Post by ted on Jan 19, 2012 22:14:25 GMT
theodore remus lupin
TWENTY FIVE - ORDER – HALF-BLOOD - ANDREW GARFIELD - HEALER
THE SCARS OF YOUR LOVE
remind me of us - - - - - -[/center]
THE DAILY PROPHET
ANNIVERSARY EDITION: CHILDREN OF WAR
THE NEXT INSTALLMENT of the Daily Prophet series following the lives of the children of the second wizarding war. The SWW (1997-8) caused mass destruction and loss of life. On the anniversary of Harry Potter’s victory each year, we’ve interviewed a surviving witch or wizard who was there when it happened. In honour of the twenty-fifth anniversary we’ve put together a special piece detailing the lives, loves and losses of the children of the war and how being born into the mending post-war world has affected them.
THE FIRST OF our children of war is one Theodore “Teddy” Lupin, a twenty five year old young man born just one month before the end of the war. I went to meet Teddy in the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley for our interview, and to my surprise found myself entreating on a strange party-like atmosphere, of which he was at the centre. He was already there when I strolled in and in the space of the five minutes he’d waited for my arrival had amassed a crowd of well-wishers! Pushing my way through the press of laughing students in town to buy their supplies, it quickly became apparent why. Teddy, it appears, is a metamorphmagi – gifted with that rarest of genetic abilities allowing him to change his appearance at will – and is apparently more than willing to give himself a snout for the amusement of various onlookers.
Naturally my first question was whether this sort of attention bothered him. In answer, Mr Lupin merely shrugged and smiled. “If it bothered me, I wouldn’t do it. I don’t mind, really. I’ve had people gawking about it all my life. It’s not a bad thing, at all – you should have seen how popular it made me in my first year at Hogwarts.” When I asked if some people might consider it strange or abnormal, again I received a shrug. “Maybe. I’m proud of it, though. I got it from my mum, and apparently she wasn’t very shy about it either.”
If you’re wondering about the past tense, it’s because both Mr and Mrs Lupin were killed in the final conflict of the SWW, the Battle of Hogwarts. Remus Lupin is a name we might all have a passing familiarity with, having became famous posthumously as a close confidant of ‘the boy who lived’. Some of our older readers might also remember the scandal of ’94, after Albus Dumbledore hired werewolf Lupin to teach at Hogwarts. I mention his father's condition, and Theodore is immediately put on the defensive.
“I don’t see what different it makes to anything.” I tell him that some would say it makes all the difference in the world, and he bristles. “I didn’t think we were here to discuss that.” His answers hint at a deeply buried shame about what his father was, but I decide to save the interview and not press for further comments.
We talk for a while about growing up as an orphan in the wake of the war. Teddy is far from self-pitying. His answers are brisk, ranging more towards dismissive than anything else. “Growing up an orphan… It wasn’t a great tragedy for me. My grandmother raised me and she did a fantastic job – well, I think she did, anyway. And after the war, my childhood wasn’t that unusual. It was probably the norm. Do you know how many orphans Voldemort made?” I flinch at his causal usage of the name, and he outright laughs. “Surely saying it shouldn’t still be making people uncomfortable. He’s been dead for decades. He can’t hurt you now! Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort.”
I try and steer us back on track by asking again about his parents. Surely he must miss them? Teddy is as fickle as the grand British weather – in a moment, he goes from flippant to sombre and serious. “You can’t miss what you’ve never had,” he says earnestly, “but yes, I suppose. Sometimes, I miss them. I’m proud of what they died for… proud of being their son, but sometimes I wish…” He trails off, and after allowing him a moment to collect himself I press on.
I remind him of the connection between him and the boy who lived. The late, great Harry Potter was Teddy’s Godfather. Before the tragic double murder of Mr and Mrs Potter in 2015, they must have had a close relationship? Instead of this cheering him, Teddy seems only to grow more despondent. In his eyes there might be a flash of anger, as if he wishes he could reach across the table and physically hurt me. His voice is surprisingly harsh – almost violent. He has clearly been deeply affected by the incident. “I don’t want to talk about them. Or the murders, before you ask. I don’t want to talk about it.”
We allow a moment of silence, and I take the chance to study this poor war-torn soul. He’s tall and strapping, with all the confidence and arrogance in his bearing of youth. While we’ve been speaking, he’s been leant back casually in his chair, fiddling with the strap of his watch. The impression he gives is one of distraction – not in the sense that he has somewhere better to be (although he has, knowing as I do that this is but a quick interview squeezed into his lunch hour), but maybe that there is something on his mind. These questions must be hard for him – it must be difficult to delve into the past this way, especially when you have a past so full of tragic memories. I tell him so, but he merely scoffs.
“Tragic memories? No, not really. I’ve had a happy life. I’m not the sob story you’re obviously after.” But is he? An orphan, of mixed or dubious heritage, losing his parents in the fight against Voldemort? We’ve heard this story before. Is Theodore Lupin destined for great things? I ask him as much, and again he snorts derisively. “Not historically-significant great, not like you’re thinking. But great in a small way? Why not? I’ve worked hard all my life to get where I am and do what I do, and I feel like what I do is important.”
Teddy Lupin is a healer at St Mungo’s and has been so quite happily for the past two years. When pressed, he admits that he works in the Creature-Induced Injury ward. Dealing with things such as werewolf bites? I ask innocently enough. Don’t you think that’s ironic? “No.” He replies shortly. Was your decision to become a healer motivated by your past experiences? This question draws a hesitation, and a much more uncertain “No.” When pressed, he exhales loudly and bites his lip. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve always been one of those universal ‘big brothers’, you know? I like to look after people, take ‘em under my wing. But that’s not what you mean, is it?” Another pause, before he evidentially decides to be a bit more forthcoming. “I’ve seen a lot of people suffer in my life,” he says slowly, as if each word is heavier than the last, “and if there is anything I can do to help ease anyone’s suffering, then I feel like I should be doing it.”
It’s still not a real answer, but I feel it’s the most sincere one he’s given me so far. This line of conversation is a natural way to segue into the suffering he has seen, and back to our original topic. You grew up in a post-war world. Is that the kind of suffering you’re talking about? “Yes. My grandmother – she raised me, I said that, didn’t I? She lost everything in the war. Her husband, who I’m named after. Her daughter, my mother. All her family. She lost everything. I grew up in a world where everybody had lost the things they cared about most. But I also grew up in a time of rebuilding – a time of… hope? I guess that’s why, deep down, I’ll always be an optimist.”
Such a lovely sentiment. I tell him thus, and he laughs modestly and holds his hands out wide in a gesture of inclusion, inviting me to share in the joke. “What can I say? I’m so profound I’m a modern day Socrates.”
And that’s Teddy Lupin for you – one of many wartime orphans, but not of a self-pitying ilk. He’s a young man brimming with warmth and confidence, and if the time of his birth has affected him it’s done so only in a positive way. Here is an example of the effects of a better world – the one that so many, including Teddy’s parents, fought and died to create.
(Turn over for the next of five interviews, where I catch up with Alison O’Shea – the daughter of two convicted Death Eaters – about her post-war childhood.)
YOUR GOING TO WISH
[/size]you had never met me - - - - - -[/center]
name/alias: Pun
gender: female
age: 18
contact: pm, please.
how you found us: Caution 2.0.
other characters: none.
experience: About five years, but I took a year out which is why I’m so rusty and this application is so craptacular. :/
role play sample:Teddy was uncomfortably aware of her eyes on him. He tried to do anything but meet her gaze. Always the incessant fidgeter he busied himself picking up all the items on the counter and setting them back down again, one by one. Achingly slow. An empty glass, a cluster of cutlery that hadn’t quite made it back into the drawer, the stack of envelopes that had come with the owl that morning but remained unopened. Pick them all up, set them carefully back down in the exact same position they were in before. Bonus points for recreating the exact right angle, he promised himself.
When he was done, she was still looking at him. Teddy began to consider the possibility that ”I don’t think we’re working anymore, Ted.” was the kind of comment he might actually have to respond to. But what could he say? She’d made it difficult. If she’d asked a question, that might have made it easier. Even a rhetorical one. Even: Do you think we’re working out, Ted? Yes! Yes, that would have been so much better. Then he could have said: Yes, I think we’re working out. I think we are. I love you, Vic. I love you. We’re fine. We’re fine… aren’t we? No, no, no. Scratch that last bit. Take off the ‘aren’t we?’ That would just leave it open for her to say ‘no’.
He cleared his throat as if he was going to speak, then lapsed back into silence. A moment later he leant forward on the balls of his feet, raised a hand as if to make some kind of gesture, then lapsed back into stillness. He straightened the stack of envelopes again until the edges ran parallel to the corner of the counter top. She was still looking at him. He risked a glance upwards and saw that her eyes had started to moisten, and under the overhead lights the unshed tears made them look like jewels.
“Well…” he started to say. He looked back away from her again to marshal his thoughts. He couldn’t think when he was looking at her and she looked so bloody sad. How could he think under these conditions? “Well, you could say that, I guess. That we’re not working anymore, I mean. I don’t know… I thought we were. But…” He paused. Exhaled. Remembered how to speak using coherent, grammatically correct sentences. “Well, I don’t know what you mean, Vic. I thought we were fine.”
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