A/N: This is my very first Remus/Tonks fic, a oneshot written for rtchallenge on LJ. I used the prompt "Chiaroscuro – the distribution of light and shade in a picture". This is set sometime during HBP. When I saw the prompt, I immediately remembered a lesson we had in Physics concerning rainbows and moonbows - naturally, Remus and Tonks were on my mind, and I paid more attention to that topic than I ever did before. ;) Remus' explanation of moonbows is shamelessly grabbed from Wikipedia. Please leave me a review and let me know what you think!
Moonbows by melancholic
A blazing white arch lights up the black sky.
His eyes are drawn to it, in the same way one glimpses something so breathtaking in the distance, captivated by drinking in its beauty that he is torn between keeping his gaze fixed onto it, and blinking repeatedly just to make sure that it is really there.
Somewhere, in the canopy of the heavens where little pinpricks of stars shine feebly against the much fiercer glare of the city lights, it creeps against the bulky clouds, bow-shaped, its faint brightness searing the cold, unfeeling sky.
It is ironic to think that he would be admiring anything made beautiful by the moon.
"Remus, why do you love staring up at the night sky?"
Her words anchor him back to reality. His eyes dart over his shoulder as his gaze lands in the direction of her voice – barely audible than a whisper, but her words ring loud and clear to him in the stillness of the night.
She looks embarrassed, a tinge of red flushing her cheeks, the shade not far from the vivid, strawberry colored spikes that used to adorn her head. She acts like she knew better than to interrupt him as he brooded and stared down the heavens – but she did anyway, because that's just what she does. It seems as though she never thinks twice about letting questions about his little quirks fall from her lips. He never hesitates to answer her, because it secretly pleases him to see someone who observes him with a determination comparable to that of the ancient astronomers who mapped the vastness of the heavens, and because it means that he is not alone in studying her. He watches her with the same searching intensity that is reserved for stargazing, but that is something that she does not need to know.
I like to delude myself into thinking that, if I look hard enough, I will see our constellation in the sky – it is a pity that such a thing will never exist. We are galaxies apart.
Of course, he does not tell her that. A different set of words tumble from his mouth. "I like to remember how insignificant I am."
He cuts in before she can say anything else, her lips moving quietly in protest. "When I look at the stars, I am always comforted by the fact that my woes are nothing to them. Out there, I am not even a speck of dust. It makes me worry less, feel outside myself for a moment, like there are much bigger things than this war. Or my lycanthropy."
Silence. She nods, and he sees understanding settle into her eyes that are as dark as the night that surrounds them. She probably does not expect to hear such an avalanche of words coming from him. His own reaction comes as a surprise to himself, but none of it is betrayed in his expression. His eyes find their way back to that strip of light, shining against the dim background of stars.
She plops herself down beside him on the doorstep, and he hears the sound of her breathing. He knows she is looking up at him with those dark eyes, and the fact that he has robbed them of their twinkle because of the war he wages not against Voldemort, but within himself, hangs thickly and heavily in the air between them.
He chances a glimpse at her. The sight of her beauty still manages to stun him, even if he is staggered that she appears like a shadow of the supernova she once was. Her limp, mousy brown hair dangles on her shoulders. Some strands of hair fall into her eyes, those same eyes that look at him with only one question burning in them: why?
Instead of answering, he turns back and looks at the sky again. He raises his hands and points at the white arch in the distance. "Do you see that?"
Her gaze follows his fingers. "That white thing hanging in the clouds? What is it?"
He nods. Feeling a smile tug at the corners of his lips for the first time longer than he would care to admit, he replies, "It is a moonbow."
She arches a brow at him incredulously. "Did you make that up? I never even heard such things existed."
The smile threatens to bloom into a grin. He launches into the professorial tone that, what feels like a lifetime ago, she used to say was very fitting (read: sexy) for him. "A moonbow, or a lunar rainbow, is a rainbow that occurs at night. Moonbows are relatively faint, due to the smaller amount of light from the moon."
He sees that her interest is piqued, and for a moment, he welcomes the distraction of finding something as rare (these days) as wonder flit across her face. He takes that as his cue to continue, "It is difficult to discern colors in a moonbow because the light is usually too faint to excite the cone color receptors in our eyes. As a result, moonbows often appear to be white."
She is looking at the moonbow. He pauses, taking in the rare opportunity of watching her as she is enthralled. Wonder plays on her face, and he observes her with rapt attention. He remembers how he once put a similar expression on her features, and how she would always say, "You're fascinating, you know?" He never believes that, but nods anyway. Now, at this moment, he is glad and relieved that, despite everything, he still has a capability, no matter how small, to do that.
"If you squint hard enough, you can see the colors," she murmurs, her forehead knit in concentration.
He doesn't dare. He accuses himself of reading too much into things, putting meaning where there is none. He knows that she is speaking of the moonbow, and not of their current status.
"Moonbows are most easily viewed during full moon, when the moon is brightest. Or just after astronomical twilight in the evening or before astronomical twilight in the morning - when the moon is low, not overhead."
The words fall automatically from his lips, devoid of any feeling. He feels himself wince, not at the mention of the full moon, but at how he has done it again, removed any trace of happiness from those eyes that used to sparkle so much, and vanished the possibility that she still could be awed at anything. He sees the tears stinging in her eyes. A familiar sort of pain stabs him.
He knows he should not continue to speak. Never again, perhaps. But one glance back at the sky and its impending darkness, and another at her face, tells him that making things right, at least for this moment, right now, is all that matters and maybe, just maybe, he still can.
"As with rainbows, they are always in the opposite part of the sky from the moon," he states as though he were reading from an encyclopedia, but his own eyes implore her to understand that she is his rainbow, that her colors should not be dulled by the moon, and that even if they are in the same sky, they are still on opposite sides of it.
She returns his gaze intensely, reiterating her earlier observation, but this time, he does not imagine the meaning behind it. Look harder. The colors are staring you in the face. I am not a distant band that relies on the moon for its color. I come from the sun, and I want to set you ablaze with my brightness. Please don't let yourself continue to drown in this dark sky.
He sees the truth glaring at him from behind her gaze. And in this moment, he decides that there is nothing wrong with surrendering.
"You will always be my rainbow, Nymphadora."
She gives a little sigh as she nestles against him, her head falling towards the crook of his shoulder. He snakes his arm around her waist, drawing her close. The screams of protest and restraint that are resounding in his mind are momentarily silenced.
A blazing white arch lights up his black sky.