Blue Christmas
Title: Blue Christmas
Author: pinkhairedauror
Rating & Warnings: PG to be on the safe side.
Prompts: Christmas music programme on the WWN
Word Count: 1 549
Summary: It's December 1996. And the spirit of giving is there, even if one would rather keep the fact secret.
Author’s Notes: Angsty - not painfully so (I think), but still. I hesitated a lot whether to post it or not, because I don't think it's held internally too much as a whole story, but... oh well. I leave it up to you to decide whether I should've or not.
As always, thanks to r_moony for early feedback.
Tonks had taken up, voluntarily, a shift on Christmas Eve day; then had been to her mother's dinner, trying so bloody hard to pretend she was Fine. With the capital F. No use her parents being worried away from the holiday too. Well of course they were worried, they'd known her all her life and never had she lost the ability to morph, not even that time when she had been so ill... and yet she somehow managed to pretend. For their sakes.
And then she came home, close to midnight.
Alone. To her cottage, that she had decked somewhat (and somewhat sloppily) for the sake of the inspection from her mum - there was even a tree in the room with the big fireplace.
She flipped the wireless on; the Christmas programme was something she usually knew by heart, but... it was better than the silence.
Well, silence and crackling of the fire, but music and speech were still better.
A little.
She slipped into her favourite comfortable armchair, pulled up her legs and hugged her knees.
She was absolutely drained, but the will to go upstairs and settle in bed was... absent. So was any suspicion that she'd actually fall asleep. It didn't seem easy that, not since that one night in the summer when she'd fallen asleep, and then awakened, in his arms. She felt... insecure, unprotected, cold all alone. So she was prone to overwork herself to be able to just collapse and fall asleep.
She didn't want to right now.
So she listened to the WWN.
It was a good mix. She'd loved Christmas for a long time, and the Christmas songs - both muggle and wizarding - brought her a measure of comfort. She knew in the morning there would be tales told too - of the magical kind, although she'd loved the Christmas stories her dad's mum had read to her as a little girl; they held magic in such reverence that it was both amusing and endearing - especially knowing how many things they'd get wrong. Oh yes, she knew and loved the Christmas programme. It wasn't right that it failed to cheer her up.
And then a muggle singer, John Denver, was put on with "Blue Christmas", and she broke.
Because the song was sad, yes. But also because the singer's voice so reminded her of Remus' that she could almost picture the scarred face, outlined in the doorway, singing those words. No, it wasn't the same voice, but it was... similar. And the calm, sad song could be one that Remus would sing.
He'd be over at the Weasleys' tomorrow, she knew. It would only take her to floo to be able to see him.
What good would it do? I always go to him; he always pushes me away. It'd just give us both a trifle more pain, and we don't either of us need it.
So did her reasoning say. Her heart... spoke otherwise. Maybe if I were to just speak with him one more time... make him listen to me one more time... maybe I'll talk him into...
Not before everybody at Molly's though. Another place, another time. Her eyes flipped to the cupboard where she'd stowed away her present for him. Well... her two presents. One was bigger, and she knew she'd better be up early in the morning and ask Molly to include it in the big pile of gifts over at the Burrow or else he might refuse it; the other one she wanted to give him herself. And then they could talk. If he got over the 'I didn't get you anything' part, of course.
Wouldn't it be lovely if he were to knock at the door right now, though? It was Christmas already; and he KNEW he'd always be welcome at her home; all her wards, including the floo one, had been attuned to always admit a few people, and he was one of them.
If he were to come to her, however... things would be so different. He'd been out of touch for so long... all alone among... she didn't want to think how hard it must have been for him.
She'd make him forget it all, she was certain, as the song changed to something less sad and lonely, though still very soft. Her mind drifted away, fantasizing, as she leaned her forehead on her knees and drifted away without meaning to.
***
Remus sighed and looked at the small package in his hand. It was so... small. But he couldn't - could NOT - allow this Christmas to go by without him getting her something. It was... ridiculous, he wasn't good at this sort of thing; but he'd started whittling at that piece of wood months ago, out in the nights when he could be on his own by a fire, with his knife... no wandwork this time.
It had eventually come out a sorry engraving of a flower. Hyacinth. Ambitious, and it had become sloppy, but ... it was all he could...
The package also contained a ribbon - a hair ribbon, such as he knew she never wore in her hair but often as a clothing ornament - necklace base, something - which he had enchanged to change colours between the colour her hair was these days, lime green, and bubblegum pink. Her colour, he knew she'd come back to it. And a bar of chocolate, and no other signature.
He'd thought of writing a message, a card, something. But he couldn't come up with words... there'd been so much of those, spoken between them. All the words hurt. But he couldn't... he couldn't make her go through all she would, just to appease his own... want. Need. Whatever. It wasn't right. She could have somebody whole. She should have somebody whole, younger, healthy, somebody who could match her energy (a small voice amended, you can match her energy some of the time... but he made it go silent. How about the rest of the time? When his body fell ill at the approach of the moon...), somebody who could match her talent and bright future...
She wants you.
He shook his head at himself. She'll get over it.
And yet he had made her a present.
And ever worse, he was planning to go to her cottage and leave it under her tree - hoping she was asleep. And if she wasn't... Well he'd talk with her. He'd make excuses. He'd turn tail and run, most likely.
No, it wasn't much like him. He'd not tried anything like that for many many years. Not since before Harry had been born, really. And it had been Sirius' idea then anyway. Right?
Sirius. James. Lily... Tonks. Friendship and love extended to him without him even asking for...
And three of those were now gone. What would it be like if something happened to the heart-faced girl and ... No! stop it.
It was just a present, for Merlin's sake! Why did he have to overthink EVERYTHING? Go in, leave it under her tree, and come home to sleep till he was due at the Burrow for breakfast.
Sighing, he took a bit of the green powder and threw it at the fire. He did know her wards were tuned to let him in.
Good thing he did try to be as quiet as the means of travel would allow him, for there she was, curled around herself on an armchair... dozing, probably, because she didn't look up, and he knew she'd recognise the sound of flooing - if she were awake. So he treaded carefully to the tree and left his offerring to the meagre pile there; his step was covered by the sound of the wireless; she'd always listen to her music just on the limit where it would be too loud for him to tolerate. But not above it, he had to admit. He turned and looked at her tight form, sleeping in that armchair... thinner than when he last saw her, and sighed again. It was for her safety... for her good. She'd come to see it. She says that holding firm is for your good, you know, that voice in the back of his head pointed out, but he just swallowed and walked back to the fireplace, quickly running from her as though he could run from his own thoughts.
***
It was an unexpected and loud vibrato of Celestina Worbeck's, singing 'Jinglespells', that snapped her out of her nap. I should go to bed. And she started up, uncurling quickly and bouncing up so suddenly she got dizzy for a moment, leaning on the back of the armchair so that she'd not fall down. She didn't look at the tree.
So it was that she didn't find his package till the morning, after she was back from her unexpectedly early visit to the Burrow.
"Santa Claus is coming to town" a chorus of children was happily singing on the WWN, and for the first time in a while, a small - totally sincere - smile shone in her eyes. "He's already been here," she muttered to herself.
It was the first present she opened, bittersweet as she knew its contents would be.
Author: pinkhairedauror
Rating & Warnings: PG to be on the safe side.
Prompts: Christmas music programme on the WWN
Word Count: 1 549
Summary: It's December 1996. And the spirit of giving is there, even if one would rather keep the fact secret.
Author’s Notes: Angsty - not painfully so (I think), but still. I hesitated a lot whether to post it or not, because I don't think it's held internally too much as a whole story, but... oh well. I leave it up to you to decide whether I should've or not.
As always, thanks to r_moony for early feedback.
Tonks had taken up, voluntarily, a shift on Christmas Eve day; then had been to her mother's dinner, trying so bloody hard to pretend she was Fine. With the capital F. No use her parents being worried away from the holiday too. Well of course they were worried, they'd known her all her life and never had she lost the ability to morph, not even that time when she had been so ill... and yet she somehow managed to pretend. For their sakes.
And then she came home, close to midnight.
Alone. To her cottage, that she had decked somewhat (and somewhat sloppily) for the sake of the inspection from her mum - there was even a tree in the room with the big fireplace.
She flipped the wireless on; the Christmas programme was something she usually knew by heart, but... it was better than the silence.
Well, silence and crackling of the fire, but music and speech were still better.
A little.
She slipped into her favourite comfortable armchair, pulled up her legs and hugged her knees.
She was absolutely drained, but the will to go upstairs and settle in bed was... absent. So was any suspicion that she'd actually fall asleep. It didn't seem easy that, not since that one night in the summer when she'd fallen asleep, and then awakened, in his arms. She felt... insecure, unprotected, cold all alone. So she was prone to overwork herself to be able to just collapse and fall asleep.
She didn't want to right now.
So she listened to the WWN.
It was a good mix. She'd loved Christmas for a long time, and the Christmas songs - both muggle and wizarding - brought her a measure of comfort. She knew in the morning there would be tales told too - of the magical kind, although she'd loved the Christmas stories her dad's mum had read to her as a little girl; they held magic in such reverence that it was both amusing and endearing - especially knowing how many things they'd get wrong. Oh yes, she knew and loved the Christmas programme. It wasn't right that it failed to cheer her up.
And then a muggle singer, John Denver, was put on with "Blue Christmas", and she broke.
Because the song was sad, yes. But also because the singer's voice so reminded her of Remus' that she could almost picture the scarred face, outlined in the doorway, singing those words. No, it wasn't the same voice, but it was... similar. And the calm, sad song could be one that Remus would sing.
He'd be over at the Weasleys' tomorrow, she knew. It would only take her to floo to be able to see him.
What good would it do? I always go to him; he always pushes me away. It'd just give us both a trifle more pain, and we don't either of us need it.
So did her reasoning say. Her heart... spoke otherwise. Maybe if I were to just speak with him one more time... make him listen to me one more time... maybe I'll talk him into...
Not before everybody at Molly's though. Another place, another time. Her eyes flipped to the cupboard where she'd stowed away her present for him. Well... her two presents. One was bigger, and she knew she'd better be up early in the morning and ask Molly to include it in the big pile of gifts over at the Burrow or else he might refuse it; the other one she wanted to give him herself. And then they could talk. If he got over the 'I didn't get you anything' part, of course.
Wouldn't it be lovely if he were to knock at the door right now, though? It was Christmas already; and he KNEW he'd always be welcome at her home; all her wards, including the floo one, had been attuned to always admit a few people, and he was one of them.
If he were to come to her, however... things would be so different. He'd been out of touch for so long... all alone among... she didn't want to think how hard it must have been for him.
She'd make him forget it all, she was certain, as the song changed to something less sad and lonely, though still very soft. Her mind drifted away, fantasizing, as she leaned her forehead on her knees and drifted away without meaning to.
***
Remus sighed and looked at the small package in his hand. It was so... small. But he couldn't - could NOT - allow this Christmas to go by without him getting her something. It was... ridiculous, he wasn't good at this sort of thing; but he'd started whittling at that piece of wood months ago, out in the nights when he could be on his own by a fire, with his knife... no wandwork this time.
It had eventually come out a sorry engraving of a flower. Hyacinth. Ambitious, and it had become sloppy, but ... it was all he could...
The package also contained a ribbon - a hair ribbon, such as he knew she never wore in her hair but often as a clothing ornament - necklace base, something - which he had enchanged to change colours between the colour her hair was these days, lime green, and bubblegum pink. Her colour, he knew she'd come back to it. And a bar of chocolate, and no other signature.
He'd thought of writing a message, a card, something. But he couldn't come up with words... there'd been so much of those, spoken between them. All the words hurt. But he couldn't... he couldn't make her go through all she would, just to appease his own... want. Need. Whatever. It wasn't right. She could have somebody whole. She should have somebody whole, younger, healthy, somebody who could match her energy (a small voice amended, you can match her energy some of the time... but he made it go silent. How about the rest of the time? When his body fell ill at the approach of the moon...), somebody who could match her talent and bright future...
She wants you.
He shook his head at himself. She'll get over it.
And yet he had made her a present.
And ever worse, he was planning to go to her cottage and leave it under her tree - hoping she was asleep. And if she wasn't... Well he'd talk with her. He'd make excuses. He'd turn tail and run, most likely.
No, it wasn't much like him. He'd not tried anything like that for many many years. Not since before Harry had been born, really. And it had been Sirius' idea then anyway. Right?
Sirius. James. Lily... Tonks. Friendship and love extended to him without him even asking for...
And three of those were now gone. What would it be like if something happened to the heart-faced girl and ... No! stop it.
It was just a present, for Merlin's sake! Why did he have to overthink EVERYTHING? Go in, leave it under her tree, and come home to sleep till he was due at the Burrow for breakfast.
Sighing, he took a bit of the green powder and threw it at the fire. He did know her wards were tuned to let him in.
Good thing he did try to be as quiet as the means of travel would allow him, for there she was, curled around herself on an armchair... dozing, probably, because she didn't look up, and he knew she'd recognise the sound of flooing - if she were awake. So he treaded carefully to the tree and left his offerring to the meagre pile there; his step was covered by the sound of the wireless; she'd always listen to her music just on the limit where it would be too loud for him to tolerate. But not above it, he had to admit. He turned and looked at her tight form, sleeping in that armchair... thinner than when he last saw her, and sighed again. It was for her safety... for her good. She'd come to see it. She says that holding firm is for your good, you know, that voice in the back of his head pointed out, but he just swallowed and walked back to the fireplace, quickly running from her as though he could run from his own thoughts.
***
It was an unexpected and loud vibrato of Celestina Worbeck's, singing 'Jinglespells', that snapped her out of her nap. I should go to bed. And she started up, uncurling quickly and bouncing up so suddenly she got dizzy for a moment, leaning on the back of the armchair so that she'd not fall down. She didn't look at the tree.
So it was that she didn't find his package till the morning, after she was back from her unexpectedly early visit to the Burrow.
"Santa Claus is coming to town" a chorus of children was happily singing on the WWN, and for the first time in a while, a small - totally sincere - smile shone in her eyes. "He's already been here," she muttered to herself.
It was the first present she opened, bittersweet as she knew its contents would be.