A/N: I think Remus Lupin is one of my favorite characters. I couldn't help writing about him. He's always seemed the brooding, melancholy sort. Poor dude. Anyway, I haven't even written anything for this site in a while, but I was thinking about him the other day (lame, right?), and this just came pouring out. So, let me know what you think!
Unattainable
Remus Lupin slumped miserably in front of his softly crackling common room fire, lost in a state of melancholy.
Isn't it strange, he ruminated wretchedly, how sometimes the things we want most in the world are the only things we know we can't have? It's just one of those universal truths. It's inescapable. Ask the young girl whose father left her entire family alone, broken just for another woman. Does she wish with her whole being that her father would come home? Of course. Can that ever happen? Of course not. Ask the man whose wife of forty-seven years was lost to a heart attack. Does he wish from the bottom of his bleeding heart that he'd been the one to die? Of course. Will that ever happen? Of course not.
Why is it that these things—the ones for which we'd gladly give everything else up just to have for a single day—are often so unattainable?
Childishly, he sat back further into the overstuffed couch, trying desperately to squeeze some manner of comfort out of the ancient cushions.
Take myself for instance. What spiteful turn of fate left me to be bitten by a werewolf? Why did I turn into this…despicable creature? I've been changed into a monster. Something grotesque, something dangerous. Something that shouldn't exist.
He burrowed deeper into the pillows and felt his back hit the very back of the couch. He was now cocooned in flickering darkness and swallowed almost entirely by cushions on both sides.
But is it so wrong to just wish? Or do you only hurt yourself more?
His head sank back and came to rest on one of the many pillows that engulfed him.
I really can't help it. It's crazy to think of it, but I can't stop. I try and I try again, but it's useless. I want her.
He let his tired eyes drift slowly shut, recalling her face.
I saw her in the hall today. For thirty blessed seconds, I just watched her as she passed. I think the pain of it nearly killed me. But I couldn't stop looking. She's like the moon, pulling me in as effortlessly, unknowingly, and inevitably as the tide.
His pale forehead wrinkled painfully into familiar lines.
It was all like something straight out of one of those awful muggle movies. I'd been having one of those rare moments in my life…the ones when I actually feel peaceful. I was just savoring the softness of the slight sun on my skin and listening to the tapping of my feet on the stone floor. Content! It's a feeling I often wish would last.
And then a door creaked open, and she stepped out. I stopped moving just to watch her. I was absolutely frozen. I couldn't blink.
Her hair gleamed chestnut in the weak castle light, moving around her like a sort of dark halo in the draft.
Her skin glowed so invitingly. Just to touch her would be heaven.
She shivered in the chill of the wind, and her arms moved slowly—so slowly!—to wrap around herself. The very freckles on her forearms taunted me.
And then, like she sensed my helpless stare, the graceful lines of her neck began to shift. She moves so regally. Such poise is rare. I could barely breathe by the time she finally faced me.
A strangled sob escaped the tortured boy. He raised his head a few inches and jerked it back violently. The bruise would linger for the rest of the week.
And then time just stopped. Her eyes, so dark, reeled me in, and I couldn't look away. I think she stole my soul with that one glance. If she'd asked, I would've carved out my heart for her in that moment.
A single tear glinted at the corner of his eye in the dying firelight.
But I know I can't have her. All I want is to love her, hold her, keep her…I'd probably kill her in the end.
His head fell to the side as he drifted off into restless, troubled dreams.
Is it so much to wish for this one thing?