Finally finished
I hope you're all sitting down, because I actually finished my Meta fic, and I don't want to be responsible for any shock-related injuries. ;) Here it is, finally, and it's horrendously long by my standards, which is why it's taken me so long. I actually finished it last Wednesday, but since then I've been too busy to edit it.
Anyway, if you're interested in a fic where Tonks has an "on first seeing his beautiful grounds at Pemberly" moment, read on:
Title: More Than Friends: Part One ( Part Two)
Rating & Warnings: G, for gratuitous backstory. ;)
Prompts:
"Ay me! for aught that I could ever read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth..."
A Midsummer Night's Dream (act 1, scene 1, lines 132-134)
Word Count: 5429 (!)
Summary: What does it mean when your best friend invites you home to meet his father? What do you do when it seems like your feelings towards him are becoming less than platonic? How do you know if you’re falling in love? And how do you sort all that out while solving four murders and dealing with an insect infestation? No-one ever said the course of true love was a smooth one…
Author’s Notes: I'm tempted to make all sorts of excuses for this, but that's never very encouraging in an author's note, so I'll refrain. Just know that this is unbeta-d, so any mistakes are entirely my fault. Also, given that this is the longest, plottyest and fasted written fic I've ever completed, con-crit would really be very welcome indeed.
More Than Friends
I dunno where I should start, really. At the beginning, obviously, but it’s not always clear where the beginning was, y’know? It could have been that first Order meeting; the first time I met him, or it could’ve been the day after that when we spent a whole evening planning Harry’s rescue and I realised that I finally fitted in somewhere. It could’ve been the first afternoon we spent together just because we wanted to, rather than on Order business. It could’ve been the first time I cried in front of him; the first time he ever gave me a hug.
It’s hard to say really, where the beginning was, with a relationship like ours.
But actually, I think where this particular story starts isn’t any of the beginnings I just mentioned. I think it was that sunny Friday afternoon in late May when I stopped by headquarters to get some expert advice.
It was a busy day in the Auror Department and I’d been engrossed in a fairly complex case for nearly a fortnight - the first investigation I’d ever been in charge of in my own right, as it happens, so I was desperate to do well. After a week of excruciatingly little progress I’d just had a breakthrough and it felt brilliant.
I’d spent the morning methodically sifting through all the evidence, comparing every aspect of the victims’ lives and deaths, and finally, at about two pm, it hit me; they’d all died from the effects of a slow acting curse, originating from stuff they’d acquired some time before their deaths. Problem was, this curse seemed far more complicated than anything I’d studied during NEWTs or Auror training. I did know someone who should be able to answer my questions though, someone who knew an awful lot about curses, particularly the slow-acting sort.
Remus and I had been good friends for a while - since I’d joined the Order, pretty much - and he’d told me a bit about what he’d done between the wars. I knew he’d had at least one article on cursed objects published and he’d done a lot of research into them at one time, so he seemed like the ideal person to go to for information. I made a snap decision to take the lunch break I’d originally intended to skip and head over to Grimmauld Place to speak to him; the quicker I found out more about this curse the better.
I found him in the kitchen stowing a packet of sandwiches and Moody’s invisibility cloak in a satchel. So much for getting to speak to him immediately.
“Remus, I wondered if I could pick your brain sometime about a case I’m working on. Are you free tomorrow?”
He’d looked up at me as I came in and flashed me that lovely smile of his, but now his expression was regretful. “No,” he said. “I’m away this weekend visiting my father, I’m afraid I’ve rather neglected him of late. I could meet you sometime on Monday though, if that’s convenient.”
It was my turn to be disappointed. “No; I’m working all day Monday and then I’ve got guard duty.” I sighed. “It’s urgent enough that I’d meet you during work, but I can hardly put ‘meeting with one of Dumbledore’s closest allies’ on my timesheet, can I?”
He chuckled, and I grinned in response, glad to have made him smile again. “No, that would hardly be sensible.” He paused, thinking. “Well, why don’t you come with me then? You’d certainly be very welcome and I promised my father I’d help get rid of his Magical Book Lice infestation, which by all accounts sounds as if it’s got rather out of control, so an extra pair of hands would be very useful.” He grinned. “If you don’t mind a few hours tedious hard work as payment for my indispensable advice, that is.”
That seemed like the best solution, so I agreed and we arranged to meet at Grimmauld Place the next morning. I was actually quite keen to go, even if a Magical Book Lice infestation didn’t sound very pleasant. I’d heard bits and pieces about Remus’ childhood and seeing where he grew up and meeting his father would be really interesting, plus, I thought with a smile, spending a weekend in Remus’ company would be fun.
But as the afternoon wore on, and I thought more about it, I was less and less sure that it was a good idea. Was there more to his invitation than a solution to the problem of our schedules? Remus’ father was bound to assume we were more than friends; I mean, what person in their thirties takes a friend home to meet a parent? Did the invitation mean Remus saw us as more than just good friends? I felt a stab of guilt; had I been giving the poor bloke the wrong impression for months now, making him think I felt something more than friendship towards him? He had certainly looked disappointed that we couldn’t meet up the next day…
But on the other hand, had I really been giving him the wrong impression? Hadn’t I been just as upset about the prospect of missing out on his company as I had been about missing out on his help? And earlier, hadn’t I thought of his smile as lovely, and been pleased when a joke I’d made brought it back? I remembered a comment Sirius had made a few days before about the two of us flirting. At the time I’d dismissed it as just Sirius being an idiot, trying to wind me up, but maybe he had a point. Maybe my relationship with Remus was becoming more than just friendship and I was the only one who hadn’t noticed.
But there wasn’t time for any more thought on the matter that afternoon; I still had more work I could do on my investigation, asking the families of the victims for an inventory of everything that had been bought around the time that they’d become ill and making notes to show Remus at the weekend. As I drifted off to sleep that night though, exhausted from the day, I couldn’t help but think that being more-than-friends with Remus might actually be pretty nice.
* * * *
I was up bright and early the next morning, and was packed and at Grimmauld Place before ten o’clock, where I found Remus just finishing breakfast.
“All set then?” He asked, banishing plates and mugs to the sink, and I nodded in reply. I hadn’t managed to eat much breakfast myself because of the butterflies playing Quiddich in my stomach, which was how I’d managed to be so miraculously on-time. There was nothing to be nervous about, ultimately, and yet I’d managed to worry myself into the idea that this trip would be the turning point in our whole relationship. Surely the subject of ‘us’ had to come up at some point?
Still, I tried to put these thoughts out of my mind as Remus collected his things and we moved to the front door, trying instead to concentrate on not falling over my own feet (always a good idea when stairs and baggage are involved). Outside, Remus re-cast the charms on the door and then stepped towards me. I held my breath. This was it! He was going to kiss me. We were close enough now that I could see the green and grey highlights in his blue eyes and his pupils contracting in the sunlight. As he leaned still closer I licked my lips and took a deep breath, noticing a scent that was undeniably Remus; soap and parchment and something sweetish that I couldn’t quite place.
Remus stopped and moved back; he’d heard my gasp.
“I thought I’d take you by Side-Along, if that’s ok? It’s easier than showing you pictures and co-ordinates.”
I felt like such an idiot. Of course Side-Along Apparition was the obvious choice, and it needed close physical contact to work. I nodded, unable to speak, and tried to squash the feeling of disappointment that had risen from somewhere in the pit of my stomach. Before I’d had time to collect my thoughts any more than that, Remus had wrapped his arm around my waist and we’d Disapparated.
* * * *
I stumbled a bit as we reappeared and grabbed Remus’ arm to steady myself as I looked about me. We were in a narrow lane lined with short hedgerows. Beyond, I could see flat green fields stretching for miles towards the horizon interrupted only by the gleam of water as it sparkled in the sunlight. Remus had moved away a little now, and I turned to see a wide green-painted gate, and beyond that a squat, rambling old farmhouse built out of yellowish brick. Between the gate and the house was a spacious cobbled courtyard surrounded by various outbuildings; off to the right I could just see an overgrown cottage garden folding itself round the corner of the house. A sign on the gate read ‘Restharrow Farm’.
“It’s gorgeous,” I said, turning to Remus. “What a lovely place to grow up.”
He smiled. “Well, it’s certainly more homely than Grimmauld Place.” He looked around him, thoughtful. “I’m very fond of it. To me the fens will always have a bleak sort of beauty.”
“Well I’d certainly pick this over a suburban semi in Milton-under-Roch any day.”
Remus laughed as he opened the gate and held it open for me to pass through. “I might not have agreed with you when I was fifteen. I thought it was extremely boring. It’s three miles to the nearest village and even then there’s only a muggle post office, a pub where they knew me too well for me to get away with buying a drink, and a church. And you can’t fly either because of how flat the land is - you’d be seen miles away. It used to drive James mad when he stayed here.”
I smiled at the idea of a teenage Remus trying to get served in the pub as I followed him across the courtyard. He opened the door without knocking and I entered behind him, finding myself in a large-ish kitchen.
I waited by the door while Remus went to look for his father. The kitchen was cluttered and only semi tidy. There was a small oak table and three chairs, and all the other things you’d expect to see in a kitchen; worktops, cupboards, a sink, a fireplace and a range for cooking, but there were also an awful lot of books. There were books on shelves by the door, lined up along the back of the worktops and in the glass-fronted cabinets in the dresser. There were even books stacked on top of the cupboards and on one of the chairs. If the other rooms were anything like this, no wonder there was a problem with Book Lice.
I was looking at some of the titles by the door (‘A Stitch in Time: 101 Charms to Save Your Robes’ and ‘Flora and Fauna of East Anglia (Wizarding Edition)’) and trying to subdue the butterflies in my stomach (who now seemed intent on qualifying for the World Cup) when Remus returned.
“Tonks, this is my father, Ralph Lupin,” he said, grinning as I turned to face them, somehow managing to knock three books off the worktop with my elbow, “Dad, this is my very good friend Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers people to avoid her first name.”
My heart sank. Was that conformation that there was nothing between us but friendship? What, exactly, did ‘very good friend’ mean, especially when it was combined with one of Remus’ most unreadable expressions? He could be saying anything from, “This is Nymphadora Tonks who I actually quite fancy and consider a potential lover”, to, “This is Nymphadora Tonks who is not my girlfriend, Dad, and never will be so don’t even dare to think it.” I was no closer to figuring out where we were heading than I had been the previous afternoon.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Ralph, offering me his hand.
I shook it and apologised for my clumsiness as I bent down to pick up the books. Ralph was so much like Remus that I no trouble seeing which parent he took after. In fact, by looking at his father, I could pretty much see how Remus would look in thirty years time. They were even exactly the same height.
Remus offered to put the kettle on, and as we sat down at the table for tea and biscuits, I realised that I’d forgotten to be annoyed that he’d introduced me as Nymphadora.
* * * *
Later, after we’d chatted for an hour or so, Remus gave me a tour of the house. The other rooms were much like the kitchen; clean, though not especially tidy and completely overflowing with books. The furniture ranged from elegant Victorian to more modern and fairly rustic; absolutely nothing matched, and yet it all looked good together. I loved it.
The guided tour ended with the place that I’d be sleeping. It was a bright, sunny little room at the top of the house which had obviously once doubled as a sewing room. I knew that Remus’ mother had been a robemaker when she’d been alive and this must have been where she’d worked. Unlike the rest of the house, this room was fairly tidy; bright spools of thread sat in special racks, reams of fabric were stacked neatly on the shelves and, by the looks of it, the paper patterns were filed by size and type. In addition to the patchwork quilted bed where I would sleep, there was a muggle sewing machine on the desk, a wireless on the window sill and a dressmaker’s dummy in the corner. There were plenty of books here as well, with titles ranging from the scholarly (‘Transfiguration in Robemaking: A History’), to the practical (‘50 Charms for Charming Embroidery’), to the downright bizarre (‘Knitting with Kneazle Hair’) and even some that were Muggle (‘The Reader’s Digest Complete Guide to Sewing’).
Just as I finished unpacking my overnight bag, Remus called up to me that lunch was ready and I headed downstairs.
To Part Two
Anyway, if you're interested in a fic where Tonks has an "on first seeing his beautiful grounds at Pemberly" moment, read on:
Title: More Than Friends: Part One ( Part Two)
Rating & Warnings: G, for gratuitous backstory. ;)
Prompts:
"Ay me! for aught that I could ever read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth..."
A Midsummer Night's Dream (act 1, scene 1, lines 132-134)
Word Count: 5429 (!)
Summary: What does it mean when your best friend invites you home to meet his father? What do you do when it seems like your feelings towards him are becoming less than platonic? How do you know if you’re falling in love? And how do you sort all that out while solving four murders and dealing with an insect infestation? No-one ever said the course of true love was a smooth one…
Author’s Notes: I'm tempted to make all sorts of excuses for this, but that's never very encouraging in an author's note, so I'll refrain. Just know that this is unbeta-d, so any mistakes are entirely my fault. Also, given that this is the longest, plottyest and fasted written fic I've ever completed, con-crit would really be very welcome indeed.
More Than Friends
I dunno where I should start, really. At the beginning, obviously, but it’s not always clear where the beginning was, y’know? It could have been that first Order meeting; the first time I met him, or it could’ve been the day after that when we spent a whole evening planning Harry’s rescue and I realised that I finally fitted in somewhere. It could’ve been the first afternoon we spent together just because we wanted to, rather than on Order business. It could’ve been the first time I cried in front of him; the first time he ever gave me a hug.
It’s hard to say really, where the beginning was, with a relationship like ours.
But actually, I think where this particular story starts isn’t any of the beginnings I just mentioned. I think it was that sunny Friday afternoon in late May when I stopped by headquarters to get some expert advice.
It was a busy day in the Auror Department and I’d been engrossed in a fairly complex case for nearly a fortnight - the first investigation I’d ever been in charge of in my own right, as it happens, so I was desperate to do well. After a week of excruciatingly little progress I’d just had a breakthrough and it felt brilliant.
I’d spent the morning methodically sifting through all the evidence, comparing every aspect of the victims’ lives and deaths, and finally, at about two pm, it hit me; they’d all died from the effects of a slow acting curse, originating from stuff they’d acquired some time before their deaths. Problem was, this curse seemed far more complicated than anything I’d studied during NEWTs or Auror training. I did know someone who should be able to answer my questions though, someone who knew an awful lot about curses, particularly the slow-acting sort.
Remus and I had been good friends for a while - since I’d joined the Order, pretty much - and he’d told me a bit about what he’d done between the wars. I knew he’d had at least one article on cursed objects published and he’d done a lot of research into them at one time, so he seemed like the ideal person to go to for information. I made a snap decision to take the lunch break I’d originally intended to skip and head over to Grimmauld Place to speak to him; the quicker I found out more about this curse the better.
I found him in the kitchen stowing a packet of sandwiches and Moody’s invisibility cloak in a satchel. So much for getting to speak to him immediately.
“Remus, I wondered if I could pick your brain sometime about a case I’m working on. Are you free tomorrow?”
He’d looked up at me as I came in and flashed me that lovely smile of his, but now his expression was regretful. “No,” he said. “I’m away this weekend visiting my father, I’m afraid I’ve rather neglected him of late. I could meet you sometime on Monday though, if that’s convenient.”
It was my turn to be disappointed. “No; I’m working all day Monday and then I’ve got guard duty.” I sighed. “It’s urgent enough that I’d meet you during work, but I can hardly put ‘meeting with one of Dumbledore’s closest allies’ on my timesheet, can I?”
He chuckled, and I grinned in response, glad to have made him smile again. “No, that would hardly be sensible.” He paused, thinking. “Well, why don’t you come with me then? You’d certainly be very welcome and I promised my father I’d help get rid of his Magical Book Lice infestation, which by all accounts sounds as if it’s got rather out of control, so an extra pair of hands would be very useful.” He grinned. “If you don’t mind a few hours tedious hard work as payment for my indispensable advice, that is.”
That seemed like the best solution, so I agreed and we arranged to meet at Grimmauld Place the next morning. I was actually quite keen to go, even if a Magical Book Lice infestation didn’t sound very pleasant. I’d heard bits and pieces about Remus’ childhood and seeing where he grew up and meeting his father would be really interesting, plus, I thought with a smile, spending a weekend in Remus’ company would be fun.
But as the afternoon wore on, and I thought more about it, I was less and less sure that it was a good idea. Was there more to his invitation than a solution to the problem of our schedules? Remus’ father was bound to assume we were more than friends; I mean, what person in their thirties takes a friend home to meet a parent? Did the invitation mean Remus saw us as more than just good friends? I felt a stab of guilt; had I been giving the poor bloke the wrong impression for months now, making him think I felt something more than friendship towards him? He had certainly looked disappointed that we couldn’t meet up the next day…
But on the other hand, had I really been giving him the wrong impression? Hadn’t I been just as upset about the prospect of missing out on his company as I had been about missing out on his help? And earlier, hadn’t I thought of his smile as lovely, and been pleased when a joke I’d made brought it back? I remembered a comment Sirius had made a few days before about the two of us flirting. At the time I’d dismissed it as just Sirius being an idiot, trying to wind me up, but maybe he had a point. Maybe my relationship with Remus was becoming more than just friendship and I was the only one who hadn’t noticed.
But there wasn’t time for any more thought on the matter that afternoon; I still had more work I could do on my investigation, asking the families of the victims for an inventory of everything that had been bought around the time that they’d become ill and making notes to show Remus at the weekend. As I drifted off to sleep that night though, exhausted from the day, I couldn’t help but think that being more-than-friends with Remus might actually be pretty nice.
* * * *
I was up bright and early the next morning, and was packed and at Grimmauld Place before ten o’clock, where I found Remus just finishing breakfast.
“All set then?” He asked, banishing plates and mugs to the sink, and I nodded in reply. I hadn’t managed to eat much breakfast myself because of the butterflies playing Quiddich in my stomach, which was how I’d managed to be so miraculously on-time. There was nothing to be nervous about, ultimately, and yet I’d managed to worry myself into the idea that this trip would be the turning point in our whole relationship. Surely the subject of ‘us’ had to come up at some point?
Still, I tried to put these thoughts out of my mind as Remus collected his things and we moved to the front door, trying instead to concentrate on not falling over my own feet (always a good idea when stairs and baggage are involved). Outside, Remus re-cast the charms on the door and then stepped towards me. I held my breath. This was it! He was going to kiss me. We were close enough now that I could see the green and grey highlights in his blue eyes and his pupils contracting in the sunlight. As he leaned still closer I licked my lips and took a deep breath, noticing a scent that was undeniably Remus; soap and parchment and something sweetish that I couldn’t quite place.
Remus stopped and moved back; he’d heard my gasp.
“I thought I’d take you by Side-Along, if that’s ok? It’s easier than showing you pictures and co-ordinates.”
I felt like such an idiot. Of course Side-Along Apparition was the obvious choice, and it needed close physical contact to work. I nodded, unable to speak, and tried to squash the feeling of disappointment that had risen from somewhere in the pit of my stomach. Before I’d had time to collect my thoughts any more than that, Remus had wrapped his arm around my waist and we’d Disapparated.
* * * *
I stumbled a bit as we reappeared and grabbed Remus’ arm to steady myself as I looked about me. We were in a narrow lane lined with short hedgerows. Beyond, I could see flat green fields stretching for miles towards the horizon interrupted only by the gleam of water as it sparkled in the sunlight. Remus had moved away a little now, and I turned to see a wide green-painted gate, and beyond that a squat, rambling old farmhouse built out of yellowish brick. Between the gate and the house was a spacious cobbled courtyard surrounded by various outbuildings; off to the right I could just see an overgrown cottage garden folding itself round the corner of the house. A sign on the gate read ‘Restharrow Farm’.
“It’s gorgeous,” I said, turning to Remus. “What a lovely place to grow up.”
He smiled. “Well, it’s certainly more homely than Grimmauld Place.” He looked around him, thoughtful. “I’m very fond of it. To me the fens will always have a bleak sort of beauty.”
“Well I’d certainly pick this over a suburban semi in Milton-under-Roch any day.”
Remus laughed as he opened the gate and held it open for me to pass through. “I might not have agreed with you when I was fifteen. I thought it was extremely boring. It’s three miles to the nearest village and even then there’s only a muggle post office, a pub where they knew me too well for me to get away with buying a drink, and a church. And you can’t fly either because of how flat the land is - you’d be seen miles away. It used to drive James mad when he stayed here.”
I smiled at the idea of a teenage Remus trying to get served in the pub as I followed him across the courtyard. He opened the door without knocking and I entered behind him, finding myself in a large-ish kitchen.
I waited by the door while Remus went to look for his father. The kitchen was cluttered and only semi tidy. There was a small oak table and three chairs, and all the other things you’d expect to see in a kitchen; worktops, cupboards, a sink, a fireplace and a range for cooking, but there were also an awful lot of books. There were books on shelves by the door, lined up along the back of the worktops and in the glass-fronted cabinets in the dresser. There were even books stacked on top of the cupboards and on one of the chairs. If the other rooms were anything like this, no wonder there was a problem with Book Lice.
I was looking at some of the titles by the door (‘A Stitch in Time: 101 Charms to Save Your Robes’ and ‘Flora and Fauna of East Anglia (Wizarding Edition)’) and trying to subdue the butterflies in my stomach (who now seemed intent on qualifying for the World Cup) when Remus returned.
“Tonks, this is my father, Ralph Lupin,” he said, grinning as I turned to face them, somehow managing to knock three books off the worktop with my elbow, “Dad, this is my very good friend Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers people to avoid her first name.”
My heart sank. Was that conformation that there was nothing between us but friendship? What, exactly, did ‘very good friend’ mean, especially when it was combined with one of Remus’ most unreadable expressions? He could be saying anything from, “This is Nymphadora Tonks who I actually quite fancy and consider a potential lover”, to, “This is Nymphadora Tonks who is not my girlfriend, Dad, and never will be so don’t even dare to think it.” I was no closer to figuring out where we were heading than I had been the previous afternoon.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Ralph, offering me his hand.
I shook it and apologised for my clumsiness as I bent down to pick up the books. Ralph was so much like Remus that I no trouble seeing which parent he took after. In fact, by looking at his father, I could pretty much see how Remus would look in thirty years time. They were even exactly the same height.
Remus offered to put the kettle on, and as we sat down at the table for tea and biscuits, I realised that I’d forgotten to be annoyed that he’d introduced me as Nymphadora.
* * * *
Later, after we’d chatted for an hour or so, Remus gave me a tour of the house. The other rooms were much like the kitchen; clean, though not especially tidy and completely overflowing with books. The furniture ranged from elegant Victorian to more modern and fairly rustic; absolutely nothing matched, and yet it all looked good together. I loved it.
The guided tour ended with the place that I’d be sleeping. It was a bright, sunny little room at the top of the house which had obviously once doubled as a sewing room. I knew that Remus’ mother had been a robemaker when she’d been alive and this must have been where she’d worked. Unlike the rest of the house, this room was fairly tidy; bright spools of thread sat in special racks, reams of fabric were stacked neatly on the shelves and, by the looks of it, the paper patterns were filed by size and type. In addition to the patchwork quilted bed where I would sleep, there was a muggle sewing machine on the desk, a wireless on the window sill and a dressmaker’s dummy in the corner. There were plenty of books here as well, with titles ranging from the scholarly (‘Transfiguration in Robemaking: A History’), to the practical (‘50 Charms for Charming Embroidery’), to the downright bizarre (‘Knitting with Kneazle Hair’) and even some that were Muggle (‘The Reader’s Digest Complete Guide to Sewing’).
Just as I finished unpacking my overnight bag, Remus called up to me that lunch was ready and I headed downstairs.
To Part Two