This version is for archivists' use, with line wrapping at at 65 characters in keeping with fandom standards. For most enjoyable viewing, see the story in graphical format here, or large print format for the visually impaired here.
Two of a Kind
Deslea R. Judd
Copyright 2011
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Keywords: Lucius/Tonks (primary),
Lucius/Narcissa, Remus/Tonks
Rating: Mature
Spoilers/Timeframe: War and postwar, goes alt-universe
mid-battle.
Summary: The four stages of grief are shock, anger,
denial and acceptance. Or: After the war, two unlikely widows
find a way to keep standing. Novella length (35,000).
Disclaimer: Characters not mine. Interpretation mine.
More fic: http://fiction.deslea.com
Feedback: Please. deslea at deslea dot com.
|SHOCK| |href="hptwoofakind2.php">ANGER| |href="hptwoofakind3.php">DENIAL: LUCIUS| |href="hptwoofakind4.php">DENIAL: TONKS| |href="hptwoofakind5.php">ACCEPTANCE| |href="hptwoofakindyule.php">YULETIDE INTERLUDE|
[ANGER - LUCIUS]
His triumph was short-lived.
He was in the Wizengamot Secretariat, standing over the
Registrar's desk, looking over the papers authorising his
release. Nymphadora had departed his mind entirely. This was the
serious business of freedom, and no intriguingly-sneaky steampunk
halfblood not-niece could distract him from that.
Kingsley Shacklebolt, however, was a different story.
He was standing too, quill poised over the papers, when he said
casually, "So, Lucius, when do you think you'll be returning to
work?"
The world seemed to stop rotating for a moment. Lucius looked up
at him, slowly. He could almost feel the shackles tightening
around his wrists all over again. "You're not serious."
"I'm very serious, Lucius. This whole situation with you.
Divided loyalties. Imprisonment then acquittal. It's messy. I
don't like mess. The Ministry doesn't like mess.
Not to mention that it's a little embarrassing that a known Death
Eater worked for the Ministry in a senior capacity throughout the
period between the wars. If anyone ever bought the Imperius story
about the First War before, they certainly don't now."
"And you think the solution is for me to work for you again?" he
queried. Arched an eyebrow and peered at the Minister like he was
peering at a rather strange specimen. And come to think of it...
Kingsley's mouth broadened into a smile. It was mirthful,
genuine, but there was something steely about it, too, all white
straight teeth against dusky skin. "Certainly I do. At least, if
you were to do so in a way that ended all doubt about your
redemption."
There was nothing good that could come from that, Lucius
thought. "I'm quite sure you have something in mind.
Something to do with telling you where the proverbial bodies are
buried, perhaps?"
"Oh, nothing as gauche as that, Lucius. Something with a bit
more class. At this point, it's probably better for the bodies to
stay buried, in any event. I was thinking you could head up
something to do with Muggle relations. Not the whole unit - no
one would accept that - but a special project. Family reunions.
Perhaps you could begin close to home, with Auror Tonks. That
would be very good PR, I think."
"And if I decline?"
Kingsley looked down at the release papers. "You know, I don't
think this quill works properly."
Lucius groaned. "Oh, Merlin, Azkaban is looking more attractive
by the minute. Fine." He watched as Kinsgley signed the papers
with a satisfied grin. It was a symbolic gesture, of course;
Kingsley could make those papers disappear if he really wanted
to, and at this point, Lucius wouldn't put it past him. He had
the uncomfortable feeling he'd underestimated Kingsley - either
that, or Kingsley had learned a lot about politics during his
tour of the Muggle Ministry. "So did you manipulate Nymphadora,
or did the two of you cook it up together?"
Kingsley looked mildly surprised. "Oh, I played her, of course."
His smile softened, and Lucius realised that Kingsley admired
her. "But you underestimate her if you think she didn't play me
just as much. Merlin knows what she saw there in your memories,
Lucius, but she wanted you free. It was a win-win."
"For you two, perhaps," he said with ill-grace. He had
benefitted too, of course, but right now he didn't feel like it.
Kingsley laughed. "I didn't say win-win-win."
He was still laughing when Lucius left.
"Wotcher, Lucius!"
Nymphadora's voice travelled down the hall, echoing off the
black tiles of Remembrance Plaza.
Despite his somewhat reluctant inclination to warmth towards
her, Lucius gritted his teeth as she approached. He disliked
informality, and public familiarity, and gracelessness.
Nymphadora, tripping over her own bloody feet, was currently
demonstrating all three.
"Good morning, Nymphadora," he said pointedly.
"Tonks," she corrected, just as pointedly.
"Miss Tonks, then. Or Madam Tonks. Or do you prefer Auror?" He
had no idea what the protocol was for titles and widowed women;
he had a vague idea that technically she was a Dowager, but the
idea of Dowager and Nymphadora Tonks in the same sentence was
absurd.
"Just Tonks. Call me Tonks."
Lucius snorted. "I will do nothing of the sort. It would be
improper. I will call you Nymphadora, or Miss or Madam or Auror
Tonks, or Madam Lupin. You choose."
"Dora, then," she countered. "Normally only in the family, but
for your sensibilities, I will make an exception." Her smirk made
it clear what she thought of his sensibilities.
He refrained from pointing out that they were family, at
least so far the law was concerned. "Dora is sensible and boring,
which you are not. Nymphadora is unconventional and charming and
altogether more suitable."
"Well, of course, Lucius, your assessment trumps twenty-five
years of personal preference. Why didn't I see that sooner?"
There was mischief in her voice.
"Oh, good," he said silkily, "I'm so glad we got that settled.
Nymphadora."
She choked a little. "Arrogant bastard."
Having won a round with her, he was inclined to be forgiving.
"Quite," he said. "Now, I believe we have some business to attend
to. Will you walk with me?"
Her brow puckered in confusion. "Sure. What business?"
They boarded the elevator; it was empty. "Dinner, for one thing.
I believe that was the deal?"
Nymphadora reddened; she might be informal and familiar, but she
was clearly not outright rude. "Lucius, I didn't mean that. I
wouldn't invite myself like that. And anyway, I didn't honestly
think I'd get you acquitted at all."
"I realise that. However, I am under orders, as I'm sure you
are, to begin my work on family reunions in my own backyard. And
I am, in fact, in your debt." A fact that didn't thrill him, but
it could be worse. It could be Kingsley.
"Oh, rubbish," she said briskly. "We've just been in a war. Just
about everyone is in someone's debt. If we all get hung up on who
saved who, no-one will ever get anything done. Harry alone has
about fifty life debts, and he's carrying every one of them on
his shoulders."
They arrived outside Lucius' office, and he alighted. "Be that
as it may, I would like you to come to dinner. Besides, it
would be good for Draco. His experience of extended family to
date has been rather toxic, and he misses his mother." He said it
like she was on a shopping trip in Diagon Alley and not dead and
scattered to the four winds; he had found it was the only way he
could refer to it without tripping and stammering all over the
words. And he wouldn't do that. Not here. Not around people who
thought badly of her.
Nymphadora hesitated. Indecision was clear on her face.
"Lucius," she said, "that house. Awful things happened there."
The elevator started to wobble in protest at the delay, and she
stepped out.
"Yes, they did," he said gravely. "How did you know that?"
"Greyback's trial," she said softly. "He was...quite talkative."
He supposed that made sense. Greyback had always struck him as
perilously close to insane, although the viciousness that was
endemic to his personality made it hard to be sure.
Nymphadora was still looking up at him. She was rattled, and he
knew even on short acquaintance that it took a fair bit to rattle
her. Had it been Greyback's vicious strain of lycanthropy, as
much as his testimony?
He said finally, "Well, as you say, Nymphadora, we've just been
in a war. Awful things happened everywhere. Malfoy Manor has been
in my family for generations, and I will not be driven from it.
It was a place of happiness for me for many years, and I believe
it can be again. I would be pleased if you will come, but I will
understand if you won't." This last was said only as a matter of
form. He believed she was stronger than that, and would have been
disappointed to be found wrong.
She shook back her hair, dead white and straight like a
unicorn's mane. (Like Narcissa's, his mind had begun to
remark, but he'd cut that thought off and replaced it.
Everything reminded him of her, given half a chance;
twenty-six years together would do that). That defiant tilt of
the chin was back. Almost as though she had sensed the unspoken
challenge.
"Of course I'll come," she said. "Besides - Lucius Malfoy
hosting a halfblood? This I've got to see."
"Wotcher, Lucius."
Twice in one day? he thought, looking up from his work.
"Wotcher," he mimicked mirthlessly, making the word sound like an
obscenity. Nymphadora was leaning against his doorframe,
slouching like an awkward little girl.
If she was offended, she didn't show it. "Come down to the
dining room with me for lunch," she said without preamble.
"I will not. The dining room is a grubby, unpleasant place to
dine. If you insist on eating with me - and I've no idea why, I
have it on good authority that I'm proud and a bit
pretentious, among other sins - then it will have to be
here."
She smirked. "You can't hold what someone says under Veritaserum
against them, Lucius. It's quite rude. And surely if you can
bring yourself to dine with someone as disreputable as me, the
rest of the Ministry isn't much more of a stretch." That
interested him; surely among them, he was the disreputable one.
Her smile faded, and she went on sourly, "Besides. It will be
good PR."
"Ah. So Kingsley put you up to it."
"Well, of course. Not that I object to lunch with you,
necessarily, but do you think I like the dining room either?"
He put down his quill, now giving her his undivided attention.
"Don't you?" he said with interest. He motioned towards the
chair.
She sat. "Of course I bloody don't. Half of them think I'm
perverted. Remus was officially classified as a beast. Marrying
him was only one step removed from shagging a dog, as far as
they're concerned. But they'll still simper about 'Oh, what a
pity, dear,' and 'If there's anything I can do.'" He flashed her
a grim smile; the mimicry was good. "Half of them want to be your
friend, so they can tell their real friends how they're
valiantly standing by poor dear Dora. They're parasites, the lot
of them."
Lucius leaned forward. Intrigued. He liked this
take-no-prisoners Nymphadora. "I don't think you're perverted."
Amended, "Well, not for that, anyway. I'm reserving judgment
about your clothing choices."
"Very funny. On what grounds?"
He said seriously, "You mean apart from the fact that any
thinking person knows lycanthropy is a disability, not a species?
Really, Nymphadora, my politics might not be yours, but do you
honestly think me stupid?"
She sobered. "No, I never thought that, Lucius." Her anger had
fallen away. She looked bereft. "Look, we don't have to do lunch.
Not today, anyway. I don't think I'm very hungry."
"You shouldn't skip meals," he reproved. "You're still nursing,
I presume?" He remembered that she had a young child; if memory
served, it was a boy. Voldemort had been lyrical in his disdain.
She looked up. Said sharply, "What the hell would you know about
it? I thought the old families wet-nursed. From elves, no less.
And I'm supposed to be the bestial one."
"Most do," he agreed. "We didn't. Narcissa nursed. We had to
ward the door from her mother. She'd have been appalled."
Nymphadora arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. He'd surprised
her, he thought with satisfaction.
He offered, "I can't stand them, either. I've only been back a
week and I'm either too well-groomed or I'm not taking care of
myself. If I smile, I'm a cold-blooded bastard. If I don't, I'm
brooding. It's intolerable."
Her eyebrow arched higher. Soon it would be in her hair, he
thought with amusement. "Lucius Malfoy, caring what random people
think?"
"Of course I don't care, but I've still got to get them
back on task, otherwise I'd never get anything done. It's
exhausting."
She said abruptly, "I do like talking to you. I can say what I
think."
"I wouldn't have thought that would be a problem for you," he
said dryly.
"Well, no. But you can take it. Most people can't. They need to
think everything's right with the world, and they'll try to
convince you you're being too sensitive or something. And it's
not to make you feel better at all. It's for them."
Lucius thought that was a fair assessment. He concurred, "Not
everything is right with the world. Not even now."
"No," she agreed. Held his gaze steadily.
"Fuck it," he said. Got to his feet. "You didn't do anything
wrong, and neither did I." That second part was not entirely
true, but that wasn't the point for his current purpose. "We're
going down to the dining room with our heads held high. Agreed?"
"I thought it was grubby and unpleasant," she smirked up at him.
There was unwilling warmth in her voice.
"Be that as it may, the fact that we're not wanted there is a
damn good reason to go. Are you coming?"
She did.
Remembrance Plaza, as the Atrium had been lately re-christened,
had never been so populated.
The Magic Is Might statue was gone. The Fountain Of Magical
Brethren was also gone, replaced by a large monument. The
monument transfigured regularly, into a bust or statue of one
person, then another. On the plinth below, a brief biography and
note about the circumstances of their death would appear. The
names of the war-dead were etched into the black tiles throughout
the plaza. There were a lot of them; it made Lucius feel rather
ill.
The ceremony marking the official unveiling of the new-look
Plaza was on track to be a tearful and sentimental affair. Many
people were already hugging and weeping, and the formalities
hadn't even begun. He was already regretting bringing Draco, but
Narcissa was on the wall somewhere. He could hardly keep the boy
away.
"There," Draco whispered, pointing up at a tile set into one of
the Floos.
Lucius nodded his head, but gave only a cursory look. Narcissa
would have hated this. She despised overt sentimentality. They
had spent their lives consciously dismissing what others thought
of them, supremely confident in themselves and each other, and to
be held up as some kind of a martyr now was incongruous and
hypocritical. On both sides.
But it was important to Draco, important that her sacrifice was
acknowledged, so he squeezed the boy's shoulder. Made an effort
to do it gently. Narcissa had always been the comforting parent,
part of their clear division of labour, and now that she was gone
he realised he'd never learned to comfort the boy himself.
They stood there stiffly, not saying anything as people milled
around. Awkward and silent. He looked around for something -
anything - to break the moment. Spotted Nymphadora and figured
she was as good as anything for the purpose.
"Nymphadora," he called. She was only a few feet away, but there
were two or three layers of people between them, and she looked
around her for the source of his voice. He held up a hand so she
could see. She made her way over, awkwardly, bumping people and
apologising and weaving her way through.
He experienced a brief moment of horror when he noticed the
woman following her. It only took a second for the realisation to
dawn that the woman was not Bellatrix, but Nymphadora's mother,
Andromeda Tonks, but it seemed much longer. A moment of
adrenaline and fear and itching for a wand.
Not that Andromeda looked too happy to see him, either.
Presumably, not being on the payroll of the Ministry, she was
under no instruction to be on good terms.
"Lucius," Nymphadora said with disquieting warmth. Caught up
with him and gave him a wink and a quick kiss on the cheek,
taking him by surprise. He noted Andromeda's scowl. Realised with
amusement that she'd done it to annoy her mother. It occurred to
him that her strain of mischief was not unlike his own. It was a
comforting buffer. Especially today.
"Nymphadora, dear," he said, going along with it, "I'm so
glad to see you. Even on this saddest of days. Draco, you
remember Nymphadora? And this must be your aunt
Andromeda." Andromeda's scowl deepened.
"Wotcher, Draco," Nymphadora said more kindly. "How're you
holding up there, old thing?"
"It's been awful," Draco said. More blunt than Lucius had ever
heard him.
Lucius watched with interest as her hand closed momentarily
around the boy's, there and gone too quickly for him to stiffen
and shy away. "Yeah, it has," she said, already withdrawing and
giving him his space.
The weight seemed to lift off Draco's shoulders, just a little,
and Lucius knew a moment of self-doubt. That was all he'd needed?
Listening and agreeing? No motivating words, no deep philosophy?
Merlin. No wonder Draco was sinking into a depression, if Lucius
couldn't manage something as simple as that.
"Where's your mum, Draco? My dad's on the end wall, up high near
the monument."
Draco beamed a sad little smile, like he'd been asked to show
off his favourite toy. "Up there," he said, nodding his head.
There was just a trace of pride in his voice. Something flickered
over Andromeda's face, and she peered up, looking for her
sister's name.
Lucius gritted his teeth; he knew what he should do. What
Narcissa would have wanted. It wasn't something he did well. But
he stood alongside her and said quietly, "Narcissa spoke of you
warmly, Andromeda. She regretted your estrangement."
Andromeda cocked an eyebrow and looked at him sidelong. "You
don't really expect me to believe she approved of my marriage to
a Muggle-born."
"She didn't, but she would not, of her own accord, have disowned
you for it. I'm sure you can imagine the pressure placed on her
to go along with her sister and mother." He went on by way of
explanation, "For Malfoys, at least, family trumps everything,
even blood status. And Narcissa was more of a Malfoy than a
Black."
Andromeda nodded slowly. "Well. Thank you, I suppose," she said
awkwardly, giving no hint of her thoughts on the subject of
Narcissa. "I should also thank you for my daughter. I understand
you were...kind...to her the day we lost Remus."
Oh, that hurt - Lucius could see it in the fix of her
jaw. He knew that look. It was common to all three Black sisters,
and Nymphadora as well. He murmured a casual acknowledgement. Let
the concession pass without fanfare.
"Well," he said, "they'll be starting soon. I imagine you and
Nymphadora would like to have your privacy."
At this, Nymphadora's head snapped up. She grasped for his hand,
startling him. "Don't go," she whispered. Andromeda stared at
her.
Lucius stared at her, too. Realised that she was suddenly pale
and drawn. Just barely hanging on to her composure. Everyone was
on edge today, that was true, but this was different somehow. Not
grief, or not just grief. Her expression was unreadable -
except that something wasn't right.
"There's something you haven't told me," he said in a low voice,
inching a little closer so she could hear. "Talk to me."
At this, Nymphadora's face flooded with colour, suddenly pink
and furious. Eyes damp, but not spilling over. Bitterness tinged
her voice. "Remus isn't here. They said he wasn't a wizard, but
there are Muggles here. They meant he wasn't a man."
Shit. Lucius felt real anger. These were meant to be the
good guys? "Fuck, Dora."
He supposed he should have said something more erudite, but she
seemed to understand. "Tell me about it."
Those tears were beginning to streak down her cheeks, and he
grabbed her by the shoulders. "Stop it," he said roughly. "Don't
you ever let them see they got to you. Ever."
She dragged in her breath like a little child, dragging back
tears and hitching breaths. Gulped and nodded. It seemed to take
everything she had, but she swallowed and stilled her trembling
chin and lifted it high like the Black that she was.
At last, she nodded. Swallowed once more, barely perceptible. He
let his hands soften on her, then let her go.
"Lucius," Andromeda said in a strangled voice.
Lucius turned. He had quite forgotten about her.
She was looking at him, intensely curious, and Draco too, back
and forth from one to the other. She said, hesitantly, "I should
get to know Draco. He is, after all, my nephew. That is, if we
can agree to disagree on our politics."
Lucius gave a grim smile. "If there's one thing this war has
taught us all, Andromeda, it is that slavish adherence to
politics is a dangerous thing."
She gave a curt little nod, and they left it at that.
Contrary to what she obviously thought, Nymphadora was not the
first halfblood welcomed into the Malfoy parlour.
"It was probably Severus," he said in response to her query,
"but my father may have hosted Voldemort before that. Two of the
most powerful wizards in living memory, and both halfbloods."
Warming to his theme, he went on, "What people overlook, with all
that sentimental Lily Potter fated love affair business, is that
Severus was every bit as powerful as the Dark Lord. You name it,
he could do it. Fuck, the bastard could fly. No one else
could do that, except Voldemort. Amazing."
Nymphadora was amused. "So you'll make an exception for
powerful halfbloods." There was no rancour in her voice.
"You assume the consideration of blood status comes first and
power second. It's less complicated than that. I don't care about
wealth and I don't care about social standing and I don't even
care about blood. Not in themselves, at least. Those are just the
trappings."
She sat forward, elbows on the arm of the Chesterfield. Her chin
resting on her hands. Openly intrigued.
He sat back in his matching chair and went on, "I'm a
pragmatist. I like power. I admire it. The rest of it is
just what happens when a powerful person goes about their
business. And most halfbloods and Muggle-borns don't have it." At
her raised eyebrow, he went on, "It's true, and you know it. For
every Voldemort or Snape or Granger - or you, for that matter -
there are a hundred unbelievably average halfblooded witches and
wizards running shops and apocetharies. It's a waste."
"Purebloods can be weak, too," she pointed out.
"Oh, of course they can, but it's rarer. Arthur Weasley!" he
marvelled. "It's an abomination that Molly Prewett ended
up with him. Seven children, and only one shows any sign of the
Prewett strength at all."
"We'll have to agree to differ on that one. I think there are
more ways of being strong than just magic."
"I don't disagree with you, necessarily, but in my experience,
the kind of strength you mean is even rarer than strong magic."
She smirked at him. "I think you've just been hanging out with
the wrong people."
"That," he said scathingly, "is undeniable."
Dinner was just as animated. They toned down the politics, by
unspoken agreement. Draco was younger and would likely take it as
a personal criticism. But there was plenty of other fodder for
discussion.
She was openly intrigued by the elderly elf who served dinner,
for one thing. Leonie had been in the family for generations, had
saved their lives more than once. Lucius held forth on his pet
theory, that wizarding attitudes to elves were largely an
outgrowth of domestic privacy issues. After all, no one worried
about shagging in front of their owl, and if an elf was viewed on
the same level as a Familiar, the problem was solved.
He was astonished to learn that his former house-elf Dobby had
been a topic of discussion among Nymphadora's friends. He was
even more astonished to learn that he had been considered a loyal
and trustworthy ally of the Order. Lucius' own experience of
Dobby had been of chronic disloyalty, and in their situation,
trust had been crucial. He'd spent a good deal of his time angry
and anxious about the wretched creature, and once the dust had
settled, he'd realised that losing Dobby was a relief. Where
Leonie was a presence to him, Dobby had only ever been a problem.
It dawned on him that Dobby's disloyalty had been political more
than personal - a realisation that hit him right between the
eyes.
It was at that point that Draco excused himself from the dining
room with a haunted look. Too late, Lucius remembered that Dobby
had been here the day Draco covered for Potter. Bellatrix had
been at her worst that day, torturing the Granger girl, throwing
her dagger at Potter. Come to think of it, that had been how
Dobby died.
"Fuck," he said. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He hung his head, pressing
the heels of his hands to his eyes like an exhausted child.
Nymphadora apologised, "I'm sorry. It seemed like a safe
subject."
Lucius stared up at her. Said hollowly, "Is there any such thing
anymore? Is there anything that monster didn't manage to touch?"
Wondered if she would reproach him. After all, Voldemort had been
his monster.
She just sat quietly. Watching him with grave eyes.
He said abruptly, "Do you remember the House competitions? At
Hogwarts?"
"Of course. But it was more of a Gryffindor and Slytherin thing.
I was a Hufflepuff. We didn't pay much mind."
Lucius said, "Draco's second year, I was determined to help get
Slytherin back on top. I bought the whole of his Quidditch team
new brooms." He smiled at the memory. "I dare say it sounds very
childish to you, but I wanted him to be able to be proud of
something." His gaze followed Draco's path up the stairs.
"There's nothing like that for him anymore. The Malfoy name is
mud. Slytherins are like second class citizens, even though they
were innocent children mostly. No one will hire him." His voice
sounded dull and listless, but he became aware of something else
beneath the surface, a lazily bubbling feeling that he identified
as anger. "Even Narcissa - what she did - is always qualified by
the fact that she was a Malfoy. And she died for people who were
no better than us. Like those assholes who kept Remus off the
wall."
Nymphadora's voice was gentle. "I know."
"Sometimes I hate her for saving Potter," he said in a low
voice. He was ashamed of it, but he didn't look away from her
gaze. "How fucked up is that? Sometimes I could kill her
for doing this to us. And then I remember someone already did."
She reached out across the dining table. Took his hand in hers.
"It's all right to be angry with her. By all accounts, she could
take it."
He looked away. Said colourlessly, "I suppose." He squeezed her
hand a moment, more for her benefit than his, then let go. It
wasn't her fault he was a moody old bastard, after all. "Shit,
Dora, I don't do this very well. Let's talk about something else.
You were a Hufflepuff? I'd have thought you were a Slytherin."
"Sure." Nymphadora withdrew her hand, following his lead. "Why
would you think I was Slytherin?" she asked with interest.
"You're mischievous and sly and an utter sneak, that's why. The
way you played the Wizengamot, for one thing," he said. "How did
you do it?"
"How did I do what?" she echoed.
He gave a sound of irritation. "How did you trick the
Veritaserum? Not that I mind."
A smile played around her lips. A wan smile, to be sure, but a
smile nonetheless. "How like you to assume deception," she
smirked into her Firewhisky, sitting back in Narcissa's
high-backed dining chair.
"Nymphadora, you said - and I quote - 'Lucius Malfoy was with
us that night.' You know perfectly well that isn't true. I
never defected to the Order, only away from the Dark Lord. My
only allegiance was my family."
She said, "Lucius, have you ever read the Muggle bible?" He
cocked an eyebrow at her, and she shook her head abruptly.
"Stupid question. Of course you haven't. Anyway, there's a line
in there spoken by Jesus, about enemies and allies." She added,
"He's a Muggle religious figure - saviour or prophet, depending
on the religion."
He said witheringly, "I know who Jesus is. He's the one
they sing about at Yule. The one in the Christmas carols."
She laughed then. It was a discordant sound. He didn't think
anyone had laughed here in years. Just for a moment, he
remembered Professor Burbage's body lying on the table, just
about where she was sitting. "Yes, Lucius," she said, amused,
"the one in the Christmas carols. I wouldn't have thought they
sing them at your sort of Yule."
He said primly, "Well, I prefer an unadulterated Solstice, but I
haven't been living under a rock, contrary to popular belief."
She grinned again, more widely this time. "Anyway. This thing
that Jesus said, it gets translated two ways, and each way means
the opposite of the other. Some translate it as, 'Whoever isn't
with us, is against us.' Others translate it as, 'Whoever isn't
against us, is with us.' Personally, I subscribe to the latter."
"So your choice of words to the Wizengamot? That we were
with you that night?"
"Was quite deliberate," she agreed. "And in my mind, entirely
true. Veritaserum allows for nuances, when administered to a
skilled witch or wizard. All the Aurors are trained to manage
being interrogated that way. You can't lie, and you can't use
technicalities exactly, but you can limit what you say, and you
can give an interpretive response, as long as you genuinely
believe it. And I do."
He nodded slowly. Frowning. Trying to figure out what to make of
this.
She said, "I puzzle you, don't I, Lucius? You thought you had me
figured out when you thought I tricked the Wizengamot. You
thought I had an angle. And now..."
He shrugged. "I'll figure you out one day, don't you worry." She
just laughed.
"Lucius, I would expect nothing less."
[ANGER - TONKS]
Lucius and Draco were waiting for her when she came down for
breakfast.
Her mother was there, too, making tea one-handed, Teddy on one
hip. He was nine months old now, old enough to try to grasp at
things, and she was absent-mindedly extracting spoons and teabags
from his little hands without really realising she was doing it.
"Andromeda, let me," Lucius was saying, holding his hands out to
Teddy. Andromeda looked at him doubtfully, but handed him over
with a wary look.
Tonks stood there leaning against the doorframe for a moment,
watching them fondly. Lucius had surprised her with how
comfortable he was with Teddy, but then, he was a parent himself.
Clearly, her mother hadn't adjusted as well as she had to Lucius
Malfoy, Blood Purist With The Patented Better-Than-You Stare,
playing babysitter to her halfblooded son-of-a-werewolf
Metamorphagis child. She had learned that if you were a Malfoy,
it was all right to do something nice, preferably
grudgingly so, but to be seen as doing so was intolerable.
She became aware that her mother was watching her, with a
troubled look on her face. She cleared her throat, officially
declaring her presence.
"Nymphadora," Lucius said, turning, "I hope you don't mind us
stopping in." He had never been here before; she always went to
the Manor. No particular reason; it had just happened that way.
She wondered if he had ever been in a house so small and shabby
as the one she had shared with Remus. Oh well, she shrugged
mentally, his house was big and grand, but so far as she knew,
hers had never been the scene of the Avada Kedavra.
"Of course not," she said. "I set the wards to let you in weeks
ago. You can Apparate straight in." Andromeda shot her an
accusing look. Tonks ignored her.
The look that flashed over Lucius' expression was oddly
gratified. She supposed trust was a rare thing in his world.
Without coming right out and saying so, most people had managed
to make perfectly clear what they thought of Lucius and his
so-called rehabilitation; Special Projects was the place where
Ministry careers went to die. The Family Reunions effort was
token at best, and not through any recalcitrance on his part,
either.
"We wanted to tell you the good news," Lucius was saying over
Teddy's head. Gently extracting his hair from the baby's chubby
little fingers, she noted with fresh warmth.
Draco spoke. "I got a job at the Ministry." There was shy pride
in his voice.
She and Lucius exchanged watchful glances, and she knew what he
was thinking. The Ministry was a poisonous place to work,
especially for a Malfoy. But Draco had been morose and paralysed
for six months now, and he didn't have a lot of other options. It
was the lesser of all possible evils.
She went to him and gave him a little peck on the cheek. He was
happy and relaxed enough that he allowed it without stiffening
first. He didn't always. "Congratulations, Draco. I'm really
pleased."
"Yes, Draco, congratulations," Andromeda echoed with genuine
warmth. Her mistrust did not extend to Draco anymore, if it ever
had.
"Thanks, Dromeda. It's only a stepping stone." Draco hastened to
explain. "Frankly, my promotion prospects there are small. But I
can start to rebuild my reputation, at least. In a year or two I
can figure out what I really want to do."
It broke her heart a little, the way he casually accepted his
place at the bottom of the heap. It was such an un-Malfoy thing
to do. Behind him, Lucius' expression was hot with fury and hurt
and shame, and it hurt her to watch.
"It's a good first step," Tonks said kindly. "It'll be good for
you. Besides, Astoria Greengrass works there. That's something."
She winked at him.
Draco coloured, but didn't reply.
"Well," Lucius said, "we should get moving. We don't want to be
late on his first day."
Tonks nodded. "I'll be along later. I need to feed Teddy before
I go." She went to him and took the baby from his arms.
He took his time handing him over. Lingered close to her,
nodding to Draco, waiting by the door. Said in a low voice,
"He'll be on your floor. Will you watch over him?"
She looked up at him. Locked her gaze on his. "You know I will."
She gave his hand a companionable squeeze, trying to put all the
tangled hurt and compassion she felt for him into it. The tendon
on his neck flickered, but he only nodded and pulled away.
She watched them go, frowning, and not only out of worry for
Draco. She was conscious of her mother's eyes on her. She waited.
"You let him call you Nymphadora."
Well, there it was. The hippogriff in the room. She was
surprised it hadn't come up sooner, but her mother had worked
very hard over the last six months not to talk about
Lucius.
"It seemed easier," Tonks said mildly. "Have you ever tried to
make Lucius Malfoy do anything he didn't want to do?"
Andromeda arched an eyebrow. "My daughter, beaten in a battle of
wills?"
"I'd say we're equals in the strong-willed stakes. I gave way on
my own terms." Her mother made a choking sound, and Tonks said,
"Oh, Mum, you're positively purple. Go on, sputter out
whatever it is you're dying to say."
Andromeda only said again, "You let him call you
Nymphadora," and refused to be drawn on it further.
Lucius had wormed his way into her life, little by little, or
maybe it was that she had wormed her way into his.
Their dinners were already weekly ones, and soon became more
often than that. It wasn't always Lucius; sometimes Draco would
turn up in her little kitchen for breakfast, munching away on
toast as he lovingly schemed his pursuit of Astoria Greengrass.
Other changes were incremental. Lucius filed a request with the
Floo Network Authority to directly link their homes. The same
day, Tonks filed Form C412 (Conflict of Interest), and removed
herself from the team of Aurors responsible for precautionary
surveillance of former Death Eaters. She described the conflict
of interest as "familial affection." It was an awkward, clunky
way of describing the indescribable. Lucius was a snarky,
irrepressible bastard, even now, but he was her bastard,
dammit.
There was talk - she knew that. Hilariously, it was divided
between linking her to Lucius and Draco. In a weird way, it made
sense; she was slightly closer in age to Draco, and Draco was
open about his enthusiasm about Tonks, who was, after all, a
distinct improvement on the late-but-not-lamented Bellatrix.
The Ministry had a surprisingly sophisticated betting pool,
headed up by an enterprising young clerk on the inside and
Mundungus Fletcher on the outside. The bookmakers slightly
favoured Lucius, pointing to her past marriage to an older man.
Tonks could not resist stirring the pot; she placed a series of
bets in both directions, watching the odds zigzag in response.
Lucius was not amused, but he was a keen businessman, so
he placed a number of bets of his own through third parties and
profited handsomely by selling them on the secondary market. They
felt no qualms about profiteering; it was bloody tasteless for
there to be a pool at all with their spouses only six months in
the ground. Finally, Mundungus reset the odds and barred them
both from further bets.
They talked long into the night, staring into the fire at his
house or hers. It was their confessional, place to know and be
known. He told her about his struggle to make a career at the
Ministry after the First War, about his obsession with
accumulating wealth, so that if the Dark Lord returned, Narcissa
and Draco could just disappear. About how Narcissa had finally
sat him down and told him he was destroying their marriage, and
anyway, they were never going to leave him, so he might as well
just get used to it.
She told him about the way she and Remus had married, hurried
little wartime wedding, Handfasted by Mad-Eye in their everyday
clothes, and she never dreamed of a fairytale wedding but she
hated the hole-and-corner feel about it. She'd put a brave face
on it, told Remus she was happy just to be married, but really,
it was important to her to be loved publicly, to be acknowledged,
and she couldn't explain why. She told him that she hated the way
Remus was Apparated Side-A-Long to the cemetery in Hogsmeade for
a hasty burial alongside hundreds of others, because there were
too many bodies and too many people desperate to reunite with kin
and the Floo network couldn't cope. It reminded her of their
wedding, quick and hole-and-corner and she hated it.
He told her how Narcissa was every bit as imperial and arrogant
as he was, and he loved her that way, because as far as he was
concerned she was the best fucking person in the whole damn
world. People who didn't think that were fools who didn't love
enough, but if you scratched the surface hard enough, almost
everyone was an arrogant asshole who thought the world revolved
around them. The only difference was, he and Narcissa were
supremely confident and happy with their own company and each
other's, their best and only shelter from a hard old world, so
they didn't give a damn who knew it or despised them for it.
They were a strange little family, she thought, and not at all
the kind Kingsley had once had in mind. Kingsley admired her, she
believed, but he had never really understood the stigma she lived
with. He had never realised that they would bond over their
outsider status.
She and Lucius were a disastrous experiment, long since
abandoned.
She kind of liked it that way.
It was, she supposed, quite inevitable.
It happened one day as she moved to leave his office. He
followed her to tell her something or other, some afterthought.
His hair was a bit rumpled and she loved him like that, a bit
disreputable and untamed. His hand was on the wall beside her
head, and it was one of those moments out of a Muggle movie, eyes
locking, casually close proximity suddenly not so casual.
Curiosity and heat passing between them on the air.
He looked startled, like it had honestly never occurred to him.
Perhaps it hadn't. He'd never really courted as such; his
marriage was arranged. His only adult relationship had happened
around him, a happy imposition accepted without protest.
It had occurred to her. Intellectually, at least, she had
wondered.
She dropped her gaze. Turned to the door and put her hand on the
doorknob.
"Talk to me," he said, his voice ragged.
She turned back to him. Looked up at him reluctantly. His gaze
was penetrating, insistent.
She admitted in a low voice, "I love that you're making me
forget him. And I hate that you're making me forget him."
He looked at her intently. Graver than she'd ever seen him. Deep
creases above his eyebrows. "I'm not ready to forget either."
"Lucius," she whispered. Bruised and hurting, breath hitching on
his name. She slid her arms up around his shoulders, tender,
loose and undemanding. Her eyes shut tight as he held her too.
She felt the shift, felt the change from long to too-long, felt
their bodies shift and fit together. He pulled away like he'd
been burned.
"Go," he rasped. "Please go."
Their happily simpatico existence became brittle after that.
Oh, they still ate together, still exchanged confidences long
into the night (although possibly sitting just a little further
apart, possibly drinking just a little less). Still shielded each
other from a hard old world. Still ribbed and teased each other.
He about her Muggle clothes and her clumsiness, she about his
insufferable attitudes to...well...everything.
But something about their confidences changed, too. Lucius
challenged her, where once he had just listened. Tonks reproved
him for his various compromises over the years, although she had
the tact, at least, not to reproach Narcissa. They were rubbing
against each other, raw surfaces causing friction, and she didn't
mean to do it but she didn't know how to stop it. She thought it
was like grinding against each other through their clothes,
enough to get raw and sore, but not enough for any kind of
release.
She told him that Remus was a good man, and she'd loved him for
that. Lucius said impatiently that that was rubbish; lots of good
people were thoroughly unlikeable, and lots of perfectly vile
people loved their kin, and good had nothing to do with it. He
demanded to know why she'd really loved Remus.
And she didn't have an answer.
That was what did it, what made something snap inside her. She
was on her feet, standing over him in front of his goddamned
Chesterfield. Face blistering hot with angry tears. Suddenly
ranting. Searching for ways to hurt and to wound.
"It's your fault that he's gone," she flared, and she saw
real hurt flit across his face, knew she was being mean and hard
and unfair, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. "All you
bloody Death Eaters. Good people died, children too, and for
what? So you could prove that you were better than everyone else?
How fucking messed up is that?"
She was towering over him, and abruptly, he got to his feet,
standing in her space. "Nymphadora," he began, but she stayed him
with a scornful sound.
"Just save it, Lucius. It may come as a great shock to you, but
you rut and shit and piss and all the rest of it just like all of
us common folk. And you know what's even more obscene? That it
isn't about magic at all. You hated Arthur Weasley before he ever
helped Muggles. He's pureblood as far back as anyone can
remember, but he's poor, so you look down your nose at him."
Lucius was angry, she could tell. It was tightly controlled, but
it was there. He said coldly, "Yes, I damn well do. He's an
able-bodied man who could advance himself, support his family
decently, and he doesn't. But he was quite happy for Molly to
pump out seven children and raise them without help. One of the
strongest witches of her generation, a Prewett, and slaving in
that house! She deserved better."
"Remus and I were poor, too," she snapped. "I suppose you have
some choice words about that, as well. As I recall, you
contributed substantially to his unemployment."
"Remus was different, and yes, I did. I didn't want a werewolf
around my son. Gods, woman, Remus very nearly infected Severus
when they were boys, so you'll have to forgive me if I didn't put
much stock in Dumbledore's precautions. That doesn't mean I
didn't understand his plight. He wasn't able-bodied - don't get
your damn hackles up, he wasn't - and you knew that going
in and you had a career of your own. That's quite different to
Arthur and Molly."
She gave a sound of frustration. "You've got an answer for
everything, don't you?" she marvelled.
"No," he retorted furiously, "just a point of view. But you
didn't think I had one of those, did you? You thought I was just
an ugly bigot who had never given a thought to what I believed.
Don't you think, somewhere around the hundredth atrocity
committed at Voldemort's hand, that maybe I took a good hard look
at myself? Don't you think that all those beliefs of mine that
you so thoroughly despise might actually have reasons, good
reasons even, despite not being yours?"
"Well, if that's so, then you didn't look hard enough," she
snapped. Staring up at him, close and looming over her. Making
her feel things, anger and guilt and other things she didn't want
to admit to.
Something dark flitted over his features then. "Nymphadora," he
said, his voice full of warning. "Stop this. Now. I care for you,
but I will not be your punching bag."
It was his caring that did it, so unsentimental and real and
utterly Lucius, and it pushed her too hard towards things she
didn't want to face, and she had to lash out before she pulled
him close. Her hand connected with his face with an ugly sound,
and he caught her wrist in his hand before she could do it again.
Held her with eyes that were steely blue, flashing anger and
worry in turns.
It was like a splash of cold water over her. She felt the blood
drain from her face. Horrified. Brought her free hand to her
mouth. Gave a ragged, hitching sound, like a little child choking
back shuddering sobs.
At this, he released her wrist, and, shaking, she raised her
hand to his cheek. Touched him with trembling fingertips. There
was no mark, but he was warm under her fingers.
"Oh, Lucius," she said, the words skittering out on
jagged breaths. It was less the slap that undid her; more the
ugly accusations thrown helter-skelter at the best thing in her
life. "What have I become?"
Apparently judging that the ugly moment had passed, Lucius
softened. Still watchful, but the fury was gone from his eyes as
quickly as it had come. "You're angry," he said, not unkindly.
"But you're still you."
Her fingers lingered on his cheek, and, impulsively, she leaned
in and kissed him there tenderly. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her
lips brushing against him. "I'm so sorry."
She felt his cheek turn against hers. Felt the infinitesimal
shift, for her and for him, from the known to the unknown. She
was suddenly aware of him, his flesh gold in the firelight and
filling her vision, warm and electric under her lips. He drew in
his breath, then let it go, warm on her neck, rippling against
her in a shaking sigh.
They both paused for a long moment, faces still, cheekbones
touching, intimate, not moving. Waiting to see if either would
pull away. And she did pull back, just a little, but only enough
to graze her cheek along his jaw, towards his mouth. She was
drowning in him. Didn't want it to stop. Didn't want the gossamer
threads holding them together to break.
Finally, she was close enough to his mouth that his ragged
breaths mixed with hers. Their eyes locked on one another.
Hesitantly, he weaved his hand into her hair. His fingers danced
there, then tightened on her neck, just a fraction. A question.
She gave a tiny nod. Wondered if her expression was as wary, as
curious, as nakedly hungry as his.
He leaned in. Kissed her so slowly that it was like crumbling
parchment under her lips. She opened up for him, her mouth soft
and pliant. Something about surrender, about letting go
completely. Not with anyone, but with him, because he was strong
and solid and he was always there.
He broke the kiss, but didn't draw away. "Nymphadora. You know I
love you," he whispered against her lips. He said it like
something that cost him, and she supposed in a way it did. For
both of them. It was bartered with grief and guilt.
"Same," she said. Somehow managed to put more into that single
word than she ever had in three.
He lifted his gaze to look at her. "You're sure about this?"
She wasn't, but she would always wonder, if she didn't. She
would wonder what it was to be with someone who was as strong and
fearless as she. She would wonder about that voice and those eyes
and the way he didn't flinch from the worst of her and the way he
made her meet him halfway.
She nodded, and he took her hand, the one she'd lifted to touch
his cheek. Kissed the heel of her palm, his gaze never leaving
hers. Then her wrist, so slowly and reverently that it was like
he was inside her. With a tiny moan, low sound of longing, she
sank down onto the couch, staring at him as he sank to the floor
between her knees and tugged her up against him, so that she
looked down on his upturned face and held it between her hands.
His mouth was slow and questing. Like he was filing away every
part of her in his memory.
This was a different kind of intimacy, one she'd never had. One
that he'd learned, she thought, from twenty-six years of
unquestioned love and unwavering commitment.
This is what it's like to be with someone who stays, she
thought, awful faithless words shunted quickly aside.
"Make love to me, Lucius," she said, and she'd never used those
words in her life, but they were the right words. Making
love with Lucius wouldn't be girlish and romantic. It would be
total self-abandonment to someone who would do the same, and it
exhilarated and terrified her in turns.
He drew her closer, one hand slipping under her jacket, around
her waist, as his lips claimed hers. This kiss was surer,
insistent, and she tugged her arms free of the jacket and worked
the pair of buttons at his neck free. Moved down to the brooch at
the base of his neck, holding his dress shirt together.
His hand found hers, and stayed her. "Let me," he said in a low
voice. Then, "It was - a gift."
From Narcissa, she thought. She let go. Watched him a
moment, then fumbled with her necklace. Stared at it for a long
moment, then, slowly, took off her wedding ring and slipped it
onto the chain. Put it on the side table next to his brooch. Her
fingers lingered a long moment before she finally let it go.
"You don't have to," he said, but she shook her head, looking
back up at him.
"I won't do this looking over my shoulder for him." Her eyes
were suddenly wet, but she smiled and nodded, too. "I want this."
He nodded. Understanding perfectly. Of course he did. He
gathered her up against him, tender once more, covering her mouth
and her jaw and her neck in tiny kisses. Filling her world with
him until the shadows between them had lifted and she wanted him
all over again, until she drew herself up to kiss him hard and
thread possessive hands through his hair.
He tugged her down to straddle him on the floor, firmer and
surer. Managed to work her shirt free and drag it over her head,
leaving just jeans and a pink bra, and she didn't think from the
look on his face that he'd say a bad word about Muggle clothes
ever again. He'd taken his dress shirt off with the brooch, and
she slid her hands over his crisp white undershirt. Tugged it out
of his trousers and managed to get his buttons free. Pushed linen
folds apart to run questing fingertips over his chest. He drew
her in closer, flesh to flesh, and kissed her, hard. Suddenly
demanding and intense. She gasped, pulling back then darting
forward, shocked then hungry.
This was the real Lucius, she thought, lurking there under the
hesitation and the warmth, just waiting for her to catch up. His
love could be tender, but beneath it was steel, and it rocked her
but she wanted it, all of it, wanted something uncompromising, a
bedrock, a cornerstone. It unlocked a hunger in her that she'd
never even known about, and she was shivering, kissing him
urgently, unfastening the snap at the top of her jeans. He was
helping her, fingers brushing as she got the zip open for him,
and sliding down, his thumb finding her warm and slick. She
rested her forehead against his and stared down between them, her
breaths ragged, his name skittering along her lips in staccato as
she rocked against him with exquisite need.
"Come for me," he coaxed in that low silky voice. "I want to see
you let go."
He didn't know, couldn't know how impossible that was. She'd
always been the strong one. Come for him, yes. Let go, lose
control? She didn't know how.
Something of this must have shown in her face, because he used
his free hand to pull her into a kiss. "Like this," he said.
Somehow it was explanation enough, and she found herself
gripping his shoulders, kissing him hard and deep, whispering
into his mouth all the things she could never bring herself to
say aloud, things about surrender and belonging and owning and
being owned. She was shivering and clutching and falling against
him, falling into him, and somehow he was there to catch her.
He lowered her down on the floor as the shudders faded away,
never releasing her lips. Seeming to understand that she needed
to stay connected. They wrestled her jeans and knickers off
together, and she reached for him, tugging him down on top of
her, barely giving him time to unfasten his trousers. Choked out
his name in need as he pressed against her, as her body made way
for him, cautious at first after nine months untouched, then
opening, eager, waiting, longing. Shifted against him as he sank
deep into her, as their hips fitted just right, and arched
beneath him, crying out, her arm hooked up around his neck, his
hair falling, brushing her over-sensitive flesh. He was
demanding, the way he held her and moved with her, his hand
splayed out between her shoulderblades, insistent.
Uncompromisingly hers and demanding the same. When he came, he
came with shuddering gasps and shaking fingers in her hair; she
followed, led there by his tumbling sounds as much as the
sureness of their bodies together.
When it was over, they held each other. It was a survivors' hug,
long and hard and desperate, bodies wrapped up in one another,
clinging to connection and to life. She clutched at his shoulders
and kissed his cheek and she swallowed down tears. There were
doors opening up before her, but some were closing too, and she
knew it had to be that way but it hurt like hell as well.
Finally, they released one another, just a little. Lucius tasted
of salt when she kissed him, but he was smiling at her, too.
When they were dressed again, he took her by the hand and led
her back to the Chesterfield. Drew her down into the crook of his
arm.
"Do you think they'd mind?" she wondered. She didn't say who
they were. She didn't need to.
He shook his head. "No. Narcissa wouldn't, anyway. She was
eminently sensible. She would expect me to grieve a while, then
dust myself off and find myself a good woman." He gave a smile,
very definitely a nostalgic one, as though remembering her saying
exactly that. He went on dryly, "I suppose Remus would be
appalled that it was me."
"Probably," she agreed, "although he was probably the most
understanding in the Order about shades of grey. He was the
nicest of all of us to Severus, and Severus didn't always deserve
it." That was a pleasing memory, simple and warm, and her voice
was fond. She went on, the warmth falling out of her voice, "But
then, Remus seemed to spend more of his time trying to push me
away than holding me close. He seemed to think that just about
any other man would do, up to and including a Death Eater, as
long as he was whole." She spat the word like an
obscenity.
Lucius' hold on her tightened, and he kissed her hair, long and
fiercely tender. She heard him take a breath, like he was going
to say something, but in the end he said nothing.
They stayed that way a while. He said presently, "I've missed
this. Loving someone, I mean."
She nodded. It occurred to her that they had slipped into
love-words so easily, maybe too easily. But then, what other
words were there? They'd been to hell and back.
"Do you?" she asked thoughtfully. It wasn't a bid for
reassurance. She was intensely curious. Struck by the
matter-of-fact way he seemed to approach it.
He seemed to understand what she was asking. "You're younger,
Nymphadora. Your generation hangs on to love, like it's some sort
of earth-shattering secret to be dragged out of you as an
admission." She smiled a little; she loved him like this,
thoughtful and introspective. He went on, "It isn't. It's just a
fact, and actually quite a useless one in itself. If you don't do
something with it, you might as not love at all. It's at least
fifty percent an act of will." It was an interesting perspective,
one that shed an interesting sidelight on his marriage to
Narcissa, and she filed it away in the place in her mind reserved
for things she loved about Lucius.
He was wrong about how it applied to her, though. He'd assumed
the source of her curiosity was generational, but loving Remus
had been a similarly uphill battle. It had been two steps forward
and two steps back all the way. If love was an act of will,
Remus' will had been imprisoned with a good part of the man she
knew he could have been.
"And if I didn't love you?" she wondered. Hastened to add, "I
do, of course, but what would you have done if I hadn't?"
"I would pick myself up, dust myself off, and go on, naturally,"
he said briskly. "Love isn't a business for the weak."
She thought now, more than ever, that was absolutely true.
"I need to tell you something."
Tonks was fidgeting like a child, running her finger over the
rim of her teacup. Steam rose and lingered, then blew away.
"No, you don't," Andromeda said matter-of-factly. "I think I saw
it coming before you did." Tonks shot her a look. "Besides, your
hair is pink," she added dryly. "All that's missing is a neon
sign saying 'I got laid.'"
Tonks took a lock of it between her fingers and inspected it.
Gave a little sound of surprise; she hadn't felt the change - she
didn't always - and Lucius hadn't mentioned it, possibly hadn't
even noticed in the firelight. And they'd had, perhaps, other
things on their minds, like how to please each other and how
their bodies fit together and what rhythm was just right, what
made them meld into a single accord.
Now, she met her mother's gaze. A little afraid of what she
would find there. "Do you think I'm awful? It hasn't even been a
year."
Andromeda shook her head. "You forget, Dora, I'm rather well
placed to understand. I seem to remember nine months as being
about the time that I was ready. At least to think about it."
"You never said anything," she said curiously.
"I didn't want to upset you," her mother said, staring down into
her cup. "Ted was your father, and you'd lost your husband more
recently than that. It was complicated. I didn't know if you'd
understand."
Tonks stared at her. Realisation dawning. "Wait - you're
seeing someone? Merlin! Who?"
Andromeda shifted uncomfortably. Rose and took her cup to the
kitchen. Deliberately busying herself at the sink, she said,
"Xenophilius Lovegood."
Tonks tried to put the two of them together in her mind; the
image wouldn't form. She didn't believe she'd ever seen them
together. "But - I haven't seen him here, or anything!"
"No, and deliberately so. It wasn't like you and Lucius. Xen
pursued me when I was a girl. I rejected him because he was a
pureblood - which I suppose Lucius would say makes me no better
than him. I loved your father, but I admit I always wondered. So
when I was...ready...I owled him."
Tonks nearly fell off her chair. "You asked him?"
"Well, you're not the only one who can be charming and
unconventional," Andromeda said with a sly smile. "But we
hadn't really passed more than a few words in nearly thirty
years. I didn't know if it would lead anywhere, and why upset you
if it didn't?"
Tonks arched a brow. "Well, as fascinating as this is, I think
I'd like to turn back to my own revelation, if that's all right."
Andromeda gave a sound of amusement, and she went on. "Do you
mind? About Lucius, I mean?"
"Whether I do or I don't, it isn't as though you'll pay any heed
to me," Andromeda said without rancour. "I just hope you
don't think he's some sort of misunderstood nice guy, that's all.
I realise that he's somewhat less one-dimensional than we'd all
once thought, but there's still a lot about him that's obnoxious
and objectionable."
She dismissed this with a wave of her hand. "Oh, I dare say I'd
find him completely insufferable if I didn't love him. But
he loves me, and he's unwavering and loyal to people he loves."
Andromeda's brow puckered. "Yes, he is. I can see how that would
be attractive to you," she said thoughtfully. "Especially after
Remus." She lifted her gaze to Dora's meaningfully.
She felt ugly, hurtful things rise up in her, and she slammed
them down. "You take that back," she flared. "Remus was a good
man."
Andromeda pointed to the front door and retorted, "A man who
left you weeping on our doorstep!"
She felt horrible, hateful tears rising up in her face. "He was
scared!"
"And you were pregnant."
Dora got to her feet. "And this conversation is over."
GO TO PART 3: DENIAL - LUCIUS