sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-08 03:49 pm
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-08 03:49 pm
Entry tags:
Amid My Solitude 3 of 7
We cannot know how much we learn
From those who never will return,
Until a flash of unforeseen
Remembrance falls on what has been.
-- Edwin Arlington Robinson
In the time between breakfast and Harry's appointment with Snape, they talked shop; the twins bounced new sales ideas off of them, which were generally met with "brilliant!" from Ron and Harry, while Remus tried his best to look disapproving. He did like the idea of sets of enchanted Quidditch equipment for practices -- Snitches that specialised in getting your attention and then evading you, Bludgers that were lighter and could be batted away with one's hands -- and he said so.
"Got to make sure people don't swap them for the real thing on the playing field, though," he cautioned.
"Did you play Quidditch?" Fred asked. Remus shook his head.
"That was James' hobby. Sirius too, for a bit, till he got thrown off the team."
"What for?" Ron looked interested. Remus coughed.
"Indecent activity in the locker room," he muttered. The boys burst into rude laughter.
"Not really?" Tonks asked, grinning.
"Quidditch always had that effect on him," Remus added. He noticed Harry staring at his breakfast, cheeks barely flushed. "I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't mean to -- "
"It's all right," he said, pushing food around with his fork. "I'd better go get ready for my lesson."
"Harry -- "
But the boy was already gone. Fred and George exchanged a look.
"Time we were off to the shop," Fred announced. Tonks nodded.
"I've got work..." she added, rising. "Don't beat yourself up over it. Teenagers tend to be a bit moody."
"Thank you," Ron said pointedly.
"Proving me right," Tonks added, tousling his hair. Ron ducked away, fingers trying to straighten it out. "I've got to stop off at my flat after work -- unless something comes up that keeps me from home entirely," she said with a grimace. "I thought I'd drop by Diagon Alley, too, and pick up something for Harry's birthday. So I may not be by till late tonight."
"Erm..." Remus cleared his throat. "I'm afraid it's...an early night for me."
All four of them looked at him, curiously.
"Full moon," he muttered.
"Do you want me to get anything from Diagon Alley?" Tonks asked. "Is there anything -- "
She was cut off by Snape's abrupt appearance in the doorway. He tossed what looked liked a wide-based wine-bottle past her, and Remus snatched it out of the air before it could shatter on the table.
"That's four months' worth of wolfsbane potion," Snape said, offhandedly, as if he hadn't nearly destroyed the thing. "Six if you're frugal. I don't want you coming to me again until at least after Halloween."
"Thank you, Severus," Remus said, civilly, though he longed to continue their shouting match from earlier in the morning.
"Have some breakfast, Professor Snape?" Fred asked brightly. George nodded and offered a plate.
"I would not touch your breakfast, Weasley, with dragonhide gloves," Snape replied, stalking away. The twins looked despondent.
"We're never going to find anyone to test the new doughnuts on," George sighed. "You don't want to be guinea pig, do you, Lupin? Ring for hours with a Ding Dong Doughnut!"
"Can't you give out free samples at the shop?" Remus asked, as Tonks snickered and deposited her plate in the sink.
"Suppose we could. Get awfully loud in the shop, though. Still, chaos is never a bad thing."
"Speak for yourselves," Tonks replied. "All right, I'm going to dress and I'll leave by the floo in my bedroom -- Weasleys, I'll see you later today. Don't let him get into any mischief," she added, with a grin for Remus, who grinned back.
"Harry and I're going to Diagon Alley this afternoon too," Ron announced. "He hasn't seen the new joke shop yet."
"You mean I might have the place to myself for an afternoon?" Remus asked. "Heavens above. I might even get some work done."
***
He certainly didn't get any work done that morning.
His rooms were above the library, and it was barely ten minutes before he knew he couldn't stay there; he could hear Snape's harsh tones through the floor, hear Harry's occasional cry of pain, and he knew there was nothing to be done about it. But he couldn't listen to that, listen to James' son being undeservedly tormented, even if he saw -- though Harry might not -- that every hateful lesson with Severus Snape brought him that much closer to power.
Harry didn't want power. But he did need it.
He found himself moving through the sprawling Black mansion like a ghost, trying to get as far away from the library as possible. After...after Sirius had died, they'd taken the last steps necessary and gotten rid of the grotesque house-elf heads. They'd also destroyed the portrait of the old Black matriarch, who seemed less tenacious about clinging to the wall now that the last of the Blacks was dead. The upper floors were eerily spartan, devoid of any decoration, scrubbed bare by Molly's army of press-ganged housecleaners. Down below, somewhere, he suspected Ron was trying just as hard as he was not to think about Harry in the library. He ought to find the boy, try and talk with him. He was Harry's best friend, after all.
Remus, folding himself into a narrow window-seat, stared out at the other houses nearby, full of people who'd no idea that this house even existed anymore.
He knew what it was like to be a shadow, to be just a half-step behind the popular boy, the boy everyone knew. Ron dealt with that in his own way, he was sure. Ron must be used to it; with five older brothers, indeed he must.
But at the same time, Ron had five older brothers. He had an entire family. Watching over him, teaching him things, taking care of him. In the Lupin household it had been Remus and his parents and that was all --
This was stupid, Remus decided. Self-pity was for people who'd nothing better to do.
He pushed himself out of the window-seat. It had been better when it was just him and Sirius living here. He liked the twins, but they were always poking about, trying to get him to help them come up with new mischief -- their admiration for one of the authors of the Marauder's Map knew no bounds. And he loved Harry, loved him deeply, but that boy was screwed up every which way, and being tortured by Severus Snape didn't help him any.
Life was simpler alone. You didn't have to wonder how to comfort a boy or worry whether you'd hurt someone with something you didn't even mean to say in the first place, or be afraid that one day you were going to reach for her and she wasn't going to be there --
He'd gone down the stairs quietly, but by the time he'd reached the bottom floor Ron was standing there, one hand on the banister, expectant.
"Can't you teach him?" Ron blurted, without even a greeting. "It's awful, hearing Snape yell at him."
"I'm no good at it," Remus replied, brushing past him. "Perhaps you'd best go to Diagon Alley. I can send Harry -- "
"Yeah, leave so that nobody at all's here when he's finally done," Ron said rebelliously. "Great idea."
"Well, Ron, find something to do then!" Remus snapped. The boy looked stricken, and he felt an immediate stab of regret.
"Or help me find something to do, so I'm not shouting at people who don't deserve it," he said, apologetically. Ron gave him a weak grin. "You must have something you're supposed to be doing."
"Did the dishes," Ron said sheepishly. "And made a sandwich. And dusted."
"You dusted?" Remus asked. "Do you even know how to dust?"
"After my mum?" Ron replied.
"Good point. What about homework, don't you have assignments over the summer?"
Ron scowled. "Haven't got my books."
"Nice try," Remus replied. "You can help me do mine, then."
He led Ron back through the house, to his room, and handed the boy an armload of books. Ron made a face and sneezed, but followed obediently enough as they sought the comfort of the living room.
"Is this what you do all the time we're not around?" he asked, as Remus instructed him on what to look for. The older man shrugged.
"Order business. And this. I do have to feed myself somehow," he said, handing Ron a sheet of parchment. "I write articles, papers, that sort of thing. It's very hard to get fired for continual absences when you never see your publisher face-to-face anyway."
Ron smiled and bent to his book, and Remus was more than happy to let a concentrated silence descend on the room.
***
It was late by the time Tonks let herself into Headquarters; she hadn't intended to come back at all, but to go home to her flat after a hasty dinner in Diagon Alley. She'd managed to find something she thought Harry would like for his birthday, while still keeping an eye on him and Ron -- with a little help from the twins, who had promised to send Ron back to the Burrow and bring Harry home after closing up shop.
She walked up the stairs quietly and listened at Remus' door. No noise; she hoped he was asleep. She'd found time at work to do a little research on wolfsbane potions. What she'd found hadn't been pretty. She'd studied werewolves in school and Auror training, of course, but only as targets. To find out about the terrible pain of the transformation and the self-destructiveness of penned wolves...Well. It made her understand him much better, the quiet man with whom she'd been sharing a bed.
There was a soft whine from the other side of the door, and then a scratch on the wood. She hurried on quickly, before her compassionate instincts got the better of her and she opened the door.
She headed for the small book-lined den on the third floor, which at night afforded the best view of the stars through its skylight. She felt like sinking into one of the chairs and curling up alone in the dark room.
It was already occupied, however.
Severus Snape sat in one of the rich, freshly-cleaned armchairs, a book in his hands, reading idly.
"I'm sorry," she said, when he looked up sharply. "I didn't mean to intrude -- "
He waved a thin-fingered hand, indicating that it was no concern of his. The man could make her feel like a third-year with just a gesture. She hated that.
So, to spite him, she sat, and picked up a nearby book. It looked like one of the ones Remus had recently been using; not the most interesting subject matter, but then she really just wanted something to do with her hands while she looked out and up, at the moon and stars.
She wasn't sure how much time had passed before Snape, delicately turning a page, said without preamble, "May I ask you a question?"
She glanced at him, but he appeared to be engrossed in his reading.
She wanted to say that if he had to ask about it, it probably was something she wasn't going to want to answer; instead, she merely said "Yes", and made an effort to leave off the "sir".
"You are quite young," he said. "And I understand that in the Order there is a certain...hierarchy."
Tonks had a nasty feeling that she knew where this was going.
"And I don't wish to presume that you are overstepping any boundaries, but..." Snape looked up at her, then. "Are you sure your...friendship with Lupin is entirely appropriate?"
Tonks could do nothing but stare.
"Not to mention, good for the Order? And your own mental health?" Snape continued blandly.
"My...mental...health..." Tonks repeated, lost in a sea of offended indignation.
"I merely ask out of concern for Order stability," Snape replied, returning to his book.
"How...did you -- "
"Harry's lessons this morning."
"And you...have the gall..." Tonks stammered. "You have the absolute and unutterable -- I can't even think of the word for what you think you're doing -- "
"I am ensuring the safety of the Order and its stability. We all know Lupin's practically Dumbledore's lapdog. I have not done all this work to watch it crumble because of an ill-timed misstep on the part of a young woman who can hardly be expected to -- "
He was cut off by a loud crack, and Tonks stared in horror.
She'd slapped him. Actually slapped Severus Snape. Her professor. A man whose biting sarcasm had made her cringe in horror for seven years.
He stared up at her, dark eyes bright in his sallow-skinned face.
"I'm so sorry -- " she said, stepping forward. She stumbled of course, over the table next to the chair, and nearly fell over. Several books went flying. "I didn't mean -- I'm so sorry," and then, to her horror, she said "Professor."
He stood swiftly, catching the table in one hand, closing his book with the other. The skin on his cheek was already turning red.
He stared at her for a moment, incredibly tall and imposing and proud, while she was hunched over the table, trying to keep her balance.
Then, with a crack, he Disapparated. Tonks, bereft of his supporting hand on the table, sprawled to the floor, and burst into undignified, undisciplined, un-Tonks-like tears.
"Tonks?"
She put a hand to her eyes, pushing herself up off the floor. Of course Harry would show up now; that was the story of her life.
"Are you all right?" Harry asked hesitantly. She sniffed, mightily, and wiped the tears from her cheeks.
"I'm fine, Harry," she said. "Took a bad spill, that's all."
"I thought I heard Professor Snape."
"Yes, you did," she admitted. "He's gone now, though."
"He's just a slimy git," Harry said, obviously feeling that her tears had been directly inspired by the Potions master. "You can't listen to anything he says."
"I know," Tonks said, dropping into one of the chairs again. "But it's hard not to when he's telling the truth."
"Sorry about that," Harry said, leaning on a bookshelf. "He was in my head this morning. He saw...things."
"He said as much."
"Bastard," Harry said with feeling. Tonks laughed through the last of her tears. "He hasn't any right to say anything."
"He hasn't the right, but he has a good point."
"Well, I think it's brilliant," Harry said stoutly. "He's just jealous, that's all."
"Of...of Remus?" Tonks asked, disbelieving.
"Well, you're..." Harry turned bright red. "I mean, who wouldn't want to..."
Tonks laughed again. "You don't have to finish that sentence, Harry, it's all right. Thank you."
Harry nodded, and crossed his arms. "Ron left his wizard chess set here, if you want to play. They heckle," he warned.
Tonks smiled. "Keep us busy for a while, anyhow," she said softly. "Sure you're up to it? Long day for you."
Harry brushed it off. His gesture was a perfect mimicry of one Remus sometimes made. "I'm used to long days," he said. Tonks thought for a moment she might cry again.
***
The door locks, the last time Remus had closed them, had made an audible click as they slid into their slots; it was reasonable to assume, Tonks had decided (around the second game of Wizard chess, and before sending Harry off to bed) that they would click again, unlocking.
So she pulled her counterpane off of the bed in the room she kept at Headquarters, wrapped herself up in it, and managed to doze off -- Aurors learned quickly how to sleep in uncomfortable situations -- on the second-floor landing, near his door.
She was right; around four in the morning, she was pulled out of a half-dream by a sharp click, followed by another one inside.
She stood and pulled the blanket around her shoulders, hand resting on the doorknob. After a second, she turned it softly and opened it.
Then she drew in a quick, sharp breath, and dropped the blanket.
Remus Lupin lay on the floor, shivering, naked, sweating; his hair hung in his eyes, and his knees were drawn up to his chest, the muscles across his ribcage twitching convulsively.
Without thinking, she moved forward and wrapped her arms around him, feeling him shake; after a moment, his muscles slacked and eased and he gasped for air, turning eyes on her that weren't fully human. She steadied herself, staring as the last amber flicker faded from his pupils. Ordinary brown eyes looked up at her in disbelief.
"You catch me...'n the wors' 'sitions," he said, his words slurring.
"Yes, well, that's why they pay me the big money," she replied lightly. He uncurled a little, and she released him so that he could pull a tattered, much-mended blanket off the couch and cover himself. She reached for her own blanket, but he was already standing unsteadily, stumbling towards his bed in the other room.
"What're you doin' her'?" he asked, his words still running together. "How'd you get 'n?"
"Your door unlocked itself," she replied, grabbing his elbow as he stumbled. "Is this normal?"
"Normal 's I get," he managed, sliding between crisp white sheets, pulling the blanket with him. "Staying?" he asked.
"Do you want me to?"
"Yes," he said, simply, and curled up again, turning his back to her. She stroked his hair. "Or no. S'hard to think."
"Are you tired?"
"I hurt."
She wondered if, at any other moment in his life, he'd admit it so plainly.
"Then I'll stay," she said, moving in next to him.
"Can't promise much," he said, his words a little more clear.
"I didn't ask for any promises."
"Oh."
She smiled and wrapped an arm around his waist. His breathing was shallow but even; his fingers traced the lines of her hand, and she could feel him tense occasionally -- as if the physical pain of transition came and went.
"How are you?" she asked, after it seemed the last, worst shudder had passed.
"All right, now," he muttered. "Feel a bit stupid, though. S'normal. Potion does it. What time?"
"About four-thirty."
"Stay up all night?"
"I slept a little."
His hand was still touching hers, exploring the shape of the muscles, the ridges of her knuckles. "Should call you some name," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"Barging in. I'm not proud of this. Should shout at you," he said, and Tonks realised that walking in on him, naked and still recovering from his change, had been an enormous -- an unforgivable breach of manners.
She began to pull away, but his hand pinned hers in place.
"I don't let anyone see," he whispered hoarsely.
"I'm sorry -- "
"Don't be," he replied. She wished she could see his face; she pushed herself up on one elbow and leaned forward.
His eyes were closed, and there was a strange half-smile on his face. He opened them when she blocked out the first hints of grey sunlight beginning to stream in through the window.
Just plain, the same brown his eyes always were. She wondered if she'd imagined the yellow that had faded from them even as he'd lain on the floor, convulsing.
"I ought to care so much more," he said, his voice rough. "That you see these things."
"I don't think any less of you," she answered, leaning in to kiss his forehead. He moved his head, at the last minute, and pulled her down so that her lips met his.
"Why don't you?" he asked. "Why aren't you scared?"
"Because I know," she replied.
"Meta-m-orphm-m-agus," he said, stuttering a little.
"You spend full moons locked away from the world," she whispered. "And I haven't any idea what my real face ought to look like. We both hide. Neither of us got to choose."
"So we understand each other," he said.
"I think so."
"How'd you like," he asked, mischief sparking in his eyes, "to work on that hobby?"
She laughed. "Half an hour ago you -- "
"Looked up and saw you," he finished for her. "Why did you?"
Tonks kissed him again. "You are going to hate me," she said.
"I very much doubt it."
"I wanted to see you."
"Because...?"
She sighed. "Because I slapped Severus Snape."
He looked up at her. "I'm still feeling just slightly stupid, Tonks, but I'm fairly sure -- "
"He said the most awful things," she said. "He found out about us from Harry in lessons this morning, and he said you were bad for my mental health and we'd wreck the Order and he called you Dumbledore's lapdog and he said I couldn't be expected to..." she trailed off. "Well, I don't know what he thought he couldn't expect me to do, because that's when I slapped him. Control myself, maybe."
Remus let his head fall back, and closed his eyes. When he spoke, Tonks could just barely see his pulse, beating in his throat.
"If Severus Snape would, for just ten minutes together, stop being an absolute ass, I'd have a lot more sympathy for him," he said. "If you could buy tact, I would have sent him a big bouquet of it a long time ago."
Tonks grinned. "I'd like to order some tact, and could you wrap it up in a box of human decency?"
"Exactly." Remus sighed. "He's right though. I'm probably not that good for your mental health. And this is exactly the sort of thing that could cause problems in the Order."
"It's just a hobby," Tonks said. He laughed.
"Sure, our hobby. Man's got to have a hobby," he said. "Speaking of which..."
She wondered, briefly, how exactly they'd gotten themselves into this; but only briefly, because there was something about being here, with him, that made the world fade away.
***
It was only natural, he thought. Of course it was.
When he was at school, he'd gone nearly mad during the three days a month he was trapped in the Shrieking Shack; he'd work compulsively on his schoolwork during the day, or sleep as much as possible, anything not to be thinking about why he was living in a run-down haunted house on the edge of Hogsmeade.
After James and Sirius and Peter managed their first transformations it was better, but he was still trapped, and after he came back there was always that nervous energy. He wanted distraction. He wanted activity. And when he was...alone again, out on his own, the old compulsions had come back.
There had been a sort of slow animal rage in him when he'd smelled her, his senses still obscenely focused after his transformation. He'd done his best to stifle it; he'd gotten away from her and into the bed, and then when she'd followed, he'd given in and simply ignored her, until he felt like he could think clearly again.
He should have been angry with her, should have made her leave, but it was so easy to let her touch him, to listen to her deep, even breathing. And he knew that there was too much animal in him this close after the change, and animals were concerned with territory, food, and sex...
And he wasn't hungry. Or particularly worried about hunting grounds.
"For a man who didn't have fingers an hour ago," Tonks said, as he worked his way down to her collarbone, hands unbuttoning the simple nightshirt she was wearing, "you're pretty handy..."
"I'm well-motivated," he replied, nuzzling one bare breast. She gasped and arched her back against him, and the fabric of her clothing felt delightful on his skin.
"You're still new," he said, aware that he wasn't making much sense. "So much for me to learn..."
"Quick study," Tonks moaned, fingers twining in his hair. He tilted his head, guiding her to the soft fine pelt spreading across his shoulders.
"Help me," he said, stupidly, struggling to pull her nightshirt off. She obediently shifted, lifting her hips, then her back, to slide the rest of it over her head. The roll of her body very nearly made him forget his own name.
And then they were moving, and the way she arched her back was the least of the sensations rushing through him; her sleek skin, her eyes, the curls in her hair, and more -- her voice, the turn of her head, the things she said so quietly that he barely heard them. Memories of the way she spoke, head slightly inclined, hair falling across her face. She was dangerous when she let that happen, because all he wanted to do was slide an arm around her waist and not care who saw him do it.
She cried out, fingers digging into his shoulders, and he felt her body tense, surprised at the swiftness of it; a second later he understood the sensation all too well, as his own pleasure nearly pulled him under, into unconsciousness.
"See...that's how you should breathe," she said, after a few minutes. He was aware he'd been taking in deep lungfuls of air, but otherwise he was going to do himself a harm.
"So noted," he replied, rolling and pulling her with him, until she ended up cradled on his chest. He liked her there; liked the weight of her, the feeling that somehow, when they were like this, he was responsible for someone other than himself. She let one hand drift along his arms, thoughtfully.
"Two more nights of that?" she asked, softly. "How do you survive?"
"You pretend it's all right," he answered. "And after a while -- "
" -- you get really good at pretending. I remember," she replied.
"You should sleep. You've got work," he mumbled.
"Can I sleep here?"
"Mmh," he replied, closing his eyes. "You think you could?"
"Yeah," she said. "I think so."
***
Harry's birthday was the Saturday after the last full-moon evening, and Molly had organised most of it, as she tended to do; Remus had wanted a hand in it, but in the daytime he was in no condition to do much of anything, and at night...
He had a lot of time to think, though, especially since Tonks was called away by Kingsley -- some extended mission for the Ministry, which didn't bring her back until the day of Harry's party. He hadn't realised how accustomed he could be to sharing a bed, until she suddenly vanished for three days.
He read, and wrote some at his desk when he felt up to it, and there were orders to give -- Snape had a mission, discussed in tense and not overly friendly terms. The twins, now full members, had daily gossip reports from Diagon Alley for him to read through, process, and make decisions about. There were editorials to be read about the Werewolf Statement, as the papers had taken to calling it. Letters to write. All done from his desk or his bed, all important, and all exhausting.
Still, he found time to worry. Remus Lupin always had time to worry.
In this case, a minor, almost a childish worry, but nevertheless an important one. Harry was here, and it was almost his birthday. Sixteen was a terribly important birthday for a boy. The next best thing he had in the world to a father was going to be there, for Harry's first real party ever, and couldn't afford to buy him much more than a card. Last Christmas he'd had to borrow money from Sirius to chip in for the books they'd bought the boy...
So he worried, quite creatively, and quite skillfully. He could worry with real purpose, Remus could. He'd honed it to an art form. And usually, he found, it caused him to think of a solution, sooner or later. It had also probably caused most of his premature grey, but one of the few things he did not worry about was his appearance.
Just before the third full-moon night, he sent off two owls; one to Hogwarts, and one to an acquaintance of his in Hogsmeade, who was known to have a certain affinity for -- and more importantly, skill with -- Muggle mechanical things.
He slept well, the last night before Harry's party, which was a relief. Harry himself had been about, but he'd been quiet, and spent most of his time with Ron and Hermione, or being carefully watched over by the twins in their joke shop in Diagon Alley. Molly bustled around, seemingly having done everything two minutes before Remus thought to do it. He found himself, quite uselessly, waiting for the owl post; when it came, just before the party, he breathed a sigh of relief and placed the object from the letter carefully in the card he'd bought.
Molly obviously wanted this to be perfect. So, apparently, did the rest of the Order, as they began to arrive. Mad-Eye hardly roared at all. Dumbledore allowed himself to be given the task of hanging streamers. Several others helped Molly prepare enough food to feed an army and set up mismatched tables and chairs in the grand, empty old ballroom in one wing of the Black mansion, under Ginny's officious direction.
Just past two in the afternoon, Harry returned from the joke shop with the twins, who'd closed up early, and Hermione and Ron, who'd been helping him pick out the ten sickles' worth of tricks the twins had promised him. On their heels came Kingsley and Tonks, both of whom looked as though they could use a thorough washing. None of the Order asked, but nobody complained when they vanished, Kingsley to his first-floor room for spare clothes and Tonks to the upstairs washroom, tripping on the stairs.
By the time they were presentable, Harry had been enthroned in a massive wing-chair in the ballroom and surrounded by piles of presents, confronted with an enormous cake that was already being distributed among the Order. He glanced up at Molly and Arthur, who were standing near the doorway and grinning, arms around each other's waists.
"I thought it was just going to be a cake," Harry said, eyes wide. "And some candles."
"Happy birthday," Molly answered.
"We won't sing," Arthur promised.
"Open yer presents, then," Mad-Eye growled, fork hovering threateningly over his slice of cake. "Like as not one of 'em's going to explode."
Fred and George, looking slightly guilty, edged a gaily-wrapped pink box away from the others.
Remus, who was standing rather shyly nearby, felt Tonks' hand on his shoulder as she leaned forward to watch Harry open his presents. He wished more than anything that this was how all of Harry's birthdays had been; that James and Sirius and Lily were standing just out of his vision, watching the boy unwrap his gifts.
There was a packet of fireworks from Mundungus Fletcher, and a properly pointy wizarding hat -- blue, with spangles -- from Arabella Figg and Moody, who said he'd charmed it to scream if anyone else put it on. Harry tossed it to Ron, who pulled it over his ears and grinned as it shrieked "NOT HARRY!" until he removed it.
A book from Hermione, of course, a collection of short stories from the Wizarding World; another by post from Minerva McGonagall, on the specific charms used in flying broomstick manufacture. From Dumbledore, a pair of thick, brand new woolly socks. Harry grinned at the Headmaster -- apparently this was some joke between the two of them -- and opened Dobby's present-by-proxy, an oversized oven mitt obviously meant to be worn as a hat.
"Dobby," Harry sighed with a grin -- but he laid it next to the other gifts just as reverently, Remus noted.
"Looks as though that's it, Harry," Arthur said, rifling through the paper littering the table. "Pretty good, eh?"
"Better than good," Harry answered.
"One more thing, Harry," Remus said, drawing a small envelope out of his inside pocket. He passed it to Harry, who looked at it quizzically. "Sorry it's not wrapped very well," he added.
Harry slit the envelope open and pulled out the cheap birthday card. When he opened it, a small silver key glinted up at him; he pulled it away from the card and examined it curiously.
"A little abstract, I'll admit," Remus said. Most of the Order was looking at him with the same curious suspicion that was clear on Harry's face. "But the rest of it's in the back garden."
He followed close behind Harry as the boy walked down the corridor, the key clutched in one hand. Ron and Hermione were on either side, and it was Ron who actually saw first, through the back-door window.
"Hagrid!" he shouted, and the three of them dashed through the door. Remus shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered out onto the small back stoop, while Harry raced down the steps to give Hagrid a welcoming hug.
"Brought yer somethin' fer yer birthday," Hagrid rumbled, and one of his giant hands indicated a large, sheet-covered object. The other reached over and jerked the sheet off.
"REMUS LUPIN!" Molly shrieked in outrage. "YOU DID NOT GIVE A SIXTEEN YEAR OLD BOY A FLYING MOTORBIKE!"
Remus just smiled.
Molly pushed her way to the front, but Ron and Harry were already inspecting the motorbike, Hermione leaning over the handlebars to tap on the dials, Ginny pre-emptively begging for a ride. Arthur Weasley was also there, murmuring over the "infernal contusion engine" and the chrome finishes.
"I only ever saw it once," he said excitedly to Harry. "Oh, but it's wonderful, isn't it? Where'd you find it, Lupin?" he called.
"You cannot give a sixth-year student a motorbike!" Molly insisted.
"Hagrid's had it in his attic," Remus replied. "It's really from him as much as me, Harry. He got it fixed up, replaced the bits that had been chewed on by mice."
"Idear was yers, though," Hagrid rumbled. "Can't take credit fer that."
Harry, who had straddled the bike seat and was inspecting the ignition, looked up and beamed.
"Arthur, stop encouraging him!" Molly shouted.
"It's all right, Molly. It's enchanted not to fly above a certain speed," Remus said. "He'll do fine with it, won't you, Harry?" he asked.
"How's it work?" Harry called in reply, turning the key in the ignition. Nothing happened.
"You've got to kick-start it," Remus called. "Hagrid, show him how."
Hagrid bent over the bike, helping Harry position his foot, and then there was a belch of exhaust, a roaring noise. Arthur was looking on rapturously, pointing out the various components of the engine. Ron picked up the helmet hung on one handlebar and put it on Harry's head.
"You're all hopeless," Molly said crossly.
"Got to keep petrol in it, too, Harry, it's part of the Muggle bits," said Remus. "Hagrid can show you, he knows how it works."
"Don't you?" Arthur asked. "I'm sure I saw you fly it once, Lupin."
Remus shrugged. "Once or twice. Never for very long."
"Show me!" Harry cried. Ron, bent in solemn contemplation over the front wheel with his father on the other side, jumped back as Harry inadvertently revved the engine.
The lesson lasted all afternoon, with most of the Order lounging on the back steps, watching or giving useless advice, while Harry learned how to shift the gears properly and make the motorbike look as though it was just running along the ground while hovering it a few centimetres above. When he finally took flight and circled Headquarters, he was greeted with claps and cheers from the Order. He pulled his helmet off and grinned widely as he landed.
"It's brilliant," he breathed, cutting the ignition expertly, as if he'd been doing it his whole life.
"Yours by right," Remus replied. "And inheritance."
"Ye rode that bike when ye were just a wee tot," Hagrid added. "Hel' you in this hand. And ye slep' right through mos' of it."
Harry swung his leg over and off the bike, setting the helmet carefully on the seat.
He did not hug the older man. Sixteen year old boys are very particular about when and where they hug. But he did give Remus a brilliant smile -- James Potter's smile -- and said thank you, and let Remus clap him on the back as they sat on the steps of the back porch.
Fred and George, who'd been waiting all evening for this, began to set off fireworks.
"So," Tonks said, seated on the other side of Remus from Harry. "Been a good day, Harry?"
"It's been perfect," Harry said, sitting back to watch the fireworks.
"Perfect's the word," Remus replied.
"Won't last, will it?" Tonks asked softly, as Harry leaned away to make some remark to Ron and Hermione, who were perched on the edge of the back steps.
"Never does," Remus replied. "But that doesn't matter. Harry had a good day."
"So did we," Tonks reminded him. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, hand curling under his arm. He glanced anxiously at Dumbledore, but the Headmaster caught his eye, gave him a solemn wink, and turned back to the fireworks.
He saw, because he'd begun to learn to see, that other members of the Order were occasionally glancing their way, and knew that this was Tonks' way of announcing their...hobby, to the general populace. He rather wished she'd asked him, first, but he had after all said that she could tell anyone she liked...
And it was nice to feel her cheek on his shoulder.
There had been far too much nice in his world lately. This meant that trouble was brewing. But sitting on the steps in the balmy summer evening, watching fireworks with Tonks next to him and Harry, Ron, and Hermione on the other side, Dumbledore's tacit approval and the company of the Order, well fed on cake...
It was terribly difficult to care whether or not Perfect wouldn't last.
When the fireworks finally ended, he helped Harry wheel the motorbike into a back room of the mansion and cover it up again with the promise that if he was careful, he could take Ron and Hermione riding on it after a few more lessons. The Order began drifting homeward, and Molly and Arthur were clearing up when he and Harry walked into the ballroom; Molly insisted that Harry go take his new gifts upstairs and enjoy them, though the boy offered to help clean.
"Moll, have you got all the forks?" Arthur called, as plates stacked themselves under his watchful eye.
"Thirty two, is that right?"
"Right as rain. Not much left of the cake..."
"Oh, do save it, there's a dear..." Molly said, as Arthur slid the remains of the cake onto a clean plate. "Quite a nice party."
"Just what the lad wanted," Arthur agreed, leaning across the table to kiss her on the cheek. "Well done, Molly."
"It wasn't anything," Molly said with a smile. Remus moved quietly out of the doorway and back into the hallway.
He climbed the back stairs, past Harry's room where he and Ron were laughing over something, past the strange-smelling rooms that the twins inhabited, and around the landing to his own.
Molly and Arthur were two of his closest friends in the world. After James and Lily died, after Sirius had been sent to Azkaban and they all thought Peter had been killed, he'd stayed with them while he tried to reassemble a life without his -- his only friends, really. They'd filled part of that gap. Over the years Arthur had always tried to send work his way, and they'd both been overjoyed to find out he was teaching at Hogwarts.
He hated that he envied them; not just Arthur for having a wife who put up with more than almost any woman would, but both of them, for having each other. Not to mention attempting to singlehandedly double the Wizarding population of England with their offspring.
Because that wasn't something he could have. He'd tried. Not even for children. Just for a woman who would tolerate him. A woman who would tolerate him and agree to give it that one in four chance, that was too much to ask for, but even just having someone...someone like Molly.
Tonks tolerated him, but Tonks was in it for the fun. She came and went, and probably didn't think about it much. Besides, he hadn't thought of her. Much. Not constantly, certainly. Too much else to think about.
Because he was in it for the fun, too. Well, perhaps not for the fun, but for decent human contact, and Tonks was beautiful, and smart, and she put up with him.
And she'd slapped Severus Snape, which in his book was grounds for some kind of civil service medal.
"So did you miss me?"
He paused, one hand on his desk, and let his head fall, and smiled.
"Kingsley asked me about us," Tonks said, from a shadowy niche near the fireplace.
"Kingsley could rip my arm off and beat me over the head with it," he replied.
"Kingsley knows I'd castrate him if he tried."
"Tough girl, Tonks."
"They don't come any tougher," she said, moving to stand near him. "He still thinks you ought to be keeping Snape reined in a little tighter."
"After me yelling at him and you slapping him, we ought to give the man a break, not a chaperone," Remus replied, one hand moving to pull her closer.
"Let's talk about anything but what we're talking about," Tonks said softly.
"How about not talking at all?"
"Works for me."
He covered her mouth with his, enjoying the way she moved against his body. She never seemed quite completely still, and the pads of his fingertips worked their way down her body, through her unbuttoned robe, stroking, forcing soft, pleased sounds from the back of her throat. God, she was good at this.
He wondered, idly, because there was a part of him that was scholar first and a man second, whether this was a part of Auror training. This...responsiveness. The knowledge of how to pick the right time, the right place.
Just the right person...
Shock ran through him, a physical jolt that made Tonks laugh and slide her hand between their hips, wanting more. It was equal parts surprise at the implications of his thought, and disgust that he'd even had it at all. That he could think Tonks, of all people, would do that, would seduce him in order to spy...it was his fault any of this had even happened, he reminded himself, so distracted that he barely felt her undoing his waistcoat and threadbare white shirt.
No. No. This was Tonks. It was just something they did. It wasn't romance; it was need for human contact, a mutual understanding. It wasn't a...seduction. For any reason.
He forced his mind to be silent, forced the small, sensible voices in his head to stop talking.
She nuzzled the base of his neck and said his name softly.
"Yes?" he asked, bending to speak in her ear, his right hand sliding over hip, down to rest on her thigh.
"Yes," she agreed, pushing him back towards the bedroom. He went willingly, still forcing himself not to think. Surprisingly difficult.
"Do you know," he asked, nearly tumbling backwards on to the edge of the bed. She climbed over him, and bare skin on bare skin made him gasp. "Do you know...why I...good god, please..."
Tonks leaned back from the kiss, a little, and wriggled. He moaned.
"Why you...?" she prompted. He groped for words.
"Why I finally gave in?" he asked. She spread her legs a little, and slid down further on his thighs.
"Because I promised to shag you senseless?" she asked.
"You never promised that," he said, gripping her waist and turning her onto the bed, following until he lay on top of her, elbows holding him up, hands on her face.
Not to know what your real face is, he thought. A tragedy...
"Then why?" she asked, eyes wide as he touched her forehead, her cheeks.
"Because I couldn't bear that you stopped touching me," he admitted.
"No fear," she replied lightly, and bucked her hips suddenly. He bowed his head and moaned, and when she moved her legs he moved forward, slowly, making her draw in her breath, sharply.
"Never...stop..." he begged, moving his hands to cradle her head. She sighed a small "Umnh" of pleasure, and began to move faster. He had some question to ask her, some demand to make, but all he could feel now was the pulse through his veins and her, moving with it, destroying all chance at thought, rational or any other kind...
When her thumbs slid across his shoulders and she moaned, low and almost pained, he felt her pleasure straight into his body, and responded; she only cried out once more, when he gripped her tightly and nearly howled into her neck.
For a few moments, though time could pass strangely for him, there was silence.
"I don't do this nearly enough," he said, and had the pleasure of hearing her laugh against his ribcage. "I'm out of condition."
"Every skill takes practice," Tonks said gravely.
He rolled and stretched an arm behind his head, the thought he'd so successfully avoided rushing back to him. Freight-train style.
No. He had been there, when he was her age, had felt the baseless suspicions of the Order that he was a betrayer. He would not do Tonks that disservice just because she was...
...everything you want, said another voice, entirely new. Perfect doesn't last, and young women do not fall for men like you, it added mockingly.
He got the picture. If this was going to be perfect, he was going to wreck it. It was what he did.
But not tonight.
"Fireworks were nice, tonight," Tonks said sleepily, half-mumbling into his collarbone.
"Good cake, too. And Harry looked happy."
"Awfully nice, to give him that motorbike."
"Wasn't mine to give," he murmured. "Belonged to Sirius. Ought to go to Harry."
"You like him, don't you?"
Remus grinned. "Not like I like you, Tonks."
There was a sleepy snicker, and after a while her breathing fell even.
Try, please, Remus, try not to screw this up, he told himself. It's not even a real romance. It's just sex. This really should be easy not to screw up.
So try. Really hard. You useless git.
Chapter 4
From those who never will return,
Until a flash of unforeseen
Remembrance falls on what has been.
-- Edwin Arlington Robinson
In the time between breakfast and Harry's appointment with Snape, they talked shop; the twins bounced new sales ideas off of them, which were generally met with "brilliant!" from Ron and Harry, while Remus tried his best to look disapproving. He did like the idea of sets of enchanted Quidditch equipment for practices -- Snitches that specialised in getting your attention and then evading you, Bludgers that were lighter and could be batted away with one's hands -- and he said so.
"Got to make sure people don't swap them for the real thing on the playing field, though," he cautioned.
"Did you play Quidditch?" Fred asked. Remus shook his head.
"That was James' hobby. Sirius too, for a bit, till he got thrown off the team."
"What for?" Ron looked interested. Remus coughed.
"Indecent activity in the locker room," he muttered. The boys burst into rude laughter.
"Not really?" Tonks asked, grinning.
"Quidditch always had that effect on him," Remus added. He noticed Harry staring at his breakfast, cheeks barely flushed. "I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't mean to -- "
"It's all right," he said, pushing food around with his fork. "I'd better go get ready for my lesson."
"Harry -- "
But the boy was already gone. Fred and George exchanged a look.
"Time we were off to the shop," Fred announced. Tonks nodded.
"I've got work..." she added, rising. "Don't beat yourself up over it. Teenagers tend to be a bit moody."
"Thank you," Ron said pointedly.
"Proving me right," Tonks added, tousling his hair. Ron ducked away, fingers trying to straighten it out. "I've got to stop off at my flat after work -- unless something comes up that keeps me from home entirely," she said with a grimace. "I thought I'd drop by Diagon Alley, too, and pick up something for Harry's birthday. So I may not be by till late tonight."
"Erm..." Remus cleared his throat. "I'm afraid it's...an early night for me."
All four of them looked at him, curiously.
"Full moon," he muttered.
"Do you want me to get anything from Diagon Alley?" Tonks asked. "Is there anything -- "
She was cut off by Snape's abrupt appearance in the doorway. He tossed what looked liked a wide-based wine-bottle past her, and Remus snatched it out of the air before it could shatter on the table.
"That's four months' worth of wolfsbane potion," Snape said, offhandedly, as if he hadn't nearly destroyed the thing. "Six if you're frugal. I don't want you coming to me again until at least after Halloween."
"Thank you, Severus," Remus said, civilly, though he longed to continue their shouting match from earlier in the morning.
"Have some breakfast, Professor Snape?" Fred asked brightly. George nodded and offered a plate.
"I would not touch your breakfast, Weasley, with dragonhide gloves," Snape replied, stalking away. The twins looked despondent.
"We're never going to find anyone to test the new doughnuts on," George sighed. "You don't want to be guinea pig, do you, Lupin? Ring for hours with a Ding Dong Doughnut!"
"Can't you give out free samples at the shop?" Remus asked, as Tonks snickered and deposited her plate in the sink.
"Suppose we could. Get awfully loud in the shop, though. Still, chaos is never a bad thing."
"Speak for yourselves," Tonks replied. "All right, I'm going to dress and I'll leave by the floo in my bedroom -- Weasleys, I'll see you later today. Don't let him get into any mischief," she added, with a grin for Remus, who grinned back.
"Harry and I're going to Diagon Alley this afternoon too," Ron announced. "He hasn't seen the new joke shop yet."
"You mean I might have the place to myself for an afternoon?" Remus asked. "Heavens above. I might even get some work done."
***
He certainly didn't get any work done that morning.
His rooms were above the library, and it was barely ten minutes before he knew he couldn't stay there; he could hear Snape's harsh tones through the floor, hear Harry's occasional cry of pain, and he knew there was nothing to be done about it. But he couldn't listen to that, listen to James' son being undeservedly tormented, even if he saw -- though Harry might not -- that every hateful lesson with Severus Snape brought him that much closer to power.
Harry didn't want power. But he did need it.
He found himself moving through the sprawling Black mansion like a ghost, trying to get as far away from the library as possible. After...after Sirius had died, they'd taken the last steps necessary and gotten rid of the grotesque house-elf heads. They'd also destroyed the portrait of the old Black matriarch, who seemed less tenacious about clinging to the wall now that the last of the Blacks was dead. The upper floors were eerily spartan, devoid of any decoration, scrubbed bare by Molly's army of press-ganged housecleaners. Down below, somewhere, he suspected Ron was trying just as hard as he was not to think about Harry in the library. He ought to find the boy, try and talk with him. He was Harry's best friend, after all.
Remus, folding himself into a narrow window-seat, stared out at the other houses nearby, full of people who'd no idea that this house even existed anymore.
He knew what it was like to be a shadow, to be just a half-step behind the popular boy, the boy everyone knew. Ron dealt with that in his own way, he was sure. Ron must be used to it; with five older brothers, indeed he must.
But at the same time, Ron had five older brothers. He had an entire family. Watching over him, teaching him things, taking care of him. In the Lupin household it had been Remus and his parents and that was all --
This was stupid, Remus decided. Self-pity was for people who'd nothing better to do.
He pushed himself out of the window-seat. It had been better when it was just him and Sirius living here. He liked the twins, but they were always poking about, trying to get him to help them come up with new mischief -- their admiration for one of the authors of the Marauder's Map knew no bounds. And he loved Harry, loved him deeply, but that boy was screwed up every which way, and being tortured by Severus Snape didn't help him any.
Life was simpler alone. You didn't have to wonder how to comfort a boy or worry whether you'd hurt someone with something you didn't even mean to say in the first place, or be afraid that one day you were going to reach for her and she wasn't going to be there --
He'd gone down the stairs quietly, but by the time he'd reached the bottom floor Ron was standing there, one hand on the banister, expectant.
"Can't you teach him?" Ron blurted, without even a greeting. "It's awful, hearing Snape yell at him."
"I'm no good at it," Remus replied, brushing past him. "Perhaps you'd best go to Diagon Alley. I can send Harry -- "
"Yeah, leave so that nobody at all's here when he's finally done," Ron said rebelliously. "Great idea."
"Well, Ron, find something to do then!" Remus snapped. The boy looked stricken, and he felt an immediate stab of regret.
"Or help me find something to do, so I'm not shouting at people who don't deserve it," he said, apologetically. Ron gave him a weak grin. "You must have something you're supposed to be doing."
"Did the dishes," Ron said sheepishly. "And made a sandwich. And dusted."
"You dusted?" Remus asked. "Do you even know how to dust?"
"After my mum?" Ron replied.
"Good point. What about homework, don't you have assignments over the summer?"
Ron scowled. "Haven't got my books."
"Nice try," Remus replied. "You can help me do mine, then."
He led Ron back through the house, to his room, and handed the boy an armload of books. Ron made a face and sneezed, but followed obediently enough as they sought the comfort of the living room.
"Is this what you do all the time we're not around?" he asked, as Remus instructed him on what to look for. The older man shrugged.
"Order business. And this. I do have to feed myself somehow," he said, handing Ron a sheet of parchment. "I write articles, papers, that sort of thing. It's very hard to get fired for continual absences when you never see your publisher face-to-face anyway."
Ron smiled and bent to his book, and Remus was more than happy to let a concentrated silence descend on the room.
***
It was late by the time Tonks let herself into Headquarters; she hadn't intended to come back at all, but to go home to her flat after a hasty dinner in Diagon Alley. She'd managed to find something she thought Harry would like for his birthday, while still keeping an eye on him and Ron -- with a little help from the twins, who had promised to send Ron back to the Burrow and bring Harry home after closing up shop.
She walked up the stairs quietly and listened at Remus' door. No noise; she hoped he was asleep. She'd found time at work to do a little research on wolfsbane potions. What she'd found hadn't been pretty. She'd studied werewolves in school and Auror training, of course, but only as targets. To find out about the terrible pain of the transformation and the self-destructiveness of penned wolves...Well. It made her understand him much better, the quiet man with whom she'd been sharing a bed.
There was a soft whine from the other side of the door, and then a scratch on the wood. She hurried on quickly, before her compassionate instincts got the better of her and she opened the door.
She headed for the small book-lined den on the third floor, which at night afforded the best view of the stars through its skylight. She felt like sinking into one of the chairs and curling up alone in the dark room.
It was already occupied, however.
Severus Snape sat in one of the rich, freshly-cleaned armchairs, a book in his hands, reading idly.
"I'm sorry," she said, when he looked up sharply. "I didn't mean to intrude -- "
He waved a thin-fingered hand, indicating that it was no concern of his. The man could make her feel like a third-year with just a gesture. She hated that.
So, to spite him, she sat, and picked up a nearby book. It looked like one of the ones Remus had recently been using; not the most interesting subject matter, but then she really just wanted something to do with her hands while she looked out and up, at the moon and stars.
She wasn't sure how much time had passed before Snape, delicately turning a page, said without preamble, "May I ask you a question?"
She glanced at him, but he appeared to be engrossed in his reading.
She wanted to say that if he had to ask about it, it probably was something she wasn't going to want to answer; instead, she merely said "Yes", and made an effort to leave off the "sir".
"You are quite young," he said. "And I understand that in the Order there is a certain...hierarchy."
Tonks had a nasty feeling that she knew where this was going.
"And I don't wish to presume that you are overstepping any boundaries, but..." Snape looked up at her, then. "Are you sure your...friendship with Lupin is entirely appropriate?"
Tonks could do nothing but stare.
"Not to mention, good for the Order? And your own mental health?" Snape continued blandly.
"My...mental...health..." Tonks repeated, lost in a sea of offended indignation.
"I merely ask out of concern for Order stability," Snape replied, returning to his book.
"How...did you -- "
"Harry's lessons this morning."
"And you...have the gall..." Tonks stammered. "You have the absolute and unutterable -- I can't even think of the word for what you think you're doing -- "
"I am ensuring the safety of the Order and its stability. We all know Lupin's practically Dumbledore's lapdog. I have not done all this work to watch it crumble because of an ill-timed misstep on the part of a young woman who can hardly be expected to -- "
He was cut off by a loud crack, and Tonks stared in horror.
She'd slapped him. Actually slapped Severus Snape. Her professor. A man whose biting sarcasm had made her cringe in horror for seven years.
He stared up at her, dark eyes bright in his sallow-skinned face.
"I'm so sorry -- " she said, stepping forward. She stumbled of course, over the table next to the chair, and nearly fell over. Several books went flying. "I didn't mean -- I'm so sorry," and then, to her horror, she said "Professor."
He stood swiftly, catching the table in one hand, closing his book with the other. The skin on his cheek was already turning red.
He stared at her for a moment, incredibly tall and imposing and proud, while she was hunched over the table, trying to keep her balance.
Then, with a crack, he Disapparated. Tonks, bereft of his supporting hand on the table, sprawled to the floor, and burst into undignified, undisciplined, un-Tonks-like tears.
"Tonks?"
She put a hand to her eyes, pushing herself up off the floor. Of course Harry would show up now; that was the story of her life.
"Are you all right?" Harry asked hesitantly. She sniffed, mightily, and wiped the tears from her cheeks.
"I'm fine, Harry," she said. "Took a bad spill, that's all."
"I thought I heard Professor Snape."
"Yes, you did," she admitted. "He's gone now, though."
"He's just a slimy git," Harry said, obviously feeling that her tears had been directly inspired by the Potions master. "You can't listen to anything he says."
"I know," Tonks said, dropping into one of the chairs again. "But it's hard not to when he's telling the truth."
"Sorry about that," Harry said, leaning on a bookshelf. "He was in my head this morning. He saw...things."
"He said as much."
"Bastard," Harry said with feeling. Tonks laughed through the last of her tears. "He hasn't any right to say anything."
"He hasn't the right, but he has a good point."
"Well, I think it's brilliant," Harry said stoutly. "He's just jealous, that's all."
"Of...of Remus?" Tonks asked, disbelieving.
"Well, you're..." Harry turned bright red. "I mean, who wouldn't want to..."
Tonks laughed again. "You don't have to finish that sentence, Harry, it's all right. Thank you."
Harry nodded, and crossed his arms. "Ron left his wizard chess set here, if you want to play. They heckle," he warned.
Tonks smiled. "Keep us busy for a while, anyhow," she said softly. "Sure you're up to it? Long day for you."
Harry brushed it off. His gesture was a perfect mimicry of one Remus sometimes made. "I'm used to long days," he said. Tonks thought for a moment she might cry again.
***
The door locks, the last time Remus had closed them, had made an audible click as they slid into their slots; it was reasonable to assume, Tonks had decided (around the second game of Wizard chess, and before sending Harry off to bed) that they would click again, unlocking.
So she pulled her counterpane off of the bed in the room she kept at Headquarters, wrapped herself up in it, and managed to doze off -- Aurors learned quickly how to sleep in uncomfortable situations -- on the second-floor landing, near his door.
She was right; around four in the morning, she was pulled out of a half-dream by a sharp click, followed by another one inside.
She stood and pulled the blanket around her shoulders, hand resting on the doorknob. After a second, she turned it softly and opened it.
Then she drew in a quick, sharp breath, and dropped the blanket.
Remus Lupin lay on the floor, shivering, naked, sweating; his hair hung in his eyes, and his knees were drawn up to his chest, the muscles across his ribcage twitching convulsively.
Without thinking, she moved forward and wrapped her arms around him, feeling him shake; after a moment, his muscles slacked and eased and he gasped for air, turning eyes on her that weren't fully human. She steadied herself, staring as the last amber flicker faded from his pupils. Ordinary brown eyes looked up at her in disbelief.
"You catch me...'n the wors' 'sitions," he said, his words slurring.
"Yes, well, that's why they pay me the big money," she replied lightly. He uncurled a little, and she released him so that he could pull a tattered, much-mended blanket off the couch and cover himself. She reached for her own blanket, but he was already standing unsteadily, stumbling towards his bed in the other room.
"What're you doin' her'?" he asked, his words still running together. "How'd you get 'n?"
"Your door unlocked itself," she replied, grabbing his elbow as he stumbled. "Is this normal?"
"Normal 's I get," he managed, sliding between crisp white sheets, pulling the blanket with him. "Staying?" he asked.
"Do you want me to?"
"Yes," he said, simply, and curled up again, turning his back to her. She stroked his hair. "Or no. S'hard to think."
"Are you tired?"
"I hurt."
She wondered if, at any other moment in his life, he'd admit it so plainly.
"Then I'll stay," she said, moving in next to him.
"Can't promise much," he said, his words a little more clear.
"I didn't ask for any promises."
"Oh."
She smiled and wrapped an arm around his waist. His breathing was shallow but even; his fingers traced the lines of her hand, and she could feel him tense occasionally -- as if the physical pain of transition came and went.
"How are you?" she asked, after it seemed the last, worst shudder had passed.
"All right, now," he muttered. "Feel a bit stupid, though. S'normal. Potion does it. What time?"
"About four-thirty."
"Stay up all night?"
"I slept a little."
His hand was still touching hers, exploring the shape of the muscles, the ridges of her knuckles. "Should call you some name," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"Barging in. I'm not proud of this. Should shout at you," he said, and Tonks realised that walking in on him, naked and still recovering from his change, had been an enormous -- an unforgivable breach of manners.
She began to pull away, but his hand pinned hers in place.
"I don't let anyone see," he whispered hoarsely.
"I'm sorry -- "
"Don't be," he replied. She wished she could see his face; she pushed herself up on one elbow and leaned forward.
His eyes were closed, and there was a strange half-smile on his face. He opened them when she blocked out the first hints of grey sunlight beginning to stream in through the window.
Just plain, the same brown his eyes always were. She wondered if she'd imagined the yellow that had faded from them even as he'd lain on the floor, convulsing.
"I ought to care so much more," he said, his voice rough. "That you see these things."
"I don't think any less of you," she answered, leaning in to kiss his forehead. He moved his head, at the last minute, and pulled her down so that her lips met his.
"Why don't you?" he asked. "Why aren't you scared?"
"Because I know," she replied.
"Meta-m-orphm-m-agus," he said, stuttering a little.
"You spend full moons locked away from the world," she whispered. "And I haven't any idea what my real face ought to look like. We both hide. Neither of us got to choose."
"So we understand each other," he said.
"I think so."
"How'd you like," he asked, mischief sparking in his eyes, "to work on that hobby?"
She laughed. "Half an hour ago you -- "
"Looked up and saw you," he finished for her. "Why did you?"
Tonks kissed him again. "You are going to hate me," she said.
"I very much doubt it."
"I wanted to see you."
"Because...?"
She sighed. "Because I slapped Severus Snape."
He looked up at her. "I'm still feeling just slightly stupid, Tonks, but I'm fairly sure -- "
"He said the most awful things," she said. "He found out about us from Harry in lessons this morning, and he said you were bad for my mental health and we'd wreck the Order and he called you Dumbledore's lapdog and he said I couldn't be expected to..." she trailed off. "Well, I don't know what he thought he couldn't expect me to do, because that's when I slapped him. Control myself, maybe."
Remus let his head fall back, and closed his eyes. When he spoke, Tonks could just barely see his pulse, beating in his throat.
"If Severus Snape would, for just ten minutes together, stop being an absolute ass, I'd have a lot more sympathy for him," he said. "If you could buy tact, I would have sent him a big bouquet of it a long time ago."
Tonks grinned. "I'd like to order some tact, and could you wrap it up in a box of human decency?"
"Exactly." Remus sighed. "He's right though. I'm probably not that good for your mental health. And this is exactly the sort of thing that could cause problems in the Order."
"It's just a hobby," Tonks said. He laughed.
"Sure, our hobby. Man's got to have a hobby," he said. "Speaking of which..."
She wondered, briefly, how exactly they'd gotten themselves into this; but only briefly, because there was something about being here, with him, that made the world fade away.
***
It was only natural, he thought. Of course it was.
When he was at school, he'd gone nearly mad during the three days a month he was trapped in the Shrieking Shack; he'd work compulsively on his schoolwork during the day, or sleep as much as possible, anything not to be thinking about why he was living in a run-down haunted house on the edge of Hogsmeade.
After James and Sirius and Peter managed their first transformations it was better, but he was still trapped, and after he came back there was always that nervous energy. He wanted distraction. He wanted activity. And when he was...alone again, out on his own, the old compulsions had come back.
There had been a sort of slow animal rage in him when he'd smelled her, his senses still obscenely focused after his transformation. He'd done his best to stifle it; he'd gotten away from her and into the bed, and then when she'd followed, he'd given in and simply ignored her, until he felt like he could think clearly again.
He should have been angry with her, should have made her leave, but it was so easy to let her touch him, to listen to her deep, even breathing. And he knew that there was too much animal in him this close after the change, and animals were concerned with territory, food, and sex...
And he wasn't hungry. Or particularly worried about hunting grounds.
"For a man who didn't have fingers an hour ago," Tonks said, as he worked his way down to her collarbone, hands unbuttoning the simple nightshirt she was wearing, "you're pretty handy..."
"I'm well-motivated," he replied, nuzzling one bare breast. She gasped and arched her back against him, and the fabric of her clothing felt delightful on his skin.
"You're still new," he said, aware that he wasn't making much sense. "So much for me to learn..."
"Quick study," Tonks moaned, fingers twining in his hair. He tilted his head, guiding her to the soft fine pelt spreading across his shoulders.
"Help me," he said, stupidly, struggling to pull her nightshirt off. She obediently shifted, lifting her hips, then her back, to slide the rest of it over her head. The roll of her body very nearly made him forget his own name.
And then they were moving, and the way she arched her back was the least of the sensations rushing through him; her sleek skin, her eyes, the curls in her hair, and more -- her voice, the turn of her head, the things she said so quietly that he barely heard them. Memories of the way she spoke, head slightly inclined, hair falling across her face. She was dangerous when she let that happen, because all he wanted to do was slide an arm around her waist and not care who saw him do it.
She cried out, fingers digging into his shoulders, and he felt her body tense, surprised at the swiftness of it; a second later he understood the sensation all too well, as his own pleasure nearly pulled him under, into unconsciousness.
"See...that's how you should breathe," she said, after a few minutes. He was aware he'd been taking in deep lungfuls of air, but otherwise he was going to do himself a harm.
"So noted," he replied, rolling and pulling her with him, until she ended up cradled on his chest. He liked her there; liked the weight of her, the feeling that somehow, when they were like this, he was responsible for someone other than himself. She let one hand drift along his arms, thoughtfully.
"Two more nights of that?" she asked, softly. "How do you survive?"
"You pretend it's all right," he answered. "And after a while -- "
" -- you get really good at pretending. I remember," she replied.
"You should sleep. You've got work," he mumbled.
"Can I sleep here?"
"Mmh," he replied, closing his eyes. "You think you could?"
"Yeah," she said. "I think so."
***
Harry's birthday was the Saturday after the last full-moon evening, and Molly had organised most of it, as she tended to do; Remus had wanted a hand in it, but in the daytime he was in no condition to do much of anything, and at night...
He had a lot of time to think, though, especially since Tonks was called away by Kingsley -- some extended mission for the Ministry, which didn't bring her back until the day of Harry's party. He hadn't realised how accustomed he could be to sharing a bed, until she suddenly vanished for three days.
He read, and wrote some at his desk when he felt up to it, and there were orders to give -- Snape had a mission, discussed in tense and not overly friendly terms. The twins, now full members, had daily gossip reports from Diagon Alley for him to read through, process, and make decisions about. There were editorials to be read about the Werewolf Statement, as the papers had taken to calling it. Letters to write. All done from his desk or his bed, all important, and all exhausting.
Still, he found time to worry. Remus Lupin always had time to worry.
In this case, a minor, almost a childish worry, but nevertheless an important one. Harry was here, and it was almost his birthday. Sixteen was a terribly important birthday for a boy. The next best thing he had in the world to a father was going to be there, for Harry's first real party ever, and couldn't afford to buy him much more than a card. Last Christmas he'd had to borrow money from Sirius to chip in for the books they'd bought the boy...
So he worried, quite creatively, and quite skillfully. He could worry with real purpose, Remus could. He'd honed it to an art form. And usually, he found, it caused him to think of a solution, sooner or later. It had also probably caused most of his premature grey, but one of the few things he did not worry about was his appearance.
Just before the third full-moon night, he sent off two owls; one to Hogwarts, and one to an acquaintance of his in Hogsmeade, who was known to have a certain affinity for -- and more importantly, skill with -- Muggle mechanical things.
He slept well, the last night before Harry's party, which was a relief. Harry himself had been about, but he'd been quiet, and spent most of his time with Ron and Hermione, or being carefully watched over by the twins in their joke shop in Diagon Alley. Molly bustled around, seemingly having done everything two minutes before Remus thought to do it. He found himself, quite uselessly, waiting for the owl post; when it came, just before the party, he breathed a sigh of relief and placed the object from the letter carefully in the card he'd bought.
Molly obviously wanted this to be perfect. So, apparently, did the rest of the Order, as they began to arrive. Mad-Eye hardly roared at all. Dumbledore allowed himself to be given the task of hanging streamers. Several others helped Molly prepare enough food to feed an army and set up mismatched tables and chairs in the grand, empty old ballroom in one wing of the Black mansion, under Ginny's officious direction.
Just past two in the afternoon, Harry returned from the joke shop with the twins, who'd closed up early, and Hermione and Ron, who'd been helping him pick out the ten sickles' worth of tricks the twins had promised him. On their heels came Kingsley and Tonks, both of whom looked as though they could use a thorough washing. None of the Order asked, but nobody complained when they vanished, Kingsley to his first-floor room for spare clothes and Tonks to the upstairs washroom, tripping on the stairs.
By the time they were presentable, Harry had been enthroned in a massive wing-chair in the ballroom and surrounded by piles of presents, confronted with an enormous cake that was already being distributed among the Order. He glanced up at Molly and Arthur, who were standing near the doorway and grinning, arms around each other's waists.
"I thought it was just going to be a cake," Harry said, eyes wide. "And some candles."
"Happy birthday," Molly answered.
"We won't sing," Arthur promised.
"Open yer presents, then," Mad-Eye growled, fork hovering threateningly over his slice of cake. "Like as not one of 'em's going to explode."
Fred and George, looking slightly guilty, edged a gaily-wrapped pink box away from the others.
Remus, who was standing rather shyly nearby, felt Tonks' hand on his shoulder as she leaned forward to watch Harry open his presents. He wished more than anything that this was how all of Harry's birthdays had been; that James and Sirius and Lily were standing just out of his vision, watching the boy unwrap his gifts.
There was a packet of fireworks from Mundungus Fletcher, and a properly pointy wizarding hat -- blue, with spangles -- from Arabella Figg and Moody, who said he'd charmed it to scream if anyone else put it on. Harry tossed it to Ron, who pulled it over his ears and grinned as it shrieked "NOT HARRY!" until he removed it.
A book from Hermione, of course, a collection of short stories from the Wizarding World; another by post from Minerva McGonagall, on the specific charms used in flying broomstick manufacture. From Dumbledore, a pair of thick, brand new woolly socks. Harry grinned at the Headmaster -- apparently this was some joke between the two of them -- and opened Dobby's present-by-proxy, an oversized oven mitt obviously meant to be worn as a hat.
"Dobby," Harry sighed with a grin -- but he laid it next to the other gifts just as reverently, Remus noted.
"Looks as though that's it, Harry," Arthur said, rifling through the paper littering the table. "Pretty good, eh?"
"Better than good," Harry answered.
"One more thing, Harry," Remus said, drawing a small envelope out of his inside pocket. He passed it to Harry, who looked at it quizzically. "Sorry it's not wrapped very well," he added.
Harry slit the envelope open and pulled out the cheap birthday card. When he opened it, a small silver key glinted up at him; he pulled it away from the card and examined it curiously.
"A little abstract, I'll admit," Remus said. Most of the Order was looking at him with the same curious suspicion that was clear on Harry's face. "But the rest of it's in the back garden."
He followed close behind Harry as the boy walked down the corridor, the key clutched in one hand. Ron and Hermione were on either side, and it was Ron who actually saw first, through the back-door window.
"Hagrid!" he shouted, and the three of them dashed through the door. Remus shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered out onto the small back stoop, while Harry raced down the steps to give Hagrid a welcoming hug.
"Brought yer somethin' fer yer birthday," Hagrid rumbled, and one of his giant hands indicated a large, sheet-covered object. The other reached over and jerked the sheet off.
"REMUS LUPIN!" Molly shrieked in outrage. "YOU DID NOT GIVE A SIXTEEN YEAR OLD BOY A FLYING MOTORBIKE!"
Remus just smiled.
Molly pushed her way to the front, but Ron and Harry were already inspecting the motorbike, Hermione leaning over the handlebars to tap on the dials, Ginny pre-emptively begging for a ride. Arthur Weasley was also there, murmuring over the "infernal contusion engine" and the chrome finishes.
"I only ever saw it once," he said excitedly to Harry. "Oh, but it's wonderful, isn't it? Where'd you find it, Lupin?" he called.
"You cannot give a sixth-year student a motorbike!" Molly insisted.
"Hagrid's had it in his attic," Remus replied. "It's really from him as much as me, Harry. He got it fixed up, replaced the bits that had been chewed on by mice."
"Idear was yers, though," Hagrid rumbled. "Can't take credit fer that."
Harry, who had straddled the bike seat and was inspecting the ignition, looked up and beamed.
"Arthur, stop encouraging him!" Molly shouted.
"It's all right, Molly. It's enchanted not to fly above a certain speed," Remus said. "He'll do fine with it, won't you, Harry?" he asked.
"How's it work?" Harry called in reply, turning the key in the ignition. Nothing happened.
"You've got to kick-start it," Remus called. "Hagrid, show him how."
Hagrid bent over the bike, helping Harry position his foot, and then there was a belch of exhaust, a roaring noise. Arthur was looking on rapturously, pointing out the various components of the engine. Ron picked up the helmet hung on one handlebar and put it on Harry's head.
"You're all hopeless," Molly said crossly.
"Got to keep petrol in it, too, Harry, it's part of the Muggle bits," said Remus. "Hagrid can show you, he knows how it works."
"Don't you?" Arthur asked. "I'm sure I saw you fly it once, Lupin."
Remus shrugged. "Once or twice. Never for very long."
"Show me!" Harry cried. Ron, bent in solemn contemplation over the front wheel with his father on the other side, jumped back as Harry inadvertently revved the engine.
The lesson lasted all afternoon, with most of the Order lounging on the back steps, watching or giving useless advice, while Harry learned how to shift the gears properly and make the motorbike look as though it was just running along the ground while hovering it a few centimetres above. When he finally took flight and circled Headquarters, he was greeted with claps and cheers from the Order. He pulled his helmet off and grinned widely as he landed.
"It's brilliant," he breathed, cutting the ignition expertly, as if he'd been doing it his whole life.
"Yours by right," Remus replied. "And inheritance."
"Ye rode that bike when ye were just a wee tot," Hagrid added. "Hel' you in this hand. And ye slep' right through mos' of it."
Harry swung his leg over and off the bike, setting the helmet carefully on the seat.
He did not hug the older man. Sixteen year old boys are very particular about when and where they hug. But he did give Remus a brilliant smile -- James Potter's smile -- and said thank you, and let Remus clap him on the back as they sat on the steps of the back porch.
Fred and George, who'd been waiting all evening for this, began to set off fireworks.
"So," Tonks said, seated on the other side of Remus from Harry. "Been a good day, Harry?"
"It's been perfect," Harry said, sitting back to watch the fireworks.
"Perfect's the word," Remus replied.
"Won't last, will it?" Tonks asked softly, as Harry leaned away to make some remark to Ron and Hermione, who were perched on the edge of the back steps.
"Never does," Remus replied. "But that doesn't matter. Harry had a good day."
"So did we," Tonks reminded him. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, hand curling under his arm. He glanced anxiously at Dumbledore, but the Headmaster caught his eye, gave him a solemn wink, and turned back to the fireworks.
He saw, because he'd begun to learn to see, that other members of the Order were occasionally glancing their way, and knew that this was Tonks' way of announcing their...hobby, to the general populace. He rather wished she'd asked him, first, but he had after all said that she could tell anyone she liked...
And it was nice to feel her cheek on his shoulder.
There had been far too much nice in his world lately. This meant that trouble was brewing. But sitting on the steps in the balmy summer evening, watching fireworks with Tonks next to him and Harry, Ron, and Hermione on the other side, Dumbledore's tacit approval and the company of the Order, well fed on cake...
It was terribly difficult to care whether or not Perfect wouldn't last.
When the fireworks finally ended, he helped Harry wheel the motorbike into a back room of the mansion and cover it up again with the promise that if he was careful, he could take Ron and Hermione riding on it after a few more lessons. The Order began drifting homeward, and Molly and Arthur were clearing up when he and Harry walked into the ballroom; Molly insisted that Harry go take his new gifts upstairs and enjoy them, though the boy offered to help clean.
"Moll, have you got all the forks?" Arthur called, as plates stacked themselves under his watchful eye.
"Thirty two, is that right?"
"Right as rain. Not much left of the cake..."
"Oh, do save it, there's a dear..." Molly said, as Arthur slid the remains of the cake onto a clean plate. "Quite a nice party."
"Just what the lad wanted," Arthur agreed, leaning across the table to kiss her on the cheek. "Well done, Molly."
"It wasn't anything," Molly said with a smile. Remus moved quietly out of the doorway and back into the hallway.
He climbed the back stairs, past Harry's room where he and Ron were laughing over something, past the strange-smelling rooms that the twins inhabited, and around the landing to his own.
Molly and Arthur were two of his closest friends in the world. After James and Lily died, after Sirius had been sent to Azkaban and they all thought Peter had been killed, he'd stayed with them while he tried to reassemble a life without his -- his only friends, really. They'd filled part of that gap. Over the years Arthur had always tried to send work his way, and they'd both been overjoyed to find out he was teaching at Hogwarts.
He hated that he envied them; not just Arthur for having a wife who put up with more than almost any woman would, but both of them, for having each other. Not to mention attempting to singlehandedly double the Wizarding population of England with their offspring.
Because that wasn't something he could have. He'd tried. Not even for children. Just for a woman who would tolerate him. A woman who would tolerate him and agree to give it that one in four chance, that was too much to ask for, but even just having someone...someone like Molly.
Tonks tolerated him, but Tonks was in it for the fun. She came and went, and probably didn't think about it much. Besides, he hadn't thought of her. Much. Not constantly, certainly. Too much else to think about.
Because he was in it for the fun, too. Well, perhaps not for the fun, but for decent human contact, and Tonks was beautiful, and smart, and she put up with him.
And she'd slapped Severus Snape, which in his book was grounds for some kind of civil service medal.
"So did you miss me?"
He paused, one hand on his desk, and let his head fall, and smiled.
"Kingsley asked me about us," Tonks said, from a shadowy niche near the fireplace.
"Kingsley could rip my arm off and beat me over the head with it," he replied.
"Kingsley knows I'd castrate him if he tried."
"Tough girl, Tonks."
"They don't come any tougher," she said, moving to stand near him. "He still thinks you ought to be keeping Snape reined in a little tighter."
"After me yelling at him and you slapping him, we ought to give the man a break, not a chaperone," Remus replied, one hand moving to pull her closer.
"Let's talk about anything but what we're talking about," Tonks said softly.
"How about not talking at all?"
"Works for me."
He covered her mouth with his, enjoying the way she moved against his body. She never seemed quite completely still, and the pads of his fingertips worked their way down her body, through her unbuttoned robe, stroking, forcing soft, pleased sounds from the back of her throat. God, she was good at this.
He wondered, idly, because there was a part of him that was scholar first and a man second, whether this was a part of Auror training. This...responsiveness. The knowledge of how to pick the right time, the right place.
Just the right person...
Shock ran through him, a physical jolt that made Tonks laugh and slide her hand between their hips, wanting more. It was equal parts surprise at the implications of his thought, and disgust that he'd even had it at all. That he could think Tonks, of all people, would do that, would seduce him in order to spy...it was his fault any of this had even happened, he reminded himself, so distracted that he barely felt her undoing his waistcoat and threadbare white shirt.
No. No. This was Tonks. It was just something they did. It wasn't romance; it was need for human contact, a mutual understanding. It wasn't a...seduction. For any reason.
He forced his mind to be silent, forced the small, sensible voices in his head to stop talking.
She nuzzled the base of his neck and said his name softly.
"Yes?" he asked, bending to speak in her ear, his right hand sliding over hip, down to rest on her thigh.
"Yes," she agreed, pushing him back towards the bedroom. He went willingly, still forcing himself not to think. Surprisingly difficult.
"Do you know," he asked, nearly tumbling backwards on to the edge of the bed. She climbed over him, and bare skin on bare skin made him gasp. "Do you know...why I...good god, please..."
Tonks leaned back from the kiss, a little, and wriggled. He moaned.
"Why you...?" she prompted. He groped for words.
"Why I finally gave in?" he asked. She spread her legs a little, and slid down further on his thighs.
"Because I promised to shag you senseless?" she asked.
"You never promised that," he said, gripping her waist and turning her onto the bed, following until he lay on top of her, elbows holding him up, hands on her face.
Not to know what your real face is, he thought. A tragedy...
"Then why?" she asked, eyes wide as he touched her forehead, her cheeks.
"Because I couldn't bear that you stopped touching me," he admitted.
"No fear," she replied lightly, and bucked her hips suddenly. He bowed his head and moaned, and when she moved her legs he moved forward, slowly, making her draw in her breath, sharply.
"Never...stop..." he begged, moving his hands to cradle her head. She sighed a small "Umnh" of pleasure, and began to move faster. He had some question to ask her, some demand to make, but all he could feel now was the pulse through his veins and her, moving with it, destroying all chance at thought, rational or any other kind...
When her thumbs slid across his shoulders and she moaned, low and almost pained, he felt her pleasure straight into his body, and responded; she only cried out once more, when he gripped her tightly and nearly howled into her neck.
For a few moments, though time could pass strangely for him, there was silence.
"I don't do this nearly enough," he said, and had the pleasure of hearing her laugh against his ribcage. "I'm out of condition."
"Every skill takes practice," Tonks said gravely.
He rolled and stretched an arm behind his head, the thought he'd so successfully avoided rushing back to him. Freight-train style.
No. He had been there, when he was her age, had felt the baseless suspicions of the Order that he was a betrayer. He would not do Tonks that disservice just because she was...
...everything you want, said another voice, entirely new. Perfect doesn't last, and young women do not fall for men like you, it added mockingly.
He got the picture. If this was going to be perfect, he was going to wreck it. It was what he did.
But not tonight.
"Fireworks were nice, tonight," Tonks said sleepily, half-mumbling into his collarbone.
"Good cake, too. And Harry looked happy."
"Awfully nice, to give him that motorbike."
"Wasn't mine to give," he murmured. "Belonged to Sirius. Ought to go to Harry."
"You like him, don't you?"
Remus grinned. "Not like I like you, Tonks."
There was a sleepy snicker, and after a while her breathing fell even.
Try, please, Remus, try not to screw this up, he told himself. It's not even a real romance. It's just sex. This really should be easy not to screw up.
So try. Really hard. You useless git.
Chapter 4
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*claps*
no subject
*giggles* Yeah, it should. *g*