Chapter 6 - Mischief Managed
May 14, 1998
The rain was light, a mist that settled over Godric's Hollow like a shroud. The small churchyard, tucked behind a weathered stone chapel, was filled with witches and wizards who had braved the dreary weather to pay their respects. Harry stood near the front, surrounded by the Weasleys and Hermione. Insulated against the crowd of Order members, Aurors, Hogwarts professors and students. Even so, he could not help but overhear the murmurs and whispers behind was not supposed to be about him. None of the funerals were supposed to be about him. And yet…someone always seemed to try and turn it that way.
The damp chill crept through his robes, clawing at him almost like a dementor's presence, and he did his best to blend into the crowd. He wished, briefly, that he had some chocolate, and his heart ached.
His gaze was fixed on the simple headstone, shared between Remus and Tonks as his parents' was, their inscriptions etched freshly into the stone face.
Remus John Lupin
Friend, Teacher, Father, Hero
10 March 1960 – 2 May 1998
Nymphadora Tonks Lupin
Our Light in the Darkness
25 November 1973 – 2 May 1998
Teddy Lupin, wrapped in Mrs. Tonks's arms, let out a soft whimper, as though sensing the solemnity of the occasion. Harry swallowed down the lump in his throat. What was he supposed to say to Mrs. Tonks, who had lost her daughter, her son-in-law, her husband, her entire family? What could he possibly say to the baby in her arms, a child who would never know the parents who had fought so bravely for a world he was too young to understand?
He thought of his own parents, of the stories and secondhand memories, of growing up wondering about people he'd never had the chance to know. Remus and Tonks were gone. All that was left of them now was a boy too small to understand his loss and the promise Harry had made to be there for him.
Harry was thankful for the distraction when Kingsley rose and stepped in front of the assembled mourners. He looked older and more tired than Harry had ever seen him before.
"I asked to speak today to honor the life of Nymphadora Tonks Lupin, a woman of immense courage, unwavering loyalty, and a heart that could brighten the darkest of days," Kingsley began. His voice rang out, calm and strong despite the hurt he was carrying. "I first met Nymphadora—or 'Tonks' as she demanded we call her—when she was a fresh recruit in the Auror Office." He shook his head sadly and choked back a sob.
"Forgive me, I have buried many friends this week," he said. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. Harry took some strength from that as well—if Kingsley could gather the strength to speak of his close friends, Harry would, too. Beside him, Ginny clasped his hand gently. He was immeasurably thankful for her presence.
"Tonks was full of energy, wit, and a talent for transformation that kept us all on our toes." Kingsley paused, grinning fondly. "What stood out to me was her determination—not just to master her craft but to make the world safer, kinder." Kingsley glanced down at Mrs. Tonks and Teddy and smiled. "All of us grizzled, hardened, old fools would call that 'naive'—in fact only Alastor Moody didn't. Which really should have been our first clue that Tonks was better than we deserved.
"Tonks was more than a colleague; she was my friend." And here, Kingsley's voice hitched again. Harry felt Ginny tense beside him and choke through a sob. "She brought light and laughter into the grim realities we often faced. As an Auror, she was fearless but fair; as a person, she was endlessly compassionate, a rare blend that made her an extraordinary woman.
"During the war, Tonks proved time and again the depth of her courage and conviction. She fought not just for a better world but for love—for Remus, and later for her son Teddy; and for the family we all became through that shared struggle. Even in the face of unimaginable fear, she stood firm, believing in the power of unity and hope. Her sacrifice is a reminder of the price of freedom and the strength it takes to fight for it. I will always carry the memory of her laugh, her determination, and her endless capacity for joy and love.
"Let us remember Tonks as she was: a warrior, a friend, a devoted mother, and above all, a beacon of light in our darkest hours. I hope you rest easy, Tonks—you've earned it, my friend. And—and I will do my best to see that the world you fought for comes to be."
A quiet ripple of polite applause moved through the gathered mourners, mingling with murmured words of agreement and approval. Kingsley walked with solemn purpose toward Mrs. Tonks. He handed her Tonks's Auror badge with both hands, followed by a polished wooden case that Harry knew must contain her wand. Mrs. Tonks's fingers trembled as she accepted them. Kingsley offered her a small, teary smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, then glanced down at Teddy with a warmth that, for an instant, softened the heavy air. He placed a steadying hand on Mrs. Tonks's shoulder before turning back to the gathering.
Reaching the front once more, Kingsley spoke again, "During our time together, I had the privilege of growing close to Remus John Lupin as well," he began, his lips curving into a fleeting, knowing smile that lit his otherwise solemn face. "We didn't…travel in the same circles during our time at Hogwarts, and we were not in the same year. In fact, very few people were ever truly allowed into Remus's world."
Kingsley paused, letting his words settle. "But those of us fortunate enough to be welcomed into his circle were better for it." His gaze swept across the crowd before it came to rest on Harry. "And now, Harry Potter has asked to speak on behalf of those who knew Remus best, those who he trusted most."
Kingsley nodded once to Harry, stepping back to give him the floor.
Harry stepped forward, his feet feeling heavier than they had a moment ago. He paused for a moment, letting his gaze travel over the mourners. His eyes roamed over the faces gathered there: Mrs. Tonks, pale but stoic, clutching baby Teddy close to her chest. The Weasleys stood together like a wall of red, and he drew strength from their presence. Nearby, the Hogwarts professors were gathered, their expressions solemn but proud, as they paid their respects to a man who had been one of their own.
A little further back, a cluster of Aurors stood straight-backed in black robes. Beyond them, the sea of faces that once filled Hogwarts classrooms stretched endlessly: former students who had learned from Remus Lupin, who had come to honor the teacher who had taught them courage alongside Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Harry drew in a steadying breath. His heart pounded in his chest, but he willed his voice to stay firm.
"Remus Lupin, along with Sirius Black, was my father's best friend," he began, his voice quiet but unwavering. "But more than that, they were his brothers in every way that mattered."
As he spoke, Harry's mind flickered back to the moments that shaped his connection to Remus. He remembered the first time Remus had spoken of his father—not as a distant hero, but as James Potter, the prankster, the loyal friend, the man who had made mistakes and laughed at himself for them.
"Remus was the first person I'd ever met who could tell me stories about my dad as his friend," Harry said. A smile tugged at his lips. "Through Remus, I got glimpses of a family I'd thought was lost forever. They felt alive through him."
"But when I first met Remus, I didn't know any of that. All I knew was that he was the first Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who actually cared. He wanted us to learn not just spells, but how to believe in ourselves. He showed us that even when the odds were stacked against us, we could fight back."
Harry paused, his throat tightening. He let his eyes travel to the modest grave prepared for Remus, resting beside Sirius and his parents. "Remus had a strength that most people underestimated," he said, his voice quieter now, almost as if speaking to the man himself. "He wasn't loud or flashy, and he never sought attention. He carried burdens no one should have to bear, but he bore them with dignity and kindness. Life didn't always treat him kindly in return, but he didn't let it make him bitter. He chose to fight—not just for himself, but for a world that could be better, for the people he loved."
The words came slower now, heavier. "It was hard for Remus to let people in. He kept people at arm's length, even when it broke his heart to do it. It's why I'm so glad that he and Tonks found each other. Because they were so perfect for each other. Tonks had this way of making people feel like they belonged, even when they didn't believe it themselves. After everything he'd been through—after all the pain, the loneliness, the loss—there was love. Real, stubborn, messy love. And in the end, that's what stays behind, isn't it? That's what matters."
Memories of Remus's quiet insight and Tonks's laughter flooded back to him. He wanted to say something more; to let those who had come together to share in that grief understand just how wonderful they had been as people, but words seemed insufficient, trapped behind the knot in his chest. That had ice-cold fingers gripping his heart tightly.
His gaze landed on Ginny. She was already looking back at him, her eyes filled with a quiet determination that struck him like lightning. Her eyes wide and shimmering; fighting against despair and grief and tears for him; staying strong for him despite all the impossible pain she was feeling, too. His heart ached for her in a way it never had before, so fiercely it was almost unbearable. And yet he had never been more grateful that his heart belonged to her.
Harry's gaze dropped to the ground for a moment before he lifted it again, he fought back the tears that threatened to fall. He raised his wand, just as Remus had taught him, his voice trembling slightly as he whispered, "Expecto Patronum."
A shimmering silver stag burst forth from the tip of his wand, illuminating the gray, overcast day with its brilliance. It stepped forward and paused as if waiting. The crowd watched in silence as the stag bowed its great antlered head. Then there was a rush of whispers from the mourners, and one by one, other glowing shapes began to materialize. Ginny's horse cantered alongside it, Ron's dog and Hermione's otter appeared next joined as well.
More wands lifted, their light adding to the growing brilliance. Harry counted Kingsley's lynx, McGonagall's cat, Mr. Weasley's weasel, and Luna's hare; and among the shimmering menagerie, Harry noticed unfamiliar shapes: a hummingbird flitting gracefully, a sturdy toad crouching low, a clever fox flicking its tail.
They stood together, a dazzling congregation of hope and memory, their light cutting through the heavy fog of grief. For a moment, they seemed to be the only things moving. Then, as if by some unspoken agreement, the creatures faded one by one, dissolving into the air.
As Harry stepped back into the fold, the weight of his grief felt just a little lighter. The Weasley family surged forward, surrounding him in a sea of embraces. He held onto each of them tightly, drawing strength from their shared sorrow and grief. When he finally released them, his arms stayed firmly around Ginny, her presence anchoring him in a way nothing else could.
The rain began to ease, the mist lifting slightly as the service came to a quiet close. Harry stood watch over the headstones of his parents and their best friends as the mourners began to leave. He whispered perfunctory "thank you"s to those who stopped to offer their condolences, but his eyes never met theirs; they never moved from the damp grey stones. And slowly, they left as well until only Harry, the Weasleys, Hermione, and Mrs. Tonks remained.
"We'll give you a moment," Mr. Weasley said softly, patting Harry gently on the shoulder. He motioned back towards the front of the church. "We'll be just beyond."
When Ginny made to leave, Harry refused to let go of her hand. He could feel her gaze on him when he did, and he fixed her with a look that he hoped could convey just how badly he needed her to stay. She seemed to understand. With a small nod, she leaned into him, her touch a quiet reassurance. Her fingers tightened around his.
Then it was just them, Mrs. Tonks, and Teddy.
The last time he'd seen her, Tonks had been alive. Ted had been alive. Remus had been alive. He'd been too focused on the war and the escape from Privet Drive to even think about what she might have been going through. Now, she was alone in a way that made Harry's own loneliness seem trivial. He thought of the Weasleys waiting for him. He thought of Hermione and Ron standing as closeby as they could without being rude. He thought of Ginny's hand in his. He thought of the grief they were all sharing and how it seemed that much more bearable for the mere fact they were sharing it.
Teddy broke the silence first. A fussing sound that threatened to turn into a cry until Mrs. Tonks readjusted him, rocking him in her arms and whispering soothing noises. Harry was struck by the sudden shift in her; how her devotion to Teddy and his need for her overpowered the grief that had echoed so horribly in her eyes just moments before.
When her eyes met Harry's, he felt a jolt of guilt and fear—guilt for being alive when so many others weren't; fear that she might blame him for what had happened to her family.
"Harry," she said softly, her voice thin but steady. There was no accusation in her voice, only a quiet, painful acknowledgment of the weight they shared. She shifted Teddy slightly and the baby's head peeked out from the blanket. Harry's breath caught. Teddy's hair was a soft tuft of turquoise.
"Is he…" he breathed.
"A Metamorphmagus," Mrs. Tonks said with a watery smile. "Hasn't been much for pink though."
Beside him, Ginny choked out a laugh despite herself.
"He's brilliant. I bet Tonks loved that," Harry said. He couldn't pull his eyes away from Teddy.
"Oh, Remus had a fair bit of fun with that, too," Mrs. Tonks said pointedly. "He started trying to get Teddy to match colors with whatever he was wearing. I think he was going quite stir-crazy."
Harry's heart ached as he thought of Remus—newly a father, caught between fear and excitement, yet bursting with the joy of watching his son's first bit of magic. The image of Remus, so full of hope for Teddy's future despite everything, was almost too much to bear.
"He would've been a great dad, Mrs. Tonks" Harry said.
"Oh, he was, Harry," Mrs. Tonks insisted. Tears fell silently down her cheeks and she turned her gaze from Teddy to Harry. "They didn't get to be parents for very long, but they were—both of them were…" She fought to hold his gaze. Her bottom lip trembled as she took a great, heaving breath. "They were brilliant. I can promise you that."
Another moment of silence passed between them before Harry worked up the nerve to mention what he had intended from the start.
"I don't know if…if Remus got around to telling you," he began tentatively. "He showed up at Bill and Fleur's when Teddy was born. He asked me to…err…to be Teddy's godfather." Mrs. Tonks turned back to Teddy and nodded. "I don't know—I'm not…"
"Harry, it is an enormous responsibility to raise a child," Mrs. Tonks said carefully. "I hope you're not suggesting—"
He shook his head and tried again. "No. Please. I don't—I don't want to take Teddy from you. I just want to help," he said. He glanced down at the tiny baby in her arms and then to the stone marker bearing Sirius's name. "I want to try and be the type of godfather Sirius would have been if everything hadn't…"
"You would have been a terror if Sirius had raised you," Mrs. Tonks said, a teasing gleam in her eyes. "He would have spoiled you rotten."
"Then I guess I've got some catching up to do," he teased back with a sniffling laugh.
Mrs. Tonks laughed. "You look very much like your father, Harry, but I see a great deal of Sirius in you as well," she said fondly.
"He always said you were his favorite cousin," Harry said.
"Not a high bar to clear, I imagine," Mrs. Tonks tried for a joke, and Harry couldn't help thinking of Dudley Dursley; his own favorite and least favorite cousin.
Mrs. Tonks sighed and glanced down to the stone bearing Sirius's name. "It was very kind of Kingsley to arrange this for Sirius as well." Harry nodded, realizing again just how different Kingsley was to the other Ministers he'd met.
"Part of me worried about putting the three of them together again," Harry said with a chuckle. "I've been hearing about how much trouble they get into together for years."
Mrs. Tonks laughed and wiped the tears from her eyes. "Well, Dora is probably feeling right at home then."
"Mum was probably beside herself when Remus fell in love with someone more like the rest of the Marauders," Harry shook his head with a laugh. Mrs. Tonks gave him a look of vague recognition. He shrugged. "It's what they called themselves. They always seemed to search out trouble."
"Well at least the trouble they get into now will be…" She seemed to struggle to find the word.
"On," Harry supplied.
"On," Mrs. Tonks nodded. She glanced down at the row of stones. "I think, for now, the Marauders' work is done."
"Mischief managed," Ginny muttered beside him. Harry breathed in sharply.
"Sorry?" Mrs. Tonks asked.
"Oh, that's—that's just something they used to say when…" Harry struggled with how to explain the significance of those two words. "When they were done getting into trouble for the night."
"Did they?" Mrs. Tonks asked, her eyes dancing with surprise and delight. "For such troublemakers they were really quite romantic."
"I'm really proud of them," Harry began, his voice faltering as he searched for the right words. "I'm so glad I got to know them—that they believed in me, trusted me with Teddy." His throat tightened, but he forced himself to continue. "I've never been more proud of anything in my life." He swallowed hard, willing the lump in his throat to ease. "I'll do my best to live up to what they wanted... to what they hoped for."
Mrs. Tonks turned to him suddenly, and he felt her hand on his arm. "Oh, Harry, I don't think you will ever truly understand how highly they all thought of you," she said. "I'll admit I had some…reservations when Remus wanted to name you godfather. But…knowing what you've gone through; hearing you today…they could not have chosen better. They would be so proud of you. All of them." She gestured to the five names before them. "For what it's worth. I am, too."
Ginny gave his hand a squeeze.
"Thank you, Mrs. Tonks," Harry said.
"It's Andromeda, Harry. Or Andi," she corrected gently, her tone firm but warm. "We're family, you and I. Several ways over, in fact."
Harry reached out a hesitant hand, then stopped, unsure if it was the right thing to do. "Can I—can I hold him?" His voice sounded small, almost childlike, but Andromeda didn't hesitate. She stepped closer and carefully passed Teddy into Harry's arms.
Teddy was surprisingly solid. He squirmed, his tiny face scrunching up before relaxing again, and Harry felt something unfamiliar twist in his chest—a fierce, protective instinct he hadn't expected. This was Remus's son. Tonks's son. Their legacy.
"Hi, Teddy," Harry said, his voice low. "I'm your godfather. Harry." He fixed his eyes on Teddy as the boy's hair darkened.
"Oh," Ginny gasped.
"That was Remus's favorite game," Andromeda said, shaking her head sadly. "Trying to see who and what got him to change his hair. I imagine if we brought him over to the rest of the Weasleys he'd fit right in before we knew it." She paused, a thoughtful look crossing her face, before casting Ginny a playful glance. "Though I suspect that sight might be a bit much for your parents at the moment."
Ginny's ears went red and Harry felt heat creeping up his own face as he blushed alongside her. Andromeda laughed, and in that moment, Harry realized just how little she resembled either of her sisters.
"Dora talked about you as well, my dear," she said gently to Ginny.
"We talked a lot while she was patrolling Hogwarts," Ginny admitted.
"Really?" Harry asked. "What about?"
"Stubborn men," Ginny and Andromeda said together. And they both laughed again.
Teddy began to fuss in Harry's arms.
"He's getting tired," Andromeda said gently. Harry nodded and carefully handed the baby back to her. "I should get him home for his nap," she added, her gaze softening as she looked down at Teddy. His hair shifted from black to a soft blue. She hesitated, her voice quieter when she spoke again. "We always had family dinners on Friday nights. Teddy and I… we'd love it if you both would join us next week."
"Wouldn't miss it, Mrs. Tonks," Ginny said.
"Andi," this time with a touch more insistence, though her tone remained kind. She gave them a sad smile. "I'll see you Friday, then, I suppose." She glanced toward the Weasley family gathered at the front of the church. "Please give my love and condolences to the rest of your family, Miss Weasley."
"Ginny," she corrected with a grin of her own.
Andromeda's smile grew, and with a small nod, she turned to leave, cradling Teddy against her shoulder. Harry watched them go. For the first time, he truly understood what they had been fighting for—a future. A chance for children like Teddy to grow up surrounded by love, laughter, and hope.
His gaze shifted to the Weasleys, clustered together in shared grief at the front of the church.
They just had one last great heartbreak to endure. Then, perhaps, the healing could finally begin.
Once everyone had arrived back at the Burrow, Bill and Fleur bid the rest of them goodnight before returning to Shell Cottage. George gave them a grunted farewell before climbing back into his room. Mum put on some tea and set out a bit of food, but no one had much of an appetite…other than Ron. He scarfed down a full plate of food before the first cup of tea had been poured. Percy and Charlie stayed for a bit before deciding to turn in. Then it was just her, her parents, and the Trio.
No, Ginny reminded herself, remembering Ron's assurances from the day before. It was her parents and them now.
"You doing alright, Harry?" she asked. Ron paused, his mouth half-filled with food, to spare a glance over at his best friend. Harry looked absolutely exhausted. And after the day he'd had she couldn't blame him. "You should get some sleep."
Harry nodded numbly. Ron stuffed the last few bites into his mouth, muttered something that might have been "C'mon, mate," to Harry, and helped usher Harry out of his seat. Harry paused by the base of the stairs, then turned around and found her again. He pulled her into a fierce hug that seemed to defy the exhaustion in his bones. She felt his fingers wind through her hair, as if he were doing everything in his power to assure himself that she was real.
"I—goodnight," he muttered against her hair. Then he released her and allowed Ron to lead him up the stairs.
Ginny watched him go, her heart hammering in her chest. There was a long moment of silence between her, Hermione, and her parents. She felt exhausted, and she was dreading the day to come. But she had to find a way to hold it together for a while longer. There were some things only a mother and daughter could figure out together.
Dad seemed to sense this. With a weary sigh he pulled himself from the table, gave Mum a kiss and said, "I'll turn in. Leave you to it."
Ginny could sense Hermione's eyes on her, but couldn't yet meet them. She felt her neck flush and averted her gaze. Hermione seemed to get the message.
"I'm exhausted," she said pointedly. "I think I'll head up as well. See you, Ginny. Thank you, Mrs. Weasley."
"Goodnight dear," Mum said gently. She was still staring down at her tea.
There was another long silence between them. Ginny sat at the kitchen table tracing idle patterns in the grain of the wood. The Burrow was quieting as everyone turned in and readied for bed. Ginny gave it a few more minutes—as long as she could stand—in the hopes that the rest of the house would be asleep.
Mum stood and began to bustle through the kitchen. She paused when she saw Ginny sitting there, her brow furrowing slightly.
"Can't sleep?" Mum asked, setting the towel down and filling the kettle.
Ginny shook her head. "No, just…thinking."
Mum hummed softly, her back to Ginny as she prepared another pot of tea. A moment later, she sat down beside her daughter, refilling her steaming mug in front of her. Mum watched her for a long moment before speaking. "What's on your mind, love?"
Ginny hesitated, the words caught in her throat. Finally she asked, "Mum, how did you know you loved Dad?"
Mum blinked, caught off guard. "Well, that's a question I wasn't expecting tonight," she said with a chuckle. "Though I suppose maybe I should have after watching the two of you this afternoon. Seeing him with little Teddy. It makes a mother glad to know we've had certain talks already." Ginny felt her face flush but Mum placed a comforting hand on hers. "This is a conversation I'm happy to have in light of everything we've all been through."
Mum stirred her tea thoughtfully. "It wasn't any one moment, really. It was a lot of little things. The way he looked at me, like I was the most fascinating person in the world, even when I don't think I was saying anything particularly clever. The way he made me laugh. How safe I felt when he was near."
Ginny nodded slowly, catching on the familiar thread of Mum's words. She thought back to the funeral for Remus and Tonks, the way Harry had reached for her hand without a word. How his grip had tightened when the names were read aloud. How he'd kept her close as if he couldn't face it alone. The way he'd looked at her afterward, his eyes full of something she couldn't name but felt all the same.
"Do you think…" Ginny's voice wavered slightly. "Do you think it's possible to love someone even if they haven't said it back? Even if they might not even realize it themselves?"
Mum tilted her head. Understanding flickered across her face. "Ah," she said gently, setting her spoon down. "I think the real question is whether you know how you feel."
Ginny bit her lip. "I think I do," she said quietly. "I think I love him."
"And you think he loves you too," Mum said, her tone leading but patient.
Ginny nodded, her grip tightening on the edge of her mug. "I think so. It's just…he's never said it. But sometimes, the way he looks at me or the things he does, it feels like he's trying to say it. Sometimes I think he almost does and then…stops."
Mum reached out and placed a warm hand over Ginny's. "Ginny, you've always known yourself and had a good sense for those around you. If you think he loves you, then I'd wager you're right. But Harry's been through so much. Sometimes people who've been hurt as much as he has struggle to say the things they feel, even when they feel them deeply." She gave Ginny a pointed look. "And as you yourself can attest, it is a rather scary prospect even if your entire life has been filled with love…as I hope you know we've tried to make it."
Ginny's chest ached as she thought of her parents, about how she'd always felt loved even when she was furious at them. Then about Harry's quiet grief, his scars, the way he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders without ever asking for help and always somehow seemed to think he would have to deal with his struggles alone. She nodded.
Mum smiled gently. "When I was your age, I used to wonder why your dad didn't share things about himself more often. But I soon realized—love isn't just about what people say. It's about what they do. And from what I've seen, Harry has done plenty to show you how much he cares."
Ginny felt a small, reluctant smile tug at her lips. "He does," she admitted. "He's always there when I need him. He just…knows."
Mum squeezed her hand. "Give him time, Ginny. He'll find the words. When he's ready. But until then, don't doubt what you already know in your heart."
Ginny nodded. She felt herself relaxing for the first time that evening. "Thanks, Mum," she murmured.
Mum leaned over and kissed the top of Ginny's head. "Anytime, love. Now finish your tea before it gets cold."
Ginny smiled softly and took a sip, the warmth of the drink and her mother's words settling deep into her chest.
Next Time: Chapter 7 — I Solemnly Swear…
AN: I appreciate all the reviews!
I toyed with a lot of different ideas for Harry's tribute to the Marauders. I've read works where he carves a final tribute on the headstones, or he makes a larger proclamation. But I've always maintained that the Marauders, their Map, and the secrets they had should remain as closely guarded as possible. I'm excited to finally introduce you to my versions of Andi and Teddy into the story now. Andi specifically will play a much bigger part in the larger story, and once Teddy gets a bit older (enough to interpret actions more) he will as well.
Did anything in this chapter make you laugh, cry, and/or cheer? Did you catch any hints about what might come next?
isabel380: I hope you keep reading! Love to hear people's theories and hopes for the story! I'm playing a bit fast-and-loose with what's canon and what isn't, so you'll just have to stick around and see.