Written for History of Magic Class. The link is in my bio.
WC: 498
You watch as your grandson plays in front of you.
There's some music playing in the background, but you can't name which one. It's from your collection but, then again, your mind is not in this moment, so you don't care that you can't remember.
You smile, as the toddler clasps his hand above his head, at the sight of his father entering the room.
He sits next to you and stares at the fireplace.
The silence is overwhelming and, even though you want to say something, you can't figure what.
You know, he starts and you don't need to look at him for him to know that you're listening, the first time this war happened, I was fighting along with my best friends.
There's a loud crack that makes the little one scream, so his dad picks him up and paces around the room.
When you're younger, this used to scare you too. But so much has happened already that you find that nothing scares you all that much anymore.
(And you don't know if it's a good or a bad thing.)
And when they targeted James and Lily, I was so scared, his voice is so small, that a part of you wants to hug him and tell him that everything is going to be okay.
But the other part, the part that has seen so much and lost so much prevents you from lying to him. Because if you tell him that it's all going to be okay, you'll be lying. It's a war, and nothing will ever be okay ever again.
So you just sit there, and wait for him to finish whatever it is that he has to say.
Then they died and Harry was all alone, he looks inside Teddy's eyes and you feel your heart break.
Then he looks at you with his hazel eyes full of compassion, full of an understanding that no one should have. You smile a tired smile, with an understanding of your own.
You know you don't need to ask me that, Remus, you say and you're surprised that your voice is stable enough, He's my grandson, and I'd do anything for him.
He smiles at you and hold his son tighter, I know that. I guess I just needed to hear it.
As he turns around to look at the fireplace, you stare at his back. His slumped shoulders, his defeated posture. How long he takes to kiss his son forehead.
Andromeda, he says, with the sound muffled by Teddy's hair, thank you.
You give him a sincere smile and you can't help the tears that pools in your eyes.
He sits on the floor with your grandson and you pray that Teddy doesn't grow up without his parents like his godfather.
The sky is full of stars, all is quiet and the war is happening. But tonight, you decide to put it all aside to watch them play and enjoy this cool autumn night.