Fashionably Late
Title: Fashionably Late
Author: Kt_tonguetied
Rating & Warnings: overly-mild language, AU
Prompts: Invitation
“I never thought I could love anyone but myself
Not I know I can’t love anyone but you
You make me think that I won’t die alone
Maybe I won’t die alone”
--Die Alone, Ingrid Michaelson
Word Count: 3,150
Summary: Missing letters and old mistakes bring Lupin and Tonks to the brink of something both good and terrible.
Author’s Notes: I owe my soul to missusjackson , my wonderful beta!
It was on a dreary and mundane Tuesday; rather fitting for a dreary and mundane man, that Remus Lupin ventured out to his mailbox out of sheer boredom and found a little treasure. It was a rather garish pink envelope with purple ink slightly smeared over the address: To Remus John Lupin, of Number 4, Hangleton Alley; Bracknell, England. More than slightly perplexed, Remus shuffled back to his drafty little house with the envelope clutched between his thin fingers. As a lazy breeze drifted across his face, he caught a whiff of perfume coming from the envelope, and felt his breath leave him as he froze mid-step. He knew that smell, knew it better than any other scent in the world.
Nymphadora.
Blinking confusedly and wondering why she had sent him a letter when she could see him whenever she felt like, he shook his head and shuffled back into the house. It was empty, not exactly an uncommon occurrence for a man such as Remus Lupin, but he took it easily and sat down in his battered old armchair after brushing some blue shoelaces from the seat onto the floor. He felt very little apprehension about the letter Nymphadora had sent him, but he felt enough to put him on edge. Despite the woman’s repeated insistence that she loved him, he still expected a letter explaining exactly why she hated him so ardently.
Well, there was no use in beating round the bush, was there? He ripped open the envelope with his neatly-trimmed fingernails, pulled out the faintly-purple stationery, and felt his heart stop in his chest. In only a matter of moments, all of his fearful insecurities and pain came rushing back to him in one fell swoop, and he had to fan himself with the envelope to calm himself down. He shook his head, trying to quell the unearthly chill that had accompanied the opening of the letter, and got up to make himself a cup of tea.
Even though he was doing his best efforts to banish the letter from his overworking mind, he found his hands shaking and spilling tea onto the counter. Oh, stop being ridiculous, he told himself sternly. Must you overanalyze everything you get in the mail? Still, he couldn’t help but recall everything that had happened between himself and Nymphadora four years ago.
It felt like it had been much longer than four years, and he had been more than a bit shocked and hurt to find out that Nymphadora had been getting married from Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and even more upset when he didn’t receive an invitation. He had thought, at the time, that Nymphadora had gotten past her heartbreak enough to at least invite him to her wedding. Even if seeing her marry another man, pledging her one love and lifetime to some stranger named Rowan Doyle, very well could kill him. He knew full well that he was supposed to be happy to see that she had come to her senses and moved on, but…now that it was actually happening…
Somewhere deep in his subconscious mind, after forcing himself to tell Nymphadora that he did not, in fact, love her at all after Dumbledore had been killed and Bill so badly injured, he somehow had himself convinced that she would still be there fighting him into submission forever. But he had broken her with his words, and she gave up on him without his knowledge, but how could she have recovered so quickly? Well, alright, it was two years after Dumbledore’s death, a year after the war ended, but it felt as if it had passed very quickly to Remus.
His anger brought by Hermione’s ‘you-deserve-this-pain’ attitude, Harry’s sympathetic green eyes, and Ron’s awkward silence, having fermented over nearly a week, caused Remus to storm to the Burrow on the day of Nymphadora’s wedding with every intention of stopping the ceremony. He had seen Nymphadora through the window, looking around and wringing her hands, but when he came in and her eyes lighted upon him, she positively beamed. His traitorous mind screamed How could you ruin that happiness? But he refused to listen to his conscience, as he should have done long ago, and pulled her aside.
“Remus! You’re here!” she had exclaimed, accompanied by a blush that Remus first thought was of embarrassment at being caught not inviting him.
Trying to keep a level head, especially when looking at how beautiful she was in her white summer dress and brown hair that wasn’t quite as miserable a shade as it had been the year Dumbledore had died, Remus crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the nearest wall. “Surprised, are you?” he asked in his most chilling tone. Nymphadora finally had the good grace to look ashamed of herself.
“Well…I suppose I am a bit surprised…didn’t think you’d come…”
Remus scoffed. “Surely not, otherwise you would have sent an invitation, rather than ignore me completely. I really thought you were better than that, Nymphadora.”
“Ignore you?!” demanded Nymphadora angrily, putting one hand on her hip. “Remus, if you didn’t get an invitation, it was probably lost in the mail, or didn’t you think of that part while you were busy putting on your twat-costume to come down here?” At the sound of Remus’s bitter laughter, her eyebrows furrowed and she crossed her own arms over her stomach. “What is so funny?”
“Nymphadora, please, I know when an invitation was lost in the mail and ‘lost in the mail’. I invented that excuse,” Remus griped, accompanied by a roll of his eyes. Nymphadora seemed to inflate with her anger, and for the briefest moment the roots of her hair turned red.
“Fine then, I apologize,” she spat, sparks practically flying from her tongue. “Even though I shouldn't have to because I sent you an invite. But tell me, really, Remus, if you had received said invite; tell me truthfully, would you have come?”
Now it was Remus’s turn to be embarrassed. Would he? Would he really, honestly and willing bring himself to the Burrow to watch as Nymphadora-his Nymphadora-said “I do” to the wrong man? To some stranger that Remus didn’t even know? She could have at least gone for Charlie or someone he trusted to take care of her and make her laugh in the way that he always used to love watching. How could he willingly watch her walk down that aisle and give herself away to a man who would never truly love her as much as Remus did? Still, it was Nymphadora, and all he wanted was to see her happy, and if seeing her with this strange Rowan Doyle would be seeing her happy, then…
“Why wouldn’t I come?” he asked weakly, all of the fight suddenly drained from him. Nymphadora turned away, shaking her head with the veil Molly had most likely forced upon her swinging awkwardly. She hesitated quite a long time before speaking again.
“…You’ve just always been so adamant about distancing yourself from me, and I suppose…getting married…you might…guilty…bloody…bugger…” she trailed off and turned back to Remus, and he was glad to see that she was wearing Madam Truvy’s No-Tears Makeup Potion over her makeup.
Remus really didn’t know quite what to say to her anymore. He had no idea how he felt anymore. He had bits of sadness, regret, the undeniable guilt, happiness that she had moved on, and, of course, the ever-present anger at himself for not getting over his own damned insecurity sooner. And, sadly, he once again misdirected that anger at the wrong person.
“Oh, so sorry for keeping your wellbeing in mind,” he snapped unwillingly, instantly wishing he could take it back as he fiery glare rounded on him again.
“Well, seeing how social you’ve been for the past year, it’s nice to see that you’ve got Harry’s wellbeing in mind as well. Or the Weasleys’, or the rest of the Order since we’re discussing-”
“That was different and you know it,” insisted Remus in a low and dangerous voice, pointing accusingly at her.
Again, the arms that had fallen limply to Nymphadora’s sides crossed over her chest again. “So you’re saying you would have come, then?”
“Yes, I would have!” Remus declared, his voice rising with frustration and the bitter taste of jealousy toward this Rowan Doyle burning his throat. “If I had received an invite, but dear me, would you look at that! It seems to have gotten 'lost in the mail.' Well, I think you'll agree that it's rather uncivilized to turn up where one has not been invited, especially at a wedding, so I suppose I should be off now.”
He turned away, not fast enough to miss the look of misery that crossed Nymphadora’s face, and the very briefest flash of mousey brown in her hair before she seemed to force it back to its more cheerful color. But no matter of being able to see her or not could close his ears. “Fine. I’ll find someone else to give me away, then.” He supposed she didn’t mean for him to hear, but it was enough to make him freeze in his tracks. He turned back to see her staring intensely at his back.
Remus couldn’t bring himself to speak and just stared back at her, his mouth hanging open as he tried to find the right words to tell her. “Wh…what did you say?”
Nymphadora’s eyes fell shut immediately, and she moved as if to push past him. “Never mind, it was stupid…just…never mind…”
She brushed past him on her way out the door, and he chose the wrong moment to breathe in the scent of her perfume and spiral back to the brief time where he thought they would be together forever, and suddenly he couldn’t hold himself away from her. He took her thin arm in his hand and swung her back around to face him, her wide shocked eyes meeting his. “Dora, wait a minute.”
“You…you just-…called me…”
“What did you mean? Why would you need me to give you away?”
Dora stared determinedly down at the ground now, a flush coming out high on her cheeks. “Well, my dad’s not exactly around anymore, is he?” Remus’s heart jumped in his throat as guilt assaulted him again. “I wouldn’t trust just some bloke off the street to give me away, you know…But you know, whatever, I’ll just get Arthur or someone to do it…bloody werewolves…”
Flabbergasted, Remus shook his head like a wet dog, still clinging to Dora as if for dear life. “Dora…Dora listen…I didn’t…”
Dora pulled out of Remus’s hand as if she were coming out of a trance, shaking her own head wearily. “You know what? No. Just-…just no, Remus!” At his pitiable “what-did-I-do” look she stomped her foot, not exactly looking the vision of ladylike perfection as she did so. “You just- This is all just-” She cut herself off and took in a deep breath, one hand over her mouth. Her eyes darted around Ginny’s bedroom desperately as if trying to find the answers in the young witch’s bedding.
“You know what? Just leave,” she finally announced in a low dead voice. “I have to stop doing this; I cannot keep doing this to myself. Every time I find something that makes me happy I end up hurt. So just go, okay? Get out.”
Remus opened his mouth to speak, but the enraged bride-to-be cut him off as if he were butter and she a hot knife. “It took me two years to finally get over you, Remus; do you have any idea how difficult that was? And here, I thought I was ready to move on, and then you show up and do this to me! On my wedding day, no less!”
“And what am I doing, exactly?” demanded Remus, finally managing to get a word in when Dora had to pause for breath. Her fiery glare suddenly became one of pure thick ice.
“You tell me, Remus. What the bloody hell are you doing?” she asked as she dropped to sit down on Ginny’s bed.
Slowly, when he saw that Dora wasn’t going to protest, he sank down beside her. “I never-…I never meant to-”
“Don’t give me that,” interrupted Dora, and though she was no longer yelling her voice was strong and accusatory. “You planned on giving me hell the moment you heard from whoever told you I was getting married. You’re only chickening out because you’re not the sort of gentleman who’s capable of giving someone hell, at least not intentionally. You care too much, you prat.” She leaned forward and rubbed the back of her neck with a sigh.
“Even though I’ll most likely regret it in about two minutes, I’ve got a question.”
Remus sat up a bit straighter, feeling defensive. “What is it?”
“Why do you care? Why does this all-me getting married, that is-bothering you so much if you swore that you never loved me to begin with?” she asked, now much more demanding. Remus turned away from her, not wanting to admit the truth. “Remus, I swear to Godric if you don’t look at me and answer my question then I will take this pointy plastic tiara and shove it up your-”
“I was lying!” Remus shouted, jumping up from the bed to run his hands through his hair and pace the room like a madman. “I lied to you, Nymphadora! I have always loved you, and I always will love you. That’s not going to change any time soon! I thought that if I told you I didn’t love you, you would come to your senses and realize what you would have been sacrificing by being with me and be happier for it! And in some twisted world I figured that I would be happy when you eventually met someone and got married, but, well, I’m not! If anything I’m royally pissed that I was stupid enough to give you up, and that I’m not the one waiting for you to pledge your life to!”
His passionate rant quite over, Dora stared at him with her mouth hanging open and her eyes glittering with tears. He could practically feel her anger and hurt and irritation at him building up, and he knew full well that he deserved every ounce of pain and every hex she was about to inflict upon him. All he had to do was brace himself, and…
Dora stood up, brushed off her skirt, pushed her hair behind her shoulder, and once again moved toward the door. She stopped just before leaving, not meeting Remus’s eyes. “I can’t do it,” she whispered in a strained voice. For a moment, Remus’s heart leapt, thinking that she meant she couldn’t go through with the marriage. “I can’t break Rowan’s heart like you broke mine. He loves me, and he’s good to me, and I’m-…I’m h-happy…” With a sudden fury, she spun on her heel to shout: “I am happy with him, Remus! He makes me happy, and I never thought I would be happy again when you left me!”
Once again, Remus took her arm in his hand, but there was no manhandling involved this time. “I know. I’m sorry, Dora. I shouldn’t have said all of th-”
“Yes you should have, Remus!” sputtered Dora angrily. “You should have said all of those things two years ago, but you didn’t, and now I’m marrying the wrong man! What am I supposed to do? I cannot break his heart, I can’t!”
“I know, Dora,” Remus told her quietly, blinking quite a lot. “I know. I was a coward, and I’m sorry. I…I will be more than happy…to give you away at your wedding.”
Dora’s face tensed up as she began fighting ferociously against the tears building in her eyes. As her breathing became shaky and labored at the sudden idea of having to marry her second choice, she flung her arms around Remus’s waist and buried her face in his chest and started to cry. Remus wrapped himself around her shaking shoulders and held her close, steeling himself for the most difficult task of his life. He had to do this; he had to be strong for Dora and for himself. Sure, they both very well could be miserable for the rest of their lives, know that the other had simply been waiting for the right moment, and that right moment had been the wrong one at the same time.
After what felt like both an age and (‘though’ may work better than ‘and’ here) not nearly enough time, Dora pulled away from Remus and consulted the clock on Ginny’s nightstand, wiping at her teary eyes. “It’s almost time, we should get downstairs.”
“Of course.”
But neither of them moved. They just couldn’t tear themselves away from the final moments of their relationship.
With a squeal and a bang, Ginny’s partially-closed door swung open, and Molly Weasley’s voice rang out like a bell, as bells are wont to do. It was as if someone, somewhere, knew that they needed this to happen.
“Has anyone seen the groom?!”
Remus and Dora met eyes, shock clearly written on their faces.
“I’ve been left at the altar.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Marry me?”
“Obviously.”
And so, much to the utter disbelief (not to mention chagrin and disgust) of Rowan Doyle’s half of the wedding guests, a brief change in names and vows was made, and the other half of the wedding guests were all the more ecstatic for it.
Remus Lupin, a dreary mundane man on a dreary mundane Tuesday, smiled benignly to himself as he felt a pair of wiry arms wrap around his shoulders and a pair of lips kiss his nose. “What are my shoelaces doing on the floor?” asked Dora as she bent down purposefully in front of his chair to retrieve the laces Remus had so carelessly swept to the floor earlier.
“Didn’t want to sit on them,” murmured Remus as he folded the old letter and placed it carefully back in its envelope. Dora didn’t miss the movement.
“What’s that, then? Mail for me or for one of the kids?”
“For me, shocking as that is.”
At his wife’s inquisitive glance, he obligingly handed over the envelope. Dora removed the stationery, but didn’t have to read more than the first words to burst out laughing. She wielded the envelope like a hefty weapon and swatted him over the head with it innumerable times as he finally allowed himself to laugh as well.
“You utter prat! I told you it got lost in the bleeding mail, and you never believed me!” shouted Dora between hits to her husband’s skull with the invitation and the tiny, inconsequential, perfect fists that were all his to keep.
.
Author: Kt_tonguetied
Rating & Warnings: overly-mild language, AU
Prompts: Invitation
“I never thought I could love anyone but myself
Not I know I can’t love anyone but you
You make me think that I won’t die alone
Maybe I won’t die alone”
--Die Alone, Ingrid Michaelson
Word Count: 3,150
Summary: Missing letters and old mistakes bring Lupin and Tonks to the brink of something both good and terrible.
Author’s Notes: I owe my soul to missusjackson , my wonderful beta!
It was on a dreary and mundane Tuesday; rather fitting for a dreary and mundane man, that Remus Lupin ventured out to his mailbox out of sheer boredom and found a little treasure. It was a rather garish pink envelope with purple ink slightly smeared over the address: To Remus John Lupin, of Number 4, Hangleton Alley; Bracknell, England. More than slightly perplexed, Remus shuffled back to his drafty little house with the envelope clutched between his thin fingers. As a lazy breeze drifted across his face, he caught a whiff of perfume coming from the envelope, and felt his breath leave him as he froze mid-step. He knew that smell, knew it better than any other scent in the world.
Nymphadora.
Blinking confusedly and wondering why she had sent him a letter when she could see him whenever she felt like, he shook his head and shuffled back into the house. It was empty, not exactly an uncommon occurrence for a man such as Remus Lupin, but he took it easily and sat down in his battered old armchair after brushing some blue shoelaces from the seat onto the floor. He felt very little apprehension about the letter Nymphadora had sent him, but he felt enough to put him on edge. Despite the woman’s repeated insistence that she loved him, he still expected a letter explaining exactly why she hated him so ardently.
Well, there was no use in beating round the bush, was there? He ripped open the envelope with his neatly-trimmed fingernails, pulled out the faintly-purple stationery, and felt his heart stop in his chest. In only a matter of moments, all of his fearful insecurities and pain came rushing back to him in one fell swoop, and he had to fan himself with the envelope to calm himself down. He shook his head, trying to quell the unearthly chill that had accompanied the opening of the letter, and got up to make himself a cup of tea.
Even though he was doing his best efforts to banish the letter from his overworking mind, he found his hands shaking and spilling tea onto the counter. Oh, stop being ridiculous, he told himself sternly. Must you overanalyze everything you get in the mail? Still, he couldn’t help but recall everything that had happened between himself and Nymphadora four years ago.
It felt like it had been much longer than four years, and he had been more than a bit shocked and hurt to find out that Nymphadora had been getting married from Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and even more upset when he didn’t receive an invitation. He had thought, at the time, that Nymphadora had gotten past her heartbreak enough to at least invite him to her wedding. Even if seeing her marry another man, pledging her one love and lifetime to some stranger named Rowan Doyle, very well could kill him. He knew full well that he was supposed to be happy to see that she had come to her senses and moved on, but…now that it was actually happening…
Somewhere deep in his subconscious mind, after forcing himself to tell Nymphadora that he did not, in fact, love her at all after Dumbledore had been killed and Bill so badly injured, he somehow had himself convinced that she would still be there fighting him into submission forever. But he had broken her with his words, and she gave up on him without his knowledge, but how could she have recovered so quickly? Well, alright, it was two years after Dumbledore’s death, a year after the war ended, but it felt as if it had passed very quickly to Remus.
His anger brought by Hermione’s ‘you-deserve-this-pain’ attitude, Harry’s sympathetic green eyes, and Ron’s awkward silence, having fermented over nearly a week, caused Remus to storm to the Burrow on the day of Nymphadora’s wedding with every intention of stopping the ceremony. He had seen Nymphadora through the window, looking around and wringing her hands, but when he came in and her eyes lighted upon him, she positively beamed. His traitorous mind screamed How could you ruin that happiness? But he refused to listen to his conscience, as he should have done long ago, and pulled her aside.
“Remus! You’re here!” she had exclaimed, accompanied by a blush that Remus first thought was of embarrassment at being caught not inviting him.
Trying to keep a level head, especially when looking at how beautiful she was in her white summer dress and brown hair that wasn’t quite as miserable a shade as it had been the year Dumbledore had died, Remus crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the nearest wall. “Surprised, are you?” he asked in his most chilling tone. Nymphadora finally had the good grace to look ashamed of herself.
“Well…I suppose I am a bit surprised…didn’t think you’d come…”
Remus scoffed. “Surely not, otherwise you would have sent an invitation, rather than ignore me completely. I really thought you were better than that, Nymphadora.”
“Ignore you?!” demanded Nymphadora angrily, putting one hand on her hip. “Remus, if you didn’t get an invitation, it was probably lost in the mail, or didn’t you think of that part while you were busy putting on your twat-costume to come down here?” At the sound of Remus’s bitter laughter, her eyebrows furrowed and she crossed her own arms over her stomach. “What is so funny?”
“Nymphadora, please, I know when an invitation was lost in the mail and ‘lost in the mail’. I invented that excuse,” Remus griped, accompanied by a roll of his eyes. Nymphadora seemed to inflate with her anger, and for the briefest moment the roots of her hair turned red.
“Fine then, I apologize,” she spat, sparks practically flying from her tongue. “Even though I shouldn't have to because I sent you an invite. But tell me, really, Remus, if you had received said invite; tell me truthfully, would you have come?”
Now it was Remus’s turn to be embarrassed. Would he? Would he really, honestly and willing bring himself to the Burrow to watch as Nymphadora-his Nymphadora-said “I do” to the wrong man? To some stranger that Remus didn’t even know? She could have at least gone for Charlie or someone he trusted to take care of her and make her laugh in the way that he always used to love watching. How could he willingly watch her walk down that aisle and give herself away to a man who would never truly love her as much as Remus did? Still, it was Nymphadora, and all he wanted was to see her happy, and if seeing her with this strange Rowan Doyle would be seeing her happy, then…
“Why wouldn’t I come?” he asked weakly, all of the fight suddenly drained from him. Nymphadora turned away, shaking her head with the veil Molly had most likely forced upon her swinging awkwardly. She hesitated quite a long time before speaking again.
“…You’ve just always been so adamant about distancing yourself from me, and I suppose…getting married…you might…guilty…bloody…bugger…” she trailed off and turned back to Remus, and he was glad to see that she was wearing Madam Truvy’s No-Tears Makeup Potion over her makeup.
Remus really didn’t know quite what to say to her anymore. He had no idea how he felt anymore. He had bits of sadness, regret, the undeniable guilt, happiness that she had moved on, and, of course, the ever-present anger at himself for not getting over his own damned insecurity sooner. And, sadly, he once again misdirected that anger at the wrong person.
“Oh, so sorry for keeping your wellbeing in mind,” he snapped unwillingly, instantly wishing he could take it back as he fiery glare rounded on him again.
“Well, seeing how social you’ve been for the past year, it’s nice to see that you’ve got Harry’s wellbeing in mind as well. Or the Weasleys’, or the rest of the Order since we’re discussing-”
“That was different and you know it,” insisted Remus in a low and dangerous voice, pointing accusingly at her.
Again, the arms that had fallen limply to Nymphadora’s sides crossed over her chest again. “So you’re saying you would have come, then?”
“Yes, I would have!” Remus declared, his voice rising with frustration and the bitter taste of jealousy toward this Rowan Doyle burning his throat. “If I had received an invite, but dear me, would you look at that! It seems to have gotten 'lost in the mail.' Well, I think you'll agree that it's rather uncivilized to turn up where one has not been invited, especially at a wedding, so I suppose I should be off now.”
He turned away, not fast enough to miss the look of misery that crossed Nymphadora’s face, and the very briefest flash of mousey brown in her hair before she seemed to force it back to its more cheerful color. But no matter of being able to see her or not could close his ears. “Fine. I’ll find someone else to give me away, then.” He supposed she didn’t mean for him to hear, but it was enough to make him freeze in his tracks. He turned back to see her staring intensely at his back.
Remus couldn’t bring himself to speak and just stared back at her, his mouth hanging open as he tried to find the right words to tell her. “Wh…what did you say?”
Nymphadora’s eyes fell shut immediately, and she moved as if to push past him. “Never mind, it was stupid…just…never mind…”
She brushed past him on her way out the door, and he chose the wrong moment to breathe in the scent of her perfume and spiral back to the brief time where he thought they would be together forever, and suddenly he couldn’t hold himself away from her. He took her thin arm in his hand and swung her back around to face him, her wide shocked eyes meeting his. “Dora, wait a minute.”
“You…you just-…called me…”
“What did you mean? Why would you need me to give you away?”
Dora stared determinedly down at the ground now, a flush coming out high on her cheeks. “Well, my dad’s not exactly around anymore, is he?” Remus’s heart jumped in his throat as guilt assaulted him again. “I wouldn’t trust just some bloke off the street to give me away, you know…But you know, whatever, I’ll just get Arthur or someone to do it…bloody werewolves…”
Flabbergasted, Remus shook his head like a wet dog, still clinging to Dora as if for dear life. “Dora…Dora listen…I didn’t…”
Dora pulled out of Remus’s hand as if she were coming out of a trance, shaking her own head wearily. “You know what? No. Just-…just no, Remus!” At his pitiable “what-did-I-do” look she stomped her foot, not exactly looking the vision of ladylike perfection as she did so. “You just- This is all just-” She cut herself off and took in a deep breath, one hand over her mouth. Her eyes darted around Ginny’s bedroom desperately as if trying to find the answers in the young witch’s bedding.
“You know what? Just leave,” she finally announced in a low dead voice. “I have to stop doing this; I cannot keep doing this to myself. Every time I find something that makes me happy I end up hurt. So just go, okay? Get out.”
Remus opened his mouth to speak, but the enraged bride-to-be cut him off as if he were butter and she a hot knife. “It took me two years to finally get over you, Remus; do you have any idea how difficult that was? And here, I thought I was ready to move on, and then you show up and do this to me! On my wedding day, no less!”
“And what am I doing, exactly?” demanded Remus, finally managing to get a word in when Dora had to pause for breath. Her fiery glare suddenly became one of pure thick ice.
“You tell me, Remus. What the bloody hell are you doing?” she asked as she dropped to sit down on Ginny’s bed.
Slowly, when he saw that Dora wasn’t going to protest, he sank down beside her. “I never-…I never meant to-”
“Don’t give me that,” interrupted Dora, and though she was no longer yelling her voice was strong and accusatory. “You planned on giving me hell the moment you heard from whoever told you I was getting married. You’re only chickening out because you’re not the sort of gentleman who’s capable of giving someone hell, at least not intentionally. You care too much, you prat.” She leaned forward and rubbed the back of her neck with a sigh.
“Even though I’ll most likely regret it in about two minutes, I’ve got a question.”
Remus sat up a bit straighter, feeling defensive. “What is it?”
“Why do you care? Why does this all-me getting married, that is-bothering you so much if you swore that you never loved me to begin with?” she asked, now much more demanding. Remus turned away from her, not wanting to admit the truth. “Remus, I swear to Godric if you don’t look at me and answer my question then I will take this pointy plastic tiara and shove it up your-”
“I was lying!” Remus shouted, jumping up from the bed to run his hands through his hair and pace the room like a madman. “I lied to you, Nymphadora! I have always loved you, and I always will love you. That’s not going to change any time soon! I thought that if I told you I didn’t love you, you would come to your senses and realize what you would have been sacrificing by being with me and be happier for it! And in some twisted world I figured that I would be happy when you eventually met someone and got married, but, well, I’m not! If anything I’m royally pissed that I was stupid enough to give you up, and that I’m not the one waiting for you to pledge your life to!”
His passionate rant quite over, Dora stared at him with her mouth hanging open and her eyes glittering with tears. He could practically feel her anger and hurt and irritation at him building up, and he knew full well that he deserved every ounce of pain and every hex she was about to inflict upon him. All he had to do was brace himself, and…
Dora stood up, brushed off her skirt, pushed her hair behind her shoulder, and once again moved toward the door. She stopped just before leaving, not meeting Remus’s eyes. “I can’t do it,” she whispered in a strained voice. For a moment, Remus’s heart leapt, thinking that she meant she couldn’t go through with the marriage. “I can’t break Rowan’s heart like you broke mine. He loves me, and he’s good to me, and I’m-…I’m h-happy…” With a sudden fury, she spun on her heel to shout: “I am happy with him, Remus! He makes me happy, and I never thought I would be happy again when you left me!”
Once again, Remus took her arm in his hand, but there was no manhandling involved this time. “I know. I’m sorry, Dora. I shouldn’t have said all of th-”
“Yes you should have, Remus!” sputtered Dora angrily. “You should have said all of those things two years ago, but you didn’t, and now I’m marrying the wrong man! What am I supposed to do? I cannot break his heart, I can’t!”
“I know, Dora,” Remus told her quietly, blinking quite a lot. “I know. I was a coward, and I’m sorry. I…I will be more than happy…to give you away at your wedding.”
Dora’s face tensed up as she began fighting ferociously against the tears building in her eyes. As her breathing became shaky and labored at the sudden idea of having to marry her second choice, she flung her arms around Remus’s waist and buried her face in his chest and started to cry. Remus wrapped himself around her shaking shoulders and held her close, steeling himself for the most difficult task of his life. He had to do this; he had to be strong for Dora and for himself. Sure, they both very well could be miserable for the rest of their lives, know that the other had simply been waiting for the right moment, and that right moment had been the wrong one at the same time.
After what felt like both an age and (‘though’ may work better than ‘and’ here) not nearly enough time, Dora pulled away from Remus and consulted the clock on Ginny’s nightstand, wiping at her teary eyes. “It’s almost time, we should get downstairs.”
“Of course.”
But neither of them moved. They just couldn’t tear themselves away from the final moments of their relationship.
With a squeal and a bang, Ginny’s partially-closed door swung open, and Molly Weasley’s voice rang out like a bell, as bells are wont to do. It was as if someone, somewhere, knew that they needed this to happen.
“Has anyone seen the groom?!”
Remus and Dora met eyes, shock clearly written on their faces.
“I’ve been left at the altar.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Marry me?”
“Obviously.”
And so, much to the utter disbelief (not to mention chagrin and disgust) of Rowan Doyle’s half of the wedding guests, a brief change in names and vows was made, and the other half of the wedding guests were all the more ecstatic for it.
Remus Lupin, a dreary mundane man on a dreary mundane Tuesday, smiled benignly to himself as he felt a pair of wiry arms wrap around his shoulders and a pair of lips kiss his nose. “What are my shoelaces doing on the floor?” asked Dora as she bent down purposefully in front of his chair to retrieve the laces Remus had so carelessly swept to the floor earlier.
“Didn’t want to sit on them,” murmured Remus as he folded the old letter and placed it carefully back in its envelope. Dora didn’t miss the movement.
“What’s that, then? Mail for me or for one of the kids?”
“For me, shocking as that is.”
At his wife’s inquisitive glance, he obligingly handed over the envelope. Dora removed the stationery, but didn’t have to read more than the first words to burst out laughing. She wielded the envelope like a hefty weapon and swatted him over the head with it innumerable times as he finally allowed himself to laugh as well.
“You utter prat! I told you it got lost in the bleeding mail, and you never believed me!” shouted Dora between hits to her husband’s skull with the invitation and the tiny, inconsequential, perfect fists that were all his to keep.
.