Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
For Lissie. :)
He's twenty-five and he's a little drunk, a little wild and a little out-of-control when he meets her for the first time.
He takes another sip of his vodka and tonic, and the alcohol burns his throat on the way down. He doesn't mind. It's the least he deserves after what happened earlier this evening.
The woman sits down beside him and asks for the strongest thing the bartender has. Judging by the look on her face, the way her brows are knitted together, the way her jaw is set, she needs it.
The bartender hands her a glass full of amber liquid, and she takes a careful sip of it, grimacing slightly.
He gives her a once over. She's brunette and though she's obviously older than he is; time has done her well. She's pretty, he thinks absently, in a dark, leave-me-the-hell-alone kinda way. He smiles. He always did have a soft spot for those types.
"Come here often?" he asks, for lack of anything better to do and he's proud that his words come out as clear as they do.
She turns around to face him and her eyes are steely and her lips curl in disdain. "Do I look like I want to talk to you?" She turns back to her drink, obvious more interested in it than him.
Well, damn, that stings. But it makes him all the more determined to talk to her. "Well, this is my first time here if that counts."
He pauses, giving her a chance to jump in before he continues. "My fiancée and I had this huge fight and we both said some pretty heated words. I'm pretty sure she's not going to let me back into the house."
He takes another sip of his drink and this time, it doesn't burn his throat quite so bad. He takes another.
She doesn't say anything for a moment and he figures, she's not going to. He's kind of frustrated. Because he can make anyone lust after him with just a change of his features and this woman isn't interested in him at all. He's not used to that. Frowning, he stirs a finger in his drink, strangely satisfied with the sound of his ice cubes clinking together.
"I don't know why I'm telling you this," she says and he thinks, yes, you do, I am irresistible and you know it. And yeah, he's been told that his arrogance and ego will be his downfall but he can't find it in himself to care. That maybe the reason she's talking to him is because she's lonely doesn't cross his mind at all. "This isn't my first time here." She gives a bitter laugh. "Nor will it be my last."
His lips curl into a smirk as he motions for the bartender for another round. "Teddy."
She raises an eyebrow, her expression one of casual boredom. "Did I ask for your name?"
He laughs, and says, "No, but I thought it would be the polite thing to do."
She looks at him for a moment before turning back to her drink, still more interested in that. He's not sure if he should feel insulted or not
It's silent for a moment before she asks, "So you had a fight with your fiancée?"
Reminded of Victoire, he finishes his drink in one gulp. "Yeah. Things got pretty heated." And it was my fault. He doesn't add that but it's implied. "What brings you here?"
She pauses, and looks like he hit a nerve with that question. "If I had a good side, not a way to get on it." She pauses. "But yeah, same as you."
Something in common, he notes. Ruefully, he nods his head. "Your fault or his?"
She stiffens, and if he thought he had hit a nerve with his earlier question, it was nothing compared to this. Finally she replies, "My partner is a woman. And yes, it was my fault."
Ah. He feels oddly relieved. So, that was the reason she wasn't interested. It wasn't him. "It was my fault too."
Suddenly, she stands up from her stool, tossing a few dollars by her half empty drink. "Instead of sitting here and getting wasted, I'm going home to try and fix things between us. I suggest you do the same."
With that, she walks out the dimly lit bar and he's left staring at his glass.
"Well, I'm not nearly as good as you," he says softly, and he's not sure if he's talking to the woman or his drink.
He takes a sip of his drink and its true, what he said. He's not a good person, not a good person at all.
He doesn't leave there all night.
It's a year later when they meet again.
A gold ring is on his finger, and Victoire has been Mrs. Teddy Lupin for nine months and everything is fine; until it isn't.
"Teddy?" she begins one day and somehow he just knows that whatever she's going to tell him is bad. "I have something to tell you."
They're curled up on their bed, sheets and blankets sprawled everywhere. He rolls over on his shoulder to face her, and is met with anxious blue eyes.
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
She stares at him and the moments tick back and.
"I'm pregnant."
And his world stops.
Because he's not ready to be father, he's not, and no, no, no, it must be a mistake.
"You sure?" he asks. His voice comes out controlled and calm and he's amazed at his will power, he is.
She nods as she tries to blink back to tears. He thinks that if he's this scared, Victoire must be worse so he holds her, and says we can do this, this is good, I'm so happy, and the lies are like poison.
Not much later he says he needs to go do his morning run and she says, okay, and that's that.
His feet pound across the earth, and he's running faster than e's ever done before, pushing himself as fast as he can, and the steady beat of his heart is the only thing that keeps sane.
He doesn't know how long he runs, but eventually he has to stop, so he finds a patch of grass and throws himself down, breathing heavily as his lungs struggle for air.
He's at a park though he doesn't recognize it and he realizes that he must have run further then he thought.
"So what were you running from?" a familiar voice asks and he finds himself sitting beside the woman he met at the bar so long back. He hadn't noticed her before and he grimaces at himself because it's his job to notice people, to be on high alert no matter when he is.
"What?" he asks as he wipes away sweat from his forehead. His chest heaves with each breath.
"Well, you look like you were trying to out run something," she says with raised eyebrow.
He stares at her. Did he?
Clearing his throat, he plucks at a piece of grass. "Yeah, well I guess I was."
It's a silence that he can't describe as either awkward or comfortable before he asks, "So did you make up with your partner?"
She gives him a look that he can't quite place, as if wondering how he remembered, before nodding slowly. "Yeah, we did. What about you?"
He looks down at his wedding ring then slowly raises his hand so she can see too. "Yeah, same here." He pauses. "Victoire's pregnant." The words fall from his lips without warning.
She doesn't say anything for a long moment then she pulls out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. Silently, she hands the pack to him and he stares down at it for a moment before pulling one out. The cigarette feels strange in his fingers.
She hands him the lighter for the pack and he sets the end on fire and inhales a wonderful breath of smoke. He hasn't smoked for four years but it feels like no time has passed.
"Are you looking forward to it?"
He startles. "What?"
She raises her eyebrows, expression full of pity as she exhales a long breath of smoke. "Your kid. Are you looking forward to it?"
He freezes, takes a drag of his cigarette. "I don't know," he admits, and he's not sure why he's telling this to a woman he met at a bar a year or so ago but he is and there's a connection that he's pretending isn't there. "It was...unexpected."
To his surprise, she gives a bitter laugh. "A stronger birth control might have helped things." He stares at her with amused surprise.
She smirks. "Don't tell me you haven't thought of it." At his shake, she smirks again."Yeah, I'm a cynical bitch. Now deal with it."
He gives a laugh and suddenly everything is going to be okay. "I needed that."
She gives him a look that he can't quite place. "Now go home, kid." She stubs her cigarette out before standing up. "And this time, do it."
She walks away and he stares after her and how did she know he never left the bar that night?
It's five months later and Victoire's severe mood swings have them both on edge and to think he was actually warming up to the baby that is still growing inside his wife.
And he's staying out later and later and he doesn't want Victoire to go through it alone, of course he doesn't, but his nerves are frayed and he just needs time to sort it all out.
And he's not a good person; not a good man; not a good husband; he only cares about himself; he's just not a good person okay?
It's what he's been telling himself for years, when he finally tired of trying to leave up to his parents' legacies.
It's been getting him by but then it doesn't.
Because he stumbles back home with alcohol on his breath and Victoire just can't do it anymore.
"I'm going to stay with Dominique for a while. I think we need space," she says, and though he wants to say no, don't, please, he nods; because this is what she wants and he'll do anything for her. But he's not a good person, of course he isn't.
That night he falls in to bed and doesn't sleep.
./.
It's been a week since Victoire walked out and he sleeps about three hours a night and he's running on guilt and coffee. He's really screwed up this time, hasn't he?
He lays across their bed and he misses her, misses her so bad, but she said space and he's giving her what she wants. So it doesn't matter what he's feeling because he may not be a good person, but Victoire is his life and he'll do anything for her.
"When have you last slept?" Lily is perched by him on the bed, and he studies her and wonders if maybe it would be easier if he was like her, all cold and detached, but then decides it's all too much. He buries his head in Victoire's pillow and inhales her scent.
He doesn't reply, because he can't really remember when he last slept and he can't be bothered to lie. It's like now there's no Victoire, he can't be bothered with anything anymore.
Lily is silent for a moment and he's just starting to think that maybe she's given up when she says, "Godric, you stink. When did you take a shower last?"
He grunts and manages a weak, "Fuck off, Lily."
Lily laughs, and he hears the springs creak as she gets off. "Best wash up, lad. I hear that Victoire might be coming home tomorrow."
He freezes and it's almost like he has forgotten to breath. Then.
He smiles.
./.
He takes a shower, shaves, and heads to the bar because it's the last time he'll ever go there, because he's not losing her again.
"Are you stalking me?"
He looks up from his vodka and finds his lips curling up into a half-smile.
The brunette is here, and somehow he's not surprised, not surprised at all. "Na. I think you're the one stalking me."
She smirks, and he thinks that her lips will one day freeze that way. "Sure," she replies, her words slurring just slightly, with an amused tilt of her head, the movement causing her hair to untangle from the fragile clip it was in.
He freezes. "Are you drunk?"
She gives a rather loud snort. "Are you daft?"
Chuckling, he takes a drink. He thinks he should ask her if she wants him to call someone for him but she's a big girl.
He finds himself looking into intoxicating eyes.
Neither of them notice the redhead watching from the corner.
The night is filled with bare skin and a mixture of sweat and guilt.
He wakes in an entanglement of sheets, cigarette burns on his tainted flesh, and in a room he doesn't recognize.
His head is throbbing and it takes a moment for him to get his eyes to work. The white walls spin around him dangerously. The air smells of stale cigarette smoke.
His mouth tastes of vodka and he licks his cracked lips.
Where is he? What happened?
A soft moan draws his attention and his eyes widen.
No.
A familiar brunette is curled up in the sheets beside him, her breasts raising and falling with each breath.
He stares at her, suddenly feeling sick. No.
As if sensing his thoughts, green eyes snap open and she stares at him with the same horrified expression he can only assume is on his face as well.
It's silent then he blurts out, "I thought you were gay."
She doesn't say anything, her face blank. She just grabs a sheet and wraps it around her, before sitting up.
He stares after her, and he thinks that the only reason he slept with her was because he's not a good person and he needs to always remember that.
He feels sick.
Its three weeks after that night and him and Victoire have made up and they're okay, everything's okay, but what he did weighs heavily on his mind but nobody suspects.
They're talking baby names and rooms and when Victoire smiles, his whole world brightens and everything's okay.
That was until the night it isn't.
He's painting he baby room a neutral green when Lily walks in.
He opens his mouth to say something but the murderous expression on the redhead's face stops him. "Lils?" he asks carefully.
"I saw you," she snarls, her voice low and...suddenly, he knows, knows what she saw, because what else could she have seen to make her so angry.
"Don't tell her," he says, voice pleading. Green paint falls onto the ground from his paintbrush but neither notice.
"You tell her or I will," she replies, and he knows that it is a valued threat.
She turns away and walks, and he stares at his paintbrush and how did everything go so wrong?
Victoire takes it about as well as expected.
There's screaming and crying and this time it's him who walks out, and he thinks this is out, I've lost her forever and some small part tells him that he deserves everything and more.
He finds himself at Albus' because out of all the Weasley/Potters, he's the only one who isn't looking to kill him.
Sitting on the couch, he watches Albus eat an ice cream cone and the silence is either suffocating or okay but he can't decide.
"I've really screwed up, haven't I?"
Albus just stares, his expression unreadable before he suddenly pushes the ice cream cone at him. "You want it? Take it. It's yours. And after what you did to Vic, you're gonna need it more than me."
Albus stands up and he's left alone with the melting ice cream and way too much guilt.
Four days after that, he runs into Victoire. His eyes keep straying to her just beginning to show bump and if she notices, she never lets on.
"How are you, sweetheart?" he asks, the endearment falling from his lips due to habit.
She stiffens. "I'm not going to be one of those pathetic girls, whose world stops spinning because of some guy," she says and he flinches, looks away.
"I'm sorry," he offers, and those two words are never truly enough. It is silent before he reaches out and takes her hand and she doesn't pull back, pull away from him.
"Is there anything I can do to fix this?" he asks, hopes.
"I don't know," she admits with a shake of her head, and his heart breaks in a million pieces.
She turns away from him, gently pulls her hand from his. "Maybe one day. But not now."
That night he stares at himself in the mirror, and doesn't recognize the man who stares back. All his life he's been able to do what he wanted, get what he wanted, with only a change of appearance. And now.
Victoire's gone and he doubts she's ever going to come back and.
He sits on the edge of his bed and cries.
He goes swimming the next day and runs into Dominique and Lily and Lily is only barely stopping Dominique from smacking him and he's frustrated because he deserves it, he knows that.
Lily studies him and he looks away and. "Why did you do it?" she asks, and he freezes, tenses, and thoughts run though his mind.
I don't know. I'm not a good person. It was bound to happen. I mess things up. It was nothing. I don't KNOW.
He doesn't know what to say so he settles on nothing and the look both women give him could make a heart stop.
Lily shakes her head. "I really do hate you."
There's a meaning under those words, a meaning of I never want to see you again, you disgust me.
"Losing Victoire was bad enough. I didn't think I would lose you too," he says and his voice isn't breaking, of course it isn't.
Lily just stares at him as if asking why he thought that he wouldn't. "You need help. I'm not sure what kind but you need help."
They leave and yeah, maybe he does, maybe he doesn't, he just doesn't know.
Four months later, and he's taken up smoking again, alcohol is his new best friend, and he doesn't feel much anymore, not really. He stays away of people and the few people who still stop by the flat always have pity in their eyes. He never asks about her and he never tells and it's easier that way.
James is sitting by him on the couch, and he's smoking, because that's all he ever really does. That and work.
"So..." James begins slowly. "I think it finally happened."
He raises an eyebrow.
James makes an odd sound that might have been a laugh. "Next time you're a mirror, take a long look at you. It's finally happened, Lupin. Your ego and arrogance have become your downfall."
It's not long after that, James leaves, and he finds himself looking in the mirror like the otherman suggested and was James right? Was this his downfall that he was warned about?
He's a little older, a little more frayed and little too sober when he meets her the last time.
They're at the same place where they started so long ago, a musky little bar that holds too many memories and not enough escape.
They look at each other, and they're both more guarded, more wary then they have ever been.
"Long time no see," she says, and he nods and what is there to say?
After a moment, he asks, "Did you ever tell her?"
She taps her fingers on her wrist and neither are drinking, because they won't make the same mistake again.
"Yes," she says slowly. "In a few hours we're heading to the States. We're going to start over." A smile tugs at her lips.
"Hey, you're smiling," he blurts out before he can stop himself.
She laughs a little. "Pansy smiles, alert the media," she says, sarcastically but the smile doesn't leave her mouth. He grins a little himself.
"What about Victoire?" she asks and the smile instantly falls from his face.
"Yeah, she knows. She left me." The words taste bitter.
She gives him a measured glare. "Do you love her?"
He nods, and says, "I'm not a good person." As if those five words say it all.
But maybe they do because she nods in this understanding way. "Me neither but she is and I'm becoming better because of her."
Her words stir something in him and..."Do you think?" he asks, not being able to put all the words into his question.
She smiles a little again and glances at her watch. "I do, I do." She stands up. "I have to go home and pick Padma up."
She turns to leave, pats his shoulder. "You'll be a great man one day."
He stares down at her pale hand, notes her blue nails. "I have to ask. How did you know I never left here that day?"
She stares at him a long moment before remarking softly, "Because you remind me of myself when I was your age."
He matches her stare then she turns away, heading back to the door. As she presses her hand against it, she gives him one last look over her shoulder.
"We could have been something great in another life."
He watches her leave and keeps staring until long after.
His eyes catch the glint of his wedding band.
Two months later, and Victoire and him are on the mend and they're not fixed, far from it, but they're getting there.
Lily and him on working things out and things are getting there.
"You're going to be a great man, Teddy," his therapist tells him and later that night, he lays in bed, his arm around Victoire and pictures her, pictures her emerald eyes and her smirk, and thinks, Another life indeed.