Title: Haunted
Author: Girl Who Writes
Format: Fic
Word Count: 441
Rating: PG
Prompt: #11; One Day Remains - Alter Bridge
Summary: The blanket smells like her perfume, and is the softest thing he's ever touched.
Notes: Written for the February RT challenge. I swear, I'm just never going to run out of one-shots to post, at this rate :) Maybe one day I should try out a multi-chapter fic.


He wakes up in the basement of Grimmauld Place, cold and sore. His bones ache and it is a genuine effort to drag him self to the mattress in the corner with the ripped, grubby blankets. His left arm is ripped up, and the old pain in his knee twinges as he settles onto the mattress for sleep.

The senses of the wolf haven't dulled just yet, and he smells her before he hears her. Soft, bubble gum pink hair and her trademark soft perfume. She walks heavily now, levitating a tray laden with things ahead of her to the three legged table in the corner.

"Nymph," he manages to half drawl, half grunt as she kneels gingerly next to him, his head in her lap as she whispered the healing spells, piecing together his torn flesh. He rests his hand on her rounded stomach.

"Kept me awake all night kicking," she murmurs to him. "Doesn't like full moons either."

He doesn't reply as his wife finishes patching him up, her ring catching the dim light of the basement as she smooths creams and solutions into his injuries, old and new. There's a clean blanket, and Molly Weasley has made him soup and tea. Nymphadora stands up slowly, her hand resting against her back as she makes her way back upstairs, leaving him to sleep and heal; spending the day lying on the mattress with him is no longer easy when she's seven months along.

The blanket smells like her perfume, and is the softest thing he's ever touched.

When every wound has been reopened
And in this world of give and take you must have faith
And the distance to your dreams stretch beyond reach
Don't lay down and die

The ground is cold as fuck when Remus opens his eyes, the stench of blood hitting him before the noise. The pack is awake after another full moon, most of them in far worse shape than the day before. Remus feels the ache in his legs and arms and head, and closes his eyes for another brief moment as his dreams – delusions, really – remind him, and he groans, his hand to his head.

He never thought the clumsy pink-haired witch would leave such an impression on him, but she continues to haunt him any time his mind wanders. And rather than her tear stained face, the sound of her crying as he walked out the door, he remembers the moment when she is the happiest, the most alive. His subconscious paints glorious pictures in his mind, and he wonders if the memory of Nymphadora Tonks will keep him alive or drive him to insanity.