A/N: Just one more step to go to finishdom! I like this storey but I have to say I'm glad this is almost over... Will be working on Fading Away as soon as this one's finished, promise )
Augurey Song: Thanks for the comments, and good luck with your guy!
FetishFemale: Homework sucks beyond suckdom. But it's finally over, for now anyway... Exams in four weeks though (
MutantJediBauer: Glad I gained an accidental reader... Not too fussy which way I get readers anyway, but it's nice when they drop me a note. Roughly 2.5 of the readers of this storey review, I think.
Elf771: Here is more! I really liked writing that chapter too, a bit of fun before all the glum stuff in this one and the next.
Nimthiriel: Thank you, it took a while for the Remus description to sound both true and Tonks-like.
Moonbugg: Yay! Thanks for sticking with this story and for reviewing the other one. Which will get updated in, um, 2 weeks or something. Unless I work on it tonight.
eleen: Yeah, I thought Remus reading a Muggle-Hunting book was pretty cute too )
I hate it that you're not around,
And the fact that you didn't call.
I'm alone now. Staying in No. 12 is hell, because every time I walk past the drawing room, I expect to see Remus gazing out the window. Every time I go into the library, I expect to see him sitting on one of the moth-eaten armchairs, poring over a book. Every time I trip on the doorframe and fall into the kitchen, I expect to feel his arms around me, catching me and holding me safe. Did I mention that I've moved into his bedroom? Because that special Remus-y smell is all I have left of him, now that he's gone to scout out a feral pack. Greyback's, to be more precise.
Sometimes, waking up in the morning is a very strange thing. After my dreams and waking to that incredible Remus-y smell, I can almost imagine that everything's all right. That the war is over, that he loves me, and that I'll wake up with him next to me every morning. Then, when I move, I realise there is no-one with me in this huge, four poster bed and no-one has been because the other side of the bed is cold. The visions of holding a beautiful, brown haired and scarred man in my arms were only dreams.
When Remus is here, my thoughts revolve around how much I want to be with him. Now that he isn't, they revolve around how much I want him to be. It's awfully lonely in this huge place all by myself. After I offered to stay so long ago, I never really left. And then all of my stuff gradually came from my flat to my room here with me. When one day Remus pointed out to me, laughingly, that I had more of my things here than at home, I finally decided to move in officially. And now that I've gone and done that, I don't have any other place to go. I don't have any place to go to escape the memories.
Somebody always has to be at No. 12. For security, and in case something happens and a person is urgently needed. After all, it's the Order of the Phoenix's headquarters. Sometimes Molly and Arthur to come, because it's a more convenient pad than the Burrow for anything they need to do in London. They stay for a few days usually, and in those days I'm torn between my window-side vigil, waiting for owls bearing news or a letter from him, and running from the house to get away from it all.
In the end, after countless hours of waiting when I know nothing will come, I turn my back to No. 12 and walk as far away as I can. Grimmauld Place brings up memories of the times Remus and I ventured to take Padfoot out for a short trot around the square. In those few, free hours, the huge black dog would bounce happily and pounce on any moving object in his field of vision. I know Remus is haunted by that ghost too, because the two of us no longer take the precaution of apparating into the shadows further down the road but straight to the patch of grass in front of No. 12. We don't want to ever see again the drab street Sirius once bounded along.
Only once did I make the mistake of going to the small park 15 minutes away. This place is full of ghosts too, though perhaps Remus enjoys them because I have, before, caught what seemed like his scent by the swings. In the two times we brought Sirius here, we sat on the swings, talking and laughing while Sirius stretched his cooped up legs. We used to throw a stick as far or as high as we could, and laugh at the massive dog's pounces and snatches. While waiting for him to bring the stick back, we would talk. Not about the war, not about the order. Just ordinary things, as though we were ordinary people who had no idea of the war descending on us, trapping and involving all of us no matter how we tried to free ourselves.
The one time I went back to the park, a few weeks ago now, I sat on the swing I'd sat on before. When I closed my eyes, I could see Sirius leaping happily amongst the gorse. When I opened them, I could hear Remus' voice, on the right, like he was on the swing with me, but when I turned to look it faded and there was only a worn, plastic seat painted an optimistic yellow but graffitied and vandalised so that it was more black than yellow. Blink – Sirius. Blink – Remus. Close – Sirius. Open – Remus.
Finally, I tried to sit still and empty out all emotion, like we had to do for occlumency in Auror training. It worked at first – there was nothing but a blissfully empty blackness in my mind. Then, I could have sworn there was the feeling of a rough, warm paw on my knee, and a strong, long-fingered hand on my shoulder. Unable to stand any more, I apparated straight back to No. 12, not caring enough to check for any passers-by. Ignoring Molly's calls, I ran straight up back to Remus' room which had become my room, and cried my heart out on a pillow which I tried to pretend was Remus. Didn't work though – I'll bet Voldemort starts taking belly dancing lessons before Remus becomes un-thin enough to feel even remotely soft and pudgy like his pillow.
So why am I here again? I don't know. Cracked cement stares sullenly back at me, my crossed feet dangling under the swing seat. It's so good to see him happy like this again… Well, I can't really say they're my style but I do know a little about them… I feel very deeply for Arthur if he has had to listen to that every Christmas since they got engaged. A heavy paw on my knee, a soft nose nudging my calf, warm breath on my thighs. The memories of Remus and Sirius come, all sound and sight and so real I don't want to let go. I don't want to remember that I've had no word from Remus for more than a month, and won't see him for a long time. I don't want to remember that it's been even longer since I've seen Sirius, and that I will never, ever see his gaunt smile again.
Crack. A sound, like a soft whip-lash rends through the dusk air and I'm in front of the expanding front of No. 12 again. Not waiting to hear remonstrations for waking Mrs. Black again, or concerned calls from the kitchen or the drawing room, I run straight for the one little niche I've made for myself in this brooding house. Remus' smell lingers comfortingly in the room as I climb into the bed and make myself a nest, with me and the pillow in the middle.
It's no good imagining that the pillow is Remus any more. The only way of reconciling me to the white, stuffed thing is if it suddenly turns into Remus. I stare at it. Nothing happens. "Damn you stupid thing!" It was meant to be a mutter, but I'm sure my unnaturally high tones have rung out through the entire house. "Why can't you be Remus? Why can't you be anything but a stupid pillow? I don't want a pillow! I want Remus!" With that, I throw it angrily to the ground, curl up tighter and start crying into my knees. They're a lot harder than the pillow.
I can feel Remus' hands on my back, comforting me, on my shoulders, trying to pull me up. Is it really this bad? I can't have progressed into full-on hallucinations, can I? I sigh and mutter again. "Why can't you be here, Remus? I can't believe I'm having full-on hallucinations… Again." A small sound, like a choked chuckle, comes from behind me and I immediately try to sit up. I say try, because a few inches up, my head comes into contact with another one. And from the pain at the point of contact on my head and the muffled "oomph" I hear behind me, I'm starting to think that maybe this isn't a hallucination after all.
Whirling around, I see Remus perched on the bed at the edge of my nest, rubbing his jaw where a purple bruise was starting to form. "Remus!" My voice is high and squeaky and it comes out as more of a squeal than a word, but he smiles all the same and I knock him over when I fling myself onto him for a hug. That's when the smile wavers a little. And that's when I realise that we're actually friends, not lovers, and everything in my head which said otherwise had been a dream.
But he hugs me back nonetheless, then tries to sit up. I scramble off him quickly so he can, and examine him more closely. He's lost weight, marked signs of illness and new scars adorn his face. And like always, he makes no mention of his own sorry state and peers at me in a concerned way. "Is something wrong, Nymphadora? Your hair…" I can't see it and reach back to tug a strand in front of my eyes. It's a plain brown. I wonder if Remus has noticed that it's the exact same shade as his. My eyes are a darker shade of his golden-amber, because I couldn't bear to look in a mirror and see his eyes every time. Yet my appearance has been leaning more and more towards his, consciously or otherwise.
"Hair? I just… fancied a change?" The look I receive is the all-right-I-know-you're-lying-but-I'm-too-polite-to-demand-the-truth one. Concentrating very, very hard, I imagine the pink spikes he's used to seeing. It takes so much energy to change just this, and I almost flop back onto the bed afterwards. He notices, but again is too damned polite to probe. "Anyway," I continue in my best attempt at a breezy voice, "why have you come back earlier?" Suddenly, I'm very aware of various articles of my clothing in his room. "Umm… I… would have moved back into my own room if I knew you were coming. And we didn't have any owls or anything, so I thought you were still coming back next month or something like that and I'm really sorry about using your room but I just…"
Taking a much needed breath, I blush profusely as he glances around the room, no doubt catching sight of a pile of spare underwear I had thrown onto his desk. Looking back at me with a serious face, as if he hadn't just seen evidence that I wear underwear with moving cartoon dragons and hippogriffs, he speaks again. "The job took less time than I anticipated. I was able to find Greyback's pack very easily, they weren't trying to conceal themselves in any way, really. I don't think there's any chance of swaying any of them, but I'll go in and have a try anyway. And I found a few other rogue packs, I'll be going in a few days to see if I'd have any chance with them… Sorry about not sending any news, but I was undercover most of the time and I didn't want to attract any attention."
I nod silently, knowing this. I had known he would not be able to send anything while on this mission since before he went, yet I had still spent countless hours waiting at the window for a letter. His voice is hoarse, and from the small travelling haversack I can see he's only just got here. "Are you tired? Do you want any tea?" He looks so tired he would probably go straight to sleep without the customary pre-bedtime tea. It was a habit I had picked up, actually, mostly so we could have a few minutes together before going up to sleep. Plus he tea wasn't really all that bad.
"I had some when I came in, I've only just come here. Actually, I was shaving when I heard you come in." I made a tsk noise and tapped his jaw where I could see shaving cuts, I've never seen him with any before. Smiling sheepishly at me, he absently ran his fingers over a cut. "I guess living off the land has slightly degraded my shaving skills. First shave in 5 weeks, as a matter of fact." Five weeks for Remus, living off the land – cooking what he could catch or scavenge on a campfire – while I had been in a house, living on either takeaway or Molly's food.
It's not just the food either – I thought I'd never witness this, but Remus is in need of a bath. Doing my best to dispel visions which rose up in my mind, I sniff in his scent lightly, leaning forward. Mixed with forest and dirt, the chocolate and books are still there. "Are you going to take a bath or sleep now?" I ask the question bluntly, as is my style, hoping it's the latter. If he takes a bath, he would make me wait out here. If he doesn't, he just might let me stay.
"Well," Remus murmurs quietly, "I probably am in dire need of a wash, but I think I may just go straight to sleep." Before I can stop myself, the words come tumbling out of my mouth – "Oh, good." I know my face has just turned completely pink. I know it. He raises an eyebrow quizzically, and I notice a small cut on his left eyebrow. "Can I stay with you?" I blurt out, staring at the cut and trying very hard not to meet his eyes. Slowly, cringing, I wait for the horrified expression.
To my intense relief, it doesn't come. He simply looks at me with a strange, tired expression. This is one of those so-far-untranslated faces. Must work out soon. "If you would like to." Forgetting how tired he must be, I bounce happily off the sheets and draw the blankets back for him. He smiles slightly, and slides straight in after taking off his cloak. I bounce back onto the bed, making it wobble slightly, and curl up on top of the covers next to him. "Sleep tight, Remus." I know I will.