Sub Luna
By Cúthalion

6. Morning Tea

Four days later she sits with Remus at the breakfast table. He is buttering a scone when suddenly a tiny owl rushes in through the open kitchen window. It circles around the lamp, cheeping like mad, until Tonks catches the lively ball of feathers and feels the small body tremble with excitement against her palm.

"That looks like Ron's owl," Remus says, taking a sip of tea. He has been increasingly silent lately, preparing himself to send her away and to endure a new full moon and a new dolorous change, without the relative comfort of the draught to keep him sane. They haven't spoken about it, and they don't speak now while Tonks dis-entangles the message from Pig's tiny claw. She unrolls the strip of parchment. Black letters stumble over it like drunken dancers, as if written by a clumsy – or very exhausted - hand.

It is finished; come and fetch it at once, it has to be consumed while it's still hot, or it won't work. H.

She raises her head and gives Remus a radiant smile. "Would you excuse me for a moment?"

"Ahm… of course. Would you tell me…"

"I'll be right back, love."

With a flutter of her loose summer shirt she is out of the door and the flat, rushing down the shabby stairs and out of the mansion. It is Sunday, and the street is very empty, so no one sees the young woman with the bubblegum pink hair vanish all of a sudden from in front of the Tattoo studio.--

This time she Apparates directly into Molly Weasley's kitchen. The scenery is rather… disturbing, to say the least. Molly points with her wand at a huge black spot marring the ceiling, and when Tonks turns around, she spots Ginny grimly removing the shards that were once the glass door of Molly's old, inherited cupboard. The whole room stinks of sulfur and cold smoke. But what startles her most is the hunched figure sitting at the table.

"Hermione…?"

Tired eyes stare at her out of a grey, grime-smeared face; a long scratch forms a deep red line down her left cheek, from eyebrow to chin.

"What happened?" Tonks whispers, sudden guilt tugging at her heart. "Did you blow up the kitchen?"

"No." Hermione's voice is hoarse. "Only the cauldron. Twice." She sneezes into her sleeve and leaves a coal black smear across her nose. "Luckily I hadn't added the harpy's claw yet… the rest of the ingredients are not too difficult to get. The problem isn't what you put into the cauldron, but how you stir it and the spells you have to say. The rhythm and words are terribly complicated, and if you miss only one syllable or stir in the wrong direction, you have an awful mess. And the damage that particular potion does if it explodes halfway in the making normally can't be removed with the flick of a wand."

She rises from her chair and slowly dodders in the direction of the door, her face split by a huge yawn.

"One of these days I'll bring muggle colours and brushes, and paint the kitchen walls," she murmurs, "but not before next week. I have to get some sleep first, and tonight I guess I have to brew the next one. He has to take it…" another yawn while she stands on the threshold, "… he has to take it every morning until the moon is full, and you can't brew it ahead."

With a few fast steps Tonks is by her side, gathering the young girl in a tight embrace.

"Thank you," she whispers into the tousled hair under her chin and inhales the piercing aroma of soot, sweat and exhaustion. "Thank you, Hermione. I hope someone will write a book about this some day."

"I hope I haven't made any mistakes," Hermione murmurs, "or I'd rather prefer not to be mentioned."

She steps back, turns away and Tonks hears her stumbling up the winding stairs to Ginny's room. She turns around, her heartbeat loud in her ears, and Ginny hands her a clay flask, wrapped in soft fabric.

"Don't drop it." she says with an odd little smile.

"Never." Tonks retorts with passionate fervency. She holds the flask close to her breast and feels the heat of the potion trickle through clay and fabric and shirt directly under her skin.

A second later she stands on the street in front of the Tattoo studio again. She ran down the stairs when she left, but now each step is careful and anxious, and it takes her nearly five minutes to reach the door of Remus' flat again. She steps inside, closes the door with one hand and walks slowly into the kitchen.

He still sits at the table, his cup of tea not even cooled down. He frowns up at her as she removes the fabric from the flask and takes a ceramic mug out of the cupboard. Tonks uncorks the flask and pours the entire contents into the mug.

"Forget your tea," she says breathlessly, her voice trembling ever-so-slightly. "Try this instead."

Slowly he reaches out and takes the mug from her hand. He dips his nose into the steam… and pales, gazing at her with disbelieving eyes. His fingers start to tremble and she hurries to support his grip; no drop of this must be lost.

"Tonks…" he whispers. "My God, Tonks. How…"

"I'll explain to you later," she says, blinking away the hot tears that start to obscure her sight at his stunned face. "But first you should drink."---

"Was it your idea that Hermione should try to brew the potion?"

Lunchtime is over; they have left the house for a little walk to a church nearby. Benches have been placed along the gravel walk around a circular flower bed; Tonks gazes at the happy riot of happy, luxuriously blooming roses. Her head lies in Remus' lap, and she can feel his finger slowly threading through her hair.

"McGonnagall advised me to ask her; she knew damned well that Potions was one of my worst subjects. No wonder – I constantly forgot ingredients or muddled them up. I never was the aim of Snape's bad jokes or mockery, however… I guess he thought I was simply a hopeless case."

He starts to stroke her brow; the gentle rhythm makes her drowsy.

"I had hoped that Snape wrote down the recipe in his book; Professor McGonnagall told me to ask Harry where he put it before he left Hogwarts this summer. " She yawns. "Strangely enough none of us thought of the fact that the wolfsbane potion was first brewed in 1990, long after Snape had finished school and abandoned writing his journal… Hermione knew this, of course, and she had even bought Damocles Belby's book. Damocles Belby's Dangerous Brews – the title is a bad joke, but I will love the old braggart forever for his accuracy."

"The Wolfsbane Potion has earned that 'old braggart' the Order of Merlin." Remus says, mildly amused. "He would be positively horrified if he could hear you, my lovely witch."

She smiles up at him.

"Now that you have the potion – will you let me stay?"

"No, I won't." His fingers leave her brow and close around her shoulder, in a grip that is nearly painful. "You must understand this, love… the brew may have the same taste, but we can't be completely sure if it works the same way. I trust Hermione, believe me… I guess she was the only one with the skill and sheer courage to attempt this… but there's still a risk that it won't have the exact effect that it should, or that there are certain… side effects. You will leave this afternoon, and I will fetch the potion for the remaining days myself."

She doesn't object. Half an hour later they return to his flat and she packs the small bag she brought with her when she came, nearly three weeks ago. It seems unbelievable to her that a span of time should be so ridiculously short when it feels like a whole lifetime. She says good bye with a long embrace and a fiery kiss that seems even longer, and for a fleeting, eternal moment she cups his face and smiles into his eyes before she turns around and walks down the stairs.