Iris

It is a slow dance at first, with fluidity but no daring. They certainly smile when they see each-other at meetings; they are amicable when sent on assignment together. When she sees him after the full moon, maybe the next day or the day after, she always makes the tea, and tries her very hardest not to break anything. Of course, she would do that for anyone else in his situation. It's common courtesy; thoughtfulness.

The dance is performed, unnoticed, for an indefinite amount of time; maybe three months, maybe a year, maybe four days and a week. She is not aware that it is so careful, so precarious, until one night when she observes the colour of his eyes. As an Auror, she is trained to note all identifying details of a new-met individual. She has known his eyes are brown, with darker rims around the outside of the iris, and one pupil slightly more dilated than the other, since the day she had taken the oath of the Phoenix and met the Order's resident werewolf.

The night the dance changes is different, however. That night, she relearns the difference between seeing and observing.

Remus Lupin has nut-brown eyes. They are not perfect eyes; a bit asymmetrical, a bit faded. Their colour is ordinary. Small crinkles frame their corners, the brothers of the crinkles that touch the corners of his mouth every time he smiles, even just a little. When the moon has been waxing for too long, his eyes become a touch fierce with repressed restlessness. When the moon has been waning for not long enough, his eyes are a little red, hooded, relieved. The rest of the time, they are ordinary, brown eyes.

Tonks believes they are beautiful eyes.

She does not know when she first observed his eyes. She knows that before every meeting she looks forward, unaccountably, to seeing those eyes, observing them again. It gives her pleasure to note his glances, drifting like music; separate melodies for each member seated at the table.

When he looks at her, she feels that he is not simply turning eyes upon her. He is seeing her.

She likes to catch his eyes, like a small girl might catch butterflies. She likes to hold them with her own, to speak something to him without the use of words. She loves his eyes a little bit more every time she knows he understands what she has said.

One night she recreates the colour of his eyes in her own. The next day, her eyes are sea-foam green, and then she reverts to her usual dark indefinable colour. She does not wear brown eyes again, except on assignment.

She does not talk to Lupin more than necessary after that. She feels as if she has tread upon his foot and must withdraw. She experiences chagrin, though she does not know why, because he does not know what she does in her mind when he is not with her, and sometimes when he is just across the table. His eyes could read into her very fantasies if she looks his way, so she does not look his way any more.

She feels his eyes, though; she feels them like light finger-tip brushes, and she knows that when she looks up again, his brown eyes will be waiting to hold hers and understand.