We Three Kings Part I by Gilpin25
Title: We Three Kings
Author: gilpin25
Format: Fic
Rating & Warnings: PG13 (language by stressed characters).
Prompts: Sweets; sledging (or sledding, if you're in the US).
Word Count: 11,744
Summary: In the days leading up to Christmas at Grimmauld Place, 1995, three people see the relationship between Remus and Tonks through very different eyes.
Author’s Notes: I thought I’d try something a bit different for this one, having never written a story in first person, present tense before. In fact there’s a few “firsts” along the way, so any comments on the success or failure of it will be much appreciated. There’s about four different genres in it at the last count, which I like to think is something for everyone. It wasn’t meant to be this long but rather took on a life of its own, and so I've had to post it in two halves.
We Three Kings.
Bearing gifts we traverse to Grimmauld.
Molly.
I see things that others don’t.
One thing I can’t see at the moment is Great Auntie Muriel’s Apple and Honey Tart recipe because it’s covered in flour. I give it a shake and start to peel one of the big green apples, while waiting for the girl looking at the rain running slowly down the kitchen window to tell me what’s wrong. She’s wearing a long white sweater with black stars over some kind of black stretchy trousers, which are ridiculously tight on her slim legs and, if I don’t watch out, Ginny will decide she fancies something similar. And then we’ll argue about it, we’ll both get upset, and she won’t understand.
With their father in hospital there’s only me look after the children, only me to keep them safe. So I’m quicker to flare into anger, quicker to shout over the most trivial of things. I try so hard not to. But the fear won’t always be silent.
It’s the first Christmas Arthur and I have ever spent apart. I thought they would understand when he was hurt - I saw the terror on their faces when they were waiting for news, the realisation that there are some things in this world a flick of the wand can’t put right - but now he’s getting better, it’s all forgotten. I can hear them now. There’s laughter and footsteps echoing through the rooms upstairs; they’ve been hanging garlands of holly, and gold and silver streamers everywhere they can. Mungdungus is supposed to be bringing a tree over, if that daft idiot can be trusted to remember anything, and Sirius wants to conjure magical snow everywhere to impress Harry.
It’s lovely to see Sirius so happy, but am I the only one who sees it for what it is? It’s the happiness of a child who sees all his presents waiting under the tree and is almost mad with anticipation. But children always get tired and irritable when everything’s been opened and discarded, and then their mood swiftly changes for the worse.
As will everyone else’s.
Besides all the pretty garlands and magical snow in the world can’t make me forget. Nor can I forget the one child who did understand fear, though I didn’t realise until it was too late because it was a different kind. Surely Percy will come home now, where he belongs? I sent his Christmas jumper off today - I wasn’t sure what to do, whether or not to keep it here for him, but Remus said it was best to make sure he had it early. Just in case things were very busy work-wise at the Ministry. I think Remus was right, now I’ve thought it through. He usually is about things.
The girl at the window stirs and sighs lightly, almost as though she’s heard me thinking his name, and turns around to watch me. Frizzy, blonde-streaked hair today, that’s chopped off jaggedly at the shoulders, with black showing underneath. Pale pink lipstick. Huge dark eyes.
Please don’t let Ginny decide she wants to look like this. We’d never afford all the hair potions, for a start.
I carry on peeling apples. I feel very short and dowdy in comparison - a middle aged housewife envying a vibrant young girl. All the choices are still out there, waiting for her.
I think she’s made a few though, lately. I think that’s what this is all about.
“How many apples do you use?” she asks, pretending to be interested.
Part of me can’t help but wonder that she’s chosen me to talk to. We’re not close. Where are her friends? What’s her relationship with her Mother like? But then I never talked to my own mother, either, and I’m glad she’s here. I need to keep busy, I need to keep occupied; which is why I’ve already made crusty white rolls and butternut squash and lime soup for lunch, when I could have done ham and beef sandwiches in next to no time at all.
“Four Bramleys,” I say, taking the core out of one and starting to slice it, holding it down firmly against the table. “They’re the best because they give a bit of tart flavour against the honey and the custard. But I use Cox’s on the top; they’re that much sweeter, you see, so you get a contrast when you take a bite.”
She nods, as though she knows what I’m talking about. “Sounds good.”
“Would you like to do some mixing, dear?” I try not to think that asking her to beat egg yolks is like asking Ron not to pull threads in his new jumpers. Anyone would think he did it deliberately.
Her face lights up. “Yes. Yes, I would.”
She comes over to the table and I hand her the mixing bowl and edge sideways so there’s room for us both. I pass her the red apron, the one I gave Sirius which says Danger Man Cooking on it, and she ducks her head down, though I know full well she’s trying not to laugh.
“You want four egg yolks, two whole eggs and the honey in the bowl.” I watch her carefully while continuing to slice, in case anything slips and I need to grab it. “If you can heat the cream and saffron in that small cauldron for me, don’t let them boil whatever you do, and-“ I change my mind about the next bit as I see the glazed look in her eye “-then tell me when you’ve done that, dear.”
“Righty-ho.” She grins and starts cracking eggs and breaking them, far too high above the basin, but I try not to look. There’s probably shell going in there as well, but I won’t think about it.
We work in companionable silence for a while. It’s nice. I wasn’t sure of her when we first met - she kept messing around with her height and things, and I like to know where I am with somebody. No airs and graces, that’s me. Lots of people thought it was funny but it made me uncomfortable, especially when she altered her waistline and I thought she might be having a bit of a joke at my expense. I think she might have realised because she doesn’t do it now.
I was probably a bit sharp with her back then, really. I forgot about the job she does and the things she deals with. It doesn’t pay to under-estimate Nymphadora Tonks, just because she trips over things occasionally, and is still apologising for breaking my best chopping knife doing Merlin knows what. She certainly didn’t want to explain how it happened at breakfast this morning. Perhaps it was when I was going upstairs late last night, and heard her and Remus laughing together in here. All he did was hide behind the newspaper while I was trying to get to the bottom of it.
I wonder what’s gone wrong since then. They’ve looked so happy lately.
“Sorry,” she says, seeing me reach automatically for where the knife once was, and then remember and pick the other one up again.
“So you should be.” I smile, to take any edge from my words.
“I could buy you a new one for Christmas. A decent one that doesn’t break at the slightest thing.” She grins, glancing at me cheekily from under the blonde fringe, and I laugh in spite of the fact that it was my favourite knife and I dreamt about the Boggart again last night.
I’d hoped it would stop once Arthur was all right. I’d hoped it would go away.
I look at her. “You’re not still Christmas shopping?”
“Haven’t had much opportunity.” She frowns, her brow wrinkling in consternation, and I make a conscious effort not to look in the bowl. “What with work and then-“
She stops.
“Yes.” I help her out.
“I’m going tomorrow, actually.” She flicks another amused glance at me. “With Ron.”
“With Ron?” I can’t believe my ears. He always seems a bit shy of her. I’ve never even seen them speak.
She laughs. “Think he wants a bit of feminine advice. I said I was going and he asked if he could come along. Poor lad seems a bit desperate.”
“Oh!” I suddenly realise he wants to get me something, and doesn’t know who else to ask. Dearest Ronnie. I knew being a prefect would do him the world of good.
I have to turn my head away to blow my nose. Tears come so easily at the moment. Tonks goes over to look at the cream in the cauldron, and gives it a tentative stir in completely the wrong direction, which is almost guaranteed to make it lumpy.
“Anyway-“ She pauses and shoots a quick look over her shoulder, checking I’m all right. “I’ve still got the tricky people to get so perhaps Ron can help me out as well. There’s Sirius, Harry… “
She waits, staring fixedly at the simmering cream. Please don’t let it boil…
“So what are you getting Remus for Christmas?”
She walks back to the table, looks at the honey pot, and starts to pour it into the bowl. “I forgot my gloves the other night, you know.”
I wonder if she’s misheard the question. “You did?”
“Yeah.” She nods. “We went to see that Muggle Christmas Fair over to the east. After it was closed for the night. They’d got these giant tea cups and saucers that you could sit in, and we used magic to make them spin round and round like crazy things, and it was such fun. It was only afterwards I realised I was freezing. I always feel the cold so much. And Remus blew on my hands to warm them up.”
The last line comes out very quietly, as though it’s of no importance. But I know exactly what she’s saying about the warmth of a man’s breath, the way it causes your fingers to stir with a life of their own, and the sensation that goes through you. I’ve felt it myself with the right man and you never forget it.
I also know how close you have to stand to someone to have them hold your hands like that in the first place.
“And then I realised he didn’t have gloves of his own,” she says quietly again. “I don’t ever remember seeing him with any.”
I’m a bit lost as to what to say here. “So is that what you’re going to get him for Christmas?” Otherwise I can quickly knit some to go with his jumper, can’t I? And Hermione was asking what she could get him the other day, so if she got a pair as well he’d have two lots.
“Well, there’s the thing.” She bites her lip and I catch her hand to stop her pouring, just before the whole tart is going to need to be rechristened Honey Pie. “What do you buy the man who has-“
I wonder if she’s going to say so little.
“-lost the job he thought he’d got this morning?” There’s a bitterness to her voice I’ve never heard before. She slams the pot down on the table. “It’s so bloody unfair, Molly.”
“Was it-?“
“Yeah. A crap job. For crap money. Which he was over-qualified for. And they still wouldn’t bloody give it him.” Her eyes are bright with fury, and I feel mine prick with sympathy in return because my heart bleeds for them both. “And, best of all,” she looks at the untouched eggs as though she’d like to smash them on the table, “best of all, he gets to break the glad tidings to a stupid idiot, who is waiting for him in his room with a specially made banner that sings congratulations with rude lyrics that won’t shut up when he tries to tell her. But that’s okay, because she’s too busy trying to open the Firewhiskey to celebrate, to listen to what he’s actually saying.”
“Oh, Tonks, dear.” I want to put my arm around her, but she’s very independent, as well as very angry, and I’m not quite sure how she’d react. I’m also trying to absorb the news that she was in his room.
They must be courting then, mustn’t they? Should I ask?
“It’s not right. It makes me so mad.” She’s shaking her head.
“I know, dear.”
“People are so prejudiced. You weren’t happy yourself when you found out about the werewolf.” She’s looking at me accusingly.
“I don’t-“ It comes out too loud and shrill, as it always does when I’m on the defensive. I think with horror that she’s referring to the time when I barely knew Remus; when all I knew of him was that he was a Dark creature, and I didn’t want him anywhere near me or my family. But once you know him, it’s impossible to associate him with such an awful thing. There couldn’t be a kinder or a gentler man. I can’t believe how he can possibly be classed with the rest of them.
It’s ridiculous that he can’t get a job. But what does she mean? She surely doesn’t think that I…
“On the ward. With Arthur.” She’s still watching me closely.
“Oh!” I try to think of a way to explain that that’s completely different. Remus is the dearest of dear friends, but I don’t know that, er, that…
She moves restlessly. “What do I do now?”
“I don’t-“ For a minute I think she means with regard to Remus, and then I realise she’s moved over to the cauldron again and is looking at it doubtfully. “Is the cream boiling?”
“Er… Yeah. Sorry.”
“You need to beat it into the egg mix.”
“Okay.” She pours it in and starts to beat it in a way that’s going to make her arm ache in a minute or so. It’s what she needs. I’ve treated knitting needles like daggers in the last few days myself, and stabbed a few innocent chair arms with them.
It gives me time to think what’s best to say. Most people will think that it was Nymphadora Tonks who fell first for Remus Lupin, but most people will be wrong. I was there at Order meetings when he always contrived to sit next to her. I was there that day when she tried to match her hair to the colour of the single apricot rose that valiantly flowers in the stony garden here, and I saw the look on his face as he watched her. And I was there when she was late back from patrol one night, and he swore at Sirius and was short with me, and I saw him put his hands in his pockets to hide the shake in them when she finally did walk in with Mad-Eye.
Now I’m caught in memories of another couple, long ago. The girl who always fell for the Sirius Blacks of this world, even though they never even realised she breathed the same air as they did. She dreamt of them at night as she kissed her pillow with an open mouth and hugged it to her so she wasn’t alone. And all the time there was a young man waiting patiently for her to notice him, who hesitated because he thought he didn’t have much to offer, and yet was worth so much more than all the others put together.
When she finally did see him, she couldn’t see anyone else.
“Are you and he…?” I don’t know how to phrase it, but she seems to understand.
“We talked so much last night, Molly.” The dark eyes stare into mine. “Then we got a bit, er, diverted-“ She stops and two spots of colour appear in her cheeks, and I want to smile at the shine in her eyes because I can remember what it was like to be diverted in that way, and how it makes your heart sing. She shakes her head in impatience at herself and carries on. “But then he said something about seeing what today brings, and I know he was counting on good news, and now it’s all gone wrong! And he’s perfectly polite and talking and all that, but he’s not really saying anything to me any more. Not anything that matters, anyway.”
“Yes.” My mind’s whirling, trying to think.
“How would you let Arthur know?” She’s looking at me intently.
“Know?”
She waves the spoon in the air and half the precious mixture drops off it onto the table. “That the job doesn’t matter. That he does. It’s taken me long enough to realise and I won’t lose the silly bugger before we’ve even got started. You must have had to let Arthur know you didn’t mind being poor.”
My mouth is open. This is where she’s so disconcerting; talking about our lack of money like that. But there’s something in the matter-of-fact way she says it that makes me realise there’s no malice in it at all.
She just genuinely wants to know.
I cast my mind back, remembering the day after my parents had snubbed Arthur when I’d surprised him with a picnic hamper. He’d told me once he’d never had parties as a child so we sat down to jam and lemon curd sandwiches, baby tomatoes, little sausages, pineapple and cheese on sticks, followed by raspberry jelly, with the sweetest of mandarins and vanilla ice cream. We ate till we were fit to burst, giggling like children, and I looked at him with the sun glinting on his hair and on his fair, freckled arms, and thought I could never have imagined being so happy.
It all seems a very long time ago now. And Arthur is lying in a hospital bed.
“Do something silly,” I say, abruptly. “Make him laugh. Have fun together. Anything. Show him what matters.”
“But-“
“This Christmas present.” I’m getting worked up now, because I don’t want this to go wrong for them, and I’m not stopping, even while I slide the pastry case out of the way of her wandering elbow. “You can’t get him anything expensive, that’ll make things worse. What about making him something?”
She looks at me doubtfully. “Like what?”
“You tell me! You’ve just told me how well you know him! What does he like?”
“Well…” She screws her eyes up thinking, almost like she’s going to morph. “You know I’m not Hetty Housewitch, Molly, but I suppose he does like chocolate. And sweets. Cakes, too.”
“Brilliant!” I beam at her. “You can make him a cake!”
She pulls a face. “Couldn’t I just fight a couple of Dementors to impress him?”
“Tonks, dear.” I smile at her because I’m the one in my element here, and I can see how to help her, and I know it will work. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, after all. Remus is no different from any other. And doing it will give me lots to think about, less time on my own. “I’ll help you. There’s nothing to worry about. We’ll pick something easy. What about Apple and Armagnac Layer Cake?”
“No offence, but I think I’ve had enough of apples.” She looks at the ones on the table in front of her, and then looks at me, and those dark eyes are suddenly dancing and alive. She’s in her element, too, because she’s fighting back. “I want something with icing. Something I can stick sweets on. I want to spell out a message, even if I have to do it in Acid Pops. Got anything like that in your Witch Weekly recipe archives?”
I smile back at her; my mind already on several possibilities. There are four or five I can think of, straight off. Must pick a very simple one, though. There’s a lemon cake that I cover in gold icing that’s fairly straight-forward.
I like the idea of her giving him a cake of gold. A gift to show him how special he is.
“We’ll chat about it in a few minutes.”
“Not now?” She has a crease of disappointment wrinkling her brow.
“In a minute or two.” I smile to take any possible sting out of my words, but I’m going to have my work cut out with her. It’s just what I need and I want them so much to be happy, for something good to happen at this time of year. Arthur’s safe, after all, and I must try and enjoy myself. Forget for a little while the things I see that others don’t.
I take a deep breath. I’ve no idea how she’s managed this. Thank goodness Muriel isn’t around to see it because it would have brought on one of her sciatica attacks immediately.
“First we need to sort out why those eggs are floating on top of that cream, dear.”
---------
Ron.
Girls are completely clueless. Really. I’m on my feet because of the card I’ve found in the Chocolate Frog, and Harry gets it straight away when I say that Lupin had only mentioned the other day that he’d never found this one, and I knew he’d be thrilled.
It’s not as though I’m going to be long, and then we can get on with playing Destructive Dominoes - Harry says in the Muggle version the dominoes don’t try to pinch each other’s numbers, which sounds a bit dull to me - but, of course, Hermione has to chip in. She thinks I shouldn’t disturb him because he’s reading Hogwarts: A History in the library, and is probably appreciating the time on his own. Turns out that translates into poor old Lupin volunteering to find some obscure paragraph he thinks might help with SPEW. I give her a look because, let’s face it, she’s memorised the damn thing from cover to cover so he’s wasting his time. And he’s looked a bit down in the dumps the last couple of days as it is, without having to think about that rubbish.
We’ve only just got Harry over his funk about being possessed by You-Know-Who and responsible for what happened to Dad, and now something’s bugging Lupin. I think it might be the money thing; he seemed okay until someone mentioned buying presents for loved ones last night. I hate being poor and know how he feels when you can’t buy people what you want at this time of year. It’s a rotten feeling.
That’s something I don’t think Harry does get and we don’t talk about it much. It’s not his fault; it’s just how it is.
Lupin doesn’t say that much, really, but when he’s quiet you don’t half notice it. He’s the one who sort of jollies things along and keeps it all flowing. Mum was looking at him all through dinner last night and frowning; Sirius kept making daft jokes; Tonks was changing her face about ninety times, and he just smiled. I’ve always liked him, but it was only when we were taught Defence Against the Dark Arts by one maniac, and now have an even worse one in Umbridge, that I realise just how good he was.
And I’ve always felt a bit guilty about what I said to him in the Shrieking Shack. I’d have liked to have said sorry really.
So I completely ignore Hermione. She might be incredibly clever, but there’s things she just doesn’t get. I run up the stairs and fling the door open, skidding to a halt in the magical snow - Sirius may have overdone it a bit, I could barely get in my bedroom last night, due to a mini avalanche - and thinking how chuffed Lupin’s going to be when he sees what I’ve got.
Only he’s not as alone as Hermione thought. In fact Hogwarts:A History is lying ignored on the table, which shows what a sensible bloke he is. I bet he’s glad to see me, though it’s hard to tell as Tonks is obscuring him at the moment. She seems to have been perched precariously on the edge of the sofa arm to talk to him or something, and me opening the door so suddenly makes her lose her balance in surprise.
You’ve got to hand it to old Lupin. Nothing fazes him. Not even a girl with maroon hair - please don’t let Mum have knitted me a jumper in that colour again this year - going sprawling across his lap.
“Hello, Ron,” he says pleasantly, while helping her sit up. “Long time no see.”
I try not to grin because there’s a second when her legs are either side of him and she’s actually… But then she’s on her feet and looking at me like it’s all my fault. That’s a laugh. How was I to know she was in here? She’s been spending all her time holed up in the kitchen with Mum doing something mysterious.
I didn’t think Tonks was the domestic type and there’s really no need to glare at me like that. And what is she wearing? Some kind of pink and purple striped tunic dress over those tight black leggings she had on yesterday.
I - well - okay, she’s got very nice legs. I noticed that yesterday, too. It’s still a shame about the dress. And the hair.
“Was there something you wanted?” Lupin smiles at me, his eyes twinkling, looking a bit more cheerful than he did last night.
Well this is going to cheer him up even more.
“Look!” I hold out the card with Cliodna, the Irish Druidess who’s also an Animagus, on it.
Lupin steps forward, smoothing his hair down which is stuck up at angles.
“Is that really--?”
“A Chocolate Frog card?” Tonks says it in a distinctly unimpressed way. She flicks the maroon hair back over one shoulder. “You’ve brought him a Chocolate Frog card?”
This sort of thing’s wasted on girls, it really is. They just don’t get it.
Lupin smiles gently, taking the card from me. “Not just any card, though,” he says, in exactly the tone I hoped he would. “I don’t know how many years I’ve been trying to get this one. Or how many Frogs I’ve eaten along the way.”
“It’s yours.” I grin at him. “I’ve got another one of those at home.”
He looks really startled. And pleased. It’s quite touching. Then he’s looking at me keenly. “Wasn’t there a card you’ve always wanted? Agrippa, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, but…” I can feel myself starting to go red. He can’t mean-?
“I think I’ve got one of those going spare somewhere.”
“That’s very handy, isn’t it? You having two like that.” Tonks, who is clearly in a right paddy still about looking an idiot in front of me, gives him what can only be described as one of those meaningful looks girls frequently give. You never understand what the hell they mean because they don’t actually bother to explain. And if you try and guess it’s always wrong, and then somehow it’s your fault instead of theirs.
“Of course you could just accept it as an early Christmas present,” she adds, still laying on thick the meaningful look. “No need to give anything in return. The pleasure is in the giving. It’s what friends do for each other.”
Now I’m giving her what I hope is a pointed look of my own, because I’ve tried for bloody years to get my hands on Agrippa, and did anyone ask her to butt in? Besides Harry and I have already got old Lupin a pair of gloves for Christmas, which I bought yesterday while she was there - she was buying a posh brown leather pair for someone herself - and we’re back to this whole being poor thing again.
It’s embarrassing to be given too much when you can’t reciprocate. This time he can, so he wants to. If she thought before she opened her mouth a bit more, she’d realise that.
Lupin half smiles at her, but he’s looking all solemn again. Damn.
“Nevertheless,” he says firmly, “while I do appreciate that, I appreciate Ron’s kind gesture even more. And, as fellow Frog card collectors, it would be an early Christmas present for us both if we had complete collections.” He pauses and then adds: “It’ll make us equal partners, which is always important.”
Sometimes he’s just so cool. He’s standing there in the shabbiest green jumper imaginable - Mum’ll fix that in a few days time, I’m sure, Merlin help him - but he’s got, I dunno, dignity, I suppose. He was just like this at school, whenever Malfoy and Co. tried to take the piss out of him and then got put in their place in about five seconds flat. What he says sounds incredibly polite but it’s like a shower of freezing December rain down the back of your neck, and I can see the colour rise in Tonks’ face.
Suddenly I feel really sorry for her. I’m not sure why. She sits down heavily on the edge of the sofa and looks as if she’s just lost five games of Destructive Dominoes in a row, like Hermione has.
“I’ll get the card. And some tea.” Lupin smiles at me.
“I should be getting back. I did promise Harry and Hermione.”
“Five minutes and one of your Mum’s mince pies as well?” He laughs at my face. “I know where the card is, so it won’t take me long and you can chat to Tonks in the meantime.”
“Right.” I try not to look unenthusiastic at that prospect, but he’s turned away anyway, and is looking at her, a frown creasing his face.
“Nymp-“ He bites it off, thank goodness, because it’s really not going to help her strop by calling her the name she hates. It’s not like him to make a mistake like that. Though he does call it her, occasionally, now I think about it, and he seems to get away with it.
That’s another thing girls are, is inconsistent.
She looks up at him, her face quite fierce underneath that awful hair. “We’ve still got to get sorted what we were talking about earlier, Remus. You know - Christmas presents and everything.”
She’s staring up at him but I don’t think she can read anything on his face, because I certainly can’t. He just nods and says quietly: “I am trying to get it all sorted, Tonks,” and I’m a bit cross with her again, because it’s all right for her on an Auror’s salary, isn’t it? Everyone knows how well paid they are. Harping on about it to the poor bloke isn’t going to help him now, is it?
“I’ll bring you a mince pie, too.” He steps quickly round her, his fingertips resting on her shoulder for a second as he does so, and then the door closes behind him, leaving her gazing at the fire burning in the grate, and me thinking I shouldn’t have bothered with the tea.
But I do want Agrippa.
I wander over to the window, to give myself something to do. It’s been snowing on and off all day, and it’s falling quite thickly now. Grimmauld’s got the most hideous garden; it never had to be de-gnomed because they wouldn’t be seen dead within a mile of it, but even it looks good covered in snow. I wish we could do something like going sledging but Harry would need a guard to leave here, and Sirius couldn’t come anyway so it’s a rubbish idea.
Tonks clears her throat, making me jump. “It was nice of you to give Remus that card,” she says.
I turn around and she’s watching me, those legs - okay, those great legs - crossed, and her chin resting on her hands.
“Are you pleased with everything you got yesterday?” she asks. “We seemed to have enough bags between us.”
To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone with as many bags as she had. We did so many reducing charms it was ridiculous. Talk about scatty; anyone would think she had no idea what to get and so bought everything in sight.
She has some good ideas though. That minature Firebolt she’s got Harry is really cool.
“Where have you put all those sweets?” I’m quite curious actually. I bought Cockroach Clusters and Pepper Imps for Fred and George, Every-Flavour Beans for Harry, as well as some coconut ice for Mum, as that’s her favourite. Tonks bought - and I might have missed some because my mouth was open so far in amazement - Acid Pops, Chocoballs, Ice Mice, Peppermint Toads, lemon drops, Licorice wands, something she said was a Muggle delicacy called Turkish Delight and which looked completely revolting, and a bag full of chocolate which would feed an average family of twenty.
She grins. “I went a bit mad, I think.”
“You must have a lot of friends who like chocolate.”
Those big dark eyes of hers look a bit sad. “You know what it’s like when you don’t know what the other person would really like and so you try too hard? That’s what I’ve gone and done. I was supposed to be making a present for someone but it’s not going very well, so I thought I’d have some things in reserve. I didn’t think anything was quite right when I got it all home last night, and now I’m having a bit of a panic.”
I can never make Tonks out. She really puts you on the spot with some of the things she says - I can’t believe some of the things she says to Harry - but then she says something like that and you see a different side to her. Plus she’s an Auror as well, which is pretty amazing.
I dunno; she just seems a really genuine person. Irritating sometimes, and yesterday was a bit of a nightmare, to put it mildly, but she did try and help.
Sort of.
We didn’t get off to a good start when she appeared in some kind of loose harlequin black-and-white jumper with big black pompoms for buttons down the front, those legging things - I really do like those - a long jade green swirly cloak, and copper coloured hair in some kind of elaborate ponytail thing, with bits hanging out everywhere.
And there’s me wanting to keep a low profile. I ask you.
Someone really ought to explain to girls that messing around with their appearance is a waste of time. Tonks is okay-looking as it is, without having to try every colour of the rainbow out for her hair. It’s like Hermione getting all done up for the Yule Ball, to impress that idiot Krum. If she’d bothered to ask me, I could have told her that men like girls who look natural, so that they know where they are with them. It didn’t work out, did it, so that should have told her something but, again, I expect she’s missed the obvious.
Talking of obvious, I wonder why Harry is getting all this action with Cho while I can’t get any? What am I doing wr-?
A log cracks suddenly in the fire; showers of sparks shooting out and I jump.
Tonks is looking at me expectantly and I realise I haven’t answered whatever it was she said, and I’m going bright red wondering if Hermione would ever wear something like her leggings.
Pull yourself together, Weasley. Act casual.
“Erm, what about that other stuff you got? From the perfumery?”
She brightens up. “Yeah, I quite like that. What about you?”
The main point of the whole shopping trip was to go in From Myrrh To Musk, the very intimidating perfumery, but I couldn’t tell her that. I made up this tale about wanting to get Mum something completely different to her normal Eau de Gardenia, or whatever it is, thinking I was being clever because Tonks is a modern kind of witch, and must be up on these things. She’s certainly up on something because she promptly started asking me impossible questions such as: “Does she like lavender?” For a moment, I thought she meant the one at Hogwarts. Meanwhile I’m wondering what the bloody hell tuberose and lime blossom are, and then I turn round to find she’s got her nose buried in the men’s cologne.
Turns out she’s sniffing something that’s musky with some sort of amber smell thrown in for good measure. It’s not quite what I had in mind, somehow. She ends up buying it, despite the name, which is something ludicrous like Myrrh Pour Homme. At this point I do wonder if Tonks has got a boyfriend, because she mutters something when she realises I’ve come up behind her and goes a nice shade of pink. Merlin, you could just imagine the sort of wizard she’d go for - some twenty year old bass player in a band with dreadlocks, I expect.
It’s probably for her Dad. Any bloke who went out with her would need to be out of his mind.
“Don’t worry, I think she’ll like it.” Tonks is grinning at me, in a way that brings me abruptly back to reality, and makes me feel uncomfortable as I don’t think she’s referring to my Mum. On the other hand, I do think I can trust her not to blab or laugh.
“You don’t think it’s too unusual?” Somehow she talked me into something called Blue Nagara, which she told me had a sparkling citrus smell, with overtones of cinnamon and nutmeg.
Bit fruity, I’d have called it. Like a grapefruit. Merlin, I hope Hermione likes it. I dunno why I’ve got it really, especially when I’ll get something like a book on edited highlights from Hogwarts: A History in return, but … I want her to have something girly.
So she knows she doesn’t have to dress up like that again to be noticed.
“No, it’s very feminine.” Tonks is still grinning, like she’s having a secret laugh, but I don’t mind. She reminds me a bit of Lupin when she does this; he gets this look in his eye like he’s killing himself sometimes, but you always feel he’s laughing with you, not at you.
“Thanks,” I say abruptly. “You helped yesterday.”
“So did you. Trying all that cologne out for me.”
I really don’t want to think about that. I had to have a shower as soon as I got in, and you wouldn’t believe the comments Kreacher made when I went past him on the stairs.
“So what would you like for Christmas?” She’s looking at me with interest.
I’d like Dad home, especially for Mum’s sake. And I’ll even put up with Percy coming home as well, if it means Mum doesn’t come running with that hopeful look on her face every time an owl arrives. But, of course, I can’t say that.
“I dunno…” I must sound really pathetic. I know quite a few things I don’t want, like maroon jumpers. I wish Lupin would hurry up with the tea. “I suppose…” I glance at the window, seeing the snow falling even heavier now. “I’d like to be able to go out for a day. Go sledging or something.”
“Sledging?”
“Yeah. It’d be great fun. Make me feel Christmassy.” I shrug. “But we can’t. Sirius can’t leave here and Harry shouldn’t either.”
She frowns, looking towards the window herself, and then back at me.
“There’s the garden,” she says, thoughtfully. “All the protection spells apply to it as well.”
I try not to sigh at yet another example of a girl missing the glaringly obvious. “Yeah, well, it’s a bit flat, isn’t it? And there’s not that much snow, it’s not very big, and we haven’t got sledges. Apart from that, it’s absolutely perfect.”
The last bit comes out a bit sarcastic but, well, really. She’s supposed to be the brainy one.
Funnily enough, she doesn’t look annoyed. In fact, she’s giving me a rather smug and pitying look while playing with the ends of her hair.
“Ron,” she says gently. “How many witches and wizards were there in this house at the last count?”
My mouth drops open.
“Exactly.” She gives a pleased little nod of encouragement, reminding me of old Lupin again when someone gave the right answer in his class. “Including two Marauders who’d just love an opportunity to show off in front of admiring women folk. I’m sure that, between us all, we can fix up something. It’s a great idea of yours. We could all do with some fun this year, couldn’t we?”
She’s grinning at me like a mad thing and twirling bits of hair round her fingers. Like I say, I can never make Tonks out at all, but what with the perfume, and now this, she does seem to have her odd moments of sheer brilliance.
Girls are still inconsistent, though. I’ve definitely got that right.
-----------
We Three Kings, Part Two.
Author: gilpin25
Format: Fic
Rating & Warnings: PG13 (language by stressed characters).
Prompts: Sweets; sledging (or sledding, if you're in the US).
Word Count: 11,744
Summary: In the days leading up to Christmas at Grimmauld Place, 1995, three people see the relationship between Remus and Tonks through very different eyes.
Author’s Notes: I thought I’d try something a bit different for this one, having never written a story in first person, present tense before. In fact there’s a few “firsts” along the way, so any comments on the success or failure of it will be much appreciated. There’s about four different genres in it at the last count, which I like to think is something for everyone. It wasn’t meant to be this long but rather took on a life of its own, and so I've had to post it in two halves.
We Three Kings.
Bearing gifts we traverse to Grimmauld.
Molly.
I see things that others don’t.
One thing I can’t see at the moment is Great Auntie Muriel’s Apple and Honey Tart recipe because it’s covered in flour. I give it a shake and start to peel one of the big green apples, while waiting for the girl looking at the rain running slowly down the kitchen window to tell me what’s wrong. She’s wearing a long white sweater with black stars over some kind of black stretchy trousers, which are ridiculously tight on her slim legs and, if I don’t watch out, Ginny will decide she fancies something similar. And then we’ll argue about it, we’ll both get upset, and she won’t understand.
With their father in hospital there’s only me look after the children, only me to keep them safe. So I’m quicker to flare into anger, quicker to shout over the most trivial of things. I try so hard not to. But the fear won’t always be silent.
It’s the first Christmas Arthur and I have ever spent apart. I thought they would understand when he was hurt - I saw the terror on their faces when they were waiting for news, the realisation that there are some things in this world a flick of the wand can’t put right - but now he’s getting better, it’s all forgotten. I can hear them now. There’s laughter and footsteps echoing through the rooms upstairs; they’ve been hanging garlands of holly, and gold and silver streamers everywhere they can. Mungdungus is supposed to be bringing a tree over, if that daft idiot can be trusted to remember anything, and Sirius wants to conjure magical snow everywhere to impress Harry.
It’s lovely to see Sirius so happy, but am I the only one who sees it for what it is? It’s the happiness of a child who sees all his presents waiting under the tree and is almost mad with anticipation. But children always get tired and irritable when everything’s been opened and discarded, and then their mood swiftly changes for the worse.
As will everyone else’s.
Besides all the pretty garlands and magical snow in the world can’t make me forget. Nor can I forget the one child who did understand fear, though I didn’t realise until it was too late because it was a different kind. Surely Percy will come home now, where he belongs? I sent his Christmas jumper off today - I wasn’t sure what to do, whether or not to keep it here for him, but Remus said it was best to make sure he had it early. Just in case things were very busy work-wise at the Ministry. I think Remus was right, now I’ve thought it through. He usually is about things.
The girl at the window stirs and sighs lightly, almost as though she’s heard me thinking his name, and turns around to watch me. Frizzy, blonde-streaked hair today, that’s chopped off jaggedly at the shoulders, with black showing underneath. Pale pink lipstick. Huge dark eyes.
Please don’t let Ginny decide she wants to look like this. We’d never afford all the hair potions, for a start.
I carry on peeling apples. I feel very short and dowdy in comparison - a middle aged housewife envying a vibrant young girl. All the choices are still out there, waiting for her.
I think she’s made a few though, lately. I think that’s what this is all about.
“How many apples do you use?” she asks, pretending to be interested.
Part of me can’t help but wonder that she’s chosen me to talk to. We’re not close. Where are her friends? What’s her relationship with her Mother like? But then I never talked to my own mother, either, and I’m glad she’s here. I need to keep busy, I need to keep occupied; which is why I’ve already made crusty white rolls and butternut squash and lime soup for lunch, when I could have done ham and beef sandwiches in next to no time at all.
“Four Bramleys,” I say, taking the core out of one and starting to slice it, holding it down firmly against the table. “They’re the best because they give a bit of tart flavour against the honey and the custard. But I use Cox’s on the top; they’re that much sweeter, you see, so you get a contrast when you take a bite.”
She nods, as though she knows what I’m talking about. “Sounds good.”
“Would you like to do some mixing, dear?” I try not to think that asking her to beat egg yolks is like asking Ron not to pull threads in his new jumpers. Anyone would think he did it deliberately.
Her face lights up. “Yes. Yes, I would.”
She comes over to the table and I hand her the mixing bowl and edge sideways so there’s room for us both. I pass her the red apron, the one I gave Sirius which says Danger Man Cooking on it, and she ducks her head down, though I know full well she’s trying not to laugh.
“You want four egg yolks, two whole eggs and the honey in the bowl.” I watch her carefully while continuing to slice, in case anything slips and I need to grab it. “If you can heat the cream and saffron in that small cauldron for me, don’t let them boil whatever you do, and-“ I change my mind about the next bit as I see the glazed look in her eye “-then tell me when you’ve done that, dear.”
“Righty-ho.” She grins and starts cracking eggs and breaking them, far too high above the basin, but I try not to look. There’s probably shell going in there as well, but I won’t think about it.
We work in companionable silence for a while. It’s nice. I wasn’t sure of her when we first met - she kept messing around with her height and things, and I like to know where I am with somebody. No airs and graces, that’s me. Lots of people thought it was funny but it made me uncomfortable, especially when she altered her waistline and I thought she might be having a bit of a joke at my expense. I think she might have realised because she doesn’t do it now.
I was probably a bit sharp with her back then, really. I forgot about the job she does and the things she deals with. It doesn’t pay to under-estimate Nymphadora Tonks, just because she trips over things occasionally, and is still apologising for breaking my best chopping knife doing Merlin knows what. She certainly didn’t want to explain how it happened at breakfast this morning. Perhaps it was when I was going upstairs late last night, and heard her and Remus laughing together in here. All he did was hide behind the newspaper while I was trying to get to the bottom of it.
I wonder what’s gone wrong since then. They’ve looked so happy lately.
“Sorry,” she says, seeing me reach automatically for where the knife once was, and then remember and pick the other one up again.
“So you should be.” I smile, to take any edge from my words.
“I could buy you a new one for Christmas. A decent one that doesn’t break at the slightest thing.” She grins, glancing at me cheekily from under the blonde fringe, and I laugh in spite of the fact that it was my favourite knife and I dreamt about the Boggart again last night.
I’d hoped it would stop once Arthur was all right. I’d hoped it would go away.
I look at her. “You’re not still Christmas shopping?”
“Haven’t had much opportunity.” She frowns, her brow wrinkling in consternation, and I make a conscious effort not to look in the bowl. “What with work and then-“
She stops.
“Yes.” I help her out.
“I’m going tomorrow, actually.” She flicks another amused glance at me. “With Ron.”
“With Ron?” I can’t believe my ears. He always seems a bit shy of her. I’ve never even seen them speak.
She laughs. “Think he wants a bit of feminine advice. I said I was going and he asked if he could come along. Poor lad seems a bit desperate.”
“Oh!” I suddenly realise he wants to get me something, and doesn’t know who else to ask. Dearest Ronnie. I knew being a prefect would do him the world of good.
I have to turn my head away to blow my nose. Tears come so easily at the moment. Tonks goes over to look at the cream in the cauldron, and gives it a tentative stir in completely the wrong direction, which is almost guaranteed to make it lumpy.
“Anyway-“ She pauses and shoots a quick look over her shoulder, checking I’m all right. “I’ve still got the tricky people to get so perhaps Ron can help me out as well. There’s Sirius, Harry… “
She waits, staring fixedly at the simmering cream. Please don’t let it boil…
“So what are you getting Remus for Christmas?”
She walks back to the table, looks at the honey pot, and starts to pour it into the bowl. “I forgot my gloves the other night, you know.”
I wonder if she’s misheard the question. “You did?”
“Yeah.” She nods. “We went to see that Muggle Christmas Fair over to the east. After it was closed for the night. They’d got these giant tea cups and saucers that you could sit in, and we used magic to make them spin round and round like crazy things, and it was such fun. It was only afterwards I realised I was freezing. I always feel the cold so much. And Remus blew on my hands to warm them up.”
The last line comes out very quietly, as though it’s of no importance. But I know exactly what she’s saying about the warmth of a man’s breath, the way it causes your fingers to stir with a life of their own, and the sensation that goes through you. I’ve felt it myself with the right man and you never forget it.
I also know how close you have to stand to someone to have them hold your hands like that in the first place.
“And then I realised he didn’t have gloves of his own,” she says quietly again. “I don’t ever remember seeing him with any.”
I’m a bit lost as to what to say here. “So is that what you’re going to get him for Christmas?” Otherwise I can quickly knit some to go with his jumper, can’t I? And Hermione was asking what she could get him the other day, so if she got a pair as well he’d have two lots.
“Well, there’s the thing.” She bites her lip and I catch her hand to stop her pouring, just before the whole tart is going to need to be rechristened Honey Pie. “What do you buy the man who has-“
I wonder if she’s going to say so little.
“-lost the job he thought he’d got this morning?” There’s a bitterness to her voice I’ve never heard before. She slams the pot down on the table. “It’s so bloody unfair, Molly.”
“Was it-?“
“Yeah. A crap job. For crap money. Which he was over-qualified for. And they still wouldn’t bloody give it him.” Her eyes are bright with fury, and I feel mine prick with sympathy in return because my heart bleeds for them both. “And, best of all,” she looks at the untouched eggs as though she’d like to smash them on the table, “best of all, he gets to break the glad tidings to a stupid idiot, who is waiting for him in his room with a specially made banner that sings congratulations with rude lyrics that won’t shut up when he tries to tell her. But that’s okay, because she’s too busy trying to open the Firewhiskey to celebrate, to listen to what he’s actually saying.”
“Oh, Tonks, dear.” I want to put my arm around her, but she’s very independent, as well as very angry, and I’m not quite sure how she’d react. I’m also trying to absorb the news that she was in his room.
They must be courting then, mustn’t they? Should I ask?
“It’s not right. It makes me so mad.” She’s shaking her head.
“I know, dear.”
“People are so prejudiced. You weren’t happy yourself when you found out about the werewolf.” She’s looking at me accusingly.
“I don’t-“ It comes out too loud and shrill, as it always does when I’m on the defensive. I think with horror that she’s referring to the time when I barely knew Remus; when all I knew of him was that he was a Dark creature, and I didn’t want him anywhere near me or my family. But once you know him, it’s impossible to associate him with such an awful thing. There couldn’t be a kinder or a gentler man. I can’t believe how he can possibly be classed with the rest of them.
It’s ridiculous that he can’t get a job. But what does she mean? She surely doesn’t think that I…
“On the ward. With Arthur.” She’s still watching me closely.
“Oh!” I try to think of a way to explain that that’s completely different. Remus is the dearest of dear friends, but I don’t know that, er, that…
She moves restlessly. “What do I do now?”
“I don’t-“ For a minute I think she means with regard to Remus, and then I realise she’s moved over to the cauldron again and is looking at it doubtfully. “Is the cream boiling?”
“Er… Yeah. Sorry.”
“You need to beat it into the egg mix.”
“Okay.” She pours it in and starts to beat it in a way that’s going to make her arm ache in a minute or so. It’s what she needs. I’ve treated knitting needles like daggers in the last few days myself, and stabbed a few innocent chair arms with them.
It gives me time to think what’s best to say. Most people will think that it was Nymphadora Tonks who fell first for Remus Lupin, but most people will be wrong. I was there at Order meetings when he always contrived to sit next to her. I was there that day when she tried to match her hair to the colour of the single apricot rose that valiantly flowers in the stony garden here, and I saw the look on his face as he watched her. And I was there when she was late back from patrol one night, and he swore at Sirius and was short with me, and I saw him put his hands in his pockets to hide the shake in them when she finally did walk in with Mad-Eye.
Now I’m caught in memories of another couple, long ago. The girl who always fell for the Sirius Blacks of this world, even though they never even realised she breathed the same air as they did. She dreamt of them at night as she kissed her pillow with an open mouth and hugged it to her so she wasn’t alone. And all the time there was a young man waiting patiently for her to notice him, who hesitated because he thought he didn’t have much to offer, and yet was worth so much more than all the others put together.
When she finally did see him, she couldn’t see anyone else.
“Are you and he…?” I don’t know how to phrase it, but she seems to understand.
“We talked so much last night, Molly.” The dark eyes stare into mine. “Then we got a bit, er, diverted-“ She stops and two spots of colour appear in her cheeks, and I want to smile at the shine in her eyes because I can remember what it was like to be diverted in that way, and how it makes your heart sing. She shakes her head in impatience at herself and carries on. “But then he said something about seeing what today brings, and I know he was counting on good news, and now it’s all gone wrong! And he’s perfectly polite and talking and all that, but he’s not really saying anything to me any more. Not anything that matters, anyway.”
“Yes.” My mind’s whirling, trying to think.
“How would you let Arthur know?” She’s looking at me intently.
“Know?”
She waves the spoon in the air and half the precious mixture drops off it onto the table. “That the job doesn’t matter. That he does. It’s taken me long enough to realise and I won’t lose the silly bugger before we’ve even got started. You must have had to let Arthur know you didn’t mind being poor.”
My mouth is open. This is where she’s so disconcerting; talking about our lack of money like that. But there’s something in the matter-of-fact way she says it that makes me realise there’s no malice in it at all.
She just genuinely wants to know.
I cast my mind back, remembering the day after my parents had snubbed Arthur when I’d surprised him with a picnic hamper. He’d told me once he’d never had parties as a child so we sat down to jam and lemon curd sandwiches, baby tomatoes, little sausages, pineapple and cheese on sticks, followed by raspberry jelly, with the sweetest of mandarins and vanilla ice cream. We ate till we were fit to burst, giggling like children, and I looked at him with the sun glinting on his hair and on his fair, freckled arms, and thought I could never have imagined being so happy.
It all seems a very long time ago now. And Arthur is lying in a hospital bed.
“Do something silly,” I say, abruptly. “Make him laugh. Have fun together. Anything. Show him what matters.”
“But-“
“This Christmas present.” I’m getting worked up now, because I don’t want this to go wrong for them, and I’m not stopping, even while I slide the pastry case out of the way of her wandering elbow. “You can’t get him anything expensive, that’ll make things worse. What about making him something?”
She looks at me doubtfully. “Like what?”
“You tell me! You’ve just told me how well you know him! What does he like?”
“Well…” She screws her eyes up thinking, almost like she’s going to morph. “You know I’m not Hetty Housewitch, Molly, but I suppose he does like chocolate. And sweets. Cakes, too.”
“Brilliant!” I beam at her. “You can make him a cake!”
She pulls a face. “Couldn’t I just fight a couple of Dementors to impress him?”
“Tonks, dear.” I smile at her because I’m the one in my element here, and I can see how to help her, and I know it will work. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, after all. Remus is no different from any other. And doing it will give me lots to think about, less time on my own. “I’ll help you. There’s nothing to worry about. We’ll pick something easy. What about Apple and Armagnac Layer Cake?”
“No offence, but I think I’ve had enough of apples.” She looks at the ones on the table in front of her, and then looks at me, and those dark eyes are suddenly dancing and alive. She’s in her element, too, because she’s fighting back. “I want something with icing. Something I can stick sweets on. I want to spell out a message, even if I have to do it in Acid Pops. Got anything like that in your Witch Weekly recipe archives?”
I smile back at her; my mind already on several possibilities. There are four or five I can think of, straight off. Must pick a very simple one, though. There’s a lemon cake that I cover in gold icing that’s fairly straight-forward.
I like the idea of her giving him a cake of gold. A gift to show him how special he is.
“We’ll chat about it in a few minutes.”
“Not now?” She has a crease of disappointment wrinkling her brow.
“In a minute or two.” I smile to take any possible sting out of my words, but I’m going to have my work cut out with her. It’s just what I need and I want them so much to be happy, for something good to happen at this time of year. Arthur’s safe, after all, and I must try and enjoy myself. Forget for a little while the things I see that others don’t.
I take a deep breath. I’ve no idea how she’s managed this. Thank goodness Muriel isn’t around to see it because it would have brought on one of her sciatica attacks immediately.
“First we need to sort out why those eggs are floating on top of that cream, dear.”
---------
Ron.
Girls are completely clueless. Really. I’m on my feet because of the card I’ve found in the Chocolate Frog, and Harry gets it straight away when I say that Lupin had only mentioned the other day that he’d never found this one, and I knew he’d be thrilled.
It’s not as though I’m going to be long, and then we can get on with playing Destructive Dominoes - Harry says in the Muggle version the dominoes don’t try to pinch each other’s numbers, which sounds a bit dull to me - but, of course, Hermione has to chip in. She thinks I shouldn’t disturb him because he’s reading Hogwarts: A History in the library, and is probably appreciating the time on his own. Turns out that translates into poor old Lupin volunteering to find some obscure paragraph he thinks might help with SPEW. I give her a look because, let’s face it, she’s memorised the damn thing from cover to cover so he’s wasting his time. And he’s looked a bit down in the dumps the last couple of days as it is, without having to think about that rubbish.
We’ve only just got Harry over his funk about being possessed by You-Know-Who and responsible for what happened to Dad, and now something’s bugging Lupin. I think it might be the money thing; he seemed okay until someone mentioned buying presents for loved ones last night. I hate being poor and know how he feels when you can’t buy people what you want at this time of year. It’s a rotten feeling.
That’s something I don’t think Harry does get and we don’t talk about it much. It’s not his fault; it’s just how it is.
Lupin doesn’t say that much, really, but when he’s quiet you don’t half notice it. He’s the one who sort of jollies things along and keeps it all flowing. Mum was looking at him all through dinner last night and frowning; Sirius kept making daft jokes; Tonks was changing her face about ninety times, and he just smiled. I’ve always liked him, but it was only when we were taught Defence Against the Dark Arts by one maniac, and now have an even worse one in Umbridge, that I realise just how good he was.
And I’ve always felt a bit guilty about what I said to him in the Shrieking Shack. I’d have liked to have said sorry really.
So I completely ignore Hermione. She might be incredibly clever, but there’s things she just doesn’t get. I run up the stairs and fling the door open, skidding to a halt in the magical snow - Sirius may have overdone it a bit, I could barely get in my bedroom last night, due to a mini avalanche - and thinking how chuffed Lupin’s going to be when he sees what I’ve got.
Only he’s not as alone as Hermione thought. In fact Hogwarts:A History is lying ignored on the table, which shows what a sensible bloke he is. I bet he’s glad to see me, though it’s hard to tell as Tonks is obscuring him at the moment. She seems to have been perched precariously on the edge of the sofa arm to talk to him or something, and me opening the door so suddenly makes her lose her balance in surprise.
You’ve got to hand it to old Lupin. Nothing fazes him. Not even a girl with maroon hair - please don’t let Mum have knitted me a jumper in that colour again this year - going sprawling across his lap.
“Hello, Ron,” he says pleasantly, while helping her sit up. “Long time no see.”
I try not to grin because there’s a second when her legs are either side of him and she’s actually… But then she’s on her feet and looking at me like it’s all my fault. That’s a laugh. How was I to know she was in here? She’s been spending all her time holed up in the kitchen with Mum doing something mysterious.
I didn’t think Tonks was the domestic type and there’s really no need to glare at me like that. And what is she wearing? Some kind of pink and purple striped tunic dress over those tight black leggings she had on yesterday.
I - well - okay, she’s got very nice legs. I noticed that yesterday, too. It’s still a shame about the dress. And the hair.
“Was there something you wanted?” Lupin smiles at me, his eyes twinkling, looking a bit more cheerful than he did last night.
Well this is going to cheer him up even more.
“Look!” I hold out the card with Cliodna, the Irish Druidess who’s also an Animagus, on it.
Lupin steps forward, smoothing his hair down which is stuck up at angles.
“Is that really--?”
“A Chocolate Frog card?” Tonks says it in a distinctly unimpressed way. She flicks the maroon hair back over one shoulder. “You’ve brought him a Chocolate Frog card?”
This sort of thing’s wasted on girls, it really is. They just don’t get it.
Lupin smiles gently, taking the card from me. “Not just any card, though,” he says, in exactly the tone I hoped he would. “I don’t know how many years I’ve been trying to get this one. Or how many Frogs I’ve eaten along the way.”
“It’s yours.” I grin at him. “I’ve got another one of those at home.”
He looks really startled. And pleased. It’s quite touching. Then he’s looking at me keenly. “Wasn’t there a card you’ve always wanted? Agrippa, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, but…” I can feel myself starting to go red. He can’t mean-?
“I think I’ve got one of those going spare somewhere.”
“That’s very handy, isn’t it? You having two like that.” Tonks, who is clearly in a right paddy still about looking an idiot in front of me, gives him what can only be described as one of those meaningful looks girls frequently give. You never understand what the hell they mean because they don’t actually bother to explain. And if you try and guess it’s always wrong, and then somehow it’s your fault instead of theirs.
“Of course you could just accept it as an early Christmas present,” she adds, still laying on thick the meaningful look. “No need to give anything in return. The pleasure is in the giving. It’s what friends do for each other.”
Now I’m giving her what I hope is a pointed look of my own, because I’ve tried for bloody years to get my hands on Agrippa, and did anyone ask her to butt in? Besides Harry and I have already got old Lupin a pair of gloves for Christmas, which I bought yesterday while she was there - she was buying a posh brown leather pair for someone herself - and we’re back to this whole being poor thing again.
It’s embarrassing to be given too much when you can’t reciprocate. This time he can, so he wants to. If she thought before she opened her mouth a bit more, she’d realise that.
Lupin half smiles at her, but he’s looking all solemn again. Damn.
“Nevertheless,” he says firmly, “while I do appreciate that, I appreciate Ron’s kind gesture even more. And, as fellow Frog card collectors, it would be an early Christmas present for us both if we had complete collections.” He pauses and then adds: “It’ll make us equal partners, which is always important.”
Sometimes he’s just so cool. He’s standing there in the shabbiest green jumper imaginable - Mum’ll fix that in a few days time, I’m sure, Merlin help him - but he’s got, I dunno, dignity, I suppose. He was just like this at school, whenever Malfoy and Co. tried to take the piss out of him and then got put in their place in about five seconds flat. What he says sounds incredibly polite but it’s like a shower of freezing December rain down the back of your neck, and I can see the colour rise in Tonks’ face.
Suddenly I feel really sorry for her. I’m not sure why. She sits down heavily on the edge of the sofa and looks as if she’s just lost five games of Destructive Dominoes in a row, like Hermione has.
“I’ll get the card. And some tea.” Lupin smiles at me.
“I should be getting back. I did promise Harry and Hermione.”
“Five minutes and one of your Mum’s mince pies as well?” He laughs at my face. “I know where the card is, so it won’t take me long and you can chat to Tonks in the meantime.”
“Right.” I try not to look unenthusiastic at that prospect, but he’s turned away anyway, and is looking at her, a frown creasing his face.
“Nymp-“ He bites it off, thank goodness, because it’s really not going to help her strop by calling her the name she hates. It’s not like him to make a mistake like that. Though he does call it her, occasionally, now I think about it, and he seems to get away with it.
That’s another thing girls are, is inconsistent.
She looks up at him, her face quite fierce underneath that awful hair. “We’ve still got to get sorted what we were talking about earlier, Remus. You know - Christmas presents and everything.”
She’s staring up at him but I don’t think she can read anything on his face, because I certainly can’t. He just nods and says quietly: “I am trying to get it all sorted, Tonks,” and I’m a bit cross with her again, because it’s all right for her on an Auror’s salary, isn’t it? Everyone knows how well paid they are. Harping on about it to the poor bloke isn’t going to help him now, is it?
“I’ll bring you a mince pie, too.” He steps quickly round her, his fingertips resting on her shoulder for a second as he does so, and then the door closes behind him, leaving her gazing at the fire burning in the grate, and me thinking I shouldn’t have bothered with the tea.
But I do want Agrippa.
I wander over to the window, to give myself something to do. It’s been snowing on and off all day, and it’s falling quite thickly now. Grimmauld’s got the most hideous garden; it never had to be de-gnomed because they wouldn’t be seen dead within a mile of it, but even it looks good covered in snow. I wish we could do something like going sledging but Harry would need a guard to leave here, and Sirius couldn’t come anyway so it’s a rubbish idea.
Tonks clears her throat, making me jump. “It was nice of you to give Remus that card,” she says.
I turn around and she’s watching me, those legs - okay, those great legs - crossed, and her chin resting on her hands.
“Are you pleased with everything you got yesterday?” she asks. “We seemed to have enough bags between us.”
To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone with as many bags as she had. We did so many reducing charms it was ridiculous. Talk about scatty; anyone would think she had no idea what to get and so bought everything in sight.
She has some good ideas though. That minature Firebolt she’s got Harry is really cool.
“Where have you put all those sweets?” I’m quite curious actually. I bought Cockroach Clusters and Pepper Imps for Fred and George, Every-Flavour Beans for Harry, as well as some coconut ice for Mum, as that’s her favourite. Tonks bought - and I might have missed some because my mouth was open so far in amazement - Acid Pops, Chocoballs, Ice Mice, Peppermint Toads, lemon drops, Licorice wands, something she said was a Muggle delicacy called Turkish Delight and which looked completely revolting, and a bag full of chocolate which would feed an average family of twenty.
She grins. “I went a bit mad, I think.”
“You must have a lot of friends who like chocolate.”
Those big dark eyes of hers look a bit sad. “You know what it’s like when you don’t know what the other person would really like and so you try too hard? That’s what I’ve gone and done. I was supposed to be making a present for someone but it’s not going very well, so I thought I’d have some things in reserve. I didn’t think anything was quite right when I got it all home last night, and now I’m having a bit of a panic.”
I can never make Tonks out. She really puts you on the spot with some of the things she says - I can’t believe some of the things she says to Harry - but then she says something like that and you see a different side to her. Plus she’s an Auror as well, which is pretty amazing.
I dunno; she just seems a really genuine person. Irritating sometimes, and yesterday was a bit of a nightmare, to put it mildly, but she did try and help.
Sort of.
We didn’t get off to a good start when she appeared in some kind of loose harlequin black-and-white jumper with big black pompoms for buttons down the front, those legging things - I really do like those - a long jade green swirly cloak, and copper coloured hair in some kind of elaborate ponytail thing, with bits hanging out everywhere.
And there’s me wanting to keep a low profile. I ask you.
Someone really ought to explain to girls that messing around with their appearance is a waste of time. Tonks is okay-looking as it is, without having to try every colour of the rainbow out for her hair. It’s like Hermione getting all done up for the Yule Ball, to impress that idiot Krum. If she’d bothered to ask me, I could have told her that men like girls who look natural, so that they know where they are with them. It didn’t work out, did it, so that should have told her something but, again, I expect she’s missed the obvious.
Talking of obvious, I wonder why Harry is getting all this action with Cho while I can’t get any? What am I doing wr-?
A log cracks suddenly in the fire; showers of sparks shooting out and I jump.
Tonks is looking at me expectantly and I realise I haven’t answered whatever it was she said, and I’m going bright red wondering if Hermione would ever wear something like her leggings.
Pull yourself together, Weasley. Act casual.
“Erm, what about that other stuff you got? From the perfumery?”
She brightens up. “Yeah, I quite like that. What about you?”
The main point of the whole shopping trip was to go in From Myrrh To Musk, the very intimidating perfumery, but I couldn’t tell her that. I made up this tale about wanting to get Mum something completely different to her normal Eau de Gardenia, or whatever it is, thinking I was being clever because Tonks is a modern kind of witch, and must be up on these things. She’s certainly up on something because she promptly started asking me impossible questions such as: “Does she like lavender?” For a moment, I thought she meant the one at Hogwarts. Meanwhile I’m wondering what the bloody hell tuberose and lime blossom are, and then I turn round to find she’s got her nose buried in the men’s cologne.
Turns out she’s sniffing something that’s musky with some sort of amber smell thrown in for good measure. It’s not quite what I had in mind, somehow. She ends up buying it, despite the name, which is something ludicrous like Myrrh Pour Homme. At this point I do wonder if Tonks has got a boyfriend, because she mutters something when she realises I’ve come up behind her and goes a nice shade of pink. Merlin, you could just imagine the sort of wizard she’d go for - some twenty year old bass player in a band with dreadlocks, I expect.
It’s probably for her Dad. Any bloke who went out with her would need to be out of his mind.
“Don’t worry, I think she’ll like it.” Tonks is grinning at me, in a way that brings me abruptly back to reality, and makes me feel uncomfortable as I don’t think she’s referring to my Mum. On the other hand, I do think I can trust her not to blab or laugh.
“You don’t think it’s too unusual?” Somehow she talked me into something called Blue Nagara, which she told me had a sparkling citrus smell, with overtones of cinnamon and nutmeg.
Bit fruity, I’d have called it. Like a grapefruit. Merlin, I hope Hermione likes it. I dunno why I’ve got it really, especially when I’ll get something like a book on edited highlights from Hogwarts: A History in return, but … I want her to have something girly.
So she knows she doesn’t have to dress up like that again to be noticed.
“No, it’s very feminine.” Tonks is still grinning, like she’s having a secret laugh, but I don’t mind. She reminds me a bit of Lupin when she does this; he gets this look in his eye like he’s killing himself sometimes, but you always feel he’s laughing with you, not at you.
“Thanks,” I say abruptly. “You helped yesterday.”
“So did you. Trying all that cologne out for me.”
I really don’t want to think about that. I had to have a shower as soon as I got in, and you wouldn’t believe the comments Kreacher made when I went past him on the stairs.
“So what would you like for Christmas?” She’s looking at me with interest.
I’d like Dad home, especially for Mum’s sake. And I’ll even put up with Percy coming home as well, if it means Mum doesn’t come running with that hopeful look on her face every time an owl arrives. But, of course, I can’t say that.
“I dunno…” I must sound really pathetic. I know quite a few things I don’t want, like maroon jumpers. I wish Lupin would hurry up with the tea. “I suppose…” I glance at the window, seeing the snow falling even heavier now. “I’d like to be able to go out for a day. Go sledging or something.”
“Sledging?”
“Yeah. It’d be great fun. Make me feel Christmassy.” I shrug. “But we can’t. Sirius can’t leave here and Harry shouldn’t either.”
She frowns, looking towards the window herself, and then back at me.
“There’s the garden,” she says, thoughtfully. “All the protection spells apply to it as well.”
I try not to sigh at yet another example of a girl missing the glaringly obvious. “Yeah, well, it’s a bit flat, isn’t it? And there’s not that much snow, it’s not very big, and we haven’t got sledges. Apart from that, it’s absolutely perfect.”
The last bit comes out a bit sarcastic but, well, really. She’s supposed to be the brainy one.
Funnily enough, she doesn’t look annoyed. In fact, she’s giving me a rather smug and pitying look while playing with the ends of her hair.
“Ron,” she says gently. “How many witches and wizards were there in this house at the last count?”
My mouth drops open.
“Exactly.” She gives a pleased little nod of encouragement, reminding me of old Lupin again when someone gave the right answer in his class. “Including two Marauders who’d just love an opportunity to show off in front of admiring women folk. I’m sure that, between us all, we can fix up something. It’s a great idea of yours. We could all do with some fun this year, couldn’t we?”
She’s grinning at me like a mad thing and twirling bits of hair round her fingers. Like I say, I can never make Tonks out at all, but what with the perfume, and now this, she does seem to have her odd moments of sheer brilliance.
Girls are still inconsistent, though. I’ve definitely got that right.
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We Three Kings, Part Two.