A Million Times (One Shot Collection)

Disclaimer: This is this house that JKR built. I am merely squatting. :)

A/N: As promised, I am back with the first of my collection of challenge oneshots, which I should warn the less keen amongst will be mostly if not entirely R/T. I've written quite a few now, this first for the SugarQuill challenge on Remus and Tonks' post Hospital Wing discussion and the rest that will follow later for the rt_challenge prompts (http://livejournal.com/community/rt_challenge/ ) on Live Journal. I hope you enjoy them and all reviews and feedback are welcomed. :)

Adrift by Jess Pallas.

Nothing felt real.

His feet seemed to skim over the stone floor of the corridor as though it – or he – was barely there, the air that touched his face an imaginary whisper, the colour bleached from walls, from tapestries, from the glow of the rising sun over eastern mountain peaks beyond the window pane. The grass waved dream-like in a gentle breeze as he drifted out between the toweringly insubstantial front doors and down the steps into the hazy grounds, moving quietly and silently until he reached the grey and lapping waters of the lake. He teetered a moment on the edge, gazing out at the unreal play of dawn light against the rippling water before allowing his body to fold in two and slump against a rock.

Nothing was real. It couldn’t be. This had to be a dream. A nightmare.

But deep down in his heart, Remus Lupin knew that he was not going to wake up.

He had felt somewhat this way for almost a year now, pulling back, detaching himself desperately from his life, from the scenes he witnessed and was forced to share, from the dripping fangs of Fenrir Greyback and the howling pack at full moon and from the mousy hair and yearning eyes of the young woman whose feelings he’d dared not allow himself to share. He loved her, yes, but love would tie him all too hard and force him to face the horrors that he lived with, force her to share his pain, the strife he would inflict. And he could not do that to her. He could not.

And so he had drifted.

The Dementor’s mist had played its part, but he knew with all clarity he could muster that it wasn’t entirely to blame. But however the distance had come upon him, he now seemed unable to surface, to face the world, to comprehend what had happened. A parade of faces danced before him, his ties to this life, vanished one by one: James and Lily, his parents, Sirius, even Peter in a twisted way and now – Dumbledore.

It seemed impossible that he should be gone. The man who had given him an education when no other would have dared, who had trusted him to be prefect, invited him into the Order, offered him the job of which he’d always dreamed. Dumbledore, the final tie; it seemed that he would always be there, that no force on this earth could drag him away and so there would always be a rock for him to cling to.

But he was gone. And Remus had never felt so adrift.

Aside from his initial shock, he had mostly managed to hold himself together in the company of others. But now he was drifting alone.

The world swirled, colourless and distant. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t think.

And nothing seemed real anymore.

Nothing. But the hand.

It was a gentle touch, soft against his back, small fingers running along his shoulder-blade before twining slowly around his left arm and tugging him softly to earth. Waves pounded softly and clearly on the shore. The light of morning vividly pierced the sky.

Remus looked up.

Tonks smiled. Wanly.

“You looked so far away,” she said softly as she settled down beside him. Her arm tightened around his.

He smiled, slightly bitter-edged. “I wish I was.”

He caught and forestalled the flash of hurt within her eyes before it could congeal.

“I don’t mean you,” he added wearily. “I just mean…”

He gestured hopelessly in the direction of the Astronomy Tower. Her arm tangled more firmly around his. Their shoulders touched.

“I know,” she echoed. “I know what you mean. It just feels like we’ll all just wake up and he’ll be standing there, smiling at us with that twinkle in his eye. It doesn’t feel…”

“Real.” He finished her sentence, his voice tailing away into the breeze. “Nothing feels real.”

She smiled slightly and squeezed his arm, her fingers warm and strong. “You feel pretty real to me.”

He looked at her. He smiled back.

Their eyes met. And held.

And the rest of the world faded away.

“I’m sorry I shouted at you in the Hospital Wing last night.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “I know it wasn’t the right time. But I just couldn’t stand it anymore.” She drew a deep breath. “I love you. You know I love you. I’ve told you enough times.” They shared a brief, wry smile as memories of a thousand painful conversations flashed across both minds, too worn to feel their sting anew. “But I’m tired, Remus. So tired of waiting for you to realise what I’ve always known; that’s there’s a hell of a lot more to you than years or money or full moons.” She shook her head, her fingers seeming to burn against his skin. “Why can’t you see the wonderful person you are? And why can’t you let me show you?”

“Tonks…”

She laid one finger across his lips, her smile bitter edged. “Let me guess,” she said softly. “Too old. Too poor. Too dangerous.”

He smiled against the stroke of her fingertip. “And let me guess. You don’t care.”

Her eyebrow quirked. “You said it.”

He stared at her, the dawn light playing across her heart-shaped face in swirling patterns of pale gold, her fingertip still pressed against his lower lip, her other arm entwined with his and seeping its warmth into tired bones. Her touch was like a lifeline. And she felt so real.

“I love you.” The words had left his lips almost before he was aware of them.

Her hair seemed to lift and spike almost visibly, shot with hints of colour. Her smile was brighter than the sun. “I should bloody well hope so. Honestly, Lupin, it’s taken you long enough.”

The fragility of the conversation, of the world about him shattered. He felt himself smile, heard the gentle wash of the waves, felt the cool stroke of the breeze, the warmth of the light against his cheek, the whisper of the grass and the cool stone against his back. He felt emotion stirring, sadness yes, but not despair, tiredness, yes, but not despondency and a flicker of something he had denied himself, that he had almost managed to forget.

Love. Companionship. Hope.

And for the first time in many years, Remus could almost see a future. A real future.

He smiled. She smiled.

Her fingers tightened. Her shoulder pressed gently against his.

And then she leaned forward and replaced the fingertip with her lips.

The lips felt very real. And they grounded him in ways that nothing and no one else ever had.

And Remus knew as long she was there, he would never drift again.

Feedback Here Please (http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?p=3860270#post3860270)

My Card by Jess Pallas

Rating: PG

A/N: This was written for prompt 4 (“cards”) of the April rt_challenge.


“My card.”

Remus blinked. And then slowly, and with distinct bewilderment he extended a tentative hand and accepted the small, shiny pink square from the fingers of the austere looking woman who had marched so imperiously up to him as he sat quietly at the bar of the Three Broomsticks, resting on his bar stool and nursing a small butterbeer as he waited for…

Ah. I see.

He glanced again at the woman. She was tall, towering over him, her hair dark brown and captured sternly in a skull-tight bun. Her face was long, her nose slightly hooked and her dark eyes…

Her eyes were unmistakable.

He glanced down at the card. There, in bright green letters, were five simple words.

Undine Blackwood. Expert Werewolf Wrangler.

Oh yes. It was definitely going to be one of those evenings.

Slowly, and with deliberate casualness, Remus lifted his gaze to meet hers.

“So,” he remarked. “You think I need your services?”

Undine Blackwood’s thin lips gave a rather out of character twitch. “I’ve been told that it might be necessary, yes.”

“I can imagine.” Remus patted the card gently against the tip of his nose in faux thoughtfulness. “What are your qualifications?”

Undine adopted an expression of arrogant superiority. “I have several years experience in the field of werewolf wrangling. I am an expert in the use of judicious bribery…”

“Honeydukes?”

“What else?” Undine sniffed heartily, although the twitching of her lips was growing more pronounced by the moment. “I have also mastered the arts of affectionate teasing, incessant prodding and have a zero-tolerance policy on self-deprecation. I’ve been able to achieve results with even the most recalcitrant of specimens. And if you still doubt my credentials, I’m sure my principle client would be more than happy to provide references.”

“I’ll have to speak to him.”

“So will you be requiring my services?”

Remus regarded her slowly, watching the unmistakable twinkle within those too familiar eyes, the battle against lips that longed to curl upwards, marvelling at how a face so unfamiliar could be so well known. And then, unable to help himself, he smiled.

“Oh, I don’t know…” he said airily. “I’ve had a few other offers. You might have to give me a few days to think it over, mull over the possibilities. After all, I’ve got one pink-haired volunteer who literally falls at my feet every time I see her…”

The pain in his shin was instant as a decidedly unladylike boot made contact.

“Ow!” Remus shot her a mock glare. “Now, Miss Blackwood, if you treat all your clients that way you don’t deserve to have any…”

“Ha, ha, ha.” With a ripple like sunlight rising, the dark air and stern features melted away into a heart shaped face and vividest pink that crowned a somewhat shorter body. With a flourish of robes, the self-professed werewolf wrangler deposited herself on the stool beside him, avoiding an undignified plunge to the floor only with a rapid grab of the counter. “Git.”

“Noted.” Remus pushed the butterbeer in her direction. “What was all that about anyway?”

Tonks pulled a face as she took a long swig from the tankard. “Rubbish day at work,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Dawlish was in fine form – tore a strip off me over nothing and then started swearing like a champion and claiming that I’d spiked his coffee with dried doxy droppings.”

“Did you?”

“Nah, it was Kingsley.” Tonks shrugged easily. “But the office has been as cheery and jolly as Azkaban in a thunderstorm today. So when I saw you sitting there, I had this sudden overwhelming attack of the sillies.” She chuckled. “That’s what happens when I have a bad day. I take out my unused daftness on you.”

“Ah.” Still twiddling the bubblegum pink card between his fingers, Remus quietly drew his wand and muttered a quick spell under his breath. “Well, in that case, I got here just in time. My card.”

With a broad grin, Tonks accepted the card back from his outstretched fingers, examining the words he had placed there just a moment before with sparking eyes.

Remus Lupin. Professional Auror Brightener.

Her lips twitching, Tonks leaned forwards, resting her chin in the cup of her palms. “What are your qualifications?” she inquired.

Remus leaned forwards too, his head halting just an inch from hers. “Well…”

Feedback Would Be Lovely (http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?p=3860270#post3860270)

AN: Written for prompt 24 for the live journal rt_challenge, which was this:
am I waiting for
the uncovering
of simple paths
between the branches
flowering chance
fence slats rattling
fingers pushing through
slowly brushing past
a fast glimpse of you
- "Chinese Apple" by Loose Fur
Anyway, the first impression I got from reading this prompt was someone running through the woods and hence the rest of this fic….

Guiding Light by Jess Pallas

It’s coming.

Branches slapped against his face with wicked force, bruising, drawing blood as they whipped his skin red raw. His feet pounded the loose earth, catching and stumbling over stones and brambles but he could not, dared not slow his frantic pace for it was coming, he could hear it coming, coming, coming for him…

Where was the path? He could not find it, could not find that precious gap between the trees that would tell him where he was, where he could go, the direction of near lost safety. He could not find the early blooming flowers that marked his mother’s garden, the rickety fence slats his father always meant to repair, the familiar, blessed safety of the home from which he had so brutally been ripped. His breath rasped against his throat.

It’s coming, it’s coming, it’s coming….

Close, too close behind him, twigs snapped, a shadow loomed. Golden eyes flashed.

Overhead, the moon gleamed full and silver. A terrible howl split the air.

Oh please no!

And then teeth crunched into his side and he was falling, screaming, pain, so much pain…

“Remus! Wake up!”

The sound of his name was like a slap across the face. He jerked violently for a moment, lost, confused as pain fled and the trees melted, faded, vanished behind shadowed walls and dark curtains lit by sudden light. The golden eyes were gone – instead he found himself gazing into a heart-shaped face that stared down at him, full of concern. The hazy glow of a nearby lantern illuminated her mousey hair like a halo.

Tonks.

He closed his eyes slowly, breathing hard, aware now that he lay flat on his back beneath soft covers, his own bed, his own room, their own room. Sweet Merlin, it was a dream. All right a memory, but still a dream of a memory, not here, not now, not real, not real now….

“Remus?” His name again, more tentative this time, soft and questioning as he became aware once more of Tonks. She was leaning over him, one hand clasping each shoulder, presumably with the pending intent of giving him a damn good shaking. Her dark eyes stared down at him with a mixture of sympathy and relief.

“Greyback again?” she asked softly.

Quietly, Remus nodded. “I know it’s foolish. I know it was well over thirty years ago and that Fenrir Greyback is dead but somehow it still just…” He drew a long, shuddering breath. “I always end up lost in the woods and he’s there, he’s chasing me down and I can’t find the path leading home…”

It wasn’t until he felt the gentle comfort of her fingers stroking his chest that he realised just how harshly he’d bee breathing. Still glowing against the lantern light, her smile was like the rising sun.

“It was just a dream,” she whispered. “It wasn’t real.”

Remus swallowed hard, still fighting to dispel the adrenalin pumped by his frantic dream. “It wasn’t once.”

This time her finger tapped against his lips. “Well, it is now. And it’s staying that way.” Her smile spreading, she made to lower herself but her elbows proved her undoing – with rather less dignity than Remus suspected was intended, his lover deposited herself across his chest with a thud. Resting one elbow against the pillow beside his shoulder with studied I-meant-to-do-that nonchalance, she settled her chin in her palm and gazed down upon him casually. “See?” she remarked. “Unless you have very odd dreams, you’re certainly awake and here right now.” She poked his nose with her free hand. “I’d be deeply upset if I thought you’d been dreaming about a me so lacking in poise and natural elegance.”

Remus allowed himself a flicker of a smile as the horror of his dream began to fade slightly behind the ordinary, familiar playfulness of the woman he loved. “I always dream about you having even bigger tumbles,” he replied, as straight faced as he could manage. “That makes the reality seem ballerina-like by comparison.

With ruthless intent, she twanged his nose with her fingertip. “Git. I can always tell you’re feeling better; you start taking the ****.” Her dark eyes stared down into his, fixing and holding his gaze with a sudden, expected seriousness. “But I meant it, Remus,” she murmured gently. “All joking aside, you need to stop dwelling in the past. Just think on this. You found the path.” Her lips hovered inches from his as her eyes filled his world. “You’re home now. You made it. You’re safe and you’re with me.” Her lips twitched slightly. “And whether you like it or not, I’ll always be here, waiting, ready to shout your name or shake you awake.” Her eyes twinkled with sudden wickedness. “Or kick you out of bed or pull the blankets away or douse you with a bucket of cold water or slap you across the…”

“All right, all right!” Remus raised his hands in a gesture of mock defeat, before reaching up to rest them gently in her dishevelled hair. “I get the idea. No more nightmares or I suffer the consequences.”

She adopted a vaguely lofty expression. “I felt you needed an incentive,” he replied, not quite able to keep her lips from curling upwards. “After all, aside from anything else, you keep on waking me up…”

Remus raised a playful eyebrow. “Oh and you stealing all the blankets and sleeping across the bed at diagonals doesn’t wake me. Not to mention when you sno…”

Her nose pressed sharply into his, cutting off the dangerous observation mid-word. “Finish that sentence, Lupin and you can go and toss and turn on the sofa,” she drawled with narrow-eyed menace. “Because I’ll make you wish you hadn’t woken up…”

He stared at her, so close, her heart-shaped face and tousled hair filling his vision, her eyes dancing behind her mock glare and felt a smile spread across his face unbidden. Sudden joy seemed to blossom and bloom, a dawning spring that drove away the winter of his memory of Greyback into the recessed shadows of his mind.

“But I did wake,” he said quietly. “You woke me. You’re the one who brought me back onto a path I thought I’d lost forever.” He smiled softly, warmly, sincere and full of affection. “You brought me back from Greyback once and you keep on doing it every day we spend together. You’re my guiding light, Nymphadora.”

He felt her fingers press against his chest, but her eyes were soft against his gaze. “Don’t call me Nymphadora,” she reminded him almost absently. “But thanks.” She chuckled softly. “I like the idea of being all shiny.”

“You could never be anything but.”

She laughed outright at that, lifting one finger to curl around her lank, mousey brown, natural hair. “That’s very gallant of you,” she told him cheerfully. “But even I know that no girl looks her best at three o clock in the morning.”

Remus grinned broadly, stroking his fingers through her hair, the glow of the lantern giving it a glow that she seemed to be unaware of. “You always look radiant to me.”

“Liar.” She gave a rather unladylike snort as she squidged her nose into his once more, leaning forward as she ran her hands gently over his torso. “But I love you all the same.”

He rubbed his nose against hers playfully. “I love you too.”

A sudden thoughtful spark gleamed in her eyes; her fingers began to drawn careful spirals across his stomach. “I suppose you’ll want to go back to sleep now,” she remarked almost casually. “You must be pretty tired...”

He caught her fingers softly, his smile suddenly intense. “A little,” he replied. “But not really. And I could use a little light in my life right now.”

He felt her lips press against his, his love, his guiding light. And he knew once and for all that he was safe and home.

Feedback is Floaty Light (http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?t=91469)

A/N: The prompt for this rt_challenge piece was simply “walk”. :)

Unmistakable by Jess Pallas

Maybe it’s the way she walks.

That could be it. There is a quality to the way she moves that’s so distinctly her – an unstable fluency, a jaunty roll of the hips accompanied by the constant risk of ever-imminent stumble. Her arms seem to swing and gesture with a life all their own, uncoordinated, uncontrolled, sometimes dragging her off balance before she’s even aware of the danger but somehow it gives her walk a strange anticipation, a flow of movement just waiting to overreach itself and tumble to a halt. There’s so much joy, so much youth, so much life in her walk. There’s nobody else in the world who moves in quite the same way as Nymphadora Tonks.

Or perhaps that’s just the signal. Perhaps that so distinctive walk is the thing that makes me look twice at her, makes me peer past mad blue curls or an iron-grey bun, platinum blonde or fiery red to recognise the woman within. But all I know is this – wrinkled or smooth skinned, rainbow-haired or mousy brown, long nose or pig snout, if I look into her eyes, I always know it’s her.

I love her too much not to.

* * *

Maybe it’s the way he walks.

That could be it. The same careful, almost graceful tread, the same thoughtful but so natural movement, as though being a werewolf -even one fully dosed on Wolfsbane - and moving on four feet and not two makes no difference whatsoever. But it’s more than just his footsteps; the way his ears twitch when I speak to him or stroke his fur, the frown that creases that lupine forehead, the long, slow looks he gives me when I make a silly joke or say something to tease him… It’s so alien, so strange, his expressions on a wolfish face, but yet it’s so utterly Remus Lupin that there’s simply no mistaking it. I spend my full moon nights these days in the company of a beast feared and reviled throughout the wizarding world, but yet I find myself loving it because it’s still so clearly him.

But maybe the real answer lies there, inside those eyes. Yes, they gleam as golden as a pair of galleons rather than the rich brown I know so well but I still see him staring through them, my Remus behind a haze of gold. There is no animal now, no Dark Creature, not since he has regained access to the Wolfsbane, and in spite of all his protests, under those conditions I don’t see how he could think I would ever be afraid. I always know it’s him.

I love him too much not to.

Feedback Is Shiny (http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?p=3860270#post3860270)

Rating: PG

A/N:The prompt for this rt_challenge piece was: "The supreme happiness in life is the conviction that we are loved -- loved for ourselves, or rather, loved in spite of ourselves." ~ Victor Hugo. I don’t know why but I decided to have a play with the Stream of Consciousness style I used to favour for my coursework pieces when I was at university. Hence this whole thing was written as it came to me off the top of my head and is probably a pile of rubbish! :)

On Being Loved by Jess Pallas

What does she see in me?

The eternal question; the one that I have asked myself a thousand times or more and never quite found the answer to, the one that I still find it difficult to believe that I could even ask. Friends we managed quickly for our mutual humour collided almost immediately into banter and we found ourselves more and more in each others company, laughing together, talking together, or simply sitting side by side with hot chocolate and coffee after a long day fighting for the Order. And in spite of being young, playful, irreverent and wild haired and a terror to troll’s foot umbrella stands everywhere, there was no denying her credentials as an Auror. Laugh she could, joke she would but when the danger came, she met it head on, professional and unflinching with a seriousness and maturity that seemed to defy her years.

So what does such a woman see in me?

I couldn’t tell you when I fell in love. I couldn’t tell when she did. I only know that it crept up upon us both, subconscious and hardly noticed, a slow dawning realisation to be suppressed, denied in favour of preserving friendship. When did that line blur, that boundary shatter? I’m not sure. I only know that she shattered it, that she made the decision and stepped into the light, her feelings exposed before her and I stared in disbelief and fled like a coward into the darkness. Because I could not accept or acknowledge what she’d said.

Because what could such a woman see in me?

And I couldn’t let her. I wouldn’t let her. For every person who has loved me has fallen to disaster.

James and Lily, lost to Voldemort. Sirius beyond the veil. My mother, killed for protecting me, my father crippled for the same. I have always known throughout my life that people loved me but as the years passed and one by one they fell, that feeling brought no happiness, no joy – it brought instead a dull sense of inevitable doom that clouded my life and theirs like a brewing storm. And I would not lose her to such a destiny. Better she be safe and whole and far away than risk her life by loving me. And she couldn’t mean it. There was no way.

For what could such a woman see in me?

Old. Poor. Dangerous. I told her again and again and again and again she rebuked me. I saw the conviction that burned behind those eyes and I tried to dismiss it, tried to tell myself over and over that this would pass, that she would find another and move on and be safe but she did not, could not, it seemed. She could not let me go and I dared not reach out for fear I would never be able to free her from my taint. So young, so vibrant – how could she love a tired old werewolf? How could she love me? How could she want me so badly that she utterly refused to be repelled?

What could she possibly see in me?

Perhaps a part of my objection was disbelief. Such things do not happen to me. Wonderful women that I love do not return the feeling. And even if they do, the revelation of my condition should send them screaming away, not make them shrug and laugh and ask why it should matter. She almost seemed a dream at times for she could not be true, a woman who loved me, who understood and didn’t care and Sweet Merlin it hurt for it was my wildest fantasy come true, the one thing I had always longed for but never thought could happen. And now it had, oh Gods it had and I had to face the bitter truth that I could never be so selfish as to claim her. Life was not fair, fate a cruel and tangled web.

How did it come to be that she saw something in me?

How did she come to love me, love me through all my protests, in spite of my dangers and my flaws and capture my heart in turn?

How did she come to hammer down the walls I had braced myself behind and make me realise and understand that fear does not matter, time is short and the greatest happiness in life is to be loved, truly and purely for exactly who you are?

I don’t know. I only know it’s true.

And as I stare down at her lying beside me, a splash of pink against a pale pillow, I touch one finger gently to her smooth skin and bless my life a thousand times over. I will never believe that I deserve her. I will never be convinced that the storm will never strike. But if you were to give me the choice between miserable peace of mind and joyful risk, I know what my answer will be.

I can live with the risk. For I know I am loved. And armed with that, I can face anything.

Feedback Would Be Nice (http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?p=3860270#post3860270)

Gone by Jess Pallas.
Format & Word Count: Short fic – 1003 words
Rating: PG
Prompt: From the rt_challenge: "A woman can forgive a man for the harm he does her...but she can never forgive him for the sacrifices he makes on her account." --W. Somerset Maugham
Author's Note: Written at work whilst I should probably (for which read definitely ;)) have been getting on with things I’m paid for. Hence this may be ****. ;) Apologies for the delay in posting, I've been distracted by the small matter of trying to buy a flat....:scared:

Gone

She stared.

Why?

The word slipped into her mind before she was even aware of it, invasive, pervasive, inescapable. Her eyes traced the outlines of gleaming white marble, glistening with inconsiderate brightness in the summer sun as she felt a hollow sadness surge within her heart, rippling out through her veins like the chill of winter.

He's gone. He's really gone.

It seemed impossible. It seemed wrong. In spite of his long absences, in spite of her resentment of some of the decisions he had made, it had felt to her as though whatever happened, he would always be there. His choices had hurt her badly but she had forgiven him for that, forgiven him for the brownness that had leeched away her cheerful pink, for the constant fear and misery that had lurked in her heart throughout what had soon become the longest year of her life. He had explained the reasons for his choice and she, however reluctantly, had accepted them.

But this...

How could she forgive him for this? How could she forgive him for leaving her, for leaving Harry, for leaving them all when there was so much still to be done?

You-Know-Who still waited. Peter Pettigrew, Bellatrix Lestrange, Severus Snape, Fenrir Greyback… all were still at large. All were still a threat. And yet he’d just stood there, just sacrificed himself to the killer blow and for what?

He should have fought back. Why didn't he fight back?

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.

A presence loomed silently at her side. A hand, warm and gentle, slipped into hers. She glanced up.

Remus Lupin smiled at her, a sad, weary smile that seemed to carry the weight of the world upon it. Softly, he squeezed her fingers.

"Are you all right?" he asked gently.

Remus. At least that was something to be thankful for, at least some good had come of…

No, not good. That wasn’t the right word at all, how could she say good had come from this, how could she be so selfish as to think…

She felt his fingers brush gently over her knuckles, soft reassurance that drew her out of her bitter musings. A soft gust of wind shivered across her cheeks, teasing her pinks locks as she managed a half-hearted smile. "It's just so hard," she admitted, her voice a tired, heavy murmur that seemed to inch its’ way up from the very depths of her hear. "I was just so bloody angry with him this year, angry that he sent you away to live a life you hated, angry that living that life made you doubt everything we'd..." She sighed deeply. "I'm sorry. I know it was necessary. But I hate to think that he..." She swallowed hard, "...died... Merlin, that sounds so wrong... still thinking I hadn't forgiven him. That's why I went with pink." She fingered her hair once more. "He told me once it was his favourite."

Gently, Remus' arm snaked around her shoulders, pulling her close. She dropped her head against his shoulder, revelling for a brief, indulgent instant in how warm he was, how damned well here he was and just how much she loved him, loved his smile and his eyes, loved his touch, loved his kindness and his humour, even loved his bloody martyr complex…

Stop it. This isn’t the time.

But when is a better time, what’s a better tribute? He hated misery. He’d be happy for us. He’d be glad to see us together…

It seemed odd, discordant somehow, to be so happy and so melancholy all at once. But such, she supposed, was the mark of a good funeral.

If there is such a thing…

"He knew." Once more Remus' voice intruded on her absent thoughts, rich, she suspected, with the fruit of his own private musings - remembering just how much the older man had meant to the man she loved, Tonks tightened her own grip on his hand in response. "He always knew."

With a hint of bitterness, Tonks gestured to the tomb. "He didn't see [/i]this[/i] coming."

She felt Remus' cheek come to rest against the pink mass of her hair, sending a gentle warmth seeping down throughout her body that softened the chills and hard-edged hollowness inside her with the simple fact of his presence. "He might have done. But I suppose we'll never know."

"I suppose we won't." Tonks sighed once more, her eyes drifting over the slowly dispersing crowd around the gleaming tomb, familiar faces and utter strangers united in their grief. Sadness welled within her once more "But if he did..."

She felt Remus' hand tense slightly as his free fingers raked over her hair. "I suppose we'll never know that either. Come on, Tonks. Let's go."

Glancing up at him awkwardly, Tonks caught a glimpse of the lock of hair he was fingering. Its tip had turned distinctly brown.

Oh no. He liked pink and I’m staying pink.

She thought of the twinkle in his eyes when she visited his office after impersonating Snape in the Great Hall and ordering all the Slytherins to get down onto the floor and give her fifty. She remembered his reassuring pat on her shoulder when he led her into the kitchen at Grimmauld Place to meet her soon-to-be friends in the Order for the first time. She remembered his fond smile as he first introduced her to Remus…

She opened her eyes. The pink was restored.

Merlin, she was going to miss him.

I wish you’d fought. But I guess that was up to you…

Remus’ arms closed gently around her. Holding him close in reply, she smiled slightly, her eyes tracing the lines of the marble tomb one final time.

I wish you were still with us, Professor, but just so as you know… Thanks to you, there’s a little more love in the world…

And then, arm in arm with the man she loved, Tonks turned from the tomb and slowly moved on.

Feedback Would Help Sooth My Shattered Nerves (http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?p=3860270#post3860270)

As Time Goes By by Jess Pallas
Format & Word Count: Short fic – 1432 words
Rating: PG
Author's Note: Written for prompt 11 of the rt_challenge; “They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself.” – Andy Warhol
Well, I said I’d try a lighter fic and so here it is. It’s set during OoTP and tied into to JKR’s passing mention of Lupin helping to fix a psychotic grandfather clock at Grimmauld Place. ;)

“You were attacked by a grandfather clock?”

Remus attempted a smile but a particularly sharp jerk of his bruised forearm wiped the expression away in an instant. Tentatively he cradled the blossoming red-purple skin with his free hand and sighed deeply. It had seemed such a good idea at the time, reaching one arm around the corner to slam the ugly, cast-iron grandfather clock with a spell before it struck any of the children with the flying bolts it had spent the morning spewing at anyone who dared to pass within five yards of it. Unfortunately the ancient piece of Black furniture’s reactions had proved depressingly faster than his.

“I’m afraid so,” he replied, watching Tonks as she rummaged hurriedly through her robes in search the healing salve that she so earnestly assured him that her mother had made her carry everywhere since she was five years old. “Ravaged by time, that’s me.”

Tonks raised an eyebrow but the corners of her lips were curling slightly as she reached into a deep pocket of her Auror robes. “So much for time heals all wounds.”
Remus grinned in spite of the surging pain that was rampaging through his arm. He knew a challenge when he heard one.

“Well, time is swift,” he offered thoughtfully. “And as they say, for everything there is a season, a time to be born and a time to die, a time to dodge and a time to duck…”

“Well, there was no time like the present to remember that and you blew it. Aha!” With a triumphant exclamation, Tonks pulled a small, sturdy jar out of her robes. “I can’t tell you how many of these I smashed before I learned how to charm them unbreakable. Hold still.”

Her hand closed with gentle sensitivity around his wrist as she scooped a finger’s worth of lavender goo out of the container and began to stroke it gently over the heavily bruised skin. Remus winced as both pain and coldness rippled through his arm but after a moment or two the chilly gel began to work its own brand of magic and soothed the stinging pain down to the level of a dull roar. He felt himself sigh almost audibly with relief.

Tonks was grinning at him, her dark eyes dancing as her fingers continued to caress the damaged skin in an oddly distracting manner. “Better?”

Remus nodded blissfully. “Much. I suppose I was lucky to escape with just bruising though.” He adopted a playfully lofty expression. “After all, men – or werewolves – talk of killing time while time not-so-damned-quietly tries to kill them.”

"Well in your case, a hex in time saved nine." At his quizzical look, she removed her now somewhat greasy fingers and counted briskly. "Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Ginny, Molly, Arthur and Sirius. Nine residents at twelve Grimmauld Place saved from a psychopathic Grim Reaper of a clock. You're the hero of the hour."

Remus groaned. "All right, mercy, please. No more time jokes."

"And about time too." At Remus' pointed look, Tonks laughed. "Don't worry, Remus, I'm all done. I was down to time is money anyway and that would have been an interesting one to try and work in."

"Hmmm." Remus lifted his arm, working it experimentally. The pain was still present, deep within the bone, but at least the limb was now workable. "Time does have something to answer for though," he remarked absently. "I've been ravaged by its passing in more ways than losing a skirmish with an irate clock. My reflexes used to be far better than this." He pulled a face. "Alas, that's the price of getting old."

Tonks gave a distinctly unladylike snort. "Don't be daft, Remus. You're not old. You're a while off forty yet, not shaping up for a Zimmer frame and inch thick spectacles. You're a good ten years younger than my mum and if I called her old, she'd hang me by my ankles from the washing line and beat me with Mrs Miggins Magicial Home Help Journal until I recanted. And that thing's bloody thick."

Remus smiled in spite of himself. "Do I hear the voice of experience?"

Tonks grinned. "Why do you think I dislike householdy spells so much?"

Settling his still fragile arm as comfortably as possible against the tabletop, Remus leaned back in his chair. "Still," he said with more than a slight hint of resignation. "Whether I'm technically old or not, there's no denying the change time has wrought on my reaction time. Otherwise we wouldn't be sitting here staring at the shifting patterns of my amazing technicolor bruises."

To his surprise, the expression that Tonks fixed him with was noticeably serious. "Remus," she stated brusquely. "Do you want to be old?"

"I prefer it to the alternative."

"You know what I mean."

Remus sighed. "I know. And I don't particularly want to get older but what choice is there? It'll happen whether I want it to or not."

But Tonks was shaking her head. "Physically maybe. But honestly Remus, take it from someone who can appear any age she chooses to - age is less about the body and more about state of mind. Fine, you're slowing down - it happens. But for goodness sake, don't sit there and tell yourself you're old because if you do you'll start to believe it. And if you believe it, you'll act it. And then you really will be old." She smiled suddenly. "Look at Professor Dumbledore. If he wasted time and effort thinking of himself as old, he'd never get anything done. But there he is still doling out lemon drops after well over a century." Her smile faded to pointedness once more. "So trust me, Remus. "You are not old. Not unless you choose to be. If you think like a sixteen year old, who cares if you're getting a bit saggy here and there?"

Remus couldn't help but feel the latter was a little uncalled for. "Saggy?" he protested mildly. "I wouldn't say I'm that far gone."

Tonks beamed. "See, that's the spirit!" she exclaimed. "We'll have your brain back in fifth year in no time."

Remus started to cross his arms but a jerk of pain reminded him why that would not be a good idea. "If my brain goes back to fifth year," he remarked archly, "then putting me in a room with an attractive twenty-something metamorphmagus would mean I'd never get anything done."

The words had left his lips before they took the time to run through the perilous comment screening system he’d so laboriously set up inside his brain - it was not until the flashed hint of a blush darted over Tonks' cheeks that dawning realisation took hold.

Ah. Ummm...Uh oh…

Oh, wonderful. Now what? Did he retract it and risk offending her? Did he tell her he didn't think of her that way? Or did he admit that it was indeed the truth and scare the poor girl senseless at the prospect that some dirty old lecherous werewolf might be having fantasies about her in…

No. Better not follow that train of thought. That way lay madness and dangerous mental imagery.

She’s just a friend. A good friend. A nice friend. It's the pain, the pain distracted me and...

But thanks be to the shining stars, Tonks saved him from his dilemma with a sudden, broad smile and a chuckle. "I hope you don't mind me saying, Remus, but I can't see you as the Hogwarts lothario."

Relief, vast and powerful, swept through Remus, entirely swamping a ridiculous little corner of him that had sparked briefly with disappointment. Don't be a prat, Lupin...
"I wasn't as bad as James and Sirius," he replied with faux casual ease. "But I was a teenage boy."

"That's good to know." Tonks smiled once more as she rose, tucking her salve into her robes once more. "I have to go," she told him suddenly. "Work and all that. But you work on that fifth year mind trick, Remus." Her smile was edged abruptly with wickedness. "I'd be quite interested to meet that oh-so-distractible sixteen year old."

And before Remus could quite fathom out how to reactivate his mouth, she had swept up the steps and vanished into the hallway.

Remus knew there and then that something between them had changed.

And to his surprise, he found he really didn’t mind at all.

So. She wanted his sixteen-year-old brain, did she? Well in that case…

Hmmmm… Now where did I leave that dangerous mental imagery?

Feedback. Pwetty Please? (http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?p=3860270#post3860270)

Chocolate Eyes by Jess Pallas

Rating: PG

A/N: Written for prompt nine of the rt_challenge - “Hunger hurts but starving works when it costs to much to love.” - Fiona Apple – “Paper Bag”.

Chocolate Eyes

It was around midday on the morning after his second full moon passed at Grimmauld Place that Nymphadora Tonks first brought Remus Lupin a hot chocolate.

He had not asked for it. To say it was a surprise that she had bothered was something of an understatement. He liked Tonks, or liked what he knew of her of least, information gleaned from communal chats in the parlour and occasional exchanges on shared missions. She was bright and breezy, capable of both cheerful humour and efficient professionalism as the situation demanded, an Auror dressed in the clothes and personality of a vibrant, daft young woman. She had always been friendly enough towards him but until that morning he had never noticed any peculiar regard.

But she had come. At such times of the month, most of the Order tended to avoid him, exchanging awkward looks if the subject of his condition came up and shifting uncomfortably in his presence as though he might change at any moment. Even Molly, kind and motherly, had shown visible, if embarrassed discomfort when he had announced his necessary retreat from company the night before. He told himself… no he knew that they meant nothing personal by it, that such reactions to a werewolf on the cusp of his change were natural enough. He could not blame them for it. If he had been able to retreat from his own company at such times, he would have done so gladly.

But such was not the nature of the werewolf and the moon had come and stripped away his human form with inevitable cruelty.

And then moonset had come and with it the aches and pains that characterised the morning after, the heavy limbs, the pounding skull, the gnawing hunger and the utter exhaustion and faded lack of energy that prevented him from doing anything but crawling into his bed and lying there. He slept for a while, but it never lasted, for true sleep was impossible after such an ordeal and so he simply lay, limbs dangling over the sides of his narrow bed, face buried in the pillow, blanket pulled haphazardly around him, too thick-headed and drained to do anything but listen to his stomach rumble and pray for the evening when Padfoot - the only Order member desensitised enough to his condition to disturb him - would come and drag him out of bed in time for Molly’s supper.

But at midday, he was roused unexpectedly from his uncertain slumber by a tentative knock at the door.

He remembered the uncertain expression on her heart-shaped face as she’d peered round the door at him. He knew he must have looked a sight, scruffy, unshaven, pale and slack-faced but nonetheless she’d managed a smile as she’d stepped inside, successfully circumnavigating both the rug and the ratty old yellow blanket he had lain upon beside the fire the night before to make her way over to the bed. It was only when she had stepped into the narrow shaft of light filtered through the curtains that he had spotted the steaming mug clasped in her hands.

It had been an offhand comment made to Sirius after the last full moon, a quiet remark about how glorious it had been at school to wake from a transformation to find a mug of Poppy Pomfrey’s best hot chocolate waiting at his bedside to assuage his post change hunger pangs. He hadn’t even known she’d been listening. He would have doubted she’d had recalled it if she had.

But now here she was, the awkwardness that characterised those told of his condition written across her face, brandishing a hot chocolate and managing a smile. Settling on the end of his bed with only a minor tumble, she had sat with him and chatted about everything and nothing as he drank.

The hot chocolate was neither as rich or strong as Poppy Pomfrey’s. But it had tasted wonderful.

He did not know why she had come that first time, what had prompted her to step over that tangled line that took them from colleagues and comrades into friendship. But she had done so and from that moment on, it became their ritual, every morning at midday after each full moon, whether it was her day off, her lunch hour or her rest over from a gruelling night shift, there she would be on the dot, bearing a mug of hot chocolate and an increasingly less awkward grin. Sometimes she brought biscuits too, or fruit, or a bar of Honeydukes best to split between them with a crack. The chocolate frogs were thoughtful, if a little energetic for an exhausted werewolf to subdue, but whatever else, there was always a mug of hot chocolate and her smile.

And that was all that really mattered.

Those visits changed them both. Uncertain chats turned into long conversations, conversations that were the genesis and catalyst of deep and abiding trust, the birth of private jokes, an exchange of views, a chance to vent or voice concerns to a secret, understanding audience of one. Remus’ exhaustion seemed to melt away as he lay back against his pillow, sipping his hot chocolate and listening to Tonks rant about the Ministry, express concern over Sirius’ moods or relate the latest grim report from the war. Or perhaps if he felt bright enough, he’d watch Tonks laugh and engage with her in playful banter and light-hearted humour that washed the fears away. They told each other secret fears and offered reassurances, shared thoughts and then shared feelings that had stole down upon them both until…

Merlin, how he missed those mornings.

Merlin, how he missed her.

But that was gone now. He should never of allowed such an indulgence of feeling in the first place. He should never have let her waste her precious time on him.

Too old. Too poor. Too dangerous.

For what? Hot chocolate? Talk?

Love?

He had been so hungry. He had been so selfish.

There was no one to talk to in Greyback’s pack, no one to confide his terror to. There was no one waiting to fill the void in his stomach, his mind or his heart. If he wanted food after the moon, he would have to scavenge for it. And as for the rest…

He thought longingly, desperately, of a heart-shaped face and laughing eyes, deep and dark and warm like the chocolate she carried with uncharacteristic security within her soft hands. He needed her. He hungered for her.

But she was never his to have. Starvation was the only way. He could not survive here if he remembered what it was like to taste of such a life...

The ghostly, imaginary scent of hot chocolate rushed across his nose, filling him with instant longing. Aching, hungry and starving beneath the morning sun, Remus Lupin pulled himself into a ball and sought desperately for the release of elusive sleep.

But all he dreamed of was a pair of chocolate eyes.

Feedback To Me Is Like A Cup Of Hot Chocolate To A Tired Werewolf... (http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?p=3860270#post3860270)

A/N: For a later prompt, I wrote a companion piece to this fic from Tonks’ point of view. I’ll post it up in a few days time when I’ve been over it. :)

A/N:: This piece was written for Prompt fourteen of the rt_challenge – a fuzzy picture of a naked man’s backside as he lies face down on a bed. ;p This is also the Tonks pov companion piece to Chocolate Eyes.

Chocolate Warmth by Jess Pallas

It was around midday on the morning after the second full moon since she had joined the Order of the Phoenix that Nymphadora Tonks first brought Remus Lupin a hot chocolate.

It had been an impulse – she couldn’t deny that and so didn’t bother to try. But the look that had passed across his face the night before as he had risen to head upstairs and face an ordeal that none of the rest of them could even imagine; the quiet dignity with which he had acknowledged that collective shudder that had passed like a chill breeze through the room… It had made her feel ashamed, ashamed that his condition disturbed her on a primitive level she couldn’t battle down, ashamed that she felt pity for a man who neither wanted nor desired to be pitied and most of all ashamed that his lycanthropy had lingered like an unspoken wall and kept her from knowing him better.

And she liked Remus Lupin. She really did. She wanted to know him better. He was so kind, so generous, an intelligent professional who handled a terrible illness with a strength that belied his slender frame. A werewolf he might be but first and foremost, Tonks told herself firmly, he was a good man.

But if he thought her actions rose from pity…

No. She didn’t want to offend him. She needed a reason to show him that she didn’t care about his condition, to hide the lie that going to visit a werewolf mere hours after his transformation didn’t make her instinctively squirm inside. She needed an excuse.

A part of Tonks was candid enough to admit that she might never have mustered the courage to go if she had not remembered that offend comment he had made to Sirius about Madam Pomfrey’s therapeutic post-moon hot chocolate. For hot chocolate was something it would challenge even her to burn. Getting up the stairs would be more interesting but she could cross that bridge when she came to it.

Hot chocolate. It was just what she needed.

And when, fighting her pounding heart, her shaky hands warmed by the steaming mug, she had peered around the door that morning, and saw him, pale and drawn, his eyes rich with exhaustion as he looked over at her and smiled, she knew that she’d done the right thing.

She couldn’t remembered exactly what she’d talked about – some guff about the Ministry and the deliciousness of Molly Weasley’s pancakes as far as she recalled – but she did remember vividly the way he’d smiled at her, the slow, almost tentative release of tension from his shoulders as he sipped at the drink she had brought him with a bemused but happy look on his face. And she had found herself smiling and relaxing in turn.

And so it became their ritual. The lunar calendar became her watchword - come the first strike of noon to followed the full moon, she would be there, in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, brewing up hot chocolate in a rickety little cauldron before pouring one dose into a waiting mug. Cradling the mug as securely as she was able in her occasionally unreliable hands, she would then turn and make her way tentatively upstairs to knock upon the now familiar door where Remus would invite her in and smile, sometimes offering humorous congratulations on yet another success ascent to the first floor, at others simply accepting the mug with a grateful smile. Those visits became a solace, a chance to vent her spleen to an understanding ear or share in necessary laughter, a guilty pleasure to be looked forward to, their private time and soon, nothing was allowed to interfere. If she was at work, it did not matter – no great disasters had ever fallen that had prevented her taking an early lunch break. The day following a long and gruelling night shift had proved a little more of a challenge, but she had sleepwalked her way up the stairs nonetheless. As she sat, leaning against the foot of his bed, head nodding, eyes drooping, it had been hard to tell which of them had the longer, harder night.

Remus had told her that morning that she shouldn’t take such trouble on his account. She had told him not to be a prat and informed him in no uncertain terms that that was the end of the matter.

He was her friend. She looked forward to the time they spent together. That was never going to change.

Until that morning.

It was Sirius’ fault. That was, at least, what she had told herself for weeks afterwards until her mind had reluctantly accepted the fact that on a subconscious level, his words had only triggered thoughts that had lingered in her head for some time. But that day as she passed her cousin on the stairs and absently replied to his query as to where she was going with the steaming mug so carefully gripped in her hands… It still made her shake her head to think of it, his merry laugh, his cheeky smile as he poked her shoulder and declared at the top of his voice that he reckoned his little cousin had a crush. In fact, if she was braving the kitchen for his good mate Moony, then it could only be love…

She almost dropped the mug – only Sirius’ quick reflexes prevented a very messy staircase. He had held the hot chocolate, still chuckling as she issued vehement denials, proclaiming that she and Remus were just friends and no matter how much she valued their time together, that didn’t mean… it didn’t have to mean…

Her words had trailed away under Sirius’ humorous gaze. Handing the mug back with a substantial grin, he’d offered a final jibe about the powers of denial and then vanished downstairs to the kitchen.

Leaving a very confused cousin lingering on the stairs behind him.

For her brain was refusing to behave itself. Suddenly she was thinking of Remus, of their talks, of his smile, of the guilty way she looked forward to full moons and those little private moments that were theirs and theirs alone and something was fizzling inside of her, a sense of excitement, of pleasure, of…

Uh oh.

No, no, no, no. She was not going to trash a perfectly good friendship because Sirius had decided it was funny to put bad ideas into her obviously far too impressionable brain. Remus was her friend. Friend, friend, friend, friend…

Lost in her mantra, she didn’t stop to think. She marched up the stairs, focussed, concentrating on not concentrating on the weird way her feelings were reacting to her twisted mind and its sick suggestions and without hesitation, without her usual knock, she grabbed the handle of Remus’ bedroom door and pushed inside.

Friend, friend, frieohsweetMerlin….

The mantra melted instantly into a puddle of hopeless gloop. Her impressionable brain went abruptly into overdrive.

For there was Remus, lying fast asleep, face down on top of his bedclothes.

Naked.

Completely, utterly stark naked.

And she was staring.

She couldn’t stop staring.

And those thoughts that she had spent the walk up the staircase so carefully repressing exploded with triumph through her mind, setting off firework sparks in her stomach and her…

Well. Elsewhere.

Oh Merlin. Sirius was right. Sirius, you *******, you were right…

I think… Am I…Do I…

But whatever disturbing weirdness was rampaging through her body, Tonks realised with chilly abruptness that she was standing there ogling her best friend. And since his brain was a normal brain not corrupted by Sirius’ bloody idea-poking innuendos, he probably wouldn’t appreciate it.

Stop it. I have to stop it.

Stop looking. Stop. Looking.

Out. Now. OUT.

How she got back out into the corridor, she never did remember. She couldn’t even recall tearing her eyes away from Remus. But since the image of him lying there was now tattooed on her eyeballs, it didn’t seem to matter much that she had.

And then, standing there, breathing deeply, her back against the door, the mug still miraculously gripped within her hands, thoughts and feelings flowed together, friendship and attraction, Remus her friend mingling Remus the man and coming together in her mind into one decisive whole.

And she knew.

She did.

She bloody did.

She loved him.

What was she going to do?

She had no idea how long she stood there in that corridor, gathering her thoughts, adjusting herself to this new, strange truth that had rampaged into her life. But somehow, eventually, she had turned and she had knocked, she had waited for his sleepy assertion and his request, for reasons he did not know were obvious to her, to wait a moment before coming in. And then she had walked in, smiled at his smile and handed over the now rather lukewarm drink as normal.

He hadn’t protested or queried the temperature. He was that kind of bloke.

And she had watched him, watched the way he looked at her, watched the look in his eyes and knew once and for all that she wasn’t the only one battling strange new feelings in her head.

She knew. He knew.

It had taken a long time for her to admit her feelings. It had even taken longer for him to admit his. Briefly, before doubt and veils and missions from Dumbledore, it had been wonderful. But now…

Now he was gone.

Wearily, Nymphadora Tonks fingered her brown locks as she stared down at the lukewarm hot chocolate cradled within her palms. The air in the now empty, dusty, lifeless Grimmauld Place seemed to press down upon her with the strength of bittersweet memories.

It was the morning after the full moon. So she had come to Grimmauld Place. She had made a hot chocolate. That was what she did.

But Remus spent his full moons elsewhere now. She could not reach him, talk to him, smile at him when he ran with Greyback’s pack.

She could not smile at all.

She had made the hot chocolate. But it should have been his.

And it would be again. So it was not her place to drink it.

Feedback Would Be Warm And Cuddly (http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?p=3860270#post3860270)

A/N: This piece was written for prompt three of the last rt_challenge which was simply the word buoyant.

Floating by Jess Pallas

For an instant, it seemed to Tonks that she was going to fly, that the air was thick enough with sweat and screams and frantic emotion that she would float upon it, light, buoyant and drift safely past it all. But then the pain of dear Auntie Bellatrix's spell shot vividly through her veins and she felt herself tumbling, falling, plunging downwards towards the hard, cold steps that she realised, with a thrill of terror, lay far, too far beneath her. Flashed images darted across her eyes; Kingsley's intense features as he hurled curse after curse at Antonin Dolohov; Old Mad-Eye lying bleeding, his electric blue eye spinning madly on the floor beside him; Sirius, his dark hair flying, his expression, impossibly, happier than she had seen it in months. And Bellatrix Lestrange's cruel, hagged face laughed down after her with vindictive glee.

And then she saw Remus, his eyes filled with horror, his wand half-extended in an act of rescue she knew would come too late. And at his back, a viciously smiling Lucius Malfoy had raised his wand in turn.

It was aimed squarely between the werewolf's shoulder-blades.

Remus, no, behind you!

It was the last thing she saw, the last thing she had time even to think. The inevitable ground rushed up to meet her and jolted her into darkness.

-----------

Floating.

That was how it felt. The darkness seemed to flow around her like black water, a mass of glistening silver waves and darting colours in which she hung, suspended, detached and peaceful, waiting, just waiting for....

A squeeze of her hand. Her name whispered.

"Tonks?"

Pain, sharp and bright, intruded on her peaceful world, aching limbs, a throbbing head and invigorated heartbeat pulling her down to earth once more. She became aware of sheets against her skin, the softness of a pillow, of light, bright, too bright, that burned against her eyes. What was this, where was she, what had happened...

The Department of Mysteries. Harry. The kids.

I fell.

No. I was pushed.

Bellatrix.

And then as I fell I saw…

Remus. And Malfoy.

Oh Merlin, Remus!

Remus. Remus with his warm smile and daft banter, his tatty robes and quiet dignity; she had liked him from the moment she'd met him, although getting to know him, truly know him, had taken much longer to achieve. But get to know him she had, chatting on stakeouts and missions, sharing the duties at Grimmauld Place as they worked together to keep Sirius from going stir crazy prowling the halls of his hated family home with only an insane portrait and a hippogriff for company. Every moment in his company had been a pleasure; whether she had needed a laugh, a coffee or a shoulder to cry on, he had been there for her.

Remus Lupin was possibly the best friend she'd ever had.

And there were moments, brief but undeniable, when she looked at his soft smile, his greying hair, his warm eyes and wondered whether being friends was really all she wanted.

Did she love him? She wasn't sure. Maybe.

Probably.

But she wanted the chance to find out.

And Malfoy had been standing right there with a free shot at his back. And all because she...

Oh no, oh Merlin no, please, anyone but Remus, anyone but...

"Tonks?"

Was she hearing things? Was she dreaming? Was she imagining...

"Can you hear me? Tonks?"

She wasn't. Dear Merlin, she wasn't...

"Remus?" she managed. Her voice sounded hoarse and distant but she didn't care. She opened her eyes.

And there he was.

The relief was beyond joy, filling her with airy lightness that lifted her soaring once more. He was alive. He was here. He wasn't....

He wasn't right.

For his face, always tired, was now wooden and nearly grey and his eyes, though touched with hints of strong relief, were dull and strangely lost. And although the smile that blossomed as she stared at him was genuine, it strained at the edges as though ready to bolt in an instant.

“What’s wrong?” The question escaped before fear or reason could quell it. And Remus closed his eyes.

And then, with an icy chill that seemed to freeze her heart, Tonks knew.

Oh Gods. Someone’s dead.

And I said it, didn’t I? I had to bloody say it. I had to say anyone but Remus…

The reality hit her. Someone was dead. Someone Remus cared about enough to be in such a state. And that could only mean…

Sirius.

And she had wished it so.

And Tonks realised in that instant that once more she was about to be grounded with a truly painful crash.

Feedback Would Be Pleasant (http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?p=3860270#post3860270)

Belief by Jess Pallas
Format & Word Count: Short fic – 672 words
Rating: PG
Author's Note: This fic was written for prompt eight of the rt_challenge which was simply “authority”.

Belief

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

He looked so fragile. He looked so scared. Tonks felt her heart lurch but she gave no outward sign of her concern as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him tightly, flooding him with waves of emotion that surged richly with as much love and reassurance as she could muster.

“You’ll be fine,” she whispered for what felt like the fiftieth time. “Dumbledore believed you could do it. He wouldn’t have appointed you otherwise.”

She could feel his hair brushing softly against the side of her face as his head shook slowly in denial. “He believed I would make a good prefect too. Look what became of that.”

She pressed her hands against his back more firmly, ignoring the hint of dampness that ran down his spine beneath his robes and emphasised his nervousness in ways words never could. Remus was not a man who tended to show his fears to the world – he held himself in tight control beneath the strong façade he used in public, regardless of what turmoil lay beneath. And although she hated seeing him so unsettled, a part of her secretly revelled the fact that he trusted her, valued her, loved her enough to share this intimate side of himself with no one but her.

“You’re a grown man now,” she whispered intensely. “And a damned good man too. You’re intelligent, you’re determined, you’re respected by everyone who bothers to get to know you…”

“…I have lots of free time on my hands…” he added, the mildest hint of bitterness evident in his tone. “I have plenty of first hand experience with dark creatures…” He sighed deeply. "Tonks, I can't be to the Order what Dumbledore was. How can I even try?"

Abruptly, she pulled away from him, catching his face in her hands and drilling her eyes into his. She knew him too well to believe that it was the authority of being the new Head of the Order of the Phoenix he feared, or even the responsibility of defending the wizarding world against the machinations of You-Know-Who.

It was himself.

For if there was one thing Tonks had learned in the two years she had known this man, it was that Remus had a staggeringly ridiculous conviction of his own inadequacy.

“Now you listen to me, Remus Lupin,” she exclaimed, her voice low but rich with sharp edged sincerity. “Dumbledore requested that you take command of the Order if something happened to him. Not Moody, not Kingsley, not even Professor McGonagall…you. Not to try and do things as he would have done them, not to try and be him, but to lead the Order in the best way you know how. And you know why? Because he believed in you. The rest of the Order believes in you. I believe in you. So don’t you think that it’s about time you started believing in yourself?” She smiled softly. “You’ll be to the Order what Remus Lupin is, and that’s what they need right now. A steady hand. Someone they can respect and trust. Someone they can turn to. Someone they know will do the right thing. And that’s you.” She smiled gently as she leaned gently forward and placed a brief kiss on his lips. “I love you, Remus. So trust me. When it comes to knowing what a wonderful man you are, I’m the world’s greatest authority.”

Quietly, almost tentatively, Remus smiled in return.

"With you to back me up," he stated softly, one finger stroking gently across her cheek in a way that sent shivers down the length of her body, "how could I dare fail?"

Abruptly, he squared his shoulders, stepping out of her hold as his face settled once more into the familiar calm front he showed to the world. “Well then,” he remarked quietly. “I suppose I’d better call that Order meeting.”

Tonks’ returning smile lit up the world. “I believe that’s the right thing to do,” she said.

Feedback Would Be Lovely (http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?p=3860270#post3860270)

The Noble Art of Werewolf Baiting by Jess Pallas

Format & Word Count: Short fic – 2561 words

Rating: PG

Summary: Desperate to get revenge after a spate of Remus Lupin’s practical jokes, Tonks goes to Sirius for lessons in the noble art of werewolf baiting…

Author's Note: The original version of this fic was scribbled out on scrap paper during a time of intense boredom a year ago last September. It was promptly forgotten about until I found it by chance and when I saw a new rt_challenge was starting, I decided to scour the prompts and see if any would help me out in creating an updated version of it. When I saw prompt seven, a picture of a young dark haired woman sat in a strange posture at a table, I laughed out loud because it gave me a completely daft idea for the hitherto rather unimaginative denouement! Oddly enough, it’s also my first attempt at writing Sirius, so let me know how you think he works. I would like to stress - yes, I know that one particular character's reactions are highly unlikely and the conclusion is probably not possible even in HP but this fic is meant to be pure silliness from start to finish and is more about me messing about and (hopefully) humorously venting my spleen on something in fandom that drives me potty more than anything else, though I hope no one will be desperately offended. But it seems I’m not the only one because this, probably the daftest fic I’ve ever written, won Best Humour in the rt_challenge awards afterwards! :) Oh, and anyone who knows where I stole the idea of a small dachshund called Colin from gets a cyber bar of Honeydukes Best. :)


The Noble Art of Werewolf Baiting”

Number twelve Grimmauld Place was silent.

A flickering fire danced in hearth of the hushed and darkened kitchen, casting wraith-like shadows across grim Black walls. The slow drip of a leaky tap rippled through the quiet air with monotonous regularity. Mutterings and shufflings from behind the boiler cupboard door implied that Kreacher was currently in residence.

Smiling slowly, dangerously, with a wicked curl of the lips that had struck fear into a generation of his fellow Hogwarts students, Sirius Black leaned forwards, cupping his chin in the palm of his hands and shaking his long dark hair out of his eyes as his features creased with silent but mischievous laughter.

“You really want to know?” he said softly.

Settling determinedly down against her chair, spiky pink hair casting sharp silhouettes against the wall behind her, Nymphadora Tonks rested her elbows on the table and mirrored her cousin’s gesture.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” she replied.

Sirius’ grey eyes gleamed. “You understand that this is big,” he informed her, tone grave but eyes dancing. “I’m about to share a Marauder’s greatest secret with an outsider. I’m risking life and limb in even telling you.”

Tonks’ eyes glinted by the light of the fire. “Or a trip to the vets,” she suggested with a smirk, chuckling openly as her cousin winced. “That is, if this secret of yours is for real.”

Sirius retaliated with a broad grin. “Oh it’s real, believe me. It’s a lesson James, Peter and I learned the hard way.”

Tonks frowned, a first hint of uncertainty touching her features. “And it really annoys him? Winds him up? Properly?”

Her cousin steepled his fingers in front of his nose as he settled back once more into his chair. “More than anything on earth. Trust me, dear cousin. Sit back, listen and take notes. I’m going to teach you the three great steps in the noble art of werewolf baiting.”

* * *

It was not until she heard the front door close with an emphatic thud that Tonks began to wonder if she was doing the right thing.

Perhaps going to Sirius for tips on how to ruffle Remus Lupin’s feathers had been a little extreme. But it was his own damned fault. It had been one comment she had made, just one, offhand and barely considered. And it had been her honest opinion. The Remus Lupin she had come to know in the two months since she had joined the Order was a quiet man, an intelligent man, a man with a gentle efficiency and an understated sense of humour. True, she had never spent much time with him. True, she probably didn’t know him as well as she might. But had it been so unreasonable to respond to Sirius’ wild tales of their school days by saying that Remus Lupin didn’t seem the practical joking type?

In hindsight, the words staid and sensible might have been a mistake. Maybe. And perhaps boring, straight-laced and dull had possibly been a little extreme.

All right, definitely. And yes, she’d had a lot of firewhiskey that evening. But still…

Was that any reason to spike her pumpkin juice with swelling solution?

Was that any reason to hex the bathroom door so that when she rushed in desperate, she found herself back in the parlour?

Was that any reason to charm her boots so that her leg plunged in up to the thigh when she pulled them on?

Was that any reason to transfigure her wand into a small dachshund that promptly ate her breakfast and left its calling card on her robes?

No, it most certainly was not.

She had no proof, of course. The git was far too clever for that. And when she had confronted him on the matter, he had simply smiled serenely and claimed not to know what she was talking about. The wicked glint in his eyes, however, told a very different story.

And what annoyed her most was that a secret, irritating little part of her mind found his mischief making oddly appealing…

That was the limit. He was victimising her, for pities sake! It wasn’t funny, it wasn’t clever and it definitely didn’t make him intriguing. Such thoughts had to be stopped.

Revenge. It was the only way. He had to be humiliated.

She needed to see his dark side, to convince herself once and for all that he really was a pain-in-the-**** disguised as a nice bloke. She needed to annoy him.

But that was proving easier said than done.

It wasn’t as though she hadn’t tried to get him back. But the man seemed to be insufferably immune to her attempts at retaliation. When she had charmed his bedroom mirror to gurn at him as he combed his hair, he’d smiled and said he thought it was an improvement. When she enchanted his mug to repel liquid, he’d simply laughed, brushed off his damp robes and swigged his butterbeer from the bottle. And when she’d slipped a potion into his morning coffee that made his stomach gurgle out the tune to the Weird Sisters latest hit, the bloody man had hummed along.

Was there nothing in the world that hacked him off?

She had needed to know his secrets, what there was in the whole wide world that could make Remus Lupin lose his cool. And there was only person to whom she could turn for such privileged information.

Sirius.

And now, she knew.

This was her time. This was her moment.

This was her revenge.

The trouble was that when Remus Lupin walked into the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, he didn’t look so much like the practical joking Marauder git who’d plagued her life for the last few days. Instead, he looked like a man who’d had a very long day.

“Are you all right?” The words slipped out almost before she’d realised that she was asking them.

Sirius grinned broadly at her expression of sudden concern. She fought down a sudden, irrational urge to rise up and slap him with something soggy.

“Yeah, Moony,” he greeted, lolling back in his chair, but to Tonks’ eyes, his features were stained by a distinct edge of anticipation. “Have you had a bad day?”

To Tonks’ surprise, the expression that crossed the werewolf’s face was oddly…irritable. “Today was my annual check up at the Werewolf Registry. Always a joyful experience. And then to add to my pleasure, I apparated into a puddle just outside.” He shook the bottom of his robes briskly, which were indeed, on a second glance, dripping wet. “Not the best day I’ve ever had.”

I can’t do it.

The thought had flashed across Tonks’ mind before she could stop it. She tried to squash it, tried to fight it down, tried to remember standing, trousers half undone in a parlour full of s******ing Order members instead of the toilet, remembered having to get Bill Weasley to haul her out of her own boot, remembered how long it had taken her to shrink her face back to normal size. But Remus was standing there, his robes dripping, tired and frustrated and in spite of herself, she found herself feeling sorry for him.

Damn!

Across the table, Sirius caught her eye. He smirked.

And then, with a twist of his wand arm, he conjured a chicken leg and sank his teeth in.

The meaning was obvious.

Tonks grasped the edge of the table. I am not chicken! But he looks so…so…

Damn you Lupin! Damn, damn, damn, damn…

“Oh. Tonks?” The young Auror nearly jumped a foot – she had not heard her prospective victim’s approach. He was staring down at her with one eyebrow sardonically – familiarly – raised. “I found this by the hall table. I think it might be yours.”

He extended his hand.

In it, sniffing tentatively at his fingertips, was a small dachshund.

The small dachshund.

Tonks froze.

My wand. I left my wand on that table…

And Remus… and Lupin was smiling at her.

“I’ve no idea how he got in here again,” he remarked with infuriating casualness. “But he’s rather sweet, isn’t it? I thought we could name him Colin.”

Colin? He’s turned my wand into a dachshund again and now he wants to name it Colin?

All hint of sympathy, of hesitation vanished in an instant. Oh, she was going to make him suffer for this…

Slowly, deliberately she arranged her face into the mirror of Sirius’ wicked and mischievous smirk. Her cousin’s voice echoed within her mind, extolling the wisdom that she was sure would end this war once and for all in an emphatic victory for the House of Tonks.

“Now the first step isn’t too dangerous…”

“I’m not sure he looks that much like a Colin…Ree.”

The effect was satisfyingly instantaneous. Remus froze, his features locking like stone, his eyes a vibrant cocktail of shock, surprise and horror. With a small yelp, Colin the dachshund twisted, hardened and dropped to the table with a wooden clatter, a wand once more.

Tonks grinned even harder. Thank you Sirius…

Remus’ voice, when it came, was tightly incredulously. “Did you just call me…Ree?” The last word almost seemed to choke against his throat.

“Ree was the one that Lily always managed to get away with….”

“Yep.” Leaning back in her chair, Tonks picked up her wand from the table and began to twiddle it idly between her fingers, fighting down a powerful urge to grin like a lunatic at her tormentor’s obvious discomfort. “I don’t know what it is, but the sight of a man holding a small dachshund gives me this strange urge to abbreviate.”

“Resist it.” With a dark glare, Remus turned abruptly, marching stiffly over to the counter as he grasped the teapot in one hand and tapped it sharply with the end of his wand. Without turning, his suddenly hard-edged voice rang out once more.

“I’m going to let you off for calling me that on the ground that you probably…” he broke off briefly to fix Sirius with a glare that could have melted down the door of a Gringotts vault, “…didn’t know any better. But I don’t expect you to do it again.”

“And he always said that was only because Ree was at least phonetic…”

Tonks tapped her wand against her smirking lips. “You really don’t like being called Ree?”

The wince was distinct. “No.”

“Oh, okay then.” She glanced over at Sirius who nodded with a wicked smile.

“So usually Ree will see you getting away with just a warning. But that’s a lot less likely with…”

“Thanks for telling me…Rem.”

The counter shook violently beneath the crunching impact of Remus Lupin’s mug descending down with some force upon it. His shoulders locked solidly. Fingernails scraped slowly across the wooden surface.

“Now Rem falls midway…”

“Don’t ever call me that again.” Each word sounded as though it was being laboriously ground out through gritted teeth. “I would have thought, Nymphadora,” Tonks shuddered deeply at the unexpected onslaught of her despised moniker, “that you of all people would have understood and appreciated hatred of a name.”

“It is, at least, a shortening…”

Tonks bit her lip. Remus had a point. Was this mode of attack a bit hypocritical for someone who clung so desperately to her surname?

And he looked mad. Really mad.

Yes, she’d wanted to **** him off. But she wasn’t so sure about infuriating him.

Suddenly this whole business was starting to look like a very bad idea…

“But since it’s nothing to do with the way his name’s pronounced, he’s not desperately fond of it…”

But Remus had not finished. “And since my belief in your ignorance is waning rapidly,” he added with acid deliberateness, “I can only assume that Siri there has been telling tales.”

Sirius winced sharply, fingernails scraping sharply along the table in response to his friend’s returning salvo. His eyes abruptly narrowed although the smirk did not stray from his lips.

Oh no. Tonks felt a weight of sudden fear and guilt press down upon her chest. This wasn’t how she had imagined it would be. The satisfaction, the amusement she had expected to derive from seeing Remus discomforted had never truly materialised – instead she found sympathy and shame shivering through her body. She knew what it was to loathe a name; he’d had a bad day and now she was making it worse.

No more. I’m not going to call him…

But then she saw Sirius’ face. Uh oh….

No, Sirius, it’s time to stop. Don’t do it…

But apparently, he either missed her look or simply chose to ignore it.

“But the big one…”

“Come on mate,” he drawled with forced casualness.

“The most hated…”

Remus’ eyes were almost glowing with menace. “Don’t say it, Sirius. I’m warning you…”

“…most dangerous…”

But Sirius was either oblivious or unconcerned by the threat. “Mate, it’s just a bit of fun…”

“…absolutely guaranteed to make even the most mild mannered of werewolves explode…”

“I mean, what’s so bad about being called….”

“…is…”

“…Remmy…”

BOOM.

The cacophony of sound all but ruptured Tonks’ eardrums, the furious bellow, the smash of a cup, the whine of a hex, a screech of horror and then the heavy, irate slap of footsteps and the slam of the kitchen door accompanied by the accompanying screams of the suddenly woken Mrs Black. A moment later, she heard the distant sound of Remus Lupin’s footsteps stomping furiously up the stairs.

Well. He was angry. She’d done it.

Or rather Sirius had…

Tonks blinked. Tonks stared.

And then she burst into hysterical laughter.

He’d obviously tried to duck and cover. But it was far too late. Sitting at the table, arms and head locked against the table by some kind of intense sticking charm, was a dark haired woman dressed in a badly fitting blouse and skirt that had clearly been transfigured out of the tatty set of robes her cousin had been wearing mere moments before. The women’s grey eyes were wide and filled with horror. The mouth was sewn firmly shut.

And across the forehead, written large in bold pink letters was a single word.

SIRIKINS

Grasping her stomach as she tried to hold back the furious laughter that was battling to burst free, Tonks rose and wandered over to inspect her newly feminized cousin. In terms of the details, the workmanship was excellent – Remus had even found a moment in his enraged spell-casting to pin both feet to the floor and glue the backside to the chair – not to mention the neatly carved words of warning bored into the table in front of her immobilised cousin’s gaze.

CALL ME THAT AGAIN SIRIKINS AND I’LL MAKE YOU A FLOBBERWORM

Tonks shook her head. He’d been absolutely furious. He’d been steaming. But yet somehow he’d still managed to cast a series of complex charms impeccably and with distinct panache.

Slowly, she smiled. She had seen his dark side. But it hadn’t cured her.

It had made her want to know more.

Oh yes, Remus Lupin. There is so much more to you than meets the eye…

Thoughtfully, almost absently, she patted her wild-eyed, silenced cousin on the head. “Thanks for the tips, Sirikins,” she remarked with a smirk. “But from now on, I’ll think I’ll leave the noble art of werewolf baiting to you.”


Leaving Feedback Will Absolutely Insure That You Don't Get Turned Into A Flobberworm By An Enraged Werewolf... (http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?p=3860270#post3860270)

A/N;This fic was written for the metamorfic_moon (http://community.livejournal.com/metamorfic_moon/profile
) Fic Jumble aided by the prompts Exmoor National Park, A Howler, and Drama. I was going to try and work in the spare prompt, a Day of Feasting, too, but it didn’t fit so I briefly referenced a picnic instead! :) I had two ideas for this but I went with this was because it fitted three out of four prompts mentioned but I did use the germ of the other in the mention of the picnic. Oh and the ending? Well, that wasn’t planned. It just came about when your humble author realised she forgotten the same thing as Tonks and decided to use her stupidity to comic effect…;)


So Close by Jess Pallas.

Fog.

It surrounded her, a thick white blanket that muffled sight and sharpened sounds, engulfing her in cool, damp fluff that seemed almost tangible, touchable, that if she should tumble from her broomstick now she would come to rest softly upon it and float gently to the ground.

Yeah. Like that was going to happen. She might as well wish that the fog were candyfloss that she could reach out and scoff by the handful.

Nymphadora Tonks sighed, wiping the clinging moisture from her brow as she hovered on her broomstick and waited.

Her heart felt heavy, She wanted to scream in frustration, to slam something down, to burst into tears but none of these actions would be of any help to her. All she could do now was wait and hope her last ditch effort to find the man she loved would be successful.

All in all, she’d had better days.

Somewhere below her, lost to her eyes but detectable by the distant tinkle of water and the occasional gentle bleat of sheep, lay Exmoor National Park. Normally she liked Exmoor, knew it well for Remus had spent many childhood days here visiting Muggle relatives who lived near Simonsbath and he liked to bring her here for quiet, private days. She vividly remembered the glorious walk along the cliffs by the glistening seas towards the Valley of Rocks that had nearly ended in disaster when she’d crossed paths with one of the local goats and half started an undignified plunge towards a close up view of the water. And then there had been that wonderful, wonderful day on that sun-soaked hill near Porlock when she’d settled down for an intimate picnic with Remus to celebrate the end, finally, of the War against Voldemort only to be ecstatically astonished when he shyly pulled out a small golden ring and nervously asked her to marry him.

Honestly. How could he have ever doubted what her answer would be?

She glanced down at her finger, the ring glistening damply in the dull, shrouded light. The wedding was two weeks away. They had been so close…

And now this.

Of all the full moons for Remus to get a bad batch of wolfsbane and have to find an emergency place to transform. She’d insisted over and over that he would be safe in their cellar if it was reinforced, or that the Shrieking Shack would do if that should fail… But no. In yet another attack of that stubborn nobility that made Tonks want to scream and beat him with soggy things, he’d refused her perfectly reasonable suggestions and buggered off instead to a remote Ministry authorised “safe house” in the back of beyond where there was less chance of anyone getting hurt. And so, on the previously evening, as she had dropped him off at the cave beneath the grimly named Chains Barrow, he’d handed her his carefully annotated directions for a trip by broomstick from Lynmouth and requested she collect him come morning with his wand and a first aid kit.

What neither of them had counted on was the fog.

For when Tonks had emerged from the wizarding inn at Lynbridge, broomstick clutched in one hand and her landmark orientated instructions in the other, to find the entire valley, indeed the entire moor shrouded in heavy, impenetrable fog, she had come very close to screaming.

Remus was out there, exhausted, alone, probably hurt and she had no way to get to him. Walking would take too long and eventually she would come up against heavy warding. Apparition was forbidden around Ministry safe houses, for there were still those suspicious enough in the Ministry to believe that a werewolf might had a sudden impulse to drop himself, on the verge of transformation, into the middle of a populated area. The only way in and out was by broomstick.

It was all very well to be told to follow the West Lyn River south, to head straight up the valley to the right of the two tumuli, to turn left at Pinkworthy pond. She’d just about managed the first part, nearly flown into the second part as she risked a low sweep of the valley but there had been no sign of a pond, of the barrow, of any-bloody-thing that could tell her where Remus might be found. Time was ticking by – it had been hours now since moonset, hours since he had changed back, had lain weak and probably bleeding in a cold, dark cave, alone, all alone.

She was not going to lose him. Not now. They were too close…

But she couldn’t find him, she couldn’t see him, she couldn’t see anything in this stinking morass of cloud. It had occurred to her that if he were only conscious enough, maybe she could call out, maybe she would be able to follow the sound of his voice…

Maybe he was still underground. Maybe he was unconscious.

Maybe he was dead.

She had to find him. She had to find some way to pinpoint his location without being able to see it…

And then, it had come to her.

It had been a mad, dangerous dash then, back down the valley, back to the Addled Owl inn, to grab an owl from the astonished landlord, to snatch a piece of paper, cast the charm and then hurl the poor unfortunate bird out into the impenetrable weather. But owls had a way of finding things, of finding people, without ever having to see them, which was more than she could manage…

She’d made some attempt to follow the owl’s tail feathers through the murk but it had quickly vanished into nowhere. And so she’d been forced to make her own gloomy way back to the moor where she believed the barrow to be and now she could only wait…

Please let this work, please let this work, I know it’s stupid but please let this work…

“OVER HERE!!!!!”

Yes!

The voice, her voice, rang out through the fog, magnified a hundred times by the force of the Howler into which it had been enchanted, repeating the same words over and over again like a beacon in the whiteness…

“OVER HERE! OVER HERE! OVER HERE! OVER HERE!”

She’d sent the Howler to Remus. She knew it didn’t matter if he opened it or not – a Howler would ignite of its own accord if left unopened anyway. And she had charmed it to repeat the same words a hundred times until she arrived, until she found him, until everything was right in their world…

Lunging low over her broom, Tonks soared towards the source of the racket, blessing her lucky stars that there were no trees on the more with which she could collide. And then, in a moment of sheer exultation, she saw the ground, saw the barrow and saw a slight figure, huddled, rather bewildered looking, but most definitely alive in the entrance…

She didn’t even bother to stop the broom. Tumbling from it in mid flight, she ignored the thwack as it buried into the ground, too preoccupied with hurtling forwards, stumbling over her own feet as she tumbled into Remus’ outstretched arms and pressed her face against his neck.

“Oh Merlin,” she exclaimed, her voice muffled against his skin but raised over the row of the blessed beacon Howler. “Are you all right? I thought I’d never find you, this bloody fog…”

“I’m fine. A bit battered. Damned cold. But fine.” There was a slight tremble to his voice that made her look sharply upwards but he smiled at her and there and then she knew everything was going to be all right. True, a long scratch ran across his cheek, true his arm was bruised where it protruded from beneath the badly crumpled robes that he’d jammed between two rocks outside the night before. But he was alive, conscious, standing, smiling and they were going to get married in two weeks after all…

“Though I truly appreciate your ingenuity,” Remus’ voice cut softly into her relieved musings, “is that thing going to go on much longer?” His voice sounded oddly strained. “Only I’m a little sensitive to loud noises straight after a transformation…”

“Incendio! ” With a flick of her wand, the Howler ignited, flaring brightly for a moment before exploding into flaming pieces. Snuggling back into his arms, Tonks grinned. “See? No problem.”

“You’re a genius.” Tonks felt his chin nestle against her glowing red hair. “But you do know you gave me the fright of my life when that thing went off. I was still half asleep…”

“Sorry.” Tonks tightened her grip around his waist. “But it was the only way to find you in this mess.” She grinned wickedly against his chest. “Mind you, Howlers make good alarm calls. I may have to start using them when a certainly lazy somebody decides to lurk smugly in bed and make comments about lie-ins while his poor, hard-working fiancée forces herself up to go to work…”

“Don’t you dare.” Remus’ fingers plunged into her sides, forcing a giggle. “But right now, I feel like I could sleep for a week. Let’s head back.” He pulled out of her arms and glanced around at the thick blanket of murk that engulfed all but a few pale rocks a couple of yards away. “So which way is The Addled Owl from here? I’m assuming you’ve set up some kind of guide to find our way back…”

His voice trailed away. He stared at Tonks, at her wide eyes, at her suddenly horrified expression as she stared out at the heavy, indistinguishable fog that swirled and shifted all around them, concealing all hope of a landmark.

“Ah…” she said.

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A/N: This fic was written as part of the livejournal community metamorphic_moon’s Fic jumble. My prompts for this piece were Trelawney’s emerald earrings, a day of expectation, an art gallery and Angst.

Colours

The art gallery was open.

Tonks was a little surprised – after all, the slow, stealing creep of evening had darkened the sky above her and leeched the colours from the air like a well cast blotting spell. But no, the door was open, the lights still burned and several Muggles wandered within its glare, examining the works upon the walls with oddly absent expressions.

They were lucky. They had an escape. They did not know the dangers that lurked within the mists that lapped around these walls, dark hooded shapes that she and Savage had helped to drive away from the boundaries of this little Highland town just a few minutes before. They knew nothing of magic, Dementors, Aurors or the War, they knew nothing of evil wizards, deadly curses and bloody self-sacrificing werewolves…

They knew nothing. They could just lose themselves in art.

The Order meeting would be starting soon, Tonks knew. But that did not prevent her from stepping inside.

For losing herself seemed pretty good just then.

She moved into a world of colour, portraits, landscapes, modern works all jumbled together in this exhibition that celebrated the works of generations of local painters, a rainbow world that seemed somehow to touch upon the colourless voice that now lingered deep within her. Her eyes wandered idly as she absented handed a gold Muggle coin to the friendly, white haired old lady at the desk beside the door, drifting over abstract landscapes, smiling faces and drinking in nothing at all.

“Come on! You can do better than that!”

“I’m sorry, Tonks. I’m so sorry, but I just can’t let you throw your life away on me…”

She shivered. Bloody Dementors… She needed to move her thoughts away, she needed to forget…

She swung her gaze furiously to the nearest picture. And froze.

A highland loch by night, brooding mountains, sparkling stars and, reflected in the darkened waters, the gleaming bright full moon.

Irony could be very cruel sometimes.

He was expected back. Tonight. At this meeting. It would be the first time she had seen him since the confession, the fight, the bloody, bloody, bloody note…

She had longed for and dreaded this day all at once. Remus, back from the werewolves, giving his first account of his efforts to infiltrate a group of people whose way of thinking was so utterly opposed to his own. Remus, with his soft smile, his deep eyes, his quiet laugh and devious humour, the man she had fallen for, the man she loved…

The man who had rejected her in the name of her own good.

She wanted to see him, She was desperate to see him, to see that he was unhurt, undamaged, unchanged by the horrors with which he was now forced to live, but at the same time she dreaded that haunted look, those sorrowful eyes and the same old repetition of why it could not be…

How many times did she have to tell him that she just didn’t care? How many times before he listened? How many times before he managed to believe?

A Muggle man in broad glasses and a heavy tartan jacket brushed against her shoulder as he stepped forward to peruse the painting that had held her absent gaze. Shaking herself, Tonks moved quickly passed him, her eyes drifting to the next frame along.

It was a portrait of a gypsy woman, dressed in a gaudy green dress and crimson shawl, her ringed fingers stroking a smoky crystal ball, her eyes staring intensely out of a wrinkled face trimmed by two enormous emerald earrings. She seemed to stare out across the room defiant, as though daring those who lingered below to look into her mind.

In spite of herself, one corner of Tonks’ lip curled up in sardonic amusement. So this was the Muggle idea of a seer, was it? Maybe it was some distant relative of Sybil Trelawney’s; after all, those earrings were nearly identical…

Professor Trelawney. A crystal ball.

“Ah, my dear, I pity you…” Enormous eyes peered out from vast glasses, bracelets dangling, shawl crooked, emerald earring dancing in the light – suddenly she was thirteen again, sitting in her first divination lesson and staring with barely concealed incredulity as Professor Trelawney examined her crystal ball with artfully tortured features. “I see terrible sadness in your future, gloom and cloud and grey and it will consume you. Oh, sometimes it is better not to know the fate that awaits you, but I feel it my duty to warn such poor unfortunates like yourself…”

Tonks had laughed that day, morphing her hair into a mockery of Trelawney’s locks as she sat in the Great Hall that lunch time and repeated her doom-laden pronouncements for the amusement of her friends. Everyone knew that old Trelawney talked nothing but made up hokum…

But now…

The gypsy woman’s vivid eyes stared down at her, mocking her for ever having doubted. Gloom and grey, gloom and grey, gloom and grey…

Tearing her eyes free with an almost desperate jerk, Tonks moved on quickly to the next frame, a Highland valley scattered with sheep and in the foreground, a young woman in traditional Scottish dress curled beneath a tree as she stared down at a letter grasped within one hand…

A letter. Neat handwriting, carefully written, waiting on her kitchen table as she returned from work, waiting where Remus Lupin should have been, should have come to say goodbye…

Tonks, I’m sorry, but I don’t want to argue with you again… I felt it best that I just go and spare you the pain of another pointless fight…I hope you forgive me, but you must see that all I’m thinking of is what’s best for you…

Violently, Tonks tore her eyes free with a sudden gasp, ignoring the startled look from the tartan-jacketed man to her left as she struggled to regulate her breathing. A note. A bloody note. How could he do that to her, how could he think that would ever be good enough, how could he believe that breaking her heart by note was all for the best? Yes, he was right when he said she would have argued; she would have picked up the thread of the fight they had begun the night before, a battle she never meant to halt until Remus offered his full surrender and came to his ruddy senses. But to have the argument snapped in half and never resolved, for him to vanish on a perilous mission without so much as a goodbye… How could he possibly expect her to move on from that?

Another picture caught her eye, a cheerful gathering of men and woman around a table, laughing, joking, drinking. The Order had been like that once, in spite of - or perhaps because of – the dangers they faced, a group of friends battling in secret to save so many lives that refused to recognise they were in danger. But since the deaths of Sirius and Emmeline Vance, since Kingsley and Remus had vanished on their respective missions, it had not been the same. She had almost come to dread their meetings now…

Like the meeting tonight. That Remus was going to be at.

She had not seen him, heard from him, since the note, since he had plunged into the werewolf underground; this was his first report, the first time he’d surfaced since then. What would he be like? He had told her, before leaving, of his fear, his horror at such a task, how much he dreaded what spending time amongst creatures that were the antithesis of his beliefs might do to him. Would he be different? And would the experience make him realise what a fool he’d been or harden his belief that they should stay apart? What would he say to her? Would he ignore her altogether? Or would he simply return to his mantra that it was really all for the best?

A family portrait, happy faces, a father, a mother, three bonny children smiling down at her. She had cherished such dreams, such hopes of a life with him, a future, perhaps even a family of their own someday and she’d dared to believe he wanted the same. Was it fear that made him reject her or did he truly believe himself so unworthy? Was he really so deluded as to think she could want anyone but him? Or did he really think her so shallow that she could just turn off her feelings and move on?

Bright colours, flecks of orange, mauve and turquoise, splashes of green and vivid pink; a gaudy, modern painting glared down at her. She had been like that picture once, fresh, vibrant, free of all constraint but now the colour had leeched from her, doused from her soul as though with turpentine. She knew such a depression was not her way, that even in the worst moments of her life before now, she could still manage a laugh and a smile, a silly nose or a rainbow hairstyle. But now, with her cousin lost, separated from the man she loved by his own stubborn bloody nobility and surrounded daily by Dementors who reminded her over and over again of her of all that had been taken from her…

Gloom and grey. Gloom and grey.

Her eyes drifted on to a hellish scene of an ancient battle, kilted clansmen screaming, bleeding, dying, claymores gleaming bloody by the glow of vicious lightning. And then suddenly it seemed as though the contorted, damaged faces morphed into her friends; Kingsley’s bald head sliced away from his shoulders, Moody’s wild eye flickering desperately as he slumped bleeding to the earth, Remus screaming as a sword curved through his torso…

No.

Enough of that. The war was going badly enough without imagining a fresh slaughter, the fight stretching on, horrific and never ending, good people killed or sent into the stuff of nightmares and here she was hiding away from her duty in an art gallery all because she longed and dreaded seeing…

Remus.

Oh, Remus. Would he come to his senses? Or would stupid stubborn self-sacrifice prevail?

She honestly didn’t know.

Ahead, the exit of the gallery loomed – a glance at the clock told her that she still had time to make the meeting. Darkness yawned beyond the opening, out of the reach of the bright lights, of walls strewn with colour. For an instant, she could not bear to leave.

But she had to go. She had to see him. However painful it was.

Because she had to know. Good or bad, she had to know.

And so, bracing her shoulders, Nymphadora Tonks stepped out of a world of colour and vanished into the dark of night.

Feedback Is Lovely (http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?p=3860270#post3860270)

A/N: This fic was written for the LJ community metamorphic_moon (http://community.livejournal.com/metamorfic_moon/) Advent Challenge. The prompts I was presented with were Mistletoe and Pyjamas as well as a general invitation to compose your own wizarding Christmas carol. The latter two can be found in the follow up to this which I shall post in the near future. For now, here’s the first part.

Mistletoe by Jess Pallas

Oh sweet Merlin. I do not believe I just did that.

The library was, thankfully, deserted. The last thing Remus Lupin needed in that moment was company.

A convenient desk loomed. Flinging himself almost absently into the chair that lingered beside it, Remus plunged his head into his hands.

The look on her face, the wide hurt eyes he had glimpsed as he fled up the stairs… It was not what he’d expected. A shrug, a laugh, profound relief – that was what her face should have told him. That was what her features should have shown.

Not shock. Not hurt. Not disappointment.

She couldn’t be thinking…. She couldn’t feel, surely she wouldn’t….

Would she?

The door creaked. Clicked. Opened.

Please not her, please not her, please not…

“All right Moony, I’m only going to ask this once. What in Merlin’s name was that all about?”

Correction. Please not her or Sirius…

But it was too late.

Remus heard the door to the library close firmly, heard footsteps that logic dictated could only belong to Sirius crossing the floor, felt the looming presence of his oldest friend hovering just behind him. But Remus did not raise his head. He continued to stare deeply into the blurred and darkened palms of his own hands, the secrets of his life, if those who practised palmistry were to be believed. What would those lines have to say about this?

“Go away, Padfoot.” His voice was embarrassingly muffled. Remus didn’t much care.

“No chance.” There was an alarmingly steely note to Sirius’ voice. Remus heard the twisting scrape of a chair being dragged across the room and deposited with a thud behind him. “Talk.”

Oh sweet Merlin. He’s settling in….

Remus liked Sirius. He really did. But when Sirius settled in, he really settled. He could remember his old friend waiting outside of the Prefects Bathroom for seven hours just to find out whether Lily and James had made up after a truly epic fight. The fact that he had had to wait seven hours while they occupied themselves within should have been answer enough.

Yes. He liked Sirius. But there were times when he wished that he could just wave his wand and make the sod disappear into nothingness.

“Why is this an issue?” There was a plaintive note to his own voice that made him want to wince. He could almost feel the slow spread of Sirius’ grin just out of sight.

“I don’t know, mate,” he drawled almost cheerfully. “I’m not the one who bolted like a spooked hippogriff at the sight of a piece of mistletoe. And I’m pretty sure I’m not the one hiding in the library with my face in my hands.”

There was only one thing he could reasonably say to that. “Bugger off.”

“Language. What if Molly heard you?”

Remus risked the parting of two fingers as he allowed one eyeball to peer out in search of his friend.

Smirking. I knew it.

Git.

“So.” Sirius leaned forward almost conversationally. “Tonks, huh?”

He could feel the blush run rampant down his cheeks, washing them with too revealing colour – alarmed, Remus hurriedly tightened his hands across his face in a desperate attempt to stem, or at least hide, the surging flush.

“I was doing her a favour,” he managed. I was. I really was. It was relief I saw on her face. Not hurt. Relief. How could it be anything else?

“By bolting the room rather than give her a little peak on the lips? Moony, yet again your skill with the female of the species astounds me.”

Remus resisted a powerful urge to raise his head and glare. “She didn’t want to kiss me.” That’s true, it must be true, how can anything else be true? “I was saving her the embarrassment of having to go through with it to spare my feelings.”

Sirius gave an undignified snort. “Have you been using legilimancy on the poor girl?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”

He could feel his old friend leaning closer, the looming presence closing in. “Then how do you know what she wants? How do you know she hasn’t been dreaming of being caught under the mistletoe with you?”

Remus didn’t answer. He didn’t trust himself. All the obvious reasons danced before his eyes, his age, his poverty, his condition, her youth, her vibrancy, her brightness, but he knew that Sirius would pounce upon each and every one and ruthlessly rip it to shreds without a single thought for the consequences. And that wasn’t fair. They were valid concerns and…

“Ahhhhhaaa…..” Dear Gods, that was an annoying noise. Remus was beginning to understand why it was that James had always hurled the nearest random item in Padfoot’s direction when he’d made such a sound in regards to Lily. “I see. What we have here is a classic Moony insecurity attack.” The sigh that followed was vaguely nostalgic. “It’s just like being back in sixth year, watching you sit in a corner, turn beetroot red and hide every time Felisha Hathaway walked by…”

Now that was below the belt. Remus raised his flushed face from the safety of his hands in one swift movement. “Don’t you have a bedpost to scent-mark?”

Lifting his head was a mistake. One look at Sirius’ face was enough to tell him that. The grin spread to epic proportions within seconds of spying the scarlet of his cheeks.

“I knew it.” Sirius’ eyes gleamed. “You do like her!”

Remus wished vainly for the dark sanctuary of his palms. “Of course I like her. She’s a friend.”

“As more than a friend.”

“That’s absurd.”

The grin stretched, impossibly, still further. “Your lips say no, but your blush say yes, yes, yes!”

Remus fixed him with the steeliest glare he could muster. “Dear Gods, you’re annoying.”

Sirius beamed. “Yep.”

“You are asking for the hexing of a lifetime. You do know that?”

“Indeed I do.” The beaming grin melted into smirkdom once more. “But it’s for your own good.”

Remus cocked an eyebrow. “That’s right, because flushing my dignity down the toilet by pursuing a girl who was born while I was at studying at Hogwarts will do me the power of good.”

Sirius appeared to stifle the urge to roll his eyes only with great difficulty. “Moony, get down those stairs, get under that mistletoe and kiss that girl until her lips fall off. Or am I going to have to hex you?”

It was Remus’ turn to snort. “And watch her bolt screaming into the night? No thanks. I’d like to keep what little self-respect I have left for the time being.”

This time there was no halting the roll of eyes. “She likes you too, you idiot! Did you even catch the remotest glimpse of the look on her face when you bolted? She was devastated.”

Wide dark eyes brimming over with hurt, the pained crease of her brow, the slightest downwards curl of her usually up-curved lips…

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not.” Sirius caught his gaze and held it, his eyes suddenly serious. “Oh she tried to laugh it off and went back into the parlour to muck about with the kids but I could see her heart wasn’t in it and the look on Molly’s face said she could see it too. Do you want her up here lecturing you on your love life?” Remus’ fearful shudder was answer enough. “Tonks’ face lit up like a Christmas tree when the twins pounced the pair of you in the doorway with that mistletoe,” Sirius pressed on “And you snuffed all that light out the moment you turned away. Make it up to her.”

“But…”

“No buts. No excuses. Go and kiss her.”

“Sirius…”

“You like her. She likes you. Kiss her.”

“I don’t want…”

“You ruddy do!”

“You’re not listening!” The eruption from Remus was abrupt and came as a surprise even to him. But he knew as well in the silence that followed, as Sirius stared at him in wide-eyed shock; he did like her. And to judge by the disappointed hurt of her expression - for that was what it had been, whatever he tried to tell himself - she did like him. But to kiss her here, now, in the parlour of Grimmauld Place with the twins waving mistletoe and the kids making gagging sounds while Sirius smirked and Molly beamed…

“Not like this.” The words came out softly, all but a breath of air, but the look on Sirius’ face said that he’d caught them clearly. He faced his old friend with sudden resolution.

“Yes, I like her,” he admitted softly. “I really like her. And that’s why I couldn’t kiss her under that mistletoe. I do want to kiss her, Sirius. Almost more than anything, I want to take her in my arms and kiss her for the rest of my life.” He took a deep breath, struggling to articulate feelings he had barely admitted even to himself. “But I want it to be special. The first time my lips touch hers, if they are ever destined to… I want it to be just the two of us, a private kiss that we’ll never forget, not some forced snog with half the Order looking on and whistling.” He regarded Sirius solemnly. “Because I want her to know what she means to me. I want her to know I mean it.”

Sirius’ smile was soft. “Good. But tell her that, Moony. Don’t let her think you don’t want to at all or it’ll never happen. Don’t let her think you don’t care.”

“I will.” Remus tried to ignore the odd cocktail of plunging terror and utter elation that seemed to be battling over taking his breath away. “I’ll explain everything. As soon as I can get her alone.”

A hint of smirk slunk back across Sirius’ face. “She’s staying here tonight, you know,” he remarked with sudden faux casualness. “She told Andromeda she’d be out with mates tonight but now she’s afraid her persistent mum will check up. Apparently my dear cousin is desperate to drag her poor daughter to some mince pie party as part of a continual campaign to hook her up with Jolyon Sneed from Which Broomstick magazine. I am however reliably informed by my younger dear cousin that she’d sooner hug an acromantula than listening to that man blather on about twig lines and polish.” He gazed innocently upwards. “I gave her that little room opposite yours. If you waited until the kids and Molly are in bed…”

“That would be the room with the oh-so romantic stuffed vulture in it?”

“You wanted it to be memorable.”

Remus glared again but without much actual feeling. “We’ll see. But don’t expect anything, Padfoot. And if I catch you hovering at the door, I’ll kill you.”

“Quickly?”

“Lingering.”

“Ah.” Sirius nodded with mock regret. “Probably not worth it then.”

“I’d say not.”

Sirius rose slowly, brushing down his robes. “Then that’s sorted. Are you coming down or are you going to hide up here like a coward until bed time?”

Remus shrugged, trying to conceal that fact that his treacherous mind was still screaming at him to come to his senses and back out of this foolishly before it was too late. “The latter. I need to think.”

Sirius raised a cynical eyebrow. “If you talk yourself out of this, I’ll kill you.”

“Quickly?”

“Lingering.”

“Understood. I shall take that into consideration.”

“Moony…”

Remus met his old friend’s eyes once more. “I just need to get used to this, Padfoot. Please.”

Slowly, softly Sirius nodded. And then he smiled.

“Good luck mate,” he said quietly. And then he turned, opened the door and left Remus alone with his thoughts.

Gleaming, vibrant, ever-changing hair. Dark, rich eyes. A cheeky smile, a glorious laugh.

Hurt eyes. Not relieved. Hurt. Disappointed.

She wanted me to kiss her.

Could he do this? Could they?

“Thanks,” Remus replied softly to no one at all. “I think I’ll need it.”

Feedback is a thing of Beauty and a Joy Forever (http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?p=3860270#post3860270)

Title: A Lesson Learned
Author: Pallas
Format and Word Count: 2614 words
Rating: PG
Authors Note: This fic was written for the rt_challenge prompt, a broken egg.

A Lesson Learned

Crack!

Remus had barely a second to take in the egg that had splattered on the pavement by his feet when a second missile slapped into the back of his head, spreading yolky, shell-prickled wetness down the back of his neck.

“Animal!”

“Werewolf scum!”

“Crawl back to the forests where you belong!”

“You endangered my children!”

“Get out of here!”

“Pretending to be human! We know what you are!”

“Beast!”

“Brute!”

“Monster!”

A third egg followed, narrowly missing his leg. He felt the fourth slap against his shoulder and splash across his back.

He was not fool enough to wait for the fifth.

But even the crack of apparition was not enough to drown out the screams of the crowd.

************

“What in Merlin’s name happened to you?”

He had expected Sirius. He had been braced for Sirius, braced for the look of rage that would flash over his old friend’s face, ready for the furious tirade against the ignorant masses, ready to have to restrain him against going out and wreaking vengeance against every one of the anti-werewolf protestors who had been gathered in Diagon Alley that morning.

He was not prepared to face Tonks.

But there she was, rising from the kitchen table with a mug of tea gripped in one hand and the Daily Prophet in the other, staring at his egg splattered hair and robes with a mixture of confusion and horror.

He liked Tonks. He really did. But he never quite knew what to make of her. He very much enjoyed talking to her, was more than pleased to work with her and valued the light and colour she brought into the dreary world of Grimmauld Place. With her ever-changing hair and clumsy tumbles, her silly jokes and flowing chatter, it was easy, too easy to write her off as a cheerful, daft young girl not too dissimilar to Ginny or Hermione. But Remus also knew her as the professional, capable, innovative Auror she had proved herself to be on their missions, a quick-thinking, reliable companion in dangerous times. She knew when to be serious and when to be merry and that was a valuable skill. He valued her company and respected her opinion and she in return seemed to value and respect him. She was a good friend.

Yes. He really did like Nymphadora Tonks.

But what was he supposed to say when he stood before her like this? What was she supposed to think?

“Where’s Sirius?” The words escaped before he could quite help himself, his mind still slightly in shock.

An odd flash, almost akin to hurt seemed to flash for a moment in her eyes, but it was gone so hurriedly that Remus was certain that it must have been in his imagination. “Feeding Buckbeak,” she replied quietly as she placed both tea and paper on the counter. “Do you want me to get him?”

“Merlin, no.” With a weary sigh, Remus deposited himself with an unpleasant squelch into a convenient chair. “He’ll just fly off the handle and that’s something I can live without right now. I just want to get cleaned up and forget all about it.”

“I can see that.” He felt her hand, small and warm, rest against his wrist as she slipped with uncharacteristic grace into the chair beside him. “Remus, what happened to you? Is that egg?”

Slowly, wearily, Remus explained. Explained how he had gone to Diagon Alley to buy a book for Dumbledore, explained how he had spotted and carefully skirted the anti-werewolf protestors gathered outside Flourish and Blotts to demand that the werewolf autobiography Hairy Snout, Human Heart be removed from its shelves at once, explained how one of them had recognised him as the infamous werewolf teacher and made sure that everyone else in the vicinity had done too. Explained how they’d conjured eggs, how several of the crowd had cheered them on…

He was barely halfway through his tale before Tonks rose, leaving him with an odd kind of wrench as the warm, reassuring touch of her hand departing from his skin. He heard the sound of gently running water as he continued his tale, the sound of her footsteps returning and then the looming sense of her presence as she halted just behind his chair. Dampness spread across his scalp as a warm, wet cloth gently began to tease the sticky mass of egg out of his hair. Without a word, her fingers steadied his head just below the ear. Her touch was pleasantly, calmingly soft.

Bless her heart. She always knows the right thing to do.

“And then I apparated here,” he concluded softly. “And braced myself to hold Sirius back from a mad rampage in Diagon Alley. I was more than relieved to find you here instead.”

He sensed rather than saw her whisper of a smile, but there was sudden tension in her gently teasing fingertips.

“I wouldn’t blame him,” she remarked stiffly, her voice tight. “I’d help him. *******s.”

Remus shrugged slightly. “That’s their opinion.”

“It’s a stupid opinion.”

Remus bit back a smile, remembering the slight, almost instinctive step backwards this same young woman had taken on being first introduced to the Order’s werewolf in residence. It had taken a great deal of courage on her part not to retreat, but she’d stayed, they’d talked and by the end of the evening, his furry little problem had been dropped by the wayside altogether.

She hadn’t liked the idea of meeting a werewolf. But that hadn’t stopped her giving him a chance.

And that was what made her special.

She really was such a good friend.

“It’s the opinion of a lot of people,” he stated softly.

He felt her fingers tighten further against his scalp, her touch acquiring an involuntary element of violence. “Then a lot of people are stupid.”

Remus was flattered that she was indignant on his behalf, but he was too much of a pragmatist to join her. He smiled sadly. “I won’t dispute that. But it’s also the way of the world.”

“The way of the world…” With an abrupt slap of cold, the cloth got to work on his neck. “Remus…”

There was anger in her tone that Remus stepped in swiftly to counter. “Tonks, it doesn’t matter. Let it go.”

“Doesn’t… How can you be so calm?” Her voice surged through the previously quiet air with the heat of a forest fire bursting out of all control. “Don’t you want to go back there and hex each and every one of the prejudiced, malicious gits into oblivion?”

Remus sighed slightly. One Black temper exchanged for another… “Tonks, I’m used to it.”

He could feel her fingers raking through the hair at the back of his neck with short, jerky motions. “That’s not an answer, Remus, and you bloody well know it.”

Remus half lifted his head, intent on finding her gaze and bringing this exchange to a more rapid conclusion but a sharp rap to the scalp put pay to the motion.

“I’m not done,” she informed him briskly. “Speaking or cleaning you up.” She huffed irritably, her breath ruffling through his hair. “Remus, you’re so bloody self-effacing sometimes! Can’t you see? You shouldn’t have to be used to it. Those *******s need to be taught a lesson.”

Taught a lesson. Remus sighed deeply. How many times had he heard those words over the years? How many times had they plagued him?

That Snivellus thinks he’s so much better than us, poking his greasy great nose into our business. Mate, don’t you see? I was only trying to scare him! I was trying to teach him a lesson!

Remus, no one has the right to say you can’t have a job – don’t worry mate, we’ll teach them a lesson…

Why shouldn’t I discuss werewolves with your Third Years, Lupin? I am a teacher. It is my job to teach people a lesson…

A lifetime of resentment. That was what teaching a lesson had brought him. Because if there was one thing every teacher knew, it was that a lesson could not be taught if a student was unwilling to learn.

The one lesson he had learned to teach was that lessons could rarely be taught. Even by a professor.

“That’s the point, Tonks.” His tone was rueful and weary as he stared absently down at the pitted table top in front of him. He knew in many ways that she was right to be angry, but the anger had been leeched from him by too many years of disdain. Sirius had never learned not be angry with those who had wronged him and now the rage ate him away inside day by day, burning, consuming, driving him into despair and depression that constantly needed to be fought away. He didn’t want – he couldn’t bear – to see this bright young woman going down the same futile path.

“Teaching them a lesson in the sense that you mean would teach them nothing,” he told her softly. “They wouldn’t learn to respect the rights of werewolves by being hexed into oblivion any more than you have learned that purebloods are superior while being attacked by Death Eaters. Because no one wants to be told that their ideas are wrong at the point of a wand.” He sighed. “It’s a lesson they have to learn for themselves.”

The slow wipe of the damp cloth had stilled as he spoke, leaving a trickle of uncomfortable wetness to slip down his neck and under the collar of his robe. Her voice, when it came, was soft and slightly bewildered. “But you know they’ll never learn it.”

“I know.” Remus allowed himself a brief, tired smile. “But I also know that I can argue my point until I’m blue in the face and make no difference either. Arguments or even violence would only reinforce their views of werewolves as vicious, bad-tempered beasts. No.” He gently shook his head. “I prefer to leave with as much of my dignity as possible. I prefer to prove that I am as human as they are inside. I prefer to show others if not them that I…” he breathed deeply, “…am man enough to walk away.”

For a moment there was silence. But then briefly, tantalisingly, he felt her lips touch softly against his crown.

“More than man enough,” she whispered gently.

All of a sudden, for one inexplicable, irrational moment, Remus found it oddly difficult to breath.

What in the world? Lupin, get a hold of yourself!

But then suddenly she was in front of him, plonking herself down on the edge of the table, her damp and eggy cloth grasped in one hand.

“It must have been one hell of an impact,” she declared, her voice all at once restored to its more commonplace tone. “This stuff’s splattered right along your neck. Hold still.”

Breathing became abruptly easier. “I know. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think they weren’t that fond of me.”

At last, she smiled, although he did earn a thump on the shoulder for his quip. “Prat,” she informed him. “And I suppose I can see your point about the lesson teaching. But still…” There was something disconcertingly Marauder-like about her grin. “Wouldn’t you enjoy seeing that charming pack of protestors with egg all over their faces?”

“Figurative or literal?”

She laughed. “Both would be good. I’d settle for literal for now.”

Remus had to admit it was an appealing image. “I can’t say I’d have any violent objections to that.”

Tonks’ dark eyes filled suddenly with decidedly insincere innocence. “And you know, it wouldn’t have to be just to prove a point. Just because it wouldn’t change their minds…”

Her face hovered mere inches from his. Her eyes seemed to gleam…

The door to the kitchen slammed open. Even as Remus jumped violently, he saw Tonks go tumbling to the ground with a flail of limbs, eggy cloth flying, soaring and then landing with an audible squelch across the dark hair of one Sirius Black.

Remus’ old friend paused, removing the cloth with a thoughtful finger as his eyes fixed upon his rather bruised looking cousin and her rather shaken companion. He stared, eyes drinking in the stains across his friend’s tattered robes and the damp tangle of his hair.

“Mate, what in Merlin’s name happened to you? And is this egg?”

*************************

EGG RAMPAGE IN DIAGON ALLEY!

A group of protestors were left sunny side down yesterday, writes Cecily Scrivener, after an unknown assailant pelted them with three-dozen large-yolked eggs.

The activists, all member of Parents Entreating Restriction of Inhuman Lycanthropes (P.E.R.I.L) were protesting the sale of controversial and, some claim, deceptive werewolf autobiography Hairy Snout, Human Heart in Flourish and Blotts book shop. But they failed to see the yoke when an unidentified witch, described by witnessed as tall, grey-haired and tweedy, interrupted their chant with a cry of “Here’s egg on your face!” before proceeding to release the three dozen eggs over their heads.

“It’s an atrocity,” spluttered Godwin Clotworthy, founder of the organisation, speaking to me just moments after the incident that had left his robes and moustache covered in sticky yellow goo. “Here we are, selflessly donating our time to campaign on an issue of our children’s safety and some mad old bat decides to make a mockery of us! All we want is inaccurate reading material removed from shelves our children buy from. We’ve done nothing to deserve such treatment!”

But not everyone agreed with this statement. An anonymous passer-by was quick to contradict them.

“They pelted some poor bloke with eggs themselves a few days ago,” said the young woman, adjusting her Weird Sisters t-shirt. “All he said was maybe people should be given the chance to make their own minds up about werewolves and they turned on him like a pack of animals! If you ask me, they deserved every egg!”

Mr Clotworthy declined to comment on these allegations, but off-duty Ministry Auror, Nymphadora Tonks, who arrived on the scene not long after, said all claims of public order breeches would be taken seriously by her colleagues in the MLE.

“Magical Law Enforcement will certainly want to look into both of these incidents,” she told me frankly. “Rest assured, the Ministry will pursue the truth behind this matter with all due diligence…”

Remus Lupin smiled.

For once, that morning’s Daily Prophet had actually proved illuminating. He’d wondered why it was that Tonks and Sirius had been grinning at each other like that cats that got the cream at the previous evening’s Order meeting…

His mind slipped back to sixth year, to a complex charm that Sirius had developed to release three-dozen simultaneous dung-bombs over the Slytherin table. How long would it have taken him to teach it to a young Auror disguised as a tall, grey-haired, tweedy woman?

Not more than a day or two, he was willing to bet.

He had to be impressed though. It wasn’t everyone who managed to get themselves into the same newspaper article as three different people.

So much trouble. She’d risked arrest. Given the attitude of the Ministry at the moment, it was possible that she’d even been risking her career.

And she’d done it all for him.

Oh yes, Nymphadora. You are a very special young lady. And a very good friend.

Perhaps it’s time I started taking a few risks again myself...

In his mind’s eyes, her dark eyes sparkled. He smiled.

Just a friend?

He wasn’t so sure anymore.

And Remus Lupin couldn’t help but feel in that moment that he’d just been taught a very important lesson.

Feedback Would Be Lovely (http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?p=3860270#post3860270)

Title: My True Love Gave To Me…
Author: Jess Pallas
Rating: PG
Author’s Note: I’ve just realised, fool that I am, that I never posted the second of my two Christmas pieces! This fic is the follow up work to my first metamorphic_moon advent piece Mistletoe and was written to the prompts “pyjamas” and inclusion of a wizardised Christmas carol. I hope you enjoy!

There was no doubt left in Nymphadora Tonks’ mind. She was going to kill Sirius Black.

“…My true love sent to me….Twelve toads-a-leaping, eleven veelas dancing…”

It would be a lingering death, preferably involving a large clamp, three tonnes of fish paste and a rabid penguin. Not that she was fussy.

“…ten puffskeins puffing, nine goblins gobbling…”

There had to be something she could use. Somewhere in this grim old room filled with musty old cloth and iron wrought furniture, there had to be something sturdy enough to wrap around that bloody clacking beak without it getting torn to shreds. Beating it over the head with the iron poker had only succeeded in giving the stuffed vulture that sat beside the fusty old four poster bed a rather surprised expression and she had been forced to conclude that whatever manner of charm work her cousin had used to make it sing was resistant to the endeavours of violence.

She needed a gag. But without ripping down the frankly moth-eaten curtains that shrouded the bed, what was there?

There was her long stripy scarf of course, the one she had worn as she walked cheerfully though the brightly-lit muggle streets to reach Grimmauld Place. But it was a personal favourite; she was loath to sacrifice it to the tender ministrations of a singing vulture, especially after Remus had commented on how cosy it looked while they were shopping in Diagon Alley…

Remus.

The look of shock and horror on his face as he stared at the mistletoe and then at her. The stammering excuses as he fled…

“...eight snitches darting, seven mermaids swimming, six owls-a-flying…”

Oh that bloody vulture!

Only Sirius Black would see a hideous, balding stuffed vulture with manky feathers and a twisted beak and charm it to sing The Twelve Beasts of Christmas to anyone who entered the room. And now it wouldn’t shut up! Git!

Well he was going to die for this. Maybe the penguin was a little extreme but one thing was for sure. She was going to stuff that bloody vulture right up his…

“…five phoeeeeenix songs!”

A chest loomed in a shadowy corner, plunging its hard metal corner into her shin. Swearing as she hopped on one foot, Tonks took a moment to deliver an appropriately venomous glare at the offending object before she grasped the lid firmly and yanked it open.

The kindest word for the contents was jumble. Several sets of quietly decaying robes, a thoroughly bent wizard’s hat and…

Perfect!

“Four barking crups, three house elves, two dragon’s eggs and a hippogriff in a bare trmmph!”

Silence. Blessed, blessed silence.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Tonks took a slow step back to admire her handiwork. The ancient lacy pyjamas she had dragged out of the old chest had done the trick, the top half jammed into the vulture’s beak and secured tightly by repeated knotting of the legs. The beak continued to work irritably from within its odd restraints but the song, thanks be to Merlin, had been stifled.

With a puff of breath, Tonks allowed herself to collapse in a heap on the bed, rubbing her shin and muttering rude remarks about her cousin’s parentage. What a ruddy hellish evening she was having…

But she’d had no choice, not really. She’d had to come to Grimmauld Place. It had been here or a soiree at her parents house involving mince pies, mulled wine and being ushered into the company of Jolyon Sneed of Which Broomstick magazine, who was, to use severe understatement, slightly less bearable and engaging than a stuffed vulture singing The Twelve Beasts of Christmas. Tonks liked Quidditch. She liked to fly. But she had been happy enough in life without knowing about the intricate process of twig selection or the art of double polishing for that little extra oomph and that was all Jolyon Sneed knew how to talk about.

She was doing Sneed a favour really. If she’d attended the party, she’d have been forced to kill him for the sake of her sanity and her mother always frowned on people who made a mess on her carpets.

Just as her mother frowned on daughters who avoided their social engagements. If Tonks had stayed home, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that her mother’s face would have appeared in the fireplace at some point during the evening, checking on her alibi that she was out on a prearranged jaunt with friends. Andromeda Tonks knew all too well when her daughter was spinning a line.

When trying to escape a daughter of the House of Black who was determined to feed you mince pies and marry you off to the dullest man alive, an unplottable, Fidelius-charmed house was really the only way to go.

It had seemed a good idea. At the time.

Until…

Remus.

Her heart twisted in spite of herself. She’d seen the twins coming, of course, mistletoe in hand and mischief in their eyes and when she’d realised that she and Remus were their target, she had felt her stomach turn over with an alarming lurch. Did she want them to come, to force the matter, to bring it out into the open once and for all? Did he?

What would she do? What would he do?

It felt as though he’d been her friend forever, cheering her when she was down, making her laugh and laughing in his turn, supporting her on missions, advising her, chatting with her, just being there; she’d known him for perhaps six months and already she couldn’t imagine her life without him. When had the thought that they could be more than friends slipped into her mind? She wasn’t sure but it had and it had lingered with persistence. How long had it been since she had started to imagine his arms around her, his lips warm against hers? How long had she dared to consider the idea, to start hunting for signs that he might feel the same?

She’d never dared to say a word. She would not risk damaging their friendship. Not unless she was sure.

And now mistletoe.

Surely this would tell her all that she needed to know. The touch of his lips – would it be a friendly peck or a true need just like hers?

Now she would know.

But it hadn’t happened. He hadn’t kissed her.

He’d stared at the mistletoe. He’d stared at her. And then he’d mumbled some inaudible excuse and fled the room as though scalded.

Well, you wanted to know. Didn’t you? And now you do.

He’d rather run away than kiss you. This man who makes the peace, who would never offend on purpose. And he fled.

He finds you that repellent.

Almost as soon as the word crossed her mind, she had tried to fling it away but it lodged and stuck, refusing to budge. But what else could it be? Why else would he flee the room rather than kiss her? Even in jest or the spirit of fun, could he not have mustered something?

“Mmph mmphmmphmmphmmph, Mmphph mmphmmphmmphmmph, Mmph mmphmmphmmphmmph…”

Her eyes flickered to the muffled vulture, chewing inexorably on its lacy pyjama gag in an effort to instil some Christmas cheer. Tonks fought down the urge to draw her wand and blast it.

“Oh shut up,” she muttered savagely. “You’ll be singing a different tune next time I see Sirius. Wait ‘til you see where you’re going….”

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair! All she had wanted was to escape from the merry Christmas laughter downstairs, to get away from the happy smiling faces that had no idea how her heart was aching, no idea of the pain and humiliation bubbling inside her mind. She come to this room to get away. And what did she find?

A stuffed bloody vulture that wouldn’t shut up about what its true love gave to it!

Her eyes fixed upon the pyjama bound culprit. Sirius was probably in his room by now. Perhaps it was time for an early Christmas present…

Rising swiftly to her feet, Tonks ignored the brief stumble as her feet tangled with the rug and snatched the offending vulture, perch and all, down off the mantelpiece. Ignoring the unpleasant odour of mothballs and old feathers, she grasped the singing menace firmly beneath one arm and marched towards the door. Snatching the handle with her free hand, she yanked it open.

And walked headfirst into Remus Lupin.

Tonks caught a brief glimpse of his hand, half-raised as though to knock, of his shocked expression and his fearful eyes; but then there was no more time to think or look as wizard, witch and vulture went tumbling in a flurry of robes, feathers and lacy pyjamas onto the hard wooden floor of the landing. The Auror heard Remus omit a pained oof of surprise as she plunged, elbows first into his stomach, the stuffed vulture flying from her grip as her knees jarred against the floor and her head struck the tumbling wooden perch with a smack. For a moment, she could do nothing but lie breathless and gasping, half-sprawled across the warm but rather bony body with which she had collided.

“Ow,” she managed.

“Ummm…Tonks?”

There was a note to Remus’ voice that made Tonks suspect that opening her eyes would not bring glad tidings of great joy. But nonetheless she risked it.

Remus lay flat against the floor, pinned beneath her body and eyeball to eyeball with a stuffed vulture wrapped in lacy pyjamas. The expression on his face defied description.

“Do you think you could remove your friend?” Even though Tonks was sure that nothing in his life could have prepared Remus for the situation in which he currently found himself, the former professor’s voice remained impressively calm. “He looks rather hungry to me and if it’s all the same, I do rather value my eyeballs.”

The flurry of awkward activity that followed left Remus nursing another elbow-inflicted blow to the stomach but somehow, both participants in their odd little accident managed to clamber into a seated position. The bound up vulture sat perched between them, beak working, pyjamas straining against its valiant battle to issue Christmas cheer.

“Mmph mmphmmphmmphmmph, Mmph Mmmmmmmmph Mmph! ”

Remus’ eyes lingered on the strange sight. “Dare I ask?” he ventured.

Tonks pulled a face. “Sirius.”

“Ah.” Further explanation was unnecessary. Rubbing his head awkwardly, his eyes drifted up to meet hers. “I’m sorry about this, Tonks. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have just been standing there outside your door. If I’d actually had the courage to knock…”

The hollow drop of her stomach had nothing to do with their tumble. “You were coming to see me?”

His gaze dropped floor-wards once more as he uncomfortably worked one bruised arm. The second of silence seemed to last for twelve eternites.

“Yes. I was.” There was a strange note to his voice, a whisper of resolve, a shudder of…what? Nervousness? Fear? Anticipation? His eyes rose abruptly, meeting hers once more. “I was coming to apologise. For the mistletoe.” He swallowed hard. “For leaving you there like that. It was unforgivably rude of me and I…” His voice seemed to trail away. “I’m sorry,” he managed at length. “The last thing in the world I wanted to do was hurt your feelings.”

Well you did. The words skimmed through her mind before she could dismiss them and it seemed for an instant as though he read them in her eyes; his cheeks flushed and he tore his eyes away once more.

“I…” He swallowed a deep gulp of air. “It’s just… I wanted you to understand why I didn’t kiss you. Why I couldn’t.”

It was all she could do not to leap to her feet, not to flee from his sight as he had fled from hers and slam the door behind her. I don’t want you to say that you can’t love me. I don’t want my last shred of hope to be ripped away! I don’t want to be told that friendship is all we’ll ever have because being your friend and no more is eating me alive!

I don’t want to know. I don’t want to hear.

But she couldn’t move. And Remus was still speaking.

“…it just wasn’t right.” What had she missed? What had she drowned out? Remus was staring at his lap, fingerings twisting awkwardly around the silky material of the dangling pyjama leg. She’d never seen him look so uncomfortable. “With the children gawping and everyone looking and laughing and whistling – it would have been more of a pantomime than a first kiss. And that wasn’t what I wanted. Not with you.” Finally, his eyes rose. “Because when I kiss you for the first time, I want it to be special. I want it to be a moment that’s just for us. And I think that you do too.”

Don’t want to hear, don’t want to hear, don’t want to… what?

Did he just say…?

She met his eyes. They filled her world.

And they whispered… they said…

Oh sweet Merlin.

“I do.” The words had passed her lips before she was even aware that she’d spoken. “I really do.”

His face seemed so close. She could see nothing but his eyes, smell nothing but his skin, feel the gentle rush of his breath against her cheek as her eyes slipped closed…

RRRRRRRRRIP!

“Eight snitches darting, seven mermaids swimming, six owls-a-flying, five phooooenix songs! Four barking krups, three house elves, two dragon’s eggs and a hippogriff in a baaaaaare treeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

Something lacy smacked against her nose. Tonks opened her eyes onto a hazy veil of very torn pyjama.

Long fingers reached down, plucking the material away from her face as the vulture resumed its infuriating litany once more. Remus blessed her with a smile tinged with both amusement and disappointment.

“I think the moment may have passed,” he remarked ruefully as he untangled a piece of lace from his dishevelled hair. “I’m not sure this is quite the serenade either of us had in mind.”

I’m going to kill Sirius Black.” Never had the words passed Tonks’ lips with more feeling. “And not quickly. Lingeringly.”

An odd look flickered over Remus’ face but it was gone before she could register its meaning, replaced by a suddenly wicked smile. “Would you like a hand?” Leaning against the wall, he hauled himself to his feet, offering her his hand as he did so. “And I don’t just mean in getting up.”

Tonks accepted the assistance with a wry grin. “I don’t see why not. But I have one condition.”

“Name it.”

Tonks hefted the singing vulture, smiling against the sudden warmth she held for the blasted thing. “That sometime soon, away from mistletoe and vultures and Sirius Black, we’ll find the right time to finish what we just tried to start. A private time. A special time. Because that’s what I want to.”

His smile lit up her world. “On that you have my word.”

“Good. Now.” Tonks ruffled the feathers on her Christmas songbird. “What are we going to do with this?”

* * *

It was around six in the morning and in a state of some desperation that Sirius Black discovered a stuffed vulture cheerfully singing The Twelve Beasts of Christmas had been shoved quite firmly down his toilet bowl. But in spite of the fact it resulted in the emergency use of a very old chamber pot he found under the bed, it nonetheless made him smile.

It wouldn’t be long now. He was sure of it.

And as he headed back to bed, he couldn’t resist the urge for a quiet little sing.

“On a night close to Christmas, two true loves gave to me, a stuffed vulture needing a pee…”

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Title:Try
Author: Pallas
Authors Note: This is a random stream of consciousness fic attack that struck when I saw the prompt/quote “The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.” – Oscar Wilde in the rt_challenge and thought of another angle it could be approached from. I hope it makes sense but I can’t make any promises!

Try by Pallas

I don’t know if I can do this.

The temptation will always be there and it’s strong, so strong, stronger almost than I can endure. Too old, too poor, too dangerous – so many times I recited that mantra and so many times she retorted with one of her own, I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care. Can one ever truly outweigh the other, can fear every truly retreat from a heart too battered by life to face one more despair? She loves me, I know that, and I love her, I know that too. But can that be enough? Will that be enough? Will temptation claim me once more?

I don’t know if I can do this.

So much pain. The war is still in its infancy and many more will die, fallen bodies beneath a terrible wash of green light and high-pitched laughter. I have seen this all before, seen determined James and vibrant Lily torn from their son and their lives, seen Sirius ripped from his youth and Peter drown out his soul. I have seen a young man with his mother’s eyes and his father’s face forced to grow up far too young by the bitter words of a random act of prophecy.

Can I face this again? Can I face watching what it will do to her?

I don’t know if I can do this.

They must have been tempted too. James and Lily, Sirius, Peter, Harry. At some point, surely, each and every one of them must have wanted to cast everything aside and flee for their sanity and their lives. They must have wanted to stop fighting, to never face their troubles, to leave it all behind because life would be so much easier that way.

They didn’t though.

I did.

James fought for Lily despite her disdain. Sirius fought to save his godson. Even Peter, foolish Peter, fought to save his Master when all hope was swept aside. And Harry, poor Harry, the Boy-Who-Had-Faced-Too-Much but never once had he tried to abandon his responsibilities and leave all he loved behind.

I yielded to my temptations. I yielded to my fears. I ran away.

I am a werewolf. I am a coward. The temptation to hate myself was just too strong for me to bear. Why should she feel any different?

I told myself I was protecting her, too old, too poor, too dangerous. I told myself that whatever she said, deep down she had to care about all the things she seemed determined to so loosely fling aside. I did not fight to save our love. I hurled it aside because it was easier that way. It was easier to doubt than to believe.

I was selfish. I still am.

I don’t know if I can do this.

They say the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Well I yielded to mine, gave myself over to the temptations of fear and self-loathing, old friends/enemies that have travelled by my side all my life. She had helped me to fight them away until that time. I allowed them back.

They are still here. Once you yield, temptation never lets you go.

But I think I can hold them back.

Dumbledore is dead. The world is so very wrong without him.

But with Tonks, it seems so very right.

And when I let myself look deep into her eyes, all temptation to doubt disappears.

The fear will always be with me. My doubts will never quite be gone. I know myself too well to expect otherwise. But I intend to fight them. I want this. I want her.

I don’t know if I can do this, if I can let myself just be in love, in spite of the risks of the war and the frailty of my mind. I really don’t know.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t intend to try.

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Title: Brave New world
Author: Pallas
Authors Note: I wrote this off the top of my head in response to the rt_challenge prompts “first person, present tense” and a picture of a pair of leather bags.

Brave New World

I stare down at the two bags resting at my feet, at the state of the battered leather, at the state of my shabby robe hem and wonder, for the five hundredth time that morning, if I can really do this. They all know now, after all, every one of them, from youngest child, to near adult, they will all see me and they will know exactly what I am. Even those who weren’t about when Severus so considerately exposed my condition during my last tenure would be aware of it from the newspaper reports, the screaming tirades by Umbridge and her ilk and the long debate over my appointment that went as high as the Wizengamot itself. Without Dumbledore, I had assumed there would be no chance when Minerva approached me, that ever teaching here again was just a pipe dream, but it turns out that the new headmistress of Hogwarts is as much my champion as her predecessor. She fought a battle on my behalf more akin to a tigress than a tabby.

And she won. I still can’t believe she won.

And here I am, standing at the door that leads to my old quarters in the Staff Wing, my bags at my feet, my hand on the door knob and in spite of it all, I just can’t bring myself to turn it.

Because it’s more than just my return to Hogwarts that is making me nervous. It’s more than just the thought of all those young eyes staring and thinking about my full moon face and the horror that lurks within this man – this dark creature, as Umbridge would have it – who stands before them to teach Defence against the Dark Arts. It’s more than the thought of losing my dream job a second time.

It’s what lies within that scares me. The future behind that door.

I want it. I’ve dreamed of it. But now that it’s happening… Now that it’s here…

Can I do this? Really? Can I make her happy? Can I keep us safe?

But I love her. I promised myself that I would never hurt her again and I know that the heartache of my backing down now would provide far more pain than even my werewolf jaws. This is my brave new world and doubt I may, fear I will, but I still intend to explore every single inch of it and revel in every discovery.

I can do this. I can.

I turn the handle.

“Remus! You took your sweet time, I’ve been waiting and waiting! So what side of the bed do you want?”

And then there she is, Hogwarts new transfiguration mistress, bustling towards me as her feet tangle in the nearby rug and pitch her headfirst into my arms. A mass of hair, today aqua and curly, swamps my eyes as I prop her upright once more and lean down to press my lips to hers. A heart shaped face beams up at me, dark eyes filled with joy.

“I can’t believe this,” she says softly, wrapping her arms around my shoulders as I pull her into my embrace. “I can’t believe we’re finally going to live together.” Curls tickle my chin as she rubs her head against my chest. “I love you so much,” she whispers.

I tighten my hold upon her. “I love you too,” I reply.

And as I hold her warm body close to mine, I know once and for all that I am no longer afraid.

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Author’s Note; This was written, rather predictably, on a very snowy day for the metamorphic_moon Valentines Ficlet challenge. My prompt was Love Bug. It’s also my first attempt at this one-sided conversation type style. I hope it works okay and isn’t too confusing. :)

A Snowy Day by Pallas

How does it feel to be in love?

Ginny, that’s not the easiest of questions, you know. Haven’t you asked your mum?
…

Okay, good point. I can see how it might be…icky….

Well, if you’re sure you want me to talk about it, I’ll do my best…

My mum always told me that love was like dancing – sometimes you could glide around lighter than air, lost in another’s arms, but if you stepped on each others toes now and then so be it. My dad always calls it the love bug – like an illness, it catches you unawares and gets into your system, making you say stupid things and behave like an idiot but at the same time it warms you from the inside out and never lets you go.

Mum never really appreciated that description. I don’t think she likes being compared to an infectious disease. But then again dad is always the one who steps on mum’s toes when they dance together so he’s not that impressed with her analogy either.

But you know me, I’m way too clumsy to dance properly. And Remus has called me many things, but never anything viral.

For me, love is like…well, it’s like today.

No, no, no, that’s not what I mean. I know it’s Valentines today, but love isn’t all chubby cherubs and dancing hearts. Yeah, I’m glad too! No, love is like outside is right now. It’s like a snowy day.

What do I mean? Well, snowy days mean different things to different people. To some people it’s a struggle, to others a source of joy, a time of coldness or a time to cuddle up warm. And you can find all about love in a snowy day; sometimes you have to slog through it, slipping and sliding, thinking you’ll never make it, wondering why you should even try; sometimes it excites and exhilarates you as you hurtle down a slope on a sledge or chuck snowballs at each other. Yes, sometimes it thaws and melts away. But if you’re lucky, then at the end of the day, you get to go home and curl up by the comfortable fire and let the warmth inside warm you and protect you from the chill outside the window. And that’s the best thing of all.

Oh yes. Remus and I are definitely a snowy day. More like a snowy season. But I reckon most of the slogging’s done now. It’s time to build a snowman then curl up nice and warm together…

That is not what I meant, Ginny! Don’t let your mother hear you say that and don’t let her think that I…

Oh, haha… Thanks…

But I guess what I’m trying to say is just let your snowy day run its course. Maybe you will get bogged down. Maybe reaching the warm may take some time, but trust me Ginny, it’s worth the ride.

I don’t see Harry as the type to thaw out easily. Weather the storm and you’ll be fine…

Okay now?

Is that Remus? I… Are you sure? I can get Hermione or your mum…

Thanks Ginny. Yes, I think I will go and enjoy my snowy day. After all, that’s the best kind there is….

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Authors Note: I actually wrote this piece on paper last summer for an earlier round of the rt_challenge but I never found time to type it up. But when I saw this prompt in the latest challenge, “Things without all remedy/Should be without regard. What’s done is done.” (William Shakespeare, Macbeth) I thought of it immediately. :)

Last Words

“Because it’s killing him!”

Albus Dumbledore. In her childhood years, hearing stories of Hogwarts, of her parents time at school, he had been a revered figure of wisdom, a source of admiration. And then he had become her headmaster and she saw him for herself and grew to respect him as a man who had seen potential behind impulsive schoolgirl mischief making and had aided and encouraged her in her ambitions to be an Auror when so many others scoffed. And finally, she discovered him to be a man who trusted her judgement enough to seek her out in person and request her aid in saving the wizarding world, bringing her into the Order of the Phoenix and the fight against the second rise of You-Know-Who. There was no denying that her life would have been much the poorer without him.

But as Nymphadora Tonks stared across the eclectic desk at the old wizard, his eyes unusually solemn, his withered hand clasped within the cradle of his healthy one, she had never liked him less.

How could he let this happen? How?

With a long and weary sigh, Dumbledore settled back in his chair, his normally bright eyes dull as he stared back at the pale, mousey young woman before him. “I know the task I have given Remus is difficult for him…”

“Not difficult.” Under normal circumstances, Tonks would never have dreamed of cutting across the headmaster’s words in such a disrespectful manner. But normal was long gone. “Impossible.” The full weight of furious emphasis sat heavily against the beleaguered word, striking an almost physical shock into the air. It’s now or never; he needs to hear this, it needs to be said, because if he can’t see the injustice in this then he’s not the man I’ve always thought he was… “You’re making him cosy up and pretend to agree with the same thing that almost killed him as a child! You’re asking him to embrace a life he has fought to escape since he was three years old! You’re asking him to be a monster and if Greyback doesn’t kill him, that will!”

For a long moment Dumbledore did not respond. She felt the power of his stare rake over her, presumably drinking in her limp brown hair, her furious dark eyes and the tense lines of her body as she gripped the edge of his desk with almost violent fingers. Slowly, almost absently, he removed his half moon spectacles and rubbed his good hand across his eyes.

“I am aware that this is not a path that Remus would have chosen,” he conceded, his face somehow tired. “But the work he does is vital to the good of the wizarding world. I did not force this task upon him; he freely agreed to…”

“And what else would he do?” It was all Tonks could do to keep herself from rising to her feet and slamming her hands down upon the desk’s surface. How can he not see this? “You know Remus! You know about his bloody martyr complex and you know there is nothing on this earth that would make him refuse a request from you! The moment you asked him, he had no choice, not in his mind anyway! And you must have known that…”

“Nymphadora…”

“You must have known…”

“I am sorry.”

Silence dropped upon the room, heavy, vast and irresistible. Tonks blinked, the anger of her truncated tirade spiralling uncertainly as its outlet was cut away. Did he just say…?

She had been so scared for Remus, terrified that each time she had seen him since the summer he seemed to have lost himself a little more, seemed to have given up on love, on life, on almost everything in the face of the fate of his own kind. But he would not leave his mission, he would not abandon his duty and just three days ago she had finally understood why.

Dumbledore needs me. Three simple words, slipping out almost unnoticed in the midst of yet another weary disagreement, but they told a deeper story, a story of gratitude to a man who had seen past his condition, who had given him not one but two chances at a normal life. But how could the price of that chance be the loss of all he had to be grateful for?

She had thought perhaps that the old headmaster didn’t understand. And she knew, she knew so well that as much as Remus loved her, cared for Harry, respected his fellow Order members, only one man’s voice could bring the man she loved back from the edge of the abyss…

Dumbledore sighed yet again, breaking her wandering thoughts, his creased features seeming infinitely older than Tonks had ever known them. Merlin, when did Dumbledore get so old?

“I am sorry,” he repeated softly. “I know that Remus is a strong man and I truly believe that nothing, not even Greyback can change him if he does not let himself be changed.”

Tonks couldn’t let that stand. “But he doubts himself so much, he makes himself believe that he’s worthless and…”

But Dumbledore had raised his good hand, cutting off the flow of words yet again. “Please, Nymphadora, let me finish,” he stated, his voice quiet but rich with gentle authority. “Remus is a good man and even though he does not always believe in himself, I believe in him. But I admit that when I assigned this mission, I did not account for his behaviour towards you. I assumed he would use you as a rock, a source of strength. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect that he would weaken both himself and you with this sudden self-denial. And for that I can only say I am sorry. If I had known…” He took a deep, rasping breath. “If I had known, I would never have asked him.”

Tonks could feel her hands shaking as she gripped the table edge. “But you did.”

“I know.”

“I miss him so much.”

“I know.”

“I think I’m going to lose him.” The words escaped in a sudden rush, the breakdown of a dam of terrified emotion that had been straining within her for almost a year. “Whether he lives through this mission or not, I think my Remus will be gone.”

“I do not believe that.”

Tonks shook her head, mousey brown locks taunting the edges of her vision. “I don’t want to. But every time I’ve seen him since last summer, he’s been such a mess…”

“Nymphadora.” Gently, Dumbledore’s good hand reached across the desk, prizing her fingers away from the wood and engulfing them in their warmth. “I am calling Remus home.”

For an instant, Tonks did not move. Her brain refused to register the words. “What?”

“I am calling Remus home,” Dumbledore repeated softly. “He should be here tomorrow. In fact, I have asked him to share your patrol here at Hogwarts tomorrow night to cover for my absence.” He smiled. “I think you should take the chance to talk to him. There is much he needs to be reminded of.”

She did not remember much of the conversation that followed, mundane details about a necessary patrol. Her mind was racing. Remus was coming home. Remus was coming home. When the moment came to go, she rose in a daze, distracted, confused, muttering her thanks. But somehow, in spite of her whirling thoughts and her pounding heart, for one final moment she glanced back and smiled at her headmaster. And the sight of him seated behind his object-strewn desk, eyes tired but somehow twinkling once more, hand withered but oddly strong, his smile tired but rich with simple, quiet hope, was one that she would remember always.

For that was the last time that she saw Albus Dumbledore alive.

Feedback Is Lovely (http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?p=3860270#post3860270)

Title: Standing Her Ground
Author: Pallas
Author’s Notes: This fic was written for the metamorfic_moon Lovers Moon Valentines challenge with the prompts Sleekeazy’s Hair Tonic, Run, Bill Weasley, Mad-Eye Moody, Professor McGonagall and Angst/Mystery/Suspense. I probably ought to admit from the outset that this fic didn’t quite go along as close to some of the prompts as I’d intended (namely the genre and the characters – it was meant to be a bit more angsty and with slightly more involvement from the mentioned persons) but hopefully it still just about meets with regulations. This idea actually came from a fic I wrote for rt_challenge entitled A Lesson Learned which mentioned this first meeting but I also liked the idea of no love at first sight and indeed no special mention of each other, just a quiet easy beginning of a friendship that would lead to more. Not really that romantic for a valentines challenge fic, is it? I also know I could have included a lot more aspects both of Sirius and Remus and Tonks in this but I decided to keep it simple. I hope it passes muster. :)

Well, he’s laughing. That’s a good sign….

It had been her biggest fear. What if Sirius Black hadn’t seen the funny side? It had seemed like a nice icebreaker of a gift, a silly little joke, to get him a bottle of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion and quip about the wanted posters suggesting he needed it. It wasn’t until she had found herself standing in the doorway of twelve Grimmauld Place with the potion bottle gripped in one hand and Professor Dumbledore’s scrap of paper in the other that it had occurred to her that perhaps a man wrongly accused of mass murder might not necessarily see the funny side.

And her doubts had grown as Professor McGonagall had opened the door and ushered her quietly inside, one eyebrow quirking at the sight of her luminous green hair and gag gift. She had managed to smile at her stern former professor, but her eyes had already drifted to the grim, dark walls, the serpentine decoration, the wizened little house elf who eyeballed her with a mixture of suspicion and loathing. Maybe Sirius Black was innocent but that didn’t mean he still had the sense of humour her mother had always talked of. Who could find the funny side of this?

She’d wanted to run. For a moment, it consumed her thoughts.

But Professor McGonagall was watching her, waiting. And no former student could ever face down that long, slow stare for long.

“This way, Nymphadora.”

Tonks had winced but she hadn’t corrected her. One did not correct Professor McGonagall.

And then there had been the meeting. Dumbledore had greeted her jovially, welcoming her to what she could only describe as the most eclectic secret society she could ever have imagined. She remembered Mad-Eye Moody as a prowling figure on the edges of her Auror training and though her joshing of him was met with a scowl, a glint in his deep-set true eye told her he didn’t really mind. Bill Weasley was a better-known face, Head Boy during her tenure at Hogwarts and he had greeted her with that vague chumminess of someone with whom you are half familiar. She had met his parents briefly, Arthur, who she’d seen around the office for a while now but never really spoken to and Milly? Molly? Gods, she could be bad with names sometimes… Molly, it was Molly, and she and her husband were a nice, friendly couple who’d made her welcome before disappearing home to find out what their other children had been up to in their absence. They were apparently in the midst of packing for a summer move to Grimmauld Place but from Molly’s words, it seemed that she had suspected her children were far more likely to be out back playing variations of two-a-side Quidditch.

Kingsley Shacklebolt she knew well enough from work but he too had not been able to linger long as a dreaded night shift loomed. Instead, he had ushered her over to the two men talking quietly by the fire, introduced her as a colleague and then, rather abruptly, Tonks had found herself face to face with the most notorious criminal in the wizarding world.

Her cousin. Sirius Black.

His greeting had been friendly. He’d noted their relationship with pleasure and made a joke about her hair. And so, emboldened, she had presented the Sleekeazy and sallied forth with the quip.

There had been a very long silence. Black had stared at the bottle. Tonks had stared at the floor.

Oh boy. Run away, run away, run away….

“You know, Sirius,” a soft, hoarse voice had chimed in suddenly. “James always said that Padfoot would look good with a quiff.”

Black had blinked. Tonks had stared, slightly confused and a tiny bit embarrassed at the companion she had all but forgotten was there. But then, with a suddenly dawning smile, her convict cousin had abruptly burst out laughing.

Okay. Maybe I don’t need to run…But then again…

“And quite right too!” The grin was maniacal but in a reassuringly jovial way but the cheery enthusiastic slap of his hand against her shoulder sent her staggering. Fortunately the all too familiar arse-meets-floor scenario was averted when his quiet friend caught hold of her arm and allowed her to recapture her balance. She flashed him a quick, grateful smile before turning her attention back to the Ministry’s most wanted.

“Sorry about the silence.” Black – no, Sirius - was speaking again, his grin still firmly in place. “You surprised me, that’s all. An old friend of mine always used to threaten me with this stuff when we were at school.” The grin faded into a more genuine smile. “You know, cousin, I think we’ll get on just fine. And if you’ll excuse me…” He waved the bottle cheerfully. “I’m off to try this out.”

And then he was gone, vanishing up the steps into the hallway with a broad smile plastered across his face, leaving a rather bemused Tonks to stare after him.

Ooookay…

“Don’t worry.” It was not until that gentle voice drifted forth once more that Tonks realised a hand still held her arm in a soft grasp. “He likes it. He just wasn’t sure what to say to you.”

Finally, Tonks allowed herself to take a proper look at the saviour of her dignity. He wasn’t anything particularly remarkable, a slender man of medium height dressed in a set of robes that had clearly seen better days. His hair was light brown, but peppered with an edge of grey that belied the youth of his quiet smile. His brown eyes were kind.

No. Nothing remarkable there. But he seemed nice enough from what little she’d seen and she owed him a debt of gratitude for the preservation of her backside. Not to mention it would be nice to gain a little more understanding of her newfound cousin from this man who clearly knew him well. She smiled.

“Why wouldn’t he know what to say?” she enquired curiously. “Does he always get tongue tied when meeting new people?”

The man chuckled. “Hardly. I’ve known Sirius since we went to school together and being tongue-tied has never been one of his problems. But he and your mother were very close as children and I think he was hoping to recapture some of that with you. I think he misses having someone from his family around.”

Tonks permitted herself a snort, her eyes raking over the grim basement kitchen. “I don’t think I’d miss this lot. I’ve met my charming aunties and I can’t say it’s an experience I’d care to repeat.”

“You’re right. I put that badly.” The man’s eyes drifted to the fire. “What I mean is – he misses have someone from his family who shares his views on them. He misses having someone who understands.”

“Oh.” This conversation was turning remarkably deep for a first acquaintance. “Well. If he wants someone to bash his family with, I can always play along.”

The man smiled. “I’m sure that’s all he needs. Thank you, Nymphadora.”

“Tonks.” The correction was out of her mouth with an almost instinctive brusqueness.

The man’s brow furrowed. “Pardon?”

“It’s Tonks.” First meeting or not, this was a matter that simply had to be set in stone from the start. “Please don’t call me Nymphadora, I hate that name. I love my mum dearly but my dad should had strapped her down and nicked the quill rather than let her near my birth certificate.”

The man laughed. “Don’t worry. After all, I’ve hardly been blessed with the most conventional of monikers either. But I can’t say I’ve ever had as… emphatic a problem with it as you.”

A sudden surge of embarrassment tumbled through Tonks, burning against her cheeks before she had a chance to fight it down. Kingsley had introduced them. He’d said the man’s name. But she’d been so focussed on her cousin, on the infamous face from the wanted posters…

She hadn’t been listening. But what was she supposed to say? How was she supposed to ask without being unspeakably rude?

Running away was starting to look good again.

Maybe if I hurry I can make the hall before he even notices I’m…

“Remus Lupin.”

“Huh?” The sudden declaration almost made her jump.

“I’m Remus Lupin.” The man – Remus Lupin apparently– was smiling with what she could only describe as wry amusement. “I didn’t think you’d heard when Kingsley said it and that blush just told me I was right.” He laughed as her blush deepened. “Don’t worry about it. Meeting the infamous Sirius Black –especially when he’s your cousin – is bound to be a little distracting.”

“Sorry about that.” Tonks smiled through her flushed cheeks but something at the back of her mind was prodding at her forcefully. Remus Lupin, Remus Lupin; why did that name ring a bell? Where had she heard it before? Had it been – yes, it had been at work sometime, or maybe while she was still training, which meant….

A surge of discomfort rippled through her. Names she had heard at work never meant anything good. And admittedly, this man – Remus – did seem to be a friend of a convicted – if innocent – Azkaban escapee. But how could it be that she’d know the name in a criminal context when he seemed so… so…

Nice.

Could criminals be nice? Could criminals be in the Order of the Phoenix?

Movement caught the corner of her eye. Wait… was that the greasy little fence Mundungus Fletcher?

That answered the latter question then.

“Are you all right?”

Tonks cursed. Yet again she’d allowed her attention to drift.

“Yeah…” She pondered a moment, before abruptly biting the bullet. “It’s just… I’d swear I’ve heard your name somewhere before and I was just trying to…”

The words trailed away as she watched his eyes darken, his smile drop, his shoulders slump. He sighed.

“Yes,” he murmured softly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you have. Do you happen to read the Daily Prophet?”

Something was stirring in the depths of Tonks’ memory; she’d just finished her Auror training, passed her final exams – it was her first time in the offices of Magical Law Enforcement. As Scrimgeour had welcomed her, he’d been distracted by a furious witch in orange robes who’d stormed up to him brandishing the Daily Prophet and demanding that “that monster” Remus Lupin be arrested and sent to Azkaban for the reckless endangerment of her children’s lives…

Yes, Remus Lupin. A teacher at Hogwarts. And he’d resigned from his post and left the school in disgrace because…

Because…

Werewolf.

Run. Gods, I want to run.

She was barely even aware of the slight, almost instinctive step backwards she took until she saw the weary, resigned sadness blossoming in his eyes. Her heart was pounding. A werewolf. A werewolf. How could he possibly be…? He was so nice, he was so quiet, he was so damned normal…

Maybe her work had corrupted her views. It was true that the majority of werewolves that she’d come into contact with had been in the course of her duties and they tended to be cruel, wild half feral troublemakers who disdained the authority and cursed the wizarding world that tried to shackle them. But she also knew, intellectually at least, that not every werewolf was like that. But still, what one knew compared to what one had seen…

Sharply, she clamped down on the unworthy feelings. Okay, so this wasn’t exactly a situation that lay smack in the middle of her comfort zone. But he was a werewolf and he was nice which meant, obviously, that nice werewolves did exist. She’d met one. Therefore this was now something she knew. So why should she let it bother her?

It did. But she didn’t have to let it. She didn’t.

He caught your arm. He gave you advice on your cousin. He broke an awkward moment so you wouldn’t be uncomfortable. He’s a nice man. Just remember that.

Forcing the tension in her shoulders out knot by knot, she squeezed out a smile.

“So you’re the infamous werewolf teacher?” she managed with as much faux joviality as she could muster. “Well, that’s a disappointment. From what I’ve heard, you should be seven foot tall, covered in hair and picking your teeth with children’s bones.”

For a moment, she feared that yet again, she was going to have to face the prospect of turning and running from embarrassment and fear. But then his lips quirked, one eyebrow raised and he smiled at her.

“Well,” he remarked dryly. “I’d hate to be a let down. I could probably transfigure some stilts and steal a bottle of Hair-Growth Potion but I’m not sure quite where we’ll find children’s bones at this time of night…”

“We could ask Mundungus Fletcher.” Tonks gestured over her shoulder to where the grubby little man was attempting to foist what looked like dried doxy wings onto a decidedly sceptical Bill Weasley. “From what I’ve seen of his file, he’d probably be back in a few minutes with a whole pile of them, barely used…”

Remus laughed out loud but Tonks didn’t miss the glimmer of relief that crossed his features at the sudden disappearance of tension. “I’ve known Dung for years,” he admitted. “If we asked him for the bones of a kid…”

“…We’d get goats.” They shared a grin at Tonks’ anticipation of the joke. “Ah well. I guess that means we’re stuck with your mild mannered alter ego.”

“Many apologies.” He offered up a half mocking bow. “I can attempt a growl, but it’d probably be a terrible disappointment.”

It was Tonks’ turn to laugh out loud. There, you see? Nothing to worry about. He’s nice and he’s got a good sense of fun. What does being a werewolf matter next to that?

You don’t want to run. You don’t need to run. See? You don’t.

He’s a nice werewolf…no. He’s a nice man.

“You’re a metamorphmagus, aren’t you?” The question came a little out of the blue. “Kingsley mentioned it when he suggested recruiting you.”

“Indeed I am.” With a brief moment’s concentration, Tonks flicked her hair from the eye-aching green she had entered with into a vivid shade of violet. “Dah-na!”

He chuckled. “Party trick?”

“More like a fashion statement really.” Tonks stroked her short spikes cheerfully. “I like to be different.”

“I’m starting to see that.” There was a wicked twinkle in his eyes that would have earned a play-thump for someone Tonks had known better. “That must be a useful talent in your line of work.”

Tonks felt a little twinge of discomfort. She had to admit that a part of her had not been entirely comfortable that Kingsley had chosen her over all of the members of the Auror office to invite into the Order. It was not because she did not believe in the cause – far, far from it – but because the little insecure part of her that had tormented her through Auror training had whispered that perhaps all they wanted her for was her ability to morph.

“It can be,” she replied, trying to conceal the hints of her disquiet. “For undercover work and stuff. Though that’s not really my favourite part of the job.”

One smile. That was all it took. One smile and she knew that he’d seen right to the heart of her discomfort.

“I know. Kingsley also told us what an excellent investigator you are, not to mention a skilled dueller. I’m certain you’ll be an asset to the Order in no time at all.”

Nice, fun and sensitive. Werewolf or not, I think I’m going to like you, Remus Lupin…

She smiled broadly. “Well, we’ll have to see. If nothing else, I can always supply escaped convicts with Sleekeazy.”

Remus’ lips twitched. “Speaking of which…”

“What do you think?”

Sirius had returned, his long mass of dark hair sleeked back into a shiny ponytail, leaving only the front portion of his locks to be pushed up into a makeshift quiff. He was grinning again.

Remus was shaking his head wryly. “James said Padfoot would look good with a quiff, mate. Not you.”

Sirius pulled a face. “Yeah, I know, and I did try that, but it’s a bugger trying to put this stuff on with just your paws. If you want that particular photo opportunity, you’ll just have to help me out. What do you say, Nymphadora?”

Tonks exchanged a look with Remus, who smiled knowingly at her grimace. “I say call me Tonks.”

Sirius’ smile was also rather knowing. “You know, I always wondered whether that name would come back and bite Andromeda later in life. Looks like I was right. Come on then, Tonks.” He grabbed a bottle of butterbeer from the table. “Come on up to the parlour with me and Remus and I’ll thrash you at Exploding Snap. I have a sudden urge to burn a few holes in the mouldy carpets of my birthright. And afterwards... Well, have you ever wanted to see a big, black dog with a quiff?”

And so the evening had passed, with explosions, laughter and Sleekeazy smeared dog hairs all over the carpet. And afterwards, as Tonks had arrived back home at her flat, she’d smiled.

She’d been afraid of this meeting, she could admit that. The urge to run away from it had been so vast it had almost overwhelmed her. The prospect of meeting her infamous cousin and of being inducted into a secret society that was dedicated to fighting the most evil and vicious wizard alive, a society no less that her employers frowned on and would certainly fire her for being a part of had not been the easiest of prospects. But now she had spent the evening with a laughing convict smeared in hair potion and a very nice, fun and sensitive man, whose condition she was determined not to let matter, she couldn’t understand what she’d ever been afraid of.

Sirius had made her laugh. And Remus…

Remus had made her feel valued. Worthy. Welcome.

She was glad to know them both. She liked them both. And she looked forward to knowing them better.

And from that moment on, Nymphadora Tonks knew that she need never worry about whether or not she would stand her ground.

Feedback is Warm and Fuzzy (http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?t=91469)