Author's Notes: This was originally written for the January RT Challenge. Very many thanks to MrsTater for beta-ing.
Silence
Sirius and I are in the drawing room, mostly silent now, because there is only so much one can say about yesterday's events: a mass breakout at Azkaban, it seems impossible, and still the Ministry deny Voldemort's return.
I feel guilty because every second my mind isn't occupied with listening to something Sirius has said or replying, it's turned to Tonks: how her day's going, how's she's coping, when she might be home.
And all of a sudden she's there in the doorway, and then she's heading straight towards me. She smiles slightly in greeting, but it doesn't spread to her eyes even as they meet mine...and she looks so tired, so ashen faced. I hate to see her like that.
She flops down beside me on the sofa, and all at once she's lifted her legs to curl underneath her and dropped her head onto my lap. Automatically, my hand reaches out to smooth an errant lock of hair back from her forehead, and the other arm reaches round to hug her to me, my fingers curling round her waist.
Sirius rises, expressing the intention to pour us all a nice stiff drink, but I don't think that's what's required at the moment, at least not for Tonks and me.
I bend down slightly and whisper to her. "Would you like to go and lie down upstairs for a bit?"
A grateful look ghosts across her face. She starts to nod, but then glances over in Sirius' direction. She may be clumsy of foot, and sometimes too quick to speak, but her thought for others is ever present, however tired and worn she may be. But I've spent my time with Sirius; now my girlfriend -- the woman I love -- needs me for a little peace and quiet and a healthy dose of comfort.
"It's okay," I say, and imagine my words come as puffs of air on her cheek, so close is her face, so quietly do I say the words. I help her sit up, and then, standing myself, pull her up with me. "Sirius, we're just going to pop upstairs and take a nap for a bit." I look towards my old friend.
He turns from where he stands and looks mildly affronted, but just for a moment before a mischievous grin spreads across his face. "A nap, huh? Is that what it's called these days."
While I can't honestly say I don't love that I have my old friend back with me, and a true reason for him to tease me about my love life, it conflicts with the natural urge I have to protect Tonks, and the instinct that sits within me knows teasing will not help her out of today's sombre mood.
"No euphemism, Padfoot. Tonks is exhausted."
Still he smirks at me. He's a lost cause, and I don't let it irritate me; he means for the best. I know he's happy for me…Happy for us. I take Tonks' hand and lead her out of the room and up to the bedroom we've come to refer to as ours.
I close the door behind us and move to stand behind her. Despite my noble intentions, as I slip her robes off her shoulder, the temptation to lean forward and place a few kisses on the side of her neck is too much to resist; her skin is so soft and I love the way she lets her head roll back to rest against my shoulder.
She lets me steer her towards the bed; I pull back the covers and she slips underneath. She gets like this sometimes, more and more of late: content to let me guide her, look after her. It's not weakness -- far from it. I've seen her at work, the amount strength she possesses…
I'm so proud of her.
It doesn't surprise me that she should come home exhausted, and ready for someone to care for her.
I don't think there is anything in my life has filled me with such a sense of pride as the trust she seems to place in me.
I slip off my own robe and slide into bed beside her, stretching my arm across the pillow, inviting her to snuggle up beside me. She does so instantly and my arm curls instinctively around her waist, pulling her to me, as her own hand works its way around my waist and I feel it settle at the small of my back.
She's so warm. Always, her body tucks into mine as though we were made to fit together: her chin is cradled in the dip of my chest, so that my chin rests perfectly on the crown of her head; she tucks her knee between my thighs, and that's perfect, too.
I feel her relax against me; there is nothing so warm, so comforting as lying like this with Nymphadora. I stroke her hair and listen as her breathing slows.
Most of the time we simply lie here. Sometimes there may be whispers of contentment or utterances of love. We never talk about the war when we have moments like these, they're too precious to sully with talk of unsavoury, if necessary, work.
It's easy to forget what she does, and how much she deals with in her comparative inexperience. She's not seen death and destruction, not properly; it's only just starting for her, and we all know we're moving closer and closer to the point where there will be out and out war.
How I wish I could protect her from it.
I cannot protect her from exposure to the horrors I know she will face; I both love and respect her too much for that. But it doesn't stop me wishing that I could; it doesn't stop me from thinking in wild flights of fancy that I could remove us both from danger in the blink of Apparition.
And how tempting that is sometimes, to think that we could live uninterrupted, even if only for a while…
But I know, not even deep down, but right on the surface, that both of us are too strong for that.