~ 9 ~

Coming Home to Roost

Remus opened the oven door to check the stew and give it a bit of a stir. Delightful smells wafted out.

He had thrown caution to the winds and bought a cut of beef.

A small one, to be sure, and not the choicest cut. And it had been a good price, for beef—he rather suspected it had been nearly too old to sell.

But it was beef. And with a few carrots and potatoes, and a little wine from the bottle Dora had opened a day or two before, it made a lovely stew.

Remus couldn't even remember the last time he had bought beef, other than when shopping on behalf of Sirius or Molly for the Order, of course. It cost as much as sacks of beans or lentils. Quite an extravagance for an unemployable werewolf who might have only his meagre savings to live on for the rest of his life.

Except—

Aurors, especially junior ones, had to work all sorts of hours. Dora had been assigned a shift today, even though it was Sunday.

Even though she had barely escaped a Death Eater ambush with her life the night before. Even though she had been up until well past midnight searching for the body of the mentor she had loved like a second father.

Even though Remus—her husband, the one she should be able to rely on more than anyone—had been absolutely beastly to her.

He hadn't meant to. It was the old problem. A flood of fear and guilt and anguish had simply swept over him until he was barely able to stay on his feet and keep moving forward. He had almost lost Dora; even now, the mere thought made his throat close up. Trying to keep her safe was an instinct, a reflex.

But he knew that to Dora, it had felt like he was shutting her out. Turning cold. Taking away her right—and, truly, who had more right than she?—to join in the search for Mad-Eye.

Beastly.

She had forgiven him, thank Merlin. Remembering just how thoroughly she had forgiven him sent a hot flush up from his collar and across his cheeks. But of course, that had kept her awake even longer, and she was due to work a long shift today—

And so, the stew.

Remus stirred it again, tasting the sauce. He added just a little more salt, and then it was perfect.

Perhaps he actually could afford a small extravagance, every once in a while, now that he and Dora were sharing a home. Especially if it was something special for her.

And he wouldn't be paying the rent on his flat anymore, not now that Umbridge's newest round of laws had gone through, cancelling his lease and ensuring that he could not sign another.

Which, of course, meant that he had nowhere to transform safely when the moon came.

But at least this moon was still waning. His next transformation would have to be a problem for another day.

Remus set the table, rummaging in the cupboard for a few of the colourful candles that Dora had lit for their wedding supper. Then he frowned at the bottle of wine, considering. Dora had bought this; he had not. But it had been open for a day or two already, and it wouldn't last forever—

The security charm sounded. The door opened and closed.

"Welcome home!" he called out, feeling a smile spread across his face. He poured two goblets of wine and, with a swoop of his wand, floated the stew out of the oven and across to the place of honour in the middle of the table.

Two dragonhide boots and a satchel thumped to the floor, as always.

Only, there was no cheery "Wotcher!" this time.

His smile faded.

"Dora? Is everything all right?"

She strode into the kitchen, knocking her hip against the doorframe as she passed—Remus winced, but Dora didn't even seem to notice.

Her hair was still pink, but only just.

"I've a bit of bad news, actually." She sighed and shoved her fringe out of her eyes. "I've been sacked."

He froze.

Dora plunged on. "You remember what—" her voice caught—"what Mad-Eye said the other night, yeah? The Ministry's rotten through and through. It was bound to happen one way or another, my parents being what they are—"

She was babbling.

"But," said Remus, very quietly, "it actually happened because you are married to me."

He searched her face. Most of what he could read there was guilt. Guilt—as if any of this were her fault—

He had been so afraid that this would happen to her—and so utterly selfish and stupid to talk himself into believing that there was even a chance it might not—

A week. The Ministry had caught them out after only one week.

Remus fought to ignore the roaring in his ears and the sick feeling in his stomach, trying to be an Order member first and a werewolf second.

As if that could ever be possible, hissed the voice in his head. You will always be a werewolf first. And this is what happens when you forget that.

"It was Thicknesse." Dora scowled. "It's no secret he's in Voldemort's pocket." She frowned, more thoughtfully. "But Scrimgeour was there too, and I don't think he's gone over—he's still acting like himself, mostly."

"What did they say, exactly?" He could hear how hoarse his voice had become. "It might be important."

"Thicknesse came striding into the Auror Office, right at the end of the shift—lots of Aurors were there—"

Remus flinched. Carefully orchestrated for maximum humiliation, of course.

Dora's scowl grew. "He said, all in this sort of theatrical voice, 'Auror Tonks, I am given to understand that you have entered into an illegal alliance with a Dark Creature. What do you have to say for yourself?' So I said, 'It was perfectly legal when I entered into it, sir.'" She must have seen the horror on Remus's face, because she raised her chin. "It was clear that I was going down. I chose to go down with dignity."

"So—what happened then?" Remus rasped.

"Thicknesse said, 'Effective immediately, you are no longer a member of the Auror Force. I must insist that you surrender your badge and your robes.'" She smiled for an instant, then, fiercely. "So I threw them at him. The badge bounced right off his bloody beard."

Remus shook his head, helplessly. He had done this—he had cost Dora the career that she loved, had put her in the position to be physically goading a senior Ministry official who was a known Voldemort supporter—

"Then he said—" Her fists clenched. "He said, 'If you are seen in the company of the werewolf Lupin before your illegal alliance has been officially terminated, both you and the werewolf are subject to arrest and imprisonment.' And he had the cheek to add, 'Have I made myself perfectly clear?'" She snorted. "But—Remus—"

Tears filled her eyes before she blinked them away.

"Scrimgeour just stood there—he used to be Head Auror, before he was Minister—he knows I'm good at my job—"

The bewilderment and betrayal on her face made his stomach twist.

"It's like that," he said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "This is my world. And now I've dragged you into it." He turned away. "I'm sorry, Dora. I—there are no words to tell you how sorry I am."

He began to shake. There was ice in his heart—ice in his bones—what would he do without her—

"We can go back to the Ministry tomorrow," he whispered. "File for divorce. Then maybe Thicknesse will take you back—"

"Stop it!"

Her shout was loud enough to startle him into turning around. Then she caught him by the shoulders and held on, so that he couldn't turn away again.

"You stop that, Remus Lupin." The tears in her eyes spilled over. "They are narrow-minded prejudiced pureblood idiots. You are worth a hundred of them. And you are what I want."

"But—being an Auror was always your dream." He couldn't meet her eyes. "I can't let myself take that away from you."

"It's just this bloody war." She dragged her sleeve across her eyes and glared. "It's Thicknesse being in with the Death Eaters. Once this is all over, once You-Know-Who is gone, I might even be able to go back. Or find something else—something better." Her grip on his shoulders tightened. "But not without you, Remus. I love you. Remember?"

He shook his head, helplessly.

"Hey," she said, and wrapped her arms around him, sliding her cheek against his. He felt her warmth seep into him, melting the ice. His arms came up, slowly, and he pulled her close.

But this was his fault. All his fault.

The beef stew sat in the centre of the table, growing cold.

~o~

Tonks hitched her heavy satchel higher on her shoulder and pushed the front door open. "Wotcher! We're here!"

"Hello, Dora!" came Dad's voice from the kitchen.

She stepped inside, followed by Remus, who was wearing a well-travelled rucksack and clutching his battered briefcase. She closed the door carefully behind them and redid Mum's security spells, turning round again just as Mum herself appeared.

"Hello, love." A slight hesitation, and then, more carefully, "Remus." Mum looked at their bulging bags. "Have you finished moving out? What have you done with the rest of your things?"

Tonks let her satchel slide to the floor. She was so tired, and her stomach felt a little off, too—but they'd been working all day, packing up and cleaning the flat, so it was no wonder, really.

"We're all moved out, yeah." She gestured at their bags. "We've got everything right here—Remus is really good with Shrinking Charms."

Remus cleared his throat and smiled, a little stiffly. "Hello, Andromeda."

"Where do you want to stay?" Mum tilted her head, considering. "Your old room? Or the guest room?"

"My room, of course." Tonks grinned. "It's got a better view of the pond." She turned to Remus. "Come on—let's take our things up."

He was still wearing his stiff smile, like a shield, as he followed her up the stairs.

But the sight of her old bedroom startled a true laugh out of him. "This was your room?" He shook his head, his eyes still bright with amusement. "I was expecting something a bit more…"

"Colourful?" Tonks laughed, too, and gave him a kiss, which he returned with reassuring enthusiasm. "It used to be! After I moved out, Mum decided to redecorate. She even got rid of all my Weird Sisters posters."

The wide window looking out onto the pond and the willow tree was the same, and so was the well-polished oak floor that glowed golden in the sunlight. But the the walls were a cream colour now, instead of the grape-purple with silver stars that Tonks had chosen when she was twelve, and the duvet that covered the bed was a soft sage green.

"Why don't we leave most of our things under the Shrinking Charm for the moment," she said, shoving her satchel into a corner of the room. "In case we're not here very long."

Remus nodded, and turned away to set down his rucksack—but not before she had seen his face slip back into the grim, tight lines he'd worn for most of the day.

"Dora? Remus?" Dad called from the foot of the stairs. "Supper is ready, if you are."

Supper was delicious, although for some reason the green peppers in the vegetable curry tasted a bit off. Tonks pushed them quietly to one side of her plate.

"Thanks for taking us in on such short notice," she said, after a swallow of iced pumpkin juice. "We don't quite know how long we'll be staying. I should probably get a new job sorted before we start looking at flats."

"I'm appalled that the Ministry didn't give you more than a day to vacate your flat, after they—" Mum frowned.

"After they sacked me, you mean?" Tonks almost found it funny, now, except for the bit about having no income. "The Ministry's not what it was, Mum. Even—even Mad-Eye warned me that it's filling up with supporters of You-Know-Who. That's why we had Hagrid fly Harry here, you know." She shrugged. "Given our family history, I was sure to be on the chopping block."

"I see," said Mum, but her gaze flicked to Remus.

He went very still and looked down at his plate.

"I reckon," said Dad, "Remus gave up his flat when you two got married last week?"

Tonks thought he probably only meant to make conversation, but she winced all the same.

"Not exactly," said Remus, without looking up. "I would have kept it. For—full moons." He swallowed. "But the new laws that went through last week included, among other things, a prohibition on letting flats to Dark creatures, so I'm afraid my lease has been voided."

His voice was quiet and even. Bland—if a bit hoarse.

Tonks found herself blinking back tears.

There was no way Mum and Dad would be able to see through the mask, to understand just how much shame was festering behind those carefully chosen words.

"My flat," Remus added, "wasn't in the best of neighbourhoods, in any case."

He wouldn't even meet her eyes for the entire rest of the meal.

When Tonks came to bed that night, after one last cup of tea with her parents, the faint light from the window showed Remus huddled on his side of the bed, facing away. She curled herself around his back and slipped an arm over his waist. He breathed a shaky sigh, and she felt his tight, tense muscles relax a little.

"Your lease isn't actually voided until the fifteenth," she murmured into his shoulderblade. "We might have our own place again by then—that's more than two weeks away. Maybe we should just go to yours for a while."

"I can't say I'm not tempted," he muttered, and the slight hint of wry humour in his voice made her grin in relief. He rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. She rested her head on his shoulder. "But no," he went on, still sounding more like himself. "It really is a nasty neighbourhood—and yes, I am fully aware that you can take care of yourself, but your parents' house will be much more pleasant for you." He sighed, and she could feel him start to grow tense again. "I'm also not as optimistic as you are that you will be able to find a job and a flat in two weeks, things being what they are. We'd likely end up here, anyway."

Tonks began to rub small circles over his stomach. He swallowed, and shivered. She hooked an ankle around his.

"Don't mind Mum too much," she said. "Sometimes it takes her a little while to get used to things."

He rolled toward her and kissed her, threading his fingers through her hair.

Things were simpler when it was only the two of them.

~o~

"Seventeen," Remus whispered, shaking his head.

He fed Errol an owl treat. The weary bird hooted in thanks and pecked at it, scattering crumbs over the windowsill.

Remus stood, staring out at the pond and the darkening, mist-covered sky.

Seventeen.

"Look at him, Moony! Isn't he tiny?"

"He looks just like you, Prongs."

"He does, doesn't he—McGonagall had better watch out!"

"Now, James, he's my son too, you know."

Harry was turning seventeen tomorrow. A man, now.

James and Lily would have been so, so proud. And Sirius too, of course.

Hell, Remus was proud of Harry.

Even though he had no right to be. What—he had taught the boy for a year, and helped him a few times with his Patronus. Had had a few conversations with him at Grimmauld Place and at the Burrow.

Had held him back from following Sirius through the Veil—

Errol, finished with his treat, gave another soft hoot and launched himself unsteadily out the window, in the direction of the Burrow.

Remus thought about the tiny baby that Lily had insisted he hold. The pudgy toddler clinging to Padfoot's shaggy fur and giggling.

The scrawny thirteen-year-old on the Hogwarts Express, knocked out cold by the horror of his first encounter with a dementor.

And in between—?

What had Harry been like at three, at eight, at eleven?

Remus would never know. He had never been there.

I must ask you to leave the boy alone, Remus. He's better off in the Muggle world, with Lily's sister. Let him grow up without being the centre of attention—give him a chance to grow attached to his new family. We'll have time enough to get to know him after he's had his Hogwarts letter.

Remus had fully intended to disobey Dumbledore's words, at first.

That first Christmas after James and Lily were killed, he had waited for hours at a play park for Petunia to bring Harry and her own boy for their daily outing. Even now, he could remember Harry's giggles, feel the small hands clutching at his hair as he ran around the sandbox with the boy on his shoulders.

But Petunia had snatched up the toy broom he had brought as Harry's Christmas present and snapped it in half. She had ordered Remus never to bother her family again. And she was, after all, Harry's guardian.

He could still hear the small, high voice calling "Moony!" after him as he walked away.

It was only much, much later that he had learned how unhappy Harry really was with the Dursleys.

Would it have mattered, if he had known?

Would having a substitute godfather who was poor, and ill, and never more than one step from being revealed as a werewolf, really have done Harry any good?

Remus thought not.

What would he ever have been able to do for Harry, except bring him more problems?

The door to the bedroom opened and Dora came in, wearing pyjamas and looking slightly damp from her shower. She froze at the sight of the piece of parchment in his hand. "What's that? Has something happened?"

"It's from Molly." Remus tried to sound cheerful. "She's inviting us to Harry's birthday dinner tomorrow evening."

"Oh!" Dora brightened immediately. "I was afraid it was bad news. That's lovely!"

"He'll be seventeen," said Remus, quietly.

Dora's dark eyes searched his face. "And he'll be glad to have you there."

She came to him, and brushed a kiss along his eyebrow. "It's late," she murmured. "Let's go to sleep."

They curled together in the bed. Dora smoothed a hand along his back, letting it come to rest in the hollow at the end of his spine. He ran his fingers lightly through her soft spiky hair.

He had been right to stay away from Harry. That was clear.

His throat ached.

Dora snuggled against him, closing her eyes, and smiled drowsily against his shoulder. He breathed in her faint scent of lavender, and felt himself melting—yet again—into the warmth of her touch.

But—if he had been right before—

The implication was starkly clear.

~o~

Author's note: Another completely new chapter—which is part of the reason for the long delay!

I have an old fic about Remus's attempt at a Christmas visit to little Harry—it's called "Playing Hippogriff", and it's posted at PhoenixSong and AO3; I'm "shimotsuki" at both sites.