Teddy leaned against the stone fence, watching the family split into teams for their weekly Quidditch match. Normally, Teddy would have been clamoring to play, but today he was content to sit and watch. He held Remus' last journal on his lap, fingers marking the very last entry, written the night he'd been born.
Of course Teddy had always known he'd been born in a uncertain time, even that he'd been born in the very house in which he'd been raised. He'd often assumed that his birth had been an unwelcome event, no matter how much his grandmother had tried to tell him otherwise, especially in the absence of the two people who could have informed him otherwise.
Remus' diaries were unapologetically candid, especially with the knowledge that one day Teddy might read them. He could have used the opportunity to paint a much rosier picture of himself, to smooth over the rough edges, and push unpleasant events to the background, lessening their importance. But no. Remus had presented himself as honestly as possible. Recently, Teddy had come to associate the very idea of what it meant to be a real man with his father.
Teddy pushed his heavy fringe from his eyes and took in a long, slow, deep breath, steeling himself before he opened the diary to the last entry.
Warm early summer breeze tousled the heavy fringe that hung in Remus' eyes. He reached up to rake it back with his fingers, but it merely flopped back into place, as usual, instead of staying rakishly disheveled like Sirius somehow managed, even without the aid of styling products. It was worth a try, at least, Remus reasoned and tilted his face up to the fingers of sunshine filtered through the branches of his favorite tree at Hogwarts.
'Are you scared, Moony?' came an oh-so-familiar voice from his left side.
Without needing to look, Remus slipped a scrap of parchment between the pages of his book and set it aside. 'Of course I am,' he snorted. 'I would consider myself a fool if I were not.' His eyes slowly opened, and he blinked several times to adjust to the light. Sirius huddled on the grass next to him, chin resting on his drawn-up knees. 'To be honest, Pads, he began, 'I've spent countless hours imagining all the ways I can damage my son.'
Sirius regarded him soberly for several long moments. 'I see.' He stretched out his legs and leaned back against the trunk of the tree. 'If I may offer a suggestion?' he ventured.
'Love your son for who he is, and not who you envisioned before he was born. Saves a lot of nasty, vicious rows.' Sirius tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, mulling over his own upbringing. It had been rife with the aforementioned arguments, punctuated by choking silences, where he'd been excluded from the family dynamic to such a degree that Sirius could be gone from Grimmauld Place for days at a time, and no one noticed, nor commented on his absence. It had been a relief to flee to the Potters' house the summer before his sixth year, then purchase the small flat in London, as it meant he never had to return to Grimmauld Place if he so chose. 'No matter what,' he added. His face lit with a sudden, brilliant smile. 'You're going to be fine,' he stated. 'You know just how much your family is worth to you.'
Remus felt a snarl of anxiety ease slightly. He still had to pinch himself every now and again, just to reassure himself it wasn't a dream after decades of believing he would die cold and alone. 'Did it hurt to die?' he found himself asking, annoyed at the childish tone of his voice. But he had to ask, given the very real possibility he would die at the end of a Death Eater's wand years before the end of his natural lifespan.
Sirius' brows knit together for a moment. 'No,' he said truthfully. 'I think that's how I knew… There was no pain, just this brief flash of intense joy,' he whispered. 'As soon as I recognized it, it disappeared. And then, there was just… nothing.'
Remus nodded. 'I miss you,' he confessed. 'Both of you. And Lily.' He felt Sirius' arm slide around his shoulders. 'The three of you were my family. I wish my son could meet you.'
'Prongs wanted to come, but he's hovering over Harry. Worked up into a right state over some crazy scheme he's worked out. He said most parents only give their children life once, and he's been able to do it twice, and he'll be damned if he can't do it a third time.'
'Prongsie always did have delusions of grandeur at times,' Remus remarked. The ground shifted under his bottom and he placed a hand on the heaving ground to steady himself.
'We're with you, mate,' Sirius said faintly, as the sound of frightened gasps filled Remus' ears…
'Remus!' Dora's voice was urgent and low, and laced with something Remus couldn't identify in his sleepy haze. She shook his shoulder violently. 'Wake up!'
The frantic tones pierced the fog of slumber, and Remus darted from the bed, wand out and in position, ready to fling a hex or jinx at the intruder. 'What? Who?'
Dora exhaled sharply through her teeth. 'I need you to wake Mum…'
'Why?' Remus asked blankly, dropping to the edge of the mattress.
Dora inhaled deeply and slowly let out the breath on a long sigh as she stared at her wristwatch, balanced on the palm of one hand. 'The baby's coming.'
Startled, Remus literally rolled from the bed and landed on the rug. He bounced to his feet and struggled to find the cardigan he'd thrown over the chair mere hours before. 'Right.' He thrust his arms into the sleeves and jabbed his feet into his slippers. 'Wake Andromeda, then contact Shanti…'
Dora shook her head. 'Can't,' she said shortly. 'She's on shift today. Too dangerous to try.' She already looked exhausted. 'We're on our own.'
Remus blinked owlishly. 'I see.' He fervently wished he had read something – anything, really – about childbirth. Prior to this moment, he believed it would remain terra incognita; and therefore, something unnecessary to learn. He'd envisioned himself in a stereotypical mid-century fantasy, where the fathers paced nervously around a waiting room until the deed was done and he was presented with a neatly swaddled baby. His eyes flickered to the dog-eared paperbacked book lying on Dora's bedside table. There was a section that detailed what to do in case of an emergency. He supposed he might have enough time to read and absorb the information before anything happened.
'Remus?' Dora's voice intruded into his reverie.
'Yes. Yes, of course…' Remus left the room and slipped down the corridor to Andromeda's bedroom. He'd only been in it the one time last month when Dora had informed her of Ted's death. Truth be told, the idea of barging in even at a time like this made him a little queasy. He terribly hated to impose on anyone else's privacy. He rapped quietly on the closed door. 'Andromeda?' he called softly. Merlin's pants, man, get a grip on yourself, he admonished silently. You only need to wake her so she can help deliver your son. Fortified by the idea of having someone with more experience than he with childbirth, Remus knocked firmly several times. He waited a moment, then began another attack on the door. It opened a crack, and Andromeda's grumpy face appeared.
'There had better be Death Eaters in my kitchen to be so rudely awakened at four in the morning,' she chided.
Remus shook his head. 'It's the baby,' he said quickly, before Andromeda could shut the door in his face. 'He's coming.'
Andromeda's eyes widened, but she spun on her heel and snatched her dressing gown from the arm of a chair and drew it over her arms and shoulders. Remus stepped back to let her pass and followed her back to his bedroom. By the time he entered, Andromeda was already perched on the edge of the bed, a hand laid gently over Dora's distended abdomen. 'Shhh. I know it hurts, darling,' she said in a soothing tone. 'How far apart are the pains, love?'
Dora glanced down at the watch. 'Twenty minutes or so.' She rubbed the bridge of her nose. 'Can't contact Shanti,' she groaned. 'What are we going to do?'
Andromeda looked nonplussed for a second before her face cleared. 'Molly Weasley? She told me to let her know when you went into labor,' she suggested. 'She's bound to know more than the three of us,' she added, with an inquiring look at Remus. He responded with a motion of his hands, spreading them apart in acquiescence.
'I'll just go and send word, shall I?' Remus murmured.
'And just how do you propose to do that?' Andromeda snorted. 'The Order doesn't dare breathe unless it's done via Patronus,' she stated, twisting to stare intently at him. 'Unless you mean to say you've bridged that small gap?'
'Mum!' Dora protested. 'That was totally unnecessary.'
'And true,' Andromeda retorted, rising gracefully to her feet. 'I believe I'll put the kettle on, as well. I think we could all use a good, strong cuppa.' She swept from the room, closing the door behind her. Dora struggled to sit up, cheeks tinged with pink outrage.
'I can't believe she'd say something like that!'
Remus shifted awkwardly from foot to foot before darting to the bed and stacking the pillows behind Dora's back. 'Better?' At his wife's nod, he reflexively reached to trace the line of her widow's peak. 'I cannot deny that she is right, after all. Even if it was more pointedly stated than strictly necessary.' Deeply ingrained habits died hard, and the ability of a Black to find the smallest target, then savagely twist the stiletto was something even Sirius was guilty of doing on more than one occasion. He laced his fingers with hers. 'What do you want me to do?' he asked, more for something to do than a perceived need on her part.
Dora shook her head, eyes closed. 'Just stay with me.'
On Molly's advice, Remus guided Dora slowly down the corridor, then back to the bedroom, over and over, pausing every so often while she squeezed his fingers in a such a way, that he was surprised to find they hadn't popped off his hand afterward, panting through yet another contraction. 'I wish there was something I could do,' he commented lamely, knowing it was the worst thing he could have said in that particular moment as soon as the words left his mouth.
Dora's face twisted as another contraction built up and she scrabbled for his hand. 'Make the pain go away!' she ground out between gritted teeth.
Remus stood behind her, arms braced under her elbows supporting Dora as she rocked back and forth on her bare feet. Someone had painted her toenails a screaming fire-engine red, he noted dimly. Pain was an old acquaintance. He knew pain nearly as well as he knew the wolf within. Even though the myriad aches and pains that accompanied his monthly transformations reminded him of his own mortality, he welcomed it at the same time. The pain meant he was still alive for one more day. He instinctively knew the moment he ceased to feel the pain it meant he was dead. Remus made soothing noises as he timed the pace and rhythm of his own breaths to hers. The contraction eased and he reached into the pocket of his trousers for a handkerchief and blotted the sweat from Dora's face. 'Pain is temporary,' he told her, smoothing her hair away from her eyes. His other hand drifted down and landed soft as swan's down over her navel. 'It will go away,' he assured his wife. Remus paused as his knee twinged in protest at the odd angle he'd been forced to adopt when they'd stopped. 'It won't be as bad, at least,' he amended. An idea blossomed in his head and his fingers feathered over her hair and face in light caresses. It was a sentiment he'd come across a time or two in his myriad and eclectic readings – and one that had been foremost in his mind as the day wore on and in the endless circuits of the corridor his thoughts drifted to the dream he'd had that morning. 'The complete absence of pain means you've died,' he mused.
Dora made a face, sticking her tongue out at him. 'That's comforting,' she snorted, visibly tired. She winced again, fingers spasming around his hand, grinding the bones together. 'How much longer?' she groaned. 'Feels like this has been going on for ages…'
Remus glanced at the clock on the bedside table. 'It's only been six hours,' he said sympathetically.
Dora grimaced. 'Nine,' she corrected. 'I'd been having pains for three hours before I woke you,' she added sheepishly.
Remus felt inexplicable outrage build inside his chest. 'Merlin's grubby y-fronts, Nymphadora!' he blurted in uncharacteristic vulgarity. 'Why did you wait so long?'
Dora shrugged. 'You needed the rest,' she sighed. 'Besides, it looked as if you were having a lovely dream. I didn't have the heart to wake you.'
'Next time, you're to wake me. Is that clear?'
'You want more than one child?' Dora asked skeptically.
Remus nudged her forward. 'I might,' he replied. He ruefully shook his left hand, clenching and unclenching it a few times. 'It will depend if I have extremities left after this.' They slowly shuffled into their bedroom and Dora dropped into the kitchen chair that Andromeda had brought up earlier, straddling it and propping her arms on the back. She lowered her forehead to rest on them. 'I was having a lovely dream,' he remarked.
'Oh? Tell me…'
Remus perched on the footstool and scooted it forward. He began to massage her lower back. 'I was in my favorite spot at Hogwarts,' he began.
Remus slipped into the back garden for a moment to enjoy the mild spring afternoon. He slowly bent forward one vertebra at a time until his fingertips brushed the toes of his slippers. He stayed in that position for several long moments, reveling in the sensation of cramped and tightened muscles stretching and loosening their grip on his bones. The sun warmed the back of his head and shoulders and he reluctantly straightened, glancing at his watch. It was just past noon. Molly hadn't seemed worried that Dora's labor had lasted nearly twelve hours, assuring him that first babies tended to take their time, and as far as she and Andromeda could tell, both the baby and Dora were doing well, although Dora was starting to doze between contractions. Everything was normal.
Remus couldn't suppress the nagging idea in the back of his head that everything wasn't normal. In his admittedly biased opinion, they were flying blind. Aside from giving birth to seven children, what experience did Molly have on the other side of things? It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the assistance, but the niggling thought of what if flitted inside his brain like a bothersome gnat.
He walked back inside the house and stared into the Muggle-style refrigerator, trying to find something that might tempt his wife to eat. Molly insisted Dora try to eat something light. She was going to need it later when it came time to deliver the baby. Remus slammed the door shut with a heaving sigh and spun on a heel to find Ginny Weasley lurking in the entrance. He smiled at her. She had been a favorite student of his. Ginny was certainly bright and talented, as all the Weasley children were, and what she lacked in brilliance, she more than made up for it in determination. 'Professor…'
'Remus,' he corrected automatically. 'I haven't been "Professor Lupin" in years. Besides, you're practically a member of the Order in all but name.'
Ginny flushed and tucked a lock of hair back into her plait. 'I wanted to tell you something,' she said quietly. 'About Snape.'
The wolf's ears pricked in savage curiosity. The wolf didn't like Snape any more than Remus himself did. 'Go on.' Remus turned back to the refrigerator and began to pull out bits and pieces from the past few nights' dinners. He was an expert at making soup out of odds and ends of this and that, stretching his limited food resources as much as he could. He didn't have the skills to create a gourmet meal like Molly and Andromeda, but he could cobble together something that would taste decent.
'You know Luna, Neville, and I tried to break into the Headmaster's office, don't you?'
Remus started, but avoided splashing the top of Andromeda's spotless stovetop. 'Did you succeed?' he asked evenly, as if he were inquiring about the weather.
'No,' Ginny admitted. 'But it was odd, after,' she added uneasily.
The wolf's hackles rose slightly and Remus felt a slight buzz in his ears. 'How so?' He reached for a loaf of bread and sawed slices off it.
'Normally, if you got a detention, you had to serve it with the Carrows.' Ginny shuddered violently. 'They would do things to you…'
'What things?' Remus asked. He was sure he'd shouted, as he could hardly hear over the roaring in his ears.
'Cruciatus curse, beatings, torture…' Ginny replied. She took a deep breath. 'Nothing I couldn't handle,' she said with a false sense of bravado, but Remus knew better. There was bravery, and there was experience that gave one a healthy sense of fear and of their own mortality that kept them from rushing headlong into a maelstrom. 'Anyway,' she continued, finding a tray in a cupboard and spreading a clean tea towel over it. 'Snape stepped in. He said it was his authority as Headmaster to administer any punishment he chose. And then he sent us to the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid.' She met Remus' eyes. 'Odd, don't you think?'
Remus' head reared back, the bread knife dangling from his fingers. 'Subversive is more like it,' he told her, placing the bread on a plate. He Banished it to the tray and pulled five bowls from the cupboard. 'I wonder why…' he mused, fetching spoons from their slot in the drawer.
'He used to be a member of the Order, no?' Ginny stated. 'Maybe…' She shook her head, a look of disgust fanning over her face. 'Nah. That's even too silly for me and my fairy tales.'
'What?' Remus asked sharply.
Ginny shrugged. 'What if he's still on our side?'
The idea was not without merit. Remus fancied Snape didn't exactly care for children to begin with, but even Snape had a sense of mercy, warped as it was. Perhaps Snape intervened when he was able on a limited basis, so as not to draw attention to his actions. Perhaps it was out of a desire to protect innocent lives as much as possible. He knew Snape would not have condoned a student being tortured into insanity. Not even Harry. Remus lifted the pot of soup off the stove and carefully poured it into a tureen. 'I suppose we'll never know,' he sighed. 'Not for sure one way or the other, unless Severus tells us.'
'You don't need words,' Ginny responded, showing surprising maturity of thought. 'Words are too easily manipulated or empty sentiments.' She picked up a jug of pumpkin juice and one of apple cider and swiftly climbed the stairs to the first floor.
Touché, Remus thought. She would know, after all, having spent the better part of her first year being expertly exploited by the spirit of Tom Riddle.
Molly scurried into the kitchen. She spied the tray and swirled her wand at it. It floated majestically into the air and swept to bob in midair next to her. 'That looks like just the thing,' she said approvingly.
'Might I have a word with you?' Remus asked politely.
Molly's bright smile dimmed a little. 'Of course you can.'
Remus wiped his hands on a tea towel, then draped it over a rod to dry. 'Can you handle this?'
Molly drew herself up, until Remus could see why she was the one person Fred and George actively feared. Small as she was in stature, when someone roused her ire, she seemed to gradually rise in height until she towered over the other person. She calmly directed the tray to the table, and lowered it to the surface. 'I've studied everything I could,' she told him. 'I might not be a trained Healer or midwife, but I've attended a few births over the years besides my own, as well. My being here was always the contingency plan. That young Healer who took care of Tonks made sure I could handle a normal, low-risk delivery.'
'What if this isn't low-risk or normal?' Remus hissed.
Molly visibly paled. 'We'll just have to do what we can.'
Before he could stop himself, Remus tightly grasped Molly's arm. 'My wife and son are my life,' he informed her, desperation roughening his voice. 'If something happens to them…'
'I'll do my best,' Molly promised.
'What if that's not good enough?'
Molly's chin tilted up. 'Say it.'
Remus blushed with shameful misery. He knew he ought to trust Molly's judgment, but the lives of the two most important people in the world to him rode on it. 'I know a Healer. He used to work on the maternity and neonatal floor.'
'He…' Remus hesitated at revealing Maurice's secret. He gulped. 'He and I share a similar affliction.'
'I see.' Molly prised her arm from Remus' grip. 'If you feel you must,' Molly said coolly.
Remus knew his words had stung. He hadn't meant them to do so. He cast about for a compromise. 'If you think you can no longer make assurances that everything will be fine,' he said softly, 'then I will bring him here.'
Remus felt his eyes widen into perfect circles. He perched on the edge of the bed, Dora's back braced against his knees while she crouched on the floor. He had craned his head at the cry of glee and the subsequent announcement that the head was crowning, his sense of propriety overcome by his innate curiosity. Stunned at the malleability of the human body, he could only stare in dumb amazement as something matted with hair stretched his wife's flesh before retreating slightly. Before he managed to process that it was indeed his son's entrance into their world, another contraction crested and once again, his attention was fully on one Nympadora Lupin. Her hair wavered between the crackling orange of fire to the painful red of a sunset the night before a storm. The one time he had tried to murmur words of encouragement, Dora had all but snapped his head off at the neck, so he contented himself with soothing noises and physical support. She grunted deeply and in a matter of seconds, the baby's head was out. It only took a few more minutes for the rest of him to follow, and they both stared in weary awe at the figure splayed on the dark blue towel spread at Dora's feet.
Tentatively, Dora reached down to stroke a fingertip over the baby's face. She slowly eased to her bottom and picked up the child, bringing him to rest on her bare chest. Remus carefully joined her on the floor. His head bent and he nuzzled the sandy tufts of hair. The myriad scents of the baby's birth swam into his nostrils and skimmed over his tongue. The iron-laced scent of blood, the sharp tang of sweat, and something sweet, yet slightly medicinal. Remus remained still, eyes closed, waiting for a response from the wolf, but it merely sat, in a state of heretofore-unknown vigilance. He could taste the salt of tears, and wondered whose they were. When he lifted his head, the telltale coolness on his cheeks revealed them to be his.
After a brief flurry of activity, Remus accepted the bundle into his arms and glanced up at his wife. Neither of them had spoken, lest the spell surrounding them broke.
'Well, what are you going to call the lad?' Molly asked in a low voice.
'Theodore,' Dora said hoarsely. 'Ted… for Dad. Ted Remus Lupin.' She stroked the baby's satiny cheek. 'But I think we'll call him Teddy for now…'
'Oh.' Remus tore his attention away from his son and search for the source of the sound. Andromeda's cheeks were faintly tinged with pink. He had never seen her so disheveled, sleeves of her crumpled blouse rolled well past her elbows and hair pulled back into a simple ponytail. She looked as if she might be Dora's older sister and not her mother. Andromeda blinked a few times, realizing that everyone in the room was staring at her. She unfurled an old quilt over Dora, in a belated attempt to restore a modicum of modesty, but in Remus' opinion, that ship had long since sailed. Exposure hadn't seemed to matter just a few minutes ago.
Molly smiled broadly. 'That's a fine name,' she said.
Andromeda peered at Teddy over the edge of the towel. 'Oh… My.' Remus looked down and the medium brown fuzz covering the baby's head began to fade to an indeterminate dark blonde before blazing forth in a bright coppery red. 'I see you're going to be a handful already, Teddy,' she murmured, a fingertip tracing the faint outline of a widow's peak in his hairline. 'Just like your mum.' She smiled at Dora. 'You did the same thing. Started changing your hair color almost as soon as you were born.'
'Will he do it randomly?' Ginny asked from a corner of the room.
'For now,' Andromeda replied. 'Once Nymphadora was able to focus, she often took on the hair color of the person that held her. She settled on pink as a general rule when she was five.' She absently waved her wand at the bed and the limp and rumpled bedding peeled off and rolled into a bundle on the floor. A crisp, clean set of sheets draped over the bed, folding and tucking themselves into place, followed by a clean quilt. Andromeda bent and helped Tonks sit on the edge of the mattress. 'It's nearly seven,' she announced, with a glance at Remus, then Ginny. 'If the two of you don't mind terribly, I think we could all use something to eat.' She rubbed a hander over her eyes. 'And tea. Lots of tea,' she yawned.
Ginny shot from the room so quickly; Remus wondered if she'd been traumatized by the admittedly painful miracle of life. He tucked Teddy in the crook of Dora's arm, brushing a kiss over his son's forehead, then captured her mouth with his for a brief moment. 'Thank you,' he breathed.
Dora beamed at Teddy, wreathed in euphoria. 'It was my pleasure.' Her chin wobbled and tears spilled from her eyes. She made a shooing motion with her free hand. 'I'm fine,' she insisted. Remus caught Molly's eye and she nodded with a look that told him Dora's reactions were nothing extraordinary, so he followed Ginny down the stairs.
Halfway down, Remus removed his wand from the pocket of his trousers, twirling it between his fingers. He drifted through the kitchen and into the back garden, still wrapped in the exhilaration of Teddy's birth. 'Wand at the ready,' he muttered, holding his wand aloft. 'Expecto Patronum!' he cried softly, the image of Teddy's widow's peak changing to a bright ginger behind his closed eyes. Bright white light seared his eyelids and Remus opened them slightly, half expecting to see his usual silver mist. His eyes flew open in surprise at the sight that awaited him.
A raven hovered just over his head, gleaming with the pearly silver sheen peculiar to a corporeal Patronus. Remus didn't stop to analyze what its shape might portend. He held out a hand, and the bird perched delicately on his wrist, sheathing it in tingling warmth. The raven cocked its head to one side, then launched into the air, disappearing as it flew into the sky.
A wolf's howl suddenly echoed through the trees surrounding the house. Remus looked around wildly, but Ginny hadn't seemed to hear it, as she easily moved about the kitchen, cobbling together a meal. Remus cautiously sniffed the evening breeze, but there was nothing there. The deafening howl sounded once more, and Remus realized it had no external source. It had come from within. 'Yes, that's right,' Remus whispered, for once seeing no need to separate himself from the wolf. He laughed in delight as the wolf howled again and again, watching his Patronus spiral from the tip of his wand into the darkening sky.
14 April 1998
There is a certain desire to proclaim, 'Today, I am a man!' Even though it is a rather hackneyed phrase and – if I may say so – quite overused. Not that I would ever use my ability to father children, and a male child especially, as a measure of my manhood. (And yes, son, one day when you read this, rest assured that I intended the pun.) However, I can see why that particular pun is so prevalent. Even had you been a girl, I imagine I would have felt the same swell of pride when your mother laid you in my arms. Watching you sleep in your cradle, I still have difficulty believing that I had a hand in creating something so pure and beautiful.
Perhaps someday this world will be worthy of you.
More to the point, perhaps someday I will be the kind of father you will be proud to have.
A thin, fretful wail jerked Teddy from a sound sleep. He slid from the bed without waking his wife and padded into the nursery. Jonathon was trying to lift himself on his wobbly arms. Teddy slid a hand over his son's bottom, and finding it dry, lifted the boy from his cot and retreated to the rocking chair in the corner. He lowered himself into it and began to sway lightly. 'There now,' he crooned to the snuffling baby, waiting to see if Jonathon would begin signaling he was hungry, but none of the usual signs appeared. Teddy settled into the chair and looked down at Jonathon. He looked even more like Remus than Teddy himself. Jonathon had been a somber baby, barely making so much as a squawk at his birth. A quiet baby, too, preferring to observe the world around him with his wide, grey eyes.
Within minutes, Jonathon had gone to sleep once more and Teddy carefully placed him in the cot. He bent to bush a kiss over the baby's warm head, then repeated the actions with Jonathon's twin sister, Julia.
Too keyed up to sleep now, Teddy headed for the sitting room and quietly pulled out the chair in front of the desk. A leather-bound journal sat at a corner, and Teddy reached for it, leafing through it for the next blank page. When Victorie had told him she was expecting a baby, Teddy found that writing down this thoughts helped him manage his fears and worries of becoming a father.
It was what his own father had done.
A/N: I wanted to end this one on a happy note, which is why I ultimately chose to end it with Teddy's birth and not the upcoming battle.
There are many ways to interpret just what ravens symbolize. Some choose to associate them with death, but I chose a raven for Remus' Patronus because of their associations with intelligence and light, both of which Remus bestowed upon Teddy via his dairies.
Thank you all for your patience and taking the time to read this story.