Cartography
Title: Cartography
Pairing: Remus/Sirius, Remus/Tonks
Summary: Things change.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. Teddy Lupin would not exist if I did.
AN: This is dedicated to
xblack_out , because for one, I wrote this with the intention of giving it to her, and two, when I mentioned to her I was considering posting it here, she so graciously offered to type it up for me, and such things deserve recognition.
One day you wake up and her eyes are pale. Not the cheeky, indescribable dark shade they usually are - pale gray. When you wake up that morning, look at her, her head on the pillows, smiling drowsily up at you, you’re so shocked you could cry. And as she wakes up, she looks scared at you looking scared. She runs to the mirror, looks angry, pushes some blue into the irises. But not so much that it’s not visible, the gray - she looks like her mother, her aunts, her... her cousins. You gulp, concentrate on the bubblegum pink of her hair, ignore that it’s darkening slightly at the roots.
*
Has her nose always been so long? So straight? You could swear it was shorter, slightly more upturned. Has her left eyebrow always had that slightly haughty quirk, that sudden angle, that permanent look of superiority? It doesn’t suit her - it would look more at home on Walburga. (This is a name that comes to your mind with a jolt - a face you haven’t seen in a while. And of course, you can’t think of Walburga Black without remembering a young boy who shared her features, her superior expression, but grew away from the attitude that accompanied it. And, of course, you can’t remember him without crying, so you have to excuse yourself for a moment.)
*
It’s strange that you married his cousin. Someone who shares his genetics, his relatives. That the child you have with her looks like the child you could have had with him, were such a thing possible. You don’t think about it. It hurts.
*
You loved him. (You love him still.) So much. More than you love her. More than you love anyone. (Maybe not your son, but you don’t include him in this - this list of people you’ve been in love with, could be, are, will be forever.) It was a quiet love, as quiet as it could be with him. It was stolen kisses and fingers surreptitiously intertwined. It was rare nights to themselves, the practice of cartography, the mapping of their favourite scars, freckles, veins - subtle roads travelled with tongues and teeth, fingertips and scared happy eyes, dips and hollows and tendons that jumped when breathing got heavy. You spoke directly into one another, spoke through one another, I love you, I love you, I know you do, you laughed. Even during the war. And certainly, as soon as he was proven innocent, you spent the summer following making up for lost time. (You’re thankful when she doesn’t mention the redness of your eyes when you come downstairs that morning. Happy she doesn’t question your crying jags. You wonder if she knows. You don’t think it matters anymore.)
*
The darkness in the roots of her hair has spread, and in bed that night, you call her by the wrong name. She just closes her eyes and you see her jaw clench. You bury your face in her hair, newly black, dark, thick, so like his, and you sob an apology that she ignores. You wonder if she made herself look like him on purpose, because you were that obvious. It’s a thought that makes you love her more and hate yourself, and if he were here, he would tuck your head into the crook where his neck meets his shoulder and tell you how lovely you are, so lovely it's stunning in every sense of the word, you're lovely, Remus. She just rolls you onto your side and gives you a sad smile, kisses the corner of your mouth and says she knows you love her, and goes to sleep. It’s sad. You dream of him that night - he tells you the battle is approaching. He tells you to be brave; you’ll see him soon.
Pairing: Remus/Sirius, Remus/Tonks
Summary: Things change.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. Teddy Lupin would not exist if I did.
AN: This is dedicated to
xblack_out , because for one, I wrote this with the intention of giving it to her, and two, when I mentioned to her I was considering posting it here, she so graciously offered to type it up for me, and such things deserve recognition.
One day you wake up and her eyes are pale. Not the cheeky, indescribable dark shade they usually are - pale gray. When you wake up that morning, look at her, her head on the pillows, smiling drowsily up at you, you’re so shocked you could cry. And as she wakes up, she looks scared at you looking scared. She runs to the mirror, looks angry, pushes some blue into the irises. But not so much that it’s not visible, the gray - she looks like her mother, her aunts, her... her cousins. You gulp, concentrate on the bubblegum pink of her hair, ignore that it’s darkening slightly at the roots.
*
Has her nose always been so long? So straight? You could swear it was shorter, slightly more upturned. Has her left eyebrow always had that slightly haughty quirk, that sudden angle, that permanent look of superiority? It doesn’t suit her - it would look more at home on Walburga. (This is a name that comes to your mind with a jolt - a face you haven’t seen in a while. And of course, you can’t think of Walburga Black without remembering a young boy who shared her features, her superior expression, but grew away from the attitude that accompanied it. And, of course, you can’t remember him without crying, so you have to excuse yourself for a moment.)
*
It’s strange that you married his cousin. Someone who shares his genetics, his relatives. That the child you have with her looks like the child you could have had with him, were such a thing possible. You don’t think about it. It hurts.
*
You loved him. (You love him still.) So much. More than you love her. More than you love anyone. (Maybe not your son, but you don’t include him in this - this list of people you’ve been in love with, could be, are, will be forever.) It was a quiet love, as quiet as it could be with him. It was stolen kisses and fingers surreptitiously intertwined. It was rare nights to themselves, the practice of cartography, the mapping of their favourite scars, freckles, veins - subtle roads travelled with tongues and teeth, fingertips and scared happy eyes, dips and hollows and tendons that jumped when breathing got heavy. You spoke directly into one another, spoke through one another, I love you, I love you, I know you do, you laughed. Even during the war. And certainly, as soon as he was proven innocent, you spent the summer following making up for lost time. (You’re thankful when she doesn’t mention the redness of your eyes when you come downstairs that morning. Happy she doesn’t question your crying jags. You wonder if she knows. You don’t think it matters anymore.)
*
The darkness in the roots of her hair has spread, and in bed that night, you call her by the wrong name. She just closes her eyes and you see her jaw clench. You bury your face in her hair, newly black, dark, thick, so like his, and you sob an apology that she ignores. You wonder if she made herself look like him on purpose, because you were that obvious. It’s a thought that makes you love her more and hate yourself, and if he were here, he would tuck your head into the crook where his neck meets his shoulder and tell you how lovely you are, so lovely it's stunning in every sense of the word, you're lovely, Remus. She just rolls you onto your side and gives you a sad smile, kisses the corner of your mouth and says she knows you love her, and goes to sleep. It’s sad. You dream of him that night - he tells you the battle is approaching. He tells you to be brave; you’ll see him soon.