R/T Fic: Another Kind of Magic, Part Two
Title: Another Kind of Magic (2/7 + Prologue & Epilogue)
Authors: godricgal and mrstater
Illustrator: hrymfaxe
Format & Word Count: chaptered fic, this part weighs in at 3,568 words.
Rating & Warnings: R for sex
Summary: Something magical has been brewing between Remus and Tonks all summer long. But what happens when an Order assignment requires them to do things the Muggle way?
Authors' Notes: Written for the occasion of gilpin25's birthday, October 25, 2008.
Prologue | Part One |
Part Two
Throughout the short walk from Tesco's to the house the Order had commandeered for the weekend, which belonged to distant Muggle relations of Hestia Jones who were on holiday all summer on the continent, Tonks trudged behind Remus, dragging her feet and staring in disbelief at the parchment that kept a magical tally of points earned and lost throughout their training. They hadn't performed nearly as well on the Muggle shopping portion of their training as she, a determined -- even perfectionistic -- Hufflepuff to the last, would have preferred. In fact, they'd done so poorly that she was unable to properly appreciate Remus' chivalrous insistence on carrying the two carrier bags full of their purchases, because part of her suspected the gesture wasn't so much gallant as being on guard against their hard-earned shopping being dropped by the clumsy one who'd rammed a trolley into a tower of paper towels. The whole incident had left her in a bit of a strop.
"We might have got away with it, you know," she said as they arrived at the doorstep of their destination and Remus shifted the shopping bags awkwardly to one hand while he fished for the keys in his trouser pocket, "if you hadn't tried to be clever and used your wand to deflect the fall of those paper towels."
"Perhaps not," Remus conceded.
A clunk sounded from within the door as the key turned the lock over. Using his shoulder to push the door while his hands were occupied with keys and bags respectively, Remus opened the door, then stepped aside for Tonks to enter. She felt his steady gaze on her as she swept past him into the hallway, but her eyes were trained on the dimly lit space, looking out for the two overnight bags they'd dropped inside when they met here before the shopping trip.
"But it was a very tall tower," Remus continued. "If I'd not done something, it's quite possible that poor lady would never again have seen the light of day for being buried beneath them."
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving them quite in the dark in the cramped confines of the pokey hallway. If he'd been wearing robes, the hem of his would have been brushing against her legs. As it was, the air felt close from the house having been shut up during the hottest summer on record. Tonks stepped into the kitchen just off the hall and flicked on the light switch.
"As it was," she said, briskly, her eyes sweeping a kitchen that didn't appear to have been redecorated since the 70s, "you were quite content with risking a breach of the Statute of Secrecy." She stuck the score sheet to the refrigerator with the help of one of the dozens of magnets that resided there, holding takeaway menus to the cool, off-white surface. Then, she snatched a bag from Remus' hands and began to pile their purchases on the kitchen counter. "I should arrest you, really."
"I thought that was more in the remit of Magical Law Enforcement," Remus replied, a teasing lilt in his voice as he came to stand next to her, his arm brushing against her shoulder as he began to unload the contents of the other bag.
The jar of pasta sauce slammed to the surface of the counter with more force than Tonks had intended. "I have jurisdiction to arrest for any breach of magical law."
"I take it you won't be exercising that power today," Remus said, "seeing as I currently have custody of the pudding we picked out."
Tonks narrowed her eyes. "Don't think I couldn't dessert disarm you, Lupin."
"Wouldn't think it for a minute. But you know what they say about chocolate cheesecake..."
"What's that?"
He turned to her, presenting the cheesecake, all its chocolatey glory presented in a mouth-watering photograph imprinted on the purple top of the box. "It's better shared."
It was difficult to stay miffed when a man was looking at you as if he didn't for a minute resent that you'd wreaked havoc in public and lost him points in an important assignment, and who was offering to share a chocolate cheesecake with you. Nonetheless, Tonks lifted an eyebrow in mock scepticism.
"Who's they?"
"Well, me, but don't you agree? And it's definitely better shared than those -- how did you put it? -- great balls of Turkish delight."
Despite a hot flush creeping upward from the neck of her t-shirt, Tonks avoided stammering in embarrassment, and even managed an eye-roll. "You're the one with the dirty mind. All I said was, 'Blimey, look at these great balls of something called Turkish Delight', and then you started sniggering. Honestly, Remus, what are you, fourteen?"
He was sniggering again, the infuriating prat, leaning against the counter with his hands shoved into his trouser pockets. "Didn't you tell me earlier I was distinguished?"
"Look distinguished," said Tonks between her teeth. "Who knew that grey hair hid the mind of a randy schoolboy?"
"My apologies, Nymphadora." Before Tonks could scold him, he said, "I suppose it just brings out my inner twerp to hear a pretty girl use words frequently reserved for male anatomy."
Tonks blinked. Had Remus just called her pretty? She could hardly believe it -- her hair wasn't even morphed! The very idea -- not to mention the way his blue eyes were looking at her, as if they weren't missing a detail, and weren't put off by a detail -- put her off-balance. She put a hand on the counter to keep herself upright while she regained her sense of equilibrium. One thing was certain, and that was that he'd called her Nymphadora, and that was one good deed that couldn't go unpunished.
Only she couldn't muster up the necessary vim and vigour to utter anything more than a mild, "Don't call me Nymphadora, Remus. But do see if you can't find a pot to cook this pasta in."
As she turned, she caught him giving her a little salute. "Yes, ma'am." He rolled up his shirtsleeves, and then raised his wand. "Accio--"
"Don't Accio!!" Tonks screamed, whirling around. Momentum seemed to carry her as, without thinking, she launched herself at Remus. The next thing she knew, his arms were tightly around her, his face wore an expression of amusement mixed with a certain degree of perplexity, and she was red-cheeked and wondering what on earth she thought she might have achieved, as, to add injury to insult, the pot Remus had Summoned thumped her squarely on the back of the head. No doubt, pink cheeks would soon be complemented by a sizable purplish bruise.
"Ow!" Her fingers instantly flew to her now throbbing head as the pot crashed to the floor. To her horror, tears smarted in the corners of her eyes. Remus cried out her name, and then his warm fingers were prying her own away and, so tenderly, pushing her hair back so he could assess the damage to her skull. Through pain and mortification, it didn't escape her notice that he kept his free arm wrapped firmly around her.
She blinked furiously against her tears; she never did well with kindness at these moments. Teasing, even mockery, she could deal with, but kindness meant she had to work twice as hard to keep those tears at bay. Thankfully, with just a little dampness in her eyelashes, she was able to meet Remus' murmured enquiry about her well being with a rueful smile that turned into a slight wince as she nodded her head to let him know she was okay.
"I'm so sorry," he said. "That was foolish of me."
He pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat her down in it. Glancing at the score sheet on the refrigerator, he said, "I only cost us half a point on that. Want to spend the other half on a healing spell? I will fully shoulder the blame when Mad-Eye debriefs us. Might even be able to bribe Sirius to remove it if I explain the dire need of the circumstance and promise to let him beat me at cards."
"It's okay." Tonks smiled at him to let him know that it was. "It'll go away in a few. You can make it up to me by getting the pasta on to boil."
But Remus was frowning. "It will never do to let a head injury go untreated."
Tonks opened her mouth in protest, but her argument died on the tip of her tongue as her interest was captured by Remus crossing the narrow kitchen in a single stride to go to the freezer. He bent to open the bottom door, and steam swirled out around his face. Tonks' eyes briefly wavered from him opening one of the drawers to note that his position gave her an advantageous view of his bum, before flicking back in time to see him taking out a plastic tray, the bottom of which was made up of a dozen cube-shaped craters. Remus straightened up and, nudging the freezer door shut with his knee, turned to the workspace. He reached into his trouser pocket and took out a handkerchief, which he spread out on the counter. Then, turning the tray upside down, he took an end in each hand and bent it until a couple of translucent cubes popped out and landed on the handkerchief.
"An ice pack would be brilliant," said Tonks, as Remus knotted his handkerchief around the ice, though her voice sounded a bit cracked to her own ears as his kindness touched her; she remembered her grandpa making an ice pack for her in the same way when she'd stayed with her grandparents and she'd met with some calamity or other whilst playing in the garden.
She reached for the bundle as Remus approached the chair in which she was still sat, but he stepped around her and applied the cold compress lightly to the back of her head himself.
"You don't have to do that," said Tonks, even as she relaxed against the soothing coolness and gentle pressure of his fingers as they held her head still.
"It's my fault that pot came flying at your head in the first place--Tonks!"
"What?" She sucked in her breath through her teeth as the sudden jerk of her head made it throb. "Did you see something outside?"
She started to get up, but Remus' hand on her shoulder held her in place. "Just look at the score sheet, there, at the bottom."
Under the "Bonus Points" heading, a new item had appeared: "Muggle First-Aid - 2 Points."
"Maybe you should hit me on the head so we can earn a few more," Remus joked.
"Or maybe you ought to put the rest of that ice back in the freezer before we lose what we just gained."
"Keep it there a little longer," Remus said, gently, pushing her hand back to hold the ice pack against her head, which now only ached dully. "I'll tell you what we should pop in the freezer for a bit: that bottle of wine."
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Tonks asked. "Won't it, you know, freeze? I'm no expert in these matters, but I once did a freezing charm on a bottle of Butterbeer that had been sitting in the sun all day and it exploded."
"A freezer doesn't work like a freezing charm. Muggles do everything slowly. We'll put it in for an hour or so, and it'll be fine."
Though retaining a modicum of doubt, Tonks was content to defer to Remus' judgement. Once the bottle of wine was (ostensibly) safely ensconced in the bottom drawer of the freezer, she cheekily informed Remus that just because he'd gained them two points and all but cured her throbbing head, he wasn't excused from starting off the dinner.
Remus quickly stowed away their shopping in cupboards or in the fridge, then retrieved the pot from the floor. He inspected it carefully, with a brow furrowed deeply in concentration, and declared that Tonks' head hadn't done it any damage.
"I think," Tonks rejoined, "that I should be inclined to blame the floor, had there been any damage."
Remus placed the pot on the stove and bent to peer closely at the knobs beneath them. "You're right," he said, taking a quick glance her way. "In Tonks versus cooking pot, it was a foregone conclusion in the pot's favour."
Tonks opened her mouth in retort, but closed it again when she realised she had none. Should she find herself offered a wager on such a battle in the future, it would be wishful thinking and fiscally imprudent to accept.
"Ever used a Muggle stove before?" Remus asked. "I have no idea what these numbers mean."
Tonks stood and shuffled to join him at the cooker. "Neither do I," she replied. "Why don't you just turn it on and see what happens?"
"Do you reckon?" Remus regarded the appliance warily.
"Remus, we're an Auror and an ex-professor, what's the worst that could happen?"
This time, Remus turned his sceptical gaze on her, and she couldn't meet it with staunch determination for long.
"Okay," she admitted, looking away from him. "I know our record's not been great today. Still, a show of bravery?"
Remus nodded and took a deep breath, which made Tonks want to laugh, but in another show of what she considered comradely support, she schooled her face into a mask of mixed confidence and gravity, which she thought Remus would feel to be fitting and appropriate for the task.
When he turned the knob, there was an upstart of a slight hissing sound, but no flame was forthcoming. Then, faintly at first, but growing stronger with each passing second, much stronger, a smell pricked at the edge of her memory and then it hit her.
Muggle gas!
"Turn it off!" she cried. "Quickly!"
As quick as the flash Tonks was anxious to prevent, Remus flipped the knob back to the off position. "What is it?"
"It's gas. They taught us about it in training. It's more explosive than a Rita Skeeter headline!" She rushed over to the window above the sink and opened it to let some air in.
"What on earth are Muggles doing with it in their homes, then?"
"Beats me." Tonks opened another window by the table, then turned back to Remus. "They must know what they're doing with it, because they all have it."
"Unlike us," Remus said, "who neither have it nor know what to do with it."
He sounded as perplexed and frustrated as Tonks had ever seen him.
"I'm sure it's nothing we can't deal with," she said, with more optimism than she felt. If Remus was dubious, how much hope did they really have of succeeding at Muggle cookery? But the smell had almost gone, which was something. She went back to the cooker and bent to peer closely at the hobs.
"See these holes?" She glanced up to Remus.
"Mm." He bent his head close to hers, so close she could feel the heat from his body and his breath tickling the side of her face, which made it difficult to concentrate on hobs and how they worked.
"I reckon the gas comes out of that, and when it's on fire, it burns so quickly that it never has the chance to be dangerous and do explody things. So what we need is fire. That fancy blue flame trick of yours would come in handy at this point."
"Indeed. Perhaps there are some of those...What do they call them? Matches?"
"Matches! Genius, Remus. What do they look like?"
Her rising hope took a downturn when Remus looked sheepish and said, "Erm, I'm not entirely sure. Let's start looking and hope that they come in a box with a nice big label."
Luckily, Remus found a box of matches in the first drawer he searched -- the one directly to the right of the cooker, which made sense and cemented in Tonks' mind that matches and cookers were a good match, and it was all in the name.
"Now," Remus said, palming the small box and pushing out a small tray lined with matches like soldiers in formation. "How do you think we should do this?"
He took out a single match and examined it carefully, then drew it slowly along one side of the box. A spark flew, but it guttered and died.
"Assuming you can get a match to light," Tonks said, "I'll turn the knob and you hold the match near those holes? If nothing happens I can turn it off quickly and we can try again."
"Okay."
Remus drew another match and repeated the process, this time, it seemed, with a little more confidence. It was not misplaced; the spark burst into flame! He darted forward to hold the burning match to the hob, but the movement, it seemed, was too much for the tiny flame to cope with, and it flickered out in a furious flurry of aromatic smoke.
"I'll stand a bit closer this time," he said as he drew yet another match.
"Third time's the charm," said Tonks, and then, her eyes darting at the score sheet with a paranoia worthy of Mad-Eye, added, "Metaphorically speaking, of course."
On the next attempt, the flame burned steadily, as Remus lowered it to the hob. Tonks turned the knob, and at once, with a low, short-lived roar, a flower of small flames danced, in cornflower blue, around the circular disc of the smoky black hob.
They grinned at each other.
"How's that for teamwork?" said Remus, and Tonks, ridiculously, blushed. She turned quickly away from him in the hope that he wouldn't notice, picking up the cooking pot and carrying it to the sink.
"Let's not count our dragons before they hatch," she said, turning on the tap to release a jet of cold water into the pot. "Once we've got our pasta dinner on the table, then we can toast our teamwork."
She worried that Remus would be put off by her reaction, but he said, "Probably wise. Look up there."
Tonks glanced over her shoulder and followed his gesturing finger and upswept gaze to the ceiling and a circular scorch mark directly over the hob.
"Either the homeowners keep a pet dragon," said Remus, "or one of the previous teams had a spot of trouble with the cooker."
"Is that...?" Tonks squinted at a high spot on the wall. "Is that dried spaghetti stuck to the wallpaper?"
"Hm. It would certainly appear to be."
"How do you think they managed that?"
"Not sure, but you'd best shut that tap off."
"Blast!" She was overflowing the pot, though, thankfully, only into the sink and down the drain, and not all over the floor. Water off, she tilted the pot to carefully empty out a bit of the extra water. "Reckon we'll lose any points for that one?"
"So far, so good," said Remus, glancing over his shoulder to check the score sheet.
"Luckily." Tonks started to heft the pot out of the sink, when Remus was suddenly at her side, his hands covering hers on the handles of the pot.
"Allow me," he said softly, and before she could protest, he'd prised it from her hands and carried it across the kitchen, placing it upon the hob.
"Thanks," said Tonks, feeling the warmth in her cheeks once again, but this time not bothering to hide it as she handed him the lid. His fingers brushed hers as he took it from her, and she heard herself saying, "Gryffindor chivalry?" Then, realising how stupid that must have sounded, she arched her eyebrow and said, "Or did you just think it was pushing your luck to let me carry a pot of water across the kitchen?"
Remus' eyes twinkled, and he ducked his head in an ever so slightly guilty way, but Tonks couldn't even pretend to be annoyed at him when he said, in a flirty tone, "Gryffindor chivalry, of course. Only I think it ends at carrying pots of water, as I'm wearing my best white shirt, and I think I'd rather you be in charge of the tomato sauce, if you don't mind."
Out the corner of her eye, Tonks noticed an apron hanging on the doorknob of what was, presumably, the pantry. She plucked it off and tossed it to Remus. "I think you should just wear this."
Laughing, he unfurled it. His laughter dropped to a soft chuckle as Tonks' eyes bulged at the slogan printed on the front of it. She moved to snatch it from him, but he'd already slung it over his neck.
"Does this mean you'll be kissing me?" he asked in a way that made Tonks' heart miss a beat with the hope that maybe, just maybe, he meant he'd very much like her to kiss him.
"Maybe," she said. "Although that rather depends on whether you actually do anything to earn the title of cook."
Remus smiled flirtatiously as he tied the apron around his slim waist. "Suddenly I find myself very much more motivated to succeed at this portion of our assignment."
Tonks returned his grin. "You know what? Me, too."
Read Part Three
A/N: Reviewers get an opportunity to kiss the cook...
Authors: godricgal and mrstater
Illustrator: hrymfaxe
Format & Word Count: chaptered fic, this part weighs in at 3,568 words.
Rating & Warnings: R for sex
Summary: Something magical has been brewing between Remus and Tonks all summer long. But what happens when an Order assignment requires them to do things the Muggle way?
Authors' Notes: Written for the occasion of gilpin25's birthday, October 25, 2008.
Prologue | Part One |
Part Two
Throughout the short walk from Tesco's to the house the Order had commandeered for the weekend, which belonged to distant Muggle relations of Hestia Jones who were on holiday all summer on the continent, Tonks trudged behind Remus, dragging her feet and staring in disbelief at the parchment that kept a magical tally of points earned and lost throughout their training. They hadn't performed nearly as well on the Muggle shopping portion of their training as she, a determined -- even perfectionistic -- Hufflepuff to the last, would have preferred. In fact, they'd done so poorly that she was unable to properly appreciate Remus' chivalrous insistence on carrying the two carrier bags full of their purchases, because part of her suspected the gesture wasn't so much gallant as being on guard against their hard-earned shopping being dropped by the clumsy one who'd rammed a trolley into a tower of paper towels. The whole incident had left her in a bit of a strop.
"We might have got away with it, you know," she said as they arrived at the doorstep of their destination and Remus shifted the shopping bags awkwardly to one hand while he fished for the keys in his trouser pocket, "if you hadn't tried to be clever and used your wand to deflect the fall of those paper towels."
"Perhaps not," Remus conceded.
A clunk sounded from within the door as the key turned the lock over. Using his shoulder to push the door while his hands were occupied with keys and bags respectively, Remus opened the door, then stepped aside for Tonks to enter. She felt his steady gaze on her as she swept past him into the hallway, but her eyes were trained on the dimly lit space, looking out for the two overnight bags they'd dropped inside when they met here before the shopping trip.
"But it was a very tall tower," Remus continued. "If I'd not done something, it's quite possible that poor lady would never again have seen the light of day for being buried beneath them."
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving them quite in the dark in the cramped confines of the pokey hallway. If he'd been wearing robes, the hem of his would have been brushing against her legs. As it was, the air felt close from the house having been shut up during the hottest summer on record. Tonks stepped into the kitchen just off the hall and flicked on the light switch.
"As it was," she said, briskly, her eyes sweeping a kitchen that didn't appear to have been redecorated since the 70s, "you were quite content with risking a breach of the Statute of Secrecy." She stuck the score sheet to the refrigerator with the help of one of the dozens of magnets that resided there, holding takeaway menus to the cool, off-white surface. Then, she snatched a bag from Remus' hands and began to pile their purchases on the kitchen counter. "I should arrest you, really."
"I thought that was more in the remit of Magical Law Enforcement," Remus replied, a teasing lilt in his voice as he came to stand next to her, his arm brushing against her shoulder as he began to unload the contents of the other bag.
The jar of pasta sauce slammed to the surface of the counter with more force than Tonks had intended. "I have jurisdiction to arrest for any breach of magical law."
"I take it you won't be exercising that power today," Remus said, "seeing as I currently have custody of the pudding we picked out."
Tonks narrowed her eyes. "Don't think I couldn't dessert disarm you, Lupin."
"Wouldn't think it for a minute. But you know what they say about chocolate cheesecake..."
"What's that?"
He turned to her, presenting the cheesecake, all its chocolatey glory presented in a mouth-watering photograph imprinted on the purple top of the box. "It's better shared."
It was difficult to stay miffed when a man was looking at you as if he didn't for a minute resent that you'd wreaked havoc in public and lost him points in an important assignment, and who was offering to share a chocolate cheesecake with you. Nonetheless, Tonks lifted an eyebrow in mock scepticism.
"Who's they?"
"Well, me, but don't you agree? And it's definitely better shared than those -- how did you put it? -- great balls of Turkish delight."
Despite a hot flush creeping upward from the neck of her t-shirt, Tonks avoided stammering in embarrassment, and even managed an eye-roll. "You're the one with the dirty mind. All I said was, 'Blimey, look at these great balls of something called Turkish Delight', and then you started sniggering. Honestly, Remus, what are you, fourteen?"
He was sniggering again, the infuriating prat, leaning against the counter with his hands shoved into his trouser pockets. "Didn't you tell me earlier I was distinguished?"
"Look distinguished," said Tonks between her teeth. "Who knew that grey hair hid the mind of a randy schoolboy?"
"My apologies, Nymphadora." Before Tonks could scold him, he said, "I suppose it just brings out my inner twerp to hear a pretty girl use words frequently reserved for male anatomy."
Tonks blinked. Had Remus just called her pretty? She could hardly believe it -- her hair wasn't even morphed! The very idea -- not to mention the way his blue eyes were looking at her, as if they weren't missing a detail, and weren't put off by a detail -- put her off-balance. She put a hand on the counter to keep herself upright while she regained her sense of equilibrium. One thing was certain, and that was that he'd called her Nymphadora, and that was one good deed that couldn't go unpunished.
Only she couldn't muster up the necessary vim and vigour to utter anything more than a mild, "Don't call me Nymphadora, Remus. But do see if you can't find a pot to cook this pasta in."
As she turned, she caught him giving her a little salute. "Yes, ma'am." He rolled up his shirtsleeves, and then raised his wand. "Accio--"
"Don't Accio!!" Tonks screamed, whirling around. Momentum seemed to carry her as, without thinking, she launched herself at Remus. The next thing she knew, his arms were tightly around her, his face wore an expression of amusement mixed with a certain degree of perplexity, and she was red-cheeked and wondering what on earth she thought she might have achieved, as, to add injury to insult, the pot Remus had Summoned thumped her squarely on the back of the head. No doubt, pink cheeks would soon be complemented by a sizable purplish bruise.
"Ow!" Her fingers instantly flew to her now throbbing head as the pot crashed to the floor. To her horror, tears smarted in the corners of her eyes. Remus cried out her name, and then his warm fingers were prying her own away and, so tenderly, pushing her hair back so he could assess the damage to her skull. Through pain and mortification, it didn't escape her notice that he kept his free arm wrapped firmly around her.
She blinked furiously against her tears; she never did well with kindness at these moments. Teasing, even mockery, she could deal with, but kindness meant she had to work twice as hard to keep those tears at bay. Thankfully, with just a little dampness in her eyelashes, she was able to meet Remus' murmured enquiry about her well being with a rueful smile that turned into a slight wince as she nodded her head to let him know she was okay.
"I'm so sorry," he said. "That was foolish of me."
He pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat her down in it. Glancing at the score sheet on the refrigerator, he said, "I only cost us half a point on that. Want to spend the other half on a healing spell? I will fully shoulder the blame when Mad-Eye debriefs us. Might even be able to bribe Sirius to remove it if I explain the dire need of the circumstance and promise to let him beat me at cards."
"It's okay." Tonks smiled at him to let him know that it was. "It'll go away in a few. You can make it up to me by getting the pasta on to boil."
But Remus was frowning. "It will never do to let a head injury go untreated."
Tonks opened her mouth in protest, but her argument died on the tip of her tongue as her interest was captured by Remus crossing the narrow kitchen in a single stride to go to the freezer. He bent to open the bottom door, and steam swirled out around his face. Tonks' eyes briefly wavered from him opening one of the drawers to note that his position gave her an advantageous view of his bum, before flicking back in time to see him taking out a plastic tray, the bottom of which was made up of a dozen cube-shaped craters. Remus straightened up and, nudging the freezer door shut with his knee, turned to the workspace. He reached into his trouser pocket and took out a handkerchief, which he spread out on the counter. Then, turning the tray upside down, he took an end in each hand and bent it until a couple of translucent cubes popped out and landed on the handkerchief.
"An ice pack would be brilliant," said Tonks, as Remus knotted his handkerchief around the ice, though her voice sounded a bit cracked to her own ears as his kindness touched her; she remembered her grandpa making an ice pack for her in the same way when she'd stayed with her grandparents and she'd met with some calamity or other whilst playing in the garden.
She reached for the bundle as Remus approached the chair in which she was still sat, but he stepped around her and applied the cold compress lightly to the back of her head himself.
"You don't have to do that," said Tonks, even as she relaxed against the soothing coolness and gentle pressure of his fingers as they held her head still.
"It's my fault that pot came flying at your head in the first place--Tonks!"
"What?" She sucked in her breath through her teeth as the sudden jerk of her head made it throb. "Did you see something outside?"
She started to get up, but Remus' hand on her shoulder held her in place. "Just look at the score sheet, there, at the bottom."
Under the "Bonus Points" heading, a new item had appeared: "Muggle First-Aid - 2 Points."
"Maybe you should hit me on the head so we can earn a few more," Remus joked.
"Or maybe you ought to put the rest of that ice back in the freezer before we lose what we just gained."
"Keep it there a little longer," Remus said, gently, pushing her hand back to hold the ice pack against her head, which now only ached dully. "I'll tell you what we should pop in the freezer for a bit: that bottle of wine."
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Tonks asked. "Won't it, you know, freeze? I'm no expert in these matters, but I once did a freezing charm on a bottle of Butterbeer that had been sitting in the sun all day and it exploded."
"A freezer doesn't work like a freezing charm. Muggles do everything slowly. We'll put it in for an hour or so, and it'll be fine."
Though retaining a modicum of doubt, Tonks was content to defer to Remus' judgement. Once the bottle of wine was (ostensibly) safely ensconced in the bottom drawer of the freezer, she cheekily informed Remus that just because he'd gained them two points and all but cured her throbbing head, he wasn't excused from starting off the dinner.
Remus quickly stowed away their shopping in cupboards or in the fridge, then retrieved the pot from the floor. He inspected it carefully, with a brow furrowed deeply in concentration, and declared that Tonks' head hadn't done it any damage.
"I think," Tonks rejoined, "that I should be inclined to blame the floor, had there been any damage."
Remus placed the pot on the stove and bent to peer closely at the knobs beneath them. "You're right," he said, taking a quick glance her way. "In Tonks versus cooking pot, it was a foregone conclusion in the pot's favour."
Tonks opened her mouth in retort, but closed it again when she realised she had none. Should she find herself offered a wager on such a battle in the future, it would be wishful thinking and fiscally imprudent to accept.
"Ever used a Muggle stove before?" Remus asked. "I have no idea what these numbers mean."
Tonks stood and shuffled to join him at the cooker. "Neither do I," she replied. "Why don't you just turn it on and see what happens?"
"Do you reckon?" Remus regarded the appliance warily.
"Remus, we're an Auror and an ex-professor, what's the worst that could happen?"
This time, Remus turned his sceptical gaze on her, and she couldn't meet it with staunch determination for long.
"Okay," she admitted, looking away from him. "I know our record's not been great today. Still, a show of bravery?"
Remus nodded and took a deep breath, which made Tonks want to laugh, but in another show of what she considered comradely support, she schooled her face into a mask of mixed confidence and gravity, which she thought Remus would feel to be fitting and appropriate for the task.
When he turned the knob, there was an upstart of a slight hissing sound, but no flame was forthcoming. Then, faintly at first, but growing stronger with each passing second, much stronger, a smell pricked at the edge of her memory and then it hit her.
Muggle gas!
"Turn it off!" she cried. "Quickly!"
As quick as the flash Tonks was anxious to prevent, Remus flipped the knob back to the off position. "What is it?"
"It's gas. They taught us about it in training. It's more explosive than a Rita Skeeter headline!" She rushed over to the window above the sink and opened it to let some air in.
"What on earth are Muggles doing with it in their homes, then?"
"Beats me." Tonks opened another window by the table, then turned back to Remus. "They must know what they're doing with it, because they all have it."
"Unlike us," Remus said, "who neither have it nor know what to do with it."
He sounded as perplexed and frustrated as Tonks had ever seen him.
"I'm sure it's nothing we can't deal with," she said, with more optimism than she felt. If Remus was dubious, how much hope did they really have of succeeding at Muggle cookery? But the smell had almost gone, which was something. She went back to the cooker and bent to peer closely at the hobs.
"See these holes?" She glanced up to Remus.
"Mm." He bent his head close to hers, so close she could feel the heat from his body and his breath tickling the side of her face, which made it difficult to concentrate on hobs and how they worked.
"I reckon the gas comes out of that, and when it's on fire, it burns so quickly that it never has the chance to be dangerous and do explody things. So what we need is fire. That fancy blue flame trick of yours would come in handy at this point."
"Indeed. Perhaps there are some of those...What do they call them? Matches?"
"Matches! Genius, Remus. What do they look like?"
Her rising hope took a downturn when Remus looked sheepish and said, "Erm, I'm not entirely sure. Let's start looking and hope that they come in a box with a nice big label."
Luckily, Remus found a box of matches in the first drawer he searched -- the one directly to the right of the cooker, which made sense and cemented in Tonks' mind that matches and cookers were a good match, and it was all in the name.
"Now," Remus said, palming the small box and pushing out a small tray lined with matches like soldiers in formation. "How do you think we should do this?"
He took out a single match and examined it carefully, then drew it slowly along one side of the box. A spark flew, but it guttered and died.
"Assuming you can get a match to light," Tonks said, "I'll turn the knob and you hold the match near those holes? If nothing happens I can turn it off quickly and we can try again."
"Okay."
Remus drew another match and repeated the process, this time, it seemed, with a little more confidence. It was not misplaced; the spark burst into flame! He darted forward to hold the burning match to the hob, but the movement, it seemed, was too much for the tiny flame to cope with, and it flickered out in a furious flurry of aromatic smoke.
"I'll stand a bit closer this time," he said as he drew yet another match.
"Third time's the charm," said Tonks, and then, her eyes darting at the score sheet with a paranoia worthy of Mad-Eye, added, "Metaphorically speaking, of course."
On the next attempt, the flame burned steadily, as Remus lowered it to the hob. Tonks turned the knob, and at once, with a low, short-lived roar, a flower of small flames danced, in cornflower blue, around the circular disc of the smoky black hob.
They grinned at each other.
"How's that for teamwork?" said Remus, and Tonks, ridiculously, blushed. She turned quickly away from him in the hope that he wouldn't notice, picking up the cooking pot and carrying it to the sink.
"Let's not count our dragons before they hatch," she said, turning on the tap to release a jet of cold water into the pot. "Once we've got our pasta dinner on the table, then we can toast our teamwork."
She worried that Remus would be put off by her reaction, but he said, "Probably wise. Look up there."
Tonks glanced over her shoulder and followed his gesturing finger and upswept gaze to the ceiling and a circular scorch mark directly over the hob.
"Either the homeowners keep a pet dragon," said Remus, "or one of the previous teams had a spot of trouble with the cooker."
"Is that...?" Tonks squinted at a high spot on the wall. "Is that dried spaghetti stuck to the wallpaper?"
"Hm. It would certainly appear to be."
"How do you think they managed that?"
"Not sure, but you'd best shut that tap off."
"Blast!" She was overflowing the pot, though, thankfully, only into the sink and down the drain, and not all over the floor. Water off, she tilted the pot to carefully empty out a bit of the extra water. "Reckon we'll lose any points for that one?"
"So far, so good," said Remus, glancing over his shoulder to check the score sheet.
"Luckily." Tonks started to heft the pot out of the sink, when Remus was suddenly at her side, his hands covering hers on the handles of the pot.
"Allow me," he said softly, and before she could protest, he'd prised it from her hands and carried it across the kitchen, placing it upon the hob.
"Thanks," said Tonks, feeling the warmth in her cheeks once again, but this time not bothering to hide it as she handed him the lid. His fingers brushed hers as he took it from her, and she heard herself saying, "Gryffindor chivalry?" Then, realising how stupid that must have sounded, she arched her eyebrow and said, "Or did you just think it was pushing your luck to let me carry a pot of water across the kitchen?"
Remus' eyes twinkled, and he ducked his head in an ever so slightly guilty way, but Tonks couldn't even pretend to be annoyed at him when he said, in a flirty tone, "Gryffindor chivalry, of course. Only I think it ends at carrying pots of water, as I'm wearing my best white shirt, and I think I'd rather you be in charge of the tomato sauce, if you don't mind."
Out the corner of her eye, Tonks noticed an apron hanging on the doorknob of what was, presumably, the pantry. She plucked it off and tossed it to Remus. "I think you should just wear this."
Laughing, he unfurled it. His laughter dropped to a soft chuckle as Tonks' eyes bulged at the slogan printed on the front of it. She moved to snatch it from him, but he'd already slung it over his neck.
"Does this mean you'll be kissing me?" he asked in a way that made Tonks' heart miss a beat with the hope that maybe, just maybe, he meant he'd very much like her to kiss him.
"Maybe," she said. "Although that rather depends on whether you actually do anything to earn the title of cook."
Remus smiled flirtatiously as he tied the apron around his slim waist. "Suddenly I find myself very much more motivated to succeed at this portion of our assignment."
Tonks returned his grin. "You know what? Me, too."
Read Part Three
A/N: Reviewers get an opportunity to kiss the cook...