se souvenir de la lune
1
exigence d'un garçon
Summary: Teddy Lupin entered the Room of Requirement, searching for knowledge he didn't have. His father's past was literally handed to him, in the form of a briefcase, filled with vials of memory, and a Pensieve. He toppled into the past, only to find that maybe the Marauders had experienced loss before the First Wizarding War. But what memories could cause such pain to have had to be removed from his father's mind?
A/N: Ooh, are those readers that I see? This is one of those time-travelling/slash/pensieve tales. I don't know if there are any others, I'm just assuming. =] The concept of the Pensieve really got my brain twisting when I was reading the series, and so, out popped this idea. I know right? Subjecting you all to mindless romantic clichés. Well tough shite, sweethearts. You're well within your own rights to click that back button whatsit on your browser. I'm sure as hell not stopping you. This is...what? My third attempt at actually keeping a story up. Ha, yeah, well...I'm not the most consistent of people. Impatience is my greatest flaw, that or procrastination. But enough with my drivel, you're here to read this here story. Odds are, you're not even reading this, probably already picking apart my writing. So, I won't keep you any longer, you've just got that damned disclaimer to go. Enjoy my dears.
Disclaimer – Until I drug J.K Rowling and get her to hand over the rights to Harry and his lovely little world, I own zilch. So, hands off my darling OC, which you shall see in the subsequent instalment *fingers crossed* if this even crosses anyone's radar, and enjoy, or, attempt to enjoy this figment of my imagination.
Teddy Lupin was a good boy.
Like hell.
Gangly figure smothered beneath billows of itchy well-worn robes, the weathered young man shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Cropped locks, flicking errantly in their stiffly monitored rebellion, caught him in-between his eyes. Despite the rigid frost upsurging throughout his insides, numbing his extremities, fuelling his growing insomnia, Lupin was distinctly aware of the burden pinned above his heart, the recently-acquired Prefects badge. It encouraged his previously dormant senses of responsibility and logic, senses others reminisced jovially of, pertaining to his deceased father, a father he'd never knew, but had known of.
His godfather had told him about this room, about how it'd contributed to his many successes and failures throughout his notorious years in Hogwarts' corridors. He shifted his weight once more, this time, equally spreading it across his two feet. A jitter of anticipation encompassed his stomach, turning it, fiddling with it restlessly. He felt his scalp grow warm, warmth he'd grown accustomed to over his lifetime, and just as abruptly, his hair lengthened, chestnut tints sweeping over his forehead, brushing the nape of his neck, enveloping his ears, and aggravating his eyes.
His father's map burrowed deep in his pocket, lengthening the interior, burning it against his outer thigh. The Marauders had dominated the high-ceilinged halls of Hogwarts for several years, and his father had been one of them, his father had been amongst those that had made this map. God bless Harry Potter. Sure, the rest of the world saw him as their saviour from the Dark Lord, but Teddy, the young Lupin viewed him as a saviour from the life he had, a pleasant reminder of the life he could've had. Tales of Remus Lupin: werewolf, Order member, hero, and father, had graced his ears over fifteen orphaned years. His grandmother, his guardian, failed to perceive him as the hero Teddy knew him to be. If anything, the elderly woman pinned her daughter's premature death upon his shoulders.
But like Harry, Teddy was determined to not part with these halls without evidence, without something from his father that he could call his own. There was an abundance of bric-a-brac from the adolescent years of Nymphadora Tonks; they occupied much of the redundant space of his personal chest, filling the undisturbed depths of rolled socks and taking refuge amongst the folded Muggle clothe he packed but failed to wear. However, it was as though Remus Lupin hadn't existed. The only evidence of his being was threaded through letters to his mother and borrowed artefacts from his godfather: photographs and the like. Something. Anything. Be it a discarded test paper, or an old textbook. An index card from a library book, or a leaf of admission paper to the infirmary. Anything. Anything at all.
He'd never used the Room before. He'd never had the need to. However, Teddy knew how it worked. Harry had given him specific actions, given that, of course, he was the discreet mastermind behind this plan of self-gratification. If only he could make his feet move. Inches. Simple inches. That would be all he needed to get going. But, what if...? What if his father hadn't left anything behind? What if the Room didn't work? What if he did leave something behind; something that would discredit him and prove him to be something that would both shock and mortify the young Lupin? Well, tough. You know your father. He was a hero. Died a hero. There's nothing in this world that can discredit him in your eyes. His voice echoed in the empty corridors of his mind. Yet, despite his own reassurances, a haunting What if... continued to haunt his anxiety.
Move Teddy. Now, you fool.
His breath shook as it dropped from his lips, dark eyes burrowing deeper into the empty wall space before him. His eyelids fluttered shut. Assuring. You'll be right, Ted. Abruptly, he twisted, striding several paces forward, passing the lip of the adjacent corridor before he swivelled, turning and walking back. Meanwhile, his mind was roaring. Demanding. Pleading. I need a place to learn about my father. I need a place to see his experience at Hogwarts. I need a place to get to know Remus Lupin. After his third walk, Teddy opened his eyes, keeping them trained carefully on the toes of his shoes. He strode back to his starting place, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. He swallowed hard. Dragging his head up, he froze. Paralysed. His eyes were fixed ahead; however, his mind refused to register what it was that he saw.
A door. Analogous to the rest of those which concealed the secrets of the hallway's rooms. Thick and heavy, with russet panelling, a brass doorknob and, strangely enough, a copper engraving in the wooden surface; it was chilly under Teddy's hesitant touch. Lupin. He let the crevasses contort the surface of his fingertips, the meaning manifesting under his neglected nails. Right hand dropping, brushing the surface, he clenched the doorknob, lifting it slightly as he twisted it. He felt the vibration of the lock succumbing, the entryway opening, and he drew his arm backward, revealing the space within.
It was no larger than a bathroom cubicle, the walls dripping with decaying silks of crimson and gold. The Gryffindor lion was emblazoned in sketches, the numerous leafs of paper pinned up against the left wall, strewn within the peculiar collage, a cluster of curios that, as Teddy had requested, portrayed the adolescent boy that was his father. He was hardly aware of the door closing behind him, as he sunk to his knees, hands lifting subconsciously, caressing the tattered surfaces of the artefacts before him. Crumpled notes vaguely held his interest, as did the other oddities upon the wall; however, it was the moving figures, dampened in black-and-white, which intrigued him beyond measure. Four boys starred in the photos, the Marauders, his father and three of his friends. Yet, here and there, scattered amongst these, were captured moments where Remus Lupin seemed to release his stiff inhibitions, laugh and publicly display his inner thoughts, and more often than not, an unfamiliar face accompanied him. He paused, tracing the gentle angle of her jaw, narrowing her eyes at the subtle beauty. There was nothing in the tales that he'd been told which mentioned her. Who was she? She was gorgeous. Not the flattering visage of Victorie, which demanded attention; but rather, the intricacy which frequently hid behind a blatant intelligence.
She enthralled Teddy. Not simply the young woman, whose adolescence was spread throughout numerous photographs, present with an eccentric flourish; but the affect she had over the young Remus, extracting him from a shell of retentiveness, causing him to watch her with a look, a myth of a look that he'd only heard about in the most far-fetched of romantic accounts. His mother...? No. No, Nymphadora had been born when Remus was already in his early years of schooling. There was no possible way. So then who could this girl possibly be? Harry had never mentioned her. From the Order of the Phoenix photographs he'd viewed over the years, this girl had never made an appearance. So then, who was she?
Ultimately, he dragged himself away from the wall, the young woman's image smouldering on the forefront of his mind. He found that there was very little else in the room, besides a collection of textbook stacks, littered with abused study notes. That, and an object he stumbled over, scrambling against the walls for balance, in the very heart of the space. He rolled onto his backside, long hair wrapped across his face, attempting to peer through his locks, to the unidentified object before him. Heat flooded his head, right to the very tips of his hair, and as he exhaled, blowing the unruliness from his face, the locks receded, cropped closely to his skull in tea-coloured hues.
He manoeuvred himself, falling forward onto his hands and knees, crawling forward that extra foot before he settled, his rear resting gently on his heels. Tenderly, fingers trembling slightly in anxiety, he reached for it, the leather gnarled and wrinkled under his touch, as he traced the contours of the briefcase. He'd seen this case's twin; he owned it to be precise, and it was stowed safely under his bed up in Gryffindor tower. It contained letters, all letters from the two Wizarding Wars that his father had written to numerous parties, in particular, his mother. This one, however, was distinctly different. Moony, Teddy read, tracing the emblazoned letters on the seal. This case had no locking mechanism, simply two knobs to click out of place in order to open it. He managed, with difficulty, to pry the briefcase open. A clinking of vials escorted the groaning protests of the briefcase's joints across the cramped room, and furrowing his brow, he studied the open container.
The charcoal-coloured interior was fringed with padding, protection for the items of value within. The glass vials were fastened to the top and bottom of the briefcase with elastic, bottled with moulding corks, labels fastened beneath each, the ink having soaked through into illegibility. There were seven in total, five along the top, two on the bottom, one on either side of a solid stone-like object. Teddy dismissed the hoary substances, the silvery crosses between liquid and gas which rattled within the vial depths, and leaned forward. He gave a sharp burst of breath, tearing sheets of dust from the black surface. He attempted to rub his fingers over the engraving, as though reading Braille, yet failed. He craned his neck upward, squinting into the dim, swinging light of the bulb above. Hopeless. His mind had barely brushed upon the instruction, Lumos, once he'd withdrawn his wand, before the tip erupted with radiance. He directed it, twisting his wrist to suit the angles.
Moony, Obliviate seems too harsh, too ultimate. The pain may be excruciating now, however, one day it may help to remember. We all lost someone that day.
Teddy swallowed the rising lump in his throat, tracing the message through one last time. Moony. His father. His briefcase. This briefcase was a gift. But why...? How would all of this help him forget something then, help him remember something in the future? His fingertips fell from the cliff of the object's edge, detecting a covert edge beneath the object, and as he brought it upward, he realised, the lid. It hit the carpet with a resonating thud, Teddy pausing, hesitating, before he washed the wand-light over the contents inside. A Pensieve. A diminutive stone basin, its reflective black surfaces untouched with the decaying breath of time, sat within the case, unused. He exhaled. Logical. The vials. The substances. The labels. When he'd requested knowledge, his father's past had been literally handed to him.
Subconsciously, his head lifted, hazel gaze drifting toward the door beside him. He bit down on his lower lip, pensive, his right hand stroking the interior of the unused basin. Would he have enough time to peruse seven years of memories? How much time would pass when he was in the Pensieve? Would anyone notice his absence? He stomached these worries. After all, there was really only a single question of any weight. What would he find within his father's school memories that had caused him such excruciating pain? With fumbling fingers, Teddy removed the first vial, above a label which he easily deciphered as First. The cork refused to leave the mouth of the vial, yet for minutes he tugged and grumbled, determined to remove the obstacle by hand. Finally, it surrendered, emitting a waft of air, icy as it engulfed the texture of his jaw as it dropped from his fingers.
He exhaled.
Time seemed frozen, as if affected by the reflection of a Basilisk, his hand wavering precariously over the stone basin.
Was this really what he wanted to do?
He inhaled, washing away the anxiety ravaging his gut.
With an abrupt jerk, rivulets of the silvery substance fell, flooding the basin, the carved runes on the interior surface submerged beneath the memories. It rippled, swirling temptingly, ambiguous messages flashing across his gaze as ardent flickers, captured moments from his father's eleventh year of life, his first within the walls of Hogwarts, kissed him. There was no turning back. Not without intolerable mental pain. Teddy held his breath, swallowing the lump in his throat. With a disbelieving chuckle, he did as he recalled from the many tales his godfather had recounted to him over the years. He leant over the Pensieve, closer and closer, until his nose barely touched the surface. He exhaled. The surface rippled. Swallowing his unease, Teddy threw himself forward, squinting in anticipation of colliding with the bottom of the basin. Yet, the feeling did not come. It was as though the rest of his body followed his bust, pitched into the hoary depths. He felt momentary iciness, compression and fear, before a blast of pollution, a cloud of thick, sweltering steam.
Teddy forced his eyes open.
Recognition overcame him at once; after all, the interiors of the station were still embedded in the walls of mind. He'd only been standing there, awaiting his school-year with a trolley of his worldly possessions, a few weeks prior. Yet, it was different. The colours perhaps richer, his senses overwhelmed with the clarity of the world around him. The dialogue flitting across his ears were from a generation fading, the colloquial embellishments unknown to the generations growing in the new millennium from whence he came. He jumped back from a woman pushing her son's trolley, quite unaware of his existence. A smirk contorted his handsome features. Unknown. A third-party. Teddy Lupin swivelled on his heel, welcoming the past he now stood in. He threw out his arms, as though delving into the excitement of a rushing wind. He was engulfed once more in a scorching cloud of steam, which belched from the vibrant red train before him. The Hogwarts Express sat impatient, as the copiously arriving students hurried towards it. Teddy strode forward, viewing Platform Nine and Three-Quarters as he'd never done so before.
A/N: Jeeze. You know scrolling with the down button through the Word Document of this was IRRITATING? I hope you're eyes aren't falling out of their sockets after reading that. Apologies if they are, but I can't be held liable. =] So, take a minute of your precious time and hit that review button there, make my insides swell with conceit and flatter my itsy-bitsy ego. With a requirement of two reviews, you'll not only make it inflate to the size of a small planet, but in fact, you will bestow another instalment of this frightfully odd journey on the fan-fiction community. Ooh, the horrors. Ha, yeah, well, enjoy what's left of your day my darling peoples.