I am the sort of person who is easy to miss. I blend in with the crowd, nobody sees me, the one who walks in the shadows with his hands deep in his pockets and his head bent low. It's been that way for a long time now and with times like these I'm glad to have it that way. It makes me glad, truth be told, because ambiguity is best for me, for us, for our son. It's what keeps us safe. It's true.

It used to be true.

And it's ironic, don't you think, that I should stick out like a sore thumb to our enemies because of our defiance, that Bellatrix should be so obsessed with killing us, and yet since my return I can sometimes barely think of them at all? I can think of nothing besides you and our baby, so much so that I gave only fleeting concern to my near miss yesterday, that Killing Curse missing my shoulder by inches. And it is more ironic still, don't you think, that my preoccupation with keeping our family alive and well might in actual fact cause me to tear a Killing Curse sized hole right through the middle of it?

Yet I think you worse than me by far. We spend hours sat upon your mother's sofa, our son in my lap, and as we gaze down at him, occasionally glancing with smiles at one another, I sometimes think you don't realise that anything else even exists.

I attend Order meetings alone and leave you at home with the baby now, I have done so for weeks. When I come home you are always sat waiting for me upon the stairs. You wait until I have hung my cloak up by the door and then you come and stand before me, reaching to cup my face in your hands. Your staring eyes just then are painfully intense, as if you are attempting to read my mind, know any bad news before I am forced to admit it verbally. Once satisfied that all is well – or at least as well as it can be – you bury your face in my chest and let out such a sigh that your whole body slumps. Then, no matter what news I have brought, you look up at me again and offer the brightest of all announcements:

I love you, you know.

We shuffle off to sit into the living room, our hands clutched together as we talk of the War, of the Order, of Harry, and just how bleak the days have grown. Sometimes we cannot help but sound terribly grim. But then you talk of Teddy, how much he splashed and giggled when you bathed him before bed that evening, and though the sinking feeling never truly fades we both smile to ourselves as if we had not a care in the world. We talk of our little family and of love, and when you fall asleep, your head upon my shoulder as you hug my arm to your chest, I sit stock still so as not to disturb you, staring into the flames in the grate opposite. And then I think to myself that there is always light after dark, and we need only wait a while for the dawn.

A few times I've caught myself thinking foolishly that the inevitable light might not be quite as inevitable as faith would have us believe; when you put Teddy to bed and he smiles so brightly yet it reduces you to tears, and for a moment I pretend that I can't hear you because I feel so hopeless that I can't possibly tell you that everything shall be okay. When I look around the table at Order meetings and realise just how few in number we are these days, when I leave the house for under and hour and return to have you throw your arms around me, we kiss so fiercely that I recall just how desperate life has become.

But then I remember those wonderful moments when we lose ourselves in our own little world, just the three of us, and I remind myself that our brief moments of weakness only make us determined to be stronger. And we have such strength, such unity that they can never truly bring us down. They can strike us both dead if they truly wish, it won't break our union, it won't even scratch it. There will always be people who care for our son, and they'd let him know just how much we loved him. We might die for him, we'd do it in a heartbeat and we'd be glad of it too. And if that doesn't prove the strength of our family, I don't know what does. The best thing about remember this is that it makes me love you even more.

I don't just love you, not really, I love you unconditionally. I love the way you wander up and down the landing, humming a lullaby to Teddy long after he has fallen asleep. I love the way you pause in whatever you are busy doing when I pass you by in the house, so that you may throw your arms around me and give me a kiss. Sometimes I think it a wonder that I ever make it from one side of a room to the other. I love how close I can hold you at night, so close and calm that I might delude myself that I can keep you safe, if but for a few short hours. I love the way that if Teddy screams and bawls for all he is worth, you never grow weary, instead you comment cheerily that he has true Tonks genes for sure, which you say is useful because somebody ought make up for his daddy's mild demeanor. I love the way you tell me that you love me, that you love our son, and I love the thought that he is ours.

I love the way you say my name. Or rather that you don't. You can stop crying now Teddy Sweetheart, because look, Daddy's home! Let Daddy give you a cuddle, so I can run a bath. I think you might just have worn Daddy out, Teddy, what do you suppose he'll say when I remind him it's his turn to change your nappy? You'll a good boy won't you, whilst Daddy is away. I love the way I think myself silly for thinking it so wonderful, because in truth it isn't very silly. In truth it means I love you, and each day I love you a hundred times more.

It's silly that I once thought I could never come back to you.

I should have known better than that. Because if Harry's frank words hadn't brought me racing back, my longing and love for you always would.

And we'll never be parted ever again, not truly, for such wonderful and true love is not something that Voldemort can comprehend. There is no way to destroy it, to destroy us, so let him come. Let all of them just try. Because they can never break us, never make us disappear. We shall never be invisible ever again.