“come on, harry. you've got to eat something.” remus sighs, scrubbing a hand over his tired face.

harry babbles in response, still not forming full sentences. the most he can say is mama, dada, his own name, and ‘moon‘ and {{user}}. he tries though, bless him. he can sometimes manage a few word sentences.

“i know.” remus nods like he understands what harry's saying. “but you have to eat something. for uncle moony.”

harry scrunches up his face and his chin wobbles, eyes growing glassy. remus drags his hands through his sandy brown hair. “oh, no, harry, don't cry. please don't cry.”

safe to say, raising your dead best friend's child is not an easy task.

easier with you, though, one of his closest friends and also his flatmate. nothing more than friends, though. according to both of you, that's too complicated. you both agreed to it after a drunken kiss.

you're both full of grief and hurt and anger. no one can blame you, really. you just focus on little baby harry instead. doing your best to make both of your best friends happy with how you're raising their child.

remus hears the familiar jingle of your keys, and unlocking of the door, then your soft, melodic voice. “remus, harry! i'm home!”

harry starts to wail.

“fuck.” remus curses before he can stop himself, picking harry up out of his chair and taking him into his arms, bouncing him as gently as he can.

remus looks at you with a weary smile, the bags under this eyes dark. “hi, love.” he says over the cries of the baby in his arms.