Fic: Fuzzy Socks
Dec. 31st, 2013 01:32 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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shimotsuki
Title: Fuzzy Socks
Rating & Warnings: PG-13, for snogging with intent
Word Count: 950 words
Prompt: fuzzy socks —sspring92’s prompt #3
Summary: Tonks takes up knitting again. Remus is rendered speechless.
Notes: Beware of very fluffy fluff, but this is the kind of evening I hope they had lots of during DH. (The muffler Remus thinks about first appeared in Out of Sight and Words Unspoken). Also: Happy New Year to all.
Fuzzy Socks
December 10, 1997
It was already rather late when Remus finally Apparated home.
He let himself into the house and crept up the stairs, shoes in hand, in case anyone was asleep. But light spilled from the crack under the door of Dora’s childhood bedroom, the room they now shared—maybe she had waited up for him, even after she’d spent the whole day in disguise, keeping Death Eaters under surveillance.
Indeed, when he pushed the door open, she was sitting propped up in bed, scowling at a tangle of yarn.
The scowl immediately melted into a bright, happy grin. “Wotcher! Any luck?”
Remus rather thought he understood, now, how Muggle-born wizards felt the first time they pointed their wand at a feather and made it float. This is real—I’m not dreaming—I’m the one who’s done that. It was exactly how he felt every time something he said or did made Dora happy.
“Yes, for a change.” He grinned back. “I’ve finally made contact with someone in the Ministry who’s willing to leak information to the Order. It’s one Edmund Murchison, in the Records office of the Beings Division.” He sat on the bed, leaning up against the headboard next to his wife. “He’s supposed to have some preliminary reports for me tomorrow night.”
“That’s brilliant,” said Dora, with another grin. “The Records office’ll be dead useful.”
“How about you? Any new intelligence?” He slipped an arm around her waist and rested his hand on her stomach, which had just begun to grow.
She leaned into him with a contented little hum that made his heart skip. “A few leads, I think. I’ve got some notes I’ll show you in the morning. There’s some information we ought to pass along to the rest of the Order.”
Remus bent down and slid a kiss along her eyebrow, just because he could. “And what’s all this? Taking up knitting again?”
“Mmhmm.” Dora turned her head to kiss him properly. That took a few moments, and when they’d finished, she seemed to be a little bit breathless.
That was only fair. He certainly was.
“Is it something for the baby, then?” Remus squinted at the knot of blue wool. “A little jumper?” He hadn’t seen Dora knit since she’d made him his muffler, nearly two years ago now—before Sirius, before Greyback.
Dora snorted. “Not likely! We’ll have to leave the baby jumpers to Molly.” She knocked her shoulder gently against his. “I’m making some socks. For you. Nice thick fuzzy ones.”
He blinked at her, bemused. “What’s brought that on?”
Her dark eyes met his, once, before she turned back to her needles. “You’re always so cold after moons. I thought some really warm socks might help.”
His breath caught—probably because of the sudden lump in his throat. Dora’s words made him think of his mother, straightening his father’s collar every morning before he left the house. Of James, brewing ginger tea for Lily whenever she was feeling tired. Of Molly, cooking things just the way Arthur liked them.
Remus Lupin had never been the kind of person who had someone to knit him fuzzy socks, not since his mother died, when he was barely out of Hogwarts.
He owed it to Dora not to forget that he did have that, now.
~ * ~
Tonks knitted more stitches, five of them, and still Remus hadn’t said anything. He only sat staring, barely breathing, and when she glanced at him sideways, she saw that particular hesitant, dare-not-believe-it expression that always made her heart twist.
She nudged him with her shoulder. “You don’t mind, do you?”
He blinked. “Mind? Oh, Dora.” He kissed her again, quite emphatically, running gentle fingers through her hair and along the nape of her neck. When they pulled apart, she found she had dropped her knitting altogether and was clinging to his jumper with both hands.
He rested his forehead against hers. “Thank you. My feet do get cold after moons.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” She was still a little breathless from the kiss. “The socks might end up all lumpy, you know.”
“Lumpy or not,” said Remus, “you’re making them for me, and that means they’re the best warm fuzzy socks in the world.” He grinned, a slow lazy grin that banished all the shadows from his eyes, and tucked a pink curl behind her ear. “But I’ve made you drop your needles, haven’t I. I hope this doesn’t set your project back too far.”
“It’s still three days to full moon.” Tonks flicked her wand and sent the needles and wool sailing across the room. The half-finished sock landed in the rocking chair by the window with a small metallic clatter, the rest of the ball of yarn following half a second later. “Plenty of time to finish your fuzzy socks.”
She brushed her nose along his jaw. He caught his breath, shivering a little. It still amazed her, even after half a year, how strongly he responded to her touch—now that he had finally decided to let himself respond.
“You give me so much,” he whispered, kissing her other eyebrow, and then the hollow behind her ear. Now he certainly wasn’t the only one shivering.
Tonks waved her wand again and dropped it on the bedside table. All the lights went out, except for one candle that flickered gently on the wide windowsill.
“They’ll be lumpy socks, for sure,” she murmured, starting on the buttons of his shirt. “I’m not so very good at knitting.”
“They’ll be warm,” he countered, hoarsely. He kissed her nose and slid his hands under her jumper, along the skin of her back. “They’ll be perfect.”
His lips found hers again.
There was no more talk of socks.
~ fin ~
.
shimotsukiTitle: Fuzzy Socks
Rating & Warnings: PG-13, for snogging with intent
Word Count: 950 words
Prompt: fuzzy socks —
sspring92’s prompt #3Summary: Tonks takes up knitting again. Remus is rendered speechless.
Notes: Beware of very fluffy fluff, but this is the kind of evening I hope they had lots of during DH. (The muffler Remus thinks about first appeared in Out of Sight and Words Unspoken). Also: Happy New Year to all.
December 10, 1997
It was already rather late when Remus finally Apparated home.
He let himself into the house and crept up the stairs, shoes in hand, in case anyone was asleep. But light spilled from the crack under the door of Dora’s childhood bedroom, the room they now shared—maybe she had waited up for him, even after she’d spent the whole day in disguise, keeping Death Eaters under surveillance.
Indeed, when he pushed the door open, she was sitting propped up in bed, scowling at a tangle of yarn.
The scowl immediately melted into a bright, happy grin. “Wotcher! Any luck?”
Remus rather thought he understood, now, how Muggle-born wizards felt the first time they pointed their wand at a feather and made it float. This is real—I’m not dreaming—I’m the one who’s done that. It was exactly how he felt every time something he said or did made Dora happy.
“Yes, for a change.” He grinned back. “I’ve finally made contact with someone in the Ministry who’s willing to leak information to the Order. It’s one Edmund Murchison, in the Records office of the Beings Division.” He sat on the bed, leaning up against the headboard next to his wife. “He’s supposed to have some preliminary reports for me tomorrow night.”
“That’s brilliant,” said Dora, with another grin. “The Records office’ll be dead useful.”
“How about you? Any new intelligence?” He slipped an arm around her waist and rested his hand on her stomach, which had just begun to grow.
She leaned into him with a contented little hum that made his heart skip. “A few leads, I think. I’ve got some notes I’ll show you in the morning. There’s some information we ought to pass along to the rest of the Order.”
Remus bent down and slid a kiss along her eyebrow, just because he could. “And what’s all this? Taking up knitting again?”
“Mmhmm.” Dora turned her head to kiss him properly. That took a few moments, and when they’d finished, she seemed to be a little bit breathless.
That was only fair. He certainly was.
“Is it something for the baby, then?” Remus squinted at the knot of blue wool. “A little jumper?” He hadn’t seen Dora knit since she’d made him his muffler, nearly two years ago now—before Sirius, before Greyback.
Dora snorted. “Not likely! We’ll have to leave the baby jumpers to Molly.” She knocked her shoulder gently against his. “I’m making some socks. For you. Nice thick fuzzy ones.”
He blinked at her, bemused. “What’s brought that on?”
Her dark eyes met his, once, before she turned back to her needles. “You’re always so cold after moons. I thought some really warm socks might help.”
His breath caught—probably because of the sudden lump in his throat. Dora’s words made him think of his mother, straightening his father’s collar every morning before he left the house. Of James, brewing ginger tea for Lily whenever she was feeling tired. Of Molly, cooking things just the way Arthur liked them.
Remus Lupin had never been the kind of person who had someone to knit him fuzzy socks, not since his mother died, when he was barely out of Hogwarts.
He owed it to Dora not to forget that he did have that, now.
Tonks knitted more stitches, five of them, and still Remus hadn’t said anything. He only sat staring, barely breathing, and when she glanced at him sideways, she saw that particular hesitant, dare-not-believe-it expression that always made her heart twist.
She nudged him with her shoulder. “You don’t mind, do you?”
He blinked. “Mind? Oh, Dora.” He kissed her again, quite emphatically, running gentle fingers through her hair and along the nape of her neck. When they pulled apart, she found she had dropped her knitting altogether and was clinging to his jumper with both hands.
He rested his forehead against hers. “Thank you. My feet do get cold after moons.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” She was still a little breathless from the kiss. “The socks might end up all lumpy, you know.”
“Lumpy or not,” said Remus, “you’re making them for me, and that means they’re the best warm fuzzy socks in the world.” He grinned, a slow lazy grin that banished all the shadows from his eyes, and tucked a pink curl behind her ear. “But I’ve made you drop your needles, haven’t I. I hope this doesn’t set your project back too far.”
“It’s still three days to full moon.” Tonks flicked her wand and sent the needles and wool sailing across the room. The half-finished sock landed in the rocking chair by the window with a small metallic clatter, the rest of the ball of yarn following half a second later. “Plenty of time to finish your fuzzy socks.”
She brushed her nose along his jaw. He caught his breath, shivering a little. It still amazed her, even after half a year, how strongly he responded to her touch—now that he had finally decided to let himself respond.
“You give me so much,” he whispered, kissing her other eyebrow, and then the hollow behind her ear. Now he certainly wasn’t the only one shivering.
Tonks waved her wand again and dropped it on the bedside table. All the lights went out, except for one candle that flickered gently on the wide windowsill.
“They’ll be lumpy socks, for sure,” she murmured, starting on the buttons of his shirt. “I’m not so very good at knitting.”
“They’ll be warm,” he countered, hoarsely. He kissed her nose and slid his hands under her jumper, along the skin of her back. “They’ll be perfect.”
His lips found hers again.
There was no more talk of socks.
.
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Date: 2014-01-01 04:39 am (UTC)Remus bent down and slid a kiss along her eyebrow, just because he could. "Just because he could." I love that. I can see Remus thinking about every touch and nuance in that way!
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Date: 2014-01-01 05:24 am (UTC)I can see Remus thinking about every touch and nuance in that way!
Glad you think it fits him! I think Remus would have been so amazed that he was actually in a relationship that he would have paid attention to every little detail.