Days passed, and Harry settled into the warmth of the Tonks household. Ted Tonks, a kind-hearted Muggle-born lawyer, welcomed Harry with open arms. His natural ability to connect with others, honed by his profession, made it easy for Harry to feel safe and loved in his new environment.

Andromeda and Ted agreed that Harry needed to grow up with the truth about his parents—about the sacrifices James and Lily had made to protect him. But for now, Harry was too young to understand the complexities of his own story, and they were content to give him a happy, peaceful childhood.

Nymphadora, though only five years older, had taken to her new role as Harry's self-proclaimed "big sister" with enthusiasm. Her natural ability as a Metamorphmagus meant she could entertain him with her constantly changing appearance—her hair flashing from bright green to bubblegum pink as Harry giggled at her antics.

Life in the Tonks household was joyful, but there was a lingering question that Andromeda and Ted couldn't shake: What had become of Sirius? They knew he had been there the night Harry was found, but no word had come from him. They assumed he was still chasing Peter Pettigrew, seeking justice for his fallen friends.

Five days later, a loud, insistent tapping at the window interrupted their morning routine. Ted, who had been sipping his tea at the kitchen table, looked up to see a Gringotts owl tapping its beak against the glass, a scroll tied to its leg.

Andromeda opened the window and took the scroll, her heart quickening with an unspoken sense of foreboding.

The owl departed, and Andromeda unrolled the parchment, her hands trembling slightly as she read the message:

To the family of Sirius Orion Black,

As per the instructions left in his living will, we are obliged to inform you that Mr Sirius Black has been incapacitated and is currently receiving treatment at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Due to injuries sustained in the line of action, Mr. Black remains comatose.

Per his will, he has named Andromeda Tonks as Harry James Potter's legal guardian.

Please visit Gringotts for further details.

Andromeda's breath caught in her throat. Sensing her distress, Ted rose to stand beside her, reading over her shoulder.

"He's... comatose?" Ted murmured, his brow furrowing. "What happened?"

Andromeda shook her head. "I don't know. But he must have gone after Peter. It's the only thing that makes sense."

She bit her lip, her mind racing. The war might be over, but there were still unanswered questions—questions that had become more complicated now that Sirius was incapacitated.

She folded the letter carefully and set it down on the table, her resolve hardening. "We'll take care of Harry, as Sirius wanted. But I need to know more. We'll visit Gringotts soon."

Meanwhile, at Hogwarts, Dumbledore sat at the head of the long table in the Order of the Phoenix's meeting room, his face uncharacteristically grave. The usual twinkle in his eyes had faded, replaced by a deep, contemplative expression. As he addressed the gathered members of the Order, the air felt heavier, the room brimming with silent tension.

"I have been to the Department of Mysteries," Dumbledore began, his voice low and measured. "The prophecy... is no longer active."

A ripple of surprise moved through the room. To his right, Minerva McGonagall leaned forward, her face pale with disbelief. "You mean to say... it's gone?"

Dumbledore shook his head slightly. "Not gone, Minerva, but inactive. It is as if the prophecy has lost its purpose. As far as the magical world is concerned, Voldemort is truly gone."

A profound silence followed, the weight of his words sinking in. The idea that the prophecy no longer had meaning was unimaginable for many of them.

"And what of Harry?" Remus Lupin asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the quiet tone betraying the tension beneath it. "Is he truly safe?"

Dumbledore's expression softened. "He is with Andromeda Tonks now. I trust she will raise him with the love and care he deserves. But as for his safety... only time will tell. Voldemort's hold over our world may be broken, but some shadows remain."

There was a finality to Dumbledore's words that left the room in stunned silence. The victory they had won was palpable, but so was the cost—friends lost, families shattered. The Order members glanced at one another, each lost in their thoughts as the gravity of the situation hung heavy in the air.

"We have won a great victory," Dumbledore continued softly. "But at great cost. Dark forces never truly disappear; they simply bide their time, waiting for the right moment to return."

The meeting was adjourned, and the members of the Order rose from their seats, filing out quietly, burdened by the knowledge that peace was fragile.

As the room emptied, Dumbledore remained seated, his gaze distant. "Remus," he called softly.

Remus Lupin, who had begun to leave, turned back, his eyes hollow and tired.

"I'm afraid I must burden you with more bad news," Dumbledore said, his voice gentle but tinged with regret.

"What is it, Albus?" Remus asked, though his voice was tinged with a quiet resignation.

Dumbledore hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I've been informed that Sirius has been admitted to St. Mungo's. He was gravely injured and has fallen into a coma. The healers are uncertain if he will wake… or if he ever will."

Remus's face fell, his expression empty, eyes reflecting the thousand-yard stare of a man who had lost too much. Without a word, he turned and left the room, disappearing into the night, unreachable for a long time to come.

Dumbledore watched him go, then sank back into his chair, the weight of everything settling heavily on his shoulders. Though Voldemort was gone, his shadow lingered—his mad bid for power had scarred the very fabric of wizarding society. And though the Dark Lord had fallen, Dumbledore knew that the darkness he left behind had not yet faded. His influence—his legacy—would continue to linger in ways they could not yet foresee.

Stolen story; please report.

###

Days turned into weeks, and life at the Tonks household settled into a comforting rhythm. Harry's presence brought an energy that neither Ted nor Andromeda had anticipated. Though he was still just a baby, there was something about him that seemed to brighten the house. Nymphadora, especially, took every opportunity to involve herself in Harry's care. Whether it was making faces at him to coax a giggle or reading her schoolbooks aloud in an exaggerated, dramatic voice, she became something of a big sister to him. Harry's laughter filled the house on a daily basis, his happiness a much-needed reprieve from the heavy burden of what had transpired on the night Voldemort was defeated.

It was in these quiet moments, surrounded by the warmth and love of the Tonks family, that Harry seemed to thrive. Andromeda had a maternal energy that calmed even the most restless nights, and Ted's gentle patience added an extra layer of security. Harry, though too young to understand it, was growing up in a world far removed from the terror and chaos that had claimed his parents.

And yet, the outside world was not as peaceful as the Tonks household. The remnants of Voldemort's influence still lingered, though his physical presence had vanished. Whispers of his defeat circulated throughout the wizarding world, bringing both celebration and unease. Some believed that he was truly gone, defeated for good by a force that no one could yet explain. But others—those who had seen the depths of Voldemort's darkness—remained unconvinced. They feared that he might return, that somehow the darkness would find a way to claw its way back into their lives.

In the meantime, Harry's safety was paramount. Andromeda took great care to ensure that nothing threatened the sanctuary they had built for him. Every morning, she checked the wards that Dumbledore had placed around their home, reinforcing them with her own spells, determined to keep the darkness at bay. The house was unplottable, its location a secret even from most of their friends. And yet, Andromeda could not shake the feeling that, despite all their precautions, something—some unknown force—was always watching, waiting for its moment.

One particularly chilly evening, as a light snow began to fall outside, Ted sat in the living room, reading aloud from The Daily Prophet. Harry, bundled up in a soft blanket, lay in Andromeda's arms, watching the flickering fire with wide, curious eyes. Nymphadora, sprawled out on the rug, her nose buried in her schoolwork, hummed softly to herself as she wrote in her textbook. The air was calm, peaceful, but the news Ted was reading carried with it a different tone.

"It says here that Aurors are still trying to track down the last of the Death Eaters," Ted said, his voice low but steady. He glanced up at Andromeda, concern flickering in his eyes. "A few have gone into hiding, but there are reports of strange disappearances. They think some of them might be regrouping."

Andromeda frowned, her grip on Harry tightening slightly. "Regrouping for what? Voldemort is gone."

Ted nodded, folding the newspaper and setting it aside. "That's what they're saying. But there are still plenty of people who followed him, who believed in his cause. Maybe they think they can carry on without him."

A chill ran through the room, though it had little to do with the temperature outside. The idea that anyone could still be loyal to Voldemort, even after his defeat, was unsettling. Andromeda's mind immediately turned to the safety of her home, of Harry, and the wards she had painstakingly maintained since his arrival. No one would find them, she reminded herself. No one could breach the protections Dumbledore had placed on the house. But the nagging feeling of unease remained, no matter how many layers of magic she cast.

Nymphadora, ever the optimist, sat up and stretched, her Metamorphmagus abilities causing her hair to shift from dark brown to a playful shade of bright pink. "Well, if they come near Harry, they'll have to go through me first," she said, grinning as she flexed her arms in an exaggerated show of strength. "No bad guys is going to mess with this family."

Ted chuckled, though there was a trace of tension behind his smile. "I'm sure they'll be shaking in their boots at the sight of you, Dora."

Andromeda smiled softly, though her mind remained focused on the thought of those still loyal to Voldemort. She knew that they could not become complacent, that they would need to remain vigilant in the months and years ahead. There was still much they did not understand about Voldemort's defeat, and until they knew the full truth, they could not afford to let their guard down.

As the evening wore on, and the snow continued to fall, Andromeda tucked Harry into his crib, humming softly under her breath. The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow across the room, and for a moment, all seemed well. Harry's tiny hand grasped at the air, his eyes slowly drifting shut as sleep claimed him. Andromeda watched him for a long while, her heart filled with a fierce protectiveness she hadn't expected to feel so strongly.

"He's safe here," she whispered to herself, repeating the words as if saying them aloud made them more real. "He's safe."

Dumbledore visited less frequently as the winter months wore on, though he never fully disappeared from their lives. He kept close watch from a distance, ensuring that the protective wards remained in place and that the world's attention stayed far from Harry. The wizarding world, still adjusting to life after Voldemort, had largely forgotten about the boy who had survived. For now, that was exactly what Dumbledore wanted. Harry would be safer this way, hidden from the public eye, until the time was right.

One crisp afternoon, after the first signs of spring had begun to show, Dumbledore arrived at the Tonks home unannounced. Andromeda, who had just finished reinforcing the wards, greeted him at the door with a small smile.

"Albus," she said, stepping aside to let him in. "What brings you by?"

Dumbledore's face was calm, though there was a weight behind his eyes that Andromeda recognized immediately. "I wanted to check on Harry," he said simply, his voice quiet. "And to speak with you about something… unusual."

Andromeda raised an eyebrow but said nothing as she led him into the living room. Harry, now a little more active, sat on the floor surrounded by colorful toys, babbling happily as Nymphadora played with him, shifting her appearance every few moments to make him laugh. Ted was out for the day, so it was just the three of them in the house.

"He's growing quickly," Dumbledore noted with a small smile as he watched Harry. "He seems happy here."

"He is," Andromeda replied, her tone filled with affection. "He's safe, and he's loved. That's all we can give him for now."

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes lingering on the boy for a long moment. "There is something I must tell you, Andromeda," he said, his tone shifting slightly. "It's about the night Voldemort was defeated."

Andromeda stiffened, her gaze locking onto Dumbledore's. "What about it?"

Dumbledore sighed softly, folding his hands in front of him as he spoke. "I went to the Department of Mysteries not long after the events of that night. I needed to check on the prophecy—Harry's prophecy."

"The one about Voldemort?" Andromeda asked, her brow furrowing.

"Yes," Dumbledore said, his voice grave. "The prophecy that foretold the fall of the Dark Lord. But when I went to check the orb, I found it… in a state I did not expect. It hadn't shattered, as fulfilled prophecies usually do. Instead, it was inactive, as though something had interrupted the natural course of fate."

Andromeda stared at him, confusion and concern warring on her face. "What does that mean, Albus?"

"I am not entirely sure," Dumbledore admitted, his voice filled with an uncertainty Andromeda rarely heard from him. "But it means that whatever happened the night Voldemort was destroyed, it was beyond the reach of fate as we understand it. Something disrupted the prophecy, something that should not have been possible."

Andromeda glanced at Harry, her heart pounding in her chest. "And what does that mean for him?"

"For now, it means that Harry is safe," Dumbledore said softly. "Voldemort is gone, at least for now. But whatever darkness was tied to him that night… it left a mark on Harry. A mark that I cannot fully comprehend yet. We must be vigilant, Andromeda. The battle may be over, but the war is far from finished."

Andromeda's heart sank, but she nodded, her resolve strengthening. Harry's life was no longer just about protecting him from immediate danger—it was about preparing for whatever lay ahead, for the unknown forces that might one day return.

As Dumbledore left the house that day, Andromeda stood in the doorway, watching as the sun set behind him. The sky was painted with streaks of pink and gold, but there was a weight in the air that she could not shake.

Harry's future was uncertain, but for now, he was safe. And that, Andromeda knew, was the most important thing.