Teddy sat with Victoire in the sunlight, their bodies pressed up against the tree closest to the Black Lake, watching as the sun climbed higher and higher in the fresh spring afternoon. Her face was haloed in buttery warmth, head bent as she scribbled out answers last minute to the homework she had neglected to do earlier because of the terrible penchant Teddy had for snogging her at inopportune moments.
The breeze ruffled at the grass and at their hair—Teddy's changing color on more than one occasion. He stretched his legs and concentrated, screwing his face up so that his hair flickered from red to purple and all of the colors in between, finally landing on a dusty brown that reminded him of his dad.
Victoire looked up from her parchment and smiled at him. "It's a nice color on you."
He gave her a half-smile, his hand creeping up to run through it uncertainly. "It's like my dad's, I guess," he said in a sort-of shy tone, remembering the time he had met Harry with his hair this color, remembering the shocked, sad look on his face, remembering how it had been the first time his godfather had told him that he looked like his dad.
It was something, Teddy knew, that Harry had heard a lot. He looked like his dead father, and he had his dead mother's eyes—together, on his face, they were alive. But Teddy's hair was always changing color with his mood, and he was all shoulders and legs and nonexistent body fat to resemble his parents in any way that was noticeable.
"You know," Victoire said, closing her book and angling her body towards him. "I don't really that much look like Papa."
"Thank Merlin," Teddy muttered, which earned a smack on the arm.
"What I mean," she reiterated, swiping her hair behind her ear, "is that it's not a bad thing. So you don't look like them. What matters is that you remember them, and that you live your life to the fullest knowing that they're watching over you always."
She looked at him, their hands somehow tangling together, and Teddy nodded, pressing his forehead against hers. She kissed him sweetly, a lingering action that had Teddy's stomach in knots, his hair changing from Remus brown to an electric purple that somehow conveyed exactly how he was feeling. Odd that a color could do that, but by now he was used to it.
"Hopefully not always," Teddy said, pulling back. His face was slightly scandalized. "I mean, Vic, think about it. D'you really want to imagine my parents being there when we're…" he trailed off, shooting her a meaningful look that caused Victoire to flush and readjust her skirt.
There was a very long pause, before Teddy laughed and she smacked his arm again which caused him to laugh even more. Eventually, after a long, muttered rant in French, she sighed and tossed her books to the side, pressing herself up against his chest as he played with the edges of her hair. Her hair felt like silk, and his heart felt like a balloon.
He wondered if his dad felt this way about his mum.
The wind rustled again, and his hair changed back to the color of his dad's, and he breathed in the stale lake air and the smell of Victoire's new perfume that didn't make him sneeze, and he figured that, yeah, he probably did.
A/N: Reviews are much appreciated! XX