FIC: Rise From the Ashes [Teddy/Cedric, NC-17] Part 2
Title: Rise from the Ashes
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Teddy/Cedric (Cedric/Roger Davies, reference to Cedric/Cho)
Summary: Muggles have an old saying: "Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it." Teddy never quite grasped the meaning, until he made a wish of his own.
Chapter 3: ambitions like ribbons
"Faster," Cedric said, panting as sweat streamed down his face, and he groaned, pressing his lips together to muffle the sound. Roger had him pinned up against the wall, pressing his shoulder almost painfully against Cedric's collarbone.
Roger chuckled and tightened his grip, continuing the slow pace up and down Cedric's cock. "M'not ready yet. You're being greedy today."
Cedric narrowed his eyes, then grinned. He grabbed Roger's arse with his right hand and pinched, and Roger yelped, letting go.
"Don't touch my arse, you bloody poof."
Cedric rolled his eyes. Right, because holding another bloke's cock in your hand and jerking him off didn't make you a shirt-lifter. He twisted his body and slammed Roger up against the back wall of the cupboard, and leaned in close. He could feel Roger's breath on his chin, but it was too dark to see anything. A mop fell over and smacked him in the head, and he impatiently brushed it away, wincing as it clattered loudly to the floor.
"Right," Cedric said, once the noise died away, "where were we? Oh yeah, you were jerking me off."
"Idiot!" Roger spluttered. "Someone'll hear!"
"Shush. How many times have we done this now? Nobody's gonna hear," Cedric said, bracing himself against the wall with his left hand, and reaching under Roger's robes with his right. He grinned when Roger groaned and a hand fumbled to grab at his still-hard cock. "That's a good boy, Davies," he murmured. "Was beginning to think you'd forgotten how."
"Fuck you," Roger gasped.
"Some other time," Cedric replied, speeding up his strokes as Roger thrust into his hand. "Now who's a greedy bastard?"
"Bloody…poof," Roger said, panting heavily in the darkness, but sped up the pace of his own stroking to match Cedric's. "Fuck, gonna come, gonna…"
"Faster," Cedric said again, thrusting his own hips, his hand jerking roughly at Roger's cock, and turned his head to the side, biting his upper arm and closing his eyes, his face scrunched with tension, pulse roaring in his ears. "Aaah!" he cried out, unable to keep his head from falling back as he came. His sticky hand told him Roger had finished as well, and he released him, turning away and slumping against the wall beside him.
He heard a rustling of cloth and felt Roger's arm brushing against his.
"Lumos. Merlin's balls, Diggory. Your aim is still crap. Scourgify."
Cedric blinked in the sudden light and turned his head away, still feeling the euphoria of orgasm and not ready to move just yet. Three months on, and Davies was still a cunt. Wanking's supposed to be messy, you arse. He kept his tongue, however, and concentrated on relaxing his breathing.
Roger straightened his robes, his wand still lighting the small broom cupboard. "You coming?"
"I just did," Cedric said, smirking.
Roger snorted. "Tosser."
Cedric raised his eyebrows. "What is it with you Ravenclaws? No sense of humour. Besides, you started it."
"I started it? The bet was your idea, Diggory, and need I remind you, you lost."
"That was months ago, last term, and it was meant as a one time thing. How many times has it been since? Five? Six?" Actually, this was the eighth time, altogether. Not that he was keeping track or anything. "And I meant today. You were the one who came up to me. 'Oi, Diggory, I need a word!'" he said, imitating Roger's clipped tone. "You needed more than a word, eh?"
"Fuck off." Roger looked at his feet and shuffled a bit, kicking the felled mop against the shelves along the side wall. "Probably best if we leave separately, anyway. I'll see you around."
Cedric nodded and slid the rest of the way down the wall as Roger left, taking the light with him. The reek of sex was pungent in the dark, musty smelling cupboard, and he leaned back against the wall, pulling his knees up toward his chest, resting his arms and his head against them.
The bet.
The bet he had meant in jest, initially, but his pride wouldn't allow him to retract in the face of Davies' mockery. He'd certainly had a sense of humour then.
"Loser sucks the winner off? Do I look like a bloody poof?"
Cedric had cringed inwardly, but his face showed as much teasing scorn as he could muster. "No, you look like a twat. Scared you'll lose? I didn't know you were such a bloody coward, Davies. Imagine that," he'd said, lifting his chin defiantly, "a chicken afraid of a cock."
Davies had been incredulous, and Cedric had to admit to himself that he'd been far too cheeky about the whole thing. Pride is a fucking bastard. They'd gone back and forth with the insults and finally settled on a wank, which was a bit less ostentatious than a blow job. And good thing, too, seeing as Ravenclaw had completely flattened Hufflepuff, and he hadn't really relished the idea of Davies' cock anywhere near his mouth to begin with. He was convinced that the things men did in the name of arrogance would someday be the downfall of his entire gender.
Cedric had taken a nasty Bludger to the back, which allowed Cho to grab the Snitch from right under his nose. She'd been gracious and almost apologetic about it, and he was fairly sure she'd been flirting with him besides, but she'd been sweet nonetheless. Davies had crowed like the cock that he was, the cock that Cedric was about to become intimately familiar with.
He shook his head, smiling sardonically in the dark at the memory, as he took his wand from his pocket and cleaned himself off. The cupboard still smelled of sex.
Davies was a bit of a prick, completely full of himself, and he preened when the girls made cow eyes at him. He could pull practically anyone he wanted, whenever he wanted, but he hadn't pulled in months now. Not since Gilly had dumped him, humiliated him rather spectacularly, in front of half the school in the Three Broomsticks on Halloween. Well, he's pulled me. Or my cock, anyway, he thought, chuckling ruefully.
He had no idea why he continued this…charade. And it was a charade. He wasn't attracted to Davies, though he conceded that he was quite fit. And these encounters were far from romantic. It was all about ego, something they both had in spades, although Cedric liked to think that he was extremely humble in comparison. He knew he was competitive, and he was honest enough with himself to admit that he was good looking and intelligent, and a damn fine Quidditch player, and he could pull just as well as Davies could-if he wanted to. But he still wasn't a conceited prick like Davies.
He liked girls, their soft breasts and delicate fingers, the sweet scent of their hair as they brushed past him in the halls. He'd dated Evangeline last year, and he took Reyna to Hogsmeade last Halloween-where they'd witnessed Gilly's tirade-but neither of the girls had been willing to explore the more physical side of the relationship, not the way he wanted, and Cedric was too much of a gentleman to take what wasn't offered. Snogging was expected, of course, and Angie had let him feel her up a couple of times, but she balked at the idea of touching him in return. Not where it counted. What was it about birds, anyway?
The rough physicality of these encounters with Davies had surprised him, and excited him. Wanking was fantastic: he loved how his own cock felt in his hand, and he did it often, but this…. There was a power in it, an element of recklessness that was completely different from his slow, hesitant encounters with girls, and also different from his own solo explorations.
Having another bloke's hand-large like his own, and rough, callused and strong-touching him was arousing beyond anything he'd experienced before. It had frightened him at first, and it still did. Lately he found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss a bloke, but he wasn't ready to try, and he certainly didn't want to try with Davies. Davies would knock out his teeth if he tried, anyway, and the thought of spending a night in the infirmary growing them back was even a less pleasant thought.
He still liked girls, though. Maybe it was an adolescent thing, to do with hormones. He wasn't worried. Not much, anyway, though he wasn't about to discuss it with any of his friends. Some things should remain private, and as outgoing as he was, he was still discreet. Davies could call him all the names he wanted; he didn't care a fig what a prick like him thought. They got off with each other occasionally and nothing more.
He got to his feet, tucked himself back into his pants, and stowed his wand back in his pocket. It was getting late and he was hungry. He pressed the button on his watch and '4:46' glowed in the air. Dinner was still nearly an hour away. Maybe a side trip to the kitchens was in order. He picked up his book bag from the floor next to the door and tripped over the mop head, stumbling out into the corridor.
He caught his balance and pulled the door closed behind him, tugging on his robes which had snagged in the elastic of his pants, and adjusted himself. He turned around to leave and started back in surprise at a tall, blond-haired student who was standing in the middle of the hall only a few feet away, holding a piece of parchment.
He blushed and raised his chin in a gesture of defiance. "Sorry, didn't see you there."
The boy didn't say anything, just stared at him, mouth slightly agape.
"Right then, I'm late," Cedric said, frowning. He didn't know this boy, couldn't remember ever having seen him before, but there was something familiar about him. Maybe it was the eyes. He looked for a house badge on his robes, but the parchment obscured his view. The boy was still staring at him, however, and it was starting to make him feel self-conscious. He inhaled through his nose and grinned, turning up the charm that served him well in times of unease.
"See ya," he said, and brushed past him, their shoulders touching for the briefest of moments. He could feel the boy's gaze following him as he walked away, but resisted the urge to turn around. His stomach rumbled, distracting him, and his thoughts turned to more important things, like Yorkshire pudding with beef gravy.
**
Teddy continued to stare long after Cedric had gone. He'd seen him on the map, and before he'd realised what he was doing, he was standing outside the cupboard. He desperately wanted to talk to Cedric, although he had no idea what he would say. Cedric, the real corporeal Cedric, didn't know him. No matter which face he put on, Cedric still wouldn't know him. Couldn't possibly know him. It was stupid, he knew that, and he winced at his own foolishness.
"Bugger," he muttered, and leaned up against the wall. The nearby portraits glanced at him at first, but they quickly returned to their own business. A student was a student, and even in his own time, most of them wouldn't notice an extra one. Or twenty.
He'd changed his face so often these last weeks, if anyone had been observing, they'd realise that something was awry with the budding student population. He wondered if he should try another tactic. The influx of never-before-seen students who never attend classes might start to arouse suspicion, if it hadn't already, though he did make a point of avoiding teachers as often as possible, and he looked down so often, he'd developed a persistent crick in his neck and become fairly intimate with his shoes. Hiding from Professor Dumbledore had become quite the game, made more difficult by the entrance to his office, so close to the Room of Requirement, but so far, he seemed to be winning.
He watched the map, and saw that Cedric had entered the kitchens. So he knew to tickle the pear as well. Harry had told him that secret his first year, and he wondered, idly, who had told Cedric. One thing he'd noticed during his time here was, despite the terrors looming without, there was a continuity to Hogwarts. Very little changed over the years. The password to the prefect's bath was the same; the chain on the toilet in the last stall of the boys' sixth floor bathroom still stuck when you pulled too hard, and you had to jiggle it to stop the water from running continuously; The portraits and tapestries, statues and suits of armour, with very few exceptions-Cedric's portrait being one he was sure of-were almost exactly as he remembered them, in the same places they occupied in his time, as they had for centuries.
There was much less inter-house mingling than he was used to in his own time, but that worked to his advantage. Most students who did notice him would simply presume he was in another house, and with the bland and unmemorable features he'd assumed with each new alteration to his appearance, he'd be quickly forgotten.
The teachers were different, and the faces of the students changed constantly, but the essence of the building and its atmosphere remained, solid and dependable, separated from the rest of the world, as if these walls kept their own time. It was a comfort to him, this place he knew and loved so well, and the familiarity kept him sane, gave him perspective. With the added benefit of the map and his Metamorphmagus abilities, it was also turning out to be a grand adventure, and he grinned, finding himself at peace for the first time in the month since he'd arrived.
He glanced down at the map and spotted the dot representing Mrs Norris, the creepy old caretaker's cat, and it was heading in his direction. He wasn't exactly out of bounds; it was hours until curfew, and he could easily pin his prefect badge to his robe and avoid trouble with that deception, but it was best to avoid being seen at all. He found a clear route and headed down towards the kitchens to wait. He'd hide in the alcove behind his old friend, Casimir the Boorish of Lickey End.
"…who met with a foul and sticky end…" he sang tunelessly, grinning as he ducked behind a tapestry, into a hidden passageway.
**
Teddy lay naked on his bed, staring up into the canopy, his hand rubbing lightly over his groin, idly toying with the beginnings of an erection. It was still early evening, but he didn't have anywhere to be, and nowhere to really go, besides. He could only spend so much time in the library and it was always a risk to wander the halls, map or no. And there were only so many times he could stare at the dots on the map marked 'Remus Lupin', 'Harry Potter', or 'Cedric Diggory'.
He'd considered going into Hogsmeade many times - he was sure the secret passageways out of the school could easily get him past the Dementors-but once he was there he had no place to go either. The three Knuts he'd had in his bag wouldn't buy him more than a sugar quill at Honeydukes and certainly wouldn't buy him a Butterbeer or a bottle of Ogden's Old. He thought about going just to get some fresh air, but he had no cloak, and the notion of freezing his bollocks off just to wander the streets was not appealing.
So it was either read and revise, play Exploding Snap by himself, or wank in the evenings, and wanking usually won out by default.
He thought about his friends and family back home, Simon and Gwen, Gordon, Fezzie, his Gran, Harry and the kids, and wondered if they missed him. If time was passing there at the same rate, then they would surely know that he'd vanished. He hadn't told anyone of his idea, so nobody even knew where to look. Right, as if they'd be able to guess what had happened even if they did know. He was sure they were worried, probably frantic by now, and he hated that he was putting them through such grief.
There wasn't anything to be done about it. He couldn't very well give Harry a letter that said "Do not open until February, 2016", though the notion did amuse him. He didn't even know if the Room would send him back. The thought that this was a one-way trip was always there in the back of his mind. The only way to know for sure would be to try to go home, and he simply wasn't ready to do that yet. He had something important he needed to do first. When he did get home, he was sure they'd forgive him, eventually.
He thought about his encounter with Cedric earlier. It had been strange, and oddly fascinating. He started cataloguing the personality differences he'd observed between the real Cedric and portrait Cedric to pass the time. Real Cedric smiled more, laughed and joked with his friends and exuded such confidence. Not that his portrait-self lacked these qualities completely, but the fact remained that it was only a replica, and a lonely one at that. Teddy felt a surge of sympathy with his portrait friend.
Here he was, surrounded by people; people he knew and loved, yet he was utterly alone.
No Simon to banter and compete with, nobody to have a drink with, revise with-hell, he had no classes to go to or homework to do in the first place, though he was making a slight effort at keeping up with his N.E.W.T studies-nobody who would touch him with any kind of affection. It was a grand adventure to be sure, but it was lonely as hell.
Oh. He was lonely, he realised as he continued to stroke himself, and that, he decided, was what made him seek out Cedric earlier. The camaraderie he had with Cedric's portrait was friendship of a sort, and seeing him today, the same brown hair and grey eyes, same smile, had simply triggered…what? It didn't matter. He was fine. He could deal with his temporary loneliness for a few more weeks. Cedric has his own friends, he didn't need another. Distance was necessary, kept temptation in abeyance. Cedric's fate was sealed long ago, written in the stars as the Centaurs would say, and he could do nothing.
He couldn't change the past, could not change it, it was wrong, it was dangerous, no matter how alive…that cocky grin when he winked at me, graceful fingers, blood-warm skin…
He came unexpectedly, and it left him bereft and even lonelier than before.
**
Remus stared at the parchment on his desk. He'd taken it from his drawer nearly every day since he'd confiscated it from Harry, but could not bring himself to utter the password that would unlock its secrets. It had taken all of his strength that day to keep his calm before Severus and Harry both. He'd recognised it immediately, of course. They'd spent countless hours creating it, pouring so much of their very selves into such a fragile piece of parchment, and he marvelled at its durability, nearly twenty years on.
It had been their masterpiece, the ultimate tool for the discerning mischief makers they had been, a work of sheer brilliance. Seeing it again, all these years later….
But how had Harry come to possess it? Filch had confiscated it two weeks before they'd left school-they'd been careless returning one night from an unauthorised post-N.E.W.T. jaunt into Hogsmeade, and their inebriated state had made it easy for the crotchety caretaker. They'd rudely laughed at him when he tried to give them detention and, red-faced and furious, Filch had made them turn out their pockets. Now as a fellow faculty member, he felt some remorse over the incident, but never enough to actually apologise for all the years of torment they'd caused him. Those were the happiest times of his life, and while he had many regrets, too numerous to count, he could not bring himself to feel remorse for any of those cherished memories.
The memories…. He'd finally reconciled them, or so he thought. Returning here, even as a favour to Dumbledore, was not something he'd wanted for himself. His memories of this place were thicker and more plentiful than cobwebs, and everywhere he turned, they assaulted him. Not a tender brush against his cheek, but a knife deep in his belly.
For years he'd bottled them up, kept them separate and safe, cherished them as part of a life that could have been, and in that way, he could live with them. The more we lie to ourselves, the easier they are to believe, after all. Coming back had nearly shattered his fragile glass bottle, and it had taken months for the dreams and nightmares to recede.
Until he'd laid eyes on the map.
The Marauder's Map had been the bursting of a dam and a thousand Reparos couldn't fix the damage left behind in its wake. The pain and grief of a thousand nightmares visited upon him daily, and not content to confine themselves to dreams, they flowed into every waking hour, mingling until everything he touched was tarnished. The thought of losing any more than he already had was more than he could bear, so he resorted once again to his game of self-subterfuge. It was so easy, so instinctive, that he hardly ever noticed anymore.
Above all, there was the very real possibility of seeing the little black dot bearing Sirius' name. It was one thing to see it in a dream, and he could lie and spout excuses until he died, but the reality had the potential to break him utterly.
He was a terrible coward, and his only saving grace was that he had the courage to admit that much.
He'd tried to hate Sirius, and for a while, after he lost James and Lily and Peter, he'd managed rather nicely. He'd been almost disappointed that Sirius had been whisked off to Azkaban so quickly; he'd wanted nothing more than to spit in his face. In the heat of his loathing, the lack of a trial due to all of the evidence had been a good thing as far as he was concerned. But then the heat of anger turned to despair in the face of everything he'd lost, and he'd lost everything that had ever mattered to him. In his weaker moments, he formulated excuses-Imperius or some other magical means of coercion, blackmail, mistaken identity.
His heart would never be able to fully believe that Sirius could betray James of all people. If a wizard's essence, his soul, were a visible construct, surely the threads that made up the core of both James and Sirius had somehow joined and twined. They were one being in two bodies.
And then he'd remember the photos of his arrest, Sirius laughing, haughtier than ever, and another part of him would die inside. His only solace in James' death was that James never had to live with the betrayal of his other self. No, Remus was the one to bear that burden alone, and the weight of it bowed him down, made him less than a man, a coward.
The cruelest burden, however, had been the knowledge that despite everything, he still loved Sirius. Sirius was a part of him, at times, one of the very best parts, and would remain so until he died. That was his deepest secret, the one that filled him with the most shame, the one that enabled and encouraged his cowardice.
Harry was so young. There was no possible way for him to understand the consequences, the unspeakable price of a Dementor's Kiss: the soul devoured with no hope of redemption. Sirius' fate. No matter what horrendous acts he had committed in life, Sirius, that brilliant and once-beautiful star, one of the cornerstones of Remus' youth, did not deserve eternal damnation.
He removed his wand from his pocket with a shaking hand, twirled it aimlessly between his fingers, still unwilling to touch it to the parchment. A knock on his office door startled him from his reverie, and he quickly shoved the map in his drawer before answering.
"Come in," he called, his voice still thick with grief and the pain of memory.
The door opened, and Roger Davies poked his head inside, tentative.
"I-I'm sorry, Professor," he said, his voice scratchy. "I can come back later if you're busy."
Remus sat up straight, forced a smile and beckoned. "No, that's fine. I could use the distraction, to be honest. How can I help you, Mr Davies?" The map could wait, and he supposed it might be for the best if it did.
**
Teddy strode into the room, trying to affect an air of confidence. His stomach felt a bit queasy, but he ignored it, taking a seat in one of the chairs before the desk. This was the hard part. It was one thing to imitate a person's appearance, but it was quite another to mimic a voice. The alterations he made were external in nature, not internal, and while he could change the size of his larynx, unlike Polyjuice, he could never make it exact. His solution was to feign illness with a well-timed sore throat.
"It's-" He made a show of trying to clear his throat. "Sorry, it's to do with that essay you set us. I have some questions."
"Nasty bug you've got. You should go see Madame Pomfrey when we're finished," Remus said, steepling his fingers on the desk. "For now, ask away."
"Thank you, sir. Er, well, I was thinking about writing my essay on the dangers to wizarding and Muggle society that certain creatures pose, and I was doing some research on werewolves in particular." Teddy fiddled with the collar of his robe. Why had he said werewolves? He'd been practicing a speech on Dementors and Lethifolds! Idiot!
Teddy looked up at his father, but Remus' face was perfectly composed, no noticeable tension anywhere in his expression or in his body language.
"And you needed to see me because…?"
"Oh, right, sorry, sir." Teddy blinked. What the hell was he going to say now? "I, er, well most books about them seem to take a, well, a hostile stance. How to spot them, how to kill them, stuff like that, but they all ignore something I read in another book that I thought was pretty important."
Remus raised his eyebrows and inclined his head. "Which is?"
"Well, a werewolf is only technically a werewolf one day a month, and not even the whole day, just when the moon's out."
"There are many who would disagree with that presumption, Mr Davies. The Ministry included."
"Well, that's just stupid, isn't it?"
Remus shrugged. "I don't know. Or, to be more precise, you'd have to define stupid, and apply it to the Ministry's motives and actions. Werewolves are in fact dangerous, Mr Davies, and I assure you that you would not want to stumble across one during a full moon." He absently tapped the tips of his fingers together.
"Well, yes, I know that. But what about the other days of the month? Fantastic Beasts is, at best, fairly neutral, though not very informative, but I came across one called 'Hairy Snout, Human Heart', which seems to contradict the other books, and even goes so far as to criticise the Ministry."
Teddy was watching Remus carefully, and he saw the twitch of lip, the hesitation of his fingers, when he mentioned 'Hairy Snout', gestures so minute, he'd have missed them completely if he hadn't been looking. He'd first read that book when he was six, and by the time he was sixteen, knew it almost by heart. After Harry had told him the story of how Sirius Black and James Potter had become Animagi for his father, he was convinced that not only was the book about his father, but that James and Sirius had written it.
Remus leaned back in his chair. "Ah, yes, the sympathetic werewolf. It's a moving story, I'll grant you, but is it true? Or, for purposes of research, is it fact?"
Ninety minutes later, Teddy left his father's office with mixed feelings. It had been harder than he'd thought to keep up the charade, and there were several times where he'd nearly blurted out the truth. For the entirety of their discussion, which had actually become heated at several points on his part, his father had remained neutral and had drawn the conversation in such a way that Teddy was forced to argue from both sides. Teddy marvelled at the strength and courage it must have taken to do so, to sit there so calmly and rationally.
There was one exception, when Teddy had brought up the topic of werewolves having children. For the first time in their conversation, his father had looked troubled, and while he didn't come out and say it, it was evident that he was opposed to it. Obviously he had changed his mind in the intervening years, but it was still disconcerting.
Perhaps he had been an accident, but his parents had been married before he was conceived, hadn't they? And Harry had told him many times that his father loved his mother. It was a subject he didn't really want to think about, so he turned his thoughts to what would happen when the real Roger Davies turned in his essay after the Easter holidays on a completely different topic. It didn't matter, he'd be gone before then. His reason for coming was to meet his father, and he'd finally done that, though he wished it could have been under different circumstances. Staying here much longer was dangerous, and he knew he had to go home soon.
Lost in thought, he turned the corner and slammed into someone. The collision made him lose his balance, and he fell flat on his arse.
Chapter 4: reasons for defying reason
"Merlin's balls, Davies, don't you look where you're going?"
Cedric Diggory was rising to his feet slowly, brushing off his robes. He looked down at Teddy, who hadn't moved at all, huffed in exasperation and reached out a hand to help him up.
Teddy stared at Cedric's hand for a long moment before clasping it, and got to his feet. He ignored his aching backside. The only thought in his mind was that he was touching Cedric, and he was indeed real, flesh and blood and bone, and warm, very warm. His own hands were cold.
Cedric cleared his throat, and he realised he was standing there, still holding Cedric's hand. He dropped it almost too quickly and started to stutter an apology, but Cedric gave him a long look.
"Oh. Like that, eh? Well, come on then," he said, leading toward a narrow stair. "But away from here. Besides, Prefects can be a little late for curfew."
Teddy followed, puzzled but intrigued. He had no idea where Cedric was leading him, but it didn't matter. They went up three flights of stairs, walked silently down two corridors, ducked behind a tapestry, descended another narrow stair, and ended up in an old, dusty, dimly lit corridor on the opposite side of the school from where they had begun.
"Are we up to no good?" Teddy asked, grinning.
Cedric snorted. "Funny, Davies. Don't know about you, but I'm always good. What's wrong with your voice?"
"Oh, sorry. Dunno, just went hoarse. I don't feel sick or anything. So what's with all the subterfuge?"
"You’re asking me?" Cedric replied. "You're the one with the paranoia issues."
"I am? Oh," Teddy amended quickly as Cedric rolled his eyes. "Guess I am." Play along, he told himself. Follow Cedric's lead. Stop asking stupid questions. And for Merlin's sake, stop staring.
Cedric stopped before a door, glanced around to confirm they were alone, and then opened it. "After you."
Teddy nodded and stepped into the room, which turned out to be another broom cupboard. Apparently Cedric had a secret fascination with broom cupboards. His thoughts went no further as the door closed, plunging them into darkness, and then Cedric was on him, pressing him up against the stone wall. Without so much as a by-your-leave, he rucked up the front of Teddy's robes and thrust his hand inside his pants.
Cedric snorted. "Bloody hell, Davies. Little Rogie's not even the slightest bit happy to see me? You always were a lazy sod."
Teddy stood paralysed, his jaw gaping in surprise, and he had no idea what to do or say. Cedric had wrapped his fingers around his flaccid cock, jerking it roughly, and within a few seconds, it wasn't quite so flaccid anymore.
"Ah, that's better." Cedric pushed the elastic of Teddy's underpants down around his knees, and gentled his hand a bit, not as rough but still stroking firmly. Teddy remained still, not speaking, though an occasional gasp made it past his lips. He couldn't help it - Cedric's hand felt brilliant.
"Docile tonight, aren’t you?"
Not knowing what to say, he said nothing. He wasn't even sure what he was expected to do. Well, he knew that. He and Simon had, a few times…well, they'd been bored - curious the first time, drunk the others - and it hadn't meant anything, just friends fucking around for a bit of a laugh. But Cedric wasn't Simon, and he wasn't Roger. He'd seen Roger Davies and Cedric together a few times - in person and on the map - but hadn't thought much of it. Now he realised, well, it was glaringly obvious that they were…together. A twinge of envy shot through his limbs and pooled in his stomach.
Cedric sighed, clearly exasperated, stilling his hand but not releasing Teddy's cock from his grasp. Teddy could feel his breath on his face. "What's with you tonight? Do you need a bloody invitation?"
Teddy bit his lip. Should he continue the charade? Run away? Confess? He had only a few seconds to make a decision. He reached for Cedric, blindly grasping, pulled him close and crushed their lips together.
Cedric stiffened but opened his mouth, and Teddy gently slipped his tongue inside, hoping he was doing it right. He knew well enough how to snog, but everyone had a different technique, Simon being an excellent example of that, and he had no idea how Roger did it. On top of that, he'd never snogged a bloke before. Well, not sober.
It was at least a minute before he realized that Cedric wasn't kissing him back. He started to pull away, but then Cedric grabbed him by the front of his robes, pushed him roughly against the wall, and plunged his tongue into Teddy's mouth.
It was wet and messy and Cedric was anything but gentle, but it still felt good, different. He reached his arms around Cedric's hips and pulled him closer, hands resting gently against Cedric's arse.
Apparently that was the wrong thing to do because a moment later, Cedric had put his hands on Teddy's chest and pushed himself away, spluttering.
"What-what the fuck are we doing?"
Bugger. "Um, I…was I doing it wrong?" he asked, panicking and getting ready to bolt for the door.
Cedric said nothing, but Teddy could hear him breathing heavily.
"Cedric?" he asked tentatively.
"What did you just say?"
"I asked if I did it wrong. I'm, er, well, I'm not really feeling myself tonight, so maybe I should-"
"You called me by my first name, you kissed me, and you touched my arse. I'd say so."
"Oh." Shit, he'd really fucked up.
"Listen, Davies. Um, Roger. I didn't think…. Look, you're an okay bloke and all…well, sometimes. Fine, you're a bloody huge tosser, but the wanking was fun. You're such a bastard at times that, well, I really didn't think you'd ever want to snog. You get tetchy when I accidentally breathe too close to your ear."
Teddy felt sick. He'd misread the situation completely. What was he thinking impersonating an actual student? He had no idea who this Roger Davies really was. He could have chosen any student to impersonate, what had made him choose Davies?
Because he was a friend of Cedric's, a nasty little voice whispered inside his head. He was about to argue with himself when he realised it had been the truth.
He'd wanted an opportunity to meet up with Cedric, to talk to him, maybe even be alone with him, though he didn't think he'd had this kind of activity in mind. Davies seemed the safest choice since they were in different houses. He chose to follow Cedric to this place. It had been his choice to kiss him, never mind that Cedric had been jerking him off at the time - he hadn’t protested, hadn't stopped him. He'd liked it.
"Okay, now I know something's wrong. I just called you a tosser and a bastard and you haven't said a word back."
"I'm sorry," Teddy whispered. "I should go." He took a step towards the door, but Cedric grabbed hold of his sleeve and tugged.
"Wait."
Teddy's underpants had fallen around his ankles, but he hadn't noticed, his mind occupied with other things, and he was jerked off balance when Cedric pulled him back. He stumbled in the dark, tripping over his pants, and reached out a hand to steady himself. He grabbed onto Cedric, but Cedric wasn't expecting it, and the two of them fell, crashing to the floor with a loud thud.
"Ow, fuck that hurt," Cedric groaned above him.
Teddy was gasping for breath. He'd fallen on his arse and was afraid he'd bruised his tailbone. His left elbow throbbed where he had knocked it on the floor, and his head hurt where it had cracked against the stone. "Shit. Sorry. Didn't mean," he panted.
Cedric rolled off him. "At least you're softer than the floor. I heard something crack. What'd you hit?"
He was breathing a little easier now. "Fuck. My head. My elbow. And if it's possible to break your arse, I think I've succeeded."
Cedric chuckled. "Hey, what happened to your voice?" he asked.
"What?" Teddy felt dizzy and he closed his eyes, breathing deeply.
"Never mind. Give me a second."
He felt Cedric moving beside him and heard a rustle of material.
"Lumos. Are you-what the fuck? Who the hell are you?"
Teddy opened his eyes and squinted in the sudden brightness. "What?"
"You're not Roger Davies," Cedric said, narrowing his eyes. "Who are you? You looked like him when we came in here. What are you playing at?"
Oh, shit! When had he reverted to his own appearance? He must have done it unconsciously. He didn't think he'd done it on purpose. Then again, perhaps he had.
"I'm sorry. I'm not. Playing. Well, okay, I suppose I was. I didn't mean to hurt you though."
"What's your name?"
He hesitated. "Teddy."
"Teddy what?"
"I-I can't tell you. I'm sorry."
"Why not? Afraid I'll tell the school about your forays in arse banditry?"
"Huh? No. I know you wouldn't. I trust you. I, just…it's complicated."
Cedric seemed to take that at face value for the moment. "So, Teddy-whose-last-name-is-complicated, how did you know. About me and Davies?"
"I didn't."
Cedric's eyebrows shot up. "So you were just hoping I'd be kind enough to give you a toss?"
"No! I mean…crap. My head is killing me."
"You cracked it pretty hard," he agreed, sitting back on his heels. "You don't look familiar. What house are you in?"
"Please don't ask me that."
"Your house is too personal a question, too?"
"Yes. No. I mean… Look, Cedric, I don't want to lie to you."
"You think Polyjuicing yourself to look like Davies isn't lying?"
"It's not Polyjuice."
"Oh, really? Well the way I see it, there are only two ways you could have impersonated him. One is Polyjuice, and the other is if you were a Met-"
"-Metamorphmagus, yes. Can you give me a hand? I need to sit up." His arse was sore, but the pain was receding. His elbow still hurt, but not as badly as his head. He drew up his legs, leaned over and put his head between his knees, and concentrated on his breathing.
"So you're a Metamorphmagus," Cedric said, sceptical.
"Yes."
"Like Dora Tonks is."
"You knew my m-" Teddy raised his head sharply and groaned, a wave of nausea sweeping over him. "Aaah, crap." He grabbed his head and pressed his forehead against his knees.
"Look, whoever you are, you're not well. I should get you to the hospital wing."
"I can't," Teddy said. "Please. I just need a few minutes." He felt Cedric's fingers gently probing the back of his head. "Aah," he exclaimed as Cedric found a tender spot.
"No blood. That's good, I suppose. Hang on."
His fingers were gone and Teddy heard him muttering. There was a sound like water pouring, and then Cedric was thrusting something into his hand.
"Here. Drink it slowly."
Teddy tried to smile, though he was sure it was closer to a grimace. "Thank you," he whispered, sipping gratefully.
"Are you really a Metamorphmagus?"
He was about to nod, then thought better of it. "Yes. I really am." As an afterthought, he turned his hair bright blue.
Cedric grinned. "That's pretty cool."
"It has its advantages," Teddy said and smiled, the blue fading back into brown. He sipped at the water and regarded Cedric. "I am sorry I lied to you. By pretending to be Roger."
Cedric shrugged. "No harm done, really. Besides, you seem decent enough. Not a conceited bastard at any rate."
"If you don't like him - Davies, I mean - then why…?"
"Why the messing about? Dunno. Well, it started because of a bet. Quidditch. I lost," Cedric said, looking a bit sheepish. "I'm usually a pretty fair sport, but losing to him just…"
"I know exactly what you mean. In fact- Damn!" Teddy realised that he had missed the Slytherin match. He'd been so caught up in everything happening here, he'd completely forgot about Quidditch. Some captain he was. They'd been in the running for the Cup this year, too. Crap.
"What's wrong?"
Teddy sighed. "Nothing. I just remembered. Quidditch. I missed a match, no big deal."
"You play?"
"Yeah"
"Here?"
Teddy hesitated. "For my school," he said carefully. He could see Cedric wanted to ask him which school, but instead he asked:
"What position?"
"Seeker. I'm captain."
"Yeah?" Cedric said, grinning. "Me, too. Seeker. And captain."
"I know," Teddy said.
Cedric looked at him and narrowed his eyes. "You seem to know an awful lot about me. How old are you?"
"Seventeen," Teddy replied. "Eighteen soon." He took another sip of water.
"And you don't go to Hogwarts."
Teddy choked, and Cedric helpfully pounded him on the back.
"I see."
"Please," Teddy rasped, wiping his chin. "It's not that I don't want to tell you, I can't."
"It's complicated," Cedric said.
"You've no idea."
They sat in a strangely companionable silence, though Teddy's mind was racing. It was even harder than he'd imagined. He wanted to tell him everything, but his head still hurt and it was impeding his ability to think straight. He needed a headache potion and some sleep, but he couldn't go to the infirmary for the former, and he couldn't show Cedric the Room of Requirement.
As if he could hear his thoughts, Cedric asked, "Where are you sleeping then? I mean, if you're not in a house, and you're not a teacher. Are you staying in the castle?"
Teddy sighed. "I have a place to sleep. But nobody other than you knows I'm here. Cedric," Teddy said, pleading, "please don't tell anyone about me. It's really important."
Cedric raised his eyebrows. "Professor Dumbledore doesn't know you're here?"
Teddy's eyes widened. "Merlin, no! I hope not."
"So, you're hiding in our school and I'm the only one who knows you're here. There's an escaped convict on the loose, allegedly trying to kill Harry Potter, there are Dementors guarding the school against intrusion, and I'm supposed to trust that you're not here for some…some nefarious purpose? How do I know you're not Sirius Black yourself? Or someone who's trying to help him?"
Teddy sighed. "I'm not Sirius Black."
"Can you prove that?"
"Yes. But I'd rather not."
"Look, Teddy, if that's your real name-"
"It is."
"Fine, I'll believe you on that front. Why should I trust you? Just because you seem like a nice bloke? I don't know who you are, you won't answer my questions, and when you do, you say some things that sound a bit dodgy. Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn't haul you off to the Headmaster's office?"
"I can give you several, but you won't believe me."
Cedric grunted. "Okay, then let me put it this way. If you were me, what would you do?"
"Probably the same as you," Teddy admitted and sighed. He had to make a choice: continue his current evasiveness, or take Cedric into his confidence and hope he could trust him. He wondered, idly, how many impossible things Cedric was willing to believe before breakfast.
He swirled the water around in his cup. "What if I said that I was from the future?"
"I'd say you were off your rocker."
"I was afraid of that."
"You're not serious," Cedric spluttered. "Have you got a time-turner hidden under your robes?"
"They wouldn't go this far back. Besides, there are no more time-turners, or so the Ministry claims. They were all smashed in an accident in the Department of Mysteries years- Oh," he said. "I guess that hasn't happened yet."
"I'm supposed to believe that," Cedric said sceptically.
Teddy shrugged.
"You could make up stories all night, but there's no way to prove any of them."
"You said you knew Nymphadora Tonks," Teddy said.
"She left school after my second year," Cedric said, eyes narrowing. "Are you going to tell me she's your mother? Lots of people know she's a Metamorphmagus. That still doesn't prove anything."
"True." Teddy sighed and reached for his pocket. "Oh, stop that, I'm not going for my wand," he said when Cedric started and pointed his wand threateningly, and slowly pulled the Marauder's Map from his pocket. He did have proof, in his bag back in the Room. He'd have to take Cedric, otherwise they would be here all night and then some.
"What's that?" Cedric asked, pointing at the map.
"A family heirloom," he replied. "Listen, Cedric. We…well, we know each other where-when-I come from. I know you well enough to know you can keep a secret. What I need to know is whether you will."
"I can't promise you that until I know more. You haven't been very convincing."
"I don't exactly carry around identification, and I wouldn't, even if I had any. It would only get me into more trouble. This," he said, pointing to the map, "it isn't exactly proof either, but I can take you to it, if you're willing to trust me that far."
"As long as you keep your wand in your pocket, I'll come along."
"I need my wand to activate this," Teddy said, shaking the map.
"Nuh uh."
Teddy huffed. "Fine, you'll have to do it."
"That depends on what it is."
"You're not going to make this easy, are you?" When Cedric didn't reply, he sighed loudly and held out the map. "You have to touch your wand to the parchment and say, 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.'"
Cedric tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. "If this thing explodes, it'll take you with me."
"Just do it."
Cedric repeated the password, and when Teddy nodded, he touched his wand to the parchment and spoke it again. Immediately, the lines of the map began to sprout and expand like a rolling wave. Cedric stared at the parchment in awe and grinned, delighted. "It's a map!"
He looked so eager that Teddy grinned despite himself and relinquished the map. Cedric unfolded it and spread it out on the floor before them. "I need more light." He looked over his shoulder and pointed his wand at a spot on the wall. A torch flared to life, casting a warm glow in the small room.
Teddy winced at the brightness; his head was still paining him, though the initial nausea had thankfully receded.
"This is amazing," Cedric said. "Where did you get it?"
"My godfather gave it to me two, er, when I was fifteen."
Cedric couldn't tear his eyes from the map. "Does this mean you went to school here, too?"
"Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus," Teddy whispered softly.
Cedric glanced up sharply. "Which house?"
"Same as you," Teddy said.
"You know Professor Sprout then."
"Yes, but she retired a year before I started."
"Then how do you know her?"
"My godfather used to take me here to visit, when I was little. I remember Professor Sprout showed me the Whomping Willow," he said, shrugging. "I've always had a fascination with that tree. Professor Longbottom took over teaching Herbology after she left, but don't tell him that. He's only a third year right now."
"I don't know him to tell." Cedric looked back down at the map. "It shows all the people. This is incredible. Even the ghosts! Look, there's Peeves," he said, pointing at the Trophy Room, thankfully a long way away from where they were presently.
"And here's us," Cedric said. "Teddy Lupin. That your real name?"
"The Marauder's Map never lies."
Cedric cocked his eyebrow. "Related to Professor Lupin?"
"He's my father," Teddy said softly. "That's where I was, before I ran into you. It's why I was pretending to be Roger. I wanted to see him, in person, and I couldn't very well go as myself. Next time you see Roger, you might want to suggest he do his dark creature essay on werewolves, because that's what we were discussing," he added lightly.
Cedric was watching him warily. "If I see him. Though I don't think it'll be as frequently as before. He really is a prick."
"I don't know him, so I couldn't say. He does seem to bring out the worst in you."
"Oh? How's that."
"When you thought I was him, your language, hell, your entire demeanour was pretty hostile."
"How do you know I'm not like that all the time?" Cedric asked.
Teddy rolled his eyes. "Ow. Shit." He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.
"And you're talking to me about my language?" Cedric teased. "But yeah. You're right. Lucky guess."
Teddy opened his eyes. "Not luck so much. I told you - I know you."
Cedric turned his attention back to the map. "So where are we going?"
"Here," Teddy pointed, "though it's not on the map. The Room of Requirement."
"Never heard of it."
"I think you'll like it. It's a pretty special place. Very handy in times of need." He glanced briefly at the map to make sure the way was clear, and tried to stand.
"You might want to fix those first," Cedric said, pointing at Teddy's pants, still wrapped around one ankle.
Teddy blushed. "Prat," he said, and reached down, removing his pants and stuffing them into his pocket. When he got to his feet, a wave of dizziness made him stumble, and he dropped the empty cup. Cedric grabbed him and steadied him as he swayed.
"Easy," Cedric said, putting his arm around Teddy's shoulder.
"Thank you," Teddy replied, leaning gratefully against Cedric and taking long, deep breaths. He knew that Cedric was starting to believe him, although he hadn't quite said so. He might not even have to show him his Advanced Transfiguration textbook, published in 2014.
"Can you walk?" Cedric asked.
"I'll manage," Teddy said. "But you'd better hold the map."
Cedric grinned, and as they left the cupboard, he extinguished the torch, whispered Nox at his wand, and slipped it back into his pocket.
Teddy smiled at the gesture of trust. His head still ached, and he was a bit stiff walking - he'd be sleeping on his belly for the next few nights for sure - but the sense of relief he felt at that moment made up for everything.
"C'mon," Cedric said, tugging at Teddy's sleeve, his eagerness palpable as he held the map in front of him, leading the way to the seventh floor corridor.
Teddy grinned wider and followed.
Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Teddy/Cedric (Cedric/Roger Davies, reference to Cedric/Cho)
Summary: Muggles have an old saying: "Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it." Teddy never quite grasped the meaning, until he made a wish of his own.
Chapter 3: ambitions like ribbons
"Faster," Cedric said, panting as sweat streamed down his face, and he groaned, pressing his lips together to muffle the sound. Roger had him pinned up against the wall, pressing his shoulder almost painfully against Cedric's collarbone.
Roger chuckled and tightened his grip, continuing the slow pace up and down Cedric's cock. "M'not ready yet. You're being greedy today."
Cedric narrowed his eyes, then grinned. He grabbed Roger's arse with his right hand and pinched, and Roger yelped, letting go.
"Don't touch my arse, you bloody poof."
Cedric rolled his eyes. Right, because holding another bloke's cock in your hand and jerking him off didn't make you a shirt-lifter. He twisted his body and slammed Roger up against the back wall of the cupboard, and leaned in close. He could feel Roger's breath on his chin, but it was too dark to see anything. A mop fell over and smacked him in the head, and he impatiently brushed it away, wincing as it clattered loudly to the floor.
"Right," Cedric said, once the noise died away, "where were we? Oh yeah, you were jerking me off."
"Idiot!" Roger spluttered. "Someone'll hear!"
"Shush. How many times have we done this now? Nobody's gonna hear," Cedric said, bracing himself against the wall with his left hand, and reaching under Roger's robes with his right. He grinned when Roger groaned and a hand fumbled to grab at his still-hard cock. "That's a good boy, Davies," he murmured. "Was beginning to think you'd forgotten how."
"Fuck you," Roger gasped.
"Some other time," Cedric replied, speeding up his strokes as Roger thrust into his hand. "Now who's a greedy bastard?"
"Bloody…poof," Roger said, panting heavily in the darkness, but sped up the pace of his own stroking to match Cedric's. "Fuck, gonna come, gonna…"
"Faster," Cedric said again, thrusting his own hips, his hand jerking roughly at Roger's cock, and turned his head to the side, biting his upper arm and closing his eyes, his face scrunched with tension, pulse roaring in his ears. "Aaah!" he cried out, unable to keep his head from falling back as he came. His sticky hand told him Roger had finished as well, and he released him, turning away and slumping against the wall beside him.
He heard a rustling of cloth and felt Roger's arm brushing against his.
"Lumos. Merlin's balls, Diggory. Your aim is still crap. Scourgify."
Cedric blinked in the sudden light and turned his head away, still feeling the euphoria of orgasm and not ready to move just yet. Three months on, and Davies was still a cunt. Wanking's supposed to be messy, you arse. He kept his tongue, however, and concentrated on relaxing his breathing.
Roger straightened his robes, his wand still lighting the small broom cupboard. "You coming?"
"I just did," Cedric said, smirking.
Roger snorted. "Tosser."
Cedric raised his eyebrows. "What is it with you Ravenclaws? No sense of humour. Besides, you started it."
"I started it? The bet was your idea, Diggory, and need I remind you, you lost."
"That was months ago, last term, and it was meant as a one time thing. How many times has it been since? Five? Six?" Actually, this was the eighth time, altogether. Not that he was keeping track or anything. "And I meant today. You were the one who came up to me. 'Oi, Diggory, I need a word!'" he said, imitating Roger's clipped tone. "You needed more than a word, eh?"
"Fuck off." Roger looked at his feet and shuffled a bit, kicking the felled mop against the shelves along the side wall. "Probably best if we leave separately, anyway. I'll see you around."
Cedric nodded and slid the rest of the way down the wall as Roger left, taking the light with him. The reek of sex was pungent in the dark, musty smelling cupboard, and he leaned back against the wall, pulling his knees up toward his chest, resting his arms and his head against them.
The bet.
The bet he had meant in jest, initially, but his pride wouldn't allow him to retract in the face of Davies' mockery. He'd certainly had a sense of humour then.
"Loser sucks the winner off? Do I look like a bloody poof?"
Cedric had cringed inwardly, but his face showed as much teasing scorn as he could muster. "No, you look like a twat. Scared you'll lose? I didn't know you were such a bloody coward, Davies. Imagine that," he'd said, lifting his chin defiantly, "a chicken afraid of a cock."
Davies had been incredulous, and Cedric had to admit to himself that he'd been far too cheeky about the whole thing. Pride is a fucking bastard. They'd gone back and forth with the insults and finally settled on a wank, which was a bit less ostentatious than a blow job. And good thing, too, seeing as Ravenclaw had completely flattened Hufflepuff, and he hadn't really relished the idea of Davies' cock anywhere near his mouth to begin with. He was convinced that the things men did in the name of arrogance would someday be the downfall of his entire gender.
Cedric had taken a nasty Bludger to the back, which allowed Cho to grab the Snitch from right under his nose. She'd been gracious and almost apologetic about it, and he was fairly sure she'd been flirting with him besides, but she'd been sweet nonetheless. Davies had crowed like the cock that he was, the cock that Cedric was about to become intimately familiar with.
He shook his head, smiling sardonically in the dark at the memory, as he took his wand from his pocket and cleaned himself off. The cupboard still smelled of sex.
Davies was a bit of a prick, completely full of himself, and he preened when the girls made cow eyes at him. He could pull practically anyone he wanted, whenever he wanted, but he hadn't pulled in months now. Not since Gilly had dumped him, humiliated him rather spectacularly, in front of half the school in the Three Broomsticks on Halloween. Well, he's pulled me. Or my cock, anyway, he thought, chuckling ruefully.
He had no idea why he continued this…charade. And it was a charade. He wasn't attracted to Davies, though he conceded that he was quite fit. And these encounters were far from romantic. It was all about ego, something they both had in spades, although Cedric liked to think that he was extremely humble in comparison. He knew he was competitive, and he was honest enough with himself to admit that he was good looking and intelligent, and a damn fine Quidditch player, and he could pull just as well as Davies could-if he wanted to. But he still wasn't a conceited prick like Davies.
He liked girls, their soft breasts and delicate fingers, the sweet scent of their hair as they brushed past him in the halls. He'd dated Evangeline last year, and he took Reyna to Hogsmeade last Halloween-where they'd witnessed Gilly's tirade-but neither of the girls had been willing to explore the more physical side of the relationship, not the way he wanted, and Cedric was too much of a gentleman to take what wasn't offered. Snogging was expected, of course, and Angie had let him feel her up a couple of times, but she balked at the idea of touching him in return. Not where it counted. What was it about birds, anyway?
The rough physicality of these encounters with Davies had surprised him, and excited him. Wanking was fantastic: he loved how his own cock felt in his hand, and he did it often, but this…. There was a power in it, an element of recklessness that was completely different from his slow, hesitant encounters with girls, and also different from his own solo explorations.
Having another bloke's hand-large like his own, and rough, callused and strong-touching him was arousing beyond anything he'd experienced before. It had frightened him at first, and it still did. Lately he found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss a bloke, but he wasn't ready to try, and he certainly didn't want to try with Davies. Davies would knock out his teeth if he tried, anyway, and the thought of spending a night in the infirmary growing them back was even a less pleasant thought.
He still liked girls, though. Maybe it was an adolescent thing, to do with hormones. He wasn't worried. Not much, anyway, though he wasn't about to discuss it with any of his friends. Some things should remain private, and as outgoing as he was, he was still discreet. Davies could call him all the names he wanted; he didn't care a fig what a prick like him thought. They got off with each other occasionally and nothing more.
He got to his feet, tucked himself back into his pants, and stowed his wand back in his pocket. It was getting late and he was hungry. He pressed the button on his watch and '4:46' glowed in the air. Dinner was still nearly an hour away. Maybe a side trip to the kitchens was in order. He picked up his book bag from the floor next to the door and tripped over the mop head, stumbling out into the corridor.
He caught his balance and pulled the door closed behind him, tugging on his robes which had snagged in the elastic of his pants, and adjusted himself. He turned around to leave and started back in surprise at a tall, blond-haired student who was standing in the middle of the hall only a few feet away, holding a piece of parchment.
He blushed and raised his chin in a gesture of defiance. "Sorry, didn't see you there."
The boy didn't say anything, just stared at him, mouth slightly agape.
"Right then, I'm late," Cedric said, frowning. He didn't know this boy, couldn't remember ever having seen him before, but there was something familiar about him. Maybe it was the eyes. He looked for a house badge on his robes, but the parchment obscured his view. The boy was still staring at him, however, and it was starting to make him feel self-conscious. He inhaled through his nose and grinned, turning up the charm that served him well in times of unease.
"See ya," he said, and brushed past him, their shoulders touching for the briefest of moments. He could feel the boy's gaze following him as he walked away, but resisted the urge to turn around. His stomach rumbled, distracting him, and his thoughts turned to more important things, like Yorkshire pudding with beef gravy.
**
Teddy continued to stare long after Cedric had gone. He'd seen him on the map, and before he'd realised what he was doing, he was standing outside the cupboard. He desperately wanted to talk to Cedric, although he had no idea what he would say. Cedric, the real corporeal Cedric, didn't know him. No matter which face he put on, Cedric still wouldn't know him. Couldn't possibly know him. It was stupid, he knew that, and he winced at his own foolishness.
"Bugger," he muttered, and leaned up against the wall. The nearby portraits glanced at him at first, but they quickly returned to their own business. A student was a student, and even in his own time, most of them wouldn't notice an extra one. Or twenty.
He'd changed his face so often these last weeks, if anyone had been observing, they'd realise that something was awry with the budding student population. He wondered if he should try another tactic. The influx of never-before-seen students who never attend classes might start to arouse suspicion, if it hadn't already, though he did make a point of avoiding teachers as often as possible, and he looked down so often, he'd developed a persistent crick in his neck and become fairly intimate with his shoes. Hiding from Professor Dumbledore had become quite the game, made more difficult by the entrance to his office, so close to the Room of Requirement, but so far, he seemed to be winning.
He watched the map, and saw that Cedric had entered the kitchens. So he knew to tickle the pear as well. Harry had told him that secret his first year, and he wondered, idly, who had told Cedric. One thing he'd noticed during his time here was, despite the terrors looming without, there was a continuity to Hogwarts. Very little changed over the years. The password to the prefect's bath was the same; the chain on the toilet in the last stall of the boys' sixth floor bathroom still stuck when you pulled too hard, and you had to jiggle it to stop the water from running continuously; The portraits and tapestries, statues and suits of armour, with very few exceptions-Cedric's portrait being one he was sure of-were almost exactly as he remembered them, in the same places they occupied in his time, as they had for centuries.
There was much less inter-house mingling than he was used to in his own time, but that worked to his advantage. Most students who did notice him would simply presume he was in another house, and with the bland and unmemorable features he'd assumed with each new alteration to his appearance, he'd be quickly forgotten.
The teachers were different, and the faces of the students changed constantly, but the essence of the building and its atmosphere remained, solid and dependable, separated from the rest of the world, as if these walls kept their own time. It was a comfort to him, this place he knew and loved so well, and the familiarity kept him sane, gave him perspective. With the added benefit of the map and his Metamorphmagus abilities, it was also turning out to be a grand adventure, and he grinned, finding himself at peace for the first time in the month since he'd arrived.
He glanced down at the map and spotted the dot representing Mrs Norris, the creepy old caretaker's cat, and it was heading in his direction. He wasn't exactly out of bounds; it was hours until curfew, and he could easily pin his prefect badge to his robe and avoid trouble with that deception, but it was best to avoid being seen at all. He found a clear route and headed down towards the kitchens to wait. He'd hide in the alcove behind his old friend, Casimir the Boorish of Lickey End.
"…who met with a foul and sticky end…" he sang tunelessly, grinning as he ducked behind a tapestry, into a hidden passageway.
**
Teddy lay naked on his bed, staring up into the canopy, his hand rubbing lightly over his groin, idly toying with the beginnings of an erection. It was still early evening, but he didn't have anywhere to be, and nowhere to really go, besides. He could only spend so much time in the library and it was always a risk to wander the halls, map or no. And there were only so many times he could stare at the dots on the map marked 'Remus Lupin', 'Harry Potter', or 'Cedric Diggory'.
He'd considered going into Hogsmeade many times - he was sure the secret passageways out of the school could easily get him past the Dementors-but once he was there he had no place to go either. The three Knuts he'd had in his bag wouldn't buy him more than a sugar quill at Honeydukes and certainly wouldn't buy him a Butterbeer or a bottle of Ogden's Old. He thought about going just to get some fresh air, but he had no cloak, and the notion of freezing his bollocks off just to wander the streets was not appealing.
So it was either read and revise, play Exploding Snap by himself, or wank in the evenings, and wanking usually won out by default.
He thought about his friends and family back home, Simon and Gwen, Gordon, Fezzie, his Gran, Harry and the kids, and wondered if they missed him. If time was passing there at the same rate, then they would surely know that he'd vanished. He hadn't told anyone of his idea, so nobody even knew where to look. Right, as if they'd be able to guess what had happened even if they did know. He was sure they were worried, probably frantic by now, and he hated that he was putting them through such grief.
There wasn't anything to be done about it. He couldn't very well give Harry a letter that said "Do not open until February, 2016", though the notion did amuse him. He didn't even know if the Room would send him back. The thought that this was a one-way trip was always there in the back of his mind. The only way to know for sure would be to try to go home, and he simply wasn't ready to do that yet. He had something important he needed to do first. When he did get home, he was sure they'd forgive him, eventually.
He thought about his encounter with Cedric earlier. It had been strange, and oddly fascinating. He started cataloguing the personality differences he'd observed between the real Cedric and portrait Cedric to pass the time. Real Cedric smiled more, laughed and joked with his friends and exuded such confidence. Not that his portrait-self lacked these qualities completely, but the fact remained that it was only a replica, and a lonely one at that. Teddy felt a surge of sympathy with his portrait friend.
Here he was, surrounded by people; people he knew and loved, yet he was utterly alone.
No Simon to banter and compete with, nobody to have a drink with, revise with-hell, he had no classes to go to or homework to do in the first place, though he was making a slight effort at keeping up with his N.E.W.T studies-nobody who would touch him with any kind of affection. It was a grand adventure to be sure, but it was lonely as hell.
Oh. He was lonely, he realised as he continued to stroke himself, and that, he decided, was what made him seek out Cedric earlier. The camaraderie he had with Cedric's portrait was friendship of a sort, and seeing him today, the same brown hair and grey eyes, same smile, had simply triggered…what? It didn't matter. He was fine. He could deal with his temporary loneliness for a few more weeks. Cedric has his own friends, he didn't need another. Distance was necessary, kept temptation in abeyance. Cedric's fate was sealed long ago, written in the stars as the Centaurs would say, and he could do nothing.
He couldn't change the past, could not change it, it was wrong, it was dangerous, no matter how alive…that cocky grin when he winked at me, graceful fingers, blood-warm skin…
He came unexpectedly, and it left him bereft and even lonelier than before.
**
Remus stared at the parchment on his desk. He'd taken it from his drawer nearly every day since he'd confiscated it from Harry, but could not bring himself to utter the password that would unlock its secrets. It had taken all of his strength that day to keep his calm before Severus and Harry both. He'd recognised it immediately, of course. They'd spent countless hours creating it, pouring so much of their very selves into such a fragile piece of parchment, and he marvelled at its durability, nearly twenty years on.
It had been their masterpiece, the ultimate tool for the discerning mischief makers they had been, a work of sheer brilliance. Seeing it again, all these years later….
But how had Harry come to possess it? Filch had confiscated it two weeks before they'd left school-they'd been careless returning one night from an unauthorised post-N.E.W.T. jaunt into Hogsmeade, and their inebriated state had made it easy for the crotchety caretaker. They'd rudely laughed at him when he tried to give them detention and, red-faced and furious, Filch had made them turn out their pockets. Now as a fellow faculty member, he felt some remorse over the incident, but never enough to actually apologise for all the years of torment they'd caused him. Those were the happiest times of his life, and while he had many regrets, too numerous to count, he could not bring himself to feel remorse for any of those cherished memories.
The memories…. He'd finally reconciled them, or so he thought. Returning here, even as a favour to Dumbledore, was not something he'd wanted for himself. His memories of this place were thicker and more plentiful than cobwebs, and everywhere he turned, they assaulted him. Not a tender brush against his cheek, but a knife deep in his belly.
For years he'd bottled them up, kept them separate and safe, cherished them as part of a life that could have been, and in that way, he could live with them. The more we lie to ourselves, the easier they are to believe, after all. Coming back had nearly shattered his fragile glass bottle, and it had taken months for the dreams and nightmares to recede.
Until he'd laid eyes on the map.
The Marauder's Map had been the bursting of a dam and a thousand Reparos couldn't fix the damage left behind in its wake. The pain and grief of a thousand nightmares visited upon him daily, and not content to confine themselves to dreams, they flowed into every waking hour, mingling until everything he touched was tarnished. The thought of losing any more than he already had was more than he could bear, so he resorted once again to his game of self-subterfuge. It was so easy, so instinctive, that he hardly ever noticed anymore.
Above all, there was the very real possibility of seeing the little black dot bearing Sirius' name. It was one thing to see it in a dream, and he could lie and spout excuses until he died, but the reality had the potential to break him utterly.
He was a terrible coward, and his only saving grace was that he had the courage to admit that much.
He'd tried to hate Sirius, and for a while, after he lost James and Lily and Peter, he'd managed rather nicely. He'd been almost disappointed that Sirius had been whisked off to Azkaban so quickly; he'd wanted nothing more than to spit in his face. In the heat of his loathing, the lack of a trial due to all of the evidence had been a good thing as far as he was concerned. But then the heat of anger turned to despair in the face of everything he'd lost, and he'd lost everything that had ever mattered to him. In his weaker moments, he formulated excuses-Imperius or some other magical means of coercion, blackmail, mistaken identity.
His heart would never be able to fully believe that Sirius could betray James of all people. If a wizard's essence, his soul, were a visible construct, surely the threads that made up the core of both James and Sirius had somehow joined and twined. They were one being in two bodies.
And then he'd remember the photos of his arrest, Sirius laughing, haughtier than ever, and another part of him would die inside. His only solace in James' death was that James never had to live with the betrayal of his other self. No, Remus was the one to bear that burden alone, and the weight of it bowed him down, made him less than a man, a coward.
The cruelest burden, however, had been the knowledge that despite everything, he still loved Sirius. Sirius was a part of him, at times, one of the very best parts, and would remain so until he died. That was his deepest secret, the one that filled him with the most shame, the one that enabled and encouraged his cowardice.
Harry was so young. There was no possible way for him to understand the consequences, the unspeakable price of a Dementor's Kiss: the soul devoured with no hope of redemption. Sirius' fate. No matter what horrendous acts he had committed in life, Sirius, that brilliant and once-beautiful star, one of the cornerstones of Remus' youth, did not deserve eternal damnation.
He removed his wand from his pocket with a shaking hand, twirled it aimlessly between his fingers, still unwilling to touch it to the parchment. A knock on his office door startled him from his reverie, and he quickly shoved the map in his drawer before answering.
"Come in," he called, his voice still thick with grief and the pain of memory.
The door opened, and Roger Davies poked his head inside, tentative.
"I-I'm sorry, Professor," he said, his voice scratchy. "I can come back later if you're busy."
Remus sat up straight, forced a smile and beckoned. "No, that's fine. I could use the distraction, to be honest. How can I help you, Mr Davies?" The map could wait, and he supposed it might be for the best if it did.
**
Teddy strode into the room, trying to affect an air of confidence. His stomach felt a bit queasy, but he ignored it, taking a seat in one of the chairs before the desk. This was the hard part. It was one thing to imitate a person's appearance, but it was quite another to mimic a voice. The alterations he made were external in nature, not internal, and while he could change the size of his larynx, unlike Polyjuice, he could never make it exact. His solution was to feign illness with a well-timed sore throat.
"It's-" He made a show of trying to clear his throat. "Sorry, it's to do with that essay you set us. I have some questions."
"Nasty bug you've got. You should go see Madame Pomfrey when we're finished," Remus said, steepling his fingers on the desk. "For now, ask away."
"Thank you, sir. Er, well, I was thinking about writing my essay on the dangers to wizarding and Muggle society that certain creatures pose, and I was doing some research on werewolves in particular." Teddy fiddled with the collar of his robe. Why had he said werewolves? He'd been practicing a speech on Dementors and Lethifolds! Idiot!
Teddy looked up at his father, but Remus' face was perfectly composed, no noticeable tension anywhere in his expression or in his body language.
"And you needed to see me because…?"
"Oh, right, sorry, sir." Teddy blinked. What the hell was he going to say now? "I, er, well most books about them seem to take a, well, a hostile stance. How to spot them, how to kill them, stuff like that, but they all ignore something I read in another book that I thought was pretty important."
Remus raised his eyebrows and inclined his head. "Which is?"
"Well, a werewolf is only technically a werewolf one day a month, and not even the whole day, just when the moon's out."
"There are many who would disagree with that presumption, Mr Davies. The Ministry included."
"Well, that's just stupid, isn't it?"
Remus shrugged. "I don't know. Or, to be more precise, you'd have to define stupid, and apply it to the Ministry's motives and actions. Werewolves are in fact dangerous, Mr Davies, and I assure you that you would not want to stumble across one during a full moon." He absently tapped the tips of his fingers together.
"Well, yes, I know that. But what about the other days of the month? Fantastic Beasts is, at best, fairly neutral, though not very informative, but I came across one called 'Hairy Snout, Human Heart', which seems to contradict the other books, and even goes so far as to criticise the Ministry."
Teddy was watching Remus carefully, and he saw the twitch of lip, the hesitation of his fingers, when he mentioned 'Hairy Snout', gestures so minute, he'd have missed them completely if he hadn't been looking. He'd first read that book when he was six, and by the time he was sixteen, knew it almost by heart. After Harry had told him the story of how Sirius Black and James Potter had become Animagi for his father, he was convinced that not only was the book about his father, but that James and Sirius had written it.
Remus leaned back in his chair. "Ah, yes, the sympathetic werewolf. It's a moving story, I'll grant you, but is it true? Or, for purposes of research, is it fact?"
Ninety minutes later, Teddy left his father's office with mixed feelings. It had been harder than he'd thought to keep up the charade, and there were several times where he'd nearly blurted out the truth. For the entirety of their discussion, which had actually become heated at several points on his part, his father had remained neutral and had drawn the conversation in such a way that Teddy was forced to argue from both sides. Teddy marvelled at the strength and courage it must have taken to do so, to sit there so calmly and rationally.
There was one exception, when Teddy had brought up the topic of werewolves having children. For the first time in their conversation, his father had looked troubled, and while he didn't come out and say it, it was evident that he was opposed to it. Obviously he had changed his mind in the intervening years, but it was still disconcerting.
Perhaps he had been an accident, but his parents had been married before he was conceived, hadn't they? And Harry had told him many times that his father loved his mother. It was a subject he didn't really want to think about, so he turned his thoughts to what would happen when the real Roger Davies turned in his essay after the Easter holidays on a completely different topic. It didn't matter, he'd be gone before then. His reason for coming was to meet his father, and he'd finally done that, though he wished it could have been under different circumstances. Staying here much longer was dangerous, and he knew he had to go home soon.
Lost in thought, he turned the corner and slammed into someone. The collision made him lose his balance, and he fell flat on his arse.
Chapter 4: reasons for defying reason
"Merlin's balls, Davies, don't you look where you're going?"
Cedric Diggory was rising to his feet slowly, brushing off his robes. He looked down at Teddy, who hadn't moved at all, huffed in exasperation and reached out a hand to help him up.
Teddy stared at Cedric's hand for a long moment before clasping it, and got to his feet. He ignored his aching backside. The only thought in his mind was that he was touching Cedric, and he was indeed real, flesh and blood and bone, and warm, very warm. His own hands were cold.
Cedric cleared his throat, and he realised he was standing there, still holding Cedric's hand. He dropped it almost too quickly and started to stutter an apology, but Cedric gave him a long look.
"Oh. Like that, eh? Well, come on then," he said, leading toward a narrow stair. "But away from here. Besides, Prefects can be a little late for curfew."
Teddy followed, puzzled but intrigued. He had no idea where Cedric was leading him, but it didn't matter. They went up three flights of stairs, walked silently down two corridors, ducked behind a tapestry, descended another narrow stair, and ended up in an old, dusty, dimly lit corridor on the opposite side of the school from where they had begun.
"Are we up to no good?" Teddy asked, grinning.
Cedric snorted. "Funny, Davies. Don't know about you, but I'm always good. What's wrong with your voice?"
"Oh, sorry. Dunno, just went hoarse. I don't feel sick or anything. So what's with all the subterfuge?"
"You’re asking me?" Cedric replied. "You're the one with the paranoia issues."
"I am? Oh," Teddy amended quickly as Cedric rolled his eyes. "Guess I am." Play along, he told himself. Follow Cedric's lead. Stop asking stupid questions. And for Merlin's sake, stop staring.
Cedric stopped before a door, glanced around to confirm they were alone, and then opened it. "After you."
Teddy nodded and stepped into the room, which turned out to be another broom cupboard. Apparently Cedric had a secret fascination with broom cupboards. His thoughts went no further as the door closed, plunging them into darkness, and then Cedric was on him, pressing him up against the stone wall. Without so much as a by-your-leave, he rucked up the front of Teddy's robes and thrust his hand inside his pants.
Cedric snorted. "Bloody hell, Davies. Little Rogie's not even the slightest bit happy to see me? You always were a lazy sod."
Teddy stood paralysed, his jaw gaping in surprise, and he had no idea what to do or say. Cedric had wrapped his fingers around his flaccid cock, jerking it roughly, and within a few seconds, it wasn't quite so flaccid anymore.
"Ah, that's better." Cedric pushed the elastic of Teddy's underpants down around his knees, and gentled his hand a bit, not as rough but still stroking firmly. Teddy remained still, not speaking, though an occasional gasp made it past his lips. He couldn't help it - Cedric's hand felt brilliant.
"Docile tonight, aren’t you?"
Not knowing what to say, he said nothing. He wasn't even sure what he was expected to do. Well, he knew that. He and Simon had, a few times…well, they'd been bored - curious the first time, drunk the others - and it hadn't meant anything, just friends fucking around for a bit of a laugh. But Cedric wasn't Simon, and he wasn't Roger. He'd seen Roger Davies and Cedric together a few times - in person and on the map - but hadn't thought much of it. Now he realised, well, it was glaringly obvious that they were…together. A twinge of envy shot through his limbs and pooled in his stomach.
Cedric sighed, clearly exasperated, stilling his hand but not releasing Teddy's cock from his grasp. Teddy could feel his breath on his face. "What's with you tonight? Do you need a bloody invitation?"
Teddy bit his lip. Should he continue the charade? Run away? Confess? He had only a few seconds to make a decision. He reached for Cedric, blindly grasping, pulled him close and crushed their lips together.
Cedric stiffened but opened his mouth, and Teddy gently slipped his tongue inside, hoping he was doing it right. He knew well enough how to snog, but everyone had a different technique, Simon being an excellent example of that, and he had no idea how Roger did it. On top of that, he'd never snogged a bloke before. Well, not sober.
It was at least a minute before he realized that Cedric wasn't kissing him back. He started to pull away, but then Cedric grabbed him by the front of his robes, pushed him roughly against the wall, and plunged his tongue into Teddy's mouth.
It was wet and messy and Cedric was anything but gentle, but it still felt good, different. He reached his arms around Cedric's hips and pulled him closer, hands resting gently against Cedric's arse.
Apparently that was the wrong thing to do because a moment later, Cedric had put his hands on Teddy's chest and pushed himself away, spluttering.
"What-what the fuck are we doing?"
Bugger. "Um, I…was I doing it wrong?" he asked, panicking and getting ready to bolt for the door.
Cedric said nothing, but Teddy could hear him breathing heavily.
"Cedric?" he asked tentatively.
"What did you just say?"
"I asked if I did it wrong. I'm, er, well, I'm not really feeling myself tonight, so maybe I should-"
"You called me by my first name, you kissed me, and you touched my arse. I'd say so."
"Oh." Shit, he'd really fucked up.
"Listen, Davies. Um, Roger. I didn't think…. Look, you're an okay bloke and all…well, sometimes. Fine, you're a bloody huge tosser, but the wanking was fun. You're such a bastard at times that, well, I really didn't think you'd ever want to snog. You get tetchy when I accidentally breathe too close to your ear."
Teddy felt sick. He'd misread the situation completely. What was he thinking impersonating an actual student? He had no idea who this Roger Davies really was. He could have chosen any student to impersonate, what had made him choose Davies?
Because he was a friend of Cedric's, a nasty little voice whispered inside his head. He was about to argue with himself when he realised it had been the truth.
He'd wanted an opportunity to meet up with Cedric, to talk to him, maybe even be alone with him, though he didn't think he'd had this kind of activity in mind. Davies seemed the safest choice since they were in different houses. He chose to follow Cedric to this place. It had been his choice to kiss him, never mind that Cedric had been jerking him off at the time - he hadn’t protested, hadn't stopped him. He'd liked it.
"Okay, now I know something's wrong. I just called you a tosser and a bastard and you haven't said a word back."
"I'm sorry," Teddy whispered. "I should go." He took a step towards the door, but Cedric grabbed hold of his sleeve and tugged.
"Wait."
Teddy's underpants had fallen around his ankles, but he hadn't noticed, his mind occupied with other things, and he was jerked off balance when Cedric pulled him back. He stumbled in the dark, tripping over his pants, and reached out a hand to steady himself. He grabbed onto Cedric, but Cedric wasn't expecting it, and the two of them fell, crashing to the floor with a loud thud.
"Ow, fuck that hurt," Cedric groaned above him.
Teddy was gasping for breath. He'd fallen on his arse and was afraid he'd bruised his tailbone. His left elbow throbbed where he had knocked it on the floor, and his head hurt where it had cracked against the stone. "Shit. Sorry. Didn't mean," he panted.
Cedric rolled off him. "At least you're softer than the floor. I heard something crack. What'd you hit?"
He was breathing a little easier now. "Fuck. My head. My elbow. And if it's possible to break your arse, I think I've succeeded."
Cedric chuckled. "Hey, what happened to your voice?" he asked.
"What?" Teddy felt dizzy and he closed his eyes, breathing deeply.
"Never mind. Give me a second."
He felt Cedric moving beside him and heard a rustle of material.
"Lumos. Are you-what the fuck? Who the hell are you?"
Teddy opened his eyes and squinted in the sudden brightness. "What?"
"You're not Roger Davies," Cedric said, narrowing his eyes. "Who are you? You looked like him when we came in here. What are you playing at?"
Oh, shit! When had he reverted to his own appearance? He must have done it unconsciously. He didn't think he'd done it on purpose. Then again, perhaps he had.
"I'm sorry. I'm not. Playing. Well, okay, I suppose I was. I didn't mean to hurt you though."
"What's your name?"
He hesitated. "Teddy."
"Teddy what?"
"I-I can't tell you. I'm sorry."
"Why not? Afraid I'll tell the school about your forays in arse banditry?"
"Huh? No. I know you wouldn't. I trust you. I, just…it's complicated."
Cedric seemed to take that at face value for the moment. "So, Teddy-whose-last-name-is-complicated, how did you know. About me and Davies?"
"I didn't."
Cedric's eyebrows shot up. "So you were just hoping I'd be kind enough to give you a toss?"
"No! I mean…crap. My head is killing me."
"You cracked it pretty hard," he agreed, sitting back on his heels. "You don't look familiar. What house are you in?"
"Please don't ask me that."
"Your house is too personal a question, too?"
"Yes. No. I mean… Look, Cedric, I don't want to lie to you."
"You think Polyjuicing yourself to look like Davies isn't lying?"
"It's not Polyjuice."
"Oh, really? Well the way I see it, there are only two ways you could have impersonated him. One is Polyjuice, and the other is if you were a Met-"
"-Metamorphmagus, yes. Can you give me a hand? I need to sit up." His arse was sore, but the pain was receding. His elbow still hurt, but not as badly as his head. He drew up his legs, leaned over and put his head between his knees, and concentrated on his breathing.
"So you're a Metamorphmagus," Cedric said, sceptical.
"Yes."
"Like Dora Tonks is."
"You knew my m-" Teddy raised his head sharply and groaned, a wave of nausea sweeping over him. "Aaah, crap." He grabbed his head and pressed his forehead against his knees.
"Look, whoever you are, you're not well. I should get you to the hospital wing."
"I can't," Teddy said. "Please. I just need a few minutes." He felt Cedric's fingers gently probing the back of his head. "Aah," he exclaimed as Cedric found a tender spot.
"No blood. That's good, I suppose. Hang on."
His fingers were gone and Teddy heard him muttering. There was a sound like water pouring, and then Cedric was thrusting something into his hand.
"Here. Drink it slowly."
Teddy tried to smile, though he was sure it was closer to a grimace. "Thank you," he whispered, sipping gratefully.
"Are you really a Metamorphmagus?"
He was about to nod, then thought better of it. "Yes. I really am." As an afterthought, he turned his hair bright blue.
Cedric grinned. "That's pretty cool."
"It has its advantages," Teddy said and smiled, the blue fading back into brown. He sipped at the water and regarded Cedric. "I am sorry I lied to you. By pretending to be Roger."
Cedric shrugged. "No harm done, really. Besides, you seem decent enough. Not a conceited bastard at any rate."
"If you don't like him - Davies, I mean - then why…?"
"Why the messing about? Dunno. Well, it started because of a bet. Quidditch. I lost," Cedric said, looking a bit sheepish. "I'm usually a pretty fair sport, but losing to him just…"
"I know exactly what you mean. In fact- Damn!" Teddy realised that he had missed the Slytherin match. He'd been so caught up in everything happening here, he'd completely forgot about Quidditch. Some captain he was. They'd been in the running for the Cup this year, too. Crap.
"What's wrong?"
Teddy sighed. "Nothing. I just remembered. Quidditch. I missed a match, no big deal."
"You play?"
"Yeah"
"Here?"
Teddy hesitated. "For my school," he said carefully. He could see Cedric wanted to ask him which school, but instead he asked:
"What position?"
"Seeker. I'm captain."
"Yeah?" Cedric said, grinning. "Me, too. Seeker. And captain."
"I know," Teddy said.
Cedric looked at him and narrowed his eyes. "You seem to know an awful lot about me. How old are you?"
"Seventeen," Teddy replied. "Eighteen soon." He took another sip of water.
"And you don't go to Hogwarts."
Teddy choked, and Cedric helpfully pounded him on the back.
"I see."
"Please," Teddy rasped, wiping his chin. "It's not that I don't want to tell you, I can't."
"It's complicated," Cedric said.
"You've no idea."
They sat in a strangely companionable silence, though Teddy's mind was racing. It was even harder than he'd imagined. He wanted to tell him everything, but his head still hurt and it was impeding his ability to think straight. He needed a headache potion and some sleep, but he couldn't go to the infirmary for the former, and he couldn't show Cedric the Room of Requirement.
As if he could hear his thoughts, Cedric asked, "Where are you sleeping then? I mean, if you're not in a house, and you're not a teacher. Are you staying in the castle?"
Teddy sighed. "I have a place to sleep. But nobody other than you knows I'm here. Cedric," Teddy said, pleading, "please don't tell anyone about me. It's really important."
Cedric raised his eyebrows. "Professor Dumbledore doesn't know you're here?"
Teddy's eyes widened. "Merlin, no! I hope not."
"So, you're hiding in our school and I'm the only one who knows you're here. There's an escaped convict on the loose, allegedly trying to kill Harry Potter, there are Dementors guarding the school against intrusion, and I'm supposed to trust that you're not here for some…some nefarious purpose? How do I know you're not Sirius Black yourself? Or someone who's trying to help him?"
Teddy sighed. "I'm not Sirius Black."
"Can you prove that?"
"Yes. But I'd rather not."
"Look, Teddy, if that's your real name-"
"It is."
"Fine, I'll believe you on that front. Why should I trust you? Just because you seem like a nice bloke? I don't know who you are, you won't answer my questions, and when you do, you say some things that sound a bit dodgy. Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn't haul you off to the Headmaster's office?"
"I can give you several, but you won't believe me."
Cedric grunted. "Okay, then let me put it this way. If you were me, what would you do?"
"Probably the same as you," Teddy admitted and sighed. He had to make a choice: continue his current evasiveness, or take Cedric into his confidence and hope he could trust him. He wondered, idly, how many impossible things Cedric was willing to believe before breakfast.
He swirled the water around in his cup. "What if I said that I was from the future?"
"I'd say you were off your rocker."
"I was afraid of that."
"You're not serious," Cedric spluttered. "Have you got a time-turner hidden under your robes?"
"They wouldn't go this far back. Besides, there are no more time-turners, or so the Ministry claims. They were all smashed in an accident in the Department of Mysteries years- Oh," he said. "I guess that hasn't happened yet."
"I'm supposed to believe that," Cedric said sceptically.
Teddy shrugged.
"You could make up stories all night, but there's no way to prove any of them."
"You said you knew Nymphadora Tonks," Teddy said.
"She left school after my second year," Cedric said, eyes narrowing. "Are you going to tell me she's your mother? Lots of people know she's a Metamorphmagus. That still doesn't prove anything."
"True." Teddy sighed and reached for his pocket. "Oh, stop that, I'm not going for my wand," he said when Cedric started and pointed his wand threateningly, and slowly pulled the Marauder's Map from his pocket. He did have proof, in his bag back in the Room. He'd have to take Cedric, otherwise they would be here all night and then some.
"What's that?" Cedric asked, pointing at the map.
"A family heirloom," he replied. "Listen, Cedric. We…well, we know each other where-when-I come from. I know you well enough to know you can keep a secret. What I need to know is whether you will."
"I can't promise you that until I know more. You haven't been very convincing."
"I don't exactly carry around identification, and I wouldn't, even if I had any. It would only get me into more trouble. This," he said, pointing to the map, "it isn't exactly proof either, but I can take you to it, if you're willing to trust me that far."
"As long as you keep your wand in your pocket, I'll come along."
"I need my wand to activate this," Teddy said, shaking the map.
"Nuh uh."
Teddy huffed. "Fine, you'll have to do it."
"That depends on what it is."
"You're not going to make this easy, are you?" When Cedric didn't reply, he sighed loudly and held out the map. "You have to touch your wand to the parchment and say, 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.'"
Cedric tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. "If this thing explodes, it'll take you with me."
"Just do it."
Cedric repeated the password, and when Teddy nodded, he touched his wand to the parchment and spoke it again. Immediately, the lines of the map began to sprout and expand like a rolling wave. Cedric stared at the parchment in awe and grinned, delighted. "It's a map!"
He looked so eager that Teddy grinned despite himself and relinquished the map. Cedric unfolded it and spread it out on the floor before them. "I need more light." He looked over his shoulder and pointed his wand at a spot on the wall. A torch flared to life, casting a warm glow in the small room.
Teddy winced at the brightness; his head was still paining him, though the initial nausea had thankfully receded.
"This is amazing," Cedric said. "Where did you get it?"
"My godfather gave it to me two, er, when I was fifteen."
Cedric couldn't tear his eyes from the map. "Does this mean you went to school here, too?"
"Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus," Teddy whispered softly.
Cedric glanced up sharply. "Which house?"
"Same as you," Teddy said.
"You know Professor Sprout then."
"Yes, but she retired a year before I started."
"Then how do you know her?"
"My godfather used to take me here to visit, when I was little. I remember Professor Sprout showed me the Whomping Willow," he said, shrugging. "I've always had a fascination with that tree. Professor Longbottom took over teaching Herbology after she left, but don't tell him that. He's only a third year right now."
"I don't know him to tell." Cedric looked back down at the map. "It shows all the people. This is incredible. Even the ghosts! Look, there's Peeves," he said, pointing at the Trophy Room, thankfully a long way away from where they were presently.
"And here's us," Cedric said. "Teddy Lupin. That your real name?"
"The Marauder's Map never lies."
Cedric cocked his eyebrow. "Related to Professor Lupin?"
"He's my father," Teddy said softly. "That's where I was, before I ran into you. It's why I was pretending to be Roger. I wanted to see him, in person, and I couldn't very well go as myself. Next time you see Roger, you might want to suggest he do his dark creature essay on werewolves, because that's what we were discussing," he added lightly.
Cedric was watching him warily. "If I see him. Though I don't think it'll be as frequently as before. He really is a prick."
"I don't know him, so I couldn't say. He does seem to bring out the worst in you."
"Oh? How's that."
"When you thought I was him, your language, hell, your entire demeanour was pretty hostile."
"How do you know I'm not like that all the time?" Cedric asked.
Teddy rolled his eyes. "Ow. Shit." He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.
"And you're talking to me about my language?" Cedric teased. "But yeah. You're right. Lucky guess."
Teddy opened his eyes. "Not luck so much. I told you - I know you."
Cedric turned his attention back to the map. "So where are we going?"
"Here," Teddy pointed, "though it's not on the map. The Room of Requirement."
"Never heard of it."
"I think you'll like it. It's a pretty special place. Very handy in times of need." He glanced briefly at the map to make sure the way was clear, and tried to stand.
"You might want to fix those first," Cedric said, pointing at Teddy's pants, still wrapped around one ankle.
Teddy blushed. "Prat," he said, and reached down, removing his pants and stuffing them into his pocket. When he got to his feet, a wave of dizziness made him stumble, and he dropped the empty cup. Cedric grabbed him and steadied him as he swayed.
"Easy," Cedric said, putting his arm around Teddy's shoulder.
"Thank you," Teddy replied, leaning gratefully against Cedric and taking long, deep breaths. He knew that Cedric was starting to believe him, although he hadn't quite said so. He might not even have to show him his Advanced Transfiguration textbook, published in 2014.
"Can you walk?" Cedric asked.
"I'll manage," Teddy said. "But you'd better hold the map."
Cedric grinned, and as they left the cupboard, he extinguished the torch, whispered Nox at his wand, and slipped it back into his pocket.
Teddy smiled at the gesture of trust. His head still ached, and he was a bit stiff walking - he'd be sleeping on his belly for the next few nights for sure - but the sense of relief he felt at that moment made up for everything.
"C'mon," Cedric said, tugging at Teddy's sleeve, his eagerness palpable as he held the map in front of him, leading the way to the seventh floor corridor.
Teddy grinned wider and followed.
Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4