Tonks stood in the kitchen, staring at the note in her hands. She'd already read it half a dozen times, but she couldn't help skimming it again:
Tonks,
Don't worry, have not been snatched by Death Eaters – have just gone home for a few days to think.
See you soon,
Love,
Remus.
Remus had left her notes before – snippets about him having popped out, wishing her a nice day if he'd been out late and wouldn't see her before work, and so when she'd come home and found the place deserted and a scrap of parchment nestled on the counter next to the kettle, it had hardly piqued her concern, even though she'd thought he planned to be there.
The contents, however, was an entirely more disconcerting matter, and the cause, if she was honest, of a slightly accelerated heartbeat and a puzzled frown. She read the note again, hoping that there'd be some new discernable detail, something she'd missed or been mistaken about, something that would unwrinkle her forehead and reassure her that there was nothing to worry about when the sinking feeling in her stomach told her otherwise.
To think?
What did that mean? What did Remus have to think about that he couldn't think about here? She knew that sometimes she had the WWN on a little loud, but –
Her mind whirled through the possibilities, all the things Remus might conceivably want to think about. The first thought she alighted upon was that it was something to do with the night of the full moon – but she'd thought that had gone well – as well as could be expected – better, probably, and a whole day had passed, during which he'd seemed perfectly affable and as easy company as ever. He hadn't seemed at all like a man with things on his mind – in fact, he'd seemed rather contented, if anything.
Unless she'd been mistaken, of course. Her frown deepened at the thought, and Tonks went over it in her head, picturing every detail, forcing her racing mind to be logical and methodical. Start at the beginning, she thought.
The beginning. They'd fallen asleep on the forest floor – stayed there for an hour or so, and then she'd had to go to work. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened, unless accidentally firing a memo into the back of Kingsley's head counted, and when she'd got home, Remus had been reading the newspaper on the sofa. They'd chatted about her day, and then he'd asked if that pub she'd mentioned still needed investigating, and it had, so they'd agreed to go together. As she'd suspected, there was nothing suspicious about the landlord beyond a rather worrying taste for prog rock on the jukebox, and they'd stayed there for dinner, surrounded by the least suspicious pub patrons Tonks thought she'd ever seen. Remus had ordered the cottage pie, she'd had the homemade vegetable lasagne, and they'd chatted about – well, nothing earth shattering, and then shared an apple pie for pudding. At around ten, Remus' eyelids had started to droop, and so even though he'd protested that he was fine, they'd gone home, with her joking that it was hardly proper pub etiquette to fall asleep in your Bishop's Finger, even if you had a very a valid excuse.
They were both pretty tired – beautifully Conjured or not, a makeshift forest floor was hardly a restful place to sleep, regardless of whether or not you'd turned into a werewolf, and so they'd climbed into bed, and within minutes, Remus had fallen asleep with her pulled tightly against him.
If he'd had something on his mind, Tonks thought, she'd have noticed it, wouldn't she? If he'd had something big to think about, would he have wanted to spend a perfectly ordinary evening in a pub, joking about whether they should read Dark tendencies into the landlord trying to stare down his patrons' tops and throwing dry roasted nuts into the air so he could catch them in his mouth?
And as for today –
She frowned, thinking. She'd got up as usual, groaning at her alarm and trying to be quiet so Remus could rest. She'd made herself some breakfast – toast – had made him some too and placed it under a warming charm with a mug of tea, and then had attempted to leave without waking him. She'd failed, of course, tripped over an errant shoe near the door and stumbled headlong into the wall – but even that wasn't especially out of the ordinary, and after a brief, sleepy, good morning/goodbye kiss, she'd Apparated to the Ministry as she did most mornings.
The only thing she knew that Remus had planned was to sift through the Muggle newspapers to try and pick out any potentially suspicious activity, see if there was a pattern to the locations, dates, etc., of unexplained events, and –
Tonks' heart stalled in her chest.
A meeting with Dumbledore.
The morning after the full moon, Remus had sent Dumbledore a Patronus in reply to his request for a meeting, saying he was tired and could it wait, and they'd scheduled something for that afternoon. Tonks checked her watch. The meeting had been at 2, and now it was after six. It wouldn't have run on for that long, she thought, and anyway, Remus had obviously been back here to leave her a note before he'd left again.
She swallowed. Whatever had happened at that meeting, that must be the cause of him needing to think, mustn't it? She paused, trying to work out if that was the logical conclusion or if she was just panicking, seeing connections where they didn't exist – but it did seem likely that whatever had happened with Dumbledore was the cause of Remus leaving her the note and going off to think.
Tonks' mind raced. What on earth had happened? Her heart thundered as keenly as it ever had when she'd faced Remus as a werewolf, and though she was trying her best to be rational, the only conclusion she could come to was that people rarely needed space to digest good news.
Be logical, she told herself. Think think think.
If it was bad news –
She stopped herself, and her stomach cringed at the thought that formed. Aside from his mother, did he really have anyone left to hear bad news about? The worst that could happen to Remus already had, hadn't it, when Sirius had died? And all through that, he'd stayed here with her – seemingly, gladly.
Tonks bit her lip, thinking hard, trying to be unemotional as much as she could, to work through this logically and come to reasonable conclusions. It didn't really make sense that something would have happened to Mrs Lupin. Dumbledore wouldn't have put off breaking that news for a day, and someone would have let her know – word about these things tended to spread with a rapidity she found rather morbid, as if death was nothing more than gossip about who was sleeping with who, and enough people knew about her and Remus that someone would have told her if it was anything like that.
Think think think.
Tonks went back to the scrap of paper still clutched in her white-knuckled hand, her mind cascading through the possibilities. A mission? But why wouldn't he want to think about that here? They frequently talked about the things they'd be assigned. Something that had happened to someone else, an Order member, she wondered? But again, Dumbledore wouldn't have put that off, and why would he be the only one privy to what had happened? Unless it was something to do with Harry. Was he all right? But the Weasleys would be a more likely place to turn, wouldn't they, she thought, and something as big as that would have been the cause of flurries of activity, not cloak and dagger meetings with Remus.
She quickly thought through numerous options, discounting them one by one as she found holes in the theory. Fleetingly, she thought that maybe the note might not be what it seemed, and cast every spell she could think of on it to see if it was written in some code, if Remus had been taken under duress and had never made the meeting with Dumbledore at all.
But there was nothing, nothing but the words she could see.
Her heart thumped in her chest, and her mind leapt between conclusions, firing off ever more random ideas. Maybe she should Floo Dumbledore – or Moody – see if they'd heard anything – but that would start a panic and –
Tonks swallowed purposefully, trying to steady her yammering nerves. The Auror side of her brain told her that there was no cause for concern: Remus had been alive and well enough to write a note, and there was nothing in his penmanship to indicate distress or duress – and it was definitely his handwriting. She pictured someone else in her position, someone worried about a loved one in these exact same circumstances, a note on the counter and nothing more to go on than a nagging suspicion that all wasn't well. As an Auror, what would she be doing? She'd be telling them that it had only been a couple of hours, and that maybe the person concerned just wanted some time alone to clear their head –
After all, the note said as much, didn't it?
She knew the Auror side of her brain was right, but somehow the idea that Remus needed to clear his head wasn't a very comforting thought, even less so when she considered the fact that if she needed to think something through, she'd turn to him, talk to him, ask his opinion, but evidently, whatever it was that he needed to think about, he didn't want her to be part of the process.
Tonks sighed. Logical as it was, it really wasn't a very helpful or comforting thought.
She leant against the wall, glancing out of the window and watching two pigeons fight it out on her neighbour's guttering for the best spot, trying to rein her thoughts in to some semblance of straight-thinking.
Remus had had a lot to deal with recently – losing Sirius hadn't been easy on him, and he'd been so wonderful about helping her when she was sad – maybe it was that. Maybe it had just caught up with him, and he didn't want to burden her with whatever he was thinking and feeling in case she got upset. That sounded like something he would do, didn't it? Maybe the full moon had brought it all back, and itwas as simple as him just needing some fresh air, time to clear his head.
She pressed her lips together, chewing a little on the lower one. That made sense. She knew Sirius would leave a hole indefinitely in Remus' life, and she could see how the first moon without him might relight his grief –
But he'd seemed fine, hadn't he? Why would seeing Dumbledore change that?
There was the matter of Sirius' will, she thought. They'd talked about it at the last meeting, when they'd all crammed themselves into a room at the Hog's Head. Dumbledore had told them that Sirius had left everything to Harry, that he had a few things to check but that it might well work in their favour. Tonks had been a little surprised, shocked even, that Sirius hadn't left anything to Remus, and they'd talked about it afterwards in the bar, when a couple of people had stayed and toasted Sirius in what was apparently a well-rehearsed custom from the last war.
She'd asked him about it, if he was upset, but he'd just smiled and said of course not, that Sirius had given him more than gifts enough during his lifetime. She'd pressed it a little, asked him if he really hadn't thought Sirius would leave him anything, but Remus had just met her eye through his fringe and asked if she thought Sirius was in his will. She'd been even more surprised at that, evidently so, and he'd chuckled and asked if she was more surprised that he was morbid enough to make a will or that he had anything to leave.
Tonks rolled her eyes, pressing her head against the cool plaster of the wall. She couldn't see what there was about any of that that he wouldn't want to think about here, even if he didn't want to talk about it.
Her eyes fell on the pile of books Remus had left stacked on the carpet next to the sofa, and then she turned and looked forlornly at the teapot and mugs, nestled together upside down on the draining board. In the bedroom, she knew his clothes were tucked in her drawers, his socks haphazardly balled and his jumpers – especially the one she and Sirius had bought him – neatly folded.
He was everywhere here.
She'd thought –
She closed her eyes. She'd thought a lot of things. Had she been the only one who'd started to think of this as a permanent arrangement, the only one who'd silently marvelled at how well they fitted together and what that must mean?
For a second, her stomach lurched at the idea that perhaps she really had been getting ahead of herself, and maybe Remus hadn't enjoyed living with her as much as she'd thought he had. Maybe she was the only one who'd read too much into them both liking to read different sections of the paper first, maybe he had no thoughts at all about the way their things looked strewn about the place and inseparable, hadn't had any remarkably sentimental thoughts about the sight of two mugs on the draining board instead of one. He'd seemed to like – love – being with her, but –
Where was he?
Tonks tapped her head lightly against the wall. What was it that he couldn't share with her? She couldn't quite work out what –
And then a rather more prosaic question hit her.
Where was he?
With the most sickening thump of all, Tonks realised that for all she thought she knew him, for all he knew her and everything that had happened, she didn't actually have any idea where it was that Remus Lupin called home.
A day passed, and then another, and then another, until nearly a week had gone by and she still hadn't heard from him.
Tonks tried not to panic, tried telling herself all the things she'd say to relatives of missing people, people suspected taken by Death Eaters: no evidence that there's anything wrong, try to stay calm, probably nothing; sometimes people just need space, it'll work itself out, in a couple of days he'll come striding through the door and you'll laugh at how worried you were.
Platitudes had never sounded quite so hollow, though, even given that she knew she was lucky, that Remus had left of his own volition, hadn't been snatched, probably hadn't come to a sticky end. She wondered why that wasn't a more comforting thought. It wasn't that she wanted horrible things to happen to him, but at least those people knew they hadn't been abandoned willingly.
Tonks told herself not to be stupid, rolled her eyes at how needy she was being, and reminded herself again and again that if he wanted a couple of days alone it wasn't really that big a deal, but still her stomach churned with the idea that something was wrong. She couldn't help it. Her heart surged hopefully at every letter that swooped into the office in case it was from him, and every time she saw a flicker of something silver in her periphery, she couldn't help but long for it to be his Patronus.
She hadn't slept, not really, had tried to, but had ended up with one ear open all night, listening for the creak of the door as it opened, the pad of his feet on the carpet, and at every slight movement outside the window, she'd woken, looking over and checking for owls that didn't come.
She'd sent him a Patronus – nothing fancy, just a message that read, 'I got your note, but I'm a bit worried. Where are you?', but there'd been no reply, and she'd even Floo'd his mum, pretending it was a casual, friendly chat, when really she'd hoped to see Remus sitting at the table there, making jokes about her checking up on him, or for there to be some explanation of where he was in Mrs Lupin's conversation.
Nothing.
Tonks had tried to tell herself that no news was good news, but it really didn't seem like it, and she just hadn't been able to shake the feeling that something was desperately wrong, that there was something important going on that she didn't know about. Her chest felt constantly tight with the thought, the uncertainty, and with the sleep deprivation and the way things in the world seemed to be getting worse –
Well, all of that, she supposed, went some way to explaining what she was doing here, standing in the dry stone-walled car park of a small pub in Norfolk.
Tonks had thought long and hard about what to do, using both sides of her brain, the Auror side and the increasingly stricken girlfriend one. She'd wondered about going to see Dumbledore, but she didn't want to bother him in case it really was nothing when he was so busy and mightn't have anything to tell her anyway.
She'd thought about coming clean with Mrs Lupin, but hadn't wanted to worry her (or, if she was honest, let on that she had no idea where her son actually lived), and then about asking some other members of the Order, people Remus knew from the first war, where he might be, odd as the question would have sounded. She'd wondered if Molly might know, but just the thought of all the questions that would open up – well, Tonks had thought it would be somewhere near as catastrophic as Pandora's box, only possibly with slightly more undrinkably sweet tea and hand wringing.
Moody had certainly been a candidate for someone to confide in, until Tonks had realised that he'd quickly jump to the worst possible conclusion and have them mounting a two-person attack on the nearest Death Eater stronghold by sunset. She hadn't had a lot of options, she thought, which went the rest of the way to explaining what she was doing in a pub car park, eying the name 'John Barrowman' on the plaque above the door and reading all about how he was licensed to sell intoxicating liquor for consumption on and off the premises.
When she'd been sitting at her desk at lunchtime making notes about Remus' known associates and friends, John had seemed like the ideal choice. He was close to Remus, she thought, someone he might potentially confide in, someone who knew him well enough certainly to tell her where he lived, if nothing else. Of course, now she was standing in the warm, pine-scented air outside The Poplars, the distance between the picnic table and the door seeming insurmountable, she wasn't nearly as convinced, and in fact wasn't sure it wasn't the worst idea she'd ever had. After all, he was a Muggle, and she had no idea how much he knew about their world, how vague she'd have to be or what kind of lies she might have to tell.
Her throat went a bit dry at the thought, completely arid as the question about how on earth she was supposed to explain how the person Remus called girlfriend had no idea where he called home formed.
Tonks glanced across the car park to the wall, the spot where Remus had kissed her under the stars back in January, and chastised herself for not asking more specific questions when she'd had the chance. He'd pointed out where he used to live – why on earth hadn't she had the presence of mind to ask when he'd moved and where the hell to? She'd had dozens – hundreds, perhaps, of opportunities to discover that very vital piece of information – the odd moment when he and Sirius had talked, laughed, about Remus' place and the antics they'd got up to there – why hadn't she even thought to ask which county it was in?
She sighed, irritated with herself. Some Auror. Seven months, more or less, they'd been together – how could she be missing such a fundamental piece of information? She pushed to the back of her mind the thought that she didn't know because Remus hadn't wanted her to, that he'd always wanted to keep something of himself back just in case, telling herself that nerves and lack of sleep were getting to her and that this really wasn't the time for insecurity and second-guessing.
Tonks glanced around the car park, then at the door. There were horseshoes nailed on the frame above, and with a dry huff of amusement she thought that at least she theoretically had luck on her side. She took a long, steadying breath, running through what she thought she'd say to John one last time. Keep it simple, don't say anything stupid.
She'd already taken a look through the window and the place was near deserted, save for a couple of white-haired men drinking cider in the corner. John was behind the bar wiping glasses, and she knew that as the evening wore on, opportunities to get him alone would be fewer and further between as the place filled up.
She glanced at the door handle. Now or never, nothing else for it, won't get any easier the longer you put it off and all that, she thought.
The bell above the door tinkled as she pushed it open, and John looked up. The beginnings of a smile crossed his ruddy face as he took her in and, thankfully, seemed to recognise her. When she closed the door behind her, however, his face fell a little, and he peered behind her, a puzzled frown on his brow, presumably expecting Remus to follow her in, surprised that he hadn't. "Wotcher," she offered, attempting a smile.
"Tonks, isn't it?" he said, squeezing himself out from behind the bar and tossing the red and white checked tea towel he'd been using for the glasses over his shoulder. "What brings you here? Can I get you a drink?"
Much as she would have liked a whiskey in her hand to steady her nerves, Tonks shook her head. "No thanks," she said, "I just wanted a quick word, actually."
She eyed the room almost unconsciously, checking that her initial observation had been correct and the two old men and their cider were the only visible occupants, and John seemed to get the message, laying his hand on her elbow and leading her to a small, round table in the corner of the room, as far away as possible from the other patrons. "What's up?" he said. "Nothing's happened, has it? To Remus?"
"No, nothing like that," she said, sliding down into a chair with a faint smile. "Sorry to drop in like this – "
"Nonsense," he said, "any friend – or – you know – of Remus' is always welcome here."
"Thanks," she said. "I didn't want to worry his mum, and I couldn't really think where else to go."
John raised his eyebrows in question, and Tonks swallowed. "It's just, he's kind of – well, disappeared," she said.
"Disappeared?"
"I was hoping," she said, "that you might be able to tell me where to find him."
John nodded slowly, the ridges on his brow forming into a furrow of concern, and he leant forward slightly, lowering his voice. "When you say disappeared," he said, "you don't mean – foul play? I know I'm not supposed to know anything about your world, but even here a man hears things and suspects – "
"Oh, no," she said quickly. "He left me a note, said he needed time to think, and I haven't seen or heard from him in days – " She rolled her eyes. " – I must sound like I'm worrying about nothing, but – it's been nearly a week and it's not like him."
John's jaw tightened a little and he swallowed, fingering his chin lightly with his chunky fingers. "How well do you know Remus?" he said quietly.
"Pretty well, I think," she said, although something about the question made her doubt it.
"Only," John said, and leant in closer, "see, you say it's not like him, but – well, it is, 'least in my experience."
Tonks swallowed, wondering what he meant, and gestured for John to go on. "I think the world of him," John said, "but he doesn't always do things as make a lot of sense."
"Right," Tonks said slowly.
"Me and his dad," he said, "we used to talk about it, how much he takes things on himself, doesn't like to share his troubles – worried his dad something rotten it did. He was always doing things like this, wandering off on his own for some reason or other – sometimes for half a day, and then when he got older, longer."
"So he's – he's done this before? Just taken off?"
John nodded. "Eighty-one," he said, "when his friends died – didn't see hide nor hair of him for weeks, and then he just showed up as if he was right as rain. And then when his dad passed away he did the same – felt guilty, I think."
"Guilty?" Tonks said. "Why on earth would he feel guilty?"
John frowned a little, glanced down at the table and studied his shovel-like hands as they rested there, toying with a beer mat, and Tonks couldn't help thinking he was annoyed with himself for having said too much. "What?" she said quietly.
"Long story, that," he said. "And I'm not sure it's my place – "
Tonks leant forward. "I don't mean to pry," she said, "or put you in an awkward position, but we've been living together and it's been going really well, so – I'm just worried about him. It'd be different if we'd had a fight or something, but – I just can't imagine what it is that's made him up and leave without talking to me, and if knowing what had made him do it before would help – "
She trailed off, and John took a long, rasping breath, slowly meeting her eye. "All right," he said, "but it's not a pretty story."
"Will I need a brandy?" she said, trying to lighten the mood, and John laughed.
"Might as well," he said. "Couldn't hurt."
John heaved himself out of his chair, and went over to the bar, returning a moment later with two curvy glasses half-filled with brandy. He settled them on the table in front of them, and Tonks cradled hers against her palm, distracting her racing mind with thoughts about how you were supposed to warm the liquid slightly before drinking it.
She wasn't sure if she felt better or worse about the idea that this was something Remus made a habit of, and she supposed she wouldn't until she could put this recent disappearing act into some kind of context. Maybe it was to do with Sirius, she thought, if grief seemed to be a trigger for it – although she still couldn't fathom how seeing Dumbledore would play into that or why it had taken so long to hit him.
She looked up, meeting John's eye, and he leant in closer, so close that Tonks could see all the broken veins on his nose. "See, the thing with Remus' dad – he was a wonderful fella, but he did some things, things he shouldn't have and – you know about Remus? That he's a – well, that's he's – that there's something – he's – " John frowned, evidently searching for the word.
"A little unusual around the full moon?" Tonks said, lowering her voice and hoping she wasn't going to have to Obliviate John if that wasn't what he'd been hinting at. John nodded.
"Well, see, it all goes back to that, really," he said, "that night. As long as I live I'll never forget it."
"The night Remus was bitten?"
"No," John said. "Starts a way before that. You've heard of this fellow, Fenrir Greyback?"
Tonks nodded, leaning forward, wondering where on earth this was all leading. "Well," John said, "one night, me and Richard – Remus' dad – were walking back from here. We'd had a few – few too many, more than likely, decided to take a short-cut through the woods. In those days, before, there was no reason not to. I mean you hear the rumours – werewolves in the forest and the like, but we were grown men – we didn't believe in scary stories, didn't give any thought to the full moon. Not until that thing leapt out at us."
"Greyback?"
John shook his head. "His son," he said.
Tonks' eyebrows leapt up. She'd heard of Greyback – he was a living, breathing, legend, but she'd never heard any talk about him having a family. It seemed so incongruous with what he was that he'd actually be related to other people. The sinking feeling in her stomach was back and leaving her feeling more hollowed than ever. Although the details were impossibly elusive still, she was starting to have a sense that all of this – Remus' guilt, the idea of him needing to be alone to really think – all fitted together. She was sure of it, only she couldn't quite make sense of it just yet, had no idea what it all really meant, like she was only seeing the briefest impression of everything that was involved.
"We didn't know what it was," John continued, after a moment. "It was just this huge, snarling thing with teeth and claws, all happened so fast – it was dark, and we weren't exactly thinking our best, you know. Richard shoved me out of the way, shouted that I should run – he just reacted, shot some light at it and it fell back on the ground. There was this crack, like it had hit its head, but we didn't wait to find out, see what it was or if it was dead, just ran for it." He paused for a moment, exhaling slowly, and reached for his brandy, swirling the glass against his palm and then taking a sip. "We didn't know," he said. "We didn't know it was a person."
"He – he killed him? Remus' dad killed Greyback's son?"
John nodded, then swallowed heavily. "Two weeks later, Richard got a knock on the door," he said, leaning in conspiratorially. "It was that Greyback fellow, he told Richard what he'd done, that he knew it was him, called him a murderer. Richard was horrified – said he'd turn himself in and tried to explain it was self-defence – but this Greyback wouldn't listen, said he didn't care about him going to prison, being sorry, that that wasn't enough. Said he wanted Remus as a replacement."
"A replacement?"
"Said his pack – that was the word he used, not family – was one short, and that Remus should fill the gap, and if he didn't hand him over, he'd be sorry. Richard was – I'd never seen him scared of anything, but he was shaking like a leaf for days. This Greyback, he was all Old Testament, an eye for an eye, a son for a son, and Richard was torn – he wanted to do the right thing, own up to what he'd done, but he didn't want to leave Remus and Eleanor alone in case – "
He trailed off, and Tonks didn't know quite what to say to fill the gap either. She'd always imagined that Remus being bitten was an accident, almost, and this – she didn't even know if there was any word for it. "What happened?" she said.
"Months passed and nothing," he said. "Richard started to think it hadn't been anything, that it had been a heat of the moment thing and this Greyback hadn't really meant it. Then one night, the full moon came, and he was there. They tried to stop him, told Remus to run, but – there was nothing they could do."
Tonks took a sip of her brandy, although it didn't do anything to quell the queasiness in her stomach at the thought. "I think he – Greyback – thought that either Remus'd die and they'd be even like that, or Richard wouldn't want him after he was bitten, and he'd win either way."
"Yeah," Tonks said. "You hear stories about parents who can't take it when their child gets bitten. They buy all the stupid folklore and prejudice – "
"He's lucky to have found someone who thinks it's stupid."
Tonks smiled tightly, thinking that she wasn't sure luck had as much to do with it as Mad-Eye's stern words and the fact that she wasn't exactly run of the mill either, but it didn't seem the moment to argue the point.
She took a sip of her brandy, running all of this through her mind. There was something there, she thought, some connection, although every time she reached for it, it seemed to drift through her fingers like smoke. Remus had told her what had happened, more or less, said he couldn't remember much about it – and she could well understand why he wouldn't want to share the full story.
"You said when his dad died," she said, "Remus felt guilty."
"Aye," John said. "It always ate away at Richard, killing that boy and what that'd meant for Remus – always thought it was all his fault. They were two peas in a pod like that – Remus always felt guilty about his parents never having any money because they were looking for a cure, Richard always felt guilty that they had to look for one in the first place."
"That does sound like Remus," she said, letting out a long sigh.
"There's a lot of Eleanor in him too, of course – Richard was never really one for books and art and things like that, but him and his dad, in spite of everything, they made each other laugh something chronic."
"I can imagine."
"It was nice to see," John said, "after everything. I always admired Remus for not holding a grudge, even when he found out the truth."
Tonks nodded, because she had too. When they'd talked about it, Remus being a werewolf, she'd imagined how she'd have felt if it had been her. And she couldn't really say of course, not with any certainty, but she'd known she would have handled it with much less grace than he had, had pictured how she'd have railed against the world, looked for blame. She'd always marvelled a little at Remus' quiet acceptance, that if he was bitter or angry about it, he didn't let it show, didn't let it rub off on other people.
"What happened, then?" Tonks said, taking another sip of her brandy. "Why did he feel guilty when his dad died?"
"Oh well that's the thing," John said, smiling sadly. "The way he died…. Richard was out for a walk one night, and he encountered this thing – something that was dark and dangerous in a way he couldn't really explain to me. Said it made him relive his worst memories, made him feel trapped in them – and, well, with what had happened in the forest that night, what had happened to Remus, all the things he'd seen him go through – well, he had some pretty horrible memories."
Tonks sank back in her chair. He must mean a Dementor, mustn't he?
"He was never the same after that," John said wearily. "There was no talking to him – I tried, Remus did, Eleanor was beside herself – but he was lost, lost in himself, his guilt – not wallowing exactly, but as if he couldn't shake what he'd seen, as if he thought that what he felt about it was reality. I think in the end, he just couldn't take it anymore and he drifted away, like he'd just lost the will to live."
"And Remus felt guilty because so many of the memories were about him?"
"Something like that," John said, running a hand over his jaw, rubbing it absentmindedly. "He never spoke about it – not his way, really."
Tonks swallowed. She could barely hold all these details in her head at once, and differing emotions surged and bubbled in her chest. On the one hand, she ached for the thought of what Remus must have gone through, the thought of how much he'd lost in his life and that it was no real surprise that occasionally it got to him, was perhaps more surprising that it didn't happen more often. On the other hand was a prickle of something that was very nearly annoyance that he'd tried to handle so much on his own, the fact that he'd disappeared evidence that he thought he had to continue to do so.
"What did Remus do?" she said.
"He made it through the funeral," John said, "and then he just disappeared. Left his mum a note."
He sniffed with something that sounded a bit like amusement, but really wasn't, more resignation and wry appreciation for the echo in time than anything else. "Is it any help," he said, "if I say he always comes back eventually?"
Tonks' echoed John's wry sniff, shaking her head. "I don't know why he can't just – I don't know," she said, not really knowing where she was going with the thought. Hardly surprising, with everything that John had just said and the cacophony of ideas in her head, she thought. "One of his friends said that Remus seems to think that caring for him is an inconvenience, and, well, the more I get to know him, the more I think he's dead right."
"There's no malice in what he does," John said, "I just think he doesn't like to bother people, thinks they've got enough to contend with without him heaping his worries on them. He means well. It's probably not even occurred to him that you'd be worried."
"I know," Tonks murmured, glancing down at her drink. She'd thought that, that he hadn't worried her on purpose, but it was nice to hear it, and not for the first time, she felt a swirling mix of emotions about Remus twist in her chest, admiration for how selfless he could be, and an ache that he thought he had to be dancing and mingling. "Any idea where he'd go?" she said. "I mean, he said he was going home, but I don't really know where that is."
Tonks met John's eye tentatively, expecting questions about why she didn't, but to her immense relief, if John had them, he didn't articulate them. He just smiled mildly and drained his drink, setting the glass back neatly on the table. "Oh, well, I think I can help you out with that," he said. "Probably do him good not to be brooding about whatever it is, and if anything'll snap a man out of it, it's a pretty girl as wants to help."
Tonks smiled, and John gestured for her to drink up. She raised her glass and knocked back what remained of her brandy, wincing a little at how strong and sweet it was, trying not to hope that she wouldn't need the fortification. They exchanged a glance, then both got to their feet.
John made his way slowly to the bar, tossed his checked tea towel onto the counter and leant over the top. "I'm just nipping out for half an hour," he shouted down the bar. "Hold the fort, will you, Tony?"
Tony – whoever he was – murmured some kind of agreement from the small kitchen, and John gestured to the door. "S'not far," he said. "Surprised he hasn't shown you round himself. It's a nice place."
They stood on the other side of the hill to the pub, overlooking a little hamlet nestled in the fields beneath the line of the pine trees. The houses were scattered slightly, wild flower-strewn grass between them, brightly-coloured curtains hanging in the windows, and sheets blowing in the breeze on the washing lines.
Tonks wondered which one was Remus'. She'd never really given any thought to where he lived – to her, as it turned out, cost, and the houses were nice, had a cottage-like feel to them without being totally isolated. Was this what she'd have imagined for him if she'd given it some thought? "Which one is it?" she said, gesturing down at them.
"Oh, none of those," John said. He placed his hand lightly on her arm, indicating that she should turn, and pointed off across the fields to the middle distance. "Remus lives in the windmill."
Tonks' lips twitched, and she almost laughed, because of course he did.
"Thought you could do one of those disappearing tricks of your own," John said, meeting her eye and offering her a conspiratorial half-wink, "save me old legs."
Tonks smiled, then did laugh a little, because the more she looked at the windmill, nestled in a field with scrappy but verdant hedges, the more it seemed to have Remus written all over it. "Thank you," she said, meeting John's eye.
"Don't mention it," he said. "Just – I don't know. Talk some sense into him."
Tonks nodded, but couldn't help letting her gaze fall to the grass beneath her feet, because she was rather unable to share John's faith that talking sense was on the cards when it came to her. Saying the right thing was hardly her speciality – in fact, if she had to choose, saying exactly the wrong thing was what she was very much more adept at. Her stomach gurgled with nerves and uncertainty, her mind not helping by throwing in questions about what on earth she planned to say.
"Well," John said, clapping his hands together, "I'd best be getting back. Tony's a great pie chef, but he can't pull a pint to save his life and those old codgers don't take too kindly to being cut off."
They exchanged a brief goodbye, and John ambled back the way they'd come, a good-natured sway in his step that seemed the very echo of the man himself. Tonks watched him go, almost wishing he'd volunteered to come with her, to help her muddle through whatever this thing with Remus was, but knowing that ultimately, it was up to her.
She gazed at the windmill. She was still none the wiser about what had driven Remus there, but if this was where he'd come, she couldn't avoid drawing the conclusion that it was most likely her he was hiding from specifically. She hadn't really thought about that until now, that it might be something to do with them that he needed to think about – things had been going so swimmingly it had never even occurred to her.
Tonks frowned in thought. She hadn't misinterpreted that, she didn't think. She might have occasionally allowed herself to drift off into daydreams about the future, but that hadn't blinded her to reality. Things hadn't been easy, what with Sirius and work and everything else that conspired to pull them in different directions, but she'd rather thought that they'd risen to the challenge. Everything about them recently had felt – well, solid and dependable, and a lot of things with more romantic phrasing she'd have applied were she not standing on a hillside in Norfolk debating why on earth her boyfriend had pulled a Houdini.
It didn't quite add up that they were the cause, she thought. He'd signed the note love, and how would Dumbledore come into play? She didn't think Dumbledore even knew about them, let alone would care, really, when he had so many other things to think about.
The sinking feeling in her stomach redoubled, and for a second she wondered about just going home, continuing to wait – like John had said, he always came back eventually.
But that was no way to live, was it? John was right – whatever it was, Remus brooding on his own about it wasn't the answer, and if they were ever going to have the kind of future she hoped for, the kind that demanded and deserved romantic phrasing, then Remus needed to realise she could be trusted, that she didn't mind if he needed someone to share things with, that she didn't think it an inconvenience to care about him because she did very much anyway and so it wasn't out of her way.
She sighed. She could go through the possibilities again, she thought, try and weave in everything John had told her and attempt to draw fresh conclusions, make a plan of what to say and how to handle things, but there was little point. She probably wouldn't get it right anyway, and her head was buzzing too loudly with thoughts to really sort through the morass. She supposed she'd never find out what was going on if she continued to stand on a hill in the early evening sunshine, and so she took a deep breath, checked the surrounding area for prying eyes, and then, finding none, Disapparated.
Up close, the windmill wasn't a particularly grand affair. It had the same ramshackle quality as the Burrow, as if it was held together entirely by magic and force of will, and the wood on the outside had seen better days, turning silver in patches and mossy in others, the sails looking like they hadn't turned in a good long time, hanging on by whatever their equivalent of fingernails were. The front door was a dusty red, whether through intent or lack of painting she couldn't tell, and round the side, she could just make out where the rambling grass of the field gave way to borders and beds and what could very well be a slightly overrun vegetable patch.
It was all so very Remus, she thought. In any other circumstance, she'd have considered it quaint, charming, even, would maybe have pictured herself here at one of the windows looking out, but today she couldn't help feeling that this windmill was a cocoon, that Remus had holed up inside for protection, and whatever the reason was, it was a cause for jangling nerves and sinking feelings, rather than romantic imaginings.
Tonks ran a hand through her hair, unable to summon the energy to turn it from the midnight blue she'd sported for John's benefit to something – anything – else, and then knocked on the door, her heart thumping in her chest as if she was a fourteen year old coming round to call on the boy she had a crush on.
She waited, and nothing happened, and so she knocked again, a little more loudly, calling, "Remus? It's me," at the door.
Another moment passed, and she was about to knock again, maybe try the handle in case it wasn't locked, when inside she heard the sounds of movement. She thought she could just make out a heavy sigh beyond, but before she had time to work out if it was really that or just the breeze, the door opened.
Remus blinked at the sunlight, pressing his fingers into his forehead and then running them over his eyebrows, pausing to pinch the bridge of his nose. His shirt was open at the neck and rumpled as if he'd slept in it, and his chin was unshaven, his hair falling into his eyes. In the sunlight, the grey reflected more than usual, and as she looked at him, taking him all in, she couldn't help ascribing him the word ashen. "Tonks?" he said hoarsely.
The word 'wotcher' rather froze on her lips as he blinked at her, frowning as if trying to work something out, and she shifted her weight from foot to foot, realising that she really was unprepared for this, had no idea whatsoever what to say to him. "What are you doing here?" he said, and, glancing down, she noticed that clutched in his hand was a glass half-filled with something that looked an awful lot like Firewhiskey.
"I was worried about you," she said.
"Worried?"
"Yes," she said. "You've been gone for days – and then I sent you a Patronus and you didn't reply. That's worrying, wouldn't you say? You know, with the war and everything?"
She was trying to be jovial, pull off that light, mocking tone he used sometimes to dispel tension, although she wasn't sure she'd entirely pulled it off, her tone having ended up more genuinely annoyed than the playful version of it she'd intended.
"Oh," Remus said. His face fell a little and he shifted, resting lightly against the doorframe, his demeanour changing, softening. "Sorry – I – I meant to. I must have just lost track of time."
Remus frowned in chastisement at himself, and then smiled slightly, looking like himself for the first instant since he'd opened the door. "Come in," he said, standing back a little and gesturing to the lounge.
Tonks attempted a smile to try and make up for the semi-unintentional annoyance of her reply, and squeezed past him, stepping over the threshold, and into the smallish room that sat beyond him. She glanced around – there was a fireplace with a large chimney and a hefty wooden mantelpiece, on which nestled a photograph of Remus and his friends, no older than twenty, and above that was a landscape painting, a sweeping vista of the surrounding countryside in a style which Tonks recognised immediately as Mrs Lupin's. There was a dark wooden desk off to one side, piled high with papers and books, and a small sofa and armchair that looked either under-stuffed or well-worn near the fireplace.
The whole room, really, had a kind of comforting feel about it that somehow didn't make Tonks feel comforted at all. In any other circumstance, she thought ruefully, she'd be thinking about how homely it was, maybe imagine living here and mentally place her things, but now she just couldn't get away from the fact that Remus hadn't invited her here, and that meant she couldn't really take in the room and have pleasing thoughts about how endlessly Remus it was, much as she'd have liked to.
"I didn't mean to worry you," he said. "In fact, that's the exact opposite of what I intended."
"Maybe you shouldn't have left such a cryptic note, then."
She turned to face him, and Remus smiled, abashed, and glanced down at the carpet. "Sorry," he murmured, "I wasn't really thinking." He met her eye slowly, forced a smile. "How did you know where I was?" he said. "I didn't think I'd ever mentioned – "
"I went to see John," she said.
"Oh. How is – "
Tonks sighed, stopping him, because she didn't really want to give in to the desire for small talk, get caught up in some inconsequential conversation, she just wanted to know what he was doing here, because not knowing –
"Look, Remus," she said. "I can tell you he's fine and dance around and try and guess what's wrong, but I'd rather you just tell me. What's all this about?"
Remus took a deep breath and let it out as a low, hollow murmur, setting his glass down on the edge of the desk. "I'm sorry I worried you, truly," he said. "I just wanted some time to get this sorted in my own mind before we talked about it, and it took a little longer than I expected, and – "
"Before we talked about what?"
Remus ran a hand over his face, then met her eye, something rather pained about his expression. "Dumbledore wants me to go away," he said.
"Away?" she said. "Where?"
Remus closed his eyes for a second, his hands darting for his pockets as he leant back on the desk, almost as if he'd expected that he wouldn't have to explain any more, hadn't wanted to. "There's a group of werewolves," he said evenly. "They've a camp on the borders where they've been amassing for some time. We've been monitoring them, the involvement they have with the Death Eaters, and now, Dumbledore feels it's time for me to put myself at their heart and report on them, perhaps try and change their minds about the side they've picked."
His tone was dispassionate, almost the same one he'd use to tell her some snippet of information about nifflers, but when she met his eye she could see the conflict in them, the anger, almost. Tonks stepped closer, unable, really, to fathom what Remus was saying over the furious and frantic pounding of her heart. She must be misunderstanding. She must be. Was Dumbledore really asking Remus to be a spy? "You mean he wants you to – "
"Go underground is, I believe, the phrase," he said dryly.
Tonks swallowed. With everything she'd imagined – this was just –
"But you – can't," she said, because it was the only thing she could think of.
Remus closed his eyes, some battle she couldn't define raging on his forehead and his jaw. Tonks watched him, waiting for him to say that he wasn't going, that he'd thought about it and it was too much, that he was already putting his life on the line and he'd told Dumbledore no. She clung to the idea that that was what he was doing here, working through his guilt about not doing all he could for the Order, for Dumbledore.
She clung to the thought, but a moment passed, and then another, and apart from the ticking of a clock somewhere, the room remained silent, the words she longed for, words that would prove that this wasn't going to happen refusing to come.
Eventually Remus looked up, meeting her eye with such an utterly forlorn gaze that she knew it'd be burned into her memory forever. Instantly, she knew. He hadn't said no at all. "You're not – you haven't – you –
"Please don't ask me not to go," Remus said quietly. "I don't want to, and if you ask me to stay, I will, and I can't."
"Remus – "
A dozen sentences fractionally formed on her lips, words about how long he'd be away, what he'd do, what she'd do without him –
Others about why was this happening, why was it happening now when things had been going so well, didn't they deserve to be happy?
But as they half, quarter-formed, they felt meaningless and impossibly hollow, and Tonks couldn't utter them, and so she just gaped at him, heart thundering, a vague sick feeling in her stomach, thinking that this couldn't really be happening, because how could Remus be leaving?
It was ridiculous. He couldn't leave.
"It's Greyback," Remus said, his fingers rising to his jaw, rubbing absently over his stubble. "He's – " He stopped, and then met her eye almost tentatively, unease written into every inch of his expression.
"The one who bit you," Tonks said, a little surprised that she could form words, not at all surprised how flat they sounded.
Remus nodded. "He's as close to evil as anyone gets, Tonks," he said. "He destroys people's lives and revels in their despair. He's twisted – cruel. It's fun to him to pull families apart, and – " Remus swallowed, his gaze darting to the ceiling for a moment. "He's targeting children. The Death Eaters use him to scare people into doing what they want, but he can't be controlled. I think they think he's a pet dog, that he won't turn on them, that he'll be predictable and take orders like they do, only bite who they tell him to – but he doesn't care about any of that. He just – " Remus spread his hands in front of him, shaking his head sadly. "He likes to bite them young, raise them the way he wants away from any kind of normal influence if he can. We don't know how many he's got, but – "
"Isn't there another way?" Tonks said. "Couldn't we just – I don't know – storm the camp and disband it, or something?"
Remus leant back on the desk, shaking his head. "Dumbledore wants information," he said. "It's not about disbanding the camp, it's about trying to turn them our way – and I'm – well, I'm the only one who's likely to make it over the threshold."
"Remus – "
"I have to go," he said tersely, cutting her off. "I can't sit back and watch while he uses people's lives as toys."
The anger in his voice startled her a little, but there was something about the sharpness of his tone that made her wonder if it was really her he was talking to, or himself he was trying to convince. She met his eye, and he winced a little in apology, then looked away in a gesture so reminiscent of the first night they'd met she wanted to race across the room and hug him to her and never let go. But then, they'd been playful. Now –
How had it all come to this?
Tonks wanted to pinch herself. Surely this couldn't be real. She couldn't have gone from having stupidly romantic thoughts about mugs nestled together on the draining board to this so quickly in anything other than a nightmare.
"What about – " She stalled, swallowed, thinking how selfish it was to be thinking about them at a time when there were actual lives at stake.
"Us?" Remus met her eye directly, smiled a little, and then looked down at the carpet. "That's what I've been thinking about."
Tonks wasn't sure why, but the softness of his voice worried her more than anything else had done. "What's there to think about?" she said, adopting a rather falsely cheerful tone that she feared wasn't nearly as convincing as she'd hoped. "You won't be away forever and we're used to having to fit things in when we can – we've always had to, haven't we, and so far it's not been too bad."
Remus chuckled, and Tonks wondered who it was she was trying to convince, when minutes ago the thought of him going away had made her nauseous and mere seconds ago she'd been equating the situation with a nightmare. But she had to try and be positive, didn't she? He was obviously upset about it – it was down to her, wasn't it, to try and bolster them, and –
"No, no it hasn't," he said.
Sighing, Remus dragged his hands out of his pockets and ran his fingers through his hair, and when his gaze met hers it was laced with a sadness that made her insides protest that she should do something, although she didn't have the faintest idea what. "I know it'll be hard," she said, scratching around for something – anything – to say, some sliver of something that looked even a bit like hope to fasten on, "but if you think about it, nothing'll really change except we won't see each other very often – " As she said the words, her voice cracked, because why was she even trying to claim that that wasn't an awful, monumental shift? " – and, I mean," she continued, swallowing the thought, "I was thinking about the Hogsmeade thing anyway, so – I don't know how often you'd be able to get away, but – I'd be fairly close – "
She trailed off, her words stolen by the thought, the image, of her in Hogsmeade, sitting around some barren room, an imitation of herself, racked with worry as she waited for news from Remus, underground, and him doing Merlin knew what just to survive.
She tried to blot the images out. She knew what happened to spies. She knew what happened if they got caught, and she could barely bring herself to imagine what a man – if he even deserved the word – like Greyback would do if he found out. More than that, she knew what happened to spies who didn't get caught, how some of them hardened, became a version of themselves they never knew existed, became someone else almost so they wouldn't be doing what they had to themselves. She knew that some of them ended up sympathising with the people they were spying on, became one of the people they were supposed to be fighting against, and she knew that some of them disintegrated under the pressure, the weight of lies and betrayals, impossibly hard decisions and inaction, crushing them.
She closed her eyes, barely knowing which outcome was worse.
Remus knew all of that too, she supposed, and now she knew what had driven him here, she couldn't say she blamed him entirely for wanting time and space to think.
Tonks glanced down at the carpet, tracing the faint pattern on it and trying to force her mind to shut up about spies and stop hurling images of her alone and him trapped in some God-forsaken camp at her so she could actually think, think about what to say, how to make this doable, how to make herself feel better because at the moment she felt rather on the brink of disintegrating herself, as if her insides were missing and she was about to cave.
She looked up at Remus, suddenly realising that he hadn't said anything, that he hadn't leapt in with a yes, some agreement that what she'd suggested would work, that he'd be able to get away and would love to see her occasionally. Had it been fanciful to think they could keep each other going, even when they were apart?
A minute passed, two, and Remus' continuing silence made Tonks' nerves twitch and her heart thump – more so than the idea of him going away did on its own.
They'd talked about it, about what would happen if she was sent to Hogsmeade, and at the time they'd agreed that no, it wouldn't be ideal, but nothing about things so far had been for them, and they'd done all right. They'd both said that whatever happened, they'd just face it with a bloody-minded determination, because a time like this was when people needed each other the most. She'd taken comfort in those words, thought that she could trust them, that whatever happened with the war and their involvement in it, they'd have each other to cling to.
And Remus was there, a few feet away across the lounge – so why weren't they clinging? Why did they suddenly feel miles apart?
Her mind was a cacophony of thought, all this new information jostling for a place in her head, but the one thought that surfaced and shouted the loudest was that Remus hadn't touched her at all since she'd arrived. How long had it been since he hadn't kissed her in greeting, or placed a reassuring hand on her arm, the small of her back?
Did that mean something? She'd been irritated with him, but they should be holding hands, offering each other solace – hugging, even, shouldn't they, at a time like this?
Her mind whirled. If this was something they were going to get through together, they should be – feel – together, shouldn't they? The thought made panic prickle on her skin, because she couldn't help feeling that at the moment they felt like individuals, she having come here because she was worried, and him alone, thinking, wondering what to do.
Tonks wished that he would say something. Remus was always so good with words of comfort, making her believe that everything was going to be all right, but he just stared at the carpet, his brow furrowed, his fingers tightening and then loosening on the edge of the desk.
Maybe she should say something else – maybe it was her turn to be convincingly comforting? Tonks pressed her lips together, trying desperately to think what to do. She should say something – tell him that it would be all right because they loved each other –
But suddenly that felt woefully inadequate and cheesy. Being asked to be a spy, to risk his life, as he surely would be, was bad enough. For Remus to be facing a man who'd wreaked so much destruction on him personally –
She couldn't imagine what he must be thinking. Was love enough of a barricade against that? Was it enough for her to know how he felt if she didn't get to see him every day, even once a week, have it reiterated in the little things he did, the way he smiled at her, said her name?
Tonks glanced out of the window, then back at the painting above the mantelpiece. Mrs Lupin really had done a fabulous job –
For some reason, the thought made her throat tighten, and she closed her eyes as the enormity of what was going to happen hit her like the crash of a wave. Remus was going away, and whatever happened, whether she went to Hogsmeade and sometimes they both managed to get away or not, everything was going to be different. He wasn't going to be there when she'd had a bad day – would she even be able to contact him at all? She wouldn't get to hear his little jokes about his own inadequate cooking, hear stories about his time at Hogwarts, about Sirius, wouldn't be able to fall asleep in his arms every night, thinking that everything else might be wrong, but at least this, this was right –
She swallowed. She didn't even want to think about the reality of what Remus would have to do. How did the werewolves live? He'd said a camp on the borders – but what did that mean? What would he do at the full moon? She'd heard rumours about werewolves on the rampage, had dismissed them as just that, but –
And Greyback, the man who'd been responsible for everything he'd been through, everything he'd suffered, and his father – how on earth would he cope?
"Remus?"
Her voice had a slightly cracked and desperate quality to it, but she couldn't help it. Remus lifted his head slowly, met her eye, and that same quiet pleading he'd had before was there still, but now it was tempered by something else, something that was redolent of the cloud his eyes had had just after Sirius had died. She almost couldn't bear to look.
"I don't like it any more than you do," he said. "Less, probably – "
"Then don't go."
The words were out of her mouth before she'd even had a chance to think them through, and she winced at herself for saying them, because he'd asked her not to, hadn't he? With everything he was facing, how could she not even stick to that?
She wanted to kick herself – and yes, it was what she felt – she didn't want him to go, of course she didn't, couldn't even imagine herself saying goodbye to him, not knowing what would happen, but –
Shouldn't she be stronger than this? She'd always known, ever since she'd signed up for the Order that there'd be sacrifices, and Remus was a key member – it wasn't entirely out of the blue that he'd been asked to do something as important and dangerous as this. Tonks pressed her lips together against the suffocating emotion of rather indeterminate nature rising in her chest. She'd thought she'd be prepared for something like this, that there was nothing she wouldn't do to build a safer, better world –
But she hadn't banked on falling so completely in love, and having to offer that up to be taken.
"Don't," he said, sighing, and this time, rather than pleading, there was a chastising note to his tone, and in spite of everything else she felt – sadness and anger and just despair at the thought – annoyance nipped at her too.
She swallowed, looking him straight in the eye. "It's not that easy," she said. "I can't pretend I'm not upset."
"I'm not asking you to," he said.
"Then what? Am I the only one who thinks this – what we have – is too important to just give up?"
"Tonks – " Remus ran a hand over his face, pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyebrows bunching together. "This is why I came here," he said. "I wanted to think it all through, have it all sorted in my head before I told you."
"Well I'm sorry for caring and messing up your plan – "
"Please don't be childish, Tonks," he said, his tone caught somewhere between weariness and irritation. "I don't think it's really – "
"Childish?" she said, caught herself somewhere between incredulity and immense irritation. "I'm not the one who ran away to hide – "
"I wasn't – "
"What else would you call it?" she said. "Do you have any idea how worried I was? I suppose you'd have preferred it if I'd just sat around and waited while you made decisions that affected my life?"
"Tonks – I just – "
Remus got to his feet, pacing across the rug, his face taut and pale.
Tonks didn't really know what she saying – hadn't even really meant half of it – had just wanted to say something, anything, to show him how hurt and upset she was. She wasn't really sure where any of that had come from, whether it was what she really felt, some reaction to that prickle of annoyance, or some deep-seated worry that she was the only one who really cared about them. She didn't want to argue with him – Merlin, that was the last thing she wanted – but he had to see, didn't he, how shaken she was about this? And he was acting as if she should just accept it – and maybe if she'd had nearly a week like he had, to digest –
"If you think this is something I want," he said, "you're woefully mistaken."
"It's something you've agreed to, though, isn't it?" she said, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them, her tone angrier than she'd expected. "Something you've agreed to without even talking to me about it, even though it affects me."
"I had no choice," Remus said, fisting his hand in his hair, his voice rising.
For a moment, the word rang around the room, and they just stared at each other.
Tonks knew that this wasn't really going how she wanted, and yet she couldn't think how to get back to what she wanted, couldn't think what to say that would take her words back and make his disappear. "I have to go, Tonks," he said, a little more quietly but with that same steel she couldn't help but find chaffing – how could he not have discussed this – something this big – with her? How could he have made this decision on his own? "Surely you can see that in the grand scheme of things, one relationship – any relationship, regardless of the depth of feeling involved – doesn't really compare to everything else that's at stake?"
Tonks felt her body recoil a little, stung by this words.
"Well if that's what you think," she said, "it's no wonder you're such a disaster."
Remus flinched, swallowing heavily, his eyes flickering away from her gaze, darting around the room, everywhere but her. His jaw tightened, his hands bunched at his sides, and she watched as his chest rose and fell rapidly.
For a fleeting second, she was pleased. He'd had no right to call her childish, less right to make a decision like this on his own; but after that fleeting second had faded, the realisation that she'd hurt him – really hurt him – settled, and immediately she wanted to take her words back. "Remus, I'm – "
"No," he said. "You're right. I am. I think I'd better – "
Before Tonks could do anything, leap in with a contradiction, say something to make all this go away, Remus crossed the room, his eyes fixed upon the door. "Remus – don't go – I didn't mean it."
"Yes you did," he said, steadfastly refusing to meet her eye, "and you're right. It was foolish of me to believe that this would end anything other than badly."
Sunlight streamed in as he opened the door, and Tonks wanted to do something, grab his arm and pull him back, say something to make him stay – but found herself rooted to the spot. "I think it might be better," Remus said, "if you weren't here when I came back."
And with that, he closed the door behind him, without even offering her the briefest of glances over his shoulder.
Tonks had waited for him for hours. She'd sat on the floor in his lounge long after the sun had dipped below the horizon, watching as the room glowed orange and then sank into darkness around her. She'd thought he'd come back, had pictured apologies, had run through what she'd say in response to a hundred imaginary questions more times than she could count, but Remus hadn't appeared, and so eventually she'd given up and come home.
Only it didn't really feel like home any more.
Tonks pushed the door open, knowing that the room would be dark, there'd be no light from where he was reading, no intrinsic sense of warmth that came from knowing she'd have someone to spend the night with, and the thought that maybe she'd never have that again settled like a pocket of ice in her stomach.
She closed the door behind her, let her eyelids flutter down and leant back, resting her shoulders on the wood. How had any of this happened? In one day, how had they gone from homemade vegetable lasagne and shared jokes, togetherness, to this?
"Hello." Tonks jumped, clutching at her chest, and her heart raced for a moment with surprise and then with something else entirely. "I didn't mean to startle you," he said.
Tonks swallowed, trying to press her heart back into place, just making out Remus' silhouette moving closer. "Wotcher," she murmured, wondering why he'd been sitting in the dark, wanting to laugh at the idea that they'd both been doing the same thing, only in different places. She wanted to, and yet anything even approaching amusement was caught in her chest, weighed down by everything else. "What are you doing here?"
"I didn't like the way we left things," he said, and suddenly she felt relief wash through her.
"Me either."
Remus stepped closer, closer than he ever had been that evening at his house, and his eyes roved her face, just catching the light from the lamppost outside the window. He swallowed, and in the darkness she swore she could hear the pound of his heart, although logic told her it was far more likely to be hers, beating its erratic rhythm on the inside of her chest at a truly deafening volume. "What I was thinking about before," he said. "I was just trying to figure out how I can make the best of this for you."
Tonks opened her mouth, but no words came immediately. She was sure she'd been angry at him, but now, as he looked at her almost imploringly, she wasn't entirely sure why. "For me? I don't – I'm not sure I understand."
"Being with you," he said, "it's been – "
He rocked back on his heels, and the word he seemed to be searching for didn't come. He met her eye with something that looked like apology, and then swallowed, and the intensity of his gaze was such that her knees almost gave in to the urge to fold. "I'm just not sure it's fair to ask you to stay with me when I don't know what will happen," he said.
His words settled in the air and slowly seeped in. Tonks wasn't quite sure what he was saying, that it wasn't fair, but he'd do it anyway, or –
"I don't think," he said, wincing a little at his own words, "well – it doesn't seem entirely right to expect you to give up your life, the things you'd like for yourself, just because I have to."
"Remus – "
"I know you want to tell me not to be defeatist," he said, "but the truth is that I'm not being."
Tonks closed her eyes for a second, too tired, too much of an emotional mess to really fathom whether he was right or not, and when she opened them again he was closer still, although there was uncertainty in his expression, even as he lifted his hand to her face and scuffed her cheek with his thumb. "I'm still leaving," he said, and she swallowed again, her chest tight with something she thought might be tears, "I'm sorry, but I am, and – "
She wanted to tell him that she understood, because part of her did. Part of her knew that if it was her, if Dumbledore had asked something like this of her, she wouldn't have been able to say no either – and she'd have talked about it with Remus, but ultimately she couldn't say hand on heart that she'd have made a different decision. And with his father, what had happened to him, the way all of this was connected –
Part of her understood.
The rest was busy aching with missing him before he'd even gone, though.
" – I can't offer you any guarantees," he said.
"I know."
"But – " He paused, glancing at the ceiling for a moment and then meeting her eye. His fingertips stilled on her cheek and his gaze was as soft as it ever had been. "I love you more than anything," he said quietly. "I wanted you to know that, regardless – "
"Remus – "
"I mean it," he said, "so please, let me say it."
She nodded, pressing her lips together, even as they shook in protest. "I want only good things for you," he said, "so I don't want you to wait for me. If you meet someone else – someone who can make you happy, someone who's not a disaster – "
"I don't want anyone else," she said, resting her hands on his waist, inching him closer, hoping he'd feel certainty in her fingers. "How can you even think that I'd consider – "
Remus let out a breathy laugh, and it tickled her face and reminded her of so many other moments –
"It means a lot to me that you'd say that," he said.
"It's true – I don't – "
"Maybe not now," he said softly, his tone wry and yet rather understanding, too. "War changes people, though, Tonks. People change themselves, harden – sometimes circumstance makes you fall out of love. Things happen that you don't expect, things you think will always be there sometimes aren't, get taken, or – "
He trailed off, and she wanted to protest, say things that were romantic and clichéd to the point of being undignified, but didn't. She could show him, couldn't she? Hadn't Sirius always said that when it came to Remus, he wouldn't listen to words?
She cleared her throat and looked up at him. "When are you leaving?" she said, amazed that the question didn't catch in her throat.
"Couple of weeks," he said, and Tonks bit her lip, hard, nodding slowly to keep from doing anything else – crying, or saying that that was far too soon and she needed more time. "I'll need a while to track them, work out the exact structure of the pack and how to make the right move at the next full moon," he said. "I'll be leaving the day after Harry's birthday."
Tonks let her eyes fall closed for a second, pressing her cheek a little against his hand, trying not to think about how on earth she was going to say goodbye to him. Where was she even going to start? She tried not to picture it, her a mess of tears on the doorstep and him walking away –
"I'll go now," he said, and she looked up at him, almost horrified at the thought, "if that would be easier."
"God, Remus – "
"Whatever you want."
"I can't have what I want," she said, and he closed his eyes, regret etched into every line of his face. "But – stay," she added.
She bit her lip again, idly wondering if she'd make it bleed, not caring if she did, and Remus nodded faintly, stroking her cheek in what she thought was understanding or reassurance, or something that she might not be able to define, but her insides ached with knowing she'd miss. "I thought about not telling you at all," he said, swallowing heavily. "But that didn't seem entirely fair – I just – I'm sorry. There's no way to make this fair and – it's so far from what you deserve, what I want – "
He leant in, resting his forehead against hers, evidently as bereft of words as she felt.
Tonks tried not to think, to just savour the moment, let the warm feel of his skin on hers seep through her, because after he did leave, who knew when their next chance would be? And they had a couple of weeks, she thought – a lot of people didn't get that. She tried to believe she should be grateful, but the thought was like barbed wire around her heart, digging in and just making it smart more.
"I just – " She stopped. Was there any way at all to put what she felt, the enormity of it, into words? "I don't know what I'm going to do without you."
She almost laughed at how clichéd and – small her words sounded, how slightly they encompassed everything, but Remus pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her and cradling her against his chest. "You'll be fine," he said, murmuring the words against her hair. "You were fine before you met me, weren't you?"
Tonks let out a watery snigger against his shirt. "That's not really the point though, is it?"
"No," he murmured.
She closed her eyes, nestled further into his chest, and for a moment they just stood with their arms around each other. She still couldn't quite imagine it, what it'd be like here without him.
Merlin, he was everywhere here. Their lives had become so wonderfully tangled she wasn't sure they'd ever be able to separate them, wasn't sure she ever wanted to. And it was more than that, because he was tangled with her, wasn't he? With her heart, and with her thoughts and – everywhere. When she thought about the present and the future, he was always there, and when she thought about the past it was only really for things she wanted to tell him, stories she wanted to share.
And she had no idea, none whatsoever, how she was going to cope when he was gone.
She'd take the job in Hogsmeade, she thought, keep busy, be closer to Dumbledore in case –
She couldn't even finish the thought, and so she just pressed her cheek into his chest, trying to bite back the surge of emotion as his fingers tightened in response on her shoulder.
He held her like that for a moment, and then his fingers wandered down her spine, back up again slowly, and played at the nape of her neck. He traced patterns on her skin that were deliciously familiar and yet felt strangely new too, and she shivered a little, because the usual tingles were there, but this time they positively flared, shooting right through her, ignited by some unfamiliar emotion that was intense and fragile and almost intangible.
Her skin warmed, prickled as his hands moved lower, and she closed her eyes, trying to savour how everything felt. Her fingers untucked his shirt entirely of their own accord, crawling beneath to feel his skin, and she smiled a little as he sucked in his breath, even though she knew her hands weren't cold. She tilted her face up, and his lips met hers as if he'd known exactly the second that she'd do it, and just like always, they were a perfect fit.
His lips were soft, at first, against hers, lingered, stopping short of what she could feel they both wanted, and then he took her face in his hands, kissing her more urgently as his fingers traced her jaw, her cheek, her ear, played on her neck, touch laden with something that was entirely new. She responded – couldn't not – as insistently, running her hands over his chest, his shoulders, pushing her fingers into his hair, trying to memorise every inch of him, revelling in everything, the tiny movements of his hands, the way he shifted against her, the way his lips caught, breath hitched, against hers.
She pressed closer, trying not to think that she wanted forever and yet they only had a couple of weeks, tried to feed everything she felt into how she kissed him so he'd know, and he could take it with him. His hands slid down her back, pulling her against him, making her feel impossibly alive with guttering sensation, and his kisses were by turns ardent and fervent, then the kind of languid that made her almost forget what she was doing. The desire for more pounded in her veins, and as they drifted towards the bedroom, she tried not to think too much, not to get wound up in thinking beyond tonight –
But every kiss, light and tender or heavy and loaded, every caress, every catch of their breath against the other's lips, was goodbye, and she knew that Remus knew it, felt it just as keenly as she did.
The next time Remus left her a note, it was waiting for her on her bedside table when she woke. The paper was neatly folded, the creases impeccable, and her name was written on the front in black ink.
They'd agreed not to say goodbye; she didn't need to read it, though, to know that Remus really had gone, and that this time, there was no guarantee that he'd ever be coming back.
A/N: Many thanks to those of you who reviewed the last chapter, and anyone leaving one for this (admittedly rather depressing) one gets a werewolf kiss in a flavour of their choosing: the sleepy good morning kind, the lunchtime pick-me-up, or a late-night one filled with all kinds of promise. No goodbyes guaranteed ;).