Consequences

Chapter 8: Secrets

The building was once a Muggle hotel, that’s what they tell me, although, from the seedy shops and the leering alcoholics in this street, I would have guessed an old brothel. But perhaps it was a hotel sometime in its past. To the average Muggle walking by, it is just another boarded up wreck in the seediest part of Soho, strewn with rubbish and plastered with posters for the newest West End shows and the perviest Soho sex shops.

But, since reading the slip of parchment in front of me, it has transformed. The boarded windows are now curtained, the rubbish has vanished and the paper-covered door, is now solid black with a polished brass knob. I tap the knob with my wand, the door swings inward, and warm light floods out into the street. The interior is welcoming, and homely. There is a large polished desk with slots for keys on the wall behind it, a small lounge area, a staircase winding it’s way up to the various rooms, and a corridor that disappears behind the desk. There is music wafting down from upstairs, Celestina Warbeck singing a pretty song about the love of a young wizard for a Selkie girl.

There doesn’t appear to be anyone here, so I wander down to the end of the corridor and, much to my surprise, find myself in what looks very much to be a pub. There’s a large bar in one corner, several scrubbed wood tables, chairs and benches, a few armchairs and the odd settee scattered about. A huge stone fireplace takes up almost and entire wall, and in its hearth an old iron tea kettle floating over the flames begins to whistle loudly.

‘Kettle!’ shrieks a voice, and a figure I had not seen earlier leaps over the bar, and skids to a halt on the rug before the fire. Ginger hair falls in his face as he spins around to face me. ‘Oh, hey, Tonks.’

‘George.’

‘Tonks?’ An identical head pops up from behind the bar.

‘Wotcher, Fred. What are you two up to?’

‘Up to?’

‘Up to?’ Fred runs his hand through his hair. Ah ha, nervous Weasley habit.

‘Shocked ...’ George clasps his hand to his chest.

‘Hurt, really.’

‘What makes you think we were up to anything?’

‘We’re just making tea.’ Fred glances frantically about for a moment, pulls the teapot off a shelf and rummages around in the cupboard behind the bar for some tea. He finds it, bungs some in the pot, and leaps back just in time, as George sends the steaming kettle hurtling toward him.

Sliding down in a chair at the table nearest the fire,I stretch my feet out toward the flames, taking in the room. It’s very nice ... and somewhat familiar.

‘I think I’ve been here before.’

‘You probably have,’ George answers, sitting down opposite me.

‘We modelled it after the Hag and Hornet in ...’

‘South End.’

‘See, she knows it too.’

‘Just a little hole-in-the-wall place, but I swear everyone we know has been there.’ Fred ambles over to the table with the tea tray.

‘Your version is a bit ... a lot, cleaner though.’

‘Should hope so.’

‘But why a pub?’

‘Mum and Agnetha were here all weekend getting this place sorted.’

‘Tea?’

‘Sure.’ Fred pours tea into a large floral mug and pushes it toward me.

‘We asked how we could help,’ continues George, accepting a mug of tea from his brother.

‘And she put us in charge of the dining room.’

‘And so, we took charge of the ...’

‘Dining room,’ they say together.

I have to laugh.

‘Mum was a bit put out at first. It was a poncy formal dining room.’

‘But we’ve tweaked it.’

‘Just a little ... and now it’s ...’

‘Well, it’s growing on her.’

‘Just thought we might like a place to relax, after doing battle with Dark wizards.’

‘A place you can put your feet up.’ At that George leans back in his chair and puts his boots up on the table. Dragon hide boots. Purple.

‘Has Charlie seen those?’ I just have to ask.

‘Shit, is he here already?’ He immediately pulls his boots down.

‘Is he coming?’

‘Supposed to be,’ Fred pulls up the chair beside me. ‘Said he’d be here around seven.’

‘We’d better transfigure our boots before he gets here. Don’t want to be on the receiving end of another of his, ‘looks much better on the dragon’ lectures. Cornered us for three hours after he saw our jackets. Thought we’d never escape. Punched Fred in the nose.’

‘Yeah, but that wasn’t for the jacket, mate, that was for the ...’ Fred makes a gesture toward his crotch. ‘The itching thing ... ah, stuff.’

George snorts tea out of his nose at the memory. ‘Yeah, right. I’d’ve punched you too.’

They’re making me laugh inspite of myself. ‘So who else is coming tonight?’

‘Well Gred.’

‘Forge.’

‘Bill, Charlie, Remus, Emmeline, Dung, and Madame Pomfrey.’

‘Poppy,’ George corrected.

‘Right, we’re supposed to call her Poppy now.’ He makes a face. ‘Weird, that.’

I never quite got used that one myself.

‘Oh, and Mum’s here, of course.’

‘Dad says he might come.’

‘But we doubt it.’ George shakes his head. ‘Far too busy.’

‘Tell you what you should do.’ Fred turns to me.

‘What’s that?’

‘Should go and pick out a room, before all the good ones are taken. Meeting tomorrow night so it’ll be a full house by then.’

‘That’s a very good idea.’

‘Don’t want to get stuck with the smallest room again, do you?’

‘No, not really.’

**

I choose one of the two rooms on the top floor. The other room, I think, belongs to Remus; there’s a note on the door addressed to him from Molly asking what he would like for breakfast in the morning. I’m glad it’s him; there aren’t many Order members I’d rather share a bathroom with.

My room has slanted ceilings, a double bed yey, a nice size wardrobe, and, most importantly, room to swing a cat. Don’t actually need to swing a cat, but it’s nice to have that option. It also has a decent sized window with a pretty view of the London skyline. Pretty, as long as I don’t look down. If I look down I get a view of the alley and that man peeing against the skip.

Dropping my rucksack on the floor, I sit down on my newly acquired bed. It is soft and comfortable and doesn’t squeak at all. Perfect. Even the counterpane is pink. Made for me. I unpack my things. I have the next four days off work so my life belongs to the Order.

Taking care to knock on door I enter the bathroom and deposit my flannel, soap, toothpaste and toothbrush. I’ll have to remember to knock every time.

Make tea, sit on my bed, fluff pillows, sip tea and open the newest book by Molly Malone -The Blacksmith’s Daughter. I left it at Mum and Dad’s months ago. In fact until Mum gave it to me on Saturday morning I’d completely forgotten I had it.

There’s a knock at my door.

Bugger.

‘Mum asked me to fetch you, supper’s ready.’ Bill’s voice comes from the other side of the door.

‘Thanks, but I’m not hungry,’ I reply. There’s a pause.

‘I don’t think that’s an acceptable answer. Do you want her to come up here with a tray?’

‘No.’

‘Well, she’s in a mood. She’s looking for someone to take care of. Her boys and Remus have all put her off, so a sad little witch alone in her room would be a perfect candidate.’ I can hear the amusement in his voice, that was a threat; I drop my head into my hands.

‘I’m coming.’ Begrudgingly I slide off my nice, soft, pink, bed, open the door and follow Bill down the stairs.

‘Charlie’s here,’ he says, looking at me, gauging my reaction.

‘I know. The twins told me he was coming.’

Bill nods. ‘Is that why you weren’t coming to dinner?’

‘No.’ Yes.

‘Good.’

Well dinner certainly smells delicious. We enter the pub, to find a large polished dining table has been set in the middle of the room and everyone is already seated. I sit between Bill and the wall. Charlie is across from me and over one.

The urge to run away is nearly overwhelming, as is the urge to curl up in his lap and go to sleep.

I don’t think the latter would go over very well though. Not with Molly sitting beside him. She’s fussing over a newly acquired bandage on his hand, and offering to cut up his meat. He will, of course, snap soon. He gives me a pleading look and rolls his eyes.

I just smile back with a shrug, and start filling my plate; roast pork, applesauce, roast potatoes, vegetables and gravy. ‘What did you do to your hand Charlie?’ I ask.

‘It’s from an egg of a Northumberland Fire Eater. Really rare. They’re piping hot when they’re new. Takes them a few days to cool down. The nest we found this morning must have been brand new, cause it burnt right through my glove. I’m fine though,’ he says firmly, looking at his mother as he does so, then glancing down the table at Madam Pomfrey. ‘Poppy, tell her I’m fine.’

‘He’s fine, Molly. In a couple of days there won’t even be a mark.’

‘See. Mum, stop. I can cut my own damn meat!’

‘Charlie, language.’ Molly scolds.

‘Sorry,’ Charlie says vaguely to the table.

We eat our meal in relative silence, simply because the food is just too good to warrant much need for conversation. Have I eaten anything today? Don’t think so, although I did have about six cups of coffee at the staff meeting this morning.

Dinner is finished and the plates are cleared, Molly chooses Fred and Charlie to help her with the washing up and the rest of us move the comfortable furniture into a nice little seating arrangement around the fireplace. George and Bill bring up big jugs of steaming butterbeer and plates of tarts and biscuits. Picking a jam tart from amongst the rest, I and filling my mug to the brim I take a seat beside Remus on the settee closest to the fire.

I am relieved when Emmeline sits beside me. Soon she and I are locked in our usual conversation; complaining about the Ministry, the absolute incompetence of Fudge and which officials have joined the crusade to have him sacked this week. Really, he can’t last for much longer. We pause sporadically to swoon over Molly’s incredible tarts. Remus adds his two Knuts and soon we pull him into the conversation as well. Bill brings a footstool up by the settee and sits with his back to the hearth. I should have thought of that, it would be a bit warmer, but short of sitting in Emmeline’s lap this is the closest I am going to get to the fire now.

‘God, are you on that again?’ Bill rolls his eyes at us. ‘Every time you two get together ...’

‘We’ll get off the topic when that prat is officially sacked.’ Emmeline smiles at him.

‘Well don’t think it’ll be long now. Have you heard who’ll replace him?’

‘Scrimgeour’s name is being bounced about.’ I tell him. ‘We could do worse. He’s a competent leader. But he’s no friend of the Order, no friend of Dumbledore.’

Charlie and Fred return sometime later with Molly. Instead of taking the empty armchair on the opposite side of the table, Charlie sinks to the floor at my feet and leans back against my legs, letting his head fall back into my lap in feigned exhaustion.

‘So what are you all chatting about, politics?’

‘Something like that,’ Bill answers his brother in rather a cold voice. Of course, Bill would know by now, wouldn’t he? Bill and Jon are mates. Were mates. I hope what I’ve done hasn’t changed that.

Dung stands and stretches, pats his robes with a handkerchief, where he’s dribbled Butterbeer all down his front, and announces to the room that he is leaving. Has an appointment in Worthing and just can’t be late. Secretly I know everyone in the room is checking the weight of their purses just to make sure nothing’s missing. I know Molly will have already locked up the silver.

‘Night, Dung,’ we call, as he leaves the room. A loud crack is heard as he Disapperates in the corridor.

‘I should be going as well,’ Emmeline says, standing. Charlie scrambles to his feet so she doesn’t have to step over him. ‘Thank you Molly for a lovely dinner. It was nice seeing you all again. Especially you Charlie, we don’t see nearly enough of you.’

‘I’ll be around a bit more often now, Emmeline.’

She smiles broadly at him and he winks at her. She moves out of the room stopping only briefly to exchange a few words with Poppy.

Charlie takes her seat.

The closeness of him in this room full of people, people I know, people I work with, is making me so uncomfortable. It’s odd really. I can be with him, take off my clothes, give myself to him; share that connection, but having him here in this room with these people, close enough so his scent fills my nostrils, close enough to feel the heat from his body, is making my skin crawl, is making all the hair on the back of my neck stand up. He doesn’t belong here. He’s not part of this world of mine . He’s one of my secrets. I’d really like to keep him that way.

Charlie leans closer to me, his hand comes to rest on my knee. Out of the corner of my eye I see Bill stiffen. I wish I were anywhere but here. His fingers trace my kneecap as he talks and jokes with the twins, something about their newest member of staff, Verity, and how long she’ll manage to live up to her name now that she’s in their employ. They’re lucky Molly isn’t listening.

His touch isn’t really intrusive, more friendly than sexual, and ten years ago I would have thought nothing of it. But not tonight. Tonight, I find myself shifting away, moving closer to the safety of the man on my right.

Remus knows. I told him, didn’t I? Told him what I did, how I ruined my relationship with Jon. Now Charlie is here, beside me, grinning at me every few minutes; touching me. What would Remus think of me if he knew about last Saturday? But I think I know. If Remus knew about Saturday he would be so disappointed in me.

‘Isn’t that right, Tonks?’ I hear Bill say.

‘Sorry, what?

‘There’s talk at the Ministry of assigning Aurors to the village to give extra protection to the school. That Hogsmeade isn’t as safe as it used to be.’

‘Yeah, I’ve heard that.’ I nod.

‘Why?’ Fred moves closer to our conversation, sinking to the floor before the fire.

‘Families aren’t all that keen on sending their children away to school next year,’ Remus answers quietly, staring into the crackling flames. I lean closer to him, his solid warmth reassuring.

‘I’d think the children would be safer at school. Safer with Dumbledore.’

‘Some don’t see it that way.’ Molly says, shaking her head and setting two more jugs of Butterbeer down on the coffee table.

‘Who?’ Fred again.

‘Those who sent their families away last time, only to lose them anyway. Those who think Dumbledore’s time has passed. Parents of Muggle-borns.’

‘I hadn’t thought about them,’ Charlie says, reaching for a chocolate biscuit, ‘must be hardest for them.’

‘Spent a few hours chatting with Mrs Granger this past week,’ Molly continues, ‘convinced her that Hermione will be safer at school. She’ll be coming to us for a bit over the summer as well.’

Bill nods his approval. The twins elbow each other and Fred whispers something that makes George laugh. Molly ignores them. The clock in the hall chimes eleven o’clock.

Charlie yawns beside me. ‘Think I’m going to go up to bed. Still got owls to send, and I’ve got to get all paperwork in order for tomorrow morning.’

‘Have a good night dear,’ his mother says. ‘Don’t stay up too late.’

‘Try not to.’

‘Night Charlie.’ I whisper.

‘Night, Nymph. I’m in room twelve, if you need ... me.’ Charlie kisses me softly on the forehead and moves away, giving Bill a rather defiant look as he heads past him in the direction of the stairs. ‘Night, everyone.’

‘Goodnight, Charlie.’

And I can breathe again.

Bill is soon distracted, caught up in a disagreement with Molly and the twins as to whether or not their youngest brother, Ron, should be allowed to work for them over summer.

‘Absolutely not,’ Molly was saying.

‘But Mum ...’

‘It’s too dangerous.’

‘It’s Diagon Alley. What could happen?’

‘No. That’s my final answer. If he were of age ... if he could use magic ... it would be different but he can’t, so no.’

Not wanting to get involved with that one, I turn my attention to Remus. He’s leaning back against the settee, his eyes closed. He opens them, after a moment, no doubt aware that I’m looking at him.

‘Long day?’ I ask.

‘A bit, yeah.’

‘I like what the twins have done here, it’s nice.’

‘Tis nice. Very comfortable.’

‘Mmnmm.’ I pull my feet up onto the settee and move closer, leaning back against him.

‘Sofa’s not big enough for you?’

‘Shut up, you’re warm.’

‘So as a reward I get an icy little witch pressed against me?’

‘Yes. Complaining?’

‘No, not really.’ He shivers dramatically and puts an arm around me.

‘Better?’

‘Yes, thanks.’

The Weasley argument seems to be over and Molly has left the room although I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. Bill pours himself another Butterbeer and the twins are getting ready to go home. Fred retrieves a suspicious-looking bag from behind the bar.

‘Well goodnight, Bill, Remus.’ George says, smiling. Night, Nymph,’

Levicorpus.

Bill and Fred are laughing hysterically, but George seems genuinely surprised to be hanging from the ceiling by his ankles.

‘What did you just call me?’ I look up at him menacingly. At least I think it’s menacing; hope so.

‘But ... but... Charlie calls you that all the time,’ he pleads.

‘That’s because Charlie started doing it when I was eleven and I didn’t know the good curses yet. I do now.’ I spin him in circles for a bit. ‘So ... What did you just call me?’

‘Nothing Ma’am ... I mean ... Tonks. Tonks. Sorry, Tonks.’

‘Nymphadora, put the boy down,’ Remus says smiling. I look at him and raise an eyebrow.
‘Oh come on. You wouldn’t do that to an old man?’

‘No, but I’d do it to you.’

George crashes to the floor as I release him, landing with a hard thump, rubbing his head and shoulder.

Fred pulls him to his feet and pats him on the back. ‘Don’t annoy the Auror. Goodnight, Tonks.’ Fred says, deliberately emphasising my name.

Beside me Remus is laughing.

Oh, before I forget, I’ve got something for you.’ He delves into his satchel and produces a small bundle wrapped in a pink silk scarf.

‘What is it?’

‘Sirius left it for you.’

‘For me? I thought ... I thought everything was left to Harry?’

‘It was, all the big things anyway. But there were a few smaller items.’

I take the small bundle from him. Does he want me to open it in front of him? I’m not sure I ...

‘Don’t open it here,’ he says softly, as if reading my thoughts. ‘Take it upstairs with you.’

‘I will. Thank you.’

‘He said she reminded him of you.’

Now I am curious.

‘Night, all,’ I call to the room.

Heads turn in my direction and a chorus of goodnights follows me down the corridor, as I carry the precious little bundle up the stairs and into my bedroom, setting it on the bedside table, while I change into my pyjamas. I fill my mug with water from the tap in the bathroom and heat it with magic. I don’t like doing it this way; I’d prefer to boil a kettle. Don’t think it works as well like this and I swear tea doesn’t taste the same, anyway. I tear open my last two packets of sleeping draft, and add them to the water; it foams and bubbles furiously so I have hope that it is, in fact, working properly.

Last two packets? Seems like I only bought this box the other day.

Holding my mug in both hands I take long sips of the warm liquid and it makes me shiver. My gaze falls to the small pink bundle at my bedside. Sirius left me it. Sirius ... That means he actually thought of me when he rewrote his will last year. It almost makes me smile. Almost ... If I didn’t feel like crying as well.

Sirius left it for me.

I finish my drink, set my mug down and pick up the small bundle. Unwrapping the scarf, I take out a silver music box. It is beautiful. The Black family crest if still visible, if a bit rubbed, in the centre and silver flowers and vines climb all over it. Turning it over gently in my hands, I wind the key and notice the inscription.

To my beloved Antares, my reason, my joy. ~ Daddy.

I set the box back upright and open the lid. A lovely little dancer, immediately springs to life. She dances all around the box. Her robes are iridescent and she seems to be trailing rainbows. What is the name of that song? It’s an old song, a love song, but I can’t for the life of me remember the title. My mother used to hum it.

There’s a small bit of folded parchment in the box, I remove it and carefully unfold it, immediately recognising Sirius’s careful writing:

This box belonged to my great-Gran. She was a nice old bird, you would’ve liked her.
love,
Sirius.

I fold the parchment back up and return it to the box, and find myself lost once more in the lovely movements of the little dancer and her rainbows.

He said she reminded him of you.

Reminded of me? Certainly not the me I saw in the mirror this morning.

Lying down I pick up my book again. Perhaps Ms Malone can distract me until the sleeping potion kicks in.

It is not meant to be, I have only turned the second page when a photograph flutters out from between the pages and falls to my chest. I pick it up and turn it over and am faced with yet another reminder of Sirius. The photo is of the three of us, taken on Christmas night last year. A three-way embrace; me standing between the two boys. I swear they were doing their level best to crush me. Rosy cheeks, paper hats all askew, our glasses raised, laughing like idiots. I remember that night. Loved that night. A couple of games of Cauldron and then the kids went to bed and we switched to trying to build card houses with Snap cards. Molly laughing at us; three rather inebriated revellers trying to balance cards into something that ... well ... at least stood upright. Even with magic it wasn’t working. Then there was the joke. I can’t remember the joke, I only know that it made Remus snort mulled wine and Christmas pudding across the cards and the whole table went up in flames. Sirius fell on the floor laughing and I poured a jug of pumpkin juice on the fire.

I love this photo; miss this photo. Miss him.

If I close my eyes I can still remember how it felt when the curse hit me. I remember the pain shooting outward to my limbs. I remember Bella laughing, and laughing and laughing. Then everything went dark.

He leaves me this beautiful gift, and I ... well ... if it wasn’t for me ...

Fuck. Why isn’t the sleeping draft working?

Did I have two, or just one? Perhaps my theory is right; it doesn’t work as well with water heated by magic.

It’s not working. And I don’t have any more.

I could just go to room number twelve, strip off my clothes and climb into bed with Charlie, fuck him senseless and see if that’ll put me to sleep. What if it doesn’t?

Five minutes, if I’m still awake in five minutes, I’ll head downstairs and see if there are any sleeping draft down there. Perhaps I need to boil a kettle.

Four minutes. Not even yawning.

Three minutes.

All right, I think I’ve waited long enough.

*

The pub is nearly empty when I get downstairs. A solitary figure stands behind the bar, pouring Firewhiskey in to his mug. He runs a hand through his shaggy brown hair and smiles at me as I slide my elbows across the polished surface of the bar, sit down and rest my chin on my hands.

‘Thought you went to bed.’ Remus smiles, removes the cosy from the teapot and adds tea to his mug.

‘I did ... tried to anyway. Can’t sleep.’

‘So you didn’t take Mr Weasley up on his offer then?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Good. Good choice.’

‘Tea?’

‘No, thanks.’

‘What can I get you?’ he asks, gesturing to the selection of bottles around him.

‘Any sleeping draft?’

‘Sleeping draft?’

‘Yeah, if I want to be remotely functional tomorrow, I think I need one.’

‘Hang on, I thought I saw some earlier.’ He rummages around behind the bar for a few minutes. ‘Orange or cranberry?’ he asks finally.

‘Cranberry, please.’

Remus nods and I watch him tear open the little packet, watch the red powder inside fall into the mug watch him summon the kettle from the hearth and pour boiling water over it; watch it fizzle. He pours the rest of the water into the teapot and drops the cosy on it, hands the mug to me and wanders around to my side of the bar, sliding onto the stool beside mine.

‘What have you got there?’ he asks, indicating the photo in my hand. I don’t quite know why I brought it with me; don’t remember doing it.

‘Ah.’ I hand it to him.

His first reaction is to laugh.

‘Brilliant. This is last Christmas.’

‘Yeah, Molly took it, remember? With that ridiculously old camera of Sirius’s.’

‘We look ...’

‘Pissed,’ I offer.

‘I was going to say happy. But pissed’ll do. God ... that was the night ... We set the table on fire.’

‘We?’

‘I was not entirely responsible for that.’

‘What was that joke?’

He shakes his head. ‘No idea.’

Remus slides his arm around me and I lean against his shoulder and we both get lost in the photo. I stare down at the three of us laughing so hard. Remus is the only one with his paper hat on straight, it’s orange and makes him look rather kingly, mine’s purple and falls over my eyebrows and Sirius’s, Sirius’s is pink and ... well, I don’t know how his has remained on his head. He buries his his face in my hair and I watch myself flinch and lean into Remus.

My hand automatically moves up to my ear. I swear I can almost feel Sirius’s beard prickling my skin there, still hear his laughter in my ear; it makes me shiver.

Remus kisses my temple. ‘That was a cracking night.’ He laughs, giving my shoulder a squeeze.

‘Fabulous night,’ I agree, trying to stifle the urge to burst into tears. He looks down at me.

‘Now, don’t you start. None of that. This is a happy memory.’

‘I know.’ I draw my breath in deeply. ‘Can’t help it.’

He grins at me. ‘You do that, I’ll be forced to do this.’

I shriek and leap sideways as his hands move to my sides and I’m suddenly a victim of unscrupulous tickling.

‘Bastard!’ But I’m laughing, and so is he, and looking at him now, it’s the first time I’ve seen him look like himself in weeks.

The smile on his face makes me feel a thousand times better.

Eyeing him warily, I return to my seat. He makes a sudden movement toward me again as I sit which nearly has me flying backward again.

‘Nervous?’ He smiles.

‘Oh, shut up.’

I drain the rest of my mug and cover my mouth with both hands as I yawn. Yawn?

Fabulous.

My eyes are getting heavy and I’ve got that lovely cloudy feeling you only get from sleeping draft; like your head is stuffed with cotton wool.

‘Well, I think this is starting to work.’ I nod to my empty mug, trying desperately not to yawn again, and failing miserably. ‘I’d better go up to bed.’

‘Probably time for me to head up as well. I’ve got some writing to do before I go to sleep.’

‘Sorry, did I keep you ...’

‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘Not at all.’

‘Go on.’ He nods in the direction of the door. ‘I’ll look after the fire and the lights.’
Sliding off the stool I give his hand a parting squeeze, stand on my toes and kiss his cheek.

‘Goodnight, Remus.’

‘Goodnight.’

*

All right, I probably should’ve just taken the my mug up to my room. I can barely keep my eyes open anymore and my feet seem to get heavier with every step. Look right silly if I fell asleep on the stairs, wouldn’t I?

There’s a ringing in my ears that doesn’t seem to want to go away; it’s getting louder. Why are the lights so bright? They seem to float down into the stairs and suddenly everything’s moving. Why is everything moving? Spinning. Faster. Shit, that can’t be good.

Pain shoots through me as I feel my knees hit the stair. I try to grab for the banister but it slips through my fingers and my hands smack down on the steps in front of me.

Then I hear hurried footsteps and a voice. ‘Nymphadora, are you all right?’

Remus.

‘Nymphadora?’

But I can’t answer him, I’m too tired. Instead, I lower my head to my hands. I’ll just sleep here.

Am I already asleep?

Why is it so hot?

‘Nymphadora!’

Remus, why is it so bloody hot in here? It’s like fire.

Hot. But shivering. No. Shaking. Can’t stop shaking.

His hands are cool though, as he turns me over. I feel them on my face, on my neck, over my heart; my heart is racing. He doesn’t need to feel it, surely he can hear it. It’s pounding in my ears.

‘Nymphadora ... Oh, God.’

And then he has one arm is behind my neck and the other under my knees; he’s lifting me. Are we dancing?

‘Poppy! Bill! Molly!’

Why is he shouting?

I open my eyes to see him, but the lights are too bright, and it’s all swirly anyway, and he looks like a painting; all wild and smudged at the edges; I let them close again.

‘Nymphadora.’

Ssshhhh.

I feel his arms tighten and we’re moving faster.

‘Nymphadora, don’t do this. You can’t do this.’

Do what? It feels like floating, floating in fire; so hot it hurts.

He’s not talking to me anymore.

‘Poppy!’ I hear him screaming. ‘Poppy! Poppy!’

Then I feel his lips moving against my forehead; so cold. Why is he so cold?

‘Stay with me. God. Please. Stay with me.’

I can taste ... odd ... metallic taste. It’s making me cough. I try and spit it out ... It doesn’t seem to work. My chin feels wet. Remus stops short, and we’re sinking. The cold floor is against my back. There’s this odd wheezing noise. It’s so humid in here; it’s hard to breathe. Why is it so hard to breathe?

‘Nymphadora.’ I can feel his hand on the side of my face. Nymphadora, look at me.’

Where are you? How am I supposed to look ...

‘Poppy!’ I hear him screaming again. Then there are footsteps and voices calling back. And then both of Remus’s hands are on my face. ‘Nymphadora. Nymphadora! Fuck!’

I’ve never heard Remus swear before ...