Consequences

A/N: It’s been three years since I started this and it’s finally finished. Thank you so much for reading and for all your encouragement along the way. You have given me the confidence to tackle my own stuff now.

Much love to jenorama and leftsockarchive for their beta-work. They’ve stuck with me since the beginning and I really appreciate that.

Quick note to my readers in the States: a vest is a sleeveless undershirt. I have used this before and I had no idea it meant something different where you are. Sorry for the confusion. :)

Much love,
Pandora

*

Chapter 28: Consequences

*

She was just the old lady who lived downstairs. She was short and round, rather nosey, half deaf and a bit mad; she kept too many cats and played Ernesto Mudgeon records far too loudly at all hours.

But I shall miss her.

Because she also watched out for me; cared enough to say hello everyday; made me dinner when she felt I wasn't eating enough; even threatened to owl my mother on occasion. Makes me smile to think about it. I wipe my tears with my palms and cross my arms firmly in front of me as I peruse the photos on the table. Her kindness did not just extend to me. She was kind to my friends as well, to Oonagh, to Charlie, to Jon, to Remus and Sirius too. I think she and Tabi still exchange Christmas cake each year.

This photo's lovely. Just a simple pose in black dress robes; she couldn't have been more than twenty. Irene Fuller. I never even knew her first name. Or perhaps I did ages ago but I've never had occasion to use it. Of her nine children only three survived the first go round with Voldemort. Still, she has, had rather, twelve grandchildren, twenty-three great grandchildren and seven great great grandchildren. Her husband, Frank, died forty years ago. I can't imagine that. Can't imagine outliving Remus by that much. It would break me.

Her funeral was lovely. And this reception is quite nice too. There's a large buffet and lots of people. They talk and laugh and tell their favourite stories. But I'm not in much of a mood for socialising. I just want to be by myself and be miserable for a bit. I sniff loudly and push my hands into my pockets hoping to locate a tissue. Good, a whole packet. So I blow my nose and pull my hood up further. It's what I love about mourning robes-deep pockets and large hoods; no one can see how much I've been crying.

I should have gone to see her at Bernard's. Should have taken Simon for a visit. I meant to, I really did. But something always came up. I'd tell myself there wasn't enough time. But now … I wish I'd gone. That I'd made time.

A large group approaches the photo table and I move off again, searching for a dark corner where I can hide in case anyone decides to try and engage me in conversation. Perhaps I should just go home but I do feel rather obliged to stay. Besides, I hate that there's a 'For Sale' notice in the window of her flat. I help myself to a mug of cider and a chocolate biscuit and slip, hopefully unnoticed, into the dark shadows beside the old piano. I'll stay another half hour. Then I'll allow myself to go home.

Popping the remainder of my biscuit into my mouth, I fumble for another tissue and wipe the chocolate from my fingers. But there's something else in this pocket too. Paper. Setting my mug down on the piano, I pull out the folded bit of parchment from my pocket. On it is an address in my quick scrawl. 39 Old Church Rd, Shere, Surrey. What? Oh. Emmeline's Funeral; the last time I wore these robes. I begin to crumple the paper in my fingers, before I notice there's something else written on it too. I unfold it carefully and there in the centre is his unmistakable handwriting: Meeting DD at six. See you at home. love, Remus

Been years since he's thought of my flat as home, hasn't it? At least that's what it feels like. I fold the paper carefully and put it back in my pocket. I'm glad it took me this long to find it. A few months ago that would have devastated me. Now… Well it doesn't make me feel any worse than I did a few minutes ago. Mind you, I am at a funeral and I do already have tears drying on my face.

The hand on my shoulder makes me jump; obviously I'm not as inconspicuous as I would like to be. I draw a deep breath to compose myself as a soft, familiar voice says simply, 'Tonks?'

I'd nearly forgotten how he says my name. And suddenly, I can't breathe; by the time I've turned around my stomach has already worked itself into a tight ball. What do I say to him?

Can't think of a thing. I set my cider down carefully on the piano before I venture to look up. His hair is longer now. It falls in chocolate waves about his face, over one eye. Gold eyes. Olive skin. It suddenly dawns on me that I can feel worse. I'm instantly reminded of that night in the kitchen: The look on his face. The pain I caused.

'Hi, Jon.' I'm surprised I manage to get any words out at all; I want to run away.

'Are you all right?' he asks.

I don't, can't, answer just shake my head.

'Course you're not. Stupid. Sorry.'

He shifts uncomfortably before me and I draw a deep breath and look up at him once more. Try and smile. 'S'okay.'

'She was a really nice lady. I know how much she meant to you.'

Does he? I don't think I even knew until today. 'Thank you,' I reply politely. And for a moment we stand in silence. He rocks nervously on the balls of his feet and I'm quite sure there's more he wants to say.

'How are you, Jon?'

'Doing well, actually. Promoted.'

'Congratulations.'

He smiles. 'Thanks. So how are you? You look-'

'Like crap, I know.' I scrub my hands over my eyes and sniff again.

'That's not what I was going to say. I was going to say you look tired … and skinny. But you're still you. Still pretty.'

Bollocks. It almost makes me laugh. I feel his hand come up on my cheek, fingertips brushing through my hair and I raise my head to look at him.

'I mean that,' he says. If he means it, he's blind. Still, I nod as I let my gaze drop again and his hand falls to his side.

'Thank you,' I whisper.

And we just stand there, the pleasantries exhausted, nothing left to say. I just stare at the perfect shine on his boots. He was always much better at polishing than me. He may be a shit housekeeper but he always looks good.

This silence is moving past the point of awkward, accelerating quickly toward 'How rude would it be if I just Disapparated?'

'Well …' he begins, 'glad to see you didn't bugger off to Romania or anything.'

Ow. His words send a painful stab to my already tight stomach. Suppose I should have expected that. Suppose I deserve it too. Drawing a deep breath I look up at him once more and shake my head. 'No. I told you. Mistake.'

He nods and chews on his lower lip. I want him to say it's all right. I want him to say that everyone makes mistakes. But it's not all right. And not everyone does what I did to him.

'I'm so sorry, Jon. Really, I …'

'I know,' he replies coolly, throwing his gaze somewhere over my head.

They've changed the music. What had been classical strings has become Ernesto Mudgeon's 'Ballad of the Grey Lady.' It floated eerily and rather loudly, up through my floor in the middle of the night on many occasions.

'Oh God, this song.' Jon chuckles. But already I can feel new tears sliding down my face. Strange to think I won't be cursing its existence at two a.m. anymore.

'Hey,' Jon whispered softly, moving his fingers through my hair, making my scalp prickle. I screw my eyes shut and clench my teeth but I can't stop crying. Stupid. It's just a song.

A moment later he steps forward, pulling me firmly against his chest. Firmly but not tightly. Polite. But the fact that he allows me this close at all-I should be happy, shouldn't I? I let my fingers twist gently in the sides of his robes as I draw deep breaths to compose myself. Trouble is, even when I manage to stem the tears, I don't feel at all composed. Why the hell didn't I go and see her at Bernard's?

My fingers tighten briefly in the fabric of his robes but I don't let myself touch him. It's not that I don't want to, I do. I want to cling to him. I want to scream. I want to tell him that I wasn't always a good neighbour, that I wasn't always helpful or friendly, that on more than one occasion, I wasn't even polite. I want to cry and wibble and unburden. I want warmth and a tight embrace and the obligatory 'everything's going to be all right.' But I can't have it. I can't have any of it. Not from Jon. I can't take anything else from him. I've taken so much already.

Sniffing again, I take a step back, wiping my eyes and forcing a smile. Hating myself for wishing once more that he were Charlie.

*

It's a crescent moon tonight. Its light dances brightly across the black lake, reflects on the mountaintops-silver on the canopy of the dark forest. It looks both peaceful and terribly eerie. Makes me shiver.

Fawkes is still singing.

And I'm still here. Still perched on the highest window in the infirmary, some eight feet from the ground, the staunch white of Madam Pomfrey's curtains spread out like a maze below. The door keeps banging as people come in and out. There are voices: angry, afraid, soothing. Soon they all wash together and I can't distinguish anymore. Just noise.

Dumbledore's dead. What the hell are we going to do?

Drawing my knees to my chin, I wrap my arms tightly around them and let my head drop down. It has to get better than this, doesn't it? Does it? I don't know anymore. Tonight I find myself looking desperately for hope. In anything. I will fight til my last breath for the Order, for Harry, for the future… but without Dumbledore… I'm trying to silence my doubt but it's so hard. I'm doubting everything tonight. Raising my head I stare out into the night, watching the moon dance once more.

'It would take more zan a werewolf to stop Bill loving me!'

Her words instantly made me feel sick. I hope she's right. But then, he said it himself didn't he; he could never leave her.

But Remus could leave me…

'All these scars show is zat my husband is brave!' I can't pretend that Fleur and I are even remotely alike but at that moment-I know exactly how she felt.

Molly stepped back then. Her eyes locked mine and all I could do was stare back, set my jaw and try desperately to keep the tears from my eyes. But I couldn't, not for long.

'You see! She still wants to marry him, even though he's been bitten. She doesn't care!' I shut my eyes at the memory of my words.

'It's different… Bill will not be a full werewolf. The cases are completely-'

'But I don't care either, I don't care!' I twisted the front of his robes in my fist and pushed them back against him. He still wouldn't look at me. 'I've told you a million times …'

'And I've told you a million times,' came his level response. 'I'm too old for you … too poor … too dangerous …'

Am I just stupid? Should I have given up by now?

But…

Why does he do this to me? The way he looks at me-I'm not imagining that, am I? He turns up at my flat… He can't seem to leave an Order meeting without touching me…

I am stupid.

'Tonks?' Molly's soft voice from beneath me. 'Alastor's here.'

I nod and climb down from my perch, letting myself drop as quietly as I can to the stone floor. I didn't have to stay. It was highly unlikely that any Death Eaters would try returning to the school, not tonight anyway. They're too busy celebrating. But it made me feel better; it made me feel useful.

'How's Bill?'

'The same. Poppy thinks it best he remain unconscious for now.'

I nod again slowly. I actually overheard Poppy telling Arthur that earlier.

'Well, you probably want go home, Molly continues. 'You probably want to get some sleep…'

But … It feels like there's a “but”

'But?' I ask.

'Charlie.'

'Charlie's here?'

She nods. 'About forty minutes now. He's in with Bill. He hasn't said a word. I've tried to talk to him... I thought perhaps you-'

'Sure.'

I follow her to Bill's bedside, she draws the curtain back for me and I slip inside. Fleur is asleep in the bed beside Bill's, blonde hair strewn across her face; her hand still reaching for him, touching his arm. Charlie just sits in the chair opposite. His shoulders hunched, elbows on knees just staring at his brother's bloodied face. He looks pale, exhausted.

Molly should know by now that Charlie will never answer if you ask him if he's all right and he's not. So it's best not to ask. I don't say a word, just walk up behind him, stand at his shoulder and run my fingers through his hair. Soft but cold. Did he fly here? He doesn't look up but his arm slides around me and he pulls me closer. Resting his head against my side, he shuts his eyes. I continue to stroke my fingers through his hair and he presses his head hard against me.

Something is definitely wrong-I hope it's just the obvious.

We're not there long when Molly slips through the curtain again, followed closely by Arthur and Mad-Eye. Charlie gets up quickly, offering his mother his chair.

'S'all right; stay there, love,' Molly smiles, 'you've had a long journey.'

But Charlie shakes his head. 'No. Think I need a walk.' He doesn't ask if I want to go too, just takes my hand and tugs. I follow him; follow him down the stairs across the entrance hall and out into the night. He doesn't stop there either. We cross the lawns in the darkness, moonlight playing on the grass, makes the tips glow … blue. The warm wind in my face does make me feel a little better though, a little less oppressed.

Soon I see the hoops of the Quidditch pitch and the broom shed looms before us. I suddenly know where he's taking me and I'm not sure I want to go. I stop short before the doors. Charlie's fingers tighten in mine. He looks back at me. 'Please,' is all he says and I find myself nodding and a few moments later we're inside, the light from his wand casting a soft, familiar, glow over the room. On the left wall are all the school brooms, sorted by year. On my right are the lockers for the team players: green, red, blue and yellow. I can still find Charlie's locker and mine down the end. Round the corner from those the passage leads to the changing rooms and shower rooms.

But we're not here for broomsticks.

We pass the maintenance table and head into the dark recess at the back wall. Charlie raises his wand higher, searching the ceiling.

Where's the rope? There used to be a rope.

No sign of the rope just the small square trap door, it opens with a flick of his wand and soon the old wooden stairs tumble down to greet us. Charlie looks at me again as he lets go of my hand; I think he needs to know I won't bolt. I won't. I just nod and begin my ascent, Charlie close behind me.

It's so warm up here, hot even and the dust instantly makes me cough; every surface is thick with it. I raise my wand high over my head. Has no one been up here since we left school? The ceiling is low and sloped; Charlie can only stand upright in the peak of the roof. A hundred years of Quidditch memorabilia surrounds us. Broken scoreboards, trunks of old uniforms, papers, ancient furniture. It's stacked floor to ceiling in some parts and we have to pick our way amongst it all.

Charlie used to come up here to be alone and work out his team's Quidditch plays. If I look in that corner, the parchment is probably still stuck to the wall. But more than a monument to Quidditch through the ages, this is our place, Charlie's and mine. It was for most of seventh year. It feels strange to be in here now, wrong even, like we're disturbing a tomb. I try to shrug the feeling off, making my way to the three-legged desk on the left wall, pulling open the drawer and taking out the candles-all still as I left them. I light them one by one and release them to float through the air around us.

Stowing my wand in my pocket, I turn around in the familiar yellow light watching Charlie as he finishes clearing the dust. Why did he bring me back here?

This place-our place is so heavy with memories. They crawl over everything now making the air almost too thick to breathe. School rules may not let you roam the grounds past eight in the evening but no one questions a Prefect and Quidditch captain when he gets up at four a.m. and heads for the broom shed. No one questions him; no one catches me.

We'd lie and watch the sunrise over the Black Lake through the hole in the roof. That hole. It's still here; it makes me happy to see that it's not been patched. It doesn't leak, we saw to that.

Beneath our “window”, still covered in a white sheet, is our bed: A two-foot high stack of old bunting and banners. We covered it ourselves on the last day of school. I am actually surprised that no house elf has arrived to reclaim the sheet but then I don't suppose they bother coming up here anyway.

Charlie's hands are on my hips as he slips behind me. Moving to the opposite side of the bed. His side. He pulls the sheet back, wand in hand and mutters his charm; soon there are two pillows and a quilt in black, gold, red and yellow. Blended house colours; we did that too. Charlie sits in the edge of the bed. He unlaces his boots and pulls them off, then his socks. I just stand and watch him. His jumper comes off over his head and he's unbuttoning his shirt when he looks back at me. 'Will you lie with me 'til the sun comes up? Please.'

Oh God, Charlie, what's the matter?

But I don't ask just nod, sinking to my own side of the bed. I unlace my own boots pull them off, glancing back at him as I do. He's removed his shirt, his belt; he lies there in just his jeans now.

'You don't have to,' he says as I unfasten the front of my robes.

'I know,' I reply. But I want to, for several reasons not the least of which is that they're covered in a fair amount of his brother's blood. 'Would you mind…' I point to the wall indicating that I would actually like him to look away now.

He smiles at me for the first time tonight as he rolls away. 'Nymph, I've had my tongue-'

'I know. Shut up.'

I slip my robes off so I have nothing left but my knickers and vest. Laying my robes over an old trunk, I drop my wand down on top of them before turning back to Charlie and sliding under the covers beside him.

I touch his shoulder gently and he rolls back over to face me but he's not looking me in the eye anymore. Why? I take his hand in mine brush my thumb over his palm. He never did tell me how he got this scar.I let my fingers trail up his arm, to his shoulders and through that shaggy hair of his. He glances at me briefly as me as I touch him, before letting his gaze drop down again. I roll onto my back and next time he looks up, I open my arms to him. He slides forward gratefully his head coming to rest on my shoulder and I wrap him tightly in my embrace. He's breathing heavily, steadily, like he's trying to keep himself in check.

'Charlie?'

No response. So I'll go with what I do know. 'Madam Pomfrey says he'll be all right. I mean, he'll never be the same but he'll be all right. And it's not a full moon and Greyback wasn't transformed, so he won't be a werewolf or anything; although Remus says there will be some contamination. No one knows with any certainty what the extent of that will be. Anyway, Mada… Poppy is going to keep him unconscious for the next twenty-four hours or so; it'll give the potions more of a chance to take effect and immobilizing him will also keep the scarring … well … she says it'll help-'

'He may look like shit but at least he's alive.' The cold tone is odd for Charlie and it scares me. Sends a large, rather nasty shiver up my spine.

'Whose dead?' That's the question I need to be asking, isn't it? And that knowledge makes me instantly cold, steals the breath from my lungs.

'Charlie, who's dead?'

'Derek, he says slowly, ' and Catherine.'

I've lost my breath… and my thoughts. What? 'How?'

'Death Eaters attacked the Lleyn outpost tonight. We don't know why. The alarm sounded… There were three of them. They fled as we arrived.' His voice falters and he draws a deep breath before staring again. 'We found Derek dead in the sheds. Kate was on the front lawn.'

'And Zoe?' My heart's pounding in my ears.

'She… she was in Kate's arms.' His voice is shaking so badly now, he has me terrified.

'Charlie?'

'I took her to St Mungo's,' he stammers, 'but-'

He doesn't finish; can't finish. He doesn't have to; I know what he was going to say. She's dead too. They're all dead.

This is so fucked!

He pulls me tightly against him now, drawing his knees up, his fingers digging into my back. I feel the wet of his tears on the side of my neck and I wrap my arms around him as tightly as I can, bury my face in his hair. Wish I hadn't kept the vest on. I need to feel… I need every bit of warmth Charlie can afford me…

I finally let my breath go and the tears follow, running down my face to my chin, wetting his hair, turning the bright strands dark.

Who the hell does this?

He lets me hold him for the longest time. His tears fall on my neck, my chest. His fingers slide under my vest. Callused hands on my back. I don't know if I'm helping him but it helps me. I hate tonight. So much has happened; so much has been taken away. The man in my arms has lost two of his best friends, his godchild and very nearly, his brother.

And there's Dumbledore. I can't quite believe that, even though I saw his body myself. I keep thinking that this is all some kind of sick joke. Or perhaps I'd just like it to be.

Who else died tonight? Where else?

Derek and Catherine and Zoe…

Why?

I don't understand.

Charlie shifts a bit in my arms, begins to draw deep breaths and I know he's trying to compose himself. I want to tell him not to bother. He's entitled to his grief. I don't care if he cries.

But, of course, he does.

He raises his head from my shoulder, drops it down again on the pillow beside mine. I wipe the tears from his cheeks with my palms. He shuts his eyes, kisses my fingers. I love him. I really do. He knows me so well. I know why he brought me back here tonight. I needed a refuge and this was the safest place he could think of. If I had heard his news anywhere else, from anyone else, well-I may very well have been tempting gravity atop the bridge again.

'Does Agnetha know?' I manage. It's a horrible thought. She's such a sweet lady and Catherine's her only child. To lose all of them in one night-I can't imagine.

Charlie nods. 'I think so, by now. They were sending someone to go and talk to her. I was going to go myself but then I got word of what happened up here-of Bill.'

'When we found him, I thought he was dead,' I admit. Don't know why I tell him that; does he really need to know?

He nods. 'Scared the fuck out of me.'

I run my fingers through his hair, rest my head against his.

'I had no idea what I'd find when I came up here,' he continues. 'I mean, I knew about Bill … they tell you about family. And everyone knows about Dumbledore now. But I… I didn't know what else I'd find.'

'I think that's it for our side. No other serious injuries.'

'You've got bruises,' he says, chewing on his top lip. 'On your neck, your shoulder, your hip…'

Do I?

'I'm all right.'

He nods again. Shifting again in the bed, his arm slides around my shoulders, pulling me closer once more. I rest my head on his shoulder and shut my eyes.

'This is so fucked.' I say it aloud this time.

His embrace tightens and he kisses my hair.

'Did you catch any of them?' I ask, suddenly hoping I'll get one alone in the interrogation cells.

Charlie shakes his head. 'No need.'

'What?'

'They tried to escape through Bunny's enclosure. She ripped them to shreds… And we let her.'

The Auror in me will have to pretend I didn't hear that last bit.

I turn my head and kiss his chest, running my finger along that scar that runs across the right side, up to his throat; I believe it was Bunny what gave him that.

He kisses my temple. I raise my head to look at him. His next kiss is on my cheek and he pulls himself up on his elbow, pulls himself over me. The heat of his body, the way he's looking at me … His lips brush mine. And again. His hand slides into my hair and he kisses me. And I let him. I open my mouth to him, kiss him back. I love the way he kisses. It still makes me light headed, still makes me shiver, still makes my body arch against his. It would be easy just to pretend…

But…

It's not the same as it was. It's so much different.

And he knows it. He breaks our kiss a moment later; looking down on me with an expression I can't quite read.

'What was that for?' I ask.

He smiles softly at me, bites his lower lip. 'I had to check.'

I find myself blinking furiously, trying to keep new tears at bay. I wish he hadn't done that. I didn't want to know.

He slides down, dropping his head to my chest once more and I wrap my arms tightly around him.

His hand slips up my side, under my vest. His thumb is brushing my ribs. It's not really intrusive but-

'Charlie?'

'Mmmm.'

'What are you doing?'

'Listening to your heart.' His thumb continues its gentle caresses. I bite my lip; shut my eyes. I wish things were different.

'Charlie?' I repeat after at time.

'Yeah.'

'I'm sorry.'

'S'all right.' He squeezes me tighter. 'My fault anyway.'

'No, I don't think so… Just-'

'One of those things…'

I open my eyes and watch the moonlight reflect on ginger hair, catching the bits of gold making it glow. I thread my fingers through it slowly; it looks like fire.

The stars shine brightly down on us but I can't see Orion from here. Morning mustn't be that far off now. I could check my watch but I won't. Don't want to. Just want to lie here with him and block out the world for a bit.

In the dim light about our heads I can still see the heart carved in the wood: NT + CW and a number four with an arrow through it. Because we were supposed to be together forever, weren't we? My Charlie…

Not meant to be…

I shut my eyes again and my mind can't help but wander back to the infirmary tonight, to Remus's harsh words, his harsh tone and I wonder if I'm really meant to be with anyone. It doesn't seem like it anymore. Perhaps I'm meant to be alone. I can't be meant to feel like this.

My eyes are so sore. Tightening my embrace, I let them close, let myself sleep; safe here...

*

Funeral is tomorrow. This is the first time I've had time to relax, to think, to digest everything that's happened in the past two weeks. I've spent every waking hour at the Ministry and a lot of time where, I swear, I was asleep as well. The frightening thing is we don't seem to be making much progress. All of us know that Death Eaters have infiltrated the Ministry and the loyalty of other members is questionable at best. Some will join whatever side they feel will protect them more and will change positions at the drop of a hat. I know I swore allegiance to the Ministry when I became an Auror but I have far more faith in the Order at the moment.

I dry my hair and pull on my bathrobe, pushing my feet into my slippers as I shuffle into the bedroom to search my bookcase for a reasonable book. Tabi has been sending me one a month since Christmas, sometimes two. No Molly Malone though-Tabi prefers Lyla Meyslowe now. She's new and I must admit her books are… well… dirtier for a start. I just finished reading 'The Seventh Son' and tonight I think I'll try… 'The Scarlett Woman' looks rather interesting. The picture on the cover depicts a naughty red riding hood. And I think that's a wolf behind the tree.

After nipping back into the bathroom to fetch the bottle of wine and my glass, I wrap myself in the chocolate blanket, light the fire and allow myself to melt into the corner of the sofa. Tonight's been all right. Good, even, at least as good as I get. Two hours in the bath, half a bottle of wine and half a basket of WonderWitch products sampled. One day Fred and George will work out when my actual birthday is but for now it's nice getting un-birthday presents from them twice a year.

Their stuff is wonderful. I think I fell asleep in the bath for a bit-a lot actually. Pouring myself another glass of wine, I lean forward and set the bottle on the coffee table. Simon leaps on the back of the sofa by my head and stalks down the arm and across my lap, settling at my side. I scratch his chin and he butts my hand for more. The room is lovely and warm. I love the feeling of wrapping up warm in a blanket after a bath when your skin is still damp. Heaven. In fact, I may fall asleep before I even crack this book. Quite sleepy, actually…

My eyes are forced open a moment later by a sharp knock at my door.

Funny, how my mind automatically leaps to Mrs Fuller. But, of course, it can't be her.

Begrudgingly, I pull myself from the sofa, pick up my wand from the coffee table and, concealing it in the folds of my blanket, go to answer the door. The wand is probably unnecessary; between my neighbours and myself we've set so many wards on this street that, should anyone bearing the dark mark as much as cross the threshold, all hell would break loose. Still, Mad-Eye's words ring in my head 'constant vigilance'.

I open the door to find Remus standing outside it. Again. Perhaps I should have set a ward against him… He's dressed in brown trousers, a sleeveless jumper and a light, cotton shirt that is now so wet it's transparent and sticks to his skin. His shoulders are hunched, his hair plastered to his head, hands deep in his pockets. He looks rather pathetic actually. Half-drowned.

'Can I come in?' he asks. But I shake my head, pulling my blanket closer.

'Don't think so.'

'Please. Just let me in. It's freezing out here.'

'You should have worn a coat.' It's been pissing rain all day, he can't use the 'it was fair when I set out' excuse. I move to close the door but he steps forward, stopping it closing with his foot.

'What do you want, Remus?'

'Xena.' He rests his head against the door jam, giving me a sad look. No. Not going to work.

'I've asked you not to call me that. Get your foot out of my door.'

'No. Please, just talk to me.'

'What is there to say? You've made your views clear, what is it a million times now, Remus?'

'Don't be sarcastic.'

'Go home, Remus.'

'No. Not 'til I've said what I came here to say.'

'All right, out with it then.' Still I stand my ground, block the doorway from him entering.

He looks about awkwardly for a moment. 'Just that… I love you.'

'I know that. Goodnight.' With that I pull the door hard against his boot, hoping that he'll just get out of the way. I want him to go. I want him to stop all the bullshit and just leave me alone! But he doesn't move. His hand catches the door above my head with a loud smacking sound that makes me jump as he wrenches it open again.

'Tonks.'

'I don't want to talk to you.' I look directly at him as I say it; his nostrils flare and he swallows hard. I know my words hurt him and I don't care; I want him to hurt.

'Tonks, please.'

For what seems like forever we just stare at each other. His jaw is clenched, gaze is set and I know he's bound and determined not to move. But I'm tired and I've had enough of this…

'I'm cold.' I say finally. I am, despite the blanket; that nice, warm feeling I had a few minutes ago has been replaced by a cold chill as the wind swirls about my knees.

'Let me in,' he repeats.

I walk away. Know I shouldn't but I do.

I hear him close the door and I take myself to the kitchen as quickly as I can. I really have no business in here. I just don't want to be in the same room with him. Not until I have decided what to do.

What am I going to do?

I should have gone into the bedroom. Getting dressed would probably have been the best idea. But I'm here now. So… Tea? I pull the kettle from the shelf and turn on the tap to fill it. What does his coming here mean? He's done this before. He did it at Christmas. Is that what he's looking for this time? A little comfort … I shake my head at the shiver that runs through me. I just can't-

I drop the kettle on the hob and turn on the gas. The flames leap up a little too high and I jump back instinctively.

At least this time he's not carrying food and pretending Molly sent him. He said he loves me. I know he loves me. He's said that before.

But he didn't say that at Christmas. He didn't say that on Valentine's day when he didn't seem to want to leave. He hasn't said it in a long time. What do I do?

Folding the blanket over the back of a chair, I retie the sash on my bathrobe and walk a rather useless circle of my kitchen. Nothing. No epiphany. I hop backward onto the worktop and sit and wait for the kettle to boil, letting my heels bang softly against the cupboard doors below.

'You all right?' he calls from the other room.

'Just making tea.' My voice sounds forced and overly cheerful but so be it.

'Do you need any help?' he asks.

'No, thank you.' It's tea for God's sake!

'Probably should've brought some buns or something. Sorry.'

'No, you shouldn't've,' I call back. 'It would have given me something to throw at you.'

I hear him laugh which almost makes me smile. Funny, perhaps but also true.

The kettle begins to boil and I jump down to fetch the teapot, realising I am no closer to knowing what to do. I know he'll be in here eventually if I don't come out. I use the loose tea because it takes fractionally longer and take my time choosing mugs. I even check the pantry to see if there are biscuits lurking somewhere. I know there aren't any but I look anyway. Even then it doesn't take long enough and too soon I have the tray neatly arranged and no more excuses. But-I slide my hands up and down the edge of the worktop, clench and unclench my fists and take deep breaths; but I can't stop my heart from racing. I can't pick up the tray; I can't go out there.

I turn myself in a circle and scrub my hands over my face; I don't want to deal with this. Not tonight. I just want to go to bed.

'Nymphadora?'

Shit. I don't know how to answer this time, so I don't, just drop my elbows to the cold stone of the worktop and my head to my hands. What am I going to do?

But I've waited too long; I can hear his boots on the tiled floor, feel him as he steps up behind me, his hands falling on my shoulders. I shrug heavily to get them off.

'Nym …' he begins again. 'Dora?'

It almost makes me laugh; only my father calls me Dora.

'Dora, are you all right?'

'Fine,' I reply, straightening up. 'I just don't want you here.'

'Dora, please-I just want to talk.'

A likely story. I sniff loudly as I draw breath. 'I think we've said all there is to say. You've made your views perfectly clear.'

'I want to apologise.'

I've heard that before. 'For what this time?'

I turn to face him now, folding my arms firmly across my chest as I look up at him. He's dried his clothes and his hair. He smiles softly at me. His fingertips brush my cheek; makes me flinch. 'For everything,' he whispers.

Everything? That's new.

He takes a step toward me and I back up against the cupboards. Another step and his hand is in my hair. He's so close-and I'm suddenly acutely aware I'm only wearing a bathrobe.

'Remus, don'-'

But he doesn't listen; his arm slides around my waist and he pulls me to him as he kisses me. And… I almost let him.

'Don't!' I repeat more forcefully this time, pushing him back, ducking under his arm, moving away.

He spins toward me. But I'm already half out of the room.

'Nymphadora?' He catches my wrist as I cross the threshold to the sitting room. 'What's the matter?'

But I break his grip, pull my hand back. 'What are you doing? What do you mean “what's the matter?” You can't do that. You can't just say sorry and kiss me and make everything better. It's not better, Remus! It doesn't all just go away!'

'I'm sorry,' he says and I just drop to the chair, my head in my hands. What did he come here for? What does he mean by 'everything'? It wasn't long ago he told me, yet again, he wanted nothing to do with me and in front of a room full of people this time. Made me feel so foolish, so childish.

I can't. I won't do this again. He has to leave.

He's on the floor in front of me now but I won't raise my head to look at him. 'I've missed you so much,' he whispers.

How dare he say that! How dare he say these things to me then act the way he does. I don't know what to think anymore. I feel the tears behind my eyes; I don't want them. I don't know how to feel. I just want to be numb… I don't know.

'I'm sorry,' he says again. His hands are on my legs, sliding up from my ankles to my knees. I can feel every one of his fingertips. 'I'm sorry.'

I lean back in the chair, further away from him, still covering my face with my hands. I just need some space. His stubble scrapes my skin as he kisses my kneecap; it makes me shiver. His fingers stay at the backs of my knees now; his mouth is hot as he kisses me again, rests his head in my lap. And I'm crying and I hate that I'm crying. I don't want to do this; I don't want to hurt this much-

He kisses me again, his lips brushing aside the terry on my thigh. Soft, warm kisses as he mutters his apology to my skin. His hands slip into my robe, up the outside of my thighs-bare skin. I clench my teeth, draw my breath through my nose. But I let him do it. And I know it's pathetic and weak, know I shouldn't-but it feels good and I desperately want something to feel good. I let the bathrobe side from my lap; let his scratchy chin and increasingly wet kisses move slowly up my thighs. His fingers grab at my arse and I let him pull my hips forward, let my knees fall wide apart. I dare myself to let him go further, tell myself I'm using him as he's used me; I know it's a lie but it's a lie I need. His hands slide on the top of my thighs and then up the inside, he leans forward; I feel his breath wash over me, his kiss-

But-too much. The chair moves several inches as I throw myself backward, pull away, drawing my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms and the bathrobe tightly around them. I just … I can't. I drop my head to my knees so I don't have to look at him.

He's beside me now, his hand in my hair as he rests his head against mine. Not only am I pathetic but now I feel stupid as well. Why the fuck can't I stop shaking?

'I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry,' he mutters against my ear. 'I don't … I shouldn't've…'

I feel his cheek brush against the side of my face-wet skin; and I raise my head to look at him. His eyes are red, his hair dishevelled, he stares at me his fingertips gently brushing my cheek. There's a sadness about him… It's almost enough to make me believe him. Almost…

'You said you came here to talk.'

'I… I did,' he replies softly.

'Then talk,' I whisper determinedly to his collar, 'don't touch me.'

A pained expression crosses his face at my words; his hand hovers at the side of my face for a moment before he withdraws it.

'Just talk,' I repeat.

He stands up turning in a circle before me, scrubbing his hands over his face and into his hair.

'I am such a hypocrite,' he says now. 'And such a fool. I preach to others like myself, tell them they can lead semi-normal lives; that they can have friendship and joy and… love. That being bitten doesn't take that all away. And yet I deny myself the same luxury.'

'I-' But he just nods at me and I fall silent again.

'I have spent the past two weeks at the Burrow,' he continues. 'I have watched as Bill reconciles what has happened to him. I have seen him despair; I have seen him lash out-at his brothers, at his parents, at Fleur; especially at Fleur. I have watched her come utterly undone at his words, at his actions; yet her love for him never wavers. And perhaps it's taken that, perhaps it's taken me witnessing that, to make me realise what I've done to you; what I continue to do to you. Please forgive me.'

I bite down hard on my lip and take a deep breath. 'I just… I never thought you'd hurt me.'

He drops to his knees beside me again. 'I am so, so, sorry. I have been a complete shit.'

'Yes,' I nod, 'you have.' Folding my arms firmly across my chest, I stand up, move away; I need a bit of distance.

'Nymphadora, what I'm trying to say is… Please… If you'll still have me-' He's on his feet again, taking a step toward me.

But I find myself shaking my head. 'I love you, Remus but I can't continue to do this. How do I know you won't change your mind in a week or a month or a year? How do I know you won't cut and run?'

'You don't.' He shakes his head, screwing his eyes tight shut for a moment. 'You don't.'

That's the problem, isn't it? Turning from him, I face the fire; just stare at the flames.

I want to believe in him, I really do but…

He slides up behind me, wrapping his arms around me. This time I don't protest. I find myself leaning back against him, feeling the prickle of his stubble on my cheek, letting the soft smell of sandalwood fill me. I've missed him so much. His embrace is so tight now. I love his arms.

'I can't promise you perfection,' he speaks against my ear. 'I wish I could; God knows you more than deserve it.' I turn around in his arms, look up into his face. He smiles softly down at me, his fingers once more brushing my cheek, sliding into my hair. 'All I can promise you is my heart, for as long as it's beating.'

I don't know what to say…

'Please, believe me,' he adds gently.

I want to...

'If I'm going to do this, I'm going to do it properly.'

'Do what properly?' But his statement doesn't seem to have been directed at me.

'Come here.' He takes my hand and leads me to the sofa and I sit obediently. 'Now shut your eyes.'

'Remus?'

'Shut your eyes.'

So I shut my eyes and after a moment he takes my hand and I try and resist the temptation to peek beneath my lashes.

'Can I open them yet?' I ask.

'Yes.'

He's moved the coffee table to one side and he now kneels on the rug in front of me.

'Xena…' He uses the name tentatively, probably in case I shout at him again. He smiles when I don't. 'I have tried living without you and I've never been more miserable-and for me, that's saying something,' he adds.

Makes me smile.

'What I'm trying to say is-' He reaches into his pocket and withdraws a small wooden box. He opens it before me to reveal a gold ring with a beautiful blue stone.

'I know it's not much …' he begins, 'it was my mother's-'

'It's beautiful.' It is. It catches the light now and at once looks pink and green and yellow-

'Xena,' he continues, 'would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?'

'Beg pardon?' What did he just ask me?

'Will you marry me?'

I just sit here not quite believing what I've heard. 'Are you sure?' I manage.

He nods, slipping his ring on my finger. 'Absolutely.'

He grinning at me now, an ear-to-ear proper Remus grin; it's been ages and I can't help but answer with one of my own. He just asked me to marry him!

Sliding forward in my chair, I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. But I feel my stomach tighten again as he pulls me into his lap, as his kisses slide to my neck… Can I trust him? I want to. I want this so much. I shut my eyes and slide my fingers through his hair, kiss him again. Feel the soft touch of his fingertips on my cheek, the back of my neck, my shoulder… listen to his soft words: I love you; I've missed you; want you. I promise. Promise. He lays me down on the warmth of the hearthrug, never breaking our kiss. Promise...

When we finally do part he smiles softly down at me. 'Xena, you haven't answered my question.'

'Yes,' I whisper, watching the firelight dance across his face. 'Of course it's yes.' Despite everything could it really be anything else?

I pull him back down, kiss him again, run my hands down his back up his sides, tugging at his jumper, untucking his shirt. God, I've missed him…
.
He breaks or kiss a moment later and sits up, pulling his jumper off over his head and removing his belt, he begins to unbutton his shirt.

'Erm. Wait. If we're getting married, shouldn't we wait 'til the wedding night?'

He freezes mid-button, stares at me warily and I try my damnedest to look serious. He studies my face and I bite down hard on my lip to keep from laughing.

'You're joking,' he concludes after a bit; a relieved look washes over his face.

I laugh and nod. 'Yes. I am.'

'Good because I was wracking my brain to think where the nearest vicarage was. Either that or I was going to have to go down to the docks and bribe the nearest sea captain.'

I chuckle and he kisses me again, pushing me back down to the hearthrug with the weight of his body. 'Don't think I could wait another night,' he whispers in my ear. Makes me shiver; makes me smile more.

A moment later his lips leave my neck, he sits up again and I roll on my side to watch him finish undressing. He shakes his head at me. 'Take off the bathrobe,' he says simply as he slips his shirt from his shoulders. I sit up again and do as he asks, tossing it onto the chair. Simon swears at me and darts from the room as it lands on top of him. Good, I hate when he watches. Sliding back down to the blanket, I lie on my side once more, loving the heat from the fire against my back; its warmth makes me shiver. Remus hooks his thumbs in the sides of his boxers and pushes them down. He's already hard. I love that he's already hard. I let my gaze move up his body. He grins as he lies down to face me. His fingertips brush my cheek, slide into my hair and he kisses me. I swear I melt a little.

'God, I've missed you,' he whispers against my mouth. 'I've missed kissing you.' His thumb brushes my lower lip and his lips follow, softly this time. 'I've missed touching you.'

'I've dreamt about touching you,' I admit.

'Have you?' he asks.

I nod and am, once more, victim to a lovely, gentle kiss that sends a shiver down my spine, curls my toes.

'Where?' he whispers tucking a stray hair back behind my ear. 'Where did you want to touch?'

'I dreamt about running my fingers through your hair.' I demonstrate slowly and he shuts his eyes.

'My hair?'

I nod. 'I dreamt about sliding my hands over your shoulders.' He shivers at my touch. 'I dreamt about running my fingers down the scars on your chest…'

'My scars?' His eyes flutter open again.

'Mmm-hmm. I love them; they do something to me.'

'What?'

I don't answer just slide my leg over his, shift my hips closer as I run my hand down those thin white lines. He raises an eyebrow. 'Oh that? Really?'

'Every time I see them.'

He smiles. 'Good to know.'

I slide my hand over his hip. 'Your arse,' I say, drawing my hand back and giving him a playful smack on the bottom. He kisses me again, catching my lower lip in his teeth

'Is that all the places?'

I shake my head and raise my gaze to his once more, ignoring the flush in my cheeks.

'I wanted to touch the Hippogriff.'

He laughs aloud. 'Is that what we're calling him?'

I nod firmly. 'I am.'

'Well, he's very flattered.' He kisses me again. His hand slips over mine, sliding it down over his stomach, he wraps my fingers around the velvety heat of his cock. My head feels fuzzy; he's making me shake as he strokes my hand down the length of his erection. I hardly need the encouragement but I love the sound of his moan in my ear.

His hand moves up my side once more, over my breast; I keep stroking him. 'Your go,' I whisper.

'As I said,' comes his rather breathless tone, 'I've missed kissing you. Missed-' His lips move from my mouth down my neck and I turn my head and let my breath wash over his ear. 'I've-' He stumbles again. 'Missed,' he tries and I tighten my fingers. He shuts his eyes briefly but continues, 'I missed the smell of your skin, I missed your breasts and your lovely little bottom and-' He was trying to get through it as quickly as he could but I seem to have silenced him as I pick up my rhythm.

He slides away from me a little so he's not touching me anymore but I note he does nothing to stop me from stroking him.

'Are you going you continue to do that or are you going to let me speak?' he asks.

'Going to continue…' I smile. Cos it's fun.

He rolls me roughly onto my back, which forces my release of the Hippogriff; relinquishes my position of power. He's over me a moment later, his hands moving up my sides.

'I've missed that perfectly delicious little pussy of yours…' he breathes against my ear.

'What, Simon?' I tease.

He slides his hand down from my hip, bringing it up firmly between my thighs. 'No. Not. Simon.' My laughter dies in my throat as I'm forced to catch my breath. I can't think when he does that.

'Now behave yourself.' He smiles at me.

'If I'm behaving, we ought to wait.'

'Well, we're not, so shut up. There are certain things I must to do you.'

'What thi-'

But his lips drag down my neck, his teeth scraping the skin in the hollow of my throat as his hands move over my breasts. His lips follow shortly and my back arches; my head's all fuzzy again; the dull ache between my thighs becomes far more intense. I love that ache. I love wanting him this much. I need him to touch me, touch me properly, with more than just a cupped hand.

I don't think I'll have to wait long. His mouth moves down from my breasts as he shifts over me, his knee nudging my legs apart. I don't watch him, can't watch him. My eyes shut and all I can do is feel. Feel the scrape of his chin, the warm wet of his lips, his tongue as he moves down my body. The warmth of his breath against my centre, the harshness of his stubble on sensitive flesh; he does it on purpose, he knows I love it. The coolness of his fingers makes me gasp, then his kiss, the flick of his tongue…

'Oh fuck…'

I hear him laugh gently. Did I say that out loud?

I must have done. Because he does it again and again, making me bite down hard on my lip. I never realised I had fistfuls of rug until I let go, opting instead to twist my fingers in his hair.

'You're amazing,' he breathes.

I'm amazing? All I'm doing is lying here. He's the one making me shake.

But I want more. I want the weight of his body, his breath in my ear, skin against skin and-

'Remus?'

He mumbles his response and for a moment I forget what I want.

'Come here.'

'What's the matter?' His lips drag over my belly again. Watch his tongue flick over my ribs, his kisses up slowly between breasts.

'Nothing,' I whisper, breathless. He reaches my neck and I turn my head and capture his mouth.

'I just want you inside me when I come.'

He needs no further encouragement than my words against his ear. He pulls himself over me, sinks deep within me; his breath on my neck; his groan-I love the way he groans…

His fingers twist tightly in my hair, his strokes are harsh; he's already losing control and I love it.

His teeth scrape my neck, hands on my breasts… God, I love him. 'Harder,' I whisper against his neck. Another groan and he obeys and-

Ffffffffffffffff-

My legs tighten over his, fingers digging into his skin stilling his movement; My teeth scrape his shoulder as I come. I'm barely finished though when he resumes his frantic pace. Bites down on his lip, his shoulders shake and a moment later, he roars …

I love that sound. I've missed that sound.

I wrap my arms around him as he collapses to me; his body still quakes, sending brilliant shivers rocketing around mine. We lie for several minutes like this, not wanting to break the connection-our own little universe. But then … Remus kisses the side of my face as he rolls off me, sliding to the warm carpet at my side. 'I love you,' he whispers, his fingers sliding through my hair.

'I love you too.'

'You're amazing.' He kisses my forehead, the top of my head… He's still playing with my hair.

'What colour is it?' I can't help but ask and fail at keeping the hope out of my voice.

'Bit of a rainbow, actually,' he says, smiling.

And … I don't know… somehow it just feels easier to breathe. I turn my head to his chest as I laugh. Can't help but laugh even as I feel the stupid tears again.

'I love you, Xena,' he says again. His embrace tightens and he kisses me again. I hug him tightly as well. I love being here like this with him. Love the smell of his skin, his breath in my ear, the warmth of the fire on my back, his body against mine.

'Sorry about… erm.' He begins. His fingers slide lightly down my side; makes me shiver.

'What?'

'Wasn't my best… time wise, I mean.'

He makes me laugh and I kiss his chest. 'I don't care.'

'It's been six months, hasn't it and-' he continues to explain.

'I don't care,' I repeat. 'I love you.'

'Better next time. I promise.'

'We have time…'

'Yes.' He nods firmly, 'Just give me about fifteen minutes.'

'Really,' I raise my head, resting my chin on his shoulder.

'Maybe ten.' He raises an eyebrow at me.

Shit.

'Be right back.' I roll away from him.

'Where are you going?'

'Ermm … I sort of have to take something; won't be a moment.' I pull my bathrobe back on, hastily tying the sash and scurry off to the bathroom.

*

Okay, where the fuck is it?'

I ransack the potions chest and the cupboard under the sink before I see the sparkling pink bottle sitting on the edge of the sink. Why is it there? Never mind, doesn't matter. Popping the cork, I drink more than I need just to be on the safe side. I'm going to have to start taking it at the beginning of every month again. I'm going to need to. Getting married! Feel laughter bubbling in my throat again and I scrub my hands over my face and into my hair raise my head and find myself looking into the mirror. It's rainbow! It really is rainbow and I watch the grin spread across my face. One more thing. Just one more thing I have to do before I leave the bathroom. Squaring my feet to the floor, I grip the edge of the basin and shut my eyes tightly. Pink. I feel the familiar prickling sensation sweep through my body. Bit nauseous but not too bad. Taking a deep breath, I raise my head and open my eyes once more to my reflection in the mirror. My reflection. My proper one: white bathrobe, dark eyes, pale skin, pink hair. I can't help but laugh aloud again. Brilliant! I twist my fingers in the ends, straighten the collar on my bathrobe, try and make myself look a little more presentable before venturing out again.

The lights are out in the sitting room. The fire is barely alive and Remus isn't here. There is, however, a soft, warm glow shining from my bedroom.

Remus has the fire going and the little lamp on my bedside table is lit. He's in my bed, grinning broadly at me as I come round the corner into the room. I'd never thought I'd see him in my bed again. 'You look beautiful,' he says, pulling back the covers for me. I drop my bathrobe at the foot of the bed and slip in beside him. The sheets are cool and he is warm and this is perfect.

'Did you take your potions?' he asks, his fingertips brushing stray hair from my forehead.

'Yes, I did.'

'Good,' he kisses me again but… Now he's got me curious.

'Did Molly ever-' I ask slowly.

But the instant flush in his cheeks tells me she did. 'God, yes,' he admits, 'the most embarrassing twenty minutes of my life.'

'What did you tell her?'

'That my intentions toward you were pure and-'

'Liar!'

He laughs. 'And that even if things progressed that way- that we were both adults and that there was a bottle of Freya's elixir in the bathroom cupboard that wasn't mine. Only I don't think I put it quite so concisely; I stumbled around in the dark for a bit.'

He kisses me softly. 'What flavour is that supposed to be?' he asks, licking his lips.

'Strawberry.'

'Hmm,' he kisses me again. 'Tastes like Calpol.'

'Calpol?'

'Never mind,' he shakes his head, 'Muggle remedy. Pink though, right?'

I nod.

'Better watch out, I think Fred and George have a joke version of that in the works.'

'Remind me to never let them in my bathroom.'

He chuckles again, wraps his arms around me; I rest my head on his shoulder, slide my fingers through the hair on his chest. I love lying in his arms-so much better than being left with a photo and an old shirt. And suddenly my stomach feels tight again. I draw a deep breath and let it out slowly.

'Remus?'

'Yes.'

'Promise me something?'

'Anything.'

'Promise me that if you do decide to bugger off again, that you'll come back.'

His embrace tightens. 'Always,' he whispers, kissing my temple. 'Bonded for life, remember?'

I nod softly. Bonded for life.

I know this won't be easy. I know there'll betimes when he'll get scared, or perhaps it'll be my turn next time… but lying here now, none of it matters. Turning my head, I kiss his collarbone inhaling the scent of scrubbed skin and sandalwood soap. I gently spin the ring on my left hand and slide my arm across his chest, shutting my eyes at the feeling of his hands moving up my sides again, warm lips on my neck. We're together … for richer for poorer, in sickness and health, 'til death us do part … And sod the consequences.

*
~the end~

~please review.

Other fics in this universe are: The Middle of Nowhere, A Christmas Carol, Undone(by Jenorama), Choices and Finite Incantatem.