Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
A/N: So you know how I'm always like: I'm done with Teddy/Lily forever and ever I can't even think about writing them again? And then all of a sudden I'm writing Teddy/Lily like I'm possessed? Yeah, that happened again.
This will have four parts. I was going to make it a one-shot, but it hit 20 pages after Part III, so I decided to divide it. Also, warning: it's angsty.


spring

Teddy feels old. He's standing at the front of Shell Cottage's expanded dining room with a flute of gold champagne in one hand, waiting for everyone to fall silent so he can begin the toast. He thinks that new lines have appeared across his face, creased into his forehead and between his eyebrows during the few seconds it takes for the room to be quiet.

When he finally speaks he doesn't sound nervous, even though his heart is hurtling toward a heart attack. He concentrates on keeping his voice steady and maintaining the natural brown colour of his hair and eyes. "I've known that I would be delivering this toast to you all for ages, probably before Graham and Victoire did." He readjusts his grip on the glass. "From the moment I first saw them together, I knew that they had something that not many people are granted," and given the number of couples in the room he realises that what he's about to say doesn't make much sense, but he can't change his speech now, "they had something that will last. And I'm so glad that I get to be the first to tell them congratulations. To Graham and to Victoire and to things that last." He sips a mouthful of fizz and the others in the room echo him and lift their glasses.

Dominique stands as he collapses back into his chair. She smoothes one hand down her silver dress and swirls the champagne in her glass, looking confident as she speaks about her wonderful sister and her amazing new brother-in-law. Teddy doesn't listen. He's heard it all before—wedding toast after wedding toast for the last six years—they never change. He's stolen his from Wesley and Veronica's wedding two years ago, and no one's even noticed. He stares into the bubbles bursting in his glass, wondering how he ended up here, with all these people he calls family, when he's still such a goddamn mess.

The champagne is so fascinating that he misses Dominique's cue and follows a syllable behind the rest, mumbling "To Graham and Vic" into his glass as he drinks. Dom returns to her seat beside Teddy and smiles at him as the rest of the room takes up the rhythm of conversation again.

"Glad that's over," she confesses.

"You have no idea." He glances around at the other circular tables crowded into the room and then back at Dom. "Any idea how long this shindig is going to last?"

She rolls her eyes and smacks him lightly on the arm. "Merlin, Ted, it's your best mate's wedding. You're supposed to want to be here. Unless you've got a hot date tonight that none of us knows about?"

He laughs. "When have I ever dated someone you didn't know about?"

"Good point." She taps a manicured fingernail on the lace tablecloth and prompts, "So, why don't you want to be here, then?"

He doesn't want to tell her that he's longing for his flat, for the eight beers chilling in his fridge, the novel that he's only read one sentence of, and the roof with a blanket and a brilliant view of London. "It's not that I don't want to be here," he lies. "I've got an interview early tomorrow, and I want to get ready for it."

"An interview?" She leans in closer, her blue eyes wide with interest. "Good for you! I didn't know you were applying to other jobs."

"Yeah, the Ministry bit got a little old after...a month or two." Teddy grins at her. "Seeing as how I've stuck with it for years, I figured it was time to move on."

"What's the interview for?"

He shakes his head. "Sorry, Dom, that's a secret."

"Oh, come on," she begs. "Tell me. I swear I won't blurt it out, or anything."

"Nope. I don't want to jinx it."

She rolls her eyes. "Doesn't Graham know?"

Teddy glances over at his friend, whose hand covers Victoire's on the tablecloth. He's leaning close to her, whispering something into her ear, and she flushes, her blue eyes glinting as she elbows him and hisses, "Not here" through red lips.

Dominique's eyes are sympathetic when he turns back to her. "No, Graham doesn't know." He ignores the way she's looking at him. He knows what she's thinking, but it's an absurd thought, one he's stopped bothering to refute. "I told you, I don't want to jinx it."

"Fine," she pouts. "I'll find out when you get it, I suppose."

"You will." He glances at his watch. "So when are we supposed to move everyone into the living room for dancing?"

She looks around to see that the waiters and waitresses have taken most of the dishes from the tables around the room. "Now."

They stand and usher everyone from the dining room into the similarly expanded living room, where the band—some of Albus and James's mates from Hogwarts—have set up in the corner. The wood floor shines, reflecting the fairy lights strung across the rafters and the glimmer from the crystal sconces on the walls.

Teddy lingers by the bar, ordering a pint and sipping the bitter slowly as Graham and Victoire take their first dance and others eventually join them on the floor. He stands still, watching the dancers, although "dance" may be too kind a word for some of them. Harry and Ginny are out there and Harry looks sort of like his feet are magnetically stuck to the floor and he can only just shuffle them along.

A few feet away from Teddy their daughter, Lily Luna, leans against the wall. He hasn't seen her in years, it seems—she's never home during the holidays, choosing to spend them travelling with her friends or in Romania with Charlie, and she's speaking to Charlie tonight. Her uncle looks out of place among his family, and the way Lily's standing beside him makes Teddy think that she's protecting him from the worst sort of loneliness. She's saying something, so soft that Teddy can't make it out, but her uncle is laughing.

Teddy looks at her. Her deep green dress is too small, tight around the chest and the thighs and she's wearing flip-flops, pink ones that clash with the dress and her messy red ponytail. She's wearing a silver snake ring that looks plastic and the freckles sweep across her cheeks and down her nose un-obscured by any makeup. She looks like Charlie, Teddy realises—out of place and unwilling to admit it.

Dominique appears at his side. "Hey, old man, come dance with me?" she asks, taking his hand and pulling his attention away from his god-sister.

"Promise you won't ask about my interview?"

She grins up at him. "I'd forgotten about that. Now that you mention it, though..." He laughs and follows her onto the dance floor. Anything is better than standing lonely among his family.

Dominique falls into Roger Jordan's arms soon, though, and Teddy finds himself dancing with Dom's friends from school. His hand falls at silk-covered waist after silk-covered waist and he loses track of how many songs he's danced to by the time he slips away from Waverley Nott and out the front door.

The late spring air is cool around him; a breeze whisks from the shore and he wanders toward it, his hands in the pockets of his tuxedo trousers and his eyes adjusting slowly to the darkness.

"Hey."

Teddy jumps and turns to his right. Lily sits on a rock, facing away from the ocean, her eyes bright in the light spilling from the windows of the Cottage.

"Hi."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." She scoots over on the rock. "You can sit if you want."

He hesitates. "What're you doing out here?"

She lifts a bottle in her right hand and tilts it so the amber Firewhiskey catches the light. "It's not quite as pathetic as it looks. Al and Score dragged me out here, but they've disappeared somewhere."

"Oh." He rubs the back of his neck.

"Want some?" She holds the bottle out to him and he can't refuse. He takes it and drops beside her as he tosses back a burning mouthful.

"What're you doing out here?" she asks after he's taken several more swigs and has returned the much emptier bottle to her rather sheepishly.

"Didn't feel like dancing anymore."

She taps the bottle against the rock they're sitting on and looks up at the house. The music sounds faint out here, lost beneath the rush of the waves behind them.

He can't bear the silence between them. He asks, "Is it hard for you, being here?"

"Why do you ask that?" She drinks from the bottle again and hands it back to him. It is light in his hand. They're getting close to something strange, he can feel it.

"I haven't seen you around your family in a long time," he tells her. "A really long time. You've changed a lot, even I can tell, and anyone will say that I'm not the most observant bloke out there. It must feel odd to be home and be around everyone, when you're so different."

"It's weird," she agrees. Her feet are bare now, and they're white in the half-darkness. She turns to look at him and he wonders whether her eyes would burn against his if it were lighter out. "How've I changed?"

"You're older." He wonders if she'll take that as a compliment. He wouldn't have.

She laughs. "God, Teddy, someone should give you a medal."

"But you're sadder," he continues, and her laugh snaps. "Why is that?"

"I'm not sad," she says. "It's just like you said, it's really weird being here. I've realised," and he knows she wouldn't be saying any of this if the empty bottle of Firewhiskey weren't at their feet, "that I've managed to push myself away from my family without even knowing that I was doing it."

He can't really think of anything to say, so he reaches for her hand where it taps on the rock and holds it in his. She tenses. "I guess that's part of growing up, though."

He silently agrees but his mind is too focused on the way her fingers feel small and fragile in his hand. There are calluses along her palm—burns from dragon fire, he assumes—and her skin is dry and cold. He wonders what she's feeling from him.

She doesn't pull away. "How about you? Is it hard for you?"

"What do you mean?" He knows, but he hopes she feels stupid elaborating because Merlin, why does everyone still think that he loves Vic?

"Seeing your best mate marry your ex. I mean, it must hurt, at least a little." She doesn't sound like she feels stupid.

"Not really. They've been dating for nine years, Lily. Vic and I only dated for one." If what they'd done even counted as dating. "I'm happy for them."

"That's good of you." People don't usually believe him, but she sounds like she does.

"Also," he's not sure what he's thinking or if he's thinking at all, "if I were with Vic, I wouldn't be able to do this," and he kisses her.

Her lips are soft and she's frozen. He pulls back after an instant—most people wouldn't even call it a kiss.

"What was that for?" she asks, and she sounds kind of lost.

He thinks, You looked lonely, but he says, "You're very pretty."

She laughs. "I think you're drunk."

Her fingers are still cold beneath his hand. He would like her skin to feel warm against his.

"Aren't you?" he asks and he knows she is because this time he really kisses her and she doesn't pull away. Her tongue traces invisible images against his and somehow his hand loses hers and finds her waist, pulling her toward him while their mouths get to know each other better than they've ever known one another at all.

They're finished speaking. She presses against him and his hands run urgently down her back, feeling the jut of her shoulder-blades over the satiny edge of her dress. His fingers stop at the zipper and she pulls away, glancing at the ocean and then at the Cottage.

She still doesn't say anything, though. He looks up at her for a moment and then he stands and takes her hand, his wand gripped tight in his other. "Hold on," he says, and it's stupid because they're both drunk but he's feeling like this is necessary or something.

His bedroom has boxer shorts piled in the corner and his blankets are on the floor and his sheets are in the wardrobe and his books are on the bed and his pillows are by the door and he knows that if he brings her there he'll lose her to the distraction borne of drunkenness, the very same drunkenness that is pulling them toward each other like they're each other's oxygen. She'll mock his mess and dress herself in his sheets and jump on his unmade bed.

But there's a tartan blanket on the roof of his building and stars are distant and impartial, so he takes her there. They land on the roof tiles and she stumbles but his hand is at her waist again and neither of them falls until they reach the blanket and then they're on the ground because they want to be.

Alcohol clouds it all—the fumbling of fingertips and the pattern of breaths and the rhythm of movements. It feels hazy and maybe that is all right.

Their legs are tangled; when they roll away from each other to lie on their backs Lily's left foot still presses against Teddy's left leg and he's glad that she hasn't separated herself from him entirely. He thinks that now might be the time to say something but his brain still feels jumbled and it may have more to do with her than the alcohol.

"Take girls here often?" she asks and he snorts.

"Hardly."

"What's with the blanket, then?"

He shrugs, his shoulders pressing back into the roof. "I come up here a lot. It's a good place to think."

She sits up and he can count the bumps of her spine. "We should really get back."

"Lily?" He can see the haze of city lights over the edge of the roof and the dim glimmer of starlight above them and his voice sounds very small and very young in all of it but he still feels very old. "Are you okay?"

She smiles at him over her shoulder. "Of course I am." She reaches for her dress and he sits up slowly, finding the pieces of his tuxedo spread around them.

"Are you going to Romania this summer?" he asks as he buttons his shirt.

"Yeah. The day after school lets out, in about a month." She sighs. "It's my last summer with Charlie." Teddy doesn't respond and she glances at him. "Why?"

"I just thought, if you were going to be in the UK, that we could see each other sometimes."

She shakes her head. "This is better as it is."

"What is it?"

She reaches over and tugs his wand from his pocket, handing it to him as she says, "Over."

He takes them back to Shell Cottage and the lights are still on and the music is still playing. The moon swims on the ocean and the empty Firewhiskey bottle leans against the empty rock.

He looks down at her. "You're not angry?" he asks, just to be sure.

"Stop worrying. I'm fine." And she is, he thinks, as she snatches her flip-flops from the ground by the rock and leaves him standing there. She is gone inside Shell Cottage and he doesn't think he'll ever have her the way he just did again.

A/N: I appreciate reviews!