"Dora. Dora, love, it's time to wake up. Come on, now." I murmured, peering downwards and into my daughter's sleeping face. From a very young age I knew that I wanted to be a father. Whether it was from spending so much time with Harry's children or the fact that I grew up without one - I wanted to be a dad.

My wife, Victoire, had no qualms with trying for children so soon. Hell, she and I were married not even a month after she graduated from Hogwarts. At that time I was well into my Healer studies. She and I found ourselves a small flat in a nice, muggle neighborhood. Fascinated by them, she is. I say she takes after Arthur more than any of the other Weasley's. Two muggle-loving peas in a pod.

She became pregnant only a few short weeks after we moved in. And it was the happiest time of our lives.

"Please, dad..." Now my ten-year-old was begging me, her voice thick with sleep and her hair color wavering from violet to an oddly lit magenta. "Five minutes." She grumbled and I couldn't help but chuckle.

Nymphadora Genvieve Lupin was born at St. Mungo's hospital on February 25th. Now, I'm sure you're wondering why I dubbed my daughter with such a name. A name that my mother herself, Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin, despised with every fiber of her being.

The only answer I can give you is that it was simply meant to be. As if Nymph's name was decided for her before she even met Victoire and I. Within minutes after she was born, her hair blossomed into the most obnoxious shade of bubble-gum-pink. I looked to my wife, eyes wide, and she was smiling. 'Nymphadora,' Victoire said. And I could only nod my head in agreement,

"What time is it?" Nymph muttered, blue eyes surfacing.

I smiled down at her and smoothed the bangs off of her forehead. "Half past nine. Your mum's got breakfast going. Up you get. I want to see you downstairs in a jiff. Understand?" I kissed the top of her head and got to my feet. She gave a tired grin and I shot her a fleeting wink.

I left Nymph's room and headed for the kitchen. Victoire was scrambling eggs almost furiously. I love to watch her cook. She absolutely refuses to use magic for the most menial tasks. I came up from behind and wrapped my arms around her waist, my chin resting on her shoulder.

"Good morning," she said and I could tell she was smiling. "Where's Dorie?"

"She's up. Getting ready." I yawned and nuzzled into her neck. In the next moment I felt something attach itself to my leg, nearly tumbling me over and onto Victoire. I looked down and was delighted to see my three-year-old son's bright eyes and wide, goofy grin.

John William Lupin was born at our home on October 11th. And he was most definitely our little surprise. Initially we were hesitant about how Nymph would take the news. Thankfully, she bonded with her baby brother almost instantly.

I love my girl with my whole heart and I don't believe in playing 'favorites.' But I won't deny that knowing I was to have a son made me a very happy man. Unlike Nymph and I, John is not a metamorphmagus. He has his mother's brown eyes and a head of reddish-blonde hair.

So quiet. So softspoken this boy is. And though he cannot read, books are his favorite things in the world. He just flips through the pages, his eyes narrowed in such thought. He tries his hardest to read, to understand. He has a bit of an obsession with chocolate frogs as well.

I love him.

"I'm hungry, Daddy," said John, his smile faltering somewhat. I released Victoire, bent down and scooped him into my arms.

"Soon, my boy. You have to be patient." I smiled and sat him on one of the countertops. I looked to my wife and saw her studying me carefully, her eyes calculating. I knew why she was looking at me so. "After breakfast I'll... I'll be out for an hour or so," I said softly.

Victoire frowned and reached out to me, her hand finding mine and intertwining our fingers together. She gave me a squeeze. "You're sure that you don't want me to go with you? We could leave Dora and John with my parents, Ted."

I gave her a loving half-smile and shook my head softly. "No, sweetheart. I have to do this alone."

And she understood. She always has.

This was the day when, thirty years ago, my parents married. Amidst a war or not, it didn't matter. Apparently some love is just too strong to contain. Thirty years... And neither of them lived to even see their first wedding anniversary. I walked throughout the small cemetery with a heavy heart. Surely by now my hair was brown and dull. I found their graves and my eyes drifted to their shared tombstone.

To this day, no matter how frequently I visit, no matter how old I get, it's never any easier to see. And I still do not understand how I miss them so dearly when I haven't the slightest recollection of ever meeting them. If it weren't for photographs, I wouldn't even have a clue as to what they look like.

But they're my parents.

And I love them very much. Somehow, I do. And I know they loved me just as I love my son and daughter. For many of my teenager years I was angry and bitter. 'How could they leave me like that?' I would think. 'They had no place in a bloody battle with a baby at home! They left me on my own... they left me without even giving it a second thought.'

But then I grew up. I had children of my own and realized that if there was a force threatening their chance at a happy life, one that put them in danger, I would do anything to stop it. I would fight, give my all until I have nothing left to give.

And that is exactly what my parents did for me.

"Wotcher," I said aloud, swallowing the lump in my throat. Sometimes I like to pretend that they can hear me. That they're smiling and just... well, listening. I sat down in the grass, my fingers gently skimming over the indentations in the stone.

I managed a smile, blinking back the tears which were slowly clouding my vision. "Happy anniversary, Mum and Dad."