Envy
Remus watches them, two birds of a feather. Bill says something, and she laughs, and he tries to ignore the flame of pure envy curling in his stomach.
He looks away, focusing on the remains of his dinner. He avoids looking at Sirius, even though he can feel his eyes flitting between him and Tonks.
Usually it's her sitting across from him, but tonight she's spent the entire evening at the other end of the room. With Bill. Which is fine.
He hasn't seen her much in the last ten days or so - not that he's counting. She hasn't dropped by Headquarters, or spent any of her evenings with him and Sirius, which had rapidly become their habit.
Sirius' mood is darker, as a result, and Remus himself feels so ridiculously, so unexpectedly bereft at her absence that he's been moping almost as much.
He promises himself he won't look over again, and to cover up the ache in his chest he does his best to chat to Arthur, then Moody, though he finds himself perennially distracted by the sound of Tonksian laughter echoing round the room.
An early night then, perhaps. He rises suddenly, cutting Sirius off, and mutters a vague "Thank you for dinner, Molly. But Dumbledore has asked me to look over something…" and begins to make his way out of the room, despite Molly's protestations.
Once in the library, he closes the door behind him, effectively cutting off all noise, and breathes a sigh of relief. He pours himself a generous measure of Ogden's and sits heavily at the desk. The report that is actually due for the end of the week sits in front of him, but he can't bring himself to focus on it just yet. He doesn't want to think about her either, so he simply sits, staring at the fire.
"You always knew it would come." He murmurs to himself quietly. "No need to make a fuss about it."
"Talking to yourself now, hmmm?" He jumps a mile, his heart in his throat. It's her, of course. Trust her to manage to sneak up on him quietly, tonight of all nights.
She smirks at him from the door, her tangerine hair glistening in the firelight. "First sign of madness, you know."
He feels absurdly angry at her. He wishes he could shout, or sulk, and do either with an ounce of credibility. Who is he to make a claim on her time? Who is he to begrudge her anything?
He says nothing, but gestures to the Ogden's. She nods, and he pours out a measure, grateful for the distraction. Something to do with his hands.
"Busy, I see?" She looks over his shoulder at the as-yet-unopened file lying on the desk.
"Well, I only came up to say ta-ra. Bill and I are off to the pub, and I don't suppose you want to come?"
Remus shakes his head, and gestures to the file. He feels exposed in his lie, so clings onto it all the more desperately for it.
"Better get it done. I promised Albus."
She smirks again, then downs her drink. "Remus Lupin. Some might say you were married to the job."
"If they did, they wouldn't know me very well. A werewolf's prospect of being gainfully employed are almost as minimal as his chances of getting married." He swallows a mouthful of his drink, to cover the bitterness of his tone. "Have fun at the pub."
She looks at him again, something softening in her face, but he looks away, not wanting to see her pity.
It's better this way. Important to make it clear, if any such clarity were needed, that her future lies with any number of young men, in any of London's smoky pubs. Not in a draughty library with dark creatures old enough to be her… something.
"Don't be so morose, Lupin, or I shall feel forced to drag you along with me."
He smiles, a small, tight-lipped smile. "I wouldn't want to cramp your style. And I imagine Bill wants you all to himself."
She looks at him, bemused. Realisation hits a few seconds later, and her eyes go wide in surprise. Then, unexpectedly, she laughs.
"You moron, Lupin."
"Excuse me?"
But she is giggling too much to answer. She swoops towards him suddenly, and presses a quick, close-lipped kiss to his cheek. It lands very close to his mouth.
"I was wondering why you'd been sulking all night."
He splutters at that, but things are happening too fast for him to mount any sort of defence, except: "I wasn't sulking."
"Of course not." She's still laughing as she saunters away from him, towards the door. "I tell you what. You finish your made-up assignment for Dumbledore. I'll have this drink with Bill so he can finish droning on about his new French girlfriend . I'll meet you back here at ten thirty. Eleven, tops."
She leaves as he's still sitting there, mouth agape, glass of firewhiskey still balanced precariously in hand.
