Chapter Eight: Summer Hols Part One

Teddy's earliest memories were of sitting on his godfather's lap listening to fantastical, brilliant stories where his parents were heroes and his dad was a werewolf and there were Marauders and Orders and a man named Dumbledore, who was good, and a man named Voldemort, who was bad.

The stories always ended the same, though. No matter if Harry stopped telling them at a certain point, or Teddy fell asleep with his head pillowed against his godfather's chest, or if Ginny came in with a plate of cookies or, later, a round belly with a kicking baby—the story, Teddy knew, always ended with his parents dying, with an unknown Fred dying, with a place called Hogwarts broken but not gone. Voldemort was defeated and, always, Harry's voice got odd at the ending of the story, as if he couldn't decide if he was happy or sad.

Teddy had been raised on these stories—barely even aware of when they turned from tales he was told as he fell asleep, to the hard facts they became in his Gran's mouth, to the pictures Harry would show him, the gaps he felt in his family, his surroundings. When did he realize the sadness in George's eyes was for the dead, unknown Fred? When did it dawn on him that his godfather had been raised as Teddy had; hearing about parents, knowing they existed, but unable to even remember being held or loved by them?

He wasn't sure—the stories were just a part of him, as intrinsically woven into his being as the ability to change his appearance or grasp a wand and feel the tingling of magic in his fingertips. Growing up with the families he had, in the world he had, where his stories were a history that every child his age grew up knowing, every adult Harry's age had lived and relived in nightmares had created a bubble where Teddy never had to look at this stories with an outsiders perspective—he just knew them, as everyone else around him knew them.

Being in America had changed that. Suddenly, people were asking him about his stories. American wizards and witches, who had only ever tasted a small amount of Voldemort's cruelty, were fascinated by the fact that Teddy had been born in the year of his downfall, that his parents had fought in the famed Battle of Hogwarts. That his parents had died there. That his godfather, the man who had practically raised him, was Harry Potter.

There were stupid questions: "Did you ever see Voldemort?"

There were easy questions: "Is Harry Potter's curse-scar really shaped like a lightening bolt?"

There were questions Teddy didn't know the answer to, though he knew the answers existed: "What were Sirius Black's last words?"

And then, there were questions that the askers considered mundane—interesting, but casual—but to Teddy they were so intimate he could not answer: "What were the 'Marauders'?"

The five months Teddy had spent in America had forced him to look at his stories through other's eyes, and suddenly he saw more than he had ever wanted to see. He saw threads of countless lives, mingling and stretching and changing and (so often) ending just like that. He read books on his stories, books that had been written by American authors who had only ever studied Voldemort, his rise to power, his defeat, and everything in between.

The first time he'd read Sirius's name on paper, Teddy's mouth had gone dry. He knew Sirius as a laughing, dark eyed man in pictures of the Marauders. He knew him as a good man, as a fiercely loyal friend, as a loving godfather, as a dedicated Marauder from Harry's stories. He knew him as James's middle name. But he had never known him as a chapter in a book on Voldemort's effect on London.

His father and mother, always heroes in his stories, were listed only in the In Memorium lists that seemed to find their way into all the mentions of Voldemort and Hogwarts and the Order of the Phoenix. James Potter—not his Jamie, but Harry's father—was usually only mentioned along with his wife, Lily, when people wrote on Harry's life.

Teddy had never before had to look at his stories for what they truly were—events and people and relationships that had all happened before him but had shaped him before he was even born. The people he knew, had grown up hearing about—his parents, the Marauders, a heroic House Elf—all of them were distorted through the lens of others, of strangers. And then the people he had truly grown up with, his godfather, Ginny, Hermione, the Weasleys, Kingsley—knowing them had made him almost famous.

Teddy didn't want to be famous. All Teddy wanted was to go back to London where he was just Teddy Lupin, and his stories were everyone's stories, and he could spend time in a house where the Marauders were pictures on walls and he could fall asleep to James's snores before the story ended, as always, with his parents dying.

The fifth of June dawned bright and hot and Teddy woke up early to pack and ready himself for the moment, in a mere few hours time, when he could go back to being just Teddy Lupin.

"We'll really miss you, Teddy." Angela Smith, head of the Auror department here, said as she handed him a small packet of Floo powder.

"I'll miss all of you." Teddy replied with a smile—and he meant it, he truly did. He had enjoyed America, to an extent, but right now everything inside of him was aching to get back home.

Home. Teddy smiled almost goofily at the thought as he threw his Floo powder into the fire and, with one last grin at the Aurors who had housed and trained him for the last five months, shouted "The Ministry of Magic!" and stepped into the welcoming tickle of flame.

Spinning, colors, snatches of sound, then Teddy's ass hitting cold ground unceremoniously and terribly graceless.

"Teddy!"

Harry was standing above him, grinning down at his godson. Teddy drank in Harry's appearance—the untidy black hair, silvering just slightly at the temples, the vivid green eyes, the round glasses, the lightening-bolt scar. The man who had told him his stories, read him books, played with him, went to Quidditch matches with him, taught him how to cast a Patronus, given him more of a home than he could have ever asked for.

"HARRY!" Teddy sprang to his feet, completely forgetting that he was in the Ministry of Magic, and flung his arms around his godfather.

"I missed you, too, Teddy." Harry laughed, hugging him back before stepping back to look at his face.

"I don't know why people do that." Teddy grinned, his words slippery with relief. "Look at me in the face, I mean. I can change it at will so I, I just don't know what people are expecting to see—"

"I see you, Teddy." Harry cut his godson off gently, green eyes aged beyond his years but somehow still so kind. "That's all I look for."

"Oh, God." Teddy buried his face in Harry's shoulder again, realizing in a distant way that he acted like an over-snuggly dog all the time. "It is so good to be back, you have no idea."

"Let's go home." Harry grinned, the word and the casual way he said it wrapping around Teddy like a blanket. "Everyone's waiting."

Everyone. Ginny and Albus and Lily and James. James. His James, his best friend, his companion since he had been born, the boy he had kissed five months ago and then not heard a word from since.

The smallest amount of dread invaded Teddy's bubble of happiness, but he pushed it away.

"Yeah." Teddy sighed, smiling so much it hurt. "Let's go home."

The sharp rapping on the door, a sound James had been waiting in agony for, ripped through him with an electrifying mix of nervous anticipation and happiness and dread.

"DAD AND TEDDY ARE HERE!" Lily shrieked, voice carrying up the second-floor landing where James sat, his long legs sprawled down the stair steps.

James peeked through the stair railings to see Lily throw the door open, freckly face split with a wide smile at the sight of the two men who stood at the threshold of the Potter home.

Teddy. The name was an ache, a tug at James's chest, something that had fluttered on the edge of all James's waking moments and that was the strongest thing in his mind in those quiet times between sleep and consciousness. Something ephemeral, almost imagined.

But there he was, in the flesh. Teddy, tall and lanky and turquoise-haired with fingers and wrists glinting dully with metal. Teddy, grinning and laughing with a light sheen of sweat on his forehead and exposed collarbone. Teddy, with the Shack necklace hanging below the hollow of his throat and ripped black jeans and thin, faded Holyhead Harpies shirt achingly familiar.

"Teddy!" James's mum walked into the foyer and hugged Teddy. "It's so good to see you again!"

"I missed all of you." Teddy hugged James's mum back, the top of her head only coming up to his chin. "God, so much."

"We missed you, too, Teddy!" Lily was practically bouncing up and down in her delight.

"What was America like?" Albus tugged on Teddy's shirt, face alight with excitement. "You have to tell us all about it!"

"It was amazing." Teddy ruffled Albus's dark hair. "I took loads of pictures I can show you. But first, where is dear Jamie?"

James swallowed about a dozen different emotions before standing up and leaning over the stair railing grinning down at his family. "Welcome back to Mother England, Lupin."

"James!" Teddy's face split with a grin. "Get down here you little lurker!"

James laughed before bounding down the stairs and then stopped short, not sure if the long months of silence between the two boys would have out a wall between them now that Teddy was finally back, finally in the flesh.

There was only a split-second of awkwardness in both of their eyes and body language, though, before Teddy grinned and threw his arms around James, drawing him against his wiry chest and smelling different but still like Teddy.

James let his eyes slide closed for a second as his chin rested on Teddy's shoulder, momentarily losing all the awkward confusion he felt and losing himself in the total familiarity of being hugged by Teddy Lupin.

"I missed you so bloody much, you wanker." Teddy said as James stepped back. "I am so glad to be back."

James grinned, unable to vocalize how painfully he had missed Teddy these past five months and how the missing was mixed, always, with the hazy double vision of the feel of Teddy's lips on his.

"Well, you're back now." James's mum squeezed Teddy's arm, smiling. "Come on, we've got a big dinner prepared and everything."

"BLOODY ENGLISH COOKING!" Teddy shrieked before tearing off in the direction of the kitchen, leaving the Potter's blinking after him.

"I think," Albus grinned, "just maybe, that Teddy missed it here."

"GET YOUR BUMS IN HERE SO WE CAN FLIPPING FEAST!" Teddy's voice carried through the house and Ginny and Harry laughed as they ushered their children into the dining room.

Teddy was already piling a plate with steak and kidney pie, lamb chops, and treacle tart. Kreacher was batting at his ankles, but Teddy didn't even seem to notice.

"Yum, yum, effing yum." Teddy hummed, deaf to the Potter's laughter. "You can't imagine the American food—I liked the pizza and burgers all right but hot dogs are the foulest things I've ever tasted and their beer? Piss, absolute piss."

"Why were you drinking beer when the miracle of firewhiskey is available to us?" James raised his eyebrows.

"James!" Ginny looks half-shocked and half-resigned, as if she had long ago lost the ability to be surprised.

"Alcohol is alcohol, I'm not fussed." Teddy shrugged before bounding outside with his full plate of food. "Let's eat out here!"

"Not like you're giving us much of a choice," Harry chuckled as he loaded up his own plate. Kreacher batted as his ankles, too. Kreacher basically batted at everyone's ankles, except for James.

James ended up sitting next to Teddy at the table Harry and Ginny had charmed into existence, their legs and elbows touching in the most casual of ways. It was comfortable, it was normal. It almost erased the past five months of silence, of confusion, of waking up in the middle of the night still feeling Teddy kissing him.

Teddy told them all about America and they laugh and gasp and nod along at the right moments, and sometime during the night Lily ends up asleep in her chair and Teddy's head ends up resting on James's shoulder with his eyelids fluttering sleepily as James's mum and dad talk about their days at Hogwarts, the happier stories, the ones that weren't touched by Voldemort or by death. Ron vomiting slugs, spectacular Quidditch matches, the D.A. James knows most of the stories by heart, as do Teddy and Albus, but they love them anyway and they listen with faint smiles on their faces until the sky goes dark and they all traipse into bed.

Teddy sleeps in James's room, as always. James waits for it to be awkward, but Teddy is tired and satiated with British cooking, and the turquoise-haired boy curls up on the pull-out couch that was in James room specifically for him to sleep on, and James falls asleep to the drowsy muttering of Teddy dreaming normal, happy dreams. No nightmares wake them that night, and in the morning James waits for the influx of twisty emotions to invade his stomach, always along with Teddy's name, but instead Teddy is bouncing on his bed and announcing that they were going to spend the entire day playing Quidditch.

Maybe this will be okay, James thinks sleepily as Teddy started throwing clothes at him haphazardly.

But then James sat up and the blanket fell of his naked chest, and Teddy's eyes seemed to snag on James's bare skin, and then the two of them were blushing and stammering and Teddy was suddenly bouncing out the door calling back awkwardly that he was going to check on breakfast.

James groaned and buried his face in his pillow.

Bugger.

Ron and Hermione came over for dinner that night, prompting another large meal that had Teddy practically salivating, and then the younger kids and the adults breaking into their own groups and leaving Teddy and James the odd men out.

Teddy had excused himself to go outside where, James suspected, he was smoking. Teddy had hid the fact that he smoked Muggle cigarettes for a long time, but James had found out halfway through fourth year and he'd tried to make Teddy stop. It had worked, most of the time, but James knew that Teddy kept a crumpled pack of fags around for when he needed them.

And when he needed them, it was never a good thing. Fags were one step above black hair, when it came to Teddy Lupin.

James finished drying the dishes quickly before catching his dad's eye and nodding outside with a frown. His dad was the only person he'd told about Teddy's smoking. His dad grimaced and waved discreetly at James, motioning him to go outside and make sure everything was okay.

With a sigh, James tossed the dishtowel he'd been using (only a year until he could do magic outside school, thank God) and then slipped out back door, closing it silently behind him.

Teddy was standing on the back porch, his back to the house, over-large and ripped T-shirt fluttering around his skinny body in the light summer breeze. His hair was cobalt, not turquoise, and when he stood silhouetted against the moon it looked like an extension of the sky, a burst of dusk on top of Teddy's pale, bony body.

As James had suspected, Teddy was exhaling clouds of smoke up to the sky, a spot of glowing ember and a thin white tube balanced between his fingers.

"Teddy." James said quietly, stepping up to his friend quietly.

"Oh, bugger." Teddy dropped the fag quickly, crushing it beneath his heel. "You caught me."

James ran a hand through his hair, brushing his bangs away from his face. "I don't know why you smoke those, Teddy."

"I know." Teddy sighed. "I just like them."

The two boys stood shoulder to shoulder, overlooking the Potter's backyard and, beyond that, rolling hills and dotted trees.

"You're parents didn't die so you could smoke things that kill Muggles." James murmured quietly, knowing deep down that he was hitting low, too low, but unable to stop the words regardless.

Teddy's whole body seized up and then drooped, cobalt hair falling in front of his eyes. "You don't know anything, James."

His voice was so hoarse, from the smoke or from emotion James wasn't sure.

"What's that supposed to mean?" James snapped, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"Oh, please." Teddy's voice was bitter, almost a croak. "You think you know what it's like to be me? To grow up the way I grew up?"

"No, I just—"

Teddy's voice was a whisper now. "When I was six years old, I knew I wanted to live with Harry and Ginny. When I was six years old I had to realize that I was all my Gran had left; if she lost me, she'd have nothing. I had to choose to never ask, never act like I wanted to live with Harry. So my Gran would never offer, never have to face living without me. What were you doing when you were six, James? Getting tucked in by your two bloody amazing parents and playing with Albus and me?"

James swallowed; Teddy very rarely spoke like this, these honest and desperate truths inside of him.

"Just because I didn't live the same life you did, doesn't mean I don't understand—"

"Understand? Understand?" Teddy laughed hollowly. "This is beyond understanding, James. This is blood and bones and marrow. This is going to visit your parents' graves every holiday and wondering, desperately, if they can see you or hear you or know you now. This is wracking your brain, constantly and painfully, for any trace of memory you might have of them. Fuck! You want to know what I saw when the dementor found us? You want to know what I see when I have that nightmare?"

Yes, god, yes James did want to know. The burning curiosity he'd felt for so long overwhelmed the worry he felt over the terrible, aching pain in Teddy's voice or the fear he felt from the hectic shine in Teddy's brown eyes.

"Yes." James licked his lips. "Tell me."

Teddy's chest was heaving, he was glaring at James and the moonlight changed the light brown of his eyes to a vicious golden—a trick of the light, James knew, but something about it recalled the werewolf blood that Teddy had pumping through his veins.

"I see the only fucking memory I have of my parents." Teddy's voice breaks and tears start to track down his cheeks, silver in the moonlight. "I didn't even know I had it until the dementor. I…it's all blurry and indistinct because I'm so young but I'm…I'm in a pram, I think, staring up at the ceiling and then…then my dad comes in and he leans down and kisses my forehead and he tells me he loves me and that, that he'll see me soon. And then he's gone, James, he's just gone. And then…then it just drags on and I'm staring at the ceiling and then there's all this angry noise nearby and then my mum is leaning down, too, and her hair is pink and her eyes are dark and she's lifting me up and holds me and I can see my Gran over her shoulder and she…she tells me she loves me, too, and that her and my dad love me so much and that they'll both see me soon. Then she puts me down and she's gone. They never come back, James. Never. It's just the ceiling, the ceiling, the ceiling and then my Gran crying and…"

Teddy shakes himself, scrubbing at the tears on his cheeks, and James doesn't know what to do; he's too horrified by the memory.

"They never said 'we'll be back soon'." Teddy whispered, looking away from James, up at the moon. "Neither of them said that. They said they'd see me soon. Never that they were coming back. I think they knew, you know? They knew they weren't going to see me again."

"Teddy, Teddy, stop." James grabbed Teddy's sleeve and pressed his forehead against the skinny boy's shoulder, gripping his arm. "Please. You're right; I don't understand. I don't. But I…I want to do something—"

Teddy shuddered, again, and he made to move to acknowledge that James was touching him.

"You know, I always thought that Harry and I were kind of alike." Teddy whispered, voice painfully soft. "Both orphans before we knew our parents. But after being in America, I realized how different we were. Harry's survival made him famous, made his parents matter. It gave him a purpose; turned him into a hero. My parents are just footnotes, more names in the list of the dead. I'm nothing. Their death made me nothing. They shouldn't have died for me—they knew they were going to die, they never never said they'd come back soon. But, with all that, with all their sacrifice…I've still come to nothing."

He was quiet for a moment and then he shook James off and turned back to the house, shoulders stiff.

"So if I want to smoke a damn fag, who bloody cares?" Teddy hissed before slamming the back door behind him.

James watched the spot Teddy had vacated for a long time, too stunned to cry or get angry or hurt. All he could see was baby Teddy lying in a pram and being kissed by the parents who were on their way to the Battle of Hogwarts—the last time the small Lupin family would be alive together.

Teddy was right. There was nothing to understand. It was deeper than that; black and white, cold hard facts, yet somehow complex and never-ending and bitter as blood.

After what felt like hours, James trudged upstairs to his room. Teddy was already asleep, his back to the door.