Every Second of My Life

A/N: I'm almost as bad at writing sex scenes as I am at writing fight scenes. Thanks for the words of encouragement, though.

So right now I have a screaming headache, and chapter eleven isn't cooperating, so I'll have it up hopefully by tomorrow night.

Thanks for all the fantasic reviews, again. And thanks for stickin' with it.


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The next morning, I first became aware of the sunlight streaming in my face. My initial thought was that I’d gotten drunk the previous night, and I opened my eyes to look for my wand and close the curtains.

Except that I was in Tonk’s…Dora’s… bedroom.

Everything that had happened came flooding back, and I was struck by intense emotion, mostly guilt for having gone and had sex with the girl I promised myself I wouldn’t, on such a terrible night.

I was also struck by the fact that I was alone in bed.

This was new. In my previous, and admittedly very sparse, sexual escapades, the girl had generally left my bed first thing in the morning, a few longer-term relationships notwithstanding.

I thought ruefully that perhaps I’d been so terrible that Dora had abandoned her entire flat so as to avoid seeing me in the morning.

This line was abandoned when I heard the front door open and then close, followed by the unmistakable noises of a person re-entering their own home. I hurriedly got up and put on my pants and shirt before coming downstairs.

Dora leaned around the little partition to her kitchen, smiling brightly, her hair as pink as I had ever seen it.

“Sleep well?” she asked, and I nodded.
“Not much of a morning person?” she turned back into the kitchen, grabbing plates and napkins.

By know, I assume that a fair enough portrait of myself has been painted to suppose that I am not an especially romantic or spontaneous man. I am therefore quite proud of the fact that I chose to move up slowly behind Dora, wrap my arms around her, and bury my face in her hair.

“Thank you…” I breathed.

For a moment, she stopped her movements, and leaned back into my embrace.

“What?” she said softly, “Did you think you were so bad that I abandoned my flat so as to avoid you in the morning?”

“Something like that…”

`````

“So, wait…let me get this straight here…” I paused, putting my hands to my temples, trying to wrap my mind around this concept, “They have this one coffeehouse, but there are millions of them?”

“Worldwide. Sometimes two in the same building,” said Dora, happily sipping from her white and green paper cup.

“And they all make the same kinds of coffee as all the other ones?”

“Yep,”

“But what’s this that you got me? It doesn’t taste like any coffee I’ve ever had.”

“That’s because it’s got shots of chocolate and peppermint in it. Do you like it?”

Not for the first time in my life, I marveled at the ingenuity of Muggles.

“Like it! It’s the best damn coffee I’ve drank in my life!”

She was almost in tears, laughing over my child-like glee, “Just wait until I take you to one. How’s your muffin?”

The muffin was an immense chocolate-chip number, and it was disappearing almost as fast as my coffee.

“Sirius would have loved this,” I said genuinely, “He was a lazy, gormandizing bastard.”

Dora smiled slightly, seeming to be nervous about my feelings on the topic.

I laid my hand on hers, to stop her from timidly fiddling with her oversize blueberry muffin, “It’s alright…I’ve sort of…gotten over his death…It’s…it’s how he would have wanted to go, fighting.”

She seemed to cheer up after that, and we lapsed back into our comfortable conversation about the wonders of Muggle inventions, and how they all seemed to come from America.

Dora was just elaborating on the finer points of the drive-through restaurant, when Kingsley’s lynx patronus appeared out of nowhere, telling us, “Meeting tonight at five, Hog’s Head,” before vanishing as quickly as it had come.

“Well…I suppose we’ve got quite a while…” she said.

“I s’pose we do…”

I looked at her. She was fighting a smile.

“I’ve always wondered,” I said, my smile so evil, it would have made Sirius and James stand up and applaud, “If your hair turns pink…all the way…down…”

The smile she returned was worthy of any Marauder, and it sent chills down my spine as she said, “Why don’t we find out?”

I made to go back upstairs, but she stopped me, using her wand to divest herself of every stitch of clothing, perching on the table.

“Right…right here?” I asked, eyes wide.

“Right. Here.” Dora repeated, her hand reaching down between her legs, past very pink hair, to touch herself.

I breathed in very deep.

“Good god, Dora…” I said, undoing the zipper of my pants and pulling out my extremely hard erection. “I’m an old man…you’ll give me a heart attack…”

As the previous night had been soft and comforting, that morning was rough and loud, my hands grasping every bit of her I could reach, pumping into her so hard that her table started to slide. Her legs were wrapped tightly around my back, and she lay back, clutching the edge of the table. I reached in between our bodies and rubbed her, sending that pretty voice of hers into deliciously low moans. I came hard, watching her arch her back, all but screaming my name.

We both had quite a bit of practice with our Scourgify spells on that table.

Then, of course, we had to shower.

By the time the two of us made it out of Dora’s flat and apparated to Hogsmeade, we were incredibly tired, but sheepishly stole into the Hogs Head early so I could change from the previous night’s clothes.

As I buttoned my shirt, I felt her come up behind me, her small hands on my chest.

“Come stay with me…” she whispered.

I sighed. I knew that something like this would crop up sooner or later. I turned, taking her hands in mine, “Dora…”

“Remus, please,” she interrupted, looking stern, “I can’t have you living in an inn…”

“I work here…” I said.

“Then you can apparate.” She said, with an air of finality, and I knew what Mad-Eye had meant when he’d said that she was a witch to be reckoned with.

Leaving me to pack, Dora skipped downstairs to meet the arriving Order.

The meeting was quite short, considering the previous night. Kingsley and Minerva had basically taken over the Order in Dumbledore’s place, but they began by telling us all that they had very little idea of Dumbledore’s designs. The first order of business was that of Harry, who would turn seventeen in a matter of weeks, and would be therefore out of the protection Lily had left him.

After the business of the meeting had all but concluded, there was a moment of odd silence, and Aberforth passed around mead.

“To Albus Dumbledore!” said Kingsley, raising his glass.

And mead was drained, and soft words were spoken. Everyone began gathering cloaks and such, and Molly gave me a significant look as she passed by Dora and me.

Finally, we escaped into the open air, and disapparated. I spent that night with Dora in my arms, sleeping contentedly.

And I didn’t dream.