“I’ll tell you mine, you tell me yours.”
“I beg your pardon?” Remus Lupin set his tankard of butterbeer down on the scarred wooden table with a thump and peered curiously at Nymphadora Tonks, who sat across from him in the noisy pub. Her short, fringy hair was an especially vivid bubblegum pink at this moment, a color he had come to associate with her more whimsical moods. That usually meant trouble, or at least squirming discomfort, for him.
“Dreams. You know, your secret thoughts, the stuff you usually don’t mention unless you’ve had one firewhisky too many. It’s a game.” She tipped her butterbeer back and drained the last drops.
“Never heard of a game like that.” The corners of his mouth curled up slightly as he felt one of their cat-and-mouse contests of will coming on. They were more pleasing to him than he would ever admit. “Besides, I don’t dream. Or I don’t remember them, anyway.” Or I’m not about to say, he thought guiltily.
“Come on, Remus!” she said, wrinkling her nose and scowling at him with an indignation that made his skin tingle in an unexpectedly pleasant way. He tried to shake it off, without much success. “Everybody dreams! Even a buttoned-down professor like you.”
He scowled back at her.
“It’ll be fun! We deserve it, after today. You’ve got to admit that job Dumbledore just made us do was the most boring waste of time since Professor Binn’s history class. Why he would send two Order members to follow those dimwitted gits I’ll never know. A couple of Ministry janitors could have done it.”
“Can’t disagree with you there.” They had just spent ten hours walking around London, ducking behind dustbins to avoid being seen, tapping each other with Disillusionment Charms and employing a ridiculous number of disguises and changes in appearance, just to watch two dullard Death Eaters stumble through a long day of doing nothing. Desperate to relieve the tedium, Lupin had amused himself by trying to guess what color Tonks’ hair would turn next. In the end they had given up the pointless task and ended up in The Bent Broomstick, a dusty old wizard’s pub that the Muggles thought was an abandoned pet shop. It did have a faint aroma of wet dog, when he stopped to think about it.
“What do you suppose Dumbledore was playing at, making us do that all day?”
“No idea,” he said, gesturing to the barman for more butterbeers and hoping she wouldn’t notice he wasn’t telling the truth. He had a very good idea what Albus Dumbledore was playing at. It wasn’t the first time. The old matchmaker thought it was great fun to force the two of them to spend long hours together, though he knew Lupin was resisting it. It wasn’t that Lupin didn’t enjoy her company; he enjoyed it too much. As far as he was concerned, that was a bad idea. His sad and hazardous life was no match for a bright, lively, talented young woman like Tonks. He sighed.
Tonks squinted at him, frowning. “You’ve always been a terrible liar. Now I know you’re keeping something from me. Let’s have it.”
Lupin raised his eyebrows in the most innocent expression he could muster, but he knew it wasn’t working. He took a swig of the butterbeer that had appeared on the table in front of him and tried to change the subject. “So, what’s this game you were talking about?”
“The Dream Game.” A devilish grin spread across her face now as she stared at him with an intensity that burned right through his eyeballs. “The game your brain plays when you’re too sleepy to control it.”
He felt himself squirm. “You first.” he said. “You tell me. It’s your idea, after all.”
“That’s right,” she said, savoring his discomfort. “But why should I tell you mine when you’re so determined to hide . . . Legilimens!”
“Protego!” Both wands flew out so suddenly that the pair of wizards sitting at the next table gasped and dived for the floor, overturning their wooden chairs with a great clatter. Lupin, eyes wide, was barely aware of the roomful of people now staring at them. He had put the mental barrier up in time, but just barely. Tonks’ determined gaze was locked on him, but she couldn’t get through. He grinned as her eyes narrowed in frustration. “Nice try. You should know I was teaching Occlumency to my friends when you were too young to hold a wand. It was especially useful for someone in my . . . condition.”
She smiled back, then glanced over her shoulder, just noticing that they had an audience. Everyone in the pub seemed to have stopped what they were doing and sat staring at them, transfixed. Some stood up to get a better look. “Good reflexes for someone of your . . . “Legilimens!”
He was ready for her. “Good game. I like it.” Her wand sagged in her hand in apparent surrender. Lupin laughed at the sight of the barman behind her, who quivered noticibly, trying to decide whether to stun them or bring them another round. “It’s all right,” he called to the man, waving him aside. “Just a philosophical discussion . . .Legilimens!”
His wand swung back to Tonks with such speed that she had no time to react. At once he saw an image of a dimly-lit room, a bed, and two figures locked in a tight embrace, moaning and breathing heavily, ecstatic smiles on their sweating faces. Those faces . . .
He broke eye contact, gasping as if struck by a Stunning Spell. She was staring at him now, and the corners of her mouth turned up in a broad smile. “Why, Remus, you’re the color of a Gryffindor Quidditch robe.”
His suddenly dry throat felt glued together. He noticed her face was a bit pink, too, and she sounded a little breathless. The room was unnaturally quiet. “Does this mean I win?” he managed to croak.
“Not really. I don’t think it counts when I don’t try to block it.”
This is getting out of hand, he thought, downing another swallow of butterbeer. The problem is I don’t want it to stop. “Your dreams are . . . interesting. Quite detailed.” He managed to keep his voice steady.
“Yeah, they are.” Tonks raised her wand again and hesitated, then looked deeply into his eyes and murmured, “Legilimens.”
Lupin made no effort to resist. He felt her slowly, tantalizingly, pull the memory from his mind. It unfolded just as it had the night before, her skin so soft, her lips so warm against his. It was his dream in every sense of the word, everything he had ever wanted but knew he could never have. Now she could see it, taste it as clearly as he did, but strangely, he didn’t mind. It was their secret.
Her wide eyes, glassy with tears, blinked, and the spell was ended.
Remus’ brow furrowed. “Are you upset?” He ached with the thought.
“No. Oh, no. Relieved.” She clutched the cold butterbeer tankard with both hands and downed a long drink. It seemed to steady her nerves. Her lips pursed and emitted a low whistle. “Guess we have more in common than we thought.”
He swallowed hard, his heart doing a tap-dancing routine in his chest. “Looks that way.”
Her smile was luminous. “I think we can call it a draw.”
“Fair enough.” Lupin felt electrified, every inch of his body yearning for a real-life replay of the scene they had both watched in their heads. But it couldn’t be. Not in this lifetime, he thought ruefully.
The barman had reappeared at his elbow, nervously scooping up the empty tankards. “Can I get you anything else, sir? Another butterbeer, firewhisky?”
Lupin looked across the table at Tonks, and his heart lurched again. “I think what we need is some ice water.”
Tonks stifled a nervous laugh. “Yeah. Hurry.”
The Dream Game by Kiley
Chapter Notes: This tale fits into the context of Book Six, a short time after the events of my story, Nightmare of the Wolf.