Author's Note: I really like this pairing, so I thought I'd try my hand at writing them, although this is probably dismal. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: I make no profit from these stories, Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.
"Why don't you go and see her?" Molly asks, and even though she's nice about it, he feels as though he's suffocating because he knows exactly where he wants to be.
"No, I don't think I will. Thanks for the soup Molly," he says curtly. Remus grabs his shabby cloak and leaves, desperate to get out of there and escape the older woman's knowing gaze.
Somehow, he ends up outside her flat anyway. His heart had lead him there, ignoring the increasingly feeble protests of his rational mind. He doesn't go in, just stands there for a while, deluding himself into thinking delaying the moment might make it easier. Eventually, he plucks up the courage and knocks.
She walks to the door but doesn't open it, and he can imagine her taking out her wand. "Who's there?" After years of Moody's training, she adheres to the concept of "constant vigilance" as though it were the Eleventh Commandment.
"It's me."
"How very reassuring that you think I'd open the door to anyone claiming to be 'me,' Remus. What were the last words I said to you?"
"We were standing near the Black Lake, two nights ago, when Dumbledore had just died," he feels a twinge of pain at this fresh loss, but continues. "You told me that you were tired of fighting so much and getting nothing in return. Then you walked away, and I realised you were serious."
She opens the door and lets him in.
Her hair is still that depressing shade of brown, and heavy bags hang beneath her bloodshot eyes. He hates himself for doing this to her.
"What do you want?" The spark of hope that used to colour her voice when she saw him is no longer there, she sounds almost dead, and it frightens him.
"Dora, I -,"
"Don't call me that," she snaps, and he's happy to see a sign of some emotion, even if it is impatience.
He never knew that anything could hurt as much as seeing her in pain did. He guesses that this is what love is – when somebody else's wellbeing suddenly matters a hundred times more than your own. When you feel every joy and every sorrow along with them, desperate to be a shield from the worst moments, and powerless to prolong the best. It's such a complex emotion, yet so very simple in its depth and strength.
"Tonks," he amends, "I love you."
Her arms are folded protectively across her chest, and despite the ghost of a smile curling her lips, she does not budge. It's not his feelings she needs to hear now, she's certain enough of those already. She wants – needs – to hear his reasons.
"I turn into a werewolf, a monster, every month at the full moon. That would be enough to send anyone running away, screaming. But not you. You accepted me as I was, more empathetically than any human had before. I loved you all the more for that. I don't deserve you, but if you're willing to overlook my condition, then I guess I'll try to do the same."
His insecurities will never be fully gone – he's a werewolf for Merlin's sake, a monster! – but he's willing to put them aside for her. Those kinds of deep-seated doubts never disappear, but like any demons, they can be battled, and defeated.
She's weakening, he can tell, but he wants to say everything on his mind.
"I'm far too old for you, nothing's going to change that, but when I'm with you I feel young again. You make me better. Plus, your clumsiness is so very endearing. Basically, Dora, I'm sorry, and I'll spend every day of the rest of my life trying to make it up to you, if you'll let me."
In response, she flings her arms around his neck and kisses him. He pulls away, smiling.
"Your hair's pink again. I always liked it that colour."
"Shut up," she tells him, and he is happy to comply.
Review? It would make me smile! :)