100 Moments
folder
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
100
Views:
10,611
Reviews:
52
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
100
Views:
10,611
Reviews:
52
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
White
Title: White
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Drabble
Warnings: Angsty.
Summary: #19 – White. He bore all the little white scars with pride.
Word Count: 1,091 words.
Author's Notes: Drabble: a slice of fic in less than 1500 words.
Prompt 19 – White
The only lasting reminder of Nymphadora Tonks was the numerous little white scars on his skin. Charlie Weasley sat at the memorial service, trying to count the scars on his hands and forearms that were caused inadvertently or directly by the woman being remembered that day in July 1998.
The large crescent shape scar on the top his left wrist had been where Tonks had tripped in her Fifth Year and caused Charlie to fall down a set of stairs, his wrist catching the toe of a suit of armor. Charlie had been in Sixth Year, and like the Seeker he had been, had tried to catch the bumbling Hufflepuff girl.
The small, rough scar on the top of his right forearm was from a time he and Tonks had been patrolling for the Order near the edge of Magnolia Crescent near Harry Potter’s Muggle residence. The backfiring of a car had startled her and, trying to be heroic, he supposed, pushed in into a mulberry bush. Charlie remembered cursing Tonks so fiercely that her hair had turned a redder shade than his own.
Charlie’s memories were disrupted as Kingsley Shacklebolt, the current Minister of Magic, began his speech honouring the dead. Charlie cast his brilliant turquoise eyes about the assembly, noting that Harry Potter was sitting very close to Ginny and that Hermione Granger was trying not to look uncomfortable with Ron’s arm about her shoulders.
Moving his eyes to hands resting on his lap, he studied a small line of a scar resting between the fold of the first and second knuckle of his right middle finger. He remembered that scar with humour and fondness. Tonks had bit him.
Charlie and Tonks, once upon a time, had been a couple. Tonks was a Seventh Year and Charlie was apprenticing in Wales at one of the dragon preserves. Quite often Charlie returned to Hogwarts since its library was the most comprehensive on the subject of Care of Magical Creatures.
“Been bitten yet?” she had asked one weekend they had slipped into the Forbidden Forest, pitching a tent in a gap between oak trees, safe from the notice of the creatures of the Forest.
“Burnt, but not bitten,” he had replied, lying back on the extra wide cot in the magical tent, one hand behind his head, the other brushing along Tonks’ true heart-shaped, pretty face.
She had been changing her hair every ten seconds, keeping it long and past her bare shoulders, but changing the colour. When he had answered the long, straight tresses had been the same shade as his eyes.
Tonks was examining his ribs and the slick, smooth skin on his left side where he was burnt by a Welsh Green hatchling a few weeks prior. She lay on his right side, her small breasts pressing into his right side.
Charlie could not say that he loved Tonks, a love that meant exclusivity was not what he felt for her. When she was not causing more scars, Tonks was a lovely conversationalist. With Charlie, she was soft-spoken, feminine, pretty.
Tonks was laughing at his answer to her question when his fingers moved to touch her soft lips. It was then she bit him.
The bite did not hurt at first, but when Charlie pulled his finger away, he was bleeding. He did not get angry, Charlie Weasley rarely got angry, but when the pain lanced through him, he showed Nymphadora Tonks how he dealt with pain when a pretty, young witch was nearby.
Charlie remembered how Tonks laughed when he made love to her. Those laughs were interspersed with the most erotic moans Charlie ever heard. Her body, which she never changed for him, always seemed so small and so perfect under his own.
“Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin, Order of Merlin, First Class…”
Kingsley was awarding the Order of Merlin posthumously to those who had died. However, with the addition of ‘Lupin’ after Tonks’ name, Charlie sighed.
All the little white scars on his skin had been nothing to the scars that Remus Lupin, or even Bill, had to bear.
Charlie had never been surprised that Tonks would fall for Remus. Remus was the kindest man Charlie Weasley ever knew. And, he knew, that Tonks would only ever fall for the kind, good guy. The only reason Tonks had ever considered anyone but Charlie was because Charlie was not always the ‘good guy.’ However, as Charlie listened to the sobs and sniffles around him, he supposed he should have counted himself as lucky for not being such a ‘good guy.’ He was still alive because he was not a ‘good guy.’
All the little white scars on his skin had been a testament to his life’s work. He cried for no one, not even Tonks. He did not cry because after breaking Tonks’ heart weeks after she had given him the scar on his finger, he got close to no one. Oh, he did his duty to his family, to the Order, but Charlie Weasley was not a ‘good guy.’ He was just the guy who preferred dragons to people, and wore his white scars like armor about his heart.
As the assembly began to disperse, the hot late day July sun causing most to return to the castle, Charlie sat for a moment staring at the scars on the back of his left hand. Three parallel scars, nail marks, the most painful scar to Charlie, not because of how the skin had been torn, because it had been caused by Tonks the last time he had seen her alive. It was his newest scar.
“I will follow my husband, Charlie, now let me go!” she roared even as spells were flying all around them.
Charlie had grasped her wrist before she had run to follow Remus. He had had a sudden fear. Battle did not rattle Charlie Weasley, but he knew that he would lose friends and family that night in May.
“Don’t go, Dora. I…” he had started, his voice not weak, but muffled by his own indecision over his fear.
Tonks ripped at his hand, and when she scratched him, he released her. She said nothing, but glared, whirling through the mist and dust after Remus. Charlie knew that moments later Tonks would fall with Remus.
The white scars had once been red and bleeding, but as Charlie moved away from the empty chairs of the absent assembly, he knew that he would carry all his scars, even the ones Tonks had given him, with pride.
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Drabble
Warnings: Angsty.
Summary: #19 – White. He bore all the little white scars with pride.
Word Count: 1,091 words.
Author's Notes: Drabble: a slice of fic in less than 1500 words.
Prompt 19 – White
The only lasting reminder of Nymphadora Tonks was the numerous little white scars on his skin. Charlie Weasley sat at the memorial service, trying to count the scars on his hands and forearms that were caused inadvertently or directly by the woman being remembered that day in July 1998.
The large crescent shape scar on the top his left wrist had been where Tonks had tripped in her Fifth Year and caused Charlie to fall down a set of stairs, his wrist catching the toe of a suit of armor. Charlie had been in Sixth Year, and like the Seeker he had been, had tried to catch the bumbling Hufflepuff girl.
The small, rough scar on the top of his right forearm was from a time he and Tonks had been patrolling for the Order near the edge of Magnolia Crescent near Harry Potter’s Muggle residence. The backfiring of a car had startled her and, trying to be heroic, he supposed, pushed in into a mulberry bush. Charlie remembered cursing Tonks so fiercely that her hair had turned a redder shade than his own.
Charlie’s memories were disrupted as Kingsley Shacklebolt, the current Minister of Magic, began his speech honouring the dead. Charlie cast his brilliant turquoise eyes about the assembly, noting that Harry Potter was sitting very close to Ginny and that Hermione Granger was trying not to look uncomfortable with Ron’s arm about her shoulders.
Moving his eyes to hands resting on his lap, he studied a small line of a scar resting between the fold of the first and second knuckle of his right middle finger. He remembered that scar with humour and fondness. Tonks had bit him.
Charlie and Tonks, once upon a time, had been a couple. Tonks was a Seventh Year and Charlie was apprenticing in Wales at one of the dragon preserves. Quite often Charlie returned to Hogwarts since its library was the most comprehensive on the subject of Care of Magical Creatures.
“Been bitten yet?” she had asked one weekend they had slipped into the Forbidden Forest, pitching a tent in a gap between oak trees, safe from the notice of the creatures of the Forest.
“Burnt, but not bitten,” he had replied, lying back on the extra wide cot in the magical tent, one hand behind his head, the other brushing along Tonks’ true heart-shaped, pretty face.
She had been changing her hair every ten seconds, keeping it long and past her bare shoulders, but changing the colour. When he had answered the long, straight tresses had been the same shade as his eyes.
Tonks was examining his ribs and the slick, smooth skin on his left side where he was burnt by a Welsh Green hatchling a few weeks prior. She lay on his right side, her small breasts pressing into his right side.
Charlie could not say that he loved Tonks, a love that meant exclusivity was not what he felt for her. When she was not causing more scars, Tonks was a lovely conversationalist. With Charlie, she was soft-spoken, feminine, pretty.
Tonks was laughing at his answer to her question when his fingers moved to touch her soft lips. It was then she bit him.
The bite did not hurt at first, but when Charlie pulled his finger away, he was bleeding. He did not get angry, Charlie Weasley rarely got angry, but when the pain lanced through him, he showed Nymphadora Tonks how he dealt with pain when a pretty, young witch was nearby.
Charlie remembered how Tonks laughed when he made love to her. Those laughs were interspersed with the most erotic moans Charlie ever heard. Her body, which she never changed for him, always seemed so small and so perfect under his own.
“Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin, Order of Merlin, First Class…”
Kingsley was awarding the Order of Merlin posthumously to those who had died. However, with the addition of ‘Lupin’ after Tonks’ name, Charlie sighed.
All the little white scars on his skin had been nothing to the scars that Remus Lupin, or even Bill, had to bear.
Charlie had never been surprised that Tonks would fall for Remus. Remus was the kindest man Charlie Weasley ever knew. And, he knew, that Tonks would only ever fall for the kind, good guy. The only reason Tonks had ever considered anyone but Charlie was because Charlie was not always the ‘good guy.’ However, as Charlie listened to the sobs and sniffles around him, he supposed he should have counted himself as lucky for not being such a ‘good guy.’ He was still alive because he was not a ‘good guy.’
All the little white scars on his skin had been a testament to his life’s work. He cried for no one, not even Tonks. He did not cry because after breaking Tonks’ heart weeks after she had given him the scar on his finger, he got close to no one. Oh, he did his duty to his family, to the Order, but Charlie Weasley was not a ‘good guy.’ He was just the guy who preferred dragons to people, and wore his white scars like armor about his heart.
As the assembly began to disperse, the hot late day July sun causing most to return to the castle, Charlie sat for a moment staring at the scars on the back of his left hand. Three parallel scars, nail marks, the most painful scar to Charlie, not because of how the skin had been torn, because it had been caused by Tonks the last time he had seen her alive. It was his newest scar.
“I will follow my husband, Charlie, now let me go!” she roared even as spells were flying all around them.
Charlie had grasped her wrist before she had run to follow Remus. He had had a sudden fear. Battle did not rattle Charlie Weasley, but he knew that he would lose friends and family that night in May.
“Don’t go, Dora. I…” he had started, his voice not weak, but muffled by his own indecision over his fear.
Tonks ripped at his hand, and when she scratched him, he released her. She said nothing, but glared, whirling through the mist and dust after Remus. Charlie knew that moments later Tonks would fall with Remus.
The white scars had once been red and bleeding, but as Charlie moved away from the empty chairs of the absent assembly, he knew that he would carry all his scars, even the ones Tonks had given him, with pride.