Consequences

Chapter 15: Breathe

I love flying.

Flying is brilliant. Spectacular. Charlie is, of course, certifiably insane but I had so much fun this morning.

We both woke just after four. So really, not a lot of sleep, but that’s all right, I don’t mind. We had some more chocolate and biscuits. And we soon were greeted by that lovely warning signal again. The old man came back with the answer, ‘Yes, it is.’ And that was it.

Then we went flying. Before and while the sun was rising. We had a good half hour and it was amazing. I promised to do it again sometime and that is a promise I intend to keep.

It was a great morning; a busy one, but at least it was easy for us to blend in with rest of the commuters. Took a group Portkey from Westport to Dublin, then after a late breakfast at Padraig’s and a stroll across the Ha’penny Bridge, I said goodbye to Charlie and took another Portkey to London. I’ve managed to send a secure message to Dumbledore. I have showered and changed. I have tried to read. To sleep. But it’s not working.

Remus is not here. And I’m afraid; I’m going a bit mad.

I so want to see him, but ... I have never been more scared.

Scared? Terrified, really. Of him, of this thing ... of everything changing. And perhaps it’s just me overthinking and mentally complicating it. I know I tend to do that. But ... it’s really happening. Big risk. But then, Remus isn’t Charlie. I know he’d never hurt me. But what if I do something? What if I fuck this up somehow? Will our friendship survive? Really don’t want to fuck things up.

There is a knock at my door, and for a moment my heart is suspended in my throat.

‘Tonks?’ Bill’s voice.

‘Yeah.’

‘We’re leaving soon. Mum sent me up to make sure you’re coming.’

‘Coming where?’ I slide off my bed and open the door to him.

Bill grins, pulling a note that I hadn’t noticed before from my door and handing it to me. ‘Supper at the Burrow.’

I open the letter and there, in Molly’s flowery script, is my invitation.

‘Ron and Ginny will be home tomorrow,’ Bill continues, ‘and Mum thought it would be nice if all the adults got together for supper and drinks.’

‘Sounds nice,’ I say, wondering what I should do. Don’t really want to go to supper. I want to stay here and talk to Remus. But it’s very nice to be asked and I probably should go. Especially since the revelation that Molly doesn’t actually hate me; anymore, anyway.

‘Well, the invitation was just for anytime after six, and it’s twenty past now.’

‘Is it?’ Where did the day go?

Bill nods. ‘There’s a few of us left. So if you’re coming?’

‘Course I’m coming. Just give me five seconds.’ I check my face in the mirror over the dressing table, twisting my fingers through my hair until it behaves in an acceptable manner, and making sure the collar of these robes hides the mark on my neck. It does. I’m all set.

We Apparate into the safe zone just steps from the front door and I follow Bill into the house. As soon as the door opens the smell of roast dinner and mulled wine and steamed pudding hits us. My tummy does its best to remind me that I haven’t eaten since this morning. The kitchen is buzzing with activity. Molly is cooking with Agnetha right beside her. They are conducting the preparations whilst chatting constantly about ... some article in Witch Weekly?

She looks up and smiles her hello and I smile back. I hope she doesn’t ask me if she can pick anything up for me again. What if she already has?

I follow Bill through to the sitting room, where he is immediately accosted by a willowy blonde, who doesn’t seem to notice me. He whispers in her ear and they disappear upstairs almost instantly. The twins are chatting to Emmeline by the fire. Moody saunters up beside me with two steaming goblets in his hands and he hands one to me.

‘Molly asked me to give that to you. I think it’s all right,’ he says, almost smiling.

‘Thanks, Mad-Eye.’

‘How’d you get on last night?’

‘Very well. Easy really.’

‘Some things seem easy. Some things are. Best not to let your guard down though. That’s when things go wrong.’

‘I remember. We were careful.’

‘Course you were.’ He pats my arm and hobbles off to deliver the second goblet to Kingsley, who is relaxing in an oversized leather armchair near the fire. Dedalus Diggle sits between Professor McGonagall and Mada ... Poppy on the sofa, engaged in some quiet discussion that requires them to have their heads practically touching.

So I sit in the window seat, and look out at the garden, sipping hot wine from my goblet and letting its warmth slide through me. The sun is sinking quickly and plays lovely colours across the farmers’ fields behind the house. Gold and green, and there’s one over there on the hill that’s purple, no, blue. Flax? Flax is blue, isn’t it?

There are footsteps on the stairs. Can’t possibly be Bill and Fleur, not yet. I would hope not anyway, for Fleur’s sake. It’s not them though. I turn my head to see Arthur and Remus as they arrive at the foot of the steps.

‘When you enter a room his eyes never leave you.’ Molly’s words are in my head. But I’ve barely got the thought out when he looks up at me. How does he know exactly where I am? He didn’t even glance around the room. He just looked at me. My heartbeat is running wild, I can feel the flush in my cheeks, and I suddenly have butterflies again as he walks toward me.

‘Hi,’ he says, smiling.

‘Hi,’ I manage, in little more than a whisper. I want to touch him. Silly really, but just touch him. I wish he weren’t wearing long sleeves. I brush my fingers over the back of his hand and the touch sends a wave of warmth through me, much more so than the wine ever did.

He smiles again. ‘How was your night?’

‘It was fine. Easy assignment, really.’

‘Good,’ he says, looking over my head, out of the window. ‘How’s Charlie?’

I hadn’t realised he knew who I was with last night.

‘He’s well,’ I nod. ‘We had a nice time,’ I add, hoping I’m being a bit cruel.

He stiffens a little and glances briefly down at me; I’m delighted. ‘It’s nice to be able to enjoy assignments,’ he says coolly.

‘He took me flying. And we had a nice chat.’

He nods again, still looking into the garden.

‘We talked about a lot of things,’ I continue, ‘Our friendship, the weather, flying, our assignment, rock cakes, this bloke I rather fancy ...’ I turn my head to gaze out the window and catch his smiling reflection in the pane above me.

‘There’s a bloke you fancy?’ Remus asks in mock innocence. ‘What did he have to say about that?’

‘Well, naturally, he wanted to know who it was ...’

‘And you didn’t tell him?’

I shake my head. ‘None of his business, is it?’

‘No, ‘t’isn’t.’ He leans forward and ducks his head down, pointing to the sky out the window.
I follow his finger and pretend to be interested in whatever it is he’s pretending to see. His other hand brushes my hip and I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. My eyes shut involuntarily, and I am encompassed by one brilliant shiver: all the way down my spine.

‘Supper’s ready!’ Molly calls cheerfully from the kitchen. And like that, he’s gone. He straightens up and I’m suddenly cold. I turn to watch as everyone in the room gets to their feet and they all file into the kitchen.

Supper is delicious and cheerful. Having it here really does feel different than at Headquarters. We’re the same people, we’re all friends; but somehow it’s more intimate here in Molly’s kitchen. More wine flows. We laugh more. Perhaps that’s it. Emmeline is practically in tears beside me; we’re laughing so hard as Arthur recounts the story of some idiot who had to call for help when a magical fire on his property was burning out of control. Ministry officers discovered that the barn in question was actually hiding a plethora of questionable magical objects— a rather profitable illegal business. So while he did manage to save some of his wares, those very wares had got him in deep trouble.

Goblets and glasses are refilled and everyone retires to the sitting room after supper. I offer to help in the kitchen and Molly actually lets me, which is amazing. I am limited to clearing the table, but it’s a start. Remus stays to help too, which I am grateful for, because thanks to him, the plates I dropped didn’t actually hit the floor. And I don’t think Molly even saw me do it.

When I offer to help with the washing up, Molly shakes her head and tells me that she and Agnetha have got it under control. She turns to Remus. ‘Lovely day today, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Remus replies, bringing the last of the glasses to the sink. ‘Wonderful.’

‘It’s a beautiful night as well,’ she continues, glancing toward the window. ‘Warm. Nice night for a walk.’

‘Suppose,’ Remus replies, seemingly bored with this obviously forced conversation. He turns his attention to stacking the last of the bowls. Molly then looks at me, grins and rolls her eyes.

‘Remus?’ It even makes me smile to say his name.

‘Yes?’

‘Fancy a walk in the garden?’

He looks up at me, finally cottoning on. ‘Oh.’ He glances at Molly briefly and then back at me. ‘Right. Love to. It’s a beautiful night.’

*

It is a beautiful night; warm and clear. I slip my hand into his as we walk. All the stars are out and the moon is bright in the sky. My eyes immediately find Orion and his dogs. ‘You haven’t told me how your night was last night.’ I tighten my fingers in his, loving how his large hands engulf mine.

He glances down at me for a moment then back up at the sky as we walk.

‘Horrible.’

‘Really? Why? Did something happen?’

‘Nothing happened. That was the problem. Absolutely nothing. I went up to my rooms. I tried to work on my paper. I made myself a cup of cocoa. I read my book.’ He stops under the tree at the end of the garden and turns to me. ‘Took me a few minutes to realise I was reading aloud to an empty room...’

Stupid grin is back. ‘I thought you’d be glad to have your bed to yourself again.’

He slides his arms around my waist and pulls me closer to him. ‘Probably should have been. No one to kick me in the shins or steal all the covers at three a.m.’

‘Do I do that? I’m sorry ...’

He shakes his head. ‘Don’t be. I woke up at three a.m. because no one kicked me in the shins or stole my covers. There was no one to slip into my bed, slide her icy little body up against mine and wrap her arms around me.’

‘You were awake?’ I can feel the heat rise in my face and I’m suddenly terribly embarrassed.
‘You were awake when I did that?’

He kisses my forehead softly. ‘Not complaining,’ he whispers.

Why does that make me shiver? ‘I missed you,’ I say to his top button.

‘Did you?’ He actually sounds surprised.

I nod against his chest. ‘I did. I missed your perfectly pressed pyjamas ...’ His shoulders shake as he laughs and I’m tempted to look up and see his smile but I’m not finished yet. ‘I missed hearing your voice. I missed ... the way you smell.’ Can’t help but inhale for that one. ‘I missed feeling your prickles ... right here.’ I touch the back of my neck where his stubble scrapes my skin as we fall asleep. His hand covers mine, his fingers trace the path mine have just taken, and I’m instantly warmer for it. Biting my lip, I keep going, ‘I missed the sound of your breathing. I missed the warmth of your body.’ His arms move up my back, his embrace tightens and he rests his head on mine. ‘I missed ... I missed your hands ...’

‘My hands?’ he whispers against my ear. Again, I want to look up but I can’t; don’t want to lose my nerve.

‘Yes,’ I continue. ‘I missed how your fingers feel on my skin.’

Remus exhales deeply against my ear and presses his lips to my temple.

Gathering my courage, I look up at him. I don’t really know what else to say, so I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek.

His hands move into my hair and then cup the sides of my face. I wish I could better see his expression, but it’s too dark. He’s smiling though. And I suddenly feel the need to repeat myself. ‘I missed ... everything about you.’

He kisses me. I stand on my toes again, slide my arms around his neck and lean into him, into his kiss. His hands slide down to my hips and then up my back. I swear he’s almost lifting me off my feet; I feel weightless, dizzy, and I’d swear someone’s hit me with a Jelly-Legs Jinx. Nothing in the world exists except us in this moment.

Nothing, that is, except the loud, ‘Gordon Bennett!’ from somewhere on our right. We part instantly, and I turn my head to see a rather stunned George. ‘Ummmm. Sorry ... was going to, erm ...’ He shakes the purple can in his left hand. ‘Thought you were Bill, but you’re not and well, I’m not. Errr ... I best be off then. Because you’re not Fleur and you’re not Bill and ... well ...’ He flushes a deep red and turns from us, walking quickly away, shaking his head.

I cover my mouth with both hands as I laugh.

Remus chuckles. ‘Think George might suspect something.’

‘He might.’

‘Fred and Bill will know in about thirty seconds.’

I shrug. ‘So what if they do? What are they going to say?’

‘Perhaps, that I’m a bit old for you.’

‘Are you?’

He nods. ‘Yes.’

‘No, you’re not ... Kingsley’s a bit old for me; bit bossy too. Dedalus is definitely too old for me, but he’s feisty, so don’t count him out.’

‘Stop it.’ Remus grins, pulling me tightly to him.

‘Now, Mad-Eye, Mad-Eye’s too old for me. But with that peg leg and the magical eye ... could be interesting ... Dumbledore. Old? Yes. But he is the most powerful wizard of the age. Wonder if that power also applies to—’

‘Just shut up,’ Remus chuckles and kisses me again.

*

The sitting room has a few extra armchairs in it, by the time we wander back to the house. Remus sits in the oversized leather chair by the fire and I sit on the arm. He smiles up at me and rubs my back with his free hand. Nothing unusual about that; he’s done that a hundred times. And no one appears to be looking at us strangely.

‘Tired, Tonks?’ Emmeline asks, as I yawn for the second time.

‘Yes, didn’t get much sleep last night. And Charlie convinced me to get up early this morning to go flying.’ That is a bit of a lie. Charlie did not have to convince me, he just asked.

Emmeline laughs. ‘Typical.’

I shrug. ‘It was fun. Shove over.’ I push Remus’s shoulder; he moves over in the chair as I slide down beside him. No one seems to think anything of this, either. But then I’ve always behaved like this with him, haven’t I? Just, now it feels different. I’m far more aware of him. Of the fact that I’m practically sitting in his lap, that I’m leaning against him. That his arm is across the back of the chair behind my head. He shuffles back a bit, getting comfortable, and I slot myself perfectly into my little niche in his side and shut my eyes, listening to the voices in the room chat— about the Ministry and school days and the weather— and it’s so comfortable being here like this.

‘Remus, I think you’d best take Nymphadora home. Surely, she’s about to fall asleep.’ Professor McGonagall’s voice wakes me quickly and for a moment I wonder how much of the lesson I’ve missed.

‘Think I was asleep, actually.’ I scrub my hands over my face and smile up at her, trying not to yawn again.

‘She does look awfully tired,’ comes George’s voice, ‘poor mite.’ He and Fred sit on the back of the settee, eating second, or perhaps third, helpings of pudding.

‘Go on, Remus,’ Fred adds, grinning. ‘Take her home.’

Gits.

*

I thought my nerves had settled a bit after our walk in the garden, but as we climb the stairs to our rooms in the St. George, the butterflies in my stomach are going positively crazy.

‘See you in a bit?’ he says, as we reach the top floor landing.

I nod and slip through the door to my room.

Luckily, I don’t spend that much time in my bedroom here, so it hasn’t had much of a chance to get messy. Still, I straighten my bedding, pick my book up off the floor and light the candles on the mantel and the bedside table. Perhaps I shouldn’t light candles. Is that too obvious?

He hasn’t entered the bathroom yet so I slip in there first to wash my face and clean my teeth. Then back into my bedroom to change into pyjamas. But which pyjamas? Not that I have a great selection here. Why is so much of it flannel? Warm though flannel is, it’s not exactly ... appealing? Am I trying to look appealing? In what context?

I dig through the bag again and find my favourite tee shirt. Normally, on a warm night like this, I would just wear my tee shirt and knickers. But ... having ‘Spank Me’ written in block letters across my chest may not be the best of ideas; especially if Remus has never been to a Colm Spank concert. Fuck. Perhaps I can nip home? But I think I just heard Remus enter the bathroom, and I don’t know how long he’ll be.

I have another desperate rummage and finally find something that is neither flannel nor lewd: blue pyjama bottoms in some smooth, soft material (don’t know what it is exactly because the tag was scratchy and I tore it out ages ago) and a white tank top. Simple. I change into them quickly and stand in front of the mirror. The wrinkles in the bottoms disappear with a wave of my wand. The top’s a bit tight. Too tight? Rather tight. Doesn’t leave much to the imagination, kind of tight. And I can see a few red fingers of my curse scar across my left shoulder. Bollocks. I don’t want to change again so instead, I pull my dressing gown on over top. Don’t bother to do it up though— don’t want to seem like a prude. Don’t want to seem like a slut, either. Fuck, why is this so hard? And what’s going to happen anyway? What does he want to happen? What do I? Just to curl up beside him and sleep? Perhaps a repeat of the night before last? More?

I don’t know.

There’s a knock at the adjoining door. One split decision later, I have tossed the dressing gown over the chair and hopped into bed, pulling the covers up to my armpits and picking up my book. Apparently I was just reading. ‘Come in,’ I answer in my bravest voice. The doorknob turns, the door opens and Remus enters my room.

He is carrying a bottle of whisky and two glasses, and he has a pack of Exploding Snap cards in his teeth. He is, of course, wearing perfectly pressed stripy pyjamas, and ... stupid grin again.
He kicks the bathroom door shut behind him and sets the bottle, glasses and cards down on the table before the fireplace.

I must look a little puzzled, because he smiles and says, ‘It’s Thursday night.’

Of course. ‘Course it is.’

‘I don’t know, do you fancy a game of Snap, or are you too tired?’ He pours out two glasses of whisky and hands one to me. ‘I realise you’ve had a long day.’

‘Too tired, really. But thank you.’

‘Right. Well ...’ He sips his drink and seems to look around for a moment as if he’s unsure of his next movement. I think he might actually sit in the chair by the fire.

‘Are you going to stay here with me tonight?’ I ask; apparently ‘girly’ Firewhisky makes me bolder.

He runs his hand through his hair and looks down at me. ‘Erm ... Yes, I thought I might. Do you mind?’

‘No.’ I shake my head and pull back the covers beside me. He smiles and after a moment’s hesitation, slips into bed with me.

Silence. We just sip our drinks in silence. Why is it suddenly so hard to put words together? We’ve spoken nearly every day for ages and ages, we’ve slept beside each other countless nights, and now it’s suddenly awkward?

I slide my hand down the sleeve of his pyjamas. ‘See, perfectly pressed.’

He chuckles. ‘What can I say? I like to be neat.’

‘Really? In contrast, I run the backs of my fingers across the ever present stubble on his chin.

‘Neat-ish,’ he says, smiling. I finish my drink and reach across him to set my glass on his bedside table. Could’ve set it on the table on my side but then I wouldn’t have to reach across him. ‘Do you want another one?’ he asks.

Shaking my head, I slide to the pillow. ‘No, thanks. It’s bedtime for me.’

He turns off the overhead light and is soon lying beside me. His arm slides around my waist and I snuggle backward to him, shutting my eyes. Neatly pressed pyjamas; the smell of sandalwood; the warmth of his body; soft breathing; prickly stubble scraping the back of my neck; I so wanted this. His fingertips trace over my shoulder, down my arm to my hand, his fingers entwining with my own. He raises my hand to his lips and places a soft kiss on my palm, sending a small tremor through my stomach. I slide my fingers through his hair as his hand moves down my side once more and over my hipbone; fingers tracing the thin line of exposed skin at my waist, before moving softly up my side, over my top and then back down and across my belly. His fingertips barely brush the side of my breast, but it’s enough. Enough for my body to arch back into his. His arm slides around my waist and he pulls me back against him so that there’s no distance between us.

‘I missed you,’ he whispers against my ear. And I have goose bumps again. His hand moves up my side, over my ribs. ‘I missed your pretty pink hair, and your cold little feet, the smell of your skin, and ... I missed the way you move when I touch you ...’ His fingers trace my breasts through the tight cotton of my top and my hips push back against him, entirely of their own accord.

He pulls himself up onto his elbow and I roll onto my back beneath him. This is what I wanted so much last night. To feel like this: terrified and elated at the same time. One hand plays in my hair while the other continues to tease my breasts. I swear he’s drawing again, his touch is so light— every contact makes me shiver. His fingers move in intricate circles, his thumb brushing mercilessly over my nipple. He kisses me gently and I look up from the movement of his hand, into his face. He smiles at me. Almost a smirk. This is all so very deliberate. He’s driving me mad, and he knows it. When I can’t look at him anymore, I shut my eyes and just feel.

His sits up a bit and his hands move to the hem of my top; I know he wants it off. But not yet. I just have to ...

I close my eyes and the familiar prickling feeling moves through my chest.

‘What are you doing?’ he asks, breaking my concentration. His fingertips brush the skin on my shoulder.

‘Changing,’ I admit.

‘Why?’

But I don’t want to answer. I just throw my gaze at the candle on the bedside table, wishing it wouldn’t burn quite so brightly.

‘Xena?’

I take a deep breath and look up at him. ‘At the Ministry, when Bella, when she hit me ... I have this scar and it’s horrible and ugly and I’m trying to lighten it so when you see it ... that perhaps it won’t look so ...’

‘Don’t,’ he says simply, shaking his head. ‘Don’t change a thing.’ I stop and relax and he kisses me again. His hands move back to the hem of my top and he pulls it slowly up. Barely breaking our kiss to get it over my head, he tosses it to the floor. His fingers move up my sides, his hands cup my breasts and he continues to kiss me. When we do finally part, he sits back and I search his face for his reaction: a grimace perhaps, a piteous look? But I get neither; he just grins.

‘What are you smiling about?’

‘Well, I am lying in bed with a beautiful half-naked woman, who has truly perfect breasts. I’d say that’s enough for most blokes.’

I giggle in spite of myself. ‘Shut up.’

‘You asked. Now about this scar. Let’s have a proper a look, shall we?’

‘What, are you a Healer now?’

‘Thought about it at one time,’ he says, picking up the candle from the bedside table. ‘Unfortunately, most of the Wizarding World prefer Healers of the non-werewolf variety.’ He picks his wand up as well and taps the candle. It floats above us, casting soft light down over the bed. Over me, over this hideous mark. I feel the panic begin to rise in me again and have the sudden urge to sit up, to run.

‘Remus ...’

He kisses me again, pushing me gently back to the mattress with the weight of his body. ‘Lie still, I’m working.’

So I shut my eyes and concentrate on the feeling of his hands on my breasts, both my breasts. ‘Xena?’

‘Yes.’

‘This is what it usually looks like. You haven’t changed the colour or anything, have you?’

‘No,’ I reply, without opening my eyes. ‘As is.’

‘Xena, this is just a curse blast.’

‘A what?’ I do open my eyes now. Open them to watch his palm cover my breast and his fingers fan out to my shoulder, following the pattern of the scar. I almost have to shut my eyes again at the sensation.

‘A curse blast. You’ve never had anything like it before?’

‘No.’

‘Given your line of work, that impresses me.’

‘I don’t make a habit of getting hit.’

‘Good. Bet this stung for the first twenty-four hours.’

‘Oh, it did.’ I nod. ‘Hurt like hell.’

‘Won’t leave much of a scar though; you’ll hardly be able to see that once it’s healed.’

‘How ...’

‘About six months. Didn’t they tell you this at St. Mungo’s?’

‘They told me a lot of things at St. Mungo’s; can’t remember half of them. I was taking some really good potions.’

He smiles and his hand moves over my breast again. ‘While it is pretty, I’ve much better scars than that.’

For some reason that didn’t even occur to me.

‘Now,’ he continues, ‘there are some things I can do that may help with the healing process.’

‘You can? Like what?’ I’m talking like I’m his patient now. If, of course, I was the type of patient who allowed her Healer to kiss her breasts. Oh, f ... He pushes my breasts together and buries his face in my cleavage. It would be funny if it didn’t feel so good. Stubble scraping my skin, warm mouth, soft tongue. I close my eyes and feel my hips rock toward him as I slide my hands through his hair and over his shoulders— if possible, pulling him closer to me.

‘How do you feel, Miss Tonks?’ he mumbles between heavenly kisses.

I only realise I’m holding my breath when I go to reply and find I have to inhale first. ‘Getting better all the time. You really are excellent.’

‘All part of the service.’

Gawd, if real Healers made you feel like this, witches would be lined up to get in to St. Mungo’s. He continues to rain lovely soft kisses on my skin, moving his lips slowly across the curse blast, making me gasp. I glance down quickly, meeting his brown eyes for a split second before shutting my own. The image of his eyes remains, like it’s burned on my retinas.

He bites down gently on my shoulder, making me jump; I hear soft laughter. Crossing my arms over my face, I can feel myself blushing and I just can’t stop giggling. His mouth moves back to my breasts and he works his tongue over my nipple and I begin to groan in response. His breathing quickens and I glance down again. This time, his eyes are closed in fierce concentration and as I watch, he bares his teeth and bites down on my nipple, making me draw in a sharp breath.

His kisses move slowly upward, to my neck. His hand slides down across my belly, fingers grasp the waistband of my pyjamas and he tugs gently down on them; suddenly things aren’t so funny anymore.

‘Do you want to take them off?’ I ask, without opening my eyes.

‘Yes,’ he growls against my ear. ‘I do.’

I do, too.

Remus’s mouth crashes down on mine. His hand slides roughly up my body and over my breast; I find myself arching into the warmth of his palm. This is a far different touch than a few minutes ago; there is nothing gentle or controlled about it. It’s perfect. And I wrap my arms around him, pushing myself up off the mattress and pulling him closer. He grasps my hip, his fingers moving down my thigh and back up again, between my legs, and I can’t help but move against the pressure of his hand.

I need to remember to breathe. But it’s so hard to remember. I don’t think I could remember my own name at the moment.

Breaking our kiss, he smiles and moves backward to the foot of the bed. I watch as he pulls the bow and unties the drawstring at my waist. Watch as he hooks his thumbs in the sides of my pyjama bottoms and slowly slides them down. I lift my bum off the bed instinctively, letting him take them to my knees, then off completely. He’s not smiling anymore. He’s looking at me the way he was the other night: that same wanting look.

Breathe.

He moves himself carefully over me. His kiss is deep, powerful, and I push him backward to the bed. I slide my hands under his top, over his chest and then fumble to undo his buttons. I hate buttons. But I finally manage to tug the last one undone, pushing the top off over his shoulders; he shrugs it off completely and it soon joins mine on the floor.

I brush my hands over his shoulders; my fingers follow the eight faint lines that run down his chest. I let my hands wander— over the scars on his arms, his abdomen— exploring his body by the light of the candle. It’s several minutes before I realise, he’s watching me, concern definite in his expression.

‘You’re beautiful,’ I say, truthfully. He is. His eyes close, he wets his lips and his hands slide up my thighs, cupping my bum, his fingers kneading into my skin.

Kissing him again, I shift down beside him, running my hand over his side, across his belly and down the length of his arousal through the thin fabric of his pyjamas. He starts and moans deeply against my neck, so I do it again, and again. This time I pull the drawstring undone and slip my hand inside. He’s so hot, and smooth and ... I can feel the noises he makes in my ear throughout my body. He clenches his teeth and his fingers twist tightly in my hair.

I kiss his neck, then over across his chest and down his belly. Sitting up, I push his pyjamas down to his knees and he kicks them off completely. I slide my palm down the length of his erection and wrap my fingers around his thick shaft. Perhaps not quite a Hippogriff but definitely worth the rumour.

‘Xena ...’ he gasps through clenched teeth. In answer I dip my head down and run my tongue up the length of him, swirling my tongue over the tip of his cock and taking him in my mouth.

He roars.

That’s the only way I can possibly describe that noise. His hands clutch at the blankets.

I want to hear that again.

I move in for another try at producing that delicious noise, but his hands come down on my shoulder; he squeezes and pushes me back. ‘What’s the matter?’ I ask.

He closes his eyes briefly and I slide up his body and kiss him again. ‘Nothing,’ he replies, breathless. ‘Nothing. It’s just that, if you ... I won’t ... It’s been far too long.’ I stroke him softly once more and the next instant, my back is against the mattress and he’s above me. His hands slide over my breasts. ‘Gawd, I want you.’ His voice is deeper somehow and rumbles in his throat. His kisses drag across my mouth and down my neck. I run my hands up his back and thread my fingers through his silver-brown hair.

‘Have me.’ Turning my head, I capture his mouth again. His hand moves down my side, grasping my hip, moving me to a more favourable position beneath him. His knee nudges my thighs apart ... I’m holding my breath again ... He shuts his eyes tightly as he pushes slowly into me. His body curls over mine and he rains kisses down the side of my face.

I rock my hips gently against him. It feels amazing. He feels amazing. I can’t believe that this is him, that this is us; that we’re together like this. I need him to make me believe. He kisses me again, and begins to move, sliding back, nearly withdrawing completely. I can’t help but make a noise of protest at the loss of contact. He looks down at me and gives me a wicked grin as he nudges the tip of his cock against my entrance, teasing me, or perhaps both of us, before pushing hard into me again, giving me what I want.

He moves slowly, controlled, and I slide my hands over his bum, pushing my hips off the mattress and pulling him closer with every stroke. The sounds he makes in response thrill me; I have goose bumps again. He begins to pick up the pace, moving faster, pushing harder, and I can feel the tension in me growing rapidly.

I’m dimly aware that the bed’s creaking like mad, and then his hand moves between us, his fingers moving over my clit, his thrusts becoming sharper, and I’m suddenly not aware of anything else but the man above me and the intense tidal wave building inside me. I can’t take it anymore and I come hard, calling his name to the room, silenced only by his lips on mine. He waits until I finish before starting to move again and his breathing soon becomes ragged. His rhythm has gone to hell; there’s nothing controlled about him now and I love it. Love seeing him come utterly undone. His eyes are closed and there’s a pained expression on his face; the muscles in his arms and shoulders shake. A few more violent strokes and he comes— that same brilliant noise I heard earlier. His body collapses over mine, gifting me with a rather nice aftershock.

I love the smell of his skin; the weight of him; the sound of his breathing as it slows to normal; the feeling of his heartbeat against mine. He shifts and rolls off me onto the bed and I immediately want him back. He smiles at me and I settle against his shoulder, sliding my hand over his chest.

He wraps his arms around me and kisses my forehead. ‘Your hair changes colour,’ he whispers.

I bury my face in his chest, embarrassed. ‘It doesn’t always do that, only on the really good ones.’

The smug grin that spreads across his face tells me I probably shouldn’t have said that.

‘Oh, don’t look so pleased with yourself,’ I add. But he’s still grinning. ‘All right, what colour is it?’

‘It’s a bit of a rainbow,’ he chuckles, playing his fingers through my hair. ‘Gold, pink, violet, blue.’

‘Oh, we probably should have Imperturbed the room. Kingsley’s below me and I’m sure we gave him an earful.’

‘He’s probably asleep,’ Remus says reassuringly.

‘Hope so. Molly didn’t come back tonight, did she?’

‘Are you joking? She’s standing outside the door now with a tea tray.’ He laughs.

‘She does seem to have a knack for that.’

I slide my arm across his chest and hug him to me. His fingers move through my hair. ‘It’s pretty like this,’ he says. ‘I’m going to have to make that my mission from now on.’

‘What?’

‘Changing your hair colour every time I make love to you. That is, of course, assuming that you’ll let me do it again.’

‘I think I might. ’ Turning my head, I kiss his chest and tighten my arms around him. He pulls the blanket over my shoulder and his lips brush my temple.

Make love?

That is what we just did, isn’t it?

Funny, before now those words just seemed ... I dunno ... like something in Molly Malone’s books. More polite wording for sex. Something cheesy and not real. Something I didn’t really believe in. But just now, when he said that, well ... I just made love to Remus Lupin and he made love to me and the very thought of it brings the stupid grin back to my face and awakens the butterflies in my stomach. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight. But I’ll shut my eyes anyway, and listen to his heartbeat, and just try to remember to breathe.

~