Title: Unexpected

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Lupin/Tonks

Rating: PG

Word Count: 497

Spoilers: Set during Order of the Phoenix, but no spoilers.

Notes: For the 15_minute_fic word #24 challenge.

The small box was the last wrapped present underneath the Christmas tree. Tonks had done that on purpose, wanting to delay the moment for as long as possible, giving herself precious seconds more to wonder what might be inside.

Or, more precisely, to remember the occasion when it had been given to her.

She’d wanted to stay at Grimmauld Place for Christmas – and not just because of Order business, if she was being honest with herself – but her mother had wanted her to come home for Christmas. Tonks had argued, but Andromeda had been very persuasive – some might say threatening. So it had been that she’d promised her mother she’d Apparate home on Christmas Eve, and on leaving the last Order meeting before Christmas, she’d no sooner reached the front door than she’d become aware of someone exiting the kitchen, heard a whisper of her name.

Turning, she’d seen the principal reason that she wanted to stay at Grimmauld Place for Christmas approaching her, looking furtively around him, with the look on his face that all Order members habitually wore; the fear of waking up Great Aunt Walberga. When he came to stand beside her though, she’d noticed that he looked more unnerved than that fear could reasonably account for.

“Did I forget something?” she’d wondered, because it wouldn’t be the first time.

Shaking his head, he’d reached into his pocket, pulled out a small, brightly wrapped package. “No… I just wanted to give you this.” She’d been momentarily speechless – not a common occurrence – and he’d continued, “It’s not much, just something small… but I was passing the shop… and it made me think of you…” He’d shaken his head, looked down at the dirty tiled floor. “Anyway…”

He’d turned to go, but she’d stopped him with one hand on his arm. “Remus…” But once again, words had failed her, and they’d stood in silence, just staring at one another. Finally, she’d gathered the wherewithal to say, “Happy Christmas,” before raising herself up on her tiptoes and planting a kiss on his cheek.

She’d moved for the door then, but had turned around before she opened it, and the last thing she’d seen was him, standing in the same place with a bemused smile on his lips.

She’d considered opening the present when she got back to her flat that night, but had resisted, and now it was Christmas morning, and even though she’d known it was childish, silly, she’d left that box until there was nothing else left.

Then, slowly, carefully, she undid the wrapping and lifted the lid.

Lying on a bed of cotton, there was a pin, about five inches long, the kind that would be used to fasten a cloak. It was obviously old, made of silver, with a finely crafted rose at one end, and as she stared at it, her eyes filled with tears.

“It made me think of you,” he’d told her.

It was the exact shade of her hair.

The word was pin