Ashes to Ashes
The tide rises, and all too soon, the footprints are forgotten by all but the two who made them.
.o0o.
He stands alone.
The sand is still sodden as the tide recedes, wet and clumpy beneath his feet. It's winter – and the world is more than simply cold. It's bland, and to him the very air tastes of tears and cardboard. The sky a strange medley of blood and amber, the sun burning low on the horizon, he glares out across the frothing ocean.
Behind him stands a bungalow, quaint and cosy, a little piece of heaven that's survived the rise and fall of hell. Truth be told, the place has long since fallen into disrepair, but even though there are holes in the thatch and the deck is half-collapsed, he still sees it as being nothing less than perfect.
The breeze grows chill, yet he does not shiver as it licks across his skin. He's tired, so very tired, and it's no surprise that he's forgotten the meaning of feeling warm.
He used to think of this beach as a paradise. Now, he knows it's a purgatory: the one place on earth where all that he's lost is engraved upon every last grain sand.
.
The suffocating blackness lifts as he stumbles across the cool tile, and he swallows the bile rising in his throat. He hears her snigger, and he rolls his eyes, because they both know that he's never really been one for Apparating.
At the very least, he hasn't landed on the shoulders of an old lady doing her monthly grocery shopping this time around, and for that he's grateful.
Finally, when he feels his stomach settle, he allows himself to take in the bungalow they've leased for the summer. He's spent two years saving for this trip, ever since the two of them thought up the idea one night under the stars beside the Black Lake.
"It did look a bit bigger in the pictures," he says. Then again, it's a lot cosier that way, and nobody really visits the tropics to spend their time indoors, so he supposes he can let it slide.
He whistles as he catches sight of the beach out the nearby window. It's like something out of a portrait, the type of scene he's always believed existed only in the minds of artists and not in the real world.
"Typical bloke," says Nym, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. She nudges him, her strawberry hair pulled into a high ponytail, and continues, "Nothing ever seems big enough to you lot, am I right, Charlie?"
He laughs as he extricates the shrunken suitcases from his pocket and, with a flick of his wand, returns them to their normal size. A second flick, and they're unpacking themselves, and he turns to face her.
"Last one to the water's a Niffler's uncle," he challenges, stripping off his shirt and taking off at a sprint. He hears her response, muffled by the sound of the sea breeze whipping by his ears, when all of a sudden he feels a weight land upon his back.
Hands wrap around his eyes, and he struggles to steady himself, but she, as usual, is a little too clumsy for such a flirtatious stunt. They both tumble head over heels into the waves, and he's laughing even as the salty water fills his nose.
Some witches and wizards choose to visit the entire world when they're finally done with Hogwarts, but he's content to simply visit one small corner of it with a witch who means the world to him at his side.
.
Sandstone pillars rise up from the sea, warped by centuries of storm and sun to form exquisite silhouettes. The sun dips lower, forming a scarlet slash across the horizon, and all at once the trickling spray glows like Felix Felicis.
The natural monoliths seem to bleed gold for that one glorious moment before the sun fades away beneath the writhing sea, and he feels his throat constrict as the first stars begin to glimmer into existence.
Nymphadora.
The star mocks him with its light, its radiance, its immortality, and he trembles as he feels the tears begin to prickle at his eyes.
.
"You're insane."
He laughs at her, raising his voice to be heard over the harsh wind as he responds,
"I choose to think of myself as quirky, but insane works too."
She grins at him, shaking her head in exasperation before peering over the edge. He can see rather than hear her gasp, and he smirks before grabbing her by the waist and spinning her around, ignoring her shrill shriek.
They're so high that the bungalow looks like a dollhouse, and the risk just adds to the thrill. Reaching this pinnacle's been hard enough, and wisely, he's let her Apparate them to the top, but it's the trip back down that he craves.
"Can we go back down now?" she asks, biting at her lower lip, her hair a deep shade of periwinkle blue. He grins, because she doesn't yet know what he intends, but he thinks she'll like it all the same.
"Sure," he says. Extending an arm, he lets her take it, and before she can so much as take a breath he's thrown them both over the edge. She's screaming, her billowy top whipping around her, and the wind is cutting at his face.
The sea comes closer and closer, till, with a splash so large he's sure they've doused the entire beach, they hit the water. The rush of adrenaline and cool, tropical water is uplifting and a rush, and he hastily kicks out as he swims up to the surface.
Treading water, he realises that she's already broken the surface, and her hair is burning redder than his own. She swims up to him, and for a single moment he thinks that she may slap him, but then her lips are on his, and he's falling all over again.
.
Shaking his head, he turns away from the sea and begins the short trek up to the bungalow. Save for the light of his wand, the beach has long since fallen to the shadow.
There's a storm coming. He can feel it; the weather, he's learned, is almost like a dragon. Powerful and unpredictable, especially this close to the sea, where the winds can rip apart the stone bones of the earth itself and raise waves taller than the towers of Hogwarts.
The sea seems to boil behind him, writhing, twisting, as though stirred by a slumbering beast that's just now wakened. Droplets of water the size of marbles slap against his back, and looking over his shoulder, he sees the roiling sea is as dark as ink.
As is what is left of his tattered heart.
He climbs up onto the deck, taking care not to crash down through its rickety flooring, and precariously makes his way into the bungalow. Vision blurred by tears, he approaches the loveseat and drops to his knees before it.
She lays there, cold, unmoving, and perfectly preserved. Her body is unmarked by the fatal curse that took her from him, her hair a dull, mousy-brown, and her eyes are closed. His fingers fumble over her stiff ones, and it's all he can do to not break down then and there.
But there's thunder echoing in the distance, and he knows that his time is limited.
As he gets to his feet, he wonders, perhaps belatedly, what the world will think should they ever exhume her grave and break open her coffin to find a Disillusioned mannequin. He doesn't really care though – he's the one who truly loved her.
She's his soul mate, just as he is hers, and she doesn't belong to the werewolf, Remus Lupin. She belongs to him, to his sluggishly beating heart.
He just wishes that he fought harder for her when it mattered, when they were both young lovers upon this very beach.
.
"When I die, I don't want to be buried," she murmurs. The sand is grainy against their bare skin, and the tide laps at their ankles but, all he cares about is her. She sighs, her breath ghosting across his bare chest, and he frowns as he takes in her words.
"That's a lovely thing to talk about after a shag," he replies, his tone dry and playful as he nips at her throat. Her laugh is forced and he sobers immediately, before adding, in a much more serious tone,
"Why?"
"It's silly," she says, shaking her head. "Forget I said anything."
"C'mon, don't leave me in suspense," he says, watching as, before his eyes, her hair darkens to a deep sable. Biting at his lip, he draws small circles along the small of her back, hoping to soothe her into sharing what she's thinking about.
She hesitates before replying, her voice distant, almost faraway. "I don't want to be alone in the dark, Charlie. I don't want to be in a little box beneath the ground with worms feasting on me, even if I'm not there to feel it . . . I just don't want to be another nameless, forgotten headstone."
"That is pretty deep stuff," he says, "Myself, I've never really given much thought to how I would die."
"It was just a passing thought." She rolls her eyes, poking at his navel with her finger. "Just forget I said anythi– Ouch." Her eyes bulge, and her hand shoot down to her legs. Seconds later, she holds it to him with an irritated look in her eyes, and he laughs as he takes in the crustacean she's captured in her hands.
"Nym," he says, grinning ear to ear, the darker thoughts of just a few seconds ago already forgotten. "Did you give me crabs?"
He's still chortling when she punches him in the abdomen.
.
"Incendio," he whispers, pointing his wand at the loveseat. The flames instantly take hold, licking at the tattered upholstery and crackling as they begin to spread across the floor.
He gets to his feet, making his way back to the beach even as the scent of burning wood clouds his nostrils. It's almost enough to mask the scent of scorched flesh . . . almost.
Gagging, he stumbles onto the sand, the echoes of thunder ringing in his ears, and he drops to his knees. Behind him, the bungalow burns, a pyre worthy of any queen, turning all within it to ash.
The fire cracks and spits, and lightning traces across the sky, forming a crackling filigree that seems to bounce from star to star.
He cries out, sweat beading down his back as he struggles against the heat, and he sees the first blackened, ashen fragments begin to fill the air amidst the dancing sparks.
He raises his wand and begins to cast one final spell.
.
"Nym," he whispers, inhaling the lemony scent of her pina-colada drenched lips.
"Only you can get away with calling me that, Charlie," she replies, her fingers trailing down his chest.
He takes a moment to simply take in the sensation of lying beside her, and holding her in his arms, before subtly fumbling about the bedside table for his wand. She doesn't seem to notice, and he flicks it, wordlessly summoning to his hand a tiny, velvet-lined box. It's a slender band of gold, simple and unadorned, but he thinks it'll do.
One day, perhaps, he'll be able to afford a diamond to go with the ring.
"I'm going to miss you," she suddenly says, and he freezes, ring-box in hand.
"Huh?"
"You and I? We'll be over once the summer ends and life goes back to normal, right? You'll be in Romania and I'll be in Auror Training – and we both know that long distance never works. I'll miss it though, I will."
"Me too," he replies, his fingers digging into the box till his knuckles turn white.
And he ignores the biting, stabbing, cutting sensation that's filling his chest, and he keeps silent. Instead, he nods, accepting her gentle words of how they're a sweet summer romance (not a lasting love, as he's so willfully believed) and how she'll always treasure him as a friend.
To him, it's like saying that his owl is dead but he can still keep it.
That night, he walks out onto the beach and flings ring into the surf, not noticing that it slips into a tiny, half-hidden hollow in the sandstone towers.
.
The first droplets splatter across the sand, but the bungalow is already a smouldering heap. Even as the black rivulets and ash and water begin to trickle towards the sea, his spell begins to take effect.
The ashes rise into the air like a cloud, swirling and twisting, and fly towards the sandstone pillars. The rain is increasing in intensity, but the ash remains dry, seeming to merge with the stone and the sea.
He lets his wand fall, the spell complete, and wipes his matted hair from his brow.
A flash of lightning fills the air, and he allows a smile to cross his features as for one glorious moment, he sees the stone monument.
Like a sandstone goddess rising from the sea, Nym smiles at him, her image seemingly carved by storm and sea from the bones of the earth.
.o0o.
A/n:
Special Thanks to my Beta, the amazing Lokilette.
Prompts:
Quidditch League Finals: Marbles, Ink, Thunderstorm / Team Character: Nymphadora Tonks, Pairing: Charlie/Tonks
The LUSH Challenge: Sandstone, Uplifting, Waves, Beaches, Lemony, Sun, Breeze