"Mrs. Tonks?" Dean Thomas said as the striking woman with the dark circles under her eyes opened the door, eyeing him warily.

"Yes, I am, and what may I do for you, Mr…?" she answered in a clipped formal tone, though the way she moved to pat down her hair and straighten her blouse told Dean that it was taking a great deal of effort for her to compose herself.

"Thomas, Dean Thomas, ma'am," he said, holding out his hand.

The door widened a bit, and he saw in her face that she recognized the name.

"I've been looking for you for some time. I saw you at the…er…the castle, but you left before I got a chance to…"

The reminder of the battle caused a flash of pain to cross her face. Dean continued, neglecting to add that he'd attended her daughter's funeral too--not only as a way to honor Ted, but also in the hopes of meeting his wife, though she'd left before he got a chance to push through the crush and talk to her. "I need to speak to you."

"This isn't the best time," she said, narrowing the gap in the door slightly.

"I know, and I'm sorry, but I have something important to give you."

She paused, looking him up and down and then sighed, opening the door fully and making a gesture of welcome.

Dean stepped inside, looking around. The house was impossibly clean, decorated in bright colors that might have seemed welcoming at some point if the place hadn't had an air of sorrow hanging over everything. He moved toward the sofa as she made a perfunctory offer of tea, which he accepted. Next to the sofa, in an old fashioned cradle that looked as though it had been used and loved by at least six generations, lay a small baby with fair skin, a pointed chin, and a shock of vivid purple hair. Dean resisted the urge to reach out and touch it.

"My grandson," Mrs. Tonks said as she levitated a tray before herself, setting it on a low table.

"He's…er…cute," Dean observed, never quite knowing how to react to babies, especially when it was a bad idea to point out any resemblance to the three people he seemed to most favor.

"Won't you have a seat, Mr. Thomas?" she asked, gesturing toward the sofa.

He complied, and his hostess followed suit, sitting ramrod straight on the edge of the cushion as she went through the ritual of pouring. Dean remembered what Ted had said of her upbringing, and he found himself smiling at her formality, knowing that it was, in reality, an act she did not enjoy playing.

She handed him his cup and he held it, wondering where to begin while she looked at him expectantly.

"I…er, I dunno if you knew, but…well, first of all, I'd like to offer my condolences on your daughter. I didn't know her all that well, but Professor Lupin was my favorite teacher and I think—well, if she –she must have been a special woman."

"Thank you," Andromeda said quietly, her eyes darting to the cradle sitting on the floor.

"Also about Ted—I mean, Mr. Tonks."

"Ted," she corrected.

"Yeah, Ted." Dean grinned as his old friend's face came to mind, and when he met his hostess' eyes, he found a smile quirking at the corner of her mouth, too. "I—we spent a lot of time together. He was a good man."

"Yes, he was," she agreed.

"Saved my life—twice," Dean added. "And I just—well, he wrote this, one night, and was trying to get it to you, but it wasn't safe to use the mail. I found it, in his things. I thought you'd want it." He handed her a worn, sealed envelope, which she took with a shaking hand.

"I-" she choked, holding the envelope to her breast.

Dean stood up. "I reckon I'd better let you read that…" he started, but she held out a hand in protest.

"No, Mr. Thomas—Dean, please stay, I just…"

"Go ahead," he said, and sat back down on the couch as she left in the direction of what he assumed were bedrooms.

As Dean waited, he sipped his tea, eventually rummaging in his bag for his sketchbook and the small bundle of things Ted carried around with him. Placing the bundle on the table, he opened the sketchbook to the portraits he planned on giving to Ted's wife. Eventually, he heard stirring from the floor beside the couch, and he stood up to look down on the baby, instinctively rocking the cradle. It worked for a time, but the baby—it was a boy, he remembered, opened grey eyes and looked at him curiously. Dean gave into the temptation and touched the bright splash of hair, which turned blue under his fingertips, much to Dean's surprise and amusement. "Talented little bugger, aren't you?" he said, and the baby mirrored his grin, reaching up to grab his finger.

By the time Andromeda returned, Dean was holding the baby on his lap, showing him a sketch of his grandfather, though not quite close enough for the baby to rip the paper. Dean looked up at her apologetically, saying, "Little bloke didn't want to stay in the cradle, I hope you don't…"

"Thank you, Dean," Andromeda said, giving him a warm smile and taking the baby off his hands. Upon closer examination, Dean noticed that her eyes were decidedly puffy, and that her face was slightly damp, as if she had splashed water on it.

"So what's his name, then?" Dean asked.

Andromeda took a deep breath, holding the baby tightly and kissing the top of his head. "Teddy."

He nodded in approval. "He was really looking forward to meeting him. Or it, as it was at the time." Dean let out a deep breath, running his hands over his face in an effort to get some control over his emotions. "Christ, it's so weird, seeing you. I feel like I know you. You're just as beautiful as he said."

A tear made its way out of Andromeda's eye, and Dean impulsively stood up and sat down next to her, not knowing whether to pat her hand or say something to cheer her up. Nothing came to mind except, "He loved you so much."

"I know," she said, sniffing a bit and setting the baby down on his stomach, where he promptly began clutching at the plush rug and trying so scoot forward. "He wants so badly to get moving," she said. "Hard to tell now, but I think he's got a bit more grace than his mum. He certainly got his dad's long legs."

Dean reached over to the table for the tea towel, offering it to her as tears flowed freely from her eyes.

"He loved you, too," Andromeda said. "He said as much. Told me he wouldn't have changed anything for the world, that he'd had a great life."

Dean found his eyes blurring. "He was more of a dad to me than my own. Well, either of them, actually. My real dad took off, and my step dad—well, he didn't have much use for me. But Ted—"

"Yes," Andromeda sighed. "He had the biggest heart."

"Yeah, he did at that," Dean agreed, and there was a few moment's silence where he wondered if he was overstaying his welcome. "Well, anyway, ma'am, if you ever need anything—"

Andromeda wiped her eyes, catching sight of the sketchbook opened on the table. She sucked in a breath as she recognized the laughing face pictured, her mouth twitching into a smile.

"Oh," she cried, touching the paper reverently. "He got so thin."

"Yeah, well, that was before the Goblins arrived and taught us how to fish," Dean explained. "Plus, I suspect he kept refilling my plate at his own expense. Always spoke of how I was a growing lad, though I tried to tell him that I'd prefer not to get any taller. But obviously, it wasn't all bad. I mean, there were some really good times. You can have those, Mrs. Tonks."

"Andromeda," she corrected, asking, "Are you certain you don't want them?"

"I've got it all in my head, ma'am. Never gonna forget him. I promise."

Andromeda nodded, another tear rolling down her cheek, making Dean decide to stop resisting the impulse to hug her. She stiffened at first and then gave in, holding him tightly and weeping against his shoulder, giving Dean the perfect excuse to let his own tears fall freely. He felt that he'd finally got a chance to say a proper goodbye to his friend.