FIC: Not Your Average Business Trip
Title: Not Your Average Business Trip
Word Count: 2,470
Rating: PG
Prompt: moonlight
Summary: It took him a moment to remember where he was - stationed in a drab seaside village with none other than Nymphadora Tonks. She stands over him holding a camp lantern and he shields his eyes.
“If you’re a ghost here to show me Christmas Past, I’d rather not.”
Author’s Note: For the wonderful shimotsuki, a laaaate birthday!fic :D I hope you have as much fun on your own trip! And I hope you like how I interpreted the prompt...
A toe prodded him in the side.
“Remus. Wake up.”
It took him a moment to remember where he was - stationed in a drab seaside village with none other than Nymphadora Tonks. She stands over him holding a camp lantern and he shields his eyes.
“If you’re a ghost here to show me Christmas Past, I’d rather not.”
Tonks laughed. The toe jabbed him again and he batted her foot away, then sat up.
“Is it my turn to walk patrol?”
“No.” She set the lantern on the shelf and took her wand from the window ledge. “I thought I heard a noise, I’m gonna go check it out.”
“I’ll go with you.”
Her instinct for trouble is sharp, so he didn’t question, and dragged himself off the pallet on the floor, pulled on a pair of shoes and followed her out the door of the beach hut.
They walk in silence. The two of them have been here for days now, with no sign of danger either magical or mundane, and are only staying because of a rumour. Tonks is on the brink of giving up, he can tell, and would pounce on the chance to do something. Remus is close to dressing as a Death Eater and leading her on a chase through town just to keep her from going stir-crazy, not that the girl has far to go.
The weather has been overcast and drizzling since they had arrived four days ago, and had only stopped that morning. He’s almost as disappointed as Tonks is, though for different reasons. She had wanted to go swimming since hearing they would be stationed seaside, and has been shooting defeated looks at the black bikini, hat and Jackie O sunglasses that fall out of her suitcase every time she opens it. Remus feels he wouldn’t mind a beach excursion in the slightest, and is aware that it may just be the rum talking, though he’s certain it isn’t.
He’s still dazed from their expedition into town; they had given up on the evening’s search and found themselves at a dicey island-themed establishment where the bartender gave him free piña coladas while his Auror danced an atypically graceful salsa with some bloke her own age. Dónde estás corazón, indeed. He buries the feeling of jealousy in logic, knowing full well that she can do whatever she wants if she doesn’t know how he feels, and laughs about it, because really, what else can he do?
The air hangs around them, unbearably hot and humid - he could forget where he was if he tried a bit harder and imagined some palm trees, but the lingering scent of petrol spoils the scene. Tonks trudged through the sand alongside him until he reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her back behind a wide wooden sign.
“I think we found your noise,” he whispered, pointing at a low dune ten yards or so away. She peeked around the sign and he watches her mouth fall open.
“Oh, wow…” She stared, then looked back at him, smothering a laugh.
“Shh… I don’t want my arse kicked by a naked guy,” he said, even though their voices are lost in the hiss of the waves on the sand. The couple whose tryst they’ve stumbled upon, half-hidden behind the dune and chiaroscuro in the moonlight, won’t hear them unless they shout. Remus turned around for the sake of their privacy, leaning back against the peeling paint of the sign.
“Well, I have to say, it’s not a bad night for it.” He smiled wryly, but she was staring out at the water with a blush high on her cheeks.
“I-“ she started, then looked strangely at him, closing her eyes with an exasperated sigh. “We should go check the pier.”
Their footsteps rang out on the boardwalk. The beach and pier are deserted, so late that even the lights on the shabby carousel are out, and the calliope is silent. He wondered briefly how he had ended up where he was, and then remembered volunteering at a meeting - probably too eagerly - before Dung Fletcher could put his name down. Of course, Nymphadora had been kicking him under the table at the time, between pointed looks in the diminutive criminal’s direction, and had finally mouthed ‘Save me, you idiot!’ at him before Remus had got the picture.
Though what good it did her, he wasn’t sure. The past four days they had spent wandering the ramshackle fishing town and searching for non-existent Death Eaters, which admittedly wasn’t as bad as he thought. The sleeping arrangements were a small problem; neither of them would relent and take on the rickety ledge that posed as a place to sit in the awful beach hut she had hired. It was barely wide enough, but Tonks claimed she would ‘rather chance it on the floor, thanks,’ and he refused out of politeness but secretly felt the same way.
Both of them slept on the wooden floor of the tiny room, which was likely just as uncomfortable as chancing the dodgy-looking ledge, though less embarrassing than arguing about it. What might be more embarrassing than that is the fact that now he knows she sleeps in a blue shirt four sizes too large with a sparkly unicorn printed on the front, and has a solemn agreement not to laugh at her pajamas as long as she doesn’t laugh at his.
Fortunately, he passed out with his clothes on after their return from the would-be tiki bar; he definitely wouldn’t want to be caught out in a holey Led Zeppelin shirt and a pair of ducky-print shorts at this hour, and he’ll be damned if he ever leaves his luggage alone with Sirius again.
They meander out onto the boat slips and she pulled him down a set of stairs onto a dock, lower than the pier but still a fair height above the water. Both stood at the edge for a long moment, watching the reflection of the moon float on the water below; their own reflections are featureless and dark. He can’t help but think it looks like a photograph negative; the sky is black, the sand is silver, and everything that shouldn’t shine does so with eye-watering brightness. The moonlight desaturates every color into a shade of gray, and breeze absent on shore is livelier over the water, bringing the sound of the bell on a buoy and the dull thud of the fishing boats against the pier.
“It’s nice out, tonight,” Tonks said, leaning on a post, and he nodded his agreement.
Then she pushed him in.
He yelped in a very un-Gryffindor manner just before hitting the water, and it seemed to take an eternity for him to resurface. When he does, he’s shivering, breathless, and chilled through, and she’s standing on the dock, laughing.
“Nymphadora!“
“Catch,” she said, and chucked her wand at him. Remus caught it reflexively without dropping his own, and watched her pull off her hooded sweatshirt and kick off her sandals, wondering with a flash of terror if she would remove more clothing. Tonks is wearing what she’s worn all day; dark hair, a black tank top, and short, military green trousers with too many pockets. It’s drab compared to her usual attire, but she’s been attempting to blend in - he knows how difficult it is for her. He’s surprised she has been taking the assignment so seriously, having refrained from sporting purple hair and telling random strangers to sod off.
He was even more surprised when she took a running start and somersaulted off the end of the dock. The splash hit him in the face and he waited for her to come up, started to panic when she didn’t, and swore aloud when something grabbed his ankle.
She reappeared right in front of him, grinning and holding one of his shoes.
“Tonks! Are you mad?”
“I think we both know the answer to that question,” she said, wiping water from her eyes with one hand. “This is much better, yeah?”
“If you say so.” He grabbed the shoe from her hand and threw it onto the dock, doing the same with the other and awkwardly attempting to tread water.
“You can swim, can’t you?”
“Yes,” he spluttered indignantly, sinking beneath a wave.
“Float. Like a duck.” Tonks grinned evilly and started to chuckle, slicking her hair backwards. “Ducks, Remus. Little yellow duckies.”
“You promised not to laugh,” he said, trying to sound as betrayed as possible. “And of course you float. You’re a witch. Witches float. It’s a scientifically proven fact.”
She made an affronted, mortified face and splashed him, grabbing his arms and trying to push him under in an all-out dunking war. Remus fought back, alternately laughing and half-drowning as she threw her weight against him, dragging him under. Her arms are around his neck when they surface in the trough of a wave that breaks directly over their heads. Both gasp for breath and Tonks starts to laugh, but stops abruptly, staring up at the pier.
“Do you hear that?”
“Hear wha-“ he starts, but she put her fingers on his lips to quiet him and listens. He hears it then, the hollow peal of footsteps on the pier over the rapid thud of his own pulse. The girl still hangs around his neck and he pulls her closer without thinking; she’s just as cold as he is, shivering and covered in goosebumps. This isn’t the kind of swim he had imagined taking - in fact, he would have much preferred to sit on the beach with a book and pretend to read while she braved the waves.
They can hear low voices, conversing in a language he doesn’t speak, but the word ‘Muggle’ is a universal term and they stare at each other, wide-eyed.
“Let’s go,” she breathed, tilting her head towards the dock. Reluctantly, he let go and followed her as she swam toward the pier. She carried her wand in her teeth like a pirate’s
dagger and scaled the ladder on the end of the dock, taking a quick look over the edge.
“Wizards,” Tonks confirmed in a half-whisper, frowning.
“Of which sort?”
“Of the nasty sort, most likely. Do nice wizards go walking around at this hour?”
“…We do?”
“We’re not all that nice, Remus,” she grinned. “There are two of them, both with wands. Climb up.” She disappeared up the ladder, water dripping from her hair. When he hauled himself onto the dock, she motioned him into the shadow of a post and handed him his shoes.
“You have a plan.” It isn’t a question, because he can tell she isn’t the flirty, impish girl who pushed him into the water anymore, she is someone completely different, though she looks exactly the same.
“Uh…we’ll Apparate behind them and-” her eyes darted to the cloaked figures retreating down the pier. “Yeah. We can handle it, there are only two. If they put up a chase, just stun, in case we can get any information from them.”
“Good plan.”
“They don’t really move like Death Eaters, though…” she said worriedly. “Death Eaters kind of…”
“Skulk?” he offered. “They’re not dressed like it either, but there are copycats around. You take the one on the left, I’ll get the right?”
She nodded. “Okay, on three.” Tonks held up one finger, two, and then they’re gone.
There isn’t enough time to be worry, in a split second they reappear behind the two cloaked men. She shouted for them to drop their wands and neither did. A bright flash of light to his left, Tonks’s spell, startles his target and the man starts to flee. He chases without pause, dodging the hexes fired back at him as the mark whirls around. One of his own spells strikes home and the man collapses to boardwalk. Somewhat winded, Remus levitates him back to where Tonks has the other pinned facedown to the pier with her knee in his back. His hands were bound behind him and she holds her Auror badge next to his his face, talking low.
“Do you know what this is?”
“No lo hice! Vendemos solamente pociones legales!” he shouted back at her. Tonks ignored him and turned to Remus.
“Get Kingsley, won’t you? They aren’t Death Eaters at all, they’re pushing illegal potions.” She nodded towards the unconscious man. “That one’s on a wanted poster in the Auror office.”
“Sure thing,” he said, and conjured a Patronus, sending a message to Shacklebolt. Tonks cast a silencing spell at the man on the ground, who was shouting what he was sure could only be obscenities.
It was only a few minutes before Kingsley Shacklebolt walked around the corner of an ice cream stand, followed by another man in Auror attire that Remus didn’t recognize.
“Wotcher, boss,” Tonks says, standing up. “I take it you’re familiar with this skeezy bloke.”
She jabbed her wand at the still-unconscious fellow, now bound and drooling on his robes. “I’m not sure who this is,” she nudged the other criminal with her foot and he writhed, “But they were here together.”
“Nymphadora.” Kingsley raised an eyebrow, taking in the scene. “It’s three in the bloody morning.”
“We’re quite aware.”
“You’re soaked through,” he observed, giving the girl a shrewd look.
“Yeah. I know,” she shrugged, looking down at the puddle around her feet and back at the Auror.
Kingsley sighed and told the younger man to collect the potions dealer, hauling the silenced-and-still-fuming man to his feet by the collar of his cloak. “Good job, Tonks, Lupin.” He and his back-up officer turned to walk to their Apparition point with their captives, and he heard Shacklebolt muttering about how some people don’t know how to take a proper holiday.
“What now?” Remus asked her as she turned around. “Do you want to head back to Grimmauld?”
“Hell no. We hired that godawful beach hut for a full week and I want my money’s worth.” She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “What do you want to do?”
“I say we get out of these wet clothes,” he said, unthinkingly, then tried to redact. “I mean-“
Tonks looked him over appraisingly. “I think I can help you out with that.” She turned to walk back down the pier.
“Wait!”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For this.” He grinned, grabbed her around the waist, and threw her off the boardwalk into the water. He sat down on the edge, chuckling until something cold, black, and wet hit him in the face, and he held it up, only realizing what it was -her shirt - as she started laughing.
“Don’t make me use a Summoning spell on you, Remus...”
Word Count: 2,470
Rating: PG
Prompt: moonlight
Summary: It took him a moment to remember where he was - stationed in a drab seaside village with none other than Nymphadora Tonks. She stands over him holding a camp lantern and he shields his eyes.
“If you’re a ghost here to show me Christmas Past, I’d rather not.”
Author’s Note: For the wonderful shimotsuki, a laaaate birthday!fic :D I hope you have as much fun on your own trip! And I hope you like how I interpreted the prompt...
A toe prodded him in the side.
“Remus. Wake up.”
It took him a moment to remember where he was - stationed in a drab seaside village with none other than Nymphadora Tonks. She stands over him holding a camp lantern and he shields his eyes.
“If you’re a ghost here to show me Christmas Past, I’d rather not.”
Tonks laughed. The toe jabbed him again and he batted her foot away, then sat up.
“Is it my turn to walk patrol?”
“No.” She set the lantern on the shelf and took her wand from the window ledge. “I thought I heard a noise, I’m gonna go check it out.”
“I’ll go with you.”
Her instinct for trouble is sharp, so he didn’t question, and dragged himself off the pallet on the floor, pulled on a pair of shoes and followed her out the door of the beach hut.
They walk in silence. The two of them have been here for days now, with no sign of danger either magical or mundane, and are only staying because of a rumour. Tonks is on the brink of giving up, he can tell, and would pounce on the chance to do something. Remus is close to dressing as a Death Eater and leading her on a chase through town just to keep her from going stir-crazy, not that the girl has far to go.
The weather has been overcast and drizzling since they had arrived four days ago, and had only stopped that morning. He’s almost as disappointed as Tonks is, though for different reasons. She had wanted to go swimming since hearing they would be stationed seaside, and has been shooting defeated looks at the black bikini, hat and Jackie O sunglasses that fall out of her suitcase every time she opens it. Remus feels he wouldn’t mind a beach excursion in the slightest, and is aware that it may just be the rum talking, though he’s certain it isn’t.
He’s still dazed from their expedition into town; they had given up on the evening’s search and found themselves at a dicey island-themed establishment where the bartender gave him free piña coladas while his Auror danced an atypically graceful salsa with some bloke her own age. Dónde estás corazón, indeed. He buries the feeling of jealousy in logic, knowing full well that she can do whatever she wants if she doesn’t know how he feels, and laughs about it, because really, what else can he do?
The air hangs around them, unbearably hot and humid - he could forget where he was if he tried a bit harder and imagined some palm trees, but the lingering scent of petrol spoils the scene. Tonks trudged through the sand alongside him until he reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her back behind a wide wooden sign.
“I think we found your noise,” he whispered, pointing at a low dune ten yards or so away. She peeked around the sign and he watches her mouth fall open.
“Oh, wow…” She stared, then looked back at him, smothering a laugh.
“Shh… I don’t want my arse kicked by a naked guy,” he said, even though their voices are lost in the hiss of the waves on the sand. The couple whose tryst they’ve stumbled upon, half-hidden behind the dune and chiaroscuro in the moonlight, won’t hear them unless they shout. Remus turned around for the sake of their privacy, leaning back against the peeling paint of the sign.
“Well, I have to say, it’s not a bad night for it.” He smiled wryly, but she was staring out at the water with a blush high on her cheeks.
“I-“ she started, then looked strangely at him, closing her eyes with an exasperated sigh. “We should go check the pier.”
Their footsteps rang out on the boardwalk. The beach and pier are deserted, so late that even the lights on the shabby carousel are out, and the calliope is silent. He wondered briefly how he had ended up where he was, and then remembered volunteering at a meeting - probably too eagerly - before Dung Fletcher could put his name down. Of course, Nymphadora had been kicking him under the table at the time, between pointed looks in the diminutive criminal’s direction, and had finally mouthed ‘Save me, you idiot!’ at him before Remus had got the picture.
Though what good it did her, he wasn’t sure. The past four days they had spent wandering the ramshackle fishing town and searching for non-existent Death Eaters, which admittedly wasn’t as bad as he thought. The sleeping arrangements were a small problem; neither of them would relent and take on the rickety ledge that posed as a place to sit in the awful beach hut she had hired. It was barely wide enough, but Tonks claimed she would ‘rather chance it on the floor, thanks,’ and he refused out of politeness but secretly felt the same way.
Both of them slept on the wooden floor of the tiny room, which was likely just as uncomfortable as chancing the dodgy-looking ledge, though less embarrassing than arguing about it. What might be more embarrassing than that is the fact that now he knows she sleeps in a blue shirt four sizes too large with a sparkly unicorn printed on the front, and has a solemn agreement not to laugh at her pajamas as long as she doesn’t laugh at his.
Fortunately, he passed out with his clothes on after their return from the would-be tiki bar; he definitely wouldn’t want to be caught out in a holey Led Zeppelin shirt and a pair of ducky-print shorts at this hour, and he’ll be damned if he ever leaves his luggage alone with Sirius again.
They meander out onto the boat slips and she pulled him down a set of stairs onto a dock, lower than the pier but still a fair height above the water. Both stood at the edge for a long moment, watching the reflection of the moon float on the water below; their own reflections are featureless and dark. He can’t help but think it looks like a photograph negative; the sky is black, the sand is silver, and everything that shouldn’t shine does so with eye-watering brightness. The moonlight desaturates every color into a shade of gray, and breeze absent on shore is livelier over the water, bringing the sound of the bell on a buoy and the dull thud of the fishing boats against the pier.
“It’s nice out, tonight,” Tonks said, leaning on a post, and he nodded his agreement.
Then she pushed him in.
He yelped in a very un-Gryffindor manner just before hitting the water, and it seemed to take an eternity for him to resurface. When he does, he’s shivering, breathless, and chilled through, and she’s standing on the dock, laughing.
“Nymphadora!“
“Catch,” she said, and chucked her wand at him. Remus caught it reflexively without dropping his own, and watched her pull off her hooded sweatshirt and kick off her sandals, wondering with a flash of terror if she would remove more clothing. Tonks is wearing what she’s worn all day; dark hair, a black tank top, and short, military green trousers with too many pockets. It’s drab compared to her usual attire, but she’s been attempting to blend in - he knows how difficult it is for her. He’s surprised she has been taking the assignment so seriously, having refrained from sporting purple hair and telling random strangers to sod off.
He was even more surprised when she took a running start and somersaulted off the end of the dock. The splash hit him in the face and he waited for her to come up, started to panic when she didn’t, and swore aloud when something grabbed his ankle.
She reappeared right in front of him, grinning and holding one of his shoes.
“Tonks! Are you mad?”
“I think we both know the answer to that question,” she said, wiping water from her eyes with one hand. “This is much better, yeah?”
“If you say so.” He grabbed the shoe from her hand and threw it onto the dock, doing the same with the other and awkwardly attempting to tread water.
“You can swim, can’t you?”
“Yes,” he spluttered indignantly, sinking beneath a wave.
“Float. Like a duck.” Tonks grinned evilly and started to chuckle, slicking her hair backwards. “Ducks, Remus. Little yellow duckies.”
“You promised not to laugh,” he said, trying to sound as betrayed as possible. “And of course you float. You’re a witch. Witches float. It’s a scientifically proven fact.”
She made an affronted, mortified face and splashed him, grabbing his arms and trying to push him under in an all-out dunking war. Remus fought back, alternately laughing and half-drowning as she threw her weight against him, dragging him under. Her arms are around his neck when they surface in the trough of a wave that breaks directly over their heads. Both gasp for breath and Tonks starts to laugh, but stops abruptly, staring up at the pier.
“Do you hear that?”
“Hear wha-“ he starts, but she put her fingers on his lips to quiet him and listens. He hears it then, the hollow peal of footsteps on the pier over the rapid thud of his own pulse. The girl still hangs around his neck and he pulls her closer without thinking; she’s just as cold as he is, shivering and covered in goosebumps. This isn’t the kind of swim he had imagined taking - in fact, he would have much preferred to sit on the beach with a book and pretend to read while she braved the waves.
They can hear low voices, conversing in a language he doesn’t speak, but the word ‘Muggle’ is a universal term and they stare at each other, wide-eyed.
“Let’s go,” she breathed, tilting her head towards the dock. Reluctantly, he let go and followed her as she swam toward the pier. She carried her wand in her teeth like a pirate’s
dagger and scaled the ladder on the end of the dock, taking a quick look over the edge.
“Wizards,” Tonks confirmed in a half-whisper, frowning.
“Of which sort?”
“Of the nasty sort, most likely. Do nice wizards go walking around at this hour?”
“…We do?”
“We’re not all that nice, Remus,” she grinned. “There are two of them, both with wands. Climb up.” She disappeared up the ladder, water dripping from her hair. When he hauled himself onto the dock, she motioned him into the shadow of a post and handed him his shoes.
“You have a plan.” It isn’t a question, because he can tell she isn’t the flirty, impish girl who pushed him into the water anymore, she is someone completely different, though she looks exactly the same.
“Uh…we’ll Apparate behind them and-” her eyes darted to the cloaked figures retreating down the pier. “Yeah. We can handle it, there are only two. If they put up a chase, just stun, in case we can get any information from them.”
“Good plan.”
“They don’t really move like Death Eaters, though…” she said worriedly. “Death Eaters kind of…”
“Skulk?” he offered. “They’re not dressed like it either, but there are copycats around. You take the one on the left, I’ll get the right?”
She nodded. “Okay, on three.” Tonks held up one finger, two, and then they’re gone.
There isn’t enough time to be worry, in a split second they reappear behind the two cloaked men. She shouted for them to drop their wands and neither did. A bright flash of light to his left, Tonks’s spell, startles his target and the man starts to flee. He chases without pause, dodging the hexes fired back at him as the mark whirls around. One of his own spells strikes home and the man collapses to boardwalk. Somewhat winded, Remus levitates him back to where Tonks has the other pinned facedown to the pier with her knee in his back. His hands were bound behind him and she holds her Auror badge next to his his face, talking low.
“Do you know what this is?”
“No lo hice! Vendemos solamente pociones legales!” he shouted back at her. Tonks ignored him and turned to Remus.
“Get Kingsley, won’t you? They aren’t Death Eaters at all, they’re pushing illegal potions.” She nodded towards the unconscious man. “That one’s on a wanted poster in the Auror office.”
“Sure thing,” he said, and conjured a Patronus, sending a message to Shacklebolt. Tonks cast a silencing spell at the man on the ground, who was shouting what he was sure could only be obscenities.
It was only a few minutes before Kingsley Shacklebolt walked around the corner of an ice cream stand, followed by another man in Auror attire that Remus didn’t recognize.
“Wotcher, boss,” Tonks says, standing up. “I take it you’re familiar with this skeezy bloke.”
She jabbed her wand at the still-unconscious fellow, now bound and drooling on his robes. “I’m not sure who this is,” she nudged the other criminal with her foot and he writhed, “But they were here together.”
“Nymphadora.” Kingsley raised an eyebrow, taking in the scene. “It’s three in the bloody morning.”
“We’re quite aware.”
“You’re soaked through,” he observed, giving the girl a shrewd look.
“Yeah. I know,” she shrugged, looking down at the puddle around her feet and back at the Auror.
Kingsley sighed and told the younger man to collect the potions dealer, hauling the silenced-and-still-fuming man to his feet by the collar of his cloak. “Good job, Tonks, Lupin.” He and his back-up officer turned to walk to their Apparition point with their captives, and he heard Shacklebolt muttering about how some people don’t know how to take a proper holiday.
“What now?” Remus asked her as she turned around. “Do you want to head back to Grimmauld?”
“Hell no. We hired that godawful beach hut for a full week and I want my money’s worth.” She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “What do you want to do?”
“I say we get out of these wet clothes,” he said, unthinkingly, then tried to redact. “I mean-“
Tonks looked him over appraisingly. “I think I can help you out with that.” She turned to walk back down the pier.
“Wait!”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For this.” He grinned, grabbed her around the waist, and threw her off the boardwalk into the water. He sat down on the edge, chuckling until something cold, black, and wet hit him in the face, and he held it up, only realizing what it was -her shirt - as she started laughing.
“Don’t make me use a Summoning spell on you, Remus...”