Author's Note: Enjoy!

Disclaimer: The following characters belong to J.K. Rowling, and this story derives from her original works, storylines, and world. Please do not sue me, I can barely pay tuition.

Dedication: For scientistsinistral, who requested this AU! If you have any requests, leave them in the reviews.

Hogwarts: Assignment #5, Demonology Task #3, Write about being treated like royalty.

Warnings: Slut-shaming slur, unplanned pregnancy, manipulative family (gaslighting, lying about origins), elopement.

This week's AU: Tailor!AU

In Hopes of Breathing

She looked away as he wrapped the measuring tape around her waist. Obviously he was simply doing his job—and obviously she shouldn't have cared that he was this close to her, that she could feel his breath against her or that the slightest touch of his fingertips brushed her hip in the process…

Yes, obviously.

But it was just best if she looked away so that nobody saw what he was doing to her.

"Is everything alright, Milady?" he asked. She could have sworn under her breath. Of course he would ask, that tailor saw and sensed and felt absolutely everything. That attention to detail was what made him such a good tailor, in her mother's books—if even one stitch in a row was uneven, if a single bead was loose along a neckline, if a nick in a ribbon gave it the slightest chance of eventually fraying… Remus saw it all.

"Of course," Dora replied. She cleared her throat and straightened her posture, happy that her mother wasn't there to see her slouch.

Remus nodded and knelt down so that he could measure the length of her skirt. It wasn't as if Dora was growing, but she didn't want to suggest that his measurements could be reused because… well, because she liked these moments of peace where it was just the two of them, when he came to the palace with bundles of fabric and paper patterns. Any kind of peace was hard to come by, of course, but if she couldn't be completely alone then Remus was a fine choice to share her peace with.

When he was done taking his measurements, he rolled up the tape and tucked it into his breast pocket. He offered her a hand so that she could step off the stool and waved her towards a chair. She kept her back straight, sat with her knees glued together, and made sure to spread the skirts of her dress so that they didn't bundle or crease as she sat.

"I was instructed to give you as many options as possible for this gown," Remus said, coming towards her with a pile of patterns and sketches. "King Lucius's words were, I believe, to spare no expense."

"My father feels generous," Dora said.

Remus smiled. He must have heard the sarcasm dripping in.

"Perhaps we can finally make you a gown that you will not begrudge me for making," Remus said.

"I begrudge you nothing, sir," Dora said immediately.

Remus chuckled under his breath.

"You know, you are not my only client—just my favourite. All the others are happy to see me, happy to input on colours and fabric, pleased to ask me to add more shine or texture… you look a little bit resentful, every time I put you in a gown."

Dora didn't have a good answer—not one that a royal lady could and should say out loud.

"So why am I your favourite?" Dora asked.

"I like a challenge," Remus said.

Dora smiled a half-smile she hadn't meant for him to see.

"It is hardly your fault I lack the proper fondness for being dressed up," Dora said.

"Well then, I will find another way to make you smile."

"There is still much work to be done..." Remus said. He was fluttering around in bursts as he adjusted how the fabric hung on her body, gathered at the sleeves, layered as it tumbled to the ground…

She looked at her reflection in the mirror, at the pine green and snow white and sea gray fabrics of the dress he had made, at the first hints of bronze embroidering starting to appear, at his anxious face as he waited for her reaction.

"This is beautiful," Dora said. It truly, truly was.

"I know," he said. "I've made beautiful things before. What I want for this gown is for it to be strong, like you, and dignified and powerful—something that Boedicia or a warrior queen would wear…"

"Is that what I am to you?" she asked.

Remus blushed.

"You are my client and my lady, and I am your humble servant," he said.

She liked it the other way around best, but she tried not to let it show.

"I love it," she said.

She pulled the bow's string back. Her fingers lined up with her chin, the string could have touched her lips and nose. She used her back muscles, not her biceps. She relaxed her grip. Her stance was immaculate. She had internalized and naturalized everything that Alastor had taught her, when the captain of the guard had first noticed just how rambunctious she was.

She released the arrow, which found its target easily. She knew the make-shift range Alastor had installed behind the gardens for her like the back of her hand.

"Shit!" somebody yelled. A man with shaggy hair fell out of the forest, dropping a basket of mushrooms.

"Damn it Padfoot, get back in here," a black-haired man said, appearing to grab the first. He spotted Dora. "Oh, fuck..."

"Crap!" someone else in the woods called.

"Watch your language, all of you, and get out of the way."

All of a sudden it was Remus stepping out of the woods, grabbing his friends as if to pull them back. Then he made eye contact with Dora and it was hard to tell which one of them was more surprised.

"Oh," he said. "Oh, I'm sorry, I…"

He did a quick bow and then kicked his friends so that they did the same.

"Remus," she said. She made her way towards the makeshift target. Suddenly, she was hyperconscious that she was wearing a stolen servant girl's skirt, boots she'd stolen from her father and stuffed with rags, and a peasant blouse.

She ripped the arrows she'd fired out of her target. She only had three to use and reuse.

Her mouth felt dry. Outside of the palace, the world seemed so… possible.

Still, he shouldn't see her like this.

"You're not supposed to be harvesting mushrooms so close to the palace. I am not supposed to be shooting arrows either," Dora said. "I know what kind of trouble you would get into if you were seen doing this, but I can't even begin to imagine what kind of hell I would be in if they knew I had gotten my hands on a bow. It's probably best that we keep this quiet."

"I can keep your secret," Remus promised.

"Then I will keep yours."

"I am excited to see your progress," Dora said as she watched Remus hang the dress, wrapped in a protective bag, on the screen she always changed behind. It was one of the platitudes she always had handy.

"Before we get there, I have something else for you," he said. "You might actually be excited about it…"

He reached into his bag and brought out a package wrapped in the same cheap canvas as a bag of flour. He handed it to her and she immediately liked the weight of it. She arched an eyebrow but he just smiled, so she unwrapped the package to reveal a hunter's coat—a proper coat with fitted sleeves that wouldn't snag on arrows, leather pads along the sleeves to protect from a bowstring's snap… There was even a pair of fingerless archery gloves.

"You made this?" Dora asked.

"I can make more than gowns," Remus said. "Those are just the things that bring me to the palace."

She ran her fingers along the jacket. There were insects engraved on the buttons' surfaces. Blackberries and their leaves were embroidered at the jacket's collar.

"This is… why did you make this?"

"Because I saw what you were practising in and you—well, you looked beautiful, don't get me wrong, but it wasn't proper archery gear," Remus said. "I wondered how good you would be if you weren't worrying about snagging your sleeves."

Dora couldn't quite manage to reply, but she closed her mouth so she wouldn't look like a trout.

"How much do I owe you for this?" Dora said.

"Nothing at all," Remus said. "It is a gift. I just wanted to see you wearing it."

And so she slipped it on, and smiled when she saw that the buttons on the archery gloves also had bees engraved on them.

She kept them on when he had her try on her gown.

He was kneeling in front of her and stitching a flower on her overskirt, at a spot where he'd noticed one was missing. There was love and patience in every prick of his needle.

"How is the dress fitting, other than these missing details?" he asked. She looked down at him and bit her lip.

"Not as wonderfully as my coat, but beautifully," Dora said.

"We're not looking for beautiful," Remus said. "We want it to fit properly so that it's comfortable. You don't need much help, but we want you to be beautiful."

Dora chewed her lip. He stepped back, his eyes going over her—no, not her, his dress. Well, her dress. Her dress that she was in.

Dora sighed and straightened up, looking ahead— not at Remus and at those warm and bright brown eyes, at the nervous way he chewed his lip, examined the world around him, moved carefully…

"I think this is still a little loose," he said. "May I?"

"Of course," she said, though she hadn't listened. He reached out and started fiddling with how the fabric that made up her collar rested against her skin. There were pins in the corner of his mouth and he plucked them from his lips to push them into the folds he created in the fabric.

"Remus?" she said.

"Yes, my lady?" he said, looking up. His words were muffled by the way his lips pinched around the pins.

She reached out and plucked the pins from his lips. With her other hand, she tilted his face up and kissed him.

"You," he said, shutting the door behind him, "are getting bold."

"I've always been bold," Dora said.

"Too bold, then," Remus said, though he crossed the room, took her hands, and leaned in to kiss her. Dora laced her arms around his neck and pulled her closer.

"You don't like me bold?" Dora asked.

"I like you best, bold," Remus said, pressing his nose against hers. "But when your mother the Queen asks to see your gown and King Lucius wants to see the work he is paying for, and you turn them both away at the door…"

"It's so that I can do things like this," she reminded him, kissing him again.

"Owe!"

He laughed as she pricked her finger again.

"You're much clumsier than you look," Remus said. He was, once again, trying to teach her how to sew on the hem of another client's pants.

"It took far more time than you'd ever imagine to drill me into being a princess or a decent archer," Dora said.

"Well, we have time," Remus said, kissing her cheek. "Alright, let's thread your needle and try again…"

She didn't mean to do this. She didn't mean to turn up at his door in the dead of night—to take her first opportunity to slip past the guards and run to the village, giving ample opportunity to the rain and mud to bedraggle her…

"Dora," he said when he saw her, eyes wide with concern. He reached to grab her hand, pulling her inside. "Dora, you shouldn't be out, it's…"

"I'm pregnant," she said before she could stop herself.

That was when she noticed the three familiar men gathered around his kitchen table, drinking ale and eating some sort of stew.

One of them actually dropped his spoon back into his bowl at her words.

She turned back to look at Remus, who looked just as stunned—though he hadn't dropped her hand. She was eternally thankful for this, if nothing else.

"I loosened the garment's waistline," Remus whispered in her ear as he pretended to adjust the laces at her bag.

Dora took a deep breath.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Is there anything else that you need from me?" Remus asked. "Anything at all? Either today or for the next fitting or…"

She liked the feeling of his hands against her, even if it was only in the most modest and professional brushes. She liked hearing him speak out loud about the mess she was in, as if she wasn't alone. She liked…

Before she could answer, her mother burst in, wearing a dark blue gown that made her silvery blonde hair look like it shone even more.

"Marvelous," she said, pressing a hand against her heart. "Oh, Nymphadora, you look absolutely beautiful… and to think it isn't even finished! Remus, I do believe that you have outdone yourself…"

Remus stepped away, tucking the spare pins into his pocket. He bowed.

"You honour me, Queen Narcissa…"

The beauty of the dress was all mother could discuss as they took their walk around the garden that afternoon. Mother hung off Father's arm, filling him in on the skillfulness of the embroidery, the powerful dye that had yielded such strong colours, the quality of the fabric used…

"Dora, are you as happy with your gown as your mother is?" Father asked, putting a hand on the small of her back.

"Yes, My Lord," Dora said.

"I do believe we will have to keep the tailor on commission for the wedding dress," Mother said.

Dora froze and her parents took two steps ahead of her before registering this.

"I beg your pardon, Mother?" Dora asked. "I—I believe I misunderstood…"

"Narcissa," her father said, clucking his tongue. Still, he seemed in good spirits. Nearly jolly, which wasn't a word she used to describe her father often.

"I spoiled the surprise!" Mother said, putting a hand against her mouth.

"What surprise?" Dora asked. A wave of nausea came over her, but she knew that it was from pure horror, not from the baby. "Mother…"

"One of our allies has asked for your hand," Mother said, taking Dora's hand. "A generous offer from a mighty kingdom—with a kind, handsome, lovely young prince…"

Dora still felt like her knees were weak.

"This dress…" she said.

"We meant to surprise you," her father said. He patted her mother's hand.

Dora's knees weakened.

Her father took her hand, squeezed it, and smiled. Her mother reached up, wrapping her arms around her shoulder. Dora couldn't move or breathe in their grip. They were smothering her, they were all over her, they were…

She stepped away, more roughly than she should have but more gently than she'd wanted.

"You didn't tell me?" Dora asked. "You didn't… you didn't think I should know?"

She threw up in the rose bushes before they could elaborate.

Remus had little to no adjustments to make on her final fitting. His work was that perfect. The dress had never looked more beautiful and Dora had never felt sicker.

"I have to show you something," he said quietly. "While we're still alone…"

He took her hand and flipped the inside of the long, draping sleeve to show the words embroidered in golden thread along the edge of the sleeve.

"What does this mean?" Dora asked. Her royal education as a pureblood had taught her seven languages and an additional two that she could only speak, but she couldn't recognize these letters.

"It's the language of where I'm from," Remus said. He ran his fingers over the fabric as he read them. "'Take every stitch as a love letter because I will run out of time to adequately say 'I love you.''"

Dora took a deep, shaky breath. She reached out to cup his face. She kissed him once, twice, thrice before pressing her forehead against his. He dropped the sleeve and ran both of his hands in her hair. It may ruin how beautifully natural and laissez-faire her tumbling curls had been designed to look. She didn't care.

"I'm not done fighting," she said. "I'll find a way."

"Don't break yourself trying," Remus said. "It… it may not be there and I want you to stay well and safe. Nothing is worth endangering that..."

"You are," Dora said.

Before he could reply, a turn of the doorknob interrupted the peace and they stepped away from each other. They were very well practised at that.

She escaped from the ballroom as soon as possible. She knew she shouldn't have, she should have been better—more poised, put-together… but she felt sick. She stood on the balcony, leaving the jolly music and the chatter of the party and her fiancé behind. The quiet, the cool air, the slowly drifting snowflakes… it all felt better than what she'd left.

She wasn't alone long. The captain of the guard, Alastor, joined her.

"I don't want to hear it," Dora said before resting her forehead against the porch railing again.

"You don't even know what I was going to say," he said. He limped out onto the porch and sat on the bench. She watched him pick up his wooden leg and haul it onto the bench, massaging the part where limb met prosthetic.

"I was going to say that there ain't no shame in being in the wrong place at the wrong time—and that includes for how you love someone," he said, reaching into his pocket for a piece of wood and a carving knife.

Her heart froze. How did he..?

"You know that everyone calls you Mad-Eye, don't you?" Dora said, in a desperate attempt to change the subject and get him away. It was quite possibly the rudest thing she had ever said to anyone, much less her old friend.

"Aye," Alastor said. "It's my eye that's mad, not my mind, so listen. Sometimes, you're in the wrong life to love the right person. There ain't no shame in that."

"What if it's not about shame," Dora said. "What if… what if it's about trying to breathe in your own life? You've never worn a corset, Mad-Eye, but there's nothing worse than living life like you have one fused into your flesh—knowing you'll never be able to take it off and breathe because that would mean slipping out of your own skin."

"Your mother used to say that to me all the time," Mad-Eye said. He was casually whittling away at the piece of wood.

"What on Earth are you talking about?" she asked, turning back towards him. "My parents—my parents love each other. They grew up playing together in the palace gardens and their betrothal was a cause for celebration across the kingdom..."

"That's the king and queen's story, yes," Mad-Eye said. He paused his whittling and gave her a look that was remarkably piercing given his one eye.

"Speak plainly," she told him. It sounded like an order and she winced. "Sorry, I mean… What are you saying?"

"Your parents' story," Mad-Eye said. "As I remember them. Did it never seem suspicious to you that there was an incredible change in palace staff just before you were born, Milady?"

"The sickness ran through the palace that year," Dora said. "I was lucky to be born alive…"

Mad-Eye clucked his tongue.

"A good lie, but they couldn't get rid of all the guards—too valuable, too difficult to train and replace… so there's me, who remembers."

"What do you know?".

"You make me think of your mother," Mad-Eye said. "She was quite a bit better at keeping herself bottled up and quiet than you—a storm in a bottle where you're just a storm on the horizon, waiting to happen, but a storm nonetheless. They pushed and pushed her 'til she snapped, and with a clap of lightning she disappeared—except she had a stableboy, not a tailor."

Dora straightened up and turned to Mad-Eye.

"How dare you," she said. "My mother, the queen of this land, she is... nothing but perfect—the perfect queen, the perfect wife, the perfect…"

"She is a lie, my lady," Mad-Eye said. "Did you never calculate that you were only born five months after the king and queen married?"

"They're my parents," Dora snapped. "Call them my parents!"

"It means that you were either born early, unlikely given your good health, conceived out of wedlock, unlikely given how prim and proper the royals are, or that you weren't born of the king and queen at all."

Dora was about to fight back, but all of a sudden she couldn't.

She rested a hand on her stomach, thinking of the lies she'd imagined for this little one already…

She drifted closer to Mad-Eye and sat by him.

"Tell me everything," she asked.

"You didn't think I should know?" Dora said, leaning in her parents' doorframe, still wearing the beautiful green dress.

Her mother turned away from the vanity.

"Nymphadora, lovely," Narcissa said, standing. She was only wearing half her jewellery and a great deal of the pins holding up her hairdo had been pulled out.

"Nymphadora," Lucius added, shrugging off his jacket and laying it on the foot of their bed before circling over to come back to her.

"Sweetheart, you were ill this morning, you shouldn't be wearing a corset longer than necessary…" Narcissa said. When she reached her, Dora swatted Narcissa's hand away.

"Tell me about my mother," Dora said.

"What?" Narcissa said, paling. She looked more shocked than hurt.

"Nymphadora!" Lucius said. "Don't speak to your mother that way…"

"Andromeda," Dora said. "Tell me about Andromeda now."

The slap across her cheek surprised her, but Dora didn't recoil and she didn't step back. Strong. Like a warrior queen.

"Where did you hear that name in my castle?" Narcissa hissed.

"It doesn't matter," Dora said. "You would not have that look in your eyes if it didn't matter… it's true, isn't it? You aren't my parents at all…"

"Your mother was a whore," Narcissa snapped. "A whore raised just me but too stupid to know her place, her duty, the rules she had to follow, and the standards she had to meet…"

"Where is she?" Dora said, trembling. "What happened to her, what did you do to her?"

"She left," Lucius said. "She left once we got our hands on that boy of hers, which cleared the way for your—for Narcissa to step in and save this family's purity, its status, its wealth…"

"Oh my God," Dora breathed. "She…"

"She had you in the basement of this palace and left you to save that boy," Narcissa said. "We saved you."

"No," Dora said, shaking her head. "You didn't… she may have left, but did she have a choice? Could she breathe? Did you let her breathe?"

"What are you saying?" Lucius asked. "Nymphadora, settle down…"

"Stand back," she said. She drew a hunting knife from her gown's hidden pocket. When Remus had told her that he'd make a dress fit for a warrior, the man had taken his words literally.

"Nymphadora!" Narcissa said. "Nymphadora…"

"Stand back," Dora said. "Stand back because I can't breathe and I'm… I'm going to breathe."

When she went to him, she had a bag and an embroidered coat around her shoulders, a bow, three arrows, and stolen boots stuffed with rags on her feet. The green dress, as beautiful as it was, had been left. She'd made sure to cut off the sleeve though, so she could bring Remus' words with her. If she failed tonight, then at least his words would be with her.

He pulled her into the little cottage, saying something about the weather and the snowflakes in her hair.

Dora just melted against him. There were sparkles in his hair, as if he'd been working on a garment, and the measuring tape was wrapped around his neck. She breathed in the smell of him, mostly pine from the woods, and she resolved to always be close enough to breathe him in.

"We need to go," she said.

"What?" Remus asked. "Dora, it's…"

"You need to pack a bag and bring your sewing kit and we have to find your friends," she said. "I have two palace horses. Alastor gave me an address and he's holding back the guards for as long as he can… they don't know about the baby, but if they catch me they will."

"What?" Remus asked. "Wait, I can ask questions as we ride…"

"Are you ready for this?" Remus asked. They had dismounted from their horses and he held their reins. She gently ran her hand along the horse's flank while staring at the little cottage and its ivy-covered walls.

"You don't have to do this," Remus said quietly. "James wrote that they're still looking for you back home, but we can ride to another county. I can set up another shop, build up business, we can make a life for ourselves…"

"No," Dora said. "I dragged you away promising a safe place, I owe you… I owe you to try."

She didn't add that the baby growing and straining against her dress was making riding more difficult and uncomfortable and painful.

"You don't owe me anything," Remus said, reaching out and brushing his hand across her cheek. "I do," Dora said. "And I… I want to meet her, since she… well, she gave me the strength to run away and breathe. I owe her a thank you."

"Okay," Remus said. He leaned in and kissed her softly, cupping her cheek and then dropping his hand down to brush her baby bump as he'd gotten into the habit of doing. "I will wait."

Dora nodded and she swung her quiver over her shoulder. She picked up the hem of her skirt as she walked, out of habit from when she was made to wear gowns around the palace instead of the functional work skirts Remus made her. She knocked on the cottage's door and fidgeted with her skirts and with her braid as she waited for an answer.

The woman who answered had light brown curls piled on top of her head. Her eyelids were heavy, as if she was tired, but her eyes were kind. For a second, Dora was shocked because… well, she wasn't quite staring into a reflection, but the patrician beauty and aristocratic features and posture… Dora had it too.

"Wotcher," Dora said. She would never have been allowed to use this expression before, but she'd heard it in a tavern and quite liked it now. "My name is… I don't know if you gave it to me but my name is Dora—Nymphadora."

Andromeda looked back at her, stunned. A shaking hand reached out and touched Dora's cheek.

"That name is the only thing I was able to give before they took you from me," she said, her words shaking. "I… Ted… Ted, the door—come to the door!"

And just like that, Andromeda broke into tears and wrapped her arms around Dora, clinging to her as she sobbed.

Dora buried her face in Andromeda's hair as well.

Stacked with: MC4A; Shipping Wars; Hogwarts; Link Maker; Spring Bingo

Challenge(s): Gryffindor MC; Hufflepuff MC; Slytherin MC; Artist MC; Disabled; Setting Sail; Knightly Era (Y); Old Shoes; Long Haul; Greatest Gift; Rian-Russo Inversion

Word Count:

Spring Bingo

Space (Prompt): 2B (Green)

Shipping Wars

Ship (Team): Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks (Technicolour Moon)

List (Prompt): Spring Micro 1 (Different Era AU)