Raise Your Lantern High, chapter 2: Sympathy from All Sides but the Right One

[starfishstar]

RAISE YOUR LANTERN HIGH

Summary: In which Remus and Tonks fight battles, arrest criminals, befriend werewolves, overcome inner demons and, despite it all, find themselves a happy ending. A love story, and a story of the Order years. (My Remus/Tonks epic, which has been years in the making! This is the second half of the story, set in the Half-Blood Prince year.)


Chapter 2: Sympathy from All Sides but the Right One


So much present inside my present
Inside my present so much past

–Feist, Past in Present


Remus let himself into the Burrow by the back kitchen door and found Arthur drying his dishes after a late supper. Arthur often worked long past the family's suppertime these days, but Molly always left food for him, carefully enveloped in a Perpetual Warming Charm.

Arthur slid his plate and glass neatly back into their places on the shelf, stowed his wand away, and glanced at Remus. "How's Tonks?"

Remus had walked alone through London for a long time after leaving the pub, but he could still see the hurt and anger on Tonks' face. "She's all right…" he said, though he wasn't sure how true that was. "But it seems she's been…having trouble changing her appearance."

His stomach twisted again at the thought. How much of that difficulty was attributable to Remus himself?

"It's been a hard time for everyone," Arthur said gently. "And Tonks was close to Sirius." He gave Remus a searching look, but seemed to assess accurately that the last thing Remus wanted just then was to have a heart-to-heart about it. Instead, Arthur rested a hand briefly on Remus' shoulder as he crossed the kitchen. "Good night," he said. "I'm for bed."

"Oh! Sorry." Hermione had appeared in the kitchen doorway without either of them noticing, and Arthur nearly walked into her. "Sorry, Mr Weasley."

"Not at all, Hermione. Though I would have thought all of you would be in bed by now. Couldn't sleep?"

"I was just reading for a bit," Hermione said, still looking embarrassed at having disturbed them. "Ginny's asleep, but I'm still wide awake, somehow. I thought I'd get a glass of water."

"Of course," Arthur said, stepping through the doorway past Hermione and waving her into the kitchen. "Well, good night, Hermione. Night, Remus."

"Good night," Remus said, and listened to Arthur's weary but steady tread ascending the stairs.

Hermione sidled into the room, glancing anxiously at Remus, then blurted, "I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, honestly!"

Remus cast his mind back. Had they spoken of anything sensitive that the kids ought not to know about? No, only that he'd seen Tonks and that she was feeling down. That was Remus' guilt to bear, but it wasn't confidential. "No harm done," he reassured her.

Looking grateful, Hermione slipped the rest of the way across the room, fetched a glass and filled it from the tap. Remus leaned against the worktop and observed her vaguely, his mind elsewhere.

Hermione took a sip from her glass, then glanced over at him, and Remus pulled his focus back to the present. She had the look of someone who would like to interact, but wasn't sure how best to open a conversation.

So Remus asked, "What have you been reading, that's keeping you up so late?"

Hermione held her glass upright, rolling it slightly between her palms. "Oh – some Muggle psychology books I borrowed from my parents." Always aware of her expected role as Muggle-to-wizard cultural translator, she added, "You know, the study of how people think and feel."

It took a moment for the other Knut to drop, then Remus realised: Hermione was reading up on grief, the psychology of grief, out of concern for Harry. She wanted to be prepared and supportive when he arrived at the Burrow. And, being Hermione, she'd turned to books rather than ask anyone directly, an impulse Remus understood well.

What extraordinary friends Harry had found for himself.

To fill the silence, not thinking about what he was saying, Remus said, "Sirius went through a phase of that, reading all about Muggle psychology." Then he felt the old familiar stab of pain through his chest, because for that split second he'd been able to talk about Sirius as if he were still here, and then just as quickly he'd been reminded that he wasn't.

"Did he?" Hermione asked, sounding faintly alarmed at the turn the conversation had taken.

"Oh, yes," Remus said, the memories fond even as grief throbbed in his chest. "When he was around your age, he got his hands on some old collection of Muggle psychology books and spent months annoying the rest of us by following us around and analysing our behaviour."

Hermione laughed, then looked apologetic for it. "That does…sound like Sirius," she offered tentatively.

"Quite," Remus agreed lightly, though his chest felt tight. Time to steer away from that particular subject. "Anyway. How about you, Hermione? How have the holidays been?" Being a kindly mentor figure to a student, now that was the type of human interaction Remus could engage in without entirely making a mincemeat of it.

"Quiet, mostly," Hermione said, setting her glass of water very precisely down beside her on the worktop. "I do a lot of reading when I'm home. It's…well…I'm always so happy to get back home and see my parents, but then as soon as I get there, it feels like I've left my whole life somewhere else and I'm just waiting until I can get back to it. I love my parents, but there's so much about my life they can't understand. So I was glad when Mrs Weasley invited me to stay, but then I felt guilty for wanting to leave home when I'd only just got there…" She sighed. "I shouldn't complain. Lots of people have it far worse."

"Harry's mother used to say much the same," Remus offered, leaning against the worktop behind him. "It's hard for Muggleborn kids, moving between these two cultures that have such a complete lack of understanding for one another."

Hermione smiled wistfully. "She must have been great. Harry's mum."

"She was," Remus said softly. Fierce, vivacious, brilliant Lily. Another friend he'd failed.

Hermione picked up her water glass and frowned at it. "Professor Lupin…" she began, than stopped.

"You can call me Remus, Hermione."

"Er – all right." Her eyebrows gathered sharply together on her furrowed brow, her gaze still directed at the glass in her hands. "Remus, is there – I know you can't tell me anything about what the Order is doing, and that's fine, I'm not asking you to, but is there…does the Order have a plan? I mean, is there some kind of plan, at all? Does any of us know what we're doing?" Her gaze darted to him, even as she bit her lip, already worried she'd asked too much.

"A plan for fighting Voldemort, you mean?" Remus asked.

Hermione nodded once, a quick motion.

Remus sighed and tried to decide how to answer. "Yes and no," he said finally. "Which is an unhelpful answer, I do realise. No, there is no schedule, no diagram to follow. War doesn't work like that. Magic doesn't work like that. It would be so simple if all of life were laid out as neatly as an academic term, with the next task always clearly outlined; I've sometimes wished that. But no, there's no plan in that sense. We're all of us feeling our way through this in the dark. But at the same time – yes. I trust that Dumbledore has a vision of what we're working towards. I do trust that there's a larger aim we're following, even if the individual steps are fumbling ones. It's not easy, taking steps in the dark and hoping we've made the right choices when we can't see their outcomes yet."

"It feels like we've been in the dark for a long time, doesn't it?" Hermione said softly, and Remus looked over at her in surprise. He often forgot how wise for her years Hermione was.

"Yes," he agreed, feeling the ache of it in his chest. "A very long time." Thinking of Sirius. Of Lily and James.

This is why, Dora, he thought. This is why you should not want to get close to me.

To Remus' surprise, Hermione blurted out the very opposite of his thoughts. "It's all the more reason we have to stick together, isn't it?" she said. "I mean, given that we can't really know if any of this is going to turn out all right. It's all the more reason to – to make each other a little happier, now, if we can."

Unexpectedly, she blushed, and Remus wondered of what – or whom – she was thinking.

"Anyway," Hermione said, still faintly pink. "Is there anything I can do? Even though I'm not in the Order?"

"Just keep watching out for Harry," Remus said, then caught himself. That was the last thing he wanted to do, burden Hermione with a sense of responsible for Harry's safety. What was he thinking, what were any of them thinking, dragging children into this war? Then again, James and Lily had been only a few years older than the girl in front of him. Tonks was only a few years older still. And none of them were safe. "We'll all be watching out for Harry," he amended. "That's the most important thing. We all need to look out for each other, more than ever."

Hermione nodded. "Yes," she said. "Yeah, we can do that. We can definitely do that." She looked heartened at the thought. She glanced down at her water glass, then up again. "I should go back upstairs. Ginny's been asleep for ages and I ought to be, too." She turned to wash her glass, then dried it and tidied it away. Then she looked at Remus and said a little shyly, "Thanks for talking. I appreciate it."

"My pleasure," Remus assured her.

"Good night," Hermione said, making her way to the door that led upstairs.

Remus watched her go, then dropped his gaze to the floor. He was startled when Hermione ducked back through the doorway.

"Remus, I…I just wanted to say – I know you were good friends with Sirius. I can't really know what it's like at all, and I hope I never have to find out, because I can't even imagine losing –" She broke off, looking stricken, and needed a moment to collect herself. Then she continued, "Anyway, I just wanted to say, I'm sorry about Sirius. I really, really am."

"Thank you, Hermione," Remus said, surprised.

Hermione nodded, looking embarrassed now, and disappeared beyond the shadows of the doorway.

– – – – –

"Tonks, dear," Molly said, pulling Tonks in the door and patting her arm repeatedly. "Oh, you look worn out. Here, sit, sit, I'll put the tea on. And you look like you could use something to eat."

Rich scents assailed Tonks' nose as she stepped over the threshold into the kitchen, and she inhaled deeply. Butter, cinnamon, cloves. Pumpkin? Just being in Molly's presence was a sensory delight. Tonks sighed aloud, and flopped into a chair.

"I'll have these pumpkin scones finished in two shakes of a niffler's tail," Molly was saying as she bustled about the kitchen. "But here, have some tea to start. Dumbledore and Harry are likely to be ages still." As she spoke, she poured with one hand, while waving her wand at the old-fashioned bake oven with the other. And Tonks sank down and breathed and let someone else do the bustling for once.

Molly's chatty note, inviting Tonks to drop by and visit while Molly waited up for Dumbledore to bring Harry, had helpfully also mentioned that Remus had left the Burrow that morning. Which was good, because Tonks wasn't sure she would be able to keep from shouting at him if she saw him.

A plate of fragrant, pumpkin-coloured scones appeared under Tonks' nose, and she blinked and pulled herself out of her exhausted daze. Molly, now sitting across the table, smiled understandingly and nudged the plate a little closer.

Tonks picked one up, bit into it and breathed, "Oh, Molly, you're a genius."

Molly watched with a pleased smile as Tonks inhaled the rest of her scone and contemplated seconds.

"How are you, then, dear?" Molly asked. "We've hardly seen you, except at the last Order meeting. Are you doing all right?"

"Yeah. No," Tonks said. "I don't know." She sat bolt upright, suddenly too edgy to stay comfortably slumped. "How did it get like this, Molly? Voldemort and Death Eaters and Dementors, and most days all we manage to do is show up afterwards and contain the damage. Why are we so small against this terrible thing? Why can't we do more?"

"I wish we could," Molly said soberly, and Tonks felt bad for own self-pity. Molly had so much more at risk in this war. Half her family was in the Order.

But at least she had her family. People around her who were also in the thick of the war and understood how hard it was.

"The worst thing," Tonks said, squashing the last few crumbs on her plate with one finger, "this sounds so stupid, but at least before I could talk to Remus about everything. But now… He's been avoiding me, Molly. Ever since – since Sirius died."

"To be fair, he's been avoiding pretty much everyone," Molly said gently.

"I know. But…he and I got close, this past year. I care about him. I thought he cared about me." Tonks' eyes burned with tiredness. She'd been working constantly and sleeping badly.

Molly smiled sympathetically. "I know, dear. I've seen the way you look at him. And the way he looks at you, for that matter."

Remus and the way he looked at her. Remus and the way he talked to her, late into the night after Order meetings, sharing things Tonks knew he rarely spoke about with anyone. He'd taken her to visit Alice and Frank Longbottom at St Mungo's. He'd laughed and joked with her through long nights of Order duties. And there was the night Remus had returned to London after being attacked at a gathering of werewolves, when he'd thought home as he Apparated and somehow landed on Tonks' doorstep instead of at Headquarters. All that had to mean something. It meant a great deal of somethings.

Tonks remembered standing by the kitchen fire at 12 Grimmauld Place that horrible night in June, forming their plan to storm the Ministry and find Harry. She would never forget Sirius' determination to go with them, Remus' anguish at wanting to protect Harry and wanting to protect Sirius and knowing he couldn't do both. Then Remus at her bedside, when she woke up in St Mungo's afterwards. The agony on his face when she asked, Who's died?

And then – that was all. Remus had withdrawn to a place inside himself where Tonks couldn't follow.

"He's going to live with a werewolf pack," she burst out. "Did he tell you that?"

"He told Arthur," Molly said, a crease of worry forming between her eyebrows. "I can't say I approve." She frowned. "Although Dumbledore will know what he's about, I expect."

Dumbledore. Just then Tonks could have screamed at the thought of him. Dumbledore and Remus, both of them so callous with Remus' safety. She would have liked to shake Remus until some sense finally fell into his stubborn head and he understood that he mattered. Not just as an operative for the Order, but as a person.

Tonks found herself breathing angrily through her nose, and she forced herself to slow down and cast around for something less fraught to talk about. "Did I hear Bill's girlfriend's staying here?" she blurted.

Oops. That wasn't the most tranquil of topics either.

"Fiancée," Molly corrected curtly.

"Oh, they've made it official?"

"Yes, they're very happy," Molly said, but Tonks noticed she was shredding the remainder of the scone on her plate into tiny, nearly invisible crumbs.

"Fleur's, er, she's –" What was Fleur, exactly? Nice didn't really seem to fit. "She's quite something," Tonks concluded lamely.

"Yes," Molly said repressively. "She's – she's –" Tonks waited, honestly curious to hear what Molly would come up with. "She's not good enough for my little Bill!" Molly finally burst out, and Tonks felt her own mouth curving up into the unfamiliar shape of a smile, for what felt like the first time in a long time. Molly reigned herself back in and added somewhat more quietly, "He meets so many nice girls through his work. Why couldn't he have brought one of them home?"

Right, Tonks thought. And why couldn't Tonks herself have fallen for a nice, uncomplicated man who didn't run away whenever emotions got involved?

Molly sighed. "I suppose I'm being unfair. I am trying to be happy for them. But it's rather difficult, when she's flouncing about the house, declaring that anyone else's way of doing anything is vastly inferior to her own." Molly looked down and noticed the scone crumbs she'd ground to dust on the plate. She pushed the plate away. "Well. Harry's arriving tonight and Fleur seems to quite like him, so maybe that's one thing she won't find fault with."

As if summoned by Molly's words, three knocks sounded at the kitchen door. Molly's head jerked up and she glanced at the clock. "Who's there?" she demanded, jumping up and hurrying to the door. "Declare yourself!"

"It is I, Dumbledore, bringing Harry," came the unmistakable voice from outside.

Molly's posture relaxed and she unlatched the door, waving her wand and murmuring unlocking spells.

Dumbledore, tall-hatted and crinkly-eyed as always, stood framed in the doorway. Harry was at his side, looking, impossibly, even taller than when Tonks had seen him last. He looked tired, but somehow quietly triumphant. Whatever errand Dumbledore had taken him on had gone well, then. And it was always such a relief to see Harry in one piece.

Tonks glanced at Dumbledore, radiating as always that benign good humour and opaque omniscience, and she felt a stab of anger. This is the man who wants to throw Remus to the wolves, literally, Tonks thought. Is that how little he cares about any one of us?

She knew that wasn't fair. It was Dumbledore's job not to care about any individual person more than he cared about the whole.

"Harry, dear," Molly was saying. "Gracious, Albus, you gave me a fright. You said not to expect you before morning!"

"We were lucky," Dumbledore said, ushering Harry gently into the kitchen. "Slughorn proved more persuadable than I had expected. Harry's doing, of course." Dumbledore beamed, then looked around the room. "Ah, hello, Nymphadora!"

"Hello, Professor," Tonks said tightly. "Wotcher, Harry."

"Hi, Tonks," Harry said, and Tonks managed a bit of a smile for him.

"I'd better be off," she said, standing and reaching for her light summer cloak. She was exhausted and suddenly wanted nothing more than to be at home, alone. "Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Molly."

"Please don't leave on my account," Dumbledore protested, gracious as always. "I cannot stay, I have urgent matters to discuss with Rufus Scrimgeour."

Of course you do, with your finger in every pie, Tonks thought, then tried to tamp down that resentment, because not everything was actually Dumbledore's fault. "No, no, I need to get going," she said, fumbling with the clasps of her cloak. "Night –"

"Dear, why not come to dinner at the weekend?" Molly tried. "Remus and Mad-Eye are coming –?"

"No, really, Molly," Tonks interjected, in a hurry to head that particular idea off at the pass. Yes, she'd just been admitting to Molly how much she missed Remus. But an evening of both of them awkwardly trying to act normal in front of their friends? That sounded like no fun for anyone. She threw her cloak hastily around her shoulders. "Thanks anyway, good night, everyone…"

With another nod to Molly and a smile at Harry, Tonks hurried out the door and to the edge of the garden where the Burrow's magical protections ended, to Apparate home to her flat.

– – – – –

Remus closed the door of 12 Grimmauld Place behind himself and breathed in the stale air. This was the place where Sirius had spent the last, bitter year of his life, still not free even after Azkaban.

Remus swallowed savagely against the lump that rose in his throat. Being here again didn't have to be terrible unless he made it so.

"Lumos," he murmured, holding his wand aloft, and set his rucksack down inside the front door. He'd packed and left the Burrow that morning, shrinking his few possessions down to a size that could be carried on his back.

He'd been prepared to walk all day and night if necessary, waiting for Dumbledore to send word that the Black house either was or wasn't safe to enter. But the headmaster's Patronus had found him sooner than he'd expected, as Remus was walking along Regent's Canal in the dark, beneath the draping branches of a weeping willow. Regent's Canal, where Tonks had taken him on their first evening out together, at a time when good things had still seemed within reach.

Slowly, Remus made his way deeper into the house, along the gloomy, threadbare hallway, past the curtain that hid the foul-mouthed portrait of Sirius' mother. Past the dining room doorway that gaped dark and empty. He didn't light any of the lamps that lined the hall; it seemed unnecessary when it was only him here.

Remus climbed the creaking stairs, past the grim elf heads mounted on the wall. He took the floors one by one and peered into the rooms to ascertain that all was in order. Dust had settled over everything, and he would need to check every inch of the place to be sure the protective spells still held. But otherwise all was as they had left it that night, in their dash to the Ministry to find Harry.

Remus descended again, this time all the way to the basement kitchen. He could feel the chill that emanated from the old stone walls as he looked around the cavernous room, lit only by the light from his wand. Snape had appeared there in the fireplace, with the news that Harry and his friends had disappeared from school. Sirius had paced here, fists clenched, frantic with worry.

This time last year, this house had been full of voices and laughter, as Molly and her army of helpers had waged their war against the old house's ghouls and gremlins to make the place habitable for the Order. This time last year, Tonks had tripped into Remus' life, laughing and bright and forever curious, a burst of colour in the dark house. Remus remembered the very first night the two of them had sat here in the kitchen late into the evening after an Order meeting, swapping stories over butterbeer.

Remus remembered, too, the way Sirius had so often lurked in the kitchen doorway, observing whatever conversation was taking place inside the room instead of joining it, as if he imagined himself already halfway gone.

Remus let his wand arm fall to his side, covered his face with the other arm and forced himself to breathe slowly. He was here on behalf of the Order. He had to get through it for the sake of the Order.

Dropping his arm from his face with determination, Remus strode to the cupboard and fetched a broom. He set his wand, still casting its gentle light, on the table in the centre of the room, and began to sweep away the dust from the kitchen floor.

– – – – –

It was absurd, Tonks thought, that at a time when Remus was barely talking to her, she still reached every morning to put on the locket he had given her. The delicate golden locket that had belonged to Remus' mother.

Awake, Tonks remembered all too well the things Remus had said – that he was going wilfully into danger, that he wanted her to forget him. But in the first half-awake moments of her day, her hand reached out instinctively for the little locket that lay on the table beside her bed.

After a few increasingly aggravating days of this – wake, reach for the locket, get heartbroken and angry all over again at the sight of it – Tonks Apparated unannounced to Grimmauld Place. She stood and glared at the ugly knocker of the stupid front door of that hateful house. The house where Sirius had lived trapped. The house where Remus had now exiled himself away in solitude, until it was time to leave for the werewolf pack.

"Why am I wearing this?" Tonks demanded, when Remus opened the door to her knock. His face wiped politely blank when he saw that it was her, and that hurt. Tonks thrust her hand, cradling the golden locket that dangled from her neck, into the space between them in the open doorway. A ray of light from between the clouds glinted from its surface. "This is your mother's locket, Remus, so why am I wearing it?"

Remus had frozen at the sight of her, his hand still resting on the doorknob. Now he blinked and let Tonks inside, closing the door behind her.

With trembling hands, Tonks reached to the nape of her neck and fumbled the clasp open. She caught the locket, warm and smooth as always, in her palm, and held it out to him.

"This is yours, not mine," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, and not to let him hear how her voice broke over those words.

His extended arm dropping tightly to his side and his lips barely moving, Remus said, "It was a gift, Dora. You needn't give it back."

Remus was grieving, Remus was grieving, she'd told it to herself over and over as a reminder to forgive him when he said or did things that were hurtful. But Tonks was grieving, too, and the hurtful things…hurt.

"Why?" she demanded, stepping closer, her hand still outstretched. "If you're so insistent that I don't matter to you anymore, and you shouldn't matter to me, then why am I wearing your mother's locket?"

Remus' hands clenched tighter at his sides. "It's a gift," he repeated. "The circumstances may have changed, but the nature of the gift remains. I couldn't possibly take it back. It's yours."

"Remus, I don't –"

"It's yours," he repeated. "You may do with it as you like, but please don't ask me to be so ungenerous as to rescind a gift." Merlin, his face was cold. But his eyes – Remus could never hide the emotion in his eyes.

Tonks' hand dropped to her side. No matter what else Remus might be feeling, she could see he meant it about this.

"Fine," she growled. "But I don't like it, Remus, and I don't like the way you're shutting me out. And by the way, being all polite about it doesn't make it better, it makes it worse."

She gave him a final glare, then spun and yanked open the door. She flung herself through it and pounded down the steps to the square, Remus' mother's locket still a warm, small weight in her hand.

– – – – –

Remus watched as Molly settled an enormous slice of birthday cake onto Harry's plate, and Harry grinned and thanked her.

But even here, in the warmth of the Burrow on the happy occasion of Harry's birthday, the flood of bad news intruded, with news of more deaths and disappearances – Karkaroff, Fortescue, Ollivander.

Molly clearly wished they would change the subject, so Remus hurriedly asked Ron what he expected of the upcoming school year's Quidditch season. Harry had James' mad passion for the sport, as did Ron. And although he himself had never become more than an indifferent player, Remus was well versed in the art of discussing Quidditch with Quidditch-mad boys.

"Well, we haven't heard yet who's going to be the new captain, now that Angelina's finished school," Ron said, with a sidelong look at Harry that Harry didn't seem to notice.

"And I'm banned for life," Harry put in glumly, his fork pausing in mid-air.

"Except you're not, because that was only under Umbridge, and Umbridge is gone," Ginny shot at him from across the table, clearly a conversation they'd had before.

Then Hermione retorted, and Ron weighed in, and Ginny waved her fork around to punctuate a point, which made Harry laugh. Arthur cast a smile Remus' way. War talk successfully diverted, for one evening at least.

This was what Remus would be leaving behind when he departed for the werewolf pack, this warmth and bright comfort amongst a circle of friends. It was easy to forget, toiling away alone in the grim confines of Headquarters, that he had all this, good people he cared about close at hand. Too soon, that would no longer be true.

Harry laughing, surrounded by friends: that was an image Remus held close to him two short weeks later, when he closed the door of 12 Grimmauld Place behind himself for the last time. He'd left affairs at Headquarters in Moody's capable hands, and packed the few possessions he would need in his rucksack.

He Apparated first to the Burrow, to say his goodbyes to Molly and Arthur. Their eyes were bright with worry, Molly biting her lip against telling him not to go. And before he left, Remus borrowed the Weasleys' owl, because there was one more person from whom he needed to take his leave.

He didn't trust himself to say goodbye to Tonks in person and face her justified anger, didn't trust himself to stick to his plan if she asked him again not to go. So instead he wrote, choosing the words precisely and painfully, and sent off the note by owl.

Then Remus walked out into the cool night air and stepped beyond the house's protections. When he looked back, Arthur and Molly stood framed in the doorway, leaning against each other. Remus raised one hand in farewell, hefted his rucksack, then closed his eyes and Apparated north.


(continue to CHAPTER THREE: To the Wolves)