There'll Be Bluebirds

Teddy scowled at his Potions notes, unable to make heads or tails of what he'd written down in class, and unwilling to ask for help. 'How can you read that?' Victoire murmured behind him. 'It's illegible!' She tossed one of her bright plaits over her shoulder.

'Go away, Vic,' he growled.

'You can't put the armadillo bile in a Wit-Sharpening potion before the ginger root,' Victoire said blithely, unconcerned by Teddy's temper. 'You put the ginger root in first and let it sort of get a little mushy, then add the scarab beetle. After all that simmers for a while, -then you add the armadillo bile and simmer it for an additional half hour. Then you need to strain it through a fine sieve,' she pronounced, earning a stare from Teddy.

'How do you know all that?' he demanded. 'You're not even meant to cover this for two more years.'

'I want to be a Healer,' Victoire said simply, reaching down to scratch her shin through the thick grey tights.

'Y'do, eh?' Teddy asked skeptically.

'Uh-huh.' Victoire hefted her bag to her shoulder. 'Have to get Exceeds Expectations in my N.E.W.T.s for Herbology, Potions, Defense, Transfiguration, Charms, don't I?'

'Trying to cram seven years of school into five?'

'Do you know how many O.W.L.s Dad earned?' Victoire huffed. 'Twelve.'

'Twelve?' Teddy repeated weakly.

'Twelve.' Victoire's mouth crimped. 'All Outstandings to boot.'

'Blimey.'

'Mum was in the top of her class at Beauxbatons, as well,' Victoire sighed. 'It's a lot to live up to...'

'It's just that Gran earned a N.E.W.T. in Potions,' Teddy said miserably. 'So did my grandfather and my mum.'

'What about your dad?'

Teddy shrugged. 'Dunno.' He gathered his things and dumped them into his bag. 'I'm going to the library,' he muttered. He climbed out of the portrait hole of the Gryffindor dormitory and plodded down the stairs, annoyed to be shown up by a second year. 'Potions is rubbish anyway,' he scoffed. He found himself daydreaming more often than not in Potions class, which probably explained his poor note-taking skills. Neither his grandmother, nor Harry ever reproached him for his less-than-stellar marks in the subject. Harry tried to help him revise over the summers, and while Teddy appreciated the efforts, Potions mystified him.

He found himself standing in the entrance, just in front of the Great Hall. Dim light flickered from the corridor to his left. Teddy tried to avoid that corridor at all costs, but tonight, he was drawn to it - a reluctant moth to its hypnotic flame. He hadn't been in there since the day it was dedicated when he was ten years old. But then, he'd had Harry and Ginny soothe him. He stood just inside the entrance, one hand clutching at the strap of his knapsack. Taking a deep breath, Teddy began to walk slowly into the corridor, his eyes trained on two portraits. He took a moment to silently thank the person who'd spent his first few weeks of life with a camera trained on him. It was the only time he'd ever seen what passed for a smile on his father's face in his later years. Otherwise, Teddy might have thought the turned-up corner of Remus' mouth an aberration. His mother smiled impishly, laughter in her eyes. Teddy knew that look on Dora's face very well. Her eyes had always sparkled with laughter before the war dimmed it somewhat. At least that's what the photographs told him.

Teddy braced his back against the wall across from his parents' portraits and slid down to the floor. He arranged himself into a comfortable position, and pulled out his Potions textbook. 'Right... How does armadillo bile affect the ingredients in a Wit-Sharpening potion?'

*****

Remus lounged on the battered, albeit comfortable, sofa in Dora's small flat. Her head rested against his chest and his shirt bore a gradually widening damp patch. She had fallen asleep within minutes of settling into him, weary from her week at work coupled with more than one overnight shift in the Department of Mysteries. He held a small book in one hand, savoring the poetry. Dora had asked him to read aloud, so he obliged, his other hand creeping up to slide through her hair. It was its normal shade just now. She'd been too tired to maintain the bubblegum pink. She shifted in her sleep, sighing into his worn cardigan. His hand drifted from her hair to the back of her neck, fingers gently massaging the tense ridges, as he continued to read, only half-focused on the page, mulling over how he ended up in this particular situation.

He had met Dora outside the Ministry when her watch ended. It was still early - that odd, peculiar hour before the sun rose when everything was drained of color and shadowed in subdued, ashy hues. She was so exhausted, she stumbled over her own feet as she walked out of the Ministry. Well, stumbled more than usual, Remus reflected. Normally, he just walked her to the Tube station, trusting she could navigate the Underground on her own, but this morning, he'd pulled her into a small, dark alleyway, wrapped his arms around her waist, and Apparated them both to the door of her flat. He'd insisted on cooking her breakfast, grateful Mrs. Potter had shown him how to cook with magic during the summers he spent with James and Sirius. He didn't think Dora would stay conscious long enough for him to cook the Muggle way. She'd eaten half of the food he'd piled on her plate and gulped the steaming cup of tea he'd pressed into her hands. Remus thought she might have scalded her tongue, but Dora didn't even whimper if she had. She clumsily stood and tugged him to the squashy sofa, pulling him down with her. Read for me... she'd begged sleepily. Remus knew she meant one of those Animagus books she pored over in her nonexistent spare time, but the small book of the poetry of John Donne burned where he'd tucked it into the pocket of his traveling cloak earlier. He'd Summoned the book, and began to read aloud, his voice a bare murmur over her heartbeat. It wasn't much, and he was certain it wasn't entirely what she would have wanted. If he angled his head just so, he could glimpse her just-wide-enough bed through the door of her tiny bedroom. Dora wasn't the tidiest person, but he could tell she'd made her bed with more attention than she normally gave the task. The bedding was turned back invitingly, and Remus would have loved to do nothing more than burrow into it with her entwined around him. He took a deep breath and thumbed the page over, forcing his eyes to focus on the poem. Dora had offered herself unconditionally, but Remus had been reluctant to even consider it. Reclining on her sofa, with her body draped over his, while he read seventeenth-century poetry was as far as he was willing to go at the moment.

It wasn't that Remus didn't trust Dora. He did.

It was himself he didn't trust.

The words on the page swam as his eyes drifted shut, then snapped wide open. Remus didn't sleep much as a rule. He considered himself lucky to sleep for five or six hours at a stretch during the night. The book fell from his fingers, its landing muffled by the thick rug on the floor. Remus felt weightless, drowsy, and the only thing that anchored him to the sofa was Dora's warm weight pressing him into the sofa cushions. He slid his now-empty hand over her hip and let it rest, spread against the small of her back, giving in to the insistent tugs of slumber.

*****

Buzzing sounds invaded Remus' hazy dreams. He lifted his head from the arm of the sofa and glared at the door in displeasure at having his sleep disrupted. Nonetheless, in spite of his sleepy, groggy state, he slid his wand from the pocket of his trousers and aimed it at the door, his arm tightening around Dora's waist. He felt her breathing shift and she glanced up at him languidly, questions creating a crease between her brows. She followed his gaze to the door and shook her wand from the holster under her sleeve, copying his motions.

The walls of Dora's flat were thin and he could hear the muffled conversation on the other side. 'Andromeda, leaning on that buzzer won't make the door open any faster,' a dry voice boomed.

'It's impolite for Nymphadora to leave us standing out here this long,' a woman huffed.

Dora's shoulders slumped. 'It's just my mum and dad...' she breathed. No sooner had she relaxed, than her body stiffened. 'Bloody hell! It's my mum and dad!' She sat up, pushing her heavy hair from her face. 'What's the day?'

'What?' Remus was still muzzy from being awakened so suddenly.

'What day is it?'

'Sunday...'

'No, the date!'

Remus stared at her in confusion. 'The twenty-eighth.'

'Oh, bugger me!' Dora hissed, nearly falling off the sofa as she struggled to her feet.

Remus stretched lazily. 'What's the matter?'

'I'm meant to have lunch with my parents today! Probably somewhere posh and snooty and French,' she added in disgust.

'Nymphadora Juliet, if you do not open this door in ten seconds, I swear I will blast it open!'

Remus' brows rose. 'Juliet?'

Dora threw him a scathing look. 'Not now,' she growled, tripping over the rug and lunging at the door and yanking it open. 'Mum... Dad...' she said weakly.

'Hallo, dear.' Dora's father nearly lifted her off the floor from the force of his embrace. He cupped her face in his broad hands and peered down at her. 'You look peaky,' he said.

'Just tired,' Dora murmured. 'It's been a long week.' She turned to the slender woman standing behind her father. 'Mum.'

Remus nearly started when he saw Dora's mother. He knew she was related to Bellatrix, but he wasn't prepared for how much they resembled one another. He scrubbed his hands over his face and shoved his wand back into his pocket. The smile that graced Dora's mother's features was not one he'd ever see on Bellatrix Lestrange. Nor would he have ever seen Bellatrix gently tuck a lock of hair behind Dora's ear, as her mother now did. 'Is everything all right?' she asked anxiously. 'It took ages for you to open the door.'

'I was asleep,' Dora said.

'Hm. You always were difficult to wake up when you were younger.' Dora's mother gestured toward Remus, still sitting on the sofa in a daze. 'Aren't you going to introduce us to your... friend?' she asked.

'Oh... erm...' Dora reached for Remus' arm and tugged on his elbow, urging him to his feet. 'Mum, Dad... This is Remus Lupin. He works with me in the Order. Remus, these are my parents, Ted and Andromeda Tonks.'

Remus awkwardly stuck out a hand. 'It's a pleasure to meet you,' he murmured. He didn't miss the way Andromeda's gaze sharpened when she heard his name. She took in his rumpled clothing and raised an appraising brow.

Dora didn't miss it. 'Remus brought me home after my shift,' she said defensively. 'He was helping me with some research and we fell asleep.'

'Did I ask?' Andromeda said lightly, but everyone could tell it was forced.

'You didn't have to,' Dora muttered mulishly.

Andromeda's eyes flicked over the sitting room, noting the conspicuous absence of books anywhere near the sofa, and the pile stacked haphazardly on the small desk in the corner, as Remus nonverbally Summoned his book from the floor. She held out a hand toward Remus. 'May I?' she asked, indicating the book. Remus handed the worn book to her, feeling as if he was being measured by those dark, hooded eyes. Andromeda perused the book and handed it back to Remus. 'Interesting... "research", Mr. Lupin,' she said quietly.

'I think so,' he replied, aware of the thickening tension in the room.

'Lupin... Lupin...' Ted muttered. 'Aren't you the were--' He was cut off when Dora drove her elbow into his ribs.

'It's not important, Dad,' she said softly.

'I was just leaving,' Remus said, reaching for his cloak that he'd carelessly thrown over one of the chairs that crowded the scrap of a table in the small kitchen are of the main room and slipped out of the door, with a nod to Ted and Andromeda, his fingertips trailing across the back of Dora's hand.

*****

28 January 1996

I remember when Prongsie went to visit Lily during the Christmas hols our seventh year. Her parents weren't home, and he said they'd been snogging rather intently on the sofa in the sitting room when her parents did come home. And while they hadn't actually progressed beyond snogging, when Lily introduced James to her parents, he felt like they'd already dismissed him as a tosser of the first order.

I wonder if it felt anything remotely like what I was feeling when Dora's parents were eyeing me like I'd violated her in front of them on the table between the toast and the sausages.

It's a decidedly unpleasant sensation.

Although in reflection, it can't possibly feel as humiliating as when Mrs. Tonks treated Dora like she was thirteen and not twenty-two.

But then again, if I came to my daughter's flat, and found her in the arms of a man thirteen years her senior, and a known werewolf to boot, I would imagine I'd question her sanity, too.

*****

Remus came to spread-eagled and facedown in the cellar. He felt bruised and raw, as if the wolf had flayed his skin from the inside. He slowly sat up and ruefully noted the bruises that blossomed over his arms and chest, as if the wolf had repeatedly flung himself against the door in an attempt to batter it down. He ran his palms in a cursory manner over his bare skin, checking for any gashes or scrapes that he might need to see to when he returned to the flat. Several splinters were embedded deep into his fingertips, including a rather large and painful one that extended the length of the first joint of his middle finger. He sniffed cautiously at the stale air of the cellar, but the tang of fresh blood didn't meet his nostrils. Satisfied the splinters were the worst of his injuries, he thoughtlessly grabbed at the stone wall to haul himself to his feet, driving the splinters deeper into his flesh. Jerking his hand away from the wall, he hissed in pain, cradling his abused hand against his chest. He carefully unfolded himself from the ground and gingerly walked across the cellar and reached for his wand, hidden in the top of the doorframe, wincing as the movement pulled against the bruises over his chest. He flicked it at the door and it unlocked and swung open slightly. Remus pulled the door open, and blindly reached for his clothes that should have been piled just outside, but his hand closed on empty space. 'What the...?' he breathed, looking around the dark entrance. His clothes were nowhere to be found.

He trudged up the stairs to his flat, his pace a little faster than it might have normally been. Remus didn't have many clothes to speak of, so the loss of a pair of trousers, pants, and a shirt would put a serious dent in his wardrobe options. 'Rough night?' asked a decidedly feminine voice above him. Remus froze on the landing below his flat. Dora sat perched on the top step, his clothing folded in a messy heap next to her, a canvas carrier bag at her feet.

Remus' hands dropped instinctively to cover himself. 'A bit,' he allowed, keeping his eyes fixed on a spot in the middle of Dora's forehead.

She rummaged through his clothing and fished out his pants. 'I like boxers,' she said.

'I like them, too,' Remus retorted. 'I don't suppose you could help a bloke and bung them down here, eh?'

'I'm not sure if these qualify as pants, really,' Dora said doubtfully, holding them up. 'Can bloody see through them, you can.'

Remus gritted his teeth. 'Regardless, could I have them back, please?'

'You could just Summon them,' Dora said cheekily.

'I could,' Remus said evenly. 'But I'd rather keep my hands where they are just now.'

'Shame.' Dora tossed his much-maligned pants down the stairs. They landed at his feet in a pathetic clump. Remus bent to snatch them up and pivoted on one heel, turning his back to her so he could pull them over his feet and legs. 'Although, that's a nice view as well...'

Decently covered, Remus stalked up the remaining stairs and glowered at Dora. 'To what do I owe the honor of this visit?'

She helpfully held out his trousers. 'Sirius said you'd be rather peckish the morning after. Thought I'd return the favor and make you breakfast this time.'

'Your mother isn't going to come round for lunch this time, is she?' Remus asked, as he jerked on the trousers, and accepted the shirt she offered, pulling it over his arms, leaving it unbuttoned.

'No.' Dora scrambled to her feet. 'I'm sorry about that. Mum was rather rude to you.'

Remus flapped a hand toward her, dismissing Andromeda's behavior of the previous week. 'It happens all the time.'

'Doesn't make it right.'

Remus shrugged and unlocked the door of the flat, and gestured for Dora to precede him inside. 'Kitchen's through there,' he said, pointing to the back of the flat. 'If you'll excuse me, I need to remove a few splinters...'

'I can do that,' Dora said promptly. Remus gazed at her, one eyebrow raised dubiously. 'I can!' she insisted. 'Aurors have to know basic Healing spells and first aid.'

Remus merely murmured, 'Accio.' He caught the small kit as it flew from the bathroom and held it out wordlessly, sitting down at his small table, extending one hand to her. 'Be my guest.'

Dora fished out a small pair of tweezers and began to delicately remove the splinters from Remus' left hand. 'Is it always like this?' she asked softly, the bantering note in her voice replaced by something more somber. 'After...?'

'No.' Remus could see Dora's face light with hope. He hated to douse it, but he had to. 'It's worse.'

Dora's hand trembled briefly, but she calmly continued to work the splinter from his finger.

*****

4 February 1996

It's best for Dora to know what it's like. I won't make lycanthropy sound exotic or sexy, like Sirius probably does. She deserves to know that it will age me faster than other wizards. That I could be dead before she's forty years old, presuming either of us lives that long. That werewolves don't have children. That she's consigning herself to a lifetime of ridicule and hatred.

She's idealistic enough to believe the only people that matter are the two people directly involved with it. That may be so, but does she realize what it could do to her life? She could lose her position and then we'd both be destitute. I can accept the poverty of my existence, but I can't ask her to live like this.

At least she's agreed that we ought to keep things quiet. As far as the Order is concerned, we're just colleagues and friends. I might drop a few hints to Sirius. To the rest of the world, we're nodding acquaintances, if that. Mad-Eye would go spare if he found out. He'd go on and on about risks and enemies using one of us to get to the other. Dumbledore, I think, would approve. Not that we need it, but he does hold love in high esteem as a weapon against the darkness.

*****

'What's the matter Lupin?' drawled a voice behind Teddy. 'Too busy crying over your dead parents?' The voice snickered cruelly. 'Or maybe I should say parent, since werewolves aren't fit to be parents.'

Teddy's hand convulsed around the handle of his wand, and he swiped the sleeve of his robes over his face, wiping macerated ginger root from his face. He hadn't been concentrating and shook armadillo bile into his cauldron just after adding the scarab beetles. The contents of his cauldron had exploded spectacularly, showering Teddy and the poor girl next to him with ginger goo, flecked with tiny flecks of ground scarab beetle. He turned and glowered at the boy still chuckling with derision. 'Sod you,' he ground out between clenched teeth, his hair a nimbus of glowing red. He dug a blob of the goo from one ear, muttering, 'Bloody, buggering hell!'

'Teddy!' Professor Williams swept down the aisle. 'Mind your language, please. At least while you're in my classroom,' he rebuked gently. 'Go down to the toilets at the end of the corridor and have a bit of wash,' he ordered, turning to the other student. 'Greyson, move your cauldron to the table by the desk.' He jabbed his wand at the mess that was congealing on the table, Vanishing the ruined potion.

Teddy trudged into the corridor and drew out the process of cleaning the remnants of his potion from his hair and clothes as long as he humanly could. By the time he returned to the classroom, everyone else had been dismissed to dinner. He grabbed his bag and began to leave the classroom as well, but Williams emerged from his office with a small piece of parchment that he wordlessly handed to Teddy. Teddy glanced down at it impatiently, and his mouth dropped open. 'Detention!' he spluttered. 'But, sir...!'

'Yes, Teddy, detention,' Williams said swiftly, cutting him off. 'I expect you back here promptly at seven.'

Teddy shoved the parchment into his pocket and stormed toward the Great Hall. Instead of turning into the Great Hall, he darted into the corridor and headed for his parents' portraits. He collapsed to the ground in a billow of school robes. He drew his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead against them, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to keep the hot, humiliated tears at bay and failing miserably. He sniffed loudly and drew the sleeve of his robes under his nose and swiped it over his cheeks, looking around suspiciously for anyone that might have seen him.

He jerked when he felt something brush against the back of his head, as if a hand had lightly caressed his hair.

But the corridor was empty.