FIC: Remember, Remember, the Fifth of November
Title: Remember, Remember, the Fifth of November
Author: katyhasclogs
Rating & Warnings: PG
Prompts: Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start No-Heat Fireworks
Format & Word Count: Fic, 1320 words
Summary: Tonks had a feeling that the fifth of November would be a date she would remember for a while.
Author’s Notes: In just under the wire, as usual. It was supposed to be a quick and simple fic, but then I decided I'd like to try an omniscient narrator, and things got a bit more complicated, lol.
Remember, Remember, the Fifth of November
“The Muggles are doing fireworks tomorrow.”
That was the statement that started it all. Sirius brought the subject up one damp evening at the beginning of November when he, Remus and Tonks were lingering, post-meeting, in the kitchen of number twelve. Someone suggested watching the displays from the top of the house, and before they knew it, the plans had spiralled into a full-blown party for three on the roof, complete with baked potatoes, pumpkin pasties, half the contents of Honeydukes and a flask of coffee liberally laced with Firewhisky.
And so here they were, the three of them, sitting on the slates wrapped in blankets and scarves in an attempt to beat the frosty chill of a clear autumn night. Their vantage point offered stunning views across the rooftops of London, a great, sprawling, urban landscape of chimneys and twinkling lights, and above them the crackling, exploding, sparkling results of hundreds of bonfire night parties.
Admittedly, Sirius thought, Muggle fireworks were somewhat less impressive than their wizarding counterparts. They hadn’t anything like the lasting-power of even Dr. Fillibuster’s cheapest products, nor the spectacular shapes or impressive capacity for movement, but there was something… magical about them all the same. Their transience added to their charm, in his opinion, and their use of actual gunpowder rather than pyrotechnic charms, along with the possibility that they’d refuse to light at all in the wrong conditions merely added to the excitement. He wasn’t sure, on consideration, which aspects of his teenage rebellion were most evident here: his love of explosions or his interest in all things Muggle.
“So remind me,” Tonks said through a mouthful of pasty, “what exactly the significance of all this is.” She was having a marvellous time. After all, what more could she desire from an evening’s entertainment? She had good food, good company, a fantastic view of the city, Remus’ thigh pressed against hers...
They’d been dancing around something a little beyond friendship for months now, not just metaphorically, in the way that every semi-private conversation had taken the level of flirtation up another tiny notch, but almost literally too: every innocent touch had lingered just a little longer, each accidental brush in narrow spaces had moved just a little closer. Remus was just so utterly charming. He could read a situation, knew exactly when and how to break the tension in a room, when to distract Moody from a paranoid rant, how to reassure Molly and humour Arthur, even how to curb Dumbledore’s all too numerous digressions. He was the only person, bar none, who had the knack of diffusing Sirius’ temper and getting him to listen. He could spend the best part of a meeting without uttering a word, even in the most heated of debates, and then take advantage of a rare lull to say the most sensible thing anyone had come out with all evening. He could make Snape’s blood boil merely by being courteous.
And then there was his silly sense of humour and the way he looked ten years younger when he laughed, his seemingly boundless general knowledge, the casual elegance of his spell-work, the way his hair was a little too long so that his fringe would keep falling in his eyes… Oh, she could go on and on, and so she would have if her musings hadn’t been interrupted by the man himself.
“It’s to celebrate the failure of the gunpowder plot,” said Remus. “At the beginning of the seventeenth century a group of Muggles stashed barrels of gunpowder under the Houses of Parliament, the intention being to blow them up when the King came to open parliament. But the barrels were discovered before the event, along with a chap called Guido Fawkes, who was guarding them, the King’s life was saved, and pretty much every year since then the Muggles have let off fireworks and burned Fawkes’ effigy on the fifth of November.”
“Except”, said Sirius, “originally it wasn’t Guy Fawkes’ effigy that they burned, it was the Pope’s. The plotters were Catholic and so that was who was considered the real enemy.” He took a swig of coffee, looking over at a particularly impressive display to the west. “The way fireworks work is quite interesting too…”
And he was off, explaining about chemical reactions and energy release, light emission and chlorine donors. Remus smiled to himself. Sirius’ love of Muggle Studies had been a running joke when they were at Hogwarts, and it seemed he was still willing to witter on for hours about various aspects of the sciences. He let his thoughts wander, finding that they quickly settled on the pretty witch next to him.
He could hardly believe how important she had become to him in the few months since she’d first stumbled into his life. There was so much more to her than met the eye. Yes, she was brightly coloured and bubbly, she talked too much when she was nervous and she was clumsy, but she was also intelligent and professional, believed passionately in fighting for what was right and had a determination to succeed that never ceased to amaze him.
And her duelling, well, it was a thing of beauty. Remus had been amazed the first time he had seen her fight. The unco-ordinated, nervous movements he was used to seeing melted away to be replaced by graceful confidence, almost as if, with something more important to occupy her thoughts, she forgot to be clumsy. Or perhaps it was more to do with belief; she knew she could duel well, therefore she wasn’t nervous, and that meant she didn’t trip over her own feet.
He was attracted to all these qualities and more. The way she loved to stand out from the crowd, her adorably Hufflepuff sense of fair play, the crazy clothes she wore and the way she was most comfortable in her own skin even though she could look any way she wanted. The way she could see right through all of his defences. All in all, he mused, turning slightly to watch her fold the foil from her bar of chocolate into the shape of a bird, he was falling hard and fast for Nymphadora Tonks.
Sirius had given up his slightly whisky-fuelled explanation of the finer aspects of pyrotechnic chemistry by this point in favour of watching his two friends watch each other. They clearly thought no-one had noticed how smitten they were with each other, but anyone with eyes could spot the lingering gazes across the kitchen table, and the way they gravitated towards each other in a room, requiring a force stronger than an erumpent to pull them apart again. Really, it was about time they got on with it, especially as if it happened this week he’d win five galleons from Kingsley.
“I can hear Buckbeak getting restless,” he said, getting cautiously to his feet. “It’s probably the fireworks that are disturbing him. I should see if I can calm him down.”
“Did you hear anything?” Tonks asked, slightly confused, after Sirius had disappeared into the house. If she looked close enough, she could see the coloured lights from the fireworks reflected in Remus’ eyes.
“No.” He smiled. “I think that was him trying to be subtle about leaving us on our own.”
Realisation dawned. “Well, subtle or not, I have no objections to taking advantage of the situation if you don’t.”
“Certainly not,” said Remus, and leaned forward to brush his lips against hers.
* * * *
Tonks fell awake to watery winter sunlight streaming through a crack in heavy velvet curtains, a warm arm wrapped securely around her waist and the steady breathing of another person in her ears. She had a feeling that the fifth of November would be a date she would remember for a while.
Though nobody ever did remember that the coffee flask was still on the roof.
Author: katyhasclogs
Rating & Warnings: PG
Prompts: Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start No-Heat Fireworks
Format & Word Count: Fic, 1320 words
Summary: Tonks had a feeling that the fifth of November would be a date she would remember for a while.
Author’s Notes: In just under the wire, as usual. It was supposed to be a quick and simple fic, but then I decided I'd like to try an omniscient narrator, and things got a bit more complicated, lol.
Remember, Remember, the Fifth of November
“The Muggles are doing fireworks tomorrow.”
That was the statement that started it all. Sirius brought the subject up one damp evening at the beginning of November when he, Remus and Tonks were lingering, post-meeting, in the kitchen of number twelve. Someone suggested watching the displays from the top of the house, and before they knew it, the plans had spiralled into a full-blown party for three on the roof, complete with baked potatoes, pumpkin pasties, half the contents of Honeydukes and a flask of coffee liberally laced with Firewhisky.
And so here they were, the three of them, sitting on the slates wrapped in blankets and scarves in an attempt to beat the frosty chill of a clear autumn night. Their vantage point offered stunning views across the rooftops of London, a great, sprawling, urban landscape of chimneys and twinkling lights, and above them the crackling, exploding, sparkling results of hundreds of bonfire night parties.
Admittedly, Sirius thought, Muggle fireworks were somewhat less impressive than their wizarding counterparts. They hadn’t anything like the lasting-power of even Dr. Fillibuster’s cheapest products, nor the spectacular shapes or impressive capacity for movement, but there was something… magical about them all the same. Their transience added to their charm, in his opinion, and their use of actual gunpowder rather than pyrotechnic charms, along with the possibility that they’d refuse to light at all in the wrong conditions merely added to the excitement. He wasn’t sure, on consideration, which aspects of his teenage rebellion were most evident here: his love of explosions or his interest in all things Muggle.
“So remind me,” Tonks said through a mouthful of pasty, “what exactly the significance of all this is.” She was having a marvellous time. After all, what more could she desire from an evening’s entertainment? She had good food, good company, a fantastic view of the city, Remus’ thigh pressed against hers...
They’d been dancing around something a little beyond friendship for months now, not just metaphorically, in the way that every semi-private conversation had taken the level of flirtation up another tiny notch, but almost literally too: every innocent touch had lingered just a little longer, each accidental brush in narrow spaces had moved just a little closer. Remus was just so utterly charming. He could read a situation, knew exactly when and how to break the tension in a room, when to distract Moody from a paranoid rant, how to reassure Molly and humour Arthur, even how to curb Dumbledore’s all too numerous digressions. He was the only person, bar none, who had the knack of diffusing Sirius’ temper and getting him to listen. He could spend the best part of a meeting without uttering a word, even in the most heated of debates, and then take advantage of a rare lull to say the most sensible thing anyone had come out with all evening. He could make Snape’s blood boil merely by being courteous.
And then there was his silly sense of humour and the way he looked ten years younger when he laughed, his seemingly boundless general knowledge, the casual elegance of his spell-work, the way his hair was a little too long so that his fringe would keep falling in his eyes… Oh, she could go on and on, and so she would have if her musings hadn’t been interrupted by the man himself.
“It’s to celebrate the failure of the gunpowder plot,” said Remus. “At the beginning of the seventeenth century a group of Muggles stashed barrels of gunpowder under the Houses of Parliament, the intention being to blow them up when the King came to open parliament. But the barrels were discovered before the event, along with a chap called Guido Fawkes, who was guarding them, the King’s life was saved, and pretty much every year since then the Muggles have let off fireworks and burned Fawkes’ effigy on the fifth of November.”
“Except”, said Sirius, “originally it wasn’t Guy Fawkes’ effigy that they burned, it was the Pope’s. The plotters were Catholic and so that was who was considered the real enemy.” He took a swig of coffee, looking over at a particularly impressive display to the west. “The way fireworks work is quite interesting too…”
And he was off, explaining about chemical reactions and energy release, light emission and chlorine donors. Remus smiled to himself. Sirius’ love of Muggle Studies had been a running joke when they were at Hogwarts, and it seemed he was still willing to witter on for hours about various aspects of the sciences. He let his thoughts wander, finding that they quickly settled on the pretty witch next to him.
He could hardly believe how important she had become to him in the few months since she’d first stumbled into his life. There was so much more to her than met the eye. Yes, she was brightly coloured and bubbly, she talked too much when she was nervous and she was clumsy, but she was also intelligent and professional, believed passionately in fighting for what was right and had a determination to succeed that never ceased to amaze him.
And her duelling, well, it was a thing of beauty. Remus had been amazed the first time he had seen her fight. The unco-ordinated, nervous movements he was used to seeing melted away to be replaced by graceful confidence, almost as if, with something more important to occupy her thoughts, she forgot to be clumsy. Or perhaps it was more to do with belief; she knew she could duel well, therefore she wasn’t nervous, and that meant she didn’t trip over her own feet.
He was attracted to all these qualities and more. The way she loved to stand out from the crowd, her adorably Hufflepuff sense of fair play, the crazy clothes she wore and the way she was most comfortable in her own skin even though she could look any way she wanted. The way she could see right through all of his defences. All in all, he mused, turning slightly to watch her fold the foil from her bar of chocolate into the shape of a bird, he was falling hard and fast for Nymphadora Tonks.
Sirius had given up his slightly whisky-fuelled explanation of the finer aspects of pyrotechnic chemistry by this point in favour of watching his two friends watch each other. They clearly thought no-one had noticed how smitten they were with each other, but anyone with eyes could spot the lingering gazes across the kitchen table, and the way they gravitated towards each other in a room, requiring a force stronger than an erumpent to pull them apart again. Really, it was about time they got on with it, especially as if it happened this week he’d win five galleons from Kingsley.
“I can hear Buckbeak getting restless,” he said, getting cautiously to his feet. “It’s probably the fireworks that are disturbing him. I should see if I can calm him down.”
“Did you hear anything?” Tonks asked, slightly confused, after Sirius had disappeared into the house. If she looked close enough, she could see the coloured lights from the fireworks reflected in Remus’ eyes.
“No.” He smiled. “I think that was him trying to be subtle about leaving us on our own.”
Realisation dawned. “Well, subtle or not, I have no objections to taking advantage of the situation if you don’t.”
“Certainly not,” said Remus, and leaned forward to brush his lips against hers.
* * * *
Tonks fell awake to watery winter sunlight streaming through a crack in heavy velvet curtains, a warm arm wrapped securely around her waist and the steady breathing of another person in her ears. She had a feeling that the fifth of November would be a date she would remember for a while.
Though nobody ever did remember that the coffee flask was still on the roof.