Chapter Ten

These old bones live to learn her wanton ways

Merlin's staff, I don't know how those Muggles do it!

Tonks surveyed the pile of items that were the result of her exhausting shopping spree in London. She was very proud of them, but they didn't represent half of what she had bought. Had she gone to Wizard stores, she would have had everything in her flat and set up over three hours ago. But the Muggle furniture had to be delivered, not vanished to her flat. And, since her flat was not accessible to Muggle deliverymen, she had to have it all sent to Grandpa Tonks' house, where she could vanish it at her leisure. The smaller items she had been able to reduce and carry around in a small shopping bag. But due to the infernal crowds, in most cases she had had to wait until she could get them to the car or the privacy of the loo before she could reduce them. The car was a problem in itself. Grandpa Tonks had taught her to drive nearly ten years ago, but driving in traffic was another thing altogether. And parking! What kind of stupid person would put up with having to pay to park your car? A good repelling charm, and the meter maids ignored it.

Grandpa Tonks had been suitably impressed with her finds. All of them were very colourful and unique; most of them either from far-distant countries or at least thirty years old. He had still grumbled about how much easier it would have been if she had just let him tag along, but she had been firm. There was a big difference between spending a large chunk of birthday money, which she could have wasted on toys, clothes and entertainment over the years instead of saving for her own place, and allowing Grandpa to pay for the whole thing outright. Which he would have bullied her into doing, of course.

Nothing could have prepared her for the surprise he had in store for her, just after they finished dinner. The bed. That gorgeous, wonderful, daydream inspiring, two-hundred and thirty-year old gilt and pink French confection, which had actually inspired her to play Cinderella as a kid. No, she hadn't really cared about the fancy dress or the glass slippers (which sounded remarkably uncomfortable). Nor did she care about the (boring) Prince and the gilded carriage (though a pumpkin carriage sounded pretty cool, after all). No, she just wanted to be Cinderella because as the future Queen she had the right to lay around in this fantastic bed for hours, reading Voltaire and eating chocolate. How many times had Grandma Tonks, the old battle-axe, chased her out of that bed, screeching that she would ruin it? She would be turning over in her grave right now, knowing that it would end up in the bedroom of a tiny flat in Scotland, instead of a museum, where it belonged.

Wouldn't it be the perfect addition to her carnival of a flat? She'd actually planned on having something that reminded her of it made up for her bed. She was going to enchant an old fashioned pink silk couch to expand to where it was long enough to lie vertically on. Oh, but it wouldn't have been the same, would it? It would take a bit of time to get it over to the flat, though. She didn't quite trust herself to reduce it and send it over. So, for a few more nights anyway, she was stuck with conjured furniture that had to be re-conjured every twenty-four hours.

She stretched out on her brand-new, emerald green velvet beanbag chair, which was, in her opinion, the single greatest thing that Muggles had ever invented. She was seriously considering falling asleep on it, if she could just make it a little bigger. A little research and she'd find just the right charm for it. She briefly toyed with the idea of stopping by the pub for a drink, but there was the unappealing prospect of running into Fergus O'Neill, newly recovered from the Dementor attack. He would undoubtedly be hopped-up and horny from all the chocolate they would have forced down his throat.

Ah, Dementors. There is something you have tried to avoid thinking about all day. If you had ever been remotely unsure about your feelings for Remus, that little episode made everything crystal clear. So, here it is in a nutshell: you are hopelessly in love with a man who wants nothing to do with you. It's not going to just go away if you avoid him, and he is not bloody likely to come after you, begging you to forgive him. So, it's time to stop hiding out and face him. You should have done it today instead of shopping. Tomorrow then, after work.

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She knocked on Moody's door at nearly six the following night, dressed in her most colourful and flattering robes, embarrassed that she had actually stooped to an application of lip gloss and mascara. Although she knew the old Auror would have been able to see her before he opened the door, his face still held an expression of shock upon greeting her. He invited her in, and she said, "I'm looking for Remus, is he here?"

His face softened, and he replied, "I'm sorry, he isn't; he's moved back to Headquarters."

Crap! I could have avoided showing my hand to Moody after all. There's one more person who will figure it out, if he hasn't already. "Oh. All right then, Mad-Eye, I'll head over there, thanks. I had a bit of research that I needed his help with, you know?"

"Of course you do, lass," he said, gently, as he walked her out the door.

As she descended his front steps, blushing furiously, he suddenly called her name. She turned around reluctantly, and he said, with a completely straight face, "Just thought you could use a warning. With the moon tomorrow night, he's going to be more irritable than anything else. He'll be more likely to bite your head off than kiss you."

He winked at me! He actually winked at me with that grotesque eye! I didn't even think it could do that! Mortified, she hurried away toward Grimmauld Place.

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Remus sat behind an imposing desk in the library, buried under a pile of Muggle paperwork. Though a few well-executed sorting spells had managed to identify more than half of the files as irrelevant, the rest had to be scanned carefully. Sometimes it became necessary to physically read the whole thing. He knew that he had made a great deal of progress, but was having trouble concentrating on the task at hand this evening. It was always a struggle to do research this close to the full moon. Filled with restless energy, he found it hard to sit still, let alone push aside his overwhelming anger and negativity. If the bloody thing weren't so crucial and urgent, he would have given up hours ago.

It was also difficult to get past the distractions created by his heightened senses. He could smell, with nauseating acuteness, the haddock and potatoes that Hestia Jones was frying up for her dinner in the kitchen, the odor of which combined horribly with the musk and lavender scent she generally wore far too much of. From down the hall he could hear, with perfect clarity, the sound of Mundungus Fletcher, nosing around the drawing room in search of booty. Let him have it, then, Sirius wouldn't care. He could see a black widow spider in a darkened corner of the ceiling, sucking the life out of a helpless fly. His fingers could feel the subtle and minute differences between the slightly nubby parchment he was writing on and the smooth manila folder that the records were sitting in. Worse yet, the muscle spasm in his lower back, the ache in his neck, and the paper cuts on his fingers were all magnified to a pain that was nearly intolerable.

He hadn't needed the sound of that ugly umbrella stand falling over and Mrs. Black's screams to let him know that Tonks had entered the house. He smelled her the moment she opened the front door, which he had heard as if it was in the next room. The shrieks of the painting and the bustle of people coming out of various rooms to diffuse the situation irritated his frazzled nerves almost to the breaking point. He could hear her apologies, and her hurried explanation that she had come to bring some things back to her old room. Sure enough, she did go up there, but stayed only for a few moments, moments where he tried to banish the image of her the last time they had been in that room, crawling toward him on the bed and grinning wickedly. Damn if he didn't have to deal with becoming increasingly randy as the full moon approached, too. All things considered, he was about ready to jump out of his skin.

When he heard her approach the door to his bedroom, he started to panic. She knocked quietly, and eventually turned away. He knew it would take her about two minutes to eliminate the other possibilities: kitchen, bathroom and back garden, before she would head toward the library. Briefly, he considered hiding in the basement or attic or even disappearing altogether, but had to admit that he really was looking forward to seeing her face.

"Hey, you," she said with a smile as she closed the heavy library door behind her.

Now he really started to panic. A friendly Tonks was infinitely more dangerous to him than a hurt and angry one. "I'm really quite busy, Tonks, is there anything I can do for you?"

She gave a low chuckle. "I really don't think you want an honest answer to that question, Remus." She raised her eyebrows suggestively. He felt most of the blood in his body flow directly to his groin while she pulled up a chair across from him and continued. "So, lets pretend you didn't ask it and I didn't answer, and I will say, 'How are you, Remus?'"

"How do you think I am? I am buried under a mountain of dusty paperwork and in about twenty-five hours I will turn into a raging, snarling beast," he said with increasing irritation.

"Oh, really?" she said with a note of feigned innocence in her voice. "Looks like we have that in common, then! I am about a day away from turning into a raging, snarling beast myself."

He looked at her in bewilderment.

"PMS," she supplied.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, picking up a file and opening it.

"Lost our sense of humor, have we, Remus? Can't say I blame you, it has been quite a month."

"What do you want, Tonks?"

"Once again, a loaded question. But I really will try to stop torturing you. I've made what I want pretty clear, and you are determined to be noble, so we must agree to disagree on that subject."

He looked at her warily until she finally continued, purposefully, "The fact is, I miss you. I told you that night that you were one of my best friends and I meant it. I hate the fact that I managed to lose both of my best friends within a week of each other. I also hate this entire hassle of trying to avoid each other. If we keep this up, sooner or later everybody in the Order will know something is fishy. So here is my proposal: we make an attempt to re-establish our friendship. We hang out together from time to time, we go back to working together occasionally, and feel free to call on the other person if we need something. In exchange, I will do my best not to push you into a relationship that is clearly repulsive to you…"

"Now, Tonks…"

"Oh, shut up, Lupin! I will do my best not to push you into a relationship, and you will treat me with the respect and kindness that you used to give me…"

"Tonks, I…"

"I don't want to hear it, Lupin, have we got ourselves a deal?"

"We haven't got a deal if you won't let me finish my sentences," he grumbled.

"Who was interrupting who, Remus? Anyway, I prefer to call a spade a spade. I said those things because I want you to know that I get it, it's hopeless, and I don't have to make a fool of myself anymore."

In a lifetime of self-loathing, Remus had never hated himself more. Why did women have to look at a break-up as a personal attack; an excuse to devalue themselves? Didn't she realize that she was bloody perfect? That he was the hopeless fool? But to give in to the urge to clarify these things was risking a whole new battle of wills. Someday, when he was calmer, he'd somehow make sure that she knew how much he respected her, admired her, without raising her hopes too much. Someday, but definitely not today. As it was, he was struggling to overcome even more powerful urges. The animal inside of him seemed to think that it was a very good idea to slam her up against the wall, immersing himself in her body until he lost his sanity from the smell and taste of her.

He was startled out of his fantasy when he realized that she was staring at him, waiting for some kind of response. He mentally thanked the Gods that there was a desk and a pile of paperwork between them. "Listen Tonks, I understand what you are saying, and part of me would really like to see if our friendship could be repaired. But, this really isn't a good time for me to make any important decisions. I'm very busy and I am in a rotten mood. So do you think you could give me a few days to think it over?"

"Good old Remus," she said with a trace of sarcastic laughter, "the most spontaneous guy I know. Damn, I love you."

"If this is how you hold up your end of the bargain, Tonks, you may get your answer a lot sooner, and not the one you want," he snapped.

As she rose from her chair, she placed her hands on the desk, and leaned in closer to him. He tried to avert his eyes from the slightly gaping neckline of her robes as she said in a low tone, "This 'grumpy old man' thing you've got going today would have worked a lot better if I couldn't positively feel the lust radiating off of you."

She looked over her shoulder as she walked out the door. "I'll see you in a few days, Remus, unless you decide to stop being a stubborn ass and do something about that rotten mood you're in. Both of us could probably use a good shag right now."

She winked playfully and walked out the door. He grumbled and muttered for a few minutes, then finally kicked the leg of the desk in anger and frustration, certain that he was in for a very long night. The small portrait of Regulus Black, nearly hidden next to the fireplace, spoke slyly, "Leave it to an idiot Griffyndor to turn down a generous offer like that."

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Not exactly the way I had planned it, but all in all I'm pretty satisfied, Tonks thought. I hadn't expected to see his eyes darken with lust, but hey, it's sort of a bonus, isn't it? He wants me! He wants me! He wants me!

The next step had to be taken very carefully. In ordinary circumstances, it might have been a good idea to let him sit and mull their conversation over for a week or so. It might even have been effective to let him consider the fact that she was free, under his conditions, to go satisfy her sexual urges elsewhere. But she truly was not inclined to make him suffer that way, and there was a good chance that it would backfire. Besides, he was going to suffer enough in the next twenty-four hours, due to the full moon. An idea slipped into her head that was in complete opposition to her usual modus operandi, and although a risk to her pride and possibly her physical safety, it was potentially brilliant. It called for a visit to her father, and a raid on his precious potions storehouse.

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The morning after the full moon Remus awoke, as he had so many times before, freezing and aching on the cold floor of the basement at Grimmauld Place. Why in Merlin's name can I never actually work it out so I wake up on the blanket? Mustering his strength, he pulled himself up to the mattress he had conjured over twelve hours ago, wrapping himself in the downy quilt that his mother had made to help him through his first transformation. He fell asleep again almost immediately.

Tonks emerged from the fireplace in the kitchen about an hour later. She had hoped to find the place empty, but it was her questionable luck to run into Mad-Eye while he was bent over the stove. He had taken it upon himself, he explained, to make sure that Remus' transformation had gone smoothly, casting the wards on the doors and windows himself. In addition, he was in the process of warming up some beef broth, which he would take to his former houseguest as soon as it was ready.

She was a little shocked at Moody's unexpected benevolence, but then remembered that Moody was probably one of the few people alive that had been able to witness Remus' transformation firsthand. While the younger man had stayed with him last month, Moody would have been unable to resist the temptation to watch the agonizing process through the basement ceiling with his magical eye. If it caused the old Auror to treat the werewolf with a little more sympathy, it was nothing less than Remus deserved. She found herself admitting that she had a very similar idea, and wondered if Moody would mind if she were to be the one to go down and take care of him.

"I'm sure that your face will be a much more pleasant thing to wake up to than mine, lass. But, I'll warn you to be careful not to let him think you feel sorry for him. He resembles nothing so much as a beaten dog while he is recovering, and is apt to lash out at you."

"Never imagined you'd have a soft spot for strays, Alastor," she said with affection.

"We're all strays in a way, aren't we, lassie?" he replied as he dismantled the ward on the basement door.

She crept down the stairs as quietly as possible, only tripping when she reached the bottom. Thanking the gods that she had neither spilled the broth nor dropped the potion, she slid down on the floor next to Remus' mattress. He was so exhausted that he hadn't heard a thing. She placed the broth on the table next to him, casting a charm that would keep it perfectly warm for the next few hours. Next, she cast a warming charm over Remus and his makeshift bed. Finally she opened up the potion bottle and poured a generous amount on her hands, rubbing them together to activate the potion's catalyst. Immediately, she felt warmth spread over the surface of her palms and fingers.

The only part of Remus' skin that was visible under the quilt was the back of his neck, so she gently placed her thumbs on it, rubbing in a circular motion. As her thumbs made their way down to his shoulders, she felt his body begin to relax, while his harsh breathing pattern slowed considerably. Good, the potion is working quickly then, she thought. She slipped her hands further and further down his back, massaging the potion into his skin, working her thumbs into the knots that she encountered.

He continued to sleep as she worked her way down his legs and feet, and then she carefully turned him over to work on the front. She knew that there was a very real possibility that he would be embarrassed by his vulnerability when he finally woke, so she was careful to keep him covered as much as possible. When she had finished with his body, she very gently ran her hands over the surface of his face, which allowed to potion to seep into his pores and begin the healing process underneath his skin. When her hands passed near his nose, his eyes fluttered open slightly, and he looked at her with fatigue and confusion in his eyes. "Nymphadora?"

Her heart nearly swelled to bursting and she whispered, "Go back to sleep, Remus. Sleep all day while you heal. There is broth from Mad-Eye on the table, and Molly sent you some stew and homemade cider for later." She knew that her words would seep through the healing trance that her potion had put him under, and hoped that they would make him feel cherished and important, rather than a burden to his friends. For good measure, and because he was too weak to resist her, she kissed him gently, and whispered, "I love you Remus," before slipping back upstairs to go to work.

A/N: This chapter was inspired, in part, by a bed I fell in love with at a museum. Here is a url to see it, if you are curious:

h t t p / w w w . g e t ty . e d u / a r t / c o l l e c t i o n s / o bj e c t s / o 6 7 7 8. h t m l

(sorry, this was the only way it would show up)

Somehow, that ridiculously feminine thing seemed like it might be one of Tonks' guilty pleasures, or maybe I am just putting a little of my own fantasies into this. Anyway, it seems like a rather incongruous and therefore perfect setting for some upcoming crazy werewolf sex. It is coming very soon, I promise you. The poor sod can't resist her forever, can he? Anyway, thanks for the lovely reviews. I find that they inspire me to write faster. (hint, hint) So won't you take pity on me and press the little button below you, even if it is only to tell me not to quit my day job?