Cups of Tea
Dec. 14th, 2014 10:41 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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nekwrites
Title: Cups of Tea
Rating & Warnings: PG, some very mild mention of injury/blood
Word Count/Art Medium: 2091
Prompt(s): Prompt 29. A cup of tea, gone cold.
Summary: Remus and Tonks negotiate another level of trust when he agrees to return to her flat the morning after a full moon for the first time.
Notes:
The fact that he'd agreed to come back to her flat after the full moon felt like a major stepping stone. She'd seen him after transformations before, carefully escorted upstairs at Grimmauld Place by an uncharacteristically quiet and attentive Sirius. Sirius would disappear into one of the dark bedrooms to tuck his old friend into bed and deliver cups of tea and clear broth throughout the day. She'd never seen Remus up close, however, or tended to wounds or slept at his side in the wee morning hours while he recovered.
The transformations at Grimmauld were mild, Sirius told her. Wolfsbane, he said, was a miracle potion and though the change ravaged Remus' body with the same violence, it prevented the self-inflicted injuries that had so often left him with scars as a younger man. But now Remus was on missions to infiltrate Greyback's pack and the more feral werewolves saw the potion as little more than Ministry mind-control, made to suppress their true nature. Remus, ever cautious, still took the potion brewed by Snape when he was able, but Wolfsbane was complex and needed to be carefully maintained between doses. As soon as he disappeared into Greyback's pack, he had no way of secretly getting the medicine and no way of guaranteeing the early doses would give him any sense of control over the transformation. And even if it did, the other wolves were unpredictable and violent. Running with them, even under the influence of some Wolfsbane, meant he could be injured by others asserting pack dominance over the newer wolf.
“It'll be fine,” Remus had assured her, kissing her brow with a calm and detached manner, pausing as he'd gathered his things the previous week in preparation to leave. “I've had this for a long time...much longer than many of the pack members. Even if I'm new, they'll respect that.”
A brief look of self-disgust had crossed his face.
“The wolf will know what to do.”
“Be careful,” she'd told him, embracing him at the threshold. She knew he was always careful...to a fault, even. Careful with his heart, certainly.
He'd nodded, kissed her briefly, and left.
The week passed like dripping molasses. When Tonks looked at the calender next to her desk in the Auror office and saw it was only Tuesday, she had to verify it twice.
By Thursday, she couldn't sleep. The bed felt remarkably empty in a way she hadn't expected. He'd only been sharing it with her a few short months in interrupted weeks together when they weren't on missions.
The moon was Saturday night and she spent the day at the Burrow in hopes of distracting herself from the ache in her belly and the tightness in her chest. When Molly Weasley hugged her goodbye and sent her home with a pot full of homemade soup for Remus' return, Tonks had nearly cried. But she wasn't going to burden Molly with this. Remus' condition had always been an awkward point of conversation with the Weasley matriarch. She loved Lupin and respected him deeply, but some prejudices were taught too young to ever fully leave her.
The flat was dark and quiet when Tonks arrived back home. Outside, a soft blanket of snow was falling, coating the streets with a powdery white as huge fluffy flakes drifted down with lazy tumbles. She put on the wireless and busied herself doing the stack of dishes she'd left by the sink and then changed the sheets on the bed, fluffing up the pillows and making sure an extra quilt was readily accessible in case he was cold.
“What do I need to do...when you get back?” she'd asked him.
He'd hesitated and that familiar look of “flight!” appeared in his eyes.
“Hey,” she'd said, curling an arm around his compact waist. “I won't fuss. I know you don't want that. Just tell me what you need to eat after and any potions I should have on-hand, that's all. And make sure you leave some pyjamas here.”
She'd felt him relax a little in her arms.
“Um...just tea and broth, really, for the first while. My stomach can't handle too much until I've rested for a bit. Protein, later, if you can spare it. Really, though...I don't need much.”
“Protein?” she'd asked. “What, like steak?”
“Don't spend your galleons on steak,” he'd replied quickly. “A tin of beans or something will do the trick.”
She'd mentally made a note to buy a little bit of roast beef from the deli. Beans on toast would be reserved for another day when he had to fend for himself.
“No potions,” he'd added. “I have a few I'll bring in my bag. Really, I just need a bed and rest. I'm not terribly fun afterwards, Tonks. This won't be a bit of a lie-in day, if that's what you're expecting. Sirius...um, Sirius used to say I slept like the dead after and that I was dreadfully boring.”
Tonks had smiled and kissed him.
“You are, indeed, dreadfully boring,” she'd teased.
What was dreadfully boring was passing the long hours before his return. She'd tried reading a book and she'd tried listening to the Quidditch report on the wireless, but once the moon rose high in the sky and shone brightly through the window of the flat, all she could do was stare up at the cruel orb and wait.
She brewed a pot of tea and poured herself a cup but it grew cold on the nightstand as she lay in bed, the curtains open to the view of the sky. Sometime around three in the morning, sleep finally took hold and she rested fitfully, waking with the sunrise and stumbling to the bath. She showered and dressed and put on another pot of tea only to leave it ignored after a few sips. Her stomach felt like a tangled bramble of thorny vines.
Finally, some time around ten past seven she heard footsteps and a gentle knock. She was swinging open the door before his knuckles could tap the wood a third time. He was standing, barely, clutching a small rucksack and wearing a very tattered pair of robes.
“Hello, love,” she said, stepping back to allow him in. She was scared to hug him for fear of aggravating any sore spots but she remained close to his side, afraid he might collapse at any moment. Deep purple bruises were smudged under his hazel-grey eyes and she could see blood staining a small spot through his robes at his side. A few large flakes of snow melted atop his head and the shoulders of his robes.
He looked utterly lost, shivering slightly as he stood in her living room with eyes focused nowhere in particular.
“Hey,” she said, her hand gently brushing against his and taking his satchel, setting it down on the sofa. “Do you want to wash up a bit before you sleep? I'll bring your pyjamas to the bathroom?”
Nodding, he moved towards the small room and shut the door behind him. She could hear the sink running and the sound of him blowing his nose for a moment.
She didn't realize how much her hands were shaking until she looked at her grip on his striped pyjama bottoms and saw them trembling. Steadying herself with a deep breath, she knocked on the bathroom door and heard him mutter a hoarse permission to enter.
He stood shirtless in front of the sink, his robe and jumper discarded and neatly folded on the toilet lid. She nearly laughed at the sight, amazed he had the strength to bother with such things.
His pale torso was a patchwork of scars, new and old, dappled here and there with smatterings of freckles. She'd seen him like this before, but never with wounds fresh and still bloody. A washrag was held to the spot on his side where he'd bled through his robes.
“Tell me what to do,” she said, moving slowly towards him and reaching out to help staunch the wound. He shied away from her for a brief moment before seeming to remind himself that she was safe.
“Um, I just need some gauze, I think, and there's a salve? They're in my bag.”
“Right,” she said, setting his pyjamas down on the edge of the bathtub and clenching her fists to stop her visible shaking. She went back out and retrieved the items from his satchel, returning with the roll of bandages and the small tin of wound creme.
Opening the salve, she held it out and he took a generous scoop, moving the washrag aside long enough to spread the thick creme across the fresh gash.
“What happened?” she asked softly.
“Someone ran me against a tree branch,” he explained with a grimace. “Could be worse.”
There was a joke to be made, but her brain refused to form it. She'd never felt so utterly humourless.
“Here,” she said, holding out the gauze. She took the proffered end.
“Can you wrap it?” he asked hesitantly. “I can do it, it's just easier with help.”
“Of course.”
She tried not to look upset as she carefully wound the roll of bandages around his thin stomach and across the oozing gouge.
“There,” she said, tucking the end in and touching her wand to the binding to secure it. It magically sealed itself tightly around him.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
She nodded mutely and gave his hand a squeeze, leaving him to change into his pyjamas in private. He met her in the bedroom looking charmingly boyish in the ensemble with his hair sticking up all angles. Sitting down on the bed, he reached for the cup of tea on the nightstand and took a small sip.
It wasn't until she saw his expression that she realized it was the cup she'd brewed early last night, left to sit without a warming charm.
“Oh Merlin!” she exclaimed. “That was mine...not fresh. Fuck, I'm sorry.”
To her surprise, he barked a quiet laugh and smiled. The expression lit up his face and through the dark-circled eyes and pale, bruised skin she saw the man she'd fallen in love with.
She giggled in spite of herself.
“I'll brew a fresh pot. Get cozy and I'll be right back.”
Tugging down the covers, she made a spot for him to crawl into bed and waited to leave until he was settled against the pillows with the extra quilt spread over his legs.
In the kitchen, she brewed the English Breakfast and poured a generous mug full, stirring in a small spoonful of honey and a splash of milk. When she went to deliver it, however, she was greeted with the sight of a sleeping Remus Lupin, lying on his back so quiet and still that she was reminded of what he'd told her about Sirius saying he slept like the dead.
Setting the mug on the nightstand, she remembered to place the warming charm this time. Then, with uncharacteristically graceful movements, she crept around to the opposite side of the bed and slid under the covers, siding up to the sleeping man. He didn't budge as she stroked a hand across his sandy brown and grey fringe, guiding it off his warm brow. His breath breezed across her face as she peered down at him, scrutinizing every line, freckle, and scar on the landscape of his features.
He looked younger in his sleep as rest relaxed away the guarded expression he usually wore. Tonks relaxed too, finally, and stretched out along the length of him.
When she woke later in the dim afternoon winter sun, the cup still steamed on the nightstand and Remus still slept peacefully at her side. She shifted to curl an arm across Remus' belly, hugging his warm body close to her as she closed her eyes again.
Running her thumb gently across the soft skin at the waistband of his pyjama bottoms, she hummed contentedly. They'd made it through one moon together. He was here, in her bed, sleeping and recovering. One success. One more hurdle towards Remus Lupin's trust had been overcome, she thought.
One cup of tea was still warm three hours later when he stirred and reached out to kiss her.
nekwritesTitle: Cups of Tea
Rating & Warnings: PG, some very mild mention of injury/blood
Word Count/Art Medium: 2091
Prompt(s): Prompt 29. A cup of tea, gone cold.
Summary: Remus and Tonks negotiate another level of trust when he agrees to return to her flat the morning after a full moon for the first time.
Notes:
The fact that he'd agreed to come back to her flat after the full moon felt like a major stepping stone. She'd seen him after transformations before, carefully escorted upstairs at Grimmauld Place by an uncharacteristically quiet and attentive Sirius. Sirius would disappear into one of the dark bedrooms to tuck his old friend into bed and deliver cups of tea and clear broth throughout the day. She'd never seen Remus up close, however, or tended to wounds or slept at his side in the wee morning hours while he recovered.
The transformations at Grimmauld were mild, Sirius told her. Wolfsbane, he said, was a miracle potion and though the change ravaged Remus' body with the same violence, it prevented the self-inflicted injuries that had so often left him with scars as a younger man. But now Remus was on missions to infiltrate Greyback's pack and the more feral werewolves saw the potion as little more than Ministry mind-control, made to suppress their true nature. Remus, ever cautious, still took the potion brewed by Snape when he was able, but Wolfsbane was complex and needed to be carefully maintained between doses. As soon as he disappeared into Greyback's pack, he had no way of secretly getting the medicine and no way of guaranteeing the early doses would give him any sense of control over the transformation. And even if it did, the other wolves were unpredictable and violent. Running with them, even under the influence of some Wolfsbane, meant he could be injured by others asserting pack dominance over the newer wolf.
“It'll be fine,” Remus had assured her, kissing her brow with a calm and detached manner, pausing as he'd gathered his things the previous week in preparation to leave. “I've had this for a long time...much longer than many of the pack members. Even if I'm new, they'll respect that.”
A brief look of self-disgust had crossed his face.
“The wolf will know what to do.”
“Be careful,” she'd told him, embracing him at the threshold. She knew he was always careful...to a fault, even. Careful with his heart, certainly.
He'd nodded, kissed her briefly, and left.
The week passed like dripping molasses. When Tonks looked at the calender next to her desk in the Auror office and saw it was only Tuesday, she had to verify it twice.
By Thursday, she couldn't sleep. The bed felt remarkably empty in a way she hadn't expected. He'd only been sharing it with her a few short months in interrupted weeks together when they weren't on missions.
The moon was Saturday night and she spent the day at the Burrow in hopes of distracting herself from the ache in her belly and the tightness in her chest. When Molly Weasley hugged her goodbye and sent her home with a pot full of homemade soup for Remus' return, Tonks had nearly cried. But she wasn't going to burden Molly with this. Remus' condition had always been an awkward point of conversation with the Weasley matriarch. She loved Lupin and respected him deeply, but some prejudices were taught too young to ever fully leave her.
The flat was dark and quiet when Tonks arrived back home. Outside, a soft blanket of snow was falling, coating the streets with a powdery white as huge fluffy flakes drifted down with lazy tumbles. She put on the wireless and busied herself doing the stack of dishes she'd left by the sink and then changed the sheets on the bed, fluffing up the pillows and making sure an extra quilt was readily accessible in case he was cold.
“What do I need to do...when you get back?” she'd asked him.
He'd hesitated and that familiar look of “flight!” appeared in his eyes.
“Hey,” she'd said, curling an arm around his compact waist. “I won't fuss. I know you don't want that. Just tell me what you need to eat after and any potions I should have on-hand, that's all. And make sure you leave some pyjamas here.”
She'd felt him relax a little in her arms.
“Um...just tea and broth, really, for the first while. My stomach can't handle too much until I've rested for a bit. Protein, later, if you can spare it. Really, though...I don't need much.”
“Protein?” she'd asked. “What, like steak?”
“Don't spend your galleons on steak,” he'd replied quickly. “A tin of beans or something will do the trick.”
She'd mentally made a note to buy a little bit of roast beef from the deli. Beans on toast would be reserved for another day when he had to fend for himself.
“No potions,” he'd added. “I have a few I'll bring in my bag. Really, I just need a bed and rest. I'm not terribly fun afterwards, Tonks. This won't be a bit of a lie-in day, if that's what you're expecting. Sirius...um, Sirius used to say I slept like the dead after and that I was dreadfully boring.”
Tonks had smiled and kissed him.
“You are, indeed, dreadfully boring,” she'd teased.
What was dreadfully boring was passing the long hours before his return. She'd tried reading a book and she'd tried listening to the Quidditch report on the wireless, but once the moon rose high in the sky and shone brightly through the window of the flat, all she could do was stare up at the cruel orb and wait.
She brewed a pot of tea and poured herself a cup but it grew cold on the nightstand as she lay in bed, the curtains open to the view of the sky. Sometime around three in the morning, sleep finally took hold and she rested fitfully, waking with the sunrise and stumbling to the bath. She showered and dressed and put on another pot of tea only to leave it ignored after a few sips. Her stomach felt like a tangled bramble of thorny vines.
Finally, some time around ten past seven she heard footsteps and a gentle knock. She was swinging open the door before his knuckles could tap the wood a third time. He was standing, barely, clutching a small rucksack and wearing a very tattered pair of robes.
“Hello, love,” she said, stepping back to allow him in. She was scared to hug him for fear of aggravating any sore spots but she remained close to his side, afraid he might collapse at any moment. Deep purple bruises were smudged under his hazel-grey eyes and she could see blood staining a small spot through his robes at his side. A few large flakes of snow melted atop his head and the shoulders of his robes.
He looked utterly lost, shivering slightly as he stood in her living room with eyes focused nowhere in particular.
“Hey,” she said, her hand gently brushing against his and taking his satchel, setting it down on the sofa. “Do you want to wash up a bit before you sleep? I'll bring your pyjamas to the bathroom?”
Nodding, he moved towards the small room and shut the door behind him. She could hear the sink running and the sound of him blowing his nose for a moment.
She didn't realize how much her hands were shaking until she looked at her grip on his striped pyjama bottoms and saw them trembling. Steadying herself with a deep breath, she knocked on the bathroom door and heard him mutter a hoarse permission to enter.
He stood shirtless in front of the sink, his robe and jumper discarded and neatly folded on the toilet lid. She nearly laughed at the sight, amazed he had the strength to bother with such things.
His pale torso was a patchwork of scars, new and old, dappled here and there with smatterings of freckles. She'd seen him like this before, but never with wounds fresh and still bloody. A washrag was held to the spot on his side where he'd bled through his robes.
“Tell me what to do,” she said, moving slowly towards him and reaching out to help staunch the wound. He shied away from her for a brief moment before seeming to remind himself that she was safe.
“Um, I just need some gauze, I think, and there's a salve? They're in my bag.”
“Right,” she said, setting his pyjamas down on the edge of the bathtub and clenching her fists to stop her visible shaking. She went back out and retrieved the items from his satchel, returning with the roll of bandages and the small tin of wound creme.
Opening the salve, she held it out and he took a generous scoop, moving the washrag aside long enough to spread the thick creme across the fresh gash.
“What happened?” she asked softly.
“Someone ran me against a tree branch,” he explained with a grimace. “Could be worse.”
There was a joke to be made, but her brain refused to form it. She'd never felt so utterly humourless.
“Here,” she said, holding out the gauze. She took the proffered end.
“Can you wrap it?” he asked hesitantly. “I can do it, it's just easier with help.”
“Of course.”
She tried not to look upset as she carefully wound the roll of bandages around his thin stomach and across the oozing gouge.
“There,” she said, tucking the end in and touching her wand to the binding to secure it. It magically sealed itself tightly around him.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
She nodded mutely and gave his hand a squeeze, leaving him to change into his pyjamas in private. He met her in the bedroom looking charmingly boyish in the ensemble with his hair sticking up all angles. Sitting down on the bed, he reached for the cup of tea on the nightstand and took a small sip.
It wasn't until she saw his expression that she realized it was the cup she'd brewed early last night, left to sit without a warming charm.
“Oh Merlin!” she exclaimed. “That was mine...not fresh. Fuck, I'm sorry.”
To her surprise, he barked a quiet laugh and smiled. The expression lit up his face and through the dark-circled eyes and pale, bruised skin she saw the man she'd fallen in love with.
She giggled in spite of herself.
“I'll brew a fresh pot. Get cozy and I'll be right back.”
Tugging down the covers, she made a spot for him to crawl into bed and waited to leave until he was settled against the pillows with the extra quilt spread over his legs.
In the kitchen, she brewed the English Breakfast and poured a generous mug full, stirring in a small spoonful of honey and a splash of milk. When she went to deliver it, however, she was greeted with the sight of a sleeping Remus Lupin, lying on his back so quiet and still that she was reminded of what he'd told her about Sirius saying he slept like the dead.
Setting the mug on the nightstand, she remembered to place the warming charm this time. Then, with uncharacteristically graceful movements, she crept around to the opposite side of the bed and slid under the covers, siding up to the sleeping man. He didn't budge as she stroked a hand across his sandy brown and grey fringe, guiding it off his warm brow. His breath breezed across her face as she peered down at him, scrutinizing every line, freckle, and scar on the landscape of his features.
He looked younger in his sleep as rest relaxed away the guarded expression he usually wore. Tonks relaxed too, finally, and stretched out along the length of him.
When she woke later in the dim afternoon winter sun, the cup still steamed on the nightstand and Remus still slept peacefully at her side. She shifted to curl an arm across Remus' belly, hugging his warm body close to her as she closed her eyes again.
Running her thumb gently across the soft skin at the waistband of his pyjama bottoms, she hummed contentedly. They'd made it through one moon together. He was here, in her bed, sleeping and recovering. One success. One more hurdle towards Remus Lupin's trust had been overcome, she thought.
One cup of tea was still warm three hours later when he stirred and reached out to kiss her.
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Date: 2014-12-15 06:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-16 04:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-16 01:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-16 07:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-17 12:19 pm (UTC)Lots of nice lines as well. She knew he was always careful...to a fault, even. Careful with his heart, certainly, and Tonks is being careful here, too, with him. I liked how it's the touch of humour, with the cold cup of tea, that makes it easier for them both, and also lets us see what their relationship was like in better times. Well done. :)
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Date: 2014-12-19 11:29 am (UTC)This was a lovely story, and very beautifully written.
There was such a warm feel to this fic - even though what Tonks and Remus were going through here, was hard, you showed us their love and their (for Remus, tentative) trust so well. I enjoyed this very much!
no subject
Date: 2014-12-20 10:22 pm (UTC)Remus learning to accept Tonks' help is a favorite theme I keep coming back to, in both writing and reading, I think.
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Date: 2014-12-23 04:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-01-18 01:26 pm (UTC)