Teddy Lupin - Harlequin
Title: Harlequin
Author: andromeda3116/cupid-painted-blind
Rating: G, I think.
Summary: Seven ways to wear a mask. (Teddy Lupin lies.)
A/N: *cough* Why is it that I can only seem to write when I've got 654,302,852 other things to do? Um, this is kind of different and the tenses are admittedly weird. I don't think it's really wrong inasmuch as... hard to follow, you know?
harlequin
(or, seven ways to wear a mask)
i.
He kids himself, sometimes. He'll wake up right before dawn and he'll say he sees his mother's face, laughing, cooing at the baby boy he was this many years ago. And when Victoire asks him how he can remember what she looked like, how could he possibly know who his mother was when she died when he was only a month old, and he'll tell her - every time she asks, he'll say the same thing -
I know what she looked like because she was my mother, and you don't ever forget these things.
And then Victoire will ask Uncle Harry if he remembers what his mother looked like, and Uncle Harry will always say no and Teddy calls him a liar when he does because -
Because Uncle Harry must be lying, Victoire, because I'm telling the truth, god's honest, absolute truth. Would I lie to you?
She looks unconvinced when he says this, but doesn't push the issue.
(It's unfair, yes, to everyone involved, but it feels good to look at the pictures and pretend he recognizes the woman in them.)
ii.
He pretends, sometimes. He'll imagine that he comes across a den of werewolves and they're all bloodthirsty and trying to kill him and then all of a sudden one of them will stand up and say - that's my son, you leave him alone - and his father will turn right back into a human and come home with his boy and, and maybe he'll be magically cured of his werewolf-ness (what's it called again?) and then his father will reach into Teddy's dreams and photographs (and memories, he insists, and memories) and pull his mother back into the world of the living.
And they will live happily ever after.
Teddy tells anyone who will listen that his father was a great man, a great man, you hear me? Werewolves can be wonderful people, you know, when it's not a full moon.
And then James will ask him how he knows his father was such a great man and then Uncle Harry will tell him - every time he asks, he'll say the same thing -
Remus Lupin was a great man, James, and Teddy's right. Werewolves can be great people.
(The problem is, Teddy doesn't really believe it, because after all, he's never met his own dad, and even in his own dreams he can't imagine the man's face. He's always furry or dog-ish or else shadowed or turned around. Even in Teddy's dreams he doesn't know who his father is.)
iii.
He lies, sometimes. He'll tell the boys at school that his father was a Muggle and his mum was a wickedly powerful witch who tangled with the great Bellatrix Lestrange and came out on top, and the boys will gasp and ask him to tell them more and Teddy will tell them that he's been sworn to secrecy. He doesn't tell them, ever, who his famous godfather is because then they'll probably put the pieces together, but it's hard to explain that the note on the birthday or Christmas gift really says Harry Porter, not Harry Potter, and it's even harder to explain to them why his parents don't ever send him gifts.
They're in hiding, you know, because there's still some Death Eaters out there. Can't send owls, but they'll give me my gifts when I get home for the holidays.
Teddy avoids going home for the holidays. If the boys at school notice, they don't ask.
(Teddy hates this more than the questions, actually, because it means they pity him, and he doesn't want their pity.)
iv.
He hides, sometimes. Grandmama lets him miss dinner some days, when he's feeling really down, and she leaves him a plate at the door, always with a note or a little trinket or a photograph. He never sees her leave it, but it's always there, and it's always hot, and sometimes he half-expects that if he ran really fast and turned the nearest corner, he might see her hiding there, too, either watching to see his reaction, or worse.
He doesn't fool himself - he knows that Grandmama does the same thing he does on these nights. She'll sit in her room and curl up under the covers and close her eyes really tight and she'll whisper to herself the same way he does -
I'll see them again, someday. They love me and they did what they did to protect me. They love me. They love me.
It aches a little to think of this, and one time - only one time - during the summer holiday between his first and second year, he runs around the nearest corner, picture of his mother clutched in his fingers, and he opens the door to see Grandmama sitting still on her bed, and he curls up in her lap the way he never used to and puts his head on her shoulder and asks, before he can stop himself -
Why did they have to die to prove they loved us?
And Grandmama puts her arms around him and doesn't answer.
(And why, he wants to ask but doesn't, why did some people get to keep their parents and husbands and daughters and we didn't?)
(What's wrong with us, he wants to ask, why weren't we good enough?)
v.
He laughs, sometimes. He'll look at photographs and he'll see some celebrity or dead old witch or wizard with some ridiculous hair-do or feature and he'll study it and mimic it in the mirror until he's got it just right and then he'll show Grandmama and Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny and all the family and they'll laugh because it's such a good imitation, isn't Teddy wonderful? Doesn't he just belong on the stage?
And Teddy will find some other person to mimic, and for a second he'll look like a very masculine Victore or a very young Grandpa Weasley, and everyone will laugh because he'll follow them around pretending to be them and it's very funny, he knows.
And Grandmama will say that Dora did that, too, and no one will get morose because after all, that was so very long ago. Better to cherish the memory than cry over it. Even Grandmama will smile fondly in remembrance, and Teddy will feel cheated every time this happens, because they've been let in on some big secret that he'll never know.
(But what did she look like, he asks one dull morning, when she wasn't pretending? And no one has an answer.)
vi.
He cries, sometimes. In the shower, when there's no one to see him, where the steam and water will hide his tears, he will sit on the floor and let it all run over him and he'll wonder why he's alone, and why no one takes him seriously. And he'll try to rein it in - because he's not alone and some people do take him seriously when he's not playing the fool - but it's just that sometimes, sometimes you can only lie to yourself so much before you've got to face the truth.
My mother is dead and I don't recognize her face, he'll think sometimes. My father is dead and he was just as bad as all the other werewolves on the full moon, he'll say. I will never have a little brother to annoy or a little sister to protect. I don't remember them.
And the truth burns more than the water, and the tears more than the steam. And he will cry and he will hit the wall of the shower until his knuckles ache and he won't solve anything, because as soon as he walks out of the bathroom and curls up under his covers, he will lie again. That night, he'll dream of furry shadows and pretty mysteries and he won't let the moment of weakness - of honesty- obscure his little corner of paradise.
He tells Uncle Harry about his dreams once, and asks if Uncle Harry ever dreamed like this too, and Uncle Harry will say yes, of course, I did, but I grew out of it.
(And Teddy will call him a liar.)
vii.
He wakes up, sometimes. And the morning is gray and he'll realize that he's been waiting his whole life for a moment that will never come, he's been looking behind every corner and every curtain and every wall for people who will never, ever, ever be there. He'll realize that he's been waiting for the curtain call, for the dead characters to re-materialize into the actors who play them and take a bow, for his parents to come back on stage and be okay again, because it's all an illusion, remember?
It's all okay in the end, remember?
And they'll tell him that he was born to be an actor, such a lively presence, such a clever boy, so good with words, such a believable liar. He'll steal the stage, they'll tell him, he'll be fantastic. And Teddy will grin every time they say this, and he'll reply, cheeky, arm wrapped around the nearest girl -
Why would I want to be an actor, and pretend all the time?
(And they will believe him, and laugh.)
(coda)
Once, in the gray light of morning, Victoire tells him he's not fooling anyone.
Places, he thinks, and pretends he doesn't know what she's talking about.
(She doesn't mention it again.)
Author: andromeda3116/cupid-painted-blind
Rating: G, I think.
Summary: Seven ways to wear a mask. (Teddy Lupin lies.)
A/N: *cough* Why is it that I can only seem to write when I've got 654,302,852 other things to do? Um, this is kind of different and the tenses are admittedly weird. I don't think it's really wrong inasmuch as... hard to follow, you know?
harlequin
(or, seven ways to wear a mask)
i.
He kids himself, sometimes. He'll wake up right before dawn and he'll say he sees his mother's face, laughing, cooing at the baby boy he was this many years ago. And when Victoire asks him how he can remember what she looked like, how could he possibly know who his mother was when she died when he was only a month old, and he'll tell her - every time she asks, he'll say the same thing -
I know what she looked like because she was my mother, and you don't ever forget these things.
And then Victoire will ask Uncle Harry if he remembers what his mother looked like, and Uncle Harry will always say no and Teddy calls him a liar when he does because -
Because Uncle Harry must be lying, Victoire, because I'm telling the truth, god's honest, absolute truth. Would I lie to you?
She looks unconvinced when he says this, but doesn't push the issue.
(It's unfair, yes, to everyone involved, but it feels good to look at the pictures and pretend he recognizes the woman in them.)
ii.
He pretends, sometimes. He'll imagine that he comes across a den of werewolves and they're all bloodthirsty and trying to kill him and then all of a sudden one of them will stand up and say - that's my son, you leave him alone - and his father will turn right back into a human and come home with his boy and, and maybe he'll be magically cured of his werewolf-ness (what's it called again?) and then his father will reach into Teddy's dreams and photographs (and memories, he insists, and memories) and pull his mother back into the world of the living.
And they will live happily ever after.
Teddy tells anyone who will listen that his father was a great man, a great man, you hear me? Werewolves can be wonderful people, you know, when it's not a full moon.
And then James will ask him how he knows his father was such a great man and then Uncle Harry will tell him - every time he asks, he'll say the same thing -
Remus Lupin was a great man, James, and Teddy's right. Werewolves can be great people.
(The problem is, Teddy doesn't really believe it, because after all, he's never met his own dad, and even in his own dreams he can't imagine the man's face. He's always furry or dog-ish or else shadowed or turned around. Even in Teddy's dreams he doesn't know who his father is.)
iii.
He lies, sometimes. He'll tell the boys at school that his father was a Muggle and his mum was a wickedly powerful witch who tangled with the great Bellatrix Lestrange and came out on top, and the boys will gasp and ask him to tell them more and Teddy will tell them that he's been sworn to secrecy. He doesn't tell them, ever, who his famous godfather is because then they'll probably put the pieces together, but it's hard to explain that the note on the birthday or Christmas gift really says Harry Porter, not Harry Potter, and it's even harder to explain to them why his parents don't ever send him gifts.
They're in hiding, you know, because there's still some Death Eaters out there. Can't send owls, but they'll give me my gifts when I get home for the holidays.
Teddy avoids going home for the holidays. If the boys at school notice, they don't ask.
(Teddy hates this more than the questions, actually, because it means they pity him, and he doesn't want their pity.)
iv.
He hides, sometimes. Grandmama lets him miss dinner some days, when he's feeling really down, and she leaves him a plate at the door, always with a note or a little trinket or a photograph. He never sees her leave it, but it's always there, and it's always hot, and sometimes he half-expects that if he ran really fast and turned the nearest corner, he might see her hiding there, too, either watching to see his reaction, or worse.
He doesn't fool himself - he knows that Grandmama does the same thing he does on these nights. She'll sit in her room and curl up under the covers and close her eyes really tight and she'll whisper to herself the same way he does -
I'll see them again, someday. They love me and they did what they did to protect me. They love me. They love me.
It aches a little to think of this, and one time - only one time - during the summer holiday between his first and second year, he runs around the nearest corner, picture of his mother clutched in his fingers, and he opens the door to see Grandmama sitting still on her bed, and he curls up in her lap the way he never used to and puts his head on her shoulder and asks, before he can stop himself -
Why did they have to die to prove they loved us?
And Grandmama puts her arms around him and doesn't answer.
(And why, he wants to ask but doesn't, why did some people get to keep their parents and husbands and daughters and we didn't?)
(What's wrong with us, he wants to ask, why weren't we good enough?)
v.
He laughs, sometimes. He'll look at photographs and he'll see some celebrity or dead old witch or wizard with some ridiculous hair-do or feature and he'll study it and mimic it in the mirror until he's got it just right and then he'll show Grandmama and Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny and all the family and they'll laugh because it's such a good imitation, isn't Teddy wonderful? Doesn't he just belong on the stage?
And Teddy will find some other person to mimic, and for a second he'll look like a very masculine Victore or a very young Grandpa Weasley, and everyone will laugh because he'll follow them around pretending to be them and it's very funny, he knows.
And Grandmama will say that Dora did that, too, and no one will get morose because after all, that was so very long ago. Better to cherish the memory than cry over it. Even Grandmama will smile fondly in remembrance, and Teddy will feel cheated every time this happens, because they've been let in on some big secret that he'll never know.
(But what did she look like, he asks one dull morning, when she wasn't pretending? And no one has an answer.)
vi.
He cries, sometimes. In the shower, when there's no one to see him, where the steam and water will hide his tears, he will sit on the floor and let it all run over him and he'll wonder why he's alone, and why no one takes him seriously. And he'll try to rein it in - because he's not alone and some people do take him seriously when he's not playing the fool - but it's just that sometimes, sometimes you can only lie to yourself so much before you've got to face the truth.
My mother is dead and I don't recognize her face, he'll think sometimes. My father is dead and he was just as bad as all the other werewolves on the full moon, he'll say. I will never have a little brother to annoy or a little sister to protect. I don't remember them.
And the truth burns more than the water, and the tears more than the steam. And he will cry and he will hit the wall of the shower until his knuckles ache and he won't solve anything, because as soon as he walks out of the bathroom and curls up under his covers, he will lie again. That night, he'll dream of furry shadows and pretty mysteries and he won't let the moment of weakness - of honesty- obscure his little corner of paradise.
He tells Uncle Harry about his dreams once, and asks if Uncle Harry ever dreamed like this too, and Uncle Harry will say yes, of course, I did, but I grew out of it.
(And Teddy will call him a liar.)
vii.
He wakes up, sometimes. And the morning is gray and he'll realize that he's been waiting his whole life for a moment that will never come, he's been looking behind every corner and every curtain and every wall for people who will never, ever, ever be there. He'll realize that he's been waiting for the curtain call, for the dead characters to re-materialize into the actors who play them and take a bow, for his parents to come back on stage and be okay again, because it's all an illusion, remember?
It's all okay in the end, remember?
And they'll tell him that he was born to be an actor, such a lively presence, such a clever boy, so good with words, such a believable liar. He'll steal the stage, they'll tell him, he'll be fantastic. And Teddy will grin every time they say this, and he'll reply, cheeky, arm wrapped around the nearest girl -
Why would I want to be an actor, and pretend all the time?
(And they will believe him, and laugh.)
(coda)
Once, in the gray light of morning, Victoire tells him he's not fooling anyone.
Places, he thinks, and pretends he doesn't know what she's talking about.
(She doesn't mention it again.)