Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any merchandise or movies or whatever...it all belongs to J.K. Rowling and whoever else...
A/N: Wow, another one shot. This's been sitting in my doc file for a LONG time. I kind of like it; maybe provides some characterization.
Read on, and enjoy.
His strength is a quiet one; a steadfast toughness born of survival. Not like Lily's, which burned and flared, or James', which was tempered and hard steel.
Not like Sirius' strength, which was lava, ever-changing, ever-moving, burning all who touched it. Not like Pettigrew—well, Peter had no strength but that leant to him by his friends; and even then, he was burned up inside from Sirius, cut up and hard from James' steel.
Now…his strength wasn't like Harry's, which was light, light and lightning that formed a sword, that shocked you and blinded you sometimes, but mostly was just…there; and sometimes was a soft light that illuminated the way, soft and steady. But always there was the sword of electric steel beneath, and that was what would defeat Voldemort.
Ron's strength was that of an avalanche of fire. It went on and on and on, never slowing.
Hermione's, like a breath of fresh air, knowledge and cleverness contained within.
Little Ginny Weasley had strength, too. It was fire, but fire that burned fiercely and slowly to give off as much light as it could.
Molly Weasley's strength was earth. It was the smell of cooking and clean sheets; the taste of rhubarb pie; the sensation of getting hugged as hard as possible; the sight of everything comfortable; the sound of singing as the wash was getting done.
But none so far had his strength, the small spark within him, the rock to lean on. No one else had it, or even recognized what they were doing—but they used his strength; leaned on him and depended on his rock inside.
Tonks hadn't his strength either, his beautiful Tonks. She was shifting, ever changing air. He needed her so he could take a breath. She was his air.
His strength was needed, especially in these dark times. Harry would lean upon him, Tonks would anchor herself upon him, those with the fiery strength fling themselves upon him and harmlessly scorch his outer layer when they needed to burn without hurting one who could not take it.
Harry would strike his sword of lightening and steel, light and metal, across Remus' strength, and quietly would Remus bear it. Harry would sharpen his lightening sword, brighten his light with the sparks that would fly off the massive granite that was Remus, relight his lightening sword when it dimmed upon Remus' spark. Soon he would grow a spark like Remus'; soon would there be rock born of survival behind the lightening.
Soon there would be that rock behind them all. Soon they would have that strength that comes at such a great price.
Remus just wished that they would not need that strength; that they would not gain it. Damn Voldemort for forcing that terrible strength into existence!
Remus wished that Voldemort had not built up that rock through the years of war.
Wished that they all could just be normal, with nothing but their first strengths; without that granite back and that tiny spark that was all that kept them from falling down.
Too late.
A/N (#2!): Oooh, the drama!
Yeah, that's it. Bye. Review.