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starfishstarRAISE 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 13: Coming Together and Moving Apart
We had something good, it did not last
Let’s not be constantly reliving the past
–Markéta Irglová, Your Company
Remus woke early on Christmas morning and went to the window of his borrowed bedroom to peer out at the Devon countryside. A low fog hung over the hills in the predawn gloom and frost covered the grass, making the whole world appear cold and still, as if every tree and blade of grass had frozen into place. When Remus returned his attention to the inside of the room, he spotted a large, lumpy, paper-wrapped package on the floor at the foot of the bed.
He stared at it.
Surely – surely it had been understood that they would not exchange presents? He’d come straight here from living in the wild, there was no way he would have had an opportunity to get anyone gifts. And if he couldn’t give, he didn’t wish to receive.
Hesitantly, Remus bent down to retrieve the package. It was lightweight, at least. Surely nothing too expensive. Carefully, he peeled away the Spello-tape and folded back the plain brown paper. Inside, neatly folded, was a thick jumper, soft to the touch, in a rich shade of forest green. Pinned to it was a note in Molly’s handwriting:
You mustn’t consider this a gift, Remus, or feel the need to give anything in return; I was knitting for all the family anyway, and thought you could do with something warm. Be a dear and take it with you. I’ll rest easier knowing you’ve got an extra layer.
Merry Christmas from all of us!
Molly, Arthur, and all the family
Remus blinked down at it. Then, gently, he set the note aside and unfolded the jumper. As he did so, several smaller somethings fell out. Remus looked down to see three pairs of knitted socks, perfectly matched in colour to the jumper, scattered around his feet.
He sat down suddenly on the edge of the bed, jumper in hand, and laughed silently. Oh, Molly. The pack were going to delight in teasing him for his matching jumper and socks, and Remus didn’t mind in the least. What a kind and practical gift.
And in such a rich shade of green…
Remus’ smile faded. He could picture the story behind this all too well: Molly asking Tonks what colour Remus might like for his jumper; Tonks stoically trying not to let her emotions show as she told Molly she thought Remus might quite like green. He smoothed a hand over the soft wool, feeling guilt once again, at the thought of Tonks choosing this colour for him.
Then, determinedly, Remus scooped up the socks from the floor and stowed them in his rucksack, slipped the jumper over his head and found it as wonderfully warm as it looked. Thus attired, Remus descended the stairs and found Molly – where else? – already hard at work in the kitchen.
He poked his head around the doorway and said, “Molly – thank you so much for this.”
Molly turned and her face lit up. “It fits, then?”
“Perfectly. I can’t thank you enough.”
She waved her hand at him. “With so many to knit for, what’s one more? I’m just glad if it’s something you can wear.” She beamed. “And you look dashing, too.”
Remus blinked, not accustomed to being called “dashing.” Then he exclaimed, “Molly, really, won’t you let me help you with the cooking at all?”
Molly looked about to protest, then hesitated. “How are you at vegetables?”
Remus smiled. “What do you need?”
Molly’s glance flew around the ordered chaos of her kitchen. “Could I put you in charge of the side dishes? The sprouts with chestnuts, and perhaps the cauliflower in cream sauce?”
“It would be my pleasure,” Remus said, glad to be of use at last. He took up a place at the worktop beside Molly and they spent an agreeable morning preparing vegetables. He considered it a high mark of approval when Molly stopped hovering watchfully at his shoulder.
Lunch was again a large, jolly affair. Molly wore a hat and necklace the twins had given her, a touchingly grown-up gesture from the two children who had given her the most headaches in the course of their growing up. Everyone wore what the kids referred to as “Weasley jumpers” – all except Fleur, Remus saw with a wince. He hoped something would soon come along to shake Molly and Fleur out of their mutual antagonism.
Ron, who turned all elbows whenever his brother’s beautiful fiancée was around, upended the gravy boat. Bill had his wand out and the gravy back in place in the space of a moment, but Fleur, oblivious to a glare it earned her from Molly, commented, “You are as bad as zat Tonks. She is always knocking –”
“I invited dear Tonks to come along today,” Molly interrupted, punctuating her words by thumping another dish of carrots down on the table. “But she wouldn’t come. Have you spoken to her lately, Remus?”
That brought another stab of guilt, and one of longing. And a small twist of annoyance at Molly, too, because she knew very well Remus hadn’t had a chance to talk to anyone, let alone Tonks. But he kept his voice pleasant. “No. I haven’t been in contact with anybody very much. But Tonks has got her own family to go to, hasn’t she?”
“Hmmm,” Molly said, frowning at him. “Maybe. I got the impression she was planning to spend Christmas alone, actually.”
Remus winced. That couldn’t have gone down well with Andromeda. And why had Tonks turned down Molly’s invitation? Was it because she knew Remus would be here, and thought trying to remain politely distant with each other at close quarters would be too painful? That thought brought more guilt. And wistfulness, too, at the mental image of Tonks here with them, sitting by the fire, accepting a glass of eggnog from Arthur, doing the funny faces the kids loved, smiling at Remus…
No. Foolish even to imagine it.
At the mention of Tonks, Harry turned to Remus and announced, cheerful and oblivious, “Tonks’ Patronus has changed its form. Snape said so, anyway. I didn’t know that could happen. Why would your Patronus change?”
Remus swallowed a bite of turkey with difficulty. Why had no one told him this? Arthur had said Tonks was fine. A sudden Patronus change was not a sign of being fine.
“Sometimes… a great shock… an emotional upheaval…” he managed.
An upheaval – perhaps Sirius’ death. Yes, that could be it. They had both been affected by his loss, and deep grief could cause significant magical change. No reason to assume this was another terrible thing that he, Remus, had done to her.
“It looked big, and it had four legs,” Harry continued. “Hey… it couldn’t be –?”
Before Harry could reach any damning conclusion, he was interrupted by an exclamation from Molly, who had stood from the table and was gazing out the kitchen window with her hand pressed to her heart. “Arthur –” she cried. “It’s Percy!”
“What?” Arthur exclaimed, turning to look.
“Arthur, he’s – he’s with the Minister!” Molly added, baffled.
Remus had barely a moment to wonder if Rufus Scrimgeour knew who and what Remus was, if his presence would cause Molly and Arthur trouble, and whether there was time for him to leave the room before the Minister entered, before Percy was already opening the door.
A painful silence descended on the kitchen that had been so cheerful moments before. Then Percy said stiffly, “Merry Christmas, Mother.”
“Oh, Percy,” Molly cried, and flung herself at him.
Watching from the doorway with a manufactured expression of benevolence, Scrimgeour said, “You must forgive this intrusion. Percy and I were in the vicinity – working, you know – and he couldn’t resist dropping in and seeing you all.”
Percy, standing with stony forbearance in his mother’s arms, had clearly wanted no such thing.
But Molly, resolutely oblivious, invited the Minister to share their meal. The Minister demurred, but offered to stay long enough for Percy to catch up with the family – and then Scrimgeour singled out Harry with a request to show him around the garden in the meantime. There was no doubt which was the real reason for the unexpected visit, and which the mere pretence.
Remus had half-risen from his seat, but Harry, passing on his way to the door, murmured, “It’s fine,” in a tone that was mature far beyond his years.
“Wonderful!” Scrimgeour enthused. “We’ll just take a turn around the garden and then Percy and I’ll be off. Carry on, everyone!” With that, he shepherded Harry out the door.
The silence lasted several long moments. Then, all at once, everyone was shouting, Arthur and Molly and Percy and Bill and Fred and George and Ron and Ginny, in a tumult of angry, overlapping noise.
“How could you –”
“You big prat –”
“Well, I wasn’t the one who –”
“– dare waltz in here after not even a word –”
“– supposed to be family!”
“– would serve you right for –”
Molly was wringing her hands and exclaiming, “Oh, Percy, why did you wait so long to –”
And even Bill, usually the most level-headed of the bunch, was shouting, “– could you do that to Mum, do you even realise how –”
Remus sank back in his chair, overwhelmed. A Weasley family argument was a force to be reckoned with. He hazarded a glance at Fleur, and even she was stunned into silence.
The melee resolved itself first into several smaller, heated arguments all happening simultaneously, then eventually it was just Arthur shouting at Percy, which was more alarming still.
“Fine, see if I care,” Percy snapped. “I’m glad not to have to deal with this foolishness anymore.” He made to go, but before he could turn to the door, a blob of mashed parsnip caught him squarely on the left lens of his glasses.
There was a split second of utter stillness.
Then Percy shouted, “I’VE HAD IT WITH ALL OF YOU,” and stormed out of the house, bumping into Harry, who was on his way back in.
Harry stood in the doorway and stared around the kitchen in confusion.
“I did it,” Fred, George and Ginny all said simultaneously.
“You can punish me if you want, I don’t care,” Fred said.
“No, it was me! Look, it was from my fork!” George insisted.
“I did it!” Ginny shouted. “And he deserved it, too!”
Molly sank into her chair, tears rolling down her cheeks, and Arthur rested a shaking hand on her shoulder.
“I, er –” Harry said, looking from one to another of them. “Scrimgeour just, er – yeah.” Wide-eyed, he closed the door behind him and slid back into his seat.
Rallying, Molly asked in a watery voice, “Would anyone like more stuffing?”
– – – – –
Tonks expected a dressing down when she arrived at her parents’ house even later in the evening than she’d promised, when she was already coming only for the last bit of the holiday, the evening of Christmas Day. But her mother opened the door and simply folded Tonks into a hug.
Tonks remembered her father saying, months ago now, You’re not the only one who’s recently lost her favourite cousin. She bit back the defensive excuses she’d stored up, and hugged her mother back.
Christmas dinner was quiet, just the three of them, but it was very them, too. Tonks’ parents asked about her work, her dad made bad puns, and her mum responded with that arch of her eyebrow that meant, You are a ridiculous human being, but I love you anyway.
Sleeping in her childhood bedroom that night felt strange. Tonks was 23, which, yes, thank you, she was perfectly aware was not exactly old, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that her life had been moving forward at an exhilarating pace, full of ever more wonderful people and adventures, and now it had screeched to a stop.
What had changed? Was it the loss of Sirius and the way his death had driven home how precarious all of it was – her friends, her work, the Order? Or had her fatal mistake been falling for Remus, placing too much hope in her ability to get past his carefully constructed defences? Or was it simply the war, the endless war, and the way nothing they did seemed to make any difference?
All she really knew was that this time last year she’d been palling around the Grimmauld Place house with all her favourite people, and now here it was Christmas again, and she was alone in her childhood bedroom at her parents’ house.
Remus was at the Burrow, Molly had said, and that was a small mercy, that he wasn’t out somewhere in the cold at Christmas. Tonks tried to be grateful for that.
The next morning, she sat with the quilted bedspread pulled up around her shoulders and gazed out the frost-edged window at the tidy houses all lined up netly along the quiet lane. To her parents, Tonks always complained how boring the village was, but there was something comforting, too, about the familiarity of this particular view out of this particular window.
When Tonks threw on clothes and went downstairs, she found her dad flipping pancakes and her mum brewing coffee. Tonks stumbled coming into the kitchen and caught herself against the back of a chair. Twenty-three years, and she still consistently mis-estimated the width of that doorway. Clearly, some things never changed. She saw her mother’s eyes flick to her plain brown hair, then away again. Neither of her parents commented on her appearance.
“Perfect timing!” her dad declared cheerfully. “The pancakes are almost ready.” It was their own little family tradition, having pancakes for breakfast on Boxing Day and making them Muggle-style, no magic. In Tonks’ admittedly biased opinion, her dad made the best pancakes anywhere.
The rest of Boxing Day morning they devoted to magical puzzles. Puzzle-solving was one of the few pastimes all three of the Tonkses could agree on – given that, when you came down to it, they were three very different people. Tonks’ mother waved a small table and three chairs into the centre of the living room with a graceful flick of her wand, and Tonks’ dad set out an intricate puzzle of a design Tonks hadn’t seen before. “This is the current favourite around these parts,” he told her, grinning.
It was a three-dimensional puzzle with tiny interlocking pieces made of different types of wood, which had to match up precisely in order to form a complete wooden ball. It required knowledge of wand lore, to know which woods would tolerate resting side by side, and precise spell-casting, for the delicate wandwork of manoeuvring the pieces into place.
Tonks’ father, especially, had always liked this sort of puzzle. Tonks harboured a theory that he’d seen something like it in his earliest days as a wide-eyed Muggle kid new to the wizarding world, maybe even on his first day on the Hogwarts Express, and forever afterwards magical puzzles had represented to him all that he loved about this strange world he’d adopted as his own. She could so easily picture her dad as a sweet, eager first-year, determined to learn everything there was to know about the magical world.
The three of them made a good team for tackling this particular puzzle, it turned out. Tonks’ dad was good with the fiddly wandwork of slotting the pieces together, her mum had an astonishing memory for the details of wood and wand lore, and Tonks herself had good spatial sense when it came to arranging objects, for all that she tended to be a walking disaster when it was herself she was trying to arrange in space. They fell into an easy rhythm, her mum holding up each piece to examine it, and Tonks and her dad taking turns fitting them into the wooden shape that hovered above the table, slowly growing from a chaotic mass to a recognisable sphere.
Tonks had worried her parents would use the morning’s activity as an opportunity to grill her about her life, but to her relief they kept the conversation to questions like, “Now, was it oak and ash that don’t tolerate each other during winter months, or is that oak and yew?” Her dad told jokes and her mum told when-Nymphadora-was-small-and-incorrigible stories, and for once nobody talked about the war. To Tonks, it was a needed respite.
When they finished the puzzle, Tonks slotting in the last tricky, jagged sliver of walnut wood that completed the ball, her dad crowed with delight and her mum smiled, and Tonks felt a sudden, powerful nostalgia for this feeling of being home, something she hadn’t known she was missing until she saw it. It wasn’t something she admitted often, but it was nice to be back in her parents’ house.
But she was glad, too, to leave the quiet village in the afternoon, Apparate to London and knock at the door to Ariadne’s flat, already anticipating the good cheer she would find inside. Two things Tonks knew she could always expect at Ariadne’s: teetering piles of books in every corner, and lots of bright colours and warmth.
Ariadne flung open the door and exclaimed, “Happy Christmas!” She pulled Tonks inside the flat enthusiastically. “Come in, come in, and please tell me that’s not a cake in that box. I told you not to bring anything.”
Tonks grinned. “You be the one who tries stopping my mum next time, then. It’s that dark-chocolate-and-espresso thing you’ve always been so mad about.”
“Ooh, anything from your mum is bound to be delicious. Please thank her from me.” Ariadne relieved Tonks of the box, then took her cloak and hung it on a hook by the door.
“Hello,” said another voice, and Tonks turned to see, standing in the kitchen doorway, what could only be Ariadne’s bloke, a young man with reddish hair and a kind-looking face.
“Wotcher!” Tonks went over to shake his hand.
“Tonks, this is Damien,” Ariadne said, sounding almost shy. “Damien, this is my oldest friend, Nymphadora Tonks, but –”
“Don’t call me Nymphadora,” Tonks and Ariadne finished in unison, bursting into laughter. Damien smiled politely along with them.
“Sorry, old joke,” Ariadne said. “Although, not actually a joke. Seriously, don’t call her Nymphadora, she’ll hex you.”
“I’m really, really glad to meet you,” Tonks said.
“Same,” Damien said. “We’re glad you could come.”
Ariadne smiled up at him, and he squeezed her to his side and smiled back. Looking at them, Tonks felt a strange constriction in her chest. That’s what it’s supposed to look like, she thought. None of this tortured star-crossed lovers mess. Merlin, I’ve been such an idiot.
“Come on into the kitchen!” Damien said. “We’re just finishing up the cooking.”
Ariadne got out a bottle of red wine and poured a glass for each of them, while Damien checked on something in the Muggle-style oven, waving his wand at it in a complicated pattern of the sort Tonks had given up on ever mastering. Cookery magic, so much harder than nice, normal battle spellwork.
As the two of them leaned together and conferred about whatever was in the oven, Tonks poked her head back through the open doorway to the small living room. There was something different about the flat, visible in a dozen tiny telltale signs… This wasn’t just Ariadne’s flat anymore. Damien quite evidently lived here too. Tonks stared, amazed. How did something this important happen so fast?
She ducked back into the kitchen and said, “All right, you two, lay it on me. Let’s have the old ‘how we met’ story.”
Damien looked up from his cookery and smiled. “I work for a magical research institute – the Wenlock Institute, don’t know if you’ve heard of it. We do Arithmancy and runes, mostly.”
Tonks blinked. Yes, she had heard of it, and that was some seriously high-level research.
“Anyway, my boss needed something from the Archives, and she sent me over to find it. It turned out the book we needed was being restored, and when I went down to Preservation and Restoration, what did I find but the most beautiful, clever, charming witch I’d ever laid eyes on…”
“Oh, you,” Ariadne said, pink-cheeked and pleased.
“And that was before she opened her mouth and started saying all these bogglingly intelligent things about books and preservation spells,” Damien grinned.
“Well, and this one bowled me over with the super-brain research he’s doing,” Ariadne said. “Seriously, Tonks, it makes even the stuff I did in seventh-year Arithmancy look like basic arithmetic.” She smiled and leaned up to kiss Damien’s cheek. “Plus, he cooks.”
And despite the wistfulness lurking in her own heart, Tonks smiled too, glad to see her friend so happy.
Over dinner, Tonks and Ariadne talked a mile a minute, catching up on everything from the last weeks, and Damien smiled and let them have at it. Later, all three of them went out for a brisk walk in the London chill, then came back for a drink at the flat. Then it was already time for Tonks to return to Hogsmeade.
“No chance I can convince you to stay the night?” Ariadne asked wistfully.
Tonks shook her head. “Sorry. I’m on call tonight and I need to be there in case anything happens. Honestly, I’m lucky to have got away even this long.”
“Come any time,” Ariadne said. “You know I mean that.”
“I know,” Tonks said, ducking her head in appreciation. Then, while Damien was occupied with fetching her cloak for her, she leaned in and whispered to Ariadne, “And you tell me the moment you set a date for the wedding, you hear?”
Ariadne blushed, then smiled and said, “Yeah. Will do.”
They both waved to her from the door of the flat, as Tonks walked away down the corridor, filled with a weird, swirling mixture of deep happiness for Ariadne and an undeniable melancholy on her own behalf, wondering why, why, she had had to go and fall for the world’s most difficult yet frustratingly lovable man.
– – – – –
Arthur was at work, but Molly saw Remus off when he left on the morning after Boxing Day. Emotions had been running high in the Weasley household since Percy’s disastrous visit, and tears threatened to spill from Molly’s eyes as she hugged Remus hard and pressed a packet of sandwiches into his hand, where he stood in the back doorway of the Burrow. Wiping impatiently at her cheeks, she admonished, “Take care of yourself, Remus.”
It had done Remus such good to spend these days with the Weasleys, and to see Harry healthy and safe – if still prone to reckless gestures of loyalty, such as declaring his defiance directly to the face of the Minister for Magic. There really was something of Sirius in Harry, Remus thought with a twisting of grief in his gut. Harry, too, was loyal almost to the point of absurdity and unendingly brave.
“And when you come back,” Molly said sternly, “you sort things out with Tonks, do you hear me? Life is too short to spend it apart from the people we care about.”
“I –” Remus began, flabbergasted.
“I know you have objections, but frankly, Remus, I think you’re taking a ridiculous line on this. She cares about you and I know you care about her. That’s what matters.”
“Molly, really, I –”
“Now, go on,” Molly said, shooing him out the door. “Give our best to Dumbledore.”
“I –” Remus gave up trying to explain himself and instead said, “Thank you for everything, Molly. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your hospitality.”
“Oh, go on now,” she said, going pink in the cheeks. “It’s our pleasure. We’re delighted to have you.” Then she gave Remus a sharp look. “Did you remember to pack your socks?”
Remus – who was wearing Molly’s jumper under his cloak as well as one pair of the socks, with the other two pairs stowed in his rucksack – managed to quell the impulse to gently tease, Yes, Mum.
“All present and accounted for,” he said. “Thank you for those, too. I’ll be very grateful for them on cold nights.”
“Good, good,” Molly said, the tears again threatening to spill. “And you’re welcome here any time, Remus, I mean it.”
He nodded his thanks, then walked to the edge of the property. With a last glance back at Molly and the Burrow, Remus turned on the spot and Apparated to Hogwarts for his meeting with Dumbledore.
Entering through the boar-topped columns that flanked the gates to the school grounds, Remus felt a familiar tug of affection. Hogwarts was where he had spent the formative years of his life, the scene of so many of his happiest memories.
Perhaps it was only his own nostalgia speaking, but it seemed to Remus that Dumbledore, too, wore an expression best described as fond, as Remus stepped into the headmaster’s office. Like a proud grandparent pleased to see one of his own drop by.
As Remus sat in the chair across from him, Dumbledore waved a hand – his healthy hand, not the one that had been spell-damaged – and at once a steaming pot of tea sat on the desk between them. Remus blinked. Even after years of watching casual, impeccable magic from Dumbledore, it was still impressive.
“So, Remus,” Dumbledore said, once he’d poured them both a lightly lemon-flavoured black tea blend. “How does your work proceed?”
“Surprisingly well,” Remus told him. “I’m not fully accepted by the pack, but neither have I been rejected, despite the fact that they know I’ve lived among humans, in the ‘city’.”
“The city.” Dumbledore repeated, chuckling appreciatively. “A term referring to wizarding settlements of any size, I suppose?”
Remus nodded. “Even a place the size of Hogsmeade. Or Hogwarts, for that matter.” Although in some ways, Hogwarts was indeed a city of its own.
Dumbledore listened as Remus outlined the pack’s structure and hierarchies, how its members all pitched in for their shared survival, the views they held about the wizarding world.
“And in this war?” the headmaster asked gravely. “Where do they stand?”
“Most simply want to stay out of it. On the whole, they find my views foolish. But I’m concerned about some of the younger members of the pack, who are drawn to the power that werewolves like Greyback claim Voldemort will offer them. I don’t see a few hot-headed young werewolves posing much danger to the course of the war, but I do see them getting hurt in the process. I don’t know how much good I can do by being there, but I can try my best.” He set his teacup down and looked across the desk. “Given what I’ve told you, do you wish me to stay with the pack a while longer?”
“Do you wish to stay?” Dumbledore countered.
Remus considered the question with the weight it deserved. He wanted to answer honestly, not just with a reflexive declaration that he would do whatever was necessary for the Order.
“Yes,” he said. “I’d like to stay. It feels like the right thing to do.”
Dumbledore gave a slow, pleased smile that made Remus feel as if he’d unwittingly passed a very tricky Transfiguration exam.
“I’m pleased to hear it,” the headmaster said, “and I think you are correct. A little more contact between the ‘city’ and the country would surely be of benefit to both.”
Remus nodded. “Then it would be my honour. I’ll get in touch with you if I find any among the pack who would be willing to talk with the Order. Although I admit that’s hard to imagine at the moment.”
There was one more thing he needed to ask; Dumbledore seemed to sense this and waited for Remus to speak.
Finally Remus said, “This too seems impossible to imagine, but if there were ever a case in which the pack decided they would be willing to send a child to be educated at a school of magic… Would you consider accepting that child at Hogwarts?”
Dumbledore smiled gently. “Of course.”
Remus remembered the sorrow of being eleven years old and knowing he could never attend Hogwarts as normal wizarding children did. Then the rapturous joy when this professor had appeared at his family’s door and said Remus could come to school after all.
“Thank you,” he said to Dumbledore, and he meant it in so many ways.
Remus left the castle after their meeting and was nearing the bottom of the long drive when he saw someone approaching the gates from outside.
He looked again – it was Tonks.
He saw the precise moment when she, too, realised it was him. A tiny hitch caught Tonks’ step, but she kept walking. She reached the gates, pressed her palm to the metal and murmured an unlocking spell. The gates swung open, and Remus and Tonks were face to face.
“Wotcher, Remus,” Tonks said. Her voice sounded light, but her eyes were locked on him.
Remus’ throat felt tight as he answered, “Hello, Dora.”
How had he failed to predict this might happen? He knew Tonks was stationed here in Hogsmeade. He knew she sometimes visited the school.
Tonks wrapped her arms around herself, and her eyes were big in her tired face. She looked so weary. Tonks was not a person who was meant to look this weary, with her hair hanging limp and brown and shadows under her eyes. This worn-down way she looked, was this, too, a thing Remus could have prevented, if he hadn’t made the wrong choices every step along the way?
“It’s good to see you,” Remus said. Because, despite everything, it was.
Tonks nodded minutely. “You too. Are you…are you all right?”
How could he begin to answer that? Months of cold, of struggle, of barely daring to hope the pack might eventually accept him, months of missing Tonks’ bright presence, no matter how often he told himself he had no right to do so. But to Tonks, whom he should not burden with all these woes, Remus only said, “I’m all right. And you?”
Tonks shrugged, her shoulders loose and listless beneath her winter cloak. “Yeah, all right.”
Remus found it hard to believe Tonks was really right here in front of him, so close he could see her warm breath in the cold air. Hard to believe she was here, and all they were doing was exchanging small talk. “Next thing you know, we’ll be talking about the weather,” he blurted.
Tonks’ eyebrows arched in surprise, and for a moment it was back, that affectionate ease that had always been there between them regardless of everything else, as Tonks’ lips quirked in an almost-smile. Then Remus saw the sadness overtake her again.
“Are you leaving?” Tonks asked in a rush. “I’m sure you’re going back to the pack, but when? Right now?” She hugged her arms more tightly around herself, as if already anticipating his answer.
Remus nodded. What could he say?
He saw so many questions forming, and how Tonks pushed them back. She didn’t ask where, or why, or how long. “I’m on duty,” she said instead, an ache audible in her voice. “I’m here for a quick check-in at the castle, then I’ve got to get back to the village. I can’t stay.”
Remus nodded again, helpless between all he wished to say and all he couldn’t say.
“Well, anyway –” Tonks said, still hugging herself. Still watching his face.
“Yes,” Remus said. He didn’t even know what he was answering.
Tonks hesitated, then unfurled herself and reached out to squeeze his arm.
“Okay,” she said. “Take care of yourself. Please.”
“You too,” Remus said. “Please.”
Tonks released his arm and stepped past him, through the gate, into the school grounds. Remus stepped through the gate to the opposite side, away from the school. He turned back to look at Tonks, as if he could take some part of her with him if he studied her closely enough.
She gazed back at him, biting her lip. “Bye, Remus,” she said. Then Tonks swung the gates into place between them. She checked that the protective spells were in place, gave an awkward wave and turned away towards the castle. Remus watched her walk up the drive, tightly curled into herself, arms tucked inside her sleeves against the cold.
“Goodbye, Dora,” he whispered, although she was too far away to hear him. “Please, please, keep yourself safe.”
– – – – –
“Bloke over there’s eyeing you, Tonks,” Savage chuckled.
“What?” Tonks spun around to look where Savage was indicating with a thrust of his chin, but she still couldn’t see what he was on about.
It was New Year’s Eve and the four Hogsmeade Aurors were clustered in a back corner of the Three Broomsticks. Proudfoot had been on duty earlier and Dawlish didn’t have a shift until the next evening, but some sense of professional solidarity had drawn them together to raise a glass as midnight approached. Even Savage, who was on duty for the evening, had dropped by, since much of the Hogsmeade population he was meant to be watching out for was there at the pub anyway.
The pub was warm and loud, packed with bodies and conversation. After so many months of people moving fearfully and unobtrusively through public spaces, some unspoken consensus seemed to have decreed this to be the one night when the villagers could all come out and have a few drinks with their friends, carry out cheerfully loud conversations, shout at one another about unimportant matters over the general hubbub of the room. Madam Rosmerta’s bright curls could be seen bobbing to and fro in the crowd, as she darted expertly here and there with laden drinks trays.
The air reeked of beer and whisky, laced with the warmer notes of spilled butterbeer. The Wizarding Wireless was playing somewhere in the background, barely audible under the roar of conversation.
Here in the Aurors’ corner, Dawlish and Proudfoot were engaged in a heated debate over… honestly, Tonks wasn’t sure what. She’d lost the thread around the time they’d started citing long since overturned bits of legislation from the 16th century, triumphantly one-upping each other in their arcane knowledge. Aurors were such nerds when it came to wizarding law.
“Bloke with his elbow on the bar,” Savage insisted. “The one who looks away whenever you look over.”
“Then how am I supposed to know he’s looking at me?” Tonks demanded, more snappishly than she’d intended. The Aurors were good blokes, truly, but in a pub with her colleagues was not exactly how Tonks would have chosen to spend her New Year’s Eve.
For a heady, brief time last year, her life had felt so full of promise: meaningful work for the Order, a strong circle of friends with Sirius chief among them, and then, too, the strange and thrilling adventure that was getting to know Remus, growing more and more captivated by him as the layers of his polite defences peeled away.
And now here she was, spending New Year’s Eve with Savage, Dawlish and Proudfoot.
Savage’s unsubtle gesturing must have drawn the attention of the “bloke” in question, because now Tonks saw him look right at her – and realised it was the shop assistant from Scrivenshaft’s, the one Ariadne had insisted fancied Tonks. When he saw her looking in his direction, he gave a shy nod.
Savage was still sniggering. “Gonna go chat him up? Or would that make your other fellow jealous?”
Tonks felt her insides go cold. No, no, no one was supposed to know anything about Remus. For his safety, for everyone’s safety. “What other fellow?” she asked, pitching her voice very carefully with nonchalant unconcern.
“Dumbledore!” Savage crowed. “The old codger’s sweet on you, remember?”
“Dumbledore!” Proudfoot echoed, suddenly re-joining their conversation and at the same time accidentally letting slip the beer glass he’d been trying to levitate up and balance on his nose. Dawlish caught the glass for him – barely – before it hit the floor.
Tonks’ normally serious colleagues had loosened up to an alarming degree under the influence of Firewhisky.
“Old bat,” Proudfoot continued, nodding sagely. “Thinks ‘e knows better, eh? Better’n Aurors. Nobody knows better’n Aurors.”
Tonks sighed. Yes, they’d arrived at that portion of the evening devoted to the erudite professional discourse of the inebriated.
Warming to their topic, Dawlish and Proudfoot launched into an enthusiastic session of Dumbledore-bashing, but Tonks zoned them out, using the time instead to compose a list in her head of tasks she needed to do. With the time she’d spent away at Christmas, she’d somewhat neglected her self-assigned duty of dropping by all the shops and neighbours in Hogsmeade and keeping up with the running notes on her census list. It was time she got back to that work.
Yes, that would be a good project for the new year, something to keep her occupied. Anything to keep her from dwelling on how her stomach had swooped when she’d seen a man standing inside the Hogwarts gates, then looked closer and seen that the man was Remus. He’d looked so gaunt standing there, all skin and bones and hard living. And like always, the sight of his maddening, dear face had turned Tonks instantly inside out. Clearly, her feelings for Remus hadn’t changed one iota.
Damn it.
The hands of the grandfather clock ticking away in one corner of the pub, inaudible under all the hubbub, had nearly reached midnight. With just a few minutes to go, Dawlish pushed away through the heaving crowd to fetch another round, returning with Gillywater for on-duty Savage and Firewhisky for the rest of them.
“To the new year!” Savage shouted, raising his glass, and the others echoed him.
As she raised her glass with her colleagues and counted down the last seconds to the coming new year, Tonks quietly vowed to herself, No matter what, this year is going to be better than the last.
End notes:
Thank you to everybody who weighed in on the "what scenes/characters should I add to Chapter 14" question, in comments here and on AO3 and FFN! This chapter was a week later than usual because I needed to buy myself some extra time to work on new material for Chapter 14; same for next chapter, I'm going to need two weeks before I can post.
Meanwhile, though, while you're waiting: There's a "missing scene" I wrote as a separate fic that takes place later in the day on Christmas at the Burrow, a conversation between Remus and Harry, where they talk, obliquely, about love and crushes... It would fall in the middle of this chapter, later in the day after the run-in with Percy and Scrimgeour. Read it here: A Conversation That's Not About Veela.
(continue to CHAPTER 14: Questions and Offers)
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 13: Coming Together and Moving Apart
We had something good, it did not last
Let’s not be constantly reliving the past
–Markéta Irglová, Your Company
Remus woke early on Christmas morning and went to the window of his borrowed bedroom to peer out at the Devon countryside. A low fog hung over the hills in the predawn gloom and frost covered the grass, making the whole world appear cold and still, as if every tree and blade of grass had frozen into place. When Remus returned his attention to the inside of the room, he spotted a large, lumpy, paper-wrapped package on the floor at the foot of the bed.
He stared at it.
Surely – surely it had been understood that they would not exchange presents? He’d come straight here from living in the wild, there was no way he would have had an opportunity to get anyone gifts. And if he couldn’t give, he didn’t wish to receive.
Hesitantly, Remus bent down to retrieve the package. It was lightweight, at least. Surely nothing too expensive. Carefully, he peeled away the Spello-tape and folded back the plain brown paper. Inside, neatly folded, was a thick jumper, soft to the touch, in a rich shade of forest green. Pinned to it was a note in Molly’s handwriting:
You mustn’t consider this a gift, Remus, or feel the need to give anything in return; I was knitting for all the family anyway, and thought you could do with something warm. Be a dear and take it with you. I’ll rest easier knowing you’ve got an extra layer.
Merry Christmas from all of us!
Molly, Arthur, and all the family
Remus blinked down at it. Then, gently, he set the note aside and unfolded the jumper. As he did so, several smaller somethings fell out. Remus looked down to see three pairs of knitted socks, perfectly matched in colour to the jumper, scattered around his feet.
He sat down suddenly on the edge of the bed, jumper in hand, and laughed silently. Oh, Molly. The pack were going to delight in teasing him for his matching jumper and socks, and Remus didn’t mind in the least. What a kind and practical gift.
And in such a rich shade of green…
Remus’ smile faded. He could picture the story behind this all too well: Molly asking Tonks what colour Remus might like for his jumper; Tonks stoically trying not to let her emotions show as she told Molly she thought Remus might quite like green. He smoothed a hand over the soft wool, feeling guilt once again, at the thought of Tonks choosing this colour for him.
Then, determinedly, Remus scooped up the socks from the floor and stowed them in his rucksack, slipped the jumper over his head and found it as wonderfully warm as it looked. Thus attired, Remus descended the stairs and found Molly – where else? – already hard at work in the kitchen.
He poked his head around the doorway and said, “Molly – thank you so much for this.”
Molly turned and her face lit up. “It fits, then?”
“Perfectly. I can’t thank you enough.”
She waved her hand at him. “With so many to knit for, what’s one more? I’m just glad if it’s something you can wear.” She beamed. “And you look dashing, too.”
Remus blinked, not accustomed to being called “dashing.” Then he exclaimed, “Molly, really, won’t you let me help you with the cooking at all?”
Molly looked about to protest, then hesitated. “How are you at vegetables?”
Remus smiled. “What do you need?”
Molly’s glance flew around the ordered chaos of her kitchen. “Could I put you in charge of the side dishes? The sprouts with chestnuts, and perhaps the cauliflower in cream sauce?”
“It would be my pleasure,” Remus said, glad to be of use at last. He took up a place at the worktop beside Molly and they spent an agreeable morning preparing vegetables. He considered it a high mark of approval when Molly stopped hovering watchfully at his shoulder.
Lunch was again a large, jolly affair. Molly wore a hat and necklace the twins had given her, a touchingly grown-up gesture from the two children who had given her the most headaches in the course of their growing up. Everyone wore what the kids referred to as “Weasley jumpers” – all except Fleur, Remus saw with a wince. He hoped something would soon come along to shake Molly and Fleur out of their mutual antagonism.
Ron, who turned all elbows whenever his brother’s beautiful fiancée was around, upended the gravy boat. Bill had his wand out and the gravy back in place in the space of a moment, but Fleur, oblivious to a glare it earned her from Molly, commented, “You are as bad as zat Tonks. She is always knocking –”
“I invited dear Tonks to come along today,” Molly interrupted, punctuating her words by thumping another dish of carrots down on the table. “But she wouldn’t come. Have you spoken to her lately, Remus?”
That brought another stab of guilt, and one of longing. And a small twist of annoyance at Molly, too, because she knew very well Remus hadn’t had a chance to talk to anyone, let alone Tonks. But he kept his voice pleasant. “No. I haven’t been in contact with anybody very much. But Tonks has got her own family to go to, hasn’t she?”
“Hmmm,” Molly said, frowning at him. “Maybe. I got the impression she was planning to spend Christmas alone, actually.”
Remus winced. That couldn’t have gone down well with Andromeda. And why had Tonks turned down Molly’s invitation? Was it because she knew Remus would be here, and thought trying to remain politely distant with each other at close quarters would be too painful? That thought brought more guilt. And wistfulness, too, at the mental image of Tonks here with them, sitting by the fire, accepting a glass of eggnog from Arthur, doing the funny faces the kids loved, smiling at Remus…
No. Foolish even to imagine it.
At the mention of Tonks, Harry turned to Remus and announced, cheerful and oblivious, “Tonks’ Patronus has changed its form. Snape said so, anyway. I didn’t know that could happen. Why would your Patronus change?”
Remus swallowed a bite of turkey with difficulty. Why had no one told him this? Arthur had said Tonks was fine. A sudden Patronus change was not a sign of being fine.
“Sometimes… a great shock… an emotional upheaval…” he managed.
An upheaval – perhaps Sirius’ death. Yes, that could be it. They had both been affected by his loss, and deep grief could cause significant magical change. No reason to assume this was another terrible thing that he, Remus, had done to her.
“It looked big, and it had four legs,” Harry continued. “Hey… it couldn’t be –?”
Before Harry could reach any damning conclusion, he was interrupted by an exclamation from Molly, who had stood from the table and was gazing out the kitchen window with her hand pressed to her heart. “Arthur –” she cried. “It’s Percy!”
“What?” Arthur exclaimed, turning to look.
“Arthur, he’s – he’s with the Minister!” Molly added, baffled.
Remus had barely a moment to wonder if Rufus Scrimgeour knew who and what Remus was, if his presence would cause Molly and Arthur trouble, and whether there was time for him to leave the room before the Minister entered, before Percy was already opening the door.
A painful silence descended on the kitchen that had been so cheerful moments before. Then Percy said stiffly, “Merry Christmas, Mother.”
“Oh, Percy,” Molly cried, and flung herself at him.
Watching from the doorway with a manufactured expression of benevolence, Scrimgeour said, “You must forgive this intrusion. Percy and I were in the vicinity – working, you know – and he couldn’t resist dropping in and seeing you all.”
Percy, standing with stony forbearance in his mother’s arms, had clearly wanted no such thing.
But Molly, resolutely oblivious, invited the Minister to share their meal. The Minister demurred, but offered to stay long enough for Percy to catch up with the family – and then Scrimgeour singled out Harry with a request to show him around the garden in the meantime. There was no doubt which was the real reason for the unexpected visit, and which the mere pretence.
Remus had half-risen from his seat, but Harry, passing on his way to the door, murmured, “It’s fine,” in a tone that was mature far beyond his years.
“Wonderful!” Scrimgeour enthused. “We’ll just take a turn around the garden and then Percy and I’ll be off. Carry on, everyone!” With that, he shepherded Harry out the door.
The silence lasted several long moments. Then, all at once, everyone was shouting, Arthur and Molly and Percy and Bill and Fred and George and Ron and Ginny, in a tumult of angry, overlapping noise.
“How could you –”
“You big prat –”
“Well, I wasn’t the one who –”
“– dare waltz in here after not even a word –”
“– supposed to be family!”
“– would serve you right for –”
Molly was wringing her hands and exclaiming, “Oh, Percy, why did you wait so long to –”
And even Bill, usually the most level-headed of the bunch, was shouting, “– could you do that to Mum, do you even realise how –”
Remus sank back in his chair, overwhelmed. A Weasley family argument was a force to be reckoned with. He hazarded a glance at Fleur, and even she was stunned into silence.
The melee resolved itself first into several smaller, heated arguments all happening simultaneously, then eventually it was just Arthur shouting at Percy, which was more alarming still.
“Fine, see if I care,” Percy snapped. “I’m glad not to have to deal with this foolishness anymore.” He made to go, but before he could turn to the door, a blob of mashed parsnip caught him squarely on the left lens of his glasses.
There was a split second of utter stillness.
Then Percy shouted, “I’VE HAD IT WITH ALL OF YOU,” and stormed out of the house, bumping into Harry, who was on his way back in.
Harry stood in the doorway and stared around the kitchen in confusion.
“I did it,” Fred, George and Ginny all said simultaneously.
“You can punish me if you want, I don’t care,” Fred said.
“No, it was me! Look, it was from my fork!” George insisted.
“I did it!” Ginny shouted. “And he deserved it, too!”
Molly sank into her chair, tears rolling down her cheeks, and Arthur rested a shaking hand on her shoulder.
“I, er –” Harry said, looking from one to another of them. “Scrimgeour just, er – yeah.” Wide-eyed, he closed the door behind him and slid back into his seat.
Rallying, Molly asked in a watery voice, “Would anyone like more stuffing?”
– – – – –
Tonks expected a dressing down when she arrived at her parents’ house even later in the evening than she’d promised, when she was already coming only for the last bit of the holiday, the evening of Christmas Day. But her mother opened the door and simply folded Tonks into a hug.
Tonks remembered her father saying, months ago now, You’re not the only one who’s recently lost her favourite cousin. She bit back the defensive excuses she’d stored up, and hugged her mother back.
Christmas dinner was quiet, just the three of them, but it was very them, too. Tonks’ parents asked about her work, her dad made bad puns, and her mum responded with that arch of her eyebrow that meant, You are a ridiculous human being, but I love you anyway.
Sleeping in her childhood bedroom that night felt strange. Tonks was 23, which, yes, thank you, she was perfectly aware was not exactly old, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that her life had been moving forward at an exhilarating pace, full of ever more wonderful people and adventures, and now it had screeched to a stop.
What had changed? Was it the loss of Sirius and the way his death had driven home how precarious all of it was – her friends, her work, the Order? Or had her fatal mistake been falling for Remus, placing too much hope in her ability to get past his carefully constructed defences? Or was it simply the war, the endless war, and the way nothing they did seemed to make any difference?
All she really knew was that this time last year she’d been palling around the Grimmauld Place house with all her favourite people, and now here it was Christmas again, and she was alone in her childhood bedroom at her parents’ house.
Remus was at the Burrow, Molly had said, and that was a small mercy, that he wasn’t out somewhere in the cold at Christmas. Tonks tried to be grateful for that.
The next morning, she sat with the quilted bedspread pulled up around her shoulders and gazed out the frost-edged window at the tidy houses all lined up netly along the quiet lane. To her parents, Tonks always complained how boring the village was, but there was something comforting, too, about the familiarity of this particular view out of this particular window.
When Tonks threw on clothes and went downstairs, she found her dad flipping pancakes and her mum brewing coffee. Tonks stumbled coming into the kitchen and caught herself against the back of a chair. Twenty-three years, and she still consistently mis-estimated the width of that doorway. Clearly, some things never changed. She saw her mother’s eyes flick to her plain brown hair, then away again. Neither of her parents commented on her appearance.
“Perfect timing!” her dad declared cheerfully. “The pancakes are almost ready.” It was their own little family tradition, having pancakes for breakfast on Boxing Day and making them Muggle-style, no magic. In Tonks’ admittedly biased opinion, her dad made the best pancakes anywhere.
The rest of Boxing Day morning they devoted to magical puzzles. Puzzle-solving was one of the few pastimes all three of the Tonkses could agree on – given that, when you came down to it, they were three very different people. Tonks’ mother waved a small table and three chairs into the centre of the living room with a graceful flick of her wand, and Tonks’ dad set out an intricate puzzle of a design Tonks hadn’t seen before. “This is the current favourite around these parts,” he told her, grinning.
It was a three-dimensional puzzle with tiny interlocking pieces made of different types of wood, which had to match up precisely in order to form a complete wooden ball. It required knowledge of wand lore, to know which woods would tolerate resting side by side, and precise spell-casting, for the delicate wandwork of manoeuvring the pieces into place.
Tonks’ father, especially, had always liked this sort of puzzle. Tonks harboured a theory that he’d seen something like it in his earliest days as a wide-eyed Muggle kid new to the wizarding world, maybe even on his first day on the Hogwarts Express, and forever afterwards magical puzzles had represented to him all that he loved about this strange world he’d adopted as his own. She could so easily picture her dad as a sweet, eager first-year, determined to learn everything there was to know about the magical world.
The three of them made a good team for tackling this particular puzzle, it turned out. Tonks’ dad was good with the fiddly wandwork of slotting the pieces together, her mum had an astonishing memory for the details of wood and wand lore, and Tonks herself had good spatial sense when it came to arranging objects, for all that she tended to be a walking disaster when it was herself she was trying to arrange in space. They fell into an easy rhythm, her mum holding up each piece to examine it, and Tonks and her dad taking turns fitting them into the wooden shape that hovered above the table, slowly growing from a chaotic mass to a recognisable sphere.
Tonks had worried her parents would use the morning’s activity as an opportunity to grill her about her life, but to her relief they kept the conversation to questions like, “Now, was it oak and ash that don’t tolerate each other during winter months, or is that oak and yew?” Her dad told jokes and her mum told when-Nymphadora-was-small-and-incorrigible stories, and for once nobody talked about the war. To Tonks, it was a needed respite.
When they finished the puzzle, Tonks slotting in the last tricky, jagged sliver of walnut wood that completed the ball, her dad crowed with delight and her mum smiled, and Tonks felt a sudden, powerful nostalgia for this feeling of being home, something she hadn’t known she was missing until she saw it. It wasn’t something she admitted often, but it was nice to be back in her parents’ house.
But she was glad, too, to leave the quiet village in the afternoon, Apparate to London and knock at the door to Ariadne’s flat, already anticipating the good cheer she would find inside. Two things Tonks knew she could always expect at Ariadne’s: teetering piles of books in every corner, and lots of bright colours and warmth.
Ariadne flung open the door and exclaimed, “Happy Christmas!” She pulled Tonks inside the flat enthusiastically. “Come in, come in, and please tell me that’s not a cake in that box. I told you not to bring anything.”
Tonks grinned. “You be the one who tries stopping my mum next time, then. It’s that dark-chocolate-and-espresso thing you’ve always been so mad about.”
“Ooh, anything from your mum is bound to be delicious. Please thank her from me.” Ariadne relieved Tonks of the box, then took her cloak and hung it on a hook by the door.
“Hello,” said another voice, and Tonks turned to see, standing in the kitchen doorway, what could only be Ariadne’s bloke, a young man with reddish hair and a kind-looking face.
“Wotcher!” Tonks went over to shake his hand.
“Tonks, this is Damien,” Ariadne said, sounding almost shy. “Damien, this is my oldest friend, Nymphadora Tonks, but –”
“Don’t call me Nymphadora,” Tonks and Ariadne finished in unison, bursting into laughter. Damien smiled politely along with them.
“Sorry, old joke,” Ariadne said. “Although, not actually a joke. Seriously, don’t call her Nymphadora, she’ll hex you.”
“I’m really, really glad to meet you,” Tonks said.
“Same,” Damien said. “We’re glad you could come.”
Ariadne smiled up at him, and he squeezed her to his side and smiled back. Looking at them, Tonks felt a strange constriction in her chest. That’s what it’s supposed to look like, she thought. None of this tortured star-crossed lovers mess. Merlin, I’ve been such an idiot.
“Come on into the kitchen!” Damien said. “We’re just finishing up the cooking.”
Ariadne got out a bottle of red wine and poured a glass for each of them, while Damien checked on something in the Muggle-style oven, waving his wand at it in a complicated pattern of the sort Tonks had given up on ever mastering. Cookery magic, so much harder than nice, normal battle spellwork.
As the two of them leaned together and conferred about whatever was in the oven, Tonks poked her head back through the open doorway to the small living room. There was something different about the flat, visible in a dozen tiny telltale signs… This wasn’t just Ariadne’s flat anymore. Damien quite evidently lived here too. Tonks stared, amazed. How did something this important happen so fast?
She ducked back into the kitchen and said, “All right, you two, lay it on me. Let’s have the old ‘how we met’ story.”
Damien looked up from his cookery and smiled. “I work for a magical research institute – the Wenlock Institute, don’t know if you’ve heard of it. We do Arithmancy and runes, mostly.”
Tonks blinked. Yes, she had heard of it, and that was some seriously high-level research.
“Anyway, my boss needed something from the Archives, and she sent me over to find it. It turned out the book we needed was being restored, and when I went down to Preservation and Restoration, what did I find but the most beautiful, clever, charming witch I’d ever laid eyes on…”
“Oh, you,” Ariadne said, pink-cheeked and pleased.
“And that was before she opened her mouth and started saying all these bogglingly intelligent things about books and preservation spells,” Damien grinned.
“Well, and this one bowled me over with the super-brain research he’s doing,” Ariadne said. “Seriously, Tonks, it makes even the stuff I did in seventh-year Arithmancy look like basic arithmetic.” She smiled and leaned up to kiss Damien’s cheek. “Plus, he cooks.”
And despite the wistfulness lurking in her own heart, Tonks smiled too, glad to see her friend so happy.
Over dinner, Tonks and Ariadne talked a mile a minute, catching up on everything from the last weeks, and Damien smiled and let them have at it. Later, all three of them went out for a brisk walk in the London chill, then came back for a drink at the flat. Then it was already time for Tonks to return to Hogsmeade.
“No chance I can convince you to stay the night?” Ariadne asked wistfully.
Tonks shook her head. “Sorry. I’m on call tonight and I need to be there in case anything happens. Honestly, I’m lucky to have got away even this long.”
“Come any time,” Ariadne said. “You know I mean that.”
“I know,” Tonks said, ducking her head in appreciation. Then, while Damien was occupied with fetching her cloak for her, she leaned in and whispered to Ariadne, “And you tell me the moment you set a date for the wedding, you hear?”
Ariadne blushed, then smiled and said, “Yeah. Will do.”
They both waved to her from the door of the flat, as Tonks walked away down the corridor, filled with a weird, swirling mixture of deep happiness for Ariadne and an undeniable melancholy on her own behalf, wondering why, why, she had had to go and fall for the world’s most difficult yet frustratingly lovable man.
– – – – –
Arthur was at work, but Molly saw Remus off when he left on the morning after Boxing Day. Emotions had been running high in the Weasley household since Percy’s disastrous visit, and tears threatened to spill from Molly’s eyes as she hugged Remus hard and pressed a packet of sandwiches into his hand, where he stood in the back doorway of the Burrow. Wiping impatiently at her cheeks, she admonished, “Take care of yourself, Remus.”
It had done Remus such good to spend these days with the Weasleys, and to see Harry healthy and safe – if still prone to reckless gestures of loyalty, such as declaring his defiance directly to the face of the Minister for Magic. There really was something of Sirius in Harry, Remus thought with a twisting of grief in his gut. Harry, too, was loyal almost to the point of absurdity and unendingly brave.
“And when you come back,” Molly said sternly, “you sort things out with Tonks, do you hear me? Life is too short to spend it apart from the people we care about.”
“I –” Remus began, flabbergasted.
“I know you have objections, but frankly, Remus, I think you’re taking a ridiculous line on this. She cares about you and I know you care about her. That’s what matters.”
“Molly, really, I –”
“Now, go on,” Molly said, shooing him out the door. “Give our best to Dumbledore.”
“I –” Remus gave up trying to explain himself and instead said, “Thank you for everything, Molly. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your hospitality.”
“Oh, go on now,” she said, going pink in the cheeks. “It’s our pleasure. We’re delighted to have you.” Then she gave Remus a sharp look. “Did you remember to pack your socks?”
Remus – who was wearing Molly’s jumper under his cloak as well as one pair of the socks, with the other two pairs stowed in his rucksack – managed to quell the impulse to gently tease, Yes, Mum.
“All present and accounted for,” he said. “Thank you for those, too. I’ll be very grateful for them on cold nights.”
“Good, good,” Molly said, the tears again threatening to spill. “And you’re welcome here any time, Remus, I mean it.”
He nodded his thanks, then walked to the edge of the property. With a last glance back at Molly and the Burrow, Remus turned on the spot and Apparated to Hogwarts for his meeting with Dumbledore.
Entering through the boar-topped columns that flanked the gates to the school grounds, Remus felt a familiar tug of affection. Hogwarts was where he had spent the formative years of his life, the scene of so many of his happiest memories.
Perhaps it was only his own nostalgia speaking, but it seemed to Remus that Dumbledore, too, wore an expression best described as fond, as Remus stepped into the headmaster’s office. Like a proud grandparent pleased to see one of his own drop by.
As Remus sat in the chair across from him, Dumbledore waved a hand – his healthy hand, not the one that had been spell-damaged – and at once a steaming pot of tea sat on the desk between them. Remus blinked. Even after years of watching casual, impeccable magic from Dumbledore, it was still impressive.
“So, Remus,” Dumbledore said, once he’d poured them both a lightly lemon-flavoured black tea blend. “How does your work proceed?”
“Surprisingly well,” Remus told him. “I’m not fully accepted by the pack, but neither have I been rejected, despite the fact that they know I’ve lived among humans, in the ‘city’.”
“The city.” Dumbledore repeated, chuckling appreciatively. “A term referring to wizarding settlements of any size, I suppose?”
Remus nodded. “Even a place the size of Hogsmeade. Or Hogwarts, for that matter.” Although in some ways, Hogwarts was indeed a city of its own.
Dumbledore listened as Remus outlined the pack’s structure and hierarchies, how its members all pitched in for their shared survival, the views they held about the wizarding world.
“And in this war?” the headmaster asked gravely. “Where do they stand?”
“Most simply want to stay out of it. On the whole, they find my views foolish. But I’m concerned about some of the younger members of the pack, who are drawn to the power that werewolves like Greyback claim Voldemort will offer them. I don’t see a few hot-headed young werewolves posing much danger to the course of the war, but I do see them getting hurt in the process. I don’t know how much good I can do by being there, but I can try my best.” He set his teacup down and looked across the desk. “Given what I’ve told you, do you wish me to stay with the pack a while longer?”
“Do you wish to stay?” Dumbledore countered.
Remus considered the question with the weight it deserved. He wanted to answer honestly, not just with a reflexive declaration that he would do whatever was necessary for the Order.
“Yes,” he said. “I’d like to stay. It feels like the right thing to do.”
Dumbledore gave a slow, pleased smile that made Remus feel as if he’d unwittingly passed a very tricky Transfiguration exam.
“I’m pleased to hear it,” the headmaster said, “and I think you are correct. A little more contact between the ‘city’ and the country would surely be of benefit to both.”
Remus nodded. “Then it would be my honour. I’ll get in touch with you if I find any among the pack who would be willing to talk with the Order. Although I admit that’s hard to imagine at the moment.”
There was one more thing he needed to ask; Dumbledore seemed to sense this and waited for Remus to speak.
Finally Remus said, “This too seems impossible to imagine, but if there were ever a case in which the pack decided they would be willing to send a child to be educated at a school of magic… Would you consider accepting that child at Hogwarts?”
Dumbledore smiled gently. “Of course.”
Remus remembered the sorrow of being eleven years old and knowing he could never attend Hogwarts as normal wizarding children did. Then the rapturous joy when this professor had appeared at his family’s door and said Remus could come to school after all.
“Thank you,” he said to Dumbledore, and he meant it in so many ways.
Remus left the castle after their meeting and was nearing the bottom of the long drive when he saw someone approaching the gates from outside.
He looked again – it was Tonks.
He saw the precise moment when she, too, realised it was him. A tiny hitch caught Tonks’ step, but she kept walking. She reached the gates, pressed her palm to the metal and murmured an unlocking spell. The gates swung open, and Remus and Tonks were face to face.
“Wotcher, Remus,” Tonks said. Her voice sounded light, but her eyes were locked on him.
Remus’ throat felt tight as he answered, “Hello, Dora.”
How had he failed to predict this might happen? He knew Tonks was stationed here in Hogsmeade. He knew she sometimes visited the school.
Tonks wrapped her arms around herself, and her eyes were big in her tired face. She looked so weary. Tonks was not a person who was meant to look this weary, with her hair hanging limp and brown and shadows under her eyes. This worn-down way she looked, was this, too, a thing Remus could have prevented, if he hadn’t made the wrong choices every step along the way?
“It’s good to see you,” Remus said. Because, despite everything, it was.
Tonks nodded minutely. “You too. Are you…are you all right?”
How could he begin to answer that? Months of cold, of struggle, of barely daring to hope the pack might eventually accept him, months of missing Tonks’ bright presence, no matter how often he told himself he had no right to do so. But to Tonks, whom he should not burden with all these woes, Remus only said, “I’m all right. And you?”
Tonks shrugged, her shoulders loose and listless beneath her winter cloak. “Yeah, all right.”
Remus found it hard to believe Tonks was really right here in front of him, so close he could see her warm breath in the cold air. Hard to believe she was here, and all they were doing was exchanging small talk. “Next thing you know, we’ll be talking about the weather,” he blurted.
Tonks’ eyebrows arched in surprise, and for a moment it was back, that affectionate ease that had always been there between them regardless of everything else, as Tonks’ lips quirked in an almost-smile. Then Remus saw the sadness overtake her again.
“Are you leaving?” Tonks asked in a rush. “I’m sure you’re going back to the pack, but when? Right now?” She hugged her arms more tightly around herself, as if already anticipating his answer.
Remus nodded. What could he say?
He saw so many questions forming, and how Tonks pushed them back. She didn’t ask where, or why, or how long. “I’m on duty,” she said instead, an ache audible in her voice. “I’m here for a quick check-in at the castle, then I’ve got to get back to the village. I can’t stay.”
Remus nodded again, helpless between all he wished to say and all he couldn’t say.
“Well, anyway –” Tonks said, still hugging herself. Still watching his face.
“Yes,” Remus said. He didn’t even know what he was answering.
Tonks hesitated, then unfurled herself and reached out to squeeze his arm.
“Okay,” she said. “Take care of yourself. Please.”
“You too,” Remus said. “Please.”
Tonks released his arm and stepped past him, through the gate, into the school grounds. Remus stepped through the gate to the opposite side, away from the school. He turned back to look at Tonks, as if he could take some part of her with him if he studied her closely enough.
She gazed back at him, biting her lip. “Bye, Remus,” she said. Then Tonks swung the gates into place between them. She checked that the protective spells were in place, gave an awkward wave and turned away towards the castle. Remus watched her walk up the drive, tightly curled into herself, arms tucked inside her sleeves against the cold.
“Goodbye, Dora,” he whispered, although she was too far away to hear him. “Please, please, keep yourself safe.”
– – – – –
“Bloke over there’s eyeing you, Tonks,” Savage chuckled.
“What?” Tonks spun around to look where Savage was indicating with a thrust of his chin, but she still couldn’t see what he was on about.
It was New Year’s Eve and the four Hogsmeade Aurors were clustered in a back corner of the Three Broomsticks. Proudfoot had been on duty earlier and Dawlish didn’t have a shift until the next evening, but some sense of professional solidarity had drawn them together to raise a glass as midnight approached. Even Savage, who was on duty for the evening, had dropped by, since much of the Hogsmeade population he was meant to be watching out for was there at the pub anyway.
The pub was warm and loud, packed with bodies and conversation. After so many months of people moving fearfully and unobtrusively through public spaces, some unspoken consensus seemed to have decreed this to be the one night when the villagers could all come out and have a few drinks with their friends, carry out cheerfully loud conversations, shout at one another about unimportant matters over the general hubbub of the room. Madam Rosmerta’s bright curls could be seen bobbing to and fro in the crowd, as she darted expertly here and there with laden drinks trays.
The air reeked of beer and whisky, laced with the warmer notes of spilled butterbeer. The Wizarding Wireless was playing somewhere in the background, barely audible under the roar of conversation.
Here in the Aurors’ corner, Dawlish and Proudfoot were engaged in a heated debate over… honestly, Tonks wasn’t sure what. She’d lost the thread around the time they’d started citing long since overturned bits of legislation from the 16th century, triumphantly one-upping each other in their arcane knowledge. Aurors were such nerds when it came to wizarding law.
“Bloke with his elbow on the bar,” Savage insisted. “The one who looks away whenever you look over.”
“Then how am I supposed to know he’s looking at me?” Tonks demanded, more snappishly than she’d intended. The Aurors were good blokes, truly, but in a pub with her colleagues was not exactly how Tonks would have chosen to spend her New Year’s Eve.
For a heady, brief time last year, her life had felt so full of promise: meaningful work for the Order, a strong circle of friends with Sirius chief among them, and then, too, the strange and thrilling adventure that was getting to know Remus, growing more and more captivated by him as the layers of his polite defences peeled away.
And now here she was, spending New Year’s Eve with Savage, Dawlish and Proudfoot.
Savage’s unsubtle gesturing must have drawn the attention of the “bloke” in question, because now Tonks saw him look right at her – and realised it was the shop assistant from Scrivenshaft’s, the one Ariadne had insisted fancied Tonks. When he saw her looking in his direction, he gave a shy nod.
Savage was still sniggering. “Gonna go chat him up? Or would that make your other fellow jealous?”
Tonks felt her insides go cold. No, no, no one was supposed to know anything about Remus. For his safety, for everyone’s safety. “What other fellow?” she asked, pitching her voice very carefully with nonchalant unconcern.
“Dumbledore!” Savage crowed. “The old codger’s sweet on you, remember?”
“Dumbledore!” Proudfoot echoed, suddenly re-joining their conversation and at the same time accidentally letting slip the beer glass he’d been trying to levitate up and balance on his nose. Dawlish caught the glass for him – barely – before it hit the floor.
Tonks’ normally serious colleagues had loosened up to an alarming degree under the influence of Firewhisky.
“Old bat,” Proudfoot continued, nodding sagely. “Thinks ‘e knows better, eh? Better’n Aurors. Nobody knows better’n Aurors.”
Tonks sighed. Yes, they’d arrived at that portion of the evening devoted to the erudite professional discourse of the inebriated.
Warming to their topic, Dawlish and Proudfoot launched into an enthusiastic session of Dumbledore-bashing, but Tonks zoned them out, using the time instead to compose a list in her head of tasks she needed to do. With the time she’d spent away at Christmas, she’d somewhat neglected her self-assigned duty of dropping by all the shops and neighbours in Hogsmeade and keeping up with the running notes on her census list. It was time she got back to that work.
Yes, that would be a good project for the new year, something to keep her occupied. Anything to keep her from dwelling on how her stomach had swooped when she’d seen a man standing inside the Hogwarts gates, then looked closer and seen that the man was Remus. He’d looked so gaunt standing there, all skin and bones and hard living. And like always, the sight of his maddening, dear face had turned Tonks instantly inside out. Clearly, her feelings for Remus hadn’t changed one iota.
Damn it.
The hands of the grandfather clock ticking away in one corner of the pub, inaudible under all the hubbub, had nearly reached midnight. With just a few minutes to go, Dawlish pushed away through the heaving crowd to fetch another round, returning with Gillywater for on-duty Savage and Firewhisky for the rest of them.
“To the new year!” Savage shouted, raising his glass, and the others echoed him.
As she raised her glass with her colleagues and counted down the last seconds to the coming new year, Tonks quietly vowed to herself, No matter what, this year is going to be better than the last.
End notes:
Thank you to everybody who weighed in on the "what scenes/characters should I add to Chapter 14" question, in comments here and on AO3 and FFN! This chapter was a week later than usual because I needed to buy myself some extra time to work on new material for Chapter 14; same for next chapter, I'm going to need two weeks before I can post.
Meanwhile, though, while you're waiting: There's a "missing scene" I wrote as a separate fic that takes place later in the day on Christmas at the Burrow, a conversation between Remus and Harry, where they talk, obliquely, about love and crushes... It would fall in the middle of this chapter, later in the day after the run-in with Percy and Scrimgeour. Read it here: A Conversation That's Not About Veela.
(continue to CHAPTER 14: Questions and Offers)
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