Torn Furniture, Shattered Walls

The building doesn't so much as tower over them as cower. Windows are shattered; the door is half off its hinges, cracked open; much of the roof has caved in. The scent of dried blood, mothballs and rotting wood is strong in the air.

"Are you ready?" Tonks asks.

"No," says Remus. His heart is beating dangerously fast and hard in his ears. "But I doubt I ever will be. So yes."

He takes a deep breath, bracing himself, Tonks knows. Then he clambers over the fence, turns and offers her a hand, which she takes just to stop its shaking.

The walk up the not-so-steep hill isn't a long one, and in no time they've come to another stop. Remus breathes again, closes his eyes; opens them and slowly, slowly reaches out to push the door open the rest of the way - it falls off completely, barely making a sound against the dust-carpeted floor.

They step over it, surveying the Shrieking Shack. True to form, chairs and tables alike are toppled, lying on their sides like wounded soldiers, scarred from battles with claws. The walls bear large slash marks, deep, jagged grooves that in themselves look angry. Wooden boards have been broken, exposing solid ground or the frail frame of the structure.

Something in Remus' face crumbles as he looks, steps further inside. Tonks is right behind him.

"So this is where you used to transform." She skims her fingers across the walls' wounds.

He nods silently. After a pause, his hesitation palpable, he says, "It was unbelievably painful. It rivaled even the Cruciatus Curse. If only I -"

And suddenly the night is back, the night is back, and deadly yellow eyes are peering at him from the darkness and the weight of ten men is flung upon his chest and rows of tiny knives sink into his shoulder, only the knives are teeth and someone is screaming and his flesh is twisting, tearing, and the smell - the smell - his bones are forcing themselves into a new shape, his muscles burning, stretching, and his mind is gone and all he wants to do is bitbitebite and -

And he's on his knees and he's shaking all over and he's still a monster.

"Remus," comes Tonks' voice, from a long way away.

"I nearly killed someone," are the words that come from his mouth, and she's there, she's there in front of him, her hands are tight on his shoulders and she's there.

"Look at me," she commands, and when he does he sees so many things that he doesn't really know what to think, and he drops his gaze - but then his chest stutters a little because she's taken his face in his hands. The ridges of his scars are sharp against her skin.

"Please," Tonks whispers, her eyes searching his. Remus doesn't know what she's pleading for, and he doesn't ask - the words die in his throat.

What, what is that look that she's giving him? How could she ever think that, after what's happened to him, what he's done, he could be okay? Why would she want to be with him when there are so many other men out there that are worthy of her?

And his brain ceases function altogether as she presses her lips to his.

It's a kind of kiss that he's never felt before: desperate and passionate and melancholy and hopeful all at the same time, so full of love (of love) that he returns it as though he's dying and he never, never wants this moment to end.

Tonks tries to pull away but Remus doesn't let her, doesn't let her ask the questions she's burning to ask, and apparently she's just as weak as he is because she melts right back into him and they hold on to each other to stay up, to not fall.

Eventually they really do need to breathe and they break apart, hearts pounding and focus all over the place and eyes only on the other. It's when the air starts to come back, when the light-headedness wears off, that Tonks regains herself enough to speak.

"Why do you feel like that?" she says, and she caresses his cheek.

Remus lets his forehead fall onto hers so he doesn't have to have the strength to support it. He closes his eyes; her breath is fresh in his face, and for the first time it's not uncomfortable.

"Because," he says, "because..."

And then he realizes that he doesn't really have a good reason.

Tonks takes one of his hands in her free one and kisses him again, and the small part of him that can think is astounded that she knows, just knows what he's going to say. Maybe she understands him more than he understands himself. Maybe they can make them work. Maybe -

But her lips move more urgently against his, and his thoughts stop.

Maybe this is what it feels like to love.

A/N: For the Marauder's Map Challenge/Contest. My characters were Remus and Tonks, obviously, and my place was the Shrieking Shack. My first try was horrible... I'm glad this turned out so much better. I hope you thought so, too.

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~whispered touches

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or places mentioned in this story. They belong to J.K. Rowling and her affiliates. No copyright infringement is intended.