(no subject)
Title: Black, White, and Shades of Grey
Author:
etf004
Rating & Warnings: PG
Prompts: A lamppost, and:
"The Christmas time when I was young,
The magic and the wonder,
But colors dull and candles dim,
And dark my standing under."
- A Baby Just like You - John Denver.
Word Count: 1,550
Summary: Without each other, colours seemed to have faded to black, white and several shades of grey.
Author’s Notes: This is my first attempt at a Remus/Tonks, and I've tried to make it angsty, but I'm not sure whether or not it's worked. Please let me know what you think, with your help I can attempt to improve my writing :)
Tonks sighed and stared morosely through her mousy-brown fringe into the empty mug resting in her left hand. Balancing it on her knee, she reached down beside the thread-bare sofa she was currently curled up on, and began to scrabble for the bottle of Firewhiskey discarded on the floor. Her fingertips came into contact with it several times but unsuccessfully provided the necessary grip to pick it up, proceeding to make her arm swing back and forth like a pendulum.
Tonks let out a huff of irritation and dropped her head forward.
Sitting up she swept her fringe out of her eyes lazily, and clenching her jaw, she determinedly leant forwards again and seized the bottle, upsetting the mug and spilling drops of Firewhiskey over the rug underfoot in the process. She stared at the mug she had been given for her birthday last year, trying to focus in on the “I’m Unbreakable! Smash Me!” multicoloured slogan wrapped around it. It appeared to be mocking her from the floor: it was rather blurry around the edges and was moving backwards and forwards continually. Shaking her head to rid herself of impending dizziness, she unscrewed the top of the bottle forcefully and drank a good measure of the whiskey whilst blinking owlishly at the wireless. Dropping the bottle to one side she swallowed, not even flinching as the liquid burnt her throat.
She closed her eyes and began to take deep laboured breaths, her head dropping against the back of the sofa softly. She could faintly smell the remains of her ‘Christmas Dinner’ - the warm, homely smell of Molly’s left-over stew seemingly out of place in her dingy little flat - slowly mixing with burning candles and alcohol. Despite having her eyes closed, she could see the glow from the lamppost outside the window seeping through into the sitting room. The orange glow illuminated the room, creating eerie shadows and shapes against the fireplace, whose flames had long since deceased to embers.
Tonks opened her eyes and gave her flat a once over, suddenly astonished at how untidy it had become. It certainly didn’t look like that yesterday afternoon when Tonks had stumbled in from the Ministry, shrugged off her coat and settled herself on the sofa, pleased for once to have a few days off. But now it was littered with empty bottles and crumbs, the victim of gross negligence, (Tonks knew her mother would have a fit if she saw it in this state) but Tonks really couldn’t bring herself to care. Every surface in the tiny kitchen and sitting room was covered in bottles, Christmas cards from distant relatives she didn’t really know, food she’d given up eating half way through, and just general Christmas rubbish. The floor was coated with the odd piece of ripped up wrapping paper and several presents (mostly around the tiny tree in the corner), and little pieces of sticky tape graced the furniture and carpet. She sighed again, and knew that at some point she’d have to tidy it up, when exactly, she had no idea.
The opening bars of “Silent Night” floated from the wireless and she looked up through heavy lids at the mantle piece. Tonks liked this one - it reminded her of her muggle nan’s Christmas church services, when she’d have to sing carols with old women, and listen to the nativity play over and over again, just because her mum said she had to. Christmas really was magical then: when she was nine or ten, waiting for Father Christmas to come in the middle of the night, leaving a sherry and a mince pie for him, and a carrot for his reindeer. Tonks smiled - she’d never met Father Christmas, but she still always knew he was real: she just believed. Taking another gulp of Firewhiskey, she looked at her glittering decorations - symbols that always seemed so magical and special, but now seemed an inconvenience. This was supposed to be her best Christmas to date, but since Dumbledore had suggested a member of the Order going underground, she hadn’t seen him much. And that alone was enough to ruin her day.
He’d sent her a letter, a few weeks previously, wishing her a merry Christmas, hoping she was well, and telling her he might be at the Weasleys for Christmas. Tonks had turned down Molly’s offer the very next day. As much as she missed him, Tonks couldn’t bring herself to see him and pretend to be happy in front of all those people. She told herself that there’d be too many awkward questions - her hair and Patronus were a clear start - and Tonks couldn’t bring herself to answer them all truthfully. Molly had also let on that apparently the general consensus among her children was that she was still grieving over Sirius, that in the time she’d got to know him, she’d been madly in love with him. Tonks let out a huff of laughter into the bottle in her hand - they were nearly right, except they’d picked the wrong Marauder.
Tonks downed the final drops of Firewhiskey in the bottle and let it drop to the floor, rolling next to the mug dancing on the rug in the middle of the room. The clock near the door flashed out the time, and as she tried to make out the numbers, Celestina Warbeck began to warble out of the wireless, her new jazzy number, “A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love” destroying the peace left by “Silent Night”. The chorus was in full swing, and she remembered the first time she had heard the song. Remus had been with her and had immediately chastised it as “awful” and asked with a flirtatious glint in his eye if they could do something more useful with their time.
Tonks let out a muffled sob as she succumbed to her memories, and even though she prided herself as never one to cry, a single, solitary tear ran down her cheek as the wireless crackled as the song finished.
Remus’s eyes had long since glazed over, and his amber orbs were reflecting the flames licking the fireplace before him. He could faintly hear the sounds of an enthusiastic game of Exploding Snap, the ever increasingly loud wireless and the crooning of Celestina Warbeck in “You Charmed the Heart Right Out of Me”, but he couldn’t focus in on specific words. He could vaguely smell the remains of Molly’s Christmas dinner, and the satsuma Arthur was taking an age to peel, but he wasn’t distinctly bothered in separating them like he normally would. It was as if since he’d left her, the world was somehow out of focus and severely blurred around the edges.
He knew the room looked like a festive explosion, but the colour of Ginny’s paper chains, and the lights on the Christmas tree had never looked so dull. There was only one colour he dared to pick out, and that was the shades of pink on some of the paper, but even so there wasn’t much of it - he’d even go so far as to say that there wasn’t enough of it. That specific shade of pink he’d come to know so well was the candle in his darkness, and now the thing most distinguishable about her had apparently been destroyed. Molly said she was now a mousy brown, a colour he knew she despised, and he had agreed in saying it was all his fault. She deserved so much better than a poor, old werewolf, and he had as good as said so in that letter he’d sent weeks ago. She hadn’t replied. It’s not as though he expected her to.
Remus knew she wouldn’t be here, celebrating Christmas with the Weasley’s - Molly had told him - but he couldn’t help but wish she’d changed her mind at the last minute. He had an inkling that she’d be sat at home, on her threadbare sofa, with a cup of tea in her hand (that is if she didn’t have anything stronger), all alone, at Christmas. To stop an unfamiliar lump from rising in the back of his throat, Remus let out a resigned sigh, blinked and attempted to refocus his gaze - the stockings hanging from the mantle piece were suddenly sharper and easier to see, but the colours were still muted -- somehow she always managed to light up any room she was in. Without her, everything lacked life and sparkle. Without each other, colours seemed to have faded to black, white and several shades of grey.
His mind had wandered into dangerous territory, and such thoughts about her could only lead to him doing something unimaginable. Something ridiculous, such as going to see her, things that he had forbade himself from doing - they would only end with her getting more hurt than she already was, a fate Remus didn’t want to entertain. Harry had begun talking to Arthur, and Remus slowly sat up a little straighter, in an attempt to become slightly more sociable. He ran a hand through his unkempt shaggy hair and threw one last glance at the fire.
Remus finally turned to face the men, tilted his head to one side and engaged himself in the conversation, trying half-heartedly not to think of Tonks.
Author:
etf004
Rating & Warnings: PG
Prompts: A lamppost, and:
"The Christmas time when I was young,
The magic and the wonder,
But colors dull and candles dim,
And dark my standing under."
- A Baby Just like You - John Denver.
Word Count: 1,550
Summary: Without each other, colours seemed to have faded to black, white and several shades of grey.
Author’s Notes: This is my first attempt at a Remus/Tonks, and I've tried to make it angsty, but I'm not sure whether or not it's worked. Please let me know what you think, with your help I can attempt to improve my writing :)
Tonks sighed and stared morosely through her mousy-brown fringe into the empty mug resting in her left hand. Balancing it on her knee, she reached down beside the thread-bare sofa she was currently curled up on, and began to scrabble for the bottle of Firewhiskey discarded on the floor. Her fingertips came into contact with it several times but unsuccessfully provided the necessary grip to pick it up, proceeding to make her arm swing back and forth like a pendulum.
Tonks let out a huff of irritation and dropped her head forward.
Sitting up she swept her fringe out of her eyes lazily, and clenching her jaw, she determinedly leant forwards again and seized the bottle, upsetting the mug and spilling drops of Firewhiskey over the rug underfoot in the process. She stared at the mug she had been given for her birthday last year, trying to focus in on the “I’m Unbreakable! Smash Me!” multicoloured slogan wrapped around it. It appeared to be mocking her from the floor: it was rather blurry around the edges and was moving backwards and forwards continually. Shaking her head to rid herself of impending dizziness, she unscrewed the top of the bottle forcefully and drank a good measure of the whiskey whilst blinking owlishly at the wireless. Dropping the bottle to one side she swallowed, not even flinching as the liquid burnt her throat.
She closed her eyes and began to take deep laboured breaths, her head dropping against the back of the sofa softly. She could faintly smell the remains of her ‘Christmas Dinner’ - the warm, homely smell of Molly’s left-over stew seemingly out of place in her dingy little flat - slowly mixing with burning candles and alcohol. Despite having her eyes closed, she could see the glow from the lamppost outside the window seeping through into the sitting room. The orange glow illuminated the room, creating eerie shadows and shapes against the fireplace, whose flames had long since deceased to embers.
Tonks opened her eyes and gave her flat a once over, suddenly astonished at how untidy it had become. It certainly didn’t look like that yesterday afternoon when Tonks had stumbled in from the Ministry, shrugged off her coat and settled herself on the sofa, pleased for once to have a few days off. But now it was littered with empty bottles and crumbs, the victim of gross negligence, (Tonks knew her mother would have a fit if she saw it in this state) but Tonks really couldn’t bring herself to care. Every surface in the tiny kitchen and sitting room was covered in bottles, Christmas cards from distant relatives she didn’t really know, food she’d given up eating half way through, and just general Christmas rubbish. The floor was coated with the odd piece of ripped up wrapping paper and several presents (mostly around the tiny tree in the corner), and little pieces of sticky tape graced the furniture and carpet. She sighed again, and knew that at some point she’d have to tidy it up, when exactly, she had no idea.
The opening bars of “Silent Night” floated from the wireless and she looked up through heavy lids at the mantle piece. Tonks liked this one - it reminded her of her muggle nan’s Christmas church services, when she’d have to sing carols with old women, and listen to the nativity play over and over again, just because her mum said she had to. Christmas really was magical then: when she was nine or ten, waiting for Father Christmas to come in the middle of the night, leaving a sherry and a mince pie for him, and a carrot for his reindeer. Tonks smiled - she’d never met Father Christmas, but she still always knew he was real: she just believed. Taking another gulp of Firewhiskey, she looked at her glittering decorations - symbols that always seemed so magical and special, but now seemed an inconvenience. This was supposed to be her best Christmas to date, but since Dumbledore had suggested a member of the Order going underground, she hadn’t seen him much. And that alone was enough to ruin her day.
He’d sent her a letter, a few weeks previously, wishing her a merry Christmas, hoping she was well, and telling her he might be at the Weasleys for Christmas. Tonks had turned down Molly’s offer the very next day. As much as she missed him, Tonks couldn’t bring herself to see him and pretend to be happy in front of all those people. She told herself that there’d be too many awkward questions - her hair and Patronus were a clear start - and Tonks couldn’t bring herself to answer them all truthfully. Molly had also let on that apparently the general consensus among her children was that she was still grieving over Sirius, that in the time she’d got to know him, she’d been madly in love with him. Tonks let out a huff of laughter into the bottle in her hand - they were nearly right, except they’d picked the wrong Marauder.
Tonks downed the final drops of Firewhiskey in the bottle and let it drop to the floor, rolling next to the mug dancing on the rug in the middle of the room. The clock near the door flashed out the time, and as she tried to make out the numbers, Celestina Warbeck began to warble out of the wireless, her new jazzy number, “A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love” destroying the peace left by “Silent Night”. The chorus was in full swing, and she remembered the first time she had heard the song. Remus had been with her and had immediately chastised it as “awful” and asked with a flirtatious glint in his eye if they could do something more useful with their time.
Tonks let out a muffled sob as she succumbed to her memories, and even though she prided herself as never one to cry, a single, solitary tear ran down her cheek as the wireless crackled as the song finished.
Remus’s eyes had long since glazed over, and his amber orbs were reflecting the flames licking the fireplace before him. He could faintly hear the sounds of an enthusiastic game of Exploding Snap, the ever increasingly loud wireless and the crooning of Celestina Warbeck in “You Charmed the Heart Right Out of Me”, but he couldn’t focus in on specific words. He could vaguely smell the remains of Molly’s Christmas dinner, and the satsuma Arthur was taking an age to peel, but he wasn’t distinctly bothered in separating them like he normally would. It was as if since he’d left her, the world was somehow out of focus and severely blurred around the edges.
He knew the room looked like a festive explosion, but the colour of Ginny’s paper chains, and the lights on the Christmas tree had never looked so dull. There was only one colour he dared to pick out, and that was the shades of pink on some of the paper, but even so there wasn’t much of it - he’d even go so far as to say that there wasn’t enough of it. That specific shade of pink he’d come to know so well was the candle in his darkness, and now the thing most distinguishable about her had apparently been destroyed. Molly said she was now a mousy brown, a colour he knew she despised, and he had agreed in saying it was all his fault. She deserved so much better than a poor, old werewolf, and he had as good as said so in that letter he’d sent weeks ago. She hadn’t replied. It’s not as though he expected her to.
Remus knew she wouldn’t be here, celebrating Christmas with the Weasley’s - Molly had told him - but he couldn’t help but wish she’d changed her mind at the last minute. He had an inkling that she’d be sat at home, on her threadbare sofa, with a cup of tea in her hand (that is if she didn’t have anything stronger), all alone, at Christmas. To stop an unfamiliar lump from rising in the back of his throat, Remus let out a resigned sigh, blinked and attempted to refocus his gaze - the stockings hanging from the mantle piece were suddenly sharper and easier to see, but the colours were still muted -- somehow she always managed to light up any room she was in. Without her, everything lacked life and sparkle. Without each other, colours seemed to have faded to black, white and several shades of grey.
His mind had wandered into dangerous territory, and such thoughts about her could only lead to him doing something unimaginable. Something ridiculous, such as going to see her, things that he had forbade himself from doing - they would only end with her getting more hurt than she already was, a fate Remus didn’t want to entertain. Harry had begun talking to Arthur, and Remus slowly sat up a little straighter, in an attempt to become slightly more sociable. He ran a hand through his unkempt shaggy hair and threw one last glance at the fire.
Remus finally turned to face the men, tilted his head to one side and engaged himself in the conversation, trying half-heartedly not to think of Tonks.