Umm, I don't really have much to say this time other than that I lied in the last chapter. Usually I would have waited longer, but I just got so excited, I decided to just go ahead and post this. But this time I am aiming for reviews because I know perfectly well that I can write. I just want to get over the insecurity that other people will not agree with me on that point.
All right, I'm going to apologize again ahead of time. I am really sorry that Tonks is so OOC, but I needed it to fit her into the story. Also, I just really suck at dialogue; Snape in particular is difficult to make speak. He's just an all around tricky guy.
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
The next morning was devastatingly bright and she threw one arm over her aching eyes. Her mouth felt as if she had feasted on paper, and her teeth felt slick and slimy like something she would find in one of his jars in his storage cabinet. Her head felt like it was full of musty old air, just like Grimmauld Place. She was contemplating never waking up when a door creaked open excruciatingly loudly. Tired and in pain she opened one eye and leaned slightly to the side to see who the newcomer was. The shadow of black on black was identification enough. It was him.
She lurched to her feet despite the undermining nausea. Her head was pounding but all she could think about was how she didn't want him to see her like this and that there was no escape. She felt disgusting and miserable. It seemed the misery didn't fade with the drunkenness. She had hoped it would.
Clutching her vivid spikes with the hand that had covered her eyes only moments before, she stumbled backward. Her legs came into contact with her couch and her elbow knocked against the walls, but she had to get away from him. She didn't want to see the scorn in his black eyes or the disgust in the curl of his lip. She couldn't fight the color from rising to her cheeks in twin flags of humiliation. Stammering something stupid and useless, she finally managed to escape from the dilapidated room and into the kitchen.
The fake yellow light spilled over her pale and clammy flesh making her look something like a fallen angel that had landed none too gracefully. Her bloodshot eyes roved the kitchen in a desperate attempt for help or escape; at this point she wasn't too sure which she wanted. The smell of now cold tea made her nauseous and she had to press a calloused palm against the bridge of her nose to fight the bile rising in the back of her throat. She staggered toward the stained counters and shuffled toward the door opposite her. Her feet seemed to stick to the tiles and she imagined she looked somewhat reminiscent of a corpse walking from its grave; or maybe back to it. The thought would have made her at least chuckle should the circumstances have been different. She had one sweaty hand on the doorknob of her escape route when she heard with alarming clarity the rustle of his cloak as he emerged from the living room. It seemed he had decided he had allowed her enough of a lead. She threw herself out of the kitchen.
The hall was dark and stale despite the golden morning. The sudden darkness blinded her, but the pain of bouncing off walls as she picked up speed was an adequate indicator of direction. With one hand against her throbbing forehead and the other against the solid door of Black House, she dared to look over her shoulder.
He made a stunning image as he stepped into the dank dampness of the hall while framed with the hollow light from the kitchen. His black robes foamed around him and his black eyes seemed to rip through the thick blanket of dark straight to her without faltering. Dark tendrils of his hair streamed behind him as he strode confidently toward her. He was moving no faster than he ever moved, but the image of him as a dark vulture descending ever closer to her did little to quench her desire to hurl herself into oncoming traffic. The low rumble of his voice caught her off-guard, "And what, Miss Tonks, are you intending to do now?"
That voice sparked a tremble that rippled through her spine and made her eyelids flicker uncertainly. She wanted him to stay away, but she wanted to make him stay and not leave her, not throw her away. She leaned slightly forward. "I-I-I have to go," she stuttered wildly. Something was wrong with her lungs. She couldn't seem to breathe; maybe that was something to have Marge the Mediwitch check on when she went in to work. She almost forgot how dark his eyes were. The thought was suicidal as she fought to peel her gaze from him. "I have to go," she muttered again to the floor. She was in the sunlight again before she realized she had opened the door.
xXx
Severus Snape stood staring at the great door for a moment or two longer than he should have allowed himself. His dark eyes were wide with amusement at her hysterically frantic flight in her characteristic ungainliness. If he was a man accustomed to laughing, he would have allowed himself a chuckle or so now. However, he was not a man who laughed on a whim, and he moved back into the glaring kitchen in a swirl of black robes and pale skin.
As the door swung silently shut behind him, the quiet steps of Remus Lupin echoed down the long and winding stairway. He didn't bother to glance toward the graying man as he reached for a mug with one hand and a chair with the other. Snape followed the stiffly graceful movements by sound alone; it was miserable the way sadness was etched into every turn of Lupin's wrist. It was morbid how the man was so weary and lonely; it was almost possible to smell the misery rising from him. His wretchedness was a dark shroud that clung to the werewolf's flesh and was impossible to remove. The old anecdote of "Misery loves company" rang in his ears, but he ignored it. After all, he had always preferred rotting alone in his dungeons with enough alcohol to soothe the bitter ache and hide the stench of his desolation from his nostrils for at least a little while.
Lupin cleared his throat and turned toward him. With a languid roll of his eyes, he turned to snarl at the irritatingly calm man. The placid, despondent eyes of Lupin's met his and his low voice rippled through the artificial stillness of the kitchen, "So, is she still asleep?" The question sat heavily in the air. One black eyebrow raised in answer to the inquiry. "I mean," he attempted to clarify, "the last time I checked on Tonks, she was still asleep. She was pretty rough last night when she came here. I imagine she was clubbing again, but she's young and she should be able to go out and drink as much as she wants."
"Then why was she here?" the simple question was cutting in its delivery and Lupin rose slowly from his chair with his steaming mug of tea in his hand.
"I think she came looking for me," he sighed jadedly, "I don't really know." He leaned his back against the chipped countertops and continued, "I'm afraid she thinks she's in love with me. I don't know how to convince her otherwise." The sharp bark of laughter surprised him. He jerked his head around from the corner where he had been staring to see mirth shining in Snape's eyes. Snape had laughed; true, his laugh was just as terrifying as one of his wrathful stares, but it was a side he couldn't remember ever seeing to the menacing man.
"You think she is in love with you?" Lupin swore he almost heard delight in his companion's voice.
"She's always around. She follows me everywhere and asks if I'm alright. She begs me to read to her when she finds me in the library. She waits after meetings to talk and drink tea with me. She's always flipping and changing her hair while looking at me; she's always staring at me."
"And, of course, the only possible conclusion to all of this is that she is madly in love with you. Indeed, Lupin, I thought we were past the age conducive to misunderstanding the intentions of the female populace. Has she ever said anything about her undying passion for you?"
"No," he sighed again choosing to ignore the caustic tone to Snape's voice and looked to the door leading to the living room where the woman in question was supposedly still slumbering, "but that's what I intend to talk to her about as soon as she wakes up."
Snape's lips lifted almost brutally at one corner in what passed as his grin as he replied, "Then I am most disheartened to say that she has already left. Perhaps the thought of divulging the secret of her eternal devotion to you caused her to flee."
Lupin leapt upright and stalked through the door. Snape imagined he could see the werewolf's hackles rising. A muttered, "I told her," brushed past his dark clothes as the irate Lupin stormed back into the kitchen. His eyes alighted on the smirking Snape and his annoyance rose to full fledged infuriation. A deep breath or two later he eased back into mild exasperation. Snape remembered with boiling frustration carefully concealed behind his harsh smirk how much he hated Lupin's inability to anger. Could he not feel rage or hate? He theorized there was a hole inside Lupin where anger was intended to rest, to pool, and to fester just like it did in everyone else. This hole would leave the werewolf incapable of feeling anything with any accuracy. He could not feel the burning fire of unadulterated, rampant fury. He hated that Lupin would never fight back, never for himself. He hated that everyone thought it was nobility and selflessness on the werewolf's part. He hated that he hated and was hated in return when Lupin never could nor ever would be.
"The girl never listens," Snape almost crooned as he leaned further into his chair. "I remember when I had her in my potions class. At the time, she was the most bumbling idiot I had ever had the displeasure of teaching." He watched with mild interest as Lupin whirled around to face him and defend the honor of the lady as any respectable man would. He drifted in and out of his thoughts with barely an ear for Lupin's inane ranting. He imagined he could see the walls shivering, breathing with every moment that passed; that they were invisible listeners on this private conversation who were damned to keep every confidence uttered without the ability to understand it. Forever, they would stay silent and unnoticed as babbling idiots like Lupin ranted to protect the virtue and intelligence of defenseless young women. He tore himself from his imaginings to see a flushed Lupin with glittering hazel eyes gradually seeping back into composure. Rising fluidly from his chair, Snape inclined his head slightly to the disgruntled Lupin and said, "And on that note, I shall be leaving. Perhaps you will have better luck with your pursuit of the girl at a later date."
xXx
Exhausted and with an aching, tear stained face, Tonks lifted herself from the sagging couch in front of her TV. Why was he there this morning? Why couldn't he bother to care for her? She was so cold and empty. The ache beneath her ribs seemed to be spreading and she couldn't stop it. His eyes as deep and dark as bottomless abysses seemed to hover behind her closed eyelids. Tired and bedraggled, she swiped at the damp flesh housing that imposing gaze. Her flat was dark. She couldn't find the light as she came in after her run in with Snape. The trail of dried tears down her face stretched and cracked almost painfully as she yawned. The blanket she managed to wrap herself in was no comfort, and she longed strangely for his presence. She was crazy, and she was miserable. Despite everything else, what was the worst was that she knew it; she knew she was miserable and almost longed for that misery too.
She slid from the couch to her knees and crawled on all fours to the bathroom. A shower and something to eat or at least drink would help. Her fingers shrank back from the coolness of the tiles upon first contact. The nondescript grey surface stared balefully up at her as she shed her rumpled clothes and reached for the shower knobs. Stepping under the scalding water was a relief she couldn't imagine. It seemed to burn away the abject disgrace of Snape's untimely appearance. The heat and the steam swirled in a cyclone around her head and she breathed it deep into her skull until she felt nothing but soft numbness. Devoid of thought and pain and with pink and raw skin, she climbed awkwardly from her bathtub.
The soft white towel in her hand cleared away the condensation sliding almost morosely down the glass of her mirror. She looked at her dripping pink hair and sighed. One fat drop of water ran down the glass and split her face in half. She thought she should probably be in thirds instead; one for who she was, who she is, and who she thinks she could be if only she could appease the ache inside her. Closing cynically green eyes, she turned her head sideways and assessed herself critically. She needed something different; the pink did not match her mood. She needed something that mirrored the tempest raging inside her. Twisting her face in concentration the pink faded and electric blue surfaced violently. Newly black eyes evaluated the changes. A thin trail of water followed a drop over her collar bone and over the swell of her breast. Adding a sharpness to her heart-shaped face, she was finally satisfied; for now.
Her clothes felt like they were stuck to her skin as she shuffled out to her tiny mockery of a kitchen. Orange juice and toast was about all she could manage this morning, and she had the suspicion that it would be all that she would be interested in eating. Lately, her appetite seemed to be slipping away through her fingers, but she didn't really care. It saved money on her grocery bill. Carefully setting her glass of juice on the table before taking her toast, she caught her reflection shining back at her from the toaster her dad had given her as a flat-warming gift. She had borrowed Snape's eyes. Her ferociously blue hair fuzzed around her head like an angry cloud of sharp edges and lines. Her face was hard and lean, but she thought it was adequate for the day.
She was too pale, and the dark rings under her eyes made her look ill, she decided as she dumped her glass into the reflective sink. She looked like a little girl hiding from the world. Her lip curled in disgust at the thought, and she realized she was afraid. She was afraid she would always be alone because he would always hate her and she would always love him. She was afraid that the world could be that cruel, and trying to hide from the misery wasn't quite effective enough anymore. With that realization she decided the glass could just sit there alone in the sink.
Fleeing to work, she didn't even bother to worry about what she was fleeing from; she just had to be sure that there would be no tears to make her bottomless eyes shine.
xXx
Frantically, Tonks tried to stuff papers and files from her desk into the tattered briefcase she had borrowed from Remus earlier that week. She was desperate to leave and leave quickly to make the Order meeting on time at least once this month, and she had already gotten warnings from her superiors about the disarray of her desk. In fact, she was ordered to organize before leaving today, and that task was one Tonks was incapable of completing. Silently blessing Remus for his unusually large briefcase, she surreptitiously slid into the fluorescent hallway of the Auror division of the Ministry of Magic. The blankness of the corridor was just as oppressing as she had come to expect it to be, but, for some reason, she found the weight of the mundane even more heavy than it should have been. She quickened her steps and prayed for momentary grace.
Once onto the street and far away from the Ministry, she thanked all the graces for her good luck. Not only had she not been noticed escaping the stifling confines of the blindingly white walls in the Ministry, but she had made it this far without stumbling. An improvement, she decided, since a fine rain was falling and worming its way down the back of her neck and down her spine.
Grimmauld Place seemed so much more wretched today with the thought of an imminent Order meeting and the rain making the old and despondent walls seem slick and decaying. It looked as dismal as she felt as she hauled the heavy briefcase up the crumbling steps and attempted to convince herself to just open the bloody door if only to get out of the infernal rain.
The unmistakable sound of someone Apparating behind her ripped her from her contemplative state. Throwing aside the briefcase and whipping out her wand she spun within the span of one breath to find the owner of the eyes she had copied pointing his wand directly into her face.
"For once, Miss Tonks, you seem to be on time," he drawled as he slid his wand out of sight. Her breath was still caught somewhere in her throat and she couldn't pull her gaze from his. She watched as he raised one acerbic eyebrow as he noted the change in her own eyes.
"It might be beneficial to open the door, Miss Tonks," he quipped as she continued to stare unblinkingly at him. Rolling his eyes, he reached behind her to throw the door open.
"Thank you," she whispered. The color seemed to be returning to her face and she found she could breathe with relative normalcy again. Picking up her discarded briefcase, she brushed past Snape and entered the gloom of Grimmauld again with Snape at her back.