Love in the Time of Salmonella

Rights and shit to JKR, who is so cool she pisses off whiny Harmonians left right and centre. The 'protective coating' t-shirt makes a reappearance after its first adventure in 'Paraesthesia'.

Surely enough, she'd had no trouble finding the wretched house: residences that tended to pop out of nowhere when visualising the house number tended to be quite auspicious even to the most inattentive of visitors. It was only when the front door opened, and an older man with uncombed brown hair and three weeks worth of beard stepped out onto the front doorstep that she began to feel ill at ease in her new surroundings.

"Nymphadora, I presume?" The man spoke far more eloquently than he presented, which was even more surprising considering that up close, he smelled quite strongly of peach schnapps. He looked tired and harassed, and his politeness seemed strained. "I'm Remus Lupin." He leant in close to her, the fatigue finally coming through in his voice. "Erm, you wouldn't know anything about salmonella poisoning would you?"

"Erm..." She barely had time to correct him on the horrendous misuse of her given name when he seized her by the wrist and dragged her into the house, which smelled strongly of mothballs and dust. From the nether regions of the house, she could hear the sound of retching and groaning, and she reached for her wand.

"Nothing to be afraid of," he said, straightening his robes and running his fingers through his messy hair. "I just heard that you were an Auror, and would probably have some training in healing spells."

"Erm, a bit," she said, staring at the cracking wallpaper and mouldy carpet. "What is this about, really?"

Remus opened a door to his left, and she entered a room almost completely pitch black save for the light of a single candle. She could make out two forms lying on the ground, one writhing in agony and the other hunched over what looked like a bucket.

"They stole rotisserie chickens from a supermarket down the road. Old chickens too, mind," he said, shooting withering looks in the direction of the wounded soldiers spread out on the rug, "because they didn't seem to have any health and safety concerns with eating green meat."

"Oh, fuck off," said the writher, whose long black hair was plastered to his sweaty face. "It was Dung's fault, he was the one who grabbed the chickens."

"It was yer idea to steal the bastards," said the hurler, "and yer idea to go as a dog so yeh wouldn't get arrested."

"Oh, come off it. As if that would be an appropriate ending for my salacious travels. I can see the headlines now: 'Notorious fugitive captured buying a barbecue chicken and pack of Woodbines'. Oh, bucket..." he cried, reaching for his own receptacle and vomiting heartily into it.

"This would be your cousin Sirius, by the way. Sirius, you remember Andromeda's daughter?"

The man called Sirius pulled his head out of the bucket. "S'nice to meet you again, Nymphadora. How's your mum?"

"She's all right. And I don't go by that anymore, it's Tonks."

Despite the trail of bile running down his chin, he managed a sleazy smile. "You chicks and your little feminism. It's so cute."

"You'll have to excuse Sirius, he's not been to his deportment classes in a couple of years. Been in jail, you see, where they obviously don't teach you how to exercise restraint with pilfering spoilt edibles. And this," he said, toeing the now-still figure on the ground, "is Mundungus Fletcher."

"Oh, we're acquainted already," she said, the memory of chasing him from a Muggle department store as he was clad in several layers of ladies' fur coats not easily purged. "Tell me, I hope you're wearing those coats now, because we had to reimburse Harrods for the stolen merchandise."

"Sold 'em to some snooty bird, somethin' about a secret society dinner, somethin' like that, I 'spose. Didn't ask, yeh know."

"You know, you two really are the most useless people I've ever had the misfortune of being associated with," said Remus, who looked ready to kick the both of them. "At least Peter's being useful to someone. You two just malinger around here all day, drinking all my gin and dirtying all my books and throwing up on all the pillows."

"Oh, excuse me, but I didn't know that full-time unemployment was so draining on you," said Sirius, trying to look as dignified as one possibly could whilst wearing a vomit-stained shirt. "Sitting around and reading and drinking cups of tea and sometimes having a little sun out in the garden is such a vital economic growth area too."

"Thirty six hours! I've had to sit in this stupid room for thirty six hours, vanishing your stupid vomit and making sure you don't choke on your own saliva! I changed Mundungus, for Christ's sake!"

"I 'ad cholera."

"You did not bloody well have cholera!" Tonks could see several veins popping out on his forehead, and out of habit reached out to restrain him. She hesitated, however, when her arm was only inches away from his robes.

"Could've."

Remus sighed, frustrated, kicking at one of the chairs. "I'm fed up with the both of you, really."

"Erm, if you like, I could watch over this lot if you want to go have a shower, or shave, or anything," said Tonks, trying to suppress a little giggle behind a closed hand.

"Really, I don't want to impose this pair on you. I hate to think of what these brutes would do in the company of a young woman such as yourself."

"Mr Lupin, I have had auror training. There's no need to be so chivalrous."

"Oh, this isn't chivalry," he said, nonetheless striding quickly to the door without pause. "You are almost certainly going to want to kill yourself. I know I want to now." He closed the door behind him, and from down the hallway, Tonks could hear him almost dragging himself into the bathroom.

"Oy, love," said Sirius, tugging on the bottom of her robes. "Fancy a root?"

"I'm your cousin," she replied, shooting him a withering look almost stolen from the older man who'd just vacated the premises.

"Not me, you tit." He covered his eyes with his arm, as if the candlelight was burning into his retinas. "Him. Professor Fancy-Pants."

"Nothing particularly fancy about him."

"Oh, you'd be surprised. Drinks his beer out of a glass, this one. He's refined, really, he is. Except when he's not, which seems to be fairly often these days."

"What does he do for the Order?"

"Farts about, mostly," said Mundungus, who was using what looked like a plaster bust as a pillow as a thin strand of yellow bile dribbled down his chin. "Sometimes he does translatin' work - speaks some pissy European language, I think: mostly loiterin' an' the odd bit o' reconnaissance."

"Oh? What does he do for a living?"

"He's a pornographer," said Sirius. "He makes pornography. Some of it's really good; uses real cats and everything."

"Charming."

"I lie. The cats are just stuffed."

"Oh. No, really, what does he do?"

She thought, for a moment, that Sirius shot a warning look at Mundungus. But he turned back to her, obviously pontificating on what he was to say. "Well, presently, he's sort of between work, but--"

"'E's a werewolf," said Mundungus.

Sirius turned back to Dung. "Bravo, Mundungus. Why don't you just dob in that gram of speed in your back pocket now?"

"That would be stupid, see, 'cos she's an auror, 'parently."

"Not a very good one, mind," she said, perching on the arm of one of the chaises. "I didn't know, I--... I haven't met a great deal of werewolves, believe it or not, I wouldn't have picked him out--"

"Oh, everyone says that. Everyone expects werewolves to be these mysterious, romantic, tragically ironic figures, you know. 'Cept, of course, when they actually meet Moony, and realise he's about as mysterious and romantic as your average Ministry drone. Present company excepted, of course."

"I can be mysterious and romantic, you know," said Tonks. "I'll cook dinner tonight and show you how mysterious I can be."

"The only thing mysterious about your cooking is what strain of we'll pick up from it. It's like a lucky dip, really, except instead of sweets or toys we get painful, prolonged death."

"Well, you can't be so picky that you wouldn't steal poisoned poultry," she retorted.

"Touche." He looked up at her from beneath his arms, smiling lecherously at her. "I reckon you'd do him just fine."

"I am perfectly capable of speech myself you know, Sirius," said Remus, standing in the doorway and drying his hair with his wand. He'd shaved, Tonks noticed, though she realised that there was a large patch of prickles still on his left cheek, and for some reason his hair looked shorter and stupider than before. "And, Miss Tonks, you are under no obligation to 'do me' in any sense of the words."

"You were quick."

"I'm old: I'm good at cleaning charms."

"Yeh know, I didn't realise that yeh were so pale, Jobless. I thought yeh were more tanned than that."

"It wasn't a tan, it was dirt."

"Oh. Carry on, then."

Sirius squinted at Remus, perhaps more than he'd been doing ever since first ingesting the chicken. "Did you hack at your hair with the nail scissors again?"

"This bit of fringe kept getting in my eyes."

"Do you not remember anything we tell you, fool! You want to do something to your hair, you get me or Dung to do it for you."

"Of course: you, who hasn't had a haircut since 1981, if that, and Mundungus, who barely manages to make it through the front door most days without the hazards of sharp implements. Stylish and coordinated you are not." Remus turned to Tonks, indicating at his forehead. "You don't think it looks too bad, do you?"

Tonks, who'd never had to be stuck with bad hair for a day in her life, simply nodded back at him, thinking it best to avert her line of sight as to avoid making eye contact with him and laughing at him, thereby hurting his feelings and causing a cavalcade of ridiculously bad karma. "Can't even notice it."

"That's because it was a shit haircut before, too."

"That's it. You two can clean up after your own projectile vomiting. I'm hungry, I'm dying for a cup of tea and I haven't read the papers in three days. Fend for yourselves." Remus shoved his wand down the back of his trousers, heading off down the hallway. Tonks watched him leave, feeling a mite bad for not complimenting his haircut a little more effusively.

"Oy, what did Moody say about putting your wand near your arsecheeks?"

"Fuck off," replied Remus from halfway down the stairs.

"Well... yeah, you could paraphrase it like that." Sirius winced a little, clutching at his stomach. "Oh, demon strain, must you plague me so!"

"Erm... you fellows don't mind if I go have a cup of tea, or anything, do you? It's just I only got off work a little while ago, didn't stop for lunch today at all--"

"Yeh're leavin' us, aren't yeh!" Mundungus shrieked, raising his arm theatrically at her. "Foul wench! Devil's scullery maid! Whore o' Babylon! Vile succubus!"

"I just want--" she said, backing away from them and bumping into a low side table in the process.

"Oh, we know what you want, you wicked temptress. You're going to abandon us, in our time of need, in our hour of agony, to go and satisfy your desires of the flesh! Go! Spare us your immorality and your slatternliness!"

"I just want a bloody cup of tea!" she shouted at them. Mundungus cowered, and she rolled her eyes in frustration. "Really. You lot are a pack of women."

"Oh, I see what this is!" Sirius was jabbing his finger at her angrily, and she already started for the door. "I know your type and who you work for! This is the violence inherent in the system!"

"Must run. Anyone want me to make them a cuppa while I'm down there? No? Right, well, just shout if you need--" She slammed the door on them, Sirius' tirade muffled, but only slightly. She banged her head against the door softly, and made her way to the kitchen.

Remus was already down there, scouring one of the cupboards. "If you've come down for something to eat, I hate to tell you that there's nothing in the pantry. Sorry, I was meant to do some shopping today."

"Oh, that's all right. I'll just heap a lot of sugar into my tea, that ought keep me going for a bit."

"A woman after my own heart," he said with a faint smile. "That's teachers' logic."

"Were you a teacher?" She immediately regretted her use of the past tense, and she could tell that he picked it up.

"I was, yes."

"Hmm. You've got the patience for it too, I can tell. I couldn't put up with five minutes of their complaining. Thirty-six hours. I tip my hat to you."

"They're not normally that bad, actually. I'm hardly the most pleasant person when indisposed: most try to avoid me." His smile remained, but it was the tiniest taste more bitter than it had been mere seconds before. "I hope they didn't embarrass you before with their half-arsed match-making. Just about every person lacking a Y-chromosome to enter this house has been subjected to it." He sat himself down at the kitchen table, stirring at his tea and picking listlessly at his tea bag. "Nothing says 'true love' like an unemployed layabout and his former head of house, who is twice his age and smells like crystallised ginger to boot."

"It's all right. You probably wouldn't like someone like me much either: I've got shit handwriting."

He sipped his tea, his face flushing red. "Yes, well."

"Oh, by the way - your hair looks fine. Really. But don't take advice from me: I thought it was a good idea to turn my hair green for the last few weeks of school. House pride, or something like it, but it just looked like I'd been swimming in chlorine for too long."

"Slytherin?"

"Not a very good one."

"Hmm. It's all right, they didn't bother me with it: they're just jealous."

"I think you're right." She leant her chin in her hands, wishing she'd worn something a little cleaner and more presentable. Then again, the man was wearing a lurid orange shirt with the words 'This Insert has a Protective Coating' emblazoned across the chest, so she never felt too much shame at her sartorial choice.

"You're not drinking tea."

"What?"

"You told them you were coming down to make a cup of tea."

"Well, I.., erm... bother."

"It's all right: I won't tell them that you hate their guts."

She laughed: not a restrained, girly giggle, but a loud hacking laugh, resplendent with a snort at the end. She caught herself, ending her laugh rather self-consciously. "Pardon me."

"Pardonned."

She leant across the table. "You know, a couple of mates and I meet up every Wednesdays for a cards night. You should come along one night, being that you're the only person I know in the Order thus far who will neither embarrass himself in public or get arrested."

"Unfortunately, I have prior commitments."

"Re-reading the Sundays is not a prior commitment."

"Er..." He leant in close to her, keeping his voice low as if he were ashamed of himself. "I'm not the sort of person who you'd really want along at these events, I'm an awful cheat and--"

"If it's about the werewolf thing, I don't see how that could be a problem. Unless you spontaneously burst out in fur and fangs at the sight of a pair of twos," she blurted.

He stared at her for a bit, his face blanching at first and then softening a little. "You know?"

"Mundungus told me. I get the impression that he probably shouldn't have, but... well, yeah. Wednesdays."

"Mundungus just set up a Muggle television set for us. Wednesday nights is a big night, you know: I'm really getting into that 'Bill' programme."

Tonks got up from the table, her chair knocking to the ground behind her. "Bugger." She righted it again, and stuck her hand out for Remus to shake it. "Well, nice meeting you. See you Wednesday."

"But what if my charges are still infirm?" he called to her as she disappeared up the stone steps and into the hallway of the house.

"Chuck 'em a couple of blankets and Playwitches. We meet at eight. Cheers!" She almost skipped up the hall, which turned out to be rather unfortunate for her as she immediately ran into an umbrella stand, causing her to fall flat on her face and bang her shins quite hard. "No need to get up, I'm quite all right," she called out to nobody in particular, picking herself up and dusting herself off, and bursting out the front door feeling quite light-headed indeed.