I fiddle with the hem of my sleeve. Eyes locked on the tips of my shoes (good, solid, should wear more). The hand print over my left eye burns some, and I’m gnawing on my lower lip too. Somehow, Professor McGonagall’s voice rings out in my head, chiding,
“Quirinus, you’re going to bite clean through your lip if you continue on like that!”
I continue on. My heart's beating far too fast and I need to put my nervous energy somewhere (might as well be my lip and sleeve). I don’t want to trample over anymore grass or crush anymore lavenders than I already have. Behind me, the grass is all but flattened from where I’ve paced. Creating a sort of ditch. Despite that, the little clearing we picked is quite pretty (sunbeams cutting through the leaves, lavenders littering the clearing, tall trees surround). I shift my gaze to the opposite end of the clearing. A good spot for a reunion.
This’ll be the first time Dora and I have seen each other, in person, since I told her I was dying and wouldn’t live ‘til the end of summer. …I had to keep her away. I had to. I couldn’t let h- Voldemort, hurt her. Especially with who her parents are- He- Voldemort would have killed the three of them. … At least that’s what I tell myself. Dora’s almost completed her auror training, her mum's a known blood traitor, and father a muggleborn. They made it through the war for a reason.
Maybe I just didn’t want her to see what I became.
But she’s going to see me now. And I’m going to see her. I can’t wait, but my heart clenches at the thought and the ‘what ifs’ come flooding in (what if she doesn’t recognize me? what if she hates me? what if she realizes she doesn’t want to see me anymore? what if he’s ruined me for her? what if we don’t fit together anymore?). The ‘what ifs’ are horrible and awful, and I shouldn’t be thinking them. But they flood in anyways. The forest blurs and I’m suddenly wiping away tears. My feet are still rooted to the ground (she said she wants to see me, she can’t wait, it’s marked on her calendar, I can’t deny her anything, I want to see her just as much). Absently, I pick a lavender, fingers leaving behind my increasingly frayed sleeve to twirl it. …
I miss her. Like a limb.
Actually, more than a limb. I’ve longed for her more than I have my actual missing arm (far too damaged, far too cursed, couldn’t be saved, Madame Pomfrey tried) (hard to make a prosthetic with one arm, this one still isn’t connected quite right, might disconnect). Phantoms pains in the shape of Dora Tonks litter my heart and my longing for her grows every moment we’re apart. The past year has been hell without her. I felt, sometimes, like she’d died or gone far away. Just… unreachable. It’s the reverse though. I’m the one who took a world wide sabbatical, I’m the one who avoided her for most of the past year, I’m the one who disappeared for three months, not Dora. I kick at the ground, uprooting one of the lavenders. Guilt and grief well up in my heart. I’ve been a shitty friend, I should just be happy that she still wants me. (maybe I should be kinder to myself, didn’t want to stay away, he was ruining me, would have ruined her too, in some way)
A breeze rustles the lavender. She’s still not here. I don’t know if she’s late or if I’m early (forgot watch, bedside, top drawer). I sigh a little to myself. At least it’s nice here, no crowd, it’ll just be the two of us, and a clearing. And then, then, there’s a crack! and a pop! I'm dropping the lavender and then-
And there, there she stands. Dora Tonks. Amongst the lavenders and the trees, in between the sunbeams, she's here. Dora’s hair is bright as anything, the sun catches on her skin, making her glow, she’s brilliant and bold and everything. And then she sees me, her face lights up. And in an instant, we’re running, grass swishing under our feet. Then, time stops as our bodies meet, our arms are wrapping ‘round the other, our hands gripping tight. And I can’t tell if we’re laughing or crying. It’s probably both. We sway and twirl, still clinging, like we’re dancing. I stare up at her. Tears fog my vison. Blurring Dora’s face, making her indistinguishable from the sunbeams and the trees. She’s beautiful, and I love her more than anything. I try to blink the tears from my eyes, to see her face more clearly, but as they fall more rise in their place, obscuring her still. And her hand, warm and calloused cups my cheek. Her brow presses against mine. And my hand tangles itself in her curly hair.
We stood there. Swaying ever so gently, leaning against each other. Sobbing, laughing, caught up in each other’s presence and the familiar press of the other’s body. I bury my face in her shoulder, Dora buries hers in my hair. And we hold each other and weep. Eventually, the tears stop and we pry ourselves apart, to see each other’s face for the first time in too long. Dora’s is tear stained, her eyes are puffy and her nose is running. I trail my hand over her cheekbone. Her eyes are still the same deep brown, still so full of warmth and love, and her golden-brown skin is still spattered with freckles. Creating stars and constellations across her face. Her face has changed little, but, underneath the cloak and underneath the robes, I can feel the new muscle that wasn’t there before (auror training’s rigorous Quinn, I love it though). I can imagine the new scars easily, the pale marks adorning her body. Dora, her eyes, are locked on my left eye (lucky I didn’t lose that too). I know she’s taking me in as much as I’m taking in her. I wonder how much change she sees in me? Have I changed too much? Am I now unrecognizable as the boy she knew before? The handprint over my eye seems to burn as Dora’s eyes bore into it (should have hidden it, glamours are cheap, but Dora deserves to see my face). Our eyes meet then. And whatever she was feeling before melts away, and then her eyes are full of nothing but love and warmth. She tilts her head back and laughs. So full of joy and love, and says;
“Fuck man, I’ve missed you.”
Our heads are pressing together again, our eyes are locked. Hers are full of nothing but tender love. And I could stare at them forever. Love her for far longer. And I know, right then, that she would too.