"I just don't get it," moaned Teddy, draining his ninth lager and lining the empty bottle alongside the other eight. "I mean, I thought we were good. I was going to propose when she finished school." He signaled the bartender for another before folding his arms and burying his face in them.

Harry rubbed his godson's back and took a sip of his own beer. "Maybe it's good you found out now. I mean, you could've been married with kids before she realized she couldn't stand the way you clean the loo."

Teddy looked up and accepted his next beer. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Harry peeled the label off of his own bottle. "Look, Teddy, she's your first girlfriend…"

"Was," Teddy interrupted, picking up the scraps of label his godfather had littered the bar with. "Waswaswaswaswas."

"She was your first girlfriend. Most people don't marry their first girlfriend, you know." Teddy glared at him without taking his mouth off of his beer. Harry raised his hands defensively. "I mean it! I had a girlfriend before Ginny, and she had boyfriends before me. Breaking up sucks, but you get over it eventually."

Teddy shook his head miserably. "I'm worried there is no one else for me. Even my computer program says she's my first match."

Harry gave him an amused glance. "You put Victoire in that database of yours? Love's not as easy as typing in some keywords, you know."

"Tell that to my bank account. And my clients. I can match nearly anyone, you know. Except myself, apparently." He took another long drink. "Why do I have to be like this?"

"Like what?" Harry asked. Teddy waved a hand toward the perfectly straight row of empty bottles, all turned with the labels facing forward. Harry shrugged. "Everyone has something about themselves that they don't like. Yours just happens to be diagnosable."

"Mild to moderate obsessive compulsive disorder. Doesn't seem so mild when someone breaks up with you for it." He drained his beer and contemplated ordering another. One more and he would've had eleven, which he could handle. But eleven was an odd number, so he would have to have twelve. And twelve sometimes led to vomiting, which sometimes led to falling asleep with a messy bathroom and that was NOT on. He put the tenth bottle in line with the rest before he could work himself into a panic attack.

Harry must have noticed his distress because he put an arm around Teddy and took deep breaths, wordlessly encouraging him to do the same. When Teddy had calmed down, Harry released him with a light pat on the shoulder. "I know it doesn't feel like it, but you could be a lot worse. You don't wash yourself raw, or pick at your skin. You aren't anti-social and even having a two year relationship to begin with is more than most kids your age can do." He gestured toward the row of bottles. "Someday, someone is going to think that's the most adorable thing they've ever seen. That's the person you're meant to be with, Teddy. The fact that you and Victoire didn't last proves that she wasn't the one for you. Just give it some time. You'll find someone, I promise." He slid off of the barstool and held an arm out toward Teddy. "Shall I stumble you home, good sir?"