Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I making any profit from this piece of writing.

Invisible Part 4

I am the sort of person who is easy to miss. I blend in with the crowd, nobody sees me, the one who walks in the shadow with his hands deep in his pockets and his head bent low. It's been that way all my life and I'm resigned to it being that way. It doesn't bother me, truth be told, I never was one to be the center of attention. I'm happy to simply be me. It's true.

It used to be true.

And it's ironic, don't you think, that when I'm on my own people take one look and think I must be the unluckiest soul alive, and yet when I pass them again a few minutes later with you on my arm, fresh out of work for the day, they probably think me the luckiest man on the planet. They probably don't even realise that they are looking at the same person.

And yet all those staring people seem invisible to you. Sometimes I think you don't realise they even exist.

We still sit next to each other at every Order meeting we attend, I hold your hand under the table and when you grow bored of listening to whoever is giving a report you make sure I'm not listening either, sliding your foot out of your shoe and attempting to see how much you can make me fidget by initiating an unwanted game of footsie under the table. I smile about it later, but worry at the time what others would say should they discover our game. You laugh at me whenever I pose this question to you, but it was me who was laughing when you missed my feet entirely, tucked safely under my chair, and gave Arthur a shock instead. We still have our chats, we talk about us, and as we do I find myself feeling unnaturally shy, then downright stunned yet elated when you interrupt any of my worries with a cheery shut up, Remus, before ensuring the silence is a lengthy one, throwing your arms around my neck and kissing me so fervently that I forget I fear for us in the slightest. You smile and laugh with me and every time I see you walking towards me I feel so relieved that you know exactly what I think of you. You know I love you because you were never blind as I first thought.

A few times I've caught myself foolishly thinking that you might not be quite as interested in me as you first seem, those times Alastor rants about the Ministry's plans for legislation against dark creatures like me, when I awake after the full moon and for a short time wish I could curl up and die because I'm living in a fantasy world where young, beautiful witches fall in love with monsters and don't care they are worthless and needy and completely unsuitable for any sort of relationship at all, and I know that someday I'll have to wake up from this dream. Then there are those evenings gathered around the wireless, listening to you giggle with Hestia about some man half my age I've never heard of, who apparently has eyes to die for, and I want to burst out laughing at myself and how utterly deluded I have become.

But then I remember the way you go quiet on occasion, frowning deeply as we sit and talk, before turning to fix me with such seriousness in your dark eyes that I believe every word when you reach to take hold of my hand and whisper: You do know I love you, don't you? That it's the absolute truth? And every time, when I tell you of course I do, I know that I could not possibly be lying to you. And the best thing about remembering those moments is that it makes me love you even more.

I don't just love you, not really. I love you more than anything in this world. I love the way you brighten up my day by simply smiling at me, I love the way you are completely unabashed by Sirius' insinuations about the two of us and even look pleased. I love the way you creep up behind me when I'm sitting at the table, throwing your arms around my neck and leaning to press your lips to my cheek with a greeting so cheery that I forget how despairing the newspaper report I am reading is. I love the way you are so completely casual around me that it is almost as though I've known you forever, and yet have no idea just how wonderful it makes me feel.

I still love your acceptance, no matter to what dizzying heights it soars. True, it is probably what makes me still think myself deluded on occasion, but when I do manage to convince myself that somebody like you really can exist, can love me, then I allow myself to feel a little smug.

Very smug. Oh yes, very smug indeed.

I love the way you say my name. Or rather the way you don't. Cup of tea, love? I said do you want a cup of tea, love? Hello? Are you even listening to me, Sweetheart?

Of course I'm listening, and what a glorious sound I hear. You probably think me slightly slow, staring blankly at you for long moments when my mind just wanders off to do a lap of triumph around my head. And I love the way I think myself silly for simply gawping at you like some sort of schoolboy with a crush, because in truth it isn't very silly. In truth it means I really am in love. Because true love is a bit like being young again, isn't it?

It's silly that I thought you would never even notice me.

I should have known better than that. Because your eyes were open the whole entire time. And now I can feel gloriously glad that you know what I think of you, that you know how deeply and completely I love you, and that I am in actual fact the luckiest man alive. And perhaps some days I do despair, some days I tell myself I might just ruin both of our lives, but when I see you again I don't let myself quite believe it. I tell myself that you love me, and I will never have to be invisible again.