There'll Be Bluebirds

Teddy stood in front of the notice board, twirling a Self-Inking Quill idly between his fingers. He licked the point and raised his hand to add his name to the list of students staying at Hogwarts for the Christmas holiday. He always went home before. To his grandmother's house, with the fairy lights and paper chains, the scents of ginger biscuits. To the Burrow where a jumper waited under the tree, along with all the others. Just as it had since his first Christmas fifteen years ago. To Harry's house with James, Al, and Lily and Ginny's handmade scarf, hat, and mittens. Andromeda still had the first ones Ginny made for him when he was a year old. He didn't know how long he stood there, hand poised over the length of parchment pinned to the board.

'Are you really planning to stay here?' Victoire asked, reproach written all over her face.

'I was thinking about it,' Teddy said gruffly.

'Don't...' she beseeched. 'You have to go home...'

Teddy shoved the quill into his knapsack and heaved it over his shoulder. 'I don't bloody have to do anything,' he grumbled. 'Except get decent marks on my O.W.L.s this year.' He pushed open the portrait hole. 'Got a tutoring session with Williams in a few. Don't want to be late for more evidence I'm useless at Potions,' he added sardonically. 'Don't wait up.' He climbed out of the portrait hole, Victoire's impatient huff following him down the stairs and into the dungeon.

xxxxxx

'Don't move,' a voice groaned from under a pillow.

'What?' Remus raised himself up on his elbow.

'Stop jostling the bed,' Dora commanded weakly. 'I'm going to be sick if you don't stop.'

Remus stilled uneasily. Aside from a fervent desire to not have to deal with changing the bedding, he wondered if Dora had begun to put the pieces of the puzzle together. 'Shall I get some tea for you?'

Dora shook her head, lips clamped together. 'Probably ate something funny last night.' She swallowed heavily. 'Odd, innit? Molly's cooking's never made me feel like this.' Dora carefully rolled over and laid her head gingerly on Remus' shoulder, arm draped over his stomach. 'Wonder why Scrimgeour turned up at the Burrow last night...' she commented, opening her mouth as little as possible.

Remus made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. 'I don't know. Perhaps he thought he might find a gathering of the Order, plotting his downfall.'

'Very nearly was.'

'It's a shame it ruined Harry's birthday like it did,' Remus remarked. His arms tightened around Dora. 'He's had precious little normalcy the past few years.'

'Especially since it was his seventeenth.' Dora sighed softly. 'I hope the wedding goes well tonight.'

A thought occurred to Remus. 'Do you miss not having a proper wedding?'

'No.' There was no disguising the wistful undertone in her voice, nor the long pause before her answer. There was an unspoken sentiment under her reply as well. He had no family, she only had her parents. There was the Order, of course, but Remus wondered how far the limits of their tolerance would go, especially since Dumbledore was gone. Remus slowly threaded his fingers through her hair, not saying anything more. Under his other hand, he could feel her breathing gradually grow slower and deeper until she slipped back into slumber once more.

xxxxxx

She sang in the shower. Usually Muggle tunes from the bands her father had enjoyed in his younger days. She wasn't bad, Remus reflected. In case the Auror thing didn't pan out, Dora could join a band, give the Weird Sisters a run for their money. He returned to his perusal of the contents of his wardrobe. He didn't have anything really appropriate for a wedding. Neither Molly, nor Arthur would mind what he wore, Remus knew, but it was one of a thousand tiny pinpricks of consternation he lived with on a daily basis. He threw a glance at the dress Dora meant to wear at the wedding draped over the foot of the bed. It glimmered in the late afternoon light, the color of the lambent purplish-blue crocuses that grew in her mother's gardens and bloomed during Dora's birthday. Slightly daring, the back was a series of narrow, crisscrossing strips of fabric and an asymmetrical hem to the skirt. He was going to look like a beggar next to her. Remus heaved a pathetic sigh and took out his best clothes and laid them out next to Dora's dress. His clothes looked even worse next to her dress. The water in the bathroom shut off and presently Dora absently walked into the bedroom, rubbing her hair with a towel, another one wrapped around her body, anchored over her breasts. 'Your turn,' she said from the depths of the towel.

'You really ought to have let me have the first one,' Remus admonished ruefully, as he unbuttoned his shirt.

'Wedding's not for two more hours,' Dora reminded him. 'I don't think even you can spend more than that in the bath.'

'Shows what you know,' Remus retorted. Dora lowered the towel, her hair its usual bright pink, but she'd lengthened it in the shower and damp tendrils clung to her face and shoulders. 'Are you feeling better?' Her face had that radiant glow he'd seen on Lily, even when she was retching over the toilet. Remus carefully thumbed a lock of hair from the corner of her mouth.

'Much.' She smiled at him and swatted his bottom. 'Get on with you! I don't want to be late, and trip over one of those god awful spindly chairs, interrupting the ceremony.' She let the towel in her hands fall in a damp heap to the floor. The one around her body slithered down to join it. Remus started intently at her, searching for the tell-tale curvature of her abdomen, even though it was far too early for it. 'We haven't time for that,' she chided, misinterpreting his gaze. Dora grasped his arm and turned Remus around, then gave him a gentle shove between his shoulder blades.

Remus hurriedly shed the rest of his clothes once he closed the bathroom door behind him. She wasn't quite being fair. The few times his showers lasted more than ten or fifteen minutes were after a full moon, and it took nearly an hour to scrub the dirt and blood from his skin and hair. There were the odd mornings when he stood under the spray, losing track of time, leaning against the wall, letting the scalding water soothe the scars and stiff joints. Other than books and chocolate, the lengthy showers were his only indulgence. But he would not indulge today. He wanted to be at the Burrow early enough to assist in watching for suspicious wedding guests. He and Kingsley reckoned if the Death Eaters were going to try and do anything, tonight would be it. They wouldn't be able to resist such a large gathering of members sympathetic to the Order. He twisted off the taps, giving the bathroom door a curious glance when he heard a muffled curse on the other side. 'Are you all right?' he called, wondering if she'd stumbled wearing those ridiculous shoes with the teetering high heels. Pregnant or not, he didn't feel they were suitable footwear for any situation.

'I'm fine!' she shouted, needlessly so.

Curiosity aroused, Remus haphazardly wrapped a towel around his middle and yanked the door open. 'What's going... on...?' his voice died as he took in the pile of brown paper-wrapped parcels stacked on the bed.

Dora bounced on the balls of her feet, the hem of her dress dancing around her calves. 'I got you some new clothes!'

Remus felt a jittery prickling sensation crawl over his skin. 'You did what?' he spat coldly.

The bright smile on Dora's face faltered a little. 'Consider it a wedding present,' she said, just a hint of desperation weaving through her voice.

Remus chin lifted a fraction of an inch and he stomped to the bed, and snatched up his boxers - the ones he had bought many years ago - and waved them at Dora in a clenched fist. 'I have clothes,' he snarled, a wave of wounded, irrational pride crashing into him. Dora was having none of it. She jerked the boxers from his hand and held them up to the window.

'You can bloody see through them!' she argued. 'You couldn't even use them for rags,' she declared. 'They'd fall apart in no time.'

Remus lurched forward and wrenched them back from her with the sound of tearing fabric. 'Now look what you've done!' he thundered.

'Me?' Dora shrieked, on the verge of tears. 'You're so bloody pig-headed that you won't even consider letting me give you anything!'

Remus threw the mistreated boxers to the floor and grabbed his wand. 'Reparo!' he growled. The fabric valiantly attempted to reweave itself back together, but a sizable gap remained. 'Reparo! REPARO!' No matter how hard he tried, the boxers were worn to the point where even Reparo could no longer force the threads to reattach themselves. Everything had its limits. Most inanimate objects could be repaired, within reason. As long as all the pieces of an object were available, it could be repaired. But if it had been pulverized, repairs were difficult at best, requiring a great deal of concentration. Remus supposed there wasn't enough of the original thread left in the weave of the fabric to make a viable connection. Breathing heavily, he flung his wand to the floor. It sent out a stream of sparks, singeing the back of his hand as it flipped end over end, landing next to his much-abused boxers, which promptly began to smolder from the sparks still emitting from the wand. His blood pounded in his ears, rendering him deaf. A choked sound slipped through the clamor. Blinking back the red film over his eyes, he could dimly make out Dora clinging to the endboard of the bed, swaying dizzily, while tears collected in the corners of her eyes and slid down her face, dripping on the bodice of her dress, creating damp spots on the purple fabric. 'Nymphadora...' he began, but she shook her head, and stumbled out of the bedroom. He took a step after her, but his towel was tangled around his feet. The sofa springs creaked, and he imagined she threw herself into its overstuffed embrace.

Acrid smoke tickled Remus' nose and he yelped, jumping back. The smoldering ruins of his pants lay at his feet. He stooped to snatch up his wand and silently sent a stream of water at the remains of his pants. Not to mention my dignity, he thought unkindly. He sank to the edge of the bed and a parcel dipped toward him, brushing against his back. He blindly reached behind and his fingers closed around a thin, squishy package. Remus tapped his fingers over the paper, then used his wand to sever the strings holding it closed. A pile of shirts spilled into his lap. Mounds of crisp, white cotton, with a scattering of pale blue and slate grey. He stroked the collar of one, marveling at it. The edges weren't frayed or worn with a greyish tint. He could actually look respectable again, and not just shabbily genteel. He plucked the grey shirt from the pile and was on the verge of slipping it over his shoulders before he checked the motion and laid the shirt aside with a regretful sigh. He couldn't shake the sensation that if he accepted the clothes, he was little more than a prostitute, despite the ring he wore. It was one of his arguments against marrying her writ large. He knelt on the bed, turning his attention to the other parcels, carefully cutting the string, and tenderly spreading the paper apart. Trousers, jumpers - including cardigans and the sleeveless V-neck pullovers he favored - three jackets, what appeared to be two weeks' worth of pants, vests, and socks, and two pairs of shoes. Remus picked up one of the shoes, bringing it his nose, inhaling the scent of leather, rubbing the smooth, unblemished surface. There had to be several hundred Galleons' worth of clothing spread over the bed. Somehow, in all the stress and upheaval, Dora had taken the time to do something for to make him feel better. It was all merely a gift. A bit over the top, if anyone cared to ask Remus, and that's what tainted what should have been simple gesture. He scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the rasp of stubble under his palm and grabbed his threadbare dressing gown from the endboard and knotted the sash as he padded into the sitting room.

Dora was huddled on one side of the sofa, face buried in her folded arms, her breathing coming out in soft, quivering gasps. Remus' hands dipped into the pockets of his dressing gown, as he stood uncertainly next to the sofa before dropping down next to her. He tentatively laid a hand on her back, unconsciously moving it in a slow, circular caress. The unyielding muscles gradually softened and she shifted as he scooted a little closer. It was rather like approaching a skittish Abraxan. 'I am sorry,' he murmured. Her shoulders jerked in response. 'It... It just feels rather like charity to me. I cannot do things like that for myself, nor even for you, so to have you purchase an entire wardrobe for me like that makes me feel like less of an equal.'

She surged upright, turning to face him. 'That's not true!'

Remus fought the urge to engage in a tit-for-tat exchange. 'Be that as it may, it does not change how I feel about it.'

'And going round wearing clothes that are little more than rags is supposed to make you feel superior, because you take joy in refusing a simple gift?' she blurted incredulously.

'A single jumper is a simple gift,' Remus countered heatedly. 'Not replenishing the entire contents of my wardrobe! I'm not a...'

'A what, Remus?' Dora whispered coldly.

'A whore,' he mumbled, feeling deep shame.

'I've hardly asked for sexual favors in return for a goddamned pair of pants,' Dora hissed. 'The only person in this room who thinks you're whoring yourself is you.' She lunged off the sofa. 'We're married. In case you forgot.' She threw him a reproaching glance. 'Unless you don't want to be.' It felt as if the oxygen had been sucked from the room. She tugged the wedding ring from her finger and held it out to him, balanced on the palm of her hand. Remus closed her hand over the ring. 'What I have belongs to you,' she told him beseechingly. 'It made me happy to do something nice for you. My money is ours...'

'But I...'

'When the war is over,' Dora began, 'if we're both still alive - and I hope we both are - we can figure out how all this works. Maybe one day, we'll have a child,' she continued, blithely unaware of the color slowly draining from Remus' face. 'Kingsley's not going to make me give up my position because you have to spend one night a month doing whatever it is you do... You could still tutor Muggle students, care for the child during the day...' She visibly collected herself. 'We can figure it out, but you have to let it happen.'

Remus stared at his interlaced fingers, the weight of his wedding band even more pronounced. Wordlessly, he rose from the sofa and returned to the bedroom, contemplating the clothes scattered over the bed. His fingertips grasped the edge of the new blue boxers and he slipped them on.

xxxxxx

The marquee gave off a soft glow in the fading afternoon light, the flag on top fluttering cheerily in the sultry breeze. 'Do I look all right?' Dora asked, twirling in front of him.

Remus adjusted the knot of his tie. 'You look fine. Lovely.'

Dora pulled a tiny mirror from her equally tiny handbag. 'Not sure about the hair color... Doesn't quite suit the dress, does it?' Her eyes crossed and the bubblegum pink faded to the hue of wheat before the harvest. It was just a few shades lighter than her normal hair color. Remus nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting briefly.

'Remus, Tonks!' Arthur greeted them gaily. 'Perfect. You're just in time. The boys are already showing people to their seats. Keep an eye out for something suspicious, would you?' He turned to greet another guest coming up the lane, but leaned back, speaking from the corner of his mouth. 'Harry's the curly-headed redhead. Just so you know.'

'Thanks!' Dora whispered. She made a beeline for the slightly pudgy redhead that didn't look like any of the other Weasleys. 'Wotcher!' She leaned closer to Harry under the guise of informing him they would sit on the groom's side. 'Arthur told us you were the one with the curly hair. Sorry about last night. The Ministry's being very anti-werewolf at the moment and we thought our presence wouldn't do you any favors.'

Harry looked over Dora's head and met Remus' eyes. 'It's fine. I understand.'

Remus gave Harry a pained smile. Or he tried to. Too much pulled at him this particular afternoon: the increasingly certain knowledge Dora was carrying his child; the realization small bits of himself were getting chipped away the more he allowed himself to be supported financially by his wife; and the sick feeling of dread that took up residence in the pit of his stomach that nothing would ease. He eyed each guest the boys escorted to their seats, searching for anything that might be out of place.

It felt like hours had passed before Fleur finally glided down the aisle. As the ceremony began, Remus unconsciously reached over and wound his fingers through Dora's. She should have had this - the marquee, the horde of guests, the shimmering white dress, the piles of food and towering cake. And it was his fault she married an old, broken, penniless pariah in a dingy Ministry office.

xxxxxx

The marquee felt too close, too confined. It made Remus feel jumpy. Dora's attempts to draw him into conversation were fruitless, so she joined a knot or Aurors, with Remus' blessing. Remus, left to his own devices, moved the fragile chair back several inches until the back brushed against the wall of the marquee and he could see everything. He felt a momentary pang for Harry, forced to attend as someone else. The boy's eyes followed Ginny everywhere.

Dora collapsed into a chair next to him, and pulled her shoes off. She curled her toes with a sigh. 'Remind me why I insisted on wearing those?' she asked.

Remus glanced at the shoes, lying on their sides. 'You refused to consider my opinion in the matter,' he said evenly. 'This is why men are sensible. They don't wear such torture devices.'

Dora stuck her tongue out at him. 'Git.' She was flushed, effervescent. 'One dance?' she pleaded. She saw his hesitation, while he searched the marquee. 'There are at least five Aurors here. You can relax for five minutes and dance with your wife.'

The music changed to something slow and languorous. 'I was merely waiting for a song I knew,' Remus said, acquiescing to her request. 'Not to mention something I can actually dance to.' He rose and offered his hand to Dora, who took it, leaving her shoes behind. He brought her hand to his chest and wrapped his other arm around her waist, and for a brief moment, swaying to the soft melody, he felt normal.

And then, as usual, Fate decided Remus had quite enough normality.

All hell broke loose.

xxxxxx

Bound to the chair he'd occupied earlier, Remus had to bite the inside of his cheek until he drew blood so he didn't laugh. This was exactly the situation he'd been on the lookout for earlier. He wasn't so conceited as to think he was the sole reason the Death Eaters fell on the wedding reception, but it was ironic that the second he let his guard down, the descended on the celebration. It was fortunate that only the outer fringes of the hierarchy of Death Eaters had invaded the reception. If Bellatrix had been amongst them, she would have murdered Dora and him with less thought than one gave in killing a bothersome insect. This lot didn't look as if they could charm their way from a wet paper bag, much less set a decent Cruciatus curse.

One of them was questioning Dora. 'W'ere's 'Arry Po'er?' he snarled, the stern effect quite spoilt by his thick Cockney accent.

'I don't know,' she replied wearily. It was the third time he'd asked her. He must have tired of asking in what passed for politeness, for he drew his arm back and struck her with the back of his hand. Dora's head rocked back, and blood trickled from her nose. Remus bit his cheek again, but this time as to not betray her pregnancy. Dora calmly wiped her nose on the shoulder of her dress, smearing the dusky purple with a smear of crimson. 'I don't know,' she repeated. 'He wasn't at the wedding,' she added, almost disdainfully. 'Ask anyone.'

The Death Eater looked bemused and leaned over to whisper to his companion. 'Bu' innihe a frien' o' the younges' Weasley boy?'

'Are you normally this thick, or do you practice?' Dora asked, almost bored. It earned her another hard slap. Her eyes watered, but she didn't whimper or cry out. Remus felt a surge of admiration. 'Yes, they're friends, but Harry's not here. Search the house if you want,' she told him. 'Won't find any of his belongings.'

'We was tol' he was brough' 'ere.'

'He left.' Dora started tapping her bare toes impatiently against the floor.

The other Death Eater grabbed Remus' face viciously in one hand, dirty fingernails digging into his cheek, reminding him unpleasantly of his encounter with Greyback last autumn. 'Is this true?'

'Why would you believe me?' Remus murmured. 'I'm just a dirty beast, not fit to be with humans.'

The one with Dora held his wand to her temple. 'Tell us, or your missus gets it.'

Remus snorted. Dear God, they sound like one of those silly gangster films... 'And my little dog, too, eh?' He heard a squeak that might have been Dora muffling a sudden giggle. 'He was here. Three, four days ago. But he wasn't here today. He's gone.'

'Where did he go?'

'I do not know.'

Slap.

Blood oozed from the corner of Remus' mouth.

'Where are the blood-traitor and Mudblood that he's so thick with?'

'They're gone. They got away in the confusion. And I don't know where they went.'

The second Death Eater stared at Remus. 'They don't know anything,' he pronounced scornfully.

In the end it was nearly dawn before they were allowed to leave. But they didn't leave unattended. Once they returned to her small flat in London, they both dragged themselves to bed, belatedly remembering to set the protective charms before falling asleep. When Remus woke up, the afternoon sunlight poured through the slightly parted curtains of the sitting room. He heavily swung his feet to the floor and shuffled, aching in every bone of his body, to peer through the small gap. Someone stood on the corner of the pavement, glaring at the building. 'Shite...'

xxxxxx

2 August 1997

So it has begun. The Ministry is in the hands of Voldemort.

Everything we do, everything we say, from this moment on, is a battle to preserve our freedom.

No matter the cost to ourselves.

xxxxxx

Teddy dropped his bag at the table in front of William's parchment-strewn desk. Williams pointed with a distracted quill to the ingredients already spread over the table. 'Look at the ingredients and tell me what potion I want you to brew.'

Teddy frowned at the table, fingers brushing over the assembled items. He picked up a tiny feather and held it up to the sputtering lamp. 'It's a Jobberknoll feather,' he stated, running a fingertip over the downy, blue-and-white speckled feather.

'And?' Williams prompted.

'One of the memory potions.'

'A Forgetfulness Potion, to be precise.' Williams set the quill down and folded his hands on the desk. 'You'll have to strip the barbs from the shaft of the feather, and make sure that not even the tiniest bit remains. Then chop the shaft into small, even pieces. The fewer feather shafts in your potion, the less time the potion is effective. Unlike Obliviating someone, Forgetfulness Potions aren't permanent.'

'What do I do with the barbs?'

'Rubbish. They're only useful with potions where you want to remember things. The barbs are where all the memories hare held.'

Teddy twirled the feather between his fingers. 'Why do people want to remember things? Forgetting them's better.' He began to methodically strip the barbs from the small feather using the silver knife from his Potions kit. 'At least with Obliviation, you don't have to relive it over and over again...' The silver knife slipped and opened a gaping gash between his thumb and forefinger. The knife was so sharp, Teddy didn't feel it. Not until he saw the blood splattering over the table. He gasped as the waves of pain hit. 'Professor...' he said weakly. He didn't like the sight of blood.

Williams' head snapped up and with an unruffled air, pulled a clean handkerchief from a desk drawer and wrapped it around Teddy's hand, ignoring Teddy's soft whimper of pain. Trying to blot the worst of the blood from the wound, Williams pointed his wand at it and murmured, 'Episky.' The bleeding stopped, the gash closed with a dark pink line that faded slowly to a faint rose, then a barely visible silver thread. 'Memories make you who you are,' Williams said, as he siphoned the blood from the table with his wand. 'They give you the means to make decisions based on what you did before. If you didn't have them, you might make the same stupid mistakes over and over.' He Banished the bloody handkerchief to his desk. 'Your parents may have died, but it wasn't due to some careless mistake.' He reached one long arm back and plucked another Jobberknoll feather from a box on his desk and held it out to Teddy. 'Start over.'

Teddy bit back the retort and pulled the feather from Williams' outstretched palm, and plopped down on the stool behind the table and began to strip the barbs from the shaft of the feather once more.

xxxxxx

A/N: Some dialogue is taken from the Scholastic paperback version of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, pg. 139.