Drifting Away
A/N: This is my first fanfic, well, ever. So I guess read/review. If stones are to be thrown, no hitting me in the face.. Enjoy. And I don't own any of the characters, etc. They all belong to Rowling.
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The scratching of the branches against the outside of the window was nearly drowned out by the light ticking of the grandfather clock sitting in the far corner of the large living room. Rain was falling lightly all around the house, kept awayfrom the windows by the porch that extended all the way around the perimeter. On a large, fluffy, scarlet red couch along the wall that was opposite the window, sat Tonks. She sat, staring transfixed at the fireplace and its barren logs and ashes. The entire house was freezing, and it was a wonder that no one had bothered to put any warming charms on it.
Tonks didn't notice the cold, or the fact that she hadnt lit a fire in the fireplace. One of her hands was resting limply on her knee as she sat curled up in a ball, snuggled up to the huge arm of the ancient couch. In her other hand she held a half empty glass of golden liquid. She lifted it to her lips and threw another mouthful in, swallowing; her eyes never leaving their spot on the logs. How long had it been? Three months? Four? No one would tell her anything, because no one knew anything. The only one who had access to where he had gone, was Mad-Eye Moody. He, being Remus Lupin.
There were many nights that she sat up, contemplating all of her emotions, all of the events in the past year... She sat up and got very, very drunk. After Dumbledore's murder at the hands of Severus Snape, (her upper lip curled at the thought of him), number 12 Grimmauld Place had been abandoned. Not that anyone really protested- the year after her cousin's death had been a hard one for everyone, especially since it was his house that they'd been residing in. But the decision to move was not caused by the pain of the memories that the house brought on, but the breech in security. It wasnt wise, despite all the wards and spells put in place, to continue to reside or hold meetings in that house. Snape knew where to find it, and where to find them. So, most of the Order pitched in, and they bought an old, run-down mansion planted in the middle of a thick forest. They worked for days straight, putting unplottable spells on it, invisibility, intruder wards, curses, hexes, and everything else that anyone could think of. In light of all the bitterness and resentment at being betrayed by one of their own, even George and Fred were allowed to add a little something special to theconcauction, out of spite, should anyone come through who wasn't invited.
Even after six months of inhabiting the house, though, it was far from cheerful. There wasn't much furnature, as they just got by with whatever had already been in the house when they purchased it. There were enough bedrooms in the house to accomidate the entire Order, and then some, so the dining room had already been arranged to cater to said number of rooms. Mrs. Weasly had brought with her hordes of dishes, silverwear, and cooking utinsles, and she had brightened up the kitchen considerably. Hermione and Ginny had spent most of an entire day repairing all the tattered curtains that hung in front of the huge, towering windows. The house had even gotten a tad more cheerful after they'd scrubbed the layers of dirt and dust off the floors, walls, windows, shelves, and furniture. Ron and Harry had found a concealed spot within shouting distance where they could fly around and play Quidditch together for hours. Meetings were held three times a week, and everyone in the Order came and went on a daily basis.
Tonight, however, Tonks was utterly alone. She was, rarely enough, the only soul in the house, save for Hermione's huge ginger cat laying curled into a ball on the chair closest to the fireplace. She downed the rest of her drink and turned to grope for the whiskey bottle on the stand next to the couch. Pouring more in her glass, she smiled bitterly.
It was times like these when she felt the most lost. Sitting in this house that, despite all the time she's spent in it, still felt unfamiliar and cold. Nothing in that place was appealing, except for the big, red, fluffy couch propped right in the center of the main upstairs living room. It was the only place in the house that had any sort of virbrant color, which was why she chose that very spot to sit and dwell. Tonight though, she planned on doing less dwelling, and more drinking. She was aiming to be incoherent, slurring, more unsteady than usual, and detatched. She downed the entire glass.
Soon, her worries slipped further away than they already had, four glasses ago. She had long since stopped crying, too exhausted to continue. Why hasn't he come back yet? Where did he go in the first place? He never even said goodbye. He says I'm too young- am I? How do I get through to a person who hates himself so much? Thoughts that had been running rampant earlier, finally died and melted away. Crookshanks suddenly hopped onto the couch and made himself at home on her lap, purring contently when she didn't push him off. She began to stroke his fur as she lay her own head back against the couch. She closed her eyes briefly, and the world slipped away.
The front door swung open widely, crashing against the wall behind it, and rebounding off with much more force than was necessary. The wind was angry. Two figures stumbled in, supporting one another, as the night's wind and rain tore wildly at their cloaks, and soaking every crevice of their persons. After fighting to shut the heavy, struggling door, Bill Weasley turned and pulled his hood down off of his head.
"Steady," he said quietly, making a quick grab under the other person's arm when they swayed dangerously.
"I'm alright..." came the soft reply. "I just need sleep."
"It sounds like everyone else is already out for the night." Bill said, turning to hang his traveling cloak on the hook in the wall.
The other man reached up with trembling hands and unclasped his own cloak, not bothering to catch it when it fell to the floor.
Bill took in the other man's appearance, and couldn't hide thewince that crossed his scarred features. "I really think we need to go visit someone with extensive medical knowledge, Remus."
Remus Lupin shook his head. "I've been worse."
It was somewhat truth- because he had been worse. But all his previous injuries had taken place over time- once a month, and that was all. His current condition was caused by four months of non-stop abuse. The place he had gone had been the worst experience of his life. Memories scurried through his unguarded mind, then. He shuddered, making a conscious effort to block them out.
Bill finally nodded, having had an argument in his head whether to just leave Lupin be, or go against his will and get someone. He had decided that the former was the right choice, and if Lupin felt it was necessary to secure medical attention in the morning, then it would be easy for him to do on his own. He was a grown man, after all. Bill stood there, watching him, fidgiting a bit, eager to get home to his fiancee, Fleur.
"You should head home, too, you've had a long night." Lupin stated, accuratly reading the younger man's body language.
Bill nodded, but watched him closely for a second before asking, "Are you sure you don't need anything else?"
"Quite," Lupin nodded. "Thank you for your assistance, I know how hard it was for you to go into that... place. Thank you, though..."
Bill nodded his welcome, and then reapplied his travelling cloak around the shoulders. "I think Mum is at the Burrow with Harry and Ron," he said quietly,"they were going to go pick some things up in the morning. Afterwards, I'm sending her by to feed you, though."
Lupin nodded again, unsmiling, as he was quite sure that Bill wasn't joking about his thin appearance. He hadn't had an appetiete to eat anything in days. Not after what he did...
Then, Bill was gone, shutting the door firmly behind him as he went. Remus locked it, and then limped toward the staircase across the entrance room. He winced as he began to climb the stairs, taking it slow, one step at a time. He held his arm tucked tightly over some of his bruised ribs to keep them from throbbing as he jolted them around in his attempt to ascend to the second floor. Once he finally reached the landing, he let out a long breath, and began making his way down the hall, using the wall as his support.
Upon entering the livingroom, he came to an abrupt stop. He stood there for a little while, searching out the fine details of what he was seeing. Tonks, curled into a ball on the huge scarlet covered sofa, her hair messy and dark brown. She looked much thinner, and he vaguely hoped that it was the oversized sweater making her appear that way. Her head was resting on the arm of the couch, with one of her own arms hanging limply at her side, halfway hanging off the edge. A glass lay on its side on the floor below her, only a trickle of liquid left inside. The empty whiskey bottle was perched on a stand next to the couch. She looked troubled, even in her sleep, and Lupin frowned.
Surely she'd just had a hard day at work, he mused. It wasnt unlike Tonks to get a little tipsy now and then, so he shouldnt have felt too alarmed. But he recalled the day that he had left for his mission, and his gut burned with the guilt.
He had spent all morning ignoring her, or avoiding her. Whenever she did manage to capture his attention, he purposly killed any decent conversation that she tried to start. She had looked hurt each time, but it never swayed her. She was very hard headed, he had come to find. Finally, she had managed to corner him in the kitchen by himself while everyone else was eating dinner in the dining room down the hall.
"Remus, please don't do this. Don't shut me out," she had begged, staring up at his face with her beautiful blue eyes.
Always, with her damn eyes. They were always beautiful, no matter what color she intended them to be for the day. And she had been so close to him that he could smell her. He would never forget that scent. Nor did he ever tire of it.
He limped forward and sat on the other end of the couch, wincing at the pain it caused him. Hermione's ginger cat looked up and sniffed at him for his intrusion, and then bounded off Tonks' lap to go sleep elsewhere. At first, Remus could smell only the booze. It was strong, overly strong- a sign she had been drinking too much than what was necessary to be just tipsy. But then, there it was, underneath the dusty smell of the couch and the stale odor of the air in the house, he could smell her scent. She smelled spicy. Much like her appearance, there was nothing dull in the way she smelled. It was a mixture of spices, rainwater, and cinnamon.
He reached out to touch her face, and then hesitated. He really didn't want to wake her. Despite that she would be undoubtfully horribly drunk, she would most certainly notice his condition. He was in no mood or shape to answer questions, or have to face her wrath. He had left without telling her. He'd thought it best for the both of them, at the time.
As the months hadpassed by, his resolve had begun to slip. He used to lay awake at night, sick with himself and his fellow wolves. But his thoughts always drifted back to her. He always pondered what they could have been, had he been normal. He regretted all the things that he'd left unsaid. He'd wished for one more chance to smell her. Just one. Because in that last month, he was sure that he wasn't going tomake it out alive. Then came Bill Weasley.
Remus leaned forward the extra few inches and stroked the length of her cheek, sliding his fingers along the curve of her jaw, and bringing his thumb up to softly rub her lips. How many times had he traced her lips while he was gone?He'd justdetatch himself from the hell he was living in, and just focused on those lips. They'd saved him in more ways than one. She had saved him, helping him keep his sanity. No matter how often he'd always proclaimed that nothing could go on between them, he couldn't deny the look in her eyes during the few heat-filled nights he'd spent with her right after Sirius' death. He knew how she felt about him.
Despite how much he'd tried to ignore it and tell himself otherwise, deep down, he knew. And knowing was what had kept him sane, what had kept him human, as he had huddled freezing and agonized admist his pelted bretheren in some field Merlin only knew where. He was loved. There was someone at home was waiting for him. Even if he died, he wouldn't be forgotten. He hadfocused on that.
Remus pulled his hand away from her face, which was rosy and heated by the alcohol. He slowly lowered himself onto the couch, resting his head onto her lap. He curled up, wincing slightly at his broken ribs. Almost instantly, he drifted off to sleep. He slept better than he had in many moons.