IX The Hermit
Title: IX The Hermit
Author: scarlett71177
Format: One shot
Rating & Warnings: G
Prompts: #9, Sirius/McGonagall/Umbridge, Need, Angst
Word Count: 2408
Summary: A tarot card reminds Tonks of Remus.
Author’s Notes: Set during HBP. Thank you to margaret67 and yellowitchgrl for your help and laviecomplique and Hermione Weasley for the beta. Supplemental info about Tarot cards obtained from Wikipedia.
Tonks skidded in the front door of number twelve Grimmauld Place, nudging the door shut with her elbow before thinking better on it. The door would slam shut, Auntie would start her infernal tirade, and the entire impromptu Order meeting would be disturbed (and she couldn’t attempt to sneak in late). With thoroughly characteristic-like reflexes, Tonks flung her arm out, catching her fingers between the door and the frame.
“Sodding-” She clapped her other hand to her mouth as she jerked the throbbing hand from out between the jaws of the monstrous door. Casting a wary glance over her shoulder toward the portrait of Sirius’ mother, she observed that the old witch was still snoring quietly.
“Oh shut it, you old cow!” she hissed, shutting the door softly as the clock in the hall chimed on the quarter hour. Cursing her tardiness, Tonks tip-toed past the troll leg umbrella stand and crept toward the stairs leading to the basement kitchen, descending with caution and silence.
The stairs creaked beneath her weight, but she found herself not caring, for the closer she crept toward the door, the closer she was to seeing Remus. It had been months since he’d left to join Fenrir Greybacks ferals, but was beginning to feel like seasons, ages, years. Their goodbye had been dramatic, exhausting, and in the end, Tonks felt, futile. All the denial, pleading for him to not go, and tears had not changed his mind- he went- on Dumbledore’s orders to try and sway the exiled werewolves. He was a recluse, out in the hinterland- somewhere, in an imposed torturous retreat. If she let her thoughts betray her she would have told Remus she was worried about the toil the solitude and the inward reflection would take on him, not the treatment from the ferals he would try to convert.
Her heart rate increased as she descended every stair. How long it had been since she’d seen him! What would he look like? What would he say? Was his mission finally through? Maybe that’s why Dumbledore had called the emergency meeting.
But it was not Dumbledore’s voice that rung out as Tonks neared the bottom of the stairs and gently pushed the door open.
“Ms Tonks, so nice of you to join us,” McGonagall said, regarding Tonks through the square glasses perched low on her nose.
The interruption by McGonagall caused the rest of those seated around the scrubbed wood table to turn and appraise Tonks as well. They didn’t meet her eyes, however, no, each of them took notice of the lanky brown hair falling across her forehead. Inevitably their eyes would dart upward and their expression would betray their pity. She felt herself colour and ducked her head, moving to take one of two empty seats.
“By the way, Nymphadora, you left these at the last meeting.” McGonagall reached inside the pocket of her robes, retrieving a set of multi-coloured cards and tossed them toward Tonks. It was the Tarot of Marseilles deck she’d been missing.
Tonks fingered the deck in her hands, quietly thanking McGonagall for its return.
As McGonagall began speaking again, her gaze lifted and she took stock of those seated around the table at the hastily arranged meeting. Arthur, Molly, and Bill were there along with Kingsley, Hestia, and Mad Eye.
Remus was no where to be seen.
Tonks felt the balloon of hope that had swelled inside her pop and deflate. Since she received word late this afternoon that there would be an Order meeting with an update on the feral werewolves, she felt the need to see Remus- just to know if he was all right, but in an instant, the hope that he was doing as well as could be expected was gone.
“As I was saying,” McGonagall said, staring directly at Tonks. “Albus would have been here to address you himself, but he departed the school early this morning to investigate something pertinent- Ms. Tonks, it seems you aren’t the only one who’s tardy this evening.”
“I’m sorry Minerva.”
The sound of the gravelly voice behind her caused Tonks to turn abruptly and look over her right shoulder.
Remus!
The swell of elation returned as Remus shuffled into the kitchen, taking the one remaining seat directly across from Tonks. Her eyes widened, her eyebrows arching in a hopeful expression, which she hoped would lay bare just how happy she was to see him, and to know and see for herself that he was all right.
But he did not look up at her or make eye contact with anyone to be precise. And she wasn’t sure that he indeed was all right. She tried to pay attention to McGonagall’s stern voice, but her heart, mind, and eyes were distracted; needing to be sure that he was well.
His hair was longer, which was to be expected, and it didn’t appear that he had shaved in months, something he’d previously been quite meticulous about. She didn’t know why, but that forgoing of such a personal custom seemed so discordant with the person she knew. The cloak he wore protected the frame of his body from her prying eyes. She couldn’t tell if he was eating properly- or eating at all, and any bruises or scratches were not to be seen.
For the first time since she knew him, he almost looked the part of a feral werewolf.
The Hermit.
Tonks flipped through the set of tarot cards until she found the one she was looking for. Half shrouded in shadow, Remus’ gaunt face reminded her of the ninth card of the worn, antique tarot deck her mum had given her before she had left for Hogwarts. She could see the image on the yellowed card burned into her mind. Symbolically, it was an old man, veiled in a monks’ cowl, carrying a lantern and a walking stick as he crossed the wasteland.
Tonks’ thoughts drifted back to a memory of sitting with mum on a Sunday afternoon, sipping tea and reading the cards. She was young, young enough to still wear pigtails, and she remembered how she listened with rapt attention as Mum discussed the properties of the cards. “The card could be interpreted as withdrawal from humanity to become comfortable with who he is, or alternately the need to exit isolation and share his information with others.”
How Remus-like the bilateralism of it was. He was always two-sided in some way.
“Remus, would you like to address the Order at this time?”
McGonagall’s voice fractured the thoughts in Tonks’ head, as Remus rose, pulling the cuffs of his grey, woollen robes down over his hands. She looked down at her own robes, a gift from Mum and Dad at Christmastime and felt a pang of guilt that Remus was wearing the oldest, most threadbare set of clothes he had. There had been an argument between them the morning he left on his mission; Tonks had urged him to pack everything and to dress warmly, but he refused to take them.
“I wish the news was better,” Remus began grimly, his eyes darting up to gaze at the others seated around the table.
He refused to meet her gaze, but Tonks could see the lacklustre tarnish obscuring his once sparkling hazel eyes as he stepped into the light and began pacing. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, which she’d greatly enjoyed teasing him about so many months ago, seemed more deeply etched into the surface of his skin.
“I regret saying that I have failed to persuade any of the other werewolves for our cause; they have been with Greyback for far too long, and his promises hold more power than mine do. They don’t believe that the Wizarding world is prepared to offer them anything that Voldemort and Greyback can’t already give them.”
“You want out, Lupin?” Moody asked gruffly.
Tonks looked up at Remus, hoping against hope that he’d agree, but she knew it was not to be.
“Not yet, there may be more information I can hand over.”
She looked back down at the card, remembering the mythopoeia of the card. Of course! “The Hermit provides us with the intelligence, implements and guidance to defeat the creatures lurking in the woods.
“Remus-”
It was Molly who protested, her eyes darting between Tonks and Remus.
“At least a few more moons, Molly,” Remus answered, peering up at Tonks through his fringe. “There’s been a lot of recent activity in the camp.”
There were dark purple half moons under his heavily lidded eyes; he looked exhausted. She held his gaze before he turned away, and she could suddenly feel her heart rate increase, her blood rushing through her ears. Was he in jeopardy? What was going on that he wouldn’t share? The all encompassing need to speak with him, to hear it from his own lips and to wrap her arms around him and feel that he was all right, was growing, gnawing, aching inside of her.
She fingered the worn and dog-eared edges of the card, Mum’s voice sounding in her head once again. ”While reading the cards, the Hermit, while usually teaching the lessons of the world of daylight, was connected to the moon in the sum of digits. The moon rises at twilight, the balance of day and night, hiding the beasts lurking in the shadows.”
“Fair enough,” McGonagall said, nodding curtly. “Remus, Albus will be wanting to speak with you himself and apologised for not being here. He’ll be in contact soon.”
Remus nodded, and Tonks wondered if Dumbledore had found a way to be in contact with Remus all the time. She made a mental note to call on him.
“If no one has anything else, I move to adjourn,” McGonagall said, her catlike gaze circling around the table.
“I second,” Arthur replied, pushing his glasses a little further up on the bridge of his nose.
“All in favour?” McGonagall asked.
Everyone but Tonks raised their hand.
“Meeting adjourned.”
Remus had already pulled the hood of his cloak up around his face and was moving for the door.
“Tonks, anything happen in Hogsmeade today?”
She pocketed the tatty cards as Mad-Eye’s voice shattered the plan that was already forming in her head. She looked over her shoulder at Remus, shaking hands with Arthur, but warily eyeing the door. “Erm, hold your thought- I-um- have to use the loo.”
She bolted for the door, exiting ahead of Remus and quickly ascending the stairs. She failed to care how transparent she seemed at this stage, but she needed to speak with Remus.
The stairs creaked behind her as she stepped into the dark hall, leaning against the staircase, as the familiar shuffle of feet on the stairs instantly identified the person ascending.
Remus reached the top of the stairs and made for the door, though he had to know Tonks was waiting for him.
“Remus-”
She stepped out of the darkness and into the beam of light shining up from the basement kitchen, fidgeting as she stood before him. “How are you?”
It was a dumb question, and she knew it was a dumb question as soon as the words spilled out of her mouth. She closed her eyes and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead.
Remus sighed. It was a heavy sigh full of frustration. He stopped but did not turn to look at Tonks. “As well as can be expected.”
She pressed her lips together, wondering if he knew about her Patronus and her new ‘hairstyle.’ She self-consciously twisted a lock of her drab hair around her finger and peered up at Remus through her fringe.
The nearness of him was fairly painful and excruciatingly tempting. Her fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and touch him. She clenched her robes instead.
“I’m worried about you,” she began, shuffling closer. “I miss you and want you to come home.”
He looked up at her finally, and though the hall was dark, she could see that his expression had softened. “I’m worried about you, too.”
She looked up through her fringe at the mop of hair on top of her head and ran her fingers through it, tugging it tight. “This will go away, but you- if something happens-” She couldn’t finish the words, so instead, she leaned forward, resting her head against his chest as she loosely wrapped her arms around his waist. He was too thin.
“Nymphadora-”
“Don’t call me Nymphadora,” she sighed against his robes, “and don’t go back.”
He sighed again and laid his hand on her upper arm. “But I must. I have to see this through.”
She clutched at the front of his robes, breathing in the familiar scent of him, remembering the properties of the card. A worrisome characteristic of the Hermit is his tendency to extract himself from society, to retreat.
“I’ll be waiting,” she whispered, turning her face up towards his.
Remus shook his head, extracting himself from her arms and composing himself again. “You shouldn’t. I’m too old, too poor, too dangerous for you.”
He strode purposefully towards the door and left the house without so much as a second glance. Tonks could feel the tarot cards weighing her pocket down. “The Hermit doesn’t retreat to complete his journey, but because the monsters he faces are so real.”
She went to the narrow window in the hall and peered out; Remus was leaning against the rusted iron gate, looking back at the house. He paused for a moment, looking at the window before he turned and swept through the gate, disappearing into the night, leaving the gate to swing shut on its squeaky hinges.
Tonks stood at the window for a few moments until she could no longer imagine Remus ambling down the street. She wiped the solitary tear off her cheek. The need was satisfied- he was alive, and he was, as he said, as well as could be expected, and that would have to do.
Divination was a hazy discipline; only time would tell which version of the Hermit Remus would be.
“The Hermit becomes the lesson.
Does he stay away, hiding in isolation, reflecting on who he is, withdrawn because he’s too afraid to face his own monsters? Or does he cast off his cloak and share his knowledge on how to defeat the beasts that haunt us?”
Author: scarlett71177
Format: One shot
Rating & Warnings: G
Prompts: #9, Sirius/McGonagall/Umbridge, Need, Angst
Word Count: 2408
Summary: A tarot card reminds Tonks of Remus.
Author’s Notes: Set during HBP. Thank you to margaret67 and yellowitchgrl for your help and laviecomplique and Hermione Weasley for the beta. Supplemental info about Tarot cards obtained from Wikipedia.
Tonks skidded in the front door of number twelve Grimmauld Place, nudging the door shut with her elbow before thinking better on it. The door would slam shut, Auntie would start her infernal tirade, and the entire impromptu Order meeting would be disturbed (and she couldn’t attempt to sneak in late). With thoroughly characteristic-like reflexes, Tonks flung her arm out, catching her fingers between the door and the frame.
“Sodding-” She clapped her other hand to her mouth as she jerked the throbbing hand from out between the jaws of the monstrous door. Casting a wary glance over her shoulder toward the portrait of Sirius’ mother, she observed that the old witch was still snoring quietly.
“Oh shut it, you old cow!” she hissed, shutting the door softly as the clock in the hall chimed on the quarter hour. Cursing her tardiness, Tonks tip-toed past the troll leg umbrella stand and crept toward the stairs leading to the basement kitchen, descending with caution and silence.
The stairs creaked beneath her weight, but she found herself not caring, for the closer she crept toward the door, the closer she was to seeing Remus. It had been months since he’d left to join Fenrir Greybacks ferals, but was beginning to feel like seasons, ages, years. Their goodbye had been dramatic, exhausting, and in the end, Tonks felt, futile. All the denial, pleading for him to not go, and tears had not changed his mind- he went- on Dumbledore’s orders to try and sway the exiled werewolves. He was a recluse, out in the hinterland- somewhere, in an imposed torturous retreat. If she let her thoughts betray her she would have told Remus she was worried about the toil the solitude and the inward reflection would take on him, not the treatment from the ferals he would try to convert.
Her heart rate increased as she descended every stair. How long it had been since she’d seen him! What would he look like? What would he say? Was his mission finally through? Maybe that’s why Dumbledore had called the emergency meeting.
But it was not Dumbledore’s voice that rung out as Tonks neared the bottom of the stairs and gently pushed the door open.
“Ms Tonks, so nice of you to join us,” McGonagall said, regarding Tonks through the square glasses perched low on her nose.
The interruption by McGonagall caused the rest of those seated around the scrubbed wood table to turn and appraise Tonks as well. They didn’t meet her eyes, however, no, each of them took notice of the lanky brown hair falling across her forehead. Inevitably their eyes would dart upward and their expression would betray their pity. She felt herself colour and ducked her head, moving to take one of two empty seats.
“By the way, Nymphadora, you left these at the last meeting.” McGonagall reached inside the pocket of her robes, retrieving a set of multi-coloured cards and tossed them toward Tonks. It was the Tarot of Marseilles deck she’d been missing.
Tonks fingered the deck in her hands, quietly thanking McGonagall for its return.
As McGonagall began speaking again, her gaze lifted and she took stock of those seated around the table at the hastily arranged meeting. Arthur, Molly, and Bill were there along with Kingsley, Hestia, and Mad Eye.
Remus was no where to be seen.
Tonks felt the balloon of hope that had swelled inside her pop and deflate. Since she received word late this afternoon that there would be an Order meeting with an update on the feral werewolves, she felt the need to see Remus- just to know if he was all right, but in an instant, the hope that he was doing as well as could be expected was gone.
“As I was saying,” McGonagall said, staring directly at Tonks. “Albus would have been here to address you himself, but he departed the school early this morning to investigate something pertinent- Ms. Tonks, it seems you aren’t the only one who’s tardy this evening.”
“I’m sorry Minerva.”
The sound of the gravelly voice behind her caused Tonks to turn abruptly and look over her right shoulder.
Remus!
The swell of elation returned as Remus shuffled into the kitchen, taking the one remaining seat directly across from Tonks. Her eyes widened, her eyebrows arching in a hopeful expression, which she hoped would lay bare just how happy she was to see him, and to know and see for herself that he was all right.
But he did not look up at her or make eye contact with anyone to be precise. And she wasn’t sure that he indeed was all right. She tried to pay attention to McGonagall’s stern voice, but her heart, mind, and eyes were distracted; needing to be sure that he was well.
His hair was longer, which was to be expected, and it didn’t appear that he had shaved in months, something he’d previously been quite meticulous about. She didn’t know why, but that forgoing of such a personal custom seemed so discordant with the person she knew. The cloak he wore protected the frame of his body from her prying eyes. She couldn’t tell if he was eating properly- or eating at all, and any bruises or scratches were not to be seen.
For the first time since she knew him, he almost looked the part of a feral werewolf.
The Hermit.
Tonks flipped through the set of tarot cards until she found the one she was looking for. Half shrouded in shadow, Remus’ gaunt face reminded her of the ninth card of the worn, antique tarot deck her mum had given her before she had left for Hogwarts. She could see the image on the yellowed card burned into her mind. Symbolically, it was an old man, veiled in a monks’ cowl, carrying a lantern and a walking stick as he crossed the wasteland.
Tonks’ thoughts drifted back to a memory of sitting with mum on a Sunday afternoon, sipping tea and reading the cards. She was young, young enough to still wear pigtails, and she remembered how she listened with rapt attention as Mum discussed the properties of the cards. “The card could be interpreted as withdrawal from humanity to become comfortable with who he is, or alternately the need to exit isolation and share his information with others.”
How Remus-like the bilateralism of it was. He was always two-sided in some way.
“Remus, would you like to address the Order at this time?”
McGonagall’s voice fractured the thoughts in Tonks’ head, as Remus rose, pulling the cuffs of his grey, woollen robes down over his hands. She looked down at her own robes, a gift from Mum and Dad at Christmastime and felt a pang of guilt that Remus was wearing the oldest, most threadbare set of clothes he had. There had been an argument between them the morning he left on his mission; Tonks had urged him to pack everything and to dress warmly, but he refused to take them.
“I wish the news was better,” Remus began grimly, his eyes darting up to gaze at the others seated around the table.
He refused to meet her gaze, but Tonks could see the lacklustre tarnish obscuring his once sparkling hazel eyes as he stepped into the light and began pacing. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, which she’d greatly enjoyed teasing him about so many months ago, seemed more deeply etched into the surface of his skin.
“I regret saying that I have failed to persuade any of the other werewolves for our cause; they have been with Greyback for far too long, and his promises hold more power than mine do. They don’t believe that the Wizarding world is prepared to offer them anything that Voldemort and Greyback can’t already give them.”
“You want out, Lupin?” Moody asked gruffly.
Tonks looked up at Remus, hoping against hope that he’d agree, but she knew it was not to be.
“Not yet, there may be more information I can hand over.”
She looked back down at the card, remembering the mythopoeia of the card. Of course! “The Hermit provides us with the intelligence, implements and guidance to defeat the creatures lurking in the woods.
“Remus-”
It was Molly who protested, her eyes darting between Tonks and Remus.
“At least a few more moons, Molly,” Remus answered, peering up at Tonks through his fringe. “There’s been a lot of recent activity in the camp.”
There were dark purple half moons under his heavily lidded eyes; he looked exhausted. She held his gaze before he turned away, and she could suddenly feel her heart rate increase, her blood rushing through her ears. Was he in jeopardy? What was going on that he wouldn’t share? The all encompassing need to speak with him, to hear it from his own lips and to wrap her arms around him and feel that he was all right, was growing, gnawing, aching inside of her.
She fingered the worn and dog-eared edges of the card, Mum’s voice sounding in her head once again. ”While reading the cards, the Hermit, while usually teaching the lessons of the world of daylight, was connected to the moon in the sum of digits. The moon rises at twilight, the balance of day and night, hiding the beasts lurking in the shadows.”
“Fair enough,” McGonagall said, nodding curtly. “Remus, Albus will be wanting to speak with you himself and apologised for not being here. He’ll be in contact soon.”
Remus nodded, and Tonks wondered if Dumbledore had found a way to be in contact with Remus all the time. She made a mental note to call on him.
“If no one has anything else, I move to adjourn,” McGonagall said, her catlike gaze circling around the table.
“I second,” Arthur replied, pushing his glasses a little further up on the bridge of his nose.
“All in favour?” McGonagall asked.
Everyone but Tonks raised their hand.
“Meeting adjourned.”
Remus had already pulled the hood of his cloak up around his face and was moving for the door.
“Tonks, anything happen in Hogsmeade today?”
She pocketed the tatty cards as Mad-Eye’s voice shattered the plan that was already forming in her head. She looked over her shoulder at Remus, shaking hands with Arthur, but warily eyeing the door. “Erm, hold your thought- I-um- have to use the loo.”
She bolted for the door, exiting ahead of Remus and quickly ascending the stairs. She failed to care how transparent she seemed at this stage, but she needed to speak with Remus.
The stairs creaked behind her as she stepped into the dark hall, leaning against the staircase, as the familiar shuffle of feet on the stairs instantly identified the person ascending.
Remus reached the top of the stairs and made for the door, though he had to know Tonks was waiting for him.
“Remus-”
She stepped out of the darkness and into the beam of light shining up from the basement kitchen, fidgeting as she stood before him. “How are you?”
It was a dumb question, and she knew it was a dumb question as soon as the words spilled out of her mouth. She closed her eyes and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead.
Remus sighed. It was a heavy sigh full of frustration. He stopped but did not turn to look at Tonks. “As well as can be expected.”
She pressed her lips together, wondering if he knew about her Patronus and her new ‘hairstyle.’ She self-consciously twisted a lock of her drab hair around her finger and peered up at Remus through her fringe.
The nearness of him was fairly painful and excruciatingly tempting. Her fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and touch him. She clenched her robes instead.
“I’m worried about you,” she began, shuffling closer. “I miss you and want you to come home.”
He looked up at her finally, and though the hall was dark, she could see that his expression had softened. “I’m worried about you, too.”
She looked up through her fringe at the mop of hair on top of her head and ran her fingers through it, tugging it tight. “This will go away, but you- if something happens-” She couldn’t finish the words, so instead, she leaned forward, resting her head against his chest as she loosely wrapped her arms around his waist. He was too thin.
“Nymphadora-”
“Don’t call me Nymphadora,” she sighed against his robes, “and don’t go back.”
He sighed again and laid his hand on her upper arm. “But I must. I have to see this through.”
She clutched at the front of his robes, breathing in the familiar scent of him, remembering the properties of the card. A worrisome characteristic of the Hermit is his tendency to extract himself from society, to retreat.
“I’ll be waiting,” she whispered, turning her face up towards his.
Remus shook his head, extracting himself from her arms and composing himself again. “You shouldn’t. I’m too old, too poor, too dangerous for you.”
He strode purposefully towards the door and left the house without so much as a second glance. Tonks could feel the tarot cards weighing her pocket down. “The Hermit doesn’t retreat to complete his journey, but because the monsters he faces are so real.”
She went to the narrow window in the hall and peered out; Remus was leaning against the rusted iron gate, looking back at the house. He paused for a moment, looking at the window before he turned and swept through the gate, disappearing into the night, leaving the gate to swing shut on its squeaky hinges.
Tonks stood at the window for a few moments until she could no longer imagine Remus ambling down the street. She wiped the solitary tear off her cheek. The need was satisfied- he was alive, and he was, as he said, as well as could be expected, and that would have to do.
Divination was a hazy discipline; only time would tell which version of the Hermit Remus would be.
“The Hermit becomes the lesson.
Does he stay away, hiding in isolation, reflecting on who he is, withdrawn because he’s too afraid to face his own monsters? Or does he cast off his cloak and share his knowledge on how to defeat the beasts that haunt us?”