Consequences

Chapter 13: Magic

It’s well after three in the morning before I stumble back to Headquarters. First eighteen-hour day this week, but probably not the last. I don’t even remember how I got home. I do remember cursing myself for picking a room on the top floor. Stupid wank of a day. We only made two arrests. We were hoping for five. But the others, it seemed, were tipped off. They knew we were coming.

It was such a relief to walk through the door of my bedroom, to take off my boots, and my robes, to throw myself into the shower. I didn’t notice until I was out and dressed in my night things that the door to Remus’s room wasn’t quite shut. An invitation? Or perhaps it was to tell me that he wouldn’t mind if I needed to join him again. Slowly, I push his door open and peer into his room. He’s asleep. Lying on his side facing away from me. The fire is low in the hearth and casts a soft, warm shadow over the room.

Making my decision, I walk back to my room and extinguish the lights and my fire, before returning to Remus and slipping into his bed. There are flowers on the bedside table. Not a large bouquet by any means, but a small water glass filled with tiny blue forget-me-nots. Beautiful.

I just lay there watching them for the longest time, trying to forget that all the muscles in my body ache. I’d better fall asleep soon. I’ve got to be back at work by nine. It’s a bit cold on my side of the bed. My side. My side of his bed. The thought makes me giggle. Rolling onto my other side, I watch him for a bit. Watch the covers rise and fall with his even breathing. Try to match mine to his, to see if I can be that relaxed. His pyjamas are pale blue tonight with darker pinstripes, neatly pressed as usual. I slide a bit toward him, enjoying the warmth of the bed the closer I get to his sleeping form. Not sure why but I slide up behind him, slipping my arm around him and resting my head against his shoulders. Much better.

*

He was gone when I woke this morning. I don’t know but ... I missed him. Or maybe it’s just that, after stalking would-be Death Eaters down Mancunian side streets for hours, I miss relaxing; sleeping? I don’t know. Just odd. I’ve missed boys before. Boyfriends. But he’s not a boyfriend. Still, I’ve found myself thinking about ... Gawd ... he’d think me mad. When he’d finished laughing that is. I think I might be going a bit strange. ... I need some sleep.

It’s after nine when I reach the St. George. I have finally, in my infinite wisdom, bothered to read the sign above the door of the old hotel that has become the new home of the Order these past weeks. The meeting has already started and is well on its way to completion. They are all crowded near the fire in the pub-room, some standing, some sitting and some leaning against walls; all in a tight semicircle around Dumbledore, who has just finished speaking. Scrimgeour and Bones seem to be the topic of conversation.

Seems to be the same conversation I hear so often at work. Who would be best to take over as Minister for Magic? The answer on all levels is Ms Bones. Especially from the Order’s point-of-view. Trouble is, I don’t think Amelia Bones really wants the job, whereas Scrimgeour has been clamouring for it since ... well, since the debacle at the Department of Mysteries. Now he just goes about pretending he’s already got it. But if Amelia Bones could be convinced to truly put herself in the running, there’s no doubt she would be elected.

I can’t see a thing through this crowd.

Slipping in past the taller wizards, I try to get closer. Snape glowers at me as I slide by him. I look up and wink, which I’m sure drives him mad but I don’t really care. Remus is standing against the wall behind the flowery settee and I make my way toward him to stand in front of him as I know he has no problem seeing over my head. He makes no acknowledgment that I am here, so I step back and lean against him.

‘Xena?’ comes a soft voice in my ear.

‘Yes.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Leaning.’

‘What’s wrong with the wall?’

‘Wall’s cold; you’re warm.’

‘I’m sure Moody’s warm too, but I don’t see you ...’

Shrugging, I stand up properly and take a step toward Mad-Eye. My breath catches in my throat when Remus’s hand comes around my waist and he pulls me back to him.

‘Don’t you dare,’ he breathes against my ear; it makes me shiver.

‘If you like it, you shouldn’t complain.’

I can’t believe I just said that. And to Remus. And during a meeting. So glad he’s behind me as I have no doubt I’m turning fifty shades of red. Glancing around the room, I am thankful to see that no one else appears to be looking in our direction. I am, however, very aware that Remus’s hand is still at my waist, his long fingers splayed on my belly. I can feel the impression of each one, even through the combined thickness of my robes and cloak.

His hand remains there 'til the meeting is over and the crowd begins to break apart.

‘You should get some sleep. You must be exhausted,’ he says to me as we file out of the pub-room with the others.

‘Only twelve hours today. So not as bad as yesterday. But you’re right, I am tired.’

‘Go up to bed.’

‘I will. Think I’ll get a mug of cider and a biscuit or two first, though.’

He runs his hand through his hair and looks down at me. ‘I have to go and meet Arthur. Fill him in on a few things. But I will be back later.’

He emphasises the word “will” and I wonder if that is to comfort me, in the fact that I won’t have to face the night alone, or just to let me know that seeking other company is not necessary. Either way, I rather like the sentiment.

He gives my shoulder a squeeze as we part and leaves through the front door behind Kingsley and Dedalus Dingle.

After helping myself to a mug of cider and a mini-treacle tart, I make my way upstairs to bed. Strange that I find myself a bit nervous, even though I know Remus will be back later. Suppose I’m just not used to sleeping in my own bed. I light the fire, change into my pyjamas and slip between the cool cotton sheets. Pink sheets, pink blankets. That’s why I picked this room, isn’t it? Pink sheets. And Remus next door.

I’ve left the bathroom door ajar, like he did for me last night and I wonder: will he come into my bed? I don’t think he will. I do rather hope that he does. I’ve got so used to sleeping beside him. I’d like to stay up and see, but I’m so tired.

It’s raining again. Shutting my eyes, I concentrate on the familiar rhythm it plays on the roof.

I open them again to my childhood bedroom. Stars dance merrily across the ceiling. Daddy put them there to keep me company, when I was very small and afraid of the dark. He offered to take them down when I was a teenager, but I wouldn’t have it. They still greet me now, when I go home for Christmas. I can hear his voice in my head: “You see, Dora. There’s nothing in the night, that isn’t there in the day.” That’s what all parents are supposed to tell their children, isn’t it? It’s not until you grow up that you realise, that’s just not true.

The storm is getting stronger, rattling the windows of our little house. Pulling my blankets over my shoulder, I turn over and shut my eyes. I am almost asleep when I hear a soft, male voice mutter ‘ Delibito.’ My first reaction is to grab my wand from under the pillow, to spin around and face him. But when I try it doesn’t work.

I can’t move.

He kneels down beside me and brushes my fringe from my forehead. ‘Hello, love,’ he says through yellowed teeth. And I know who he is: Brennan Caede, his matted grey hair and deeply lined features illuminated in the light from Daddy’s stars.

I want to scream, to run, but I can’t. I can’t move. He’s been here so many times before and it’s always the same. I think knowing what’s coming makes it worse. I know how the cool air will feel on my skin as he pulls back the covers and lifts me easily from my bed. I used to hope he would walk through the house, hope that I had a chance of waking Mum or Dad but he never does; he Disapparates and the next thing I’m aware of is the sound of dry leaves under his boots. As we pass the garden gates and walk slowly toward the forest, I can already feel the tears on my face.

I shiver against the cold earth as he lays me down at the foot of the willow. The roots of the tree become pliable in his hands and he wraps them around my wrists and then my ankles. He taps the tree trunk with his wand and the bindings harden instantly. Then he flicks his wand in my direction. I can move again. Unfortunately, a very physical binding has now replaced the magical one. So it does me no good.

‘Just kill me,’ I say. I always say that.

‘Oh, darling, I’m not going to kill you, at least not tonight. Tonight, we’re just going to play a game.’

‘Don’t touch me.’

‘Now you’re not in any position to be telling me what I can and cannot do, are you Miss Tonks?’ He laughs, tracing his fingertips down the side of my face to my neck and further; over my breasts.

‘Don’t fucking touch me,’ I repeat, as his hand moves down my body, brushing my thigh before moving to the pocket of his tatty robes, producing his knife. I know that knife all too well. He leans over me, matted grey hair falling in his face.

‘I’m going to make you come in spite of yourself. I will make you beg me.’

‘No.’ I wrench against my bonds but the tree’s roots cut into my skin. Then he’s over me, the weight of his body on mine, his hand sliding up my side. I can’t move. He’s whispering against my ear, a litany of words, but so quickly that I only catch a few. Still, they chill me.

‘... cut ... rip ... tear ... beg.’

‘No!’

Then I feel it. The cold, steel blade of his knife against my breast.

‘Please, no!’ I’m begging now. I always beg. But he doesn’t listen; the blade sinks in, the pain is blinding and I scream. His knife finds my side the next time. And the next. The warmth of the blood washing over my skin makes me shiver. He lowers his mouth to my breast and there’s nothing I can do. I can’t fucking move.

‘Tonks? Tonks, wake up.’

But his hands are on me again. On my face, forcing me to look at him, at his patronising smile. There’s blood on his lips, his teeth; my blood. He lowers his mouth to mine. His tongue pushes past my lips. I clench my teeth as hard as I can. But his hand comes up sharply, his thumb digs into the side of my face and I know he’ll break my jaw. I have to relent. I can taste the blood in my mouth, my blood in my mouth.

‘Nymphadora?’

His fingers slide to my belly, his knife against my hip, rough hands pushing my thighs apart.

‘Please.’ I’m crying now.

But it’s the woods, and it’s dark, and there’s no one.

I struggle against my bonds, no longer caring about the pain, or the futility of it; doing all I can to not let this happen. Not this time.

He marks my left hip with his knife, and then my right. I stop struggling when he digs his thumbs into the wounds. My screams fill the forest once more. There’s nothing I can do. He sweeps his robes aside. It’s happening. It hurts so much ... there’s nothing I can do.

‘Xena. Xena, you’re dreaming. You’ve got to wake up.’

I wrench my fist once more and am surprised when it comes into contact with something. Something solid. So I strike out again.

‘Xena, it’s just a dream.’

And again.

‘You’re all right.’

I open my eyes to watch my fist come down against his chest. But ... not on Caede’s tatty robes, but on neatly pressed navy pyjamas.

‘Xena, you’re all right. It was just a dream.’

Just ...

I look from the navy-clad shoulder to his face. Remus’s face.

Remus.

‘You’re all right,’ he says again, and I wrap my arms around him as tightly as I can, pushing my face into the side of his neck and pulling myself as close to him as possible. Overwhelming relief floods over me. Relief—that I’m here in my room, in my bed. That Remus is here. That it’s his arms around me, his fingers in my hair. That’s it’s him. That this is my reality, not ...

His embrace tightens around me and he kisses my temple.

It seems like ages before I move again. Before I’m quite sure I’ve stopped shaking, before I can no longer hear my heart in my ears.

‘Sorry,’ I say, pulling away from him a bit, wiping my eyes with my hands. ‘Sorry.’

His hand brushes my cheek. ‘Don’t tell me that was nothing,’ he says softly.

‘It was just a stupid dream.’

‘Any dream that does that to you ... that scares you ... that makes you scream like that.’ I watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. ‘I wouldn’t call it stupid.’

I just nod but don’t really know what else to say. Just glad that it’s over.

His embrace softens and his fingers brush through my hair once more. ‘Xena?’ he says softly. ‘Can you tell me what happens?’

Scrubbing my hands over my face again, I focus on the top button of his pyjamas; cross my arms over my chest. ‘He rapes me.’

Remus flinches. If he didn’t want the answer, he shouldn’t have asked the question. But soon the grimace has gone from his face and his hand brushes my cheek. ‘Has that ever ...’ he begins to ask.

I shake my head quickly. ‘No. No, it hasn’t. Not really. I just had to hear about it.’

‘Hear about it?’ There’s a definite note of curiosity in his voice.

‘We arrested this nutter a couple of years ago. Nasty piece of work. Anyway, it was the middle of the night and we had him in the cells at the Ministry. One of us was supposed to remain with him at all times. Scrimgeour wasn’t even going to let me guard him, but I can be a bit stubborn and I insisted. I got my wish; first shift. And well ... I spent a couple of hours listening to him tell me, in great detail, exactly what he was going to do to me. It only ended when Merch decided to bring me a coffee and he heard what was going on.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

‘My own fault, really. I wouldn’t stand for that nowadays.’ His fingers slip through my hair again and I look up at him.

‘The dream. It’s lucid. It really happens, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ I nod. ‘I try different things sometimes and sometimes bits and pieces change, but I can’t change the outcome and I can’t wake myself up.’

Remus frowns and his brows knit in concentration. ‘This man, before he started to tell you all this, did he speak an incantation? Anything? It may even have sounded like a prayer?’

He did. ‘Yes. Just a few words in an odd sort of language.’

‘Story ...’ he mutters.

‘What?’

‘It’s old magic, Xena. Very few could even remember how it’s done now. Storyteller’s magic. It’s how the old stories are remembered from generation to generation with such clarity. Only used a bit differently in this case.’

‘You mean he gave me that dream?’

‘If it happens exactly as he described it to you, then yes. It was deliberate.’

‘I hadn’t even thought of that.’ But that makes sense. He told me I would be his; that he would rape me. He told me he would make me scream and beg for death. And he does and I do. Over and over again. I can feel the bile rising in my throat, tears sting behind my eyes again, and I draw my breath in deeply to keep the emotion in check. Anger is the closest description. Once again I’m glad he’s dead. And that he died the way he did. But I’m angry at myself as well, for being so naive, for letting it happen.

Remus sinks to the pillow, resting his head on his arm, facing me. ‘I’ve come across it once or twice in my research. It’s been debated as to whether or not it should be considered a Dark Art. But, as I said, so few know of it now, and even fewer could perform it.’

‘Lucky me.’

‘Can you tell me his name?’

But that is something I can’t—won’t—do. Instead, I just turn my head into his shoulder and shut my eyes. He doesn’t push. I feel his hand rub my shoulder and then move slowly down my back. Caede gave me that dream. Did Merch know? Did he know what Caede was doing? Is that why he put himself between us? Broke the connection. Is that why I don’t die?

Remus’s fingers trace patterns on my hipbone and then across my lower back. I try and just concentrate on that feeling. Wonder what he’s drawing or is he writing? Slowly, his hand moves under my top. His fingers trace up and down my spine, over my ribs and back down to my waist.

Opening my eyes at last, I look up at him. The movement of his hand stops and for one awful moment I think he may withdraw it altogether. ‘That feels nice,’ I tell him, not quite meeting his eyes. ‘You might put me to sleep with that.’

‘I might?’ He smiles and his fingers start moving again. And I study his face, in the firelight. Watching the light dance over his face, over that smile. Watching it highlight gold flecks in his hair, in his eyelashes.

‘It’s very possible,’ I murmur. Sliding my arm around his waist, I pull myself closer still; there’s almost no distance between us. I can feel the flush in my cheeks as I look back up at him. It’s a little unnerving, having him this close. Scary even. Nice, but scary. I can hear my heart in my ears again and I wonder if he can too.

He pulls himself up onto his elbow, and I allow myself to roll onto my back and look up at him. It’s colder like this though and I instantly miss the heat of his body. So I slip a bit closer. He smiles at me and I run my hand over his chest. ‘I’m sorry for thumping you. Doesn’t hurt, does it?’

He shakes his head. ‘No, I’m all right. Tougher than I look.’

‘Dunno, you look pretty tough.’

‘Now you’re just being silly.’ He kisses my forehead and his eyes meet mine. The way he’s looking at me ... His look ... it gives me goose bumps and suddenly a field of butterflies have taken up residence in my belly. And then everything seems to go in slow motion. The feeling of his breath on my face, his hand in my hair, the shiver that starts at the top of my head and travels down my spine as his lips brush mine. His kiss is light, soft. He smiles at me and when I smile back he kisses me again. Proper kiss this time. The butterflies are playing Quidditch. His tongue nudges my lips apart and I open my mouth to him. He’s warm and wet and tastes vaguely of chocolate and ... Oh God ... I run my hands over his chest, down his sides, up his back. And it’s lovely and scary and amazing. It’s Remus. Why is this so easy? Why doesn’t this feel strange?

He deepens our kiss as I twist my fingers through his hair. His hand slides up my back, against my skin, pulling me closer still, pulling himself over me. And he’s heavier than I thought he’d be. And I slide my hands under his top this time, feeling the warm of him, the weight of his body. I think I may die of sensory overload. His hand is still at my back, his other elbow to the right of my head, his hand in my hair. Every touch makes me so much more than shiver. I never expected ... Merlin ... I could do this all night.

*

I’ve never woken up in his arms before. I’ve woken up beside him, without him; but never like this, with our arms wrapped around each other. It’s nice. He’s awake. Those marvelous fingers of his are tracing my ribs and up my side again. Neatly circumventing my breasts. Is he trying to be a gentleman? Does he know he’s driving me mad?

I can’t quite believe we’re lying here like this. Can’t quite believe that I spent two hours just kissing him last night. Kissing. Kissing is fabulous. I haven’t kissed like that in years. No pressure, no expectation, just kissing and curling up with him. An amazing night.

‘Morning,’ I say, sliding my hand across his chest and pulling myself up onto my elbow.

‘Afternoon,’ he corrects.

‘Afternoon?’

‘Mmm. It’s half past twelve. How did you sleep?’

‘Very well.’ I smile down at him. ‘I had the most amazing dream.’

‘Did you?’

‘Yes, that I was kissing this lovely bloke.’

‘Mmmm.’ He grins. ‘I had the same dream.’

‘That you were kissing a lovely bloke?’ I raise an eyebrow at him. Interesting.

He chuckles. ‘No. That I was kissing you.’

‘But you were kissing me.’ Leaning down I kiss him again, sliding my hands into his, pinning them above his head.

There’s a knock at the door.

‘What?’ Remus calls in a rather annoyed tone, before I have a chance to stop him. Clamping my hand over his mouth, I give him my best ‘Shut up’ look.

‘It’s my room,’ I whisper.

Sorry , he mouths.

There is a short silence before we hear Molly say, ‘You weren’t at breakfast. I thought perhaps you weren’t well and that I could bring you some lunch.’

I look down at Remus; the frustration in his face fades and he smiles, shaking his head. Sliding off the bed I walk to the door and open it to Molly. She is her usual cheery self.

‘Sorry to interrupt.’ She smiles apologetically.

‘You’re not interrupting. Tonks and I were just saying we ought go down for lunch.’ Remus’s voice comes from behind me. I glance back and see that he is now sitting on the end of my bed, a book open in his hands, as if he was just reading. I suppose he is hoping she won’t notice he’s reading Molly Malone. It almost makes me laugh.

‘Well still, thought you should eat something.’ Molly hands me the tea tray. I turn with it and give Remus a pleading look.

‘Do you mind, I’m not great with trays.’

He laughs, hops off the bed and takes the tray from me, carrying it to the little table before the fire.

‘Oh, and Remus,’ Molly calls, ‘Alastor is looking for you.’

‘Tell him I’ll be down when I’ve finished my lunch.’

‘Thanks, Molly.’ I smile at her and prepare to shut the door.

‘Tonks,’ she whispers, ‘you have a ... err ... on your neck. You might want to take care of that before you go out.’ She gives me a grin and squeezes my hand before turning from the door and disappearing down the stairs. Odd.

Shutting the door I move to the mirror over the dressing table. There on the left side of my neck near my collarbone is a dark red mark. Love-bite. Nice. Biting my lip, I turn and stalk over to where Remus sits, arranging lunch on the table.

‘Remus?’

‘Hmmm.’ He looks up and I point out the offending mark. ‘Gawd, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.’

‘Funny, because Molly just did.’

He blushes a nice shade of pink and covers his eyes with his hand for a moment before we both burst out laughing. He slides his arm around my waist. ‘I could give you another one.’ He smiles and touches the other side of my neck. ‘Matching set.’

Running my fingers through his hair, I push myself away from him. ‘Shut up and eat your lunch.’

For lunch we have a pile of sandwiches, a couple of the mini-treacle tarts and a pot of tea. All in all a very nice way to start the day. It’s over far too quickly and I find myself wishing he didn’t have to leave. But then he’s standing at the door, ready to disappear back into his room and I know I won’t see him again today. He touches my face and kisses me again. My knees instantly turn to jelly and I have to slide my arms around his neck for support. Pity, that.

‘I’ve got to go,’ he says, pulling back. He grins at me and ducks his head down, running a hand through his messy hair. He’s lovely when he does that.

‘I know.’ I lean into him again, kissing him softly.

‘Will I see you tonight?’

I shake my head. ‘No, I’m on duty for the Order tonight.’

Love the disappointed sigh.

His arms slide up my back again and he pulls me closer. More kissing. I’d forgotten how much I love kissing.

‘Really, I have to go,’ he says, actually stepping away this time. ‘I’ll see you later.’ He kisses my forehead, his fingers slip from mine, and he steps backward through the door. Shutting it behind him, I find myself sliding to the carpet. Honestly, I just can’t stand anymore.

*