DISCLAIMER: Just a little original musing I tweaked to fit the magical realm. I don't claim any of J.K. Rowling's ideas or characters. Though if Draco Malfoy made an appearance, which he regrettably does not, I would have to say he's mine. All mine. :P
: : T h a t S m i l e : :
The passersby pass her glances, each of them heavy at the surface and shallow below. If they stare long enough, they see less than if they had not seen her at all. They block her out of their system, the daily routine, their lifeline. That’s it—they need it. They need her there on the sloping steps of Gringotts watching them—the constant. That’s what she is.
The constant. She never leaves, or so they believe, or so they want, no need to think and feel. It’s their sanity that is at stake—these constants. They need them. Life keeps on, so long as those lesser than they exist. Life keeps on.
She passes them glances, each of them brushing the surface and steadfast below. If she stares long enough, she can see more than if she had known them their entire lives. She welcomes them into her system, the daily dose, her lifeline, really. They are it—she needs it. She needs them there strutting past with their tailored robes and shimmery cloaks—the constant, the invariable. They’re all the same.
They’re all the same, those faces with their glimpses and shifty eyes and averted attention. No matter the time of day or their workload, there is always something they need to do, some excuse for them to pass on by. Helping is hell. Who has the time?
But she has all the time in the world. Through her veiled, open eyes, she sees it all—the good, the bad, the ugly, and everything in between. It’s a dance for Nymphadora Tonks, each day undercover. For this young Auror, it’s a game. Yes, she takes on a different look…and a different heart, soul, and mind. She is this woman on the steps, desolate and in need of everything and more. When the Mediwizard, the Witchclerk, hell, even the Minister of Magic see her face, they almost stop, until their eyes fall on those rags and bare feet and withered satchel and—the rest is history.
What does she see? Does she see them all, truly? Through her new eyes, her new smile, her new heart, she holds onto a picture. Her hands wrap around its frame with a firmness that, if anyone saw, would grip their souls and penetrate their hearts of darkness. It’s what we all do, really, when we know what’s best for us. When we know what matters and what matters not.
That picture, that life she sees in their eyes, that potential she hears in their pace, that warmth she feels in their hearts—what is it? Where is it? Who is it? Surely, not these people, these busybees and worklords, drowning in their indecency and social staves and testing time. Losing it all before closed eyes.
She sees that one thing is not simply dark or lights. This undercover personality—she sees what she wants to see, naturally; it isn’t tangible. Maybe she’s wrong, maybe she’s right, but maybe she’s on those steps with her calm face and smile in those rags, torn between why and why not. Perhaps, she’s clinging to this picture because she has to.
That picture. The hope, the joy, the peace, the glow…it’s just a picture and nothing more. Hang it up, glance at it, adjust it every now and again, dust its active surface, pass it by, then move on to the next frame. It’s a walk along the shore—beautiful, windy, and the sand that marks the end of one story and the beginning of another.
The sand—it’s dry. She knows it, they know it, you know it. Merlin, even God knows it.
Yet, that smile…
She sees oceans from their shores. The tide rushes in and has a whole new meaning. Her entire life, their lives—they have new meaning. She no longer asks why, but rather why not? Those pictures we move past…they’re limitless. We’re limitless.
And we fear it, the boundlessness. It’s insane. Where are the limits in a limitless reality? Where do we draw the line of decency, sanity, of anything in an indecent, insane, nothing and everything of a world? But I digress. I, Nymphadora Tonks, the Auror in rags—I have to. As a human being, as a limited, grounded, rational, and stubborn human being, it is impossible enough to understand the possible, what’s more, the impossible. These spells, these enchantments, these elixirs, books, curses…they’re impossible, really. This magic—what is it? What is this power we possess, yet don’t understand?
Magic—it holds nothing to that smile. Or perhaps, magic, in its purest, holiest form…perhaps, it is that smile. It’s a momentary glow in the dark paths they lead, for how can a smile and such beauty bestow the face of one sporting next to nothing? I take pride in that smile, her smile…my smile. It’s a momentary glow, a glow that if seen enough, can ignite the light and let it shine forever. It’s a moment that makes every moment of mere survival more about living, truly living. That’s real magic, that’s impossible…but, then, life is filled to the brim with possible impossibilities.
So, why not throw all caution to the wind, spread our possibly impossible wings, and fly?
A/N: SO, how was it? Too short? Too uneventful? Amazing? Crap? Please REVIEW, and thanks for reading! I keep telling myself I'm done with fanfiction, but who knows? There may be more to come. ^_^