Author's Note: My, my. She lives. And yet, all she did was write another oneshot. That has nothing to do with any of her stories... hehe. Well anyway, I'm trying to figure out if I'm feeling angsty or romantic, or a little bit of both. But this is a little something I just thought up to bring in the New Years with some of our faves.
Cheers!
1998
December 31st, 1997:
Remus shifted in his chair and took a large swig of the bubbling substance in his favourite mug. Somehow, he supposed that he subconsciously imagined alcohol had less of a kick when cloaked by an innocent container…like a mug. A favourite mug. After all, it could just as easily have been tea as extra-punch firewhiskey. Which one was more likely, in his current situation, was a different question entirely.
And this brought him back to his dilemma; the reason he was spending the evening alone, staring into the empty grate of Number 12 Grimmauld Place's kitchen fireplace, making up excuses for the slightly incriminating contents of his favourite mug.
Then again, the reason was rather similar to the setting. He was, in fact, quite alone in the world. And that was that. His best friends either dead or working for Voldemort. Any family had died or deserted him long ago. Anyone else that he cared about, he had 'given up', or else was not talking to him for "abandoning" when he had thought he was saving. And it all came back to one, god-forsaken thing.
His "furry little problem", as James had described it. The fact that he was dangerous, tainted. Why he had had no friends until the Marauders. Why he had been so grateful when they had befriended and accepted him willingly, no conditions, no questions asked. Why he had been aching so unbearably inside, ever since their cold-blooded murders. Why he couldn't admit he had fallen in love, and then why falling in love and being in love was such a terrible thing for him. And her.
Why Harry had turned on him, here, a month or so ago. Why he hadn't been able to retort or defend his actions properly. It clouded his vision; all he could see was pain and danger ahead for those he loved. And it was all his fault. He should not have let himself give in to his selfish desires to love and be loved in return. He should not have let her in, into the danger that went with him everywhere. He didn't want to hurt her for anything in the world, and here he was, hurting her. But what else could he do? He might KILL her if he stayed. And look what he had already done to their unborn- no. It is hers, he had to remind himself. They'll both be much better off without me. And he knew that he would not be able to look either of them in the eye if it did turn out... like him. To have to take responsibility for ruining the life of a vulnerable child, who would never have a chance, even at what limited pleasures he had received in life.
And so Remus had left, breaking her heart, and splintering his own (into what felt like at least billions of millions of pieces), and becoming a coward in her and Harry's eyes.
And the only foreseeable way to deal with this, and inevitably to welcome a new year of what was sure to be even more crap, Remus had decided, was to assign himself to watch Grimmauld Place (removing the Death Eaters that had been here when he arrived), and get rip-roaring drunk. Every night. And every day. For about a month.
So here he was. Tonight, however, he was a little behind. Somehow, his body had consumed so much alcohol recently, that it had almost forgotten what actual food tasted like. And when he had allowed himself to ask this reformed Kreacher for a piece of bread this morning, his body had not responded kindly. With the result that he had been otherwise engaged for most of the day, and therefore had not had the time to get quite as off-his-face as he would usually have been at this stage in the game. In fact, his indulgent 'meal' had actually delayed his starting so much that he had had enough time to do a little bit of sobering up. Completely unintentionally, of course.
This slight hiccough in the routine did mean that when Kreacher padded into the kitchen at about 11:53p.m., leading a rather unexpected guest, Remus' ears, at least, detected their presence.
"Wotcher, Remus," a small voice intimated from the doorway.
"Kreacher will be leaving now," Remus heard the house-elf reply croak in his raspy voice.
Silence followed the elf's padding footsteps back out of the kitchen. Remus did not move, or acknowledge that he had heard her at all. Because he knew that if he moved, he would not be able to control his limbs, or stop them from sprinting to the doorway, gathering her in his arms, and smothering her with so many kisses (that would manage to voice so many unspoken things) that neither of them would be able to breathe until next year.
Another five minutes passed like this, with her standing at the door, eyes glistening with unshed tears, and him sitting with his back to her, salty tears streaming silently down his own cheeks. And then it seemed that she could wait no longer. Tonks took a slow step forward and tried to call his name, but it came out as more of a whisper.
"Remus..."
Her voice cracked as she tried to say more, and a few of the hidden tears crept out of the corners of her eyes. But then his hand moved involuntarily as if it would reach out to her. He pulled it back almost immediately, but she found the strength she needed to continue in his weakening.
10
"I. Love. You."
9
"You can't keep trying to protect me."
8
"I knew when I married you"
7
"and it didn't stop me then."
6
"It's all in your head"
5
"You have people who love you and need you."
4
"I love you. I need you."
3
"Our baby needs you, whatever happens."
2
"Remus..."
And then he could hold himself back no longer. In two strides he was across the kitchen and holding her, and she was holding him, and they were both crying, and his hand was resting protectively on her stomach, their baby between them, and that was all that mattered.
1
Happy New Year, everyone!