There'll Be Bluebirds

Andromeda's fingers tapped restlessly against the surface of the kitchen table. While she had expected Teddy to experience some measure of teenage angst, the sullen stranger who had taken up residence in her house was more than she had expected. He spent most of his waking hours either listening to music on the wireless that barely qualified as noise and sounded like Mermish; or morosely kicking his football around the back garden. It wasn't just with her, either. Ginny had mentioned he exhibited the same behavior at their house, much to the consternation of James, Al, and Lily. She could almost shrug it off as typical teenager growing pains, but this reminded her more of...

'Harry,' she breathed. 'Of course...'

Although Andromeda hadn't met Harry until he was seventeen - and even then just for mere moments - the anger and resentment simmered so close to the surface, she was surprised he hadn't gone mad. At the time, she thought it had more to do with his connection to Voldemort, but as time passed, and she learned more about him from Dora, the more his bitterness toward the world in general made sense. She didn't blame him one bit. Not after hearing how his relations had wanted to force him to leave their house when he was only fifteen years old. Or the mere fact that both his parents had died, attacked in their own house, immediately followed by the attempt on his life. Watching Sirius die in front of him, followed by Dumbledore a year later. It was enough to drive normal humans out of their minds. It was little wonder Harry didn't trust most people and further than he could Banish them.

Granted, it wasn't the same for Teddy. He didn't have the same burdens Harry had at his age. But he did have his own. There still were members of the wizarding community who viewed him with suspicion due to his father. There were constant whispers and stares from them. And while Teddy wouldn't say so, Andromeda was certain there were comments floating around regarding Dora and her willingness to marry a werewolf, let alone have a child with one. She didn't know exactly what was in Remus' journals, but it had to be difficult for Teddy to read them, for the longer the immersed himself in them, the more he withdrew into himself. Andromeda had a feeling Remus poured heart out on those pages in order to maintain his aura of seeming tranquility. And if nothing else, she was sure he talked about the tortured twists and turns of his relationship and marriage with Dora.

Like Harry at that age, Teddy needed a father, a role Harry had been most reluctant to take on when Teddy was a baby. It was something he still struggled with out of respect to Remus.

Someone knocked on the back door of the house, and Harry's dark head craned around the edge as he opened it. 'You wanted to talk?'

'Yes.' Andromeda indicated the chair across from hers. Harry slid into it with a bemused expression. 'I need you to take Teddy for the remainder of the summer.'

'Why?'

Andromeda shifted a little in her chair and toyed with the glass of water in front of her. 'Does he ever talk to you about his father?' she finally asked.

Harry leaned back, a little startled. 'Not very often,' he admitted. 'We do talk about Remus, but more in a general sense. I don't know very many details, just my own experiences with him.' He shrugged helplessly. 'He knows Remus better than I at this point.'

'He needs a father,' Andromeda said crisply. 'Not a journal.'

Harry's eyes closed. 'Andie, I know what you're asking, but I...'

'Don't tell me you can't be his father,' Andromeda retorted tartly. 'You've been Teddy's father in all but name since Remus died.' Harry opened his mouth to protest. 'It's not the title that matters,' she added in a gentler tone. 'Or what he calls you.' She reached across the table and grasped Harry's hand in hers. 'He needs you.'

*****

Remus trudged into the dark sitting room of the farmhouse, blinking bemusedly at the tiny pricks of light strung across the floor. Flames illuminated the piles of paper chains in front of the fireplace. 'What are you doing?'

Maurice looked up from the tangle of fairy lights bundled into his crossed legs. 'It's Christmas,' he explained shortly.

'I realize that,' Remus snorted. 'Someone's conveniently put up an Advent calendar on the wall in the kitchen.'

'That little elf from the school brought it for you. The bossy one.'

'Evie. And surprisingly, no one's opened all the doors and eaten all the chocolates.'

Maurice grunted. 'That's because she threatened the rest of us with dismemberment if we touched it and ate "your" chocolate. Left us some, though. But that calendar's yours. Honeydukes' best chocolate.' He patiently untangled more of the string of lights and glanced up at Remus. 'There's a note for you in the kitchen. It was in the basket Evie brought while you were out.'

'Thanks.' Remus turned to retrieve the note, but his way out was blocked by the arrival of Phillip and Matthew dragging a large fir tree through the door. 'Did Father Christmas vomit in here or something?'

Phillip maneuvered the tree into a corner and began to adjust it, turning it this way and that. 'It's Christmas.'

Remus massaged his temples. 'And...?'

'It's Christmas,' Matthew repeated. 'As much as our lives are shite, the least we can do is try and feel, well, normal, for one bloody day, damn it.'

Remus, for reasons he couldn't understand, began to laugh. Loud, gasping whoops of laughter. He slid down the doorframe, not caring that he'd just snagged his jumper on a jagged edge. I'll repair it later... Oblivious to the astonished stares from the other men, he wiped his palms over his face, slowly gaining control of himself. His forearms came to rest on his canted knees. Panting, slightly out of breath, Remus gazed at the tree. 'This is normal.'

*****

Remus crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall of the dilapidated castle. Not much of a castle, really, he mused. Resembles nothing more than a pile of rubble. Good to hide in, though. Who would think to look for them here...? Greyback wasn't in attendance. Remus assumed he was with the Death Eaters. The corner of his mouth turned up just the smallest bit. Here he stood, on the outside of a group that would never accept him into their ranks, and Greyback was in the exact same position. Neither the Death Eaters, nor Voldemort for that matter, would ever fully accept Greyback into their circle, except as a tool they could wield to inspire fear. Remus mentally counted the matted, dirty heads, inhaling deeply. Odd that he didn't notice the heavy musky odor of so many werewolves didn't make his nose twitch any longer.

'Why do you keep coming back where you're clearly not welcome?' snarled a man, who seemed to be the same age as Remus. 'You're not spying on us, are you?'

Remus chuckled lightly. 'If I were, do you honestly expect me to own up to it?' He shook his head. 'I'm not spying. Nothing that's said here ever leaves here with me.'

'Then why do you come here?' asked another man belligerently.

'Merely to attempt to persuade you that your lot with the Death Eaters won't be as rosy as it's been painted for you.'

'You want us to betray Greyback?'

'Betray is such a strong word,' Remus murmured. 'Just asking you to see the other side of things.'

'I've seen the so-called other side of things,' the first man sneered. 'I was, ah, asked to vacate my flat, my marriage, my children's lives, even my work. The other side, as you call it, is rubbish,' he pronounced.

Remus inclined his head in acknowledgement of the man's words, and resumed his perusal of the gathered werewolves. Last month's count had included four children. Now there were only two. 'What happened to the children?'

'They died,' the second man said shortly. A muscle in his jaw jumped. 'While they transformed.'

Remus started visibly. 'But they were... older... than... They were older.'

'How old were you?'

Remus licked dry lips. 'Four,' he admitted softly.

'Hmph.' The man's gaze flicked over Remus appraisingly. His next words chilled the blood in Remus' veins. 'Some can take it better than others.'

*****

Remus gratefully accepted the large, steaming mug of tea Arthur handed him, while he surveyed the small, dimly lit coffee shop in Liverpool. They wouldn't be noticed. 'I'm afraid I haven't anything to report,' Remus said apologetically, sipping the tea. He felt his shoulders drop a little as the warmth slid down his throat.

'It's not about your work,' Arthur replied, poking at the mound of foamed milk on the surface of a mocha latte. 'How do they make the milk do that, do you wonder?' he breathed in awe, then sampled the coffee, leaving a line of foam across his upper lip, which he wiped away with a paper serviette in delight. 'Bloody marvelous...' He glanced at Remus. 'It's about Christmas. We'd like you to come stay with us, Molly and I.'

'I can't.'

'Why not?'

'Too close to the full moon, for one,' Remus stated. 'Second, I can't abandon the ones that have chosen to at least stay neutral, if not on our side.'

'It's two days,' Arthur retorted. 'Do you think they'll begrudge you people who genuinely want you to spend the holiday with them?'

'I...' Remus' words stuck in this throat. He scalded his tongue on a gulp of tea, drunk to cover his confusion. 'They haven't got anybody, you see...'

Arthur tilted the chair back on two of its legs. 'What if I were to promise they'd been seen to and provided with a bit of Christmas cheer?' he bargained.

'I can think about it...' Remus replied reluctantly.

'Harry's coming down from school,' Arthur said casually. 'Did I forget to mention that?' He smiled guilelessly. 'I'll lay odds that you haven't written him, have you? He'd really like to see you, I'm sure. Boy admires you a great deal, Remus.'

Remus nodded absently, staring into the milky interior of his mug. 'I'll think about it.'

'You're all he's got left -'

'That's not true!' Remus hissed. 'He's got you and Molly...'

'If you'll allow me to finish?' Arthur waited, with a censorious brow raised. 'I was going to say you're all he's got left with a connection to Sirius or his parents.'

Remus sighed explosively. 'You do not play fair, Arthur.'

Arthur grinned widely. 'Comes from having seven children. You pick up a thing or two.'

*****

17 December 1996

I've often wondered what it meant that I survived receiving the bite and so many other children did not. I received the same medical care as they did. Actually, my medical care was primitive by today's standards. Thirty years is an awfully long time as far as medicine goes. Perhaps it is for the best for the children to die. Better to die than to live a life bathed in animosity, revulsion, and contempt. I've often said I would never wish this on my mortal enemies and I stand by that.

One of Greyback's followers commented that some people can withstand being bitten better than others in regards to my own survival. Was I meant to be a werewolf? If so, it is possibly the worst joke in the cosmos. I personally do not find it very funny.

Normalcy is what it is for me. Living on the perimeter of polite society is normal and has been for thirty-two years. I'm not entirely certain I would know what to do with myself if something else were to present itself to me. I've lived the majority of my life unencumbered by commitments to anyone else, and it has, by and large, proved successful. If one can count enforced solitude as a success. It has kept the people who would choose to associate with me safe from attack.

I could decline Arthur and Molly's generous invitation to spend Christmas with them. My presence there will most likely be noticed by those who keep watch over such things. I do not wish to draw undue attention upon them. On the other hand, I haven't had a Christmas like they offer since... Since Harry was five months old. It is a gift. One that if I so choose to accept, means I shall push three others who share my predicament to the side in a fit of selfishness.

So the question remains: do I spend the holiday with Molly and Arthur or assuage my guilt by declining and spending it with the other werewolves?

*****

Remus perched on the edge of the stone fence, gazing up at the sky. The moon floated heavy and bloated against the starry night. He felt feverish and shaky, like he usually did in the few nights before a full moon. He glanced over his shoulder at the faint sound of snow crunching under someone's shoes. Harry wound his way to the fence, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. 'Shouldn't you be in bed?' Remus asked in amusement. 'Father Christmas won't come if you're awake,' he chided.

'I'm a little old for Father Christmas,' Harry retorted. He joined Remus at the fence, consciously aping the older man's pose.

'I suppose you are,' Remus said wistfully.

'Never had much of a Christmas before I met the Weasleys anyway,' Harry said diffidently, a tone Remus knew well. It was one he employed quite often when he wanted people to think things didn't bother him.

'I do apologize for not being able to write to you,' Remus said suddenly.

'It's okay,' Harry replied with a shrug.

'It's not okay,' Remus said sternly. 'It is unfortunate, and you need...' He tore his eyes away from the boy and returned them to the moon. 'I would never try to replace James, of course. I could not. Nor would I try to replace Sirius,' he murmured awkwardly.

'Okay...' Harry twisted on the fence looking at Remus in confusion.

'It's just if you would ever need to seek out the sort of advice James would have given you, or even Sirius, you can come to me.'

'What about maintaining your secrecy?' Harry snorted.

'Use Dobby,' Remus told him. 'He'll know where to find me. Just don't...'

'Don't count on you to be able to reply right away,' Harry muttered, managing to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Remus hesitatingly reached out - hand darting out, then backing away several times, until he finally laid it on Harry's bony shoulder. 'It won't always be like this. And I will always be here when you need me, Harry.'

Harry's shoulders hunched, whether in acknowledgement or discomfort, Remus couldn't tell. 'What do you know about girls?'

Remus laughed, his head thrown back. 'Probably as much as you do.'

'I doubt that,' Harry scoffed. 'At least you're older...' He squirmed on the rough stones. 'What if Dad had a younger sister that you maybe liked...?'

Remus gazed at him shrewdly. 'Are we talking about Ginny?'

'No... ah... I mean... Not... well...' Harry coughed and spluttered.

'I see.' Remus tipped his head back to gaze at the stars once more. 'Follow your heart,' he said at length. 'But be careful.'

'Yeah, that's not very clear,' Harry protested.

'I'm rather the wrong person to ask about girls, or women in general,' Remus mused.

'I can't talk to Ron about it,' Harry said in a rush.

'I would imagine not.'

'And Hermione would just want to talk it to death,' Harry sighed.

'You will know what to do when the moment presents itself...' Remus' eyes closed, recalling that first kiss with Dora under the mistletoe in Grimmauld Place a year ago. His eyes flew open and he looked down at Harry, who was staring at the snow-covered paddock pensively. 'Don't let the moment go,' he advised. 'Grab it with both hands, and don't let it go.'

*****

25 December 1996

Rufus Scrimgeour has impeccable timing. I think Harry might have been onto something when he asked about her Patronus. That her Patronus has transformed into a... Into a werewolf... Harry does know what I look like during the full moon. Strange, considering hers had been a dragonfly before I ended our relationship. I do know parting ways had to have been painful, but I never imagined it had caused that much of an emotional trauma.

I wish I had the courage the Sorting Hat seemed to find within me to go to Dora's flat and see if she did, in fact, spend the day alone. It probably wouldn't have been too difficult to persuade her parents that she had work to do, given her continued extended duties. But nobody should have to spend Christmas alone. Especially not her.

*****

Teddy crept down the stairs, holding his breath. If Harry or Ginny discovered him out of bed, they'd want to talk and the last thing Teddy wanted was to talk to anyone. He didn't want to be around people who smothered him with love. It felt like he was drowning in their collective affections. Affection he didn't want at the moment.

He paused for a moment in the kitchen, and delved into one of the higher cupboards, stealthily searching for the bottle of Firewhisky that was hidden there. The floor squealed upstairs, and Teddy froze, one hand wrapped around the neck of the half-full bottle. When nobody came into the kitchen, he exhaled soundlessly, and tiptoed into the scullery. Teddy hoisted himself to the table that normally was used to fold laundry. He twisted the cork out and sniffed experimentally at the mouth of the bottle. The fumes made his eyes water, but he raised the bottle to his lips and took a tiny sip.

The liquid burned his lips and tongue, and singed his throat, but he took a larger sip. It still burned, but not quite so badly as the first. After several more sips, the room began to spin slightly, and feeling bolder, Teddy slid off the table, bumbling into the windowsill.

He managed to make his way to the tool shed, yanking the dangling chain to turn on the bare lightbulb overhead. He poked around idly amongst the tools and bits of rubbish, still sipping from the bottle of Firewihsky and found the keys to the motorbike hanging from a nail in the wall.

Harry sat up in bed. 'Did you hear something?' he asked Ginny.

'No...'

'I thought I heard...' A roar ripped through the open windows. Harry vaulted from the bed and grabbed his glasses as he stumbled to the closest window that overlooked the back garden. The light from a single headlamp split the darkness, and the old motorbike wobbled out of the garden and around the side of the house, careening toward the lane. It wobbled several feet before it plowed into the fence surrounding their neighbor's front garden. 'Teddy!' Harry snatched up his wand from his night table and ran from the bedroom, then pelted down the stairs. He yanked the front door open and darted into the front garden, ignoring the clammy feel of dew on his bare feet. 'Teddy! Are you all right?'

Teddy lay among the wreckage of the picket fence, gazing bemusedly at his godfather. Harry waved his wand over Teddy, checking for serious injury. Finding nothing save for odd bumps and bruises, Harry offered Teddy a hand. The boy stared at it in befuddlement, before grasping it, allowing his godfather to haul him to his feet. Teddy surveyed the damage, then began to laugh hysterically. 'I broke the motorbike,' he gasped. Harry's nose wrinkled at the fumes of Firewhisky that hung on Teddy's breath.

'You're drunk,' Harry pronounced severely.

Teddy swayed on his feet. 'I'm not drunk,' he pronounced, just before he threw up in the neighbor's hydrangeas.

*****

A/N: Technically, the full moon was on Christmas Eve in 1996, but seeing as how JKR had Remus stay with the Weasleys during the holiday, I've "moved" the full moon to another day, in order to maintain consistency between HBP and this story.