I wanna grow old without the pain, give my body back to the earth and not complain

Why was he standing on Victoire Weasley's doorstep?

He... didn't know. He had been at work for most of the day, listening to problem after problem that he could not solve, could not even empathize with because he just was not good at it anymore. He had lost his mojo as a counselor, and work was becoming more and more tedious because of it. He had always been a worker bee, but with the joys of good labor wrenched so suddenly from him, he really did not know what to do with himself.

He had gone home. He knew that much. He had puttered around the garden, attempted a vegetarian stir fry he had no interest in, and had lounged in his jeans and plaid shirt, before standing up and walking about aimlessly. He stopped, Lily's dog staring up at him with concerned brown eyes, staring out his window at the darkening street.

When did it become eleven o'clock?

He was on Victoire's doorstep because... some part of him thought she might know what was wrong with him, since he wasn't sure. It had to do something with the Potters, with work, with his friends... But he still couldn't figure out what it was exactly. And Teddy had never had a problem asking for the correct answer if he didn't know it.

He reached up a hand to knock on the door, but his hand barely connected with the door before he felt himself collapse inside. He leaned forward, his forehead resting against the door, taking a deep breath and sighing it out.

Why was he here?

Swirling in a frothing burgundy tide, the wine glugged from the lip of the carafe and into the glass. Setting it back down onto the carpet, Victoire Weasley’s long fingers curled around the stem of the glass and brought it to her mouth, letting the sweet yet heady flavour of the wine roll over her tongue. She lowered it back down to the carpet again and in the faint twilight of the living room she settled back into her blanket fort, pulling a sheet over her legs to ward off the slight chill coming in through the living room windows.

Since the early afternoon she had been pottering around outdoors, tending to both the front and back garden. Flowers were abloom in both areas with her pink roses bright and healthy, shining down over both the garden gate and the front door itself. In the back garden, though, she’d seen to the gnomes who, over the sound of the music on the television, she could just about hear scuttling back under the fence to sit in the raspberry bushes and begin plotting their revenge. After ridding her vegetable patch of pesky weeds, she’d retired inside to make the fort, knowing full well she was doomed to another evening alone.

Well, alone was a relative term. Over the last few weeks she had graduated from being the owner of a singular cat, half-Kneazle by design, and was awarded with a litter of five kittens courtesy of Lucius Malfoy (the cat) owned by the Divination and former-Transfiguration professors. Originally, Victoire had thought very little of the cat sniffing around her cottage. She was used to them coming in and out of the garden – Willa, Victoire’s cat, often saw them off. Lucius started to come round more and more frequently, though, and it wasn’t until too late that she realised why. So she was currently occupying her fort with her sleeping mother cat, three equally weary kittens and two that seemed to have a great affection for nibbling Victoire’s toes.

Needless to say, when the knock on the door came, she was overjoyed for the distraction.

Getting to her feet, Victoire put her video game on pause and dropped the controller on the cushion before padding out of the living room and into the hallway. She took her wand off of the hall table just to be safe and fiddled with the switches on the wall so that the porch light went on. The yellow glow that came in through the window in the door was enough to illuminate the clock on the wall and Victoire frowned, wondering who on earth would want to come and see her at eleven o’clock at night. Whoever it was had to bring trouble, Victoire knew that much.

A little mew from beside her made the witch look down and she frowned briefly at the kitten that had followed her. He was by far her favourite – entirely made of fluff which was a shock of bright ginger. He was a very appropriate cat for a Weasley to own, to say the least. He also aspired to a certain level of bravery, too, and seemed keen to protect his mistress from what may lie beyond the door whether benign or terrible. He stood poised by Victoire’s side and she shook her head fondly at the cat before reaching forward to unlock the door.

“Teddy?”

He was the last person she had imagined behind the door, if only because it was so unlikely. James, she would not have put it past. One of her cousins in trouble with their parents? Not totally beyond the realm of probability. A Death Eater? Well, certainly maybe. But Teddy Lupin? Never. Not ever again. Too much had happened, surely? Too much had changed, hadn’t it? And yet, here he was. Victoire was guilty of standing and staring too long. Her ginger kitten had attempted a growl, too, puffing out his fluffy chest in a way he seemed to hope was imposing.

“Get in here,” she found her words finally. “You’re letting all the warm air out.”

She reached out and tugged at him so he’d come over the threshold and resolutely she slammed the door shut, locking it behind them once more. She felt silly now, knowing that in the living room there was a blanket fort. She wasn’t a child anymore. That sort of thing stopped being explainable by her mid-twenties. Yet, nothing was ever simple with Potters and Weasleys, was it? Nothing ever moved smoothly with age and time as it was imagined to. She and Teddy were clear proof of that, not that anyone needed any. None of them were right. The only person who could have made them so was long gone.

In spite of herself, Victoire threw her arms around Teddy, hugging him tightly in an embrace reminiscent of the way Molly Weasley (the first) used to cuddle and fuss over them when they went to visit the Burrow. She took the opportunity to try and remember what it felt like to have Teddy in her arms again. His smell invaded her senses and for a second she felt like a teenager again, madly coveting the crush she had on him and when she loved and sought even the barest scrap of attention she could get from him. So much had changed, though, including that, so she hastened to release him.

“Tea or something stronger?” She asked softly as she let go of him, her fingers immediately beginning to twitch in mourning of his touch.

He felt the door give beneath his touch and he pulled away, for fear of toppling forward and crushing the dainty Weasley woman on the other side. He wavered on her doorstep as she opened the door, and shame and confusion forced his gaze to remain on his shoes, his loyal, trusty shoes. They were plain, boring, functional. They provided no opportunity for worry or anxiety. They caused no problems, caused no inner anguish. And besides that, they were relatively new. There was no long, painful history there.

Victoire might have been a prettier sight, but it was much easier to look at his shoes.

His name still sounded sweet on her lips. That was something he had never understood about Victoire. She had this capacity for taking any word and breathing life and potential into it. He had loved hearing her talk about the things she was passionate about, running through terms for exams and for Mungo's, eyes screwed up in concentration as he watched the cogs turn in her head. The few times she had managed to be cross with him, he had reveled in hearing her call him by his given name.

And now, after all of the time that had passed between them, hearing his name roll off of her tongue, even with the confusion and surprise, was both painful and healing.

He swallowed. "Hi... Vic-Victoire." He had almost left it at Vic, but that was probably too familiar. He settled for stuttering out both her nickname and her full name, finding one too comfortable and the other too formal. It didn't matter anyway. He wasn't like her. He could speak her name like music, spread warmth through her veins with mere words. Stuttering words and a lack of eye contact was going to have to make do.

She pulled him inside and he could not resist her guidance, a common problem among more than a few of the Weasley clan. Victoire seemed to be in training to take over for Molly Matriarch, having always been kind and maternal for those in her lives. She was not nearly as easily worked up as Molly, but she did have it within her to scorn, and Teddy had always been amused to see her typically peaceful expression furrowed with irritation.

These warm thoughts were not present in his crumpled expression, still looking at his wonderfully-uncomplicated shoes. His body was rigid with uncertainty as he hovered on the landing of her little cottage, and the silence between them pounded heavily in his ears. He should have had a better reason for being there besides the fact that he had nowhere to go. This is when he should have explained his presence, relaxed the tension to assure her that he had only came because of... insert non-crazy reason here.

She hugged him. Oh, Merlin. She was hugging him.

He could feel the past coursing through him, filling him with promise and potential he knew he couldn't get back. His head finally lifted, his arms hanging at his sides. His arms began to twitch upwards to unfold in her in an embrace, but she moved away. It was probably good. He wasn't sure if he would be able to release her once he had his arms around her, the comfort was so missed. However, as they pulled apart, he found their eyes meeting for the first time since she had rescued him from the cold.

Too much. Too soon. His gaze dropped.

She asked if he wanted anything to drink and he shook his head, waving a hand. No, he didn't want anything to drink. He... didn't know what he wanted.

"I... I'm sorry, Vic, I just... Um, I just need to clear my head."

The night’s events had taken a rather surreal turn. It felt as though a thousand years or so had passed since she had stood across from Teddy Lupin without interruptions. They had all the privacy in the world in that moment, all of the privacy that they had ever needed in order to work out the knots that they had wound themselves into even as friends let alone anything else. So many things could have been said and Victoire knew it. She had dozens of things she wanted to say, along with an ‘I’m in love you’ that was going to come nearly ten years too late now. She wasn’t even sure that saying it would have been sincere though the feelings lingered on somewhere, latent in the base of her heart. In the end, none of the words came out.

“My door is always open to you,” she picked instead, offering him a small smile as she glanced down at the shoes he appeared to find so fascinating. “Come on, take these off and get comfortable. Give me your coat and I’ll hang it up.”

It felt good to fuss, somehow. It warded off some of the purposelessness that she felt when Hogwarts was over and done with for the year. She’d been credited with her good work that year and her nigh compulsive maintenance of the hospital wing’s potions cabinet. Without the constant flow of students, though, she was at home. She was doing a little bit of free-lance for St. Mungo’s but other than that she was alone. It saddened her but having Teddy there in her hallway at eleven o’clock at night was the best thing that had happened in a while.

“I have a blanket fort,” Victoire informed him, taking his hand before she had time to really think about what it was she was doing. It was natural, too familiar, and she tried to tell herself it was in innocence and not something that she should have been overthinking. She pushed open the living room door again and her kitten scampered in, hurrying under the fort’s opening to join his mother and siblings.

“I don’t know,” Victoire admitted, hastily dropping his hand, not wanting to linger too long. “It helps me when I want to forget I’m me for a little while. Makes me feel like I’m a kid again. Plus, it’s comfy. It might … it might help, maybe?” His lack of assurance was contagious, it seemed, and Victoire felt suddenly very foolish indeed.

Of course her door was always open. That was the sort of person she was, had always been. Really, Teddy and Victoire were cut from the same cloth. The eldest of the clans Potter-Weasley (even if he was adopted into it), both with intense protective urges, and both with a very sensitive approach towards family. But Teddy used to be the one who could joke, who could pretend to be stern and still get his point across without coming off as too serious. He used to be the one with a door always open to anyone who was in need of a welcoming, loving presence.

He couldn't pinpoint what had happened. Lily's disappearance had shaken him to his core, thrown him out of whack. Seeing her so frail and beaten had flipped his view. He suddenly saw how much Albus resented all of them, how much James couldn't bother to stay in touch, how weak Lily had been when pitted against the world he had so tried to defender her against. He had failed with them, and suddenly found himself apathetic towards his patients. What right did he have to help anyone? Just because he had once been good at solving domestics did not mean he was capable of doing anything for anyone else. Even among his friends, he remained the odd man out, the one they all looked upon with kind eyes.

He was now the one who needed shelter. He could not give it.

He stumbled as he pried his shoes off with his toes, sliding them out of the way of the door, before shrugging off his heavy hunting coat, letting her take it from her.

She took him by the hand and he blinked, staring at the interlocked things as though they were as interesting as his shoes. He felt the walls pass by as they moved through her cottage, but found his eyes braved the trek up to look at the back of her head. That seemed safe enough.

Shelter. Blanket fort. Like kids.

Their hands released but he found his fingers twitching, longing to take her hand up again. Instead, he allowed his eyes to meet hers. Finally.

They hadn't changed either.

"That sounds perfect."

With her wand, Victoire walked around the living room, lighting a handful of candles to chase away the darkness. She switched off the television, promising herself she’d continue playing tomorrow. She sent the carafe and glass sailing up to sit on the mantelpiece and then, after putting down her wand, she bounced down onto one of the cushions just outside the front of her little fort. The cats slithered out, opting to sit on the sofa, and Victoire sent a grateful look in their direction before patting the cushion next to her.

“Look,” she murmured, falling onto the pillows inside the tent. She wiggled inside and lifted her eyes aloft to the sheet that acted as the roof. She had charmed it, though, to reflect the night’s sky and looking up to it made her feel as though she was laid in the long grass during one of the many hot summers at the Burrow which the Weasley and Potter children had shared together. The same sweet chill wasn’t in the air that threatened autumn but that was okay. The company was the same and she almost felt as though time hadn’t elapsed at all.

“Are you okay, Teddy?” She asked quietly, tipping her head to the left to look at him.

Victoire did a quick round about the room, cleaning up what was out from before and making it more comfortable. The harsh light of electricity against the nighttime seeping in through the windows was traded for the comforting flicker of candles. Wine stowed away, distractions turned off. She plopped down in front of the blanket fort and a small herd of kittens came tumbling happily out, tempting a sad smile to briefly grace Teddy's downturned lips, before the forces of gravity and reality won against the sheer pleasure of seeing new life do what it did best - inspire the old and experienced. The frown came back.

She leaned back and he watched as she wriggled into the safety of the blanket fort, leaving him in the outside world, cruel and unsettling. He rubbed his thumbs into his palms, blinking about the empty room as though Victoire had moved into another dimension rather than into a blanket curtain. That's how it always felt. As though he were stuck on the other side of a curtain, the wrong side, the side that was not calm nor happy nor safe.

But this time, he had a choice.

He lowered himself down and crawled on his hands and knees into tent, finding he had to army crawl once he got to his shoulders. He pulled himself level with Victoire and then rolled over, looking up at the top of the tent. He felt the air leave his throat, his lungs deflating as he felt something bubbling up inside of him. That sense of memories long gone, loss growing from the goodness one once had.

Was he okay?

"No." The word was strained, and he could not look at her, though he felt her eyes on him. "I... I don't know what's wrong with me, Vic. I lost something and I don't know how to get it back. I feel like a shell of a man. I can't do anything I used to be, I can't ever remember what I used to be. I lost some sort of sense of who I am. I've lost my family. I just... don't know anything more."

Turning her head, Victoire focused her gaze on her old friend. Once, he had been the epitome of her dreams. The loss of him seemed to precipitate the loss of everything else. Now it seemed as though they were the same again, although rather than being at the top of their game, at their crescendo, they were crumpled at the bottom of the mountain, covered in stifling snow that was preventing their escape. And yet, he seemed so much worse off than her. Possibly by the virtue of being so intertwined with the self-imploding Potter side of the family. Now, the Weasleys were following suit. Victoire first.

“You’ve still got me, for what it’s worth,” she whispered, reaching down to take his hand again. “But I think … I think I know how you feel,” she murmured, lifting her gaze back up towards the stars shining down on them from the roof of her tent.

She inhaled softly through her nose and closed her eyes, wishing that things could have been different for them both. First and foremost, she wished that Teddy could have his own family, one that was distinct and safe in comparison to the crumbling former messiahs around him. She wished he could have had a space to hide and wait for the world’s winds to change in his favour. But then, she supposed it was here, in the tent in her cottage in Hogsmeade in that very moment. It was a place to wait for the winds to change. After all, wasn’t that why she was in there, too?

A little mew broke her from her thoughts and Victoire turned towards the sound as a kitten crept into the tent. It was the runt of the litter, the one that looked the most like the father of Willa’s kittens. He was a little ball of ashen fluff streaked here and there, incongruously, with ginger and white which reflected his mother’s influence on his genes. His little squished face belonged very much to Lucius Malfoy the cat, however. Victoire had a bit of a soft spot for him, even if her first love was the ginger one.

“Hey buddy,” Victoire murmured, lifting her arms over her head to pick him up. The cat mewed at her and Victoire brought the little guy down between herself and Teddy. He settled happily in the covers and even seemed to flash a little smile before snuggling towards the warmth that Teddy was exuding. “You’ve made a friend,” Victoire commented with a smile. “So all is not lost after all, hm? Not yet, anyway – right?”

There was always something comforting and a little defeating when someone told you they felt just as poorly as you did. The comfort derived from the sudden feeling that someone else understood and felt the same, and even if that did not make one any less alone, it still did something to alleviate the loneliness. But then there was this bitterness in the sweet sentiment... someone else suffered the same feelings, which meant they did not have the cure. And so that brief moment of unity became suffocating, with the assurance that relief would not be coming soon.

Comfort never hurt so much.

Her hands were soft. His fingers twitched within her grasp, wanting to overturn his hand and hold hers, pull her closer and wrap his arms around her, taking in the scent of lavender or rosemary, or whatever fragrance was waiting to be enjoyed - it seemed sweet women always had the tendency to smell extraordinary.

Of course, he did not take her hand, did not pull her close. He let his hand remain limp beneath hers, his eyes trained on the faux night sky above him.

The stirrings of a small creature, with an even smaller cry, lent to the sudden appearance of a small ball of fur, mewing pitifully at them. Teddy attempted a smile at Victoire's words, finding the charm of the kitten and its owner just a hair to weak to alleviate the devastating feeling that was continuing to crush his chest. So the smile flickered away, chased out by a sigh, as he turned his head back towards the constellations above his head.