Disclaimer: I don't own.
Notes: Yeah… I got bitten by some random bug with this. I'm trying to write another fic, but no inspiration is coming. And suddenly this little one-shot popped into my head… I wrote it all in about an hour and a bit of solid writing.
Sorry for any mistakes relating to the canon. I have only read Deathly Hallows once, a year ago, and I'm waiting for a friend to damn well give it back so I can read it again.
Please don't kill me for not updating any of my other fics… I'm trying to write more of One Step Away, but I need to rewrite the first chapter to incorporate the canon of the last battle, and I just don't have the time these days…
SPOILERS ABOUND.
In the aftermath of it all, he found he still couldn't cry. When the bodies had all been accounted for, when all the survivors turned to each other for comfort, he found himself alone amongst many – a single, solitary figure, surrounded by thousands of the simultaneously jubilant and mournful.
Harry Potter found he could feel nothing, nothing at all.
He had killed Voldemort, and it was over. The good guys had won, the bad guys had lost, and it was over. The war had culminated in a great and bloody battle for the great bastion for magical education, Hogwarts, and it was over.
It was over, and Fred was dead. Remus and Tonks were dead. Collin Creevey was dead.
It was over, and Harry Potter still couldn't cry. Outside the Great Hall – what was left of it – people were cheering, screaming, sobbing, shouting for joy, babbling incoherently as they realised that finally, for the first time in years, they were truly safe.
Within the Great Hall was where they had brought their dead. Laid out on the floor and covered with their own cloaks, or those of others, were dozens of bodies. The Weasley family huddled near one, clutching each other and moaning – young George began an eerie keening that wove through the Hall, making the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand on end.
He didn't stand with them. He felt he had failed. He hadn't saved George; he didn't deserve to share in their comfort.
His eyes drifted to a pair of bodies, laid out together, side by side, their hands almost touching. The man had grey-streaked brown hair above a face that was lined equally with age as well as scars. The woman's hair was brown as well, but in a mousier shade. She was young – far too young to be dead. The last of the Marauders, and his devoted, loving wife. Lying together, they seemed at peace.
The bodies had been brought to the Hall in a rush, and Remus's clothes were rumpled. With a compulsion he didn't stop to understand, Harry knelt and began straightening the man's robes. His hands found a piece of paper and slowly brought it out. It was a photograph. A moving, yet simple, photograph of a tiny baby boy with turquoise hair who wriggled and gurgled and eyed the camera with the bleary unfocussed quality of all babies that age.
Sitting back on his knees, Harry stared numbly at the photograph, turning it over in his hands. The caption at the back was a simple one:
Teddy Remus Lupin. 3 and a half weeks.
Teddy Remus Lupin. Remus's son. Harry's godson.
Harry stood, photograph in hand, and turned from the bodies of his friends. He once again looked over at the Weasley family, where Molly Weasley appeared to have collapsed, and where George had fallen to a silence that was just as eerie as his cries as he sat by his twin brother's corpse with an equally dead look in his eyes. No, Harry was still not welcome there.
He wanted to get out of there. He wanted… not to run away… but be elsewhere. Away from all of this. Somewhere he could think. Or not think.
Some people noticed him as he left the Hall and slipped through the throngs. Some cried out his name, others simply stared at him with awe – as though he had ascended to some God-like status. He cringed, waiting for them to approach him, but none did, and he continued his walk away from the people, away from the castle and into the grounds. Away from the forest, away from the memories, away from the truths and the revelations, away from the dead. Away.
He Apparated as soon as he was clear of the grounds. He ended up outside a house he had last been to nearly a year before. Though it was the early hours of the morning, light showed in several windows. Andromeda Tonks was waiting for news of the war, waiting for news of her daughter, and her son-in-law.
Harry walked to the door and raised his hand to knock, then hesitated. Did he have the right to give this woman such horrible news? Did anyone else have any more of a right? He rapped his knuckles, slowly, against the wood three times. In the space of a few heartbeats, the door was opened, to reveal a woman with hope blazing on her face, only to have it leach out in seconds as she recognised the young man before her with hollowness in his eyes as he looked at her.
Wordlessly, Andromeda Tonks stepped aside, gesturing for Harry to enter her home. She sat in a comfortable-looking armchair and cradled her forehead in her hands. After a while, it seemed that she finally trusted herself enough to speak. "Are… are they both…?" she uttered, raising her face to look at the haggard boy. Harry flinched, turning his face from hers, his eyes closing. He nodded.
Whatever composure Andromeda had held broke then, and she gave a soft wail. She tore at her hair with her hands, and beat her fists against her head to the litany of "No, no, no, no, no, no…" Harry couldn't bear to listen to her, nor could he bring himself to silence her.
A new voice reached him then, another cry, but one quite different - the needy cry of a baby who has no words to say what he wants.
Shakily, Andromeda began to get to her feet, "Oh, the baby…"
"I'll go." Harry said, uttering his first words since the battle.
"He… he should just need a bottle… one's there, it just needs to be warmed…"
Harry nodded, and followed the cries to a small, yet cosy room. A soft yellow light illuminated it from a cute little ornamental frog on the nightstand. The crying came from the crib in the centre of the room. A mobile hung above it – a shaggy black dog, a rangy wolf, a graceful stag and a rat twirled and danced to a soft, gentle melody.
The young man approached the crib and looked into it. The baby seemed even smaller in real life than he had in the picture. His little face was contorted with his cross screeches, his hair was a fiery red. Leaning over, Harry reached for the tiny boy, his hands seeming far too large as they wrapped gently under the little arms, automatically supporting the baby's back and head as they hoisted him up.
Almost as soon as he was picked up, the baby quietened, and his hair faded to a dull, sleepy blue. He stared up into a stranger's face, still looking annoyed as he made out blurry features. Harry placed a finger near one tiny fist and the baby automatically gripped it tightly. Harry smiled softly. "Hi Teddy…" he said. "I'm Harry. I'm your… I'm your godfather."
Little Teddy gave him a look of cross concentration, and then niggled and started crying again. Looking around, Harry saw bottles had been prepared and were standing on the desk. He summoned it with a mumbled "Accio" and a gentle flick of his wand. He warmed it slightly, to body temperature, and put it to the baby's lips. The tiny mouth opened and grasped the teat, sucking eagerly.
"So that is all you wanted, eh?" Harry asked the child nestled in his arms, who was already drifting off back to blissful slumber. Harry felt at once an infinite love, and an overwhelming sadness.
"Oh, Teddy…" he sighed. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I couldn't save your mum and dad." He felt tears pooling at last behind his eyes. He was loathe to let them fall, lest they upset the tiny child, but he could do nothing to stop them. Anguish flowed from him and he was wracked with silent sobs. Tears fell unchecked on the baby's clothes.
"I'm so sorry…" he said again, when the flow had stopped and he was able to speak without betraying tremors in his voice. "But I swear to you, Teddy… I swear to you… you will not grow up alone. I promise, I will always be here for you. I'll tell you about your parents – you'll know everything I do. I've got some photos… I'll bring them for you to see. And when you're bigger, I'll show you how to ride a broom, and I'll take you shopping for school supplies. And it'll be a good world to grow up in, 'cause your mum and dad… they died to make it that way. Your mum and dad… they were real heroes. And they loved you so, so much."
Andromeda Tonks found them hours later, when she had felt the rawness of her soul subside, though just barely. The young man, Harry, looked more at peace than she had ever seen him, sound asleep in the chair, with the baby slumbering in his arms. She watched them for a while, feeling a fierce love and protectiveness building in her chest. She walked to the cupboard and pulled out a soft blanket, tucking it around them both. Then she kissed her last two remaining family members on the heads, and let them sleep.