0. . .oO•.o. A Bend in the Road .o.•Oo. . .0

Warning: This story will contain content, themes, and language which some may find offensive. If you have questions let me know.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owner, JK Rowling. The original characters and plot are the property of the me - the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: Teddy Lupin. He used to be a happy boy, smiling, full of laughter and excitement. Then he was hurled into the cruel world he had for home.

A/N: Another story on Fanfiction. Don't hate me.

This story has been adopted from Lupin3Black by me, partly because I helped out with the plot line, so I didn't want to see it go when the author decided to discontinue it.

Beta Read by 'thatravenclawgirl' - thank you loads!

"A bend in the road is not the end of the road, unless you fail to make the turn"

- Helen Keller

0. . .oO•.o. A Bend in the Road .o.•Oo. . .0

CHAPTER 1

Teddy shuddered violently, pinpricks of hot tears threatening to spill over, once again, from his lifeless amber eyes. Dead. The word tasted weird in his mouth, rolling it around, getting used to it, and leaving its taste of ever-impending doom in his mouth. He was alone now. Completely and utterly. He had Harry, hell; he had the Weasley's, but it wasn't the same; they weren't related. He had Victoire, who he loved with all his heart, or so he told himself.

At the tender age of 26, the only remains of his never-present family were the ancient crumbling photos upon the mantel piece and the three graves, smothered in flowers, that stood side-by-side in the cemetery where Lily, James and Sirius are buried together, Godric's Hollow. It's poignant when you think about it; the three marauders are together at last, and have gone on to their next great adventure.

He dragged his hand across his tired eyes, cursing himself for this moment of weakness. Right now, he couldn't be dealing with this mess right now, he had to go out and deal with it. He needed to go out and bear with it, a forced weak smile penetrating his face, as he looked at relatives that he'd never met. He'd have to deal with Narcissa's sad, knowing smile and Mrs Weasley's loud bawls. He would have to be strong for Victoire because 'she really, really loved that silly woman' even though most of the time they were at each other's throats, constantly complaining behind each other's back. He'd have to be strong for Harry, because of the help he provided him with; he would have to be strong for everyone else.

That was the problem, though, wasn't it? He just couldn't do it. He couldn't bear the world on his shoulders, let alone still have time to help someone out with their shift because 'their feeling under the weather'.

Bullshit.

He was too nice, too understanding, too kind, and too willing to let everyone else walk on top of him; that was his problem. His grandmother called it an admirable trait, his godfather called it hereditary, passed on from his father.

He called it a problem.

Teddy straightened his tie; it was black, like the rest of his formal attire, excluding the pristine white shirt. He was missing the things he loved most: the square earring that penetrated his left ear, his bright blue hair that had been replaced with a simple mousy brown for his grandmother's funeral.

Funeral. He hated that word almost as he hated the word death. It was so final. So much of an ending. When he died, he wants it to be called a remembrance. Given, that someone still cares even when he's dead.

He clutched at the edge of the white sink, looking into the mirror, seeing the empty red-rimmed eyes and for once understanding the vulnerability of being alone.

A shaky hand dragged silver blade ran across his pale wrist, and it shone in the moonlight as he slowly pulled away. He stared as the beads of red as they rose steadily from the long thick gash. He didn't feel the pain, it was too numb, and there was too much darkness in his frail world for pain. He curled his toes and closed his tired eyes, the relief that one slash could bring him, the feeling of actually being real, feeling alive, the sick excitement it would bring him. His pale arms were littered with scars, some old, some more recent, light pink strips marring the pale skin.

Teddy gave a small, cold laugh. Scars. He was covered in them. Mental. Physical. He used to be a happy boy, smiling, full of laughter and excitement. A true Gryffindor at heart. Then he was hurled into the cruel world he had for a home.

Scars. Well, at least he resembled his father. United through scars.

Bittersweet.

A/N:

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Constructive criticism is welcome.

TBC

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