Pairing(s): Sirius/Teddy, Sirius/Remus
Warnings: Age disparity: early 20s/technically late 50s, crossgen, angst, dark!fic, sexual situations, strong language, blackcest (sort of)
Author Notes: Written for Livejournal's hp_nextgen_fest 2011. Going into this fic, I wasn't expecting it to come out quite so…twisted. But given Sirius' nature and Teddy's nature (as outlined by the prompt), I don't expect it could have been much lighter no matter how hard I tried. Please do enjoy, and a big thanks to L for the beta.

To My Most Beloved Monsieur Moony,

Please don't be angry with me for writing you. I know it was a foolish thing to do, and I know the dangers should it be intercepted. Spare me the tongue-lashing, won't you? I couldn't help myself.

It's been two days, Moony. Two days, and I miss you like I've not seen you in years. I don't know how I'm going to manage a month in Florence without you, but be forewarned that I might come back completely mad. Well, madder, I suppose. I've already quite lost my sense when it comes to you.

I know what you're thinking, and I have been trying to keep my mind on other things—the Order business, picking up that bloody relic for Dumbledore. I have! But it's so hard not to think about you when you're countries away. Sometimes I feel like you're allI think about, despite how hard I try to do otherwise.

I want to be home with you, Moonshine. Have a lie in, eat breakfast in bed, walk to the market. Fucking Ministry and their fucking werewolf travel restrictions. You should be here with me. We always work missions brilliantly together.

Send something back with the owl. A letter. A word. Anything. I just need to hear from you.

I miss you. I love you. Just stay safe, alright? Promise me.

Most Ardently Yours,

Sirius

Teddy folds the letter carefully along the original, well-worn creases, slipping it back into its envelope and removing the enclosed photographs. Slowly—methodically—he stares at the moving pictures one-by-one—street, cathedral, town square, hotel, hotel room, wizard.

The wizard—young and cocky, with a devil-may-care appearance—blows him a kiss in the self-shot photo. The tips of his black hair graze his bare shoulders, muscular and beautifully defined. His lips, gorgeous and full, silently mouth I love you, Moony.

Teddy smiles, his thumb tracing the graceful curve of Sirius' jaw, and bites his bottom lip. The man is so handsome—the way his long lashes brush his cheeks, the way his lips pucker as he blows a kiss. The photo looks as it always does—and by now Teddy has it memorized—yet it continues to instill a sense of awe in him when he sees it. Whenever Teddy thinks of Sirius, he always finds himself pulling out his father's journal labeled "1979", flipping to May 12th, and picking up the envelope his father had placed there with affection years ago.

Somehow it's become Teddy's favorite, perhaps because it shows the softer side of this man his father called lover. He's used to seeing Sirius Black photographed with his leather jacket, or his motorbike, or a cigarette in hand. Sirius is always smirking or laughing or straight-faced, but in this photo he looks both vulnerable and yearning. Teddy can't imagine what it must have been like to have been on the receiving end of such a look, but he knows that it would have made him weak in the knees.

What started out as a way to get to know his father turned into more of an obsession than Teddy realized—an obsession with his father's lover. It's strange that he should feel as if he knows everything about Sirius—a man once as dead to him as his father—but it is an absurdity that he has come to accept. And his father—the person he had intended on learning more about—has become an even bigger mystery than before. While it was a hard pill to swallow at first, he's no longer so much in denial that he can't admit that he'll likely never learn who Remus Lupin was; likewise, he can no longer deny that he's fallen for Sirius through letters, photos, and his father's detailed journals.

With one last, longing glance, Teddy tucks the photos away and slides the envelope back into the journal. He reaches for the Daily Prophet that had just been delivered this morning and now lay on his bedside table. There, on the front page, is a black-and-white photo of his godfather, Harry, walking through the antechamber of the Ministry alongside Sirius Black. The heading above reads: Missing and Former Convict, Black, Pardoned by Minister Shacklebolt.

He's older now, though not as old as he should be—late-thirties when he should be just sixty. Gone is the smooth skin, the long black hair, the strong muscle. Yet, there is something unspeakably Sirius about him, and Teddy ignores the fact that he doesn't really know this man. After all, it feels like he's known him a lifetime—his history, temperament, likes and dislikes. He's certainly loved him that long, or at least since he discovered these journals at age sixteen.

It's that which frightens him—the knowing and yet not knowing. While he's fancied Sirius for years, it's only ever been the idea of him; it's as if he was the hero of some fantastic tale. And Teddy once thought that that was all Sirius would ever be—intangible, like his father and mother.

That all changed a week ago, though. Mysterious Man Appears in Department of Mysteries. Ministry Refuses to Comment read the headline. It was soon followed by, Escaped Murderer Black Found!. And, now, apparently, he has been pardoned for his "crimes". As far as Teddy knows, no one knows how it happened, or if they do, they're not talking.

And today, he's to have lunch with him. Well, him and Harry. Teddy has feared this meeting from its very conception at Escaped Murderer Black Found. He can list off at least ten reasons why he should be nervous, and that's aside from the obvious I'm your former lover's sonintroduction.

He wonders if Harry has mentioned him to Sirius, whether Sirius knows about Remus Lupin's son. Surely, he would have told him. Surely. Teddy doesn't know if he could bear the inevitable shock on Sirius' face otherwise. Maybe he shouldn't go. Maybe he should run, or avoid, or owl, or anything that's not meeting this man.

Teddy looks at the clock: 9:17 AM. His eyes then focus on the ceiling above him, his stomach flip-flopping unpleasantly. He's supposed to be at Harry's for lunch at 11:00.

Shifting his gaze to the mirror on the far wall, he wonders what color he should wear his hair.

.

.

It takes a lot of courage to open the front door to Harry's house—enough courage that Teddy thinks he should have been sorted into Gryffindor instead of Hufflepuff—and it takes even more to press further inside.

The unnatural silence of the house tells Teddy that the Potter children are not home, which means that Ginny likely isn't either. For a moment, he wonders if he got the right time—the house is really too quiet—but then he hears Harry's voice, first muffled and then growing ever clearer, from the kitchen. When he does meet his godfather, Harry is speaking from the fridge, directing his answer to the open back door.

"Sorry if I'm late," Teddy says, by way of greeting.

Harry, startled, bangs his head against the fridge door, a string of colorful curses following as he rubs his head. Teddy laughs—a laugh that he's told sounds so like his mother's—and Harry shoots him an unamused scowl.

"And here I was just about to say how glad I was that you'd been able to make it."

Teddy waves him off, unfazed. "You still are. I brought some of those Chelsea buns you like so much from Calliope's Confectionary."

"Ah, the joys of having a godson that lives in Diagon Alley," Harry says, giving Teddy's brown hair a proper ruffling before he takes the package from his hands. "Come on. I've someone for you to meet."

Harry hands him a butterbeer from the counter as he slings his arm around Teddy's shoulders and leads him into the garden. Teddy nearly drops it, his stomach twisting up unpleasantly at the thought of finally meeting Sirius. Apparently having not missed it, Harry shoots him a sympathetic look and pats him on the back reassuringly.

"No worries. Sirius already thinks you're brilliant. I've spent the better part of an hour telling him about all the owls your poor grandmum received from Professor Tuckfield," Harry whispers.

Teddy wants to be reassured by that, but somehow it makes it all the worse. He doesn't have enough time to think about what Harry could have possibly told Sirius, however, as Sirius is suddenly in view.

For a split second, Teddy forgets how to breathe. His insides twist violently at the sight of Sirius sitting in one of the Potters' lawn chairs, feet propped up on another. There's a butterbeer bottle at his lips, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. Teddy swallows. Hard. Grey eyes find him.

He feels like he's under scrutiny, especially when Sirius doesn't open his mouth to say anything. For his part, Teddy shifts uncomfortably. He wonders why Harry hasn't broken the silence, why he's just…just smiling like they haven't been standing there for bloody ever. Surely, they have been. And Teddy wishes Ginny were here because Ginny would never let things get so awkward. And—

"So here's the man of the hour," Sirius announces, standing and extending his hand for Teddy to shake.

His brain processes that he should meet Sirius' hand, but he's too busy caught up in that deep, scratchy voice to do anything about it. He's lost all motor function, allowing that sentence to crash into him over and over again. It's only when Harry nudges him that his brain kicks in and he can move.

"Teddy Lupin," he greets, his own voice a bit uncertain. "It's a pleasure, Mr. Black."

And it is a pleasure. Sirius' hands feel better than Teddy ever imagined—generally soft, save for those places that have become wand-callused. And his sudden smile—though his face is now creased where it hadn't been before—lights Teddy up inside like those photographs could only dream of doing. Twelve years in Azkaban and another twenty beyond the Veil, and Teddy can't help but think that this man is still a catch.

"Please, it's Sirius." Sirius sits himself back in the lawn chair. "I have to admit, I was expecting the turquoise-haired little boy that Harry's been showing me pictures of."

Teddy immediately shoots his godfather a mortified look. "Harry!"

"He was asking," Harry defends with a shrug. "No worries. I only showed him a couple of the most embarrassing ones."

The smirk on Harry's face is purely wicked, and Teddy finds himself chanting, Please, not the bathtub one; Please not the bathtub one. Honestly if this is how parents acted, he is thankful—and thankful in this one instance only—that his weren't around.

"Harry tells me you're an Auror. Like your mum."

Teddy nods sheepishly, rubbing the back of his overly-warm neck. "Seemed like the thing to do."

"I'm sure Dora would have been proud. She was a great girl, your mum."

"Your dad too," Harry adds, giving Teddy a firm clap on the shoulder.

Teddy waits for the confirmation from Sirius, that his dad would have been proud of him. However, Sirius sobers considerably—and for a moment Teddy wonders if his good mood hasn't been a farce all along—the pain suddenly so obvious in his eyes. He can't quite bear the look of hurt, barely masked, on Sirius' face, so Teddy drops his gaze to the green grass between his feet.

"I need to firecall Ginny," Harry says, and Teddy isn't sure he realizes the heaviness of the moment. "Excuse me for a moment."

"Of course. Attached to that witch's hip just like your father was, Harry. Utterly whipped."

Harry laughs. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Harry retreats into the house, and Teddy isn't sure what to say or do to fill the silence. It's like he's facing his first crush all over again—unable to think clearly for himself, unable to know exactly what the other person is thinking. Only this time, he's certain that the-crush-in-question has no interest in him.

"I'm sorry, Teddy, about what happened to Remus…your father, I mean…your mother and father…," Sirius offers, voice thick and weak.

Though the apologies have been coming for years, Teddy never knows how to respond to them. He's sorry too, he guesses. Maybe the condolences would mean more if he had known them, if they hadn't existed as characters in a book instead of as real people. It seems strange to accept condolences for losing something that he never had to begin with.

"I'm sorry that you had to come back to it," Teddy says softly.

"Pardon?"

Teddy meets his eyes. "My father's death."

"Why would you…"

Teddy looks at him pointedly; really, there is no use hiding the fact that he's known for years about Sirius and his father, that he's gone through every memento of their relationship (and used that to fuel his fascination and adoration for Sirius).

"Oh." The sullen expression—deep and tormented—slips onto Sirius' face and for the first time, Teddy can see the depth of this man's pain. "Thank you."

"He really loved you, you know."

Sirius nods, biting at his lips as they pull into a grimace. "I never deserved it."

"I doubt that very much."

He gives an amused sort of a sigh. "You look quite a bit like him."

Just today, Teddy thinks but doesn't voice. Yes, he purposefully dug through photos of his parents and shaped his face to what he thought a child of theirs might look like. A majority of the time, he doesn't look like them at all unless he's purposefully playing with his face—the curse of being a metamorphmagus. Teddy thinks he did a decent job, paying particular attention to his father's features. While no means perfect, it's enough.

"Would I be a horrible person if I admitted that's part of the reason why I was so eager to see you?" Sirius asks.

"No, not at all!" Teddy looks at him sympathetically. "I understand. I…I have some things of his. Mostly things that had been left at Grimmauld Place in the attic. Journals, a few boxes of clothes and books—stuff like that. If you wanted, you could come take a look at them. I don't know if it'll make things any easier, but…"

"I appreciate it, Teddy. I never imagined you would know about your father and I, let alone sympathize, especially given that…"

"My mum," Teddy offers.

Sirius nods. "Your mum."

"You don't get to pick who you fall in love with. I'm sure my father loved her in his own way."

"Remus has…had…a big heart."

"Maybe if you come over, you could tell me a little more about him? Grandmum is sparse on the details and Harry only knows so much."

Sirius seems suddenly surprised. "Does Harry know about…about…?"

"No, I never mentioned it to him. Wasn't really my place. As far as I know, Grandmum is the only one who knows aside from me."

The relief Sirius feels is immediately apparent as he relaxes. Teddy can't imagine what it must be like for him—to find out the love of your life died twenty years ago and to have to grieve in private because no one knows. Teddy hopes that Harry doesn't keep bringing up his father just because he's here; it looks like matters are difficult enough without.

.

.

By the end of that week, Sirius has taken him up on his offer to get together and chat about his father. Teddy is surprised by the immediacy of things, though he's not entirely sure he should be. Sirius obviously needs closure; Teddy's godfather had warned him when he visited the house that Sirius has been known to project— first James onto Harry and now perhaps his father onto him.

For several seconds, Teddy feels guilty about that, about the implications that would mean for him and how he may get exactly what he wants from this man. This feeling passes, maybe because Teddy is more damaged than he realizes.

They meet at the cemetery where his father is buried. It's not often that Teddy comes here—a small, out-of-the-way place in Northern England. Clouds block the sun today, providing a most fitting setting for this reunion. If only it were raining, it would be perfect.

He and Sirius walk up the lane of the cemetery, Teddy's hands bunched in his jacket pockets and Sirius' busy with a cigarette. From time to time, he steals glances at the man but finds little joy in being here with him. For the first time, Teddy realizes just how dead the young man in those photos is; his replacement a somber, morose shade of himself. Somehow, Teddy is going to have to learn to make do.

"Your mum's here too then?" Sirius asks between drags—the first words from his lips since their shy greetings.

Teddy shakes his head. "No, Mum is buried with Granddad. I'm not sure whose decision it was to put him here, but that's the way it happened."

"It's not far from Remus' parents." Sirius looks at him suddenly. "You've met them, right?"

"I used to get birthday cards."

"Your grandparents are dead?" Sirius asks, quite horrified.

"They're alive. Grandmum would have told me otherwise. It's just…I guess I don't really understand much of the situation. Grandmum says they're good-for-nothings."

Sirius looks suddenly defensive. "They're not at all. I've never met two more caring people in my life. And they loved your father to the end of the world and back, Teddy. Cathleen…she probably fell to fucking pieces when Remus was killed. He was her reason for existing."

"Maybe I could write to them?" Teddy asks, a bit hopeful at the prospect of having some tangible piece of his father.

"I would wait," Sirius replies, with a wince. "I was planning on visiting them anyway. Might be better if I get a proper feel for things, yeah?"

Teddy is a little dumbstruck by the idea that his own grandparents wouldn't want a letter from him. Maybe he shouldn't be after all these years of no communication. Maybe he should be resolved that he's never going to know his father beyond the pages of a journal.

"Sorry, Teddy. It's just that Remus' mum has always been a very fragile woman. He was cursed at six years old, and she never really recovered from that."

"I could make myself look different, if you think that'd help."

"I don't think so. She'll just want her son back. That's probably why she never contacted you," he explains, a far off look in his eyes. "Any memory of her son is probably unbearable for her, knowing Cathleen."

As Teddy and Sirius pause in front of Remus' grave, Teddy realizes that Sirius isn't only talking about his grandmother. His words sound like they're coming from someplace personal, and Teddy wonders if his face—like this, modeled after his father's again today—is tearing Sirius up as well.

"This is it then?" Sirius asks, crouching down to the stone's level.

Slowly, Sirius traces the raised letters on the stone:

Remus John Lupin
Born: March 6th, 1960
Died: May 2nd, 1998

If love could have kept you here, you would never have gone

As his fingers brush over the letters of the epitaph, the corners of his mouth pull down. Teddy watches as he blinks furiously and is struck by the thought that Sirius is about to lose it. Grey eyes fall below the gravestone, hand slipping from stone to earth, taking a fistful of the green, green grass as if he's trying to cling to a piece of his fallen lover.

Teddy turns, trying to give Sirius some sort of privacy. In all these years, he's never grieved his father like this, never known him enough to have reason to. But standing here with Sirius, he thinks his father must have been an exceptional person to move such a man, and he almost feels the loss as well.

But his father is gone now—gone and can't ever come back. Maybe it should bother him on some level—Sirius clinging fiercely to a dead man. A dead man that happens to be his father, Teddy thinks bitterly. Perhaps he should be disgusted that he's pining after his father's ex-lover, but his father just feels like any other person in the world. Sirius has a lover named Remus and Remus is gone. He's not, however, smitten enough—delusionalenough—to think that anything will ever seriously transpire between himself and Sirius.

Biting his lip, Teddy looks over his shoulder to see how Sirius is holding up. Sirius stares blankly at the gravestone, eyes unseeing. Teddy knows there are no magic words that can fix him, repair his grief or subdue the pain, so he slowly reaches out a hand and touches Sirius' shoulder. As if suddenly remembering he isn't alone, Sirius' eyes snap to Teddy's, and he offers him a weak, forced smile.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to…" Sirius sighs. "Seeing this…"

"Makes it real?" Teddy provides, having felt something that must be kin to this feeling of Sirius' on his very first visit.

"Remus' death has always been real," he explains, standing. "I always knew he would die before me because of his condition, but I never imagined it would feel like…this."

"This?"

Sirius gives a hysterical little half-laugh, half-sob. "Like Azkaban was a fucking paradise."

Teddy frowns, quite unable to grasp the torment that Sirius must be going through. He understands the sentiments well enough in theory, and theory is bad enough as it is. There's nothing he can do to fix things, though if he knew how to bring his father back to life, he would in a heartbeat, he thinks. And not even for his own sake.

"If you're still feeling well enough, you can come back to the flat. Go through his things, take whatever you like."

"Teddy—"

"You have a right to them as well as far as I'm concerned. He would have wanted you to have them."

"No, you're his—"

Teddy raises a hand, stopping Sirius' futile attempts at rejection. Remus' son, he may be, but he was also an accident. He's heard the stories from his grandmum about his father leaving his mum, knows quite well what they mean. His father didn't choose him, but he had chosen Sirius a long time ago. And that's enough for Teddy.

.

.

"I'm not sure what's in this one," Teddy announces, placing a storage container on top of the table where Sirius is sitting. "I've gone through most of the things, but not all of them."

The look in Sirius' eyes suggests that he's not sure he's willing to open this box, willing to unleash all these memories upon himself. The hesitance is there for a moment, and then as if he's decided that the only way to jump is with both feet, Sirius lifts the lid quickly. It must be like ripping a plaster off, Teddy thinks.

Sirius' fingers—thin and elegant—begin to lift items from the box. The pads of his fingers smooth over the silky fabric of a Gryffindor tie, the striping on this one a bit different than the ones currently worn at Hogwarts. Sirius holds it to his nose, breathing deeply, and Teddy is struck, once more, by the feeling that he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be interrupting such a private moment.

With the tie still clutched tightly in hand, Sirius pulls out a well-worn Defense book. He smiles immediately, as if he's just discovered a buried treasure. Teddy wonders what's so special about it, what sort of memories it holds for Sirius.

"That's my father's?" Teddy asks, surprised when he sees words crammed into the margins of the book's pages. "I never pictured him as one to write in the margins."

"Remus wrote on everything when we were in school. Notes, theories, little love messages—we sat next to each other in class—you name it. Doesn't seem in character for our bookish Moony, but he did it all the same."

"Did he like to read?"

Sirius flips through the pages. "It was a hobby that was forced upon him since he was always laid up from the moon, but yes, Remus was a reader."

Suddenly, Sirius stops flipping, his eyes falling on a familiar exchange on page ninety-seven. His lips move silently with the words, and Teddy is unable to read them. Instead, he tries to peer over Sirius' shoulder, intensely curious, and finds the lines.

Would you react dreadfully if I asked you out on a date, Moony?
A date?
Yes, to Hogsmeade. Nothing too poncy. Just the normal stuff. Only, you know, together. If you'd like. If not, please be a good enough mate to pretend like this never happened.
I…I think I'd like that. A date.
Brilliant! A date, then.

The book shuts quickly, just as he finishes the line, and Teddy looks up to see Sirius' moist eyes. Sirius is to his feet in an instant, the book falling to the table with a thud.

"Sorry, I…I can't do this," Sirius stammers, "I thought…but…no. I'm not ready. Never going to be ready. I'm sorry."

Sirius is making a rush for the door to the flat when the idea is conceived in Teddy's mind. Maybe it stemmed from his desire for this man, maybe it stemmed from a need to comfort him in his grief. Regardless, it's out of his mouth before he can stop it, before he has enough sense to realize what he's proposing. Four little words have Sirius snapping back around to stare at him with wide, teary eyes.

"What did you say?"

"I can be him," Teddy repeats. "My father. Remus. I can be him."

Sirius' brow crinkles, as if he's both thinking and horrified at the same moment. He swallows then shakes his head slowly.

"No, that's not what your ability is for. I'm not… I wouldn't. No."

"My mum did it for my father. Used her powers like this. How do you think I got here?"

"You're wrong," Sirius says, though it sounds a bit more like begging for a confirmation of a mistake.

"I'm not. He couldn't get over you, and she was in love. It was just a little change. Harmless magic. She just became you to help him. I…I can help you."

For a moment, Teddy thinks he's going to agree—the way he stands silent, not making a move towards the door. However, Sirius does move after minutes pass heavy between them. Moves without word, without denying Teddy, without giving in. And Teddy is left with only questions, rejection, and perhaps maybe regret.

.

.

Weeks pass without word, weeks that seem to plague Teddy. His guilt concerning his proposition is hard to bear, the idea of what it might have meant for Sirius' already fragile state of mind plaguing him. He's received many firecalls from Harry since that day that he and Sirius visited his father's grave, calls concerning what might have happened to cause Sirius to withdraw.

He'd nearly called upon Sirius twice in those three weeks since Sirius left his flat. But if Sirius didn't want to see Harry, it was especially likely that he had no interest in seeing him. Maybe Teddy had been mad for propositioning Sirius like that. In retrospect, simply because he didn't think much of his father's and Sirius' relationship didn't mean that Sirius wasn't horrified that his ex-lover's son had offered to shag him. And when it's all put like that, Teddy is able to understand why Sirius had been dumbstruck that day.

Resolved, Teddy had decided to act like nothing had happened next time he saw Sirius—if he did, in fact, ever see Sirius again. Maybe it would be better for the both of them. Maybe it's high time that Teddy get over his fancy for Sirius in the first place. Maybe it really isn't healthy.

All of this, of course, he'd decided before Sirius showed up at his flat today. Sometime after Sirius walked through the doorway, these decisions were Obliviated from his mind—figuratively speaking.

Sirius takes him by the upper arms, eyes searching him desperately. Teddy thinks he's staring into the eyes of a mad man, a dead man, and he gives in to the touch, knowing intuitively what Sirius seeks. Turquoise hair shifting and eyes fading to a honeyed brown. His face alters itself, his body too. Jaw a bit squarer, nose slightly bigger, skin lighter, height taller, flesh drawn with scars. It's not perfect, but it's a start. Sirius' eyes immediately soften, as if bewitched.

"Sorry, it's not quite there. I…It helps if I've seen a person in real life. And I don't…remember my father. I've only photos to go off of, and..."

"His hair," Sirius begins, threading his fingers through Teddy's own, "was a bit longer."

Teddy makes the adjustment immediately, along with those that follow: hips bonier, nose longer, lips fuller, muscles less pronounced. Sirius creates him—creates his father—on his canvas right down to the very scar twisting against his side from the original wolf's bite.

Teddy would be a liar if he didn't admit that he liked sculpting himself to Sirius' tastes. At first.

The kiss that follows the final direction sears Teddy to the core. He's never felt passion like this—not with Victoire, or all the other girls, or even the occasional boy. No, this is something whole heartedly new—the way Sirius' hands clench helplessly at him as if he will fade at any moment. Teddy gives into him, allows him to lead him through the pushing of tongues and fumbling of fingers, the meeting of lips and gasping of breaths.

When Sirius pushes Teddy onto the couch, he folds easily, though not without winding his fingers around Sirius' wrist to pull him on top of him. This is his fantasy. Thisis the inspiration for every wet dream, every wank. Sirius Black, god among mortals.

But, his dream is eventually shattered with a whispered, "Remus."

Teddy instantly numbs to this man's touch. He feels Sirius' lips on his neck, his hands working at his trousers, yet Teddy can barely register it any more. Sirius isn't seeing him, but his father, isn't loving him, but his father. He struggles to wrap his mind around the thought as Sirius struggles to work his fingers inside him. It's a futile gesture on Teddy's part; he can't understand his emotions, only feel them.

And if this…if this is what his mum went through, if this is the burden of a metamorphmagus—to be loved for someone else— then Teddy thinks it's a curse worse than lycanthropy.