"Teddy?"
"Ya Vic?"
"Mum said you don't have a mum." The small seven year old blonde haired girl rolled over on the bed she was sharing with her best friend. She faced the boy with the blue hair and looked sad.
"Sure I do, and a dad."
"But they're not here with us." The boy frowned
"No not anymore but Harry says that doesn't mean they're gone." It's quiet for a little while.
"Do you ever think of them?"
"Loads"
"Does it make you sad?"
"All the time." The blue haired boy lowers his eyes off the girl.
"I'm sorry Teddy." The girl looks up at the face of her friend to see it change before her eyes, although this was something he did often the face he wore now was one she had never seen. The freckled face of the girl stared at the new sandy brown hair and green eyes. "What face is that?"
He paused, "My real one." The boy suddenly got up without warning and reached for something in his sock draw. "Here look at this."
The picture was of two people the girl had never seen before, a man and young girl. The young girl was laughing and looked like she could never not be happy; her hair was a bubblegum pink color. The man looked old, but maybe it was because of the scars on his face and the tattered conditions of his robes. He smiled though, looking at the camera and then back down at the woman's face.
"You look just like your dad." The girl said comparing the two faces.
"Yeah that's what harry says, him and Gran are the only ones who's seen my face."
"And me?"
"And you." The sudden secret between the two kids delighted the girl beyond belief. Looking back down at the picture she sees the woman in the picture had changed her hair to purple.
"Your mom can change hair just like you!" the girl exclaimed, the boy smiled.
"Yep, she wore mostly pink though." The image of the young girl changed back to pink hair and the boy erased his own sandy hair to pink to match his mothers. The two kids spent the next minutes looking at the picture, the boy who had looked at the picture so much, knew the picture by heart and looked more at the girl than the photo. She held the picture inches away from her face as if trying to memorize it.
"I wish I would have got to know them." The girl says after a while.
"Me too."
"They must have been wonderful people though."
"How do you suppose?"
"They gave me you." The girl smiles widely at the boy and he smiles back, glad to have someone to be important to. The girl stretches her arms out to hug the boy around his thin waist and pulls him into a childlike hug.
Later on that night when the two kids slept in the boy's bed, the pink haired boy stayed up thinking of his normal face and his normal hair. He thought of his parents so frequently but with the girl he had felt better when he talked about them, he smiled. He felt his hair change back to his comfortable blue. In the night he was sure he could hear the small girl with her small voice say,
"Thank you for giving me my Teddy Mr. and Mrs. Lupin."
I am half drunk. It's hours later, days maybe, weeks? I lost track. Usually it was 5 drinks of muggle alcohol that just to made my eyes feel droopy. Muggle drinks never affected me that much. I had lost count of how many I had. I remember reaching 10 and thinking I'd better stop before I was leaving to go to the bathroom every few minutes. I didn't stop, I don't know why, I don't think at all anymore, when I try to remember I can't.
I went back to the motel somewhere after 17 drinks, the bartender stopped looking at me funny because of my hair but started because of my ability to not stop drinking. But used to the looks, I continued. But now laying on the hard bed, damaging my back more every night I stayed here, I wish I hadn't. Whatever I drank tonight affected me different than Firewhiskey ever had. I've only had a lot of firewhiskey a hand full of times, parties in the Hufflepuff common room, stolen bottles at holidays with Victoire, and I can only remember it enhancing my time and my mind. I never felt bad when I had drank firewhiskey, then again I never drank alone.
I felt sad. Sad because of the mysterious pink haired girl and her accusations, sad because I couldn't apparate to Victoire. I felt stupid, stupid for leaving, I felt guilty and I felt lonely. If I had been in a good state I probably would be wondering how it was possible to feel all that just by drinking. It was like I was laying on a bed of misery, like it would never end. I felt tired, completely just wiped out, but it was like I couldn't fall asleep like I was stuck in between awake and asleep just feeling the conscious of my mind just a little too much and a little too less.
The worst part was as I was laying there I stopped being able to picture things clearly in my mind. I couldn't see Victoire right. All of a sudden I was asking my sloppy self, did Victoire have dark brown eyes or light ones? Or where they blue? I couldn't remember the specific placement of her freckles and how far they went up on her nose, the shape of her earlobes, the sparkle in her eye. Without a clear image of Victoire in my head, I had never felt further from home.
Home. Was that really my home? The Potter house? The Potter home contained the people I loved most, but did I belong there? The answer now, looking at the moldy ceiling of this motel room made it feel more definite than usual, was no. I had lived there since I was 11 but I couldn't call it my home, I felt comfortable there, I had Harry and Ginny, and three younger 'siblings' that adored the hell out of me. But my last name wasn't Potter. It was Lupin. Stupid Lupin. Stupid Remus Lupin.
I felt angry suddenly, Firewhiskey never made me mad. I wasn't a mad person, why have I been getting so mad recently, I don't like it. I'll blame it on the alcohol tonight but tomorrow when I was sober I knew I would have to find a new excuse. And I'm sure It would be the absence of Victoire
Of all the words I have heard used to describe my father, it was never stupid. In fact it was smart, intelligent, brilliant even. I used to think maybe Harry had begun to talk him up, to make me feel better about myself and the parents I never knew, but then I went to Hogwarts and teachers and ghosts all said how exceptionally genius he had been. I heard more about how much he had gotten in trouble with his group of friends called the marauders, but there wasn't a teacher who knew him that didn't agree with the declaration of him as a genius. And I agreed too because there were many a time when I didn't even try in class, I was too busy being 'aloof' and challenging the authority of the castle, when I didn't get a chance to study, and I found myself passing a potions test I thought I was hardly ready for. I understood things easily, things came to me quickly.
Remus Lupin, from what I understood was a genius man, who got held down by his disability. It was clear to know just how clever he was, he had become a teacher, a short amount of time though due to being a werewolf. He could have done better things, he wanted to do better things I'm sure. he could of became something important to the Ministry, get a permanent place at Hogwarts as the Defense the Dark Arts professor, Merlin knows he was qualified for it, He could have become a bloody Auror like mum, but it must have been hard, I pitied the memory of my father most.
So I thank my father for my exceptional ability to not be a complete daft freak, but right now with the muggle substance swimming in my veins, that was about all I thanked him for. Sober, I had the utmost respect for my father, in the current cloudy drunk mind of mine I could remember the admiration I had for him. I remember wanting to be him, wanting to be as talented as him, there was even a small time as a child I told Harry I would like to be a werewolf. In his dismay he shook his head and told me not to ever wish that.
But right now all I could think about was how he left me. Mum too, but for some reason the bitter taste on my tongue was due to not only just the alcohol but the memory of just Remus Lupin. My mum was somewhere deep in my mind, too far in for me to find, so I left her there for another thought of my absent father was enough to keep my eyes open in this dream like state I was in.
I was a baby. He left me. I was only a baby
I stand up without planning it and end up tripping over my feet. I was clumsy enough sober, I had a feeling being drunk would only make it ten times worse. I once punched Victoire in the face at a quidditch match, completely sober, once out of pure excitement of a score of the team I was rooting for. She forgave me of course, she was always the loudest to laugh at my clumsiness. The thought of Victoire wasn't enough to keep away the image of my father.
"Stupid…" I barely realize it leaves my lips. My detached body finds my backpack I had left the Potter house with two weeks ago. It's like my hands are acting without my permission, they seem to know what they're looking for so I let them continue. At the bottom of the bag is a picture. The frame is an old one Gram had, it's bulky and brown and it looks archaic.
They've never stopped smiling. It never ends. They get to smile forever. My mum's hair changes purple the exact time my father looks down at her and beams. I've memorized their movements like I've memorized this picture. It wasn't the only one I had of them but one of the few I had of them together, and it was my favorite. I know the exact time my mum shifts her weight on her left foot and hugs my dad closer. I know the exact time my father puts his arm behind his neck and awkwardly scratches it like he's nervous, a habit I picked up myself. I know the exact start and end of each movement, except the smiling, it never would stop. They loved each other.
Was I nothing to them?
I hate myself for thinking things like that.
"If you were here none of this would have happened!" I'm not sure if it comes out even as words but I feel it and the impact it has on me. Be grateful of what your mother and father have done for you. Respect their memory. Harry always told me, and I always had. I still do, but how can I not be mad for them leaving me.
"Stupid….WANKER." I don't know why I'm talking directly to my dad but I speak toward the scarred face man with tattered robes who looks way older than he should. I throw the picture frame at the wall on impulse, listening to the authority of my hands yet again. I feel the magic fly through my fingers. I hadn't lost control of magic since I was a child without a wand to channel it through. I hear a shattering but I notice the hole it left in the wall first.
I rush to the picture, remembering what I had done. I detach the crushed frame from the wall and notice a rip right down the middle of the picture. All of a sudden I feel like a child. Less drunk, more Teddy Lupin, but a big baby. I fall down to the ground and put my head in my hands rubbing my eyes so hard I think they might pop out. I look at the shattered and torn picture in front of me. In the broken pieces of glass I notice my hair was currently a horrible mixture of colors. I couldn't even focus enough to change it to one color. There were yellows, browns, blues, pinks, every color I could imagine, it looked horrible. My eyes had switched to my normal green eyes that I hardly ever wore. I look at myself in that reflection for as long as I can handle, which isn't long because I hate looking at how much of a mess I am.
I grab my wand out of my pocket and try a few spells at the photo in front of me frantically trying to piece it back together. I can't tell if my drunkenness is the only factor to the inability to successfully perform a repairing charm. They next thing I know I transfigure my right shoe into an eggplant and knock over the lamp on the dresser with a spell I didn't even know the name of. The lamp shatters causing only more of a mess over the floor. I put down the picture, maybe I'll try when I'm sober.
I lay down on the floor then, the glass crushes under my body and I feel a few small shards go in my back, I don't feel it too much. I turn on my side and look at the rusted heater on the bottom of the wall. Left there to rust. Like me. Though still drunk, enough sense comes back to me to scold myself for being so stupid by comparing myself to an old rusted motel heater.
I feel my eyes close, and for a minute I smile because sleep is the only thing I can imagine right now that could make me feel better, except maybe Victoire. Her image becomes clearer in my mind and I thank my body for getting the alcohol out of my system. I see her blue eyes, her freckles, exact placement, I see her small earlobes, and the sparkle in her eyes.
"Am I being stupid?" I can't tell if it actually comes out of my mouth or if I'm just thinking it in my head. I think of Victoire again, of Harry, Ginny, James, Al, Lily. I think of Victorie's sister and brother I think of Rose and Hugo, I think of Fred and Roxanne I think of Nana Molly and Grandad Weasley. All these people I grew up with, who helped me become who I am, who helped give me a life that I never appreciated, or at least wasn't showing appreciation to it now.
I missed them all; I don't know if they missed me. Did they hate me because I was gone? Was I being stupid? I ask myself again.
"Dad." I speak directly to the man in the photo again. I close my eyes and picture his face. Except younger. I picture the picture Harry had showed me at 13 grimmauld place in his godfather's room. The picture of four friends. Harry's father looking just like Harry himself with his messy hair, Sirius looking exactly how I've heard him described, poor little Peter Pettigrew smiling but looking outside of an inside joke, and my father. Remus Lupin. Young but old in the face. Scars and bags under his eyes. But he was smiling and he looked happy.
"Dad. What would you do?" I don't expect an answer I never talk directly to them because of that. "Should I go back home?" I can almost hear a yes in my mind but I know it's just my consciousness messing me about. "I'm sorry." I say it to no one in particular, I say it to myself, I say it Victoire, I say it to Harry, I say it to the pink haired girl called Desiree, I say it to my mum and dad for disrespecting them and disappointing them.
I think about home again shortly before my eyes close and if I would call the Potter home it. I conclude that where ever Victoire would be. That would be my home. I hope I remember that thought in the morning because playing around with thoughts like that could lead me to going home, and I think at this point that's what I'm looking for, an excuse to go home, to quell my pride and walk back into the life I was meant to live.
I close my eyes and fall into a dreamless sleep in seconds.