Omnia Mors Perimit

He knows that he shouldn't even be here. It's far too risky. And what if someone sees him coming out of the front door? Or's seen him going in? He should not have come. He should go now, at least. She has freshened up his drink once more, it'd be totally rude to leave now, but this is the last one. Definitely.

He likes her flat. It's comfortable, a real home. He can see that she's done her best to clean up, but she's certainly no housekeeper. On the surface, she's tried to tidy up, but on a closer look, one can see the inconsistency. There are red wine stains on the couch that she's tried to cover with cushions. The ficus on the windowsill is simply dead. She's obviously taken down some posters, there are shadows on the walls showing their former places, that she has replaced with some tasteful art prints. Not a single piece of furniture matches another. She has wiped over the obvious surfaces, but forgotten the upper sides of the picture frames, chandeliers, lamps, books. The curtains have never been washed before, they're drinking wine out of old mustard jars, the grandfather clock in the corner doesn't run clockwise. It's totally charming.

And so is the inhabitant, isn't she? She's chatting away, so lively, so careless. He could listen to her forever, just rattling along, about her colleagues, about Quidditch, about her work, about her mother, about the Weird Sisters concert she's been to last month. Everything about her is easy-going and light, still she's not superficial. It must be her age, possibly. She's not twenty-four yet, practically a child. Well, nearly a child still. Or that's what he keeps telling himself anyway.

"We could meet at Headquarters tomorrow, if you'll like. I reckon Sirius would enjoy some company."

"He'd surely do, but I can't. The others are getting too suspicious if I'm away so often. But you should go if you've got time. It'd do him good if he's not alone so often."

"I guess he prefers your company though. He's lucky to have a friend like you."

He bites his lip. "I'm afraid I'm not the friend I ought to be for him though... He's going crazy in that wretched house, you know."

"Who wouldn't? It's awful!" She laughs sardonically. "It's like in one of those gothic tales! I wouldn't be surprised to see a skeleton coming out of the closet."

"There are lots of skeletons buried in the closets of that house. Did you ever meet your aunt while she was still alive?"

"Are you kidding? Course not! But her painting's giving a good picture how she must have been in life. It's a miracle that Sirius has become the man he is, in a house like that!"

She has poured more wine without him noticing. Alas! They toast and he checks his pocket watch. "I got to get up very early tomorrow -"

She makes a funny face. "Yah, I know... Pity. It's so nice, ain't it?"

"Absolutely! I didn't mean to - I'd much rather stay and talk to you than return to sleep in a damp cave - now that came out wrong... I'm truly enjoying myself, I am -"

She beams at him. "Now that's excellent! Come, let's just finish the bottle, it's already late anyhow."

Her nose changes, but she doesn't give the impression that she's doing it on purpose. He's often noticed that with her, mostly when she's excited. Apparently six glasses of wine can have the same effect. He sometimes gets the notion that she - well, he doesn't mean to sound arrogant... But sometimes he thinks she likes him. Likes him more than, say, Sirius, for an instance. But that's just a presumption, and a very daring presumption, too. Unfair, to impute on her something like this, when she only means to be kind. She wants to demonstrate that she doesn't mind him being a werewolf, that's the point. He mustn't mistake her kindness and openness for fancy.

Speaking of the wine - god, his drinking days are long over. He feels more than just slightly tipsy, and more adventurous than he can afford. He's never been the type for flirtation; as a matter of fact, he hasn't got a faint idea what to do if he wanted to flirt with a girl. He's always kept away from women, in this respect at least. He's not dating, he's not flirting, he's not coming any closer than a handshake. He is a goddamned werewolf!

Only that right now, he finds himself constantly smiling at this girl, stammering how pleasant he finds her company. He forces himself to draw his gaze away from her and make the tenth remark on her flat instead. She smiles back - don't look at her, don't look at her, man!

He drains his glass as quickly as he can and gets to his feet, trying hard not to sway. "I'm so sorry, Tonks, but I really got to -"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I know. Another time, eh?"

Another time...? She walks him to the door, and before he knows what's happening, she's hugging him, brushing a kiss on each of his cheeks. She's letting go and makes an awkward movement. "My grandmother's been French, you know?"

He's petrified, rooted to the spot, and racks through his brains to come up with some line. Anything. Just say something, idiot! Do not stare at her! What did she just say about her grandmother? She tilts her head and adds, "Actually, the French do three kisses."

"Do they?" His voice is a rasp, but he still doesn't pull away.

"Indeed, they do -" She moves closer and brushes a kiss on the side of his mouth, and since he's not putting up any resistance, she reaches out for his neck and pulls him closer to kiss his lips now. He's not kissing her back, he doesn't move away either... Perhaps it's her Gryffindor streak, but she summons all her courage and kisses him for real. It's feeling weird, but not bad, not bad at all. His stubble tickles her chin, her cheeks, she can smell the wine in his breath, can taste it on his lips. He is amiably shy, not grabbing her, not urging her, not sticking his tongue in her mouth - not like the guys in her own age. Her heart makes a leap when he lifts his hands to cup her face; he moves his head away from her, she opens her eyes, finding him look straight at her -

"We must not do this," he whispers, but she doesn't take him serious. This is too good too stop, so she mouths a 'no' and makes him laugh.

She chuckles, too. "Hey Mister, I've been pining for you for too long to let you go just like that."

He laughs even harder, their gazes locked. "Pining?"

"Yeah!"

"For me?"

"Yeah! And if you say one more time that you've got to get up early, I won't let you leave at all!"

"That's supposed to be a threat, right?"

He does not run out of the flat with some fake excuses like he should. Instead they go back to her living room and make themselves comfortable on the couch, snogging. Gee, the last time he's kissed a girl - when was that? The night when he graduated from Hogwarts... Yeah, he's been snogging with Debra Withers then. Just that he wasn't half as nervous. Can it be possible that he hasn't kissed a woman in the last twenty years?! Little wonder he's nervous!

She sniggers when he tells her this. "I feel extremely honoured that you're making an exception for me!"

He doesn't tell her how honoured he feels, honoured and puzzled. The voice in his head telling him to grab his coat and run for it becomes more and more timid; he knows, tomorrow it will yell at him for being so careless, but he doesn't give a damn now. She feels so good under his hands; her warmth, her tenderness, her liveliness make his heart race. Tomorrow's another day.