Every Second of My Life

A/N: I would have had this up earlier, but there was a problem with my internet connection. So I've got the next chapter all but finished also.

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After McGonagall, Harry, and Hagrid left that night, I left as well, slipping out before those who remained could stop me.

I walked through the sweet June night, beautiful like the day after Sirius’ death was beautiful.

Before I realized, I was walking up the steps to the Hog’s Head, and tried to open the door.

It was locked.

I tried to do an unlocking charm, but it didn’t work.

I stood back and looked up at the dark, cold building. Aberforth must have learned of his brother’s death.

Now at a loss of where I was going to be able to collapse in exhaustion, I continued to look up, and jumped, startled, when a voice came out of the shadows.

“Aberforth’s up at the castle.”

I put my wand away, seeing Tonks, but I was still wary. It reminded me all too well of the night of my birthday.

She looked at me for a moment, before speaking, “Come stay at my place.”

A thousand voices in my heart cried “No!” but I for once paid them no heed. I slowly walked towards her, our eyes steady.

She held out her hand, and I felt drawn to it like a magnet.

Ever so slowly, I slid my hand into hers, linking fingers. She turned on the spot, and we apparated, landing in London in front of a door, leading to what I assumed to be her flat.

She looked up at me, a small, sad smile on her face.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Remus…I have never been more sure of anything…”

She opened her door.

Her flat was spacious, and flamboyantly decorated to match her own personality. Colorful curtains hung everywhere, soft cushions and overstuffed sofas littered the front room. A beaded doorway led into a kitchen that looked to be painted yellow and black.

She must have caught me looking, because she asked softly, “Are you hungry?”

“I…yes…I am…” I said, “Are you?”

“Famished,” she smiled, “I’m not a very good cook, but I can heat something up.”

I followed her into the kitchen, looking around. A Hufflepuff banner hung from the refrigerator in the corner.

“Have you got a coffee machine?” I said, looking around at all her Muggle appliances.

“Er, yes,” she said, her voice muffled as she rummaged around in a cupboard, “Why?”

“Oh, no reason…” I said.

“Here,” she said, “It’s the best I can offer, I’m afraid. All the take-out places are closed.”

It turned out to be microwavable ravioli. It also turned out to be surprisingly good.

We were very quiet as we ate, but it was quite comfortable.

“I like your décor,” I said.

“Thanks,” she said, almost brightly, “My mum hates it; she’s always been a bit of a traditionalist. She didn’t approve of me moving out on my own either, but my dad overruled her. He helped me decorate.”

She made tea after we finished eating, and we retreated to her sitting room, and I relaxed gratefully on the pile of soft cushions that served as her couch.

“What should I call you?” I asked, even less smooth than usual in my exhausted state.

“What?” she looked at me, confused.

“Well…I can hardly call you by your last name anymore…”

“Ah…” she chewed on her lip for a moment, and if I had been less tired, I would have found myself rather uncomfortable, “Call me…Dora…I suppose…It’s what my dad calls me…what I used to go by when I was young…”

“Dora…” It was beautiful, simple. I had never thought of calling her a shortening of her given name. The nervousness that had been battling with all of my other emotions of the night broke loose, and I began, of course, to babble.

It was a rather emotional babble, however. I wanted to steer clear of how I really felt about her, so I let myself go, and I told her everything. I told her why I hadn’t wanted to get involved with her, why I was still having reservations. I went on to talk about Dumbledore, and how much he’d meant to me. Which lead to my mother, and how she died when I was twenty, which lead to my father, and how he’d been killed by Greyback, who then bit me to spite him.

I poured out my heart to her. She watched and listened, almost impassively. At some point, she must have put her hand on mine. I could see her face by the light of a solitary candle, and it was beautiful, her short brown hair and dark eyes, her round face.

I finally stopped talking, and looked self-consciously down at my empty teacup. She tightened her grip on my hand, and stood up, pulling me after.

I knew where we were going, and it frightened me beyond any Death Eater I’d faced that night. I dawdled in setting my teacup down on the coffee table, while she steadily pulled me up a short flight of stairs to a loft bedroom.

Her bed…her bed…was pushed up against a long, low window, where we could see the massive city, a thousand thousand lights timidly shining in, to where Dora, my sweet, lovely Dora, was sliding off my robes, pulling off my thin sweater vest, unbuttoning my frayed shirt…I was grateful to those small lights; they were not strong enough for her to clearly see the scars along my chest and back.

Hands paused at my belt, and her eyes looked up at mine, and then I was kissing her again, and all the world was this kiss, her lips, her tongue. My hands were in her hair, but I could not seem to move them down to her robes, and she broke away from my lips, to whisper in my ear, her breath causing every nerve in my body to stand on end, “Are you sure?”

I hesitated for only the slightest of seconds. Months, years, I had waited for this, fantasized, hopelessly.

“I have never been more sure of anything,” I echoed her earlier sentiment, and I felt my belt come undone, and my pants and boxers fall to the floor.

Fear coursed through me, and whatever fear I had felt earlier was magnified tremendously. My sexual experiences had been few and far between, and I’d never felt so…so weak…

Dora guided me to sit on the edge of her bed, and then began to pull her own clothes off, as slowly as she’d done to me, keeping our eyes connected. Numbness overcame me with each small bit of her skin that was revealed. She was more perfect than anything my imagination had ever created. I could not move, could not think.

Slowly, she moved her hand to my chest to lay me back, then moved over me, positioning, pushing me into her.

It was all I could to keep from coming the moment her skin touched mine. I moaned as she began to move, her soft, warm tightness enveloping me. My hands moved slowly, shaking only slightly, over her skin; her thick, strong legs, her soft, wide hips, her small waist and stomach, up to her breasts. I left one behind there to cup the perfect handful that was bouncing ever so slightly in time to her thrusts…

She leaned down to kiss me again, her hips stilling a bit. The heat almost threatened to overwhelm me, I moaned out her name, and she straightened up and began to move again, but still slowly, as if the both of us were fragile, and the moment would shatter if we were too ferocious.

Gasping, leaning back, she was an indescribably goddess, softly illuminated. She ran her hands over my chest, and I was coming, hard, my hands digging into her skin, tears escaping down into her sheets…

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Afterwards, as we lay together, hearts stilling, I knew happiness that I had only seen glimpses of.