Remus always had dark shadows under his eyes. It had almost become his second most idealised feature other than the deep lines in his face. After the commotion of his heart last night, he had spent almost two days under candlelight watching the lighted marks skip and dance underneath his gaze as if he was reading a book for the first time or he was man confronted with fire. He had only almost ten minutes unearthed himself from his confined quarters downstairs. There was a faint detection of something order-like about the condition of the house. That was what happiness could do to him - reduce his vocabulary to that of catering for words he could not find. Passing Tonks in the hallway had been a funny incident in itself - it was not in his nature to laugh, but it was hard to contain himself at the look that she gave him as he came up on the basement ladder looking as if he had just given birth and been born himself, resurrected as Godric Gryffindor and pranced across the hallway when all he was really doing was having a small discussion of a smile to himself. He really wasn't in a place to help it, but he was so clear of immediate angst that Tonks hair turned a soft yellow from a intensely dramatic red as he crossed her. In an unexpected, intimate movement he had kissed her on the cheek, smelling distinctly of sweat and for some reason that would keep bothering Tonks all day, strawberries and cream.
He was now in the raggedy cottage kitchen that he owned and the breeze was coming on from the back door and he treated himself to actual strawberries and cream from the freezer. Heavens knows where that came from, though, he had never bought it. He had not touched the stuff since Sirius had left them - it had been his favourite from an early point - it was, he liked to think, or could never really put his finger on the reason that they had connected - for if it wasn't for the strawberries and cream located on the Gryffindor table slap-bang in front of first-year Remus, lost and simply baffled that Sirius reached for, they might almost never had developed from acquaintances into friends.
The map had brought him into highs he believed he would never feel again in his surely short-lived life and he would angst himself into an early grave. He wasn't quite so sure why he needed it so much - the map, itself. Maybe the reason for his child-like happiness was the result of accomplishing something that was completely aside from the work that he did with the order. He could never complain. In some respects, the duties he had put upon himself were therapeutic and preoccupied his mind for a very long time and continued to be something that saved him to be blunt about it. The world - from Hogsmede to the Ministry to dusty diagon alley revolved around he-who-must-not-be-named-however-will-be-shamed-and-maimed and his life has dilated to nothing else. It was all that lived for. To have something else grace the picture was a breath of fresh air even if now contemplating it - it reminded him of need to delve into it. The map would have to wait but he had life in him now to get by for longer than he had ever hoped of imagining.
He shrugged on a large, heavy suit and he used a blunt knife to shave to his normal standard and his fingers pelted his heart flimsily and left him with an aftermath of it only being combed, not improved. In a mirror he briefly inspected his strained skin, and eyes that were immersed in what could only be described as dirty water. His nose - noticeably large as it was was more a comfort these darkened days rather than a shield to stop anyone from talking to him unnecessarily, as used to come in useful for when he was in company with a particularly riveting book or plummeting himself into some letter or essay of importance. His eyes paused over where his heart was and his brow burrowed. He had never regarded himself as small - in fact he was lanky and inproproportionate and incredibly skilled in getting under one's feet but in regards to his heart he suddenly felt very to the side.
He shined his shoes with a wet cloth and he disposed of it in an unhinged rusty bin he would never fix. He read through the note that had been left for him sealed with string beside the front door. He expected something along the lines of somebody like Alaster or perhaps one of the Weasleys - Mr Moody was even though you wouldn't think it, very eager giving Remus jobs to keep him occupied. Although it was never a conversation they had ever had - it was apparent and very, very welcomed. The Weasley's on the other hand - especially Molly - had other agendas but were also very fortunate in their kindness often inviting him over to dinner - tea- supper - whenever, now please, would you just come, no time is ever out of the question sort of invitations and he got these almost compulsively through owl every other day. He was certain that he would get a few a day but Arthur created diversions for some of the birds.
The note was unusual. From just as kind and remarkable a wizard, but the more timely-considerate. It unnerved Remus how he would get a letter from Dumbledore on the exact days where his mood turned for the better. He was about to open it with a letter-opener the wrong way around when Tonks came out from the sitting room. He hair had returned to a subtle violet and she seemed to be wearing something not only lycra but luminous. Not used to seeing such bright things, even compared to his night-light bees from last night, he blinks three times in a row and stood backwards in order to squint at it. "You look...you look very nice, Nymphadora."
He was expecting her to be scathing, bubbling like an overflowing cauldron underneath her otherwise pleasant lips but she didn't match his expectations, instead making the most of his changed condition, it seemed and avoiding conflict in the sweet manner that he always noted that she had. Ever since she had moved herself into his not-so-secure home, he had not opposed for it long and submitted to her wishes and came to be accepting of her bids and he thoroughly respected her but his nightmarish tendencies.
He gave her a curt nod, and in a diversion he went about what he was doing and took the letter into his bedroom. He joined the clutter and the obvious inspiration of his classroom from his time at Hogwarts that he had not seen for at least two weeks. As anticipated, he saw the personality of the Weasley's ragamuffin owl Pigwidgen holding the weight of a letter twice it's size. He pulled up a stiff wooden chair and sank into it at his ebony desk facing the window. He found himself needing a little boost and he found himself opening Molly's letter first. Since he had neglected her last two, it was not a surprise it seemed to be stuffed larger. A long scroll of parchment fell out and tumbled onto the floor stretching a length all of the way to his bed. He was almost tempted to turn his wand into a tape measure and count exactly how far that woman would go to get his attention. Now slightly more wary and pining for Dumbledore's shorter approach of a letter, he worked his way into the letter he was holding. Although at times it was pressing and it was painful to be sent a flurry of unpuntuated, long-wounded words and overbearing positivity he was extremely considerate of her thoughts, and her feelings and as much as it often didn't seem so, he very much enjoyed being updated on things he treated as trivial. They came very much as an escape and he felt almost as if he was involved more, and he was carefree in the burrow and joining them for Christmas.
The first few paragraphs were aggressive and sharp followed by sickly sweet intrusions like "But don't worry about any of that, Lupin, dear, we know how much you suffer but we do love you dear, please just let us. You know it can be frustrating." It then became more interesting and he followed it like it was a Dickens masterpiece. His eyebrows raised at the usual fluster that Molly was under subject to the twins - apparently they are adamant on setting up a joke shop supplying all kinds of, in Molly's words 'Toys and complete nuisance and tat! Oh why can't they be lawyers, Oh, Remus...' it displeased him to see Molly in such a state, but he approved of the whole thing. They had always reminded him of James and Sirius and for that reason he was a little bias. It surprised him how personal the letters could be as if he was her brother or next of kin - a son, perhaps, he did like that but the details she would distribute were complexion for he was never sure if him being alerted of 'Oh, Arthur's been having bowl problems lately, poor dear...' and 'I swear Bill keeps sneaking off with Fleur...before marriage. Well, I never. I will be making my opinion very known.' was appropriate for his reading. He intook all of the pleasantries and he sorted through the updates of the order in his absence.
'On that note, I'm sure you know, but you missed Harry's birthday...' he lost his vision and he dropped the letter and moved his hand to his head and he rested his elbow on the table. Dear lord, how could he forget an event like that? He made a disappointed sound with himself through his teeth. He had been selfish in blending the days together that he no longer had hold of the date. Sirius would not be happy, James would be furious, they both would. 'Moony, we'd hoped you'd be a better man,' they'd joke, after throttling him with abuse. He couldn't bear thinking of them looking upon him with pity. Even imaging them taking polyjuice potion to look like any other, he would not be able to drown out images like that. They weren't the concerned type, they were prone to leave that all to him but he was sure they would have meetings concerning him, 'the mother hen'. Thinking like this always revoked feelings of a reminiscent and nostalgic kind. It dampened his mood a bit. Poor Harry. He really should be more responsible. He downsized himself enough by not harrowing a more closely entwined relationship with him of an uncle, much alike to the bond he and Sirius had shared. There was a space for him to fill in, yet it was never possible, not with someone quite as unstable as himself. He was severely unreliable to himself let alone a young teenage boy who he'd rather not disappoint with the supposed 'friend' of his father figures.
and ever since he held Harry when Sirius had fallen through the veil, that moment had claimed them and their relationship, and he assumed their relationship was rooted by devastation and he hadn't the heart to bring any more of that into his godson's life.
He was not, however, impartial to fire communication to cast his apologies Harry's way. He knelt beside the fire place, his hair static and face eroded. He tightened his tie and crooked his neck, appearances were important. He felt he would always be more appealing to Harry as the role of a teacher, the closest he was going to get if he was not his deluded self. His heart lifted as he became a spectator of Harry over the flames. Peeves noticed him first and leant in very close. 'Ahahahahaha, Here is Sir king of the moon, daft as a wooden spoon. Forgot his poor, little Harry's b'day, what would James and Sirius say?'
Reserving into himself slightly, he tightened his shoulders, and his teeth clenched but he kept his expression kindly and welcoming for Harry to come over. "Harry..I am so sorry but you..." he got a closer look of his face. "-already know that, don't you." his lifted his hand absent-mindedly wanting to reach out and swipe the unkempt hair like his father's from his face.
"Professor-" Remus winced and immediately it was regrettable.
"You don't need to apologise. I understand." the simple two words and the intense eye contact was, Remus could confirm, of course he did, more than anyone and he never quite acknowledged that or gave him the credit. He could feel the heat of the mark named 'Harry' etching across the paper in movement. His heart a steady companion to the conversation they entered without any of Remus' apprehension that he never went a day without believing there to be. Lifting himself from the flames, he had promised a visit and a late present which would no doubt contain a large dosage of chocolate in a wooden box and an heirloom of Sirius' which he would have to build up the courage to find.
He read Dumbledore's note as he took off his clock and hung it up on the door of his room and he walked into the hallway. He always felt much too big for his place of residence - the werewolf within made it so he had to bend his head when the ceiling lowered in parts. It seemed he had spent longer than he had thought conversing with Harry and the milestone overwhelmed him as he walked through the dark of the cottage. He walked into a room - he wasn't sure which - alarmingly glued to the moon that covered the sky through the panes. He looked up at it, his mouth gaping unattractively and his hands deep in his pockets, his neck craned as he estimated the proximity. He stood there for a good few minutes before he was roused from the unusual beauty to look upon in the ghost of the chains it had bound him by from the pure age of nine. It was a circumstance to behold and he couldn't quite help feeling like Sirius bounding along, in the way he found feminine, in collection of the moonlight, ears pricked and tongue lolling, writhing happily in the lit grass. Sirius had told him repeatedly how the moon was nothing to fear 'It's a part of our Moony, how can that make it any less than good?'
He roused, as a chill had settled through him and he felt Nymphadora's prescience to the left-hand side of him, slightly behind but brave in her advance. She had come to know from observing him that using the silence against him and getting to him before he could blink an eye-lid make it difficult for him to turn her away. Judging by the tilt of her curiosity, her eyes wide as disks he imagined, that she wanted to comfort him and perhaps, oddly, he wouldn't object but he was glad for her distance. She always so patient. His voice was fond as he spoke and her footing let him know it had taken her off guard. "Tonks."
"Tonks?" she laughed. "It's Tonks now, is it? What's happened to you, Remus-y?"
"You know I prefer and will continue to keep using Nymphadora."
She snorted and he only found it partially uncomfortable. "Only you can get away with that."
"Good Night, Nymphadora." he dove in, gently, his hand on the door before disappearing. And that would be the extent of their contact for probably up to another month.
