Only What You Need (4/4)
Title: Only What You Need (4/4)
Author: chococoffeekiss
Rating & Warnings: PG for drinking, language, innuendo and abuse of prescription medication. Mentions of an off-screen OC.
Prompt: Angst/Humour and Dragon
Format & Word Count: chaptered fic, 1136/approx. 4000
Summary: After the loss of a friend, the Order's two token shapeshifting freaks find comfort in the bottom of several bottles (and in each other).
Author’s Notes: In under the wire as usual. This is highly unedited, but that's okay! It's too bad I won't be able to finish my funny one in time. Lots more angst coming up.
No one is allowed to be so proud they never reach out when they’re giving up.
-‘A Lifetime,’ Better Than Ezra
Her room was dark, though the curtains were open. Beams of light from passing cars illuminated it briefly, casting ghostly shadows that chased each other around the walls.
Remus nearly tripped over a pair of boots. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was doing, going into her room without asking. She hadn’t pointed out which was hers but he had known by merely putting a hand on the door. Her magical signature was immediately recognizable, a shimmering, invisible tension.
If it was a color, it would have been pink.
With an absent wave, he lit the candle on the desk. It cast a circular glow of light; the corners of the room were dark as the edges of an old photograph.
It was as cluttered as the rest of flat with girly items. There were more shoes on the floor and a heap of folded jeans and t-shirts in a squashy chintz chair. On her desk was the vase of pink tulips her mother had brought to the hospital. A large, fuzzy purple dragon occupied the foot of her bed - it stared up at him with black button eyes.
There was a method in the madness, he noted; her things needed for work were near the door, like a fireman’s gear, all ready to be thrown on in a heartbeat. Her Auror robes were hanging on a hook; a sheet of crimson wool above the pair of boots he’d half-stumbled over, next to a belt with two spare wands in holsters. One for each hand, she said, and could quick-draw like a movie cowboy, but she couldn’t make a cup of tea without spilling.
He had just touched the black badge with her name on it, N. Tonks in silver letters, when motion caught his eye - photographs.
There were dozens. The biggest were a color snapshot of Tonks and her father working on a Jeep and a moving photo of her and Andromeda on horseback, crossing a field. There were Hufflepuffs and Hogwarts graduation, birthdays and Christmases, holidays in places with mountains and snow or sun and sand. There were people he recognized and some he didn’t.
The last face he expected to see was his own (though maybe he shouldn’t have been so surprised).
Maybe their parallel existence was actually a collision course.
Tonks found him in her room looking at the pictures taped to her mirror. His fingers were on the black-and-white photo of him and Sirius after the mock duel they’d had in 12 Grimmauld’s ballroom. They were laughing, their arms around each other’s shoulders. She paused in the doorway, then walked up behind him in silence.
She put a hand on his back and he jumped, turning around.
“Oh, it’s just you.”
“Who else would it be?” she asked.
It was a few seconds before he answered. “Nobody, I guess.”
“What…um. What are you doing?”
“Ah. Exploring?”
“Okay, Magellan.”
He nodded at her bed. “Nice…er…dragon.”
“Thanks.”
While they were standing there staring at one another, the power came back on; lights in the hall flickered and the sound of the radio on her desk coming to life made them both jump. A woman with a smooth voice was playing the favorite song of a friend who’d been ‘gravely injured in the line of duty.’
Tonks glowered expertly. “That’d be my roommate, taking the piss and broadcasting live.”
He listened. “I thought you didn’t like sad songs.”
"That's not just sad, that's Radiohead."
"Right," Remus said, giving her a 'whatever you say, dear' nod.
She smiled and stepped past him to put her rings in a jewelry box. Her fingers found the orange plastic bottle inside; she opened it, shook out a pair of white pills (Granny Tonks’s extras from when she broke her hip, inherited in a box of knit hats) and gulped them down with a swallow of water from the glass on the dresser. She’d already taken two that afternoon; the ones squirreled away in her pocket, and had passed out in the middle of tea with her mother.
He had caught her hand as she was putting the orange bottle away. “What are they?”
“I dunno, but they work. D’you want one?”
He shook his head, his brow furrowed. “Where did you get those?”
“My Gran. Dad’s mum.”
“I thought she passed away?”
“Yeah,” she said tersely. Remus was always so bloody polite. “She did. Last month. You were…slightly busy at the time.”
“Nymphadora, I don't think you should be messing around with those-“
“You’re very kind to be worried about me,” she said, and took his face in her hands and kissed him on the forehead. She had to stand on her toes to do it, brushing her fingers back through his hair, feeling the bite of the stubble on his cheek against her palms. “But I-“
She stopped short. This was the closest they had ever been, she could feel how warm he was from inches away. She could also feel the apprehension radiating from him like the notes of a song, tight and sustained.
“But you?” Remus prompted as she let go, backing away.
Her voice caught in her throat. “But I’m more worried about you.”
“There’s no need to fret. I’m not going to off myself in a fit of grief because I know you would resurrect me and kick my arse,” is what he said instead of the truth; she was all that was left for him, one shiny sliver of hope intangible, like sunlight through a dirty window.
The wireless played on in their silence. Tonks hadn’t laughed like he thought she would. Like Sirius would have. She didn’t roll her eyes the way Lily would have. She didn’t punch him in the shoulder and call him an idiot like James or chuckle nervously like Peter.
What she did didn’t shock him because he had been waiting and hoping for it and dreading it the whole night. She stepped into the gap she had left between them and put her arms around his neck, her cheek against his, and whispered, “I know.”
And then, “I think I need to lie down.”
He helped her to the bed and she sat down gingerly, in stages, like an old woman. When she finally stretched out on her side, he could see the blue-black marks under the hem of her shirt.
When her eyes were closed, he took the bottle of Muggle medicine into the bathroom and dumped the lot down the sink.
Nymphadora was almost asleep when he sat down on the bed next to her. Clutched against her chest was the purple stuffed dragon.
“I miss him,” she said dully, her eyes still shut. "So much."
“I know.”
“You must hate me. I know I could’ve saved him.”
“I could never hate you.” Remus kicked off his shoes and gathered her up as gently as possible. Cradled in his arms, she seemed impossibly fragile, though he’d seen the thrashing she’d taken at the Ministry. He settled back against the mountain of pillows on her bed and she leant her head against his chest.
It wasn’t very fair, he thought, that there was no magical map to show him where he was, to tell him which way danger lies and which route was safe to take. They were lost now, for sure, and it was easier not to think about where to go from here. He should have been happy to be able to hold her, to be so close, but he wasn’t.
He pushed her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
“Does it ever stop feeling like this?” she asked in a whisper.
“Yeah,” he lied. “It does.”
***
Author: chococoffeekiss
Rating & Warnings: PG for drinking, language, innuendo and abuse of prescription medication. Mentions of an off-screen OC.
Prompt: Angst/Humour and Dragon
Format & Word Count: chaptered fic, 1136/approx. 4000
Summary: After the loss of a friend, the Order's two token shapeshifting freaks find comfort in the bottom of several bottles (and in each other).
Author’s Notes: In under the wire as usual. This is highly unedited, but that's okay! It's too bad I won't be able to finish my funny one in time. Lots more angst coming up.
No one is allowed to be so proud they never reach out when they’re giving up.
-‘A Lifetime,’ Better Than Ezra
Her room was dark, though the curtains were open. Beams of light from passing cars illuminated it briefly, casting ghostly shadows that chased each other around the walls.
Remus nearly tripped over a pair of boots. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was doing, going into her room without asking. She hadn’t pointed out which was hers but he had known by merely putting a hand on the door. Her magical signature was immediately recognizable, a shimmering, invisible tension.
If it was a color, it would have been pink.
With an absent wave, he lit the candle on the desk. It cast a circular glow of light; the corners of the room were dark as the edges of an old photograph.
It was as cluttered as the rest of flat with girly items. There were more shoes on the floor and a heap of folded jeans and t-shirts in a squashy chintz chair. On her desk was the vase of pink tulips her mother had brought to the hospital. A large, fuzzy purple dragon occupied the foot of her bed - it stared up at him with black button eyes.
There was a method in the madness, he noted; her things needed for work were near the door, like a fireman’s gear, all ready to be thrown on in a heartbeat. Her Auror robes were hanging on a hook; a sheet of crimson wool above the pair of boots he’d half-stumbled over, next to a belt with two spare wands in holsters. One for each hand, she said, and could quick-draw like a movie cowboy, but she couldn’t make a cup of tea without spilling.
He had just touched the black badge with her name on it, N. Tonks in silver letters, when motion caught his eye - photographs.
There were dozens. The biggest were a color snapshot of Tonks and her father working on a Jeep and a moving photo of her and Andromeda on horseback, crossing a field. There were Hufflepuffs and Hogwarts graduation, birthdays and Christmases, holidays in places with mountains and snow or sun and sand. There were people he recognized and some he didn’t.
The last face he expected to see was his own (though maybe he shouldn’t have been so surprised).
Maybe their parallel existence was actually a collision course.
Tonks found him in her room looking at the pictures taped to her mirror. His fingers were on the black-and-white photo of him and Sirius after the mock duel they’d had in 12 Grimmauld’s ballroom. They were laughing, their arms around each other’s shoulders. She paused in the doorway, then walked up behind him in silence.
She put a hand on his back and he jumped, turning around.
“Oh, it’s just you.”
“Who else would it be?” she asked.
It was a few seconds before he answered. “Nobody, I guess.”
“What…um. What are you doing?”
“Ah. Exploring?”
“Okay, Magellan.”
He nodded at her bed. “Nice…er…dragon.”
“Thanks.”
While they were standing there staring at one another, the power came back on; lights in the hall flickered and the sound of the radio on her desk coming to life made them both jump. A woman with a smooth voice was playing the favorite song of a friend who’d been ‘gravely injured in the line of duty.’
Tonks glowered expertly. “That’d be my roommate, taking the piss and broadcasting live.”
He listened. “I thought you didn’t like sad songs.”
"That's not just sad, that's Radiohead."
"Right," Remus said, giving her a 'whatever you say, dear' nod.
She smiled and stepped past him to put her rings in a jewelry box. Her fingers found the orange plastic bottle inside; she opened it, shook out a pair of white pills (Granny Tonks’s extras from when she broke her hip, inherited in a box of knit hats) and gulped them down with a swallow of water from the glass on the dresser. She’d already taken two that afternoon; the ones squirreled away in her pocket, and had passed out in the middle of tea with her mother.
He had caught her hand as she was putting the orange bottle away. “What are they?”
“I dunno, but they work. D’you want one?”
He shook his head, his brow furrowed. “Where did you get those?”
“My Gran. Dad’s mum.”
“I thought she passed away?”
“Yeah,” she said tersely. Remus was always so bloody polite. “She did. Last month. You were…slightly busy at the time.”
“Nymphadora, I don't think you should be messing around with those-“
“You’re very kind to be worried about me,” she said, and took his face in her hands and kissed him on the forehead. She had to stand on her toes to do it, brushing her fingers back through his hair, feeling the bite of the stubble on his cheek against her palms. “But I-“
She stopped short. This was the closest they had ever been, she could feel how warm he was from inches away. She could also feel the apprehension radiating from him like the notes of a song, tight and sustained.
“But you?” Remus prompted as she let go, backing away.
Her voice caught in her throat. “But I’m more worried about you.”
“There’s no need to fret. I’m not going to off myself in a fit of grief because I know you would resurrect me and kick my arse,” is what he said instead of the truth; she was all that was left for him, one shiny sliver of hope intangible, like sunlight through a dirty window.
The wireless played on in their silence. Tonks hadn’t laughed like he thought she would. Like Sirius would have. She didn’t roll her eyes the way Lily would have. She didn’t punch him in the shoulder and call him an idiot like James or chuckle nervously like Peter.
What she did didn’t shock him because he had been waiting and hoping for it and dreading it the whole night. She stepped into the gap she had left between them and put her arms around his neck, her cheek against his, and whispered, “I know.”
And then, “I think I need to lie down.”
He helped her to the bed and she sat down gingerly, in stages, like an old woman. When she finally stretched out on her side, he could see the blue-black marks under the hem of her shirt.
When her eyes were closed, he took the bottle of Muggle medicine into the bathroom and dumped the lot down the sink.
Nymphadora was almost asleep when he sat down on the bed next to her. Clutched against her chest was the purple stuffed dragon.
“I miss him,” she said dully, her eyes still shut. "So much."
“I know.”
“You must hate me. I know I could’ve saved him.”
“I could never hate you.” Remus kicked off his shoes and gathered her up as gently as possible. Cradled in his arms, she seemed impossibly fragile, though he’d seen the thrashing she’d taken at the Ministry. He settled back against the mountain of pillows on her bed and she leant her head against his chest.
It wasn’t very fair, he thought, that there was no magical map to show him where he was, to tell him which way danger lies and which route was safe to take. They were lost now, for sure, and it was easier not to think about where to go from here. He should have been happy to be able to hold her, to be so close, but he wasn’t.
He pushed her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
“Does it ever stop feeling like this?” she asked in a whisper.
“Yeah,” he lied. “It does.”
***