Disclaimer: As surprising as this may be for some people, I am not JKR and therefore do not own Harry Potter. Bet that shocked you…

A/N: This is my first multi-chapter story, so bear with me. Set almost directly after the final battle, this fic deals with Teddy, the Dursleys and fan mail (as the title suggests). But don't worry – there will be some humour to break it up!

For all those who think that Harry should sleep practically a year and a half after the battle, do not hurt me (!). Harry has not slept the amount he wanted to – he was awoken because the sun was on his face, not because he was ready to get up. Thought I'd just clear that up before starting. :)

This is a birthday present for somerdaye, who turns 13 today! Well… technically tomorrow for her, but here in Scotland it's the 17th of August so… HAPPY BIRTHDAY SOMER!

All mistakes are mine – they have nothing to do with Aidan… turns out you just can't mess with me and my grammar… :P

SPOILER WARNING: This story contains DH spoilers, so if you haven't read it, get your butt out of this story and don't come back until you have. But, seriously, if you've not read it, why are you reading Harry Potter fanfiction, because you're obviously not a fan… it's been over a year, people!

Onward!

Muggles, Fan Mail and Metamorphmagus Werewolves
Chapter 1: New Beginnings, Old Faces

Harry Potter woke in the late afternoon - squinting in the sunlight, which was streaming in through the window and on to his face. He groaned and rolled over, cursing quietly about not pulling the curtains closed around his four-poster. He lay awake, staring at Neville's empty bed, unable to shake the feeling of loss as he thought of the empty bodies of Remus, Tonks and Fred, lying somewhere beneath him.

His mind drifted to Teddy. He was an orphan now… like him. A wave of cold dread overcame him at the thought; starting in his stomach and travelling all the way to the tips of his fingers, marking his arms with goose pimples and making the hair on the back of his neck prickle. A tear escaped from the corner of his eye and fell horizontally across his face, getting lost in the folds of the thick duvet that covered him. He closed his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth, rolling on to his back as he did so - remembering his dismal childhood, and promising himself that Teddy would have a better one.

Harry sat up suddenly. He didn't like staying still. He had to move – he had to feel like he was doing something.

He grabbed his newly fixed wand and glasses from his bedside table, shoving his glasses on his face and disentangling himself from the bed sheets as the world swam into focus. He jumped out of bed and regretted it instantly, swearing quietly at the pain in his chest his eagerness had caused. Rubbing his ribs with his palm, he grabbed his rucksack (which, he presumed, Hermione had left there for him) with his free hand and made his way to the adjoining bathroom, using his shoulder to open the door.

He entered the bathroom and kicked the door closed behind him, using his wand to lock it. Setting his bag on the floor, he rummaged through it, searching for clothes that he might not have worn much in the nine months he, Ron and Hermione were gone. He found a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and, after inspecting them for holes and dirt, laid them on the floor. After a minute of rummaging and cursing, underwear and socks joined them.

Harry repacked the items he had removed in his search and placed his bag on the floor by the door so the contents wouldn't get wet. He removed the t-shirt he had slept in and threw it into the corner, where it landed on top of his bag. Turning to look at the shower on the other side of the room, he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

His hair was longer than it had ever been, the longest strands now reaching past his jaw, sticking up at the back and generally messier than ever. On his chest there was still the red oval scar from the locket (something, he realised, that might never go away), but now there were new scars. Only visible in the bright light of the bathroom, but they were still there. These new white scars surrounded the burn from the locket, fewer and fainter further away from the oval. Harry edged closer to the mirror, recognising the form of each scar.

"Damnit," he breathed, recognising each cut was identical to the one etched into his forehead. He traced one with his finger, wondering idly if one day he would be more scarred than Mad-Eye Moody. He sighed dejectedly and turned on the shower, taking off his glasses and the rest of his pyjamas before jumping under the hot water.

…

With the bodies removed, it was easy to see the damage the battle had inflicted on the Great Hall.

The flagstones were chipped and scored from stray curses and were littered with sapphires from the smashed Ravenclaw hourglass. Chunks of the four, long, scorched house tables were missing and in one corner of the room there appeared to have been a small fire.

There was blood everywhere. Splattered on the floor and soaked into the tables, it was there. Deep red and menacing, it marked the onslaught of death and fear in this room, taunting grieving families and mocking all those that were alive.

Sitting around what was left of the house tables, carefully avoiding bloodstains, were the survivors. House or blood type didn't seem to matter anymore as muggleborns and purebloods sat together, revelling in the fact that they were alive rather than caring what magical abilities their parents had. The remaining house elves had put together a feast of mourning and celebration for the inhabitants of the castle; for once sitting among the wizards and the manner of other creatures they cooked for, albeit with teary eyes.

The noise in the Great Hall shifted when Harry entered. Some growing quiet, while others gossiped in whispers to the people next to them; but Harry ignored them all. He made his way to the Gryffindor table where the Weasley's and most of the DA were situated, sitting down at the edge of the group and looking steadily at the table until the noise level returned to normal.

'Harry?' asked an unfamiliar voice.

Harry turned, his eyes travelling up to the face of his female questioner. His heart gave a jolt and started pumping adrenalin into his system; his hand jerked towards his wand. It was impossible. She was dead.

The woman gave him a soft, watery smile and his rigid form relaxed.

'Mrs Tonks,' he greeted breathlessly.

'I wondered how you were feeling?'

How he was feeling? How could he answer that when he knew he'd never see some of his friends again? Mrs Tonks seemed to understand his incredulous, pained expression for she nodded, the movement causing a tear to fall down her cheek.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the pair and Harry thought it inappropriate to ask her the same question, considering all she had lost. He fidgeted in his seat, wondering if he should stand and make her look up to him or sit and be impolite. Deciding to stand, he made it halfway out of his seat before she spoke.

'Dora told me that you were Teddy's godfather,' she began, choking slightly over her daughter's name.

Harry froze. Half crouching over his seat and bracing himself on the edge of the worn table, he turned to look at her. He could see the unspoken question on her parted lips: Are you going to take Teddy? But how could he? He knew nothing of how to take care of a baby and never would he even think of taking Teddy away from his Grandmother; his only family.

Not knowing how to answer, Harry stalled by getting slowly out of his seat and standing before her. He looked down into her eyes, so like her sister's and yet completely different, and tried to put into words what he knew he must.

'Mrs Tonks, I – I would never dream of – of taking…' stuttering, Harry shook his head, trying to tell her with his eyes that he didn't want to intrude on what family she had left. 'I'm only seventeen, I – I can barely take care of myself…' he looked away, slightly ashamed of what he'd just admitted, what it meant. When he looked back, her gaze was intense and burned his own, causing him to look away once more.

'Are you sure?' she asked, searching his face for any sign of deceit. 'Legally…'

'I don't really see the law as concrete, Mrs Tonks… not recently,' he said with a slight smile, meeting her searching eyes.

Mrs Tonks let out a sigh of relief, lip trembling and eyes bright, she whispered, 'I thought I was going to loose him,' before pulling Harry into a swift hug, which he awkwardly returned.

Pulling away from his embrace and brushing fallen tears from her cheeks, Mrs Tonks smiled up at him.

'Would you like to see him?'

'Is he here?' Harry asked stupidly, momentarily forgetting the woman before him was his only family and therefore whom he'd be with. She nodded and gave a tight-lipped, somewhat forced smile, leading him a few feet down the table where a teary-eyed Mrs Weasley was cooing over a small baby. All that was visible within her arms was a head of shocking turquoise hair.

'Molly?' beseeched Mrs Tonks, holding out her arms slightly. Mrs Weasley looked up and, with a small 'Oh', carefully handed the delicate body of Teddy Lupin over to his Grandmother. Catching sight of Harry she leapt off her seat with surprising agility and hugged him tightly. Harry winced and recoiled slightly, causing her to let go.

'Sorry,' she said tearfully, pulling him into a softer embrace. 'Oh, Harry,' she mumbled into his shoulder after a moment, 'You did it. You killed him.' She broke away from the hug, brushing away fallen tears with her fingertips. 'Thank you.' Her gaze was intense and sincere and reminded him so much of Ginny; he didn't break it.

'Mrs Weasley,' he began, clearing his throat in an attempt to make his voice sound normal, 'About Fred, I -'

'No. Don't you dare say it! None of this is your fault, Harry and I wont allow you to say otherwise!' she said, her tone somewhere between anger and hysterics, tears freely streaming down her face. Harry clenched his jaw and broke her gaze, knowing she was wrong and wondering what the outcome would have been if he'd been faster…

'Harry…' Mrs Weasley trailed off, clutching his arm and shaking her head slightly, trying to communicate her thoughts; trying to tell him he shouldn't be thinking exactly what he was.

'You can't save everyone. There are always casualties in war. You just have to-to tell yourself that th-they died as heroes.' Mrs Tonks said, tears streaking down her own face. 'But there's always life. W-with d-death always comes life' She smiled down at little Teddy in her arms and hugged him even closer to her chest; Mrs Weasley nodded tearfully beside her.

'Harry,' Mrs Tonks continued, 'The people who fought, wanted to fight. And the people who died, died so that we could all live in peace; without Voldemort.' She looked up at him, her eyes radiating a respect for him he had never seen before.

Sensing their need for privacy, Mrs Weasley squeezed Harry's arm gently and sent him one last worried glance before turning back to her husband, whom she'd been sitting with.

Harry and Mrs Tonks stood awkwardly alone and silent once again. The voices around them not seeming to penetrate the sphere of quiet that surrounded them - each voice sounding very far away. At last, when Harry thought he could take no more of the silence, Mrs Tonks spoke.

'Harry, would you like to hold your Godson?'

Harry blanched. 'I-I don't know how, I -'

'Nonsense!' Mrs Tonks stated softly, interrupting his stuttering. 'It's easy, and once you learn, you'll never forget – it's like learning how to ride a bike.'

'Actually, Mrs Tonks… I can't ride a bike…' Harry said mellifluously to her elbow, before dragging his eyes up to meet hers.

Mrs Tonks gave a watery laugh and led him to just past his original seat.

'Better start you off with stabilisers then,' she joked lightly, causing a smile to tug slightly at his lips. 'Sit down.'

He sat obediently on the bench, a short distance from anyone else, facing outward across the hall. Mrs Tonks carefully lowered Teddy into his trembling arms, mumbling incoherent words of comfort to Teddy and saying important things like 'support his head' to Harry that got lost in translation. After a bit of a struggle, Harry finally got his Godson into a comfortable position on his lap: one hand supporting his back and head, one resting cautiously at his side, making sure he didn't fall.

He had never held a baby before, never even seen one this close before, and he'd had no idea how wonderfully scary it was to be holding something so fragile. Teddy was… there was no other word for it, beautiful. His skin was peachy and soft and a rosy hue lingered over his full cheeks, clashing magnificently with his now yellow hair. His large blue eyes were curious and happy and reminded him of Tonks, whereas his nose and forehead looked like a miniature version of Remus'. Noting his own need to tell someone this, Harry realised how easy it was for people to comment on his appearance in connection to his parents. Vowing silently to not tell Teddy about his resemblance to his parents too much, he gazed into his vast blue orbs. Almost at once, his appearance changed. His yellow hair became black so quickly it was almost like someone had flipped a switch; his sleek locks changing to messy against Harry's palm.

'Oh,' Mrs Tonks breathed in awe beside him, making him jump slightly as he realised her presence. 'He must really like you, Harry. Dora only copied people she really took a shine to.' As she spoke, Teddy's eyes drifted in and out of a vibrant green, making Harry smile down at him. 'I'll give you some privacy,' she said softly, making her way over to Professor McGonagall, who was hovering by the Hufflepuff table.

'So, Teddy,' he whispered, leaning his head closer to his, 'What is it that you like about me?' He traced his soft cheek with his thumb and laughed lightly as Teddy's head lolled sideways into his touch, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth.

'I'm your Godfather, you know,' he continued quietly, 'And I promise to make your life as brilliant as possible. We're in the same boat, see – you and me. We've both got no parents… but I promise I'll always tell you stories of them, I -'

He stopped. Someone was shouting in the Entrance Hall. Shouting loud enough to cause people around him to stand up and crane their necks, trying to see the culprit. The voice grew louder and Harry felt a sickening wave of cold dread wash over him as he recognised it.

'WHAT THE RUDDY HELL DID YOU BRING US HERE FOR?'

Harry groaned and closed his eyes, praying with all his might that the perpetrator wouldn't come into the Great Hall.

'I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS, YOU HEAR? TAKE US BACK!'

Muffled voices followed the outburst, trying to calm the man down, trying to make him see reason. But the man either could not or would not understand, for he appeared at the door of the Great Hall, his piggy eyes alert and furious, vein throbbing in his forehead, his face a wonderful shade of puce. His small eyes darted around the hall before coming to rest on Harry.

'You,' he said dangerously, just as his wife and son came to peer around his large frame.

Harry took a deep breath and looked up at the three people he thought, hoped, he'd never see in this setting.

'Uncle Vernon.'

To be continued…

A/N: Thank you for reading the first instalment of my story, I hoped you liked it! I don't know when I'll next be able to update as school starts next week (joy), but I'll do my best! :)

Care to tell me what you think? You know what to do! Constructive criticism always appreciated.