Contrast and Symmetry

He was truly beautiful, I decided.

His hair was a faded chestnut color. It was scattered with gray, yes, but that somehow vitalized it, gave it character. His eyes were a lovely golden-brown, and always alert and intelligent.

I knew the shape of his features, every line of his profile, his body. He was fairly tall--definitely taller than me--and solidly built.

There were times when he seemed to have an almost fake element about him. Well, not fake exactly, but as though Remus Lupin was only a projection, a facade, and there was far more to him than the illusion let me see.

I wanted to see more, though. There was nothing I wanted more than to break through his shell and get at whatever was inside. I was dying to know what he was really like; I hungered for the privilege of seeing him without the pretense.

I loved him, I knew that. That was the easy part, loving him and working out that I loved him. The hard part was living normally at the same time as loving him.

I wanted so desperately to tell him, to tell anyone. Just whispering the words “I love you, Remus” to myself was no longer enough. Nor was swooning over him in my own head. I needed someone to bounce off of, or else the vague, love-induced thoughts would continue to swirl around my mind indefinitely. But there was no one in the Order who I was close enough to, so it was impossible.

And, really, there was a war going on. Who had time for love?

* * *

Apparently, I did, because for the next few weeks Remus rarely left my thoughts. It got so bad that when he was in the room it was impossible for me to concentrate on anything but him. When he wasn’t in the room my thoughts spiralled off into wild fantasies about him. He became the center of my entire life.

It seemed amazing to me that he hadn’t figured it out. I felt I must have been staring at him so blatantly and the sounds my heart made when he moved were so noisy that no one ould possibly still not know how I felt. And yet it seemed as though no one had figured it out. I was sure my love was so great that it was tangible, bursting me open at the seams and spilling out, but still Remus somehow had not seen it.

I became an expert at reading him. If you watch someone long enough you get to know their mannerisms and quirks, and you can recognize changes in them.

Remus, I discovered, was sad.

The emotion was heavily veiled, but there nonetheless. It started to gnaw at me every time I saw it, and since it was usually lurking behind his eyes and I was usually watching him, it made for a pretty miserable existence.

I began to hate that sadness. It was ruining everything. It was hurting Remus and therefore robbing me of the joy that came from watching Remus. If my love was bursting me open at the seams, that pain in my Remus’ lovely amber eyes was driving a knife into me. It tormented me. Why was it there? And how could I get rid of it?

Why it was there, well, that was easy. It was there because of Sirius. I myself had not been too affected by his death; I was sad, shed a few tears and moved on. I had lost a relative whom I didn’t really know very well and barely talked to. Remus had lost a dear friend. I felt for him, but I didn’t want to get into it. Not having experienced that kind of hurt before, I figured my useless, detached sympathy would not help Remus much.

The other question, how to get rid of the sadness... that was harder. I would’ve given anything to know the answer to that. I was willing to offer him anything I could to make him happy--I’d offer myself, even--but it wouldn’t have helped, so what was the point? I could fight a Death Eater attacking Remus, but I was helpless against emotion.

* * *

I had woken up late that day, so when I sat down to breakfast only Remus was there. He was reading a thick, dull-looking book. The kind you would only read if you were trying to impress someone, and even then you’d have a more entertaining book lurking inside the misleading jacket.

Not Remus, though. He was actually reading it. For fun.

He was so wonderful.

I ate quickly, sneaking glances at Remus approximately every thirty seconds. When I was finished with breakfast I didn’t want to leave him, so I lingered, occasionally blurting out inane remarks to explain why, exactly, I was still there. Eventually I sunk so low as to strike up a conversation with Remus by asking him what he was reading.

“Tess of the D’Urbervilles,” he replied, not lifting his eyes from the page.

“Is it good?”

“Yes.”

“What’s it about?” Oh, the idiocy I would spout to trick Remus into talking to me.

“It’s about many things.”

“Sounds fascinating,” my mouth said.

I’m in love with you, Remus, my mind added.

Remus, finally looking up, smiled at me. “It is,” he agreed. That infernal sadness in his face struck me, as it always did. It made me angry to see it. Couldn’t he ever be happy? Just this once?

I’m in love with you, Remus, my mind insisted.

“I’m in love with you, Remus,” I found myself repeating.

Then the impact of what I’d said hit me. Idiot, my mind jeered. It wished it would shut up. This was all its fault anyhow.

“That’s a pity,” Remus said carefully, lowering his eyes to the text.

I gaped at him. “What?” I exclaimed, continuing the pattern of letting my thoughts come out of my mouth. Was that really all he had to say? Was he that insensitive? Had I misjudged him?

“I say it’s a pity,” he went on quietly, “because I love you too, so we might have had something were it not for the war.” The way he was looking at me was as quiet as his tone, if that made sense.

Oh, my mind said. Well, then. You weren’t expecting that.

“Oh,” I echoed. “Oh. Oh.” I wished I could stop saying that. It was terminally stupid. What kind of person would respond to something like what Remus had said with “Oh, oh, oh”? After that brilliant comeback he was probably wishing he could take back his declaration of love. But what else could I have said?

My first impulse was “I didn’t know,” but that was rather obvious. Then I wanted to ask “Why can’t we still have something anyhow?” but I was afraid it would come across as childish and petulant.

“Oh,” I added one more time, just for good measure. Remus sighed and closed his book. I noticed how beautiful he was, even then.

“The thing is, Tonks,” he said, “it really wouldn’t be a good idea to be a couple right now. For one thing, it gives Voldemort leverage.” I shuddered. The thought of You-Know-Who using Remus against me was unbearable. “It also provides a distraction from your Order work,” Remus continued. “I love you, Tonks, but now is not the time for love.”

My mind slowly tried to process this. The words he’d used didn’t matter. What he was saying was simply that we couldn’t be together. That was that.

“Can I have one kiss?” I whispered brokenly. I didn’t think he heard me until he nodded and stood, putting aside Tess of the D’Urbervilles, and drew close. Closer than I had ever been to Remus before.

Our lips touched lightly, sending a tingle down my spine. That tiny shudder was followed by several more as Remus put his arms around my neck and pulled me in, pressing my lips against his. We kissed thoroughly and sensuously. I thought I would melt on the floor had not Remus’ arms been around me.

This is all you’ll get, scoffed a tiny part of my mind. This happiness? You’ll never have it again. I hated the thought for ruining this moment of bliss.

Despite myself, my eyes filled and the tears slid down my face. Remus noticed and broke the kiss, brushing his cheek against mine.

“Oh, Nymphadora,” he sighed.

I didn’t even think of correcting him.

He stroked my hair and murmured softly until we somehow ended up kissing again. And again and again, until the point when we both knew it had to be over.

* * *

After that, everything continued on as usual. I didn’t stop watching Remus, and he didn’t stop ignoring me. But there was one thing that had changed.

The sadness had gone from Remus’ eyes.

What did it mean? Was it because he knew I loved him back? I didn’t know, but I did know that to see my Remus happy, truly happy--it made me that that maybe, just maybe, things weren’t so bad after all.