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shimotsukiAfter all those revised chapters, finally, here's an entirely NEW chapter for Kaleidoscope! This is the first chapter of Part II, Mirrors, which covers the HBP year, but in terms of the story timeline this installment actually begins the morning after Blindsided. In other words, Remus has just gone into full-on noble-prat mode. ;)
I need to write about three more chapters for Mirrors, but I'm not sure now long that will take, because it's looking like work will be really busy for the next few months. Still, I'd like to try to get at least one more written before the end of the year -- so, fingers crossed.Mirrors (Kaleidoscope, Part II)
~ * ~
Now Wait for the Tide to Turn
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Remus was on his feet with his wand raised before he was entirely awake.
Tap. Tap.
He blinked, rubbing at dry scratchy eyes with his free hand.
An enthusiastic short-eared owl was fluttering at one of the small windows set high in the outside wall of his basement flat. The sun was already well up—it was not, in fact, too early for owl post. Normally, he would have been long awake by now.
He hadn’t slept well last night.
Remus shivered, remembering the dreams.
He shook his head, hard, and waved his wand to open the window. The owl swooped inside, perching on the back of one of the spindly kitchen chairs and fixing him with a disconcertingly intense yellow stare.
“Hello there,” he said, running a finger gently over the feathered head. He sighed. “I imagine I know whose owl you are.”
He found a crumbling owl treat in a dusty jar in one of his kitchen cupboards. It was likely quite stale, but the owl ate it cheerfully enough.
Once it had swallowed the last crumb, though, it shook its leg at Remus and hooted pointedly until he detached the letter it was carrying.
The envelope said merely Remus Lupin, in the large irregular scrawl he’d expected to see. The letter inside wasn’t very long, either.
The dreams last night certainly hadn’t helped.
The owl, shuffling from foot to foot, cocked its head at him and clicked its beak.
“Waiting for a reply, are you?” He couldn’t help smiling a little at the bird’s persistence—
—which was, in fact, not unlike its owner’s.
The smile slipped.
Remus rummaged in a cupboard for a sheet of parchment and a quill, and sat down at the table, only to find himself staring blankly into space.
Was he really ready to face Nymphadora again?
Last night had been too soon. He hadn’t given himself enough time to learn to cope. He never should have gone to meet her at the Three Broomsticks when he was still reeling from the shock of realising that he—
—that he loved her.
And that ill-considered decision had led to one of the worst mistakes of his life.
He had thought it would be safe enough. They were only going out for a friendly drink, after all, like so many others they had shared at Grimmauld Place. And who on earth would ever have expected the vibrant, effervescent Nymphadora Tonks to see anything of note in a shabby old Dark creature?
But apparently, she thought she had.
She must have noticed something different about him last night, in any case; must have recognised the new bone-deep longing that he hadn’t yet learned how to hide. With no warning whatsoever, she had barrelled, in her bright brave clumsy way, straight through his rickety half-built defenses—
She had given him, freely and sweetly, exactly what he had been frantically trying not to want as much as, say, air.
He shivered once more, lost in the memory of their kiss—the eager press of her lips against his, her warmth as she clung to him, the faint scent of lavender from her shampoo.
It had lasted forever, and it had been far too brief.
And he never, ever should have let it happen.
Even so, Remus had dreamt that kiss, again and again, all night long. Waking, again and again, with the same aching shiver that was plaguing him now.
He closed his eyes and clenched his fists, waiting for the memories—and the longing—to subside.
The owl fluttered to the back of his chair and tugged gently at the hair over his ear.
“All right,” he said, hoarsely. “All right.” He picked up the quill again.
“She hasn’t been here before,” said Remus to the owl. “I’d better give her some idea of what to expect.”
“Tomorrow’s the best I can do,” he insisted, feeling a bit defensive in spite of himself. “I’ve got a task for the Order that I can’t postpone. The moon doesn’t wait.”
That much was certainly true enough. Keeping up his surveillance of Fenrir Greyback’s werewolf pack was more important than ever in the last few days before the full moon. Remus should have been out in the wood already, really. It was careless of him to have overslept, no matter how many dreams had plagued him last night.
But, in truth, he could have had Nymphadora stop by late in the evening that same day; he wouldn’t be out in the wood after dark.
He was using the mission as an excuse to wait another day.
It was necessary.
He simply couldn’t risk seeing Nymphadora again until he had got his pitiful, inappropriate, dangerous thoughts locked carefully away.
~ * ~
Tonks stepped out of the Floo into Remus’s flat, managing to stay on her feet for once.
“Wotcher!”
She was a Hufflepuff, and she had decided to play to her strengths. So—calm, stubborn, unrelenting cheerfulness it would be. With pink hair, for good measure.
“Hello, Tonks.” Remus’s voice was quiet. Careful. And the lines in his face were etched rather deeply, although maybe that wasn’t so unusual, the day before the full moon.
At least he smiled when he saw her, and the smile was real.
That was a good sign.
Wasn’t it?
She still had no bloody idea how to start this conversation.
“Won’t you sit down?” Remus pointed his wand at the elderly kettle that squatted on a gas ring, and it began to wheeze and steam. “Let me just make some tea.”
“Thanks.” Tonks pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table, which wobbled a little when she leaned her elbows on it.
Remus had his back to her now, arranging two teacups on mismatched saucers, and she seized the opportunity to look around. The flat seemed to consist of one small room, furnished only with this dented metal table and chairs, and a bed in one corner that was made up to look a little like a sofa by dint of a row of sagging pillows along one side. The walls and floor were dark grey stone, broken only by a series of built-in cupboards and one small threadbare rug by the bed. It seemed to be a basement flat, as the only windows were narrow and set high in one wall.
The flat was dark, and chilly, and spartan—and almost painfully tidy, in a way that made her want to smile and tugged at her heart at the same time.
“It’s English Breakfast. I hope that’s all right.” Remus’s voice was still careful, and now he wasn’t even looking at her.
She managed to suppress a sigh. Keep it cheerful. “That sounds nice.”
Remus opened a cupboard above the tiny kitchen worktop. She could see, over his shoulder, that it held all of three small potatoes, half an onion, and a sack half-full of lentils, plus a few tins and bottles. He took down a rather battered tea tin, reaching quite far inside before fetching out two teabags, which he arranged very precisely in the teacups. He added water from the kettle and brought the cups to the table, tapping each with his wand to steep the tea.
That made her stare. The teabags were already a surprise, but she had only ever seen him let his tea steep without magic.
“I haven’t any milk or lemon just now, I’m afraid.” Remus turned back to the cupboard and scrounged in the back a bit before emerging with a sugar bowl. “But here’s some sugar.”
Tonks lifted the lid. There were barely three spoonfuls left in the bottom. She meant to put the lid back on and push the sugar bowl away, but she glanced across the table at Remus and caught him watching her sideways. So in the end, she put the tiniest bit of sugar on her spoon and pretended to stir it into her tea as though it were more than it was.
Remus didn’t take any of the sugar. “Cheers,” he said instead, and raised his cup in her direction. Even his smile was careful this time.
She returned the salute—much more brightly—and sipped at her tea.
It was awful.
Tonks was no connoisseur, but this tasted downright dusty.
Remus’s flat was dismal, and the state of his kitchen cupboard was, frankly, depressing. But it was the tea that almost broke her. How many times had she watched Remus making tea at Grimmauld Place? She had been fascinated by his patience in measuring out the leaves, his precision in adding exactly the right amount of water at exactly the right temperature, his abhorrence of the steeping spell. The pride he took in ferreting out new and different blends of tea to bring back—“for the Order,” of course, a perspective that Sirius, who was funding the household from his fat Gringotts vault, had always quite craftily encouraged.
More than anything, though, she had been mesmerised by the expression of utter bliss that Remus let slip, sometimes, when he took his first sip of the tea that he had brewed just so.
And now—
Tonks had known that Remus had no job outside his work for the Order, and she’d guessed from the generally shabby state of his clothes that he must be rather poor. It was inevitable that there would be things he liked that he had to do without.
But it was one thing to know that, in a general sense. It was quite another to see him sitting here, drinking dusty sludge out of an old chipped teacup and pretending that he didn’t mind.
It wasn’t fair.
The tears she had to blink away made her angry. Tears came far too easily now—ever since the night Sirius fell through the Veil.
Cheerful, dammit!
She took a deep breath and set her cup down. It chinked sharply against the saucer.
Remus stiffened, darting a wary glance in her direction before looking away again.
But that only fueled her determination.
If there were things in this world that Remus couldn’t have, that was all the more reason for him to stop denying himself a certain source of happiness that was within his grasp.
“Remus.”
Tonks reached across the table and covered his hand with hers, as she had done two nights ago at the Three Broomsticks. As she had done so many times before that.
But this time, for the first time, he gently pulled his hand free.
And he still wasn’t looking at her.
She blinked again—ruddy tears. “Don’t, Remus. Please. Don’t pull away from me. Especially not now, not after—”
He flinched.
She swallowed past the lump in her throat, and said only, “We’re both grieving. We need each other.”
He met her gaze, at last, but his expression was guarded. “We do need each other. As friends. You’re one of the best friends I have, Tonks—one of the best friends I’ve ever had.”
That was something, coming from Remus Lupin. It was quite a lot, really.
It wasn’t enough.
“You’re bloody well more than a friend to me.” She crossed her arms over her chest (over her heart, where it hurt) and glared. “And I think—after what happened Thursday night—I rather think I’m more than a friend to you, as well.”
“We can’t be more than friends. It’s simply not possible.” His voice was calm, now, patient; he had stopped looking away, and his gaze was steady and focussed and kind. Tonks thought this must be how Remus had explained things at Hogwarts that year he taught, to students who were having trouble following their lessons.
It made her want to smash something.
She was not the one who was having trouble understanding things just now.
Remus took a sip of tea, and went on in that dreadful calm voice, as though he were discussing the relative merits of housecleaning spells. “I’m far too old for you, for one. The year you were born was the year I started my third year at Hogwarts.”
“Yes,” said Tonks, “and that is completely irrelevant, unless it bothers one of us. Does it bother you? Because it doesn’t bother me.” She scowled at him. “I’m too young and foolish for you, then—is that it? Because you certainly never seemed to mind being partnered with me for Order missions.”
“No,” he said, eyes wide. “I never meant—you’re a top-class Order member, a fully qualified Auror—”
She’d startled him. Good.
He sighed, and the calm patient expression settled over his face again. “But what would your mother say if you told her you were seeing someone who was thirteen years older?”
She grimaced—she couldn’t help it. Her mum might well be a bit annoying about all this.
“You see, then.” He nodded, as if he’d scored a point. As if his winning this argument wouldn’t be every bit as much a loss for him as it would be for her.
“This is stupid.” She eyed the stale tea that was rapidly cooling in her cup, gathered up her courage, and knocked back another swallow. It wouldn’t do to waste Remus’s horrid tea; it was the only tea he had, and he’d given it to her. “I don’t care if you’re a few years older than I am. And the older we get, the less it will matter.”
“Have a look round this flat.” Remus’s voice went even quieter, although Tonks knew him well enough to catch the thread of tension that wound through it. “You can see that I have nothing to my name—nothing at all. What little savings I have in my Gringotts vault may have to feed me for the rest of my life, thanks to Dolores Umbridge and her anti-Dark Creature legislation. I can’t even buy a round of drinks for my friends without wondering what I’ll have to forego later to make up for it.” He smiled, although it was clearly rather forced. “You can do much better than to saddle yourself with someone who can’t even offer you a decent cup of tea.”
Tonks rolled her eyes. “Are you daft? Do you seriously think I’m a gold-digger? I’ll have you know that an Auror’s pay is plenty. For two, even.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “I love you for who you are, Remus, not for what you have.”
“Yes. Well.” Now an unmistakeable edge of bitterness coloured his words; his lips pressed tightly together, even though his face was still bland and blank. “What I am—now, that’s the biggest reason of all why nothing can ever happen between us.”
“I didn’t say what, I said who.” Tonks took a deep breath and let it out again. Would Remus never understand how much more he was than the wolf that took him over once a month? “You’re the kindest man I know, the one who makes me laugh the hardest, the one who never fails to cheer me up when I’ve had a bad day. You’re the person everyone depends on, the one who knows what to do and sees that everything gets done. You’re—” her voice broke, and she finished in a whisper—“you’re the one who made the earth bloody well stop turning when you kissed me.” She swallowed. “You’re the man I love.”
That made him look away, and she could see his jaw working for a moment before he managed to reply.
“I become a deadly monster every month,” he rasped, his gaze firmly fixed on his teacup. “I could kill you at the full moon. Or turn you into—into what I am.”
“The wolf could bite or kill, in principle,” said Tonks, softly, “but it won’t, because you’re careful, and I’m careful. And there’s the Wolfsbane potion—”
“Which I will never be able to afford, and couldn’t possibly brew for myself, even if I could manage to scrape up enough Galleons to buy the mere ingredients.” His face was tight with strain. “Besides, no amount of Wolfsbane potion will change the fact that people cross the street when they see me coming.”
She stared. “What?”
“Didn’t know about that, eh?” He raised an eyebrow, letting some of the bitterness seep back into his voice. “It’s not only Umbridge, you see. It’s a good thing you wanted to meet at the Three Broomsticks the other night, for example, because I’m not so welcome at the Leaky Cauldron.”
His mouth tightened, again, and he took another sip of tea.
“I could never drag someone else down into this kind of life,” he said, his voice calm and quiet once more. As if what he was saying weren’t all that important.
But then, he was also doing a fine job of drinking his tea as though it weren’t vile.
“Spending time with you is worth loads more than going to the Leaky Cauldron.” Tonks strained to keep her own voice steady. “Some people are stupid—it’s awful that you have to put up with that kind of nonsense. But it might be less of a bother if we faced it together.”
She reached across the table for his hand again.
This time, though, he stood before she could touch him, crossing to the other side of the small room in three swift strides.
“We can never be anything more than friends, Tonks.”
His voice was still perfectly calm. But in the split second before he wrenched his gaze away, she saw the bleak desolation she had first seen two nights before in Hogsmeade, when he had returned her kiss so eagerly before breaking it off and stumbling back in horror.
Perversely, the pain in his eyes gave her hope. He cared for her that much.
“You’ve got to forget about this—this impossible fancy,” he was insisting. “Find someone else, someone young and whole, someone who can make you happy.” His mouth twisted into bitter lines. “Someone who isn’t a destitute old werewolf.”
Tonks swallowed the last of her tea, now stone-cold as well as dusty and acrid. “I am not going to forget about this. About us. And it’s far from an impossible fancy, because it’s something we can have, the very second you stop being a prat about it.” She pushed her own chair back from the table and stood to face Remus, who was staring at the floor. “But I can see there’s no getting through to you tonight, so I’ll be off, for now.” She crossed her arms again and set her jaw. “I’ll come round again Monday evening.”
“What?” Remus looked up abruptly.
“Monday evening.” She fixed him with a level look. “I’ll come by at seven or so with something hot to eat. Check how you’re doing.”
“No—don’t—” There was a flash of panic, for an instant, before he recovered, smoothing his face back into something bland. “That’s kind of you, but there’s really no need. I’ll just be sleeping it off, anyway.”
That hurt.
A lot.
He’d always been so happy to see her after the full moon, before. And the fact that he had trusted her enough to want her to visit when he wasn’t at his best had meant so very much.
But Tonks blinked hard—ruddy stupid tears!—and took a deep, deep breath, because she had a pretty good idea of what was actually going on. Remus knew he was pants at hiding his feelings when he was knackered after the moon. That was all this was. It had to be. Nothing but one more of his attempts to keep her from seeing what he really felt for her.
And no amount of stonewalling from him now could make her forget that he had kissed her with such sweet hunger only two nights ago.
She would not give up.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She swung her satchel over her shoulder and planted her hand on her hip. “You say we’re friends. And no friend is going to leave you to fend for yourself, not when it’s the first moon after—”
Her voice broke, and she felt her tough shell crack, a little.
“Remus. Hallowe’en was a bad moon—I saw you afterward, remember? And that all happened fifteen years ago.” She swallowed.
Remus didn’t respond, beyond pressing his lips into a thin tight line again.
“Monday,” said Tonks, taking a pinch of Floo powder out of the little box she carried in her pocket. “I’ll be here.”
~ * ~
By noon on Sunday, Remus was wearing two jumpers and still couldn’t get warm. Desperate to burn off some of his achy restless energy, and even more desperate to keep from thinking about things he daren’t let himself long for, he ventured out for a walk in the sunny, if rubbish-strewn, park near his flat. He kept his wand handy, in case one of the less savoury neighbours tried to rob him for drugs money—but he rather thought that, between his chattering teeth and the decidedly grey cast to his face, he was more likely to be taken for a destitute addict himself.
At least that was one thing he was not.
Try convincing the Muggle coppers of that, Moony, if they catch you with a “magic wand,” said Sirius’s voice in his head. It made him grin a little, around the sudden stab of pain.
He walked around the park long into the afternoon, actually managing not to lose himself more than a dozen times or so in memories of kissing Nymphadora, until the restlessness brought on by the impending transformation had shaded over into exhaustion again and his steps had begun to stumble. He stayed out a little too long, in fact; by the time he returned to his flat, his hands were shaking so badly that he almost dropped his wand, and it took him three attempts to cast a whispered Alohomora and get the door open.
Dumbledore’s Patronus was waiting for him inside, a silver phoenix gliding in lazy circles around the room.
“Remus, my boy,” it said, “Poppy is going to look in on you tomorrow morning, right after moonset. No arguments.”
He should have been ashamed that Dumbledore had thought of this—should have sent his own Patronus back to, indeed, argue—should have insisted he would be fine on his own. Instead, he collapsed heavily onto the edge of his bed, gasping with relief at the prospect of help.
Nymphadora had been right. This was certain to be a very bad moon. Rather worse than she was imagining, most likely.
And it wasn’t only because of losing Sirius.
~ * ~
This time, when Tonks emerged from the Floo, she found Remus’s tiny flat quite dark, even though the summer sun had not yet set.
“Lumos,” she whispered, filling the room with soft blue light.
Now she could see Remus in bed, lying very still. Asleep, surely.
She spotted a cluster of candles on his kitchen table, so she tiptoed over (only bumping into one chair on the way) and lit them with her wand. She set a basket carefully on the table—it contained a cauldron of hearty soup (Charmed to be unspillable), a fresh loaf of crusty bread, and a large tin of her favourite brand of loose Darjeeling tea.
Then, still calling on all her Stealth skills from Auror training, she crossed the small room—nearly silently—to the bed.
Only, what she saw when she got there there made her gasp out loud.
Remus had a thick plaster on one side of his forehead, and a black eye, and bruises along his jaw. He had bandages all over his chest as well, under a pyjama top that was unbuttoned, and his left arm was tucked into a sling.
She clapped her hands over her mouth, but it was too late. Remus stirred once and then blinked, very blearily, up at her.
“Nymphadora,” he mumbled.
She couldn’t tell what he was thinking—aside from pain, his eyes held mainly disorientation, possibly from healing potions.
But at least he had called her Nymphadora. She hadn’t realised how often he’d begun to use that name, lately, until he’d suddenly stopped again.
She dropped into a chair that had been pulled over from the table and placed by the bed. “Merlin, Remus.”
A bad moon, indeed.
“’S’all right,” he slurred. “Poppy came.”
“I, erm, brought soup,” she said, feeling awkward and rather useless. “Can I help you drink some?”
“No, thanks—sleep now.” His smile was a little grotesque, because of the way his jaw had swollen, but his gaze went warm and soft enough to make her heart skip a beat. “Poppy’ll be back in the morning.”
“All right,” she said, softly, still wishing there was something she could do.
His hand that wasn’t wrapped in the sling reached out for her, shakily, and she caught hold of it, as gently as she could.
“Glad you came,” he whispered.
This time, she didn’t blink fast enough, and a tear—thrice-cursed ruddy stupid idiot tears!—splashed onto her cheek. But at least Remus hadn’t seen; his eyes had closed again even before he’d finished speaking. Clearly, sleep was what he needed most.
She leaned over, very carefully, and brushed her lips across his temple, on the side away from the plaster and the black eye.
He sighed, a little, and the lopsided swollen smile reappeared.
Tonks set his hand gently down on the bed and tucked the duvet over it. She tiptoed back over to the table, where she cast Warming and Freshening Charms on the soup and the bread and set out a bowl, a spoon, and a small cracked teapot that she found in a cupboard.
She turned back for another glance at the motionless figure in the bed before she fished her little box of Floo powder out of her pocket and put the candles out.
She would let Remus sleep now, and heal—and by Helga’s Cup, she was going to get someone to teach her how to brew the Wolfsbane potion before another month had gone by.
~ * ~
Remus smoothed a hand over the blank sheet of parchment—formerly a page of notes from an old Order meeting, from which he had just Evanesco’d the ink—and picked up his quill.
He rolled his shoulders, carefully, but everything actually seemed to be working again. The cuts and bruises were all healed, thanks to Poppy’s clever potions, and even his dislocated elbow was giving him nothing more than a few twinges by now.
Nymphadora couldn’t possibly know just how much it meant to him, to have decent tea.
He was a little ashamed that she’d had to see that he couldn’t afford to buy any for himself—but really, that just helped him make his point, didn’t it? She was much better off finding someone to be fond of who wasn’t too poor to buy his own damn tea.
He took a sip, savoured it, and picked up the quill again.
A ploy which hadn’t been entirely successful, in the end.
Remus carefully derailed that particular train of thought and took another sip of tea.
If only the blasted dreams would leave him in peace.
He’d had a new dream last night. In this one, he was sleeping, and Nymphadora leaned over and kissed him gently on the temple. Just that—one soft simple kiss; nothing like the heady, hungry kiss that had actually happened in Hogsmeade last week. But it made him feel—cherished. Valued.
Loved.
This second dream-kiss, he suspected, was the more dangerous of the two. And it hadn’t even been real.
Ah, but he wanted to see her.
He missed her so much, missed the easy friendship they used to have before all this ridiculous complicated longing had got in the way. Now, it was hard enough to keep himself from pulling her into his arms even when she wasn’t doing her level best to pull him into hers.
It would be all right again, though, once she had given up her reckless fancies—once she had stopped digging in her heels and insisting that he let her throw her life away by loving him. So he would wait, for as long as it took, until she moved on. After that, it would be much easier to ignore this need for her that chafed at his heart, and things would be all right between them again.
He drew a deep breath, and tried not to think about kissing Nymphadora, and went to take another sip of tea.
But the cup was empty.
~ * ~
[ Kaleidoscope series index ]
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I need to write about three more chapters for Mirrors, but I'm not sure now long that will take, because it's looking like work will be really busy for the next few months. Still, I'd like to try to get at least one more written before the end of the year -- so, fingers crossed.
- Now Wait for the Tide to Turn (5205 words | PG-13/profanity)
Remus resolves to wait for as long as it takes until Tonks stops imagining herself in love with him. Tonks refuses to give up until Remus lets himself have the love he deserves. The irresistible force meets the immovable object, for the first of a million times.
~ * ~
Now Wait for the Tide to Turn
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Remus was on his feet with his wand raised before he was entirely awake.
Tap. Tap.
He blinked, rubbing at dry scratchy eyes with his free hand.
An enthusiastic short-eared owl was fluttering at one of the small windows set high in the outside wall of his basement flat. The sun was already well up—it was not, in fact, too early for owl post. Normally, he would have been long awake by now.
He hadn’t slept well last night.
Remus shivered, remembering the dreams.
He shook his head, hard, and waved his wand to open the window. The owl swooped inside, perching on the back of one of the spindly kitchen chairs and fixing him with a disconcertingly intense yellow stare.
“Hello there,” he said, running a finger gently over the feathered head. He sighed. “I imagine I know whose owl you are.”
He found a crumbling owl treat in a dusty jar in one of his kitchen cupboards. It was likely quite stale, but the owl ate it cheerfully enough.
Once it had swallowed the last crumb, though, it shook its leg at Remus and hooted pointedly until he detached the letter it was carrying.
The envelope said merely Remus Lupin, in the large irregular scrawl he’d expected to see. The letter inside wasn’t very long, either.
R—Remus rubbed at his eyes again. It was still two days before the full moon, but the exhaustion was already setting in.
We need to talk.
What time shall I stop by today?
—T
The dreams last night certainly hadn’t helped.
The owl, shuffling from foot to foot, cocked its head at him and clicked its beak.
“Waiting for a reply, are you?” He couldn’t help smiling a little at the bird’s persistence—
—which was, in fact, not unlike its owner’s.
The smile slipped.
Remus rummaged in a cupboard for a sheet of parchment and a quill, and sat down at the table, only to find himself staring blankly into space.
Was he really ready to face Nymphadora again?
Last night had been too soon. He hadn’t given himself enough time to learn to cope. He never should have gone to meet her at the Three Broomsticks when he was still reeling from the shock of realising that he—
—that he loved her.
And that ill-considered decision had led to one of the worst mistakes of his life.
He had thought it would be safe enough. They were only going out for a friendly drink, after all, like so many others they had shared at Grimmauld Place. And who on earth would ever have expected the vibrant, effervescent Nymphadora Tonks to see anything of note in a shabby old Dark creature?
But apparently, she thought she had.
She must have noticed something different about him last night, in any case; must have recognised the new bone-deep longing that he hadn’t yet learned how to hide. With no warning whatsoever, she had barrelled, in her bright brave clumsy way, straight through his rickety half-built defenses—
She had given him, freely and sweetly, exactly what he had been frantically trying not to want as much as, say, air.
He shivered once more, lost in the memory of their kiss—the eager press of her lips against his, her warmth as she clung to him, the faint scent of lavender from her shampoo.
It had lasted forever, and it had been far too brief.
And he never, ever should have let it happen.
Even so, Remus had dreamt that kiss, again and again, all night long. Waking, again and again, with the same aching shiver that was plaguing him now.
He closed his eyes and clenched his fists, waiting for the memories—and the longing—to subside.
The owl fluttered to the back of his chair and tugged gently at the hair over his ear.
“All right,” he said, hoarsely. “All right.” He picked up the quill again.
Tonks—And that was that. In for a Sickle, in for a Galleon.
You are quite right that we should talk. But I’m afraid I have some Order business that will keep me busy through tomorrow. I’ll be at home tomorrow evening, if you would like to stop in then for a cup of tea.
“She hasn’t been here before,” said Remus to the owl. “I’d better give her some idea of what to expect.”
Do come by Floo—this is a rather run-down neighbourhood, and it’s Muggle. I’d hate to see you put to the trouble of Obliviating any would-be attackers after you’d finished subduing them.The owl cocked its head at him.
—Remus
“Tomorrow’s the best I can do,” he insisted, feeling a bit defensive in spite of himself. “I’ve got a task for the Order that I can’t postpone. The moon doesn’t wait.”
That much was certainly true enough. Keeping up his surveillance of Fenrir Greyback’s werewolf pack was more important than ever in the last few days before the full moon. Remus should have been out in the wood already, really. It was careless of him to have overslept, no matter how many dreams had plagued him last night.
But, in truth, he could have had Nymphadora stop by late in the evening that same day; he wouldn’t be out in the wood after dark.
He was using the mission as an excuse to wait another day.
It was necessary.
He simply couldn’t risk seeing Nymphadora again until he had got his pitiful, inappropriate, dangerous thoughts locked carefully away.
Tonks stepped out of the Floo into Remus’s flat, managing to stay on her feet for once.
“Wotcher!”
She was a Hufflepuff, and she had decided to play to her strengths. So—calm, stubborn, unrelenting cheerfulness it would be. With pink hair, for good measure.
“Hello, Tonks.” Remus’s voice was quiet. Careful. And the lines in his face were etched rather deeply, although maybe that wasn’t so unusual, the day before the full moon.
At least he smiled when he saw her, and the smile was real.
That was a good sign.
Wasn’t it?
She still had no bloody idea how to start this conversation.
“Won’t you sit down?” Remus pointed his wand at the elderly kettle that squatted on a gas ring, and it began to wheeze and steam. “Let me just make some tea.”
“Thanks.” Tonks pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table, which wobbled a little when she leaned her elbows on it.
Remus had his back to her now, arranging two teacups on mismatched saucers, and she seized the opportunity to look around. The flat seemed to consist of one small room, furnished only with this dented metal table and chairs, and a bed in one corner that was made up to look a little like a sofa by dint of a row of sagging pillows along one side. The walls and floor were dark grey stone, broken only by a series of built-in cupboards and one small threadbare rug by the bed. It seemed to be a basement flat, as the only windows were narrow and set high in one wall.
The flat was dark, and chilly, and spartan—and almost painfully tidy, in a way that made her want to smile and tugged at her heart at the same time.
“It’s English Breakfast. I hope that’s all right.” Remus’s voice was still careful, and now he wasn’t even looking at her.
She managed to suppress a sigh. Keep it cheerful. “That sounds nice.”
Remus opened a cupboard above the tiny kitchen worktop. She could see, over his shoulder, that it held all of three small potatoes, half an onion, and a sack half-full of lentils, plus a few tins and bottles. He took down a rather battered tea tin, reaching quite far inside before fetching out two teabags, which he arranged very precisely in the teacups. He added water from the kettle and brought the cups to the table, tapping each with his wand to steep the tea.
That made her stare. The teabags were already a surprise, but she had only ever seen him let his tea steep without magic.
“I haven’t any milk or lemon just now, I’m afraid.” Remus turned back to the cupboard and scrounged in the back a bit before emerging with a sugar bowl. “But here’s some sugar.”
Tonks lifted the lid. There were barely three spoonfuls left in the bottom. She meant to put the lid back on and push the sugar bowl away, but she glanced across the table at Remus and caught him watching her sideways. So in the end, she put the tiniest bit of sugar on her spoon and pretended to stir it into her tea as though it were more than it was.
Remus didn’t take any of the sugar. “Cheers,” he said instead, and raised his cup in her direction. Even his smile was careful this time.
She returned the salute—much more brightly—and sipped at her tea.
It was awful.
Tonks was no connoisseur, but this tasted downright dusty.
Remus’s flat was dismal, and the state of his kitchen cupboard was, frankly, depressing. But it was the tea that almost broke her. How many times had she watched Remus making tea at Grimmauld Place? She had been fascinated by his patience in measuring out the leaves, his precision in adding exactly the right amount of water at exactly the right temperature, his abhorrence of the steeping spell. The pride he took in ferreting out new and different blends of tea to bring back—“for the Order,” of course, a perspective that Sirius, who was funding the household from his fat Gringotts vault, had always quite craftily encouraged.
More than anything, though, she had been mesmerised by the expression of utter bliss that Remus let slip, sometimes, when he took his first sip of the tea that he had brewed just so.
And now—
Tonks had known that Remus had no job outside his work for the Order, and she’d guessed from the generally shabby state of his clothes that he must be rather poor. It was inevitable that there would be things he liked that he had to do without.
But it was one thing to know that, in a general sense. It was quite another to see him sitting here, drinking dusty sludge out of an old chipped teacup and pretending that he didn’t mind.
It wasn’t fair.
The tears she had to blink away made her angry. Tears came far too easily now—ever since the night Sirius fell through the Veil.
Cheerful, dammit!
She took a deep breath and set her cup down. It chinked sharply against the saucer.
Remus stiffened, darting a wary glance in her direction before looking away again.
But that only fueled her determination.
If there were things in this world that Remus couldn’t have, that was all the more reason for him to stop denying himself a certain source of happiness that was within his grasp.
“Remus.”
Tonks reached across the table and covered his hand with hers, as she had done two nights ago at the Three Broomsticks. As she had done so many times before that.
But this time, for the first time, he gently pulled his hand free.
And he still wasn’t looking at her.
She blinked again—ruddy tears. “Don’t, Remus. Please. Don’t pull away from me. Especially not now, not after—”
He flinched.
She swallowed past the lump in her throat, and said only, “We’re both grieving. We need each other.”
He met her gaze, at last, but his expression was guarded. “We do need each other. As friends. You’re one of the best friends I have, Tonks—one of the best friends I’ve ever had.”
That was something, coming from Remus Lupin. It was quite a lot, really.
It wasn’t enough.
“You’re bloody well more than a friend to me.” She crossed her arms over her chest (over her heart, where it hurt) and glared. “And I think—after what happened Thursday night—I rather think I’m more than a friend to you, as well.”
“We can’t be more than friends. It’s simply not possible.” His voice was calm, now, patient; he had stopped looking away, and his gaze was steady and focussed and kind. Tonks thought this must be how Remus had explained things at Hogwarts that year he taught, to students who were having trouble following their lessons.
It made her want to smash something.
She was not the one who was having trouble understanding things just now.
Remus took a sip of tea, and went on in that dreadful calm voice, as though he were discussing the relative merits of housecleaning spells. “I’m far too old for you, for one. The year you were born was the year I started my third year at Hogwarts.”
“Yes,” said Tonks, “and that is completely irrelevant, unless it bothers one of us. Does it bother you? Because it doesn’t bother me.” She scowled at him. “I’m too young and foolish for you, then—is that it? Because you certainly never seemed to mind being partnered with me for Order missions.”
“No,” he said, eyes wide. “I never meant—you’re a top-class Order member, a fully qualified Auror—”
She’d startled him. Good.
He sighed, and the calm patient expression settled over his face again. “But what would your mother say if you told her you were seeing someone who was thirteen years older?”
She grimaced—she couldn’t help it. Her mum might well be a bit annoying about all this.
“You see, then.” He nodded, as if he’d scored a point. As if his winning this argument wouldn’t be every bit as much a loss for him as it would be for her.
“This is stupid.” She eyed the stale tea that was rapidly cooling in her cup, gathered up her courage, and knocked back another swallow. It wouldn’t do to waste Remus’s horrid tea; it was the only tea he had, and he’d given it to her. “I don’t care if you’re a few years older than I am. And the older we get, the less it will matter.”
“Have a look round this flat.” Remus’s voice went even quieter, although Tonks knew him well enough to catch the thread of tension that wound through it. “You can see that I have nothing to my name—nothing at all. What little savings I have in my Gringotts vault may have to feed me for the rest of my life, thanks to Dolores Umbridge and her anti-Dark Creature legislation. I can’t even buy a round of drinks for my friends without wondering what I’ll have to forego later to make up for it.” He smiled, although it was clearly rather forced. “You can do much better than to saddle yourself with someone who can’t even offer you a decent cup of tea.”
Tonks rolled her eyes. “Are you daft? Do you seriously think I’m a gold-digger? I’ll have you know that an Auror’s pay is plenty. For two, even.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “I love you for who you are, Remus, not for what you have.”
“Yes. Well.” Now an unmistakeable edge of bitterness coloured his words; his lips pressed tightly together, even though his face was still bland and blank. “What I am—now, that’s the biggest reason of all why nothing can ever happen between us.”
“I didn’t say what, I said who.” Tonks took a deep breath and let it out again. Would Remus never understand how much more he was than the wolf that took him over once a month? “You’re the kindest man I know, the one who makes me laugh the hardest, the one who never fails to cheer me up when I’ve had a bad day. You’re the person everyone depends on, the one who knows what to do and sees that everything gets done. You’re—” her voice broke, and she finished in a whisper—“you’re the one who made the earth bloody well stop turning when you kissed me.” She swallowed. “You’re the man I love.”
That made him look away, and she could see his jaw working for a moment before he managed to reply.
“I become a deadly monster every month,” he rasped, his gaze firmly fixed on his teacup. “I could kill you at the full moon. Or turn you into—into what I am.”
“The wolf could bite or kill, in principle,” said Tonks, softly, “but it won’t, because you’re careful, and I’m careful. And there’s the Wolfsbane potion—”
“Which I will never be able to afford, and couldn’t possibly brew for myself, even if I could manage to scrape up enough Galleons to buy the mere ingredients.” His face was tight with strain. “Besides, no amount of Wolfsbane potion will change the fact that people cross the street when they see me coming.”
She stared. “What?”
“Didn’t know about that, eh?” He raised an eyebrow, letting some of the bitterness seep back into his voice. “It’s not only Umbridge, you see. It’s a good thing you wanted to meet at the Three Broomsticks the other night, for example, because I’m not so welcome at the Leaky Cauldron.”
His mouth tightened, again, and he took another sip of tea.
“I could never drag someone else down into this kind of life,” he said, his voice calm and quiet once more. As if what he was saying weren’t all that important.
But then, he was also doing a fine job of drinking his tea as though it weren’t vile.
“Spending time with you is worth loads more than going to the Leaky Cauldron.” Tonks strained to keep her own voice steady. “Some people are stupid—it’s awful that you have to put up with that kind of nonsense. But it might be less of a bother if we faced it together.”
She reached across the table for his hand again.
This time, though, he stood before she could touch him, crossing to the other side of the small room in three swift strides.
“We can never be anything more than friends, Tonks.”
His voice was still perfectly calm. But in the split second before he wrenched his gaze away, she saw the bleak desolation she had first seen two nights before in Hogsmeade, when he had returned her kiss so eagerly before breaking it off and stumbling back in horror.
Perversely, the pain in his eyes gave her hope. He cared for her that much.
“You’ve got to forget about this—this impossible fancy,” he was insisting. “Find someone else, someone young and whole, someone who can make you happy.” His mouth twisted into bitter lines. “Someone who isn’t a destitute old werewolf.”
Tonks swallowed the last of her tea, now stone-cold as well as dusty and acrid. “I am not going to forget about this. About us. And it’s far from an impossible fancy, because it’s something we can have, the very second you stop being a prat about it.” She pushed her own chair back from the table and stood to face Remus, who was staring at the floor. “But I can see there’s no getting through to you tonight, so I’ll be off, for now.” She crossed her arms again and set her jaw. “I’ll come round again Monday evening.”
“What?” Remus looked up abruptly.
“Monday evening.” She fixed him with a level look. “I’ll come by at seven or so with something hot to eat. Check how you’re doing.”
“No—don’t—” There was a flash of panic, for an instant, before he recovered, smoothing his face back into something bland. “That’s kind of you, but there’s really no need. I’ll just be sleeping it off, anyway.”
That hurt.
A lot.
He’d always been so happy to see her after the full moon, before. And the fact that he had trusted her enough to want her to visit when he wasn’t at his best had meant so very much.
But Tonks blinked hard—ruddy stupid tears!—and took a deep, deep breath, because she had a pretty good idea of what was actually going on. Remus knew he was pants at hiding his feelings when he was knackered after the moon. That was all this was. It had to be. Nothing but one more of his attempts to keep her from seeing what he really felt for her.
And no amount of stonewalling from him now could make her forget that he had kissed her with such sweet hunger only two nights ago.
She would not give up.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She swung her satchel over her shoulder and planted her hand on her hip. “You say we’re friends. And no friend is going to leave you to fend for yourself, not when it’s the first moon after—”
Her voice broke, and she felt her tough shell crack, a little.
“Remus. Hallowe’en was a bad moon—I saw you afterward, remember? And that all happened fifteen years ago.” She swallowed.
Remus didn’t respond, beyond pressing his lips into a thin tight line again.
“Monday,” said Tonks, taking a pinch of Floo powder out of the little box she carried in her pocket. “I’ll be here.”
By noon on Sunday, Remus was wearing two jumpers and still couldn’t get warm. Desperate to burn off some of his achy restless energy, and even more desperate to keep from thinking about things he daren’t let himself long for, he ventured out for a walk in the sunny, if rubbish-strewn, park near his flat. He kept his wand handy, in case one of the less savoury neighbours tried to rob him for drugs money—but he rather thought that, between his chattering teeth and the decidedly grey cast to his face, he was more likely to be taken for a destitute addict himself.
At least that was one thing he was not.
Try convincing the Muggle coppers of that, Moony, if they catch you with a “magic wand,” said Sirius’s voice in his head. It made him grin a little, around the sudden stab of pain.
He walked around the park long into the afternoon, actually managing not to lose himself more than a dozen times or so in memories of kissing Nymphadora, until the restlessness brought on by the impending transformation had shaded over into exhaustion again and his steps had begun to stumble. He stayed out a little too long, in fact; by the time he returned to his flat, his hands were shaking so badly that he almost dropped his wand, and it took him three attempts to cast a whispered Alohomora and get the door open.
Dumbledore’s Patronus was waiting for him inside, a silver phoenix gliding in lazy circles around the room.
“Remus, my boy,” it said, “Poppy is going to look in on you tomorrow morning, right after moonset. No arguments.”
He should have been ashamed that Dumbledore had thought of this—should have sent his own Patronus back to, indeed, argue—should have insisted he would be fine on his own. Instead, he collapsed heavily onto the edge of his bed, gasping with relief at the prospect of help.
Nymphadora had been right. This was certain to be a very bad moon. Rather worse than she was imagining, most likely.
And it wasn’t only because of losing Sirius.
This time, when Tonks emerged from the Floo, she found Remus’s tiny flat quite dark, even though the summer sun had not yet set.
“Lumos,” she whispered, filling the room with soft blue light.
Now she could see Remus in bed, lying very still. Asleep, surely.
She spotted a cluster of candles on his kitchen table, so she tiptoed over (only bumping into one chair on the way) and lit them with her wand. She set a basket carefully on the table—it contained a cauldron of hearty soup (Charmed to be unspillable), a fresh loaf of crusty bread, and a large tin of her favourite brand of loose Darjeeling tea.
Then, still calling on all her Stealth skills from Auror training, she crossed the small room—nearly silently—to the bed.
Only, what she saw when she got there there made her gasp out loud.
Remus had a thick plaster on one side of his forehead, and a black eye, and bruises along his jaw. He had bandages all over his chest as well, under a pyjama top that was unbuttoned, and his left arm was tucked into a sling.
She clapped her hands over her mouth, but it was too late. Remus stirred once and then blinked, very blearily, up at her.
“Nymphadora,” he mumbled.
She couldn’t tell what he was thinking—aside from pain, his eyes held mainly disorientation, possibly from healing potions.
But at least he had called her Nymphadora. She hadn’t realised how often he’d begun to use that name, lately, until he’d suddenly stopped again.
She dropped into a chair that had been pulled over from the table and placed by the bed. “Merlin, Remus.”
A bad moon, indeed.
“’S’all right,” he slurred. “Poppy came.”
“I, erm, brought soup,” she said, feeling awkward and rather useless. “Can I help you drink some?”
“No, thanks—sleep now.” His smile was a little grotesque, because of the way his jaw had swollen, but his gaze went warm and soft enough to make her heart skip a beat. “Poppy’ll be back in the morning.”
“All right,” she said, softly, still wishing there was something she could do.
His hand that wasn’t wrapped in the sling reached out for her, shakily, and she caught hold of it, as gently as she could.
“Glad you came,” he whispered.
This time, she didn’t blink fast enough, and a tear—thrice-cursed ruddy stupid idiot tears!—splashed onto her cheek. But at least Remus hadn’t seen; his eyes had closed again even before he’d finished speaking. Clearly, sleep was what he needed most.
She leaned over, very carefully, and brushed her lips across his temple, on the side away from the plaster and the black eye.
He sighed, a little, and the lopsided swollen smile reappeared.
Tonks set his hand gently down on the bed and tucked the duvet over it. She tiptoed back over to the table, where she cast Warming and Freshening Charms on the soup and the bread and set out a bowl, a spoon, and a small cracked teapot that she found in a cupboard.
She turned back for another glance at the motionless figure in the bed before she fished her little box of Floo powder out of her pocket and put the candles out.
She would let Remus sleep now, and heal—and by Helga’s Cup, she was going to get someone to teach her how to brew the Wolfsbane potion before another month had gone by.
Remus smoothed a hand over the blank sheet of parchment—formerly a page of notes from an old Order meeting, from which he had just Evanesco’d the ink—and picked up his quill.
He rolled his shoulders, carefully, but everything actually seemed to be working again. The cuts and bruises were all healed, thanks to Poppy’s clever potions, and even his dislocated elbow was giving him nothing more than a few twinges by now.
Dear Tonks,He had a fresh cup of Darjeeling by his elbow at this very moment, and it was magnificent. He would have to drink it very slowly, and pay careful attention to his Freshening Charms. His last package of English Breakfast teabags had been decent enough when they were new, but they hadn’t survived the year he’d spent at Grimmauld Place.
Thank you for stopping in to see me last night. I’m afraid I don’t remember much of our conversation, as I was a little out of it at the time, but it was kind of you to come. I also wanted to thank you for the lovely soup and bread. And the tea, which is very nice.
Nymphadora couldn’t possibly know just how much it meant to him, to have decent tea.
He was a little ashamed that she’d had to see that he couldn’t afford to buy any for himself—but really, that just helped him make his point, didn’t it? She was much better off finding someone to be fond of who wasn’t too poor to buy his own damn tea.
He took a sip, savoured it, and picked up the quill again.
I wonder if I could ask you for a little help with a research project I’m doing, on Fenrir Greyback.That was Order code, of course, for “please make an illegal copy of Greyback’s file and sneak it out of the Auror Department.” And writing it made him miss Sirius acutely—Sirius had been the one in charge of scouring Ministry files, and that had originally been an idea of Remus’s, something to keep poor Padfoot from going completely round the twist while unable to leave the house and join regular Order missions.
A ploy which hadn’t been entirely successful, in the end.
Remus carefully derailed that particular train of thought and took another sip of tea.
I’ll be home evenings all week, and I’d be happy to make you a pot of this lovely Darjeeling when you stop in.He could do that. He could make Nymphadora some tea, and sit across the table from her, and have a civilised conversation about Fenrir Greyback (ha—now, there was a joke), and just be her Order colleague. And her friend. Surely that would get easier and easier, with practice.
If only the blasted dreams would leave him in peace.
He’d had a new dream last night. In this one, he was sleeping, and Nymphadora leaned over and kissed him gently on the temple. Just that—one soft simple kiss; nothing like the heady, hungry kiss that had actually happened in Hogsmeade last week. But it made him feel—cherished. Valued.
Loved.
This second dream-kiss, he suspected, was the more dangerous of the two. And it hadn’t even been real.
I’ll send this from the Post Office now, and shall hope to see you soon. When we talk, I’ll fill you in on my research project, which might prove to be quite interesting.Nymphadora would come, of course. Because he needed her help for an Order mission. And because she was his friend.
—Remus
Ah, but he wanted to see her.
He missed her so much, missed the easy friendship they used to have before all this ridiculous complicated longing had got in the way. Now, it was hard enough to keep himself from pulling her into his arms even when she wasn’t doing her level best to pull him into hers.
It would be all right again, though, once she had given up her reckless fancies—once she had stopped digging in her heels and insisting that he let her throw her life away by loving him. So he would wait, for as long as it took, until she moved on. After that, it would be much easier to ignore this need for her that chafed at his heart, and things would be all right between them again.
He drew a deep breath, and tried not to think about kissing Nymphadora, and went to take another sip of tea.
But the cup was empty.
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no subject
Date: 2013-09-06 04:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-09-06 06:48 pm (UTC)I figure there are only about five people in the whole world who are even going to read this, lol, but I'm still having fun writing it, so, why not keep going!
no subject
Date: 2013-09-07 10:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-09-07 05:57 pm (UTC)I had hoped the release of that bio would wake things up again a little bit, and it seems that it has. :) I've even got two new f-listers who write some R/T.
no subject
Date: 2013-09-08 03:40 am (UTC)For some reason, I feel like there is a Helga's cup/teacup/Holy Grail/sacred feminine symbol thing happening here.
I also love the switching between their perspectives, which you always do seamlessly. It's the perfect device to tell a story about two people misreading one another.
no subject
Date: 2013-09-09 03:44 am (UTC)For some reason, I feel like there is a Helga's cup/teacup/Holy Grail/sacred feminine symbol thing happening here.
Ooh, cool analysis. Wish I had thought of it. ;) (It's fun to invent house-specific oaths, and there was the famed Hufflepuff cup, so.)
Glad the head-hopping doesn't bother you too much! I know some people say it's a bad idea, but I kind of like it; as you say, it's a fun way to approach a story where characters are misunderstanding each other, or where they know different things.
no subject
Date: 2013-09-09 03:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-09-09 03:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-09-09 09:36 am (UTC)It's always a sign of me really enjoying a fic when it takes me a long time to finish it, and reading this one certainly fit that description! I stop here and there to let it soak in before I continue. And of course I knew how this had to end, yet I couldn't help hoping that it would end differently.
“I could never drag someone else down into this kind of life,” he said
There seems to be a fair share of Remus-is-simply-being-a-stubborn-prat-about-this around, but I can't help but see why he's feeling the way he does. Being the one to limit your partner's opportunities in life could certainly be difficult to get over for anyone. Though I wish he would let himself see that this has to be her decision sooner than he does, I sort of understand why he's doing it as well.
a perspective that Sirius, who was funding the household from his fat Gringotts vault, had always quite craftily encouraged.
This is something that still bothers me, heh (I may spend too much time thinking about fictional problems;)): why didn't Sirius leave Remus anything..? I can think of some hypothesis, but no really convincing ones.
Anyway, this was a beautiful - sad, but beautiful - read!
no subject
Date: 2013-09-10 03:39 am (UTC)There seems to be a fair share of Remus-is-simply-being-a-stubborn-prat-about-this around, but I can't help but see why he's feeling the way he does.
Oh, me too. He's been so damn unhappy for so much of his life (...a fact which a certain recent bio only reinforces, heh), and he doesn't want to inflict that on other people. I think Remus is incredibly strong to hold out for so long against what he wants so badly, even though (as you say) I wish he hadn't taken quite so long to work out that Tonks ought be given the chance to decide for herself what she really wants. (I also suspect Remus is afraid that if Tonks tries being with him, his miserable situation will end up making Tonks unhappy, and she'll leave him, meaning he'd only end up losing someone else he needs. But that's another whole side to their dynamic.)
why didn't Sirius leave Remus anything..?
I know! Harry didn't really need it, or not all of it, what with the Potter gold. My personal theory is that Sirius wrote his will when he was made godfather, when Harry was a baby, and just never updated it because thinking about wills means facing your own mortality. But what a difference even just a part of the Black family fortune would have made for Remus. :(
no subject
Date: 2013-09-09 07:28 pm (UTC)"This second dream-kiss, he suspected, was the more dangerous of the two. And it hadn't even been real."
It broke me, I think I was actually close to tears myself. Beautiful. Thank you so much for this chapter!
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Date: 2013-09-10 03:41 am (UTC)that soul-crushing way you love to torture your characters knowing they'll be okay in the end but lets ruin them first.
Hee -- this is exactly why I like to write angsty fic -- so it can be okay in the end. Which is why I wasn't exactly thrilled with what happened to Remus and Tonks in DH...
no subject
Date: 2013-09-16 09:22 pm (UTC)“Some people are stupid—it’s awful that you have to put up with that kind of nonsense. But it might be less of a bother if we faced it together.”
“I am not going to forget about this. About us. And it’s far from an impossible fancy, because it’s something we can have, the very second you stop being a prat about it.”
It's hard to make the "too old, too poor, too dangerous" arguments seems fresh and new, but you did. In fact, I didn't really think about that as such, being engrossed in how much Remus was revealing about how awful life really is for him, and how Tonks is arguing, whether naively or not at this stage, that such things would be far more bearable if faced together. Of course I agree that the greater fear for him is that he also knows exactly what toll years of living that way will take on such hope and optimism.
I love that she brought him tea! Even more that he took it. And I liked the title. :)
Sorry there won't be an Ambleside owl. We didn't go away as Mum was taken ill beforehand. She's gradually recovering but not the best of weeks. Hopefully, getting back to normal and picking up my own fic again today. It was lovely to read this once more.
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Date: 2013-09-17 04:21 am (UTC)it's Tonks that gets to me here
Very glad you thought so. One tricky thing to handle in Kaleidoscope-verse is that the timeline between OotP and HBP is very tight (I just might have a detailed calendar file in my WIP folder with canon and Kaleidoscope events all marked up, lol); I only have about two weeks between Blindsided and Hermione's arrival at the Burrow in HBP to get Tonks to where she's gone all mousy. I'm thinking she's still reasonably optimistic in this chapter, because she hasn't fully realized just how long Remus is going to keep the stubborn front up, and she doesn't know about the extent of his upcoming werewolf mission yet.
It's hard to make the "too old, too poor, too dangerous" arguments seems fresh and new, but you did. In fact, I didn't really think about that as such
Whee! The TO/TP/TD argument conversation took me something like four evenings' worth of rewrites, as short as it is, so there's a little air-punching going on here just now. :) Very happy to hear you thought it worked all right. The title, too, went through about eight iterations, so glad this one worked... ;)
Oh, no! Never mind the owl, I'm just awfully sorry that your mother has been so ill and that you didn't have a chance to go away! I hope she makes a swift recovery, and that you find another chance to have a holiday...maybe for a certain autumn birthday?
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Date: 2013-09-17 07:45 pm (UTC)(I just might have a detailed calendar file in my WIP folder with canon and Kaleidoscope events all marked up, lol
Hee. Hermione would most definitely approve, as do I. Now I've probably got my wires crossed, or made this up, but I have this dim recollection that you might have once said you'd worked out when the full moons were for a particular book? I'm sure you can guess why I'm asking, but don't worry if I have completely imagined this.
Mr Gilpin has got my birthday off (it's conveniently on a Friday this year), but whether we'd try to get away I don't know. It's always falls in half term week, which was badly planned by my parents many years ago, lol, as it's always VERY busy everywhere. He did take the week off as we'd planned, and we managed a couple of short trips out as Mum slowly improved towards the end of it. They thought it was a kidney stone but this became 'a virus', which I'm translating as haven't-got-a-clue!
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Date: 2013-09-17 10:31 pm (UTC)*zombie rises and staggers under load of rocks* -- Or at least that's about what it feels like, lol. I should whinge at you in something sporadic, but the lecture I've been invited to give is coming right up, and progress on the relevant project is slow, and I am getting scared!
I have this dim recollection that you might have once said you'd worked out when the full moons were for a particular book?
Ha! I do have a list of all full moons between summer 1995 and summer/fall(!) 1998, annotated with some canon points of reference (no promises that it's complete). And frankly, if it's DH you're thinking about, I don't really understand that timeline at all yet (I suppose only having read that book once has something to do with my poor memory of chronology...). I've started making some DH timeline notes, but I'm only through about August on that one. Anyway, when I get home tonight I will send you my lunar calendar file in case it's helpful.
Not that JKR is trying to be accurate with real calendar dates (as the continual Monday-ness of September 1st will attest), but you probably know about the famous moon error in HBP: What's the one scene where Remus's presence is crucial and the date is unambiguous? Christmas Eve at the Burrow, of course. And what was the actual date of the full moon in December of 1996? Yep.
The end of OotP is a problem, too, because the days of the week and the numbered dates don't match for 1996 by the end of the term (there's a whole discussion of the OotP date complications at the HP Lexicon). So I had to take some liberties with the day of the Hogwarts Express bringing the students home (which is referenced in Blindsided) in order to make the days and dates line up again so that the OotP timeline could segue into the HBP timeline! And it hadn't originally occurred to me to have a full moon as part of this chapter, but since there was an actual full moon on June 30 in 1996 I sort of felt compelled to make Remus and Tonks deal with it. Which was a fun bit of the chapter to write, of course ;P (poor Remus).
I hope you can find a way to do something nice for your birthday, despite the inconvenient half-term timing! And I suspect you're right that "a virus" means "for pity's sake tell the patient "something" -- but maybe it's good that it wasn't a kidney stone?
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Date: 2013-10-03 02:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-10-04 04:07 am (UTC)Seriously, thanks so much for reading, and for the encouraging comments. I'm glad you found the tea thing as sad as Tonks (and I) did.