17

Chapter 17 - Relations

Was it stupid to think they might have a chance?

Was it stupider that even with the feel of Rell's lips like a phantom warmth on her lips a part of her was still comparing him to Lucius?

Yes, it was stupid. Because men were stupid. And the more perfect Rell seemed the more of a trap her feelings were.

Because Lucius had been perfect, had set all the cards right, had been the natural step to take in her life. And he had given her heart back in ribbons.

Whereas Rell… Rell had refused to take her heart even as he fanned the flames, even as he made her long for things she had never thought was possible to share with a man.

He hadn't pushed after asking her out again, they hadn't kissed again since she left, but they had spent nearly every evening with each other between the last period of the day and dinner. Teddy had watched on playing with his kitten or toys in the warded section of Rell's classroom as he trained her in wandless magic.

And Merlin help her, he wasn't just a powerful wizard, he was an outstanding teacher. Wandless magic was still difficult for her, but those were her shortcomings, her own head getting in her way, not his lack of instructions.

He had been the perfect gentlemen, he had flirted enough to let her feel appreciated but not so much as to distract from what he was trying to teach her. And he was patient with her, and accepted her anger and frustration with not so much as condescending curl of lips. Not even her father her treated her thus, beyond respect, he treated her like an equal, not a lady, not even a comrade.

Rell treated her like a person.

Lucius had treated her like a lady. And a part of her missed the blonde bastard, because Narcissa knew how to be a lady. She had been raised to keep her emotions on a tight leash, to be proper and respectable where Bella was wild and Andromeda was rebellious.

Narcissa Black knew how to be perfect. But she didn't know how to be equal to a man who was incredibly powerful as he was kind, to be completely mysterious yet painfully candid.

She didn't know what she was doing with Henry Peverell.

She had her gaze downcast, watching the cobblestones as she navigated them with heeled boots. Lost in thought, none other than Lucius Malfoy caught her unawares on the street of Diagon Alley.

"Miss Black," he simpered, steadying her with a manicured hand.

Rell's hands were calloused.

She pushed back from him, raising her chin. "Malfoy," she said with not an ounce of emotion. She would not yield to him, not a centimetre.

"What brings you away from your new position?" he asked casually, without any of the hostility he had thrown at her last.

She was not fooled, even as she noted the way his fair hair framed his sharp features, his grey eyes sparkling with intelligence and cunning.

This man had once been hers.

She would have been this man's wife, if not for a twist of fate.

If not for her sister's choices.

"My business is my own," she answered. He likely knew she did not have a wand, and despite Rell's instructions, she needed a new one.

"Of course, we parted on-" he hummed, "less than pleasant terms. I let my temper get away from me, inexcusable. But I found myself grateful for this chance meeting. Though I do not expect you to accept my apologies, I must nevertheless apologize for my conduct toward you and my words against your sisters. Bellatrix has done well for herself, I must congratulate you on a Shacklebolt entering the fold. Andromeda's choices do not reflect on you, and of course, my behavior was unacceptable. Nothing, Narcissa, nothing I said or implied about you was the truth, only my misplaced anger."

It was a simple thing to keep her face still.

She remembered thinking that Lucius would never apologize, not as Rell had, and he hadn't. Lucius's honeyed words were not an apology, they were a ploy.

"What do you want?" she asked with more harshness than she had wanted to let slip.

He bowed his head, and she watched as he lied with not just his silvered tongue but his expression, his body language, "A chance to make amends."

But Narcissa was no fool.

"No," she said shortly.

His shoulders rounded as if she had struck him a blow. She hadn't, he would have to see her as more than an object in order to do him any sort of harm.

She could, of course, harm his pride. But that could be a dangerous game. She was all but unarmed and though the stores were still open, it was getting dark. She had planned to get a wand and begone.

But Lucius had other plans.

"Please, Narcissa, we were betrothed, give me one more chance," he said pleadingly, his gaze earnest, "I will not fail you again."

She might have believed him, if she had not known him. Lucius Malfoy was many things, earnest was not among them.

"No."

"Narcissa, please-"

"Did I ever give you the impression that I was the forgiving sort? If so, then I suppose it is I who must apologize for giving you false expectations."

She saw his jaw twitch, the vein at his temple strain.

She was able to hide her smirk with more ease, but then of the two of them, she had always possessed greater control.

"Let me take you to dinner."

"At your master's bidding or your own arrogance in believing I would even entertain such an offer?"

"This is against the Dark Lord's wishes. I am no one's dog. I want you back, Cissa. There is none who compare to you."

For a heartbeat, her heart betrayed her.

Lucius was easy, even if he was using her, she knew how to behave with him, she knew what he wanted, she knew him.

And a part of her missed him. Missed him more than a potential spouse. She missed his company, his friendship. Even if he had hurt her, they had been friends once. He had courted her with sincerity and dignity.

She wanted to give him a chance, she wanted him to make amends, not because she would take him back, no, he had severed her trust completely, but to make amends and prove that her affection for him had not been wholly mistaken. That in the handful of people she had felt true compassion for, she had not failed.

"Please," Lucius said, reaching a hand out her, "one chance."

She was about to shake her head when a sense of peace overcame her.

"Please," he said again, "one chance, one meal, just take my hand."

Take his hand.

She took his hand, the unease caused by Lucius saying please twice was washed away, forgotten on that breath of peace she felt with her hand in his. His touch was familiar, the brief moment of tranquility was replaced with that safe familiarity.

She had always belonged on his arm.

He took her to restaurant too far from Olivander's shop, she would have to return tomorrow.

But that was alright. Enough people saw her on his arm that there would be gossip, and if something happened to her, Lucius would be held responsible.

He would not tarnish his name like that. Bowing to a Dark Lord in the shadows was one thing, doing physical harm to his ex-fiancé where rumors would spread was another.

No. She was safe, within reason.

He ordered for her after the waiter seated them. She would have been more upset if he had not ordered her favourite for both her and himself.

"You look beautiful tonight," he said, "as always."

He did not appear to be lying this time.

She folded her napkin over her lap and said, "I know."

His lips twitched, whether with a suppressed smile or grimace, that she could not tell.

"I heard you are studying with Madame Pomfrey. Has your time been rewarding?"

"It has been good to return to magic," she said evasively.

"Has the work been difficult?"

"Repetitive at times, but not overly difficult."

"You always excelled in whatever project you applied yourself to," he said in a normal tone. "Do you believe will enter the medical field?"

"I have no wish to work in a hospital."

"Good," he said shortly, taking a sip from his wine.

She raised a brow.

His lips curved upward a hair, "You would be waisted at St. Mungo's."

"You cannot help yourself, can you?"

It was his turn to raise a brow.

"Do you think me incapable of becoming a mediwitch?"

"Of course not," he said smoothly, "I merely meant you were meant for better things then tending to fools who set themselves aflame."

"Whereas you would have me do what, wait at home, waiting to tend to the whims of my husband?"

"You did not sound so appalled by such a future not so long ago."

"Things change."

"As do passions," he countered.

She stiffened, "Yes, yours for me seemed to be ever so fickle."

"Not fickle, concerned. I was building a future for us and your sister nearly undid it all."

Narcissa lowered her voice, "A future? What future? Were your ambitions to cower and toady to a madman?"

"The Dark Lord," he said coolly, softly, "is not mad. But that will be made clear to you, to everyone, soon enough."

Their food came out hot, and despite herself, she reached for her utensils first. She was nervous, and she was always hungriest when she was nervous.

"It is not too late for us."

She swallowed, taking a sip of her water, before replying, "Yes, Lucius, it is."

"So it is true then," he said, gaze sharp.

She waited, refusing to play this game.

"You have given yourself to the Peverell heir. I suppose I cannot blame you, with such a legacy, he must be very wealthy."

She wanted to stab his eyes out in that moment, but she said mildly, "You sound jealous, Lucius. Did you also hear the rumour that he is more powerful than you?" She stroked a finger up her spoon suggestively, "I can attest to that being more than a rumour."

She watched rage turn the grey of his eyes turbulent, and she felt satisfaction warm her.

No, she didn't miss Lucius as much as she had half-convinced herself she had.

"Is he?" he asked blandly, but the look in his eyes was anything but bland. "There are doubts he is who he says he is, after all, how does a wizard of his supposed talent have no formal training?"

That bothered her also, but after a week of sparing with him, a week of training with him…

Perhaps it was strange that he was self taught, but nothing he had shown her was something she had learned at Hogwarts. His lessons were like nothing she had ever heard of, perhaps the schools in Africa? They were known for wandless magic at least.

But Rell was British, wholly British. And whatever his background, he certainly hadn't been raised by any purebloods. His English was good, though his accent marked him as a lower class.

"Perhaps," she said, "what bothers you is that some are just that innately talented."

"He is a fraud."

She smiled sweetly, "An interesting take coming from you." She took another bite off her plate.

Unlike him, she wasn't about to waste a perfectly fine meal, though she left the wine untouched.

Sorrow flashed in his eyes, "Is there truely no chance of you forgiving me?"

She took another few bites as if mulling it over, she was more trying to finish sooner. She wanted away from him. Finally, she said, "That would depend."

He perked up, not as a hopeful male looking to make amends but a predator siting its kill. "Yes?" he implored her.

Narcissa smirked, "How deep of ditch are you willing to dig for yourself before you realize I would sooner see you dead than take you back."

Flint flashed across his expression, but he quickly smothered it. He reached for her hand as she set down her spoon, "Please, Narcissa, I made a mistake. Do not let my lapse in judgement ruin our future."

A wave of peace washed over her at his touch.

Forgive him.

"Lucius, I-" her voice cut off, suddenly unsure of herself, of what she meant to say. She had meant to say something biting, hadn't she? But she did not feel angry with him, she felt…

He loves you still.

Love?

She shook her head and made to pull her hand away, but he held on.

"Narcissa," he coaxed, pulling out a ring box with his free hand. "You and I were meant to be. We match, we belong together."

We belong together.

She felt as if she could sleep, the tension in her shoulders rolling away as he slipped a ring on to her lax hand still held in his grip.

It was white gold and more ornate than the first he had given her.

The memory of the first, poked a hole in her sense of peace.

She tried again to pull from his grip, a kernel of panic settling in her heart.

Something was wro-

"Narcissa, you will not regret this, I will spend every day of our lives making amends, proving to you our love was meant to be."

Meant to be.

The peace, the ease of this choice settled over her, broken by a slithering sensation up her arm.

She looked down to see the shadow of a serpent wind up her arm.

Don't look. Everything is alright. You're happy. You're engaged.

Mrs. Malfoy.

You can keep him this time.

All you need to do is tell Professor Henry Peverell goodbye. Show him your ring. Hold his hand.

Tell him you're happy.

You're happy.

You forgive Lucius.

You love him.

You belong-

Narcissa tore her hand from his, "What are yo-"

She watched his lips curl, his chin dip as his cold gaze met hers, he murmured, loud enough for her alone to hear, "Obliviate."

The spell hit her under the table.

It wasn't as if Harry didn't deserve Narcissa's coldness.

It wasn't as if he deserved an explanation from her.

But it was a painful ache in his chest when he saw the ring on her finger. The beautiful ring with all its implications.

He hadn't realized how much he had hoped… how far he had already fallen for the beautiful, sharp witted, sharp tongued witch until that moment.

That moment he realized that his luck didn't hadn't changed with the times, and no matter what other alternate realities there were, he didn't belong here.

Harry didn't really belong anywhere.

He waited impatiently for Teddy to finish his breakfast before disappearing to his next class.

He avoided Narcissa. He didn't want an explanation.

The Narcissa Malfoy he had known had loved her husband, had loved her son. There hadn't been anything that could have changed that, least of all his stumbling attempts to start a relationship.

He had relied foolishly on her pursuing him, it was only fair she had changed her mind.

It was only reasonable to presume her heart had never changed. That she, like so many others, had only been interested in him for a fling.

Harry was too messy, too recluse for anyone to want for more.

He knew that.

It was okay, he had other concerns at the moment.

Between classes, he looked at the metal elongated star he had found in the mirror. The only thing besides Teddy Naomi had left him.

Yes, he had plenty to deal with without getting himself entangled with a Malfoy.

It wasn't as if Lily was happy that one of the students was dead, but a part of her thought that if it had to happen to anyone, Peter Pettigrew wasn't someone she would personally miss.

"It's almost like they are actually capable of remorse," Sev said grudgingly.

She whacked his shoulder, "Quit it."

"You were thinking the same thing."

"No, I wasn't."

"No, you weren't, were you? You were thinking you were glad it was Pettigrew."

She flushed, "Shut up."

"Relax, Lils, aside from the trio and the boy's parents, everyone is thinking the same."

"Nobody would say it though," she muttered, flipping the pages of her text book idly.

Sev started to say something, but suddenly, Lily couldn't hear him. Instead what she heard was…

Screaming.

Her throat was raw.

James was dead beside her.

"Where did you put it?" a cold voice asked.

Pain.

She fought herself not to scream.

One thought chased around the splintered consciousness of her mind like a hound after fallen fowl in the forest, 'He'll hear, he can't- he has to stay hidden. If I stay quiet, he can too.'

It was not a sensical thought, and as pain ripped through her being, nothing made sense.

Nothing at all.

"LILY!" Sev was screaming her name.

He was holding her as she shook silently in his arms, her vision coming back to her in pieces.

"She's waking up!" James shouted to the crowd, to himself.

Her gaze focused on him, his hazel eyes alight with worry and… and life.

She reached out for him, she was so weak that she only managed to flop her arm toward him. She touched his knee, and he fainted, collapsing on top of her and Severus.

The dream, the vision, overtook her once more.

Pain.

Followed by sweet, sweet oblivion.

Only Sev calling her name into the darkness reasoned with her dreams that she wasn't truly dying.

Even if that's what it felt like.

Harry could only assume this stellar week was his repayment for having such an easy transition into a different timeline.

Well, relatively easy.

He sat between his would-be parents, their teenage forms looking frail and small in their cots.

Both had collapsed in the library with seizures.

And what was the only thing Madame Pomfrey had found on them.

Pixie dust.

Not only pixie dust, but the pixie dust from a species of pixie that had died off a thousand years ago.

Of course, there were rumours some of the pixies had survived, the muggle story of Peter Pan was evidence that some Northern Fae Pixies had survived. But among the proprieties of any pixie dust, seizures weren't one of them.

Neither was heart failure.

No, the symptoms Lily and James were exhibiting were consistent with that of Torturing Curse.

Which meant that the castle was under lockdown, because there weren't any students in the school who could have cast that spell on two students right under Madame Pince's nose.

Not even Harry had gone through that in his time here. Voldemort had to summon him off school grounds to accomplish that. Harry had temporally sent Teddy home with Remus, Lyall and Hope deciding that their son needed to be home after so many shocks.

The Potters were coming to pick up James after Poppy decided there was nothing that could be done for them but bedrest. The Evans had yet to be reached.

There was a chance both their minds had snapped, but Poppy had said that was extremely unlikely as both had fainted and their seizures had not lasted long.

Only Harry knew that if this was another backlash of Ignotus Peverell's spell, that it was possible that both Lily and James had remembered being tortured to death, the fate that had befallen Mr. and Mrs. Peverell, the parents Harry had watched through a crack through a cupboard fall to wildly powerful young Dark Lord.

Hence, why Harry had refused to leave their sides, even as Poppy had dismissed Narcissa and all of Lily and James' friends.

Harry felt that this was his fault, though he couldn't understand how or why they would have these memories.

He wondered what a genetic test would look like between them all.

Dumbledore entered the room with who Harry recognized as his grandparents. They completely ignored him as the went to James's bedside.

"Rell, this is Euphemia and Fleamont Potter, Euphemia, Fleamont, this is Mr. Henry Peverell, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

Euphemia looked up briefly, but before she could get a word in Fleamont spoke, "Why didn't you defend them?"

"I wasn't in the library at the time," Harry said evenly, his voice tight not because he was offended but because he was angry with himself. Rational or no.

"Is that Lily Evans?" Euphemia asked.

"Yes," Dumbledore said, "I will be taking her home. Professor Peverell if you aren't adverse would you mind assisting me? Levitation spells are not advisable in the muggle world."

"Of course," Harry said standing.

Euphemia and Fleamont gasped in unison.

Harry looked down at Lily and James worriedly.

But it was Harry they were looking at.

"You look like James," Euphemia said, sounding stunned, "uncannily so."

A part of Harry wanted to tell them the truth, right then and there, but had no idea where to start.

Before he could say anything, Fleamont said, "You look like my father, who, as it happens is also named Henry. Of course, the Peverells are relatives of the Potters."

"Yes, but, he looks…" she shook her head, her dark hair spilling from her bun, "I can't think straight right now. We need to get James home."

Fleamont cast a featherweight charm on his son before picking him up, James stayed solidly asleep.

Harry went to Lily, wrapping her carefully in the thin blanket and lifting her as gently as he was able. She wasn't too heavy for him.

They walked as a worried, quiet group to the border of the Hogwarts wards, before apparating to their sperate destinations.

They appeared in the Evans fenced in backyard. Dumbledore knocked politely on the backdoor with all the reverence as if it had been the front.

The door opened revealing Harry's other grandparents.

It was a surreal sort of day.

"We set up on the ground floor so she can be near the bathroom and doesn't need to use the steps," Mrs. Evans said by way of greeting.

Harry nodded and followed her in, laying Lily down on clean sheets. Watching Mr. and Mrs. Evans tucking in their daughter, Harry was caught in a moment of gratefullness.

Both the Potters and Evans were wonderful and loving people, it was something he had been told, it was something he was honoured to witness.

The Evans whispered something to each other than Mr. Evans kissed first his wife's cheek then Lily's forehead before motioning Dumbledore and Harry to the sitting room.

"Rose will stay with Lily, please, have a seat, I'll get you tea."

In the living room, Harry was created with another set of relatives, though they were far less welcoming.

"You," Vernon greeted with equal parts surprise and rage.

Harry was not happy with the assault of his second life's memories. "Vernon," Harry greeted flatly.

Vernon, who was more muscle at this stage of his life than fat, stepped in front of a skinny but not quite the boney Petunia. She was less horse-faced than Harry remembered, but the expression she gave him explained how she had ended up with the aforementioned horse-face.

He was too tired for this.

But Mr. Evans was having none of it, "What is your problem, boy? These men are our guests, you will show respect. Petunia, I told you I didn't want him over today."

"You don't know what he is," Vernon snarled, "He's a freak. He went to a correctional school."

Harry rolled his eyes, "They know exactly what I am, cousin."

"Cousin?" Mr. Evans, Dumbledore, and Petunia echoed.

Mr. Evans eyes narrowed, "Did you just call this fine professor a freak because he is magical?"

Harry watched it click in Vernon's mind when he realized why Petunia hated her little sister so much. Watched him back track at the look on his father-in-law's face. "No, he's a freak because he's a monster, and everyone knew it. He was a hopeless case. He never had any friends, always in detention, always-"

"And now I'm a professor at a freak school," Harry cut him off, "And you're getting married, apparently. How's Marge? Still drowning puppies? Uncle and Aunty still held up in that cottage or have you dumped them in a nursing home yet?"

The Dursleys had been older parents if his memory served.

Vernon's face went tomato red then beat purple.

Harry waved his hand at his cousin, his uncle, his -whatever, he waved a hand at Vernon and when he opened his mouth to bellow something horrid, nothing but a release of air echoed in the room.

Petunia shrieked.

Harry sighed, "My apologies, Mr. Evans, it has been years since my cousin and I have crossed paths. My foster family and I did not part on… good terms."

Mr. Evans looked sort of relieved at the silencing spell, "How long will that spell last?"

"As long as it needs to," Harry answered.

And Harry could have sworn Mr. Evans was praying for that 'need' to translate to forever. "Petunia, calm yourself, today is about Lily, not the dramatics you insist on bringing into this home."

"It's always about Lily!" Petunia exclaimed, hugging her fiancé. "He attacked Vernon."

"Vernon is lucky I don't turn him into a piglet and leave him the woods," Harry cut her off.

"Professor Peverell," Dumbledore chided, though there was a mirthful glint in his eyes.

A glint that was mirrored in Mr. Evans eyes as he coughed to cover a laugh before disappearing into the kitchen to retrieve tea.

They all sat down in the seating room. Dumbledore was watching Harry closely even as he asked Petunia, "When is the happy date of your union?"

"This summer," she said on the edge of her seat, petting Vernon's arm as he glared at Harry with homicidal intentions.

Harry smirked, "Wonderful, I will bring my finest robes. Two families joining together is a joyous thing."

Vernon bellowed something silently.

Petunia, hushed him, and said venomously, "No one invited you."

"I'm inviting him," Mr. Evans said, returning to the sitting room in record time, the kettle must have been hot. "Forgive us, we did not do introductions. I am Eirick Evans, my daughter Petunia Evans, and my wife is Rose Evans."

"It is a pleasure," Harry said, shaking his grandfather's hand, "I'm Henry Peverell, Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts-" Vernon looked like he was gagging, "-family calls me Harry though."

He saw Dumbledore shift at that, but Vernon's lack of reaction to this claim confirmed the truth of it.

Rell is what his students called him.

Harry is what his family, what Naomi, Hermione, Ron, Sirius, and his birth parents had called him.

As Eirick drew his hand away, he froze.

Harry tilted his head in question.

Eirick apologized, "Sorry, it's just you have the same eye colour as Lily. I always thought she was unique."

"Not as much as you think," Petunia muttered darkly.

Eirick shot his eldest daughter a look before sitting down. "Professor Dumbledore, what can you tell me about my daughter's condition?"

"She needs rest," Dumbledore said at once, "she seems to have run afoul of the Dark Arts. Her symptoms appear temporary, however, likely she will be shocky when she wakes, and may be prone to nightmares, but otherwise, she should be alright."

Eirick's eyes swept to Harry, "And your opinion, Harry?"

And Harry found he couldn't lie to this man, "I think they were memories."

Dumbledore stilled beside him, "What do you mean, Rell?"

"I don't know if it was their memories, but I think James Potter and Lily encountered a spell that made them remember someone else's experience. If it had been than torture curse they would have nerve damage. But it was just memories, it would explain the terror, the seizures, and the strained pulse. I wish I could tell you more, but the Dark Arts tend to be wild magic, this might not even be dark, it might just be wild."

"Have you've experienced this?" Eirick asked.

Harry nodded, "I've come across books before that were charmed or cursed that could this, magical creatures, and even dreams or visions."

"So it could be anything."

"Quite possibly."

"How do we protect her?"

"For now," Harry said, "She needs to rest, we will check her belongings, send word if something else happens or turns up. But, I'm afraid, only time can tell, beyond what we can find in the library."

"Do you think it was another student?"

Harry looked at Dumbledore who sighed, "It is very unlikely, most students simply wouldn't have the power or the subtilty to do this. But, I'm afraid, nothing can be said for certain."

Eirick took in a deep breath and seemed to settle into thought.

They all drank their tea in silence.

Which Petunia broke, demanding, "Release Vernon!"

Harry sighed, waving a hand at the man.

The first words out of his cousin's mouth were, "If you ever do that to m-"

"Mr. Dursley," Eirick said in a voice that warned the young man was on thin ice, "do not threaten a guest in my house."

Vernon glared, but decided to follow his curiosity, it surprised Harry he would even pretend to care, "You became a teacher of the Dark Arts?"

"I became a professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"How? Mum and Dad didn't let you go to Hogtuts."

Dumbledore coughed, "Hogwarts, my boy."

Vernon glared.

"I taught myself."

"You couldn't have gotten good enough to teach others practising in the attic and in the park. No one would hire a runt like you out of normal school."

"No, this job is recent."

"So, what did you do?"

"I became a librarian, and a year after my son was born, I worked at a daycare."

Vernon frowned, "You're married?"

"Widower."

"You always were cursed."

"That's one way of looking at it." Somehow, Harry realized that this was one of the most civilized conversations he had had with his cousin/uncle/whatever.

"How old is your son?" Eirick asked.

"Teddy is three," Harry couldn't help but smile, "He's the best thing to ever happen to me."

Eirick smiled too, "That's how Rose and I felt about our girls. But I warn you, it doesn't get easier."

Harry's smile grew, "Oh, I'm aware. Teddy is incredible, but he's his mother's son, and worse, he's my son, too."

"You don't sound worried," Eirick noted.

Harry looked into his tea, "I worry every second of every day and night, but I have no regrets where Teddy is concerned."

"I'm sorry about your wife. I can't imagine being a single parent."

"I don't recommend it, but I recently reconnected with Naomi's family. Teddy is with them now. Family is good to have."

"Don't show your face at Marge's or my place," Vernon spat, completely unable to help himself.

Eirick scowled but Harry spoke before he could, "Don't worry, Vernon, I will never make the mistake of trusting a Dursley with a child."

The irony of Dumbledore sitting beside him for this conversation did not escape him. Harry finished his tea, thoroughly glad that by whatever magic powers that be, Teddy would go to the Lupins before the Dursleys.