Crossposted at the multi-fandom Day_by_Drabble community on Livejournal for the April Showers Drabblethon.
Prompt #10:
"Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night."
(Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters of Rainer Maria Rilke)
Here we go again
I kinda wanna be more than friends
—'Animal,' Neon Trees
She had invited him out ('as friends' was the qualifier she added, flushing slightly), and succumbing to temptation for once, he'd agreed. Remus, being a tad naïve, had expected dinner or coffee or a movie and had ended up at a party on a beach at half past one in the morning.
In retrospect, he feels he shouldn't have been so surprised.
He had walked away for just a moment and returned to their spot on the shore to find her whirling in circles to the beat of bodhráns and clapping hands, that is, until one of her bare feet caught in the sand and she tumbled to the ground. The other partygoers cheered as she lay flat on her back, breathing hard, her long lavender hair and white skirts fanned out over the sand.
"Wotcher, Remus," she said, staring up at him with a bright smile and drawing out the 'e' in his name.
"I think someone's had a bit too much."
"Nonsense," Nymphadora said, brandishing the bottle of blackberry merlot that had somehow survived her fall.
"You won't think so tomorrow," he said, and pulled her to her feet, then kicked off his own shoes. "Let's walk a bit. I have something for you."
"What is it?" she asked eagerly, shuffling alongside him as they walked down by the water. The bonfire lit most of the beach and even at the water's edge they could still hear music over the softly rolling waves.
From behind his back he produced a wreath of ivy and pale blooms and ribbon. In the moonlight and firelight he couldn't tell exactly what colors it was, but the woman selling them had given him this one for free.
"Oh, it's lovely. What is it?" she repeated, and as explanation he set it on top of her head. She struck a pose and the crown promptly slipped down over one eye. "How do I look?"
"Like queen of the faeries," Remus said gravely, not quite holding back a smirk.
She studied him with regal scorn, then smiled, hitching the damp hem of her skirt up as another cold wave crashed around their shins. She nodded toward the people on the beach, dancing in the flickering light of the fire, shrieking and laughing.
"What's the big occasion?"
"May Day. Beltane. Whatever you want to call it."
"Ah. Didn't know Muggles did that," she mused, leaning against him.
"Sure they do. This one is actually kind of tame."
She gave him a sideways look. "You've been to some wild parties in your day, hmm?"
He grinned and said nothing.
"Don't die of shock, Remus, but I have read a book and am aware of how one 'celebrates' Beltane," Nymphadora said, with a bold grin of her own. "Did you ever—"
"No," he said quickly. "Well. Not really."
She gave him an appraising look that might have held a hint of suggestion, but maybe not, and at any rate he pretended he hadn't noticed. Nymphadora wore him down like water over a stone, he was resistant, but she was just as stubborn and endlessly patient. A force of nature.
"Hmm. As queen of the faeries, I think a tribute is in order."
"Tribute," he echoed, bemusedly.
"In accordance with the holiday," she said, arching a brow.
"I think we should leave the fertility rites to the Muggles," he said, parrying her quick wit with his own, ducking behind a shield of humour and nodding toward another couple down the beach. "Those two seem to be doing pretty well."
She sighed in exasperation and slapped him on the arm. "Just a kiss, you prat."
"Nymphadora—"
"Just one." She took a step back and held her arms out. "The lady of the lake implores you."
"That's the sea you're standing in, silly," he said, but she was a compelling figure, her hair down over her shoulders, curling slightly in the damp air and crowned with flowers, the skirt of her dress trailing and transparent in the knee-deep waves.
"Lake. Sea. Whatever. The queen will not be denied."
Well. She had him dead to rights at that.
"Just one," he said firmly, more for his own sake than hers, and added, "As friends."
Before he could change his mind, he pressed his lips to hers in a kiss just a shade more than friendly, memorizing the too-fresh taste of cheap wine and the bite of the salt spray that beaded, gleaming, on her skin and in her hair, and forsaking the reckless impulse to draw her closer and do a more thorough job of it.
"Once more for luck?" she asked a bit breathlessly, when he pulled away.
"Not tonight, Nimue."
She crossed her arms and scowled. "Who told you my middle name? Was it Sirius? Ugh, I'm going to turn him into a bloody newt, I swear—"
"Egads," Remus said, trying not to laugh. "You're joking."
"Unfortunately not." She sighed and shook her head, pulling him toward the shore. "Come on, Merlin, let's see if we can trade a magic trick for some toasted marshmallows."