A/N: A little bit of sappy, bittersweet fluff that I wrote to cheer myself up after Deathly Hallows. It is set after the second war, though neither Remus nor Tilia has really let go of the pain of the persecution they faced or the grief for all they've lost. And yes, the imagery is a bit melodramatic. I was trying to write a scene of Remus I very amateurishly painted a while ago.
Moonless Nights
Remus Lupin sat beneath a tree, cradled by massive roots, his left arm resting on his bent knee and his right foot propped on a conveniently placed rock in front of him. The leafy head of the tree waved gently above him in a slight breeze, the same wind that sent his brown fringe into his eyes. He sighed, pushing back his thick, grey-streaked hair, and looked west, his hand lingering to shield his eyes against the glorious setting sun. She was late, as usual. He did not know why he had expected otherwise, and yet, for one night he wished…
A silhouetted figure appeared suddenly in his vision, blotting out the sinking sun. The lavender and pale pink of the sky fanned out behind the woman's form, and the dying sunlight shone around her in a fuzzy corona. The image took his breath away.
The moment passed, and lavender gave way to navy. The first stars winked overhead as the sun disappeared in a splash of crimson and plum. It was a velvet late summer night, and there was no moon.
In that haloed moment, the woman had oriented herself after the dizzying effect of Apparating, and now rushed toward him through the deep emerald grass and the chirping of crickets tuning for their evening concert. She alone was hurried in the calm world; it seemed she noticed this, for when she reached him, she slowed, running a quick, nervous hand through her short, black hair. Silver threads of it caught in the starlight as it settled into place.
He borrowed one of her expressions, lifting an eyebrow over amber eyes that shone with warmth and humor despite his attempt at questioning aloofness.
"Oh, don't give me that," she said, rolling startlingly blue eyes as she sat down next to him. She sighed. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting."
"I had wanted to watch the sunset with you, but you arrived just as his lordship the sun took his leave," he replied, smiling to take the sting from his gentle teasing.
She grimaced guiltily, then shrugged and returned his smile. They sat for a long time, wrapped in the sort of comfortable silence that comes of a long, close relationship. The only sound beside the crickets was the sigh of the wind around them. She shivered slightly, and he slipped his arm around her protectively. She leaned into his embrace, sliding her arm around his waist.
They both sighed in contentment, glancing at each other with smiles and eyes that sparkled with amusement. They had been together a long time, and it showed. Quiet moments like this were hard to find, so they savored every second of the dark, still night, watching the stars and listening to a lone nightingale singing a solo above the chorus of crickets.
Neither spoke until a shooting star blazed a path through the sky above them.
"Make a wish," he whispered. She raised an eyebrow, and they both laughed softly, regretfully, and said no more. They had both learned the hard way that promises, however sincerely made, were mostly empty, and that wishes for outcasts never came true. Only fools continued to believe in the power of wishes and promises, and neither of them would have survived if they'd been fools.
But deep in her heart, Tilia Lupin made a wish upon a falling star that, no matter how dark the world became, there would always be moments like this. She wished that, if she were forced to forget everything else, she would always remember these quiet, moonless nights.