Author's Note: this is super short, but it gets the narrative to the place i want it to be. thank you for reading!

Christmas passed, cold and uneventful. Ted and his mother returned to their jokes and their songs, but it was never quite the same. The strength of his belief in her steadfastness had been shaken, and the realisation that she too was human took a while for him to get used to. The subject of his father was danced around, an elephant in the corner of their kitchen. And then, on New Year's Eve, two days before he was due back at school, his mother made him a mug of tea, cut him a slice of lemon drizzle, cleared her throat and said: "Bert is coming over this evening."

"Who?"

"Bert. Albert. Your father."

"Right…" Ted took a sip of tea, "To do what?"

"Ring in nineteen seventy two."

"I see."

"Don't do that," she said, slumping in the chair across the table from him with a sigh.

"Do what?"

"That."

"What?"

It felt perilously like Christmas, and his hands felt clammy.

"You don't know him, Ted."

"He's my father," Ted said, a little more coldly than he had intended, "I should know him."

His mother's face fell a little more, and he wished it didn't hurt as much as it did.

"I know," she said quietly (which surprised him, because his mother never did anything quietly), "But that is what happened. This is how it is, and now he's trying to make it better."

"Is he?"

She exhaled, and ran a hand over her face. "Yes," she said, a little too late for it to matter, "yes, he is."

"Right. Alright. If that's what you believe, Mum, then there's not a lot I can do about it, is there?"

"You're a child," his mother snapped, with no warning at all. He jumped out of his skin, "You're a child, Ted. You don't know him. You don't anything. I have given you everything, you know that don't you?"

"Mum…"

"I had all these plans, and I gave them up, and I did that for you! And now – and now one of those plans is looking like it's going to come true, like I didn't throw my bloody life away for nothing, and you – you're ruining it!"

She took a long gulp from her tea, to mark the fact she had finished.

"Mum," he said softly, "I'm – I'm sorry. I didn't think, I haven't been thinking."

Which was true. His mother had given up everything for him, and brought him up entirely on her own, and let so many of her dreams go for him, and now one of these dreams – that she and his father would be together, eventually, someday, because if two people are meant to be together, they'll find their way back – looked like it could possibly happen, and all Ted was doing was making her feel bad about it. He ignored the voice in the back of his head that sounded, worryingly, like Andromeda, that told him he was right, that his mum and dad getting involved again was a Bad Idea, and patted the back of his mum's hand.

"I'm sorry," he said, and she smiled up at him. Her blue eyes – his eyes – gleamed in the harsh kitchen lighting, a tear forming on the bottom of her eyelashes.

"You're so wonderful, darling," she said, voice wobbling, "and I'm so – I don't tell you this enough, I don't think I've ever told you, but I'm so grateful for you. You can't imagine – I was so worried, you know? The things they say about single mothers, about boys with no father figures, I was scared out of my mind. You understand, don't you? And I was so young, I didn't know anything about anything, I didn't know anyone, and I just – so you can imagine, can't you, how pleased I am that you are you. That you are this wonderfully kind and gentle and strong young man, I'm so pleased. I'm so pleased."

And then she buried her eyes in the heel of her hand, weeping softly. Ted rested his face in the space between her neck and her shoulder like he used to do when he was a kid.

"Thanks, Mum," he mumbled, "thanks."

His father looked nothing like him, which pleased Ted more than it should. He was a stocky, dark haired man, with a very loud voice and heavy North London accent.

"Kath!" he yelled as soon as Ted answered the door, ignoring his son (who was not surprised), "Kath!"

His mother appeared at the stairs, reminding Ted of those films from the 50s, Lauren Bacall and all that. She beamed.

"You came…"

"Where else would I be? You look bloody lovely, girl."

Ted's mother laughed, a girlish giggle Ted had never heard her make before.

"You don't look too bad yourself. Teddy, my love, take your dad's coat, there's a good boy."

And so it came to be that Edward Tonks, son of Albert and Katherine Tonks, rang in the year nineteen seventy two in his childhood home in Camden, North London, fetching drinks and peanuts for his father, who ignored him, made inappropriate jokes, was sick in their kitchen sink, and left before his mother woke up.

The first morning of nineteen seventy two, Ted found his mother in her dressing gown, chain smoking and crying. Her makeup, so carefully applied the night before, was running down her creased cheeks.

"He's gone," she told him dully, "Didn't even leave a note this time, the bastard."

"Okay," Ted said slowly, "d'you know where he's staying, or-?"

"He's gone," Kathy said fiercely, "That's the beginning and the end of it."

Ted nodded slowly. "I'll put the kettle on, shall I?"

His mother nodded, running a hand over her face. "Teddy?"

"Mmm?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For not being him."

Carrie Shacklebolt made a beeline for him as soon as she spotted him in the Great Hall on the third day back.

"You!"

"Me?"

"Yes, you! You haven't heard?"

"Heard what?"

Carrie dropped her voice to a low murmur. "Andromeda's mum found out about the pair of you, because Bellatrix is evil, and now she's been banned from talking to you ever again. Or even looking at you."

Ted was suddenly rather surprised he had lasted three days into the new term without getting blown up by the Lestranges, or tortured or whatever they did to people like him.

"You should ask her out though," Carrie said cheerily, "I mean – again."

"Do you want me to die?" he asked, "Genuinely, do you hate me and want me to die?"

Carrie gave him a look that mocked him for event thinking that. "I love Andromeda, I want Andromeda to be happy, Andromeda has been crying herself to sleep every night since we got back, Andromeda is miserable, you make Andromeda happy, and do you see where I am going with this?"

"Yes. But – it's dangerous and-"

"See, this wouldn't be a problem if she'd gone for a Gryffindor like I said she should – joke! I am joking! – if it's true love-"

"No one said anything about true love," Ted said quickly, and Carrie gave him the look again.

"Just…consider it. Mull it over. Think about it. I'll see you in Charms, or something."

She patted his arm and wandered back to the Slytherin table, curls bouncing. He thought about his mother, who believed in love with her whole being, and got abandoned on New Year's Day without so much as a goodbye. The context of any kind of love was important, he was beginning to realise that. He glanced over at where Carrie sat, next to Andromeda. His stomach swooped. The word someday floated to the forefront of his mind, the promise of a future just out of reach. There were an infinite amount of universes, weren't there? And in one of them, there was a Ted and there was an Andromeda and –

She glanced over, just for a split second, and caught his eye. Oh bollocks, he thought dimly. Fuck someday. Fuck it all.