9
Tonks
Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin was sitting on the front porch swing, something she almost never did, and also sipping ice tea, something she certainly never did. She'd always found the drink bitter and watery whenever her mother had forced her to try a new brew at some ladies' luncheon. Tonks was like her father, and much preferred a butterbeer or a pint of mead now that she was older. She disliked sitting still almost as much as she disliked drinking ice tea. Both seemed to scream things like "propriety," "tradition," and "lady-like behavior." As far as Tonks was concerned, just like her first name, these were the naughtiest, most disgusting swear words she could ever use, and as such, she cursed anyone who happened to use them in her vicinity.
When her mother found her lacking in feminine whiles, her father would tuck her into a hug, telling her that even though she'd bruised herself again, she'd made a new friend, or learned something new- and wasn't it nice to find out something she didn't know yet about herself? As she got older, she found that sometimes, learning wasn't pleasant- like the time she'd found out the Ministry had been wrong about her cousin, and Sirius had been wrongly imprisoned for over a decade. Or that time in fifth year with Devon in Madam Puddifoot's, when she was waiting for him to kiss her, and he asked her if she'd morph into the model on the cover of Wicked, Wicked Witches for their date. She'd discovered what kind of boy she didn't need. How about the moment she'd understood what the mediwitch meant by "permanent damage" to her pelvic bone after a prolonged morph on duty? She'd found her limits. Or when Dumbledore had forced her to admit that despite wanting to, she couldn't tell her mother that Sirius was innocent and nearby- because there was too great a chance the information would be leaked. She'd learnt she could keep the most painful of secrets.
When she had come out of her concussion after the Department of Mysteries, she'd discovered that she was in love with Remus- and felt joy fill her when she recognized he loved her too. She'd also learned she didn't take disappointments well when he'd left for a mission tracking the werewolves of London, but she could be endlessly patient while she waited for him to come back to her.
Now, she was beginning to wonder what new skill she could hone with Remus's latest stunt- because really, what good could she learn from him leaving her to help Harry on some fly-off-the-handle-mission (and hey, wasn't SHE supposed to be the Queen of Spontaneity? When had they switched places?) when he'd already left her before? Tonks had long ago figured out how to handle Remus' moods, how to be her own woman, relying on herself for her own happiness when he was away (though it was much easier to be happy when she woke up to his mass huddle against her, groping her bum early in the morning) and how to match her own socks without him there to tell her if the left one was black or really just dark blue. So what was the point in hurting her again?
She'd tried to tell herself it was just a phase, that Remus would "deal" with whatever Harry needed and then he'd be back, but Tonks knew from that resigned look he got that he was leaving her- leaving them- for good. He'd sworn never to do it to her again, and yet he was- and for reasons she'd never comprehend. Remus could tell her time and again that she would resent him once people started treating her as scum- "the mate of a werewolf is not a high position in Wizarding society," he'd put it lightly once- but Tonks knew the perspectives of others would never matter to her.
She'd seen persecution firsthand. Aurors who didn't want her as their partner, because her aunt was Bellatrix. Family who called her "Mudblood" or "freak". Kids at school who feared her or laughed at her because she could do something as simple and harmless as lengthening her nose. Adults who saw her bright hair as a sign of immaturity and disrespect. Ministry workers who claimed she shouldn't be allowed a position with the Aurors, because she could kill the Minister himself and change her face afterwards in mere seconds. Shape-shifter, they spat at her. Morph-manic. Freak.
Tonks had heard them all, and she had forgotten what it was like to care about the names and words people who didn't matter threw at her. She'd shed every inch of self-image that labeled her "weird," "stupid," or "unworthy," knowing that in most cases, they were jealous. She could do all sorts of things most humans could never dream, and she saw it for what it was: a blessing. Her father had always warned her never to morph to such an extreme or for so long that she forgot who she was inside. Tonks wore official Ministry robes and had dated five blokes by the time she appreciated he hadn't meant just her body.
Remus had been the first person, apart from her parents, Dumbledore, and Charlie Weasley, who'd never asked her to change herself. All the blokes she'd dated had done it at one time or another, figuring they could add a bit of blonde to her hair, take an inch or two off her waist- have the perfect girl, really, since she could transform every night. When they started making requests, she knew it was time to ditch them. Girls had snottily asked her what her "real" form was as she stood there in jeans and sneakers, and refused to believe her when she let her hair morph to normal and pronounced herself "au natural!" with some spunk. Even the Order members had wanted to see what she was capable of, though these had been more polite, work-related questions. Sirius too had been guilty, wanting to see how thin she could stretch- could she make herself flat as a pancake? Could she slip between bars, break out of jail? Could she balloon out to float away on the wind?
Charlie Weasley had figured out in second year how uncomfortable it made her, because she hadn't yet learned how to morph away a blush before it appeared. He'd become her protector, and though they'd dated in sixth, it had never quite progressed beyond the best of friends. Kissing him had been nice. Just nice. Never what Tonks knew kissing was supposed to feel- a rushing, sweeping, overpowering feeling that Remus evoked with a barest brush of his lips against hers.
Now, they weren't just an "us". They were Dora and Remus, husband and wife- and something else- a little one who was currently swimming in her belly, bouncing on her bladder from time to time that was filled with three glasses of the ice tea she hated. Maybe if she drank lots of it, it would be enough penance for whatever she'd done wrong to deserve this torture, and Remus would come back? No, she shook her head. It didn't work like that.
Tonks knew when she was out of sorts. Not just because she couldn't morph right, but also because of the telltale signs: drinking bloody ice tea, sitting in one spot for more than three minutes, looking wistful, and crying. Lots and lots of big elephant tears. She'd cried more in the last three days since Remus had packed his rucksack than in the entire year they'd spent apart, hurting and fighting. She'd sobbed more than when Sirius died. Tonks was so sick of crying, she'd started crying because she hated crying.
Molly had brought bagels and turkey for sandwiches. One look at Tonks' face, and Molly began to make a pot of tea with her jaw set. Tonks was sure Charlie had sent her the tear-stained letter she'd owled to him the day before, though how word travelled that fast to Molly Weasley's ears, she'd never grasp. Still, it was with relief that she cried into her cup of tea, feeling Molly rub her back and scowl at Remus' favorite pot holder as though it had personally affronted her. Getting it out felt good, but once it was out, where did it all go? Where did all her energy disappear to once she was all cried out? Molly spoke soothing words, never asking for details, not even pausing once when Tonks alluded she knew where Ron, Harry, and Hermione were staying. She did what Tonks' mother and father could never do: she did not insult Remus or tell her what she should do. Molly asked her how she felt, drew out her responses and her feelings about their relationship, and let her think it over on her own. Then she startled Tonks with her low confession.
"I left Arthur once, when Bill, Charlie and Percy were little ones. Barely old enough to do up their shoes. Bill was six, Charlie was four. Percy was breaking his first tooth. I was pregnant with the twins. We'd fought over warding the house; I wanted him home, back with me and the boys, because Gideon and Fabian had just been murdered. He wouldn't leave his job. He said he wouldn't hide away with me even if it made us both feel safer. We needed to move on with our lives. Arthur wanted me to find a way to feel normal. I was scared, and I packed up the boys one night after a bad fight. He was out by the pond. I didn't even leave a note, I was so angry. I went to my parent's home for three days. Arthur's frantic owl found me that night, and when I told him to leave us alone, he sent me a new letter pleading with me to talk every hour until I came home. Sometimes things hit us and we take some time to recover, and maybe that's what is happening now with Remus. Maybe you two will recover together, and maybe you won't. I hope you can feel strong on your own, though, if he can't be strong for you." Tonks had nodded, silent tears streaking her papery cheeks. She hoped Molly was right. Molly promised to visit the next day, but she wasn't the only one who stopped at the Tonks-Lupin cottage.
Mum had flown in, dropping off more of that horribly delicious cheesecake that tasted like moist dirt when Tonks was sad, and offering to have her only daughter stay at home. Tonks knew Andromeda was lonely with her father on the run, but somehow, staying at her childhood home felt like erasing the memory of moving in with Remus. It felt as though she was saying she belonged there, sitting at home with the other women, while the men ran off to do brave, stupid, manly things.
Tonks thought about moving in with her mother for safety, and she felt it erasing their big bed with the blue and white striped sheets. She thought about how much easier it would be to have her mother cooking dinner, and it erased their marriage vows. She tried to reason with herself, saying that handling a baby alone would be madness, and she could see it wiping away their long evenings on the porch, where Remus would rock in the swing with a book as Tonks was doing now.
She'd tried reading to the baby bulge, hoping to fill the silence, but the sound of her own voice wavering as she struggled with the Latin words Remus would have pronounced with finesse made her start weeping afresh. She'd picked his translation of the Three Little Pigs, and the part with the big, bad wolf was just too ironic for her to handle in her baby-stress state. Where the story once would have made her laugh and chortle alongside her husband, now she felt limp and drained. Who was she to raise a baby on her own- their baby- who should have Remus' voice tell him bedtime stories, Remus' hands wash him, Remus' legs to cling to?
When . . . no, If he came back . . .
No, WHEN he came back, she was going to hit every inch of his deplorably annoying, heavenly delicious body with bat-bogey hexes so powerful he'd be blowing his nose still when the baby came. And then, she was going to jump him, tie him to her, and never let him go.
Not even to the loo.
