I Tell Them We're Like Magnets (I Tell Them I Feel No Shame)

"I knew it was a crime
I did it anyway
I tell them we're like magnets,
I tell them I feel no shame
If I crawl into your blood
Can I sleep under your skin?
Come on let me in, don't make me wait."

Jack's Mannequin

I own a Fender, a large bed and too many books to count. Anything else isn't mine.


Teddy moves out of the flat he shared with Victoire, and you honestly have no clue of how to feel about that. On one side, you're relieved – they're no longer sharing a bed, and the jealousy that burned inside of you quietens down.

But you're also saddened for them, and so very scared, because now what?

Where do you go from there?

He's no longer living with her, but he hasn't come running to you as well. There's no longer a ring on her finger, you've heard, and she doesn't respond to the Owls you've sent her way, so this probably means that she knows about the two of you.

He locks himself into a dingy room at The Leaky Cauldron and doesn't answer the door when you knock, even if you do it every day.

The whole family explodes with the news of their break-up, and Hugo looks at you with accusation in his eyes because he knows, knows how you feel about Teddy. But you avoid his heavy stare and busy yourself with other pressing matters, like the fact that The Prophet offered you a more permanent work contract as Quidditch photographer, or how to adapt your camera to a need set of Muggle lenses you're just dying to try out.

Because if you don't all those things, if you don't keep busy every second of every day, you'll drive yourself crazy wondering if Teddy loves you, if he still loves Victoire, if or when your family will find out how you pretty much destroyed their relationship with one impulsive kiss that meant the world to you.

You do all those things because if you don't, you might start crying and you'll never stop.


It happens on a Sunday dinner at The Burrow, three weeks after New Year.

You're curled up with a book in your Granddad's armchair, almost dozing off after eating your weight in food, when you feel him staring at you from across the room.

You raise your eyes and stare back, sighing inwardly when he immediately looks away, running his hair through his now-blackened hair, the blush on his cheeks betraying him. You're suddenly so irritated, so tired of the pretense of it all, that you can't stand it.

You fling your book across the room and marches out into the snow without looking back, the sting of tears burning your hands, your whole body shaking.

It's one thing, him not loving you.

You can deal with that; have been living with that for years, with wanting him so much and having him not giving you a second thought. Being only little-Lily, the good friend and confident, the kid he kissed on the forehead and treated as if you were still nine years-old when you were almost twenty.

But what you couldn't deal with, wouldn't live with, was the way he kept avoiding you, as if you'd contracted some rare and fatal disease, and he just couldn't bear to be around you.

You hated it, hated the way he never dropped by your flat anymore, how you never went out for coffee (you) and tea (him) and just talked.

You hated, how he made a point of never looking at you, not when you could notice; but when he thought you were too distracted to realize, he couldn't look away.

You missed him, and this was the sort of behaviour that made you wonder, that gave you hope that you weren't allowed to have, not now and not ever, not when you knew he would never leave Victoire, especially for you.

So you had to walk out of that room, had to walk away from him, because when he looked at you like that, you couldn't breathe.You just ached and wondered and despaired, because it wasn't fair, always wanting something and never getting it.


Most of the time, you're glad you took matters into your own hands.

If it were up to him, if you had let him have his way, they would be stuck into a awkward and painful dance of longing and denial that would serve for no other purpose than postponing the inevitable.


They're inevitable, have been since the moment you first laid eyes on him and just knew that he was it for you, the one; and it doesn't really matter if there's eleven years between you or if he was supposed to marry your cousin, you just doesn't care.

Well, you do care about Victoire, and the fact that what you done hurt her. You love your cousin, and you know you've done a terrible thing to her, and that maybe all those tears and drama could've been avoided if Teddy hadn't been so stubborn, so damned blind.

But what's done it's done, and there's no point in dwelling on the fact that yes, you're a cheater, and you broke your cousin's heart, but if there's one thing you won't apologize for is for giving in that night, for finally letting go and surrendering to everything that had been building up inside of you and taking his face into your hands, bringing your lips to his.

You're truly sorry about making a mess of things, but you're not sorry about loving him.

This is the thing about being inevitable: you can fight it, and people can judge and condone all they want, and your cousin can make a big deal about how he was hers first, but what they all don't know is that the two of you, Teddy and Lily, well, you're like magnets.

You can't try to pull them apart; you can even succeed for a while, but magnets?

Well, magnets will always find their way back.


Then there are the days you can't wrap your head around your betrayal.

It was never in your nature, deceit. You were raised to be a truthful, honoured individual, and the fact that you'd succeeded at that until you screwed up that night floors you.

Sometimes, you try to breathe in the enormity of what you did, and it suffocates you.

There's no amount of apologies or time that can't undo what's been done to Victoire, to your family, and you know nothing will ever be the same. You know that you won't ever be able to look into your Aunt Fleur's eyes again, and you can't even being to imagine what your cousins or your friends think about you.

Some bonds are strong enough to never be broken, but what you've done crossed so many lines of decency and respect that you honestly have no hope of ever being forgiven.

When one week passes by and no one comes knocking on your door, not even Teddy, you just know.

You're alone in this.


He tells you he loves you one night, when you finally track him down and asks him, point-blank, if there was a reason, anything, that could give you some hope.

So he says he loves you, but there's always a 'but' when it comes to the two of you.

Iloveyou,are his exact words, butIlovehertoo.

This is what dying must feel like, you decide, as you hear him say those words to you with apologetic eyes, his hands reaching out or yours, this is what paying for your sins must feel.

You learn through Rose that he asks Victoire to meet on their special restaurant, and you hold your breath, brace yourself for whatever is meant to come out of it.

You wonder if there is a force that's strong enough to interfere with a magnetic field.

There's a knock on you door, and you know that once you open it, you will find out.

So you get up, brace yourself, and reach for the doorknob.


A.N: Aha. So, an open ending. Don't hate me. Like Teddy, I simply couldn't choose in this story, so I leave that up to you - who will be? Lily or Victoire?
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