Merry Effing Christmas
This one-shot comes hard on the heels of my take on the Burrow-Christmas-Dinner-Turnips-Ahoy!fic, "Purkey and Tooding". It's been retooled several times, and will likely get more attention in the future, but eh, it's getting there. ;)
Title: Merry Effing Christmas
Word Count: ~1700
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Remus leaves the Burrow after Percy's glasses end up covered in turnips (and, incidentally, the blame's been covered as well). He heads to Grimmauld Place and ends up in a confrontation that only serves to re-open wounds which never healed at all.
After Scrimgeour and Percy had departed, I made a remarkably quick exit from the Burrow. Molly had been crying on Arthur’s shoulder, while Arthur wore a hard expression of disgust and anger visible over his wife’s head. The children had been talking in excited voices all through the house, with Ginny and the twins arguing over who had fired the turnips. It had, indeed, been a good shot, spot on target. Bill and Fleur had taken the opportunity to dismiss themselves and race upstairs, whereas Ron was stalking around, looking furious. Harry had come in from the garden and slumped in a chair in the parlour, shooting a brooding glower at the fire. At that moment, I thought he looked more like Padfoot than Prongs.
With a quick thank-you-for-the-dinner-it-was-lovely to the still-sobbing Molly and a brief trip down the hall to bid my goodbyes to Harry, I hurried out the door and made it to the Apparition point within moments.
I Apparated into the dark alleyway just beside Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, and took the stairs at as close to a jog as my sore bones could manage. It was bloody cold.
With it being Christmas and all, I’d figured that Headquarters would be deserted; everyone in the Order would be spending this precious time with family.
I was wrong. There was a dim light filtering from the upstairs, and though there were no voices or music to be heard, I just knew there was someone there.
The upstairs parlor was, in fact, occupied. I froze in the doorway.
"Wotcher," said that familiar voice, but in an ill-natured tone I’d never heard her use before.
She looked like hell.
Her hair was limp, hanging in her face, the color of dust. She was peering at me through curtains of fringe, with unfocussed, hollow-looking eyes. Her cheekbones stood out more visibly in her already-thin face than they had when I’d seen her last.
I forced myself to adopt a casual tone.
"I wish you’d’ve come to the Weasleys for dinner. Molly said you were planning to spend Christmas alone, but I thought she had to be mistaken. Why weren’t you with family?"
She raised her eyebrows. "I was. Did you forget who I am?" She flipped around her hand, indicating the parlor. "It was a lovely evening here at the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. Great-great-great Uncle Phineas was in quite a mood, since he was beaten to the punch - literally - by a pair of Gryffindor witches. Apparently they got into the five-hundred-year-old mead he’d been looking forward to drinking as a bit of holiday cheer. Then, I went downstairs and visited with Great Auntie Black. I picked a fight with the old bag. We screamed at each other for, oh, must’ve been twenty minutes. It was cathartic, really."
Shaking my head, I moved a bit closer. "May I?" I asked, standing mere inches away from her perch on the sofa, gesturing to the small space not taken up by her curled-up legs and an enormous Godric-awful olive green afghan.
She regarded me for a moment, then sat up straighter, pulled her knees to her chest as if to shield her heart, and nodded.
"Well, you did miss a good evening at the Weasleys. We all missed you," I said, forcing myself to be as cheerful as I could.
"Really. Everyone did?" she asked, a bit of a bite to her tone.
"Of course." My eyebrows were raised. "Everyone. We had a lovely dinner, and a bit of excitement."
She snorted. "Let me guess. Molly played hostess to Celestina Warbeck, as well as the Minster of Magic."
"Technically…Yes. To both."
"What?" she asked, the first sign of any expression other than forced indifference or scorn beginning to appear on her face.
"Well," I began, "we listened to the Singing Sorceress Christmas Special on the Wireless, so yes, Celestina made an appearance at the Weasleys this evening. Then, we sat down to a lovely dinner. The turkey was wonderful, the stuffing was delicious, the pudding was Molly’s best yet, and the mashed turnips made a lovely garnish for Percy Weasley’s face…"
"Wait - Oh, no - Do NOT tell me Scrimgeour showed up with Percy." Her expression was one of stunned disbelief. She wrenched her eyes from the fire and stared at me. "So I’ll bet the Minister took off with Harry, trying to get Harry to become some sort of Minsitry poster child, I’ll bet that went over well…and in the meantime…Someone actually chucked turnips at Percy?"
"Yup." I could feel the corner of my mouth beginning to twitch. "When I left, Ginny, Fred, and George were arguing as to who had done it."
"So did you see who did?"
I nodded, attempting to keep my face as expressionless as possible.
"Well, who was it? I’d love to shake their hand."
I couldn’t hold back the smallest of smiles.
Then, I winked, and held out my hand.
"YOU?" she gasped, a grin of her own beginning to form. "You threw turnips at Percy Weasley’s smug ferret face? No. You didn’t!"
"I assure you, I did. Now, aren’t you going to shake my hand?" I asked. (After all, it had been a good shot, and I didn’t mind taking credit for it away from the Burrow, as Percy had quite earned it.)
She was laughing as she reached out, and we shared a hearty handshake.
Apparently, she had the same plan as I did: Neither was letting go first.
I sat stock-still, her hand still in mine. Merlin, I’d missed her. I tore my eyes from her face and looked, instead, at our intertwined hands.
We sat, motionless, for a long moment. I glanced up at her and was shocked to see the tears coursing down her cheeks.
"Hey, now," I whispered, reaching with my free hand to wipe the tears away, "What’s wrong?"
She blinked furiously, taking several deep breaths and appearing to want to say something after each one. Finally, she said, "It’s been such a difficult year, Remus, and…Well. I’m just glad you’re all right."
There was no way she could possibly have been this concerned for my welfare. After all, it had been a long time since anyone had really noticed where I was or what I was doing, and certainly not enough to shed tears over it; why should that change now?
"I was worried," she continued, "the entire time you’ve been gone. I’m so glad you’re here."
I cupped her chin in my hand and brought her face up. "Of course I’m all right. I’ll be fine."
"You don’t know that for certain." She peered up at me through that mousy-brown hair and met my eyes. "Is it terrible there?"
I tried to give a nonchalant shrug. I think it came out more like a twitch. "It’s not that bad. After all, I’m among equals. Nothing I can’t handle, certainly."
Her eyes narrowed and she glowered at me. "No, you are not among equals, Remus! You’re nothing like them."
I squeezed my own eyes shut. "Yes, I am. More than you can ever know."
She unwrapped her right hand from mine and grabbed my face. "You. Are. Not." I felt her prod my shin with her bare foot. "Look at me."
I shook my head as best as I could, seeing as how she was holding it mostly immobile.
"Look at me, Remus!"
I wrenched my eyes open and shot her what I knew was a truculent glare. I knew damned well that the wolf - or perhaps just my own, oft-repressed fiercer side - was shining through.
She didn’t even flinch.
"You’re not," she repeated.
My control broke completely. I mirrored her, grabbed her face in my hands, and kissed her fiercely.
It could have been seconds, or minutes, before I came to my senses, but once I did, I pulled away with an almighty wrench and threw my body back against the opposite arm of the sofa. "No. We can’t…I can’t…"
"Yes, we can," she murmured, crawling across the cushions and climbing onto my lap.
I shook my head and tried to stand, but damn if she wasn’t tenacious.
"No."
"Yes," she said softly, running kisses down my neck, her hands tugging at the hem of my jumper. Holy Merlin…
No.
I repeated my thoughts out loud.
"Just for tonight," she whispered.
Just for tonight…while we’re both still here…Just for tonight…
I knew damned well where this had started, and I remembered how I had felt then. Over the summer, before I’d been sent to join the ferals, and just for tonight…
"It could never be just for tonight," I snapped, and I literally picked her up and moved her to the other side of the sofa before I stood. "This just can’t happen, at all, it’s not fair to either of us. You deserve more than I can give you."
"I know bloody well who you are, Remus Lupin, and I love you."
"No. You can’t."
"I can, and I do, you great daft prat!" she shouted, springing from the sofa and staring me dead in the eye. It didn’t matter at that moment that I stood a head taller than she did; the force of her glare was enough to overcome the difference in height. In fact, I was convinced for a moment that she was much taller than I was.
For a moment, the only sound in the entire musty old house was that of our breathing, still coming in ragged gasps.
I glanced at her thin face, at the dark circles under her eyes, at the hair hanging lank across her brow.
It spoke of war and loss, and I’d be damned if I headed back to Greyback tomorrow knowing that I’d serve as another person for her to grieve, as was almost inevitable within the context of my mission.
Nothing lasts forever. Not even love. She’d understand eventually why I’d made myself do this...
I turned away from her.
"Damn you," she hissed, and she ran from the room.