Tonks turned her head in the photo and looked back at the photographer. Her mouth moved, but of course no sound came. I lifted my hand from around her shoulders, stood and moved toward the camera, laughing. Then the scene started again...

"Phillips," she said laughing as she turned. "Do you have to take that camera everywhere?"

I laughed myself, stood and started stalking slowly toward him.

"I'm just trying to get some candid photos for the yearbook," he said in his flat American accent. He had some strange idea to make a ‘yearbook' for Hogwarts with photos of each of the student, the clubs and the Quidditch teams. He said it was a tradition in the Colonies and he wanted to try it out here. Professor Flitwick was helping him with the film developing since Professor Snape had said he wouldn't.

"Look, why don't you take a picture of that sunset instead," I said, pointing toward the far end of the lake, where a brilliant orange sun rested on the horizon, showering the entire grounds in a golden-rose color.

"All right, all right, I can tell when I'm not wanted." He headed off toward the castle.

I sat back down next to Tonks and put my arm back around her. She changed her hair to match the sunset, but kept her own, normal face. I always thought that she looked best as herself.

She snuggled her head back up to my shoulder and squeezed me gently around the waist.

"We'll always remember our time here, won't we?" She asked.

"Always," I said, lowering my head to kiss her. She was chocolate and sweet wine.

My hand shook as I put that photo down and picked up the next one. The liver spots on my hand stood out next to the freckles. In the photo, a soot-covered Luna proudly held up an egg as large as an ostrich egg...

"She finally laid that egg," she said, wiping the corner of her eye and just smearing herself worse.

"How does it look?" I asked.

She smiled, and her white teeth showed through her blackened face.

"I think it's good. It has a good weight, but I dropped my wand somewhere in the nest, so I can't tell with certainty." She lifted the egg for me to take, but I put out my hand, telling her to wait.

I put away the camera in a pocket, pulled my wand, and pointed it at the nest of mud and twigs (logs really, and fire hardened ones at that).

"Accio wand!"

Luna's wand shot of the mess of mud and dragon droppings under the logs of the nest with a squelch and landed in my hand. When it did, all of the mud and shit on it kept its momentum and spattered my face.

Luna began laughing in big braying whoops as she threaded her way out of the nest to me.

"We must look a sight," she said, "like we've both been wrestling Irish bog mummies."

I cleaned my face with my wand and then cleaned her face with her wand. Her wand always felt right in my hand, too. It never tried to fight me or warp my spells. It was almost as if I was using my own wand.

"Lumos." I lit her wand tip and pressed it against the dragon's egg, so we could get a clear look at the developing embryo inside it. Dragon eggs were so thick that you couldn't see it as clearly as a chicken egg, but I could see a big yolk sac inside it. It extinguished her wand and then put my ear to the egg's shell.

I brushed up against one of Luna's hands as I listened, and she twined a finger into my hair.

"I can hear its heart beating." I told her, as I caught the faint lub-dups from inside the shell.

I took the egg from her and checked it over more carefully. There weren't any cracks or breaks, so I went back into the nest and put it back, being sure it was covered by some warm mulch.

When I had come back out of the nest, Luna stood on her tiptoes to kiss me. Even though her lips had recently been covered in filth, they still tasted of citrus and sunshine. She didn't wear any lipgloss (or any makeup at all, really), but her lips always tasted of the outdoors, and the rest of her body tasted of vanilla and lavender. I don't know how she did it, and she wouldn't tell me. She said that I tasted of sweat and labour, but she liked it. I never knew when she was winding me up.

"I'm so glad you came here to the refuge, it wouldn't be the same here without you."

She leaned in and up and kissed me again.

The last photo showed Griselda, back mostly turned to me in a slight side profile, sitting naked in the creaky wooden chair in my cabin, looking out the window at a waning gibbous moon obscured by a sliver of clouds. She turned, obviously in response to the camera click and mouthed something at me.

"If I'd known you wanted naked pictures, I would have done this earlier," she said archly, stretching her arms above her head and turning slightly to give me a more interesting view.

I put the camera on the table.

"The framing of that photo was too perfect for me not to take it. You looked like an old religious icon about to be martyred, and you were looking at the moon one last time."

"I think you may have smooshed together Christian imagery and pagan imagery there." She laughed her hearty country girl laugh that was so different from Luna's braying, hiccupping laugh.

"Maybe," I said, as she rose and walked, or properly sashayed maybe toward me.

She pulled me into a tight hug, breasts pressing against me tightly. I lowered my head slightly (only slightly, she was nearly as tall as I was) and we kissed. It was a lusty, salty kiss redolent of our love-making earlier. Salty caramel kisses.

I lost myself in that kiss for days, hours, or maybe just seconds, but oh, what seconds they were.

She pulled back first.

"One last night together; maybe you weren't so wrong about being martyred." She sighed and sat on the bed. She patted the crumpled blanket, waiting for me to sit next to her before continuing.

"I wish I didn't have to go back to Norway."

"I wish you didn't, too."


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