Disclaimer: I neither own the intellectual property of the Harry Potter universe, nor do profit from this work produced here.
Warnings: difficult and controversial social issues (abortion, genetic disease, etc.). Also, language
A/N: PLEASE READ! This chapter is not at all meant to be a condemnation of anyone who has had or has encouraged someone else to have an abortion. I know that more often than not it is a decision made out of fear, embarrassment, and, as regards this particular issue, oftentimes a real desire to spare the child itself any suffering in later life.
Paige is not (I REPEAT: NOT!) meant to represent those people in the slightest; rather, she is a symbol of the mentality which doesn't consider children with certain genetic disorders to be worthwhile human beings. This is an apologia both against that mentality and the mentality that a life which contains great suffering is not a life worth lived.
A/N 2: …I have no excuse. Sorry for the long wait. But hey, it's a long chapter! (A loooooong chapter!).
Nymphadora 'Tonks' Lupin's first full day back at work was in one way fascinating, in another way wonderful, and in a third way one of the worst days of her life.
It bears some importance to mention that, prior to then, Kingsley had kept her largely on paperwork or private missions, helping to round up a few of the less dangerous Riddle supporters and bring them in for questioning. This was her first day back in the bullpen, her first foray into the job she'd resigned a little more than a year previous, and she was excited to pin the badge back on her robes and get back to what she was good at: catching bad guys and looking as absolutely kickass as possible while doing so.
The only regret she had was leaving behind her baby boy. Tonks had been adamant (and Remus had heartily agreed) that their child would not be raised by sitters and nannies. "It's one thing when it's a genocidal maniac out to kill my family and friends," Tonks had told Kingsley stoutly when he offered her her old position, "but I'm a mum first and an auror second. Either we work the schedule so that Teddy isn't alone, or I'm not coming back."
Thankfully, Kingsley and McGonagall had understood; a student babysitter would watch Teddy from nine to ten on Tuesdays and Thursdays; after that, either she or Remus would be with him all day, and all three would spend Sundays together. Still, even though she knew Remus was more than capable of handling the little bundle of shape-shifting joy, she couldn't help but miss her child. Saving England may have been her work, but her family was her life and heart.
Most of the Hogwarts hearths were only able to make firecalls, not a full transportation out of the school. But the teacher's lounge had a special hearth, just one, which allowed specifically registered users to get to specifically registered places. As a general rule, this hearth was used to allow seventh-years to get to their internships without having to walk down past the gate and apparate, but McGonagall had kindly included Tonks's name and genetics into the list of approved operators and gave her an easy passage into the heat of the Ministry. So it was that, at quarter to nine on Thursday morning, everyone's favorite metamorphagus found herself throwing a pinch of green power into the ashes and stepping inside as the fireplace roared to life.
One whirlwind of a journey later, the emerald flames vanished and she stepped out of the onyx hearth into the bustling ministry foyer, and she let out a sigh, breathing in the taste of pure and unadulterated frantic activity. Now this was London.
Wizards and witches rushed every which way, levitating stacks of papers, discussing regulations, and complaining about the bad tea in the break rooms. Flocks of purple memos whizzed by overhead in hyper-speed migration, crowding into the elevators like miniscule purple airplane squadrons. She quickly crammed into the nearest one and pulled the lever for the second level.
"Tonks!" a voice said to her side, and she looked over, startled. A young man by name of Widgens, who worked in the Improper Use of Magic Office, was grinning back at her. "Glad to see you back! How's the baby?"
"Widgens! Fine, Teddy's just fine. He's with Remus today; goodness knows if the man'll get any work done with him around," she replied with a laugh. Several other people in the elevator shifted uncomfortably, but Widgens was still smiling brightly.
"That's wonderful! Teddy, huh? For your dad, I suppose." His face sobered. "Sorry, Tonks. I shouldn't have–"
"No, it's fine," she replied generously. "I think my dad would've been proud. How's the office doing?"
"Oh, we're all fine. Auror's Office is doing alright, too, even without an interim chief."
"Bloody basilisks, don't tell me Kingsley still hasn't appointed anyone?"
"Well, he's just got someone in for the Department this morning, but the Office is still feeding their paperwork in through the DMLE."
Tonks sighed. "Well, I guess he's bound to be busy, what with the reconstruction and everything." The elevator dinged; Tonks pointedly ignored the relieved sighs that came from the others as the pair stepped off. "Thanks for the update, Widgens; it's good to know what fresh chaos I'm walking into."
"Sure thing, Tonks. Have a good day, yeah?"
"Will do."
He tipped her his hat and walked off. The witch turned to the oak-paneled French doors which led into the department and took a deep breath. Squaring her shoulders, she pushed the doors wide open.
The familiar cacophony of typewriters, aimless chatter and bureaucracy met her ears. Tonks grinned and stuck her wand behind her ear. Mama's back.
"Tonks!" a voice called, and she looked over. Meg Coburn, the department clerk to the courts, was hurrying up to her, a wide grin on her face. Tonks laughed and hugged her. "I can't believe you're back already!"
"Ah, well, you know me; can't let a bunch of two-bit blood purists and a sickbed keep me down."
"I heard that bitch Bellatrix got you pretty good," Meg said, with obvious concern.
Tonks rolled her eyes. "Caught me while my back was turned. Would've had me, too, if Remus hadn't come in when he did."
Meg nodded, her face sudden drawn and serious. "And is it true? You got her?"
Tonks took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, Meg. I got her." Now that's a fight I'll never forget. The thought still sometimes woke her up at night: what could've been if she hadn't taken the witch down, what would have become of her motherless child…
"Well, that's over and done with," the other witch said, with obvious relief. "C'mon; your desk's still where it ought to be."
Tonks followed her back through the bullpen to where her desk was, next to a synthetic window, which was streaming in happy sunlight on the hardwood and the gleaming back ministry typewriter. The London street "below" her was cheerfully busy. "I'm afraid the last bloke gutted it," Meg said with a wince, running a hand over the wooden top. "None of your old stuff is left…"
"I figured that might've happened; brought my own." She reached into her satchel, pulling out several quills, inkbottles, a stapler, a sheaf of fresh typewriter paper and a framed picture of Remus and Teddy. It was one of her favorites, taken in the kitchen of the new apartment. Remus was sitting in a chair with Teddy at his lap, helping the little boy wave to the camera. Teddy was chortling, his hair flushing bright turquoise and orange.
"Is that him?" Meg breathed, peering at the picture. "Oh, Tonks, he's beautiful!"
"Of course he is; he's mine," the auror replied with relish, and then, as a joke, "Oh, did you mean the baby?"
Meg giggled, but it was nervous; Tonks looked up and saw her taking a surreptitious glance around the office. When she looked back down, the other witch's face had fallen. "Sorry," she apologized softly. "I just…"
"It's okay," Tonks reassured her. "No point in causing a scene."
"Yeah," Meg agreed fervently. Then, lowering her voice even further, she asked, "Er- if it's not too personal a question, is he- I mean, your little boy…"
Tonks bit her lip, and then nodded. "He is," she murmured, but then smiled. "But we're taking it one month at a time. So far, Teddy's been doing okay."
"That's good to hear."
"Yeah… so!" She adopted the battle-ready expression she usually reserved for bringing in hardened criminals. "How bad is the damage?"
Meg winced. "Well… I can promise it won't be as bad as childbirth."
Tonks groaned. "That much?"
"You've been gone for a long time, Tonks. Even once we've got you caught up on paperwork, you'll have to get your spellmanship tested, redo your assessments-"
"Redo my assessments! I've been fighting in a bloody war, not sitting around doing needlepoint!"
"It's just protocol," Meg assured her. "I'm sure they won't make you run the course all over again."
"I wouldn't put it past Kingsley, or whoever he's put in for the head of the DMLE."
"Either way, the sooner you're through the paperwork, the sooner you can get back out in the field." Someone from across the office shouted her name, and the clerk turned. "In a minute, Dawlish!" Turning back, she whispered, "Bloody incompetent, that one."
Tonks snorted. "Some things never change. How is he still here, anyway? Shouldn't he be locked up in a nice cell somewhere?"
"Begged Kingsley to give him another chance," Meg muttered under her breath. "On hands and knees, I heard. Said he was just following orders."
"Kingsley bought it?"
"Of course not. That's why he's been downgraded to my assistant." Meg smiled grimly. "More like my hassle, really, but the way Kingsley sees it is that he's more use to us by making him pay back his time then waiting out a stint in Azkaban, so he's technically working on parole."
"Madame Coburn!" Dawlish called again sullenly, and Meg sighed.
"Coming, Dawlish!" she snapped, and then nodded to the auror. "Tonks, I'll get the paperwork to you in a minute. Talk to you later, yeah?" Meg gave her a grin and then dashed off. Tonks waited patiently until a miniature avalanche of typewriter paper floated up to her desk. With a groan, she accepted her fate and set to work.
The first three hours until her lunch break were dreadfully slow, the next two after that equally tedious. Thankfully, the monotony was broken here and there by one fellow officer or another coming up to greet her, until she'd been reacquainted with almost the whole office. There were a few new faces, too; young trainees who'd fought as private citizens in the war and now were eager to devote themselves to helping bring those responsible to justice. Tonks hoped their resolve wouldn't fade after the initial glamor of the job wore off; auror work was more than firefights and chilling at the pub after a crazy night on the beat; half of the time, it was filling out forms in triplicate and combing over your reports so that Meg could give the Wizengamot a legally valid statement if the court subpoenaed. Paperwork was just a part of the job, and right now, she was devoted to slowly killing the white-stacked beast in front of her, inch by little inch.
It wasn't until around three that she finally allowed herself a reprieve, getting up and rolling her shoulders as she headed to the break room. Fetching her favorite pink mug from the cupboard, she poured herself a cup of black tea and grabbed a biscuit from the tin. As she did so, several other witches and wizards came in behind her, pouring their own cups and scarfing down biscuits.
"–And then the guy jumped out the window, if you can believe it! Luckily he'd forgotten we were on the second floor; broke his bloody ankle, but we got him in."
"That's amazing," a feminine voice gushed, and Tonks wrinkled her nose. Paige Gladwyn was the department secretary, a pretty redhead whom Tonks was fairly certain had only taken the job in order to make passes at the male officers. The worst part was, Gladwyn wasn't a bimbo; Tonks could respect bimbos, in their own way, insofar as they were sweet, harmless creatures who didn't get in her way when she was working a case. But she could not respect Paige Gladwyn. The woman was a terrible gossip and somewhat malicious; Tonks had learned that lesson after trying to befriend her during Paige's first few months with the department. In return, she'd had one of her more embarrassing failures on a case sent down the office grapevine faster than she could say silencio.
"Yeah, Haines; just incredible," Tonks said dryly, who had read the story in the previous morning's newspaper. "So tell me, just how high was the guy again?" She also had little respect for Will Haines, who actually was an idiot and had the reputation of being a bit of a robe-chaser around the office.
Haines waggled his eyebrows. "Oh c'mon, Tonks, tell me you're not impressed."
"That's Officer Lupin to you, and no, I can't say I am," she drawled, "Considering he was off his tits on Baked Brew by the time you caught him. Probably thought you were a bloody mutant house-elf or something."
A few of the other officers burst out laughing; Haines and Gladwyn just glared at her. "Like you're one to talk!" Haines scoffed. "What kind of mum drugs her own child?"
"What're you on about, Haines?" said Tonks with a scowl.
"I was down Diagon Alley a few months ago. Saw you sitting with that werewolf, feeding your kid something green. That sure as shite wasn't baby formula."
The whole break room had gone dead silent. Tonks's brain had gone blank. This wasn't how she'd intended people to find out. Sure, she'd told Meg, but this…
"Oh. My. Godric," Paige said lowly. "The kid's one, too?"
"You got a problem with that, Gladwyn?" Tonks growled, setting down the teacup.
"Yeah, as a matter of fact I do! Why did you even have it if you knew it was going to be a- a-"
"A what?" Tonks snapped. "A werewolf?" Several of the others looked uncomfortable. "Well first off, my baby's got a name, and it's Teddy, thank you. And secondly, it's not like we intended for him to catch the disease, heck, we didn't even think we could have kids! But my baby is the best surprise I ever got, so why don't you go shove your elitist bullshit where the sun don't shine, alright? I've got work to do."
She brushed past her back out into the bullpen, heading for her desk, when she heard Paige call out: "They've got potions to take care of that, you know!"
Nymphadora "Tonks" Lupin had always known herself to be the daughter of two houses: the easy-going line of Ted Tonks, a muggle-born wizard who laughed too loudly at the comics and believed firmly in Justice, Honor, and the Crown of Great Britain; and the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, calculating and impassioned and maybe just a little bit mad.
And, as easily as a muggle light-switch being thrown, Dora's inner Tonks snapped off, and the Black came out full-force.
Her wand was out before she even realized she'd turned around. The whole office had gone dead silent; if Dora could have seen herself, she would have known why. Gone were the bubbly pink locks, her hair having bled to a choppy, pitch-black bob, stark against her suddenly pale skin. Gone were the warm brown eyes, inheritance of her father, replaced with her mother's glittering onyx. For the first time in any of her fellow aurors' memories, good ol' Tonks looked like… well, she looked for all the world like the Mad Black. Like dear sweet aunty Bellatrix.
"Say that again," Tonks breathed, her wand twitching. "Go on. I dare you."
Paige bit her lip and didn't reply.
"That's what I thought." Her shining black eyes drilled into he secretary's, unblinking, burning with a cold fire. "Now you listen to me, Gladwyn," Tonks continued, voice dangerously soft. "My baby has just as much right to be here as your skinny little arse, and you will never- ever- talk about him like that in my presence again. Do I make myself clear?" The woman gaped, and Tonks's eyes narrowed even further. "Do I make myself clear?"
Paige looked just about ready to nod, and then her eyes focused at something over Tonks's shoulder. Before the auror could turn, she heard a familiar voice say in a stunned gasp, "Merlin's beard. Tonks, is that you?"
She whirled around. Arthur Weasley was looking back at her in his mild-mannered version of shock, a badge emblazoned with the words, "Department of Magical Law Enforcement" pinned to his robes.
Thursday morning was busy for Remus. Each of his seventeen students were in need of career advising, a matter in which McGonagall had insisted he was competent and Remus severely doubted his own abilities. Granted, he'd worked nearly every base-pay job on wizarding ground, and had held quite a few muggle positions besides, but his own career advisement meetings had been tricky at best and depressing at worst, despite Professor McGonagall's best efforts to the contrary. So, having enlisted the continued help of Hannah Abbot, who was more than happy to watch Teddy for a few extra hours, he opened up his schedule for counseling sessions.
Thankfully, most of his students were still set on the careers they'd chosen in their fifth years. Their, it seemed, hadn't changed much despite the turbulence of the previous year.
The first real surprise came with his first elder senior student, in the form of one Ginevra Weasley. She walked in two minutes early, promptly sat down, smoothed her skirt, and folded her hands on his office desk, looking him straight in the eyes.
Remus blinked. "Er– Hello, Ginevra."
"Hello, Professor. Are you well?"
"Oh, er, fine." He frowned. "Are you well?"
"Quite. I'll be better once I've got this sorted."
"Beg your pardon?"
"You'll see what I mean." She nodded to the file on his desk which bore her name in McGonagall's fluid cursive. Intrigued, he opened the file and took a minute to read McGonagall's notes on the first. At the bottom of the form, where the career aspirations box lay, were the words, Professional Quidditch Player.
"Ah," he said, somehow not surprised.
"For the Hollyhead Harpies," Ginny added, reading his mind. "They're my favorite team, you know."
"I didn't." He hesitated. "Er, Ginevra-"
"Oh, I know it's silly," she said dismissively. "That's what I've come to change. I'm a proper adult, now, and I should really find out what proper adult career I should do."
"Well, professional Quidditch is a 'proper adult career,' so to speak– just highly selective," Remus said fairly. "Forgive me for asking, but are you any good?"
Ginny blinked. "Well, yes, I am. Very good, actually." She frowned. "Aren't you going to tell me to stop being ridiculous? To think seriously?"
"Well, I'm going to tell you to think seriously, but I don't think you're being silly. If you're good enough to be recruited and actually want to play, I think it'd be a waste of your talents not to try." When she still didn't reply, he added, "Ginny, I certainly don't think that Quidditch should be your only career plan, but I don't think it's childish to want to do what you love."
"But I'm an adult now," she said uncertainly. "Silly dreams like- like professional Quidditch- I mean, they're for children."
Remus sighed. "You know, I sometimes think that the muggles might have something right that we don't. They come of age at eighteen and then most go to school for at least another two years, some as many as ten." He offered a wry smile. "I know how you feel, you know. I was your age when I went to war, too, just a kid myself. It makes you grow up very fast." He glanced to the ring on her finger and then back to her eyes. "But you're seventeen, Ginny; you're allowed to be a little childish at times."
Her shoulders relaxed with a breath neither realized she'd been holding. "Really?"
"Really," he said sincerely. "Now: bearing in mind that the Hollyhead Harpies are not out of the game quite yet: have you considered any options for a fallback if it doesn't pay out?"
"Er- no, not really. I thought you might have some ideas."
He considered this for a moment. Ginny was bold and spoke her mind as a matter of principle, letting most criticism roll right off her back. She was generally well-liked, polite until things turned ugly, and had an penchant for objective opinion. She knew an awful lot about Quidditch and valued a fair game. And the one thing that Professor Lupin knew about her that very few people did, was that Ginevra Weasely had a natural talent with the written word. Having been her teacher for a year, he knew that she had a talent for writing articulate and concise reports, getting her point across without resorting to the more legalistic verbosity of Hermione Granger. What she stumbled through and around in her words grew smooth and clear the moment she put her pen to paper; beneath the blustering Weasley temperament, he knew, was a young lady with passions and opinions which she could quite eloquently explain when she had the time to construct them concretely.
All of this coalesced into a perfect picture, and Remus wondered why no one had ever seen it before. "Ginny," he inquired, "have you ever considered journalism?"
"So. Arthur says you got in a tiff with Paige Gladwyn."
"That's right."
"And you threatened her?"
"Well, not in so many words, but I think she got the point."
Kingsley let out a long-suffering sigh and folded his hands on the desk as if in prayer for patience. Tonks raised an eyebrow as if daring him to object. "Tonks. Do you know why I'm meeting with you instead of your Head of Department?"
"Because Arthur's scared of me now?"
The minister gave her a look. "No." He stood and turned to the bookshelf behind him, pulling out a thick folder filled with papers. "It is because, Tonks, if Gladwyn decides to run to the Prophet, we are going to be in some very hot water."
Tonks frowned. "Okay, so I intimidated her a little. That was wrong, I get it. But what's this hot water you're on about?"
Kingsley turned and set the folder down on his desk. Instead of answering, he said, "You realize I'm going to have to suspend you for the rest of the week, don't you?"
"Kingsley, I just got back–!"
"–And you should be grateful for it, because you're going to need the time with the amount of paperwork you'll be getting," he concluded.
She blinked. "Begging your pardon?"
He pushed the folder across the desk to her. Bemused, Tonks opened it and read the first line.
She looked up, not even realizing as her hair faded to white. "No way."
"You see why your little incident with the secretary might be rather more serious than you thought."
But she was gaping at him now, hardly even listening. "You want to make me chief superintendent?"
Kingsley smiled slightly and inclined his head.
"But- but- Kingsley, I can't!" Her hair was turning bright orange with fear. "Kingsley, I'm twenty-seven! I wear my hair ridiculous colors! I still keep my wand in my back pocket!"
"None of which would inhibit you from being an excellent head of office. But," he added, "you're going to have to apologize to Gladwyn."
Tonks grimaced. "Do I have to?"
"Yes, you do." Kingsley frowned. "Tonks, what exactly got into you? You haven't lost your temper like that since–"
"Since Bellatrix. I know." Her hair morphed to black again, much to Kingsley's surprise.
"Tonks?" he questioned. "Is there something Arthur or I should know about?"
She hesitated, and then said darkly, "Let's just say that Paige Gladwyn and Bellatrix Lestrange are alike in more ways than you'd think. Namely, how they think kids like Teddy should be 'taken care of.'"
Kingsley's face went stony at that. "I see," he said curtly, and Tonks realized that she had his sympathy. "Well, you're still on suspension, and you still have to apologize for the threat," he added, before Tonks could interrupt, "but I'll have Arthur talk to Gladwyn."
"You think he'll be able to handle her?"
"He's fathered seven children, Tonks; he'll take care of it. And if he doesn't," Kingsley vowed, "I will."
"Thank you, Kingsley," Tonks said sincerely, with more gravity to her voice than she usually employed. "Although I suppose once I'm sworn in I'll be able to set her straight myself."
"So you'll take the job, then?" the minister said with a smile.
Tonks returned it. "It would be my honor."
The younger auror left that meeting in much better spirits than she could have anticipated walking in. Arthur was waiting outside for her. "He wasn't too harsh on you, was he?" the Weasley patriarch inquired worriedly. "You won't be thrown off the force?"
"Merlin, no. I'm your new chief superintendent, Arthur!"
"Are you really? That's wonderful! I'm sure you'll do just beautifully, Tonks."
"Thanks. Although," she added, wrinkling her nose, "I've got to apologize to Gladwyn. Oh, and I've been suspended for the rest of the week."
"Oh, dear," he said with a frown. "And you've only been here a few hours."
"Eh, I think it's more a chance to let me get through the rest of the paperwork. Besides, I'm not going to complain about getting Saturday off."
The rest of the other younger seventh-years' sessions had run fairly smoothly, and Remus was beginning to wonder whether he'd see any of the older students, before he checked his schedule. The last slot had been filled very late the evening before, so late he hadn't had time to read it over, and so was mildly surprised when he saw the name Seamus Finnegan scrawled hastily on the bottom.
Not thirty seconds after having read this, the door to his office opened, revealing the very same. The young Irishman was looking particularly uncertain as he walked in, an unusual expression for someone usually so cheerful and self-assured. "Seamus," said Remus pleasantly, nodding to the chair opposite the desk. "Please, take a seat."
"Er- right," he said nervously, setting his schoolbag aside and sitting down. "Thanks."
"Now let me see, I've got your file right here…" He rifled through the papers, frowning with interest. "So you want to become an auror, is that right? Well, my wife's bound to be happy about that; she keeps saying they need new blood in the Corps-"
"Actually, sir," Seamus broke in uncomfortably, "I'm more here to tell you that I'm not sure how much you can help me. And I'm sorry to disappoint your wife, but I don't want to join the Corps anymore."
"Oh?" said Lupin, raising his eyebrows. "Why not?"
Seamus shook his head. "At the time I thought, well, if Harry's right after all, then it looks like we'll be going to war any day now, and– well, I wanted to fight, you know. Only now I've done me fighting, so…"
"I understand. Did you have anything particular in mind?"
Much to his surprise, Seamus blushed. "I, er… I've had an idea, sir, but- well, I'm sure you'll think it's bunk, anyhow-"
"I highly doubt that," Lupin said kindly. "Go on."
Seamus bit his lip. "Well, ah… there's this school, sir. A real fine school, in Ireland, one of the best in Northern Europe for…" He took a deep breath. "Well, for wizards looking to go into the clergy."
Lupin's eyes widened. "The clergy?"
"I know," Seamus groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I know, it's mental, me whole family thinks I'm daft. They keep going on about me potential, and I s'pose they're right, I mean, I've a bloody Order of Merlin now, I could get a job anywhere I liked, but–"
"Seamus, you needn't justify yourself to me," Remus reassured him. "What made you think about becoming a cleric?"
The young Irishman looked up hesitantly. "…I don't mention it to the others," he said awkwardly, "But I've special permission to go down to the village with Sister Pomfrey on Sundays. Only last year…" His expression grew dark. "Last year, the Carrows wouldn't let me leave. Pomfrey used to sneak me in Holy Communion, but… I knew it was only a matter of time. Fr. McMurray, he was hiding muggleborns, you see. When they found him out… they killed him."
"I'm so sorry," said Lupin quietly. "I didn't know him well, but he was a good man."
"After the battle, I kept walking in between the bodies. Thinking how it was a shame, no one here to give them their Last Rites. Oh, I knew most of them weren't Catholic, but…" He shrugged his shoulders sadly. "I sent a patronus to me confessor back home in Ireland, and he came up. But I kept thinking, if I'd just been a few years older, if I'd been here, if I'd known what was going to happen…"
"It wasn't your fault."
"I know. But it was still a right pity. And I realized I knew what I wanted to do, what I had to do. Professor, I don't ever want anyone to die like that again, not if I can help it."
His expression was so fierce that Lupin couldn't help but admire his dedication. "I can't say I quite understand," he replied honestly. "I'm a Presbyterian myself, but… I don't think there's any shame in doing what you believe is right, if this is really what you want to do."
"It is," Seamus said stoutly. "I'll do whatever it takes."
"Then it would be my honor to write you a letter of recommendation. And for what it's worth," he added, "I think you'll make a grand cleric."
And the smile that beamed from Seamus's face gave him hope that maybe he wouldn't be half-bad a career counselor, after all.
It was nearing six in the evening when at last Dora bit back her pride enough to go apologize to Paige. The secretary was sitting at her desk typing up forms with perfectly manicured fingernails that clicked on the typewriter keys in the most annoying way, or at least Tonks thought so. "Er- Gladwyn," she said reluctantly, and the secretary glanced up, raising an eyebrow.
"Tonks," she replied warily.
"I just- er- want to apologize. For losing my temper, I mean." She bit back the words, even though you deserved it, and continued, "That was highly unprofessional and it won't happen again."
Paige offered a very fake smile. "I'm sure."
"Great. Er- well, I'm off, then; got to get home. See you Saturday." She turned for the door.
"Oh, Tonks?" She glanced back. "I didn't mean to offend, you know," Paige said, voice dripping with false sincerity. "I really just wanted to offer any help I could. There's a little apothecary down Knockturn Alley that's said to be very good for, well, that sort of thing. Just if you ever have any future needs."
Tonks stared. She could feel her hair going beetroot red– with anger, with unwarranted embarrassment– but couldn't manage to speak. Paige just smiled that false smile. "Well. Have a goodnight, Tonks."
Her throat was tight. Her hands were shaking. Tonks had a temper, all right, but she kept it cool enough most of the time not to do anything rash. In one bound, Paige had pushed her far past her breaking point, even past the point of screaming and throwing a few good hexes. Tonks was now at that infamous point reached by any woman who was frustrated and angry and hurt all at once, and no matter how hard she tried she couldn't fight the tears pricking at her eyes. So in one abrupt motion she turned and stalked out of the office without a word.
The false windows in the office shattered to reveal cold earth as the door slammed behind her.
"Aaand we're done, Teddy! How about that!" Remus grinned down at his son, who was lying on his stomach on a throw rug at the base of his father's desk, mouthing his cloth rattle with carefree enjoyment. "Papa finished marking all his papers!"
Teddy looked up at him and cooed.
"Yes, yes, I'm very accomplished." He reached down and scooped Teddy into his arms, tickling his belly; the boy gigled, his hair turning turquoise. "I've got an idea. Let's go start dinner for your mama, hm? The healer says you can try rice now; would you like that? Hardy, manly food, so you can grow up smart and strong like your papa."
Teddy cooed, and his hair faded to a mousy brown; his eyes flashed gold. Remus felt his heart swell with pride and affection, so strong it brought tears to his eyes; his son was trying to look like him. "Yes, just like your papa," he laughed tapping the baby's nose as he walked out of the and up the staircase at the end of the corridor. "You're going to be quite a handful someday, when you figure out how useful that little talent is."
They left the staircase and walked together down through the long hallways, father and son, as Remus told the child stories he'd heard from Dora of all the mischief she'd caused with her gift. "-And that, you see, is how she managed to get out of her potions final. Isn't that just terrible?" The boy ahhed and grabbed at his nose, causing his father to smile and grimace at the same time. "None of that, now! I know I'm a handsome devil, but that nose is mine, thank you very much!"
"Well, I guess he just wants to be like his dad," a voice said, and Remus looked up to see a smiling Harry Potter in front of him at the edge of the stairwell.
"Harry! Did you need anything?"
"Oh- er- I know you were doing counseling interviews today, but I suppose you're through with them now?" he asked, and Remus thought he detected a strangely hopeful hint in his voice.
"Oh, er, yes– since this morning, actually."
"Bugger. Well, I'll just have to try later, then." He suddenly realized what he'd said and went red, eyes wide behind his glasses as he glanced to Teddy. "Oh, er, sorry. Not in front of the kid, right?"
"Corrupting my child; shame on you, Potter," Remus drawled, and then stopped short at the look of surprise the teenager gave him. "I'm sorry, Harry," he apologized, embarrassed at getting so easily caught up in the past. "Sometimes you really are a lot like your father. That was exactly the sort of thing James would have done."
Harry's eyes softened. "You really do miss them, don't you, Professor?"
"Every day of my life," Remus replied honestly. "They were as good as family to me." Both student and teacher looked over as Teddy pawed at his father's face with an expression of concern, his hair turning blue.
"He can tell when you're upset," Harry noted with surprise.
"Oh, yes. He's a very intelligent baby." Remus shifted his grip, as the baby was growing rather heavy, and then said brusquely, "Just pop in sometime tomorrow or Saturday, and we'll get your application all sorted out. The sooner I can get the forms in, the better it is for–" he broke off suddenly. "Oh, dear!"
"What?"
"The forms- I left them in the office!" He looked back to Teddy and made a quick decision. "Harry, are you doing anything important at the moment?"
"Er- not particularly-"
"Could you by chance hold Teddy for ten minutes? Only he's a bit heavy to be going up and down stairs with; I can't imagine how Dora did it for nine months!"
"Ah, how can I turn down my godson?" Harry accepted the baby with a grin.
"Thank you so very much. Be up in a mo'."
Remus dashed down the stairs and across what seemed like half the castle to his office, gathering up all his papers and briefcase. As he hurried back, he saw the teenager coming down the hall, distinctly Teddy-free. "What did you do with my son?" he asked, a bit more frantically than he meant to.
"Tonks has him; she came up just a few minutes ago. She looked in a bit of a state, Professor; you should go talk to her."
"Did she? Which way did she go?"
"Up to your apartment, I think."
Remus thanked him and hurried off again, feet pounding the stone. Dread twisted his stomach; something had happened at work, he just knew it. When he reached the apartment, the door was slightly ajar, and the air felt colder than it ought to have. Pausing to catch his breath, he pushed it open.
What he found within was not at all what he'd been expecting. The first thing he noticed was that the room was entirely dark, without a single candle lit, illuminated only by the red light of the sunset that was streaming through the windows. Or, rather, where the windows ought to have been; the glass seemed to have fractured as if blasted by a soundwave, littering the hardwood floor and catching the scarlet light on their sharp edges. The curtains billowed inside, buffeted by the wind– so that was the cause of the draft– and, most eerily, he could hear not a sound.
A great fear seized Remus's heart. He stepped forward warily; a crackling sound drew his attention, and he glanced down to find crystal shards of glass under his shoes. "Dora?" he called uncertainly. No voice answered; he set down his briefcase and stepped inside, glass breaking underfoot. "Dora, are you alright?"
"I'm here, Remus," a dull, throaty voice called from the couch. He hurried over to find his wife curled up cross-legged on the couch, shorter than her natural height and her hair cropped short and dark turquoise. Her eyes were red and puffy, fixed on the quiet Teddy in her arms. The infant seemed to realize the seriousness of the situation and pawed gently at his mother's cheek, not making a sound.
"Sorry 'bout the windows," Tonks mumbled, not looking at her husband. "I'll fix them later."
"Never mind that; Dora, what happened?" he breathed, sitting down beside her.
She sniffled and shrugged. Remus sighed and pulled the pair into a hug; with that, his wife broke down into tears again.
"I hate them, Remus!" she wept. "I hate them so much!"
"Hate who, love?"
She let out a choked sob and let out something that sounded like a garbled mixture of syllables and sounds. Remus patted her back and murmured nonsense comforts. When at last the woman had gotten ahold of herself, she drew back, still holding Teddy in her arms, whom she looked at with both heartbreak and adoration.
"…He had to know," she murmured at last, drawing away. "I had to make sure he knows, Remus. That there's someone who loves him, who will always love him, no matter what…"
He suddenly realized where this was going, and a wave of guilt and raw anger washed over him. "What happened, Dora?" he asked again, this time more firmly.
She sighed and stood, balancing the baby on her hip as she walked away, back to him. "I got suspended for the rest of the week. For losing my temper with Paige Gladwyn."
"What? Dora, that's not like you–"
"The bitch deserved it," Tonks growled, turning around. "She said that I should have- should have made sure Teddy was taken care of. Even volunteered to give me the address for one of those horrible apothecaries in case of any future needs."
Remus went cold; it was like a shaft of ice had just been struck through his heart. "I-I'm sure she didn't mean it maliciously," he stammered. "She probably thought- believed it would be kinder-"
"No, that was exactly how she meant it," the witch spat. "She wasn't thinking about 'mercy' or any of that, Remus, she meant that he didn't belong here. She talked about him like he wasn't even a person, just a bloody waste of space."
An awful guilt was clutching at his stomach, tightening until Remus thought he would be sick. He should have known this would happen. He knew how society saw him, how tortured he had felt at the thought of fathering a child with the same condition. Unbidden, every backhanded, sneering comment he'd ever heard about his kind and procreating– "Thank Merlin they can't breed;" "Bloody beasts should be fixed, just in case;"– rose in vile succession to his mind. Did he have any right, really, to risk bringing another innocent life into this world, a life marked with prejudice and pain?
Tonks was still going, ranting even as she came back to the couch. "I wanted to slap her, to tell her that she's the fool, that my baby is perfect… but then I realized, Teddy's not perfect. He's sick." She stopped here, tears filling her eyes as she looked down at her son. "He's sick," she repeated thickly, "and for the rest of his life people are going to be looking down on him, thinking he doesn't have a right to be here because he doesn't fit their idea of perfection." She stroked Teddy's hair with gentle fingertips, the baby still red-eyed but no longer crying. "So you see, I had to make him understand, how much I love him," Tonks whispered. "He had to know."
Remus was unable to answer, so he nodded his head. His wife sighed and sat down beside him, still holding the child in her arms and looking at him as if she would never look away. For a long time, the three of them just sat there, the two adults watching the baby, the baby squirming and grabbing and trying imitate their faces. Eventually Tonks cheered slightly and began to change her hair color, smiling slightly when the boy copied her. "…That's my smart boy," she murmured. "You're so clever, just like your daddy."
"…Dora…" Remus said at last, hesitantly, "Do you think that maybe– I mean, is it possible that… that this coworker of yours had a point?"
Dora looked up sharply. "What?"
"Not- in what she said about- that is-"
"You think I shouldn't have had Teddy?" she demanded, leaping to her feet.
"No!" he promised, standing to match her. "No, of course I don't! But- Dora, I love our son, you know I do! And I would never, ever even think about asking you to- to do what that woman told you. But now… Dora, do I have any right to be with you again, when it might bring another life of suffering into this world?"
"A life doesn't stop being worthwhile just because it includes pain!"
"But suffering like this-"
"-Is difficult. I know, Remus. But that doesn't make his life any less important, any less worthy to be lived, than that of anyone else!"
"There's a difference between letting someone live and causing life to happen!" he exclaimed, and her heart twisted at the way he said "let," as if he still subconsciously considered his very existence a favor and not a right. "With Teddy, it was a mistake-"
"Are you calling our son a mistake?!"
"No! Never! But we had no idea, no idea that he was even a possibility! And now we do. Dora, we're responsible now! And I can't…" He pinched the bridge of his nose, grimacing as if he were close to tears.
Tonks sighed, felt her own fire die. "Oh, Remus…" She reached up and took his hands into hers, saw the wetness around his hazel eyes.
"Dora, I love you more than anything," he whispered hoarsely. "And I want to love you… the way a husband is supposed to love his wife. But I… I don't know if I can afford to take that chance again. To run the risk of some innocent child having to suffer because of my negligence, my selfishness. Don't you see that?"
She stood silent, uncertain what to say. Remus couldn't meet her eyes, and neither knew how to break the sudden and insurmountable wall of silence that had erupted between them. For what seemed like an eternity, the only sound they could hear was the wind through the broken windows, the clicking of the clock in their bedroom, and Teddy's occasional faint, worried coos.
And this last sound was at last Dora's saving grace.
"Remus, look at our son," she said finally, and the man before her at last managed to raise his eyes, glancing to the precious child in her arms. "He's beautiful, isn't he? And I'm sure that if you were to ask him a few years from now if he's happy to be alive- Remus, I am sure he would answer yes!"
"But you can't be sure, Dora," he moaned. "You can't! I… I know there were times in my life when I wouldn't have answered yes… times where I thought I'd have been better off never having been born…"
"But what about now?" she pressed. "Aren't you happy now?"
"Of course I am, but that's not the point! I was fortunate; Teddy might not be, his future siblings might not be, all because of what I've done, what I am…"
Dora didn't waste time with words. Before Remus knew exactly what she was doing, she was kissing him full on the mouth. After a few seconds, she pulled away, leaving him to stand there in a daze.
"Remus John Lupin, I want you to hear me loud and clear," Nymphadora said forcefully. "I love you with everything I have in me, every iota of my being. You are not expendable. You are not less worthy to be alive than anyone else. You are important, you are good, you are a wonderful husband and father, and if I lost you, I don't know what I would do with myself!" She gripped his arm fiercely. "Your disease does not change your value, and it would not, would never, change the value of the lives of our children. You mean the world to me, Remus– and if something so precious and incredible as a child should come out of the love I have for you, then I would be overjoyed to think that I had helped create a person who will one day be as special to someone as you are to Teddy and me. And even if that never happens for him," she added sternly, "he will have parents who love and care about him. Remus, his life is going to be worthwhile."
A certain peace had come over his features with her words; although there still seemed to be doubt in his eyes, he didn't look so fretful. She cupped his cheek with her hand gently and added, "Remus, if you're really this frightened, then we'll only be together when there's the least chance of me getting pregnant again. But if it does happen, we will love that baby with all our hearts, won't we?"
"Of course!" he vowed. "Of course I would, Dora, don't ever doubt that."
"Then let's not be scared of this. Kids are a good thing, remember?" She grinned, tweaked his cheek. "Even the ones who become adorable little fur-balls once a month. So stop talking like a pureblood supremacist, would you?"
He blinked at that, a little startled, and then realized he was right. "Of course. I'm being ridiculous…"
"Yes, you are. And trying to be noble. Funny how those things go together with you." She looked down to the child in her arms, whose hair had gone turquoise with contentment at seeing his parents no longer upset. "Our boy is a beautiful, wonderful gift," she said seriously, looking back up. "Whether he's 'perfect' or not. And he's got a wonderful father to show him that, every single day."
At last, Remus smiled– a genuine, grateful smile. "And a wonderful mother to tell him how beautiful he is, each and every day," he agreed, and pecked her on the lips. Dora smiled and kissed him back.
"So. Dinner," Remus said cheerfully, drawing back. "We have options. We can either pop down to the staff table and eat there, or I can make chicken dumplings with rice. Your decision."
"Let's eat up here," she suggested, shifting Tedy to her other hip. "I love your chicken dumplings."
"I knew you couldn't resist."
"Mm. Maybe it's just because the man who makes them is so delicious," she teased, just to see him blush.
"Well, I'm flattered you think so." He suddenly realized he was rather cold, and said, "Er, Dora?"
"Yeah?" He nodded to the broken windows, and now it was her turn to blush. "Oh, right. Reparo!"
The shards of glass jumped back together and sealed with a pretty tinkling. "So, other than bigoted secretaries, how was your first day back at work?"
"Hm? Oh!" She placed Teddy in the baby chair next to the table and said proudly, "I was so upset I almost forgot to tell you. Three guesses on who's the new chief superintendent."
"Oh? Who?" he called over his shoulder, lighting the stove and reaching for a boiling pot in the cupboard.
She didn't answer, merely grinned at his back and waited.
Two seconds later, Remus dropped the pot, turning around. "No!" he said, voice hushed. She nodded gleefully. "Oh, Dora, that's wonderful!" She laughed and took a mock bow. "This calls for celebration– we haven't any champagne, but I know we've got a bottle of white wine around her somewhere..."
"Teddy's not quite of age, Remus," Tonks teased. As if to back her up, the baby cooed cheerfully. "And it'll go bad once we open it; we'll have to finish the whole thing ourselves."
"Oh, love, I think we can manage that!" He let out a noise of triumph as he pulled a bottle of white wine from the cupboard. "A toast, shall we?"
"What, right now? We haven't even started dinner."
"Just a small glass, Tonks."
She hesitated, and then conceded. "Alright, a small glass."
He poured them each a small amount, and then raised the glass to her. "A toast," he said quietly, "To my beautiful wife, who today proved that she is not only an accomplished auror, but also a wonderful mother."
Tonks giggled and raised her glass. "And to my handsome husband, who teaches me something new every day. And," she added, "to our son."
Remus nodded. "To our son."
They clinked their glasses together.
A/N: Long chapter in repayment of a long wait. (Sorry! Sorry!)
So as you might have guessed, this chapter was written (belatedly) in honor of the pro-life movement's Save the Humans Week, which ended on Sunday. I wanted to address the difficult issue of having children when there are the concerns of such devastating genetic conditions at stake. I thought this definitely played an implicit role in the 7th book where Remus is panicking about Teddy inheriting his condition; clearly he loves his son and his wife, but he doesn't know what to do if he's brought an innocent life into the world in a state where terrible pain is inevitable.
I actually think that it's one of the failings of a lot of really good fiction, that almost every time, the child turns out to be just fine. Teddy is not a werewolf, Michael Vincent is not blind, you get the idea. But in real life, sometimes those concerns have real consequences. I wanted to address those consequences and provide an answer that affirms universal human dignity.
Again, IF YOU DIDN'T READ IT BEFORE: the chapter is not at all meant to be a condemnation of anyone who has had or has encouraged someone else to have an abortion. I know that more often than not it is a decision made out of fear, embarrassment and, as regards this particular issue, oftentimes a real desire to spare the child itself any suffering in later life. Paige is not meant to represent those people in the slightest; rather, she is a symbol of the mentality which doesn't consider children with certain genetic disorders to be worthwhile human beings. This is an apologia both against that mentality and the mentality that a life which contains great suffering is not a life worth lived.
As a very last and totally unrelated note, no, Seamus's vocation is not just my little inner Catholic fangirl popping up; this actually has a point, as you'll see in the next chapter. Ta ta for now! Pax et bonum!
