9: Rung Four - Him

Disclaimer: Not mine. No money. Special thanks go to JKR for sanctioning HP fanfic.

Gobs of thanks go to my beta Southern Witch 69 and to my Brit-picker the amazing Saracen77.

9: Rung Four – Him

August 30th, 7:05 pm

I knock on her door, and she opens it with a look of surprise, still clothed in ripped jeans and an overly bright t-shirt such as she favors for work.

“Severus, you’re early. I’m not ready yet, so you’ll just have to wait.” She weaves a deliberate path through the clutter of her front hall into her sitting room.

Tonks is no longer clumsy. She has not been since the Final Battle. It is as if the boisterous part of her that allowed her to be carefree died with Lupin.

“Can I get you a drink?”

At my nod, she crosses to a sideboard to decant whiskey into a glass. Her appearance is new again tonight – somewhat short, but heavily muscled, with dusky skin and curly black hair.

It is as if she no longer wants to be herself, and given her special abilities, she is able to manifest this subconscious longing physically.

Concomitantly, she no longer lets herself experience true emotion. Oh, she laughs and cavorts still, but little of it touches her heart. Having done the same for years, I am more than able to detect such a façade. I believe this is actually why she is involved with me – she knows she will never love me, nor I her, and I, therefore, offer no challenge to her emotional isolation.

Shacklebolt, however, seems more than willing to raze her castle walls – and in more ways than one. I suppose my stepping aside will allow him the opening.

How chivalrous. As if this will not also free me for other pursuits as well.

She turns, hands me my drink, and moves to exit the room.

“Tonks.”

Stopping, she faces me.

“I would like to speak with you.”

“This can’t be good.” Her grin is wry as she settles next to me on the settee.

I set my drink aside and turn just enough to observe her with my peripheral vision. “Tonks, term at Hogwarts begins in two days, and my time will thus be even more limited than it is now. In fact, it will indubitably be quite a while before I have the ability to pursue recreational activities.”

I pause; she looks away.

Is there ever a benefit to dawdling? Do it.

“I feel unable to continue a relationship.”

Staring at the floor, she remains silent. Time slows to a hideous crawl.

Well, at least she has foregone crying.

Yet more silence. I shift position in order to face her more fully.

“Tonks?”

A twitch – her head rises abruptly, and the large smile is completely unexpected, as is her reply: “So, how about one more go for old-time’s sake?”

Now it is my turn to remain silent although I raise an eyebrow.

In a move reminiscent of our first time, she takes this as invitation and straddles my lap. “Come on, Severus. I can be anyone you want. Pick a body – a favorite.”

“There is one …”

“Yes, go on.” She wraps her arms around my neck.

“The issue is that it is not one you have ever worn for me.”

“Not a problem. Not a problem. Just describe it and I can be it.”

“Nymphadora,” I say, looking into her eyes, “I would like for you to be yourself.”

“Myself?” A flash of confusion crosses her features before she leans back and looks away.

“Yes, yourself. Your own face, your own hair, your own body – yourself.”

“I … I …” Her face turns even further from me.

Time passes – a few moments only, but moments stretched and awkward.

I reach out and turn her to face me. Silently, great tears roll down her cheeks.

“Nymphadora.”

“I … I …” She metamorphs, and for the first time in well over two years I see her face, her true face: pixyish features framed by medium brown hair with eyes that are haunted. It is less exotic than her creations, less glamorous, less perfect, yet somehow more beautiful because it is real.

“You are lovely,” I tell her firmly.

Collapsing as if released from a great weight, she falls to my chest weeping audibly. She murmurs something repeatedly while brushing her face back and forth over my frock coat. Finally coming to rest, her sobs continue at a less frantic pace, and I can determine what she is saying. It is: “I’m sorry.”

I stroke her back and, when she calms even further, whisper, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“But we were going to … and now …”

“That is immaterial.” I use the space of a deep breath to consider my next words carefully.

Make it good, old man.

“When I look back on our time together, do you know of what I will think? Do you think it will be only remembrances of energetic sex?”

A hiccough of a laugh and she stirs a little against my chest.

“No. It will be that you were a friend when I needed one.”

After a few heartbeats of time, she pushes back to face me with a countenance that is both sad and open. “Thank you, Severus.”

Holding my eyes for a long moment, she forms a small frown and opens her mouth.

Not wanting to know what insight into my psyche she is about to plumb, I stir underneath her uncomfortably. “Now, I really must be going. I promised Minerva I would be only somewhat surly at tomorrow morning’s staff meeting.”

“Of course.” She slides from my lap, walks me to the door, and kisses my cheek in farewell. The door clicks shut quietly behind me.

Well, there goes my access to regular, uncomplicated fucking.

I shake my head and snort in wry amusement.

Still bitter.