"in the early morning, I know his loneliness,
like mine, human and sad,
but different, too, his private pain
and pleasure I can never enter even as he comes
closer"
-chance meeting, susan browne
They part ways outside the museum – Teddy offers her a companionable wave, and then ducks into an alley to Apparate – and Lily's left with Maastricht exactly where she wants it: all to herself.
She stands there for a second and takes a deep breath, a city map in her hands, enough destinations to glut herself on – and is stuck. She stares at the map for a few seconds, eyes flicking from circled location to circled location, and folds it up.
All she can remember about Teddy's grandmother is her hair – light brown and iron-grey. She's been trying, but she can't recall what her face looked like; Lily can barely remember meeting her.
It leaves a bitter taste on her tongue. Lily knows a little of the story, how Teddy's grandmother left her entire family to be with Teddy's grandfather, and then lost him and Teddy's parents in the war.
It seems so sad, to lose a family twice over, and then to be forgotten by the people around her, too.
Did it help, to have Teddy? Did it make it… harder somehow, to only have a baby who didn't remember the people she loved either?
Lily thinks of all the spaces for her uncle Fred that still wait in her grandmother's house, and has to wonder how much silence stretched between Teddy and his Gram.
And still, he'd said Gram was all I had.
What's that like? She wonders fruitlessly, wandering near a shop window. How much kindness does it take to build a family out of that? It's easy to imagine Teddy doing it, kindness as simple as standing for him, but how much effort had it taken Mrs. Tonks to do it, on the back of a loss like hers?
Lily is reconstructing that life - without the bulwarks of Mum and Dad or James and Albus to build herself upon, just two people trying to carry one another - and realizes with crushing inadequacy that she couldn't have lived it.
If it had been her, just her and Teddy – the door near her opens suddenly, and Lily realizes she's been dawdling near the window far too long.
This is why you always stick to a schedule, she chides herself before turning to face the man coming outside.
"Wil je binnenkomen?" he asks, gesturing through the door. Lily doesn't know Dutch, but it's easy to guess he's inviting her inside. She nods at him, and finds her pleasant smile in time to receive an answering one.
It's a lovely store, packed with books that are strewn on tables and shelves in a nearly haphazard fashion, but with enough elegant touches to show the careful orchestration behind it. Her pleasant smile turns into a true one, and she shares it with the owner as she wanders towards the shelves.
Finally, here is something that is only hers, only hers and still worth sharing.
It's nearly dark before she leaves, clutching three books in her hands: one in French, one in German, and one mostly pictures. The French she thinks she can muddle through on her own, but she had bought the German book simply for the pleasure it had given her to hold it. It's a steady, hefty weight, bound in slightly cracked leather.
She moves it to the top of her small pile again, filled with satisfaction. Now that she's back inside her hotel, the cracked leather is a rich, doe-eyed brown in the light of the sunset.
It can't be too challenging to learn German, can it? Surely someone she knows can teach her. Lily considers the people she knows who have been to Germany, and ends up at Teddy again. Then again, maybe he was the sort who got by on hand gestures and his expressions. She snickers at the image this brings up.
He might appreciate the picture book in that case, she thinks, a little snidely. Lily takes another look at the sky, darkening to a velvet blue, and considers. He might be done with whatever he's working on, and if he isn't… it couldn't hurt to ask.
She considers how to send him a note for a few strained moments, and settles on a paper mouse, hoping he'll recognize his note to her in it.
You don't happen to speak German, do you?
She's well on her way to reconsidering her knowledge of French when she receives a response.
Only enough to say "Can I eat this?" Why?
This one comes properly carried by an owl, and she has to hunt through the detritus of her luggage to find something to give her.
"Thank you," she murmurs, running a knuckle over the feathers at the bird's neck.
Went shopping. She sends back, and is pleased when the little bird comes back.
"Late for you, isn't it?" She asks the owl. She's heaped the remainder of her owl treats by the windowsill, and she watches the bird peck at them for a second before turning to the letter.
All right, I'll pay for dinner if you'll explain.
She laughs at the obvious concession, and sends a quick Sure, before abandoning the French novel and hurrying for her scarf.