softravenclaw:

teddy lupin is eighteen, and today he looks around and sees his family grieving, and his younger cousins laughing and running about like it’s just another sunny day, and he doesn’t know where he fits

teddy lupin is eighteen and has never known war, has never known what it’s like to run, to fear, to wake up every day knowing someone he loves has died the night before

teddy lupin is eighteen and didn’t fight in a war, sure, but he’s felt like a part of him has been missing since he was a few days old. two parts of him, actually: a man they said was good and brave and a woman they said saw the light in everything, and was beautiful from the inside out. two people who should’ve celebrated this last birthday, and all the ones before. two people who are his parents, but might as well be strangers.

teddy lupin is eighteen and can’t say he misses them. maybe that’s a terrible thing to say. maybe he’s a terrible child. he knows the adults would tell him off if he said that, because his parents laid down their lives for him and he’s so ungrateful that he doesn’t even miss them

teddy lupin is eighteen and harry is twice his age and yet seems just as young when he sits down next to him and says, quietly, “i’m sorry.”

teddy lupin is eighteen and knows that harry should be out there, mourning for the dead, for the friends he’d lost so that teddy wouldn’t lose any of his own. but he also knows that they were both afterthoughts of wars that left them alone in a world that had moved on. harry hugs him, loosely at first— and teddy hugs him back tighter.

teddy lupin is eighteen and he can’t stand being himself today. so he tells harry that he’s okay, really, he doesn’t need him to stay. he watches harry go and suddenly feels even more alone. because sure, they’re both orphans, but harry deserved his shot at living. harry earned it with  with every minute spent with uncle vernon and aunt petunia, with every time he fought voldemort and won. harry’s parents are proud of him, but teddy doesn’t know if remus and tonks would be proud of him. he’s not a hero. he might as well be nothing.

teddy lupin is eighteen and wants to forget. he looks in the mirror and doesn’t recognize the boy—the man— he sees. so he goes to the muggle club he’s always noticed a few streets away. the one with the loud music and drunk people staggering out of it at three in the morning. he orders a drink and buries his head in his hands.

teddy lupin is eighteen and when he looks up he’s staring into familiar blue eyes, and all he wants is to reach out, but instead he turns away. “do i know you?” and she raises her eyebrow. “teddy, i know it’s you.” of course she does.

teddy lupin is eighteen and victoire weasley is seventeen— she’s only just turned seventeen, and of course she’d be here, because a party wouldn’t be right when families were wiped out and her own uncle lost his life on this very day. he wouldn’t hate her for having one. nobody would, and he’s told her this a thousand times. she’s happy. she deserves to be happy. she has a family and brothers and sisters and parents who are alive, and their lives may be different but they share this, this unshakeable need to be enough in the eyes of their family of heroes and martyrs and warriors.

teddy lupin is eighteen and victoire weasley is seventeen and his mask just slips right off in front of her. she smiles and ruffles his bubblegum pink hair and raises her drink to him and he can see that his eyes are the same green remus’ were in the reflection of the glass. “it’s okay,” she says.

teddy lupin is eighteen and he is too old to be crying, but she holds him and he can’t hear anything but his own dry sobs. when he looks up, she dries his eyes and he can imagine, in another universe, feeling tons better and going home to a home-cooked meal and his mother playing chess with his father and both of them beaming when he walks in.

teddy lupin is eighteen and in this universe he turned eighteen alone. so he gets drunk with victoire and they run down the streets laughing and somehow end up near the graves of his parents. it’s not even the second anymore, it’s like— 2 am, maybe later— and he lays the flowers he’d conjured on the ground. “proud of me, dad? mum?”  

they don’t reply, but teddy lupin is eighteen and he’s still got years left, thanks to him. and he’s gonna make them proud. he knows he will.