AUGUST 3, 1998

HARRY

TEDDY SEIZED A HANDFUL OF HARRY'S HAIR, pulling fiercely. Harry winced, and, seeing his twisted expression and mistaking it for a funny face, Teddy giggled and his hair turned bright blue. 

"Now, you don't pull people's hair, Teddy," Harry said through the stinging, wrangling his straight black hair out of the little boy's grip. Teddy let out a whine, similar to the sound of a tea kettle, and reluctantly let go, swatting at the bottle of warm milk on the table next to them. The warm light filtered through the Tonks' wall-length windows.

The boy had just turned three months old. Andromeda kept bags of milk warm for him in their storage, received from the Ministry's weekly donation services. Kingsley had done a good job with all the relief efforts post-war. His tenure as Minister had started two months ago, and he was already putting the wizards under him to work, despite the publicizing he was supposed to be paying attention to. And it was good for everyone. They all needed a dependable, trustworthy wizard to tell them what to do. 

In an effort to remain away from the tabloids, Harry had filled up his imaginary itinerary with everything except 'walking around the streets of Wizard London doing nothing'. Kingsley had offered him a decent job in the Auror office only two days after the Battle, and Harry had settled into his position as a Junior Specialist. All of the employees had been tasked with tracking the remaining Death Eaters and Dark Lord loyalists immediately after the Battle, but now, over a month into their time of peace, all of them had been found. 

Thus, the job was sound at the moment, though last week Harry had been assigned a small search time to track down the Gringotts Dragon and bring it back to the bank.

He was very thankful that the Ministry had provided him with a small flat in London, given he would rather face the dragon again than live at Grimmauld Place. It was a two-year arrangement, with no decorations, a small kitchen and bathroom, two armchairs, and a single connecting bedroom. 

He had also been spending an increasingly long time at the Tonks' house, a charming brown one-story with massive windows and slanted roofing. Andromeda had been extremely welcoming; with the death of her husband, daughter, and son-in-law, Harry could tell she'd been lonely recently, and he had convinced her to start holding little potlucks and luncheons at her house every few days. 

He looked at the near-empty bottle of milk again. Tonks should be here to feed him, he thought bitterly. Though he knew he should not dwell on the past.

Teddy's face pinched, and he let out a squalling cry rivaling a tropical bird. Andromeda hurried in, dark circles looking hollow and brown against her sun-kissed skin.

"Here, give him to me," she said, her hands opened wide. Teddy squealed at the sight of her a streak of ashy brown running through his blue hair matching his grandmother's. 

Andromeda took and began bouncing him in her experienced arms, smoothing his hair out of his face with a businesslike expression- and Harry was suddenly reminded of seeing Neville and his grandmother in St. Mungo's fifth year.

"You'll be back by nine o'clock?" she asked brusquely, the slightest smile on her face as she turned to Harry. 

"Of course, he'll be safe and sound," he assured her, scratching his head. He was taking Teddy to dinner at the Burrow that day. 

"Oh, yes," Andromeda said. "Thank you for taking him, you know. It gives me the perfect window to do some shopping and catch up with reading,"

"Of course," Harry repeated, shifting his feet awkwardly. "I can take him anytime,"

Except he most definitely couldn't, with his job. Teddy was a joy, though, with his Metamorphagi abilities, good nature, and his face that reminded Harry so much of Remus. 

"I wouldn't count on that, dear," Andromeda chuckled. "Here-" she handed Teddy back to him "Have a good time,"

"Thanks, Andromeda," Harry grinned. "I'll see you later,"

He Disapparated and appeared in front of the Burrow. With the return of its inhabitants, the Burrow was restored to its bright, cozy glory.

"Harry!" At least seven voices greeted him as he stepped inside the kitchen. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were both there, along with Ron, Hermione, Percy, Ginny, Bill, and Fleur were all there, gathered around the table. 

"How are you, Harry, dear?" Mrs. Weasley got up and patted his cheeks, leading him to his seat after putting Teddy in a high chair. 

She looked thinner than usual- Fred's death was taking a lot out of her.

"Very well, thanks," Harry grinned, pulling a red wooden stool next to Ron out and sitting on it. 

"That's good. Charlie's watching George tonight, so no need to worry about either of them," she said, though she looked a little worried.

Platters of seared fish, tomato salad, and smashed potatoes were crammed onto the skinny brown table, and Harry smiled with Ron and Hermione as they ate. Harry had been taking most of his meals from the Ministry's meager kitchens, so this was a very welcomed meal. 

"How are your parents, Hermione?" Harry asked, passing the potatoes to Bill.

"Oh, they're all fine now. Dad took quite the shock when he realized he was wearing a cropped tropical shirt with khakis. He would never have worn such a thing voluntarily," Hermione giggled. "But Mum was the most surprised. Not even at being obliviated! She was shocked that I finally had a boyfriend,"

The table hooted with laughter. "The consequences of you never growing a pair, Ron," Ginny said sarcastically, waving her fork over her cod.

"Shut up, Ginevra," Ron snapped, his ears pink, smiling when Hermione rested her hand over his. 

"Mind your tongue at the table, Ron," Mrs. Weasley said sternly, though her warm eyes sparkled. 

"Yes, Mum," 

An hour later, when they had all migrated to the fireplace for eggnog, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were charming the dishes into washing and drying themselves. 

"Hey," Harry said as the last dish soared perfectly out of its towel into a cupboard. "Let's get out of here?"

Ron shrugged and Hermione nodded, and they followed Harry out the door without a word.

The distant streets of Ottery St. Catchpole were lined with a few dim lamps, and there were a few gnomes running about, squeaking. The bullfrogs in the pond made most of the noise, as Harry, Ron, and Hermione strolled through the gardens. 

"How is the flat, Harry?" Hermione hummed as they strolled.

"It's alright," Harry said, hands in his pockets. "I moved Sirius's motorbike in yesterday, had to take the engine and sidecar off to fit it through the door,"

Ron snorted. "Are you planning on using it?"

"Maybe," Harry wore a grin. "Dunno. I've been taking it out on a few spins lately. Makes me feel closer to him, you know?"

Ron mumbled a yeah, avoiding Harry's eyes at the serious shift in conversation. 

"I think it's good that we're reconnecting with our things and our people," Hermione said smartly. "We've got the whole future ahead of us, we'll need all the help we can get,"

"I suppose," Ron said, taking her hand and smiling at her.

"D'you ever-" Harry began, before stopping and starting to find the words. "I guess you two never feel that way,"

"C'mon, Harry, tell us," Ron said, tilting his head at Harry.

"Well, I dunno," Harry shifted. "I've just been feeling a little off-color lately, you know?"

He looked at them. They looked back, a little concernedly.

"-Well, after our O.W.Ls, after the exams, did you ever feel a little lost? Like you didn't know what you were supposed to be doing now?"

"Oh, yeah," Ron nodded, but Hermione disagreed, as always.

"-No, I was too anxious waiting for my results," she frowned, looking between the boys.

Harry started again.

"-Well, imagine that feeling, but just expanded. Like- Voldemort-" Ron gave the slightest flinch at the name "-is gone. I killed him, the war is over. But now what? I dunno, I was practically born to kill him, and now that it's done..." 

Harry trailed off.

"...You weren't born to kill Voldemort, Harry," Hermione spoke gently. "The prophecy could've meant either you or Neville. Voldemort- he chose to believe it was you,"

"Yeah, I know," Harry sighed. "But it still meant that the past eighteen years of my life have been spent either hiding from Voldemort or fighting him. And now that he's gone...

"The prophecy, in some way, gave me a purpose, y'know? And I've done that. I've been...destined for this every day of my life for eighteen years, and now that it's done...I dunno. I feel like there's still a ton for me to do, but that purpose isn't there anymore," He finished.

Ron glanced between him and Hermione, looking like he didn't know how to respond. 
"I...I s'ppose it's best for you to get out there, mate. Maybe that purpose you mentioned is somewhere waiting for you,"

"Get out where?" Harry chuckled, looking at Ron incredulously. "I think Rita Skeeter's quill would find me faster than any purpose I have, if I just get up and wander about,"

"Maybe Ron's right-" Hermione cut in.

"-Maybe?" Ron said, looking at her, affronted.

"-just, throw yourself into your work, into your daily life. You'll find something, Harry," Hermione assured him with a squeeze of the hand. "I promise,"

Harry sighed. "I hope you're right, Hermione,"