A/N:The prompt for this rtchallenge piece was: "The supreme happiness in life is the conviction that we are loved -- loved for ourselves, or rather, loved in spite of ourselves." Victor Hugo. I don't know why but I decided to have a play with the Stream of Consciousness style I used to favour for my coursework pieces when I was at university. Hence this whole thing was written as it came to me off the top of my head and is probably a pile of rubbish:)
On Being Loved by Jess Pallas
What does she see in me?
The eternal question; the one that I have asked myself a thousand times or more and never quite found the answer to, the one that I still find it difficult to believe that I could even ask. Friends we managed quickly for our mutual humour collided almost immediately into banter and we found ourselves more and more in each others company, laughing together, talking together, or simply sitting side by side with hot chocolate and coffee after a long day fighting for the Order. And in spite of being young, playful, irreverent and wild haired and a terror to troll's foot umbrella stands everywhere, there was no denying her credentials as an Auror. Laugh she could, joke she would but when the danger came, she met it head on, professional and unflinching with a seriousness and maturity that seemed to defy her years.
So what does such a woman see in me?
I couldn't tell you when I fell in love. I couldn't tell when she did. I only know that it crept up upon us both, subconscious and hardly noticed, a slow dawning realisation to be suppressed, denied in favour of preserving friendship. When did that line blur, that boundary shatter? I'm not sure. I only know that she shattered it, that she made the decision and stepped into the light, her feelings exposed before her and I stared in disbelief and fled like a coward into the darkness. Because I could not accept or acknowledge what she'd said.
Because what could such a woman see in me?
And I couldn't let her. I wouldn't let her. For every person who has loved me has fallen to disaster.
James and Lily, lost to Voldemort. Sirius beyond the veil. My mother, killed for protecting me, my father crippled for the same. I have always known throughout my life that people loved me but as the years passed and one by one they fell, that feeling brought no happiness, no joy – it brought instead a dull sense of inevitable doom that clouded my life and theirs like a brewing storm. And I would not lose her to such a destiny. Better she be safe and whole and far away than risk her life by loving me. And she couldn't mean it. There was no way.
For what could such a woman see in me?
Old. Poor. Dangerous. I told her again and again and again and again she rebuked me. I saw the conviction that burned behind those eyes and I tried to dismiss it, tried to tell myself over and over that this would pass, that she would find another and move on and be safe but she did not, could not, it seemed. She could not let me go and I dared not reach out for fear I would never be able to free her from my taint. So young, so vibrant – how could she love a tired old werewolf? How could she love me? How could she want me so badly that she utterly refused to be repelled?
What could she possibly see in me?
Perhaps a part of my objection was disbelief. Such things do not happen to me. Wonderful women that I love do not return the feeling. And even if they do, the revelation of my condition should send them screaming away, not make them shrug and laugh and ask why it should matter. She almost seemed a dream at times for she could not be true, a woman who loved me, who understood and didn't care and Sweet Merlin it hurt for it was my wildest fantasy come true, the one thing I had always longed for but never thought could happen. And now it had, oh Gods it had and I had to face the bitter truth that I could never be so selfish as to claim her. Life was not fair, fate a cruel and tangled web.
How did it come to be that she saw something in me?
How did she come to love me, love me through all my protests, in spite of my dangers and my flaws and capture my heart in turn?
How did she come to hammer down the walls I had braced myself behind and make me realise and understand that fear does not matter, time is short and the greatest happiness in life is to be loved, truly and purely for exactly who you are?
I don't know. I only know it's true.
And as I stare down at her lying beside me, a splash of pink against a pale pillow, I touch one finger gently to her smooth skin and bless my life a thousand times over. I will never believe that I deserve her. I will never be convinced that the storm will never strike. But if you were to give me the choice between miserable peace of mind and joyful risk, I know what my answer will be.
I can live with the risk. For I know I am loved. And armed with that, I can face anything.
