DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. I also do not own the song Who's to Say which belongs to Vanessa Carlton.

You and Me

He walks in.

She's not looking at him (of course).

She's never looking at him.

She's looking at Lorcan Scamander instead. She's laughing with him, at something he's saying. Her head is thrown back; her long, pale neck is exposed. Scamander's looking at it.

Or maybe not at her neck.

Little bastard.

-x-

She hears the familiar cacophony accompanying an arrival at the Annual Weasley Christmas-Hanukkah (because Aunt Audrey is Jewish)-Diwali (because Uncle Charlie married Padma Patil last year, and it's convenient to have all the festivities at once) Bash.

She knows it's him. She knows it the same way

a sunflower knows the Sun has risen

or

bears and squirrels knows it's not winter anymore and spring and sustenance are finally here

or

Uncle Ron knows that the fried chicken is in the room, no matter if he's at the other end of it.

It's instinctive, you see.

She makes a concerted effort to not look at him. She laughs at something Lorcan Scamander is saying. She won't let him see. She won't let him see how she hurts.

She won't.

-x-

and I try to pretend but I feel it when we're together

-x-

Victoire assaults him as soon as he's in, of course, and he grins (faker) at her, and pretends to be paying deep attention to 'Merlin, Teddy, do you know what happened at work the other day?'He sees all the Weasleys looking at them, pleased, contented grins on their faces.

He is sickened at his own behaviour.

They probably expect him to get down on his knees and propose.

Not unreasonable, really.

But he can't. He can't, because he can see her out of the corner of his eye. She's always at the periphery of his vision (the periphery of his consciousness).She's got a whole gaggle of boys around her now.

They're drinking her in, her bright colours, the intoxicating symphony of her conversation.

And he's suddenly choked by jeal-

I won't say it.

-x-

He's talking to her.

Her. Her bright, beautiful cousin. Interning as a healer. Part-veela. Never-a-bad-hair-day-Victoire.

Sweet Victoire. Ever-serene Victoire.

Certainly not like her, with her 'temper tantrums' as everyone calls them (why is she always treated as a child?), her 'wild hair' (this is supposed to be complimentary), her mediocre grades (she's not 'maximizing her potential'. Sure, Mum).

He looks happy. He's always been happy with her and in a few days (bet on it-her cousins and brothers already have) he'll ask her out.

And then they'll fall in love, and get married, and do the whole white-picket-fence thing, and dammit, but she wants to do that with him (he is her best friend).

And however much she may try to shine; she can never outdo the pale, dazzling glow of perfection, can she? She is clunky old jewellery salvaged from thrift shops and thrown-out cocktail dresses and blue jeans that her aunts and her grandmother have no use for anymore and a loud, loud laugh to drown out the sound of her jaggedly breaking heart. She's nowhere near perfect.

Her friends call her eclectic, and interesting, and she likes being eclectic and interesting, but that isn't enough. It's never been. It never will be.

And she wishes with her aching heart and her love-ravaged soul that she could be like Victoire.

Could be Victoire.

Be the one he wants.

But it's impossible. So, so, impossible.

So too bad, little Lily. She gets what you've always wanted. It's 'cause she's older, darling.

-x-

who's to say i can't live without you

-x-

Victoire departs, and Harry attacks.

He's suddenly struck with an intense, clenching longing for those times when they used to talk.

Him and Lily.

It's hard to believe it was only a couple of years ago.

It seems like a lifetime.

And then he looks at Harry, sees his bright-green eyes so much like hers and he is suddenly drowning in guilt, which he discovers suffocates him like a swimming pool full of jell-o.

He should not be feeling this way about her-she's too young.

Too late, Ted.

And then Harry calls her over.

And those few minutes spent talking to her are

Heaven

and they are

Hell.

After what seems like an age, she is close by. Close enough to touch.

He can smell her perfume; feel the silk of her silver scarf (tied around her beautiful, wild hair today) brush his arm through the thin sleeve of his lamb's wool sweater.

He is the one getting drunk on her conversation. He is the one dissolving into her colours.

It's as it should be, because she is his, always has been.

And yet-

She barely looks at him. She barely talks to him.

It is obvious that she doesn't want to be here.

Those few minutes resurrect him (he was good as dead without her) and kill him again.

And he's struck again, again, by the realization that-

She can never want me.

So he lets her go.

-x-

Suddenly her father, who's talking to him, spots her. And calls her over.

And the four minutes she spends talking to him are

agonising

and they are

euphoric.

She is pulled to him by what seems like pure magnetism, and she can't help feeling that this is where she's meant to be, the rest of her life(stop it, Lily).And yet-

She can't look.

She can't speak, aside from monosyllables.

She can't move.

She can barely breathe.

She feels like a gaudy Chinese toy next to Victoire's Barbie-doll perfection, and she wonders if he wishes he was with her instead.

In all probability, yes.

So she escapes. She escapes to the kitchen, to the warmth of the hearth and the familiar, and the reassurance of childhood memories.

It was never so complicated back then.

-x-

and who's to say, we won't sink in doubt

-x-

He finds her hours later in the kitchen, abandoned after preparations for the party were over, the rabble of half-empty pots and pans scattered around her .The fireplace is flickering dimly.

She is a beautiful sight, her long hair fanning out on the kitchen table, the dancing firelight bringing out glints of gold against the blood-red(Gryffindor colours-ironic) as her shoulders in their turquoise sleeves heave.

And he's not surprised in the least to find her like this.

So this is why she deserted the party.

Scorpius. Of course.

He'd like to wring the little bugger's neck.

But at the same time, he can't help feeling an overpowering sense of relief.

So it wasn't him, for her.

He wasn't her 'one'.

And while that doesn't change anything (don't you even think about it, Teddy)-

There's still room for wishful thinking. Isn't there?

But in any case, like a good friend, or brother figure, or whatever (what is he to her, really? a friend? a brother? anything? nothing?)he heads over to comfort her. She looks up, her eyes bloodshot, red rimmed (still so beautiful), and he puts his arms around her. She leans in, and Merlin, but it's been so long since he held her like this, and she's still a perfect fit.

And he isn't sure who moves first.

Because by the time he gets around to thinking

they are already

kissing

(us?)

and he's drowning, sinking.

His vision is swallowed by powerful, exhilarating black (not rainbow colours like they say, is it?), and he has to hold on to the table for support, and her touch (oh her touch) sends waves of need through him.

And he isn't sure when

but a simple brush of the lips has turned into something much, much more along the way, and she's gripping his sleeve with one hand and running her other hand through his hair,fisting it and he's pulled her close and is holding her tight as he rakes his fingers through those soft claret, russet, redredred curls like he always dreamed of doing

and he tries to bruise her mouth and make her his.

And that's when Percy barges in and sees them.

-x-

She's crying.

Because it hurts, and lately crying seems the only thing to do; although having such a big family means everyone knows when she's been crying. But that's okay; they think it's because of Scorpius.

Hardly.

She hates crying. It makes her feel so much like-

A stupid girl.

But then again, she is, isn't she? She's a stupid girl. stupid to fall in love with him. And then need him so much, when she can't have him. What's the purpose, her practical friends would say, a guy who causes you so much pain isn't worth it.

But

it's like gravity

the hold he has over her. She can try and try, but she always comes back to him. She can try to revolve around another planet

but in the end, she is his, only his.

And so she's sitting there crying when he comes in. She hears the sound of footsteps

and she knows, again, it's him

and then with a sympathetic, understanding (but what does he understand?)look on his face he puts his arms around her.

And she leans into his touch because that's also instinctive

and she's always belonged there.

And she isn't sure how it happens.

How did they get so close?

(his eyes are grey, stormy today)

She just knows that she's

buoyant, floating

as he kisses her.

And it's the barest touch of the lips at first and then his arm encircles her waist (oh) and pulls her close and she holds on tight and runs her hand through his hair as he tangles his fingers in hers, freeing it and his lips aren't gentle like she thought, they're rough and they hurt her and somehow that's even better (i could get drunk on this) and oh Merlin

this is what happens in her dreams

only she never imagined it being this beautiful and imperfect.

And then the door bangs open and fuck-there's Uncle Percy, goggling at the both of them.

-x-

who are they, anyway?

-x-

He doesn't know how he gets through it. The embarrassment, the mortification, the pain that follows-it's painfully clear in his mind.

Her uncle had gaped at them for a few moments, and then shaken his head in disbelief. He had then muttered-"I'm going to get your mother".

And then he had heard him announcing loudly in the parlour what misdemeanours he had discovered.

Pompous, tactless arsehole.

All hell broke loose, of course.

Everyone had stared wide-eyed as they walked slowly out of the kitchen.

The worst?

The worst hadn't been James's look of horror mixed with embarrassment.

Or even Victoire's slow sinking into the couch and burying her face in her hands.

It had been how stunned Harry looked.

He hadn't looked hurt, or disgusted.

Just simply stunned.

Then, dropping his eyes from Teddy's, he slowly turned around and walked up the stairs.

Walked away from Teddy. His godson.

Oh it hurt.

And then Lily had been dragged upstairs by her mother, who had only spared him a cold look, and-

he hadn't seen her since.

And that's what scared him the most.

He didn't think he would be able to bear it if-

if it had just been-

Say it, you coward.

A onetime thing.

And she was as disgusted and embarrassed by it as the rest of her family.

But he couldn't bear to not know either.

So here he is. On her porch, in the middle of heavily snowing January. Trying to work up the courage to ring the bell.

This is what he, Teddy Lupin, gorgeous boy, has been reduced to.

Oh Merlin-he can't do this.

How can he suddenly think that he can be brave, after a lifetime of running away and of avoiding the hard decisions and the harsh reality?

And then he turns to go,

and he liked to believe it was fate, later when he thought about it. Because what else could have caused her to come out at exactly that moment?

And she stands there and looks at him (and that look broke his heart and gave him courage at the same time), and so he says (no thinking, no planning, just-)

'I love you, Lily.'

And it isn't difficult like he thought it would be

it is the easiest thing in the world to say those words

and it feels like a burden had been lifted off his heart.

And she crosses the time and the distance and the everything between them, slowly, and her eyes are bright and she kisses him

like she's afraid of letting go.

And he knows.

She loves him back,and the happiness accompanying this knowledge-

it beats everything he's known.

-x-

It was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.

And since then, she hasn't said a word to her family (especially not Uncle Percy, with his artificial apologies).

Why had he had to announce it?

She had seen her cousins-and, as she had wrongly supposed, her friends-giving her cold looks as they assembled near Victoire, who of course was making a spectacle of herself, sinking down and wailing. Bloody soap-opera drama queen.

They banded around her like some sort of righteous army.

All against one.

And then mum grabbed her and dragged her up

And what followed was familiar.

But not.

Sure, she had shrieked. There was the usual tongue-lashing (I am twenty, for Merlin's sake).

But then she had suddenly sunk down on the sofa. And cried. Not like Vic, either-no great sobs and wails. Tears had simply rolled down her face, and-

well, she could have comforted her, but she walked out (the back door, because she couldn't bear to see him) instead.

Because she was sick of it all.

She was sick of

being treated like a baby

(because I might have loved it once but I don't anymore, I want to be listened to)

and nobody seeing through her

and realizing she was in love with him

(you don't know me at all)

and offering kind words of comfort

because dammit, they had done that for Vic, Dom, Roxanne, Molly and Lucy, and she wanted the fairytale too,

she wanted her family to love hertoo.

And she was sick of being treated like a particularly unreliable firecracker or an unwanted guest who turned up anyway, at all family gatherings

(so what if she spoke her mind, she should be allowed to)

And she wanted a house full of colour and warmth like the Burrow, and not the golden career in sports or saving-the-world and the London townhouse.

(I am not you)

And she wanted Teddy, too.

(and everything,everything hurt so much)

And why should she not get what she wants?

Just because she's a child, and she doesn't matter?

But suddenly (always suddenly, because she avoids thinking of it as much as she can)-

What if he doesn't want her?

And it was just

a onetime thing?

(no,please no)

So she walks out (she's thinking too much and that always leads to disaster), to seek a breath of fresh air,

and because the milk is souring and she has to face the world someday

and he is there.

And she believed, for that second that he was a mind-reader because

how did he know to be there?

and

how did he know he had to say?

'I love you, Lily'.

And then she could not speak, because her throat felt closed up and her eyes stung

But she hoped he got the message (i love you too. since-forever) when she kissed him. And held on, this time.

-x-

stand up, boy.

i shine so bright when you're around.

-x-

And so they didn't live happily ever after

because there were hurdles along the way

(but they made it through)

And it wasn't a fairytale

but that was because their story had no ending.

And their love was forever.

-x-LT-x-

A/N:

This is so awful, and I'm so glad this pile of crap is finally over and off my hands. This story has so much wrong with it it's not even funny-I need you to tell me where I haven't stayed in tense, and where the structure becomes confusing, and if I've used too many 'ands', and whether it's just too sentimental. Tomorrow I'm starting a new Parvati Patil story, maybe, because as much as I love them, I need a vacation from Lily Teddy(actually I'm hiding from them because I feel I haven't done them justice-I promise to return when I'm better).

And I love you guys for your excellent reviews which make me feel so much better about what a beginner I am.:)