You could hear the music and raucous laughter from miles around, up at the topsy-turvy house in the hills, where light blazed from the windows and smoke puffed steadily from the chimneys. It was, Andromeda thought, alive.
It would be warm in there. She drew her cloak closer around the child in her arms, shielding him from the nasty December chill, and looked again at the house. There was a lopsided wreath on the front door; a mat on the step was so faded that the 'welcome' was barely readable.
It would only take a second to knock. What was the alternative? The little house, that didn't feel quite so much like a home anymore. Dark and silent. Eight month old babies weren't, she thought wryly, much company.
Welcome, the mat said, or had once said, but was she? He'd insisted she would be. They'd never turn anyone away, he said. But she rather thought he was only saying it out of some moral obligation, conscience, or because it was simply what decent people did.
To say that Harry Potter had been a surprise would be misleading.
The real truth of it was that he hadn't stopped surprising her since the moment he'd turned up at her door seven months earlier, looking unexpectedly nervous for a man – a boy – who had just defeated the Darkest wizard for a century.
"I was wondering if – if I could see Teddy?" he'd ventured cautiously. "I don't know if they …" his voice had cracked at the merest mention of Nymphadora and Remus – "if they told you, but they made me godfather, and I –"
Andromeda had wanted to say no.
A small part of her had even wanted to slam the door in his face, to lock herself and her grandson away from the cruel world that had taken so much from them both. Potter had done great things, but he was reckless and impulsive – you had to be, to do what he'd done; he was a teenager, and his interest would wane in a few weeks. His own godfather – well, she'd never known him as an adult, but in his youth he too had been reckless and impulsive and it was hard to imagine Potter had been set much of an example.
No, this boy, who had made his first impression by crash-landing in her pond and shouting at her, would not stick around. Teenage heroes did not care for babies.
But there was something that stopped her from closing the door.
It was the look in his eyes, and the crack in his voice, and the pure weariness of him, like he'd lived a hundred years past seventeen. It was how fondly Remus and Nymphadora had spoken of him, and the reluctant knowledge that they would have wanted Andromeda to give him a chance.
She watched him now, sitting cross-legged on the floor, Teddy on his lap. It was two days before Christmas, and Harry had brought a clumsily wrapped gift; Andromeda had watched warily, and Harry anxiously, as a round-eyed Teddy had been helped to shed the paper and reveal a small picture book, The Very Peculiar Puffskein.
"Is that all right?" Harry, glancing up, had asked worriedly. "I wasn't sure what to get …"
"He seems to like it," said Andromeda, and indeed, Teddy was enchanted by the moving, brightly-coloured illustrations. "You could read it to him," she suggested, and now the two were settled on the rug, Teddy gazing, mesmerised, at the pictures, while Harry read in a surprisingly animated manner. He was even, to Andromeda's amazement, putting on silly voices for the characters, which delighted Teddy no end.
"… and the Puffskein knew he'd made a friend for life," Harry finished. The final note in his voice seemed to make Teddy realise the story was over. He let out a wail of discontent, at which point Andromeda leapt up.
"Naptime, I think," she said, reaching over to take the baby from Harry. "He only cries when he's tired."
When she came back to the living room, she found Harry still sitting on the rug, gazing at the book. She wondered, with uncharacteristic sentimentality, if he was thinking about his own childhood: an orphan too, even though he'd had more time with his parents, he wouldn't remember it.
Perhaps that was why he'd been so good with Teddy, in a way she hadn't expected at all. Cautious at first – he'd never been around babies before, he'd explained nervously – he soon grew more comfortable with his godson, helped by visits every single week, without fail, despite the fact that he'd entered the Ministry's gruelling Auror programme and was, by all accounts, helping enormously to rebuild the broken wizarding community. He could have taken off, left the country, celebrated his victory by being wild and free –
But he hadn't. He'd stayed put, continuing to give back more than anyone could have asked of him.
Andromeda, studying him, felt a sudden and unexpected wave of compassion.
"Would you like something to drink? Tea?" she offered, making him jump: he hadn't realised she had returned. "It's cold outside. I don't know if you want to wait until Teddy's up again …"
"Oh," said Harry, clearly thrown, "er – well – yeah, I wouldn't mind, if it's no trouble … I don't want to bother you … Can I help?"
"No, it's fine, I can manage." Did that sound too sharp? He looked vaguely uncomfortable, left to his own devices in someone else's house. When she came back with the tea, he leapt to his feet so quickly he almost toppled straight back down again.
"Thanks a lot," he said, taking a scalding cup from her without even flinching. "It's very kind of you to … I don't want to intrude …"
"Teddy will be pleased to see you still here. He enjoys these visits."
"Right." Harry stared at his cup. "Me too."
They sipped their tea in silence. It was unbearably awkward: they were rarely alone together, but seeing the expression on his face as he'd looked at that book … Andromeda, who was, after all, still a mother, couldn't send him out after that.
"You chose well, for Teddy," she said, to break the silence.
"Really?" Harry glanced up, his face flooded with a kind of uncertain hopefulness. "It wasn't really me. My friend Hermione helped me … I thought she'd have a better idea …"
"Well, it was a good choice."
"Thank – thank you."
Another silence. Andromeda could see that Harry was struggling to find something to say. She knew how it was: Nymphadora's school friends, when she'd had them to stay (in droves; her daughter, like Ted, had been extremely popular) had quaked in front of her. She gave off an intimidating air, Nymphadora had reported. It was hard to know what to say to her. Of course Ted, who could have befriended a brick wall, hadn't had much trouble – it had been impossible to react coolly to his enthusiastic optimism – but he'd been special. They were special.
She suppressed a sigh, and took pity on him.
"Have you any plans for Christmas?"
"Er, kind of. I'll just be going to the Burr- the Weasleys' place."
Of course - he was close to the Weasleys, and dating the daughter, whom Andromeda had liked at once when Harry had brought her to meet Teddy in the summer. A real bright spark of a girl, she had the kind of presence that reminded one of a roaring log fire in winter.
"And – and you?" asked Harry tentatively.
"Me?" Andromeda was surprised. "No, not really. We shan't be going anywhere."
"You'll just be staying here? Just you and Teddy?"
She could see him glancing around the room, which was noticeably devoid of decorations or a tree. She had lingered over the boxes in the loft, but the memories that came with them – Ted lifting his little Dora onto his shoulders so she could place the star on the top of the tree, clumsily making paper chains by hand, his jolly but tuneless voice belting out Muggle Christmas carols all the while – were too strong, and too painful, and she had shoved the boxes out of sight and fled.
After all, Teddy wouldn't remember.
"Yes," she replied stiffly, holding back a snappish do you have a problem with that?
And he did, she could tell. He was frowning deeply. "But –"
"I don't see," she interrupted sharply, "that we have anywhere else to go."
"But you do!"
Now she was frowning, and in contrast, Harry suddenly looked animated again. "I beg your pardon?"
He leant forwards eagerly. "Come to the Burrow! You – you shouldn't be here on your own." He chewed his lip pensively for a moment, apparently struggling with some unspoken thought, then said – awkward again – "you deserve a happy Christmas too, you know."
He never stopped surprising her.
Thrown, Andromeda managed to say, "I couldn't intrude on another family's Christmas."
"You wouldn't be intruding. They'd never turn anyone away, and they like having more people there. I reckon they'd be upset if they knew you were here by yourself. They invited Ton- Dora, before, and Remus, when he didn't have anywhere else to go …"
It was both a clever and surprisingly underhanded move, mentioning Nymphadora and Remus, and he knew it.
"That may well be," said Andromeda, "but I am not a friend of the Weasleys –"
Ted had been, she thought absently. He'd often hung around with Arthur Weasley, and she recalled a brief flash of a memory – standing in the corridor, watching him laugh with Molly Prewett, and feeling a sting of jealousy -
"It doesn't matter," Harry pressed. "Please, Mrs. Tonks, just think about it …"
Why was he being so insistent? Just so he could spend the holiday with Teddy? It seemed like there was something more to it, but for the life of her, Andromeda couldn't put her finger on it.
She shook her head.
"I appreciate the invitation. But I couldn't possibly accept."
Harry looked as if he would like to argue further, but after a moment he shrugged and said, "all right. But –"
Typical Gryffindor.
"- you should - consider it. Please."
"Thank you," said Andromeda, and they both heard her silent but I won't be changing my mind, and it lingered in the air between them.
It was tempting, she realised, once Harry had gone. She pictured a warm, bustling house full of people to fuss over Teddy, who would love the attention. Drink and conversation flowing.
But then she imagined herself.
On the sidelines, in the shadows, more alone than ever in a crowd of people.
Molly Weasley had killed Bellatrix, they said. Andromeda wasn't angry, not in the slightest, but she, with her resemblance to Bella, would surely create tension … who would want to talk to her, the grim-faced widow, the Black, the Slytherin?
She missed Ted so much it hurt. Andromeda Black, who had been too soft for her family and too cold for everyone else, had somehow fit in perfectly with Ted Tonks, fair in every sense of the word, with such a good heart that it had scared her at first. He had been the first person to ever really approach her, to extend to her a hand and say come on – but he was gone, and no one, she knew, would reach out to her now.
*
In the end, it had been Teddy's doing.
He was a social creature even at eight months old, just like his namesake, and knowing how much he would adore a family like the Weasleys – not to mention seeing Harry – Andromeda realised she had to make the decision not for herself, but for her grandson.
And so she was here, on the doorstep of the Weasleys' home. Thoroughly apprehensive about what would happen if she knocked.
When she knocked.
"Oh! Hello!"
The door was flung open by a tall, thin man she immediately recognised as Arthur Weasley, who stared at her disconcertedly for a moment, before giving himself a little shake and rushing forwards to clasp her hand.
"Mrs. Tonks! How marvellous! Harry did say you might be coming, of course, completely slipped my mind – but then most things do these days!"
He laughed shrilly in a way that made him sound slightly unhinged, and Andromeda smiled as politely as she could.
"I do hope I'm not intruding. Harry -"
"No, no, not at all! Not at all! Come in, come in, frightful out there, do come into the warm – and is this little Teddy?" He gazed into the bundle of blankets, momentarily silenced. Then he said "marvellous," again, and led them straight into the midst of a room packed with red-haired people.
As predicted, they made a beeline for Teddy, though shock registered on most of the freckled faces as they saw Andromeda. Molly Weasley, looking wary, merely smiled tightly from a distance and moved on through the crowd.
"Oh, ze baby!" said a ridiculously beautiful blonde girl, beaming at Andromeda and reaching out. "May I -?"
"Of course."
The girl, who introduced herself as Fleur, cradled a happily gurgling Teddy tenderly. "I remember ze day 'e was born," she told Andromeda. "'Is père was so 'appy – 'e rushed over to tell us!"
"Seems like only yesterday," added a tall, heavily scarred man Andromeda vaguely placed as Bill. He put an arm around Fleur and smiled down at Teddy, whose hair promptly turned bright red.
The people around him gasped.
"Oh! Is he -?"
"A Metamorphmagus," said Andromeda. "Yes."
More people yet came to coo over Teddy, but then slowly drifted to other parts of the house, clutching glasses of mulled wine and chatting. Andromeda settled herself and Teddy in a corner and watched the festivities. They seemed slightly forced, but then the Weasleys, of course, had also lost a child that year …
"Mrs. Tonks!" said a startled, familiar voice.
Harry had appeared in front of her, his expression disbelieving.
"I didn't think you'd come," he said. "Hi, Teddy!" He held his finger out for the baby to grab, then lightly tickled his chin. "Can I sit?"
Surprised, Andromeda nodded, and he plunked down next to her, stretching his long legs out.
"Look," he began, "I didn't mean to – to force you, or anything. To come here, I mean. I just thought maybe … it would be better than being alone."
Was it? Andromeda wondered. Better for Teddy, at least. That was enough.
"I know I've always loved spending Christmas here." Harry glanced at her. "They're good about – taking people in, the Weasleys."
"It's very kind of them." But they hadn't invited her, had they? He had.
"Listen, Mrs. Tonks …"
Someday, she'd say to him 'call me Andromeda', but not yet.
"… I just wanted to say thanks for letting me get to know Teddy. You didn't have to … and I know you probably wanted some time to yourself. I just had this – I was really determined to make sure Teddy would have people around, y'know?" He turned faintly red, as if he felt he was sharing too much. "But – yeah. Thanks."
He wanted, in other words, to make sure Teddy wouldn't be like him. It was touching. "It's been good for Teddy. And thank you for taking the time to see him. I didn't think you would." Whoops. She hadn't meant to say that … but Harry smiled.
"I don't think I made a great first impression."
"No," Andromeda allowed, amused, "but your second one was significantly better."
"It couldn't really have been worse." Harry glanced over at the door, where his girlfriend had just come in, but then turned back to Andromeda. "I am sorry about that. I shouldn't have …"
"It's forgotten. Look, don't you – aren't there other people you'd like to talk to?" She nodded over at Ginny.
Harry shrugged. "I'm all right. I've been with them all day." As Andromeda stared at him, nonplussed, he added, "I'm really glad you came tonight, by the way."
She couldn't find the words to respond.
No one would reach out to her now.
Perhaps he hadn't invited her just to see Teddy.
Good people, genuinely good people, did things like this. Harry, a hero, undoubtedly had some kind of draw to saving people; she knew he probably hoped he was saving her from loneliness. On one hand, the thought was laughable, but on the other …
Well, she was here, wasn't she? Thanks to this young man who sat with her by choice, who said he was glad she'd come, whose company, she realised now, she'd rather come to enjoy. She cared about him. She never wanted to care for another person again – you couldn't lose someone you didn't care for – but somehow, she'd been dragged into feeling compassion for a boy who'd lost so much himself … Because he knew Teddy wouldn't be like himself. Teddy already had something Harry had never had, loving family to take him in, and the truth was he would turn out fine without a godfather in his life. He didn't need Harry. But Harry needed him, and so did she. So they would spend time together, and get to know each other, and at some point, Harry Potter would become part of her life for good.
And she looked forward to it.
"It was," she said eventually, "my pleasure."