a/n: i don't make sense because this was written at one in the morning and uh, yeah. too lazy to edit.

disclaimer: j.k. rowling ©

And sometimes, maybe it's a trick of the light, he catches a hint of darkness.

He wonders sometimes why she is so obsessed with shit Muggle pens and permanent markers. It's an abnormality, an anomaly in the name of wizardry and witchcraft.

There are scribbles all over her Muggle jeans - she owns about fifty pairs - half-baked ideas and random curving, scripted lines, prompting words, and eyes.

Most of the time, eyes. She draws these eyes with the reflection of something in them, and with long eyelashes he knows she wishes she had, and little crinkles on the outer edges so everyone knows these are smiling eyes.

He knows she loves the feeling of ink seeping into her skin, and he's constantly warning her, "Lily. Seriously. Ink poisoning."

Obviously she pays no heed, and soon the eyes dot her skin and. Well.

She's a little mad; they say, everyone says, and a little bit afraid. They say she hides something, hides that piece of ugliness, covers it with pretty hazel-green and a smile to boot. She hides it behind that sarcastic smile and Sharpie markers, and –

Eyes. Smiling eyes.

"Ted," she says, seventeen and fabulous, tie around her head like she's a hippy, or something, and a permanent marker balanced on her upper lip. "Ted, look at thi - fuck!"

He rolls his eyes and punches her in the shoulder, lightly. "You're so stupid."

"Yeah. Well. You're stupider."

"That was the best you could come up with?"

"James and Albus used up my supply of witty comebacks, sorry," her eyes hit the ceiling and she expertly sketches an eye in the crook of her right elbow, left hand curved on her forearm.

"Excuses, excuses," he pokes her in the side and stands. "Hurry up. Don't want a teacher to catch you vandalising the school, huh?" He lends her his hand and a half-smile, and she takes it, the eyes forming a little circle around her now-empty space.

Smiling eyes. Watching. Watching. They're there, always, always.

"Hm," she says, hooking an arm through his, "definitely wouldn't want that. Especially not the Astronomy teacher, dear me. Heard he's a real git."

Unhooking her arm, she hurries ahead and sends a mad little laugh toward him, and he chases her through the hall feeling ridiculous.

With a clatter the marker falls, and their laughs carry from the next corridor.

There's something in her eyes. He notices later when they have tea in his office, and a little corner of his universe falters for a moment. Because there's something mad - insane - frighteningly real, hiding between layers of hazel-green and –

Smiling eyes. Always smiling. Don't falter. Don't falter.

"Lupin," she says, the outline of an eye making its way on her parchment instead of the essay she's supposed to be doing, "reckon I can stop drawing eyes for a day?"

He doesn't take a moment to think, only scoffs, "Nah. You'd probably relapse in a second."

She looks at him, eyes unreadable, stopping in the middle of darkening the pupil. She sizes him up finally, shrugging. "Willing to bet on that, Ted?"

He raises an eyebrow and, considering, looks at the half-drawn eye on her parchment. "Sure. What on?"

"A kiss," she says; he swears her eyes just flashed black for a second, shadowing her whole being until they're hazel-green again and it was probably just a trick of the light.

He throws his head back and laughs, picking up the marker on the table, twirling it one, twice, thrice. Then he gives it back, looking determined, eyes dancing, smiling - smiling –

She looks down at the marker and back up; her eyes are black, but they twinkle and wink at him, and then she gathers her things, pens stuffed in her pockets and marker now safely tucked behind her ear.

Smiling eyes. None. No smiling eyes. No eyes.

None. Nothing. No one.

He is a constant for the next twenty four hours; he notices her fingers tremblin ever so slightly and her long fingers grasping the quill uneasily. He watches her carefully and no eyes appear anywhere, only erratic shapes and scribbled notes. For some reason there is an irregular thump to his heartbeat when he sees her pass in the hallway, or when she's sitting in class, stony-faced and unwavering and blank.

On the twenty third hour, Teddy has already accepted defeat when he walks into his office, only to find tens of thousands of eyes littering his yellow walls, the parchment on his desk and carved into her skin. The quill point is posed at that exact spot in the crook of her elbow and he's staring and staring and the eyes, the smiling eyes –

Oh God they're his; they're watching her, protecting her from herself, from that dark filmy layer of her, her –

He lunges forward and brings her to St. Mungo's, and as she lies on the bed after being restrained, yelling for him, for his watchful eyes –

That corner of his universe carries the weight of her and how the eyes; they were his, she was drawing his eyes –

She was his; she was his and he had to save her and he didn't.

Two months later he visits St. Mungo's, and they tell him the only thing she does is draw eyes with anything she can, her fingernails, the cuffs on her wrists, and she sobs for him.

And, well, her eyes are wide and dark and she's mad, but she's his and he's hers, and. He walks into the room and she begins shrieking intelligible words, and so he gathers her in his arms and whispers and looks, just looks at her with, with –

Eyes. Smiling eyes.

"I owe you a kiss," he says, even though it's not true, grinning at her and she sort of smiles back, looking tired, and he lowers his lips onto hers, excruciatingly, piercingly.

And sometimes, maybe it's a trick of the light, he catches that hint of hazel-green.

a/n: please don't favorite without reviewing.