Nymphadora Tonks shifts uncomfortably on the hard floor and stifles a scream. Auror training imbeds itself pretty deep, she can't even let herself scream when she knows no-one nearby wants to hurt her.
How long have I been lying here? She wonders, How long have I been waiting to be rescued?
And doesn't that just go against the grain. Aurors don't require rescuing, they're the ones who leap in and save the day; the bold heroes with the dashing smiles and work-hardened bodies.
Well, that's not really a good description of Mad-Eye, but I'll let that shining example slide on past, she decides, wondering if the blood loss is making her slightly delirious.
She knows that her current predicament is about fifty percent her own fault, but she's really in no mood to place the blame on herself. If only she wasn't so clumsy, the bloody Dark Wizard would never have been able to slice her with that Muggle knife. The indignity, being brought down by such a weapon.
She shifts again, desperately wanting to wipe her face clean of the blood she can feel there, but unable to force her arms to obey. The only consolation she can find is that it's not her blood, she had managed to (quite accidentally) jam her wand into the Dark Wizard's eye socket, liberally dousing herself in his blood in the process. She had just enough power after that to apparate to Number Twelve, hoping against hope that Remus would be home.
And why was that, exactly? Why had she apparated here, instead of Auror Headquarters, where specialist Mediwitches would have been on hand? Why did Remus, of all people, make her feel so secure?
"You're a bloody idiot, Tonks," she mutters to herself, turning her hair tangerine orange in an attempt to distance herself from the pain. She stills as she hears the door opening down below; Remus must be back, only Order members can find HQ. She opens her mouth to scream and instead finds herself fighting a rising tide of blackness, only able to mutter "no" before unconsciousness claims her.
She comes to and finds Remus' face inches from her own, sniffing his blood-smeared fingers with a strange look in his eyes. Seeing that she has regained consciousness, he smoothes her hair from her forehead and smiles at her.
"Tonks? Can you hear me?"
"Wotcher Remus! Thought you'd be home earlier," Tonks attempts her most endearing grin, but it comes out more like a wince.
"How long have you been here?" he looks concerned and something inside Tonks gives a small "yippee!" at the thought.
"Since 'bout five, I think," she replies, wrinkling her forehead in an attempt to remember.
By the look on his face, she can guess that she's been lying there in a semi-delirious frame of mind for quite some time.
"What happened?" he asks, shaking his head sheepishly at his own question and continuing, "Forget I asked. Can you move?"
Tonks has a think about this and decides that she probably can. Biting her lip, she nods and allows Remus to help her up, doing her best to ignore the fact that he feels warm and reassuringly solid against her. He smells good, too, like fresh air and growing things.
"They hit me with the Crucio curse," she says quite out of the blue, anything to distract herself from things that she most definitely should not be feeling.
"And the wound?"
Ah, that's Remus all right. Ever curious, ever watchful; the guard dog of the order. Or should that be guard-wolf?
"Muggle knife," she mutters shame-faced, "didn't see it coming. Old Mad-Eye'll have a fit."
Remus nods, and she likes that he doesn't try any false cheer, no attempt to jolly her along or fob her off with platitudes.
"I'm going to lie you down on the bed," he says, and she just can't help herself. Who could, when handed a line like that?
"Keep your wand in your pants, Remus," she says loftily, turning her hair ash-blond in a devil-may-care kind of way.
The look he gives her makes her shiver all the way to her toes.