[TM] Mad
The stairs leading upstairs don't seem stable enough to support his weight, but that fact is lost in him as he rushes past the door and leaps onto the steps. The creaks and groans the boards make from under him are ignored, because instead there's another sound that rings in his ears. They are screams, so loud and terrified that the mix of emotions running through him makes it hard for him to see straight. There's helplessness, anguish for the poor soul getting tortured, but above everything else there is anger. Anger so hot and strong flowing through his veins that he feels the way it pulses all along his body.
Teddy doesn't have to look in the broken mirror that's in the empty hallway leading up to that room where the screams are coming from to know that his hair has morphed red. In a Muggle supermarket he had once seen something called a mood ring, and that was the best way to describe his hair. If he was happy, the bright turquoise would be seen from miles away. If he was morose, even his natural hair color would look dull and faded.
Right now, however, it's red. Fiery red, just like his temper. One would figure that just the way his expression hardens and shows some signs of the wolf like his father would be enough, because a lot of his temperament is from him, but the bright red hair is also there. Just like his mother's.
Suddenly there's another scream just as he reaches the door, and without reaching for his wand he blasts the door open. Wandless magic. Something else from his father.
That thought doesn't quite make itself known, though, because he's taking in the sight in front of him. The cloaked figure standing over the small girl that's on the floor. The cloaked figure that's cackling in a way that makes his skin crawl. The cloaked figure that turns to him and steers his attention away from the bruised and tearstained face that belongs to that little girl.
And for a second Teddy falters. Any signs or traces of how his expression had hardened disappear. The red in his hair becomes less intense, because those eyes looking back at him are so familiar. Those dark eyes, and that ink-black hair identical to his own natural hair color.
Of course it would be. They are related, after all.
"Let her go," Teddy says coldly, the anger returning in a strong wave that suddenly washes over him. So what if this is his grandmother's sister? he tries to convince himself. So what if she's family, no matter all the horrible things she has done?
"Aw, pup," Bellatrix says in a small, mocking voice that sounds like she's cooing at him. "You know better than that, don't you?"
A twisted smirk graces her features, one that makes Teddy's blood run cold, but there's no sign of fear as he raises his wand when she does the same. Sparks of light shoot off as hexes and curses dance across the room, but after a few minutes they both stumble back. As the lights cease to exist in the room, something takes a hold of Teddy. Something cold that wraps itself tightly around him, but it's not uncomfortable at all. It's already a second skin that feels natural. Fitting.
There are no words. There is just a smirk on his face, and a beam of red light that shoots off from his wand and goes straight towards Bellatrix that matches the color of his hair.
It's with a jolt that Teddy realizes he's already awake, gasping and sitting up as if he's trying to get away from that red light he himself had been responsible for. There had been no words, but he can hear them ringing in his head as if he had just shouted them out.
Crucio. Crucio. CRUCIO.
His stomach churns, and in a flash he's up and in the bathroom. Once there, though, his stomach keeps on turning but not enough to make him sick even if he knows well enough that it should.
He's an Auror. He's the son, godson and grandson of people who are heroes, and he's dreaming of casting unforgivable curses?
Using his hands to support himself as he stands over the sink, he keeps looking down at the tiles as he forces himself to calm down. It's easy to know why the dream had come. Two days ago they had had to deal with a case similar to that. Someone thinking that they could practice unforgivable curses and get away with it. But, no matter the similarities, that someone hadn't been Bellatrix Lestrange. And, no matter how angry he had been, he hadn't started to shoot off Crucio to teach them a lesson.
Merlin, but he had wanted to. There had been a force so strong that had taken a hold of him that one of his colleagues had forced him to step away to inspect the rest of the building because they would take care of the rest.
Shaking his head to get rid of the thoughts, Teddy took a breath and splashed his face with cold water. It was a dream. It had just been a dream, and that other person had gotten caught. There was no need for this.
Finally turning to look at himself in the mirror, though, makes him see how red his hair still is and he just stares rather than looking away. That smirk had been hers. Not his father's, or his mother's. Not his godfather's, or his grandmother's. It had been all Bellatrix. Did things like that, that need and that madness that she had, get passed down as well?
Passing his fingers through his still-red hair, Teddy takes another deep breath but doesn't move. He's his parents' son. He's his godfather's and grandmother's son as well. He's the son of so many good people, he reminds himself, and that all must count for something.
He sincerely hopes so, at least.
w.c. 1,009; belongs to any of his timelines
Teddy doesn't have to look in the broken mirror that's in the empty hallway leading up to that room where the screams are coming from to know that his hair has morphed red. In a Muggle supermarket he had once seen something called a mood ring, and that was the best way to describe his hair. If he was happy, the bright turquoise would be seen from miles away. If he was morose, even his natural hair color would look dull and faded.
Right now, however, it's red. Fiery red, just like his temper. One would figure that just the way his expression hardens and shows some signs of the wolf like his father would be enough, because a lot of his temperament is from him, but the bright red hair is also there. Just like his mother's.
Suddenly there's another scream just as he reaches the door, and without reaching for his wand he blasts the door open. Wandless magic. Something else from his father.
That thought doesn't quite make itself known, though, because he's taking in the sight in front of him. The cloaked figure standing over the small girl that's on the floor. The cloaked figure that's cackling in a way that makes his skin crawl. The cloaked figure that turns to him and steers his attention away from the bruised and tearstained face that belongs to that little girl.
And for a second Teddy falters. Any signs or traces of how his expression had hardened disappear. The red in his hair becomes less intense, because those eyes looking back at him are so familiar. Those dark eyes, and that ink-black hair identical to his own natural hair color.
Of course it would be. They are related, after all.
"Let her go," Teddy says coldly, the anger returning in a strong wave that suddenly washes over him. So what if this is his grandmother's sister? he tries to convince himself. So what if she's family, no matter all the horrible things she has done?
"Aw, pup," Bellatrix says in a small, mocking voice that sounds like she's cooing at him. "You know better than that, don't you?"
A twisted smirk graces her features, one that makes Teddy's blood run cold, but there's no sign of fear as he raises his wand when she does the same. Sparks of light shoot off as hexes and curses dance across the room, but after a few minutes they both stumble back. As the lights cease to exist in the room, something takes a hold of Teddy. Something cold that wraps itself tightly around him, but it's not uncomfortable at all. It's already a second skin that feels natural. Fitting.
There are no words. There is just a smirk on his face, and a beam of red light that shoots off from his wand and goes straight towards Bellatrix that matches the color of his hair.
It's with a jolt that Teddy realizes he's already awake, gasping and sitting up as if he's trying to get away from that red light he himself had been responsible for. There had been no words, but he can hear them ringing in his head as if he had just shouted them out.
Crucio. Crucio. CRUCIO.
His stomach churns, and in a flash he's up and in the bathroom. Once there, though, his stomach keeps on turning but not enough to make him sick even if he knows well enough that it should.
He's an Auror. He's the son, godson and grandson of people who are heroes, and he's dreaming of casting unforgivable curses?
Using his hands to support himself as he stands over the sink, he keeps looking down at the tiles as he forces himself to calm down. It's easy to know why the dream had come. Two days ago they had had to deal with a case similar to that. Someone thinking that they could practice unforgivable curses and get away with it. But, no matter the similarities, that someone hadn't been Bellatrix Lestrange. And, no matter how angry he had been, he hadn't started to shoot off Crucio to teach them a lesson.
Merlin, but he had wanted to. There had been a force so strong that had taken a hold of him that one of his colleagues had forced him to step away to inspect the rest of the building because they would take care of the rest.
Shaking his head to get rid of the thoughts, Teddy took a breath and splashed his face with cold water. It was a dream. It had just been a dream, and that other person had gotten caught. There was no need for this.
Finally turning to look at himself in the mirror, though, makes him see how red his hair still is and he just stares rather than looking away. That smirk had been hers. Not his father's, or his mother's. Not his godfather's, or his grandmother's. It had been all Bellatrix. Did things like that, that need and that madness that she had, get passed down as well?
Passing his fingers through his still-red hair, Teddy takes another deep breath but doesn't move. He's his parents' son. He's his godfather's and grandmother's son as well. He's the son of so many good people, he reminds himself, and that all must count for something.
He sincerely hopes so, at least.
w.c. 1,009; belongs to any of his timelines