|abc (howling_lupe) wrote in bonking_tonks,|
@ 2008-01-17 13:09:00
|Entry tags:||fic, harry/tonks|
FIC: Pretending That Isn't (Harry/Tonks) NC-17
Title: Pretending That Isn’t
Author/Artist: Ivy Riddle
Prompt (the full prompt): “When I needed sunshine, I got rain.”
Pairing(s): Mainly Harry/Tonks, mentions of Sirius/Tonks and Remus/Tonks
Word Count: Around 1,500
Warnings (if any): Mentions of incest and sex with a minor.
Author/Artist's notes: None, really.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
It was raining.
Rain. In London. Who would have guessed it?
Nothing was ever sunny anymore, not for her. Even when the sun was out, it was as though a dimming haze followed her around, shrouding her in misery and despair, stripping her of hope.
Hope. Hope was joke. Hope didn’t exist for people like her. Hope was for little boys and girls who grew up not fucking their cousins and sneaking drinks from the fire whiskey bottles. Hope was for people who didn’t work for a corrupt government while double-crossing them with a secret resistance. Hope was for people who didn’t lose their werewolf lovers to a battle that would never end.
She sighed and downed another shot of whatever it was that the inn-keeper had set in front of her. She was far too tipsy and not nearly drunk enough. She was tired and lonely and disgusted with herself for letting this continue. She checked her watch and sighed again. He was late. He was always late. Moreover, she didn’t care. This was what happened when you used people.
She’d had exactly three lovers in her life.
The first was her cousin Sirius. That relationship was sick and twisted and wrong and it felt oh-so-right because he hurt her in all the wrong places and nothing was ever too extreme or out there for him. From the time she was fifteen, she’d been screwing him. Then he went away. Then he came back and she told him (and herself) that she wasn’t that girl anymore, that she wasn’t going to do those things with him anymore, and that she cared for another. The next morning she couldn’t talk because of all the screaming and moaning and yelping and keening she had done the night before.
Her second lover was Remus Lupin. He was a fine chap. Safe, normal, not her cousin. He was a werewolf, sure, but hey, if anyone could relate to not being their best a few days a month, it was her. Remus was reluctant, but eventually gave in, one night over a drink in Sirius’s memory. With Remus it was tenderness, often brutal tenderness, but tenderness nonetheless. There wasn’t pain or humiliation and every time afterwards, she felt the little hole inside her heart grow a little bit wider. He was loving and gentle with her, and that hurt because she wanted to be punished, not loved.
He died too.
Her latest lover was perhaps the worst of all.
Harry Potter was a broken man. He was a lonely man. He was a man who felt nothing but indifference, and she knew that better than anyone.
She’d changed during sex with Sirius all the time. He liked her to look young and innocent while fucking her senseless. She never seemed to really mind. Anything to take her mind off of the names she was called at school and the way her mother never really seemed to look at her in the eyes.
Harry made her change too. She was never allowed to look like herself, with the flashy hair and violet eyes.
If she wasn’t brown-eyed and freckled with flaming red hair that he could wrap his hands around and pull then she was silver-eyed with long straggly dirty-blond hair and a small waist that his rough hands could span and bruise.
With Harry, everything was about lying, while not lying. Everything was about pretending that they weren’t pretending. She could be anyone, so long as she wasn’t herself. She tried to tell herself that she understood why he wanted it this way, but she didn’t. She doubted she ever would. All she knew was that his owl had appeared at her bedroom window the night before, as it had for nearly three years now.