AN: If there are any errors in this story, or anything in particular you do or don't like about it, please, let me know. I'm trying to improve as a writer, and feedback really helps with that.
On Christmas day, after the children and Mrs. Weasley had gone to bed, Remus, Tonks and Sirius were sitting together in the living room as the cousins made up for lost time. Remus had been quieter than usual since everyone had gotten back from St. Mungo's, and Sirius had been trying to think of ways to cheer him up, when suddenly the answer hit him. "Tonks, remember how you used to tell all of those crazy stories you'd make up?"
"Yeah," Tonks said, "I remember. You'd usually laugh your head off at me –tell me that they were ridiculous or something like that. Not that they weren't-" she added quickly "-but it still wasn't a nice thing to tell a little kid."
He chuckled. "Well, some of them were pretty strange, but what you seem to be forgetting is that I'd always listen to the whole thing."
"You listened to the entirety of a small child's story?" Remus asked incredulously. "I find that somewhat hard to believe."
Sirius smirked. He'd thought that the mention of stories would intrigue his friend. "It had nothing to do with me, Remus. Tonks was an incredible storyteller when she was little. The stories themselves might not have made much sense, but she told them well, and she got better as she got older. Can you still manage that, Tonks?"
Tonks blinked at the sudden address, but recovered quickly. "I reckon I could come up with something. Got any requests?"
A wide grin broke out across Sirius's face. This was exactly what he'd been hoping for. "Let's hear one about where you think Remus'll be in a few years."
Remus winced and turned away. Seeing the werewolf in the hospital earlier had reminded him just how much they were shunned by society. He didn't want to hear a story about himself starving to death, or Tonks tell Sirius that there was no way she would waste her imagination on his pathetic animal of a friend. But after a few seconds went by without any sort of complaint from Tonks, he looked up in curiosity to find her studying him intently, taking in everything. Apparently satisfied, she nodded, and began speaking. She had a pleasant enough voice normally, but there was a deeper note of assurance in it now, and Remus let it wash over him, listening to the sound as much as the words.
"It's not Christmastime yet, but early winter. There's a neat little cottage, and on a clear day, the view from the windows must be stunning. Right now, there is nothing blooming in the flowerbeds or window boxes, but it's obvious by looking at them that they are carefully tended by someone who loves to do so. There's a large tree to one side of the house, currently bare of leaves, but there's a swing hanging low from one of the branches, and the rope scratchings where it's hanging from show that it's often used. Inside the house, a visitor is instantly drawn to a living room, where we hear a man's soft voice speaking, occasionally interrupted by the high pitched voice of excited children. Entering the room, however, one immediately notices that the walls are almost completely hidden by bookshelves, with the exception of a fireplace and two large windows. Right now, a fire is lit in the grate, and there's a screen up around it, making sure that no one goes too close by mistake. The mantelshelf is covered in pictures of the happy family living there. Looking more carefully at the books, you see that they're slightly out of order, and there's not a speck of dust anywhere on them. The lowest shelves contain mainly children's stories, both muggle and wizarding, and all of them are clearly read often. There's a large shelf underneath one of the windows holding fishtank, with various animals swimming around inside. In front of it, we see a slim, brown-haired man kneeling. There's a small boy standing on one side of him, another on his other side, stretched up on his toes, trying his best to see in, and a little girl on his shoulders. All three children are totally enraptured by whatever he is showing them, asking questions, and babbling excitedly in the case of the youngest. From another room, a woman's voice calls, asking a question; the two boys run to her, and the man stands up, still holding the little girl and follows them. As he walks out of the room, we see that the furniture is clean and in good condition, although clearly used often, and perhaps slightly mismatched, although it only lends to the friendly atmosphere. The hallway he walks down is well lit, and wide enough to be lined with pictures, some of them clearly drawn by the children, but displayed with as much care as the finest works of art. He gets to the kitchen, and carefully puts the little girl down in her chair. Her mother –the family resemblance is clear –hands her a cup of milk, and one of her brothers makes sure that she can reach the fresh cookies they've been eating. The two adults smile at each other over the children's heads. Her face is friendly, honest and welcoming, as is his, and both are clearly happy with their lives. Resting a hand on her belly which is just starting to curve with another child, he kisses her –the children find it disgusting and make gagging noises. He laughs at them, and ruffles their sons' hair while she kisses their daughter on the head, and they both sit down, occasionally reaching for some cookies, as the whole family laughs and chatters about nothing in particular. Eventually, the entire plate of cookies is eaten, and the children are yawning. She takes their daughter upstairs for a bath, while he works on a jigsaw puzzle with the boys. As soon as the little girl is clean, the father takes the middle child upstairs while the mother works with the other two children on that same puzzle. The oldest child can bathe himself now, and while he does, his parents help the two littlest brush their teeth. Eventually, all three children are clean, dry and in their pajamas, which means that it's story time. The oldest son sits down on his bed, between his parents, each of whom is holds one of his siblings in their lap. The father picks up the storybook from where he left it the night before, and begins to read, his soft, hoarse voice filling the room with a story of wonder. Soon enough, the two smallest children are asleep, and the oldest not that far behind. The mother nudges her husband, and he carefully marks the place. The smallest children are carried off to their respective beds and carefully tucked in with their bedtime kisses. The parents come back to their other son, smooth back his hair, and tuck him in too. They quietly walk out, and turn out the light as they go. The scene shifts, and we see the two adults together in the living room. She's playing a lullaby on the piano standing in the corner, while he watches her with a look of rapture. Several minutes later, she rises, and curls up next to him on the couch facing the fireplace. He slips his arm around her, as they watch the flames dance, neither needing to say a word."
Tonks took a drink from her glass and then gently put it down. Remus and Sirius both stared at her. She really thinks that? She dreams that…for me? She thinks that I could have that –a family, a home …love? Is that possible? Something like that –that's what I've dreamed about for most of my life. Maybe-
At that moment, Sirius broke in. "Tonks, that was incredible," he said quietly, not wanting to break the spell her voice had cast. "I thought you were good when you were little, but Merlin, Tonks, that was amazing."
She grinned and looked down bashfully. At that moment, a clock struck, and she jumped up. "I didn't realize it was so late –I'd best be getting home. Merry Christmas, you two."
Without realizing it, Remus had also gotten to his feet. "Would you mind if I escorted you?" he asked her.
Tonks smiled at him. "I've got no objections –but I'm warning you, I'd planned to walk, not apparate. A bit of fresh air always helps me sleep."
Sirius broke in. "Funny, Andromeda used to say the same thing when she was younger. She always left her window open when she stayed here. Well, if you two are heading out, I'm going to bed. Good night and Merry Christmas." He walked out, quietly whistling God Rest Ye Merrye Hippogriffs.
Remus walked with Tonks in silence, his mind still reeling with the story she had woven. Finally, in the hallway outside her door, he asked her, "Really?" When she looked at him blankly, he mentally kicked himself and tried to explain. "The story –what you said earlier –all of that –did you mean it? Do you –can you really see me like that –with a family and everything?" He held his breath as he waited for her answer, praying that she wouldn't say it was a joke.
She smiled, but took in his hesitant, fearful expression, and it instantly faded. "Of course I did. Sirius asked me where I think you'll be in a few years, and that's what I told the two of you. I find it harder to picture you alone than to see you with a family. You just seem like one of those people who's meant to be around kids." She tilted her head to the side. "Why? I hope it didn't upset you…"
He felt a twinge at the sudden lack of confidence in her voice, and then it hit him. Tonks didn't know. She must have not recognized his name from the Daily Prophet article about his resignation. His heart sank, as he came to the conclusion that the only thing he could do was tell her himself, and watch as she backed away from him in fear. "Tonks –I'm a werewolf," he began, looking down to avoid the horror in her face. "We don't –people don't –we're not supposed to have families."
What? She –she didn't run. She's still here. How –why –is she not going to retract the story? That's impossible. But … she's here. She's not running, and she's not attacking me. Could she…
"Remus John Lupin. I never thought that you'd be the sort to bow to societal prejudices." He looked up and met her glare, startled by the vehemence of her tone. "I know that you're a werewolf. I know what that entails. I knew all of that before we met. You're kinda famous, y'know." She gave him a tentative smile at that, as though unsure if she was crossing the line. "And that family in the story? Yes, that's you, with a pregnant wife who loves you as much as you love her and three intelligent, curious children. And all of them know the truth, and it doesn't bother any of them. Why should it? You're a caring, compassionate, brilliant, trustworthy man, and a talented wizard. Alright, twelve or thirteen nights a year you're fuzzy for a few hours. So what? You're still yourself the rest of the time. Yes, some werewolves are monsters. But so are some people. We're not fighting this war against people like you who should be off teaching somewhere; we're fighting it against people like Bellatrix Lestrange who tortured a baby's family into insanity for absolutely no reason. I meant every word of that story, and anyone who's met you would agree with me."
He carefully searched her face, looking for some sign that she was lying. He couldn't find any. "You –you really mean that? You trust me? Even knowing that I'm –that I'm not -"
She cut him off. "Remus, I know what it's like to not be trusted for a part of yourself you can't help. I know what it's like to be called freak, to hear the whispers, the rumors…" her voice trailed off, but then grew stronger. "Yes, I trust you. And it's not just because Dumbledore and Mad-Eye do." She noticed his look of shock. "Yeah, Mad-Eye Moody, the master of paranoia, feels safe –or as safe as he's capable of feeling, at any rate –with you at his back. You're a good person, Remus Lupin. You've just got a long-term illness."
They stood there in silence for a few minutes, watching each other. "Tonks?" Remus asked hesitantly, "Thank you. For… everything. Nobody's ever told me anything that wonderful. It's got to be one of the best presents anyone's ever given me –hope for a future and an affirmation of trust."
"It's no trouble at all. That's what friends are for, right? Telling you the truth –no matter how much you don't believe it or want to hear it."
He felt a laugh bubbling up inside his throat. "I suppose you're right. Merry Christmas, Nymphadora." Chuckling at the brief glimpse he had of her glare, he apparated back to Grimmauld place before she could hex him. A very merry Christmas indeed.