Changes
Title: Changes
Author: godricgal
Rating and Warnings PG-13, for sexual references
Word Count 1,924
Prompts: Thestrals, scratch, Sirius, Drama
Summary: The night before Dumbledore's funeral, Tonks asks Remus a question that provokes many thoughts.
Author's Notes: I'm very hesitant about posting this fic, the prompt uses are minimal, at best. It's unpolished, unfinished and un-everything, but I wanted to post for this round, since I've been so incredibly inactive the last month. It’s all pesky RL stuff getting in the way, and I do apologise, more for not commenting than I do for not writing and I will catch up on the former. Many thanks to mrstater for her incredible support and for reading through earlier versions of this.
Changes
The night is warm and humid. Their skin shimmers with the heat of the air and the vestiges of their lovemaking. They're lying on top of the covers, bodies separate, but bridged by hands. Her legs are curled between them; his flattened palm sweeps slowly, yet decisively from her ankle to her thigh, curling round to squeeze lightly.
She looks up at him with expressive eyes as her fingers continue to trace light circles on his arm. "Remus, what was it? What was it really that made you change your mind?" Her voice is hushed and intimate; the tone only for him.
It's a question he's expected, but her timing catches him off guard all the same. He'll never forget that moment, when, though the dusky haze of the night, the fog of doubt cleared from his mind and intent and place settled.
His mind flashes back to the moment; so clear, so vivid. Mousy brown hair he was so unaccustomed to seeing atop a slim body he knew better than his own, silhouetted against the dark-dampened green of the forest. Her hand outstretched, fingers scratching the ears on the reptilian head of the creature that stood before her: a thestral.
She could see them.
She hadn't been able to see them the night of Sirius' death.
Who? When…?
He'd not been there for her.
Guilt suffused him, swiftly followed by an acute sense of duty; of what was right, and required of him. He realised in that one moment of clarity that it was his place to stand by her side, shoulder to shoulder and share the weight of her trouble.
As he knew she would do for him.
For what other man could he trust to do so?
He lifts his hand from where it rests on her thigh to brush a lock of still mousy brown hair behind her ear. "I realised you need me," he says. He takes a deep breath and repeats and elaborates, "I realised you need me as much as I need you."
He can tell she's reeling from his revelation, that it is the very last admission she might have expected from him, even if it's a very welcome one.
He's made a lot of discoveries in the last few days; it's not presumptuous to acknowledge that she loves him, it's not big headed to know that he pleases her. He knows that to tell her he believes she needs him will not be taken as a perception of weakness.
Oh, God he wishes he'd realised it before now. How much pain could he have spared the both of them?
Until now, he's failed to communicate to her how much he's committed to their new path, how completely and utterly fixed he is on walking it together, to the end.
"I saw you, with that Thestral, and I knew straight away that something had changed."
He ran his fingers down the side of her face to her chin, which, with gently applied pressure, he lifted to meet his eyes.
"You hadn't known I could see them," she says.
"Not until then," he replies, brushing his thumb across her cheek. "It was only then that I realised that not only did I want to have been there for you, but I was the only person you'd open up to. The one you needed."
Her hand had been resting motionlessly on his hip for most of the conversation, it now grazed his sides, seeking out his cheek, where it fleetingly rests before burrowing into his hair. "Only you," she whispers, as she leans in to kiss him softly.
There has never been a time -- nor does Remus expect there will be -- when the touch of her lips ceases to thrill him as much as it did for the very first time. He knows they've only scratched the surface of the joys togetherness has to offer.
They've so much to look forward to, if only the war will let them.
When she pulls back her smile is radiant. "You have no idea how happy it makes me that you've realised that." Then, completely unexpectedly, she thumps him on the chest. "You great prat," she says, eyes shining mischievously, "it took a bloody thestral for it to get in your thick skull!"
Laughing, Remus swiftly rolls them so his body covers hers. He looks down at her, a surge of love pulsing through him: a sensation he's not unused to but never fails to take his breath away. He is torn; torn between prolonging the light-hearted moment and not trivialising what that moment had meant to him -- to them, and the root cause of the change in her.
"I was a prat," he says, "a great one." His hand runs firmly up her cheek and into her hair.
"But you're my great prat," she says as he leans down to kiss her. "At last, " she add against his lips.
Comments like that make Remus bristle, he can't help it. Deep down he knows that she's forgiven him; her words, her actions, the innate trust he has in her have told him so, but guilt rises when he thinks how long he made her wait, how long he let them be apart now that he knows he's as important to her as she is to him.
He can't bear it, actually, to know that she's longed for him as much as he has for her. He understands that hurt and pain and hadn't expected the same from her.
"I'm sorry," he says to her, but rolling away despite his words.
"I know. I've not doubted that, ever, even when we were apart."
"I know," Remus replies honestly. He does know.
For the last year, two voices have rung in his mind. Memories of Tonks', telling him over and over that she doesn't care, that she's willing to fight for him and won't give up. And the imagined voice of Sirius, ranging from accusing him of being a self-sacrificing prat to a cowardly bastard.
How different might this year have been if he'd had his old friend to beat a little sense into him? Or would it have made him retreat even more than he had done? No, Remus reasoned, he'd weathered out Molly and Arthur's unrelenting attacks. Sirius would have found just the right button to push to make him see the enormity of what he was giving up.
Sirius' unmovable support for his and Tonks' relationship had been touching, to say the least, and spoke volumes -- in Remus' opinion -- for how much he'd cared for the both of them. Sirius might have boasted a multitude of character defects, but he was not a man to hide his loyalties -- or affection.
Remus was not accustomed to sharing his pain. He was the man everyone had always relied upon to keep a cool head in a crisis. As he had when he'd held Harry back from the veil, as he had when he'd scooped an unconscious Tonks into his arms after having ascertained that Moody's injuries were not life threatening and headed for the emergency exit door that would lead him to the stairwell and fresh air.
Adrenaline pumping, Tonks had felt like a feather weight in his arms as he'd hurried down the steps, that is, until she's stirred and moaned softly and suddenly the events of the night had hit him full force.
He'd sunk to sit on the steps, cradling her head, so he could look into her eyes as he desperately sought the reassurance of her breath, the beating of her heart. Her fluttering eyes did not allow him the comfort of holding her gaze, the new-found awareness did yield the opportunity to assess that her lower chest was soaked in blood, but she was alive.
They'd sat for several minutes, while Remus took the time to run his wand over the worst of her injuries, knowing that if she was conscious he could take the time to do so before they headed to St. Mungo's.
Minutes later, no doubt attracted by the blood that stained Tonks' clothing and had by then seeped into his robes, Remus had been astounded by the sight of six Thestrals advancing towards them, keeping their distance, but edging ever closer.
"D'you remember when you first came to?" Remus asks, and then clarifies, "After the Ministry?"
Tonks shifts and pushes him back lightly so she can rest her head on his shoulder, she slips a leg between his. "Some of it," she admits. "I do remember the Thestrals…Or I don't, but you know what I mean.
He did. They'd approached and she'd been just aware enough to sense his added tension. "What is it?" she'd asked weakly, craning as much as she could in the general direction of his gaze. Enough that if she'd the ability to see them, she would be able to.
"Nothing worrying," he'd replied.
Later on they'd spent a night in bed discussing the events of the night, no, she couldn't see them, she'd never experienced death. In a way, it had made him all the more determined that she shouldn't.
Yet now she had.
And he really should have been there.
It was something she'd dreaded; her first death, she'd told him so. It was not something she'd admitted to another, but it felt right to tell him, she'd said.
She'd trusted him and he'd failed her.
"I'm here now, for you, as I know you've always been for me," he says softly, tracing a line from her shoulder to her chin with his fingers.
Her eyes meet his, shining with an openness that he can't help but give thanks for after everything they've been through. He knows they need to work on many things, and talk about even more, but to know that she trusts him, that she can lay beside him, naked in more than body, means more than the world to him. And he's grateful for a chance to return to her world, both the public, and this more intense, private one.
He reaches for her. The light breeze that breathes through their room has cooled his body, and he can tell from the way she's shimmered closer and shivers slightly that the heat of their earlier exertion has dissipated.
Remus pulls her close, settling her on his shoulder, sliding his leg more completely over hers and revelling in the feel of her skin against his. A sensation that, just a few days ago, he'd been convinced he'd never feel again.
Thankful for the opportunity to put to rights what should never have gone wrong, Remus rests his head against hers.
He is just about to succumb to the tempting lure of sleep when a thought crests. "You should think about pink tomorrow," he says.
Her soft mousy brown hair slides against his chin as she tilts her face to look up at him. "Pink?"
"I think it's worth a try. Dumbledore would love it. From what I'm told, there's a bunch of old stuffers coming tomorrow and I'm quite sure there is nothing Dumbledore would rather see than an array of his students and a pink haired Auror"
"And the pink haired Auror's rather lovely boyfriend?"
It was only Remus' new way of thinking, the one that allows him to recognise himself as the 'lovely boyfriend' and not, for a second, doubt her words or doubt himself.
"And him, too."
Author: godricgal
Rating and Warnings PG-13, for sexual references
Word Count 1,924
Prompts: Thestrals, scratch, Sirius, Drama
Summary: The night before Dumbledore's funeral, Tonks asks Remus a question that provokes many thoughts.
Author's Notes: I'm very hesitant about posting this fic, the prompt uses are minimal, at best. It's unpolished, unfinished and un-everything, but I wanted to post for this round, since I've been so incredibly inactive the last month. It’s all pesky RL stuff getting in the way, and I do apologise, more for not commenting than I do for not writing and I will catch up on the former. Many thanks to mrstater for her incredible support and for reading through earlier versions of this.
Changes
The night is warm and humid. Their skin shimmers with the heat of the air and the vestiges of their lovemaking. They're lying on top of the covers, bodies separate, but bridged by hands. Her legs are curled between them; his flattened palm sweeps slowly, yet decisively from her ankle to her thigh, curling round to squeeze lightly.
She looks up at him with expressive eyes as her fingers continue to trace light circles on his arm. "Remus, what was it? What was it really that made you change your mind?" Her voice is hushed and intimate; the tone only for him.
It's a question he's expected, but her timing catches him off guard all the same. He'll never forget that moment, when, though the dusky haze of the night, the fog of doubt cleared from his mind and intent and place settled.
His mind flashes back to the moment; so clear, so vivid. Mousy brown hair he was so unaccustomed to seeing atop a slim body he knew better than his own, silhouetted against the dark-dampened green of the forest. Her hand outstretched, fingers scratching the ears on the reptilian head of the creature that stood before her: a thestral.
She could see them.
She hadn't been able to see them the night of Sirius' death.
Who? When…?
He'd not been there for her.
Guilt suffused him, swiftly followed by an acute sense of duty; of what was right, and required of him. He realised in that one moment of clarity that it was his place to stand by her side, shoulder to shoulder and share the weight of her trouble.
As he knew she would do for him.
For what other man could he trust to do so?
He lifts his hand from where it rests on her thigh to brush a lock of still mousy brown hair behind her ear. "I realised you need me," he says. He takes a deep breath and repeats and elaborates, "I realised you need me as much as I need you."
He can tell she's reeling from his revelation, that it is the very last admission she might have expected from him, even if it's a very welcome one.
He's made a lot of discoveries in the last few days; it's not presumptuous to acknowledge that she loves him, it's not big headed to know that he pleases her. He knows that to tell her he believes she needs him will not be taken as a perception of weakness.
Oh, God he wishes he'd realised it before now. How much pain could he have spared the both of them?
Until now, he's failed to communicate to her how much he's committed to their new path, how completely and utterly fixed he is on walking it together, to the end.
"I saw you, with that Thestral, and I knew straight away that something had changed."
He ran his fingers down the side of her face to her chin, which, with gently applied pressure, he lifted to meet his eyes.
"You hadn't known I could see them," she says.
"Not until then," he replies, brushing his thumb across her cheek. "It was only then that I realised that not only did I want to have been there for you, but I was the only person you'd open up to. The one you needed."
Her hand had been resting motionlessly on his hip for most of the conversation, it now grazed his sides, seeking out his cheek, where it fleetingly rests before burrowing into his hair. "Only you," she whispers, as she leans in to kiss him softly.
There has never been a time -- nor does Remus expect there will be -- when the touch of her lips ceases to thrill him as much as it did for the very first time. He knows they've only scratched the surface of the joys togetherness has to offer.
They've so much to look forward to, if only the war will let them.
When she pulls back her smile is radiant. "You have no idea how happy it makes me that you've realised that." Then, completely unexpectedly, she thumps him on the chest. "You great prat," she says, eyes shining mischievously, "it took a bloody thestral for it to get in your thick skull!"
Laughing, Remus swiftly rolls them so his body covers hers. He looks down at her, a surge of love pulsing through him: a sensation he's not unused to but never fails to take his breath away. He is torn; torn between prolonging the light-hearted moment and not trivialising what that moment had meant to him -- to them, and the root cause of the change in her.
"I was a prat," he says, "a great one." His hand runs firmly up her cheek and into her hair.
"But you're my great prat," she says as he leans down to kiss her. "At last, " she add against his lips.
Comments like that make Remus bristle, he can't help it. Deep down he knows that she's forgiven him; her words, her actions, the innate trust he has in her have told him so, but guilt rises when he thinks how long he made her wait, how long he let them be apart now that he knows he's as important to her as she is to him.
He can't bear it, actually, to know that she's longed for him as much as he has for her. He understands that hurt and pain and hadn't expected the same from her.
"I'm sorry," he says to her, but rolling away despite his words.
"I know. I've not doubted that, ever, even when we were apart."
"I know," Remus replies honestly. He does know.
For the last year, two voices have rung in his mind. Memories of Tonks', telling him over and over that she doesn't care, that she's willing to fight for him and won't give up. And the imagined voice of Sirius, ranging from accusing him of being a self-sacrificing prat to a cowardly bastard.
How different might this year have been if he'd had his old friend to beat a little sense into him? Or would it have made him retreat even more than he had done? No, Remus reasoned, he'd weathered out Molly and Arthur's unrelenting attacks. Sirius would have found just the right button to push to make him see the enormity of what he was giving up.
Sirius' unmovable support for his and Tonks' relationship had been touching, to say the least, and spoke volumes -- in Remus' opinion -- for how much he'd cared for the both of them. Sirius might have boasted a multitude of character defects, but he was not a man to hide his loyalties -- or affection.
Remus was not accustomed to sharing his pain. He was the man everyone had always relied upon to keep a cool head in a crisis. As he had when he'd held Harry back from the veil, as he had when he'd scooped an unconscious Tonks into his arms after having ascertained that Moody's injuries were not life threatening and headed for the emergency exit door that would lead him to the stairwell and fresh air.
Adrenaline pumping, Tonks had felt like a feather weight in his arms as he'd hurried down the steps, that is, until she's stirred and moaned softly and suddenly the events of the night had hit him full force.
He'd sunk to sit on the steps, cradling her head, so he could look into her eyes as he desperately sought the reassurance of her breath, the beating of her heart. Her fluttering eyes did not allow him the comfort of holding her gaze, the new-found awareness did yield the opportunity to assess that her lower chest was soaked in blood, but she was alive.
They'd sat for several minutes, while Remus took the time to run his wand over the worst of her injuries, knowing that if she was conscious he could take the time to do so before they headed to St. Mungo's.
Minutes later, no doubt attracted by the blood that stained Tonks' clothing and had by then seeped into his robes, Remus had been astounded by the sight of six Thestrals advancing towards them, keeping their distance, but edging ever closer.
"D'you remember when you first came to?" Remus asks, and then clarifies, "After the Ministry?"
Tonks shifts and pushes him back lightly so she can rest her head on his shoulder, she slips a leg between his. "Some of it," she admits. "I do remember the Thestrals…Or I don't, but you know what I mean.
He did. They'd approached and she'd been just aware enough to sense his added tension. "What is it?" she'd asked weakly, craning as much as she could in the general direction of his gaze. Enough that if she'd the ability to see them, she would be able to.
"Nothing worrying," he'd replied.
Later on they'd spent a night in bed discussing the events of the night, no, she couldn't see them, she'd never experienced death. In a way, it had made him all the more determined that she shouldn't.
Yet now she had.
And he really should have been there.
It was something she'd dreaded; her first death, she'd told him so. It was not something she'd admitted to another, but it felt right to tell him, she'd said.
She'd trusted him and he'd failed her.
"I'm here now, for you, as I know you've always been for me," he says softly, tracing a line from her shoulder to her chin with his fingers.
Her eyes meet his, shining with an openness that he can't help but give thanks for after everything they've been through. He knows they need to work on many things, and talk about even more, but to know that she trusts him, that she can lay beside him, naked in more than body, means more than the world to him. And he's grateful for a chance to return to her world, both the public, and this more intense, private one.
He reaches for her. The light breeze that breathes through their room has cooled his body, and he can tell from the way she's shimmered closer and shivers slightly that the heat of their earlier exertion has dissipated.
Remus pulls her close, settling her on his shoulder, sliding his leg more completely over hers and revelling in the feel of her skin against his. A sensation that, just a few days ago, he'd been convinced he'd never feel again.
Thankful for the opportunity to put to rights what should never have gone wrong, Remus rests his head against hers.
He is just about to succumb to the tempting lure of sleep when a thought crests. "You should think about pink tomorrow," he says.
Her soft mousy brown hair slides against his chin as she tilts her face to look up at him. "Pink?"
"I think it's worth a try. Dumbledore would love it. From what I'm told, there's a bunch of old stuffers coming tomorrow and I'm quite sure there is nothing Dumbledore would rather see than an array of his students and a pink haired Auror"
"And the pink haired Auror's rather lovely boyfriend?"
It was only Remus' new way of thinking, the one that allows him to recognise himself as the 'lovely boyfriend' and not, for a second, doubt her words or doubt himself.
"And him, too."