A/N: This is a little drabble I wrote for a MNFF challenge. I don't have the exact wording of it with me (I'll put it here as soon as I do), but there was a quote about how love can change a person, and we were supposed to write on that theme. This is my take on it. Enjoy.
In the end
He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he sat in the corner, nursing a mug of tea. She was so bright, so young, from her pink spiky hair, to her vibrant muggle clothing. She sat at the table of 12 Grimmauld Place, discussing something with Molly Weasley, and he wished he had the bravery to talk to her.
He was drawn out of his reverie as a grinning, shaggy-haired figure plopped down on the chair by him.
"Moony, wake up!" Said Sirius Black, waving his hand in front of Remus Lupin's face. "You know, I wonder about you sometimes."
Remus managed a small smile at his friend.
"You know," continued Sirius. "If you really do fancy her, go speak to her."
Remus frowned at his mug, as if the dregs left in the bottom would tell his future. "It's useless," he began. "I'm too old for her. Besides, I'm a werewolf. It would be far too dangerous."
His friend merely laughed at him, telling him that love was supposed to be dangerous.
That had been almost two years ago.
Now, as he watched Tonks sobbing over the news of Dumbledore's death, he wished that he had had the courage to speak to her that night so long ago. Yes, she knew now, but then had been a different time. Then, danger hadn't mattered quite so much, because it wasn't so real to them. If only…
It was no use wishing, Remus thought numbly. The only thing to do is go on. But why? Why Sirius, his last friend, and now Dumbledore, his protector?
Sometimes, there were no answers.
Later that night, as the stars rose over the trees, he walked outside, wondering what on earth Tonks and Arthur Weasley had meant. She fancied him, that much he already knew, but Arthur Weasley had advised him to forget the danger.
As much as he loved Tonks, the truth was that he was afraid. Afraid that love would weaken him, that in the end he would only end up hurting the one he loved best. To be a werewolf, one had to be strong. He could not love because it would weaken him, and because she deserved better than that.
But, he reasoned, would it end up mattering?
He would probably die fighting, and he might as well have loved her first. Love might make him weak, but he had fought all his life. He could bear a little weakness.
The next day, as Tonks cried, he held her tightly, whispering that he would never let her go.