beta: girl-on-sunshine
disclaimer: everything belongs to j. k. rowling. i own nothing but the storyline.
.
.
dark blue december nights
teddy&lily
x
.
.
It's one of those December nights in which the stars sparkle like golden diamonds pinned to the navy canvas of the sky and the grey slush on the streets soaks your shoes.
Teddy is standing in the pale light of the lanterns spread across the Westminster Bridge, which merges into the dark blue of the night only to disappear somewhere in the crisp air. He is waiting for a miracle with flaming hair and an icy smile, that probably won't ever come because he was an arse and luck rarely holds his had anyway.
In the distance he hears the Big Ben strike again and again and again. (And he is still alone.)
.
Shortly before midnight, Teddy is sitting in that smoky pub two blocks from home, with a bowl of peanuts all for himself and too many empty glasses on his conscience.
He can see Lily's face floating somewhere in his mulled mead and he wants to tell the man with watery eyes on the bar stool next to him how he lusts to fuck his almost sister. (Merlin, he's so drunk.)
But his tongue is heavy and tired, and the only things still reaching his ears are the peals of drunken laughter slipping from lonely men's mouths and the Lily, Lily, Lily of his heart.
.
It's either very late or incredibly early as his feet carry him home through the quiet night, dancing stars blinking down on him.
And then, when he's drowning in the softness of his duvet and stares wide-eyed at the ceiling, fearing to miss the rest of his life if he dozes off, he remembers that night full of Bertie Bott's Beans and blood red Kool-Aid.
"For Santa," Lily had said and Teddy had taken her tiny hand in his and right, he gets milk and cookies far too often.
.
Teddy lets himself get distracted by the looks Al sends Scorpius, which only Harry and Ginny don't seem to notice, and hides in the shallow chatter wafting the table.
A tortoise shaped jar of sugar stumbles among the teacups. He can hear Lily in the kitchen, and he just knows there's a little smudge of flour on her cheek.
He says something like seems as if she could need help and flees the room with lingering steps.
They meet in the hallway, right next to the stacked boxes full of Christmas decorations. Teddy's hair turns pink when he wipes the pale traces of flour from her cheeks.
Mistletoe is peeking out from one of the boxes. (And it's not as if they are really standing beneath it, but now the thought is there, they just can't ignore it.)
So he presses his lips to hers. She tastes like cinnamon tea with milk and honey. And cookie dough.
Time stops, and yet races away with the quick, rabbit beat of his heart.
And then there is Harrys call from the kitchen, the cookies are done, and what's been hovering in the air between them pops with a quiet bang.
.
He wants to have breakfast in bed with her, Belgian waffles with little pink marzipan roses, and replace the faded polaroid from under his pillow with real and warm memories.
He wants to steal her breath in the darkness and comb his fingers through her red, red hair.
But he's Teddy Lupin and old and as good as her brother, so to speak.
.
Every day after his work in the Ministry, he hides in this coffee shop somewhere in the middle of Muggle London, to flee reality and everything that comes with it.
His stroll takes him past small shops decorated with glowing reindeer and colourful Christmas trees, and if he turned back he could follow his footprints on the sugared pavement.
One day, it's a crisp Wednesday and virgin snow is swirling through the air only to melt on the red, cold slapped cheeks of hectic passers-by, she is standing there, all bright hair and shiny lips, and stares at him until his heart is bouncing out of his chest.
He wants to offer her something with caramel syrup or whipped cream but he's always been pretty wank at such things and she's Lily.
A familiar heat creeps up his neck. "Hey."
Lily doesn't bother shrugging off the deep red coat that clashes terribly with her hair. She only pulls off her gloves and sips Teddy's coffee as she sits down.
"Will you come over on Christmas?" she asks, hitting him right with the pointy end, and there's this hopeful sparkling in her eyes he knows all too well.
And he wants to go, really. It's just that he fears to not be able to breathe for the whole night with all this longing filling his lungs, so no, sorry, already made plans. His eyes are dark like midnight skies. You know.
He's such a liar (and the wiggling with his eyebrows doesn't suit him at all).
"I should go," Lily says, her lips tight and truly hurt, and Merlin, there's so much he could say right now to make it better, the words are dancing through his head, but instead he looks out the window.
The sky outside is grey, covered with dust, and he can feel the icy sadness that's wafting him on his skin. Goosebumps are splashing his arms.
"Yeah, maybe," he mumbles then and it's wrong, so wrong.
(And it's too late.)
.
There's a Christmas tree in his flat, with red and golden baubles and a shiny angel crowning the top.
It's the first Christmas since forever he doesn't spend with the Potters. No Christmas Crackers. No Cherries Jubilee. (No Lily.)
He's never been more alone.
.
He sends Lily an owl.
She doesn't answer.
He didn't expect anything else.
.
When he walks through the streets to get rid of the approaching walls at home for a moment, he thinks that no one in the sea of people he likes to hide himself in, can be as twisted as he is.
(He doesn't know about James and Rose and their forbidden dates in dark corners.)
And yet, he now thinks he could live with that if Lily can.
.
But back to the beginning.
Teddy is standing on this bridge in his lonely little world, between the River Tames, cold as death, and the scattered stars in the sky.
It isn't Christmas any more and not quite New Year's.
The Big Ben's heavy strokes rock the night and then there is a clear, bright "Hello, Teddy."
Lily.
x
now we're moving from the darkness into the light.
this is the defining moment of our lives.
finite.
.
.
author's notes: the lyrics at the end are by india arie (beautiful flower).
