Chapter 15: An Unread Letter

Seven days had passed, rolling into each other without notice amongst the rain of a bleak January.

Kingsley had moaned and groaned, but had come through when Harry needed him to. Calmness was his strong suit; a presence that wrapped around any room he was in. Even Percy, dubiously returning to work and eyeing Harry suspiciously at every turn, seemed more settled.

As far as Harry knew nobody else had returned. But that was certainly not to say they hadn't and it kept him awake at night thinking of people from either war wandering around, clueless. During the daytime he researched the war-dead endlessly. He thought of those like Benji Fenwick; brutally murdered. The Bones family; annihilated. Ted Tonks; hunted like an animal.

Ginny tried to make it hard for Harry to dwell on things, but it was a difficult task. Especially when faced with his godson, knowing he would have to turn his world upside down for good, all for a drop of his blood. He hoped Teddy would be joyful, but when he compared their situations, it was equally hard to comprehend.

But now they had reached the breaking point. Kingsley had a carefully drafted statement courtesy of his and Hermione's clever minds. Ron and Ginny had been to Hogwarts to negotiate with McGonagall the best time to manoeuvre the stowaways back to Harry and Ginny's and Ron and Hermione's. Lavender pleaded to stay at Hogwarts; likely blanching at the possibility of living with her newly adult ex-boyfriend.

Harry had been spending his time carefully curtailing suspicious looks from his own Department, which were at their height when he called them in the Monday morning before the announcement—due in the afternoon on Tuesday. He gathered them all in the dilapidated staff room, on the mouldy sofa and conjured chairs. Proudfoot's was especially magnificent.

'Anything I say now does not leave this room.' Twelve pairs of eyes stared at him. They seemed to understand the magnitude of the situation because not even Dawlish made a snide comment despite being called in on his day off. Harry was half tempted to make them all sign a cursed piece of parchment like Hermione had in the days of the D.A., but thought they might err on the offended side.

'Right. You all know of our suspects in the holding cell?'

Rupert raised his hand. 'Er—this isn't counting Geoff Botts, is it?'

'Rupert!' Hissed Morgan Vance. 'He's just over-flow from the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad you idiot!'

Harry decided to leave Rupert alone after that; he shrunk back into the sofa red-faced and sheepish. He was the youngest there and got most of the good-natured bullying anyway.

'We have made definite progress with the matter. We've had to use—well, blood magic—'

Roberta raised the singe eyebrow of hers that wasn't covered by an eye patch as Calder nearly jumped from his seat. Proudfoot made a loud sound of disagreement and Dawlish asked 'Who's we?' In an aggressive whine.

'The Minister and I.' Harry said through gritted teeth, glaring.

'Blood magic?' Roan said. He had a dark look on his face, as did the rest of the senior team. They looked more grizzled than most of the team, but had a right to be—they had all survived the war (though everyone agreed Dawlish had rather… thrived.) Roberta and Proudfoot were newly qualified during Voldemort's first rise.

The younger members knew blood magic was bad, of course, but had never been in such close proximity to it as Proudfoot, Calder, Roberta, Roan and Dawlish. Their impression was rather abstract… and it showed on their mildly taken aback faces as they looked at their seniors.

'It was the only way we had. We might find something else, but for the time being, this is all we've got.' Proudfoot looked like he was about to bite Harry's head off. Roberta stared menacingly.

'Have you found out who they are?' Amber asked from the right-hand side of her brother.

Harry sighed. 'Yes, I… Look. It's hard to believe. You won't believe me, in fact.' He looked at them all closely. 'They're not lying. They are who they say they are. They're telling the truth.'

'What?' Thomas Cresswell asked after a moment. Harry remembered his father had been killed on the run alongside Ted Tonks.

Harry pressed his glasses further up his nose. 'Dumbledore, Prewett, McKinnon, Sirius Black… Scrimgeour too, at Saint Mungo's.'

Dawlish exploded. 'One of them just so happens to be your convict Godfather? And Dumbledore—'

'Dawlish.' Roberta said quietly. He shut up immediately—but remained scowling.

'Sirius Black was cleared of all charges.' Harry said. Dawlish snorted, muttering about his disbelief. 'You don't have to take my opinion on his imprisonment into account, Dawlish, but considering he was meant to be the one that sold my family out to Voldemort in the first place, it might be an idea.'

Harry would have very much liked Dawlish to respond. He kept his voice steady but was aching for a reason to sack him. Sadly, some sort of line Dawlish was unwilling to cross had materialised. It was likely related to Roberta's single-eyed glare.

'How does blood magic help things?' Calder asked.

'And, uh, why blood magic?' Laurence added.

'Everything else can be faked… I think we know that more than anyone.' Harry looked at them all. They all remembered the particular brand of insane they'd dealt with a few years ago. 'But your blood, your magic… no amount of Polyjuice'll change it. It's important, it's why blood is so central to most dark rituals. It's tied to who you are.'

Most of the eyes on him had the certain look that told Harry they were seeing him as the Boy-Who-Lived, rather than Harry the Auror. He was long acquainted with it—when somebody mentioned Lord Voldemort, when the killing curse cropped up.

Roberta looked at Harry. 'Dead people,' she said drily. 'I suppose it's not the first time it's happened.'

Harry struggled to stop his shoulders bunching up under his ears from discomfort. It certainly wasn't the first time it'd happened, no.

'Do you think it's anything to do with it?' Amber asked.

Dumbledore floated around Harry's head—his theories about most every key event of Harry's life which were more reliable than newspapers. Harry thought of the battle and of dying. 'Knowing the way things usually go, it's got everything to do with it.'

Nobody looked especially thrilled to have bits of the war come back to haunt them, especially because that was how the second war started in the first place—cast-offs and forgotten pieces of a war thought finished emerging stronger and angrier, no longer able to be ignored.

Harry took pity on them.

'Who've I placed at Saint Mungo's, then?' He asked, ignoring Proudfoot's glare at the change of topic.

'Me and Winnie have been swapping shifts,' said Rupert. 'We haven't been doing nights though.'

'Keep doing that, but get—uh—get Morgan and Thomas on the rota. We don't know when they'll show up but a hospital seems like the first place to go if you're confused.'

'I think I'm running away from them.' Harry said to the room at large.

Ginny turned from her Quidditch magazine. She didn't quite look up at him, but her shoulders tilted so he knew she was listening. 'Who?'

'The whole office, really. Winnie tried to corner me but I ran off to the loo. Roberta won't stop staring—do you know how much more intimidating that is when it's all concentrated in one eye?'

'Harry, you're being ridiculous. What more could you tell them, anyway?'

'I don't know… offer some support maybe? I can't tell them more than what I have because I don't know any more, but I could explain a bit?'

'Harry you haven't got a clue about that mumbo jumbo.' Ginny sighed and looked at him. 'You sat down with a few of them after, didn't you? What else can you do?'

Part of the problem was that Harry didn't know what to do. All his years of training seemed for nothing. He abhorred it. He had spoken to Thomas about his father, had spoken to Morgan about her aunt Emmeline. He'd even endured a stressful meeting with the senior team—Dawlish, Roberta, Proudfoot, Calder and Roan—to clued them in on everything he knew in relation to the wars. But beyond the tense quiet that had fallen over the office in the wake of Harry's bombshell, nothing more was to be done.

'I just dropped it on them.'

'Harry, they're Aurors. This is their job. How else were you supposed to tell them, anyway? There's no way to be gentle with something like this. You can't leave clues about the place like a treasure hunt.'

Ginny moved closer to him. She looked around for Lily briefly. 'You are doing better than anybody could have imagined. Especially because it's you. You're overthinking things.'

Lump in his throat, Harry nodded and tried to smile. 'It'll be out soon.'

THIS LETTER IS HIGHLY SENSITIVE AND AS SUCH WE ASK YOU READ IT PRIVATELY.

To the family of Remus John Lupin,

We hope this letter finds you well. While this letter is not charmed for secrecy, we would still ask you to kindly exercise discretion in discussing the contents below. We ask you to refrain from discussing matters publicly until 13th January 2017. On this date the Minister for Magic, Mr Kingsley Shacklebolt, (Order of Merlin, First Class) will hold a conference in the main Atrium of the Ministry of magic to announce the following. You are invited to attend with one other witch or wizard. We ask you to please bring this letter with you as proof of identity and invite.

Earlier this month various witches and wizards previously thought deceased were found alive and well in the Ministry of Magic. Since this initial event more victims of war have come forward with the earliest date of death estimated at 1979. We write on behalf of the Minister's Office and the Auror Office to notify you of these extraordinary circumstances in the hope it will aid both your preparation and alertness.

The Minister wishes to personally emphasise that we have proven, beyond doubt, the identities of the returned witches and wizards. The methods by which this was achieved cannot be disclosed for safety purposes but the Minister assures you that every precaution has been taken and various processes of extensive authentication have been taken to reach this point.

Should you come into contact with a witch or wizard previously thought deceased, no matter the circumstances of death, we ask you to have several pre-prepared security questions ready. We also ask you to immediately contact the Ministry and/or the Auror Office. If you or another member of your family require healing as a result of the return of the deceased witch or wizard, please report to Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries as soon as convenient where a representative of the Auror Office will be with you shortly.

We wish you a happy new year! Yours sincerely,

Kingsley Shaklebolt

MINISTER FOR MAGIC

Ministry of Magic

Remus had no other family—the letter would have to be delivered to Teddy. Tonks and her father had Andromeda, but Remus' closest family was Teddy; an adult now never mind still painfully young for something such as this.

With guilt at such nepotism, Harry asked them both to come to his house after work. Andromeda couldn't make it… but Teddy could. Harry was unsure if this was a blessing or a curse, for Andromeda was kind but strict. He dreaded to think of her face if she read the letter without Harry managing to speak to her first. She was nothing if not headstrong—and so Harry left her to whatever group she was going to, hoping the combined efforts of he and Teddy could curtail her.

'She's at one of her clubs,' Teddy said as he walked in. His eyes rolled under a black fringe. 'I can't keep track. Sometimes she's knitting, sometimes it's cross-stitch, sometimes it's kestrels—'

'Tea?' Interrupted Ginny. He nodded and fetched a mug as she tapped the kettle. It whistled, high-pitched and ugly. Harry flinched in his seat.

Teddy chattered as Ginny mixed tea leaves and stirred. Clinking mixed with his voice, and as his wife handed him his cup, she looked at him meaningfully.

'I'm off to mum and dad's.' Ginny said briskly. 'I'll be back at quarter past six-ish. Lily's already there.'

'Bye Ginny!' Teddy smiled. Harry looked at the clock and saw he had forty minutes. He cursed her—she had given him a deadline and the perfect, quiet opportunity.

Harry stared at his tea. It was too weak, the leaves barely brewed… Ginny, too, had been absent-minded and in a hurry.

Teddy spotted it. 'Yeah—not up to her usual standard, have to say. I think I got an extra sugar.' He paused. 'This is more like the rubbish you knock up in the mornings.'

'Ha.'

Seeming to notice Harry's moroseness, Teddy peered at him over a hesitant sip.

'Sorry, Ted. Something's come up. I've got a letter for you but I have to explain it.'

'For me? Pass it over—' he lunged for the parchment in eagerness. Harry snatched it away from him while Teddy looked back in shock. 'All right…' he said, 'I won't read it then. What is it?'

'You, uh…' Harry couldn't quite breathe properly. 'You remember when Ron came over? With the Map?'

'Oh, sure. Bit weird.'

Yeah. Well. We saw a few names on there. Or—I showed him some names on there.'

'That's the point of it Harry, it shows you where people—'

'The people it showed were dead, Ted. Ron acted like that because the Map doesn't lie.'

'Like Pettigrew.' Teddy said quietly. 'You and my dad saw him. I remember you telling me.' Harry couldn't look him in the eye…he had a lump in his throat that choked him and stinging in his eyes. He nodded.

Teddy's brows scrunched together. He was too old for his hair to change colour by feeling, but Harry wouldn't be surprised if it brightened soon enough. 'Who did… are you sure it's them?'

'Yes. We've done tests at the Ministry.'

'Wow. The Ministry? It's big then?'

Harry laughed mirthlessly. 'It's big, Ted. One of them was Dumbledore.'

Teddy gaped.

'And Ginny and Ron's uncle. And—and Sirius.'

'Harry,' he breathed. 'That's great! That's brilliant. I can't imagine—I can't wait to meet him. It's really him? I trust you but they're dead—'

'Teddy. This is really important for you to understand.' Harry leant forward as Teddy leant back. 'These people are who they look like. We've really, really checked. I wouldn't—' Harry struggled to swallow, '—I wouldn't tell you otherwise. It's why we have the letters ready.'

'Wow, Harry. I don't know what to say. Dumbledore… Sirius. Do you think he could tell me stuff about mum and dad? Do you think he's got good stories?'

'Ted…'

His Godson stared at him. It seemed he had noticed the atmosphere hovering around Harry like a cloud. Before Harry could say a thing, his amber eyes (amber today) flickered towards the letter. They fixed upon it.

'You said that was my letter.' He said.

'Yes.'

'You said you had the letters ready. To do with the, uh, people.'

'Yes. I… Teddy… I don't know how to say it.'

'Let me read it.'

Harry grabbed Teddy's wrist as it shot out to the letter. It would be so much easier to let him read it, but he could never allow him to find out like that. As he eased his grip and the arm slunk back to the edge of the table, Harry saw the paleness of Teddy's face and the bags sitting, bright and deep, under his eyes. Perhaps he had lost some control on his appearance, but Harry thought he had simply not bothered to look good. Why would he, for a trip to the house he had spent half his life in?

'It's your parents, Ted. At Hogwarts. On the Map.'

He had never been a still child and he had never truly grown out of it. But here he was, petrified, listlessly staring down. Minutes clattered past, not a second unnoticed by Harry as he looked on.

'I haven't got anything to say.' Teddy said finally. His eyes were glassy, shining, as he looked at Harry. 'I don't know them. I don't know what they sound like. I don't—'

'I can't imagine, Teddy. I'm sorry. It's so much to take in.'

'Harry, you can imagine.' He looked at Harry imploringly. 'You're the only one who can imagine.'

Harry thought how odd it would be to see his parents as real people with flaws and feelings and faces sitting among his children and friends. He thought he could understand a small, insignificant amount of what must be in Teddy's head. But he could not comprehend.

'Oh, Ted—' Harry stood, chair rattling, and pulled his Godson into an embrace. Teddy's hand clutched at the jumper he buried his face in, forehead resting just below Harry's heart from where he sat, shaking.

'I'm sorry… I know…' Harry kept murmuring. He wondered why this felt like mourning when it was the happiest event. It was like living their deaths again.

Teddy kept apologised as he pulled his face away. His skin was blotchy, cheeks stiff from tears. Harry's vision was fogged from his own; glasses stained as he took them off and rubbed them on the hem of his jumper.

'I know it's bad,' Teddy said as he stared at his hands clenched in his lap. 'But I don't think… I can't see them just yet. It's like… I've forgotten they were people. Before. Now.'

'You can see them whenever you want to.' Harry said firmly. 'They won't mind a bit.'

A watery smile was forming on Teddy's face as the sound of the floo rushing loud bored through the quiet. The clock said it was six o'clock—too early for Ginny to be home when she had allocated this time so firmly for Harry and Teddy.

It was her voice, even so. 'Harry? HARRY! Merlin's Balls—HARRY!'

'What?!' Harry shouted back in alarm.

Ginny trampled into the kitchen, yanking a disgruntled Lily by the arm. 'Ted!' She said, face brightening.

'Oh I'm sorry—God—Teddy I'm so sorry darling it's just he's only gone and told her! The idiot's bloody told her and now she's looked at the letter and I think she's coming over now and I managed to get to the fireplace before her because she was grabbing dad but she'll be here any minute, any second now—'

And the fireplace whooshed again and in stormed Molly Weasley, form backlit by her husband and who knew what other family members emerging from the grate.

AN: Sorry about the impromptu hiatus—I couldn't even give you a proper reason why other than life is crazy at the moment and Christmas hardly helps things. I thought it was meant to be a quiet one this year? But somehow, with no family visiting, I've wasted all that time even more!

I hope you enjoyed this. Please let me know of any suggestions, or anything you want to see or scenes you've painted in your head. I'd love inspiration!

I can't commit to a certain date for the next upload because of the insanity of a third lockdown, working from home, exams and coursework and general fuckerroundery. C'est la vie, right?

Thank you for all your comments and likes, favourites and subscriptions. They mean so, so much to me.