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paulamcgHere’s a fic I’ve posted only on HP Femslash Minifest, and I’d really love to share this one with some more readers.
Title: Sharing Breaths
Author: paulamcg
Pairing: Amelia Bones/Nymphadora Tonks
Other Characters: Remus Lupin, Alice and Frank Longbottom
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 9200
Disclaimer: Amelia and her friends won’t help me make any money.
Notes: Written for HP Femslash Minifest on one of the March/April 2020 themes, Domestic Bliss Thank you once again, my wonderful beta Liseuse!
Summary: When the second war’s starting, Amelia begins to live and believe in a new relationship.
Read here on AO3
or right here:
Sharing Breaths
“You insisted I try that flicked-out hairstyle that didn’t suit me at all.” I squeeze Alice’s limp hand, seeking eye contact with her, and her gaze shifts back from wandering along the hideous flowery curtain drawn around us, and I babble on, “And that swing skirt of yours – that I keep it, too, and because Remus’s old sweatshirt…”
I can’t possibly have forgotten that he’s right next to me, where we’ve barely fitted our chairs between the two hospital beds. But having repeated these stories on my weekly or at least monthly visits for more than thirteen years, I haven’t now focused on what I’m talking about, until my mention of his name makes me realise that these memories might embarrass him.
He reaches out to pat Frank’s knee. “On me you forced a neat green turtle-neck jumper. You claimed it was too small for Frank.” Placing his other hand on my shoulder, he adds, “I wish I’d let you help me later, too, and perhaps I could’ve had something to offer in return.”
He looks a bit healthier than a week ago.
That’s when we were both close to freaking out as we chanced on each other at the door to the ward.
I hadn’t met him even when he’d been a teacher at Hogwarts, and after that year he’d disappeared again, perhaps gone abroad or just isolated himself like in late 1981. But since Arthur had told me about the revival of the Order, and about Dumbledore’s decision to keep me formally out – as the Ministry’s liaison, who officially didn’t know who were members but in reality knew, just like in the first war – I’d known Dumbledore had taken over Remus’s life again.
And here he was, with his shoulders hunched, and in patched robes, shutting the door quietly behind him, and as I walked closer, I saw him lean against it, drawing in a shuddering breath.
“Good to see you.” As soon as he’d breathed out his greeting, the confusion on his gaunt, pale face was wiped away by one of those brave smiles which have always evoked in me something beyond pity and admiration, perhaps tender love, and he continued, “Amelia. You look good.”
I suppose I’ve aged better – or less – than he has. I wear a monocle in the office in order to appear more senior, and he, who’s an artist and an expert in colours, is bound to realise that the purplish grey in my cropped hair is artificial. In turn, he hasn’t been treated gently by the years.
“And you, Remus...” I manage, reaching out my hand to shake his, “how are you?”
“Thank you… better.” He’s now holding my both hands, in the way he used to do before guiding them under his robes, back when we were fourteen. “Just… This is the first time I’ve seen our friends here, and I’m ashamed I didn’t come before.”
“It’s understandable.” I try to continue even though he shakes his head. “It must have been hard for…”
“Strangely enough, I’ve felt that now finally everything’s better, easier, even though…” For a moment it sounded like he’d open up about personal matters, but no, it must be politics he wants to talk about.
“He’s back,” I complete his sentence.
“You’ve heard…? Oh, you mean Vol… He-Who-Must-Not…”
Whom else? “Yes. You know, I believe it’s true, but I don’t say so, because it benefits the Order that I keep my position as the head of my department.”
He looks so vulnerable, as if he weren’t almost forty, too, and hadn’t been through more hardships than I dare imagine. Having not contacted me, while he can’t have avoided learning where I am (still, at the Ministry like ever since I left school), he seems overwhelmed by this encounter with his mere ex-almost-girlfriend, almost childhood sweetheart.
“Perhaps it’s selfish, but I’m happy that we who are left are back together fighting. It’s like… a family. Despite, or perhaps also because of my attitude towards our father figure.” He makes light of it, but I understand his deep resentment, and I wonder why he still agrees to serve Dumbledore – perhaps because he needs to belong and be useful. Grinning, he goes on, “And there’s something else… Someone else back. I’d like to talk to you about something serious…” He winks and repeats with such an emphasis that I interpret the word anew, “About Sirius things.”
“Oh. You want to come back in? And leave together with me after I, too, have seen Alice and Frank?”
“I’ll wait for you downstairs. I’d rather not face again until another day… what’s not better even now.” He bites his lip, and I realise that he’s been holding back tears since before the moment he came out of their room and bumped into me.
On that day I find it hard to focus on seeking interaction with the pair of old friends who must have permanently lost themselves. We who are truly left can stick together. Remus has made me realise how lonely I’ve been.
Even though my dorm mates had their boyfriends and planned to get married soon after Hogwarts, they both remained my closest friends. I was happy to finally – in 1978 – realise that marriage would never be for me, and proud to join those clubs, to be one of those dykes. But while I enjoyed the thrill of watching people when dancing, and the dreams of holding hands with my own beloved lady, I never, with anyone at all, feIt like going beyond the first kisses, and I only kept falling for singers with amazing voices. I never had anyone near and dear except our Gryffindor gang, and after I lost them all, I had only my work.
I continued to live on the borderline of the Muggle world, but now it meant mainly watching television and collecting vinyl records, while I seldom went out to clubs. In a few years I got a kitten, and my Hella has turned out an ideal companion to help me relax after any stressful day in the office. But six months after the remarkable and terrible Halloween I was all on my own when I heard a most soulful, deep voice caress an enchanting melody and words like these simple ones, repeated: all I ever knew/ only you. Alison Moyet, staring at me from my TV screen, helped me cry, and I recognised her as the singer in one of the weird punk bands which shook me in ‘78. Yes, she was Alf from the Vandals, whom I saw at the Basildon festival.
When in a hurry to join Remus, probably hugging Alice good-bye too soon, and realising that I’m missing her all the time in any case, I’ve got that hit playing in my mind. It's like a story of love/ Can you hear me?
I don’t know if the lyrics have ever made enough sense for the sensible Amelia I’ve remained on the outside. But I can give more meanings to them, and now, relishing the coincidentally fitting words, particularly to these lines: This is going to take a long time/ And I wonder what's mine/ Can't take no more/ Wonder if you'll understand/ It's just the touch of your hand/ Behind a closed door.
I spend that gently cooling July evening beside him on a park bench, after he’s vehemently declined my offer of a dinner while he looks so undernourished that it pains me. Taking off his robes, he’s revealed a t-shirt and jeans, both worn-out. Staring at him as he goes on ranting about the atrocity of forcing Alice and Frank to stay at St Mungo’s due to some indefinite research on the effects of the Cruciatus Curse, I keep comparing his scrawny figure to Vince Clarke’s, and thinking about how his and Alison’s duo split up in summer 1983 – just at the time when someone from Merlin College mentioned that Remus had left for France, perhaps to study Magic of Images. And I’m aware that once again I’m trying to escape my life, seeking a distance from myself by entering other stories.
When he elbows me, I manage to say something sensible enough, “No. You’re right. And I must be able to do something. It’s shameful how little I’ve done while I’ve gained better positions at the Ministry.” I suddenly feel that all these years have been lost. “But now, tell me about how you…”
I must look awfully concerned, as he hurries to assure me, “Honestly, I’m doing well now.” And his face lights up in such joy that I finally understand it’s true. “I’m back living with him, at the headquarters. He is back.”
As Remus, who’s loved – then mourned – Peter, too, as a close friend, tells me that Peter is alive and has been hiding all this time and has confessed a year ago that he was the one who betrayed Lily and James, I believe it, of course, no matter how incredible it is. This is another atrocity: that the real traitor confessed a year ago, but because he did it only in front of James’s two friends and his son and two other teenagers, Sirius is still a wanted fugitive.
“But my Padfoot is protected by the Order now. And he’s with me. He’ll get better.” He gives me again the smile I’ve missed. “I wished he could be tended to at St Mungo’s. But after what I saw there today, I’m glad he can’t be, although the headquarters is not the best place for his healing either. You know, it’s his parents’ house, another prison for him. In any case it’s a home for us to share now.”
“Thank you for telling me. I’m… happy for you.” And I remember his saying something like that to me on that frosty November evening in ‘78 when I came out to him and, glad to be gay just like him, I felt a renewed, perhaps ever closer connection.
This hot afternoon I’m secure in the prospect of meeting him regularly and of often sharing some time alone with him after our weekly visits to the ward.
We exchange melancholy smiles as we’re taking off our robes downstairs, among the waiting patients. Without any words it’s understood that we won’t just Disapparate to our own directions. When I owled him to ask if he’d like to come today, I suggested early enough an hour, mentioning that I’d need to still return to my office.
He’s obviously not upset about the way I talked to Alice, and he seems to take it for granted we’re not parting as soon as leaving St Mungo’s. “You’re heading to the Ministry, right? Let’s walk together to the visitors’ entrance!”
“Yes! Let us go then, you and I,” I reply with that line by T. S. Eliot we enjoyed abusing in our fourth year.
As we’ve exited to the Muggle street and started walking side by side, just not quite touching, I’m glad that my Muggle clothes are no power suit, but white linen trousers and an over-sized button-down shirt, casual and youthful enough and fitting in this sultry weather and in this company. He’s wearing the same ragged t-shirt as a week ago, and I can’t help thinking he’d need another makeover like the one I was just recounting to Alice.
“How’s Hella?” he asks with a smirk after a companionable silence when we’ve crossed the street and reached the shade of some dusty plane trees.
I’m glad he remembers my cat’s name, but there’s hardly anything to add to what I told him last time about sharing my flat with her. “She’s healthy but not wild, not so much fun as when she was a kitten. And how’s Pads?”
And he launches into explaining how his dog would like to romp in the woods but he believes they can enjoy romping in the bedroom instead, and when he continues about cooking and cleaning, or rather decontaminating the awful house, I know he means the two of them have proper meals together and work together, and he’s happy and healthier, perhaps his Pads is, too, and I’m glad.
When we turn the corner to see our vandalised telephone box, my attention is drawn immediately to a young pink-haired woman approaching it from the opposite direction. She’s walking slowly, and I’m almost sure she was standing still until the moment she saw us, and now she waves her both arms, exclaiming, “Wotcher, Remus!”
“What a coincidence,” he says so smugly that I doubt it is one. “Amelia, just to defy our father figure’s orders, I’d be happy to help the two of you know each other better than he thinks is necessary. And Tonks, you must have met Amelia Bones formally…”
Nymphadora Tonks. That name was in the list of members Arthur recited to me.
I’ve seen her before. She’s the trainee, now qualified auror who’s been hard to recognise for sure, but who is uncannily memorable. There’s something about her – no matter how she changes her hairstyle or even the shape of her face – that brings back such hopes for desire and pleasure I entertained when fourteen and again when realising that girls could… that I could be gay.
And this is the first time I see her in Muggle clothes. At the sight of the ripped net stockings, the almost see-through blouse, the suspenders pushed to the sides from her small, firm breasts… a long-absent jolt fires the bottom of my belly or something deeper in me.
Perhaps this shows, or perhaps just the absence of my monocle makes her, too, stare in amazement while Remus is completing his convoluted introductions, “I’m glad to introduce to you the amazing Amelia who was one of our gang when your mother’s favourite cousin and I were young.”
“I remember you,” I manage to say, only glad that I don’t sound like a senior Ministry official, “your face, too, miraculously. Your name should be easier to remember, but I understand only now that you’re Andromeda and Ted’s daughter.”
“You’ve seen something that’s always in me? Cool! And yes. Perhaps you saw me when I was more of a tyke than a dyke. I was Professor Lupin’s first student some… fifteen years ago.”
“The two of you have a lot in common,” Remus says. “Your love for Muggle music…”
“I haven’t gone to clubs for… lately, but I do follow what’s new, and continue to build my vinyl collection.” No, I’ve made another mistake just after fixing the first one. Her generation won’t care for vinyls.
“I’d love to show you some new clubs, and to hear what the scene was like when I was too young.” She doesn’t see our age difference as a problem. “And to see your collection.”
Did she just wink? Or change the shape of her lids and add some turquoise eyeliner? Dumbfounded, I glance at Remus, and his nod and grin make me realise that in any case I’ve spontaneously broken into such a blissful smile as hardly anyone but he has ever evoked in me.
“Sorry. Maybe I’m too forward,” Tonks says, but she must already see that she isn’t. “I can be when I become fond of someone too quickly.”
After two hours of composing memorandums more fluently and cheerfully than ever, I’m back sharing the cramped space of the telephone box with Tonks. I’ve already missed her, and it feels oddly like homecoming to lean against the telephone and watch again her lithe, animated figure as she struggles to keep her balance when the box shudders to motion. The golden light from the atrium leaves her long, net-clad legs and shines last on her trainers, and I’m glad to take note that she prefers sensible shoes.
In the minute’s darkness on our way up, I focus on her citrus scent, not different from… Shacklebolt’s, I think. But now her hand brushes against my arm and hits the back wall as in her swaying she ends up pressing against me for a moment.
“Sorry,” she says as I’m saying, “It’s all right,” and we both giggle, and I blink when sunshine bathes the pink of her hair and of her cheeks.
Thunder rumbles along the shabby street just when I’m following her out of the box. The day’s suddenly grown dark, and I glance up at threatening clouds. She shrieks in delight and spreads her arms under the first heavy raindrops. It’s easy for me, too, to welcome the refreshing rain with a broad smile, and I don’t have to be the one to suggest we take shelter. She points towards the pub at the corner, and grabs my hand, pulls me to run with her.
I’m running and laughing with her, running in the way I haven’t since… when I was a girl at Hogwarts. Just like this I enjoyed running when finally I felt I was a girl like the others – when I was thrilled that Remus had taken my mittened hand in his cold one and pulled me with him back away from the shore of the frigid lake. Here warm water’s splashing under our light summer shoes, and steam’s rising from the hot paving, and the sun comes out again and draws dancing little rainbows in front of my incredulous eyes.
“It’s almost over,” I say, panting, when we’ve stopped at the pub’s door. “Pity?” Hoping it came out playful enough, I glance at her with a grin.
“If it weren’t over, we’d go back out for some more, right? But it is over, and we can stay. Sit down! It’s my treat, as I dragged you to this lovely, seedy pub. D’you like beer or not?”
I love her logic, and the way she puts her question. I wouldn’t fear that I’d appear to her as old or uppity even if I chose a different drink. But… “Yes, I’ve always enjoyed tasting all types of beer. I’ll like anything you get for yourself.”
My eyes follow her brazenly graceless gait all the way to the bar, before I choose a table by the window. Only after I’ve sat down does it occur to me that we’ll be in full view of anyone who enters or leaves the Ministry through the telephone box. But any staff having the same habit as the two of us have – of using this way to get straight out here – must be Muggleborn or otherwise fond of life in Muggle London, and most probably not prejudiced. And why should I worry when this can’t look like anything but colleagues sharing a drink. Nobody would think this is a romantic rendezvous. Is this? Or have I been imagining things?
Maybe I do look worried when she returns. She places two pints on the table so clumsily that I have to get a hold of mine to save it from toppling over. And my hand lingers for a moment on hers, and now my gaze is naturally fixed right there. Her fingernails are short like mine, and they are painted each a different colour… “Rainbow,” I catch myself saying, “another rainbow.”
She pulls her hand away and lifts her own pint. “To rainbows!”
I respond to her toasting with a shaky smile and take a gulp. “Any colleague who sees us might wonder why… As I’m not your boss.”
“No, you’re not. And why should this have anything to do with work? We’ve found out we share this interest… Now tell me about the music you like, won’t you!”
“You start!” I’m not so confident yet that we have similar tastes, but I appreciate such various types of music that I’ll probably be able to honestly say I like – or at least I’m curious about – whatever she mentions.
“All right. My favourite album now must still be Under the Pink. I got it last year from my friend. Just because it was atop the chart, so that even Tiberius noticed it, and he found the title so fitting…”
As I’m staring, she touches her uneven fringe and the shade of her hair gets brighter, bolder, closer to fuchsia. If she means Wizengamot elder Tiberius Ogden, she really doesn’t care about age differences. She can easily accept me as another friend, although any hints beyond that must have been my wishful thinking. “Tori Amos is brilliant. One of the amazing female voices I… And she even makes the lyrics and the compositions herself. I’ve got Little Earthquakes, too.”
“And other voices you like…?”
“There’s Alison Moyet. Hers is a very special voice. Contralto, a powerful voice, fitting for blues. But she started in a punk band…” Now it’s getting ever easier for me to talk to Tonks, and I go on and tell her all about Alison – and about Alice, too, in the process.
She’s leaning forward, with her arms on the table, and for once I feel like touching more than a hand. My eyes keep caressing the soft curve of her cheek.
“But it’s not only history. Alison released a new album last year… Would you like to come to my flat and hear her voice? If you don’t mind meeting Hella.”
“You live with…?”
“Her, yes. My cat.”
The sound of her purring makes me turn back from the record player. Tonks has knelt down to peruse the albums on the bottom shelf, and Hella’s ventured from her hiding place and curled up against her leg, and now relaxed when a finger’s started moving cautiously in small stroking circles under her chin.
“How did you seduce her?”
“By not looking directly at her,” Tonks says, with her head tilted and her eyes still focused on the titles of the albums. “She’s lovely. And your collection’s mint. I’ve got some compact discs now, bought a CD player when I started getting a proper salary from the Ministry. My parents used only cassette tapes, recorded their music from the radio or their friends’ albums.”
Having slipped Alison’s last year’s album back into its sleeve, I sit down near her, but on the other side of Hella, so as to reach to return the album to its place. My system of arranging the collection might look random. Various punk bands are beside Alison, and next to them there’s Fairuz.
Pulling this Lebanese “Moon’s Neighbour” out, I reply, “You know, I stepped out to the Muggle World only after leaving Hogwarts. This was the beginning of my collection, a present from Lily in 1977.”
“Oh.” She stares at the cover, at the photograph of the impressive face framed by thick auburn hair, and with mesmerising but perhaps too close-set eyes.
“James said Fairuz looked like her, but since the first years at Hogwarts he had always…” I’m about to stand up so as to play this record, but I don’t really like it as background music, even though we wouldn’t need to follow the Arabic lyrics. “She brought this from her first Curse-Breaker mission. Yes, Harry Potter’s mother was my dorm mate, too. Maybe not quite as close a friend as Alice. Lily sometimes… preferred different company for a change. Some Slytherins, and teachers, even the barman at the Hog’s Head.”
“Maybe I have something in common with her. I’ve found I enjoy the company of people above my age.”
I start stroking Hella’s back, wondering how to make it seem unintentional if I end up touching the rainbow nails. “The friend you mentioned – who gifted you with an album…?” Lifting my gaze from our hands, I meet Tonks’s eyes, and it occurs to me that perhaps we’ve been seducing each other in the same way as she gained Hella’s trust.
“Tiberius Ogden. I’ve loved discussions with him since my first year as a trainee. I love history, and he’s got such a perspective…” Her eyes, now locked with mine, turn violet. “He’d like us to be a couple, but I’m not sure I’m… interested in men in that way.”
I fail to reply. As I move my palm cautiously on Hella’s fur, my fingertips touch hers and tremble against them.
“Now when a war’s starting...” She’s changing the topic but continues to stare at me expectantly. “I realise that there are people who were my age in the final years of last war. That there are few of them left, and…”
“You’re interested in us.” I’m stroking the back of her hand now.
“Yes, and in you, only you… I could be – in that way.”
I’m bold enough. Perhaps unlike her, I’ve done this before. Not quite like this. I start to lean over Hella, but my fingers are quicker to act upon my rare desire. They leave her hand and reach for her lush face, and their tips brush the perfect, smooth skin of her cheek, sliding down to the corner of her mouth. Only now do my lips press against hers.
I’m breathing in her lemon scent, I’m sharing my breaths with her, and it’s beautiful.
Sighing out my bliss, I sit back down on my heels. As I grab Tonks’s hand and entwine my fingers with hers, Hella’s had enough and she dashes away with a low growl, and that makes me chuckle. “I hope I’ll see you again,” I say, feasting my eyes on this gorgeous girl, already dreaming of walking hand-in-hand with her, and believing my dream will come true.
Her laughter caresses my ears. “You mean me, or Hella?”
“You. You’re amazing.”
“Oh.” She starts getting up, and I don’t let go of her hand and make her pull me up, too. “I do need to get going.”
“When… could you come out with me?” The way I’ve ended up wording my suggestion makes me grin.
“Too bad they’re sending me away on a mission tomorrow. Secret, of course, so I don’t know when…”
I’ll be happy while missing her – unless I have to fear I’ll lose her. “I hope it won’t be dangerous.”
“No, don’t worry. It’s espionage, and I’m great at disguises. I’ll owl you – even before I’m back, whenever I can.”
I’ve walked her to the door. Here she wriggles her fingers free, and lifts her both hands to cup my face. As I get to still feel the softness of her lips against mine, I try my best to fully revel in the sensation. But I can’t help thinking… If she wants sex… When she asks for it, I’ll handle it, although I’ve never wanted it with anyone else.
Bouncing down the stairs, she glances back once and waves.
It’s the third morning after those few hours we shared. Passing the pub on my way to the telephone box, I measure the time once again, and I have to wonder how it’s possible. But it is true. Tonks has changed my world.
In my reflection on the pub window I see a handsome woman with a good posture, a light step and a brilliant smile. She’s the woman whom a bright, ravishing girl became fond of instantaneously, and got interested in “in that way”. But I don’t love only her, and myself in a new way. I love the seedy pub and this street, and having got up early, and catching the last cool waft of air before another sweltering day.
And finding happiness here and now, between old losses and a new war.
“I must go home to write a letter.” I’ve felt tempted to tell Remus earlier – and even to tell him and Alice at the same time, and why not tell also Frank, who might well manage to listen to me now, in this new beautiful world – and when the two of us are back out in the corridor, I can no longer resist showing the post card to him.
He takes it from my hand, smiling. “So you did become friends immediately!” Having read Tonk’s lovely greeting with a glance, he turns the card over and studies the still Muggle photograph. Two women in old-fashioned swimsuits playing leapfrog on a beach, one bent over and the other caught in mid-leap with a wide smile, which will never fade for a moment.
“More than that, I think. We’re in… or falling in…”
Remus returns the card to me, looking more serious. “I’m happy. I trust you’ll be wise and cautious enough. Tonks is young, inexperienced, perhaps experimenting.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t do anything to harm her.”
Despite the relentless autumn rain, I’ll enjoy walking slowly, at least this first stretch of my way home. Having lifted my face to let the drops make the memory of the exhilarating thunderstorm more vivid, I open my new pink umbrella, and head towards the pub. Perhaps today I could finally also enter again.
Now stopping in front of the window, I don’t focus on my reflection. I can hardly see myself at all, as there’s warm light inside, and out here it’s all grey, apart from this pink above my head. Turning, I still consider opening the door. I could choose the same table and…
Watch her walk back to me! With her long strides she’s marching from the telephone box, now across the water streaming down the pavement, and now she’s ducked under…
“Under the Pink,” she says, “there must be space for me.”
Tonks herself brightens the day with her whole chorus of colours, and her breath is hot against my cheek, as if I were warming up with a cup of lemon tea.
“Always. This place is for you.” That is true. I had her in mind, of course, when I chose the umbrella.
“Thanks. Finally I get the chance to talk to you.” Her hair’s closer to purple and shorter than before – than a moment ago, I think.
“We’ve both been busy.” That, too, is true. But after my first long letter, I’ve written others, and Tonks has sent only a few notes, sweet but short and unpredictable. At the Ministry we’ve seen each other at least once every week in the corridor, but she’s seemed to barely notice me until the moment when we pass and there’s no chance for more than quick hellos. “Shall we go in?”
“No, how could we possibly?” She shakes her head, and her face grows sullen, perhaps longer as well. And now she grins, and her nose, too, perks up. “This time the rain hasn’t stopped.” She remembers, and the memory must be meaningful to her, too.
There’s laughter bubbling in me, and I can’t resist making my suggestion into a statement, “Of course, we must walk through the rain – to my flat.”
“And you must let me carry this.” She wrestles the handle of the umbrella from my grip, as I, playfully, try my best not to surrender it. “Let me take charge. There’s no need to worry about getting too wet.”
We share a giggle, and start moving ahead, surrounded by shiny veils of rain. Determined to enjoy the closeness I’ve missed, I keep jostling her, and decide not to ask anything.
But she’s eager to explain. “I was disappointed with myself because I couldn’t do what I promised you. I never got a chance to take you clubbing. Because of Order duty almost every night. Finally tonight I’m free.”
“It’s all right.” It’s better than that. She has wanted my company, just wished she could offer me more. “Would you like to go out tonight?”
“I’d rather go in, really,” she says, laughing, as she tilts the umbrella so as to try and protect us now that, when crossing the square, we’re exposed to water thrown sideways by blasts of cold wind, “and stay in the cosy rooms, with the lovely cat and the music.”
“I’ll love that too. You shouldn’t have worried about going to clubs.” Because her uneven gait makes it hard for me not to stumble, I’m looking down at our feet, at two pairs of shoes sensible enough but drenched in any case. “You could have sent notes to explain. Or talked to me at the Ministry. Although I guess you couldn’t mention your night duties.”
“No. And I didn’t want to write and say that I can’t see you.” Her voice sounds close to my ear, and perhaps that’s what makes me shiver. “Every night I hoped that on the next day I could suggest we meet. Oh, don’t you sometimes wish we could be walking home together – to our home.”
“Yes,” I hardly dare breath out.
There’s something tickling my cheek. Her hair’s too short for that, unless she’s suddenly grown it. I turn my head – and my lips brush against hers. And I pull back a bit to look at her in wonder. She’s so beautiful.
I’m glad that yesterday I felt like barely tasting my Chinese takeaway, and that I have this habit of heating the rest of the meals on the following day in the microwave, a brilliant Muggle device for witches like me who never cared to learn the simplest cooking charms. I’ve eaten even less than usual, wondering if it matters, after all, whether gaining weight would make me look more middle-aged. Adding some fresh vegetables, I’m succeeding in creating two decent portions. Of course, I could order something new, but Tonks said no, she wasn’t so keen on eating, just relaxing.
As I start levitating the tray with the plates and two wine glasses, and carrying the bottle to the living room, I can hear Annie’s angelic voice, and I can’t resist singing along, “When you need someone to depend upon…”
“Oh, you chose Revenge,” I say to Tonks, who’s slouching on the couch, and I direct the tray to land onto the low table beside.
“What?” she says.
“This Eurythmics album.”
“Ah…” She smiles, perhaps realising she’s misunderstood my comment, but without looking up.
And I notice she’s reading a letter, a proper one, written with ink on parchment.
With an angry hiss, Hella bounces across the room. There’s a small, pretty owl flying just above her reach.
“Do you want me to give a treat to the owl and let it out?” I ask, placing the wine on the table. Now I notice also the curtain flapping, and add, “Or just close the window?”
“Close… it,” Tonks replies absently.
I summon a small plate from the kitchen and pick some pieces of meat from my portion for the owl. Even though I’ve fed her as soon as we came in, Hella protests with a short wail when I lift the plate up on top of the bookshelf. The owl comes immediately, even rubs her beak against my finger, yes, flirts in the way of female owls, and she’s clearly young and playful. Hoping she’ll stay up there, I go to close the window and return to the couch, with Hella circling my legs, making her burbling sound for attention. Having poured the wine, I sit down at the end of the couch and welcome her on my lap. And all this time Tonks is focused on the letter.
“The owl can wait,” she finally says, rolling up the parchment and sitting straighter. “I’m too tired to reply to Tiberius now.”
When I hand her a glass of wine, she smiles and fixes her eyes on me, turning them a bit more almond-shaped and turquoise, although I still don’t know how intentional or even conscious these minor changes are. “To a quiet evening at home!”
“Home,” I repeat, clicking my glass against hers.
“Oh, I love Chinese.” She grabs her fork, but forgets to start eating. “Tiberius is eager to try new things, and it’s fun that so many things are new to him. Muggle technology, of course…”
There’s not much I need to say, and I prefer listening to just the warm tone of her voice. To my surprise I’ve already emptied my glass, and I pour more wine for both of us. Having finished my portion too quickly, I focus on watching her. But since she keeps dropping her fork or pieces of food before they reach her mouth, I turn my attention to her pretty knees, and the hem of her short skirt.
“I am a bit hungry, after all,” she says, and now she grows silent, having realised she needs to concentrate on eating.
“I didn’t notice when that record ended,” I say, and I go to choose another one.
Essex, of course. I guess I want to reach the atmosphere of last time, our first time.
I lower the needle at the beginning of the song I’ve kept listening to since July. “You move me into something easy…” Joining in to sing with Alison, I start walking across the room towards Tonks, who’s now emptied her plate and lifted her gaze to me. “And it pleases me/ Took me by surprise/ I never saw the light/ Until you turned it on.”
She reaches out her hand and pulls me to sit right beside her. Tilting her face very near mine, she stares into my eyes, and hers turn darker, deep blue. Up this close, her features are a bit blurred, unfocused, and I know I really should have got glasses or rather contact lenses and not just the stupid monocle, which I won’t wear in her presence.
I’ve pulled back just to better focus my eyes on the perfection of her skin. But as she now frowns, I realise she suspects my thoughts are not of this shared moment, and she’s right. I’ve got distracted.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks.
I want to be honest. “That I… I’d like to see you more clearly.”
“Don’t think so much. And you could as well close your eyes.”
I do as she advises me to. Or I try. With my eyes closed, I’m thrilled to feel her lips – as soft as I’ve remembered from the first time – press against mine, and isn’t it right that this time she’s been the one to complete the closing of the gap and to consummate the intimate contact? I can’t help smiling against her mouth as I realise that I still haven’t stopped thinking, and why should I when now it’s all happy thoughts, no doubts?
Her tongue tickles my lips, then the corners of my mouth, and I chuckle. And now I feel a palm against a breast, and I lean back, opening my eyes to revel in the sight of her flushed cheeks and a lopsided little smile.
I’m just reaching out my hands to caress her upper arms when she huffs. “I could use some Ogden’s now!” And perhaps because I look alarmed, she adds, “No, I don’t mean Tiberius Ogden, although… Just some Ogden’s Old to help us relax better.”
“Oh…” I fumble for my wand. “Accio, bottle of Firewhiskey!”
Tonks hurries to empty her wine glass. “These glasses are fine, just fill them up!”
The golden liquid glints and undulates as we touch our drinks together. I take a gulp, for once not thinking, and the burn forces me to keep my mouth open for cool air. I’ve put my glass down – just in time before Tonks flops over me, splashing whiskey on herself. Jerking my head aside, I laugh – ever more when from the corner of my eye I see Hella slink out of the room, this time exiting with a dignified, silent protest.
Tonks is slouching now in the position I first saw her here. Giddy, I lean close and set my head on her shoulder, and I see that the owl up on the bookshelf has bent her head under a wing, and I listen to Alison sing. I remember the dress you wore/ And you're still here with me,/ but maybe/ Dorothy it's been too long, so long.
Dorothy. “Could I call you Dor…”
“Thanks.” I can hear her slurp what’s left in her glass, and now she shifts to set the glass on the floor. “Just Tonks. Or okay, as you wish. What did you say they used to call you at clubs – Mel?” She places a hand on my chest and wriggles her fingers under the neckline.
It tickles me, and I take her hand and hold it a bit further away so as to examine the nails. “No rainbow tonight,” I point out.
“Had no time or mind lately for… Of course, I can do it without any nail polish or even wand magic, but not now. I’m getting sleepy. Is it all right if I sleep here?”
“Of course. I love it if you stay. But here, on the couch… I can make a bed here for myself. You’ll sleep in my bed.”
“Take me to bed then, Mel!”
I get to my feet a bit unsteadily and pull her up by the hand. Stumbling, I start leading her towards the bedroom. In the middle of the floor, she pulls her hand free and leans against me, and as soon as I’m supporting her with a hand on her shoulder, she wraps an arm around my waist and holds me so firmly that I cease to be ticklish and I feel just safe and warm.
When she’s flopped down on the bed, I go to rummage in the wardrobe, trying to find a nightgown in her style. Oh, here’s the over-sized black t-shirt with a pink unicorn!
“There’s an unused toothbrush on the top shelf in the cabinet,” I remember to say, pulling my Dorothy up again. “The pink one. You can use the bathroom first, and wear this.”
She looks at the unicorn and smiles. After guiding her across the threshold, I rummage some more and finally locate an extra pillow and a blanket as well as my loveliest, lacy little nightdress.
“Go in,” she says to my ear, startling me, “and get ready soon, before I fall asleep.”
While brushing my teeth I examine myself in the mirror. There’s a new shine or something that makes me look almost pretty. Or could it be that I’ve seen myself appearing younger than last year only because of my weakening eyesight? And why didn’t I choose to wear something unisex, like usual? No, I don’t want these doubts now. My bosom looks bold when half-revealed by the lace, and I’ve got the feeling that Tonks is attracted to it – perhaps curious about how it is, being intimate with another woman. And since July she’s made me more fond of being a woman than I’ve ever been.
Coming back to the bedroom, I stare at her head on my pillow for a moment, at the bright purple hair and her closed lids.
When I start carrying the bedding to the door, she speaks. “Come here! No need to make a bed on the couch. There’s space here.”
I drop the pillow and the blanket and go up to the bed. Only now does she open her eyes. Or one of them, and perhaps she winks, like when we’d just been introduced. And she lifts her arm and the duvet, and I slip under them both, facing her with a wide smile for a moment.
“This is like sharing a home, isn’t it?” I say, and then I roll around, like a cat who’s finding the best position. I pull her arm firmly around my waist and push back against her chest. “Hold me like this. Good night, Dorothy.”
She sighs. “Like home.” Her voice is soft and slow as if she were already asleep. “And we’ll both be here when we wake up. Nighty night, Mel!”
I open my eyes to a blurry sight of a wrinkled unicorn. Tilting my head back, I see my Dorothy is awake.
Meeting my gaze, she makes her eyes as well as her smile wide – her eyes round and violet. “Good morning, Mel!”
“Morning! How are you? Besides beautiful?”
“Perhaps I did drink too much. But I feel fine. Wonderful,” she says, stroking my hair, and now she puckers her lips.
I’m not so eager to share my morning breath with her, and I lay my head down on her chest.
And this is complete bliss: huddling close to her. With her heartbeat against my ear, I can sense it pulse right through me, join mine, and I feel as if my heart had never been beating before.
“It’s still early,” she says, sliding a hand to my neck, and a kiss tickles my ear. “We’ve got plenty of time…”
“For a proper breakfast!” I press my cheek tight against the unicorn for a moment more, and reach up to run a finger along her jawline, before rolling out of bed.
“I’ve got a girlfriend!” Tonks’s triumphant sing-song voice, ringing over the noise of the Muggle rush-hour traffic, makes me feel young and beautiful.
I adjust my steps better to her pace, squeezing her hand tighter, and swinging our arms wildly. It makes me laugh to think about how she pulled me to sit on her lap at the breakfast table – and just shrugged and opened the window with her wand when the owl flew from the living room and I pointed out she’d forgotten about replying to the letter.
A line from my favourite song on Essex tumbles from my lips, barely audibly but adding to our shared joy, if possible, “You got me into something wild.”
I spread the small piece of parchment on the stained laminate of the pub table, even though I’ve got a chance to read the note at least five times since Tonks pressed it on my palm in the corridor. It’s so lovely to see her handwriting again – not that I haven’t looked at it every evening in some of the short letters from the early autumn and on the very first postcard, my treasure.
Once again I’ve got in my head a line from what I’ve chosen as our song. I wanna be as close as I'll ever be.
Glancing at the window, I see only myself, even though it’s not completely dark outside. December barely begun, but there’s snow on the ground, and it’s got so cold that when hearing about Remus’s plans on the day before yesterday, I felt for a moment the oddly pleasurable pain he used to evoke in me. Today finally – while stroking the lines of the note with a finger, and expecting Tonks to arrive at any minute – I can think about my dear canines without getting stuck in feelings of envy and self-pity.
“I’m sorry I can’t share a walk with you today,” Remus said after we’d descended to the reception area.
He said the same last time, and that was a month ago. I’m guessing his reason, but I can’t resist making one more try. “I agree it’s too cold for sitting on park benches, but it’s pretty, too, with all the snow. I remember you used to enjoy days like this outside, and for once you could let me treat you to a coffee at a café near by, or a hot chocolate.”
He smiles, swinging a cloak over his shoulders. “I could, thank you. The offer is tempting, and I’d prefer a café to a park bench on any winter day. After all the years out in the cold, I’d rather not brave the elements. Just when I must, and since I’ve accepted for now that our father’s order is the law…” He winks with some bitterness in his grin.
“He’s not sending you on a mission for…?” And he’s just been away for more than three weeks.
“No. This is a short one. Only until tomorrow afternoon.” He’s guiding me further away from some waiting patients who might be listening, and whispers, “That’s a line I won’t cross. And I think he won’t. He still doesn’t want to spoil his experiment or to risk my value for the Order by exposing me to what might undo the rest of my… Not even by using me at other times of the month in missions concerning… my kind.”
I reach for his hand and squeeze it. “I’m glad about that.”
And I’m glad we can finally talk about his condition – as openly as is possible in the new circumstances. In September, when telling him about my career, I took the opportunity to mention that a particular position I’d gained in 1989 gave me an access to the Werewolf Registry, and that back then I’d immediately checked what I’d concluded sixteen years earlier. He apologised for having not told me, explaining that he never told anyone – just chose to let some people understand. And I remember how on a long-ago spring day he guided my hand to that ragged scar on his shoulder, and that was when I knew for sure. That was a moment before I – with my hand moved to his crotch – learnt that he was not interested in girls “in that way” and I began to gradually realise that I would never be into boys. I was just that kind of a friend who never asked about his secrets. When at her party in 1977 Lily dedicated a Pink Floyd song to the dear animals among her friends, the three Animagi revealed their secrets, trusting me even though I apprenticed at the Ministry, but we never talked about why they’d committed that serious breach of law.
And now the identity of Remus’s dog is the most serious secret, the one we dare not even whisper about.
“I’ve got orders to Apparate now without delay straight up north, to a specific spot – secret, of course – on the Scottish coastline. To watch for signs of a possible insurgence among the merpeople. Apparate back as late tomorrow afternoon as I’m able to.”
“How necessary can that be?” I’ve got ever angrier on his behalf while listening to his calm voice. “For such a short time? Worth all the strength it takes just before…?” Dumbledore’s not only using him, but also… Testing his loyalty, or harming him – and Sirius, who needs him – on purpose?
“Remember the rules he dictated to us when he first recruited us – and then not you, after all: no questioning! At least I always get home for those couple of nights. I’ll return up there as soon as I’m in the shape for Apparation again, and you know, I need to rest for the day and night after… Then I’ll stay in the north longer, perhaps until Christmas.” He flashes his resilient smile. “But late tomorrow afternoon, when he thinks I’m locking myself up in our cellar, I’m taking my dog out – for the third time!”
“Oh. Is it safe? For you and… the dog?”
“Yes. That’s the night when… no hunters dare go out. And I think it can help him get better.”
He doesn’t get too many days and nights to help Sirius heal, and I really shouldn’t feel any envy. But I can’t think what more to say. “Where… ? No, we’ve already talked too much.”
“Remember the painting I brought to you… when was it – in ‘78? The night when you invited me to come out with you, at the Lesbian night club? It’s that wilderness, with the lake reflecting rowans and birches and the rare maple. The secret colours I painted thinking about Lily and Alice and you. I’m not saying where, but… I wanted to let you know. And I hope that while we’re there, you’ll share a beautiful time with your… Dorothy.”
“Thank you. You… stay safe. And warm. Up there in the north without your dog, too.”
“Haven’t you noticed the improvement in my style?” He makes a swirl, grinning. “I got this cloak from…”
From his dog! The absurdity of the sentence we complete in our minds makes us laugh, and I get a rare desire, and act upon it, too. I wrap the cloak – which is, indeed, of fine, thick material – tight around him, and hug him briefly, pressing my face against his neck. And I can sense in his deep breath how he makes the most of this physical contact, as hungry for a human touch as he’s always been, particularly on the days around the full moon.
By the time when, having become aware of a draft of frigid air, I look up, Tonks is already standing on the other side of the table. She’s got a yellow and black scarf wrapped around her neck, and perhaps those colours make her look pale. Staring at me, uncharacteristically grave, she bites her lip.
“Wotcher…” I use her regular word for greeting, but leave it at that, suddenly doubting she likes me to call her Dorothy, and finding it hard to smile.
“Sorry I’m late.” She sits down opposite to me. “What’s new? You look… worried?” She does.
“Just thinking about my old friends. You know, the two who are left. I’m worried about them. One is forced to stay away too much.”
I don’t think Tonks is listening. She’s looking at my hand on the note, and now she places her fingertips on my nails. “As I wrote, I need to tell you something. Didn’t want to write it.”
“Yes?”
She only looks at me with pale blue eyes ever more seriously, as if expecting me to say whatever it is that needs to be told. She unwraps the scarf, using one hand, but now withdraws the other from mine, and starts folding the scarf with both. It’s a long and thick, woollen knitted scarf.
“Hufflepuff colours. They don’t really suit me. Unless I change, of course.” Her hair’s almost black now. “Got it from Tiberius. We’ve really become very close, you know. In four years. He needs me to keep in touch daily. I can’t leave him, must stay his closest friend in any case. I still don’t know if I’m really into men. Perhaps into some other… To you I can say this. I’ve met someone who’s half goblin. And with you…”
“With me…?” My pulse must have quickened.
“I want to stay close friends with you, too. But not…”
Now my throat feels contracted. “Not in that way?”
“No, not in that way,” she repeats in a gentle voice, perhaps relieved, too. “You’ve seen it doesn’t work.”
“No… Yes, it does work!” There must be a way to prove it. “I…” I want this love. “And you’ve said it’s like home.”
“I thought it would be. I was… hoping.”
It’s over. No! All I’ve got left is Alison’s amazing voice in my mind. It's alright baby/ it ain't over/ I didn't mean to hurt you/ It was nothing/ I was dreaming/ But I'd rather live believing.
“No!” I’m crying. “The rest of my life!” What shall I do with the rest of my life?
She frowns until she figures out what I’ve meant. “You’ll meet someone else.”
But I can’t help feeling that this was my last chance. The rest of my life stretches ahead of me: years and years to be spent in loneliness. Tonight I’ll cry, all through this winter of war I’ll cry for myself, and perhaps then I’ll be happy that for five months I managed to live believing.
Notes: Alison Moyet was born in 1961, and in her early career she sang in several rock and blues bands, including the Vandals, which was active in Basildon in 1978, when she was known as Alf. After forming Yahoo, she and Vince Clarke achieved instant success with Only You, which they performed on TV, in the Top of the Pops, on the 29th April 1982.
Getting Into Something and Dorothy are tracks on Alison Moyet’s album Essex, which was released in 1994.
When Tomorrow Comes is a song on Revenge (1986) by Eurythmics.
The Little Earthquakes (1992) and Under the Pink (1994) are Tori Amos’s first two albums.
Lebanese singer Fairuz (born in 1934) is admired and influential in the whole Arab world, and known also as the Moon’s Neighbour and Ambassador to the Stars.
Title: Sharing Breaths
Author: paulamcg
Pairing: Amelia Bones/Nymphadora Tonks
Other Characters: Remus Lupin, Alice and Frank Longbottom
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 9200
Disclaimer: Amelia and her friends won’t help me make any money.
Notes: Written for HP Femslash Minifest on one of the March/April 2020 themes, Domestic Bliss Thank you once again, my wonderful beta Liseuse!
Summary: When the second war’s starting, Amelia begins to live and believe in a new relationship.
Read here on AO3
or right here:
Sharing Breaths
“You insisted I try that flicked-out hairstyle that didn’t suit me at all.” I squeeze Alice’s limp hand, seeking eye contact with her, and her gaze shifts back from wandering along the hideous flowery curtain drawn around us, and I babble on, “And that swing skirt of yours – that I keep it, too, and because Remus’s old sweatshirt…”
I can’t possibly have forgotten that he’s right next to me, where we’ve barely fitted our chairs between the two hospital beds. But having repeated these stories on my weekly or at least monthly visits for more than thirteen years, I haven’t now focused on what I’m talking about, until my mention of his name makes me realise that these memories might embarrass him.
He reaches out to pat Frank’s knee. “On me you forced a neat green turtle-neck jumper. You claimed it was too small for Frank.” Placing his other hand on my shoulder, he adds, “I wish I’d let you help me later, too, and perhaps I could’ve had something to offer in return.”
He looks a bit healthier than a week ago.
That’s when we were both close to freaking out as we chanced on each other at the door to the ward.
I hadn’t met him even when he’d been a teacher at Hogwarts, and after that year he’d disappeared again, perhaps gone abroad or just isolated himself like in late 1981. But since Arthur had told me about the revival of the Order, and about Dumbledore’s decision to keep me formally out – as the Ministry’s liaison, who officially didn’t know who were members but in reality knew, just like in the first war – I’d known Dumbledore had taken over Remus’s life again.
And here he was, with his shoulders hunched, and in patched robes, shutting the door quietly behind him, and as I walked closer, I saw him lean against it, drawing in a shuddering breath.
“Good to see you.” As soon as he’d breathed out his greeting, the confusion on his gaunt, pale face was wiped away by one of those brave smiles which have always evoked in me something beyond pity and admiration, perhaps tender love, and he continued, “Amelia. You look good.”
I suppose I’ve aged better – or less – than he has. I wear a monocle in the office in order to appear more senior, and he, who’s an artist and an expert in colours, is bound to realise that the purplish grey in my cropped hair is artificial. In turn, he hasn’t been treated gently by the years.
“And you, Remus...” I manage, reaching out my hand to shake his, “how are you?”
“Thank you… better.” He’s now holding my both hands, in the way he used to do before guiding them under his robes, back when we were fourteen. “Just… This is the first time I’ve seen our friends here, and I’m ashamed I didn’t come before.”
“It’s understandable.” I try to continue even though he shakes his head. “It must have been hard for…”
“Strangely enough, I’ve felt that now finally everything’s better, easier, even though…” For a moment it sounded like he’d open up about personal matters, but no, it must be politics he wants to talk about.
“He’s back,” I complete his sentence.
“You’ve heard…? Oh, you mean Vol… He-Who-Must-Not…”
Whom else? “Yes. You know, I believe it’s true, but I don’t say so, because it benefits the Order that I keep my position as the head of my department.”
He looks so vulnerable, as if he weren’t almost forty, too, and hadn’t been through more hardships than I dare imagine. Having not contacted me, while he can’t have avoided learning where I am (still, at the Ministry like ever since I left school), he seems overwhelmed by this encounter with his mere ex-almost-girlfriend, almost childhood sweetheart.
“Perhaps it’s selfish, but I’m happy that we who are left are back together fighting. It’s like… a family. Despite, or perhaps also because of my attitude towards our father figure.” He makes light of it, but I understand his deep resentment, and I wonder why he still agrees to serve Dumbledore – perhaps because he needs to belong and be useful. Grinning, he goes on, “And there’s something else… Someone else back. I’d like to talk to you about something serious…” He winks and repeats with such an emphasis that I interpret the word anew, “About Sirius things.”
“Oh. You want to come back in? And leave together with me after I, too, have seen Alice and Frank?”
“I’ll wait for you downstairs. I’d rather not face again until another day… what’s not better even now.” He bites his lip, and I realise that he’s been holding back tears since before the moment he came out of their room and bumped into me.
On that day I find it hard to focus on seeking interaction with the pair of old friends who must have permanently lost themselves. We who are truly left can stick together. Remus has made me realise how lonely I’ve been.
Even though my dorm mates had their boyfriends and planned to get married soon after Hogwarts, they both remained my closest friends. I was happy to finally – in 1978 – realise that marriage would never be for me, and proud to join those clubs, to be one of those dykes. But while I enjoyed the thrill of watching people when dancing, and the dreams of holding hands with my own beloved lady, I never, with anyone at all, feIt like going beyond the first kisses, and I only kept falling for singers with amazing voices. I never had anyone near and dear except our Gryffindor gang, and after I lost them all, I had only my work.
I continued to live on the borderline of the Muggle world, but now it meant mainly watching television and collecting vinyl records, while I seldom went out to clubs. In a few years I got a kitten, and my Hella has turned out an ideal companion to help me relax after any stressful day in the office. But six months after the remarkable and terrible Halloween I was all on my own when I heard a most soulful, deep voice caress an enchanting melody and words like these simple ones, repeated: all I ever knew/ only you. Alison Moyet, staring at me from my TV screen, helped me cry, and I recognised her as the singer in one of the weird punk bands which shook me in ‘78. Yes, she was Alf from the Vandals, whom I saw at the Basildon festival.
When in a hurry to join Remus, probably hugging Alice good-bye too soon, and realising that I’m missing her all the time in any case, I’ve got that hit playing in my mind. It's like a story of love/ Can you hear me?
I don’t know if the lyrics have ever made enough sense for the sensible Amelia I’ve remained on the outside. But I can give more meanings to them, and now, relishing the coincidentally fitting words, particularly to these lines: This is going to take a long time/ And I wonder what's mine/ Can't take no more/ Wonder if you'll understand/ It's just the touch of your hand/ Behind a closed door.
I spend that gently cooling July evening beside him on a park bench, after he’s vehemently declined my offer of a dinner while he looks so undernourished that it pains me. Taking off his robes, he’s revealed a t-shirt and jeans, both worn-out. Staring at him as he goes on ranting about the atrocity of forcing Alice and Frank to stay at St Mungo’s due to some indefinite research on the effects of the Cruciatus Curse, I keep comparing his scrawny figure to Vince Clarke’s, and thinking about how his and Alison’s duo split up in summer 1983 – just at the time when someone from Merlin College mentioned that Remus had left for France, perhaps to study Magic of Images. And I’m aware that once again I’m trying to escape my life, seeking a distance from myself by entering other stories.
When he elbows me, I manage to say something sensible enough, “No. You’re right. And I must be able to do something. It’s shameful how little I’ve done while I’ve gained better positions at the Ministry.” I suddenly feel that all these years have been lost. “But now, tell me about how you…”
I must look awfully concerned, as he hurries to assure me, “Honestly, I’m doing well now.” And his face lights up in such joy that I finally understand it’s true. “I’m back living with him, at the headquarters. He is back.”
As Remus, who’s loved – then mourned – Peter, too, as a close friend, tells me that Peter is alive and has been hiding all this time and has confessed a year ago that he was the one who betrayed Lily and James, I believe it, of course, no matter how incredible it is. This is another atrocity: that the real traitor confessed a year ago, but because he did it only in front of James’s two friends and his son and two other teenagers, Sirius is still a wanted fugitive.
“But my Padfoot is protected by the Order now. And he’s with me. He’ll get better.” He gives me again the smile I’ve missed. “I wished he could be tended to at St Mungo’s. But after what I saw there today, I’m glad he can’t be, although the headquarters is not the best place for his healing either. You know, it’s his parents’ house, another prison for him. In any case it’s a home for us to share now.”
“Thank you for telling me. I’m… happy for you.” And I remember his saying something like that to me on that frosty November evening in ‘78 when I came out to him and, glad to be gay just like him, I felt a renewed, perhaps ever closer connection.
This hot afternoon I’m secure in the prospect of meeting him regularly and of often sharing some time alone with him after our weekly visits to the ward.
We exchange melancholy smiles as we’re taking off our robes downstairs, among the waiting patients. Without any words it’s understood that we won’t just Disapparate to our own directions. When I owled him to ask if he’d like to come today, I suggested early enough an hour, mentioning that I’d need to still return to my office.
He’s obviously not upset about the way I talked to Alice, and he seems to take it for granted we’re not parting as soon as leaving St Mungo’s. “You’re heading to the Ministry, right? Let’s walk together to the visitors’ entrance!”
“Yes! Let us go then, you and I,” I reply with that line by T. S. Eliot we enjoyed abusing in our fourth year.
As we’ve exited to the Muggle street and started walking side by side, just not quite touching, I’m glad that my Muggle clothes are no power suit, but white linen trousers and an over-sized button-down shirt, casual and youthful enough and fitting in this sultry weather and in this company. He’s wearing the same ragged t-shirt as a week ago, and I can’t help thinking he’d need another makeover like the one I was just recounting to Alice.
“How’s Hella?” he asks with a smirk after a companionable silence when we’ve crossed the street and reached the shade of some dusty plane trees.
I’m glad he remembers my cat’s name, but there’s hardly anything to add to what I told him last time about sharing my flat with her. “She’s healthy but not wild, not so much fun as when she was a kitten. And how’s Pads?”
And he launches into explaining how his dog would like to romp in the woods but he believes they can enjoy romping in the bedroom instead, and when he continues about cooking and cleaning, or rather decontaminating the awful house, I know he means the two of them have proper meals together and work together, and he’s happy and healthier, perhaps his Pads is, too, and I’m glad.
When we turn the corner to see our vandalised telephone box, my attention is drawn immediately to a young pink-haired woman approaching it from the opposite direction. She’s walking slowly, and I’m almost sure she was standing still until the moment she saw us, and now she waves her both arms, exclaiming, “Wotcher, Remus!”
“What a coincidence,” he says so smugly that I doubt it is one. “Amelia, just to defy our father figure’s orders, I’d be happy to help the two of you know each other better than he thinks is necessary. And Tonks, you must have met Amelia Bones formally…”
Nymphadora Tonks. That name was in the list of members Arthur recited to me.
I’ve seen her before. She’s the trainee, now qualified auror who’s been hard to recognise for sure, but who is uncannily memorable. There’s something about her – no matter how she changes her hairstyle or even the shape of her face – that brings back such hopes for desire and pleasure I entertained when fourteen and again when realising that girls could… that I could be gay.
And this is the first time I see her in Muggle clothes. At the sight of the ripped net stockings, the almost see-through blouse, the suspenders pushed to the sides from her small, firm breasts… a long-absent jolt fires the bottom of my belly or something deeper in me.
Perhaps this shows, or perhaps just the absence of my monocle makes her, too, stare in amazement while Remus is completing his convoluted introductions, “I’m glad to introduce to you the amazing Amelia who was one of our gang when your mother’s favourite cousin and I were young.”
“I remember you,” I manage to say, only glad that I don’t sound like a senior Ministry official, “your face, too, miraculously. Your name should be easier to remember, but I understand only now that you’re Andromeda and Ted’s daughter.”
“You’ve seen something that’s always in me? Cool! And yes. Perhaps you saw me when I was more of a tyke than a dyke. I was Professor Lupin’s first student some… fifteen years ago.”
“The two of you have a lot in common,” Remus says. “Your love for Muggle music…”
“I haven’t gone to clubs for… lately, but I do follow what’s new, and continue to build my vinyl collection.” No, I’ve made another mistake just after fixing the first one. Her generation won’t care for vinyls.
“I’d love to show you some new clubs, and to hear what the scene was like when I was too young.” She doesn’t see our age difference as a problem. “And to see your collection.”
Did she just wink? Or change the shape of her lids and add some turquoise eyeliner? Dumbfounded, I glance at Remus, and his nod and grin make me realise that in any case I’ve spontaneously broken into such a blissful smile as hardly anyone but he has ever evoked in me.
“Sorry. Maybe I’m too forward,” Tonks says, but she must already see that she isn’t. “I can be when I become fond of someone too quickly.”
After two hours of composing memorandums more fluently and cheerfully than ever, I’m back sharing the cramped space of the telephone box with Tonks. I’ve already missed her, and it feels oddly like homecoming to lean against the telephone and watch again her lithe, animated figure as she struggles to keep her balance when the box shudders to motion. The golden light from the atrium leaves her long, net-clad legs and shines last on her trainers, and I’m glad to take note that she prefers sensible shoes.
In the minute’s darkness on our way up, I focus on her citrus scent, not different from… Shacklebolt’s, I think. But now her hand brushes against my arm and hits the back wall as in her swaying she ends up pressing against me for a moment.
“Sorry,” she says as I’m saying, “It’s all right,” and we both giggle, and I blink when sunshine bathes the pink of her hair and of her cheeks.
Thunder rumbles along the shabby street just when I’m following her out of the box. The day’s suddenly grown dark, and I glance up at threatening clouds. She shrieks in delight and spreads her arms under the first heavy raindrops. It’s easy for me, too, to welcome the refreshing rain with a broad smile, and I don’t have to be the one to suggest we take shelter. She points towards the pub at the corner, and grabs my hand, pulls me to run with her.
I’m running and laughing with her, running in the way I haven’t since… when I was a girl at Hogwarts. Just like this I enjoyed running when finally I felt I was a girl like the others – when I was thrilled that Remus had taken my mittened hand in his cold one and pulled me with him back away from the shore of the frigid lake. Here warm water’s splashing under our light summer shoes, and steam’s rising from the hot paving, and the sun comes out again and draws dancing little rainbows in front of my incredulous eyes.
“It’s almost over,” I say, panting, when we’ve stopped at the pub’s door. “Pity?” Hoping it came out playful enough, I glance at her with a grin.
“If it weren’t over, we’d go back out for some more, right? But it is over, and we can stay. Sit down! It’s my treat, as I dragged you to this lovely, seedy pub. D’you like beer or not?”
I love her logic, and the way she puts her question. I wouldn’t fear that I’d appear to her as old or uppity even if I chose a different drink. But… “Yes, I’ve always enjoyed tasting all types of beer. I’ll like anything you get for yourself.”
My eyes follow her brazenly graceless gait all the way to the bar, before I choose a table by the window. Only after I’ve sat down does it occur to me that we’ll be in full view of anyone who enters or leaves the Ministry through the telephone box. But any staff having the same habit as the two of us have – of using this way to get straight out here – must be Muggleborn or otherwise fond of life in Muggle London, and most probably not prejudiced. And why should I worry when this can’t look like anything but colleagues sharing a drink. Nobody would think this is a romantic rendezvous. Is this? Or have I been imagining things?
Maybe I do look worried when she returns. She places two pints on the table so clumsily that I have to get a hold of mine to save it from toppling over. And my hand lingers for a moment on hers, and now my gaze is naturally fixed right there. Her fingernails are short like mine, and they are painted each a different colour… “Rainbow,” I catch myself saying, “another rainbow.”
She pulls her hand away and lifts her own pint. “To rainbows!”
I respond to her toasting with a shaky smile and take a gulp. “Any colleague who sees us might wonder why… As I’m not your boss.”
“No, you’re not. And why should this have anything to do with work? We’ve found out we share this interest… Now tell me about the music you like, won’t you!”
“You start!” I’m not so confident yet that we have similar tastes, but I appreciate such various types of music that I’ll probably be able to honestly say I like – or at least I’m curious about – whatever she mentions.
“All right. My favourite album now must still be Under the Pink. I got it last year from my friend. Just because it was atop the chart, so that even Tiberius noticed it, and he found the title so fitting…”
As I’m staring, she touches her uneven fringe and the shade of her hair gets brighter, bolder, closer to fuchsia. If she means Wizengamot elder Tiberius Ogden, she really doesn’t care about age differences. She can easily accept me as another friend, although any hints beyond that must have been my wishful thinking. “Tori Amos is brilliant. One of the amazing female voices I… And she even makes the lyrics and the compositions herself. I’ve got Little Earthquakes, too.”
“And other voices you like…?”
“There’s Alison Moyet. Hers is a very special voice. Contralto, a powerful voice, fitting for blues. But she started in a punk band…” Now it’s getting ever easier for me to talk to Tonks, and I go on and tell her all about Alison – and about Alice, too, in the process.
She’s leaning forward, with her arms on the table, and for once I feel like touching more than a hand. My eyes keep caressing the soft curve of her cheek.
“But it’s not only history. Alison released a new album last year… Would you like to come to my flat and hear her voice? If you don’t mind meeting Hella.”
“You live with…?”
“Her, yes. My cat.”
The sound of her purring makes me turn back from the record player. Tonks has knelt down to peruse the albums on the bottom shelf, and Hella’s ventured from her hiding place and curled up against her leg, and now relaxed when a finger’s started moving cautiously in small stroking circles under her chin.
“How did you seduce her?”
“By not looking directly at her,” Tonks says, with her head tilted and her eyes still focused on the titles of the albums. “She’s lovely. And your collection’s mint. I’ve got some compact discs now, bought a CD player when I started getting a proper salary from the Ministry. My parents used only cassette tapes, recorded their music from the radio or their friends’ albums.”
Having slipped Alison’s last year’s album back into its sleeve, I sit down near her, but on the other side of Hella, so as to reach to return the album to its place. My system of arranging the collection might look random. Various punk bands are beside Alison, and next to them there’s Fairuz.
Pulling this Lebanese “Moon’s Neighbour” out, I reply, “You know, I stepped out to the Muggle World only after leaving Hogwarts. This was the beginning of my collection, a present from Lily in 1977.”
“Oh.” She stares at the cover, at the photograph of the impressive face framed by thick auburn hair, and with mesmerising but perhaps too close-set eyes.
“James said Fairuz looked like her, but since the first years at Hogwarts he had always…” I’m about to stand up so as to play this record, but I don’t really like it as background music, even though we wouldn’t need to follow the Arabic lyrics. “She brought this from her first Curse-Breaker mission. Yes, Harry Potter’s mother was my dorm mate, too. Maybe not quite as close a friend as Alice. Lily sometimes… preferred different company for a change. Some Slytherins, and teachers, even the barman at the Hog’s Head.”
“Maybe I have something in common with her. I’ve found I enjoy the company of people above my age.”
I start stroking Hella’s back, wondering how to make it seem unintentional if I end up touching the rainbow nails. “The friend you mentioned – who gifted you with an album…?” Lifting my gaze from our hands, I meet Tonks’s eyes, and it occurs to me that perhaps we’ve been seducing each other in the same way as she gained Hella’s trust.
“Tiberius Ogden. I’ve loved discussions with him since my first year as a trainee. I love history, and he’s got such a perspective…” Her eyes, now locked with mine, turn violet. “He’d like us to be a couple, but I’m not sure I’m… interested in men in that way.”
I fail to reply. As I move my palm cautiously on Hella’s fur, my fingertips touch hers and tremble against them.
“Now when a war’s starting...” She’s changing the topic but continues to stare at me expectantly. “I realise that there are people who were my age in the final years of last war. That there are few of them left, and…”
“You’re interested in us.” I’m stroking the back of her hand now.
“Yes, and in you, only you… I could be – in that way.”
I’m bold enough. Perhaps unlike her, I’ve done this before. Not quite like this. I start to lean over Hella, but my fingers are quicker to act upon my rare desire. They leave her hand and reach for her lush face, and their tips brush the perfect, smooth skin of her cheek, sliding down to the corner of her mouth. Only now do my lips press against hers.
I’m breathing in her lemon scent, I’m sharing my breaths with her, and it’s beautiful.
Sighing out my bliss, I sit back down on my heels. As I grab Tonks’s hand and entwine my fingers with hers, Hella’s had enough and she dashes away with a low growl, and that makes me chuckle. “I hope I’ll see you again,” I say, feasting my eyes on this gorgeous girl, already dreaming of walking hand-in-hand with her, and believing my dream will come true.
Her laughter caresses my ears. “You mean me, or Hella?”
“You. You’re amazing.”
“Oh.” She starts getting up, and I don’t let go of her hand and make her pull me up, too. “I do need to get going.”
“When… could you come out with me?” The way I’ve ended up wording my suggestion makes me grin.
“Too bad they’re sending me away on a mission tomorrow. Secret, of course, so I don’t know when…”
I’ll be happy while missing her – unless I have to fear I’ll lose her. “I hope it won’t be dangerous.”
“No, don’t worry. It’s espionage, and I’m great at disguises. I’ll owl you – even before I’m back, whenever I can.”
I’ve walked her to the door. Here she wriggles her fingers free, and lifts her both hands to cup my face. As I get to still feel the softness of her lips against mine, I try my best to fully revel in the sensation. But I can’t help thinking… If she wants sex… When she asks for it, I’ll handle it, although I’ve never wanted it with anyone else.
Bouncing down the stairs, she glances back once and waves.
It’s the third morning after those few hours we shared. Passing the pub on my way to the telephone box, I measure the time once again, and I have to wonder how it’s possible. But it is true. Tonks has changed my world.
In my reflection on the pub window I see a handsome woman with a good posture, a light step and a brilliant smile. She’s the woman whom a bright, ravishing girl became fond of instantaneously, and got interested in “in that way”. But I don’t love only her, and myself in a new way. I love the seedy pub and this street, and having got up early, and catching the last cool waft of air before another sweltering day.
And finding happiness here and now, between old losses and a new war.
“I must go home to write a letter.” I’ve felt tempted to tell Remus earlier – and even to tell him and Alice at the same time, and why not tell also Frank, who might well manage to listen to me now, in this new beautiful world – and when the two of us are back out in the corridor, I can no longer resist showing the post card to him.
He takes it from my hand, smiling. “So you did become friends immediately!” Having read Tonk’s lovely greeting with a glance, he turns the card over and studies the still Muggle photograph. Two women in old-fashioned swimsuits playing leapfrog on a beach, one bent over and the other caught in mid-leap with a wide smile, which will never fade for a moment.
“More than that, I think. We’re in… or falling in…”
Remus returns the card to me, looking more serious. “I’m happy. I trust you’ll be wise and cautious enough. Tonks is young, inexperienced, perhaps experimenting.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t do anything to harm her.”
Despite the relentless autumn rain, I’ll enjoy walking slowly, at least this first stretch of my way home. Having lifted my face to let the drops make the memory of the exhilarating thunderstorm more vivid, I open my new pink umbrella, and head towards the pub. Perhaps today I could finally also enter again.
Now stopping in front of the window, I don’t focus on my reflection. I can hardly see myself at all, as there’s warm light inside, and out here it’s all grey, apart from this pink above my head. Turning, I still consider opening the door. I could choose the same table and…
Watch her walk back to me! With her long strides she’s marching from the telephone box, now across the water streaming down the pavement, and now she’s ducked under…
“Under the Pink,” she says, “there must be space for me.”
Tonks herself brightens the day with her whole chorus of colours, and her breath is hot against my cheek, as if I were warming up with a cup of lemon tea.
“Always. This place is for you.” That is true. I had her in mind, of course, when I chose the umbrella.
“Thanks. Finally I get the chance to talk to you.” Her hair’s closer to purple and shorter than before – than a moment ago, I think.
“We’ve both been busy.” That, too, is true. But after my first long letter, I’ve written others, and Tonks has sent only a few notes, sweet but short and unpredictable. At the Ministry we’ve seen each other at least once every week in the corridor, but she’s seemed to barely notice me until the moment when we pass and there’s no chance for more than quick hellos. “Shall we go in?”
“No, how could we possibly?” She shakes her head, and her face grows sullen, perhaps longer as well. And now she grins, and her nose, too, perks up. “This time the rain hasn’t stopped.” She remembers, and the memory must be meaningful to her, too.
There’s laughter bubbling in me, and I can’t resist making my suggestion into a statement, “Of course, we must walk through the rain – to my flat.”
“And you must let me carry this.” She wrestles the handle of the umbrella from my grip, as I, playfully, try my best not to surrender it. “Let me take charge. There’s no need to worry about getting too wet.”
We share a giggle, and start moving ahead, surrounded by shiny veils of rain. Determined to enjoy the closeness I’ve missed, I keep jostling her, and decide not to ask anything.
But she’s eager to explain. “I was disappointed with myself because I couldn’t do what I promised you. I never got a chance to take you clubbing. Because of Order duty almost every night. Finally tonight I’m free.”
“It’s all right.” It’s better than that. She has wanted my company, just wished she could offer me more. “Would you like to go out tonight?”
“I’d rather go in, really,” she says, laughing, as she tilts the umbrella so as to try and protect us now that, when crossing the square, we’re exposed to water thrown sideways by blasts of cold wind, “and stay in the cosy rooms, with the lovely cat and the music.”
“I’ll love that too. You shouldn’t have worried about going to clubs.” Because her uneven gait makes it hard for me not to stumble, I’m looking down at our feet, at two pairs of shoes sensible enough but drenched in any case. “You could have sent notes to explain. Or talked to me at the Ministry. Although I guess you couldn’t mention your night duties.”
“No. And I didn’t want to write and say that I can’t see you.” Her voice sounds close to my ear, and perhaps that’s what makes me shiver. “Every night I hoped that on the next day I could suggest we meet. Oh, don’t you sometimes wish we could be walking home together – to our home.”
“Yes,” I hardly dare breath out.
There’s something tickling my cheek. Her hair’s too short for that, unless she’s suddenly grown it. I turn my head – and my lips brush against hers. And I pull back a bit to look at her in wonder. She’s so beautiful.
I’m glad that yesterday I felt like barely tasting my Chinese takeaway, and that I have this habit of heating the rest of the meals on the following day in the microwave, a brilliant Muggle device for witches like me who never cared to learn the simplest cooking charms. I’ve eaten even less than usual, wondering if it matters, after all, whether gaining weight would make me look more middle-aged. Adding some fresh vegetables, I’m succeeding in creating two decent portions. Of course, I could order something new, but Tonks said no, she wasn’t so keen on eating, just relaxing.
As I start levitating the tray with the plates and two wine glasses, and carrying the bottle to the living room, I can hear Annie’s angelic voice, and I can’t resist singing along, “When you need someone to depend upon…”
“Oh, you chose Revenge,” I say to Tonks, who’s slouching on the couch, and I direct the tray to land onto the low table beside.
“What?” she says.
“This Eurythmics album.”
“Ah…” She smiles, perhaps realising she’s misunderstood my comment, but without looking up.
And I notice she’s reading a letter, a proper one, written with ink on parchment.
With an angry hiss, Hella bounces across the room. There’s a small, pretty owl flying just above her reach.
“Do you want me to give a treat to the owl and let it out?” I ask, placing the wine on the table. Now I notice also the curtain flapping, and add, “Or just close the window?”
“Close… it,” Tonks replies absently.
I summon a small plate from the kitchen and pick some pieces of meat from my portion for the owl. Even though I’ve fed her as soon as we came in, Hella protests with a short wail when I lift the plate up on top of the bookshelf. The owl comes immediately, even rubs her beak against my finger, yes, flirts in the way of female owls, and she’s clearly young and playful. Hoping she’ll stay up there, I go to close the window and return to the couch, with Hella circling my legs, making her burbling sound for attention. Having poured the wine, I sit down at the end of the couch and welcome her on my lap. And all this time Tonks is focused on the letter.
“The owl can wait,” she finally says, rolling up the parchment and sitting straighter. “I’m too tired to reply to Tiberius now.”
When I hand her a glass of wine, she smiles and fixes her eyes on me, turning them a bit more almond-shaped and turquoise, although I still don’t know how intentional or even conscious these minor changes are. “To a quiet evening at home!”
“Home,” I repeat, clicking my glass against hers.
“Oh, I love Chinese.” She grabs her fork, but forgets to start eating. “Tiberius is eager to try new things, and it’s fun that so many things are new to him. Muggle technology, of course…”
There’s not much I need to say, and I prefer listening to just the warm tone of her voice. To my surprise I’ve already emptied my glass, and I pour more wine for both of us. Having finished my portion too quickly, I focus on watching her. But since she keeps dropping her fork or pieces of food before they reach her mouth, I turn my attention to her pretty knees, and the hem of her short skirt.
“I am a bit hungry, after all,” she says, and now she grows silent, having realised she needs to concentrate on eating.
“I didn’t notice when that record ended,” I say, and I go to choose another one.
Essex, of course. I guess I want to reach the atmosphere of last time, our first time.
I lower the needle at the beginning of the song I’ve kept listening to since July. “You move me into something easy…” Joining in to sing with Alison, I start walking across the room towards Tonks, who’s now emptied her plate and lifted her gaze to me. “And it pleases me/ Took me by surprise/ I never saw the light/ Until you turned it on.”
She reaches out her hand and pulls me to sit right beside her. Tilting her face very near mine, she stares into my eyes, and hers turn darker, deep blue. Up this close, her features are a bit blurred, unfocused, and I know I really should have got glasses or rather contact lenses and not just the stupid monocle, which I won’t wear in her presence.
I’ve pulled back just to better focus my eyes on the perfection of her skin. But as she now frowns, I realise she suspects my thoughts are not of this shared moment, and she’s right. I’ve got distracted.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks.
I want to be honest. “That I… I’d like to see you more clearly.”
“Don’t think so much. And you could as well close your eyes.”
I do as she advises me to. Or I try. With my eyes closed, I’m thrilled to feel her lips – as soft as I’ve remembered from the first time – press against mine, and isn’t it right that this time she’s been the one to complete the closing of the gap and to consummate the intimate contact? I can’t help smiling against her mouth as I realise that I still haven’t stopped thinking, and why should I when now it’s all happy thoughts, no doubts?
Her tongue tickles my lips, then the corners of my mouth, and I chuckle. And now I feel a palm against a breast, and I lean back, opening my eyes to revel in the sight of her flushed cheeks and a lopsided little smile.
I’m just reaching out my hands to caress her upper arms when she huffs. “I could use some Ogden’s now!” And perhaps because I look alarmed, she adds, “No, I don’t mean Tiberius Ogden, although… Just some Ogden’s Old to help us relax better.”
“Oh…” I fumble for my wand. “Accio, bottle of Firewhiskey!”
Tonks hurries to empty her wine glass. “These glasses are fine, just fill them up!”
The golden liquid glints and undulates as we touch our drinks together. I take a gulp, for once not thinking, and the burn forces me to keep my mouth open for cool air. I’ve put my glass down – just in time before Tonks flops over me, splashing whiskey on herself. Jerking my head aside, I laugh – ever more when from the corner of my eye I see Hella slink out of the room, this time exiting with a dignified, silent protest.
Tonks is slouching now in the position I first saw her here. Giddy, I lean close and set my head on her shoulder, and I see that the owl up on the bookshelf has bent her head under a wing, and I listen to Alison sing. I remember the dress you wore/ And you're still here with me,/ but maybe/ Dorothy it's been too long, so long.
Dorothy. “Could I call you Dor…”
“Thanks.” I can hear her slurp what’s left in her glass, and now she shifts to set the glass on the floor. “Just Tonks. Or okay, as you wish. What did you say they used to call you at clubs – Mel?” She places a hand on my chest and wriggles her fingers under the neckline.
It tickles me, and I take her hand and hold it a bit further away so as to examine the nails. “No rainbow tonight,” I point out.
“Had no time or mind lately for… Of course, I can do it without any nail polish or even wand magic, but not now. I’m getting sleepy. Is it all right if I sleep here?”
“Of course. I love it if you stay. But here, on the couch… I can make a bed here for myself. You’ll sleep in my bed.”
“Take me to bed then, Mel!”
I get to my feet a bit unsteadily and pull her up by the hand. Stumbling, I start leading her towards the bedroom. In the middle of the floor, she pulls her hand free and leans against me, and as soon as I’m supporting her with a hand on her shoulder, she wraps an arm around my waist and holds me so firmly that I cease to be ticklish and I feel just safe and warm.
When she’s flopped down on the bed, I go to rummage in the wardrobe, trying to find a nightgown in her style. Oh, here’s the over-sized black t-shirt with a pink unicorn!
“There’s an unused toothbrush on the top shelf in the cabinet,” I remember to say, pulling my Dorothy up again. “The pink one. You can use the bathroom first, and wear this.”
She looks at the unicorn and smiles. After guiding her across the threshold, I rummage some more and finally locate an extra pillow and a blanket as well as my loveliest, lacy little nightdress.
“Go in,” she says to my ear, startling me, “and get ready soon, before I fall asleep.”
While brushing my teeth I examine myself in the mirror. There’s a new shine or something that makes me look almost pretty. Or could it be that I’ve seen myself appearing younger than last year only because of my weakening eyesight? And why didn’t I choose to wear something unisex, like usual? No, I don’t want these doubts now. My bosom looks bold when half-revealed by the lace, and I’ve got the feeling that Tonks is attracted to it – perhaps curious about how it is, being intimate with another woman. And since July she’s made me more fond of being a woman than I’ve ever been.
Coming back to the bedroom, I stare at her head on my pillow for a moment, at the bright purple hair and her closed lids.
When I start carrying the bedding to the door, she speaks. “Come here! No need to make a bed on the couch. There’s space here.”
I drop the pillow and the blanket and go up to the bed. Only now does she open her eyes. Or one of them, and perhaps she winks, like when we’d just been introduced. And she lifts her arm and the duvet, and I slip under them both, facing her with a wide smile for a moment.
“This is like sharing a home, isn’t it?” I say, and then I roll around, like a cat who’s finding the best position. I pull her arm firmly around my waist and push back against her chest. “Hold me like this. Good night, Dorothy.”
She sighs. “Like home.” Her voice is soft and slow as if she were already asleep. “And we’ll both be here when we wake up. Nighty night, Mel!”
I open my eyes to a blurry sight of a wrinkled unicorn. Tilting my head back, I see my Dorothy is awake.
Meeting my gaze, she makes her eyes as well as her smile wide – her eyes round and violet. “Good morning, Mel!”
“Morning! How are you? Besides beautiful?”
“Perhaps I did drink too much. But I feel fine. Wonderful,” she says, stroking my hair, and now she puckers her lips.
I’m not so eager to share my morning breath with her, and I lay my head down on her chest.
And this is complete bliss: huddling close to her. With her heartbeat against my ear, I can sense it pulse right through me, join mine, and I feel as if my heart had never been beating before.
“It’s still early,” she says, sliding a hand to my neck, and a kiss tickles my ear. “We’ve got plenty of time…”
“For a proper breakfast!” I press my cheek tight against the unicorn for a moment more, and reach up to run a finger along her jawline, before rolling out of bed.
“I’ve got a girlfriend!” Tonks’s triumphant sing-song voice, ringing over the noise of the Muggle rush-hour traffic, makes me feel young and beautiful.
I adjust my steps better to her pace, squeezing her hand tighter, and swinging our arms wildly. It makes me laugh to think about how she pulled me to sit on her lap at the breakfast table – and just shrugged and opened the window with her wand when the owl flew from the living room and I pointed out she’d forgotten about replying to the letter.
A line from my favourite song on Essex tumbles from my lips, barely audibly but adding to our shared joy, if possible, “You got me into something wild.”
I spread the small piece of parchment on the stained laminate of the pub table, even though I’ve got a chance to read the note at least five times since Tonks pressed it on my palm in the corridor. It’s so lovely to see her handwriting again – not that I haven’t looked at it every evening in some of the short letters from the early autumn and on the very first postcard, my treasure.
Once again I’ve got in my head a line from what I’ve chosen as our song. I wanna be as close as I'll ever be.
Glancing at the window, I see only myself, even though it’s not completely dark outside. December barely begun, but there’s snow on the ground, and it’s got so cold that when hearing about Remus’s plans on the day before yesterday, I felt for a moment the oddly pleasurable pain he used to evoke in me. Today finally – while stroking the lines of the note with a finger, and expecting Tonks to arrive at any minute – I can think about my dear canines without getting stuck in feelings of envy and self-pity.
“I’m sorry I can’t share a walk with you today,” Remus said after we’d descended to the reception area.
He said the same last time, and that was a month ago. I’m guessing his reason, but I can’t resist making one more try. “I agree it’s too cold for sitting on park benches, but it’s pretty, too, with all the snow. I remember you used to enjoy days like this outside, and for once you could let me treat you to a coffee at a café near by, or a hot chocolate.”
He smiles, swinging a cloak over his shoulders. “I could, thank you. The offer is tempting, and I’d prefer a café to a park bench on any winter day. After all the years out in the cold, I’d rather not brave the elements. Just when I must, and since I’ve accepted for now that our father’s order is the law…” He winks with some bitterness in his grin.
“He’s not sending you on a mission for…?” And he’s just been away for more than three weeks.
“No. This is a short one. Only until tomorrow afternoon.” He’s guiding me further away from some waiting patients who might be listening, and whispers, “That’s a line I won’t cross. And I think he won’t. He still doesn’t want to spoil his experiment or to risk my value for the Order by exposing me to what might undo the rest of my… Not even by using me at other times of the month in missions concerning… my kind.”
I reach for his hand and squeeze it. “I’m glad about that.”
And I’m glad we can finally talk about his condition – as openly as is possible in the new circumstances. In September, when telling him about my career, I took the opportunity to mention that a particular position I’d gained in 1989 gave me an access to the Werewolf Registry, and that back then I’d immediately checked what I’d concluded sixteen years earlier. He apologised for having not told me, explaining that he never told anyone – just chose to let some people understand. And I remember how on a long-ago spring day he guided my hand to that ragged scar on his shoulder, and that was when I knew for sure. That was a moment before I – with my hand moved to his crotch – learnt that he was not interested in girls “in that way” and I began to gradually realise that I would never be into boys. I was just that kind of a friend who never asked about his secrets. When at her party in 1977 Lily dedicated a Pink Floyd song to the dear animals among her friends, the three Animagi revealed their secrets, trusting me even though I apprenticed at the Ministry, but we never talked about why they’d committed that serious breach of law.
And now the identity of Remus’s dog is the most serious secret, the one we dare not even whisper about.
“I’ve got orders to Apparate now without delay straight up north, to a specific spot – secret, of course – on the Scottish coastline. To watch for signs of a possible insurgence among the merpeople. Apparate back as late tomorrow afternoon as I’m able to.”
“How necessary can that be?” I’ve got ever angrier on his behalf while listening to his calm voice. “For such a short time? Worth all the strength it takes just before…?” Dumbledore’s not only using him, but also… Testing his loyalty, or harming him – and Sirius, who needs him – on purpose?
“Remember the rules he dictated to us when he first recruited us – and then not you, after all: no questioning! At least I always get home for those couple of nights. I’ll return up there as soon as I’m in the shape for Apparation again, and you know, I need to rest for the day and night after… Then I’ll stay in the north longer, perhaps until Christmas.” He flashes his resilient smile. “But late tomorrow afternoon, when he thinks I’m locking myself up in our cellar, I’m taking my dog out – for the third time!”
“Oh. Is it safe? For you and… the dog?”
“Yes. That’s the night when… no hunters dare go out. And I think it can help him get better.”
He doesn’t get too many days and nights to help Sirius heal, and I really shouldn’t feel any envy. But I can’t think what more to say. “Where… ? No, we’ve already talked too much.”
“Remember the painting I brought to you… when was it – in ‘78? The night when you invited me to come out with you, at the Lesbian night club? It’s that wilderness, with the lake reflecting rowans and birches and the rare maple. The secret colours I painted thinking about Lily and Alice and you. I’m not saying where, but… I wanted to let you know. And I hope that while we’re there, you’ll share a beautiful time with your… Dorothy.”
“Thank you. You… stay safe. And warm. Up there in the north without your dog, too.”
“Haven’t you noticed the improvement in my style?” He makes a swirl, grinning. “I got this cloak from…”
From his dog! The absurdity of the sentence we complete in our minds makes us laugh, and I get a rare desire, and act upon it, too. I wrap the cloak – which is, indeed, of fine, thick material – tight around him, and hug him briefly, pressing my face against his neck. And I can sense in his deep breath how he makes the most of this physical contact, as hungry for a human touch as he’s always been, particularly on the days around the full moon.
By the time when, having become aware of a draft of frigid air, I look up, Tonks is already standing on the other side of the table. She’s got a yellow and black scarf wrapped around her neck, and perhaps those colours make her look pale. Staring at me, uncharacteristically grave, she bites her lip.
“Wotcher…” I use her regular word for greeting, but leave it at that, suddenly doubting she likes me to call her Dorothy, and finding it hard to smile.
“Sorry I’m late.” She sits down opposite to me. “What’s new? You look… worried?” She does.
“Just thinking about my old friends. You know, the two who are left. I’m worried about them. One is forced to stay away too much.”
I don’t think Tonks is listening. She’s looking at my hand on the note, and now she places her fingertips on my nails. “As I wrote, I need to tell you something. Didn’t want to write it.”
“Yes?”
She only looks at me with pale blue eyes ever more seriously, as if expecting me to say whatever it is that needs to be told. She unwraps the scarf, using one hand, but now withdraws the other from mine, and starts folding the scarf with both. It’s a long and thick, woollen knitted scarf.
“Hufflepuff colours. They don’t really suit me. Unless I change, of course.” Her hair’s almost black now. “Got it from Tiberius. We’ve really become very close, you know. In four years. He needs me to keep in touch daily. I can’t leave him, must stay his closest friend in any case. I still don’t know if I’m really into men. Perhaps into some other… To you I can say this. I’ve met someone who’s half goblin. And with you…”
“With me…?” My pulse must have quickened.
“I want to stay close friends with you, too. But not…”
Now my throat feels contracted. “Not in that way?”
“No, not in that way,” she repeats in a gentle voice, perhaps relieved, too. “You’ve seen it doesn’t work.”
“No… Yes, it does work!” There must be a way to prove it. “I…” I want this love. “And you’ve said it’s like home.”
“I thought it would be. I was… hoping.”
It’s over. No! All I’ve got left is Alison’s amazing voice in my mind. It's alright baby/ it ain't over/ I didn't mean to hurt you/ It was nothing/ I was dreaming/ But I'd rather live believing.
“No!” I’m crying. “The rest of my life!” What shall I do with the rest of my life?
She frowns until she figures out what I’ve meant. “You’ll meet someone else.”
But I can’t help feeling that this was my last chance. The rest of my life stretches ahead of me: years and years to be spent in loneliness. Tonight I’ll cry, all through this winter of war I’ll cry for myself, and perhaps then I’ll be happy that for five months I managed to live believing.
Notes: Alison Moyet was born in 1961, and in her early career she sang in several rock and blues bands, including the Vandals, which was active in Basildon in 1978, when she was known as Alf. After forming Yahoo, she and Vince Clarke achieved instant success with Only You, which they performed on TV, in the Top of the Pops, on the 29th April 1982.
Getting Into Something and Dorothy are tracks on Alison Moyet’s album Essex, which was released in 1994.
When Tomorrow Comes is a song on Revenge (1986) by Eurythmics.
The Little Earthquakes (1992) and Under the Pink (1994) are Tori Amos’s first two albums.
Lebanese singer Fairuz (born in 1934) is admired and influential in the whole Arab world, and known also as the Moon’s Neighbour and Ambassador to the Stars.
