We Close Our Eyes and Open Our Hearts (In the Name of the Season)
Title: We Close Our Eyes and Open Our Hearts (In the Name of the Season)
Author: jadeddiva
Format: Fic
Rating & Warning: T/PG-13-ish for some cursing
Word Count:1483
Prompts: poinsettias and hats, scarves, and gloves.
Summary: Tonks and Remus bond while decorating for Christmas. Set during OotP, before Arthur is attacked in the Ministry.
Notes: This is…a bit interesting. Everything is for the sake of the plot. It’s much longer than I expected it to be, but I hope you enjoy it. I don’t have a tag yet so it’s not tagged, and I don’t really know if it fits under “romance” or anything like that, so I’m sorry if I’m making more work for you lovely mods.
“I’m freezing,” she says, balling her hands up into fists and shoving them deeper into her pockets. A single snowflake slides across her nose and she flinches at the cold sensation. “This was your idea.”
“It was,” he responds, “and I thought I told you to wear gloves.”
“I thought I told you to wear gloves,” she says with a nod to his own hands, crossed across his chest in an effort not only to keep his coat together but to keep himself warm as well. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he doesn’t have any gloves without holes or scarves that aren’t threatening to unravel in the breeze.
“It’s not much farther now,” he says as they trudge through the snow. She almost trips and falls when her boots (they are too big, he thinks) get stuck in a drift. Luckily, he catches her before she falls face-first into the snowbank.
“Don’t they have places you can go in town?” she asks, her breath warm against his neck and he laughs, helping her stand up. “Because if some calamity befalls us, we’ll be buried in the snow and a pack of wild dogs will eat us come spring.”
“A very poetic take on death by frostbite,” he tells her. “Yes, there are, but they’re nearly not as scenic. Or inexpensive.” He points down the hill, where Christmas tree after Christmas tree waits, silent and tall, in the new December moon. Her eyes widen and she smiles.
“Your deviant behavior never ceases to amaze me,” she says as she carefully starts down the hill. In the meantime, he tries to forget the rush of blood inspired by her lips so close to his own.
~~
It is Christmas, so Molly and Sirius decorate the house with boughs of holly and multicolored lights that sparkle in time with some carol Sirius claims he’s always loved but which Remus can’t ever remember him singing. Minerva brought poinsettias, courtesy of Sprout which he thinks is quite nice. The red flowers brighten dark corners that the sparkling lights can’t quite reach.
He’s managed to scrap together some money for presents: he’s going into a gift with Sirius in name only, though he’s bought Molly something for all the hard work she’s done, as well as something for Arthur and Sirius too. He’s thinking of buying something for Tonks but he’s not sure if it oversteps the friendship boundary if he buys her a gift, or belittles whatever fledgling connection they have if he doesn’t.
It’s all too complicated, he thinks as he pays the clerk. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. He’s used to being damned, so one more time can’t hurt.
~~
“Molly never asked about the tree,” Tonks point out one night, sipping tea from a mug in front of the fireplace. Her hair is red today, her eyes green, the embodiment of Christmas tidings and spirit and everything good and he can’t help himself from sneaking glances at her from his chair across the room.
“Hmm? Oh, I guess she never did,” he says, embarrassed at her having caught him off guard.
“Any more deviant behavior planned? All in the name of the season, of course,” she asks and he laughs.
“I’m afraid I limit myself to one theft each month,” he tells her, closing his eyes once more (if he doesn’t look, he won’t get distracted by the brilliance of her eyes).
“Ever put two months together, especially around the holidays?” she teases, and he can hear her shift in her chair. He imagine she’s leaning closer, and that smile that always seems to appear when she’s genuinely amused is on her lips and oh, if he opened his eyes now he would be doomed.
He opens one eye, a conscious act of suspicion and interest. “Out with it. What do you have in mind.”
She covers her wide grin with her free hand. Oh, he thinks, this might top his own stunt.
…
“You are the one with the deviant tendencies,” he whispers to her. They are crouched low behind a wall, snow beneath their hands (once again, missing two pairs of glove) and she giggles.
“It’s not thievery, its liberation,” she tells him, and he feigns a frustrated sigh. She hits him and they both smile, and he thinks it was wise to get her something small, now that they’ve shared this much.
He peaks out over the top of the ornamental wall. “I’m not sure the owners would agree,” he tells her. She laughs.
“They should know better. You don’t leave houseplants out overnight, especially in this weather.”
“Isn’t there a legend about how they grew in the snow to signify Christ and all, red blood and white sap?” he asks, and immediately after the words leave his mouth he regrets speaking them. Of course she wouldn’t know - there’s no way she could have spent as much time around Muggles as he has.
“Dad never mentioned that, though I think my Gran did once,” she says. The lights in the house go off and he can feel her body tense next to him. Ever the Auror…
“You go right, I’ll go left,” she whispers.
“My right or stage right?” he asks and she laughs before jumping the wall.
“Just take whatever I leave behind!” she calls from the empty snow-covered street. He follows and thinks it quite ominous that as they reach the steps, a distant clock chimes one AM. Red bundles in their arms, they Apparate into the night.
Molly never asks where they found more poinsettias, just thanks them for helping to make the gloomy old house look cheerful for the holidays.
…
Her hair is green today, and she is already in the parlor when he arrives, cold and wet and tired from his latest mission. She looks up from the The Daily Prophet crossword puzzle she has been working on when he enters.
“What’s another word for a holiday greeting? Six letters?” she asks. He stands in the doorway and slips off his coat, counting letters in his head.
“Tiding? Six?” he asks, and she shakes her head.
“I don’t think so. Anyways, the box just moved so obviously it’s not playing fair.” She folds up the paper and gives him a proper look. “You look like shit.”
“I feel like shit,” he says, collapsing into the nearest chair. “Please tell me there are no more decorations we need to obtain, because I don’t think I could manage tonight.”
“I’ll go get you some tea,” she says suddenly, rushing out before he can say “thank you” or “you needn’t bother” which, he thinks, is a relief because he doesn’t have the energy.
He closes his eyes but she’s back suddenly, tea in hand and it’s just as he likes it, little milk and little sugar, almost black. He looks up at her and smiles.
“Thank you,” he says, and she sits back down with a grin on her face.
“Molly says we are sufficiently prepared for the holidays, so don’t you and Remus worry about any more decorations, Nymphadora, we don’t have the room,” she tells him and he laughs.
“Finally, something to be thankful for,” he says, putting the tea on the table next to him.
“I’ve got another,” she says, then adds nervously “want to open your Christmas present?”
“Oh,” he says, “I guess, yes,” grateful that he had the presence of mind to wrap hers.
She digs around under the tree for a moment before he tells her, “There’s something for you as well,” and she turns, smiles, and finds two presents.
“Isn’t this early?” he asks and she shakes her head.
“You’ll see why.”
“We can open them at the same time,” he tells her, and at once they both start to unwrap small boxes, his with bright pink paper and hers with simple green and white stripes.
He is surprised to find a pair of black leather gloves in the box, along with a very nice black muffler. Across the room, he hears her laugh.
She is holding up a pair of red mittens with a smile he can barely see, the matching red scarf is wound tightly around her neck.
“Great minds think alike,” he tells her and she smiles wider (he guesses), then grows serious.
“You know,” she says, unwrapping the scarf. “We don’t have to always go out and steal things. I mean, we could make snowmen.”
“Or snow angels,” he adds.
“Or we could have a snowball fight.”
“Or we could just take a walk. Together,” he adds nervously, wondering if he is being too forward.
“I would like that,” she says. Oh he thinks, maybe not forward at all.
“So would I,” he responds, wondering if he’s risked damnation this time and, if so, what exactly he should be thankful for.
Author: jadeddiva
Format: Fic
Rating & Warning: T/PG-13-ish for some cursing
Word Count:1483
Prompts: poinsettias and hats, scarves, and gloves.
Summary: Tonks and Remus bond while decorating for Christmas. Set during OotP, before Arthur is attacked in the Ministry.
Notes: This is…a bit interesting. Everything is for the sake of the plot. It’s much longer than I expected it to be, but I hope you enjoy it. I don’t have a tag yet so it’s not tagged, and I don’t really know if it fits under “romance” or anything like that, so I’m sorry if I’m making more work for you lovely mods.
“I’m freezing,” she says, balling her hands up into fists and shoving them deeper into her pockets. A single snowflake slides across her nose and she flinches at the cold sensation. “This was your idea.”
“It was,” he responds, “and I thought I told you to wear gloves.”
“I thought I told you to wear gloves,” she says with a nod to his own hands, crossed across his chest in an effort not only to keep his coat together but to keep himself warm as well. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he doesn’t have any gloves without holes or scarves that aren’t threatening to unravel in the breeze.
“It’s not much farther now,” he says as they trudge through the snow. She almost trips and falls when her boots (they are too big, he thinks) get stuck in a drift. Luckily, he catches her before she falls face-first into the snowbank.
“Don’t they have places you can go in town?” she asks, her breath warm against his neck and he laughs, helping her stand up. “Because if some calamity befalls us, we’ll be buried in the snow and a pack of wild dogs will eat us come spring.”
“A very poetic take on death by frostbite,” he tells her. “Yes, there are, but they’re nearly not as scenic. Or inexpensive.” He points down the hill, where Christmas tree after Christmas tree waits, silent and tall, in the new December moon. Her eyes widen and she smiles.
“Your deviant behavior never ceases to amaze me,” she says as she carefully starts down the hill. In the meantime, he tries to forget the rush of blood inspired by her lips so close to his own.
~~
It is Christmas, so Molly and Sirius decorate the house with boughs of holly and multicolored lights that sparkle in time with some carol Sirius claims he’s always loved but which Remus can’t ever remember him singing. Minerva brought poinsettias, courtesy of Sprout which he thinks is quite nice. The red flowers brighten dark corners that the sparkling lights can’t quite reach.
He’s managed to scrap together some money for presents: he’s going into a gift with Sirius in name only, though he’s bought Molly something for all the hard work she’s done, as well as something for Arthur and Sirius too. He’s thinking of buying something for Tonks but he’s not sure if it oversteps the friendship boundary if he buys her a gift, or belittles whatever fledgling connection they have if he doesn’t.
It’s all too complicated, he thinks as he pays the clerk. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. He’s used to being damned, so one more time can’t hurt.
~~
“Molly never asked about the tree,” Tonks point out one night, sipping tea from a mug in front of the fireplace. Her hair is red today, her eyes green, the embodiment of Christmas tidings and spirit and everything good and he can’t help himself from sneaking glances at her from his chair across the room.
“Hmm? Oh, I guess she never did,” he says, embarrassed at her having caught him off guard.
“Any more deviant behavior planned? All in the name of the season, of course,” she asks and he laughs.
“I’m afraid I limit myself to one theft each month,” he tells her, closing his eyes once more (if he doesn’t look, he won’t get distracted by the brilliance of her eyes).
“Ever put two months together, especially around the holidays?” she teases, and he can hear her shift in her chair. He imagine she’s leaning closer, and that smile that always seems to appear when she’s genuinely amused is on her lips and oh, if he opened his eyes now he would be doomed.
He opens one eye, a conscious act of suspicion and interest. “Out with it. What do you have in mind.”
She covers her wide grin with her free hand. Oh, he thinks, this might top his own stunt.
…
“You are the one with the deviant tendencies,” he whispers to her. They are crouched low behind a wall, snow beneath their hands (once again, missing two pairs of glove) and she giggles.
“It’s not thievery, its liberation,” she tells him, and he feigns a frustrated sigh. She hits him and they both smile, and he thinks it was wise to get her something small, now that they’ve shared this much.
He peaks out over the top of the ornamental wall. “I’m not sure the owners would agree,” he tells her. She laughs.
“They should know better. You don’t leave houseplants out overnight, especially in this weather.”
“Isn’t there a legend about how they grew in the snow to signify Christ and all, red blood and white sap?” he asks, and immediately after the words leave his mouth he regrets speaking them. Of course she wouldn’t know - there’s no way she could have spent as much time around Muggles as he has.
“Dad never mentioned that, though I think my Gran did once,” she says. The lights in the house go off and he can feel her body tense next to him. Ever the Auror…
“You go right, I’ll go left,” she whispers.
“My right or stage right?” he asks and she laughs before jumping the wall.
“Just take whatever I leave behind!” she calls from the empty snow-covered street. He follows and thinks it quite ominous that as they reach the steps, a distant clock chimes one AM. Red bundles in their arms, they Apparate into the night.
Molly never asks where they found more poinsettias, just thanks them for helping to make the gloomy old house look cheerful for the holidays.
…
Her hair is green today, and she is already in the parlor when he arrives, cold and wet and tired from his latest mission. She looks up from the The Daily Prophet crossword puzzle she has been working on when he enters.
“What’s another word for a holiday greeting? Six letters?” she asks. He stands in the doorway and slips off his coat, counting letters in his head.
“Tiding? Six?” he asks, and she shakes her head.
“I don’t think so. Anyways, the box just moved so obviously it’s not playing fair.” She folds up the paper and gives him a proper look. “You look like shit.”
“I feel like shit,” he says, collapsing into the nearest chair. “Please tell me there are no more decorations we need to obtain, because I don’t think I could manage tonight.”
“I’ll go get you some tea,” she says suddenly, rushing out before he can say “thank you” or “you needn’t bother” which, he thinks, is a relief because he doesn’t have the energy.
He closes his eyes but she’s back suddenly, tea in hand and it’s just as he likes it, little milk and little sugar, almost black. He looks up at her and smiles.
“Thank you,” he says, and she sits back down with a grin on her face.
“Molly says we are sufficiently prepared for the holidays, so don’t you and Remus worry about any more decorations, Nymphadora, we don’t have the room,” she tells him and he laughs.
“Finally, something to be thankful for,” he says, putting the tea on the table next to him.
“I’ve got another,” she says, then adds nervously “want to open your Christmas present?”
“Oh,” he says, “I guess, yes,” grateful that he had the presence of mind to wrap hers.
She digs around under the tree for a moment before he tells her, “There’s something for you as well,” and she turns, smiles, and finds two presents.
“Isn’t this early?” he asks and she shakes her head.
“You’ll see why.”
“We can open them at the same time,” he tells her, and at once they both start to unwrap small boxes, his with bright pink paper and hers with simple green and white stripes.
He is surprised to find a pair of black leather gloves in the box, along with a very nice black muffler. Across the room, he hears her laugh.
She is holding up a pair of red mittens with a smile he can barely see, the matching red scarf is wound tightly around her neck.
“Great minds think alike,” he tells her and she smiles wider (he guesses), then grows serious.
“You know,” she says, unwrapping the scarf. “We don’t have to always go out and steal things. I mean, we could make snowmen.”
“Or snow angels,” he adds.
“Or we could have a snowball fight.”
“Or we could just take a walk. Together,” he adds nervously, wondering if he is being too forward.
“I would like that,” she says. Oh he thinks, maybe not forward at all.
“So would I,” he responds, wondering if he’s risked damnation this time and, if so, what exactly he should be thankful for.