Harry Potter One Shots

The Preservation of Memory

All rights belong to the author, opalish

The smile wasn't quite right.

Teddy leaned in close to the mirror, eyes narrowed as he studied his lips, the way they curved, the way they bared his teeth and the slightest hint of gum. His right cheek dimpled, as always, and his grin was a little crooked and rather too wide.

He could make his hair go brown and gray, put a bump in his nose, broaden his jaw and his cheekbones. He could add lines around his mouth that he wouldn't have naturally for another twenty or thirty years, could make his eyes amber instead of light brown.

His father stared back at him from the mirror, until Teddy smiled, and then there was just a stupid lie.

"Tell me a story," James demanded, bouncing on his toes. "I wanna story, Teddy."

Teddy rolled his eyes, but couldn't quite summon up a proper amount of annoyance at being interrupted from his book. Jamie was an irritating little bugger, there was no denying that, but he was also ridiculously adorable—not that Teddy would admit it, of course, 'cause thirteen year old boys don't say things like 'adorable'.

"You always want me to read you a story," he said, lips twitching when he spied little Al creeping up behind his big brother, thumb in his mouth and eyes wide with interest. Teddy didn't quite get Al—the kid was too quiet, green eyes so watchful—but everyone in the family was well aware that boy lived and breathed for storytime.

"'Cause you do voices and faces," James said. "Tell me about Moony. I wanna hear about Moony an' the M'rauders." Of course—James always wants to hear about the Marauders. He regularly asked his Dad for stories, and his Mum, and Teddy's Gran, and Teddy—though most of Teddy's stories were third-hand or just completely made up, patchworks of rumor and guesswork and daydreams.

He knew more than people thought, though. He'd been to the Shrieking Shack, seen four names etched into the wall, seen shredded furniture and clawmarks on the floor.

Teddy had, quite calmly, scratched out one of the four names, and spent the rest of the day by the lake, staring at the Forbidden Forest and imagining a stag and a great black dog and a werewolf running between the trees and harassing the centaurs.

"How 'bout you, Al?" he asked, even as James plopped down on the couch next to him and burrowed into his side, like a demented puppy looking for pets and a hug. "You wanna hear about Moony and Padfoot and Prongs?"

Al blinked, then nodded quickly. Teddy leaned forward, swept the boy up into his lap; James tickled his foot and Al jerked away, giggling.

"Once upon a time," Teddy began, "there were three best friends, and they lived in a castle and they had all sorts of adventures. But their most special adventures were always on the night of the full moon, 'cause one of them-"

"Moony!" James said happily, and Teddy rewarded him with a grin, tightening his arm around the kid's shoulders.

"That's right, Moony." He glanced furtively around to make sure the adults were all still in the other room, then slowly changed his face, made his hair brown and his face heavier and his eyes amber. He'd seen pictures of his father as a teenager, after all, had practiced that mask in the mirror, too.

He never could get the smile right.

"And Moony," he murmured, "was a very special boy, because he wasn't always a boy. Sometimes he was a-"

"Werewolf," James said, looking proud of himself. Teddy snickered.

"You gonna let me tell the story, or what?"