The Ghosts of Summer

Author's Notes:

J. K. Rowling has been very public about stating that the real theme of her books is death. Of course, one cannot write about death without simultaneously writing about life. Death, life, rebirth, the eternal nature of the soul… facing death without fear, facing the deaths of others, and dying for loved ones are all concepts that appear in her books again and again. I think she is wise to weave these themes throughout, despite complaints from the fans about characters who unfortunately meet an untimely demise.

Real life includes both the bitter and the sweet, the happy and the heartbreakingly sad. Through stories that include these themes, we prepare and strengthen ourselves for the inevitable partings that will occur during our lives. By grieving with characters whose words and deeds touch our hearts, we become better able to face our own setbacks and trials.

This is a sad story, at least in parts. It's a bit funny, in parts. If it makes you cry, I've achieved part of my aim; if it also lets you smile through your tears, then I've achieved the rest. This is also slightly AU, as the book (HBP, for this story) states that Harry only spends two weeks at the Dursley's before Dumbledore comes to get him. I've lengthened that to some indeterminate time, perhaps about a month, as the idea of Harry's wizard mentors popping into Little Whinging was just too much fun to put down. I've also kept Tonks as her pre-falling-in-love-with-Lupin self for a little longer, so that she wouldn't be too gloomy to be good company for Harry.

This story is dedicated to my own mother, who is very much alive and feisty (much like Neville's Gran, really) and who likes to give me plants for my garden… including some very beautiful golden-orange day lilies.

Disclaimer: I don't own HP or any of his friends; I just like to take them out for long walks and much-needed healing conversations. I claim no responsibility for extra handkerchiefs in the wash as a result of this tale.

I know most writers break up stories this length and post them as chapters, but since it's complete, and the chapters are marked internally, I see no reason to do so in this age of high-speed connections and fast download times.

Part One: A Sharpening of the Wits

Harry shifted his weight a bit on the rough surface of the picnic table. The surface wasn't completely smooth, and if he got his position just right, there was a spot that lined up perfectly with his neck vertebrae and became very comfortable for a mid-day nap. What with doing yard-work and house-work this summer, he was running a bit short on sleep, and the picnic tables in the park were a great nap spot on sunny days. He was just getting drowsy when he eyelids flew open.

"Sleeping in the open?" There was a sound, as if a fist had just crashed in the middle of the table. "In the middle of the day?" Another crash, "Potter, haven't you learned anything?"

Having already jerked into awareness with the first thump, Harry sat up with the second loud crash. He was rewarded by the unexpected sight of Mad-Eye Moody, ostensibly dressed as a Muggle but unmistakable anywhere on earth. He'd resorted once again to the bowler hat pulled low over one eye, which looked even sillier out here in a deserted suburban park as it had in urban London. Harry suppressed the urge to giggle at the sight.

"Anyway, Potter, you've no time to be wasting taking naps in Muggle parks." He flung a book bag down onto the table; it landed only about an inch from Harry's hand. "You've got work to do. I understand from Dumbledore – and others – that you did a pretty fair job of teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts to the other students last year." He sat down, awkwardly straddling the picnic bench. "Don't think you're done with that, son."

Harry shook his head, a little confused. "That was all Hermione's idea… because Umbridge wasn't letting us learn anything. She's gone now. Umbridge, I mean."

Moody ignored him, and instead started pulling books out of his bag. "Final grades haven't been sent out yet, Potter, but from what I hear, they've never seen so many students get OWLS in that subject. Quite a few 'Outstandings', too, from what I hear. That wasn't Umbridge's teaching, son, so it must have been yours."

He thumped two large books onto the table next to Harry. One was only slightly worn, the other positively ancient. Moody prodded the newer one. "Brought you some resources, in case you need to do it again this year. No idea who Dumbledore has got in mind to teach the official class, but you need all of the help you can get.

"If this war goes on for very long – and who's to say it won't – then it'll be you and your classmates who help fight it with us. Least I can do is make sure you are all as well equipped as I can make you.

"You won't find these with the schoolbooks in Flourish and Blott's. These are Auror level. Advanced studies. That one," he indicated the new book again, "belongs to Nymphadora. She said she'd be happy to have you borrow it. Not like she cracks the books a lot these days; she's more the instinctive type. The other one," he pointed to the older volume, "well, that one is mine. Had it for a long time, but there's nothing between those pages I don't know by heart at this point."

He stacked the two books together neatly and handed them to Harry. "There you go, son. Summer reading for you, and then just take them with you to Hogwarts when classes start. Don't leave them lying around just anywhere, though; technically you're too young to be in possession of them. You get caught with them and I'll have to make up some creative lies." He fixed Harry with his magical eye. "By the way, Minerva McGonagall tells me you want to be an Auror."

Harry blinked at the rapid change of subject. "Um. Yes, I think so. But I'm not sure that I have the grades for it," he trailed off lamely.

Moody snorted. "Grades. Grades are a start, Potter. Getting NEWTs in all the right subject, well, that will get you in the door, nowadays. But it takes more than good grades to defeat Dark Wizards." He thumped the table for emphasis. "It takes sense, boy. Common sense, a lot of paranoia, and a good deal of nerve. You're not lacking in nerve, nor in paranoia, from what I hear. The common sense… well, that'll come with age." He looked at Harry with both eyes. "Grades are a start," he repeated. "But if you don't have the other qualities, you'll never make it. And if you do have what it takes, and you don't quite have the grades… well, there are ways around that. We've made exceptions before."

He clambered to his feet. "Study hard, son. I'll try to catch up with you, maybe at the Christmas holidays, and see what you've learned." Harry also stood up as Moody held out a gnarled hand.

"Thank you for the books, sir," Harry said, a little shyly as he shook Moody's hand.

"You've got a fine sharp mind, Potter," Moody said, almost crushing Harry's hand in his. Harry suppressed a gasp of pain. "Pity you've got to hang around these Muggles for a bit, but Dumbledore knows what he's doing. At least now you've got something to occupy yourself."

Harry looked down again at the books, trying to imagine what the Dursleys would do if any of them came across these particular volumes. Or, really, any of his textbooks. "Yes, sir, I do,"

Part Two: In Matters of the Heart

The foam on the coffee drink in front of him shivered slightly as someone slid into the chair across the table. He looked up, into a familiar pair of sparkling dark eyes.

"Wotcher, Harry!" Tonks grinned at him. "What do the Muggles say? 'Is this seat taken?'"

Harry smiled back. Her grin was infectious. "Tonks! It's great to see you! How did you find me?"

"Oh, a few Auror tricks. Trade secrets. What are you drinking?" Heedless of her surroundings, she pulled out her wand and poked suspiciously at the foam.

Harry pulled his cup back, laughing, "It's called a cappuccino, Tonks. Very popular with the Muggles."

"Really?" She grabbed at it. "Give us a sip, Harry, maybe I'll like it."

He could tell by her face she was disappointed in the bitter coffee. "Ugh, it looks – and smells - much better than it tastes."

"Haven't you ever had coffee before?" He repossessed his cappuccino and looked at her curiously.

"Oh, sure, but I always loaded it up with cream and sugar. I'm a tea-drinker, myself. Or stronger things." She grinned wickedly at him, looking suddenly young enough to still be at school herself. "I held my House record for the smuggling of illicit intoxicating beverages into the dormitories."

Harry slurped some foam off his cappuccino. "What House were you in?" he asked curiously.

"Guess, Harry." She helped herself to a lump of sugar, sucking on it.

He laughed again, feeling lighter of heart than he had for ages. "Not Slytherin. Just no way. Not Hufflepuff, you've already told me you weren't able to behave yourself, and you just confessed to breaking some serious school rules, and you just aren't the type. You could have been Ravenclaw, because I know you had to be really bright and get top grades to be an Auror. But… I bet it was Gryffindor."

She pulled the sugar lump from her mouth. "Got it in one, Harry."

The waitress came by. Harry knew that Tonks wouldn't have any Muggle money, and he felt very sophisticated and grown-up as he ordered a pot of tea for her and insisted that it be added to his bill. He was growing conscious of the fact that this was a very pretty young woman seated across from him, even if she was some years older.

The tea arrived quickly, and Harry watched as Tonks poured herself a cup and added sugar and milk. "So," he couldn't resist asking, "what else did you do at school that got you into trouble? You told me that you had trouble behaving yourself and didn't get picked to be a prefect."

She sipped at her tea. "Hey, this is good. I've never had Muggle tea before. Well… besides smuggling in firewhisky, wine, mead, and anything else I could get my hands on… I guess it was mostly the boys. And the pranks, of course."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Boys?"

"Yup. I tried to smuggle one of my dates up to the dormitory, but that didn't work so well. Got me in a spot of trouble, as I was only a third-year, and he was a sixth-year. Professor McGonagall had some words with my parents over that one." She toyed with the teaspoon, "After that, I mostly snuck off with them – sometimes the Astronomy tower, even though it was out-of-bounds – and a couple of times, the Dark Forest." She looked more serious. "But Harry… it was different, in those days. Safer. No one took it too seriously if students wandered a bit."

"And the pranks?"

"Oh, nothing too original. Not up to your dad's standards, from what I understand. Or even those deliciously insane Weasley twins. But my friends and I did have fun. Mr. Filch was our usual target. We hid all of his things… his mops, his ladder, everything … in the most ridiculous places. And as our magic got better, he had a harder and harder time getting them back." Her face took on a misty expression. "We managed to feed gillyweed to Mrs. Norris – disguised as liver – and grabbed her and put her in a giant goldfish bowl. There she was, swimming in circles as he came around the corner… a sort of cat-fish." She giggled and poured another cup of tea.

"But enough of my schoolgirl sins, Harry, what about you? Sneaking off into dark corners with the girls yet?"

Harry almost choked on his cappuccino. "No… not really. I mean …"

She leaned forward. "Oh, come on, Harry. You're the most famous boy at the school. Don't tell me you haven't got the girls interested." She eyed him speculatively. "Although you are at that age where the girls are almost adults, while you boys are … just boys. Girls grow up faster, you know."

No, I don't know, thought Harry, Was that why he had had such a rocky time with Cho? And why Hermione seemed so much more capable at everything than he or Ron? No, she'd been that way even when they were just first-years. Hesitantly, he told her about Cho and the encounters they'd had.

"You'll do better with someone a year or two younger," she said cheerfully. "And make sure to be a bit mysterious. Women like a challenge, you know. If it's too easy to get your attention, they'll just toss you aside. Or if you're too easy to understand."

Harry shook his head. "I shouldn't have any trouble, then. None of them understand me, and I don't understand them."

"It's all right, you're not supposed to." She looked at her watch. "Done with your coffee? I've got time to see you home."

He eyed her suspiciously. "I don't think that my aunt and uncle… well, I don't think they especially want to talk with you again."

She grinned and finished her tea. "Oh, I'm not thinking about them. I'm thinking about that great lump of a cousin of yours. Had many girlfriends, has he?"

"Dudley? Girlfriends?" Harry snickered. "Not bloody likely."

"Good." She stood up. "Pay the bill, Harry, and let's be off."

They took the Muggle bus back to Harry's neighborhood. The stop was only a few blocks from where he lived. To his intense embarrassment, Tonks grabbed his hand as soon as they got off the bus.

"Relax, Harry," she hissed in his ear. "I won't bite. Well, not someone your age, anyway."

They walked down the sidewalk. Tonks had done something to her appearance, but it was subtle: not a full disguise, as she had demonstrated before, but she'd made herself look both shorter and younger. Now she looked Harry's age. Her bright pink hair and eccentric (by Muggle standards) costume were both eye-catching and attractive. She smiled, swung their joined hands, and did everything but skip down the road.

"Will they all be at home, do you think?" she murmured in his ear, leaning close.

Harry thought about this date and time. "Probably. Dudley has a program he likes to watch that's on at about this time."

She walked him right up to the front door; Harry was unsurprised that she knew exactly which house he lived in. Sure enough, as they stood briefly on the front step, Harry saw the curtains twitch aside and caught a glimpse of his cousin's face.

"Is that him?" she said under her voice. "Is he watching?"

"The one and only… and yes, he is."

"Good." She grabbed his shoulders, pulled him closer, and planted a light kiss full on his lips. "Have a good summer, dear Harry, and I hope to see you soon." She grinned her wicked grin again. "Thanks for the tea."

He stepped back and touched his lips self-consciously. "Don't do that," she hissed. "Make it look like you do this all of the time. Now kiss me back!

"Tonks!" he protested. "I can't!"

"Yes, you can!" This time, she grabbed his ears, and kissed him more firmly. "There!" She touched his nose. "Corrupting the youth of Hogwarts… another transgression for my collection. Bye, Harry!"

With a flick of pink hair and a flounce of her wild chiffon skirts, she was off.

From inside the house, Harry could hear Dudley yelling for his mother. "Mum! Harry's kissing a girl on the front step!" He smiled wistfully, and touched his lips again, and prepared to go inside.

Part Three: Spell of the Eternal Soul

He was half-expecting the next visitor, but even so, he was caught by surprise.

It had been a tedious week, enough so that he was casting about for something novel to break up his day. After weeks of doing extra yard-work and house-cleaning for Arabella Figg, he'd finally amassed enough Muggle money to keep him in bus fare and hot, bitter coffee drinks. He'd decided that he could spare enough of it for a trip into town, and was waiting at the local bus stop.

Leaning against the bus stop post, his mind thousands of miles away, he was startled by a tap on his shoulder. He whirled around, hand automatically reaching for his wand pocket.

"Hello, Harry." Remus Lupin, dressed in his familiar shabby clothing, smiled at him. "I wouldn't recommend Stunning me. I think I still know a few more spells than you do."

"Remus!" Shaken out of his moody reserve by Lupin's sudden appearance, he whooped in sheer delight and hugged his friend and mentor enthusiastically. "What are you doing here?"

"Checking on you, of course." They broke apart, but Lupin kept a grip on Harry's shoulders. "How are you, Harry, really?"

"Bored," Harry answered honestly. "Lonely. Feeling utterly useless." He was struck by a hopeful thought. "Have you come to take me away?"

'Not yet, Harry." Lupin shook his head and released him. "I believe that Dumbledore himself intends to come collect you very soon, based on something he said to me a few days ago. No, I'm just here for a visit." He looked around. "Can we go for a walk? Or were you truly waiting for a bus?"

Harry fought down his disappointment and tried to smile. "No... I mean, yes, I was waiting for it, but only because I didn't have anything better to do. Of course we can go for a walk." He pointed down the road. "There's a little park down that way; I spend a lot of time there."

They walked quietly for a few blocks, then Lupin broke the silence. "How much time do you spend at home, Harry?"

Harry snorted. "Very little. I sleep there. I eat there, mostly, but when the weather is nice, sometimes I just buy my own food and hang out in the park." He shrugged. "It could be worse. They aren't after me to do as much work at home as they used to be. I think they're afraid of what you lot might do if you get wind of them being too hard on me."

"That was the general idea," answered Lupin quietly.

"Since Mrs. Figg helped my out last year… you know, with the hearing and all, she's been really nice to me." Harry managed a smile. "She's careful to act just the same as always when the Dursleys are around, but if they aren't, then she invites me over and usually feeds me. Her cooking's gotten a lot better. Plus, she's been paying me to do chores for her, things she can't do by herself."

"Good." Lupin nodded. "She does do good work for the Order, Harry, even without having any magic. She's been in touch with us this summer, of course… in fact, she was the one who tipped me off that you might be at the bus stop."

Harry kicked at a rock on the pavement. "Yeah. Glad she's getting to do something useful." He didn't try to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Even a Squib has more to contribute right now than I do."

"She's worked for Dumbledore – and the Order – for years, Harry. You know that. Se's a grown adult even if she hasn't a drop of magic. Even so, her primary job has been to keep an eye on you. Is that such a glamorous task that you envy her?"

They had come up to the park entrance, and Harry indicated the cluster of picnic tables. "No. I'm sorry. I know it's only been a few weeks, but I'm just feeling isolated."

"Understandable. Just wait a few more days, Harry, then I am sure we'll have you out of here for the rest of the summer." They reached the nearest picnic table. "In the meantime, "I've something to give you."

Harry sat down across from Lupin, his curiosity piqued in spite of his frustration and disappointment. Lupin, with something to give him? He didn't seem the type to be passing on old clippings and photographs, nor had he ever given the appearance of a man with enough money to be buying gifts.

Lupin reached into a pocket and drew out a small box. It appeared to be made out of some kind of silvery-grey wood. He set it on the table between them.

"Go ahead, Harry. Take off the lid." He spoke with hushed intensity.

Even more curious, Harry reached for the lid. It stuck a little, but after a bit of wiggling, he was able to ease it off. Underneath was a scrap of ivory-blonde satin. He looked up at Lupin.

"Keep going. Look under it."

Harry lifted the small piece of fabric. He could tell as soon as his fingers touched it that it was brittle with age, and he handled it carefully. He set it aside on the picnic table before looking back at the box.

Inside lay a single flower, resting on a bed of the same pale satin. A lily. A clear, brilliant yellow-orange that made Harry think of flames in sunlight, it seemed to glow from within. "It's a flower," he said, unnecessarily, looking back up at Lupin.

"Yes, a flower." Lupin met Harry's eyes. "It's from your mother's bridal bouquet."

"But… but that's impossible." Harry brushed the flower tentatively with his fingers, half-expecting to feel the flat sensation of an artificial blossom. Instead, he felt the cool, almost-waxy texture of a genuine flower.

"It is impossible, Harry, but not in the way you think. Let me explain." Lupin pulled the small box closer to him and carefully lifted out the lily. "As an old bachelor, I'm no expert on weddings, but I suspect you don't know much about how couples are married in the wizarding world."

"I don't even know anything about Muggle weddings," admitted Harry. "The Dursleys have been invited to a few, but they always leave me at home."

"In our traditions, the bride puts her own bridal wreath and bouquet together, from the flowers she loves best." He smiled sadly, and Harry could see his eyes lose focus as memory took hold. "For your mother, of course, that meant lilies, her namesake. I remember that her own mother tried very hard to convince her to choose only white ones, but Lily loved flowers that had a bit of personality. She carried a large bunch of these. Muggles call them day lilies, as they have a brief, ephemeral life of only about a day for each bloom. It must have been a challenge to work with them, and Lily loved a challenge."

Harry remembered Tonks' words a few days ago, about women loving a challenge, and nodded.

"The color fought with her hair, according to her mother, but when she came forth to meet your father, carrying these, she was radiant."

"But…" Harry bit off his question. Lupin smiled his sad smile again.

"But why is it still fresh? That also has to do with our traditions. In the wizarding world, the bride makes the bouquet that she carries and the wreath for her head, and then a spell of preservation is placed upon the flowers. After the wedding, the bouquet is carefully taken apart – not thrown at the guests, as I have heard happens at Muggle weddings - and the individual flowers are given out to the bride's close friends and family. I was both surprised and honored to be given one of your mother's flowers, Harry."

He looked away for a moment and cleared his throat before continuing. "Traditionally it's the bride's mother, or some other female relative, who casts the preservation spell… but in the case of a Muggle-born like your mother, that wasn't an option. Some brides hire a professional to do the job, but Lily had so little money to spend on her wedding. So she cast the spell herself."

Harry looked down again, at the simple perfection of the flower that Lupin was holding. "She cast it herself? But…"

"Exactly." Lupin replaced the flower in its satiny bed. "After your parents were murdered, Harry… well, let us just say that it was a very dark time for me. I was a little mad for a while, to tell the truth. It was almost a year after their deaths that I dared to open this box again.

"I expected, of course, to find the spell long vanished, the flower long since decayed. Instead, I found it to as fresh and as lovely as on your parents' wedding day."

"But … I've always been taught: when the wizard dies, so does the spell." Harry touched the flower again, lightly. It still felt utterly real to him.

"Normally, that is the case. I don't pretend to understand it at all, Harry. But something about the way your mother cast the spell made this happen. Something about her love for your father, and her utter commitment to him, and her hopes for the future… somehow, I think that the spell became part of her soul, rather than a work merely of her body. And so, as her soul exists in eternity, so does her enchantment."

Harry swallowed against a suddenly dry and scratchy throat. "Does that happen very often?" he managed to ask.

Lupin shook his head. "If it does, I haven't heard of it." He pushed the small silvery box back across the table. "I want you to have this, Harry. You have so little that belonged to your parents, and almost nothing of your mother's."

Harry reached out his hand, stopped. "But Remus… you were her friend." He shook his head. "If you give it to me, you will have nothing of hers to remember her by."

"No, Harry," Lupin shook his head. He placed the lid back upon the box, and set the box firmly on the palm of Harry's outstretched hand. "I need no memento of your mother, nor of your father. When I wish to remember them, I need only look upon your face." He brought Harry's free hand over on top on the box, covering it with his own hand. "That the son of Lily and James Potter freely gives me his friendship, and his trust, and allows me to sometimes stand in their stead, to the best of my poor abilities… that is far the best keepsake of their memories that I could ever have."

Part Four: Death is Only a Horizon

Harry knocked quietly on the door. He knew that Andromeda Tonks was expecting him, because of their owl correspondence… and simply because of the date. Sure enough, in a few seconds she came to the door.

"Hello, Harry. Please come in." As always, Harry was struck by her resemblance to her sisters, Narcissa and Bellatrix. In her, though, the Black family features somehow translated differently; where her sisters had been hard-edged, she was softer; where they had worn a scowl, she had a welcoming smile for him.

"I'm a few minutes early, I know." He stepped inside the house and followed Andromeda to the sitting room.

"No matter. I've almost got him ready." She favored him with another smile and waved him to a chair. "Make yourself comfortable, and I'll be back in just a moment."

Harry sat. He looked around the room, and reflected on how little it had changed since the very first time he had been to this house, nearly two years ago. Then, Andromeda Black Tonks had still had a husband, a cherished, mischievous, madcap daughter, and a brand-new son-in-law. Now, with all three of them dead in the struggle against Voldemort, she had only her little grandson.

Restless, he got up and walked over to the mantelpiece and once again studied the photographs that crowded it. There were many of Ted Tonks, and of their daughter Nymphadora, who had always despised her given name. There was only one small photo of their daughter on her wedding day, eyes shining, hands clasped with her new husband. The husband she hardly got a chance to be with, thought Harry, before they were both killed. The short marriage had lasted only enough to produce young Teddy, born only a few weeks before his parents' death in battle.

Harry picked up the photo, looked closely at it. Tonks was glowing with happiness, pulling her new husband closer. Remus Lupin looked back out of the picture frame, his prematurely-lined face mirroring a fairly even balance of elation and sheer terror, his hand nevertheless clasping his bride's very tightly.

"Dear Harry." Andromeda had come up behind him, young Teddy in her arms. "Sometimes I think that I should give you that photograph. Every time you are here, I catch you staring at it."

Harry shook his head. "No, of course not." He put the photograph back down, carefully. "Don't be silly. She was your daughter."

"And he was your good friend, and your father's friend before that," she added quietly. "You knew him as well as any of us, I think. And there are so few pictures of him," she added sadly.

Lupin had once hinted to Harry that his new in-laws were less than thrilled about their daughter's choice of a husband. It was clear to Harry that both time and tragedy had softened Andromeda's attitude toward her son-in-law. That, and having their son to raise as her own.

He took a deep breath. "It's only that whenever I look at this, I wish I had been able to be at their wedding. Stand up for them, be a witness... maybe tell him to stop looking so worried. He was at my parents' wedding, you know." He turned to the small person in Andromeda's arms. "Well, Teddy? Are you ready for our walk?"

Teddy nodded, though Harry suspected that the toddler was learning to answer every apparent question with that motion. The little boy only had a few words as of yet but had been walking well for about a month now. Harry held out his arms, and Andromeda transferred Teddy to him.

"He'll want his nap in about an hour, but that should give you plenty of time." She reached over and stroked the little boy's hair, which was currently a shade of turquoise blue. Like his mother, young Teddy Lupin was a Metamorphmagus. When he grew older he would be able to change his appearance at will; since he was still a baby, his talent mostly expressed itself in wild changes of hair color. "Teddy, dear," his grandmother said gently, "That's really a terrible color on you."

The walk to the small village cemetery was short. Harry carried his godson along the road but let him walk at his side once they went through the gate in the low wrought-iron fence. He gripped the tiny hand tightly, and kept his pace slow enough for the child's feet to keep up. Every little while, he looked fondly down at the small blue head.

He'd visited his godson regularly over the last year, sometimes several times a week, but never with such purpose as today. The idea had come to him gradually over the last few months, once he had finally had time to consider how he meant to fulfill his role as godfather to his lost friends' little son. He knew that, above all else, he wanted to help little Teddy to grow up with knowledge of his parents… who they had been, what they had accomplished. He still clearly remembered his own shock at finding out his parents' identity and fate at the age of eleven. And he'd been a year old when his parents were killed, and maintained some gut-level, non-verbal, childish sense of memory of them. Teddy had only been a few weeks of age when his parents faced their deaths.

His grandmother Andromeda loved the child with all her heart, of course, and would take care that he grew up knowing his magical heritage. Teddy's letter from Hogwarts in ten years would come as no surprise to the child. Andromeda would show him photographs and tell him stories of what his mother had been like as a child. She would be able to spin out the tale of his maternal grandfather Ted Tonks, after whom he was named, and how he too died at the hands of those who served Voldemort. But who would tell Teddy about his father, who had been an enigma to all but a very few people, almost all of whom were now dead?

I will, vowed Harry, and squeezed the little hand that he held.

They had arrived at the monument. Harry took off his cloak – a perfectly ordinary cloak, not the silvery, fluid magical breadth of his Invisibility Cloak – and spread it on the ground in front of the double marble grave marker. He knelt down on it, and pulled the little boy onto his lap. His vision blurred as he read the inscriptions.

Nymphadora Tonks Lupin; Beloved mother, daughter, and wife. Slain in the Battle of Hogwarts. "Joy in living is greatest magic of all."

Remus John Lupin: Beloved father, son, and husband. Slain in the battle of Hogwarts. "It is the quality of one's convictions that determines success."

Near the double marker, and just a bit in front of it, stood the small black marble stone that Harry had commissioned a couple of months ago after finally finding something he had sought for a long time.

Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody: Legendary Auror, friend, teacher, and tireless warrior. Slain in the line of duty in the War Against Voldemort.

Andromeda had been more than willing to let him put up a small memorial to Mad-Eye next to her daughter's grave. Mad-Eye, as far as Harry had been able to tell, had had no living family, and Tonks had always been one of his favorite protégées. But neither Harry nor Andromeda had been able to come up with a fitting quote to add to the stark description. Harry could not remember Mad-Eye ever saying anything to him that wasn't simply practical, solid advice. There had been no poetry in Mad-Eye whatsoever.

He reached into an inner pocket, and drew forth a small, round object. A magical blue eye, now forever stilled of its former frenetic activity.

It had taken extensive searching to find it again, after the impromptu burial he'd given it in the forest after the raid on the Ministry last year. But some careful spell-casting aid from Hermione, coupled with his own memories, had finally done the trick, and he had been able to recover the lost magical eye. With Mad-Eye's body never found after his death, the small globe with its staring bright blue pupil was the only bit of him that was left.

Harry lay it on the earth in front of the grave marker, and cleared his throat. "Teddy… we're going to say goodbye to Mad-Eye first. You never met him; he died just a few weeks after your parents were married. He was my defender, Teddy; he gave his life so that I could escape danger." He felt the toddler shift on his lap, and tried to compose his thoughts.

"Mad-Eye... " he whispered. "I'm sorry you had to die for me. I'm grateful for everything that you did to keep me safe, both me and my friends. You always had the best plans, the fiercest drive, the clearest vision, and the most common sense of all of us. You never had much of a chance to rest, in life. I hope you are getting to have a nice long rest. And I hope you've somehow caught up with Tonks. She loved you like a second father, you know. Good-bye."

He reached into his pocket again, and this time pulled out a spoon. A simple but sturdy teaspoon, filched from his own kitchen under Kreacher's very nose. He used it to dig a small pit in front of Moody's memorial stone, then placed the eye in the hole and carefully covered it up. It was awkward, doing all of this with the child on his lap, but he persevered. He took a deep breath, and wiped his sleeve across his face, before moving on.

"Tonks," he whispered raggedly. "I miss you so much. You were one of my favorite people, did you know that? You made me feel at ease, with your jokes and your clowning around, even when things were grim. You made Ginny and Hermione smile, and were like a big sister to them. And I'll never forget… you gave me some very, very good advice about women. You were right, they do like a challenge. But don't tell Ginny I said that." He stopped to dash tears from his eyes, half-laughing, half-weeping. "You loved to laugh, and I never saw you cry except when Mad-Eye died. So I know you won't mind sharing a little of your space here in the cemetery with him.

"I've got your son here. He isn't old enough yet to understand, but I want to bring him every year anyway. I want him to grow up knowing what happened to you and Remus, even before he can really talk. Besides," he gulped, and had to rub his face again, "it's a lot easier to do this in front of a baby. Maybe by the time he's old enough to be embarrassed by me, I'll have it under control." He shifted the child in his arms and hugged him tightly. "He looks like you, mostly, although every once in a while, when he's being serious, I can see his father as well." His hoarse whisper trailed off. "Good-bye, Tonks. I'll look after your boy as if he was my own. My promise."

He buried his head for a moment in the turquoise-blue fluff on Teddy's head, feeling the tears drip from his eyes. This was far harder than he had expected, and the final conversation would be the most difficult of all. He took deep breaths, feeling strength come to him somehow from the sleepy little boy in his arms. At last, he was ready.

"Remus." He tried to speak a little louder, but his voice came out hoarse and full of pain. "My favorite teacher. You were, you know. You always seemed to have time for me during that year you were teaching at Hogwarts. And after… you were always the calm one, the voice of reason, the one who understood even the most complex situations. If Mad-Eye was my defender, you were my advisor. I depended on you to explain things to me when the world didn't make any sense." He had to stop again, dropping his chin to rest on Teddy's head, while the tears dripped freely. "You told me about my parents, when I wanted to hear more. You comforted me when I wasn't ready to listen to anyone else and when I was angry at the whole world." He laughed shakily. "And you taught me that there was no shame in shedding tears over someone that I loved, and had lost. That's a good thing, because if I was shedding any more, we'd have consult Neville about finding something salt-tolerant to plant over your grave."

He sniffed loudly. "Like I told Tonks, I've got your son here with me. He doesn't really understand, yet, but when he gets bigger, I'll make sure he knows all about you. I'll try as hard as I can to do for him, what you did for me. Good-bye, Remus, my teacher, my friend," he choked out the final words.

From yet another pocket, he drew forth a silk-wrapped package. "Teddy," he whispered, "We're going to give your mum and dad a flower now. A special one." He unwrapped the package to reveal a perfect oval of crystal, with the brilliant orange lily in the very center.

The craftsmen of Diagon Alley had done a beautiful job. Harry had brought them the flower and described what he wanted. Now he placed one of Teddy's little hands on the crystal oval, and centered the crystal on the main grave marker. "Help me hold that, Teddy, while I activate the spell." He pulled out his wand, touched the crystal, and murmured the incantation that would activate the Self-Sticking Spell.

"There." He swallowed painfully. "From my mother, to you, Remus, and then to me, and now back to you again. And to Tonks, in memory of your marriage that was so short. All of us, bound together…"

He could not go on. Once again, he pulled young Teddy into his arms, and felt the little boy's trusting arms go around his own neck. He thought of his parents, dead this many years, but still so much a part of what he had accomplished a year ago. He thought of Sirius… impulsive, passionate, poetic Sirius, slain while defending Harry and his friends, whose own older cousin was grandmother to the small child Harry now held in his arms. Connection upon connection… Fred Weasley, bound to him both by friendship and by the love that his younger sister now gave to Harry. And others, that he didn't know nearly so well, that had died in the struggle.

"Mum. Dad." He whispered so quietly that even Teddy wouldn't be able to hear him. "Please. Take care of them. Take care of my friends. Make sure that Mad-Eye knows that all of his work was worth it, that we won, in the end, that I appreciated his wisdom and his warnings. Please… hold Tonks close for me. Make her laugh again. She was so young, Mum and Dad, just like you were. She shouldn't have had to die so soon, with her baby so tiny. And Remus…" He stopped, while tears ran down his nose into Teddy's hair. "I miss him so much. He did so much for me, when I needed someone to listen, someone to advise me. Please, please, Mum and Dad. Please find him and let him know how much I cared about him, how much he helped me. Don't let him be alone, ever again. He was alone too much."

Harry sat there for a few minutes, shaken to the core by his own feelings. Stop being so hard on yourself, he told himself sternly. You never had the chance to grieve for any of them, not really. There was always so much else to do.

Just as he was about to get up, he felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Something…. Someone was watching him, listening to him. Yet he heard nothing. And he knew, somehow, that nothing evil was present, here in the cemetery with him and Teddy.

He closed his eyes again. As he did so, he felt an overwhelming sense of love, acceptance, and warmth, while nonetheless a shiver passed through him. Something was happening here in the little cemetery, and he knew it was going to be beyond the bounds of his understanding.

He felt a touch on his shoulder, then, and knew that gnarled hands were grasping him firmly in a rough farewell. Then came a kiss upon his cheek, soft and light like butterfly wings, accompanied by the sensation of hair brushing his ear. Finally, there were strong, wiry arms wrapping around both him and the child, in a fond embrace; he could swear that he felt the texture of an old, scratchy, shabby cardigan against his face. He almost opened his eyes at the last touch, but in the end, kept them closed until the last vestiges of the touch and the warmth had faded away. At last, he struggled to his feet.

"Come on, Teddy," he said hoarsely, and shifted the now-sleeping child to a more comfortable position. "Let's get you home."

Finis!

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