~*Shores of Lethe*~
By: Cisselah
~*-.-*~
And the dead who drank from the shores of Lethe instantly forgot it all.
~*-.-*~
It takes Victoire several minutes to realize that something is seriously wrong. That the people in her hospital room are familiar strangers, their words too concerned for a 'bump on the head'. They're too loud for Victoire's sensitive ears, bustling around the hospital room like bees in a beehive, asking her how she is, stroking hr cheeks, touching her shoulders, crying silently in relief.
In hindsight, it will be obvious that Victoire has no idea what's going on, but at the moment everyone is much too busy being relieved to notice her confused expression and questioning looks. It's not until she stares blankly at the smoking hot boy - no, man - with the bone white hair and ashy eyes, asking her much-too-old parents who the guy is, that they realize something has gone wrong.
And it isn't until his bone white hair turns midnight black that Victoire realizes something has gone seriously wrong.
Teddy Lupin is standing in her hospital room. A really hot, smoking hot, disastrous hot Teddy Lupin is standing in her hospital room - and he's concerned.
"What's going on?!" she asks as the room buzzes with white-hot panic and confusion. The Healer presses his wand against her temple, his face solemn as he murmurs diagnostic spells. He's classically handsome, a shallow part of her notes distractedly. Blonde and blue-eyed and with the strong jaw and boy-next-door-looks. The type of boy that she'd go for in any other instant.
Not Ours, the Beast inside her growls at her admirations. Don't want him. Hit him. Hurt him. Warn him off.
Victoire almost gasps at the feral disgust that laces the words. She had always been at edge with the Beast. The Veela blood in her had always made Victoire lust after men, although the dormant werewolf in her, the Beast, had always watched them in dismay. Sometimes the Beast had even flexed its claws, stretching warningly inside Victoire, but never before had it so vehemently protested at Victoire's choice of men. It had been a passive force, and what Victoire felt inside her now was not a passive force but a bloodthirsty wolf ready to go for the throat at the smallest sign of provocation.
This was not her Beast. This was... well, Victoire wasn't sure what it was, but if she didn't get any answers soon she'd start screaming.
"What's wrong with her?" her Mama asked in a trembling voice as she stroked her daughter's hair. "What's wrong with my mon ange?"
"Memory loss," the Healer grimly states. "Most likely caused by the severe trauma of the experience" He glances back to an eerily silent Teddy, directing the next words to him. "I don't know when she will remember. If she will remember"
Half an hour later the Healer declares that all her memories from year 6th and up are gone (vanished, vamos. Adios amigos). Her family gathers around her, hugging her, kissing her, whispering reassuring assurances in her ears. In the middle of the love hurricane that is her family, Victoire barely catches a glimpse of Teddy slipping out the door.
Thank Merlin, she thinks as her arch nemesis slips through the door and out of her life. A vicious part of her is bursting in euphoria over his sudden retreat.
Another part whimpers and curls up to die.
~*-.-*~
Victoire,
I know you've been enemies a long time, but this is getting ridiculous. If you continue to let your personal feeling interfere, I will have no choice but to let you go. I can't have Aurors that can't play with others.
Suck it up.
- Uncle Harry
~*-.-*~
Some things are easy to accept.
(Like she's twenty-three year old, her mother's still complaining about the lenght of her skirt and her brother owns a bakery which he uses to pick up girls)
Other things are harder.
(Like she's a full-fledged Auror, has a serious caffeine addiction and apparently lives in an apartment in London that she shares with Teddy).
She discovers the last fact by accident. About a week after she's been sent home (or more accurately, to her cousin Molly's home, which is located in all-points-nowhere) her father decides it's time she packed some things from her apartment so that she could temporarily move in with Molly, who's a Healer of all things. But due to the brain damaged or whatever that has short-circuited her memories, Bill Weasley refuses to leave his daughter alone for a single second. So he sends Teddy with her (because apparently Victoire isn't the only one that has become brain damaged in the family).
Fully intent on ignoring the green haired Auror and the strange reactions he causes in her body, Victoire starts to sort through her bedroom. It's messy, which is weird since Victoire has always been something of a control freak. Still, seven years is a long time, and Victoire has always been somewhat fickle (courtesy of the Veela blood that just keeps making itself known in the most horrid situations) so she doesn't give it much thought. Besides, the apartment feels familiar, like a dream she's had but forgotten. It feels like hers.
Not until she opens the wardrobe and discovers a dozen male shirts hanging there like they have every right to be in her closet.
A second glance at the messy room reveals more men's clothing thrown around in a messy whirlwind of casualty.
Head spinning and stomach cramping with nerves, Victoire stands there and just stares. Her apartment is full of male clothes. Her apartment is full of a man's clothes that smell faintly of leather, rich dark chocolate and wilderness. The scent makes her entire body hot and lazy and she presses her face against a blue t-shirt to inhale it deeply. Her bed is messy - and easily big enough for two people to lie in. If she pressed her nose against the sheets, Victoire is almost sure she'd smell leather, rich dark chocolate and wilderness fused into the fabric in a combination that shouldn't make her body heat the way it does.
More. Her inner Beast purrs. Roll in it. Wrap us in it. Mine.
"Are you okay?" a voice interrupts her inner musings. Still holding on to the blue shirt, Victoire spins around and finds herself finding the most perfectly sculpted green haired god.
His lime green hair may reach just below his ears and his celestial blue eyes may be streaked with spiky purple, but Teddy Lupin is still the hottest man Victoire has ever seen, mortal enemy or not. He's face is a study of fine boned masculinity, his cheekbones sharp like cut glass, his jaw stubborn like none other. Lime green strands of hair keeps falling into his eyes and he blows them away absently. He's body is hard, all wiry muscles and firm shoulders, narrow hips and strong thighs she wants to run her hands over and prickle with her nails. The tight, purple t-shirt with the hard rock slogan does nothing to disguise the rock hard abs and tawny skin that whispers of temptation. He's wearing a pair of black jeans and a leather jacket to go with the purple t-shirt, and in the dreamy front of her mind Victoire thinks it's the most beautiful combination of clothes she has ever seen.
He's so different from when she was sixteen (which to her was only days ago) but at the very same time so hauntingly familiar she can't believe she didn't recognize him in the hospital room.
Her body heats at the sight of him. Her heart beats so loudly she thinks it will fly out of her chest and splatter over the walls and floor. Her fingers tingle with the urge to touch him, just a little, just enough to assure herself that he's really here, and she wants to do nothing more but throw her arms around his neck, tangle her hands in his lime green hair and kiss him with the fire of the inferno that is burning in her chest cavity.
If she was still the sixteen year old Victoire, she's sure she'd have perished under the weight of the flames. As it is now, she burns slowly as she swallows and looks elsewhere. Her body and mind is mature, that of a twenty-three year old, and even though her memories are that of a sixteen year old she no longer feels like that Victoire. She feels fuller, deeper seated in her body and confidence than she had done as a teenager, and she still has all the urges of the twenty-three year old Victoire (although none of the memories about how they started or why).
And twenty-three year old Victoire really wants Teddy Lupin.
"Do I live here with someone?" Victoire asks Teddy, burying her confusing body's reactions under a mountain of denial (Because she's not attracted to him. Not at all. Besides. He's a shapeshifter, so technically looking that good is cheating!). He shifts and her eyes darts from the wall to his delicious body and back again (because she isn't sure she can handle the hands-off approach if she looks at him, and she very much would not like to deal with his disgusted reaction if she was to touch him).
"Yes," Teddy says in an unreadable voice, his celestial blue, purple streaked eyes observing her unnervingly. He stands in the doorway, so still she should barely be able to notice him (but she's aware of him with every cell of her body), with the unearthly stillness of a predator. "Me"
It takes an eternity for that statement to sink in and when it does, Victoire forgets all about her not-looking policy and swirls her gaze towards him to stare, speechless at the nonchalance laced in that one word that turns her world upside down.
Inside her chest, her Beast purrs as it stretches out in satisfaction, like it had just won the prize of the century. Mine. The Beast purrs.
"What?!" Victoire croaks out, her voice all of a sudden hoarser than the desert.
"You live here with someone," Teddy says in that untouchable voice of his, raising an eyebrow as he leans back against the doorway. "Me." Her skin so hot it feels almost feverish, mind swimming with images that definitely belong to the present version of Victoire, Victoire swallows her suddenly dry throat as she stares at the unmasked glory of her long term enemy. His lips twitch at her expression and he takes mercy on her. "I'm your roommate," he adds.
Right.
Roommate.
Right.
"The bed?" she asks him in a voice she's proud to say only comes out slightly shaky. She clears her throat and tries again. "Where do you sleep?" she asks.
Teddy lifts one black eyebrow, his lashes long and dark against the unearthly beauty of his celestial blue, purple-streaked eyes.
"In the bedroom next to yours," he says in an amused voice and Victoire feels... no... she has to be mistaken. It can't be disappointment (probably just relief, or dizziness) well up inside her.
She clears her throat, pulling away her eyes from the raw beauty of her childhood enemy as she observes her shelves with faked enthusiasm.
"We're partners," he explains. "We work together. We'd crash at each other's places, and finally we just decided to share an apartment because we spent so much time sleeping over we pretty much lived together anyways"
His explanation is reasonable. Convincing even, but a part of Victoire rebels against it, insists that there's something more than this very reasonable, very believable explanation. That he's holding something back.
She squashes that part under her metaphoric high heels.
Because whether or not Victoire Weasley is sixteen or twenty-three she wouldn't know if Teddy Lupin was lying. She wouldn't know him well enough for that.
~*-.-*~
It's time to stop pretending. Denial only last so long.
~ Conversation between Teddy Lupin and Victoire Weasley
~*-.-*~
The weeks fly by at an astonishing pace, and with them the memories slowly return. Except for of course, the ones Victoire wants to remember. Those seem to be suspiciously absent. During the entire time, Teddy remains a steady presence in her life, following her around like a second shadow, looking tough and lethal in his leather jacket and biker boots. For some reason, Victoire doesn't mind him at all, and a secret part of her enjoys that he's plastered to her side with that silent aloofness and amusement that makes him so untouchable. It's like she's somehow come to take his presence for granted, because she misses him the rare moments he has to leave (not that she'd ever reveal that, not even under torture).
Slowly she relearns her own body until the silent grace she moves with no longer feels weird. She's a predator, her walk reveals, used to stalking her prey from the shadows. Also, all her combat skills are there, embedded in her muscle memory as she discovers one morning when Joy Harding bitches to her about her shoes.
The fifth week after her memory loss, Victoire has recalled enough to be allowed to return to the Auror Office, a fact which is celebrated with cake and steamers and later on a visit to a local muggle bar with some of her fellow Aurors. Some of them she remembers, others not so much, which of course makes the trip a bit awkward in the beginning.
That awkwardness melts somewhere after the third shot of Swedish vodka.
"We're all here now! The entire gang!" Evie Turnwell slurs as she raises her glass in a mock toast. "Our V-card is back in the deck. We're united once more! Except for Teddy. But Teddy doesn't count!"
Which might be for the better, Victoire thinks as she observes her best friend spill vodka over an amused senior Auror (whose currently downing his sixth shot compared to Evie's third, and seemingly sober while the redhead's obvious intoxicated). Victoire isn't sure she wants him here when she lets loose. Her self-control is annoyingly weak when it comes to the metamorphmagus. Even now, just the thought of him has her Beast purr and lick its lips in hunger.
It's not just the Beast, a part of her admonishes. You like him too.
And as much as she wants to deny it, it's true. She likes his silent amusement. She likes his eccentric appearances and his intoxicating smell. She likes his sly humor, his challenging attitude, the slight twitch of his lips that makes the most charming smile (but never appears for anyone other Victoire). She likes his loyalty, his strength, his mischievous eyes and cool aloofness. She even likes the way he raises one eyebrow when he thinks she's being a moron (or just very amusing, both which often happens at the same time).
She likes him.
Which of course is shit, because Teddy Lupin definitely does not like her back other than as a friend and partner.
That ungrateful piece of shit.
Which is why Victoire finds herself in a strange muggle pub, her body burning with low simmering anger and resentment as she empties her second shot in Evie's empty glass (because for some reason she can't bring herself to drink the water like liquid). After a minutes pause she excuses herself and stalks through the crowd, intent on getting another round of shots from the bar so that she can at least make sure none of her colleagues remembers her brooding the next day.
It's when she's leaning up against the bar counter, one hand resting on her stomach and the other on the counter, waiting impatiently for the drinks, that a sweaty palm closes around her butt in an intruding manner. Whipping around so quickly she almost blurs, Victoire aims her elbow for his stomach as she crashes it into the drunk muggle that is smiling himself silly behind her. He doesn't smile three seconds later when he's folded forward, bracing his hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath.
Without waiting for him to catch said breath, Victoire whips around and leaves.
She's halfway to the parking lot when a callused hand closes around her elbow. The grip is bruisingly hard, violent in an angry manner, but Victoire doesn't lash out like she did with the drunk, doesn't perceive any danger in the angry hold. Instead she tenses as he turns her towards him with a quick jerk of his wrist.
"He touched you!" he hisses between clenched teeth, his dark gold eyes shining brightly in the night. He's wearing cobalt blue hair that sticks up in a spiky mess she wants to run her fingers through, his kissable lips thin with barely restrained anger. He's wearing his black leather jacket and combat boots, a tight black t-shirt and black jeans. She feels herself flush - half in anger, half in other, stronger emotions - as his fingers biting into her arm.
"Get off me, you stalker!" she hisses back, trying to squash back all the feelings that doesn't belong in her heart.
His eyes flash warningly and he opens his mouth, but a pair of footsteps interrupts them. Without waiting for her answer, Teddy spins around in a defensive crouch, his body rigid like a jaguar before the death strike. Victoire looks over his shoulder to find the drunken man that tried to grab her stumbling over the parking lot, his face almost purple with pent up rage and liquor.
"You bitch!" The man slurs and something flashes in his hand.
The next few seconds happen so quickly Victoire reacts only on instinct.
She sees the knife. She sees the man lunge. She feels a rush of fear and horror and no, not Teddy! and she throws herself forward to push him out of the way and take the blow meant for him.
The world swirls black. Images flash before her life. In the background someone is screaming, but that's not important, not now. Not when she has the answer to everything. To him. She remembers his sly looks. Remembers his whisper of a touch. Remembers his kisses. His words. His trust.
Remembers fighting with him. Remembers befriending him. Remembers falling in love (because how can she not!). Remembers keeping it from everyone, friends and family, because it's their secret, their business and nobody else's.
And then...
She remembers the accident. The moment of horror when the dark wizard reached out one hand to grab a hold of her partner. The snapping realization that if he touched her Teddy, he would be jerked along for the ride when the wizard Apparated. Would be taken somewhere dark and horrible like the other Aurors the dark wizard had taken. Would be cut and poked and prodded and hit. Would be hurt. Eventually killed.
She remembers screaming. Throwing herself towards them, pushing her partner - her ever-after, just-the-two-of-us-for-ever - out of the way. Remembers the dark wizards hand gripping her hard, yanking her with him as he Apparated her somewhere dark and cold and fuzzy where she would endure three days before they rescued her.
But most vividly of it all, she remembers the look on his face when he realized - just a moment before she was taken, but a moment too late - what she had done (sacrificed) to safe him.
She remembers.
And the black swallows her whole.
~*-.-*~
I want to live the rest of my days waking up in your bed, feeling your breath against my skin as you lie wrapped around me. Falling asleep with you in my arms, knowing that you're mine and no one else will ever touch you.
~ Conversation between Teddy Lupin and Victoire Weasley
~*-.-*~
It takes Victoire several minutes to realize that she's back where she started. In the same bed, in the same hospital room, with the same Healer and the same massive family waiting for her eyes to open.
"Mon ange!" Her mother cries as Victoire stares at her weeping mother. "Never scare me like that again!"
Everyone is there, everyone but the one person she wants there the most (needs there) so Victoire can only handle a couple of minutes of her mother's frantic sobbing and family's anxiousness before she orders them out. She sits in her bed staring at the wall when the last ones file out, her chest empty and aching like a giant bruise.
"You're lucky," the Healer says in a stern tone. "You could have been hurt seriously"
She nods mechanically.
Hours later, she sneaks out of the hospital room, her shoulder healed and her anger burning bright hot inside her. She knows where she's going, just like she knows where he will be now.
She finds him in their apartment, standing by the window with his hands running restlessly through his hair. He's guilty, she knows. Feels as if it's his fault she was hurt (because he's an idiot and he does this every time she gets hurt during an mission).
He turns when she enters, dropping his hands lifelessly to his side as he stares at her. His hair is so pale white and his eyes so ashy grey they look devoid of all color (like he's literally paled with fright).
"Victoi-" he starts to say, but she won't let him finish. Marching over towards him she reaches up, grabs a hold of his bone white hair and pulls him down into a kiss that sets her on fire. He wraps his hands around her waist and holds her tight.
"You're a complete moron!" she tells him as she comes up for air.
He doesn't answer but kisses her again. Inside her chest the Beast purrs in satisfaction, whispering to her; Mine. Mine. Mine.
Ours. Victoire agrees.
"You remember," he whispers between kisses, his tone bittersweet with pain and relief and love and longing.
"I remember," she confirms, and she knows, she just knows, that whatever happens, whatever lies before them in the future...
... Nobody will ever separate them again.
~*-.-*~
The End