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SHE'S NEVER QUITE RIGHT IN HIS DREAMS.
The shade of her eyes. The way her hair falls. Her crooked smile, more of a smirk than a full blown grin.
Even photos don't do her justice, although he hasn't seen a photo of her in a long, long time.
Aurelia.
Aurelia, Aurelia, Aurelia.
Aurelia, tiny, her hair in plaits, with those soul searching eyes and lips that couldn't quite smile.
Aurelia, screaming at the top of her lungs for her friends in the Quiddich stands, her face smeared a defiant cacophony of red and gold.
Aurelia dancing, bathed in a thousand lights, the rustle of her dress haunting his footsteps.
In the snow, her face inches from his.
He should have kissed her that day. He should have kissed her every day.
He supposes they were destined to be apart, in the end. The sun and the moon aren't supposed to meet, and when they crossed paths, their eclipse sent everything else into darkness.
Destined to destroy each other.
Aurelia- he's thought of a million different ways to bring her back, but has long accepted that the only time he can see her is in his dreams. She's the reason he sleeps, most of the time, a counteracting force on the nightmares that try to break him. Her smile is like sunlight, a shadow darker than death's haunting her footsteps.
Christ, her smile.
Remus Lupin blows a lungful of muggle smoke, muggle poison, into the still air. It hangs only briefly before it disappears, like breath on a mirror.
He has thought of a million ways to bring her back.
But just like in his dreams, she'd never be the same.
