesitated. They had never told him that Remus had left Tonks, albeit temporarily, through a somewhat unspoken agreement amongst themselves. Not that they idealized Remus or Tonks, but they glossed over some of their history when they talked about them to Teddy. 'Just things that don't paint your father in the best light, but he felt he was doing the best thing for your

mum. And you.'

'Aren't you going to tell me?' Teddy huffed.

Ginny picked up the journal and held it out to Teddy. 'No. I think you need to hear about it from

your father...'

*****

Remus yawned and stretched, feeling as if he had a slight hangover. He hadn't slept well the previous night. Molly's fears seemed to have infected him as well. Remus had tossed and turned fitfully most of the night, images of Sirius, the Weasleys, Kingsley, and Tonks lying on the polished, black floor of the Department of Mysteries, faces blank in sudden death. He saw Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny bloodied and broken, lost and orphaned.

And Harry...

Remus stared at the ceiling trying to block the image of Harry's dead body sprawled on the floor, with Voldemort standing over him, laughing victoriously.

He threw back the blanket and swung his feet to the floor, wincing at the chill of the wooden floor under his bare feet. He stumbled into the miniscule bathroom, flicking his wand carelessly toward the bathtub, and steaming water began to stream from the shower. He ducked into the spray and sighed as the hot water flowed over him. He leaned against the wall and pillowed his head against an arm, hoping Molly had coffee at Grimmauld Place. He needed about a gallon of it.

Remus twisted the taps off and toweled himself off carelessly. He wrapped the threadbare

towel around his waist and went back into the small bedroom, and stood in front of the wardrobe, surveying his scant wardrobe, an index finger tapping against the door. He needed to blend in today. The blue jumper and brown trousers, he mused, reaching in for them. He quickly dressed and grabbed his traveling cloak, Disapparating to an alley near number twelve.

He slipped inside, trying not to wake Mrs. Black's portrait, sniffing the air hopefully for coffee. It was there, and Remus followed the scent down to the kitchen. Sirius was at the table, cradling a cup between his hands, a surly expression darkening his features. 'Why so glum?' Remus asked, pouring a cup of coffee from the pot sitting on the stove.

'I want to go with you to King's Cross,' Sirius huffed. 'But Molly thinks it's a bad idea.'

'As yourself?' Remus choked, spilling coffee down his front.

Siruis gave Remus a look of disgust. 'Of course not,' he snapped. 'I'm not stupid,' he muttered.

'Sorry,' Remus murmured. 'I didn't sleep well last night...'

'I thought I'd go as Padfoot. It's not like anyone knows...'

'Snape does,' Remus reminded him pointedly. 'And I know Dumbledore says he's trustworthy, but how do we know he hasn't gone and exposed you to the other side...'

'I really don't care,' Sirius huffed. 'I have to get out of this place,' he whispered. 'It's going to kill me, Moony...'

Remus sipped his coffee, contemplating Sirius through half-closed eyelids. 'I'll see what I can do,' he said finally. 'But don't get your hopes up, and for God's sake, don't just show up as Padfoot and expect to go.' He Summoned a loaf of bread from the pantry and jabbed his wand at it. It sliced itself and toasted in midair as it flew onto a plate. Remus flicked his wand at the pantry once more and a pot of jam landed next to the plate. He spread strawberry jam on a piece of toast. 'What did Dumbledore say?'

Sirius looked away.

'Padfoot...' Remus said warningly.

Sirius pursed his lips. 'He said no.'

At that moment, Arthur came into the kitchen. 'Oh, you're here,' he said to Remus. 'Good. You'll be taking the twins and Ginny to the station. I'll have Ron and Hermione, and Molly and Tonks will take Harry.'

Remus felt a sprig of disappointment rise that he wasn't paired with Tonks and tried to quash it.

'Oh... Are you sure that's a wise idea?' he asked.

Arthur's lips twitched, but he only said, 'Tonks is an Auror, lad.'

'I know that,' Remus said lamely, cramming a piece of toast into his mouth to cover his embarrassment.

'And Molly's quite good. In spite of appearances to the contrary,' Arthur added ruefully. 'It's why we picked her. People won't expect her to be so good.'

'How good is she?' Remus asked.

A slow smile spread over Arthur's mouth. 'She used to beat her brothers at dueling all the time. Both of them against her at the same time.'

Remus' brow rose slowly. He'd heard stories about how good Gideon and Fabian Prewett were before they'd been killed. 'Well, then...'

Arthur cleared his throat. 'I supposed I'd better go wake the twins...' he murmured distractedly, a glint in his eye that told Remus he wasn't going to wake the twins, and nearly ran from the kitchen.

Sirius poured himself another cup of coffee. 'What do you want to bet they're going to leave here late?'

*****

Remus watched Molly and Harry slip out of the front door of number twelve, followed by Padfoot and turned to the twins and Ginny. 'We'll go next,' he said quietly. He pinned Fred and George with a severe look. 'I want the two of you to stay near me, where I can see you when we walk to King's Cross.'

Fred and George exchanged a glance where an entire conversation played out with small quirks of their eyebrows. It was over in an instant. 'You don't want us to hold hands or something barmy like that, do you?' Fred chortled, needing to make a joke in the tense situation.

Remus shook his head. 'Just make sure you're where I can see you, all right?' He used a finger to tilt Ginny's chin up. 'You, Miss Weasley, will need to stay next to me, okay?'

Ginny sighed and her brows knit in a frustrated frown. 'It's because I'm underage, isn't it?'

'Yeah...' Remus opened the door and gestured for the twins and Ginny to precede him. 'Not that you can't take care of yourself,' he told Ginny. 'But I don't want to draw attention to anyone using underage magic.'

'But it's September first,' Ginny argued, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her coat.

'True, but school hasn't officially started yet, and the last thing we need to do is give Fudge an excuse to come down on Dumbledore or other people...'

Ginny's wide dark eyes narrowed slightly and she nodded. 'I can't wait until I'm seventeen,' she huffed.

'Don't worry, Gin-Gin,' George said, as he walked next to her. 'In a few short years, you'll be able to hex people, wherever and whenever you want.'

'And the world will never be the same again,' teased Fred.

Ginny stuck her tongue out at the twins. 'How long will it take us to get to King's Cross?'

Remus grinned. 'About fifteen minutes or so.'

'Brilliant,' Ginny muttered, and walked a little faster.

The children safely on the train, Remus and Padfoot stood on the platform, watching the train rumble away around the curve. Remus didn't notice the middle-aged woman next to him, wearing a purple hat until she stumbled and pitched forward. He caught her, and as he steadied her, Remus studied her face. There was something vaguely familiar about her. His fingertips brushed over the iron-grey widow's peak. She smiled and mouthed, 'Wotcher.'

The corner of Remus' mouth twitched. 'Hiya,' he breathed. 'Are you all right, ma'am?' he said louder, eyes twinkling. Tonks winked.

'Yes, thank you,' she said primly. She headed for an Apparition point and disappeared.

Remus felt something nudge his hand and he looked down at Padfoot, tongue lolling out of his mouth in a doggy grin. 'Don't say a word,' Remus muttered.

*****

9 September 1995

What is Dumbledore thinking?

Actually... What was Sirius thinking? Going to the platform last week when he was told it wasn't a good idea. Bloody fool. He's going to give us away if he does something like that again. I could strangle Severus right now. Most of the Order know Sirius' alter ego, but the only way someone like Lucius Malfoy would know is if Severus said something. Or Peter, but he's probably considered unreliable, the coward. Damn him! Damn Sirius for his devil-may-care attitude and putting himself and all of us at unnecessary risk and damn Severus for his bloody grudges. He may be playing both sides, but does he have to allow his feelings about Sirius dictate his decisions all the time? I'm so angry at both of them. I'm especially angry at Sirius for what he said to Harry last night. He should not have berated Harry for being concerned for his safety. And furthermore, I don't think James would have wanted Sirius to take stupid risks. Risks, sure, but nothing potentially life-threatening. Harry's already feeling put-upon as it is, and now Sirius has to open his enormously large mouth and make him feel even worse by telling him he's nothing like his father. I hope for Sirius' sake Harry forgets he said that. I don't think Harry will though. In that case, then I hope Harry realizes Sirius had been well into the process of drinking himself into a stupor. God help me, it's enough to make my head hurt.

Umbridge... I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking. She's one of the most hateful people I've ever had the misfortune to meet. I'm not even able to legally tutor student witches or wizards anymore because of her and her laws regarding werewolves. And from what the children say, she's not even trying to teach them. That's just... Beyond unethical from an educational point of view. It borders on immoral. Especially for the students in the O.W.L and N.E.W.T. years. And she's allowing Fudge to use her to spy on Dumbledore, because everyone knows Delores Umbridge doesn't know how to teach anyone to perform a countercurse, much less an ordinary hex or jinx.

It's just all spiraling out of control...

*****

There the entry sputtered to an end. Teddy's fingertips traced over the indentations left in the paper. His father had clearly been extremely upset when he'd written that. His normally neat penmanship had degenerated into an untidy, nearly illegible scrawl, with many blots and words that had been scratched through repeatedly.

He carefully closed the journal and set it on the small table next to the bed. He slid down into the bed, pulling the quilt over his shoulders. He closed his eyes, but the image of a hand grinding a quill into the paper as it wrote burned into his memory