FIC: Rise From the Ashes [Teddy/Cedric, NC-17] Part 1
Title: Rise from the Ashes
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Teddy/Cedric (Cedric/Roger Davies, reference to Cedric/Cho)
Disclaimer: Property of JK Rowling and Co. I merely play for no profit whatsoever.
Summary: Muggles have an old saying: "Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it." Teddy never quite grasped the meaning, until he made a wish of his own.
Warnings: Underage (16 & 17)
Word Count: ~36,000
Author's notes: Written for tarie for 2007's merry_smutmas. (Originally posted here.) Much love and gratitude to my betas, inksheddings and paranoidsistah, and xingou for the extra pair of eyes and encouragement. Titles nicked from Vienna Teng's "Eric's Song".
For those who care, this story is actually canon compliant - in the sense that it does not contradict canon. Until it does, by both choice and necessity. So yes, as you can probably guess from the pairing, it does become AU.
Prologue: a distance erased
Teddy turned the black and gold badge over in his hands, running his fingers over the large 'P' half covering the badger. Prefect. He frowned and tossed the badge onto his cluttered desk. He'd have to write to Simon later. They had a bet on and he meant to collect, but right now, he wasn't in the mood.
He swivelled his chair, glancing at the photo of his parents who were smiling and waving at him from behind the glass of the frame. He leaned forward and gently touched two fingers to their faces, a gesture that had become instinctive over the years, before turning away to survey his room. Laundry, both clean and dirty, books, magazines, Quidditch equipment, and other odds and bits lay in sprawling piles scattered in the open spaces between the furniture. He sighed, realising that the lack of visible floor underneath meant that it was time to tidy up, or at least consolidate the various piles into something a bit more ordered. He wasn't particularly in the mood for that either.
Gran, Harry and Ginny had been thrilled at the news of his prefecture, though Harry hadn't seemed very surprised. His Gran had prattled on to a nearly embarrassing degree, while Ginny had teased him and told him not to tell George or Percy.
"George'll revoke your privileges at the joke shop and label you a traitor to the cause, and Percy will offer advice and bore you to tears with a three-hour lecture on duty and responsibility."
Harry had merely clapped him on the shoulder and grinned. They'd assured him that his parents would have been very proud of him. Of course they would have been proud, he knew that, but the achievement was still hollow. "Just like your dad. He was a prefect, you know," Harry had said barely a half hour earlier.
No, he hadn't known.
And that was the reason for his restless tetchiness. One more thing, one more detail he hadn't known. He knew all about his mum; growing up with his Gran, of course she'd told him hundreds of stories. But the tales had been somewhat lacking when it came to his father, and since Gran didn't seem to want to talk much about him, Teddy had stopped asking her a long time ago.
Harry had told him stories about his dad, but readily admitted that he didn't know all that much-he hadn't had much opportunity to spend time with Remus before his death, and when they did, the conversation had been about other things, namely the war and Harry's own father. Yet, Harry was still the one who had known his father best, and while he knew it wasn't Harry's fault that he couldn't answer all of his questions, it still niggled. Especially at times like this.
It wasn't as if he didn't have a family. Most days he had more family than he knew what to do with, and he loved them all. But there was a part of him that was still empty, and he didn't know how to fill it.
He sat up and turned when he heard a knock on the door. "Come in."
Harry poked his head in and shook it in wonder. "I can't believe your Gran lets you keep it like this."
"Oh, she still makes a fuss. And pretends to get cross. But it's not really dirty, just untidy."
"At your age, my bedroom was both, but my aunt refused to set foot inside," Harry said, with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Anyway, have you got a moment? I wanted to talk to you. And there's something I wanted to give you, but I didn't want to do it in front of your Gran, and certainly not in front of the rest of the family."
Teddy raised his eyebrows. "Sure, come on in."
Harry closed the door, fielded his way through a labyrinth of clothes, and cleared off a section of the bed, sitting down. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, wiped his glasses on the hem of his shirt before putting them back on, and ran his hand through his always-messy hair.
"You look tired," Teddy observed.
"When you have three sprogs, we'll see how well you sleep. You buggered off before their bedtime last night," Harry said, mock-deprecatingly. "I know, you were meeting your friends, but James made an awful fuss. Kept coming into our bedroom at all hours with a different excuse. I love him dearly, but he's exhausting. They're visiting with Molly and Arthur today so Ginny and I get a few hours of peace to ourselves." He paused for a moment before continuing. "You didn't know, did you?"
"Didn't know what?" Teddy asked, confused.
"About your dad being prefect. I saw the look on your face, before."
"Oh, that. It's no big deal," Teddy said. He shrugged with what he hoped was indifference but would not meet Harry's gaze.
"You're a terrible liar, you know. First rule of lying is: keep it simple. Second rule is: always look the person in the eye."
"Huh. Is there a third rule I should know about?" Teddy asked, frowning and feeling churlish.
"You want me to give away all of my secrets? I've always been relieved at your ineptitude in that area."
Teddy huffed in annoyance. "Right. What's one more secret, anyway."
"Trust me; I need all the help I can get." Harry sighed. "Listen, Teddy, there are things I don't like to talk about... because... well... even after-what, fifteen years is it now? And more.-my childhood wasn't…. You know I've a lot of pretty awful memories. I lost so many people that I loved, and I don't even like thinking about it if I can help it.
"I promised you that one day I'd tell you more about it, about me, and I will. But not yet." Harry scrubbed his hands through his hair so that it stuck up even more than usual. "I know I've said 'when you're older' to you a lot. You're fifteen, and you're practically a man in your own right, and now a prefect to boot," he added, his lip quirking slightly in the corner. "What I really mean when I say that, though, is when I'm ready." He shrugged. "You'll have to humour me a bit, all right? I can be pretty stubborn.
"But when it comes to your father," Harry continued earnestly, "there isn't anything I'd keep from you-not intentionally. I promised you that a long time ago, too. The problem is, some things I just don't remember - like the prefect thing - until they come up."
Teddy blushed. He knew he was being childish, and he hated when he disappointed Harry. Harry was more than just a godfather to him and had always treated him as a son, even and especially after he'd had his own.
"I know, Harry. Really, I do. I was just… surprised. I never really thought about it, and I guess I always figured your father, or maybe even Sirius, had been prefect in their year."
Harry laughed. "From what I've been told myself, my dad and Sirius were fairly brilliant, but they were quite the pair of troublemakers back then. Your father was, too, and no mistake, only he was more responsible, or at least less prone to being caught." Harry paused, a distant expression on his face. "My dad and Sirius spent almost as much time in detention as they did in classes. I got to sort through their old records once. Took me weeks."
"Oh. It just seems, well, weird, to be honest. Professor Dumbledore might have liked my father, but appointing a werewolf as prefect? You've got to admit, that's pretty barmy."
"Professor Dumbledore was definitely, er, unique. Though Ron always thought he was completely off his rocker, and I guess he was in a way, but he was also very wise," Harry said. "He had a lot of respect for your father, and he believed in him. Trusted him. And speaking of your father, the reason for my visit today. Well, besides the obvious.
"I thought about giving this to you last year. I…well, it sort of came into my possession when I was in third year, but giving this to a thirteen-year-old…." Harry shrugged. "I suppose I'm getting responsible in my old age."
"Yes, you're ancient. What are you now, sixty? Eighty-five?" Teddy closed his eyes and concentrated, his features blurring into a rough imitation of his godfather. With an additional thought, he turned his now-black hair grey, but his attempt at growing a long, flowing beard was rather dismal as a total of five hairs sprouted from his still-smooth chin.
"Don't be rude," Harry said, grinning and shaking his head, and this time his eyes were warm and kind. "Though you are getting better at that. Beard still needs a bit of work."
Teddy grinned back and relaxed in his desk chair, his features returning to normal. "So where's my present?"
"Spoilt and rude," Harry said, and shook his head. He reached into his pocket and removed what looked to be a sheaf of old parchment and laid it on the bed beside him. "Come here," he said.
Teddy sat down on the bed and looked at the worn, blank parchment, crinkling his brows. It wasn't a sheaf but rather one large piece folded over several times. "Er, Harry, that's really nice of you and all but, um, I've got plenty of parchment already." And it's in much better condition, he added silently, noticing the deep folds and creases, and the frayed edges as Harry unfolded it.
"Yes, I'm sure you have, but this isn't ordinary parchment." He took his wand from his pocket and twirled it through his fingers, an impish expression on his face that erased the tired lines between his brows and made him look almost like a teenager himself.
"Oh?" Teddy leaned in closer. "Is it magic parchment then?" he whispered, winking. "I'll never have to do homework ever again, just wish and the answers appear, is that it?"
"I know you think I'm taking the piss, but as a matter of fact, it really is. Magical. Has nothing to do with homework, unless you take into account that it might keep you from it, but don't ever tell Hermione I said that. This," Harry said, "is a family heirloom. Your family and mine."
"Heirloom?" He looked at the parchment with more interest, though it still looked ordinary and old. "You're serious, aren't you. Why keep it a secret from Gran then?"
"Your Gran may be a renegade Black, but it's likely not something she would approve of. I love her, but let's keep it between us for now. I want you to have it, and I know your dad would want you to have it. He created it, after all. Well, with a little help from my dad, and Sirius, who, I might add, would also jump at any chance to corrupt a Lupin. It's rather like a shared birthright for the both of us, and you've certainly earned it. Now, watch closely, and listen."
Teddy watched, his heart thumping with excitement. This was something that had belonged to his father, and he realised he wouldn't have cared if it had been only a mouldy old sheaf of used parchment.
Harry touched his wand to the parchment and his eyes glinted with mischief. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Chapter 1: the ghosts in the attic, they never quite leave
"Aren't you coming?" Simon asked, fastening his cloak and throwing a scarf about his neck.
It was a Hogsmeade weekend, and the common room was emptying out quickly as his friends and house mates buttoned their cloaks and pulled on mittens to ward against the February chill.
"I've got that Transfiguration essay to finish," Teddy replied, easily meeting his friend's gaze and pointing to his book bag on the table in front of him. "Too much time with Quidditch practice this week, you know, and another tomorrow. And with N.E.W.T.s coming in f-"
"Four months time, yeah, I know. They remind us every bloody week."
Teddy chuckled. "Annoying, isn't it? Like a death sentence. You'd think they'd show some confidence instead of trying to have us all committed to St Mungo's. Even O.W.L.s weren't this bad. Cushing's about ready to crack."
"Eh, no loss there, he's a stonking great git. Maybe if we all fail, they get sacked."
"Hmmm, that's a thought. Anyway, Professor Carlyle'll have my head if I don't turn this essay in Monday, and I don't want to risk him docking me from playing next Saturday."
"He wouldn't do that, would he? To his own house? You're the captain!"
Teddy shrugged and reached for the zipper on his bag. "Dunno, and I'd rather not find out. I'll meet up with you lot later at the Broomsticks. And have some pity on Gwen. Or rather her mouth, and don't try to chew off her tongue this time."
"Hey! I did not try to-we were snogging! Well, a bit more, after, but that part was strictly snoggage. You should try it sometime."
Teddy closed his eyes and concentrated, his hair lengthening and turning a darker brown, his face fluid and flowing into the image, fuller lips pouting even as his jaw softened into femininity.
"Is that an invitation?" he asked, batting his eyelashes and pitching his voice higher. He grinned and ducked Simon's swipe at his head, and relaxed his features back into his own. "I know what snogging is, you prat. Not to brag," he said airily, buffing his fingernails on the front of his robes, "but I'm quite adept at it myself, and that was definitely not snogging."
Simon rolled his eyes and Teddy grinned wider. "Smart arse. You think so, hmm? You look better as a girl, you know. Next time you should grow some tits, too. Hey! Can you? Grow tits, I mean. All these years and I've never asked."
Teddy tried to look appalled. "You're such a pervert."
"Just figuring that out now, are you? So can you?"
"If you think I'm going to tell you now. Next thing, you'll be climbing into my bed at night, groping and feeling me up."
"You should be so lucky." Simon grinned and leaned closer. "Gwen says I'm very good with my hands," he stage whispered.
Teddy rolled his eyes and playfully pushed his friend away. "Makes up for your ineptitude with your mouth I suppose."
"Bastard," Simon said, grinning and pulling his gloves from his pocket. "Just for that, you're buying the first round. No swotting all day. Meet us around one, and don't be too late," he added, and smacked Teddy over the head with his gloves.
Teddy rubbed his head and sat down in the chair, pulling his book bag closer as he watched his laughing friend leave through the portrait hole. He might as well make it look good.
"Lying, Mr Lupin? And you a prefect, too. Tsk Tsk."
Teddy looked up at the portrait. "What? What'd I say? He really was trying to chew her tongue off. Well, maybe it was more like trying to suck it right out of her mouth than outright chewing. But there were teeth involved. You should have seen it. No sense of artistry at all."
"I'll take your word for it. But no, I was commenting on the Transfiguration essay part. Would that be the same essay you were up all night writing two nights ago?"
"Oh, that." Teddy blushed and glanced around the common room. There were a few first-and second-year students sitting on the couches and chairs by the fireplace, now that the older students weren't there to shoo them away, and none of them were paying any attention to him.
"Yes, that," Cedric's portrait said, looking amused. "Up to something, are you?"
Teddy shrugged. "I just have something I need to do, and I didn't want to have to explain. It's, well, it's a bit personal is all."
Cedric nodded and fell silent. He usually was silent, which was a bit unusual for a portrait in this school, but he was new to Hogwarts. Teddy had returned from summer holidays at the start of seventh year to find that the large framed photograph of Cedric had been replaced. The Fat Friar had told them, quietly, that Cedric's mother had passed away that summer-his father having died long ago during the war-and since they'd had no other children, his mother had bequeathed the portrait to Hogwarts.
Everyone had clambered to talk to him, of course. Cedric Diggory was something of a legend in Hufflepuff: Former prefect and Quidditch captain, and Tri-Wizard Champion, well, co-champion, but that detail was usually overlooked by most in his house, and fallen war hero.
The Legend of Cedric Diggory had, as all legends tend to, grown with the telling. Cedric's portrait-self never really commented on the stories, and politely deflected most questions put to it-him, choosing instead to smile somewhat mysteriously. Teddy had asked his godfather over the Christmas holidays, his curiosity near to bursting. Harry had been reluctant, and it was obvious that a few details were missing from the story when he finally relented. Teddy had already known about the various Tri-Wizard tasks -- he'd found every archived Prophet article he could, and there were several books that referenced the events, including three unauthorised biographies about Harry himself which, with few exceptions, were complete rubbish. Still, he'd spoken with Hermione and Ron and George over the years, and he knew enough to fill in most of the gaps.
It was the personal details he was interested in anyway, particularly what Harry himself thought about Cedric and, of course, what had really transpired in the cemetery that night long ago.
Teddy hadn't confided the truth to his friends and housemates; if they wanted to believe that Cedric had been killed in a duel with Voldemort -- after fighting off a dozen Death Eaters in a desperate attempt to protect and save poor, young Harry -- he wouldn't disabuse them of the notion. Despite the outrageous exaggerations, Cedric had been a hero, and that was what really mattered.
Teddy reached into his bag and withdrew the map. He sat back in his chair and ran his finger down the blank face of the parchment. It was his most prized possession, and he carried it with him nearly everywhere he went. The fact that it was dead useful was only secondary.
"Cedric?" Teddy said, glancing thoughtfully up at the portrait. "Can I ask you something?"
Cedric inclined his head and raised his eyebrows.
"It's nothing personal, I mean, not about you. I know you don't like to talk about yourself. But I've wanted to ask. You, um, you knew my father when he taught Defence, didn't you?"
Cedric nodded. "That was my fifth year. Back then, we never had a Defence professor last for more than a year, and most of them were pretty awful. Not your dad though. In fact, if it hadn't been for him, I wouldn't have done nearly as well on my O.W.L."
"So he was a good teacher?"
"Got an Outstanding, so I'd say so. You must have known that already though."
"Well, Harry said so, and so did Ron and Hermione, and George and Ginny, too, but I figured they were probably a bit biased, all things considered."
"Harry's your godfather, yeah? I don't mean to eavesdrop, only it's kind of hard not to." Cedric faked a cough into his fist and smiled. "All things considered."
Teddy grinned back. "Yeah. He, uh, he sort of told me what really happened. That night, you know." He ducked his head. "Well, all right, I admit it. I pestered him until he gave in. I haven't told anyone else though."
"They probably wouldn't believe you anyway. They wouldn't believe me, either, so I don't bother to correct them. It's kind of nice, the dashing hero thing, but don't tell anyone I said that."
"Cross my heart," Teddy said, gesturing. Cedric was a hero, and he found himself thinking, as he often did, that he would have liked to have known him-the real Cedric-that they'd have got on well. But at least he could talk to his portrait; get a sense of the boy-young man-he'd been. There was no portrait of Remus Lupin, and that tore at him more than he would ever admit to anyone.
"So, my father. You liked him then? Despite…"
"Despite?"
"Well," he glanced around again, making sure they were still alone. "You know what, um, what he was and all…."
"Oh, right. That." Cedric shrugged. "Yes, I liked him anyway. I'll admit it was a hell of a shock. I didn't believe it at first, you know. But then, well, like I said. I liked him. He was a good teacher, fair, and he was always nice to me. And he had a pretty good sense of humour, too. It wasn't his fault he was, you know, a Gryffindor."
Teddy rolled his eyes and stood up. "Very funny. Least he had the good taste to marry my mum, and she was Hufflepuff. Anyway, thanks. I have to go. I'll see you later."
"Should do. Pretty decent chance I'll be right here when you get back."
Teddy grunted and shook his head, shouldering his bag. "Is that portrait humour?"
Cedric shrugged. "By the way, I'm curious. Can you?"
"Can I what?"
"Grow tits?"
Teddy laughed. "I think I'll just let you mull that over for a bit." He left the common room and touched his wand to the map, checking to make sure his route to the seventh floor corridor was clear.
When he reached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, he checked the map again before wiping it clear and stowing it back in his bag. He faced the blank wall, ready to begin what he thought of as the ritual of calling the room when a prickle of apprehension stole over him, starting in his lower abdomen and crawling upward, racing outward down his limbs in a ripple of gooseflesh. It had seemed like such a good idea when he'd thought of it over Christmas holidays, but now that he was finally standing here, ready to carry out his plan, it seemed ridiculous and stupid.
The Room of Requirement could do many things, but conjuring a ghost or shade of a dead man was beyond even its magical capacity. It was a dumb idea and he was a fool to think it could work. He threw up his hands and turned to go, then stopped. He wasn't a coward. Or perhaps he was. No, it was the idea that was stupid, utterly daft. He'd known that all along, and had allowed his hopes and desire to overrule logic. Still, maybe there was something. Even though it wasn't on the map, he was sure his father and friends had found this room, and had used it for plenty of nefarious purposes in their day. Perhaps the room would remember and show him, like a Pensieve of sorts.
"Right. Never know unless I try." He took a deep breath, closed his eyes briefly and began to pace. I want to know my father. Show me my father. Anything about him, the real him, something he did when he was here. Please. I just want to know more about him. I need to know.
He stopped when he saw the door appear in the wall. He walked over and reached for the handle, then dropped his badly shaking hand. His tongue felt like the dried parchment of the map in his mouth, and his heart was literally hammering in his chest.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" he said aloud, and grasped the handle. Why was he being so pathetic? He closed his eyes, opened the door and stepped inside-
-and felt his stomach drop as the floor beneath his feet plummeted. He shouted and opened his eyes, but everything was black and the darkness swallowed his words. He couldn't even see his own hands which, at that moment, were flailing for something to hold onto. The silent void was thick and heavy, and he struggled to breathe, to blink, the nothingness consuming him whole.
Then suddenly there was a rectangle of light, and he hurtled toward it, through it. The door slammed behind him, and he was on his hands and knees, gulping for air, and blinking up at the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his dancing trolls. He got to his feet and turned around, but the door had vanished.
"Shit!" He kicked the wall and exclaimed again, grabbing his foot and hopping. He limped back and glared at the wall. "Hang it all! What the bloody hell was that?" He swung his leg back to kick the wall again, and then thought better of it, his toe still throbbing.
He was a little surprised at how angry he was. Yes, the room had literally thrown him out, and he had no idea what had happened, or why, and those few seconds of blind panic had startled him. It was his disappointment, however, that had cut bone deep. The room had raised his hopes and then struck him down, and that stung both his heart and his pride. Still, getting angry at a room was rather absurd and, under different circumstances, he'd probably laugh at his own folly.
He stared at the wall for a few minutes more, and concluded that the problem lay in the wording of his request. It couldn't hurt to try again. He paced up and down the corridor for a good half hour, but no door appeared at all in response to his pleas.
Frustrated and infuriated, he picked up his bag and stormed off. A long soak in the prefect's bathtub sounded like a good idea right now, and with most of the school off in Hogsmeade, he'd have it all to himself.
**
Two hours later, his fingers and toes looked like sickly, blanched prunes, but he felt a lot better as he made his way back to the common room. He'd put his silly adventure from his mind and it was time to meet his friends at the pub. He could do with a few drinks as well as the distraction his friends would provide.
When he reached the painting at the dormitory entrance, he reached out to tap and stroke the sequence on the flower petals and stopped, staring. Someone had changed the flower arrangement.
"Oh, for-who the hell? Can nothing go right today?" He sighed, suddenly feeling very weary, and stomped off back upstairs to find Professor Carlyle, muttering about the audacity of the buggering lower-year prefects. He knocked loudly on the door to his office, but there was no response.
The portrait of Sir Stockton Stockbridge, irritated at the disruption to his afternoon nap, grudgingly confirmed that the professor had gone out earlier.
"The Professor doesn't tell me where she's going, young man. Do I look like an appointment secretary? I tell you, the lack of respect in this school is appalling. Portraits treated rudely - harassed, even attacked, stabbed, and startled right out of their frames! Can't even enjoy an afternoon nap these days. It's shameful."
Teddy coughed politely and turned away from the portrait before rolling his eyes. Dotty old bastard was always talking nonsense anyway. He might as well just go to Hogsmeade along with everyone else, and Simon would have to buy. Pity.
He'd have to forego his cloak and use a warming charm. Hopefully it wasn't too windy; his warming charms didn't hold up well in a stiff wind. He was contemplating a nice Firewhisky-induced stupor when he turned the corner of the first floor landing and nearly knocked over two younger students.
"Oh, sorry," he said, reaching out to steady a small, dark-haired boy. "You okay?"
"Fine," the boy mumbled, straightening his glasses.
"You should watch where you're going, you know," his red-haired companion said unkindly.
Teddy saw the boy's red and gold scarf and rolled his eyes. Bloody Gryffindors. "And you should watch your tone with a prefect or you just might lose some House points next time."
"Yeah, right. C'mon Harry, better go before Percy shows up, too," the boy replied, and tugged on his friend's arm. The dark-haired boy looked apologetically back at him and then followed his friend upstairs.
Teddy rolled his eyes and continued down the stairs and outside, this time paying a bit more attention. The weather was milder than he had expected, the snow from last night having melted into a slushy mud, and his warming charm worked rather well until he approached the front gates.
An icy chill swept over him, through him, as if his bones had frozen solid, and despair seemed to settle around his shoulders like a mantle.
Just ahead of him, hovering outside the gates like a decaying black cloud, were two Dementors. He stared at them in disbelief, shivering with cold and growing fear, frozen in place, his wand pointed uselessly at the ground.
Something silvery-white streaked across the air and the Dementors darted away, taking the icy oppressiveness with them.
"Sorry 'bout that. They've been a bit excitable today with all the comin' and goin'."
Teddy blinked at the man who was now standing at the gate. He was dressed in Auror robes, and he was still pointing his wand in the direction of the fleeing Dementors. Aurors and Dementors at Hogwarts. Dementors at Hogwarts, and this Auror was acting as if it were a normal occurrence.
"You okay, kid? Sometimes people come over a bit queer from 'em. Nasty things they are. Useful though. If anyone's gonna catch Black, they will, and believe me, it won't be pretty when they do."
Teddy had no idea what the man was talking about. He was still staring, mouth hanging open and his eyes wide, wondering when he'd hit himself on the head and had started hallucinating. Maybe he was still in the bath and he'd fallen asleep on a cloud of foam. Or perhaps he'd drowned.
"Kid? You don't look too good. Bit green around the gills. Maybe you wanna head back up to the school there. Have a bit of a lie down."
Teddy nodded and managed to stop gaping. "Yes, that's, yes, a good idea." He turned, still in a daze, and slowly walked back up to the school. The younger students were filing into the Great Hall for lunch, and he saw those two Gryffindor boys again, this time accompanied by a girl. He nodded at the boy -- Harry, his friend had called him. That one was easy to remember, and funny, he almost looked-
"You just wait, Potter! You'll get yours! You and Weasel and the Mudblood!"
A blond boy with a Slytherin badge on his robes and a sneer on his face had ascended from the dungeons, flanked by two larger boys, and was stalking toward the three Gryffindors in the doorway. The red-haired boy made a rude hand gesture before his friends restrained and yanked him into the Great Hall.
Teddy watched them disappear, backing up slowly. He banged his hip painfully on a doorknob, and managed to find the presence of mind to open the door and close it behind him right before his knees gave way, and he collapsed onto the floor of the small, dark chamber.
After a few minutes of some needful hyperventilating, he fumbled into his pocket for his wand and nearly ripped open his bag in search of the map. His hands were sweating so badly that he had trouble holding his wand.
"Lumos. I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he said in a shaky voice.
He quickly found the Great Hall on the map, his eyes ignoring everything but the Gryffindor table. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger. The three black dots swam before his eyes. He felt dizzy, and his stomach was a giant knot. When his gaze inadvertently slid to the dots clustered around at the High table, he was promptly sick all over his trainers.
Chapter 2: some kind of miracle
Teddy didn't know how long he stayed in that little room. It could have been an hour or even days for all he knew. Time had frozen, reversed, twisted inward on itself and left him reeling and dazed, and he had no idea how to cope or what to do.
It was nature that brought him back to himself when he realised that he badly needed to have a piss. Unwilling to disregard propriety or risk experimentation with vanishing spells in his current state-he was mindful enough to recognise the dangers of accidentally vanishing his bladder along with its contents-he cleaned himself up as best he could with a few spells, waited until the Entrance Hall was clear, and sought out the nearest empty bathroom.
As he stood relieving himself in a stall in the first floor boy's bathroom, he wrinkled his nose at an odour in the air, raised his arm and sniffed. Eugh! He stank something awful. He'd practically sweated through to his robes, and seeing as he didn't have a change of clothes, he was going to need another bath. Cleaning charms were effective on dirt and stains, but they didn't dissipate odours, and he could only do so much at a sink.
It was fairly late in the evening now, and although he couldn't be sure of the exact time, he knew from the events of the day that his watch was fairly close to the local time, give or take an hour. He checked the map again, saw the dots of two students leaving the prefects' bath, and realised with a start that the password had been the same here as it was in his own time. He left the bathroom, taking every shortcut and hidden passageway he could up to the fifth floor corridor.
He stripped off and was in the bath before it was even half full. He knew he couldn't hide here for long, and he wasn't about to march up to the current headmaster-Merlin! That would be Professor Dumbledore! Definitely not!-and announce his presence. He couldn't knock on his father's door either. What would he say? Hi, Dad? I've got a bit of a problem? Mind if I bunk with you for a bit?
Harry was practically a sprog, as were Ginny, Ron, Hermione and Professor Longbottom. He considered finding his 'Uncle' George and was once again shocked by the realisation that George's twin, Fred, would also be here. Again, what would he say to them? He didn't think their fifteen-year-old selves would be very discreet either.
Mucking about with time was a bad thing. Just his presence here could disrupt the future, and interacting with his family could cause a catastrophic paradox, possibly prevent him from being born. He ducked his head under the water to rinse off and swam over to the side. He had to think, had to be logical, and he needed to wash his soiled clothing.
Making sure his pockets were empty, he dunked them one by one into the soapy water, and gave them all a quick scrub. He had only the one set-a robe, jeans, a t-shirt, underpants and one pair of socks-and they were going to have to last unless he could manage to pilfer something else. He was going to have to go back to the Room of Requirement, too. There was no help for it. It was the only place he could hide safely. If it let him in this time.
It took him far too long to dry his clothing, and his jeans were still damp when he put them back on. Checking the map again, he considered detouring to the kitchens, but his stomach was still a bit queasy and he was far too exhausted to care about food. He crept from the bath until he was once again standing before the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He was filled with apprehension; he knew he shouldn't be here, knew that every minute he remained was a risk, but what if the room sent him back home? He'd asked to see his father, that was why he was here, and the thought of leaving without having seen more of him than a dot on the map filled him with dread. But he couldn't stand out here all night.
I need a place to hide, a place to sleep, but please-I'm not ready to go back yet. Don't send me back, just give me a warm, quiet place to sleep and to think.
When the door appeared, the room inside held exactly what he'd asked for: a four-poster bed covered in yellow drapery beside a marble-mantled fireplace. It was a small room, but it was warm, the walls flickering orange and yellow with reflected firelight, a plush looking rug on the floor beside, and a small night table, which held a tea tray, steam curling lazily from the spout of the teapot.
He stripped off his clothing, laying it carefully at the foot of the bed, ignored the tea and climbed under the blankets and, despite the anxieties of the day, was asleep within minutes.
**
The first few days were disorienting. His dreams were full of strange images where nothing made sense, and when he woke, he'd forget where-and when-he was, until he pulled back the hangings and found the unfamiliar room beyond. Then it would all come rushing back to him: his heartbeat intensified, his stomach rumbled with nausea, and he gasped as the air rushed from his lungs, leaving him dizzy.
Upon request, the room provided a place to wash and a toilet, which was very accommodating, and he thanked it, feeling silly, but still wanting to appear gracious. It could manage tea, but if he wanted food, he was going to have to visit the kitchens; he couldn't very well stroll into the Great Hall and find an empty seat.
The map was a godsend, though he was reluctant to venture too far those first couple of days. Feeling emboldened on his second day, he had decided to walk past his father's classroom on the way back from the kitchens. He'd only just heard his voice when a sense of deep sadness and loss nearly overwhelmed him. He'd stumbled away, tears blinding him, and he'd run, somehow managing to get back to his room where he threw himself onto the bed, curled up into a ball, and cried like a little boy.
He'd berated himself afterward for being an unmanly, snivelling coward, but it turned out to be the catharsis that he'd needed. His fear and paralysing shock seemed to have flowed out of him amidst the tears, and he felt himself returning to a semblance of normalcy. Well, as normal as one could be when they were stranded out of time.
Another roommate of his, Gordon, who was Muggleborn, had introduced Simon and himself to the joys of the Muggle cinema and telly; in particular, science fiction films and programs, and several of them had featured elements of time travel. Augmented by his own studies, he knew all about paradoxes and the dangers of time travel, and he kept this knowledge forefront in his mind as often as possible.
He'd returned the next day and stood once again outside in the hall, listening, while his father lectured-no, not lectured. Professor Binns lectured. His father taught, interacting with the students, challenging them and drawing them out, his manner easy-going and cheerful. He still felt that wrench of loss deep in his belly, but he did not cry. He listened, closing his eyes when he dared, and letting his father's voice flow over him, drawing strength and courage.
This was what he had asked for, and while he was aware of the old proverb that said "be careful what you wish for", he also wasn't going to let opportunity pass him by. For good or ill, the room had granted his wish, and he wasn't going to waste it. He didn't know how he would get home, but he wasn't quite ready to explore that avenue just yet. He was here, and that's what mattered. No regrets, he promised himself, whatever happens.
**
He liked coming to the library. He could be both visible and invisible here in a way he couldn't anywhere else in the school. The stern librarian-Madame Pince, he'd overheard-obviously brooked no inappropriate behaviour, and would have no qualms evicting anyone, from Headmaster to Head Boy if she felt warranted, so the students generally kept to themselves and their studies. Most of the student body were in classes during the day, so it was easy to hide at his favourite, partially-concealed table behind huge stacks of dusty tomes that probably hadn't been read in over a century.
The students of this era were little different from his own, with the exception of certain hairstyles, musical tastes, and a wary look in their eyes when they happened to glance out a window. The effects of the Dementors couldn't be felt within the stone walls of the castle, not physically anyway, but the mere awareness of their close proximity was enough, coupled with the wildly exaggerated and persistent rumours about Sirius Black's break-in a month ago.
Teddy bit his lip and frowned. He'd skimmed through several recent and back-issues of the Prophet, and it had been strange indeed to know more about the present situation than anyone else. Harry's godfather, who was innocent and searching desperately for the rat, Pettigrew. The temptation to go running to his father or even to the forest or the Shrieking Shack in search of Black himself was overwhelming at times. Even now he found himself glancing out the window, searching the grounds and the periphery of the forest for a big black dog.
Sirius had died years before Teddy had been born, but Teddy had grown up thinking of the man as family even beyond his blood kinship to his mother and grandmother. It was Sirius' importance to his father and Harry that made him important to Teddy, and fed his helpless frustrations. It would be so easy, he thought. I could save him, I could save them all. It's still early enough, and war hasn't yet come. The temptation was a palpable thing; he could feel it thrumming in his bones, pulsing behind his temples, whispering to him just beyond his range of hearing, awake and asleep.
He glanced at one of the more useful books he'd managed to filch from the restricted section two nights ago-"Time Travel Travesties: tempest in a teapot or tempting fate too far?"-and sighed. He could do nothing, certainly nothing as overt as blatantly changing history. The Muggle theories weren't all that different from wizarding theories, except that wizards had found a way to manipulate the time stream with magic, and had gone beyond theoretical musings into experimental facts. Of a sort. After all, if someone went back in time and did manage to kill their grandfather, ensuring they were never born, how would anyone be able to observe it? Logic demanded that a person in that position would cease to exist immediately.
The book, however, had indicated that it was indeed possible, logic be damned, and there were several accounts written by wizard time travellers themselves, claiming that they remained alive in the past even after disposing of their ancestor. There were further written accounts stating said persons would stay alive as long as they didn't return to the future where they no longer existed.
This made no sense to Teddy, and his mind twisted in circles trying to follow the logic. If a person didn't exist, even in the future, how would he then travel to the past in the first place to commit the murder? And if they didn't immediately pop out of existence, what happened when time eventually caught up to that future on its own? It was a paradox no matter how one viewed it, and even factoring magic into the equation, it still made no sense at all. Not to mention that he simply couldn't imagine anybody doing something so daft on purpose in the first place. The whole thing gave him a headache.
There were a number of passages in the book which emphasised the probabilities of erasing one's own existence, though he was sceptical about the chances of doing so by the act of swatting a single fly or disturbing a single blade of grass or pebble. Still, he watched where he walked and in deference, had refrained from stepping on any insects if he could help it. And he promised himself that he wouldn't kill his parents or his grandparents under any circumstances.
A low chuckle from somewhere nearby pulled him from his musings, and he looked up slowly to see a tall brown-haired boy and a shorter blond sit down at the next table where they were soon joined by two other boys. He watched them as surreptitiously as he could for a short while, and was about to go back to his various musings, when the brown-haired boy pushed back his chair with a scrape, turned and murmured something to the boy next to him. Teddy gasped and froze.
Cedric Diggory turned his head sharply in Teddy's direction and saw him watching. Teddy knew he should look away, look anywhere else, but his body seemed bent on ignoring his thoughts. Seconds ticked by until finally Cedric winked, a crooked grin on his face, then stood up and stretched before walking off towards one of the numerous rows of bookshelves.
Teddy exhaled slowly once their eye contact was broken. He was wearing a different face again today, and once again, nobody had seemed to pay him much mind. In fact, this was the first time he'd allowed himself to make eye contact with anyone. His heart was beating a staccato in his chest, and every crease and crevice on his body was sweating as he continued to watch Cedric until he disappeared down a narrow aisle. He'd seen Cedric's dot on the map that first day, and many days since, and felt a start of surprise every time, but seeing him in person, real, flesh and blood and three-dimensional, was a terrific shock.
In some ways, it was more shocking than seeing either his father or Harry. He'd listened to dozens of his father's classes, standing outside the door, and he'd only seen him very briefly or at a distance. In his mind, Remus Lupin was still something of a mystical figure, and he was still biding his time for an opportunity to have a real conversation with him. The conversation would be easy enough if he posed as a student; it was his inner turmoil that stayed his hand. This was his father, and the thought that their only encounter would be a lie troubled him. He could lie to his friends and teachers when he had to, he could even lie to Harry about small, unimportant things. This was neither small nor unimportant, and he did not want to lie to his father.
Harry was a child here, and nothing like the godfather he knew. He'd watched Harry and his friends on several occasions, but it was with a sense of fond amusement. It was difficult to reconcile child-Harry with his Harry. Time was a barrier, and in this case, a welcome one as it helped him keep his distance and perspective.
Cedric, however, looked very similar to his portrait, though less stiff and formal, and much more at ease. In those few seconds when Cedric had looked right at him, his eyes were alive and friendly, and filled with a liveliness that no amount of artistry and magic could convey on canvas.
He wiped sweaty hands on his robes and quickly looked down when he saw Cedric returning, book in hand. He turned his body slowly to the right, inching his chair closer to the edge of the table, and angling himself towards Cedric's table. He shook his head so his long black fringe fell across his eyes. He could still see clearly through the strands, but anyone watching him wouldn't be able to tell, or so he hoped.
Cedric was whispering animatedly to his friends, flipping through pages and pointing excitedly, his hands moving in an intricate dance as he spoke with expansive gestures, explaining something to do with Itchington's Third Law of Human Transfiguration, which Teddy remembered from his O.W.L. exams almost two years earlier.
He rested his chin on his fist and stared at Cedric's hands, so expressive, long fingers giving shape and emphasis to his words. The portrait's hands were flat and dulled in comparison, paint pigments dulling colour, canvas altering texture, depth a mere expression of the artist's skill, not a true representation of the real boy.
A drop of perspiration was angling its way along Cedric's hairline, and he watched, fascinated, as it moved, sliding along his lightly-stubbled cheek, beading along his jaw before Cedric's hand carelessly swiped at it, too engrossed in conversation to pay it more mind. Cedric's portrait didn't-couldn't-sweat and always appeared clean-shaven. It was a real life tale of Pinocchio.
It was warm in the library, and he squirmed in his seat, feeling at once exhilarated and uncomfortable, and wishing he'd worn his jeans under his robes today. He looked at his watch and realised that he needed to leave. He'd been here for nearly an hour and a half, and he couldn't afford to attract too much attention. He'd have to find a bathroom or cupboard, or even an unused classroom, and change his appearance again. Quietly gathering his books together, he reluctantly stood up and walked away just as another boy, handsome and fit, and wearing a Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain's badge, called out to Cedric.
"Oi! Diggory! A word with you."
Teddy turned towards the exit and saw Madame Pince striding towards him, a steely expression on her face. He ducked out of her way, quickly exiting the library to escape her tirade.
"Out! Mr Davies! You too, Mr Diggory! I'm surprised at you! This is not-"
Teddy grinned as the doors closed behind him.
Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Teddy/Cedric (Cedric/Roger Davies, reference to Cedric/Cho)
Disclaimer: Property of JK Rowling and Co. I merely play for no profit whatsoever.
Summary: Muggles have an old saying: "Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it." Teddy never quite grasped the meaning, until he made a wish of his own.
Warnings: Underage (16 & 17)
Word Count: ~36,000
Author's notes: Written for tarie for 2007's merry_smutmas. (Originally posted here.) Much love and gratitude to my betas, inksheddings and paranoidsistah, and xingou for the extra pair of eyes and encouragement. Titles nicked from Vienna Teng's "Eric's Song".
For those who care, this story is actually canon compliant - in the sense that it does not contradict canon. Until it does, by both choice and necessity. So yes, as you can probably guess from the pairing, it does become AU.
Prologue: a distance erased
Teddy turned the black and gold badge over in his hands, running his fingers over the large 'P' half covering the badger. Prefect. He frowned and tossed the badge onto his cluttered desk. He'd have to write to Simon later. They had a bet on and he meant to collect, but right now, he wasn't in the mood.
He swivelled his chair, glancing at the photo of his parents who were smiling and waving at him from behind the glass of the frame. He leaned forward and gently touched two fingers to their faces, a gesture that had become instinctive over the years, before turning away to survey his room. Laundry, both clean and dirty, books, magazines, Quidditch equipment, and other odds and bits lay in sprawling piles scattered in the open spaces between the furniture. He sighed, realising that the lack of visible floor underneath meant that it was time to tidy up, or at least consolidate the various piles into something a bit more ordered. He wasn't particularly in the mood for that either.
Gran, Harry and Ginny had been thrilled at the news of his prefecture, though Harry hadn't seemed very surprised. His Gran had prattled on to a nearly embarrassing degree, while Ginny had teased him and told him not to tell George or Percy.
"George'll revoke your privileges at the joke shop and label you a traitor to the cause, and Percy will offer advice and bore you to tears with a three-hour lecture on duty and responsibility."
Harry had merely clapped him on the shoulder and grinned. They'd assured him that his parents would have been very proud of him. Of course they would have been proud, he knew that, but the achievement was still hollow. "Just like your dad. He was a prefect, you know," Harry had said barely a half hour earlier.
No, he hadn't known.
And that was the reason for his restless tetchiness. One more thing, one more detail he hadn't known. He knew all about his mum; growing up with his Gran, of course she'd told him hundreds of stories. But the tales had been somewhat lacking when it came to his father, and since Gran didn't seem to want to talk much about him, Teddy had stopped asking her a long time ago.
Harry had told him stories about his dad, but readily admitted that he didn't know all that much-he hadn't had much opportunity to spend time with Remus before his death, and when they did, the conversation had been about other things, namely the war and Harry's own father. Yet, Harry was still the one who had known his father best, and while he knew it wasn't Harry's fault that he couldn't answer all of his questions, it still niggled. Especially at times like this.
It wasn't as if he didn't have a family. Most days he had more family than he knew what to do with, and he loved them all. But there was a part of him that was still empty, and he didn't know how to fill it.
He sat up and turned when he heard a knock on the door. "Come in."
Harry poked his head in and shook it in wonder. "I can't believe your Gran lets you keep it like this."
"Oh, she still makes a fuss. And pretends to get cross. But it's not really dirty, just untidy."
"At your age, my bedroom was both, but my aunt refused to set foot inside," Harry said, with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Anyway, have you got a moment? I wanted to talk to you. And there's something I wanted to give you, but I didn't want to do it in front of your Gran, and certainly not in front of the rest of the family."
Teddy raised his eyebrows. "Sure, come on in."
Harry closed the door, fielded his way through a labyrinth of clothes, and cleared off a section of the bed, sitting down. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, wiped his glasses on the hem of his shirt before putting them back on, and ran his hand through his always-messy hair.
"You look tired," Teddy observed.
"When you have three sprogs, we'll see how well you sleep. You buggered off before their bedtime last night," Harry said, mock-deprecatingly. "I know, you were meeting your friends, but James made an awful fuss. Kept coming into our bedroom at all hours with a different excuse. I love him dearly, but he's exhausting. They're visiting with Molly and Arthur today so Ginny and I get a few hours of peace to ourselves." He paused for a moment before continuing. "You didn't know, did you?"
"Didn't know what?" Teddy asked, confused.
"About your dad being prefect. I saw the look on your face, before."
"Oh, that. It's no big deal," Teddy said. He shrugged with what he hoped was indifference but would not meet Harry's gaze.
"You're a terrible liar, you know. First rule of lying is: keep it simple. Second rule is: always look the person in the eye."
"Huh. Is there a third rule I should know about?" Teddy asked, frowning and feeling churlish.
"You want me to give away all of my secrets? I've always been relieved at your ineptitude in that area."
Teddy huffed in annoyance. "Right. What's one more secret, anyway."
"Trust me; I need all the help I can get." Harry sighed. "Listen, Teddy, there are things I don't like to talk about... because... well... even after-what, fifteen years is it now? And more.-my childhood wasn't…. You know I've a lot of pretty awful memories. I lost so many people that I loved, and I don't even like thinking about it if I can help it.
"I promised you that one day I'd tell you more about it, about me, and I will. But not yet." Harry scrubbed his hands through his hair so that it stuck up even more than usual. "I know I've said 'when you're older' to you a lot. You're fifteen, and you're practically a man in your own right, and now a prefect to boot," he added, his lip quirking slightly in the corner. "What I really mean when I say that, though, is when I'm ready." He shrugged. "You'll have to humour me a bit, all right? I can be pretty stubborn.
"But when it comes to your father," Harry continued earnestly, "there isn't anything I'd keep from you-not intentionally. I promised you that a long time ago, too. The problem is, some things I just don't remember - like the prefect thing - until they come up."
Teddy blushed. He knew he was being childish, and he hated when he disappointed Harry. Harry was more than just a godfather to him and had always treated him as a son, even and especially after he'd had his own.
"I know, Harry. Really, I do. I was just… surprised. I never really thought about it, and I guess I always figured your father, or maybe even Sirius, had been prefect in their year."
Harry laughed. "From what I've been told myself, my dad and Sirius were fairly brilliant, but they were quite the pair of troublemakers back then. Your father was, too, and no mistake, only he was more responsible, or at least less prone to being caught." Harry paused, a distant expression on his face. "My dad and Sirius spent almost as much time in detention as they did in classes. I got to sort through their old records once. Took me weeks."
"Oh. It just seems, well, weird, to be honest. Professor Dumbledore might have liked my father, but appointing a werewolf as prefect? You've got to admit, that's pretty barmy."
"Professor Dumbledore was definitely, er, unique. Though Ron always thought he was completely off his rocker, and I guess he was in a way, but he was also very wise," Harry said. "He had a lot of respect for your father, and he believed in him. Trusted him. And speaking of your father, the reason for my visit today. Well, besides the obvious.
"I thought about giving this to you last year. I…well, it sort of came into my possession when I was in third year, but giving this to a thirteen-year-old…." Harry shrugged. "I suppose I'm getting responsible in my old age."
"Yes, you're ancient. What are you now, sixty? Eighty-five?" Teddy closed his eyes and concentrated, his features blurring into a rough imitation of his godfather. With an additional thought, he turned his now-black hair grey, but his attempt at growing a long, flowing beard was rather dismal as a total of five hairs sprouted from his still-smooth chin.
"Don't be rude," Harry said, grinning and shaking his head, and this time his eyes were warm and kind. "Though you are getting better at that. Beard still needs a bit of work."
Teddy grinned back and relaxed in his desk chair, his features returning to normal. "So where's my present?"
"Spoilt and rude," Harry said, and shook his head. He reached into his pocket and removed what looked to be a sheaf of old parchment and laid it on the bed beside him. "Come here," he said.
Teddy sat down on the bed and looked at the worn, blank parchment, crinkling his brows. It wasn't a sheaf but rather one large piece folded over several times. "Er, Harry, that's really nice of you and all but, um, I've got plenty of parchment already." And it's in much better condition, he added silently, noticing the deep folds and creases, and the frayed edges as Harry unfolded it.
"Yes, I'm sure you have, but this isn't ordinary parchment." He took his wand from his pocket and twirled it through his fingers, an impish expression on his face that erased the tired lines between his brows and made him look almost like a teenager himself.
"Oh?" Teddy leaned in closer. "Is it magic parchment then?" he whispered, winking. "I'll never have to do homework ever again, just wish and the answers appear, is that it?"
"I know you think I'm taking the piss, but as a matter of fact, it really is. Magical. Has nothing to do with homework, unless you take into account that it might keep you from it, but don't ever tell Hermione I said that. This," Harry said, "is a family heirloom. Your family and mine."
"Heirloom?" He looked at the parchment with more interest, though it still looked ordinary and old. "You're serious, aren't you. Why keep it a secret from Gran then?"
"Your Gran may be a renegade Black, but it's likely not something she would approve of. I love her, but let's keep it between us for now. I want you to have it, and I know your dad would want you to have it. He created it, after all. Well, with a little help from my dad, and Sirius, who, I might add, would also jump at any chance to corrupt a Lupin. It's rather like a shared birthright for the both of us, and you've certainly earned it. Now, watch closely, and listen."
Teddy watched, his heart thumping with excitement. This was something that had belonged to his father, and he realised he wouldn't have cared if it had been only a mouldy old sheaf of used parchment.
Harry touched his wand to the parchment and his eyes glinted with mischief. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Chapter 1: the ghosts in the attic, they never quite leave
"Aren't you coming?" Simon asked, fastening his cloak and throwing a scarf about his neck.
It was a Hogsmeade weekend, and the common room was emptying out quickly as his friends and house mates buttoned their cloaks and pulled on mittens to ward against the February chill.
"I've got that Transfiguration essay to finish," Teddy replied, easily meeting his friend's gaze and pointing to his book bag on the table in front of him. "Too much time with Quidditch practice this week, you know, and another tomorrow. And with N.E.W.T.s coming in f-"
"Four months time, yeah, I know. They remind us every bloody week."
Teddy chuckled. "Annoying, isn't it? Like a death sentence. You'd think they'd show some confidence instead of trying to have us all committed to St Mungo's. Even O.W.L.s weren't this bad. Cushing's about ready to crack."
"Eh, no loss there, he's a stonking great git. Maybe if we all fail, they get sacked."
"Hmmm, that's a thought. Anyway, Professor Carlyle'll have my head if I don't turn this essay in Monday, and I don't want to risk him docking me from playing next Saturday."
"He wouldn't do that, would he? To his own house? You're the captain!"
Teddy shrugged and reached for the zipper on his bag. "Dunno, and I'd rather not find out. I'll meet up with you lot later at the Broomsticks. And have some pity on Gwen. Or rather her mouth, and don't try to chew off her tongue this time."
"Hey! I did not try to-we were snogging! Well, a bit more, after, but that part was strictly snoggage. You should try it sometime."
Teddy closed his eyes and concentrated, his hair lengthening and turning a darker brown, his face fluid and flowing into the image, fuller lips pouting even as his jaw softened into femininity.
"Is that an invitation?" he asked, batting his eyelashes and pitching his voice higher. He grinned and ducked Simon's swipe at his head, and relaxed his features back into his own. "I know what snogging is, you prat. Not to brag," he said airily, buffing his fingernails on the front of his robes, "but I'm quite adept at it myself, and that was definitely not snogging."
Simon rolled his eyes and Teddy grinned wider. "Smart arse. You think so, hmm? You look better as a girl, you know. Next time you should grow some tits, too. Hey! Can you? Grow tits, I mean. All these years and I've never asked."
Teddy tried to look appalled. "You're such a pervert."
"Just figuring that out now, are you? So can you?"
"If you think I'm going to tell you now. Next thing, you'll be climbing into my bed at night, groping and feeling me up."
"You should be so lucky." Simon grinned and leaned closer. "Gwen says I'm very good with my hands," he stage whispered.
Teddy rolled his eyes and playfully pushed his friend away. "Makes up for your ineptitude with your mouth I suppose."
"Bastard," Simon said, grinning and pulling his gloves from his pocket. "Just for that, you're buying the first round. No swotting all day. Meet us around one, and don't be too late," he added, and smacked Teddy over the head with his gloves.
Teddy rubbed his head and sat down in the chair, pulling his book bag closer as he watched his laughing friend leave through the portrait hole. He might as well make it look good.
"Lying, Mr Lupin? And you a prefect, too. Tsk Tsk."
Teddy looked up at the portrait. "What? What'd I say? He really was trying to chew her tongue off. Well, maybe it was more like trying to suck it right out of her mouth than outright chewing. But there were teeth involved. You should have seen it. No sense of artistry at all."
"I'll take your word for it. But no, I was commenting on the Transfiguration essay part. Would that be the same essay you were up all night writing two nights ago?"
"Oh, that." Teddy blushed and glanced around the common room. There were a few first-and second-year students sitting on the couches and chairs by the fireplace, now that the older students weren't there to shoo them away, and none of them were paying any attention to him.
"Yes, that," Cedric's portrait said, looking amused. "Up to something, are you?"
Teddy shrugged. "I just have something I need to do, and I didn't want to have to explain. It's, well, it's a bit personal is all."
Cedric nodded and fell silent. He usually was silent, which was a bit unusual for a portrait in this school, but he was new to Hogwarts. Teddy had returned from summer holidays at the start of seventh year to find that the large framed photograph of Cedric had been replaced. The Fat Friar had told them, quietly, that Cedric's mother had passed away that summer-his father having died long ago during the war-and since they'd had no other children, his mother had bequeathed the portrait to Hogwarts.
Everyone had clambered to talk to him, of course. Cedric Diggory was something of a legend in Hufflepuff: Former prefect and Quidditch captain, and Tri-Wizard Champion, well, co-champion, but that detail was usually overlooked by most in his house, and fallen war hero.
The Legend of Cedric Diggory had, as all legends tend to, grown with the telling. Cedric's portrait-self never really commented on the stories, and politely deflected most questions put to it-him, choosing instead to smile somewhat mysteriously. Teddy had asked his godfather over the Christmas holidays, his curiosity near to bursting. Harry had been reluctant, and it was obvious that a few details were missing from the story when he finally relented. Teddy had already known about the various Tri-Wizard tasks -- he'd found every archived Prophet article he could, and there were several books that referenced the events, including three unauthorised biographies about Harry himself which, with few exceptions, were complete rubbish. Still, he'd spoken with Hermione and Ron and George over the years, and he knew enough to fill in most of the gaps.
It was the personal details he was interested in anyway, particularly what Harry himself thought about Cedric and, of course, what had really transpired in the cemetery that night long ago.
Teddy hadn't confided the truth to his friends and housemates; if they wanted to believe that Cedric had been killed in a duel with Voldemort -- after fighting off a dozen Death Eaters in a desperate attempt to protect and save poor, young Harry -- he wouldn't disabuse them of the notion. Despite the outrageous exaggerations, Cedric had been a hero, and that was what really mattered.
Teddy reached into his bag and withdrew the map. He sat back in his chair and ran his finger down the blank face of the parchment. It was his most prized possession, and he carried it with him nearly everywhere he went. The fact that it was dead useful was only secondary.
"Cedric?" Teddy said, glancing thoughtfully up at the portrait. "Can I ask you something?"
Cedric inclined his head and raised his eyebrows.
"It's nothing personal, I mean, not about you. I know you don't like to talk about yourself. But I've wanted to ask. You, um, you knew my father when he taught Defence, didn't you?"
Cedric nodded. "That was my fifth year. Back then, we never had a Defence professor last for more than a year, and most of them were pretty awful. Not your dad though. In fact, if it hadn't been for him, I wouldn't have done nearly as well on my O.W.L."
"So he was a good teacher?"
"Got an Outstanding, so I'd say so. You must have known that already though."
"Well, Harry said so, and so did Ron and Hermione, and George and Ginny, too, but I figured they were probably a bit biased, all things considered."
"Harry's your godfather, yeah? I don't mean to eavesdrop, only it's kind of hard not to." Cedric faked a cough into his fist and smiled. "All things considered."
Teddy grinned back. "Yeah. He, uh, he sort of told me what really happened. That night, you know." He ducked his head. "Well, all right, I admit it. I pestered him until he gave in. I haven't told anyone else though."
"They probably wouldn't believe you anyway. They wouldn't believe me, either, so I don't bother to correct them. It's kind of nice, the dashing hero thing, but don't tell anyone I said that."
"Cross my heart," Teddy said, gesturing. Cedric was a hero, and he found himself thinking, as he often did, that he would have liked to have known him-the real Cedric-that they'd have got on well. But at least he could talk to his portrait; get a sense of the boy-young man-he'd been. There was no portrait of Remus Lupin, and that tore at him more than he would ever admit to anyone.
"So, my father. You liked him then? Despite…"
"Despite?"
"Well," he glanced around again, making sure they were still alone. "You know what, um, what he was and all…."
"Oh, right. That." Cedric shrugged. "Yes, I liked him anyway. I'll admit it was a hell of a shock. I didn't believe it at first, you know. But then, well, like I said. I liked him. He was a good teacher, fair, and he was always nice to me. And he had a pretty good sense of humour, too. It wasn't his fault he was, you know, a Gryffindor."
Teddy rolled his eyes and stood up. "Very funny. Least he had the good taste to marry my mum, and she was Hufflepuff. Anyway, thanks. I have to go. I'll see you later."
"Should do. Pretty decent chance I'll be right here when you get back."
Teddy grunted and shook his head, shouldering his bag. "Is that portrait humour?"
Cedric shrugged. "By the way, I'm curious. Can you?"
"Can I what?"
"Grow tits?"
Teddy laughed. "I think I'll just let you mull that over for a bit." He left the common room and touched his wand to the map, checking to make sure his route to the seventh floor corridor was clear.
When he reached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, he checked the map again before wiping it clear and stowing it back in his bag. He faced the blank wall, ready to begin what he thought of as the ritual of calling the room when a prickle of apprehension stole over him, starting in his lower abdomen and crawling upward, racing outward down his limbs in a ripple of gooseflesh. It had seemed like such a good idea when he'd thought of it over Christmas holidays, but now that he was finally standing here, ready to carry out his plan, it seemed ridiculous and stupid.
The Room of Requirement could do many things, but conjuring a ghost or shade of a dead man was beyond even its magical capacity. It was a dumb idea and he was a fool to think it could work. He threw up his hands and turned to go, then stopped. He wasn't a coward. Or perhaps he was. No, it was the idea that was stupid, utterly daft. He'd known that all along, and had allowed his hopes and desire to overrule logic. Still, maybe there was something. Even though it wasn't on the map, he was sure his father and friends had found this room, and had used it for plenty of nefarious purposes in their day. Perhaps the room would remember and show him, like a Pensieve of sorts.
"Right. Never know unless I try." He took a deep breath, closed his eyes briefly and began to pace. I want to know my father. Show me my father. Anything about him, the real him, something he did when he was here. Please. I just want to know more about him. I need to know.
He stopped when he saw the door appear in the wall. He walked over and reached for the handle, then dropped his badly shaking hand. His tongue felt like the dried parchment of the map in his mouth, and his heart was literally hammering in his chest.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" he said aloud, and grasped the handle. Why was he being so pathetic? He closed his eyes, opened the door and stepped inside-
-and felt his stomach drop as the floor beneath his feet plummeted. He shouted and opened his eyes, but everything was black and the darkness swallowed his words. He couldn't even see his own hands which, at that moment, were flailing for something to hold onto. The silent void was thick and heavy, and he struggled to breathe, to blink, the nothingness consuming him whole.
Then suddenly there was a rectangle of light, and he hurtled toward it, through it. The door slammed behind him, and he was on his hands and knees, gulping for air, and blinking up at the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his dancing trolls. He got to his feet and turned around, but the door had vanished.
"Shit!" He kicked the wall and exclaimed again, grabbing his foot and hopping. He limped back and glared at the wall. "Hang it all! What the bloody hell was that?" He swung his leg back to kick the wall again, and then thought better of it, his toe still throbbing.
He was a little surprised at how angry he was. Yes, the room had literally thrown him out, and he had no idea what had happened, or why, and those few seconds of blind panic had startled him. It was his disappointment, however, that had cut bone deep. The room had raised his hopes and then struck him down, and that stung both his heart and his pride. Still, getting angry at a room was rather absurd and, under different circumstances, he'd probably laugh at his own folly.
He stared at the wall for a few minutes more, and concluded that the problem lay in the wording of his request. It couldn't hurt to try again. He paced up and down the corridor for a good half hour, but no door appeared at all in response to his pleas.
Frustrated and infuriated, he picked up his bag and stormed off. A long soak in the prefect's bathtub sounded like a good idea right now, and with most of the school off in Hogsmeade, he'd have it all to himself.
**
Two hours later, his fingers and toes looked like sickly, blanched prunes, but he felt a lot better as he made his way back to the common room. He'd put his silly adventure from his mind and it was time to meet his friends at the pub. He could do with a few drinks as well as the distraction his friends would provide.
When he reached the painting at the dormitory entrance, he reached out to tap and stroke the sequence on the flower petals and stopped, staring. Someone had changed the flower arrangement.
"Oh, for-who the hell? Can nothing go right today?" He sighed, suddenly feeling very weary, and stomped off back upstairs to find Professor Carlyle, muttering about the audacity of the buggering lower-year prefects. He knocked loudly on the door to his office, but there was no response.
The portrait of Sir Stockton Stockbridge, irritated at the disruption to his afternoon nap, grudgingly confirmed that the professor had gone out earlier.
"The Professor doesn't tell me where she's going, young man. Do I look like an appointment secretary? I tell you, the lack of respect in this school is appalling. Portraits treated rudely - harassed, even attacked, stabbed, and startled right out of their frames! Can't even enjoy an afternoon nap these days. It's shameful."
Teddy coughed politely and turned away from the portrait before rolling his eyes. Dotty old bastard was always talking nonsense anyway. He might as well just go to Hogsmeade along with everyone else, and Simon would have to buy. Pity.
He'd have to forego his cloak and use a warming charm. Hopefully it wasn't too windy; his warming charms didn't hold up well in a stiff wind. He was contemplating a nice Firewhisky-induced stupor when he turned the corner of the first floor landing and nearly knocked over two younger students.
"Oh, sorry," he said, reaching out to steady a small, dark-haired boy. "You okay?"
"Fine," the boy mumbled, straightening his glasses.
"You should watch where you're going, you know," his red-haired companion said unkindly.
Teddy saw the boy's red and gold scarf and rolled his eyes. Bloody Gryffindors. "And you should watch your tone with a prefect or you just might lose some House points next time."
"Yeah, right. C'mon Harry, better go before Percy shows up, too," the boy replied, and tugged on his friend's arm. The dark-haired boy looked apologetically back at him and then followed his friend upstairs.
Teddy rolled his eyes and continued down the stairs and outside, this time paying a bit more attention. The weather was milder than he had expected, the snow from last night having melted into a slushy mud, and his warming charm worked rather well until he approached the front gates.
An icy chill swept over him, through him, as if his bones had frozen solid, and despair seemed to settle around his shoulders like a mantle.
Just ahead of him, hovering outside the gates like a decaying black cloud, were two Dementors. He stared at them in disbelief, shivering with cold and growing fear, frozen in place, his wand pointed uselessly at the ground.
Something silvery-white streaked across the air and the Dementors darted away, taking the icy oppressiveness with them.
"Sorry 'bout that. They've been a bit excitable today with all the comin' and goin'."
Teddy blinked at the man who was now standing at the gate. He was dressed in Auror robes, and he was still pointing his wand in the direction of the fleeing Dementors. Aurors and Dementors at Hogwarts. Dementors at Hogwarts, and this Auror was acting as if it were a normal occurrence.
"You okay, kid? Sometimes people come over a bit queer from 'em. Nasty things they are. Useful though. If anyone's gonna catch Black, they will, and believe me, it won't be pretty when they do."
Teddy had no idea what the man was talking about. He was still staring, mouth hanging open and his eyes wide, wondering when he'd hit himself on the head and had started hallucinating. Maybe he was still in the bath and he'd fallen asleep on a cloud of foam. Or perhaps he'd drowned.
"Kid? You don't look too good. Bit green around the gills. Maybe you wanna head back up to the school there. Have a bit of a lie down."
Teddy nodded and managed to stop gaping. "Yes, that's, yes, a good idea." He turned, still in a daze, and slowly walked back up to the school. The younger students were filing into the Great Hall for lunch, and he saw those two Gryffindor boys again, this time accompanied by a girl. He nodded at the boy -- Harry, his friend had called him. That one was easy to remember, and funny, he almost looked-
"You just wait, Potter! You'll get yours! You and Weasel and the Mudblood!"
A blond boy with a Slytherin badge on his robes and a sneer on his face had ascended from the dungeons, flanked by two larger boys, and was stalking toward the three Gryffindors in the doorway. The red-haired boy made a rude hand gesture before his friends restrained and yanked him into the Great Hall.
Teddy watched them disappear, backing up slowly. He banged his hip painfully on a doorknob, and managed to find the presence of mind to open the door and close it behind him right before his knees gave way, and he collapsed onto the floor of the small, dark chamber.
After a few minutes of some needful hyperventilating, he fumbled into his pocket for his wand and nearly ripped open his bag in search of the map. His hands were sweating so badly that he had trouble holding his wand.
"Lumos. I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he said in a shaky voice.
He quickly found the Great Hall on the map, his eyes ignoring everything but the Gryffindor table. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger. The three black dots swam before his eyes. He felt dizzy, and his stomach was a giant knot. When his gaze inadvertently slid to the dots clustered around at the High table, he was promptly sick all over his trainers.
Chapter 2: some kind of miracle
Teddy didn't know how long he stayed in that little room. It could have been an hour or even days for all he knew. Time had frozen, reversed, twisted inward on itself and left him reeling and dazed, and he had no idea how to cope or what to do.
It was nature that brought him back to himself when he realised that he badly needed to have a piss. Unwilling to disregard propriety or risk experimentation with vanishing spells in his current state-he was mindful enough to recognise the dangers of accidentally vanishing his bladder along with its contents-he cleaned himself up as best he could with a few spells, waited until the Entrance Hall was clear, and sought out the nearest empty bathroom.
As he stood relieving himself in a stall in the first floor boy's bathroom, he wrinkled his nose at an odour in the air, raised his arm and sniffed. Eugh! He stank something awful. He'd practically sweated through to his robes, and seeing as he didn't have a change of clothes, he was going to need another bath. Cleaning charms were effective on dirt and stains, but they didn't dissipate odours, and he could only do so much at a sink.
It was fairly late in the evening now, and although he couldn't be sure of the exact time, he knew from the events of the day that his watch was fairly close to the local time, give or take an hour. He checked the map again, saw the dots of two students leaving the prefects' bath, and realised with a start that the password had been the same here as it was in his own time. He left the bathroom, taking every shortcut and hidden passageway he could up to the fifth floor corridor.
He stripped off and was in the bath before it was even half full. He knew he couldn't hide here for long, and he wasn't about to march up to the current headmaster-Merlin! That would be Professor Dumbledore! Definitely not!-and announce his presence. He couldn't knock on his father's door either. What would he say? Hi, Dad? I've got a bit of a problem? Mind if I bunk with you for a bit?
Harry was practically a sprog, as were Ginny, Ron, Hermione and Professor Longbottom. He considered finding his 'Uncle' George and was once again shocked by the realisation that George's twin, Fred, would also be here. Again, what would he say to them? He didn't think their fifteen-year-old selves would be very discreet either.
Mucking about with time was a bad thing. Just his presence here could disrupt the future, and interacting with his family could cause a catastrophic paradox, possibly prevent him from being born. He ducked his head under the water to rinse off and swam over to the side. He had to think, had to be logical, and he needed to wash his soiled clothing.
Making sure his pockets were empty, he dunked them one by one into the soapy water, and gave them all a quick scrub. He had only the one set-a robe, jeans, a t-shirt, underpants and one pair of socks-and they were going to have to last unless he could manage to pilfer something else. He was going to have to go back to the Room of Requirement, too. There was no help for it. It was the only place he could hide safely. If it let him in this time.
It took him far too long to dry his clothing, and his jeans were still damp when he put them back on. Checking the map again, he considered detouring to the kitchens, but his stomach was still a bit queasy and he was far too exhausted to care about food. He crept from the bath until he was once again standing before the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He was filled with apprehension; he knew he shouldn't be here, knew that every minute he remained was a risk, but what if the room sent him back home? He'd asked to see his father, that was why he was here, and the thought of leaving without having seen more of him than a dot on the map filled him with dread. But he couldn't stand out here all night.
I need a place to hide, a place to sleep, but please-I'm not ready to go back yet. Don't send me back, just give me a warm, quiet place to sleep and to think.
When the door appeared, the room inside held exactly what he'd asked for: a four-poster bed covered in yellow drapery beside a marble-mantled fireplace. It was a small room, but it was warm, the walls flickering orange and yellow with reflected firelight, a plush looking rug on the floor beside, and a small night table, which held a tea tray, steam curling lazily from the spout of the teapot.
He stripped off his clothing, laying it carefully at the foot of the bed, ignored the tea and climbed under the blankets and, despite the anxieties of the day, was asleep within minutes.
**
The first few days were disorienting. His dreams were full of strange images where nothing made sense, and when he woke, he'd forget where-and when-he was, until he pulled back the hangings and found the unfamiliar room beyond. Then it would all come rushing back to him: his heartbeat intensified, his stomach rumbled with nausea, and he gasped as the air rushed from his lungs, leaving him dizzy.
Upon request, the room provided a place to wash and a toilet, which was very accommodating, and he thanked it, feeling silly, but still wanting to appear gracious. It could manage tea, but if he wanted food, he was going to have to visit the kitchens; he couldn't very well stroll into the Great Hall and find an empty seat.
The map was a godsend, though he was reluctant to venture too far those first couple of days. Feeling emboldened on his second day, he had decided to walk past his father's classroom on the way back from the kitchens. He'd only just heard his voice when a sense of deep sadness and loss nearly overwhelmed him. He'd stumbled away, tears blinding him, and he'd run, somehow managing to get back to his room where he threw himself onto the bed, curled up into a ball, and cried like a little boy.
He'd berated himself afterward for being an unmanly, snivelling coward, but it turned out to be the catharsis that he'd needed. His fear and paralysing shock seemed to have flowed out of him amidst the tears, and he felt himself returning to a semblance of normalcy. Well, as normal as one could be when they were stranded out of time.
Another roommate of his, Gordon, who was Muggleborn, had introduced Simon and himself to the joys of the Muggle cinema and telly; in particular, science fiction films and programs, and several of them had featured elements of time travel. Augmented by his own studies, he knew all about paradoxes and the dangers of time travel, and he kept this knowledge forefront in his mind as often as possible.
He'd returned the next day and stood once again outside in the hall, listening, while his father lectured-no, not lectured. Professor Binns lectured. His father taught, interacting with the students, challenging them and drawing them out, his manner easy-going and cheerful. He still felt that wrench of loss deep in his belly, but he did not cry. He listened, closing his eyes when he dared, and letting his father's voice flow over him, drawing strength and courage.
This was what he had asked for, and while he was aware of the old proverb that said "be careful what you wish for", he also wasn't going to let opportunity pass him by. For good or ill, the room had granted his wish, and he wasn't going to waste it. He didn't know how he would get home, but he wasn't quite ready to explore that avenue just yet. He was here, and that's what mattered. No regrets, he promised himself, whatever happens.
**
He liked coming to the library. He could be both visible and invisible here in a way he couldn't anywhere else in the school. The stern librarian-Madame Pince, he'd overheard-obviously brooked no inappropriate behaviour, and would have no qualms evicting anyone, from Headmaster to Head Boy if she felt warranted, so the students generally kept to themselves and their studies. Most of the student body were in classes during the day, so it was easy to hide at his favourite, partially-concealed table behind huge stacks of dusty tomes that probably hadn't been read in over a century.
The students of this era were little different from his own, with the exception of certain hairstyles, musical tastes, and a wary look in their eyes when they happened to glance out a window. The effects of the Dementors couldn't be felt within the stone walls of the castle, not physically anyway, but the mere awareness of their close proximity was enough, coupled with the wildly exaggerated and persistent rumours about Sirius Black's break-in a month ago.
Teddy bit his lip and frowned. He'd skimmed through several recent and back-issues of the Prophet, and it had been strange indeed to know more about the present situation than anyone else. Harry's godfather, who was innocent and searching desperately for the rat, Pettigrew. The temptation to go running to his father or even to the forest or the Shrieking Shack in search of Black himself was overwhelming at times. Even now he found himself glancing out the window, searching the grounds and the periphery of the forest for a big black dog.
Sirius had died years before Teddy had been born, but Teddy had grown up thinking of the man as family even beyond his blood kinship to his mother and grandmother. It was Sirius' importance to his father and Harry that made him important to Teddy, and fed his helpless frustrations. It would be so easy, he thought. I could save him, I could save them all. It's still early enough, and war hasn't yet come. The temptation was a palpable thing; he could feel it thrumming in his bones, pulsing behind his temples, whispering to him just beyond his range of hearing, awake and asleep.
He glanced at one of the more useful books he'd managed to filch from the restricted section two nights ago-"Time Travel Travesties: tempest in a teapot or tempting fate too far?"-and sighed. He could do nothing, certainly nothing as overt as blatantly changing history. The Muggle theories weren't all that different from wizarding theories, except that wizards had found a way to manipulate the time stream with magic, and had gone beyond theoretical musings into experimental facts. Of a sort. After all, if someone went back in time and did manage to kill their grandfather, ensuring they were never born, how would anyone be able to observe it? Logic demanded that a person in that position would cease to exist immediately.
The book, however, had indicated that it was indeed possible, logic be damned, and there were several accounts written by wizard time travellers themselves, claiming that they remained alive in the past even after disposing of their ancestor. There were further written accounts stating said persons would stay alive as long as they didn't return to the future where they no longer existed.
This made no sense to Teddy, and his mind twisted in circles trying to follow the logic. If a person didn't exist, even in the future, how would he then travel to the past in the first place to commit the murder? And if they didn't immediately pop out of existence, what happened when time eventually caught up to that future on its own? It was a paradox no matter how one viewed it, and even factoring magic into the equation, it still made no sense at all. Not to mention that he simply couldn't imagine anybody doing something so daft on purpose in the first place. The whole thing gave him a headache.
There were a number of passages in the book which emphasised the probabilities of erasing one's own existence, though he was sceptical about the chances of doing so by the act of swatting a single fly or disturbing a single blade of grass or pebble. Still, he watched where he walked and in deference, had refrained from stepping on any insects if he could help it. And he promised himself that he wouldn't kill his parents or his grandparents under any circumstances.
A low chuckle from somewhere nearby pulled him from his musings, and he looked up slowly to see a tall brown-haired boy and a shorter blond sit down at the next table where they were soon joined by two other boys. He watched them as surreptitiously as he could for a short while, and was about to go back to his various musings, when the brown-haired boy pushed back his chair with a scrape, turned and murmured something to the boy next to him. Teddy gasped and froze.
Cedric Diggory turned his head sharply in Teddy's direction and saw him watching. Teddy knew he should look away, look anywhere else, but his body seemed bent on ignoring his thoughts. Seconds ticked by until finally Cedric winked, a crooked grin on his face, then stood up and stretched before walking off towards one of the numerous rows of bookshelves.
Teddy exhaled slowly once their eye contact was broken. He was wearing a different face again today, and once again, nobody had seemed to pay him much mind. In fact, this was the first time he'd allowed himself to make eye contact with anyone. His heart was beating a staccato in his chest, and every crease and crevice on his body was sweating as he continued to watch Cedric until he disappeared down a narrow aisle. He'd seen Cedric's dot on the map that first day, and many days since, and felt a start of surprise every time, but seeing him in person, real, flesh and blood and three-dimensional, was a terrific shock.
In some ways, it was more shocking than seeing either his father or Harry. He'd listened to dozens of his father's classes, standing outside the door, and he'd only seen him very briefly or at a distance. In his mind, Remus Lupin was still something of a mystical figure, and he was still biding his time for an opportunity to have a real conversation with him. The conversation would be easy enough if he posed as a student; it was his inner turmoil that stayed his hand. This was his father, and the thought that their only encounter would be a lie troubled him. He could lie to his friends and teachers when he had to, he could even lie to Harry about small, unimportant things. This was neither small nor unimportant, and he did not want to lie to his father.
Harry was a child here, and nothing like the godfather he knew. He'd watched Harry and his friends on several occasions, but it was with a sense of fond amusement. It was difficult to reconcile child-Harry with his Harry. Time was a barrier, and in this case, a welcome one as it helped him keep his distance and perspective.
Cedric, however, looked very similar to his portrait, though less stiff and formal, and much more at ease. In those few seconds when Cedric had looked right at him, his eyes were alive and friendly, and filled with a liveliness that no amount of artistry and magic could convey on canvas.
He wiped sweaty hands on his robes and quickly looked down when he saw Cedric returning, book in hand. He turned his body slowly to the right, inching his chair closer to the edge of the table, and angling himself towards Cedric's table. He shook his head so his long black fringe fell across his eyes. He could still see clearly through the strands, but anyone watching him wouldn't be able to tell, or so he hoped.
Cedric was whispering animatedly to his friends, flipping through pages and pointing excitedly, his hands moving in an intricate dance as he spoke with expansive gestures, explaining something to do with Itchington's Third Law of Human Transfiguration, which Teddy remembered from his O.W.L. exams almost two years earlier.
He rested his chin on his fist and stared at Cedric's hands, so expressive, long fingers giving shape and emphasis to his words. The portrait's hands were flat and dulled in comparison, paint pigments dulling colour, canvas altering texture, depth a mere expression of the artist's skill, not a true representation of the real boy.
A drop of perspiration was angling its way along Cedric's hairline, and he watched, fascinated, as it moved, sliding along his lightly-stubbled cheek, beading along his jaw before Cedric's hand carelessly swiped at it, too engrossed in conversation to pay it more mind. Cedric's portrait didn't-couldn't-sweat and always appeared clean-shaven. It was a real life tale of Pinocchio.
It was warm in the library, and he squirmed in his seat, feeling at once exhilarated and uncomfortable, and wishing he'd worn his jeans under his robes today. He looked at his watch and realised that he needed to leave. He'd been here for nearly an hour and a half, and he couldn't afford to attract too much attention. He'd have to find a bathroom or cupboard, or even an unused classroom, and change his appearance again. Quietly gathering his books together, he reluctantly stood up and walked away just as another boy, handsome and fit, and wearing a Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain's badge, called out to Cedric.
"Oi! Diggory! A word with you."
Teddy turned towards the exit and saw Madame Pince striding towards him, a steely expression on her face. He ducked out of her way, quickly exiting the library to escape her tirade.
"Out! Mr Davies! You too, Mr Diggory! I'm surprised at you! This is not-"
Teddy grinned as the doors closed behind him.
Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4