Toast for Breakfast

Remus Lupin had just, in the last half hour, finally begun to forget to be worried. The happiness at weddings, after all, was contagious. The faint warmth of alcohol had set in mildly, making the past more blurry and the future less dire, the idea of marriage much more romantic and the idea of a family much sweeter. He had just allowed himself to slip into that careless, enamored state which Nymphadora’s laugh and the occasional stumbling of her body against his had been threatening to reel him into all evening.

He had just told himself that really, love was all that mattered, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. And Nymphadora had beamed at him as she felt the tension slide out of his shoulders.

For a moment, his life was pure and untainted by reality.

Then, a silver lynx landed in the center of the dance floor.

"The Ministry has fallen," Kingsley’s voice spoke. "Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."

And she broke away from him. He experienced a gut-wrenching feeling that he’d lost her, that she’d never come back, as he pulled out his wand.

Masked figures appeared all around.

"Protego!" he shouted, hearing other voices echo the spell along with his. Spells bounced off of shields everywhere.

People were all around, scrambling, disapperating, in the way. He saw Arthur’s face-

"Arthur! Where is he?"

"I think he’s gone!"

"Ron and Hermione-"

"Yes, with him-"

"Good."

A different voice carried through the room then, and cut through his thoughts.

"Where is Harry Potter?!"

The scream sent chills down his spine. Bellatrix Lestrange had already removed her mask and her eyes were burning in her head as she scanned the area. She flicked her wand and blew a little girl aside. The girl’s father stumbled after his daughter.

Lupin was about to fire at her, but Kingsley took her on and he had to turn away to block a hex that was flying at him from the side.

To his right he saw Bill push Fleur urgently behind him, the scars on his face seeming to stand out harshly now, in the absence of her glow. He looked mangled. Fleur stayed out of harm’s way somewhat, firing curses from behind him. Remus felt a pang of jealousy, but he knew that even if he could find Nymphadora now, she would want him to stand behind her, which he could never bear to do.

Luna Lovegood was standing in the middle of the dance floor, wand raised, looking quite serene, even a bit curious. She cast a shield calmly before her and blocked a horrendous-looking red blast. Xenophilius, who had been rushing frantically through the crowd, calling her name, finally found her, snatched her into his arms, and was gone with a loud pop.

Fred, George, and Ginny stood in a small circle, backs to each other, shooting shields over one another and hexes at bombarding Death Eaters.

"He’s not here!" a gruff-voiced Death Eater yelled.

"No!"

"Where is he?!"

"Go! We have to find-"

"NO! Where IS he?!"

Lupin dove behind a golden chair for protection, which flew into him as a curse hit it. As he threw the chair off of him, he heard Bellatrix’s voice again, painful on the soft air, chilling him down to the tips of his fingers.

"NYMPHADORA LUPIN! How DARE you show your face in my presence!"

BANG

A blast threw Nymphadora backwards. The back of her head cracked against the gold floor. Lupin would never know how she managed to remain conscious, but she lifted her head and threw her wand hand up in front of her face just in time to block Bellatrix’s next curse. The spell bounded off and burned a hole in the ceiling of the white canopy. Nymphadora tried to get up and was blasted, with a high-pitched yelp, back down to the floor.

Some of the Death Eaters seemed to be retreating, but not enough of them. Remus shot blindly at the Death Eater in front of him, trying desperately to get away, but it was useless.

Bellatrix and his wife where too far away, on the other end of the dance floor. Bellatrix had her wand raised high, and she was firing hex after hex down onto Nymphadora’s breaking and frantically reforming shields. Each blow pushed Tonks further across the floor. She dragged herself back, still unable to afford herself enough time to stand, as her skirt was too long, and she was stumbling over it again and again.

"You disgusting, blood-shaming, beast-loving BRAT!" Bellatrix screamed, her face twisted with an irrational, murderous, fury. "I’m going to KILL YOU!"

The color was gone from Nymphadora’s face, her eyes were glued to her Aunt’s, terrified. Bellatrix was gaining on her with every blow.

Kingsley dived in front of Bellatrix once more, and then Arthur came to join him; but she never took her eyes from her niece, bothering only to block the other Order members’s spells.

"Bellatrix! Let’s go!" a Death Eater locked in battle with Bill Weasley shouted from across the floor.

"NO! SHE’S MINE! SHE’S DEAD!"

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Nymphadora scrambled backwards, her breath escaping in faint screams as curses shattered the floor at her toes and skimmed her ears. Kingsley and Arthur shot spell after useless spell at Bellatrix, she slashed her wand and sent Arthur soaring to the floor.

Finally, Remus managed to stupefy his own opponent.

"Remus!" Kingsley boomed as Arthur scrambled back to his feet. "Get her out of here! Get Nymphadora out of here! Now!"

He ran, fell, and stumbled back up, still running towards her.

"No!" Bellatrix screamed, seeing him approaching, missing Nymphadora by a centimeter with a killing curse in her haste to aim one at Lupin, which he ducked to avoid. Tonks’s arm was weakening under the constant pounding of Bellatrix’s successfully aimed hexes.

He was nearly to her

"NO NO NO NO!"

Kinsley hit her with something that threw her next killing curse off balance so that it streaked over Nymphadora’s head.

He dived, Nymphadora screamed, Bellatrix shrieked, his hand was on his wife’s arm, he was pulling her violently from the ground, they were flying through the dark, and they landed hard, splayed on their living room floor.

He was crying, shaking from head to toe. Nymphadora was wrapped around him, sobbing, cold as ice and drenched in sweat.

This pain was like nothing else he’d experienced. This was worse than any transformation, worse than the bite when he was a child. This was an unreleavable, undeniable, undefeatable pain that twisted his insides so tight they seemed to tear. Unable to bear it any longer, he forced her away from him.

"Look what I’ve done to you!" he yelled, horrified, so disgusted with himself he wanted to run from the room.

"NO!" she screamed, her face twisted with a strange rage. "No! Don’t you DARE!"

"Look what I’ve done to you!" he repeated hysterically, standing, still trembling. "Look what I’ve done!"

Nymphadora flew to her feet and struck him.

"YOU’RE WRONG! IT DOESN’T MATTER!"

"HOW CAN YOU SAY-"

"Shut up shut up shut up!" Tears blazed down her cheeks, her fingers clawed at her ears.

"Oh God, What have I DONE to you!?"

"NO!" she screamed. Every pot, vase, and cup in the room shattered with a bang and littered the floor. He didn’t know which one of them had done it.

"I’ve killed you!" he screamed back, tears overflowing gracelessly from his eyes.

"SHUT UP!" she whipped her wand through the air and the hex threw him backward onto the shattered porcelain on the floor. He wished she would’ve slashed him open.

She collapsed, sobbing onto the couch.

He remained lying on the floor, panting, staring at the ceiling. He covered his face with his hands. "Oh God, oh God, oh God."

His voice died away, leaving only the sound of her sobs.

She pulled her knees up under her chin, like a child, and curled against the back of the couch, shaking with each sob.

He couldn’t stand to hear her crying, to see her looking helpless. He couldn’t stand to run to her, or put his arms around her.

She stumbled towards him, crying. She spoke incomprehensibly at him, holding the spot over her heart, and then her stomach. She reminded him of a wounded bird.

He put his arms around her, trying to calm her, though he didn’t know what was wrong, and she shattered. Shards of glass and porcelain were flying everywhere and his chest was a void, falling.

He awoke, still on the living room floor, with no recollection of having fallen asleep. The floor was hard and his back hurt. He sat up with a faint groan. His spine gave an ominous crack.

He looked over at the couch. Nymphadora was still sitting there, curled up. Her eyes were open and glistening in the faint light. She was silent, staring blankly into nothing.

He wiped the old remains of tears off of his cheeks. Nymphadora shifted, pulling her knees tighter to her chest.

It was raining outside; the windless, thunderless, quiet sort of rain that comes in the earliest of the morning hours. He stood and walked to the couch, bits of an old vase crunching under his feet as he passed a side table.

He sat down on the edge of the couch in front of her toes.

He felt strange and exposed, raw.

"Nymphadora," he said her name softly.

She shrank deeper into the couch, not looking at him.

"Dora, darling." He set a cautious hand on one of her knees. A tear leaked out of one of her blank eyes and slid down over one of the well-worn tear tracks on her cheek. "Darling, please," he persisted. He slid his arms around her whole, cringing frame and pulled her against him. "I’m so stupid."

The rain glittered down the windows- the world outside was a misty blue haze. The house was a miraculous combination of being small, but also somehow, magically drafty. He’d bought it only for its cheapness, its seclusion, and its deep-set stone basement, which had a foot-thick metal trap door leading down to it.

He felt her shiver in the cold.

"Come on, sweetheart. You should get out of that dress, you’re freezing."

He picked her up. She wound her cold arms around his neck. Her hair was light brown and limp. She felt like something broken.

He set her on her feet in their bedroom. Her flat dress shoes padded almost silently on the wood floor and she stood numbly, with her head hanging.

He went to the dresser, slid open a drawer and found a pair of pajamas. He turned back to her.

The sight of her standing there so hopelessly in the middle of the floor was a little daunting, and he hesitated.

A tear drop fell from her pretty, pointed nose.

He approached her quietly, pajamas in hand, but set them on the foot of the bed when she made no attempt to lift her arms and take them.

"Here," he murmured as he reached behind her to undo her dress.

She sniffed, another tear dropping to the floor.

He slid her dress off of her shoulders and the whole ruined thing tufted down into a pool around her ankles. He reached around her again, unclasped her bra and slid those straps off her shoulders as well. His fingers curled almost absent-mindedly around her shoulders, and pressed his lips soundlessly to the nape of neck, moved from that curve to kiss the space between that and the bone of her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him again and buried her face into his shoulder. He put her arms around her too, fitting his hands into the familiar curve of her bare waist.

She cried silently into his shoulder, shaking.

Tears jumped once again into his eyes. He closed them and kissed her neck again.

"I love you so, so much," he told her. He kissed her sad brown hair. "Please, don’t cry."

She hugged him tighter.

He stayed there and spattered her shoulder with more kisses as she cried.

He got her pajamas from off the bed and helped her (unnecessarily) to dress. She reached up and curled her fingers behind one of his ears, even as she looked towards the floor.

"I’m alone, without you," she offered softly to the silence.

He swallowed, enchanted, hopeless, love struck.

"Oh, Dora," his eyes met hers. "What are we going to do?"

Her eyes softened sadly. She pulled him in gently by his ears. They kissed one another gratefully. Her fingers twined in his hair, cloaking him in an impossible illusion of safety.

He kissed her ear and she sighed, her fingers digging deeper into his hair.

"Remus, let’s just stay here today."

"Alright," he submitted to defeat, and it was his turn to burry his face into her shoulder. He pulled her in as close as he could. "We should have breakfast. It must be morning now. We have... bread, I think." he slid his arms around her under the shirt of her pajamas. Her skin was warm.

"Oooo, do we have butter?" she asked, kissing his jaw.

"Hmm-I think so."

"Oh good," she even smiled a little. "I adore toast for breakfast." And she found his lips again.