We Three Kings Part II 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: Happy Christmas to everyone!
We Three Kings.
Sirius.
I can’t believe the fuss Molly is making about the damn tea trays. I can still hear her in the hallway, going on about it to a no doubt enthralled Hermione. Now the charms and transfiguration have been reversed, it is possible to see signs of wear and tear on them - even the odd bum-shaped dent, I have to admit - and the one Tonks crashed into the fence on is probably beyond anyone’s repair, but who cares? Everyone’s had a fantastic time, Fred’s knee swelling isn’t that bad, Bill’s laughing about his hand, and it was just wonderful to see Harry yelling and screaming without a care in the world.
I’d happily sacrifice every tea tray in the house for that. He looked just like James.
It’s not as though they’re hers anyway, though apparently the one with the family crest on that Tonks has ruined (I may have to give her another Christmas present as a thank you), was the one Molly liked to use on a Sunday morning whenever she took Arthur breakfast in bed.
Of course, I feel guilty when she says that with over-bright eyes and give her another goblet of mulled wine, and a sort of half-hearted hug which makes her giggle. Then I realise everyone whose been drinking the wine has over-bright eyes. Must be my extra ingredients. I do like to make a sledging party go with a swing, and I thought it would help everyone’s courage levels when it came to tackling the slope. Or, to be more accurate, the ski jump.
I seem to have been tried and convicted for that, simply because I was there. Story of my life, really. The far end of the garden originally started off with a gentle descent your Granny could walk down (though my Granny never walked anywhere, that’s why she had a house-elf). A bit more of a challenge for the able bodied amongst us seemed to be required, but Moony rather cuttingly told me there was no need to erect Mount Ego so I let the smug git get on with it. Much like his prefect career, things started off promisingly, right up until the moment Tonks bent over her sledge in front of him in her red ski pants. You’ve got to hand it to women - they’re so transparent, and yet it works every time. One jerky flick of the wand later, and we had a slope you had to crane your neck to look up.
It probably didn’t help that I was howling with laughter, but Fred and George were off to try it, with Ron, Harry and Ginny in hot pursuit, before a mortified Moony could put matters right. It makes me laugh just to think of his face.
“I’m glad you think it’s funny.” Moony has to speak up to make himself heard as the pipes noisily register their disapproval of yet another person wanting a post-sledging shower upstairs. Hopefully it’s Molly, so I’ll get a break from the tea tray inquest, even though she only stood and watched, and was last seen telling Tonks that she’d see her in the kitchen as soon as she’d cleaned herself up.
Merlin knows what the pair of them have been up to for days now, but Tonks is changing her hair colour a lot, which she once told me was like a nervous reaction to stress, much like biting your nails. I’d like to put this little episode down to Molly giving her enforced cooking lessons, but I think the main reason is sat opposite me, slouched in the corner armchair as though he’ll never willingly move again. I must be getting old because the feeling is mutual. Or just not getting out very much.
Still, it was fantastic, I just love this Christmas, and I love having everyone around. It’s a shame on poor old Arthur, of course, but his bad luck is my gain. The prospect I was facing was day after day like every other - quiet, nothing to do, no entertainment, no amusement, no company, just icy cold walls with all the ghosts in them …
I don’t want to think about that. I don’t have to think about that. This is fantastic and I want everyone to be as happy as I am.
Moony’s staring at the presents underneath the tree Dung got with a curious expression on his face. Bet he’s going to be pleased with the gloves I’ve got him.
I raise my goblet in salute to attract his attention, a simple movement which makes every muscle in my arm ache.
“Go on, admit it - you had a great time, too.” I watch his head come round slowly to look at me, as though he’s belatedly registering my words. “For someone who wasn’t going to have a go but just watch us kiddies.”
“I wish I had left it to you kiddies.” Moony shifts in his chair and winces. “I can’t think why I didn’t.”
Because your girlfriend was egging you on. “You must be ageing, Professor Lupin!” was the one that finally got under his skin. Of course, it ended with her going smack into the fence while laughing her head off, and everyone applauding Moony who sailed down and then gallantly went to dig her out.
Which took him a suspiciously long time.
I give him a look, which he meets with an innocent one of his own. “Must have been your interesting refreshments over-riding my better judgement,” he says calmly, while knowing damn well it wasn’t.
Actually he ought to be extremely grateful to my wine-making abilities, because if the pair of them think they can carry on again like they did in public today, and keep things quiet, they’re in dream land. I’m sure they cover the correct way to sit on a sledge in Auror training, for a start. Then there was all those little smiles, and the accidental brushing against each other at every opportunity. All right, kids never notice anything adults do, and I suppose Molly’s head is full of knit one, purl one, but Bill’s not daft, and before long it’s going to occur to him that Moony’s getting a piece of some very exciting action.
Is he, though? One minute they were all fluttering eyelashes and bedroom looks, and I’m thinking they’re going to disappear any second now and I’m going to have to cover for him like he always did for me, and the next they’re looking all serious and there’s a good six inches of daylight between them.
Thinking back, I can’t quite pinpoint when it happened. Must have been when I was with Harry and Ron, trying to see if we could increase the speed of the sledges without flipping them over. Or Molly seeing.
I need to get to the bottom of this; I suppose I should be tactful and mind my own business, but James and I never did do that with him. And I owe him such a lot, especially for these last months, and it’s so hard to do anything for him.
“What’s up?”
I expect him to deny anything is, but he just takes a long swig of wine and says nothing.
Now I’m worried. The lines on his face are very prominent, even in the shadowed light in here.
“I’m not sure I’ve had enough to drink to answer.” He half-grins at me.
“There’s some vodka jellies in the pantry. I’ll get those if you like.”
He does the same grin again. It’s like an imitation of the real thing. “And Molly hasn’t spotted them?”
“There’s so many charms on them I have a hard time remembering where they are myself.” I wait, and we both watch the logs burning in the fire, and listen to the gurgling in the pipes, and the occasional shout from upstairs. The kids are having such a good time, and when the house is full like this I can’t hear any of the ghosts whispering to me.
It’s very different to Christmas in Azkaban. I only knew what day it was by the marks I carved in the stone walls.
“I’ve bought Tonks some earrings,” he says, at last, sounding as if the words are being dragged out of him.
I wait again, but there doesn’t seem to be any more. “That’s nice.”
“Yes. They’re opals; should change colour to match her mood.”
I start to say something about hoping they can do her favoured pink, while really thinking that any stone might self-combust trying to keep up with her current changes, but he suddenly adds: “There’s a necklace to go with them, but I can’t afford that. I was counting on getting that job, you see.”
“Tonks won’t mind.”
“It’s the thought that counts and everything?” This time the smile is a wry one. “I mind for her, you see.”
“Look.” I take a breath, because I know exactly how this next bit is going to go. But if I don’t offer it looks like I don’t care, and if I do offer it embarrasses us both. Especially as I know what the answer is before I start. It’s the ultimate no-win situation, and I hate it, but I still have to do it.
I take another breath. “You know that I-“
He cuts me off. “Yes. I know.”
“It’s nothing to me, and it would give me a lot of pleas-“
“I do know.” He smiles at me and this one’s genuine. “And thank you. But no.”
“Okay.” I grin, trying to keep this light. “But the offer’s there if you ever change your mind.”
He takes another swallow of wine and pulls a face. “When I wake up with a horrendous hangover on Christmas Eve, I’ll take you for every Galleon you’ve got. Is there anything you haven’t put in here?”
“Well I saved all the vodka for the jellies.” I say it absently, trying to get my head round the fact that it’s going to be Christmas Eve tomorrow, and also what he’s said in the last few minutes. And what he hasn’t. “The necklace isn’t really the problem though, is it?”
This time he salutes me with his goblet, acknowledging that I’ve guessed right. “I don’t want to shock you.” Those over-bright eyes are glinting with mischief, but there’s another, more disturbing, emotion there as well.
Sorrow? Resignation? There are so many things I’d like to do to that bitch, Umbridge, but I’ve got to keep the levity going for both our sakes.
“Great. You know how dull my life is here. Shock me.”
“It isn’t the necklace, as you say. I know Tonks won’t mind.” He’s running a finger slowly round the rim of the goblet. “But it has made me see that I can barely support myself, and that things aren’t likely to change in the foreseeable future. So that if, perhaps one day, I ever needed to think about supporting someone else,” he pauses, a quick look of self-mocking amusement flitting across his face, “then there’s next to no chance of that happening. Which leads me to the inescapable conclusion that I’m being very selfish, asking Tonks to get involved with me at all, and that, if I really cared for her, I’d put a stop to this before we both get hurt. If it’s not already too late for that.”
He pauses, looks at me again and, amazingly, he’s smiling. “Do you need a few minutes, Padfoot? I could go take a shower and come back, if you like.”
“No!” I resist the temptation to wipe my brow. Bloody hell, he’s already thinking about the m-word? They’ve only been seeing each other five minutes, haven’t they? It’s not James and Lily all over again, is it?
To my horror, I feel a pang of envy go right through me. It’s like a sharp pain. It’s not that I want it for myself; it’s that I’m going to be left behind. Again. As though I’m not left behind stuck in this mausoleum every single hour of every single day.
While Harry pities me.
God, I’m getting maudlin. It’s the bloody drink. I’m happy. This is the best Christmas ever.
“I did say ‘perhaps one day.’” It’s that wry smile again. “In the far off distant future. But that’s another thing; Tonks’ future is all ahead of her. She can do anything she wants. What she doesn’t need is a mistake.”
I find my voice, even though it sounds abrupt. He might think it’s in the distant future but he can kid himself all he likes - if he’s thought about it, it’s because some part of him wants it. “She’s in her twenties; she’s old enough to know what she wants.”
“In your twenties, you can still be anything you want. Which brings me back to the selfish bit, again.”
“Aren’t all men selfish brutes?” Now I’m resorting to jokes while I’m desperately trying to think what to say next. Is he right in what he’s saying? On some level, yes, he is. On most levels. But do I really think Tonks is in this for the long haul?
I don’t know. That’s the truth; I don’t. But there’s only one answer I can give him. Even if it means I get left behind again.
“Some more selfish than others, it seems.” He sighs and lies back in his chair, taking another sip of wine.
“Have you talked about this to Tonks?”
He peers at me through half shut eyes. “Not really. I tried the other day, in the library, but didn’t get very far. We were actually on our own for five minutes and we seemed to mutually decide it was too good an opportunity to waste by talking.” He gives me a sheepish look. “Ron nearly caught us as it happens but, of course, it never entered his head that she’d ever look twice at the likes of me. Thank goodness.”
The last two words are the tiniest bit unconvincing. I raise an eyebrow at him, trying not to yawn.
“I thought you were the one who wanted to keep it all secret?”
“I was. I do. Merlin.” He rubs his hand across his eyes. “It’s just … a small part of me would like someone not to think it’s unbelievable. Someone not to think it’s ridiculous. How selfish is that?”
There’s a great opportunity for me to be selfish here, as well. To tell him he is right and that he’d be doing Tonks a favour if he stops it now. That she’ll be hurt, she’ll cry, but she’ll get over it. So will he, in time. And I won’t lose my last remaining best friend.
The only thing I can say in my defence is that I only think that for a second. Bad enough that I do even that, but … we’re only human, aren’t we? Both of us. Human and selfish to the core when it comes to it.
What woman could ask for more than that? Suddenly everything seems very funny again, and I’m almost tempted to sing a quick burst of ‘The First Noel, the centaurs did say.’ Except I'm supposed to be concentrating on the matter that isn't in hand.
“What’s Tonks giving you for Christmas?” That wakes him up. He almost starts in surprise.
“Wha-What’s that got to do with anything?”
“What’s she giving you for Christmas?”
“I’ve no idea. I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you know? You’ve all but told me you can’t keep your hands off her, yet you’ve got no interest in what she’s giving you for Christmas?”
He gives me a look reminiscent of the one Hermione gave me when I suggested rolling Kreacher down the slope and seeing how big a snowball he’d turn into. That reminds me; it’s ages since I’ve clapped eyes on the little bastard.
“I think there’s normally something about a surprise element being involved.” Now he’s gone very dry and sarky.
“So what would you like from her?”
“Anything at all will be wonderf-“ He catches himself and stops, but it’s too late. I grin at him. “Right. Very clever. But I did say it wasn’t about affording the necklace, didn’t I?”
“You did.” I nod in agreement, which makes my head swim. “You didn’t mention how hard it must be for her to get you something, though. Not too expensive, in case it upsets you, or offends your pride, but she’s desperate to show she cares at the same time. You think it’s tough for you, Moony, but I think you’re the one whose got it simple. What’s it matter if you both give each other paper hats for Christmas? I’m sure she’d much rather you both sat down, acknowledge it’s awkward all round, but who cares? And once you’ve done that, you can have a few vodka jellies between you to really make sure you don’t care.”
Silence.
It’s always possible I overdid that slightly. Plus he’s the most stubborn sod ever. But then he wants to give in, doesn’t he?
“It’s not really solving anything,” he says hesitantly, after a while. “Not the big problems.”
“Everyone has problems,” I say firmly. “And unless you can come up with a better reason right now than you shouldn’t be together because of some necklace you can’t afford, well … James will be turning in his grave in disgust at you. You’ve got a woman who’s not bothered by the furry little problem and you’re worrying about a future that may never happen. If you don’t straighten this out and have a fantastic Christmas like the rest of us, I may have to kill you out of sheer envy, you jammy bugger. I’m praying someone’s gift-wrapped a woman for me, even if it’s some old hag Voldemort’s rejected.”
More silence. My head’s pounding and he’s not quite in focus any more. But I think that’s a smile playing round his lips.
“There is a rumour going round Fred and George have got you some kind of blow-up doll. But I don’t want to get your hopes up. And - thank you. I’m not sure you’re right, but…” He shrugs his shoulders and definitely grins. “You think you are and I want you to be.”
“I’m always right. Always, always … right.” I’m exhausted; we’ve got this bottle to finish, and I promised Molly I’d have another go at straightening the wretched tea trays out, but I really think I’ve done some good here. And I owe him for all the nights he’s sat with me and never once made me feel that the world and he moved on for twelve years while I got left behind.
I’m happy. It’s a fantastic Christmas. It could be the best one ever.
“Course I’m right. Almost certainly I’m sure I’m right.” Suddenly the words are running away from me and running into each other. My eyes are smarting and I blink to clear them; I can’t see his expression, but I think he may be frowning and I can’t have that, so I make an almighty effort to show him I’m okay.
“S’my gift to you, Moony. Rude not to accept gifts. Upsets people, you know? Whether rightly, surely…” I pause for breath. Got to get this last bit right. I’m trying to say that, frankly, it’s just sense. But the words insist on running together again and what comes out sounds more like: “Frankincense.”
Well it’s Christmas, after all. Best one ever.
----------
Molly.
Quarter to twelve, Christmas Eve.
Normally at this time I’d be in my own small, cluttered kitchen; tired, back and feet aching fit to kill me, but safe in the knowledge that the children are all tucked up in bed, and tomorrow we’ll all be together. I’d be preparing the vegetables to save some time in the morning when it’s all so hectic and rushed, and Arthur would be drinking cocoa at the table while slicing carrots to help me. We wouldn’t talk much because we’d both be so weary, but we’d be happy.
And at twelve o’clock, without fail, we’d toast each other and welcome in Christmas Day.
It’s funny what changes a year can bring; I’m in another kitchen, preparing vegetables again, thinking of Arthur, thinking of Percy, wondering why my head has been so muzzy all day when I didn’t have much to drink yesterday, and watching the girl with the jaunty pink hair frowning over the golden cake.
If she’d only turn her back for a minute, I could break one of my unbreakable cooking rules and use magic. I could suggest she tastes the brandy butter for me, and then she’d have to turn around.
But then she’d know, wouldn’t she? I’m not sure she didn’t see me add extra sugar to the mix when she bent down to get that spoon I’d deliberately dropped on the floor. It’s better that I leave well alone. Besides she’s covering it in so much chocolate, it’ll be hard to notice, even though I’ll know the lump’s there. I really can’t understand how Nymphadora Tonks can make a simple sponge rise like a lop-sided loaf of bread.
What is she writing on it? I’ve stood over here to give her some privacy, but it’s infuriating not being able to see. She’s spent absolutely ages reducing the chocolate to the tiniest little buttons imaginable, and now she’s painstakingly spelling out something incredibly long-winded.
I know I’m a silly old romantic, but I do hope it’s something like: All I want for Christmas is you. That would be just perfect.
She raises her head and smiles at me. She’s wearing a pale pink, very fluffy V-neck jumper, with a large white snowman on the front. His eyes move, rather like Mad-Eye’s, which certainly isn’t helping my head. And there are black jeans, which I saw Ginny eyeing with envy over dinner.
Is it really necessary for them to be that tight?
“I think it’s as finished as it’s ever going to be. Thank you so much, Molly. For everything.” When Tonks is happy, her whole face seems to light up. It’s always gloomy in Grimmauld’s kitchen, but her eyes are dancing and there’s a bounce to her step, even though she must be as tired as I am.
“You’re welcome, dear.” I mean it, too. Spending time with her has kept me busy; stopped me thinking about anything much, except that if I take my eyes off her for a second then the icing won’t be so much gold as anaemic lemon.
“Not long till you see Arthur tomorrow.” She glances at the clock in front of her and smiles. “Nearly today, now. Remus and Mad-Eye are on duty, they’ll be taking you and the children to see him.”
I wonder if I’ll get to see Percy, too? I haven’t heard anything from him, but - no, I won’t think about it. Tonks only finished her Ministry shift late tonight; she said how busy it was there, and Percy’s so conscientious he’ll probably be last to leave. Remus has been out all day today as well, but Tonks came home to find a message pushed under her door. She says it asks if she minds waiting up for him, that he’ll do his best to be home in time for them to see Christmas in together.
It’s just like Arthur and I always do. I’m so pleased for her. It’s even worth having that stupid snowman’s eyes keep rolling at me.
But Remus is cutting it fine.
“Is that …?” She’s looking upwards. I haven’t heard anything, but then he is renowned for being one of the few people who can get through the front door silently.
“I don’t think-“ I start, but she’s already wiping her hands on my tea towel - that’s what the hand towels are for! - and is half way to the door.
“I’ll just go check,” she says. “I could have sworn I heard something.”
By the time she’s finished the sentence, she’s starting up the stairs towards the drawing room. I cross my fingers for her, thinking I hear a faint footstep myself, and check the clock on the table next to the …
… cake.
I snatch it up and hurry after her. She wanted to have it on the table ready for him.
“Tonks!” She’s alone, thankfully, as I arrive panting, looking towards the opposite doorway through which he’d have to come.
“Oh, Molly! What would I do without you?” Her dark eyes somehow catch what little light there is in the room, which comes from the dying fire in the grate. The snowman on her front seems to nod in cheerful approval at me. She sets the cake down on the small coffee table, and I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it and I’m craning forward behind her to see what the chocolate writing says.
It’s illuminated by the flare of a small, stubborn flame, just for a few seconds.
‘Winner of Cutest Bum on a Sledge, Christmas 1995 - Professor R. J. Lupin.’
My mouth falls open.
“I know.” She ducks her head down, and I know she’s trying not to grin at my reaction. “But it was the fact that he made me laugh which made me notice him in the first place. And he says I made him laugh, too, before anything else happened between us.”
Suddenly it doesn’t matter that I’m thinking appalled thoughts about young people today. They’re stuffy thoughts and Arthur, dearest Arthur, would be gently reminding me of some of the things we got up to, which would make her mouth drop open a whole lot wider.
Besides I can hear footsteps in the corridor. Coming this way.
There’s just time to squeeze her hand and she mouths “Thank you” again at me. Really, I should be the one thanking her. For needing me.
I’m at the doorway as I hear his footsteps enter the room, then half way through as my feet hesitate of their own accord and my hand pauses on the door. I should leave, I know I should, but I’m hidden in the gloom and the dark; they’ll never know I’m still here and it’s so tempting to see just a little.
I need to know they’re happy.
Just for a minute.
I turn my head to watch. The skeleton clock on the mantelpiece shows both hands are nearly at twelve.
Tonks stands next to the low fire; the glow of it illuminating her young face, emphasising the paleness of her skin, highlighting those intelligent eyes. Her hands are clasped tightly together in front of her, and I see the rise and fall of her breast is quicker than it should be.
My own heart's thumping, in sympathy with hers.
Remus takes a step towards her and stops. There’s a small package under his arm, which he carefully places on the chair nearest to him without taking his gaze from hers. He unbuttons his cloak, which is covered with a fine mist of rain, and drops that there too. I can’t really see his expression clearly but he stretches out an uncertain hand to her, his fingers wavering slightly, and she takes it at once and lifts the palm to her cheek. He slides the hand into her hair, his other finds her waist, and they come together. For a moment they just look at each other and he smiles, and I feel the heat rise in my own face to match hers as I hear the words he whispers to her.
I see her answering smile. I see her hands go to his shoulders, one of them moving into the hair at the nape of his neck. I hear what she says in return, hear the quickening of his breath, and see how the tremble in her body is reflected in his.
I know the ache she feels inside.
The want.
The desire.
I miss Arthur so much.
Remus says something else to her, stroking her face, something I can’t quite catch this time, and suddenly I’m glad because now it’s for them alone and that’s exactly how it should be. His hold tightens, his long fingers clasping her jumper, her back, pulling her even closer, and she rises on her toes, stretching up towards him.
He lowers his head, his hand sliding into her hair again, and she meets his lips with her own.
There’s a tiny sigh of joy and relief and it comes from me.
They cling together, mouth searching mouth, and I can feel their need for each other from where I am. There’s no more hiding, no more pretence. He’s kissing her as if he adores her; she’s kissing him as if this is a love that will last forever.
I draw the door shut very quietly behind me and step into the cold hallway, on my way to my lonely bed.
I see things that others don’t.
Sometimes they’re wonderful.
-----------
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: Happy Christmas to everyone!
We Three Kings.
Sirius.
I can’t believe the fuss Molly is making about the damn tea trays. I can still hear her in the hallway, going on about it to a no doubt enthralled Hermione. Now the charms and transfiguration have been reversed, it is possible to see signs of wear and tear on them - even the odd bum-shaped dent, I have to admit - and the one Tonks crashed into the fence on is probably beyond anyone’s repair, but who cares? Everyone’s had a fantastic time, Fred’s knee swelling isn’t that bad, Bill’s laughing about his hand, and it was just wonderful to see Harry yelling and screaming without a care in the world.
I’d happily sacrifice every tea tray in the house for that. He looked just like James.
It’s not as though they’re hers anyway, though apparently the one with the family crest on that Tonks has ruined (I may have to give her another Christmas present as a thank you), was the one Molly liked to use on a Sunday morning whenever she took Arthur breakfast in bed.
Of course, I feel guilty when she says that with over-bright eyes and give her another goblet of mulled wine, and a sort of half-hearted hug which makes her giggle. Then I realise everyone whose been drinking the wine has over-bright eyes. Must be my extra ingredients. I do like to make a sledging party go with a swing, and I thought it would help everyone’s courage levels when it came to tackling the slope. Or, to be more accurate, the ski jump.
I seem to have been tried and convicted for that, simply because I was there. Story of my life, really. The far end of the garden originally started off with a gentle descent your Granny could walk down (though my Granny never walked anywhere, that’s why she had a house-elf). A bit more of a challenge for the able bodied amongst us seemed to be required, but Moony rather cuttingly told me there was no need to erect Mount Ego so I let the smug git get on with it. Much like his prefect career, things started off promisingly, right up until the moment Tonks bent over her sledge in front of him in her red ski pants. You’ve got to hand it to women - they’re so transparent, and yet it works every time. One jerky flick of the wand later, and we had a slope you had to crane your neck to look up.
It probably didn’t help that I was howling with laughter, but Fred and George were off to try it, with Ron, Harry and Ginny in hot pursuit, before a mortified Moony could put matters right. It makes me laugh just to think of his face.
“I’m glad you think it’s funny.” Moony has to speak up to make himself heard as the pipes noisily register their disapproval of yet another person wanting a post-sledging shower upstairs. Hopefully it’s Molly, so I’ll get a break from the tea tray inquest, even though she only stood and watched, and was last seen telling Tonks that she’d see her in the kitchen as soon as she’d cleaned herself up.
Merlin knows what the pair of them have been up to for days now, but Tonks is changing her hair colour a lot, which she once told me was like a nervous reaction to stress, much like biting your nails. I’d like to put this little episode down to Molly giving her enforced cooking lessons, but I think the main reason is sat opposite me, slouched in the corner armchair as though he’ll never willingly move again. I must be getting old because the feeling is mutual. Or just not getting out very much.
Still, it was fantastic, I just love this Christmas, and I love having everyone around. It’s a shame on poor old Arthur, of course, but his bad luck is my gain. The prospect I was facing was day after day like every other - quiet, nothing to do, no entertainment, no amusement, no company, just icy cold walls with all the ghosts in them …
I don’t want to think about that. I don’t have to think about that. This is fantastic and I want everyone to be as happy as I am.
Moony’s staring at the presents underneath the tree Dung got with a curious expression on his face. Bet he’s going to be pleased with the gloves I’ve got him.
I raise my goblet in salute to attract his attention, a simple movement which makes every muscle in my arm ache.
“Go on, admit it - you had a great time, too.” I watch his head come round slowly to look at me, as though he’s belatedly registering my words. “For someone who wasn’t going to have a go but just watch us kiddies.”
“I wish I had left it to you kiddies.” Moony shifts in his chair and winces. “I can’t think why I didn’t.”
Because your girlfriend was egging you on. “You must be ageing, Professor Lupin!” was the one that finally got under his skin. Of course, it ended with her going smack into the fence while laughing her head off, and everyone applauding Moony who sailed down and then gallantly went to dig her out.
Which took him a suspiciously long time.
I give him a look, which he meets with an innocent one of his own. “Must have been your interesting refreshments over-riding my better judgement,” he says calmly, while knowing damn well it wasn’t.
Actually he ought to be extremely grateful to my wine-making abilities, because if the pair of them think they can carry on again like they did in public today, and keep things quiet, they’re in dream land. I’m sure they cover the correct way to sit on a sledge in Auror training, for a start. Then there was all those little smiles, and the accidental brushing against each other at every opportunity. All right, kids never notice anything adults do, and I suppose Molly’s head is full of knit one, purl one, but Bill’s not daft, and before long it’s going to occur to him that Moony’s getting a piece of some very exciting action.
Is he, though? One minute they were all fluttering eyelashes and bedroom looks, and I’m thinking they’re going to disappear any second now and I’m going to have to cover for him like he always did for me, and the next they’re looking all serious and there’s a good six inches of daylight between them.
Thinking back, I can’t quite pinpoint when it happened. Must have been when I was with Harry and Ron, trying to see if we could increase the speed of the sledges without flipping them over. Or Molly seeing.
I need to get to the bottom of this; I suppose I should be tactful and mind my own business, but James and I never did do that with him. And I owe him such a lot, especially for these last months, and it’s so hard to do anything for him.
“What’s up?”
I expect him to deny anything is, but he just takes a long swig of wine and says nothing.
Now I’m worried. The lines on his face are very prominent, even in the shadowed light in here.
“I’m not sure I’ve had enough to drink to answer.” He half-grins at me.
“There’s some vodka jellies in the pantry. I’ll get those if you like.”
He does the same grin again. It’s like an imitation of the real thing. “And Molly hasn’t spotted them?”
“There’s so many charms on them I have a hard time remembering where they are myself.” I wait, and we both watch the logs burning in the fire, and listen to the gurgling in the pipes, and the occasional shout from upstairs. The kids are having such a good time, and when the house is full like this I can’t hear any of the ghosts whispering to me.
It’s very different to Christmas in Azkaban. I only knew what day it was by the marks I carved in the stone walls.
“I’ve bought Tonks some earrings,” he says, at last, sounding as if the words are being dragged out of him.
I wait again, but there doesn’t seem to be any more. “That’s nice.”
“Yes. They’re opals; should change colour to match her mood.”
I start to say something about hoping they can do her favoured pink, while really thinking that any stone might self-combust trying to keep up with her current changes, but he suddenly adds: “There’s a necklace to go with them, but I can’t afford that. I was counting on getting that job, you see.”
“Tonks won’t mind.”
“It’s the thought that counts and everything?” This time the smile is a wry one. “I mind for her, you see.”
“Look.” I take a breath, because I know exactly how this next bit is going to go. But if I don’t offer it looks like I don’t care, and if I do offer it embarrasses us both. Especially as I know what the answer is before I start. It’s the ultimate no-win situation, and I hate it, but I still have to do it.
I take another breath. “You know that I-“
He cuts me off. “Yes. I know.”
“It’s nothing to me, and it would give me a lot of pleas-“
“I do know.” He smiles at me and this one’s genuine. “And thank you. But no.”
“Okay.” I grin, trying to keep this light. “But the offer’s there if you ever change your mind.”
He takes another swallow of wine and pulls a face. “When I wake up with a horrendous hangover on Christmas Eve, I’ll take you for every Galleon you’ve got. Is there anything you haven’t put in here?”
“Well I saved all the vodka for the jellies.” I say it absently, trying to get my head round the fact that it’s going to be Christmas Eve tomorrow, and also what he’s said in the last few minutes. And what he hasn’t. “The necklace isn’t really the problem though, is it?”
This time he salutes me with his goblet, acknowledging that I’ve guessed right. “I don’t want to shock you.” Those over-bright eyes are glinting with mischief, but there’s another, more disturbing, emotion there as well.
Sorrow? Resignation? There are so many things I’d like to do to that bitch, Umbridge, but I’ve got to keep the levity going for both our sakes.
“Great. You know how dull my life is here. Shock me.”
“It isn’t the necklace, as you say. I know Tonks won’t mind.” He’s running a finger slowly round the rim of the goblet. “But it has made me see that I can barely support myself, and that things aren’t likely to change in the foreseeable future. So that if, perhaps one day, I ever needed to think about supporting someone else,” he pauses, a quick look of self-mocking amusement flitting across his face, “then there’s next to no chance of that happening. Which leads me to the inescapable conclusion that I’m being very selfish, asking Tonks to get involved with me at all, and that, if I really cared for her, I’d put a stop to this before we both get hurt. If it’s not already too late for that.”
He pauses, looks at me again and, amazingly, he’s smiling. “Do you need a few minutes, Padfoot? I could go take a shower and come back, if you like.”
“No!” I resist the temptation to wipe my brow. Bloody hell, he’s already thinking about the m-word? They’ve only been seeing each other five minutes, haven’t they? It’s not James and Lily all over again, is it?
To my horror, I feel a pang of envy go right through me. It’s like a sharp pain. It’s not that I want it for myself; it’s that I’m going to be left behind. Again. As though I’m not left behind stuck in this mausoleum every single hour of every single day.
While Harry pities me.
God, I’m getting maudlin. It’s the bloody drink. I’m happy. This is the best Christmas ever.
“I did say ‘perhaps one day.’” It’s that wry smile again. “In the far off distant future. But that’s another thing; Tonks’ future is all ahead of her. She can do anything she wants. What she doesn’t need is a mistake.”
I find my voice, even though it sounds abrupt. He might think it’s in the distant future but he can kid himself all he likes - if he’s thought about it, it’s because some part of him wants it. “She’s in her twenties; she’s old enough to know what she wants.”
“In your twenties, you can still be anything you want. Which brings me back to the selfish bit, again.”
“Aren’t all men selfish brutes?” Now I’m resorting to jokes while I’m desperately trying to think what to say next. Is he right in what he’s saying? On some level, yes, he is. On most levels. But do I really think Tonks is in this for the long haul?
I don’t know. That’s the truth; I don’t. But there’s only one answer I can give him. Even if it means I get left behind again.
“Some more selfish than others, it seems.” He sighs and lies back in his chair, taking another sip of wine.
“Have you talked about this to Tonks?”
He peers at me through half shut eyes. “Not really. I tried the other day, in the library, but didn’t get very far. We were actually on our own for five minutes and we seemed to mutually decide it was too good an opportunity to waste by talking.” He gives me a sheepish look. “Ron nearly caught us as it happens but, of course, it never entered his head that she’d ever look twice at the likes of me. Thank goodness.”
The last two words are the tiniest bit unconvincing. I raise an eyebrow at him, trying not to yawn.
“I thought you were the one who wanted to keep it all secret?”
“I was. I do. Merlin.” He rubs his hand across his eyes. “It’s just … a small part of me would like someone not to think it’s unbelievable. Someone not to think it’s ridiculous. How selfish is that?”
There’s a great opportunity for me to be selfish here, as well. To tell him he is right and that he’d be doing Tonks a favour if he stops it now. That she’ll be hurt, she’ll cry, but she’ll get over it. So will he, in time. And I won’t lose my last remaining best friend.
The only thing I can say in my defence is that I only think that for a second. Bad enough that I do even that, but … we’re only human, aren’t we? Both of us. Human and selfish to the core when it comes to it.
What woman could ask for more than that? Suddenly everything seems very funny again, and I’m almost tempted to sing a quick burst of ‘The First Noel, the centaurs did say.’ Except I'm supposed to be concentrating on the matter that isn't in hand.
“What’s Tonks giving you for Christmas?” That wakes him up. He almost starts in surprise.
“Wha-What’s that got to do with anything?”
“What’s she giving you for Christmas?”
“I’ve no idea. I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you know? You’ve all but told me you can’t keep your hands off her, yet you’ve got no interest in what she’s giving you for Christmas?”
He gives me a look reminiscent of the one Hermione gave me when I suggested rolling Kreacher down the slope and seeing how big a snowball he’d turn into. That reminds me; it’s ages since I’ve clapped eyes on the little bastard.
“I think there’s normally something about a surprise element being involved.” Now he’s gone very dry and sarky.
“So what would you like from her?”
“Anything at all will be wonderf-“ He catches himself and stops, but it’s too late. I grin at him. “Right. Very clever. But I did say it wasn’t about affording the necklace, didn’t I?”
“You did.” I nod in agreement, which makes my head swim. “You didn’t mention how hard it must be for her to get you something, though. Not too expensive, in case it upsets you, or offends your pride, but she’s desperate to show she cares at the same time. You think it’s tough for you, Moony, but I think you’re the one whose got it simple. What’s it matter if you both give each other paper hats for Christmas? I’m sure she’d much rather you both sat down, acknowledge it’s awkward all round, but who cares? And once you’ve done that, you can have a few vodka jellies between you to really make sure you don’t care.”
Silence.
It’s always possible I overdid that slightly. Plus he’s the most stubborn sod ever. But then he wants to give in, doesn’t he?
“It’s not really solving anything,” he says hesitantly, after a while. “Not the big problems.”
“Everyone has problems,” I say firmly. “And unless you can come up with a better reason right now than you shouldn’t be together because of some necklace you can’t afford, well … James will be turning in his grave in disgust at you. You’ve got a woman who’s not bothered by the furry little problem and you’re worrying about a future that may never happen. If you don’t straighten this out and have a fantastic Christmas like the rest of us, I may have to kill you out of sheer envy, you jammy bugger. I’m praying someone’s gift-wrapped a woman for me, even if it’s some old hag Voldemort’s rejected.”
More silence. My head’s pounding and he’s not quite in focus any more. But I think that’s a smile playing round his lips.
“There is a rumour going round Fred and George have got you some kind of blow-up doll. But I don’t want to get your hopes up. And - thank you. I’m not sure you’re right, but…” He shrugs his shoulders and definitely grins. “You think you are and I want you to be.”
“I’m always right. Always, always … right.” I’m exhausted; we’ve got this bottle to finish, and I promised Molly I’d have another go at straightening the wretched tea trays out, but I really think I’ve done some good here. And I owe him for all the nights he’s sat with me and never once made me feel that the world and he moved on for twelve years while I got left behind.
I’m happy. It’s a fantastic Christmas. It could be the best one ever.
“Course I’m right. Almost certainly I’m sure I’m right.” Suddenly the words are running away from me and running into each other. My eyes are smarting and I blink to clear them; I can’t see his expression, but I think he may be frowning and I can’t have that, so I make an almighty effort to show him I’m okay.
“S’my gift to you, Moony. Rude not to accept gifts. Upsets people, you know? Whether rightly, surely…” I pause for breath. Got to get this last bit right. I’m trying to say that, frankly, it’s just sense. But the words insist on running together again and what comes out sounds more like: “Frankincense.”
Well it’s Christmas, after all. Best one ever.
----------
Molly.
Quarter to twelve, Christmas Eve.
Normally at this time I’d be in my own small, cluttered kitchen; tired, back and feet aching fit to kill me, but safe in the knowledge that the children are all tucked up in bed, and tomorrow we’ll all be together. I’d be preparing the vegetables to save some time in the morning when it’s all so hectic and rushed, and Arthur would be drinking cocoa at the table while slicing carrots to help me. We wouldn’t talk much because we’d both be so weary, but we’d be happy.
And at twelve o’clock, without fail, we’d toast each other and welcome in Christmas Day.
It’s funny what changes a year can bring; I’m in another kitchen, preparing vegetables again, thinking of Arthur, thinking of Percy, wondering why my head has been so muzzy all day when I didn’t have much to drink yesterday, and watching the girl with the jaunty pink hair frowning over the golden cake.
If she’d only turn her back for a minute, I could break one of my unbreakable cooking rules and use magic. I could suggest she tastes the brandy butter for me, and then she’d have to turn around.
But then she’d know, wouldn’t she? I’m not sure she didn’t see me add extra sugar to the mix when she bent down to get that spoon I’d deliberately dropped on the floor. It’s better that I leave well alone. Besides she’s covering it in so much chocolate, it’ll be hard to notice, even though I’ll know the lump’s there. I really can’t understand how Nymphadora Tonks can make a simple sponge rise like a lop-sided loaf of bread.
What is she writing on it? I’ve stood over here to give her some privacy, but it’s infuriating not being able to see. She’s spent absolutely ages reducing the chocolate to the tiniest little buttons imaginable, and now she’s painstakingly spelling out something incredibly long-winded.
I know I’m a silly old romantic, but I do hope it’s something like: All I want for Christmas is you. That would be just perfect.
She raises her head and smiles at me. She’s wearing a pale pink, very fluffy V-neck jumper, with a large white snowman on the front. His eyes move, rather like Mad-Eye’s, which certainly isn’t helping my head. And there are black jeans, which I saw Ginny eyeing with envy over dinner.
Is it really necessary for them to be that tight?
“I think it’s as finished as it’s ever going to be. Thank you so much, Molly. For everything.” When Tonks is happy, her whole face seems to light up. It’s always gloomy in Grimmauld’s kitchen, but her eyes are dancing and there’s a bounce to her step, even though she must be as tired as I am.
“You’re welcome, dear.” I mean it, too. Spending time with her has kept me busy; stopped me thinking about anything much, except that if I take my eyes off her for a second then the icing won’t be so much gold as anaemic lemon.
“Not long till you see Arthur tomorrow.” She glances at the clock in front of her and smiles. “Nearly today, now. Remus and Mad-Eye are on duty, they’ll be taking you and the children to see him.”
I wonder if I’ll get to see Percy, too? I haven’t heard anything from him, but - no, I won’t think about it. Tonks only finished her Ministry shift late tonight; she said how busy it was there, and Percy’s so conscientious he’ll probably be last to leave. Remus has been out all day today as well, but Tonks came home to find a message pushed under her door. She says it asks if she minds waiting up for him, that he’ll do his best to be home in time for them to see Christmas in together.
It’s just like Arthur and I always do. I’m so pleased for her. It’s even worth having that stupid snowman’s eyes keep rolling at me.
But Remus is cutting it fine.
“Is that …?” She’s looking upwards. I haven’t heard anything, but then he is renowned for being one of the few people who can get through the front door silently.
“I don’t think-“ I start, but she’s already wiping her hands on my tea towel - that’s what the hand towels are for! - and is half way to the door.
“I’ll just go check,” she says. “I could have sworn I heard something.”
By the time she’s finished the sentence, she’s starting up the stairs towards the drawing room. I cross my fingers for her, thinking I hear a faint footstep myself, and check the clock on the table next to the …
… cake.
I snatch it up and hurry after her. She wanted to have it on the table ready for him.
“Tonks!” She’s alone, thankfully, as I arrive panting, looking towards the opposite doorway through which he’d have to come.
“Oh, Molly! What would I do without you?” Her dark eyes somehow catch what little light there is in the room, which comes from the dying fire in the grate. The snowman on her front seems to nod in cheerful approval at me. She sets the cake down on the small coffee table, and I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it and I’m craning forward behind her to see what the chocolate writing says.
It’s illuminated by the flare of a small, stubborn flame, just for a few seconds.
‘Winner of Cutest Bum on a Sledge, Christmas 1995 - Professor R. J. Lupin.’
My mouth falls open.
“I know.” She ducks her head down, and I know she’s trying not to grin at my reaction. “But it was the fact that he made me laugh which made me notice him in the first place. And he says I made him laugh, too, before anything else happened between us.”
Suddenly it doesn’t matter that I’m thinking appalled thoughts about young people today. They’re stuffy thoughts and Arthur, dearest Arthur, would be gently reminding me of some of the things we got up to, which would make her mouth drop open a whole lot wider.
Besides I can hear footsteps in the corridor. Coming this way.
There’s just time to squeeze her hand and she mouths “Thank you” again at me. Really, I should be the one thanking her. For needing me.
I’m at the doorway as I hear his footsteps enter the room, then half way through as my feet hesitate of their own accord and my hand pauses on the door. I should leave, I know I should, but I’m hidden in the gloom and the dark; they’ll never know I’m still here and it’s so tempting to see just a little.
I need to know they’re happy.
Just for a minute.
I turn my head to watch. The skeleton clock on the mantelpiece shows both hands are nearly at twelve.
Tonks stands next to the low fire; the glow of it illuminating her young face, emphasising the paleness of her skin, highlighting those intelligent eyes. Her hands are clasped tightly together in front of her, and I see the rise and fall of her breast is quicker than it should be.
My own heart's thumping, in sympathy with hers.
Remus takes a step towards her and stops. There’s a small package under his arm, which he carefully places on the chair nearest to him without taking his gaze from hers. He unbuttons his cloak, which is covered with a fine mist of rain, and drops that there too. I can’t really see his expression clearly but he stretches out an uncertain hand to her, his fingers wavering slightly, and she takes it at once and lifts the palm to her cheek. He slides the hand into her hair, his other finds her waist, and they come together. For a moment they just look at each other and he smiles, and I feel the heat rise in my own face to match hers as I hear the words he whispers to her.
I see her answering smile. I see her hands go to his shoulders, one of them moving into the hair at the nape of his neck. I hear what she says in return, hear the quickening of his breath, and see how the tremble in her body is reflected in his.
I know the ache she feels inside.
The want.
The desire.
I miss Arthur so much.
Remus says something else to her, stroking her face, something I can’t quite catch this time, and suddenly I’m glad because now it’s for them alone and that’s exactly how it should be. His hold tightens, his long fingers clasping her jumper, her back, pulling her even closer, and she rises on her toes, stretching up towards him.
He lowers his head, his hand sliding into her hair again, and she meets his lips with her own.
There’s a tiny sigh of joy and relief and it comes from me.
They cling together, mouth searching mouth, and I can feel their need for each other from where I am. There’s no more hiding, no more pretence. He’s kissing her as if he adores her; she’s kissing him as if this is a love that will last forever.
I draw the door shut very quietly behind me and step into the cold hallway, on my way to my lonely bed.
I see things that others don’t.
Sometimes they’re wonderful.
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