The Nymph's Gift to the Wolf
Summary: Snippets of laughter, love and life in the face of a world tearing itself apart. No one knows how much another will shape their lives, or just what wonderful gifts they can be. RL/NT
Disclaimer: Seriously? There's even a question regarding this matter?
Chapter 1: Glowing Gazes in the Gloom
It wasn't the first time he'd taken note of her. It had always been difficult to ignore her presence. Even if he hadn't noticed her handsomeness and spirit, it was impossible to block out the sounds of destruction that preceded her. The crashes in the hallway announcing that the umbrella stand had once again fallen over, followed by the inevitable shrieks of that horrid oil-based banshee were the heralds of her arrival, but no matter how awful the cacophony was, it brought a bit of joy to his heart. He never harbored any hope and never deluded himself into thinking she could ever be attracted to him, let alone deem him worthy of entering a relationship with her; nevertheless, his anticipation always grew throughout the day as he awaited the evening hours when she would come to the house.
It was on one such evening when he found himself listlessly gazing out the window at the dreary London fog that had rolled in earlier. The weather had gotten colder and drearier over the last few weeks and he had hoped to glimpse the sun at least once today. Though the sun's absence was a disappointment, Remus couldn't fight the small smile that broke the long planes of his face when he glimpsed a short, elderly woman with wispy, white hair making her way down the street. When she arrived at the walkway to Grimmauld Place, she purposefully crossed the barrier and shifted back into her more natural form. The transformation was not as impressive as that of an animagus, but he was always stunned by how seamless it was. She had been trained well and had developed her own flair for the dramatic as he noticed an intoxicating copper shimmer run the length of her hair as it proceeded to darken into her preferred vibrant pink and purple hues. Beautiful, he thought, as a sigh escaped his lips. Luckily, he managed to turn the sigh of longing into one of boredom as he saw Molly entering the parlor out of the corner of his eye. It wouldn't do to have her speculate and gossip to the rest of the Order that their resident werewolf had formed an attachment to a colleague thirteen years his junior. Regardless of the diminished impact the age difference had in wizarding terms, Tonks was still only as old as the second Weasley son, Charlie. He wouldn't survive.
If the meeting had been more interesting, he might not have had to dwell on his imminent demise and his ridiculous behavior towards the Auror sitting in the far corner of the room. Vaguely, he noted the topic of discussion was dealing with supply stocks—not his field of expertise, nor hers, it seemed as he saw her heave a great sigh and fidget with the hem of her sleeve. Chuckling to himself, he gave into his wandering thoughts, glad no Legilimens was around to see into his traitorous mind. His reverie ended suddenly with the scraping of chairs and benches as the Order broke the meeting and stood to go about with business. As he looked around at those milling about, extinguishing candles, or withdrawing to other corners of the house, he saw another set of eyes staring at him intently. The light of the day had waned considerably, intensifying the glow of the eyes, but he swore they only got brighter in the reflecting candlelight. A moment later he realized they were growing brighter, even changing color. Within seconds, he was staring at the mirror image of the wolf's eyes, ablaze in their golden glory. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she stared back at him with the fierce gaze. And somewhere in his heart, a fire of hope kindled bright and brilliant. Maybe he'd survive after all.