So Close...
Title: So Close
Author: jesspallas
Rating: PG though there is a little bit of mildish swearing
Prompts: Exmoor National Park, A Howler, Drama. I was going to try and work in a Day of Feasting but it didn’t fit so I briefly referenced a picnic instead! :)
Word Count: 1633
Summary: “Her heart felt heavy, She wanted to scream in frustration, to slam something down, to burst into tears but none of these actions would be of any help to her. All she could do now was wait and hope her last ditch effort to find the man she loved would be successful. All in all, she’d had better days.”
Author’s Note: Again this was written in a hurry and is probably not my best work (I always seem to end up writing these things in a hurry. I need to organise myself better!). I had two ideas for this but I went with this was because it fitted three out of four prompts mentioned but I did use the germ of the other in the mention of the picnic. Oh and the ending? Well, that wasn’t planned. It just came about when your humble author realised she forgotten the same thing as Tonks and decided to use her stupidity to comic effect…;)
Fog.
It surrounded her, a thick white blanket that muffled sight and sharpened sounds, engulfing her in cool, damp fluff that seemed almost tangible, touchable, that if she should tumble from her broomstick now she would come to rest softly upon it and float gently to the ground.
Yeah. Like that was going to happen. She might as well wish that the fog were candyfloss that she could reach out and scoff by the handful.
Nymphadora Tonks sighed, wiping the clinging moisture from her brow as she hovered on her broomstick and waited.
Her heart felt heavy, She wanted to scream in frustration, to slam something down, to burst into tears but none of these actions would be of any help to her. All she could do now was wait and hope her last ditch effort to find the man she loved would be successful.
All in all, she’d had better days.
Somewhere below her, lost to her eyes but detectable by the distant tinkle of water and the occasional gentle bleat of sheep, lay Exmoor National Park. Normally she liked Exmoor, knew it well for Remus had spent many childhood days here visiting Muggle relatives who lived near Simonsbath and he liked to bring her here for quiet, private days. She vividly remembered the glorious walk along the cliffs by the glistening seas towards the Valley of Rocks that had nearly ended in disaster when she’d crossed paths with one of the local goats and half started an undignified plunge towards a close up view of the water. And then there had been that wonderful, wonderful day on that sun-soaked hill near Porlock when she’d settled down for an intimate picnic with Remus to celebrate the end, finally, of the War against Voldemort only to be ecstatically astonished when he shyly pulled out a small golden ring and nervously asked her to marry him.
Honestly. How could he have ever doubted what her answer would be?
She glanced down at her finger, the ring glistening damply in the dull, shrouded light. The wedding was two weeks away. They had been so close…
And now this.
Of all the full moons for Remus to get a bad batch of wolfsbane and have to find an emergency place to transform. She’d insisted over and over that he would be safe in their cellar if it was reinforced, or that the Shrieking Shack would do if that should fail… But no. In yet another attack of that stubborn nobility that made Tonks want to scream and beat him with soggy things, he’d refused her perfectly reasonable suggestions and buggered off instead to a remote Ministry authorised “safe house” in the back of beyond where there was less chance of anyone getting hurt. And so, on the previously evening, as she had dropped him off at the cave beneath the grimly named Chains Barrow, he’d handed her his carefully annotated directions for a trip by broomstick from Lynmouth and requested she collect him come morning with his wand and a first aid kit.
What neither of them had counted on was the fog.
For when Tonks had emerged from the wizarding inn at Lynbridge, broomstick clutched in one hand and her landmark orientated instructions in the other, to find the entire valley, indeed the entire moor shrouded in heavy, impenetrable fog, she had come very close to screaming.
Remus was out there, exhausted, alone, probably hurt and she had no way to get to him. Walking would take too long and eventually she would come up against heavy warding. Apparition was forbidden around Ministry safe houses, for there were still those suspicious enough in the Ministry to believe that a werewolf might had a sudden impulse to drop himself, on the verge of transformation, into the middle of a populated area. The only way in and out was by broomstick.
It was all very well to be told to follow the West Lyn River south, to head straight up the valley to the right of the two tumuli, to turn left at Pinkworthy pond. She’d just about managed the first part, nearly flown into the second part as she risked a low sweep of the valley but there had been no sign of a pond, of the barrow, of any-bloody-thing that could tell her where Remus might be found. Time was ticking by - it had been hours now since moonset, hours since he had changed back, had lain weak and probably bleeding in a cold, dark cave, alone, all alone.
She was not going to lose him. Not now. They were too close…
But she couldn’t find him, she couldn’t see him, she couldn’t see anything in this stinking morass of cloud. It had occurred to her that if he were only conscious enough, maybe she could call out, maybe she would be able to follow the sound of his voice…
Maybe he was still underground. Maybe he was unconscious.
Maybe he was dead.
She had to find him. She had to find some way to pinpoint his location without being able to see it…
And then, it had come to her.
It had been a mad, dangerous dash then, back down the valley, back to the Addled Owl inn, to grab an owl from the astonished landlord, to snatch a piece of paper, cast the charm and then hurl the poor unfortunate bird out into the impenetrable weather. But owls had a way of finding things, of finding people, without ever having to see them, which was more than she could manage…
She’d made some attempt to follow the owl’s tail feathers through the murk but it had quickly vanished into nowhere. And so she’d been forced to make her own gloomy way back to the moor where she believed the barrow to be and now she could only wait…
Please let this work, please let this work, I know it’s stupid but please let this work…
“OVER HERE!!!!!”
Yes!
The voice, her voice, rang out through the fog, magnified a hundred times by the force of the Howler into which it had been enchanted, repeating the same words over and over again like a beacon in the whiteness…
“OVER HERE! OVER HERE! OVER HERE! OVER HERE!”
She’d sent the Howler to Remus. She knew it didn’t matter if he opened it or not - a Howler would ignite of its own accord if left unopened anyway. And she had charmed it to repeat the same words a hundred times until she arrived, until she found him, until everything was right in their world…
Lunging low over her broom, Tonks soared towards the source of the racket, blessing her lucky stars that there were no trees on the more with which she could collide. And then, in a moment of sheer exultation, she saw the ground, saw the barrow and saw a slight figure, huddled, rather bewildered looking, but most definitely alive in the entrance…
She didn’t even bother to stop the broom. Tumbling from it in mid flight, she ignored the thwack as it buried into the ground, too preoccupied with hurtling forwards, stumbling over her own feet as she tumbled into Remus’ outstretched arms and pressed her face against his neck.
“Oh Merlin,” she exclaimed, her voice muffled against his skin but raised over the row of the blessed beacon Howler. “Are you all right? I thought I’d never find you, this bloody fog…”
“I’m fine. A bit battered. Damned cold. But fine.” There was a slight tremble to his voice that made her look sharply upwards but he smiled at her and there and then she knew everything was going to be all right. True, a long scratch ran across his cheek, true his arm was bruised where it protruded from beneath the badly crumpled robes that he’d jammed between two rocks outside the night before. But he was alive, conscious, standing, smiling and they were going to get married in two weeks after all…
“Though I truly appreciate your ingenuity,” Remus’ voice cut softly into her relieved musings, “is that thing going to go on much longer?” His voice sounded oddly strained. “Only I’m a little sensitive to loud noises straight after a transformation…”
“Incendio! ” With a flick of her wand, the Howler ignited, flaring brightly for a moment before exploding into flaming pieces. Snuggling back into his arms, Tonks grinned. “See? No problem.”
“You’re a genius.” Tonks felt his chin nestle against her glowing red hair. “But you do know you gave me the fright of my life when that thing went off. I was still half asleep…”
“Sorry.” Tonks tightened her grip around his waist. “But it was the only way to find you in this mess.” She grinned wickedly against his chest. “Mind you, Howlers make good alarm calls. I may have to start using them when a certainly lazy somebody decides to lurk smugly in bed and make comments about lie-ins while his poor, hard-working fiancée forces herself up to go to work…”
“Don’t you dare.” Remus’ fingers plunged into her sides, forcing a giggle. “But right now, I feel like I could sleep for a week. Let’s head back.” He pulled out of her arms and glanced around at the thick blanket of murk that engulfed all but a few pale rocks a couple of yards away. “So which way is The Addled Owl from here? I’m assuming you’ve set up some kind of guide to find our way back…”
His voice trailed away. He stared at Tonks, at her wide eyes, at her suddenly horrified expression as she stared out at the heavy, indistinguishable fog that swirled and shifted all around them, concealing all hope of a landmark.
“Ah…” she said.
Author: jesspallas
Rating: PG though there is a little bit of mildish swearing
Prompts: Exmoor National Park, A Howler, Drama. I was going to try and work in a Day of Feasting but it didn’t fit so I briefly referenced a picnic instead! :)
Word Count: 1633
Summary: “Her heart felt heavy, She wanted to scream in frustration, to slam something down, to burst into tears but none of these actions would be of any help to her. All she could do now was wait and hope her last ditch effort to find the man she loved would be successful. All in all, she’d had better days.”
Author’s Note: Again this was written in a hurry and is probably not my best work (I always seem to end up writing these things in a hurry. I need to organise myself better!). I had two ideas for this but I went with this was because it fitted three out of four prompts mentioned but I did use the germ of the other in the mention of the picnic. Oh and the ending? Well, that wasn’t planned. It just came about when your humble author realised she forgotten the same thing as Tonks and decided to use her stupidity to comic effect…;)
Fog.
It surrounded her, a thick white blanket that muffled sight and sharpened sounds, engulfing her in cool, damp fluff that seemed almost tangible, touchable, that if she should tumble from her broomstick now she would come to rest softly upon it and float gently to the ground.
Yeah. Like that was going to happen. She might as well wish that the fog were candyfloss that she could reach out and scoff by the handful.
Nymphadora Tonks sighed, wiping the clinging moisture from her brow as she hovered on her broomstick and waited.
Her heart felt heavy, She wanted to scream in frustration, to slam something down, to burst into tears but none of these actions would be of any help to her. All she could do now was wait and hope her last ditch effort to find the man she loved would be successful.
All in all, she’d had better days.
Somewhere below her, lost to her eyes but detectable by the distant tinkle of water and the occasional gentle bleat of sheep, lay Exmoor National Park. Normally she liked Exmoor, knew it well for Remus had spent many childhood days here visiting Muggle relatives who lived near Simonsbath and he liked to bring her here for quiet, private days. She vividly remembered the glorious walk along the cliffs by the glistening seas towards the Valley of Rocks that had nearly ended in disaster when she’d crossed paths with one of the local goats and half started an undignified plunge towards a close up view of the water. And then there had been that wonderful, wonderful day on that sun-soaked hill near Porlock when she’d settled down for an intimate picnic with Remus to celebrate the end, finally, of the War against Voldemort only to be ecstatically astonished when he shyly pulled out a small golden ring and nervously asked her to marry him.
Honestly. How could he have ever doubted what her answer would be?
She glanced down at her finger, the ring glistening damply in the dull, shrouded light. The wedding was two weeks away. They had been so close…
And now this.
Of all the full moons for Remus to get a bad batch of wolfsbane and have to find an emergency place to transform. She’d insisted over and over that he would be safe in their cellar if it was reinforced, or that the Shrieking Shack would do if that should fail… But no. In yet another attack of that stubborn nobility that made Tonks want to scream and beat him with soggy things, he’d refused her perfectly reasonable suggestions and buggered off instead to a remote Ministry authorised “safe house” in the back of beyond where there was less chance of anyone getting hurt. And so, on the previously evening, as she had dropped him off at the cave beneath the grimly named Chains Barrow, he’d handed her his carefully annotated directions for a trip by broomstick from Lynmouth and requested she collect him come morning with his wand and a first aid kit.
What neither of them had counted on was the fog.
For when Tonks had emerged from the wizarding inn at Lynbridge, broomstick clutched in one hand and her landmark orientated instructions in the other, to find the entire valley, indeed the entire moor shrouded in heavy, impenetrable fog, she had come very close to screaming.
Remus was out there, exhausted, alone, probably hurt and she had no way to get to him. Walking would take too long and eventually she would come up against heavy warding. Apparition was forbidden around Ministry safe houses, for there were still those suspicious enough in the Ministry to believe that a werewolf might had a sudden impulse to drop himself, on the verge of transformation, into the middle of a populated area. The only way in and out was by broomstick.
It was all very well to be told to follow the West Lyn River south, to head straight up the valley to the right of the two tumuli, to turn left at Pinkworthy pond. She’d just about managed the first part, nearly flown into the second part as she risked a low sweep of the valley but there had been no sign of a pond, of the barrow, of any-bloody-thing that could tell her where Remus might be found. Time was ticking by - it had been hours now since moonset, hours since he had changed back, had lain weak and probably bleeding in a cold, dark cave, alone, all alone.
She was not going to lose him. Not now. They were too close…
But she couldn’t find him, she couldn’t see him, she couldn’t see anything in this stinking morass of cloud. It had occurred to her that if he were only conscious enough, maybe she could call out, maybe she would be able to follow the sound of his voice…
Maybe he was still underground. Maybe he was unconscious.
Maybe he was dead.
She had to find him. She had to find some way to pinpoint his location without being able to see it…
And then, it had come to her.
It had been a mad, dangerous dash then, back down the valley, back to the Addled Owl inn, to grab an owl from the astonished landlord, to snatch a piece of paper, cast the charm and then hurl the poor unfortunate bird out into the impenetrable weather. But owls had a way of finding things, of finding people, without ever having to see them, which was more than she could manage…
She’d made some attempt to follow the owl’s tail feathers through the murk but it had quickly vanished into nowhere. And so she’d been forced to make her own gloomy way back to the moor where she believed the barrow to be and now she could only wait…
Please let this work, please let this work, I know it’s stupid but please let this work…
“OVER HERE!!!!!”
Yes!
The voice, her voice, rang out through the fog, magnified a hundred times by the force of the Howler into which it had been enchanted, repeating the same words over and over again like a beacon in the whiteness…
“OVER HERE! OVER HERE! OVER HERE! OVER HERE!”
She’d sent the Howler to Remus. She knew it didn’t matter if he opened it or not - a Howler would ignite of its own accord if left unopened anyway. And she had charmed it to repeat the same words a hundred times until she arrived, until she found him, until everything was right in their world…
Lunging low over her broom, Tonks soared towards the source of the racket, blessing her lucky stars that there were no trees on the more with which she could collide. And then, in a moment of sheer exultation, she saw the ground, saw the barrow and saw a slight figure, huddled, rather bewildered looking, but most definitely alive in the entrance…
She didn’t even bother to stop the broom. Tumbling from it in mid flight, she ignored the thwack as it buried into the ground, too preoccupied with hurtling forwards, stumbling over her own feet as she tumbled into Remus’ outstretched arms and pressed her face against his neck.
“Oh Merlin,” she exclaimed, her voice muffled against his skin but raised over the row of the blessed beacon Howler. “Are you all right? I thought I’d never find you, this bloody fog…”
“I’m fine. A bit battered. Damned cold. But fine.” There was a slight tremble to his voice that made her look sharply upwards but he smiled at her and there and then she knew everything was going to be all right. True, a long scratch ran across his cheek, true his arm was bruised where it protruded from beneath the badly crumpled robes that he’d jammed between two rocks outside the night before. But he was alive, conscious, standing, smiling and they were going to get married in two weeks after all…
“Though I truly appreciate your ingenuity,” Remus’ voice cut softly into her relieved musings, “is that thing going to go on much longer?” His voice sounded oddly strained. “Only I’m a little sensitive to loud noises straight after a transformation…”
“Incendio! ” With a flick of her wand, the Howler ignited, flaring brightly for a moment before exploding into flaming pieces. Snuggling back into his arms, Tonks grinned. “See? No problem.”
“You’re a genius.” Tonks felt his chin nestle against her glowing red hair. “But you do know you gave me the fright of my life when that thing went off. I was still half asleep…”
“Sorry.” Tonks tightened her grip around his waist. “But it was the only way to find you in this mess.” She grinned wickedly against his chest. “Mind you, Howlers make good alarm calls. I may have to start using them when a certainly lazy somebody decides to lurk smugly in bed and make comments about lie-ins while his poor, hard-working fiancée forces herself up to go to work…”
“Don’t you dare.” Remus’ fingers plunged into her sides, forcing a giggle. “But right now, I feel like I could sleep for a week. Let’s head back.” He pulled out of her arms and glanced around at the thick blanket of murk that engulfed all but a few pale rocks a couple of yards away. “So which way is The Addled Owl from here? I’m assuming you’ve set up some kind of guide to find our way back…”
His voice trailed away. He stared at Tonks, at her wide eyes, at her suddenly horrified expression as she stared out at the heavy, indistinguishable fog that swirled and shifted all around them, concealing all hope of a landmark.
“Ah…” she said.