Wow, it's been a while, and I've got to say that I'm very, very sorry. I've just finished with AP Exams (Thank God) and the school year is coming to a close. I have the next half of the sixth chapter written, so hopefully I'll be posting more quite soon.

Thanks to all who reviewed Chapter 4!

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Previously in Our Destiny is Yet to be Written…

His grin shifted into a solemn grimace as he squeezed my shoulder. "You seem so much like Harry," he finally said. "Longing to do what's right…but never sure if you're living up to what people expect you to be." I looked away awkwardly as his grip on me tightened even more. My father's breathing became slightly ragged, and I turned back to him. "But, Teddy, I want you to know now that your mother and I are always going to be proud of you…no matter what it may seem like at the time. I hardly know you…and already I can't bear the thought of life without you."

"I know the feeling," I murmured, quiet enough for him not to hear me.

I can't bear the thought of life without you…but I've done it for nineteen years. Please, Dad, make the pain go away.

"You've said some strange things about the future…I've noticed that a few things don't add up." I closed my eyes, blinking back a tear. This was the question that I'd been dreading…the question I knew that I couldn't simply lie about and get away with it.

I took a deep breath. "What do you want to know?"

He relinquished his hold on my shoulder and clasped his hands together, his knuckles white and his face devoid of colour. "I want to know why my son grew up not knowing his father."

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Chapter 5: Memories, 1995

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There was silence for what seemed like an eternity before I swallowed, staring at my father, the father that had always just been a portrait to me, a faint memory, and a warm glow that I had always associated with my earliest memory. Lights coming from what must've been a wand, as my hair changed colours to match the lights that so enthralled me. I never knew how exactly I remembered it, and whenever I mentioned it, Harry – who never lied to me about anything – would turn away and start asking me about how Puddlemere United was doing that season.

I knew now that the lights I remembered…that glow…was from my real home. It was my father's wand that held the lights in place. As I closed my eyes for what seemed not longer than a moment, for the first time, I could remember a warm laugh, a laugh that seemed to be fresh and relieved, a laugh that hadn't been heard in my entire life…not until a few minutes ago.

This was everything I'd ever wanted. But even so…

"I…I can't tell you," I said quietly, wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell him more than I'd wanted to tell Harry that I'd become the Gryffindor Seeker…I wanted to tell him more than I'd ever wanted anything. I wanted my father to know everything about me – hell; I even wanted to tell him what flavour of toothpaste I preferred.

But even that – that tiny, irrelevant fact, would once again give rise to the question of why did my parents not raise me? What was so terrible that had happened…that my godfather and his family would have raised me?

I'd never envisioned meeting my father, but even in my wildest dreams I wouldn't have imagined that I would have to hide something from him. I was hiding my true self from the man who I was supposed to trust above all else.

But because of some cruel, evil twist of fate (or maybe just because of an evil bastard named Lord Voldemort) I grew up thinking that I should call another man "Father." Naturally, I was corrected many times, and I sensed confusion and fear from my primary guardian…my godfather, Harry Potter.

"I…I love you, Dad, but…I can't disrupt the timeline more than we already have," I said hoarsely. I swallowed and nearly choked as I chanced a look at him. His expression was more or less what I had expected it to be. He seemed to understand, but he still looked a bit let down. His immediate reaction was an unsure variation of sympathy…as if he wanted so badly to comfort me, but didn't think that it was his place. Besides…how could he comfort me if he didn't know exactly why my body was shaking?

"I know, Teddy," he said quietly. I waited for him to say something else, but nothing came. As I was about to look up, I felt a hand on my shoulder – a shaking hand – and my eyes met identical blue-grey orbs. The colour that uniquely belonged to my father until I came along. "I know only too well what it feels to lose someone." He glanced at me; his face full of sorrow and something that I thought was anger. "To lose family."

Frightened yet again of ruining my future – or that of anyone else – I drew back.

"I…I know," I whispered hoarsely, and tried to stand up on my wobbly legs as I saw a flash of strawberry-blond hair peer out into the hallway. I tried to flash a smile, but of course, as she always did, Victoire saw right through my façade. Concern was embedded into her face, and I felt guilty for a moment because of how much she worried about me. I tried to wipe my tears away, but my eyes were puffy and she knew. Seeing our silent communication, my father, the father I'd always desperately wished I had known, drew his hand away from my hunched shoulder and headed back the way Victoire had come, looking back sadly has he went.

Whether he survived the war or not, I knew that Remus Lupin's life had been forever changed. And just the mere feeling of it gave me a ray of hope.

Soon enough…my girlfriend and I were alone in the musty hallway of 12 Grimmauld Place, lined with house-elf heads and an assortment of unknown Dark objects. Charming.

I had barely turned to face her when she wrapped her arms tightly around my waist and held on. Maybe she did truly understand what this meant for me, after all. I smiled wistfully. I should've known…if there was anyone in the whole bloody world who understood me…who really knew me…it was Victoire Weasley. And in her embrace, I finally let my emotions get the best of me and started to cry. Not like the few angry tears I had to suppress on May second, or the wistful tears that I could never control during holidays at the Burrow, but actually…cried.

"Shh," Victoire whispered in my ear, rocking my shaking body softly. "You're alright, Ted. My Teddy bear, I promise you right now that everything's alright." And as much as I wanted to take her for her word…I knew nothing was all right. Nothing would ever be quite all right again.

Of course, I would never be able to explain this to anyone…not even to Victoire. I could try my damn hardest to say how I felt – to say what I'd known in my life as truth was being challenged – but that wouldn't mean anything. It didn't mean that they would truly understand. The more obscure and emotional my thoughts got, the more people didn't understand, and in that was how Vic, my little Vic, was different.

Tears continued to stream down my already soaked cheeks as I remembered memories from long ago…memories that I would have thought to be long gone.

"Where are they?" A six-year-old with purple hair followed a tall man with messy, jet-black hair, who was purposefully following a track to his destination. He turned back to the little boy, whose small hand he was holding and allowed a smile to appear on his thin face. The boy wouldn't have known, but the look, that same look that he had been given since he was just a tiny baby, meant hope. The man tugged on the young boy's hand, dragging them both through the snow.

"Not much farther, now," he said softly, and just as he had finished speaking both man and child saw their destination. In the distance there was a grand castle, which held warm fireplaces and welcoming, smiling faces of those they had known longer than the boy cared to admit. But both of them would gladly sacrifice everything inside the castle and brave the wintry weather to see what they now beheld. The line of simple gravestones brought tears to the purple-haired six-year-old. Maybe he couldn't understand why…but it was sad. They were all beautiful and yet, sad. The stones each held a name: One that the boy recognized was the name "Fred Weasley." He remembered his Grandmum Molly saying that one of her little boys had gone away because of the war. His name, he recalled, had been Fred.

Watching his godson brush snow off a slightly larger stone, the black-haired man bowed his head. Two names with their respective titles had been carved into them six years ago. The tall man knew this very well…for he had been the one to do it.

Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin

10 March 1960 – 2 May 1998 25 April 1973 – 2 May 1998

Gryffindor, Marauder, husband, father, and hero

Hufflepuff, Auror, wife, mother, and hero

"We are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided."

The boy, who was, of course, their orphaned son, traced the second honour that his father had been granted with. The man smirked, if only slightly. It seemed that his young charge was destined to follow in his late father's footsteps, after all.

"Marauder?" He crinkled his eyebrows in confusion and looked up at the man whom he loved as a father. "What's a Marauder?"

"The Marauders were a group of boys at school," was the answer. "They were the best of friends. My father, your father, my godfather, Sirius, and another boy. " The emerald orbs of the adult misted over, and he whispered, "Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs."

"What happened to them?"

The tall man frowned at his godson for a moment before uttering the morbid truth that he knew the boy wouldn't like as much as he did. "They died."

"Why?" The question slipped out of the child's innocent mouth before he could stop it. His hair shifted its colour to red, embarrassed.

A look of sadness crossed the black-haired man's face, but he said nothing and clapped the boy – whose hair had now turned to a honey-brown – on the shoulder. "That's a story for another day, Ted."

"When, Harry?"

The adult pondered this for a moment before giving his answer.

"When you're old enough to understand."

I smiled slightly at the first memory I had of seeing my parents' memorial. That'd also been the first time I'd stepped onto the Hogwarts grounds. It was a cold, snowy evening, but Harry had taken me out so he could show me who my parents really had been and how much I was like them.

I guess I really know who they are now, I thought wryly. Wish you could see me now, Harry.

I blinked again, as another fuzzy memory, this one of the time I learned of the Marauders, came to me. I had lain on the couch and eventually fallen asleep reading Quidditch Through the Ages, only to wake up when I heard the door open and footsteps walk in. I had kept still for a moment, listening to the conversation between my beloved grandmother and the godfather I thought of as my hero…

A boy with midnight blue hair lay sleeping on the couch in Andromeda Tonks's home as a man quietly opened the door, taking care to wave his wand and lock it behind him. His shook his jet-black locks out of his almond-shaped emerald eyes and smiled down upon the sleeping nine-year-old, his godson. After a moment, he quietly stowed his wand in his robes and had brushed hair out of the boy's face when footsteps, coming from the first landing, hit the bottom step, by the entry hall.

The black-haired man looked up to see a weary old woman with graying black hair lowering her wand.

"Thank Merlin, Harry," she said in relief, and gave the man a gentle hug. "I'd no idea you were coming tonight, you've caught me a bit unprepared, I'm afraid, Teddy's asleep on the couch." He only smiled as she continued. "He was reading that dratted book again…"

A dark look passed over the thin, chiseled features of the man's face. "Andromeda…he needs to know."

"He needs to know…what, exactly?"

The supposedly asleep boy listened with his eyes shut, curious.

"He needs to know what I promised him," said the young man, and the nine-year-old smiled. His godfather was sticking up for him as he always did. "He deserves to know the story of four boys…whose bonds of friendship made them closer than brothers…and whose determination to win against the Dark was in the end their undoing." The grey-haired woman looked solemn as the green-eyed man continued. "The Marauders."

And the boy grinned to himself. Of course, he would finally learn more about his father. But at that moment…he mustn't reveal that he was awake. That would ruin everything.

"If Remus was still alive – " she started as a warning.

" – Teddy would have known more about pranking and the Marauder days than he does now," the dark-haired young man he knew as his godfather stated calmly. His emerald eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief at the look on the boy's grandmother's face. "He may have concealed it better, but Remus was as much a Marauder to the end as my father was."

"I suppose I knew that," she ended up saying. "They were the best years of his life, after all."

"Harry? Grandmum?" A sleepy voice from the couch – which no doubt belonged to the eavesdropper – caused the man to look over and smile down at him. "What is it?"

His godfather smiled. "Teddy, I'm going to tell you the story of a werewolf, a stag, a flower, and a Metamorphmagus." Seeing the confused look on the nine-year-old's face, his mischievous smile widening. "You'll understand. Just relax and try to stay awake, alright?"

Curious as to how those four words could have anything in common, the little boy nodded and sat up as his hero took a seat beside him. It took barely five seconds before a ball of turquoise hair landed on the man's lap. Groaning, the black-haired man managed a chuckle, ruffling the already messy hair on the young Lupin's head.

"Well, it all started when…"

The memories of that night were somewhat broken, I recalled, because of the sleep that I had been drifting in and out of. But none of that really mattered, did it? I was finally being told the whole truth, or at least as much of the truth as they knew. And I didn't care that it had an incredibly morbid and depressing ending…they were heroes. The werewolf, Remus Lupin, my father, the stag, James Potter, Harry's father, the flower, Lily Potter, Harry's mum, and the Metamorphmagus, Nymphadora Tonks, my mum…well, they were heroes…and they had died like heroes.

And that in and of itself is something to be proud of, Harry had told me.

Sneaking a look back to where my father had disappeared into the kitchen, I felt a strong surge of pity for him. I nearly grimaced at the thought – after all, it most definitely wasn't what he wanted – but I couldn't help it. He was much too proud to admit it, anyway. But to have three best friends one day, and none the next…that's not something I would wish upon anyone.

And it was with my father's indomitable pride, that incredible strength and courage that Grandma Andy had always told me I possessed, that I walked up with a group of other eleven-year-olds on 1 September, 2009.

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Sorry about all the flashbacks. There will be about two more, shorter ones, in the next chapter, because I'm nervous that I strayed from the point here. But these memories will play an extremely important part later in the story.

A question: What movie are you most looking forward to for the summer? It could be DH part 2, but I want a variety of answers. It's for a TV Production/Newspaper project. Thanks!

Please remember to review...it helps me become a better writer.

Ted(dy) R. Lupin