Happy Birthdays...
Happy Birthday, bratanimus! I hope you had a great day, and that it was completely relaxing.
For your pressie, I've posted the opening scene from my new fic. I'm afraid there's no Sirius, though he is mentioned. ;) I hope you enjoy. :)
"Remus!"
Tonks’ voice, high and surprised, knocks Remus from his reverie, pulling him back into the dingy hallway, where he's been sitting for the past hour, waiting on the stairs outside her door which he's been leaning against; he watches her walk up the stairs and towards him. He is relieved to see her, and understands the source of her surprise all too well, for he is not supposed to be here, but seven hundred miles away in the Scottish highlands, in a school they're both intimately familiar with.
"Dora," he says, "it's good to see you." And it is, very good; it’s all he’s wanted since waking up this morning on the forest floor with an aching body and a guilty mind; why he was in such a hurry to leave: to be near her, to hear her laugh, to see that smile that has never yet failed to cheer him up...
But she’s not smiling now -- her eyes are roving across his face, searching. “What are you doing here?” she asks as her gaze comes to rest on his battered suitcase and the empty Grindylow tank. "Why do you have your things with you? Has something happened at the school? Is Harry okay? Was it Black?"
Remus pulls himself up wearily, feeling the full physical effect of last night and his mind, still reeling from all that had transpired in the past twenty-four hours. He has not fully processed it all himself, and large parts of the story he's only had second hand, from Dumbledore this morning, and later from Harry - though at least there he can feel redemption, his lessons -- efforts to teach complex magic resulted in the ultimate payoff - the saving of Harry, Hermione and Sirius' lives. But Tonks has an interest, too, having been hand-chosen by Dumbledore to form part of Harry's almost constant guard in the lead up to, and since, his rejoining of the wizarding world, and Remus is hoping that talking about it with her will help him comprehend -- accept -- more completely. "They are big questions, which need time and privacy to answer. May I come in?"
"Remus, you're scaring me. Are you okay?"
He sighs; that, too, is a big question, and much more difficult to answer than the others, but he smiles, a little unconvincingly, he thinks, and says, "Yes."
He can tell she doesn't believe him, not fully, but he hadn't expected her to, she's far too perceptive for that; but she draws her wand all the same and points it at her front door, wordlessly undoing the protective wards he help her set when she moved in two years ago.
The door swings open and she plucks his suitcase from the stoop before he can and steps into the flat, leaving him to manage the Grindylow tank and follow her in.
"I should make tea," she says. "Do you want tea? I still have a stash of bags, somewhere -- you may have been neglecting me during term time this year, but, you know - for emergencies 'n all." He smiles because she's never been much of a tea drinker, but has always made a point of keeping his favourite blend on hand. She trips over the suitcase as she drops it in front of the fireplace and heads into the kitchen with a high-pitched 'whoops'. She is nervous, and he feels an acute pang of affection for her as she riffles through the tea cupboard, introducing cups with a sharp chink in her haste and knocking over the sugar.
He takes quick strides towards her and with a flick of his wand he's Vanished the mess.
"Thanks," she whispers.
"Remus, I --"
"I'm sorry --"
She looks up at him, eyes heavy with concern.
He continues. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you, it's just --" He takes a deep breath. "Too much to say."
"Why aren't you at school?" She rewords her first question.
"I resigned," he says softly, testing the words, himself resigned; resigned and ashamed of his unforgivable lapse of judgement.
"Why?" Her voice is sharp and holds an accusatory tone. "Remus -- we talked about this. You can't, you've just as much--"
He cuts her off; he doesn't think he can bear one of her usually heart-warming speeches of faith -- worryingly blind faith, he's often thought -- and he was right, wasn't he?
"I forgot to take my potion, Dora."
"Forgot? How? That's not like you-- What happened?"
"It's a story that needs tea," he says, because he can't tell the story with one hand holding a sugar bowl and standing on limbs still bone-weary from transformation.
"Not from the bloody sound of it," she says, surprising him. "It's a story that needs something a blasted sight stronger than tea." The cupboard door slams and she strides past him into the living room. She is heading for the drinks cabinet, and despite himself, he smiles at this little spike in her spirit; her hand catches his, dragging him along with her.
Within minutes, they are seated on the sofa; a fire of soft, ambient flames is flickering in the grate and glasses of recently chilled Elf-made wine have been charmed to hover by each of their sides. Tonks pulls one leg up beneath her and she turns to face him, taking his hand once more in her small, warm one, and looks at him expectantly.
He's already made up his mind to tell her the full story; he trusts her with his life and she deserves nothing less, and he he wants her to know, to understand. So over the next hour he tells her, beginning with the startling revelation from the Marauder's Map (of which she already knows from a conversation that went well into the wee hours, not long after he'd confiscated it from Harry) of bursting in on Sirius, Ron, Harry and Hermione; of his joy in discovering Sirius' innocence, tempered by the bitterness of Peter's betrayal, and of Snape's intrusion. She listens, largely in silence, which is odd for her, but he understands why and she'll have questions enough later on, he is sure of this.
He tells her of the moment Sirius -- and he, himself -- finally earned Harry's trust, and the relief he felt at that moment; recalls the strangeness of walking back up from the Shrieking Shack chained to one friend who's death he's mourned for thirteen years and ahead of another he's despised for just as long. And, in slightly shaking tones, he tells her of the moment of chilling realisation, when the clouds parted, just before the beast took over.
It's waking up this morning he can't face talking about just yet -- he'll tell her later -- so he passes straight on to handing his letter to Dumbledore, to saying goodbye to Harry, and deciding to come to her.
She asks him once if he's sure of his trust in Black and she makes a single nod when he gives her an affirmative answer. He is grateful and touched when she says that's enough for her, and that Sirius (she immediately starts to use his first name) has another friend in her. He is humbled by her trust, as always, but feels it more keenly this time, when he is so much in need of it in the wake of his breach of Dumbledore's.
"That's enough for tonight," she says, again surprising him because she's always brimming with questions.
"You're disappointing me, Dora," he manages to tease her. "I thought my Littlest Auror, finally qualified, would grill me for half the night."
"And you're disappointing me -- I thought you'd drop that silly name when I 'finally qualified', as you put it."
"Never," he replies, with a slight chuckle.
"Seriously, though, I thought maybe you'd want to talk about something else, and we can pick this up tomorrow. We'll have plenty of time now that you're living here."
"Dora, I couldn't impose--"
"Nonsense," she replies instantly. "You're staying put; I always thought you'd be dead useful to have about the house -- you're in charge of the cooking."
It hadn't been his intention on coming here, to stay more than a single night, but he can't say that he isn't relieved, and not only for a bed. Company, he thinks, will make all the difference in the coming days - hers specifically. "Thank you. What would I do without you? And yes, talking and thinking about something else would be a nice change."
"Good. Now, you can ask me about my day." She flashes him his favourite smile with a playful shimmy of her shoulders.
A genuine smile of his own works its way across his face and he drapes his arm around her shoulders. "How was your day, Littlest, but most important Auror of mine?" She jabs him in the chest in reproof, but she inches closer and her head falls to his shoulder.
They talk well into the night. She fills him in on the details of her exams she'd not been able to squeeze into her last owl, talking lightly about her near-failure in Stealth and Tracking but not fooling Remus for a moment that she wasn't just a little upset - if not a lot; he doesn't push it, though. At her request, he tells her again of his first lesson with Harry's year, and Boggart Snape's emergence from the wardrobe. Her laughter is music in his ears, and he realises just how much he's missed her this last year, and thinks he's probably just been too busy to realise until now.
It doesn't occur to him until much later he's drifting off, with her head still on his shoulder and his arm around hers that he's never held her quite like this before, and his last conscious thought is how much he likes it.
For your pressie, I've posted the opening scene from my new fic. I'm afraid there's no Sirius, though he is mentioned. ;) I hope you enjoy. :)
"Remus!"
Tonks’ voice, high and surprised, knocks Remus from his reverie, pulling him back into the dingy hallway, where he's been sitting for the past hour, waiting on the stairs outside her door which he's been leaning against; he watches her walk up the stairs and towards him. He is relieved to see her, and understands the source of her surprise all too well, for he is not supposed to be here, but seven hundred miles away in the Scottish highlands, in a school they're both intimately familiar with.
"Dora," he says, "it's good to see you." And it is, very good; it’s all he’s wanted since waking up this morning on the forest floor with an aching body and a guilty mind; why he was in such a hurry to leave: to be near her, to hear her laugh, to see that smile that has never yet failed to cheer him up...
But she’s not smiling now -- her eyes are roving across his face, searching. “What are you doing here?” she asks as her gaze comes to rest on his battered suitcase and the empty Grindylow tank. "Why do you have your things with you? Has something happened at the school? Is Harry okay? Was it Black?"
Remus pulls himself up wearily, feeling the full physical effect of last night and his mind, still reeling from all that had transpired in the past twenty-four hours. He has not fully processed it all himself, and large parts of the story he's only had second hand, from Dumbledore this morning, and later from Harry - though at least there he can feel redemption, his lessons -- efforts to teach complex magic resulted in the ultimate payoff - the saving of Harry, Hermione and Sirius' lives. But Tonks has an interest, too, having been hand-chosen by Dumbledore to form part of Harry's almost constant guard in the lead up to, and since, his rejoining of the wizarding world, and Remus is hoping that talking about it with her will help him comprehend -- accept -- more completely. "They are big questions, which need time and privacy to answer. May I come in?"
"Remus, you're scaring me. Are you okay?"
He sighs; that, too, is a big question, and much more difficult to answer than the others, but he smiles, a little unconvincingly, he thinks, and says, "Yes."
He can tell she doesn't believe him, not fully, but he hadn't expected her to, she's far too perceptive for that; but she draws her wand all the same and points it at her front door, wordlessly undoing the protective wards he help her set when she moved in two years ago.
The door swings open and she plucks his suitcase from the stoop before he can and steps into the flat, leaving him to manage the Grindylow tank and follow her in.
"I should make tea," she says. "Do you want tea? I still have a stash of bags, somewhere -- you may have been neglecting me during term time this year, but, you know - for emergencies 'n all." He smiles because she's never been much of a tea drinker, but has always made a point of keeping his favourite blend on hand. She trips over the suitcase as she drops it in front of the fireplace and heads into the kitchen with a high-pitched 'whoops'. She is nervous, and he feels an acute pang of affection for her as she riffles through the tea cupboard, introducing cups with a sharp chink in her haste and knocking over the sugar.
He takes quick strides towards her and with a flick of his wand he's Vanished the mess.
"Thanks," she whispers.
"Remus, I --"
"I'm sorry --"
She looks up at him, eyes heavy with concern.
He continues. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you, it's just --" He takes a deep breath. "Too much to say."
"Why aren't you at school?" She rewords her first question.
"I resigned," he says softly, testing the words, himself resigned; resigned and ashamed of his unforgivable lapse of judgement.
"Why?" Her voice is sharp and holds an accusatory tone. "Remus -- we talked about this. You can't, you've just as much--"
He cuts her off; he doesn't think he can bear one of her usually heart-warming speeches of faith -- worryingly blind faith, he's often thought -- and he was right, wasn't he?
"I forgot to take my potion, Dora."
"Forgot? How? That's not like you-- What happened?"
"It's a story that needs tea," he says, because he can't tell the story with one hand holding a sugar bowl and standing on limbs still bone-weary from transformation.
"Not from the bloody sound of it," she says, surprising him. "It's a story that needs something a blasted sight stronger than tea." The cupboard door slams and she strides past him into the living room. She is heading for the drinks cabinet, and despite himself, he smiles at this little spike in her spirit; her hand catches his, dragging him along with her.
Within minutes, they are seated on the sofa; a fire of soft, ambient flames is flickering in the grate and glasses of recently chilled Elf-made wine have been charmed to hover by each of their sides. Tonks pulls one leg up beneath her and she turns to face him, taking his hand once more in her small, warm one, and looks at him expectantly.
He's already made up his mind to tell her the full story; he trusts her with his life and she deserves nothing less, and he he wants her to know, to understand. So over the next hour he tells her, beginning with the startling revelation from the Marauder's Map (of which she already knows from a conversation that went well into the wee hours, not long after he'd confiscated it from Harry) of bursting in on Sirius, Ron, Harry and Hermione; of his joy in discovering Sirius' innocence, tempered by the bitterness of Peter's betrayal, and of Snape's intrusion. She listens, largely in silence, which is odd for her, but he understands why and she'll have questions enough later on, he is sure of this.
He tells her of the moment Sirius -- and he, himself -- finally earned Harry's trust, and the relief he felt at that moment; recalls the strangeness of walking back up from the Shrieking Shack chained to one friend who's death he's mourned for thirteen years and ahead of another he's despised for just as long. And, in slightly shaking tones, he tells her of the moment of chilling realisation, when the clouds parted, just before the beast took over.
It's waking up this morning he can't face talking about just yet -- he'll tell her later -- so he passes straight on to handing his letter to Dumbledore, to saying goodbye to Harry, and deciding to come to her.
She asks him once if he's sure of his trust in Black and she makes a single nod when he gives her an affirmative answer. He is grateful and touched when she says that's enough for her, and that Sirius (she immediately starts to use his first name) has another friend in her. He is humbled by her trust, as always, but feels it more keenly this time, when he is so much in need of it in the wake of his breach of Dumbledore's.
"That's enough for tonight," she says, again surprising him because she's always brimming with questions.
"You're disappointing me, Dora," he manages to tease her. "I thought my Littlest Auror, finally qualified, would grill me for half the night."
"And you're disappointing me -- I thought you'd drop that silly name when I 'finally qualified', as you put it."
"Never," he replies, with a slight chuckle.
"Seriously, though, I thought maybe you'd want to talk about something else, and we can pick this up tomorrow. We'll have plenty of time now that you're living here."
"Dora, I couldn't impose--"
"Nonsense," she replies instantly. "You're staying put; I always thought you'd be dead useful to have about the house -- you're in charge of the cooking."
It hadn't been his intention on coming here, to stay more than a single night, but he can't say that he isn't relieved, and not only for a bed. Company, he thinks, will make all the difference in the coming days - hers specifically. "Thank you. What would I do without you? And yes, talking and thinking about something else would be a nice change."
"Good. Now, you can ask me about my day." She flashes him his favourite smile with a playful shimmy of her shoulders.
A genuine smile of his own works its way across his face and he drapes his arm around her shoulders. "How was your day, Littlest, but most important Auror of mine?" She jabs him in the chest in reproof, but she inches closer and her head falls to his shoulder.
They talk well into the night. She fills him in on the details of her exams she'd not been able to squeeze into her last owl, talking lightly about her near-failure in Stealth and Tracking but not fooling Remus for a moment that she wasn't just a little upset - if not a lot; he doesn't push it, though. At her request, he tells her again of his first lesson with Harry's year, and Boggart Snape's emergence from the wardrobe. Her laughter is music in his ears, and he realises just how much he's missed her this last year, and thinks he's probably just been too busy to realise until now.
It doesn't occur to him until much later he's drifting off, with her head still on his shoulder and his arm around hers that he's never held her quite like this before, and his last conscious thought is how much he likes it.