You thought you’d have a minute.

Just a moment alone in the garden—away from the noise, the laughter, the memories curling like ivy through the Burrow walls. You lit the cigarette with a shaking hand, shielding the flame from the breeze, and took a long, quiet inhale.

You didn’t smoke. Not really. But grief made people do strange things. And being back here—surrounded by reminders of who didn’t make it—was a weight you couldn’t quite exhale.

The cigarette was halfway done when you heard the crunch of tiny feet on grass.

You froze.

Teddy Lupin stood a few feet away, a daisy in one hand, his little face scrunched in confusion. His hair—bubblegum pink like Tonks’—fluttered with the wind. His eyes flicked between your face and the cigarette, still glowing faintly behind your back.

“{{user}}?” he asked, tilting his head. “What’s that?”

Your mouth opened, then closed again.

Brilliant.

You quickly dropped the cigarette behind you and tried to step on it, but the hiss of extinguished embers only made Teddy more curious.

“Is it a wand?”

You let out a breath, smiling weakly. “Something like that, sweetheart.”

Before you could scramble for a real explanation, voices floated toward you from the house. Two figures rounded the corner—Tonks and Fred, mid-conversation, and laughing loudly.

Tonks stopped short the second she saw you. Her expression shifted instantly, eyes flicking to Teddy, then to your guilty face.

Fred followed her gaze. “Uh-oh,” he muttered under his breath. “Somebody’s been caught doing grown-up things.”

Tonks arched a brow. “{{user}}… seriously?”

“I didn’t think he’d be out here,” you whispered, mortified.

Teddy turned to his mum. “Mummy, {{user}} had a smoking wand.”

Tonks let out a slow sigh and crouched to his level. “That was a cigarette, love. It’s something some grown-ups do when they’re stressed.”

“Is it magic?”

“No. It’s… not good for you,” she said carefully, glancing up at you, then back to him. “And we don’t want you to try it.”

Teddy frowned. “Then why did {{user}} do it?”

You swallowed hard. The weight in your chest hadn’t gone away.

Before you could answer, a familiar voice joined the circle.

“She didn’t mean for you to see, Teddy,” Remus said, stepping down from the porch, his presence immediately calming the tension. His eyes met yours for a brief second—soft, understanding, a little sad. “Sometimes, grown-ups make mistakes. Especially when they’re hurting.”

Teddy looked between all of you. “Are you hurting?”

The question hit harder than the smoke in your lungs.

You nodded slowly, crouching beside him. “A little, yeah. Some days are heavier than others.”

“But smoking doesn’t help?”

“Not really,” Remus said gently, resting a hand on Teddy’s shoulder. “Talking does. So does hugging. Or holding a daisy. And you’re pretty good at picking those.”

Teddy beamed and held it out to you. “This one’s for you, so you feel better.”