Ephemeral

It had bothered him for days.

As soon as he’d gathered his thoughts that morning he had hidden the bottle in a place that he could no longer remember, feeling far too scared to delve into his father’s memories. Deep down he had an unrelenting, arguably irrational fear that the man inside the bottle would not be very much like him at all; would share none of his features or traits, and he’d be left with that same sense of loss that he’d felt in the first place.

People had been telling him about Remus Lupin his entire life, but when it came down to it, Teddy didn’t really know him at all. “He was a brave man,” Ginny had once said, as though it described the illusive man in a nutshell. But Teddy was brave. Harry was brave. Ron was… okay… he was a bit of a wuss, but that was beside the point. The point was that literally anyone could be brave — he wanted to know how his father had been brave.

“Your father had a difficult life,” Harry had told him on his fourteenth birthday, when Teddy had prompted him after dinner. “Always struggled with what he was. He was an exceptional man, though. One of the best.”

Those words had stayed with him for a little while; he’d thought about them for months as he lay in bed, eyes towards the ceiling and wondering who he was. Remus Lupin had been one of the best. Surely that meant that his son was worth something then, too?

It was a few weeks later when he was at the park with Vic that the loneliness came back with a vengeance. She’d been talking about Bill, her father, and how he’d arrived home from his job at the bank with flowers for her mother.

“It was lovely,” she was saying, cheeks slightly red from the cold as she swept her silvery hair behind her ear. “They’re the same as when they met, really.”

They were sitting on the swing set as they always did, Teddy sitting still and digging his toes into the ground whilst Vic rocked herself back and forth gently. He found himself wondering, then, whether his father had ever done that for his mother; whether he’d loved her as much when they died as he did when they’d first met.

It sat in his mind for a few moments — lingered, and that familiar sense of loneliness crept up inside his chest. It was stupid — feeling lonely all of the time, because Ted had never been one to be unhappy. Even as an orphan he’d always found ways to enjoy himself; ways to take the mickey out of things and enjoy life in general. And yet here he was — finally an adult and spending all his time thinking about his dead parents. It was ridiculous.

“Ted?” Victoire pressed, nudging his foot with her own.

“Hm?” he said mindlessly, glancing up to look at her.

She smiled slightly, a slight curl of the lips, and looked at him softly. “What are you thinking about?”

He frowned, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “My parents,” he said. “Just what they’d be like.”

She frowned, reaching out to grab his hand. “I’m sure they’d be just like you,” she teased, squeezing his hand with her fingers. “Obnoxious as hell but lovely at the same time.”

He looked at the ground, tilting his head to give her a light smile. “Maybe.”

“Do you know where I’d find a pensieve?” he asked suddenly, his back straightening as he glanced at her.

Victoire pursed her lips in thought, tilting her head to give him an odd look. “There’s one in our basement. Why do you ask?”

Pushing himself off of the swing, he tugged her by the hand so that she was on her feet too. “We’ve got to head back to mine,” he said hastily, ignoring the alarmed look she was sending him. “I’ve got something to show you.”