Chapter Seven- February
Blimey, it's cold here! The journey went smoothly and now we are in Inverness.
In the unlikely but ever-possible event that we are being followed, (constant vigilance) I've kept transforming myself, and Remus has used various disguises. At a stop in Leeds, I turned into a small child, and to maintain the front, we held hands while walking in the street. I should be a child more often. It makes a great excuse for the way I behave.
Tomorrow we have a meeting with the local Wizengamot. And while we're here, were going to try to appeal to the regional goblin clan. Trick buggers, they are, but we reckon we can get them firmly on our side if we reimburse them for the money that Bagman owes them.
Our first stop on this little trek was Aberdeen. Our mission there was successful. Nobody knew who we were, which was great, but they respected that we were envoys from Dumbledore, which was even better. So they listened to what we had to say. We gave as much testimony that we could, and of course, everyone knows who Harry Potter is, we told his story and that helped us convince them that you-know-who is back and a growing danger to England. Everybody paid close attention, and we think we had them believing us.
We worked with them a while to establish another branch of the Order of the Phoenix. The founder elected is a witch in her sixties who lost three sons to you-know-who. I won't soon forget her. Quite a presence, that one. So strong, and determined. I think she means to honor her children's memories by standing up to the force that took them away. Very moving. And she was really tall.
Anyway, it started out with about a dozen members, and hopefully that number will have increased when we check back on them.
Traveling has been wonderful. We've gone now to loads of places I've never been before, seen beautiful old buildings, tried some different foods, and all in the company of a very charming werewolf. Spending all this time together, at first, the prospect of it was nerve-wracking. But I'm doing this for the Order. Ha! Well, I admit, there's some personal gain too. I feel like I'm getting to know him so much better.
I know that for breakfast, he prefers jam on toast as opposed to butter, and he likes coffee in the morning and tea at night. I know he runs to keep fit. 12th Night is his favorite work of Shakespeare, and the happiest times of his life were spent at Hogwarts, first when he was allowed to go to school, and then when he returned to teach.
He's opened up to me a bit about his past, which up until now was filled with unexplained gaps. It was fascinating to learn all these new things about him, but I still felt that I had to remain guarded. I didn't want to return the disclosure. Because, well, frankly I'm worried if he sees who I really am, he won't like it. Sounds dumb, it know.
Occasionally, I'm brave and I'll let down my front and let him see me just a little bit. We were talking about the Bard; I made some smarty-pants comparison between Macbeth and Everyman. He seemed surprised that I could say something so astutely intellectual. Well really, I do have a mind for literature. It's so big it takes up the part that's supposed to remember to look were I'm going and wash my socks.
Oh, but I love the insight he's given me. At night, at whatever inn we're staying at, when it comes time to say goodnight, I whiff out of the bath and climb into bed in my overlarge nightshirt. I say goodnight quietly, not wanting any of my squishier feelings to show. I turn off the light.
He says goodnight graciously, and I can see him standing over his bed. He pulls his shirt off, and I'm caught by his silhouette in the moonlight. I know I shouldn't watch, but in the dark he can't see me looking. He tells me to sleep well, then seven hours later he's up making coffee and I'm still tired because it's hard to sleep with someone so worthy of distraction laying not six feet from you, shirtless.
Then I have to reprimand myself for being unprofessional and detracting my attention from the task at hand. Sigh…he's so beautiful, outlined at night. I have it recorded in my mind.
Turns off light. Takes off shirt. Gets in bed. Sometimes I play it back in slow motion. His hair gets swept up in his collar, then falls back past his eyes and grazes his cheek. The moonbeams coming in from the window highlight the few silver strands in his hair. His arms are raised over his head and he's facing away from me. Despite the soft lines on his face, his body certainly hasn't been subjected to pre-mature aging. He's in superb shape. A little on the thin side, though. It encourages me to get on with Molly's cooking lessons. Do you think he'd eat something I made, or would he be too weary of finding egg shell remnants? Well, I bet I could get him to try a bite. The next stop is Thurso. Hope it goes as well as it did here. Oy, and the full moon is soon.
N. Tonks