Title: Remus Lupin's Guide to Successful Courting
Disclaimer: Brilliant Art Work Credits: the band. deviant art art /Sirius - and - Remus- 43455824; Definitions are taken from www. Dictionary. Com
Once upon time, there lived a prince. A prince who was neither very rich nor very charming. He did not live in a castle, did not wear lavish clothes; and despite the fact that he'd waited for years, locked alone and dwelling in his own pain and grief, no one ever came to save him.
His name was Remus Lupin and his kingdom was in his head - fantasies of large castles, wands sparkling with magic, and boys with eyes full of mischief. His kingdom was on paper – words swirling with tales that many would praise in magazines but no one would quite understand. His kingdom was in his hand – in the vibrant colours of all the pictures he drew, paint smeared across his cheeks and splattered all over the floors. His kingdom was empty, with only himself as its king.
There was routine in his life of solitude. Every day, Remus would wake up at seven in the morning to brush his teeth and shower for exactly fifteen minutes. He would then dress: pressed black trousers and a white shirt that would be tucked neatly around his waist. Some days, when he felt in the mood, his shirt would be a light blue or beige. Thin black suspenders wound snap around his shoulders and across the expanse of his chest. His socks would rest snugly around his calves and his shoes, shined to perfection would be evenly laced on both sides. His last task would be to neatly comb his light brown hair, parted to the side in a perfectly straight line. He would not pay attention to much else. Not to his skin which seemed as pale and at times, sickly at best. Not to his body which was a bit too thin, but wiry and taut. Never to his eyes that despite the life within his heart, only seemed to mirror despair. Nor to his voice that seemed monotone and awkward from disuse. He would ignore all these and simply head downstairs to the kitchen.
There, he would wait for his maid to serve him his daily breakfast of soldiers and eggs, with a fresh glass of orange juice. On weekends, he had cereal with fresh strawberries from the garden. By exactly eight fifteen, he would exit the kitchen with the remains of his breakfast in a clear plastic packet, to feed to the ducks outside. The pond is his garden was a small one that was never meant for ducks, but Remus had not protested a single day since he'd noticed the tiny little nest in his garden. He would feed them daily, leaving his shoes on the front step of his house just so he could feel the crunch of fresh grass underneath his toes.
It was routine. It was comfortable. It was what Remus Lupin was used to. So it was completely acceptable to be surprised when Remus opened his front door one sunny Monday morning to find an abandoned child at his doorstep. Well, Remus could only assumed the child was abandoned from the many stories he had read over the years. Though, through much knowledgeable experience, Remus knew that abandoned doorstep children also came with their staple wicker baskets and sorrowful note.
Abandoned [uh-ban-duhnd]: Forsaken or deserted.
Remus looked at the child curiously. A little boy, though past the age where baskets were a viable option. He was crying profusely, fat tears streaking muddy cheeks. 'Are you abandoned?' Remus thought of asking the most obvious question first. He blinked slightly when the child only cried harder. There was a scrape on the child's knee that was bleeding only slightly, but Remus also knew from much of what he'd read that the smallest of wounds could affect a child greatly. 'Where are you parents?'
The little boy shook his head. 'I don't have any,' he sobbed.
'Oh dear,' Remus worried. The child, it seemed, had been abandoned. 'Did they not like you?'
This seemed to be the worst of questions to ask, though Remus could not fathom why. All he knew was that it made the child cry harder which seemed extremely inconvenient, both for Remus's ears and his sensibilities.
Cry [krahy]: to utter inarticulate sounds, especially of lamentation, grief or suffering, usually with tears.
It was something he could define but could not understand; could not explain through by a book. A scraped knee hardly seemed lament worthy.
'I don't know how to get home,' the boy hiccupped, wiping his face and smearing more dirt all over his eyes and cheeks. 'We were supposed to go to the museum together, but then I saw a dog that looked like it had three heads. So I wanted to play with it. I'd even named it Fluffy. But Fluffy kept running away, so I tried to catch him. And then I saw strawberries in your garden so I tried to fetch some from under the fence, but I fell.' He looked up pitifully at Remus as he pointed to his knee.
Trouble [truhb-uhl]:to disturb the mental calm and contentment of; worry; distress; agitate.
Remus knew the minute he gazed into those sparkling green eyes that this boy had trouble following him wherever he went. He thought of the strawberries in his garden and the hours of work he had put on them over the past seven years. He thought of weekend breakfasts without strawberries and decided that perhaps, it would be best to help trouble find his way out of the Lupin premises. 'Where do you live?' Remus asked.
The boy sniffled. 'With Padfoot.'
Confused [kuhn-fyoozd]:to be perplexed or bewildered.
'What is a Padfoot?'
The boy looked at him as if Remus was an idiot for asking such an obvious question. 'Padfoot is Padfoot. He has long black hair, and big white teeth, and a really long nose, and likes to eat things off my plate.'
Padfoot sounded like a dog. Remus had always wanted a dog for himself but never had the courage to get one. He would very much like to meet Padfoot, the dog. Especially if he is brilliant enough to rear a child all by himself. It is not unheard of at all; Remus has read many such articles in the newspapers where dogs, pigs, and a handful of cows have raised human children, many with severe identity crisis. Unable to see any form of address on the boy's person, Remus came to the logical conclusion that he would first take the boy to the doctor's to be healed and then to the police station. This, he knew, was the protocol for all lost children; unless they were found in a supermarket or in a ditch (usually dead).
The boy had stopped crying now and was looking at him curiously. A child, Remus mused, was an odd creature. It's eyes were too big and cheeks were always flushed bright pink. Their hair was always wild and floppy, and almost every word they spoke was accompanied by copious production of saliva and the inability to pronounce the letter 'r'. There was also the issue of being held. While in theory, this might seem simple, Remus was now faced with the perplexing task of picking this child up. Do you align your hands to the front? How much pressure was too much pressure? Remus continued to angle his hands experimentally, until finally he gave up with a loud sigh and settled for the best course of action. Much like a mother wolf carrying her cub or a human carrying a shopping bag, he lifted the child up by the scruff of his neck, leaving the boy's legs to dangle in the air. By the joyful laughter that it brought on, Remus assumed that this was the most efficient and appropriate method of child transportation.
Success [suhk-ses]:the attainment of wealth, position, honors, or the like.
The clinic was not a very far walk from Remus's house. It was a route Remus was familiar with from his multiple visits, especially in his earlier, more sickly years. Remus liked it above all the other clinics or hospitals he had ever been to because of its bright sunshine yellow walls, green picture frames across the corridor walls, and purple nurse uniforms. The Director, whom Remus knew well, was rumoured to have an eccentric streak. Even as he went in, many of the staff greeted him with gentle smiles and amiable nods. Some eyed the child in his arms warily but did not say much, simply waving as they passed by.
Heartbeat [hahrt-beet]: pulsation of the heart, including one complete systole and diastole.
Remus has lived for twenty five years now. Due to his incapability to emote or feel many complicated things at the same time, he has always maintained a heart rate of sixty eight times per minute and a running heart rate of seventy one times per minute. And though he has read about it many times, he has never experienced the often described feeling of his heart pushing against his ribcage or indeed, skipping any beats.
Today, on a sunny Monday morning; April 12th 1985, Remus finally understood the term, 'when the heart skips a beat'.
The cause had been a man.
One with long black hair, big white teeth, and an extraordinarily long nose.
'Harry, what are you doing here? Who is this?' The man cried out, his very light grey eyes widening in shock as he dropped the file he was carrying to the floor.
Harry, which seemed to be the little boy's name, shrugged just as Remus put him down. 'I don't know,' he replied as a matter of fact-ly.
Padfoot (an odd name for a grown man) rushed towards them with a groan. 'Harry, what have I told you about strangers? Honestly, I don't know what I'm going to do with you.'
'But I was lost, Padfoot,' Harry pouted and then suddenly, grabbed Remus's right hand in his. Had Remus been able to articulate between the infuriating skipping of his heart, he would have questioned this gesture. The child was not falling; hence, he saw no reason for this business of hand holding. It was utterly perplexing and Remus stared at the small fingers wrapped around his own mutely. 'This mister here helped me find you.'
Remus has never been called a mister before.
'I am so sorry if Harry's been of any inconvenience to you,' Padfoot apologised, holding out both his arms and wrapping them around the child's waist loosely, before picking him up to chest level. Another method of child carrying, Remus supposed. 'I don't know how he gets into so much trouble, even in playgroup. I'll probably have to call the nursery and inform them before they lose their heads.' One of Padfoot's hand reached for Remus's and squeezed tightly. While this was just as perplexing as Harry's gesture, it felt oddly pleasant, and Remus found himself staring mutely yet again at their conjoint hands. 'Thank you very much. I'm not sure how I can repay you-'
Marry [mar-ee]: to take as an intimate life partner by formal exchange of promises in a manner of a traditional ceremony.
Padfoot spluttered, though not unattractively; his eyes bugging out of his socket and his jaw hanging open. 'I'm sorry? What?'
Remus wondered if he'd perhaps worded it wrong. As if a light bulb had gone off in his head, he exclaimed, 'I see, you require me to approach your parents first,' he offered knowledgeably. This, however, did not bring the desired result from Padfoot. Remus frowned yet again, trying to bring forth the plethora of knowledge he had gathered from various books over the years. While Remus was not a man to boast, he did like to think he was very well read. 'I see, you require a courting ritual.' Yes, Remus thought, that would be the right course of things.
Sirius still seemed to have been rendered so speechless that he remained stock still, despite the constant attention seeking tugging and whining that Harry was indulging in.
Remus decided to use a more commercially friendly and simpler term for his pursuit of affection, 'Mr. Padfoot, I would like to ask you out for a date.'
Date [deyt]:An engagement to go out socially with another person, often out of romantic interest.
A/N: So I just got hit with this idea out of the blue. The writing style is a bit odd I know and perhaps a bit jarring because of the random definitions substituted for feelings instead. But I wanted to explore yet again another Remus personality type where he is quite literally a living dictionary and lives by the books he reads. Of course there is an explanation and plot behind this behaviour, but this chapter is just a starter to see if anyone would like me to continue. Otherwise, this will just remain as a random one shot that I penned in. Do let me know! And thank you all for the lovely, lovely reviews and private messages. I can never get over them and they fill me up like an enormous helium balloon! Cheers!