A/N: Also in response to xXSarcasmAndCakeXx's Prompt Me challenge, with the song Waking Up In Vegas by Katy Perry, the pairing Remus/Tonks, and the prompts cold, wisdom, and happy (the words were used thematically).

You want to cash out

And get the hell out of town

Don't be a baby

Remember what you told me

Katy Perry – Waking Up In Vegas

It was only Sirius' betrayal of Lily and James that made Remus' love diminish. He wondered over and over whether it was his fault—his coldness—that had caused Sirius to turn to the dark side. He dwelt upon the possibility, his guilt eating at him always, and then Sirius was innocent… And Remus was devastated. If he could make such a horrible misjudgement about the man he loved, make such enormous mistakes along every step of the way, Remus obviously didn't deserve to find love, to find happiness.

He had missed Sirius every single one of those long, long years and now that he had him back, he was going to fix what he could. He spent as much of his time as he could at Sirius' side, trying desperately to renew their friendship, and as he realized Sirius' forgiveness, he began to forgive himself.

Then there was Dora. They began to spend time together in spite of the whispers in the back of Remus' mind. 'Remember what happened with Sirius.' 'You're a werewolf—you have nothing to offer her.' 'You're a ruined man.' 'You're so much older.' He pushed them away again, and again, as he fell softly into love with her, and perhaps she with him. He pushed the thoughts away, until Sirius fell. For with Sirius, his strength fell, too, and his constant reminder that there was some good in him, in his heart, and he began to push Dora away instead.

He felt tortured, lost, destroyed, and he couldn't ever inflict that on her. He missed her every moment, and he saw her missing him back, saw her slipping into a deep depression. Slowly, so slowly —with Dora and Molly's considerable assistance—he had begun to realize his mistake. Their relationship flourished once more and he was happy. She was everything he could ever dream of—smart, and funny, and down-to-earth. She was sweet, and passionate, and dedicated, and brave. He loved her desperately.

xXx

Remus dragged his sorry arse home from the bar one night, with the full realization that Harry was an amazing person. He'd been furious at first. How dared that boy tell him how to live his life? How dared he attack his morals and his actions? He didn't even know a bloody thing. But somewhere—possibly the bottom of his fifth glass—he'd come to the realization that Harry was right. So he'd drank a while longer, revelling in the perfect self-loathing that so often came with drowning your sorrows in alcohol. Now here he was, and he was fairly certain this was his house. Yes, there was the number 46—or was it 45? He squinted, assuring himself it was, and started up the walkway.

He paused at the door. He knew there was something he was supposed to be worried about here, but what was it? The day came back to him. Dora. Pregnant. A baby. A baby that would be theirs. A drunken grin spread across his face as he opened the door, tumbling through. He stumbled slowly through the house to their bedroom, and swung the door open as gently as he could. It was empty. His heart began to pound with fear, and he felt the alcohol drain from his system. He rushed from room to room, the terror mounting. What if Death Eaters had come for them? While he was off contemplating abandoning her, while he was off drinking his heart out.

He rushed into the living room and sighed in relief. She was curled up on the couch and her hand was rested protectively over her stomach. Her lips were turned in a soft frown, though, and there were tissues littering the floor.

"Oh, Dora," Remus whispered softly, "How could I ever have thought of leaving you? Of leaving our baby?" She let out a soft snore and he smiled tenderly before wrapping a blanket around her and lifting her into his arms. She snuggled into him reflexively and a feeling of perfect contentment flooded through him as he carried his precious wife to bed. Never again would he doubt himself at the expense of those he loved.

xXx

The day Teddy Lupin was born was the pinnacle of Remus' life. His perfect, perfect son. His beautiful, beautiful wife. His amazing family. He and Dora had laughed as Teddy learned new hair colours, new eye colours, as he'd stared at the world with such wide-eyed amazement. It had been a month of unparalleled perfection; Remus had never been happier in his life.

And then one night the signal was received—Hogwarts was under attack, the outcome of the war was to be decided. The werewolf wasn't stupid enough to argue with Dora about coming. She'd given him that look—full of passion and determination—and he'd nodded grimly, a bittersweet smile on his face, for he loved this part of her though it put her in such danger. They made sure Teddy would be safe with Andromeda, kissing him softly when he began to cry his worry, and then they left together, hand-in-hand.

Dora fell.

The pain that ripped through his heart was unbearable, was almost enough to lay him at her side, but then George was there, picking him up, urging him on. There would be time to mourn when it was over, Remus told himself. There would be time to put himself back together then. He forced the imaginings of his son's motherless future from his mind and dove into a relentless attack upon Dolohov who was cackling as Colin Creevey fell in a glow of green.

He returned that night to Andromeda's home, and he took his son in his arms, and he held him close, for hours. He rocked him back and forth in the rocking chair by the fire, tears streaming silently down his face; back and forth, back and forth. He didn't speak, not a word, but Andromeda had known, and she'd left him alone. He could hear her sobbing upstairs in her room, but he could offer her no comfort. For what comfort was there to give?

George appeared late in the night, or perhaps early in the morning, his face pale, his eyes red, and together they sat in silence before the fire, awaiting with trepidation the morning sun which would cast light over the world and upon the reality of it all.