Disclaimer: Do not own. JK Rowling, Warner Bros, and whoever else owns it, it isn't worth your time to sue me.
NOTE: This story contains implications of SLASH. As in male/male. If you do not like that, click the BACK BUTTON. It will redirect you to something more to your tastes.
The first time Tonks asks him to marry her, Remus protests that at forty he is much too old.
The second time, after Kingsley's wedding, he tells her that he cannot marry her because of new anti-werewolf legislation that will cause Tonks to loose her job as an Auror.
She promptly quits.
The third time, she is weeping, and pale, and dark-haired, and he has no more reasons.
She is beautiful in her wedding gown; everyone tells him so. Her blue eyes glow with a passion, with possession, that he has never seen before. As they take their vows, she clutches his hands as if her life depends on it.
And he—he just goes through the motions. He kisses her, but he does not feel it. She pressed her lips into his with all that she is, and he does not see her.
Afterwards, they are surrounded by a sea of people. Congratulations; best wishes to you both; I know you both will be very happy; what a beautiful wedding; I cried…
He wishes he could do the same.
But of course he can't, it is his wedding, he of all people should be happy, celebrating.
And so…
He dances with Tonks, he laughs with the rest of the crowd at Hagrid's toast, he smiles and nods at all the people who step up to make small talk until he thinks his muscles have forgotten how to do anything else. And then it is the father daughter dance, and he steps off the dance floor, taking a seat by the desert table.
He is soon joined by Hermione Granger. She holds a wine glass with an elegantly manicured hand, and her puff of bushy brown hair is tied into a ponytail.
"Hello, Remus," she says, watching his face intently to see his reaction. "Congratulations. I can't believe you finally went through with it."
He drops his eyes to his empty plate, and traces the gold lettering with his finger Remus and Tonks…
"Why wouldn't I?" he asks her, keeping just the right amount of curiosity in his voice, not allowing himself to sound accusatory. "Tonks and I love each other."
And the way this girl, this young woman, looks at him, is so intensely sad, so unbearably understanding, that he can hardly meet her eyes.
"Do you?" she asks softly, reaching across the table and touching his hand. He instinctively recoils at first, but does not draw back. "You're one of my best friends, Remus, and I'm not blind."
And now he does stand up, and, despite everything inside him screaming that this is a bad idea, he is walking away from his own wedding reception, and now he is in the hall, bending over and drinking thirstily from the water-fountain. He shivers in the air, which must be at least ten degrees colder than in the main room.
Click, click.
Hermione has followed him, of course, her high heels making her wobble slightly. Her face is shining with sweat; she must have been dancing with Harry.
"I love Tonks," he mutters, barely audible. "We'll be happy together."
A hand on his shoulder, cool and small. "Lying to yourself isn't going to make it any better. I should know." Her voice is wise beyond her years, and he feels as if his mother is speaking to him.
He feels quite drained, suddenly, as if he would like to curl up on the hard tile floor and just sleep.
"There's nothing else I could do. He's dead. Tonks was going to ruin her own life—she was wasting it, because of me, for me and this is her one chance to be happy—I couldn't let her do that, I do love her—"
"But not like you loved Sirius."
Remus is too tired to deny the statement, and really, he doesn't see the point.
"He's dead."
She kneels down beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Don't do this to yourself."
"I have to. There's nothing else I can do."
She is crying now, standing up, silhouetted by the bright lights coming out of the hall. "You can't make her happy if you don't love her. This won't work for either of you. Please, just tell her."
"Hermione. It's too late. I'm married, now." He pulls himself to his feet. "Tonks will be happy…and maybe I can ..."
The twenty-five year old girl shakes her head. "You can't make yourself love her. It's not too late. Don't do this to yourself."
He opens his mouth, ready to reply, ready to be cool and calm and logical. Ready to be everything he isn't. Ready to tell Hermione why everything she's said is wrong.
"Wotcher, Remus. Hermione?" Tonks appears in the door, dangling her shoes in her right hand. "I wondered where you'd gone, and Ginny told me she'd seen you come this way." She steps forward to stand beside Remus, turning her eyes to rest suspiciously on Hermione. "What are you doing out here? Come on in, everybody's been asking for you." She takes his hand and leads him gently away.
Hermione watches her two friends draw farther away. It does not take long for them to disappear into the crowd.
She lingers, staring outside. It is a summer evening, and the sidewalks are filled with teenagers laughing freely, strutting around like they owned the world.
She and Ron never had a chance to be like that. Their short romance had taken place during the height of the war, and none of the time they had shared had anything to do with simple pleasure or happiness. It had been filled with a sort of desperation, a raw longing to live before they died.
"Hermione?" Harry's found her. Her wraps his arms around her, his chin pressing into her hair. He kisses the top of her head. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah."
She kisses him and does not see him.
But Harry loves her. She is doing this for him, because he's done so much and he deserves it. It doesn't matter how she felt.
Besides.
Ron is dead.
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