Written for the 'John Green Appreciation Challenge' and inspired by the quote: 'It's so hard to leave - until you leave. And then it's the easiest goddamn thing in the world'.
you're still my sweetest downfall
With a heavy heart, Tonks rolled over.
The other half of her bed was empty. No surprises there, it had been so for a couple of weeks, ever since Remus had found out about her pregnancy. Still, Tonks couldn't bring herself to sleep on his side- the sheets there still smelt of him and there was still the slight indent on his pillow of where he had rested his head.
Slowly, Tonks sat up; the sheets fell from her body and she unconsciously placed one hand on her stomach as she heaved herself out of bed. She felt a kick and smiled slightly.
At least she still had one person, one tiny little person, who wanted her.
Once more, Tonks struggled through the difficult task of getting dressed. Even pulling a top over her head was more difficult than usual, let alone fiddling around with a bra somewhere behind her back. Finally, Tonks gave up; it wasn't as if anyone apart from her mother would be seeing her.
Well, there was always the chance – however slight – that Remus would return but Tonks wasn't going to count on it, too often had she been so certain that he would walk through that little blue door to have her hopes crushed by the nightfall. It didn't hurt her to hope, just as long as it wasn't blown out of proportion with reality; then it hurt like hell.
The only thing Tonks wouldn't let herself think was that Remus couldn't come back. Not that he wouldn't come back- because he would-but if it was physically impossible for him to burst through the door…
Tonks shook her head and turned to the full length mirror, inspecting her figure critically from front and then both sides. Her belly protruded a little over the hem of her jeans but wasn't as visible as usual because Tonks had covered herself up with a baggy yellow sweater.
There was a knock on the door.
"Come in," said Tonks, she forced her hair into a short brown bob as her mother poked her head around the door. Unbidden, Tonks's heart sank just a few inches lower, resting just above her gut.
"Oh, you're up," Andromeda sounded surprised.
Tonks shrugged, finally giving up on making her hair a more interesting colour and just letting it stay lank: "I thought it was about time I started doing something."
Andromeda pursed her lips; "I brought breakfast."
Tonks sat back down on her bed, the mussed up sheets scrunched up against her back, they were cool and refreshing, somewhat relieving her feverishly warm skin. She patted the spot next to her and watched as her mother set down the tray before sitting beside her.
Tutting, Andromeda pressed her hand to Tonks's forehead; "You're very hot, darling."
"'M fine," said Tonks; "although I wouldn't say no to a glass of cold water." Almost before she had finished speaking, a green beaker was whizzing across the room towards her.
"Here," said Andromeda, holding the cup to Tonks's lips. Tonks barely managed to hold back her automatic roll of the eyes and snarky comment stating that she was pregnant, not an invalid. Her mother wanted someone to look after – someone to hold – and there was no one else available, so Tonks bore the mollycoddling as best she could.
"Anything?" asked Tonks after a sip of water.
Andromeda shook her head; her eyes scanned Tonks's face almost apologetically, as if she could do anything about it. A sudden surge of anger broke over Tonks; the bloody bastard had left of his own accord, as if it were the easiest goddamn thing in the world, and it was no one's fault but his own.
"I'm going to send a Howler to that husband of yours as soon as the wards break," said Andromeda tartly, sweeping back the hair from Tonks's face and smiling.
"Not if I do it first," Tonks bitterly responded, wondering offhandedly whether it was wrong for one to imagine harming one's husband grievously.
"Now, Nymphadora," Andromeda said softly. Tonks scowled at the use of her full name: "We both know that's not going to happen."
"Are you saying I'm not strong enough?" interjected Tonks heatedly. "Because I was fine before Remus came along, I'm an independent woman for Merlin's sake and an Auror to boot. Believe me when I say: I can take my husband."
"I didn't say you couldn't," Andromeda smiled, "I know you can but sweetie, I don't think you would."
"Oh, wouldn't I?" Tonks was dangerously close to hexing something (read: someone).
"No, you'll forgive him the minute he walks through the door," said Andromeda with a wistful smile. "Darling, that's not a bad thing," she continued as Tonks opened her mouth to respond indignantly, "it's one of my favourite things about you: you're so forgiving."
Tonks sighed, it was – annoyingly – true; whilst she was usually pretty kick-ass with no qualms of hexing guys three times her senior, Remus had always been a weak point.
"It's one way that you and I are different, sweet-heart," Andromeda said, "I'm glad you took after your father."
"It's humiliating," said Tonks grumpily. "I want to curse him, but if he walked into the room now I would just fall into his arms and hope that he wouldn't leave me."
"Now, whoever said that isn't the best thing to do?" asked Andromeda soothingly.
Tonks looked at her mother disbelievingly; "You do. Frequently – feminist to the end, remember?"
"Well, we're very different people, Nymph – oh, alright- Tonks," said Andromeda, for once giving up the battle over Tonks's name. It was a fight that happened at least once a week because both mother and daughter were stubborn in nature and very bad at even agreeing to disagree.
Usually their arguments didn't get sorted until Ted intervened, but he'd gone and so it was up to Andromeda and Tonks to sort out their differences and learn to live in a limited amount of space.
"You should eat something," said Andromeda.
"I'm not hungry," said Tonks, standing and walking across the room.
"Let me correct myself then," said Andromeda sternly; "the baby's hungry- eat."
Tonks grabbed a slice and shoved it in her mouth, chewing as she tripped out of the room: "Who put all this stuff here?" she asked loudly.
Andromeda appeared at the door; "I just brought some of your old baby things down – I thought we could look through them –together – as you were … never mind, I'll take them back up to the attic."
Levitating one of the boxes, Andromeda was about to pull down the ladder to the loft when Tonks said:
"No," she smiled hesitantly. "I mean, yes: that would be nice."
Andromeda returned the smile, and pushed the ladder back into the ceiling where it vanish, pulling the trapdoor behind it.
She bustled past Tonks into the bedroom, shoving the curtains apart and letting light flood into the room. Tonks blinked, she had forgotten how yellow her old room had been.
"I was a proud Hufflepuff," she said, glancing around.
Andromeda opened the first box. It was filled with photo albums and toys and toys, it looked like everything had just been stuffed in at random, Tonks smiled, her father had obviously filled this one.
One picture caught her eye, one of herself, her mother and father all grinning and waving at the camera; she looked about four and had very orange hair. Little Tonks was sporting a Santa-hat and vast quantities tinsel as well as a gap-tooth. Andromeda looked over her shoulder: "I remember when that picture was taken."
"Of course you do," said Tonks, fingering her father's smiling face. She missed him.
Andromeda held up some green full-onesies and smirked: "There was me hoping you'd be a Slytherin."
Tonks peered over her shoulder into a neatly packed box – her mother's work; "Why's there so much pink?"
"Molly Weasley," said Andromeda slowly, "is a force to be reckoned with."
"Now there's something I don't need to be told twice," grinned Tonks. "I had lunch with her once a week until about a month ago."
There was much rustling of papers and clothes and the clinking of picture frames and rattling from old toys. They ate cold, soggy toast for lunch and, because they had got the whole seamless, mother-daughter relationship down to pat, didn't speak very much about pointless things like 'How They Were Doing'.
It was nice and calm and Tonks found herself having a good time with her mother, looking through old things.
"This looks nice and unisex," said Andromeda holding up a red suit.
"Very," said Tonks; "and we must give Gryffindor a chance."
Andromeda added another pair of tiny shoes to the slowly growing pile of 'Things That Can Be Reused' and a dirty blanket to the huge 'Not Going Anywhere Near Anything But a Bin' mound.
Tonks flipped through a gold-and-blue photo album and grinned as another miniature Tonks soared through the air – about three feet from the floor – two pairs of legs rushed after her. Turning the page, Tonks watched her father twirling her mother around the sitting-room.
Flip: Tonks being feed something mushy and unappetizing by her mother. Younger Tonks wrinkled her nose and turned her face away from the spoon.
Flip: very cute baby Tonks sleeping, hair changing with every breath and her face pressed against a fluffy toy unicorn.
Flip: Ted with five or six year old Tonks laughing as he span her round and round yelling for him to go faster, faster.
Flip: Sirius and Tonks pulling faces at each other. Tonks grinned, a slight lump forming in her throat.
Flip: Tonks sitting on the floor, she was smiling and laughing and surrounded by a mass of teenage limbs. Sirius, James, Remus and Peter were taking it in turns to animatedly tell stories and little Tonks was loving the attention. She kept clapping her hands – this time the lump caught in Tonks's chest.
Tonks set the book down, snapping it shut. Andromeda opened a new box; this one filled with pop-up books – complete with sound effects and talking characters – and began shuffling through them to find ones that didn't have a) bite indents or b) suspicious looking scorch marks.
Tonks looked out of the window – the sun was setting streaking the pink sky with gold and orange, staining the darkening clouds. The silhouettes of trees and houses and hills (or mountains as Tonks used to pretend) were black against the reddening horizon.
Standing, Tonks walked towards the window, it was the perfect moment – the fairy-tale ending (and her thoughts were screaming: Remus, Remus, Remus!). She peered out of the window, pushing the pane wide open so that she could lean right out. Tonks had to grip the windowsill to hold herself up.
No one.
She had been sure; so fucking sure that he would be there. Waiting. For her.
How could he not? It didn't make sense – her fingernails dug into the paintwork – he had to be there – it was fate and destiny and all that crap.
Struggling to hold back tears, a sob hitched in Tonks's throat. She wouldn't cry; he had cried over him too often – ten times too many – and she wouldn't again. Paying no heed to her commands, tears poured down her face even as she tried to fight them.
A hand rested on her shoulder and Tonks jumped; Andromeda bit her lip and held out her arms. Tonks fell into them, shaking and sobbing all at the same time.
"Shush," Andromeda held her daughter, stroking her hair and kissing the top of her head and rocking her back and forth. "Shush, Nymphadora – darling – sweetie," she didn't know quite what to call her headstrong, stubborn daughter.
Actually, thinking back; Andromeda didn't think that she had seen Tonks cry since she was seven.
Tonks cried for about five minutes before pulling her feelings back under her throw of control.
"I'm going to bed," said Tonks, wiping her red eyes on her sweater sleeve. Andromeda nodded, half drawing away but hesitating. "Thank you," said Tonks unsteadily before pulling away.
"Good night," said Andromeda, clearing Tonks's bed of baby stuff, kissing her daughter's forehead and closing the door behind her.
Tonks stayed by the window, the sky had turned purple, deep and turning darker still, the crescent moon hanging between tree branches, Tonks took a breath – it was filled with the scent of honeysuckle – before falling into bed. The sheets were still messed up and Tonks pulled them towards her so that she could bury her face in his smell.
There was more kicking and Tonks frowned, pushing her hand against her skin, the baby had been unusually active all day. Tonks wondered whether she ought to be worried.
Still, Tonks rolled onto her side – ouch, the baby didn't like that – and stared at the wall. The yellow had faded to dark ochre with shadows forming darker shades. There were some unopened boxes that looked like castles and her book-shelf looked about two inches high and then there was the shadow of the bird with wide-spread wings– wait, what?
Tonks blinked and there was a quiet hoot from the window.
"What?" Tonks struggled back into a sitting position as the owl hopped towards her, carrying a letter in its beak.
The letter turned out to be a scrap of paper with two words scrawled across it in a handwriting Tonks recognized immediately.
Remus.
Tonks's re-read the words hungrily searching for a hidden message hidden among ink splotches. There was none, but Tonks didn't care.
Remus was coming back.
Remus's message is yours to think about. What do think he would write in two words? Please tell me in a review!