"Are you all right, Andi?"
Andromeda mutely shook her head. Immediately, Ted reached out for her and drew her down to sit beside him on the couch. Andromeda closed her eyes and let herself slowly soak in her husband's warmth.
She had no idea what to do.
Horcruxes weren't something she could handle. She only knew what they were in the first place because Narcissa had explained. Andromeda had avoided the kind of people who might have taught her about such Dark magic in Slytherin House, and fled home before their parents had thought her old enough for such lessons.
And she couldn't even help Cissy take care of them. Fiendfyre was a powerful and above all Dark Art that was beyond her. She didn't have any idea what could remove a Horcrux from a child. Narcissa had said that Healers at St. Mungo's were working on it, yes, but not the kind of Healer Andromeda was.
A helpless child, her nephew, was suffering, and she couldn't help.
"Whoa there, Andi."
She became aware that she was clenching her fingers down so hard into Ted's leg that she'd torn the cloth of his trousers. Andromeda blushed and drew her hand back, folding it close to her chest. She took a deep breath.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Ted asked quietly.
Narcissa and Lucius had both bound her with an oath before they would talk about the Horcruxes in any detail, and they hadn't made an exception for Ted. Andromeda would have been insulted by that, thinking it was based on Ted's blood status, but she suspected now that they had only told her at all because she'd been so loud and insistent.
"I can't tell you everything," she whispered. "But I can tell you that Henry is—it's so dangerous, the kind of hold that that curse scar gives You-Know-Who over him, and I don't know how to combat it."
"Do Narcissa and Lucius?"
"They're working on it, and they have some other people working on it. No answers yet."
"Then there might be one someday," Ted said firmly, and relaxed back into the couch, directing Andromeda's attention to the fire that burned on the hearth. "Remember what we said about the flames on our wedding night, Andi?"
It was an old, old ritual of their own, but it still made Andromeda smile and feel as if she might be able to fly without a broom. "Flames are ever-changing," she whispered.
"But they always give off heat and light."
"And they shine like hope—"
"In the darkness," Ted finished, and kissed her on the forehead. "I've never seen anyone as determined to protect their children as our in-laws." He still sounded wondering when he spoke about that sometimes, given that they'd gone so many years without in-laws. "They'll find a way, and if their first try doesn't work, they'll change like the flames and come up with some other pathway."
"I know. I just—"
"Wish there was something you could do," Ted said, and smirked at her when Andromeda scowled at him. "Sometimes, Andi, love, you just need to sit back and let other people handle that."
"I'm horrible at that."
"I know. So am I. But we'll try together."
And Andromeda leaned her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes, and tried as best as she could to focus on Lucius and Narcissa's utter determination to save Henry, without focusing on how to insert herself into their plans.
....
"How do you think of yourself in the wake of Pettigrew's death?"
Harry looked at his hands. He and Healer Letham had been talking for half an hour about other things, like how he felt about being in the Tri-Wizard Tournament and how he felt about knowing his family had allowed him to take three days to come to terms with what had happened in the graveyard. They were even in the familiar room in the Manor where they'd had so many sessions in the past.
But Harry had said when they started that he wanted to talk about Pettigrew, and so, here they were.
"I think I'm a murderer," Harry whispered. "I keep thinking—how can I be walking around and laughing and casting magic, when he's dead? I keep thinking that there are mitigating circumstances, and then I think that I'm wrong and there aren't. I keep thinking that I was wrong to judge Mother and Father for wanting to murder the Dursleys, and wondering what makes me different than they are."
"Do you want to murder the Dursleys, Harry?"
"No." Harry just never wanted to see them again.
"Did you want to murder Pettigrew? From what you've told me, it was an accident, and you meant the charm to hit him in the hand and not the throat."
"Yeah, but…what do intentions matter, when you have actions?"
"I see," said Healer Letham, tilting her head and looking at him like a wise old crow. "You think that because you killed him regardless of what you intended to do, you cannot be a good person."
Harry flinched. He wouldn't have put it in those words, but it was kind of what had been circling around in his head. He looked down and nodded. "I wanted—I wanted to spare him," he whispered. "But I didn't. Isn't that what matters, that I didn't, regardless of what I wanted?"
"That kind of logic makes sense in the face of trauma," Healer Letham said calmly. "But it also makes everything in life a result of malice, no accidents or mistakes allowed. Is that the way you would think of someone else in the same situation? As a murderer?"
Harry shook his head quickly, and then grimaced. "You're going to say that because I wouldn't think of them that way, I shouldn't think of myself that way either, right?"
Healer Letham's eyes shone with something gentler than amusement as she nodded. "We know each other well. That is one thing I would bring up, yes. But I also know that you have difficulties thinking of other people and yourself in the same way. Today, I would like to dig into that a bit. Why would this be murder for you and an accident for, say, your friend Hermione?"
"Hermione wouldn't have been caught in that situation in the first place! She would have dodged—"
"Or perhaps been frozen with shock and died after being used in the necromantic ritual. You cannot know. Think a little about the question. Use a different person if you want. Take your time."
....
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