Two days later, her umbrella was green. With sparkles. He happened to be passing through the hallway on his way out the door when she first saw the changes.
“Green?” Both eyebrows were creeping toward her hairline, which today happened to match the umbrella, minus the sparkles.
“Cunning new strategy. You’ll see.” He grinned, tapped the side of his nose and continued on his way.
She didn’t see him again until after the full moon, but he’d already fiddled with her umbrella again in the meantime. There was a delicate garland of miniature holly and ivy, wrapped about with thin gold twine, that spiraled its leafy way around the outside, starting at the wooden peg at the top and ending at the bottom edge where it wrapped around the rim. The effect was rather striking, and she found herself wanting to take it to work and show it around.
“Like it?” he asked when he saw her that afternoon. He was a shade paler, a tiny bit thinner, just like he always was after a transformation, but his smile settled around her like sunlightand seemed to make the kitchen light up.
“Yes,” she admitted ruefully. “But that doesn’t mean you’re winning!” she called after him. He had left the room visibly gloating.
She fretted for the next few days, out on an Auror assignment and unable to get over to Grimmauld Place. Oh, excuses could be found for the unease, to be sure: she simply wanted to see what he’d done to the umbrella in her absence, to tease him some more over his certain defeat; but that didn’t really account for the leaden weight of disappointment that settled in her stomach when she found him gone upon her return. He had added more, though, and she eagerly examined the miniscule fairy lights and the details of three fine little ornaments: a tiny music box, a Victorian doll’s boot, complete with buttons up the side, and the most delicate little porcelain cup and saucer she’d ever seen.
“Why porcelain?” she asked when they finally saw each other the next morning. “You know I’m going to break it.”
“That’s why I put an Unbreakable charm on it.”
She looked up from studying it and grinned. “I don’t know if I should be happy about that, or just insulted. But it’s beautiful. I love it.”
He stepped closer, reached out a careful finger to touch the rim of the tiny cup, just barely not brushing the skin of her palm where it lay. “I hope you’re more happy than insulted.” The words were soft and warm, just like his eyes, and the finger that had now abandoned the cup for her hand…
She pulled back abruptly. “Thank you. For these.” The cup and saucer were carefully hung back on the umbrella before looking up again. “I feel bad, not having anything for you yet.”
“Well, remember, this is all bribery anyway, right? I’m trying to win a bet here.”
There was a faint but recognizable note of self-mockery in his voice, accompanied by the dreaded smile, far more bitter than sweet just now. She closed her eyes against it, not wanting to see; each time it made an appearance these days, it cut into her a little more deeply, unaccountably making her want to fling her arms round him and whisper, over and over, that nothing would get through her to hurt him ever again. Only now, she was the one hurting him.
Don't give in! You can't! cried a little voice inside her, pitiful, cowardly. Too many things will change...
That little voice had been whispering its poison for weeks now, playing on her fears, urging her to hide away from feelings that were demanding attention ever more insistently as time went by.
Somehow in this friendship, he’d led her step by step to the edge of an abyss, and soon, she knew, soon he’d ask her to jump. Fear, though, was still proving itself stronger than the fledgling desires he stirred within her.
Not yet, she begged with her eyes. Don’t put me in a position where I might say no. I can’t take that smile.
He drew back, read in her gaze that pleading fear. It was hard, so hard to ignore the subtle hurt reflected back at her, a pleading of his own for something only she could give.
She couldn’t jump. Not yet.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Ornaments and decorations continued to appear, beautiful and bizarre, until the umbrella bore, along with its original burden, a paper chain (each link bearing the holiday wish of a Happy Christmas); a pewter snail; an intricately cut snowflake made of paper (spelled within an inch of its life not to tear, seemingly, since nothing seemed to harm the delicate thing); a Snitch; a prism; and a little book simply entitled Fairy Tales which fastened with a tiny clasp. All of them were scaled down to fit the size of the “tree” to which they were attached. It was no longer housed in the troll’s foot; instead, she’d taken to propping it, handle down, in a corner of the drawing room, where it wouldn’t be in danger of getting jostled or broken (or stolen) in the hallway.
After that horrible exchange with Remus, something had changed between them, there was no getting away from that. She would have been angry with him for pushing things so far, had she not been almost sick from the distance now between them. Why had he forced her hand like that?
She hated being separated from him like this, but in a way, being with him was far worse. Their friendship had become everything she’d wanted to prevent: strained, awkward, silent. It was tempting to just use the damned umbrella, deliberately lose the bet so that everything could go back to the way it was before.
Sirius tried to reassure her that things would work out, but given that he spent most of his nights (and sometimes days) drinking himself stupid, it was hard to put much faith in what he had to say.
One night, just a week before Christmas, she went to find the source of her heartache. He was in the study, a book in his lap as usual, but staring into the fire instead of at the words on the page in front of him.
Her attempt to walk over quietly was brought to a crashing halt by the rug beside his chair. He jumped.
“Sorry. Hi.”
“Hi.”
His smile made her turn toward the fire. “Mind if I join you?” she asked the flames.
“Only if you tell me something.” His voice held a warning”this wasn’t going to be a “What’s your favourite flavour of ice cream?” sort of question.
Her gaze was wary as she glanced back toward him. “Alright.”
“Why have you stopped looking at me when I smile?”
Ouch. No pulling punches tonight apparently, on either side. Well, she’d come prepared for a difficult conversation, anyway. Why not start now?
“It hurts.” So did admitting that.
“Looking at me hurts?”
She forced the reluctant words out, slowly, carefully, not wanting to misstep now when their friendship balanced on a knife's edge. “Your smile hurts. Do you know how sad you look sometimes? I can’t…” Shuddering, she drew in a breath. “There are times when it’s too much for me. To see you like that.” The fire flickered bluely, drawing her attention again.
Confusion lent his voice an atypical uncertainty. “I don’t understand.”
The flames in the fireplace twined upward, mesmerizing. “Have I ever told you about what growing up was like for me?”
“No,” he whispered, standing and coming up beside her.
“It was...chaos. Trying to control this magic inside me, trying to find a piece of myself that wasn’t always shifting. My parents didn’t know how to handle it sometimes. Not many people trusted me. I never had many close friends. When I got older, people tried to use me for their own ends. And men…” Her face twisted miserably. “You’ve been one of the best friends I’ve ever had, and never once have you asked a thing from me, until recently.”
“Tonks””
She overrode him. “And part of me wants to give you what you’re asking. But…” her voice caught. “You know there are some days when I’m not even sure what I should look like? I don’t want things to change. Too many things about me change.”
One of his hands came to rest gently against her back. “That’s strange, because I’ve always thought you remarkably stable. Your face and form change, but you”the inner you,” his other hand turned her about to face him, “the you I care about”she doesn’t change.”
Tears rose, only to be blinked furiously away. She desperately wanted to believe him.
There was a brush of his hand down her arm, tender, comforting. “I’m sorry, this isn’t why you came in here. What did you want to talk about?”
“I…um…” The tears were rising too quickly now. “I just want things to be alright between us.” Her voice cracked, and as the first sob shook her small frame, he enfolded her in his arms, holding tight until the storm passed.
“I’m sorry, Tonks.” Warm, callused fingers dried her cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”
Her dark eyes opened wide, locking onto his. “Why? You couldn’t have known.”
It was hard to tell in the red light of the fire, but she thought he flushed. “I thought you might be pulling away because of what I am, not what you are.”
“What you”Remus, why would I give a damn about that?”
“Every time I got too near you, you pulled away.” Now he was the one who couldn't meet her eyes. “And lately you wouldn’t even look at me.”
Despite her fear, she clung closer to him, burrowing her face into his jumper. “It’s got nothing to do with that. Please, please don’t think that I’m frightened of you. Or that I don’t want you to be near me. God, I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you now.” It was the closest thing to admitting the truth to him, to herself, that she could handle right now.
He cradled her against his chest, rested his cheek on her hair, whispering, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Strange, how safe she felt standing there enveloped within his embrace, and how unafraid.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Her usual high spirits returned after the encounter, just in time to deal with the aftermath of the attack on Arthur Weasley. Nothing more had passed between herself and Remus that night, but it was enough. An understanding of sorts had sprung up between them, and she was laboring as hard as she could to sort through her own thoughts and emotions. He deserved to know where she stood. Where he stood.
In the meantime, three more ornaments were carefully attached on her umbrella, finely crafted as the others were, and just as arbitrary. The snow globe with the nymph sitting amidst a little grove of trees was lovely, and reminded her of one that her Muggle grandmother had let her play with as a child. The nameless prefect’s badge was a little odd, though, as was the photo frame with nothing in it. Maybe they would show themselves on Christmas? With all the running around the Order was doing now that Harry and the other children were in London for the holidays, there just wasn’t time to figure it out.
Of course it would be Hermione who solved that little riddle. Two days before Christmas, coming off a double shift at the Ministry, Tonks stumbled into Grimmauld Place early in the morning and was greeted by the sound of distant giggling. She hadn’t seen Remus in over a day and so, feeling that a little cheer was in order, went searching for the source.
Ginny and Hermione were sitting on the floor of the drawing room with the umbrella between them. The tiny fairy lights were glowing. Hermione had her wand out, pointed toward one of the ornaments, but she gave a guilty start when she noticed Tonks staring at them from the doorway. Ginny was quickly elbowed in the ribs.
“Wotcher, girls…”
“Hey, Tonks! These are the coolest ornaments! Where did you get them?” asked Ginny excitedly.
Tonks felt oddly reluctant to answer the question truthfully. “Oh, here and there…gifts, mostly. Why, what have you been doing?”
“Hermione figured out how to make them work”sorry if we didn’t ask first, though.”
Shaking her head, she hastened to reassure them. “No, no, I don’t mind, but…erm, can you show me what you’ve gotten them to do?” She crossed the floor and knelt down beside Hermione, almost oversetting both of them when she lost her balance. Finally, arms and legs and feet were situated, and she looked expectantly at her companions. “So?”
“Well,” explained Hermione, “we’ve only gone through the lights, the holly and three of the ornaments. I really wish you knew who made them...some of the charms seem quite complex. I’d love to know how””
“Hermione! You can pick her brain later!” Ginny bounced impatiently on her hands and knees.
The older girl looked about to argue, so Tonks forestalled her by asking, “What did you do first?”
“The fairy lights. I thought, why put lights on if they don’t work? So we tried a few things and finally just found that you have to tap everything twice with your wa””
Ginny rolled her eyes at the ceiling and gave her friend’s shoulder a nudge. “She knows all that! Shut up and get on with it!”
Tonks felt a sudden urge to smack the red-headed girl sitting in front of her.
“The snowflake, do the snowflake!” pressed Ginny.
Hermione nodded and reached out to tap the ornament gently with the tip of her wand. It folded itself up carefully, then unfolded again in a different pattern. “It’s amazing”we’ve been doing this for fifteen minutes and it hasn’t repeated itself yet. I wonder how it does that?”
Tonks stared at the snowflake. How much care he had put into it. What else had he done? “You said you tried three?”
Another wand tap, and the music box began playing a tinkling little melody, high and sweet. Tonks felt a lump rising in her throat.
“Do you know that song?” Ginny asked.
“Oh…um, yes, it was one that my mum used to sing to me when I was little.” Had she told him that?
“Where’s the other one we tried…oh, here it is.” Hermione tapped the Snitch, and all three watched, fascinated, as it Transfigured into a tiny bird whose golden wings flapped so quickly that they were nothing but a bright blur. “It’s a Snidget! They’re really rare, almost extinct, but now that Wizards use Snitches in Quidditch matches instead of””
“Hermione, give it a rest! I’m sure Tonks knows what it is, and you already made me sit through the entire explanation earlier.”
Tonks did know, in fact. She’d had a wild desire as a girl to see one, and had thrown a fit when her mother told her that she probably would never see one in her lifetime.
Ginny twirled the umbrella slowly, looking at the other ornaments. “Why a snail?” Her nose wrinkled in confusion.
Tonks didn't understand either. “Try it.”
Immediately after being tapped, the pewter shell began to change colours, shimmering from one rainbow hue to another.
“It’s a Streeler,” Tonks whispered in wonder. “I’ve always loved these.”
“That makes sense.” Hermione tossed her curls over her shoulder and leaned in closer. “Colour-changing snails would appeal to a Metamorphmagus.” She tapped the tiny Victorian boot next. It began stretching and darkening, until what lay in her palm was not a delicate piece of footwear, but a black leather combat boot, an exact replica of one that Tonks was currently wearing.
The girls began arguing over what to try next but never reached a decision, since Molly popped her head in the door and called them all down to the kitchen for breakfast.
“You go ahead,” Tonks shook her head when they offered to help her up. “I’ll be down in a bit.”
The moment the door clicked shut, she turned her full attention to the umbrella, annoyed as hell that a girl almost ten years her junior had figured out the secret when Tonks herself hadn’t even tried.
The fragile little cup and saucer turned to plastic, with the word “Unbreakable” written across it. Git. A grin stretched across her face.
The room was filled with multicoloured sparkles of light as the prism began to spin on its string.
The clasp on the little Fairy Tale book sprang open and the words on the cover flowed together to form the title of one of her favourite stories, one she’d read over and over again, even into her adult years. She flipped quickly through the pages, marveling. The entire text of East of the Sun, West of the Moon was in there.
The nymph in the snow globe laughed amidst a swirl of sparkling white flakes, but when tapped, suddenly she was laughing in a shower of spring flowers; another tap and it was summer butterflies, then autumn leaves, and finally back to the snowflakes.
When she tapped the prefect’s badge, printed lettering slowly swam into focus. “Necessary qualities?” it asked, bringing to mind the quip she’d made to Harry and Ginny at the party before they’d left for school. She recalled that Remus had been standing there next to her. Suddenly the entire thing began to shift, and she was staring at a replica of her Auror certification. He must have had Kingsley get a copy of this.
This was all getting a little overwhelming. How had he known about all of this? A multitude of conversations ran through her mind, nights of sitting around with him and Sirius in the drawing room or the kitchen or the library, odd little moments during breakfast or after Order meetings, whispered exchanges to pass the time on the handful of assignments they’d had together. He’d sifted through them, to judge from the evidence in front of her, plucking out the treasures of her life and handing them back to her piecemeal in the form of these ornaments. No one had ever done such a thing for her before. How the hell had he done it?
One left.
The picture frame was a beautiful one, polished wood, and painted with an intricate border of knotwork. Her fingers trembled as she held out the wand.
Tap tap.
Her face appeared. It was a photo from a dinner at Molly and Arthur’s a month before. She couldn’t remember who’d taken the picture, but she looked happy and smiling in her blue ringlets and pixie features, laughing at someone off to the side. Then the whole scene faded.
Her face appeared. This time from the summer, just after she’d joined the Order. Sirius had taken this one, complaining that he had twelve years of pictures to make up for and threatening to ambush her every day with the camera. Pale yellow hair, nearly white, looking almost Icelandic. She’d been playing with eye shapes and settled on almond, with high flat cheekbones. Fingers making a rude gesture toward the photographer, tongue sticking out. Again, the picture faded.
Her face appeared. She had no idea when this was taken, but it was here in the drawing room. Her sleeping form was curled up on the couch, fast asleep. Blue-black waves spilled over the edge of the cushion her head rested on. Sunlight sparkled in the dust motes that lazily floated in the air around her. Fade.
Her face appeared. This…this was from her Auror training days. It must have been on one of the days they were testing her disguises. Mahogany skin, a wealth of ebony curls, and, oh Lord, she’d forgotten about that dress, the one that made every man in the room clear his throat. Did he get this from Kingsley or Moody?
Again and again she saw herself, face after face, some alike, many bearing no resemblance to her real features. Even a few of her as a child. She had no idea there were so many photos of herself floating around. How long had he been collecting them?
She let go of the frame, almost in shock, and the small flat square twisted on its hanger, showing her a glimpse of writing on the back. Flipping it over completely and squinting down at words, she immediately recognized the neat, even handwriting.
~ No matter what face you wear, I will always see the same woman within. ~ R.
It was the strangest feeling. Like a dam had burst somewhere inside her. She knew a flood had been loosed, could feel it rushing through and over her, and any moment now her heart would be completely awash. The only feeling she could muster before it swept her away was one of intense relief. No more fighting.
Tears flowed freely, silently, for many long minutes, but instead of leaving her drained and weary, she looked up once they had passed to find that everything seemed sharper, brighter, cleansed. For the first time in many, many years, perhaps for the first time in her life, the inner turmoil that defined her was stilled and peaceful. He couldn’t have known, could not possibly have guessed, just how much more than simple trinkets he had gifted her with today. And what he himself had gained.
Sitting there, gazing inward, she looked around the inner landscape of her mind, all the way to its center, and found something startling. Or rather, didn’t find. The fear that had lived inside her since childhood was gone, washed away; in its place was a tranquility of spirit and purpose of mind that had never existed there before. And, to her astonishment, Remus was there as well, standing at the very heart of the stillness, waiting. He’d been there, and all the while she'd turned her head and denied his existence, his love. Her own.
How long had she been fooling herself? Letting fear trick her into pushing away something so incalculably precious?
She jumped to her feet, umbrella in hand, and strode out of the room with a fluid grace normally foreign to her, intent on nothing more than finding him as fast as she could. Nothing could be easier, apparently. One quick look down the hallway revealed the lean length of him cresting the top of the kitchen stairs; evidently breakfast was over.
It was as if she’d never seen him before, the way she couldn’t tear her eyes away now.
His smile of greeting faltered, unsure of how to interpret the unsmiling intensity of her gaze. Her eyes must have communicated some kind of encouragement; at least he finished crossing the distance between them to stand in front of her, questioningly. “Is something wrong?”
There was so much to say, so many emotions to share with him, so great a desire to wrap her arms around him and express all she felt through the medium of her physical self, that for a moment she was paralyzed under the sheer weight of it all.
Voices on the kitchen stairs shook away her stasis. They had to talk, and the presence of others would do nothing but hamper that. Without another thought, she grabbed his hand and pulled him to the front door, quickly letting the two of them out into the cold and cloudy December morning. Destination was unimportant; she just wanted to take him any place where she could unburden herself to him. The knowledge that she would be telling him what he most wanted to hear made her all the more avid to find a quiet spot, quickly.
“Tonks, wait!” He tugged against her arm, slowing down their rapid pace along the sidewalk. “Where are we going? Please, is there something wrong?”
The little crease between his eyebrows, the plaintive worry in his eyes, even the way he asked, so deferential even as he demanded an answer, it was all so endearing she almost forgot herself and the fact that they stood in the middle of a Muggle neighborhood. Only the presence of other people, out and about on this busy morning, two days before Christmas, kept her from a rather embarrassing public display.
She did allow herself to reach up and touch a gentle forefinger along his cheek, though even such a small gesture made him draw in a sharp breath, pupils dilating in shock and confusion and need, the last of which she immediately recognized because it was coursing through her as well. “Please, Remus. I need to talk with you, somewhere away from headquarters. Do you mind?”
His hand reached up to cover hers. “No,” he whispered. “There's a little park up the street.” He led the way silently, casting looks down at her that contained swelling hope, and also, terrible to see, uncertainty. Where was that coming from? Had she cut him so deeply with her earlier refusals that he'd begun to doubt himself?
A few minutes walk saw them arriving at the place he'd spoken of, a quiet plot of grass and trees, devoid of any presence save their own. They instinctively chose the most secluded spot and once more turned to faced one another, while she cast about in her mind for a way to begin. There was no questioning her feelings now, but how to tell him everything? That last irrevocable step, while no longer inspiring fear, still amounted to leaping over a chasm that she remained at a loss to know how to bridge.
Her fingers clenched unconsciously around the umbrella and one of the spokes bit into her skin, reminding her of its presence, still gripped tightly in one hand. The fabric glittered dully in the murky winter light as she unfurled it, twirling it idly and making the ornaments bump gently against the other decorations.
She glanced up at him. “You put more faith in my intelligence than you should have.”
“I don't understand.”
“I didn't know how to make the ornaments work. Hermione was the one who figured it out.” It still stung, that she'd never bothered to try, and embarrassment made her cheeks glow.
“Well, that's alright, you were busy, and I would have shown you on Christmas anyway. There was just one more thing to put on it.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a tiny little angel, beautifully dressed in robes of blood red and fir green, with long gilt hair flowing in waves down over delicate feathery wings. Carefully, he set it atop the wooden peg sticking out the top of the umbrella, surreptitiously flicking his wand and murmuring a Sticking charm to hold the decoration in place.
She stared in wonder. “Does it work like the others?”
“Well, yes and no.” His eyes swept the surrounding neighborhood carefully, making certain there were no nearby witnesses to whatever the angel could do. “Go ahead and try. I think we're safe enough.”
Her wand gently tapped the crown of the angel's sunny head, and a number of things happened at once. All the ornaments began to neatly perform their own individual task. The fairy lights glowed in the growing mist that was beginning to fall around them. Even the garland sprouted tiny red holly berries that nestled into the glossy leaves. It was the angel, though, that took her breath away.
It seemed to be melting and reshaping itself, Transfiguring into another form, this one with torn jeans and a mop of green and red hair. It was her.
Together they watched the angel for a few moments before she risked a glance at him, while he continued to stare at the umbrella. What she saw both broke her heart and made it want to sing in triumph.
Love. Sorrow. Desire. Frustration. Awe. Self-doubt.
It wasn't right, the way the tables had turned, sapping him of strength just when she had found hers. Well, no more of that, she decided. He wanted her, that was obvious, had been obvious for longer than she had wanted to admit before. All that remained, then, was to show him just how much she wanted in return.
“Remus?”
Their eyes met. “Yes?”
She held out her hand, palm up, just in time to catch the first of the raindrops that were falling out of the gloomy sky overhead. “It's starting to rain.”
He misunderstood, that was clear from the pained disappointment that crept over his face. “I...yes, you're right. We should go back.”
She caught his sleeve as he turned to go. “You really are thick sometimes.” A wand tap on the angel and everything fell still and silent.
A gust of wind blew tendrils of hair into her face; she brushed the blue threads back and looked up into the sky, watching the slow roll of clouds, enjoying the feel of drops falling thick and fast on her skin. Abruptly she pushed the umbrella fully open and raised it above her head. Her coy smile left him gaping. “We have a perfectly good umbrella right here.”
Laughter bubbled up inside her, leavened by an ache brought about by his disbelief and shock. He really hadn't believed this could happen. Still didn't.
“I suppose this means you win,” she teased gently, wanting to draw him out.
“I suppose it does,” he replied slowly, wide-eyed and uncertain.
“So, you need to tell me what you want.” One step toward him. Another. His eyes burned into hers. “But I think I already know what that is.” She raised the umbrella over his head, just in time. The rain began to sheet down, curtaining them in while the rest of the world disappeared.
Her breath was coming faster now but nothing to match his. He looked as if he'd been handed a treasure and didn't know what to do with it. “Tonks... I... Are you sure?”
Her palm smoothed over his chin, his cheek, into his hair. He leaned into the touch, letting his eyes drift closed while he reached up to take gentle hold of her arm, pressed his lips into her wrist. “As sure as I am that you love me,” she whispered.
“Yes,” he smiled, eyes still shut while her fingers roamed softly over his face. “That was never in question. The time when I didn't love you is so far past that I can't even remember when it was.” His hands slipped around to her back, pulling her against him.
Without warning she found herself confronted by his stare, as dark as the clouds above them and just as turbulent.
He was shaking, ever so slightly, both body and voice betraying inner misgivings. “I'm not asking you to change, you know that, don't you? I don't want you to be afraid of this. I don't think I could bear that.”
Even before he was done speaking, she was rising up onto her toes, leaning into him, her fingers anchoring themselves in the damp hair at the nape of his neck. “I'm not afraid,” she breathed just before their mouths met.
Any further protests on his part were swallowed up in their kiss. His arms tightened around her as he poured into the embrace everything that had been held in check all these months. It was almost like reliving that moment in the drawing room earlier, the way his love felt now as it flowed over her, drowning her in sweetness, filling her with the certainty that every moment spent away from him, from his touch, would be a moment she begrudged the rest of the world. She knew her own heart now, and his home was there.
The downpour continued, both outside the shelter of the umbrella and within. Every small thing that he had ever given her, every look, touch, smile, she returned with interest. Fear was gone, doubt fled. Nothing now existed but their two bodies entwined together, lips, hearts, and minds.
So it was that both sides finally laid down their arms and met on the very field of battle. Concessions had been made and losses suffered, though neither could be bothered to care. Both had emerged from the conflict victorious.
~ The End ~