Five Evenings
Duty
He’d waited for this evening all year. It was always important, only ever coming once a year, but he still quivered in anticipation at helping decide the fates of dozens of witches and wizards. They actually determined their own Houses; he only identified what was in them. Even at over nine centuries old, he felt a thrill each time he became the centre of attention. He sighed for the days when he was carried in on a pillow. At least this Deputy didn’t grab his crown, but held his brim. She was here for him now; he was ready.
Waiting
She moved the curtain aside again, looking out across the grounds, thinking he might Apparate to the gates rather than arrive by Floo. Soon the sun would set, and she would be unable to see him walking up the long path. She wanted to meet him when he arrived, greeting him as he returned from one of his mysterious trips. “Adventures,” he called them. They were too adventurous; at his age, he should avoid such risks. Dusk approached; she transformed and sat on the windowsill, tabby eyes glowing, ready to leap down and sprint to him when he returned.
Invitation
Filius fiddled with his quill. He hadn’t courted a witch in so long, he’d forgotten how. Perhaps that was just as well. But to know whether his attentions would be welcome was as much a conundrum now as it had been when he was young. He could just ask her to dinner . . . her response would say it all. A knock interrupted his reverie. A flick of his wand opened the door.
“Good-evening, Filius. Would you like to go into Hogsmeade for a drink?”
“Just the two of us?”
Pomona nodded, smiling. “If that’s all right . . .”
“That would be delightful!”
Diversion
His lips fascinated her. She wanted to take them between her own, taste them, lick them, nibble them. Then do the same thing to other parts of him, parts she had yet to see. Sitting here across from Remus in the dimly-lit kitchen, distractedly listening to Kingsley repeat what she already knew, her gaze inevitably reverted to those sweet lips. She tore her eyes away and turned to look at the dignified Auror as he spoke. Her attention wandered back to its preferred preoccupation, and brown-gold eyes caught hers; each stared, then blushed. Remus averted his gaze; Tonks winced.
Devotion
Hermione arrived at twilight, silently offering an invaluable gift. Now his fingertips grazed the ancient manuscript, tracing words written by an obscure but talented wizard over eight centuries earlier. She was right: this presented him . . . not salvation, perhaps, but certainly a large measure of relief. Severus didn’t believe for a moment it had been a mere serendipitous find. Hermione was methodical. She’d likely devoted herself to its pursuit, not knowing exactly what she was looking for, ever since that day she’d noticed him gripping his left arm, grimacing, and he’d so rudely dismissed her. He looked up. “Thank you.”