Summary:

"Nymphadora may have taken after her father in many ways, but that particular trait—her stubborn determination—that she had gotten from her mother. Andromeda was strong too. She could not afford to fall apart over those who had left her behind. She had to focus on those who were here."

Or...
Pre-canon - post-canon: Moments when Andromeda Tonks had no words, or at least none deemed necessary.

Andromeda Tonks
The Unsaid Words

Pride

Ted had offered to come with her. She'd told him not to. Simultaneously, she felt regret and relief at this. Regret in that she desperately craved the comfort he so effortlessly exuded. Relief in that she didn't trust that her father wouldn't be firing off Killing Curses if he had.

Father stood stock still. His hands were thrust deep within his pockets, and Andromeda was sure one was gripping his wand. But he did not move. Every muscle in his body seemed tensed—poised to spring—but he did not move.

The clock on the mantel ticked. The only sound. The only evidence that time continued onward. It echoed around Father's study.

He didn't look at her—his eyes were fixed upon the ornate Turkish rug, and if one had walked in at that moment, from his expression one would have thought the carpet had just been heard speaking the most inexcusable profanities.

Andromeda kept her chin held high. She forced herself to stay still, not to shift her weight, not to fidget with the new ring on her finger. For better or for worse, she was her father's daughter, and so, despite the pounding of her heart and the coldness of her fingertips and the subtle trembling of her arms, she kept her chin held high. "Say something, Papa," she demanded.

He did not immediately respond. When he did, it was not with words. Instead, he merely walked to the door of his study, twisted the handle, and held it open for her. Still, he did not look at her. Still, he did not speak.

He didn't need to. Nor did she. There was nothing more to say.

The response did not surprise her. Her bag was already packed and waiting for her in the foyer.

What did surprise her was how much it hurt.

Wonder

She was perfect. Andromeda couldn't take her eyes off her. Even with her vision blurred by the sweat and tears running down her face, stinging her eyes, she couldn't look away. Andromeda's breath came in short shaky bursts, and she struggled to gain control as they jostled the tiny, beautiful, perfect face that now rested on her breast.

She felt the bed shift and Ted's weight settle beside her, but she still couldn't tear her eyes away. She felt him peel a strand of hair from her sweaty brow and brush it back. Felt him press a kiss to her forehead. His lips trembled against her skin, and she heard him sniff; she wondered if he was crying, but she still couldn't tear her eyes away long enough to check.

Ted's hand reached out, so gentle and hesitant, like he feared breaking her, and he took up the tiny little hand of their daughter in his own. It didn't look real. The hand of a giant or the hand of a doll. Her mind couldn't make sense of it. She heard Ted make a sound somewhere between a sob and a chuckle and wondered if he was thinking the same.

Andromeda's eyes raked up and down the little form in her arms. She was so perfect. How could she be so perfect? For months, she had so prepared herself for the possibility that something could go wrong, she had forgotten that it was possible for everything to be right.

Time ceased to exist. Ceased to matter. She could have been staring for minutes or days or years. Her eyes searched the tiny face, looking for hints of who she might look like, this little melded life she and Ted had created together. She couldn't make much sense of it, and she wondered if people who said they could recognise family features in a baby's face were just making it all up. But still, she couldn't help but wonder. Would she have Ted's rounded chin or her sharp one? Her high cheekbones? Ted's blue eyes? Her widow's peak?

She reached out a hand to touch the smooth damp head reverently. It was impossibly soft. Her tuft of hair was dark. Andromeda knew this often changed—that the hair colour babies were born with rarely was what they would have when older. She wondered if she would have her own thick, wavy brown or Ted's fine, straight blond. Currently, it looked almost black. No, perhaps that was just because it was wet. Now the light caught it, it did look a light brown. No, that was distinctly blonde, she was sure of it. Wait, how quickly did babies' hair change colour, because now the blonde was as bright as sunshine, and she couldn't imagine how she could have possibly thought it black. No, not blonde. Yellow.

Or was it… green?

Shock

Silence hung over the dining room. Nymphadora's hand rested on Remus's atop the table as she smiled expectantly down to where Andromeda sat. Expectantly awaiting her reaction. Expectantly awaiting Andromeda to offer congratulations and jubilation.

Ted recovered first. "Well…" He cleared his throat. "Well, that's just grand, isn't it, 'Dromeda?" he said. He could fake it well, but Andromeda knew him. Heaving himself out of his chair, he rounded the table and Nymphadora popped up, releasing Remus's hand to accept a warm hug from her father. She was positively beaming. "I'm so happy for you, Dora," Ted said, his voice muffled in their embrace.

"Thanks, Dad." She laughed as she broke away. "I'm happy for me too."

Ted smiled and this time it did almost look genuine. Then he turned his attention to Remus. "Welcome to the family, son," he said, holding out his hand. Remus rose to his feet and a tight smile spread across his lips as he took Ted's hand and accepted the affectionate clap on the shoulder. But he didn't say anything. Andromeda wasn't sure what she wanted him to say. Perhaps promises to love and protect her daughter, her only child, the most precious thing in her life… But he was silent.

It wasn't until all the eyes in the room turned to her that she realised he wasn't the only one.

Andromeda still sat, straight backed, frozen to her chair. Her gaze flitted from Remus to Ted to Nymphadora to Ted. Her face felt numb. Her mind raced between the words she wanted to say and the words she should say, and she found she didn't know which was which.

"Mum?" Nymphadora was again looking at her expectantly. But where there had been excitement and joy, now there was worry and doubt.

Andromeda stared at her. She'd only just found out they were seeing each other a couple weeks ago.

Over Nymphadora's shoulder, she caught sight of Ted raising his eyebrows at her in a pointed look. Prompting her. Cautioning her.

Andromeda licked her lips and looked back to Nymphadora. And she mustered what she suspected must look a weak smile and nodded. "Congratulations. Both of you."

The words barely made it out of her tight chest—they came out soft and choked— but apparently it was enough. Relief flooded Nymphadora's face, and she knocked over a wine glass in her dash to hug her mother. Andromeda was still seated as her daughter's arms wrapped around her. She returned the hug. Her only child. The most precious thing in her life.

Ted began speaking as Nymphadora broke the embrace, pulling her attention away from Andromeda. "Suppose this calls for a toast!" He crossed to the breakfront to retrieve a bottle of Firewhisky and four tumblers. Andromeda stared down at her plate and the cold remnants of dinner, keeping her breathing slow and steady. "So do you have a date in mind?" Ted was asking as he laid out the glasses.

"Soon. We'll keep it very simple. In times like these, it doesn't seem right to do anything big and extravagant. And anyway, neither of us has a big family."

Andromeda heard the squeak and pop of the cork as Ted unstoppered the bottle but did not look up. Just stared at a bit of carrot and potato still on her plate. She barely listened as they chattered. She didn't take part. Didn't look at any of them. Didn't speak.

But something drew her eyes. Slowly she lifted her gaze from her plate to look across to her future son-in-law. He was looking directly back at her. He did not shy away as their eyes met, merely looked at her as Nymphadora and Ted good-naturedly bickered about the scale of a wedding and how to mark the day.

Andromeda saw the disappointment in Remus's expression. No. It wasn't disappointment. It was resignation. Remus was not surprised by her reaction.

She was surprised by how much this hurt.

Dread

Her feet absently followed Ted to the next room; how, she wasn't sure, because her brain had not told them to do so, at least not that she could recall. She stood in the doorway to the bedroom as Ted crossed the room in three long strides and reached up to retrieve his brown leather holdall from its place atop the wardrobe. She hated that bag. For weeks it had sat there, packed and ready and looming over her like a ticking clock, counting down the time they had left. Now, one final resounding tock hung in the silence of her mind.

"It'll be alright," Ted said, snatching up his favourite jumper— the one she had given him for Christmas two years ago—and stuffing it in his bag haphazardly. "We prepared for this, remember?" A random handful of socks joined, though she was quite sure he'd already packed socks long since. "We always knew this was coming. I'm just glad we got advance notice. Thank God for Kingsley." He reached an arm into the bathroom to snatch up his toothbrush, then looked around the room as though assessing what he might have forgotten. With a finality that made Andromeda's heart stutter, he zipped the bag and hoisted it over his shoulder.

Ted turned to her and looked at her properly for the first time since Kingsley's patronus had appeared in their kitchen. Something in her expression made his face soften. "You know what to do," he continued. This time, as he moved in her direction, his steps were slower, smaller, gentler. He reached out and took up one of the hands hanging limply at her side. His fingers felt warm against her icy ones. She looked down at their entwined hands between them. "When they come, you'll tell them what they want to hear. You'll tell them you threw me out. Be sure to call me a Mudblood. Don't be afraid to remind them that you're a Black. They won't dare harm you." She stared down as his thumb traced patterns across the back of her knuckles until his free hand came up, forcing her to raise her chin and meet his eye. Her vision was blurred for some reason. His voice lowered, the urgency softening but no less present.

"I won't tell you where I am— it'll be safer that way— but I'll try to find somehow to send word that I'm alright when I can." His eyes flicked down then back up to hold her gaze. "You'll tell Dora—" His voice broke, and he didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. Andromeda attempted to muster a nod, but she wasn't sure she managed it.

The hand under her chin shifted, cupping her cheek, fingers tangling into the hair at the nape of her neck. Her eyes closed as she leaned into his touch, savoured it. She felt the weight of his forehead rest against hers.

"When this is all over…" he whispered. But he trailed off. She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter. She didn't trust herself to speak. Didn't even dare breathe. She didn't trust that it wouldn't come out as a sob, that she wouldn't beg him to stay. And so she pressed her lips together, her chest burning with the pain of the wail she held inside.

His forehead was firm against hers, she felt his breath tickling her hair, his hands tense against her jaw.

And then they were gone. The comforting weight against her head vanished, the steadying grip to her face gone, the warm fingers slipped from her grasp like water. She swayed.

She didn't open her eyes. She just stood there. "Ted…" she breathed, so soft her own ears could hardly catch it. Somewhere, far off, a door opened and closed.

She just stood there.

Agony

The knock sounded just as they'd been sitting down to dinner. Remus froze halfway in his chair and Nymphadora craned her head to look toward the front door. Rain was beating at the windowpanes offering no hint of who might be calling. They all shared a brief glance acknowledging that none of them had been expecting visitors, then Nymphadora pushed herself out of her seat. Andromeda had no more opened her mouth to stop her than Remus's hand shot out to grasp his wife's wrist. Nymphadora turned back to him with a glare.

"I am still quite capable of answering the door," she snapped.

Remus raised his eyebrows and gave a calculated pause and a glance to her belly before replying. "Remember how we talked about how this is not just about you anymore?"

Nymphadora sighed and gave an annoyed jerk of her head toward the door by way of answer. Remus rounded the table, drawing his wand as he did so. Andromeda rose slowly to her feet, her own wand already in hand. Remus glanced at them, jaw tight, and nodded in approval to see their wands before he cracked open the front door and peered outside.

From their angle, they couldn't see who it was, but they did see Remus blink in surprise and open the door an inch further. Only an inch.

"Kingsley!" He paused a moment and licked his lips as he thought for a quick moment. "Mad-Eye's words of advice before we headed into the Department of Mysteries?"

A low rumble of a sad sort of chuckle sounded from outside. "Constant vigilance and don't fucking die." Remus smiled, more a tense strain of his lips, and opened the door fully, stepping aside to allow Kingsley room to enter.

"Kingsley," said Nymphadora, a broad smile of relief on her face as she crossed to meet him. "It's so good to see you. We've been so worried." They embraced and as they parted Andromeda saw him take note of Nymphadora's belly. "I know. I'm huge."

Kingsley just shook his head, a sad smile on his face that Andromeda couldn't quite read. "You look great." Nymphadora beamed back at him.

"Are you alright? Has something happened?" Remus cut in, a crease between his brows as he looked at Kingsley. Apprehension settled on Kingsley's face as he looked at Remus, then over Nymphadora's shoulder to where Andromeda stood.

He was silent as he met her eye. Sympathy and sorrow poured off him in a tidal wave that swept across the room in her direction. And she knew. Her hand rose of its own accord to press against her mouth at the force of it, and she shook her head in denial. But she knew.

Remus too was looking at her in sorrow, Nymphadora back and forth between them in confusion that was rapidly melting into horror.

Kingsley opened and closed his mouth a few times. If words came out, Andromeda didn't hear them over the rushing in her ears. It didn't matter. He didn't need to say it. He didn't need to say anything at all.

She couldn't have said anything back, even if she'd wanted to. No words could possibly make it past the choked scream that rose in her throat as she crumpled to the floor.

Frustration

"I know what you're thinking," Nymphadora said after a long pause. There was irritation and annoyance in her eyes. But most notably, determination. Andromeda knew that look. She'd had that same look when she was seven years old and Andromeda had insisted she would not be excused from the table until she ate her sprouts. Midnight had found both of them still staring each other down across that table, cold sprouts untouched on Nymphadora's plate. Nothing Andromeda had to say was going to change Nymphadora's mind when she had that look, so she may as well just keep her mouth shut. Not that she had to be happy about it, mind, and she had no intention of pretending she was.

"I know you wish I'd steered clear of him. God, I know you wish I'd stayed out of all of this. I know you think he puts a target on my back." To put it mildly, Andromeda ranted internally, but she ground her teeth against the words. She turned away and busied herself with the kettle. "But like it or not, there's already a target on my back. Multiple, in fact." Nymphadora's eyes followed Andromeda as she jabbed at the kettle with her wand a little too forcefully and steam shot out the spout like a piston. Followed her as she set it down—set it down, she did not slam it—and crossed to the cupboard to extract two mugs. Followed her to the container on the counter where she kept the teabags. "Whether it's because my husband is a werewolf or because my father is—" her voice caught, but she barrelled on, "was a Mudblood or because my mother is a Blood Traitor." She met Andromeda's eye unapologetically as Andromeda whipped her head around at that accusation. Andromeda shook her head and turned to fill the mugs. "There was always going to be a target on my back. What's one more?"

But this isn't just your back you're placing a target on, is it? It's the baby's, Andromeda thought. But it felt too cruel to say. Too unthinkable to face. She stared down at the mugs on the counter, watching as the water slowly darkened. Silence hung in the air as Nymphadora waited for her to argue.

When her daughter spoke again, her tone had softened. "He's the reason we met. And the reason Remus came back to me. To us. He's important to us, Mum," Nymphadora cajoled from behind her. "Not because he's the Chosen One. But because he's Harry. Harry's important to us."

And that somehow makes a seventeen-year-old child qualified to offer care and support to an infant? She poured the milk a little too forcefully and some splashed out onto the counter. She drew in a deep calming breath as she Vanished it with her wand.

"And I happen to think Harry will make a great godfather" Nymphadora continued as though reading her thoughts. "When all this is over." The lid to the sugar bowl slipped from Andromeda's fingers and landed with a clatter.

When all this is over…

For just a moment, she felt Ted's forehead pressed to hers, felt his fingers tangled in her hair. And she felt the rage driving into her heart. How could Nymphadora be so naïve? How could Ted? How could they not see that this would never be over? That things would never go back to the way they were.

Her fingers trembled as she overturned a spoon of sugar into Nymphadora's cup and gave it a quick stir. She left her own unsweetened.

She turned, thrusting out the cup of tea toward her daughter. Nymphadora blinked down at the cup as though only just now realising what Andromeda had been doing all this time.

"Oh. Thanks," Nymphadora took the mug slowly, staring down into it distractedly. She rubbed her hand over her belly absently. "I probably should be cutting back on my caffeine."

A bitter laugh escaped Andromeda in a huff, but she refused to point out the irony that Nymphadora would draw her line at a cup of tea, but not at irrevocably tying her child's life to the most wanted person in Magical Britain. She snatched up her own mug. "Think I'll take my tea in the garden today," she said and marched toward the back door.

Nymphadora watched her go with wide and startled eyes that flicked to the gloomy overcast sky visible through the window.

Terror

Nymphadora's hand braced against the nursery door, steadying it as she closed it silently. Her back was still to Andromeda, but she could see her shoulders rise and fall as she drew in a single deep breath through her nose, hold it a moment, then let it out. Everything was still. Everything was quiet. Expectant. Until it wasn't.

Nymphadora turned from the door, and marched down the short corridor. She brushed Andromeda's shoulder as she passed into the sitting room. "He should sleep at least a couple hours," she said, her tone curt and businesslike. "When he wakes, he'll be hungry. I pumped earlier. There should be enough milk for at least a couple days in the larder, but I also have a tin of formula in the pantry just in case…" she stumbled for the first time here. "…in case of emergency."

She did not pause in the sitting room, instead crossing with long, efficient strides. As she walked, she twisted back her fringe and pulled a pin from her pocket to secure it out of her face. Then she had reached the boot room.

Andromeda stood there, shaking her head numbly as she watched her daughter tug on her jacket. '…a couple days…' '…in case of emergency…' The words rattled in her brain as she desperately tried to make sense of them. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat as her chest strained to draw it to her lungs. Nymphadora had bent to lace her boots now.

"I'll be back as soon as I can. Or send word to update you if… if I can't…"

The world seemed to be tipping. Spinning. Andromeda squeezed her eyes shut, unsure if she could keep her balance. But then she felt Ted's forehead pressed to hers, steadying her. Felt his hand at her jaw, his fingers in her hair.

"Don't do this. Don't go." The words came out as a whisper, and for a moment, Andromeda wasn't sure if she spoke them to Nymphadora or to Ted.

She blinked open her eyes in time to see Nymphadora's determination falter. To see the fear in her eyes. Nymphadora looked back at her, and Andromeda thought she must be seeing the same expression echoed back. It was a moment before she answered. She licked her lips and Andromeda thought she was carefully picking her words. But when she spoke, all she said was, "I have to."

You don't have to! The words didn't come. Instead a sound somewhere between a growl and a sob escaped her lips. But the meaning must have been clear enough. Not again. Not again. Not again.

"Mum. This is me." Nymphadora practically pleaded. "I'm an Auror. This is what I do. My friends are in danger, and I can't just sit here while—"

"Think of Teddy!" Andromeda choked out, not caring if it was a low blow. She could not do this again. She could not make the same mistake. Not again. Not again.

"I AM THINKING OF HIM!" The words rang out, echoing around the room over the whispers and murmurs. "He's all I ever think of! All I can think of is him having to grow up in this broken world. Of how he will never be safe here. But this. This is a chance to make things right for him. To fight for a better world. Fight for him. And Remus…"

Andromeda merely stood there, tears streaming down her face, shaking her head. Let the others fight, she didn't care. In that moment, she didn't care what happened to them. She didn't care about Remus or Kingsley or Harry Potter or the countless innocent students up at that school. She didn't care about a single one of them. In that moment, the only one she cared about was Nymphadora. And she didn't care if it was selfish. Not again. Not again. Not again.

Again her thoughts must have shown on her face, because Nymphadora's face crumpled as she stared at her mother. Pain and disbelief and disappointment and pleading.

"Mummy," she whispered. The word stabbed Andromeda through the heart and she felt her stomach clench. When had she last called her Mummy? "Remus…"

Andromeda just shook her head, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. She didn't care. Not again. Not again.

But Nymphadora's determination overtook the other emotions on her face. That expression that said she would positively not be eating her sprouts. "Remus," she repeated. "Can you honestly say, if it were you… Can you honestly say you wouldn't do the same? If it were Dad… If you had it to do all over again…" Nymphadora's voice was choked and tears were streaming down her face, but still she twisted the knife, plunging it deeper and deeper.

Andromeda couldn't breathe. She swayed, but Ted's forehead was not there to steady her, and she had to reach out to brace her hand to the wall. Nymphadora simply stared at her— face that determined, unmovable mask— watching as the words destroyed her mother.

She waited a moment, but when it was evident that Andromeda had no response, she simply repeated. "I have to go." She made to brush past Andromeda on her way to the fireplace, but then her feet faltered. They were shoulder to shoulder, facing away. Andromeda's free arm was hanging limply at her side, and she felt Nymphadora's fingers brush her own tentatively as she paused there. "Look after him," she whispered, her voice and her touch now gentle and sad. Andromeda felt the apology in them.

Before she could think to take Nymphadora's hand, it was gone. Andromeda turned in time to see her reach the fireplace, snatching the Floo powder from the box on the mantel. Something in Andromeda was screaming. Tell her! Tell her you love her! Tell her she's the most important thing in your life! Tell her to come home safe to you!

But Nymphadora had already thrown a pinch of powder in the flames, and with the words "The Hog's Head" and a flare of green flame, she was gone.

Not again. Not again. Not again.

Andromeda didn't know how long she stood there, staring at the empty fireplace, cold and unlit.

Not again.

Love

The knock on the door was light. Hesitant. Three tiny taps.

Andromeda made no move to stand.

She was lying on the sitting room floor, her cheek pressed against the carpet. She stared at Teddy, mirroring her position beside her on a blanket. He let out tiny grunt of frustration and determination as he struggled to raise his head for more than a few seconds. Andromeda felt just as great a slave to gravity. She fought against it just enough to reach out her hand and rest it on his back in solidarity.

Rap rap rap. A little louder this time, as though wondering if perhaps she had not heard it the first time. Andromeda drew a deep breath in through her nose and let it out before she moved. She struggled to her feet, bracing her hand on the coffee table to push herself up.

He started a little when she finally pulled open the door. As though he hadn't really expected her to answer. Or perhaps he'd hoped she wouldn't. They stood there, staring at each other across the threshold.

There was a dark purple bruise along his jaw. A scabbed cut over his right eye and another on the bridge of his nose. His posture suggested more minor injuries hidden by travel-worn clothes. His hair was longer than the last time they'd met, falling in messy waves nearly to his shoulders. Dimly, she wondered that Molly Weasley hadn't yet taken her scissors to it. But perhaps it wasn't so very surprising. Molly wouldn't likely have any more energy to worry about such things than Andromeda did.

Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times, but nothing came out. He licked his lips. He was afraid of her, she realised abruptly. The saviour of the wizarding world who had defeated the darkest wizard in modern history, and he was afraid of her. In a different time, a different world, a different life, Andromeda might have laughed at the thought.

She had no energy for pleasantries. No energy for supposed security measures—to think up silly questions of someone she had only met one time. All she could muster was to step aside and hold the door for him to enter.

Harry stepped past her, lingering in the boot room, but already his eyes had found Teddy on the sitting room floor. Teddy was making affronted little grunts and gurgles at not being included. Andromeda sidestepped Harry to go to him and scoop him into her arms.

Harry hung back shyly, staring at Teddy from across the room. His expression vacillated between a tight grimace of pain and a small wonderous smile. She watched as he took in his godson for the first time, saw his eyes mark Teddy's shock of hair— turquoise today— and he breathed a near silent laugh. Abruptly, however, Harry noticed that Andromeda was looking at him, and the smile slipped back into awkward uncertainty.

Harry cleared his throat and shifted his feet, still barely inside the room. "I just came to… to check in on…" He trailed off and shrugged. Andromeda simply stared at him. "And I wanted to meet…"

She felt Teddy stir in her arms, turning his head back and forth against her arm. She glanced down to see his tiny mouth open. He was due for feeding. She licked her lips and swallowed hard as she looked down at her grandson. They were down to the last packet of breast milk.

She felt the breath catch in her chest, felt the tears prickling at her eyes, but she drew in a deep breath and forced them back. Look after him. She would be strong. For him, she would be strong. She would channel the determination of a seven-year-old refusing to eat her sprouts. For Nymphadora may have taken after her father in many ways, but that particular trait—her stubborn determination—that she had gotten from her mother. Andromeda was strong too. She could not afford to fall apart over those who had left her behind. She had to focus on those who were here.

Remembering he was there, she finally looked back to Harry. He was looking quite uncomfortable, fidgeting restlessly as he watched her. She took pity on him. "He needs feeding. Would you like to hold him while I prepare his bottle?"

Harry's eyes widened a moment, as though the idea of actually holding his own godson had never occurred to him. He looked back to Teddy and swallowed. "I er… Yeah, it's just… I don't know how…" His eyes darted back to Andromeda as though he half expected her to hex him for this admission. But she merely nodded.

"Sit down," she said, jerking her head toward the sofa. It was a command, not an invitation, and Harry sprang to do as instructed. Harry held his arms awkwardly stiff over his chest as Andromeda gently passed Teddy to him. "That's it," she approved. "You always want to support his head. You can use the crook of your arm, just like that, or your hand." Harry's every muscle was stiff, and he looked extraordinarily uncomfortable, arms crossed over his chest and cradling Teddy as though he were an Erumpent horn waiting to explode. She felt her cheek quirk in an almost smile. "Back in a moment."

In the kitchen, she pulled out the packet of milk, refusing to acknowledge the now-empty bin left in the larder. Craning her head, she could just barely see Harry in the next room, shifting himself awkwardly on the sofa. She found a clean Self-Heating Bottle—"Perfect temperature every time!"— emptied the packet inside, and tapped it with her wand to heat it. Still she tested the temperature with a small drop of milk on the inside of her wrist, she made her way back to the sitting room.

Harry had, it seemed, managed to adjust himself into a more comfortable position. She studied him from the entrance for a moment. His muscles had relaxed, and he'd even managed to extract a hand. He reached out, so gentle and hesitant, and took up the tiny little hand of his godson in his own. He let out a small sound, somewhere between a sob and a chuckle.

It was then that he realised Andromeda was back and watching him, and she surprised from him his first real smile. And this, in turn, surprised a smile from her.

"He's…" but Harry trailed off. He shook his head, that bewildered smile still curving in his lips as he struggled and failed to find the right word.

Andromeda merely nodded in agreement.

Perfect, she supplied internally. He's perfect.