If You Need To Fall Apart... (Tag: Tonks)

[Remus Lupin]

Forgive us, guys, but amidst much plotting andfangirlsqueeing, we felt the need to do bajillions at least one thread that dates back into the past with these two first, before sallying forth. You know, to get into 'the zone' and all. xD[/i]

Time Stamp: November 1996. Set during Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

It was an appropriately dreadful night in the way that only an Autumn thunderstorm in England could bring. Rain lashed relentlessly at the windows of Grimmauld Place, as if the sheer force of it's power would unearth the centuries old house from it's foundations and send it crumbling sideways into the earth. The wind howled viciously, a shrill whistle against the walls, broken only by the occasional rumble of thunder, the sound itself an apparent warning to any unlucky enough to be caught out in it.

Not that any would be, at this time of night. Certainly not the current, if sparse, number of residents occupying Number 12, Grimmauld Place. The hallways were dark, darker than their usual gloom, creaking and eerie but otherwise silent save the gong of the grandfather clock in the library. One gong...two gong...three gongs...two gongs. Two gongs for 2am. Even Kreacher was silent at this time, holed up in his dank and dirty nest under the boiler in the kitchen, no doubt clutching some precious heirloom or other in his sleep.

Completely devoid of sound, save the howl of the thunderstorm outside. Then a crash, a loud one, as thunder broke, apparently over the very roof of the house itself, leaving the hallways quivering and the windows shaking in their panes.

And if one listened long enough, masking too, other sounds. A yelp. A whimper. A dry sob, heard only perhaps by those closest to the room it emanated from. It was a terrible sound, heartbreaking, the sound of someone in pain. Even if the one in aforementioned pain was barely, if at all aware of the agony his subconscious was apparently in.

Plain and simply put, Remus Lupin was caught in the throes of a nightmare.

It wasn't an uncommon occurence, sadly. But tonight, it seemed particularly violent and frightening. Or perhaps it was the storm outside, exacerbating nighttime fears.

People around...scalp prickling...fingers...no, claws forming...twitching...

He whimpered in helpless fear. Grit his teeth, turning his head into the pillow.

The pain was agonising. He knew this pain. Oh God, no...not this. Not here. There was no moon! But there was people...people...the Wolf in him growled. Feral. Lustful, and...no. Nonono.

In his sleep, he threw his arm out. His wrist connected with the bedside table, and he winced terribly in his sleep, a wince far more violent than one might expect from one who'd simply twinged his wrist on a bit of wood.

Claws lengthening...bones stretching...agony...teeth curving into fangs...ripping...shredding...

He uttered a choked, dry sob in his sleep. The sound was utterly pathetic, and utterly heart-wrenching. It was pure, raging helplessness at it's worst, and he rolled over, legs tangling and constricting in the heavy sheets. Barely avoiding falling off the edge of the bed.

People. Humans.

"No..."

Blood. Hot blood. Hunt. Yeeeessss...

"No! No!"

He fought violently, savagely, the change. Like he always did. As he always would. But it wasn't working.

His torso, scarred as savagely as the way in which he fought the change in his nightmares, glistened with sweat even as it twisted and contorted in terror and agony.

Humans. People screaming. Glorious freedom. Not a thing to stop it. Nothing to deaden it's deadly intent.

The Wolf howled.

His cry this time was inarticulate. Anguished. Afraid. Agonised.

Amber eyes gleamed hungrily. Grey paws kneaded. Crouched.

Pounced.

"NO! NONONONO! PLEASE NO!"

Title and general theme taken from Crash and Burn by Savage Garden <3

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[nymphadora tonks]

<sub>Grimmauld Place. Ill named, of course, not in the least bit grim, positively charming, really. But at one in the morning, after a particularly long and weary night on duty, any place with a couch &/or bed looked positively charming to Nymphadora Tonks. D r a g g i n g herself inside, along with Remus Lupin, the two quickly bade one another good night and slipped off to bed. Only… try as she might, Tonks just could not&would not fall asleep. Tossing and turning, turning and tossing. Nothing doing, nothing doing, doing nothing(!). Rain poured down, beat, beat, beating against the windows, howling winds whispering through the c R a C k s. Every now and then a ROAR of thunder reverberated in her bones, rattling her ribs. No use just lying there, then. Swinging her legs over the bed, Tonks pulled on her combat boots, laces untied, and ran a hand through her hair, cradling her head in her hands, eyes screwing shut. Only one thing to do now: dig through the cupboards and find the hidden stash of Molly Weasley’s infamously famous chocolate chip cookies. Oh. Right. And do it without waking the other two inhabitants for the night—Remus and Sirius (the latter a full time resident).

Clunk, clunk, clunk. Heavy footsteps thudded along the thin floors, scuffed soles brushing against the creaking floorboards unapologetically. A quietness sat in the air, a stillness of years and years and years of being uninhabited, but now various people carelessly interrupted, coming in and out of a house that for years and years and years, only ever knew the presence of the perfect atmosphere of the ever so flawless pure bloods. People unmarred by the blood of mudbloods and muggles. And yet here she was, a stain that not even the strongest bleach could hope to absolve. Or, in the case of the Blacks, strongest cigar burn, bleach…why bleach would be far too white and pure for her lovely family—better to smolder away the imperfections with flames. Dissolve into nitty&gritty ashes. Just a hop&skip&-- c R a S H! “Ow, Bloody—shoot—shoot— Son of a---" Tonks muttered, nose wrinkling up on her face as she ran her palm across her knee, glaring down at the (now fallen) inconveniently placed umbrella stand. Bloody hell. Did it really HAVE to be right in the MIDDLE (okay, okay, slightly to the right) of the hallway? And just WHO in the bloody Order even USED an umbrella? No one. No one. That’s who.

Righting it, she paused, waiting, waiting, waiting… nothing. Rock hard sleepers, apparently. No matter then. Rounding the corner into the kitchen, Tonks started to skim through the cabinets, finding herself momentarily distracted as she twisted to peer out the window. Couldn’t see the moon. Not through all the clouds. The moon had never been anything Tonks spent any length of time thinking about. It simply hung in the sky every night. Some sort of spherical white rock that orbited around the earth—she might know more, but for some reason she just never did continue on with astronomy. Can’t imagine why. Now… now she found herself far more aware of the cycle than before. Ever since meeting one Remus Lupin; werewolf. Subject to the f u l l moon every single month of the year. When WAS the next one, anyway? Bloody hell. She just might have to get herself a calendar. Though maybe that was just a bit excessive—after all calendars were—

NO! NONONONO! PLEASE NO!

…That voice, that sound, that tone. Remus. Without a second thought, Tonks turned and hurled herself up the stairs, nearly tumbling forward (&jack&jill went up the hill…) laces tangling upon each other. Wand in hand almost instantaneously. All thoughts flitting&fluttering away as muscles moved in mechanical motions (muscles have memory, don’t you know? Everyone knows). Within seconds Tonks threw open the door, notime, notime, notime, best offense is a good defense, right? Isn’t that how it goes? That’s how it goes, or so they say, (who, who says? They, they say). Flourishing her wand, “STUPEFY!” S t r e a k of red light J u T t I n G across the room and colliding with… a vase. Clatter|Shatter. Pupils dilating to adjust to the dim room only to find… no one there. Nothing. Just Remus. In bed. And her. Now her. Standing there, mouth unhinged, wand in hand, glass shards s C a t T e R e D across the floor. “…Oops.” Hand fell on her chest, heart swelling against the cage of her ribs, eyes narrowing in concern. “Remus…? Remus, are you all right? I mean—I thought I heard—You were---we-e-e-e-ll--- er… you… well to be quite frank, and somehow I always am, mum says its poor social etiquette but you know what I think is – er—anyway—you look a right mess.”

word count& 800~
tags& remus
notes& thanks for starting. also—yaay for getting in the zone post. <3 getting into the swing of things here. <3</sub>

[Remus Lupin]

CLATTER/SHATTER.

The nightmare had been dreadful and all-consuming enough to leave the werewolf oblivious to even the sounds of the storm raging outside. But not, apparently, so all-consuming that it would outdo the absolute pandemonium Nymphadora Tonks was capable of. Remus immediately shot up in his bed at the sound of the door crashing open and the vase shattering, and the way the usually calm, mild-mannered man flailed in his twisted sheets might have been comical...until one took a moment to actually look. Then...it was just heart-wrenching.

At his torso, scarred and horribly bare with the sheets tangled about his legs. Drenched in the rank scent of terror. Heaving with every pant. Every choked sound that bubbled up in his throat like that of a parched, dying man.

The way his hands clenched the blankets, tighter than tight, or what remained sitting over his calves. His hair tousled and sticking to his forehead in clumps, as if a fever had taken hold and was sweating itself out.

It wasn't just that, though. None of it, really, registered so much as a blip on the proverbial radar in comparison to his eyes. The look in them. Wild and disoriented and hazy, more dark grey and amber rather than their usual soft, warm blue colour. Terror. Confusion. Fear. Remus had been...no, was scared.

“Remus…? Remus, are you all right? I mean—I thought I heard—You were---we-e-e-e-ll--- er… you… well to be quite frank, and somehow I always am, mum says its poor social etiquette but you know what I think is – er—anyway—you look a right mess.”

In a way, Tonks' nervous chatter acted as a life buoy. It gave him something to focus on, as frightened out of his wits as he was, and Remus' disoriented gaze finally stopped roaming the dark room long enough to home in on Tonks. He blinked at her dazedly for several moments, dimly aware that he would normally, and probably should find her disconcerted chatter amusing. Adorable, even. He'd admitted to as much in the past, in moments where he was slightly less ashamed to admit that he was harbouring more than purely friendly tendencies for the bright, spirited little Auror that was comrade and best friend.

"Never liked the damn vase anyway," he murmured huskily. Well, it was more a mixture of huskiness, the voice of one who'd been awoken with little warning, but hoarse too, as if he'd run a marathon. It hurt. His throat hurt. And his chest ached. His whole body did, and now that he'd stopped flailing about, the slight tremors overtook his body, subtle shudders with every crackle of thunder overhead even as he attempted vainly to joke.

It was terribly hard to focus, though. Too hard, and he looked around the room hopelessly. Lost, really, rather like a little boy. And ashamed. It didn't even register that he still was in bed, and Tonks was still there in the doorway, all tousled hair and unlaced boots...something he usually would have picked on with mirthful glee when he was feeling normal. Which he wasn't. It was barely possible to look at her now, tugging the tangled sheets uselessly in an attempt to pull them to his painfully bare torso. Caught in such a vulnerable state...it was torture. One could only imagine what she was thinking now.

"You..." He'd intended to send her back to bed, chase her off as gently as possible. She needed the sleep, and he'd promised long ago not to burden anyone with his problems. He was used to pushing people away, fobbing off his problems, and they didn't pressure him about it. Didn't even ask, really...but then, that was Remus Lupin in a group. The calm friend, the kind acquaintance, the quiet peacekeeper...you didn't ask the resident 'shoulder to lean on' if they were okay. Especially not when one considered...er, well, at least one of his problems.

But for some reason, he hesitated, his breath catching in his throat amidst telling Tonks that he was okay, that she could go back to bed. Because, as much as he hated to admit it, he wasn't okay at all. The nightmare still lingered in the recesses of his mind, part and parcel alongside the constantly dark presence of the Wolf. The scent of his own fear filtered through his nostrils, expunging all other scents to barely a faint smell. Even her own. And he still trembled. Not as badly as he had, but he still trembled.

He wasn't okay at all.

He was bare and open and entirely unable, at the moment, to completely grasp onto the usual wall he held between himself and the world. It had turned slippery, like raindrops on the window. Like his control over the Wolf on the full moon.

No, Remus wasn't okay. Remus was scared.

"Tonks..." he trailed off again, voice stuck in his throat. Poor woman was probably confused as hell, if she wasn't disgusted now that the pandemonium had died down. Thunder rumbled outside again, and lightning flashed ominously, lighting the room. Remus shivered noticeably this time, and though he seemed completely incapable of speech, he lifted a shaking hand half-heartedly in her direction before letting it drop back onto the folds of blanket.

When he forced himself to look at her this time where she stood, still with her wand, there was no hiding that hazy fear and that boyish sense of loss and hurt. And, whether he was aware of it or not, that soulful shift of grey-blue that was a plea. Come here. Please?

OOC: MY OWN CHARACTER MAKES ME WIBBLE.[/size]

[nymphadora tonks]

<sub>Remus Lupin (--minus shirt). Not necessarily a bad part of the equation to subtract…a tinge of pink seeped from her hair down to her cheeks. Bloody. Hell. Or at least, that’s what it lookedl ike—like the man had been through bloody hell and back again (several trips, even—the road to hell…). Sweating&shaking, frantic&flailing. Clutching at the sheets—looking around and around and around. What WAS he looking for? Breathing ragged and shallow. In/Out. In/Out. In/Out. Tonks had never, not once, not even the other day when they had to carry away the bodies of two children, seen Remus quite like this. A man who had witnessed countless atrocities: murder, torture, death after death after death (of unloved ones). Looked as if he’d gone mad. Positively bonkers, even. Truly, a right mess. Simply a mad, mad, world.

The vase. THAT vase. HIS vase(?). Ohno. Only having known Remus for several months now, Tonks honestly did not know ALL that much about him (though between their late night chats and Sirirus big, big, big mouth, that was quickly changing) but one thing she knew was that Remus did not own very many things. First assumption was that the vase had just BEEN in the room—another one of the many (B)black atrocities… but now, now… “I didn’t mean to! I just thought – I shouldn’t have—I can fix it, really handy with repairing spells, can’t imagine why, just a knack I suppose, or a knick, here…” Crossing the room, Tonks started to sort through some of the pieces, s H i F t I n G them around with her wand in an effort to give Remus a chance to collect himself; seemed a bit out of sorts. Odd, for someone always the definition of put together (&all the kings (Q)queen’s horses and all the king’s (Q)queen’s men…). She tried awfully hard not to stare, really, but she kept finding her gaze drawn back to him—magnetic. Something…something was wrong. Very. Wrong.

You.

You… what? You insane woman, get out of my room? You broke my vase, you daft girl? You worthless lass, shouldn’t just fire off curses--CONSTANTVIGILIANCE? No, wait, that one would be Mad Eye. This was Remus. Finally turning her attention back to him, she couldn’t help but trace over all the scars, the damp hair, the LOOK in his eyes—no mistaking it: fear. A sudden chill c R a C k E d and spread through her, washing in waves over the lining of her stomach. If Remus Lupin was afraid, then perhaps she should be too. “…Me.” What else was there to say? You. Yes. Me. “…It’s me.” Silence fell upon the room, weighing down (down, down) on her shoulders, the only sound Remus swallowing air; gulp, gulp, gulp. Tonks. “…Tonks.” She repeated stupidly. Blink. Eyes narrowed and she watched as his body racked with another shiver. Her own breath caught in her throat, as if in direct reaction to him, lungs tied together; after all, she didn’t need it, not like he did, he needed the air more than her, at the moment.

He extended a hand to her, and all she could do was watch as it fell back against the sheets, scars stark against the pristine white, murky beneath the shadows. Slowly, she came to a stand, and carefully placed her wand upon the table, sitting at the edge of his bed. One foot subconsciously swung up into the sheets (boot&all—no shoes in the HOUSE, Nymphadora!) and she leaned forward slightly, hand extending, hesitation etched in the movement, before finally finding his fingers. “…Did you have a bad dream?” Giving his hand a squeeze, she reached up to brush the hair from his forehead, like a child (except this was not a child, this was a man, most definitely a man (--minus the shirt)—this was REMUS). What to do—what do to—SHE didn’t know what to DO. What could she do? Inept, really, at this sort of thing—didn’t he know?—only good for a laugh, that Tonks, that’s all, that’s it, nothingmore. “You don’t have to tell me about it… if you don’t want to. But you could. Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked… but if you don’t ask, then you’ll never know, and if no one ever asks, then no one will ever know, and then we’ll all just never know nothing!”Nonsensical.</sub>

[Remus Lupin]

He hadn't actually expected her to go to him. It was a subconscious reflex, really, an automatic, instinctual response that ridiculed him for even entertaining a notion, for thinking someone, anyone, would give him a moment of their time. Especially someone like the bright creature before him, clumsy though she was, and definitely the culprit behind his less than decent thoughts as of late. But as if they, she, would actually have the time to sit with a beaten, weathered lycanthrope. Dark Creature. And actually sit there and humour him after a--a nightmare? Merlin forbid, that was asking far too much. And so too was it instinctual, prepared him, without a second thought, for inevitable rejection. It was, in his own mind, what had kept him safe for those long, lonely years. Prevented him from knowing again the familiar that was heartache and dejection.

The night terrors were still fresh in his mind. Still looming, ominously, in every dark corner. In every creak of the house and rumble of thunder outside. So perhaps it was that which made him jump a little. Or perhaps it was, simply, the fact she wasn't doing what she was told. Or rather, what her mind was saying she should be doing. But startle he did, just so, the scared gaze that was more little boy he'd been than man darting back up, just slightly, when the side of the bed lowered under her weight, the booted foot came up, jostling clumsily under it's own weight against the sheets, against the blanketed side of his calf. His knee. His trick knee, in fact, which somehow made it all that much more awe-inspiring.

She's not left yet.

It was more the residual fear than any aversion to her touching him - oh no, Merlin no, never that - that led the tremor to course through his frame, swift and jarring yet eerily soft, when her fingers found his. Warm and dry and softly calloused against clammy and cold and imperfectly scarred. So small, too - so very little - frighteningly so, against his own larger ones; he almost didn't know what to do with them. Except stare at them, just stare at them, lost in some kind of not-reality that was still more nightmare than awakeness. Dimly, he was aware of her talking - babbling; she was nervous, and he felt a pang of regret. For what, he didn't quite know, only that it was probably his fault.

Weak. He was being weak.

He ought to be ashamed of himself.

But then her other hand was on him, and he trembled visibly this time when her fingers found his forehead, his hair. Brushing it back gently, awkwardly, yet soothing. It was soothing. A direct contrast, and yet completely fitting with her chatter, and he finally managed a raspy, if cracked, chuckle when her words, and the logic inherent, finally seeped into his conscious.

"Nobody ever asks," he said softly, barely audible. It was a simple enough remark, and rather without recrimination in the way that only Remus Lupin could manage. As if it were a mere fact of life. Which for him, it was. And yet that was what made it sad. More than what it was. Far more. There was far more in that one, lonely comment than a thousand words could ever hope to achieve. Nobody ever asks. They never asked, because you didn't ask a werewolf about his problems; that was just the way it was, right? Too much of a taboo subject, that one. And then there was just that...it was Remus. Always calm, always in control; the one everyone else went to for a shoulder...that was Remus. The Remus people knew, anyway.

Another tremor wracked his body, slightly less than it had been this time around, though still pathetically obvious. Dimly, and in his weakness, he let his eyes drift shut against the ministrations to his hair - long, dark blonde lashes a striking contrast against stubbly, scarred cheekbone. She didn't deserve this. Didn't have to put up with it. He could easily send her back to bed, try, with some success, to fob it off as one of those things that would all be better in the morning.

But she was still here. And she hadn't left. And even though she'd practically been babbling, she was...still there. Still touching him.

Merlin, did she even realise how much that alone did for him? Probably not...not 'Dora (as he was wont to call her in his mind on occasion). She had far less confidence in herself than she often projected.

"I...it was a nightmare, yes. They're...not that uncommon. Just rarely this...violent, I guess..." He was talking, talking even as the small, still mildly sane part of his subconscious cautioned him otherwise. "It...usually it has to be closer to the full moon."

Still hoarse, reluctant, as if he wasn't used to this in the slightest. This...telling someone. And them listening, maybe, even if they didn't know what to do themselves.

"I...my Boggart, you've seen it before," he murmured. "Full moon. I...that's the worst thing about it, you know. Knowing it's there. What it does to you...mentally. The physical pain...it hurts. But it's worse... the losing your mind bit. Knowing the Wolf is going to win in the end..."

Even if he was loath to tell her the exact details; he didn't want to frighten her. No, it wasn't that; she was a bloody Auror for goddsakes, and she'd proven more than once to him already that she had enough courage to give any Gryffindor a run for their money. No, it wasn't out of concern for her own fear, really. It was...his own. He wasn't just used to not divulging his secrets...no, it was that, and it was because of that that he feared. He didn't want to see the reaction to such an insight. In the back of his mind, he still feared the disgust that might erupt, even as he justified it in his conscious.

"...that is...was...the dream. Transforming. Around...around people."

He exhaled softly, shakily - Nymphadora might even feel the ghost of it against her wrist where her hand brushed at his hair - and leant just a little into the hand when it found his temple. Taking, for once, and not giving, as was his wont. He would no doubt berate himself in the morning for it, but for the moment...hoping, begging silently, even, that she wouldn't pull back and leave him alone again. He didn't want to be alone. He hated being alone.

Unbidden, the terror nipped at his heart again. It was painfully, agonisingly scary, for such a gentle man to recall hurting people in such a way...murdering them, and he shuddered again, even as his lashes parted and the hazy blue of his gaze was revealed again. Guilty, and not as wildly scared as it had been, but still...scared. Scared enough for him to have the sudden, absurd urge to tug her closer and hug her tightly, greedily, seeking comfort amidst the storm. Some sort of warmth, some kind of reminder that he wasn't the monster that dwelled in his blood. He repressed the urge though, and his eyes guiltily, ashamedly, found the blankets again. Found their hands, and though he wouldn't let himself reach out to hug her, he let his fingers shift so they folded and gently clasped her own, larger digits encompassing smaller ones somehow fittingly.

"I'm s-sorry," Remus whispered softly, guilty still, "I didn't mean to wake you like that."

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[nymphadora tonks]

<sub>f L i N c H.

His own reaction sparked one in her (for every action there is always an equal and opposite reaction) and Tonks jumped slightly, the tremor syanpsing from his nerves to her own, tracing fine, fine lines around her fingers. Perhaps she shouldn’t have… after all, on more than one occasion she had been told (mostly by her mother) of her complete&utter lack of understanding of personal s p a c e. Always crossing the lines with practiced ease; a pat on the shoulder, a squeeze of the hand, a hug upon greeting (a push here, a shove there, just there). Physical contact a natural course of action. Generally affectionate with everyone… that is, almost everyone, some people Remus Lupin just did not invite that sort of contact. Well. Not until today, tonight, now. Right. Now. Despite the initial j A r R i N g, Tonks kept her hand firmly upon his, nails chipped with black polish stark against his own. Cool&clammy—all clammed up. Another tremor as she touched his forehead, but she continued to brush away the hair, nose wrinkling in amusement as his hoarse chuckle, this time holding her own body s t i l l – hoping his muscles might take after her own and just relax—muscles had memory, after all, didn’t they?

No one ever asks.

No one. “Then they’ll never know.” Heart s k i p p e d a beat, fumbling beneath her ribs under the sudden ache. Matter of fact, that’s how he said it, the fact of the matter (&somehow it did matter). She said nothing else. She said nothing because she did not want Remus to think she pitied him—she most certainly did not. She would never pity him. To pity him would be an insult, and Remus Lupin was much too strong for that. Even now, even here especially here frightened in this dark, dark room, he did not warrant her pity—only her admiration. Yet, her heart ached for him, none the less. So. Instead. Tonks nodded. Acceptance. Acceptance over pity. “Hate to correct you, professor.” Hint of mock seriousness lacing through her tone, her own shoulder nudging his ever so slightly. “But actually, it would be no one ever ASKED… since, well, I just did.”

Something so [in]herently sad in that one, simple comment truth. Tonks never considered herself to be particularly observant, far too oblivious for details (who needs details?) but for some reason she had a knack (&/or knick) for noticing things about Remus, for catching those off handed comments (or perhaps they caught her: like a BRICK to the HEAD/HEART). The man, this man, Remus—knew a life that she could never begin to understand: a life of prejudice&pain, of cruelty&injustice, of loneliness&silence. A man of few words, but with so much to say. If only someone would listen. For once, for once, Tonks said nothing. Always the first to jump in, to interrupt, to throw in her two galleons (or six, more like six), but she feared that any word from her might halt his (for every action…). The art of silence one Tonks had yet to master, in fact, more often than not she could not bear silence, desperately trying to fill it with something&anything&everything. Yet, in certain instances, silence seemed to be more effective for gathering information than asking questions (who would’ve thought? Not her, not Tonks). In silence there was no pressure, no pushing and no pulling; unassuming. And sometimes, sometimes more could be said with silence than with words.

And so he did. He did go on. A nightmare. And the boggart. Oh yes. She had seen it before. Cleaning out Grimmauld Place (washing away the grim from the mauold), there had been quite a few boggarts lurking in the shadows. Swallowing against her constricting esophagus, she moved to brush a few strands of hair behind her own ear, nodding. Very personal… boggarts. And yet, nothing remained personal for long within the ranks. Because that’s what this was. Order in name, army in action. People fighting and bleeding and dying together… seeing each other at the worst and the best— even in this short amount of time more people strangers had seen her tears and her laughter, her failures and her triumphs, and every single mistake. Bonds upon bonds tying them together. You don’t carry away children with someone and not come to regard them as more than just another face in the crowd; seeing someone’s boggart? Perhaps the least personal thing of all. Not acquaintances, not even friends—they were more than that, they were comrades.

“…It sounds awful.” No ‘I’m sorry,’ no, ‘bloody hell(!),’ no ‘didyoukillthem?.’ Tonks did not offer her pity and she did not offer her sympathy. Just acknowledgement. Acknowledgement that, for lack of a better term, the nightmare just bloody sucked. Validation—she validated. Nothing else she could say, nothing else she could do, that was all she had. How terrifying, how u n n e r v i n g, how unbearable, for such a gentle&kind man, to have to live with such a burden, such fear of potentially harming others. Remus would never hurt anyone. But the wolf would. The dynamics of a werewolf not something Tonks completely understood (did anyone?). She felt as if she was witnessing something few others had-- a privilege, to be let past the gates and beyond the ever present W A L L. After all, no one ever asked. So no one ever knew. And clearly, clearly there was so much more to know. So much she wanted to say, so much she wanted to tell him, yet nothing came out—speechless. That is to say~ “I hate nightmares.” …Perfect, Tonks. Just bloody perfect.

Cheek pressed into her hand—now that, that was something Tonks understood—the need for comfort and physical presence. If she had nothing to say and said nothing, then perhaps the only thing she could truly offer was presence. And presence, in situations like this, would never be enough. “Oh. Don’t be sorry. You didn’t wake me. I couldn’t sleep. I was in the kitchen when I heard—er—well, I was in the kitchen. Not cooking or anything, don’t worry. Everything is still intact, except maybe for that umbrella stand…” Teeth bit down on her tongue abruptly to stop herself from going on (&on and on). His own fingers curled around hers, and she shifted her weight, pulling her other leg up onto the bed. She wanted to tell him it was okay, everything was fine, he was fine, but he was clearly NOT fine, and those words were useless and stupid and worthless. Whenever she had a nightmare as a little girl, all she wanted was for her mum to hold her, brush back her hair, and sit with her until she fell back asleep. But Remus… Remus was not a little girl. He was a man (--minus shirt). And yet… right now… here in the dark, he wasn’t—he was just a person, a person frightened and afraid, a person in need of… someone. Biting down on her lip, she slowly leaned forward, placing her head against his shoulder, slowing her breathing, an [in]direct correlation to the rise and fall of his chest. “…Can I sit here with you?” Not for you, just for me. “I just… I can’t really sleep. And… well. I could use the company.”

Everyone needed someone sometime. Remus needed a someone. And Tonks? Tonks just wanted to be his someone.</sub>

[Remus Lupin]

"It is."

It was a short and frank response. For a moment, it seemed that despite the tremors still occasionally shivering through his muscles, the shadows in his eyes, Remus had something of a hold over himself. Or in the least, had some semblance of it (not really, but he was good at pretending) and had said enough. It was certainly more than he'd said to anyone for...well...years. A definite leap for such a private and contained man. He was certainly wrestling with some semblance of...something, inside his mind; it showed in the slightest line between his brows, the way his gaze seemed to turn inward. Rather like the way he got when he was engrossed in a good book, really, or a challenging crossword puzzle in the Daily Prophet.

Certainly, it had the same effect. In that for the moment, it distracted him from his usual watchfulness, those uncanny observational skills amusingly caught up in whatever was puzzling his mind. Or it would have been amusing, had the nightmare, the terrors of the night, and his own grief and fear not been so fresh. It most definitely had the same effect as it usually did, though, and thus, he all but missed Tonks' movements until she was there. Her head, her cheek, right there. Against his shoulder. Smooth satin against sandpaper (for that was very much how his skin oft. felt to him, so scarred and blemished and rough), and out of surprise and an unfamiliar, yet painfully familiar, instinct, he stiffened. Muscles tense, rather like a wolf, really. More like a wolf than he'd probably ever realise, or admit to.

Ah, but that was the key term, really - unfamiliarity. Yet familiar. Really, they were more alike than Tonks seemed to realise, and many other people, no doubt. Much to the no doubt extreme surprise of others, Remus Lupin was, underneath the detached politeness and shy reticience, an affectionate man. Very much so. His parents, let their souls rest in peace, would tell you as much, complaining playfully of a little boy who had been quiet, yes, but endlessly persistent in his desire for attention when he'd decided he wanted. Kisses and cuddles and talking, just talking. And being held. And then the wolf had bitten him, and much to their heartbreak, their little lad had suddenly been privy to a whole new world. A terrible world, really, one that had forced him to grow up too soon. Become withdrawn, far too soon. And yet even then, just now and again, he had sought out affection. Some sort of validation that he was human, even if nobody had wanted to be his friend.

As a teenager, his best friends, Lily, would tell you that even if he'd complained, or flinched in surprise, he'd never been one to throw off a companiable arm about the shoulders, or on occasion, a gentle hug. It was as if, even though he seemed almost frightened of too much attention, felt undeserving of it...he'd still craved it, subconsciously.

But then they'd all left him too. One by one. And he'd been left to face the world himself. Long, long, lonely years. Alone. Nobody was there. Nobody to laugh with. Or share endearing jibes and fond arms about the shoulder. Only cruelty. Cruely and prejudice and ruthless disgust when others found out his condition, and was it any wonder that he, already such a shy, private man, had become so closed off?

And now he had a person sitting next to him. Close to him. Leaning into him, as though everything that was wrong with him was the least for her to be worried about. In fact, she seemed more worried that he would be the one to push her away. Make excuses. Plead the fifth. Whatever you will. And it was wrong, he told himself. So very wrong. He should push her away. Gently plead his excuses. He didn't have a right, in his mind, to have something - someone - as bright, as funny, as warm as Nymphadora Tonks leaning into him. Practically snuggling into him. He'd told himself as much a million times, for every moment he'd so much as entertained the notion of reaching out to her on a level that was certainly more than camraderie. Oh, he fancied her, make no mistake about that (and it was an endless source of wry amusement for Sirius), but that...

So warm.

His body apparently had a mind seperate to his...well, mind. And apparently, instinct had allowed it to remember what once was. Thus, even as he mentally berated himself, Remus obliged the girl - woman, you git - leaning into him, leaning back into the headboard, shifting his arm so that she would fit more comfortably against his side. However long...well, for as long as she wanted to stay there, really. He wasn't arguing; it was cold, and stormy outside (a crack of thunder testified to this); he was had been scared badly tonight, and something, it seemed, was troubling her. He could do that. He could do comfort.

Belatedly, he recalled her comment of moments ago. Something about grammatical correctness, apparently, and very innaccurate use of the title 'professor' on him. It made him snort softly even as his arm searched for a place to rest, before finding her shoulder, the small gust of breath snuffing playfully at her hair. He muttered something or other about 'being cheeky' but otherwise let it be. And slowly, muscle by muscle, he let himself relax. He could do that too, if he tried hard enough. Even if his heart still beat too fast (though whether it was entirely the last remants of his nightmare or a flicker of something else entirely was left to the imagination), he could still ply his muscles (though the thought crossed his mind, though with a ridiculous briefness, that he was in fact...rather barer than he'd been for a while, and the thought of what she might think did worry him)...even let a stubbled cheek rest against her hair, if need be. Which he could do, easily. Far too easily, really.

She smells so nice. Clean and warm and without taint...or blasted perfume, really.

Of course, Remus kept that thought to himself. Probably something best saved for another night, that one. If it could ever be saved for anything - yes, I like to pretend I'm a normal man, but I can and maybe do track your scent like a bleeding *animal* when you're in the house. Creepy, isn't it. Thus, he stayed quiet for long moments, simply allowing Tonks to settle as she pleased while he stared, absent-mindedly, out the window of his room at the blistering rain. When he finally did speak, it was still hoarse, but it was soft. Gentle. Somehow oddly accepting. It was Remus.

"Why can't you sleep?"

[/blockquote]

[nymphadora tonks]

It is.

Of course it bloody is, you insufferable bloody moron. Whatwasshethinking? Whywouldshesaythat? WhatwasWRONGwithher? Something wrong. Something completely&utterly wrong. Just here, or maybe there all over and everywhere. Brain and tongue not wired properly—letters and thoughts jumbling and tumbling down the back of her throat—never coming out quite right. Tonks just did not know what to say. Never could manage to day the exact thing at the exact right time; usually the wrong thing at the right time and the right thing at the wrong time, or maybe just all wrong, wrong, W R O N G. So. Instead. She made jokes. Tried to gloss&floss the shadows with humor. It was the only thing she knew how to do. The only way she could grasp the situation(s). So. That’s what she did. She c R a C k E d jokes and laughed and laughed and laughed; ha ha bloody ha—so funny you could cry.

Did he want to talk about it? Did he not want to talk about it? He did not go on, so it appeared that he didn’t want to continue the conversation. Understandable. Who wanted to talk about (and thus relive) their nightmares? Leave the mares for the night, left behind the eyelids, left to s C a T t E r away in the light. Tonks felt him stiffen at her touch, but did not pull away. Push|pull, push|pull, push|pull —and Tonks only ever push, push, pushed to the edge. After a moment, it was as if through sheer willpower, Remus relaxed and leaned back, allowing her to settle against the curve beneath his collarbone. Knees tucked to the side, knocking again his (knock, knock, who’s there?). Eyes fluttered to a close, breathing even. Too easy, really, to just slip in anywhere—like butter. Melted. Butter. Slippery, warm, and always wanted. Well. ALMOST anywhere and ALMOST always—those deathly death eaters… well, for some reason they were just not very fond of butter (at least, not without the beer, of course).

Cheek against the knotted skin of scars, a reminder of the life Remus lived… of what he was: a werewolf. To say she had retained anything from Professor Binns would be an exaggeration of the greatest proportion [tall, tall tales]—she remembered n o t h i n g—though, recently she found herself collecting odds&ends about the history of werewolves and their treatment by society. Appalling—such horrific injustices that still carried on to this very day night. Not that she truly ever needed to go and read about it, she could see it with her own eyes—exhibit A: Remus. Lupin. Living his life, day to day, alone. And yet, Tonks had never met anyone with such a quiet strength. Intelligent, genuine, the sadness in his eyes like a (pool)—d r o w n i n g her. A man who lived such a life of hardship and tragedy—at a level that she could never begin to comprehend (though this war certainly assisted in her own understanding)—yet he still never gave up. A life that would c R u S h most people only seemed to polish him.

Swallowing hard—she felt her heart thump, thump, thump against her chest. Absurd—she wanted to force it stop fluttering—no reason for that. She was simply admiring a man who deserved to be admired—as a comrade of course, and nothing more. Certainly nothing more. Just everything more. In truth, as of late, she had a problem. The problem was that there were just these THOUGHTS in her head and these THOUGHTS were turning into bloody FEELINGS and she just couldn’t THINK&FEEL all these things because they didn’t make SENSE and now, why, now was just not the time to FALL for anyone or anything, just not the TIME you see (&timing is everything). That, and anytime Tonks fell she usually landed on her face. Trip, fall, floor, SPLAT.

Perhaps she should not have come in. Perhaps she should not have sat on the bed. Perhaps she should not have curled against him. Just comforting a friend, that’s all. And yet, the fact of the matter was that Tonks was a terrible flirt. Always had been. It was not something she was aware of, most of the time, it was just in her personality. The little things: a touch here and there, a smile for anyone and everyone, a good natured teasing. It came naturally to her, and she never really thought of it as FLIRTING, though that’s what people said. One poor Hufflepuff in particular, what oh what HAD been his name? Names were such a trifle, too trifling to trifle with, really. Bloody hell, tall bloke, blonde hair, green eyes, played on the Quidditch team… Johnny? James? Jasper? J…j…Jeremy! That was it. She almost snapped her fingers. Tonks had thought of him as one of her best mates since nearly first year. Of course, Tonks was mates with just about everyone. Always the mate and never the date.

Or so she thought. Around their sixth year, they had been gallivanting around as usual (Tonks did like to gallivant) when he suddenly kissed her. Shocked didn’t exactly cover it. Stunned. Like a stunner to the chest. She didn’t understand. He didn’t understand. He thought she felt the same way. He listed, a painful list, all the things she had done to make him believe so…but it wasn’t anything special…just things she did with everyone, the teasing, the compliments, the hand holding—she’d hold hands with Snape if he wouldn’t Avada Kedavra her on the spot. Jeremy never spoke to her again after that. The memory made her wonder if perhaps she ought to tone it down with Remus—the touches, the jokes, the LOOKS. But that was ridiculous. Tonks just liked people. She couldn’t help it. And to Remus? She was just another mate. Always the mate.

“Huh? Oh.” Eyes opened, almost startled when he spoke, fighting to suppress the yawn threatening to expand her lungs. “I don’t know. Sometimes I just can’t sleep. Adrenaline, most likely,” she replied smartly, “quite a night we had, wasn’t it? Except, you know it’s not actually adrenaline in those situations, it’s this hormone called epinephrine—weird. Don’t know where the word adrenaline came from. Guess it sounds better—adrenaline rush… epinephrine rush… just doesn’t have the same ring…” Ramble, ramble, ramble. “Er—my Aunt, I mean, my dad’s sister, because well obviously not my OTHER Aunts because they sort of hate me, she’s a doctor. She wanted me to be a doctor too. Pity I can’t show her how ace I am with healing spells. Can’t imagine why that is.” Tonks literally c r i n g e d, face scrunching up as she turned to glance up at him, one eye closed, “I’ll just be quiet now. I’m sure you… would like to try and get some sleep and not listen to me prattle on,” and on and on. “…Are you… okay? If you want to … or need to… just talk… well. It’s just me, Remus. You can tell me. You don’t have to be so strong all the time. You can be human. I won’t tell anyone. Mum’s the word.”

[Remus Lupin]

It suddenly struck him, rather like the lightning outside might strike the trees (or the Muggle powerlines), that she was like Lily. A lot like Lily, actually. Bright, blunt, fearless and temperamental. And completely content with bothering him, and chattering away to him, without a second thought. To anything. Not the lycanthropy. Not the nightmare. Not the comforting him. And for once, such a thought didn't leave him sorrowful; the memories choosing to fill him with a sort of nostalgic fondness rather than melancholy. He'd adored Lily, very much. And yet, not in the way many might think; she'd been James' in that respect, in every manner of the word, even when she herself had told half of Hogwarts one humid afternoon that she'd rather be the Giant Squid's then James'. But she'd been his friend, his absolute friend. The friend one went to for anything that came to mind. Someone to be there when no one else would be. That had been the sum of that adoration.

And it was, he realised (and not with a certain amount of wryly amused recrimination), very much the same with the young Auror curling up against him, cheek trustingly laid to rest where one scar knotted over another against the bony wings of his collarbone. Only, it wasn't quite the same either, because even when he berated the side of him mentally that seemed to control what he supposed was once called libido, he couldn't not acknowledge, even to himself, the fact that there were certain thoughts he'd never entertained about Lily Potter that he very much entertained about Nymphadora Tonks.

Of course, the babbling and rabbling on was very much Nymphadora's own habits shining through. He wasn't surprised at all, really, that she'd started up again. He supposed he should have been - most people would, upon cuddling into another person's side on a stormy night, after such an emotional maelstrom, stay silent. Just lie there, perhaps, and go back to sleep. Probably should have been annoying, too...and yet it wasn't. He'd grown so used to it, really, that he found it nothing short of endearing; it was, within his powers of perception, the giveaway that told one who knew her that in some way, she was nervous. Or that for whatever reason, her deceptively intelligent brain was ticking over, the little hamster in there working overtime to process whatever was going through the proverbial wheel.

It was tempting to follow up on such a line of thought, too, but he refrained from doing so. He was too caught up in chuckling at the Auror and her unintentional but incredibly amusing antics as it was, and he wondered vaguely how long it would take for her to notice that he was indeed chuckling along with her words. All of it; the leftover adrenaline from the nightmare, the warmth despite the awkwardness, the amusing babbling, the comparison to the woman who'd once been his closest confidant, and the fact that, come what may, something had shifted tonight in the bond he had with Tonks, that had been settled and cemented over late night musings over hot chocolate and a ever-growing, ever-darkening war even as it had kept it's physical distance until now...it left him a trifle giddy. Rather like an idiot boy, really. Or perhaps that was just exhaustion. Whatever it was, it lightened him considerably, even for just a moment, and he was hard-pressed to resist the sudden urge to kiss her, if only to shut her up.

He managed to refrain from said sudden urge though, choosing instead to squeeze her gently where his arm rested around her smaller form, fingers playing absently at stroking her hair and it's chosen colour of the day away from where it had drifted against her cheek when she'd put her head against his shoulder, and back behind her ear. Some of the strands still escaped, and he flicked them gently, absently, while his chuckles ceased.

"That's for another night, Tonks," Remus murmured hoarsely, quiet but patient. Colour stole briefly across his sharp cheekbones, and he was touched by the sentiment, her desire to know more if only it made him more at ease, but that was enough of that for one night. He'd let more go than he had in years to anyone, and that included the state he'd been in when she'd turned up in the first place, the state she'd taken pains to calm and soothe despite her clumsiness until he was some semblance of sane again. It made him frown a little, a reflexive instinct at being caught in such a way. But just as swiftly was it gone, and when one dark eye opened to peek up at him sheepishly, Remus was hard-pressed to stifle a smile. He managed somewhat in that respect, but there was no denying the lightness in his eyes when he regarded her in return, and though he was still clammy, the muscles in his body, tired as they were, finally let go the tremors that had held them hostage prior to now.

"Though that is something of a shame. Doctors are Muggle Healers, correct? Yes, it's a shame you can't show her; I don't doubt your ace at them." He seemed to muse on the matter seriously, but when he looked at Tonks again, his eyes were light, bright and the warmest of blues. Tired, yes, always tired, but amber flecks turned to amber lights in a way that could only be described as mischievous. Amused and mischievous and teasing and...well...Marauderish.

"I mean, really, I can hardly have been there all the time for you to fall on now, could I."

[/blockquote]

[nymphadora tonks]

<sub>Chuckle.

“…Are you, are you laughing at me?” Tonks placed a hand on her chest in mock offense, quirking an eyebrow at him. “You ARE!” Mouth fell open [un]hinged and she reached out to swat at him (playfully of course) and give him a soft shove away from her. “Well then. That’s the last time I offer you my thoughts on the mysteries of the English language! Next time I will just let you unwittingly and unknowingly talk about adrenaline with no idea as to the actual mechanism behind it, you ungrateful git.” Tonks did not have a poker face. Even as she spoke, the felt a smile tug, tug, tugging at the ends of her lips, laughter bottled up and reflected in her eyes. In fact, the last time she played poker (…with Sirius) he called her bluffs every time—especially the times she tossed in all her chips for good measure. Lost everything that night. Good thing they were only betting chocolate frogs. But oh how she loved chocolate frogs. Damn shame.

His arm still looped around her, she felt the slight squeeze and easily collapsed back against him in an exaggerated huff, hair falling over her cheek and covering her face. “I suppose I’ll let it go. Just this once.” Forever&always. Tonks was just glad to hear him laugh, see him smile, feel him relax. Much more the Remus she knew than the one she had walked in on earlier. Though, Tonks wanted to know both of those men. So much more to Remus Lupin than he ever let anyone see—how lucky to have caught a glimpse, to step through that l o o k i n g glass. Fingers gently brushed her hair back and she felt her eyes close again, the touch soft&soothing—something [absent] in the mind, silence blanketing over the room—q u i e t. Just breathing. Movement of air, transfer of oxygen for carbon dioxide, lungs at work and brains at rest.

Another night. Another night, Tonks. Perhaps on a night out at work, while hidden in some shadowed corner, secrets stolen. Or over hot chocolate after tending to bloodied&battered bodies, something warm to wash the cold, cold, cold away. Maybe, after a long day of training, Remus strewn across a chair with a book and her thrown on the floor with a pillow. Because… because really, there would always be another night unless one of the died, which Tonks decided not to think about, because that couldn’t happen, wouldn’t happen…nonono. And there was a chance, |slim| chance, that there just may be a night where one such man and one such woman just needed each such other’s company and exchanged whispers and laughter in the moonlight. Line between wake|dreaming b l u r r i n g, such thoughts sweeping&carrying her away. “…Another night then,” she mumbled.

Ah. Eyes opened. Muggle doctors. Just too interesting of a topic, t u g g i n g her back across the way and into the waking reality. “Yes, they are. Though really its the nurses that do the work and everything. And thank you, thank you.” A fascinating career—why, the things those muggles DID to other muggles! “Brilliant, really… the things they have come up with, if not a bit barbaric. I went to a muggle doctor once, actually. When I broke my arm. I was six. It was fascinating.” In some ways, Tonks felt muggle doctors seemed even more advanced than healers, with the breaking and mending and c h e m i c a l s—and yet, yet there was so much that magic could do [un]invasively. Mending broken bones did present a challenge, magically—drink a bit of potion and suffer through the night. Quick, though, bloody quick. The muggle process took quite a bit longer, though they properly sedated her for the resetting of bone and she DID get to wear a lovely pink cast with all sorts of writing and doodling etched upon the plaster. One of her friends asked what color she would pick NEXT time. Next time? What next time? Why would there be a next time?

Ah. That look. That glint. That grin. Tonks matched his own mischievous demeanor with caution, awaiting to see just what he was playing at. Ah! “HEY!” She laughed, pulling away indignantly. “I don’t ALWAYS fall on YOU, now do I? I fall on Mad Eye too, I’ll have you know, and sometimes I fall on Kingsley, and once I fell on McGonagall.” Cringe. Oh yeah. That once. In an effort to escape from the scene of a crime most harmless prank, tripped and fell down the stairs and took the Gryffindor Head of House with her… just HOW many weeks she spent in detention, she couldn’t quite recall. All seemed to run together, really. Oh, what late night fun~. “And sometimes, sometimes I just fall on my own face.” Of course, dear Tonks, the common thread spun through the defense was that she was, in fact, always falling. But she could not deny that. Nearly cost her the Auror exam too, that and her lack of STEALTH. “Reflexes like a cat though.” Can’t fall in love if you never fall at all. Wink. “And don’t you know?” she continued on with the utmost sincerity, “cats have nine lives.”</sub>

[Remus Lupin]

It was one of those things, really, that he found endearing even when it got a little annoying. Her ability to get onto a topic and then become absolutely fixated on it for however long, or rather, until she'd entirely exhausted everything she knew about the topic itself. And then the questions following after. Truth be told, though, it was a mark of just how intelligent Tonks was. Regardless of what people thought, regardless of how she came across in her everyday life, with her outrageous hair colours and her crazy energy and her clumsiness and her often far too tight for his peace of mind t-shirts, she was an Auror for a reason, Mad-eye's favorite protege, and not to be underestimated. It wasn't just that, though; Remus genuinely delighted in the times when she did latch onto a topic she knew the run around on.

And that was not gushing, either. He was an intellectual all on his own merits, despite his own less than conventional appearance, and any intellectual worth their salt craved that mental stimulation exercise. It didn't even bother him that she actually knew more on a subject he probably ought to know more about himself, what with his own Muggleborn parent. But then, Cleo Lupin had been far more at home in the magical world, and had likely not seen fit to burden her young son with the trials and tribulations of the Muggle World, a world that would, while ignorant, likely be no less selective about his 'little problem' than the wizarding world was. He could have listened to her muse on the subject until one of them eventually fell asleep - which would have to be soon; he wasn't sure if she had work in the morning, and if she did, he didn't want to be the reason she was tired and possibly late. But of course, he'd taken the Marauder's path of choice, and now he had to bear the consequences. And bear them Remus did, and did so with good humour, laughing softly at the playful swat and the indignant glare, letting her draw away even as he briefly, so briefly it could barely be felt, held onto her it was too, too easy for him to do so, merely gracing her with an innocently complacent smile as she scolded him. As if it wasn't the cutest thing in the world. And as if he missed entirely the moment she seemed to turn in a little on herself, become almost self-deprecating he would know, the master of self-deprecation - "And sometimes, sometimes I just fall on my face." Self deprecating. Softer. Almost, almost vulnerable.

He could have hugged her for that. He did want to hug her for it. He wanted to hug her for being there when she didn't have to be, and just listening and asking because no one else did. And for being pushy and staying close, fearlessly so, because Merlin forbid his pride would have him seek it out himself. Pigheaded Gryffindor pride, that's what it was. And Remus Lupin pride, infinitely more pigheaded still. Which didn't seem to bother her in the slightest, even as she scolded him. Merlin, he wanted to hug her for being her, because there was absolutely nothing wrong with that even when it was annoying.

You, Messrs. Moony, have become a sentimental, smitten fool. With complete and utter emphasis on the *'mental* part.

"I suppose they'd help a great deal on the job. Or perhaps Lucius Malfoy is allergic to cats, in which case I'll be sure to throw you at him one day." Completely inane comment, that, not something one would expect Remus to say. And yet utterly normal-sounding too, and said with a convincingly thoughtful look, as if it wasn't the most insane, hilarious image possibly conjured in all of wizarding history. Even though he'd never do that, because that would put her in danger, and even if she was more than worth her weight in gold, Remus would break his own limbs (he'd done so, many a full-moon, to know just how precisely one did so too) before deliberately inflicting harm on her in his own right, or in the right of anyone else.

Like a cat, though? How very, very interesting. He still didn't hug her, though calloused fingers played gently, fondly, where they had slid when she'd pulled back, tugging gently at colourful hair and letting it ghost along blunted cheekbones. And then she winked at him - the little flirt - and he was struck with the sudden wonderment as to just how cat-like she was. Cats purred when they were content, or happy, and the louder a cat purred, the more in bliss one knew them to be. Oh dear. The late hour had clearly gotten to him, with such thoughts, but they did wonders for chasing the dregs of the nightmare whatnightmare? away.

"By that definition, you should have about five lives left then, kitten." Oh no, he hadn't. But oh yes, he had; he'd had the nerve - because the middleaged, bookish werewolf had apparently been brainwashed and mindcontrolled by some shameless, impish schoolboy called Moony - to not only flirt back with raised eyebrows and playfully blue looks - dark, dark blue, mischievous yet mysterious, hinting or not hinting at all, one could hardly tell, but so very blue - but with words, too. Words. Names. Almost endearment, really.

"Though by that very same definition, you should probably be dead scared of me after all, you know. Cats don't like wolves." Humourous still, if as self-deprecating as she'd been mere moments ago, though he tugged gently still - it seemed to be something he was terribly fond of doing, once he had her hair in touching range - and even had the still half-playful gall to blow gently, annoyingly, on her face. Rather like one did when chasing a dog or a cat away. Not that he wanted to chase her off. He didn't want her to go at all. It was damn wrong, bloody wrong, and he'd probably kick himself for it later, but right now, it was cold and dark and stormy outside, lonely and brooding and scary. But not here. Not in this little four foot space of musty blankets and warmth and teasing and calm and scars that didn't matter.

OOC: Flu, my Itunes is haunted by R/T loving ghosts. Within the entire half hour it took to post this, I had the following songs come on: Lion - Rebecca St. James; It's You - Michelle Branch; Magic Exists - The Weird Sisters; It Is You (I Have Loved) - Dana Glover. The last was creepily appropriate for this bit. xDD

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[nymphadora tonks]

<sub>Obsessive&compulsive. Tonks liked to collect things. Just some odds here and some ends there. Brain mottled with collections of obsessions. As if someone had poured glue (the blue kind, of course, of course) all over her brain, information stick, stick, sticking. Not that she was intelligent, oh no, not her, eccentric perhaps, but not intelligent. Tonks never thought of herself as particularly clever, and anytime anyone suggested that she might ACTUALLY be just a little bit bright in anyway, made her feel… off. Perhaps it was because she never truly had to work at it, that she did not value her own intelligence. Watching Hermione Granger studying and studying and studying just made her head hurt—that girl, why that girl was just about the brightest bloody witch &/or wizard she had ever met! That was intelligence. And her? Well. She was just lucky, that’s all. Must be that four leaf clover. Or was it three? Lost a leaf between here and there, probably there. How the bloody hell she ended up an Auror was just as much a mystery to her as it was everyone else. Some mysteries better left unsolved.

Lungs collapsed into laughter at his comment—what an odd (andohsoperfect) thing to say! Created quite an amusing image really. “I’ll be sure to keep my claws out then,” Hands in the air, fingers curled—not quite as impressive, of course, with nails bitten down to skin and polish chipped away. “Sssssss,” teeth clenched together as she hissed, pausing after a moment in thought. “Did I look like Ms. Norris? I was going for Ms. Norris. Don’t think I quite managed it though—just something so very… intense about Ms. Norris.” No one, no one liked that cat. Although, Tonks found very early on that if she saved a little something from dinner every so often, she could, sometimes, bargain with it. Yes. Tonks bargained with Ms. Norris. Hungry? Here. You an have it. You can have it if you stay here while I go there and trap first years in giant, enchanted, bubblegum bubbles. And sometimes? Sometimes it worked. Ms. Norris would leave her be. Of course, it had to be the RIGHT treat, on the RIGHT night, at the RIGHT time, and that was something that took years&years to master. “Oh Ms. Norris,” Tonks mused aloud, “I wonder just what that cool cat is up to these days?”

Sitting here, in the dark, next to Remus—it just seemed… right. Something so natural and easy (easy like Sunday morning) about it , about him. And yet… yet there was also something perhaps, just a tad, indecent about the entire thing—not that she really thought that—but if on the off chance anyone DID walk in, them, in the dark, on the bed, resting against one another—it could be misconstrued. This, now this just wasn’t something a lady should do. A lady! Good thing Tonks had never been a lady. Oh how her mum would cringe. Elbows off the table, Nymphadora! Lower your voice, Nymphadora! Don’t say ‘wotcher,’ Nymphadora! And don’t crawl into bed with men in the middle of the night, Nymphadora! But this? This was Remus. Just Remus. And right now… right now they both needed this, needed each other. Though her mum had broken away from the stiff pureblood society and everything ELSE that came with it, she still valued social etiquette and proper manners. Her mum desperately tried to instill the same values in her daughter, but it was to no avail. No WONDER purebloods hated muggles. Muggle DNA rejecting pureblood decency! And here she was, a little half blood Hufflepuff atrocity! Must be why she was Auntie Bella’s favorite (only) niece.

Remus started playing with her hair again and she curled closer, almost subconsciously (almost). In dangerous waters… crossing lines and lines crossed. Feelings trailing along the strings of her heart, stretched across the valves, e t c h i n g into the chambers. “Kitten?” Word barely time to register before she felt a puff of air on her face—demeanor immediately scrunching, nose wrinkling up. “You DO know I’m not actually a cat? I mean I know it’s dark in here but…” teasing tone lacing through the letters. “Five is more than enough for me. Blimey—bloody lucky to have five left. My curiosity has killed its fair share of cats. But with five whole lives left, this cat will live to see another day.”

Something inherently sad in that comment… made in jest and yet not completely, a passing undercurrent of truth lurking beneath the waves. “Is that so?” she asked indignantly, “that’s not how I heard it,” she added offhandedly. “Heard cats are very fond of wolves, actually. Haven’t you heard the story? Why, everyone has heard the story, about this one cat and this one wolf, and well, it’s a lovely story really. Well there was this little peaceful village and everyone there was happy, until one day this snake came and bloody tried to ruin everything. So some of the residents decided to do something about it. One of them was this cat—pink, naturally, and one of them was this wolf, bloody brilliant but don’t tell HIM that. Anyway, they worked together a lot and they became really good friends—they saw a lot of things and the cat gave the wolf chocolate the wolf taught the cat some neat tricks—and maybe sometimes the wolf tried to eat the cat and the cat scratched the wolf, and the cat didn't really understand why the wolf always like his meat so rare and had to read so very much, and the wolf may not comprehend why the cat always fell so often and listened to such obnoxiously loud music, but in the end everyone lived happily ever after!”

Whatthebloodyhell? Well. All-right then. Tired. That’s she was. Tired. And she had to work in the morning. Ministry work. And Mad Eye. Mad Eye would not exactly be pleased if she was late, and by not pleased he would hex her into oblivion. Not her best story, she should have come up with something involving dragons. Perhaps another day. A yawn escaped her and she covered her mouth briefly with her hand before her hand fell down, settling on his chest without thinking about it. Sometimes, sometimes she wished she wouldn’t speak at all, except she couldn’t help it, thoughts turned to words and then the words were said and then everything was done (&well said). After a moment, she opened her mouth once more, but not her eyes. “What’s the matter… cat got your tongue?” Damn cat. Always, always came back to the cat. Forever and evermore. Nevermore, nevermore, nevermore. Said the Raven. And the cat ate the raven. Bloody cats.</sub>

[Remus Lupin]

Even if she was talking about Mrs. Norris, of all things - wretched creature always followed him even in his Professor days, as if...as if he were still a schoolboy to be caught out in mischief and given detention. Preposterous. - he couldn't not react to how easily she settled. Settled, happily, contentedly, lazily, in his presence. Oh, it wasn't quite a new experience; she'd always been perfectly content to be around him. Late night bumpings into becoming habit after long, hard days; talks about anything that came to mind the absolute norm. So normal, in fact, that he'd be lost on nights where such things weren't possible. Missing it, missing her, even as the rational, self-beating side of him cautioned him against such dependency, ridiculed him for even entertaining the notion, the possibilities, that the young witch now curled up beside him - cat-like, chasing away nightmares like they were horrid balls of yarn - could be anything more than just...comrade. Friend. Oh, she was friend, definitely.

But even then. Even then, in his Remus-y way, he'd kept a sort of distance. Bloody hard thing to do, almost disturbingly so for a man so used to complete control over his fancies, but he'd managed with some success. Flirted with the idea now and again - literally - but never stepped across the line.

Coward.

He berated irritably the mental voice inside his head. But it was...truth. A line. There had been a line, regardless of what line it was, that been crossed here. Here and now. Tonight. And it was a line he'd hardly even known was there before, but now? Now, with her cuddled so obligingly against him, fist curled over his chest, over rough, scarred skin of long ago, cut directly over heart and sternum - did she feel his heart beating? Did she feel how much faster it beat even with her silly, hilariously, randomly made up story about pink cats and wolves? Merlin, did she have any idea? She couldn't not, and that...that was...

Line crossed. And it was a very obvious line, and Remus wondered how he'd never seen it before. It thrilled and scared the damn hell out him, and unbidden, the arm that rested about Tonks tightened, it's brother drifting from colourful Metamorphmagus hair to join the other. About her shoulders. Against her back. Hugging. Holding close. Out of the blue, and tight, desperately so, but warm. So warm. And safe. Safe from thunderstorms and howling winds and houses riddled with dark magic. And wars. Wars with blood and nightmares and broken families and lives - little, innocent lives - forced to grow too soon. Or lost. Forever.

"Something like that," he murmured, and though it was soft, tired, there was something to his tone that was not hoarse, but husky. Very much so. Cat got your tongue? She had no idea. Still, he said little more, merely feathering a gentle, affectionate kiss - the kiss for someone you called friend and someone you loved - to where hairline met forehead, grateful and thankful. Even if he should probably needle her, blame her for the fact that he probably, likely, very likely would not sleep soundly again tonight. Even with the nightmare gone, that she'd chased away like a cat. Like a kitten.

"Sleep now." Sleep now, Dora. "Get some sleep, Tonks."

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