I know I should be working on my TWD stories but I cant get inspiration until the show starts again or I have time to watch it this summer, it's been too exam/family stress filled lately so I apologise, I will try to actually update soon!
But for now I am in France, the language of love, and have read all six HP books again and really wanted to do a bit of Tonks and Remus loving, so I have! The chapter will be little at times but see it as cute and I will hopefully update soon enough that I don't annoy you all! (I have already done the first 7-ish chapters)
He couldn't love me. Not only was he a total prat, but I myself was unable to be what he needed. He wanted a nice, demure, impoverished female werewolf he could mope about with, I know because he's more or less told me this himself. I'm not a poor, dangerous and aged werewolf. And I was there, obviously so. You see, rainbow coloured hair and an inability to compose myself for five minutes before falling over my own feet or breaking some crockery made not-being-there-but-being-there a very difficult manoeuvre. Men! And they say that women are hard to understand.
I should just marry Charlie. I think that like fifty times a day and then regret thinking it because it's hardly fair now is it? We went out in fifth year. And sixth year. Oh f-ing sod it, seventh year too. Then ''our lives took different paths'' and started only hooking up at Christmas, New Year's Day and Easter. God, it's weird to not talk to him you know, like the first person I ask advice from I can hardly ask about boy troubles because he's my very complicated and very much over ex. I loved Charlie, honestly I can say that I did. I just wasn't 'in' love with him, you know how they say it is?
I thought I knew love because I thought it got as good as it was; butterflies in my tummy for a few months, good company and hour long chats. Then you grow up a little and evaluate what the books say- alright, what all the soppy films say too (not that I've watched them, or have them on DVD) - and you realise you've just teetered on the edge a little bit. Charlie and I had quidditch in common, a love of adventurous sweets and a boisterous nature. That's why we're friends now, as I say it sounds cruel, but really it's for the best. I think, in all honesty, a marriage between a Tonks and a Weasley would result in a violent murder six months down the line.
That doesn't explain why I'm raving about wanting to marry him now does it? I'm scared, that's why. Charlie would protect me, love me and we'd have a laugh of a marriage before the rows kicked in and we realised we didn't know the first thing about settling down or being grown up. But that is far more attractive when I know that that prospect is with someone who is exactly the same as me. But Remus, the guy I'm disgustingly fawning over, he's the reverse. He's reluctant to not only to protect me, but is adamant not to love me. Though I could listen to him all day, even his shouting, he could teach me just how to act like a grown up, how to be sensible and smart like he is.
He's everything I don't want in a man. Like all the men my mother chooses for me. He talks about books, actually sits there reading and treasuring the bloody things like they were his friends. Oh, and like that sarcastic humour the smarter variety of bullies always use. He's indecisive and fumbling and doesn't know what the hell he wants even when it's standing right in front of him. He's a commitment-a-phobe old dodderer. And I hate him, I absolutely hate him. Except I don't. Uh! His book thing is actually weirdly endearing, hearing him read out loud is even better. And his humour is just dry, witty usually and well-timed so you don't expect it- inappropriate sometimes but somehow I liked being caught off-guard by his roguish smile, it makes him seem so vulnerable and young. And I can't blame him, not really, for not wanting to love me.
I mean I'm a bit of a package deal with my mother (she buts in at every opportunity) and I always thought I'd be the darkest creature in any match (being able to colour my eyebrows at will), but I have my merits too, not entirely sure where but there must be. I'll ask Charlie when he's next home. But I did love him, I do love him, and maybe I'm not so naïve to be wrong in knowing- hoping- he rather fancied me too.
We met in the Order. Of course we met in the Order. This is the point where normally there'd be a pointless interjection from Molly, or Remus himself, stating how the exhilaration of war makes people rush into things they don't mean. Anyway, it was the first time back, seeing my beloved, albeit incarcerated-for-fourteen-years-of-my-life, cousin. We were busy hugging and laughing in some grotty kitchen, reliving old memories and trying to collaborate the young child and smiling man that we once were with the people in front of us now; exhausted, worried and frankly just old. There was no one else around me, not the aurors I knew or the familiar sights of the Weasleys who greeted me with great enthusiasm considering that they rarely saw me in non-skimpy outfits and draped in their son's arm. Unfortunately, that meant that I wasn't looking at what else there was in the room either, one step back and I felt myself catch the heel of my foot on a chair. I'm knowledgeable enough in falls, accidents and oopsies to recognise when I'm weightless and to brace myself for a pain across my back and bum.
Only the pain never came, not on my back or bum at least. In fact it was a very suave and very soft catch, surely would've been the most romantic swoon-and-grab of the century had there been a bit more forethought. Instead my head shot up in shock (okay so maybe the blame is on me) and hit his with, to this day, the most sickening thwacking noise I've ever experienced. He was knocked off his feet, and me not being on my own feet, fell with him. We were a tangled mess on the floor, both groaning (not in the good way- later dear reader!) and clawing for a way up.
Molly, the dear soul, she was over in a hurry. No one but a mother could detangle the offending limbs and we were left on the grotty kitchen floor, staring at the equally disgusting ceiling and grimacing for where it hurt. And it hurt everywhere. Sirius, seeing us both unbloodied and conscious, burst into loud guffaws which were echoed by the few other present members of the order. Remus, or the mystery man that he was up to this point, looked across at me with a concerned look of horror. I would have under any other circumstances reeled out excuses and apologies about my inability to show any poise and take total sure they knew it was my fault and my fault alone. Only his eyes were this weird amber-brown-flecky mix that were mesmerising. I got tongue-tied. This had never happened before, and so you must rather pity me in my nativity in trying to speak, which came out as a strongly high-pitched blubber.
The shock to the poor man's face! I think he thought he had knocked all good sense out of me, not knowing that there was none present to knock out in the first place. He shot up, his eyes going glassy with the force of it and Molly's protests, dusted himself off and offered me a very gentle hand. His hands are soft, and wrinkled, like worn paper. He steadied me with a hand on the small of my back, like you would a lady, and for a fleeting moment I remember thinking that if this is how delicate people are treated I might just try a little bit harder in future.
It was a lovely moment, and probably the reason I can unequivocally say that I was very much smitten with Remus Lupin the first time I saw him. Often, when I'm sat in the Hog's Head with only Aberforth's company after my duties I think about that first meeting. Most importantly I like to imagine how wonderful a flirt we could have had not Sirius chosen that exact moment to interject.
''I thought that werewolves only attacked beautiful young ladies on the night of a full moon.'' He fluttered his eyelashes in a ridiculous fashion, that I'm sure was meant to show innocence rather than insensitivity. But it was enough for stupid prat Remus to remove his hand like I burnt him and go an impressive shade of fuchsia.
Looking back now I like to think how long it would've taken for him to tell me in his own time. I asked Sirius once and he said I'd be about ninety and laying in my death-bed as he apologised and muttered more excuses. Thoughts like that make me sad. I always put them with the embarrassed and distraught face he made that day, looking at the floor and apologising under his breath for the insensitivity. It's a bearable disease you know, and being hardly normal myself, I would like to think I'm more open to accepting those who the community normal judge.
''Thank you.'' My voice was strong for the confusion I felt at his reaction. Even then I couldn't believe that this poor man suffered such trials, though was unfazed by the information. Maybe Sirius had mentioned it, or his eyes struck so deep into me that I accepted the werewolf thing near instantly.
He looked up at my voice, giving a half confused smile and then offered me a warm hand for a formal greeting. Though I could now laugh at his pompous nature, I thought then that he was offering due to the simple awkwardness of our meeting, but I should've somehow known even then that he was the type of man to have to introduce himself in the proper way.
Sometimes I like to consider how we met, colliding into each other really. That's what it felt like too. Remus never 'came' into my life as such, he entered abruptly turning everything on its metaphorical head and messed up what I thought I knew and what I didn't know was necessary for survival. It was like being told that I had been breathing wrong for the last twenty-four years and delivered my first lung-full of fresh air. He does that to you.
Of course a lung full of open life come with its negatives as well as the positive you might be imagining. Yes, I learnt what the grass felt like and how blue the sky can be when you're in love, but I also suffered extraordinarily. Neglect, distance and loss were somehow sharper more important. I could see more of the world than from behind my old window, but I could see the suffering too. And I cared more. And I increasingly ha less and less to do.
If you've never suffered that way then you're lucky. The feeling of grasping with bleeding finger nails onto being any use, as you watch yourself become depleted; unhelpful as everyone else is screaming to their own minds torture. I guess that's how Sirius was, and, trust me, I pity him for that above all else. In fact sometimes I think it's good he passed so easily so he no longer felt that way, another few years would've been torture in that house. Free spirits should not live in brick-propaganda cages.