A/N: For AphroditeAwry's Flower Challenge on the HPFC. My flower was marvel of Peru, which symbolizes a Flame of Love.
A Proven Fact
The glow of the flame, illuminating his tanned, freckled face, was the only source of light other than the trillions of stars above him, stretching across the inky sky into the unknown. The scene was one of orange from the round, harvest moon, to his hair, to the glorious flower clutched in between hi index finger and thumb and he could not help but think of a magnificent, splendid chandelier in which he was nothing but a single flickering candle that could be blown out at any given moment and no longer contribute to the great, overall glow. Because no substance, person, feeling, idea was immortal and no substance, person, feeling, idea would ever be an exception to that rule. It was simply a proven fact.
"He asked me to marry him."
He froze. "And?"
"And I said yes."
His eyes widened as he swallowed the dread rising in his throat. "But then . . . but then that means there's no hope?"
"For us?" She took his hard, calloused hand in her soft, delicate one, a gesture of sorrow and consolation. "There never was."
He closed his eyes against the memories. He did not want to remember. He should not have to remember. No one should have to remember the pain of a breaking heart.
The memories continued to play like little movies he alone had tickets for . . .
"Hey, Weasley!"
He turned toward the Hufflepuff table, ignoring his friends' sniggers and the fluttering of his own stomach.
"Yeah, Tonks?"
"Nice game yesterday," she called. "You sure creamed Slytherin."
"Course I creamed Slytherin. I'm me, aren't I?"
She laughed. "Well, don't get too cocky! Hufflepuff's been training hard this year . . ."
He grinned. "I think we can handle them."
She smirked, dark eyes dancing with laughter. "We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?" She winked and turned around.
He stared at the back of her blue head for a moment longer before turning around in a daze, not hearing his friends' teasing comments nor caring.
She had winked at him . . . .
Reminiscing on the moment, he despised the way he had reacted to a wink. What had he been, a silly little school girl fawning over some handsome rock star with nice hair? He shook his head. The past was behind him and no amount of regretting it could bring it back.
"You're cute."
He blinked at the tiny, pink-haired, pig-tailed girl, who could be no older than himself, as she sat on a picnic table, swinging her legs back and forth, eating her Florean Fortescue's ice cream as her parents were off doing who knows what. His mother and father were a little ways down, being introduced to some boys his brother was friends with, much to Bill's discomfort.
"Er . . . thanks?"
She proceeded to slide off the table, accidently (or so he assumed) discarding the contents of her ice-cream on him.
"Oh --- I'm so sorry!" she cried as he jumped back in surprise and cold. "It was an accident, I swear! Ugh, I'm such a klutz, every one's always telling me ---"
"It's ok! Really, it's not even cold anymore." Well, it was a little chilly, but she didn't need to know that. "Shame, you had to lose your ice-cream though . . ."
Her worried expression hardened into a scornful one. "You're probably freezing to death and just want to make me feel better!" She grinned. "Thanks."
"No problem. And I'm not freezing to death!"
She laughed. "I like you. Do you go to Hogwarts?"
He puffed out his chest, proud. "My first year."
"Mine too! We should hang out sometime. My mum says I have 'a thing for older men' and I'm determined to prove her wrong."
His ears heated up and his heart fluttered slightly, though he was not quite sure why. "Sure." He stuck out his hand. "Charlie Weasley."
She beamed as she shook his hand. "Nymphadora Tonks. Though don't ever call me that. Horrid name, don't you think? Quite a mouthful. I was thinking 'bout shortening it to just Tonks; I've always been fond of the name. My folks call me Dora, would that be better? Kind of girly though, I've always thought. Oh, but I'm the only one talking, what do you think?"
He stared at her. "I think you talk a lot."
"Dora! Let's go!"
Her eyes drifted over to a young, dark-haired couple a ways away. "Oh, I have to go. See you at Hogwarts, then?"
"Sounds good."
She smiled and skipped away, but not before taking the time to wave over her shoulder and yell, "See ya, Charlie Weasley!"
He raised a hand in farewell to her retreating form. "See ya, Just Tonks."
If his heart had not been aching so, he would have smiled at the memory from such simple days long ago. Days with no war or calamity or traitorous hormones. Good days. Days he wished he could have again.
"What're you doing out here? Shouldn't you be inside, celebrating?"
His head whipped around in shock; he had thought he was alone, sitting out on the lush grass, gazing at the lake. His mind immediately jumped to 'teacher!' for curfew was past, but he was pleasantly surprised.
Her hair was choppy and silver, no longer the black and blonde it had been earlier that day to support her house, reflecting the glow of the full moon beautifully. The cold wind carried her strawberries-and-cream scent to him and his stomach did somersaults.
"It was getting a bit crowded in there, to be honest. I've never been big on crowds. More of the outdoorsy type, you know? There's just something so . . . serene . . . about the outside. It's peaceful."
"I know what you mean." She gently sat herself next to him, the wool of her sweater brushing his arm. "Great game, by the way. You really are the best there is."
He battled the smile that instinctively wanted to make its way to his lips, reliving the wondrous game in which he had trained for, fought for, all year, instead opting for a nonchalant snort.
"Nah. That new seeker, Diggory, is great. Hufflepuff's sure lucky they got him."
She rolled her eyes, but said no more on the subject. She sighed, as she gazed up at the stars dreamily. "Beautiful, aren't they?"
He looked at her. Really looked at her, her bright hair, fair skin, big brown eyes.
"Yeah, they sure are." She smirked and he knew she had caught him staring out of the corner of her eye. "The --- the stars, I mean. Really beautiful. Most beautiful things here. Not that anything else isn't beautiful, though. I mean, there's the lake and --- and the castle, of course. And, er, what are you thinking?" He asked the final question slightly desperately, for her expression from where he sat was unreadable.
She looked at him, eyes laughing. "I'm thinking you talk a lot."
He was suddenly all too aware of their close proximity, the warmth of her breath, the smell of her skin. He had never noticed the freckle right below the corner of her left eye, or the slight sheen of spit on her lips from licking them.
Her lips . . . her lovely . . . lovely . . . lips . . .
But, no matter how he wished he could live in them again, those days were gone, nothing but memories. And that's all they ever would be.
"This flower is a symbol of our love. By day it blooms beautifully for everyone to see and by night it ---"
"Let's go," he breathed, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the bustling street of Hogsmeade and away from the happy couple they had been spying on. It was Valentine's Day, couples everywhere walking the road, and for once he felt equal to them.
"Oh, come on!" she whined. "I wanted to hear how the rose symbolized their love by night!"
"I, however, did not." He shuddered at the thought.
She laughed and entwined her fingers with his. In honor of the occasion, her hair was shoulder-length and purple with pink highlights. She received numerous stares, though he was sure she did not mind.
"Oh, Charlie," she sighed dramatically. "If only you were as romantic as some of those other men out there!"
He scoffed. "Giving a flower is not romantic. It's stupid. Here, I'll show you why." He plucked a daffodil from a nearby shrub and kneeled theatrically in front of her.
"Nympha ---" he began, but she glared at him. "I mean, er, Tonks. This flower represents our love. Right now, it is beautiful and blooming, but one day, it's going to die because that's what flowers do. Yes, I definitely see the romance in that."
She rolled her eyes and playfully slapped him. "Not that fond of flowers, are you?" she asked as they continued their walk.
"Wherever did you get that idea?"
"Seriously, Charlie. What's wrong with them?"
He shrugged. "I just don't see the point. Sure, they look pretty and all for, like, a day, but then they die."
"Well, we're going to die, too. So, what's the point of living?"
He frowned, for some reason deeply shaken. Maybe it was the thought of dying. Or perhaps, it was that when he reflected on her question, he could not find an answer.
He groaned and clutched his head, remembering. It was the worst feeling in the world, worse than heartbreak and sorrow and pain, to look upon life and not understand why you had it. The hopelessness, the helplessness, they were almost too much to bear.
If only it would go away . . . .
"Happy late Valentine's Day."
He blinked at the beautiful orange flower, matching the color of her pixie cut, she held out to him. A flower. She was giving him a flower. After what they had talked about yesterday?
"Er . . . thanks," he said, taking it, careful not to accidently snap the stem. Another testament to the stupidity of flowers. They were just so darn breakable!
His expression must have been less than satisfied because she laughed. "It's a marvel of Peru. A Four O'clock flower. A Mirabilis jalapa. And get this: it's been charmed to never die." She hesitated as his eyes widened. "Unless burned. But I suppose everything's got to have a weakness."
He gazed in wonder at the flower. "Wow. Where'd you get it? Hogsmeade?"
"Yep. I went into that botany store when I said I had to use the loo. I just thought you might think it was cool, you know, since you think flowers are all pointless because they die and stuff . . ." She chewed on her lip, carefully watching his face. "So, er, what do you think?"
"I think . . ." he said slowly, "that that has got to be the nicest, sweetest, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me."
And then, after carefully setting the marvel of Peru down, he kissed her like he had never kissed anyone before.
He fingered the flower's petals idly, swallowing against the lump in his throat. He was not about to cry. He was strong and tough and a dragon handler and was not about to cry because some silly little crush in his teens had moved on after he himself had ended their relationship. It was his own fault, he knew this would happen, and he would be strong if it was the last thing he did.
"It's alright. This is what you've always wanted. I get it."
She should have been angry and hurt. She should have been yelling and she probably should have slapped him. He wanted her to yell at him and slap him. It was what he deserved.
"Tonks --- you --- you know I --- I luh ---" He could not quite force the words out.
"Yes, Charlie," she patiently continued. "I know you love me. But you love dragons, too, always have, and this is what you've worked your whole life for. It'd be like if someone suddenly offered me the opportunity to fight dark wizards in an exotic country. Really, I understand."
He downcast his eyes, mumbling, "You shouldn't. I'm a horrible person."
"No you're not. You're young and ambitious and the world is your playground. And you're far too much of an adventurer to settle down. If I whined and made you feel guilty or forced you to stay even when I knew you wouldn't be happy --- well, then, I would be the horrible person."
He looked at her, this remarkable human being who had taught him so much about life.
"I love you," he breathed.
She smiled and her eyes were oddly shiny. "I love you, too," she choked out. "I always will. But --- but I can't promise you that when you come back from Romania I'll be here waiting. I can't promise some other dashing lad won't jump out of nowhere and steal my heart. I can't promise I'll never fall for someone as hard as I fell for you."
He gulped, nodding. "No. And even if you did promise, I'd never hold you to it. That just wouldn't be fair."
It was getting late. They both knew it and he still had to bid his family farewell.
He supposed a clean break would be best. And so, with a heavy heart, he fished the marvel of Peru from his pocket. It was battered and beaten, yet still blooming.
Pressing it into her startled hands, he said, "Take it. Let it always be a symbol of our undying love." He smiled as he said this last sentence and so did she.
He disapparated before he could see her cry.
He clutched the flower tighter, and closed his eyes as the tears threatened to fall. He would not let them. He could not let them. Because, if one tear fell, who knew how many would follow?
It had been a long journey and an exhausting day. His mother had cried more than he ever wanted to see a woman cry again.
He slung his pack on the hammock that he was told was his. Tomorrow would be busy so he planned on catching some shuteye. He unzipped his pack, in hopes of finding his toothbrush in the mess of clothes and supplies.
He gasped. Lying neatly on top of his packing was the orange marvel of Peru in the most pristine condition he had ever seen it, with a scrap of parchment next to it. He picked up the parchment where a note in a familiar scrawl had been written and read:
Keep it.
Maybe whenever life gets tough or loss is all around, it will remind you that some things, like love, are forever.
N. Tonks
His eyes flew open and he refused to remember anymore. Pictures and words tried to flood his mind, but he barricaded them with his will.
The flame flickered hungrily, calling him, begging him to feed it. And he wanted to.
His fingers released the orange marvel of Peru, the Four O'clock flower, the Mirabilis jalapa, and it fell slowly, twirling gracefully to its own demise. The fire flared for its food, engulfing it, and sizzled happily as the last connection of him to her, the final evidence of their love so long ago, blackened and turned to dust.
Watching it wither away, he no longer felt pain, simply resolve and discernment because this was the way life worked. Every thing dies at some point, nothing is immortal, and no flower or love is an exception.
It was simply a proven fact.
"Some things, like love, are forever."
A/N: So what did you think? Feedback is EXTREMELY appreciated!
Thanks!
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