Masks and Mirrors, Chapter 7 (continued)
(Continued from Part One)
The usually resounding crack of Apparition was swallowed up by screams which made Tonks' heart pound with alarm as her feet materialised on the wooden floor of the Shrieking Shack.
Or rather, her foot. Singular. And only briefly touching the floor.
She collapsed onto her uninjured knee, crutches clattering beside her, and clutched at the other throbbing one. She bit back her cries, realising now that they were her own.
Augustus Pye hadn't been taking the piss when he forbade her to Apparate. The socket and tendons of her knee felt like they'd been torn apart and shattered all over again. Under her breath, she pleaded that this was only what it felt like had happened, and not what actually had. Her shoulder ached, too, under the weight of her rucksack.
Thankfully, the pain lessened, or else she was too distracted to notice. Now that her echoing screams had ceased, the shack was silent, except for her heavy breaths -- which wasn't a good thing. Even if she'd remained silent on her entrance, the sound of Apparition ought to have wakened Remus. Where was he?
It was still dark in the Shrieking Shack. This time of year the moon rose long before sunset, and it set well before daybreak, and Tonks had Disapparated from the flat the instant the Lunascope struck moonset. No light came in even through the slits in the boarded-over windows.
"Lumos."
Pale, bluish light emanated from the tip of her raised wand, illuminating a circle of the living room -- if such a broken, tattered wreck of a place could be called a living room, she thought, then immediately chided herself for it, remembering how Remus said he would think of the romantic dinner they'd shared here for her twenty-third birthday.
Glancing around the shack, she grinned to see the cupboard door stood ajar. Had it remained so since she'd looked inside for a Boggart and instead received dozens of balloons and a rousing choral rendition of "Happy Birthday To You"? The dining table was still where Remus had placed it in front of the fireplace, although tilted unsteadily on three legs; the chairs were overturned, more matchsticks than furniture. Tonks kept her eyes moving around the room so as not to wonder whether they'd met their tragic end back in April, or last night, meaning her Patronus had no effect on Remus. The lumpy sofa with stuffing spilling out the seams brought happy memories of a passionate birthday embrace...deep kisses...tentatively exploring fingers...shirts coming off--
The lean figure who now sprawled face down on the sofa wore no shirt.
Nor trousers.
Nor underpants.
Even across the room, in the impossibly dim wand light, Tonks could make out dozens of bruises mottling the pale skin of his thighs, buttocks, back, and the arm dangling over the edge of the couch, fingers curled in the dust on the floor. He lay so perfectly still that she stopped breathing, her hand over her mouth...
...until one of those long fingers twitched.
As if that finger had flicked a wand, Tonks snapped into motion. She retrieved her crutches and heaved herself upright, then thumped, noisily and off-balance as Mad-Eye on his wooden leg, across to Remus.
He stirred slightly as the light of her wand invaded his corner of the room, but he still did not come fully awake. Tonks Summoned one of the overturned chairs, repaired it with a spell, and placed it sideways next to the sofa, at Remus' waist. Shucking off her rucksack, she sat on the chair and Conjured a footstool to support her aching leg. Then, sticking the end of her wand between two sofa cushions to hold it upright, she set to work.
In her bag she'd brought her entire cache of Healing supplies, and she drew out her most frequently used remedy, a tub of Bruise Paste. She dipped two fingers into the cold, gloppy, faintly citrus-smelling ointment, then rubbed it, feather light, over a particularly nasty pair of twin bruises in the curve of Remus' back, right where his kidneys would be.
He moaned.
Tonks' hand froze. After all that, she'd hoped she wouldn't wake him. To sleep so heavily -- which he only did the morning following a transformation -- he must really need it.
Another moan. Followed by something resembling human speech, muffled by the sofa cushions.
"Assuming you mean 'Who's there?' and not 'ooze bear,' Tonks said, dipping her fingers once more into the tub of Bruise Paste, "I'll answer, 'Me.'"
Remus turned his head so that she could see the side of his face. His eyes were still closed, with dark rings around, and several days' growth of stubble with the makings of a thick beard clung to his chin.
"Me... h-h-'oo?"
"It's not a knock-knock joke," Tonks teased, kneading ointment into the hollow of his hip. "Me, Dora Tonks Almost-Lupin, who once upon a time Christened this place the Snogging Shack, and who hopes you'll soon be feeling up to helping it live up to that somewhat smutty name."
A low rattle in Remus' throat might have been a chuckle or a cough. "H-'ow'd you get here?"
Tonks squirmed guiltily, and tried to conceal her guilt with a laugh. "Now, Remus, is that any way to greet your lovely fiancée? You're supposed to say how happy you are to see me."
"Can' see you from 'ere."
Tonks shifted, ignoring the burn of her weight on her bad leg, so that she could lean over enough for him to glimpse her face in his periphery. Grunting, he rolled onto his back, opened his eyes, and smiled up at her.
"Hello, you."
"Wotcher."
Tonks' grin stretched the width of her face, producing an ache deep in her cheeks. But it was the pleasant sort of strain of exercising muscles after a long period of inactivity; she welcomed the sensation, as it meant her life was returning to normal, and she appreciated the reminder of how much it meant to her to start each day with the sight of his face and the sound of his voice -- both of which contained traces of the strain that would not let her forget the reality of the world around them, but which gave her the strength to face it, and the hope that he would be at the end of her days, as well.
"I'm very happy to see you," Remus said. "How'd you get here?"
She'd even missed his inability to let her off the hook. Sort of.
"You know, I could get away with lying to you since you didn't wake when I Apparated."
"Except that I could use Legilimency."
"There is that. Although I was counting on your wits being ever so slightly dulled."
"Ah. Well therein lies your problem. My wits are ordinarily so sharp that even when they're dulled, average mortals don't notice."
"I see this has had no effect whatsoever on your ego."
Remus' forehead dimpled. "I think I did hear you, but someone Apparated in my dream so I didn't bother to wake up."
"You can spare me the lecture," said Tonks, dabbing ointment across his collarbones, trying not to picture the delicate bones breaking and contorting to form a wolf's powerful breastbone. "I'm okay now, but it hurt like the devil at the time. I definitely won't try that again till Pye says I can."
"Shall I have a look at your knee?" Remus tried to push himself up on one elbow. "Augustus taught me an anti-Inflammatory Spell."
Tonks pushed him gently back against the cushions. "Right now it's your turn to be looked after."
It was a testament to the sort of night Remus had that he lay back, closed his eyes, and submitted to her ministrations. Though Tonks physically hurt inside that he had to endure this torture month after month, part of her was grateful for the chance this morning afforded to see how far they'd come in their two years together. Not very long ago, he'd never have allowed her to see him so vulnerable, or, if he had, he'd have been unable to meet her eye, swallowing bitter shame. She was ashamed as the words she'd spoken in anger yesterday returned to her: Concern about your comfort's fussing, is it? Only I thought you'd finally got over that. Did those words haunt him, too? Was he making an extra effort now (although none was needed, for he had got over it) because of them?
His sigh as her palms slid over his chest stopped her broody train of thought. No, Remus wasn't going to any effort at all now. He wanted her to do this for him. In fact, that sigh indicated he might even be enjoying this a little -- as if it were a massage, not first aid treatment after a full moon.
"Remus?" Tonks asked. "How do you feel?"
His eyebrows rose on his forehead. "Been worse. Much worse. Haven't felt this well after transforming without the potion since I was at school."
Slowly, his eyes opened, and a look of realisation and wonderment eased the lines of his face. His hands covered hers, which had been applying salve to his ribcage.
"Your Patronus."
Tonks held her breath and his hands. "You...remember?"
After her talk with Molly, she'd sat up, sending her Patronus to Remus, varying the incantation to keep the spirit guardian present here with him instead of effervescing into silvery particles and fading away into the musty air of the Shrieking Shack.
"Like a dream," he replied. "It didn't restore my human mind like Wolfsbane does, but I felt more human nonetheless. Not unlike transforming with Padfoot and Prongs."
His eyes held hers for a long moment, during which unspoken knowledge passed between them, swirling like a Patronus into Tonks' mind and heart, scattering the fear and doubt and confusion that had gathered over the past days like so many Dementors. Her bad leg slid off its footstool support as she leaned in to Remus, her t-shirt whispering over his bare skin; he drew their joined hands up to his chest.
"Well," said Tonks, "isn't that something."
"Indeed."
Covering both her hands with one of his long-fingered ones, Remus brought the other up to brush the backs of his knuckles across her face, then, uncurling his fingers, he slide his fingers back into her hair, his thumb lightly scuffing back and forth over her cheekbone. Tonks shivered, though less from his tingle-inducing touch than the way his eyes were watching her, as if she were the most precious treasure on earth.
"Oh, Dora," he rasped. "How could I have been so foolish? We're made for each other, you and I."
Tonks wasn't sure what foolishness he was referring to -- last year, when he'd left her, or the more recent doubt he'd displayed? -- but she didn't care. The only thing that mattered now was responding to the press of his fingers against her neck, of obeying his hoarse, yet utterly compelling, request to, "Come here," and joining him on the sofa.
She'd barely stretched herself out alongside him on the sofa (somehow managing to kick over her crutches, which hit the floor with a spectacular crash such as had become almost like the theme music for their unconventional romance) when their lips touched and his tongue parted them, pushing past her teeth, sliding into her mouth, infusing their kiss with the unrestrained love and desire and need that had lain unexpressed for much too long. Tonks was pretty sure her own actions expressed mutual feelings; his hand was on her hip, fiddling with the hem of her t-shirt, and it was so bloody maddening that she reached down and began to peel off the garment herself.
"Impatient, are we?" asked Remus, rather undermining this statement by setting to work on her bra clasp as she wriggled out of the t-shirt sleeves.
"Just evening things out." Tonks flung her top onto the floor, and her bra fluttered down from Remus' fingers to settle on top of it. "You've been naked from the start."
"One of the few positive things about werewolf transformation." Remus' dishevelled hair tickled her chin and chest as he dipped his head to kiss and lick the valley between her breasts. "You wake up dressed for sex."
"That a bit like dressing for success?"
Remus' lips hovered, parted, just over her nipple; through his fringe, one bright blue eye darted up to look at her. "Sexcess?"
Tonks let out a snort of laughter which was decidedly un-sexy, though not enough to upset the status quo. Quite the opposite, in fact; with a low sound in his throat that was half-Marauderish (Marauderesque?) chuckle, half-groan of a lover, his slid his hands over her bottom, giving her a squeeze both playful and sensual. Another post-transformation tête-à-tête leapt to the front of Tonks' memory; she'd brought him tea but fallen downstairs with it, and he'd told her he adored her, not in spite of what others -- like Fleur Weasley, like her own mother -- might deem deficiencies, but because her lack of balance and lack of grace were all part and parcel of what made her Don't-Call-Me-Nymphadora Tonks. She could look like anyone, but Remus wanted her to be herself.
And here, in a shack, naked but for a pair of holey jeans on a sofa full of squeaky springs and stuffing falling out, interrupting a passionate kissing session to snort with laughter at ridiculous puns in the arms of a bruised and scruffy but absolutely handsome werewolf, Tonks' authentic self emerged from the mask of a woman she'd been without him.
She pressed her hips against his, the denim of her jeans creating a soft friction against his skin.
"I'm not quite dressed for sexcess yet," she said.
"No." Remus' hands drifted down to the closure of her jeans. "Allow me to help you with that."
"Remus J. Lupin, personal stylist--oh!"
He'd done something very naughty whilst divesting her of her jeans and knickers, and there was no more talk from that moment on.
Their mouths found one another again as naked limbs twined together, Remus drawing her injured leg up over his so that her knee would have the support of his thigh. It was a little awkward, contending with her leg, but their kisses and caresses, the way he moaned her name (or, when she did something that really pleased him, which seemed to be every brush of her fingers, simply moaned)were so heady that Tonks took little notice, and at last he was in her, and her hands were holding the backs of his slender hips, pushing him in deeper as they rocked their hips together.
They quickly arrived at their climax, Remus lasting a little longer than she would have expected considering the time that had elapsed since the last time, and the fact that just a few hours ago he'd transformed, and indeed, longer than her. By comparison she supposed that it wasn't the most mind-blowing sex they'd ever had, but at the moment it sure as hell felt like it.
And apparently she wasn’t the only one who thought so. Still inside her, which was a heavy and satisfying feeling in her core, Remus leaned in and kissed her again. It was a long and languid kiss that might, with their bodies joined as they were, have led to more, but then he pulled back just enough that his lips skimmed hers as he whispered to her.
"Marry me, Dora."
She raised her left hand so that he could see the diamond and pink and blue sapphires glisten in the light of her wand still lodged in the sofa cushions. "You've already asked, and I already said yes."
"I wasn't asking."
Remus shifted so that they slipped apart, and he turned her onto her back so that she was looking up at him, resting on his elbows above her.
"I want to marry you at once. As soon as it can be arranged. There is no sense in delaying another--Dora! You're crying."
Tonks swiped her hand over her moist cheeks and grinned at him through her tears. "Don't worry, it's cos you've just made me ridiculously happy."
She took his face in her hands and kissed him, then pulled back, laughing.
"Molly was right. She said a little love-making would put everything in its proper perspective."
Though he was grinning, Remus' eyebrow was quirked in befuddlement. "What needed putting in perspective?"
Her gaze drifting over his shoulder, Tonks caught her lower lip between her teeth. She hated to let him know that she'd doubted whether he would go forward with the marriage, but she knew she had no choice but to tell him if she expected him to be fully honest with her about his insecurities. He would forgive her, she knew, and if he felt guilty about his past actions instilling that doubt in her, she would help him forgive himself.
Meeting his gaze again, she told him everything that had weighed on her while she was alone in hospital. When she told him how his expression of inadequacy had affected her, he instantly lay down beside her once again, pulling her into his arms and holding her still nude body against his.
"That wasn't about you," Remus said. "Not like you're thinking, anyway. I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it till the day I die."
His arms tightened around her, and she felt the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed.
"It's leading the Order," he continued. "It kept me from you when you needed me most."
"Remus, don't." Tonks pushed back so she could look him in the eye, even though she could barely do so for the shame that gripped her. "Dad said that, and it was horrible, but it's not true--"
"It is true, and I thought it long before your father accused me of not doing right by you. Every time duty took me away from you, I felt like a monster for not putting you first."
"I never felt like that. I never resented duty. When I'm back on my feet, we'll both have duty pulling us apart -- it's always been that way for us."
Remus shook his head. "Not exactly that way, and it's more than that even. A good leader has to be able to separate his feelings for people from what must be done. You saw me yesterday, how I could scarcely think when there were you and your parents to consider."
He pulled her against him again, tucking her head beneath his chin and stroking her hair as if this was the last time he would ever hold her.
"With all that's transpired in the past few days, it has become all the more urgent that we re-establish our contact with Snape. I am beginning to see that the only one who can do it is you, and I can't ask it of you. I could not be the one to send you into danger, especially after what you've already been through."
His anxiety and train of thought, along with all the gaps her knowledge, and on top of it all, her sleepless night and their intense physical exertion, dizzied Tonks.
"Let's not talk about it any more for now." She disentangled an arm from his embrace and Summoned a blanket from the cupboard. "Let's hold on to that little bit of perspective we've got and see how it looks after we've had some sleep, as well."
She felt him nod, as she pulled the tatty, faintly mothball-smelling blanket up over their bodies. They snuggled down into the sofa cushions, her head cradled on the fleshy part of his shoulder and their legs tangling together in a way that was warmth and home, as no place could be, and was heaven after her week in a sterile hospital bed, and a week before that in their bed which felt too big and strange without him lying beside her.
"For what it's worth," she added, her voice heavy and slow as sleep began to slide over her already, "there's no one in the Order I'd rather follow than you, and I think when we have a meeting you'll find everyone else feels the same. It was you Harry looked to first, wasn't it?"
"I--" Remus was cut off by a huge and contagious yawn.
"We're in total agreement, then," said Tonks through her yawn.
Remus mmmed low in his throat. His breathing deepened, and Tonks' eyes drooped shut, her body lulled by the rhythm of the rise and fall of his chest.
"Oh, and Remus?"
"Hm?"
"We're going to have to start calling this place the Shagging Shack."
To be continued...
A/N: I know I'm not the quickest updater in the world -- I may even be the slowest -- but feedback might motivate me to let less time elapse between chapters. And to motivate you, I offer your choice of Remus: needy Remus, who comes in boxers and with a tub of Bruise Paste for you to rub on the hard to reach spots; Remus in a towel, who could use a day at the spa and brings a bottle of massage oil; or sexy Remus, who's naked and prefers a chocolate rub-down...