Consequences

Chapter 19: Tolls

He came back last night ...but not to my flat. Instead, he came here, to the St George. He’s been gone a week, and he comes back here. He wasn’t at breakfast this morning though, and Emmeline mentioned he’s off again tomorrow. Back to Scotland, back to Fenrir and his Pack. ... Why didn’t he come home to me? It doesn’t make any sense.

He’s been with Dumbledore all day. That’s what they tell me. But he is expected back tonight. Soon, in fact. Perhaps there’s a simple explanation. Perhaps ... If there is, I’ll feel like an idiot for being this scared. For sitting here in the dark on my pink bed staring at the bathroom door for the past two hours, running all the worst-case scenarios through my head, waiting, wishing that I would see a light come on in the adjoining room. Where is he?

But then it’s there, and I’m blinking my eyes to make sure it’s real.

His lights are on. He’s back. I slide quietly off my bed and move toward the bathroom door.

But instead of feeling relief, I’m more scared than ever. My heart is racing.

Now I have to ask him to explain.

And what if it isn’t something simple?

Please let it be simple. Please tell me I’m being foolish.

The bathroom tile is cold on my feet as I slip through my door and closer to his. Closer to him. Why didn’t he come home?

He stands at the desk in the little sitting room, his back to me, sorting papers. Crossing my arms in front of me, I draw a deep breath, readying myself. Remus straightens up.

‘Nymphadora.’ He turns and smiles at me. It’s a sweet smile, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.

Why Nymphadora?

Still, I smile back, and meet him halfway across the room. He wraps his arms around me and I hold onto him as tightly as I can, burying my face in his chest, inhaling his scent, trying desperately to make myself feel better. When I finally raise my head he kisses me softly on the lips and then on my forehead. Sweet, chaste kisses ... Not at all what I’d expect from him after a week’s absence. I stand on my toes, run my hands through his hair, and this time I kiss him, kiss him properly. He lets himself go, lets himself kiss ... But then, he’s pulling away, taking a step back. He gives me a rather awkward smile and drops his gaze down.

‘How was your week?’ he asks. ‘Any more bad dreams?’

‘No. No dreams at all, in fact.’

‘Good.’ He nods.

‘Bit lonely though.’ I stroke my hand down his arm. He raises his head, but he’s still not looking at me.

‘Yes, well ...’

‘What about you? How was your week?’ I ask, still keeping my hand on his arm, gently caressing just above his elbow.

‘Informative. Hopefully, productive ...’ He turns from me, breaking our connection, returning to his papers. ‘Not very comfortable at times, but that was to be—’

‘Why didn’t you come home last night?’ Can’t help it, it’s all I really want to know.

His whole body stiffens, his jaw tightens and I see him swallow hard. ‘It was so late. You need your sleep.’

He’s lying.

He moves past me, back into his bedroom, to his chest of drawers, and begins removing the few clothes he has left in there and dropping them into an old carpet bag at his feet.

‘I’m on nights this week. You know that.’

He gives an awkward chuckle. ‘Sorry, with everything that’s gone on, I must’ve forgotten.’ He picks up the carpet bag and I follow him back into the sitting room.

‘Remus?’

‘Yes.’ He’s messing about with the papers again.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Were you hoping you wouldn’t have to see me before you set out again?’

He stops, runs his hand through his hair and turns to me.

‘Don’t be silly,’ he says softly. But I don’t think I’m being silly at all. His hand brushes the side of my face and he kisses my temple ... but he still won’t meet my eyes.

‘I love you.’ I touch the side of his face, run my finger down to his chin, and he finally looks at me.

‘I love you, too. But ...’

He’s just staring at me. Looking ... Something’s wrong.

‘But ... what?’ I hear myself whisper. I’m shaking, vibrating, I can feel it, and I ball my hands into fists to try and make it stop --clenching so hard my fingernails dig into my palms.

‘This can never work,’ he says softly.

Quite literally it’s like having the floor fall from beneath my feet. I can’t believe he just said that. He can’t have just said that.

‘What can never work?’ I hate the fact that my voice is shaking.

He’s looking over my shoulder again, but his hand slides over mine and he’s squeezing my fingers in his. ‘This. Us.’

‘What are you talking about? It is working.’ Isn’t it?

He shakes his head. ‘I’ve been so foolish. So careless ...’

‘What?’

‘Tonks, I’m a werewolf.’

‘I know that. I understand that.’

‘No. I don’t think you do.’ He’s shaking his head again. ‘I can’t, I won’t , waste your life.’

‘Waste it? What do you mean, waste it?’ He’s not making any sense.

‘What kind of future could you possibly have with me?’

‘A happy one!’

‘No.’ His eyes meet mine again; his jaw tightens. ‘All I can offer you is poverty, and prejudice, and regret.’

He can’t believe that. ‘That’s not true.’

‘You will lose family, friends, colleagues.’

‘I don’t care!’

‘You should care. And what of your job? What would the Ministry say if they knew one of their Aurors was keeping company with a werewolf?’

‘It’s none of their damn business.’ His eyes follow the movement of my hand as I smack it down on the back of the settee.

‘Really?’ Crossing his arms in front of him, he looks up at me, sets his jaw. ‘It wasn’t so long ago that werewolves were murdered in droves, if not on Ministry orders, then definitely with Ministry consent.’

‘It’s illegal now.’

‘Yes. But some of those old men still hold power at the Ministry, don’t they?’

‘They do, but ...’

‘You could lose your job.’ Why does that sound so condescending?

‘No. There are far too few Aurors now, and with Voldemort ...’

‘You could face retribution.’

‘I’m prepared for that.’

‘I’m not.’ He turns his back on me again, as if the subject is closed.

‘So that’s it then, you’re giving up?’

‘I’m too old for you ... I’m too poor ...’

‘We’ve been through this, Remus. Yes, you’re older than me, but really, what does that matter? As to the other; I’ve got a good job, I make a decent salary, I get raises every year, and with the new threat, I get danger pay as well. It’s not a fortune, but it’s enough—for both of us.’

‘I won’t ...’ But he seems to stop himself. ‘I’m far too dangerous.’

‘Yeah, you’re downright scary.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘Yes, I do. And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m a fucking Auror!’

‘You shouldn’t have to ...’ There’s a bitterness in his voice I’ve heard before, the same tone he had when I questioned him about his pay. He turns his back to me again and picks up those damn papers.

‘I want to.’ I touch the back of his hand but he pulls away, opening what looks to be an old ledger and snapping some of his papers between its pages.

‘I can’t give you children,’ he says suddenly.

‘Who says I want any.’

‘You’re young, you may change your mind.’

‘I may. But you were cursed by a bite. That’s not a generational curse, Remus. You know you can’t pass it down.’

‘Would you want to marry me? Would you trust me with your children?’

‘Yes,’ I reply firmly. ‘On both counts.’ For a moment his eyes lock with mine. It’s the truth, he has to know that.

He pulls his gaze away and begins to put the papers he seems to have gathered umpteen times into the tatty carpetbag.

‘Children ask questions. They want to know why their father locks himself away once a month. They would want to know why he can’t find work, they would want to know why--’

‘And we’d tell them, and they’d understand, and they’d love you. They’d love you because of who you are.’

‘I am a werewolf!’

‘You are a good man.’

He fastens the top of the bag and pulls it onto his shoulder.

‘It doesn’t make any difference. All anyone has to hear is “werewolf”.’

He picks his coat off the back of the settee and heads for the door.

‘I thought you weren’t leaving 'til tomorrow?’

‘I’m not. But I’ve got a few things to do first. Goodnight, Tonks.’

‘Remus?’

‘Yes?’ He pauses in the doorway.

‘I love you. And nothing is ever going to change that.’

Without another word, he leaves. The door bangs shut behind him.

What the hell just happened?

Why do I feel dizzy?

I find myself sinking to the chair, dropping my head to my hands. What the hell ...

There’s a knock at the door, and for one moment I think perhaps he’s come back. But why would he knock on his own door?

‘Tonks?’ Molly’s voice.

I draw a deep breath and scrub my hands over my face. ‘Come in.’

She gives me a weak smile as she enters. ‘You all right, dear?’ she asks.

I nod. ‘Fine. Thanks.’

She bites her lip as she surveys me, walking round the side of my chair. She sits on the coffee table facing me and takes my hands in hers.

‘I’m so sorry, dear. Kingsley, well he’s guarding the Muggle Prime Minister now ... He won’t be back ... I was gathering his things for him downstairs ... I couldn’t help but overhear.’

I can’t look at her anymore. Just stare into my lap, squeezing her fingers in mine. There’s a sudden tightness in my chest and tears are burning behind my eyes. But I can’t do this, not now. I have to be at work in half an hour. I take as many deep breaths as I can. And slowly it gets easier to breathe. Slowly, I ease my grip on Molly’s hands.

‘I’ll put the kettle on. We’ll have a cup of tea.’

I nod. But I know that if I open my mouth to speak it’ll start, and I can’t have that now. She busies herself around the fire as I stare at the small hole in my robes, on my left knee. I don’t remember how I did that ... A few minutes later she holds out a steaming mug to me.

I wrap my fingers around the hot mug. Its heat, near scalding, makes me shiver as I inhale the sweet fragrance of the tea. A good cup of tea can help put everything into perspective. At least according to my Gran. I miss her.

‘Don’t worry, dear,’ Molly says sweetly. ‘I’ll have a chat with him. He’ll come around.’

And I’m forced to think of Remus again. ‘I don’t know, Molly ...’

‘Course he will,’ she smiles at me. ‘He loves you.’

‘He never said he didn’t.’ I look up at her now and I can tell she’s worried too. Although she’s smiling, I can see it in her eyes.

*

It’s a nice night, clear for a change. Kelly’s still grinning as we step from the cafe into the streets. He’s a great distraction really. He always makes me laugh and tonight is no exception. He’s looking very well for having spent nearly a week in St Mungo’s. He’s already thanked me a thousand times, unnecessarily.

‘Tell you one thing,’ he says as we step from the kerb and cross the street, ‘I’ll never complain about being paired with you again.’

‘You’ve complained?’ Rather insulted, really.

‘Well not really complained, but you know.’

‘No, I don’t.’ I swing around the light post as we turn down the street and head toward the Muggle Prime Minister’s residence. Kingsley’s in there somewhere and tonight Kelly and I are patrolling the streets, watching for anything suspicious.

‘Well, just ... some of the lads ... I mean you’re the youngest girl, aren’t you? And well, physically ... physically, you’re not exactly big. Not like Ang or Devica. What are you, all of eight stone?’

‘Eight and a half,’ I answer rather defensively. Arse.

‘Well anyway ...’

‘Kelly ...’ My words catch in my throat as we reach the next corner. It hangs in the sky, vast and green and glittering ... a shining omen ... the Dark Mark.

‘Fuckin’ ‘ell ...’ Kelly’s voice from behind me.

‘Come on.’

And we’re tearing through the streets toward the great skull and serpent.

It’s a residential street. And that scares me. There are Muggle lights and cheery voices from open windows. But where the skull hangs ... Balloons tied to the fence ... A child’s party? No, the mark is over the house next door ... Thank God.

I can hear the children singing, as we climb the steps to the neighbouring house. A game I’d always play at my cousins’ birthdays.

Oranges and lemons
Say the bells of St Clement’s
You owe me five farthings
Say the bells of St Martin’s

The door swings open under my fingers. The locks are gone, black scorch marks in their wake. Kelly treads on my heel. ‘Sorry,’ he mouths as I glance back at him.

When will you pay me?
Say the bells of Old Bailey
When I get rich
Say the bells of Shoreditch

He’s nervous, I can tell. Can’t blame him. He’s never really said what he went through last time. I doubt there are any Death Eaters here. They set the mark after they’ve finished. After they’ve murdered ... I step forward into the corridor. The lights are on ... But that smell ... like burning flesh.

When will that be?
Say the bells of Stepney
I do not know
Says the great bell at Bow

There’s blood on the wall. Smeared in a great trail on the crisp white paper. Leading me into the next room. And I know what’s happened. And I think I know what I’m going to find. And part of me so wants to run.

Here comes the candle to light you to bed
Here comes the chopper to chop off your head
Chip chop, chip chop ... the last man’s dead.

I step into the room. There are scorch marks on the walls, the ceiling, the carpet. Furniture, bits of furniture, are strewn everywhere. The mirror over the fireplace is all but shattered, only a few shards remain in the frame, the rest crunch under our boots. There’s blood everywhere. On the mantel on the walls. There’s writing. Writing on the far wall, ceiling to floor, “All hail the Dark Lord.”

‘Jayzus.’ Kelly’s voice from behind me. He’s standing on the other side of an overturned settee looking down.

‘What?’

But he doesn’t answer, his hand is clamped firmly over his mouth. He glances up at me and then he runs, sprinting back down the corridor and I assume into the night air. As I come around the settee myself I can hear him retching outside.

There is something on the floor, someone on the floor. A woman, her naked body twisted, broken, so bloodied I can barely see her skin. Surrender position, that’s what they call it: her hands over her head, knees up and apart ... They teach us to expect it. But I’ve never seen it before. A twisted custom, practised by Death Eaters throughout the last war, and reserved only for witches. The ultimate insult, the ultimate affront to any wizard who came home to find his wife, or daughters, slaughtered and left like this. The Dark Mark glows up at me, cut and burnt into the flesh of her chest. Her eyes are open, wide, frightened, and I suddenly hope she was already dead when they did this to her. Her hair is black and silver, there is so much blood on her face that ... Oh, God ... ‘Emmeline,’ I hear myself say as I drop to my knees beside her. ‘Emmeline!’ I still call her name even though I know there’s no hope that she can hear me. I touch her face, her shoulder. She’s cold. ‘Emmeline,’ I whisper again. The blood that pools on the floor around her is soaking through my robes, it’s wet against my skin. Wet on my hands, wet, but warm and ... I don’t know what to do.

Don’t know anymore ... She was always so beautiful, so regal ... not ... I wipe some of the blood off with my sleeve, close her eyes gently as I can, and pulling my cloak from my shoulders, I lay it over her. Give her some peace, give her some dignity.

I just have to tell myself that this is war. In war people die all the time. People ... but not someone I had breakfast with this morning. I was probably sitting in the cafe with Kelly waiting for our shift to officially start ... While she was dying, Kelly and I were probably filling in the Prophet crossword with the rudest words we could think of. They were killing her. They were doing this ... I can’t stop touching her, her face, her hair. Not sure why, I just want her to know that I’m here, that I’m sorry, that she matters ...

‘You’re not supposed to touch a body. You’re not supposed to disturb anything,’ comes a gruff voice from behind me.

‘As if we don’t know who the fuck did this!’ I round on him, and for the first time, I realise I’m crying. Mad-Eye just stares down at me. ‘Our Emmeline ...’ I try and explain. He nods as if he already knows, and he inclines his head. Merch appears behind him a moment later, followed closely by three wizards. They all wear navy robes with green trim and I know they are from Law Enforcement’s Inquisitor department. The first one I don’t know. He is probably a few years younger than I am, with sandy-brown hair and nearly as many freckles as Charlie. The second is shorter with thick dark hair tied in a squat ponytail. He has a quill tucked behind his left ear and he carries a thick notebook. His name is ... actually, I don’t know his name. At work he’s just known as The Greek. Very smart man from what I’ve heard. The third, his name is Hoskins. He is very tall with longish, grey hair, a narrow face, and beady black eyes. He always reminds me of a ferret.

Moody clears his throat, and I know to pull myself to my feet, step back against the cool firmness of the wall; get out of the way.

‘Hell of mess here,’ the young man says, cheerfully surveying the room. ‘What do you reckon?’ He looks up at the Hoskins. ‘Two to one?’

‘Three,’ the ferret replies in a slow, deep voice. ‘The pattern over there is different. One, two, three, four.’ He waves his hand to various scorch marks on the walls. ‘Helpful if we can find what’s left of the victim’s wand.’

All three draw their own wands and I watch as they move slowly around the room. ‘They could have taken it with them. Trophy ...’ the young man begins.

‘No.’ The Greek kicks at the pile of broken glass on the hearthstone and picks out a wand. ‘It’s here. And not even broken.’

He hands it to Hoskins who examines it carefully.

‘Why didn’t they break it?’ the young one asks him.

But this time it’s Mad-Eye who answers. ‘It’s made of yew.’

Hoskins nods, and gives Mad-Eye a knowing grin. ‘Somebody was superstitious. Bad omen to break yew. Death omen to some. Wouldn’t happen to know the core would you, Alastor?’

‘Dragon heart string,’ I answer. Same as mine. The ferret nods, twirling her wand in his fingers as he walks around the room. This one’s hers. And this one.’

‘That’s it?’ The young wizard walks over to examine the scorching on the wall himself. ‘She only got two curses off?’

‘You’ll cotton on one day, Hargreaves.’ The ferret shakes his head and walks away from the young man. ‘We only get residual scorch marks when a curse misses its mark. By the state of the room I’d say the victim put up one hell of a fight. And she only missed twice.’ He brushes his hand across the back of a burnt chair. ‘I doubt all three of them walked out of here unaided.’ Hoskins shakes his head again as he passes Mad-Eye. ‘Thick as two short planks, that one,’ he mutters. Mad-Eye nearly smiles.

The Greek is taking all this down in his notebook.

Hoskins takes a deep breath and looks back over his shoulder at us. ‘What do you say, Merch, Alastor? Care to help us out with a Mulvado ?’

I’ve never seen it done. How they test for energy. The energy from curses. It lingers and leaves an impression ... Each stands in a corner of the room, wands raised. The young one is entrusted only to turn out the lights. As soon as it’s dark I hear Mad-Eye count it down and then ‘ Mulvado!’

It takes a few moments. But then the room appears to fill with wisps of light. Most are faded, barely there, and some disappear while I watch them. The residue of energy, of curses. A thick, dark, green light appears. It’s only about three feet high and travels straight up from where Emmeline lies. The colour, and the strength of it ... It was the last curse thrown. I feel sick.

The ferret crunches across the broken glass until he’s standing over her. ‘Killer stood here, and delivered the curse. Avada Kedavra,’ he mutters waving an empty hand down at her body.

I feel nauseous. And dizzy. And I didn’t want to see that. Didn’t need to know that. The killing curse was the last curse used ... That means she was still alive ... She was still alive when they cut their mark. When they burnt it in ...

She was still alive.

I was only a few streets away.

They are surrounding her again. The lights come back on and The Greek has his notebook open, and something else ... A camera.

They pull my cloak away from her body. I want to tell them not to. Just to leave her alone. She’s been through enough. But they don’t, they all stand over her and The Greek begins to take pictures.

No!

‘Just like Bones,’ he mutters, indifferent.

‘Victim is female. In her forties,’ Hoskins begins.

I want them to put my cloak back on her. They step over her. Wave their wands at various things. Their voices all blur together ‘til they are just noise in my head. ‘Victim is ... Victim must’ve ... Victim has multiple ...’

They don’t care, do they? To them she’s just a body, just a number, to be processed and catalogued like all the others ...

‘Victim’s had ... Victim’s last ...’ They won’t shut up.

‘Stop it! Just stop it!’ And I’m screaming and I can’t help it. ‘She has a name! Her name is Emmeline.’

They all turn to look at me as if seeing me for the first time. Open-mouthed, gaping. Pain, as my knees hit the blood-soaked floor beside her. I pull my cloak from the overturned settee and cover her with it again. I just want them all to go away. Just leave her alone.

‘Tonks.’ Merch’s voice. It takes me a few moments to locate him in this room. If he wants to bollock me in front of everyone he can, I don’t care. But he doesn’t. He’s beside me the next moment, his hands on my shoulders, pulling me up. ‘On your feet, lass.’ And my feet are firm on the floor again and he’s guiding me out of the room, into the corridor. I draw a deep breath, bite down on my lip and look up at him, preparing myself ... But his expression softens. ‘Does Emmeline have any family we need to inform?’ he asks.

‘I don’t think so. Her brother died in the old war. She has a boyfriend; he works up in Glasgow. Peter ... Coleman, I think. Someone has to tell him. I can ...’

Merch shakes his head. ‘Not you. But I’ll see that it’s done. I want you to go home, Tonks. Get yourself cleaned up. I want you in my office tomorrow morning.’

‘But ...’

‘Go. I’ll look after things here.’

There’s no point in arguing, so I turn from him, from her, from all of them, and walk back down the blood-smeared corridor and out into the London night. It’s cold and raining now, but I know I can’t go home.

I Apparate into the safe zone in the small alleyway a few yards from the St George and make my way slowly up the steps and through the front door.

Bill and Arthur are in the lobby, obviously on their way out. They stop short when they see me. Just stare. Why?

‘Tonks?’ Bill’s voice. ‘You’re covered in blood.’

Am I? I look down at myself. He’s right. It’s all over my hands, down my front; my robes are still a bit wet. I was kneeling in it. In her blood ...

‘Tonks?’ Arthur this time. I look up at him but I can’t seem to focus properly. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Emmeline’s dead.’ My voice sounds so calm it surprises me. My heart is still racing.

‘What?’

‘How?’

‘She was murdered tonight, in her home. Mad-Eye’s there now but he should be along shortly. I’m going to have a shower.’ Turning, I walk quickly up the stairs. I am grateful for the fact that they don’t call after me, that they don’t ask more questions. They just let me go.

*

Leaving my robes on the bathroom floor, I step into the steam of the shower. I doubt I’ll ever wear them again. Even if I can get them clean --I just won’t ...

There’s blood on my skin, my hands, my arms, my legs ... Blood ...

We’re at war. We’re at war. We’re at war. It happens in a war. Death happens, ugliness ... hatred ... I just don’t understand. How could you do that to another person? How could anyone do that? I couldn’t, not even to someone I hated. I don’t understand ... But, I do remember ...

Remember hiding with my mother, or father, or both, on the nights Death Eaters would swarm through our village. Remember Mum telling me not to make a sound.

And people would just disappear. They’d just disappear in the night.

Why is it so cold in here?

‘Warmer.’ I speak to the taps. The temperature change is mild and not nearly good enough. My teeth are still chattering. ‘Warmer. Hot.’

People disappear, people die. That mark hung over the homes of friends and neighbours when I was a child. That mark ... my father and a group of others would go into those houses the following morning. No doubt finding similar scenes to what I found tonight, to ... Emmeline ...

Tears choke me again. It’s so hard to breathe. Picking up my flannel and the soap, I begin to scrub the dried blood from my hands, my legs. But it’s too hard and I feel dizzy. I need to sit down. Sliding to the floor of the bath, I try again.

Why is it so fucking cold?

‘Hotter,’ I command. There’s so much steam but the water’s still cool. The flannel is rough on my skin, and the soap smells of sandalwood. It’s not mine. It’s Remus’s. Remus. Where is he?

All I want to do is curl up in Remus’s arms and go to sleep. Remus can make me forget, Remus can make me believe, Remus ... But I can’t, can I? He’s left me. He’s left me. He can’t have left me. Please ... I can’t do this. I just can’t do this ...

*

There’s a loud metallic noise, and it gets brighter. The shower curtain ...

‘Tonks ...What are ... Tonks?’ Remus’s voice.

The water stops, and I’m shaking, can’t stop shaking ... He’s on his knees beside me. ‘Tonks?’ His hands on my face. I look at him, but I still can’t focus ... He’s gone again and a moment later I feel him wrap a large towel around my shoulders. It’s thick and it should be soft but it’s not. It hurts ...

‘God ...’ He breathes against my ear as he lifts me from the bath, into his arms.

He carries me into his bedroom, sits me on the edge of his bed and wraps me in his dressing gown, tying the sash firmly at my waste. My teeth are still chattering.

‘You cold?’ he asks.

I nod.

He pulls back the covers on his bed and lays me down, covering me to my chin, sliding to the mattress beside me. His hands slide through my wet hair, his fingers touch the side of my face. ‘Xena? Xena, please talk to me.’

‘Emmeline’s dead,’ I manage to whisper.

‘I know,’ he says, nodding softly. ‘Moody’s downstairs.’

I shut my eyes as tightly as I can, trying to block the image from my head. Trying to stop myself from crying again. ‘Remus ... What they did to her ...’

‘Ssshhh ...’ he whispers against my ear. His arms slide around me and he pulls me tightly against his chest. His hand moves through my hair. His chin rests against mine, prickles ... I can feel the warmth of his breath on my face. Shutting my eyes, I turn my head in to his shoulder, inhaling the scent of sandalwood, listening to the soft thumping of his heart. His finger traces down the side of my face, up under my chin, and I raise my head to look at him. Those beautiful eyes ... He kisses me. Sweet, wonderful kissing, that makes me light-headed and turns my legs to jelly.

And it’s like the conversation we had earlier this evening never happened ... His hands slide into the dressing gown, move down my sides, up my back, and he’s pulling me closer, deepening our kiss. I slip my hand around his waist, untucking his shirt, moving my hands up his back ... I swear he bristles at my touch, seems to catch himself ... And then he’s pulling away, sliding off the bed, separating himself, from the blankets, from this warmth, from me. ‘No. We ... I can’t do this. I can’t ...’

Still I reach for him, his fingertips hold mine for a moment—then he shakes his head and steels his gaze. Standing, tucking his shirt back in. ‘Remus ... please.’ I can feel the tears hot and fast down my face. ‘Please don’t ...’

He looks over me, in the direction of the window. He bites his lip. I know it’s futile. He’s made up his mind. And all I can do is roll onto my stomach, bury my face in the blankets.

I hear his breathing, hard and uneven. Hear him turn from the bed. Hear him walk away.

‘Molly!’ His voice sounds strained as he calls. ‘Molly!’

I want to get up. Want to go to him, want him to argue, want to ... but I can’t find my voice. I can’t seem to move. I can’t even cry anymore ... I’m so tired.

‘She’s not well,’ are the next words I hear from Remus.

Then Molly’s hurried footsteps on the floor, her hand on my back, the side of my face.

‘What happened?’ she asks. Her tone is accusatory and I love her for it.

‘She was in the shower.’

‘Still?’

‘Trying to boil herself or drown herself, I don’t know.’

Her hand is on my face. ‘She’s doesn’t feel warm.’

‘She says she’s cold.’

‘Right, hand me the blanket off the back of the chair and put some more wood on that fire.’ Molly mutters a spell I can’t quite hear and then she pulls the covers off me, laying a warm blanket over me before covering me back up again. It makes me shiver.

‘Alastor says that she was the first one there,’ Remus begins, ‘when they found Emmeline. That she was very upset.’

‘As any of us would be,’ Molly mutters, tightening blankets around me. ‘I think sometimes we forget …that she’s one of them—like Alastor and Kingsley. She’s such a cheerful girl, we forget what she does.’

I hear him exhale deeply, feel his fingers brush my hair. I know it was him, not Molly. I know that touch. But he withdraws quickly and I want him back. ‘Is she asleep?’ he asks.

“No.” I want to say.

‘I don’t know,’ Molly answers, stroking her hand down my back again. ‘I hope so.’

They don’t speak for a long time. They don’t even move. I can hear them breathing. Feel the weight of Molly’s hand on my back.

‘You don’t have to give her up, Remus.’

‘Molly ...’

‘You don’t ...’

‘Yes. I do. It was foolish of me to think--’

‘You’re being foolish now.’

‘Please, Molly, just look after her.’

‘That’s your job. You do it better than anyone.’

There’s another long silence before I hear him say, ‘I can’t ... I’ve got to go.’

I can feel a sharp pain searing in my chest at his words--it radiates throughout my body. I clench my jaw as tightly as I can.

Then, the unmistakable sound of his shoes on the floor and the creak of the door as he opens it.

‘Remus ... You need her and she needs you.’

‘Believe me, Molly, I am the last thing she needs.’

*