Dying to Be With You (Working Title…?)
Author's Disclaimer: I don't own any of this stuff, nor am I making any money or royalties off of these characters. JKR can make all the money she wants off of them, though. :)
Author's Notes: This story started as a response to the ending of HBP, in which I was delighted to see that Tonks and Remus were (finally) a couple. Thanks and appreciation goes out to the Tonks/Remus shippers in the Cookie Jar at Fiction Alley, who gave me the inspiration to continue this story. It's not completed yet but I've recently been inspired to continue it. Constructive criticism is appreciated, especially since I haven't had a Beta look at this. Enjoy.
And thank you to my reviewer. I love when I see that someone cares enough to write a response. :)
Chapter 2
I woke in stages, and I knew it couldn't have been more than a few hours, because my chest felt bruised, like someone had been sitting on it. I opened my eyes and it took a moment to recognize the semi-familiar surroundings. I was in Remus's room at Grimmauld Place, which told me that either Remus had woken to find me unconscious, or someone had noticed our absence from some important meeting. There were always meetings, some of the secret kind, others of the political kind, and none of them exciting. Either type meant arguments, so I was a little glad that we had missed it. Rather pathetic, but true.
"Tonks," Remus's soft voice whispered beside me, and I turned my head slowly in his direction. He was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, a shy smile on his lips. He had been watching me sleeping.
"Wotcher, Remus," I whispered with a smile. Speaking hadn't hurt my chest as much as I thought it would. I put one hand to my chest and had a small shock as I realized I was still in Remus's body. My hand felt alien and large against the soft white shirt and the broad chest beneath it. I closed my eyes and began to change back; it went very slowly at first, then my breasts pressed out of my chest and my body contorted at the strange sensation. My bones shrank, the skin stretched, and I let out a cry as the male part slid back into me. When my body was done changing, I changed the cut of my hair into something short, spiky, and pink. Remus laughed as the hair changed, and I looked up at him. "Why are we here?"
"I woke up before anyone came looking for us, and I called Kingsley to get you back here. I felt that your apartment wasn't safe anymore."
"Yeah," I agreed softly, but I wasn't really paying attention to what he was saying. My mind was racing back to the spell Snape had cast on me. I brought my hand up to look at the back of it, hoping to see something, but knowing that there wouldn't be any mark. To my surprise, there was a long crescent-shaped scar that looked quite old. I squeezed my hand tight and watched the muscles and tendons pull around the scar, as if it had gone deeper than I thought.
"...some food?" His voice snapped back into focus, and I looked up dazedly.
"What?"
"Do you want some food?"
I looked down at my hand again and thought about it, then nodded slowly.
"I'll go get some, and then you can tell me what happened."
Shit. What could I say? Had Snape crafted some clever lie that would spurt from my lips, or would I be fumbling for words, unable to explain what had happened? Tears began leaking from my eyes as I realized that I had no control over my situation. I couldn't even remember what Snape had poisoned me with, because I was out cold when he had administered it. Potions had never been my strongest subject in school and in Auror Training, and I was caught by the desperation of not knowing what was going to kill me. I looked around the room through the glistening haze of the tears, remembering that Remus had books on the older magic, but I couldn't see any of the titles from where I was.
After a few moments of panic, my Auror instincts kicked in. Assess the damage first: right... I sat up and wiggled my fingers and toes. Most poisons cut off circulation to the extremities in their later stages, if they weren't of the instant-death-variety. Some poisons cloud the mind, but I was pretty level-headed at the moment. The harsher, internal-bleeding poisons usually leave a sweet aftertaste, but there was no aftertaste at all. I could feel no apparent damage or lingering pain in hidden places.
That narrowed my options down sufficiently.
The poison could either be one that takes weeks to finish, or it could be one that remains dormant until a scheduled time or event (i.e. eating a certain food, taking a bath), at which point it all goes downhill.
If it had only been hours since Snape poisoned me, the poison might still be in my stomach. I rushed to the bathroom off of Remus's sitting room, tripping over my own two feet on the way. When I returned, feeling a little better but sure that I hadn't gotten rid of all of the poison, Remus had set out food on the nightstand. He watched me with concern, and moved over so I could sit on the edge of the bed closest to the food. Not surprisingly, I didn't much feel like consuming anything.
"Do you want to talk about what happened last night?"
I looked down at my hands and took a drink from the glass of water, more to stall the moment than because I was thirsty.
"Can you talk about last night?" He leaned a little closer so I was forced to look in his eyes. The concern and compassion I saw there was more frightening than soothing. I shook my head slowly, sure that I couldn't speak of it. This must be the ancient magic Snape had placed on me, restricting my vocal cords and tightening all the muscles in my throat.
Remus watched me for a moment as I fought to speak, and then leaned in with a hand on my knee.
"I can't…" I whispered, and looked away from his gentle and caring eyes. Maybe I really didn't want him to know.
"You can't tell me?" His integrity and intelligence in that moment really surprised me.
I looked up and I guess my relief must have shown on my face, because he gave a sad little smile and nodded. He reached out and took my hand, massaging the scar as if he knew it had happened last night. "When you can tell me, or if I can help in any way, let me know, Tonks," he said, and I leaned into his shoulder and he held me.
xxx
Remus left shortly after that, to tell the members of the Order that I was all right, and I lay back and thought about my options. After a few moments of that, anxiety began to squeeze my chest, so I got up and paced along the shelves of books. The gold etching on the bindings glittered in the candlelight, disappearing into darkness as my displaced shadow passed over them. So many books: could one of them hold the solution to my predicament?
I tripped over a short stack of books on the floor and collapsed with a squeal of surprise. I peered down at the offending books, then realized that they hadn't been there a moment ago. There was a gaping hole in the bottom shelf, as if the books had jumped out to purposefully trip me.
They were all books on poisons. Title after title read "Potions: Poisoning the Mind" or "Poisons and Antidotes: A Quick Glossary". I reached up and pulled one of the candles off of the nightstand. The books glowed as the light and the shadows danced across them.
I opened one tome titled "Poisons: Symptoms Lead to Solutions" and browsed through the alphabetical glossary until I found the entry for "Nothing". I was not surprised to see that there was an entry for "Nothing", because I had taken Poison and Substance training as part of my Auror studies, but I was surprised by shortness of the entry.
If Nothing occurs after consuming a poison, three conclusions can be made. The poison was made incorrectly, is of the passive variety, or has a long reaction time. If the poison was made incorrectly, one must check for symptoms of personality disorders or of rapidly degenerating senses. Poisons made incorrectly, while rare, pose a greater problem than those that are produced correctly, in that the creator will not know the outcome of the poison.
I wasn't too worried that the poison was made incorrectly, since Snape had been the Potions teacher at Hogwarts for quite a few years-- he knew his subject matter. This poison has to be one of the two other kinds.
The passive poisons can be triggered by either a certain substance entering the body or by a certain event performed by the body. There are certain tests that can be performed to identify this type of poison, although these tests are not accurate when dealing with poisons made of more than ten ingredients.
The third kind of poison is the most advanced and the hardest to reverse. Any tests to identify the type of poison will lead to a speeding up of the process. We suggest that if the poison is not identified as passive to seek the help of a professional Potions Master.
I tossed that book onto the bed in disgust. It didn't even offer the spells to discover the passive trigger. I couldn't exactly speak to anyone about my situation, so the book offered me no help whatsoever.
The next books didn't have much more to say. If this pitiful pile was all that Remus's collection could offer me, I needed to go to the Wizarding Library of Greater Britain to find more specialized books. I tucked them all back onto their shelf and checked the clock. It was barely five in the morning. I glanced out the window and was surprised to see the pink pre-dawn coloring edging the thick clouds.
I picked an apple from the food Remus had left and sat down on the wide windowsill, watching the sun peek out from below the horizon. The sky burned red for a few minutes and I thought about the Muggle saying: "Red skies in the morning, sailors take warning." That saying was one of the few things my father had taught me. Did this red dawn mean I should take warning, too? Could this be the last dawn I saw?
With that awful thought, I sat for a long time in silence, burning the image into my brain. When a sunrise could be your last, you watch it like it is your last.