The kitchen is almost perfectly still. Remus has finally hexed the pixie trapped in the rafters, silencing that hideous giggling. It's taken him about a year, he thinks, watching as the June sun bleeds a red glow through the kitchen window and across the table. The red catches an array of Black silver and casts orange flickers against the wall. Orange like flame. But the silence is golden. It makes the bitter taste of his tea―they're out of sugar thanks to Dora―all the better.
Until of course Sirius joins him and begins his incessant snickering. Remus rolls his eyes and for the fourth day in a row, attempts to ignore him.
It doesn't work any better than it did yesterday.
"You can stop laughing about it anytime." Remus sighs and takes a long sip of his tea. He swallows slowly. "Really, it's been two weeks, Sirius."
"I just keep replaying the look on Mad-Eye's face when he went from thinking Dora was dead to finding you two in the cellar, you half dressed, and her . . . well . . . and then two of you, snogging . . ."
"You weren't even there when the rescue party showed up. How would you know what he looked like?"
"Kingsley does a great impression." Sirius snickers again, shaking his head.
"You know, I thought you'd be more concerned for your cousin's safety?"
"Oh, I was. But it turns out she was in good hands."
"Stop trying to turn everything dirty."
"I did nothing of the sort. But you have to admit, it was hilarious." He leans his chair back on two legs. "If there was still anyone in the dark about your relationship, well, let's just say it's Order table talk now."
"Sirius, please."
"What? It's a good thing. We could all use some happy news once in a while. Molly was practically bouncing off the ceiling when she found out."
"I know," Remus says, abashed. "She keeps trying to bake for us."
"Let her bake. We can never have enough of that woman's baking."
The line of his mouth curves up in a grin. "You're going to starve when this war is over, aren't you?"
"Probably. C'mon, I need some more to drink," Sirius stands. "I think the really good stuff's in the cellar."
He leads Remus down the stairs, a running commentary going. "So, while we're on the dirty topic . . . you and little Dora―"
"Don't call her little Dora. It makes me feel old and lecherous."
"Is that why you haven't, you know . . ." He wiggles his brows.
Remus fumbles on the stairs. "Who told you that?"
"She did. Sort of. Said you were taking things slow."
"We are."
Sirius peels back a ratty curtain at the bottom of the stairs to reveal a decadent wine cellar. "And that's good mate, really it is, gives you time to get to know her and stuff, I just can't figure out why. I mean, she does want to, doesn't she?"
"She keeps asking me when I'll get naked in front of her again, so I assume so."
Sirius snorts and ends up choking on a layer of dust encasing a row of elf-made wine. "Well, you want to, don't you?"
Remus doesn't respond, but becomes exceptionally interested by a label on one of the bottles filled with black sludge.
Sirius smirks. "You're a man, Remus. And she's a great girl. It's normal for you to have these feelings."
"Bloody hell, Sirius, I'm not fifteen anymore."
"Well, my pep talks used to help you. Why not now?"
Remus vanishes the bottle―a pair of eyes had peaked out at him through the black sludge―with his wand. "Things are more complicated now."
"How?"
"What do you mean how?"
"You'll have to spell it out for me, cause as far as I can tell, you like her, she likes you. You've been friends―or more than friends―for over a year. What's complicated about it?"
"I don't want her caught up in anything she doesn't want to be a part of. She's young―"
"But not an idiot."
Remus ignores him. "She's young and I'm just not convinced she knows what she really wants."
Sirius blows the hair away from his eyes with a heavy breath. "Then you haven't seen the way she bloody well looks at you. If those goo-goo eyes aren't laden with desire then I'm a flobberworm."
Remus continues to ignore him. "If this is just some crush she's having, I don't want her tangling herself up with a known werewolf. My life isn't easy. You know that."
"I do know," Sirius says. "And I also know she knows that, too. If she wasn't prepared to be a part of it she wouldn't be. You have to know that." He's silent for a long minute, inspecting another bottle of deep gold wine. "Is that all it is for you, mate? Some crush on a girl?"
"What if it is? Are you going to tell me not to hurt her?"
"No, I'm going to tell you to get the fuck out of my house. That girl's fallen in love with you and if you're stringing her along I'm going to kick your sorry werewolf ass back to the country."
Remus laughs. It's quiet, unassuming, and gentle, letting Sirius' threat sink in, validating what he already knows deep inside. "It's not," he says. "Just a crush."
Sirius shrugs. "I know. Just needed to hear you say it. I think you needed to hear you say it, too."
"You always were the best of us at relationships."
"That's what comes from having your heart broken twelve times a year."
"Pretty sure you were the heart breaker."
Sirius scoffs. "Why do people always assume that? Girls at school were terrible. Mean and nasty and demanding. James was the only one who lucked out. Lily was alright."
"She was."
"You always were the smartest of us, though. Guess I should have held out a little longer."
"Your time's not over, Sirius."
"Nah, I've resigned myself to being a bachelor. It'll be me and Kreacher until the bitter end. Just don't forget about me when you send out your Christmas cards."
Remus chuckles, but Sirius doesn't look away. "I'm serious Moony; I want Christmas cards from you two. When you're old and wrinkly and I'm stiff and drunk, I want you two together. I want you to be happy. Just let yourself be happy, Remus."
"Sirius . . ."
"Can you do that? For me? Can you just let yourself love her, no reservations, no fear. Just love her."
He nods, slightly taken aback, and Sirius claps him on the shoulder.
"Good. Now help me pick something stronger than that flowery elf junk."
"I don't think you need anything else," Remus says, pointing at a shelf of hard, clear whiskey. "You're getting preachy."
"You know, she tells me the same thing. You two really are just perfect for each other."
Remus opens his mouth to respond, then furrows his brow. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
Voices. Harry? Remus shakes his head. "Never mind."
They begin sorting through the bottles for something made this century. Remus looks up a few minutes later to find Tonks coming down the stairs. She smiles over the railing at them. "I'm always worried when I find you two down here."
"Just stocking up, Cuz. Thought you had to work? Were your ears burning? We've been talking about you."
"That's never good. What have you been telling him?"
"Why do you assume―"
"You get preachy when you're drunk," she says pointedly.
Sirius scoffs indignantly, but gives Remus a look, muttering I told you so.
Tonks skips down the stairs, like literally skips, and Remus already feels a little lighter as she bounds to his side, her fingers tangling with his, fitting together with an ease that still fascinates him.
He presses a lingering kiss to her temple and she smiles up at him, a little in disbelief at the outward display of affection in front of Sirius, and it makes him think about just how easy it really is to just love her the way Sirius has told him to.
He doesn't miss Sirius' wry smile as he pretends to sort through more ancient wines.
"So, how'd you escape so soon?" Remus asks her.
"Kingsley let me go early. I'm going to head up for a kip. I'm exhausted."
"It's been a long couple of weeks."
Sirius clears his throat. "I'm going to make myself busy upstairs. When you two are good and snogged out join me for a drink."
He waltzes away, grabbing the first bottle within reach and takes the stairs two at a time, chuckling under his breath.
"What have you two been up to?" Tonks asks warily.
"Nothing, he's just been bestowing me with some of his sought after advice."
"I know the kind," Tonks says.
"Yes, well, it hasn't been all bad today."
"Oh, really, and wha―"
Before she can finish Remus has pressed her up against the wall, hands sliding down her waist and fastening around her hips. His breath is hot on her neck and then his lips are on hers, tongue wrestling for entrance and she grants it willingly, sighing into his mouth a little as he catches her bottom lip between his teeth.
"What's all this about?" she gasps between kisses.
He presses against her more firmly, the length of his body meeting hers in all the right places and she can feel her heart pound against her ribs like a fist.
"Just taking some advice."
Sirius takes his time with the wine. He doesn't exactly expect Remus to shag Tonks in the cellar just because he's told him to get on with his life and love the poor girl, but he doesn't exactly think the two of them are going to surface for air anytime soon.
He stops off at the library first; he grabs the bottle opener off a bookshelf―there is something deliciously satisfying about the pop of the cork without magic.
He takes the bottle to the kitchen and gets to work on filling three glasses, noticing the bat ears poking about around the fireplace. "What are you up to Kreacher?"
"Nothing Master. Nothing. Tending the fire that's all." The elf scurries away, clutching at his loin-cloth.
"We don't bloody well need a fire in June." Sirius turns to throw a jug of Pumpkin juice on the blaze when Snape's head appears in the ashes.
"Bloody fool. Where have you been?"
Sirius grimaces. "Hello to you, too, Snivellus. What are you doing in my fire?"
"That wretched godson of yours has dragged a group of students to the Ministry to face off against Voldemort. If you can bring yourself not to be busy send a Patronus to everyone. Now!"
The head disappears with a poof and Sirius feels the colour drain from his face. He's on his feet in an instant, screaming for Remus and Tonks, a great pearly white dog escaping from his wand.
Tonks never imagined that the first time she met her Aunt, she'd be involved in a duel for the Prophecy they had been working so hard to protect for the last year.
She also never imagined a bunch of kids would be holding their own against Voldemort's posse, but if she had learned anything over the year it was that you didn't underestimate Harry Potter.
You also didn't underestimate the reachings of a family blood feud.
The room is dark when they appear, the pop of people Apparating the only sound for a long moment, and then they're thrown into the thick of battle, divided and surrounded.
A sharp kind of laugh echoes behind her, sinister and hideous, and everything Tonks hates about the dark arts wrapped into one terrifying sound. It grates along her skin, like a razor, threatening to draw blood.
"Flowers are such delicate things, aren't they?" the voice says, high and pitched and menacing.
Tonks twists and turns in the alley of prophecies, each shadow and glimmer spooking her senses. She follows the sound of the laughter, moving away from it, towards it, she can't tell, until it's upon her, thick and suffocating, black eyes and pale skin morphing into a hideous grin.
"Boo," Bellatrix says, taking a wild step forward, wand arm twisting in the air.
Tonks throws a shield charm across her body and hears something shatter against it, the spell raining down like glass.
"Someone's been training you up fine. Is that your precious mother I have to thank for that?" Bellatrix jerks her arm, sharp and straight.
Tonks ducks behind a concrete pillar, hearing the concrete blow apart behind her.
"Tut-tut-tut, come out and play, Nymphadora. Wouldn't want to keep your Auntie waiting, would you?"
Tonks swallows down the pounding in her heart, sucks down the bile in her throat, gasps in the breath of air she needs to steady herself before flinging herself behind another pillar.
Bellatrix pursues her, a dark shadow twisting in her peripheral.
"I have to say I've had trouble finding you, dearest niece. Lucky for me I found a little friend who happens to know exactly where you live."
Something else shatters behind her and Tonks hears voices, ghostly and clear. Her footsteps echo like thunder around her. But she just needs to get out in the open. Out where she can see. Out where she can make sure Remus is still okay. And Sirius and Harry and―
"Why you would ever go for the werewolf when you could have a pretty thing like Chavers I'll never know."
Tonks freezes, exposed on a platform, just for that split second, and it's enough. She turns to face those hideous, soulless eyes, feels the spell collide with her chest and then she's falling―dropping, tumbling, rolling―down flights and flights and flights of stairs.
The world goes dark before she reaches the bottom. Everything turns cold.
He's breathing too slowly considering, but the thought of filling his lungs to capacity is just too exhausting.
It's been three days; three days without Sirius, three days since the veil swallowed him into oblivion, and Nymphadora is still unconscious.
This is not how the school year was supposed to end, he thinks. This was not how Harry was supposed to lose his godfather.
This is not how he was supposed to meet her parents, brisk handshakes from the other side of the bed; tight, forced smiles given over Nymphadora's body.
But she hasn't woken up and Remus can't leave her side because he's afraid the moment he looks away from whatever internal battle she's fighting, he'll lose her too. That moment he looked over in the Ministry and couldn't see her anymore his insides turned to some cold kind of stone that threatened to shatter all over the place. When he found her later, unconscious under Mad-Eye's prodding wand, he wanted to crack.
He'd already lost one; he couldn't do it again.
The shadow appears in the doorway and before he even looks up, Remus knows who it is. There's no mistaking that hat.
"Remus," Dumbledore says, "There's something I need you to do."
He's been waiting for this, known it's been coming. Just like last time. He swallows to get his mouth moving again; his fingers clench the edge of Dora's mattress. "You want me to go underground?"
Dumbledore nods, not in confirmation, but resignation. His long fingers curl along his lips, head tipped and eyes half lidded in deep contemplation. "I know it's a lot to ask. Especially now. Just . . . just think about it."
Days later―he loses count―they see Harry off after the train and instilling a great amount of fear into his Uncle makes Remus feel positively wonderful. Then he remembers that his best mate is dead and the feeling is a little less wonderful.
He looks over and his eyes settle on Dora, on their joined fingers as they navigate their way out of Kings Cross Station. Together. She tosses her head, strands of light pink flying everywhere―only to smile up at him―and the feeling of warmth returns, flooding his chest again.
It's this constant battle between warm and cold, between feeling and unfeeling.
Her presence though, her being up and alive and able to laugh and smile at him again is enough right now and he clings just a bit tighter to her, dragging her just a bit closer until they're rubbing shoulders.
The feel of her skin; knowing that she's there.
It's enough right now.
"Come for lunch?" she says, head tipped against his arm.
"Where?" he asks.
"My parent's place."
Remus bites down a weighty sigh but it's not a decision. He'd follow her anywhere right now. "Alright," he says.
Together they walk to the back alley behind Kings Cross, turning on the spot with synchrony and matching pops.
The house is empty when they arrive. Tonks doesn't seemed surprised. This confuses Remus even more.
"You know, when you asked me over to your parents for lunch I assumed it was because you wanted me to meet them officially. No more awkward handshakes over your hospital bed."
"I do want you to meet them good and proper," she says, pulling him into the sitting room: a bright yellow, flowery thing that reminds Remus of his own mother's taste from when he was a boy. "It's just, they're away in France. Probably better right now. I'm wretched company." She looks up at him on that thought. "Are you hungry? I can probably whip something up. Mum always leaves leftovers lying around. She thinks I'm an incompetent cook."
She means to go to the kitchen but Remus catches her waist and collapses onto the couch, pulling her down with him. "Relax, Dora," he says, holding her still across his lap. He still worries sometimes that the healers let her go to soon. When she moves one way to fast and winces, or when she loses her breath doing nothing at all. He checks her over, satisfied as she watches him.
"What?" she asks.
"So you're parents really aren't here?"
"Nope. What's that look for?"
"They went away so soon after you were injured?"
She huffs a little, wiggling into the corner of the couch. He catches her feet in his hands and his thumbs start a slow pattern of circles that have her eyes closing in contentment. "I asked them to. It's their anniversary," she tells him, mumbling a bit. "Didn't want to bugger their plans and have them fawn all over me. And they would you know, cause they get like that. I literally had to push my dad into the Floo."
"You've been staying here? I thought you said you'd try to get your flat back now that Siri―now that Grimmauld Place is no longer headquarters."
"I, uh―that's still the plan. After Mum says I'm fully healed or whatever."
"Well, I can't really argue with that." He reaches out tucks her hair behind her ear, letting his finger trail down her neck.
She pops her eyes open, suddenly more awake. But as he sees that look in her eyes he pulls away. He's been so cautious with her these last few days since she's been released from St. Mungo's, like he's afraid he'll hurt her.
"You can touch me, Remus; I'm not going to break."
As she says it he gives her a guilty kind of smile. "I know." He still hasn't quite accepted that she's okay. Seeing her cold, limp body at the bottom of the stone steps was an image he doesn't think he'll ever be able to tear from his mind.
She huffs as she leans back against the arm of the couch, tugging on his sleeves. The momentum pulls him down and he catches himself on either side of her head, careful to keep his weight on his arms. She runs her hands up his neck, playing in the softness of his hair.
"Stop looking at me like that."
"Like what," he whispers.
"Like you're looking at a ghost. Like I'm some memory you don't want to think about."
"Dora, it's not that . . ."
"That's all you can think about. That day―"
"You weren't moving. I didn't even know if you were breathing. I thought . . ." he swallows hard, "I thought you were dead."
"But I'm not. I'm right here." She takes his arm and guides his hand to her cheek. He feels the warm flush beneath it as he readjusts, leaning to one side, his hips resting against hers. She pulls his hand down, placing it against her chest, trapping it beneath hers, feeling the steady thump of her heart.
"You were so cold." He presses his forehead against hers. "I miss him."
"I miss him, too."
"I wish we could have buried him properly."
"One day," she says. "When this stupid war is over and everyone can know what kind of man he really was, we'll build him a monument to the sky. And then we'll all get pissed together."
Remus chuckles low, the sound vibrating between them. "He would have liked that." He plays with the strands of pink hair that rest by his hand. "He really wanted this, you know."
"What?"
"You and me. Together."
She grins, one corner of her mouth lifting. "Smart man, that Sirius."
"I don't know what I would have done if I had lost you too."
"You didn't. Don't think about it."
He pulls away, sitting up, his head bowed. "I can't help it. It's all I think about. That next time I could lose you. I'm a werewolf, Dora. I have enemies. The Order makes us targets. People know now. The Death Eaters know now."
"Remus, don't―"
"It's not safe anymore. It never was. I don't know what I was thinking―"
"Then stop," she says, grabbing at his collar with both hands. "Stop thinking so bloody hard about everything for a minute."
"Dora, I―"
"I can be whatever you want, Remus. Just tell me." She sits up, crawling onto her knees, pushing the stray hairs off his forehead. If what he sees right now makes him think about the Ministry, if all he can see is death when he looks at her, she can be something else. Someone he doesn't have to be afraid to love.
She's not going to let him do this: push her away in fear. Tell her it's too dangerous. She bloody well knows how dangerous this situation is and she wants him anyway. She wants him more than anything.
As he watches her, her eyes become a dark shade of brown, darker than chocolate, richer than wood, flecked with shades of gold. It's so different from the usual warmth he sees in her honey browns and greens. This is a fire. This is desire.
Her hair changes too, longer than usual, falling over her shoulders in ringlets. It darkens, pink to red, red to auburn, auburn to brown. It's like watching a flower bloom and fade on fast-forward.
It's closer to the way she looked that night he pulled her from the pub in the werewolf underground, when she lost her morph, when she told him that this was her true self; only this is more refined, this is deliberate.
And it's so normal compared to the pink. So un-Tonks-like; so different.
But she's beautiful and his heart thumps in his chest.
"Dora," he says and it's a growl in his chest as she leans against him, her knees parted on either side of his lap now. When had that happened?
She nips at his jaw, her cheek rubbing over the shadow at his chin. The silk of her skin against his stirs his stomach, a coil tightening, his heart hammering.
Her hands trace the contours of his face, then down his neck, creating teasing, tickling patterns that make him shiver. When her hands venture down his chest towards his belt he digs his hands into her hair and kisses her back with as much enthusiasm as he can muster.
She responds eagerly, her lips flush against his.
He growls again, the sound trapped in her mouth as she parts his lips with her tongue. Teasing and tasting. "Stop thinking, Remus."
He groans this time as she rocks against him, his trousers becoming the tiniest bit uncomfortable in the most exhilarating way. She does it again and he has to catch her hips with his hands, leaving the brown twists of hair to fall over her shoulders.
He pulls away slightly, breathless, to find her flushed, her chest heaving, and her eyes darker than before, almost black. She leans back in to kiss him again, this time her lips leaving his and travelling up his jaw towards his ear. Her tongue darts out to stroke the shell of his ear and his head tips back, his hands tightening at her hips. "I don't want to wait anymore," she whispers and he jerks as she settles her weight on his lap, her hips thrusting hard against his.
He feels lightheaded and dizzy, overcome with desire and need and longing.
She uses his distraction to lean back, tucking her hands at the base of her jumper and shedding her top in one fluid motion, leaving her almost bare before him.
The gasp gets caught in the back of his throat. He's stunned at her boldness, at the black lace that covers her breasts, creating a most pleasing juncture between the two. He leans forward, pressing a kiss against the top of her breast.
Her skin flushes with red desire and she moans.
The sound is enough to finish him alone, but he shakes the fog from his brain and wraps his arms around her back, tipping them so she's trapped beneath him. His hand roam up and down her skin, tracing curves of hot flesh, fingers groping and memorizing.
She rocks her hips up, lips hot against his.
"Please, Remus."
His hands trail along her abdomen, around her navel, fingers playing with the button on her jeans. But they tremble and still, and his eyes become heavy as they find hers, blown wide with lust, and then after a moment, confusion. He shakes his head. He can't do this to her, not now. Not when he knows it can't be like this―
He drops his forehead against hers and sighs, his words breaking across her skin. "Dora, there's something I have to tell you."
"You're leaving?" she says and if she says it one more time she thinks she's going to puke, but she can't stop because each time she does it sounds more ridiculous than the last and she thinks if she can make herself believe that it's idiotic then he'll believe it too.
She's sitting there on the couch, half dressed, her head tilted, trying to absorb his meaning.
Remus hands her the jumper that somehow ended up on the floor. She pulls it over her head, the mood suddenly―and understandably―shifted. When her head pops up her eyes are a curious shade of violet. Wild looking and her hair matches, stressed streaks of violet and grey falling around her head in spiky jets that reach her shoulders.
She looks like he's just slapped her across the face.
He feels like a complete git.
She swallows suddenly and looks at him, eyes bright and confused. His heart breaks a little. "Is this because of the flowers? Did Sirius―dammit, sorry―did someone tell you about the letters? Because if that's why, you don't have to go, Remus. I'll take care of it."
The dread he'd been feeling up until this point freezes in his veins and his voice drops, low and cold. "What letters Dora?"
She swallows the curse back down her throat and massages her temples. "No. It's nothing. Don't worry ab―"
"How long have you been getting letters?"
"What does that matter?"
"Dora someone wants to hurt you because you're with me?"
"Not someone anymore," she says with a shrug. It's old news to her. "My Aunt."
"Great, so Bellatrix has it out for you now."
"She's always had it out for me."
"But this," he gestures between them, his hand groping for hers, "is just adding fuel to the fire."
"So what?"
"So what? So what! Merlin, Dora, don't you see what's going to happen here?" He lets her go and runs his hands through his hair, fingers twisted in grey. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I knew you'd react like this."
"So you thought you should hide it?"
"Sirius said―"
Remus straightens and stills, like she's hit him. Shocked him. "He knew too?"
"I asked him not to tell you. Just until I could figure out where the threat was coming from."
He growls, flopping back into the couch cushion. "Is this why you've been staying with your parents?"
"Yes."
Another growl and he buries his face in his hands. If he leaves her she's in danger. If he's with her she's in danger. His chest constricts at the thought.
"But I still don't understand why you have to go," Tonks says, her voice a quiver.
"Because Dumbledore asked me to. Greyback and I have history. And someone needs to make sure he doesn't turn the packs against us. Voldemort doesn't need any more followers."
"He's the one who bit you."
"Yes. But it's more than that―" Remus lets out a shaky breath. "He will hunt you, Dora. If he finds out who you are and you obviously have enough people keeping tabs on you―on us―as it is. Not that you thought it important to tell me?"
"Remus we're at war. We're all being hunted."
"But Greyback won't just want to kill you. He'll want to torture you, maul you, strangle you until you're almost too weak to fight and then watch you squirm for breath. He'll want to hurt you to hurt me, love. After all this time he still wants to hurt me. The grudge he holds against my father hasn't faded, especially with what I've done with my life. I went to school. I taught. I've worked to be accepted in normal wizarding society. He hates me for it and I can't lose you to what I am."
"Remus, don't . . ." She swallows. "Please."
"Dora I have to go."
"Don't go. Tell Dumbledore no."
"There's no one else who can do this. I have to."
"Then we'll figure it out. Something . . . a kind of cover so you can leave―"
His hands wrap around her face. "I love you, Dora. I do. But your love for me is going to get you killed. And I won't have your blood on my hands. I couldn't bare it. I won't lose you like that."
"But if you've given up on us then you've already lost me," she whispers, her face turning towards his palm.
His face is set, determined, but falters when he feels her tears against his hand. He lets her go, shifting away from her. Distance. Physical distance. "But I'll know that I did everything I could to protect you from what I am," he says carefully. Quietly. "And you'll move on and find someone else. Someone more suitable. And you'll fall in love and be so incredibly happy. And if I lose you to that, then it's worth it."
"You daft man." She tries not to sob as she swipes the tears from her eyes. "I'm not going to find someone else. I love you."
Remus looks at her then and it feels like the hardest thing he's ever had to do. "Try, Dora. For me. Please."
Her lips quiver and he leans towards her once more to press his own lips to her forehead. "Don't say goodbye," she tells him, forcing the words out between her teeth. "Just don't say anything."