Remus J. Lupin (teddysfather) wrote in reoccurrence, @ 2020-06-19 19:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | lupin remus, tonks nymphadora |
Who: NymphaDora Tonks & Remus Lupin
What: Reunion of the formerly dead lovebirds
Where: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Harry Potter's office
When: 5 June 2020 (backdated I guess)
Warnings: Talk of being dead (but that's the whole game, so)
Status: Completed
The space of Harry's office felt too large with her mother gone. Tonks' eyes trained on the plate of food she had spilled – beans on toast, all over the nice carpet – only for Andromeda to swoop in and clean up her mess. There was a time, and it didn't feel that long ago, where she would have found that action mildly annoying. Now it, and the pictures of her son, and the favourite jumper she had brought that had gone unworn for seven years, felt like raw reminders of love. Sitting there, feeling bruised by the world, here was little more that she wanted than to be mothered like she was a small child, completely incapable of fending for herself. To have Andromeda hold her, and decide things for her, and clean up her spills. It felt like that sort of comfort might mute a lot of pain.
Tonks wasn't to be so lucky. As it was, there was a small child who needed that kind of attention, and he was to be taken home in her place and without her, blissfully unaware of his mother's return until the proper moment. She was to sit with her sacrifice and her ruined meal and do her best to breathe.
Her mind wandered to Remus, eyes falling to the gold band on her left hand. It was hard to stem the flow of images to her mind – as much as she didn't want to, she couldn't help but picture him at her graveside with his knuckles wrapped around a small, sad bunch of flowers. The thought at least it was just a few months hits, and when she realises the implication behind it of better that than seven years she feels sick with herself. Of course she wouldn't rather that. Better that neither of them had bloody died in the first place.
Despite knowing it would be masochistic of her to try and search for the memory of that decision, the last one either of them ever made, she desperately wanted to know how it happened. Her thoughts were achey, blurred, trying to grasp it felt like pulling out a bad tooth with her fingers. She closed her eyes shut tight, thought she could make it out for a moment and then it was gone. A badly remembered dream. They had made it, they had decided, they had died. That was all she could be certain of.