["Kaleidoscope" update] Crossing the Threshold
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Crossing the Threshold
(3579 words | PG-13/mild profanity and intimate situations | HBP > DH)
A proposal in the morning, a marriage in the afternoon; everything has happened so fast that Remus doesn't quite know what to expect on his wedding night.
Author's note: This story is a follow-up to Asking for Forever, in which external forces push Remus and Tonks into getting married much sooner than they would (or should?) have done -- with almost no chance to prepare themselves for this major change in their relationship.
Crossing the Threshold
All day long, the clouds had hung low and ominous, the colour of a bruise, with thunder growling fitfully in the distance. The storm finally broke just as Remus followed Tonks out through the visitors' entrance at the Ministry-rain coming down in sheets, lightning searing the familiar London landscape into an exotic black-and-white print.
They Apparated into the alley behind Tonks's-no, Dora's-block of Ministry flats and dashed around to the front entrance of the building through the downpour. Remus felt strong, warm fingers curl around his as they ran. Once they reached the shelter of the foyer, Dora cast a haphazard Drying Charm over their robes and planted a brief kiss on his rain-damp lips. Taking his hand again, she tugged him along up the concrete stairwell, through the hollow booming echoes of persistent thunderclaps.
When they approached her small cheery flat, though, Remus slowed his steps to let Dora go ahead, sliding his fingers out of hers. She opened the door with the usual easy flick of her wand. But then, instead of stepping inside, she turned back to face him, suddenly looking every bit as tentative as he felt.
"Isn't there a tradition about this?" Remus kept his voice as light as he could, given the erratic pounding of his pulse, and a certain shortness of breath that wasn't only from sprinting through the rain or charging up stairs two days after the full moon. "I believe you're supposed to carry me over the threshold."
Dora's eyebrows shot up. She burst out laughing, a little more heartily than the joke deserved, perhaps, but her hesitation vanished like mist in the sunlight.
"Here," she said, sliding her arm around his shoulders. "We'll jump over. Together."
He wrapped an arm around her as well. "On three?"
They jumped, landing with an ungainly double thump inside the flat. Dora was still chuckling, but Remus was sincerely touched by the gesture-her way of telling him that the flat was his now, too, he supposed.
Even though she would be the one paying the rent.
Thunder crashed again, and Remus reached behind them to push the door shut. Now it was his turn to find he had nothing to say.
Stop being ridiculous, he berated himself. They had spent nearly every evening together in this very flat for the past month. There was no particular reason why tonight should be any different.
Other than the fact that they had just got married, of course.
Swallowing a lump in his throat-he wasn't sure exactly which emotion had put it there-Remus smiled at Dora, brushed a damp pink lock from her cheek, and found her lips with his. Her arms slipped around him and she clung, tightly, heedless of the Disillusioned bouquet she still clutched in one hand.
Eventually Remus broke the kiss. Dora breathed a happy sigh, gazing up at him with something suspiciously like joy shining in her dark eyes, and he felt a rather besotted grin spread over his own face. That very morning, he'd been reminding himself, fiercely, not to pretend he would have her with him anywhere near forever. But then she had told him about Umbridge's new laws, and they had made a momentous decision in an instant. And now-
"Hullo there, Mrs. Lupin," he whispered.
The look in her eyes-whatever it was-intensified, and she leaned in and kissed him again. Emphatically enough that after a few minutes, he decided he'd better distract himself.
"Why don't we have some of that supper Molly fixed for us?" he murmured into her ear, one hand gently smoothing the hair that looked so spiky but felt so wonderfully soft.
"Oh, bugger." Dora pulled away and darted across the cluttered living room to peer into the tiny kitchen. When she turned back, her cheeks were the same shade as her hair. "I, erm, haven't really had time to tidy up yet, after making that pie."
Remus had to laugh. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours, starting with the mouth-watering chicken pie Dora had brought him last night for his post-moon supper-and ending with an exchange of wedding vows after her shift at the Ministry, in their street clothes, with Molly and Arthur hastily recruited as witnesses. It was no wonder Dora hadn't managed to squeeze housecleaning into her schedule.
He came up behind her and slid an arm around her waist, dropping a kiss on her temple. "I'll clean up," he declared, grinning and shaking his head when she tried to argue. "You know I'm better at it than you are."
"Smug git," Dora pretended to grumble, but she was clearly hiding a smile.
Remus chuckled again, suddenly free from the unexpected awkwardness that had gripped him ever since they left the Ministry. Tonight was the same as always. He'd been thinking too much; that was all.
. * . * .
While Dora unpacked Molly's basketful of supper and set the table, Remus took care of countless drifts of flour and the occasional onion peel or carrot end with a well-aimed Evanesco or two. He turned around again to find the bouquet he had gathered at the Burrow standing proudly in a tall purple vase, un-Disillusioned now and only slightly bedraggled after its encounter with the rainstorm. A roast chicken occupied the place of honour in the centre of the table, along with jacket potatoes and a bowl of new peas.
Dora herself was rummaging through a deep cupboard, generating various clanking and thumping noises that made Remus wince a bit. But she emerged, triumphant, with a handful of half-used, mismatched candles. Arranging the motley collection carefully on the little table, she lit each one with her wand before dimming the kitchen lights.
"Now, just one thing more." Remus reached into a deep inside pocket in his robes and retrieved the bottle of his father's best wine that he had opened to share a wedding toast with the Weasleys. He filled two goblets and set the bottle carefully on the kitchen counter (out of reach of Dora's unpredictable elbows).
Dora caught his hand and squeezed it. "It's a lovely wedding supper, don't you think?"
Lovely? Remus was at a loss for words again. Dora should have had a party to end all parties for her wedding supper, surrounded by her parents and all her friends, with loud music for dancing late into the night. She deserved so much more than this little impromptu picnic in her own flat.
But her hand, holding his, was warm and steady. Light from the flickering candles danced in her eyes, and her smile was wide enough to spill over. Remus couldn't help but smile back as they sat and filled their plates.
And it was a lovely supper, at least as far as he was concerned. Even with the thunder still crashing outside, the heady taste of rare and excellent wine, and the candlelight that lent an unfamiliar grace to the cramped little kitchen, it felt just as comfortable as always-just as right-to sit here with Dora, exchanging news about their days.
Until he saw it.
Every time she cut a bite of chicken, the ring on her left hand gleamed, a tiny treacherous beacon.
That was something different, all right.
The worry that he had been fighting to ignore all day-the shame that choked him when he and Arthur walked past the door to Werewolf Support Services, the guilt that came welling up when he saw how furtively Dora had to slink into the dingy little Office of Magical Births, Deaths, and Marriages to meet him-all flooded back again, turning a buttery potato to dry dust in his mouth.
"You-" Remus took a deep breath. "You won't be wearing the ring at work, will you?"
Dora looked up, scowling. "Of course I will!"
Remus felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. "You can't, Dora-people mustn't find out-"
"I know that." Her eyes were sad now. "I'll Disillusion it, and wear it on a chain around my neck, inside my robes. But I refuse to leave it behind!" She tipped her chin up. "I hate this. You know I do. We're married, and I want to shout it from the rooftops!"
He knew she didn't really mean that, but a sharp stab of panic took away his breath all the same. "Merlin, no-please-" His hand found hers, and he stroked her knuckles with his thumb, imploring her-or fate?-with anxious eyes. "If our marriage causes problems for you at the Ministry, I'll never forgive myself."
"You're being an idiot again." She glared at him. "I've told you already. Even if this does make things difficult, it's worth it to me. You are worth it."
Remus could only shake his head and hope with all his heart that nothing would go wrong, that generous Dora wouldn't have to be the one to pay the price for his weakness and self-indulgence. It was foolhardy to have let her talk him into this hasty marriage-something he had desperately wanted, but patently shouldn't have risked. No matter what Dora thought she believed, there was no way on earth marrying him could possibly be worth the loss of the career that had been her lifelong dream.
But he hadn't intended to cast a pall over her wedding day-such as it was-with his worries. Maybe nothing bad would happen, if they were careful enough.
So he took a deliberate sip of wine and began to tell her about something amusing he'd seen on his way to Gringotts that afternoon. He was rewarded ten times over when her smile reappeared.
. * . * .
"Another point for me!" Remus landed a soap bubble on the end of Dora's nose, dodging the one she was aiming at his ear.
"I'm still ahead," she shot back smugly, floating the last supper dish out of the sudsy water. "By at least three."
He conceded defeat with a grin and a quick kiss before casting a Drying Charm on the clean dishes and sending them into the cupboard. But then he turned back to find Dora watching him with an odd expression on her face-a mixture of shyness and tense, coiled energy.
Remus froze.
Surely she didn't think he was expecting her to-just because tonight was-
He would never push her into anything she wasn't ready for.
To mask the sudden racing of his pulse, he called up the mildest, most ordinary smile in his repertoire and kept his voice steady and low. "Shall we have a fire, and some tea?"
"That'd be nice." Dora's lashes swept down over her eyes, and her shoulders drooped a little. In relief, of course.
Remus lit a fire in the living-room grate and moved a few stacks of parchment and old Prophets carefully off the sofa before settling into one deep, soft corner. Dora soon followed, levitating the teacups with her wand because her spellwork was considerably surer than her balance with a tray. She curled up with her feet tucked under her and nestled into the crook of his arm.
He revelled in her warmth where she leaned against him. Smoothing a finger along the arch of her eyebrow, he bent down, just as she turned her face up to kiss him.
She tasted sweet. Intoxicating.
But she trusted him not to lose himself in the giddy swirls of sensation-she always had trusted him, for reasons that were rather unclear-and he would uphold that trust, tonight as always.
As always. Remus smiled a little, bemused. Evenings with Dora felt so normal now, it was hard to remember that always had only been a month. They had both been raw and grieving at first; mourning for Dumbledore, and for Sirius, still, and for that long wasted year of loneliness. Cuddling together and sharing tender, healing kisses had been exactly what they both seemed to need. As lovely as kisses were, though, Remus had begun to dream, alone at night, of-other things. But Dora never gave the slightest sign that she was ready to move on to anything bolder. Only that very morning, when she awoke to discover she had fallen asleep in his bed, hadn't she been mortified?
For now, it was wondrous enough that she wanted to kiss him.
So they sat entwined on the sofa, just as they would have done any other evening. Lips roamed gently over faces, and hands curled around shoulders or stroked along the curve of a spine. And two forgotten cups of tea turned stone cold.
. * . * .
Try as Remus might to keep things the same as always, though, there was one thing about tonight that was inescapably different. Always before, there would come a moment when they kissed good night and he went home to his own flat. But he lived here now.
Which meant that he was going to have to figure out where to sleep.
He glanced at the clock on the mantel just as Dora gave in to an enormous, jaw-cracking yawn. He kissed her one last time and pulled away slightly, resting his forehead against hers. "It's getting late, and you have to work tomorrow. We should go to bed."
The blush that spread across her face at those words made him redden, too. "I'll sleep here on the sofa," he added at once. "It's very comfortable."
"Oh," said Dora, in a small voice. "I was hoping we could sleep together." She smiled sideways at him, still quite red and looking almost shy again. "It was awfully nice this morning, waking up next to you."
So maybe she hadn't been entirely mortified.
With some effort, Remus swallowed. Just the thought of holding her slender form in his arms all night made him ache with longing.
"I-I don't think that would be a very good idea," he managed.
Dora's face fell, clouded with confusion and maybe even hurt. Remus tasted bitter shame. She asked so little of him, and he couldn't even provide what she did ask for-he was simply too weak to deserve her trust, too weak to be able give her the physical comfort she seemed to crave.
Still, shame or no, she deserved an explanation. "Last night was a special case. I'm always deeply exhausted, the night after the moon." His voice was embarrassingly hoarse, but he soldiered on. "If I slept in your bed tonight-" he couldn't meet her eyes any longer-"I very much doubt that I would be able to be a gentleman."
"Oh," Dora said again. Unaccountably, he heard laughter in her voice this time.
He looked up to find her grinning at him.
"I thought that was the idea." She reached up to stroke his cheek, and he couldn't stop himself from closing his eyes and leaning into her touch. "We're married, Remus."
His eyes flew open again. "You mean-you want-"
There was something in her dark gaze that pulled at him, made his mouth dry, made his heart pound. It looked like longing. Like hunger.
But he must be mistaken-they had only been together for a month-she couldn't possibly-
Dora's fingers closed around his hand and brought it to her lips. The maelstrom of his thoughts spun away to nothing as her eyes burned into his.
"I've wanted this for ages and ages," she whispered. "As soon as I knew that I loved you." Her breath was warm on his fingers, sending shivers down his spine. "But I was scared. I thought it would scare you away, if you knew how much I wanted it."
Remus could only stare. She'd been thinking along these lines for a year?
Not that he hadn't had his share of inappropriate thoughts about her over the last year, himself...
Throat too tight for speech, he leaned in and kissed her instead, cupping her face lightly with one hand and stroking her cheek with his thumb.
Dora sighed, and her eyes slowly opened. A wide smile brightened her face.
"Come on, then," she said, uncurling herself and standing up. "You can have the bathroom first." She flushed again, but the grin was undimmed. "I have to, erm, tidy up a bit in the bedroom."
. * . * .
Remus sat perched on the edge of Dora's bed, waiting. He tugged restlessly at the sleeve of his best pyjamas, noticing for the first time how threadbare they actually were.
Dora had set a fat blue candle on her dresser. Its flickering light filled the room, picking out the hem of a jumper and one striped trainer that peeped from underneath the hastily made bed. The sound and scent of rain drifted in through an open window, and thunder still rumbled sullenly in the distance, with the occasional flash of lightning like a impetuous judgment from the heavens.
She wants this, he reminded himself. Dora wanted him.
His stomach twisted itself into knots.
All these weeks, he'd thought it was concern for Dora that allowed him to keep himself firmly under control, even when they spent an hour or more curled together on her sofa. And that concern had been real, of course-but now he saw that there was more to it than that.
If he made love to Dora, the last of his reserve would shatter, and she would see into his soul. She would come face to face with the naked depths of his need for her.
And so would he.
. * . * .
The bathroom door opened with a creak and a billow of soap-scented steam. Remus looked up, heart pounding.
Dora, in an oversized T-shirt and a pair of pyjama bottoms covered in giant strawberries, came as far as the door to the bedroom. But then she stopped and watched him, looking unexpectedly hesitant.
She's changed her mind. Remus fought to slow his breathing and hide the sudden ache of disappointment. It's better-it's better for her if we don't. And probably safer for him as well. "Dora, we don't have to-"
She started speaking at the same time. "Remus, I'm so sorry-"
They broke off and blinked awkwardly at each other for a moment until Remus forced a smile and gestured, palm up. "Please."
Dora caught her lip between her teeth and flushed red to the roots of her hair. "I'm sorry-so much happened so fast today-I didn't think this through."
"It's all right." Remus kept his voice gentle, soothing. After all, he hadn't started out expecting they would share a bed tonight.
"I haven't anything nice to wear for you," she whispered.
He blinked.
"I just don't own any, you know, lacy frilly things." She gave him a lopsided smile, but her face was still painfully red. "Everything's cotton. Sensible." The smile slipped. "This won't be the kind of wedding night you'd imagined, I guess. I'm so sorry... I wanted it to be lovely for you."
"Dora-that's-I-"
She had been married in a jumper and jeans, holding a home-grown bouquet, in a dusty brown office deep in the bowels of the Ministry. The ring he had slid on her finger had belonged to his mother. They'd been married in such haste that her own parents-away on holiday-didn't even know about it yet. No one had been there to wish them well and send them off except Molly, Arthur, and Mr. Johnson the officiating clerk. Her entire honeymoon would consist of one stolen evening in her own flat.
And she was afraid that he might be disappointed.
He, who had never allowed himself to imagine he would have any kind of wedding night at all.
In two strides he was across the room, tilting her chin up with a gentle finger, dropping a soft kiss on each eyebrow and then a firmer one on her mouth. She responded instantly, winding her arms around his neck and pulling him close.
Close enough that the merits of a thin cotton T-shirt and strawberry pyjama bottoms were breathtakingly evident-he could feel her warmth everywhere they touched, more than he ever had before.
"Oh, Dora." His hands brushed gently over her back, and she sighed a little, melting even closer. He swallowed and pulled away so that he could look into her eyes; this time, he didn't try to hide his own hunger. "This is lovely." His pulse, already pounding, sped up again as he took in the way the T-shirt, warning Don't Mess with Me-I'm an Auror, clung to the curves of her strong, slender frame. "You are lovely."
Her expression softened from worry into wonder. And then, ever so slowly, with her eyes still locked on his, she slid her hands under his pyjama top and over the bare skin of his stomach. Her palms were smooth and warm, and he gasped at the heat kindled by her touch.
After that, there was no more coherent thought-only murmured words, and warm skin, and a sense of coming home for the first time in far too long.
. * . * .
Much later, the thunder had finally died away completely. Through the open window came nothing but the soothing hush of a gentle summer rain, as though judgment from above had given way to absolution.
Remus lay still and listened to Dora's soft, even breathing. She was curled comfortably against him, with her head on his pillow and her cheek resting against his shoulder.
There was no going back now.
And for that, Remus was absurdly, joyfully grateful.
. * fin * .
"Kaleidoscope" series index
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Crossing the Threshold
(3579 words | PG-13/mild profanity and intimate situations | HBP > DH)
A proposal in the morning, a marriage in the afternoon; everything has happened so fast that Remus doesn't quite know what to expect on his wedding night.
Author's note: This story is a follow-up to Asking for Forever, in which external forces push Remus and Tonks into getting married much sooner than they would (or should?) have done -- with almost no chance to prepare themselves for this major change in their relationship.
Crossing the Threshold
All day long, the clouds had hung low and ominous, the colour of a bruise, with thunder growling fitfully in the distance. The storm finally broke just as Remus followed Tonks out through the visitors' entrance at the Ministry-rain coming down in sheets, lightning searing the familiar London landscape into an exotic black-and-white print.
They Apparated into the alley behind Tonks's-no, Dora's-block of Ministry flats and dashed around to the front entrance of the building through the downpour. Remus felt strong, warm fingers curl around his as they ran. Once they reached the shelter of the foyer, Dora cast a haphazard Drying Charm over their robes and planted a brief kiss on his rain-damp lips. Taking his hand again, she tugged him along up the concrete stairwell, through the hollow booming echoes of persistent thunderclaps.
When they approached her small cheery flat, though, Remus slowed his steps to let Dora go ahead, sliding his fingers out of hers. She opened the door with the usual easy flick of her wand. But then, instead of stepping inside, she turned back to face him, suddenly looking every bit as tentative as he felt.
"Isn't there a tradition about this?" Remus kept his voice as light as he could, given the erratic pounding of his pulse, and a certain shortness of breath that wasn't only from sprinting through the rain or charging up stairs two days after the full moon. "I believe you're supposed to carry me over the threshold."
Dora's eyebrows shot up. She burst out laughing, a little more heartily than the joke deserved, perhaps, but her hesitation vanished like mist in the sunlight.
"Here," she said, sliding her arm around his shoulders. "We'll jump over. Together."
He wrapped an arm around her as well. "On three?"
They jumped, landing with an ungainly double thump inside the flat. Dora was still chuckling, but Remus was sincerely touched by the gesture-her way of telling him that the flat was his now, too, he supposed.
Even though she would be the one paying the rent.
Thunder crashed again, and Remus reached behind them to push the door shut. Now it was his turn to find he had nothing to say.
Stop being ridiculous, he berated himself. They had spent nearly every evening together in this very flat for the past month. There was no particular reason why tonight should be any different.
Other than the fact that they had just got married, of course.
Swallowing a lump in his throat-he wasn't sure exactly which emotion had put it there-Remus smiled at Dora, brushed a damp pink lock from her cheek, and found her lips with his. Her arms slipped around him and she clung, tightly, heedless of the Disillusioned bouquet she still clutched in one hand.
Eventually Remus broke the kiss. Dora breathed a happy sigh, gazing up at him with something suspiciously like joy shining in her dark eyes, and he felt a rather besotted grin spread over his own face. That very morning, he'd been reminding himself, fiercely, not to pretend he would have her with him anywhere near forever. But then she had told him about Umbridge's new laws, and they had made a momentous decision in an instant. And now-
"Hullo there, Mrs. Lupin," he whispered.
The look in her eyes-whatever it was-intensified, and she leaned in and kissed him again. Emphatically enough that after a few minutes, he decided he'd better distract himself.
"Why don't we have some of that supper Molly fixed for us?" he murmured into her ear, one hand gently smoothing the hair that looked so spiky but felt so wonderfully soft.
"Oh, bugger." Dora pulled away and darted across the cluttered living room to peer into the tiny kitchen. When she turned back, her cheeks were the same shade as her hair. "I, erm, haven't really had time to tidy up yet, after making that pie."
Remus had to laugh. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours, starting with the mouth-watering chicken pie Dora had brought him last night for his post-moon supper-and ending with an exchange of wedding vows after her shift at the Ministry, in their street clothes, with Molly and Arthur hastily recruited as witnesses. It was no wonder Dora hadn't managed to squeeze housecleaning into her schedule.
He came up behind her and slid an arm around her waist, dropping a kiss on her temple. "I'll clean up," he declared, grinning and shaking his head when she tried to argue. "You know I'm better at it than you are."
"Smug git," Dora pretended to grumble, but she was clearly hiding a smile.
Remus chuckled again, suddenly free from the unexpected awkwardness that had gripped him ever since they left the Ministry. Tonight was the same as always. He'd been thinking too much; that was all.
. * . * .
While Dora unpacked Molly's basketful of supper and set the table, Remus took care of countless drifts of flour and the occasional onion peel or carrot end with a well-aimed Evanesco or two. He turned around again to find the bouquet he had gathered at the Burrow standing proudly in a tall purple vase, un-Disillusioned now and only slightly bedraggled after its encounter with the rainstorm. A roast chicken occupied the place of honour in the centre of the table, along with jacket potatoes and a bowl of new peas.
Dora herself was rummaging through a deep cupboard, generating various clanking and thumping noises that made Remus wince a bit. But she emerged, triumphant, with a handful of half-used, mismatched candles. Arranging the motley collection carefully on the little table, she lit each one with her wand before dimming the kitchen lights.
"Now, just one thing more." Remus reached into a deep inside pocket in his robes and retrieved the bottle of his father's best wine that he had opened to share a wedding toast with the Weasleys. He filled two goblets and set the bottle carefully on the kitchen counter (out of reach of Dora's unpredictable elbows).
Dora caught his hand and squeezed it. "It's a lovely wedding supper, don't you think?"
Lovely? Remus was at a loss for words again. Dora should have had a party to end all parties for her wedding supper, surrounded by her parents and all her friends, with loud music for dancing late into the night. She deserved so much more than this little impromptu picnic in her own flat.
But her hand, holding his, was warm and steady. Light from the flickering candles danced in her eyes, and her smile was wide enough to spill over. Remus couldn't help but smile back as they sat and filled their plates.
And it was a lovely supper, at least as far as he was concerned. Even with the thunder still crashing outside, the heady taste of rare and excellent wine, and the candlelight that lent an unfamiliar grace to the cramped little kitchen, it felt just as comfortable as always-just as right-to sit here with Dora, exchanging news about their days.
Until he saw it.
Every time she cut a bite of chicken, the ring on her left hand gleamed, a tiny treacherous beacon.
That was something different, all right.
The worry that he had been fighting to ignore all day-the shame that choked him when he and Arthur walked past the door to Werewolf Support Services, the guilt that came welling up when he saw how furtively Dora had to slink into the dingy little Office of Magical Births, Deaths, and Marriages to meet him-all flooded back again, turning a buttery potato to dry dust in his mouth.
"You-" Remus took a deep breath. "You won't be wearing the ring at work, will you?"
Dora looked up, scowling. "Of course I will!"
Remus felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. "You can't, Dora-people mustn't find out-"
"I know that." Her eyes were sad now. "I'll Disillusion it, and wear it on a chain around my neck, inside my robes. But I refuse to leave it behind!" She tipped her chin up. "I hate this. You know I do. We're married, and I want to shout it from the rooftops!"
He knew she didn't really mean that, but a sharp stab of panic took away his breath all the same. "Merlin, no-please-" His hand found hers, and he stroked her knuckles with his thumb, imploring her-or fate?-with anxious eyes. "If our marriage causes problems for you at the Ministry, I'll never forgive myself."
"You're being an idiot again." She glared at him. "I've told you already. Even if this does make things difficult, it's worth it to me. You are worth it."
Remus could only shake his head and hope with all his heart that nothing would go wrong, that generous Dora wouldn't have to be the one to pay the price for his weakness and self-indulgence. It was foolhardy to have let her talk him into this hasty marriage-something he had desperately wanted, but patently shouldn't have risked. No matter what Dora thought she believed, there was no way on earth marrying him could possibly be worth the loss of the career that had been her lifelong dream.
But he hadn't intended to cast a pall over her wedding day-such as it was-with his worries. Maybe nothing bad would happen, if they were careful enough.
So he took a deliberate sip of wine and began to tell her about something amusing he'd seen on his way to Gringotts that afternoon. He was rewarded ten times over when her smile reappeared.
. * . * .
"Another point for me!" Remus landed a soap bubble on the end of Dora's nose, dodging the one she was aiming at his ear.
"I'm still ahead," she shot back smugly, floating the last supper dish out of the sudsy water. "By at least three."
He conceded defeat with a grin and a quick kiss before casting a Drying Charm on the clean dishes and sending them into the cupboard. But then he turned back to find Dora watching him with an odd expression on her face-a mixture of shyness and tense, coiled energy.
Remus froze.
Surely she didn't think he was expecting her to-just because tonight was-
He would never push her into anything she wasn't ready for.
To mask the sudden racing of his pulse, he called up the mildest, most ordinary smile in his repertoire and kept his voice steady and low. "Shall we have a fire, and some tea?"
"That'd be nice." Dora's lashes swept down over her eyes, and her shoulders drooped a little. In relief, of course.
Remus lit a fire in the living-room grate and moved a few stacks of parchment and old Prophets carefully off the sofa before settling into one deep, soft corner. Dora soon followed, levitating the teacups with her wand because her spellwork was considerably surer than her balance with a tray. She curled up with her feet tucked under her and nestled into the crook of his arm.
He revelled in her warmth where she leaned against him. Smoothing a finger along the arch of her eyebrow, he bent down, just as she turned her face up to kiss him.
She tasted sweet. Intoxicating.
But she trusted him not to lose himself in the giddy swirls of sensation-she always had trusted him, for reasons that were rather unclear-and he would uphold that trust, tonight as always.
As always. Remus smiled a little, bemused. Evenings with Dora felt so normal now, it was hard to remember that always had only been a month. They had both been raw and grieving at first; mourning for Dumbledore, and for Sirius, still, and for that long wasted year of loneliness. Cuddling together and sharing tender, healing kisses had been exactly what they both seemed to need. As lovely as kisses were, though, Remus had begun to dream, alone at night, of-other things. But Dora never gave the slightest sign that she was ready to move on to anything bolder. Only that very morning, when she awoke to discover she had fallen asleep in his bed, hadn't she been mortified?
For now, it was wondrous enough that she wanted to kiss him.
So they sat entwined on the sofa, just as they would have done any other evening. Lips roamed gently over faces, and hands curled around shoulders or stroked along the curve of a spine. And two forgotten cups of tea turned stone cold.
. * . * .
Try as Remus might to keep things the same as always, though, there was one thing about tonight that was inescapably different. Always before, there would come a moment when they kissed good night and he went home to his own flat. But he lived here now.
Which meant that he was going to have to figure out where to sleep.
He glanced at the clock on the mantel just as Dora gave in to an enormous, jaw-cracking yawn. He kissed her one last time and pulled away slightly, resting his forehead against hers. "It's getting late, and you have to work tomorrow. We should go to bed."
The blush that spread across her face at those words made him redden, too. "I'll sleep here on the sofa," he added at once. "It's very comfortable."
"Oh," said Dora, in a small voice. "I was hoping we could sleep together." She smiled sideways at him, still quite red and looking almost shy again. "It was awfully nice this morning, waking up next to you."
So maybe she hadn't been entirely mortified.
With some effort, Remus swallowed. Just the thought of holding her slender form in his arms all night made him ache with longing.
"I-I don't think that would be a very good idea," he managed.
Dora's face fell, clouded with confusion and maybe even hurt. Remus tasted bitter shame. She asked so little of him, and he couldn't even provide what she did ask for-he was simply too weak to deserve her trust, too weak to be able give her the physical comfort she seemed to crave.
Still, shame or no, she deserved an explanation. "Last night was a special case. I'm always deeply exhausted, the night after the moon." His voice was embarrassingly hoarse, but he soldiered on. "If I slept in your bed tonight-" he couldn't meet her eyes any longer-"I very much doubt that I would be able to be a gentleman."
"Oh," Dora said again. Unaccountably, he heard laughter in her voice this time.
He looked up to find her grinning at him.
"I thought that was the idea." She reached up to stroke his cheek, and he couldn't stop himself from closing his eyes and leaning into her touch. "We're married, Remus."
His eyes flew open again. "You mean-you want-"
There was something in her dark gaze that pulled at him, made his mouth dry, made his heart pound. It looked like longing. Like hunger.
But he must be mistaken-they had only been together for a month-she couldn't possibly-
Dora's fingers closed around his hand and brought it to her lips. The maelstrom of his thoughts spun away to nothing as her eyes burned into his.
"I've wanted this for ages and ages," she whispered. "As soon as I knew that I loved you." Her breath was warm on his fingers, sending shivers down his spine. "But I was scared. I thought it would scare you away, if you knew how much I wanted it."
Remus could only stare. She'd been thinking along these lines for a year?
Not that he hadn't had his share of inappropriate thoughts about her over the last year, himself...
Throat too tight for speech, he leaned in and kissed her instead, cupping her face lightly with one hand and stroking her cheek with his thumb.
Dora sighed, and her eyes slowly opened. A wide smile brightened her face.
"Come on, then," she said, uncurling herself and standing up. "You can have the bathroom first." She flushed again, but the grin was undimmed. "I have to, erm, tidy up a bit in the bedroom."
. * . * .
Remus sat perched on the edge of Dora's bed, waiting. He tugged restlessly at the sleeve of his best pyjamas, noticing for the first time how threadbare they actually were.
Dora had set a fat blue candle on her dresser. Its flickering light filled the room, picking out the hem of a jumper and one striped trainer that peeped from underneath the hastily made bed. The sound and scent of rain drifted in through an open window, and thunder still rumbled sullenly in the distance, with the occasional flash of lightning like a impetuous judgment from the heavens.
She wants this, he reminded himself. Dora wanted him.
His stomach twisted itself into knots.
All these weeks, he'd thought it was concern for Dora that allowed him to keep himself firmly under control, even when they spent an hour or more curled together on her sofa. And that concern had been real, of course-but now he saw that there was more to it than that.
If he made love to Dora, the last of his reserve would shatter, and she would see into his soul. She would come face to face with the naked depths of his need for her.
And so would he.
. * . * .
The bathroom door opened with a creak and a billow of soap-scented steam. Remus looked up, heart pounding.
Dora, in an oversized T-shirt and a pair of pyjama bottoms covered in giant strawberries, came as far as the door to the bedroom. But then she stopped and watched him, looking unexpectedly hesitant.
She's changed her mind. Remus fought to slow his breathing and hide the sudden ache of disappointment. It's better-it's better for her if we don't. And probably safer for him as well. "Dora, we don't have to-"
She started speaking at the same time. "Remus, I'm so sorry-"
They broke off and blinked awkwardly at each other for a moment until Remus forced a smile and gestured, palm up. "Please."
Dora caught her lip between her teeth and flushed red to the roots of her hair. "I'm sorry-so much happened so fast today-I didn't think this through."
"It's all right." Remus kept his voice gentle, soothing. After all, he hadn't started out expecting they would share a bed tonight.
"I haven't anything nice to wear for you," she whispered.
He blinked.
"I just don't own any, you know, lacy frilly things." She gave him a lopsided smile, but her face was still painfully red. "Everything's cotton. Sensible." The smile slipped. "This won't be the kind of wedding night you'd imagined, I guess. I'm so sorry... I wanted it to be lovely for you."
"Dora-that's-I-"
She had been married in a jumper and jeans, holding a home-grown bouquet, in a dusty brown office deep in the bowels of the Ministry. The ring he had slid on her finger had belonged to his mother. They'd been married in such haste that her own parents-away on holiday-didn't even know about it yet. No one had been there to wish them well and send them off except Molly, Arthur, and Mr. Johnson the officiating clerk. Her entire honeymoon would consist of one stolen evening in her own flat.
And she was afraid that he might be disappointed.
He, who had never allowed himself to imagine he would have any kind of wedding night at all.
In two strides he was across the room, tilting her chin up with a gentle finger, dropping a soft kiss on each eyebrow and then a firmer one on her mouth. She responded instantly, winding her arms around his neck and pulling him close.
Close enough that the merits of a thin cotton T-shirt and strawberry pyjama bottoms were breathtakingly evident-he could feel her warmth everywhere they touched, more than he ever had before.
"Oh, Dora." His hands brushed gently over her back, and she sighed a little, melting even closer. He swallowed and pulled away so that he could look into her eyes; this time, he didn't try to hide his own hunger. "This is lovely." His pulse, already pounding, sped up again as he took in the way the T-shirt, warning Don't Mess with Me-I'm an Auror, clung to the curves of her strong, slender frame. "You are lovely."
Her expression softened from worry into wonder. And then, ever so slowly, with her eyes still locked on his, she slid her hands under his pyjama top and over the bare skin of his stomach. Her palms were smooth and warm, and he gasped at the heat kindled by her touch.
After that, there was no more coherent thought-only murmured words, and warm skin, and a sense of coming home for the first time in far too long.
. * . * .
Much later, the thunder had finally died away completely. Through the open window came nothing but the soothing hush of a gentle summer rain, as though judgment from above had given way to absolution.
Remus lay still and listened to Dora's soft, even breathing. She was curled comfortably against him, with her head on his pillow and her cheek resting against his shoulder.
There was no going back now.
And for that, Remus was absurdly, joyfully grateful.
. * fin * .
"Kaleidoscope" series index
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