Sub Luna

By Cúthalion

1.Afternoon

She walks through his small flat on this sunny summer afternoon, feeling his presence behind her like a warm, hesitating shadow. Over the last few months she has nearly lost hope that he might bring her here, to his refuge and hiding place… three tiny rooms in a house that was grand once, a generation ago. Now it is shabby, in need of paint, crammed between an Indian supermarket and a Tattoo studio in Bayswater.

"Tea?" he asks. She turns to him, her dark eyes alight with the emotions she's been suppressing far too long, and she feels her face relax in a smile.

"You will have to brew it yourself," she says, "I won't be of any help… I might break the pot."

"You're not that clumsy, are you?" He steps closer; her skin prickles, eagerly awaiting his touch, but he makes no attempt to close the distance between them… not yet.

"You have no idea." Tonks bites her lower lip. "In my sixth year I managed to knock Charlie Weasley's cauldron over while he was trying to give his Polyjuice Potion a last stir. He was gallant enough to say that it was his fault. Gryffindor lost fifty points that day."

Snape. She hasn't mentioned the name of the teacher who mercilessly and deliberately misjudged Charlie back then, in that cold, foul-smelling dungeon; it isn't necessary anyway. Suddenly the haggard, bitter features hover between them like a kind of dark, shadowy Patronus, and Remus can sense it, too. For the fraction of a second a darting flame flickers in his eyes, turning the gentle brown into a feral yellow… but she doesn't wince. She has her own demons, and she refuses to be frightened by his.

"Fifty points is downright negligible," he remarks, finally reaching out and almost shyly touching her. "The Marauders did much worse. They..." He breaks off. Any funny anecdote, meant to comfort her, is swept away by darker memories. James, Sirius, Peter and Remus. Two of them dead, one a traitor of epic measure, the last one left behind to remember. Tonks shivers and feels her heart sink, despite the warm hand on her shoulder. So many possible mistakes to make. So many traps to stumble into.

"Tonks?"

She blinks, and now he's definitely close; she can feel his warm breath on her face, and vaguely she wonders how on earth he manages to make her name sound like a soothing caress. 'Tonks,' she remembers a brawny Slytherin scoff some time during her sixth year, 'Tonks… reminds me of something falling into a puddle.' Five years later that same Slytherin failed two attempts to pass the Concealment and Disguise exam, and she assumes that he still hates her for having had no problems in achieving what he couldn't.

"Remus…"

Her arms seem to have a will of their own… they sneak up and close around his neck. She marvels at the unfamiliar, exciting texture of his skin and hair and a moment later feels his fingers combing her own hair, running the glossy tresses between his fingertips… a tender reply to her very first bold exploration. His lips are soft, their touch not passionate and demanding but nearly… thankful.

She smiles up at him, her eyes gentle. "What about the tea?"