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Written for QL Reserve League, S2, R2, Keeper - Write about Teddy Lupin drinking.
Word Count - 1054
In Memory
He filled his glass and lifted it to his lips, knocking the amber liquid back. It burned down his throat, making him wince.
He poured a second drink and fell into the armchair, flopping back so his head rested against the plush, plum cushion.
It had been a long day.
The second of May always was.
It had dawned, as it often did, with bright sunshine. With summer poking it's way through the clouds of spring, it wasn't very often that they didn't have nice weather.
Teddy supposed it was a good thing, since the service for the fallen heroes of the Battle of Hogwarts was held outside, on the sprawling grounds of Hogwarts.
He'd attended, as he always did, at Harry's side, standing strong and proud as people bowed their heads in memory.
It was strange, to see so many people honouring the deaths of parents he didn't remember.
As their names had been read out from a list, Teddy, as he always was, had been horrified by the sheer amount of people who'd lost their lives.
In his youth, the list hadn't been so long, but Harry had fought and argued alongside a few others—Hermione for one—for the names of the fallen Death Eaters to be included.
They may have been fighting for the wrong reasons, Harry had said, but they'd still been lost to the people that loved them.
When he was younger, Teddy hadn't really understood the sentiment, but he thought he did now.
After all, once upon a time, wasn't his father amongst the group of individuals that wouldn't have been honoured?
Sipping his drink, Teddy closed his eyes. You'd think that it would get easier as the years passed by, but it never did.
Hearing his parents names spoken by someone who'd probably never even met them always rankled. He understood the purpose of the memorial, of course he did. He knew that it was a way to make sure that people remembered the cost of war.
It just annoyed him that the lost were turned into a reading assignment for a ministry official that had never done anything but push papers.
Teddy always preferred the second half of the memorial. People who knew those that had been lost were invited to speak, to share memories of happier times.
Harry always led the speeches, and he always had a new story to tell about Teddy's mum and dad, be it one of his own, or one told to him by another. He always looked directly at Teddy when he told it, too.
Like it was their own private conversation in the crowd.
Minister Shacklebolt was the one to always finish the speeches, and he too often had a story, though more often than not it was about his mother, and her many accidents during her Auror training.
Teddy had gained her clumsiness, and he often found himself chuckling despite the pain as the Minister painted a clear picture of her antics.
When the memorial was over, Teddy often had dinner with Harry, a more private memorial between them. It was always nice to catch up with his Godfather. He didn't see him as often now that he was an adult himself, though he knew he could always go to him if he needed anything.
And then, Teddy would always come home and open a bottle of firewhisky, bought specially because he knew he'd want it.
He always did.
Teddy didn't drink often, all too aware of what it could do to a man. He'd heard Harry talking about the cases he'd worked on when alcohol had been a factor too often to want to put himself in that kind of situation.
But this one day of the year, he allowed himself to indulge.
It didn't ease the pain, but it made it easier to think around it. To think about his parents without the sharp agony that often came with the thoughts.
When he was younger, the stories of others made him angry. He'd thought it was unfair that other people had memories of his parents when he couldn't even picture them in his mind.
Now that he was older, he appreciated the stories. They made him feel closer to his parents, to see them through the eyes of others when he didn't have anything to draw on himself.
Draining his second glass, Teddy eyed the bottle.
He didn't know if he even wanted to drink anymore. Reaching out, he snagged the bottle and rocked it between his hands, the amber liquid sloshing about.
He didn't need it, he thought.
He could put the bottle away and go to bed.
Checking the clock, Teddy saw that it was approaching midnight. One more drink then, to take him over into the next day, before he went to bed.
He poured it into the tumbler, not drunk enough to swig from the bottle.
He watched the clock, the seconds ticking by, uncaring of his impatience to be done with the day.
Tomorrow, he thought he might see if Victoire wanted to go out and do something; anything to remind himself of the life he had now rather than the one he should have had if his parents had lived.
He was happy. It was important to remind himself of that on a day like it had been, because he did realise that he was extremely lucky.
He had a loving family, built rather than born, and he had a girlfriend he adored. He had friends, and he was studying zoology, which was something he loved.
Teddy pushed himself up out of his seat and walked to the window. The moon wasn't quite full, but it was large and low and bright in the sky and he smiled slightly.
Raising his glass to the moon, he murmured, "I love you, Mum. I love you, Dad."
Emptying the glass, Teddy put it down as the clock struck midnight.
He didn't need a single day to remind him of his parents, he carried them with him every day—along with the rest of the people he loved.
"Goodnight," he whispered, turning away from the moon.
He could have sworn he heard the echo of two people laughing in the distance, the warmth of the sound filling him in a way that firewhisky never could.