The small, cluttered car rattled along the bumpy road towards The Burrow. The backseat had been magically extended to fit Teddy, Harry, Ginny, James, and Andromeda. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had driven from the Burrow to pick them up in a caravan, which had included Victoire’s parents.
Teddy leaned his hot cheek against the cool glass of the window as they grew closer to The Burrow. Around him, they chatted of the school year-- which classes James liked, which ones he didn’t, whether or not he had figured out to tickle or scratch the pear yet, at which Harry received a patronising glare from Mrs. Weasley. Every so often Teddy would nod his head in agreement, or participate in the conversation by giving a one or two word answer, but he took content pleasure in leaving his face squashed against the side of the car.
When they finally reached the precariously teetering house with chickens pecking about in the front yard, they piled out of the backseat, toes being stepped on, and James unfortunately getting elbowed in the face, and in effect receiving a bloody nose.
“Oh, honey, let me get that for you!” Mrs. Weasley came bustling over, wand ready, and performed a quick mending charm, and the blood ceased to flow, his nose instantly mended. Teddy watched from the side of the yard as James felt his newly mended nose with careful hands, astonishment evident in his eyes.
“You should be a Healer!” he said as he continued to grope his nose.
Mrs. Weasley was busy Levitating trunks from the boot of the car, and brushed his comment aside, “Don’t be silly dear, that was a simple household charm I learned in school.”
As the party ambled up the cobbled walk, Teddy turned to see the other cars bouncing along the drive towards the house. The falling sun cut harshly into his eyes and his eyebrows shot low over his eyes in attempt to shade them from the late afternoon glow. Turning back to follow the flow of people, he entered through the cramped doorway, careful to avoid the old pile of Wellington boots at the doorstep.
He breathed in the familiar aroma of the cluttered area. Gathering in the warm light that was glowing from the kitchen, he smiled broadly. He loved the comfortable feeling that settled in his stomach every time that he stepped over the threshold of this home. Allowing his eyes to roam over the familiar surfaces, he happily took note that nothing had changed-- the family clock was resting over the mantle, all hands pointing in different directions; the beloved radio of Mrs. Weasley sat contentedly on the windowsill; and happy bodies bustled in every direction, just as always.
“Oi, Teddy! Come play a game of Wizards Chess, won’t you?”
Teddy looked up to see Harry calling him over to the fireside. His grin widening, he walked over to play Harry in their rival game.
“You’re on, Harry,” he said as he sat down opposite him on the hard wooden chair. Teddy stared down at the faded wooden board and awaited Harry’s first move. Watching as the strong hands of his godfather flexed in concentration, his eyes drifted over his cracked knuckles and calloused pads: the hands of a fighter. Moving up his arms, they settled on the war-worn face that was screwed up in concentration, and finally in his eyes. The bright green eyes of his mother that Teddy had heard others exclaim about over and over again, just like others spoke of his abilities and build. Those eyes were as alive as a child’s eyes, pure and unbroken, the opposite of what one would expect. He had lost so much: parents, mentors, loved ones. But he did have that one constant through the battles, the one thing that kept him pushing to the end: Ginny. Teddy glanced up and the long, blonde mane of hair that was sitting at the kitchen table, conversing with her family, and a faint smile escaped his lips.
“It’s your move, Lupin,” Harry said, leaning back with a smug look on his face.
Allowing his thoughts to wander back to the game, he chose his first move. It was a rather large rivalry between Harry and he when playing this old wizarding game because neither of them was the ultimate victor. Growing up, he had wisely taken instructions whispered in his ear by Ron, so he had always had an advantage, but Harry obviously had many more years of experience.
He made a cautious move after surveying the board, only to have his first pawn crushed by one of Harry’s knights. The rest of the game continued in this manner, accompanied by Harry’s whoops of victory and Teddy’s groans of failure.
“Your head must not be in the game, Teddy,” Harry said as his eyes jumped over the ruined piles of Teddy’s black pieces.
Sighing, Teddy leaned back in his chair, allowing it to cut into his back just a bit, “Thinking about other things. Otherwise, I would have actually given you a challenge, instead of just giving you the game.”
“Oh-ho! If you still believe you can even rival the abilities of the great Harry Potter, match me again.”
Just as the last words escaped Harry’s lips, Ron sauntered over from the kitchen table to observe the game. “Did I just hear Harry exclaim that he was the 'Great Harry Potter' at chess? Right, and I am the Minister of Magic.”
Harry grinned up at his old friend. “All right, Ron? When’d you arrive? How’s Hermione?”
“All right, she’s just over there, and we’ve just arrived. You know Mum’s still got the wards up? Batty woman, she is.” At this point, Ron pulled Harry aside and began whispering very avidly in his ear. He vigorously smacked his fist into his palm, sometimes drawing small diagrams with his finger, attempting to make an unknown point.
Harry turned to Teddy when Ron was finished with his rapid recapitulation. “I’m going to have to have a rain check on that game, Ted. Ministry business.”
Throwing him a smirk in return he said, “Right, you’re just worried I’ll take away from your pride by beating you.”
“All right! You’re on for tomorrow Lupin,” he challenged with an apologetic glance before turning to follow Ron out of the back door.
Teddy’s smile lingered on his lips for a few moments before he allowed it to completely slide away. Staring happily around at the small gathering of people, he made to repair the set, but saw a pair of delicate hands rest atop the massacre before he could begin.
“Hey, you.” He looked up into the dancing eyes of Victoire.
“Hello to you as well.”
She cast him a long glance, her eyes calming down into his. He hated when she looked upon him this way, because he knew that she knew. He did not break that stare, and he never could. Her eyes had always been the most captivating part of her; it was probably some of the Veela in her that always took hold of him.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, he jolted up from his chair, eyes never breaking from hers. Without saying a word, he strode to the back door, and opened it cautiously: no need to direct attention his way. Walking out into the cold night, he allowed the chilling snow to begin to seep into his trainers, and breathed in a breath of satisfaction. Looking up into the black night, he searched the stars. The bright ones twinkled with tantalising brightness, the dim ones fading in and out of his sight. Allowing his eyes to go out of focus, he took in the grandeur of the whole sky.
“Did you see that? It was a shooting star. Make a wish.” He heard the familiar voice behind him again.
Ducking his head, he said, “You followed me out here.”
The wind picked up and began biting into the thin cotton on his arms; he had forgotten a cloak. Turning to face her, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, not meeting her eyes this time. “Of course I followed you out here. Do you expect to me to just be completely ignored like that and be all right with it?”
He stayed silent, turning his back to her once more, and stared out over the dark, rolling hills. She, too, elapsed into a tense silence. Hearing the crunch of icy snow, he felt her small arms wrap around his middle, and her head rest firmly between his shoulder blades. His taunt muscles instantly relaxed at her soft touch, but the tension did not subside.
“Will you talk to me, Teddy?”
He remained silent even though this conversation was inevitable. He had always had trouble talking to her about his parents, even before they were together. Maybe it was that he saw the love that radiated from her parents, and he thought that she wouldn’t be able to fathom what his life was like. She was a smart girl, and hot tempered at that, who was not going to give up at this battle.
Still he pried himself from her delicate grasp and walked back into the house, back turned to her hurt eyes. He moved swiftly, ignoring the surprised stares of the people sitting around the table, and ran up the stairs to the bright orange bedroom to which he was no stranger. Slamming the door, he took pleasure from the release of energy it allowed and instantly his nerves calmed. Letting out a shaking breath, he sat on the edge of his bed, hanging his head. He didn’t mean to push her away; he just didn’t know how to hold her close.
--
She remained outside for a while, letting the frigid wind cut through her jumper. Her hair whipped around her face as she, too, stared out over the dark hills, concentrating on nothing but the past. The flick of a light caught her attention, and her head instantly reacted, jerking towards the upper most bedroom of The Burrow. She heard a door slam, and the enlargement of a shadow as the body moved around the room before becoming still.
Wrapping her arms protectively around her petite form, she remained outside, willing the air to bite harder at her skin. She only knew about his parents from others, not from him. She was not going to allow him to push her away, not over something that could so easily be brought to the surface if he would just allow her to face it with him, instead of just charging blindly forward as he was doing. As short as their relationship had been, she knew Teddy better than she knew herself, and he was well aware of it.
She turned, ready to face their demons, and trudged towards to door. Noticing the shocked expressions of her family through the glass, she opened the door to a silent room.
A moment passed with continued silence, eyes staring expectantly at her, awaiting an explanation, but all she had to offer was, “Hello, everyone.” With a simple smile, she continued through the room. As she walked up the stairs, she hesitated. All he’d been doing is running away all night, and even on the train, he wouldn’t say one word to her, but this was it. She didn’t care if she had to blockade the door; he was going to give her a chance.
--
He hardly heard the creak of the door as he paced angrily back and forth in the small space. Wearing the familiar pattern into the ground, he turned at the window and once again came to face Victoire. He stopped, standing still, unable to move any part of his body. No matter what his temperament, she always had this effect on him. But not for long tonight, his emotions were running too high.
She didn’t speak; she just sat down on the edge of the bed. Looking at her expectantly, he opened his arms in a welcoming manner, “If you want to say something, say it, Victoire. You’ve been following me for the whole night for a reason. What’s it?”
Her eyes met his; but the eyes that usually sparkled with warmth were cold and empty. Her mouth was set, and her body tense, and still, she didn’t speak.
“What do you want?" he asked hotly, advancing towards her, passion and anger sweeping through his body, causing his hands to shake and his feet to move unsteadily.
Her eyes didn’t break their hold on his, and the coldness intensified. He reached out a hand to grasp her shoulder, and she stiffened away from his touch, still not speaking. Pulling his hand back in fury, Teddy began to pace the cramped space once again, attempting to ignore the girl sitting mere feet away from him. Once again he stopped, inches in front of her, holding his breath.
“You want me to talk, I’ll talk. Do you know what it’s like to be invisible? Because I do. I don’t have a father or a mother to drive in a caravan with during the Christmas vacations and pick me up, happily greeting me just as the other parents do. All of my memories are surreal: I don’t have the baby pictures with my mum holding me up in the air, dancing about; I don’t have the father to offer me tips on how to get my first girl; I’ve got my Grand Mum, and that’s it.
“When I sit in the Great Hall and watch the other students receive mail from their parents, it’s not even jealousy that I feel, it’s contempt. Why couldn’t it be them? Why am I the one who has no parents? Why not the scrawny third year next to me with too short robes and large front teeth?
“I don’t talk to you about this because you are one of them,” he finished, awaiting her shocked outburst, wanting her to hit him at least, allow him to feel something.
But nothing came. She just looked down at her hands and slowly nodded her head. When she looked back up, her eyes where not longer empty, on the contrary, they were full of tears.
Letting out a rasp of rage at the sight of her shining eyes, he turned away from her. The harsh reflection of a cracked, crooked mirror that was hanging on the wall opposite him caught his eye. The cut of his jaw was severe, muscle throbbing; his usually bright hair a dull, straw blonde; but the most stunning feature was his eyes: the dark irises popped from the drained white of his ashen face. He stared hard at himself, allowing his unusual appearance to overwhelm him until he turned back to Victoire’s shaken body.
He allowed himself to observe her now as she sat before him. Her hands were clasped, knuckles white with pressure, her eyes wide in absent thought, but her most stunning feature was her mouth: the thick, chapped lips were throbbing with blood, and the corners turned down in doubt.
“Teddy, you’re right,” she announced hollowly, the empty stare not leaving her eyes, “I cannot relate to your situation, but I will always be there for you whether or not you believe I will be. I’m not here to show my parents off to you, even though you seem to think I am; I am here because I love you, and you have unforgivably forgotten that.”
It was her turn, now, to leave. Instead of storming out in the fashion that Teddy had been, she stood up slowly, arms hanging jaggedly by her sides, and walked towards the bedroom door.
He watched as her pale hand began to pull the door closed, debating on whether or not he should stop her from shutting it completely, or let her go on her way and allow the gaping hole between them to split even wider. As the brass lock began to click shut, he made his decision and lunged forward.
“V-- wait!” He called, snatching the door from her grasp and pulling her with it, causing her small body to fly into the room. She bounced off Teddy’s chest, and let out a small, “ouff!”
He felt her recoil as her body met his and a fleeting shot of regret coursed through his veins. He did not know how to say something to her, or even what to say, so he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.
“I don’t hate you.”
“Well, yes, one would hope that you being my boyfriend would lead to the idea of you not hating me, but obviously it had crossed your mind, so I must be mistaken.”
“Victoire, please. I’m sorry,” he pleaded as she began to turn her back to him.
“I can’t do this right now, Teddy. This runs much deeper than I assumed, and I need time to realise that,” she responded, the empty look slowly being replaced by the life that he was used to seeing.
A moment of uncertainty passed between them, but all Teddy could do was nod his head. With his eyes lowered, he didn’t see her approaching hand, but felt the cool pads of her palm brush against his cheek before she left the room to let him squander in his actions. Allowing himself to do just that, he turned and threw himself onto the bed, burying his face in the moth-eaten pillow.
--
Peeling his eyes opened, he allowed the fading sunlight to break through his sudden and unwelcome sleep. He sat upright in the bed, dragging his hands behind him for support, and groggily took in his surroundings. Once again noticing the grim-covered mirror opposite him, he slowly screwed up his face in concentration, as he did every time he awoke. Opening his eyes to see the result, he only saw a mundane face staring back at him.
Faint recollections of the day were appearing in his mind as he continued to stare at himself in the mirror, and he let out a small groan of trepidation as he thought of the damage he had done with Victoire.
Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he stood up and stretched his arms above his head, this time letting out a groan of pleasure. He walked to his trunk and pulled out a leaf of parchment and a quill, then sat down at the magically expanded desk that was stuffed in the corner between the armoire and Ron’s old Chudley Canons collection box.
He crammed his legs into the expectedly small space, but found very much legroom, and stretched out, lying the parchment down on the gnarled wood of the desk. He smoothed his hands over it in a fluctuating pattern, and he began to think. He stood up suddenly from his cramped position and went back to his trunk. Digging through his messily organised garments, he found what he was looking for: the shoebox. It was plain and brown, and a bit frayed at the edges. The top had a message scrawled on it that had long since faded, but Teddy never got a new one because this was the box.
He sat back down at the desk and took the top off, setting it aside. Taking the worn stack of papers from inside, he began to shuffle through them. His messy handwriting jumped from each page. As he leafed through the stack, each page became a bit more faded and a bit more worn, especially the ones at the very bottom, for when those were written they were few and far between.
‘I’m on the train to Hogwarts. It’s my first time!’
‘Grandmother is sick, something about a poisonous shrub?’
‘I wish you could have been there…’
He threw the stack haphazardly aside, causing the letters to jump in the air and flutter to the floor. Completely disregarding the confined chaos, he searched around for the quill, desperately throwing his hands over the surface of the table in effort to find the feather. He found it buried under the mess of old parchments on the corner of the desk. He was poised to write, so he did. Dipping his quill in the inkpot, he began.
Mum and Dad-
I’m not going to begin this letter with casuals, because I can’t. This year has been different. I haven’t written to you in three or four months”I know, I’m sorry it’s been so long. I’ve had a lot on my hands.
Anyway, it was just Mum’s birthday again, and now I’m back at the Burrow. I’ve got myself a girlfriend. Can you believe it? Victoire Weasley. We’ve just had a rather large row over various things such as you guys. It’s hard for me to fathom that she could possibly understand what it is like for me to not have parents when she has such wonderful ones.
She loves me though. She says she loves me and that’s enough. It is. But still, she can’t expect to understand this thing, can she? I thought she would be my foundation, my constant, but now she’s gone and gotten emotional as girls do. You know, Dad? Sorry, Mum. But it’s not really her fault that she can’t understand, is it? I mean, it’s not as if I wish her parents were dead, that’s an awful thing to wish, and I need her. She really is my constant…
I’ve got to go, I’ve just realised that I have to fix this thing that I’ve broken. Thanks for helping me recognise that I can be really daft sometimes.
Love,
Your Son
Teddy left the letter amongst the other and pushed himself up from the chair. Running towards the door, he paused when he got to the knob. He couldn’t do this now. Something was stopping his hand from turning the knob, maybe it was fear of retribution, or maybe it was something else, but all the same, he could not turn the doorknob. His hand dropped back to his side, and he fell back into his bed, allowing sleep to once again take him.
--
He heard the creak of the door as it opened and closed, but did not look up from his position on the bed. It undulated with pressure as the person sat down in the corner; however, this person did not speak.
“Ngumbff,” Teddy moaned from his pillow.
“Really.” It was Harry.
Relieved that he would not have to face the torrential conversation with Victoire, he flopped over to see his godfather, but kept his eyes covered.
“As much as I am not the person who should be giving you this speech, I think I will because I know from experience. I am much older and much wiser than I was when I was your age, and I also happened to have a very pretty girlfriend. You know who it was?”
Teddy could have guessed, but he gave Harry the benefit of the conversation. “Who?”
“Ginny. She sure was distraught when I told her it was better for her if we gave it some space.”
“I haven’t broken things””
Harry put up his hand. “All right. And as much as this might not even directly be about Victoire, it’s affecting her much more than you think. She just went running to Fleur with tears in her eyes, and you know how it can be when the mothers get involved, especially that one.”
Teddy nodded his head and looked down. “But this isn’t at all about Victoire, is it, Teddy?”
This time, Teddy shook his head. It was never awkward talking to Harry about his parents, but it wasn’t a welcomed feeling to have the grief bubble up from his stomach and into his heart, to flow through his veins, almost paralysing him as it was now. Having somebody realise what was eating at his core almost hurt more than the actual trauma. It was a conflicting feeling, he knew, but it was almost a relief. More than anything in the world he wished that his parents had never died, that they were sitting here with him instead of Harry wondering why he was hurting, but they weren’t. When Harry had broken the surface of this feeling that Teddy had, instead of skirting around it as Victoire had been doing, it impaled his very being, crippling his heart, and causing his bones to ache with pain and love at the same time.
Harry always broke the surface. When he was five and wondering why his mother wasn’t there to sing him a lullaby at night, Harry knew; when had become a man and no one had been there for him, Harry knew; and when he came home for Christmas holidays with a broken spirit every year, Harry knew.
Teddy looked into the bright eyes of his godfather and he saw relation, not forgiveness or understanding, but a relation of sorts that no one but another man who had lost his parents before he knew them would have deep in his eyes.
“No, it’s not about Victoire, but you knew that before you came up here.”
A low chuckle erupted from Harry’s chest. “You have me there.”
Teddy continued to study him; to take in every bit of that man that he had always looked to. “You’ve known all along what it’s been about, haven’t you?”
The chuckle turned to a lax smile, and Harry’s eyes glazed over. “Since the day they were lost, I have known it would be about this.”
Teddy took to studying his hands, finding it much easier to take interest in them than in this conversation. The silence lengthened, but it wasn’t awkward, it was thoughtful, almost warm and giving.
“A wise man once said to me, ‘It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live’. It took me many years to listen to those brilliant words, but I think that it is in your best interests to take them to heart,” Harry said as he began to push himself up from the stiff bed and out the door. Teddy gazed after him as he clicked the door shut.
“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live,” he muttered, throwing his wistful gaze out the window only to see the glaring moon penetrating into the depths of the sky.