#remadora microfic

[asnarkyandironicusername]

Day 07 of @remadoramicrofics - 100 Words

Edward “Teddy” Remus Lupin was born at 10:07pm and Remus had spent every second since staring at him. Currently, he was asleep on his mother’s chest. The nurse had said something about skin-to-skin contact and bonding, but Remus had been so preoccupied by the wailing boy, he had forgotten to pay attention. 

Dora slid over, beckoning him onto the bed. “Your turn,” she said as she lifted little Teddy and handed him to Remus. He was surprised at how warm he was as he held him. “He’s perfect,” she whispered as she leaned on his shoulder. And he was.

[whinlatter]

dead ends | a remadora microfic 🏴‍☠️

for day 1 of @remadoramicrofics prompt: haunted read here or on AO3

When they meet, he's living - if you can call it at that - at Grimmauld.

‘Is it haunted, this house?’ she asks with interest, peering up the gloomy staircase at the house of her forbears before the meeting starts. Stupid question, turns out, because it’s quickly apparent it’s less the house that’s haunted than its two occupants. There’s her cousin, who’s left half his flesh and the best years of his youth on a great chunk of rock in the North Sea, and his friend, a pale crumpled grey serious man with holes in his elbow patches who introduces himself, with an apology of a handshake, as Remus.

‘How do you two know each other?’ she asks, hanging off the bannister. ‘We were school friends,’ says Remus offhandedly, with a glance at Sirius, who is busy glaring down the coffin corridor at other folks filing in with sullen teenage hands in pockets, and her brain fills in the rest: James Potter (dead), Lily Potter (dead), Peter Pettigrew (regretfully alive). Memory of the latter’s treachery hangs like a noose over that first meeting. ‘By being here tonight, you pledge loyalty to this order and to its mission, on pain of death,’ Dumbledore says ominously. For some reason, she finds herself watching the pale crumpled grey serious man as he raises his wand and commits himself to the cause, to the fight, to the prospect of his own destruction. ‘Serious business, this war lark,’ she says to him, when the meeting’s over, leaning in. He just smiles flatly back, drains his tea, and withdraws, which doesn’t piss her off so much as set her a good challenge for the next meeting to get a better smile out of him even if it kills her. 

She’s twenty three, got no real ghosts of her own yet. She knows her mother’s ghosts well enough - the sister they bump into sometimes in Diagon Alley then pretend they didn’t (Narcissa has a nasty habit of appearing in the line behind them at the bank), and the other one, rotting bonily in a cell having made her victims into husks. So she sets herself the task of learning about what’s haunting him, grey man with his soul in his hands. She asks Molly, and Kingsley, and Mad-Eye, and her cousin, who always watches the rest of them parade in and out of the house with sullen, jealous contempt. ‘What’s his deal?’ she asks Sirius, after another meeting where her attempts to make Remus laugh have won her nothing more than a wan, weary, half-hearted wince of a smile. 

‘He’s a werewolf,’ says Sirius, bored.

‘Yeah,’ she says, ‘I know that. I meant - what gets him going? What’s he into? What gets him out of bed? Has he got a wife or an… anything? Kids?’  

‘No,’ says Sirius. ‘He’s a werewolf.’

She’s not sure why everyone keeps focussing on that bit. 

There is life in the house, that summer. In fact, there's masses of it - mostly from the freckled ginger teenage people, who laugh loudly and boisterously at mealtimes and lob things at the door during meetings, demanding to be allowed to offer themselves up to line a graveyard or two. It fills her up, the buzz of it. So she tries to coax the life out of the grey man, too, get him to join in with the gossip and the games and the laughter of the children who still call him professor and plainly think the sun shines out of his arse. ‘Heard any good tunes lately?’ she asks him, at meetings, swapping through hair colours like a great flashing sign outside a club screaming notice me notice me. ‘Any good Muggle telly? Ventured out somewhere fun?’

‘Sadly not.’

‘Come on. There’s got to be something.' She feels like a human defibrillator. 'Tried a new weird kind of crisps? You know, I had some pickled onion ones the other day that turned my tongue blue.'

‘I’m afraid,’ he says, ‘I’m too old and boring for all of that.’

‘Too old for crisps?’ She wrinkles her nose, then changes her nose to a different one, and wrinkles that one, too. ‘How old are you?’ 

‘Much older than you. I’m thirty five.’ 

‘Oh, yeah, ancient. What’s wizarding life expectancy these days? You’ve only got - what, a hundred more years left?’ 

It drives her mad, this impression he does, of a man with nothing to live for. But she’s nothing if not determined, so she finds herself saving them up for him, little beckonings: stories of funny blokes on the tube, weirdos in the newsagents, stories from the pub and the office and the concerts she goes to to scream her head off and slam her body against strangers, little euphorias littering her days and weeks.

He listens, still as the grave. Occasionally, he’ll ask a polite question. Mostly, though, he gives her nothing back. ‘Come on,’ she says, throwing her hands up, mock despair. ‘Work with me, Remus. When was the last time you really felt alive?’

(Later - much later, when he’s leaving - he’ll tell her: ‘I’m a dead end.’

‘Fuck off,’ she’ll spit back, fuming. ‘We’re all dead ends. You’re not bloody special.’)

The next meeting, she sits down the other end of the table with Kingsley and Mad-Eye, doesn’t bother with her usual routine, had enough. She’s tried winding him up, tried taking the piss, tried getting him to tag along when she and Bill and the other Order twenty-somethings go out drinking or throw parties or go to gigs that leave their ears ringing. Fine, she thinks, stick your boring grey life. Waste your years.

It’s a boring one, that meeting. She yawns her way through it, no successes to speak of. Forty minutes in, there’s a soft thud at the kitchen door. Someone on the other side mutters ‘shit’, followed by the scampering of guilty feet back up the stairs. Remus mooches over to the door and recovers a strange stringy-looking thing with an ear at the end. Everyone takes this as a cue for the meeting to end: Molly marches up the stairs to berate her brood, Arthur smiles apologetically, Bill starts tidying, Sirius yawns. Remus, though, is smiling to himself as he walks over. He sits down beside her, twirling the strange device around in his hands, marvelling at it. ‘Impressive,’ he says, ‘isn’t it? What they can come up with.'

‘Brilliant.'

‘By the way,' he says, 'I have something for you.'

‘Oh?’

He fumbles around in a fraying pocket. Then he's pulling out an empty crisp packet, neatly folded in quarters. He flattens it out in front of her on the table, presents it. ‘Beef and mustard,’ he says. 'Weird enough for you?'

'Mustard crisps.' She stares down at the packet. ‘How were they?

‘Horrible,’ he says.

He stays for dinner - laughs with the kids, joins in with the gossip, for once, stays sat beside her the whole night. Watching him, she sees it, a glimmer of something: a stirring, a spark, colour, signs of life.

This is going to kill me, she thinks. She feels giddy with it - dizzy, thoroughly alive.

AN: i have never written remadora before but sometimes on sunday afternoons you think: fuck it, why not! this is pure @evesaintyves fanfiction and i make no apology for it. songs for this microfic are i wish i was the moon by neko case and hardline by julien baker (i'm telling my own fortune/something i cannot escape/i can see where this is going/but i can't find the brake). follow @remadoramicrofics for more! 🌙

[ashesandhackles]

@remadoramicrofics Day 19 - Sick

Warnings: Exploring some power dynamics, culminating in some miserable murky sex. Take care accordingly.

The air had frozen solid like ice between them as they entered her room at Hog's Head. He sat opposite her, impenetrable - a self protective arm curled around his torso ever since she paid for their dinner. The shape of his forearm had an odd curl of bone that hadn't set right after the last transformation.

Before, she could always tell, underneath the polite exterior, the needy want that lurked underneath. It was disconcerting to not have the comfort of sensing that from him, to not sense him being aware of her body in spaces around him.

"I didn't expect Molly and Arthur to step in there," she offered to break the silence. The best she could do. She was not sorry for what she said.

He sighed, some of the ice of his demeanor melting into tiredness. "I would never begrudge you that - never. I am aware I handled this poorly."

He looked into her eyes, and a thrill of feeling cut through her own numbness. "I am sorry for the pain that I have caused you. You have to know why I did it -"

"I do," she leaned forward. "And I am asking you to take a leap of faith."

"It's a tall thing to leap over."

"You are so afraid about what happens after. But I am here with you Remus, I am telling you that the traps you see, the fears you have - "

"Don't push me," the anger in his voice chipped away more of that ice.

She felt a knot of her own anger rise, worry and fear woven together in the face of death they stared down that night. "I am not pushing you. I am trying to hold your hand through things you are afraid of - I am going to be here. I'm always going to be here."

She wasn't sure what made him weep in that moment. He would whisper in her ears months later, that it was her certainty - an eternal rock he could fall into when the man who changed his life forever was dead. That it was her certainty that brought him back to her doorstep, to the life of a family he thought he couldn't have.

However, that night, at Hog's Head, she held him as he wept for the loss of his mentor, the loss of the world he knew, the loss of the world he could be safe in. When she guided him to take refuge inside her, she was relieved and grateful for how her body performed, how they still fit together. Her mind was distant, sick with hating herself - she knew she did it because she wanted to please him, to keep him.

She slipped out of bed later in the night and sat by the window, staring at the sky for a long time, until the colours lightened to welcome the morning.

As the sun rose, she brushed the tears that threatened to spill over, and vowed to turn her hair pink, to turn back into the girl she recognised - through glamour if she needed to. It was the start of a new day.

Ao3

[evesaintyves]

for today's @remadoramicrofics 100-word challenge. warning for mild sexual content.

He never stays in bed. She's lying there melted—trembling!—because he finally got past his flinching and gave it enough vigour to get her off; he's pulling a jumper on, casting cleaning charms on the sheets. They make her thighs tingle. If he speaks, it'll be with all the dour gravity of a debriefing.

She morphs her hair short: cool air over her neck.

Privately, she thinks it's hilarious. She's heard that he once nearly murdered someone with considerably less guilt. She wants to shout: it's only a body! You're meant to use it! See what it can do!

image: tamara de lempicka, woman in red dress (detail)

[celestemagnoliathewriter]

Venus

Written for @remadoramicrofics day 2: cat. G, 401 words. Read below or on Ao3.

Remus woke to the sight of amber eyes and the feeling of being suffocated. Venus, Tonks’s elderly cat, swiped her paw across his face and dashed off with a snarl. He brushed his fingers across his cheek. At least she hadn’t drawn blood today.

“Did she do it again?”

“Every bloody morning,” Remus muttered, swinging his legs off the bed. “Your cat's a menace.”

“She's not . . .” Tonks sighed. “She needs to get used to you.”

Remus snorted softly and began getting dressed. The cat hated him from the moment they met—from the first time he deigned to share her mistress’s attention.

“She’s never been fond of men,” Tonks explained, for at least the twentieth time. “She grew up in the Hufflepuff girls’ dormitories and then I was rarely with a wizard. Only Dad could pet her. Just give her time and treats.”

Remus rolled his eyes. He’d lived with Tonks and her mother for four months, and he’d yet to win over either cat or parent. At least Andromeda didn’t slap him on a daily basis. 

Venus started meowing (screaming, more like, in Remus’s opinion) right on time. He smoothed his shirt down and followed the brown mass into the kitchen, where Andromeda was sitting with a cup of steaming coffee.

“Good morning,” he greeted politely. “Is it all right if I give her tinned sardines?”

Andromeda nodded her agreement and Remus opened the tin, pleasantly surprised when Venus only nipped at his ankles, rather than biting his toes. Perhaps there was hope yet for the cantankerous cat. 

“When it’s possible,” Andromeda said lightly, “Venus might enjoy fresh fish. She’s fond of salmon.”

Remus tried his best to ignore the little dig at their financial situation. As if it was his fault entirely that Ted was on the run, Tonks couldn’t work, and they had limited access to fresh groceries. 

It was then he felt the tell-tale sharpness of cat claws in his big toe. Venus yowled and ran off when Remus made eye contact with her. It was kinder than her typical, morning attempt to sink further into his flesh and give him a complimentary amputation.

Without a feline demanding his fealty, Remus fixed a cup of tea and sat down to enjoy it. Like the cat, Andromeda left him alone, as usual, to finish her breakfast elsewhere.

Sighing, he wondered if his mother-in-law could also be bribed with fish.  

[maria-de-salinas]

Day 10 of @remadoramicrofics - Keyhole

Remus has never been this scared in his life. Not in his time with Greyback, or that night at the Ministry, or his first full moon, when he was five years old. Well, maybe then, but he'd blocked it from his mind, so he wouldn't know.

The moon is rising, its crescent arcing over the thatched roof. The birds have gone silent, the air whispering, withholding its judgment, but he doesn't need it. He bloody well knows its cowardice, walking in on her when she's asleep and can't see him coming. Knows too, that the only thing more cowardly than opening that door, is turning around and leaving again. And so he pulls the key from the inside pocket of his robes, aims it towards the keyhole, and drops it, his hands to stiff to line it up properly.

He tries again, gets it in the slot, half expecting she's changed the locks. She hasn't, but it feels just as wrong, walking in on her like this. Heart beating so hard there's a stitch in his side, he puts the key in his pocket, clenches his hand in a fist, only its so stiff he can barely do it, like when you first wake up.

His hand hits the door, but there's no force in it and no sound. He knifes a hand through his hair, tugs the strands in punishment. Maybe if he's bruised, bleeding, she'd…good lord, what's wrong with him? He clenches his fist and knocks, three times, loudly. Tonks was a light sleeper, she'd hear it.

He doesn't see the curtain rustling upstairs, but he senses it in his periphery, and when he looks up they're fluttering slightly. He thinks, this is it. She'd open the door for him, or she wouldn't.

He remembers her arms, the way she squeezes him from behind when he's cooking. The scent of her skin when he curls against her chest. He's not aware of much when he's sleeping off a transformation, but he knows she comes to him and strokes his back.

He can count on one hand the number of times he's told her he loves her. He'll tell her over and over and over again, when she opens that door. If she'll open that door. Please open the door.

Five minutes pass, maybe ten.

It's the longest wait of his life.

The vibration is faint, from somewhere in the depths of the house; he pictures her coming down the stairs in her Holyhead Harpies t-shirt and frayed pyjama bottoms, her feet bare. She didn't wear slippers, or even shoes unless she had to. Liked to feel the different textures on her skin.

The lock clicks, and he doesn't know how he stays standing; he can't feel his own pulse.

He knows before she says anything, that she's in a burning, blinding rage; her hair goes from red to white to incandescent yellow, and she is fire, she is air, she is the earth itself, and he wants to lean in and let her burn him alive.

"You--"

She raises one arm as though to strike him, or pull him closer. Whatever he is she can't say it, she can only stand in the half-open door and grab at the air, her teeth clenched together. He can see the veins in her neck.

"You fucking…" She takes a long jagged breath, rubs a fist against her eyes; when she glares at him, her irises purple, they're mostly dry. "You fucking leave for four weeks and don't say anything, barely even a patronus…"

He wants to hang his head, but doesn't. Knows that this time, he needs to face her, to see what he's done. The hurt he's caused her.

"Dora," he says, not taking his eyes away from hers. "I did something so incredibly…I was so, so stupid and so--"

"You're so fucking selfish, Remus." She's shouting now, disturbing an owl who's perched itself on a rowan branch. "You've never gave a shit about my feelings."

This isn't true at all, but he knows better than to point it out. "I know," he says, still looking at her. Her eyes change from purple to glacier blue. "I know and I am so sorry."

She doesn't say anything and he presses on, steps closer, so that he's inches from the threshold. He wants to touch her, take some of her anguish and put it in himself, but he doesn't.

"Leaving you was the biggest mistake I ever made," he says, and he isn't faking it when his voice breaks. "And I won't blame you if don't let me in. I just wanted you to know that I love you. I love you more than anything, and I love whoever this is…" He gestures to her belly; it hasn't changed yet, but he knows it will. "I'll be there for both of you, I swear."

Dora is unmoved, and can he blame her? It all sounds so trite...

"You're far wiser than I ever was. Even if you do eat crisps in bed."

Far from softening, her glare is still somewhere north of the Arctic circle.

"I suppose the child will think its funny," he says. "His dad being a wolf and everything..."

Her face is cold fire, hair as white as lightning, arms crossed over her chest, but her eyes flicker towards the door. The wind rustles the trees, the moon comes out from behind a fast-moving cloud and its faint light shows her face, the way the lines of fury slacken. Dora blows air through her lips and pushes the door open wider. Her hair has gone from ice white to the soft orange-red of embers.

He knows he'll be sleeping on the sofa tonight. Knows she'll snap at him for leaving his dishes on the table and his socks on the floor. Knows it'll take something more than apologies and fresh wildflowers to make it up to her. But as he follows her across the threshold, all he can think is that he's home.

[turanga4]

Lil Baby Turanga's First Lil Remadora

@remadoramicrofics. thankfully it's very smol.

prompt: Day 7, Hundred Word Challenge.

*****

He shouldn’t have allowed it. He knew better than she did.

How something builds, swells, inside you, and then all of it just breaks.

I’m pregnant, she tells him. Acid bubbles in his voiceless throat.

Kingsley paces. Molly frets. Dora’s father hides in ditches. Something Remus put inside her tears her up beneath her skin.

Dora clutches her belly before the bump shows, and he knows he’s still a monster when the moon is just a shard.

But his wife understands something that he can’t

(does he know better?)

to see what’s

growing

changing

spreading

and yet love it, nonetheless.

[saintsenara]

written for day 13 of @remadoramicrofics, for the prompt bones.

There was whisky in the sideboard.

It was Muggle whisky. Dad’s. From some distillery in the middle of nowhere in the Outer Hebrides, sold in Harrods and delivered by Uncle Tony every Christmas in wrapping paper printed with snowmen scrabbled from the bargain bin at Woolworth’s.

It was used exclusively for celebration. For the days you wanted to preserve in amber; the days when dad was pink-cheeked and roaring with laughter, and mum was tipsy and willing to regale them both with ridiculous stories from her childhood, instead of keeping all of it locked up in some secret place they could never reach from their little suburban house. It was whisky you toasted with, and tossed back on New Year’s Eve, and looked the other way about when your daughter and her best mate got pissed as newts on it the day their OWL results came, and Jade was sick in the bin and she was sick in mum’s hydrangeas.

It was whisky for joy.

That was, perhaps, why it hadn’t been opened the day she’d announced she was married.

There was stubble on Remus’ chin, its brown - mousy, rather than wolfy - flecked with grey. His face was growing sharper; he was no giddy newlywed, content to grow fat on his loving wife’s cooking now he’d left his bachelor days behind him. His wife could cook nothing more sophisticated than supernoodles, could do nothing more than press kisses to hollowing cheeks, to the angular juncture where the jawbone meets the neck, as if to say, let me warm you up, since I cannot make you any fatter, I can at least make you warm.

‘Did you find him?’ she asked, and it shocked her to hear that her voice was so small, as if something of it had been left in the night skies, caught by a Death Eater’s curse.

Remus shook his head. His temples were grey too, and she cursed herself for not being able to coax colour back into them. Love should have done that. It had for her, had turned her back into the rainbow-lustered creature who looked so wrong in mum’s neat living room, with its doilies and its aspidistra. Her childhood had been one of scolding, for chocolatey fingers on the chintzy arms of chairs and the coffee table broken when she tripped and fell over it.

‘Hagrid upended the entire lounge,’ mum had sniffed, when she’d returned - shaking and weary-eyed - from the Burrow. That could be easily translated, provided you were fluent in Andromeda Tonks, to Nymphadora, I’m so frightened.

‘Yeah, well, he’s massive, isn’t he?’ she had replied. That meant your sister tried to kill me. You have the same eyes.

And then she had sat in the dark, a mug of tea untouched before her, the milk turning to scum as it cooled. Her thoughts were nothing more coherent than flashes. Of green light. Of the set of Bill’s jaw, knotty scars running down it. Of Muggle towns twinkling below her like stars. Of the wobble in Mad-Eye’s jowls they all used to tease him about - on the easy days in the office, before there had been a war on - formed by the ready supply of chocolate biscuits in the staff kitchen. Of the way his face had been clenched - in the way you had to know him well to notice, but which, if you did, you knew meant he was worried - just before they’d risen from the ground into armageddon.

Almost as if he’d been expecting it.

She had sat, a picture-reel flickering in her mind, and waited for the scrape of a key in the door and the weary trudge of a man who should have been too young to be weary. Who should have bounced across the threshold to meet her, a bridegroom desperate to get home to his bride.

‘Did you find him?’

Remus shook his head. He was thin. When they lay in bed together, she could run her fingers up each bump in his spine, across each rib, along the hollows of his hip bones. Like an explorer, searching for something lovely in a wasteland, for a place where the sun shone upon pale stone. For a place where she could be the sun. Let me warm you up.

‘No,’ he said, and his voice was hoarse. He had obviously used up all the vigour he possessed to yell at Harry.

He walked to the sideboard and took out the whisky. Because he didn’t know that it wasn't the time to drink it, that it wasn't the booze they brought out in times of mourning. Because he was a stranger to the house, and that was why there was tension in every bone of mum’s hands when she passed him his morning coffee at their sunny little breakfast table, and that was why she looked at Tonks as though she had brought doom into their perfect world.

That’s vampires, mum. You don’t have to worry about inviting werewolves in, she had thought. What she had said was, ‘stop being so fucking prejudiced.’

‘Your father is making plans to flee,’ mum had replied, matter-of-factly, as if she said such things every day. ‘When the Dark Lord takes over. It will not be safe for him to remain here, not when there will be two wanted paramilitaries living in the house.’ She stirred a spoon through her tea, clinking it against the side of the mug. ‘We were left alone by him last time, of course. We kept our heads down. But you and Remus have put paid to that.’

And, for once, there had been no second meaning.

‘No,’ he said. He poured the whisky into a glass, his thin fingers tight around it, as though he was hoping it would shatter and rip through his flesh to the bone. He tossed his drink back. ‘No. The Death Eaters probably got there first.’

‘Oh.’

A muscle ticked in his jaw. She wanted to kiss him, to cup his face with her hands, to graze her teeth across his stubble and make him forget. She wanted to make him warm, to make him say that he loved her, to lie down with him and count the ladder of his vertebrae, and ignore for a few tender hours the fact that their days were running out. She wanted to pretend that their number had not become one fewer that night.

‘I’m going to bed,’ he said.

He pressed a kiss - lips closed and tight - to her cheekbone. And his skin was cold from his futile toil in the night air.

[locatislunaticolupin]

Day Ten: Keyhole

Written for day ten (of october) of @remadoramicrofics. 642 words. Also available on Ao3.

Their house could get really quiet and solemn. Teddy, as young as he was, was able to listen close enough to know when it wasn’t a quiet day before stomping down the hallway, demanding breakfast and clashing his toys together. On quiet days, he slid on his socks towards the kitchen, where he found one of his parents (usually mama, but sometimes da), pancake batter in hand and finger up to their lips.

On those days, mama opened all of the cottage’s doors and windows so she could keep an eye on Teddy and an ear on da; da put on the gramophone, soft where it was usually fun, and Teddy ran from the house. He’d take Bongui and Tammuz to Little Forest and spend the times between meals there, making hares sprint and birds fly away. Despite the cicadas, the birds, the cows, the dogs, the crickets, the quiet wouldn’t quite let him go, clinging instead to his sweater, his boots and his hair. So Teddy screamed louder, jumped harder, attempted to make the world shake and wake up. On quiet days, the world was too soft and too adult, like the old ladies dressed in all black or the visits to the cemetery. So when he peeked through that keyhole on a quiet day, he knew he’d grown up, a little. That he’d lost something, or maybe gained something, and now couldn’t go back.

It’d been a quiet day, but it had also been a rainy day. Teddy hadn’t been able to escape the stifling, dusty, timeless silence of it all and he was restless. He’d woken up and da had been there, jazz and candles and finger to mouth and water against glass, and Teddy, who had been looking forward to skipping school, had grumpily thrown himself on the couch and let the quiet settle on his shoulders and his frown. Da had let him have breakfast where he was, had kissed his hair and brushed it back with a warm, calloused hand, and then had taken a tray to the exotic territory of the master bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

Teddy looked at his chocolate milk. Then he looked at the door. An adventure was an adventure, wasn’t it? Weren’t parents’ bedrooms just as mysterious as caves in between a tree’s roots? He got up, quiet as a mouse, and avoided the places where the wood creaked, even on quiet days but especially on rainy days, sliding on his socks. Bongui and Tammuz hid him while he held his breath and looked through the keyhole, hands away from the door just in case.

It hadn’t been the first time Teddy saw blood (with Bongui around, he’d seen his fair share of dead animals and what his mama called “crime scenes.” And she’d know! She was an Auror and one of the best) but it was the first time he saw blood on his parents and he wasn’t gonna cry, because he wasn’t a baby and his mama was the strongest in the whole world, so she’d be fine, but she didn’t look so tough under da’s quiet hands, even as she smiled and tried to make him laugh.

(She did manage to make him smile. His da smiled a lot, especially when mama and Teddy did silly stuff like grumpily throw themselves on the couch or recoil from the medicine with an affronted that’s disgusting!).

They were quiet like an old lady dressed in black and quiet like a secret and quiet like they usually weren’t. The gramophone played on and the rain drummed outside and Bongui and Tammuz’s nails were loud on the wooden floor. Teddy moved away from the door, careful and quiet.

On the next quiet day, he stayed indoors. Maybe the quiet would get smaller, he thought, if there were more people to carry its weight.

[ala-baguette]

Day 28 of @remadoramicrofics - Outsider PoV

Ted had offered to come with her. She’d told him not to. Simultaneously, she felt regret and relief at this. Regret in that she desperately desired the comfort he so effortlessly exuded. Relief in that she didn’t trust that her father wouldn’t be firing off Killing Curses if he had. She reflexively brushed her thumb over the ring on her left hand.

Father stood stock still. His hands were thrust deep within his pockets, and Andromeda was sure one was gripping his wand. But he did not move. Every muscle in his body seemed tensed—poised to spring—but he did not move.

He didn't look at her—hadn't since before she'd even finished saying her piece. His eyes were fixed upon the ornate Turkish rug, and if one had walked in at that moment, from his expression one would have thought the carpet had just been heard speaking the most inexcusable profanities.

The clock on the mantel ticked. The only sound. The only evidence that time continued onward. It echoed around Father’s study.

Andromeda kept her chin held high. For better or for worse, she was her father’s daughter, and so, despite the pounding of her heart and the coldness of her fingertips and the subtle trembling of her arms, she kept her chin held high.

“Say something, Papa,” she demanded into the silence.

He did not immediately respond. When he did, it was not with words. Instead, he merely walked to the door of his study, twisted the door knob, and held it open for her.

Still, he did not look at her. Still, he did not speak. Still, he did not need to.

It was not his response that surprised her. She had anticipated it-- her bag was already packed and waiting for her in the foray.

What did surprise her was how much it hurt.

Nymphadora’s hand rested on Remus’s atop the table as she smiled expectantly down to where Andromeda and Ted sat. Expectantly awaiting congratulations and jubilation.

Ted recovered first. “Well…” He cleared his throat. “Well, that’s just grand, isn’t it, ‘Dromeda?” he said. He could fake it well, but Andromeda knew him. Heaving himself out of his chair, he rounded the table and Nymphadora popped up, releasing Remus’s hand to accept a warm hug from her father. She was positively beaming. “I’m so happy for you, Dora,” Ted said, his voice muffled in their embrace.

“Thanks, Dad.” She laughed as she broke away. “I’m happy for me too.”

Ted smiled and this time it did almost look genuine. Then he turned his attention to Remus. “Welcome to the family, son,” he said, holding out his hand. Remus rose to his feet and a tight smile spread across his lips as he took Ted’s hand and accepted the affectionate clap on the shoulder. Remus didn’t say anything-- he'd let Nymphadora do the talking. It bothered her. Andromeda wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say. Perhaps promises to love and protect her daughter, her only child, the most precious thing in her life… But he was silent.

It wasn’t until all the eyes in the room turned to her that she realised he wasn’t the only one.

Andromeda still sat, straight backed, frozen to her chair. Her gaze flitted from Remus to Ted to Nymphadora to Ted. Her face felt numb. Her mind raced between the words she wanted to say and the words she should say, and she found she didn’t know which was which.

“Mum?” Nymphadora was again looking at her expectantly. But where there had been excitement and joy, now there was worry and doubt.

Andromeda stared at her.

Over Nymphadora’s shoulder, she caught sight of Ted raising his eyebrows at her in a pointed look. Prompting her. Cautioning her.

Andromeda licked her lips and looked back to Nymphadora. And she mustered a weak smile and a nod.

It was enough. Relief flooded Nymphadora’s face, and she knocked over a wine glass in her dash to hug her mother. Andromeda was still seated as her daughter’s arms wrapped around her. Her only child. The most precious thing in her life.

Ted began speaking as Nymphadora broke the embrace, pulling her attention away from Andromeda. “Suppose this calls for a toast!” He crossed to the breakfront to retrieve a bottle of Firewhisky and four tumblers. “So do you have a date in mind?” Ted was asking as he laid out the glasses. Andromeda stared down at her plate and the cold remnants of dinner, keeping her breathing slow and steady.

“Soon. We’ll keep it very simple. In times like these, it doesn’t seem right to do anything big and extravagant. And anyway, neither of us has a big family.”

Andromeda heard the squeak and pop of the cork as Ted unstoppered the bottle but did not look up. Instead, she stared at a bit of carrot and potato still on her plate. She barely listened as they chattered. She didn’t take part. Did not look at them. Did not speak.

But something drew her eyes. Slowly she lifted her gaze from her plate to look across to her future son-in-law. He was looking directly back at her. He did not shy away as their eyes met, merely looked at her as Nymphadora and Ted good-naturedly bickered about the scale of a wedding and how to mark the day.

Andromeda saw the disappointment in Remus’s expression. No. It wasn’t disappointment. It was resignation.

Remus was not surprised by her reaction.

Andromeda was surprised by how much this hurt.

[backgroundbaker]

Don't look now: Fic 4 for @remadoramicrofics

..................

"Don't look now, but there are two people behind us who have followed us all the way from the High Street."

A younger Tonks would have struggled to fight the urge to turn and look, but her years of auror training had knocked that out of her. While she wasn't great at 'Stealth and Tracking', she was surprisingly good at stealth and being tracked. She didn't even react to Remus' words, the only indication she'd heard them was the gentle squeeze she gave to the hand she was holding.

They were spending their Wednesday evening investigating a tip off for the Order: apparently, a dodgy herbologist was selling lots of Mewt Algae - an important plant in necromancy - to some of You-Know-Who's lackeys. The fact that the tip off came from Mundungus Fletcher meant that Tonks hadn't one hundred per cent believed it, but she was doing due diligence in following it up. On the plus side, it meant that she got to spend an evening wandering around the small city of Wells hand in hand with Remus. They had taken to posing as a couple when out on a mission, not only because it deflected attention, but also because it allowed them to communicate via small movements and signals in the hands they were holding. Smart really, and they had gotten very good at it. The fact that Tonks also enjoyed holding Remus' hand was her little secret, one that she hadn't shared with anyone.

The herbologist lived on an old muggle street next to the city cathedral, but they had apparated to a spot just off the High Street so they could walk about and get the feel of the place. At 10pm, all the shops were closed, and, being a Wednesday, the pubs were relatively empty. Thankfully, the people who were out for a drink were all huddled together inside, probably as close to a fire as they could get, and were not bothered by strangers out for a walk. It did, however, make it easier to notice when other people were following your path - and as soon as Remus had mentioned to her they were being stalked, Tonks became very aware of the echo from four sets of footsteps on the road.

Her opportunity to turn around and look came as they stepped onto Cathedral Green. The grass in front of them was lit by the glow coming off the face of the cathedral itself, warm yellow lamps angled against it to show off it's decorative design. It stretched out behind them, illuminating the buildings around. She made a show of being fascinated by the history of the area, studying each of the buildings in the golden light. Whilst admiring the medieval masonry on a city gate, she was able to observe the two men following them in her periphery. Both were heavy set, wearing thick cloaks and being anything but subtle as they walked through an archway towards them. She took an extra second to look at the stonework before turning back to Remus. 

"Darling," she said, looking up at him (she enjoyed playing up the fake coupleness), "can we go get a closer look at the cathedral?" 

With her hand she was tracing a circle on the base of his thumb, indicating it was time to change plans. Remus, however, was apparently not willing to.

"It's getting late, maybe tomorrow." 

His finger was drawing a straight line firmly on her thumb - stick to plan. 

The space they were in left them quite exposed, and Tonks was worried that the men would try something stupid, like starting a duel. They wouldn't be a match for herself and Remus, but she didn't want things getting too messy. Reluctantly, she let Remus lead her down the road that skirted the grass, getting closer to their destination.

She sensed the moment that one of the men drew their wand and immediately her hand flew to hers. A spell came flying right at her, clipping her slightly on the cheek as she swerved. It must have been a slashing curse because she felt blood spring from the trail across her face. Her only reaction was to throw a return stunning spell, hitting her target almost instantaneously. Remus had also now grabbed his wand, firing a rather angry freezing spell at the other man. Before he'd even hit the ground, Remus was dragging Tonks into a run, away from the two unconscious men, muttering under his breath about how they weren't supposed to create a scene.

They ducked under an arch in another old gatehouse, Remus giving her a firm pull into the dark recess of a doorway alongside him. For a moment, all she could see was his eyes, full of concern and looking intensely at her. Her stomach flipped. She was so close to him she could feel his heavy breathing in his chest, slightly laboured from the short run. She was sure he would be able to feel her wild heartbeat and hoped he put that down to the run too.

"You okay?" He asked, almost in a whisper, his hand coming up to trace a line just under the cut on her cheek.

How he expected her to answer that when he was touching her so softly, she didn't know, but she managed to give him a nod, followed by a quiet "yeah."

She realised straight away she should have lied and said no, because on seeing she was alright, Remus was dragging her off again.

"Good, looks like we've stumbled on the right road to visit our herbologist as well." 

He was right, the distinctive cobbled street lay right in front of them. Even in the dark, it was easy to make out the two rows of identical houses, their tall chimneys disappearing into the night sky.

"You know that Mewt Algae is used a lot in necromancy?" he asked her casually, marching on ahead of her down the road, as if nothing had happened. 

[asnarkyandironicusername]

Day 10 of @remadoramicrofics - Keyhole

Teddy listened to his mother pad past his door. He and his father often joked about her inability to move quietly but sometimes it came in handy. Like on the nights of the full moon. Teddy would lay in bed and wait for his mum to head to the cellar. Then, he’d creep down after her, once he was certain the coast was clear, and peer through the keyhole on their cellar door. It was the old kind, the ones that take a skeleton key, and he could look in it and usually see his parents.

Technically, he didn’t have to wait for his mother to go, but his father would just stay in the dark; it was his mother who would charm the lamps. He slipped out of bed and poked his head out the door, listening to the hinges creak as Tonks headed down to his father. He hurried down the steps, soundlessly. He may have inherited his mother’s ability, but he got his father’s grace.

He paused at the foot of the steps. This was the riskiest part; his parents could hear him coming if he wasn’t careful and he knew his father would be cross. Maybe he should listen to him and not trouble himself with it, but he liked to know his dad was okay. The first time, it had been out of sheer curiosity. How could he, a seven-year-old boy, be expected to lay mere feet from a werewolf and not take a peek?

So, he had snuck down on his mother’s heels – a little jealous that she seemed to have a standing invitation – and looked in on them. His father was a sight! He was a little bigger than an average wolf, and his face looked…not exactly wolf-like but not unlike a wolf. His coat was a light brown, but his face was greyer. Teddy hadn’t stayed long that night – he’d gotten his peek and dashed up to bed.

Tonight, he’d brought a blanket and pulled it tight around his shoulders as he settled in front of the door. His parents were on the little sofa his mother insisted that they put down there. His mum was curled up on one end and his father was sprawled out on the rest of it, his head resting in her lap.

He wanted to be down there, too. He should be, really, he was plenty old enough – nearly eleven! He had asked, once, but his father had quickly shut him down with excuses; it was too dangerous, the transformation happened past his bedtime, anything Remus thought would suffice. Eventually, Teddy had quit pressing the issue. What his dad didn’t know, though, wouldn’t hurt him.

He watched as his mom threw her head back and laughed at something she had said. His dad made a sound, like a yip, and that made her laugh harder. As her shoulder-shaking giggles subsided, Teddy could have sworn she looked at the door and his father’s gaze followed. He didn’t think they could see him, but he stayed extra still, just in case.

When his mother finally moved on to another story, petting his dad as he stared up at her with an expression eerily similar to awe, quiet enough that he couldn’t hear, he gathered himself up and headed for his room. With one last stolen glance, he saw his mum press a kiss to the crown of his dad’s head. He grimaced the way he usually did when his parents became overly touchy-feely. One night, he’d see his dad, let him know he wasn’t scary, but not tonight.

[justviwriting]

'Whisper' - for @remadoramicrofics October Prompts

Rating: T (for mild sexual content) Words: 570 A/N: This is set between OotP and HBP, with some angsty undertones.

Not a single word was spoken. The only sound Tonks could hear was his soft breathing as Remus was looking at her, a smile on his face. She returned the smile as his hand gently brushed through her hair. She pushed herself up to kiss him then, closing her eyes as she felt his warm lips against hers. When she pulled back slightly, he still remained quiet, only looking at her with desire in his eyes. There was still a smile on his face, yet for some reason, Tonks could also see sadness. Perhaps it was no that surprising. He had come to her apartment for consolation, after all. The past weeks, they had met almost regularly, comforting one another with reassuring words. Neither of them would have expected for it to result in this. And while Tonks had not felt this relieved and happy in a long time, she was wondering whether this might simply be temporary comfort on his part.

Remus had been very determined in his belief that he was not right for her, and could never promise her safety and happiness. She did feel safe and happy with him, but the hidden sadness on his face troubled her. Yet she did not say anything about it; did not ask him whether this had changed anything between them. And he, too, did not say a word. Perhaps his silence was what worried her the most. But still, she was unable to break it.

Instead, her fingers slowly wandered down to his chest. Scars were scattered across it. Softly, her fingers brushed along one of them as she continued to look at him. The smile had left his face now, and he stared at her as if he was just seeing her for the very first time. The look in his eyes was almost yearning, and Tonks could feel the heat rush into her cheeks. She looked down then, at his scars, and began to gently plant kisses along them. A quiet moan escaped his lips and she smiled. He pulled her back up then, kissing her another time. Tonks opened her mouth, relishing the feeling of their tongues intertwined. Too soon, he broke the kiss, staring at her again, the smile back on his face.

Tonks could feel her eyes grow heavy. She was exhausted, yet she did not want to sleep, as she was afraid that once she closed her eyes, this moment would vanish. Her body was tired, however, so reluctantly, she put her head on his chest, tightly wrapping her arm around him. As she way lying in his embrace, listening to his heartbeat, she dared to close her eyes.

Everything was quiet. Only when she had almost fallen asleep, did she suddenly hear his voice, barely a whisper. “I love you.”

For a moment, her heart stopped beating. She felt a soft kiss on her forehead as she continued lying on his chest, motionless and silent. Did he believe that she was asleep? Probably. Now, her heart was pounding against her chest, but she kept her eyes closed. She knew that he would have never said those words had he known that she was still awake. Still, she could not prevent a small smile from forming on her lips. She did not know what might happen tomorrow, but with his declaration of love inside her mind, she finally allowed herself to fall asleep.

[ashesandhackles]

Day 3 of @remadoramicrofics - Cellar

Word count: 118.

She falls from the top of stone dais, her limbs disentangling as though pulled by the moon. He thinks he can hear her bones shatter, sounds his mind pulls from a dark cellar - one stone step at a time. He runs towards her falling body, his right knee sputtering in protest. When his fingers feel her pulse thud against her skin - alive, alive, alive -

-that's when he hears Sirius' last laugh.

Something fragile, like the warm lamp glow spilling at the feet of the cellar door, like his mother's voice on the other side of the door 'Remus, Remus, I'm here, I'm always here' dies in the dark.

Harry screams in agony. He lets go of her hand.

[evesaintyves]

@remadoramicrofics day 21 challenge - poem

tw: poetry

[celestemagnoliathewriter]

Haunted

Written for @remadoramicrofics day 1: haunted. 943 words. Read on AO3 here or read below.

The Shrieking Shack stood tall and imposing above them, leaning to the side against the fading autumnal light. Tonks had never been this close to the dilapidated structure, despite her teenage attempts, and she shivered in the brisk November wind, clutching her cloak around her chilly body. 

It was hard to believe that only a decade ago, she was making bets with her Hufflepuff friends to see who could get closest to the Shack without getting scared. She’d won, of course, being the most fearless of them all. But even then, she remembered the way her pink hair flopped against the back of her neck, leading her to believe an unknown presence was around her, ready to snatch and entrench her within the decrepit walls of Scotland’s most haunted building. 

A tree branch snapped and she gasped, releasing a puff of warm breath, condensing smoke-like and wispy. It vanished away, carried on the wind with a flurry of dead, browning leaves.

“Scared?” 

“Not a chance, Lupin.”

He lifted a brow at her. “I don’t know why you wanted to see this place.”

“Call it insatiable curiosity.”

“Whatever you say,” Lupin replied drily. “Lead the way, Nymphadora.”

“Don’t call me that,” she growled, punching him lightly in the side. His eyes crinkled in that smug, amused way of his. He seemed to take a peculiar kind of pleasure in calling her that ridiculous name. Too irritated by the smirk and corresponding chuckle on his lips, she stomped into the Shack and started sneezing.

“Evanesco,” Lupin murmured. The layers of dust disappeared from the floor and walls. “Shall we go on?” 

Tonks was ready to agree, until something black and winged flew out from one of the rafters.

“ACK!” she shrieked, reaching out for Lupin.

“Just a bat,” he said, his gaze locked on the space between them. Tonks let go of his hand, feeling suddenly shy at her overreaction.

“Sorry.”

Lupin flexed his fingers and shook his head. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

Pink had invaded his cheeks and neck. Tonks gaped, having never seen him so flustered.

“Anyway,” Lupin cleared his throat, “shall we go on?”

As he led her throughout the rest of the Shack, Tonks noticed the way he kept his distance from her. He hadn’t been like that in weeks, not since the start of their friendship, when she’d learned he was a werewolf. Wondering if she’d done something wrong, Tonks tried to get closer, but Remus backed away from every attempt. By the time they stepped out of the Shack, his shoulders were tense, his jaw was clenched, and he was giving her terse replies.

“Well, thanks for the tour, I s’pose,” Tonks said, talking to his shoulder, as he decided not to look at her anymore. “Meeting’s still at eight?”

“It is.”

“And you’re free till then?”

“I am.”

“So am I.”

“Hmm.” Lupin had walked away. He stared up at a tree, examining a leafy branch. 

“Er, Lupin?”

He raised the slightest brow at Tonks’s address.

“Since we’ve got the time . . . would you like to get a drink with me before the meeting? Maybe at The Three Broomsticks?”

Lupin rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

“Why not?”

“I’m, er . . . ” The curious shade of pink returned to his face. He’d finally turned to meet her gaze. “I’m not exactly a welcome patron there.” He gestured lamely at the ramshackle Shack they just left behind. It took a few seconds too long for Tonks to realize what he was referring to. 

“What about a Muggle pub?” she said hurriedly. “In London?”

A slight, wounded line appeared between Lupin’s brow. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t the money for drinks.”

“How about—”

“Tonks,” Lupin interrupted, strained, “I’m sorry. I’m not the kind of person you should want as a friend.”

“But you are my friend. Already.”  

Lupin’s shoulders hunched over. He tucked his hands inside his pockets and grimaced. The wind whipped around him, blowing crispy brown leaves across his prematurely lined face. 

Tonks reviewed the events of the last half hour; everything had been fine until she took his hand. He began acting strangely then and refused to let her anywhere near him. His easiness and humor had vanished, giving way to the standoffish, closed man he’d been when she’d discovered his deepest, most shameful secret. 

“Remus,” said Tonks, getting his attention with the use of his given name, an idea forming on the tip of her tongue, “are you seeing anyone?”

Remus’s eyes flew wide open. He seemed almost too stunned to be embarrassed. 

“Is that a yes?” 

“No!” He replied, nearly too fast. “No, I’m not.”

“Well then . . . seeing as we’re friends and you’re not with anyone,” Tonks reasoned, “and neither of us has anywhere to be for a while . . . what’s stopping us from taking a walk around a park? Maybe Holland Park, which has the Japanese gardens?”

“Er—”

“It doesn’t cost anything to walk around the gardens and we’re already friends.” 

Thinking quickly, Tonks closed the space between them and grabbed his arm. Though they were separated by layers of clothing, a little thrill came over her at being able to touch him again. 

The tips of Remus’s ears turned red. Tonks fought the smile that threatened to overtake her face. She was becoming more sure of her hypothesis by the moment.

“Please?” She batted her eyelashes at him and offered her most indulgent, winning smile. “If you do, I’ll let you call me Nymphadora while we’re there.”

A shy, sweet smile finally played at Remus’s lips. 

If she wasn’t mistaken, Tonks believed she’d discovered another one of his biggest secrets.