"`Please, just one more!" Teddy pleads, tugging at Harry's t-shirt.

"But Teddy, we've already read all your books – many times! What can you possibly want to hear again?" Harry lets out a laugh, which only serves to increase Teddy's frustration.

"I just want another story!"

"Tell you what," Harry starts in an attempt to assuage his godson's desire, "I'll call Ron and Hermione, see if they have any stories they could read to you." Harry doubts this; Teddy has already been educated in the most prolific wizard and Muggle tales, notably requesting Babbity Rabbity and her Cackling Stump and Sleeping Beauty at least twice a week.

Ron and Hermione run up the stairs quickly, Andromeda following behind.

"Teddy, it's time for bed! You need your sleep!" she berates, with her voice oddly gentle despite the tone. It was something all three of them had come to realised about Andromeda Tonks – that everything she did sent out a wave of emotions, with none particularly distinguishable. Harry remembers the funeral particularly vividly, looking at the past through the glass of memory; it will take many years for him to forget the sight of her, a fluid grace even in the stillness, tears staining her face which is split in a horribly juxtaposed smile, giving her a distinctly fractured appearance.

"But I want another story! Just one more! Please!"

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchange glances.

"Wait, I think I know one I can tell," Hermione announces, pulling the knee-high child's chair from the corner of the room and enlarging it, making it more comfortable for her to sit on by the bed.

"We'll be ten minutes," Ron whispers to Andromeda, who reluctantly turns to leave, closing the door behind her with a faint click.

Harry tucks Teddy back amongst the safety of the warm blue duvet, then looks at Hermione, waiting for her to begin. She simply smiles, places a hand on top of Ron's, which has settled on her thigh, and takes a deep breath.

"Once upon a time, there was - ,"

"Start again! That's a rubbish start!" Teddy demands.

"Well, someone's a little critic, aren't we," Ron says, a note of affection in his voice, followed by a short laugh.

"What's a critic?"

"Someone who tells people what's wrong with what they do," Hermione explains, a little hurt, before continuing. "Now, where were we? Yes, how about this?

It was just as the sun was setting that they found out what was happening. There was a big castle, with lots of people in it, and one day a man decided to attack it. Now, this man was evil – he had a big army who went around killing people for no good reason, or put them in jail, or made them unhappy. He had a lot of power, and everyone was frightened of him. So, yes, he decided to attack this big castle, which was also a school, and had lots and lots of people in it.

Now, obviously, when the people in the school found out, they tried to get as much help as they could, and they told a husband and wife who had recently had a young child. When they found out, the man went to help and fight, while the woman stayed behind to look after her child. But because this woman loved her husband so much, she couldn't bear to be away from the fighting, not knowing what had happened to him and sure that there was a high chance he could die. Despite what this woman's mother told her, she made sure her child was safe and went to the castle to fight with her husband.

When she arrived at the castle, there were already lots of people fighting. Her husband was fighting very hard, locked in battle with one of the followers of the evil man. She knew he was in danger, but didn't know where he was or what he was doing. She was frantic, running around searching for him through the fire and the rubble, but couldn't find him.

Meanwhile, her husband was still defending the castle bravely. He was very skilled and a good fighter when he needed to be, even though he always avoided it wherever possible. But his opponent was very good as well, and won, killing her husband."

Hermione's voice catches in her throat for a moment before she continues, Ron encouraging her, patting her jeans and giving her a weak smile. Harry's head is in his hands.

"As the woman was looking, she came across another woman who was right-hand to the leader of the opposing army. Again, both were very skilled, but while she was trained in defensive magic, this other woman was learned in the dark arts and very, very powerful. They started to fight, both at their hardest, even though the outcome was inevitable. She never got to find her husband."

Now Hermione's façade is starting to break in earnest, cracks and holes appearing in her steadily-crumbling fortress.

"They did get to see each other again though. No one knows where it is until they get there, but they did meet again there. And they greeted each other with a hug and a kiss and an 'I Love You' as they wept for each other, wept for themselves and for their child who they loved more than anything else and would never see again."

Tears are falling earnestly now, creeping unbidden down Hermione's face and catching on the contours of her skin. Harry takes her opposite hand, while Ron pulls her into a hug, clinging onto her for wont of everything.

"So, you see, Teddy, your mum and dad loved you very, very much. And they're happy together now. They both miss you more than you could ever know and they'll never, ever forget you." Harry's voice is impassive as he finishes off Hermione's story.

Only then does he realise that Teddy is fast asleep, his inhales and exhales halcyon and steady, not knowing how Hermione is weeping at his bedside, that Ron is comforting her, that Harry is staring at him, misty-eyed.

It dawns on Harry that Teddy probably never heard most of the story anyway.

It's true that different deaths had affected each of them the most. Harry still grows cold remembering Severus Snape's last words, while the sudden changes in Ron's demeanour when Fred's name is mentioned are instantly detectable. Hermione, on the other hand, desperately battles with tears thinking about the man she looked up to, who she considered both a mentor and a great friend, and the woman who never failed to brighten up a situation wherever she was.

It's been five years since that night.

Five years of mourning, of changing, of growing up and maturing, of love and romance and caring and remembrance of that which was lost and those who lost them. Of guilt, of pleading for forgiveness, of apologies and acceptance.

Of missing you. Of missing all of you.

Harry swears that if he could change it, he would. He'd make it so that Fred and George would laugh together as they enticed customers into the shop, ready to spend their money of items of genius. He'd let Colin pass his NEWTs, probably with flying colours. He'd reverse it so that Snape would have a chance to tell his story, let Harry know him properly, eyes full of remorse as Harry forgives him for everything. He'd allow Remus and Tonks to raise their child in the world they helped to save, to make better, to heal, unlike the hearts of those now left behind.

It's a strange thought for all of them.

So much has changed, yet nothing's changed at all.