Disclaimer: I really don't own Harry Potter.
Author's note: Spoilers for OotP, HBP. This is meant as an exchange over Christmas in Half-Blood Prince; Tonks wasn't initially there but I think I've worked it out without too tremendous jumps of logic. The story is RL/NT (post-RL/SB).
Tidings of Comfort
by Meg Kenobi
Despite the nearly uncomfortable heat of the fire, Tonks could still feel Remus trembling. His head rested in her lap as they sprawled across a sagging, overstuffed couch, the platonic intimacy of their posture reflecting the awkwardness of their every contact. She resisted the urge to read into his presence, the touch of a hand, the surrender. It had been late on Christmas Eve when she had arrived, planning to leave before dawn; he had welcomed the thought of company, warmth, release, she told herself, nothing more. Those heated moments moving in the dark were nothing more than a manifestation of circumstance and sadness, never would they be anything greater, yet willingly she offered. Shared pain defined them; a lost cousin stolen away too young, a lover killed after a bittersweet reunion. The unraveled ends of their histories lead to one another, but the connection was too drenched in sorrow to ever truly be seized.
"Are you cold?" She whispered, idly toying with his hair. His mumbled response was unnecessary; she knew instinctively what a naïve over-simplification it was to hope all that bothered him was the bitter December wind, drafts cutting through the walls of the Burrow's attic. The full moon would rise the night after Christmas, meaning the solution to his suffering was not so simple as latching a window or stoking the flame that licked against the dark. No, he had been ill all week, looking forward only to a lonely holiday of pain, knowing that each time the torturous transformation came upon him the bastard creature who had brought him into his condition roamed free, initiating more innocents into his personal hell. No, healing Remus was an impossibility, leading her to struggle to fulfill what little moments of consolation she could. If the flame that made the skin of her face feel taut and scalded eased his pain in some measure then she would bear it. If the feverish encounters followed by silence were all he could offer, then she would be sated. Maybe, she assured herself, she could not heal him, nor could she raise Sirius from his shadowed death, but maybe one did not have to tame the sorrow to grant some comfort. Nothing terrified her more than not knowing how to help him, but the young Auror knew well that inactivity in the face of a problem was the one sure way to lose. She hoped the pettiness of her gestures might bring first comfort, then one day joy. Remus stirred, awakening from his doze.
"It's almost Christmas, Remus. About five more minutes."
"I wanted to get you something, but --," Remus began, his voice hazy with exhaustion.
"Come on, who has the time to go shopping?" Tonks hastily interrupted, blushing slightly in shared embarrassment that neither, in truth, could much afford gifts, but he pressed ahead emphatically.
"I spent some time imagining what I ought to get you, had I the Galleons in my pocket to purchase something proper. There are so many books I would love to discuss with you, but perhaps something sentimental. Or maybe some colourful socks? No, I thought, something significant; jewelry. Yes, a sign of – of what? Regardless of what I gave you, it would be some inappropriate promise, a suggestion that I could offer you any sort of stability of commitment. In fact, to be entirely fair to what we are, I realized my gift should be the opposite, in the guise of nothing."
"What are you trying to say?" Her body was tense; angry.
"I want to give you your freedom, want you to walk away. Run away before I hurt you."
"The thought of leaving you alone hurts me, Remus, the thought of not helping you. So I can't accept your gift. I have no idea how to let go."
"Please," he murmured, sleep overwhelming him, "Go before . . . like Sirius."
Tonks smoothed his hair as his barely conscious whispers implored her to go, preserve herself, abandon him to the dark and the guilt.
"Merry Christmas, Remus," she whispered as the clock ticked to midnight. She wriggled out from under his sleeping form and lifted her coat from the arm of the chair. Steeling herself against the long, cold flight ahead, she looked back at Remus.
"Listen," she began, knowing full well he was safe with his mind for the night, "I'm in love with you. Not even really sure what that means, but you should know it. So all I can give you is a little comfort and the choice to use it as you will." With that, Tonks quickly descended the stairs, not noticing the eyes that followed her with a sad but strengthened smile.