The Slave to Desperate Men

Chapter Three: Miles to Go before I Sleep, Part One

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

(Robert Frost, "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening")

July 30, 2002

Evening

He knew he was dreaming. Because he knew what was going to happen.

The shrieks of laughter did not fool him.

The feeling of restful content heavy in his belly did not fool him.

Bubbles and plates and her round belly .. "Ugly idiot! You'll wake the baby!" He only sat and watched. Wooden chair hard against his back, pipe in his hand, though not lit because Lily never let them smoke around her babies.

"Aww, come, darling, you know Sirius sleeps like a rock."

It was perfect, really. Perfect. Balloons and half-eaten birthday cake. James and Lily sharing dish duty, though hardly making a dent in the dirty plates and glasses on the counters of Sirius' kitchen, throwing soap bubbles at each other and creating quite a mess of their own. And Remus was going to have to get up in a moment and take over, but for now he was going to sit and watch his friends and listen to the soft Muggle music in the background.

"You almost woke her, taking that picture. I've a good mind to -"

Interrupted by a kiss. Remus grinned and could not turn his gaze, though he knew it was only a matter of time ...

"You don't really think I'm ugly?"

"You're horridly ugly. Disgusting, really. Don't know how I can look at you."

"You know, this is just how I like you," a murmur into her hair.

"And how's that, Mr. Potter?"

"Barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen."

Another shriek. Remus laughed and lunged towards them, wrapping his arms around Lily from behind and protecting his friend from the wand she was waving in her hand.

It was perfect. But he had to tell them now, had to tell them that they ought to go back into the bedroom ...

Shouted cursing and glass breaking and the baby crying.

They ran.

Sirius was dead, he was dead, already grey and there was blood everywhere and the baby was gone and James was screaming and Lily was running to the window ...

But it was too late.

Too late.

It had been perfect, really.

And Sirius was dead ...

Knock knock knock

Remus groaned. Yes yes yes, he was dreaming, and it was the first time he'd remembered in such a long time aw gods his head ...

Knock knock bang

"REMUS!"

Moan. Not yet.

A quick charm and the door opened, spilling light from the hall into his dark office.

Tia Towers walked briskly to his desk, lighting torches with her wand as she entered, and dropping a pile of files into his In box. "Wakey, wakey," she called cheerfully, casting a small watering spell on the dying plant sitting on his bookshelf and then watching him with her hands on her hips.

Remus stood up slowly from his couch, rubbing his hand against the crick in his neck and wincing at his stiff muscles. "How long have I been out?"

"Fifteen minutes." She stopped at the expression on his face. "Gods, Remus, are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"You don't look it. You've got tear tracks -"

Remus rubbed his face. "Dust."

"Yeah."

"From the thing -"

"This morning?"

"Yeah."

"That thing where you cursed a lot of people, and they tried to kill you? Like ... a war?"

"It did involve some cursing, yes."

"The Minister wants a meeting with the Staff and Shaklebolt. And you've got an emergency conference with the WRMB at nine. Dumbledore called by the Floo while you were sleeping. He wants to speak with you after your meeting with the Minister." She studied him another moment and then went about organizing the disaster he'd left on his desk just before the Last Battle. "Remus, I think you should go home. You've been through a lot --"

"The Minister has been through a lot, Tia," Remus said, picking up the files and giving them a quick glance. "Did he come into work today?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cancel my meeting with the WRMB."

"They'll be ma-ad," she sing-songed.

"Reschedule them for next Monday."

Tia narrowed her eyes. "But -"

"Just do it, Tia."

"Right."

"Anything else?"

"I've gotten someone upstairs to brew a potion for you for the pain -"

"I don't have pain, and it better not have come from the RCMC -"

"And I've got a cup of tea waiting for you in the Minister's office. Also, you got an owl from Dean Thomas. He wants to have a look at you."

Remus pulled on his cloak and reached for the files Tia was holding out to him.

He promptly dropped the files on the floor. They both bent down to pick them up, but Tia beat him to it. Hazel eyes met dark brown, and they stood slowly. "Sorry," Remus said softly, rubbing his arm. "My arm seems to have fallen asleep."

She handed the files to him with a small smile. "At least one part of you listens to my advice." She looked at him wistfully for a moment, then seemed to catch herself and turned back to their conversation with a sigh. "So ... Dean Thomas."

Remus watched her a moment, then nodded. "Yes, of course. Reading my mail again, I see." He turned away from her and put out the torches in his office with a swish of his wand.

"Yes, someone has to do your job while you're killing Dark Lords. He'll be leaving for France soon - he's trying to develop a counter jinx to that anti-Disapparation thing."

They walked into the hallway, which was incredibly lively despite the late hour, and began making their way through the busy corridors of the Ministry of Magic.

"Owl him back. Tell him to meet me at Hogwarts around ten."

"You've got a press conference at ten."

"Don't those people sleep?"

"You were supposed to have it this afternoon."

"Cancel it."

"Can't. They want to know why the Order is falling apart."

"The Order is not falling apart."

"The Boy Who Lived has gone MIA, along with Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley. Charles Weasley has run off to Romania. Margaret told me the Minister -"

"Anything else?"

"Dumbledore was dead for awhile, too. Well, according to the press. And then of course there was that whole Malfoy family feud scene, which the press is just wild about -"

Remus stopped and looked his assistant in the eye. "You're speaking very lightly about matters you know nothing about. There was a war -"

"Is a war -"

"--don't treat it like a dish on the second page of the Prophet."

Tia paused, a hurt look on her face, which she quickly masked with an impassive frown. "Fine. Fine. I - it won't happen again."

Remus nodded, and then resumed his brisk gait towards the Minister's office, nodding here and there at those he passed, and dodging paper airplanes that zoomed past them.

Tia continued behind him. "Not to mention the fact that half the DA's having to Floo and fly everywhere, because they can't Apparate."

"There were members from the Ministry at the battle, as well."

"I'm just saying -"

"Alright, tell Dean I'll meet him at 11:30."

"You were having a nightmare."

Remus cringed at the abrupt subject change. "Yes, they tend to happen during periods of national unrest."

"You were calling out for James -"

"There's a line, Tia. It's very definite. It's a bright red color. Do you see it in your head?"

"You're telling me it's not my business."

"On second thought, I'll meet Dean at 11:00. The press conference shouldn't take that long."

"You haven't eaten."

"I'm not hungry."

"You haven't eaten in three days. You haven't slept. You've still got dried blood on the inside of your arm. And, quite frankly, you look like shit."

"I'm fine."

"Skeeter wants a personal interview."

"I'll pass."

"Oh, and you've been awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class. For killing him, and all."

"For killing whom?"

"Well, you know -"

"Tia, the wizard's dead. You can say his name."

"Yes, of course. Anyway, they've got this ceremony thing -"

"Is it mandatory?"

"--near the end of the week. Not set in stone, yet."

A junior assistant gave Tia a vial of purple liquid as he passed. "The best I could do," he called as he ducked into another office.

Tia handed Remus the potion. "Here, take this with your tea. At least you can put sugar in this one."

"Right."

She passed him a few more files and straightened his cloak. "Good luck," she smiled and left him in the anteroom of the Minister's office, where he was soon joined by Press Secretary Freda Weisman and Head of Magical Catastrophes Walter First.

"Freda, Walt," Remus greeted them. Walt acknowledged him with his usual scowl, and Freda with her usual exuberance.

"Well, if it isn't the hero himself?!" Freda exclaimed, adjusting the bright purple hat that sat upon her head. "Always knew we were right in hiring you. Calm and introspective liaison by day, killer of Dark Lords by, well, day, as well."

"You didn't hire me. The Order did."

"Oh look, Walt, he's grumpy. I don't blame you - there's a pack of wolves just waiting for a statement from the Order. No pun intended."

"Of course not, Freda." He watched as Walt pulled at his robes. The man looked downright nervous.

"Anything we should know about, Walt?" he asked cautiously.

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough."

"Ah! Our hero!" Kingsley Shaklebolt walked into the anteroom and slapped Remus on the back. "You look like hell, mate."

Remus looked his friend over, and grinned meekly at the healing cut on the side of Kingsley's face and the beard that had passed its five o'clock shadow phase at least three days ago. "Yes, well, glad to see you looking worse. Any word from the Resistance?"

"Just a few, actually. Wish I were heading to Berlin as soon as this political mumbo is over. I have to say - I'm beginning to wish I was on the other side of the desk. Though," he pointed to the cut on his face with a grin, "I do try to get out as often as the position allows."

Remus smiled awkwardly and looked to the floor.

"Everyone here? Ah, not quite. Hello, Remus, how are you feeling this evening?" Chief of Staff Aubrey Bagnold entered the anteroom with her usual rush of nervous energy and importance. "We're all very proud of you. Very proud. Did you hear about the parade?"

"Parade?" Walt asked, taking a break from his nervous fidgeting.

"Yes, a parade in honor of the Strong Seven."

"Strong Seven?" Freda asked, her eyes beaming. "Why, that's brilliant!"

"Yes, well, we considered the Super Seven, and the Saintly Seven, but -"

"Is it mandatory?" Remus asked, unconsciously taking a step away from the Chief of Staff. He was beginning to feel a bit nauseous.

She laughed heartily, "Oh, Remus, don't be silly. Oh, what a day. Too bad we can't celebrate. Much to do, much to do. How are things around the world, Kingsley?"

"You're asking the wrong person, Aubrey. I've been a bit busy, you know. Isn't that your job?"

"So it is, isn't it. Had a nasty argument with the Norwegian Minister this morning. Seems all the DEs are escaping to his country, and how dare we allow it. I must say, he doesn't and won't know the half of it. Thank Merlin. Poor Germany's overrun, I'm afraid."

"The League was dispatched to Germany this morning. It won't be overrun for long," Kingsley assured her. He had started pacing up and down the anteroom, nervous, anxious. Kingsley Shaklebolt was not a man made for waiting and diplomacy. Which made him perfect for his job.

Remus bit the side of his cheek. He had his own opinion of the Dark Force Defense League, and it was not of good color. This was mainly due to the fact that one member had allowed press onto the battlefield that evening after all had been said and done. He would have to speak with Kingsley about it in private before the night was over ...

"In any case, at least we don't have to worry about the Magical States anymore. The Minister just returned from there not long ago. Don't know how he's doing it, really." Her eyes darted to her fellow co-workers, trying to attain some knowledge as to how each of them were dealing with the news.

Kingsley made a small sound in the back of his throat. Remus looked away. He didn't want to think about it now. He didn't want to deal with it. None of them had really had time to sit back and understand ...

Kingsley peeked his head out into the hallway. "Here they come."

"Who?" Walt was absently thumbing through a file of red papers, no doubt covering the damage control he was about to discuss with the Minister.

"Larry, Curly, and Moe."

Being the only other Muggle-born witch in the room, Ryana chuckled.

Remus sat down in a chair and stared at the door that led into the anteroom of the "Living Room," as the Minister liked to call it.

And here they came ...

"Their national policy is that -"

"There is no national policy! Eranguia is not a nation!" Lali Wright, Deputy Chief of Staff, threw her hands into the air at Clyde Fischer, Counselor to the Minister. They walked briskly into the room, followed by John Meadows, whose nose was buried in a rather large tome and who seemed to have found his way to the Living Room merely by following the voices of his colleagues. "It's an, an island made from volcanic rock and Muggle Styrofoam drinking cups!"

"A trash dump."

"Precisely."

"A trash dump that has a healthcare policy that could show us a few things about the meaning of the word 'benefit'. It could very well -"

"Cripple a nation that's already suffering from a death rate higher than the last three wars put together."

"No."

"What, what do you mean, no?"

"I mean it like I said it. No."

Lali groaned. "You're not listening!"

"I am listening."

"You're listening, but you're obviously not understanding -"

"No, I'm disagreeing with you. That doesn't mean I'm not listening to you or understanding what you're saying - I'm doing all three at the same time." Clyde grinned and held out his arms to the others in the room. "See? Multi-tasking. Like John."

The Communications Director for the Minister looked up. "What?"

Lali turned on him quickly. "What do you think?"

"I, uh, feel it my duty to ... decline comment at this time. Ask Remus." He returned to his book.

Remus held up his hands, one holding his pain potion, and the other his files. "I'm grumpy."

"That's right," Clyde remarked, sitting himself on an 873 year old antique table and making Aubrey frown. "He's had a rough day. Ask Walt."

"I agree with Clyde."

"Yes!"

"Aubrey?"

"It doesn't matter. The EP will never let it through."

Clyde folded his arms and pouted. "I want all of you to shut up and go away."

Lali grinned. "Why the foul mood?"

"I am in a foul mood, Lali, because, while the rest of the world opens their bottles of champagne and Butterbeer, and celebrates the death of You Know Who in the streets, I'm sitting in here with you people at 9:00 at night, without my party shoes, and with the knowledge that the war is very far from over."

"Ah," John said, looking up from his book. "The bliss of ignorance and the dagger of knowledge."

"Don't get philosophical on us, John," Lali warned. "I'll have to send you to the Headmaster's office again."

John almost brightened. "Well, I must say that I've been suffering from LDW for far too long."

"LDW?" Kingsley asked.

"Lemon Drop Withdrawal," said Clyde. "Our John has quite an affinity for acronyms."

"Yes, well, it's in my job description."

"More like the job description of anyone who works within one hundred metres from this room," Aubrey countered. She glanced at the grandfather clock across the room.

"John, you're looking a little poorer today. I wonder what it is," Walt said, looking up from his red parchments.

Freda grinned. "Yes! I knew it!" She clapped her hands together. "You lost the bet with Longbottom?"

"Heard you lost quite a few Galleons on that one, John. Such a pity," Aubrey tsked. "I hope you haven't lost your sense of humor."

"I'll have you know that my ego is as bloated as it's ever been, thank you very much," John said. "It's not like I've pulled an LB, or anything. I've more than the means to compensate Mr. Longbottom with his stakes."

"Ludo Bagman," Clyde told Kingsley before he could ask. He turned to Remus. "Remus, I feel as though I should be bowing in front of you, or something. Or putting a crown of ... something on your head."

"Yes, I was just thinking the same thing," John said. "Shouldn't there be some sort of feast ... at least a day off -"

"John, he's a werewolf. Not a hobbit," Walt snapped.

"Perhaps a full moon alone with Rita Skeeter, then. Bet you'd like to bite her head off."

Remus frowned. John was always a bit off color. But Remus appreciated the sentiment. He certainly was not miffed by the werewolf jokes - he'd been hearing them since he'd taken over Arthur Weasley's job as Ministry Liaison to the Order. The Senior Staff had certainly earned their right to tease after the hell through which the press had dragged all of them because of his lycanthrope. The jokes actually made him feel more comfortable, in an odd sort of way.

He created a mental picture of the Senior Staff bowing before him every morning as he walked to his office, John greeting him with a cup of tea, Lali taking his cloak. He suddenly felt a bit lighter of heart.

Lali turned to the press secretary. "Change the subject. Quickly."

Freda crossed her arms. "Read an interesting article by Lyle Lovegood this morning -"

"Ah, yes, the prodigal investigative journalist himself. Met him the other day. I have to say, he was really quite charming."

Lali scoffed. "Clyde, you thought the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom was 'quite charming.'"

"He is!"

"Chyeah! Charmingly cheap."

"He's a Muggle."

"That's no excuse to refuse to fund an army that's protecting his own people."

"He coughed it up eventually."

John finally looked up from his book. "I'm dating his daughter."

Everyone stopped their activities. They eyed each other and then John. Even Kingsley stopped his pacing. An odd silence fell.

Freda's cheeks went bright red. She spluttered a moment, and then finally seemed to find her words. "You're dating the Prime Minister's daughter?"

"I didn't know he had a daughter," Kingsley frowned.

"No. I'm dating Lyle Lovegood's daughter."

Silence.

Walt blinked a few times. Lali's mouth was beginning to form a large grin. Clyde looked to Remus to make sure the Order's liaison had heard this bit of information correctly.

Remus finally spoke up. "Luna?"

"Yes. She's quite funny. Very smart. She can walk on her hands without magic. And she can read upside down."

"But isn't she half your age?"

"Eight years, four months, six days." He went back to reading.

Freda marched up to him and pushed down his book. "Who knows about this?"

John shrugged. "Well, I'm pretty sure the neighbors heard us the other night -"

"John Allen Meadows!" Lali lightly slapped the back of his head.

"What? It's perfectly legal!"

"But with Lyle Lovegood's daughter?" Freda brought her hands to her face. "What are the press going to say about this?" She gasped. "That must be what Rita was talking about when she'd mentioned a member of the Minister's staff and a clandestine love affair. I thought she was just trying to beef me up."

"She's one of our best fighters," Remus spoke up. "Freda, leave it be."

At that moment, Joy Bradbury, assistant to the Minister, opened the door to the Living Room and eyed them with a sad smile. "The Minister will see you now."

After leaving their wands in a designated box just outside the door, the eight staff members quietly filed into the spacious office.

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

She was laying on her back, watching the lights swirl and dance on the ceiling and listening to the rain outside her window. Sirens and pitter patters and soft even breaths. She wasn't due back to the Ministry for another hour - hopefully, by that time, the intercepted DE message would be deciphered and she would not have to wait around Auror Headquarters where she would be asked questions she was not yet ready to answer.

And where she might run into Remus.

A large, rough hand caressed the exposed skin between her t-shirt and her cargo pants, and Nymphadora Tonks smiled. She turned to the man laying next to her and found large hazel eyes watching her.

"I didn't want to wake you," she whispered, brushing back a lock of blonde hair from his forehead. She kissed his cheek.

He pulled her closer to him with a sleepy sigh and Tonks felt drunk with his warmth and smell. "Missed you," he said, his voice hoarse with sleep.

"I miss you, too."

"The cat peed on the sofa again."

"I smelled."

"Did you get hurt?"

"No," she lied.

"Did you catch the bad guys?"

A sad smile. "Yeah. A few."

He rubbed his bare feet against hers and wrapped his arm around her waist. "Will you stay the night?"

"I can't." She burrowed into his bare chest. "Got to go back soon."

"Won't be making my concert, then?" he asked, with a trace of hurt feelings.

She breathed in. "Oh, love, I'm so sorry. I completely forgot."

"No worries," he kissed her forehead. "I'll just dedicate all of my songs to the cat."

Tonks laughed. "Please don't. I'll make it up to you."

"After the war," he said, in a grim, rehearsed way. She had made several rain checks with him that were due to be returned 'after the war.' "Is it almost over, then? I can't make a living writing songs if my muse keeps going off and almost getting herself killed."

"I thought it might be, but ... no."

"My mum wants to meet you."

"Did you tell her I was a witch?"

"Yeah. And then I made out with Anna Kournikova."

Tonks groaned. "Must we go over this again? It is quite possibly the most boring sport I have ever slept through. I insist you find someone else to infatuate over. It's utterly ridiculous."

He grinned. "You're just still embarrassed from falling down the stairs in front of all of those people."

Tonks looked at him skeptically. "Love, I've been falling down stairs all my life. It's never caused me to hate a game as much as I hate the Muggle game of tennis." She pushed him away and clumsily untangled the sheets from her legs. "Besides, she's not even very good."

He playfully rolled on top of her, pinning her to the bed. "But they've got all these little skirts and they're jumping up and down and it's almost rhythmic -"

"STOP! Stop!" She laughed, grabbed a pillow and slapped it against his head. "Fine, don't tell your mummy. However, I feel it my duty to inform you that we Blacks have a very old, ancient policy when it comes to Muggle men."

"It doesn't involve raping and pillaging, does it?"

"Well, I suppose it is actually a very recent policy. Perhaps not ancient, but still very important and practical. Mother-in-laws are bad enough without them not knowing that their future grandchildren will likely end up witches or wizards."

"So if I tell her, you'll marry me?"

"No."

"Yep. Didn't think so." He sighed and then began leaving a trail of wet kisses down her throat. "Oh my little Nymph," he murmured into her neck. "Don't leave me alone. I couldn't bear it."

"Will you write a song about it?" she sighed, arching her back against his touch.

"About what?"

"About how you can't live without me."

He scratched his nose and flopped down next to her. "All right."

"I might marry you then."

"Really?"

"Maybe."

"I'll cook you omelets every morning. And we'll read boring newspapers and go to dinner with boring friends and argue about mortgages."

"I don't like your omelets. You always burn them."

And she wanted to lie there forever, with his hands wandering and with her aching back on the soft mattress and sheets, so warm and simple and fresh. Where shouts didn't ring in the back of her head, and the names of curses and jinxes didn't flow through her mind a mile a minute. Just the rain and his breaths on her chest and the smell of his shampoo.

She should have known it wouldn't last long.

Dumbledore's voice was coming from the next room, the only room in the flat with a fireplace.

A groan, and a strong arm wrapped around her. "No, no, love. It's just the cat. It's only the cat."

"You crazy bastard, let me go."

"STUPID CAT!" he yelled. "Shut it!"

She swatted him away and then quick pitter patter of feet to the living room, where the wizard's head was poking from the fireplace, flames licking his worn face.

"Sorry to bother you, Miss Tonks, but I'm afraid I need you to take a trip for me."

"Where? When?"

"Little Whinging, Surrey. As soon as you can."

End Chapter Three.