Harry looked anxiously at his watch again. Two hours since Andromeda left them alone with Teddy. Twenty three minutes since Teddy began screaming inconsolably.
The infant’s eyes were shut so tight that tears squeezed out in steady rivulets down his splotchy red cheeks. His small mouth wide open, pink and toothless, in desperate attempts to communicate his distress to his caretakers.
This was all wrong, Harry thought. He had the bedtime routine memorized. He’d done it all before, but Andromeda had always been there to help. This was the first time she’d left Teddy with him for the night. It had always been simple: give him warm milk, rock him, change him, and read him a book while he drifts to sleep.
“Maybe we should check his nappy?” he asked frantically.
Ginny gave a slow shake of her head. “It was clean five minutes ago.” She was using her amber eyes to communicate something to him, but he missed their meaning. Her expression was comforting but in a pained sort of way. It reminded him of the night he told her about his walk into the forest.
Harry cautiously offered Teddy the half empty bottle once again, he took hold for one blessed second before forcing it away. His cries redoubled, wet bubbles now forming around his nose. A rush of panic shot through Harry, wondering if this was normal. Or was this child about to suffocate in his arms from crying?
“I don’t understand, why won’t he drink?” Harry shot up again and started pacing while trying to readjust the child in his arms. All of this was made more challenging as Teddy struggled to get free, arching his back and instinctively pushing himself away.
“He’s just upset,” Ginny soothed. “It’s normal, we just need to comfort him.”
“Maybe he’s hot? Help me take this off,” he said, now attempting to unzip Teddy’s onesie - the one with tiny piglet noses that Ginny bought him when he turned six months old.
“Harry, Harry, Harry,” she said, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Just breathe, okay? He can sense you’re anxious.” Ginny scooped the wriggling, wailing Teddy out of Harry’s tense grip. She nodded towards the rocking chair, indicating for him to sit.
Ginny dimmed the overhead lights of the room with her wand so that Teddy’s nursery was only illuminated by the cozy glow of Christmas bulbs outside. She began a slow sway about the room. She murmured a string of comforts as she bounced Teddy gently, rubbing his back, brushing the patch of turquoise hair to one side. The child’s desperate cries continued, drowning out her words. Harry shut his eyes, wishing he could shut his ears as well.
Right after you’d had your son… Remus, I’m sorry …
Harry covered his face with his hands, pressing them harder to steady their shaking.
Several minutes passed, allowing time to disrupt Teddy’s stream of breathless screams. Now that the volume of cries reduced, Harry could hear Ginny’s words. He reached for them, taking hold of them, allowing them to sooth him too.
When Teddy’s high pitched screams had softened into meager whimpers, Ginny placed a plush blanket across Harry’s lap. She leaned down and wrapped the infant inside.
“No… you do it,” he insisted.
“Hush.”
Inexplicably, she left the room and Harry could hear the familiar pattern her footsteps descend the stairs.
Teddy heaved a great sob, causing fear to spike in Harry’s chest. “Okay, okay,” he said, standing up and replicating Ginny’s movements.
Harry bounced and swayed in the darkened room, trying to cradle him so that every inch of Teddy’s small body was in contact with his own. He hummed randomly, no nursery rhymes came to mind.
I’m sorry too… Sorry I will never know him…
He peered down at Teddy’s small face - furrowed brow pressed into his chest - so long that his neck ached. But Harry barely noticed, it was assuaged by the relief that his godson had finally stopped crying. At last, Teddy forced out a conclusive exhale and his breathing slipped into an easy pattern.
But he will know why I died and I hope he will understand.
Soon Harry realized his humming had taken the form of a song. His heart gave a warm throb and chills spread through him at the realization the tune he hummed was that of God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs. Tears pricked at his own eyes, and a smile spread across his face remembering the joy of hearing his own godfather singing on Christmas Day his fifth year.
He readjusted the bundle of blankets so that he could press a cheek to the soft, smooth skin of Teddy’s head.
“Let me tell you about your dad, he was one of the bravest men I knew…”