The quiet, steady hum of life in the Tonks household had become the foundation of Harry's early years. Magic flowed through the home effortlessly, woven into the fabric of their daily routines, creating a sense of normalcy that was both familiar and foreign. From the moment Harry arrived, the Tonkses had ensured that their lives were filled with warmth and care, though unremarkable on the surface. But despite their efforts to maintain a peaceful environment, the house was never truly ordinary—not with magic lacing the simplest of tasks, nor with Harry's presence bringing an unspoken sense of gravity to their home.
As the months passed, Harry grew more curious about everything around him. His bright, inquisitive nature was impossible to ignore. It wasn't just that he was a sharp observer, picking up on the most minor details—it was how he interacted with the world, especially with magic. Andromeda noticed early on, how his gaze would follow her wand movements when she performed household spells, his eyes narrowing in concentration as if he were trying to understand what she was doing, even though he couldn't yet speak.
At first, the signs of Harry's magic were subtle, almost too faint to notice. It started small, objects like toys or books moving slightly out of place or lifting off the floor when no one was looking. Andromeda had seen similar things with Nymphadora when she was younger. Most magical children displayed signs of accidental magic before attending Hogwarts, especially when they were excited or upset. But with Harry, it was different. The magic was not accidental—it was deliberate, focused, as though he was already beginning to grasp some subconscious control over it.
It began innocently enough.
One quiet afternoon, while Andromeda was in the kitchen preparing lunch, Nymphadora lay sprawled on the living room floor, her schoolwork forgotten as she entertained Harry. Now a little older, Harry had developed a habit of reaching out toward objects that interested him. On this particular day, a small stuffed dragon toy that had rolled out of his reach caught his attention. Without a single word, his tiny hand stretched toward it, and the toy slowly slid across the floor toward him, as if guided by an invisible force.
Nymphadora used to her accidental magic as a child, barely glanced at the moving toy. But Andromeda, watching from the doorway, felt a ripple of unease pass through her. She had seen this before—children performing magic unknowingly—but what unnerved her was the calm control with which Harry seemed to do it.
As the days passed, the instances became more frequent. It wasn't long before Harry's actions became more deliberate. He wasn't just pulling toys toward him or causing objects to move randomly—he was directing the magic with a quiet, startling precision.
One evening, as Ted sat in the living room reading the evening edition of The Daily Prophet, Harry's attention was fixated on a teacup resting on the table. Andromeda, seated beside Ted, noticed the subtle shift in Harry's posture. His green eyes, bright and focused, seemed to lock onto the cup, and before anyone could react, the cup lifted into the air, hovering gently before floating toward Harry, who was babbling contentedly in his crib.
Ted glanced over the top of his newspaper, raising an eyebrow. "Well, would you look at that," he said with a chuckle. "Our little Harry's got quite the knack for magic already."
Andromeda, however, didn't share Ted's amusement. Slowly, she stood and placed the cup back on the table, her thoughts racing. "It's too controlled," she said softly, her eyes never leaving Harry. "This isn't just accidental magic, Ted. It's… purposeful. He's directing it."
Ted folded the paper and set it aside, carefully watching her. "Are you sure? Dora used to do things like that all the time when she was younger."
Andromeda shook her head. "No, this is different. When Dora did it, her magic was chaotic and unrefined. She had no control over it. But Harry… He's focused, aware of what he's doing, even if he doesn't fully understand it yet."
Ted frowned, leaning forward in his chair. "Are you saying you think he's doing it on purpose?"
"I don't know," Andromeda admitted, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "But I know it's different from what we've seen in Nymphadora. We need to be careful, Ted. If this continues, we can't let anyone outside the house know about it."
Ted sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Do you think someone would come looking for him? I mean, the war's over. Voldemort's gone. What could anyone want with Harry now?"
Andromeda didn't answer right away. Instead, her gaze drifted back to the sleeping boy, her heart heavy with unspoken fears. "He's tied to the prophecy, Ted. We don't fully understand what happened that night. His magic… it's not just ordinary. It's something more. And if we can sense it, so can others."
Ted stood and placed a hand on her shoulder, his expression serious. "We'll protect him," he said firmly. "Dumbledore's wards are stronger than anything I've ever seen. No one's going to find him here."
She nodded, though her mind remained troubled. Harry's magic grew stronger by the day, and with it came an unsettling realization. If they weren't careful, someone would eventually notice. one who might not have the best intentions.
One afternoon, while Andromeda was folding laundry in the kitchen, she heard Nymphadora's voice floating in from the living room. "Harry, come on, you can do it!" she said, her tone encouraging yet playful. Curious, Andromeda set the basket of clothes aside and quietly moved toward the doorway.
Nymphadora sat cross-legged on the floor, her face full of concentration as she stared at a pile of building blocks. Harry, barely a toddler, was watching intently, his brow furrowed as if mimicking her expression. And then, slowly but surely, one of the blocks began to levitate, hovering just a few inches off the ground.
Andromeda's breath caught in her throat.
"There you go!" Nymphadora cheered. "Just like that!"
The block wobbled slightly in the air before dropping back down. Harry's face lit up with a mixture of surprise and pride. He clapped his hands, a toothy grin spreading across his face.
Andromeda stepped into the room, her voice soft but firm. "Dora, what are you doing?"
Nymphadora looked up, guilt flashing across her features. "I was just… showing Harry how to use magic."
"And you thought encouraging him to levitate blocks was a good idea?" Andromeda crossed her arms, though her tone was more concerned than angry.
"He's good at it, Mum," Nymphadora replied defensively. "It's not like he's doing anything dangerous. He just wanted to try."
Andromeda sighed, kneeling beside her daughter. "I know you mean well, Dora, but Harry's magic isn't like yours was at his age. It's stronger. More controlled."
Nymphadora's expression softened. "But that's good, isn't it?" said, confused. "Doesn't that mean he's special?"
Andromeda hesitated, her gaze shifting to Harry, who was now babbling happily to himself, utterly unaware of the gravity of the situation. "Yes," she admitted quietly. "It means he's special. But it also means we have to be careful. If people knew how strong his magic was already…"
Nymphadora frowned. "You mean… they'd want to hurt him?"
"Not everyone, but there are people out there who might," Andromeda explained. "People who are still loyal, the man that hurt Harry. People who might think they can use Harry's magic for their purposes."
Nymphadora's eyes widened. "But Dumbledore's magic—"
"his protections are strong, but we still need to be cautious," Andromeda said gently. "Harry's and our safety depends on it."
Nymphadora nodded, her face full of understanding. "I won't teach him anything else," she promised. "I just thought… I don't know. Maybe it'd help him learn."
Andromeda smiled softly, placing a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "I know you're just trying to help. But let's leave the magical lessons for when Harry's a bit older, alright?"
With a final nod from Nymphadora, Andromeda turned back to Harry. He was staring up at her with wide, curious eyes as if sensing the seriousness of the conversation. She knelt beside him, brushing a hand through his messy black hair.
"You'll have plenty of time to learn magic, Harry," she whispered. "But for now, let's take things one step at a time."
That evening, after the house had quieted and Harry was tucked into his crib, Andromeda and Ted sat together in the kitchen, their faces lined with the worry they tried to keep hidden from their children. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting long shadows across the walls.
"Ted," Andromeda began, her voice barely above a whisper, "I think we need to talk about Sirius."
Ted, staring into the fire, blinked and turned toward her. "Sirius? What about him?"
"I've been thinking about what to tell Harry," Andromeda said, her brow furrowing. "If we're going to protect Harry, we need Sirius to be safe, too. He's still Harry's godfather, and despite all that has happened, I want Harry to know him."
Ted sighed, rubbing his temples. "I know. But Sirius isn't exactly… available right now."
Andromeda's chest tightened at the reminder. He had been found unconscious, gravely injured, and was now in a deep coma, hidden away in a secure ward in St Mungos. The healers were unsure if or when he would wake.
"He deserves to be remembered by Harry so that he will not be forgotten," Andromeda whispered, her voice filled with emotion. "But if he never wakes up…"
Ted placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "He will. Sirius is tough. He'll pull through."
Andromeda nodded, though doubt still lingered in her heart. Sirius had always been the reckless one, always charging headfirst into danger without a second thought. But now, with him in a coma, Harry had lost another person who might have been able to guide him through the challenges that lay ahead.
"We'll keep him safe," Ted said firmly, sensing her unease. "We'll do everything possible to raise Harry until Sirius wakes up. And when he does, we support them both."
Andromeda smiled faintly, grateful for Ted's unwavering support. She knew they were doing everything they could to keep Harry safe, but the uncertainty of the future weighed heavily on her mind.
Later that night, after Harry had been put to bed and the house had quieted, Dumbledore arrived unannounced, heralded by the soft flutter of Fawkes's wings as the phoenix settled gracefully on the windowsill. Andromeda greeted him at the door, her expression weary but composed.
"Albus," she said, stepping aside to let him in. "It's late. Is everything alright?"
Dumbledore offered a gentle smile, though his eyes held a hint of concern. "I sensed a surge of a unique magic signature in the wards. I thought it best to check in."
She led him into the living room, where Ted sat, his brow furrowed. "It's Harry," Andromeda began quietly. "He's... showing signs of magic, but it's unlike anything we've seen before. It's too controlled for a child his age."
Dumbledore's gaze softened. "Tell me more."
"He's performing deliberate magic," Ted explained. "Objects move toward him as if he wills it. It's not accidental outbursts; it's focused."
Andromeda wrung her hands, her anxiety evident. "I'm worried, Albus. If his magic continues like this, someone might sense it. Worse, if we try to get Harry to stop doing it as much, could he become an Obscurial?"
Dumbledore met her gaze steadily, his expression calm yet earnest. "Your concern is entirely understandable, Andromeda, but rest assured—Harry will not become an Obscurial. Obscurials form under the most extreme circumstances, typically when a child's magic is forcibly repressed through fear and abuse. Here, Harry is loved and nurtured. His chance of becoming an Obscurial in such a caring environment is virtually nonexistent."
Andromeda opened her mouth as if to counter, but something in Dumbledore's expression changed instantly. His blue eyes, often alight with quiet amusement or knowing wisdom, turned distant. A shadow flickered behind them, old and deep.
She recognized the look. Memory.
Dumbledore exhaled slowly, his fingers pressing together as he stared past her, seeing something beyond the room. The flickering candlelight cast long shapes on the walls, and for a moment, it was not Andromeda before him but the ghost of another conversation—one from decades past, in a house filled with whispered pain and secrets that would never heal.
Ariana.
His sister's face, so young, so fragile, surfaced in his mind like a reflection on still water. He had been barely more than a boy, full of ambition and ideas, but none of it had saved her.
A child forced into silence. A magic that turned inward, festering, coiling in on itself until it became dark and uncontrollable.
Dumbledore had never seen her Obscurus with his own eyes—never as clearly as he had seen it in Credence Barebone years later—but he had felt its presence and had lived in its aftermath. The violent bursts of raw magic, the fear in Kendra's eyes when Ariana was in distress, the crushing weight of helplessness. And in the end.
His throat tightened. Even after all these years, the mistake. It never ceased to wound him.
"Dumbledore?" Andromeda's voice was measured, but there was something careful in it as if she had sensed his momentary lapse.
He blinked, pulling himself back to the present with practised ease. His expression was unreadable once more, the shadow gone as quickly as it had come. "Forgive me. An old thought."
Andromeda studied him, but if she had questions, she did not ask them.
"A fair observation," he continued smoothly, returning to their conversation as though nothing had happened. "That is why I propose not suppression, but guidance."
She frowned. "Guidance?"
"A form of gentle containment," he elaborated. "Not to suppress his magic—never that—but to temper it."
Andromeda's brows knitted together. "You mean a dampening device."
"A stabilizing one," Dumbledore corrected smoothly. "The band I have in mind is commonly used in countries where wands are not the primary medium of magical education. Children tend to manifest greater instances of accidental magic in such places, and these bands help regulate those expressions without cutting them off."
Her frown deepened. "But wouldn't that hinder his natural development? We both know what happens when magic is repressed too forcefully."
"Indeed," he agreed, his voice gentle but firm. "And that is why this will not act as a barrier, but a filter. Harry's magic will continue to flow freely within him, growing and evolving as it should. The band will soften its outward manifestations, ensuring they do not become dangerously volatile. Imagine it not as caging a storm but as guiding its winds—allowing them to stir and build but never wreak havoc before he is ready to control them."
Andromeda's lips pressed into a thin line. She had seen firsthand the consequences of botched magical control—young witches and wizards with stunted growth or spiralling instability. "And you're certain it won't cause harm? No lingering effects?"
Dumbledore's reassuring smile returned. "None. I would not suggest it otherwise. This is not a suppression tool, Andromeda—it is one of safety. Harry will grow into his magic, as naturally as any other child, without the risk of drawing unwanted attention before he is ready to wield it."
She exhaled slowly, weighing his words. There was logic in what he said, and yet…
Her gaze flickered toward the cradle in the corner, where Harry slept peacefully, unaware of the storm of concerns swirling around him.
Finally, she nodded, though her voice was quiet. "Very well. But I will be watching closely."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with quiet approval. "As will I."
She nodded slowly, relief beginning to soften her features. "Thank you, Albus.
He inclined his head gently. "Harry is fortunate to have guardians who care so deeply for his well-being. Together, we'll ensure he has the freedom to grow and the protection he needs."
Dumbledore stood, his expression calm but purposeful. "I'll retrieve the band." It wasn't long before Dumbledore returned, his hand holding a small, simple-looking bracelet. The band was made of a soft, silver metal that seemed to shimmer faintly in the dim light. It was unadorned, save for a few delicate runes etched into its surface—runes that Andromeda recognized as symbols of balance (Mannaz ᛗ ) and protection (Algiz ᛉ ).
Together, they approached Harry's crib. The boy slept peacefully, his tiny hand clutching a stuffed toy. Dumbledore carefully slipped the bracelet onto his wrist. The runes glowed briefly before settling, the band appearing as no more than a simple accessory.
Andromeda watched anxiously. "Will he feel any different?"
"No," Dumbledore assured her. "He'll be the same joyful child he always is. This will help keep his magic from drawing unwanted attention."
She exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "Thank you, Albus."
He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You are doing a wonderful job caring for him. Remember, you are not alone in this."
Ted stepped forward. "We appreciate your guidance. It's a relief to know there's a plan."
Dumbledore nodded. "I'll retune the wards around your home as an alert to any unusual magic Harry might do. But for now, rest easy. Harry is safe."
As he prepared to leave, Andromeda voiced one last concern. "If his magic continues to grow, and the band becomes insufficient... what then?"
"Then we'll address it together," Dumbledore replied. "But I have faith that, Harry will learn to manage his abilities. In time, he may achieve great things."
After Dumbledore departed, the house settled into a tranquil silence. Andromeda stood by Harry's crib, watching the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. The silver band gleamed softly on his wrist, a silent guardian of his future.
"I hope we're doing the right thing," she whispered.
Ted joined her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "We are. He's safe, and that's what matters."
She leaned into him. "I just can't shake the fear of him becoming an Obscurial."
"He won't," Ted said confidently. "He's surrounded by love. That's what makes the difference."
Andromeda nodded, allowing herself a small smile. "You're right. We'll get through this."
In the days that followed, the household found a new equilibrium. Harry's magical incidents became less frequent and less intense. He remained a cheerful and inquisitive child, blissfully unaware of the precautions taken to protect him.
Nymphadora, ever energetic, continued to play with her cousin, delighting in showing off her Metamorphmagus talents to make him laugh. Their bond grew stronger, a testament to the loving environment that enveloped them all.
Andromeda watched these moments with a renewed sense of hope. While the world outside was fraught with uncertainties and lingering shadows, there was warmth, laughter, and the promise of a brighter future within their home.
Far beyond their haven, whispers of unrest continued to ripple through the wizarding world. But for now, Harry was shielded from those dangers, allowing the innocence of childhood for just a while longer.
As the sun set each evening, casting a golden glow through the windows, Andromeda found solace in the simple truth: They were doing everything they could to protect him. With Dumbledore's reassurances echoing in her mind, she dared believe that they were on the right path.
Several weeks passed, and life in the Tonks household continued its familiar rhythm. Harry's magical outbursts, while still controlled, became less frequent, thanks partly to the bracelet Dumbledore had provided. The enchanted band, a small silver bracelet etched with protective runes, gently dampened Harry's magical signature, preventing any large bursts of magic. While it didn't wholly suppress his abilities, it helped to keep his powers in check, at least for now.
Andromeda noticed that Harry still seemed attuned to the magic around him. Even with the bracelet, there were moments when objects would shift slightly or flicker in response to his moods. It wasn't dangerous—yet—but it was a constant reminder of how powerful he would become.
One tranquil morning, as Andromeda stood by the window watching the sunrise, she heard a soft knock at the door. Her heart jumped—they rarely had visitors, especially with the wards in place. She moved swiftly toward the door, her wand slipping into her hand as a precaution.
Opening the door cautiously, she was met by Remus Lupin's familiar, weary face. His robes were frayed at the edges, and his eyes had a haunted look, but his smile was warm and genuine.
"Remus," Andromeda said, her shoulders relaxing as she tucked her wand away. "This is a surprise. Is everything alright?"
He offered a tired nod. "I'm sorry to drop by unannounced, Andromeda. I just... needed to see him. And I wanted to check on you all." His gaze flickered past her momentarily. "I've heard about Sirius."
She stepped aside to let him in. "Come in. You look exhausted."
"Traveling tends to take its toll," he admitted, entering the cosy living room. Harry was on the floor, surrounded by a scatter of toys, his emerald eyes alight with curiosity as he examined a spinning top.
Remus's expression softened as he watched the boy. "He looks so much like James," he murmured, a hint of melancholy in his voice. "But those are Lily's eyes."
Andromeda nodded, observing Harry with a mix of affection and concern. "He's growing fast. And his magic... it's remarkable, Remus. Sometimes, I worry it's too much for a child his age."
He sighed, running a hand through his greying hair. "Dumbledore mentioned that his survival wasn't just about Lily's protection. There's a power in him, something even Voldemort couldn't comprehend." He paused, the weight of unspoken thoughts pressing heavily upon him. "I wish I could stay, help you watch over him."
She glanced at him, noticing the worry lines etched deeper into his face. "What's stopping you?"
A bitter smile tugged at his lips. "The Ministry is cracking down on anyone they deem... undesirable. Werewolves aren't exactly high on their list of acceptable citizens. Every day, it's a risk just being in Britain. I can't put you or Harry in danger by staying."
Andromeda reached out, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "You know you're always welcome here. The wards would keep you safe."
He shook his head slowly. "I appreciate it, truly. But it's not just about safety. Out there, I might be able to find others like me, build alliances, and gather information. Maybe even find a way to improve things for when Harry grows up." His eyes met hers, filled with a mix of determination and sorrow. "It's just... hard to leave. Feels like I'm abandoning what's left of my family."
"You're not abandoning anyone," she assured him gently. "You're doing what you think is best. And perhaps you're right—maybe out there, you can find a purpose."
Remus looked back at Harry, who had now noticed their presence and was gazing up at them with innocent curiosity. "I just don't want him to grow up in a world as broken as this," he said softly. "James and Lily gave everything to make it better. I owe it to them to keep fighting, in whatever way I can."
Andromeda smiled sadly. "We all do. And we'll keep him safe here. You have my word."
He took a deep breath, nodding slowly. "Thank you. That means more than you know." He hesitated before adding, "If you ever need anything—anything at all—send word. I'll find a way to help."
"Take care of yourself, Remus, send an owl every once in a while," she said, squeezing his arm lightly. "The world needs good men like you."
As he prepared to leave, the weight of his decision seemed to press down on him. He lingered at the doorway, casting one last look back at Harry. "Tell him about us when he's older," he whispered. "About the Marauders. About how much we all loved him."
"I will," Andromeda promised. "He'll know."
A faint smile crossed his face. "Goodbye, Andromeda."
"Until we meet again," she replied softly.
He stepped out into the crisp morning air, pulling his worn cloak tighter around himself. The sky was overcast, a grey mirror to the turmoil he felt. Each step away from the house felt heavier than the last.
Walking down the path, Remus fought the urge to turn back. The isolation he faced was a familiar companion, yet the prospect of leaving behind the last tangible connection to his dearest friends made it almost unbearable. But he knew staying was not an option. The Ministry's hunt for scapegoats had intensified; werewolves, even those who had fought against Voldemort, were being targeted. His presence could bring unwanted attention to the Tonks family and, by extension, Harry.
He clenched his fists inside his pockets. The world he once knew was crumbling, and the ideals he and his friends had fought for seemed more distant than ever. But giving in to despair wasn't an option. For Harry's sake, he had to keep going.
As he reached the end of the lane, a gust of wind swept past, carrying with it the faint scent of the sea. Remus paused, closing his eyes. Memories of laughter and camaraderie flooded his mind—James's mischievous grin, Sirius's boisterous laughter, even flashes of Peter's eager nods, and Lily's bright, understanding eyes. They had once believed in a better future, and he couldn't let that belief die with them.
"Stay safe," he whispered into the wind, hoping the words would somehow reach Harry.
Back at the house, Andromeda watched from the window as Remus's figure grew smaller. She could almost feel the weight of his loneliness, the burden he carried. It pained her to see a good man forced into the shadows, but she understood his reasons. The world was not kind to those who were different, and Remus had suffered more than most.
"Who was that?" a soft voice asked.
She turned to see Nymphadora standing in the doorway, her hair a subdued shade of brown. "An old friend," Andromeda replied. "Someone who cares a great deal about Harry."
Her daughter stepped closer, her eyes searching her mother's face. "He looked sad."
Andromeda nodded. "He has a heavy burden. But he's doing what he thinks is right."
Nymphadora glanced out the window. "Do you think things will ever get better mum?"
"I hope so," Andromeda said softly. "For all our sakes."
They stood in silence for a moment, mother and daughter, both lost in their own thoughts. Then, with a small sigh, Andromeda turned away from the window. "Come on, let's see what trouble your little cousin is getting into."
Nymphadora smiled faintly. "Probably trying to make his toys fly again."
"Well, at least he keeps us on our toes," Andromeda replied, a hint of amusement in her voice.
As they walked back to the living room, the sound of Harry's laughter echoed through the house. It was a small beacon of joy amidst the uncertainty, a reminder of what they were all fighting for.
Andromeda watched as Nymphadora joined Harry on the floor, her hair shifting to a bright turquoise that made the young boy giggle with delight. Despite everything, there was still hope. And as long as they held onto that, perhaps Remus's sacrifice—and the sacrifices of so many others—would not be in vain.