The word "orphan" has never sounded right to his ears. The word "war" is never acceptable by any sane person's standards. "War orphan" is even worse. These two ugly words are put together to sum up the life Edward Remus Lupin has been in before he even learned to take his first steps.
He can't remember the timbre of his father's voice or the gentle touch of his mother's. He learned them by photographs, by their penmanship on parchment, and by the stories people have told him. He learned about them through text books and commemorative speeches for the Fallen. By all means, his parents are strangers.
He knows the streaks of silver in his grandmother's dark hair that match her eyes. He knows how the light reflects off his godfather's round glasses. He knows the different shades of Weasley red hair. He doesn't know the parents that left him.
He doesn't hate him for it would be sacrilege. They'd fought and died for their beliefs, for a better world, and it was all for him. They loved him and died for him. And if they didn't live for him, well, he can't help some resentment for that.
People have been quick to point out what parts of his parents are in him. His mother's laugh and humour mixed with his father's composure and colouring. He is the walking reminder of them. What they don't see is how he isn't them.
How he learned everything about life through his grandmother who had been a Slytherin and a Black though she didn't care for blood purity and genocide. How there was darkness, madness, and ambition inside him too so that the Sorting Hat laughed before placing him in Hufflepuff. How he values justice, equality, and devotion that could easily sound like revenge, submission, and obsession. And everyone knows how you pave a road to hell.
Then there's Victoire Gabrielle Weasley. And if he's combustible than she's immovable. The Iron Queen with an outer shell of gold and platinum. Decadent yet contained, she's a study in contradictions.
They look at her and see her mother's face and allure and her father's name and prestige. They see how she moves and speaks. They feel how she can take away your breath so easily. They don't see the danger underneath.
Ravenclaw is not known for its unity. Uniqueness, curiosity, and cleverness could easily become isolation, recklessness, and arrogance. They demand greatness, ground-breaking discoveries and more questions to be examined. And they will want to be the best no matter at what or who's cost.
It's no surprise she feels different from her enormous family. She's more steel than warmth. And while his own fire overwhelms, he can pretend. She can't.
It's no wonder they're drawn to each other. They mould and twist and break each other to learn and to create. They run together. They set the world on fire.
Darkness, madness, ambition, there are some things he can't escape. And she can't either. They stand on the ruins of great empires and reach for what they are owed. It doesn't matter if they come up empty.