TITLE: A Merry Christmas.
AUTHOR: Minttown1/Amber.
RATING: PG-13.
SPOILERS: OotP.
PAIRING: Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody / Nymphadora Tonks
SUMMARY: Mad-Eye and Tonks meet at the Leaky Cauldron on Christmas Eve.
ARCHIVAL: Just ask.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. I profit in no way.
NOTES: Set on Christmas Eve in book five.
~*~
Even the Leaky Cauldron was decorated for Christmas. Gold garland was draped from the bar. Mistletoe was randomly suspended from the ceiling, encouraging behavior even more unsavory than usual among the pub's patrons, who at least tried to hide their indiscretions between the pools of eerie, supposedly festive lighting filling the room. A large wreath, hung carelessly on the door, banged in the wind each time someone entered.
Alastor Moody sat at the end of the bar, staring into a glass from which he refused to drink. He had walked in nearly an hour before, growled that he was meeting someone, and paid for a round of drinks for the crowd, and thus had earned his privacy. The bartender occasionally glanced at him, but he never approached after leaving the bill.
Several seconds of the crashing wreath and howling wind indicated that the door had been opened. Mad-Eye looked to see who had entered, his normal eye never leaving the fire whiskey in his glass. A tall, blonde witch removed her overcoat, revealing a tight black dress. The attire was not typical for a visitor to Diagon Alley, but the witch was not exactly typical herself. Many of the guests in the bar were staring at her, and even Mad-Eye had noticed during his brief glance that she was a stunningly attractive woman.
As a result, he was as surprised as anyone when she made her way toward him. He was also, of course, suspicious, and he kept one hand near his wand as the stranger approached. A dozen men's gazes followed her progress, and she sighed as she sat on the stool next to his own. "Even when I try to disguise myself, I draw attention."
He stared. "Excuse me?"
"Mad-Eye, it's me." She laughed, and a few moments later faced him with her everyday features and pink hair. "Amazing how quickly they lose interest," she observed after a moment, looking around at the crowd.
"Who?"
"Men. When a woman acts like herself, men lose interest. Always the wrong men, though, so that's okay. The right men," she paused, watching his face, "they never notice to begin with." After a moment, her grin returned. "Can I have your drink?"
She had changed thoughts too quickly for him, and it took him a few seconds to respond. "No," he said finally, pushing the glass away from her outstretched hand.
"No?"
"No. If it's not good enough for me to drink, it's not good enough for you." He devoted both eyes to a momentary scan of the room. "We don't need you getting yourself killed, or worse. Here."
He held his hip flask out to her. She laughed but accepted, unscrewing the cap and sniffing suspiciously at the contents.
"It's fine," he said, indignant but secretly pleased that she had hesitated.
"I was just curious what it was," she told him, slightly disappointing him. "I trust you."
"Don't." He returned the flask to the folds of his cloak as soon as she had finished drinking. "It won't do you any good to trust me."
She rolled her eyes but smiled. "Don't be so damned trustworthy, then."
His face was unreadable; the emotion that was passing through him, he realized with surprise, could be best described as embarrassment, embarrassment that anyone, but especially that Nymphadora Tonks, thought to characterize him any way other than crazy and disagreeable these days. Unsure what the proper response would have been, he instead turned away from her and gruffly asked, "What did you want tonight?"
She hesitated, her smile faltering again. "You haven't been yourself the last few days, and I wanted to see you, talk to you, wish you a merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, then," he replied, removing a bag of coins from his cloak and counting out the money to cover the drinks he had bought an hour earlier. He stood and strode toward the door, and she hurried to follow him, her black heels clicking against the floor. The steady rhythm of her steps was broken for a second, and he turned instinctively to catch her before she fell.
His hands were rough but warm on her bare arms as he waited for her to steady herself. She shuddered momentarily and covered by hissing, "You are the most frustrating man I've ever known, Mad-Eye. I come here on Christmas Eve to spend time with you. I try to cheer you up because you've been in a terrible mood since --"
"Keep your voice down!" He tightened his grip on her left arm, uncomfortably aware of the stares of several of those around them.
"You hate having attention drawn to yourself, don't you?" she murmured, and the words conveniently masked her desire with spite as she kissed him in the middle of the crowded pub. It had been a soft kiss at first, something she had barely made a conscious decision to do, and it was he who eventually deepened it, sliding his hands up to her shoulders and then to her throat as she tangled her fingers in his uneven hair.
She moaned softly. The sound turned to a groan as he pulled away, saying, though it seemed to pain him to do so, "This isn't a good idea."
"But it is, Mad-Eye. Trust me," she whispered, her mouth next to his ear, "it is."
Later, she would think to herself, the uncomfortable black dress discarded in favor of a lover's arms and warm blanket, that it must have been some sort of odd Christmas miracle, because he had actually heeded her plea; he had trusted her. Lying in their room above the Leaky Cauldron, listening as the clock downstairs struck midnight, she smiled and moved closer to him. This, this was a merry Christmas.