Disclaimer: I'll own HP when pigs fly (disclaimer: if pigs ever do take to the sky, ownership of Harry Potter will most likely not switch over to me)
A/N: Think of this as the unofficial sequel to Imprint as I do make a lot of allusions to it. This is HBP which means HBP spoilers. Remus POV, one shot, before the funeral.
It is Nymphadora who opens the door.
He stares at her, mind flashing back to another funeral not so long ago, when she wept over an empty grave. He looks at her, her mousy brown hair gone, eyeing the shiny black curls that are pulled carefully away from her face, held at the back by some pin or clip or something, giving her face, which is pale and flawless though slightly pointed with high cheek bones, that disturbing resemblance to a woman he's wished dead a million times over. When she looks like this there is something cold and distant about her, something he cannot name and cannot stand.
"Hello Remus."
Her voice is soft but steady, and his fingers fist inside the pockets of his cloak.
"Nymphadora." He smiles wearily at her, and crosses the threshold when she motions for him to come in.
Her Hogsmeade flat is smaller that the one she had on Pemberton, and he glances around quickly, taking inventory. He spies the moth eaten violet curtains hanging at the windows, the second hand patch work arm chair by her small fireplace. In her bedroom, which he can see straight into over her shoulder through the open doorway (he feels something tug at him when he notes her beaded curtain did not relocate with her), he sees the rumpled bed linens of cool ocean blue, her dresser which seems oddly naked without all it's nick nacks.
It strikes him that this is the first (and probably last) time he has set foot in here.
"Just give me a minute and we'll go."
He nods, watches her walk towards her bedroom with a whish of black fabric, remembers that this is what he wanted, this was he had hoped for when he had written that note for her a year ago, telling her to move on. He had not imagined then how hard it would be, the toll it would take on the both of them.
The nights have been cold and the days long and his duty unbearable at the thought that she was going through the same thing. He watches her walk away and thinks of Sirius who has been lost for a year this June and Lily and James who have been lost for, what feels like, a lifetime. He thinks of the past and Dumbledore, who was a good man to the end, and Harry who is alone no matter who is at his side.
Remus has missed her.
He has missed 'wotcher' and pink hair and the overwhelming scent of rose water he was always so sure Sirius and everyone else in the Order could smell on him. He remembers the conversation in the hospital wing, her unofficial proclamation of love, the look in her eyes, shining like amber. He hears sniffing coming from her room and his insides knot. He's not ready for this.
"I'm ready then."
She walks towards him, her shoulders set, her hair pulled up now, her eyes, grey and bloodshot, though she makes no note of this, does not invite him to feel pity or concern for her, she's taken her battle stance and all he wants is for her to be Dora once more.
She walks past him, towards the door, and he grabs her elbow, willing her to look at him.
"Remus we—"
"Dora."
She looks at him, her lashes gathering crystal like tears as she blinks. He sees the lines forming around her eyes, her mouth, sees the hurt she had so perfectly masked until then.
"He deserved better." She says simply and he nods against the lump that rises in his throat, against the grief that swells inside his chest and threatens to drown him.
He leans in and kisses her, relieved when she kisses him back in earnest. Her mouth trembles against his and she tastes like tears and loneliness and age-old sorrow, of desperation and love and, just faintly, of hope, as her hands curls at his shoulders.
They bury Dumbledore today, as they buried Sirius seemingly yesterday, and tomorrow they may very well bury each other, but Remus is tired of worrying over the empty spaces.
He simply wants her, wants Now and if Fate will grant them some future than he will be grateful but he has learned through hurt and labor not to overreach.
He kisses her and wills away the dread of coming days.
End