After heartache, before love, a harry potter fanfic

Title: After heartache, before love
Pairing: Remus/Sirius; mildly implied Tonks/Remus
Disclaimer: I wish.
Summary: Remus misses him more than than he dare tell anyone. Until he doesn't have to.
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It was a Thursday, he was sure; she only brought him orange juice on a Thursday. It had become the only way he had of keeping track of the days. And he despised part of her just for that. For making him know. For there being a world outside of those four walls. For her being a part of it. For her making everybody else aware of just how much he wasn't. And for trying to pull him around. To make it okay. She smiled.

"It's the full moon," Remus stammered as soon as she entered the room. She looked worn and tired and aching. And he didn't say a word.

"Someone else died today," she said breathily. The words scratching her throat as she hovered by the bed he refused to leave, "Someone died," she repeated, "A child. They didn't deserve it."

He glanced up at her through unwashed hair, matted to his forehead, half covering his face. He looked up at her and saw the puffy rings under her eyes and stark cheeks. "It's a war," he whispered, "People die. It's what happens in a war, Tonks." And his hands shook under the blankets. And his bones shook below his skin.

"A child, Remus!" she yelled, swallowing past the thick rope of bile loosening her throat, "A child!"

She reached down and grabbed his hand harshly, squeezing it hard in her own and watching the eyes close. And the heart close. And his shoulders shrug heavily against the mattress.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" she snapped, "Anything at all?"

He saw veins running through the ceiling against the back of his eyes. His mouth tasted bitter and old. But he stayed quiet. Her skin felt clammy against his own but he couldn't reach out to her, no matter how much he wanted to. Or how much he knew he should.

She shoved his arm back and it flopped hard against his chest.

"What on earth has happened to you?" she cried, watching the blurred shape of his body lie motionless.

The curtains swept a glimpse of sunlight into the room as she stormed out but he couldn't bear to look at it alone again.

"It's the full moon," he hissed when she wrapped her arms around him in the middle of the night, her cheek pushing up against his. And it felt damp. And dark. And he wanted to cling back and tell her it was all his fault. Or even better, all her fault, but he just laid there with a tie still hanging lopsidedly over a buttoned up shirt, and didn't so much as glance at her.

"The full moon was last week," she said softly against his neck and he didn't move when she tried to kiss him. Lips stood still against chapped skin and soft licks of tongue.

"It's the full moon," he muttered again as the dim glow of the streetlights cast shadows across the curtains. She watched him, steadily, carefully, and traced the stubble along his jaw before turning over on her side.

"Right," she choked out, closing her eyes and pressing her face into the pillow.

"It's the full moon," he said again and she didn't bother to correct him.

"We're having a memorial service for Dumbledore," she said calmly, leaning against the door, "Unless it's the full moon tomorrow too."

And he bit his lip.

"I'm sorry," he nodded and her knuckles clashed white against the dark handle. It reminded him of pillowcases and everything it shouldn't.

"It's too dangerous," he added and her fists clenched.

"You'll have to face up to it all sometime," she replied, fighting desperately to keep her voice steady, "All of it, Remus. Maybe then you'll snap out of it and realise what it is you're throwing away."

The window shuddered in its frame as she slammed the door behind her.

"I can't," he whispered to the room, to himself, tracing the shapes of lions on Sirius's old duvet and closing his eyes tight.

"I can't."

"Harry wants to see you," she said firmly as she pushed her way past the door into the bedroom. Her arms were folded over her chest and her hair hung long and dank below her chin.

Remus nodded but didn't turn over. His eyes hung motionless on the air above him.

"Shall I send him in?" she said again, "Or should I wait and tell him you're not really in a state to see anyone? Not even your own wife? Or that you've been lying here since we got married and that you probably wouldn't even notice if I walked out one day and didn't come back?"

His breath tangled with his words and he wondered if Harry really was in the next room, or outside the front door. It was raining. He hoped he wasn't. He heard it against the window when he turned to watch the light barely dancing over the books piled up on the floor.

"I'd notice," he whispered. And his throat burned. And his eyes ached. But he didn't elaborate anymore.

He heard, rather than saw, her choke back on what was either anger or tears. And then Harry was there. Sitting on the edge of the bed. The door slammed shut and footsteps scuttled like mice across the apartment.

Harry looked at him and he looked back. Smiling briefly.

"You look just like your dad," he murmured. But Harry didn't say anything.

He could hear the faint crash of something like static in the background and he noticed Harry look around worriedly as he wrung his hands together.

"I miss him too." he said before Remus could jump back to the silence. And he closed his eyes.

"I miss him too." Harry repeated and a low hiss echoed from Remus's throat.

"No you don't," he spat out, harsher than he meant to, "You can't miss him because you didn't know him. You only knew him as a Godfather. As -- as -- you didn't know him like I did. You won't understand!"

But Harry didn't flinch. He just sat there following Remus's line of sight up onto the cracks inching across the ceiling.

"Try me." he whispered.

But all Remus found himself able to mutter in reply was a cheap shot of "It's the full moon" and neither of them were convinced it even mattered anymore.

"What is this all about Remus?" she asked softly as she laid next to him on the bed, tucked into a pair of old jogging pants and an overly baggy shirt. Her hand rested on his arm - on his shoulder. Running her nails up and down where he couldn't see.

"This was a mistake," he whispered harshly and her stomach clenched.

"This was a mistake," he repeated and her nails dug hard into his arm.

She couldn't bring herself to say anything in case it made it worse. But she moved closer and settled her head against his shoulder. Shaking.

"I don't understand any of it," he hissed under his breath, just as her eyes closed and she shook them open to the blurring haze of the back wall, "Why did it have to be him?" he growled, "Why? I don't understand. It had to be a mistake. It was a mistake. She never meant -- I --I can't--"

Her chest tightened at that and she clung almost desperately to that small bit of him that she had left. The tiniest part where her lips and her fingers and her heart could reach. Even if she knew it was a hopeless cause.

"It's never been me," she murmured softly against his ear, "Never. Has it?"

He couldn't bring himself to reply.

Her shoulders ached as she turned to wrap her arms around him, ignoring the pounding in her head, down her spine, behind her ribs. She felt cold and hurt and angry. Irrationally angry at someone who she hadn't even known well enough to call a relative until she couldn't anymore. But she clung, she held on because she loved him, because she needed to, and he shivered.

"I don't even know the date. I don't. I don't know anything," Remus continued, his voice sharp and hasty, and prickling with an ache she knew was deeper than her own, so she stayed.

"I didn't even think to check. To ask. I don't know the date he died. I was so pre-occupied with the Order. With the wolves. With Harry and Dumbledore and everyone that I didn't even think to check the newspaper. The radio. It could have been anytime and I'll never know when to grieve. When to think about him like -- like that. When to visit -- when to --" he inhaled sharply and his skin twisted in cold, sharp bites.

"I never even tried to help him," he snarled, and she grimaced, "I wanted to run after him. To grab hold of him and not let him go. But I froze. I just -- I -- he was such an idiot. Such a bloody idiot letting himself get caught up in it like that. I told him to stay home. I told him. I -- god, I loved him so much."

His body turned and he let himself sink into Tonks's arms.

"I love him so much," he corrected and she didn't want to think about it. But she could feel the damp eyes, the damp face, pressing against her neck and she started to cry too.

"I think I should move out," she whispered as he rocked back on forth on the bed. She nodded and he didn't say anything which, she thought, was probably best for both of them.

"You don't have to do this," he mumbled from under his sheets. His head was pressed into the dent worn through the pillow. An empty glass of orange juice stood on the floor and she smiled, really smiled, her backpack slung over her shoulder.

"Me being here isn't going to bring him back," she said softly, "It isn't going to make it easier for either of us."

She paused, walking over to the bed and kneeling down beside him.

"I love you, Remus," she whispered, stroking his hair away from his face, "I love you. And that's why I do have to do this. If I stay, we're both going to keep hurting. So long as you're still in love with Sirius, we're both going to keep hurting. So long as you still love him, I can't be here."

He nodded mutely and clasped his hand over top of hers.

"So if -- if I tell you I'm over him --" he muttered and she shook her head. Her eyes looked as weary as his.

"You'll never be over him," she replied, and he bit his lip.

"He wanted us to get married you know," he laughed, and it was the most beautiful sound she had heard in months, "Or Civil Union I think they're calling it now. Do it the proper way. The muggle way. With carriages and fancy suits and music. We argued about it. We argued about it that morning. I said we can't --"

He trailed off and Tonks wiped her eyes.

"What did he say?" she asked. And Remus smiled.

"'Sirius Black doesn't believe in Can't. It's what he based his whole life around.'"

Tonks smiled back then and pressed her face against his, gently.

"You can't stop thinking about him can you?" she sighed.

"Never could when he was alive, either," he grinned, "Had the same effect on everyone. James made a huge speech on our last day of school about it being the end of an era," she nodded, "And Sirius just laughed. He laughed and said 'More people to prank now. The Marauders are just beginning.' and he looked at me. And --"

"And you fell in love with him?" she offered. And they both started hurting a little more.

"I was already in love with him then," Remus replied gently, "Just made me realise how much."

He sighed. And she went quiet. Neither of them said anything but their hands felt around for one another and she squeezed tight before standing up.

"I guess this is goodbye then," she whispered, biting her lip, "End of an era?"

And he laughed.

"I'm sorry," he said under his breath, "I really am."

"Never had much of a chance against the great Sirius Black, did I?" she grinned, her cheeks stinging and her mouth aching from forcing too many smiles.

"I still love you, Remus," she whispered, watching him carefully before picking up her things and walking out.

"I know," he mumbled to himself. And clung to the covers tighter.

"I'll find you, you know," Sirius mumbled against his ear, lying between untucked sheets and bare hips, "If anything happens to either of us. I'll find you again. Or, you know, you can seek me out. Name Black can't go anywhere without being known."

They'd both laughed. And Remus had kissed him.

"You just need ask for the werewolf. I'm not hard to find." he replied, smiling. It was early morning, barely dawn, too early for the sun but enough for them.

"But we're not going anywhere," Sirius grinned, "I'll look after you Moony, and you have to look after me because you know I have a terrible habit of doing stupid things," he paused, pressing his lips to Remus's collarbone and then to his cheek and the very corner of his mouth, "Promise me." he whispered.

And Remus nodded.

"I promise."

"Good, now if we're quick we can probably get an early shag in before the other idiots wake up." They both grinned and Sirius moved closer, rubbing a hand up and down his back.

"Sirius!" Remus reprimanded but he let him kiss him anyway.

"This can't be right," Remus muttered to himself, his eyes widening, his lip trembling and his wand still hanging limply from his hand, "It can't be!" he hissed and he moved back a couple of steps. His feet hit solid concrete and his face creased just above his brow.

Sirius stepped forwards after him, and smiled cautiously. He reached out a hand and grabbed hold of Remus.

"Of course it is," he whispered, tightening his hold, he pulled him closer and encircled him in needy arms, "Of course it is," he murmured again, right against his ear, "It has to be. Because you're home."