Harry Potter 1. Pink is for cuddles

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize isn't mine and I make no profit from this, it's just for fun!

A/N: Just a sweet little scene that popped into my head and wouldn't go away…

_Pink__ is for cuddles_

The dark, elegantly furnished room was something in-between a study and a private library.

The walls were covered with solid wooden bookshelves, made of pleasantly dark hornbeam, full of books of all sorts: old, new, well-kept, damaged, cheap, valuable…

On the wall facing the only door the bookshelves encased a rather ornate stone fireplace, where a lively fire was crackling. On the mantelpiece stood a small weird silver object, lazily swinging and turning, along with a number of animated pictures, with lots of wizards and witches smiling and waving.

On the left wall there was a tall and narrow window, currently hidden by heavy curtains, whose dark red colour went well with the hornbeam bookshelves. Before the window, a huge desk was covered in a surprising array of items: books open to pages whose margins had been heavily annotated in a precise yet untidy handwriting; parchments filled to the brim with the same handwriting, and a few diagrams or sketches; samples of magical substances: a vial of blue-black liquid, two phoenix feathers shining against a black cloth, a small box with powdered dragon teeth…; on the far side, ink bottles in various colours and a few scattered quills.

The room was filled with comfortable silence, the only noise coming from the crackling fire.

In the middle of the room there was a cosy armchair, where a young man of some-and-twenty was relaxing with the help of a booklet bound in green silk.

The small magical light globe hovering over the page he was reading sketched out his short but athletic build, enveloped in a dark robe, and highlighted white pearly scars on his right hand and a mass of black hair that went every which way.

A barely-heard creaking from the door at his back broke the quiet of the picture: for an instant, the young man went rigid, automatically scanning his surroundings for the source of the noise while well-honed instincts let a holly wand slide discreetly in his hand, ready for use.

His suddenly focused eyes were emerald green and on his forehead was the world-wide known lightning bolt scar.

A moment later Harry Potter relaxed again and put his wand away, a fond and indulgent smile on his face: the door to his study had opened a little and a small figure could be made out, lingering on the doorstep and peering inside.

"Teddy… shouldn't you be in bed, little one?" Try as he might, Harry could never be strict to his little godson – not that he truly tried hard in the first place.

Very slowly, the door was pushed until it revealed a little boy of about five, clad in a soft pyjama and with short curly hair. The soft locks were a beautiful shade of pink.

Harry's smile softened: whenever Teddy chose pink hair, it meant he was in the mood for a cuddle.

The child stood on the doorstep a moment, as if unsure, with his arms behind his back and a serious and shy gaze.

Then, as if gathering his courage, he took a little step towards his godfather, hesitated a moment more, and finally broke into a small run, arms stretched in a universal 'pick-me-up' gesture.

He scrambled to climb the armchair and Harry, putting the booklet down in mid-air, gathered him in his arms, sitting him in his lap and holding him close.

The child's currently grey eyes met his.

"What will Granny Andromeda say when she finds out you're running around when it's bed-time?"

Harry was still smiling lightly, but little Teddy didn't loose his seriousness.

"Uncle Harry… tell me a story!"

Harry's eyebrows rose and Teddy hurriedly continued: "Please, Uncle Harry… pretty please! I promise I'll be good, I'll go to bed and ev'rythin'!"

He was so earnest, grabbing Harry's robe with his small hands, staring at him so full of hope and trust… Harry caved immediately.

"All right… only one, though", he warned.

Teddy nodded eagerly, snuggling in his godfather's chest.

"So… what story shall I tell?", asked Harry in a soft voice, just like he did every time.

And just like he did every time, Teddy answered readily: "A story about my dad!"

"Hmm…", Harry thought for a moment or two, letting the memories of Remus Lupin fill his mind and heart, ignoring with practiced ease the pang of guilt and sadness at the loss of his werewolf friend.

Moony had believed in his fight, had been ready to die, and the reason was right there in Harry's arms, waiting for a story. The time for mourning was long past.

Harry settled on one of his favourite memories of Teddy's father. "Hear then the story of how Professor Lupin came to be the most popular teacher of the year", he started, watching Teddy break into a delighted grin. "Better known as the Tale of Professor Boggart Snape and his Big Red Bag…"


	2. Green is for sulks

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – isn't mine and I make no profit from this.

A/N: Dimcairien asked me to write a companion piece to _Pink is for cuddles_, with Teddy's reaction to his Godfather's tale. I tried – I promise I did! But it kept twisting into _this_ instead, and in the end I gave up and let it come out as it wanted to. It is still dedicated to Dimcairien, though: I hope you will like it anyway.

* * *

_Green__ is for sulks_

Teddy sat in the chimney's small shadow on the rooftop of his Grandma Andy's cottage. His arms were firmly clenched around his drawn up knees and long, olive-green hair were hiding his bowed face like a curtain.

He was sulking.

A soft _crack!_ followed by the rustling of fabric behind him marked the arrival of someone else, but Teddy didn't bother to turn around and look, or otherwise acknowledge them.

The only one who would get mad at his ignoring them was Grandma Andy anyway, and it couldn't be her, because she never came to the rooftop, though Teddy didn't understand why as she could quite easily apparate there and wouldn't even have to climb out of the attic's window like he did. It suited him well, though, 'cause the rooftop made for a great place to get some peaceful time alone and _think_.

Or sulk. Which he was doing right now, and with good reason, thankyouverymuch, so he did _not_ appreciate the intrusion.

Oh, he knew who it was, of course. Grandma Andy always called Uncle Harry when Teddy retreated to the rooftop. And his godfather always, _always_ came, no matter how busy he was with his job and Auntie Ginny and his friends and now the babies, he always came for Teddy.

Even when Teddy didn't particularly want him.

The child stared resolutely in the distance as he felt Harry lowering himself next to him.

"You know, the way you're staring into thin air with such a scowl, one would think you're up here to study the Morose Thoughthoppers. Which you should really rather avoid, you know, they are quite dangerous and can induce depression. Fantasy books tend to scare them away, though, in case you want advice…"

Teddy scowled. Those sounded suspiciously like some of Auntie Luna's weird creatures; the ones that always sent Auntie Hermione on a lengthy rant about Plausibility of Discoveries and Proper Scientific Methods.

Harry, as usual, wasn't at all bothered by Teddy's silence and simply contemplated the horizon for a little while before continuing: "Anyway, I came up because I thought you might be in the mood for a story. Or in need of it at any rate."

Teddy fought hard not to smile.

Harry and his Tales.

He remembered quite a number of overnight visits with his Godfather when he would sneak downstairs after bedtime just to get a story about his parents or their friends. Uncle Harry always told the best tales, the funny ones that had you laughing right from the title.

Even if he was nine now and not a baby anymore and he wouldn't ever, _ever,_ admit it, especially within hearing distance of Vicky Weasley, Teddy absolutely adored being cuddled close and maybe petted a bit, while listening to the Astonishing Adventures of Professor Boggart Snape, or the Auror Who Was Worried About His Buttocks, or Padfoot the Troublesome and His Amazing Flamethrowing Motorbike.

He frowned. Ok, so he positively loved Harry's stories, but he – was – _sulking_ right now, and wanted to be left alone! Was that so much to ask?

He debated telling his Godfather just that, and maybe to get lost, too, but hesitated because even if he was in a dark mood he didn't like being rude.

The hesitation was his undoing because Harry started talking of a snowy night in his soft voice and Teddy knew he wouldn't stop the tale for the world now.

There was such a thing as going down fighting though, so he kept his scowl and stared in front of himself and pretended he wasn't listening with all his heart. Not at all.

A quaint little village took form through Harry's talented words and Teddy felt like he was breathing the icy stinging air and seeing the Christmas lights and the jewel-bright stained-glass windows of the little church glowing in the dark.

He realized with a frown that this particular story wasn't about his parents at all. Harry was speaking in first person, was talking of Auntie Hermione taking his hand, of he himself stopping dead across a square because he'd spotted 'the Memorial'.

Teddy knew what that was. He'd seen it many times, the obelisk covered in names that transformed whenever someone magical drew near, turning into the statue of three famous people: a man with untidy hair and glasses, a woman with long hair and a kind, pretty face, and a baby boy sitting in his mother's arms. He'd always thought his Godfather looked mighty cute as a baby.

Never before, however, had Harry told him about the first time he'd seen it. He didn't say much about the war – what Teddy knew, he'd found out from Uncle Ron. This story, though, was unfamiliar.

The tale went on. A kissing gate, the entrance of a graveyard. Gouging dark tracks behind them in the deep and untouched snow as they made their way around the church, keeping to the shadows beneath the brilliant windows. Row upon row of snowy tombstones protruding from a blanket of pale blue that was flecked with dazzling red, gold, and green wherever the reflections from the stained glass hit the snow.

Harry's words created images and feelings in Teddy like they always did, but this time there was also a growing, uncomfortable suspicion about what was to come.

Then the Harry in the story found the two graves he was looking for, like Teddy knew he would, and the Harry on the roof spoke quietly of feeling as if something heavy were pressing on his chest, of a grief that had actually weighed on his heart and lungs.

Teddy bit his lower lip viciously, tears stinging his eyes. Grandma Andy must have realized more than he thought about _why _he was sulking and had clearly told Harry.

He squeezed his eyes tightly. He didn't want to hear this. He _didn't_! He _knew_ that Harry was an orphan too, just like he knew he should be proud of his parents' sacrifice and not angry at them for leaving him alone, but he couldn't, he _couldn't_, and he didn't want to hear how his Godfather had been wonderful and told his dead parents that he understood and was proud of them and it was all right when Teddy _couldn't _do the same, because they weren't _here_ and he _missed_ them and he _didn't _understand and it _wasn't_ all right, it _wasn't_!

But Harry's voice didn't stop.

"The headstone was made of white marble, just like Dumbledore's tomb at Hogwarts, and it seemed to shine in the dark. I could read the words engraved upon it without having to kneel or even get very close. James Potter, born 27 March 1960, died 31 October 1981; Lily Potter, born 30 January 2960, died 31 October 2981; The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death."

Harry had said all that slowly, and now he paused.

"The last enemy that shall be defeated is death..." he repeated softly. "I hated seeing those words there. It sounded like a Death Eater idea to me. Hermione tried to explain that it didn't mean defeating death in the way the Death Eaters mean it… that it meant…" He paused again, and took a deep breath before forging on: "That it meant living beyond death. Living after death."

Teddy pressed his lips together, wary of what he would say, shout even, if he let was no life after death. There was _nothing_ after death, because if there was, surely, surely those who were left behind would not feel so empty!

He knew he shouldn't think like this, though, so he kept his lips firmly shut on the words that were raging to be said.

"I got so angry then", Harry said quietly, and it shocked Teddy badly enough that he glanced at his Godfather, his determination in feigning disinterest forgotten. _What?_

Harry gazed at him solemnly and explained: "They were not living after death. They were not leaving at all. They were _gone_. Those were nothing more than empty words and could not disguise the fact that my parents' remains lay beneath that stone, beneath the snow, and didn't care anymore, didn't know. They didn't know that I, their only son, was there, they didn't, _couldn't_ care that I missed them and wanted them and sometimes wished I had died with them, they were _gone_. And I… I didn't care, just then, that I was alive because of their sacrifice, that their being bones and dust was the reason my heart was still beating, I _wanted them back_. Or to be sleeping under the snow with them, I didn't particularly care which one…"

He fell silent, and Teddy was silent too, wide-eyed and frozen, and unable to believe what he was hearing.

"We left soon after." Finished Harry very quietly, eyes closed. "I couldn't stand another moment there. We walked away through the snow and I didn't look back, not once."

Teddy moved silently closer and pressed himself against his Godfather's side.

His mind and heart were in turmoil.

He'd grown up in the wake of a war. All of the people he knew were mourning someone - a parent, a child, a sibling, a friend. All of them talked about honouring their sacrifice, about living for them, about how they would want them to be happy, how they had died to give the living freedom and peace.

They praised those who had died in the Battle, as if it was a _good_ thing! Like that idiotic lady who came over for tea earlier and had the guts to say it was the way his parents would have wanted to go, 'doing the right thing'. Stupid, stupid woman! They _hadn't_ wanted to go! _Teddy_ didn't want them to be _gone_!

He always felt so different, so wrong. How could he be the only one who felt hurt and angry at how _unfair_ their death was?

No one had ever admitted to him what Harry just had.

No one had ever acknowledged that the loss of those who were gone hurt - or if they did, it was always followed by 'but I understand' or 'but I'm proud.

He scooted even closer to his Godfather, feeling close to tears. He didn't notice his hair unconsciously curling into waves and acquiring a pinkish tinge.

Harry put an arm around him and smiled gently.

"I made my peace with their death. My parents' and all the others'. I know, _now_, that there _is_ Life beyond Death, I know it without a doubt. Death is nothing to be scared of… it is natural… not something to run away from. And you can – you will, I hope, learn to understand that we all must die, and that there are far, far worse things in the living world than dying. But it took me a long time to realize, to accept. And… and it doesn't make it _all right_. It never _will_ be all right. For us that are left behind… it hurts, it always hurts. And that hurt never fades. But that's ok. In the end, even that is ok, you'll see."

He regarded Teddy with sadness and affection.

"You have a right to grieve. Don't let the stories get to you. They weren't just heroes. They were _your parents_. You have a right to miss them, and to selfishly wish they hadn't fought and died. You have a right to be hurting. Just… just don't let it stop you from living, and loving them, or from loving others... most of all, don't let your grief stop you from doing what is right, when your turn comes. Ok?"

And with a last hug, he dropped a kiss on top of Teddy's head and was gone, leaving his thoughtful Godson alone on the roof.


	3. Blue is for laughters

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to others, I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

_A/N: …because there's no two without three._

_Blue is for laughters_

Teddy flopped on his new bed, set right by the window in the circular stone room, and crossed his legs over the covers. He didn't draw the deep red, velvet curtains around himself, but rather let his gaze wander absently over the other two four-poster beds in the room, identical to his own.

He grinned.

It was Friday evening and the coming night would be the fourth he spent in the Gryffindor First Years' dorm.

He tugged at his hair, lengthening it and turning it red to match his bedcovers, then kept twisting a lock around his fingers while he thought things over.

He wasn't sure why he'd felt the need to seek the solitude of the dorm. He guessed he just needed some time to process everything that had happened.

It seemed impossible that only last Tuesday he'd taken the Hogwarts Express for his very first time.

Barely a week…

But oh, what a week!

First there had been the train ride itself.

He'd pretended to be annoyed at his family's coddling, rolling his eyes at Grandma Andy's fussing and petulantly reminding his Godfather that _he wasn't a baby anymore!_ But of course, he was secretly thrilled that they'd taken the time to see him off and had done his best to prolong farewells to the very last possible minute.

After boarding, he'd tried to make his way through the train, which was filled everywhere with students chatting, loading their trunks, looking for their friends and generally adding to the noisy confusion.

Suddenly he'd felt very small and very shy.

In the end, he'd found a compartment where three other kids were sitting who, by the looks of it, were all first-years like him.

The black boy curled in the seat by the window hadn't even raised his eyes from the book he was engrossed in. The other two were girls, one of them a friendly-looking brunette that had waved him in with a small smile, the other a fair skinned blonde with perfectly arranged short hair and fashionable clothes, who'd stared at Teddy intently as he sank in his seat, blushing and feeling like squirming.

All three of them had done little more than watch out of the window at the fast moving landscape slipping by, until the compartment door had slid open again and a puff of summer air had burst in, preceding a tall and heavy built boy who'd cried out cheerfully: "Hello everybody!"

In less than five minutes the new boy, whose name turned out to be Owain Wood ("Yeah, Wood like the Wasps' Keeper! He's me Uncle!"), had them all gathered around him ("No-one seems to want us firsties around so we better stick together and keep to ourselves, says I!") and was chatting happily a mile a minute: even the boy with the book couldn't help smiling, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

Teddy had felt a little jealous that the newcomer could be so at ease and popular so quickly, but he'd also kept thinking that the boy would make a great friend.

He'd been right: they'd been inseparable in the last few days (even if Teddy supported Auntie Ginny's Harpies and Owain was quietly horrified at this blasphemy).

Owain's easygoing attitude had broken the ice enough that Margaret Selwin (whose eyes had sparkled with amusement when Calden had dipped into an exaggerated bow and claimed to be "Tréshenshanté!", cheerfully mangling both pronunciation and bow) and Seanate Malloy (who'd blushed adorably at Owain's enthusiastic "I bet you're Irish! All the pretties are Irish, me Da' says so!") had finally found the courage to question Teddy about why his hair was 'grey'.

Startled by the abrupt question, he'd answered without thinking: "Because I'm nervous."

They'd stared at him and he'd fidgeted, uneasy. Everybody at home knew he was a Metamorphomagus after all and had known it all his life. This was the first time he had to _explain_. How would it go down?

Finally he'd taken a deep breath, wishing he was as self-possessed as Owain seemed to be, and opted for Uncle George's Tried and Tested Dazzling Smile of Pretend Innocence (a.k.a. the 'Who-Me?-Smile'): "Would you like me better if I was blond?"

He'd nonchalantly pulled a string of hair, turning it effortlessly to a sun-yellow colour.

Everybody had gasped, amazed, and Teddy had felt emboldened by their wonder. "Or red, perhaps? Purple? Nah, don't think it's my colour…"

He'd gone on changing its length and colour, beaming at his new friends' mesmerized expressions and delighted exclamations: "How are you doing that?", "That is _so _cool!", "Can you teach me?", "Wow, mate, that's… wow!...", "Do it again!"

The black boy however had soon turned back to his book fiercely, almost as if he regretted paying attention at all, and didn't seem to want to join the conversation; the four of them on the other hand had become fast friends and Teddy had climbed off the train with his hair spiky and blue, like he tended to have every time he was truly happy.

Unlike the other first-years, Teddy hadn't been much worried about the Sorting.

He had 'Aunts' and 'Uncles' from all the Houses after all and as Aunt Hannah said, each was good in their own way. His Grandma for one would have been thrilled if he became a snake.

But best of all, Uncle Harry had told him he didn't care in the least and would celebrate regardless, so Teddy had seen no reason to fret.

He was happy to be a Gryffindor, though. Same House as his Dad. He didn't think he had much in common with the Remus Lupin people told him stories about, but this was one thing that made them closer, right?

Plus, Owain was his roommate now and that was awesome.

Seanate and Margaret had both been Sorted into Slytherin but they'd quickly made plans to see each other often in their spare time.

All in all, it had been a wonderful first day.

Then there had been the lessons…

Uncle Harry often said in a mock-snarky voice that magic was more than 'foolish wand-waving', which for some reason always made his friends broke into laughter; Teddy never got the joke, but now he could at least see the truth in the words: he was tempted to quote his Godfather ten times a day.

Magic was amazingly complex!

Only Transfiguration was something remotely resembling easy and he was the only First Year to think that anyway.

His very first class, on Wednesday morning, had been Herbology, for which Teddy was really happy: this was Uncle Neville's – no, he should remember to call him Professor Longbottom now – this was Professor Longbottom's first year teaching and it felt like a good omen that they'd started together.

Teddy had always admired the strong, quiet wizard immensely and Neville had been the one to pass onto the little boy a love for everything growing that had rather surprised Grandma Andy at first.

He'd gone into the class fiercely determined to like the lesson no matter how it might turn out; he shouldn't have worried though, because Professor Longbottom was _great_.

All of the First Years had looked around in awed wonder as the tall man led them around Greenhouse Number 2 with a friendly grin.

Teddy had seen the Greenhouses at Longbottom Mansion many times before and had thought them wicked cool but Professor Longbottom's realm here in Hogwarts was on another scale entirely!

Flowers caught the eye from everywhere, sprays and clusters and isolated blooms, some delicate and airy with subtle colours and fragrances, others bright and showy; they dotted the verdant overlapping foliage made up of very small and glossy leaves, textured leaves of great substance, green-gold shaded leaves edged with deep red, dark green leaves with interesting bubbly texture and white underneath…

The greenhouse was charmed so that the conditions gradually varied, from cool and dry on the east side to warm and humid on the west, and this made for such a rich and varied palette of leaf forms, textures and colours that Teddy wished he had four pair of eyes to catch every detail of that wondrous spectacle.

His classmates had been as fascinated by the strange shapes, the odd, exotic perfumes, the surprising colours, as he himself.

Then Professor Neville had gathered them all in the middle of the Greenhouse and announced they were going to play a game. He'd smiled kindly at their puzzled and eager faces.

"I want you to familiarize with the place we're going to work in all year long", he'd explained cheerfully. "So here's the rules: you can go everywhere inside Greenhouse 2 for the next fifteen minutes and collect anything that is not alive and growing. No picking flowers or leaves, but you can gather them if they've already fallen, all right? But you must be able to name what you pick up: if you don't know what it is, it won't count. The one who manages to find the highest number of things wins!"

He'd grinned: "Ready? Steady… Go!"

And they were off, running up and down the maze of plants, dodging each other and the moving branches, trading shouts and laughter.

Teddy had soon been lost in the rush of the hunt for small things to carry back: a long blade of grass, a leaf, a flower, a feather, a small rock, a piece of liana, a different leaf, then another again…

He'd run into Calden, literally, behind a cluster of shrubs full of bright orange flowers dotted with red and they'd smacked their foreheads painfully, though in the excitement, it only made them laugh all the more.

Other indignant shouts form somewhere in the Greenhouse had proved to Teddy that he wasn't the only one to trip on some vine here or slip on the humid soil there, but it was all in good humour.

When the fifteen minutes were up, they'd gathered again under the beautiful, self-branching plant hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the Greenhouse, their heads barely caressed by dangling sprays of flowers bluer than Teddy's suddenly spiky locks.

He knew he wouldn't have won anyway, Sarah Poynter with her small, nimble fingers had managed to fill her bundled robe almost to the brim: but he'd very vocally joined the general indignation when the third Gryffindor boy, Frank Middleton, had loudly declared that he'd won, but had no idea of how many things he'd found, because… he'd stumbled on a stash of seeds and taken the whole heap!

Professor Longbottom had laughed heartily at the ringing bellows of "Cheater!"; then he'd led them into a discussion about their findings and the whys and wherefores of where they'd picked up what.

Everybody had agreed that it had been a brilliant lesson, and that the rest of the Professor couldn't really compare, but learning magic was awesome regardless.

Though perhaps not as great as exploring the castle with Owain, Margaret and Seanate, as they'd done every day after classes so far!

Now he sighed contentedly, thinking on everything that had happened so far and all that was awaiting him in the coming weeks.

Yes, Hogwarts was fantastic. It was great. And yet…

His smile slowly vanished, replaced not by sadness, but by a pensive frown. He let go of his hair, that bounced back to a shorter length and turned ever so slightly to green.

Tomorrow was Saturday, that was the problem.

Tomorrow was _Saturday_, and for the first time since Teddy could remember, his Godfather wouldn't be picking him up for their weekly flying date.

There would be no crazy stunts or races with Harry, no ice-cream or hot chocolate in Hogsmeade afterwards, no surprise trip to some wicked place or other, museum or park or whatever stroke Harry's fantasy; they wouldn't 'accidentally' drop by at the Burrow for one of Grandma Weasley's Special Saturday Treacle Tarts, which Teddy and his Godfather shared a love for.

Sure, Owain and he had already planned to go flying on the Hogwarts pit (it was amazing what privileges being nephews of great Quidditch stars could grant them from a rabid fan like Madam Hooch) and the girls were planning on tackling that out-of-the-way corridor with all the ancient drapes hiding who-knows-what.  
Teddy knew he was going to have tons of fun regardless, but a small little voice inside said that it wasn't the same.

It was stupid.

He'd known all his life that he'd be going to Hogwarts.

He'd _wanted_ to go to Hogwarts all his life!

So why was he feeling homesick like some silly baby who's too little to stay away from his family for long?

He blew out his breath in a long puff, thinking things over.

He wasn't homesick... per se. It's not that he would prefer being at home with Grandma Andy, he loved her, sure, but he was much happier here with magic classes and a whole castle at his disposal and most of all, friends his age to get in trouble with.

He wasn't homesick... but he was uneasy, because things had changed.

There, he'd found the real problem.

All of the changes were great, and he'd wanted them for so long, and he wouldn't give up Hogwarts for anything, but why did it feel as if in gaining the school and his new friends, he'd lost what he had had before?

It was beyond stupid.

He knew that Grandma Andy and Uncle Harry and everybody else would be there waiting for him come Christmas, down to the annoying, noisy, demanding little brats Lily and Hugo had managed to turn into now that they were toddlers.

He knew that he hadn't really lost anything, that he would never lose his family, no matter how many new schools and people entered his life, but...

But that didn't mean that _some_ things wouldn't be lost - like his and Harry's Saturdays, for instance.

Things _had_ changed.

And Teddy wasn't sure how to feel about it all.

Just then a very familiar owl swooped through the tall window, open on the last lazy sun of the late summer day.

A sealed parchment was dropped on Teddy's lap with a cheerful hoot and then the owl flew around in a graceful arc and out again, gone before the surprised boy could even so much as blink.

Teddy frowned in confusion when he recognized his Godfather's untidy scrawl.

He'd received Grandma Andy's letter just that morning, so why was Uncle Harry writing him so soon? Why directly to the dorm, too – you had to explicitly tell the owl not to wait until the next morning and deliver in the Great Hall: why bother? Had something happened?

He tore the letter open, worried that maybe someone was ill or something.

But it wasn't a letter after all: no message, not even a greeting…

Instead, the top of the parchment held a big title, elegantly arranged to mimic the format of Teddy's favourite novel:

_The Tale of the Midnight Duel  
Or Why You Should Never Duel Anyone Till You've Learned How  
_starring a a Git and his Goons, Three Unlikely Seconds,  
an Out-of-bounds Field of Honour and a Dog That Most Definitely Needed Exercise

Teddy burst out laughing, throwing himself on his back on the bed.

He could never put into words how the ridiculously messy handwriting, that seemed to carry an echo of his Godfather's warm 'Tale Voice', filled him with joy and relief and chased away homesickness and melancholia in one great swoop. Wisely, he didn't even try.

How did Uncle Harry _always_ know how to make him feel better?

This was _exactly_ what he needed, the reassurance he hadn't even known he was longing for.

Many things had changed, yes, but _some_ things would always stay the same – and Harry and his Tales were among them.

Midnight Duel, hmm? That was a new one…

He laughed again, loud and clear, out of sheer happiness.

Owain, just coming in, approached him looking both cautious and perplexed: "Teddy? Mate, you all right?"

Teddy jumped back up sitting again, spiky, electric-blue hair going every which way down to the middle of his back, eyes of a matching blue shining with delighted happiness.

"Owain!" he exclaimed with a huge grin. "Want to hear a Tale?"


End file.

Harry Potter, Family