Fourteen.
Teddy is fourteen. As is customary, the third years have finally been allowed to visit Hogsmeade. They have already been a couple of times so far, but the novelty still hasn't worn off. It is late April, and the clouds above threaten rain. It is dull and overcast, and Teddy feels the same.
"Do you know what she said in her letter to me this morning?" Norman, Teddy's best friend, asks him rhetorically. "'Don't forget to get Walter something from Honeydukes!' Honestly.". He sighs in exasperation. "I didn't have anyone buying me sweets when I was in first year!"
Norman's mother, it turns out, had written to her son that morning wishing him a pleasant trip to Hogsmeade, and reminding him to buy his little brother a gift from the sweet shop, too, which Norman feels is completely unfair. He shouldn't be made to share his sweets or buy his brother some- after all, going to Hogsmeade is supposed to be a treat for the third years- and he has felt the need to relay the unjustness of it all to Teddy on their walk from the school to Hogsmeade.
Teddy isn't really listening, but he agrees that it is unfair. He's jealous of Norman- Teddy will never be asked to share anything with his siblings, nor will he ever get a letter from his mother. He can't understand why Norman is annoyed. It isn't fair.
"Norman!" A loud voice calls from behind them. "Norman!"
Norman turns to respond to whoever is calling him, and Teddy looks over his shoulder to see as well. A square-jawed wizard with thick, straw-coloured hair strides towards them, his bottle green robes flowing behind him. "Hullo!" he cries. Teddy regards him carefully; he looks like his head has been thatched.
"Oh," Norman shuffles slowly towards him, his hands buried deep in his pockets. "Hello, Mr Podmore."
The man's eyes roam over Norman's face. "Merlin, you look more like Stanley every time I see you." He decides. "I bet you get that all the time, don't you son!" Norman nods in agreement. "Yes," the man continues. "You've the exact same nose!"
Teddy knows that Stanley is Norman's father, but he does not know who this man is. Norman and Mr Podmore talk about his parents, and most specifically, how much he looks like them. Mr Podmore apparently cannot get over this fact- as if he's never seen another child look so much like someone else. Teddy has met Norman's father before, and he has seen photographs of him, and he thinks this man may be exaggerating somewhat. Norman's hair is not a bit like his father's- it's not even the same colour. And of course his father looks a lot older, and they don't act alike or speak alike or do anything alike really. Teddy accepts that if he squints a little Norman and his father do have similar noses.
The man seems to eye Teddy strangely, as if he has seen him before and he was trying to recall where. But Teddy is sure he has no idea who the man is.
"Oh," Norman says quickly, catching Mr Podmore observing Teddy. "This is my friend, Teddy." He tells him, and Teddy politely offers his hand out, murmuring a swift hello.
"Teddy." Mr Podmore repeats somewhat pensively, shaking Teddy's proffered hand.
"Yes." Teddy tells him, squirming under the man's curious gaze. "Teddy." He reinforces, and for reasons completely unbeknown to him, he tells him, "Teddy Lupin."
Mr Podmore's face breaks into a soft smile of sudden understanding. "Teddy Lupin. Of course." He replies quietly.
Back at the castle later that afternoon, Teddy finds himself still contemplating the peculiar conversation with the man in Hogsmeade. He is dragged from his thoughts by Norman fidgeting beside him.
"Right," Norman sighs resignedly, rolling up his parchment and stuffing it unceremoniously in his bag. He rummages through it to find the small packet of Honeydukes chocolate drops he had purchased earlier that day. He shakes them at Teddy. "I best take these to Walter. He'll probably be in his common room now. Do you fancy a walk, Ted?"
"I should really finish this," Teddy tells him, gesturing to the parchment laid out in front of him.
"Is it the lunar chart for Astrology?" He asks, peering at Teddy's parchment. "Come on, Ted, if there's one person who doesn't need to revise stuff like that it's you!" Norman is right- Teddy has always had a morbid fascination with the phases of the moon. Most nights he finds himself absentmindedly staring through the dormitory window at it. He can remember when he used to hide under his bed because he was scared of it. Now, it mesmerises him; he becomes absorbed in its pale glow.
That evening, however, he does not gaze hopelessly out of the window at the moon. Instead Teddy sits on his bed, the curtains drawn around him, with a hefty book spread open on his lap. It is a history book he has taken out of the library all about the Second Wizarding War. There is nothing in it that he does not know, in fact, there are probably things he knows better than the book. Having a godfather who was vital to the war effort had that effect. But he is not reading it to learn something; he just enjoys reading about things Harry has already told him about. It reminds Teddy of him, and it's nice when he feels lonely. He finds that books often help him when he feels alone. There's something comforting in the faraway fantasies in fiction books, or the unchanging facts in non-fiction. He's barely flicking through it, scanning his eyes across the words and skimming over odd pictures. He flicks to a page at the back when a photograph of a wizard catches his eye. His father looks out of the book at him. Teddy glances at the caption and learns that his father had received a posthumous Order of Merlin. It turns out there are things he does not know, then. Why would no one tell him that?
He studies intently the curvature of his father's nose, the shape and shade of his eyes, his strong cheekbones. He has a lined face, with flecks of grey through his hair. He holds a handheld mirror to his face and peers into it. His hair is short and vibrant, his eyes bright, his face full. There's not much in his appearance that is similar to the photograph in the book on his lap. He thinks that it would be nice if he just looked a little bit more like his parents.
And being a metamorphmagus, of course, he can do just that.
He decides to start without any morphed features at all. He's not really sure whether that's possible- does he have a natural look? It's very odd, and once again he wishes he had someone to talk to about it.
He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, thinking of absolutely nothing in particular. He exhales, and tries to be completely at ease. The tips of his hair lengthen slowly to reach just above his chin. His fringe, so often morphed into a soft quiff, sinks down and over onto his forehead, a natural wave in the middle, keeping the ends out of his eyes. The vibrant blue colour slowly fades, growing gradually paler, until the blue is completely replaced by a light brown colour. He squints open his eyes to peek into the mirror. This must be his natural hair, he thinks. He's a little surprised- for some reason, he had just expected it to be dark like his Grandmother's. It looks rather ordinary. He screws his eyes shut again; it is much easier that way. His face loses its colour, growing paler, making him look somewhat sickly. The rouge tint of his cheeks disappear. The shape of his nose strengthens; his cheekbones grow slightly more pronounced. His eyes do not change very much; they simply darkened in colour, the pools of his iris' so deep they seem to sparkle.
He can tell he is not morphing. His face seems to relax. He has never realised before that the muscles in his face would tighten and feel heavy, but now he feels strange; he feels nothing at all, and he is completely content. It is comforting- like sitting in a room with no sound. He raises the mirror to survey his natural appearance. He's speechless when he sees the reflection.
Staring back at him is a young Remus Lupin. He looks exactly like his father. Except for the eyes.
sorry about the cliché ending/last sentence- but I just couldn't resist!