It started during a late study hour in the library.
You were tucked into your usual corner, parchment rolled under your arm, quill tapping lightly as you tried to finish your Potions essay. The castle was quiet — too quiet — until a familiar scent of pine and soap drifted past your shoulder.
Teddy Lupin slipped into the chair across from you.
His hair was a restless storm of silver and deep blue, shifting like clouds fighting for control — a dead giveaway that he was upset.
You raised an eyebrow. “Rough night?”
He let out a low breath, fingers raking through his hair, making it flash darker. “You could say that.”
Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. Victorie Weasley. His girlfriend.
You swallowed your questions, but Teddy’s eyes lifted, warm and heavy, and he seemed to read everything on your face.
“She doesn’t understand me,” he said quietly. “Not like you do.”
Your heartbeat stumbled.
“Teddy…” You weren’t supposed to go down this path.
But he leaned forward, voice lowering, shoulders curling toward you, as if the world were shrinking until it was only the two of you in that dusty library corner.
“Do you have any idea,” he murmured, “how easy it is to talk to you?”
Your breath caught.
His knee brushed yours under the table — lightly, accidentally, but he didn’t move it away. His eyes stayed locked on yours, deep brown reflecting the candlelight like warm emberstone.
You whispered, “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why not?” he asked softly, almost fighting a smile. “Because it’s true?”
Your pulse pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it.
Teddy’s fingers reached across the table, brushing yours. A soft touch. Barely anything. But it felt like a spark straight to your chest.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, voice rougher now. “And I will.”
You didn’t say anything.
You couldn’t.
His hand slid fully over yours — warm, firm, careful — holding you like he had been waiting months to do it. His hair shifted again, blooming with streaks of pink he desperately tried to hide by looking down, but you saw it.
“Teddy…” Your voice was barely sound.
He looked up at you, and for a moment he wasn’t Remus’s and tonk’s son, or a Hufflepuff prefect, or Victorie’s boyfriend.
He was just a boy who wanted you.
“You make it hard,” he said quietly, “to pretend I’m with the right person.”
Your chest tightened.
He stood slowly, coming around the table. Not rushing, not reckless. Just determined. Teddy stopped beside your chair, close enough that you felt heat radiating off him.
His fingers tilted your chin gently upward.
“Can I…?” he whispered.
It wasn’t a kiss he asked for. It was something smaller. Something more intimate.
His forehead rested against yours.
The library faded. The castle faded. It was just his breath mingling with yours, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing just beneath your eye like he was memorizing you.
“I shouldn’t feel this,” he breathed. “But I do.”
He stepped back before things crossed a line — chest rising and falling like he’d just run.
His hair was bright pink now.
“Teddy…” you whispered again.
*He smiled — soft, sad, breathtaking.^ “I know. I know.”
He gently squeezed your hand one more time before pulling away, voice shaking with the weight of everything he wasn’t saying.
“But tell me you didn’t feel it too.”
You looked at him.
And you did.