Title: I'm Falling in Love (With Your Favorite Song)
Author: lq_traintracks
Pairing: Harry/Teddy (background Hermione/Ron)
Rating: NC-17
Kink/Themes Chosen: dancing: arousal from dancing (either alone or with a partner) or watching others dance
Other Warnings: godfather/godson, cross-gen (34/17)
Word Count: 8,300
Summary: Harry stands there trying not to look at his own godson, this man dancing just inches away who's still smiling like maybe Harry isn't an utter failure. And even though he's the worst dancer in history and he swore he'd never do it again after fourth year, Harry finds himself thinking thoughts like, 'If only the music were a little slower, maybe I could manage,' before it occurs to him that he's rationalising dancing with his godson and that then it would be a slow song; he'd be dancing with Teddy to a slow song in the kitchen while the potatoes sat there raw and the garlic waited, unchopped, and that… that …would never ever do. Not ever.
Author's Notes: Yep, major note here! This is my first DD posting in exactly one year. I was train_tracks then, for anyone who didn't already know that. This is also the two year anniversary of my very first posting here (which was also Harry/Teddy incidentally). So this day is pretty meaningful to me. With all that's happened in my life the last two years, to come back and write here feels really, really good, and I'm so grateful the mods gave me all that time to get where I needed to go in life first. I've missed this! <3

There's not a whole lot 'deviant' about this story, so for that I feel like I should apologize. ;-) It went long and turned into a love story. I promise to get really filthy next month! \o/ (Not that there's not smut here! There's smut here! Godfather/godson smut! Anyway!)

Also, the title and lyrics (which I kept the American-English spellings of) are from the Mando Diao song, Dance with Somebody , which I would never have even known about if it weren't for sdk. She beta'd this, too, and it's been a joy working on it with her. But beyond that, Shelly, it's been amazing falling in love with *your* songs. And since there are dedications going on in the story itself… well, I'd like to dedicate this story to you. <3







"And now, from the request line, it's yet another song devoted to Harry Potter! This one goes out from Melinda of Hogsmeade. Mr Potter, Melinda says she means this from the deepest fathoms of her heart. And here it is: Naked Nifflers' latest, 'Alohomora My Trousers.'"

"Turn it up," Teddy calls from over by the oven.

Harry groans. "Do I have to?"

"No."

Harry glances at Teddy long enough to see him pull his wand and wink, turning the volume up anyway, and Harry turns back to his carrots and sets in on them viciously.

"Come on, you don't like Naked Niffler?"

"I don't like it being dedicated to me from the most heartfelt fathoms of some stranger's loins." Harry brushes the chopped carrots into a bowl with the back of his forearm and levitates over three celery stalks from the sink.

"But you'd like Naked Niffler otherwise?"

"Probably not." Harry takes up the knife and enjoys how the fresh crunch of celery just almost obliterates the music.

"Oh come on, who doesn't like Alohomora My Trousers? It's destined to be a classic."

One more ill-advised glance and Harry sees that Teddy's hips are rhythmically jiggling to the beat even as he bastes the chicken he's preparing for tonight's company. "I don't," Harry says. He watches Teddy's arse move a moment more and then turns back to his vegetables.

Snick, snick, snick goes his knife, even as the song crescendos into horrible new heights of intolerableness. "I take it you like them."

"Sure." There's a confident smile in Teddy's voice for which Harry is glad. It's a relief that he's no longer such a hero in Teddy's eyes, and Teddy can openly enjoy music Harry finds as grating as a lecture by Sybill Trelawney. He certainly doesn't want Teddy to feel ashamed for liking it. He just wishes the lead singer weren't wailing, "My trousers, my trousers, oh my trousers," at quite that pitch.

Harry herds the celery into the bowl with the carrots and then Accios a bulb of garlic from the pantry.

"Who do you like, Harry?" Teddy opens the oven and slides the pan with the bird into it.

Harry shrugs. "Probably no one you've heard of."

Teddy scoffs, and Harry turns to see his arse leaned against the countertop -- strong, young arms crossed over his chest.

Harry abandons his garlic. "Okay, well, I like 'Drowned by Mermaids'. They have this one song that—"

Teddy swishes his wand, and the volume lowers on the Wireless. "Heart as black as the night is long. I wish you'd fess up to—"

"—what you did wrong. Yeah," Harry laughs. "Yeah, that's them."

"I asked for all their albums from Gran for Christmas fourth year."

"Christ. I don't remember that. Where was I?"

Teddy shrugs. "You weren't Head Auror yet. You were busy. But you got me those Falcons season tickets."

"Oh. Yeah. Right. That was before I realised you weren't a fan of Quidditch." Harry feels the embarrassment heat the back of his neck. He can't quite look at Teddy. It's only been since his Gran died over the winter and Teddy moved in with Harry at the start of the summer three months ago that Harry's figured these things out. "Merlin, what a crap present."

"It wasn't so bad. Victoire was a huge fan. We went to all the games that summer and had a blast."

"Oh, good. That's good." Harry decides it's time to turn back to his garlic. He mashes the flat of his blade against the papery little half-moons. "Are you two still dating?"

The low, mature laugh that comes out of Teddy shouldn't surprise him – the lad's just turned seventeen. But it does. It does surprise him. Harry feels it in the base of his belly.

"What?" he asks.

"We were never dating, Harry," Teddy says. "I don't date girls."

Harry hears him shift. He feels the electrons in the room gather. Harry clears his throat. "There's time yet. Loads of blokes are late bloomers." He works diligently at the garlic skin, pinching it from the flesh. He's an arse. A horrible, despicable arse for giving Teddy such platitudes. It's just that he can't. He can't look at him, can't breathe, can't think what he's thinking, because it can't be. It can't bloody be.

Harry presses his blade against a new bit of bulb as Teddy slowly crosses the kitchen to stand next to him. Right next to him.

"No, Harry," he says softly. "I don't date girls."

"Oh." Harry clears his throat. "I see. Yes. Well, that's fine, isn't it?" From the corner of his eye, Harry can see the bright white of Teddy's t-shirt… the slightly tanned arm, its hand stuck in a jeans pocket. "I've recently given that up myself," he jokes and then laughs to prove how not funny he is.

Teddy knows. He knows why things with Ginny fell apart. He knows that though it's only been two blokes in as many years – and only seven dates between them – it has been blokes.

Teddy knows. So why does Harry feel so upside down about it? Why are his hands sweating such that he can't grip the garlic, can't get hold of its skin, can't get hold of himself or the situation or his heart's crazy hammering or anything?

Christ.

"Harry…"

Bollocks. What's he supposed to say here? He's drawing a blank. He's never actually come out himself. He never had to. Everybody seemed to just get it. It seemed like all he'd had to do was say, "Look, as it turns out I'm—" and they'd filled in the rest with "We know" and understanding nods.

But with Teddy… Harry didn't know. He's stunned a bit senseless, actually. What words are there for this? Surely they're simple. Easy. Surely they'll come any moment.

He looks at Teddy, at the raw hope there, and Harry utterly chokes. "Turn that Wireless up again, would you?" Some bloody Gryffindor he is.

For a moment, Teddy just stands there. His eyes dart back and forth between Harry's own. Then he smiles a different sort of smile. He reaches past Harry to the cutting board, and Harry, ridiculously, holds his breath. But Teddy just picks up Harry's mangled garlic bulb. He slips the skin off the flesh in one easy gesture and then hands it back to Harry. "You looked like you were having trouble with that one."

Harry releases the breath he was holding. "Yeah. I was. Thanks."

The corner of Teddy's mouth lifts in a little smirk, and something horrible happens inside Harry. Something that aches in that tellingly pleasant way that it absolutely shouldn't.

Teddy turns to the Wireless and cranks the knob so that a new song floods the room.

When Teddy turns back around, Harry doesn't, at first, understand the dawning smile on his face. Especially since Harry has been contemplating Apparating out of the room, if only he could think of a proper reason. It takes a few beats, then it takes a few more. But then he hears it.

"Merlin, that's—"

"'Drowned by Mermaids'," Teddy finishes for him.

"Yeah. What are the odds?"

"I don't know, do you want to dance?" It all comes out on an exhale, like the words were waiting inside Teddy's lungs.

The question, though it shouldn't, nearly takes Harry out at the knees. "What?"

"Come on. The garlic can wait." He's already moving, swaying hips that barely hold his jeans up and tapping a heel on the linoleum.

"The garlic has to go into the potatoes," Harry says stupidly.

"I know that. Use magic. You know how to use magic, don't you, Harry?" Teddy's smile widens. Maybe Harry's imagining it, but his hair looks a shade brighter blue as well. Suddenly, Teddy reaches out and gently grasps Harry's wrist. "Come on. One dance before I go back to Hogwarts."

"I…" Harry laughs and shakes his head. "I don't dance."

Teddy moves closer. "One song. No one else will see. If you're horrid, I won't laugh."

"Then how am I supposed to be able to tell if you think I'm horrid?"

Teddy laughs. He laughs like Harry is actually funny. His fingers drift down to Harry's hand, and Harry can't breathe again. "One dance," he says. "Please?"

Harry stands there trying not to look at his own godson, this man dancing just inches away who's still smiling like maybe Harry isn't an utter failure. And even though he's the worst dancer in history and he swore he'd never do it again after fourth year, Harry finds himself thinking thoughts like, 'If only the music were a little slower, maybe I could manage,' before it occurs to him that he's rationalising dancing with his godson and that then it would be a slow song; he'd be dancing with Teddy to a slow song in the kitchen while the potatoes sat there raw and the garlic waited, unchopped, and that… that …would never ever do. Not ever.

""Heart as black as the night is long," Teddy starts singing at the chorus. " I wish you'd fess up to what you did wrong." His fingers slide warm into Harry's hand, and Harry can't help but grasp back.

"You're not getting me to dance."

Teddy's eyes glint. He takes a twirl under Harry's arm, completely self-manufactured. "That's quite all right. " He continues his singing, "I've been cleaning my wand at night. I've been hoping that you just might." He shimmies his hips to the guitar, and Harry needs to move away. He really should move away.

But Teddy just came out to him. He's full of raging hormones and confusing thoughts and ungainly feelings, and he has no bloody idea what he wants. None at all. Well, except for a penis. Harry isn't idiot enough to think Teddy's that confused. But that doesn't mean he's… It doesn't mean anything really. Not even when he sidles up to Harry and grinds so close Harry feels bathed in the warmth of his body… can smell the pleasant rise of musky sweat from his skin.

No, all Teddy wants is this intimacy -- to share songs while they cook and to dance out of the sheer joy and relief of having told someone important who he really is.

And that's what Harry wants, too. Of course it is. Harry doesn't want anything else. Harry doesn't want to crush this undeniably brilliant body against the counter and have Teddy right here in the kitchen with company about to Floo in.

No. Not at all.

Harry realises abruptly that he's been staring at the hollow of Teddy's throat.

He pulls his hand from Teddy's and takes a decisive step back. The song's nearly over anyway, he tells himself. "You're not bad," he says. "You'd pull a date to the Ball, no problem." He means it, and it's a perfectly accepting thing to say.

Teddy gives a little laugh and shoves his hands back into his pockets. "Thanks, Harry."

"It's nothing." Harry watches him catch his breath… the way his chest rises and falls.

"No," Teddy insists, scratching at the back of his neck. "Really. Er, thank you." His hair flashes a deep magenta.

The microbes on a piece of turd stuck to someone's shoe. That's what Harry feels like. "Just… let's finish this dinner, okay? They'll be here any minute now." Harry smiles at Teddy, not quite able to meet his eyes.

"Right. Sure." Teddy laughs again. He clears his throat and moves back over to his side of the kitchen. He sets to work on dessert, and Harry takes his advice and finishes chopping his garlic with wand-work rather than the knife – though his wand is trembling just slightly and throws off alarming green sparks once.

Harry glances at Teddy's back. His eyes do not drop to his arse. Then he turns back to his cutting board, and together they finish cooking their last meal together for a good while, with the Wireless off.

xX


Two Months Later


"Your Devon crab was delicious, Harry." Hermione shrugs on her coat. "Truly, you're working wonders in that kitchen of yours."

"My soufflé fell a bit," Harry admits.

"It was perfect. Honestly, Harry, I like this Head Auror business. You risk your life half as much and cook everybody dinner on weekends. The dressing on the salad, too… Was that homemade?"

"Oi! I'm an Auror! What about my rolls?" Ron straightens his collar and looks affronted.

"They were warmed to perfection," Harry says.

"Thanks, mate. I slaved moments over that."

"I could tell."

Ron punches him lightly in the arm, and Harry pretends to go for his wand.

"Take care, Harry," Hermione says. "Fire-call if you need anything."

Harry frowns. "What am I going to need that I can't fetch for myself?"

His friends share one of those married looks, and Harry sighs.

"I'll be going," Ron says brightly.

"I'll Floo right behind you." Hermione kisses him on the cheek.

Once Ron is gone, Harry plants his hands on his hips. "What?"

"I don't know. It's just that it's a big house and… I thought maybe… Well, with Teddy gone…"

"That I won't be able to reach my top shelves? He may be able to make himself taller whenever he likes, but I've long since mastered multiple levitation and summoning spells, not to mention flight. They sort of frown on you not knowing those things in my line of work."

"Oh, stop. You know that's not what I meant." She looks around his study. "This house is just a bit… quiet, isn't it?"

"Well, it's no Burrow."

"You know you're welcome any time."

"Thanks, Hermione." He reaches out and tucks a very bushy stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I've got a lot of work to catch up on this weekend."

"Any time, Harry," she insists and hugs him.

"Goodnight." He smiles as she steps into his Floo, and he watches her get whisked away before he turns to his wreck of a kitchen.

Harry takes their dessert plates to the sink and ejects a superfluous amount of soapy water from his wand at them. While he waits for the basin to fill enough for them to soak, he stares out the window at the cloudy night sky and the trees swaying in the swift breeze.

Hermione's right; it is too quiet in this big house all by himself. He'd never really noticed it before Teddy came. But perhaps that's because Harry always had the telly going. Once Teddy moved in, he'd felt like nonstop episodes of Doc Martin might be a bit annoying to anybody else, and he'd turned it off. He found he liked the sound of Teddy's voice and their laughter and talk more than his telly most times anyway. And when his telly's on now, he's got someone to lounge around and watch it with him.

Harry shakes some bubbles off his wand and turns to get the caked-on baking dishes but then turns back and flicks on the Wireless first. Celestina Warbeck is just finishing 'Obliviated Love', which is all for the best since Harry can't stand that one. Thankfully, it's the Weird Sisters next, and Harry hums along as he fetches his soufflé dish and salad bowl.

Once they're in the sink, Harry turns to putting away the leftovers. He's got his head in the icebox when he hears the unmistakable sound of his name and leans back out to listen more closely.

"That's right, it's our first dedication to The Chosen One tonight! This one from… ooh, a secret admirer! Well, Mr Potter, your amorous anonymous sends this song out to you on this blustery night so that it might warm your heart!"

Harry rolls his eyes and waits for grating melodies and insipid lyrics. He grabs the last piece of raspberry cheesecake and is contemplating eating it just to get it out of the way when he realises the song has a nice sound to it. It's not the dedication line's usual fare. There's some haunting guitar, some interesting piano… rising and falling together. It sounds like actual music to his ears.

He puts a stasis charm around the dessert and slides it into the icebox next to the salad fixings. He's about to head back out to the dining room to get the rest of their dishes when the singer's voice starts in and he stops. It's gravelly and heartfelt, and it sounds so much like whoever sings for 'Drowned by Mermaids' that Harry goes to turn it up. He stands with his ear cocked to listen. It is so very familiar. Is this them? Is this his favourite band? Did someone dedicate his favourite band to him?

"Merlin, what are the odds of--?" Harry stops, mid-question. He stands there and blinks. Strings come in at the chorus. The song picks up speed. A drum comes in. Harry feels his pulse answer, blood coursing faster through his body. There's something both joyous and painful in this song. There's a yearning to it, alongside the celebration. And that voice is uncanny.

Well, it can't be what he thinks it might be. It really can't. Except that…

"Merlin, that's—"

"'Drowned by Mermaids'."

"Yeah. What are the odds?"

Harry finds himself smiling at his piled-up dishes. He smiles at the beautiful music filling his empty kitchen. Suddenly, he wants to dance. He actually wants to. He feels the foreign sensation in his legs, and before he knows it, he's swaying a little and keeping time with a wooden spoon against his thigh. He feels a little bit elated and a lot silly when he erupts into an off-balance twirling-type move and then staggers to a stop.

Harry's flushed and excited, and the thought of it… of him… up there in his dormitory, Owling the dedication line with this song… For Harry. What are the odds?

Harry knows he can't dance, but he wants to again anyway. There's no one watching. No one would know.

But the song slows again and fades away. The announcer comes back on and tells the audience the name of the band – and it's no one Harry recognises. It's not 'Drowned by Mermaids'. It's not his band after all. It only sounded a bit like them.

Harry feels instantly foolish. He puts the spoon down and clears his throat. His heart's still pounding from his brief dance around his kitchen, but his mood is already tanking.

It was a nice song, a beautiful song. But it wasn't his band, and it wasn't…

Well, it wasn't anything. It was just a song, if better than the drivel most people seemed inspired to by the thought of him.

It was a good song. That's it. That's all it was.

Harry turns the volume down on the Wireless when an ad for Quality Quidditch Supplies comes on. He looks out at the swaying trees, all better dancers than he will ever be in his wildest dreams. He'd been acting an idiot, that's for sure. Thank Merlin he was alone.

He tosses the wooden spoon into the soapy sink, draws his wand, and starts a scrub brush to circling on a plate. When another song comes on the Wireless, Harry turns it off altogether and stalks off to fetch the rest of the dishes from the dining room.

xX


Harry hears the whistle, not so distant now, and before too long, there's the steam, billowing and filling the station as the train pulls in slowly. Too slowly. Harry casts a new warming charm on his hands, cursing that he forgot his gloves. But he's not impatient from the cold. He realises this. He's scanning the compartment windows for shocking blue hair and a perpetually crooked smile. He's impatient for Teddy.

He bounces on the balls of his feet and shoves his hands into his coat pockets. He waits as it seems like every other student on that train exits first.

It's the laugh that stops Harry's heart for a moment. Teddy steps off the train behind his two best friends, one Hufflepuff and one Slytherin, Harry knows. Teddy's red and gold tie is already unknotted and hanging loosely around his neck, his scarf nowhere to be seen. But he doesn't look cold. He looks… well, bloody wonderful.

Teddy glances over their heads, scans the platform, finds Harry's gaze, and looks away. But then a scant second later, he's looking back again, and Harry can't help but thrill a little to the double-take. Teddy's smile widens, and for a moment, there's a fiery streak of rose-red that flares through his hair before it all deepens to cobalt. Harry knows that Teddy is a powerful wizard, and he can control his transitions to a great degree of specificity – usually. There are times, though, when his emotions take control, and things happen whether he wants them to or not. Harry thinks that this might be one of those times.

He's seventeen.

He's your godson.

You're an idiot.

You're an impossible, daft, disgusting wanker.

He's seventeen.

He's Teddy.

Harry breathes down the guilt. Teddy says his Happy Christmases to his friends and then bounds over to where Harry waits. "Hey," he says.

There's a strange moment when Teddy doesn't immediately wrap his arms around Harry in a tight hug. This has generally been their customary welcome. It's only a moment and one in which Harry realises he's not yet opened his arms, which might very well be the whole problem. Harry snaps them open a bit too hurriedly, says, "Hey," back, Teddy steps in close, and they embrace. They laugh, and Teddy sounds as nervous as Harry feels. When they part, Teddy is flushed from cold.

"Where the bloody hell is your scarf?"

"Oh, I left it in the dormitory. I tried to Summon it from Hogsmeade, but it didn't show up, so who knows where it is now? Keeping a lamppost warm or something."

Harry realises he's practically beaming at him and promptly douses the wattage of his smile. He pulls the scarf from his own neck without thinking and wraps it around Teddy's, properly but loosely knotting it so that it's actually doing its job. He pulls his wand and casts a warming charm for good measure.

"Merlin, Harry, I'm fine." Teddy's gaze has dropped to the ground, but Harry can still make out the slight smile on his lips. His hair is going a startling shade of pink.

"That you are," Harry says. It's only when Teddy glances quickly up at him that Harry becomes aware of how that might have sounded. "Well, in that you're just cold. And we can Apparate home. I mean, you won't be cold long. You'll be… er, fine."

Harry picks up Teddy's bag from where he'd dropped it, just for something else to do besides make an arse of himself, and they make their way toward the entrance. "How about some hot chocolate when we get back?"

"How about some brandy?" Teddy counters.

Harry looks at him sideways as they walk. He can't quite ascertain if Teddy's serious or joking. But he's of age in the wizarding world at least. It's not an improper suggestion, just a new one. "Okay," Harry finds himself agreeing.

Teddy shoots him a small grin, and just like that, the guilt is back. Everything's back.

They make small talk all the way to the Apparition point in the alley outside King's Cross. "Well?" Teddy asks when they've arrived but Harry has made no move to Side-Along.

"Oh. Yeah, sorry." Harry takes a step toward him and touches Teddy's arm. "Ready?"

"Yes, Harry."

Something in Teddy's expression is so open it's jarring.

Harry clears his throat. "Right." It's a bit hard to concentrate as Teddy's eyes go from green to brown as he watches.

It's probably by sheer luck that they end up down the block from Grimmauld. It's begun to lightly snow, so they walk quickly to the door. Harry fumbles his wards, but Teddy doesn't seem to notice. They step inside the warm house and both let out their breath.

"Fuck, it's getting cold," Harry says. "Er… sorry. It's cold."

"You can say 'fuck', Harry."

Harry turns away from Teddy to remove his coat and hang it on the peg.

"I mean, all my friends say 'fuck'. Well, not Thomas. Thomas says 'crickey', but that's Thomas for you. Everybody else says 'fuck'. " He pauses, and Harry thinks he's through. But no. "Roger says 'fuck'. Darla says 'fuck'. Eliot says 'fuck'. Sometimes I even say 'fuck'."

Harry knows when fun is being poked in his general direction and turns, giving Teddy's arm a shove.

Teddy stumbles and laughs.

"You can have one or the other, brandy or saying 'fuck'. You can't have both."

"Well, I think I've said it almost enough for one day, so I'll take a brandy."

"Smart arse."

"Bad example."

Harry stops short. "Am I?"

Teddy blinks. "Harry," he says. "You saved the world, are you joking?"

"I was just a regular wizard in extraordinary circumstances."

"Merlin, I'm not the Daily Prophet looking for a quote." Teddy smiles at him, and something shines in it, gentle and unwavering. It's difficult to look at squarely. At least his hair's blue again. "You'll never be a regular wizard to me."

Harry feels warm in a way that he shouldn't, hearing that. He just wants to be a regular wizard. He's had years and years of being everyone's Saviour, and it's bollocks if you ask him. But when Teddy looks at him like that and says that so earnestly, it means something different, even if it's the same, and Merlin help him, Harry wants to be better because of it. Better than he is. Better than maybe he even can be.

"Why don't you get out of your uniform… I mean, changed… and then, uh, help me with dinner?"

"Sure, Harry," Teddy replies with a smile. That bit of hair that always falls over his right eyebrow starts going magenta from the tip up.

"Meet you in the kitchen," Harry says. Then he makes himself walk away.

xX


Dinner goes smoothly. It's so easy to have Teddy back in the house, Harry finds. They fall back into simple and comforting routines in which Teddy handles the main dish and Harry supports with sides. Teddy throws together a dessert, while Harry sets the table.

They clean up together after, and Harry pours two brandies. Teddy's at the sink. He's turned the Wireless on, and Harry slides his tumbler over on the counter.

"Thanks." Teddy takes a sip and then goes back to casting a heating charm on the water and adding some mint and lemongrass to the suds, which makes the whole kitchen smell lovely.

Harry can't believe he gets Teddy for two whole weeks.

Then, so quickly it makes his head spin, he can't believe how terribly short that seems.

He takes a long drink before he puts the leftovers away.

They make short work of cleaning off the counters together, and before he knows it, they're finished. Harry finds that he's slightly disappointed that there were no songs dedicated to him during the course of the clean up, which is certainly a first. He didn't realise he'd been hoping for it – that he'd yearned just slightly for some song to come on that Teddy would want to dance to, that would make him move close to Harry and take his hand and smile that same smile as before.

Harry hadn't realised how badly he wanted that to happen again until they're standing there, and Teddy takes the last sip of his brandy, sets the tumbler down with finality, says, "Well," and then waits.

This moment feels so much like the one before they hugged on the train platform. The air sits heavy in the room, potential with crackling energy. "Well," Harry says. His gaze travels down Teddy's body: the soft, faded t-shirt, his jumper discarded to do dishes; those ungodly, threadbare jeans; his sock feet on the cold kitchen floor.

"Well," Harry says again and then has to clear his throat because it came out too low.

Teddy swallows. He wipes his palms against his thighs.

"I suppose you have homework to do."

"Harry, it's Christmas break."

"Yes, but, well…"

"Well?"

"Well, you can't let your marks suffer, can you?"

Dear Merlin, what the fuck was that?

"Uh, no. I suppose not."

Maybe it's Harry's imagination, but Teddy's hair, even his skin, seems to go dull and wan.

"I mean, you were on the train all day. Probably best to make it an early night."

"Right. Of course." Teddy makes to move past Harry. "I'll just be going to my room then."

"Teddy." Harry's grasping Teddy's arm before he can decide it's a bad idea.

Teddy looks down at Harry's fingers and the possessive circle they make, then into Harry's eyes. They're standing far too close… as close as Harry wanted and not near close enough. Teddy smells like lemongrass, and Harry watches his pulse pound just under his skin at this throat. Harry runs his thumb over Teddy's wrist, just the once, and hears him gasp. Guilt assails Harry. He takes a deep breath and lets go. "Goodnight."

Teddy doesn't move away at first. He stands there looking at Harry expectantly. Harry can hardly breathe.

"Goodnight," Teddy says, blinking and taking a step back. His hair ripples back to deep blue. Everything goes back to normal. Teddy gives him a small if shaky smile and then turns to the doorway and walks resolutely through it.

Everything is normal – completely normal now – except for everything that's not.

xX


Harry has another brandy in his study, sipping it slow over the course of an hour. He tries to read a book. He tries to work. He stares into space.

Sleep, he decides. Sleep cures all. He'll go up, take some Dreamless Sleep, and go to bed. Because Merlin knows what he'd dream, what he'd do, if he doesn't.

Harry trudges up the stairs, stopping at the second floor landing. His own room is just down the hall, its inviting bed ready for him. Tomorrow will be different.

But he makes the mistake of simply looking up the next flight of stairs to the third floor. His feet follow his gaze, and suddenly he's walking up as if led by an Imperius. Harry's always been strong against that spell. He's just not strong against this particular version. The blue-haired kind.

He just wants to say goodnight. The way they left things… it was confusing. Harry doesn't want things to be confusing between them. He doesn't want to wait till morning. He's a Gryffindor; he deals with things right bloody now.

He'll just knock and say goodnight. He'll just smile at Teddy and let him know things are good. He's Harry, Teddy's godfather. He's safety and security, and his love is unconditional. This is what Teddy needs to know.

Harry stops just outside the door. He hears music coming from inside. There's a guitar and a piano, and there is something about it he recognises, though coming muffled through the door, he's unsure what.

He'd meant to knock. Truly, he had. But the doorknob is in his hand, and it's turning. Holding his breath, Harry pushes the door inward and peers inside. In a glance, things cystallise, though it takes a few seconds for Harry's mind to catch up with his eyes.

These are the things Harry knows instantly:

Teddy is lying on his bed, ankles crossed, one arm behind his head. He's got his wand out, and he's tracing wisps of magic in the air – silver, crimson, violet – in time with the rhythm of the song.

And it's that song. He knows it's that song. The guitar, the piano, the voice. It's as though Harry is in the kitchen, slice of cheesecake still on a plate in his hand.

It takes a moment more to grasp the words:

I'm falling in love with your favorite song
I'm gonna sing it all night long
I'm gonna dance with somebody
Dance with somebody, dance, dance, dance
He'd been so entranced by the sound of the music before. He hadn't really heard the lyrics. His legs had danced and his heart had raced, but he hadn't really heard. He's hearing them now.
He's understanding them now.

He's watching Teddy write his name in magic – Harry's name – with this song playing, and he knows.

Harry steps quietly into the room. He doesn't want to startle him. He says it only loud enough to be heard over the song. "Teddy."

But Teddy does startle. He sits up quickly, and his magic fizzles. Harry's name dissipates on the air. And then Teddy is fumbling with his wand, throwing a wordless spell at the Wireless that Harry supposes is meant to silence the song, if Teddy's frantic swearing at the fact that it increases in volume instead is any indication of his intentions.

"Fucking fuck!" Teddy raises his arm to try again.

"Teddy, don't."

Harry draws his own wand and turns the volume down a little but leaves the music playing.

Teddy is flushed and looking anywhere but at Harry, his eyes wide with humiliation. "I didn't-- I didn't know you were there. Did you…" He clears his throat. "Did you knock?"

"No. I didn't. I'm sorry."

Teddy's jaw goes tight, and he looks close to crying. It breaks Harry's heart. It occurs to him that he could pretend he doesn't know, that he never heard the dedication at all.

But he doesn't want Teddy to feel better because of a lie. He wants Teddy to feel better because of the truth.

"Teddy…" Harry tries again.

"Look, it was just a… It wasn't what you think. It was just… Just…" Teddy runs a hand through magenta hair.

The singer's voice aches through the room.

When you're all alone, we become your home
We're the music, we're the music
When your love's away, and you feel betrayed
We're the music, sweet music

Harry had loved the sound of this song before, but now that he's truly hearing it, he more than loves it. He gets it. And he doesn't feel like a fool any longer. It's killing him that Teddy now does.

His mind is already made up. There's really nothing to think about. There's no confusion left, and whatever guilt he felt… well, it doesn't compare to what's taking its place.

Still... His pulse races as he closes the door behind himself.

"Come here."

Teddy looks up sharply. "Wh-What?"

Harry takes two more steps into the room. "I said, come here, Teddy."

Teddy frowns and blinks. He goes to move off the bed and stops. Harry holds his hand out. The frown clears, though Teddy still looks apprehensive, maybe even terrified. But he stands. He takes three steps to meet Harry in the middle of the room. He looks down at Harry's offered hand, and Harry realises he's holding his breath, hoping Teddy will take it.

Teddy lifts his hand, places it against Harry's, and Harry closes his fingers. He pulls Teddy gently closer, changing the fit of their hands until they're in a dancing hold, Harry's other hand coming around Teddy's lower back, pressing them warm and close together.

Teddy gasps, his other arm still hanging uncertainly at his side. Harry has to take it and put it around his own neck before encircling Teddy's waist once more. "You wanted to dance before," he says. "Do you still?"

Teddy looks into his eyes in this searching way that practically hurts, it's so earnest. He nods.

Harry smiles, brings their held hands in close to their bodies, laying them against his own chest. He starts to sway with Teddy in his arms.

A breath rushes out of Teddy. He's still searching Harry's face for confirmation or denial.

I'm falling in love with your favorite song
I'm gonna sing it all night long
I'm gonna dance with somebody
Dance with somebody, dance, dance, dance

Harry snugs his arm a little tighter around Teddy's body. He feels so good, hot and shivering. Teddy lets out a tiny moan and then promptly blushes hard. Harry can feel the hot, hard length of his cock against his hip, and his own body responds. He sways Teddy to the music and his breathing gets ragged as his cock goes erect, too, their bodies subtly shifting against each other and sending sparks down Harry's legs, deep into his belly, until it's all he can do not to just bloody take him.

But he doesn't. He just relishes the feel of his trapped cock against Teddy's body and how their slow swaying teases him and teases him and makes him ache for more.

Teddy seems to feel similarly, because he drops his head against Harry's shoulder and whines. His lips are so close to Harry's neck that Harry feels the vibration of it. His cock jerks, his hand pressing Teddy even closer, and before he knows it, he's letting go of Teddy's hand, cupping his jaw, tilting his face up – and then for a moment, he's looking into such beautiful, deep brown eyes, and the thing that he's been trying to keep from happening happens.

"Harry…"

It sounds impossibly sweet and yearning. Harry's cock throbs for it. He angles his head, his gaze dropping to Teddy's lips, before he closes his eyes altogether and presses his lips to Teddy's.

In the next moment, he's dying, because Teddy opens his lips with no other provocation, and Harry only hesitates for a moment before he slips his tongue inside, and then, so suddenly, they're kissing – deep and soft.

Except that when Teddy groans into his mouth, soft turns to hard, and somehow Harry's hands have found their way under Teddy's t-shirt, and the feel of hot skin against his fingers unravels him entirely. Teddy wraps his arms around Harry's neck, little whines of pleasure seemingly unstoppable from his lips as they kiss and Harry's hands stroke up Teddy's bare sides, around his back, and haul him closer. They're not even dancing anymore. They're only kissing and touching, and Harry's cock is so heavy and hard, and he doesn't remember ever wanting like this before.

He breaks out of the kiss only because he realises the song has stopped, and it's quiet. "Can you set it to play over and over?" It seems like an improper question – like he should be asking if this is all right, if Teddy wants to stop, if he needs to talk.

But Teddy smiles with kissed-pink lips. "Yeah." He pulls and swishes his wand, and the song starts over. Teddy drops his wand to the floor. Then, his gaze hungry on Harry's mouth, and he strips his t-shirt up and off, letting it follow the path of his wand.

Break your happy home
Learn to sing along
To the music, to the music
Clap your hands and shake
On a summer's day
To the music, to the music

Teddy's hands slide up Harry's arms, over the rough wool of his jumper, then onto his shoulders, his neck. "Harry…" He leans in, presses gentle, inquiring lips to Harry's… peeks his tongue out and touches Harry's bottom lip.

Harry could stop this. He could come to his senses now, realise that a dance is one thing, a kiss is another, and this is still another.

He could end it. He could at least slow things down.

Harry, instead, tilts his head, and takes Teddy's mouth under his own. He takes it and takes it and takes it, and Teddy writhes against him, moaning softly, like can't help but do so, and Harry's never heard anything like it. He lets Teddy's sweet sounds and the driving force of the quickening song make him forget his own objections.

He only pulls back now to start to strip his own jumper off. Before he can, his gaze drops to Teddy's chest… to his small, dark nipples, rubbed red from the wool. Harry stops entirely. His hands feel magnetised to Teddy's bare torso, sliding up his stomach, stopping just short of where he wants so badly to touch. Teddy's chest rises and falls with his fast breath as he waits for whatever Harry will do.

Dear Merlin, he looks like he'd let Harry do anything.

With a groan, Harry dips his head down and licks one ready nipple. He licks and licks and then gently sucks on it before he licks softly again.

"Oh god, Harry."

Teddy's nipple is sweet in his mouth, and Harry growls against it, licking quicker but not hard, holding back just enough that he doesn't hurt him.

Teddy gasps… and then gasps again. "Harry, I think I might-- Oh god…"

Harry lifts his head and looks into Teddy's eyes, the pupils wide and black, lashes fluttering. His hair is pulsing with color – plum to pink to red and back. Harry cups his face. "Are you…? Do you need to stop?"

Teddy blinks, and his gaze goes hard with want. "Get your fucking clothes off."

Harry decides this is not the time to bring up the brandy-or-say-fuck conversation, which has, indeed, turned quite ridiculous now. Instead, he whips the jumper and t-shirt over his head, and before he's even dropped them to the floor, Teddy is on him again, kissing him, and the feel of Teddy's skin against his own is an unbearable turn-on.

All proprietary restraint gone, Harry's hands go to Teddy's jeans, getting them open and pushed down with his pants. He starts in on his own as Teddy peels his off his legs entirely. In seconds, they're naked, and Harry simply must stop to look at him.

"Merlin…" Harry whispers.

Teddy's whole body is flushed, but especially his cock. It stands up, nearly all the way to his hip, and Harry's momentarily taken aback by how aroused he is and how ready he looks… how Teddy's gaze has now dropped and he's staring at Harry's cock… how he's licking his lips.

He doesn't know if there's anything so beautiful as Teddy Lupin wanting him.

And Harry knows he'll bloody lose it if Teddy does that lip-licking thing again while staring at his dick. So he takes Teddy by the hips and manoeuvres him backward. He crowds Teddy against the bed, pressing their bodies together. Their cocks nuzzle, and Teddy's immediately leaks a drop of pre-come between them. He gives a little whine.

"Christ, Teddy…"

Harry pushes him gently down onto the bed and climbs up over him.

The singer's gravelly voice fills the room. Harry gazes down at Teddy, a hand planted on either side of his head. Teddy opens his legs a little, and Harry's heart hurts at the invitation. He settles onto his elbows, letting his body relax on top of Teddy, cradled by him. Teddy's knees hug his body. Their cocks touch, lain next to one another, warm and ready. Teddy's arms come around him.

Harry sinks his face into Teddy's neck and murmurs a slick charm. Teddy gasps as Harry thrusts slow, his hot cock slippery against Teddy's now.

Teddy digs his nails into Harry's skin then abruptly stops. "I'm sorry."

Harry kisses Teddy's neck, licking and sucking, and murmurs in between, "It's all right. It's good." He rolls his hips. It's more than all right. It's more than good. Teddy under him like this… Teddy's hands down his back… Teddy's cock and his own and the heat of their bodies… It's so much more than all right. It's what he's needed but hasn't sought. It's getting to finally let go.

Teddy leverages his heels behind Harry's thighs as his hands stroke down and cup Harry's arse. He squeezes in time with Harry's thrusting, and it rips a growl from Harry's throat.

Harry lifts his face to look down at him. One look and it's clear: They're going to come like this. With the song spilling over them, bodies rocking together. Nothing can ever be the same as it was now. Not ever.

Teddy bites his lip. He thrusts up faster, rubbing his cock on Harry's. "Oh fuck. Oh god…" He comes, and Harry is torn between watching it happen on his face and looking down between them at how his pretty cock twitches, and his semen, warm and sticky, shoots over his own stomach. Harry watches his cock slide through it as he keeps thrusting, but it's Teddy's quivering voice whispering, "I love you. I love you, Harry," that breaks him apart.

Harry whips his hips, dropping his face into the warm curve of Teddy's neck again. He's there on the edge of it for a moment, but then he's groaning and he's coming all over Teddy, and Teddy's hands soothe over his arse again and again. Harry doesn't know how he knows this – because his eyes are squeezed shut with the force of his orgasm -- but he knows Teddy is smiling.

And knowing that, in this moment, means everything.

xX

Harry wakes to the sun streaming in over Teddy's bed.

It's instinct to sit up quickly. It takes a moment to realise where he is, then that he's nude, then that he's alone.

The night before cascades over him in a rush of memory: the heat of Teddy's skin, the sounds he made, the feel of their bodies moving in concert, the song singing him to sleep with Teddy curled close in his arms.

Harry sits there for a moment and just breathes. He's momentarily overcome by how their scents have mingled in the bedclothes and how shamefully happy that makes him.

Which is when the fear decides to leak in.

"Oh god," Harry moans. He runs his hands through his hair, over his stubbly face. He knows he needs to find Teddy and see how things are with them now. He needs to prepare himself for the backlash, the backpedaling. Not that this is what he wants.

Harry slips his legs over the side of the bed, scratches at his neck, and then gets up to find his clothes. He gathers them and then peeks out into the hall. It's empty. Still…

He Apparates to his own bedroom with a crack, tosses his clothes in the hamper, and then tries to decide if he wants to shower or not.

On the one hand, he's manky as all fuck. On the other… his body feels alive and sore in all the right places and he'd like to cherish that feeling a little while longer if he can – without repulsing his godson with his stench.

Oh bloody hell. His godson.

Harry runs his hands through his hair once more. "Merlin, what have I done?"

He stands naked in his bedroom and waits for the guilt to Crucio him. He waits, staring at his own unused bed as if it has the answers. All he can think is that he smells like really great sex and he can feel the crescent moons of Teddy's nail marks on his back.

When green flames erupt in the fireplace, Harry is wholly unprepared for it. He stares, wide-eyed, as Teddy's head pops through. "Harry? Are you in here?"

He doesn't mean for it to come out as a question. "Yes?"

Teddy's head whips around, there's momentary surprise, and then a wide, wicked grin bursts like sunlight onto his face. He clears his throat in the next instant. "I'm about to burn the bacon. Are you coming down for breakfast any time soon?"

"Uh... Yes. I'll, er, be right there."

"Are you coming like that then?" Teddy nods at Harry's continued nudity. "That's fine, you know. I'm one hundred percent on board."

"No, I, uh, I thought I'd be fancy and put on clothes."

"Too bad." Teddy winks. He winks. "Hurry though, yeah?" Teddy's head recedes, and the flames die out.

For a second there's nothing – there's a blissful, empty nothing – but then the relief hits Harry so hard it makes him slightly lightheaded.

Teddy's fine.

Teddy's happy.

Teddy is, in fact, making them breakfast.

Harry feels lit up all of a sudden. He feels a daft smile coming over his face unbidden. He considers showing up in the kitchen without a stitch of clothing on anyway.

Harry hasn't scarred him for life, and Teddy is happy. Maybe as happy as Harry realises he is.

He decides to cast a quick Scourgify on himself and puts on the first clean clothes he finds.

Teddy is waiting for him. And there's to be bacon.

He considers Apparating again, but he rather likes the way his leg muscles are protesting the new exercise they've got. He likes knowing how he used them, and he wants to know and feel that with every step. So he takes the stairs.

Halfway there, he hears the music. It filters up from the kitchen on the smell of coffee and bacon and toast. He hears Teddy humming along to 'Drowned by Mermaids', momentarily obliterated by the sizzle of a pan, and then back again, like a beacon.

"I love you," Harry says aloud before he can stop himself… before he even knew he was about to say it. He says it to no one, to this house that's always felt too empty.

He says it as practice.

He bounds down the stairs and strides the rest of the way to the kitchen, and he knows with certainty he'll be saying those words a lot soon. He knows it as surely as he knows that when he walks into that kitchen, he'll find Teddy dancing.