You stumble through the door and trip over something– maybe a rug, maybe a table leg, maybe just your own two feet– and fall in an arc, graceless and flailing. You brace yourself to hit the floor, hoping it won't break your nose again, hoping it won't leave a lasting bruise. That gets awkward at work after a while.
Only, something gets in the way.
Momentarily, you're shocked, and, inexplicably, your thrashing gets wilder, anticipating, perhaps, a worse fall that the obstruction is likely to cause.
The obstruction wraps its arms around you.
You stop.
All of a sudden, it's a person holding you up, and it hits you that you're not going to fall. In fact, you're the opposite of falling, and you're sailing up-up-up! and your feet touch the floor, flat, stable. It crosses your mind that the offender this time was a troll leg umbrella-stand.
Cringing in embarrassment, you raise your eyes to meet those of your saviour.
And it's a man facing you... a man with jumbled light-brown hair, a smudge on his forehead, a crooked nose. A man with slightly whiskery cheeks– just the barest hint that maybe he's not the most meticulous person himself– and shabby robes, a lopsided grin and gray-blue eyes... The man rights himself from his lurch to catch you, tugging slightly on his shabby, patched robes.
He's interesting, there's just something in his air... On the verge of apologizing, you pause to take him in, silently, curiously, wonderingly– and just a bit suspiciously, you'll admit...
And he smiles at you.
You're knocked breathless, though you don't know why. Must be the tumble you took, just a bare second ago. His eyes, the color of a winter sky, no matter how cliche that sounds, suddenly laugh, full of mirth and a funny roguishness, and you almost want to scowl. He's laughing at you, honestly amused by your plight. The nerve!
But your mouth won't respond. You try harder to twitch it, pushing on the traitorous muscles with all your might.
It blatantly refuses.
"Remus Lupin," says the man. "Pleased to make your acquaintance." The words, oddly formal and full of grave solemnity, belie his chuckling eyes. He sticks out a hand for you to shake.
You take it. "Tonks..."
o
He watches you throughout the meeting, your very first of the Order of the Phoenix. He's sneaky about it. You can tell he's trying not to, and certainly trying not to get caught, but every now and then you'll move your eyes up lightning fast just in time to see his dart away.
Your mouth curves into a little grin, just one corner, to match his, and you look away again, feeling his eyes return to you almost immediately.
Sirius Black, your cousin who you've barely met because he's spent most of your life in Azkaban, kicks you under the table. He's smirking cheerfully, a knowing look in his eyes. You blush, though there's no reason to.
When the meeting's over, you stay a bit later with Sirius and Molly Weasley and Kingsley, who's a brilliant friend, if a bit unwilling to party.
And Remus Lupin stands by Sirius, talking and laughing, looking carefree despite the faint, premature wrinkles that line his face. He catches your eyes and calls you over, gesturing for you to help yourself to a Butterbeer.
You take one, somehow managing not to trip over anyone's feet. You navigate back to the table, feeling awed by your own dexterity, and feel like patting yourself on the back in congratulations.
You've almost made it when you feel the inevitable swoop in your stomach and begin to topple over, knocked sideways by someone, or something, you don't even know.
A hand steadies you; you don't have to look up to see who it belongs to.
And as you meet Remus Lupin's winter-sky eyes again– laughing uproariously, damn them– it dawns on you that he may have saved you twice from falling–
But you're far, far from safe.