Pandora Culpa

Sirius is gone, and all that remains is to forgive oneself. Between saying goodbye and finding peace is a moment that hangs like a fly in amber, frozen, and reminds us that we're still here.

“One mistake!” he snarled, taking a step forward and raising one hand. “One mistake is all it would take. The werewolf doesn’t think like we do, Tonks, it doesn’t care that you’re my friend, or that you’re young and happy and filled with life…” He looked away from her suddenly to stare into the trees, his profile etched in angry relief against the wooded backdrop. Taking a deep breath, he raised his eyes to her again. “And so I can’t allow you around me on any more full moons.”

The Wolfsbane Potion, while a blessing, is not a panacea. Dosages must be constantly adjusted, strengthened, and the potion becomes a thread to hold in the raging current of the Werewolf. It will snap one day… but you prefer not to think about it. Fear and hope twine in Remus and Tonks' future.

He hadn’t exactly lived a wild life, but compared to his present Spartan existence it had been absolutely debauched. That was back when he still drank in the pubs with his coworkers, and when he could still sleep through the night. He still had all his body parts then, too. Some had even called him attractive. It was drinking with his mates in the pub that had changed everything. Because everything changed the night that he met her. ``Alastor Moody was once not the paranoid man he is today. And he must forever live with the consequences of that.

Much later that evening, Tonks found herself wondering what Rosmerta had slipped into her drink to give her a case of temporary insanity. What else explained why she was shivering and wet, on her hands and knees on a frozen pond, and staring down a werewolf over a stretch of broken ice with her wand somewhere at the bottom of said pond? - What should be an evening of fun abruptly becomes far less amusing...

A follow up to Alexandrite. Tonks takes Remus out to dinner to thank him for her gift, but the evening may be more than he bargained for.

It was the little things that bothered him. Both in life, and in loss. (Character death)

No matter how rare an occurrence, the Ministry of Magic never overlooks that birth of a Metamorphmagus. There is special schooling to be arranged, for the young changeling must be taught at an early age to resist the temptations inherent in their ability. At eight-years-old, Nymphadora Tonks must begin to learn what it is to be true to one's own principles, and how to carve an identity out of the infinitely malleable material that is herself.

In her dreams, they were always together in the moonlight... and of course, that couldn't be. A short ficlet, wherein Nymphadora dreams awake.

When Remus is awoken in the night, he finds a curious sight in the living room of 12 Grimmauld Place- an unlikely dancer with an even more unlikely partner. He mercifully intervenes... Short and coffee-flavoured.

The little package, neatly wrapped in plain brown paper had been sitting on his desk for weeks, while he had been steadfastly ignoring it. It was a gift, one that he had spent an inordinate amount of time selecting and could ill afford, and it was well over a week since the intended recipient’s birthday had come and gone. ``Remus confonts a realization within himself as he sets out to deliver a birthday gift to a friend. A companion piece to Between the Bars and The Hunt.

Minute sounds reached his sensitive ears as he loped steadily down the game trail, but he paid no mind to the small stirrings of night creatures. The scent that drew him was far too tantalizing for him to concern himself with play. That tang, wafting lazily on a barely perceptible breeze, summoned him with a call that was second only to that of his cold mistress in the sky. He couldn’t have ignored it, had he even desired to do so.``He stopped in a small clearing, nostrils flaring as he sucked in the air. There was a hint of furtiveness to her aroma; she was hiding. Tongue lolling, the wolf seemed to grin as his golden eyes flicked across the undergrowth. Somewhere, she was out there. And he would find her.

Once, the three of them had been inseparable and invincible. But for whatever cruel reasoning, the Fates had decreed that old Atropos cut the cord that had held him threaded through their lives. Without him, they were incomplete. He wondered, not for the first time, if it had been himself who had died, would she have grieved him so fiercely? Would he have? One is gone, the two who remain have only each other for comfort. A short, bittersweet story of how they abide.

She chewed her lower lip nervously as she stared at the front door of the simple cottage before her. She had wanted to do this, wheedled and outright begged for the duty, but here she was, standing indecisively practically on his doorstep. For a moment the thought of abandoning the plan teased at her. ``Tonks takes her turn at standing vigil during Remus' monthly transformation...only she has no intention of following the rules. This is what happens the first time anyone other than the Marauders cares enough to spend a full moon night with the werewolf.