As a Hogwarts student Remus had always loved Hogsmeade visits. It seemed utterly ridiculous that his palms were growing sweaty at the lingering thought of the pending weekend, because nothing much had changed in the dozen or so years since then except the existence in his life of the girl he knew he'd see tomorrow.
It frustrated Remus beyond rational expression that Nymphadora made him so flustered now. He had consistently told himself that his relationship with her was strictly platonic, regardless of what the squinty giggle she only did when he made her laugh and her occasional (or perhaps a little more often) casual brush against him said. He had been firm in his resolve, and it was extraordinarily inconvenient that his conscience decided that he didn't want platonic with Nymphadora until after he had expressed otherwise to her. He thought platonic would keep her future and his peace of mind safe. So obviously, it had gone horribly awry.
And now he sat with the side of his face flush against the table in exasperation while his palms perspired. Why was Albus Dumbledore such an intelligent, cruel, clever bastard? Albus knew that Remus's resolve was crumbling; he knew that he was going crazy constantly thinking about Nymphadora. So why in the world did Albus decide it should be Remus to go to Hogsmeade and play delegate between the Aurors in the village and the Order? The old man shouldn't be sending Remus to spend the weekend with the twenty-something year old girl he was losing his grip over.
If they made it through this war, Remus thought he just may have to hex the old man for his appreciation—and manipulation—of love.
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Nymphadora's face when she opened the flat door was quite priceless. Albus told her she would have a visitor from the Order over the weekend. He hadn't mentioned it would be Mr. Lupin.
She gawked at him for a moment then swiftly regained her composure. "Can I help you?" she asked indifferently.
"No, but you can invite me in to discuss Order business," Remus said loudly, purposefully, and Nymphadora pulled him by the wrist into the flat before anyone could hear and comprehend what he was shouting. She slammed the door.
"Don't be a bloody moron," she scolded. "Are you trying to get me killed? Are you trying to get yourself killed?" He grinned. It pissed her off. "What do you want, anyway?"
"Like I said, I'm here on Order business, Nymphadora. I was told you knew I would be here today."
"Oh, no-no-no I wasn't," she said, wide-eyed and cross-armed. "I was told someone would be coming by, yes, but I thought it would be one of my more civilized colleagues," she shot.
Remus frowned quickly. He understood that she was referring to his behavior toward her as of late, but by nature he took it as a prejudiced statement.
Nymphadora covered her tracks quickly. "I mean someone who I can be in the same room as for an hour without arguing." She saw the wrinkle that formed between his eyebrows when he frowned smooth and sighed in silent relief. She had right to hate him, but she couldn't stand to see him upset.
"Yes, well, you'll have to make do with me," he said with a slight smirk that she wanted to slap off his face. "Why don't we go out of town a little to talk?"
She huffed. "Alright, then."
She put on her winter cloak and was following Remus out the door when a large piece of compacted snow fell off of the roof and onto his head. She chortled.
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"Dumbledore still hasn't indicated that there is anything in particular that I'm supposed to be watching out for. It's getting boring out here, honestly," Nymphadora said as they walked past the edge of the village and the thin crowd of Hogwarts students.
"Imagine what it's been like at Grimmauld," Remus said solemnly.
"I didn't know we were still using Grimmauld as headquarters," Nymphadora frowned. "It's still ours, then? Kreacher can't sell us out?"
"No. Kreacher is loyal to Harry now, albeit begrudgingly . . . Dora, hasn't anyone written, at least?"
She sighed. "Of course. I talk to Molly a few times a week, sometimes I see her, but no one ever wants to talk about the Order. It's hard enough to be surrounded by the war . . . I think they prefer to escape the world for a little while," Nymphadora pulled a strand of plain hair behind her ear, "and remind me of my problems," she muttered.
Remus almost asked her to repeat what she said last, but it sunk in quickly and he drew the question back from the tip of his tongue. Of course he knew that he was probably at the root of most of those problems. But while they walked farther from the edge of town in silence, close enough to each other to feel the heat come off her body, he felt his heart lurch towards Dora, as it had before, toward all of the possibilities she had been so confident in. Such hope of happiness was nearly squashed when a voice in his head whispered too late.
"I should take back what I said," Nymphadora said as they strolled to the edge of the valley the Shrieking Shack sat in. She leaned against the wood fence. "I shouldn't blame Molly, or anyone else. It's no ones fault but my own. I suppose I should apologize to you, too—"
"You have nothing to apologize for," Remus intercepted her quickly.
"Yes, that's what I thought. But it was worth a shot," she gave a weak smile and then trained her eyes on the footprints in the snow.
"Nymphadora," he said, tilting her chin up to look at him. "When this is over, when all of this is done with, you can have anything in the world," he said softly. "Dora, you could be a princess, if you wanted."
"You could be my king," she whispered.
He pretended not to hear. "You could live in a castle," he pushed on.
"—worn a ring," she continued her quiet, half-hearted argument. "Remus, you still don't get it."
He looked at her with weariness in his eyes; she knew he hated this conversation. But she hated how it kept turning out, so until he owned up to loving her like any man who wasn't ridiculously noble would, they would both suffer.
She spoke before he could. "Hear me out this time, alright? Don't interrupt me with that same song and dance, 'cause I won't hear it. Right now, at this moment, we are in the middle of a war. And yes, I know, it's absolutely insane when teenaged couples run off and get married because they're afraid for their lives, but I'm not a teenage girl asking you to abandon everything with me. I'm just asking you to let yourself do what you want, no matter what your sensible conscience might tell you, while you can. We don't know if there's a next week, or a tomorrow, we don't know if we have tonight. Do you really want to waste time—precious, irreplaceable time fighting me?" As she spoke her voice fell in volume and rose in pitch. Remus saw the tears sparkle in her eyes.
He rested one hand on her hip and caressed her face with the other. He hated himself for it—what if he woke up in the morning and his sensible conscience was back, telling him again to leave? But she was right. What if he didn't wake up one day, whether it be weeks or months. Was doing his idea of the right thing more important than her happiness? His happiness? He supposed not, with such limited time.
He leaned his head down to kiss her. Nymphadora felt sparks ignite when they connected, and she smiled into his lips. She knew the feeling well—the feeling was pink. Pink hair, pink lips, pink cheeks; the color was returning to her. She felt and radiated bliss, and though she knew that Remus giving in to her may be temporary, she was too caught up in heaven to think as far ahead as tomorrow.
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Event: Hogsmeade weekend
Place: Shrieking Shack
Prompts: Heaven, Piece, Almost
Quote: I could've been a princess, you'd be the king. Could've had a castle, worn a ring.
