; the little -details- xXx

a few hours to go to deathly hallows, and my final take on what may be and what may not be before everything goes un-cannon.

no spoilers whatsoever. no worries.

( Happy Ending )

Okay, some comic stuff. (: skip this post if you don't like.

A/N: Something I thought of ever since I read the panels about Kyle drawing Jen in the GL Secret Files and Origins. Finally got to see some scans of Jen dying in RannThanagar War in scans_daily (since I'm too broke to buy my own comics for now) and well, one thing leads to another, and ta-dah: new writing style and an actual story/fanfiction that's below 1000 words and is actually finished! Check this and this out for reference to understand more. =D

complete

She brought her knees to her chest, her dark eyes, covered by mousy brown tresses staring at nothingness. She was past tears. She'd like to think that she'd cried too much for the past year. She knew she'd acted stupid in the hospital wing just now, like some kind of desperate demented depressed loser who'd let go of herself; he couldn't even look at her after her unexpected outburst. What the bloody hell was she thinking?

It was just that...

How could Fleur and Bill had their happy ending when her own story was falling apart into a thousand of incoherent tiny pieces?

It wasn't fair.

When could she have her happy ending?

She wanted to be whole--to be complete-- again. Was that so hard of a wish?

The hallways were quiet; most of the school had gone down to the grounds to confirm the rumor that had been flying around--no matter how painful it was--that Dumbledore was dead. She'd heard him coming before she'd smelled him--his footsteps, still as light as she could remember echoed down the halls, the soft musky smell she'd missed joined it after a while. She knew he'd stopped right behind her, watching her with tired blue-gray eyes framed by his light brown hair, the grey more abundant than ever. But he didn't say anything; so she didn't make a sound, trying to pretend that she never noticed his presence even though his lanky form was hiding the only source of light behind her, his shadow extending far into the darkness ahead.

There was nothing left to say. Whatever she'd been feeling this whole year was overwhelming her systems like some kind of venomous poison, paralysing her there on the cold stone floor. She'd wait for a while; she was sure he'd be gone soon anyways, like what he'd always wanted--to disappear from her life as if he was never there in the first place.

But she didn't expect to see his shadow grew shorter in front of her and his scent--mixed a little with blood and fatigue--filling up the air around her and a familiar, warm hand gripping her shoulder. She looked up into his prematurely lined face, somewhat surprised with the physical contact he'd been avoiding for one bloody long year, and she could see the ghost of a smile tugging at the one corner of his lips that was not shrouded in the darkness.

He offered her his hand and she took it, grasping it quietly yet firmly as if he was her lifeline (and he was, in a way) and she smiled, for the first time in what seemed to be an eternity or more, because she knew she was finally whole--complete--again.

happy

He knows she's in a bad mood today.

She's banged into practically everything in the living room for the past hour and kicked everything that she'd banged into before stomping into the kitchen and helps herself to the biggest bar of Honeydukes chocolate she can find in the fridge before locking herself up in the bathroom for an hour and when she's finally emerged now, her smile is forced and she's gone and curled up in front of the fireplace on the handsome carpet her mom had given her as a Christmas present last year.

He doesn't ask what's wrong--she wouldn't tell him the truth even if he'd asked. But he knows anyways. And she knows he knows. And that's why she's trying to smile determinedly at him to tell him that nothing's wrong (with her; for him, everything's wrong, ever since Fawkes arrived with the letter this morning).

He spares a glance at the limp mousy brown hair her right hand was unconciously clutching--ever since she'd been discharged from St Mungo's, not one strand of her hair had been pink or purple or green or electric blue; it'd stayed brown stubbornly, no matter what she did. She's just gone to the barber this afternoon and had it cut short and spiky as she likes it and she smiled and told him happily that she liked it--although she joked that she could probably do a much better job had she been able to morph--but he could see the shadow of emptiness and desolation behind the honey colored eyes.

She'd lost herself ever since she'd lost the colors.

He sticks his hands into his pockets and the familiar rough texture of a parchment meets his right hand. He's read it tens of times and knows what he has to do and what he's going to do with her. It's for her own good, he assures himself (somewhat too firmly) and steps forward, steeling himself--his heart-- to drop the bad news on her.

But the image of her laying there helplessly, clutching the hair she's tried hours to morph in the bathroom (which she thinks that he doesn't know) staring at the dancing flames in front of her stops him. He stuffs the letter from Dumbledore which he's half pulled from his pocket back before he continues walking to her, his face relaxing into an easy smile as he gathers her up in his arms and let her lean against him, his hands playing with the soft brown strands of her hair while she sighs appreciatevely in his ear.

He'll tell her tomorrow, or the day after, maybe, when he gathers all his courage. But now, he'll smile and he'll laugh to make her smile and laugh, because all he's ever wanted, really, is just for her to be happy...

... (with or without him).

Title:Fault
Pairing:Remus/Tonks
Raiting: K+ (language)
Genre:General/Humor
A/N:A stupid, mindless piece at which I attempt a funny one-shot. You've been warned.
Summary: Remus thinks too much sometimes.

Is it his fault to actually fall for her?

He shifts his weight from one leg to another, one hand up raking on his messy light chestnut hair as he feels himself faltering under her interrogative stare.

It's his fault. He's dropped too many clues and she's sniffed them out like a hungry hound.

"Well?" she asks sharply, her hands crossed across her chest; she's blocking the door, that smart girl, to ensure that he'll stay there till she gets what she wants. "I believe that you owe me a string of words."

His eyes dart to the small air vent up on the wall and he wonders if he can scale the wall and fits himself into it. "Which words?"

The floorboards outside are creaking and he can hear Sirius' deep, loud voice calling out for him, accompanied by the motherly voice that is Molly Weasley. Right here, mate, right here! his mind exclaims desperately. But then, who'd expect him to be locked with Nymphadora Tonks in Harry's room?

"Those words that can save me more headaches, Remus. Those words that can make me stop wondering and fantasizing about something that may be wrong... or right," she says, advancing closer with a step; Remus instinctively takes a step back.

He knows she fancies him. Sirius says so. Molly says so. Moody and Kingsley say so. Snape says so. Dumbledore says so.

He briefly wonders about the many ears in the walls of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

"Those words that can be the start of something new," she continues, brushing a strand of midnight blue hair away from her violet eyes, "Argh. You know what I mean. You damn well know what I mean," she finishes with her eyes narrowed to slits; he notices that her eyes slowly shift colour from violet to pink, like a blossoming flower in the spring.

"Moony! Where are you, mate?"

"Muffliato," Tonks murmurs, pointing her wand at the door. Then, she turns back at the man, whose back is up against the dusty wall. "Just you and me, Remus. And we have all the time in the world; I'm just gonna wait here till you say those words I wanna hear."

A patronus, Remus thinks to himself desperately. The four-way mirror--shit, don't have it. Apparation...

"Don't bother to try and apparate," Tonks said casually, now checking her nails with interest. "Basic Auror Training. Anti Apparation Jinx on the room you're cornering someone in. You can try to send a patronus, Remus, but," she looks up,  a wild grin in her face, "I'll make sure you have no time to concentrate on it at all."

"What do you want to hear, Tonks?" he asks warily, sliding down the wall and sitting cross legged on the wooden floor, which creaked under his weight. "Me singing opera?"

She winces. He can hazardly guess that she's overhead him in the shower. "Nope. Try again," she says, now tugging at a stray thread in her baby pink shirt, which has a picture of a goblin dunking a head that looks like that bitch Umbridge inside a cauldron full of a smoking green liquid.

He's suddenly aware of the tightness in his pants.

Sweet sweet Merlin. Not now.

His bladder's chosen to be full at the wrongest of time!

"Remus?"

He squirms and he looks up distractedly; he's unconciously mustered all his concentration on his bladder.

"You okay down there?" Tonks says, worried. "Oh man, is this some kind of gibbous moon seizure? Or did Sirius' lunch make you sick too? Or--" she narrows her eyes (they're flaming red now) "--Oh no, oh no, you arsehole. This trick's not gonna work on me. Very funny. Ha ha. I'm actually a bit dissapointed in you; where's your Marauders touch?"

What does she expect? Fred's and George's Nosebleed Nougat?

(Actually, he wouldn't mind one right now.)

"Tonks," he says urgently, "this isn't--you're mistaken--bloody hell. I need to go out, Tonks!"

She looks down at him, studying him with her now sapphire blue eyes. "Man, you're a really great actor. I almost sympathize with you. Almost," she grins. "Now, if you speak those words now, I'll let you go. And it'll benefit you and me; especially me--my life, I mean." She chuckles as she leans close to him, cocking her ear like a schoolgirl eager for a juicy gossip; her scent--a mix of passion fruit and cassis rose--washes over him and he almost forgets about the pain in his lower body.

Do not cave in, Remus tells himself.

Do cave in; and then, tell Sirius all the juicy details, another voice in his mind says. Somehow, that voice sounds like Sirius. Come to think of it, the voices that have always led him to the wrong direction have always sounded like Sirius. Surprisingly enough, he listens to them most of the time.

Do not cave in. You know the implications.

You think too much, Lupin. That girl wants you.

Is it her fault she falls for you? If you respond back, it will be your fault.

He whimpers as his bladder shakes again and he realises that desperate times require desperate measures--that nobility streak of his can screw itself just for this little while. He can now only hope that Sirius isn't hogging the toilet or something.

"Tonks," he mutters and the girl perks up quickly, like a lightbulb being switched on. She inclines her head up and that's what Remus' just hoping for. He knows that he really is out of practice (but isn't as much as Sirius, his mind chuckles) and he really hopes he can get this right on the first try; he cups her small chin--a perfect fit in his palm--and lowers his lips onto hers, keeping them there for a moment that feels like eternity.

It's just what he's always dreamt of: her lips are small and full and soft and melt in his own and it feels like kissing a roasted marshmallow; he can't help but run his tongue across her lips, playfully darting in and out of her mouth a few times, tasting the sweet caramel taste that is her.

He pulls away and he is suddenly very self concious of the blush on his cheek. He looks down; Tonks is staring at him with dark blank eyes, her mouth hung open although he can see a shadow of a smile playing at the corner of her lips.

"Can I go now, please, Tonks?" he asks, grinning inspite of himself at the young Auror melting in his arms; it's always felt good to know that you're a good kisser.

She absentmindedly raises up her wand and gives it a little flick; the lock clicks open. Remus gently lowers her down on the floor and quickly slams the door open, hurrying down the hall to the toilet as his bladder threatens to leak.

If he's bothered to stay a little longer, he'd seen a still-shocked Nymphadora Tonks picking herself up from the floor (and then tripping on a loose floorboard), muttering, "Actually, I've only wanted that cooking recipe of his..."

"But ain't my fault this happens," she finishes with a grin.

Remus/Tonks
Angst/Drama
Set in the Christmas of HBP
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just borrowing them (without profit!) for my muse, and kill a little time.
His answer is as clear as the mud that litters his old, ragged cloak; as clear as her dead, dull grey stare--he needs her, and for that, he'll break his rule, just for this once.
Has light sexual intonations. Don't like, don't read; if you're interested (at your own risk), highlight the light green font later on in the story.


She sits alone on her bed, still docked in full magenta Auror robes with a colorful afghan (the one Molly thoughtfully made her) riding up her chest, her dark grey eyes (which she'd tried to change; she really did) staring blankly into the empty fireplace. The half finished report (Goblins are smuggling below standared silver cauldrons) she had to do for Scrimgeour last week sits crumpled in her hand, the upper part of the report smudged with something that looks like newly-shed tears, mimicking the mascara which trickles down her face, a thick black path cutting its way down her pale heart shaped face.

An old wireless crackles barely with life, whispering the croons of Celestina Warbleck's A Cauldron of Hot Strong Love before it finally sputters and coughs and falls dead. Tonks waves her wand lazily, non verbally repairing the wireless and it springs back to life, cheerfully proclaiming "Happy Christmas!" with all the festive joy that she doesn't have (she'd thrown it away but Moody wanted her to keep one; for constant vigilance, of course).

Her dull, empty eyes fall on the limp misletoe on the floor that Kingsley has good naturedly (under heavy influence of Firewhisky) tucked in her pocket in the Christmas Party they had this morning for Aurors; he himself had hung one in his cubicle and almost made out with one Dolores Umbridge before puking all over her (bless him). Last year, she'd had one hung in front of her bedroom in No 12 Grimmauld Place and a certain Remus Lupin happened to be caught standing with her under it (and with a little help from Sirius, the both of them were almost late for breakfast the following morning, and the morning after that); she'd had the best christmas present ever: him.

No, no, no. She mutters in her head, clutching the dead mousy brown hair with both hands. Not him. Forget about him.

Poor. Old. Dangerous.

The empty stare that used to be alive and brimming with glee and joy tears up again. Poorolddangerous. Poorolddangerous.

"Poor, old--"

She realises that she has been muttering to herself again when a knock on her one room apartment wakes her up from her trance. She kicks the afghan away and quickly strides down the length of the living room, sometimes catching her feet on her coffee table, on her sofa, her coat hanger and finally, tripping over the afghan, which has incospicuously curls up her right leg--some things do never change. She limps to her door, her wand in a deathgrip inside her Auror robes ("Constant Vigilance, lassie. Constant Vigilance." She snorts. It's so very likely that Death Eaters will politely knock before they break open your door and kill you.)

The door creaks open.

She can make out a tall figure, so skinny that it's drowning in the huge, tattered robe it's wearing and she can see a wand sticking out of his breast pocket; well, it isn't the Pizza Guy...

"Hello, Tonks."

.. and she slams the door right on his face--on the face she's longed to see for six solid months.

She tries to calm her heart down--and fails. Isn't he supposed to be in the Burrow, eating solid food he's been denied for months, partying with the Weasleys, catching up with Harry, and brooding and angsting like the sorry werewolf he is? What is he doing here? Rubbing it on her face that he's been very well off without her ("That's a lie," she tells herself. "He's awfully thin, for Merlin's sake. What has not Greyback been feeding him?"), probably?

"What are you doing here," she deadpans, tapping the door once to let him know that she's speaking.

There's a scuttle across the door. "How are you, Tonks?" his hoarse voice comes, sounding more tired and awkward than ever.

She flungs open the door and stands in full view of Remus John Lupin, now reduced to nothing but skeleton wrapped in skin and too-big robes and coats, his shaggy light brown hair now straddling his shoulders, the gray highlights more abundant than ever. His blue-gray eyes, hidden among his unkempt chesnut bangs, narrow as he studies her too-thin frame and her natural hair and eyes.

"Have you been eating?" he asks, still staying on the same space in front of her door.

"I could ask the same for you," she says. "It's getting late, Remus, come on in. Then you can explain this unexpected visit."

It hurts so much to treat him just like a colleague, a friend; it hurts more to treat him like a poison. She stops the tears that have threatened to fall and steps sideways, letting him enter her living room. Suddenly she realises that her apartement is in desperate need of cleaning up, with cloaks and robes and sneakers all over the place and dust layering every furniture she has; the pictures are grimy and the people in them have walked away from the frame, disgusted. It looks very different from when he used to live in there with her; he'd take care of all the cleanings and the tidying ups (and the cookings and other small household details; him being the unemployed, bored, kind hearted perfectionist) while she slaved the day in the Ministry.

No, don't go into that.

"I, uh," he starts, scratching the back of his neck--something he always does when he's nervous. "Molly wants to know if you want to come for to the Burrow tomorrow, since it's Christmas and all."

"I have work," she states. "Death Eaters don't take Christmas off."

"Right," he says. "Right, I'll tell her that."

Whatever happened to owls and Patronus messages?

She can feel his eyes on her back, and she quickly turns to the kitchen. "Do you want anything?" she says, although she already knows the answer. She summons a cup (probably the only clean one she has) and fill it three quarters full with warm tea before adding milk until the brim, and put in half a scoop of sugar.

He looks half surprised to see her offering the cup of tea; he seems to be engrossed in studying the state of her apartement. "Thank you," he says softly and takes the cup away from her, his gloved hands brushing against hers as he does, sending shivers down her spine. He takes a sip before looking back at her. "I'd better get going then," he says before taking another careful sip.

She nods, watching him finish his tea before making his way to the still ajar door. He straightens up the old, dirty robe he wears before stepping out of her door and she can see him turning his head--just a little--and looks at her.

Stealing glances at her...

"Remus," her mouth says before her brain can even notice what's happening. "This isn't working."

"I know," came the tired reply.

"I can't act like nothing's happened!" she says, flaring up suddenly. "I can't act like oh, you're Remus Lupin; you're just another colleague of mine in the Order and we risk our lives everyday hunting down You-Know-Who and I'm sure you haven't gotten into bed with me before. I just can't do this!"

"I know."

He's not even looking at her! That merlin-damned, selfish noble bastard--how she wants to shake him until he finally understands that the only thing keeping them apart is him being the world's biggest moron. She walks up at him and snatches a handful of his dirty robe, looking straight into his eyes (his dull, lifeless eyes--how it mirrored her own). "It may be easy to you but--"

Now she finds herself pinned on the wall, his face just inches away from hers, his breath very warm on her skin. "Don't you--. This isn't--," he gasps for a moment, as if finding the right words to say. "Tonks, this is killing me more than you. I spend every moment--unconcious or not--thinking about you and your vibrant laughs and your vivid pink hair, and the tingle of your touch and the pure ecstasy of just being with you." He snarls, his lips a hair breadth away from hers. "It's for your own good, Nymphadora. I'm--"

"Too poor, too old, too dangerous," she chants, rolling her eyes (and she becomes vaguely aware that he's released her, and withdrawn his hands to himself). She looks at him, her eyes softening a little. "Remus, I can't believe I'm saying this again: I don't care that you're poor, old and dangerous. But do you ever listen? No! You being the asshole you are is just so absorbed in this belief you create yourself and no matter what I say, what Molly says, what Arthur says or what Dumbledore says, you still think you're right, don't you?"

He stares at her, fatigue evident in his eyes. "Tonks..."

"You think you're protecting me; but you're not. It hurts, Remus. It's killing me, well," she gestures at herself, "You can see for yourself."

He keeps quiet and she suddenly becomes very interested in her socks, taking in every detail like how the mint green is fading and how some threads are sticking out and how they're brushing against the edge of Remus' too-big robe, and how the dark, dull mud that cakes his robe is dripping onto the socks.

"So why're you here exactly, Remus?" she asks him, still staring at her socks fiercely. "You could just send me an own or a Patronus to ask me about tomorrow."

"I wanted to see you," he says.

"You, wanted to see me?" she repeats, laughing. "You must've missed me badly, huh?"

And for the second time that day, she finds herself pinned on the wall, harder than before, as he crushes her lips against hers hungrily, forcing his tongue into her mouth and Merlin, he tasteslike turkey, tea, longing, and lust... She groans, her stomach somersaulting and she feels as if it just drops, down her navel, her hip... to the very warm spot in between her thighs. She nipped at his upper lip before his mouth travells down her chin, then up her cheek and into her ears, licking the earlobes gently, erotically, and she nuzzles his neck with hers, her hearbeat resonating with his, beating in synch with the bobbing of his Adam's Apple.

He pulls away from her, gasping for breath like she is. She smirks. "What's that for, Remus Lupin?"

He keeps silent, but she can see his answer, obvious in his eyes, now alive and fiery with lust and passion. His answer is as clear as the mud that litters his old, ragged cloak; as clear as her dead, dull gray stare--he needs her, and for that, he'll break his rule, just for this once.

She presses her lips to his and he responds immediately, bringing his hands to cup her face as she encircles his neck with her own slender arms, bringing them closer than ever. He kisses her slowly at first, teasing her tongue with his as he moves across her lips, and then more forceful, his need expressed clearly as he nipped at her nose, her eyelids, her chin, her earlobes, her... good Merlin... She'd almost forgotten what a good kisser he was.

She grinds her hip against his and he groans as she straddles his aching need. With a burst of strength, he lifts her up and she wraps her long, smooth legs around his waist, loving the feeling of his manliness pressing against her thighs. His mouth has now found the sweet spot on her throat, suckling and nipping at it as if it's sweet honey; she runs a hand across his chest, pushing the heavy cloak and the dirty robe down on the floor before her nimble fingers dance across the buttons of his blue Oxfords, freeing them one by one almost teasingly and he moans in impatience. He frees a hand which has been tangled in her limp mousy brown hair and waves it--his shirt flies away, along with her robe, her Weird Sisters T-Shirt and her bra.

That's one of the things she likes about him: Venus Primifico. Wandless Magic. Hmph.

"Not here," she mutters against his lips, which have found hers again. "Bed..."

And they stumble down her living room, knocking into things and furnitures and sometimes making brief stops at the wall for support (they just can't keep their hands off themselves just for a little while for support) before they reach their destination; he throws the two of them down on her bed, him scrambling to get on top of her while her working on his pants.

"You're thin, for Merlin's sake, Tonks," he whispers.

"And you're a skeleton, Remus," she says before claiming his lips again. "Eat more; even if I'd have to smuggle food for you."

His hands find her knickers and push it down and she gasps in anticipation.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He never stops; thrusting, grunting, his sweat slicked body pressed against hers as he brings her from ecstasy again and again; his lips are everywhere, up down--from her hair to toes--, he licks and sucks and nibbles teasingly, erotically at every inch of her porcelain delicate skin. She could taste herself in his mouth, in his tongue, in his long slender fingers. Everything's right just for this one night; he's here, right here, everywhere on her, beside her, below her, all wrapped up around her, his scent, his taste, his warmth lingering on her skin.

Everything's right for just this one time, she mutters to herself as she plops down the pillow, her hair slicked with sweat underneath her head. And tears roll down her pink-stained cheek; nothing ever stays right for long.

Tomorrow, she's very sure, tomorrow, everything's going to be wrong again.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She wakes up when her alarm clock screams at her ear (and she smashes it on the wall as usual; with a quick reparo it should be back to being annoying again), tangled up in her blanket with her hair sticking out at weird angles. Sunlight is streaming down into the room; she blinks and looks down at herself: stark naked. What happened...?

"Remus!" she whispers, one hand shooting to the other side of the bed, running across the sheet and throwing the blanket away. The sheet there is cold, cold like it's always been for the past six months ever since its occupant goes on that stupid undercover mission. She sits up, studying her room: it's neat. He's gone through all the trouble to tidy up after her, like six months ago, before he left. She grabs the blanket and wraps it around her and runs out to the living room.

Other than the fact that her apartment's clean, there's no sign that he's actually been here. She slumps back into her bedroom, feeling more tired and lonely than ever before (her Goblin Cauldron report had been neatly stacked up on her desk; her cloak and her shoes and any piece of garment had been folded up expertly inside her closet, and that nest of Doxys that had been happily living in her bathroom was gone without a trace).

She sits down on her bed docked in nothing as she stares blankly into the fireplace across from her, her insides now as hollow and empty and cold as the bedsheet beside her.

Vindicated
Dashboard Confessional

Hope dangles on a string
Like slow spinning redemption
Winding in and winding out
The shine of it has caught my eye

And roped me in
So mesmerizing, so hypnotizing
I am captivated

[Chorus]
I am Vindicated
I am selfish
I am wrong
I am right
I swear I'm right
I swear I knew it all along

And I am flawed
But I am cleaning up so well
I am seeing in me now the things you swore you saw yourself

So clear
Like the diamond in your ring
Cut to mirror your intentions
Oversized and overwhelmed
The shine of which has caught my eye
And rendered me so isolated, so motivated
I am certain now that

[Chorus]

So turn
Up the corners of your lips
Part them and feel my finger tips
Trace the moment, fall forever
Defense is paper thin
Just one touch and I'd be in
Too deep now to ever swim against the current
So let me slip away [3x]
So let me slip against the current
So let me slip away [4x]

[Chorus]

Slight hope
It dangles on a string
Like slow spinning redemption...


Another "I love you so much but I don't deserve you because I'm (insert some pathetic excuse) and I'm destined to watch you from afar" song.  It fits an Aurikku or a Yuffentine or a Remus/Tonks like a jigsaw puzzle. (: Oh no. The fangirl inside me is itching to write a song-fic...

Just looking at the poetic and meaningful lyrics, you can guess how touching the song is. (: And of course, Dashboard Confessional carries the tune like the pro they are. It makes perfect sense why I'm looping this song twenty times on Winamp.

If you want the song, IM me or drop me an email.

   

A/N: A little thought I have during Math Class (; Spelling isn't top notch; you've been warned
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That Something
Chapter 1


    "Do NOT!"

    "Do too!"

    "Do not!"

    "Do TOO!"

    Nymphadora Tonks growled, her gaze still piercing those dark chocolate orbs that were her cousin's fiercely. "Sirius Black, if you sprout more nonsense, I'll---I'll..."

    "Stutter on me?" Sirius said innocently, a doggish grin imprinted on his face. "Oh wait," he held up a hand. "Don't tell me. You're gonna go to your beloved Moony and tell on me?" He barked his laughter. "I am so dead."

    Tonks flushed, her cheeks burning brighter than her bubblegum thresses. "He is NOT my Moony!" she said, dropping her gaze  from his face to the bottle of Butterbeer in her hands, not intent on letting him see the desire behind her eyes (blue-green that day, to match the new aquamarine robe she just bought at half price the week before).

    "He will be," said Sirius dismissively, before downing his entire bottle of Firewhisky in one gulp. "It's easy for you to make him fall for you. Just like that." He snapped his finger as if to prove a point, before succumbing to a hicoughing fit.

    "Who says I like him?"

    Sirius pointed his wand lazily to his throat and the hicoughing stoped. "You do," he stated simply, before summoning yet another dozen of Firewhisky (and Tonks ducked last minute, the last bottle swaying dangerously mid-air as it zoomed towards the dining table).

    "Do not," Tonks protested. "And that's your last Firewhisky, Sirius."

    "Do too. And who says you're the boss of me, Nymphadora?"

    "Do not. And please. If you get drunk, you'll get vomit everywhere, and that means more cleaning for me and Remus," she said, pulling her own wand to banish the extra bottles away. "And do NOT call me Nymphadora."

    Sirius shrugged, before draining his Firewhisky, lapping the last drops with his tongue. "Fine. No Firewhisky. But I've got my own supply of Black's finest wine at my beck and command," he grinned as he put down his bottle--his fourteenth that night. Ignoring Tonks' exaperated look, he turned to the dark kitchen before raising his voice. "KREACHER? YOU USELESS PILE OF SHIT, BRING ME THOSE OGRE WINE RIGHT NOW OR GOD HELP ME!"
  
    There was a loud crack and the house elf appeared at Sirius' feet, his ugly snout-like nose pressed to the hard stone floor as he offered Sirius a tray of bottles with brilliantly colored liquid inside. "Oh, how Kreacher wishes he is with his dearest mistress, it is a shame, a shame to serve this murderer and his traitor friends. A werewolf, a pink haired banshee, those weezies and a few mudbloods too! Oh what will poor mistress say---"

    "Shut up, Kreacher," Sirius said, and Kreacher gave him a look of pure loathing and disdain before Disapparating with a loud crack. Turning to Tonks, he lifted up one bottle with a bright neon blue liquid swirling inside. "It's been forever since I had these. Ah... last time I took it with my mates, James almost scalded his tongue off," he said reminiscently, smiling dreamily as if he was replaying the memory in his head again and again. "But he'd learned to be a drinker soon enough. Remus took a bit more time to adjust to these but Peter fainted everytime he tried anything." He shook his head, the words 'good for nothing dirty rat' making their way to Tonks' ears. "Want some?"

    As Tonks shook her head no, Sirius lifted the whole bottle to his lips. "Banish these and I'll hex your pants off," he warned. "Now where were we...? Ah. You and my dear old friend Moony."

   "Sirius..."

    "You two click well the first time you met each other." Tonks recalled with a faint blush that they did 'click' well together; her tripping down that stupid troll leg umbrella stand and knocking into him during her first Order meeting.

    "He'll probably laugh and tell me I'm a silly little girl with a silly little crush if he ever finds out..." she muttered and Sirius smirked.

    "Hah! You do like him!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "Good for you. I was planning to Veritaserum you after the meeting tomorrow. In front of everyone."

    "You didn't!" Tonks gasped. She pictured herself going on and on and on about her secrets that had been hidden deep inside since her school year and imagined Remus' look of shock and shame if she blabbered about her obsession with him and that one time she sneaked away his boxers from the laundry (it was old and worn and she thought he wouldn't miss it but later on Remus had questioned everyone if they'd seen those pair; he didn't have many pairs to start with. Those pair of boxers mysteriously ended up on his bed a week later, ironed and folded neatly). Her stomach did a backflip.

    "I'm a Marauder," her cousin shrugged, gulping down the ogre wine in between words, and burping loudly on 'Marauder'. "I don't blame you for falling for ol' Moony. Lots of girls did during our school years." Sirius rolled his dark eyes. "Weirdly enough, girls seem to be charmed with his 'air of mysteriousness' and premature sense of responsibility."

    Tonks leaned forward, interested in this new piece of news. "Really?"

    "Yeah. But he turned down most of 'em. Him and his nobility crap. Still says something like 'werewolves don't have any future' everytime he's set up with a girl," he said. "But those few lucky girls claimed that he was the best kisser they'd had their entire lives." At this, Sirius frowned. "But I refuse to believe that."

    An image of Remus leaning down, his lips quirked in a gentle smile as they brushed against hers came to her mind and she sighed with longing inwardly. She'd always known those sexy lips were good for something, other than rebutting and telling Sirius off.

    "Don't worry, cuz," said Sirius. "Those few girls aren't anywhere as great as you though. I mean, you can morph into any man's fantasy right now. And not forgetting your colourful attitude. If I weren't related to you, I'd dragged you to bed ten minutes after I see you."

    Tonks snorted (out of habit, her nose morphed into that of a pig to match her tone). "You shagged most girls five minutes after you met them, if my information was correct. And no, I've so far hexed any guy that tries to date me so that they can live their dreams about kissing, say, that Celine Door woman, or a Veela or a crush of theirs." At his questioning look, she continued, "I made sure they couldn't sit for a month and could kiss pleasuring the women of their dreams goodbye for weeks."

    Sirius grinned proudly. "That's my cousin!"

    They laughed for a while before Sirius belched out again. "Say, Sirius?"

    "Hnnnn."

    "Be serious and---"

    "I'm Sirius."

    Tonks chuckled. "That's getting lame now, cuz. But seriously, me, Remus (she had to stop adding the word 'sexy', 'adorable', 'hot', 'lovely' and 'absolutely snoggable' before his name)... together? He'd spent most of his time trying to make me stand on my own two feet! And he's just..." she shrugged, waving her hand (and her wand) carelessly; Sirius' wine turned to Buttuber Pus and he shrieked, before glaring death at her. "Too good to be true. I'm supposedly destined to spend my entire life avoding troll leg umbrella stand while zooming around capturing Dark Creatures and saving myself from paperworks. Those papercuts are downright bitches."

    Sirius looked at her, his attempt at transfiguring the wine back forgotten. "Werewolves are Dark Creatures," he said quietly.

    She bit her lip. "Sometimes I don't believe that he's a werewolf. I've captured a few werewolves in my lifetime and they're just so not... Remus-like! Remus is so.... sweet and kind and thoughtful and he isn't savage and bloodthirsty as them. It isn't right," she said determinedly. "He's not a werewolf to me. He's just him."

    Sirius whistled, his annoyance at the fact that some of Black's finest ogre wine had just been turned into Buttober Pus seemingly disappeared entirely without a trace. Then, his face broke into a full toothy grin before standing up, his heavy chair dragging across the stone floor with a loud screeching sound. "NYMPHADORA AND MOONY SITTIN' ON A TREE! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

    Her face darkened with horror as she watched Sirius skip cheerfully along the dining room, his singing getting louder and louder with every line. "SIRIUS BLACK. SHUT UP SHUT UP!" she shrieked in panic, jumping out of her chair so fast she knocked her knee onto the mahogany table and kicked the chair down onto the floor with a loud clunk. Still clutching her injured knee, she hobbled on one leg, trying to aim at Sirius (who was now zooming around so fast it was hard to see him--or maybe it was all those Butterbeer she'd drunk?) with her wand. Her Bat Bogey Hex missed him and instead hit Kreacher, who'd come to investigate the source of all the noise ("That waste of my mistress' flesh and blood is disturbing Kreacher's sleep and that half blood is hurting Kreacher's ears..."). Growling furiously, she steadied herself, planting two feet firmly on the ground as she shot several jinxes near a laughing Sirius who was now singing (or screeching...? Buckbeak could sing better than him, Tonks mused) something about lolipop and panties and babies.

    The door burst open and a Remus Lupin came tumbling in, the look in his face unmistakeably meant shock and surprise and... guilt? Tonks' stomach did another back flip (she wondered why her stomach could have a better gymnastic ability than her feet; it wasn't fair!) and as suddenly as Remus had stumbled in, her stomach seemed to burst into a million pieces and seeped through her feet as her Silencing Spell hit him on the face.

    Sirius lay nearby, rigid and bound by the full body bind charm, but the look on his face clearly stated that he was enjoying all this, even though his body was locked and frozen. Tonks rushed up to Remus, her face now positively beet red and she wanted nothing more than to curse herself into jelly.

    "I'm really, really sorry, Remus!" she exclaimed, helping him up. He shook his head vigorously, waving his hand at his throat with slight urgency, although on his face was a really amused grin. "Oh! Bugger, I forgot. Finite. There!"

 

    “Thank you,” Remus said, smiling at her gratefully (and whatever left of her insides melted and joined her stomach on the floor). “I was going to check what caused the noise down here. I thought Sirius was serious (they laughed a little at the bad pun) about smuggling a girl here.”

 

   “Nope. Just me and him,” Tonks grinned despite herself. “And we were sitting across each other. Him polishing off all those Firewhisky, and me sipping Butterbeer quietly like a good girl. I assure you, no wild monkey sex ensues.”

 

   Remus winked. “If I didn’t know you, I’d tell Sirius tomorrow morning that he’s got himself a pretty one.”

 

   Her insides crawled up back into her body and squirmed as she realised that he—Remus Lupin, the object of her desire, the centre of her dreams—was flirting with her. Trying her best not to blush, she looked up at his blue-gray eyes. “But if you’d barged in earlier, I’d rather run off with you, not that drunkard over there,” she laughed. “He drank only fourteen bottles of Firewhisky today, and one bottle of Black’s Finest Ogre Wine before I transfigured it to Butterpus,” she added.

 

   Remus bowed. “Amazing. That has to be the smallest amount of alcohol he’d drunk this whole year.” His eyes twinkled with amusement as he straightened his slender frame again. “Because of that achievement, I’ve just officially placed you in charge of his night activities with me,” he said.

 

   She swore her whole being was melting here and there and her mind was in a state of such bliss that she wondered if Sirius’ mom would mind a puddle of Nymphadora-goo on her Precious Ancient Black House floor; if she didn’t, she wondered faintly how would Sirius and Remus clean up this stubborn piece of goo that seemed to stick stubbornly on the floor, and more so, any part of Remus’ anatomy?

 

   “Tonks?”

 

   “Hnnn…”

 

   “Your hair’s changing colour. Very rapidly.”

 

   The Nymphadora-goo shifted and turned into her own self, and she quickly brought her hands to her hair, which was growing longer and longer, past her shoulders, and reaching her hip. “Bugger. What colour is it now?”

 

   “Yellow.”

 

   Tonks frowned before morphing her hair back to the short, spiky pink she liked. “Sorry ‘bout that. What were we talking about?”

 

   Remus chuckled. “You’re one distracted girl.”

 

   She smiled. Good for him or good for her, she hoped she’d be able to find out soon.

 

    “Be careful of him,” Sirius said with a frown after she took the body bind charm off him and let him cool down for a while.

 

    “You’re not making any sense again, cuz.”

 

    “He’s a Marauder, Dora,” Sirius said slowly, as if telling a three year old that unicorns are white. “He may seem like the goody-two-shoes among us, but if me and Prongs haven’t rub off on him after spending almost our entire lives together, I’d eat Buckbeak.”

 

   Tonks rolled her eyes (violet this time, after it shifted colours continuously in the wake of Flirting With Oh Merlin Remus Lupin). “You bet Buckbeak way too much,” she said teasingly.

 

  “But I’ve never actually lost any of it, haven’t I?” Sirius grinned. “But on a much more Sirius note—“

 

  “That’s getting really tiring, Sirius, seriously,” Tonks cut exasperatedly.

 

  “—he’s one sneaky devil, that Moony. The kind of pranks he’d come up with last time—they’d be the most elaborate and tricky and riskiest and somehow always ended up with me, James and Peter in detention while he got away clean.” He ran a hand through his long, elegant dark hair. “He’s had all kinds of sly tricks up those tattered sleeves to get you in bed as soon as possible and even though he’s one of my best mates, I don’t want him to take an advantage of you just like that.” He blinked. “About those tattered sleeves… You have this huge responsibility to get him decent clothes to wear once you two get together.”

 

  “What makes you think he’s interested in me in the first place?”

 

  Sirius gripped her shoulder. “Man, Tonks. Are you always so damn slow or what?” He leaned in close. “He. Likes. You.”

 

  “He does?”

 

  “He does.”

 

  “Can’t be.”

 

  “Sure can. He can’t keep his eyes off you.”

 

  “Does not. And in case you haven’t noticed, I can’t keep my eyes off Dumbledore and Moody as well.”

 

  “Does too. He can’t stop talking about you.”

 

  “Does not.”

 

  “Does TOO!”

 

  “Does NOT!”

 

  But whole night long, Nymphadora Tonks could not just keep that smile off her face.

 

 

   

A new one-shot. Hints of Aurikku, if you squint =) Auron sounds OOC though; I'm still trying to get his character right.

( All the Small Things )

In an essence, this is the first Aurikku I'd ever published anywhere on the Net =)
( Failproof )
How'd you like it? >< My first try at a short one shot.