Gen: Remus, Sirius, Ted Tonks
A quick sketch - a deleted scene from Ruled by the Moon. Remus, Sirius, Ted Tonks, September 1980. 966 words.
They were in a small café in central London - a grubby place with cracked linoleum table-tops ringed with tea-stains and tattered notices pinned to a board, always filled with noise and smoke from the builders whose haunt it was. It was early September, one of those heavy, windless days in London where everything felt dusty and dry and the petrol fumes hung chokingly above the streets; they could hear the rumble of traffic from the Tottenham Court Road and nearby Oxford Street, and the steady blare of horns. A haze was in the sky, yellowed and threatening-looking, but they’d long since given up hoping for rain. They’d walked down through Regent’s Park, past parched grass and limp-looking trees and a few tired shapes stretched out on deck chairs by the bandstand; there was more life outside the pubs than in that haven of nature.
The door of the café swung open, and a fume-laden gust of air poured in; Sirius looked round, but it was just another builder, his hair and eyebrows outlined in brickdust. A group on the far side of the café called his name, jostled each other, and he saluted them with his Star.
“Awright, lads?” he called, and swaggered over. The tables were close together and as he passed he brushed Sirius’s arm. “Hands off, nancy boy,” he said, grinning at his mates. Sirius flushed and went to stand up, but Remus frowned, and, laughing, the builder moved on.
“I could’ve had him,” Sirius muttered furiously.
“Without magic?” Remus murmured in response. “He’d have killed you. Don’t be stupid, he was only joking.”
Sirius scowled and lowered his head. “We should go. We don’t fit in here.”
“We don’t, but we’re not going. He’ll be here soon.” If he was honest, Remus was as anxious to leave as Sirius, but there was a part of him that was enjoying Sirius’s discomfort - Sirius, who was so comfortable in almost every situation.
“Jesus.” A roar of laughter from the corner, and Sirius sunk down in his chair.
“Look, here’s Ted,” Remus muttered. “Don’t look round! We don’t know him, remember.” Ted walked in, almost unrecognisable in overalls and a cap.
“Awright, Tony?” he called to the owner. “How’s the wife?”
“Doing well, Fred, doing well,” Tony replied. “Size of an ‘ouse.”
“Nearly her time, innit?”
“Not near enough, I tell you. Cuppa? You must be parched.”
“Not ‘alf. I’ve been over the other side of the park - gas explosion. Hell of a clear-up.”
“I ‘eard about that. Nasty business and no mistake. All them kids.”
“Shocking,” Ted agreed, handing over some coins. “Cheers, Tony.” And he took his mug and came over to where Sirius and Remus were sitting. “Gents,” he said, nodding to them and sitting down. Whistling, he pulled out a paper and started to read, absently rolling a cigarette. Then he leaned over to Remus and said, “Got a light, chum?”
Remus lit his cigarette for him, and Ted thanked him. Then he stopped. “’ere,” he said loudly, “don’t I know you?”
“I don’t think so,” Remus replied, as arranged.
“No, no, I definitely recognise you.” Then Ted clicked his fingers. “Thassit - you’re the lad what does the books for Terry O’Hanlan, innit?”
Remus nodded, smiling. “That’s me.”
Ted beamed. “Thought it was you,” he said triumphantly. “Thought it was you. How is the old bugger?”
“He’s well, thanks.”
“Grumpy as ever?”
“Couldn’t say, sir,” Remus replied, with a grin.
Ted chuckled. “Course you can’t, course you can’t.” And he looked curiously at Sirius.
Remus pretended to start. “Oh, I’m sorry. This is Sam, Mr Eliot. He’s my cousin, come to visit for the week.”
Ted reached over, shook Sirius’s hand. “Owdeedo, Sam, owdeedo?”
“Well, thanks,” Sirius replied, a little awkwardly.
“Nice strong grip,” Ted remarked, smiling; “you don’t need a job, do you, mate?”
“Sorry,” Sirius replied.
“He’s going to university,” Remus replied.
“Well!” Ted exclaimed. Leaning in, he said, “Let me give you some advice, lad.” And whispering, he said in his normal voice, “I’m putting the charm up now. We’ll have thirty seconds.”
And suddenly the noise of the café died away. Ted leaned back in his chair.
“Act naturally,” he said, “as if I’m telling you a story. They can see us even if they can’t hear.”
Sirius forced a grin, and Remus leaned forward.
“You can tell Frank that I’ve made my decision,” Ted said then, grinning all the while and gesticulating. “I’m going to join you. Tell him the Ministry is in chaos, everyone’s suspecting everyone else, no work’s getting done, people aren’t even turning up anymore and we’ve long ago lost track of who’s disappeared and who’s just too frightened to leave the house. He told you why I’ve been stalling?”
Remus nodded, laughed. Ted had long doubted the worth of the Order of the Phoenix’s work, worried about its vigilantism, preferring to stick with the Ministry. And now the Ministry was collapsing, and he knew where the future lay.
“There’s no place for me there anymore. I couldn’t give the time you needed, before, and I didn’t want to risk my family for such a small commitment. But now I’m going to make that time. I can be your contact in the Minister’s office. Ok, now the charm’s about to wear out, so laugh uproariously.”
They did so, and all at once the noise rushed back in.
“Right,” Ted said, when he’d caught his breath. “Well, I won’t keep you lads any longer. Better get back to the site. Send my best to Terry, yeah?”
“Course,” Remus replied.
And with a cheery wave to the owner of the café and a nod to the two of them, he left, a gust of hot, fumy air entering the café as he opened the door.
They were in a small café in central London - a grubby place with cracked linoleum table-tops ringed with tea-stains and tattered notices pinned to a board, always filled with noise and smoke from the builders whose haunt it was. It was early September, one of those heavy, windless days in London where everything felt dusty and dry and the petrol fumes hung chokingly above the streets; they could hear the rumble of traffic from the Tottenham Court Road and nearby Oxford Street, and the steady blare of horns. A haze was in the sky, yellowed and threatening-looking, but they’d long since given up hoping for rain. They’d walked down through Regent’s Park, past parched grass and limp-looking trees and a few tired shapes stretched out on deck chairs by the bandstand; there was more life outside the pubs than in that haven of nature.
The door of the café swung open, and a fume-laden gust of air poured in; Sirius looked round, but it was just another builder, his hair and eyebrows outlined in brickdust. A group on the far side of the café called his name, jostled each other, and he saluted them with his Star.
“Awright, lads?” he called, and swaggered over. The tables were close together and as he passed he brushed Sirius’s arm. “Hands off, nancy boy,” he said, grinning at his mates. Sirius flushed and went to stand up, but Remus frowned, and, laughing, the builder moved on.
“I could’ve had him,” Sirius muttered furiously.
“Without magic?” Remus murmured in response. “He’d have killed you. Don’t be stupid, he was only joking.”
Sirius scowled and lowered his head. “We should go. We don’t fit in here.”
“We don’t, but we’re not going. He’ll be here soon.” If he was honest, Remus was as anxious to leave as Sirius, but there was a part of him that was enjoying Sirius’s discomfort - Sirius, who was so comfortable in almost every situation.
“Jesus.” A roar of laughter from the corner, and Sirius sunk down in his chair.
“Look, here’s Ted,” Remus muttered. “Don’t look round! We don’t know him, remember.” Ted walked in, almost unrecognisable in overalls and a cap.
“Awright, Tony?” he called to the owner. “How’s the wife?”
“Doing well, Fred, doing well,” Tony replied. “Size of an ‘ouse.”
“Nearly her time, innit?”
“Not near enough, I tell you. Cuppa? You must be parched.”
“Not ‘alf. I’ve been over the other side of the park - gas explosion. Hell of a clear-up.”
“I ‘eard about that. Nasty business and no mistake. All them kids.”
“Shocking,” Ted agreed, handing over some coins. “Cheers, Tony.” And he took his mug and came over to where Sirius and Remus were sitting. “Gents,” he said, nodding to them and sitting down. Whistling, he pulled out a paper and started to read, absently rolling a cigarette. Then he leaned over to Remus and said, “Got a light, chum?”
Remus lit his cigarette for him, and Ted thanked him. Then he stopped. “’ere,” he said loudly, “don’t I know you?”
“I don’t think so,” Remus replied, as arranged.
“No, no, I definitely recognise you.” Then Ted clicked his fingers. “Thassit - you’re the lad what does the books for Terry O’Hanlan, innit?”
Remus nodded, smiling. “That’s me.”
Ted beamed. “Thought it was you,” he said triumphantly. “Thought it was you. How is the old bugger?”
“He’s well, thanks.”
“Grumpy as ever?”
“Couldn’t say, sir,” Remus replied, with a grin.
Ted chuckled. “Course you can’t, course you can’t.” And he looked curiously at Sirius.
Remus pretended to start. “Oh, I’m sorry. This is Sam, Mr Eliot. He’s my cousin, come to visit for the week.”
Ted reached over, shook Sirius’s hand. “Owdeedo, Sam, owdeedo?”
“Well, thanks,” Sirius replied, a little awkwardly.
“Nice strong grip,” Ted remarked, smiling; “you don’t need a job, do you, mate?”
“Sorry,” Sirius replied.
“He’s going to university,” Remus replied.
“Well!” Ted exclaimed. Leaning in, he said, “Let me give you some advice, lad.” And whispering, he said in his normal voice, “I’m putting the charm up now. We’ll have thirty seconds.”
And suddenly the noise of the café died away. Ted leaned back in his chair.
“Act naturally,” he said, “as if I’m telling you a story. They can see us even if they can’t hear.”
Sirius forced a grin, and Remus leaned forward.
“You can tell Frank that I’ve made my decision,” Ted said then, grinning all the while and gesticulating. “I’m going to join you. Tell him the Ministry is in chaos, everyone’s suspecting everyone else, no work’s getting done, people aren’t even turning up anymore and we’ve long ago lost track of who’s disappeared and who’s just too frightened to leave the house. He told you why I’ve been stalling?”
Remus nodded, laughed. Ted had long doubted the worth of the Order of the Phoenix’s work, worried about its vigilantism, preferring to stick with the Ministry. And now the Ministry was collapsing, and he knew where the future lay.
“There’s no place for me there anymore. I couldn’t give the time you needed, before, and I didn’t want to risk my family for such a small commitment. But now I’m going to make that time. I can be your contact in the Minister’s office. Ok, now the charm’s about to wear out, so laugh uproariously.”
They did so, and all at once the noise rushed back in.
“Right,” Ted said, when he’d caught his breath. “Well, I won’t keep you lads any longer. Better get back to the site. Send my best to Terry, yeah?”
“Course,” Remus replied.
And with a cheery wave to the owner of the café and a nod to the two of them, he left, a gust of hot, fumy air entering the café as he opened the door.