This is dedicated to mew-tsubaki, who has given me a great deal of inspiration.
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"For a root, for a leaf, for a branch, for a tree;
For something, somebody, that reminded them of me..."
-Marina and the Diamonds, Rootless
Throughout his life, Teddy Lupin had always been under the impression that he didn't fit it. It didn't matter how much his grandmother or Harry and Ginny loved him – the fact remained that he didn't belong in either one of his houses. Looking back on his life, he couldn't recall a time when he hadn't felt like the odd one out. He was a metamorphmagus, and arguably it wasn't easy going to be easy to fit in, even inside of a magical community, whilst possessing the ability to alter his appearance at will. Once, Teddy had wondered what his mother would have said if he had been able to ask her about how this ability had impacted on her life. It was the first time he had been consciously aware that as an orphan, he was missing out on an unknowable aspect of family life.
After having raised a metamorphmagus daughter, his grandmother was naturally more accustomed to his rapid changes in appearance than anyone else in his life. This made her an especially good companion, because the slight double take got on his nerves. It always had done, as it was a constant reminder that Teddy wasn't like his family or friends. However, sometimes when Teddy caught her staring at him, there was a far away look in her eyes that told him she was thinking of times past. He didn't like to ask about his mother or his grandfather, because he felt that his grandmother was sad enough without being reminded of what she had lost. And Andromeda Black had lost a lot in her time, so Teddy couldn't blame her for not being forthcoming about his parents – after all, it made him extremely uncomfortable when Mrs Weasley (no matter what she said, it felt wrong calling Molly any variant of the word 'grandmother' – Andromeda was the only biological family that he had, and Teddy loved her all the more for it) tried to comfort him about a loss that Teddy couldn't recall having sustained.
Harry and Ginny had known both of his parents rather well, he knew. Throughout Teddy's life, Harry had been careful to impart everything he knew about Remus John Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks to him, and when Teddy had been too young to know when a conversation, Harry had never once grown impatient when asked to repeat a story. Teddy was immensely grateful for this, although he didn't think that he would express the sentiment any time in the near future – Harry was somewhere between a father and a brother to him. After Harry and Ginny's children had been born, Teddy had become increasingly conscious that he wasn't theirs, as such. It didn't matter if he made himself similar to James, Albus or Lily in looks – Teddy didn't feel as though he was one of them. They were siblings in more than just blood; they fitted together like a family should. He watched Ginny embracing her children and knew instinctively that they were the most precious things in her world, which was as it ought to be. He loved them too, but Teddy had often wondered what it would be like to have his own mother tuck him into bed as a child, or have his own father swing him through the air.
Ginny and Harry were both renowned for their flying skills, unlike his own parents, Ginny having spent years as a professional quidditch player. His friends and classmates would have loved the opportunity, but Teddy wished that his parents had been around to tech him. It was all good and well that they had wanted to give him a better future by fighting in the war – Harry had shared this detail every time he had sensed Teddy to be feeling especially upset about their deaths – and he appreciated the fact that to sacrifice themselves they must have been every bit as brave as Harry made out, but Teddy couldn't help feel that he had been cheated.
Teddy didn't feel like their son either.
It didn't feel as though he had parents at all.
He couldn't put a face to his parents' names, no matter how many times he poured over assorted photographs of them that people had thought to give him. He didn't know what it felt like to lose his temper because someone had insulted his mother (the closest he had come was hexing a Slytherin who had made a joke about werewolves). He didn't know what it felt like to want to grow up and be like his father, either. When people told him that he must be proud, Teddy smiled and nodded as he knew he should, but really he wanted to shout that he couldn't remember anything about them, or his beginning in life.
Teddy didn't know what it was that he was supposed to feel about his parents. He knew very little, beyond the fact that they had been good people. He loved the idea of his parents, certainly, but were the jumbled scraps of information that he had squirreled away enough of a reason to love the people they had truly been on earth?
If anything, Teddy thought the idea was an insult to their memory. No matter how hard people tried to get him to understand that if he had known them, Teddy would have thought he had the best parents in the world – and maybe he had, for a few short months, but he didn't know – it seemed like a disservice to try and cram everything they had been into a few gushing sentences. They had lived, breathed, and held opinions, thoughts and feelings as complex as those of any other human being, so it only made sense that they couldn't be defined by a string of well-meaning phrases.
Teddy wondered, now and then, what his parents would make of his attitude.
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